Author: Holly (email@example.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: Whee! And here we have the conclusion.
Thanks again so much for the great response, to everyone who’s given this story a chance. I will let you know, I do have a sequel in mind… something I’ll likely write for the next round at seasonal_spuffy. This doesn’t happen very often—me wanting to write sequels—so I’m kind of psyched about that. Hopefully, there will be no objections.
To my betas—dusty273, spikeslovebite, dampersnspoons, enigmaticblues, therealmccoy1, just_sue, effulgent_girl, angelic_amy, ghostgirl13, and coquinespike – thank you so much for all your help. Really… you made a last-minute project a ton of fun to work on. Thank you so much. And again, a special thanks to enigmaticblues for all the hard work she puts into maintaining this community.
Spike didn’t know exactly where he was going until he shoved open the warehouse door and jerked Buffy inside. His mind raced, a thousand different realizations spiraling but ultimately returning to the same undeniable conclusion. The Slayer had just placed a claim on him—the permanent sort—the kind he’d always wanted to place on Dru. The kind Dru had likewise always warned him against. If that wasn’t disturbing enough, he’d accepted the bloody thing. No hesitation, no mulling it over, not a sodding thing between the words she’d spoken and his acceptance. As if the last century with his maker had meant zilch.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and suspected by the time all was over he’d do his fair share of both.
At any rate it was infinitely more helpful blaming the brainless nit who’d gone and gotten them all claimed rather than himself at the moment. And since Spike hadn’t the first real idea how he felt about what had just happened, he decided his default anger was the most appropriate reaction. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he demanded, dragging her around until their eyes clashed. There wasn’t much in the warehouse aside from a few random tools and work tables; nothing wooden, from the looks of it, which was good news for both of them in case their discussion became violent.
Buffy made a face and jerked her hand free. “Ummm, lost my virginity?”
Mmm. Yeah. And she had that ripe, just been fucked look about her, too. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes glazed over. She was also naked, her skin a map of bite marks and bruises, her nipples erect and waiting for a mouth to pay them proper worship. God, what a vision. The air hung thick with the scent of their coupling and the hum of her arousal. She was hot again, ready for another go. And fuck all, so was he. He wanted her again—wanted her bent over and spread before him, her plump pussy welcoming his cock over and over and…
Spike blinked and shook his head. Damn girl was bloody distracting.
“Not that,” he snarled. “You fucking bit me, Slayer!”
She stared at him incredulously. “Did you forget the whole ‘I’m a vampire’ thing? Biting’s kinda what we do.”
“And you loved it. You can’t fake a reaction like that.”
More blinking. Words came and went, parting with observations he needed to voice but couldn’t focus on. Every time he thought he had a sentence shaped it left him in favor of silence. He had no idea where to begin. “You… I… you can’t…”
“Wow. Stellar argument.”
“You can’t just go around biting whoever the bloody hell you want!”
“And here I thought vampires didn’t have rules.”
Spike frowned. “We don’t. But you claimed me, Slayer. Do you have any idea what that means? What just happened? Blood’s a powerful thing. You form lines an’ what-all, and you sank your fangs in me an’ declared I was yours.”
Now she was frowning, too. About fucking time. “So… what?” she asked softly. “I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. It just… I dunno, it felt right. Didn’t it feel right to you?”
Yes, it had. Too right, but he wasn’t about to give her that kind of ammo… not when he still had a point to make. “We’re linked now,” he explained.
“By blood, you dizzy bint. You claimed my blood. You claimed me.”
“You keep saying that like I’m supposed to know what it means!” Buffy’s arms flailed. “Hell-o! I’ve been a vampire for less than two hours.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been the Slayer a lot longer than that. Doesn’t your watcher tell you anything?”
She shrugged. “About vampire mating rituals? Why would it matter?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh, gee, I dunno. Maybe some sort of understanding of your bloody prey would be a bit much to ask from the girl whose duty it is to stop evil blokes like me. Claims might not happen very often anymore but there are mated vamps around. I know of at least one couple, an’ since they used to be chummy with Angelus, you’d think a decent watcher would keep his girl updated.”
“Well,” Buffy replied shortly, “he didn’t.”
“An’ it shows.”
“What the hell are claims, Spike? Spill.”
He stared at her a minute longer before sighing hard, his shoulders sinking. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m about to have this conversation with you, of all people.”
Her nose wrinkled. He tried and failed to not find it adorable. “Hey!”
Spike ignored her, though he had to smother a grin. “An’ I can’t tell you how much I hate using this analogy because it bloody degrades what claiming is, but there’s no other way to explain it.” He sighed. “It’s like marriage.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“That’s right, Slayer. You popped the question outside. An’ I, being the bloody idiot I am, accepted.”
He aimed his gaze downward, his voice shrinking. “Didn’t mean to.”
An odd silence settled between them. Spike had no idea how long it lasted, only it likely wasn’t as long as it felt.
Finally, Buffy licked her lips, shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“So we’re claimed. Not seeing a problem.” A slow grin tickled her face. “All the more reason to stay like this.”
“Like what?” he asked hoarsely, still not understanding. But he was still very aware of the pulse between them. His cock had made its decision the second he slipped out of her body. Never did he want to be without her perfection. Never. Not after trawling the world for it.
But that was beside the point.
“The spell’s going to be over soon,” Buffy reasoned softly. “And I don’t want it to be. Do you have any idea what this feels like?”
“For the first time, I’m free. Completely free. No more teachers, no more books, yadda yadda yadda. And especially no more demons, no more vampires, no more worrying over prophecies or looking around the corner for the next apocalypse.” Her eyes sparkled brilliantly. “I want this, Spike. And I want you, too.”
He balked, but not as hard as he should have. Her words were a sodding aphrodisiac. “You barely know me.”
Another casual shrug. “I know I was looking for you when you found me.”
“You were, were you?”
Buffy nodded again, an aroused shiver racing through her delectable body. “And you don’t exactly hate me, do you, Spike?”
He decided not to answer that question. Not yet. The danger of falling for the girl had already been defied. Love was fast for him—always had been. And he could definitely fall for Buffy. Fuck if he hadn’t already started. She was too perfect in her perfectly flawed way. A novice in a universe of possibility, and she wanted him.
Too good to be true. There was always a catch. No one ever wanted him without getting someone else.
“What about Angel?” Spike asked slowly.
She made a face and shrugged again. “Pfft. What about him?”
“Can’t tell me the thought din’t cross your mind t’night, pet.”
“Oh, it crossed. Suddenly I’m all creature of the nighty like my personal stalker? Yeah, it crossed my mind aplenty. But I didn’t come out to find him. I came out to find you.” Buffy’s frown deepened. “He’d just get in the way, crash the party, and then tell me about some imminent danger that I know I’m already in. Let’s face it, Angel’s boring as fuck.”
Spike couldn’t help himself; he cracked. Long, harsh cackles rumbled through his chest, bursting through his lips in a thunderous boom of laughter. Never in all his years had he heard a sweeter or more unexpected sentiment.
Her lips twitched. “What?”
“I think I love you.”
The space between them was too great. He wanted her again. Now. His slayer. His hot little Buffy.
His for always.
Oh, yeah. Spike could definitely get used to this.
“Oh…oh, my God…”
A rich chuckle served as her reply, sending little shockwaves of vibration across her sensitive flesh. “I could answer to that, if you like,” came the muffled reply. She was splayed on a work table, legs spread, Spike’s hands bracing her thighs, his mouth feasting on her pussy. How he’d gotten her on her back so quickly was still a little fuzzy, but as long as he kept licking her clit with that magical tongue of his, she wasn’t going to complain.
“Uh huh,” she moaned, thrusting her hips upward.
More chuckling. “Y’know,” Spike mused, easing a finger inside her. “You are quite possibly the most adorable vampire I’ve ever met.”
Buffy tried to growl but it came off as a long whimper. “I am…not adorable,” she insisted, threading her fingers through his hair. “Take it back.”
Her vampire’s deep blue eyes met hers and the protestations fell away. For whatever reason, meeting his gaze, watching him watch her as his tongue massaged her clitoris and his fingers fucked her hole affected her more than any other threshold they had yet breached. It made everything they were doing more intimate, more intense. Spike was with her, and for the first time she truly understood.
He was with her.
“Not a bloody chance,” he mused, curling his fingers inside her. “Christ, Slayer, do you have any idea how good you taste?”
Buffy inhaled sharply and shook her head.
“Mmm.” Spike grinned. “You’re so sweet. So rich. Could drink you for hours, love.” He slowly dragged his fingers from her opening, dipping them into his mouth. “An’ you’re so responsive. Drive me bloody wild, you do.”
She hissed and thrust her pussy against his mouth again. He chuckled and obliged her, wrapping his lips around her clit and pulling on her slippery flesh.
“Gotta say, though,” he continued when he released her, rising to his feet and ignoring her whimper of complaint. “As much as I love you on my tongue…think I like you better when you’re wrapped around me.” He was gone half a second, then the head of his cock was against her, rubbing along her aching slit. “What do you say, Slayer?”
The thick fog permeating her mind separated desire from logic, making it impossible to piece together words. What did she think? Hell, what were thoughts? One second he had been licking her up, the next he was tormenting her with quick, shallow thrusts of his hips, his erection pushing against her but withholding the pressure she truly needed. He gave her just enough to keep the fire raging. It was sweet torture, but torture nonetheless.
She needed more.
“Christ, what a pretty sight,” Spike mused, his thumb finding her clit and caressing it lazily as his cock began inching inside her again. “You swallow me whole. Could watch this for hours an’ not tire.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, lifting herself off the table to welcome him in deeper. The strokes to her clit intensified. It was amazing but not enough—she needed more. She needed intimacy.
She needed his skin against hers.
But she would never tell him that.
Buffy licked her lips and raised herself on her elbows, her eyes fastening on the wet plunges he took. He was right; it was pretty. She’d never thought of her body as anything other than a vessel for carnage…and occasionally junk food. Even in skin that didn’t belong to her, in time she’d stolen with the haphazard selection of fangs for a Halloween outfit, she couldn’t see herself in the light he’d given her. As a sexual being—as anything other than Buffy. But she wanted to learn. Oh, boy how she wanted to learn.
And she wanted to watch.
Spike must have caught her staring, for when she met his eyes he wore a nasty grin. “Like that, don’t you?” he demanded roughly, his thrusts becoming more pronounced. Every drive of his hips made the table shake. “Like watching me disappear inside your sweet pussy? Mmm…yeah. See your juice on me, Slayer? That’s how hot you are. You’re melting on my dick.”
Buffy stared at him a minute longer before breaking into a wide grin. They were so alike, in so many different ways. The big bad veneer, the reason he kept smirking…that had to be a façade, or a part of him masking a larger part. A part not many got to see. She had no reason to believe it other than instinct—in the few glimpses of the awed man buried within the egocentric badass. He might be fucking her with his body, but his hands and eyes told a different story. His hands and eyes made her feel worshipped, even loved.
He kept so much of himself in shadow. She wanted to touch him, explore him, wanted to find the man who could caress her like a lover while bruising her with his body.
She didn’t know if it was the change talking or something that simply was, for she didn’t feel different enough to credit her observation entirely to having become a vampire. Perhaps this was just one of those things she knew without needing evidence. Spike did everything with all of himself, be it smirking or fighting or kissing or fucking. He didn’t hold anything back.
Buffy sighed, sitting up completely and wrapping her arms around his neck. She had him trapped in a soft kiss before she could analyze the look in his eyes and immediately his hard thrusts stalled, a long moan scratching at his throat. He poured everything into his kiss, teasing her, making love to her tongue with his. He licked and devoured, drank and consumed, drew her in and kept her.
She loved kissing him. She could kiss him forever. It was one of her new favorite things.
“Ahhh,” Spike sighed, pulling away, his hips resuming their thrusts…slowly now. He took his time, absorbing her every expression. “Glad to hear that, love.”
Had she spoken aloud? She didn’t remember saying anything.
His thumb slipped over her clit before she could analyze his words too deeply.
“’Cause I’m about to make it official.”
Fangs skimmed her throat.
And then it happened—the moment she’d dreaded, the moment where everything turned back on its feet. It took half a second in reality but she felt it coming for what felt like hours. She felt it—felt a strange warmth flood her skin, felt her chest ache with the kick-start of her heart, felt her lungs clamor hard for a gasp of air. It happened quickly but lasted forever. That was it. The spell was over.
Spike’s hands tightened around her, his thrusts intensifying. He’d noticed.
“Not so fast, Buffy,” he warned softly as he stroked her clit. “We made a deal, you an’ me.”
“I…oh God…” She scratched at him wildly. “Please…I need…”
“I know what you need.”
Then his fangs sliced into her throat and her body exploded in climax. Ecstasy split through her veins, fusing her cells with white-hot pleasure that burned so sweet she was certain she would go up in flames. It lasted forever, tearing through her body, wave after wave, whirling her through the rabbit hole only to lead her again to the light. And he drank—drank well beyond pleasure, drank until her body screamed its warning, drank until light faded to dark and the dark became dizzy. Buffy knew what was happening. It was what she’d asked for, what she’d wanted, and she was too lightheaded to wonder if she wanted it still. She managed to maintain consciousness long enough to drink when a bloodied wrist pressed against her lips—but sensory fell aside. Her nerves numbed and her skin went cold, and everything fell away.
It felt right. Everything felt right.
“See you on the other side, pet.”
The words might have been imagined—she didn’t know. At that moment, she didn’t know anything.
The world dissolved.
If she asked one more time he was going to do something he’d undoubtedly regret. Willow was merely concerned for her friend, but honestly, repeating herself wasn’t going to help anyone and she was hardly the only worried one among them. The thought of Buffy wandering the streets with a pair of fangs and a missing soul was enough to make the most jaded of demons shiver.
“Not yet,” Angel said for the tenth time. “I’ll let you know.”
“Are you actually looking for her or are we just wandering around like idiots?” Xander asked. He still had his plastic toy gun in hand.
It was a perfectly fair question, but one that made the vampire want to pop the kid good in the nose. His sense of smell notwithstanding, Buffy’s fragrance was everywhere. She’d been all over town tonight, looking, searching…for him, maybe? Perhaps she’d been terrified and alone, perhaps the blood-hunger had taken over before she knew how to rein it under control. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to think about it. All he knew at the moment was that she was alone, probably terrified, probably shaking with guilt of the man whose life she’d claimed.
The redhead shivered and crossed her arms. “She killed that guy right in front of us. I can’t believe she killed that guy right in front of us.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t stop her,” Angel muttered.
“Stop her?” Xander echoed. “I had amnesia and Willow was a ghost-thing!”
Angel rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you have a gun? I’d think any soldier who saw a civilian murder an innocent wouldn’t just stand by and let it happen.”
“I stopped him from shooting,” Willow offered meekly. “She’s…she’s Buffy.”
“She was a vampire. Bullets hurt like a bitch, but they don’t kill.”
She scowled. “And when the spell turned her human and she suddenly had this gunshot wound?”
“She’s the Slayer!” Angel countered. “Mixed with vampire strength and healing, and she would have been patched up in thirty minutes. It takes a lot more to kill people like her—like us. Come on, Willow, you should know I’d never suggest anything that would hurt her, but by letting her go…we have no idea what else she’s done, who else she’s hurt, and I don’t even want to think of what she must be going through now. We have to get to her before anything else can get to…”
He didn’t realize his voice had trailed off until the air fell still but by then it didn’t matter. The scent flirting with his nostrils was unmistakable, its connotations achingly familiar. It was worse—it was so much worse than Angel had feared. He’d thought it possible, however unlikely, something else would have found her first. The night’s creatures were supposed to be on holiday, for crying out loud.
But then…Spike wasn’t exactly known for following the rules.
And if he’d found Buffy like that there was no telling what he might have done.
“Oh, God.” Angel took off. “Oh, God.”
“I so do not like the sound of that,” Xander muttered, taking off after him.
He knew he would be too late well before he reached the warehouse. He knew exactly what he would find when he opened the door. Still, knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less. Knowledge did nothing to keep his heart from shattering.
There was blood, and the air was thick with sex.
Buffy and Spike were long gone.
He’d driven as far as he could before the fingers of dawn began creeping over the horizon. Remaining in Sunnydale simply hadn’t been an option—the second Buffy fell limp in his arms, the second he understood the finality of what he’d done, Spike had likewise known his time at the Hellmouth was over. While he and his mate might find reason to return in the future he was determined to make the first few months of Buffy’s new life as smooth as possible. For everything she’d given him—for the rebirth she’d delivered to him—he owed her the beginning he’d been denied. Staying at the Hellmouth added obstacles they didn’t need. Angel, her mum, her friends, her watcher… reminders of the life she’d shed would only get in the way.
Spike glanced over his shoulder. Dusk was now an hour past; all that was left was the wait. He’d stopped at a Sacramento hotel with just seconds to spare, offed the bellhop and carted the Slayer into the nearest luxury suite. There was no telling how long it would take her to wake up—he’d never had a hand in making a vampire before, and even though he was impatient as fuck, he would wait… and then the true fun would begin. A whole new world of possibility lay at his feet.
The girl was his equal in life and in death. Their paths were so similar—the change wasn’t something either of them sought, but the promise of freedom was intoxicating, and neither had been able to turn it down. She’d had the chance to off her friends and she hadn’t. Buffy was the first vampire he’d ever met not to actively seek out and eliminate those faces that appealed to her humanity… the first vampire aside from himself. While Spike had made merry with the gits who ripped his poetry to shreds, his mother’s fate had been an accident—a massive bloody backfire. He hadn’t gone after anyone for whom he had a soft spot. Not even Cecily Sodding Underwood.
Buffy cared enough about those she loved to still care when caring lacked reason. Spike had never met anyone who shared that with him, who connected with him so intimately on things well below the surface.
He couldn’t wait to explore their life together.
There was no telling how much time actually passed before he felt her move. He wanted to be at her side when she opened her eyes—he wanted her to awaken the way he should have, with a hand to hold and a face to understand. The first few minutes as a vampire were more terrifying than death itself; the disorientation, the confusion, the blur… everything that could ache did, and he wanted to be with her for whatever she needed.
The gasp that clawed through her throat slashed at him in ways he hadn’t expected, but Spike fought back a wince. Her eyes popped open the next second, darting frantically from one end of the room to the next before finally focusing on him. She panted and reached for him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, anchoring herself at his side. There was fear, there, but fear he expected.
There was also life.
“Where,” she demanded. “Where… am I?”
“You’re safe,” Spike said softly.
“Did you…” Buffy frowned, her eyes falling to examine her bedding. “You did it.”
“You wanted me to.”
“I didn’t think you would.” She licked her lips and sat up on her elbows. “I thought… I dunno.”
For as confident as she’d been before, watching uncertainty flicker across her face struck him on a level closer to home than he thought possible. She’d been behind a front, too. There was a wounded girl behind the mask she wore.
A wounded girl he would worship until the world was no more.
“You thought I didn’t want you?” Spike asked softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. You’re mine, Buffy.”
She looked at him for a few long seconds before breaking into a smile. “I’m yours.”
“Mmm.” His lips skimmed her throat. “Very definitely.”
“Oh.” More deafening seconds ticked between them before her eyes met his, and what he saw there made his heart soar. “I don’t have to give this up, do I? We’re…”
Spike relaxed, allowing himself a smile. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was until the tension in his shoulders fell away. There was no need for anxiety here. “I told you, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her lips. “You made me yours, an’ I intend to hold you to it.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Yeah?” He nuzzled her throat tenderly and dropped another kiss over the bite mark there. His body stirred and he felt hers respond. They needed to get her out and fed as soon as possible, but maybe they could steal a few minutes. Just a few…
“Yeah,” Buffy replied, her hands shooting to his belt buckle. They were of a one track mind, it seemed. Thank Christ. He needed to feel her wrapped around him, needed the solace of her body, needed to feel her gasp and claw and squeeze him into oblivion, all the while knowing she belonged to him.
“I’m naked,” she observed, dragging his cock out of his jeans.
Spike grinned and licked one of her nipples. “Yes, you are.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Didn’t want to assume anything, love.”
“That’s dumb. Get inside me.”
He barked a laugh, nipping her breast with blunt teeth as they shoved his jeans down his hips. “You’re bloody adorable.”
She made a face. “Stop saying that.”
He cupped her pussy, his fingers slipping between her wet folds and rubbing her softly until the protest on her face faded on a moan. He could have said anything he liked and she wouldn’t have blinked—a creature of passion, his slayer. She was so like him—in so many ways, she was so like him.
He only hoped she crashed into love the way he did—because he was gone.
“You’re perfect,” Spike whispered, removing his hand from her center just long enough to align his cock with her opening. “My little Slayer…”
Buffy hissed and threw her head back, a leg curling around his waist. “Yes…”
Her eyes found his again and shone. There had never been a more perfect moment. “I think I love you, too.”
It was in that instant Spike knew he had come home.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/344858.html