Wicked – 2/3

This entry is part 2 of 3 in the series Wicked
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Title: Wicked
Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (for language and explicit sexual content)
Timeline: Set in an alternate S.2 during Halloween, wherein Drusilla is not in the picture.
Summary: Buffy’s choice of Halloween costume might have been whimsical, but she wasn’t quite prepared for it to be life-changing.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. They are being used out of respect and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author’s Note: I will be responding to EVERYONE over the weekend…today is kind of crazy, as I’m updating before work, on my lunch break, and in the 30 minute window after work and right before a friend’s graduation ceremony. That’s all and well beside the point, but I did want everyone to know how much I appreciate what has been said, and I will be responding to every review tomorrow…Sunday at the latest.

That being said, thanks so much for the great response to Part 1. I know this is a little different from what I typically write – not TOO different but different enough to turn off some people, and because of that, I am so touched people are giving it a chance.

All right. Who’s ready for some smut? *grins*

If you missed Part 1, you can find it here.

Wicked by Hollydb

Part Two

“I should have known you would react this way.”

Xander barely flinched before taking aim again. “The first one was a warning. Step away from the dead guy.”

Buffy made a face but obliged. “Fine,” she agreed. “Not like he’s good for much now, anyway.”

The look on the redhead’s face was a divide between tragic and priceless. She was wibbling again…though perhaps Willow never stopped. Willow the Wibbler.

The thought made her snicker, but she quickly wiped it away. Throw in the fangs and the smallest twitch seemed sinister. As though anything were so simple—as though the world was paned in black and white.

However, Buffy wasn’t an idiot. She knew why Willow was wibbling, though where Xander had managed the wherewithal to snag a shiny gun was a bit questionable. She also knew this wasn’t normal. Ten minutes ago, she’d been leading a bunch of pint-sized blood banks door to door in a tireless effort to wrangle as much candy as the human body could withstand, and now she was licking some poor sap’s blood off her fingers. The plastic fangs she’d purchased were now her own damn teeth. The body at her feet was there because she’d killed him…and why not? She was hungry and he’d just been there. It wasn’t like she was going out of her way or anything. Killing him was nothing personal—the guy was lower on the food chain, and that was simply the way it was.

“Hey,” Buffy drawled, spreading her hands. “It’s all right. I’m fine, Will. Really.”

Willow was shaking her head steadily, her feet carrying her backward. “You killed a man,” she whispered. “My God…”

She perked a brow and gave Mr. Dead a disinterested kick. “Really? Is that what it was?”

“What happened to you?”

“I’m a vampire, Will. What do you think happened to me?”

“But…it was just your costume.”

Buffy blinked, her eyes turning back to Xander, who still had a gun trained on her. And suddenly everything clicked in a way it honestly should have immediately. Of course, of course. This was a spell—something out of an 80’s horror flick. Halloween night turned into a night of real tricks.

Which meant she probably wasn’t really a vampire. This was a temporary thing.

And she shouldn’t rack up a significant body count if she wanted to avoid a massive guilt-trip when Giles and the Mystery Gang set things right again.


“Get back, Xander,” Willow said sharply. “Get away from her.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Get out. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Right. Heard that before.”

“I mean it! Not going to hurt you.” She licked her lips and eyed the gun warily. “Look, either shoot me or point that somewhere else. I have better things to do.”

“Don’t shoot her,” Willow whispered loudly.

“I can hear you, you know.” She flicked her earlobe. “Vamp hearing, much?”

“We’re gonna set things right, Buffy. But…” The girl’s eyes fell again on the dead guy. More wibbling. Honestly, any more and Buffy was going to rip Willow’s lips off…though something told her that wouldn’t go far in the confidence-building department.

Instead, she batted a dismissive hand and turned her eyes to the war-torn streets. “All right,” she said, a sigh rolling off her shoulders. “Well, I’m gonna go have fun.”

“Don’t!” Willow squealed. “You can’t!”

“Yes!” Buffy replied in the same manner. “I can! And furthermore, I will. And if you guys are going to rain on my parade, fine. But I’m gonna enjoy it while it lasts.”

And before her overly wibbly friend could offer another stunning retort, the vampire turned on her heel and bolted into a town unmade.

If this was a spell, if it was temporary, she didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy herself—just enough to make the night memorable.

Or perhaps a willing pair of fangs to make her transition permanent.

Whatever he’d expected to find in the downtown alley, she was not it. But Christ, what a welcome sight.

She was glorious.

Spike stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw falling slack, his eyes absorbing every luscious inch. Every sway of her hips, every toss of her hair, every amused twitch of her mouth. Every move she made was poetry come to life, breathed into air and whispering words into his ears he would never commit to paper. He didn’t write anymore—not if he could help it—but in that moment he wanted to. She was a vision—a fucking ray of light in a sea of darkness, and he couldn’t do anything but stare.

“My God,” he deadpanned, his eyes rolling over her body. Christ, the girl could render a monk a slobbering blue-balled mess. Her legs were wrapped in black leather, complete with crimson red shoes matched to the brassiere she’d tried to pass for a shirt. Her wrists were decorated with silver bracelets, a simple chain hung around her neck, and her lips were the most seductive red he’d ever seen. Gone was the naïve teen who wore skirts that ought to be deemed illegal by any civilized society—at the very least for the cock-driven blokes who would do anything to get a taste of such a pretty pussy. No, the Slayer knew exactly how good she looked, and she knew what she did to him simply by being.

To him and every other git within eyesight.

“Spike,” she said slowly, letting his name roll off her lips. “Out for a stroll?”

His eyes eventually decided to land on her breasts. She was so plump and ripe…and he had to have a taste. Just one taste.

When his gaze found hers again, what he saw made his cock twitch. His nostrils flared. She was hot for him already—she’d come to him knowing what would happen. What he’d want the second he saw her, what he’d wanted all along. The Slayer was here to offer herself…and he would take. Again and again and again.

Although why she was suddenly trussed up for the plucking was beyond him. This wasn’t the girl he’d grown to know over the last few weeks. This was something completely different.

“What happened to you, ducks?” he asked, flexing his fingers.

She licked her lips. “What would you like to happen to me?”

Spike stared for a minute longer, a long smirk drawing over his lips. “Loaded question, that,” he replied, hooking his fingers through his belt loops and taking a slow, measured step forward. “What are my options?”

“The sky’s the limit as far as I’m concerned.”

“Brave words.”

Her grin widened. “Not the Slayer right now,” she replied, shaking her head. And then something miraculous happened—something he should have known the second his eyes landed on her, yet needed to see all the same. Even so, it took a few beats for what he saw to connect with reality. Her hazel eyes melted into the golden shade he knew so well, the bones in her face shifting until her forehead was ridged, her teeth elongated. The Slayer transformed into a vampire before his eyes—as though it was the most natural thing in the world. As though she’d been made for this all along.

In all his years he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“Ah, ah, ah. Now we’re getting repetitive.”

“You’re a vampire.”

“By golly, so are you!” She smirked triumphantly, the demon receding. Then she was just a girl again. Just a girl. A bloody vision, though, and she knew it. “Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

Spike arched a brow. “Sort ’f a permanent move, Slayer.”

“Vampire,” she corrected. “And I think this is a spell.”

“A spell?”

“Well, one of my friends was wielding a gun I don’t think fits well in his budget. And the other, I’m fairly sure, was no longer of the corporeal.” She shrugged. “I dressed as a vamp for Halloween, and here I am.”

“So this isn’t permanent.” Spike’s eyes had found her tits again, his cock pressing hard against his zipper. Not permanent. Something he had for just a second. Something he could only touch in passing.

Says who?

“Not unless someone decides they like me like this,” she suggested coyly. Another step and she’d be pressed against him, but her hand decided to leap ahead and cup him through his jeans. “Do you like me like this, Spike?”

He nodded blindly. There was nothing else he could do.

“Then maybe you should show me how much.”

“Here?” he asked, voice hushed. Either end of the alley opened to downtown Sunnydale. They weren’t cut off from the night’s madness; they were players in it.

“Right here.”

“Anyone could see.”

Her eyes flickered as though challenged. “Does that bother you?”

“Fuck no.” Spike licked his lips hungrily and palmed a breast, thumb stroking her nipple through her flimsy camisole. Her sweet responsive sigh was music to his ears. Fuck, the girl had reduced him to a tangle of raging hormones with nothing more than a smile. One taste would never be enough.

“You came to me,” he murmured absently.

“You found me,” she fired back.

Spike arched a brow, his fingers slipping beneath the hemline. “Any complaints?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, and he believed her. Then, without prompting, she added, “It’s Buffy. You’ve never asked me, but my name is Buffy.”

He grinned. The name certainly suited her. “Mmm…why don’t you show me your pretty face again?”

The Slayer grinned madly and let the demon out, throwing her arms around his neck and biting his lips in a wild, bloody kiss. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, unlike anything he’d ever hoped to touch. A hundred years and change into his life and this was the first time he’d ever felt anything remotely worth fighting for. In a blink, everything around them vanished—everything but her—her tongue, her lips, her teeth, as she scratched and tore and loved all in the same stroke, and he was a man undone.

Mine. She’s fucking mine.

The thought was terrifying but he didn’t object as he imagined. Rather, Spike tore away from her lips and smiled. “Gonna go for a ride, little girl.”

Her brows flickered with challenge…then her mouth was on his again and nothing else mattered.

She was his—she was. He knew it, and he was about to show her.

In many ways she didn’t feel different at all. Nothing like her nightmares—back when she had nightmares—would have suggested. The blood thirst was there, yes, and in full force; the part she’d feared, the part that had kept her up nights, had no voice. She’d wondered briefly when confronted with her friends earlier—she would have killed to save herself, but there was no point in offing Xander or Willow. She liked them. They were amusing, and strange as it was, they were still part of her. So was her mother. So was Giles. The part of her she’d assumed would change the most, the part of her that was Buffy, seemed steadily present, even if overshadowed.

Giles hadn’t given her any such indication that any of the person remained once turned. The soul vacated the body and all that remained was the demon. And yes, while she was fairly sure her soul had exited the building, there wasn’t that much that felt different.

It was like living with her eyes open for the first time. She’d smelled, heard, touched, and tasted the world without seeing it.

Now she saw, and it was wonderful. The smallest things she’d ever noticed, the slightest fantasies she’d ever entertained, every little observation or desire was suddenly tangible—suddenly real, suddenly hers. She felt what she’d long admired under her fingers. And Spike, her mind’s dirty little fixation, her imagination’s favorite plaything, was really pressed against her. His mouth tore at hers with ferocity beyond anything she’d experienced, the furious passion behind every kiss unlike anything she’d been allowed to touch. It was wild and untamed, brutal and fevered, and it was hers.

It had been wrong before. When she saw him the first night, stepping out of the shadows with eyes that stripped her bare and a mouth the devil had painted, she’d shivered and pressed her thighs together, had the girl-sees-boy reaction, but shoved his sinful sexiness aside in lieu of what had seemed important. Sacred duty and all that jazz. But Spike had always remained lodged in her fantasies.

And now she had him.

She had him.

Her back was against a wall with her legs hiked around Spike’s waist. His mouth was at her throat, his fly was open and his jeans were shoved down his thighs, and she had her fingers curled around his steely erection. It was surreal—a page out of someone else’s life. Something that would have been vile and wrong just an hour ago had suddenly turned right.

“Fuck yeah,” he purred, his hips jerking. “Do me like that, Slayer.”


He drew his head up, smirking. “Still the Slayer, you know. That part doesn’ go away. It’s in you, in your blood an’ bones. Can’t undo mojo like that.”

“Guess there could be worse things,” she ventured. “It does make me awesomely strong and stuff. But you’re missing the point, Spike.” Her legs tightened around his waist, earning a sharp gasp which balanced nicely with the comic widening of his eyes. “My name. I want you to say it.”

He stared at her for a long beat before again breaking into a smug grin. “Do you, now?” he replied. “I’m thinkin’ you should earn it.”

She squeezed his cock. “Think I have.”

“Gotta do more than touch, pet.” Spike buried his face between her breasts, nipping at her camisole with a combination of blunt teeth and fang. In easy seconds, the satiny material had been reduced to shreds, leaving her all but bare from the waist up. All that was left was a bra—the only somewhat sexy bra she owned, and likewise one that made her look much fuller than she was in reality.

“Wanna be inside you,” he purred, tugging on her lower lip with his teeth. “Wanna feel you cream around me. You want it too, don’t you, kitten?”

Buffy nodded numbly, her legs sliding back to the ground. Her hands battled his for the right to undo the clasp to her pants; together, they had her stripped to her panties in seconds. Then his fingers were against her pussy, rubbing her lips through the fabric, and she about came apart. The slightest touch wasn’t enough—it couldn’t be enough. Sparks ignited across her cold skin, shooting through dead veins and making her feel alive…and even though barely an hour had elapsed since her last heartbeat, the sensation was no less powerful. She felt the difference.

“More,” Buffy pleaded. She hated her voice but didn’t apologize.


“Touch me. God, please touch me.”

“As my lady commands…” His fingers brushed her clit through the fabric, softly at first, as though by accident, then again with intention. Her legs turned to jelly.

“Do you have any idea how good you smell?” Spike demanded. “Wanna gobble you up. Spread you out for me. Wanna see those hands framing that pretty cunt, offerin’ it to me before I get my taste. Think you’ll taste as good as you smell? I’m gonna find out. Gonna lick you up inside an’ out. Before we’re done, I’m gonna know exactly how you taste.”

“Oh God…” Vampires weren’t supposed to swoon, were they? She didn’t think so—though at the moment she didn’t think a lot of things. A small noise in the back of her head reminded her there was something important she should tell him before they went any further, but the rest of her didn’t care enough to interrupt. It felt too good to stop over trivial things.

“You’re so slick,” Spike murmured, bunching the crotch of her panties aside. He aligned a finger with her opening and pushed. It wasn’t much, but it created enough pressure to alight what had only been fantasy with rich detail. A new realm of can’t haves was open to her now, and she intended to explore them all. “Bet you’re tight, too, aren’t you, Slayer?”


“Mmm.” He inched a finger inside her. They both shuddered. “Oh, yeah. Nice an’ tight. Can’t wait to feel you squeeze my prick…”

“No need to wait.” She tossed him a wicked grin. “I’m yours.”

Something stirred in his eyes with that statement, something unpredictable, something that held connotations beyond the tangible, something he understood on a level she couldn’t—something she hadn’t intended but wanted badly once it reared its head. It was dark and primal…and it made her cold skin burn. “Yes,” he snarled. “You are mine, Slayer. All. Mine.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist once more, his cock pressing against her opening. It happened quickly—one second a virgin, the next her barrier was torn, and a delicious rush of ecstasy-wrapped pain raced through her body. She gasped and shuddered, clutched and squeezed, all while entering a brave new world. It wasn’t awful—it wasn’t the aching hurt she’d dreaded or any of the horror stories she’d heard about losing one’s virginity. It was different. Pain was…different. Pain was good. Pain was pleasure. Pain was life.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his shoulders tense, his cock pushing further inside her almost involuntarily. When he was seated fully within her they both had to take a breath. As though a threshold had been breached for them both, not just for her. “You’re…” He blinked rapidly as though he didn’t understand. “I didn’t know.”

“Does it matter?” she replied, tugging him closer. Yes. God, yes. That was wonderful. “Fuck me, Spike.”

His eyes were wide with a sense of awe she didn’t deserve. “Buffy…”

It took a second for his voice to break through her mind’s wall, and a second longer to realize he’d said her name. But then it didn’t matter anymore so she didn’t respond. All she said was, “Just fuck me.”

And he did.

He’d forgotten what this felt like. The beauty of discovering someone for the first time—feeling them, gauging their responses to certain touches and strokes, learning their body, exploring…he’d forgotten this. And unearthing the woman inside Buffy was wonderful. Every sway of her hips claimed more confidence, every time her hands clenched his skin, her slick pussy welcoming him back inside. She danced with him as though she’d known the dance all along, and he was the lucky bloke who got to learn with her.

He wanted to commit her to memory.

“You like that?” he whispered hotly, and she moaned. The rhythm he kept was steady, not too harsh—though there was a very vocal part of him which wanted to pound her until they were both dust—and not too soft, either. She didn’t need soft, his slayer. She didn’t want it, either. The girl might be inexperienced but she wasn’t a wilting flower, and she didn’t want it slow.

“Different,” she sighed, perhaps too honestly, her hips surging forward to reclaim his cock as he slipped from her body. “But good…”

Spike grinned, his mouth dropping to her collarbone. “You’ll learn to love this, kitten,” he promised, peppering her skin with soft kisses. “You’re so tight.”

“Uh huh.”

“Feel so good. Pullin’ me back in. Can’t get enough of your Spike, can you?” His head drew back again, hands falling to her hips to anchor her to his thrusts. It amazed him that a creature of darkness could appear so innocent—innocent in ways Dru always tried to appear but never succeeded. Buffy wasn’t coy, she was honest. The way her jaw fell slack and the small, wondrous whimpers scratching at her throat—none of it was for show. Everything was his.

“Harder,” she whispered, hissing. “Do me harder.”

The beast in his chest had no trouble complying. She felt so good, so damn good, wrapped deliciously around his prick, and he wanted more. A cadence of more. He needed to memorize her, learn every sound and sensation in case he didn’t get to taste this again. She drenched him with every plunge, the wild sounds she made escalating, her back rocking hard against the wall. She grappled and clung, tugged on his ears with her teeth and squeezed him hard between her thighs. She drove him wild without lifting a finger, and he couldn’t get enough.


“Like this?” Spike demanded, tearing a kiss off her lips. The wet smack of their bodies colliding drifted in the air above them. If there was a street, it had vanished. The cries and screams of a night gone mad were gone as well. All there was in the world was Buffy. “You want it like this?”

“Uh huh.”

“Love the way you feel around me,” he murmured, pulling back just far enough to meet her eyes. The air between them mingled with strange tenderness which offset the harsh collision of flesh hitting flesh. “Love this.”

“Love this,” she echoed, though in reaction or in repetition, he didn’t know.

“Not too hard?”

“No. No. More.”

He wasn’t surprised. She’d come to him as no ordinary virgin, and though he should have sensed as much from the beginning, there was time enough to make up for it now…in whatever way she liked. Her inexperience was barely noticeable except for in the sounds she made and the looks she gave him; but all things aside—once his lust-addled mind stopped racing, once he pieced together what he knew about her—everything fell into place. He just hadn’t stopped to think before breaking into her body, and while she hadn’t protested, while she begged for more, the inner gentleman he never quite succeeded in silencing reared in concern. So while she panted and moaned, scratched his back and clenched her vaginal muscles around his aching cock, he found a small, small bit of restraint.

He had to make sure.

“You all right, pet?”


“Want more?”

She nodded but said, “Want you. Inside. So good. Splitting me. You’ve split me down the middle.”

“An’ you like it.”

“I love it.” Her teeth latched onto his lips and tugged, her heels digging into his skin to draw him deeper into her body. “This is mine.”

He didn’t even think to protest. “Oh yes.”

“You…I couldn’t have…” Her thought rode away on a moan. “Need…I need…”

“You can have me.”


Spike’s hand slipped between their warring bodies, fingers pressing against the apex of her sex. His lungs warred with his body, needlessly reminding him they served no function. He wanted to pause and gasp, but speaking was more important. Her first time, he ought to do something right. “Feel that burn, baby?” he asked softly. “Starts nice an’ slow, doesn’t it? In your belly…an’ spreads…”

Buffy’s head crashed back against the wall. “That…”

His fingertip brushed her clitoris, and the surprised gasp that exploded from her lips held more firepower than she ought to bear. Spike’s eyes traveled between them, transfixed on the sight of his engorged cock pumping inside between her sleek lips. It was something he’d seen a thousand times in the past, something he enjoyed watching, but never had the visual stunned him so thoroughly—grounded him to a point where sensation was transcended by reality. As though he’d expected himself to awaken alone with nothing more than the memory of a sweet dream and a monster hard-on. But this was real—her pussy stretched and welcomed, suctioning him in tighter with every plunge, constricting sweetly around him as his fingers gently massaged her clit. The sounds she made, the shades of emotion coloring her face, the way her cold skin fevered against him…there would never be enough of this. Never. He needed more. He could have her for eternity and still need more.

“I’m hot,” she said, her eyes still squeezed shut. “So hot, Spike…”

He could have played with her, but decided against it. No, he was too eager to feel her tremble into orgasm, too in need of his own release to delay. There would be time enough for that later. Not now. “Let it go,” he urged, stroking her unhurriedly. She didn’t need speed—she just needed this. “Buffy…let it go.”

At her name, her eyes popped open, trapping him under a yellow gaze. And before he could blink, before he could react at all, her fangs were in his throat, tearing into his skin, and her body shuddered and tightened around him.


“Mine, mine, mine, mine!” Buffy hissed victoriously. “This is mine!”

What prompted his response wasn’t thought or instinct, or the scorching burn of pleasure melting his body. His hips jerked, the demon roared, and the words, “Oh Christ, yes,” were out of his lips.

It wouldn’t occur to him until a good three minutes later what had just taken place.

Until then, the world stood still.



Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/344745.html

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