Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [9/11]

This entry is part 2 of 12 in the series The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed
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Title: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed
Author: bewildered
Era: BTVS between s3 & s4
Rating: NC-17
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!

Click for a chapter index!

Chapter 9: The Lion Marches Tonight

Spike was in awe.

Even though he was fairly certain she’d not had much experience beyond the Brooding Snore, the slayer had taken to sex like a fledgling bird pushed from the nest, flying higher and higher, and he was starting to wonder if he would ever be able to keep up, even when he was back to his full strength.

That first day – not their first day in the bloody demon dimension, of course, but the day Buffy had proven the firelight handjob wasn’t just a fluke, the day they had made love, which Spike considered momentous enough to be the beginning of a new era, Day One of Year One, Anno Buffy – Buffy had cleaned him and herself and tucked him in and they had lain in the morning sun until it was the afternoon sun, talking about mundanities and trivia, fighting techniques and poetry, until after a brief nap in the afternoon he’d declared himself strong enough to try walking. Buffy had helped him to the rocking chair – which seemed much further than he remembered – and set her stool beside him, sitting naked to sharpen her knives. It had been heart-stoppingly domestic, and he had tried to curl his lip at it, because of course he was bad, but he had secretly felt… comfortable. Like he belonged. And then, when he was starting to feel restless, Buffy curled up in the chair with him and kissed him silly before sinking to her knees to take his cock in her mouth, which eventually led to her riding him on the fur rug in front of the fireplace for… well, there were no clocks to measure time, but it was long enough that he got to watch the light of sunset play over her naked, sweaty breasts from beginning to end, and even a bit of moonlight after, and it was so glorious he forgot to be pissed off that he couldn’t flip her over and fuck her the dozen other ways he wanted to.

The day after, he had felt well enough to accompany Buffy out to the riverbank, where he kept watch from a shaded blanket while she scrubbed out their tattered clothes and bathed. From the shy, wicked looks she kept casting him through her eyelashes, he could tell she felt naughty flaunting her nakedness, and he encouraged that, murmuring suggestions until she had stroked herself to panting, quivering completion, knee-deep in water. While their clothes were drying, she had cuddled up for more kisses, which led to more caresses, which led eventually to her gloriously sucking and licking his cock while he drowned in her delicious pink quim, spread wide over his eager face; she sucked harder when she came, hard enough to make his eyes roll back in his head, and it had been a bloody good thing nothing did actually come to attack them, because Spike’s every nerve ending was focused on her.

Day three… ah, day three he felt well enough to be on top, if not too energetically, and it was tame and sweet and perfect, and after, she had looked up at him with sad, resolved eyes and reminded him that she was going to kill him, and he had vowed yet again to kill her first, and it made him want to weep. Or kill something (not her). Or both.

Killing something was starting to get urgent by day four, though; the animals had stopped attacking entirely of late, which was a fine thing as far as fucking and recovering was concerned, left their schedule wide open, but had the unfortunate side effect of leaving Spike without a source of blood. He was almost completely healed now, which was brilliant, but he was starting to feel the effects of hunger, which was significantly less brilliant, and there was just no getting around it; they had to find him some food. So they set off upriver, hunting.

They started their hunt in the woods, but as it turned out the underbrush concealed a surprising number of tangled roots that seemed almost to rise up to trip them as they walked, and the wind kept lashing branches into their faces, so they soon decided to head out to the rolling green meadows instead, walking companionably side by side.

Spike preferred the meadow in any case; he had spent more than a week cooped up in the little dam house, and while there were windows letting in the sun, it wasn’t the same as being out in it, feeling it full on his face. He had closed his eyes to soak in the rays when Buffy’s voice startled him.

“You like the sun.”

He shrugged, a bit sheepishly. “Well, yeah. Best bloody thing about being stranded in this bloody hellhole.” He glanced at her sidelong. Well, second best.

“Do you…” She looked thoughtful. “Do you miss it? Not here, but… at home.”

“It’s a bit different when it’s trying to kill you, love,” he grinned, then shaded his eyes to scan the distance. “But yeah. Being human, you get to have everything. Light and dark, night and day. You have it all but you don’t appreciate it.” He shrugged again, hunkering down to sit in the grass, his coat spread around him. “Never wanted to feel the sun on my face so much as when I couldn’t anymore.” He looked at his hand, paler than pale in the sunlight, lightly freckled now, remembering Angelus, their hands smoking in a beam of sunlight as they played an asinine version of chicken. “You hate it, but at the same time you crave it. You fear it, but you love it.”

Buffy settled across from him, cross-legged. “Why?”

“Dunno,” Spike laughed. “But way I hear it, sunlight’s where all life comes from, isn’t it?” He beheaded a dandelion. “Bloody plants, soak it up and turn it to food, animals eat the plants, bigger animals eat the smaller animals, bloody circle of life going round and round. With humans at the top of the bloody food chain.”

“And vampires,” Buffy noted. “You prey on humans.”

Spike sighed. “Yeah, but we’re not part of it. We feed off it, steal from it, but then when we die, we’re just dust. We don’t give anything back.” He watched her narrowly, the light in her hair and her face screwed up with thought. “We just take.”

Buffy frowned and opened her mouth, probably to argue, the daft bint, when her face suddenly grew watchful, then cunning, and then she leapt to her feet, dashing to the edge of the woods. Spike rolled up to follow her – still moving a little slow, bugger it – and when he caught up, she had a huge badger pinned up against a tree. It was snarling and slavering, muttering imprecations under its breath, and something about gold? Whatever, it was pissed off, and violent, and, well, maybe not delicious, but Spike’d wager its blood would do him plenty of good, being better than no blood at all.

“Looky, looky,” he drawled, cracking his knuckles. “Suppertime.”

Spike felt faint, already imagining the scent of fresh blood, and initially he thought it was because he was just anticipating his first real meal in forever – while recuperating, he’d had to feed from the dead animals Buffy brought him, which was far less fun than fresh from the tap – but then he realized he wasn’t imagining things, he was really smelling blood, because the bloody beast had marked Buffy – a row of slashes on her arm were seeping blood, and his hunger was suddenly buried beneath rage, because fucking nobody got to draw her blood but him.

She was unconcerned by the wound, having captured the beast’s flailing claws, and was staring it down. “Why are you spying on us?” she snapped. “Why do you keep trying to kill us?”

The badger glared at her malevolently. “The Great Lion demands it,” it hissed with a malicious grin. “And tomorrow He shall come with His army, and you shall meet your doom!” It struggled against her restraining hands.

“The Great Lion?” Buffy asked, eyes narrow. “An army?”

It laughed cruelly. “Our God-King demands blood.” It stilled suddenly, beady eyes fixed on Buffy’s with a mad fervor. “He shall come, bringing Deep Magic, from the Dawn of Time, and He shall feast upon your entrails while you yet live.” The creature suddenly roared and broke free of Buffy’s grasp with a burst of energy; she fell back, rolling up into a ready crouch, but the badger had already gone for Spike, and after being cooped up for bloody-well-ever, he’d be damned if he was going to let her have all the fun.

The badger had sharp claws but very little reach, and was reckless with rage besides; after dodging a few slashing blows, Spike took the tail of his duster and whipped it around the beast’s head, disorienting it enough to take its back and catch it up in a half-Nelson, sinking his fangs past matted fur into flesh, and it tasted nasty but it was blood, and as the badger weakened and finally stilled, Spike realized Buffy was watching him, eyes unreadable.

He dropped the cooling corpse. “Sorry.”

“For what? I thought getting you food was the whole point.” Buffy turned to look off into the distance. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Something about an army,” Spike replied, wiping his mouth self-consciously, though he guessed since Buffy had been bringing him food while he was laid up, she must have lost some of her squeamishness.

“An army,” Buffy repeated with a frown. “Can we defeat an army?”

You can, love,” Spike said, grinning, and she grinned back for a moment, then suddenly let loose with a punch that he barely managed to dodge. “Bloody hell,” he sputtered, falling back as she kicked at his head.

She was still grinning though. “Just checking to see how the healing’s coming along,” she laughed, and Spike glared at her and let loose a backhand of his own that connected, though she managed to deflect most of the force. They started to circle each other in the waving grass.

“It’s coming,” Spike shrugged, feigning a lack of concern as he watched her for an opening. God, he was hard already, the smell of her blood going straight to his cock, and he’d wager she was already wet, she had that look in her eyes, but god he needed to fight. “Tomorrow,” he purred, stalking her.

She looked perplexed for a moment. “You want to wait until tomorrow?”

“No,” he smiled back. “That’s what the furry git said. The army’s coming tomorrow.”

Buffy feinted suddenly, a right hook melting into a roundhouse kick. “Yep, that’s what it said.” She fell abruptly into a leg sweep; he managed to jump over it, and she spun up to face him, breathing hard. “Why is that such a big deal?”

“Because,” Spike said, falling back for a moment and hooking his thumbs in his belt, regarding her. “That gives us all of today.” He dove in with a flurry of punches, driving her back, and god it felt good to move, bloody fantastic. “Army’s coming tomorrow,” he murmured with velvety promise, stalking her. “You’re going to come today.”

Buffy’s breath caught; she dodged away. “Am I?”

“Oh yeah,” Spike promised, watching her hair whip around her in the sun. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? A good hard fuck before going off to war.”

Buffy’s eyes gleamed and she bit her lip. “Hard?” she whispered.

Oh, that had her; she was already starting to quiver. “I’m all better now, love,” he purred, feeling the badger’s blood doing its work. “Can fuck you any way you want. Been thinking about how you’d like it best.” He feinted again, turning his blow into a quick stroke of her cheek. “Ever been fucked from behind, love?”

Buffy didn’t answer immediately, aiming a flashy spin kick at his head, but ah, that look in her eyes! “No,” she finally said in a low, trembling voice. “I haven’t been… from behind.” Oh god, she was adorable, blushing like she hadn’t spent the past week cavorting naked with him. She let loose another punch.

“Gonna make sure you’re good and wet first,” Spike said thoughtfully, dodging. “So wet you’re begging for more. Maybe lay you down here in the grass.” Spike kicked at a puffy dandelion, sending seeds scattering on the breeze. “Then turn you over, get you on your knees.” Buffy was circling him slowly, watchful, eyes avid. “The thing about fucking you from behind,” he continued, keeping his tone measured, “is how deep I can get inside you. You like it deep, as I recall.”

Buffy nodded, quivering.

Spike went on, eyes locked on hers. “And now that I’m healed, I can use the extra leverage to go hard. Can just… drive into you.” He licked his lips. “Been thinking you’d like that.”

Buffy shrugged with patently-false nonchalance. “Maybe.”

“Oh, you’ll like it,” Spike promised.

Buffy grinned then, playfully. “Are you sure you’re up to it, Spikey?” she taunted. “Takes a lot to satisfy me.” And she kicked him, hard in the stomach, sending him reeling back.

“Oh, I am very definitely up to it,” he grinned back, and the battle was on.

They danced across the meadow, whirling and striking in the sunlight, and somewhere along the line they added kissing and touching, until they were rolling on the grass, hands frantically tearing at clothing. Spike shrugged out of his duster awkwardly, spreading it out on the grass, and Buffy lay in the very middle, gazing up at him with hungry eyes as he skinned out of his tattered shirt, and her hands were on his belt buckle while he was yanking her jeans down and pulling off her boots, because he wanted her naked, all naked in the sunlight, not a stitch on her or him, like bloody Adam and Eve, and when they were both finally bare she held her arms out to him and he fell upon her, filling his hands with her sweet breasts and kissing a trail down her sternum. He knelt above her and worshipped each hand, running his tongue over the calluses from knife and crossbow and stake, running his teeth along her wrists, her life pumping urgently right at the surface, and oh god her life dripping down her arm, he could smell it and he was going to resist but she offered it up, watching gravely as he licked away the trails of blood before tearing himself away from the already-healing gashes to suck on her earlobes and her throat and each hard pink nipple, and then all the way down her legs to her perfect toes, nail polish long since worn away. He bit gently at her arches, nuzzled her ankles, ran his tongue in a long stripe all the way up the inside of her leg until he reached her fragrant quim, and he didn’t tease her, just kept his tongue going right onto her, and she was already dripping and swollen, ready for him, but he didn’t want just ready he wanted begging and so he lingered, making himself as comfortable as he could be with his impatient cock throbbing against her leg, savoring each whimper and cry, feeling her shatter like glass under his tongue again and again.

“Please,” she finally sobbed, voice deep and rich with passion. “God, please!”

And he sat back onto his heels and she looked at him with eyes like fire, and smiled, and wriggled around until her back was exposed to him, her delectable rear tilted up to him, her eyes laughing over her shoulder through her tangled hair, and he ran his hand from the nape of her neck along the bumps of her spine, right down to her ass, and then stroked his whole hand through her wetness, once, twice, feeling her tremble.

Now, Spike,” Buffy demanded, and he took hold of her hips and drove his cock home.

She cried out, low and harsh, and he slid one hand around and pressed down on her clit as he withdrew and drove in again, and she clenched around him, right on the edge, and it only took a few strokes before she came, and he raised his face to the sun and closed his eyes and stilled, buried inside her as she convulsed around him, and it was everything, everything, and then his eyes popped open and he was terrified because oh god he loved this woman, his slayer, his doom, and for a moment he didn’t know what to do.

But Buffy tilted her hips to him and more she demanded, and he could do that, he could give her more, he would give it all to her, and so he slid his knees between hers, spreading her wider, and caught her dangling breasts in his hands and fucked her and fucked her, tenderly and hard and slowly and faster, and he was swearing now, because he was bloody well buggered but god there was no going back; he came inside her, falling forward, and there was a moment when he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck and let himself sink into rest, but neither of them was done, and he soon felt himself hardening inside her again, and she reared back then, wrestling him around until she was on top, gazing down at him with shining eyes, and she rode him with joyful abandon, the sun limning her hair and her face and her beautiful, golden body, sweat glittering and her skin and her strong hands and her eyes and when he came again his eyes rolled back in his head and they both laughed, ringing and free, and god he was in love he was in love and he was going to love her forever, his woman, his slayer, his doom.

“You have to kill me,” he gasped.

She gazed down at him, proudly, eyes wistful. “Not if you kill me first,” she replied.

There was nothing to say to that; he sat up and kissed her, the sunlight suddenly too bright.

Tomorrow, they would go to war.

Go on to Chapter 10!


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