* Parts of this chapter are edited to comply with fanfiction.net's smut rules. The full unedited version can be found at http://www.gypsy-dreaming.net.
Riley saw red; careful, controlled, red -- the color of anger, the color of betrayal. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he bent down to pick up the hard rectangular object from the wet grass. His hand closed tightly around the metal, squeezing it, wishing he could break it with just the strength of his rage. Of course, he thought bitterly, I can't.
He growled and flung the lighter, cursing his own humanity as he watched the lighter arc in the thick night air before falling with a low thud to the ground. Idiot, he thought, the entire time you were with her, the entire time that you spent loving her she was with someone else, loving someone -- something! -- else! He growled at the fact his fists clenching as he glanced back down the path that the blonde couple had taken, drunk on their happiness they hadn't noticed him watching, which meant, he realized, that they didn't know that he knew all about them.
He stilled, his anger, cooling, hardening as a plan formed in his mind. This was, he realized, the perfect opportunity to make her pay, to make them both pay for what they'd done to him. Calmer now, Riley walked over to where the lighter lay on the ground and picked it up, caressing the cool metal.
Yes, he thought with a bitter smile, she'll pay. She'll pay dearly.
The shrill ring of his cell phone jolted him out of his reverie. He hesitated for a split second, torn between curiosity and the desire to continue his murderous train of thought. He answered it.
A calculating smile spread across his features as he recognized the voice on the other end -- General Arthur MacGruder. "Yes sir," he adopted the carefully cool, obedient voice he had learned during his time in the Initiative, "I can be there promptly, sir." With a click the line went dead.
For a moment, Riley stared at the smooth glass screen of the phone, the brief conversation playing through his head. The General wanted to see him, immediately, on urgent business. Business that he had hinted Riley might have a personal investment in. Odds are, Riley thought soberly, he's found out about the little slut and her boy-toy too.
Replacing the phone in the pocket of his khakis he stood for a moment longer, inhaling the warm night air as he sought to calm his nerves. Now was not the time to be rash, he reprimanded himself, it was essential that he didn't let the General know that he knew about Buffy and Hostile 17. It would be better to keep his hand guarded, he smiled evilly, who knows what opportunity for revenge the General might provide him with?
Tucking the lighter in his pocket as well, Riley started down the quiet night street. Fortune, he decided, was definitely on his side.
* * *
'Your eyes shine bright, like a Jesus nightlight
I'd like to touch your positive vibes.
Indifferent eyes won't give me the time,
May I help put aside your moral fiber?'
Buffy let out a small gasp as the hard wood of the door bumped against her back. Spike's mouth quickly reclaimed hers, leading her through searing kiss after searing kiss. She moaned, her hands winding throughout the peroxide locks of his hair, her skin straining to touch his through the cloth barriers of their clothes. She ground his pelvis against her and she lout a whimper, her head arching back so that his cool lips could trail down the slender white column.
Her mouth burned and she pulled his face back up to hers for another kiss, her tongue tracing his, her soft lips giving way to his hard demanding ones. With a groan Spike pulled away from her, allowing her the chance to catch her breathe. Her mouth caught his again, briefly, before turning and beginning to unlock the door.
"Your mum," he whispered against her ear, her slick scent filling his nostrils. She smelled like sunshine and sand; like ocean water and sweat; and, underneath it all, was the scent that he could only describe as quintessentially Buffy. He could just drown in the smell of her.
She shook her head as she pushed the door open to reveal the dark foyer, "Another art buying trip. Summer's her big buying month. Spike nodded as she closed the door behind them and turned to face him. Her hazel eyes roamed the harsh, angular, planes of his face. The contrasting textures of his face were heightened by the darkness thy stood in. Despite her limited vision though she was keenly aware of the swirling colors of his eyes, colors that darkened as he looked at her.
He leaned forward slowly, savoring the anticipation the filled the moment before he touched her. She gasped at the feather light feel of his fingers on her collarbone, tracing the hollow of the delicate skin. One long finger ran up the side of her neck to just below her ear before plunging into the sea of her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed as he guided her gently forward, his lips hovering an electric centimeter from hers. Her pink tongue darted out and moistened the skin; a blatant invitation if he ever saw one.
He pressed his lips to hers gently, almost chastely, and she sighed and shivered at the limited contact. He pulled back only a fraction of the inch as she savored the moment with closed eyes. Finally they fluttered open, the hazel deepening to green as her fingers entwined with his and she tugged him towards the stairs, "Come."
'You're dressed in white, my face is white,
I'd like to be a colorful sight to see.
I'm only here in a background,
Here on the ground lies my head.'
He followed her in a daze, tripping up the carpeted stairs, the heat of her hand branding him as she led him through the narrow darkened halls to the door at the end; the door to her room. He paused for a moment on the threshold, his eyes taking in the surroundings which had become a familiar backdrop for their lovemaking during that first fateful week. The week that ha changed their lives. Purposefully, he stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
She stood before the bed, her eyes shining in the moonlight that streamed in through the window, her lips moist and parted, waiting. He came before her slowly, one cool hand coming to rest on the deceptively delicate curve of her shoulder. Her eyes closed as desire lanced through her. His fingers slipped beneath the flimsy cotton trap of her tang top and guided it gently down the length of her arm. She shrugged her shoulders and the thin material hung from the tips of her breasts for what seemed an interminable moment before slipping down the floor to pool at her feet.
She wasn't wearing a bra. Spike's mouth went dry as he took in the sight of her breasts, golden and proud in the darkness, the nipples flushed and ready for him. His hand moved downwards to cup one in the palm of his hand, his thumb flicking over the tip, causing Buffy's head to fall back and a small whimper to emit from her throat. He took another step closer, his other hand moving to the waistband of her jeans. He undid them deftly, moving the cloth down her hips until it too lay at her feet and she stood before him naked except for the sheer material of her thong.
His thumbs hooked in the thin material, prepared to remove that least barrier as well when she pressed her hand to his chest, "No, not yet."
He nodded and let her run her hands over the hard planes of his chest. Her tiny hands slipped beneath the heavy leather material of his duster and pushing the dark leather from his shoulders to the floor. She pressed against him, the heat from her breasts burning his skin through the thin material off his tee. Her mouth found his and she kissed him slowly, promisingly, her blunt teeth catching his lower lip and running across it gently. Her deft wands slid down to the waistband of his pants, hovering there for a painful second before sliding up underneath his shirt and coaxing it over his head.
She paused for a moment her eyes wandering appreciatively over the pale expanse of skin revealed to her in the moonlight. Ever so slowly she leaned forward, her rough tongue tracing the outline of his flat male nipple, coaxing a hiss from him as his hands gripped her hips tighter. She slid down the length of his boy, her mouth sucking, tasting, nibbling on the skin before her. She breathed in the thin, salty, sheen of sweat, caressed the smooth texture of his skin, dipped her tongue into his navel and, finally, sank to her knees before him.
* * *
'The time is right, but I feel all wrong,
It wastes away until it's done.
The time is right, but I feel all wrong,
It fades away and now you're gone.'
It wasn't hard to feign the anger, or the betrayal, or the disgust. Riley stared down at the pictures that littered the desk of General Arthur MacGruder. Snapshot after snapshot laughed up at him. Everywhere he looked was her face, a radiant look on it, her mouth opened in ecstasy and, also in everyone of those pictures, was the cause for her pleasure: Hostile 17. No, it wasn't hard to pretend at all.
He felt numb and slumped down further into his chair. At a time like this a man didn't have to worry about the ingrained army notion of proper posture. At a time like this, a man had other things on his mind. Revenge, he thought simply.
A hard hand clamped consolingly on his shoulder, "It just wasn't something we felt right keeping from you. As herboyfriend and a valued member of the Initiative we felt you had a right to know."
Inwardly Riley snorted derisively. The Initiative, he well knew, never did anything solely for the reason that it was the right thing to do; there was always a hidden agenda, "How many other people know about this?"
Artie shrugged, "Myself, and the soldier who took the pictures of course. He's been moved to army detail and is awaiting deportation to another site. I didn't feel that information like this ought to be bandied about, better for everyone if this gets taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. Gossip would only hinder the solution."
Riley nodded as he absently studied the black and white photograph before him. The General was right, the quicker the problem was death with the better, "Have you given any thought as to how this should be dealt with, sir?"
Artie squeezed Riley's shoulder and moved back around to the other side of the desk. He began studiously placing the pictures in the manila envelope on his desk, "Hostile 17 will be have to be recaptured."
Riley nodded, "Of course."
"I think it would be best," he placed the folder in the top drawer of his desk, "If you headed up the operation to regain the hostile."
Riley nodded, "And the Slayer?"
Artie shrugged, "Jut how human do you think a Slayer is?"
"Slayers definitely have a supernatural origin."
Artie nodded smugly, "Reason enough for us to contain her as well."
Riley nodded, "More than enough reason."
There was a long pause before Artie added, in slow measure words, "This will, of course, mean that you'll be expected to rejoin the Initiative."
Bingo, Riley thought absently, a small smile gracing his face, "Of course."
"Excellent, soldier," Artie let out a heart chuckle, "Excellent."
'You're walking by,
I'm standing by,
Behind the light,
By and by.'
Riley saw red; careful, controlled, red -- the color of anger, the color of betrayal. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he bent down to pick up the hard rectangular object from the wet grass. His hand closed tightly around the metal, squeezing it, wishing he could break it with just the strength of his rage. Of course, he thought bitterly, I can't.
He growled and flung the lighter, cursing his own humanity as he watched the lighter arc in the thick night air before falling with a low thud to the ground. Idiot, he thought, the entire time you were with her, the entire time that you spent loving her she was with someone else, loving someone -- something! -- else! He growled at the fact his fists clenching as he glanced back down the path that the blonde couple had taken, drunk on their happiness they hadn't noticed him watching, which meant, he realized, that they didn't know that he knew all about them.
He stilled, his anger, cooling, hardening as a plan formed in his mind. This was, he realized, the perfect opportunity to make her pay, to make them both pay for what they'd done to him. Calmer now, Riley walked over to where the lighter lay on the ground and picked it up, caressing the cool metal.
Yes, he thought with a bitter smile, she'll pay. She'll pay dearly.
The shrill ring of his cell phone jolted him out of his reverie. He hesitated for a split second, torn between curiosity and the desire to continue his murderous train of thought. He answered it.
A calculating smile spread across his features as he recognized the voice on the other end -- General Arthur MacGruder. "Yes sir," he adopted the carefully cool, obedient voice he had learned during his time in the Initiative, "I can be there promptly, sir." With a click the line went dead.
For a moment, Riley stared at the smooth glass screen of the phone, the brief conversation playing through his head. The General wanted to see him, immediately, on urgent business. Business that he had hinted Riley might have a personal investment in. Odds are, Riley thought soberly, he's found out about the little slut and her boy-toy too.
Replacing the phone in the pocket of his khakis he stood for a moment longer, inhaling the warm night air as he sought to calm his nerves. Now was not the time to be rash, he reprimanded himself, it was essential that he didn't let the General know that he knew about Buffy and Hostile 17. It would be better to keep his hand guarded, he smiled evilly, who knows what opportunity for revenge the General might provide him with?
Tucking the lighter in his pocket as well, Riley started down the quiet night street. Fortune, he decided, was definitely on his side.
* * *
'Your eyes shine bright, like a Jesus nightlight
I'd like to touch your positive vibes.
Indifferent eyes won't give me the time,
May I help put aside your moral fiber?'
Buffy let out a small gasp as the hard wood of the door bumped against her back. Spike's mouth quickly reclaimed hers, leading her through searing kiss after searing kiss. She moaned, her hands winding throughout the peroxide locks of his hair, her skin straining to touch his through the cloth barriers of their clothes. She ground his pelvis against her and she lout a whimper, her head arching back so that his cool lips could trail down the slender white column.
Her mouth burned and she pulled his face back up to hers for another kiss, her tongue tracing his, her soft lips giving way to his hard demanding ones. With a groan Spike pulled away from her, allowing her the chance to catch her breathe. Her mouth caught his again, briefly, before turning and beginning to unlock the door.
"Your mum," he whispered against her ear, her slick scent filling his nostrils. She smelled like sunshine and sand; like ocean water and sweat; and, underneath it all, was the scent that he could only describe as quintessentially Buffy. He could just drown in the smell of her.
She shook her head as she pushed the door open to reveal the dark foyer, "Another art buying trip. Summer's her big buying month. Spike nodded as she closed the door behind them and turned to face him. Her hazel eyes roamed the harsh, angular, planes of his face. The contrasting textures of his face were heightened by the darkness thy stood in. Despite her limited vision though she was keenly aware of the swirling colors of his eyes, colors that darkened as he looked at her.
He leaned forward slowly, savoring the anticipation the filled the moment before he touched her. She gasped at the feather light feel of his fingers on her collarbone, tracing the hollow of the delicate skin. One long finger ran up the side of her neck to just below her ear before plunging into the sea of her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed as he guided her gently forward, his lips hovering an electric centimeter from hers. Her pink tongue darted out and moistened the skin; a blatant invitation if he ever saw one.
He pressed his lips to hers gently, almost chastely, and she sighed and shivered at the limited contact. He pulled back only a fraction of the inch as she savored the moment with closed eyes. Finally they fluttered open, the hazel deepening to green as her fingers entwined with his and she tugged him towards the stairs, "Come."
'You're dressed in white, my face is white,
I'd like to be a colorful sight to see.
I'm only here in a background,
Here on the ground lies my head.'
He followed her in a daze, tripping up the carpeted stairs, the heat of her hand branding him as she led him through the narrow darkened halls to the door at the end; the door to her room. He paused for a moment on the threshold, his eyes taking in the surroundings which had become a familiar backdrop for their lovemaking during that first fateful week. The week that ha changed their lives. Purposefully, he stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
She stood before the bed, her eyes shining in the moonlight that streamed in through the window, her lips moist and parted, waiting. He came before her slowly, one cool hand coming to rest on the deceptively delicate curve of her shoulder. Her eyes closed as desire lanced through her. His fingers slipped beneath the flimsy cotton trap of her tang top and guided it gently down the length of her arm. She shrugged her shoulders and the thin material hung from the tips of her breasts for what seemed an interminable moment before slipping down the floor to pool at her feet.
She wasn't wearing a bra. Spike's mouth went dry as he took in the sight of her breasts, golden and proud in the darkness, the nipples flushed and ready for him. His hand moved downwards to cup one in the palm of his hand, his thumb flicking over the tip, causing Buffy's head to fall back and a small whimper to emit from her throat. He took another step closer, his other hand moving to the waistband of her jeans. He undid them deftly, moving the cloth down her hips until it too lay at her feet and she stood before him naked except for the sheer material of her thong.
His thumbs hooked in the thin material, prepared to remove that least barrier as well when she pressed her hand to his chest, "No, not yet."
He nodded and let her run her hands over the hard planes of his chest. Her tiny hands slipped beneath the heavy leather material of his duster and pushing the dark leather from his shoulders to the floor. She pressed against him, the heat from her breasts burning his skin through the thin material off his tee. Her mouth found his and she kissed him slowly, promisingly, her blunt teeth catching his lower lip and running across it gently. Her deft wands slid down to the waistband of his pants, hovering there for a painful second before sliding up underneath his shirt and coaxing it over his head.
She paused for a moment her eyes wandering appreciatively over the pale expanse of skin revealed to her in the moonlight. Ever so slowly she leaned forward, her rough tongue tracing the outline of his flat male nipple, coaxing a hiss from him as his hands gripped her hips tighter. She slid down the length of his boy, her mouth sucking, tasting, nibbling on the skin before her. She breathed in the thin, salty, sheen of sweat, caressed the smooth texture of his skin, dipped her tongue into his navel and, finally, sank to her knees before him.
* * *
'The time is right, but I feel all wrong,
It wastes away until it's done.
The time is right, but I feel all wrong,
It fades away and now you're gone.'
It wasn't hard to feign the anger, or the betrayal, or the disgust. Riley stared down at the pictures that littered the desk of General Arthur MacGruder. Snapshot after snapshot laughed up at him. Everywhere he looked was her face, a radiant look on it, her mouth opened in ecstasy and, also in everyone of those pictures, was the cause for her pleasure: Hostile 17. No, it wasn't hard to pretend at all.
He felt numb and slumped down further into his chair. At a time like this a man didn't have to worry about the ingrained army notion of proper posture. At a time like this, a man had other things on his mind. Revenge, he thought simply.
A hard hand clamped consolingly on his shoulder, "It just wasn't something we felt right keeping from you. As herboyfriend and a valued member of the Initiative we felt you had a right to know."
Inwardly Riley snorted derisively. The Initiative, he well knew, never did anything solely for the reason that it was the right thing to do; there was always a hidden agenda, "How many other people know about this?"
Artie shrugged, "Myself, and the soldier who took the pictures of course. He's been moved to army detail and is awaiting deportation to another site. I didn't feel that information like this ought to be bandied about, better for everyone if this gets taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. Gossip would only hinder the solution."
Riley nodded as he absently studied the black and white photograph before him. The General was right, the quicker the problem was death with the better, "Have you given any thought as to how this should be dealt with, sir?"
Artie squeezed Riley's shoulder and moved back around to the other side of the desk. He began studiously placing the pictures in the manila envelope on his desk, "Hostile 17 will be have to be recaptured."
Riley nodded, "Of course."
"I think it would be best," he placed the folder in the top drawer of his desk, "If you headed up the operation to regain the hostile."
Riley nodded, "And the Slayer?"
Artie shrugged, "Jut how human do you think a Slayer is?"
"Slayers definitely have a supernatural origin."
Artie nodded smugly, "Reason enough for us to contain her as well."
Riley nodded, "More than enough reason."
There was a long pause before Artie added, in slow measure words, "This will, of course, mean that you'll be expected to rejoin the Initiative."
Bingo, Riley thought absently, a small smile gracing his face, "Of course."
"Excellent, soldier," Artie let out a heart chuckle, "Excellent."
'You're walking by,
I'm standing by,
Behind the light,
By and by.'