School Hard Revised

Disclaimer:Dear Joss, since I have been such a good hard core fan, and have watched all of your shows, and even bought the products that have SPONSORED your shows, can I please have Spike? Just for one night. Seriously. I just want One. Good. Night. No? Oh well. (Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN, Sandollar, and Kuzui Enterprises own all.)

A/N: Read it. Feed me the reviews. Pretty please?

-------------------------------------------------------------


He steps out into the dingy light clapping, an amused expression on his sinister features. She turns and looks at him, confusion warring with fear and a hint of arousal on her round face. Her wide luminous eyes meet his strongly though, despite her unsure stance. Friends who have been lingering nearby move back into the thumping-loud club at her slight handmotion.

"...I kill you." he answers, accent dropping to a dangerous level. She juts her tiny chin out, and shouting at him as he turns away,

"Why wait until then? Come on. Kick my ass." He stops, turns, one scarred eyebrow arching questioningly over piercing eyes. She raises her small fists, dropping into fighting stance. A smile flits across lips, too gentle for such a sharp face, and he moves directly across from her, prepared to attack.

They stand.

Two creatures born of the nights breath and blood. One is cloaked in black leather, he is of the darkness, a demon clawing inside of his mind. The other is swathed in tight trendy clothing, born of the light, but destined for the black of night. Her grey eyes search his blue ones, both feeling a bit of a tremor at such a simple contact. Moments pass. The alley is silent.

"Are you going to attack me, or what, pet?" Her eyes turn from searching to annoyed.

"Hello? You were the one who was all 'I'm going to kill you.' I am wating for you to try, Mr. Eternally-Stuck-In-The-80's." He snorts, and stands straight, one long fingered hand sticking a cigarette between his lips, and lighting it.

"Yeah, well, you are the one who got all ready and rarin' to go. I'm just trying to please the lady. ' was waiting for you to do your job and try to stake me- me being a vampire and all."

She huffs, offended that he is being so casual. Brushing one lock of shining blond hair behind her ear and then pulling out a jagged wooden stake she moves towards him again.

"Okay fine. Let's go.....Spock, wasn't it?" His growl reaches her ears, and he lunges for her, simmering cigarette still sitting in his mouth. They they trade blows. Punch, block, kick, block, block, block, block. He slams her tiny powerful body into the brick wall, leaning his head close to hers, eyes boring into hers, body moving against hers. Hazel eyes grow wide, and she is no longer aware of the cold biting of he brick in her delicate shoulders, or of the fact that an enemy is closing in. No, it is HE who is closing in.

She gasps. His sarcastic smile fades. The cigarette falls to the ground. His fingers loosen their iron grip from around her wrists, and he lets his body weight relax slightly more against hers. The tiny body of the Slayer shivers, and the Vampire does the same.
Several long dragging second drag by. The vampire sighs and drops his head into the sweet-smelling crook of the Slayer's neck. She gasps again, expecting the bite, but knowing deep down that it will not come violently. She tenses. He sighs again.

"This isn't supposed to be happening." she whispers, but betraying her words by turning her rounded nose into his short peroxide curls and breathing deeply. He has let go of her wrists completely, by now, the pads of his fingertips resting quietly on her hips, gentle holding her waist. She pulls her tiny hands in towards her, one resting on his leather clad shoulder, the other on the nape of his neck, absently caressing his hair.

"I know." he whispers back, lips opening to gently suck on her skin. The stake does not move.

The fangs do not emerge.

"You are supposed to kill me." there are almost tears in her whisper.

"You are supposed to kill me." he rasps back.

"I...I don't think I want to..." she hesitates, both arms wrapping around his back, fingers playing carefully with slight leather creases.

"...and I..." he says. Then he bites. Razor sharp teeth sink into her smooth skin. A gasp escapes loudly from her glossy lips, and her eyes close. She wants this. But it is over before it has begun. He has no fed, he has claimed. He pulls back, yellow eyes staring at her closed lids. Ferociously he sets a kiss on her slack mouth, growling six words, and then fleeing into the night.

She opens her eyes, hands pressed behind her against the wall, holding her shivering frame up, remembering the words of the vampire.

"From now on, you are mine."


--- ---
Several Days Later...



Glass explodes. Bodies thrust into the school lounge, tearing apart everything in their wake. One man stands at their front, his gleaming hair tipping off exactly who he is. Her mouth drops open, and her eyes fill with recognition, fear, and annoying anticipation. Her mother's firm tug on her hand pulls her from her surprise, and the group of adults pulling her behind them go flying through the dark halls. Once they are secure in a small classroom, the limber girl drops back down into the silent hallway from the dusty ceiling. All is quiet. Her slayer sense is screaming at her, telling her of the presence of dozens of demons at each blind corner and exit. One stands out. It is the feeling of fire, of icy passion, of the raging sun, and the dead moon, of life, death, blood, and water. She turns towards the sillouette of the man giving her these feelings.

He stands at the end of the hallway, watching her move with caution and strength. She is the hero of the light, and he smiles grimly at the memory of her sweet, strong taste. The tiny female warrior turns and looks at him.

Their eyes meet again, emotion surging through the invisible bond and pull that they both feel.

"Spike." she breathes, not like a love-struck girl, but a woman who has been touched in a new and strange way. He moves towards her, his shoulders slightly slumped, his gait almost defeated. His strong jaw is clenched, the muscles quivering under his skin. Eyebrows low on those sky-blue eyes, black with shadows.

No more words.

Their lips meet as soon as they are close enough to each other. Her hands slide up the front of his chest, molding to the hard shirt-covered muscles she finds. His one hands envelopes her jaw and cheek, the other cups her neck where his bite left a snowy-white scar with a pinkish hue of healing. Tongues battle, explore, dance as their mouths drink from each other, savoring the taste of the forbidden but true. He pulls back so she can pull breath into her panting mouth. She gulps at the air, breathing in, and then breathing out, hot air exploding against his face. His hands hold her face now, peering down at her while she catches her breath. Her luminous eyes find his thoughtful ones.

"Spike" a loud servants voice interrupts. Spike's leather cloak shields the girl from 3 of his minion's views. Buffy's eyes widen with questions. He takes an unneeded breath and nods slightly to her, reassuring her.

"Is that the Slayer?" a vampiress asks, noticing a hand fisted in the black leather at her master's waist.

"Yeah. I got her." Spike's authoritatively cocky voice responds, as his cold hands slide down her face to her neck, and gently enclosing around it. He spins around, bringing her with him. The minions fall into a line behind him, and his prize. They move back to the warehouse. Their work here is done, for their lord and master has the Slayer in his grasp.

--

The metal ice of the manacles had barely closed around her shivering wrists when the warehouse erupts in thunderous shouts. A souled vampire, followed by a computer nerd, cheerleader, techno-pagan, funny guy, and librarian watcher come pouring into the soaring room, armed with wooden spears and effective blades.

The master, who has been watching his Slayer being restrained at a distance, looks up, quickly shouting commands to his minions, telling them to fight. His eyes cath hers, large with fear and desperate pleading. His powerful voice cracks, the masculine gravel of it rising, his accent getting thicker. He shouts a retract of his command. The vampires stop and stand still like confused pillars around the dark room. And insane brunette vampiress's wailing voice shrieks about her lover's new loyalties and how dolls had hinted that something like this just my happen. The child with the strength of many demons screams to attack again. The Warriors of the Light have never stopped their assault. Soon every confused demon pillar has become a shower of glittering dust, including the woman and child.

Blue is still on hazel. Tears threaten to fall on both faces. The towering and dark vampire moves straight to the bonded girl, running one large calloused hand down her face before tearing the metal clasps from her rosy skin. His brown eyes fil with a disbelieving light, fingertips playing on the feathery scar that now adorns a new side of her neck. He sniffs at it. The change is sudden and violent. His face ripples into an angel of hell, and he pulls his love away from the wall, swinging her away and then facing the broken Master vampire standing silently nearby. He rips the long trophy jacket from his body and slams him against the rough wall.

"You claimed her." he growls dangerously. Fast as lightening he has the smaller man chained in the same manacles that just held the girl. Angel's hand crushes the vampire's sinewy throat. "Stay here and starve to death, son of a bitch."

He retreats, eyes still blazing as he wraps a huge arm around the tiny blonde slayer, dwarfing her usually powerful stature. The other fighters file out behind them, casting disgusted looks at Spike.

His head falls back against the gritty concrete, mouth opening and closing in complete and utter despair. Tears begin to trace shining paths down his high bones and sunken cheeks, dripping from his narrow jaw to his dusty shirt. Slowly he collapses and hangs against the wall in a strange and heap by his wrists, which soon begin to bleed.

--

Her boots make a hollow sound which echoes through the deathly quiet warehouse. She shudders at its still coldness and pulls her long suede jacket closer to her body. The form of someone familiar is crumpled in front of her, stained with shadows and blood. She flies to his side, sliding on her knees until she is flush against his body, whispering his name urgently, pulling him up to his booted feet to take the weight off of his mangled wrists. Her arm wraps around his slender waist, the other soothingly caresses his face, neck, chest, and arms. Eyelids flutter open.

"Why?" he whispers weakly into her hair.

"Because." is all she can reply. "Can you stand on your own? I'm gonna try to pull off these cuffs." He nods, and leans against the cold surface of wall, wincing at the blinding pain that shoots up his outstretched arms.

A few gentle tugs and a harder one that makes him clench his jaw and eyes shut, and then she is done.

"I can't get them off." she says, tears leaking into her small voice.

"Hey, `s alright, love. I'm the one who's supposed to be crying, not you." he smiles faintly, wrapping one longjean-clad leg around her and pulling her body to his chest.

"Do I care so much about you because you claimed me?" she asks, putting her face in his shirt.

"Well, did you want to stake me before I bit you?" he leads her train of thought as he rests his head wearily on her soft hair.

"No." she says almost silently.

"There's your answer."

Buffy lets out a breath and pulls her head back to look in his emotional blue gems, studying him for a moment before opening her mouth and leaning into his.

The electricity of their mouths spreads through their bodies, and Spike beings to struggle with the manacles, despite the pain, trying to get his hands onto Buffy's body. She wriggles as close as she possibly can, one of his legs moves between hers and to put desired pressure where she needs it most. She straddles his leg eagerly, bringing dancing fingers up under the back of his shirt, marvelling at the cool skin stretched over broad hard muscles. He drops his head to her shoulder, teeth pulling at her coat collar, urging her silently to shed it so he can have more contact with her golden skin. She obeys. His tongue finds his scar- a perfect, beautiful image on the flawless canvas of this side of her neck. She gasps, and arches her hot body into his deeper as his cold tongue sweeps up her jaw, along her forehead's hairline, and then down around the shell of her ear. The lips follow a firey trail back down to the scar again, and he nibbles with blunt teeth. Her hands run down each of his bound arms, fingers spread magestically.

"I want you." he gruffly pleads. She nods, her breath catching in her chest as she begins to peel off her clothes. He watches her undress with the strangest expression of manly, predatory lust and a quiet sense of gratitude, respect, and adoration.

She stands naked in front of him for a moment, her eyes searching the smooth concrete floor as a distraction whilehe appraises her body. He sucks in some unneeded air at the sight of her flushed curves and bare limbs. This sound causes her look at up at him in shy surprise.

"What?" she asks, blushing and looking away again.

"Oh my god, Slay-...Buffy. You are gorgeous." he gasps.

"You know my name!" she smiles, a warm fuzzy sense of surprise welling up in her heart.

"Of course I do, love. Now get back here." he growls good naturedly, stretching his leg out again and hooking the hard rounded toe of his boot behind her bare thigh, pulling her to him. She grins, pink lips breaking into a gentle, beaming smile, teeth gleaming in the dim light. Their lips clash with renewed vigor, her petal pink tongue bold in its attack, as bold as her fingers now unbuttoning his black jeans with a satisfying `pop'. She begins to pull at his shirt, crazed with the need to feel her bare length against his. Groaning with anger that it is a tee shirt, trapped on by the manacles she breaks the kiss in frustration.

"Just tear it off pet, now." he pants desperately. It is torn off in an instant, the tattered fabric floating through the air like bats wings as it is thrown behind her. She shoves the jeans down. "Please, Buffy. Now, please."

"I've never. I mean..." she stutters, putting her forehead on his smooth shoulder, the sweat of her brow making the skin stick.

"Hey, its alright, love. You're in the drivers seat, so just take it slow on yourself." he murmers reassuringly. She removes her forehead from his skin with a glistening `smack', and jumps up lightly, wrapping her legs around his waist and banding her arms around his neck. They stare steadfastly into each other's eyes and she lowers herself onto him. He clenches his jaw. Her eyelids and lips being to flutter with pleasure. They move slowly together, and then with more passionate urgency.

Pain.

Her first delicious time, but accompanied by a burning- pleasing but painful.

Pain.

The scabs around his wrist rub on the metal, causing more blood to flow, tearing the wounds even deeper.

Pain.

Her knees digging into the cold concrete wall behind her lover.

Sweet, sweet pleasure.


The release causes her to stretch her arms out with ecstasy, tearing at the chains that bind her lover. They snap like twigs under her tiny fingers. He sinks his fangs into her neck again, suddenly released, crushing his arms around her, holding her tiny hot body impossibly closer.

He falls to the ground ontop of her, retracting his sharp teeth and licking at the glistening beads of crimson blood and the sparkle of sweat that makes her body glow. She presses her wet palms against one of his sharp shoulder blades and the hard small of his back. He breathes in the smell of her hair, the strancs clumping together with seat, but still smelling of sunshine and shampoo.

"You are my goddess, Buffy. My Slayer of the light. My golden queen. Oh, god, Buffy, I am betraying all that I am to feel for you this way, but now that I've been burned by the sun, by your hot power, I don't think I can return to what I was." he whispers gruffly in her small ear, the cool round of his nose lightly brushing the pink curve. He chuckles at himself "Listen to me, composing bloody poetry. You must think I'm a sodding nancy-boy." He feels her body beneath his shift slightly, the stickiness causing some slight irritation.

"Buffy?" he asks, raising his head to look into those beautiful grey doe eyes. They are filled with liquid glass, running down the sides of her face and shimmering gold locks.

"I think you are beautiful beyond description. I don't know what else to say. The way I feel about you....Spike, they will kill you. You have to leave or something. This..can't....last." a sob catches in her throat.

"I will leave." he whispers. Still inside her, he curls down, nestling his head against the flushed skin of her chest. Her fingers weave their way into his rebellious blond curls, the glossy nails caressing his scalp tenderly, motherly, reasurring and loving.

"But I'm not going anywhere yet."


The End.

Chapter Two of 'School Hard Revised'

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN, and all that jazz.

Spoilers: Just Season 2 stuff, now that I've moved on into my own little world

Author's Note/Summary: I have buckled under peer-pressure, and that, blended with the amount of free time I have, has manifested itself in this continuation. I wasn't going to write a sequel, and then I saw some reviewers ASK for a sequel and then BAM! I got an idea for a sequel. So, this is part two of my 'School Hard Revised Series'...there will be more parts, for sure, so stay tuned. I totally branch away from Season Two's story line here, but actually I don't. Blah! Read it. Let me know what you think.
This starts immediately after Chapter One (Spike and Buffy are on the floor after their love-making session)


---------------------------------------------------

Buffy nestles herself down into his embrace deeper, having rolled over so she is now ontop of his hard body. Their skin is dry now, his no longer damp with her sweat, and hers ventilated from her new sprawled and snuggled position over him. Her delicate nose is buried behind his ear, loving the scent of his primeval manliness. He shifts, bringing one long muscular leg around hers, and pulling the corded muscles of his arms closer around her waist and posterior.

"The sun is rising." she whispers to him, her tongue sneaking out to lick his cool neck.

"Then I can't go yet, can I? 'guess I'll have to stay all day." he murmers back, turning his noble-shaped nose into her silken tresses that lay across his neck and shoulder, the short ends tickling his skin.

"I have to go to school." she pouts, pulling herself off of him, and sitting up between his boney shins. He sits up as well, the skin over his perfect abs rippling like water's rings in the wake of a pebble's descent. She lays her tiny hand on his sculpted shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Is this...", her voice cracks, "..goodbye?" His large hand encloses over hers, pulling it from his shoulder and bringing her fingers to his mouth, where he kisses them feverishly.

"No, love. Like I said, I can't leave until the sun sets, so just come back after school's over, so we can have some time before I have to leave town." He smiles grimly, running his other hand through her mussied blonde hair, then cupping her tiny chin tenderly. "Better head home, don't want your mates getting in a tizzy over your absence."

She nods, and smiles, her eyes crinkling sweetly with the action, and then leans forward to kiss his plush bottom lip before pulling away to dress herself.

Spike watches her pull the dusty clothing from the floor on over her golden limbs. She is shining with the afterglow of her first time. The demon in him wants to brag that he ravished the Slayer, deflowered her pefectly while chained harshly to a cold concrete wall. But William, ah, William has different thoughts, and William has more of a say then Spike will ever admit. His inner poet is rejoicing, spouting off words of profound beauty and mystery while watching his new muse, this goddess that has so quickly and dangerously captured his silent heart.

She is done dressing, but her heart is still thumping wildly in her chest from the consciousness of his gaze. She dressed as boldly as possible, even though she was secretly cringing and shy, even after all they had done during the night. He was still a stranger, an enemy, a DEMON. But the gorgeous sculpted man behind her did not appear to be one, nor did he make love to her as one. The bite was not an animals, but a being whose most powerful way to display his emotions was to taste her essence and make her his. She thought it was beautiful. She turns to face him. He has put on his jeans and is now standing as well. They stare at each other for a moment before they are in each others arms again. She peppers enthusastic kisses all over his jaw and temples. He kisses her back. A laugh escapes her dry, kiss-swollen lips.

"Spike, love, I really, REALLY have to go." He stops and sets her down with a light thud, smiling at her giggle.

"See you tonight." he says, but his accent rises in pitch towards the end, making the statment into a uneasy question. She grins again, and puts a hard, fast, and brief kiss on his lips before answering.

"Yes. Tonight. I'll be here. 'bye." a beautiful flash of a smile across her face, and she is gone.

The warehouse is silent, still. A vast cave of desolation and death. Spike shudders as he begins to wander the grounds, steering clear of the sunbeams that have begun their daily path of light into the dingy windows high above. Dust floats in the beams, making shimmering sparkles that chase away some of the shadows, but Spike remains in those that are too deep for the sun's penetration.

Tiny piles of grey litter the concrete floor, each one the only remnant of a vampire who stood there just hours before, wondering why their master was telling them not to fight their enemies. Spike's shoulders hunch as he comes to one pile, knowing instinctively whose it is.

"Oh Drusilla, my dark princess, I'm so sorry." He groans, falling to his jean-clad knees in front of the small pile of feathery grey. His hands fist on either side of the dust, as tears begin to make a rapid descent onto it. An angry, frusterated and brokenhearted scream intensely breaks from his mouth as his demon face ripples to the forefront. "I fell in love again, Dru. That is why! I know, nothing explains it. You are gone from this world forever, because of my sodding emotions!"

His anguished tantrum suddenly stops, and he collapses onto the concrete, the action causing the dust to swirl up into the air in a shimmering silver cloud. His eyes turn to it, the blue now tainted with grief-stricken red, his face shining with the water of his eyes, jaw clenched to hold back the sobs that threaten to destroy him. Dirt streakes his sharp chisled features, arms, and torso.

"I am pathetic, Dru. Love is a curse that has been bestowed on me by hell. She is the fucking Slayer, and I... *love* her so much. So soon. So fast. I only wish that you did not have to die because of this new-found feeling. Forgive me, darling. I came to kill her, and THIS happened." he stops, picks himself up onto his knees again and stares at the disappating cloud, "But you knew it would happen, didn't you? You knew, and yet you insisted that we come to this town."

This thought nearly does him in again.

Then it brings him peace. Peace for a monster should be unheard of, but it overwhelms him. He picks up his lean body from the cold floor, and nods to the air where her ashes have disappeared, paying her a century old lover's respects, before heading off to find somewhere to wash away his dirty patheticness of grief.


------------------

Buffy enters the warehouse as the sun begins to set, tired from dodging questions all day. Her loose hair falls limply around her shoulders, curling around the collar of her coat still dirty from last nights activities.

"Spike?" she calls through the dim room, her sweet feminine voice echoing off the steel columns and beams.

"Right here, love." he says from his shadow-swathed position behind her. She whrils to face him, several ends of hair sticking to her lip-gloss coated lips.

"Geez! Stealth guy. Way to scare the heebie-jeebies out of me.", she presses one hand against her sweater-covered chest, trying to catch the breath he has startled out of her. He chuckles and moves towards her, one long finger reaching out to remove the blonde strands stuck to her mouth.

"What the hell are heebie-jeebies?" he teases.

"I don't know, probably some demon thingies that I haven't had the privledge to slay yet." she smiles back.

"Yes, but I scared them out of you. So do you have "demon thingies" inside of you?" he presses, knowing that this simple joking is just them both trying to avoid the inevitable goodbyes.

She knows the same thing, and the smile disappears from her rosy face, lips quirking into a hard serious line.

"I've been thinking about this all day today." she admits, chin dropping to her chest. His arms find their familiar way around her waist, hands pressing her to him, urging her to take comfort in his presence while its still there. "Spike, this is so wrong." she continues with determination.

He suddenly steps back at her words, putting a charged distance between them. A disbelieving look crosses his face.

"Wrong!? Of course its bloody wrong!! Wrong that you are here. Wrong that I couldn't kill you. Wrong that my MATE is dead because of this thing between us. Wrong that you haven't staked my ass. Wrong that we made love last night. Its all fucking wrong!!" he exclaims, his accent taking a shouting, desperate quality. He runs his fingers through his vibrant hair, avoiding her huge eyes. She holds her breath, a tumultous cloud of emotions and thoughts spiraling through her head. He finally turns and looks at her.

"But its real. And undeniable. I have fallen for you, and that cannot be reversed, or ignored. This is because of you," he pulls up his collar sleeves to show the healing scabs around his wrists, "the emptiness of this building is because of you," he continues,"and yet I still have feelings for you. Thats powerful, Buffy. Wrong, and powerful. I am walking away because of you. Please don't deny what this is between us, just because its 'wrong'." he finishes his speech softly, still searching those wide hazel eyes of hers with his blue rain-washed ones.

She doesn't speak. She just moves to him, pulling him so close that he can almost hear his ribs crack. Her chest is quivering with emotion, and he finds that comforting and endearing, and his arms band around her once more.

"I'm not denying anything. You have sacrificed so much. I wish their was a way to repay you. God, that sounds so cheezy, but it feels like the only thing to say. I wish I could translate what I feel to you so you can understand what is going on in my heart right now." she whispers intensely.

"I already know. Its happening in me too." he says, pulling his head away from her shoulder to look into her eyes again. Their mouths meet with aggression and love, neither noticing the man who has followed Buffy, staying shrouded in the darkness.

The vampire in the shadows of the warehouse watches with disbelieve, that quickly turns to blind rage at the words exchanged. Suddenly his eyes glow with an unearthly light, and he gasps.

It is gone.

The pain is gone. There is no more guilt. The demon has overcome the curse, and now the Master Angelus has returned.

It's time to make his presence known to his Childe and Slayer.


TBC

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: M.E. rules.

Spoilers: All Season 2 stuff. Hopefully you've seen it.

Summary: Takes place right after Chapter 2- Angel has just lost his soul by his furious rage at seeing Buffy with Spike, saying their goodbye's.

A/N: This is kind of a short one. Well, all of my chapters are short. But I update a lot, so you all should be happy. I'll probably even put Chapter 4 up later on today, if I get it done.

---------------------------------

"You know what I love?" a cold, teasing voice melts into Spike and Buffy's passionate embrace, causing them to break apart with confused and fearful surprise. "I love it when things work out this way. I mean, there I was all cursed and guilt-ridden by a gypsy spell, deemed unbreakable, mind you, and all it took was one thing to set off the demon and tah-dah! I'm back! You'd think that something unreachable would cure me, but no, its the thing the gypsies were most vengeful against. Isn't that just great?"

Buffy draws in a sharp breath before speaking, her voice low and grave with slow realization,"Angel?"

"Buffy?" he says in a mocking voice,"Sweet little Slayer. Spike, I'm disappointed in you. You used to settle for KILLING them. Now you're fucking them. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

"Buffy, this is Angelus. Not Angel." Spike says in a low voice, his hand moving up to cup her elbow and draw her back behind him. He feels her tense under his touch, knowing that the warrior in her is preparing to fight the new danger.

"I noticed. Let go of me. I'm not backing down." she says dangerously, her hard steely eyes following the dark haired vampire in front of her. He wanders along the side of the long table, dragging a match along its surface and lighting a cigarette casually. He chuckles at her words to Spike.

"Buff, you can't take me. You've never fought me. You have no idea what your messing with. I have some things to work out with my Grand-Childe here, so why don't you be a good little girl and find something, er, *someone* else to do."

"Fuck you, Angel." she bites back.

"Sounds like a plan. I'll take up that offer later." he growls, lunging at her. His coat flys out behind him, making a hollow flapping sound in the dank air. His huge hand closes around her neck, and he lifts her small body, throwing her onto the table with a sickening crack. She lays motionless on its surface, limbs tangled, and clothing pulled up and twisted. Spike surges forward to her, only to be caught by his powerful Grand-Sire.

"Spike, my boy, we must talk shop. The Slayer's not going anywhere for a while. Sit down." his voice is in Master-mode, and cannot be disobeyed. Spike slowly lowers himself into a high-backed chair, his eyes never leaving the silent form of Buffy. Angelus grabs the chair and turns it around so its back is facing the girl, and his childe is facing him.

"I want your full attention. You have been up to something. You brought Dru here, and had big plans, I wager, but they all went to hell, didn't they Spikey? Dru is gone, thanks to you, and all of your minions are dusted. Which leaves me in a terrible position now that I am all better and ready to rule." he paces in front of the lean vampire, and then stops, turning to pine him with his cruel brown eyes.

"Want to know what my biggest problem is though? You. You're all love-struck again. William is ever the fighting fool, isn't he? But I need Spike to help me destroy this stupid town, and he's never going to help if his alter-personality is too busy spouting out sonnets to his new lady-love."

Spike's eyes remain emotionless, staring unfaltering into his Master's face. Those features that were once so innocent are now fixed in the expression Spike was used to for decades. Long dark eyebrows low on unfeeling brown eyes, and his long mouth set in a cruel teasing line. Angel suddenly moves again, picking up Spikes hard body and carrying him to a convenient cell, tossing his body in like trash before slamming the door shut. Spike picks his crumpled body up angrily and glares at Angel through the bars.

"What the hell is this?" he demands, feeling panic rise up in him. Angel ignores him, and moves to Buffy again.

He stands there, just staring down at her twisted body. Then one hand unfolds from his side, and brushes hair from her forehead, its size encompassing nearly all of her face. It glides down her neck, stopping to touch the beautiful scar Spike left on the skin. Angel grins, his eyes raising to look at Spike's anguished face.

Angel's eyes never leave Spike's face. But the hand keeps moving. Spike's eyes watch the hand.

It wanders down her unconscious body, over her chest, roughly cupping the clothed flesh. Spike growls at this, his hands fisting around the metal bars, his ridged forehead pressed into them. The hand keeps moving. Down her stomach, lifting the shirt to expose the flat expanse of flawless skin. His fingers dance across it. Spike whimpers with anger. The hand keeps moving. It enters the waistband of her khakis, clawing quietly at the junction between her thighs. Spike lets out an outraged roar. Angel chuckles and pulls his hand away. Spikes eyes find Angel's again.

"Exactly my point." Angelus says simply, and disappears from the warehouse.


TBC

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Well, Spike is mine, he just doesn't know it yet.

Spoilers: Just the Season Two storylines that I decided to use for my own dramatic amusement.

Summary: Just to catch you up- Angelus the demon is back, he has Spike in a caged cell, and Buffy is unconscious on the table. Angel has said something about how he wants Spike to rule with him, and has left the warehouse. This chapter starts roughly 24 hours after Chapter 3 for "Vampiric Minion" reasons.

A/N: I am a firm believer in happy endings, so rest assured. I like angst, but this one has a bright future. Special thanks to http://www.Buffyforever.co.uk's script index for the transcript of 'Whats My Line? 1 and 2'...oh and about the eye thing- Yes, I love the eyes. I am really into filmmaking and the best way to tell a story is through an actor's eyes. Fanfic isn't visual, but you gotta picture the eyes. Sorry if its a bit much. Its just my style.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun has been behind the shadowy hills for 3 hours now. A little over a day has passed since Angelus's departure from the warehouse. Buffy has woken up, her entire body screaming with soreness: strained muscles and bruises. She has summoned enough energy to move herself from the slab of cold stone to a curled position next to the cage of her lover, her arms wrapped around the immovable bars. His arms hold her close to him, and they sleep there- knots of cool and warm flesh around cruel steel columns.

That is how Angel finds them upon his return.

He snickers at them, moving quietly into the soaring black room, followed by seven newly made minions, their game faces in place and ready to do their master's bidding. One holds a ornate cross on a crimson pillow, its gold flashing tiny blotches of light across the dirty walls. Another carries a dusty book, the rowed pages yellowed and curling with mold. Angel shoots them a commanding look and they stop their movement, and stand waiting for their next instruction.

A shadow falls over the sleeping lovers, the blonde vampire jumping to a prepared position instantly, for he sensed his Sire's return. The Slayer groans with the sudden absence of the hindered embrace, and looks up at the dark master vampire who stands over her, glowering at her angrily, but then smirking at her pain-clouded eyes and the morbid petals of a bruise that has flowered across her high cheekbone and jaw.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Angel teases, the silkiness of his voice causing Buffy to shiver. He leans over and grabs her collar, picking her effortlessly off of the floor. "Marcus, Alan. Bring the ropes and tie her up."

Two minions instantly obey, straw cords binding her small wrists behind her back, and her bare ankles firmly together. A grimy cloth is tied around her head, holding her jaw in a permanent gaping position, and her tangled hair gets roughly caught in the knot at the back of her neck. She whimpers. Spike's eyes war between anger at Angel and loving anguish for Buffy. Angel claps his hands and laughs.

"This is *so* much fun. Now, Spike, we must go. I really don't want to tie you up, but I'll do whatever's necessary."

"Where are we going, mate?" Spike growls sarcastically, fist clenching and unclenching around the icy bars, his demon visage still firmly in place.

"You ever hear of duLac? Of course you have, the ritual of duLac was on your Sunnydale Agenda, was it not? Anyway, I'm hoping it will work for you. You know, wipe that nasty emotion thing you got going on away from your personality, so you and I can rule this place like its supposed to be ruled. Its no fun being in charge if you don't have a reliable Number Two. And methinks you aren't reliable right now. So, we must be off. Binding or no?"

"What are you going to do with Buffy?" Spike asks, his yellow eyes melting back into blue as they drop to look at the bound girl laying on the floor.

"Put her in your cell. I have big plans for her for when we return." Angel grins, stooping down to lift Buffy from the floor. He holds her with her shivering back flush against his broad chest, his hands gripping painfully on her biceps.

Spike stares into her eyes desperately as Angel vamps out and drags one sharp tooth down her neck DEEPLY, from her soft earlobe, over Spike's mark, and to the top of her delicate collarbone.

The gash will scar. It is an abomidation of Spike's claim.

Spike quivers with unreal anger, every fiber of his demon being screaming at him to tear apart the metal keeping him from his Sire, and to destroy him utterly, and then sink his fangs into the flesh of his claimed human and drink. Pain is in Buffy's devestated eyes as blood stains her skin and clothing.

Angel must have given an order, because the minions are moving, but neither Spike or Buffy are aware. They are trying to communicate through the bond they feel, trying to reassure each other, trying to encourage each other. Spike is suddenly being held between two vamires, and Buffy is sudenly on the floor of the cell, its heavy door chained and locked. Angel blows her a kiss and heads towards the door, flanked by two demons with objects, three with weapons, and two holding his childe, who is trying desperately to look at the abused girl in the shadowy cage.

-----------

"Hopefully this will work. Spike isn't weak or sick in any way, he is just on the path of righteousness and that must be stopped. Change a few words, and it should be fine. That way I don't die or anything, either. We want to keep me alive, right?"

"Of course, Master Angelus." a minion named Edward answers in a low voice.

"Good! Now, lets get on with it!" Angel says enthusiastically, clapping once with decisiveness, and then pulling off his elegant coat and sweater.

Spike has already been stripped half naked, and now kneels on the alter, head bent with angry exhaustion. Angel kneels in front of him, and pats his head mockingly before nodding to Alan and Marcus to tie them together.

Now coiled together, both cool hard chests pressed as tightly to each other as their left hands, Edward begins to chant in a full voice, filling the tiny church with the grave power of the duLac ritual.

"Eligor, I name thee, bringer of war, poisoners, pariahs, grand obscenity. Eligor, wretched master of decay, bring your black medicine. Come!", he holds up the grand cross upside down in gloved hands, his yellow eyes staring at the ceiling religiously as he pulls a knife from the cross's bottom, "Restore your most impious, murderous child to what he once was. From the freely-given blood of the Grand-Sire, he is risen. From the blood of the Grand-Sire, he shall rise again. Restore this demon to his natural brutality, erase from him emotions of the untrue. Eligor, come!" he shouts as he thrusts the dagger into the united hands of the vampires, "Amen and Amen."

An unearthly light shines from between the two males. Spike stretches back his sinewy neck and screams with pain, while Angel pants with the draining of his power. Beads of sweat form rapidly on their skin, hot from the surging of the ritual. Shadows lengthen and grow in the strange light, all colors around them getting washed out by its vibrancy. Eligor has definitley come.

Angel, with one last conscious thought before he blacks out screams to Edward, "Edward, take it out now!"

The knife is quickly removed, and the bodies untied.

Spike collapses onto the steps of the platform, pulling heaves of air into his lungs, and licking the sweat from his lips. He clutches his injured hand to his bare chest, cradling it carefully as blood pours down his muscled arm, dripping from his sharp elbow. Angel lays sprawled across the alter, his minions pull him up to their shoulders and begin to walk him home. Marcus and Alan approach Spike.

"Master? Are you healed?" is the last thing he hears before Spike himself blacks out and falls weakly into their arms.



TBC

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Marti Noxon says she thinks this is her last year at Mutant Enemy. Hands up: who wants to take her place and make the Spuffy relationship come alive? --Alantie raises both hands enthusastically-- Anyway, its still theirs, I just borrow them.

Spoilers: Blah blah, blitty blah, I'm so stuffy, its all from Season Two.

Rated: R for sexual situations, violence, and swearing.

Summary: Spike awakens from his ritual-induced slumber, and something shifty happens.

A/N: The baby slept. Here's your update.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

His long curling eyelashes flutter open briefly before closing firmly again to shut out the candlelight. A cascading rush of thoughts tinged with the after-effects of black magick pour through his newly-awakened consciousness, imitating the torturous roar of a waterfall. Spike groans, chest rumbling with the rough exclamation of pain. He stares at the gold of candlelight through the flesh of his eyelids, when a shadow crosses over the light. He reaches out with his senses: scurrying movement of a vampire, and silent watchfulness of vamp guard. He wearily rubs his wide forehad and temples before opening his eyes again, looking at his surroundings warily.

Its a small room, but definitely apart of the factory warehouse, due to the tell-tale amount of dirty steel and the small dingy windows. The guard stands in a corner, picking at a bit of human neck skin in his long incisors. His defense, a sword, leans stupidly against his leg.

Spike sits up, the crimson sheet sliding down his rippling torso to his waist; knobby knees lifting the sheet around his lower half. The guard leaps to attention.

"Master." he acknowledges in a respectful panic, pulling his finger from his mouth.

Master, right. He's second in command now. Under his Grand-Sire Angelus, that son of a bitch. Always the pansy, going for the Dark Art solutions, and messing with.....Buffy.

He tears off the scarlet covering, abruptly rising off the mattress and ignoring the dead pounding of his brain.

"Where are my fuckin' clothes?" he growls, feeling the coolness of the dank air on his uncovered muscles.

"Uh, Master Angelus ordered us to strip you so that you would be uh, more comfortable, when you woke up." the minion stutters.

"Thats not what I asked, wanker. Where are they?"

"Uh, right over there, Master Spike." he indicates at plush chair near the door with a shakey hand.

Spike pulls on the denim jeans, black boots, and a trim black collared shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs stylishly, and then smoothing out his hair's stubborn curls. The guard watches with awe, and then wariness, wondering how much his new master has been healed.

"Thanks, mate." Spike says quickly, grabbing the sword from the minion's side, and swinging it experimentally as he leaves the room.

He finds his Sire in the main room, hunched over the bare and bound form of the Slayer spread out on the table. The cold artificial light from overhead clashes with the orange-hue of torches. The orange fire makes the woman's skin look radiant. The orange fire makes the brunette vampire look like he has hell surrounding him. Spike moved towards them, raising the sword to his shoulder and looking nonchalant as he strides leasurely forward. Angel turns, an expression of antcipation and glee mixed in a malicious way.

"Spike! How are you feeling? I was just playing with Buffy here. Wanna join me?" his question is daring, he is testing the waters of his Childe's hopeful "improvement".

Spike's blue eyes drop to the naked female spread out on the icey surface. Oh god, she is staring at him with those impossibly huge eyes of hers, poisoned with fear and clouded with confusion. Her skin is only bruised, with the exception of the scabbed gash from yesterday and new tiny scratches that mar her claiming scar, like tiny red jailbars over top of its snowy perfection and the Sire's line of defilement. She keeps staring at him, teeth revealed around the gag, her pasty lips moving as if she is trying to communicate to him.

Play along.

"Sure, mate. I'm up for a spot of fun. Got one hell of a headache, though." he says, moving closer to the table and dropping the tip of the shimmering sword to Buffy's chest, where he trails its metal sharpness lightly down her flat stomach and bruised thighs.

"Just the spell wearing off. You'll be spiffy soon enough." Angel explains what is already known, watching the sharp point's progress on the skin with a satisfied smirk. "I am very glad to see you are back to normal."

Spike snorts, pushing a little harder with the blade, causing a topical scratch to swell, "Yeah, me too. Having that emotional shit washed out of me was an answer to non-prayer."

"I aim to please. So, do you know anything about thralls?" Angel begins conversationally, the padded tips of his fingers clawing and digging into Buffy's hip as he leans on the table over her. Spike stops his actions and looks at Angel with surprise.

"Yeah. Never tried it though. Its a bloody nuisance having a human all panting for you all the time. You put them in a thrall, and they never leave you alone. Need you to live. 's not smart for a Master Vampire to waste his time with."

"Right. I know. Thats why I have you."

"Come again?" Spike asks almost angrily.

"See, Buffy here, she's a fighter. She won't be all submissive like this for long. So, a thrall is the smartest idea. But I can't put her in a thrall, because then, like you said, it will be a nuisance. But you could do it. And when I want to, say, "play" with her, all you gotta do is tell her to be obediant to me, and voila!"

"You think I want to be stuck with the bitch for all the time you DON'T want to play?"

"You can do whatever you want with her during that time, as long as you satisfy her desires every now and then so she doesn't go insane. Try to tell me you didn't like fucking her hot little body, though."

A sinister grin breaks out on Spike's contimplative face, "Yeah, it was nice."

Angel laughs, "Good, then. It's decided. Once she is in your thrall, then she'll be out of the way, and we can start to make plans for this Hell-hole...literally. I'm gonna go get a bite to eat with the guys. You do your thing. I want her all, intoxicated,or whatever, by the time I return, alright?"

"Sure thing, Angel." Spike says quietly as the vampire and his followers depart swiftly.

He drops the sword with a sudden shattering sound, and pulls the rag from Buffy's jaw.

"Oh my god, love, I'm so sorry." his rough hands smooth down her body where he left the pink welts, "Are you alright? What has he been doing to you?"

"You're not...evil?" she rasps with a gruff unused voice. Spike's hands cup her face gently and he sets an affectionate open-mouthed kiss on her dusty forehead before answering.

"No, pet. Thats the beauty. The ritual said "emotions of the untrue." Its all true in here. I haven't changed." he smiles softly, resting his forehead against hers.

"I thought...I mean, when you looked at me, I was sure it was you. And then the sword...and what you said. Oh my god, Spike, the thrall." her eyes widen as she breathes in his scent while speaking. Comfort. He is comfort.

"How good are you at acting?"

"You want me to pretend to be in a thrall? To let him do whatever he wants to me with the air of some bitch in heat?" the fire of her attitude is making a comeback. He smirks gently, and then begins to untie her bonds.

"Well, actually, you pretend to be obsessed with me, like I am food, air, water, sleep, everything you need to live. And then you just obey what I say. Its not that hard. I mean, it's me..." his voice dips to a tone of insecurity and question. She stops him, and raises one newly-released hand to his cheek, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"Its not going to be hard to act that way for you, since that part isn't pretending. Its Angel I am afraid of. My body is..." she stops, looking down at the floor. He grabs her chin and firmly brings her face up to his again,

"Your body is what?" he whispers.

"...Only *yours*. I don't want Angel to violate me anymore." tears begin to make their descent, washing away the dirt and sweat in their wake.

"Oh Buffy." he sighs, pulling her partially untied body to his, "There is no other way. If I let you go, it will be hell to pay. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to get us out of here as soon as possible. But until then, you must do this. You do what he says, and I will try my damndest to erase the memory of his touch every time we are together in private. That is my promise to you. I love you, Buffy, my Slayer, my light. My enthralled." he adds with a note of light teasing.

She sniffs and smiles, and then throws her arms around his neck, holding him as tight as possible. Her face pressed into his neck, dirty locks of hair shielding her from her surroundings. He closes his eyes, leans his head on hers, and holds her like its the end of the world.

"Now come on Love," he breaks the silence after some time, "I gotta train you about being in thrall before our Master Wanker returns."



TBC

Chapter Six

Disclaimer: The characters and rituals still belong to Mutant Enemy and FOX...but I guess Marcus, Edward, and Alan are mine...but who cares. I don't.

Spoilers: Who HASN'T seen Season 2?

Rated: R for sexual situations, torture/violence, and swearing. More smut is in this chapter.

Summary: Buffy is "enthralled" by Spike, but just for show so Angelus is happy, and for the reason that it is really hot interaction between Spike and Buffy. ;-)

Feedback: Is the highlight of my e-mail-checkage.

------------------------------------------------

Buffy is on her knees.

Now clothed in some shimmering underslip of Dru's, the creme colored satin contrasts with the golden tan of her skin. Her head is thrown back, short shorn blonde hair falling lightly to her shoulder blades covered only by the tiny spagetti straps of the garment. She is breathing heavily, pulling the sour air into her lungs with eager pants. Eyes shut tightly, plush lips hanging open. Her legs are parted, the slip stretched against her open thighs, and bunched above her bare knees on which she kneels. Her bruised arms lay loosely behind her as she arches her back so deliciously, knuckles brushing the bottoms of her feet curled under her body. She is the image of orgasmic pleasure, swathed in the delicate antique satin laying like milk over her flesh.

But no one is touching her.

Spike stands several feet in front of her, leaning against the grey tabletop, one hand gripping the back of a dining chair to ground his desire at this image. The other hand is stretched out towards the girl in front of him, as if clinging to her neck, supposedly causing her heated display.

Buffy is one hell of an actress.

"Christ, Buffy. He's gonna take this in, and then make sure to keep you in his bed, or bonds. He digs the bondage, love." He groans, dropping the outstreched arm to his side weakly. She stops panting and tilts her chin back again, looking up at him.

"So do you. Now shut up, I think he's here. I can feel it." she scolds, before rolling her head back again and resuming the hot and heavy breathing. Spike grins a little, and abruptly places a possesive kiss on her parted lips, hand gripping the back of her head. As quickly as he does this, he pulls away, and resumes his previous position. She smiles slightly with contentment which turns to fear as she senses Angel and his posse stride into the room.

They are filled with post-hunt energy, making the minions growl with enthusiasm at seeing the all-powerful slayer in such a position. Angel's grin is wider than ever as he claps Spike on the back with a blood stained hand.

"Geez! I give you a couple of hours and a beat up Slayer, and you turn her into a hot and bothered vision in white. You screw her yet?"

"Spiiiike." she breathes when sex is mentioned, whimpering and moaning. Angel laughs.

"Naw, mate, just fooling around with her for now. "

"Well, great work. She looks completely edible. Speaking of edible, you can go hunt now. I can take care of our little bitch." Angel moves towards her, sticking two wide fingers into her mouth. She hesitates, and opens her eyes to Spike. He nods and twists his wrist as if commanding her. She begins to suck on the fingers.

"Actually, I'll just snack on her later, if you don't mind."

Angel's head turns swiftly to stare at Spike, but his fingers remain firmly fastened by Buffy's suction.

"Anywhere but the neck. That claiming incident from before is not amusing." his voice is low and dangerous. Spike lets out a barking laugh.

"Like I am proud of that? I claim the stupid bint like she is someone important, and now she is all 'God, Spike, I need you now.' I am about as disgusted as vamps come, Angel. Don't worry, I just want to bite her, and I'll do it anywhere, mind you, since Slayer blood is so choice."

Angel is reassured by his Childe's words. He looks down at the writhing and sucking Slayer, grinning again. He pulls his fingers from her between her petal-pink lips roughly, and begins to drag their wetness all over her face. Buffy whimpers. Angel chuckles again.

"Damn, this is so much fun. But I'm exhausted. You probably are, too." he says, holding up his other hand that still has a bloody hole through it from the duLac ritual.

"Yeah. It hurts real bad. I'll just be off to bed then. Come on, puppy." he agrees and then reaches down to grab the slippery front of Buffy's covering, pulling her to her feet. She leans into his body eagerly, beginning to grind herself against his side.

"Boy, she doesn't waste any time, does she? Usually when their thralled they are stiff and dumbed, right? But she's certainly eager and letting you know about it. Not the lamb I was expecting her to be." Angel muses.

"Yeah, but she's the Slayer. Wolf in *lambs* clothing." Spike counters, putting a rope formed into a leash around Buffy's wrists.

"Makes the conquest sweeter, and the playtime more lively." Angel says happily, and waves a goodnight as he makes his way to his room.

Spike begins to make his way down the hallway, noticing that Buffy is waiting until the rope is taunt to begin to follow. His eyes glance around the now empty room, and then he pulls violently, causing her tiny body to fly into his. He welcomes her with open arms, and crashes his lips down onto hers. She responds passionatly, desperate to wash away the taste of Angel's skin tinged with human blood stains. He steers her back into his bedroom door, and opens it behind her, pushing her in with his entire body length until the back of her knees hit the bed and she falls back onto it.

Dimly.

He is dimly aware that he kicked the door shut.
She is dimly aware that they have both removed each other's clothing.
He is dimly aware of the pain of his healing wrists and torn and scabbed hand.
She is dimly aware of the sensitive bruises that cloud her skin.

Everything is hard, deep, and long. They both need this more than anything else right now. The emotions fly unharnessed through their bodies, her lungs sore from artificial panting scream now with genuine hyperventilation of pleasure. His eyes are full of feeling as his mouth tastes her sweat.

"Buffy, may I..." he hesitates to ask. She has been hurt enough.

"Please..." she mewls, love-induced tears roughing her voice. She knows what he wants. What she needs.

His fangs sink into the curve of her breast. She cries out with ecstasy. He growls with passionate contentment.

This love needs no thrall.
But it does need a plan for escape.

TBC

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Have you ever heard of this guy named Joss Whedon? Well, it seems he started this company called 'Mutant Enemy', named after a typewriter he once had...anyway, he created a show, perhaps you've heard of it, called Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 20th Century Fox helped him out, as did Kuzui Enterprises, and Sandollar Productions, and then before you know it it was on the WB Channel. Its on UPN now, and I heard its pretty good. I might try to catch an episode some day.

Summary: Angelus is back, Buffy is "enthralled", and Spike is pretending to be Angelus's best friend. Pretty usual Fanfic stuff.

Rated: R for unpleasant and pleasant sexual situations, abusive violence, and language

A/N: My profound apologies for making you all wait. (Allison is under the delusion that there are actually people waiting anxiously for her updates) I was very very sick, and Real Life responsibilites didn't give me time to be sick, so I had to carry out the tasks of a way too busy teenager with a head full of mucus and pain. Lots of pain. And not the good "just lost my virginity" pain either, as described in chapter one. Blah, I am long-winded, aren't I? Anyway, here are 2 more chapters of this story. The next and LAST chapter will be up tomorrow, I PROMISE.

A/N Part Two: I sped up the events of Season 2. Just pretend the museum found the obelisk with Acathla in the fall, instead of the end of the school year.


---------------------------------------------------------

Shimmering satin lay like a puddle of coolness underneath her chest, which is pressed against the bed. A long hard torso lays over her, a blonde vampire's heavy head resting on her smooth shoulder blade. One masculine hand absent-mindedly caresses her slender bicep, the other hand is intertwined with her fingers. Is this the way a Slayer is to wake up? Enfolded in the cool body of her enemy above her? Him touching her with the softness of a summer breeze, and the possesiveness of territorial animal? It has happened twice so far, and feels so simply beautiful. She belongs here. Buffy shudders with the magnitude of loving and contentment. Spike stirs at the shiver that has coursed from her body to his.

"Cold?" he whispers through the shadowed light into the skin of her back.

"Mm, in your bed? Never."

He smiles, and drops a kiss on her taunt flesh beneath him lazily.

"I wonder if anyone realizes I'm gone." she murmers thoughtfully.

"Your Watcher has surely noticed. And you seemed to have friends who care. And of course your mother is probably wondering where you've gone."

"When will I be able to get back to them?" she asks with a tone of hopeful wishing.

"We'll make our move soon. A week tops. I have to see what Angelus is up to, how he is running things, before we act. Its just precaution. He begins to doubt us in any way, shape, or form, then we are both as good as dead."

"Yeah, but why not go get him now? Just rush in there with a stake and dust him while he's sleeping?"

Spike raises an eyebrow at this, and moves off of her tiny body, laying next to her on his side, a hand staying pressed to her back.

"Go for it, love. I'd like to see that." he says.

She raises her eyebrow in an exact replica of his expression.

"Wait, is there something I don't know?"

"Vampires aren't as dumb as you think, ESPECIALLY the Master Vamps. Its all about security, and extra senses, and having a constant realization on whats going on around you. You probably couldn't get within 30 feet of Angelus before his minions are on you, and he is fully ready for your appearance. Masters are built that way. Thats why they're to be more feared than your average Vampire."

She sighs and slides her body towards his, taking that comfort again that he so freely gave. There is nothing to say, no way to argue. He bands both arms around her tiny waist, pulling her body off the bed and completely into his arms. Legs tangle together, skin sticks delicously. He licks the wounds over her claiming bite.

"This makes me so angry." he says, a strange mix of a growl and a whisper.

"That he did that to the scar?"

"Another thing about Vampires: claiming is a big deal. You don't claim just anyone. And even though the Sire is allowed to defile it, its still not...recommended. Its bad manners. Its so bloody offensive. He has destroyed the most true symbol of vampiric pride." he holds her body even tighter as he licks and kisses the mangled scar, and she responds by clinging to him in an iron grip.

"Thank you for claiming me." she whispers faintly, "I think its beautiful. It means a lot to me. You have no idea how much it means. Its one scar I am so proud to have. I am yours. Always."

"As I am yours." the vampire says, voice choked with emotion.

They hold each other with the strength of the supernatural beings that they are. One breathes deep the scent of her lover, while the other tries as hard as he can to have the courage she now has come to depend on.

-------- -------- -----

Angelus has heard the commotion, the climax-roughened shout of ecstasy from an enthralled Slayer and the growl of physical triumph from his Childe. And now that it has been quiet for sometime, he reflects back on the sounds with a smile.

Angelus is pleased.

Its all blossoming like a crimson rose, the color of blood, passion, death, and destruction. The plans Angel has for this city, hell, this world, will make the foundations of all good and righteousness quiver with fear before he annihilates any trace of lingering purity. With his Childe at his side, and the most powerful Slayer ever now in the confines of her submissive mind, he can fufill the dreams of all the wicked.

Dark will overcome light.

Black will destroy white.

Hell will prevail.

The sun is almost down. Angel has slept lightly, but it is nearly time. Drusilla once taught him that if he listened closesly then he could hear the moon telling him great things as it began to rise. Well the moon whispered tonight. Profound evil power was at his fingertips. He just had to run an errand with his boys to get it.

And the world will be swallowed.

Part 8:

----------------------------------------------


It is a big rock.

Alright, stone box. An ugly addition to the already hideous warehouse. It just stands there, in the great cavernous room, its gritty dirt-covered slabs absorbing the little amount of light that luminate the dim.

Spike watches two minions pry it open with crowbars, and the front covering falls, creating a thunderous boom that echoes against the iron. A solidified demon stands hunched in its stone opening. Angel watches eagerly. Buffy is curled up in a whimpering ball at Spike's scuffed boots.

"So whats this all about?" Spike asks curiously, trying to pay attention to the demonic monstrosity in front of him, rather than the Slayer who has lifted his pant leg to reveal his muscular ankle, and is now tasting it with an eager tongue.

"Why rule when you can destroy?" Angel answers with a question. His eyes fall to Buffy and he looks back up at Spike questioningly, "I thought you took care of her this morning?"

"Yeah. Bitch is like a bunny. Never wants to stop. But don't change the subject. Please explain the big rock."

"This is Acathla. It was dug up outside of town. I took it from the museum tonight. He was supposed to swallow the world, but a righteous knight stabbed him with a blessed sword. He turned to stone, as you can see, and was buried. Someone worthy removes the sword, and he awakens and resumes his task."

"And if a righteous someone stabs him again before he can swallow the whole world, what then?" Spike inquires, hoping with a vibrant undead heart that there is a way he or Buffy can stop this.

Angel smirks, "Spike, you should know me better than that. There is only one way to stop Acathla. You must destroy the process with a blessed sword. There are only two blessed swords: the one in him, and this one." he unwraps a long slender blade swathed in black cloth, "I think I'm gonna put this one right next to him, so when he starts to swallow, its the first to go, along with the one in him, so there is no way on earth that anyone can save it."

Spike smiles widely and nods. Buffy gets to her knees and lets her hands run up his demin-clad thighs, pressing her body to his leg. He shrugs her off and orders her to sit quietly. Her eyes flash briefly with confusion, but she obeys.

"Where'd you get the other blessed sword?" Spike asks, down to business.

"Giles had it at the library."

Buffy's eyes flash again, this time with terrified recognition. She prays a silent prayer in her gut that Giles is unharmed. Angel notices her expression.

"Spike." he says, drawing Spikes focused attention to the Slayer, "She just reacted. She's not supposed to react." his voice has grown chillingly unexpressive.

"You said a name she recognized. The thrall is still new. Maybe I have to renew it or something." Spike shrugs, trying to cover up the fear that has begun to crawl inside. The air around the three has suddenly thickened. Is it the moment of truth?

"Tell her to obey me." Angelus says, his brown eyes watching the bowed head of the woman on the floor. Spike speaks the command. Buffy raises her eyes to Angel.

"Buffy, come to me."

She stands, the satin unfurling around her strong slender legs. The bodice clings to unbound breasts and taunt stomach, making her curves shimmer. Her hair hangs limply to her shoulders, the roots slightly seperated with sweat and dirt accumulated from the lack of showering. Her wide hazel eyes look glazed with want, as if she is dreaming an erotic dream with her eyes opened. When she is before him, she looks into his eyes. He cups her small chin with his massive hand.

"Buffy, put your hands on my chest."

She complies, putting those small hot pools on his pecs.

"Buffy, lower your left hand to the waist band of my pants."

It slides down an clings to the top button of his pants.

"Buffy, lean into me."

She lets her slight weight fall against his chest.

"Buffy, grind your hips against me."

She begins to move them sensuously, but roughly against his body.

"Angel, I thought you wanted to destroy the world. Lets just do it already." Spikes voice tries desperatly to break through the sexual fog that has built up between his love and his enemy.

"There's time enough," Angel replies, his eyes never leaving Buffy's, the corner's of his mouth quirk into an amused smile. "Buffy, tell me how much you want me. Talk dirty to me."

The sound of her low, trash-talking voice fills the air. Spike's tension-filled veins of his arms emerge, as his jaw begins to twitch with anger. He sees red. Hatred is rolling off of him, tainting the game Angel is enjoying, and giving hope to Buffy.

"This will do nicely." Angel says suddenly, bringing his hand up from a place on Buffy's neck. The fingers have the glistening crimson of blood on the tips. Spike's eyes drop to her flesh. The bastard had clawed away the scabs from the wound Spike had cleaned with his own tongue just that morning.

Abruptly, Angel pushes Buffy violently away from him, and she slides across the concrete floor towards Acathla's ugly form. Angel saunters after her, approaching the demon with a disgusting look of respect on his face.

"Spike, bear witness, as I ascend. As I become." He shifts into his demon visage, yellow eyes now staring sinisterly at Buffy's heaving body. She looks up at him with no expression.

"Everything that I am, everything that I have done, has led me here." He leans over her, grabbing her neck with fevor, and pulling a knife from a place near his belt. Its blade shines with cold finality before he suddenly scrapes its sharpeness around the mutilated claim.

He removes the scared and sacred skin completely.

Buffy screams with agony.

Spike lunges forward with enragement, the blessed sword in his grip.

"I guess you're not as healed as I thought you were, huh, Spikey?"

"Guess not, Angelus."


TBC

Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: Two words: Joss. Whedon.

Spoilers: Season 2

Rated: R for violence, gore, and language

Summary: Angel has just realized that Spike is the same old guy from the beginning of this little tale, they both are ready for a showdown while Buffy is bleeding on the floor from her Claiming scar's removal.

A/N: This is the last chapter! Feedback is very appreciated.

Distribution: Just let me know where it goes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"I should have realized before, with that "Wolf in lamb's clothing" comment." Angel continues casually, "So, me cutting off that claim from her scrawny neck disturbs you, huh?"

Spike moves towards him, his dangerous posture filled with contempt and a viscious thirst to destroy him. Buffy loved that scar. She had told him that it was the only scar she was proud to have, and now Angelus had completely removed it from her body.

He grasps the hilt of the blessed sword with white knuckles. Angel just stares at him with a strange expression. Angel is neither surprised, nor angry, nor does he seem ready to fight. This puzzles Spike, until Angel begins to speak again.

"Acathla... Mundatus sum... pro te necavi. Sanguinem meum... pro te effundam... quo me dignum... esse demonstrem."

The bastard is continuing the ritual! His hands rubbing together, spreading the beautiful rich blood of Buffy's neck all over his palms and fingers. The fists close around handle of the sword jutting out of the stone demon. A brilliant light shines, making Angel's ridges and long teeth blare with razor-sharp shadows.

"Now Acathla, you will be free. And so will we all!" he screams through clenched teeth.

Suddenly it throws him back, and the instant his back connects with the solid floor, Spike is upon him, fists and metal sword hilt slamming into the body.

"Looks. Like. You. Weren't. Worthy. Angelus." Spike spits in time with each connection. Just then, two tiny hands fist in his shirt as he is bent over Angel and pull him off forcefully. He looks with surprise at the bleeding girl staring at the vampire on the floor with unabashed hatred.

"I want a turn." she growls. Spike smirks grimly with violent pride. She reaches for Angel's hand, the one with the duLac ritual scab in it, now smeared with her cooling blood. Her rounded and manicured nails dig into the hardened scab and tear it open. Angel screams.

"How do you like it? Fun, isn't it? Except when you're human it hurts even more. Allow me to attempt to show you how much more. Spike, give me the sword."

Its hardness is instantly in her outstretched hand. She admires the blade with a savage warrior's eye, and then lowers the gleaming tip to his neck where she carves a long gash identical to the one that destroyed her bite. Angel screams again, this time letting his furious power sit up and drive the girl away from him. In the blink of an eye he grabs the imbedded sword with his bleeding hand and pulls it from the stone heart. Everyone is suddenly stupified with surprise.

"My blood. It had to be my blood." Angel says in awe, and then laughs, "Golly, Buffy, thanks! If it weren't for you and your thirst for payback, I never would have been able to wake up my boy here." He lunges for her, and the dual begins.

Spike can't help but to watch and admire.

His Grandsire *is* powerful. He has a magnficent presence- tall, dark, and sinister. His body dwarfs any opponent with the mighty intent that rolls off of him in chilling waves. Dark brows low on cold brown eyes, and long lips curling in a smile of a beast, he fights, his muscular arms bringing the sword near Buffy again and again in wide strong arcs. He is a master in every sense of the vampiric meaning. If it weren't for this particular opponent, his triumph would be swift, crushing, and hellish.

But he is fighting HER.

She is the icon of beauty, perfection incarnate. Her tiny limbs move so fast, the if Spike blinks, he misses the movement. Her satin encased torso shimmers, while the shining creamy skirt flaps around her bare legs. Dirty locks of gorgeous blonde hair whip around her face that is set with an expression of complete determination. Those enormous hazel eyes are lit with the fire of destructive passion. She is the Slayer of all Slayers, the embodiment of the Angel of Death while being the Goddess of Light. The sword is half her size, but she swings it with ease. This fight will be over quickly, for she is merely playing with him.

Soon their ferocious dual is against the back drop of a swirling vortex, and only then do Spike's amazed eyes turn with fear as he begins to devise ways to stop Acathla and save Buffy. She can handle Angelus, but not Acathla at the same time.

And then it is over. Spike has done nothing. Buffy's sword has sunk grotesquely into Angelus's gut, and he doubles over with pain, leaning into the giant pinwheel of windy color. It swallows him and snaps shut. An aftershock of magick surges through the building, tingling the occupants' skin and staining the floor with an explosive black shadow.

And all is quiet.

Buffy crumples to the ground with severe exhaustion and blood loss, and Spike dives to her, enfolding her in his patented comfort embrace.

The two warriors sleep.

--- ----- ------ ---

Spike had quietly laid Buffy on a hospital bed before the sun began its journey into the blue sky that morning. Nurses in light green scrubs were instantly upon her, bringing their professional expertise to the healing of the hideous wounds on her neck. Spike faded into the corner and then swept off into the dawn to the cold and empty warehouse to wait for her to return to say the goodbyes they never had a chance to say. It had been two days, and there she was again.

She enters the warehouse with comfortable familiarty, and just a hint of disgust at the memories of Angelus's touch, and a smile at the rememberance of Spike's. A cottony bandage adornes her neck, but her hair is clean, and clothes are fresh, and her cheeks are rosy with health. Spike moves towards her silently and bands his hard arms around her. She gasps slightly and then sighs with relief, leaning back into his chest.

"I was waiting for you."

"Why didn't you come visit me?"

"Didn't want to run the risk of meeting up with your mates."

"Oh."

She turns to face him, her hands coming up to caress the sides of his chisled cheeks and jaw, the skin cool and familiar under her touch. Her eyes search his clear blue ones.

"I want you to claim me again." His eyes register amazement, surprise, and love. And then concern.

"But you're injured."

"Cover the Master's bite from last year. Doesn't a claiming bite over another bite erase it?" She asks knowingly, her eyes squinting with seriousness.

"Someone's been doing their research." he smiles.

"I have a vampire lover. I had better know about Vampires, right?" she smiles back.

His face turns serious and intense.

"I would be honored to claim you again."

And his lips cover hers. Their kiss is the usual- intense, passionate, and needy. He has to stoke the fires of her emotions before he can claim her again. When she is clinging to him with want and panting with adoration he drops his head to the other side of her neck, and sinks his teeth carefully into her skin.

The colors. The sparks. The fire. The ice. The blood. The night. The light. The feelings. Its an undefinable expirience.

He releases her and runs his tongue carefully over the wounds as his face melts back into the human planes of beauty. Her head lays heavily on his shoulder as she murmers her love for him. He feels so content and fufilled at this moment, that it stretches in his mind as the one perfect time in his existence. The reason for his life and unlife. He was made a vampire just so that he could be here in this century for her.

They both pull back to stare at each other.

"You aren't leaving, are you?" she whispers.

"I'll be around. I'm not leaving my Claimed to get messed up by any beasty. I'll be keeping a shadowed eye on you." he says, as he scatters open-mouth kisses across her neck, jaw, face, ear, and temple, "For all time, you are mine."

"As you are mine." she responds.

And the lovers begin their dance.


The End


------------------