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Warning: disturbing sexual content




SPIKE: Hello! Vampire! I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side. What's your excuse?
            Smashed

    “I’m home!” Spike called out. “Dru?”

    Drusilla hadn’t left the apartment all night. She’d whistled to herself for an hour at one point. Then she sat and watched the television. Just the television, not a program on it. Then she’d taken out half a dozen porcelain dolls and set them on the table for a tea party. She’d dragged out her blood doll and cut his wrist, filling the tiny tea set with his blood. Buffy wished she had remembered to close the closet door. Dru’s story had made her not want to feel trapped, but she didn’t dare make any movement that would draw attention now. The blood doll sat on the couch when Dru was finished with him, and the way he looked at Buffy made her wish she hadn’t eaten the eggrolls. Buffy eventually fell asleep. Spike’s call made her start awake.

    “Did you find her?” Drusilla asked. “Did you find the slayer? Did you?” She sounded like a little girl asking for a treat.

    He took Dru into his arms, as if in consolation. “No dice. The boys had fun, though. Sorority house.” He flickered his eyebrows, amused. “It would be easier if I knew her name.”

    “I can’t find it,” Drusilla said. “You know I can’t. It’s all dark.”

    Spike shook his head. “No matter, dearest. I know what she looks like now. I have her scent, I’ve tasted battle. She won’t escape much longer.” He looked around the room, and his face darkened as he saw the blood doll on the couch. “What’s he doing out here?”

    “We’ve been having a tea party,” Drusilla said. “Do you like tea parties?” she asked.

    It took Buffy a second to realize that Dru had directed the question at her. “With tea,” she said quietly.

    Drusilla laughed. “Mummy used to like tea parties,” she said. “With cakes and custard...”

    “But we’ve so much more to think about now,” Spike said quickly, with the air of an intervention. He spun Dru around again and started kissing up her arm. “Like the slayer. And her sweet blood.”

    Dru looked sad. “You were supposed to kill her for me,” she said, pouting a little.

    “Aw. Give me that lip, pet,” he said, and he kissed her. “It’s all for you, you know that.”

    Spike led Dru into the bedroom, and the door closed behind them. Buffy swallowed as the unbound blood doll smiled at her. “It won’t be long now,” he said. He had a nasty looking wound on his leg, which didn’t seem to be from a bite mark. Buffy didn’t really want to know what had caused it.

    “Don’t talk to me,” Buffy told him.

    “Why not? I can be as strong as they are. I can show you.” He got up from the couch and limped over to her in the closet. “Don’t you want to get to know your new master?”

    Buffy stood up, glad that the collar and chain gave her that much free movement. “You are never gonna be the master of me, or anyone else. You don’t even master yourself, don’t you get it? You’re dinner. That’s it. You’re just her... tea-pot.”

    He reached out for her, and Buffy knocked his hand aside, hard. “Don’t try it,” Buffy snapped. “I really will kill you.”

    “She’d kill you for it,” the doll said.

    “I’d rather that than get your slime all over me,” Buffy said.

    “Little girls are the ones with the slime,” the doll said. “I know. I’ve checked.”

    Buffy kicked him, and he went staggering back across the room. Buffy reached forward and slammed the door of her closet shut, hoping that would be an end on it.

    It seemed to be, though a moment later, another door opening gave her pause. She couldn’t quite hear the exchange. A few minutes later, Spike opened her closet door. He had a strange look on his face.

    Buffy was nervous. “Hi?”

    He laughed. “Kitten really does have teeth,” he said. He unlocked her collar and let her out. “I think you broke a couple of his ribs, pet.”

    Dru and her doll had retreated to Dru’s room by then. “Can’t say I’ll lose any sleep over it,” Buffy muttered.

    “No. You get a treat. Here.” He went to his motorcycle jacket on the wall and pulled out something wrapped in paper. He threw it at her. It was a cheeseburger. It had gone cold, but Buffy opened it quickly and started to eat anyway, still standing. Spike regarded her. “And if I told you I killed the vendor?”

    Buffy paused, then took another bite. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted you to,” she said when she’d swallowed.

    “What’s the difference?”

    “You did it, not me,” Buffy said. She finished her burger quickly. It wasn’t enough. With all the blood loss she was ravenous, even with the repeated nausea of the situation she was in.

    “And what if I said I didn’t?”

    Buffy looked at him. “If you think it’s fun to play mind games, feel free,” she said. “But I’m not rising to the bait.”

    Spike smirked. “I just stole it.”

    “Splitting the difference, I see,” Buffy said. “So you didn’t find the slayer?”

    “Not yet,” Spike said. He sat down nonchalantly and kicked his feet up on the table. “I will, though.”

    Buffy knew he would. She picked a bit of melted cheese off the paper and slipped it into her mouth before she set the paper on the table.

    “You’re hungry,” Spike said.

    Buffy shrugged.

    “Think I’m a bit peckish myself,” he said. He sounded bored. “Come ‘ere.”

    Buffy sighed, and then looked up, resigned.

    Spike frowned. “Now that is not the look I got last night.”

    “I hadn’t been breakfast in bed or a bowl of popcorn last night, either.”

    Spike’s head tilted. “You think I’m taking you for granted?”

    “Yes.”

    Spike regarded her. “That bothers you?”

    Buffy was tired of this. “What does it matter what bothers me? You don’t know who the hell I am, and you don’t care.”

    Spike put his feet down. “I keep bloody asking!”

    “But not paying attention.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “If you’d been paying attention,” Buffy said, “you’d already know what I meant.”

    Spike surged to his feet. “Quit talking riddles!”

    “I’m not!” Buffy retorted. “Quit being a jerk.”

    “I’m a sodding vampire. What do you expect of me?”

    Buffy stared at the ceiling. “A lot more than I’m going to get, apparently. Here.” She held her arm out. “Eat up. I’m bored.”

    Spike knocked her arm away, contempt on his face. “I’d been feeling rather fond of you until this moment.”

    “So kill me,” Buffy said, almost meaning it.

    “I could!”

    “Then do it!” Buffy snapped. “At least I’d know where I stand!”

    “You’re a sodding pet!”

    “Yeah!” Buffy said. “A willing one! And you’re being a right idiot for tossing it aside.”

    “No one’s really willing.”

    “How the hell do you know?”

    “They’re all after something. And you are too. A hit or a change or a few more days of life. It’s always a bleedin’ exchange.”

    Buffy came up to him. “And you’re a dope.”

    “Are you insulting me?”

    “Yes!”

    “You dare–?”

    “Yes! I dare! Open your damn eyes!”

    “My eyes are open.”

    “Then look closer. It’s all right here, Spike, someone who wants to give themselves to you. A willing young woman, a gifted life, blood in an open goblet, and you’re treating it like cheap beer.”

    He cringed, but he was too mad to back down. “Maybe that’s all you’re worth!”

    “And maybe you’re not worth jack, either.”

    “I am worth–”

    “What?” Buffy asked. “What are you worth? Are you even worthy of your blood?”

    “Hey. I’m a fighter. I am a killer.”

    “And that’s supposed to impress me?”

    “I am a warrior!”

    “You are an idiot!” Buffy shouted into his face.

    And she wasn’t entirely surprised when he kissed her. Spike, on the other hand, was shocked. He grabbed her hard, plunged into a passionate kiss, and a moment later tore himself away as if he’d been slapped. He stared at her, breathing hard, his eyes wild. “What the hell...?”

    “Just go with it,” Buffy said, and she stepped back up to him. He groaned as he took her back into his arms, and they gasped and clung to each other. There he was. The Spike who had first seduced her, the wild antagonistic passion that had burned them both from the inside out. It was a dangerous indulgence, a candle burned at both ends, but she only had a few days here, anyway.

    Spike was kissing her neck now, and his hands were wild as they gripped her. Buffy, to her annoyance, could not return passion for passion. Her body hadn’t the strength, and it hadn’t the power, and it was weaker even than it should have been from blood loss. In her old body, a vampire was her equal, or near equal. Now, this vampire was much more powerful than her current body, and swamped it. Where ordinarily she’d have gripped him strength to strength, all she could manage was an enthusiastic submission.

    Her head fell back, and she held him until the strength of his arms made her own lose their grip. He’d picked her up like a child, and didn’t seem able to stop kissing her. A moment later they were on the ground, and he was above her, and she laughed at herself for swooning beneath him like a character from a badly-written romance novel.

    Then, despite her delight in the passion their antagonism had ignited in him, she was suddenly done. Pain was probably what had done it. “Ow. Ow!” He was twisting her shoulders back too far, and he’d bruised her hip. She remembered the first time she’d had sex with him, in the middle of a wildly brutal fight, and the pain then had felt right. She didn’t have the endurance for it now, and it galled her. Sarah’s body simply couldn’t take it.

    Her enthusiastic excitement cooled. Then something, something she’d buried deep inside her, rose to the surface. This position beneath him, this unequal passion. It reminded her of a moment she never wanted to think about again. And Spike – this Spike had no soul, fed on human blood, and did not love her. He had no reason at all to curb his desires. He’d lost control before, and he’d loved her then. Now he barely knew her. Why should he have any control at all? She’d known this heat was dangerous, but she’d stoked it all the same, and she hadn’t the strength for it. But she was afraid to ask him to stop, for fear he wouldn’t, and the whole traumatic experience would be repeated. She lay back, tensed, willing everything to be okay, god, it’s got to be okay...

    And then he surprised her. He stopped.

    Without her even asking, he pulled away and shook sense back into his head. He looked down at her, panting. “That was nuts.”

    Buffy laughed. She laughed somewhat hysterically, and threw her arms around his neck. “Kiss me,” she said. “Oh, god, kiss me.” He did, much more calmly than he had a moment before. “Thank you,” she said when he finished.

    “For?”

    “For stopping.”

    “You froze.”

    “I know I did.” She gasped with relief and confusion.

    “I’d have broken you if I kept going.”

    He was probably right. But... “How did you even notice?”

    Spike blinked. “I’m not blind, little bit.” He touched her face. “See? My eyes are open.”

    God, it didn’t make sense. Why would he stop now when he didn’t stop then? He had no reason; no love, no soul, no... oh.

    Something clicked in her head. The look on his face a few minutes ago, that had been lust. She knew it. And she knew he could control lust, even now. Every time he hadn’t killed her, he was controlling some kind of lust. But the look on his face during that terrible moment in the bathroom had been something else – need, for lack of a better term. Need, or emptiness. And Buffy had seen that look recently. She’d seen it that afternoon, when he was scared. Then he hadn’t been able to control himself, either, but then he’d run away.

    It was need. It was the look of a demon feeling the lack of his soul. She’d actually seen that look on Angel’s face, too, once, while he had been rendered soulless. They’d been possessed by loving spirits and made to kiss and forgive. When he’d been released from that possession, that hollow need had been in Angel’s eyes, too. It had made Angel run, just like it made Spike run that afternoon.

    That was what she’d done to him by forgetting. Her soul had reached out for his and found that hollow space, probably made it ring like an empty barrel, shaking him to the core. She did not, of course, have the vaguest idea how she did this. If they were both human, neither of them would even really know it was happening. But Spike was a demon.

    When Spike had loved her, he’d been able to fill that hollow space inside himself with her soul, as she’d filled her own hollow of misery with pleasure and passion. It had worked, for that short amount of time. But as Buffy had started to heal, and realized she could not be with someone who had no compassion for others, Spike had had no recourse for the hollowness she’d filled for him, and then left barren. That night in her bathroom, he’d been desperate for her, trying to force her back inside him as he thought to force himself into her. Trying to fill that emptiness. Now, barely knowing her, never having had that space filled, the same hollow need had only made him flee, run away from her and her reaching soul.

    She didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. She’d reached him, but he’d fled, and when he came back, she was no more than a victim. A bowl of popcorn. Cheap beer. But if she’d done it once, she could do it again. But she had to... she had to actually reach out for him. She couldn’t just keep turning to her memory of his future. She had to reach out for him now.

    God, all that death...

    “Thank you so much,” she whispered.

    Spike’s eyes narrowed, partly seductive, partly evil. “I’m not done with you yet.”

    “I don’t care why you did, I just...” She kissed his neck and breathed into his ear. “There you are.” She kissed him again and again. “I knew you were in there.”


***

    “I’m going to swallow you whole.”

    That was what he’d said as he’d laid her down. Buffy lay in a completely dazed state, unable to move or feel, barely able to breathe. It was early, early morning. The light coming through the painted windows was still grey. She knew she was on the bed. She knew Spike was with her. She could feel him against her. And her whole body was numb, with one wildly glaring exception.

    He’d started by biting her wrist. Then the soft flesh inside her elbow. Then her shoulder, just below her throat. He’d gone up her other arm. “Ow! Oohh... Ow... ohh, god....”

    She’d lost count of how many times he’d bitten her. Shallow bites, no veins or arteries, nothing ordinarily life-threatening, but at each one he paused and kissed and caressed with his tongue, killing the pain, numbing her flesh, sending a bit more of a trickle into her blood stream. Her legs were numb, and her breasts, and her belly, and he danced around her, lapping at one wound or another, occasionally adding a new one. This was a blood game Spike had never played with her before. She knew why; the tissue damage was going to be enormous.

    After a little while, she hadn’t cared. She floated on a cloud so profound she wondered if she was about to lose her grip on Sarah’s body – it was only hers because the body longed for a spirit, not because she fit there perfectly. She had fallen down the rabbit hole, as she’d used to put it, but Spike had left one part of her completely undamaged, un-benumbed, and hyper-aware.

    When he lowered his mouth to her clit, she thought for a brief moment she was about to be sent back to heaven. It was nothing pure, however. It was deadly and manipulative and obscene, and to her shame, she loved it. This was altogether demonic. The first touch of his cool, moist tongue to her hot flesh had been a shock. She’d have flinched if she was able, but she wasn’t able. She could force her arms or legs to move if she used a lot of concentration, as if they were asleep without the pins and needles. But for the most part, the only part of her she could move was her head, and she’d gasped at his touch. “Spike!”

    He’d only chuckled, and lowered his lips around the little nub, sucking at it gently. He’d taken off his game face, so his teeth, when they scraped gently against her flesh, were flat and smooth, and only served as a contrast to his soft mouth, rather than causing any pain.

    The idea of pain was far from her benumbed body. Spike sucked and lapped and kissed her swollen flesh. The numbness made it feel like her whole body was just that hyper-sensitive nodule, until he’d slid his fingers inside her and began to caress her. There was nothing else, so it felt so full. Her pelvis felt huge, as if it were the size of the bed itself, and he was filling her and filling her, and moving within her, and it was everything. He tickled at her moist flesh, sending shocks through her whole being – her whole being having been reduced to that one tiny, sacred space. No. Not sacred. Not anymore. Profane and perfect.

    She cried out, and it sounded pitifully weak to her ears. She lifted her head, to find he’d moved her legs around him – she was too numb to have realized – and the blood from her bitten thighs was trickling along his shoulders. She let her head fall again, and completely vanished into sensation. She felt literally nothing but her own breath passing through her mouth, and his cool, expert tongue and fingers as he drew pleasure out of her as expertly as he could draw blood.

    She wasn’t aware of being about to come. She went from cloudy contented numbness to a blazing sunlight of pleasure so strong she couldn’t even scream with it. The sound she made was high to low, and it lingered, coming again and again, like a siren. She was half blind, her body dripping with her own blood, her mind addled and her body numb with demonic venom, the demon himself lapping at her most secret places. She was far from home, from her body, from her power, from her strength, from the soul of the man she loved, and for that moment, Buffy did not care. This wasn’t heaven. Heaven was clean. This was the throne of hell itself, and she was the demon’s queen.

    Spike let her go after that, crawling up her body like a panther. “Do you still feel taken for granted?”

    Buffy couldn’t speak. He knew she couldn’t. Blood was smeared along his body in several places, and he stopped to lick several of her wounds again before insinuating himself above her. “Sweet little pet,” he said. “You fall so far...”

    Buffy knew she did. Her own Spike had warned her about that. Still... there wasn’t much she could do about it. Spike slid himself inside her. She was so wet he slid in instantly, and she moaned. It was still the only part of her body save her head that had any real sensation left. He was the size of a fist, the size of a body, the size of the moon. He was everything, and he filled her, and he overflowed her. She was a fount of life, of blood, of pleasure, she was pouring herself out and over him. The blood, which in ordinary circumstances would have disturbed her, was beautiful, crimson streams, scarlet paintings, droplets of glittering rubies that he had drawn from her. A fountain of living gems.

    Buffy realized some of her thoughts were actually Spike. He was whispering to her, still the poet even without his realizing it, and she was so far gone the words poured into her heart, as if they’d bypassed her ears altogether. She’d always found him a better poet when he wasn’t trying. She was further down than he had ever taken her, and she wondered if she was about to die. She couldn’t even bring herself to care about that very much. Whatever he meant to do to her, for that moment, it didn’t matter. He was right – she was his. Buffy was gone inside the moment.

    A suck is more dangerous than a blow, love.

    Didn’t she bloody know it! Buffy melted into the bed.

    He was still pulsing softly inside her when the door of Drusilla’s bedroom opened. Dru wandered out in her feathered robe, as if a bit confused. Buffy turned her head, still dazed. Dru’s doll could be seen chained to her bed, passed out behind her, but she seemed to have forgotten him. Dru wandered into the bathroom, and Buffy could hear the water running, but what she was doing, Buffy had no idea.

    Spike did not look embarrassed or even distracted by her appearance. He’d seen her, but it wasn’t that important. Buffy decided not to react, though it kind of bothered her that they’d been interrupted. This had been too powerful an experience, one she’d actually wanted to treasure. But she was here for Spike, she had to make him see her, and Drusilla didn’t matter.

    A few moments later, though, she really did. Without saying a word, Drusilla had shed her robe and crept under the blankets beside them, nuzzling at Buffy, licking at some of her bites, her wiry arms languidly caressing her torso. Buffy knew Spike could feel her tense up beneath him. He slowed, stopped, looked down at the two of them, and Buffy felt wounded by the love she saw there. Love for Drusilla, not for her. “She really is a beauty, isn’t she,” Drusilla whispered, almost in Buffy’s ear. “Is she well behaved?”

    “She’s a sweet little pet,” Spike said.

    “Let me see,” Dru said, and she put her lips to the still seeping wound on Buffy’s shoulder.

    Buffy drew in a breath of pure terror. She stared up at Spike, silently begging him with her eyes to do something. But Spike did nothing but gaze down upon them. Dru’s soft feminine coolness was relentless, and she snuggled up to Buffy as if they were longtime lovers. Buffy closed her eyes, and tried not to sob. It was all gone. No more the demon’s queen, now she was just a victim, drugged and ravaged and used. She didn’t feel like a victim herself, but she knew that was how they saw her, both of them. Demons. Hungry, soulless, and evil, and she was only their prey. Even with Spike still above her, still inside her, she felt utterly abandoned.

    “Not too much, love,” Spike said then. “Don’t want to waste all my training, now, do we.”

    “Mm,” was all Dru said, but Buffy could tell she did slow her feeding. She licked and lapped at the wound. And Spike was right in what he’d kept telling her; Buffy found she could fight off the high. She knew she had no say in whether or not Dru fed from her, not with the power Dru held over Spike, but she was not going to fall into the vampiress. She did not belong to Dru, not her heart, not her mind, and certainly not her body. She clenched her hand and kept her eyes wide open, staring at Spike, who was gazing down as if this was a lovely tableau.

    He probably felt it was.

    The thought made her almost nauseated, but she knew she couldn’t fight the woman away. She just had to endure this, even though it made her tremble with terror and disgust. It was a startling jump from pleasure to pain, as the greatest blood game ever had been turned into this strange interruption and – and... violation.

    Buffy tried not to cry.

    A moment later, Spike left her body, sliding over to Drusilla with a groan, caressing her gently, drawing her attention away from Buffy. She could tell he’d entered her by the childlike “ooh!” Dru hummed against her throat. Then he started to move in her, rhythmically pushing her against the mattress.

    Dru left Buffy’s wound and tilted her head back, revelling in the sensation her lover was so carefully bestowing upon her. She pulled Buffy close against her side as Spike always did, using her heat like a hot water bottle, borrowing her life as much as her blood. Buffy wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or not. Dru was no longer feeding from her, which was a relief to her – was that what he’d intended? – but she’d lost Spike. God, she felt confused.

    Drusilla looked less mad in the throes of languid passion, but she didn’t look any more present. She let herself fall into sensation, as if it were its own world, occasionally tensing her face as if something pained her. Spike made love to her gently, lovingly, cherishing every touch, with such adoration in his eyes, as Drusilla simply vanished inside herself.

    She never opened her eyes, Buffy realized. Spike looked down upon her with love. Drusilla stared into her own self.

    Buffy tried to make up for it by gazing into him. For a long while, it seemed like he wouldn’t look at her; as if with Dru around, Buffy couldn’t possibly exist. But the pull of her gaze seemed to catch him, finally, and his eyes flickered to her, meeting hers for a moment before flicking back to Dru. But that single look was enough to split his attention. His eyes kept flicking back to Buffy, as Dru writhed beneath him, gripping on to Buffy as Spike pushed inside her faster and more urgently, pulling her toward her release. When she cried out, he stared into Dru’s face, pride and purpose glowing in his expression. Then, as he continued, changing from pleasing Dru to pleasing himself, his eyes were again drawn to Buffy’s. He looked confused as he came, closing his eyes on both of them, more pained than pleasured.

    Dru shifted then, and Spike was pulled to her other side, where she snuggled up against his chest as if she were a little girl. Her arm finally released Buffy, sliding out from under her to gently caress Spike’s chest. Buffy lay there, wondering for a long while what she was meant to do. Spike was caressing Dru’s hair, occasionally kissing her forehead, and Buffy felt very out of place. She felt abandoned, which she knew was madness, because she wasn’t Buffy now. She was Sarah, and Sarah had only the role of compliant pet to fill, not partner, not equal, not soulmate. She was only a thing.

    She swallowed and decided to retreat to her pet bed, where she belonged.

    She started to get up, but Spike’s hand on her arm held her. She looked at him. He was gazing at her over Dru’s snuggled head, his ice-blue eyes soft, pleading. “Stay,” he murmured. It was an order, something you’d say to a dog, but the twisted confusion and affection in his gaze softened it. He did not add please, but she could see it in his eyes.

    He pulled her arm over Drusilla, so that Buffy was cuddling her vampiric body in a warm embrace, and Spike kept his hand on Buffy’s shoulder. He caressed Buffy gently with his thumb, looking down on Dru with love, and then up at Buffy with true affection.

    Buffy realized this was probably very important for him. Drusilla had joined them, joined her. She had accepted that Buffy was Spike’s property and treated it with respect. A pet, not a mere victim. With the way Buffy had been trying to make Spike feel, how deeply she’d been trying to penetrate his heart, this was probably one of the best moves that could have happened. She had now been insinuated into his devotion toward Drusilla, and the love for both of them was probably mingling in his soulless heart.

    Buffy almost wished she could love Drusilla too, for him. But the vampiress was evil, and mad, and she ate children and tortured Spike for fun. There was no redeemed future, no destined soul, no selfless heart beneath her cold flesh. Buffy knew Dru was wounded – she knew how, and why. She felt deep sympathy for the mad vampire, but it could never be affection. Buffy reached over to touch Spike’s side, her warm fingertips on his ribs. She was trying to figure out the best way of escaping, when Spike opened his mouth.

    “Thank you,” he whispered.

    It was deeply heartfelt. He looked nearly in tears. Buffy blinked. She wondered how long it had been since Drusilla had willingly taken to Spike’s bed without trying to torture him in some way. Though this experience had been strange and disturbing to Buffy, Spike seemed to regard it as a miracle.

    Dru did look innocent and childlike curled between them in Spike’s arms. Buffy couldn’t begin to love Dru for herself. But Spike... she could let herself love this moment for Spike’s sake. He looked so content, so at peace, as if a wound had finally been eased...

    That story Drusilla had told, of her infant niece. No matter how many lives she took, no matter how wrong that was, Drusilla was always going to be a victim, as well as a killer. Buffy moved her hand and let herself stroke Dru’s long soft hair. She closed her eyes, and resigned herself to keeping Drusilla warm while she slept.

    Possibly it was the residual effect of the bites she’d tried to shake off. Possibly it was exhaustion from blood loss. Perhaps she felt more sympathy for Dru than she wanted to admit. Perhaps, like a prisoner, she was simply getting used to the strange dynamics of the monstrous household she found herself in. Whatever it was, she was surprised that staying there, embracing both of the murderous demons, wasn’t very difficult.
 

 
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