Immortal, Chapter 3
Spike couldn't believe it. His eyes locked with Buffy's. Blue crashing against green, her head less than a foot above his crotch. He leaned back, pushing his back into the couch cushion as much as it would give, sliding his hips out a few inches towards her.
She bit her bottom lip for a second as her gaze flashed from his crotch, to him, and back again.
Her hands rushed to his belt.
He knew that was why Buffy was down there, but it still caught him by surprise, caused his fake breathing to seize as panic and excitement rushed through him.
"Slayer," He said, failing to conceal the desire in his voice. "What are you doing pet?"
She smirked at him, her eyes full of lust as she popped open the sole button on his trousers. "Thanking you." She replied. Her right hand reached his zipper, beginning to pull it down slowly.
Spike's eyes shot open. His whole body jumped, only a few inches, before the chains wrapped around his wrists stopped his movement. His head bounced off the back of the tub as his body fell back. He pulled his head back up and scanned his surroundings. He was in the Watcher's bathroom.
The dream came back to him, a few vivid images flashing by.
"Oh, Bloody hell." He said in exasperation, letting his head fall back once more.
What the hell was wrong with him?
What was that?
What the hell was that?
A dream, obviously. A shameful dream. But hot, he couldn't deny that. Some part of him wished he hadn't woken for a few more minutes.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Nothing. Nothing was wrong with him. He wanted her, sure, almost as bad as he wanted to drain her. That was the case from the first moment he saw her. It wasn't the way she looked, or at least that wasn't the only culprit. Sure, classic California beauty. Cute face, lean body, pert but with sleek curves. Sexy and cute, little spitfire. Her face was a bit pudgier when they first met, it had evolved some recently, narrowing and shedding a bit of baby fat, transforming from nauseatingly cute to something more elegant, from girl next door to something even more alluring.
It wasn't her looks as much as the ferocity of her, the pride, the way she held herself. The list could go on for a bit if he tried. It was the side of Buffy that made her the Slayer, mixed with all the aspects that would have made him seduce her, shag her senseless before draining her, if she was only some innocent girl he randomly met while out searching for a snack. And was she ever.
He wanted to kill her, watch the panic in her eyes as she knew. This was it, she was going to die. Punish her for everything the last year or so. The shame, the bruised pride, the organ and wheelchair. The demon craved it, demanded it. He craved it too, but that didn't mean he didn't have eyes.
His mind finally put together all the pieces. It was Drusilla's fault really, as things always came back to her. His thoughts, his motivations, everything.
Over a century of conditioning, she molded him. It was Pavlovian in nature and he hadn't even realized what she was doing. Did she? Probably not, as he was just a plaything to her and oh, did she ever love her toys.
The pain, humiliation, and neglect always came first. Some masochistic part of him enjoyed that, but only because he craved what would come next. At some point, compassion and tenderness. Not true compassion or empathy, but the closest Drusilla's imitation could come to those feelings or emotions. Looking back, it was almost always enough to fool him.
His mind went back to that one time in Bucharest. She put him up, arms drew out to his sides and chained. His feet secured as well. He couldn't fight back as she dug her claws into him, drawing her weird, fever-pitch signs and symbols in his flesh. At some point, she opted for a knife. It cut deeper, and the lines were cleaner.
He thought it was extensive foreplay, but when she left the old, burnt out building they were calling home...left him alone, chained, and bleeding he wasn't truly surprised. He was a plaything, and sometimes she lost interest in her toys. Would choose another, or simply drop it, come back later at some point when the fancy hit her.
Two days he remained chained and neglected. Hungry, for affection and blood. She came back a few times but barely acknowledged his existence. Another time, she brought back a man. He saw the panic in the stranger's eyes once he saw him against the wall. Took in and comprehended the chains and blood, realized what he had walked into.
She grabbed him, threw him on the bed. Ripped into his neck but not enough to kill or make him bleed out, not yet. She tore off his clothing, tossing him around without regard as he cried out in fear. Straddled him on the bed and the boy obliged. Willingly, perhaps not. It may have simply been the brain mistaking terror for arousal, or him thinking if he did what she wanted he might get to live. Either way, the boy was willing and crying out, definitely more pain than pleasure, as she ripped her nails into his flesh and kept him pinned with each downward thrust of her hips.
She didn't climax while on top of him. Somehow, that small ounce of pride, that some human couldn't make her cum like he could, was enough to sustain him through his own despair, pain, and watching his beloved with the boy, not him. It was barely enough to keep him from burning up completely, dusting simply from his inner turmoil.
She lost interest, grabbing the boy's neck and snapping it before he could scream out one last plea for his life. She drained him, not even having the common decency to unsheathe the boy from where he was buried inside her. Finally, she hopped off. A little giggle, a soft cackle that was part innocent but mostly haunting. She finally acknowledged him.
Coming up to him, rubbing her hands over his wounds that had started to heal and mend themselves. She didn't kiss him, stopping her face a few inches from his as she whispered sweet nothing and nonsense.
She left again.
Finally, a few hours later, she returned. Undid his chains, welcomed him into her embrace. Welcomed him into their bed. Let him take her, reclaim her in a sense. She was gentle, her hands rubbing all over his skin, her lips placing small kisses on some of his cuts and bruises. He could barely hold it together, so much rage, despair, wanting...and the modicum of kindness, her soft touch...amplified his anguish as he pounded into her as hard as he could.
For a few minutes, he felt loved. Felt accepted, desired...worthy. For a few minutes, everything was okay again.
He couldn't hold it back for long. He roared, expelling two days worth of desire and build-up into her. His entire length buried, orgasm crashing over him in lesser and lesser waves until it left him completely.
He couldn't remember a time he came any harder.
She lost interest, pushing him off his position atop of her, with the same nonchalant attitude of which she snapped the neck of the boy whose corpse was still in the room. And things went back to how they always were. Until the next time she decided it was playtime and he would be the trinket she chose.
Predictable, he thought. For how batshit crazy she was, chasing every whim with no real rhyme or reason, Dru had predictable patterns. He let out a scoff, hardly aware of the moisture starting to pool at the corner of his eyes. Swallowing back hard he did what he always did. Ignored it. He was capable of mental gymnastics, able to convince himself that it was incredible, more than he should have been given, more than he deserved.
It was more than he deserved.
That much was true.
But now, after she left him, threw him to the ground like the plaything he was, threw him in the dirt and left forever, he could see the truth.
She never loved him. She wasn't capable, or perhaps she was. He was capable of love. Maybe she was too and he simply didn't deserve it. Probably not. Angelus broke her into a million pieces, and no matter the countless attempts, he couldn't fit the puzzle back together. Besides, she was too busy breaking him down piece by piece over decades to give him an honest attempt to put her back together.
Still, he thought it was more than he deserved at the time.
All of those memories. The ones he chose to paint in his head as blissful, that he forced himself to remember fondly, were finally laid out bare when she left. It was more than he deserved, but somehow, it was something no one deserved. No one deserved that.
Cognitive dissonance at its finest.
It was Drusilla's fault, it always was. So, why did he still love her with his entire being? Why did he know that if she came back this second he would weep, accept her immediately, think somehow it was all his fault and he deserved it?
It was her fault, not his. Ms. Pavlov and the dog she whipped and abused and beat. The dog that deserved it.
That was why his thoughts were on Buffy. Why he dreamed about her. Why his cock was attempting to rip out of his pants, stretching uncomfortably against the fabric at this very moment.
The Slayer tied him up, slapped him around a little bit. Her and the bloody Scooby gang ignoring him, pushed off in the corner of the room like the worthless thing he was. Throw in a little pain, arrows through the chest, even though that wasn't her fault really.
Then, she looked at him. Kept looking at him. Not like a monster, but like she actually saw him. She untied him. Gave him food that wouldn't sustain him, but still, an act of kindness. A few glances, with hints of warmth he didn't deserve.
It caused his brain to almost melt, and he couldn't understand his thoughts, the dream, the frustration and confusion until now.
It was Drusilla's fault.
Buffy didn't beat him, torture him, tear him down mentally...only to let him take her, fuck her, please her. But there were enough similarities with the mean then nice, the rope then food, the look of hate then kind expression, that crossed wires in his brain and his dick couldn't tell the difference.
Ring the bell...puppy wants to eat.
It meant nothing.
He struggled against the chains once more, frustrated once he realized the lack of freedom his hands were given. He couldn't even take care of himself right now, at least not the problem in his trousers. Spike threw his head back, closing his eyes as he rested against the cold surface and tried to clear his mind.
It didn't work.
IMMORTAL
Buffy had a plan. A working, functioning plan. It was pretty short-term, but it was good. Most of the morning and early afternoon was spent going through the finer details in her head. First, she would probably withdraw from college. That wasn't really part of the master plan, but would happen one way or another. Her destiny was more important than higher education. She dropped out the first time. Never had the urge to go back later. She could have. After the Scythe, she had an opportunity. She had the freedom to do whatever she wanted, more than enough Slayers to pick up her slack if she chose retirement. She couldn't.
At some point, she would give up college this time as well. Maybe not for a bit, her mom would be back soon enough, and she wanted nothing more than time with her. Good time. Not hard and uncomfortable conversations about her future. If going to school for another semester or two would prevent rocking the boat she would do so. Plus, she wasn't sure what her plan was for the Initiative yet. She didn't want to burn any bridges until she figured that out. Keeping Riley nearby could prove beneficial, although she would have to shut down any thoughts he had about them, hard. The same for Walsh. College sent her on a crash course with Walsh and the Initiative the first time, and until she knew she wanted to take a different route, maybe it was best to stay enrolled.
Anyways, not really part of the grand plan, but something she was thinking about.
The plan was simple. She wanted Spike around her. She wanted him nearby and beside her whenever possible. The only way that was possible was the same as before. Fighting. Not feelings, or friendship. That would come later. He needed to know the truth about the chip immediately, not that she could tell him directly. Spike could be her hired muscle. It would be difficult, but she could get the group to get behind the idea. It was never official, but that's basically how it worked last time. He would help out with apocalypses and bad guys, sporadically and with no real consistency. They occasionally gave him money and blood.
He was too proud, maybe too evil at this point, to gain his allegiance. But she could form a tentative alliance with money, blood, smokes, and the promise of taking down the people that put the chip in his head.
Fighting was the only thing that gave him purpose, especially during this time when the chip changed so much for him. The only stress relief he had was being able to fight, even if it was his own kind. He loved it, but it went way beyond being a favorite hobby.
The demon, his demon.
It was the only way he could satiate and calm it.
The demon was always screaming out. Demanding. The longer it went hungry, unfulfilled, the harder it became to fight. The way Spike explained it to her once was that it varied, but it always came down to some variation of the same three things.
Violence, lust, and the desire to take.
She could help him with the last two things, eventually. She thought about how she could help with those last two things, constantly. She ached for it, for him.
Caution. Restraint. Beans.
Anyways, fighting was the only thing that gave him purpose.
Spike would eventually find a new purpose. She hoped. He had before, but for now, violence and battle would be the only thing he looked forward to. Her cheeks blushed as she thought about a few other things she could get him to look forward. She felt a rush of heat move down her body as her mind fantasized exactly what that would look like in excruciating detail.
Caution. Restraint. Beans.
She needed to focus. She needed to do this right. Then, there would be plenty of times to make her vivid daydreams into reality.
There was another benefit to letting Spike know the limitations of his chip immediately. They could avoid the depressed, borderline-suicidal Spike phase during the few weeks until he found out it didn't work on non-humans. What if something changed and he managed to actually fall on a stake this time? She didn't come back for Spike to let him dust himself while having a mid-unlife crisis in Xander's house.
She couldn't allow that.
IMMORTAL
All day. All day in a bloody tub. It was evening now and he knew the sun would be low enough any minute that he could walk around freely, not that he was free by any means. He could feel it. Spike heard the front door open, and his eyes shot to look at the closed bathroom door only a few feet away from him.
He heard the footsteps. He let out a sigh when he heard Buffy's voice. His day kept getting better. He couldn't help himself, hours devoid of entertainment or stimulus would do that to someone, and he listened to every word.
"Buffy, how was class?"
"Not bad, I guess. Where- "
"You're a bit early. Everyone else won't show up for- "
"Where's Spike?"
Silence. A few more seconds.
"He's still in the bathroom, seriously? All day?"
"Buffy, I do not feel comfortable giving him free rein in my house."
Buffy could hear one set of footsteps getting closer, he assumed they belonged to Buffy. They were nearly at the door when they stopped.
"You give him blood?"
"Yes, I went to the butcher this morning. He only had four bags but told me to stop back in a few days."
"How many?"
Silence.
"How many did you give him?"
"I gave him one this morning."
Yeah, don't starve me Rupert. Just keep me hungry enough I'm desperate. Git.
He heard her scoff, footsteps getting lighter as she stepped away from the bathroom door.
His stomach lurched when he heard the microwave start. He listened to it running, hoping it was blood for him, but trying to not get his hopes up. If Thanksgiving dinner was anything to go by, Buffy was the least likely to make him go hungry. Still, he tempered his expectations.
The smell hit his nose. Blood. Sweet, delicious, currently being microwaved blood.
"Where are the keys?" He heard Buffy ask, adding after a second, "For Spike."
Spike heard noises, but no more words.
The door swung open as Buffy stomped in. He had a thousand barbs and insults ready for the first person to walk through that door, but he chose to hold his tongue. She was pissed, fuming. And he wasn't in a position to fight back. You didn't live to 120 without learning to pick your battles at times.
She turned and sat down on the edge of the tub. Reaching down, she said, "Lift up." Her voice wasn't particularly stern, but Spike obeyed, lifting his hands up off his lower abdomen.
She was able to reach the lock, and a few ticks later his hands were free.
"Uhh," He groaned out as he rolled both of his wrists in small semi-circles. He was getting tired of being bound up by ropes and chains. It wasn't that bad for short periods, but long-term and the body started to suffer and cramp up.
His mind flashed back- Romania, Drusilla, chains. He blocked it out, shaking free and refusing to let his mind drift back to those moments again.
Buffy was already standing. "I'll meet you in the kitchen." She left without another word.
He stood up slowly, stepping out of the tub. The bloody thing was barbaric, and he was only taking showers from this moment on. He heard the ding of the microwave, his neck snapping in the direction of the kitchen. His feet carried him towards that sweet smell.
IMMORTAL
Giles was sitting at the head of the table, his eyes bouncing between Buffy to his left and the vampire that was now working on his second cup of blood to the right.
"So, I was thinking," Buffy said.
Spike looked up, realizing the words were directed towards him and not Giles. "Scary," He quickly said before returning his lips to his mug.
She didn't counter his jab.
"What do you think they were doing to all of you down there?" Buffy asked. "Why are they capturing demons and vampires?"
He glanced up at her again. She refused to look away. He felt a quick hit of frustration. Apparently, they were having a conversation now. He tilted the mug, chugging the remaining contents. When done, he placed it next to the other, empty container. He inhaled the first one and he sort of wanted to savor the second mug a little bit.
Slayer wouldn't allow it.
"Not a clue Slayer." He said, looking between her and Giles. "Paramilitary, maybe actual military, I don't know. Poking and prodding us, maybe trying to learn more about us so they can kill us better?"
Buffy pursed her lips, letting her eyes drift to the left.
"Perhaps," Giles added. "It would make sense that- "
"I don't think that's it." Buffy interrupted.
Both men looked at her, waiting for a response. There was nothing immediately.
"Well, unless you have a better idea…" Spike's words hung in the air.
"I do," Buffy said with a nod. "Think about it."
"Thought about it Slayer, plenty." Spike fired back. "They didn't kill us. They captured us. Doesn't make a lick of sense 'less you want to experiment, learn more about us, or…"
Buffy watched the realization appear on his face.
"Or turn us into a weapon." Spike finished.
"Oh, dear." Giles took off his glasses, instinctively pulling the small cleaning cloth out of his right pocket. He dropped them both on the table. "This could be about what Ovurai was talking about."
"Oruvai," Buffy corrected.
"Uh, yes Oruvai." Giles said, quickly continuing on. "This group, whatever they are...they could be the cause of this other demon's origins."
Spike sighed, rolling his eyes and adding, "Made in a lab, from bits and pieces of other demons? Hundred quid that's a Big Bad you lot will be dealing with soon enough."
Buffy couldn't help the proud smile that fell onto her face. Led them to a correct conclusion without giving up the beans, and, perfectly set-up the next step of her plan. She quickly wiped the look off her face before Giles or Spike noticed.
"I think," She paused until she had both of their attention on her. "I think it's more than that. What if they're trying to make weapons out of all the demons they capture? That would explain the chip."
Spike scoffed. "Bang up job with that."
She understood his words. He was still under the impression the chip applied to everyone. Human, demon, and vampire alike. If they were trying to turn demons into obedient soldiers making it so they couldn't inflict any harm on any enemy was beyond stupid.
"All you know," Buffy said, "Is that you can't bite or attack humans. Have you tried to attack anything else? Any other vampires...demons?"
"I don't eat vampires, I eat humans. Why would- " Spike started. "Wait! Are you saying, do you think that…"
"I don't know." Buffy replied. Lying. "But it's possible…"
She could see the hope on his face, not that she couldn't already hear it on his earlier words. She was a genius. Well, at least smart. It wasn't the most complicated plan, but it was falling into place perfectly. Now, the next part was simple. All she had to do was recommend a short trip to the nearest graveyard to test it out. Spike might take a little convincing, he was pretty hesitant the first time around. She knew why. It hurt. A lot. Enough voltage and current with each pulse to kill a normal human. She still remembered him writhing on the floor in pain, the chip slowly killing him, one misfire at a time. It was an unpleasant memory.
He sprung to his feet. He was gone before Buffy had even left the table. The front door slammed as Buffy looked at her Watcher. "We'll be back, the meeting is still on tonight."
Giles looked a little pale, but nodded.
She was wrong. Spike didn't need any convincing.
IMMORTAL
Cold feet. He seemed confident when he ran out of the apartment. She struggled to keep up as he beelined for the closest place he would likely find a vamp or demon. Still, here they were, walking through Shady Hill cemetery on a frustratingly slow night. Not a fledge to be found. He had already flung a hundred different concerns and doubts about her "sodding awful theory" in her direction, in between all the times he made it blatantly clear he didn't want her around.
"You don't know, Slayer!" He hissed in her direction. "Easy to make guesses when you aren't the one getting a brain scramble. Hurts like bloody hell!"
"I know," She said.
"No, you don't!" He retorted.
A vampire. More specifically a fledgling, fresh out of the grave with dirt-covered clothes. They both noticed it.
"Here's one." Buffy said, quickening her pace towards the vampire that was descending on them. Spike wasn't on her right anymore. She spun around, noticing that Spike had quit walking.
"Spike," She said, almost in a whining tone. "Come on. You're the one that ran out of Gi- "
She ducked when she felt it, the young vampire flipping over top of her and landing on its side with a thud. She took a step back, dropping into a defensive stance. The vampire hopped to its feet, flailing out with a wide-arching right hook that she side-stepped. A few more hard, but sloppy punches. She dodged them all. She landed a punch to its chest, following up with a kick to the abdomen that knocked him flat on his back.
She retreated quickly, choosing a path that put her only a few feet beside Spike.
The vampire got back to its feet, slower this time, growling as it stepped towards them.
"Fight him," She huffed. "Not me." She took two more steps back, so Spike was the closer target. It didn't matter as the vamp lunged at her. She blocked another punch, countering with an uppercut that knocked it back a few feet.
"Bloody hell, Slayer!" Spike exclaimed. "Doesn't want me."
A quick exchange, ending with another Slayer fist to the face. He stumbled back, his feet tripping over each other. "Get him!" She exclaimed at the now sprawled out vampire, pointing with emphasis towards Spike. His only response was another growl.
She backed up again, but the vampire was only interested in the blood it could feel coursing through Buffy's veins, the heart pumping away in her chest that was almost deafening.
Spike took a hesitant step forward. Blocking the path between the vampire and Slayer. This was absolutely ridiculous. Embarrassing even. He was going to punch the poor sod before this went on any longer. The few seconds of excruciating pain would almost be worth it, only to be able to tell the Slayer she was wrong and stupid. So stupid.
He knew the shock was coming, full force, either way. The chip didn't care if it was a light jab or a haymaker, so he threw his whole body weight into a hard right. A bit of spit flew out of the fledgling's mouth as it crashed to the ground. Spike braced, waiting for the pain.
It never came.
"I can hurt a demon." Spike said.
He looked at Buffy, shocked. The smirk on her face didn't even irritate him, he was too euphoric. She could rub it in if she wanted and he wouldn't care. He turned towards the vampire, barely on its feet at this point. He lunged forward, feigning an attack from his left. The vampire reacted, but Spike hit it with a right jab that stunned the youngling. Three more punches, in quick order. Finally, Spike planted his right foot, whipping his body around counter-clockwise, slamming his left foot into the poor bastard's sternum. He lifted a few feet off the ground, landing with a crash and skidding a foot or so when he hit the ground.
Spike was shaking, his whole body. He let out a laugh that shook his whole chest, excitement building in him.
"That's right, I'm back!" He roared, throwing his head back. "And I'm a bloody animal!"
