| Creep by Megan_Tam |
| Chapter #4 - Four |
“Err…not that I don’t mind following along behind you, luv—got a right fine little heart-shaped ass on you, don’t ya know—but where exactly are we headed?” “Old industrial district,” Buffy informed him, unable to resist adding a little swish of the hips to accentuate said ‘ass’. Sure, it was oinkingly chauvinistic of him, not to mention degrading for her to stoop so low, but all was fair in love and...well...love? Spike’s eyes glazed over as he became further entranced by that pert little wiggle. Rich fantasies of the Slayer writhing beneath him while he grabbed both hands full of that ripe juiciness and plowed himself through her depths danced through his one-track mind. He was so involved that he didn’t realize the Slayer had stopped walking and slammed into the back of her. Never one to pass up the opportunity to grope, the blonde vampire grasped her hip in a steadying grip and ground his now-painful erection between those luscious cheeks. She laid her hand over his where it was digging into her hip and indulged herself in a little nudge of her own before turning to face him. “Spike! Focus, please?” “‘M focused!” he sputtered. Buffy rolled her eyes. “Focus on something besides my ass?” In typical Spike fashion, he wriggled his eyebrows and curled his tongue behind his front teeth in a lascivious smirk. “So you don’t object to walking backwards for a bit, then?” “Business first. Ogling my goodies later,” she admonished. Both eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline at that suggestive little comment. “Promise?” Her answer was to give him her profile and suck in a deep breath, swelling her bosom upwards while she ostentatiously tucked her tiny white t-shirt back into her khaki pants. She had to turn her head to hide the triumphant little grin that tilted her lips as his eyes bulged gratifyingly. Struggling to ignore the saliva that threatened to drool from his slack jawed mouth, Spike desperately sought some form of diversion from her seemingly innocent posturing. “Not that ‘m complainin’, luv, but why didn’t you ask your soldier-boy to tag along instead of me?” Pouting at his methods of distraction, she snatched his hand up in hers once more and resumed their trek across the desolate lots leading to the abandoned factories. Why did he have to go and ruin everything by bringing up her erstwhile Iowa lover? “Riley…isn’t well,” she blithely excused. “He…He has the flu!” Spike graced her with a look of patented disbelief. “Right. Thought I heard him making with the nasty coughing while I was in the cupboard.” He wrinkled his handsome nose. “All thick and phlegmy…” Buffy shot him a suspicious glare, unsure if his intent was to humor or ridicule her blatant lie. Giving her the sunniest of smiles, he made little shooing motions with his free hand to urge her towards their destination. Reaching the scene of her fight with the biker-vamp the previous night, Buffy recalled the kindness of the security guard that had handed her the Dagon Sphere. What had happened to reduce the poor man to the babbling wreck she had come upon at the hospital? Did it have anything to do with her Mom’s headaches or fade-and-gone Dawn? Watching her fumble around with the flashlight, Spike sighed in resignation and snatched it from her grasp. Finding the switch easily, he flicked it on and preceded her into the dark factory. Stifling a brief flash of irritation at his high-handed behavior, she wasted no time in threading her fingers through his, clinging just a bit too tightly in apprehension. Leading her up several flights of steps and down dank and mildewed hallways, Spike followed the beam of the flashlight as it finally arched over the gnarled remains of what was once an impenetrable steel door. “Holy buggerin’ fuck!” he exclaimed, nudging the twisted metal with the toe of his boot. “What the bleedin’ hell got hold of this thing?” Buffy was about to reply when she saw the oddly dressed little man tied to a chair that sat in the middle of the concrete floor. Leaving Spike to trail behind her, she ran to the semi-conscious stranger and knelt to work at his restraints. “It was you that planted the Dagon Sphere, right? I got it. Don’t worry. I’m stronger than I look.” She ignored Spike’s rude snort and concentrated fully on freeing the bruised and bleeding victim. Striking a casual pose against a nearby pillar, Spike took his time lighting a Marlboro as he watched the Slayer free the battered hostage. The nearly unconscious man was dressed in a coarse brown wool cassock and babbling softly in what Spike realized was Czechoslovakian, one of many languages he had picked up in his travels with Drusilla. What the bloody hell was a Czechoslovakian monk doing in Sunnydale? He was starting to get all kinds of bad feelings about this situation. Monk plus Hellmouth equaled deep shit in his opinion. From the look on Buffy’s face, she was getting the same vibe. His attention was suddenly diverted by a tall, skinny woman in a sleazy red dress who came slinking from the gloomiest corner of the huge room. His eyes narrowed as he tracked her progress across the floor. Whoever she was, the bint had a hideous odor—a combination of creosote and sulfur. She was oblivious to him, all of her attention centered on the small blonde she was creeping up on. He was just about to call out a warning to Buffy and reveal his presence when the Slayer whirled to her feet and seized the frizzy-haired woman by the throat. “I’m not stupid,” Buffy stated in her deadliest tone. In one swift move, the cheaply highlighted strawberry blonde backhanded the Slayer and knocked her over fifty feet across the room. Buffy smacked into the wall so hard that a large crack split the cement, showering her with a rain of dust as she scrambled awkwardly to her feet, an expression of disbelief at the strange woman’s power on her face. Spike watched, completely stunned, as the whorish looking fashion victim batted his thrifty yet fashionably dressed Slayer around the room like an annoyed cat with a blond ball of yarn. The loony bird was babbling about pulling worms apart when Buffy head-butted her viciously and broke free. She punched and kicked in a flurry of movement that only seemed to annoy her opponent. “You can’t go around hitting people! What, were you born in a barn? Fine, be that way!” She dodged Buffy’s next blow and soon had her pinned by the throat to the wall. “I just noticed something,” the tramp said conversationally. “You have super powers. That is so cool! Can you fly?” With that, she hurled the little blond through the air. After seeing this creature in action and suffering her unbearable stench, he was filled with a sudden panicky desire to get Buffy out of there before this—whatever it was—squashed her like a bug. Spike made a running leap and caught the airborne Slayer before she hit the ground. They landed in a graceful heap, sliding to rest at the feet of the quietly sobbing monk. “What the hell is that, and why is his hair that color?” The unknown entity shrieked as she stalked towards them, her outraged caterwauling causing Spike to flinch miserably from the assault on his sensitive ears. “De Beast…de Beast!” gasped the abused wreck that Buffy seemed determined to rescue at the risk of her own life. Spike grabbed her arm and flung her toward the monk. “Slayer, we got about two tics to grab your new boyfriend and get outtah Dodge before Bad Perm Barbie there stomps a mud-hole in your ass again, so MOVE!” he bellowed. “Hey! Hands off my holy man!” Making certain that he stayed between them, Spike waited until Buffy had dragged the monk to his feet before he made his move. The supernatural wrecking ball was between them and the door. There was only one other alternative. He ran at full vampiric speed towards them. His eyes met Buffy’s and processed the flash of understanding in their emerald depths just seconds before he slammed into her and the monk, twisting at the last minute so that his body was the first one to crash through the window instead of hers. The gesture wasn’t lost on Buffy. Not that she had a lot of time to ponder it, what with the hard pavement approaching with sickening swiftness. She clung with all her might to the monk while Spike wound his arms around her like steel bands. God, this is gonna hurt, she thought as she buried her face in Spike’s chest. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she braced for impact. He could have sworn they hit so hard that they bounced. Spike felt first the Slayer, then the monk slam into him to the accompaniment of several ribs snapping inside his chest like kindling. In spite of the agonizing flare of pain, he quickly urged Buffy to her feet and scooped the monk up in a fireman’s carry. They reached the fence and collapsed against it, conscious all the while of the livid shrieks of their thwarted enemy floating down from the shattered window. Suddenly, there was a guttural rending noise accompanied by a huge cloud of dust from the factory. As they watched in astonishment, the building shuddered on its foundations and sagged drunkenly inward. She had actually felt Spike’s ribs break when she and the monk had landed on top of him. Buffy had to fight the urge to rush to his side. Knowing that getting information from the monk was her first priority, she began to question him in a quiet, soothing voice. Spike winced as he cradled his battered torso. Time enough to worry about a few broken bones later. He listened with avid interest as Buffy questioned the dying monk. And he was dying-- the vampire could hear the faint stutter of his fading heartbeat. He searched out his crushed fags and lit one up, wondering idly just how fast she would smack him down if he asked for a quick sip from the dying padre? She might have lost some of her inherent tight-assed attitude over the past few days, but somehow he doubted she would find it the least bit amusing if he should vocalize his request. The sudden sharpening of her tone recaptured his wandering attention and his eyes narrowed as he snagged a few key words from their conversation. Key. Protect. Abomination. Portal. Human. Dawn. Several more questions and a few more vehement protests from the Slayer before the light faded from the monk’s eyes and he sagged back against the fence. Buffy stared at the corpse with burning eyes, her entire life in shambles. How was it possible? She had so many memories. They all did. Even Spike had related a particular incident where he had spied Dawn huddled behind the sofa like a small nosy mouse on the night of his fateful truce with Buffy to take down Angelus. She battled the sting of impending tears as she tried to come to terms with all she had learned. Spike was just as dumbfounded by these revelations, but he was also enraged to the ninth degree by the incredible high-handedness of the monks’ subterfuge. In spite of his burning desire to hunt down whatever might be left of the religious sect and rip their heads off for perpetrating such a crime on his precious Slayer, he realized that revenge would have to be lost on the wayside. Someone was in desperate need of comfort and he would be damned to dust before he would pass up the chance to one-up Captain Cardboard. She voiced not a word of protest when he reached out to gather her in. In fact, it seemed easier to allow herself to finally let loose the threatening storm of emotion once she was enfolded in a protective shield of leather and muscles. He simply let her cry, holding her on his lap and threading his fingers through the silken waves of her hair to press her tearstained face to his shoulder. Her despair twisted something inside him. He’d seen her cry before, of course. Hell, he had MADE her cry on more than one of those occasions, but this was different. Always before there had been the great poof, or one of her gloriously inept scoobies to comfort her. And just recently, there was Iowa’s finest lunk-head to turn to in times of need. So his fingers had itched in vain to gather her into his arms; until tonight. This time, instead of dragging any one of them along with her, she had chosen him. Which turned out to be the best thing she could have done, what with some psychotic hell-bitch whipping her to and fro in a demented game of shuttlecock. “It feels like I’ve been…violated. Everything. All of these feelings that I have for her, all these memories. They’re nothing but lies.” She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a fresh burst of sobs. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.” "You'll do what the holy man asked of you, luv. You'll protect her. It's why they chose you. It's what you hero-types do," he assured her, daring to press his lips to the tangled hair that tumbled over her forehead. Buffy felt the brush of his lips and snuggled closer, mulling over what he had said. He was right, of course. Damned vampire. He might be an annoying pest and a cocky, arrogant son of a bitch most of the time, but he had always been able to see right through her. She would do what she had to. She would protect Dawn with her last breath, and she knew without even having to ask that he would be there to help her in any way with no questions asked. She knew she was taking a lot on faith by believing in him, but it seemed elemental. It was something she felt compelled to do. Having worked the issue out to her satisfaction, she relaxed against him, burying her nose in his neck and breathing in his scent. Smoke and leather and man. The combination brought a surge of awareness that had her squirming on his lap. She opened her eyes and there was his throat right in front of her, the century-old scar from Drusilla’s bite plain to see. Motivated by a quick, potent stab of jealousy and completely uncaring of the possible ramifications, Buffy reached out with the tip of her tongue and flicked it lightly. Instinct was swift. Eyes flared in shock before brilliant amber hues flickered in their depths, and a coarse, resonant growl vibrated through him. His fingers tangled in thick blonde strands as he pulled her head roughly from the shelter of his shoulder and glared down at her before crushing her lips under his. Sucking, licking, biting…mmm, gooood Spike lips! Refusing to allow him total control, Buffy tunneled her fingers through his short hair, tilting his head in a vain attempt to gain a better angle. Tiny, frustrated noises burst from her throat as she struggled for a more fulfilling position. All that squirming around and those sexy little growls she was emitting were driving him joyfully insane, but they both needed more. In spite of the pain that sliced through his busted ribs, he picked her up and twisted her until she straddled his lap, slamming her down on his straining erection. “Ungh, God…Yesss…” Buffy threw her head back with a hiss of rapture as they unashamedly ground against each other. God, she thought wildly. If we’re this good together just making out, imagine what actually doing it is gonna be like. Holy shit! A short, breathless laugh escaped her as he claimed her mouth once more. A faint tearing sound registered and she was suddenly conscious of the cool night air on her breasts just seconds before his cooler mouth sought her pebbled nipples. She moaned at the delicious contrast, digging her nails into his shoulders as she hung on. A swirling heat began to emanate from between her legs as she continued to ride him, the engorged length of him rubbing rhythmically over her swollen clit with each stroke. So close, the thought babbled excitedly in her head. So… The slight sting at her breast sent her over the edge without her being entirely cognizant of its source. The searing waves of purest bliss coursing through her were only intensified when she looked down to find glowing golden eyes staring up at her and fangs buried in the plump flesh of her exposed breast. Spike was fully prepared to face any stake she might whip out from the many nifty hiding places on her person, but when she did nothing but hold his gaze in disbelief, he indulged himself in a long, leisurely pull of Slayer elixir—an act that drew another racking shudder from her small frame. The tremors continued even after he retracted his fangs and shook off his demon before laving the tiny wounds closed. Hoping to distract her from any fury she might be feeling at his transgression, he turned his attention back to her pert nipples, lightly flicking them with his tongue and drawing them into his mouth for intermittent hard sucking. She relaxed against him, coming down slowly from the heights of her orgasm as he played with each breast in turn. The feel of her small hands sliding down his chest to rest on his belt buckle had Spike sucking in a deep, unnecessary gasp of air. She had the belt undone and was working at the buttons when a rending scream of metal against metal came from the collapsed warehouse behind them, followed by the faintest sound of feminine cursing. Spike wanted to howl in frustration as the Slayer leapt from his lap, her entire body tensed as she whirled to stare at the wreckage. Growling his dissatisfaction, he stood as well, his motions abrupt as he closed the few undone buttons and buckled his belt. “Bloody impeccable timing that bitch has,” he cursed. “Although one could say our timing has to be even more buggered up than hers.” “Spike, I—I…“ Buffy stammered, her face flaming a becoming shade of pink. He shook his head and made a cutting motion with one hand. “No, you’re gonna listen to me, Slayer. I don’t know what that was all about. Obviously, Captain Cardboard just isn’t givin’ his all for God and country where you’re concerned. You got an itch that needs scratchin’, then by all means come see me. I’ll be more than happy to fuck you up one side and down the other, if that’s what you want. But, just remember one thing.” He pointed at the marks on his neck that had been the catalyst for the passionate interlude. “Highly erogenous zone. Touchin’ this in any way leads me to believe that you aren’t opposed to a little nip and suck of your own, so you might want to make note of it.” A part of her wanted to be offended by the coarseness of his tone, but another part of her recognized the deep-seated frustration he was feeling that caused him to strike out at her with his harsh words. Buffy tried to apologize, but no words would come out around the lump of tears that clogged her throat. She was completely horrified when two scalding tears plopped onto the bare skin of her exposed chest. “Aw, bloody hell! C’mon, Buffy, don’t cry. ’m sorry, luv.” He started to reach for her when he caught a familiar, repugnant scent. His nose curled up in distaste and he reached instead for the buttons of her jacket, doing them up swiftly to hide her torn t-shirt and bra. “Better dry those tears, Slayer. Mighty Mouse is here to save the day.” Buffy rolled her eyes as she hurriedly swiped at her cheeks. “This discussion isn’t over, you know,” she scowled as Riley came panting across the vacant lot. “We’ll finish this later.” “Oh, ‘m countin’ on it, luv,” Spike purred with a wicked grin as he started to back away from her. “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice suddenly tinged with the slightest hint of panic. He continued walking backwards. “Not far. You know where to find me when you want to finish that…discussion,” he drawled, running his hand down the front of his body until his fingers feathered lightly over his crotch. The move was a perfect imitation of that first fight so long ago at the high school, when he spoke of weapons making him feel manly. Buffy found herself reacting just as strongly now as she had then, with a tingling surge of anticipation and a gush of warmth that made him pause and sniff the air with a smile of sublime satisfaction. “Be seein’ ya soon, luv,” he called over his shoulder as he turned away and melted into the darkness. Buffy sighed in frustration. He had deliberately raised his voice so that Riley would hear his parting quip. Now it was up to her to allay Mr. Insecurities…stupid insecurities where a certain bleached blonde pest was concerned. Damned vamp and his succulent, oh-so-bitable ass! TBC~ |