Fanfiction: Blood Simple

Alabaster

It’s all about the blood, really.

She knew it, deep inside, with an instinct that had carried over from…then. Now she knew a lot about the blood. But she remembered how she liked it even back in the bygones. It made everything so nice. It was what kept the vamps hunting, kept their demons alive. It was what made the humans die, the loss of it. It was what gave the color to the bruised skin.

And oh yeah, there was something so pretty about a bruise on white skin. It was worth the pain to see it rise up there, purple and blue. Some of them bruised so nice, too. It took only a few well placed hits and the bruises would bloom like flowers in the summertime. Yeah, fucking gorgeous! She loved to see them, and to know she was the one who made them.

They were little, or in some cases when she was too pissed or too drunk or both, not very little reminders that pain wasn’t always invisible. It was so wicked to see someone walk around with their wounds showing. Not like hers. Even back when the people who hurt her had been leaving marks, they left them where they wouldn’t show unless Faith had stripped and walked in public naked. By the time she reached the age where she fucking well would have stripped just about anywhere if it meant someone would see, they were no longer hitting her with things. They were carving her up with words. And that was when Faith got the idea to just get out. She was gone.

There had been a lot of blood between then and now. Fighting, and Slaying, and running and running. Vamps. Demons. They all got to feel some of the pain. She wanted to believe the vamps felt the pain before they dusted. Just in case, she beat the almighty shit out of them before she staked them. Just to be sure, you know how it is. She trusted in the redemption of the shared pain.

Then there was the other shit in her life. There was something that could have been friendship. There was something that could have been trust. And there was something that could have been tenderness. All she had to do to get it all was stand next to the Almighty Goddess and suck up the bitter taste of second best. All she had to do was pretend that it was all good, being thought of as the “other.” After all she’d been through, that should be nothing, right?

Wrong. So fucking wrong that there were no words to describe it. She’d been down so long that there was no way she was going to give up the spotlight that she deserved. It was her right, and there was no way she was walking away, or kissing ass, or letting them tell her what to do. She trusted for a bit, yeah, but that kicked her in the ass in the long run.

That had been her second Watcher, and it hurt to think how much she trusted that woman. It was like being handed everything you didn’t know you needed in one package. She told Faith how strong she was, called her a good fighter, compared her to legendary warriors. And she’d done some other things that Faith knew the Council wouldn’t be down with. Things that she knew weren?t happening between the Golden One and her Watcher, unless her radar was so far offbase that she couldn?t pick up sex signals anymore. So she’d let the woman train her in more ways than was in the Slayer Handbook, and she’d told herself it was genuine.

She let herself fall into the Watcher’s hands, literally. And into her mouth, and onto her tongue. And when the Watcher demanded performances from her pupil as well, Faith had done it, done all she was asked, in the hope that her little voice inside was wrong. She wanted so badly to trust for once.

That came back to haunt her. Never again, she swore. Never again. Now it was easier anyway. Now it was all about the blood again.

He’d taken her by surprise as she was crouched over the body of the last girl she’d been playing with. That one had bruised so nice, so easy, and her tears were like crystals, magnifying the dark markings on her face and on her neck when they slipped down. When Faith didn’t lick them up first. So she was watching the girl, who had passed out a few minutes earlier, and she was touching the bruises - there - there - and there, too - and she was marveling at how the blood inside was making such lovely shades of purple and blue. She was so distracted that she never heard him coming.

He must have been watching her from outside the window. He must have watched her and the girl do their thing. Must have waited until Faith was done beating the shit out of her partner and was all caught up in the revelry of the bruises. He just kicked in the door and grabbed her by the hair. Wrapped it in his fist once, twice, and wrenched her head to the side. Buried his teeth in her there without any of the usual bullshit.

Faith gasped and her hands flew back, grabbed at his head and tried to pull him off but it was a weak effort. Panic had sent adrenaline through her system and it made her dizzy instead of sharp. But he was sharp, his teeth were needles, daggers, they were stabbing into her like no pain she’d ever felt before.

His other arm came around her naked body, drawing her in closer and tighter to him. His clothes were cold and rough against her skin, and the grip brought the little air in her lungs out of her in a loud whoosh. Her chest couldn?t expand for her to draw any more in, the black spots that were taking over her vision begin to pulse with red at the edges, and she had a moment to realize she was dying before it actually happened. Her feet kicked against the bed in a spasm, grinding her bare bottom into his groin. She noted, dazed, that his cock was hard.

Then black. Her last thoughts were of bruises on white skin, and of her mother.

She was amazed that she got to have another chance, although when she woke up, Faith was a different girl. Everything was immediately sharper - sight and sound and smell. And desire. That was sharper, too. She was still naked, in the same room where she’d died, and now she could see things she never saw before. A crack in the corner of the bedpost. A spider on the ceiling. A man in the chair who had most definitely not been there before. Familiar man. Vague sense of having seen him not so long ago.

“So,” Faith said, stretching her neck awkwardly and resisting the urge to put her hand to where he’d drained her. “Does this mean I call you Daddy?”

He chuffed out a cloud of smoke with a short little barking laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so,” he answered her. Didn’t move, though. Didn’t make any attempt to touch her. “Hungry, pet?”

“Starving,” she hissed and felt her face shift, melt into the face of her demon. She sat up straight on the bed, an arc of pain racing through her now that he’d called attention to her need for food. “Starving, starving, starving,” she chanted as she rolled to hands and knees and swayed over to him with the loose limbed crawl of a lioness.

He reached down beside him and tossed a heavy bundle onto the bed, stopping her in her tracks. It was the girl. She was awake. Bound with strips of the bedsheets. Gagged. Shaking, vulnerable. Terrified.

Delicious.

With a growl that felt like a purr to Faith, she fell upon the girl and ripped her to pieces. Her throat first, of course, gulping down the hot blood as it gushed out in slowly decreasing arcs. Then she tore into every piece of flesh that she had bruised earlier, biting and sucking, and eating and eating and eating. Faith looked up at her Sire with yellow eyes and a feral grin. Blood was all over her like a painted suit, shining and smelling like death. It was inside of her, too, singing in her veins, making her feel hot, making her want. She reached out a hand to the man who had made her into this wonderful dark thing, and he stared at it a few moments before he took it in his own. Catching her eyes with his own, he let his game face slip on as he brought her hand up to his mouth and slowly licked her fingers clean.

“What a pair we’ll make,” he whispered to her when her fingers were shining and alabaster. “What a wicked pair, luv.”

She smiled, and walked on her knees across the pieces of the girl she had fed on and then slipped off the bed onto the floor between his legs. She put her demon face against his chest and let it slide to his lap. She rubbed her ridged forehead against the hardness she found there. One of his hands dropped to her hair, which was sticky with the drying blood that had flown everywhere in her feeding. He stroked it, and let his head fall back on the cheap dirty fabric of the chair, and smoked while he stared at the ceiling. The smoke drifted, white as his hair, and he saw vague patterns in it.

His new scar ached vaguely in the way that healing flesh did. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and let his fingertips wander over the short raised ridge hidden in his hairline. The man who had removed his chip hadn’t been the most skilled of surgeons, but he had had the advantage of not knowing who the hell he was dealing with. The minute he’d put in the last stitch, Spike had decided to give the chip-free version of himself a trial run.

The doc might not have been skilled, but that first bite had been exquisite. His blood had been like a youth serum, better than any blood he ever tasted before. He’d had an erection the minute his teeth broke the skin and an orgasm before the body was drained. He’d killed three more people that very night. He felt like he was back to his old self again. Now he had some things to take care of. Some people who had taken him lightly when he was unable to behave in his natural ways were in for a rude awakening.

Faith was purring, her face still in his lap. Spike took a long drag from the cigarette and flicked it away to the corner of the room. It landed in a spot of carpet soaked with blood and went out with a hiss. He reached down with both hands and drew her face up to look at him. Her golden eyes blinked slowly once, twice, then with a small shudder, her human face was back. It was a lovely mask. He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks and pushed his own demon down below.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. We have a little trip to make.” Spike led Faith to the tiny bathroom and she followed meekly behind.

Bound

The road stretched out in front of them, black on black in the night, the lines hovering like ghosts. The old car was full of the smells of smoke and blood and death. Times like these made Spike think that the night would never end, that they were destined, finally, to rule forever.

He spared a glance from the deserted road to the figure on the seat beside him. Lush dark hair, eyes like bitter chocolate, skin that shimmered. Naked as usual. Faith had little tolerance for clothes since her turning. This all suited Spike quite well.

She turned to him then, slow smile curling her lips. Tip of tongue darting out like a snake’s to moisten her mouth. Stretching those long long legs out in front on her and raising them to the dashboard. Head on knees now, body folded in half, still smiling at him with her wet and brazenly full lips. Faith could have been a statue made of marble, carved for the worship of young pagans in some long ago era.

He’d only taken her once since he’d turned her. After leading her to the bathroom of the dirty motel room, after standing her under the slightly rusty water to let the blood wash from her hair and skin, after she’d been clean on the outside, if not within. She’d stepped out of the shower to find him watching her with a look that she’d become accustomed to long before, when she was still human. It was lust, raw and dark, not a thing of tenderness. It was the mark of wanting to possess her.

Before she could open her mouth to say something, to acknowledge what was hanging in the air, he’d grabbed her by the hair and ground his mouth down on hers. His tongue thrust in between her lips and she parted them willingly. He tasted to her like smoke and she sucked him in further. He growled with pleasure and then released her abruptly. She staggered, nearly falling back into the tub, but his hand was on her shoulder suddenly, turning her around.

With a flash of deja-vu, she realized he was holding her now like he’d held her when he killed her, arm like an iron band around her chest, bare breasts just lying on his skin. She heard his zipper come down and he was kicking her legs apart and then he was inside of her with one push. She gasped at the feel of it, ice cold in her still warm core, and her face shifted to its true countenance. He was still dressed, she could feel the roughness of his jeans against her bare skin, the metal of the buttons hurting her as they dug into the tender flesh of her bottom.

Spike never said a word. Game face on from the moment he entered her, he just reveled in it all. The power over her, the mastery of her body, the tightness of her, the heat on his cold, hard cock. She’d lose the heat soon enough he knew - it was from the blood she’d just taken and from the shower. But for now, he was fucking her, hot and hard and in and in, deep as he wanted to go. Her breasts bounced against his arm as he pushed and he tightened his grip on her, lifting her up so that her toes barely brushed the wet tile floor. When her head fell back against his shoulder he, had her bare neck right where he wanted it. Soon, soon.

He lifted her a bit more, holding her now with his arm and his cock, and to his delight Faith growled and tried to grind herself down further on him. He gave her his other hand then, slipped the fingers between the mass of curls where he was already buried inside of her. He found her clit, swollen and pouting out from the dark nest as if seeking his touch. In his mind’s eye, it was the color of a plum, dark, ripe, luscious. His middle finger grazed it and she shrieked and shuddered. He nearly lost his grip at her reaction and his cock gave a huge throbbing jerk that he felt to his heels.

He backed up a step and pivoted, seating himself on the edge of the tub. He spread her legs over his own, white as moonlight over the black of his jeans. Now she was wide open to him and he could pleasure her at his leisure. Or not. Spike grinned with the demon’s face, and with a flexing of his hips drove his cock a little deeper inside of her.

Faith’s hands came down to rest on the one he had between her legs, urging him to stroke her there. She was writhing on his lap, impaled and trying to get more of him. Her hands pushed and she gave a little grunt when he allowed her to stoke herself with his fingers. Her muscles were flexing, holding him inside of her with a grip of satin over iron. Finally he released his hold from around her chest and let that hand come up to cup her breast, thumb running over the hard nipple, the aureola drawing in upon itself with taunt little waves and ridges from his coldness, her arousal. He tweaked the swelling tip gently once, then again hard and twisting. When the pain hit her, Faith whipped her head forward and back, the muscles in her cunt squeezing him so tight that he nearly went over the edge himself.

Slowly stroking her entire breast now with a hand that were gentle, Spike waited for Faith to relax her grip just a little. When that time finally arrived, the hand that was still resting between her legs began to move in languid motions to match the ones being lavished on her breast. He let her fall into the lull of the rhythm, up and down, brushing over and over, bringing Faith’s body to the heights in a slow but sure beat. Never stopping his pressure on her clit, he released her breast despite her small whimper of displeasure and used that hand instead to press her back against him until Faith’s head lay again on Spike’s shoulder and her neck was bared to him again.

“Oh, very nice, pet,” he crooned into her ear before his tongue swept over the curve of skin and muscle where neck joined shoulder. Then his teeth were in her, too and she was screaming this time and moving, and grinding herself down on his cock, pressing his hand against her swollen and tortured clit, and screaming and screaming and screaming.

Spike pulled his hand away from her with a violent jerk, and gripped her shoulders with both hands, holding her still. Her screams turned to growls of frustration as he fed from her and fucked her and made her insane with wanting both so badly. His hips jerked up into her with hard, sharp motions that were all about his needs, his desires, and his mouth was full of her blood. She quivered there on him, feeling a pull between the needs of her cunt and the needs of her demon. She wanted to fuck, to come, to get that climax that was being held back just out of her reach. And she wanted to feed. On Spike.

And he knew it. He knew it oh so well, that lovely pull of the blood finally taking over all others. More important than anything else, more important than any orgasm no matter how close it might be, nothing in the world like it. The siren’s song of it, the sight and the smell of it, the taste of it in your mouth, ruled every reaction of a vampire’s body, and if she learned to embrace it as he had … oh, the things he could show her. So here was the test. Would she?

He released her shoulders, let his hands slide down her arms in a caress. Faith quivered and whimpered for a fraction of a second. She could feel Spike’s fangs, still buried in her neck, but the sensation of loss wasn’t as great as it had been at first. Now she could feel his tongue behind the bite, tracing the skin below where he penetrated her. She could feel one single track of hot fluid from the puncture mark slip down her back and between them to be absorbed by the shirt he was wearing, one that had already taken in the wetness from her body out of the shower. Faith let her hands come up and over Spike’s and lay there. His cock was throbbing between her legs and her clit seemed to be matching the rhythm. But he was still, so still, and it was all up to her now. No guidance was coming from her Sire. She knew, just knew deep in the core of her, that he was looking for her to do something, something right, something real. But she was so tired, so strung out, the smell of sex and blood hung heavy in the air and she couldn’t think at all, she could only feel the need, the drive.

Then sudden insight, flash of utter rightness, just let the demon make the choice and it was blood. Faith drew Spike’s wrist to her mouth in a flash, and let her teeth sink in and she drank and drank. He was drinking from her again as well, they were emptying and filling each other now, and as the blood rushed through her she realized that she got it all this way. They were one; they were united; they were bound. With a sudden blur of movement, he was fucking her again, cock pistoning in hard and fast, his free hand rubbing her brutally hard as well, and in an instant she was there and over, shrieking against the wrist that she refused to release even in that moment of climax. And then Spike was filling her everywhere at once, her mouth with his blood and her cunt with his come and her ears with his growling sounds of pleasure.

“So where we headed, Daddy?” she asked him now, head still tilted towards him and resting on her bare legs.

“Oh, we’re going to pay our respects to a few people, ducks. Some of them will be less than happy to see us, I’ll wager.” Spike grinned and glanced at her for a moment. Then his eyes were back on the road, back to the night that covered everything like blueberry syrup.

Faith purred from her side of the car and then let herself slide over in the seat. She rested her head beside his thigh, bumping it like a puppy craving her master’s attention. He dropped his hand to her hair and stroked it. She turned her face up and captured two of his fingers in a mock-hard bite, then tickled the tips of them with her tongue before releasing them. She fondled her own breasts, teasing her nipples with her fingernails before letting one hand wander down to the wet and wanting place between her legs.

“Tell me all about it, ” she whispered to him as her fingers started to move.

Spike looked over again at her, saw her hands busy at tit and clit, grinned broadly in the darkness. “Shall we pull over for a little while then, ducks?” He steered to car to the side as he spoke and let it roll to a stop. “I’d like to watch the show.”

The moon and stars shone down on the old car, windows painted over black, concealing the darker things inside.

Collide

Once it was started, Spike knew it would have to be seen through to the end. There would be no time for stopping, for hesitation or doubt. Once set in motion, they would have to continue the dance until the music ceased.

He was never very big on planning, he thought to himself for the ten-thousandth time that day. Some men are just not made for it. He was a man of action, he knew what he wanted and he went after it. Sitting around and thinking and talking and working through every bloody detail made him want to scream. Yet, in some cases, even he had to admit that there were details that needed attention. Especially when those details could kill. And there were many of those kinds of lethal tasks involved in this particular venture. Yes, there would be plenty of killing. However, he counted on being the one doing the killing. And of course, Faith would be doing some important wet work of her own.

If they ever got out of this bloody hotel room that is, he thought impatiently, too wired and strung out to rest, despite the sunlight that surrounded him.

The place where he and Faith had gone to ground at sunrise was an old nameless hotel, the manager asleep at the desk so they were simply able to walk in and take the key to whatever room they chose. Faith covered his body with bruises before she drained him dry and tossed him beneath the counter out of site. They’d be well on their way before he was missed, if he ever was.

Once in the room, inches of dust covering everything but the well-sprung bed, Faith had muttered, “Wild,” in a vague and dreamy way before laying down and falling into the coma-like sleep she occupied during daylight. After covering the widow and wedging the door shut, Spike down lay beside her, thinking and smoking, and wishing it was night again so they could get this started.

Frankly, he was not entirely sure of Faith but he didn’t know why. It ate at the corners of his mind, though. She’d come through the turning just fine. Her innate dark nature had accepted the demon as if it was what she’d been born for. Her Slayer strengths magnified the dark gift tenfold. Their blood bond grew deeper with every shared feeding.

And she was in heat most of the time she was awake.

Spike couldn’t put his finger on just what it was that left him in doubt. She’d shown herself to be eager to learn the lessons he taught, the little that she needed teaching. She was born to fight and feed, it seemed. She hunted with the skill of a leopard, a lioness, some exotic cat of death. She rarely played with her food, enjoying the satiation of the blood to the taunting and the fear beforehand. However, Spike was sure that in a few months, when the novelty wore off, she’d be awesome when it was time to torture and season the meat.

So was it really Faith that had him worried?

He put his hands over his forehead and squinted through the smoke at her. What the fuck was wrong with him? She was a gorgeous, soulless, killing machine. His body stirred at the thought of her, but he pushed that away for now. For a while. Plenty of time for that later. Afterwards. An eternity for it, if it all went as planned.

If.

And if it didn’t, then there would be no more worries at all, beyond the answer to the question, “Where does a vampire go when he’s dust?”

Moonrise.

Faith’s eyes opened with a snap and she sprang up off the bed like she was on a wire. Spike grinned at her; the first time it had been a shock to see her come awake like that. It looked as though she had fought the sleep she needed the whole time, straining hard against the bonds of rest until finally, finally, they released her at sunset to do her will again.

She’d gotten a strong sense of survival skills when she turned. She could practically smell holy ground from a mile away and wouldn’t go near, cowering down in the seat when they passed a rural church on the backroads. She could feel sunset and sunrise come, almost to the minute. She wasn’t even fond of referred light at this point. But she was getting more confident, night by night, and soon she would be…

“Wicked,” he said aloud, not even aware of having spoken until she smiled at him.

“Like father, like daughter,” she said to him, slinking over to where he stood, to embrace him, lick his lips and steal a kiss. “Are we ready?”

He sighed, a great gust of unnecessary air moving through lungs long done with such matters. He took her shoulders in his hands, not quite gently, and looked her in the eyes.

“You know, pet, once this starts, it’s all the way. No stopping. It’s fast and hard until we’re through.” He squeezed her shoulders just once for emphasis. “Have you got it clear what’s to be done?”

“Fast and hard, Daddy,” she whispered. “Just the way your baby likes it.”

And he laughed then. Pulled her closer, kissed her hair, tossed aside the last lingering doubts.

“We’re off then, my love.” Opening the door, he let her go out first and then followed. “Are you cold? Should we get you something to wear?” He was used to the nakedness she had embraced, but perhaps for this she would want some cover, some protection…a mask.

“I’m five by five,” she answered with a calm, cool voice, so unlike her new self that it gave him pause.

“Right,” he said softly. Closing the door behind them with a strangely gentle touch, he watched her glow through the empty lot and climb into the car. “Right, then.”

Faith was so keyed up that her nails were digging grooves into the wall beside her, scratching over and over like a cat cleaning its claws. She hadn’t moved, not a blink of an eye, not the tensing of a muscle, except for that repetitive scratch-scratch-scratch.

She was waiting. Focused. Intent. Everything was clear in her mind. She could see it happening as if it had already occurred. There was no doubt. No fear. No worry.

Just excitement.

When she finally had her prey in site, she actually gasped in glee before standing and stalking with lightning speed to the end of the alley. The lone figure walked quickly ahead of her, the street fairly deserted, large pools of shadow waiting to swallow her and the one she stalked in-between the circles of overhead lights.

She timed her prey’s walk. Click click - light. And click click - shadow. And click click - light. And click click - shadow. And…

And Faith had the dark head in her hands, one covering the mouth, the other holding so tight that the prey couldn’t have gotten loose without breaking their neck to do so. Dragging the body with her so fast that the people on the streets across from them wouldn’t have seen the commotion even if they’d been looking, Faith was back down the alley and through the door at the end of it before anyone could have bothered to notice that the pretty girl with the long dark hair and the armful of books had never come into the next circle of light.

That door at the end of the alley led to a dark and unused basement. The only things down there were rotting cardboard boxes, smashed glass fragments, and rodent droppings from a time when it had appealed to the vermin to live there. And now Faith was there.

And so was Cordelia.

Spike was outside the offices of Angel Investigations, pacing. Angel was inside, far below the street. Spike could feel him, ties of the Sire calling to him despite the many things that divided them. Despite the hatred and anger and resentment, there was always the pull of the bloodline.

Fucking always there.

There was no way for Spike to be within the city and not have Angel know about it. This was not even a point to consider - there was no way to avoid him. So the plan was to go in there and confront him. Occupy his mind while other things were happening. Keep the man busy.

In whatever way it took.

Spike was relatively sure that they weren’t going to have tea and crumpets. Or share a pint of Guinness and talk about how it was in London in the old days. It wasn’t going to be the return of the prodigal childe. It was going to be…messy.

“Bloody hell,” he finally growled out from clenched teeth and strode up the steps and into the building. He walked through the front door and past the outer offices with all the bravado of a school yard bully, and only when his hand touched the doorknob to the stairway leading to Angel’s quarters did he pause. Hand barely brushing the cold metal, he just stopped in his tracks.

Ridiculous, really, Angel knew he was there - he’d come blundering in like a damn war-horse, clumping across the wooden floor as if he was the Anti Stealth Poster Child. But the smell from below was riveting. It was so familiar. It was…

Candlewax, and linen with lavender, and … and blood, warm blood.

Moving as if in a trance, Spike opened the door and began walking down the steps, his tread made lighter by the enchantment of the odors filling his head. By the memories they called up.

Cordelia’s body hit the far wall with a muffled thump and the sound of a scream being knocked right out of itself. She pushed her hair out of her eyes with a hand that was filthy and shaking and looked up to see something out of her worst nightmares. Something lithe and white and human. And not.

“What’s…what’s going on?” she choked out, throat constricted in fear and nearly deaf from the blood hammering in her ears. She tried briefly to stand but when she made the first movement, a sound came from her attacker that made her stop at once.

“Now now, Cordelia.”

The oddly familiar voice paralyzed her. Who was that? Cordelia’s eyes strained to see through the darkness, and as they adjusted to the level of light, she began to see a face, dark eyes, someone she thought she’d never see again. “Faith?”

“See, and they all said you were the dumb one.” Faith laughed with glee, clapping her hands like a child who’d gotten the one gift she’d been waiting for her whole life. “Let’s see what else you know. It’ll be fun.”

“Stay away from me, you homicidal bitch!” Cordelia rasped out, unable to help the thrill of self preservation that suddenly enervated her. She lurched to her feet, hands out in a protective gesture, terrified out of her wits but trying desperately to stall, to wait for Angel to come in here and save her.

Because that’s what he did. Saved people. Like her.

Please God, thought Cordelia wildly, let him save me.

The candles were lit on the kitchen table. Old candles. Beeswax, like they had always had before. And the linens. Where the hell was the smell of lavender in the linens coming from? Dru had had lavender sachets in all the sheets, in all the fine linen sheets that had been soft as silk against their white, white skin. His skin. And Dru’s. And Angelus’. All together in the one bed with the candlelight.

And oh, the blood.

There was the blood, scent of life in the incongruous mug by the microwave. Before it had been right from their throats, and their wrists and their thighs. Sometimes from a crystal goblet, when they were playing. But the smell, that was the same. Then it had been the blood of virgins and urchins. Now it was the blood of animals. Yet it was still the same powerful scent. And Christ how the memories came washing over him.

He never even saw Angel, standing at the door to his bedroom, the sheets he’d just replaced lying crisp on the huge bed behind him. And Angel never said a word as he watched his Childe; he saw Spike’s hand reach out to the flame, fingers slowly passing over the heat of it. Old habits die hard, and Angel suppressed a grin that took him by surprise. He was startled to hear the voice that came as silently as a whisper.

“Do you do this often, or only when I’m in town?” Spike never turned, he kept his fingers hovering over the flame and his back to Angel. His eyes were wide open and staring at nothing. This wasn’t how he’d thought things would go. It was as far from what he’d tried to plan out as it could have gotten.

Angel shrugged his shoulders the slightest bit, as though realizing the gesture was unseen but unable to stop himself anyway. He cleared his throat, looked away from the straight backed blonde who was waiting for a reply, glanced back up again. Still no answer presented itself. He was embarrassed at being caught indulging in his memories, at seeking comfort from an era that should have been one he tried to forget forever. But he’d been thrown so far off track by the actress who’d managed to bring the beast to bear not so very long ago and by the consequences that the unleashing of his demon had wrought, that all he wanted around him was the things he found familiar. Warm. Comfortable despite the acts that had accompanied the scents all those years and years ago. The light and the smell of the waxy candles, even the smoke they gave off, presented images of being sure of himself, being content, being where he belonged in the universe. The smell of the linens, Dru’s smell then and always, was a vice for which he would have gladly gone to Hell again before allowing anyone to uncover. Too late for that little secret now.

“Not often, no,” Angel finally offered, aware of the inanity of the statement. Aware of the way everything looked, especially to this visitor before him, who had finally turned and given Angel his gaze. Spike’s eyes were bright, and full of…something Angel hadn’t seen there in ages.

“So, here we are.” Spike leaned back against the table, casual manner belying the tremors running through his body. “Sire,” he added with a smirk.

Angel quirked an eyebrow at him. “Sire? There’s a word I haven’t heard from your lips willingly in…well, in forever.” He crossed his arms and waited. It was not a comfortable silence. Indeed, the air seemed to be gathering sparks, while they waited with the scent of their history heavy around them.

Angel broke the waiting game. “OK, Spike. What brings you here to LA? Some kind of death wish, maybe you need me to kick your ass around again for old times’ sake? Whatever it is, get to it. I don’t have the time -“

A bark of laughter from Spike interrupted him. “Don’t have the bleeding time? Well if you don’t have time, then what exactly is it you do have? All you’ve got is time. Eternity, remember? It’s in the handbook.” Shaking his head, Spike patted down his coat pockets looking for his smokes. It covered the movements of his hands, which weren’t quite steady at the moment, and broke the tension for them just a little. He finally located them and shook one out of the pack. Glancing up at Angel, he lit it and drew in a huge amount of smoke before grinning. The smoke wafted eerily from between his lips.

Quiet again.

“OK, fine.” Spike slammed the lighter he’d been holding down on the table behind him and heard it skitter across the surface. “I’m here to see you. Maybe it’s going to earn me an ass kicking. What the hell. Why not? All I know is that I can’t stay around the bloody Sunnydale Rescue Squad another fucking minute and live with that…look in their eyes every time they see me. They think I’m useless. Impotent is the word they like to use most often.” He stood from his reclining position and walked over to Angel, closer than either was exactly comfortable with, but still.

“So you came here to me expecting something better?” Angel asked him quietly. His eyes were dark, so dark that they looked to be no color at all, just blackness peering into Spike’s own blue depths.

“With you, it’s different. With you, it’s… something else.” Dropping his eyes, Spike felt himself quivering. Where the fuck had this all come from? This wasn’t supposed to be about…well, it wasn’t supposed to be about this. And he did not have these feelings for Angel, not now. Not after all that he’d been through. Not after Dru. Not after everything in the last hundred years. Not at all. So why was he shaking? And where were these words coming from?

Angel had gone stock still. Maybe it was the ambiance of the apartment, one he himself had set up. Indulgences were never good. Maybe it was the things that woman had said to him, teasing him with offers of the end of his loneliness. Companionship. Acceptance. A loosening of the ever-present bonds that held him into the shape he was wearing day to day, night after night. Maybe it was the look in his childe’s eyes, one that he was quite sure that the childe himself was unaware of. He’d never been good at controlling or masking his feelings, not this one. The blood bond between them was screaming as it always did, wide awake at the proximity they shared. Angel felt like he was standing on the edge of something huge, and it was glittering at him so seductively that he couldn’t turn away. Not yet. Just a little more, he told himself.

Then the blonde vampire was a step closer. The smell of him was in Angel’s nostrils, mixed in with the other scents of the night, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment to savor it: smoke and wax, blood and lavender. And Will.

He wasn’t even surprised to feel the cool lips on his own, and he didn’t open his eyes, or pull away.

Faith was enjoying herself. Without anyone’s help, she was learning a lot about the added spice that extended fear could give to the smell of someone’s blood. She’d thought Cordelia smelled pretty tasty when she got in the room. Now, though, after a little battering and some well placed remarks about just how exactly this whole scenario was going to end, the smell was just so rich and exquisite that she could hardly wait to taste it.

And she told her so, just to enjoy that burst of pheromones that flooded from Cordelia’s pores. The little whimper was just an auditory extra. Bonus track.

Cordelia was retreating now, away from this place, into her mind where no one could get to her anymore. She knew now that Angel wasn’t going to get to her in time. And she was almost alright with that. She was going to die here in the dark, with Faith. And it wasn’t supposed to be that way, not at all. But things hadn’t been going Cordie’s way for quite some time now, so she’d learned to adjust. This was just going to be the biggest adjustment ever.

Her eyes slid closed again and she started to retreat to fond memories. High school dances, with her hair done in the salon just that afternoon, and her nails freshly manicured. New dress and shoes from the designer of the moment. Nothing but the best for Cordelia Chase. That’s what her daddy always said. She deserved the best. Cutting edge.

Faith crouched down closer and slapped Cordelia’s cheek, just a tap really, considering the power at her disposal. When she got no response, she tried it again, harder, so that the body on the ground rolled to the side with the force of it. Nothing.

“Now that’s not going to work, Cordelia,” Faith said loudly, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling Cordelia’s face right up to her. “Get back here with me, we have things to talk about.” She punctuated her words with a shake of her hand that finally brought Cordelia’s eyes into focus again.

“Is this any way for Vision Girl to behave in the face of danger?” Faith asked, letting go of the handful of hair and helping pull the other girl into a sitting position against the cold and filthy wall. Cordelia allowed herself to be moved, her body soft and pliable as a rag doll.

“Just do it, Faith,” Cordelia said in a breathy voice. “Just kill me, OK? Because frankly, your psycho act is getting a little dull.If you’re waiting for me to have a vision, you’re wasting your time. The Powers That Be have standards, and apparently you just don’t quite cut it. I’m vision free around you. Thanks. I appreciate the cure.”

“Let me give you one last vision, then, Cordie. That’s what they called you, right - Cordie?” Faith paused and then sat down gracefully, leaned forward until her forehead rested on Cordelia’s. Like a lover, she stroked the once lovely dark hair of the trembling girl. She appeared to have reached the end of whatever game she was playing here.

“Things are going to be so different now,” Faith sighed into the scant space between her lips and the other girl’s bruised and swollen ones. “Things are going to be just wicked.” She finished this with a little kiss upon Cordelia’s unsuspecting mouth, a chaste and cold touching of the flesh and nothing more.

Kiss of death.

Then she took Cordelia’s head in her hands and jerked it once, very fast, very hard. The snap was loud as a crack of lightning in the small dark place.

And Faith was alone.

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