Much love and oodles of respect to nichbuket, cordykitten (for her four reviews, you crazy kitten) , Miss Snooze and Brunettepet (for all six reviews, you nutter-butter) :)
Hugs from me and hope you will all like the following!
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Chapter Twenty-Five: Pain
Sire and Childe
The man stared at the water glass standing on the table in front of him. The diner was nearly empty of patrons, but the slow murmur of the two older gentlemen at the counter, and the slight squeal of the two children squirming in their seats as their mother patiently told them to be still, didn't bother the man. He was intent on his glass of water.
He was sure he had seen something move in it.
He was sure that there was some kind of creature in there just waiting to grow tentacles, splinter its breakable prison and reach for him; wrap its cold, wet arms around him and squeeze the life out of him.
He was so sure that he paid for the food that was yet to arrive, leaving a generous tip and with trembling fingers put on his jacket, correcting his glasses slightly before pulling his hunting cap down low over his ears and heading out into the swirling snow.
They were coming for him.
He could feel it.
x
Spike leaned against a shop-window full of lacy underwear and enticingly intricate boudoir slips. Dru had favored red, but he had always been partial to black. It stood out against pale skin almost as if it had been conscientiously painted on with fluid brushstrokes. Peeling those brushstrokes off had always been the most tantalizing act of pure sensuality.
He lit a fag, taking a long drag on it before surveying his surroundings. People were walking, chatting happily. He couldn't remember what day it was, but by the looks of it, it was Friday. Young women wore high heels that clattered against the pavement, making him think of long legs, and all those secret places they could lead.
Buffy's face made a cameo behind his eyelids and he blinked it away in exasperation. His gaze fastened on a dark-skinned beauty not too far away. She reminded him of the previous owner of his duster and he made his decision in one blink, pushing away from the window and beginning to approach her.
She looked wholesome, and was smiling at one of her girlfriends. They were talking about what sounded like school. A teacher who was giving them all kinds of pain for not finishing an assignment on time. Life could be such a bitch.
Spike put on a self-assured semi-smirk as he rounded on the girl, placing himself smoothly between her and her friend, getting the eyes of the mark in his.
"Hello, poppet," he purred.
"Excuse me," the friend said, but the girl paid her no attention.
Spike's smirk turned into a smile.
"Want to see something?" he asked.
The girl nodded slowly, and he brought his hand into hers. She seemed to notice the cool of his touch because for a second she wavered, but then she let herself be led in his wake, her gaze not leaving his.
"Trish!" the girl called after her.
She sounded pissed off. She wouldn't cause any trouble. She'd probably storm home, offended by her friend so easily ditching her and scalded by the fact that she hadn't been the one chosen.
He pulled the girl into an L shaped alley, getting her to the tip of it before he leaned her gently against the wall. It really wasn't so bad, this. It wasn't like she was running through a thicket, stumbling and crying, mascara running, legs aching, heart pounding. It wasn't like he wanted her to scream. Though that could be fun, too. No, usually he just wanted an easy kill, and it was quite a nice way to go, considering all the other things that could happen to a person.
He brought her hair to the side, eyeing her neck and the vein which exposed itself, pulsating with heat, bidding him to take it. He stroked the spot with one finger. How many had he tasted? How many mouthfuls of life had been given to saturate him? He made the muscles of his face shift, sensed how the world took on a different set of vibrations when he stripped himself fully of the few human shackles he was bound to, and brought one hand to grasp the girl's jaw. He made her move her head so that her eyes met his again. Hers were green, he noticed briefly, as the placated expression they had wore switched into one filled with fear, her body beginning to shake as tears rose in her eyes.
He stared at her and wondered why he should feel so taken aback.
He let his hold go, not even trying to stop her as she started running, the sound of her feet growing faint until disappearing entirely; this being the moment he understood what he had just done, and he clenched his hands into fists.
"Bloody hell!" he yelled at the wall.
A tickling sensation slid over his shoulders.
Slayer.
He didn't have time to turn around before her foot connected with the small of his back, sending him brutally into the bricks of the wall. He spun around against it. She met his gaze and he felt the old excitement at fighting her fill him to the brink, running over in delightful little swirls that tasted sweetly on his tongue.
"Hello, love," he said softly.
She smiled with nothing but loathing before she attacked, punching him in the stomach, in the chest and finally on the chin. He caught her hand with one of his, snickering with enjoyment.
"Never thought I'd be doing this again," he admitted, pushing her harshly away from him.
She didn't fall, but regained her balance easily, observing him.
"Neither did I," she replied, ducking as he kicked up a leg, answering the movement by kicking one of hers out and hitting him in the stomach, making him fall back against the wall once more.
"Really?" he asked, meeting her as she approached him, both of them delivering and blocking a rapid series of punches before he got one perfectly aimed at her cheek and she spun around twice before hitting the cement. "Why's that?" he added, walking up to her as she got to her feet, grabbing her by the neck from behind and pulling her back against him, saying into her ear: "Because my heart is bleeding for you?"
"No," she said, reaching back and grabbing the wrist of the hand holding her and flipping him, making him land on his back at her feet. "Because he can't kill anymore," she filled in, stepping over him and placing one foot on either side of his head, reaching down and grabbing the collar of his T, bringing her arm back to deliver a killer punch. "Also, not your heart," she finished.
He smirked, quickly moving his hands up and making her legs fold at the knees, it being impossible for her to avert straddling his face and his tongue was hard against her crotch as he licked her pants in one long stroke. He could smell her arousal. Could almost taste it. His smirk broadened, his hands placing themselves at the small of her back, giving her another shove, making her go on all fours as he sat up and turned around, grabbing her as she was getting up and pushing her up against the nearest wall.
"You sure about that?" he murmured in her ear.
She managed to turn around, mostly because he let her, her gaze filled with disgust. He smiled at the sight of it, feeling her hands slide up his chest, her fingers anything but violent in that moment, before she gave him a push that sent him flying seven feet. He landed with a hard thud; he was chuckling as he propped himself up on his arms.
"Then I guess the only question is: who are you really fighting, love?" he said, watching her slowly approach him. "Me," he added. "Or him?"
She leaned over him, watching him for a few moments before delivering a punch to his nose. She hit him again. And again. She seemed to contemplate it, and finally rounded off with a fourth.
He thought she was done, but she grabbed him by the duster and pulled him to his feet, getting him moving in no tender manner.
"You wanna make small talk?" he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
"I've no interest in making anything with you," she retorted.
He faced forward. He knew he was bleeding from a cut on his right brow, and his mouth felt swollen beyond recognition, but he was strangely elated. And he smiled again, ignoring the discomfort.
x
Buffy rose when the door of Giles' apartment was kicked open and the stakee was shoved through it. The Slayer followed. They were both sporting bruises and the vampiress felt her heart sink, unsure of why. She walked up to the abomination that was her former lover, eyeing him in silence. He had been wearing a gleeful smile, but under her gaze it diminished until there was not a trace of it left.
Her eyes narrowed and then she gave him a precise punch on the nose, turning from him and walking a few steps away, mainly because she wasn't sure she wouldn't hit him some more if she stayed anywhere too near to him.
Spike put one finger up with an expression speaking of his ability to just about control his aggravation.
"Can you girls stop with the bloody punching already?" he requested.
"Maybe you should leave," the vampiress murmured.
"Hallelujah," Xander said, standing a few feet behind the vampiress.
"Stay out of it," Spike warned, eyes in the vampiress'.
"It's obvious you're not going to even try," she said.
"Try what? Try to behave? Try to sit still and be quiet? Try to bow my head in thanks that you're so bloody graciously letting me stay?!" he exclaimed.
"You don't think I have the right to expect that?" she asked.
"Of course you do, you have all the rights and I'm just wrong," he yelled. "You see, that's our problem, that's the problem we've had from the very beginning, you thinking this is something I can just rid myself of, when really, it's what I am. I'm not going to bloody change for anyone, and I'm certainly not going to bleeding well try for you!"
"Then what do you think I should do with you? You think I'll just let you go hunting?"
"What, am I supposed to drink blood out of a mug, like some sodding cripple who's lost every instinct ever given to him? I will not be crippled for you!"
"Then leave!"
"I will not!"
"Goddamnit, Spike!" she yelled, just as he was hit over the head from behind, a quizzical look placing itself on his face before he tumbled to the floor in an ungracious heap.
"Oddly liberating," the Slayer smirked, eyes in the vampiress'. "I have an idea."
x
"Hi, baby," Willow greeted Oz with a smile, receiving a kiss before he removed his jacket and pulled up a chair to sit down next to her.
"So," he said. "What're we doing?"
He frowned when they heard someone mumbling behind the large bookcases standing on the upper level of the library. Willow shook her head a little.
"I'm not entirely sure," she replied.
Giles came down the stairs, holding three books, stacked one on top of the other, all of them open, all of them heavy looking. He was reading from the top one, taking no notice to Oz's presence as he put the volumes down on the table to join a countless mountain of others.
"But I wonder..." Giles was saying. "Then again. Yes, yes. This might be... No, no. All wrong. But look, see here... Yes. Perhaps. No."
Suddenly he paused on a page he had just turned, staring at it for a long moment before picking the book up for an even closer look.
Oz and Willow exchanged a glance.
"Bloody hell," Giles nearly hissed.
Willow blinked, her hand reaching for Oz's.
"I'm scared," she whispered out of one corner of her mouth and Oz smiled a little, squeezing her hand comfortingly.
"Look at that!" Giles exclaimed, tossing the book unceremoniously on the table before the other two. "Notice anything familiar?"
Willow eyed the two lines running parallel to one another, surrounded by a mass of very small, printed text.
"Those are on the dagger," she said.
"Yes, only they are not a symbol," Giles stated. "They are a signature."
"A signature?" Oz inquired.
"Yes," Giles nodded. "Let's go back to the house. Immediately."