Fic: Black Widow (NC 17, Spike/Buffy, Buffy/Other) Part Three

This entry is part 3 of 4 in the series Black Widow
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III

Nothing here.

Buffy glances at the station clock. 01:22:36 AM. Still early for her.

There’s no one here now all the travellers have left. Hours yet before the commuters wake up. Looks like the vamps have moved on too. Sometimes she’ll catch the stupid ones here, even this late, hoping for one last easy picking. But the station closed hours ago and is all locked up. It’s a bust tonight.

She gives up. Follows the platform out into the torrential rain. Down the dip to where there’s only a chain link fence. It’s high. Tall enough to keep the kids out, but she springs over it, landing in the yard behind. Out of habit, she makes a quick check to make sure nothing’s nested here again. All clear this time. Nothing to fight here either. Slips out the back gate into the shabby backlot.

The rain drives hard into her face. Runs in torrents down her neck. Stings a little. Hair sticks to her cheek in wet kiss-curl curlicues. The rain never stops these days. She’s soaked through to her skin. She barely notices.

Her heels hit the street click click. Wet sticky ground. Glossy tarmac. Streetlights shimmer in the gutter water. Sharp neons on fuzzy shop fronts. Crosses the road and ducks into an alley. Puddles are oily mirrors under her feet. Mirrors seeking deep into the soul she thinks lost.

What they see they do not say.

The alley is just dirt and junk and broken glass. Whatever had been here is long gone now. She follows it round behind the back of the shuttered shops. Picks her way though the mess of rusty dumpsters, past the overflowing piles of black plastic sacks. Finds a patch of fine dust and a cigarette butt behind some Chinese Take Out place that stinks of greasy cooking oil. The rain hasn’t washed them away. They’re fresh. Someone else is out hunting too.

She stops and listens.

The night is alive with sound. She hears heartbeats. Several. One has an irregularity that needs checking out. A wok clashes against a gas ring. Meat sizzles as it’s flash fried. There’s a chatter of Chinese she can’t understand. A truck passes down the street she’s just crossed, splashing through the surface water. A cat is purring. Someone is watching an action movie on an old TV.

It’s all ambient noise.

She’s tries to pick out the sounds that don’t belong. Tuning all the rubbish out. Stretches her powerful hearing to its max. Finds what she’s looking for. The angry shouts of a scuffle. A small splash as something heavy falls to the street. Follows the sounds to an old gas station. But the fight is over by the time she gets there. Only finds more dust turning to an ashy paste on the sidewalk. Looks about. Can’t see anyone. Tries the narrow side street behind the disused car wash.

Finds him prowling the rainy streets like a shadow. Almost misses him at first, but the smoky ghosts of his cigarette give him away.

“You okay?” he asks. English. Interesting. “Shouldn’t be out in this. Too many nasties about.”

He’s right and she’s one of them. He won’t meet anything nastier tonight.

“C’mon, Spike will see you safe.”

The white knight routine doesn’t fool her. He thinks she’s some lost party girl who’ll swoon into his arms at the promise of protection. Expects she won’t fight as he sinks in his fangs. Might work for some, but it doesn’t go with this one’s bad boy look. Who does he think he’s fooling?

He shrugs off the shadows as he steps closer. Pitches the cigarette into a drain. She sees a face of sharp scimitars, delicate bones, milky skin. He makes a welcome change from all the jarhead Army boys. Too vain for vamp face she notes. This one wants to be seen. Cocky son of a bitch too, judging by the way he struts. Yeah, he’s the one she’s looking for alright. He’s alone though. Dead meat. He’ll be dust in half a minute.

She lures him closer. Makes herself look frightened, vulnerable. Lets him think she’s tasty. He’s grinning, and she bets he thinks she’s a sweet treat.

He’s close now and she strikes. Fingernails, sharp as blades, cold as steel, curl round rough wood, aiming right for his heart. She’s faster than before they fixed her, faster than a blink.

But he’s quicker than she expects. Cunning. Not some dumbass fledge. There’s a bit of age in those blue eyes. She was right. This one came for the fight. Explains all the dust. He has a sword under that long black coat, a wire thin Samurai blade that flashes through the air like an extension of his arm, slicing the rain into slithers. But it’s the pommel that hits her. A hard strike to her solar plexus. Knocks the wind out of her.

She wheezes and drops the stake. It rolls under a dumpster out of reach. But she stays on her feet, still in the game.

“Bastard,” she spits.

“A Slayer, eh?” He throws the sword aside.

Suicide.

“C’mon then. Spike will take you on. Be like old times.” His brow wrinkles as he thinks that over. “Just with less blood, I suppose.”

She doesn’t know what he’s talking about. She decides he’s crazy as well as hot. Spike. Good name for him. He’s all sharp edges and swagger.

She’ll get the sword later and cut off his pretty head.

She pounces, using a dumpster to get height, puts a curve into her flight, a bit more power. Gets him in the shoulder with the kick. The leather turns her sharp heel as he reels back.

No pause. Her sights are locked onto him. She punches, going for his face, one, two, one, two. He doesn’t pull back. He’s not broken yet.

Won’t take long.

He blocks her next blow. And the next. He’s good. She’s better. She grins. She’s winning.

Vaults over him. A somersault Catherine Wheel over his head. He whips around to meet her, the leather curling around his body like smoke. He doesn’t wear the leather; it’s part of him. Body. Coat. Sword. All one. She kicks. He grabs her leg and twists. She jumps, turning in mid-air. Catches his white head with her other foot. Lands neatly on her stilettos as he staggers back into the brick.

He pushes off. A blaze of fury now, fuelled by frustration and a need for destruction. He’s angry but he’s enjoying this.

Stupid nihilist vampo.

Lust glitters in his eyes as he catches hers. Something sparks between them. Fighting turns him on just like her.

Good boy.

He grunts as she hits him again. Takes it. Gives it back. She gets in close. Taps him. Uses the distraction to hook her leg around his and take him down. He crashes to the floor. He wasn’t expecting that.

While he’s down she snatches his sword.

Clumsy. Serves him right.

He bounces back onto his feet, but the dance is darker now. Still not playing this game for the kill, but he’s more serious now.

She slashes with the sword. He dodges. She twirls the weapon back into a fighting stance. She couldn’t be happier to draw this out. She likes fighting this one. Swings again. He goes low, sweeps out a leg and takes hers from under her. Fallen for her own trick. Her ass hits the wet concrete with a bruising skid. She scrambles back up but she’s too slow. He has her. Hand on her wrist. His other arm around her throat. He rams her into the wall.

Holds her there. Squeezes her tendons until the sword drops. Presses close. Mouth against her ear. “Is that all you’ve got?”

She catches her breath, doesn’t reply. Doesn’t know what to say. She pushes back instead, grinds her ass to his groin, trying to distract him a little. Tests his resolve. Too much just now. Will change that. She has needs. Knows he does too.

His voice is husky, raspy, deliciously rough. “Okay then. You wanna play?”

She laughs. Rubs herself against him more forcefully. Feels his swelling erection tighten in his jeans.

Yeah, that’s it.

Wouldn’t be the first time she’d let a hot one fuck her out on the street. She’s just getting off, after all.

“Bitch,” he curses.

He pulls her round to face him. Still close. Still tense. She feels his frustration through his hands as they hold her shoulders. He’s searching her face for something, frowning when he doesn’t find what he seeks.

So she kisses him. Stops him looking too closely. He takes a moment to respond. He’s a little surprised, but he closes his eyes and surrenders when she rubs a hand across his crotch. He’s not quite angry enough to resist.

His kiss is gentle, a little hesitant. He tastes of rainwater and old heartache. She doesn’t want gentle. She wants him rough and fast, and to fuck as hard as he fights. She smashes her mouth against his. Demanding. Dictates to him exactly what she expects. Her blistering kisses sweep him up as they devour any of his doubts. He understands quickly enough what she’s after and gives as good he gets.

He’s keener now, much keener. Almost desperate. His hands tighten around her arms as he pulls her to him. Slow dance close. Tongues tangle. Fucks her mouth as her legs start to tremble. She clutches at his face. Tiny hands against his cold, damp skin, tracing all the sharp angles she finds. Her heart is thumping. This feels oddly right. Not like any of the others. She shouldn’t want this; she could break. Makes her wary. But someone, sometime, taught her to take. So she does.

No one is watching. Doesn’t care. Wouldn’t stop in this weather to notice anyway. His long coat covers them both. Keeps off the pelting rain just a bit.

Large hands move down to her breasts. Kneading them through the soaked cups of the corset top. Feels good. Wants more. Soft lips slide along her neck. Blunt teeth nip at the skin. She melts. Just the right place. He seems to know all her good spots.

Jesus…

Nimble fingers get her top open. Pops the clips. Frees her swollen tits. Bends to get a taste. Fills his mouth with her soft round flesh. Water cascades over their curves as he bites the cherries on top. She grips his wet hair tight. Downy curls brushing between her fingers. Pulls him to where she wants him for more.

Need him.

Can’t wait. Unzips the hot pants. His hands are in her secret places as soon as she peels the shorts and the hose down her damp legs. Her head falls back against the wall, gasping. The rain runs into her open mouth. Needs, needs, needs him.

Fuck, this is taking too long.

Turns around. Offers him the sweetness of her cunt. Knows he’ll take it. Two long fingers inside her first. Three. She grips the wall. Fingers clench and they crumble the brick. In. Out. Again. Thumb against her clit. She’s nearly there.

“Don’t stop!”

No reply. Bastard.

C’mon.

He’s got something better for her. Long and smooth and hard. Rubs it against her. Across the peach of her ass. Along the soaked furrow of her spine. Between her shaking legs. Against the throb of her clit. A soaking slip and slide. All for her.

Oh god.

Tease.

Presses back towards him. Eager.

Now.

Please.

No, no, no.

Taking his time. Lets her know just what she’s going to get. She pushes her thong aside. Waits. He slips in just as she thinks of begging for it. Takes his time. Shudders. Tight fit. Perfect and more.

Feels so, so good.

He’s taking it slow. Drawing it out. Making it last. Kissing away the water on her neck like a lover.

Squeeze him. Drive him crazy.

Makes him as helpless as she is. Smiles as he gasps and breaks his rhythm. Can’t stop panting herself.

Faster.

Her hips in his broad hands. His cock filling her pussy. Her breasts rubbing sore against the rough wall. Hurts, but it’s a sweet pain. She loves this. Being fucked in a dirty alley like a bitch. Fast and filthy. Eyes shut. Teeth clench. More. More. More.

Don’t stop.

Never stop.

Who’s who? She’s forgotten. Doesn’t care as long as he keeps fucking her like this.

Needs to pop.

Gonna come.

Uh huh. That’s it. There.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Harder. Please…

Bites lip.

Please. Please. Oh god…

Coming feels like freefall. Doesn’t want to stop.

Time to make him feel good. Come again if she’s lucky. Keep the pressure on.

Keep going. Just like that.

He’s hitting all the right places. Rides the crest until it breaks. Spreads like warm tequila. Squeezes him. Again. Again. Wrings him dry.

Pause.

Take a moment to breathe again.

She pushes him away, pulling up her hot pants and straightening her top. One clip will have to do for now. He’s slow. Post-fuck dopey. She wobbles a little herself, but the sword is back in her hand before he realises what’s happening. Shame. She’d like to take him back with her and spend the night riding him long and fast, but there’s no time tonight. He’s been a good opponent and a great fuck, but she hasn’t forgotten what she was made for. Knows her job. She needs to find the rest of the gang.

Raises the sword to his chest. Arm straight and strong, the long graceful weapon touching him lightly above his heart. Coloured neon and streetlight slide along the cold blade as raindrops drip from its tip. Laughs at his confusion, muddled as it is with hurt and frustration and more than a little arousal still.

Tosses her hair back. “Do we really need weapons for this?”

Slowly, he raises his eyes from the sword to meet hers. “Slayer? Buffy?”

The sword starts to dance in little dervish circles as she wavers. She doesn’t remember why, but the name makes her angry. She kicks first, swings the sword as a follow up. He jerks back, more alert now. So close, but she doesn’t draw blood. The sword swoops again. He dances out of range, only to bounce back under her guard. He grabs her around the waist and pushes her back into the side of the dumpster.

“Will you stop a minute?” he growls, wrenches the sword out of her hand. “What is wrong with you? It’s me! Spike!”

She struggles, glares at him. Wriggles in his grip. Touching time is so over now, but he has her like a vice. Damn vamp shouldn’t be so strong.

“Forgotten me already? Stop playing games with me,” he hisses. “Tired of it.”

But she doesn’t remember him, and she would remember this hottie. “I don’t…”

“Buffy, it’s me damn it! What’s wrong with you?”

Grits her teeth. “I don’t know you.”

“You really don’t remember me?” He looks defeated. “I know I couldn’t tell it was you with your new look and everything, love, but I’m still me.”

She shakes her head. She wonders if…

No. They should have wiped all that.

They promised.

“Buffy, this is wrong,” he finally chokes. His eyes are pleading with her, but it’s not for his own life.

She doesn’t see the fear she wants to see in him, just despair, and oh my god, pity. Pity for her. She wants anything but that. She’ll go with him again, if he wants, just to stop him looking at her that way. They…

Who?

…looked at her like this, after…

After what?

…before the soldiers made it right again.

She doesn’t want to remember. The Army promised her she wouldn’t remember. They made her stronger. She’s fixed. But the memories are leaking into her conscious thought like a small breach in a dam. She knows him. Can’t place where. There’s a town too, but it no longer exists. Sucked into the dry earth and reclaimed by the sea. She doesn’t know how.

“What happened to you?’ he asks gently.

“They fixed me.” Her lip quivers.

Had she been dead?

“Who?” His head tilts.

“They fixed me,” she repeats, softer, quieter this time. He’d died. Couldn’t have. “Made me better. Made me forget.”

“Pet, you didn’t need fixing!” He’s horrified.

He’d… “… gone,” Mutters to herself.

He had gone. Him. Spike.

“What’s that? Gone? Gone where?”

“I don’t remember.” She hopes the rain will mask her tears. She’s lost, broken by her lack of memory.

He draws her into his arms and holds her. “They didn’t fix you! They took you. Evil men. Made you theirs. Controlled you.”

She believes him. Doesn’t know why, but she does. She clings on to him tight. She wants to remember him now.

TBC

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