Disclaimer: Being vague doesn't make it any more mine.
Summary: Drusilla finds someone to sire to fill the Spike-shaped hole in her life.
Notes: Written on the suggestion/request of staringiscaring, in this thread at buffyquestions. (Thanks!) If I expand this into a real story, I'll repost it; as it is I don't think it's even long enough for a cut. :)
The smell of plaster replaced the smell of blood that had pervaded the street outside the studio. Inside, it was all sketches and wooden tables and compartmentalized tools, just as he had left it the day before. Now, the true art form had been found in the murder of critics and innocents alike, and the two vampires entered the former sanctuary of the artist with a shared style of detached interest. The younger one shook his head in amazement and chuckled softly. “I was a fool,” he said.
His sire said nothing to deny it, but she ran her fingers through the chalky dust on the nearest flat surface and pressed them to his cheek, marking him with white fingerprints as she had done earlier with red ones. “Show me,” she purred. “Show me all that was you.”
He took her hand and led her to a stand against the opposite wall, bearing a large bust that eclipsed the beauty of all the other sculptures in the studio. “It's you,” he said unnecessarily. The woman portrayed could be none other than her; features locked in seductive majesty, hair sweeping wildly over her twisting shoulders. “This is what I wanted you to see. Though now it seems...I was arrogant to even try, to think I could capture you. If I had known what you truly are...”
“Your terror would have eviscerated you. Owl with a mouse, talons in your heart.”
He nodded gravely, studying the white planes of the bust. “After you came to me, I couldn't think of anything else. You were my life already, Drusilla. You are the unholy goddess I was meant for since the moment of my birth. This--” he gestured with disgust at his representation of her face-- “this is not you.”
The vampiress shook her head. “No.” She reached out with both hands and picked up the heavy sculpture as if it weighed no more than a porcelain doll, then lifted it over her head and threw it to the ground. “See,” she said, excitement igniting her eyes even as shattered pieces of her skidded across the floor, “now it's me.”