Okay, here’s the deal…
I started this piece a long time ago, long before Learning To Fly took over my life and all my time… when itmustbetuesday announced the fairytale challenge for the comm, I thought about posting it, but never did, because of fear, down and dirty fear… but fear is the mind-killer, the little death that brings total obliteration… (geek here–that’s from Dune)… so I’m posting this on free-for-all day, incomplete with the rest to be posted on my journal–I hope that you enjoy it…. as much as I’ve enjoyed all the wonderful fics, artwork, and icons that have been posted here…
Title: Buffy and the Beast
Pairing: Spike/Buffy, eventually
Rating: PG at the moment; will eventually be NC-17
Disclaimer: The usual–I don’t own them, Joss does, blah-de-blah blah blah…
Author’s note: In this ‘verse, Spike was never paralyzed by Buffy, although they did fight in the church. Drusilla was cured, Angelus did emerge, but Acathla was not found… however, Giles was kidnapped, for reasons yet to be revealed.
Buffy and the Beast
She stood in the darkness outside the Bronze, stake in hand, waiting for whatever sent her stomach flipping to show itself. She closed her eyes to center herself, much as Giles had taught her, and almost missed the swagger, the sneer, the sheer egocentricity that sauntered into view. She smelled leather and tobacco, whiskey and blood and knew that Spike was in the vicinity. Other tinglings invaded her senses and she turned slowly, head down, to center on the closer emanations.
She was in mid-turn when the fledglings jumped her.
Spike was almost alarmed to see her go down under three of his men, then shocked when his fledges exploded into the air. She dusted two as they initially went airborne, then played with the third, itching for a good fight. She kicked him in the face with her heel, then stood tall and rammed her fist backhanded into his nose. He fell backward onto the concrete, and she effortlessly picked him up by his shirtfront. “Don’t you know that it’s bad to play with your food? Don’t you remember any of the manners that your mother taught you?” She laughed at the dumbfounded look on the vampire’s face, then rammed the stake home, waving her now free hand in front of her nose and mouth to fan at the dust he left behind.
“Ashes to ashes,” she said out loud, a bitter taste in her mouth. Darn it, must have been grinning while she dusted again. Her mouth felt gritty, her tongue tasted like ashes. Must have drinkage to clear her throat.
“And dust to dust.” She turned on her heel to find Spike behind her. She raised her stake, and he held his hands up, indicating truce between them. “I never get tired of watching you fight, love. Poetry in motion.”
“Right. And you know a lot about that, right? What do you want, Spike?”
He circled her and she followed him with eyes and body. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
“Scourge of Europe, Slayer of Slayers—hmm, nope, gotta tell ya, you’re not my favorite person on the list. Wait, you’re not a person at all, are you?”
His eyes changed, glowing amber in the moonlight. “I am a person, Slayer. I am more of a person now than I was ever before.”
“No you aren’t. You’re a thing. Now, what do you want? No wait for dusting.” Her comment was punctuated by a grin. “Next?”
His movements were slow and deliberate. He removed a cigarette from the pack in the pocket of his duster, lit it with a silver Zippo lighter, then flicked the lighter closed with a twist of his wrist and stowed it back in his pocket before answering. “I want to help you, Slayer.”
She looked at him, disbelief clearly etched on her features. Her lips curled in a parody of his trademark sneer. “Right, you want to help me. Why do I not believe you?”
He leaned against the wall of the alley, the weak light from the mouth not penetrating his shadows. “Angelus has your Watcher. You want him back. I want even with Angelus. Therefore, we have mutual goals and you, by default, get my help.”
“I don’t need your help. I’ll rescue Giles and get Angel on my own.”
He cackled. “With what? Those mighty puns? Goldielocks, I’d wager it’ll take a lot more than that to save your Watcher. And it’s Angelus now, pet, not Angel.” His eyes took on an evil, calculating gleam. “What was it that made Angelus lose his pretty little soul, anyway? Did it have to do with a night with a gorgeous bird like yourself? Or was it something else?”
Buffy worried her lip between her teeth, guilt written all over her features. “Did he tell you?”
Spike tossed his cigarette onto the concrete, stomping on it with his steel-toed boots. “We don’t have that close a relationship, Angelus and I. Don’t want one neither.”
A weak spot. Buffy was nearly elated at finally finding one. “What’s the matter, Spike? Not man enough for Dru since her Daddy’s back?”
With a roar, he was on her, and had her pressed to the ground, his hand to her throat. They were pressed together from shoulder to groin and he ground himself against her, just because he could. He scented her, inhaling deeply to memorize her fragrance for future use. Jasmine twined with musky overtones dominated her scent, and deeper, underneath it all was Slayer’s musk, its fiery fragrance filled with brimstone, ashes, and sulfur. She scrabbled for purchase beneath him and he planted his boots on her ankles and pressed her into the ground even harder.
Still she fought, her hands clawing at his fingers on her throat and her body arching in attempts to throw him off. The only thing she did was impress her softness and strength on him. Such resilience in such a tiny little body! He opened his hand, and she gratefully gulped air before glaring up at him where he hovered over her.
He was about to speak when another scent more powerful than the others assailed his nostrils. Their contact and the pressure of his body were turning her on, and his cock hardened as the smell of her arousal reached his back brain. He pressed himself harder against the hottest spot on her body and her eyes widened at what she felt pressing her there, in that place, where only Angel and herself had ever touched.
He watched her flaming face closely from under hooded lids, then growled, “Do not speak of Drusilla in the same sentence as that bloody wanker, d’you understand? This has nothing to do with Dru. My only concern, and yours, is Angelus. Or do you want to wait until he’s killed your friends and family before you go after him?”
“No. I’ll give him exactly what he deserves, that I can promise.”
In a smooth move that she nearly missed he was standing, his hand extended to assist her. She stood and straightened her clothes and looked up into his devilishly handsome face. “What do you want? For your help, I mean?”
He considered for a moment, rubbing his chin. Rolled his eyes and looked up at the dim stars in the California night sky. Examined the floor of the alley, perusing the graffiti on the wall behind her. He could sense her temper rising. When it got to seething, he opened his mouth, but what came out of it surprised him as much as it did her.
“I want you, in exchange for Drusilla’s freedom and the dusting of Angelus.”
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/118244.html