Battle Stations

Written by: VicNoir






Summary: Buffy comes to terms with her feelings for Spike as they hunt for/run from a particularly nasty vamp from Spike's past. Spoilers: mid season 5-no spoilers to speak of.
Disclaimer:  The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of it's characters belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod.
Feedback: VVKS326@aol.com






~ Part 7 ~


Ten minutes later they were inside what had appeared at first to be just another corridor, but had turned out to be a sort of cave-like room, vast and dark and decorated by some previous occupant with the bones of many animals, demons, and not a few humans.

It had been nearly half an hour since they had heard anything from the gang that was hunting them. Buffy sat with her back to one wall, watching by the glow of Spike's eyes as he gathered up a small pile of rags and trash in order to build a fire. His movements were so sure and swift and she was mesmerized by him-couldn't drag her mind off of him, in fact, although she was supposed to be busy hatching a plan of attack. Instead, she sat there, watching him closely, wondering what she could do to convince him to stay once the immediate danger was past.

He threw a few small pieces of splintered wood on the pile and dug deep into his jeans for his trusty lighter. Damning the bad luck that had made him doff his duster before Butch had shown up-he badly wanted a cigarette, but they had been left behind-he knelt by the pile and held a flame to a bit of rubbish there.

**Not really the fault of bad luck you've not got your coat or your smokes, mate, is it? It's her fault-like most everythin' else wrong with this bleedin' picture.** He immediately felt guilty, almost disloyal, for having such a thought. **Shut your hole, you pillock, an' be grateful you're occupyin' the same space, even if it's only 'til sunrise.**

He felt her eyes on him and wondered what she was thinking. **Most likely rehearsin' her 'let-the-demon-down-gently speech' for when we finally get out of this bleedin' mess.** He had made a big noise with his earlier declaration that he wouldn't wait around for the honor of serving as her sex-toy, but he knew that it had been his pride talking. He would wait around for a good deal less than that, and he suspected that she knew it.

"Come here an' get warm now, Slayer."

She complied and he lowered himself to the floor next to her, not touching her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to him and spoke for the first time in several minutes.

"Don't you think it's time you told me about Butch?"

He was startled by the question. "Ahhh...don't know that I follow you, luv."

"Give it up already, Spike. It's SO not like you to be running from another vampire...and dragging me along behind you, like I can't defend myself."

"Well, pet..." He stopped. He had very much hoped he'd never have to go too deeply into this subject.

"What is it, Spike?" There was impatience verging on crankiness in her voice.

Moving closer to her, he slipped one arm about her shoulders and leaned in to nuzzle her, hoping that it would be enough to distract her. He was stopped by a sharp elbow to his ribs.

"Nope. Sorry. Story first, smoochies later."

He seriously doubted that she would be in any mood for smoochies after hearing what he had to say, but he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer.

"Well, it's like this: Butch is not such an ordinary vampire. He's got some extra mojo goin'...you know what a sorcerer is?"

"You mean with the pointy hat and the dancing brooms?"

"Somethin' like that...anyway, Butch was sorcerer before he was turned, among other things."

"What other things?"

Spike looked uncomfortable. "Hmmm...rapist, murderer, pedophile...an' when a bloke like that gets turned...with extra powers to boot-just little magicks, nothing spectacular, not in Willow's league, but still-"

"Bad news, huh?"

"In a word, yeah."

"Who turned him?"

"Don't know-he was never very forthcomin' with the personal information. I've a feelin' whoever it was regretted it."

She shifted beneath the weight of his arm and he dropped it from her shoulders.

"OK-so he's the extra Big Bad. I still don't get why we're running. I can take him-I KNOW we can take him together."

"Glad to hear you're so confident-I'm not." He paused, wondering how much he should say. "See, luv, there's not much that's evil that I haven't seen-or done, truth be told. But Butch-he's a special case. He disturbs me-always did."

She waited, knowing there was more.

"There was this one time, in Vienna, right 'round the end of the First World War. Came upon him lurin' a little lass into his dwellin.' Not to feed, mind you-Butch never fed off females. Said the stink of their blood made him want to puke-that's a quote. Anyway-she was just a whore, but so young, an' he...you're sure you want to hear this, Slayer?"

"Go on."

"He invited me in to watch the proceedins.' Next thing I knew, he was rubbin' some powders between his fingers and mutterin' some mumbo-jumbo-an' the girl was paralyzed. Wide awake, but couldn't move a muscle."

"He raped her?"

"Ummm...well, another thing about Butch...before he was turned, he did some time in prison for rape or somesuch wickedness-but in Morocco. Bad business, getting' caught out in a country like that, back then. They...they burnt the guilty parts right off him, balls an' all. Used acid, I think. Left him with a stub that wasn't good for much."

Buffy's skin had begun to crawl. A tale like this one-even when told in a warm, well-lighted place-might give anyone the creeps.

"A big one for misogyny, our Butch. Hated women an' little girls, even female animals. Blamed 'em for his disfigurement. Took out all his frustrations on 'em." He paused, knowing that she would want him to finish the story, but unable to put into words the revulsion he felt.

"Tell me, Spike."

"He hurt that girl. Like I've never seen. An' I was pretty young then, still gloryin' in the wicked an' the bad for their own sakes. But this was different. This was worse than Angelus at his very worst, an' that's sayin' somethin.'"

He heard her make a small sound of pain, and instantly regretted his words.

"Sorry, luv. But it's the truth." He swallowed hard before continuing. "He cut her all over. Cut bits of her clean off-the bits with the most nerve endings, you know? Then he took this big knife-big as my forearm-an' he used it to...well, he DID rape her, I guess, an' then he cut her from the inside out. An' she couldn't move...couldn't even scream. But her eyes...Buffy, her eyes..."

He fell silent. Buffy had drawn her knees up to chest in an unconscious gesture of self-preservation. She clutched her legs nervously, her eyes skimming the walls of the room beyond the reach of the firelight.

"Couldn't feed for three days after I saw that-made me sick just to think of it. Still does." He looked at her. "Now you know. An' since I've no idea what mischief Butch has been up to in the last few decades, I'd just as soon you avoided contact with him, pet. In this case, it's better to run, an' live to fight another day...with all your precious parts intact."

"But that's where you're wrong, Spike. I have to fight him, now that you've told me what he is. How can I let him live?"

"Mmmm...was afraid you'd think that way about it. An' I see your point, luv, I truly do. But we need help-we need Red an' the Watcher in on this to counteract the sorcerer mojo. Otherwise, we're walkin' blind into a bad kind of trap."

"OK. You're making sense. Or maybe I'm just really tired." She stretched out on the floor next to him and rested her head in his lap. "Is this all right?"

He smiled at her. She stared up into his eyes, fascinated by the depth of their color. Very gently, she reached up and traced the scar on his eyebrow with one fingertip. He felt it everywhere in body.

"It's shaped like a cross...funny, I never noticed that before."

"That's why it's still there...my first Slayer gave that to me. Took months to heal, because of the shape." He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers down the side of his face, past his jaw and down the strong column of his throat.

"Spike?"

"Mmmm?"

"I'm sleepy."

"Go to sleep, then."

"Are you sure?"

He opened his eyes and gazed down into her face. Her features had grown soft and drowsy.

"It's alright, pet. I'll keep watch-won't let anythin' wicked get at you."

"You're very, very nice."

"SHhhhhh...don't say such unkind things...just sleep now."

Her eyes fell shut and soon her breathing deepened. He continued to stare into her face as the minutes slipped past, all the while listening intently for any sound that might indicate the approach of danger.

The embers at their feet glowed red, and he gazed into them, thinking of the past two nights, wondering what was to become of them. The room, cavernous though it was, had grown smoky, and she coughed in her sleep, shifting against him. Then she began to stir restlessly, and he realized that she was dreaming.

In her dream, she was alone in the dark, with no steady hand to hold, and no glowing eyes to light her path. She was stumbling and falling and crying out to no one-and then, he was there. She felt a cool hand on her face, and strong fingers pressed into the strip of skin between her jacket and her jeans. She lifted her own hand to her face to capture him there, and brought his fingers to her lips. They smelled of smoke and old things; they smelled like him. She slid the tip of one into her mouth and softly chewed at it, tasted it with her tongue. She knew she was no longer dreaming when she heard the rumble in his chest and felt a vibration that traveled from deep within him. Opening her eyes, she found herself gazing into his, as slivers of gold encircled the blue irises.

Removing his fingertip from her mouth, he pulled her into a sitting position and cradled her against him. When he kissed her, she could feel the restrained passion in him. Their tongues met and everything in her body clenched tightly.

He felt her shudder in response to his kiss, and broke it suddenly.

"Luv, this is no good...you don't want this..."

She pulled back from him in surprise. "I don't? Are you a mind-reader now? 'Cause I gotta say, you suck at it..."

"But here? In a filthy cave? Surrounded by the decomposin' bones of who knows what-all..."

"What, not romantic enough for the evil vampire? You're starting to remind me-

"DON'T say it-"

"-of Angel."

His voice deepened into an outraged growl. "TAKE THAT BACK!"

Hooking her hands behind his head, she brought her face to within inches of his and hissed a challenge. "Make me."

She hit the ground hard, barely missing the remains of the fire. He was on her, tearing the jacket from her body, mauling her breasts with rough hands. She arched herself into him, throwing her head back against the stone floor, glorying in the beastly way he pawed at her. Not like Angel, not like Riley. Then he was kissing her mouth, nipping at her lips. She responded, sliding her tongue beneath his to find the softest, smoothest part of his mouth.

She felt him tense and give an involuntary thrust of his hips against her. Sliding her hands beneath his tee-shirt, she dragged her fingernails lightly down the expanse of his back, then again with more force.

She began to rub her tongue against the underside of his in a plunging, rhythmic mimicry of what she wanted, what she needed. She heard him growl again and felt him press his hips forward into her, grinding something hard against her. She thought back--had it only been two nights ago?-and remembered what it had looked like, red and raw and throbbing for her. She wanted to see that again.

Breaking the kiss, she wriggled beneath him, trying to get to his belt and buttons. He resisted.

"Take it back, Slayer."

"Mmmm...no. You'll have to work harder than that." His face was a study in determination as he bent his head to her breast.

Slow, soft circles. His tongue and lips brushed so lightly, she could barely feel them. Frustrated, she gripped the hair at the back of his head and forced his mouth down. She felt him suck the nipple between his teeth and bite gently, then harder. His other slid down, down, so slowly, and grabbed at the fleshy part of her inner thigh, squeezing it through the denim.

"Mmmmmore." She hadn't intended to say that out loud. His hand moved up a bit, searching, finding the damp spot at the crotch of her jeans. He pressed his fingers there and she bucked against them sharply, biting her lip at the same time.

He lifted his head and looked into her face. "Take it back."

"Nope. Won't do it. Try again."

Then her jeans were sliding off, past her knees, to get caught by her boots. She moved to kick them off, and he stopped her.

"Best not. We might need to leave in a hurry."

She nodded and fell back as his hands pressed he knees down and away, opening her wide.

His first cool touch on her bare skin set her trembling. She felt him lean over her and cried out sharply when he sunk his teeth gently into the flesh at the point where her hip and thigh connected.

Then his mouth was on her, his hands holding her down, his tongue stabbing into her. He licked upwards, catching her clit with the tip of it, and she pounded her head backwards into the stone.

He played there for what seemed to her like an eternity, finding a rhythm for a few seconds and then abandoning it when he felt her excitement begin to mount. She knew he was punishing her for comparing him to Angel. She knew he would force her to give in and withdraw the comparison.

He was using all his weight to hold her down. She wriggled helplessly, wanting to beg him, fighting the urge to plead.

Then she felt a pair of cool fingers pressing into her opening. She slapped a hand over her own mouth to keep from shouting as he slid them inside of her, curled them forward and began to tickle that spot, that new place he had found within her that she hadn't even known existed.

His mouth found her clit again and sucked it upward, lapping at it. Then he withdrew and she felt his fingers increase their pressure. The sensation made her weaken, made her limbs feel like jelly.

"What...oh, god...what is that...nobody ever..."

"Mmmm...didn't you take some human anatomy, luv...or don't they teach the important bits in the good ol' U S of A." He pressed harder, boring upwards with his fingertips and watched with satisfaction as her clit swelled a bit more, and her entire vulva flushed dark with blood. "Lot's of names for it, ducks. Some doc not too long ago named it after himself-called the G-spot-how's that for ego?"

"How...how do you know...?"

"I keep up with all the new developments...not that this is new...I've my own ideas about it, though. I believe that THIS..." -he punctuated his words with an extra firm stroke of his fingers, to which she responded with a stifled moan-"is really just the underside of THIS..."-he dropped his head and gave her clit a soft suck. "Just one lovely, sweet little apparatus installed by the creator to ensure the survival of the prey-I mean, the species." He dropped his head again, found a rhythm and kept it up until he felt her begin to tense beneath him.

"Please...ok? Please...so close..."

"Hhmmmmm...very nice, that. Hearin' you beg, I mean. But you haven't taken it back yet, that little comment about me an' my grandsire. Take it back, luv."

He folded the heel of his palm upward and pressed it against her vulva, rocking it back and forth ever so slightly. She tried to move against it, seeking more friction. It wasn't enough. He held her there, on the razor's edge. She struggled, not wanting to give in, dying to give in.

Finally: "I take it back. Not like Angel...nothing like Angel...never...never..."

He flashed a devilish smile that she couldn't see in the dark. "That's my girl." She felt his mouth close on her clit, sucking, and his fingers rubbing and probing, and then she was biting into her own arm to keep from screaming as her body convulsed. She climbed higher and higher still, farther than she'd ever been, and then she was sliding back down as he gentled his touch, and then all was blackness.

The next thing she was aware of was his hands as they slid her jeans back over her hips, lifting her to accomplish it. Had she fallen asleep or blacked out? Did it matter?

He crawled up to lie beside her, pulling her into his arms. He was trembling.

"Sorry...went bye-bye there for a minute."

"Yes, pet, you surely did. Thought I'd killed you." His eyes glowed yellow and she knew he was laughing at her.

Her hands felt heavy and clumsy as she fumbled at his belt-buckle. "Your turn to be the cupcake."

"Hmm?" He looked puzzled.

"Ants on a cupcake, remember? Can't you keep track of your own clever analogies?" The belt undone, she struggled with the buttons.

"Analogies? Ducks, you've been hittin' the books!"

"Shhhh...lie still." He obeyed, clasping his hands behind his head and settling into a comfortable position. "I'm gonna see if I can wake the zoo again."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I like it when you go all "Animal Planet" on me. Makes me feel..."

"Powerful?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Isn't much about you I don't know, luv."

She smiled as his cock finally sprung free from it's fabric prison. "We'll see about that."

What neither of them saw were the second pair of yellow eyes and the hot red tip of a cigar glowing in the blackness not fifteen feet away.
*~*~*~*~*~*



~ Part 8 ~


If his mind had been where it should have been-on their survival-he would have sensed Butch's presence before the little troll-like vampire had been within a hundred feet of them. But Buffy had lured him away from the business of staying alive by reminding him why life-or un-life-was so sweet to him in the first place.

Her hands and her mouth, so soft and warm, were on him. It wasn't the first time-it was the third, in fact-and yet each time he was surprised by his own response. Master vampires were models of self-control-had to be. One didn't stay undead for very long without the ability to control oneself. But the moment Buffy touched him in that intimate way, he lost all sense of mastery. He regressed from a highly evolved supernatural being into an animal in the blink of an eye-and that animal was the human in him. She made him feel human and, unlike Angelus, he loved her for it.

She progressed quickly from gentle, affectionate nuzzling to aggressive sucking and stroking, with no patience for teasing this time. She wanted to hear him sing out his pleasure; she wanted to know that surge of power again. He didn't disappoint her.

In under a minute he was grasping at her hair, his body taut and hips rocking in a steady rhythm as she ravaged him with long, firm strokes of her mouth and hands. When he came, it was with a crash and a roar that echoed through the cavern and out into the passages beyond.

His body still twitching and writhing with sensation, he pulled her up against him, his game face slipping forward and back in a way that nearly mirrored the throbbing in his cock. He struggled to settle himself, wanting to speak, needing to tell her what was in his heart.

If it hadn't been for the pounding in his ears, he might have heard the mumbled incantation. If it hadn't been for his eyes filled with Buffy, he might have seen the arc that a stubby cigar made as it was flung away, or the small puff of powder that came from the same direction.

He felt her relax against him, and he believed her to be resting. He shifted her against himself, looking for a more comfortable position on the stone floor, and she fell limp. He wondered briefly at her ability to fall asleep so suddenly and completely and then--

And then his distracted senses finally picked up the scent that had been drowned out by bliss of her touch. A feeling of cold dread gripped at his throat.

Snatching his trousers up over his nakedness, he let her roll away from him and jumped to his feet. Revulsion at the idea that they'd had such a malevolent audience battled with anger at the violation he felt on her behalf.

Out from the deepest shadows and into the low glow of the dying embers stepped Butch. Spike pulled himself up to his full height, which towered over the repulsive little demon, and buckled his belt with slow determination.

"Butch. Enjoy the show?"

"Can't say that I did, Spike. I'm sorry to see that the rumors are true...you've gone soft, ol' boy."

"Don't make a mistake, Butch. This chip keeps me from my appointed rounds...but it won't protect the likes of you. Where went all your mates?"

"Sent 'em topside for a good feed. Won't be needin' 'em."

"You think not?" Sparing a single glance for Buffy, Spike noted that her eyes remained half-opened, if somewhat unfocused. "You'll be wanting to undo whatever hocus-pocus you've put on the girl before I start tearin' your limbs off-"

"Stop right there. Take another step, I snaps me fingers. I snaps me fingers, all the involuntary-type muscular responses in the little chit's body cease-she quits breathin', 'er blood quits pumpin'-you get the idea?"

Spike froze where he stood. "You know who she is? She's the Slayer, you fool. You think you can harm her with your ratty bag of tricks?"

"You used to be a bettin' man, Spike. Wanna wager I can 'arm 'er-kill 'er if I want?" Butch smiled his satisfaction at the fear that flickered in Spike's eyes. "Didn't think so. Not after what I just saw. 'Ow long you been puttin' it to 'er, ol' boy? You stink of 'er, you know. 'Nuff to turn me stomach. Does your grandsire know what you're about?"

Ignoring the question, Spike's mind raced to come up with a way out.

"It's truly a shame to see what you've come to-you 'ad such potential when I knew you last. Now 'ere you are, dallyin' with 'umans-an a female, no less. Almost not worth me time to take you out-almost." Butch gave a cackling little laugh and rocked back on his heels.

"Your business is with me, then. Step up, Butch. Let's see what you've got." Dropping into his fighting stance, Spike circled away from Buffy's limp body, hoping to lure the demon into a dance.

"Don't think so, ol' boy. Never was one for 'and-to-'and combat. I prefer the subtler methods-as you should well remember." From the pocket of his raggedy vest, he withdrew a worn leather case, slightly larger than sewing kit. Spike recognized it immediately.

"Here, now! Put those bleedin' tools of yours away! Do you think I'll let you-"

"What are your choices, Spike? You can let me kill 'er, or you can let me 'urt 'er. I, of course, would prefer the 'urt, but I'll take the kill. Remember, you pillock, it only needs a snap of me magical digits, an' it's over for the slut-but in the end, she might thank you for lettin' it be quick." He fingered the leather case. "Pity I don't 'ave me good blade-you recall that one, don't you Spike?-the big sharp blade-"

"To make up for your tiny, dull dick?" Spike thought that a bit of verbal parry might distract the monster from his mission.

"Shut your soddin' 'ole, you bugger...wasn't me lying on the floor with me head between the wench's knees...disgustin', I calls it. At least when I 'ad a proper tool to use, I used it properly-didn't sully myself with all the 'slurp-slurp' an' 'give-the-cow-a-thrill' buggardly business this new generation is up to-debasin' an' degradin' an' for what? Could always find me another bitch when one wore out-not like anythin' female was worth the grit under me fingernails when I was through with 'em." He was off and running on his favorite subject and Spike was relieved to learn that Butch hadn't changed much.

"That so, Butch? An' how's that workin' out for you? Last time I saw you, you were lightin' kittens on fire just to watch 'em burn."

"Ah, Spike, you know what they say: evil is as evil does." Butch gave another cackle.

Spike let out a fake laugh in return, all the while aware that Buffy-strong, amazing Buffy-was fighting the spell that held her down and limp against the floor. From the corner of his eye, his saw her fingers scratch against the stone. **Now, if I can just keep the bleedin' ponce talkin'...**

"Tell me, Butch, what've you been up to? Still have plans to take over where the Master left off?"

"That's why I'm in town, ol' man. But enough about me-let's chat about you an' 'ow you're gonna 'elp me rise to me rightful position-if you know what's good for you." He had removed a small, sinister looking pair of tweezers from his pouch. The tips had been filed to a pin-point, and the edges sharpened razor-fine. He ran them between his stained and nubby fingers, and then tested them against his own tongue, sucking on them thoughtfully as blood spilled over his lips.

"I'd certainly be willin' to assist an old friend in any way I could, Butch-providin' there was proper compensation." At the sight of the tweezers, Spike's eyes had glowed yellow. The last time he recalled seeing them, they were being used to...**No, don't think of that now, you idiot, you'll only do somethin' stupid...**But he couldn't tear his mind away from the image of the girl on the floor in the house in Vienna all those years ago, and the agony in her eyes. His demon fought to break free-he wanted nothing more then to tear Butch's head clean from his body before he could make a move towards Buffy. He held himself in check, barely.

Butch was busy removing other small tools from his case and lining them up on the floor in some very specific order, fussing over them, caressing them with his gnarled fingers. Chancing another look at Buffy, Spike saw that she had stilled, but her eyes were wide open and staring straight at him. He thought he understood her message-he prayed he wasn't mistaken.

"What do you say to a change of locales, Butch? I left my smokes behind-we could continue this fascinatin' discussion in the comfort of my lair-I've most of a bottle of bourbon-" As he chattered, he circled around, placing Butch between himself and the immobile Slayer.

"What's your rush, ol' boy? I'm preparin' to make with the artistry 'ere-watch carefully, now, you'll like this...I've refined me technique." He rose from a crouching posture and turned to stand over Buffy, straddling her body with his stumpy legs. Her noticed that her eyes were closed.

"Oi! Slut! Wake up! Neither of us will enjoy this if you sleep through-"

Her eyes snapped open at the same time her torso shot into the air, her head making solid contact with Butch's midsection. He folded in two with a harsh grunt, and then Spike was on him.

She watched as Spike ripped into the smaller vampire, but was still too weak to assist. He began by crushing both of Butch's hands beneath his boot heels, thereby removing any lingering threat to her safety. Then he proceeded to inflict as much pain as possible upon the little demon, appearing in his rage and frenzy to enjoy Butch's screams.

When each and every instrument of torture from Butch's case had been systematically imbedded somewhere in the demon's hide-and several given a sharp twist for good measure-Spike turned from his victim. Snatching up a half-burned piece of wood from the dying fire, he offered it to Buffy. "Care to do the final honors, Slayer?" She shrank from him, shaking her head. He shrugged and strolled almost casually over to the bloodied lump.

Butch stared up at him. From within his shattered, pulpy mouth came a last cackle. "You think you're better than me...look at yourself. An' see the way SHE'S lookin' at you." Spike gave a glance over his shoulder, and caught the expression of revulsion on Buffy's face. With a howl of fury, he turned on Butch and finished him with a stab to the heart. Silence dropped like a stifling quilt around them.

After a few moments, he turned back to her, his demon visage sliding away. He found that he couldn't meet her eyes.

"Can you walk, Slayer?"

"I think so." She scrambled to her feet, refusing his offer of help. She noticed that the quality of light around them had begun to change. Looking out into the passageway, she could see a shaft of clean sunshine had dropped down from above.

"It's morning. I...I should go. My mom..."

He looked at her, wondering what was in her thoughts.

"Right, then." Following her into the corridor, he avoided the shaft of light that spilled there. She stood directly under it, staring up. The golden beam lit up her hair and face, making her appear angelic, as grimy as she was. He watched from the shadows.

"Maybe you could give me a...a boost or something? I'm still feeling kinda..."

He said nothing, just stepped forward to the very edge of the pool of light. Clasping his hands, he motioned for her to place her boot there.

"Count of three...one, two, up-you-go." He felt his skin sizzle slightly as the light made direct contact for a moment, and he stepped back into the shadows.

She grabbed for purchase on the rough walls, and then was pulling herself through the opening in the roof of the catacomb. When she was safely through, she looked down again. "You were right, Spike, we are underneath the power..."

But he was gone.

She gazed down into the shadows for a long time. Finally, she turned and stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes. Still feeling weak and unsure of herself, she began the long walk homeward.



*~*~*~*~*~*



~ Part 9 ~


She made it as far as the 7-Eleven on the north edge of town before exhaustion forced her to call Giles for a lift.

"Are you sure we shouldn't take you straight-away to a doctor, Buffy? After all, we have no idea what the side-effects of such a spell might be."

"I'm fine, Giles. A little wobbly in the knee area and my fingers are still all tingly, but other than that..." She shrugged and stared out the car window at early-morning Sunnydale.

"How did you manage to get yourself cornered by this creature in the first place?"

"Oh, well, I was in Spike's crypt...that is, I was talking to Spike about...anyway, Butch and his buddies kind of took us by surprise and we had to make a run for it-did you know there are catacombs under Sunnydale? And how come you never told me about the Hellmouth in Paris?"

Giles sighed as he turned the car onto Revello. "Perhaps if you paid more attention, Buffy... or took notes..."

"Right. Well, anyway, we were running through all these tunnels, and then we found a place to rest and I-I guess I let my guard down, 'cause the next thing I knew...quadriplegic-girl."

"And you say Spike was able to overpower this Butch fellow?"

"Well, it's not like I didn't help...I used that thing from the training-the sound of one hand clapping thingy-"

"The Zen technique?"

"Yeah, I guess. I was just lying there, listening to them talk, and then I made my mind go empty like we practiced-and the next thing I knew, I could move again. Not really well, but enough to surprise him-and then Spike..." Her voiced trailed off as she tried not to think about what Spike had done.

"Well, I suppose we owe him a debt of gratitude for that...but why did he let you try to walk back home alone? Very inconsiderate."

"But it was morning, the sun was up. And anyway, I'm OK."

"Right then. Here we are." Giles looked up at her as she slid out of the car, still moving very slowly. "I suggest you skip classes today. Get some sleep. I'll call you tonight, yes?"

"OK. Thanks, Giles." She watched him pull out and drive away up the street.

*******

Sleep was of the good. By the time she awakened it was after sundown and she felt renewed in body, if not in spirit.

The crypt was empty when she arrived. His duster was missing, but the duffel bag was lying on the center of the tomb, still filled with his belongings. She wondered if she should go look for him, or settle in to wait.

Then he was standing in the doorway, holding a package covered in brown paper and staring at her.

"Slayer. How're you feelin'?"

"OK. You?"

He didn't answer. Stepping around her, he set the package on the tomb and shouldered the duffel bag.

"You...you're leaving?"

He lifted his chin and looked past her, at some distant point over her head. "It's been a good ride, Slayer. Entertainin' an all. You'll bid farewell to the Slayerettes for me?" His wry grin didn't quite make it all the way to his eyes.

"I don't want you to go."

He sighed and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "Let's not do this again, pet. Just gets us into trouble. Let's just say goodbye with a little grace an' dignity an'..." He was amazed to see her eyes fill with tears. "Buffy..."

And then she was in his arms, her nose smashed up against the soft black leather, fighting back sobs. "Don't go. Stay. You can't..."

He dropped the duffel and pried her body from his chest. "Slayer, I have to. This-whatever-that's between us is no good. Not for me, an' certainly not for you."

She stamped her foot like a petulant child. "I'LL decide what's good for me...and what do you mean, I'm not good for you? I'm VERY good for you, you...you...ugly, stupid, misshapen..."

"I get the general drift of your thoughts, luv, but it doesn't change anythin.' What happened last night-an' your reaction to it-will just keep happenin.' I can be a good boy an' keep my fangs to myself -not much choice in the matter-but I'll never be the fairy-tale prince you think you need. An' I won't torture myself or you by continuin' to try."

"But..." She stopped. Damn him and his way of cutting straight to the truth. "But...you promised me a proper shag!" It was out of her mouth before she had time to bite it in half and kill it dead.

She felt the muscles in his arms grow tense and then he was pushing her away from him.

"So THAT'S what this is about, then? Well, cutie, you hardly needed to go all soft an' tearful just for THAT." He stripped off his duster and reached into the pocket for his lighter. "Tell me, what sort of thing did you have in mind?" He took a seat on the edge of the tomb, lit a cigarette, and looked at her speculatively.

"I...what do you mean?"

"Oh, there's all varieties of shags, luv. There's the pity shag, the boredom shag," he counted them off on his fingers. "The apology shag, the hungry shag, the angry shag-that's a personal favorite-the farewell shag. You get my meanin'?"

"Stop it. Stop making fun of me."

"Stop it. Stop making fun of me." He mimicked her whine perfectly.

"I hate you!"

"Yes, there's the I-hate-you shag, but that usually comes after the-" He broke off his words when he saw tears fill her eyes again. "All right, pet. I'm sorry. Look, I brought you a gift-to remember me by." Sliding off the tomb, he stepped forward and handed her the package.

She unwrapped it warily. Under the brown paper there was rectangular box covered in black velvet. Too heavy to be jewelry. She looked up at him with a question on her face. He motioned for her to open it. She did.

Lying inside the box was a very large, very shiny, very silver vibrator.

Rage obliterated every other emotion in her mind and body. She launched herself at him, kicking and punching wildly.

He'd meant for a joke-mostly. But there was a small part of him-a part that he had resolutely ignored while choosing and purchasing the offending item-that had wanted to hurt her, humiliate her, the way he had been humiliated. And of course he'd wanted her to use the gift-and think of him.

He hadn't expected this much fury. Dodging and ducking about the crypt, he stayed low and out of the way, hoping she'd tire before she landed anything beyond a grazing blow.

But as the frenzy of her anger wore down, her swings and kicks became more accurate. He took a blow to the head and another to the gut. Then another. Then he grabbed her leg as she launched yet another roundhouse kick and threw her down onto the tomb.

The chip in his head made a warning chirp. The small shock of pain caused his eye to twitch.

He held her down, staring into her furious eyes. She was panting hard. He had her by the hips and his fingers bit into the flesh beneath her clothes. She licked her lips.

"Right then. Angry it is." He fell on her, devouring her mouth, his hands ripping at her shirt. She struggled beneath him, scratching at his flesh, biting his mouth. She wasn't sure if she was fighting him off or attempting to provoke him to more aggression. Then it didn't matter, because there was no longer enough blood left in her brain to consider it, as it was flowing through her veins straight down into the center of her.

Her shirt was in shreds and his mouth was on her breast, sucking hard. She cried out once and he lifted his head to look at her. She half-expected to encounter his demon, but the expression of lust on his human face was disturbing enough. Then his slapped his hand down hard over her mouth and pushed her back onto the stony surface of the tomb.

She continued to struggle, searching for a way out from under him, but with increasingly less conviction. His hand slid off of her face and began ripping at the button on her pants. His mouth moved from one breast to the other, biting harder, rubbing the surface of his tongue with building intensity over her nipples.

She groaned and he growled, and then his eyes flashed yellow and she sensed the demon in him approaching. It re-invigorated her will to fight, and she landed a hard punch to the side of his head.

He yowled in anger and tore her pants from the waist-band straight down the center, stripping her naked to the ankles in one movement. She kicked at him blindly as he pulled off her boots. He stepped back and grabbed her legs, trying to roll her. She fought harder, her heart in her throat, the dark room spinning before her eyes.

Finally succeeding in flipping her over, he shoved her fully onto the tomb. He placed a rough hand on her neck, forcing her head down. At the same time, his arm around her waist pulled the lower half of her body upward, so that she was resting on her knees with her ass in the air. She steeled herself, breathing hard, waiting.

She felt him climb on to the tomb behind her and heard the whisper of fabric as he dropped his jeans from his hips. Then he was leaning over her, the cool skin of his thighs in contact with hers. She felt his tee-shirt against her back, and then his mouth fixed itself on a spot below her shoulder blade and began to nibble and bite at the flesh there.

She felt his hand on her abdomen, pinching her roughly, and she squirmed in protest. Then his fingers were buried in the hair that covered her vulva and he was searching. He found his target, squeezing her clit firmly between his thumb and forefinger and then twisting it back and forth slowly.

She whipped her head back and let out a shriek. He pulled his hand away, and she felt something hard and velvety stroke her outer lips.

"NO!"

He froze, cock in hand, poised to enter her.

"No, Slayer?" His voice was a grinding growl.

"No...yes...I mean-"

"Well, what it is then-no or yes?"

There was a long moment of silence. She could feel the insistent head throbbing at her opening.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

She knew what he wanted to hear. A battle raged inside her-all her pride at war with how much she wanted him at that moment. Finally: "Yes-fuck me."

He gave out with a long, low sigh as he pushed himself into her in one smooth motion. Once inside, he held still, allowing her to adjust around him.

There were bells, whistles and birdsong in her head. A strange thought occurred to her: if Drusilla hadn't been a lunatic when she met him, she certainly would have been driven blissfully mad by fucking him for a hundred-plus years.

He began thrusting, gripping her by the hips, and increasing the pace and force gradually. A rumble began deep in his gut. He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated on holding back his demon and his orgasm, in that order.

She scrabbled her fingernails along the stone cover of the tomb, trying to brace herself against his thrusts. A ball of heat and tension began to form around the place where their bodies connected.

He felt the tautness of her muscles under him and the swollen slickness of her walls around him and wondered if he would ever be himself again after this experience. He wanted to howl her name-he wanted to break down and sob that he loved her.

Suddenly, her upper body shot up, forcing him out of her. He lost his balance and toppled over backward, off the tomb and onto the floor. She was on him in a moment, yanking his jeans down past his knees and sliding his cock back into her and squeezing it there tightly.

She bent over him, placing her hands on either side of his head, and watched the flickers of gold play in his eyes. She began rocking back and forth gently, and then with more force. His face contorted with pleasure and his fingers found her clit again, pinching and rolling it, driving her closer to the edge of release.

Then, in an action that was an unintentional duplicate of a move she'd made not long ago beneath the tree in front of her house, she leaned in and took his full lower lip between her teeth for a hard bite and a firm lick.

It broke his control, and she was treated to a close-up of his demon side. She half-expected to see smoke and flames shoot from his nostrils. Instead, she was suddenly on her back and he was pounding into her and raking his fangs down the skin on her arms.

She gloried in the sensation of surrender. She felt the tension building, felt herself slipping toward the edge. She looked up into to his hot gold eyes and whispered, "Do it. Drink me."

He let out a strangled cry that was like nothing she'd ever heard of, and fell on her neck. When his fangs pierced her there, she matched his cry, and slammed her hips up to meet his with a violence that would have seriously damaged another couple.

A passing stranger, unfamiliar with the rites of love on a Hellmouth, might have assumed that two wild beasts had wandered into the crypt and were dueling to the death. Perhaps a wolf and mountain lion, or something even more dangerous. The sounds they made as their bodies shook and convulsed were unearthly, but sweet to their own ears.

They rode it out, wrenching the last bittersweet spasms from each other, and then collapsed together, still entangled. She cradled his head against her chest as he licked away the small streams of blood that flowed there. Her breath was ragged, and her body continued to twitch and throb as his hands roamed over her.

After several long moments, they lay still. He could hear her heart slow from a thundering gallop to a contented trot. His dragged his fingers softly up and down the length of her torso and was pleased when she shuddered, still not sated.

"So..." Her voice came out about an octave too high. She cleared her throat and tried again. "That was...it was..."

"That, cutie, was an angry shag."

"I can see why it's your favorite."

"Mmm...one of my favorites." He was kissing her neck where his fangs had been, and his voice was muffled.

"Spike?"

"Hhmmm?"

"Isn't this the part of the story where you declare your love for me and pledge your black heart to me forever?"

He let out a snort. "When did this turn into a bleedin' Barbara Cartland novel?"

"Good." She settled more firmly into his arms. "I was afraid-"

"What, luv?" He pulled back to look at her. "What were you afraid of?"

She sighed. She wanted to make him understand, but wasn't sure how to go about it. "I don't want things to change...between us...I mean, I know eventually they'll have to change...but for right now-"

"S'all right, pet. When it comes to the finer emotions, we'll just pretend we're the U.S. military-don't ask, don't tell."

"You're sure? And you won't leave?"

He was silent for a moment. Then: "I believe I can be persuaded to hang about a bit longer." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Persuaded? What does THAT mean?"

He lifted his head and looked about the floor of the crypt, searching for something. "Where's your present, pet? I'll show you what I mean."

He reached for the black velvet box. She squealed and struggled out from under him as the sound of a low buzzing filled the crypt.

Fifteen minutes later, a couple strolling past the gates of the cemetery heard a female voice raised in a warble of unmistakable pleasure. The sound was joined by a low snarl and then a louder roar.

"How come WE never do it in the cemetery anymore?" Anya's voice was accusing.

As she pulled him inside past the gates, her hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, Xander thought-not for the first time-- "Ah, the perverse joys of life on a Hellmouth."

******

Two evenings later found Spike taking up his customary station beneath the tree in front of Buffy's house. He'd had time to light his first smoke of the evening when she appeared before him, dressed for dancing at the Bronze.

"You know, for a vampire, you're very dependable."

"Wouldn't want to disappoint, luv."

"Well, you can just take the night off-I'm otherwise occupied." She said it with a flip of her shampoo-commercial hair and a hand on her hip.

"Yeah? Found a new boyfriend already, have you? Another cardboard cut-out, no doubt. You an' your bleedin' tragic taste in men-"

She shoved him back against the tree, and he felt something hard press into the spot over his heart.

"Don't push your luck, Bleach Boy. I'm not in the mood to listen to your stupid comments regarding my love-life tonight."

"Why don't you stake me then, Slayer? But I know you won't. You're all talk, you are."

They was a flash of silver in the half-light, and suddenly whatever was pressing into his chest began to vibrate.

"Oi! That tickles!" They grappled in the dark, and then he was kissing her. She allowed him to continue for several seconds and then ended the kiss by biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

"Bitch! I'll get you for that-"

"Yeah? You and what un-chipped army?" She danced in front of him, daring him to take a swing.

"Hmmm...there's more than one way to skin a Slayer-ever heard of the vengeance shag?" He waggled his eyebrows and made a grab for her.

She laughed and hopped just out of reach. "Have to catch me first!"

She raced down the street toward the cemetery, vibrator still clutched in her hand. He took a moment for a last drag on his cigarette, stubbed it out beneath his boot, and took off after her, the light of the moon glinting off his grin of anticipation.
 



THE END



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