Crossing into unchipped country (7/?) by dutchbuffy2305
Rating: R
Timeline: Around AtS 5.09 or 5.10
Author's note: Big hugs to my wonderful betas, mommanerd, meko00, LadyAnne and Ayinhara.
Author's website:
Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk
Buffy has long since ceased to expect Spike's teeth in her flesh so when the blood arches from her wrist like a Technicolor fountain she's too stunned to react. The feel of his cool fingers gripping her arm tightly is more urgent than the pulsating arterial spray or the slight sting from his bite. It wasn't like taking a bite from an apple; he was raking his teeth into the soft skin of her under arm, tearing it open. She looks up into his face and sees his pupils gazing large and hungrily dark upon the bright red stream as he licks his lips slowly. He looks away from her, she doesn't know why, and she's not prepared for the sudden swoop of his head back to her wrist. His tongue licks her wounds, with a raspy briskness that she can't connect at all to the endlessly delicate lickings of her pussy way back when.
Her thoughts are hazy, and her mind trails after her like a fluttering ribbon when she whips her head around to check out what Spike sees. Bright red blobs on the shiny white floor, hissing and burning away the markings on it and before she can decide what to do her feet leap after Spike, who goes straight through Mrs. Andersen with a roar. A little wail hangs in the air where she used to be. Buffy turns to Mr. Andersen and his doings at the makeshift altar. Without stopping to think she picks up the brass rod which is still lying at the foot of the stairs and throws it at, and through, him. It strikes the bulging cellar walls with a hollow clang and bounces ringing onto the floor.
Mr. Andersen's face twists up like a Silly Putty parody of disappointment and his mouth opens wide in a silent scream. The shiny blue ring of light expands with a flash and a pop like a photo in a black- and white movie. Then there is no more basement wall, there is a roiling darkness and a jet of foul air leaps out to meet them. When the demon pops out his giant head and stretches his rubbery lips wide in anticipation Buffy totally gets the bad breath deal. His tobacco brown teeth look like all his victims from his entire existence are still rotting away merrily in every crease and surface.
She feels no hesitation. The rod is back in her hand, she must have picked it up. Quip and weapon leave her in the same instance.
"Tongue piercing, anyone?"
In its way this moment is wonderful. For a little while her path is shining true and straight ahead of her with no branching or off ramps. She must kill this thing, and her favorite fighting buddy is beside her. He will anticipate her every move and guard her back.
The demon spits out the curtain rod disdainfully. "Yeah, baby, slay me with your tooth pick," he rumbles and waves of dark laughter ripple out from him, setting Buffy's teeth on edge and sending a sickening wave of fear to her stomach.
The one giant eye is surrounded by thick wrinkled purple flesh, the sclera bright yellow, and Spike comes in from the left with a masterful lunge. He hits right in the middle of the black well of its pupil and the eye bursts open and spews fluid all over Spike's wild curls. The roar that comes from the big mouth slams Buffy into the far wall. Spike has sensibly ducked beneath it after his spraying.
"Slayer!" Spike pants. "Get an axe or a saw! Bitty staves aren't going to kill Yaphet Kotto Senior here! I'll distract him."
"Whoo! That hurt!" the mouth brays. A massive shiny tentacle wriggles out of the hole from beside the ear and wrenches it further open to allow a bulging shoulder through. "Is that a curtain rod or are you just happy to see me?"
The tentacle grows longer and grabs Spike around the middle. It smashes him up against the ceiling and back down against the floor. "Bamm-bamm! Bamm-bamm! We'll have a yabba dabba doo time, a dabba doo time, we'll have a gay old time!"
Buffy scrabbles across the floor near the far wall, trying to get to the other side of the basement, where she thinks she saw a work bench. Spike looks sort of limp and leaves bloody stains on both the ceiling and the floor.
"Wiiilllllmmmmmmaaaaaa!!!"
Buffy pulls herself up by her fingertips. Someone tweaks her ass, which is so not the right time for this. She cranes her head to check out how Spike got loose but then spots another tentacle trying hard to get a grip on her and visibly succeeding inch by inch, growing longer and thicker.
The frenzied singing and the Spike smashing continue. "It's time to play the music, It's time to light the lights…"
Bamm bamm!
"Slayer…" It comes out like "Zhazher" and Buffy's hands frantically feel their way about on the work top. With a feeling of relief she finds a heap of assorted tools, a saw, a hammer and so forth. The mad singing goes on and on, pouring from the foul mouth like vomit.
"It's time to put on makeup, It's time to dress up right, It's time to raise the curtain…
She turns and throws the big file and the screw driver into the thick glistening arm that's playing with Spike, just to hurt it some and maybe even shut it up.
Thick oily laughter bubbles behind her as she directs her attention back to the work bench. She's not expecting a sword but a saw would be nice, or an axe. She finds a nail extractor and finally a bonus chainsaw. Time to go Giles and cut through some red tape. Contrary to popular belief Buffy does not kill all things mechanical on sight and the saw's drive catches at the first pull. She slices off the tentacle that's trying to gain grip on her waist. A sluggish fluid like crude oil seeps out.
"Owie!" the beast carols gaily. "And now let's get things started, Why don't you get things started, It's time to get things started, On the most sensational inspirational celebrational…"
The best place to get rid of the thrashing tentacle is close to the portal and she sets the vibrating blade against the meatiest part of the black fleshy arm. The blade goes through easily but the circumference of the arm is huge, and since it doesn't exactly keep still it takes a few minutes before she's through. Spike drops to the floor and lies motionless while she continues to saw. Another tentacle tries to wriggle out from the portal and although it keeps on getting wider and wider, it's still too narrow.
"Aw! You cut off my pinkie!" the liquid voice booms in her ear, making her teeth rattle and ache with subsonic tremors. "The rest of me is gonna sit on you and squash you like a bug!" The big face starts to retreat.
Spike tugs at her arm. Blood drips down on his face from his battered head, but he can still walk and talk. "Come on, Slayer; let's make ourselves scarce before Fred Flintstone comes back."
The saw starts to buck in her hands and stops. Buffy tries to get traction on the floor, slippery with black and red fluids, but Spike's sturdy boot heels win over hers and she's tugged along willy-nilly. This is not acceptable. Her duty is clear, the monster must be destroyed, and she's not going to be deflected from her purpose now that she has one.
"Spike, stop. I'm going to kill it before it destroys the whole town or worse."
"Who cares? Let's steal the Andersens' car and get out of here fast."
They reach the stairs and Buffy makes her stand on the first step. She's stronger than Spike, or she used to be, she thinks as he continues on upwards. Subtler tactics need to be deployed.
"Spike, I can't believe that you're walking out in the middle of a fight. My Spike never was a coward."
"Slayer, I do hope you don't think I'm going to fall for that piece of transparent emotional blackmail!
"Stop with the excuses already. It'll be fun," Buffy says firmly and manages to halt his progress. She tries to look up to him winningly, because although she can't see his face, he can probably see hers.
Spike comes to a decision. "All right. Let's go kill the big smelly bastard. I hate it when something I'm killing tries to be witty at me, puts me off my game."
"His pop culture references were way behind the times anyway," Buffy says, stung.
"Spongebob Squarepants!" The voice booms in their ears. A jet of putrid dark fluid leaves its lips and Buffy dives to the right just in time. The smell gives her an idea and she fishes Spike's lighter from her pocket and flicks it on. She thrusts it just below the stream of monster logy and it flames up with a deep rumbling whoosh that makes her ears pop.
The demon utters a wordless scream and withdraws into the portal, where she can hear it burble and whine in a moist basso profundo.
"Good thinking, Slayer," Spike says from the other side of the basement. "Now why don't you crawl in after it and set the whole thing on fire."
"Yeah, right. I'm so over the whole death wish thing. If we had a kind of bomb we could throw into the portal, something that couldn't be put out so easily?"
She strains to see a little better in the dimly lit basement, but it's not very likely that there will be hand grenades or cannonballs lying around like in cartoons.
"Did you happen to spot a bottle of turps or lighter fluid on your little foray just now? I could make a Molotov cocktail from one of those," Spike says.
"We're going to offer him a drink?"
"Forgot you weren't there when the Soviets invaded Finland, love. Trust me, it'll work just fine."
Buffy gets back to the bench and finds the plastic and glass bottles with murky fluid she passed over a couple of minutes ago. "Something like this?"
"Yeah. Exactly like that."
Spike tears some strips from his filthy bloodied shirt and stuffs them in the necks of the bottles. He silently holds out his hand and she places the lighter in it. Tentacles explode from the black hole, straight as spears right at her, and she only just manages to roll under them. The head follows the arms, blaring loud indistinguishable words and Buffy feels the air get heavier and slower, pressing down on her. From the corner of her eye something orangey bright arcs through the air and she sees the monster turn his head, snap out with his long black tongue and flick it back into the wide toad-like gash of his mouth. Spike falls on top of her and claps his hands over her ears. He's gonna wrench off her head and she doesn't know why.
The world turns inside out and when she's managed to heave Spike away the basement is back again, not a single trace on the wall to indicate there was a hole in the world just a minute ago. The floor is a whole different story; it's blotched and glistens with blood and oily splatters. Two big pieces of tentacle are lying limp and dead across the altar.
Spike holds out his hand to her. She takes it and half stumbles against him. He steadies her with a hand on her hip and she doesn't slap it away.
"Let's go get the device, Spike," she says, and her voice sounds small and flat.
"Yeah."
Spike slurs a bit and slumps down on her. He's not holding her up anymore, she's supporting him. He does look very battered, lumps and cuts vying for territory on his pale face. She puts her arm around him more securely and props him up with one hand under his shoulder. Walking the few steps towards the wall is harder than she thought, her legs are jittery and her feet are woolly and uncertain on the floor. Spike's hand is hooked around her hip, digging painfully into her belly, but she knows he'll fall otherwise.
Hooking Spike's arm over her neck so she can still keep him upright she reaches for the oversized piece of squid ink spaghetti. The moment she touches it, it snaps back into action, tautly coils around her arm and lifts its pointy end, searching for her face as if it has a purpose.
She can't hold Spike and fight at the same time. "Spike! Wake up. Stand up. I have to fight."
The other tentacle has joined the play and they snake around her legs and torso, on their way up to her neck. Now's she's getting really mad. It was just a fight until now, but this is pushing her boundaries. She hopes there's no special reason these tentacles are back in action again, are they vampire tentacles or something? She grabs one and tears it into two, shouting and stamping with the effort. At last it breaks and she gasps in relief as the coils around her middle loosen. The moment the last breath of air has left her throat, a cool slick necklace winds around her neck and draws tight. She wants to call out to Spike, whose weight she can no longer feel, but it's too late. She can't get a grip on the thing squeezing the life out of her and her sight is starting to dim. Not like this, she thinks frantically, not now, lemme get home, I was just getting…
Spike draws her off the floor again and she leans against him, gulping great big draughts of air, clasping him tightly because her rubbery legs threaten to topple her. She leans her forehead against his shoulder, which is sticky and smells of iron filings and oil, and attempts to get her bearings back.
"Thanks," she croaks into the flannel.
His hand lies reassuringly on her neck and he presses her closer. "You too, Slayer. Can we go now? Is this dead enough satisfy those righteous Slaying criteria?"
"Yeah."
But she can't move just yet, although she knows she should. The tentacle pieces could become alive again, she's embracing a dangerous vampire, they could freeze to death, but she needs a minute to get back on her feet, she doesn't want to face the reality of alternate universes and wrong vampires just yet.
Spike pushes her hair aside and breathes on her neck. "Feeling better now, aren't you, love? Heart getting all slow and quiet." His lips move against her skin and they don't feel cold at all. Buffy leans against him a bit more, but there's nothing going on here, just two tired warriors taking a well-deserved rest. He feels so solid and real, anchoring her with his body from her thighs up to the crown of her head, Spike everywhere.
She pats his shoulder blade, but her hand is too heavy to lift so it becomes more of a stroking. Spike pushes his hips against hers, and it's still okay, she can handle it, it's not her Spike. He licks her neck and now she's awake, her whole body tingles with awareness and a small moan leaves her mouth. This is not safe, but she arches against him and pushes back, so good, such a long time ago. His hands stroke down her back firmly, up and down, cupping her ass for a moment and then pushing the tension out of her back muscles again and she relaxes against him further. She's too limp to come into action herself, but can he please lick her neck again?
"That's right, love, let Spike take care of you, so sweet and warm you are, good little Slayer, all hot for Spike, the prettiest little bum you have and such nice skin, so sweet and salty, so tender…"
He licks and licks, she sags against him so he has to prop her up by shoving his hand between her thighs. Her legs buckle and Spike's all that's holding her up now. Her neck falls back and she wants only one thing now, Spike inside her. Why is she still wearing these damn jeans?
"… so sweet and hot, pulsing inside, all that lovely blood, let Spike have one little sip, just a drop, promise, cross my heart and hope to die, right here, one tiny drink from your sweet neck, let me drink from it like a chalice, my Slayer, my sweet…"
His sexy babble finally penetrates what remains of her brains and she wrenches her neck away. He wants to drink from her? How can he say that? It hurts on so many levels that she's speechless. Betrayal gives her strength to shove him away.
He grins unrepentantly and licks his lips. "I see the disapproving look is back. Don't be such a tight arse, Slayer. It'll feel good, I promise.
The bright path of her future, that shone so straight and true a moment ago has scattered into a rainbow of choices, no white or black, just red and yellow and blue to pick and choose from. Which is right and which is wrong? It's up to her. Her tongue moves over her lips and Spike takes a step closer to her, smirking again and holding out his hands to her breast already.
She turns away. "No. No drinking, no biting, no nothing. Let's torch this place and get out of here."
Spike sighs but shrugs. "Take it or leave it, Slayer. Would have been fun, though. And aren't you forgetting a little something here?"
He holds up the interdimensional device with the same pencil Mr. Andersen used. Buffy swallows. She almost forgot that in her insane fuck-the-wrong-vampire moment. "Right. Good thinking, Spike." They are complimenting each other a lot, polite and thoughtful, like strangers. Which they are.
She finds an old plastic bag and Spike shoves the shiny bracelet in. She walks painfully to the stairs, Spike close on her heels. So close that her back tingles all over, but she's not going to go there, she's firm on that.
At the top of the stairs, Spike lights another piece of his tattered flannel shirt and tosses it down. The basement goes up in flames with a whuff and a muted bang.
"The bastards took my duster too, damn them all to hell."
"Not to mention my boots and some really nice underwear," Buffy agrees. "Let's get out of here. Take their car, like you said."
"Right."
TBC.