CrossingShadowRiver 21 by dutchbuffy2305
Rating: R
Timeline: About ten years after season 5 of AtS; sequel of sorts to Crossing into UnchippedTerritory
Author's note: Thanks to my dear betas, ayinhara, LadyAnne & mommanerd.
Author's website: http:home.planet.nl/dutchbuffy2305
Feedback: Yes, please, to
Spike staggers out of the bedroom and kicks the door shut behind him. Bitch. Fucking bitch. She killed the father of her child in cold blood. It's like she personally thrust that stake through his own heart. If he'd known that before - he doesn't know what he'd have done different, but…He crashes on his knees on the cold tiles in the bathroom and pukes his guts out.
His hands on the stark white rim of the toilet bowl tremble, and not just with the heaving shakes. He wants to rip her heart out so badly he can almost taste it. He wants to punch her lying face in, blacken her eyes, sink his fangs into her throat and fuck her to a bloody pulp. How could she? All of it. And the thing is, up until that last confession he'd talked himself into taking it all like a submissive idiot, accepting her betrayal, fucking another guy, even another Spike. He'd have taken everything she dished out to him if she hadn't told him. Fucking bitch. If she hadn't just given birth, if she wasn't a mother, he could take her outside and beat her up so badly she couldn't walk for a month. He'd fuck her up the arse and in her mouth and her lying cunt. He'd drink her dry and give her a new tattoo with her own blood. Bash her head in.
Spike trembles and pukes again. He hasn't felt like this in years. He used to act it out on a daily basis on some unsuspecting girl and love it. He wants to do it again so much, but only to Buffy. Only her. She's the only one who has the power to hurt him that much. She has to pay, the bitch. He can't kill her, and he doesn't want to, that would be too easy on her. She has to pay.
A hesitant knock on the door.
"Spike? You okay?"
Spike lifts his pounding head and stares blindly at the tiled wall in front of him. Dawn. Yes. He wipes his mouth and his hand travels slowly down to the aching bulge in his jeans. She'll do.
He opens the door with way too much force like a clumsy fledge, stumbling in his need to get to Dawn. She's still looking like Buffy on and off, eyes alternating between green and blue, hair suddenly shifting to gold; the spell is wearing off only slowly. He grabs her by those tits she's been taunting him with for days and propels her backwards into the living room. He launches wild kisses at her face and throws her on the couch. Her upper clothes tear open like toilet paper and her revealed breasts stare at him lustfully. He descends on them, sucking and biting, and Dawn moans.
"Spike, what…What are you?"
Spike lifts his eyes and stares in her flushed and terrified face. "Want me to stop?"
Dawn bucks under the pressure of his hand in her crotch and shakes no. "No," she says. "Do it."
That's what Spike needs to hear, because he's not the kind of man who'd force a woman anymore, is he? He drags her jeans off her hips, leaving red marks on the white skin of her thighs. Dawn's legs flop back on the couch bonelessly and she just lies there, her heart thumping her hot fizzing blood around, carrying arousal to her whole body. His fingers explore between her legs and in spite of her acquiescence she's not quite ready for him, tight and not slippery enough but that just makes it better at this point.
He uses her breast to steady the frantic thrusting of his other hand. His fingers dig into the delicate flesh until it bruises like ripe plums, making pretty pictures like bats or cunts or dancing insects on the white, white skin; bruises the color of her eyes.
"Like it, don't you? I used to hurt you and you liked it, before we got all white picket fence. Gonna do it some more, gonna write a poem on your skin, gonna use your blood for the words and your come for the spaces…"
Dawn's eyes are wide, following his every movement. Her color comes and goes, but she's writhing under his heedless onslaught, moaning and scratching his back and arms. Her blend of terror and arousal is blowing his mind, the memories of a thousand such encounters spicing this current one, the knowing how they ended, how their blood smelled, their fear, their come, their entrails. You can fuck a girl through a hole in her stomach lining if you need to, if her other holes are occupied by vampires that are bigger and stronger than you.
"Fuck you like the cunt you are, make you forget everything, all those other bastards…"
He flings his belt away, frees his swollen hungry cock and plunges inside her. He pulls out a bit and thrusts in again, making her wetter for him, finally shoving in all the way. He has no interest in Dawn getting off; she'll just have to take what he's dishing out. He needs to kill or punish someone after all those days of holding back and not getting any kind of opportunity to let off steam.
Spike feels his orgasm approaching like a high velocity train in the far distance and zones in on Dawn's neck. Such a pretty neck, no one's been there before. He's never wanted to drink Buffy, because to be fourth, now fifth, in a row just doesn't do it for him. His face hasn't changed yet, and he licks and chews on the soft white skin to make it red, make it ready for his real teeth. He licks off the ghosting of blood on his teeth and bares them at her. He needs more terror, more pain. She isn't there yet.
"Gonna come inside you, make you forget, make you mine again, don't you dare let anyone touch you ever again or I will kill you…"
She starts talking back to him. "Spike, oh, Spike, I want you so much, I love you, you make me…"
He can't have that. She'd have babbled on but he puts his hand on her mouth. He doesn't need to hear that, does he? He growls at her to shut up and when he hears himself say that the realization that he's doing to this girl what was done to him freezes him. His entire body grows cold from the memory, goosebumps pucker his skin and his balls shrivel up in shame. His erection disappears. He's playing Buffy and Dawn's playing Spike. He'd give everything not to know this, not to have done this. He slides out of Dawn, catching his weight on his balled fists, almost swooning from disgust and regret. He's panting as if he's run a race, and he wishes it weren't so, but he could puke again. Why the fuck has he done this? What good did it do to take his anger out on someone else? It should have been Buffy.
He stuffs his dick back in, zips up, roughly hoists up Dawn's jeans and buttons her up.
"Best get out of here, Dawn," he says.
"Spike?" Dawn says, as if she's doubting he's there.
She's right, in a way he wasn't, he was off looking up old slights, old frustrations. He jerks away from Dawn. He wishes she wasn't still lying there with her clothes awry, looking all fucked and confused. He never wanted Buffy to see this. Did he? The door opens and he senses Buffy coming in. She halts within the door opening, clutching the walls for support.
Buffy's breath comes in sharp gasps and he turns around slowly to meet her eyes. She stares at him like he remembers. Quivering with hurt, her eyes big and dark, almost overflowing. Oh hell.
Buffy straightens up with difficulty, letting go of the doorjamb and clutching her belly. Her voice is low, but carries perfectly.
"Dawn, get the hell out of here and don't come back."
Dawn looks at him expectantly, not getting it at all, poor twit.
"Spike?" she says. "Are you coming?"
Spike's sick to his stomach at what he's done, what he's used her for. He shakes no. Dawn's eyes take on the wounded look they've been wearing lately.
"Spike! You said...you promised…" Her voice rises to hysteric heights.
"I promised nothing," Spike forces out of his throat. "I'm sorry, Dawn. Please leave."
Dawn still isn't really taking this in. She looks from him to Buffy and back again. "How can you stand there like that? How can you do this to me? You owe me!"
Spike says nothing. He takes Buffy's hand, feeling it tremble and jerk under his palm but holds on. Dawn stumbles away from them to the exit. Her dead white face with its accusing eyes burns on Spike's soul. He deserves that.
When she's gone, Buffy looks at him. There's no judgment or anger in her eyes, just hurt. "What did you do to Dawn? And why take it out on her?"
"I needed..." Spike's voice breaks. "I needed to hurt someone, and it couldn't be you. You see?"
Buffy shakes her head and reclaims her hand, rubbing it as if he'd burned her with his touch. "Spike, if you need to hurt me, just hurt me. Me, not my sister."
Spike turns to her, pleading with his eyes. "I'm sorry. I will."
Buffy shakes hard enough to make her teeth chatter. "Are you going to do it now?"
"What?"
"Hurt me?"
"No. Of course not."
She's silent. Then she jerks her head toward the bedroom and starts walking back to it.
Phoenix lies on the bed, his tiny form so slack and motionless that Spike feels a tiny beat of fear pulse through him. He checks the tiny soft wrist for a pulse and is relieved when he feels it beating fast and strong. Phoenix' face is rosy and he seems twice as big as he did before. His nose scents a rich sweet smell and he connects the wet spots on the front of Buffy's robe with the obviously replete baby. His eyes sting. Phoenix' first real feed and he missed it. Serves him right for being such a prat and being so caught up in revenge and his own hurts.
Buffy undresses and gets into bed. Spike looks at her swollen breasts and her still slightly slack belly and he just wants to bury his face in there and never come out again.
Buffy averts her face when he undoes his belt. "Spike? Please go shower."
Spike's face burns. Of course. He's been inside Dawn. He's a jerk. There go his hopes of Buffy not knowing what happened.
"Buffy, I didn't…she didn't…"
"Does it matter?" Buffy says from behind her hair. "Go away."
He leans over the washbasin and first of all cools his face with cold water. The only thing that could make a vampire burn is shame, he thinks. He looks into the mirror and sees nothing. That seems appropriate, nothing.
When he returns, he's wearing only a towel.
Buffy looks at it sadly. "Is that a symbol? Should I take it off?"
He's so very grateful for her for saying that. "Please."
Her dear little fingers tremble when she loosens the towel and rest briefly on his stomach. "Come into bed, Spike."
He climbs in and slides carefully against her tense warm back. He moves slowly, deliberately, afraid of startling her with an unexpected move. Her tenseness gradually leaves her when he just lies there silently with his arms around her and his face in her neck.
"Are we even now, Spike?"
"We're even."
What he's done is burned so deeply into his brains and his heart that it's still smoking. It won't go away soon, he knows that. He can't believe what he did, no more than fifteen minutes ago. How long did it take? Five minutes to destroy your relationship? The strange thing is that Buffy seems to accept it, seems almost to welcome the retaliation. Now he can't throw stones, he supposes.
"Buffy, I want to explain."
"Not really interested in talking right now, Spike," she says.
Would she allow him to make love to her? He'd like to, very much. It just that it doesn't seem proper, so soon after the birth, it's hardly been a day. And so soon after…
He lifts up her braid and kisses her neck where the hair is fine and soft like a baby's. Buffy sighs and arches into his mouth. Step by step, Spike reclaims her body, stroking her arms, her hips, daring to nudge her satiny ass with his hard-on. She's soft and yielding to every caress, but doesn't return any of them. At last, Spike can't stand it anymore, he has to see her face and look in her eyes. He turns her over gently, trying not to jostle her breasts or her belly. How will she look at him? Will they be all right?
Buffy's face is wet, sad but serene. Her hand comes up and cups his cheek. She wipes away moisture under his eyes and he bends forward to lick the salt off her cheeks.
She smiles a little at that, kisses him. She's being so measured, so careful. Spike feels very fragile, like he might break if she is too kind to him. She shouldn't be that kind, it'll make him weak, he'll cry. For one moment he thinks he is crying, and it's a little embarrassing, even if it's his love who sees it. He has no right to cry after what he just did.
TBC