Subject: [BA_Gutter] Fanfic: SUMMER OF LOVE.Feed back appreciated! Date: Wed, 02 Jun 2004 00:08:04 -0000 From: "gottarhyme1" Chapter Rating: R Chapter Title: PART ONE: Woodstock: 1969 Chapter Summary: Spike and Dru at Woodstock. Need I say more? Chapter Notes: An idea I had bouncing around since SCHOOL HARD, when Spike mentions that he was at Woodstock. And when I read one of HERSELF'S Fics, the idea of The red haired woman at WOODSTOCK just crystallized. Fic Notes: Joss creates, I borrow. Blessed be the name of the Joss. SUMMER OF LOVE WOODSTOCK: 1969 The music rolled like distant thunder over the hills and the low thrum of conversation permeated the dew heavy night. Spike paused and cupped his hand around the Zippo lighter, his eyes glinting in the sudden flare of light as the marijuana joint glowed to life, sending a faint curlicue of blue smoke into the crystal air. He gazed at the tableau of human flesh laid out before him, soft bodies, in various forms of dress, or undress. The scene reminded him of the forbidden books that had been secreted away in the musty recesses of his father's private library at Oxford, THE ILLUSTRATED DANTE'S INFERNO, a book that had contained hand coloured etchings of naked men and women, writhing in agony as they were pulled by demons into the fiery pits of Hell. As a boy, he had spent many hours poring over the pictures, holding onto himself with guilty abandon, pulling on his poor todger until he came into his clean white hanky. He smiled to himself. His Mum used to complain that he lost a fair quantity of hankies over a month. That was over eighty years ago. He reached up and felt the bandanna knotted over his long brown curls. He doubted whether his Mum would approve of the uses he found for a clean hankie nowadays either. He took another long toke on the smoke, feeling the delicious tendrils of the drug work it's way through his brain, relaxing him, and sharpening his senses all at once. Around him, the hills of Woodstock undulated with life. There was an air of incredible tension, like everyone was waiting for something to happen. The year was 1969. It was the "so called" 'Summer of Love.' Spike had come to Woodstock to see what all the fuss was about. After all, the song said to come, didn't it? If you are going to San Francisco Be sure to wear Some flowers in your hair... Drusilla, silly bint that she was, had taken that invitation literally. Her raven hair was bedecked in flowers. She looked like Ophelia after her ride downstream. Dressed in a filmy cheesecloth confection, she was as near too naked as she could be. 'Especially as it hadn't stopped bleedin' raining for nigh on three days.' Spike thought bitterly as he inhaled deeply on the joint, feeling the buzz it offered, making his skin crawl with imagined warmth. Not that he minded seeing the cloth caress her body like a second skin, but some of these doped up hippies liked to grab her and pile on for in an impromptu orgy of pink flesh and hair. Usually he didn't mind, especially as he was often treated to a free feed, but Drusilla appeared to be enjoying herself a little too much for his liking. Spike didn't like sharing his woman with other blokes. He always made damn sure he killed them straight after. She would just pout at him, and scold him, as she had just now, small white hands on her naked hips, her breasts thrust at him like dark cherries surrounded by cream, looking like some ancient water sprite, with her long dark hair entangled with wild flowers, surveying the bloodied and tortured bodies at her feet with anger. Then the bitter ranting would start. Spike had just shrugged and walked away. There was no use reasoning with her when she was like this. Better to let her cool down. He would find somewhere to crash by morning. He looked about him; there were small campervans and tents littering the hillside. Tiny fires dotted the landscape, sending macabre shadows stabbing into the dark. The low bass from the distant stage set up a vibration in his chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment to sway to the hypnotic feel of the beat. "Wow" came a slow California drawl from somewhere at his feet. "You're really out of it, man, or into it. Whatever..." Spike looked down and saw something that almost made his dead heart skip a beat. Staring up at him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her red, curly hair framed her face like a bright flame. The light from the real thing paled into insignificance as it toyed with the shimmering mass sending glimmers of fire off her creamy skin. The sight of it sent a pang of longing straight to Spike's cold centre. He shook his head a little, and peered at her through his John Lennon glasses. She smiled blearily at him and reached up to grab at his hand, pulling him down beside her with an ungraceful bump. He grinned widely, and handed her the joint, which she took, slipping it from his fingers and bringing it to her lush pink lips with a practised movement. She peered intently into his face, reaching up with one creamy finger to caress his cheekbone, as the smoke trailed in a lazy stream from her sweet mouth. "You're pretty." She announced. "Wanna fuck?" Spike slipped the joint from her slender fingers and raised it to his lips, drawing deeply, making the embers glow brightly, and his mind race with the sudden turn of events. "Sure Pet..." He answered finally. "You got somewhere in mind? Don't fancy ruttin' in the mud like an animal." 'This will teach Dru a lesson' He thought. 'Got myself digs for the night, and a willin' bed-warmer. See how she likes it.' Red just smiled sweetly at him, taking his hand again, and pulling him to his feet. She was smaller than him, delicate as Dresden porcelain, fragile and perfect as a seashell. On closer inspection, her eyes were the colour of green glass. He felt himself responding to her, his faded blue denims becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he trailed along behind her, watching the ripe little bum move beneath her long Indian skirt in front of him. "Down mate." He growled at his growing erection. "Plenty of time." Weaving through the piles of drugged and mellow human beings was awakening more than Spike's carnal appetites at this point, and he cursed himself silently for not feeding as fully as he should have on Drusilla's horny suitors. At the time he was in a jealous rage, and the sickening thud and crunch of splintering vertebra had alleviated some of his pain, but he had a habit of rushing into things without thinking, and he was paying the price now. He tugged gently on Red's arm. She turned to face him. "It's not much farther, I got a van..." He silenced her with a kiss, crushing her to his chest, entangling his hands in that glorious mane of shimmering copper. She tasted like life, sweet and smoky and real, and he ached then to have all of her. She stiffened a little at his initial assault, and then melted into the hard planes of his chest, deepening the kiss, tracing the blunt ivory of his teeth, devouring him, as he wanted to devour her. It was all he could do to force the demon down, and even then, a little of it made it to his eyes, making them flash gold in the moonlight. As they broke apart, Spike drew ragged unnecessary breaths into his lungs, and stared at her open mouthed as a smattering of clapping and good-humoured laughter erupted around them. "Fuck" He thought. "This is new."