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Kantayra
Author's Notes: Ah, a brand new smutty saga...how exiting... Just so you know the setting. This occurs after S5, but I kinda assume that Buffy didn't die. Come up with your own generic and overly-used explanation for how this is. My personal fave: Buffy has the common sense to notice that Dawn's bleeding and wipes up the blood before it opens the portal. I mean, how obvious was that anyway? Everything else should be pretty straight forward. Enjoy the start of some new Spuffy goodness... ^_^
Summary: For over a year Spike's dreamed of Buffy, so what happens when he's finally offered her...at a terrible price?
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Spike, or any other BtVS characters that might appear in this story. They all belonged to a bunch of crazed clowns that call themselves Mutant Enemy because they think that sounds more respectable. Like I said: crazed clowns. ~_^ we’ll be able to work out a suitable…arrangement…”
Skin. Flesh. Heat.
So soft and so firm at the same time, encircling him, warming him, sliding against him.
A regular deep thumping rhythm. Her breaths, her heartbeat, the pattern of their bodies moving slowly together…
Spike sighed and lowered his head to steal a kiss from those sweet, succulent, full lips. They met his eagerly and parted before his tongue had even made its request. He slipped inside, conquering, tasting…finding her own tongue, battling with it, two equals now, joining, mating, loving…
Slender hands stroked up and down his back, encouraging him to rock in time with her. Delicate, little feet with the power to crush him glided along his calves, twining their legs together, advancing one more step towards perfect union…
His own hands tangled in her long, blond, silken hair. Stroking it, touching it, wrapping it around his fingers, inhaling its heady vanilla scent…memorizing her, memorizing every moment.
His left hand ventured lower, finding one soft mound, pleasuring the sensitive nipple before dipping lower, finding firm muscles beneath soft feminine curves, moving ever downward until…
A delighted little gasp escaped her lips when his fingers finally arrived at the source of her pulsing need. He did everything he could think of for her, just so that she would make that wonderful sound over and over and over again…
“Spike…” Her moans finally took shape in the form of his name.
“Buffy…” he whispered back raggedly against the hollow of her throat.
“I-I love you, Spike,” she gasped, catching hold of his chin and turning his head so that he looked directly into her eyes as she spoke. “I love you so much,” she repeated softly.
He felt giddy with the pleasure of that moment. He wasn’t even inside her, yet what he felt was greater than any climax he’d ever experienced. “I-I love you, t-too,” he barely managed to stammer out, fighting to maintain some hold on reality…or dream reality, as the case may be.
“Please, Spike,” she whispered gently, her feet sliding up so that her legs now wrapped around his waist. “Show me. Show me how much you love me. Show me what a beautiful man you’ve become…”
“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered again, his shut lashes fluttering against her cheek. “Y-You know that, right? I mean,
really know…”
“Shh,” she stroked his hair tenderly, “I know… I know you. I know you, and I love you. Please, William, make love to me…”
He gave her what he was sure was the most delighted grin of his unlife as he brought them into perfect alignment.
“Yesss,” she hissed at the feel of his tip prodding her wet opening. “I’ve wanted this…so long…”
“Look at me,” he pleaded. “I want to look into your eyes…”
Twin hazel orbs of molten fire – anger, passion, and love – instantly turned to his.
Never breaking her gaze, he plunged deep inside. And she was so warm and tight and wet and wonderful…
…And he opened his eyes and woke up.
“Oh, god, no!” he gasped.
He should have known it all along. No mere dream could imitate that scorching heat, no fantasy ever smelled this lovely or felt so glorious. Never in his unlife had he experienced anything like it. Which meant this was the first time, the first…
Buffy clutched him tightly to her, even as his eyes widened in horror at what his unconscious mind had allowed. She rocked her hips slowly against his, finding a slow rhythm and maintaining it, her inner muscles working him over in the most wondrous ways imaginable…
His first reflex was to just give in. His second was to panic. His third was to resign himself to the fact that he was already fully within her, they were already making love, the damage had been done. The fourth was to just give in again. The fifth was to panic once more.
“Please, Spike,” she entreated, her lips at his ear, “move with me. I want to make love with you, baby. So bad…”
He whimpered as she squeezed him rhythmically, her hips increasing the intensity of their thrusts against his. Of their own volition, his hips began rocking into her in response.
“Please, Spike…”
She turned his head to face her and…
Oh, god, this was not good. He was imagining the real Buffy, his Buffy, in those eyes, looking at him with that love, pleading with him to continue. He bit back a gentle sob.
“I’m so close,” she continued to coax him. “That’s how much I want you, my love. I’m that close already.”
He refused to acknowledge the fact that he was that close as well. Oh, god, her body was heaven! But knowing that that wasn’t really her mind, her soul…that was hell at the same time.
“Cum with me,” she whispered softly against the short hairs on his temple. “Please, Spike… I want you with me…”
She made a soft, keening noise as slow ripples spread throughout her body, causing her to convulse beneath him.
He clenched his eyes shut tight and buried his head in her shoulder, sobbing softly, even as he felt his own climax approaching. Her inner muscles pulsed against him, their rapid staccato too powerful for him to resist. He spilled deep within her, still clutching at her shoulder helplessly, trying to seek comfort from the source of his distress.
“I love you, Buffy,” he gasped out between sobs. “I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” And with that, he finally managed to pull free of her grasp, curling up a little ball at the far side of the mattress and fighting back tears.
Buffy was quite alarmed. She had thought that it would be a nice surprise to wake him like this, but apparently her actions didn’t bring him any pleasure at all. Well, he had cum within her, but now he was crying and apologizing like crazy. She didn’t know what was wrong.
“W-Was I not good?” she asked nervously. This master had been the nicest to her by far out of all those she’d met, and she had been rather hoping that he would buy her up till now…even though she would faithfully serve whoever purchased her.
“’S not that, p—” He suddenly felt very guilty using affectionate pet names for her and broke off in mid-syllable. He let out a frustrated sigh, hating that he had to explain this to Slave-Buffy while his heart was breaking. “I-I wasn’t ready, was all…” he tried lamely.
“Were you a virgin?” Buffy asked in realization. “You were exceptional for a virgin,” she reassured him.
“What?” Spike said in confusion. “No. No! Don’ be ridiculous! It was you I wasn’t ready to be with.”
“In case someone else bought me at the auction?” Buffy asked quizzically. “You wanted to buy me first. You wanted to wait until after the auction before we had sex?”
“Yeah,” he nodded slowly, “that’s it.”
In more ways than one…
“Then, you can just buy me and it will be all better,” she decided perkily. “Then you won’t have to give me up.” She beamed at him proudly, happy that she’d solved his problem.
He nodded slowly and managed a small smile. “Yeah,” he said, false happiness in his voice, “all better…”
She crawled over to him like a predatory feline and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. His own lips met hers with a ferocious intensity for a second, and his hands caught her shoulders to him roughly as he kissed Buffy – the real Buffy – within.
Then, he pulled back and looked as deep into her eyes as he could get. “I know you’re in there,” he told her firmly, seriously. “I know you can hear me, an’ you know what I did. ‘m sorry, Buffy. I didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t excuse it. Wh-When you come back, ‘ll do whatever you want, I swear it. You wanna stake me, ‘ll stand there an’ let you do it. You want me to leave, you’ll never see me again. Anythin’ I can do to make it up to you, Slayer, I promise. Anythin’ to take back the fact that I r-rap-r—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word and turned away from her in shame. “Punish me ‘owever you see fit,” he amended softly before getting up and getting dressed.
Slave-Buffy merely looked at him curiously, not understanding a word of what that had all been about. She bit her lip, worried that she wasn’t following instructions properly again. “What should I do?” she asked, demanding clarification.
“Jus’ get dressed,” he said disinterestedly, tossing a shirt and pants over to her.
Apparently she’d discarded her sleeping shirt before jumping him. He brought his shorts back up around his waist from where she’d yanked them down his hips before having her way with him.
He dressed slowly and methodically, focusing his full attention on putting his arms through sleeves and his feet in boots. Because the instant he stopped, that strange, nauseous feeling rose up inside him. He wished for a moment that vampires could vomit; maybe he’d feel better if he did. Somehow, he doubted it, though.
“Would you like me to help you?” Slave-Buffy asked, noticing how long he was taking when she was already dressed.
“No,” he insisted, a bit too vehemently.
She blinked and shrugged. He hadn’t given her any additional instructions, so she must be doing what he wanted.
Finally, he got the last of his shirt buttons fastened and moved to go upstairs. Slave-Buffy got up as well to follow him. He paused when he realized this, mulling his current problem over in his head.
“Dawn asks,” he finally decided to delay the confrontations until Buffy was able to fight in his place if need be and he was dust, “you lie ‘bout what happened here this morning. You say we din’t ‘ave sex. We jus’ cuddled like last night. Got it?”
Slave-Buffy nodded eagerly. “Yes, Master,” she agreed cheerfully.
Spike shuttered slightly at the epithet. “Please, don’ call me ‘Master’,” he begged.
“Yes, Spike,” she agreed.
“Tha’s better,” he nodded. “Now, we’d better go make sure everythin’s ready for the auction…”
* * *
He just stood there numbly, nodding at appropriate intervals. He’d been doing that all day, actually. Dawn had noticed, of course, but he hadn’t been responsive enough for her to figure out why. Slave-Buffy had merely explained that they’d snuggled together last night just like the night before, so Dawn had no way of knowing that anything was different there.
He had no idea how he’d thought he could ever pretend that things were all right. That deep, queasy, gnawing-at-his-gut feeling had only increased as time went on, and he kept running that morning over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out what he could have done, how he could have stopped it.
By the time they were ready to go to the auction, he’d come up with a list of 3,472 things that he could have done to prevent the woman he loved from being raped. He still couldn’t bring himself to succinctly think the thought: I raped Buffy.
He just couldn’t handle it. So he continued to walk in a daze through the tasks before him – tasks necessary so that Buffy wouldn’t experience the same torment at the hands of a complete stranger. He wasn’t sure which of the two was worst. Cold, random violation by someone you didn’t even know, or the most intimate betrayal of someone you’d known for years, someone who claimed to love you, who you trusted, who…
Spike shook his head when Dawn stepped hard on his foot in as inconspicuous a manner as she could. He raised his placard to bid.
He decided that it had been a good thing that Dawn didn’t know yet; one of them, at least, had to be able to focus enough to get through the technicalities of the auction…
Dawn jabbed him again. He raised the bid to ten thousand.
Fortunately, her position curled up against him in full ‘slave’ mode made her pokes and jabs more discreet. But the way she was looking at him like he was completely off his rocker… Sooner or later someone was going to catch on if she didn’t stop doing that…
Sixteen thousand. He noticed the lull in the bidding himself this time and allowed himself to be proud for just one second.
Around him, several unsavory types continued to bid up. Spike had no doubt that he’d be able to ‘acquire’ the Slayer, though. After all, he had more than enough money squirreled away to be a formidable opponent on the auction floor. And, to everyone else here, the auction block was just another cheap sex toy – there were plenty others just as pretty.
Spike suddenly became morbidly fascinated with just how far this sleaze was willing to dish out in order to rape the love of his life. There was one man – human, of all things – that seemed to think that the opportunity was worth twenty thousand.
Spike countered his bid almost instantly. If it were a human that finally touched his Buffy… He didn’t think she could bear that; she had such faith in that little dichotomy of hers: humans equals good, demons equals bad. And, if nothing else, his actions of the morning before had proved her to be right…
“Sold!” Rhitias announced.
Spike merely nodded blankly. Twenty-one thousand dollars. That was all she was worth to these losers. His goddess, his love… Oh, god! What had he done to her? What would she be like when she was restored to herself?
Spike found himself a place to sit down for the rest of the auction. He just couldn’t stand to watch it. All those poor girls with their hopes, their dreams… It could have been his Nibblet, if he hadn’t come and saved her. It could have been his Slayer. It already was his Slayer, and it was all his fault.
He cried aloud then for the first time.
Fortunately, they were a secluded enough place that no one saw. Dawn tried to comfort him as best she could, but she had no idea what was wrong with him, what had completely broken him from the night before…
And, if she did know, she would never hold him like this, let him cry on her shoulder. She would call him a monster and say she hated him. And she should. She should hate him with every fiber of her being. Because he was a monster, because…
“Spike?” Dawn whispered gently, still stroking his hair as his head rested on her shoulder long after the convulsive sobs had stopped. “We have to go meet with Rhitias in less than half an hour,” she reminded him. “Maybe you want to get yourself cleaned up? Pull it together for just a little bit longer? We can grab Buffy, then. Get her out of this place…”
Her words finally did get him to snap out of it. He nodded and found a restroom not too far away. Dawn waited outside the door while he splashed water on his face.
As he dried himself off, he stared intently at his lack of reflection in the mirror. Never before had he so desperately wanted to see himself. It wasn’t fair, he decided. He – just like every other one of those wankers out there – should be forced to see themselves every day so they could look at their own face and be disgusted with it.
Dawn called him out within a few minutes, and he rapidly composed himself before stepping outside.
Rhitias had easily bought the excuse that he was just tired. He was delighted to take Spike’s money and gave him a little conspiratorial wink for having been so helpful during the auction.
Spike couldn’t even work up the rage to want to rip the slimy demon’s throat out. But that was OK. Buffy would be back to take care of it. She would take care of him, and then she’d go after Rhitias. That was how it should be.
There was no sense of satisfaction when her key was finally placed in his palm. He’d done it, he knew. Played the part, tricked Rhitias enough to get the Slayer back, but it was all meaningless.
They three of them left immediately thereafter, refusing the party Rhitias was holding afterwards. Rhitias had made some sly comment about Spike wanting to spend some times with the wares now that she was actually his.
Spike wished he could vomit again.
And so they arrived back at Buffy’s house, Dawn quickly pulling on appropriate clothing and Spike nodding numbly as she babbled excitedly at him.
Truth be told, a horrible fear was building deep within him as the time of the real Buffy’s return approached. It wasn’t the death; he was resigned to that. Sure, he didn’t really want to die all that much, but that persistent, nagging desire to exist wasn’t able to overcome his grief at the moment.
No, he feared that one instant before his death. The one where Buffy would look at him with pure hatred and disgust before she plunged the stake into his heart. The one where her eyes would ask him:
why did I ever trust you? Why did I ever think you were more than a filthy demon? Why didn’t I just kill you years ago? You weren’t worth the effort of my kindness…
“Spike!” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Snap out of it! Fix her collar already. It’s getting way creepy.”
“Close your eyes,” Spike said softly to Buffy.
She instantly did as he requested. He removed the small, white crystal from the little traveling bag Rhitias had given him. With shaking fingers, he lifted it up to her collar.
He couldn’t get it in the first two tries.
Eventually, Dawn gave him a sigh of annoyance and fitted it in herself.
“Bit,” Spike finally began, “I-I jus’ wanted you to know that I din’t mean it.”
“What are you talking about?” Dawn looked at him confusedly.
“I love you,” he said softly, “but i-if Big Sis does somethin’ to me, I-I…” He trailed off and bit back his tears once more.
“Spike, what’s wrong?” Dawn was really worried down.
She rested a hand on his shoulder, but he brushed it off. He had stolen deceitful comfort from her before; he wouldn’t do it again.
“I jus’ wanted you to know that I love you,” he finally finished calmly. “And that I deserve whatever Big Sis does to me.”
He hushed her when she moved to speak and turned back to Buffy.
“I order you to act ‘xactly like you always do, Slayer,” he said with a bit of his old confidence. “You don’ take orders from me or anyone else anymore. You do whatever you want…my love…”
Buffy sat still for a moment. That spark of life and intelligence stirred in the back of her eyes for a moment, flickering in and out of control of her body.
Spike stepped back and set Dawn in front of her. The least he could do was have her first sight be a pleasant one. He continued to watch from the side.
Slave-Buffy blinked once, twice, shook her head, and then her eyes opened once more, and it was the real Buffy that looked out of them…
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