Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Buffy, Spike, Katrina, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara, and any other characters mentioned here are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Buffy stared in horror at the body at her feet. Long strands of hair blocked the brunette's face from sight, but she decided that it was probably better that way. She could see a gash on the girl's forehead that trickled sticky dark red blood onto the leaf-covered forest floor beneath them both.
She could only imagine what the rest of her face looked like. She was probably pretty and well-liked; at the height of her life. And now she was dead because the Slayer had been too wrapped up in her own problems to be paying attention.
"Oh, God," Buffy whispered. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God..." She fell to the ground on her knees, hands clasped wistfully in front of her as if praying to some higher power to restore the life of this nameless, faceless young woman, and rocked back and forth on her heels while repeating her litany, her eyes never leaving the corpse that lay in front of her.
Suddenly, she felt a strong pair of hands grab her, fingers digging into her shoulder, and pull her to her feet. She whirled around to find herself staring up into Spike's brilliant blue eyes.
"Buffy," he said softly but urgently, his hands changing from a desperate grip on her collarbone to a gentle caress. "We've got to get you out of here."
"But..."
"Now, Buffy. You have to go before someone sees you." He shook her, but her glazed eyes refused to meet his.
"A girl is dead because of me."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I've got to go to the police."
"No, Buffy, I - "
"Yes! Let me go!" She struggled as his grip tightened on her once again. Finally she just kneed him in the groin and shoved him, sending him crashing against a nearby tree trunk. He hit the ground with a thud and scrambled to his feet. Before she could even leave the clearing, he pushed her down roughly, in full vamp face.
"Listen to me," he demanded with a glare. "You are going to go home. You are going to get in your bed, you are going to go to sleep, and you are going to forget that this ever happened. Do you understand me?"
"I can't," she said brokenly, her voice cracking as the sobs wracked her body. Spike's expression softened as he let his human mask slip back over his features. It wasn't that he enjoyed seeing the Slayer at her worst, but more that she allowed him to see her like this. With a sigh, he scooped her slight form into his arms.
He was amazed at how light she was. Even with her petite frame, he had expected her to be weighted down with all the muscle gained from over five years of slaying. But she seemed to weigh nothing in his arms. Her own arms hung limply at her sides and her head lolled back, eyes closed. For a moment, he was tempted to check for a pulse, but her heaving chest proved that she was alive. Good - at least her body hadn't completely shut down.
"Allright, pet - we'll have you home in a jiffy," he murmured. He pulled her small, warm body against his chest and started towards her house. Luckily, there was no one else home to ask questions, so he carried her up to her room and gently laid her down.
"I'll be back," he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Back in the woods, Spike hefted the corpse over his shoulder. In the past, he might have been tempted to drain what was left of the youth's blood - that that hadn't already leaked into the dirt below her. But that was the past - it had been over a year since his last kill.
He liked to believe that he had changed; that he was more that just "a serial killer in prison". Even with being able to drink from humans that were already dead, he had switched to animal blood (to keep up his reputation, of course, he kept it hidden in a small refrigerator in his crypt.). He even visited the same butcher that his poof of a grandsire had used.
It was a sacrifice - pig blood just didn't have the dark, heady taste that human blood did. And dead humans couldn't compare to the warm blood of a ripe, freshly killed, innocent child. But the blood of a Slayer...that was something different altogether.
When he was with Buffy, Spike was often overcome by the urge to mark her as his own. Numerous times he had bit and nipped hard enough to draw blood. But the second he had tasted the sweet metallic twang of it on his tongue, he had stopped. Until about a week ago, that was. That was when she had wrapped her legs around his waist and urged him on. So he had buried his fangs into her neck and sucked slowly, savoring it. Never had he tasted anything more delicious. It made his mouth water just thinking about it even now.
Biting a human allowed a vampire to claim that human as his own, almost the way a dog would mark his territory with his urine. In that one bite, Spike had been able to both sense and taste that, other than Dracula, Peaches was the only other one to bite Buffy, and only that one time out of great nessecity. It pleased him, somewhere deep inside of him where he used to have a soul, to know that she trusted him enough to give him a part of her like this.
But no - he wasn't going to think about blood right now. He has chosen to make the sacrifice for a very important cause: Buffy. He wouldn't throw away everything he had worked for in one moment of temptation.
"Oh the things I do for you, Slayer," he muttered as he approached the riverbank. Using a piece of rope taken from his crypt, Spike tied one end to the girl's thin wrist and the other to a large rock. Then he heaved both objects into his arms and tossed them as far out into the middle of the river as possible.
"I'm sorry," he told the slowly rippling water. Then he spun around quickly, the wind making his black leather trench coat billow out behind him, and headed for where he knew his Slayer would be waiting for him.
When Buffy was much younger, she had been afraid of dying, as most people were at some point in their lives. Not of the way in which she would die, but the unknown that came after actual physical death. Where would she go? What would happen to her? Becoming the Slayer and learning about all of the untold hell dimensions that existed out there hadn't really helped much to quell the fear.
The first time she had died, her soul really hadn't had any time to go anywhere before Xander performed mouth-to-mouth and revived her. That had frustrated her.
The second time she had been sent to heaven, or the rough equivalent of it. That made it twice now that she had died, and still she had never been to hell or anything even vaguely resembling. Really, she that shouldn't have made her worry even more. But it did. What would happen when she died for real now? Did heaven have some sort of "no-returns" policy? Maybe then she would be sent to hell by default.
However now, she would be prepared, because Buffy was positive that she was in hell right now. She tossed and turned in her bed, but was unable to get comfortable. Every which way she turned, the shadows jumped and shifted and spun in ways that shadows were not supposed to. She tried closing her eyes, but then she could still hear the noise. Whispers echoed through the empty room, words harsh and accusing. Then the hallucinations started.
Buffy threw her head back in ecstasy as she rocked back and forth on top of Spike's nude body. Underneath her, he gazed up at her with a mixture of surprise, awe, admiration, and pure, unadulterated love. She kept up the steady rhythm, fixing his beautiful face and smoldering blue eyes with a murderous glare as she rode him hard and punishingly. Seeing the way that his eyes drifted closed as he reveled in the pain only made her more angry, but whether it was with him or herself, she was unsure. Simultaneously, they gasped and groaned at every thrust of his hips. As the pleasure built deep within her, Buffy let her hands slide up Spike's chest and arms to his hands, handcuffed to the headboard of his own bed...
Buffy finished tying Katrina's wrists together, then tossed the bound limbs aside with a satisfied grunt, straddling the girl's very much alive body. "Do you trust me?" she asked. Katrina's lips curled into a cruel, knowing smile. Then her lips parted, and she began to gasp orgasmically...
Once again, Buffy was with Spike in his bed, only this time there were no handcuffs and he was on top of her. Their breathing was heavy and laborious as they ground their pelvises against one another, creating a tempo all their own. She was so close to the edge, to the mind-numbing pleasure that she could only find when she was with Spike...
They were in the woods again, Buffy and Katrina. As she had earlier that night, Buffy saw the girl out of the corner of her eye. Still in fight mode, she grabbed her outstretched arm and jerked her violently to the side. She could hear the crack of her neck breaking from the whiplash, then she tossed her aside like a rag doll, unable to do anything but watch the dead body in the dark clothing tumble down the hill...
She was back in Spike's bed for a third time, but it was nothing like the first two. She was sitting up, wearing no clothing, and straddling him while he lay unconscious beneath her, a stake in her hand. With a feral cry, she brought it crashing down, the sharp wooden point aimed directly at his heart...
And suddenly, Katrina was the one who was unconscious and pinned beneath her, a stake buried in her chest, blood pouring from the gaping wound. Her eyes popped open, penetrating gaze burning into Buffy's own eyes with accusation and unconcealed hatred...
Buffy awoke in her bedroom, screaming. Her breath came out in short little puffs of air and she was drenched in sweat that soaked into her sheets and undergarments, making them cling uncomfortably to her sticky skin.
She had never thought it would be half this bad. Yes, she had killed a girl, as she had numerous times in the past. But even through the fog clouding her addled brain, she recognized the difference: this was not a vampire, a demon, or even a criminal; she was simply an innocent young woman who had gotten into the middle of something that she shouldn't have gotten into the middle of.
For the first time since her mother had passed away, Buffy began to cry.
Then the bed shifted down beside her and a cold, naked body slid beneath the sheets.
"Hush now, luv," Spike murmured gently as he slid his arms around her in a comforting embrace. "It'll be our little secret." He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. Then tears started again.
"Shhh," he soothed. "It's okay - let it all out." Her body heaved with her cries of anguish, shaking violently enough to make the bed rock, the headboard slamming noisily into the wall. But Spike held fast, even as the sobs that wracked her body began to subside. "All better now, pet?" he asked.
"I'm afraid," she said in a voice so small it almost got lost in the imminent darkness of the room. He took her arm and rolled her over on her back so that she was looking up at him. She was so beautiful that it took his breath away. With a fond smile so wide it threatened to make its way into alternate zip codes, he raised a hand to stroke her forehead and cheek in a calming gesture.
"It's okay to be afraid," he reassured her. "Even you don't have to be strong all the time." He bent his head to rain a trail of feather-light kisses from her collarbone to her neck to her jaw. He placed a kiss on her cheek then paused, his lips mere centimeters away from hers, a question in his eye. Tell me what to do now, he gaze pleaded.
"Help me," Buffy whispered softly. "Help me to not be afraid."
Taking her words as permission, Spike leaned forward to capture her mouth with his own in a loving kiss meant to squelch all her inhibitions. She tasted of the salty tears that had leaked out of her eyes just moments before. He held her close while his fingers journeyed up and down her body.
She moaned into his mouth and chained her arms around his neck. Her lower body pressed against him as she spread her legs wide and opened her mouth, begging him to pleasure her in ways they both knew that only he could. And tonight, he complied. Tonight, he let her be needy; let her draw on his own strength.
It took him only a few seconds to peel her undergarments from her sweat-slicked body and drop them in a heap next to her bed. Then he gathered her in his arms and buried himself deep inside of her. He positioned himself above her and they moved slowly, as if dancing, as he reverently made love to her. Pale moonlight filtered through the nearby window, illuminating his lithe body and making him appear pale enough to match the thin sheets on her bed that covered the pair.
They both gasped as the pleasure continued to build, achingly slow. Spike wasn't sure how long they spent like that, him pumping slowly in and out of her while her blunt little teeth sank into his neck, but not hard enough to break the skin. The next thing he knew, the waves of orgasm came crashing over the couple, sending them pounding into one another, doing a complete one-eighty from slow, steady lovemaking to this frenzied, hasty coupling.
Then he held her close, stroking her soft skin and hair and murmuring soothing words as they slept limbs entwined, hearts in tune.
When Buffy awoke, it was as if she had been asleep for years. Now she knew how Rip VanWinkle felt after waking up from his hundred-year nap. But as she stretched and bumped against a solid object in the bed next to her, she smiled a secret smile. Surely Mr. VanWinkle hadn't had this pleasant of an awakening. She sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to Spike, trying to warm his lanky body with her own. He gave her his strength, she gave him her warmth; it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Spike, very much awake, tightened his arms around her to pull her as far into his embrace as he possibly could. Her bare chest pressed against his, allowing him to feel and hear her heartbeat. It was a sound of which he would never get tired of hearing - all that delicious Slayer blood pounding and hammering against a very much alive and beating heart.
"Spike, I..." she began, but he silenced her by putting a finger to her lusciously full lips.
"You don't need to say anything," he whispered. But she shook her head in protest and lifted his hand away from her mouth, placing it on her sheet-covered hip.
"Yes, I do," she insisted. For a moment, he could have sworn that he saw her blush, but surely he had imagined it - Slayer's didn't just blush. He studied her closely as she lifted her eyes to meet his once again.
"Thank you," she murmured. "For - you know. For everything."
"Not a problem, luv," he assured her. He pressed his lips to hers in a kiss of searing passion, running his palm down the length of her bare body, wanting nothing more than to roll her onto her back and have her again.
But she restrained him calmly by pulling away and placing her long, slender index finger over his smooth lips.
"There could be other people here," she reminded him. Spike sighed, pushing a hand through his close-cropped, peroxide-blonde hair.
"But I want you," he said, pouting childishly. She smiled fondly at him and captured his lower lip in a quick kiss, then turned so that her backside was facing him.
"Sleep," she commanded. He scooted a little closer so that she was spooned against his chest. With a contented sigh, he let his eyelids droop closed.
Downstairs, the house was a bustle of activity. Willow and Tara were at the stove cooking up a batch of pancakes for the hungry Scoobies, Xander was searching frantically around the living room for a work schedule that he had left on the coffee table last night which had now mysteriously disappeared. Anya had launched into a monologue about wedding dresses, to whoever would listen, and Dawn was sitting at a table in the corner desperately trying to block out the chaos that was surrounding her while she concentrated on rapidly trying to finish the chemistry homework she had forgotten to do the night before.
"Hey, has anyone seen Buffy lately?" Tara asked, grasping desperately for any topic of conversation to interrupt Anya with.
"I didn't see her come in last night," Willow responded. The two shared a concerned look. "Dawnie, could you check and see if she's in her room?"
"Yeah, in a minute." she murmured distractedly, the redhead's words not quite registering. When the last equation was balanced, she looked up. "What did you want me to do, now?" she asked.
"Go check on Buffy," Xander replied, entering the kitchen with the retrieved, if slightly crumpled, work schedule. He plopped into a chair beside Anya and reached around his fiancee to filch a piece of bacon off of her plate. She swatted his hand away at first, pulling the greasy morsel teasingly farther and farther away from his mouth. He tickled her stomach and she ended up feeding it to him. With a roll of her eyes, Dawn headed towards the front door and up the stairs.
"Slaaa-yer," Spike murmured teasingly, running his tongue down the line of her smooth, tanned neck. She laughed, a sound comparative to tinkling silver bells, and Spike found himself searching for any possible way to make her laugh again, he loved the sound so much. He began sucking on her neck, lightly nibbling at her jugular.
"Not now," she murmured. He bit harder, slipping a hand beneath the sheets to caress her bare stomach, slowly sliding lower and lower.
"Spike!" she hissed. "Cut it out." But her vamp was a pesky one at that. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them above her head and rolled them both over so that she lay on her back, with him on top of her.
"I'll be quiet," he promised, placing a soft kiss on her upturned lips as he slowly slipped inside of her, pumping his engorged cock in and out at a lethargic tempo. Eventually, she relaxed, and pulled her hands out of his grasp to wind them around his neck, fingers running through his white-blonde hair.
"Buffy..." he gasped as they climaxed, together. Coming down, she looked into his eyes; twin orbs that showed right into the soul he didn't have, usually a light, striking crystal-blue, but the color deepened and intensified with his arousal. He twitched nervously under her intense scrutiny, clearly uncomfortable at being this bare and vulnerable even to her, as if she might find something there that she didn't like. But as she looked into his eyes, all she saw was an open, honest reflection of his love for her.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I know," he replied. He kissed her softly, then pulled the sheets over them both and laid his head on her breast.
"Goodnight, luv," he murmured. She chuckled warmly.
"Spike, it's day."
"Sleep," he commanded, mocking her. She just smiled, letting her eyes drift closed, lulled by the soft sound of his unnecessary breathing.
Dawn took her time getting upstairs. After all, the longer she took, the less of Anya she'd have to deal with. The ex-vengeance demon got on her nerves, always treating her as if she were five instead of fifteen. So Dawn purposely made a trip to the bathroom, climbed the stairs as slowly as possible, wandered aimlessly through her room, then stopped for a hair and makeup check in the mirror of the upstairs bathroom before finally making her way down the hall towards Buffy's bedroom.
She rarely saw her sister nowadays. Nine times out of ten, she was either on patrol with Spike or...come to think of it, actually, that was about all she did lately. Not that Spike minded, of course. Dawn still dropped by to visit almost every day after school, and he'd been in a better mood than ever lately.
She envied Buffy. Of course, she was sure most kids envied their older siblings. But none of her friends had the Slayer for an older sister. It was a burden, she recognized that, but even with fighting demons every spare moment, Buffy's life still seemed to always turn out better than Dawn's. While Buffy was out slaying, a task which she knew her sister secretly loved, Dawn was stuck at home doing homework. While she could barely get her crush, seventeen-year-old Pete Hunter, to look her way or even acknowledge her existence despite all her attempts, Buffy managed to attract the attentions of Xander, Spike, and Riley without even trying. It wasn't fair.
But the thing that annoyed Dawn the most was that Buffy was so completely oblivious to everything going on around her. She was often times too focused on demons and slaying to see things like Spike's undying devotion. It broke the neutered vampire's heart every time the Slayer rebuffed or rejected him, and while he cried his eyes out or drowned his sorrows in a pitcher of beer, she remained unaware of the pain she'd caused. As far as Dawn was concerned, she didn't deserve such a loyal, loving, great-looking guy.
She paused outside her sister's door, pressing her ear to the door in order to see if the Slayer was awake yet. But instead of heavy breathing or feet shuffling against the floor like she'd expected, Dawn heard the deep, husky timbre of Spike's charming Cockney. Not hearing any moans or bedsprings creaking, Dawn poked her head inside.
Buffy and Spike lay on Buffy's bed, Spike's head cradled against her breast, her hand on his head, his hand at her waist, thankfully, both fully covered by the light peach sheets. Two pairs of eyes regarded her sideways.
Dawn smiled. Perhaps her sister wasn't as clueless as she appeared. Closing the door softly behind her, she let the pair of lovers have a moment of peace before the day began.
"Shit!" Spike exclaimed. As quickly as he could, he attempted to extract himself from the tangle of sheets and limbs and pull on his clothes.
"Spike..." Buffy called. But he barely heard her, too intent on finding his other boot. Where had he put it last night?
"Spike," she said again, more insistent. Wait, was that it over there under the bed?
"Spike!" she finally exclaimed. He looked over at her in surprise. "Spike, it's allright," she assured him.
"But Nibblet..." he protested. Buffy shook her head. For she had looked into her sister's eyes, and she knew that the younger girl wouldn't spill her secret. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, she thought she might actually have seen a congratulatory look cross her face.
"Stay," Buffy commanded. "Sleep." The corner of Spike's lips twitched upwards slightly in an imitation of a smile as he climbed back into the bed beside her and held her close.
The gang was still waiting anxiously when she descended back down the steps.
"Is she allright?" Willow asked anxiously. Dawn smiled again.
"She's gonna be fine," she said, and with that, picked up her backpack and headed out the door to catch a ride with Janice. After school, she figured she'd drop by Spike's crypt - Captain Peroxide had some explaining to do. But for now, it was all good.
The whole day, Dawn couldn't wipe the happy smile off her face.