End of the Bloody Line – Chapter 13
by Niamh
He was on her before they hit the bottom step, his hand on her neck sending shivers down her back, electrifying her tired muscles. Fatigue dissipated and Buffy nearly faltered on the steps. Rather than let her fall, Spike swept her up, cradling her close, his mouth on her neck just below her ear. Inhaling deeply, Spike groaned into her skin, “You smell so damn good. Wan’ to just eat you up, little girl.”
She should be scared; his words should frighten her; he was, after all, a master vampire. But she wasn’t afraid. Oh, her heartbeat did increase and her breathing changed but in a good way.
All she said was his name on a breath, and his control was gone. Growling low in his throat, his free hand slipped under her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb unerringly homing in on her nipple. Buffy arched up into his hand, her mouth seeking his, her tongue licking along his chin. Lost in the sensations of his hand on her and being so close to him again, Buffy never even realized they’d reached the bed. Spike rolled them both onto the bed, ending up flat on his back with her draped over him like a living blanket. His lips sought out hers, his hands diving under her shirt releasing her bra catch. She pushed herself up, disengaging from his mouth, letting him lift her shirt up. His mouth closed around a nipple, his hand cupping the other, palming the lushness. His growls filled the still air, countered by her gasping pants.
The thud of her shoes hitting the floor was missed in the noises he was making. His mouth pulling on her sent pulses of want straight to her womb, and Buffy whimpered, whispering his name, begging him to take her, writhing her mound against his hardness. “Oh god. Spike. Please.”
Her scent was driving him wild. Couldn’t get close enough, needed to be closer still. Rolling them over, Spike freed her arms of her shirt and bra, leaving her bared to his gaze, his touch, and his mouth. Little nipping kisses rained on her skin, raising roughened flesh under his lips. He needed to see her - all of her spread out before him like a banquet. Licking a path first from one nipple to the other, Spike slid his hand into her pants, his cool hand cupping her ass, holding her against his rock hard erection. Just the tip of his tongue was on her now, brushing against her hard nipple. Buffy’s hands were worming their way into his jeans, holding him tight against her as she bucked into him. “Spike . . . please.”
Her whimpers grew in volume when he growled and lifted his hips away from hers. “Wanna see you ... wanna watch you come apart for me.”
Spike leered at her, his midnight blue eyes twinkling and his brows jerking.
The pop of the button and zipper was loud in her ears, but Buffy didn’t care . . . She wanted to feel him against her – head to toe – wanted his hard length filling her up. Slowly he slid her pants down, tugging from the bottom. Suddenly there was nothing but a red thong between his touch and her flesh and it was too much.
Laying open-mouthed bites along her inner thighs, Spike slid one finger inside that barely-there scrap of silk, teasing her folds. Buffy bucked up her hips, practically offering herself to him.
Spike slid another finger past the barrier, his eyes never leaving her face. She was flushed with arousal; legs spread wide, pert breasts aching for his mouth. But he resisted her siren’s call, concentrating on teasing her unmercifully. “Come for me little kitty . . . gimme some cream luv . . ..”
Two fingers entered her warm depths, and Buffy lifted her hips again, his name a chant interspersed with her begging him for more.
He ripped the side of her thong using his free hand, pulling the tiny bits of silk away from her body. She was all pink and glistening framed with dark gold curls. Beautiful, she was beautiful, his golden girl, growling low in his throat, watching her, he rumbled out her name. His fingers were still pumping in and out, and he knew it wasn’t enough anymore.
Spike needed to taste her, needed . . . inhaling deeply, he shook his head to clear it, then settled between her legs. The first touch of his cool mouth on her overheated flesh sent shock tremors through her, forcing a shriek out from her gasping lungs, his name a long exhalation. She could feel his grin against her, and her hips bucked up again. Nibbling on her clit, pumping his fingers in her, her taste on his tongue, in his mouth, his senses drowning in her, Spike realized he was lost . . . was never ever going to let her go. Even without the bond, he wasn’t ever going to let her go.
Buffy hooked her toes into his waistband, tugging on his jeans, nudging his arms with her knees. He was still fully clothed, his erection painfully hard against his jeans, but he couldn’t break away from the deliciousness of her pussy in his mouth. He growled again, the sound vibrating into her and her inner muscles began the fluttering that signaled her climax. One last hard suck, causing his girl to squeal and Spike lifted his mouth away from her, watching her in the throes of a bone shaking orgasm. Bloody hell she’s beautiful . . . my kitten, my Slayer.
A possessiveness Spike didn’t realize he’d ever been capable of rolled through him, urging him to mark her, claiming her over and above what had happened in the cemetery. That had been something else, something otherworldly and beyond the both of them, beyond Buffy and Spike, perhaps even beyond good and evil, light and dark. But this feeling … this compulsion that was driving him now was just them, the two of them, no one and nothing else. He wanted her to be his. Always.
And not just at the whim of the Powers-that-fuck-with-you.
His voice rolled through her, her name a prayer on his lips, and her writhing movement stilled, hearing him calling her. “Spike?. . . Spike, please . . . don’t . . ..”
Her voice broke on a sob, her hands reaching for him, trying to hold him against her, sudden fear sweeping through her that he was going to leave her, “Spike, don’t leave me, please, don’t . . . leave me.”
“Not goin’ anywhere sweets, not now. Not ever.” Belying his words, Spike sat up after laying a kiss just above her glistening curls, nipping her slightly in the process.
“Spike . . . come back,” was her whined plea, but he ignored her.
His back to her, obviously heaving with unneeded breaths, Spike was clawing at his boots in an effort to get them off, but his hands were shaking and he couldn’t unlace or unbuckle them. It wasn’t until she rolled over, curling against his side that she realized what he was doing. She could see his hands faltering on the buckles, and taking pity on the clearly flustered vampire, Buffy slid her arms around his waist.
“Hey,” she breathed against his back, drawing in his scent, feeling his muscles flexed beneath her cheek. “Hey,” she said again, this time snaking her warm fingers under his tee shirt, running a hand over his black denim covered erection. He groaned in response, his hips involuntarily bucking up into her hand. “Spike, wanna feel you . . . can I?”
“Oh fuck, yeah . . . jus’ do it.” His words rasped out from behind clenched teeth, his head angled up so he wasn’t watching, staring at what her hot little hands were doing to him. It was enough that he could feel it. “Oh fucking hell, Slayer jus’ . . ..”
One little hand slid around his waist to cup his hard length, the other finger walking up his zipper to the button at the waistband. The pop of it opening was loud in the air and Spike groaned again when Buffy slid her hand inside cupping him, stroking the silky hardness.
Nuzzling her mouth against his back, Buffy whispered, “Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?”
“Not gonna ever say no.” His ironic laugh filled the air around them, and Buffy giggled softly in response.
“So. You gonna get naked for me or just make me imagine it all?” Her hand squeezed up and down his hard cock, her thumb flicking over the head.
Spike growled again, once more leaning over to get his boots off, his mind blank of everything but her. This time the buckles and laces cooperated, and he wrenched the boots off, throwing them nearly across the basement in his haste. Buffy pushed his shirt up over his shoulders while he wriggled out of his jeans, kicking them off also. His clothes landed in a heap, scattered just like hers, and then finally they were skin to skin, her legs draped around his hips, her breasts molded against his hard chest.
“Feels so good. Want you now, little girl, wanna be inside. Gonna let me in?” Spike’s voice vibrated through her as she laid small kisses across his deceptively angelic face and hard shoulders. Her hips wriggled of their own accord, and suddenly she was beneath him, his hips forcing hers wide, his cock nudging at her entrance. “Let me in . . . c’mon little girl, lemme in.”
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. She could only thrust her hips against him, scrabbling her fingers against his back, digging her nails into his skin, urging him on.
“Buffy . . . look at me . . . c’mon look.” His face was a breath away from hers, his eyes intent on her, willing her to calm and look up at him. Wide, passion-glazed green eyes shot with gold stared opened, their lashes tangling together. “Kitten, gonna make you mine, all mine.”
By way of answering, she tilted her hips up, grinding herself on him. She didn’t flinch, didn’t back away, didn’t shriek in surprise or fear when his eyes shifted, changing from cerulean to amber, his face altering, ridges forming and canines elongating. He hesitated, almost afraid she would reject him, and when, instead of pushing him away Buffy pulled him closer her mouth seeking his, Spike’ own heart expanded. Words he never thought to utter to the child-woman in his arms, the Slayer, tumbled from his lips “Love you, bleeding hell, I love you . . ..”
“Please Spike stop teasing me . . . please . . ..” Burying her head against his neck, struck with sudden inspiration, she knew of one certain way to get him to move, to finally end the torment. She bit him. Hard. Where his pulse should pound against his skin but no longer did. Buffy bit him with the accuracy of a master vampire, directly over his long silent jugular vein. Spike’s entire body jerked against her, his cock slipping easily inside her pulsing cavern, her warmth increasing his tremors. His mouth sought out her pulse points, sucking and nibbling on her skin, using his tongue to trace along the length of the vein beneath her skin.
Beyond thinking, Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him down, his pelvic bones bumping her clit, his cock pounding against that elusive spongy part inside of her that . . . shook and shivered and . . . “oh god . . . oh Spike . . . Spike . . . Please. Now!”
Sharp teeth rasped along her neck, scraping against wet and sensitive skin, until finally, with her writhing against him, her pussy like a vice around his cock, Spike sunk his teeth inside her.
The taste of the first swallow hit the back of his throat like a tsunami, eclipsing every other single sense, drowning him in her waves. The second was better still, and by the third, every nerve in Spike’s body was strung tight, poised on the brink of exploding, Buffy’s keening cries reverberating in his ear, her fingers digging in, drawing blood, her legs wrapped around him tightening, her pussy pulsing around him strangling his cock, drawing him in because this warm living woman was created for him only, meant for him, always for him, only his. Until there was no thought in his head, nothing more than this racing through every molecule, every cell, every piece of him calling to every bit of her, falling inside her, swimming inside her veins, and she was him and he was her and there was nothing left but . . . “mine.”
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Rupert Giles was a man in the middle of crisis of faith. Faith in himself, faith in his mission, faith in everything he’d been taught from the organization that recruited him, oh-so-many years ago. He was broken. Everything he knew about vampires, everything he knew about Slayers was now under intense and terrifying scrutiny. No longer able to believe what the Council had force-fed him during his intensive training, Rupert had to now rely on his own formidable intuition and his own innate sense of right and wrong. He’d been wrong. So very, very wrong. He’d placed his trust in a vampire of unknown quantity, believing naively, perhaps that ownership of a soul made one different from a monster. And instead of trusting his own Slayer, trusting her intuition and her judgment, he’d placed not only her in danger, but her mother and others.
Joyce had nearly died because of his own carelessness and foolishness.
Kendra had also come into more danger because she was left alone to guard Joyce.
The children were all in harm’s way now.
And Jenny . . . Jenny of the dark flashing eyes and warm creamy skin; Jenny, who made his heart smile and gave him a hope for a future not tied up in a Slayer or a Council; Jenny, who’s quick wit and knowing, nearly wanton smile challenged him from his complacency and reticent British facade; Jenny, who he loved . . . was now in the hands of a true monster, the vampire that Giles had once trusted.
And the vampire he hadn’t trusted? He was home, with his Slayers – both of them – making plans to save his Jenny.
Rupert Giles had no idea how to get a handle on the situation. No idea how to come to grips with the one hundred and eighty degree turn his life had just taken. Unable to trust his own judgment, unable to trust his Slayer’s judgment, unable to trust anyone at all, Rupert had no idea what to do. For once in his life, his intellect and intuition and his art could not salvage anything.
He had to swallow his pride and beg his Slayer to forgive him.
He wasn’t so sure he was deserving of any absolution or forgiveness at all.
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Willow approached the library doors, totally at a loss of how to break the bad news to Mr. Giles. Stopping just short of the doors, Willow froze, her mind wandering down twenty different paths. Cheerful doesn’t work. I can do matter of fact. Right. Oh god. How’s this? Mr. Giles, I have to tell you. No, can’t do that either. Um. Okay . . . maybe I should just, you know, break it to him gently. Or something . . . or oh no. I really don’t know how to do this.
Unaware she was pacing back and forth, Willow ran through all the possible ways she could tell Giles about what had happened to Jenny. She knew she was prolonging the inevitable. Well just no more of that missy. Steeling her features, Willow pushed through the double doors of the library only to find the place devoid of any human presence.
“Giles?” Willow nearly stamped her foot in frustration. After all that he’s not here? What the heck kind of librarian isn’t in a library. “Giles?”
There was a rustle of noise from his office, and Willow headed in that direction, only to be stopped short by a hand on her shoulder.
Her shriek of surprise echoed against the stacks of books. Swinging her books around, slamming the heavy weight around and into the belly of her assailant, Willow danced out of reach. Her delight over incapacitating her assailant quickly changed to guilt and remorse when she realized she’d nearly gutted Mr. Giles with her textbooks.
“Ooops. Sorry Mr. Giles.” Looking at the still doubled over librarian, Willow moved closer, then sort of pushed and pulled him to a chair. “Are you okay?”
“Can’t breathe.” He gasped out, unable to catch a deep breath, his face nearly blue.
Willow didn’t know what to do. “I’m soo sorry. Can you breathe now?”
His alarming coloring eased, as his lungs began to fill with much needed air. “I realize Willow, that we are all on edge about, well, everything, but was it necessary for you to nearly disembowel me the hard way?”
“Yup. You’re fine.” At his quizzical look, Willow matter of factly stated, “You’re all with the using of big words again and, you know, using way to many of them.”
“Indeed.” Thoroughly peeved, Giles resorted to his facade of the meek librarian, abruptly getting to his feet. “Really Miss Rosenberg, what brings you here?”
“Buffy sent me.” At his hopeful look, Willow had to clarify that statement, “Actually, I volunteered to come. She and Spike were gonna go to sleep, and they brought her mom and Kendra home, and everyone’s okay so far, well, not really all okay, I mean there’s other things going on, but hey, you know everyone’s still okay.”
Giles stared at the redhead, a blank expression on his face, yet his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Does she really think I’m a doddering old man, that I don’t understand what she’s trying to avoid saying? Quite possibly she does. Willow is not stupid.
“Are you aware that you’re babbling?” He directed her to a chair, sitting her down so that she calmed and also so that she wouldn’t be able to make a quick escape while he questioned her. Without waiting for her to answer his rhetorical question, Giles quickly got to the point. “What is it you volunteered to do?”
Willow glanced up at him, her dark green eyes suddenly filling with tears, and a sad expression on her features. “Willow?”
“I’m so sorry. Really, Giles I am. But I, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, really.” Taking a deep breath, Willow continued, “Buffy’s still really upset. But I think she would have told you if she could. And Kendra, she’s still weak from getting bitten, and . . . I’m doing it again aren’t I?” She shifted beneath his intense gaze, afraid to meet his eyes, suddenly not wanting to tell Giles this information.
“Willow what aren’t you telling me?” Giles was certain he would rather not hear this information, but realized he had no choice but to listen. “Perhaps it would be easier if you just told me.”
“Giles. Kendra was at the hospital watching Buffy’s mom and Angel. I mean Angelus attacked her. He had another vampire with him.”
His heart suddenly felt very hollow and the air he’d been able to get into his lungs deflated, leaving him breathless and feeling very thin. Giles blanched, his coloring leaching away. “Oh dear god.”
Slumping against the table, Giles hid his face from Willow’s sympathetic look, unwilling to share his agony and grief with her.
“Mr. Giles?” Willow leaned up and touched his arm, trying to comfort him. He flinched away from her, moving away from the table, trying to regain some semblance of control over his swirling emotions.
It took him long minutes, most of that spent with his eyes closed, images of the beautiful dark haired woman swimming behind his eyes. My foolishness drove her to this. My mistakes. My blindness and inability to . . . no. It wasn’t my inability to listen. It was my unwillingness. Oh Jenny.
“Tell me what you know.” His was far from steady, but they both ignored the wavering, instead concentrating on what she could tell him. The tale wasn’t very long, in fact was nothing more than a few brief and succinct sentences, but it was enough. His Jenny was no more. She was gone.
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He didn’t realize until he was laying on top of her, every muscle in his body lax and feeling exactly what he imagined limp noodles felt like, just what he’d done. Shifting his head off her shoulder, he felt a sharp sting, opposite the marks Drusilla had given him so very many years ago. She. . . no. . Fucking way. She didn’t.
She did. Buffy had bitten him, through the skin, and his neck now sported another mark. Her mark. Spike lifted up on both elbows looking down at the golden girl beneath him, astonished at what she’d done. He wasn’t really sure which one of them had initiated it and right now it hardly mattered. What mattered was she’d accepted and acknowledged his right to do . . . to claim her.
Her eyelids were closed over those gorgeous green orbs, her lashes dark and full over her sun-kissed cheeks. She was beautiful. And she was his. Forever. With the blessing of the Powers-that-fuck-you and even when that was no longer . . ..
“Buffy. Open your eyes.” A long pale finger stroked down her face, covering each feature with exquisite tenderness. “C’mon kitten, look at me.”
Titling her head, Buffy barely opened her eyes to look at him. A whisper soft sigh escaped from her mouth and in the next breath, she completely stole his heart, by saying, “I love you Spike. I’m yours always.”
For once in his long existence at a loss for words, Spike did the only thing he could think of to do. He shifted his hips, settling back inside her slippery warmth and began thrusting into her inch by slow inch. “Love you too.”
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Everything was quiet. There were no noises, save from outside the four walls of this place. There was no sound, no steady thumb of a heartbeat within her breast, no rush of air compressed from her lungs. Nothing. All was silent.
Except for the voices in her head.
She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t hearing things like the other one. She knew what these voices were – they were only parts of herself screaming in agony. Pain from the beating she’d taken earlier radiated from every part of her. She was particularly happy for only one thing. She could not see the damage her Sire had wrought on her features.
Jenny cracked open one eye, looking around for the Irish bastard, her muscles tensed in anticipation of another beating if he was nearby. He was strong, she’d give him that much. But he wasn’t smart – and he certainly wasn’t anything like her. Hate surged through her, threatening to consume every part of her, but it goaded her into action when she realized he wasn’t in the room with her. She could feel him, pacing the floor in another room, could almost hear his idiotic ramblings with her newly enhanced hearing.
She needed to feed. Needed fresh, lovely, red blood. Sliding down her throat, filling her up from the bottomless well that was now her soul. Gingerly she raised herself up, fearing for a moment that her new strength would desert her. Testing herself, Jenny stretched her limbs, trying out each muscle. Moving warily, listening intently for any sign that her Sire felt her shifting around, Jenny got to her feet. Her feet were on solid ground, her legs not the rubbery noodles she thought they were going to be and Jenny realized she felt better than she had a moment ago.
She had no idea what time it was, or even what day it was. Since Angelus had taken her captive, time had ceased to fully exist, save in moments that were between pain, between torture. At least now she was safe, relatively speaking. She was nearly to the door to the bedroom when she felt Angelus slip into sleep. Startling herself by growling softly, Jenny at first glanced around to see who was in the room with her making such noises, then stifled a soft angry laugh when she realized she was alone.
On soft silent feet she padded through the warehouse, idly noting the amount of dust piles throughout, as she made her way to her Sire. Just the thought of him brought a sneer to her battered features. She hated him with a passion that she’d never before in her life felt. Liam, Angelus or Angel, it hardly mattered which name he used, he was still nothing more than a drunken Irish lout. A bog-trotting sot who’d reeled his drunken way from one slaughter to the next, never once seeking to change himself. He’d played a game as Angel, pretending to the world and the Slayer that he was more than what he was – a brutal sadistic killer. But she knew. Now she understood far better than she had before, when she was still among the living.
Jenny halted at the sight of him, sprawled out on a clean bed, limbs skewed this way and that. The room reeked of sour whiskey and old blood. The stench surrounding him assaulted her delicate sense of smell, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Gods what a fucking pig he is, she thought, taking note of the blood still splattered on his naked form. Blood. Suddenly the craving was on her, her salivary glands flooding her mouth with the need, the desire to bleed someone, drain them until they were dead, consuming them in her hunger. Did you leave me something to eat, you disgusting troll? Or were you going to let me starve? Tilting her head to survey the scene before her, Jenny narrowed her eyes, fixating on the blue veins running beneath her Sire’s pale form. He might be drunk enough . . . knowing he would beat her again if she fed from him without permission, she sneered. He might try it . . . but this time, he wouldn’t succeed. She could feel the power surging in her, the magics her people had always had access to swirling around her like patterns of air around her.
Magics, vampire senses, everything swirled in her, running in rainbow patterns of blood red to pale pink, shifting as her vision shifted. Sniffing the air around her, she moved closer to his sleeping form. Fuck it. He stole from me. He took something from me. Too god damned bad if he doesn’t like it. I’m not weak in the head like Drusilla was. Let him just try it now . . .just once. I will make you burn, Angelus. Dance in the fires of your own destruction. I am not your plaything . . . I am Rom, I am still of my people. I will not let you destroy me the way you did the other. . . . Before she could secondguess herself, Jenny slid to the bed, sliding slowly up the sheets, resting against his still form.
Reaching out with all of her senses, Jenny probed the corpse beside her. An ironic chuckle surfaced in her mind . . . dead to all the world. Good. Cobra quick, she struck, her fangs in his throat, Sire’s blood flowing into her, strengthening her, healing all the cuts and bruises that marred her features.
She drank, filling the chasm that was her aching hunger, swallowing deeply her Sire’s essence.
She drank, becoming drunk herself on his blood, power coursing through her, adding to the already thumping powers surging through her.
She drank, draining her Sire . . . depleting his strength.
Finally done, Jenny got up, wiping her mouth, a vicious sadistic smile on her features.
Without a glance back at her Sire, Jenny stalked from the room, sparks flaring from her fingertips.
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