1000 Pairings Drabbles: 100 - 300 drabbles featuring unusual pairings from the buffyverse1000 LJ community. The only rule: The same pairing/threesome can't be written twice. ~_^

Author's Note: As you may have noticed, the 1000 Pairings Challenge has consumed by life (for the moment ~_^). And I'd written enough drabble-length pairings that it made more sense to put them all here than to mess up the formatting of my main drabble page. So there you have it. My brilliant rationalization for putting them all here. ~_^

Joyce opened the door, surprised that anyone would drop by at this hour. After all, Buffy and her friends were all out for the night. Joyce tried not to think that they might be in some danger.

“Oh.” A little gasp of surprise escaped her lips at the sight of the stranger outside. My, he certainly was dark and handsome, wasn’t he? And those eyes… She felt like she was drowning in those sparkling, black pools. “C-Can I help you?” she asked nervously, running her fingers quickly through her hair.

He smiled, and she sighed. It seemed as though it had been forever since a man smiled at her that way…

“You must be Missus Summers?” he inquired in a deep, husky voice.

Joyce blushed. Oh my. Such an accent… “Yes,” she agreed, feeling young and giggly once more.

“You are even more lovely than your daughter.” He came up to lean against the doorframe, not crossing the threshold, and caught hold of her hand. Slowly, he brought it up to his lips for a slow, languorous kiss.

Oh, oh my… “Y-You’re a friend of Buffy’s?” she inquired, disappointed.

“Count Dracula, at your service,” he agreed.

Joyce laughed at the joke. For, of course, it had to be a joke.

He smiled at her and leaned in closer. “You have a beautiful laugh, Mis—”

“Joyce,” she corrected instinctively.

“Joyce,” he agreed, turning her name into a sensual purr.

She wet her suddenly dry lips. God, her hands were clammy, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She hadn’t felt this way since she’d been a teenager. Or, rather, since that Band Candy last had made her feel like a teenager…

“W-Why don’t you come in and wait for Buffy?” she offered, unthinking.

He smiled and stepped over the threshold, catching her about the waist with one powerful arm. “But I’d so much rather continued my conversation with you.”

Joyce sighed, and he kissed her, and the world just fell away. And, if there happened to be fangs in that kiss, she remained blissfully unaware…

Enraged, Glory struck out at this worthless little vampire. How dare he insult her like that? She, a goddess, his better in every way!

The force of her blow knocked him back onto the bed, and instantly she was upon him, fury overwhelming her, her hands digging in, seeking his heart so that she could squash out his miserable little existence.

He screamed but didn’t give in, and she hated him all the more for it. He was nothing! He couldn’t defy her like this, defeat her. It just wasn’t possible!

Perplexed, angry, and desperate, she halted her tortures. Damn, there had to be something that would make him talk. But then she noticed that, perhaps, she’d stumbled upon another means of persuasion after all…

“Hurts, huh?” she asked him conversationally.

He just glared up at her.

“I could make the hurting stop, y’know.” One hand slid between his legs. Those little trolls she called minions scurried in closer at what looked to be the ultimate fulfillment of all their wet-dreams. She turned back to them angrily. “Do you mind? We’re trying to have a private conversation here!” Instantly, they averted their eyes and scrambled back into the other room. “So, where were we?” Glory turned back to Spike. “Right, I was showing you how much fun this could be…” She squeezed his erection gently. Oh yeah, vampires were kinky little things, and she was turning him on all too well right now. Soon, the Key would be hers.

He hissed in pleasure, closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them once more to speak.

She leaned in excitedly…

“Bugger. Off.”

And leapt back off of him in indignant disbelief, screaming of all the atrocities she’d force upon him for his denial.

As he gazed into those deep, dark pools, Giles felt the pain of the world fade away. A peace washed over him, a false feeling of safety. In his trance, he fell into welcoming arms, Jenny’s bright smile greeting him. Her lips were warm and soft, and when she sat up to straddle his waist, he didn’t even think to object. He’d loved her more than he’d ever realized, and now they were finally going to…

He groaned when she sank down upon him. He couldn’t remember either of them removing their clothes, but that didn’t matter. Her body was heaven, and she moved like a wild nymph, the pinnacle of sexuality and desire. She cried for him, screamed for him, and he screamed for her.

This was wonderful, this was perfect, this was…

And then, as he came down from his climax, his prison faded back into focus, the woman in his lap turned cold and demon-eyed once more, and ecstasy turned to despair.

“Shh,” Drusilla giggled, one finger covering her lips, “mustn’t let William or daddy know how naughty we’ve been in their absence…”

The striking young man caught Ethan’s attention the instant he walked into the bar. It had been such a long time since he’d seen a man like that. Sleek, lean, spare, without all that American laze and bulk added to the mixture. Sipping his drink, his attention perked once more when he heard the fascinating peroxide-blond ask a question of the waitress. British. He might’ve known.

And, oh, this was bringing back the memories. A young Rupert had once affected him in much the same way. Violence and anger with a sharp wit buried beneath it all. Truly lovely…

The man turned electric blue eyes in his direction, and suddenly his question filtered into Ethan’s brain. Damn it! The man was looking for him.

He made a move for the exit, but was cut off by lightning quick speed. And, now that he was closer, there was absolutely no mistaking what this ‘man’ really was. Pulse as still as death and skin almost as pale.

“You Rayne?” the vampire demanded.

Ethan gulped and nodded nervously, trying to find a way out.

“You owned that costume shop back in Sunnyhell? The one that made the kiddies go wild last Halloween?”

“L-Look,” Ethan stuttered with the meekest, most ingratiating smile he could manage, “it wasn’t my fault. Honest. See, there was this—”

“Nearly got myself a taste of my third Slayer thanks so you.” The vampire was smirking now.

Ethan froze, pondering what those words meant to him.

The vampire leaned in close, breathing in deep against Ethan’s neck, inhaling his cologne. “Just wanted to say…thanks, mate…”

And Ethan grinned. “Just how thankful are you, Mister…er…?” His eyes raked appreciatively up and down the lean body before him in the meantime.

“Spike.” The blond gave him a return leer. “And very.”

The instant Drusilla had seen the pretty white witch, glowing and humming with the Music of Spheres, she’d known she had to have her. Her Spike’s latest rejection – for the Slayer, of all creatures! – still stung, but this lovely will-o’-the-wisp made the pain all so away. Soft, sweet flesh that she could bury herself in, wrap around her, and sink her fangs in deep.

Oh, but she must be careful. A dark witch with fiery red hair kept watch over this prize. So Drusilla watched and waited and finally one summer’s night she found her pretty little dove all by herself at a table, while lesser mortals danced around her.

Seeing her opportunity, she slid into the empty chair. “Oh, the stars have just been waiting for our union,” she purred.

Her girl’s eyes opened wide, and she began to stutter.

“No need to cloak yourself in uncertainty,” Dru promised. “No need to hide.”

Intrigued, despite herself, the girl leaned in, taken by this strange but beautiful woman.

Drusilla’s eyes drifted shut, and then she saw it. The name the cracks in the earth had been whispering to her all along. “Tara...”

They both froze in place, her with her stake and him with a machine gun so large she wondered he could even lift the damn thing. Stood stock-still for several seconds before she finally spoke.

“Overkill much?”

His look was cool as he assessed her. She looked weak and innocent, but her eyes... Those were a fellow killer’s eyes. “Beats risking getting in close,” he countered gruffly. “Stake’s the best way to get yourself killed.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I know a bit more about killing vampires than you do.”

“Oh?”

“Well, how many did you kill yesterday?”

He didn’t answer that. The answer was obvious. He’d spent weeks casing out this hideout, planning for every contingency. There hadn’t been time to take any other missions on the sly.

“That’d be less than sixteen, then?” she gloated in triumph.

He blinked, impressed, nodded for her to go ahead of him and watched her appreciatively. What was it with short chicks and high kill counts, anyway?

Spike hadn’t even been hopeful of shagging Harm when he dropped by her apartment that night. After that bleeding eyeball incident, she’d been cold and standoffish. Like it was his fault she’d been possessed by Satanic spirits. But she was still an old flame, and he needed a place to stay now that he was corporeal and homeless, to boot. Cheapskate poofter wouldn’t even get him a nifty apartment.

But, as Spike slipped into Harm’s place, he was surprised to hear moans. From the bedroom. Frowning at first, he approached the open door. The view inside had Junior suddenly painfully reacquainting himself with the sharp teeth of his zipper.

There, on the bed, in a tangle of wild, carnal flesh, Harmony and Fred were rolling around together. Breasts flushed, mouths grappling needily, hands petting.

He gulped and, suddenly, as one, they turned to face him. Surprised, horrified shrieks at first as they scrambled to cover themselves with the sheets. And then, as realization set in, wicked smiles on their faces.

Fred’s hand beckoned him over, and with another gulp, he stepped into the bedroom. He had the feeling he was about to get fucked within an inch of his unlife…

Screams and yells and a blinding-fast beat. Even over the wild cries of the crowd, Sid Vicious’ voice could be heard through the speakers. A man in skin-tight black leather had lifted a girl in similar costume over his shoulders, spinning around at laughing at life, mocking it at every turn.

She had a much more discerning eye that night, however. She’d played with the young, wild punks often enough. Tonight, she’d stumbled upon something darker, deeper, more beautiful than she’d imagined possible.

She came up on him from behind, her long black nails trailing through spiky platinum hair as she sidled up against the leather of his back. “No fun brooding at the bar, hottie,” she whispered against his ear, her tongue flicking out to taste one sharp cheekbone.

Spike turned to face her, disgusted at first, but then shaking that emotion off. These humans were the closest he’d found to the vampire lifestyle of ‘fuck everything and don’t give a fuck’. He’d tried to be better, to step above it just for a moment into the light. Hadn’t worked.

So, resigned to fate, he leered at this little tramped-up beauty instead. “Up for a date, luv?” he purred.

They’d been drinking too much. Laughing over beers and lost kittens. Chumily, they’d returned to his crypt for some late night telly and whiskey. Slowly, Spike had started to think that his best mate wasn’t such a bad-looking bloke after all. Once you got past the wrinkles and all. With such alcohol-distorted thoughts and a lazy leer and innuendo, he slumped over, landing his head right on Clem’s shoulder. Mmm… Warm demon…

The next morning, as Spike woke up to find himself curled up on the couch with the demonic equivalent to a sharpei, he swore off drinking ever again.

See? Spike's a manwhore and is hot with anything. Including the kitchen sink. *debates writing Spike/Kitchen Sink drabble* ~_^