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…

XLIII

Charles Gunn groaned out a curse, his throat dry and scratchy. "Damn. I knew it! I fucking knew I was gonna get in some next-level shit if I went to a place called a 'Hellmouth.' Well. At least I got to heaven."

Cordelia put down her outdated fashion magazine and shifted in the uncomfortable chair, her white, gauzy dress shifting to reveal an abundance of tanned thigh and plentiful cleavage. "Gunn! Man, what kind of painkillers did they give you? I think I want some." Cordelia rose and peered at the IV bag.

"I'm not dead?" Charles blinked. But there she was. An angel. Not the annoying, bossy, broody guy he worked for, but a beautiful, compassionate (and yes, still bossy) girl he'd kissed the other night.

"No, but you did manage to give yourself a concussion, bruise your spleen, and get a hematoma or fluid-y thing near your lungs thanks to your broken ribs."

"For a fancyass vamp, he has a really good arm. If it weren't for those day games, he could have had a career in the NFL." Charles laughed, wheezing. "Ow. Shit, that hurts."

"You don't remember the ambulance ride here?"

"No."

"You woke up just long enough to punch a sweet little ER nurse before they gave you a CAT-scan. But you're far from dead."

"I was fooled by the angel."

"Angel? Still not answering calls." Honestly, she'd been less concerned about him than she should be. All of her focus for the last few hours had been on Gunn. "I'm glad you woke up. If you didn't… I… Hm. Want some apple juice?"

"Cordy." Gunn weakly grabbed for her wrist as she went to poke a straw in the tiny juicebox left on the table by his bed.

"Stop. This isn't waterproof mascara," Cordelia covered her emotions the best way she knew how. Deflection. Shallowness.

"I'm glad I woke up next to you."

Her cheeks flushed. "Me, too. If you hadn't woken up, I…" She pulled herself away, smiling apologetically. "I still can't cook."

"Maybe we can learn?"

She laughed suddenly, eyes leaking anyway, mascara be damned. "Maybe Daniela can teach us. She's surprisingly into fine dining, for someone on a liquid diet."

"We won, right? Daniela's okay and Dracula's dust?"

"Yep and yep."

"Did we… is everyone okay?"

"All but you."

"I'm the only one who got hurt? That's so embarrassing. Wes? He didn't—?"

"Well, he got bit, but I think he's into that now."

"That's so nasty." Charles grimaced, his eyes feeling heavy.

"I'm more into kissing without the teeth."

"Same."

He felt something soft brush his lips. His eyes struggled open. "What about Angel?" he whispered.

"I haven't heard from him, but I'm pretty sure he's just sulking."

"No." Gunn forced his eyes open and held hers. "What about Angel?" He weakly jutted his chin toward her, hoping she got the things he didn't want to say.

"Ohhh." Cordelia rested her hand on Charles' cheek. "I think I needed to come back home to remember something. I'm Queen C. I don't wanna be anyone's second choice."

"Can't I choose both?"


"No, you have to pick mountains or the beach. I have my reasons." Spike slowly ran his hands through Buffy's hair, keeping it away from her grazed face.

"Would those reasons involve honeymoon-type vacations?"

"Just answer the question."

"Beach."

"Mmm. Moonlight swims." Spike had the sudden image of the Slayer pressed up tight against the rocks on the coastline as he took her from behind. His hands would cup her soft little breasts to prevent them from getting all scraped up the hard stone.

Unless it turned out that she liked a bit of scraping. Certainly liked biting. He shifted his hips restlessly.

Buffy liked laying in bed with him, talking idly. It was definitely a new experience, something simple and sweet that made her soul smile. "Dog or cat?"

"I have to say cats now, obviously." Spike looked over to the cardboard box lined with one of his shirts. "Bitty Buffy is sleeping with her mouth on Bitty Spike's tail. He keeps twitchin' it in his sleep. Any second, she's gonna bite him and he's gonna let out a yowl that'll send 'em both up the walls."

"I told you, we can not call them Bitty Buffy and Bitty Spike. It'll be too confusing. 'Spiii-ke, dinner.' You'll both come running and one of you will be pretty unhappy with pig's blood or Fancy Feast."

Once the laughter died down, he suggested. "Romeo and Juliet?"

"Cute, but no."

He gave up this line of questioning and returned to their more pleasurable pursuit. "Bacon or sausages?"

"For the cats' names?"

"No, for breakfast!"

"Bacon." Buffy's hand reached under the covers and squeezed his semi-hard cock. "Except for this sausage."

"Mmm, Slayer." They should have been at it like rabbits by now. Victory was theirs. The party wasn't ruined until the very end, and then it had sort of a cute little curtain call, what with the three couples (who were very clingy, post-battle) smuggling kittens (who couldn't remain unsupervised in the cars) into the all-night market to shop for litter and things.

They were all still alive. They were going to have brunch inat ten tomorrow, the whole family, minus cats. I have a family. I have a brother. I have sisters. Hell, I've got in-laws and pets!

"Spike? Are you okay?"

"My mum wanted a brother or sister for me. Pretty sure she lost a few before they made it to birth."

Buffy blinked. That was not what she'd expected to hear.

"I'm just happy to have a brother and sisters. Parents again. Don't laugh." His damn tear ducts were prickling. "I was thinkin' about how I ought to be putting a certain 'sausage' to good use by now and instead here we are, lazing about."

"I noticed that, too." Buffy ran her hands up Spike's chest, ending under his jaw. "I don't mind. Do you?"

"No. Not to say that I wouldn't like to. Just feel… peaceful. Everything's settled. Even you an' me. You know, I always had somethin' I had to be chasing after. Gotta save Mum, gotta save Dru from herself, gotta get her better, gotta find the next Slayer, fight her, and the next and the next." Spike frowned. "Somewhere it switched in my head. Gotta save the Slayer." His hand traced her cheek. "She saved me, too. Gave me a family. I don't have to chase anything anymore."

Buffy blinked something shimmering and wet from her eyes. "I don't have to run, either." She snuggled deeper into his arms, sighing contentedly. A frown wriggled its way back to her serene lips. "Eventually, we're gonna have to chase something."

"Figurative versus literal, Pet," he chuckled, lips against her temple. She moved against him, restless legs, squirmy hips. Kitten wants me. That's confusin' now, too, blast it. Tigress wants me. "Not the engagement night you should have had." He half-growled against her cleavage.

"I'm happy with it," Buffy gasped as his tongue flicked her nipple. She felt his lips latch on and his hand went between her thighs, stroking her soft curls and softer, smooth lips. Her spine arched as a finger slid inside. "I love you."

"I love you." His face shifted, hungry and content at once, finding fulfillment and peace, but never tired of exploring her. He let his fangs scrape lightly over her puckered areola, slowly, teasingly.

"Oh? Ohhhh." Buffy let her fingers wander over his hair and down his neck, massaging the triangle of corded muscles where his shoulders flexed.

"Like that?"

"Mmhm." She shivered, nerve-endings awake.

He let the tips of his short nails coast over her inner thigh, digging in a little. She moaned and gasped, something surprised in her tone. He grunted back, feeling his stiff cock suddenly jump and swell as her hands mimicked his, down over his shoulders. "Kitty has claws."

"Baby has fangs," she countered.

They were tucked away now. This wasn't about biting. This was another kind of exploration. Except… "Should this wait?" Spike whispered.

"Oh, no you don't. No fair turning me into a raving orgasm-monster and then making me use self-restraint." Buffy pouted.

"Not a monster. Simply enthusiastic," Spike chuckled. "Should this sort of thing wait?" He dug his fingertips into her tightly muscled bottom, feeling the soft padding over the muscle, squeezing down. "'Cause today was beautiful and meaningful and hellacious and all of that?"

"It was not hellacious!"

"The part where Spooky showed up was messy and distracting." He worried the skin of her neck with blunt teeth as she sighed. "Potentially fatal. Should hold onto you all night, glad we're still together. He didn't get you."

"You wouldn't have let him," Buffy replied staunchly, slipping down, reversing their positions. Now he was above her slightly, so her teeth were the ones wrapping around his bite, then his nipple, little half-moon bites on perfect skin. He arched, cock straining. She pumped her fist over it once, and let her hand keep going, down to rub the tight little pucker between his cheeks. He let out a harsh curse and her pussy jumped. "You want to hold on to me?"

"Forever and ever." His mind was turning to jelly. Slayer touching him. Loving him, fucking him hard like the eternal beings they were.

"So, we hold on. Tight. Hard." Her lips sank over his crown as her finger slid into the tight ring of muscle, just the tip. Spike didn't say anything, but she could tell he agreed by the sudden way his fingers grasped her hair and he hissed in pleasure.


"Hard to hold on tight when we're all slippery." Buffy giggled, her heart racing along. Massage oil was all over her hand and all over his, too. Two of her fingers were dancing steadily inside of him, causing an unending trickle of salty sweetness to flow from his crown.

"Want this?" he rasped, denying himself the impending release.

"Yes." She knew what he meant, and it made her stomach flip-flop in a good way.

With a slick slide, they parted, her hand scrubbing across a towel briefly before her husband was down between her thighs, sucking on her clit, biting gently, tongue fucking hard. In seconds, her body was electrified and quivering, close to cumming. As her hips bucked forward, she felt his slippery finger penetrate her tight backdoor.

"Oh, God."

It didn't hurt. She hadn't expected it to hurt, but she'd expected it to feel weird, maybe even uncomfortable.

Nope. Decidedly good and very naughty, which made her pussy leap and twitch again. "More." Her brain could work out simple phrases.

He nuzzled his lips in deeper, finger following suit. She squeezed him in her hot, tight passage, which made his cock ache jealously. You'll get your turn. Taking his cues from her responsive body, his finger started picking up momentum with each thrust, until he slipped a second one in.

"Fuck!" Buffy gasped and started moving against him of her own volition. Pressure. All the good pressure, why was that good pressure? Why did she love this burning stretch and why did it make her feel so decidedly hot?

He chuckled against her, tongue flickering lightly, confusing her overloaded senses. "That's what I'm doing."

"Well, do more." Buffy yanked his hair pointedly, hoping to urge him up. So what if she lost that particular fullness? She was sure in a matter of minutes she could have something much bigger.

"You get very demanding sometimes," Spike growled, letting himself give in, crawling up her body.

"Will you please let me have that perfect cock?" Buffy fluttered her eyelashes as her lips formed a pout.

Well, damn. "I have a thing for demanding women. At least this one." He dipped down into her, letting his velvety crown indent her slippery slit further, then pulled away with a puzzled frown. "Hmmm. Little problem. You never said where you wanted it."

Oooh, she was in love with him, this smug, teasing, sex god. If she didn't love him and love the way he teased, then gave in and worshipped her, she'd be smacking that fake-bemused grin right off his face. "Why don't you start here?" She guided him back to her pussy with an equally contemplative grin. "And if we want… maybe you can visit another place nearby."

Spike blinked. "Are you… You don't have to."

"I liked it. Makes sense to do things you like." Buffy slid her arms over his neck, perfectly at ease. All the threats dealt with, the family safe, her husband beside her, inside her, in their own bed under their own roof. "I don't care what anyone else says," she murmured between hazy kisses. "I say this day was perfect."

"It certainly ended up that way."


"That's excellent news. Discharged tomorrow? Shall Daniela and I come get you? We drove your car back to our hotel." Wesley perched on the edge of the bed. He heard Daniela turn off the shower. A glance at the flickering hotel digital clock revealed it was nearly one in the morning. She'd spent a very long time in there, alone.

"Tomorrow morning is fine. I uh… I have a spot to sleep in."

Wesley heard the evasiveness in her voice. "Are you curled up next to Charles in his bed, or did you steal the one next to his?"

"It's annoying when you're psychic like that. He only has tubes on one side and I'm helping him work the clicker. In case you're interested, there's an all night Rockford Files marathon on Channel 5."

"I'll pass." The Watcher answered drily.

"How's Daniela?"

"I… Uh. She's well."

His mind drifted. The second they'd been alone in their hotel room, adrenaline peaked, driven by an overwhelming sense of survival and thankfulness.

Wesley had heard about "we survived/we're still alive" sex from Anya, in staggering detail in a very brief amount of time.

She was right.

Daniela was a goddess of old, one of the silent, terrifying bringers of storm, stripping them bare and riding him until her shoulders shook in orgasm and her spasming muscles milked an offering from him.

He passed out after a fervent kiss and woke up to find her closeted in the bathroom, shower creating clouds of steam. That was almost an hour ago.

"How can she be 'fine'? She had to watch her husband of half-a-millenia die. He did bad things to her, but still, that's a lot of memories to suddenly get poofed out of existence. Happy or sad or both, she can't be just fine."

Charles' voice was faint. "Angel would say she could. He'd say she'd be feeling nothing. Soulless."

"Shut up, Gunn. Don't listen to him, he's delirious." Cordelia gave a fake laugh.

"No, no. Angel would likely say something to that effect. He'd simply be wrong. I used the term as a placeholder. She's as fine as she can be at the moment. I'll talk to you in the morning. I think we'll stay another day, until the sun is lowering."

"You just want to wreck the hotel room instead of your apartment."

Wesley looked at the dent in the door. When did we do that? "That's an added bonus. Ah, Cordey, Gunn, I'll text you or call if new developments arise, otherwise, I'll see you as soon as they give Charles the all clear." Wesley hung up after another hasty goodbye. The bathroom door was opening.

The creature of lightning and thunder and perfect poise was gone. Out stepped a pale creature, dead white, make up gone, dark hair black with water. A black and white photograph come to life, swathed in a white towel knotted tightly at her breasts. Her face was equally tight, but flat. For once, his love looked truly dead, no spark in her.

"Oh, Danelia." What else could he say?

She sat beside him, stiff at first, then slowly leaning."I wanted him to die, more and more over time. I couldn't find that feeling, the feeling that I was no longer his love, but his pawn, his prisoner, his thing to be traded or sold—or kept because I wanted to leave."

"He was your lord and master, your husband, and your sire. He blunted all those feelings and desires."

Her hands curled into fists. "It was over in moments. Centuries of dullness, and decades of fearful freedom, knowing if he wanted me back, I couldn't disobey my sire…"

Wesley said nothing. She had been defiant slowly, in so many small ways. "I am sorry he didn't go out with the pain and anguish he deserved for what he'd done. The end result is worth the hasty demise, surely? You have centuries to live without his shadow over you."

Slowly, her head turned to his. The fire was back in her eyes, but her face was still grim. "He told me to kill you."

He swallowed audibly. "Well. You didn't."

Like a wave that starts far out at sea and slowly makes its way inland, her body released a long, pent-up shudder. "You are my beautiful defiance, Sorcerer. You are the first I've managed to save from him."

"You're the beautiful one." Wesley ran his hand up her trembling arm, head pressed to hers. "Everything about you is beautiful to me."

"I saw you try to fight him for me when you thought I was back under his control." She didn't need to breathe, but the air used for speaking came out in great, unsteady gulps.

"Of course I would fight for you!"

"But you know what he can do… what he did to me."

Wesley put his hands firmly under her chin, tilting her face up to his as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. "None of that matters. None of that would stop me. Nothing will stop me from loving you and fighting for you."

"Because I am yours?" she whispered the words that made unbreakable bonds.

"No, because you are you. That's who I love and care about. The fact that you're willing to be my— my lover," the word wife wanted to slide out, as naturally as breathing, "is just an incredible gift on top of it. You don't have to 'belong' to me to belong in my heart."

Daniela kissed him and scooted further onto the bed until her knees were on the mattress and her hands were on his shoulders.

"Hrm. That was quite a speech for me, I'm afraid. Very —" he trailed off embarrassed, wondering if he'd oversimplified something that was so huge and complicated to her.

"Perfection. It was perfection." She tugged the towel free. After the big speeches, the perfect moments, there was love, the physical kind of love.

"You're cold, you should put something on," Wesley hastily pulled his own pajama top over her shoulders. "Your hair is all wet."

"I will not 'catch my death', Wesley." She smiled up at him.

"I take care of the people I love." He answered simply. "You need to sleep. Preferably in my arms. I've been told I'm surprisingly warm for an Englishman."

She sighed and let him towel the wetness from her hair, let him curl up with her under the covers. "You are not warm. You are hot, a fire blazing away under those buttons and ties."

"Ah, but you love me for it."

I love him for himself. "Yes. Yes, I do."


To be continued…

If anyone is interested, my new novella came out about a week ago. It's called The Lady of the House by S.C. Principale. It's mature, curvy erotica and it really went off with a bang (I know, I know). Anyway, it's free with Kindle Unlimited. Also, January proceeds from Pale Girl, my vampire paranormal romance, will go to International Rescue Committee to help children in Afghanistan. If anyone wants to buy the book for a worthy cause (or just go donate to the worthy cause!) you have all my thanks.