Title: Devastation
Author: Luisa
Email: luisa_barros@hotmail.com
Rating: R (?)
Category: Angst, Violence. Deals with rape.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Joss Whedon does.
Description: Spike kidnaps Willow
Note: The excerpt from "Hollow as a bone" serves as my own (ironic) comment on what happens in the story.

"If I lost you now
I would feel as hollow as a bone."
The Cowboy Junkies, "Hollow as a bone"


I.


It was a beautiful summer night. Fragrant, rich...Willow was walking home with Xander, listening with half a mind to his enthusiastic narration of a sizzling rendez-vous with Cordy.

Strangely enough, she no longer felt any animosity towards Xanderīs girlfriend. Her heart had gradually come to live with the fact that Xander belonged to someone else. Right now she was experiencing the magical thrill of being alive. Her appealing green eyes sparkled in her small, happy face. But she was miles away...on a distant planet. Planet Dreams. It was a lovely planet to visit...once in a while.

Xander suddenly noticed her obvious lack of attention. He was annoyed...

"And you call yourself my best friend! Earth to Willow! Your spaceshipīs gonna crash unless you refuel! Mayday, mayday! AHHHHH!!!!!"

This was Xander being his usual self. Willow didnīt bat an eyelid. She smiled at him pleasantly and pretended to be interested. But Planet Dreams pulled her towards its gravitational sphere. Or something...


II.


The ice-cream tasted heavenly. Strawberry and chocolate. Her favorite flavors. Feeling its coolness on her tongue gave her jolts of celestial pleasure. Savor...relish......absorb...swallow...swoon...

When she opened her eyes after a long lick at the strawberry goodness, she couldnīt see Xander anymore. He was gone. Her frantic eyes searched everywhere, heart beating fast.

"Xander, come on! Itīs not funny!"

But even as the words poured out of her mouth, she knew Xander wasnīt doing it deliberately. This made her feel very afraid. The darkness clawed at her. Tears of fright rose to her green pupils. She started to walk faster. Step by panicky step. On and on and on. Faster and faster.She stumbled on a loose stone and cried out in shock. The ice-cream went flying into a bush.

She ungainly fell to the ground, grazing her hands and a knee. "*Ow*...."

All of a sudden a pair of menacing, black boots was visible in front of her. They were perfectly immobile. Her eyes slowly travelled upwards, past dark pants, a red shirt and a leather duster. To bleached-blond hair and an amused mouth. With thin, cruel lips. She abruptly looked down at the concrete again. She couldnīt feel her heartbeat anymore. Only some sort of choking sensation that grew worse as a low, glacial voice penetrated her ears.

"Well...look what the cat dragged in." She didnīt dare get up or even look up.

"No greeting? Thatīs not very nice..." Sarcasm.

She finally decided to open her mouth. Hopefully nothing awful would come out.

"Do you mind if I get up now? This is not a comfortable position to be in..." She was on all fours. Her head was starting to ache.

"Actually, I like seeing you like that." He was lazily sadistic.

Willow didnīt know what to do. A voice screamed inside her head. < DO SOMETHING!!! >

"Tough. Iīm up." She was up alright, but he was much taller. And definitely not pleased. A displeased psychopath. What an end to a great night...

"Whereīs Xander?" Her voice sounded braver than she felt. Maybe the sweeping adrenaline had clashed with the other obscure chemicals in her overwrought brain.

"Youīd better watch your tone, little girl." His torpor-inducing voice stabbed her ears.

"Please...whereīs Xander?" There was little courage left in her own voice now. Very few crumbs of any heroic emotion, for that matter. Abject terror was creeping into it.

"Heīs alive. With a slight dent in his frame, but..."

She let out a sigh of sheer relief. But the feeling was short-lived. He was getting her measure. Looking at her like a scientist looked at a white mouse. Or at an insect under a pin. His calculating eyes wandered all over her. Her head, neck, breasts, arms, hands, waist, hips, legs and feet. She felt as if she were undergoing a process of meticulous dissection. With no anesthetics.

He was draining the life out of her just by gazing. Suddenly he lifted his eyebrows in scornful disgust, but unexpectedly reached out an ivory hand towards her, as if in careless invitation.

"Iīm bored. Letīs go." He did sound bored.

She didnīt move to take his hand. Her whole figure trembled as a rather obvious question eventually disclosed itself to her brain. Her hands were sweating. She tried to dry them on her dress.

"Go where?"

"Keep your bloody mouth shut."

This silenced her at once, but she still didnīt move. His depthless eyes shot her a look of utter malice. She winced and stepped backwards.


III.


"One more step and youīre dead."

His voice was toneless. Willow had the feeling she prefered to be dead than stay where she was a second longer.

She decided to run for her life. Turning on her heel, she fled, darting past a lamp-post, garbage cans, a picket-fence painted in electric-blue...her mind registered everything somehow. All her limbs were bolting with her. And all her limbs braked agonizingly and came to a shuddering halt when a brutal, leather-clad arm clutched them in a barbarous grip. She didnīt have time to scream before she felt a hand sharply pressing one of the tender nerves at the back of her skull. A vicious shot of pain sliced its way through her body and made her lose consciousness.


IV.


Darkness was all around her when she woke up. Not a single glimmer of light. Her throat was dried out and her forehead throbbed mercilessly. She was lying on some sort of mattress. It felt slightly damp. One of its springs had pierced the grimy material and was scratching her left ankle, making her squirm slightly.

She was in appaling shape...Merely to grasp at some sort of sound, she opened her mouth to speak. A hoarse, almost inhuman moan reached her ears. She then tried to lift her arms from the mattress. Her hands were tied together, lying on her stomach like dead weight. She lifted them a few inches high, then let them drop again. It seemed her feet were tied together as well.

This latest discovery was the straw that broke the camelīs back. Willow started crying. Then sobbing. Then screaming for help. Desperately, wildly, huskily...Nobody came.

She was utterly alone.


V.


After a while she fell asleep, shivering with cold and hopelessness. Her hair, darkened by tears and dust, was glued to her wet face. She didnīt hear the door open and a silent shadow glide into the room. She didnīt hear it sit down on a wooden chair. Nor strike a match against one of the soles of its boots.

When she dragged herself from the gruesome depths of fearful slumber, she noticed the candles. Three of them on the floor. Wavering in the semi-darkness. The room was bare except for a chair. Someone was sitting just beyond the faint glow. Willow couldnīt see who it was, but she guessed it was him.The blond vampire. Ready to pounce on her and rip her throat out. Maybe even gut her for a bit of harmless fun. She blinked a few tears away. They fell on the dirty mattress.

"So youīre back. I hope you enjoyed the head-trip." He was either extremely amused or deadly serious. It was impossible to tell.

"Oh God...."

"Heīs not here. Itīs just you and me." Probably amused. Victimizing people held its charms. Especially to a bored, bloodthirsty fiend.

"What..." Her mind went blank for a second. She shook her head a little from side to side until the thoughts came tumbling back. "Whatīs going on?" She sounded like a horror-struck five-year-old.

"What makes your dainty, little head *think* somethingīs going on?" He sounded like a patronizing, middle-aged teacher. Leaden anger flooded her core.

"Oh, I donīt *know*! Maybe the tight ropes around my hands and feet tipped me off. Or the fact that *Xander* is no longer with me. Or the filthy mattress. Or the total darkness and complete *SILENCE*!!!!"

She was yelling hysterically at him. Making him laugh. He burst into a fit of demented mirth. As quickly as it had started, it died on his lips. He sprung up from his sitting position and headed towards the mattress. Every leisurely step he made make her want to scream. But she knew her voice was gone. She stayed still. He stopped next to her and stood gazing down at her body. His expression was unfathomable. Panic-stricken terror struck her like a whiplash across the face. When he lifted her arms over her head and straddled her midriff, making himself comfortable, there were no longer any coherent thoughts in her head. He wasnīt actually sitting on her. Sheīd have suffocated if he had been. But she did feel his weight on her stomach. It made it hard for her to get air into her lungs. It made her flesh creep.


VI.


She couldnīt utter a word. Her eyes felt as if theyīd pop out of her skull any minute now. Her palms were covered in icy sweat. Sweat was trickling down her legs as well. And she still couldnīt feel her heartbeat. She tried to avert her gaze from his malevolent grin. But his own eyes hunted hers everytime she tried to look away. His head followed her desperate movements from side to side. Finally she gave up and just stared at his face. It was perfect. And thoroughly mad.

"Are you done?" He was impassive.

"Yes...I think so." Where did that wry note in her voice come from? Was she getting used the thought of pain?

"Good. Because there are other things to do. Better things. Well, at least in my view. Make hay while the sun still shines!" He sing-songed the proverb theatrically.

If she hadnīt been totally devoid of any capacity to react, sheīd have laughed. As it were, what he did next made her feel like doing anything but laugh. He took out a switchblade from the depths of his duster.

< Thatīs it. Iīm dead. > She couldnīt believe her eyes. Death by stabbing. Or gutting. < What a waste of blood. >

With a violent sweep of the knife, Spike cut through the ropes tying her feet. He didnīt do the same for her hands.

< Should I feel anything? > Panic, perhaps.

He put away the thing and leaned slightly forwards, his hands moving down to her knees. His steely blue eyes didnīt leave hers for a second. Icy fingers began travelling up her thighs, taking the loose-hanging skirt of her light, summer dress with them. Very slowly. Excruciatingly slow.

"Well? Have you guessed whatīs going on? Or do you need any more clues,*Willow*?"

It was the first time she heard her name on his lips. It had lost all its charm, like a spiritless, withered corpse. It hung between them for a moment and then turned to dust.

"Youīre going to rape me." The hoarseness in her voice was gone. It was as clear as the sound of water trickling in a fountain. She was stating a fact.

"No...weīre gonna make *love*. The way vampires do it." He spoke matter-of-factly, as if talking to her on some topic that interested both.


VII.


She didnīt try to struggle. Heīd make it worse if she did. And she just couldnīt take her shattered mind off the switchblade. He had taken it out again. Her brain was telling her not to fight the vampire. Her heart wailed.

He was enjoying the task of cutting the elastic bands on her panties. When they were off, he put them inside one of his pockets. He then proceeded to unbutton the bodice. When he reached the last button on her waist, he slid the gelid knife between her skin and the fabric and cut it loose. The button didnīt fall to the ground. He swiftly caught it in his palm and stowed it away inside another pocket. Willow gasped when his hands savagely ripped the bodice apart, revealing her plain, white bra underneath. He lifted his eyebrows appreciatively and let out a high-pitched whistle.

"Not too bad."

Willow was surprised to feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. How pointless.

She started to tremble when he suddenly buried his face in her collarbone, pressing his stony lips against it. She braced herself for the razor-sharp sting of fangs on her throat. Nothing happened. Spike was nuzzling her shoulder. Licking it like some sort of cat. Grazing the smooth skin with his front teeth. But there was no sign of his fangs.

Then his mouth moved to her breast. He nibbled on it over the white material, making it wet. The elastic band of the bra snapped on her skin, making her jump. Once again Spike used the knife to get rid of the awkward piece of clothing. Her breasts were exposed and her face was burning.

"Youīre just too shy, Miss Rosenberg! So much buried potential..." His tone was ruthlessly mocking her reactions. She firmly pressed her lips together, refusing to look at him.

"Letīs get rid of some of these worthless inhibitions, shall we?"

Next thing she knew his marble lips were on her nipple and a finger from his right hand was brutally shoved inside of her, moving back and forth in a languorous rhythm.

"So we got ourselves a virgin. Well done, Spike!" He paused for a moment. "Hm...not as wet as I thought youīd be...oh well."

He used his hands to rip the rest of the dress into shreads and impatiently pulled it from her body, bruising her in the process.

"Open your mouth, Willow, and stick out your tongue!" The short, dry order stunned her. She didnīt react. He suddenly slapped her left cheek. "Do it, you *bitch*!"

She did it. His lips enveloped her tongue in a bestial kiss. It constituted a ferocious attack on her senses. His tongue delved deep into her mouth, exploring it like a cave. His teeth bruised the thin layer of skin on her sensitive lips. She couldnīt breathe. She started to squirm. Perceiving her panic, he freed her mouth, licking a few drops of blood from its injured lips.

He smiled charmingly. "Too bad you have to breathe." His tone became dramatically woeful. "If only." It seemed to Willow as if he were speaking to divert her attention from his doings. < As if... >

She didnīt finish the thought. He had relinquished his grip on her breast. Her eyes widened in complete shock as she saw him unfasten a button and lower the zipper on his pants. He smiled nastily. But Willow was too dumbfounded to move. What she had been dreading all along was coming down on her like a ton of bricks. From a great height. He forcefully parted her clenched knees and positioned himself on her. She could feel his throbbing cock at the entrance to her hole. Rubbing it. Spike took her mouth in yet another kiss. It was less cruel than the first one. But he still couldnīt get her to fully respond.

His first thrust into her caught her off-guard. Relief flooded her being. It hadnīt hurt much.

His hands roamed all over her body now. Touching, fondling, pressing certain points, exploring others. His searing tongue was flicking at her neck as if in preparation for something. Willow felt the familiar pang of terror. But she didnīt have time to dwell on it. As he abruptly lunged forward once more she opened her mouth to cry out in pain. But Spike suddenly muffled the anguished sound with his own mouth. He wouldnīt let her scream. Scalding tears scorched her cheeks.

< Dear God, this *hurts*! This hurts... >

He was thrusting rapidly now. She could feel his pleasure mounting. Her own was non-existent.


VIII.


As his overwhelming climax began, the demon emerged and pinned her head to the side, mercilessly sinking his fangs into her neck, drinking from her deeply and pounding one last time. Suddenly all sounds were hushed. Everything was still. Willowīs head started feeling lighter and lighter. She was back on Planet Dreams. As happy and carefree as ever. Floating higher and higher, like a fluffy, cotton cloud. She came crashing down on earth as vicelike hands gripped her shoulders and shook her violently.

"WILLOW!"

He hadnīt drunk enough to kill.

< Too bad... >

She felt like crying.

Her face was as pale as a white rose. A haunted look of loss invaded her eyes.

Spike was perplexed for a second. Why had he stopped? He shoved his bewilderment to the back of his mind and got off the girlīs limp body.

< She looks a total *mess*! >

Not that he cared much. He was feeling exhilarated. Her blood had felt amazing. Unlike anything he had ever tasted before. He ran the risk of becoming seriously addicted to it.

"*Stay* there!"

His icy look had threatened her. Willow felt too sick to move. There was blood all over her throat and chest. There was blood between her legs. He had overlooked that. There was even blood in her hair...

He came back with a black shirt and a glass of water. She was on all fours in a corner of the room, vomiting, hands still tied.

She looked like one of Godīs forsaken creatures. He calmly waited until there was no strength left in her bones. She had miserably vomited her insides, it seemed. She dragged herself back onto the mattress and stayed there, completely exhausted. He handed her the glass and, when she made no effort to drink from it, propped her up with an arm.

"Drink it." His voice was devoid of emotion. He smoothed back the moist hair from her forehead somewhat distractedly and, taking out the switchblade, released her grazed hands from the ropes.

After she had emptied the contents of the glass, he quickly pulled the shirt over her head and loosened her hair from the collar. The shirt was too big for the girl. But it would have to do. The idea of her wearing his clothes somehow appealed to him. He owned a living doll.

He suddenly licked a stray bit of blood from her tear-stained cheek. She didnīt even wince. When his lips caught hers in a quick kiss, she mechanically parted them. But he didnīt prolong it.

"We should do this again sometime. I enjoyed it."

Seeing that she was too weak to walk, he picked her up in his arms and carried her. She was as light as a feather. Her head lolled against his shoulder.

< Sweet little girl. >.

He asked himself whether she was free on Friday. Whistling a merry jig, he walked out the door.

THE END