A Slayer Lost (2/11: The Blood Is Life)
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.
~*~
She left him that night; left him alone with his own thoughts, but promised to come back the next night. And come back she did.
He had never seen her look more beautiful than she did standing at his doorway, her arms held out to him. Her small, slender body and its lush curves were outlined in a strappy skintight dress the color of blood. Fitting, he thought. Her blonde curls were pulled off of her face, then cascaded down her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her lips were pink and plump and her skin carried the proud bronzed glow of a true Californian girl, but still Spike found himself imagining her already as his vampire queen, as Drusilla had once been. Only where Dru was weak, Buffy was strong; where she was dark, Buffy was light, and where she was flighty and unpredictable, Buffy was solid and unchanging; as loyal to him as he was to her.
"C'mere, luv," he urged her, outstretching his own arms to take her hands in his and draw her forward. Their fingers intertwined, and seconds later their mouths followed suit as they shared the tenderest of kisses.
Tenderness progressed into passion, and soon Spike's hands found themselves on her shoulders, sliding down the straps before letting the material pool around her ankles, leaving her body bared to him.
"Cor, pet, you're so bloody beautiful," he breathed into her ear, and lowered her to the bed beneath them.
They took their time with one another, kissing and caressing each available body part, memorizing this feeling for the near future, when they would no longer be Slayer and vampire, but vampire and vampire, strong and proud; equals in status as they always had been in spirit.
When he knew she was close to the edge, he paused, looking down at her.
"Are you ready, sweetheart?" he asked. Heavy-lidded, passion-drugged eyes focused blearily on his own with an unmistakable certainty.
She nodded.
All at once, Spike sank his teeth into her delicate throat, knowing the first time to often be painful. Sure enough, she screamed, whether from pain or pleasure or both he was unsure. All he knew was that what he himself was feeling was nothing less than pure ecstasy.
Never had he experienced anything so powerful. Her blood flowing into him. And not just blood, of course; the blood of the Slayer. A sweeter, headier, more potent taste than he had ever experienced. Even more so than either Slayer he'd killed in the past; neither of them has given themselves to him willingly and freely; neither of them had loved him.
After what seemed like hours, Spike extracted his fangs from Buffy's neck before he took too much. She purred happily as he rolled them over onto their backs, lapping at the wound.
"So...what now?" she murmured against his bare chest.
"Now it's your turn."
"Mmm...my turn. What do I have to do?" she asked sleepily. He gently moved her off of him to take hold of a large, ornately carved knife sitting on the bedside table. Grimacing against the pain, he sliced through his wrist, creating a jagged cut. Buffy's eyes met his, only halfway comprehending.
"Drink, luv," he urged.
"But..."
"You're the Slayer, you should know these things; a vampire is made by the exchange of blood on three consecutive nights." She stared blankly as the crimson liquid spilled from the ivory skin onto the bedsheets of nearly the same color, mingling with traces of her own. This was it, then; the bond between a vampire and his or her sire; bloods mixing, making them one.
She lifted Spike's wrist to her mouth.
"You won't like it, pet," he warned her, but still she brought the cut to her lips and drank, forcing herself not to break the connection.
It was everything she had experienced with Dracula and more so. Tamping down the gag reflex that threatened to act up at the taste of the sticky metallic liquid, she tasted a taste she somehow knew instinctively to be Spike. It was exhilarating - bringing his life force into her, knowing that he already possessed a part of hers. She tasted, felt, both him and her, as she knew she would come to do many times in the future. Eagerly, she pressed her lips harder against his arm, attempting to bite into the skin above the cut with her blunt incisors, wanting to feel him surrounding her, his life force in her mouth, his body in her body, his breath in her ear. Her own heartbeat pounded in her chest and her head began to spin...
The next thing Buffy knew, Spike was pulling his wrist back. Her ears were still ringing, and her tongue was coated with a thick layer of blood. She met his eyes, and he brought his own blood-covered lips to hers, and their tastes and essences mingled again. Slowly, Spike lowered her to the bed and there they lay, clutching one another tightly, as the sun rose in the sky, spilling its golden light across the horizon.
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.
~*~
She left him that night; left him alone with his own thoughts, but promised to come back the next night. And come back she did.
He had never seen her look more beautiful than she did standing at his doorway, her arms held out to him. Her small, slender body and its lush curves were outlined in a strappy skintight dress the color of blood. Fitting, he thought. Her blonde curls were pulled off of her face, then cascaded down her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her lips were pink and plump and her skin carried the proud bronzed glow of a true Californian girl, but still Spike found himself imagining her already as his vampire queen, as Drusilla had once been. Only where Dru was weak, Buffy was strong; where she was dark, Buffy was light, and where she was flighty and unpredictable, Buffy was solid and unchanging; as loyal to him as he was to her.
"C'mere, luv," he urged her, outstretching his own arms to take her hands in his and draw her forward. Their fingers intertwined, and seconds later their mouths followed suit as they shared the tenderest of kisses.
Tenderness progressed into passion, and soon Spike's hands found themselves on her shoulders, sliding down the straps before letting the material pool around her ankles, leaving her body bared to him.
"Cor, pet, you're so bloody beautiful," he breathed into her ear, and lowered her to the bed beneath them.
They took their time with one another, kissing and caressing each available body part, memorizing this feeling for the near future, when they would no longer be Slayer and vampire, but vampire and vampire, strong and proud; equals in status as they always had been in spirit.
When he knew she was close to the edge, he paused, looking down at her.
"Are you ready, sweetheart?" he asked. Heavy-lidded, passion-drugged eyes focused blearily on his own with an unmistakable certainty.
She nodded.
All at once, Spike sank his teeth into her delicate throat, knowing the first time to often be painful. Sure enough, she screamed, whether from pain or pleasure or both he was unsure. All he knew was that what he himself was feeling was nothing less than pure ecstasy.
Never had he experienced anything so powerful. Her blood flowing into him. And not just blood, of course; the blood of the Slayer. A sweeter, headier, more potent taste than he had ever experienced. Even more so than either Slayer he'd killed in the past; neither of them has given themselves to him willingly and freely; neither of them had loved him.
After what seemed like hours, Spike extracted his fangs from Buffy's neck before he took too much. She purred happily as he rolled them over onto their backs, lapping at the wound.
"So...what now?" she murmured against his bare chest.
"Now it's your turn."
"Mmm...my turn. What do I have to do?" she asked sleepily. He gently moved her off of him to take hold of a large, ornately carved knife sitting on the bedside table. Grimacing against the pain, he sliced through his wrist, creating a jagged cut. Buffy's eyes met his, only halfway comprehending.
"Drink, luv," he urged.
"But..."
"You're the Slayer, you should know these things; a vampire is made by the exchange of blood on three consecutive nights." She stared blankly as the crimson liquid spilled from the ivory skin onto the bedsheets of nearly the same color, mingling with traces of her own. This was it, then; the bond between a vampire and his or her sire; bloods mixing, making them one.
She lifted Spike's wrist to her mouth.
"You won't like it, pet," he warned her, but still she brought the cut to her lips and drank, forcing herself not to break the connection.
It was everything she had experienced with Dracula and more so. Tamping down the gag reflex that threatened to act up at the taste of the sticky metallic liquid, she tasted a taste she somehow knew instinctively to be Spike. It was exhilarating - bringing his life force into her, knowing that he already possessed a part of hers. She tasted, felt, both him and her, as she knew she would come to do many times in the future. Eagerly, she pressed her lips harder against his arm, attempting to bite into the skin above the cut with her blunt incisors, wanting to feel him surrounding her, his life force in her mouth, his body in her body, his breath in her ear. Her own heartbeat pounded in her chest and her head began to spin...
The next thing Buffy knew, Spike was pulling his wrist back. Her ears were still ringing, and her tongue was coated with a thick layer of blood. She met his eyes, and he brought his own blood-covered lips to hers, and their tastes and essences mingled again. Slowly, Spike lowered her to the bed and there they lay, clutching one another tightly, as the sun rose in the sky, spilling its golden light across the horizon.
