Ready or Not
by stupidgirl

~BSV note-contains character vamping~

A/N: Lyrics used are from Kidneythieves: Zerospace, Kill Hannah: Race the Dream, and t.A.T.u.: All the Things She Said
Also, I despise Riley so don’t worry, I’m not insane, just needed it for the plot… if there is one anyways.


She moved like the air around her, thick, smoky, and hot. No amount of fingers could count off the boys, moving their bodies around her, trying so hard to be men. She let them play and let them think she was each of theirs alone. But Buffy Summers didn’t belong to anyone, not a single one of them, not even a Watcher anymore. She breathed deep and let the throbbing bass line push the smoke through her veins. Smoke swirled around her leather clad body. Her eyes were closed and her hair cascading over her shoulders, being tossed this way and that. Her hair, too, covered in the lingering stench of the club. Smoke, sex, booze. Just like the rest of them. The music was the only thing that set her apart. It made her different because it made her dance. The sleek predator crawling beneath the Slayer’s skin, releasing itself into the music, screaming with the smoke through her veins.

I am a fallen zero;
Below the glaciers of the evil
I am a golden superhero
Above the sun and all the people

A smile touched the corners of her lips. A golden superhero. What she used to be.

Space in your face I'm gonna drink
the fucking ocean cause I ain't from a coast, I'm just coastin
Said I was an afterthought you'd bring along,
well who You after now, bitch? Run, motherfucka, run

She may have been from the coast, but not anymore. Now, now she was just coasting, sliding along and stopping wherever it got rough enough to slow her down. That’s where she stayed, the rough patches. That’s why she left.

I am a means until the end
I move a mountain with my hand
And I'm floating high (but I'm always down)
Skip or trip to face the space or fake in this

Nothing was going to kill her, she was still that girl on some level. The strength of the daemon they stuffed in some girl’s flesh so long ago still raged within her now, Buffy. If anyone called her that anymore, that is. Now she was most often nameless, like everyone else in the club. Hell, Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she got a boy’s name before she brought him home.

Home. Not so much unlike the Hellmouth, her apartment. It was a one room hole with water that ran most of the time, lights that worked almost never. She lived and died a little every day on the second floor of the Brightside Motel. It was so unlike the home she had in Sunnydale. The family and friends she had so many years ago. The comfort of a mother making breakfast, waking her up in the morning, just being alive. Now, that little piece of home was gone, dead, in a cemetery in a town that barely existed anymore in the Slayer’s memory.

Buffy was anything but cold now. Her body writhing in the strobe lights, quickly adapting a new rhythm as a different song began to play.

Love, my angel on silver lines
So young and terrified...
Somehow we realized
Only the strong survive

The words hit her like she hit bottom. Hard and fast. A thousand miles away and still it followed her. The life she had, could’ve had. Her mom died in her arms the same month Riley fell out of them. Her arms were empty, like she would come to be. Empty and dancing like it was the end of the world.

Our doctors say, "You know the drill
This broke heart won't ever heal"
He needs drugs
And she needs drugs
And he needs 'em just as bad
He said, "Be my love
And race the dream together
Then I'll know they can't tear us apart!"

But something did. Something did tear her away from Riley. Faith. The love of her life had been tainted the day she wasn’t supposed to live. Just days before the end of her High School career, and she thought she was a murderer. Unfortunately, Faith had survived. If she’d have known what would happen to her only two and a half years later, she might have let herself stay in that grave with Buffy and let the rain drown both of their bodies. She would have let go, let the monster that was Buffy in her dream, during her coma, kill her for good. She would have lived.

Careful, for when it was all the rage
We were glass menagerie
"Some pills and you'll be fine"
Only the strong survive

How was she supposed to know that she would really die? That when she answered the door to Riley’s room, Buffy would be there? How could she have known Buffy was broken already. Just seeing Faith again, knowing she was alive, and with Riley, had killed her faster than the Master had not so long ago. How could she have known Buffy still had a stake in her back pocket? How could Faith have known she was going to die. In a second, the stake was in her stomach, and no one was rushing to her aid. She stood wide-eyed and confused. She turned slowly to Riley, still sleeping, and back to Buffy. The two Chosen ones stood face to face before one hit the floor. One was left standing, hand over her mouth, but no tears. No tears. How could the body on the floor have known the eyes of the Slayer above her had already turned cold. Turned into something else. Someone else. There was no way to tell that the girl walking calmly away had just killed a girl and would never be caught.

She had left and the murder had been pinned on Riley. Riley had left then, with the Initiative. He was off to Brazil, alone and afraid. Afraid of the girl he once loved because she killed the girl he still loved.

Despite all of this, another song still began to play at a club far enough away. And here a girl danced, alive in the lights, dead where they couldn’t reach.

I'm in serious shit, I feel totally lost
If I'm asking for help it's only because
Being with you has opened my eyes
Could I ever believe such a perfect surprise?

Buffy reached behind and pulled the first boy she touched against her. She didn’t want to see his face. Didn’t want to see who she’d break tonight. She could already feel his arousal against her ass as she moved against him like she’d been his body once. Touching every spot she knew would get him going with her active fingers. They were all the same. A little pressure here, a single touch there, and she had herself a willing victim, begging to take her home. She turned around in his arms and continued grinding against the boy. He moaned and begged, “Come home with me,” but she should her head and smiled coyly, earning another groan of captive lust from him.

I keep asking myself, wondering how
I keep closing my eyes but I can't block you out
Wanna fly to a place where it's just you and me
Nobody else so we can be free


“Uh- uh,” she closed her eyes, didn’t want to see his face, and licked the shell of his ear while breathing the words into it, “You,” another lick, “come with me.” She grabbed his wrist and began weaving her way through the crowd that had formed around her. The boy never made it to her house.

As soon as the back door of the club shut behind them the boy was up against a wall. She slammed her mouth against his, squeezing her eyes shut and bringing him around so he was now pushing her back into the brick wall he had so recently vacated. He tasted like cheap booze and something else bitter. She felt it immediately when the kisses became rougher and she smiled at the feel of the ridges forming against her forehead. Now it was alright. Now she could look at him. She pulled back and smiled into the face of a fledgling male vampire. She grinned and he growled, pulling her hair to the side, exposing her throat to him. She stretched her neck out a little bit more and waited for the fangs to pierce her virgin flesh. Waited for her life to end. Hell, maybe she’d even be turned. She didn’t care one way or the other. As long as she was ready for it. And she was. Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer, former loving sister, former devoted friend, was ready to die.



Buffy had been prepared for the sharp stab of fire that came when the fledgling bit her. But nothing could have prepared her for the immense pain she felt when the fangs were ripped away from her flesh when the vamp went flying off of her. She screamed and clutched her hand to the wound but it was too late. There was too much blood and the pressure wasn’t slowing it down. The sound of fighting was the last thing she heard before she couldn’t hear anything at all. She was too weak to hear.

She had known she was going to die, but she had wanted to fade away, not feel like her throat was ripped open, her life bleeding out onto the concrete below. There was just too much blood. Buffy was going to die. She sank to the ground, too weak to hold herself upright. Everything was blurry and the lights of the alley began to dim. She was fading, after all. Just before she was smothered in darkness, a flash of platinum caught her closing eyes.


“Buffy!”

No sooner had the dust settled then the warrior with a platinum halo was at the vanishing blonde’s side. Her heart was still beating, he could feel it in his bones. What was making him sick however were the endless moments he could swear he lost her before the next heartbeat rattled him out of his panicked state. Blood was everywhere. A scattered line of crimson led from the Slayer’s feet to the pile of dust left of her want-to-be killer. There was too much. He couldn’t understand it all. How so much blood could come from such a small girl. Sure, he’d had his fair share of kills, but none had bled like her. Not even those other Slayers, the ones he did himself. Not the ones he was currently kneeling by with tears streaming down his face. Not the ones that made his voice wet and his hands shake. They were already dead and not coming back.

Buffy, however, would die.

“No, Buffy,” the vampire spilled from his lips, “no, no… not now. I found you, Buffy, I found you.,” he continued to sniffle and ignore the tears now pooling in his mouth. He didn’t even think to swallow. All he could think of was her. “Don’t leave, I’m so sorry,” He was sorry he didn’t get there sooner. Sorry he didn’t start the search sooner. William the Bloody was shedding tears for the Slayer. Those tears mixing with blood from cuts from the fight with the fledgling. Only a fledgling. And he cried harder.


“Leave her be, she knows what she’s doing, Spike. She’ll come back. She always does,” they had all said. That was three months ago. He’d spent too long waiting for her to come back. And now she would be gone, forever out of reach.

“Buffy….” he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her nearly dead body. He was sobbing openly now, screams and groans being ripped from within him, all to be swallowed into the silence around the two supernatural beings.

He didn’t even feel the lips on his shoulder. Didn’t feel her tonguing around one of his wounds. Didn’t feel it when his cold blood was mixed with saliva. Hers.

But he felt the pull on his skin. He felt the blood from a single laceration being drawn out and disappearing inside the mouth now hungrily latched onto his shoulder.

He also felt his heart drop. She would live. Sort of.

He knew he should stop her. Knew it was wrong. But she was already changing, stopping her now would only make her a weak-minded fledgling, no better than the one she let…. do that to her. No. He would let her drink. One pull, stronger than the rest, forced a small groan from the back of his throat. She was drinking from him. Making his borrowed blood her own. He had never felt so right. The Slayer twisted her head and made his cut deeper, bringing more of her sustenance to the surface. He growled at the pain. Then he threw his head back in pure pleasure, moaning out his praise to the girl in his arms.


Minutes had gone by, though the Powers That Be know he wished it had been hours. The pale beauty in his arms went limp. Stopped moving. Inside and out. His girl, his Buffy, was undead. There was only a few hours left before sunlight and he had to get her somewhere. Holding her with one arm behind her head and the other behind her knees, he carried her to the closest place he could find. It was a seedy little place, he decided as the door to the Brightside Motel shut behind him.


A husky man, balding with the onset of middle age, was leaning against the counter reading something that Spike could only guess was trashy, what with the stench the guy emitted even from the door. Spike cleared his throat a little to get the guy’s attention. No point in killing him and making a scene. Too many people in the building. He never had been one for noise. Not since he’d been to hell and back to get his chip out, that is.

The man glanced over his shoulder and casually eyed the girl in the punk guy’s arms. “Miss Summers have too much to drink again?” the balding man snickered, “Good of you to bring her home so… safe,” the man eyed Spike with something akin to envy. Spike could only stare, startled.

He knew her? He swallowed and put on his best “I got me a prize” look and lowered his gaze at Mr. Nearly Bald. “Aren’t I a lucky one. Room number, yeah?” Spike stuck his tongue behind his teeth to further his act, or not. He couldn’t help but think of the girl. His girl, his Slayer She was in his arm, and when she woke up she would know he was her Sire. Her blood. He wasn’t sure if she’d have a soul or not, but just the thought of her lips on his skin, drinking him in, was enough to really make him want that room.

“Seventeen. Second Floor,” the man eyed Buffy’s inert form with a perverted little look before pointing to the stairs.

Spike nodded the man his thanks and marched up the stairs. The place was truly worse than it seemed from the lobby. The stairs even had holes in them. And they were cement. A drain in the middle of the hallway was growing mold, or a second drain. Spike couldn’t quite tell. When door (if he would even give it the liberty to call it a door) number seventeen was directly in front of him at the end of the hall, he adjusted Buffy in his arms a bit before trying the door knob. Locked. With little effort on his part, Spike kicked open the door and hauled forward.

He stopped right in the threshhold and smiled down at her when he felt her shift a bit in his arms, still unconcious. He ran a thumb over her lips and saw her eyes move behind her eyelids again. He carried the dead girl through the door, kicking it shut behind him.

A bed with sickly pink sheets and wrinkled clothes strewn about it lay in the middle of the room. He swiftly made his way to the bed and lay her on it with all the care his warrior’s hands could muster. He smiled a little to himself when he went to go put something over the window and saw it was already covered. She was a smart little girl.

He lay down next to her still form. Her heart wasn’t beating, her chest wasn’t rising and falling. She let out a breathy moan and rolled her head towards Spike. Her eyes flickered a little under the lids and her brow creased in her sleep. Spike was watched her for a moment and leaned in to kiss her eyelids. His eyes drifted shut at the feel of her skin on his lips. When he pulled back he let out a deep, contented sigh before opening his eyes. What met him was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. A pair of yellow eyes, softer yet sharper than any he’d known before, shone out him, settled directly beneath the most stunning vampiric visage he’d ever seen.

“Buffy…” he breathed. His girl was awake. His darling, deadly girl. He could smell her hunger. It was stronger than the scent of fear, of arousal. She was undernourished. She needed to feed. “Baby,” Spike whispered to her and raised his hand to cup her cheek. His eyes were glossy with tears when she leaned into his touch. Her eyes were wild and vulnerable. She needed her Sire.

Faster than the eye could see, Spike had moved his hand from Buffy’s cheek to the back of her head and thrust her towards his jugular in blatant invitation. It was as smooth as water, her immediate acceptance of the life her Sire was offering. Her fangs slipped into his skin like butter and he cried out in pleasure/pain and gripped the back of her head tighter, fisting his hand in her hair and bringing his other hand to pull her tighter against him.

Every pull of his blood gave Buffy strength and brought her slowly but surely back from the bloodlust to reality. Soon she could feel him flowing through her veins, forever blue. When she could feel the Master Vampire beginning to weaken she relaxed her hold on his throat and slipped her canines out. She looked into the eyes of a now demonic William the Bloody. One word slipped from her lips before she pounced.

“Beautiful…”

He couldn’t take it, smelling and feeling his blood becoming hers again. He couldn’t hide his demon from her. More importantly, he didn’t have to. He didn’t smell a soul anywhere near the girl. He let his true face come to the forefront and heard the first word of Buffy’s undead unlife. “Beautiful,” then he was pressed into the mattress with his very awake Childe straddling his chest like he was hers. And he was.

She stared into his yellow eyes before throwing her head back and laughing. She laughed into the neigh empty room. She laughed until her stomach hurt and she had to lean forward and hold it. She laughed until tears fell from her eyes and landed on a very confused looking Spike. Had she finally lost it? He wondered. Was it all a big joke and now she would stake him? As quickly as she had started laughing, she stopped. Her face suddenly completely serious. She cupped the still-confused male vampire’s face in her hands and leaned down to brush her lips gently against his. “Thank you, Spike,” she almost breathed.
After a few moments of numb lust, Spike regained his senses and put his hands on the shoulders of his Childe, still straddling him. His senses included smell, and whoa, could he smell. He could smell the former Slayer’s arousal like a smack in the face. She was so perfect. And she had kissed him. Out of gratitude at that! And he had been afraid she would stake him. She fit on his body like a lock would to a key. He could feel the moon leaking from her fingertips, flowing into his skin and through his body. Why did he stop her? Oh, right. He needed to talk to her, tell her why she wasn’t human. As if she even cared. Right now her eyes were flashing between hazel and gold as she ground herself against his abdomen, eyes locked on his.

Sod it, he thought, before moving his hands from her shoulders to her hips and pulling her down hard against his body while thrusting up with considerable force. He wrenched her head down to his lips and kissed her hard enough to bruise the Slayer. But not this girl, this perfect fusion between Slayer and Vampire. She just pushed back and tore at his bottom lip with her now elongated teeth, spilling blood from between her lips and down her neck, wetting the bed sheets with red. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and began frantically tearing open Spike’s shirt. His eyes quickly darkened at the sight of his own blood covering his girl’s flawless skin and his arousal grew tenfold. He needed to be inside of her. She needed him inside of her. Ever fiber of her being was screaming in unison. Sire.

Spike regained enough clarity to help Buffy out of her sad excuse for a shirt. A sudden wave of possessiveness overcame him as he thought about anyone other than him seeing her in such a tiny scrap of cloth. With a jealous roar he flipped them over so he was on top of Buffy, not stopping the thrusting of his hips against hers. Like a snake he moved, latching onto his Childe’s neck and twisting his head to make the marks deeper, more permanent. Buffy returned in kind, sensing the jealousy pouring from her new lover’s skin. The feeling was overwhelming and both vampires retracted their fangs and cried out as they reached mutual bliss. Spike kissed and licked his marks before rolling onto his side and moaning out a “Thank you,” to Buffy. She smiled and began to purr in satisfaction, her eyes drifting shut. He followed suit and pulled her tight against his body, spooning her, before the sleep of the super-sated claimed them both.

TBC

A/N: so I’m not much for writing smut because, frankly my dear, I suck at it. So the point is, it’s bad, I know it’s bad, sorry for the lameness of it. Next chap will be up soon, that is if anyone wants me to continue this… thing…A/N: so it's a short chap and pretty fast-paced, but it's what came out when i wrote, so, there ya go. enjoy :)


A knock at the door woke Spike from his dreamless slumber. Who would be at the door this time of night? Maybe a friend of Buffy’s, a boyfriend maybe? Spike couldn’t suppress the feeling of jealousy that swept through him at the thought of her with another man. Ever.



He opened the door and was, to say the least, quite surprised at the sight before him. Three police officers. One in the doorway, the other two flanking, slightly behind him. All he could think of was they had made noise or something. But that wouldn’t take three officers would it?

“Excuse me, sir. Is this the room Buffy Summers is in?” he asked, already knowing the answer. At Spike’s perplexed look he continued, “Sir, we got a call earlier from a young girl claiming to have witnessed a kidnapping. Know anything about that?”

Shit. They were after Buffy. They wouldn’t get near her if Spike had anything to say about it. Not when she was this new, this vulnerable. She couldn’t handle distractions right now. Especially not the law. They would only mess things up. They always messed things up. He thought back to a mob in New York that had only found out about him because of the bloody Pigs.

“Kidnapping? Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, mate. You must have the wrong room, see. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be needing my rest now,” he went to shut the door in the face of the muscled officer, but a big, beefy hand stopped it in mid-swing and pushed his way into the room before Spike could even comprehend that the door was still open.

All three of them filed in and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. A young girl, maybe twenty years old, covered in blood and white as snow. She was laying in a pool of dried blood, naked as the day she was born. Instantly, the first cop had his gun pointed at Spike’s head. Of the other two, one ran out of the room, probably to alert the desk and get to a phone. The other one ran to Buffy, bending over the side of the bed and checking for a pulse. Finding none, he too quickly turned and, taking out his nightstick, began advancing on the unarmed man.

Spike just stood there. If he moved, he might get shot in the head. Sure he was fast, but even the slightest mistake would take away his ability to take care of the girl he loved. He couldn’t let that happen. He needed to wait for just the right moment, when Muscles lowered the gun or got distracted. He put up his hands in mock-surrender and turned his head to check on Buffy. She wasn’t there. He quickly caught sight of her and had to restrain his shout of alarm.

The cop with the nightstick had his arm in the air, ready to strike down the cold blooded killer standing before him. Before he’d even gotten his arm all the way poised, it snapped in half. He screamed and looked at his elbow, which was now bending grotesquely in the wrong direction. He went down, clutching his mangled arm before a foot stepped on his throat, crushing it nearly to the floorboards, killing him instantly. Muscles whipped the gun to Buffy and pulled the trigger without thinking, and he instinctively killed the thing that had hurt him. Or so he thought. He watched with morbid fascination as the bullet tore through the shoulder of the naked beauty and sprayed blood out the other side, coating the side of the bed in it even more. She cried out in pain and her hand flew to her shoulder, feeling the hole just above her heart. Spike was on the officer in a second, hands gripping his head, ready to twist his neck. He looked to Buffy first, needing to know she was alright. She was nowhere to be seen. He snapped the man’s neck and stood up, sniffing the air. Time to find his darling, deadly girl.

Buffy was angry and bleeding profusely. She knew she wouldn’t die, but damn, it hurt like a bitch. She vaguely remembered waking up to three heartbeats and noticed there were only two human corpses in the room. She flared her nostrils and switched to game face, taking everything in. There, downstairs, yelling. The third heartbeat, erratic, panicked. She smiled wickedly, ignoring the other heartbeat she heard echoing in her ears. She would take care of him later… maybe. She ran like the night through the hallway and down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and giggled at the terrified look the third copper had plastered all over his face. He absolutely reeked of fear. She loved it. He hadn’t even gotten to the phone yet, it had all happened so fast. He had been in the middle of dialing the station. Too bad he’d never finish.

Buffy moved slowly, like the magnificent predator she was, gracefully stalking nearer and nearer her prey. Said prey had pushed himself back against the counter, dread overcoming his features. She could still hear two heartbeats and knew Mr. Nearly Bald was still in the room. Her mind dismissed that thought as she got ready to attack the sniveling excuse for the peoples’ protector now cowering against a counter. Humans. So weak. She licked her lips and pounced, sinking her fangs directly into his frantically pulsing jugular. Blood shot into her mouth, coating her tongue. She could taste the man’s fear and drank deeper. She could feel him weaken against her, could hear his heart slowing down. She kept drinking. She kept on until the only sounds left were of her sucking against his throat, eager for the last drops from the dead body, and that other nagging heartbeat. Feeling the last drops of blood from the now empty body slide down her throat, she stood up and leapt onto the counter, staring down into the terrified eyes of one nearly bald hotel manager. She tilter her head and smiled, blood dripping from her fangs, before she made that pesky heartbeat of his stop.

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