1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 |18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41
Eurydice
DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of
course. And the chapter titles are courtesy of Miles Davis.
PREVIOUSLY ON
BUFFY: Well, no real previously since this is the first chapter, but a brief
explanation perhaps. Set the summer between seasons 4 and 5, there is no Dawn
and I’m breaking Buffy and Riley up before the story starts, so no Riley either.
Oh, and I’ve decided to ignore the fact that Tara ever thought she’d become a
demon on her next birthday.
SUMMARY: When Willow is kidnapped by strangers with a mysterious agenda, Buffy is forced to chase after them to New Orleans, with a reluctant Spike along for the ride.
RATING: NC-17
“Really, I thought we’d grown past demon-napping each other, Anyanka.”
“Well, you don’t write, you don’t call…what’s a gal supposed to do?”
“I thought I’d told you everything you wanted to know.”
“Maybe if you’d kept your big nose out of Spike’s head, that might’ve been true, Halfrek.”
“Not that I know what you’re referring to, but that’s a gruesome image, even for you.”
“Stop playing dumb. We know you’re the one who took Spike’s chip out. Did D’Hoffryn put you up to it?”
“Spike? I don’t believe I’m familiar with that name. Is he your dog? Oh, please don’t tell you’re indulging in human whimsies regarding pets, now.”
“It’s pointless trying to pretend, you know. I’m the one who let you into the room, remember?”
The last was from Tara, and with her now joining in on the confrontation of the vengeance demon, Buffy sighed, leaning as casually as she could against the arm of the couch, arms folded across her chest as she waited for something to do. Halfrek was contained in whatever magical thingamabob that was binding her to the room, which meant the Slayer couldn’t touch her. And as for questioning her, well, when it came to nagging as an interrogation method, she had to admit Anya was her better. And Tara was there to play good cop, so the equation was already balanced. Everyone else was pretty much superfluous.
Of course, everyone else consisted of only her and Xander at the moment. Giles was still hard at work in the bedroom, trying to get Freddie to relax. He’d emerged at one point, as the girls were setting the spell up, but promptly disappeared into the kitchen, giving them only a perfunctory nod when he came back out with two steaming cups of what she assumed was tea. The decaffeinated kind, she hoped.
So she and Xander waited, their earlier chat returning the comfort to their proximity. He’d taken it better than she’d expected, and though she wasn’t proud of herself for hitting him---I really have to start learning how to control those instincts around my friends, she thought---it had been just the thing to snap her out of her anger, to finish talking to him like a rational adult. It was probably still weird to him, but given time, Buffy was sure he’d adjust. He’d gotten used to Spike living in his basement, hadn’t he? And this wasn’t nearly as close.
Of course, that required Spike to actually be there, which meant rescuing him and
Because Anya’s ex-friend was driving her batty with her bitchy prattling. If something didn’t break on that front soon, Buffy was going to have to do some breaking herself. Preferably on Halfrek’s smug face.
“For
someone who was so itching to get to his Slayer,” the seer said, swivelling to
look back at him from the front passenger seat, “you’re certainly taking your
merry time getting out of the car.”
“Yeah.”
Glints of gold sparked across Spike’s eyes as his nostrils flared,
inhaling deeply the early morning aromas.
Unmistakably Buffy, as well as the others, but mixed in with it, echoing
of something magical, was definitely something non-human. Demon. Only one, but since none of the gang
ranked among his kind, its presence could not bode well.
“Wait
here,” he ordered, when he saw Peter’s hand go for the door
handle.
“Something wrong?” Clara asked.
“She’s got
company. No reason to be draggin’ you lot into this if there’s goin’ to be a fight.”
Besides, after having been caged in by Sandrine for so long, a fight was
exactly what he was in the mood for.
No way was he going to share in that.
“I think
you’d be surprised at how good Peter is when it comes to steppin’ up to help.”
He shot the seer a frown.
She wasn’t letting this go.
“Might not be such a bad idea if you took him with you. It never hurts to have a
back-up.”
“Then he
can back me up parked out here,” Spike countered. “That way you two have the front covered
if something goes wrong.” Not that
he thought anything would, but it seemed like as good an excuse as any for him
not to tag along.
Her
measured gaze told him she wasn’t buying it, but after a moment, Clara
shrugged. “She’s your Slayer,” she
said, her surreptitious glance at the large black man at her side not going
unnoticed by the vampire. “You do
as you see fit.”
Damn
straight she’s my Slayer, he thought as he slid silently from the vehicle. Of course, if Buffy actually heard that
thought, he was sure she might have a different opinion. Something about him being her vamp.
A warm
flush slithered down his bare abdomen, disappearing beneath the silk pyjamas to
heat his groin as he padded lightly across the grass toward the back of the
cottage.
On second
thought, he rather liked that version better.
“It’s not
the difference we want to talk about, Hallie. It’s the why. And the potential of
you going back to D’Hoffryn and offering him a deal
for us.”
When the
vengeance demon laughed at the suggestion, Buffy bolted to her feet in
irritation, pacing along the far length of the room. This was getting them nowhere. Halfrek seemed
determined to be as close-mouthed as she possibly could, barely even admitting
that she’d had anything to do with Spike in the first place, in spite of
She needed
to hit something.
Now.
Because if she didn’t, she was going to explode
in frustration.
She was
making a third pass by the lanai doors, watching the festivities on the other
side of the room out of the corner of her eye, when the first sensation tingled
along her skin. It wasn’t enough to
make her stop, but Buffy’s step faltered slightly as
she continued to pace, glancing back at the closed exit with the faintest of
frowns worrying her brow.
When she
approached on the fourth go, the one tingle turned into a plural, electrifying
her nerves so that the hair stood up on the back of the Slayer’s neck. This time, she halted, grey-green eyes staring intently through the glass,
seeing instead of the darkened garden, her own reflection gazing hazily back at
her.
Only Xander
noticed her distraction, darting glances between her and the others before
rising to his feet and crossing to her side. “What’s up, Buff?” he asked, sotto
voce.
“Vamps,”
she replied in equally low tones.
Her lips thinned, a gleam overtaking her irises as her hands curled into
anticipatory fists at her sides.
Looks like my prayers just got answered, she
thought.
Xander’s eyes widened. “You think Iris found us already?” he
rushed. He didn’t bother lowering
his tone this time, and the sharpness in it caused all other talking in the room
to cease behind him.
“Iris is
here?” Anya asked, looking at them with alarm.
“Someone’s here,” Buffy clarified. She was trying for soothing, but judging
from the way the ex-demon grabbed the nearest weapon, she had a sneaking
suspicion she was failing miserably.
“Someone of the vampire persuasion.” With definitive strides, she marched to
the open weapons bag near the kitchen.
“Everyone stay in here,” she instructed as she
tucked a stake into her waistband.
“Don’t you
want us to b-b-back you up?”
The Slayer
shook her head. As jittery as she
was, these trespassers were hers and hers alone. She needed the
slays to iron out her nerves.
“You guys just make sure nobody else gets in. Get ready to run if I say the
word.”
“And what’s
the word going to be?” Anya asked as the Slayer’s hand hovered on the door
knob.
“Probably
me yelling ‘run’ if I come running back inside,” the
blonde replied, and slipped out into the night.
Has to be
one of Iris’ minions scoping out the back entrance,
she thought as she stopped before the wall. Who else would insist on her employees
dressing like some out-of-date glam rock star?
Whoever it
was, was nearing, and Buffy’s body went into automatic
mode, grateful to at last have the opportunity to vent some of the energy that
had been building up inside her, in spite of the earlier fracas at the
hotel. With a coiled spring, she
leapt the height of the hedge, aiming for the approach, to gracefully collide
with the familiar cold form on the other side, sending them both in a heap to
the ground, hers landing beneath what was unmistakably a
him.
Her elbow
lashed out instinctively at the body trapping hers, but was met with a firm grip
that twisted her arm to pin it behind her back. The sharp jerk of her head backwards was
reflexive against the pain radiating through her shoulder, but it wasn’t until
she heard the muttered British curse accompanied by the sudden rush of air along
her legs when her captor rose, that she made the
connection.
“Spike?” Buffy said, rolling onto her back and onto her
feet. Her eyes widened at the pale
echo of his flesh against the dawn-blushed sky, shoulders carved out of the
darkness as he rubbed painfully at his nose. Without another moment of hesitation,
she vaulted herself at him, arms outstretched, throwing both of them into the
hedge.
Her heart
was thumping inside her chest, her rational thoughts scattering to the winds as
relief suffused her system. He was
back. He was safe. Oh god, he’d managed to escape and he
was standing right there and he was…
“Why do you
look like you’ve just escaped from some male harem?” she asked, sliding down the
length of his body to look again at the pyjamas that graced his lower half. The silk left very little to the
imagination, clinging and shimmering as it captured the scattered light. Even the outline of his growing erection
was unmistakeable in the dim illumination, and she couldn’t resist the urge to
reach out and trace the line of his cock through the
fabric.
Spike
hissed in pleasure at her feather touch.
“This would be Sandrine’s idea of play wear,” he commented. When Buffy’s
brows shot up, he chuckled.
“’Course, she didn’t really fancy it when I asked her to cease and
desist.”
Slowly, she
relaxed. “You know, for as much as
I hate to say it, I’m going to have to agree with her on this one.” Her mouth curled into a hungry grin as
she slipped her fingers inside the edge of the waistband. “We get to keep these when this is all
over, right?”
The growl
rumbled from the back of his throat as his fingers dug into her hips. “You get me my duster back, pet, and
I’ll even wear Harris’ castoffs.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped. “She’s got your coat?” she exclaimed in
mock indignation. “Well, that just
won’t do. I say, let’s string her
up. Off with her head.” She smiled. “Figuratively speaking, of course,
because technically, it’s still
“Me, too, luv.”
His voice was muffled as Spike buried his lips in her hair. “Me,
too.”
She could
feel his excitement pressed against her stomach, but in spite of the initial
exhilaration that had surged through her veins at the potential fight, it was
eclipsed by the joy and relief at seeing him in one piece that now flooded her
body. Having him gone had been
excruciating, but it was only having him back that made her realize just how
deeply that had cut. How much of
her had felt like it was missing.
God, how could it hurt even more now that he was
back?
Her fingers
knotted in the stray curls at the base of his neck, pulling far enough away so
that she could slide her lips to his.
Hungry, and desperate, her tongue swiped across the lower swell before
plunging through the gap as his mouth parted, fighting and tasting and devouring
him down as she pressed her body into his.
Spike’s
response was immediate, hands tightening in his need. The arousal that had been semi-present
at the fight urged itself to the fore with a vengeance, demanding for release as
the silk barrier that prevented its escape tortured him along his length,
sliding up and down as Buffy ground her hips into his. All thoughts of the threat that had
initially brought him to the rear of the cottage vanished from his mind,
replaced instead by dancing green eyes and nimble fingers that promised both
pleasure and pain, drawing him to the edge of forgetting the world around him as
he met her tongue, stroke for ravenous stroke.
Buffy let
one hand slide between their torsos, sliding inside the trousers to snake along
the tip of his dripping head.
Giving it a firm squeeze, she chuckled against his groan, and then
squealed in delight when he cupped the globes of her ass, tucking and pulling
her tighter against him. The tips
of his fingers settled beneath her shorts, into the moist arch where her thighs
met her now-soaking cleft, and her squeal turned into a corresponding moan as
she itched herself lower, desperately trying to force his touch
deeper.
“Don’t…you…dare…scare me…like that…again,” she
panted as he broke apart from the kiss, raining a parade of blunt nibbles along
her jaw to the sinewy arc of her neck.
“Oh?” Spike
murmured. “Would you rather be
scared like this?”
His teeth
sank into the muscle of her shoulder, the explosion of sensations it wreaked
down her spine forcing her head back, her nails to rake down the arcs of his
blades as the cry was torn from her throat. The line of fire that had just been
created between his mouth and her clit pitched higher, glossing her skin to a
fine sheen as she felt the tip of his cock brush against her wetness, knowing
without a shadow of a doubt that there was even more moisture soaking her
slit.
“Bastard,”
she rasped, the smallest of laughs coloring her
cadences, and with a graceful flip, she twisted him around to the ground, now
straddling his lean hips as her hands braced herself on either side of his
platinum head.
Two sets of
eyes glittered as their adrenaline raced, both nearly black with desire as they
seemed to hang there in the moment, watching, and waiting, Buffy’s breath the only audible
sound to either of their ears. The
same realization crashed to both of their attention as they lay there. The fact that Spike’s
chip was now gone meant more than questioning his attitude toward killing
again. It meant that he and
the Slayer were back to being equals, matched in form as well as in hearts,
neither able to claim superiority no matter what the
circumstance.
It created
a swell of satisfaction in Spike’s gut.
Equals.
Never had that before. Not as a human. Not even with Dru, not with the whole sire thing, and then her being completely nutters. Leave it to Buffy to surprise him yet
again.
The
corresponding sense of right that rose in the Slayer’s breast was surprising,
though. She’d missed this. Fighting with Spike had been a vicarious
tango that had crisped her moves, forced her to push mind and body to their
limits until she was better than when she started. Knowing that he could now return her to
that precipice was thrilling, to say the least.
Unfortunately, it also reminded her of just why
she’d come outside in the first place.
He seemed
to sense her shift in mood, and his lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t get used to this position,” he
warned. “Not when I can fight back
now.”
The tone of
his voice was teasing, but there was no mistaking the hint of worry that
fluttered behind his eyes. It was
then that Buffy realized…though she had supported him back at the hotel, he knew
they had yet to really talk about what the ramifications of his returned state
would mean, and she reached forward to feather her fingertips across the line of
his brow in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “I told everyone,” she said softly. “Giles…Anya…Xander. Surprisingly enough, their heads didn’t
combust.”
Spike’s
hand reached up to catch hers and he turned his head to press a kiss into her
palm. “Never
asked you to lie for me, pet.
I don’t want you to think you have to.”
“I
know. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for us.” Slowly, she peeled herself away from his
hips, rising to her feet and pulling him up with her. “It’s not like you weren’t going to tell
me. You kept trying. I can see that now. We just kept getting
interrupted.”
“And you’re
not…fussed ‘bout that?”
The bend of
his body was still wary, and Buffy shook her head as she pulled him against her
again. “Just don’t turn it into a
habit,” she said. “That’s a bad
one. The…keeping stuff away from
each other part of it, I mean. If
you have something to say, don’t hold it back. I’ve had enough of guys trying to tell
me what they think I need to hear.
No more whitewashing for this gal.
Just like I swear not to hold back with
you.” She laughed. “And that’s enough Oprah for this hour,
methinks. Time to
get back to some good old-fashioned apocalypse
averting.”
“Please
tell me you managed to nick my clothes when you went scampering off from the
hotel,” Spike said as followed her over the hedge. “Not that I’ve got a problem showin’ the wares to Rupes and the
boy, but I think it might make
“She’s a
lesbian…remember?” she joked back.
“But, yeah, we’ve got all your stuff. We’ll just have to sneak into the
bedroom to get it.” She stopped
when she noticed he’d halted behind her, turning to see him staring intently at
the patio doors, nostrils flaring.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Tell me
you know there’s a demon in there,”
he said, his voice gruff. Stupid of him to forget that’s why he’d
come out alone in the first place.
“Oh, yeah,”
she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That’s just Halfrek. One of
Anya’s ex vengeance buddies. Turns out she’s the one who took the
chip out of your head. Tara and
Anya figured it out.”
“And you’ve
got her in there because…?”
“…we
thought we could use her to get to D’Hoffryn.”
He nodded
as if he could’ve really expected nothing less. “Something tells me we’re goin’ to have some blanks to be fillin’ in for each other here, luv.”
His
question reminded her of her earlier doubts. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Like…how in hell did you ever figure
out I was back here?”
Spike
smirked as he ambled to her side.
“Those two particular blanks happen to be parked out
front.”
“So…Iris
and Sandrine aren’t nipping at your heels?”
A shake of his head. “And there’s no imminent danger inside?”
he queried, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
Her turn to say no. “And you know…” Somewhere along the line of their
questioning, Buffy’s voice had grown husky, her desire
for him returning to burn even higher.
“…those pants don’t so much show your wares, as they do put out a
full page ad. We should
probably…wait before going in.”
“Or do
something about it,” Spike muttered.
The last of his words was silenced by the crushing of his mouth to hers,
his arms scooping her about the waist and carrying her to the shadows of a
nearby willow tree.
“Off, off,”
Buffy gasped as she pushed at her shorts.
The bark of the tree scraped against her back from the force he was
pinning her there, and she found herself holding her breath as dexterous fingers
pulled the article of clothing away, baring her skin to the pre-dawn air for
only a fraction of a second before being covered again by his insistent hips,
his lips once again attacking hers.
He had
freed himself at the same time, and it only took a small shift of the Slayer’s
hips to feel his hard length nudging along her cleft, each sweep brushing
against her screaming clit. Once,
and twice, and three times, and oh god
was he ever going to enter her?, and there it was again, the
gentle but firm pressure on the nerves that threatened to explode
already.
She gulped
for air as his mouth left hers, travelling along her cheek to capture her lobe
between his teeth, biting and nipping as a sympathetic rumble vibrated from his
chest into hers. Buffy’s fingers clawed at his back, and though somewhere in
the back of her head, she knew that was she was doing was going to leave marks,
marks that the others would undoubtedly see when they finally went inside, she
didn’t care. All that mattered was
him. And getting
him inside her. Now, now,
now, her inner voice chanted like a greedy child. Want him now.
He seemed
to be reading her thoughts. Without
breaking his tempo at her ear, Spike pulled his hips just far enough away to
direct the tip of his dripping cock to her entrance, holding her still for the
moments---long, excruciating, wonderful moments, she decided---it took to impale
her on his length.
Inch, by
inch, stretching and filling and engulfing her until she felt him buried
completely to the hilt, his coarse hair tickling at her clit as he held himself
there…and waited.
She was the
one to begin the rhythm, lifting her body just enough to encourage him to start
pumping in and out of her, each stroke driving her harder into the trunk, her
skin aflame as the world tilted around her. “God…Spike…” she murmured into his neck,
tasting the cool satin of his flesh as it prickled against her tongue. Everything seemed so much easier when he
was there, like the answers that insisted on vanishing with the advancing light
suddenly decided to stick around, provide her grounding upon which to
stand. “Love you…so
much…”
Though his
thrusts became harder, his mouth softened, leaving the hollow of her neck where
he had been sucking to lick across the tender spot just below her ear. “Love you, too, Buffy,” he replied, his
voice a whisper across her soul.
“Always.”
It was all
she needed to drive herself over the edge, muffling her cry by burying her mouth
against his skin, her skin and limbs and insides and outsides detonating in
syncopation with the ripples that shuddered her
muscles. Spike came almost
immediately after, as if he’d been waiting for her release before allowing his
own, and he held her tight against him, forehead pressed to hers, lashes dark
against his pale skin.
“It’s good
to be home,” he said softly as their bodies quietened.
She could
only nod in silent agreement.
But when
the doors opened, and she saw the familiar platinum head walk in at Buffy’s side, his fingers entwined with hers, the
conspicuous scent of sex clinging to their exposed skin, all motion in her body
came to a stop, her hope in the situation plummeting. Nothing showed on Halfrek’s face, though, not even when Spike turned his head
to look at her, and she lifted her chin higher when she saw his eyes narrow in
speculation.
“Geez, Spike,” exclaimed Xander as everyone else exhaled in
relief. Though it was obvious the
humans noticed the new closeness between the two blonds, it was just as apparent
to Hallie that they had no clue about the more
intimate aspect of their relations that had just occurred. “Way to go for wigging us out here. Care to share why you didn’t bother, oh,
I don’t know…using the front door and knocking?”
“Sensed you
lot weren’t alone in here,” he said vaguely, and released Buffy’s hand to step toward the confines in which they held
the vengeance demon. When he came
to a stop before her, she could’ve sworn time slowed down as he tilted his head,
his sapphire gaze glittering as it languorously swept up and down her
body.
His lips
pursed in his examination. “So….”
Spike drawled. “I hear tell you’re
the one I’m s’posed to be thanking for my little chipendectomy.”
She didn’t
say a word, only watched as Buffy came up to stand beside
him.
“So this is
our Cecily wannabe?” she asked
unnecessarily.
Spike
nodded. “No wonder she was able to
pull off the masquerade so well,” he commented. “She’s got bitch written all over
her.”
Buffy
giggled at the joke, and turned away, no longer interested in his evaluation of
his so-called savior, issuing instructions to the
others that for some unknown reason included retrieving a pair of mysterious
persons from a car out in the front.
I told D’Hoffryn
this wasn’t going to work, she thought.
His plan had rested on the premise that Buffy would want to kill Spike. He hadn’t accounted for the fact that
she was going to fall in love with him.
What choice did Hallie have now but to try and
do what the stupid Slayer wanted?
The room
was quieted when Anya held up her hands.
“Not to be the voice of doom and gloom here,” she said. “But I’ve got a funny question to
ask. Not that I’m not glad we don’t
have to go on some suicide search and rescue for Spike, but…if Sandrine got as
angry as she did when you guys got me and Freddie away from her, how pissed do
you think she’s going to get when she finds out that you’ve done it to her…again?”
So when the
other presence woke from the slumber that had kept her to the bed the remainder
of the night, Willow was practically giddy from nervousness, waiting---and
really, really hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as last time---to see what the
mambo’s reaction was going to be.
For a long
minute, Sandrine stared at the empty wall opposite her before allowing her gaze
to trail to the just as empty entrance.
“Huh,” she finally said out loud, only the mildest of surprises in her
voice. “That sure happened a heck
of a lot sooner than I thought it would.”
Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.
“And that bitch Slayer didn’t even bother to stick around here long
enough for me to pretend to put up a fight.”
Relief that
she hadn’t been found out, that Sandrine automatically assumed Buffy was the
responsible party for the rescue, surged through
Just as
quickly, her distress returned.
Wait.
Did she say pretend
to put up a fight?
Holy moley, what did
I miss?
She watched in growing horror as Sandrine picked up the duster that was tucked underneath the bed, slim fingers gliding lovingly over the softened lapels. “Hello, baby,” she crooned. “You’re going to take me right to them…aren’t you?”
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 |18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41