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 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50
Kallysten
Disclaimer : Of course they belong to someone else, I just play with them sometimes.
Distribution : Sure, just tell me where.
Story notes : AU, set after As We Were and before Hell's Bells.
Warnings : Character Death, Bloodplay, NC-17 in future chapters
Feedback : Anything but flames kallysten_fr@yahoo.com As for most fanfic authors,
feedback motivates me to write faster... (hint, hint)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fifteen years before, if anyone had told him he would one day, or rather one evening, walk down the aisle with a beautiful bride holding his arm, Spike would have laughed until tears. Then he would have ripped out the clown’s throat.
And yet, there he was.
A half moon was casting a nice light on the altar, enhanced by a dozen tall torches. A few rows of chairs had been installed outside, decorated with ribbons and flowers, all as white as her dress. He could feel the eyes of the guests on them. No, on her. She looked like a princess, straight out from a fairy tale book. His hand covered hers on his arm, and she looked at him, smiling behind her veil. Unneeded breath caught in his throat, and he wondered what he had done to deserve such adoration.
At last they reached the altar, and he carefully lifted the veil from her face, revealing to the world the happiness that illuminated her eyes and smile. He brushed a kiss on her forehead, and left her standing between her bridesmaids and soon to be husband.
Slipping in a chair on the front row, Spike took Buffy’s hand and gave her a tender smile. She squeezed his hand, eyes shining with happy tears. He returned his attention to the ceremony, though he didn’t hear much of the words. As his eyes rested on the bride, his mind was going through all the memories he had of Dawn. The farthest one, created by the damn monks but still so real, was a glimpse of her behind her mother when he had fought against Buffy, the very first time. It was neither the most pleasant one, nor the worst. The worst memory involving her was still painful years after the fact. Tears streaming down her face as he was thrown off Glory’s tower, unable to keep his promise to protect her. The best memory… So many of them, how could he choose? Maybe when she had told him and her sister that Steven had asked her to marry him. Or when she had asked Spike to walk her down the aisle. Her wanker of a father was somewhere among the guests, but she had wanted him for that honor. It had taken all his self-control not to cry like a baby that day.
The ceremony was coming to an end already, the couple exchanging rings. Spike turned to Buffy, catching her gaze.
“I promise,” he whispered.
A little light twinkled in her eyes, proof that she remembered, and she leaned toward him for a soft kiss.
A couple of hours later, they were dancing to the song. As he held his precious Slayer in his arms, Spike’s gaze wandered around the reception room, gliding on the assorted men and women who had become, over the years, his extended family, because they were her family.
At a nearby table, the poof was grinning stupidly. Angel, turned human again, was sitting next to an angel, literally. Spike wasn’t sure he had gotten all the subtleties of the situation, but he didn’t care. Human or vampire, soul or no soul, Angel was still his Sire. On the dance floor, completely oblivious to the world around them, the wiccas were dancing together. Somewhere out there, Xander and Anya were keeping an eye on their demon twins – figuratively speaking. Giles was present too, with his wife, or maybe fiancée, it wasn’t quite clear, and it didn’t really matter. Dawn was still dancing with her new husband, looking happier than he had ever seen her. Steven had the same stupid grin plastered on his face as his father. Spike remembered thinking, the first time he had met the boy, that he might come to like him. He had been right, and the liking had been mutual, made easier by the two interests they had in common – the poof, and Dawn.
Finally, his attention returned to the petite blonde who was resting her head against his shoulder, smiling softly, eyes closed.
“Pet… I was thinking…”
“Hmmm?”
Her eyes opened lazily and she brought her face close to his, her soft lips brushing on his skin.
“The Nibblet doesn’t need us any more. We’ve trained the new Slayer as well as we could. The Scoobies are all safe and happy. How about we take some time just for us?”
She raised an eyebrow but kept quiet.
“I figured, we could travel a bit. There’s so much I want to show you.”
Her fingers played in his hair, pulling on the soft locks. Bleached blonde again, thankfully. He had lost a bet, a couple of years back. It had taken an awful lot of time, but she had gotten her wish to see his hair with its natural color. He had endured the ordeal in silence, knowing that the more he complained, the more she would tease him about it. In the end, she had been the one to break first, buying the peroxide and dying his hair herself.
“So where are you taking me?” she asked after a while.
He thought about it for a minute. He hadn’t expected her to agree so quickly. He had asked her a couple of times before, but she had always found excuses to delay. For so long, she had been the last defense standing between the Hellmouth and the world, that she sometimes seemed to think the apocalypse would come as soon as she left. Then again, past events seemed to give her cause. But even now, four years after a new Slayer had been called and taken residence in Sunnyhell, she was still patrolling almost every night. They were still patrolling. The new kid wasn’t supposed to know, of course, but Spike thought she suspected. He wasn’t sure whether she was grateful for the help or mildly annoyed by her over-protective elder.
So now that she had agreed, the big question was where to go. He had seen a lot of the world in his years, but it was different this time around. He wouldn’t be able to go to Prague or dozens of other places without memories of Drusilla resurfacing, but he wanted to create new memories that included his Slayer instead.
“It all began in London,” he murmured in her hair. “We could start there. And we’ll see where we go after that.”
He quivered as her lips caressed the fresh scars on his neck and held her tighter against him as she whispered:
“Anywhere with you, my Sire.”
He chuckled softly, and she grinned at him. It was a kind of joke between them. He called her Childe when she refused to listen to his opinion, a reminder that, should he ever decide to do so, he could control her with a word. That was her cue to stop being stubborn for a minute and try to see things from his point of view. It rarely worked, and they usually ended doing whatever she pleased. But when she did change her mind, she called him Sire, an acknowledgment that he was letting her make her own choices even if he didn’t agree with her.
He remembered the one night when he had chosen for her and imposed his decision to her weakened body. He had claimed afterward he would never regret it, and in truth he hadn’t, not one single time, not one second in almost ten years.
She had said, long ago, that she had forgiven him for turning her. She had even said she considered it a gift. But he had never dared asked since if she had ever regretted being a vampire. She had lost the sun. She had lost the possibility to ever have children. She had to share her body with a demon, always fighting it, always controlling the bloodlust. In return, she had gotten unlife. A chance to be with her friends and sister for a while longer. A chance to be with him…
“Buffy?”
An eyebrow arched gracefully, questioningly. It was so rare for him to call her by her name in public. He usually reserved it to more intimate moments, knowing that so much of him was revealed when he said that simple word.
“Did you ever regret it?”
She didn’t ask what he was talking about, she didn’t need to. She just watched him for long seconds, until he was sure she would admit that yes, she had regretted becoming a vampire. And then, slowly, a smile crept up on her face, the gentlest, most tender smile ever. And she used words he had said to her long ago.
“Never until I’m ashes,” she whispered. “And neither should you.”
The End
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 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50