Title: Going under (thanks Evanescence)
Author: Kur
Disclaimer: Characters don’t belong to me but to Joss
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: None if you look for loving couples…
Spoilers: Season 6 during and after “Seeing red”
Summary: Buffy and Spike deals with the aftermath of “Seeing Red”
Warning: I know I should warn about something but I’m not quite sure about what exactly. Biting perhaps? Hate? Rage? Things you’re used to… Oh, maybe this… If you think Buffy should be loved in spite of everything…don’t read it then.
Note: I wrote this in a piece of paper in my dentist’s waiting room so I wasn’t really in a good mode.
Thanks: to Cathy. She knows…
________________________________________________________________________

GOING UNDER



“I just wanted it to stop. Show you, how to feel...”


She fights against his hands, his mouth. Wouldn’t take so many tears, just her strength. Stop, stop. Being raped in her own bathroom! His head goes down like a golden flash and she feels the sharp pain of teeth tearing apart her throat. Rape? How could he? He is a vampire! His tongue licking her blood in eager strokes and she likes it! Her legs tremble and buckle and slide apart just a little...


He feels her body stiffen, and then relax against his and it’d be so easy to get rid of her, give his demon the ultimate prize he’d always wanted. Her prize as well. After all she wants to be dead.


“You like it, don’t you? All wet and horny and you’re desperate for me to finish it for you” - he pulls backwards, cleaning the blood from his mouth with a shaking hand – “Well, I won’t. ´Cause you’re not even worth that.”


Blood trickles down his mouth as he reaches the doorknob, looking at her from above. “No wonder everybody leaves you. Even me.”


Suddenly she is alone. Alone as never before. Her willing slave has unleashed himself from her twisted chains and she couldn’t tell what hurt the more, her neck or her damned dead heart.

He stumbles out of the house, inhales deeply and walks away before regretting anything. Not being able to hurt with sharp fangs taught him he can hurt with a sharp tongue even better. Deeper. That’s all he has left these days. And pain, unbearable pain. He is tired beyond limits. Fed, fucking up.
“Didn’t take long”, she said and he almost choked with bitter laughter. No, only four long years of coping with humiliation. You, mighty ice queen, and you really believe you’re a saint with a shinning halo and everything. Only that you are not. You’re even much more of a monster than I am.


“Real for you”, she said and God! He should have ripped her throat out right there. ´Cause that’s what she deserves. He knows damned well. Death, a painful one. Something inside him twists in agony at the thought and he snarls at it as if it were a real creature.
He lits a cigarette just to erase the taste of blood and wonders if Bloody William deserved to be punished in such a way. Good men deserve to be punished all along the road? Even Liam deserved better, apparently. And he was a sodding son of a bitch, even before Angelus took his place.


But William? Did he deserve to be turned into a monster? It’s not that he’s complaining about it ´cause he certainly knows he didn’t want to be Bloody William one more minute. But he can’t help wonder this while his bike leaves behind it a cloud of smoke as a goodbye signal.



She can’t get to her feet. She simply can’t, even when Xander opens the door and stares at her in silent awe. She can only see the horror in his eyes but can’t say anything no matter how she tries. Eventually she’ll manage but right now let Xander think he’s the monster, let him soothe her and erase that awful inner voice that screams in her ears. She’s been waiting for this the whole year. Waiting until she pushed him so far that there’d be a time in which he wouldn’t take anything anymore. Not even a crumb.



He listens to the roaring machines of the plane while his former name still hammers his brains with seven nails. He shakes his head, tries to focus on her while he remembers. Remembers a lot nowadays. First time he said it, really meant it, sitting on the edge of a bed. Someone’s bed in a dirty, abandoned place.


“I hate you.”


“That doesn’t stop you from fucking me.”

He’d turned round, violently, and smirked savagely. “That’s the reason I’m fucking you.”
He’d left in a windmill of black leather and tight rage ‘cause if he hadn’t done it she would have found an answer.


It’s the first time he’d felt beyond limits. Staring through a dirty window at the dying sun he thought she should be punished or be treated as shit like she does so well. If he could only put in practice the old teachings of her ex boyfriend... But he never was a good student; he fought back to the point he escaped from stakes and threats till he couldn’t count anymore. Kneels and hands, my ass. Well, you wish. Thanks whomever for his rebel side.


“But I can’t”, he had said to himself. “I love her”


“Do I or did?” - a tiny little voice whispered in his ear.


“I love her”


“No, you don’t”


“Yes, I do”


“No, it’s self-loathing. You hate yourself”


Words had stink and prickled his dead guts, burning the dark corridors of his body, sneaking behind closed doors.


“But I’ve changed. I’m a different man”


“You’re not a man. You’re a thing”


“A different thing, then”.


But he is tired, so tired. A whole life and un life of being whipped and rejected and yet a love’s bitch.

He has changed. What for now? Whom for?


If only he’d taught her how beneath he could go. If only his heart wouldn’t have shrunk so much... ´Cause she wasn’t his first human. Did she really think her warmth and beating heart was the reason? He experienced all those things before and they liked it even when they’re crying their orgasms and deaths altogether. They liked it. But this isn’t the same, can’t she see that?


“I love you”


“No you don’t”


“I loved you”



Even her sister hates him nowadays. She knows she should explain but she can’t tell anybody how beneath she’d gone. What a monster she is. How selfish. It’s painful to see Dawn so hurt. She knows her sister believes he has betrayed her but that isn’t true, is it? No, she did it, all of them, even herself. Silence is like a nutshell where she can be numb, where she can be comforted. She also sees her best friend slipping to hell and all she can do is just wait for her at the bottom of the pit. She will catch her there, eventually. Save her, stop her. After all, that’s all she’s good for. Stopping apocalypses. Other’s. Never hers.



He remembers how it feels, how it felt, to be used and abused. That first night his effulgent dream turned out to be another lie, shattered into pieces by Dru’s screams of pleasure, when he realized he wasn’t that special after all. A usual path in his life, his dead human life, that one he’d sold in blood cash.


He remembers having found a mattress full of fleas in the dirtiest and furthest room of the house they’d broken into. How he forced himself to sleep, his eyes stinking and burning till he finally managed to silence the voices, only to be awakened by a wet, cold and demanding touch. He was so confused at first he could only see the threads of sunlight coming through the drapes; all his body was aware of the day outside, numb and motionless. A part of him was awake, though, and his hand motioned towards the head that was resting on his left thigh only to find soft wavy hair instead of straight. The sun, the dirt in its rays flickered and swung like odd silent bees and the hair was blond, not black; the hands were rough and used to get what they wanted. Her cold lips and tongue ran along his shaft, licking, sucking and nibbling with fierce fangs. He’d learnt the true meaning of vengeance so long ago. Learnt it by marking his road with railroad spikes. So he pushed the blond head, twisting the hair with a demanding hand till she pulled back and straddled him, impaling herself with one furious stroke. He groaned and let her ride him wildly, met every thrust even more viciously; her nails scratching his chest and hips while he thought, wondered what Angelus would do if he knew. He hoped for that bastard to open the door and that mere thought made him shiver with terror and at the same time with extreme and painful pleasure. He rolled over the stinking mattress, grabbing Darla’s buttocks in searing claws, plunging deeper as if he’d want her to be ripped in two halves but she didn’t stop him. Blood ran from the scratches in his back, in his ass, deep as burrows and he couldn’t care the less ´cause this was a battle and he wouldn’t let her win. Not her, not anybody else, he promised to himself while he forced her to get to her knees and hands and ass, all pale and soft. She screamed when he pushed his swollen cock into her and still didn’t care, never care ‘cause she’s Angelus’ bitch as he’s Dru’s and they had to pay. Pay till it was too much to bear and both of them collapsed to the filthy sheets in the best climax they’d ever had.


Oh, yes, he certainly knows what payback is.


Remembers Angelus’ wrath, not that particular day, but later, when he’d forgotten the whole thing. He was awakened by a touch, again, his wrists grabbed in a cold caress...of chains. Remembers the evil dark eyes and the mad grin as he was pushed out of the bed and dragged along the floor to a wall where the chains were hooked. Remembers even now the harsh sound of the whip, like a loud shout of a crazy banshee, remembers the pain and the long torture till there was not a single inch of his body without a deep red gash. Remembers being forced to his knees and hands and the words, bitten and whispered, while threads of holy water were poured onto the gashes and the soles of his feet just to prevent him from escaping. He shook and writhed but it wasn’t fear, only rage, powerful and dizzy. His hands clasped the chains when Angelus grabbed his hips, turned into fists when he felt the tip of his cock at the entrance of his bloody ass. That same cock he was forced to suck and swallow a few times in his new days as a vamp, when he’d managed to lie still on his own back to prevent this same thing from happening. Words fell as a cascade on his squared shoulders. “Betray” “Pay”, “Eye for an eye” ‘cause he didn’t have the right to do what his master did. And just when he thought there was no turning point, not even a thread of self-respect, nothing to keep for himself, nothing to be stolen unmercifully, Darla’s voice stopped the freak’s display of justice. He sighed and crawled slowly to the blurring wall, managed to get to his feet and with the last amount of strength, released himself from the chains, breaking his wrists in the process. Sounds of broken bones clattering with broken iron. He’d raised his face, he remembers, even he couldn’t see a thing, all blurry as the fog of agony wrapped him but that was ok.


He knows vampires enjoy pain, but receiving pain isn’t what the game is about. Vampires were created to inflict it. At least he wants to believe that ‘cause otherwise he’s nothing but a mockery of Bloody William and he doesn’t, didn’t, want to fall that far. He knew that then as he walked away with painful, searing steps, wondering about surprises, about what he would have never thought, not even in his wildest dreams, Darla would ever have saved him from anything. Passed by Dru’s hidden figure to the fresh air outside, which only made him cry. And he hid in the woods, waiting, ‘cause that’s what immortality teaches you, the graceful skill of patience.


He understands bloody well how it feels to be used and abused.


He gave Angelus away. Gypsies spared his life and then ran among the trees as silent wolves, chasing his master, while he stared with golden eyes and a roaring growl in his dry throat. The light of the new soul was a shinning cloud of freedom, his own, and he understood right there what effulgent really meant.



Too much to bear. She wants him there, with her. He’s the only one she can lean against. But he is not and she must deal with so much things. Hell is laughing at her with a hideous mouth and all she can do is lay still in that hospital cot, beyond conscious and yet aware of everything. If only she could stay like that. Far away in the merciful mist but she is brought back, again, and this time is more unbearable than ever.



He sits on the sand, gazing at the entrance of the cave. Doesn’t know what to do, what to ask. Flashes of the past run wildly and hastily before his eyes. He’s tired of memories and yet he can’t help them.


He remembers the night Angelus appeared out of the blue, trying to cheat Darla and Dru about his new doomed state. Only he knew, oh yes, he knew and struggled every second not to laugh. That night he tasted the Chinese Slayer, annoyed at first by the sad and lonely flavour in the girl’s blood. Had stared at her for hours, trying to understand and at the same time aroused as never before. Just like he’d been the following night, after Angelus was sent to living hell by his mistress. He’d enjoyed with a double and scalding feeling, his big secret getting him even harder while he looked at the slim bodies of his women now, knelt in the bed, their tongues licking and flickering on each other’s skin. His belly’s so full of blood after a marvellous bloodshed, the secret filling him with a new and overwhelming sensation of power, as he’d never felt before. He understood what Angelus, the former one, not this crawling slug, felt every time his dark eyes fixed on somebody. His women moaned and groaned now stirred on the waving sheets, Dru’s pale thighs dancing in the air while Darla traced the soft, dark curls between them. All sort of scents waved in the air: arousal, opium and the dry blood of the five humans lying dead on the floor. The smell was intoxicating He looked through squinted, satisfied eyes while gently stroking the hair of the human knelt beside him. Her hot mouth sucking at his more than painful erection, her tongue tracing the long vein in it, circling and tasting... The heat was as intoxicating as the scent; the wide bed crossed by red streams of lava, wreathed by clouds of smoke that hung from the ceiling. His fingers twisted the long hair, pushing her down till he’s all buried in that incredible and searing mouth. His free hand grabbed her buttocks, sliding two fingers in the tight channel. She groaned against his skin, the sound vibrated along his entire body. Darla’s tongue went in and out Dru’s folds like a pink lightning; his eyes fixed on the dancing yellow figures that waved and flung till he couldn’t stand it and pinned the girl to the mattress beside them. He plunged into her with one fierce stroke as her long wet legs wrapped around his waist. Sweat’s running like tiny rivers of gold and orange between her heaving breasts and her eyes drifted in a haze of green desire as if she wanted and needed him. The thought burnt his guts better than the skin of the writhing creature beneath him, the trigger for him to come in a roaring release, in sync with Dru’s screams. Arching his back he sensed her inner muscles clasping his length, her hands joining at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer for an enraptured kiss. This human coming by his touch, nothing his master could have possibly achieved. His fangs grew and retrieved; he felt so good, in such a state he thought of himself as a magnanimous king, the fairest one. Maybe tomorrow, or the following night. This night was for him to feel wanted and needed by those arms hugging him tightly. When the blurring, reddish shape of Darla came into sight he tried to push her aside but then he changed his mind, because as a powerful king he could share, that’s how huge his power was. So when she rode the girl’s face he pushed himself up to tease her tongue, licking at it roughly, slowly, till finally he curled by her side and opened a small cut on her nipple lapping at it like a puppy feeding from its mother’s breasts, looking for warmth and comfort. As soon as Darla was done she pressed the girl possessively to his chest, the pounding heart was a lullaby that sang in his ears; her body a sizzling contrast with the two cold bodies that nestled at his back, at his thighs. He fell to sleep as he thought that unlife couldn’t be better. For the first time since he had been turned he’d never enjoyed such joy. His own dark paradise. The sweetest night ever.
And the first of his huge, well-built lies.



How things have come to this point, she’d never know. Souls aren’t supposed to be evil, are they? Of course they are. Can’t hide behind that stupid theory anymore. Two many proofs. So wrong, so wrong..., always has been. Not her, her suntan cells or her damned sun burnt brain. Every concept, everything they told her has always been a lie. Worst of all, a lie she believed in. Willow is a bitch, like she is, and she doesn’t want to stop her. She understands pain, impossible ones. Yet she’s forced to, as usual. Beating her friend’s face is like beating all her beliefs. But you can’t erase truth with fists. Got that. The scar on her neck stinks and shouts as she tries to soothe her friend with kind words although she knows there’s nothing crueller and infuriating than kindness. Have dealt with that every night she fucked him only with rage and hateful speeches, to be granted with love words and soft caresses. Till that night he’d hated her. She bets it’s that night when he first thought of biting her. The handcuffs were a habit but she’d added a gag just to shut the words out. He could tell so much with his eyes, though. She’d considered blind folding him but no, let him see what he can’t have. She’d knelt between his thighs, his fingers teasing his cock at first, then sliding one by one in his tight ass till a tiny and heartless fist fucked him unmercifully. Her body bent on him, as the cross that hung from her neck swirled in the air, burning his inner thighs, his balls, his shaft. The blue in his eyes changed and waved from light to dark as she could see the blood staining her knuckles. She didn’t care, ‘cause he deserved such a pain, he deserved it ‘cause he was nothing but a thing, a soulless thing that’s only worth was to make her feel something wrong. Horror and pain sailed in his eyes at first and then there’s nothing but disappointment. He’d fucked her after that, had come, only him, and had thrown the words before leaving. She pushed him so hard that he finally reached the end of his tether. She looked at Willow again, her fists clenched. They were all so broken... Her friends, herself and him, wherever he was. She’d broken him into small pieces and danced on them till they were nothing but sand. Got to save the world, though. Not because she really wants to but ‘cause they expect her to. Tired of that as well. Her right fist slams Willow’s face and she feels sick as never before.



Stars twinkle and fade while he still mulls over his choices. More than a century to create this creature he is now. Dru’d turned him and then he turned himself. How many vamps can do that? He isn’t an idiot; he knows the chip helped but it hasn’t been the only reason. Tons of demons out there to hire for dirty jobs. More than a century and what has he achieved? A bunch of teens humiliating him in every way possible, him, a one hundred and thirty year old master vampire. Love’s been a bitch after all. It’s screwed him every way it could. Self-pride, self-respect, fun, joy, life, un life; it has champed at all of it and devoured with exquisite pleasure, turning him not only into a shadow but also into a cripple and, worst of all, a traitor. Not to his kind; he doesn’t give a damn about them, but to himself. Tried to be a better creature only to be squeezed and dumped by a girl who thinks she’s powerful and mighty but she’s not. She could never defeat him by her own means. She always had somebody by her side. First her mother and an axe, then another of her kind, then his own bloody dead heart. Maybe she doesn’t deserve death, then. Can’t die if you’re already dead. But sure as hell, she doesn’t deserve his love. He wasn’t even created for loving, anyway.
He realises that William deserved to be turned into a monster after all; not for punishment but for vengeance. He was his instrument as he was her instrument as well. Now it’s time to be his own instrument. Life is not peaches and roses. It’s thorns and pain and darkness and the only light you can get is a few rays of the dying sun. He remembers that everything is about paying. You love, you live, you walk, you shag. You pay. Still, you’re always in debt. He gives a final look to the approaching sunrise and gets to his feet. He knows what to do now. Slowly, he finally enters into the cave.


FIN