The Body Electric (1/1, Spike/Drusilla)
Feb. 24th, 2010 05:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Drusilla
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spike finds a way to give Drusilla what Angelus never can - the beating of her heart.
A/N: So, back when I was sifting through poems for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
still_grrr's lit challenge, I re-read Whitman's I sing the body electric. It didn't fit that challenge, but it inspired me to write some electro-stim kink which reminded me of that Angel episode where Gwen shocks Angel's heart into beating which made me want to write vampiric Victorian electro-stim porn with almost no sex in it. So that's what this is.
Beta'ed by the extremely forgiving and incredibly generous![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anxiety_junkie whom I must confess I keep wanting to call noandwhere out of habit.
Her nipples swell under his rough touch, reddening as he teases and tugs on the sensitive buds. She writhes on his lap, arching her back in a futile effort to obtain the stimulation her sensitized body craves. Futile, Spike knows, because Angelus enjoys keeping her on the edge, pleading for mercy, release, the pleasure she finds in the pain he inflicts. The pain he relishes inflicting and not just on her; Spike rattles the chains, straining for freedom. This is their fourth go-round in as many hours, a punishment of sorts for him and his bravado.
“Talk to him, Dru,” Angelus instructs, dipping his fingers into her cunt. “Tell him what a bad boy he’s been.”
“Naughty Spike,” Dru pants, the effort coming not from exertion but from arousal. “A little sneak-thief, making off with Daddy’s treasures.”
“Aye, Princess,” Angelus confirms, spreading her open under Spike’s hungry gaze, “you’re my one and only treasure. Such a valuable little jewel you are.”
Angelus doesn’t tolerate competition. He is best beloved, the focus and center of their little quartet. Despite hearty protestations of bonhomie and fellowship, Spike knows better than to think Angelus is his friend. Angelus is the whirlwind; the vortex he creates forces Spike to fight harder and harder simply to stay in his place.
Spike watches as Angelus thrusts upwards, impaling Dru on his cock. He watches because if he doesn’t Angelus will inflict more pain, do more damage. And, he admits silently, because he can’t not watch. Their cool bodies, swollen with arousal and slick with need, draw his gaze and his own cock thickens, echoing their need and desire. His ache for release rises from his belly to lodge in his throat, choking him and pushing him forward against his restraints.
But he’s exactly what Dru named him: a thief in the night, sneaking in under Angelus’ nose and plundering his greatest treasures. And as Drusilla’s shift slides away, Spike can see the tiny, circular burns on her chest, their angry redness a stark contrast to her milk-pale skin. Despite his desire, despite the chains and the pain he’s sure is coming later, when Angelus’ more prosaic desires for blood and sex are satiated but his more esoteric needs are still unfulfilled, Spike sneers in triumph. He made Drusilla’s heart beat.
The device was a novelty attraction at some party he’d chanced upon. He had no invitation and no acquaintance with the hosts, not that the proprieties matter to him anymore. He’s long since left William and his sad life behind. He gets what he wants through charm and if charm fails, he always has fear.
But, how could he resist? Why should he? The house is full of just the sort of luscious delights he favored these days: the very young and innocent, their blood rich as wine, as chocolate, singing in their veins. On the prowl, he moves through the party sizing up the guests. But he’s brought up short by a machine in the parlor.
It has two glass wheels threaded with metal bits. It looks almost like a water wheel but he doesn’t see any water, just a gentleman was turning it with a crank. Two people stand next to it, their fingers lightly touching little metals balls that protrude from the machine. As he watches in fascination, they lean towards one another and a small spark passes between their lips. The air is redolent with an almost-familiar sharp smell, like the air after a storm.
“What the bloody…” he mutters, as the wheel stops and another couple replaces the first.
After the demonstrations are over, he works his way through the crowd and corners the bloke manning the wheel. He’s prepared to do whatever he has to for an explanation, but the man is only too eager to talk. In fact, Spike isn’t sure he’ll be able to escape the man’s endless nattering.; But he manages to discern the pertinent details.
It’s called an influence machine and it makes electricity without any outside assistance. As the man drones on the complicated explanation of how it works, Spike’s mind wanders. He can think of a few things this influence machine would be good for. Why waste such a lovely bit of technology, with its many impractical and impious uses, on sedate parlor games?
Dru loves the novelty of new toys, human or mechanical. He resolves to have one built for them, but bigger and more powerful than the little machine that entertained the guests at this sad gathering. When he brings it home a week later, Drusilla is enchanted. He turns the wheel, shows her the snapping, crackling sparks of electricity flying off the metal balls and she smiles, a swift look of malevolence that fills him with a mounting desire to fight; to fuck; to have; to be; to do whatever he has to in order to possess her and be possessed by her.
She turns the handle herself, reaching out a finger to allow the sparks to travel over his skin. She looks at him in disappointment when nothing happens. No spark, no shock…just skin on skin.
“Doesn’t work like that, love,” he says, groping behind him for the brass chains. “Needs both of us touching it. But let’s try something different, yeah?”
He helps remove her layers of clothing, eyes hooded as she bares her body. She’s deceptively delicate, but the damage she can do with those thin hands and lean legs…Spike twitches, a shiver of excitement vibrating his skin. Time enough for that later. Now, he wants to show her their new toy.
He lays her out on the bed, pressing light kisses to her silken skin. He loves to touch her, and with his hands on her body he almost forgets about the machine. But she nips playfully at his lips, a warning Spike learned to respect years ago. He wrenches himself away from her, attaching the metal chains to the little glass jars on either end.
He turns the handle, listening to machine snap with each revolution. There are no sparks, but their room begins to smell like a brewing storm, thick with electricity and anticipation. He hears Dru behind him, rustling the sheets with her twisting legs and eager fingers.
“Naughty,” he says mildly, cocking an eyebrow as he sniffs the air. The sea salt of her arousal adds a tang to the charged air and he releases the machine’s handle. No more waiting.
He doesn’t ask if she’s ready. He lowers the chains down lightly, their metal tips just grazing her breast. The discharge is loud, a violent sizzle of blue-white electricity that flows outward from his hand and he watches in fascination as she jerks under the power of the influence machine. The steady, hypnotic thump of a beating heart follows and he jumps to his feet, at once horrified and amazed.
“I didn’t know it would do that,” he says, haltingly. “I swear.”
She closes her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling. Her arms slide above her head, pushing aside the heavy silk sheets languorously. He watches her, curious now, moving closer to the bed.
Her eyes dart open, wide and imperious. “Do it again, my sweet.”
And so he does, cranking the wheel to build up the charge; Drusilla urges him on, demanding more, more, more. And he listens, again and again, to the mad beat of her heart.
He isn’t paying attention to anything that but that wild, improbable sound and the light it brings to Dru’s face; he doesn’t notice when Angelus enters the room. The machine is smashed, so much wooden and metallic rubbish. Spike’s in chains, likely for as long as it takes Angelus to find a new pet hate or entrancing victim.
Watching them rut, bodies clutching and shaking in orgasm, Spike throws his back and laughs. He gave her what Angelus stole, the one thing her ‘Daddy’ couldn’t get for her. He’s finally won.
And if you're interested, an example of the electric kiss machine (also known as an influence machine or Wimhurst machine) can be found here and the video demonstration (with a great explanation of how it works) can be found here
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spike finds a way to give Drusilla what Angelus never can - the beating of her heart.
A/N: So, back when I was sifting through poems for
still_grrr's lit challenge, I re-read Whitman's I sing the body electric. It didn't fit that challenge, but it inspired me to write some electro-stim kink which reminded me of that Angel episode where Gwen shocks Angel's heart into beating which made me want to write vampiric Victorian electro-stim porn with almost no sex in it. So that's what this is.Beta'ed by the extremely forgiving and incredibly generous
anxiety_junkie whom I must confess I keep wanting to call noandwhere out of habit. Her nipples swell under his rough touch, reddening as he teases and tugs on the sensitive buds. She writhes on his lap, arching her back in a futile effort to obtain the stimulation her sensitized body craves. Futile, Spike knows, because Angelus enjoys keeping her on the edge, pleading for mercy, release, the pleasure she finds in the pain he inflicts. The pain he relishes inflicting and not just on her; Spike rattles the chains, straining for freedom. This is their fourth go-round in as many hours, a punishment of sorts for him and his bravado.
“Talk to him, Dru,” Angelus instructs, dipping his fingers into her cunt. “Tell him what a bad boy he’s been.”
“Naughty Spike,” Dru pants, the effort coming not from exertion but from arousal. “A little sneak-thief, making off with Daddy’s treasures.”
“Aye, Princess,” Angelus confirms, spreading her open under Spike’s hungry gaze, “you’re my one and only treasure. Such a valuable little jewel you are.”
Angelus doesn’t tolerate competition. He is best beloved, the focus and center of their little quartet. Despite hearty protestations of bonhomie and fellowship, Spike knows better than to think Angelus is his friend. Angelus is the whirlwind; the vortex he creates forces Spike to fight harder and harder simply to stay in his place.
Spike watches as Angelus thrusts upwards, impaling Dru on his cock. He watches because if he doesn’t Angelus will inflict more pain, do more damage. And, he admits silently, because he can’t not watch. Their cool bodies, swollen with arousal and slick with need, draw his gaze and his own cock thickens, echoing their need and desire. His ache for release rises from his belly to lodge in his throat, choking him and pushing him forward against his restraints.
But he’s exactly what Dru named him: a thief in the night, sneaking in under Angelus’ nose and plundering his greatest treasures. And as Drusilla’s shift slides away, Spike can see the tiny, circular burns on her chest, their angry redness a stark contrast to her milk-pale skin. Despite his desire, despite the chains and the pain he’s sure is coming later, when Angelus’ more prosaic desires for blood and sex are satiated but his more esoteric needs are still unfulfilled, Spike sneers in triumph. He made Drusilla’s heart beat.
The device was a novelty attraction at some party he’d chanced upon. He had no invitation and no acquaintance with the hosts, not that the proprieties matter to him anymore. He’s long since left William and his sad life behind. He gets what he wants through charm and if charm fails, he always has fear.
But, how could he resist? Why should he? The house is full of just the sort of luscious delights he favored these days: the very young and innocent, their blood rich as wine, as chocolate, singing in their veins. On the prowl, he moves through the party sizing up the guests. But he’s brought up short by a machine in the parlor.
It has two glass wheels threaded with metal bits. It looks almost like a water wheel but he doesn’t see any water, just a gentleman was turning it with a crank. Two people stand next to it, their fingers lightly touching little metals balls that protrude from the machine. As he watches in fascination, they lean towards one another and a small spark passes between their lips. The air is redolent with an almost-familiar sharp smell, like the air after a storm.
“What the bloody…” he mutters, as the wheel stops and another couple replaces the first.
After the demonstrations are over, he works his way through the crowd and corners the bloke manning the wheel. He’s prepared to do whatever he has to for an explanation, but the man is only too eager to talk. In fact, Spike isn’t sure he’ll be able to escape the man’s endless nattering.; But he manages to discern the pertinent details.
It’s called an influence machine and it makes electricity without any outside assistance. As the man drones on the complicated explanation of how it works, Spike’s mind wanders. He can think of a few things this influence machine would be good for. Why waste such a lovely bit of technology, with its many impractical and impious uses, on sedate parlor games?
Dru loves the novelty of new toys, human or mechanical. He resolves to have one built for them, but bigger and more powerful than the little machine that entertained the guests at this sad gathering. When he brings it home a week later, Drusilla is enchanted. He turns the wheel, shows her the snapping, crackling sparks of electricity flying off the metal balls and she smiles, a swift look of malevolence that fills him with a mounting desire to fight; to fuck; to have; to be; to do whatever he has to in order to possess her and be possessed by her.
She turns the handle herself, reaching out a finger to allow the sparks to travel over his skin. She looks at him in disappointment when nothing happens. No spark, no shock…just skin on skin.
“Doesn’t work like that, love,” he says, groping behind him for the brass chains. “Needs both of us touching it. But let’s try something different, yeah?”
He helps remove her layers of clothing, eyes hooded as she bares her body. She’s deceptively delicate, but the damage she can do with those thin hands and lean legs…Spike twitches, a shiver of excitement vibrating his skin. Time enough for that later. Now, he wants to show her their new toy.
He lays her out on the bed, pressing light kisses to her silken skin. He loves to touch her, and with his hands on her body he almost forgets about the machine. But she nips playfully at his lips, a warning Spike learned to respect years ago. He wrenches himself away from her, attaching the metal chains to the little glass jars on either end.
He turns the handle, listening to machine snap with each revolution. There are no sparks, but their room begins to smell like a brewing storm, thick with electricity and anticipation. He hears Dru behind him, rustling the sheets with her twisting legs and eager fingers.
“Naughty,” he says mildly, cocking an eyebrow as he sniffs the air. The sea salt of her arousal adds a tang to the charged air and he releases the machine’s handle. No more waiting.
He doesn’t ask if she’s ready. He lowers the chains down lightly, their metal tips just grazing her breast. The discharge is loud, a violent sizzle of blue-white electricity that flows outward from his hand and he watches in fascination as she jerks under the power of the influence machine. The steady, hypnotic thump of a beating heart follows and he jumps to his feet, at once horrified and amazed.
“I didn’t know it would do that,” he says, haltingly. “I swear.”
She closes her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling. Her arms slide above her head, pushing aside the heavy silk sheets languorously. He watches her, curious now, moving closer to the bed.
Her eyes dart open, wide and imperious. “Do it again, my sweet.”
And so he does, cranking the wheel to build up the charge; Drusilla urges him on, demanding more, more, more. And he listens, again and again, to the mad beat of her heart.
He isn’t paying attention to anything that but that wild, improbable sound and the light it brings to Dru’s face; he doesn’t notice when Angelus enters the room. The machine is smashed, so much wooden and metallic rubbish. Spike’s in chains, likely for as long as it takes Angelus to find a new pet hate or entrancing victim.
Watching them rut, bodies clutching and shaking in orgasm, Spike throws his back and laughs. He gave her what Angelus stole, the one thing her ‘Daddy’ couldn’t get for her. He’s finally won.
And if you're interested, an example of the electric kiss machine (also known as an influence machine or Wimhurst machine) can be found here and the video demonstration (with a great explanation of how it works) can be found here
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2010-02-24 05:35 pm (UTC)Mmmm hmmm just gorgeous.
no subject
on 2010-03-01 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-02-24 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-03-01 07:15 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-02-24 06:48 pm (UTC)This was epic, I just love it, best pairing ever those guys IMHO.
no subject
on 2010-03-01 07:18 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked it, though. E-stim is one of those really dramatic kinks - either someone loves it or they hate it. So I figured it would get a big reaction. I just wasn't sure which way.
Hope you're feeling better. Saw your post the other day, but I was on my way to Rome and didn't have a chance to comment. Do your best to stay low-key and rest up, hon. Wouldn't want my very best Jaded lad in the hospital. Where'd I get my Millie Prawn piccies then?
*HUGS*
no subject
on 2010-02-24 08:09 pm (UTC)I do love the bits of real history, the wonder of new technologies, that so many people leave out of historical fics in favor of "nobility". Smartly done, m'dear.
no subject
on 2010-03-01 07:26 am (UTC)I enjoy writing historical fics more than any others, I think. Partly because I'm terribly lazy and don't want to figure out ways to get the Fanged Four together and evil in the modern world, and partly because the characters are (to me) so much more interesting in that period. Plus, the research is always fun.
I'm very glad you enjoyed this!
no subject
on 2010-03-03 01:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-03-06 09:56 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 06:40 pm (UTC)I really love his response to making her heart beat, and his later triumphant revelation that he's done the one thing Angelus never could.
You write them so well.
no subject
on 2010-05-25 08:24 pm (UTC)As soon as I thought of Victorian electro-stim, I knew who it had to be about. Tangled and dark are exactly the words I'd use to describe the Fanged Four. I'm so glad you liked this.
I'VE GOT YOU MY PRETTY...AND YOUR LITTLE VAMPIRE, TOO.
*mwahaha*
no subject
on 2010-07-23 09:15 pm (UTC)'There are no sparks, but their room begins to smell like a brewing storm, thick with electricity and anticipation.'
And the think how intense it would be, considering electricity was such a new idea. Literal and metaphotical sparks.
'Drusilla urges him on, demanding more, more, more. And he listens, again and again, to the mad beat of her heart.'
Mmm, that's hot to think of Spike touching her on such a literally visceral level. I'd like to think her relationship with Spike is giving her a little touch of her own humanity.
no subject
on 2010-08-09 03:14 pm (UTC)I love Spike and Dru together, and getting them together in a new way was too much to resist. This story was incredibly intense to write and I'm glad it's equally intense to read.
I'm so glad you enjoyed this!
no subject
on 2011-02-18 07:30 am (UTC)