- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [10/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [9/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [Master Post]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [1/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [2/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [3/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [4/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [5/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [6/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [7/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [8/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [11/11] FINAL CHAPTER
Title: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed
Era: BTVS between s3 & s4
Summary: When Buffy encounters Spike at her college orientation, the last thing she expects is to be hurtled with him into a demon dimension. Now they must battle together against hordes of unnatural creatures, talking beavers, and… is that a lion?
AU set between seasons 3 and 4. Don’t let the hints of plot fool you, this is mostly just an excuse for some smut. Well, smut and mayhem; it is Spuffy.
With deepest, most heartfelt apologies to C.S. Lewis for the mutilation of his characters and bits of his dialogue.
Warnings: NC-17 for violence and sex. Lots and lots of beloved childhood character death. Sorry!
Thanks to the_moonmoth, who inspired this fic by sending me fic prompts and then egging me on as I got sillier and sillier, and then beta-reading thoroughly and awesomely. I am the luckiest ever.
Notes 5/31: Happy birthday to me! As a present, YOU get the rest of this story! Enjoy!
Chapter 10: The Hunting of the Great Lion
The next day, after spending hours resting up for the big battle – well, in bed at least, though they didn’t get much actual sleep until the end – Buffy awoke to Spike tossing and turning restlessly in the morning light. She cuddled up behind him, but he flinched away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling kind of nurse-ish, but also kind of not, worried but mildly annoyed at the same time, because really, hadn’t they gotten through all this?
“Dunno,” he grunted. “Something wrong with my skin, feels all hot and tight. Hurts.”
Now that Buffy was awake, she was kind of feeling the same way, her cheeks and shoulders and the tops of her breasts and her butt stinging and warm, and she pushed Spike back on the bed, running her eyes over him. “Dammit.”
“Think it’s some kind of mojo? That lion-king got some witches on his side?” Spike rolled over on his side, twisting to look at his ass.
Buffy sighed. “No, Spike. We just got sunburned.”
Spike’s eyes were outraged. “Bugger that. Thought that was the whole point of this dimension’s bloody sun, that it didn’t burn.”
Buffy inspected her decidedly-pink arms, and Spike’s pinker behind. “Well, we did spend almost an entire day naked in the middle of a meadow.”
Spike’s expression changed to one of horror, and he sat up, frantically looking at his crotch before heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Well, at least that’s not burned.” He reached down and gave his (once again erect) erection a loving stroke, sending Buffy a hot, smug little smile. “Must be because it spent all that time… inside.” He stroked again, eyebrows waggling suggestively. “Deep, deep inside.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “God, do you ever stop?”
“Do you want me to stop?” he murmured.
Buffy glared at him for several seconds before giving him a wry smile. “Maybe not,” she conceded, setting her hand on top of his. “But this sunburn makes things… difficult.” She stroked with him, watching his face.
“Things are bloody well hard,” Spike growled, tumbling her over onto her back.
“Ow ow ow!”
Spike scrambled back. “Sorry, love.”
Buffy crawled towards him. “Let me,” she grinned and pushed him down.
“Bugger,” Spike hissed, and it was Buffy’s turn to scramble back.
A rough assessment of their respective sunburns revealed that Spike was definitely worse off. Buffy’s back was fairly red, and she had a pink tinge to her upper body, but her carefully-nurtured tan had protected her from the worst damage. Spike’s white, white skin on the other hand… He was pink almost everywhere, and his back and ass were crimson; the only part unscathed was his lower legs.
They quickly determined that this meant Buffy needed to get on her hands and knees again, and got right to it, because, well. War was coming, but it obviously hadn’t arrived yet, and priorities were priorities. Afterwards, Buffy dampened a sheet and they lay on their stomachs side by side on the bed with the wet fabric draped over them.
“You going to be able to fight?” Buffy asked worriedly as Spike shifted and winced.
Spike shrugged. “Suppose so. Hurts, but I’ve fought through worse. I’m a survivor.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You’re dead. That is the textbook definition of not a survivor.”
“Undead,” Spike corrected. “And I’ve managed to stay undead for more than a century. Got excellent instincts, I have.”
“Oh yes, excellent instincts,” Buffy teased. “That’s why you keep coming back to Sunnydale, so I can kick your ass.”
He rolled on his side to face her, brushing a thumb over her pink cheek. “Got reasons,” he mumbled, an arrested look on his face.
“Or maybe you just like me kicking your ass.” Buffy curved a hand around his tender behind, carefully, to hint at a significant squeeze without actually causing him agony.
“Maybe I do,” Spike agreed absently, lost in thought for a moment.
“Maybe you just can’t stay away from me,” Buffy continued, airily.
Spike narrowed his eyes at that. “Oh, because you’re irresistible, is that it?”
“You said it, not me,” Buffy grinned.
Spike looked at her for a long moment, and maybe it was the soft morning light, or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, but she thought there was something like adoration shining in his eyes. “You’re a bloody menace,” he finally said, voice soft and rough, and shifted closer for a tender kiss.
“That’s me,” Buffy whispered against his lips.
It was well into the afternoon when they started to hear noises, distant roars and a rolling, deep sound, like thunder or an earthquake but steady and constant and gradually growing louder, and they hastily rolled off the bed, gingerly donning their respective tattered outfits. Buffy had rigged up sheaths for her looted knives, one on each hip and one on each boot and a couple more strapped to her thighs and back, and Spike took the leftovers, one in each hand and a couple more worked into the pockets of his duster, noting that a battlefield was probably a lousy place to feed at leisure and thus weapons would be handy. The sunburn had faded slightly on both of them; Spike sent a quick thank-you prayer out into the void, to whatever deity looked out for slayers and the vamps who loved them, because rough denim chafing at his severely-sunburned arse would have been sure to sully his enjoyment of the upcoming brawl.
“Morituri te salutant,” he said bracingly as they stepped out the door of the little house.
“I have no idea what you just said,” Buffy grinned. “But I hope it means let’s go kick some demon-lion ass.”
“Close enough,” he replied, drinking in the sight of her, his warrior woman off to battle. The sun was in her hair again, it was always in her hair, always, and he remembered the rumors that had tempted him back to Sunnydale, the legendary gem that allowed vampires to walk beneath the sun and survive stakes to the heart, the one he’d known would give him just the edge he needed to take the slayer down, and he promised himself that if they ever made it back to good old Sunnyhell, he’d find the bloody thing, just so he wouldn’t have to give up this.
His heart was already a loss, but he wanted to keep the sunshine.
But there was an army to face first, and they needed to get someplace defensible before it arrived if they had any intention of surviving, so they set off downstream, to the wide field of flowers with the buttressing rocks, facing north so they could look outwards and not have the sun in their eyes, while they were starting out on high ground.
When the army of beasts arrived at their chosen battleground, Spike was both relieved and worried, because it was thankfully not as large an army as he had pictured – nothing like the hosts of the Great Wars, or even the crowd at Woodstock – but it was still too many, more than he thought he and his slayer could reasonably defeat. He cast a sidelong glance at Buffy. Her adorable face was glowing with resolve, and suddenly she pointed at something. “There!”
Spike followed the line of her finger and saw the lion.
He had ascended a huge flat rock, so that he loomed over the teeming masses of his beastly horde, his mane like shaken gold, his bearing proud and regal, and for just a moment, he looked familiar to Spike, the niggling kind of familiar he’d been ignoring since they came to this bloody place, but a moment later he shook it off. He knew he’d never been to this ridiculous dimension, and he knew if he wanted to live to fuck another day they needed to take down the bloody lion, and it didn’t matter what the situation reminded him of. He’d just have to think about it later.
Buffy’s eyes were riveted on the lion. “The army doesn’t matter,” she said suddenly. “Look how afraid they are.”
Spike squinted to see better, and sure enough, there was a subtle movement to the crowd of beasts, a flinching away from the lion on the rock.
“We don’t have to defeat the whole army,” Buffy continued. “We just have to slay him, and I bet they’ll fall apart.”
“You sure?” Spike asked dubiously. “Seems a bloody big gamble.”
Buffy flashed him a grin, mad and brilliant. “You arguing with my strategy?”
“Not at all,” Spike grinned back. “You’re the general. Point me at what you want me to kill.”
Buffy nodded sharply. “Just help me get to that lion.”
“All right then.”
And at that moment, the army surged forward.
They had to leave their sheltering rocks fairly quickly, because the lion showed no sign of entering the fray himself, and they soon figured out that the gibbering horde assaulting them was, while fairly bloodthirsty, not especially skilled. Buffy kept the huge lion in sight at all times, stalking forward, dispatching the beasts that appeared before her and not worrying about behind because Spike was at her back, guarding her flanks and taking care of any enemies she couldn’t see. For the most part he was just a flash of black leather in her peripheral vision, a gleam of bright knives, but every so often he’d mutter something at her, if he needed her to slow down or there was something especially heinous moving in. They had to tag team the centaurs, Spike drawing them off enough that Buffy could slash at their rear legs, sending them tumbling to the ground.
When they neared the great rock, Buffy turned to Spike with a grin; he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world, like the beasts trying to kill them didn’t matter. “Boost me up,” she laughed, and he grinned and knelt and held out his joined hands, and she set one foot and coiled her muscles, and he tossed as she jumped and she landed light as snow on top of the rock. Now that she was up here, she could see the rock was perfectly rectangular and perfectly flat, like a huge table, with the huge lion as a homicidal centerpiece.
The lion regarded her for a long steady moment with his great unchanging eyes, and Buffy felt the ready quips and snarky jokes dry up in her throat, because it seemed to her that there was nothing to be said. And then the lion attacked, and she had to dedicate all her energy to the fight.
She wasn’t used to fighting four-legged demons; even though the lion was huge, he was still closer to the ground than her usual opponents, and she had to recalibrate her kicks and punches for a lower target. The necessary adjustment gave the lion a few good openings; he struck her a solid blow with his paw – no claws, for some weird reason – and she went rolling and nearly tumbled off the edge of the rock. As she flipped back to standing she caught a glimpse of Spike down below, his back to the rock as he continued to fight.
Her knives came in handy then, extending her reach, and she soon had the lion bleeding and snarling, his mane tattered as if it had been shaven by an incompetent, drunk barber. He stumbled and fell, panting on the ground, and looked up at her with malevolent eyes.
“If you kill me I shall return, more powerful than ever,” it snarled. “You shall not rule this land for long!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Buffy huffed. “I don’t want to rule. I just want to go home.”
And with another blow of her knife, the lion was dead.
Spike was beginning to think he wasn’t going to make it through the battle, when a muttering rippled through the crowd, and the huge bear that had been trying to kill him fell back, looking upwards solemnly. Which was a damn good thing. Spike really hated bears. They were… big.
He craned his neck to look upwards, catching the barest glimpse of gold, and for a dizzy moment he thought it was the lion, that the lion had won, and a spasm of grief ripped through him, but then Buffy stepped out right to the edge, and… well.
“The Great Lion is dead!” Buffy shouted. “Not to be all petty about this, but I win.” She tossed a bloody knife down from the table; it clattered on the rocky ground.
One of the centaurs stepped forward, hands out in humble supplication. “O great God-Queen! You have defeated the Tyrant Lion! May Your rule be long and benevolent, may Your judgment be wise, may Your justice be…”
“Yeah, whatever,” Buffy interrupted. “Sorry, not my thing. I’m outta here.” She turned and looked down at Spike. “You coming, Spike?”
He followed her as she leapt from the table and stalked back towards the dam; the silent army of beasts parted before them and let them pass.
The second the little wooden door of the dam house closed behind them, Buffy started to shake. Spike caught her up, wrapping his arms around her, and she swore – which she had never done in front of him before, and it was bloody hot, her pretty pink lips shaping obscenity – and then she kissed him hard.
“We did it,” she whispered, eyes shining.
“Bloody well did,” Spike agreed fervently, kissing her again.
And then Buffy’s hands were on him, shoving his duster off and tugging at his ripped T-shirt, and he hissed as her hands shoved down the back of his jeans, because, not healed yet and there had indeed been chafing. Bloody sunburn.
“Still sore?” Buffy asked solicitously.
“A bit,” Spike admitted, continuing to strip Buffy, because bugger if he was going to let a little pain keep him from fucking his warrior woman when she was all hot and bothered from the killing.
Buffy smiled wickedly. “Don’t worry,” she crooned. “Nurse Buffy’ll make it all better.”
And she carefully skinned his jeans over his hips and followed them down to the floor, helping him step out of them before urging him to turn around. She kissed him lightly in the small of his back, laving the red patches on his ass with her tongue, and then bending low to kiss the sensitive backs of his knees, which nearly made him buckle to the ground but he managed to keep it together, hoping, and oh yes, she kissed the side of his hips and turned him again and oh god ducked in to run her tongue up the insides of his thighs and then she was cupping him, pumping him in her hand, watching with fascination for a few strokes before she rose up on her knees and licked delicately at the head, teasing, and his hands were in her hair as she took her sweet time and it was maddening but glorious; she knew him now, knew what he liked and when she finally took him all the way into her mouth, giving him the most delicate, delicious touch of her teeth as she took him in and in, and then she sucked and rippled her tongue against him – ah, that was it, he came in her mouth with a muttered oath and she laughed wickedly and stood, and then it was he who fell to his knees in supplication, and oh yes, her rule was indeed benevolent and just, she set her feet on either side of his hips and when he buried his nose in her, inhaling her, she set one hand on the wall and lifted the other leg, resting it on the edge of the bed and she was spread open to him, and she was already quivering with arousal, pink and damp and swollen, and he hooked his arm around her thigh and played his tongue across her until she was laughing and gasping and clutching at him, and when she came with a jolt, he tugged her right down to straddle him, sliding his cock into her perfect wet heat until they were both kneeling, joined, face to face, eyes meeting eyes, perfectly still, a perfect frozen moment in time.
She stroked a few loose curls back from his face – no styling products here, his curls were untamed and his brown roots showing, but Buffy seemed to like it that way – and kissed him on the forehead, then the mouth. “Welcome home,” she said softly.
Spike gave a little hitch of his hips, drinking in her gasp of pleasure. “Yeah. It’s good to be home.”
Buffy turned her head to look out the window. “Sun’s setting,” she observed casually, clenching around him until he was the one gasping.
“So it is,” Spike agreed, kissing the hollow of Buffy’s throat.
Buffy turned her gaze back to him, eyes teasing. “So, what are we going to do tonight, honey?”
Spike shrugged nonchalantly. “Was thinking of fucking you six ways to Sunday.”
Buffy put on a face of concern. “But your sunburn,” she cooed.
“Bugger my sunburn,” Spike muttered. “We can work around it.”
Face solemn, Buffy started to rise and fall, slowly, sliding along the length of his cock. “Work around it… like this?”
“Fuck yeah,” Spike said hoarsely, watching.
“But your poor back!” Buffy said sweetly. “I can’t put my hands on it and cause you more pain.” She cupped her own breasts, pinching the nipples with a gasp. “Guess I have to do this.”
Spike leaned back just far enough that he could watch, hands on the ground for support. “Guess you do,” he agreed, joining in the rhythm of her hips with hard thrusts.
Buffy gave him a naughty grin. “Of course, I could always do this,” she purred, sliding one hand down between her legs, delicately spreading herself so she could strum on her clit as she rose and fell, rose and fell, slowly, inexorably, and god, Spike couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, her delicate finger and her throbbing pussy and his cock disappearing into it, all glistening and wet and oh god she was going to kill him because she was keeping him right on the edge there, and then suddenly her face changed and she was slamming into him, hard and fast and oh god she had broken the rhythm, was syncopating and experimenting, two fast and one slow as molasses and he couldn’t hold back and he grabbed her hips and drove up into her and she laughed brokenly and came, curling her body inwards, and he watched her and thrust and thrust and then he was coming too, so hard he nearly blacked out, and he sat up and kissed her tenderly, because she was his god-queen, he would worship Her forever, and they gasped and sighed together until all was still again.
Buffy ran a hand through her tangled hair. “Well,” she laughed breathlessly. “That was one way to Sunday, right?”
Spike grinned evilly. “It was indeed.” He jerked her up against him. “Five to go.”
As the sun set, a ragtag, battered group of animals clambered up to the top of the table rock, regarding the body of the Great Lion solemnly.
After a while, a fox sighed. “So, what do we do now?”
After several minutes, a bear clapped his huge paws together. “Maybe He’ll come back to life! Didn’t He say something like that? All we have to do is wait, and believe.”
Murmurs of fear and hope rippled through the assemblage.
“And if we don’t wait,” a cheetah pointed out, “and He does come back after all… well, He won’t be happy if we’re not here.”
“Very true,” the fox agreed, shuddering at the thought of His vengeance. There was a flurry of nods, accompanied by a few fearful whimpers.
The animals settled in to wait.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/564664.html