Suzanne was well aware that binding herself to a Greek goddess, even one such as Psyche, was unpredictable to say the very least. Yet in spite of all the risks, this seemed like the only logical step to take, since the mortality rate of the “magically inclined” Sunnydale shop owners was rivaled only by that of the fruit fly.

The plan was simple. After securing her essence to the goddess of souls and drinking the nectar of the gods, she’d achieve immortality. Easy peasy.

After gathering and placing all that was needed on the makeshift altar, she took several deep, cleansing breaths to help clear her mind before proceeding.

She arranged and lit the three ritual white candles, then placed each herb at the bottom of the stone pestle in the order the spell dictated. Taking the heavy mortar in hand, she ground the herbs together, making a fine powder. Once satisfied with the consistency, she steadily poured the mixture into the ceremonial sea-blue glass bowl that held the final ingredient, golden Ichor.

As the powder slowly dissolved into the viscous liquid, her earlier irritation with Larry, that shyster of a warlock who totally overcharged her, bubbled up slightly. She let this anger fester for a moment before pushing it aside and fully focused on the task at hand.

This spell was very specific, not only in the preparations, but also in one’s positioning and mindset during the incantation.

The spell called for her to face east while the sun was at its highest point in the midday sky. Since her apartment was in the basement and faced west, her shop was the only place this could be done. Second, she had to be pure of heart and willing to accept the binding.

So far, so good. Now came the tricky part.

Over the last week, she’d been listening to CDs and watching videos to help her learn Greek. Even though she knew this was a very difficult language to learn and master, especially in such a short period of time, it was critical for her to get it right. One mispronunciation during the spell and she could be binding herself to the table for all she knew!

Suzanne pulled the incantation from the bodice of her dress. She then laid the worn piece of parchment next to the ceremonial bowl. With another cleansing breath, she out stretched her arms, reaching skyward as she began chanting.

“Ω, Ψυχή, θεά της ψυχής, σε παρακαλώ χάρισε μου το δώρο να συνδέσω το είναι μου μαζί σου. Ω, Ψυχή, σε παρακαλώ άκου την έκκληση μου, να διατηρήσεις την καρδιά μου αγνή, να με κρατήσεις ασφαλή. Σε παρακαλώ, Ψυχή, άκου την έκκληση μου—”1

Before she could utter the final word needed to complete the spell, the small brass bell hanging over the door jingled, breaking her from her trance-like state.

The customer, a middle-aged woman, who was most likely a housewife trying to spice up her love-life, gave her a tentative smile before heading over to the wall and perusing the merchandise lining the shelves.

Suzanne suppressed her irritation and plastering on her best, “Blessed Be, how may I help you?” smile as she approached the customer. After having a ten-minute discussion on the properties and differences between sandalwood and cedar, the woman finally decided on a package of ten sandalwood incense sticks and a simple wooden holder.

After ringing up her purchase, Suzanne called out her standard farewell of, “I know you’ll enjoy that.” before quickly rounding the counter and heading back to the task at hand. Before making it half way across the room, she heard stirring at the rear of the store that immediately grabbed her attention.

With tentative steps, Suzanne walked toward the back entrance. In the shadows of the last wall-to-ceiling shelf, stood a man dressed in all black and a leather duster with a crown of bleached hair. He was muttering to himself while impatiently and rather roughly, flipping the pages of a spell book.

She could feel his anger rolling off him in overpowering waves. When she asked if she could help, he claimed he wanted a curse, one complete with painful disfigurements.

She needed him to leave as soon as possible. His negative energy could easily ruin her entire spell, but before she could send him away, the distinctive jingle of another customer’s arrival sounded.

With a few departing words to this angry man, Suzanne approached her new customer, a timid, young Wicca. She immediately felt the woman’s pure, white energy radiating off her. Suzanne hoped this woman’s positivity balanced out the negativity now plaguing the room.

With her standard greeting and a smile, Suzanne spoke with the young witch to find out what she needed. Luckily, after the woman read her short list of items, it didn’t take Suzanne long to figure out what kind of spell she wanted—a love spell.

After Suzanne tried to break the tension by teasing the other woman by requesting to see her ID for this type of spell, they discussed the necessary ingredients. When the young witch clarified she actually wanted a delust spell, Suzanne gave her a quick warning before collecting the supplies, ringing her up, and sending her on her way.

Now I just have to get rid of Mr. Negativity.

With a deep breath, Suzanne marched to the back of the store, hoping the man had found what he was looking for and would leave.

Hopefully, he got bored and was gone already .

Unfortunately, he was still where she had left him. Despite how uncomfortable this man made her feel, Suzanne tried her best to make her voice sound cheerful.

“So, did you find a spell book?”

“Forget the book.”

She didn’t have time to react to the man’s grumbled response before his face distorted, and he plunged his fangs into her throat, feeding ferociously.

As she felt her life’s blood draining away, her heart beat slowing and soul slipping from her body, her last thought was,

If only…


The Following Monday Night


Something was bloody wrong!

Early tonight Spike had finally entered Honduras and it still was taking everything he had to not turn his Desoto around and head back to California or more specifically, Sunnydale.

He thought with each mile he got closer to his beloved Drusilla, he’d be sporting constant wood, and just itchin’ for a good rough and tumble. Instead, ever since he’d left SunnyD, he’d been softer than a bloody grape.

He’d stopped in some small no-name town to wet his whistle with cheap liquor and even cheaper local cuisine. He figured feasting on some little hot mujerzuela would put a spring back in his step—and his cock.

Spike entered some hole-in-the-wall cantina, sidled up to the bar, and laid a handful of pesos, that he’d stripped off the evening’s first Happy Meal, down on the counter.

“Dame una botella de Tequila, déjala, y que no se vacíe, compadre.”
(“Give me a bottle of Tequila, leave it, and keep them coming, mate.”)

The sweaty heavy-set bartender eyed Spike as he scratched at his sizeable gut that was barely covered by a filthy, tattered wife-beater. With a snort and keeping his eyes trained on Spike, he dropped his hand below the lip of the bar, produced a bottle of Tequila and a shot glass, then slammed them both down on the wooden surface.

Spike nodded his thanks, grabbed the bottle by the neck, unscrewed the cap with a twist of his wrist, and drank straight from the bottle. In one long swallow, he downed every drop of amber liquid, relishing the burning from gullet to gut.

The clearly unimpressed bartender removed the first empty bottle from the bar and replaced it with another full one, then moved away to deal with another customer.

Spike unscrewed the cap of the new bottle and poured a healthy swig into the shot glass. He tilted his head back, downing the gut-rotting liquid in one go. He continued this four more times before a feminine purring in his ear interrupted him.

“¿Quieres compañía, gringo?”
(“Want some company, gringo?”)

Spike lowered the shot glass back to the bar and regarded his new company. He’d sensed her long before she made her approach. Her distinctive scent of sweat, rose water, and sex had been making his mouth water since he first stepped into this shite hole. She was a voluptuous, raven-haired puta, and he knew just the type. She’d spread her thighs for a few pesos and enjoy every minute of it.

This little encounter was what he needed to get both his heads back in the game. Just a ‘fuck and feed’ before hitting the road again.

"¿Algún sitio tranquilo al que podamos ir, nene?”
(“Somewhere quiet we can go, baby?”)

Her response to his purred request was a Cheshire cat-like grin as she grabbed his hand and led him outside to an adjacent alley. The dark and dank passage reeked of piss and sex. Thankfully, he didn’t need to breath.

“¿Polvo o mamada, rubito?”
(“Fuck or suck, blondie?”)

Hell, why did he have to choose? He wanted both. Spike loved dually penetrating some skirt with his cock and fangs buried deep and her mingled screams of pleasure and pain ringing in his ears.

As she lowered his zipper, his demon rose to the forefront. Even though the cramped space offered little light, with golden eyes he saw perfectly. He regarded her for a moment, and then it hit him, everything was all wrong—her hair, her body, her scent—just bleedin’ wrong.

Spike was shaken from his thoughts by her hot hand wrapped around his still limp cock and her nasty, scoffed insult.

“¿Qué clase de hombre de mierda eres tú?¡Quizás lo que te gustan son las pollas!”
(“ What kind of fucking man are you? Maybe you like cock instead!”)


Spike roughly grabbed her by the shoulders, which dislodged her hand, and tugged her closer so she could see him better. Her dark eyes widened and her mouth fell open to release a scream that was instantly silenced by his hand.

“Not a man, puta, and obviously you’re not woman enough to get me off,” Spike growled before lunging and piercing her throat with his fangs.

After draining her dry, he dropped her limp body on the filthy ground. Spike zipped up his fly as he stepped over her discarded form with no regard. Then with fury fueling his steps, he headed back to his car. He slid into the driver’s side, slammed the door shut, and ran his hands through his hair as he seethed with frustration.

The Slayer, it’s all that bitch’s fault. She’s bloody ruined me!

It had to be her. Last time he was in Sunnyhell all drunk and weeping over Drusilla, the Slayer had called him pathetic. In her exact words, he was “a shell of a loser.” Well, she wasn’t wrong.

When he left SunnyD, he had a plan how to woo Dru back. It was a decent plan, but now he realized it wasn’t enough. He needed some bigger. A grand gesture to prove he hadn’t lost his edge.

That’s it!

The only way to go was big—bringing Dru the Slayer’s heart on a silver platter. Once that bitch was dead and buried, Dru would forget all his fuck-ups from last year, and they could start again.

Grinning ear to ear, Spike slid the key into the ignition and turned it, causing the engine to roar to life. He threw the car into drive, popped his favorite, well-worn cassette tape into the player, and peeled out of the cantina’s parking lot, spraying gravel in his wake.

While crooning along with his all-time favorite Ramones song, he turned onto the Pan-American Highway heading north.


Wednesday Morning


Something was very, very wrong.

Buffy stood before her bathroom mirror putting the final touches to her hair. She couldn’t really put her finger on the why or even the how, which made the wrongness even more bothersome. Whatever it was, something just felt off.

It all started a little over a week ago after Spike breezed into Sunnydale for a totally unexpected and completely unwelcomed visit. Actually, that should really tip her off on the why—Spike.

Wasn’t it always that bleached pest’s fault?

He came to town all drunk and pathetic ‘cause Dru had dumped him. Of course Spike blamed Angel, since Dru’s kicking Spike to the curb had nothing to do with him being an 80’s reject who was a complete waste of space and had a major case of verbal diarrhea with absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

Yeah, an 80’s reject who is super hot, has dreamy eyes, and—huh? Where the heck did that come from? Absolutely nothing about Spike is dreamy. And who says dreamy anymore, anyway? Channeling “Teen Beat” much?

She gently shook her head to clear away these crazy thoughts and tried to focus on more important things while she unscrewed the cap of her lip gloss.

Like how her couple-y friends were no longer couples since two people of the couples, who weren’t actually a couple, were caught kissing by the other two. Then to top that all off, she and Angel, even though they weren’t really a couple anymore, were now even less couple-y, since she decided to actually listen to the crap that came out of Spike’s mouth and told Angel they could no longer see each another.

And the cherry on this total crap sundae was the fact that the distance now between Angel and her didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should.

All these things were weighing heavily on her mind over the past week, and it was really starting to make her head feel like a piñata on Cinco de Mayo, without the cool candy and toy surprises inside.

Even after all the previous drama and the fact that everyone was still feeling the sting from their relationship fallouts, this past week had been quiet—actually, too quiet. It was almost unheard of when a Tuesday came and went, and there still was no baddie of the week.

Argh!

Buffy was really getting tired trying to figure out all this. It was time to pass the thought-baton to Giles. He’d figure out what’s what.

With a nod to herself in the mirror, Buffy applied a final coat of gloss, placed the tube in her purse for those much-needed routine touch-ups, and headed back to her room to finish getting ready for another enlightening day at Sunnydale High.

As Buffy slid on her favorite skirt and matching mules, she tried her best to ignore the minor pounding in her head and the major gnawing deep in the pit of her stomach that something was very wrong. With a final glance in her full-length mirror, she headed downstairs with hopes of Giles setting everything right.








Author’s Notes:

Big thanks to Sotia for fixing my Greek translation!

Big thanks to Adrianiling for offering and fixing my Spanish translations!

1. “Oh, Soul, goddess of the soul, please grant me the gift to bind my essence to thee. Oh, Soul, please hear my plea, to keep me pure of heart, to keep me safe from harm. Please Soul hear my plea—”

The clerk from this episode did not have a name. She was only known as “the clerk”. So I called her Suzanne, which is the actress’ name.

Ichor is in Greek mythology. Ichor is the ethereal golden fluid that is the blood of the gods and/or immortals.

“Mujerzuela” means harlot and “puta” means whore.

Teen Beat was a magazine to give girls a chance to drool over their favorite heart-throbs! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teen_Beat

If you are wondering why I wrote, “It was almost unheard of that Tuesday came and went, and there still was no baddie of the week,” the reason is that the next episode after Lover’s Walk is The Wish. The only person/demon that remembered the alternative universe was Anya. So to everyone else, it appeared nothing had happened, ie: all is quiet.

Friday


The after-school meeting at the library appeared, for all intents and purposes, as every other had. Giles stood at the head of the table lecturing about the evils of the Hellmouth, while the Scoobies sat in their usual seats and listened.

However, it was clear today’s meeting wasn’t like any previous one. Although nobody addressed the tension felt due to Oz and Cordelia’s absence, undeniably the Scoobies had this on their minds, and each was handling it a little differently.

Xander actually seemed fine. He was back to his old self, offering up his usual brand of humor and failed attempts at witty commentary, all between mouthfuls of donuts.

As for Willow, she gave the impression of doing well, even going so far as taking notes during Giles’ spiel. Yet in spite of her outward cheerfulness, if they had looked more closely, they would’ve noticed her eyes repeatedly darting over to Oz’s now empty seat, as she bravely fought back tears.

Then there was Buffy. She sat next to the resilient Willow, with her palm cradling her cheek and her elbow resting on the table, as she stared at, or more to the fact through, her Watcher.

Buffy knew she should both be paying attention and more bothered about Cordelia and Oz’s absences, but she just couldn’t shake these lingering, pesky feelings from consuming her every thought.

She figured after giving Giles the skinny two days ago, she would’ve then been able to focus on the happier things in life, like a monster shoe sale at the mall.

Except thoughts of wedged sandals and kick-ass boots weren’t helping at all. Actually, not only were these feelings a complete buzz-kill to anything smile-worthy, but every day felt even suckier than the last.

“…After referencing and cross-referencing my books and outside resources, despite the usual weekly burden of vampires and the assorted additional demons, it appears we’ve earned a short reprieve, if you will. However, this does not mean we should neglect training or patrolling. I think tonight would be a perfect time to hone your skills with the quarterstaff. Don’t you agree, Buffy?”

When Giles’ expectant gaze landed on his Slayer, this prompted each Scooby to follow suit. Despite three sets of eyes on her, Buffy didn’t acknowledge their stares or Giles’ question. That was until Willow nudged Buffy with her foot, breaking her from her engrossing thoughts.

“Huh, what?”

Buffy blinked quickly and sat up straighter in her seat, as she tried to get her bearings. After she floundered for a few moments, Willow seemed to notice and took pity on her by attempting to discreetly tilt the notes in her direction. Buffy quickly scanned the page before facing her Watcher with a renewed confidence.

“I totally agree, Giles, with the, um, no slacking on patrolling or tracing.”

After hearing her own words, Buffy’s confused expression mirrored everyone else’s. She then noticed out of the corner of her eye, Willow blushing before she whispered softly out of the side of her mouth.

“That says training, not tracing.”

Buffy pulled the notebook further in front of her and looked more closely at the page then back up at her Watcher.

“Yeah, training—that’s what I meant! No slacking with my training, not tracing. I mean tracing, that doesn’t even make any sense. Now, if we were talking about an art project, and I was being lazy by tracing something instead of drawing it myself, then that would make perfect sense but—”

Giles removed his glasses and his ever-ready handkerchief, then started gently sweeping the soft cloth over his lenses, while appearing to tamp down his displeasure. He then returned his glasses to their rightful place.

“Buffy, after your explanation the other day, I fully understand why you are having a difficult time focusing. However, it is of the utmost importance you do. A lack of concentration on your part might result in—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, me upping the expiration date stamped on my forehead. But Giles, except for a few fledglings here and there, it’s been pretty quiet on the Hellmouth. So why doesn’t this earn me the right to be a little not here? Actually, I think this should earn me the right to be a lot not here. I mean like totally not here.”

Buffy noticed Giles’ brow furrowing in confusion, before adding, “Giles, it’s Friday night, and I deserve—we deserve, some much needed R and R in the form of mindless fun at the Bronze. Who’s with me?”

Buffy beamed a smile at the two other teens at the table, hoping her excitability would be catching.

“I don’t know, Buffy. I’m not really in a go-outy kinda mood. I’m more with the stay-inny part of life right now.” Willow glanced over to Oz’s empty seat once more before returning her eyes to Buffy.

Buffy turned in her seat to face her friend and placed her hand affectionately on top of Willow’s, whose arm was resting on the table.

“Will, I know things are really awful right now. Remember last year when I was acing breakup one-o-one? You helped me with all your words of wisdom. Now it’s my turn to help you. Well, not in the same way since I’m more the doer than the thinker in this friendship. So as the doer, my way is to give you some much needed fun in the form of shaking and shimming the night away.”

“I don’t know—”

Buffy knew Willow well enough that any hesitation on her part was a good sign of possibly giving in, so she kept pressing.

“It can be a whole girl’s-night-out thing. We can go back to my house, try on a bunch of clothes, eat some chocolaty goodness, and hit the Bronze later.”

Buffy watched, as Willow appeared to think it over. Then when Willow hesitantly smiled, Buffy knew she’d earned her get-out-of-jail-free card tonight. Yay! Triumphantly, Buffy stood from the table and started collecting her belongings while addressing the two males of the group.

“Xander, if you want, you can meet up with us later at the Bronze. And Giles, don’t worry, we can train with your giant toothpicks tomorrow. Now Willow, we have important girl things to do!”

Buffy was already making a bee-line for the exit while Willow stood, filled and closed up her backpack, and slid her arms into the straps of the bag. She draped her folded jacket over her forearm, and after giving Giles and Xander a small apologetic smile, jogged to catch up with Buffy.

All during the girls’ brief exchange and ultimate departure, Giles and Xander remained silent, but their expressions spoke volumes—one wore a look of utter confusion, the other a goofy grin.

“Well, sorry Giles, it looks like you’re flying solo tonight. Buffy had me at, “shaking and shimming the night away.” See ya!”

With that, Xander grabbed his jacket and backpack and hurried out of the library.

Giles watched the last teenagers’ exit before heading to his office. Once inside, he shut the door, walked over to his desk, and sat down. He leaned over and pulled out a small, pewter flask from the bottom drawer. He unscrewed the cap and forgoing a glass, swigged the hard liquor straight from the container.

“Bloody teenagers,” Giles groused while he loosened his tie, leaned back his chair, and propped his feet up on his desk.




For the first time in over a week, Buffy felt as if the burdening weight from all these mind-consuming thoughts and wretched feelings was finally gone.

This was so what I needed!

Xander was already sitting at their usual table when Buffy arrived an hour later with a still slightly hesitant Willow in tow. They were fashionably late, from a combination of Willow not wanting to change and Buffy searching for the perfect outfit.

In spite of the dozens of outfits Buffy offered Willow, she still couldn’t convince her to stray from the dark green denim overalls and stripped long-sleeved shirt she wore to school.

Buffy, on the other hand, had ditched her previous outfit and, after digging through the deepest recesses of her closet, had found what she now wore: a form fitting black leather skirt, an equally fitting deep crimson top, and knee-high black leather boots. To finish off the look, she chose an upswept hairdo with a few loose tendrils framing her face, bold, smoky eye makeup, and cherry-bomb lip-gloss.

Buffy knew she’d found the look she was going for after Willow almost choked on her own tongue when shown the final result. Now, why Buffy wanted this look was totally another question, and one she didn’t want to think about as she raised her arms above her head and let the sights and sounds of the Bronze flood her senses.

As she continued to dance, an overwhelming feeling swept over her. She had never felt anything like it before. It was as if every inch of her skin were on fire, and only another’s touch could quell the burning. Well, not just anyone, but a certain someone. Who this someone was, she hadn’t a clue.

With each song, this feeling consumed her further. Soon, it was as if each of her movements was deliberately made for the sole purpose of enticing this person to stake his claim. Several times, she’d felt the presence of a few brave boys attempting to get close. Yet none of them was whom she wanted, so they only received a cold shoulder. After awhile they soon took the hint and backed off.

Still she danced; her movements were like a siren’s song.

Then, like receiving a jolt of electricity, the unmistakable tingles alerting her that a vampire was nearby stilled her instantly. The Slayer inside rose up and tamped down the seductress, as she began intently scanning the room, searching for the vamp in question. Soon her gaze landed on a shadowy alcove.

Without wasting a moment, Buffy pushed her way through the writhing throng of dancing teens and headed over to that area. She only made it half-way to her destination before Angel stopped her.

“Buffy, we need to talk.”

Angel’s presence didn’t deter Buffy’s pursuit as she stepped around him and continued forward. Equally determined, Angel spun around and blocked her once more. This time he grabbed her by the upper arms, stilling her, before letting go.

“What?”

Buffy was well aware that her brash one-word question was drowned out by the music’s steady bass, but she was sure with his sensitive vampire hearing, Angel heard her irritation loud and clear.

Waiting for his answer, Buffy glared at Angel, her frustration rolling off her in waves. He responded by giving Buffy his classic apologetic/concerned look. Then, as always, she felt a twinge of guilt for being super bitchy, which ultimately led to her, against her better judgment, relenting to Angel’s request.

Buffy gave the shadowy alcove a parting glance while heading back to the table. Once there, she offered Willow and Xander a few parting words to ease their concern, before grabbing her clutch and heading toward the exit with Angel trailing behind.

On their way out, neither Buffy nor Angel noticed the owner of the intense predatory gaze from the shadows, emerging and following them.

Buffy exited the Bronze with Angel sullenly following closely behind her. She kept walking until they were out of earshot of anyone who might be at the entrance. The last thing she needed was more people sticking their noses in where they definitely didn’t belong.

Still slightly ticked off from the stunt Angel pulled inside, Buffy spun around to face him and instantly struck her classic “no-nonsense” pose.

“Talk.” She eyed him impatiently, her features a stern mask.

“You haven’t been around, so I thought—”

“Well, that’s your first mistake.”

By his stunned expression, she could tell her curtness caught him completely off-guard. His shock didn’t last long before his gaze hardened, and he moved, almost menacingly, into her personal space.

Regardless of his attempt at browbeating, she held her ground firmly.

“Look, you asked me to lie and say I don’t love you. I wouldn’t, and I won’t do that.”

Angel’s somewhat harsh tone belied the meaning he seemed to be trying to convey. Then to confuse matters more, his eyes softened as he reached out, attempting to tenderly cup her cheek.

Buffy evaded his touch by stepping back, not wanting to get caught up in his fleeting show of affection.

“I get that, Angel, I really do. But what I want from you, you can’t give me. I need, well, more.”

“Obviously.”

Buffy watched his irritation return, hearing it clearly in his snidely muttered response. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing while barely tethering her anger.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“The way you were dancing back there—” Angel motioned to the Bronze, his voice still holding an unmistakable edge.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Angel, this isn’t the eighteenth century! Dancing has come a long way from the waltzes in your day!” Buffy started pacing a small stretch of pavement, attempting to temper the rising desire to stake her ex.

“Buffy, I’ve seen hundreds of dances in my time, but what you were doing was being a cocktease.”

Buffy stopped abruptly when the last three words sounded in her ear. She turned, stomped toward Angel, and started jabbing his chest with several sharp pokes of her finger.

“What did you just call me?”

Angel’s eyes widened while his hands instinctually rose in a submissive, “I give” position.

“I didn’t call you anything, Buffy. I only said what you were doing was a little risqué, and someone might get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not your concern. Not anymore. I’m a big girl, Angel. I can take care of myself.”

With that having been said, Buffy stormed off, reentered the Bronze, and left a very confused Angel in her wake.




Spike stood at the edge of the Bronze’s rooftop watching the Slayer’s dramatic exit and the Great Poof’s cave-man brow scrunching up with confusion as he headed off in the opposite direction.

A throaty chuckle escaped from around the cigarette filter dangling precariously from Spike’s lips. If he’d known watching these two go at it was so bloody entertaining, he would’ve dragged up a comfy chair and settled in for the show.

Watching this little blow-out made the last few hellish days all worthwhile.

Ever since he decided to come back to SunnyD, he’d driven nonstop for two full nights. His only breaks were for petrol or a quick bite to eat. The latter he’d definitely been rethinking, since that meal had made his stomach roil for hours after. The foul station attendant certainly tasted worse than those God-knows-how-old rotating hotdogs he peddled.

Finally, with two hours to spare till sunrise, Spike crossed over the border into California. Without wasting any time, he found some shite-hole motel in downtown San Diego. After draining the occupant, he’d set himself up for the day in one of the west facing rooms.

Having had a hot shower and wrapped only in a small motel towel, Spike sprawled out on the less than clean bed and turned on the telly. As he lay there, sated with a full belly and spent from a celebratory wank of his newly returned hard-on, his thoughts returned to all the nasty things he wanted to do to the sweet Slayer, until sleep finally claimed him.

Spike woke just as the sun was dipping down past the horizon. After another good wank and a hot shower, he gathered his meager belongings, loaded up the Desoto, and headed straight for SunnyD.

As usual, once Spike hit the town-line he took out the “Welcome to Sunnydale” sign. But the major difference between the previous time and now was that despite his entrance, he didn’t want anyone to know he was back. Well, not until he was ready to show himself. The last time he gave the Slayer a heads-up to his plans for “Saturday night,” her axe-wielding mum had handed him his arse.

First things first—he needed to hide his well-known Desoto and set up shop somewhere. Without much thought, he chose Miller’s Woods. The thick groves, overgrown paths, and numerous caves made this an ideal place. For an added bonus, he knew the Slayer wouldn’t risk ruining one of her little outfits, and he did mean little, by traipsing around in nature.

With that done, some Slayer recon was next. After all the times he’d faced her, he knew the only way he was going to win was to find and exploit her weaknesses. He’d watched and went toe to toe with her enough times to know it wasn’t while she was in ass-kickin’ mode.

Then it came to him. What he needed to do was get past the crunchy, candy coating shell of the Slayer and get to the delectably sweet, soft center of the girl. That was how Angelus had almost defeated her. Not with fangs and fists, but reaching the vulnerable girl inside.

Now he’d figured out his in, all he had to do was find the door.

With that settled, the next stop was the Slayer’s house. Being Friday night and all, if she wasn’t off killing his kind, she’d surely be doing some teenage thing.

When he reached his destination, he hid in the shadows of a tree in the front yard and waited. He was greeted by the intoxicating commingled scents of sheer raw power, vanilla, and innocence wafting from an open upstairs window.

Must be the chit’s room.

Shortly after his arrival, he saw her bedroom light go on, and then heard the incessant chattering of two teenage girls—the Slayer and her friend, the red-haired witch. He could easily tell they were getting ready for a night out. Dru and Darla used to natter on and on the same way when getting ready for an evening. Alive or undead, women were all alike.

Almost an hour of losing-his-bleedin’-mind-from-boredom later, he noticed her light turning off before he heard the pitter patter of heeled and sneakered feet descending wooden stairs.

Spike sank further into the shadows of the yard. It was far enough to be safely out of the Slayer’s vamp radar, but close enough to still hear the brief muffled conversation between the her and her mum as the front door opened.

Almost immediately, his senses were assaulted by Slayer concentrate. First, it was her scent. It was the same le parfum de l'Assassin as earlier, but now it was more potent. Then like a chain reaction, the rest of his senses were bombarded. Sight, sound—hell, even his taste was affected.

Along with the sight of her in that tantalizing outfit of black leather, crimson, and not much else, it was hearing the steady cadence of her heartbeat and the snug fabric brushing against her tan, nubile body that made his cock, if possible, excruciatingly harder.

Then like Pavlov’s dog, his mouth watered from the thought of sinking his teeth deeply into her exposed throat and savoring her blood like a fine wine.

Oh, no—no gulping down the good stuff this time.

He watched the pair still locked in conversation, trekking down the walk. In mid-sentence, the Slayer stopped and checked out her surroundings before resuming their conversation then heading down the street with the witch.

Spike wasn’t worried about following her right away. In this one-horse town, there weren’t many places for teenagers to go on a Friday night. Even if there were, he’d be able to track her in a heartbeat, well, if he had one.

With a parting glance, Spike adjusted himself in his ever increasingly tight jeans, then slipped from the shadows and set out for the Bronze.

After detouring for a quick bite to eat, Spike entered the club through the backdoor. He stuck mainly to the shadows, while giving the place a once over. Then when he spied a catwalk running between the bar and dance floor, he climbed the metal stairs in order to get a better vamp’s eye view.

He stood near the railing, as he predatorily scanned the crowd. There, in the middle of a throng of dancing teens, was the Slayer and her two groupies, Red and the Whelp.

Red appeared as if she were totally out of her element. She was stepping awkwardly side-to-side and clapping out of rhythm with the music. Then there was the bumbling Whelp. He looked as though he was trying to stomp out a fire with his shoes and swat away a swarm of bees by the way he was flailing about.

Wanker!

Spike’s focus only lingered on these two momentarily, before training his sights on her. She was a bloody vision. Even at her tender age, she moved like a woman with years of experience tantalizing men. She reminded him of an old-world burlesque dancer, the ones who hid behind feathered fans, only giving on-lookers flashes of flesh. Just as those women had with the audiences of long ago, each sway of the Slayer’s hips drew him in further.

Like a moth to the bloody flame.

Soon Red and the Whelp seemed to have had enough and went back to their table. Yet the Slayer still danced. It appeared now with them gone, each of her movements became bolder, more calculated, like her dance was a meaning to an end. What that end was, he didn’t know, but he’d die all over again to find out.

Obviously, he wasn’t the only one that felt her pull. Like a siren’s call to sea-faring men, several pimply-faced pups soon approached her, each trying to get a sniff. Even though she thwarted every advance, Spike felt his demon rising, nonetheless. After he’d tamped down his fangs and possessive growls several times, he could no longer fight the need to get closer.

Spike took the stairs down two at a time. After reaching the bottom and turning toward the crowd, it finally dawned on him that he was headed straight for the dance floor or, more specifically, toward her. Quickly, he put on the brakes and gave himself a mental slap.

What the bleeding hell? Get a grip, mate!

When he finally had control over his wayward feet, but still needing to stay close by, Spike spotted and slid into a shadowy alcove near the dance floor and settled in. His hungry gaze never left the reincarnation of Gypsy Rose Lee, as she unrelenting enticed.

Then, in an instant, the moment was gone. She stopped abruptly. Her body became stock-still while her gaze swept across the room with a hunter’s astuteness, until her eyes connected with his hidey-hole. He knew she couldn’t see him, but it was clear she knew he was there.

Maybe we’ll have our confrontation a little sooner after all.

As she pushed through the throng of people surrounding her, Spike shifted into game-face. He may be cornered, but he’d be damned all over again if he’d cower with his tail between his legs.

Amazingly, Lady Luck must’ve been on his side just then, ‘cause the only thing that could’ve stopped a Slayer on the hunt, stepped into her warpath.

Now, he’d never admit to thinking this, but he never been happier to see Tall, Dark, and Forehead in his unlife, as he swooped in and didn’t give up until he got his own way.

Probably first and last time I’ll be saying this, but I’m glad to see you’re still trying to be the boss of everyone, Liam.

When the pair’s brief tête-à-tête ended, the Slayer headed straight over to where her friends sat and, after a few parting words, left with a six-foot shadow sulking behind.

Now, this is goin’ to get interesting.

Wearing a wolfish grin, Spike slid from the alcove, slipped out the backdoor, and headed to the roof to get a better seat for the show.

Even from the rooftop, he could hear every heated word passing between Peaches and his ex. She was right pissed with him, and he, of course, was trying to play the wounded puppy. When that didn’t work, he went all possessive and imposing. Still, despite all his peacocking, the Slayer stood firm.

Bully for her!

Spike almost scoffed out loud when he heard the crowning jewel of this spectacle, Angel telling her he was “worried” about her virtue. What bullshite! No matter what he called himself, that bastard was the poster-man for tainting a woman’s virtue and purity.

In classic form, his grandsire was skirting around speaking the truth: always speaking in bloody circles, that one. He’d never been truly honest with the Slayer about his past or even the present, for that matter. Just take now, for instance. He was using namby-pamby words to cushion the blow of what he really thought about the Slayer’s dancing. The truth was, she was “being a cocktease.” Plain and simple.

Then the totally unexpected happened. Even with all of Peaches’ attempts to placate her, she went into full attack-mode all the same. She told him where to go and how to get there.

Bloody Brilliant!

Spike always loved it when the poofter got his due. It didn’t happen nearly enough for his liking, but he’d take what he could get, and this little spectacle definitely made his top twenty.

It wasn’t too long after, when this all-too-short scene ended, and each actor left the stage. Spike toyed with the idea of going back for the Slayer. After a little smoking and debating back and forth for a bit, he finally decided it was best to not push his luck tonight.

No rush, mate.

Grinning madly ear-to-ear while basking in Angel’s misery, Spike jumped down from the roof and headed off into the night.







Author’s Notes:

le parfum de l'Assassin: perfume of the Slayer

Pavlov’s dog was part of an experiment done by Ivan Pavlov, dealing in conditioned reflex. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivan_Pavlov

Gypsy Rose Lee was a famous burlesque dancer from the 1937-1969. People said she was the one who put the ‘tease’ in striptease. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gypsy_Rose_Lee

Buffy faced off with her opponent, emulating all the ingenuity and agility of her sister Slayers of long ago. Each strike and counterstrike was made with lethal precision while patiently waiting for that one moment when an opponent’s misstep, no matter how small, tipped the scales in her favor.

There!

She thrust her weapon toward his left shoulder, exploiting how he now favored his right side. When he blocked her strike, his balance faltered, and she, using this to her advantage, skillfully swept his legs right out from under him. Like a tree falling at the hands of an experienced lumberjack, he landed on the floor hard in a graceless heap.

Immediately capitalizing on her opponent’s vulnerability, Buffy poised her weapon’s wooden tip right over his heart.

Left without any other option, he submitted. For several intense moments blue and green gazes remained locked as their noisy breathing filled the otherwise silent room.

“Ah—yes. Very good—you’ve bested me—yet again, Buffy. Now if you may— allow me—to take a moment—” While still breathing heavily, Giles dropped his weapon, then removed his padded sabre mask. He struggled into a sitting position, and shifted his body in order to lean against the leg of the library table.

Buffy’s features retained the stoic indifference of the warrior inside briefly before she dropped her weapon, rushed over, and knelt in front of her Watcher.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Giles! Was I a little too, you know, grrr again?”

Buffy’s face now brimmed with concern while she carefully aided Giles from the floor and guided him into a library chair.

Once he was seated, she attentively watched Giles collecting himself. All the while staying nearby to make sure he was okay. She knew even with his attempt to keep up this tough-guy routine, if the large red blotches staining each cheek and the tons of sweat beading on his brow and upper lip were any sign, she had really put him through the ringer this time.

“If I might say, despite this being your first time training with a quarterstaff, I believe it is safe to assume you have mastered this weapon.”

After he spoke, Giles sighed and rested heavily against the back of the chair. Due to his bulky padded chest-protector and overall weariness, he looked like an upended turtle trying to right himself while making several clumsy attempts to reach into his pocket. With some careful maneuvering, he finally slid his hand successfully inside. Triumphantly, he pulled out a white handkerchief and started mopping the sweat from his brow.

“Cool. Well since I’m all one with the giant toothpick, what’s next? Did I graduate to Paul Bunyan’s Q-tip or something?” Buffy casually headed over to the caged off section of the library to check out Giles’ secret stash of weapons.

Her attention was immediately drawn to a small double-edged axe. While her hand carefully glided over the polished metal, her mind wandered to last night’s dream.



She was dancing all alone at the Bronze, the steadily pulsating music stirring every fiber of her being. Then unexpectedly, she felt large, calloused hands on her waist, guiding her movements. To her own surprise, she freely let these hands remain, even when they started exploring her body with fleeting yet attentive touches.

With each blissful caress, her body cried out for more. Then when these strong hands boldly cupped her breasts, she arched up into them, loving how they kneaded her sensitive flesh while deft fingers plucked at her now hardened nipples.

Without warning, her dream-world shifted. One moment she was standing on the dance floor, the next she was lying nude in the center of a massive bed fitted with black silk sheets. The room beyond held a warm glow from dozens of candles scattered throughout. With the slightest movement, the coolness of the inky fabric brushed against her inflamed skin causing her to moan in womanly approval.

She was only alone for a moment before the hands from earlier returned, leaving her trembling. In a mere instant, she was driven to the point of insane rapture. While writhing under the mind-numbing explorations, her legs splayed, offering up herself completely to this blissful madness.

Just as she felt two cool fingers poised at the entrance of her heat, she heard a deep voice purring in her ear, “Buffy”




“Buffy?”

Suddenly shaken from her thoughts, she spun around from Giles’ cache of weapons. Like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, her saucer-wide eyes focused on her Watcher now standing before her in the center of the metal doorway.

“Buffy, are you all right? If I may say, you appear a bit—preoccupied.”

Even though he only asked if she was okay, he wasn’t fooling her. She knew by the way he was steadily polishing his glasses that his mind was going a mile a minute and he had a lot more to say.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine! I was just, um, you know, thinking about getting down and dirty—I mean, I was thinking about patrolling, yeah.” Buffy cheeks instantly reddened from her clearly foot-in-mouth response that made Giles polish even faster.

So needing to get away from this conversation and his bug-under-a-microscope scrutiny, she slid past him easily since he was sans turtle suit. As she headed over to the table to collect her training gear, she so hoped that he wouldn’t push this any further. She’d eaten enough shoe for one day.

Guess no such luck.

“Are you still being plagued by what we discussed last week?” Giles followed her to the table, his glasses were now back to where they belonged, but that look remained.

“No, no, there’s no plague. Not even a left over ‘I’m not feeling well’. It’s just, well, last night at the Bronze, there was some vamp playing peek-a-boo and when I was heading over there to do my job, Angel got all cryptic saying he needed to talk to me. And since he’s big with the apocalyptic messages, we went outside to talk. Then come to find out, what he had to say wasn’t as end-of-the-worldish as I thought—” Buffy inhaled deeply replenishing the much needed air after her long winded, half-truthful explanation.

Now she wasn’t completely lying per se. What happened last night with Angel was still buggin’ her, but that was only a small part of her overall irritation. The bigger problem was how her mind had gone from annoyingly distracted to totally x-rated, and no matter what she did, it wouldn’t stop.

But never in the million years would she be discussing that with Giles.

While zippering up her bag, she hoped the reason she gave him sounded more like a teenage drama thing than a Slayer one, and maybe this time he’d let this go.

Yeah today, totally not my day!

“Buffy, did you get the impression Angel was trying to protect this vampire by drawing your attention away?” Giles’ bug-studying gaze intensified while he stepped closer.

“I don’t think so. Angel seemed pretty focused on me, so maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the vamp—and now I’m saying this out loud, it sounds totally ridiculous. There’s no way with Angel being all King Lurker himself that he didn’t know there been some other vamp creeping around.”

“That was precisely my thought, Buffy. I needn’t remind you this wouldn’t be the first time Angel hasn’t been completely honest with you while protecting another vampire, or more specifically, his childe.”

She didn’t need Giles to say which childe he was talking about. But the last time she heard, that crazy vampiress was in South America shacking up with some demon that wasn’t Spike. Usually with her knowing this little tidbit would’ve been all she needed, but now with Giles planting a big ol’ seed of doubt in her mind, she had to find out the truth for herself.

“Giles, I’ve gotta get to the bottom of this. I’m heading over to the mansion to see if Angel is hiding something, or more specifically someone.” Buffy slid on her jacket, strategically placed a few stakes here and there, and leaving her bag behind, left the library.

After a quick sweep of Restfield Cemetery and only coming across one easily dusted fledgling, Buffy headed over to Angel’s. Cautiously with her stake drawn, she stealthily descended the stone stairs into the garden and entered the mansion.

Taking a quick look around, everything seemed the same ol’ same ol’ from the last time she was there, well, minus Angel. Even though he usually immediately sensed whenever she came around, she decided to wait a bit while warming herself up by the pretty decent smore-making fire. After five-minutes or so, Buffy accepted she was truly alone.

Perfect time for snooping, then!

In all the time Angel had lived there, she’d never been beyond the main room. So getting her Nancy Drew-on, she started investigating. Off the main room were two hallways stretching into the darkness. After a quick eeny-meeny-miney-moe, she chose to go left.

As she walked away from the warmth of the main room into the ever-increasing gloominess, she started to shiver from the chill now clinging to the air. By the time she reached the first door, she had already zipped up her light-weight jacket and her teeth were chattering.

Would it kill him, well make him deader, to crank up the heat in this place?

Still staying on high alert with her stake at the ready, she turned the antique brass knob and pushed open the door. The brass hinges protested loudly, making any attempt at a sneaky entrance a big no-go.

Standing in the doorway, she quickly scanned the room. Clearly nobody had been in there for quite some time, with the layer of dust on the floor and the heavy-looking, once-white sheets covering all the furniture. Deciding there wasn’t much more to see, besides a spider web or two; she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

The next two rooms behind similarly noisy doors were exactly the same as the first. When approaching the next door and the belief she was getting nowhere fast stronger than ever, Buffy vowed this was the last room she’d Goldilocks.

She knew immediately she was on to something when this time she entered the room, the door quietly passed over the gleaming hardwood floor.

After stepping inside, she noticed this room was arranged like all the others, minus the ghostly decor. It had an overall masculine feel, decorated in hunter green and burgundy with deep cherry-wood furnishings throughout.

On the furthest wall there was a cozy-looking brick fireplace with two matching high-back burgundy leather chairs fireside. Then lining the walls were several ornate bureaus with a matching massive four poster-bed, flanked by end tables littered with an assortment of leather-bound books with gilded scripts engraved on their worn spines.

Even without her picking up the distinct scent of Angel’s cologne, she could tell this was his bedroom. Without wasting any more time checking out the décor, she quickly searched the room for any tell-tale signs of Drusilla.

Buffy knew Angel felt responsible for Drusilla, and would go to great lengths to protect her, but at the same time he would more importantly protect people from her.

After searching for any signs of the crazy vampiress, like Gothicized-Victorian styled clothing or creepy porcelain dolls and coming up with zilch, it didn’t take long to get her answer.

Well, I guess it wasn’t Drusilla.

Satisfied that Angel wasn’t hiding anything from her, well, anything more than usual, she decided she’d seen enough and hurried back to the main room.

Thankfully, it was as eerily empty as it was when she’d left. In which she was totally glad for. Especially with she and Angel’s last two conversations and how well they did not go, she was so not in the mood for a repeat performance.

After giving the room a once over making sure she didn’t miss anything, Buffy left the way she came.

On her way out, she decided it was best to do another quick patrol, just in case this ‘peek-a-boo’ vamp was still lurking about. Almost as soon as she started down Crawford Street, the tinglies from last night returned in full force and instantly threw her completely off balance.

Like flames hungrily engulfing dried kindling, she felt each fiery tendril lapping at her insides and quickly settling in her erogenous zones—the undersides of her breasts, the small of her back, the junctures between her shoulders and neck, and that little sweet spot just behind each ear.

There was no way she could fight anything in this condition. Not even Xander for the last jelly donut! She needed to get home for a long, cold shower and some much needed alone time—NOW.

Buffy inhaled deeply while trying to focus and will her feet to move. When they finally cooperated, she started speed walking back to Revello Drive. With each step, her panties brushed against her now rapidly dampening sex and in the process, was making her slowly loose her mind to lust. Within a few feet, she was unable to wait a moment longer to sate this burning need, and started in a dead-run, not stopping until she reached home.





Author’s Notes:

Sabre masks are commonly used in fencing. http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=saber+mask&view=detail&id=EA3161C9268DB024B9E520DF58311AE6FA47EB90&first=0&qpvt=saber+mask&FORM=IDFRIR

Paul Bunyan is a North American folk tale about a lumberjack. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Bunyan

Nancy Drew: a literary character that first showed up in the 1930’s, she was a sixteen/eighteen year old (stories differ) who solved crimes. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nancy_Drew

Gothicize: to make Gothic. Yes, it is actually a word! http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Gothicize

And if you’re not sure what Gothic/Goth is look here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothic

Damn it to hell! I’m so bleeding bored!

With each stride across the ten-by-ten meter cave, Spike’s boredom had gone from slightly irritating to pretty much unbearable in a matter of an hour.

This wasn’t a type of boredom cured by a few pints of O negative and a couple bottles of Jack. Oh, no. This was more of the mind-numbing tedium only quelled after spilling rivers of blood with fists and fangs.

While Spike made another stalking trek, his thoughts returned to when he awoke. He was in a brilliant mood, wearing nothing but the biggest Peaches-got-smacked-down shit-eating grin and sporting a massive hard-on. It was then he decided on this self-imposed lockdown, especially after his almost run-in with the Slayer the night before.

With that decided and knowing how easily boredom crept in, he started thinking of a distraction to pass the time. He had to look no further than his lap and the prominently tented sheet wrapped around his waist. With a wolfish grin, he gave one nipple a harsh tweak, slid his hand down his torso, and wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a none-too-gentle tug.

With every stroke, he brought himself closer to that much sought-after bliss. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that each stroke felt just a little off. They were either too fast or too slow or not hard enough. It was like some twisted version of Goldilocks, porn-style.

Of course, he knew was doing it right, after a century-plus of practice, but it just felt like he needed something more. Without giving another thought to what more exactly was, he let his mind wander. Almost instantly his mind conjured up the Slayer.

Now, if he weren’t so focused on the job at hand, he would’ve been right brassed-off that his thoughts went there. But since his top priority was getting off and the Slayer’s bloody death would easily get the job done, he went with it.

Yet to his surprise, it wasn’t him sinking his teeth into her nearly pristine throat or them trading brutal blows, but her tight hot little body wrapped in barely-there, strategically-placed scraps of leather that came to mind. She was writhing before him and running her hands enticingly over her luscious body while his name passed her shiny crimson-stained lips in a litany of enticements.

The more she teased and allured, the closer he came to completion. Then with two more brisk tugs, he felt his sac tightening. His neck bowed back and his muscles went taut, while his loud growls heralded each volley of spendings spurting over his hand and lower stomach.

Panting unnecessarily, Spike leisurely stroked his cock as he slowly brought himself down from the heights of euphoric release. With a final tug and a heavy sigh of contentment, he released himself. Then needing to clean the mess, he leaned over the side of the bed, grabbed a stray t-shirt from the floor and cleaned off his hand and stomach before wadding up the soiled fabric and tossing it across the room.

Now feeling completely relaxed and spent, Spike lazily stretched like a big cat in the mid-day sun. He then slid back to prop his upper body against the battered headboard while he reached for his fags and lit one up.

With a deep inhalation, he savored the mind-numbing nicotine washing over him. After exhaling a steady stream of smoke dragon-style, he felt all his cares receding and taking with them the biggest one: why it was that little bitch who had him spurting like a geyser.

With another long drag, he further relaxed. Well, most of his body that is. His cock, on the other hand, seemed to have almost a mind of its own. In spite of his willy being spanked hard and put to bed, it still stood defiantly under the sheet lying atop it.

Spike glanced at his predicament and with a casual shrug and muttering, “Why not? Nothin’ better to do.” Spike snubbed out the remainder of his cigarette on the stone wall and took hold of his erection.

That was a dozen of naughty Slayer-visuals, three cleanups, and an hour of wanking later, and his cock wasn’t getting any softer. In fact, it seemed he was getting harder by the minute.

With contempt, he eyed his rubbed-raw, wayward appendage and finally decided he needed another way to keep busy—a way that wasn’t resorting to nearly yanking the thing off completely in self-flagellation.

Spike released the punishing grip he had on himself, threw off the covers, and quickly dressed.

Then he started pacing; that was an hour ago. An hour of ping-ponging back and forth while his mind ran over and over his decision to stay put was getting him more and more brassed off.

When he came up with this seemingly brilliant plan, he was still all hyped-up on Angel’s misery. Now, in the harsh light of day or more so, in the dim light of four stone walls, he realized it was total shite.

Needing to release some of his pent-up frustration, Spike lashed out at the closest thing available, the cave wall. In spite of his undeniable supernatural strength when fist met rock, the sandstone clearly won. Now, all he had to show for this brief one-sided tussle was the torn up skin on his knuckles and a sprinkling of dust.

Bugger this!

With a growl of annoyance, Spike stalked over to his leather and snatched it off the bed. While muttering a string of colorful curses, he stuffed his arms into the butter-soft sleeves, jammed his smokes into his pocket, and headed out into the night.

The night was clear and quiet; some might say, if they were terribly clichéd,
‘Too quiet.” Besides the occasional scurrying of nauseating woodland creatures and the crackling and snapping of dead leaves and fallen branches under his boots, he heard nothing but his own unneeded breath.

After going a short way, he cleared the woods and stepped out onto the road leading into town. The heavenly scent of pulsers tickled his nose and made his mouth instantly water. With a lick of his lips, he headed off in the direction where the scent was the strongest.

Only a few minutes into his dinner plans, he became distracted by another distinctive aroma, the heady scent of the Slayer. Almost instantly, his cock became like a dowsing rod and pressed almost painfully against its confines, urging him to change directions. He had no choice but to obey.

With each step closer, these feelings grew until he was—just like last night— drowning in her. So much so, it nearly spun his head clean off.

Spike kept to the shadows while following alongside the road. After several feet, the feeling of déjà vu became far too strong to ignore. He’d been this way before, many times, in fact. Yet at the time, he wasn’t standing, but sitting in that blasted wheelchair.

Now, all the pieces are starting to fit.

The overpowering smell of the bane of his existence, the Slayer, was leading him like an animal to slaughter to the place where all his misery began, the mansion.

Clearly, the Slayer and Peaches damn well knew he was in Sunnyhell, and he was being played. Or so they thought.

Well I know the game now and things are goin’ to change !

With his demon in the forefront, Spike’s heavy strides ate away at the pavement. It was all too much. Everywhere he went in this blasted town, he was constantly being reminded of his shortcomings. Well, not anymore.

Then something unexpected happened. The stronger the Slayer’s scent and her heartbeat became, the less he focused on her demise. This urge was replaced by—if he didn’t know any better—lust and jealous rage.

It enraged him that the woman he wanted was at the mansion with Peaches, and he wagered with all that womanly musk perfuming the air, that his letch of a grandsire probably had his bloody hands all over her.

Then the location of the pull shifted, and it was now beside him. He looked past the shadows, and there standing in the middle of the street, was the Slayer; her features appeared awash with blatant desire.

He quickly scanned the area, and not seeing Angel anywhere in sight, his jealously abated, leaving only the burning craving behind—the craving to fully possess her.

Spike stifled the low growl rumbling deep within his throat and stepped toward her. Just before he revealed himself, she ran away as if the devil himself was on her heels. If Spike hadn’t restrained himself as he did, that would’ve been the case.

What the bloody hell is going on!

When he finally snapped out of this lusty stupor and regained his focus, he stopped to think. Sure, he still wanted to go after her. Hell, in the natural order of things, any predator would give chase to prey when they scampered off like that. But this was far more than that.

This was a gut-wrenching, all-consuming want, the likes of which he’d never experienced before. Even the time when he was a newly-risen, ravenous fledgling craving the ruby-red, paled in comparison.

There was some reason why his body was reacting to her this way, and he was going to find out what it was. With a parting glance in the direction she fled and then down to his straining denim-covered erection, Spike shook of his head in surrender and headed back to his hideout for more rounds of “wanking my willy.”






Author’s Notes:

For all those like me who don’t use the metric system, 10.668 meters= 35feet

Dowsing rod: Dowsing is a type of divination employed in attempts to locate ground water, buried metals or ores, gemstones, oil, gravesites,[1] and many other objects and materials, as well as so-called currents of earth radiation (Ley lines), without the use of scientific apparatus. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dowsing#Dowsing_rods

“Computer class was completely amazing today! I mean, I’ve worked with binary data before, but this, this was—”

With her wide eyes and animated hand gestures, Willow appeared to be just barely containing her excitement. While Xander clearly seemed caught up in Willow’s enthusiasm, on the other hand, Buffy’s attention was seriously lacking. And this mental absenteeism did not go unnoticed by her friends.

To say Buffy was “preoccupied” would’ve been an understatement. Even though she could hear the sounds of the world buzzing all around her, her mind was still focused on last night’s return of her X-rated dream in all its techni-color, surround-sound glory.


She was only alone for a moment before the hands from earlier returned, leaving her trembling. In a mere instant, she was driven to the point of insane rapture. While writhing under the mind-numbing explorations, her legs splayed, offering up herself completely to this blissful madness.

Just as she felt two cool fingers poised at the entrance of her heat, she heard a deep voice purring in her ear, “Buffy”


“Buffy, Will and I were thinking about going vamp. You know, I heard leather and fangs are in this year. Whatcha think?”

“Yeah, sounds cool—What?” Buffy’s fork stopped mid-trek through the glutinous white mass on her plate, otherwise known per school menu as mashed potatoes.

Xander’s second, non panty-soaking version of her name shook Buffy from the steamy instant replaying of her dream. Now with being caught again with her head in the clouds, or more like the gutter, her obvious embarrassment was staining her cheeks as she lifted her eyes from her lunch.

“Hey, welcome back. We were kinda worried there for a sec, Buffster. You were lost in La-La Land—again.” Before Buffy tried to disagree, Xander added, “Don’t try to deny it, the drool says it all.” Xander brushed teasingly at the corner of his mouth, hinting for her to do the same.

Buffy absently wiped at her mouth with a paper napkin and dropped it on top of her minimally touched lunch. A weighty silence hung between them, while Buffy watched Xander and Willow exchanging worried expressions and unspoken concerns before they looked back at her with compassion.

Great, I know those looks. Here comes the speech.

“Buffy, I’m—” Xander’s loud throat clear hinted for Willow to change her pronoun choice. “We, we’re worried about how often you’re visiting, well, as Xander put it, La-La Land. What did Giles say about it?”

“That’s the thing, Giles didn’t exactly say anything. Well, nothing beyond what you heard. That we got a week-long break from the baddies, him noticing I was kinda outta it and me needing to get my head back in the game. So I guess he just chalked it up to me playing Ms. Space Cadet to an all slay, no play type of thing. I think that’s why he didn’t really put up much of a fight for us Bronzing-it Friday night. You know, after a little fun-age, everything should’ve been copacetic. Well, they were, until last night—” With a heavy sigh, Buffy ended her drawn out explanation and hoped her friends filled in the blanks on their own.

“So I guess it’s safe to say, Scooby meeting tonight to discuss your off-in-your-own-worldy-ness?” Xander hooked a finger onto the side of Buffy’s Styrofoam lunch tray and slid it in front of him. With his fork at the ready, he pushed aside the napkin and tucked into the mashed potatoes.

“Yeah, looks like,” Buffy mumbled glumly, while watching Xander eating her cast off lunch with gusto and trying hard to keep the look of disgust to a minimum.



“To summarize, Buffy, you are unaware of the incidents preceding your, as you so eloquently stated, ‘Spacing out.’”

After almost a half an hour of beating this clearly dead then resurrected then dead again horse, Buffy tried to remain focused on the stake she was fashioning from an old wooden table leg and not Giles, repetitively polishing his well-beyond spotless specs.

Buffy felt her irritation steadily building inside. Usually, when she felt like this, she just kicked a little demon butt, and then everything was right with the world.

Unfortunately, with no demons around, she was totally focused on Giles and what she’d now deemed a clearly evil monogrammed pocket hankie and an equally evil pair of glasses that seemed to remain dirty no matter how much he polished them.

She tried her hardest to suppress the overwhelming urge to rip them from his hands and go all Yosemite Sam, tearing up this pocket square and smashing his glasses to smithereens, all the while bellowing a jumbled string of curses.

“Buffy, to accurately reveal the issue at hand, we must discern between random everyday incidents and those connected that are causing this phenomenon.”

With that being said, Giles finally put away his handkerchief and donned his glasses. Just in time too, since Buffy had just ran out of wood and more so, patience.

“Fine, let’s go over it—again. Okay, we already know this all started after that vamp showdown at the Magic Box.”

Buffy placed the last skillfully whittled piece of wood on the table and casually brushed the shavings from her clothes, as her gaze bounced from Xander and Willow, hoping this time they would be adding their thoughts.

“Sorry Buff, I’ve still got nothing.” Xander shrugged before reaching deeply into a rapidly depleting bag of chips.

“Yeah, I really don’t have much to add, well, except I was at the Magic Box pre-Xander-and-me-napping, and nothing seemed out of place.”

Willow gave Buffy a wary smile, and after Xander was done pulling out a handful of greasy snacks, she shifted the bag’s opening toward her, removed a single chip, then daintily nibbled on one rippled edge.

“Well, this is something to consider. Willow, you’ve frequented the Magic Box and were friendly with the shop owner, correct?” Giles removed his glasses once more, placing the rubber tip of the earpiece to his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been there a bunch of times. Especially lately for, um, supplies. She was a really nice lady and a talented Wicca. It was horrible that she was, you know, eaten.” Willow eyed her partially eaten chip then dropped the remaining piece on the table, clearly appearing to have lost her appetite.

“So it’s safe to say, Willow, since she was a practicing Wicca, her shop carried more than ordinary trinkets and incense?” Giles now chewed on the tip, while his features displayed his internal deliberations.

“Yeah, I knew what most of the inventory was used for, but there were some other things I had no clue about. But what I do know is that she really knew her stuff. Most of the time I just had to tell her what spell I was trying, and she collected everything I needed, without even looking anything up.”

“Then it appears we have narrowed our search. Clearly, this shop was the starting point and what occurred during Buffy’s time there was the catalyst for her currently increasingly debilitating events. Buffy, do you recall anything unusual happening during last week’s vampire attack?”


She was surrounded by a cacophony of breaking glass, brutal fighting, and vamps banging violently against the doors, trying to gain access inside. With Angel’s weakened state, the door he was securing soon gave way, and two vamps rushed in.

While she took care of one, Spike fought the other. With Angel down and the temporary barricades on the verge of collapsing, she knew she had to think fast.

She quickly scanned the room and spotted a small display table holding dozen-plus bottles of holy water. When Spike finally staked his vamp, she called over for his help. She looked at him, then to the table, and back. Without exchanging any words, they grinned at one another and stood back to back and started hurling makeshift vamp bombs at the quickly failing blockade—


“No Giles, nothing out of the ordinary, well, not for a Tuesday. But there was this really cool thing with bottles of holy water that—”

Buffy was cut off mid-sentence by another one of Angel’s all too frequent, dramatic entrances. He stopped just a few feet inside the library and while the doors still swung steadily behind him, his black trench coat oddly billowed behind him.

In an instant, acting with pure Slayer prowess, Buffy stood and had her stake at the ready. Then, when she realized it was only Angel, she quickly tucked the stake between the small of her back and her waistline, and “just good ol’ Buffy” replaced the Slayer at the helm.

Buffy was about to question why he was there, but before the words left her mouth, she was unexpectedly overtaken by the returning of the crippling lustiness, which, as always, stopped her dead in her tracks. Unable to do anything but surrender, she sank into her seat and clutched the table to steady herself.

Giles noticed Buffy’s instant reaction to Angel’s presence and stepped forward menacingly, creating a human wall between the clearly unwelcome vampire and his Slayer.

“Angel, is there a purpose for your visit?”

“Last night when I returned to the mansion, I noticed Buffy had been there while I was gone. I just, well, I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.” Angel’s gaze softened and darted in Buffy’s direction. Then, just as quickly, it moved back and his now hardened gaze was fixed with Giles’.

While vampire and Watcher stared one another down, Willow finally realized Buffy’s distressed state and rushed to her aid.

“Giles!”

Willow’s troubled voice instantly interrupted their silent standoff. Since Buffy had yet to recover from Angel’s arrival, Giles hurried over and knelt before her. He examined her briefly before standing and turning back toward Angel, who appeared to be warring with his demon, if his golden eyes were any sign.

“You are not welcomed here, Angel, leave now.” Giles snatched a newly made stake from the table, his look and tone emphasizing his seriousness.

“I’m not going until I know Buffy is all right!” Angel’s full demonic features rose to the forefront, causing Xander to react by grabbing a stake and standing next to Giles.

“Unless you wanna make like a Kansas song and be dust in the wind, Evil Dead, I suggest you take off!” Xander threateningly stepped forward, his stake raised.

There was a moment of eerie silence; the same silence that always seemed to precede something monumental happening.

Then with an unexpected guttural roar, Angel rushed forward. Giles held his ground, but Xander backed up until his chair caught the back of his thighs, he fell into the seat, and both he and the chair tumbled back and landed on the floor in a tangle mass of wood and limbs.

With supernatural speed and agility, Angel passed Giles, and using Xander’s upturned chair as a launching point, stepped on the edge and cleared the banister into the upper level of the library and disappeared into the stacks.

Still stunned, everyone turned except Buffy, who was still fighting her own internal war, toward the distinct sound of a scuffle accompanied by crass utterances. The group only waited a moment until a distinctive catch phrase was heard, right before Angel roughly yanked a blur of black from the wall of books.

“Bloody ‘ell! Get your meat hooks off of me, you’ll bruise the leather!”

Spike struggled in Angel’s grip briefly before shaking him off. Both vampires demon façade slid away almost in tandem, leaving behind only Angel’s scowl and Spike’s classic smirk.

“Evenin’ all. Did ya miss me?”






Author’s Notes:

Please just take a moment to let me know whatcha thought! Thanks ever so!

Big thanks to Minx DeLovely for catching my MAJOR BOO-BOO, which is now corrected! Thanks Minx!

Yosemite Sam is cartoon cowboy with a hair-trigger temper who hates Bugs Bunny. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yosemite_Sam

Kansas is a 70’s American rock band. One of Kansas’ famous songs is “Dust in the Wind.” (Yes, it’s is and not was, cause these guys are still rocking!) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kansas_(band)

Without much of a choice, Spike watched Angel tighten the ropes on his wrists, binding him tightly to the wooden library chair. All the while, the Watcher’s crossbow stayed firmly trained on him, and the Whelp stood off to the side wearing a pitiful look and holding an icepack to the sizeable lump on the back of his noggin.

Due to his positioning, Spike couldn’t see where the Slayer had gone. Although it was crystal-clear, with the all-encompassing, heady scent and his raging hard-on, she wasn’t too far away.

With a final tug, Angel stood and stepped back, appearing to admire his handiwork. Even with a soul, the bugger was compelled to bask in the awe of everything that was him and his doing.

Such a bleedin’ egomaniac. Some things never change.

“So now with that out of the way, care to tell me what’s going on?”

Angel’s gaze shifted from Spike then locked with Giles’, as his prominent brow furrowed deeply. In Angel’s piss-poor attempt at intimidation, he really just looked severely constipated.

“That was precisely what we were investigating prior to this impudent interruption, Angel.”

Unlike Angel, Giles appeared well past the threatening stage. Everything from his callous glare to his finger hovering over the trigger of a locked and loaded crossbow that was lowered but now aimed more toward Angel, told Spike the Watcher meant business and wasn’t above dusting the big lug without a second thought.

Spike watched the beginnings of what was surely going to be a helluva pissing contest between the Watcher and his grandsire with great amusement.

“Now, I’ll ask again, what did you find out?” Angel volleyed back, his words dripping with an equally hearty dose of derision.

Spike was hoping the Watcher’s next move was finally being done with the big poofter and sending a bolt flying. Fortunately for Angel, but unfortunately for everyone else, the Whelp put in his two cents, ending all too soon the standoff between the other two.

“Giles, do you really think we should be spilling the beans to Thing One and Thing Two?” Xander hobbled forward and with a wince, removed his ice pack.

“Normally, I would be in wholehearted agreement, Xander. However, Angel and Spike might yet prove to be an important asset in pinpointing the cause of Buffy’s incapacitation.” Giles finally disengaged and placed the crossbow on the table.

“I don’t see how Spike is anything but a total nuisance and a complete hindrance,” Angel growled, his arms crossing his chest in I’m-in-charge manner.

“Honestly, Angel, despite your delusions of grandeur, we don’t rightly give a damn what you think.” Giles’ hardened gaze fixed with Angel’s, the intent of his words unmistakable.

“That’s right, Watcher, kick his arse!” Spike’s outburst of mock support drew the others’ attention. With three sets of eyes on him, his smug smirk grew to Cheshire cat-like proportions.

“Shut up, Spike!” A chorus of male voices rang out. Even though he was instantly silenced, his obvious delight never wavered.

“Look Giles, I know you don’t trust me or what I have to say, but right now we have to work together for Buffy’s sake.”

Giles appeared to ponder Angel’s words and then with a heavy sigh he conceded. “You’re absolutely right. Buffy’s wellbeing is paramount, and if this requires that we work together, well—”

Giles was cut off by his office door being flung open, followed by a clearly distressed Buffy running with an equally upset Willow following closely behind. When Buffy pushed her way through the library doors and continued into and down the darkened hallway, Willow stopped at the threshold. With her shoulders slumping in noticeable defeat, she turned toward the group.

Every fiber of Spike’s being demanded him to give chase, but the ropes and knowing full well he’d be dust before he released one tethered limb, held him still.

It was almost immediate; the constant buzzing of lust was lessening by the moment with the Slayer now gone. Now, he might not know a lot of things, but one thing was certain: whatever was going on with him, the Slayer was definitely involved.

Now with the Slayer taking flight, Spike quickly decided it was best to take full advantage of his current predicament. Even with her gone, he knew the Scoobies would start circling the wagons and eventually figure out what the hell was going on. When that happened, he’d make his move.

He watched as the visibly gloomy witch walked over to the table, dropped into a chair, and after a soft, dejected sigh, explained what was going on.

“Giles, I tried to get her to tell me what was going on, but the only thing she would say over and over was that she couldn’t explain what she was going through, and she needed to go some place that wasn’t, well, here. Some best friend I am.”

“Willow, please don’t take this personally. It’s obvious this issue has grown significantly from when Buffy first approached me. Well, that settles it then, we can no longer remain idle.”

Giles hurriedly closed and collected the numerous books littering the library table. Soon, both Xander and Willow joined him. When this was done, Giles headed toward his office but stopped when Angel moved into his path.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Angel’s eyes flashed gold, his teeth clenched.

“Angel, I don’t have time to elaborate. However, we believe last week’s incident at the Magic Box is the cause. In addition, it appears your mere presence considerably intensifies the affects.”

Everyone remained quiet while they appeared to digest this information. Even though Spike knew Angel wasn’t the only one affected, he kept this to himself.

Strangely, it really bothered Spike that, yet again, Angel got the girl. True, he didn’t necessarily want the Slayer, well besides having her six-feet under, but it still stung all the same. Since he couldn’t lash out in his usual way, fists and fangs, Spike used the only thing left—his words.

“Oh, man, that’s priceless! Mr. Casanova himself causing the love of his life to run away from, not into, his arms! Bloody brilliant!”

Spike laughed until Angel snatched a freshly whittled stake from the table and stormed toward his now nervous, wide-eyed childe.

“Oi, Watcher, a little help ‘ere!”

This time it was Giles who stepped into Angel’s path, successfully thwarting a clearly pissed off vampire.

“Angel, despite how clearly Spike merits a good dusting, we are unsure how this will ultimately affect Buffy. Mark my words, I am truly shuddering at the mere thought, but Spike might be the only one possessing the answers we require.”

“So to recap, tall, dark, and forehead, in case it didn’t get through that thick, meaty skull of yours, I’m important and should be treated as such. Now, stop your brooding and get your poncy arse over here and untie me,’” Spike goaded Angel while their gazes were locked, and Spike shifted in his restraints.

After a brief visual standoff, Angel growled in frustration and stormed over to the other side of the room. This distance allowed Giles to deal with Spike. Despite his defending Spike not moments before, he appeared equally annoyed with the bleached vamp.

“Spike, if you care to remain your full-bodied pillock self, I suggest you shut your gob.”

“Oooh, the Watcher got him some spine. Color me impressed.” Spike narrowed his eyes, yet the twinkle of mischief remained.

“Um, so what’s the plan, Giles?” Willow’s attempt at stopping any further acts of testosterone appeared to have worked when Giles turned from Spike and spoke to the rest of the room.

“Ah, yes. Willow and Xander, you will accompany me to the Magic Box. I’m hopeful the information we need is still present. Angel, right now its best for you to return to the mansion, and by all means, please do not attempt to contact Buffy.”

After Giles addressed the group, the four standing members collected their belongings, books, and weapons and exited the library.

“Oi, what ‘bout me?” Spike hollered, as he struggled to get out in his bindings.





Author’s Notes:

Xander reference to “Thing One and Thing Two” is a shout out to The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. They were two mischievous creatures that climbed out of the Cat’s box and started wreaking havoc around the house. http://seuss.wikia.com/wiki/Thing_One_and_Thing_Two

Spike felt Angel’s hand flatten between his shoulder blades before he was shoved into the center of the room. He stumbled but held his ground, all the while cursing and threatening to rip off his grandsire’s arm and, “Shove it up his arse!” if he dared touched him again.

Yeah, Spike knew this was an empty threat, especially with his arms bound behind his back. Yet he wasn’t going to let the big oaf push him around without having a say about it. Well, that was the plan until the bastard pulled out the “Sire” card.

“Kneel.” Angel’s gruff command sounded from over Spike’s left shoulder, and without protest, he dropped to his knees.

Spike really despised having to listen to this wanker. But he knew by his grandsire’s tone, he clearly wasn’t in any mood to deal with a mouthy childe.

Regardless of how much Spike loathed Angel and how vampires in general naturally defied all the rules, both human and demon, there was an ancient hierarchy that even a master vampire such as himself could not escape. You heeded your sire’s command—pure and simple. Even though technically Drusilla was his sire, Angel was hers, so as far as blood lines went, this made Angel his as well.

Ain’t families grand?

While Spike stayed still obediently, he heard his grandsire moving several feet away then returning and noisily situating a wooden chair behind him.

Without a word passing between them, Spike’s arms were released, and he was forced into the high-backed chair; his wrists were secured to the wooden arms, and his feet were bound together. Spike hadn’t a clue how Angel came up with another length of rope, but he wasn’t about to ask.

“Stay.” Just as the first, he obeyed Angel’s second command. Angel then left the room and returned ten or so minutes later with a steaming mug of blood and worn leather-bound book.

Spike watched as his grandsire wearily sank into the soft cushion of an adjacent couch, opened his book, and started slowly sipping from his mug. The nonchalant way in which Angel behaved belied the fact Spike was bound to a chair a mere twenty feet away.

Several pages and sips later, Angel looked up and met Spike’s gaze. He instantly noticed confliction weighing on Peaches’ Neanderthal-like features. Spike wagered his grandsire’s shiny soul was laying on the guilties for tying him up.

Guess that soul is good for somethin’.

“Hungry?” Angel placed his book and mug off to the side and stood from the couch.

“A bit peckish, yeah. But you’re not planning on feeding me that swill are you?” Spike eyed the mug on the floor, his nose scrunching in disgust.

“Well, this swill is your only option, until we figure out what’s going on with Buffy. So take it or leave it. I don’t really care either way.”

“Ah, the Slayer. I wager she’s the reason why I’m partaking in these lovely accommodations. Might I add, I particularly enjoyed riding in the boot of the Watcher’s car.” Spike’s words dripped with an all-time high note of sarcasm.

“Well, you could’ve ridden in the ashtray,” Angel scoffed, his arms crossing his chest.

“Yeah, good point. So am I goin’ to be subjected to your shoddy attempt at Kinbaku until the Watcher’s enormous frontal lobe figures out what’s going on with your honey, Slutty the Vampire Layer?” Spike’s smug smile grew, watching Angel’s eyes flash gold.

“Watch it, boy. Just ‘cause Rupert thinks your valuable, doesn’t mean I do. You’d best remember that.” Angel stepped forward menacingly, his hands curling into tight fists.

“And I might be the only thing that can help her. You’d best remember that.” Spike’s tone was equally firm, in spite of his vulnerable position.

Their gazes remained locked in a silent battle until Angel sighed in resignation and his hands loosened by his side.

“Look, I don’t want you here anymore than you want to be, so let’s make the best of it.”

Spike studied him for a few moments before nodding in acceptance.

“Fine, I’ll play nice.” Spike scanned the room, “So what are we going to do to pass the time? Since you’ve obviously haven’t joined this century and gotten a telly, do we start off with glaring at one another, or am I just watching you brood?”

“I do not brood. I silently contemplate. Anyway, I was thinking that we should do a little research of our own— try to figure out what’s going on.” Angel started pacing the small stretch of area in front of Spike, his gaze unfocused, as he appeared to be mulling over the issue at hand.

“Yeah, yeah—you say tomato. . . Well, if we’re going to be all Holmes and Watson, let’s review what we have, shall we?” Spike’s lips pursed as he pretended to contemplate. “Well, we pretty much got nil besides of the three of us, I was the only one who seemed to enjoy the vamp beat down at the Magic Box. Oh, and let’s not forget while you were lying down on your arse, the Slayer and I brilliantly chased away the rest of those wankers with flasks of holy water.”

“When we were at the Magic Box, did you notice anything different from when you were there earlier?” Angel stopped pacing and turned toward Spike, his eyes narrowing, as if he was trying to search his face for the answers.

“Don’t rightly know. I was too busy trying to find a spell to improve your looks. Plus, it was the middle of the day, so I stayed to the back. Not sure what the witch was doing beforehand.”

“Oh, so you don’t know what she was doing before you ate her?” Angel scoffed in obvious disdain.

“Yeah, that’s right. I drained the chit. We’re vampires remember? That’s what we do! Or at least that’s what I do. You only feed on steamy cups of rancid Wilbur. Hey, at least that’s a step up from the rat filth you were smearing all over your face not too long ago.” Spike’s classic smirk returned in full force.

“Last warning, boy. I might not be able to dust you, but that won’t stop me from gagging you.” Angel stepped forward, his anger from earlier returning tenfold.

“Pffft! Go on—do your worst! It’s not like we haven’t played this little game before, Angelus. Just make sure this time you don’t use that piss-poor excuse of what you got dangling between your legs—that thing you dare to call a co—humph!”

Angel shoved a balled-up piece of fabric into Spike’s mouth, instantly silencing him. While Spike eyed him with pure malice, Angel sighed, “Ah, silence.” before heading back over to the couch, sitting down, and resuming reading and drinking his blood.

Spike seethed, all the while murmuring colorful curses around the cloth in hopes Angel would again get brassed-off enough to pull the gag, so they could finish what they started. Better yet, he’d untie him, so they could fight for real.

Now, he wasn’t picking a fight ‘cause his masochistic side decided to have a go. Even though tormenting and taunting his grandsire was brilliant fun, the main reason behind all of this was simply for a distraction.

With the distraction now gone, as he’d feared, thoughts of the Slayer rushed into his mind like a tide, filling every crevice until he was drowning.

Every part of him screamed and demanded every part of her, allowing him to grasp and stroke every inch of her nubile skin, while his cock was buried deep in her heat and her blood flowing past his fangs, coating his tongue and throat, filling his gut.

It was maddening for him to admit. This went far beyond a vampire craving a death, even one as sweet as the Slayer’s. This went deeper than lust or blood, deeper than a bond between sire and childe: this was all consuming.

Spike hoped the Watcher and the Slayer’s groupies figured out soon what was going on, because he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep away—Angel, the Scoobies, and his own self be damned.








Author’s Notes:

Boot = trunk

“Holmes and Watson” refers to Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherlock_Holmes

Wilbur is the pig from “Charlotte’s Web”

“Kinbaku means 'tight binding'…is a Japanese style of bondage or BDSM which involves tying up the bottom using simple yet visually intricate patterns, usually with several pieces of thin rope (often jute and generally around 6 mm in diameter, but sometimes as small as 4mm, and between 7m-8m long).” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shibari

When we’ve last left our story…Buffy was all aflutter with the lusties and bolted from the library. The Scooby’s are on a mission to find out what’s wrong with her, and the forever broody Angel has Spike tied to a chair, and unfortunately, I wasn’t invited…





Spike woke with a start by a loud hissing, followed by the recognizable rolling whoomp of something setting alight. Instantly, Spike tugged at his bindings, but despite his strength and determination, not a one budged.

Guess Peaches’ Kinbaku techniques aren’t slacking after all.

After several more unsuccessful jerks, he realized this was useless and tried another way. Grabbing the arms of the chair, he pushed up, using both his feet and hips. At last, with each ungraceful but effective hop, he was that much closer to his goal of turning around.

He was half way there and still going strong until he raised his hips too far to the left causing the chair to tip to the side. It momentarily balanced on two legs, and with a muffled “Bloody hell!” he landed on the ground with a heavy thud.

In tandem, Spike hurriedly worked the gag out of his mouth and wrestled again with his bindings. Successfully, at least in one way, he spat out the cloth. Then forgoing fighting with clearly unmovable ropes, he craned his neck over his shoulder trying to see what he was up against.

He scanned the room and only relaxed after realizing it was Angel perched at the top of a twenty-foot ladder, welding one of the two lengths of chain suspended from the rafters.

“Oi! With your piss poor wake up call, at the very least you could turn me about. It’d be a bloody shame missing the light show.”

With the turn of a knob, Angel extinguished the flame, shifted, and looked down at Spike. Even with the darkened lens of Angel’s welding goggles, Spike knew he was clearly being eyed in annoyance.

“What? You’re just one spark away from your very own bonfire of the vanities, and I for one surely don’t wanna miss a minute of it.”

Not responding to Spike’s goading, Angel stood, balanced on a single rung and laid the welding torch down. He then gathered the two chains, nimbly shifted his body, and was now hanging by the lengths. Hand under hand, he lowered himself to the floor. On touchdown, he gave an extra tug to each prior to appearing satisfied with the solidity of the weld.

Then with one fluid motion, Angel removed his goggles, amazingly, not a single hair moved, and approached Spike.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Without a word from his grandsire, Spike fully understood his intentions and also knew full well that in this state he couldn’t stop it. In defeat, Spike dropped his head to the floor.

With skill spanning over centuries and unlimited practice, Angel trussed up Spike in the iron manacles in no time at all. Now, a leather-clad marionette, Spike’s hate-filled glare bored holes in his captor.

“This is getting a tad bit ridiculous, don’t ya think?” To elaborate, Spike lifted one arm, shaking his metal encircled wrist.

Blatantly ignoring his increasingly annoyed childe, Angel experimentally tugged once more on each chain, before leaving the mansion in a swirl of brood and stoicism.

“Bloody drama queen,” Spike seethed and attempted to release himself from his new binds.




“So Giles, what are we looking for exactly?” Xander tilted back and forth a vile of newt eyes, watching them with childlike delight, bobbing up and down in their home of clear fluid.

“Do be careful with that, Xander. As for what we are looking for exactly, I unfortunately do not know. However, I do know our answer will be found here.” Giles continued perusing the dozens of glass containers housing ingredients lining the shelves.

“Um, guys, I don’t remember this being here before. This might be something.” Willow stood near a makeshift altar littered with three toppled over candles, a few broken bottles, and in the center, a cracked sea-blue glass bowl.

Both Giles and Xander headed over to Willow, giving the area around the table a wide berth to not disturb any possibly evidence.

Cautiously, Giles was the first to approach the altar. He first studied each item alone then them collectively.

“Clearly, she was attempting a spell of some sort. One requiring many elements, which I’m afraid, I’m not well versed in.” Giles warily eyed the items strewed across the table, before squatting to get a better view of those littering the floor.

“But I am.” Angel entered the front door and stepped further into the Magic Box.




Buffy had had about enough! It’s been way too long that she hadn’t felt right in her own skin and this ended tonight! Originally, she was going to go home for a much needed cold shower and anything chocolate covered, dipped, or flavored.

In spite of her initial plan, she now found herself heading down Crawford Street. With each step, her insides roiled faster with a torrent of emotions.

When she finally reached the mansion and without her earlier covertness, she stomped down the stone stairs, across the garden, and entered the main room.

“Angel!”

Without any given direction, Buffy searched the lower level. Earlier, while she was held up in Giles’ office, even though she’d been teetering on the proverbial edge, she sensed on the very outskirts of these intense feelings, there was a strange calmness.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe having Angel right there was the only way to cool down the lusties long enough so they could figure out what the hell was going on.

Buffy was so fixated on finding Angel; she hadn’t notice Spike until his seething growl interrupted her one-track mind.

“Slayer!”

Buffy startled, stopped abruptly, and turned toward a clearly pissed off Spike. He hung from the ceiling in the same shackles that held a feral Angel not too long ago.

Before her brain could come up with something witty, like telling him he looked like Pinocchio’s annoying, evil cousin, she was overtaken by her desire to be close. Now standing only a hairsbreadth away, they each remained motionless. Until neither was certain who moved first, they met in a passionate clashing of lips and teeth.

In an instant, Buffy felt her body calming. She no longer felt adrift in her turbulent feelings, yet, at the same time, she felt even more out of control than ever.

Never before had she kissed or had been kissed with this type of unbridled passion, this type of hunger. It scared the hell out of her, yet thrilled her at the same time.

When Spike released her mouth and traveled down her jaw line to her throat, she welcomed his explorations, offering the span of her neck. Her body shuddered with each flickering and lapping of his tongue, and nipping and scraping of blunt teeth.

Her Slayer instincts screaming inside were ignored, overruled by the overwhelming cravings of her body. When he reached her pulse point, she felt him hungrily laving the area, suckling the flesh raw, and drawing her blood to the surface.

So perfect.

His whispered reverence echoed in her mind while she tunneled her fingers into his hair, tugging him away from her throat and eagerly directing his lips back to hers.

Need—more.

Her breathy plead sounded so needy. She was glad she hadn’t spoken her imploring out loud.

“Yeah—more.”

He growled his response against her mouth, his teeth roughly nipping her bottom lip, enough to draw blood. The moment the coppery tang hit her taste buds, the Slayer inside burst through the woman’s lusty haze forcing her to abruptly pull away.

As they each tried to digest what had just happened, to and between them, Spike’s tongue laving the smear of blood on his lip and his eyes flashing gold, was all the reality Buffy needed to fully break away and run.

Spike.

Buffy warring insides were torn between her desire demanding her return, and her mind screaming for her to leave. Ultimately, the decision was made for her. When she’d reached the top of the garden staircase and heard Spike’s inhuman roar and the distinctive sound of him thrashing in his chains.

Without looking back, she ran into the night, almost resembling a timorous prey with only a small head start of its persistent hunter.

Actually, if she took a moment to ponder, this wasn’t too far from the truth.






Author’s Notes:

Bonfire of the Vanities “refers to the burning of objects that are deemed to be occasions of sin.” The most common happened during 1497, but this was not the only one. They were regular occurrences during outdoor sermons in the first half of the century.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonfire_of_the_Vanities

“Pray tell, Angel, how are you familiar with spells of this caliber?” Giles stood to full height, his cynical gaze fixed.

“Is that truly important, Rupert? The way I see it, all that matters is figuring out and ending the spell affecting Buffy.”

When Angel approached the makeshift altar, his attention was immediately drawn to the damaged bowl in the center. Carefully, he dipped two fingers into the residual shimmering liquid clinging to the sides. He rubbed his coated fingertips with his thumb, raised them to his nose, and inhaled deeply. His eyes instantly flashed with alarm.

“I suggest you all back away from here, right now!”

Heeding Angel’s raucous warning, Giles stepped back toward Xander and Willow, who both stood off to the side wearing matching uneasy expressions.

“Wh—what is it, Angel?” Willow nervously stammered, holding tightly a jar of burba weed.

“It’s golden ichor. I’ve only come across this once before, but I know it’s extremely toxic to humans.”

Willow and Xander collectively took a big step back as Giles stepped forward, striking his classic “inquiry pose”: glasses off, every-ready handkerchief, circling the lenses, eyes narrowing in thought.

“If you’ve only come across this once before, how can you be certain, Angel?”



Outside a small Grecian village, 1895


“Now, now, be a good lass.” Angelus roughly squeezed the breast of the squirming blonde-haired maiden trapped in his arms.

He was still bitter from Darla’s indiscretions with the Immortal, so over the past year he’d chosen to hunt and feed alone, taking out his ever-heightening violent, sadistic pleasures on his victims.

“Gotta say, ‘m torn whether to drain you during or after I’ve fucked that sweet cunt of yours. Mmm, decisions, decisions.”

As his fangs scratched the surface of her throat, Angelus was struck hard on his upper back, causing him to release his quarry and stagger off to the side.

With an irritated growl, Angelus turned and squared off with the bastard who’d dared to interrupt his feed. Unexpectedly, he stood eye to eye with a satyr—half man, half goat, with cloven feet, horse-tailed, a lengthy beard, and small horns with large pointy ears surrounded by long, wavy black hair.

“How dare you try feeding off my nymph?” The satyr’s booming voice triggered Angelus’ wolfish smile.

“Oh, I dare, quite a bit actually. And just between the two of us, I’m not one to give up that easily, and since I haven’t had somethin’ this sweet in over thirty years, the question ya truly need to be asking yourself, is this particular sidhe worth fightin’ me for?"

His opponent’s answer came with the swing of his thyrsus, missing Angelus only marginally. Still wearing a smug grin, Angelus added snidely, “I guess she is.”

Their fight was brief; ending with Angelus’ front pressed against the other immortal’s back, roughly fisting his hair, and stretching his neck for the bite. Without delay, Angelus struck, pulling away only moments later, cursing and spitting out the mouthful of blood.

Disgusted, Angelus growled and took off into the night, looking for another kill to wash away the lingering foulness.



Present


“Believe me, I’m certain. What I’m not certain of is why she would use this in her spell. Clearly, she was mortal, and ingesting this would’ve killed her instantly.”

“Do you think she was trying to, you know…” Sadness weighed heavily in Willow ’s tone, her eyes almost pleading for someone to disprove her fear.

“Remarkably, I don’t believe she was trying to take her own life. However, the only way to know for certain is locating another clue—” Giles’ attempt to soothe Willow’s concern was interrupted by Xander who was pointing to a scrap of parchment at his feet.

“Hey guys, maybe this sheds some light on operation harry carry.”

Angel lifted the page from the floor and laid it out on the counter near the register. He was soon joined by the others.

“So what does it say exactly? It’s all Greek to me,” Xander joked as he peered over Giles’ shoulder.

“Precisely.” Giles nodded and resumed his examination.

“Well, that makes sense, in a not kinda way.” Xander blinked in confusion.

“Xander, it is written in Greek.” Willow rounded the counter to have a better look.

“Indeed, which I ashamedly must admit, my knowledge of is quite limited. What I can tell you is that this group of lettering here translates into the word "soul." If you notice, this word is repeated several times throughout the text. Beyond this, I am afraid this will require far more research.”

“Giles, why don’t you take this back to the library and start translating. I’ll stay here and see if I can dig up anything else.” After giving brusque directions, Angel returned to the altar to continue checking out the remaining items.


Get. Girl. Now!

For the last hour, since his unexpected, yet substantially cock-straightening lip-lock, Spike had been solely focused on getting free and finding the Slayer.

Eventually, it all paid off when the left manacle let out the smallest whine of metal bending. He immediately went to work on this weakness and at long last, a marginally pried opened link granted him just enough room to free himself. Then more determined than ever, he worked on the right.

After an hour, he was finally freed. Without wasting a moment of time, he tracked her to Revello Drive, scaled the house, entered her bedroom window, and now stood at the edge of her bed, watching her sleep.

Then, appearing to sense his presence, her eyes fluttered opened, and she sat up, searching the darkness. While uncertainty filled her features, Spike found he was strangely hoping for the best but expected and feared the worse.

What he hadn’t expected, even in his wildest imaginations, was her opening her arms and bed to him. Not giving her a moment to change her mind, Spike shed his coat and covered her lips with his.

Soon, his eager hands had stripped her almost bare with the exception of her cotton camisole gathered over her breasts and the thin scrap of lace guarding the only heaven he’d ever be allowed near.

Over and over, he savored every inch of her before stilling and hovering mere inches from her clothed sex.

Again, he patiently waited for her consent. It came with the slightest lifting of her hips and her whimpered displeasure. This was all he needed before latching his mouth onto her, teasing the sensitive flesh underneath.

Her orgasm was swift and staggering, further dampening the fabric with the sweetest nectar he’d ever tasted. Spike drew out her climax until her body slackened, her breathing and heart rate decreased, and she fell into a restful slumber.

With a lingering kiss to her inner thigh and to her lips, he covered her, then with a parting glance, crawled out the window, and raced through the streets of Sunnydale, heading back to the mansion.

Spike quickened his pace, knowing with the rising sun came Angel’s return. With moments to spare, he entered the mansion. As he predicted, with dawn’s approach, he heard Angel descending the garden stairs.

Spike quickly reattached his bindings, and feigning sleep, he bowed his head just as Angel entered. He listened intently as Angel crossed the room before stopping and taking a deep breath, his features shifting into his demon and emitting a low growl. Remaining still as the dead, Spike waited for Angel’s demon to recede and take his leave to his bedroom.

When Spike finally heard Angel’s bedroom door slamming closed, he lifted his head and slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, savoring the Slayer’s sweetness clinging there.




Author’s Notes:

Angelus’ tussle was with a Satyr. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satyr

Thyrsus is a “was a staff of giant fennel (Ferula communis) covered with ivy vines and leaves, sometimes wound with taeniae and always topped with a pine cone.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thyrsus

Angelus saying: “since I haven’t had somethin’ this sweet in over thirty years…” was referring to when he found, tortured, and turned Drusilla.
Sidhe “the fairy folk of Ireland, from (aos) sídhe” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_English_words_of_Irish_origin

Harry Carry is “to commit suicide (from the Japanesse expression to slice oneself open with a ritual sword. A gross simplification of the actual Japanese expression.) http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=harry%20carry

“It’s all Greek to me” means “idiom/dead metaphor in English, claiming that an expression is incomprehensible, either due to complexity or imprecision. It may have been a direct translation of a similar phrase in Latin: "Graecum est; non legitur" ("it is Greek, [therefore] it cannot be read"). This phrase was increasingly used by monk scribes in the Middle Ages, as knowledge of the Greek alphabet and language was dwindling among those who were copying manuscripts in monastic libraries.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_to_me

Wednesday Morning


Buffy wearily dragged herself from bed and headed to the shower. While standing under the hot spray, she explored the fresh marks marring her body, fighting back the shivers waiting to erupt and run along her skin.

The past three nights came and went in a lusty haze, and Buffy greeted each morning with a deep aching, damp panties, and dozens of bruises. These weren’t routine bruises from a night patrolling, fighting off the things going bump in the night. Oh, no. These were from a night of totally succumbing to the thing bumping her in the night.

Ugh, bad pun.

As she traced each one, they elicited flashes in her mind. From the three large half-dollar-sized love bites across her belly where he’d spent an endless period of time teasing her, to the two matching rows of fingertip-sized bruises on her inner thighs where he’d held her open while his mouth greedily incited another earth-shattering climax.

Each mark separately scorched her brain with equal intensity, yet there was one affecting her like no other, the purplish raised mark covering her pulse point.

With the water now running cold, she turned off the taps and stepped out. As she dried off and dressed, she actively avoided these overly sensitive areas. She was doing a pretty good job of it too, until she tied a scarf around her throat. The silk rubbing against this mark, made every breath, every swallow, send bolts of lust straight to her sex.

After taking a few moments to steady herself, with shaky legs and fortitude, she headed off to school. There the day passed slowly, with only the mundane keeping her grounded between the flashes of intense dreamlike memories.

Deep down, she knew every touch; every taste was real, not just a figment of an excessively x-rated imagination. Yet she wasn’t willing to accept the blaring reality, which was she was indeed getting groiny with another vampire, especially Spike.

True, they hadn’t actually done it. Technically, he hadn’t gotten any further than third base (outside the clothes only). Well, with the exception of last night when…Focus!

Still she couldn’t deny, even while backstroking in the bracing water of De Nile, what she wanted, no, craved and from whom.

Argh!

All these ricocheting thoughts were giving her a major league headache. Finally able to break from the tedium with the day’s ending bell, she rushed to the library, hoping the mindless beating the stuffing outta something might do the trick to still all these thoughts.

“The upside down tepee looking thing is an L, right? Guys, I seriously think my head is gonna explode, and it’ll start raining Ouzo candies!” Xander was surrounded by several piles of books and staring intently at the page laid out in front of him, his head in his hands.

“Yes, it’s an L and called a lambda, Xander. Hey, how do you know about Ouzo candies?” Willow looked up from her own page in curiosity.

“Call me crazy, but I thought all this research stuff would be easier if I got my Greek on. So I said to myself, “Self, where’s the best place to start?” And that was totally an easy answer, sugary substances.” Xander stuffed another homemade loukoumade, courtesy of Willow, in his mouth and chewed while maintaining a content smile.

“Hey guys, still making with the translating?” Buffy placed her bag down, eyeing the dozens of books stacked high on every available surface.

“Yeah, but every day we’re getting closer. Besides the blobby areas, Xander and I have the whole thing almost done.” Willow beamed a proud smile.

“Cool. Guys, I just wanna say again I’m really sorry I’ve been all spacey girl lately.” Buffy sat in the empty chair next to Willow, absently playing with the pages of a book.

“No apologies needed, Buffy. That’s our job in battling evil. We make with the research, and you make with the physical part—”

Buffy arched into his mouth, her entire body shaking with pleasure while she held him to task roughly, her hands fisted in his hair.

Boldly, for the first time, she dominated the moment, tugging him upward by the hair toward her mouth. With their lips locked, she rolled them. With him on the bottom, she explored his neck and chest, her mouth descending until it was met by denim, inches from his—”

“Earth to Buffy, come in Buffy!”

Buffy was torn from her thoughts by Willow’s raised voice and a hand waving in front of her face.

“Huh? Oh, sorry—again.”

“Hey, no worries. Well, there are worries, but we’re going to fix them, okay?” Willow smiled softly, attempting to reassure.

“Yeah, okay.”

In spite of the mirrored smile she offered Willow, Buffy knew she had a difficult battle ahead of her. Even though her body and raging libido demanded her to anticipate night number four, she had to be strong and shut them both down. She realized she needed to end this. Now, the biggest question was, “How?”






Spike listened to Angel brooding and stalking around the mansion. For the last three days he’d been researching a way to “cure” his girl.

It took all of Spike’s self-control not pull himself from the chains and wave his fingers under the Poof’s nose, letting him get a first hand sniff of “his girl’s” dried cream on Spike’s fingers.

Since Sunday night, Spike had been in a suspended state of arousal just thinking of the Slayer in all her primal glory—writhing on her bed, shaking under his hands and mouth. In spite of her overall prim and proper behavior, he wasn’t surprised she was so receptive, so raw. She took to this hunger like a duck to water, and he couldn’t wait to finally sink deep into her depths.

He tried not to linger on the fact he hadn’t fucked the girl yet. True, he’d tasted her a dozen times over, yet never in the flesh. A barrier of fabric always remained in the way.

That was until last night, when he was rewarded for his patience by an unencumbered, glorious eye and mouthfuls of her rosy-tipped tits and being two knuckles deep in her quim. Then upping the sexual ante even more was her hot little hand gripping his straining erection through his jeans. The friction of the denim and her heat nearly had him going off in his trousers like a schoolboy.

Patience—how this virtue had wormed its way into his interactions with the Slayer, he hadn’t a clue. All the times he dealt with her in the past, each time was swift and instinctive. At first, all his thoughts lay with their macabre dance, ending with him tearing out her throat, feasting on her heady blood. More recently, he thought about them dancing another way, with him being cock and fangs deep, draining every ounce of sweetness from her.

It had to be the bloody spell everyone was researching. That was the only explanation as to why he was tender and giving, not roughly taking what he hungered for. By the way the hot little Slayer was writhing like a bitch in heat; she definitely craved this as well.

“Here.”

Spike was pulled from his thoughts by Angel shoving a steaming cup of rancid mug-o-blood under his nose.

“Brilliant. Ta,” Spike scoffed, taking the cup in hand. He downed the foulness in one go and handed the mug back, trading Angel for another full one.

“Look, I’m heading to LA for a night, two at the most. This should tide you over till I get back.” Angel placed the now two empty mugs on the floor and slid into his leather jacket, looking at Spike expectantly.

“What? You want a good-bye kiss or something? Sorry, you’re not my type, even though that never stopped you before,” Spike deadpanned.

Without another word, Angel exited the room and ascended the garden stairs. The roaring engine of his Bat mobile was his only form of good-bye.

Spike listened as it headed down the street before pulling his arms from the chains. He rolled his shoulders, sat on the couch, and lit up a much-needed cigarette while biding his time until Peaches was well outside Sunnyhell’s city limits, and the Slayer was tucked away in her beddy-bye.







“—after scouring my library, I’ve finally found this ‘golden ichor’ Angel referred to—Oh, Buffy, how are you feeling?”

Head in the pages of his book while leaving his office, it appeared Giles hadn’t noticed her until he was midway into the room. Reaching the table, he laid the hefty tome down and faced her, his look of concern clearly evident.

“I’m doing all right. Well, besides the obvious. So do I really want to ask what’s a golden ick whore?” Buffy frowned, eyeing Giles’ book.

“No, it’s golden ichor, with a ‘c-h-o-r’, no ‘w’. This, for lack of a better explanation, is the blood of a god or an immortal. Its gold in coloring, hence the name, and just as Angel had stated, it is lethal to mortals.” When he was done reading, Giles removed his glasses and started cleaning them with brisk strokes before replacing them to their rightful place.

“Do you think I was exposed to this ick stuff? Is this what’s causing all the weirdness? Am I poisoned?” Buffy stood from the table and started pacing nervously.

“We believe this, as well as the spell Xander and Willow are translating are the causes, either together or separately, for your difficulties.” Giles moved into Buffy’s path, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve got it!” Xander jumped up from his seat and waved his paper excitedly, resembling a golden ticket winner.

“Are you certain?” Giles hurried over to Xander and plucked the page from his hand, then grabbed the page Willow was translating off the table.

“Vulcans never bluff.”

“Pardon?” Giles looked up from the translations in confusion.

“You know, Vulcans? Spock? Never mind, you stuffy English never have any fun,” Xander huffed as he plopped himself back into his chair.

“What does it say, Giles?” Buffy nervously approached the absorbed Watcher.

“Based on Willow and Xander’s translations, it reads as such: “Oh, Soul, goddess. To bind essence. Please hear my plea. Pure of heart. From harm. Please Soul–” Now, even though we are unable to translate the full text, I believe this gives us some clear insight to the spell she was performing.

“Get to the chewy center, Giles. Are you saying somehow this witch’s spell messed with my soul?” Buffy resumed her pacing, her steps more erratic, fueled by rising distress.

“I don’t believe that is the case, Buffy.”

“But it might be, right? So never mind vampires and demons. Now I have to worry about people too?” Buffy threw her hands up in the air in frustration.

“Buffy, this was not intended for you. Unfortunately with the turn of events you were affected. I assure you, we’re all actively working on solving this problem.”

Buffy knew Giles was trying to put her at ease. With a heavy sigh, she finally stopped abruptly and faced him.

“I trust you guys, you know that. It’s just so frustrating! I feel like I’m being jerked around like a puppet on a string, and it totally sucks, that’s all. Okay, since I’m not much help here, I’m going to head out to patrol. Evil doesn’t take a break just ‘cause the Slayer is all outta whack.” Buffy grabbed her bag and started for the door. She stopped and turned when she felt Willow’s presence behind her.

“Buffy, you look really tired, why don’t you skip patrol, go home, and sleep. The baddies can wait till tomorrow.” Willow’s concern resonated through her words and expression.

“Sounds like a plan, Wills, but I haven’t been sleeping lately. Um, really intense dreams.” Buffy fiddled with the scarf on her neck, tamping down the rising lusties.

“Well, do what I do. Drink some warm milk, and when you think you’re going to have a nightmare, turn on the light. The light always chases away the baddies!” Willow smiled softly, her sympathy evident.

“Thanks for the tips.” Buffy leaned over and hugged Willow tightly then turned and headed out of the library.

Willow headed back to the table and the group resumed researching. Several moments later an unexpected voice came from the stacks.

“So the witch was trying to bind her soul?” Angel stealthily moved from the shadows.

“That is what it appears. Unfortunately, the text was compromised, so we are unable to know the full extent of the spell.” Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Last night I came across the full list of ingredients she used and this—” Angel descended the stairs and handed Giles a yellow sheet of paper.

“—a receipt for the golden ichor she’d purchased from a well known warlock in LA. I’m heading there now to find out what he knows. I’m certain with the right persuasion, Larry will tell me all I need to know about a spell requiring an immortal’s blood and binding of souls.” With that said, Angel collected the receipt from Giles and headed back the way he came.

The Scoobies remained silent, appearing to process everything that just transpired, until Willow’s brow furrowed and she looked toward the others.

“Um, did anyone else notice both Buffy and Angel were here at the same time, and overall Buffy seemed okay? Do you think the spell might be wearing off?”










Author’s Notes:



Ouzo candies http://www.greekinternetmarket.com/0503-01002.html

Loukoumade is a “kind of fried-dough pastry made of deep fried dough soaked in sugar syrup or honey and cinnamon, and sometimes sprinkled with sesame.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loukoumades

Golden tickets were referencing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlie_and_the_Chocolate_Factory

“Vulcans never bluff.” Quote from Spock from Star Trek http://greatsayings.blogspot.com/2009/05/great-star-trek-quotes.html

After a quick sweep of Restfield cemetery, Buffy followed Willow’s advice and headed home. When she arrived, she was greeted by a scene taken from almost every American household, a mom staring at the television with a heaping bowl of buttery popcorn on her lap.

Entering the living room, Buffy admired the newest addition to their home, a decorated Christmas tree, complete with a star tree-topper.

It was strange how the unexpected really put your life into perspective.

Take for instance last night. Prior to the past two weeks of major unexplained lustiness and now the additional secret late night naughtiness, the mere thought of Faith joining her and her mother in their long-honored Christmas tradition of dinner followed by trimming of the tree, and Buffy would’ve been at the very least, utterly weirded out. However, after battling and finally caving into her raging libido, reenacting some picture-perfect Christmas scene with her sister Slayer didn’t even make a tiny blip on her bizarro-meter.

After readjusting a few crooked ornaments, Buffy joined her mom on the couch and, with a booming cue of dramatic music, they watched the end of the movie unfolding:

There was a dark-haired beauty trying to get out of a room, but the door was locked. In another room, there was an injured guy lying on the floor watching another attractive lady, this one a blonde, standing over a box. Dramatically, she opened it. Instantly, flames jumped out, and she went up like a campfire marshmallow. While she reenacted Joan of Arc’s final scene, the other two escaped out onto the beach. The movie ended with them watching safely from the water as the house burned.

Wow!

Buffy never figured black and white movies were so, well…intense. She thought they were all like Casablanca or It’s a Wonderful Life. Just enough drama to keep you watching, but before the credits rolled, everything worked out in the end.

Boy, guess I was wrong!

After the well-known lion roared, her mom finally acknowledged Buffy’s presence.

“Oh hi, Buffy. Sorry, that movie always has me on the edge of my seat. Are you feeling okay, sweetie?” Buffy watched her mom shifting effortlessly into “concerned mom-mode.”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Buffy grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl and nibbled on a piece.

“Let me make you some warm milk. It might help.” Joyce stood from the couch and went to the kitchen.

With a weary sigh, Buffy leaned back, letting the cushions envelop her. Within moments, she was asleep.

Buffy was lying on the floor, staring up at Spike who was standing over a box with the word Desire scrawled across the lid. Off in the distance, she heard someone trying to break free from a room down the hall, but her attention remained on Spike. With devilish delight, he opened the box and was instantly bathed in bright light.

She stayed fixated for several more intense moments before breaking away and scrambling down the hallway. She opened a door, and Angel rushed out, put his arm around her, and guided her outside. At first she felt safe with Angel, but all too soon she tried to turn back to Spike, unable to do so as Angel trudged forward, dragging her away. When they were knee-deep in the ocean, they turned and watched the flames of desire fully engulfing the house. Buffy again tried to return, yet Angel insistently held her back—

“Buffy, sweetie, wake up.” Buffy’s eyes snapped opened and focused on her mother standing above her.

“Wha—yeah, I’m awake.”

Buffy rubbed her eyes and unsteadily stood from the couch. She noticed her mom had now shifted into full-on “concern mom-mode.” Not wanting or ready to explain all the whys she was so out of it and for the sleepless nights, she headed for the stairs.

“Honey, do you still want the milk? It might help.”

One foot on the bottom step, Buffy stopped and watched Joyce’s approach, milk in hand and a reassuring smile on her lips. To her relief, she recognized this smile. It said, “I’m not going to push, but know I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mom, I hope it does.” Buffy climbed two steps then turned back to face her mom standing next to the newel post. “Outta curiosity, what was the name of that movie you were watching?”

“Kiss Me Deadly. Why, was that what you were dreaming about?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Um, thanks again for the milk.” With that being said, Buffy turned and continued up the stairs.

She headed to the bathroom and, after completing her ablutions, entered her bedroom. Without turning on the light, she dressed in her regular nightwear, a camisole and pajama bottoms, then slid under the cool sheets.

In spite of the warmth from the milk radiating from her belly and attempting to lull her body into sleep, her mind refused to follow, still preoccupied with her recent dream.

She didn’t need some old stuffy guy with a bad accent, beard, and cigar to tell her what was what. It was simple; she needed to end things with Spike. Even though her dream told her Angel would help, she was totally going solo. She knew if Angel had any inkling about her and Spike, Angel would dust Spike in a non-heartbeat. Strangely, the thought of this happening made her ache. It was a kinda ache she hadn’t felt since sending Angel to hell—deep and painful.

No, this was all her. Tonight she was putting on her big girl panties and leaving them on, thank you very much!

Now all she had to do was wait…




It was time. Based on his throbbing cock and growling stomach, it was time to grab a bite to eat then off to the Slayer’s for dessert. Snubbing out his spent cigarette on the sole of his boot, Spike stood from the couch and left the mansion, sporting a shit-eating grin.

After taking care of one craving by feeding off some co-ed over by the college, Spike made his way to quench another more potent hunger.

Deftly, he climbed the tree by her window. Now standing on the roof, he peered inside. She was spread out like a sensuous banquet: lying on her back with the sheets crumpled at her feet, her hair tousled and splayed across her pillow, and a tantalizing band of midriff exposed.

Spike lifted the sash and stepped into the room. In spite of his heavy Docs, his agile steps were silent. While he stood over her, she whimpered as she awoke. Her dreamy-eyed gaze searched for him through the darkness.

With a steady hand, he ghosted over the contours of her body with tortuous slowness. She arched into his touch, her pleasure unmistakable. On his trek downward, as his fingers hovered over the inside of her knee, her legs parted further, silently urging him on. Or so he thought.

Unexpectedly, as he reached mid-thigh, cobra-quick, she clamped her thighs shut, trapping his hand. She held him tightly until she reached down and grasped his wrist then roughly pushed his arm away. Before he could respond, she reached over and turned on the bedside table lamp.

The room filled with a bright light, causing Spike to blink quickly trying to acclimate. When his vision cleared, he noticed the Slayer scrambling to sit up, hiking her bed sheet up under her chin along the way, and brandishing a stake. A Slayer’s multitasking at its finest.

Without the cover of darkness and seeing her like this, all modest and lethal, he took control and tamped down this driving unseen force. Finally, it became all so clear, and he saw this for what it truly was—he, a master vampire, settling for stolen kisses and fleeting touches from a little girl. A Slayer, no less!

“I want the Slayer dead, Spike.

But you're lying, I can still see her. Floating all around you. Laughing. Why don't you push her away?

You can't blame a girl, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you. All I see is the Slayer.”

With the scene spread out before him, coupled with Drusilla’s haunting words still ringing in his ears, Spike’s demon emerged with a low, menacing growl, and he fled into the night.

Spike stormed through the streets, searching for way to destroy all the torrid feelings and confusion, and most importantly, make his undead existence simple again. What he needed was a violent kill. Or better yet, find some slag to fuck and feed from, nothing more. With this decided, he changed direction for the Bronze.




Buffy hadn’t a clue how long she stayed rooted to the spot, but going by the pins and needles blooming on her bottom cheeks and the cramping of her fingers fisted in the sheet and around the stake, it had been awhile.

Hoping the coast was clear, she released her dead grip, swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood, and started pacing.

To say the very least, Buffy was completely conflicted. She felt empowered by finally squashing these totally rampant lusties and actually turning Spike away. Yet now she felt bereft, hollow.

Feelings of loss washed over her and clouded her vision. With rough swipes of her hands, she batted away the forming tears. Pushing down the sadness, she made a decision. Quickly, she redressed and set out for the library. One way or another, this spell ended, TONIGHT!





Spike settled into the alcove he discovered not too long ago while spying on the Slayer. Now, instead of eyeing a petite blonde, he was watching a curvy brunette with pouty cock-swallowing lips, tantalizingly swaying her hips to the music’s heavy beat. This was exactly what he needed, a chit nothing like her.

With all the predatory grace he’d honed over the years, Spike approached her from behind and wrapped his arms possessively around her waist. Like warm butter, she melted into his embrace, shamelessly rubbing her arse against him.





Disappointed she missed everyone at the library, Buffy set out for their other home away from home in hopes to find at least Willow and Xander. Even though it was getting close to midnight, she thought she’d give it a shot.

She entered the Bronze and midway across the dance floor, she felt off. To her left she felt the distinguishable tingling of a vampire nearby. Not any vampire, but Spike. Turning, she searched the crowd and easily found him courtesy of his unmistakable radioactive colored hair.

Looking more closely, she realized he wasn’t alone. His arms were wrapped around some Jessica Rabbit-shaped woman who was rubbing her skanky self all over her vamp!

Buffy shoved her way through the other dancers, stopping short in front of Spike and this woman.

It only took only a moment before Spike released the brunette as though she were doused in holy water. Buffy swore he looked almost shamefaced, but this was fleeting. Just as quickly, he appeared to remember himself as the Big Bad and rewrapped his arms around the other woman. His cock and swagger back with a vengeance.

“Slayer.”

His nonchalant, formal greeting and his returning his arms to the ho’s waist, made Buffy teeter precariously on the edge of choosing to stake his pasty ass, not to mention breaking her own rule of not killing humans.

“So is this little girl your groupie or something?” The brunette eyed Buffy with disdain, her heavily crimson-stained lips lifted in a sneer.

“No, not a groupie. And by the way, I’ll have you know this little girl will severely kick your skanky ass if you don’t back away, right now.” Buffy’s saccharine sweet voice belied the anger roiling off her in waves.

Clearly not being this bimbo’s first time horning in on another woman’s territory, the brunette took the not too subtle hint, shrugged out of Spike’s embrace, and hightailed it out of the Bronze without looking back.

Buffy glared at Spike, her eyes shooting lethally pointy stakes. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away. She only made it as far as the alleyway when she felt a bruising grip on her shoulder and was spun around then backed into a brick wall.

In an instant, Spike’s lips were brutally devouring hers. His hands were everywhere, never settling for any extent of time, while hers were anchored on his shoulders, her fingers digging into the leather. It wasn’t long before her legs were wrapped around his slim hips, grinding against him with wanton abandonment.

Please.

Even though the word never left her lips, Spike seemed to hear and understand the only coherent thought she formed. He untangled himself from the vise-like grip of her legs and, with a flurry of motion, she was now viewing the world from upside down as Spike had her thrown over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and, at break-neck speed, was running to an unknown destination.







Author’s Notes:

Joan of Arc: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joan_of_arc

The “Well-known lion” was referring to the MGM’s lion, Leo. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leo_the_Lion_(MGM)

Casablanca: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casablanca_(film)

It’s a Wonderful Life: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It%27s_a_Wonderful_Life

Kiss Me Deadly: black and white movie released in 1955. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kiss_Me_Deadly

“…old stuffy guy with a bad accent, beard, and cigar” was reference to Sigmund Freud http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sigmund_Freud

Drusilla’s words are from episode Fool for Love written by Douglas Petrie.

Jessica Rabbit is a character from Who Framed Roger Rabbit? She was voluptuous and married to Roger Rabbit. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Who_Framed_Roger_Rabbit_characters

This is a picture of Jessica Rabbit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Who_Framed_Roger_Rabbit_characters

August 9, 2012


Dear Readers:

It is with a heavy heart to inform all of you that I am putting A Link is Forged on hiatus. I want it to be understood, initially when I started writing and posting, my full intention was to see this story to the end. However, like everything in life, things change.

Without getting into the details, but not to leave you in the dark totally, I will briefly explain. Several months back, I had an idea for a story. However, unlike my typical ideas that gently tap me on the shoulder and politely ask for me to consider this or that, this plot knocked me unconscious, dragged me to an undisclosed location, and went totally Clockwork Orange on my ass until I finally surrendered. Needless to say, I finally folded and now I’m in deep.

At first I thought once I wrote down what was in my head, I’d appease my screaming muse. Then one chapter turned into two, then doubled to four. Finally at chapter five, I threw on the brakes and went back to Link. This lasted for only two weeks before I had to go back. Believe me, I tried to split my writing time between these two completely different stories. It worked for a time, but not anymore.

When I write, I submerge myself into the story. It’s not uncommon for ideas and dialog to come to me during all hours of the day and night. Many times my mind is going a mile a minute, going back and forth, working through situations. Hell, I haven’t had a shower alone in years!!!! *Insert image of a naked, sudsy Spike here *

Huh? Oh, sorry, where was I?

Oh, yeah, submerging myself in a story. Since this is my way, I feel, at least in my case, a divided mind leads to subpar writing. Neither story nor you the reader deserve that.

Please know, my intentions are to finish what I’ve started, it’s just the when that is unknown. I first need to empty my mind of all things revolving this other story. Only then will I be able to focus my attentions elsewhere.

Before I go, I want to thank all of you who have followed and reviewed, and for those who voted at the SunnyD awards for this story. You are the ones who make my little literary world go round!!



See you soon,

Behind Blue Eyes