CHANGE OF SPACE
4
By Annie
Rated: R Summary: Lex finds Spike, but not in the best shape he's ever been in. Disclaimer: Never been mine, still working on it. Spoilers: General Season 5 of Buffy and Intervention in particular. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
4
I opened the heavy door slowly, peering around it at the increasing view of the inside of the crypt as I did so. It was dark inside, of course, which was exactly what I would have expected, lit only by candles and the dim glow of an old black and white movie on a medium-sized television set. Theft of services, I thought, and wondered how long the extension cord was that Spike had used for the set. And for the refrigerator I finally saw him standing near as I opened the door all the way. He was in almost total darkness there, and my heart started pounding in my chest at the dim sight of him. He was standing at a small table, pouring some type of whiskey into what appeared to be a glass of blood. He startled me when he spoke, even though he did so quietly, as if we had already been talking together for a while.
"I knew it was you, felt you coming a mile away," he growled, throwing my own words back to me. "Get back to the cornfields."
"Nice to see you, too, Spike," I countered, turning to close the door firmly behind me, taking a few steps closer to him slowly. "Not happy to see me?"
"Bloody ecstatic," he replied sardonically, downing the glass and preparing another. I stood silent as he sipped at this second drink and then walked closer to the middle of the crypt in the dimness, closer to where I was waiting.
"Nice place you have here," I was starting to say, when I got a dimly- lit view, finally, of his face. He looked bad. Looked like someone's favorite punching bag. An irrational sense of protectiveness almost made me dizzy, made my blood boil.
I went closer to him and reached out to gently touch his purple jaw, aching to see the brilliantly-planed face I knew was hidden beneath the vicious bruises.
"Who did this to you?" I demanded. "The Slayer?"
He smirked, or tried to, I could tell it was painful for him to move the muscles of his face. "Not directly," he told me, stepping away from my touch.
"The Slayer." I repeated. "I'll."
He almost laughed, taking another deep drink. "You'll what? She'll kick your spoiled, worthless ass right back to the heartland. Leave the Slayer out of this. Whatever this is."
He emptied the glass again, and I had no idea how many he may have had before I arrived, but he was well on his way to being spectacularly drunk.
"No manners, Spike? You could at least offer me a drink, seeing as I came all this way."
He turned and held up the whiskey bottle, a touch unsteady on his feet. "Fancy blood or bourbon?"
I shook my head, mostly in an attempt to clear it. "Bourbon," I told him shortly. This was nothing I had expected. Whatever was going on here, I probably should get away from it as soon as possible. But being this close, I couldn't leave. Not yet. And apparently Spike was still harmless to humans. I couldn't imagine anyone having the strength to damage him like that if he was unchipped. I wanted to kill whoever had done it.
He brought the two drinks over, and looked from one to the other, as if trying to decide which was mine. I took the glass without the added blood from his hand.
"Very funny, Spike. Now do you want to tell me what the hell is going on here, or do I have to get drunk first?"
"Short version?" Spike asked, sitting down on a sarcophagus that was obviously being used as a bed. I pushed the thought of bed away for the moment, and drew nearer to him unconsciously, magnetically.
"That'll do." I replied, taking a sip of my bourbon. Cheap stuff. I made a mental note to visit the nearest liquor store tomorrow and stock this place with something drinkable.
He lit a cigarette calmly and blew the smoke toward the floor. "Okay, short version. I got my ass kicked by a slutty Hellgod to protect the Slayer's little sis, and then they took away my robot. End of story."
I sipped again, coming even closer, as I tried to comprehend this mini-tale. "They took away your robot?" I repeated. "And the Hellgod is a slut?"
He considered this a moment.
"Well, she might be, I don't know, I didn't fuck her. Sure I could have. Would have liked to give the bleedin' robot a few more rolls with the ol' Spike, though. But I can't. Not anymore. It's over." He inhaled deeply on the cigarette again, and I could feel the hurt coming off him. He emptied his glass yet again. "I need another drink," he mumbled.
I stopped him from climbing off the sarcophagus by coming in so close he would have had to knock me over to do it. "Here," I said simply, raising my arm toward his face and turning my wrist upward. I saw his nostrils flare just the slightest bit, and then he pushed my arm away and laughed darkly.
"Is that what you came here for? I don't want you. I want another drink. I really don't need any more bloody distractions at this point. Except a drink. I'm not as hungry as I was back in Smallville. Shouldn't have gone there anyway. Should have been here."
It almost seemed like he had spoken that last to himself. Whatever was going on around here, I would obviously have to wait till tomorrow to find out.
"Fine," I agreed finally. "Just stay here, I'll get you a drink."
"Don't forget the blood," he snarled, laying back and throwing his arms above his head, as if in surrender.
This certainly wasn't going as planned. I used careful fingertips to retrieve a bag of blood from the refrigerator, praying it wasn't human, and dumped half of it into the glass, filling it up with the rest of the bourbon. By the time I took it back to him, he was out like a light.
I put it back in the refrigerator and went to stand by him, breathing him in, taking him in with every sense I could muster. He was so beat up, and it made me murderously angry. He was defenseless, and beautiful, and I wanted to kill whoever had done this. Aside from the fact that this meeting had not gone as I had planned and hoped, someone had tried to destroy him. From the looks of him, they had almost succeeded. If he had been truly gone when I got here, I don't know what I would have done, but it wouldn't have been pretty.
I would come back tomorrow, when he would hopefully be sober, and make my proposition to him. I didn't see how he could possibly refuse a win- win situation. The first winner being, of course, me.
I should have left then, should have just gone quietly back to the hotel, but he drew me as no one ever had, and I had to stay a while, just looking. Watching for the rising of a chest that never moved, noticing the way that beam of moonlight struck the side of his face and glistened eerily on his hair. Looking wasn't enough then, and I had to reach out tentatively and run a hand over the swollen flesh hiding his face from me. Ran my hand down the cold silk of his throat and dipped my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt to feel his chest. Not breathing. This thought twisted my insides, and I almost tried to awaken him, make sure I hadn't imagined the feel of his swollen cock in my hand and his teeth in my throat as I came that night.
I brought my hand back out from under the shirt and ran it down his arms slowly. Odd to think I might be doing this and he wouldn't know, would never wake up to feel it or see me. I brushed my fingers over the front of his black jeans and got even harder myself when I felt his erection. A hardness he was unaware of, in his stupor, but which I was content to caress through the material. I laid the flat of my hand on his cock, and he moaned involuntarily, hips thrusting up unconsciously to press into my heat. He moaned, and I froze in mid-movement. More than a moan, a word, torn from bruised lips, spoken not with hate but with deep need and desire.
"Buffy," my vampire whispered yearningly.
My heart twisted with unexpected hurt. What the hell was going on in Sunnydale?
By Annie
Rated: R Summary: Lex finds Spike, but not in the best shape he's ever been in. Disclaimer: Never been mine, still working on it. Spoilers: General Season 5 of Buffy and Intervention in particular. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
4
I opened the heavy door slowly, peering around it at the increasing view of the inside of the crypt as I did so. It was dark inside, of course, which was exactly what I would have expected, lit only by candles and the dim glow of an old black and white movie on a medium-sized television set. Theft of services, I thought, and wondered how long the extension cord was that Spike had used for the set. And for the refrigerator I finally saw him standing near as I opened the door all the way. He was in almost total darkness there, and my heart started pounding in my chest at the dim sight of him. He was standing at a small table, pouring some type of whiskey into what appeared to be a glass of blood. He startled me when he spoke, even though he did so quietly, as if we had already been talking together for a while.
"I knew it was you, felt you coming a mile away," he growled, throwing my own words back to me. "Get back to the cornfields."
"Nice to see you, too, Spike," I countered, turning to close the door firmly behind me, taking a few steps closer to him slowly. "Not happy to see me?"
"Bloody ecstatic," he replied sardonically, downing the glass and preparing another. I stood silent as he sipped at this second drink and then walked closer to the middle of the crypt in the dimness, closer to where I was waiting.
"Nice place you have here," I was starting to say, when I got a dimly- lit view, finally, of his face. He looked bad. Looked like someone's favorite punching bag. An irrational sense of protectiveness almost made me dizzy, made my blood boil.
I went closer to him and reached out to gently touch his purple jaw, aching to see the brilliantly-planed face I knew was hidden beneath the vicious bruises.
"Who did this to you?" I demanded. "The Slayer?"
He smirked, or tried to, I could tell it was painful for him to move the muscles of his face. "Not directly," he told me, stepping away from my touch.
"The Slayer." I repeated. "I'll."
He almost laughed, taking another deep drink. "You'll what? She'll kick your spoiled, worthless ass right back to the heartland. Leave the Slayer out of this. Whatever this is."
He emptied the glass again, and I had no idea how many he may have had before I arrived, but he was well on his way to being spectacularly drunk.
"No manners, Spike? You could at least offer me a drink, seeing as I came all this way."
He turned and held up the whiskey bottle, a touch unsteady on his feet. "Fancy blood or bourbon?"
I shook my head, mostly in an attempt to clear it. "Bourbon," I told him shortly. This was nothing I had expected. Whatever was going on here, I probably should get away from it as soon as possible. But being this close, I couldn't leave. Not yet. And apparently Spike was still harmless to humans. I couldn't imagine anyone having the strength to damage him like that if he was unchipped. I wanted to kill whoever had done it.
He brought the two drinks over, and looked from one to the other, as if trying to decide which was mine. I took the glass without the added blood from his hand.
"Very funny, Spike. Now do you want to tell me what the hell is going on here, or do I have to get drunk first?"
"Short version?" Spike asked, sitting down on a sarcophagus that was obviously being used as a bed. I pushed the thought of bed away for the moment, and drew nearer to him unconsciously, magnetically.
"That'll do." I replied, taking a sip of my bourbon. Cheap stuff. I made a mental note to visit the nearest liquor store tomorrow and stock this place with something drinkable.
He lit a cigarette calmly and blew the smoke toward the floor. "Okay, short version. I got my ass kicked by a slutty Hellgod to protect the Slayer's little sis, and then they took away my robot. End of story."
I sipped again, coming even closer, as I tried to comprehend this mini-tale. "They took away your robot?" I repeated. "And the Hellgod is a slut?"
He considered this a moment.
"Well, she might be, I don't know, I didn't fuck her. Sure I could have. Would have liked to give the bleedin' robot a few more rolls with the ol' Spike, though. But I can't. Not anymore. It's over." He inhaled deeply on the cigarette again, and I could feel the hurt coming off him. He emptied his glass yet again. "I need another drink," he mumbled.
I stopped him from climbing off the sarcophagus by coming in so close he would have had to knock me over to do it. "Here," I said simply, raising my arm toward his face and turning my wrist upward. I saw his nostrils flare just the slightest bit, and then he pushed my arm away and laughed darkly.
"Is that what you came here for? I don't want you. I want another drink. I really don't need any more bloody distractions at this point. Except a drink. I'm not as hungry as I was back in Smallville. Shouldn't have gone there anyway. Should have been here."
It almost seemed like he had spoken that last to himself. Whatever was going on around here, I would obviously have to wait till tomorrow to find out.
"Fine," I agreed finally. "Just stay here, I'll get you a drink."
"Don't forget the blood," he snarled, laying back and throwing his arms above his head, as if in surrender.
This certainly wasn't going as planned. I used careful fingertips to retrieve a bag of blood from the refrigerator, praying it wasn't human, and dumped half of it into the glass, filling it up with the rest of the bourbon. By the time I took it back to him, he was out like a light.
I put it back in the refrigerator and went to stand by him, breathing him in, taking him in with every sense I could muster. He was so beat up, and it made me murderously angry. He was defenseless, and beautiful, and I wanted to kill whoever had done this. Aside from the fact that this meeting had not gone as I had planned and hoped, someone had tried to destroy him. From the looks of him, they had almost succeeded. If he had been truly gone when I got here, I don't know what I would have done, but it wouldn't have been pretty.
I would come back tomorrow, when he would hopefully be sober, and make my proposition to him. I didn't see how he could possibly refuse a win- win situation. The first winner being, of course, me.
I should have left then, should have just gone quietly back to the hotel, but he drew me as no one ever had, and I had to stay a while, just looking. Watching for the rising of a chest that never moved, noticing the way that beam of moonlight struck the side of his face and glistened eerily on his hair. Looking wasn't enough then, and I had to reach out tentatively and run a hand over the swollen flesh hiding his face from me. Ran my hand down the cold silk of his throat and dipped my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt to feel his chest. Not breathing. This thought twisted my insides, and I almost tried to awaken him, make sure I hadn't imagined the feel of his swollen cock in my hand and his teeth in my throat as I came that night.
I brought my hand back out from under the shirt and ran it down his arms slowly. Odd to think I might be doing this and he wouldn't know, would never wake up to feel it or see me. I brushed my fingers over the front of his black jeans and got even harder myself when I felt his erection. A hardness he was unaware of, in his stupor, but which I was content to caress through the material. I laid the flat of my hand on his cock, and he moaned involuntarily, hips thrusting up unconsciously to press into my heat. He moaned, and I froze in mid-movement. More than a moan, a word, torn from bruised lips, spoken not with hate but with deep need and desire.
"Buffy," my vampire whispered yearningly.
My heart twisted with unexpected hurt. What the hell was going on in Sunnydale?
