Drusilla extended her long, bony fingers from underneath Spike's tattered cloak. "You're wounded, love. Not so very, pretty, pretty."
"Just a round from a mortar. Be quick, my sweet -- get it out will you? Got things to do, people to kill."
"Oh, I shan't be long at all." With that, she punged with Spike onto the canopied bed. Lifting her bodice from her lupine form, she straddled him, pushing him back against the silken sheets.
"Be quick about it, Dru -- 'tain't pleasant, you know."
Her fingers danced over the crimson. Her fangs ripped into his soft, white skin -- her tongue dancing over the jagged edge.
"Shush, m' love. Pain and pleasure are always intertwined." She parted her lips and began to draw the blood slowly out. Then ferociously. She could feel the warm, essence of Spike, of William, of all men she had ever consumed spill over her in a heightened swirl of euphoria. Spike was within her and without her. All the soft, pulpy mass -- the ephemera of cold flesh mingled with the sickly, sweet sensation of his life force merging into a rapturous upheaveal of unbridled ecstasy.
"Just get the bleedin' bullet out -- I'm not your own personal suck charm!" Spike was visibly annoyed and deservedly so -- there was a time and a place for everything, and this was definitely not the time.
Dru looked down at her prone lover. She shifted her weight and struck again. Deeper she probed, her teeth gently, then violently ripping away. She could feel the hard steel of the gendarme's lucky shot. Her teeth tore away at his wound. But then Spike began to fall under her sadian charm. The little teasing game she had always played --he'd always retained the upper hand. But now, she was the master and he, her sickly victim.
Suddenly she reared back -- the bullet shining in the pale candlelight. "'bout bloody time," Spike snarled. But Drusilla, fallen child of the dark night, was not to be undone. She savagely attacked Spike, pushing him off the bed onto the hard wood floor.
"That hurt - ya twit!"
Dru smiled seductively, rolling the bullet between her sharp, pointy teeth . "A tisket, a tasket, a black and blue basket - all fall down." She began swaying to and fro --minueting to herself.
"All these bloody mirrors in here - useless," Spike whispered. Staring at her undulating form, he licked his lips. "'Tis a nasty stormy night anyway." And like a rat he was upon her, drinking her, loving her, filling her with the unbearable passions of a centuries old lust.
She was swept away by his embrace into a valley of long ago -- blistering of heat and burgeoning doom. This was all they ever had - it was all they would ever have - entwined in eternal damnation, never satisified, always thristing - and neither Angel nor devils could ever tear them apart.
Dru's eyes widened suddenly and she pulled away. "Noooooooooo!" she shrieked.
"Love, what is it?"
"Your wound," she murmured as she staggered to the fireplace. She picked up a blazing white hot poker from the hearth. "The lead from the bullet -- the wound needs to be cauterized!"
Spike's eyes grew fearful. "Wait - I'll heal. I ALWAYS DO. Part of vamp nature, you know - right?"
Drew grew sillen and quiet. "You may heal and be all righty right, my pretty pretty William, but I never will. Never."
"Don't I make it all righty right for you, kitten - finding good yum-yums to eat and showering you with pretty prezzies to wear and --"
"I'll never be well," she wailed, her eyes turning inwards.
"Oh, bloody hell - here we go again …"

ANY RESEMBLANACE TO PERSONS LIVING OR UNDEAD IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL --
The management