Kindred

By Sweetprincipale

Set in early Season Five. When Dracula called Buffy 'kindred'' he was doing a bit more than just saying they had a lot in common. Hungry for knowledge of herself and her power, Buffy didn't realize what kind of connection he had forged with her until he left town, and the damage was done. Hoping to break his hold over her, Buffy requests help from Spike. However, the way you break the hold of one vampire is to let another one possess you more fully. But, it'll only be temporary, right? Simple business, that's all…

Dedicated to: The very kind readers and reviewers!

PART VII

Spike rolled restlessly. This wasn't good for him. When he first heard of one vampire placing a claim or having a hold on another, he assumed it was some great act of love and devotion. Turned out it was all about power. You had to be a right chump to let someone enslave you like that, own a bit of you.

He'd have done it for Dru in a heartbeat. She laughed at the idea, not meanly, just as if he were playing a silly game.

Of course, you're mine. Another pretty dolly. The best of all, the finest of all my lead soldiers, such beauty in your head.

Of course you have me, Sweet Spike. But so does Daddy and Dear Grandmum. Daddy'd be ever so cross with me if he thought I wasn't in his pretty paint box anymore. I'm his favorite piece. Don't you think I'm lovely, Spike, all painted in his colors?

He hit the pillow beside him with a growl. Stupid Slayer. She shouldn't have said it back.

She's all I can bloody think about. I still taste her. Smell her. Now Dru's scarf is gonna smell like her. Abomination.

Sweet, tight, hot abomination, squeezing my jaws around the soft little throat- who'd have thought all those muscles turn to butter when she's under you like that?

Another savage hit, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. Only vampires can create a hold. Her repeating the word "kindred" to him meant nothing, not at all. She didn't bite or taste him. No mark was made on him.

Like hell. She's bloody imprinted on my brain.

Just want her to get here so we can do this and get it over, not drag it out.

Dragging.

Tongue along that slender column of throat, catching any errant drops, and there were plenty. He'd pictured quick, clean, clinical. He never figured he's make a mess of her, moaning and spilling her.

Spilling.

Goddamned Victorian euphemisms for- other things. Somehow the image of blood dripping across her was replaced by images of other drips and he was disgusted with himself. Need a stiff drink. A cold shower.

An effing lobotomy, what am I doing? This can never happen again. We will not drag this out!

Her. Dragging her tongue over his throat this time. Yeah, he could tell her to play it like he wanted it. Tell her to bite with those blunt teeth, make a bruise, worry the skin where vampires are most sensitive, until she popped him open, a spurt of blood in her mouth and -

Spurting.

"For fuck's sake!" Spike sat up, genuinely puzzled and utterly, completely disgusted. When had he turned into a randy teenager? Even as a teenager, he hadn't been like this. Even with Dru- he hadn't felt like this, where it was all consuming, all the time, and every word seemed to dig a little path of desire into his brain.

It was just the blood. That had to be it. It was an aphrodisiac, and he didn't have anyone to - he tried to control himself, call on long, long dead gentlemanly reserve- didn't have anyone to romp through Eros' perfumed gardens with.

Love to get between her petals.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" This time the cry was even more desperately exasperated. He stormed out of bed and dragged his clothes onto his tense frame. "You will not act like this around her, you idiot. Be mean and nasty, don't give her the time of day- but that'd hurt her feelings."

He shook himself. "Why do I care?

Well, she's mine for a bit. You can't treat her like that. She's trusting you. She likes you, she said so." A befuddled, almost punchdrunk grin plastered itself to his face.

He let out a frustrated little whimper.

Love's a bitch.

Oh no.

Not again.


She paused by her front door. It was barely dark. She had called her mother at the gallery and said she was going to Giles' for the ritual without telling her exactly why a cleansing was needed. Bless her preoccupied mom, packing to go visit a friend for a few days, she hadn't demanded answers. Riley touched base and said he was driving out to meet Graham at his new regular army digs, meet Graham's new commanding officer, and see what access to any demon-activity databases could be granted, if any were still operating. Riley seemed happy and she was happy about that.

Giles had dropped by around five, saying he had been to the slaughterhouse and set up a standing order with them for a few months, not a payment, a gesture of gratitude. Asked her to tell Spike. He had the first order with him and Buffy took it, acting like she was going to put it in the fridge and then return to whittling some stakes.

Instead, she packed a bag with a turtleneck, spell stuff, the blood, and pulled the black silk scarf around her neck. She hesitated. Should she change clothes? She had put on jeans and her favorite patrolling boots. The shirt. Hmm. It was backless except for a few pieces of red string around the lower back and the column of little glossy buttons up the back of her neck. The crypt was chillier, being made of stone and having no natural sunlight to warm it, no heaters, not that she needed them in August in California.

I'll be fine. I won't be there long tonight. In. Out.

In and out. In and out. Those words should not make naughty mental pictures. Those are simply opposites. Like - hot and cold.

Hot parts of me. Cold parts of him.

No! Or- or good and bad.

This is a bad thing to do. He's a bad man. He's doing a good thing by helping me. The boyfriend I have is a good man. He only wants me to get help on his terms. That's bad.

I like Spike better right now. At this second.

I'm a bad girlfriend.

I'm a good slayer.

"When did preschool concepts get so… moral dilemma-y?" she huffed and kicked a can along the gutter as she hurried to see him.


Oh, sweet relief! Spike let out deep, spine-wracking sigh, eyes closed blissfully once she knocked at his door. "Come in," he said, trying to sound gruff- and simply sounding grateful.

"Hi, I brought you some dinner- and breakfast, too." Buffy held out the box full of containers to him.

"Staying for breakfast, are you?"

They exchanged wide-eyed, completely panicked looks. "Joke."

"I knew that."

"It's from Giles. He set up a standing order for you at the slaughterhouse. He said you can pick it up daily or weekly, you just have to tell them. It's a gesture of gratitude, not payment. He knows you're not doing this for money, you're doing it to help."

"I'll be sure to thank him." She stood still, even as he moved about. "Somethin' else?"

"Here, I -I have this spell to make my skin numb. You can - you can be quicker, no headaches," Buffy's voice came out uneven and rapid. "Oh, and the scarf- I took good care of it." She unwound it from her neck and handed it back to him.

"Knew you would. Sets off the top, Luv." He looked at her. He never really noticed the trimmings she wore, except they were usually girly and screamed "victim" not "victor." Clever. She always had the element of surprise. Now she had the element of seduction, probably didn't even know it. How much skin could she show without that thing falling off? And what about a bra? Did they make backless ones?

Well, I can't ask her that! I could keep starin' at her, I guess. Wait until she punches me in the mouth.

Buffy felt the constant thrum of energy in her mute slightly. Tiredness came in a wave and she sagged before he caught her, his hand and bare forearm against the skin of her back.

Hot and cold, she thought hazily and fumbled with the zipper on her bag. "Spell's in here. Giles copied it out in English. And I have to make a circle on the floor and we have to stand in it. Where should we- where do you want me to stand?"

"Same spot as last night is fine. Better make it a big circle," he suggested quietly. In case we end up lyin' down in it instead of standing.

"This won't be like last night," Buffy assured him, but she made the circle pretty big anyway, shaking out a tiny line of the herbal ash Giles had given her. "You'd better eat."

"I will. So, you saw the Watcher. Did he give us any new info?"

"A whole lot of 'I don't know'. He's trying, but since they never wrote this down as a formula, all of us are just guessing. It's trial and error. For one thing- he has no idea of bites have to be on different days or could happen all on the same day but separate times to count as more than Dracula's. He also doesn't know if two of your equals one of his, because he's all supernaturally supernatural. Doesn't even dust right." Buffy viciously shook out the last bit of ash and joined the circle's ends.

"Wanker."

"Yeah. Spoiled dead guy, breaking all the rules." Buffy unfolded the paper and read it through twice. "I had a dream, too."

"You had one as well?" He froze in the act of retrieving on container from the microwave. "I never told you about mine. How did you know-"

"I meant, in addition to the other news from Watcher Central, I also had a Drac-umentary in my head last night. Well, not so much like that, more like a message on the cosmic answering machine, one really annoying ex begging me to take him back. Like we were ever together. And what do you mean, you had a dream? Dracula's visiting you, too?"

"No. Not important. What happened with you?" Spike popped the lid and sipped.

"Oh, he showed up in my head. Spoke a lot. Used some big words. Told him not to. Told him I had no intention of being one of his wives, and I didn't care if he was going to love me and cherish me and stuff like that."

"Oh, he probably meant it with you. Least for a few hundred years. You'd be his jewel, you know."

"Yeah, but he always has three brides. They aren't always the same ones, or else how could I get initiated?" Buffy asked, and waited expectantly. Spike had the answers to her questions lately.

"Oh, he gives them away. Gifts to please other powerful blokes in his circle, like hand me downs."

"That's terrible!"

"I know. Never would let Dru get close to him. When we were in Europe in- oh, must be 1890s, he took a fancy to some pretty thing, and traded out one of his old models. She staked herself rather than go. He was terribly embarrassed. Put a dent in his image for a whole ten seconds before he made everyone forget they'd seen it."

"Why didn't you forget?"

"I couldn't forget that and I'm real hard to thrall. She was - beggin' him not to cast her away. She loved him." Spike's voice took on a whole different edge. It was hard, but grieving. Telling a story that you don't want to repeat. "Sometimes- sometimes Drusilla would get all clingy to Angelus and he'd push her off. Leave her for weeks, or make her leave the place he and Darla had picked out. An' I was glad about it, glad to be well-shot of him, but it half-killed her. But she used to plead with him in the same way, tears in her eyes, begging him to stay, or let her stay, or go with him… This bride of Dracula's looked the same. Long dark hair, big pleading eyes, confused little voice. She'd been his possession for who knows how long and then- snap. Severed all ties with her, threw her out. Not even giving her freedom, which I don't suppose she'd have accepted just then, but gave her away, to one of his new favored 'sons', some Turkish prince he'd turned on holiday, I think it was. Bloke grabbed her, she wailed out somethin' in gypsy lingo to Drac, and poof. No more. Anyway, I hate him."

"Me, too," Buffy shivered and looked sick. Sad and sick. I don't want to be like that. "I have to break this, Spike."

"I know. We will, Baby. I promise you. I don't care how long it takes, he's not gonna have you," Spike vowed it easily, automatically, his hand coming to clasp hers.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"He said- in the dream- that you'd take what you wanted and make me suffer, then cast me out."

"He must get it. I don't intended to- to make this permanent, 'cause you don't want that. An' you sure as hell don't want to be turned. He's only got his warped ideas to go on, Luv. You won't be miserable, you'll be free and happy, kickin' up your heels and celebratin' with your little mates."

"And you. You have to come if I throw a 'No more crazy-hyper Buffy' party."

"All right, it's a date. Provided Finn and I don't show up at the same gig, same time."

"I guess we make ours a private party. Oh, yay. More bad images.

Bugger. Why does she say these things, all innocent, and I can only think of the- hey. He suddenly stopped. Smelled guilt. And a little hint of something else. Oh well. Least it isn't just me. He shifted his hips uncomfortably. "The sooner you're fixed, the sooner we have cake, right?"

"With ice cream," Buffy laughed nervously. "Are you full enough?"

"Yeah, I'm not very hungry." Slayer blood is like one of those shots of super concentrated energy drink. Keeps you goin', as well as making you want to put the moves on anything that -well, anything that moves.

Last night there had been so much preparation, trial and error. This was going to be so easy, quick and simple, Buffy thought smugly. "For this action, we beseech, to cool the body's- Spike! Get in the circle all the way. And don't step on the line!"

"I'm in, I'm in! Where do you want me to stand, front or back?" How do you like it, Baby? On top? Behind? No, I'd want you lyin' under me first, just for a second, to feel myself sink into that heat, soft, human heat for the first time ever. Then you can have me however you want me.

"Uh- face to face." No, no sex position talk in my head. Concentrate! Spell. Don't do it right, everyone hurts.

"Go on then," he urged, stepping beside her, a little off to the left and in front, lining up for a quick easy- "Wait! Your collar. It's all buttoned up."

"Oh. Yeah. Hold this." She passed him the spell and reached back to undo the buttons, then grabbed the front of her shirt as it began to puddle down, little rivulets of red. Should have worn a different shirt.

"Want me to tie you up tighter?" Spike offered. She gave him an alarmed glance and he gestured to her back. "Your strings. Want 'em cinched up so you don't flash me your lovely handfuls, Slayer?"

"Just be quick and it won't matter," Buffy blushed and took the paper back.

"For this action we beseech, cool this body's surface to know neither pain nor pleasure, nor touch, nor harm, until the sand falls three times, and thus breaks this charm." She looked up at him, watching him slide into game face, waiting for her signal.

She went numb. All over. Couldn't feel her own presence. Instantly disorienting, like being dipped in a pool of novocaine, only worse. "Spike!" she sounded frantic. "What's happening?"

"Huh?" His fangs retracted.

"Where am I- what are you doing?" She dropped the paper, clutched at her shirt, beginning to hyperventilate. "Where's my body, I can't feel- I can't feel myself. I can't feel my shirt. I can't feel anything!"

"Shh, shh, that's all right, I can slip right in, you won't feel it."

"No!"

Spike backed up hastily. A stake was pointing at him, and then it was dropped and she dropped too, scrabbling on the floor, patting for it. Patting herself all over.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted.

"I won't! Thought we agreed you wouldn't pack any firepower? Got an arsenal in my head!"

"I'm sorry, okay?" she responded automatically, still doing the desperate, disoriented pat down. "Where am I?"

"What do you mean? You're right there! You can see yourself!"

"But I can't feel anything. I can't- I can't even hold my- stay away!" Her nerveless fingers failed to grip the stake again, and she went into a defensive crouch. A look at him that was puzzled, then determined.

"What are you-"

She sprang, hitting him in the face.

"Ow!" he cried, hand raised, then dropping.

"I couldn't feel that!"

"I bloody could!"

"I can't fight!"

"Yes, you can! Use your other senses, idiot! You can see yourself, hear yourself. See and hear any nasties you'd need to." Another blow, and he ducked. "But don't hit me!"

"Don't bite me! You could do- you could do anything and I-" she looked terror-stricken for a moment.

"Oh, hey. Hey now, I'm not gonna hurt you. You know that."

"No. No, it's the chip that stops you and now I can't feel what you're doing and you can do anything and I-"

"You're gonna pass out, and then you'll be unconscious around me. You don't want that. You don't want to lose that, too. Now look, Watcher said this would be over in minutes. Moments. You stay there. I'll stay here. We won't hurt each other. Deal?"

"Deal," she rubbed her hands together, a hunted look in her eye. "Can't even- I mean I see, I hear, but Spike, I can't feel my own mouth moving. It's hard to talk."

"Then be quiet! God, you're smarter than this. What's-" he stopped talking. Helpless. She can't take it. She feels powerless, and she can't take it. It's the opposite of what she is."You're not weak. You're never weak. That's why he wanted you, remember? You have power no one else in the world's got. You don't need to panic."

But panic only intensified in her eyes as she grabbed her chest. "I can't feel my heart beating. I can't feel myself my breathing. Am I- what if they stop? Are stopped?"

Spike reached her and grabbed her gently, not that she could tell. She let out a squeak and kneaded along her smooth, exposed skin above the loosened fabric. He shushed her fiercely and jammed his ear right next to her chest, not that he really needed to, but he thought that she might be reassured if it looked more "human" when he checked. "I can hear it. Pounding away. And watch." He put his hand flat to her ribs, just under the breastbone. "Watch it rise and fall. You're breathing. You're comin' down now. All right? Nice and steady."

"I'm not supposed to freak," she gasped out, hand lacing with his, wanting to be part of it, partially comforted by seeing what she couldn't feel.

"I won't tell if you don't," he soothed.

It was three minutes or so before the tension left her face. "Hey. I can feel your hand. I can feel my hands. I can talk- the way I'm used to talking! Oh wow. That was - actually awful. I prefer the pain."

"The pain to the numbness. That's my Slayer," he chuckled and scooted out of the circle, went for his smokes. "I call no more mojo. We can do this the old fashioned way. It worked okay last night."

"Mmhmm. Well- I - I was trying to avoid that," Buffy redid her top, and then stopped, popping open any buttons re-fastened. Why bother? Why didn't I change? I'm dumb. Well, distracted. This is my "Look Normal" wear. I should have worn my "Fate Hates Me" ensemble.

"You cold?" Spike saw her shuddering and rubbing her neck and arms.

"No, dumb."

"You mean we only had to come to a completely buggered up ludicrous situation for us to agree on things?"

"Shut up. I mean, this isn't a good outfit."

"You look fine."

"It's not a good outfit because to keep it up I have to either have it fastened around the essential biting area, or I have to have one hand holding it up so I don't flash you."

"Oh, well, I don't really mind if you flash me," Spike gave her a roguish wink which made her roll her eyes.

"Aren't I suffering enough?"

He cocked his head. Odd. He didn't like that. He'd thoroughly enjoyed her suffering before. Now, he felt like he should stop it. More than that. Compelled to stop it. Like he was irresponsible if he didn't. I'm a vampire! Dead, utterly unpleasant bastard, that's me! Irresponsible is part of the deal.

Later. "I got clothes downstairs. You brought a bag, what's in it?"

"Turtleneck sweater. See comment about covering biting areas."

"Can't we use those little string things 'round your back and loop 'em up over your neck? They're barely threads, I'd still have space."

"No, I'd look like an idiot with my shirt upside down."

Your life or your fashion? He rolled his eyes. "You look real bright now, Luv."

"Again with the up-shutting. Ugh. Is this better or worse than last night?"

He considered. "I think it's better. You that worried about droppin' your shirt, I could close my eyes. Biting's somethin' I'm good at. Don't really need to see."

"You could peek," she insisted mulishly.

"Oh for God's… you want to blindfold me an' have done with it?"

Both of them froze in their respective spots, across the crypt from each other. "No," Buffy answered once her mouth wanted to function again. Not a good idea, not a good idea. I never, ever wanted to- Why does he make me think bad things?

Because he's bad.

Why'd I say that? It was a joke. It was cheeky.

But I wouldn't mind. That could be fun. He sauntered over to her. She drew herself up, the ice princess stare in her eyes that melted when he got close.

"Maybe we're thinkin' too hard about the details. We could- go back to basics," he suggested softly.

"Basics?"

"You. Me. Exchanges. Bonds." He ran a tongue slowly over his lips. "Kindred," he whispered, leaning close, and she let him.

One little word. Dracula said it, and I felt confused. Curious. Spike says it, and I feel… like I find it. The thing that's missing.

"Kindred." She pressed a cheek to his, both of them exhaling.

Hands on her bare back, feeling her jump.

Hands on his arms.

"Why don't we start this off with somethin' that won't hurt you at all. Not at all." He let his arm fall from her and she stepped back.

Buffy blinked. She didn't know where the little black-handled switchblade came from, but it was there, and then it was across one of the smoothest, whitest, most perfect arms in the world. He let out a little hiss of pain that curled his lips into a smile.

That's the arm I wanted, Buffy thought to herself.

When?

Images blurred, superimposed. The white arm with fine dark hairs, held out, sleeve rolled up. Dracula's. The curiosity tinged with self-loathing and mental fog.

This image. Tinged with burning curiosity. Desire.

He gasped when she fell like someone'd dropped her with a hammer blow to the back of her head. Slayer's on her knees. Sweet bloody hell, she never bows, barely bends, and now she's down there? This is- Oh. Oh, never mind.

She seized his wrist hard in one hand, held his arm rigid and watched it flow down. He's… beautiful. He's blood and snow, he's all the poetry. I want that. I want to taste that. I want to see… This time I get all of the truth. This time- the hunger stops.

She dragged her tongue not only over the blood, but over the cut, rising as her mouth moved higher, pupils dilating under closing lids.

Pounding. Running. Angelus pointing a sword at her. Angelus slamming a young blonde man with long, tawny, tumbling bangs against a crumbling wall. She looked up at him as the sword sliced above her, and she caught it, twisting it in her own bare hands. The blonde man laughed, fire in his eyes, never submitting.

"We are.

Our own power.

We are dark.

We have light.

We are light.

We have dark."

Voice layering over each other. Buffy blinked as the fluid past her lips and trickled down to dot her half-exposed chest.

"Don't be afraid of what's inside. It's your own best weapon.

Weapons kill."

She drew back with a little gasp, but Spike grabbed her hair roughly, just this side of pain, fingers making little digs into her scalp, and she pulled once more against the blood that was ceasing to flow, a final mouthful, completing the lesson.

"Weapons kill. We are the weapons. We are death."

Vampires exploded into dust around her.

Humans with torn throats fell under his hands.

"Weapons protect. We are the weapons. We are life."

"Wow." Buffy looked up at him. And then the ceiling. Her eyes went back in her head and she fell.

To be continued...