Death's Second Self, Part 2 of 3
Title: Death's Second Self, Part 2 of 3
Setting: BtVS S5, post-The Gift
Word count: 2003 (this part)
Rating: R
Written for adecadeofbuffy.
Disclaimer: Joss likes fanfic. He said so.
Massive hugs and smooches to flurblewig for holding my hand through this.
“Buffy?”
Spike tore through the cemetery, zig-zagging through the monuments, frantically searching left and right as he went. Buffy had fled into the night, and by the time he’d gathered his wits after the shock of her appearance, she was no where to be seen.
“Buffy! Come back, luv, please. It’s okay-I won’t hurt you. Would never hurt you.”
He cursed as he tripped over a tree root and forced himself to stop running. Had to calm down. Had to think. His hands were shaking, and he fumbled with his lighter and singed his fingertips when he tried to light a smoke.
Buffy. Here, now... how? Didn’t matter. Buffy! Alive. Well, not alive. But not dead and buried and forever lost to him. His fingers trembled as he brought the cigarette to his lips. Had to admit, this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined her coming back. Probably not the way she’d have wanted it either, given the choice. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away. She was here, now-that’s what mattered. It was the only thing that mattered. She might be a vampire, but she was still Buffy. Had to find her, keep her close, keep her safe. Images of the horrified looks on Willow’s and Xander’s faces flitted across his mind-he’d have to make sure she stayed away from them. No telling what they might do.
He wouldn’t fail her again, no matter who her enemies were this time.
Just had to find her and reassure her that he meant her no harm, and then... anything, everything. Anything and everything were a damn sight better than the eternal nothing he’d been staring at an hour ago. The depression that had weighed him down for the past two days was dissipating like fog in the morning sun. He exhaled a plume of smoke towards the heavens and shook the tightness from his shoulders. It was going to be okay. Buffy was back and everything was going to be okay. He took another drag and set off at a more moderate pace, searching methodically until he picked up her trail again.
~*~
A half hour later, he still hadn’t caught up to her, though he’d discovered where she’d been: the crumpled body of the cemetery’s groundskeeper was lying next to the open door of his tool shed. Mr. Nesbit had picked the wrong evening to work late. Two long and jagged tears gaped in his neck; she’d bitten so deep that she’d nearly torn his throat wide open. He hadn’t been wrong about the newly risen slayer being hungry.
The sight of the ripped flesh combined with the faint residual aroma of Buffy gave his stomach a funny turn. Didn’t matter one whit to him that the man was dead, but it was... strange to think of Buffy feeding on him. He prodded the corpse with his toe, briefly wondering at his unease, then turned towards home. Looking at what was left of Mr. Nesbit made him hungry, and Buffy hadn’t left him a drop.
~*~
The door to his crypt was ajar, and he was fairly certain that Willow had closed it when they left. Spike tensed as he slid noiselessly into the shadow of the wall, inhaled deeply, and then relaxed with a smile. Buffy had come to him.
He placed his hand flat on the door and pushed it open. The influx of evening breeze made the candles she’d lit flicker. He scanned the room and found her standing in front of his refrigerator, holding an open container of blood and looking at him with yellow eyes. Her lips were still stained red from her encounter with Mr. Nesbit. Spike leaned against the doorframe and drank in the sight of her.
“Welcome home, luv.”
Buffy gestured at the bottle in her hand and made a face. “God, how can you stand this stuff? It’s disgusting.” She put the jar back in the fridge with an expression of disdain and wiped her hand on her dress. She licked her lips, and an expression akin to ecstasy crossed her face as her eyes drifted closed. “The real thing...” She shuddered a little at the memory. Spike felt himself stiffen inside his jeans.
“I’ve got to have more of that,” she said in a husky voice. Her eyes snapped open. “Why didn’t you tell me being a vampire felt so good?”
“Never asked, pet.”
“I probably wouldn’t have believed you, anyway. I was too busy with the do-gooding and the demon-slaying. But still,” she turned and shot him an accusing look, “you should have done this to me ages ago.”
“Couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to.” Spike tapped his temple, crossing the room towards her. “Not with this trinket in my head.” He paused and regarded her thoughtfully, puzzled. “But now you mention it-who did turn you? Meet a vampire on your way through the portal that none of the rest of us could see?”
The accusation on Buffy’s face changed to bewilderment. “No.” She reached up and felt the ridges on her forehead. “That’s kind of weird, huh? No big sucking thing. Well, except for jumping off the tower and breaking half the bones in my body and dying-that definitely sucked." Her vampiric features smoothed back into her human countenance as she remembered. "In the way that really big owies suck, that is. It fucking hurt.”
Spike flinched, and his arousal began to ebb way. His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I let you down. I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough.”
Buffy approached him and tipped her head to one side to peer up at him. “Aaaww, is poor Spikey feeling guilty the he couldn’t save Buffy and her little sister from the big, bad goddess?” She made a mock sympathy face, then turned away, laughing. “You should give that up. Guilt, I mean. It never does anyone any good.”
“She’s okay, you know.”
Buffy gave him a blank look. “Who?”
“Dawn. Physically, I mean. Her wounds are still healing, but she’s going to be all right.”
“Great. Swell.” She shrugged. “Whatever.”
Spike cast his eyes downwards again. “If only I could’ve...”
“Enough already.” Buffy turned back and slapped him on the cheek, hard. The force of the blow was enough to sting. “Listen to me. I told you, it’s better-I’m better-this way. If dying was the price I had to pay to leave all that self-sacrificing angst and world-saving bullshit behind and finally get to be free, then it was worth it. Besides, I have a feeling that life on this side of the grave is going to be a whole lot more fun.”
She gave him a wicked grin and whirled away with her arms outstretched, her skirt spinning around her. Watching her, Spike felt his spirits lift again-it had been so long since he’d seen her smile.
“I had a friend once with a great motto-one that I was just too stupid to use for myself.” She paused in mid-whirl and, accusing finger pointed forward, pretended to lecture someone. “Good slayers don’t act that way-it’s wrong.” She resumed her spin, and the next thing Spike knew, she was pressed up against him, hips swaying, her face so close to his that he could smell the blood on her breath. His erection throbbed back to life and his arms wrapped around her of their own accord.
“Want to know what it was?” She looked up at him, a coy expression on her pretty face. Spike nodded dumbly; Buffy was rocking her pelvis against him, and the teasing pressure against his swollen cock was robbing him of his capacity for coherent speech. Buffy walked her fingers slowly up his sleeve, one step for each word.
“It was... want... take... have.”
Suddenly, she shifted in his arms, gripped his cheeks with the palms of her hands, and met his eyes with her own.
“Want.”
She pulled his head down to hers with a strength that startled him and kissed him hard enough to leave bruises. She was warm from her recent meal, and the taste of her mouth was intoxicating. The gentle pressure of her hips against his became more insistent. All remaining traces of guilt were pushed from his mind as his senses were inundated with the scenttastefeel of Buffy and blood, and he was scarcely capable of rational thought. He gripped her tighter in his embrace and leaned deeper into the kiss when she suddenly stilled, pulled away, and forced him to look at her again.
“Take.”
She placed both hands on his chest and sent him careening backwards into the still-open door, and it crashed shut under his weight. Before he could utter a sound or regain his balance, she rushed towards him, her mouth seeking his. Their tongues met and twined together; he could drink from her like this all night and never weary of it. He felt her face changing again, and her sharp teeth drew blood as they moved hungrily over his lips, nipping and pulling and devouring. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once-fingers were stroking and tugging his hair, yanking his shirt up from his waistband, running over his stomach, unzipping his fly. She released him from the straightjacket confines of his jeans, and he gasped at the tightness of her hand gripping his shaft. His knees buckled, and he slid down into an ungainly heap at the base of the door.
Spike reached up and ripped Buffy’s dress open from the neck to the waist with a single downwards swipe. He pulled her down into his lap, pushed his face into the softness of her breasts, and pinched and suckled her hard nipples until she mewled and moaned in response. Her hand continued to stroke up and down his length, slick and slippery now, and the sensations became so intense that Spike feared that the moment would end too soon.
Buffy’s hand abruptly left his cock and she pulled back from him. She tangled her fingers in his hair and slammed his head back into the door hard enough that he saw stars. When his vision cleared, she was kneeling astride him, pinning him in place with her gaze. They stared at each other for long seconds, suspended in arousal, panting but never blinking.
“Have.”
She lowered herself onto him, warm and soft and wet. Spike closed his eyes and abandoned himself to her. She began to gyrate, agonizingly slowly, each circle bringing him a just little farther inside of her. Then, without warning, she tipped her hips forward and sank down to engulf his full length, enveloping him, surrounding him, drowning him. All of him was inside of her, all of him was a part of her; there was nothing left of him that wasn’t hers. Muscles he didn’t know she had clenched around his cock, and she lifted herself off him only to ram down around him again, again, again, again, squeezing and growling and tightening with each plunge until the white sparks of orgasm spun beneath his eyelids, swirled down to his groin, and emptied into her. Buffy cried out, shuddered once more, and then fell against him, sweat-slick and limp.
~*~
Drowsing in and out of sleep, they lay on the floor, limbs tangled together. Buffy’s vampire visage melted away as she relaxed, and there, before him once again, was the face of the woman he loved. Spike drew her closer and was just drifting into deeper sleep when she stirred.
“You know, I did drink from a vampire once.” She yawned and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “When Dracula was in town. He offered and I drank. Then I died. Just not in the usual way that makes people rise. But I guess his blood was still in me, and the magic of the portal took it from there.”
Buffy stretched, rolled over onto her side, and gave a harsh little laugh. “I must remember to show Dawn my gratitude.” She yawned again.
“Soon. Very soon.”
Part 1 is here.
Part 3 is here.
Setting: BtVS S5, post-The Gift
Word count: 2003 (this part)
Rating: R
Written for adecadeofbuffy.
Disclaimer: Joss likes fanfic. He said so.
Massive hugs and smooches to flurblewig for holding my hand through this.
“Buffy?”
Spike tore through the cemetery, zig-zagging through the monuments, frantically searching left and right as he went. Buffy had fled into the night, and by the time he’d gathered his wits after the shock of her appearance, she was no where to be seen.
“Buffy! Come back, luv, please. It’s okay-I won’t hurt you. Would never hurt you.”
He cursed as he tripped over a tree root and forced himself to stop running. Had to calm down. Had to think. His hands were shaking, and he fumbled with his lighter and singed his fingertips when he tried to light a smoke.
Buffy. Here, now... how? Didn’t matter. Buffy! Alive. Well, not alive. But not dead and buried and forever lost to him. His fingers trembled as he brought the cigarette to his lips. Had to admit, this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined her coming back. Probably not the way she’d have wanted it either, given the choice. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away. She was here, now-that’s what mattered. It was the only thing that mattered. She might be a vampire, but she was still Buffy. Had to find her, keep her close, keep her safe. Images of the horrified looks on Willow’s and Xander’s faces flitted across his mind-he’d have to make sure she stayed away from them. No telling what they might do.
He wouldn’t fail her again, no matter who her enemies were this time.
Just had to find her and reassure her that he meant her no harm, and then... anything, everything. Anything and everything were a damn sight better than the eternal nothing he’d been staring at an hour ago. The depression that had weighed him down for the past two days was dissipating like fog in the morning sun. He exhaled a plume of smoke towards the heavens and shook the tightness from his shoulders. It was going to be okay. Buffy was back and everything was going to be okay. He took another drag and set off at a more moderate pace, searching methodically until he picked up her trail again.
~*~
A half hour later, he still hadn’t caught up to her, though he’d discovered where she’d been: the crumpled body of the cemetery’s groundskeeper was lying next to the open door of his tool shed. Mr. Nesbit had picked the wrong evening to work late. Two long and jagged tears gaped in his neck; she’d bitten so deep that she’d nearly torn his throat wide open. He hadn’t been wrong about the newly risen slayer being hungry.
The sight of the ripped flesh combined with the faint residual aroma of Buffy gave his stomach a funny turn. Didn’t matter one whit to him that the man was dead, but it was... strange to think of Buffy feeding on him. He prodded the corpse with his toe, briefly wondering at his unease, then turned towards home. Looking at what was left of Mr. Nesbit made him hungry, and Buffy hadn’t left him a drop.
~*~
The door to his crypt was ajar, and he was fairly certain that Willow had closed it when they left. Spike tensed as he slid noiselessly into the shadow of the wall, inhaled deeply, and then relaxed with a smile. Buffy had come to him.
He placed his hand flat on the door and pushed it open. The influx of evening breeze made the candles she’d lit flicker. He scanned the room and found her standing in front of his refrigerator, holding an open container of blood and looking at him with yellow eyes. Her lips were still stained red from her encounter with Mr. Nesbit. Spike leaned against the doorframe and drank in the sight of her.
“Welcome home, luv.”
Buffy gestured at the bottle in her hand and made a face. “God, how can you stand this stuff? It’s disgusting.” She put the jar back in the fridge with an expression of disdain and wiped her hand on her dress. She licked her lips, and an expression akin to ecstasy crossed her face as her eyes drifted closed. “The real thing...” She shuddered a little at the memory. Spike felt himself stiffen inside his jeans.
“I’ve got to have more of that,” she said in a husky voice. Her eyes snapped open. “Why didn’t you tell me being a vampire felt so good?”
“Never asked, pet.”
“I probably wouldn’t have believed you, anyway. I was too busy with the do-gooding and the demon-slaying. But still,” she turned and shot him an accusing look, “you should have done this to me ages ago.”
“Couldn’t, even if I’d wanted to.” Spike tapped his temple, crossing the room towards her. “Not with this trinket in my head.” He paused and regarded her thoughtfully, puzzled. “But now you mention it-who did turn you? Meet a vampire on your way through the portal that none of the rest of us could see?”
The accusation on Buffy’s face changed to bewilderment. “No.” She reached up and felt the ridges on her forehead. “That’s kind of weird, huh? No big sucking thing. Well, except for jumping off the tower and breaking half the bones in my body and dying-that definitely sucked." Her vampiric features smoothed back into her human countenance as she remembered. "In the way that really big owies suck, that is. It fucking hurt.”
Spike flinched, and his arousal began to ebb way. His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I let you down. I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough.”
Buffy approached him and tipped her head to one side to peer up at him. “Aaaww, is poor Spikey feeling guilty the he couldn’t save Buffy and her little sister from the big, bad goddess?” She made a mock sympathy face, then turned away, laughing. “You should give that up. Guilt, I mean. It never does anyone any good.”
“She’s okay, you know.”
Buffy gave him a blank look. “Who?”
“Dawn. Physically, I mean. Her wounds are still healing, but she’s going to be all right.”
“Great. Swell.” She shrugged. “Whatever.”
Spike cast his eyes downwards again. “If only I could’ve...”
“Enough already.” Buffy turned back and slapped him on the cheek, hard. The force of the blow was enough to sting. “Listen to me. I told you, it’s better-I’m better-this way. If dying was the price I had to pay to leave all that self-sacrificing angst and world-saving bullshit behind and finally get to be free, then it was worth it. Besides, I have a feeling that life on this side of the grave is going to be a whole lot more fun.”
She gave him a wicked grin and whirled away with her arms outstretched, her skirt spinning around her. Watching her, Spike felt his spirits lift again-it had been so long since he’d seen her smile.
“I had a friend once with a great motto-one that I was just too stupid to use for myself.” She paused in mid-whirl and, accusing finger pointed forward, pretended to lecture someone. “Good slayers don’t act that way-it’s wrong.” She resumed her spin, and the next thing Spike knew, she was pressed up against him, hips swaying, her face so close to his that he could smell the blood on her breath. His erection throbbed back to life and his arms wrapped around her of their own accord.
“Want to know what it was?” She looked up at him, a coy expression on her pretty face. Spike nodded dumbly; Buffy was rocking her pelvis against him, and the teasing pressure against his swollen cock was robbing him of his capacity for coherent speech. Buffy walked her fingers slowly up his sleeve, one step for each word.
“It was... want... take... have.”
Suddenly, she shifted in his arms, gripped his cheeks with the palms of her hands, and met his eyes with her own.
“Want.”
She pulled his head down to hers with a strength that startled him and kissed him hard enough to leave bruises. She was warm from her recent meal, and the taste of her mouth was intoxicating. The gentle pressure of her hips against his became more insistent. All remaining traces of guilt were pushed from his mind as his senses were inundated with the scenttastefeel of Buffy and blood, and he was scarcely capable of rational thought. He gripped her tighter in his embrace and leaned deeper into the kiss when she suddenly stilled, pulled away, and forced him to look at her again.
“Take.”
She placed both hands on his chest and sent him careening backwards into the still-open door, and it crashed shut under his weight. Before he could utter a sound or regain his balance, she rushed towards him, her mouth seeking his. Their tongues met and twined together; he could drink from her like this all night and never weary of it. He felt her face changing again, and her sharp teeth drew blood as they moved hungrily over his lips, nipping and pulling and devouring. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once-fingers were stroking and tugging his hair, yanking his shirt up from his waistband, running over his stomach, unzipping his fly. She released him from the straightjacket confines of his jeans, and he gasped at the tightness of her hand gripping his shaft. His knees buckled, and he slid down into an ungainly heap at the base of the door.
Spike reached up and ripped Buffy’s dress open from the neck to the waist with a single downwards swipe. He pulled her down into his lap, pushed his face into the softness of her breasts, and pinched and suckled her hard nipples until she mewled and moaned in response. Her hand continued to stroke up and down his length, slick and slippery now, and the sensations became so intense that Spike feared that the moment would end too soon.
Buffy’s hand abruptly left his cock and she pulled back from him. She tangled her fingers in his hair and slammed his head back into the door hard enough that he saw stars. When his vision cleared, she was kneeling astride him, pinning him in place with her gaze. They stared at each other for long seconds, suspended in arousal, panting but never blinking.
“Have.”
She lowered herself onto him, warm and soft and wet. Spike closed his eyes and abandoned himself to her. She began to gyrate, agonizingly slowly, each circle bringing him a just little farther inside of her. Then, without warning, she tipped her hips forward and sank down to engulf his full length, enveloping him, surrounding him, drowning him. All of him was inside of her, all of him was a part of her; there was nothing left of him that wasn’t hers. Muscles he didn’t know she had clenched around his cock, and she lifted herself off him only to ram down around him again, again, again, again, squeezing and growling and tightening with each plunge until the white sparks of orgasm spun beneath his eyelids, swirled down to his groin, and emptied into her. Buffy cried out, shuddered once more, and then fell against him, sweat-slick and limp.
~*~
Drowsing in and out of sleep, they lay on the floor, limbs tangled together. Buffy’s vampire visage melted away as she relaxed, and there, before him once again, was the face of the woman he loved. Spike drew her closer and was just drifting into deeper sleep when she stirred.
“You know, I did drink from a vampire once.” She yawned and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “When Dracula was in town. He offered and I drank. Then I died. Just not in the usual way that makes people rise. But I guess his blood was still in me, and the magic of the portal took it from there.”
Buffy stretched, rolled over onto her side, and gave a harsh little laugh. “I must remember to show Dawn my gratitude.” She yawned again.
“Soon. Very soon.”
Part 1 is here.
Part 3 is here.