Warning: implied violence and rape

Buffy: ...you made her a vampire.
Angel:  First I made her insane. Killed everybody she loved. Visited every mental torture on her I could devise.
        Lie To Me


    Buffy was pretty much abandoned the moment Drusilla set foot in the apartment. She came in in a bit of a dream state, and Spike jumped up and went directly to his paramour. “Did you have any luck, darling?”

    Drusilla sighed. “All the little children are locked away these days,” she said glumly. “Where are all my orphans? My wastrels and urchins don’t play in the alleys any longer.”

    “I’m sure there’s something around here we could find for you to eat,” Spike said, running his hands down her arms.

    “I found an old man. But he disagreed with me. Loudly, and with curses. And the city screams at night like burning churches.” She sank her head onto Spike’s chest. “Spike? Would you love me even if my hair turned white?”

    “Of course I would, my sweet. Love’s not love that alters when it alteration finds, and all that,” he said, catching her into a hug, which he spun her out of.

    “Would you love me if I fell into the wrong body?” she asked then, looking up at him with her head tilted.

    Spike looked wildly confused, and then dismissed it. “I will always adore my Drusilla,” he said simply, and he kissed her. It was clear Dru often made little sense. Buffy, however, felt more than a little nervous.

    Dru fell back into his arms and rubbed her head against him like a cat. “You’re warm. Were you hunting?”

    “Not exactly.”

    Dru looked over at Buffy, sitting as still as possible on the couch. “She doesn’t smell right,” Dru said. “O, wash me in thy precious blood...” she sang quietly. “She’s crumbling.... Will she be my hand maiden?”

    “Of course she will, my sweet,” Spike said.

    Buffy looked at Spike meaningly as Dru slipped into her room. Spike took Buffy’s hand and helped her up. “Hand maiden?” Buffy asked, having horrified visions of the book by Margaret Atwood that Professor Walsh had made everyone read in psych class. “What exactly does this entail?”

    “Don’t worry about it,” Spike said as he led her into the bedroom. That wasn’t actually answering her question.

    What the role of hand maiden actually entailed wasn’t near as horrific as Buffy had been afraid of. Drusilla asked for help changing into her nightgown. In her instance, her nightgown was even more elaborate and elegant than the punk look she’d been wearing, corset notwithstanding. The nightgown was white, with lace cuffs, and it smelled of lavender. She went from fashion punk to Victorian aristocrat, and unlike Spike, seemed to feel much more at home with the latter. Spike always said he felt like an idiot when he was confronted with anything that reminded him of his own original time.

     Drusilla continued to hum dreamily as Buffy unlaced her, and then buttoned her up the back. She sat at her mirrorless vanity, covered in gagged and blindfolded dolls, and held out her foot. Spike bent on the ground like a courting swain and changed Dru’s shoes. He kissed up her leg, stopping at her knees, and laid his head on her lap. Drusilla petted him, and then handed Buffy a hair brush. “Brush that out for me, will you doll?” Drusilla asked.

    “I’ll get that,” Spike said, preparing to stand. Buffy knew he loved to brush her own hair out, the gentle intimacy of lacing his hands through her flowing locks. He said the scent was intoxicating, and it was like petting satin. He considered it a treat to brush his lover’s hair.

    Dru pushed his head away. “She’s got the spikes!” she growled, her mood changing from dreamy to terrifying in a heartbeat. “And she’s the one to smooth them!”

    “Love–”

    She didn’t even let him speak before she slapped him, hard. Cruel claw marks graced his cheek. It wasn’t deep – Buffy knew that as a vampire, Spike would heal the damage in a day or so, but it was still cruel. Buffy knew why Spike had always just let Buffy hit him. He was used to it. Most of the time he could give back as good as he got – why did he never hit Dru?

    “Get. On with it!” Drusilla hissed over her shoulder. Buffy quietly started to brush the vampiress’s hair. Dru’s harsh demeanor faded again, and she sank back into her chair.  “A few more years shall roll,” she sang, “a few more seasons come, when we shall be with those that rest, asleep within the tomb.”

    Spike sat back and watched them. Buffy couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

    “Then O my lord prepare my soul for that great day. O wash me in thy precious blood and take my sins away.”

    Buffy realized that Drusilla was singing, of all things, a religious hymn. It was creepy. The purity and sanctity that had been stolen from Drusilla was turned into a horrifying and rather gruesome concept when sung by a vampire.

    Drusilla... the holy novitiate... and Spike.... Buffy looked at him, curled up on the floor, confused, a little hurt by Dru’s rebuff. The gentle poet. The evil poisoned everything pure and good. The slayer in her clenched its fists, prepared to do battle, but this wasn’t the time or place for violence. This was a different war she had to fight now. A war against time, and against the nature of evil, and it was going to take patience and clarity to get through it, so that she could get the hell back to her own time and properly hit something! That was so much easier than this... constant mental and emotional conflict. Spike had once said that Buffy was drawn to evil only in order to heal it. She believed it – it was the only reason she could make sense of for how she made friends or lovers out of demons and kept turning villains into heros – but the disease was too strong here. She had no help, no electronic chip, hardly even any logic, and no time to play it slow. A lot of what she had to do here was just... endurance.

    Dru stood up, indifferently knocking Buffy aside as she did, and went to her closet. “Wakey, wakey!” she whispered at the door. “Where’s my precious baby?”

    Spike stood up and took Buffy away before Dru got her doll out to play with. Spike was bleeding. “You okay?”

    “Fine,” Spike said.

    He didn’t sound fine. “Hang on a sec,” she said. Buffy disengaged herself from his arm and went into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. A bit later she came out to find Spike opening up the sofa bed. “Here,” she said. She came up used the warm damp cloth to daub the demonic blood from his cheek.

    He regarded her. “Gonna save it?”

    “It’s not enough,” Buffy said. “It would have to make a circle.”

    “Then why...?”

    “It just looked painful,” Buffy said. She looked up at him. “You’ve really never been with anyone good, have you.” She went back to cleansing the wound.

    “Not both,” he said quietly.

    “Both?”

    “Good and brave. Anyone good wouldn’t dare...” He stopped. “It wouldn’t take much to turn you,” Spike said, “if you were near death.”

    “I know that,” Buffy said. She folded the cloth and dabbed the wound again. Their faces were very close. He looked down at her, a lot of confusion in his eyes.

    “And that’s really not what you’re after,” he said in wonder.

    “Not remotely.”

    He frowned. “Eternity,” he said, his voice heady. “Power. Freedom. You don’t want that?”

    “No,” Buffy said.

    He was leaning toward her now. “What do you want?” he whispered into her mouth.

    Buffy smiled at him sadly. “If I told you everything I really wanted, you wouldn’t even believe I’d consider it.”

    “Try me.”

    His presence was heavy upon her. “Kiss me,” she said instead.

    He did. Slowly, seductively, his whole self poured into it. Buffy’s heart pounded. “What do you want?” she whispered when he let her go.

    “I want to bite you,” he said honestly, without even opening his eyes.

    Buffy laughed low. She turned away and set the cloth on the table, then came back. His eyes were open by then, dilated, hungry. She took up his hand with both of hers, and set the hairbrush, which she hadn’t set down, inside it. “Would you brush my hair, first?” she asked softly.

    Spike looked at her with an amused expression. “You are a manipulative little bitch, aren’t you,” he said with a grin.

    He pushed her onto the bed and stripped her clothes off, covering her with ardent kisses, caressing her with his strong, cool hands. He ran his nails up and down her arms, peeling off scabs again until she was dotted with fresh blood. He kissed the droplets off her, and then settled her into his lap. Then he brushed her hair. Over and over and over again, the brush smoothing through Sarah’s thick brown tresses, until the sun began to rise. It wasn’t until then that he let her lift his shirt, and push him down in turn. They rolled over and over, kissing and fucking, and he bit her at her climax, until the orgasm faded into euphoria, and she moaned and gasped beneath him, fading away.

    When he finally released her she was so far gone she burrowed into his chest like a rabbit seeking a home. She trembled and clung to him, desperate to stay near him. “I’m here, pet,” he whispered, running his hand through her hair. “You’re all mine. I’m not letting go.”
 

***

    It was broad day when Drusilla suddenly started screaming. Buffy woke startled, a little confused, unsure where the sound was coming from, but Spike shot up like an alarm had gone off. He rolled out of bed and burst into Drusilla’s room. Buffy grabbed her clothes, tripping over her jeans as she pulled them on, and followed him almost by instinct.

    Dru’s blood doll stood by the side of the bed, looking completely bewildered. Spike pushed him aside and he fell on the floor. Spike crept into the bed with Drusilla and took her tenderly into his arms, pulling her to his chest. “It’ll be all right, darling,” he said, loud enough to carry over her screams. “Dru, darling, princess, it’s all right. Open your eyes, it’s all right. The whole world is good. Blood and sweet music, and darkness to dance in. Open your eyes. Come on, Dru, love, come to me.”

    Drusilla was having a nightmare. Buffy stood in the door, feeling awkward.

    “Come on, baby, come to daddy. Wake up, baby, I’m here. I’m here, love. You’ll never be all alone again. I’ve got you.”

    Dru finally stopped screaming, and her eyes opened, staring into nothing. She paused, and then moaned, curling into Spike’s chest in soft despair.

    Dru’s doll appeared to be on his last legs. He crawled toward the bedroom closet, which Buffy noted with some disgust was done up like a baby’s bassinet. “I did nothing, I swear,” he croaked.

    “Shut up. Lock him in, pet,” he said, glancing over at Buffy in the doorway.

    Buffy jumped to obey, if only to get the disgusting doll out of the way. When he wasn’t going fast enough, she actually hauled him by the arm and threw him in – though not roughly. She noticed a baby’s bottle of water on the table by the door, and tossed it in after him – she still had a conscience, even if no one else in the household did.

    “Get us a flower, will you?” Spike asked once she was done. He slid onto his back and pulled Drusilla with him, curling her half atop him so that he could stroke her hair. “It’s all right, love. I’m here. Your Spike. Sweet William’s here for you.”

    “The birds had eaten my pretty garden,” she said. “All in the sunshine, devouring my daisies, over and over again.”

    “We’ve grown you a new garden, darling,” Spike said. He glanced over her head meaningfully at Buffy. She actually ran to the fridge to get the flower, pulling the rose from the box without bothering to close it up again. She came back to Spike carrying it, and Spike took it from her without ceremony. “There you are, my sweet,” he said. He caressed Drusilla’s cheek with the flower petals and gently dusted her nose with it. “The garden’s grown afresh.”

    “But everything I put in the ground withers and dies,” she said.

    “And grows out again stronger than ever,” Spike said. “Just as I did.” He kissed her forehead and her brow again and again. “Don’t mourn for it, love. We’ll go dancing and singing tonight, just you and me.”

    “But what of the children?”

    “Forget the children,” Spike said. “They can look after themselves.”

    “I can’t let the little boy cry,” Dru said. “It’s so sad when he cries.” And very suddenly she began to sob on Spike’s chest. “He’ll come, and he’ll take them apart,” she said. “He’ll take them all away, one by one, I can’t stop him. It’s coming! It’ll always happen, over and over again! Taking my family away. Daddy!”

    “Shh, shh, darling, it’s over now. You are strong, you are beautiful, he’ll never hurt you again. I am with you, no one will ever take me from you. You have me. You’ll always have me.”

    She looked up, as if in a panic. “But he’s supposed to hurt me! Why won’t he hurt me? Where is he?” she asked. “My Angelus. He can’t have gone!”

    “He left you with me,” Spike said. “I’m here to take care of you.”

    “Where is he? I need him! He’s the center, I need him! The snake. The hands, the fingers, I need him!”

    “You’re fine, love.”

    “But my sisters....” Dru sobbed.

    Spike looked over at Buffy and gestured her out with his chin. She gently closed the door on the tender tableau – Spike nursing his mad lover back to the present, such love and concern on his face.

    And Dru still hadn’t looked at him properly.

    Buffy decided to go to her closet, so she could close the door and stay out of the way. She didn’t know what state Dru was going to be in once she stopped weeping in Spike’s arms. She crept to her cushion, nervous about what the rest of the day would bring.
 

***

    A few hours later she was woken up by her closet door being opened. Spike came in and sat on the floor beside her. “No, no, you’re good,” Spike said as she lifted her head. He settled his back against the wall and closed his eyes. Buffy shifted and placed her head on his lap. He smiled down at her and began to pet her like a cat. “Thanks for your help.”

    “Does Drusilla have nightmares a lot?”

    “Not usually that bad,” he said. “Not for a long time. Her... sire messed her up bad before he turned her. Did things to her before he killed her. Ate her family, fucked with her mind. It still bugs her sometimes.”

    “Isn’t that sort of... usual?” Buffy asked. Without mentioning Spike’s mother specifically, she was curious. “Don’t most vampires lose their family, one way or another?”

    “A lot of us eat them,” Spike said, “but that’s our choice. All Dru’s choices were taken from her before she was turned. He was... creative. Into the slow torture. He was good at it. I’m more of an action man, myself. Torture can be fun, in its way, but it takes forever.” He touched Buffy’s throat with all its bite marks and then reached beside him for the broad leather collar. He set it on her neck, the chain clicking with his movement, and buckled it, but didn’t attach the lock. He smiled down at her, adorned with his spiked black collar, and petted her from her hair down her arm. “Well, that’s lovely.”

    “Does holding her help?”

    “For a little while,” Spike said. “He messed her up, and now he’s gone. She misses him sometimes. He kind of took the place of her family, and now she’s... well. ‘Least she’s got me.”

    She looked up at him. “You’re very devoted.”

    Spike looked down. “Think that’s a problem, do you?” he asked. Buffy couldn’t tell if he was displeased or not.

    “Not for me,” Buffy said.

    He gazed at her. “I’ve had pets get jealous,” he said.

    “Have you.”

    Spike continued to regard her for long moments. “Usually the ones who wanted to take her place.”

    “Be turned?”

    “Yes.”

    “I don’t want that,” Buffy said.

    “What do you want?”

    Buffy smiled. “You know what I want,” she said. “I haven’t actually lied to you about anything.”

    “You haven’t told me the truth about anything, either.”

    “Sure I have. About lots of things.”

    Spike frowned. He pushed her down gently and placed her head on his thigh. He resumed stroking her, and she let him. “I wanted to tell you to avoid her for a few days,” Spike said. “If you can. She gets odd when she’s like this. Wants to relive the kinds of things he did to her. She gets off on it. Or it clears her head out. Something like that.”

    Buffy gazed up at him. “Are you warning me?” she asked. “Are you... trying to protect me?”

    Spike touched her cheek. “You’re such a pretty little thing,” Spike said. “I’d like to tear you to pieces.” He sounded so fond as he said it that Buffy could almost accept the disconnect. He let his fingers travel down her collared throat. “I want to be the one to kill you,” he whispered heavily. “I’d rather Dru didn’t ask for you.”

    “Because you’d give me to her,” Buffy said. It wasn’t a question.

    “I’d give her everything,” Spike said. “I’d give her the world. Precious jewels, precious gifts, even my most precious pet. But it would be quite the wrench.” He took her head by the collar and pulled her into a kiss. A moment later he let her go, looking sleepy and content, and a little sad. He gently guided her head back down to his lap and began petting her again. “What are you doing to me?” he mused.

    “I don’t know,” Buffy said. “If I told you what I think it is, you wouldn’t believe me.”

    “Try me.”

    Buffy tried to come up with a way to say this without frightening him with the concept of souls. “I think... there’s a little piece of me... kind of reaching out to be part of you.”

    “It’s called your blood,” Spike said. “And I’m taking it. It’s not reaching.”

    “It can come with the blood,” Buffy said. “But that’s not what it is.”

    He whispered down in earnest, “Why do you want to give yourself to me?”

    “Because I want you to give of yourself back.”

    “Drusilla has all of me,” Spike said, defensive.

    “I know she does,” Buffy said. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

    “Wasn’t it?”

    “I don’t want to take you from her. It would be cruel.”

    He blinked. “Cruel?”

    “Yes.”

    “To her, or me?”

    Buffy shrugged. “Take your pick. The only way splitting you up wouldn’t be terrible is if she left you herself.”

    Spike smiled indulgently. “Never gonna happen. Dru and I are eternal.”

    After seeing them today, Buffy knew how amazing it was that Dru had left him in the first place. She wondered if Drusilla had had some idea about the kind of man Spike could become if she left. It was a nice idea, that, anyway – that some part of her had loved him enough to let him go, to let him grow and change and become the champion he became. Spike had told her that Dru had seen Buffy all over him. And that he tasted like ashes.... Given that he had burned, she wasn’t wrong. What her motives had been, Buffy would never know. It was possible Drusilla hadn’t known, either. “Isn’t it nice... how it seems that way?”

    “It doesn’t seem, it is. I love her.”

    “I know you do,” Buffy said. “It’s the best thing about you.”

    Spike frowned down at her.

    “Your love,” she said. “Can any of those yellow eyed boys in the hall love anyone?”

    “Not them,” Spike said. “They’re all just minions, not children. Well, sometimes the dumb punks I target surprise me with some carried over personality, but usually they’re just newborn vamps. Demon, demon, bite, kill, do it again. Best thing about them is their ‘yes, boss.’ And that I gave them as they died.”

    “You made them, though?”

    “About half of them, and not well. I only gave them a drop to change on. Doesn’t even always take, sometimes they just die. And I take weak personalities, if I can pick them out. I don’t want ‘em strong.”

    “Personality?”

    “Yeah. It’s not intelligence or bloodline or anything that makes a good vampire. It's who you are. Or, who you were.” He gazed fondly at Buffy. “It takes a strong personality to make a strong vampire. The rest are all waiting for dust. Well...” he shrugged. “Maybe if they stick around long enough, they might make something of themselves. I was more impulsive as a newborn myself. Followed pretty blindly, couldn’t stop the need to brawl. Lost all sense of style. But it’s easier if you been fed strong and taught right, like I was. Like a child, not a hire.” He smiled at her. “‘Course the whole thing might just be old wive’s tales, like how to grow good cabbages. I’ve heard different theories. It could just all be random. There’s never been a scientific study or anything.”

    “It wouldn’t be pretty if there was.”

    “Either way, you’re real suggestible as you’re dying, and all newborns kinda like to follow someone stronger. And that I know for sure. And I’m sure not gonna train up any of these guys as if they were my kid.”

    “Have you ever?” Spike had never mentioned anyone, but she figured it might be painful for a besouled Spike to talk about if he had.

    “Nah. Never tried for a child, me. Not like Dru and her sire did, someone they target and feed slow, so they wake strong, trying for a companion. Someone worth keeping....” The possession in his eyes made Buffy a little nervous. “I never needed to. I got Dru,” he continued, “and I never met anyone I liked enough... to try... really....” Buffy knew was still suppressing his memory of his mother. He looked her over. “You truly like that about me? Me and Dru?”

    “Of course.”

    “You’re not jealous?”

    “Of Drusilla? No, never.” She shuddered. “Never.”

    “Why?”

    Buffy thought it would be obvious. “To be jealous of her, I’d have to want what she’s been through. I’ve... tasted enough of that kind of torture in my life. I don’t ask for more.”

    “Who tortured you?” Spike asked.

    “Well. You, for one.”

    Spike actually chuckled. “You haven’t begun to see me torture you,” he said fondly.

    “No,” Buffy said. Time to work on him some more. “I think you’d prefer it if I tortured you.”

    “I don’t thi– ah.” He stopped as he realized that Buffy had undone his jeans again, pulling his cock out and slipping it into her mouth. He shifted beneath her so she could take him in more fully, and leaned his head back against the wall. He just let her play with him for a long while, still petting her head like a cat, until he was hard as a stone, and his breath was catching with it. “Why are you always doing this to me?” he gasped.

    Buffy lifted her head and crept over him, kissing his face, pleased by the look of pleasure she’d painted on it. She left her jeans on the floor and slid him inside her, riding him gently, staring into his eyes. “You want me to stop?” she asked.

    “Never,” he said, without a beat. He looked down at her, and lifted her shirt over her head. It caught on the chain of the collar, and he unhooked it, leaving the collar on, but the chain abandoned. Her breasts exposed he caressed one, then the other, and then wrapped his hands around her and writhed under her. She rode him harder, staring into his face. She knew this dance. Even soulless, she knew the passion of him, the power of it. There was a depth missing, and a tenderness they hadn’t developed, but this was Spike, and she knew every move of this heated waltz.

    She could tell when he was about to come, and true to her threat, she lifted herself at the wrong moment, leaving him hungry for the orgasm he’d been about to reach. He opened his eyes, his nostrils flared in annoyance, and she dropped back to the floor, taking him again into her mouth, but gently, too gently to give him what she’d just denied him. She licked and teased and kissed, and when he tried to force her head down, getting close again, she twisted aside.

    He must have let her, or she must have surprised him, because he was more than strong enough to hold her down. She slid her hands up his torso and followed with her mouth, nipping and biting at the cool, pale flesh. When she was back up on her knees she straddled him again, but didn’t sink down, instead teasing her clit with his straining cock. Not enough.

    He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Is this your idea of torture?” he asked. His voice was a purr.

    “You like?”

    He smiled, his face languid and hungry. “I should tell you no. I should hold you down and rape you till you bleed.” He touched her jaw, and let his fingers travel over her collar down to her collarbone. “I should break every bone in your body until you know who’s master here.”

    “Is there any doubt?”

    “Fuck you,” he said fondly.

    “You are,” she said. She sank down over him and he gasped, and then she lifted back up. She felt his cock twitch, as if it were trying to follow her.

    He grunted with disappointment. “Oh, god, what are you doing to me?” he groaned.

    Buffy leaned forward and bit his throat, hard, and he gasped. Before he had time to react to the pain, she slammed back over his cock again, and he cried out as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She lifted herself on her knees then, over and over and over, sliding up and down him as if she were on a carousel horse. He cried out, and Buffy sank down and thrust in earnest, finally taking pity on his straining cock. He crushed her to him as he came, hard enough to bruise, and then abruptly let her go, as he realized he was about to break her. “Not yet,” he growled through his teeth, mostly to himself.

    She knew how hard it was for him to keep from killing her. Even as Buffy, stronger and more powerful, even with his heart saturated with love for her, there was always that impulse to kill her. Vampires were made to kill what they loved, and while common sense could overcome that, their first impulse was always to kill. She remembered a conversation she’d had with a newborn once, still technically an innocent, never yet killed a single soul. “We had a moment. You opened up, it was really sweet. It made me want to bite you.” It was just vampire nature.

    The fact that Spike could contain it at all was impressive. Particularly for a kept victim he fully intended to kill later. Buffy kept thrusting over him, gently working herself toward orgasm. She knew he liked to see it pass over her face. It made him feel wanted. “Delayed gratification,” she whispered to him. “It has its charms...”

    Spike moved his hand down and worked his knuckles by her clit, to give her something firm to work against. He flexed his hand just a little, until she felt like she was thrusting against a vibrator. It didn’t take long to come.

    She was hot and sweaty by this time, and Spike was as out of breath as she was. “I do so want to be the one to kill you,” he whispered.

    “You have me,” Buffy said. “I’m completely in your power. You can do what you want with me.”

    “Why does that still sound like a joke?” he asked. Buffy didn’t say because it is. Spike shook his head at her, and then his arms went around her. He pulled her into an embrace, his head resting gently on her shoulder, and stayed there so long Buffy wondered if he’d fallen asleep beneath her warmth. She shifted a bit, and he kissed her neck, just above the collar, by her ear. “Right now, I plan to keep you,” Spike said. “So stay out of Dru’s way, eh?”

    “If I can,” Buffy promised.

    Spike tilted sideways and lay down on her pet bed, bringing her with him. Very tenderly he wrapped the blanket around her and looked down at her from his elbow, just admiring the view. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked after a while.

    “I am,” Buffy said honestly.

    “No, you’re not. You never really have been. You don’t act afraid, you don’t smell afraid. You tease me and tempt me, as if I wouldn’t kill you with a twist of my fingers. That’s not fear.”

    “I’m afraid every moment,” Buffy said. “Just not of you killing me.”

    “Then what?”

    Buffy tried to figure out the best way to say it without lying. “I’m afraid I won’t find you,” she said. “I’m afraid... you’ll shut me out. Turn me into nothing but a victim.”

    “I’m going to kill you,” Spike said. No threat to it, just truth.

    “I know that,” Buffy said. “But I want to reach you, first.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “You’ll know when it happens,” Buffy said. “If it happens.”

    “How?”

    Buffy shrugged. “That, I don’t know. I don’t know everything.”

    “Could have fooled me,” Spike said. He ran his fingers lightly through her hair. “Go back to sleep, pet. It’s nearly sunset.”

    “And Dru will be up soon,” Buffy said. “I’ll stay here.”

    “That’s my girl.” He kissed her cheek and headed back into the apartment to make Dru’s breakfast, carefully closing the door behind him.  

    It wasn’t until Buffy rolled over that she realized – he’d neglected to hook the chain back onto her collar.
 

***

    Drusilla was not better when she woke.

    She stabbed Spike with her nails and accused him of betraying her, and taking her from her Angel. Then she burst into tears and only screamed louder when he tried to comfort her. Then she rocked back and forth on the ground muttering to herself for half an hour. It was only then that she stood up, suddenly perfectly lucid, and declared she was going out to play dollies.

    She dressed her blood doll up and dragged him limping outside, and Spike didn’t even care that she was taking him out. Usually it made him jealous, the idea that she was sharing the sky and the city with her human playthings, when he was the one she was supposed to share the world with. Right now, he just wanted her out of the way. Whatever torture she needed to bestow, he didn’t really want to be on the receiving end at the moment.

    Also, he wanted her away from his new pet.

    He let Sarah out as soon as the house was clear. She’d left the collar on – which was really cute. Coquettishly concealing that narrow throat of hers.... Hm. That was getting dangerous.

    “I have to go out,” he told her after he’d made sure she’d eaten.

    “No you don’t.”

    He’d considered staying in. Her scent was intoxicating, and he wasn’t going to find anything sweeter out there... and she’d be happier with him if he....

    God, no. This was insane. He had to hunt. He’d stayed home the night before to play with her, but she was so damned appetizing, he’d nearly killed her four or five times. He couldn’t live on the snacks he took from her, not with the things she did to him. It was either hunt or.... He kissed her. “I’ll be back soon.”

    “Don’t,” she whispered.

    Spike stepped away from her, both tempted and annoyed. Didn’t she realize he was fighting not to kill her? “You’re just a victim. You don’t get to say don’t,” he said. “And I wasn’t asking permission, pet,” he said as he left. He did not look at her eyes.

    Hunting was a fine art, in its way, even for Spike. He wasn’t like Angelus, of course. He’d never been one for the slow hunt. The stalk and the tease, the seduction and the slow degradation. Get in, get out, get on with it was more Spike’s style. Unless it was a slayer, of course, but a slayer wasn’t ordinary prey. The slayer was the game. The hunt was dinner.

    But the first thing about the hunt was to pick out the right prey. Spike had something in mind for what he wanted, tonight. He needed a new minion – he was down two – and Sarah was... doing things to him, so he needed to take the edge off of that, as well. This meant a couple. The line outside CBGB had started early tonight. He didn’t remember who was playing, but the end of the line caught his attention. Someone seemed restless. A tall and burly young man stood with his arms around a slight and simpering young woman. They’d do. They looked perfect. The guy was stupid, the girl was insipid, and they both looked like they were about to tear each other’s clothes off right there, anyway.

    Spike’s instincts paid off. Sure enough, the two looked about them, looked at the length of the line, and the guy gestured with his chin down the block. The couple left the line and headed down the street. A risky proposition in the Bowery, but the man was big enough he clearly felt confident to protect them from any muggers or winos who might molest them. He probably was. His strength wasn’t gonna do jack against a vampire, though.

    Spike almost rolled his eyes with how easy it was when the couple slid into an alleyway behind a dumpster, and proceeded to feel each other up.

    Spike came up behind them and pushed them against the wall without preamble. His left hand on the girl, and his right hand on the man, he looked them both over and slid into his fangs. “You two make me despair for the fate of humanity,” he told them with a grin. “Thanks.”