What lusciously sharp agony laced her veins with white-hot fire, rolling her into pure pain.

Her wicked boy had done it again.

Painted ruby red with the love of his audience, Drusilla's Spike swaggered up to her, smacking his lips together. His pointed tongue flicked at the specks of coppery blood covering his lips. He consumed her with a kiss, sharing the pungent taste of mortal death with her, hate, sin, love wracked with the certainty of death.

He knew what she liked.

Hard, unforgiving, he ripped the frilled, lacy garment from her shivering body. She laughed, and let her head loll back onto the bed as her spawn, her creation latched onto the alabaster column of flesh between sharp collarbone and angular jaw. The suckling brought a surge of fresh, stolen blood to the surface, raising a deep purple mark. Spike worked his way down the bare expanse of flesh, nipping at the pebbled skin. Creamy, fair and pale like a moon goddess, Drusilla arched her back into the caresses, mewling and pushing against her lover's shoulders with tiny white fists.

A snarl rocked out of Spike's chest, and in a flash he thrust her arms up against the pillows and straddled her nude torso. Another giggle escaped Drusilla's chest as the two lovers struggled to bite, to lock teeth and lips and mouths, snapping at air. Her breasts glistened with saliva, tiny teeth marks already fading. He rose up on one knee, positioned himself at her wet, begging hole, and rammed himself in with one brutal thrust.

Drusilla screamed, the sound echoing off of the room's walls and careening through the small cottage. Spike plowed into her, stuffing her full, punishing her, hard, bruising her fair skin with his uncaring hands and hips. She howled as Spike came, silent in his orgasm, his erection unflagging.

She liked this part the best.

Unfulfilled, almost shuddering with lust, Drusilla watched with heavy-lidded eyes as her boy knelt before her, his proud cock thrusting out from the foreskin. She found herself on her stomach in seconds, needle point nipples stabbing into the scratchy wool blanket. A quick shift and she rested on her forearms, thrusting her bare bottom into the cool air. Spike brushed his cold fingers over her puckered opening. Without any further warning, he ripped into his lover' s rear entrance.

Oh, the angels cried, their wings torn asunder, staining her body crimson with their delicious blood. Make way, make way, love comes in, dressed all in feathery robes, fiery, they'll burn you, don't touch, never touch. Drusilla hummed into the agony; Spike knew what she needed. He heard the angels cry for her, heard them sing her to sleep, anything to get them to come, anything. Lost in the dreams, dazzled by the beauty of pain, Drusilla always missed her Angel's appearance.

He came suddenly, the only warning a shift in the way Spike thrust, his legs spread out further, his own ass thrust into the air. Funny, funny, a scream shredded the air, splitting the heat into bits of sulphur coating the laboring flesh on the bed. Drusilla giggled as Spike slid to a solid stop inside her, too busy dealing with the hugeness of Angel to hurt her any longer. Her angel, come to save her, no tears, just playing his part in the night, in the games. The dark revenant above her wicked boy grinned his sacrilegeous grin and held out his hand to her turned head. She delicately took the fingers between her plush cherry lips, sucking at the tips.

Spike growled, ripping back out of Dru to meet his GrandSire's lazy strokes. Angelus idley slapped the alabaster hip, warning the boy to wait. Time for Drusilla, time for her games.

She whispered her wishes, like every night, making a dream out of a dream, making the pain real, her voice eerily girlish.

"Daddy, hurt him for me, hurt him like you hurt me." Angel replied with a cheerful smile and simultaneously tore into Spike with his hard member and his fangs. Streams of warm blood coursed down the young man's shoulder and dripped into Dru's gaping, eager mouth. Her face shifted and she breathed in the droplets, humming her pleasure. As her own demon surfaced, she mewled at the hunger gnawing inside her, distracting her from the elegant way her wicked childe suffered.

So stalwart, so true, her knight who bowed to the angel, who sacrifced himself on their altar of exquisite pain. Spike kept himself still against his Sire, gritting his teeth as his painfully engorged cock throbbed uselessly inside Drusilla's blood slick passage. Every jarring thrust from Angel rubbed Spike against her ass.

Drusilla snarled and ripped away from them, but Spike knew enough to remain on his own forearms, rather then crashing into the bedding below. Guiding Spike's bobbing, weeping cock head into her blood and come drenched pussy, the vampiress sighed as the long, elegant length sank into her depths. The three set up a rhythm, Angel thrusting into Spike's now bruised and bleeding ass, Spike gliding in on tracks of semen and Dru's overpowering excitement, and Dru shoved her hips up to meet their movements.

Her pale, slim female form danced as Dru moved her torso to the beat her demon drove into her brain. Another insane giggle escaped her chest as she drove her nails down Spike's back, gouging the flesh deep. Spike shuddered and rammed faster into Dru's cunt. A bit of dead flesh came back with Dru's hand and she felt the joyful hunger spread out from her belly. Dead, all dead and all hers, and delicious. She smacked her lips as the blood drenched morsel slid down her gullet and into her belly. The devil's food for a devil's child.

Spike's demon, long repressed out of human habits, roared to the front. A howl from Drusilla, Spike and Angel froze, and the orgasm appeared like a fire ball, flashing through them for an eternal moment. Swirls of lacerated flesh, screaming children silenced by the deathly kiss, washes of bright, beautiful blood, coating her skin, soaking into the essence of evil Dru knew lay within her. The healing balm for her madness, for a moment.

Angel left them there, panting against each other, Spike pillowed upon her breasts, lapping at the blood dappling the arching flesh. He paused at the doorway, waiting for Dru to look up as she always did, on these nights where she made a chain of her creator and her creation. Her remarkably sane, dark orbs met his own. Held there, for the briefest moment, a perfect moment of understanding between Sire and Childe.

To create, to drain away mortality, to infuse with immortal thrill, eternal damnation so sweet. Make the angels weep, the poets scream, and the night creature's shudder.

Part and parcel, blood and bone, never parted.

Childe and Sire.