A/N:
Disclaimer: This is a M-rated chapter.
Immortal, Chapter 6
It would be morning soon, the chance for her to get any sleep rapidly escaping. Not that getting home after midnight granted her much opportunity. She could sleep until mom returned in the early afternoon, wait for the front door opening to serve as her alarm. Buffy probably would, if her mind would settle and let her rest.
Unlikely.
Asking Spike to come along was foolish. She didn't think it would work but she knew right away it was a bad idea. Temptation and pointless. Not good.
She wanted him around. Wanted him near her. That's all she could think about when she asked. She clearly hadn't thought of any next steps if he agreed. She didn't know how to act. Everything she wanted to say or do was a bad idea. Some significantly more than others. It was paralyzing almost, afraid of taking a step in any direction that could lead down a wrong path. But having him nearby was nice.
Years of patrolling alone, or with others, and wishing they were him beside her instead. Yeah, having him nearby was nice, but a massive understatement.
She got in her head. It was window shopping, nothing more. Couldn't buy anything yet. Bummed her out. He noticed. Of course, Spike thought her shift in mood was about Angel. I guess it was reasonable to think that, but he couldn't be more wrong.
Then, Spike had to be, well, typical Spike. More accurately, current Spike. Do what he always did around this time. Allusions or outright threats about what would happen when his chip was gone. Let his demon speak for him, put words in his mouth. He didn't have nearly as much control right now. It wasn't that he was more demon than man, never was, only that he had no urge to fight against the monster. Not yet.
It wasn't lost on her. She wasn't stupid.
Part of Spike was a monster. Always would be, even if the man and his wonderful heart could overpower the beast. Even if he grew into the man he was in the original timeline. Part of him was a monster, a demon. Soul or no soul. Chip or not.
Part of him would always be a monster.
She didn't care.
He had done countless, horrible things. The sheer number of people he killed over the last century? Well, that pile of bodies stacked so high it would topple and collapse from the slightest breeze. The only thing that was ever off limits to him was torture and rape. She remembered the stories he shared with her, riddled with guilt from their retelling as the soul burnt inside of him.
Sure, he would savor the kill when the mood struck, play with his food a bit. Cat and mouse. But he wouldn't prolong it excessively, wouldn't push it until his victim would beg for death, wish for it. He wouldn't keep it going until their heart would give out. That was Angelus' thing, not his.
And he never raped. It was the one self-imposed line he wouldn't cross. He violated every other one. Not this. He would seduce and make them want it. Then kill. Always in that order.
And he kept his word. Even at his worse, a man and monster that kept his word.
A hybrid with a code. His code.
Buffy knew she was minimizing all the things he did. Downplaying the significance and extent of his sins and actions, even in her own head. Still, saving the world and countless millions had to even out the thousands he killed and then some. Didn't change it though. All of those things happened.
She didn't care.
It was her choice. She knew his heart, knew what he was capable of. Even if this time turned into some bizarro world...if he fell in love again, but he refused to change, refused a soul...
She would still get his chip out when the time came. If he wanted to kill and feed, she wouldn't stake him. Wouldn't fight him. She would choose to love him. She would try to nudge him in a certain direction...if you're going to kill maybe only rapists, abusers, and criminals. Maybe a compromise. But she knew the truth in her heart. If he refused, she would almost always yield.
Anything short of trying to harm her mom or friends? She wouldn't fight that if it meant losing him.
She spent over twenty years being a Champion for The Powers That Be. Two decades making sacrifices in the name of Good in the never-ending battle. If it really came down to it, if she was forced to chose, the choice was surprisingly easy. Hopefully, the Powers wouldn't smite her down or send new Champions to stop a rogue Slayer and her vampire lover.
Years of sacrifice and not getting what she wanted. If she ultimately had to chose between them and Spike, could they understand her decision? Would they allow it? Didn't everything she go through warrant her a hall pass, a chance at happiness without another tragic ending?
Some version of Spike was a hero. A Champion. At least one version of him, more likely many, that were possible and prophesied. Shouldn't the PTB honor that?
She would.
Even if this version didn't take that path, if he loved her, wanted her, she was his. Would stand by him. Always, no matter what.
It was her decision.
Oruvai was right. She choose Spike over Heaven. She would choose him over almost anything.
IMMORTAL
The laugh between the two of them fell away. Buffy tucked her knees up, adjusting her body against the bed as she turned further sideways to face her mother.
"You know," Joyce smiled. Her closest hand fell on Buffy's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I don't think we've spent time together like since, oh, I don't know. You were thirteen, maybe?"
"I missed you." Buffy whispered out, not that her mother knew the depth of her statement.
"I missed you too." She agreed, the smile growing even wider on her face as she looked at her daughter.
It nurtured Buffy's soul. Her eyes. So kind, so loving. She only knew one other person capable of looking at her with the same intensity. How had she forgotten how beautiful her mom's eyes were? How kind her face was? How loving she was?
"And," Joyce continued. "I don't think you've been in my bed like this in even longer."
Buffy nodded, a bit of sadness mixing with the joy she was feeling.
"Back in middle school I think," Joyce said. "Talking about your friends and boys you had a crush on."
Again, Buffy smiled, leaning her head down into the nearest pillow. She said, "It was a great day."
Joyce agreed. "Great."
"We should have more-more mother daughter days like this." Her voice wavered, her mother catching on.
"Buffy?" She asked.
"I love you mom." Buffy replied, the same sadness apparent in her voice.
"I love you." She said, studying her daughter for a moment before adding, "What's wrong dear?"
"Nothing." She said quickly, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's great."
IMMORTAL
Everything was awful. Okay, maybe a bit of exaggeration, but today sucked.
A vampire lunged at her. She dodged its first attack, landing a right jab that snapped its head back. Her stake was quickly in hand, and quickly through vampire heart. The fight lasted only seconds.
Poof.
Even her luck was awful today. She wasn't in one of the plethora of cemeteries across town. She was walking through a dimly-lit neighborhood, only a few blocks from Giles' apartment. She still got attacked by two vampires on the way to her Watcher's apartment. It was night and a Hellmouth after all. And she had awful luck today.
She dusted a bit of vampire off of her shirt, letting out a groan before she continued her deliberate, frustrated trudge across town.
Giles would be blind any minute. Already quickly heading in that direction most likely. Anya and Xander would come running in with his demon mob following closely behind less than an hour after Giles' vision deteriorated. The only difference? Spike wasn't going to pop up any minute and ask her to marry him this time.
Silver lining. She was able to actually be there for Willow on the second attempt. Supportive, not dismissive, as she mourned Oz. Which was sort of pointless because she would meet Tara before long, a passionate yet tragic love that would have a different ending this time. Not that Will had any clue of course.
The spell would still probably happen, she was sure. But she had changed enough it wouldn't be the same. She had given Spike his freedom, let him walk out into the night, refusing to allow him to go through the embarrassment or abuse of being chained at Giles' and then being roommates with Xander.
That action alone changed the day. And it would change the spell as well. That sucked.
She was selfish, at least right now. The consolation prize of letting Spike go free, and being able to be a better friend to Willow was something. But totally not worth giving up the events that should have happened tonight with Spike.
Sitting in his lap, kissing, happy. Beyond happy, betrothed. The fact that she had the perfect excuse. It was the spell, not her! She could be a more physically affectionate fiancee this time around. Giles would be too blind to stop them, realizing too late as the lock of his bedroom door clicked and fell into place. Helpless to prevent was what going to happen.
She wondered how much the sound of her screaming Spike's name, the claps of their skin meeting together as Spike slammed into her, and other sounds would traumatize her poor Watcher. He was fairly scarred the first go around with only the sound of kisses and smacking lips.
She blushed for a second, partially appalled by Giles' hypothetical reaction in her head, more so by her other, dirtier thoughts.
She knew the timeline. It wasn't enough time to find somewhere more private to be together, but enough time before Xander and Anya crashed the party. Poor, poor Giles.
Didn't matter. Wouldn't happen. Not this time. She needed to accept it and not get her hopes up any more.
She was close now. Coming up to Giles house. No more vampires jumping out of bushes or dark corners to surprise her.
She swung his door open, letting it close behind her as she stepped inside. "Giles?" She said. She mumbled to herself, quiet enough Rupert wouldn't be able to hear if he was listening. "Weird question, but how's your vision?"
She whipped her body around as the door opened behind her.
"Buffy," Spike said in a husky tone, eyes a little hazy as he smiled at her.
Buffy's heart pounded through her body, excitement and anticipation cursing through her veins.
Is this really happening? This is happening!
Those was her last coherent thought. Her brain growing foggy, autonomy slipping away, as Spike lowered to one knee and took her hand.
IMMORTAL
Everything was awful. No. That adequately described her situation early, not now. Everything was bloody awful as Spike would say. No, that didn't work either. Felt too tame.
Everything was beyond terrible.
Everything was trash, utter trash.
Rage. Despair. Fire and lust. All these things burnt inside her.
Her head snapped towards Willow, her friends all around her. The redhead saw the hatred in Buffy's eyes, and she started to tear up. Uttering another apology. It didn't help.
She turned, sprinting in the direction Spike had retreated only moments before. She couldn't be around them right now. She couldn't be around anyone right now.
"Buffy-" Xander yelled out.
"Buffy, I'm sorry!" Willow exclaimed at the same time, voice cracking with emotion.
She was gone. Leaving her friends by themselves in the mausoleum to deal with the aftermath of Willow's magic by themselves.
She ran. Nowhere in particular. Only as fast as she could, as if she could outrun the heartbreak she was feeling. It didn't work. Finally, when she was far enough away her friends wouldn't follow, she threw herself down against the ground, near the base of a large oak tree.
Her back came to rest against the hard surface of the tree, and she pulled her legs up slightly, resting her elbows against her knees as she held her face in both hands.
She couldn't hold it in anymore. Sobs. Painful sobs ripped through her body. She forced her eyes to stay shut as the tears fell, not even attempting to muffle her outbursts.
Goddamn Willow. That spell. Everything and every way she felt right now.
She thought she was lucky.
Lucky.
Lucky the spell still included Spike and her. At least that was what she felt while she was still in control.
She was wrong. Stupid. How couldn't she remember? She had no control during the spell. Absolutely no control. Under the influence of magic, not the driver, only a passenger along for the ride. A trip that followed an identical route, exactly the same as the first time. Aggravating beyond belief.
It wasn't any better than her memories. Worse actually, more frustrating and heartbreaking. It wasn't a chance to make new memories like she had hoped, only relive old ones. Worse yet, the magic, the fogginess and almost out of body experience. It was like she wasn't even living through it or doing it. Those weren't her lips on Spike's. She wasn't the one getting to feel soft, albeit cold lips returning her kisses, matching and countering the heat and passion on her own. Bringing her to balance.
She was jealous of herself. Jealous she wasn't in control. Jealous, and frustrated, and lustful...and angry, and left wanting. Wanting so much more. It was tearing her up inside. No release, even the tears and sobs barely helped alleviate the pressure that was overwhelming her.
She kept her head in her hands until the sobs worked their way to completion. It took a while, but eventually they stopped. She finally opened her eyes and wiped away the tears from her face. Her vision blurry, eyes stinging against the air, cheeks flushed, but she willed herself to her feet.
She wanted to go home. Her feet carried her towards Revello Drive. She wanted home, not some dorm room, and definitely not anywhere near Willow right now.
Her feet carried her, almost on instinct, her brain spinning out and running in circles. Before she knew it, she was walking up the steps of her front porch. She hardly remembered the journey, vaguely at most, that got her where she wanted. She was lucky her path didn't take her across any more vampires. Their fangs would have been halfway in her neck before she even realized what was going on.
It was late, but her mom was still awake, turning from her spot on the couch to look at her when she came inside. She was surprised by it, and felt a bit guilty for thinking it, but she wished her mom wasn't around right now. Already asleep in bed would have been preferable.
She locked eyes with her mom, immediately crumbling under the slight pressure. Buffy couldn't help herself, couldn't hold it back,, and immediately broke back into sobs. Fresh tears. Wrapping her arms around herself.
"Oh, Buffy," Joyce said, jumping to her feet, taking her daughter into a tight hug as soon as they were close.
She let her mom hold her. It helped. Not much but it helped, and it was comforting. Crying into her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around her mother. She didn't know how she had any tears or sadness left, where it was coming from, or how something this relatively minor in all honesty could cause her this much pain. She had dealt with so much worse. Still, it kept coming. An endless supply of sorrow they didn't make any sense and didn't seem commensurate for the situation. But it kept coming anyways.
Eventually, she gained back some control. Her mom asked, and quickly knew it was about the other side of her daughter's life she didn't know much about. The Slayer side. Joyce asked if everyone was okay, which Buffy confirmed. Everyone but her, she thought.
She appreciated her mother not prying or pushing. Simply being there in whatever way she was needed, like she always had been. She offered all the support she needed, not pushing when Buffy expressed her interest in going to bed. No desire to talk about it. Joyce understood, placing a small kiss on her forehead and allowing her daughter to retreat upstairs.
The shower didn't help. Hot water only amplified everything that was already burning her up inside. She skipped the conditioner, rushing through a routine that was normally somewhat therapeutic and relaxing.
Her bed was soft but offered no comfort. Dramatic, maybe, but it was the truth. She closed her eyes. Sleep wasn't going to happen. She wanted to scream, hit something, do something. Anything. Anything to make this go away.
She could feel it again, all of it building inside of her. That included the neglected lust, not at all satiated and flaring back up as Spike creeped back into her thoughts. She cursed herself, more specifically, the prude version this room actually belonged to. The replica of herself that held her sexuality close to the chest, afraid to reveal it, afraid to accept it.
Spike helped her with that, plenty. In another life, another time.
Age and life experience did as well.
The top dresser drawer in her bedroom, the one she left back in 2018, that was the one she needed right now. She was not a connoisseur by any means, but that drawer held a dildo and small vibe hidden under a layer of her undergarments. Sometimes, they remained there for weeks at a time when life and duty called. Collecting dust.
Other times they weren't in there at all, placed near her bed or under a pillow to be hidden from plain view. Being used frequently enough to never go back into their usual storage spot. Either way, always nearby for when and if she needed them.
She cursed prude Buffy, for not having the dresser drawer she needed right now.
Her hands would have to do.
Wow.
An instant shockwaves of pleasure surged through her from the first small press, the tiniest bit of pressure, against her clit. A couple of small circles and she gasped, louder than she wanted to. She didn't live alone anymore. Needed to have a bit of restraint.
Wow.
Even if they were not at all what she wanted, the events of tonight had her halfway to the edge of the cliff already. This wasn't going to last long, but was going to be intense, and she had to use whatever willpower she had not to alert her mother downstairs.
She went back to it, throwing her back into the pillow, trying to control her breathing as she thought of Spike.
Him on top. Her on top. Spike behind her, in the position she struggled the most to take him fully, her hands digging into the sheets. Sideways. Whatever way she could think of.
Her bed. His crypt. That one time in the alleyway. That other time in an alleyway.
Real events. Some that never happened but she had years to fantasize about.
She fought against her moans. She couldn't stop herself, only muffle their volume. She was getting close.
A sound.
She froze. Fighting against her panting, trying not to breathe even though she needed oxygen badly. She listened, intently, trying to hear.
Only relative silence. No footsteps. No signs her mom was nearby, in the hallway, or upstairs at all.
She pushed away the worry. Commanding her hands back to- She froze again. Apparently, she wasn't just searching out with her hearing, but all her senses. She felt it. That undeniable feeling she knew, recognized instantly. Slayer tingles that caused Buffy tingles.
Spike.
She tilted her head, contorting her neck as her eyes shot to her bedroom window. She focused, searched.
He was there. He was right there.
Down in the yard. Like before. But never this early before. Probably leaning against her tree. If she looked out the window, she would likely see the embers of his cigarette glowing in the night. Just like before. As he had done so many times.
Prude Buddy wasn't here. The Buffy who would have felt shame or horrified by this? She wasn't here. The fact he was right outside, that she knew his enhanced senses made every moan and sound audible, let him smell everything? Well, that only quickened her heart rate from excitement and lit her ablaze even more.
Didn't she think the vampire smelling thing was gross at some point? Not now. Didn't matter anyways.
She kept touching herself, the feeling growing even more electric knowing he was listening. He was her audience and she was going to give him a show.
She couldn't fight the moans anymore. Her mom couldn't hear them downstairs, but if she made her way to the upstairs hallway she would. That could be awkward. She didn't care.
She was going faster. Getting closer. Couldn't stop it from building more rapidly.
A thought crossed her mind. A stupid thought. But she had to do it. She needed to do it. She wasn't thinking clearly, but she needed to do it.
She couldn't have him, yet. She wanted him right now. But couldn't have him. But she needed to let him know. Needed him to know what was driving her crazy, burning her up inside, who she was thinking about. Needed to make it very clear.
She was his. Fully. Only his, even if he didn't know it yet. She had to let him know.
It was stupid but she was going to do it.
IMMORTAL
At some point, Spike turned around. Retracing his steps. They were probably already gone, and if not they were in trouble. He couldn't hurt them physically, but he was sure he could fling enough insults, about each one of their respective insecurities, that they would be questioning themselves indefinitely and it would affect their self-esteem for years to come.
The witch and her stupidity. Wasn't the girl supposed to be the smart one? The bloody redhead didn't have a clue what she was dabbling with. Magic always had consequences. Eventually she was going to something that ended up hurting a lot of people. He was sure of it. Maybe herself in the process, and if so, she deserved what she had coming.
The bloody Slayer and her stupid face. The audacity to look down at him with all that anger and rage when they both came back around. She was straddling him, not the other way around! It was a matter of pride. If you're going to be forced together by some bloody witch who couldn't even control her magic- Well, there were plenty worse blokes to snog with than him. She should consider herself lucky.
And the whelp. His name was stupid. None of this was really his fault but he deserved a punch in the face regardless.
And the ex-demon. So bloody stupid. Painfully so. No social acumen. Blurting out stupid shite all the time. Well, she was with the boy. Romantically. Self-inflicted torture so she got a free pass.
His ears perked up and he listened. Someone was crying. He scanned the area, rolling his eyes as he saw the Slayer hunkered down at the foot of some tree. Sobbing her eyes out. Pathetic.
He was close, but there was enough distance between them she wouldn't sense him. Not that she would sense anything sobbing and whining that loud. Stupid. Might as well put a bloody sign on your back saying 'Bite me.' She was lucky there weren't any nearby baddies roaming the night as far as he could tell.
Bloody hell she wouldn't stop. Then the smell reached his nose. Faint, but present, underneath all that pity and sorrow. Arousal. The more he focused in on it, the more obvious it was. Still there, just like when she was all hopped up on magic and sitting her pert little ass in his lap.
Fake puritan Slayer, probably crying her eyes out because the bad man touched her no no, which wasn't even bloody close to accurate. And some part of her liked it, and hated herself for it. She should consider herself lucky, count her blessings. That spell was a doozy. Think snapping back to reality snogging with your mortal enemy is bad? Could have easily been snapped back mid-coitus, her tight little hole accommodating his entire length.
Could have been a lot worse.
Drama queen.
Spike kept watching, the anger and resentment he felt beginning to wane. Sure, the self-hatred she was probably feeling played a part. But that wasn't all of it. The Slayer was fierce, untamable, awe-inspiring at times. She probably hated what happened as much as he hated getting a chip in the head, and for similar reasons. No control, caged, no freedom or possession of one's own free will.
His imprisonment was one of unknown length, but her entrapment was short-term. It only lasted the duration of the spell. Still, he could understand. She probably felt violated, betrayed, hurt. While he was sure the Slayer's emotions weren't as filled with hate as his own, they probably felt similar towards the redhead right now.
Unintentional or not, what she did was foul. Inhumane.
At least towards Buffy, a complete violation of trust.
He was a monster, an animal, nothing more than a beast. But the Slayer? Well, she had a little bit of animal in her too. Just a tad, but it was there. All that power, and a hint of darkness just under the surface.
No greater sin, no greater crime towards an animal than taking its freedom. Locking it in a cage, whether that be with steel, a chip, or a bloody spell.
He was pissed, furious even. But not with her. She was a victim in this all as well. For the countless things he could hate her for, this wasn't one.
She stumbled to her feet, slowly, heading off in a direction away from him. He wasn't sure why but felt compelled to follow. Maybe a bit of a hangover from the spell? No, that wasn't it. Maybe to see if she leaned into her own monster a bit, went out hunting and killing, working through the injustice thrust upon her with violence, or maybe she would deny what she really was, let the 90% of her that was simply a girl get her way. Find another quiet, more secluded place to sulk and whimper some more.
Honestly, he could understand either choice. He felt like he was 90/10 at times, only much more demon than simply a man.
She was heading home, not back to the dorm room she shared with the witch. Couldn't blame her. Not a bit.
He stalked, keeping a safe distance. Outside of her senses. Outside of her normal senses at least. Slayer was so out of it could have followed five paces behind and she would be none the wiser.
Why was he here? That thought crossed his mind a few times. What was he doing exactly? He decided to light up a fag, leaning against a tree in her yard as he pondered and listened.
She was crying again. Joyce was talking. Angel that one, the Slayer got lucky. Good mum through and through, good lady. Couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, slightly too deep in the house, just enough objects and pieces of furniture between them and him that dampened the sounds and vibrations. He caught a word here or there, enough to get context, but not much. Joyce was consoling her daughter.
Slayer was going to bed to cry some more. Simply a girl won. No surprise.
He stayed, not being able to understand why as he heard the running water. Still there, listening to the Slayer from the spot in her yard. The water stopped and he could hear her soft footsteps bringing her back into her room. All the shameful feelings and smells wiped clean, only the faintest hint of soap and some fruity body wash perceptible to him.
Another fag, his fourth or fifth in a row. He chain smoked out of sheer boredom, usually. At this point, he just wanted something to do with his hands.
He blew out a deep drag, inhaling before all of the smoke evacuated. There it was again. Arousal. Stronger this time. If he didn't know any better, she was up there sopping wet.
A moan. He froze, listened. It was clear as day, but he didn't really believe it. Maybe he was hearing things.
Another hushed, sexy little whimper from the Slayer's lip.
It was soft, barely above a whisper. No doubt Buffy didn't want to alert Joyce to exactly what her innocent little daughter was doing up in her room. She was quiet, but her bedroom window was right above him along the thin exterior wall of the house. Not nearly as soundproof as the living room downstairs. Just a whisper, filled with desire and ecstasy, and she might as well have been whispering in his ear.
Another moan.
Bloody hell, the Slayer was rubbing one out. Massaging the ache out of her little cunny that went unfulfilled and wanting from what happened. Couldn't blame her. Relatable. And he should leave, but bloody unlikely that was happening.
He jumped slightly, a noise startling him. Downstairs, coming from Joyce but he couldn't tell what. Best guess, maybe a kitchen cupboard closing a tad hard? The Slayer stopped from what he could tell. Probably examining the noise like he was, but she returned to it with vigor after a brief pause.
Little pants and moans growing the slightest bit louder and more desperate.
A little bit faster.
Three moans per drag from his cigarette. Five now.
He dropped his cigarette.
"Spike..."
His throat clenched, eyes refusing to blink as he stared at her window.
"I'm gonna cum. Spike...Spike."
Then she did. One muffled, prolonged cry as she fell off the cliff. Hanging in the air until she ran completely out of breathe and had to breathe. A few more pants and shaky whimpers and she started coming down.
He couldn't feel his feet. Couldn't believe his ears. Couldn't...
His eyes snapped down as his brain came back to reality. He quickly removed his free hand that had somehow found it way to the strained bulge struggling against his pants.
More panting above, she couldn't catch her breath.
He couldn't catch his. He didn't need to breath. He couldn't be out of breath. He didn't need to breathe.
He snapped himself out of thought, commanding his brain to shut up. He didn't know what to do, and chose the easiest option, turning and putting distance between the house and himself. Quickly.
Fleeing into the night.
