Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 31: Freefall
Chapter Notes:
I'm sooo sorry I'm late with this!
Before we start, just a quick shout-out to MissLuci for betaing and helping me fix problems with this chapter, which was difficult to write in places. THANK YOU SO MUCH! All mistakes are mine cos I keep fiddling.
-X-
The grime in the dark alley crunched under Buffy's feet, the uneven bricks making each step precarious. The stench of it—maggoty, rotting food, stale urine, pungent piles of feces, human and otherwise, with a miasma of thick coal smoke over it all—was enough to gag her, and she had to lift an arm to cover her mouth and nose. There were no lights beyond the sliver of moon high above the ramshackle buildings, which seemed too close, making the alley unnaturally narrow. A rat or ten scurried along the walls, squeaking their sinister chatter at her as she passed, clutching her stake so tightly her fingers ached.
A footfall behind her had her spinning around, but nothing was there. Then another from the other end of the passage whipped her head back, stake poised to strike.
Nothing.
But there was something. More than one somethings. She could feel them tingling down her spine. Her skin prickled with sweat as even more adrenaline pumped into her blood, and her heart rate rocketed.
Buffy's palm was sweaty against the warm wood, and she switched the weapon to her left hand a moment, as she lifted her eyes up... up... squinting in the dark, trying to make out...
Her heart stopped. Shapes. Human shapes clinging to the walls, using the divots and holes in the old, crumbling mortar as foot and handholds. Golden eyes shined down at her, hungry and feral.
Buffy quickly shifted her weapon back, prepared to fight, but where to start? They were in front of her, behind her, above her. She whirled, stake finding targets, dusting one, two, three… but more came. More and more. Too many. She turned to run, but it was too late. They were on her, driving her to her knees, then pinning her against the hard, fetid ground. Ripping. Tearing. Their fangs and claws sinking into her body. Her flesh was peeled from her bones. Tendons snapped. Blood gushed.
She screamed and thrashed.
They laughed and drank.
And drank.
And drank.
Suddenly, Giles was standing over her, a huge ax in his hand. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only watch as the blade sailed down toward her neck. PAIN! And then she was falling through darkness... falling, falling...
"Buffy! Luv! Buffy! Just a dream. Buffy!" Spike assured her as he tried to calm her thrashing limbs and silence her terrified screams.
She came back to herself with a gasp. Her eyes wide with terror, her heart thrumming much too quickly, her body drenched in a cold sweat.
She blinked, looking around. Her room. Her bed. Her vampire. Her dog. Her mom. All looking worried.
"Dream... just a dream," she rasped, her throat raw from her screams. "I'm okay... okay now. Sorry... I..." She looked around at the bed and the files scattered around her. The reports of other vampires and Slayers working together... the reports of their lives and their deaths. She'd been reading them yet again before she fell asleep, trying to find some clues, some key to keeping her vampire—and herself—safe.
The Guardian was nuzzling one of her hands, making a soft, comforting chuffing sound. Spike was holding her against his bare chest tight enough to bruise, but she didn't want him to let go, just in case she fell back into that world, that nightmare world. Her mom was hovering, looking worried and somewhat frustrated.
"A spot o' that chamomile tea wouldn't go amiss," Spike suggested, clearly sensing that Joyce needed something to do, some way to be useful.
Joyce rested a hand down on the top of Buffy's head for just a moment before turning and heading downstairs.
"Tell me..." Spike whispered when Joyce had gone, pushing Buffy back so he could look into her eyes.
She drew in a shaky breath and reached for one of the folders. "Kat... I saw... no, I was Kat. Oh god, Spike... it was horrible," she cried, tears welling in her eyes as she leaned back against him. He had his jeans on and smelled strongly of whiskey, blood, and smoke. He must've just gotten back from Willy's, not yet had a shower, when he'd heard her screams.
"There were so many. They trapped her in this... this gross alley, it was so narrow, and they... they. She was so scared... they tore her apart, Spike. Oh, god... she was so scared."
He ran a soothing hand down the back of her head, through her hair and all the way down her back, over and over. "Sorry, pet... so sorry. Won't be you, I bloody well promise. Won't let that happen. Got your back, I do."
The dog whined, nudging her hip with his cold nose, adding his support.
"We've got your back," Spike amended.
Buffy dug the fingers of one hand into her dog's thick mane, taking extra comfort from the soft sturdy warmth of him as she cried against her vampire's shoulder. "None of these end well... they die, they always die, Spike. The monsters always win... even when the monsters are 'accidents' from the Council. I don't know how to fight them..."
"Fought them once and won, luv, can do it again. The Council bird doesn't think they'll go against their word... not directly, not right off. Got time, we do. Figure it out. And when she gets back in the bosom, we'll have a bit more warning, yeah?"
She nodded and pulled back from his embrace, her cheeks stained with tears, her glimmering eyes meeting his. "If I go and you survive, promise me you won't be all revenge-y. That never works out well for the revenger."
"There'll be nothing t' be revenge-y about. Told ya, Slayer, we've got you."
"Promise me!" she insisted.
He shook his head, lifting her free hand up to his lips and touching a soft kiss on her palm. "Not a promise I can keep, luv."
"Damn it, Spike—you promised you'd make sure all my friends stayed safe... my mom, Giles... you can't go getting yourself killed being all revenge-having and do that too!"
"Buffy, this is bloody pointless, cos nothing is gonna happen to you. That I do fucking promise!"
"That's not a promise you can keep either," she whispered, dropping her eyes from his.
"It bloody well is," he insisted, releasing her hand and gathering up the folders from the bed. He waved the stack in front of her. "This? Not us. Not you. Not me. Not the mutt. Not your Watcher. Not your mates." He dumped the whole stack into her frilly little waste basket, nearly toppling it over. "We've already beaten those blighters that tried to come between us, and that was before we were us… a couple. Bloody unstoppable now that we've got us to fight for, as well as the whole soddin' world, yeah?" Spike tucked his fingers under her chin, lifting her face, but she averted her eyes.
"You don't know that," she argued in a small voice.
"I sodding well do. Dru wouldn't have gone to the trouble o' tricking you into that blood oath, makin' you her sodding sister, if she thought you'd be dead in a day or a year... or even a decade."
Buffy's brows furrowed at that. "You said yourself she doesn't know everything, she isn't always right," she pointed out, though with less conviction than she'd had before.
"But more often than not, she's got the gist of it... if you just know how t' read her."
She looked up at him, unsure. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Makes two of us, Slayer," he teased with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.
Buffy didn't take the hint. "I swore on my soul that I wouldn't let anything happen to you, that I would protect you. If you go and get yourself killed because of me, you'll be dooming my soul to... direness."
"That's dirty pool," Spike grumbled with a sigh.
"Also, my doomed soul will come back and beat your ass if you get yourself hurt or killed doing the revenge thing."
"Then I better just make sure you keep your soul right where it is... keep you breathing, eating cheeseburgers, and threatening to kick my arse... which isn't a given, ya know?"
"I can so kick your ass."
"You can try," he teased, lifting his hand and tucking a lock of disheveled hair back behind her ear.
"I can more than try," she countered. "The only reason I don't is 'cos you buy us cheezeburgers. Cheezeburgers save you from utter humiliation and a bruised ass."
Spike chuckled and leaned in close to her ear. "You can bruise my arse anytime, Slayer," he whispered lecherously. "Tie me up and spank me... such a bad boy, I am."
"Pig," she retorted breathlessly, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her skin flushed pink as visions of Spike bent over asking her to punish his perfect white ass with her hand floated through her brain, short circuiting it momentarily. She couldn't help the little shiver that ran through her as she remembered her own 'lessons' from 'Professor Westfield'.
"Oink, oink." He winked, knowing exactly where his Slayer's mind had traveled, and making a mental note to add 'disciplinarian' to the list of roles she needed to play once the house christening began in earnest… or maybe they could make another trip back to the high school one evening. He'd happily be the naughty schoolboy to her sexy schoolmarm.
-X-
Buffy stepped over a puddle of puke, holding her breath as her face scrunched up in disgust. She looked around the sunlit street, feeling a shudder of revulsion before knocking on Faith's door. She could handle vampires in the dead of night, but the Downtown Apartments gave her the willies.
Her nightmare of Kat's death had frightened her and, despite all their differences, Faith had come to help with the Sisterhood apocalypse. Though the dark Slayer hadn't really been a deciding factor in defeating them, next time could be different. Buffy had promised to do everything in her power to keep Spike safe, and helping Faith in order to make sure she kept showing up was in her power.
When there was no answer, Buffy knocked again.
"Go away! No one's home!" Faith croaked from the other side of the thin door.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Faith, it's me... Buffy. Open up."
After some muffled sounds from the apartment, Faith finally cracked the door. She looked out into the bright morning light, rumpled and squinting, one hand up to shield her eyes. "What's up, B? Monsters coming out in the sun now?"
"No. I... wanted to talk to you."
"So talk," Faith invited, not stepping back or opening the door wider.
Buffy looked around at the seedy parking lot, at the homeless guy sleeping in the bushes nearby, and the rag lady sorting through the trash, looking for god knows what. "Can I come in?"
Faith looked back inside the apartment. "Cleaning lady hasn't been here this year."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I don't care about that. Just let me in." She pushed on the door. Faith resisted a moment, then sighed heavily and backed up, letting Buffy in. Buffy half-expected to see someone (Angel?) in the bed, but it was empty. The bathroom door was closed though. Though surely, if Faith was sleeping with Angel, they'd do it in the comfort of his mansion, not this dump.
Faith grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the dresser and lit one, plopping down to sit on the bed with a squeak of springs and little bounce. "You're in... what's the 411?"
Buffy stepped over a couple of piles of clothes and discarded take-out containers which seemed to have science experiments growing in them, and leaned against the dresser, facing Faith. "I, um, that is, the Council is sending money... for us... you know, for slaying."
Faith's brows rose as she took another drag on the cigarette. "That right?"
"Yeah, and, they, well, they sent it to me cos you're sometimes not around, and said to give you your half, so..." Buffy reached into her purse and pulled out a few hundred dollars in cash—half of what the Council had paid her for the last few weeks—and extended it to Faith.
"A-and they updated the workout room in my garage, f-for us. Both of us, so feel free to, you know, make use."
"Okaaay," Faith drawled, taking the money. She held her cig between her lips and counted it. When she was done, she tucked it into her tight, ribbed undershirt and took her cigarette back between her fingers. "Where's the rest?"
"The rest? What rest? There's no rest... That's half the money I got."
"Yeah, but what about my half of the insurance and my half of the clothing allowance, and the vacations, insurance, and retirement plans. From what I hear, you got a pretty sweet deal."
"Oh. You heard." This was not of the good.
Faith gave her a saccharine smile. "Your little friends are chatter boxes when they don't know other people are around... You really should talk to them about that."
"Right... I... I... don't know how to share anything but the money. I mean, the clothing allowance... yeah, just get me, like receipts and I can put in..."
Faith rolled her eyes and stood up abruptly, stubbing out her cigarette on the bed post. "Don't do me any favors, Blondie. I can take care of myself. I don't need your pity."
"It's not pity! It's money for the Slayers... which means we share it."
"Right... and I guess you and I will be best buds, going on vacations together, getting mani-pedis, and living off our pensions in Palm Beach in our golden years."
"Look, I'm trying to do the right thing here. Maybe you can get out of this pigsty and move somewhere that doesn't have bums puking on your doorstep."
"I happen to like it here with the riffraff. I'm not some stuck up bitch with my nose in the air, all better than thou, too good to live like a real person."
"I do live like a real person! You're the one who seems to want to wallow around in filth!" Buffy waved her hand at the messy room.
"Give me a break, B! You live a fairy tale with your perfect mom and your snotty friends and your giant dog and your hot vampire... you live as far from the real world as Cinderella."
"Cinderella cleaned... and scrubbed and lived in rags... and..."
"And had a Fairy Godmother named Lydia who waved her wand and gave her everything she wanted—money and clothes and vacations in Cancun."
"Cancun? There is no Cancun. What the hell does Cancun have to do with anything?"
"Just do me a favor and don't do me any favors. I'm doing just fine without your charity or being paid off by the fucking Council. I'm in charge of me—not them, not you. I say when I come and when I go and what I do. So, go toddle back to your gingerbread house and leave me out of your fucking fairy tale life."
"You're impossible!"
"And you're a stuck-up bitch."
"You won't let anyone help you!"
"I don't need any fucking help!"
"Fine! Give me my money back," Buffy snapped, holding her hand out.
Faith dug the folded bills from her cleavage and tossed them on the floor, making sure they scattered as they fell.
"Nice."
"Fuck you."
Buffy huffed and spun for the door, stepping over the furry science experiments, wads of clothes, and the money strewn over it all. "I won't be bringing you any more."
"Good! Because I'm not the Council's whore."
"No, you're just a regular whore!" Buffy snarled, flinging the door open. "Which is fine, since you're in charge of you, but while you're being a self-sufficient ho-bag down here in the gutter, don't fuck Angel!"
Faith snorted, following Buffy to the door. As soon as the blonde stepped out onto the walk, Faith slammed the door closed, her final words slipping through the opening at the last moment, "I do what, and who, I want."
-X-
Well, that went well. So much for keeping Faith in the slaying mix.
Despite Buffy's hard shield of self-confidence and venom, the dark Slayer's words had stung her. Was Buffy a whore for taking the Council's money? Had she sold out to 'the man'? Had she given up what little control she'd had of her life for a paycheck, a clothing allowance, and a new training room?
"Spike cuddles… that's what I need," she muttered to herself as she hurried back home, her arms wrapped around her torso and her head down.
"Spike? Are you still up?" she called as she came in, hanging her coat up on the rack by the door.
Her dog came flouncing in from the kitchen with kibble-breath and drooling jowls. "Are you eating again?" Buffy teased, ruffling her fingers through his thick mane. "Mom's gonna have to build a whole new wing for you if you keep growing!"
"Rrrrrrfff!" he replied happily, tail swooshing through the air like a helicopter blade, his whole body wagging with the unexpected, early reappearance of his hooman.
"Where's our vampire? Sleeping already?" Buffy asked the big dog, still scratching him as she looked up the stairs.
"Woof!" Spike answered before sneezing mightily and shaking his tags.
Buffy furrowed her brow, as she started upstairs. No vampire in the guest room, or her room, or the bathroom. No vampire in the kitchen or in the training room. No vampire to be found anywhere. When she came back into the kitchen, she saw his distinctive left-hand slant on a note pinned up by the phone.
"Edna May House," she read aloud. Her frown deepened as she reached down to bury her fingers in Spike's thick coat. "He's with her... which is fine. He said there was more interview-y stuff to do, so that's what he's doing so early in the morning... like, he could barely wait for me to be gone before going over there... to see her."
The dog whined plaintively, looking up at her with worried, brown eyes. He, like the vampire he was named for, seemed to speak volumes without a single word.
"It's totally with the fineness," she said assuringly, giving him a firm squeeze on the back of his neck. "I'll show you—we'll just go say 'hi'." She started for the door, Spike on her heels, then paused in the dining room. "Do you know where the Edna May House is exactly?" she asked her furry companion. "I mean, 'the bluffs' is kind of a big area."
Spike let out a violent sneeze, shaking his head and rattling his tags, before looking back up at her plaintively.
Buffy pursed her lips, but then her expression resolved into one of determination. "Time to put our locator spell abilities to a real test."
-X-
Over five thousand miles from Sunnydale, the head of the Watcher's Council was locked in his musty, oak-paneled office, blinds drawn over the windows, all lights off. He stared into an ancient Corinthian scrying basin, which was filled with the Delphic Elixir of Divination his great niece had prepared. He was careful not to bump the desk or touch the intricate silver bowl and disturb the shining surface of the magical elixir, which curved ever-so-slightly above the top of its container, held in place by fragile, yet powerful magic... or possibly just surface tension, he wasn't certain. It was basically just a big bowl of water, after all.
Within the depths of the liquid, a flame danced, illuminating images like a backlit projector. As he watched, these moving pictures flickered, faded, then refocused, and were joined by garbled voices and sounds which resonated from the microscopic vibrations of the pure silver basin. Then, with a 'POP!' that made him jerk back, everything resolved into perfect clarity—visually and audibly.
He could hear his great niece's voice through the magical contrivance, her lilting tropical accent informing him of the day and time in Sunnydale, confirming that what he was seeing was happening as he watched.
The silver bowl was filled with a crisp, three-dimensional image of an old Victorian house with a wide, covered veranda on the first floor, and a matching, open balcony on the second. The vision zoomed in, focusing on a set of French doors on the second floor, and indistinct voices—a man and a woman—filtered from magical connection.
"Get closer!" Travers ordered. "I cannot hear properly."
"Yes, Uncle," Malvina purred back, her voice loud and clear, as if she were standing in the room with him.
There was a slightly dizzying sensation created as she moved, an optical illusion that he, himself was moving, even though his feet remained still. Just as the voices began to resolve, and the two figures behind the glass doors became easily recognizable, the whole scene jerked and juddered. Travers closed his eyes and braced himself on the desk with his hands from the sudden disorienting change.
"Apologies," Malvina's voice said in a soft whisper. "De Slayer, she is arrived."
Quentin looked again, immersing himself in the scene playing out as if he were standing next to his most trusted witch, concealed within the low hanging branches of an evergreen. The Slayer, Buffy Summers, had indeed arrived, along with the Guardian of the Twilight, and they were heading across the manicured lawn, straight for the house. He turned his head to look again into the room where the vampire and Miss Chalmers were meeting. She was asking the vampire to remove its duster and overshirt, taking photographs of the demon from all angles, both in its human and monster guises. He could see a flash go off each time she snapped another picture, having it turn to the side, to the back, stand up, crouch down, yellow eyes, blue eyes... enough images to fill a briefing binder all on their own.
"Perhaps a couple with your shirt off?" Miss Chalmers asked as the last flash of light from the camera faded.
Her subject turned back to look at her, hands planted on its hips. "Said 'normal attire' when I agreed t' this."
"Yes, well... it's not so uncommon for you to be shirtless. And it certainly isn't anything I haven't seen, as you recall. You weren't averse to it when we were healing your bullet wounds."
Outside, Buffy and the Guardian were on the first-floor veranda, just below Miss Chalmers' room. Whatever little gadget she'd had in her hand as she'd approached the house was now tucked away. She and the dog both looked up at the same time, hearing or sensing the whereabouts of her demon paramour. There were no stairs to be seen, and the pair disappeared around the back of the house, out of sight.
Travers refocused on the pair in the room.
"You're a bloody pain in my arse," the vampire growled, tugging the hem of its t-shirt from its belt. The pale demon grabbed the collar in the back and lifted the shirt over its head, tossing the garment on the bed with the leather duster and overshirt. "That suit ya, now?" it demanded, holding its arms out to the side as the flash began bathing the room in strobe-light-esque flares.
"Turn around, please," Miss Chalmers requested as the camera clicked and blazed in quick succession.
The vampire turned in a slow circle. Its face, Travers saw when it momentarily turned toward the window, was a hard mask of annoyance, and then it was facing the room again. The Head of the Council smirked to himself. Annoyance would be the least of its worries soon enough.
"Shall I drop trou, too? Need a yard stick t' measure my prick? Wouldn't want any detail left outta your sodding report, would we?" Travers could tell the vampire's hands were working at its belt. "Or d' ya prefer to measure with your cunny? Shall I shag ya on the bed or bend you over the table, eh? How do you tweed types like it?"
Whatever Miss Chalmer's red-faced reply would've been was never voiced, as the Slayer's sharp gasp and horrified, "Oh my god," from just outside the door cut her off.
The creature spun around, its hands still on its half-undone belt buckle. "Buffy!"
The Slayer's face was a mask of betrayal and pain, her eyes wide and shimmering, as she stumbled back away from the glass doors. Then she turned and dashed away, out of sight, back the way she'd come around the house.
"Yes... well done, Miss Chalmers," Travers whispered to himself, his eyes glued to the bowl, enraptured.
"Buffy! Bloody hell!" the demon screamed after her, darting out into the late-morning light that dappled the balcony. "Slayer!" it cried, starting after her, only to stop when she and the dog reappeared in the lawn below, running helter-skelter away from the old house.
"Bloody fucking hell, woman!" the parasite growled, hurdling the balcony rail, and leaping into the full sun which Travers could see bathed the lawn below. "Stop! Buffy! Fuck!" it called after her, smoke billowing from its pale skin as it dashed to the shade of the nearest tree. "Buffy! Listen t' me—wasn't what it sounded like!" the vampire continued, hurrying from tree to tree in her wake.
"Don't listen to it, my dear... soulless vermin lie," Travers advised, though he knew the girl couldn't hear him.
The Slayer had, in fact, stopped only twenty meters away. Her hands covered her face and her shoulders trembled with sobs as the dog circled around her whining, apparently unsure what to do. But the demon's words made her spin around, her hands curled into fists, and while her face was glimmering in the sun with tears, Travers could see that her expression was furious.
"NOT WHAT IT SOUNDED LIKE?" she shrieked, stomping back toward him. "NOT WHAT IT SOUNDED LIKE? Are you even serious right now? I believed you! I believed you when you said you weren't fucking her! I believed you when you said you would never cheat on me! I believed you when you said you loved me! I believed you when you said I was enough! I believed you when you said you would never lie to me again! I fucking BELIEVED YOU!"
"I'm not fucking her! Bloody hell! I'm not lying and you are enough! You're more than—"
"Oh, excuse me—fibbing!" she growled as Travers watched the two blondes make their way toward each other. The vampire was making mad dashes through the sun, moving from tree to tree while the Slayer marched angrily down the expanse of sunny lawn, her huge dog at her side.
"Not that either! Was just... bloody hell, was... just trying t' get her to stop with the sodding pictures!"
"By bending her over and screwing her?!" She'd walked up to the edge of the shade where the vampire had taken shelter and, even through the scrying liquid, Travers could see she was glaring daggers at the loathsome creature. If only she would do more than glare; if only she would use actual daggers… or a stake.
"No!" it retorted, standing nose to nose with her, the slim line of shadow and light the only thing separating them. "Was more of a threat—"
"Oh! So you were gonna rape her? Is that what you're saying? You were threatening to—"
"BLOODY HELL!" the monster exclaimed, crossing the boundary between them in a clear fit of frustration, and grabbing the Slayer's upper arms. The vampire's skin was reddened from its trek, and more smoke was beginning to billow from its body as it stood in the sun with the Slayer. "NO! Was just trying to get her to stop with the bloody paparazzi impersonation!"
Buffy knocked the demon's arms off her and shoved it away violently. "How can I ever believe you? How can I ever trust you?" she screamed, her voice cracking with pain as more tears glittered in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. This was going well, Travers thought, a devious smile curving his lips, if only the Slayer would draw her weapon….
The vampire stumbled back from her shove. The monster's heel caught on a root, and it fell backwards onto the leaf mold covering the ground. "Fuck!" it exclaimed as it hit. "Just listen a sodding minute. Let me explain!"
"Let you lie, you mean? Let you talk and talk and talk until I believe you again? Let you make a fool of me, again?" she rasped, her voice a mixture of anger and despair as she moved into the shade nearer the demon.
"Not lying! Not shagging the bint... don't want anyone but you. How many times do I have t' say it?" the parasite retorted, pushing back up to its feet.
"Oh, you can say it! You can say it until the cows turn blue, but your words are meaningless!"
"I'm not fucking lying!" the vampire barked, taking a step forward, into the Slayer's personal space.
Now, Travers thought, stake it now!
"Everything you've ever said has been a lie!" she accused, pulling her fist back and striking the parasite hard in the face.
Travers' smile widened, as his hands curled into fists against the table. "Stake it! Do your duty!" he admonished the figures in the bowl, but like yelling the answers to the contestants on a TV game show, it had no effect on the two combatants.
The unholy abomination yowled, clutching its bloody nose, and, before it could react further, Buffy had thrown herself at the demon, knocking it back onto the ground, her fists flying madly, pounding down on it mercilessly.
"Stake it, my girl! Stake it!" Travers shouted, making the image blur a moment as the water sloshed in the bowl before it settled and refocused.
"How could you do this to me? HOW?!" the Slayer demanded, punching the downed vamp and shrieking obscenities at it, clearly raging with the pain of betrayal. The bloodsucker lifted its arms up to protect itself, screaming back at her just as vehemently, but when she didn't stop, the vampire growled and punched her back. Soon, they were rolling over the soft ground beneath the tree, knees and elbows, fists and fangs, tearing at each other's flesh as the dog circled them barking madly.
"Now, Slayer! Stake it!" Travers insisted again, staring intently into the bowl. Surely, the vampire's true nature would emerge any moment. The Slayer would have no choice but to dust a fanged threat to her life… perhaps they would kill each other and this whole affair could be packed away into the deepest recesses of the darkest archives never to be mentioned again.
Then they would have only one headstrong Slayer to deal with. Perhaps Collins and his crew would have more luck with that one.
"You fucking bastard! I trusted you!" the Slayer shrieked, throwing another punch at the vampire's nose.
"Not shagging her!" it insisted, blocking the blow with one arm while driving a fist into her abdomen.
"Do I really look that stupid?" she growled, as they continued rolling over the ground, neither gaining a clear advantage.
"You bloody bint! Jumping to conclusions all the sodding time!"
"You're just like Angel! God, I should've listened to him!"
"Nothing like Angel, you daft cow! I love you!"
"You're not capable of love! Soulless monsters can't love!"
"You cold-hearted cunt! You don't know the meaning of the word!"
"I hate you! I hate you so much!"
"No more than I hate you, you fucking bitch!"
"You're a liar! A two-faced, lying liar!"
"You're a fucking liar too, you gormless twit! Don't have the good sense God gave a rock!"
"Blast!" Travers exclaimed, his lips drawing into a hard line as he watched the Guardian of the Twilight hurtle himself into the fray, knocking the two mortal enemies apart, sending the Slayer tumbling several feet away before positioning himself between the two blondes.
"What's going on?" another voice cut in. When a hand came down on Buffy's shoulder, she swung her fist back and caught Miss Chalmers in the stomach, making the woman double over with an audible gasp.
The Slayer jumped up and whirled to face the Council woman, who was gulping air like a landed fish, her arms wrapped around her stomach. "You fucking whore! You want him? You can have him! You two deserve each other. A match made in hell—you can sit around and lie to each other between fucks."
"Buffy..." the downed vampire moaned from the ground.
Travers' smile was well and truly gone. They wouldn't be killing each other, it seemed, at least not this moment. He sighed. That would be too neat and clean, and nothing seemed to be neat and clean anymore, not like in the old days. But Miss Chalmers had managed to drive a wedge between them. It would have to be enough for now.
"Shut up! I'm done listening to your lies! I'm done with you. I never want to see you again. Get the fuck out of my town!" the Slayer snapped, turning her livid green eyes back on to the vampire. The tears had dried and all that was left was fury in her expression. "If I see your face again, I will stake you. And I assure you, that's no lie."
Travers' lips curved a fraction. "Hold onto that fury, my girl…" he muttered.
Buffy whirled back to face Miss Chalmers, who was still bent over, trying to get her breath back. "That goes for you too. Get out of my town! You will not like what happens if I ever see you again."
Then the Slayer turned and began stalking away, out into the sun, shoulders squared, back straight, and chin held high, despite the dirt and leaves matted in her hair and covering her clothes. "Spike! Come!" she called, never slowing.
The dog looked between the vampire and the Slayer, his brows furrowed, chocolatey eyes confused and worried. He went over and nudged the vampire with his nose, giving a gentle lick to one of the bleeding cuts above the demon's eye. The vampire reached a hand up and buried its battle-weary fingers in the dog's thick mane.
"Now, Spike! Come!"
With one last look at the bruised, bleeding, and burned vampire lying on the ground, the dog whined once again before pulling free of the vampire's hand and taking off after its master.
The broken creature struggled up onto one elbow, its eyes an artic blue behind swollen lids. "Hope you're sodding happy now, you fucking cunt," it growled at the Council woman.
Miss Chalmers, clearly sensing danger, backed out into the bright sun of the lawn and began hurriedly limping her painful way back to the house.
The vampire groaned as it flipped itself over onto hands and knees, then stumbled unsteadily to its feet. "Buffy... luv, please listen," it pleaded, staggering after the retreating form of the Slayer. Travers was pleased to see that she didn't slow or turn around. The demon stumbled and lurched in her wake, sun blazing down on its unprotected torso when it was forced to hobble into the open.
Perhaps the sun would do what their Slayer could not…. Travers held his breath, sending a silent prayer to the Powers for an end to this loathsome monster.
"Buffy, I'm beggin' you... Buffy, PLEASE!" the vampire croaked as its skin smoldered and clouds of smoke wafted into the air with every staggering step. "Didn't mean it... none of it. I love you! I need you. Please, don't do this."
But she didn't stop or even look back, and before it had gone a handful of steps, she was lost to view. The vampire collapsed to its knees beneath an old oak, dropped its face into its hands, and began to sob between breathy gasps of, "Please, Buffy, please... no."
Travers sighed in disappointment, backing away from the scrying bowl. Not a perfect outcome, but their Miss Chalmers had presumably done her best, and the situation was certainly an improvement over what it had been. Perhaps now Wesley Wyndam-Pryce could guide her back onto the right, and righteous, path when he arrived in Sunnydale.
-X-
Spike trudged back to Hawley Manor through the sewers. He carried his duster, t-shirt, and overshirt in his hand, the burns on his torso making it painful to don even the lightest of the three. His battered fingers shook as he fitted the key into the lock, requiring several tries before he got it seated properly. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the thick door open and stepped into the familiar basement with all its familiar scents wafting down from the house above... paint, varnish remover, and wallpaper paste were prevalent, with just the trace of new textiles. But above it all, permeating every whiff, was the unmistakable spice of Buffy.
Buffy.
Buffy.
Buffy.
Spike had barely turned from closing the door when he was knocked back into it, his head thumping off the steel. A clang rolled through the room like a gong as his pain returned, all his cuts, burns, and bruises coming back into sharp focus. The barely healed split in his lip seared as it was reopened, but Buffy's warm, eager tongue raking across the cut soothed it instantly, and her arms around his neck make him forget the stitch he had in his side, and her tits, even covered in the fabric of her shirt, pressing against his chest make him forget the sting of his burns.
"Spike, baby, God... love you, love you... god, sorry... didn't mean for you... sun... burn... stupid vampire... love you... love you," she panted against his mouth as her lips plundered his, her tongue sliding in, tangling with his, wild with desire.
"Buffy, fuck... want you, need you... Christ, you infuriating woman... gonna fuck you good... gonna fuck you hard," he rejoined as his hands slid under her skirt to find nothing but skin. No knickers, just hot, wet flesh waiting for him.
"Yes... yes..." she breathed back, reaching between them and fumbling with his belt, trying not to break the connection of his mouth to hers.
"You're fucking mine," Spike growled, running his fingers down the cleft of her ass to her dripping cunt, making Buffy moan and writhe against his questing fingers.
"Yes... and you're mine... mine... mine!" she declared as she slid his zipper down and his cock sprung into her hand. "You stubborn fucking vampire! MINE!"
"Fuck... Buffy," he moaned, jerking his hips forward into her fierce grip, barely keeping himself from spewing all over her that moment. "MINE!" he snarled, turning them around so her back was to the door.
"Mine," Buffy echoed as she lifted and wrapped her legs around his waist and then, somehow, he was plunging into her, hard and deep, slamming her back against the door, making the basement ring like a Buddhist temple.
"Yes, yes, yes!" the Slayer chanted with each thrust and clang. "Harder! More! FUCK ME, God damn you! FUCK ME!"
Buffy suddenly found herself lifted off Spike's prick and the feeling of emptiness was nearly too much for her to bear. But then, she was being spun around and propelled forward toward the stairs. She stumbled slightly, but bent over and caught herself on the second step. She'd barely recovered from the surprise when Spike's fingers closed over her hip in a bruising grip and his cock slammed into her pussy in one brutal stroke.
She shrieked in surprise and pleasure, her back arching, silken hair dancing over her back as he took her deep and hard.
"This what you want, Slayer? Need me t' fuck you hard? Remind you who I belong to? Yours... yours... always yours!" he ranted as he hammered into her hot, tight cunt. Dripping with desire, slick and fucking perfect.
"Mine... mine... mine..." Buffy agreed between gasps and shrieks of pleasure as Spike's hips slapped against her ass, and the ringing in the room was replaced by the wet sounds of mad, desperate fucking. He filled her to overflowing, thrusting so deep, so hard, she had to hang onto the stair beneath her for dear life as he plunged into her again and again, each blow driving small shrieks of bliss from her throat, the feel of his cock filling her making her insides sizzle.
"YOURS! YOURS!" Spike ground out, grunting with the effort to fuck himself into her, to merge with her, to lose himself inside her warmth and her light. "FUCK, BUFFY! Fuck!" he snarled, driving into her at a bruising pace, deeper, and harder. Each stroke filled to overflowing with every drop of love and every spark of lust burning in his heart and body.
"Touch yourself... let me feel you cum... play with that sweet clit... fuck, Buffy... please! Cum... cum for me, baby."
Braced with one hand on the stair, Buffy slid the other to her slick folds, raking her fingers over her engorged nubbin, making her hips jerk and her pussy throb around Spike's cock. She reached back further to feel him sliding in and out of her, the ridges of his cock tugging fervently against her opening, stretching her with delicious friction. Then she returned to her clit, rubbing in earnest, as Spike propelled her higher, winding the rapture tighter and tighter in her belly, until...
"Yes! Now! Now! Fuck-shit-fuck-fuck-god-Spike-Fuck-Yessssssssssssssss!" she howled, throwing her head back, her golden locks tumbling madly over her shoulders as heaven exploded through her body and white-hot bliss engulfed her mind. Her toes curled in her shoes and her pussy spasmed and rippled around Spike's cock as he slammed into her one last time with a yowl of his own as he found his release in her quivering depths.
Spike's cock swelled and jerked as his balls emptied in paroxysms of ecstasy, filling her, marking her—his! And marking himself as well, her juices coating his cock and balls and splattered all over his skin. Hers. Only hers. Always hers.
They collapsed onto the wooden stairs, gasping for breath, Spike atop her, still joined, neither in any condition to move just then.
Spike nuzzled his mouth through the silky sunshine of her hair to touch his lips to the back of her neck. "Love you, love you... fuck, Buffy... Christ, I love you."
"Love you too... can't believe you followed me out into the sun though. Pretty sure that wasn't in the plan! You crazy vampire... Jesus, you scared the shit out of me."
Spike smiled against her neck. "Had t' make it look good, didn't I?"
Buffy turned her face, trying to see him, but their positions made it nearly impossible—she could see one bare arm though. "You're burned... God, you're so burned!" she exclaimed, reluctantly turning. His cock slipped out of her, and she felt a flood of cream slide down her thighs.
With a sigh at the loss of contact, he rolled to the side, unable to move much with his jeans around his ankles, and sat on the stair next to her.
"Spike! Oh my god... and your face! I thought ... I mean... I tried to... I didn't mean to hit you so hard."
He grinned at her, his lip opening again, a drop of blood trickling from the cut. He raised a hand and traced the bruises and scrapes on her face. "Looks like we both did a bit of damage."
Buffy touched her bruised cheek, shaking her head. "At least I'm not burned to a crisp... I... I have some aloe at home. Will that help?"
He chuckled. "Never tried it, but I reckon I'll be right as rain in a day or two. A bit of blood—got some of the good stuff from hospital. No worries, luv."
"I can't believe you followed me out into the sun!" she said again, slapping his arm, though very lightly and aiming for a spot that wasn't quite as crispy.
"Couldn't have given me a tick to get my duster back on before you ran off, virtue fluttering?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Tell me it worked, at least. Is she gone?"
"Was packing her kit and on the line with Travers when I went back t' grab my coat and shirts. He sounded bloody chuffed. Apparently had a front row seat t' the whole thing."
Buffy nodded. "The witch... just like we thought."
"She was in the woods... could smell the magic on her. Was there when I got there."
"So, watching Leann, like we thought."
"Seems so."
"Now we just need to wait for Giles to come over and tell us the coast is clear."
"Could take a while, that..." Spike said, putting giant drops of suggestive nuance into his tone.
Buffy smiled coyly. "Whatever could we do to pass the time?"
"Well... haven't fucked on this step yet," Spike pointed out, lifting himself up one higher.
"So true. Well, we wouldn't want any of the steps to feel left out," Buffy agreed as she rose, turned, and stepped over him, straddling his hips.
Spike ran his hands up her shapely legs and under her short skirt. "Think someone's got too many clothes on. Wanna see your dripping cunny."
Buffy blushed, but smiled, her heart swelling with confidence and love. She unzipped the skirt and let it fall, carefully stepping out of it on the stair.
"And those tits of yours... need to see those rosy nipples, see how they sway, begging me to touch them."
She slowly unbuttoned her dirt-and-blood-stained shirt, then tossed it over the banister to the basement floor.
"Much better... give us a taste, pet," Spike rumbled, inhaling the magnificent tang of her. Blood, sweat, and tears mixed with the storm of their combined juices. It was enough to make his balls tighten, eager to explode before he even got a lick of that pretty quim.
Buffy lowered herself back into his lap, despite Spike trying to guide her pussy to his mouth. He gave her a pout when she settled against him, her knees on either side of his hips. "Thought you wanted a taste," she prompted, trying not to touch the scorched skin of his chest and shoulders. "Show me the demon," she whispered, meeting his blazing blue eyes.
His head tilted and the blaze softened into what she could only describe as utter adoration mixed with the deepest love she'd ever seen. And then they shifted to molten gold, but the depth of love didn't change.
"I want to heal you... help you." Buffy tilted her head to the side and pulled her hair back, exposing the Master's scar. "Y-you said you could make it feel good... biting... before, you said...um... like sex, drugs, an' rock-n-roll?"
Spike ridges faded, his eyes morphing back to blue. "Buffy... don't have to, luv. I'll heal fine on the hospital stuff, and the mutt can heal a good bit, too."
"Oh... I..." She dropped her eyes from his, looking uncomfortable. "I just thought... but if you don't want..."
"Don't be daft. Not a matter of not wanting. Fuck, Buffy... nothing I would love more. But ya don't have to feel obligated..."
"But, Spike, I am obligated. I'm devoted and committed and dedicated, and I want to help you. Do you hear me? I want to do this... not just for you, but for me, for us. Let me help heal you," she pleaded, looking back into his intense blue eyes. "Isn't that what a relationship is? What love is? You're mine... you're my war and roses, my perfect man, and that makes me obligated."
At his troubled look, she added, "In the best way. Not like tax paying obligations, or jury duty obligations, o-or even slaying obligations. I'm obliged because I love you... I want to take care of you, do everything I can to take your pain away, make you feel good. It's an obligation of the heart, and helping you makes me feel... worthy of your love."
Spike had to blink hard to keep from looking like a ponce. He reached up and tucked her hair back behind one ear, asking, "How could you not be worthy of all the love in the world, Buffy?"
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "A few people might say that I'm not super worthy."
"Well, they're pillocks." He gripped her arms and shook her lightly, making her meet his shining gaze again. "You are worthy... no one could be more worthy of love than you. Your heart is so big, so bright, so full of light, like a sun, you are, blazing at the center of the universe, everyone orbiting around you, just trying to feel a bit of that warmth you exude. You shine. You glow. You make worthless demons fall to their knees, and try to be better, try to be good, for you. You're a goddess, Buffy. Can't believe you're mine... pinch myself every day, worried I'll wake up and this is just a dream."
"B-but sun-Buffy loves you so much, she wants to give you all the warm fuzzy fire—in a non-burny way. Let me give this to you, Spike. Let me heal you... let part of me be inside you, like you're inside me. I love you... and I want to do this for you. I... I want my love to be part of you."
When Spike just continued to stare at her with those bottomless eyes, she shrugged out a sigh, her whole body slumping with the gesture. "I'm not saying this right. Buffy and words are unmixy... maybe 'obligated' isn't the right word... I just feel this... this need inside me." She pressed a hand over her heart, drawing Spike's eyes down to her sweet tits, further stiffening his cock, which had been at half-mast. "My heart hurts when you hurt... I need... I just want..."
Her words were cut off by Spike's lips covering hers. "You're magnificent, Slayer... you're a bloody wonder, more than I deserve, more than I ever dared to dream. I'm not perfect, luv... not even a man, by some accounts."
"Anyone who can't see that you're a man, an honorable man, are pillboxes."
Spike smiled. "Pillocks."
"That's what I said."
"'Course it is."
"Are you just gonna sit around critiquing my Queen's English, or are you gonna put that mouth to better use and bite me?"
Spike smirked, his eyes flashing with anticipation. "Gonna obliterate that mark... know that, right?" he said, running a finger over the white scar the Master left on her perfect skin.
"Does it... bother you?"
He shrugged. "Demon's been itching to take it off his girl... to make sure the world knows whose mate you are. But it's nothing I can't control."
"I've, um, thought about it before, you know? In San Francisco... and also the other day at the school..."
"Did ya now?"
"There are these feelings... like, you say you can feel the demon wanting to take the mark off? Well, I can feel the Slayer part of me, especially when you're near my neck, and it... it's not exactly camping in the happy tent. But, I can control it. It actually... that feeling of being pulled in two directions, one part of me wanting to stake you, and the other wanting to kiss you, it's kind of exhilarating."
"You will let a bloke know if you feel the stake winning out over the snogging, yeah?"
The Slayer laughed and nodded, resting her palm on his cheek. "I will make with the informing if that happens," she assured him, tilting her head again and brushing her hair back from her neck. "I'm yours, all of me is yours... I love you."
Instead of lowering his mouth to her neck like she expected, he kissed her again, slow and deep and sweet. His hands cradled her cheeks so gently, as if she were a porcelain doll that may break with the slightest pressure. He slid his tongue deep into her, caressing hers, exploring her mouth as if he'd never kissed her before. Buffy longed to touch him, run her hands down his strong chest, but was afraid of hurting him. She dropped her palms to his hips and thighs instead, reveling in the silky softness of his skin and the taut muscles beneath.
"Let me make it good for you, pet," Spike breathed against her swollen lips. "Take me inside you... ride my cock, Buffy... want you cumming all over me before I sink more of me into your perfect body."
Buffy rose just enough to feel the tip of his erection nudging its way between her swollen lips. Spike fisted his cock and teased her clit with the spongy head, dragging it over her slick, hot folds, dipping between them to brush deliciously over her sensitive opening, making her legs quiver and her pussy throb. He caught one nipple between his lips, laving it ardently with his brilliant tongue while his free hand worked her other tit, sending desire zinging through her like electric shocks.
"Spike..." she moaned, letting her head fall back, her back arching, pressing her breasts against him, floating higher and higher on clouds of bliss he was building in her.
"So beautiful, you are," he breathed against her damp nipple, making gooseflesh prickle and race across her skin. "My golden goddess... my sunshine, my Slayer, my woman, my love."
"Please, baby ... please can I have you now? Need you inside me."
"All yours, always," Spike murmured, lining his cock up with her channel as she slowly lowered herself down.
Their eyes locked and they both gasped in that perfect moment of joining as he slid inside her. They'd done this many times now, but every time seemed just as magical as the first, a sense of perfect oneness enveloping them.
"Such a wonder, you are, Buffy. Love you so much," Spike rasped as she took him in slowly, her green eyes burning with love and lust, deep and endless in their verdant depths.
Buffy wrapped her arms gently around his neck, carefully trying not to open any wounds, and kissed him as her hips met his, his cock buried deep in her womanhood, joined with her, part of her.
Spike feathered his hands up and down her sides, over the swell of her hips, to her slim waist, to the round perfection of her breasts. His fingers danced softly over her heated flesh, circling her nipples, hardening them into tight buds beneath this touch. The kiss continued, lingering and loving, as Buffy began to move against him, her hips swirling and undulating in slow, rhythmic supplication.
Her quim squeezed and pulsed around his hardness, making Spike gasp against her lips. No one like her. He could live a thousand thousand years and he'd never find another woman like her. No one who thought like her or fought like her, no one who fucked like her or made love like her. No one who loved like her. Loved with every cell in her body, every spark of her soul, every drop of heart's blood. Only Buffy. And she was his.
"Mine," he rumbled against her lips as she rode him, taking him deeper and deeper, holding him so bloody tight, like she'd never let him go. And that was fine with him. He could spend all eternity buried in her quim.
"Mine," Buffy echoed, running her hands through his hair, her fingers gently tugging his curls free from the gel.
Buffy gasped as Spike slid a finger between them to find her clit, teasing her body up to the edge as he kissed and nibbled down along her jaw, back to her ear where he tugged on her lobe with blunt teeth, then to that spot just behind that made her shiver with fire.
"Spike," she sighed dreamily as the explosion built inside her, slowly, ever so slowly, like a rollercoaster inching its way up to the precipice, each click of gears lifting her that much closer, making her heart stutter that much faster with the anticipation of the exhilarating plunge over the edge.
"Buffy, my Buffy... my beautiful Slayer. Love you so much, need you deep in my bones, can't imagine living a single minute without your love. Christ, woman, never loved anyone like I love you," he proclaimed huskily against her.
His words, so heartfelt and earnest, burned into the tender skin of her neck, turning into sparkling jewels as they cascaded down her body to swirl around her heart in a cloud of bliss. She'd had so many fears, so many doubts, about herself, about him, about her life, her heart, but he just kept shredding them, turning them into confetti that danced on the wind and floated away. He was her perfect man, her war and roses, her equal in every way. He pushed her to be more, to be better, to believe. To believe in herself and believe in love and to believe in the future. A long, long future... a future with him at her side.
The rollercoaster was teetering at the top of the climb, only blue sky and open air could be seen below, free fall. "Spike, baby, please... please now... now... god... Spike... now!"
Buffy's Slayer senses went mad when his fangs descended, and his cool tongue slid over her skin. The stairs creaked as she shuddered atop him, half of her battling to flee while the other half longed to feel his fangs pierce her skin, mark her as his... his and only his.
"My Buffy," he growled against her, making her hips convulse, on the brink of tumbling into space, and then the sting. Pain. She gasped, reflexively pulling back, but he held her tight. Strong arms banded around her, fingers cupping her skull—no escape. Tension warred with bliss as she fought against the pull, but no, this was Spike, this was her demon, her lover, she relaxed into him, allowing her body to fully acquiesce to the blissful connection, full and complete. And then she felt it, felt her blood being drawn into him, and her body shuddered and lurched and plummeted into heaven.
Her scream was piercing and feral and filled with primal lust as she impaled herself on his cock in harsh, rapid jerks of her hips, grinding down on him, coming apart around him. The world fell away, and she was left awash in nothing but sensation. She could feel death and life bubbling in a cauldron of pure pleasure. The world unfurled in a tapestry of silver and gold, whirling and winding around them, engulfing them in a joyous haze of love. Colors burst behind her closed lids like a sea of glittering, kaleidoscopic stars as she felt Spike spilling into her, filling her, just as her blood was filling him. In that moment, they were one, with no beginning and no end. Infinite. Timeless. Universal. Stardust and dark matter. Ancient and pristine. Elemental.
Then that bubble of perfect bliss they were balanced atop burst, running like watercolors in the rain, melting away like mists in the sun. Buffy gasped, clinging to Spike, her heart thundering madly as she tried to catch her breath. Her throat hurt—she must've been screaming, but she couldn't remember. She could only remember being one with him in paradise.
Her body shuddered all the way to her core as the aftershocks rolled through her. Spike was murmuring words of praise and love against her neck between soft kisses and licks.
"Taste like sunshine, you do. Golden, warm... sweet and tart... so powerful, so bloody perfect. God, I love you. Can't say it enough. You're a wonder, a beautiful angel straight from heaven."
Spike's hands were roaming over her again. Her skin tingled deliciously, and her head felt floaty, her heart light and full at the same time.
"Love you, love you," Buffy rasped against his neck where she'd collapsed like melted wax against him.
He was still hard inside her, perhaps even harder than before, if that was possible. Her hips began to move again of their own accord, sliding his length in and out of her throbbing channel. "Fill me again... want to feel you cum again," she whispered into his ear before she began kissing his neck, his shoulder... it was all healing already, she could see the burns receding, the flawless, pale skin returning. Her heart soared. I did that!
"Bossy bint," Spike growled lovingly. His gravelly voice had fire flaring in her belly, and when he pulled back to look at her, the demon's golden eyes met hers. She smiled drunkenly at him, lifting a hand to caress the hard ridges of his brow. The growl turned into a rumbling purr, as his eyes fluttered closed, and he pressed his head into her touch.
"My big Jellicle cat..." she murmured, touching kisses to his closed eyelids. "Cum for me, baby... fill me up." Buffy squeezed down hard around his cock, making Spike moan in pleasure, and his eyes roll back beneath his lids.
"Fuck, Buffy," he groaned as her cunt pulsed and clutched around him, her supple walls a velvet vice, squeezing him to the brink of pain and just a bit beyond.
"That's the general idea," she teased, clamping down again as she slowly pulled off his prick, then dropped down again, feeling his cock strain against her constricting muscles.
"Fuck! Do that again!"
Buffy grinned and did it again. And again. She was glowing with love and a bit of smug satisfaction, watching his demon face contort in rhapsodies of bliss as she squeezed and took him in over and over.
All of Angel's hurtful words about her not being good, not being worth sticking around for, turned to ashes, their power over her, their ability to wound her, gone. Spike's face, his words, and his body told her everything she needed to know—she was worth another go... and another and another. She felt powerful and even goddess-like watching him writhe and moan in pleasure with her blood warming him, healing him, making him hard. Sex Goddess Buffy... it was liberating and intoxicating.
"Tell me you're mine," she demanded, digging her fingers into his thick hair and jerking his head to one side.
"Yours... always yours," Spike vowed thickly.
"Now, cum in me... fill me up. Cum!" she snarled against his neck before closing her teeth down over the thick muscle at the top of his shoulder, driven by something ancient and primitive demanding she mark and taste him the way he'd done her.
"FUCK! Jesus-fucking-christ-in-fucking-hell-fuck-fuck-FUCK!" Spike ranted as his gut tightened, his balls constricting almost painfully, before exploding in a rush of thrashing ecstasy. His cool cream burst inside her in successive blasts of bliss, each stronger and more overwhelming than the last.
Buffy bit down harder and tasted the coppery tang of blood on her tongue as Spike shook beneath her, his words degenerating into nothing but a primal scream as his hips pumped against her. She kept fucking him, hard and fast, sliding one finger between them to tweak her clit, following him over the edge yet again. Their bodies spasmed, soaring in an astral freefall, clinging to each other, before finally floating back to earth.
They remained joined, pressed together, wrapped around each other, panting and twitching faintly in the afterglow for many long minutes, neither wanting to move.
"Never getting rid of me now, Slayer, know that, right?"
Buffy leaned back, smiling dreamily as she brushed some curls from back from his forehead, her heart drowning in the azure sea of his eyes. "Actually, I think the 'getting rid of you' boat sank a while back. I'm good with that."
Spike kissed a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth. His blood—her blood. Their blood.
"Christ, I love you."
Buffy touched a hand to her neck, feeling the new marks, already sealed over. "I'm yours... forever yours," she sighed happily, pressing a kiss to the bite mark she'd left on his neck. "And you're mine. My vampire knight, my romantic man."
"Yours," Spike agreed huskily, kissing his mark on her skin. "Forever yours, my Gilded Goddess. You're my home, my heart, my life, my future, my everything... always. You're the one, Buffy."
"Rule number seven," Buffy whispered against his ear. "No broken promises."
Spike blinked back the tears that had flooded up from his heart, tenderly cupping her face between his hands. "No broken promises," he echoed, sealing the vow with a kiss.
-X-
Chapter End Notes:
Was that roller-coaster-y enough for you guys? Did you figure out what was happening during the Travers POV, or did you buy it along with Travers? I hope you bought it... cos I'm evil that way.
That was the part that was so hard to write. Calling Spike an 'it' rather than 'he' was painful and I think it took both MissLuci and I about 4 passes to get all the 'he' and also 'Spike' references out of that section. We decided Travers wouldn't deign to call Spike by his name, even in his thoughts. And, in the previous scene, where Buffy is heading home from Faith's, and finds Spike's note, I had to make sure not to show any Buffy thoughts. Everything we know about what she's thinking is out loud or on her face or in her actions, which she's doing just in case someone is watching her-all part of their plan.
I also wanted to address the Faith and Angel hang-age and their growing animosity toward Spuffy. My plan for that alliance will come to fruition in the NEXT STORY of this series, which will start off basically with 'Bad Girls' and cover the rest of season 3 up to graduation. So, you don't need to be holding your breath waiting for another shoe to drop in this story.