Spellbound by Shadowlass

Chapter #1 - One

A cloud of dust drifted towards Buffy and she closed her eyes tightly, willing herself not to breathe in. She hated vampire dust, had never gotten used to it, and never would, even if she started staking as many as Jonathan. As if that would ever happen. “Buffy, good job! You barely flinched!” Jonathan praised warmly. “Not fearing them is the first step. Sure, they talk tough, but with careful planning and the right backup, the odds are in your favor. You’re a slayer! And you’ve got me. With me around you’ll never have to face them alone.” Buffy waited for the relief that usually came with his reassurances to flood her, but it was strangely absent. Instead she just felt irritated. Which was ridiculous, not to mention ungrateful. She worshipped Jonathan. She owed him everything. She’d be nothing without him. She’d be doing even worse than she was now, if that was even possible. If she was even still alive. But sometimes … sometimes she felt frustrated. Trapped. Like she was a tiger in a circus, trained to be docile, to jump from stand to stand, when she was really made for stalking and killing. Like she’d been wild, and free, and someone had caged her. Which was crazy …right? She admired Jonathan. She needed his help. His help didn’t trap her any more than dating Riley did. Even if they were both kind of condescending to her. Even if Jonathan acted like she was a toddler who’d never held a stake before, even if Riley couldn’t tell the difference between her and Faith. She was a slayer who could barely slay, dating a man who didn’t know her when it mattered. And she hated it. She wasn’t anyone’s pet, dammit. She didn’t want to be patted on the head and patronized. Not by Jonathan, not by Riley. She was the slayer. Didn’t that mean something? *** The door to Spike’s crypt crashed open, and Spike leapt off his sarcophagus cautiously before realizing who it was and relaxing. “If it isn’t the sidekick. Where’s the boss? Got something better to do than babysit?” “I’m nobody’s sidekick,” spat Buffy, reaching for the stake tucked in her waistband. The stake she knew he didn’t think she was tough enough to use, even with him chipped. He shrugged. “Sure, Betty.” Something snapped inside her and she lunged at him. Grabbing his arm she slammed him into the wall. “It’s Buffy,” she snarled, and then her mouth was on his, insistent, aggressive, and she could feel his surprise almost as clearly as she felt her own. His hands pushed through her hair, then tightened, dragged her head back. She struggled but he maintained his grip, his eyes searching her face for a long moment. “Le—” The rest of her protest was smothered by his mouth as he covered her mouth with his, shoving his tongue inside and humming in satisfaction as she sucked it greedily. He kept his hand in her hair, angling her head to the side for better access. He bit at her lips and she gasped, then grabbed his T-shirt in her hands and pulled. The sound of the fabric coming apart made her feel strong, powerful. She pulled him from the wall and shoved him towards the sarcophagus but he stumbled to the floor and she was on him, their hands fighting to remove the other’s clothing. They attempted a few maneuvers that didn’t work very well before she just jerked open the buttons on his fly, he shoved her skirt up and her panties aside, and she sunk down on him, gasping as she expanded to accommodate him. “Go—good, good,” Spike grated, his voice strained. She began to move, and he groaned in approval. The coarse fabric of his jeans abraded her thighs as she slowly rode him, and she liked it. Her senses felt peculiarly heightened, and she could fell her nipples pebbling beneath her shirt despite the fact that he hadn’t even touched them. As if he’d read her mind he pushed his hands under the hem of her shirt and grasped her bra, attempting, without much finesse, to unhook it. She tightened experimentally on him and he released her bra with a gasp, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hands fell to her hips and tightened, and he ground up against her. “Fuck yeah, just like that,” he gritted. Abruptly she stopped moving, the head of his cock barely inside her. “My name.” “What?” “My name. Say my name.” “Buffy,” he breathed, his gaze opaque. She’d never felt more powerful in her life. *** Afterwards she didn’t look at him. When she paused at the door she didn’t turn around. “You tell anyone, you’re dust.”

Chapter #2 - Two

“Buffy, it’s like you’re not even there. Don’t tell me you’re still having problems with Riley?” Buffy looked up from her soda to see Jonathan staring at her with that familiar mixture of warmth and concern. “Umm…no?” “Haven’t we had this discussion before?” he chided. “I thought you kids worked it out.” Buffy forced herself not to snap at him. She and Jonathan were the same age, and if she was having trouble getting over her boyfriend not being able tell the difference between her and her mortal enemy, it wasn’t exactly unreasonable. Thinking about Spike when she was with Riley was another thing. But she had barely done that, and felt bad afterward. Just not as bad as she thought she would. *** She didn’t crash open the door as hard this time when she entered. He was in a ratty chair she’d never noticed before, reading by candlelight. “Well, well, look who’s here. What a surprise.” “The other night was a mistake.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you came here to tell me that?” He tossed his book aside and sauntered across the room. “Because you certainly didn’t come here for this.” He grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her against him. “Or this.” He cupped her breasts and begin kneading them, trailing kisses along the curve of neck. “And you sure didn’t come for this,” he added, shoving his hand up her skirt. She gasped and leaned closer. He laughed and stepped back. “So I’m glad we’ve agreed last night was a mistake. After all, we wouldn’t want to—” His words were smothered by her rough kiss. He parted his lips and eagerly welcomed her darting little tongue and nasty bites. This was a slayer he could get behind. She pulled at his shirt and dragged his shirt over his head. While she began working at the buttons on his fly he reciprocated, tugging her shirt off and eyeing her frilly pink bra. “What, not a front loader? I’m disappointed,” he reproved, pushing his fingers down inside the cups and yanking down until her tits were exposed. The pressure under her breasts only served to push them up more. Luscious. He closed his lips around one rapidly hardening peak and lashed her nipple with his tongue as his hand toyed with her other breast. The door opened with a bang and they both jumped. Standing in the doorway was a demon she’d never seen before. In a single motion she pulled out a stake and flung it, and the demon was on the floor, the weapon embedded in his forehead, before he could even speak. She stared at the body in shock. She’d never slayed that like before—automatically, on instinct, without carefully planning. Without having to brace herself, convince herself she could do it. “Bed,” said Spike abruptly, taking her arm and dragging her in the general direction of the sarcophagus. “What? What, no, we have to get rid of that, and shut the door,” Buffy protested, trying to pull him back towards the doorway. “Uh-uh.” He tugged harder. They stumbled and collapsed in a tangle of limbs in front of the chair he’d been reading in. “Can’t…wait,” he gritted, He dragged them to their knees and bent her over the seat of the chair, shoving her skirt over her ass and ripping her panties off crudely. He was way past finesse at this point. He yanked his fly open and slid into her har. She keened, pushing back against him. He began a hard pace and she kept up, her tits bouncing, her sensitive nipples abraded by the worn fabric of the chair. “Yeah, yeah. Just like that,” he praised. In the stillness of the crypt the sound of his balls slapping against her clit echoed, and it excited her. She cried out and collapsed, her head against the cushion. A few moments later he shouted and his thrusts slowed. Vaguely she was aware of him pulling out, and then she felt the cool lap of his tongue against her. “This can never happen again,” she breathed, pushing against his mouth. “Uh-hm,” he mumbled. “Never again. Definitely.” The vibration of the words against her clit made her shudder, and she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing down on him. He grunted in approval and tried an experimental growl. She gasped and ground down against him forcefully. Never would have to wait until tomorrow.

Chapter #3 - Three

Buffy eyed the mostly empty target in frustration. Eight tries with the crossbow. Eight. “Three, Buffy? That’s good! Most people couldn’t get one!” She looked at Jonathan, his reassuring smile, his kind expression, and felt empty. “You would have gotten them all,” she said after a minute. “Buffy, comparing yourself to me will only make you feel bad. I don’t want you to focus on the negative. You expect too much of yourself-—after all, you’re only human.” “You’re human,” she whispered. Nobody heard her. *** The Bronze was big. It was crowded. And best of all, it was noisy. So noisy that she could pretend not to hear Riley when he spoke to her without hurting his feelings. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She just didn’t want to be around him. She didn’t want him to bend over her to ask what she wanted to drink; she didn’t want him to put his arm around her; and she most definitely didn’t want to dance with him. But Jonathan was encouraging them, and it was almost impossible to refuse him. He was right, she knew that. He always was. But this time doing what he wanted made her skin crawl. She forced herself not to cringe as Riley put his arms around her. He was just being normal. Just being a boyfriend. A boyfriend who couldn’t tell the difference between her and Faith. That’s not fair, she reminded herself. Faith looked just like her. She didn’t act like her. And she recognized Giles when he was a great big demon who could only speak gibberish. It’s not his fault it’s not his fault. “God, look who’s here. I don’t know why Jonathan doesn’t get rid of him. He’s dangerous.” Buffy didn’t follow his glare. She knew who it was; all night she’d been watching him skulk around the club, playing pool with frat boys and casting her unreadable looks. “Somebody should warn her off.” Buffy froze for a second, almost afraid he was talking about her. He doesn’t know anything. Nobody knows. She looked up and saw Spike dancing nearby with a girl she’d never seen before. Pretty. Tall. Human. “He’s chipped. He can’t do anything,” she reminded Riley in a murmur. “He’s harmless.” Spike’s head snapped up and he met her gaze. She smothered a gasp and quickly turned her head to face Riley. He’d heard, she knew he did. And he looked angry. Despite herself, despite her caution and her general grossed-outness, she looked back and there he was, his lips against the girl’s ear, whispering. The girl laughed, low and suggestive, and Buffy’s heart sank. Spike took the girl’s hand and led her off the dance floor, drifting out of sight. It was none of her business. Spike could do whatever he wanted, with whoever he wanted. He couldn’t hurt the girl, and that’s all Buffy had to worry about. Which meant she didn’t have to worry about anything. “I have to go to the ladies’ room,” she told Riley, pulling away. He looked hurt. She felt bad, in a detached way. *** The balcony wasn’t as crowded as the first floor. The front of the balcony had several people leaning on the railing, observing the dancers, and at the back of the balcony were tiny tables, littered with beer bottles and crumpled napkins, most taken up by drunken college students. Spike and the girl were nowhere to be seen. “They have to be somewhere around here,” she muttered, squeezing her hand around the stake she’d slipped out on her way up the stairs. As she headed toward the back corner of the balcony—-the erogenous zone, Xander had called it years before, enviously—-a hand closed over her upper arm and jerked her around, her stake clattering to the floor, and there he was. Alone. He smiled maliciously. “Looking for something, pet?” “Where is she?” Buffy demanded suspiciously. “I think you’ll find her downstairs, complaining to her friends.” “If you—” “If I what? I’m harmless, remember?” He brushed his fingers down the neckline of her camisole. “Although I seem to remember leaving a few bruises the other night.” Buffy shivered. “Stop,” she said weakly. He shrugged and released her arm, walking past her to slouch down into a chair at the little table wedged in the corner. She carefully didn’t look at him as she bent to grab her stake; looking at him was dangerous. It could lead to other things. When she straightened he lashed out with his foot, hitting her ankle and knocking her forward into his lap. “Well, well, look what I’ve got here,” he drawled, caging her with his arms as he briefly winced at the jolt from his chip. “Let go, Spike,” she spat. He brushed his lips behind her ear as he began stroking a hand up and down her exposed leg. “Make me.” She shivered. She didn’t know why she wasn’t moving; it wasn’t like he could hold her there. A shadow fell over them, dropping them into further darkness. “Can I get you guys anything?” Spike tightened his arms around Buffy. “Maybe later,” he said pleasantly, and the waitress wandered off. Buffy moved to stand, and he took advantage of her movement to slip his hand between her thighs. “Don’t go off, love. We’re just getting started.” She gasped and grasped his wrist. It didn’t much matter; he didn’t need much range of motion for what he was doing. “No panties? Did you take them off for me?” he teased, and she reddened. “Stick them in your purse before you came up to find me?” He drew a finger between her soft pussy lips and nudged it up until it just brushed her clit. She gasped and clenched her legs around his hand. He chuckled softly and rewarded her with a tap against the swelling nub. “That’s my girl,” he praised, dropping his head to brush kisses along her shoulder. “I’m not your—not your—” she broke off as sensation began to overwhelm her, and her head started to thrash against his shoulder. “Sure you’re not,” he soothed, thrusting his index and middle fingers into her channel. She began to keen and he withdrew his hand from between her legs to grasp her knee and urge to around to straddle him. His hand brushed against her as he worked his fly opened and she ground herself against his knuckles. He grated a curse and guided himself into her with the other. His hands clutched her hips beneath her skirt; if anyone could actually see them in the dim corner, they merely looked obnoxiously demonstrative. He knew it was something that would bother her when she realized what they were doing, but personally, he didn’t care if people took pictures. He could feel her legs begin to shake and her panting become rapid, and he knew she was close. She leaned back a little and clapped her hand over her mouth but he torn it away, grasping the back of her neck and dragging her down for a kiss, devouring her cry of pleasure. It took some minutes for her to come back to herself. “I can’t believe this is real,” she said, a little dazed. He ran his hand through her hair, slightly damp from their exertions. “Oh, it’s real, love. It’s the only thing in your life that is. Everything except this bores you to tears. Going to classes you’re not interested in, playing second fiddle to Jonathan, watching as your mates pair off with people so boring talking to them’s like scooping your brains out with a rusty spoon, fucking some cardboard cutout who can’t even tell the difference between the real you and some crackpot wearing your skin.” She jerked in shock and he reached up to grip her chin, lips almost brushing hers as he spoke. “Yeah, I know about it. Know what he did when Faith was going around in your body, know he looked at her and didn’t see you weren’t inside, know that he gave it to her and couldn’t even tell the difference. Well, I did, Slayer. She came onto me like gangbusters and I didn’t touch her. When I had you I was going to have the real you, nothing else.” She looked stricken, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. She pulled off him. He swore under his breath and tugged his duster over his lap. “Here, you might need this,” he taunted, tossing a napkin after her as she stomped off. He used one himself before buttoning back up. Having the Slayer the very first place he’d seen her, while Captain America and Team Jonathan milled about downstairs, oblivious? Life was good.

Chapter #4 - Four

It was like floating. Buffy stretched her arms above her head and sighed with pleasure, stupid with bliss. Spike’s hands skated up from her abdomen, noting the delicate ridges of her ribs before sliding over her breasts and squeezing. His clever, narrow fingers closed over her already taut nipples, pinching until they was almost painful. “Yes—yes—” moaned Buffy, sinking down on him with a dreamy slowness. She looked down at his lean face, his inky lashes smudgy against his cheeks as he savored the sensation. Then he opened his eyes and his gaze met hers, intense and devouring, and suddenly she was back in Sunnydale High, facing him across a hallway without fear as he discarded the staff he held to fight her barehanded. Then in the quad at Sunnydale U, sunlight glinting off his hair, eyes licking at her as intensely as they fought, they thought, to the death. And she won. Yet those thing couldn’t have happened. She wasn’t good enough to fight a vampire as powerful as Spike was before he was chipped, not without Jonathan’s help. But they weren’t hallucinations, and they weren’t dreams. They were memories. She’d stood in that Sunnydale High hallway without Jonathan to help her. She’d fought Spike a few months before in the sunlight. They were impossible, but they’d happened. “Wrong…it’s wrong,” she muttered. “No shit, Slayer, we’re supposed to be killing each other,” gritted Spike, grasping her hips and beginning to thrust more urgently. He began to pant, and she knew he was close. His forehead was getting just a little bumpy. She stopped moving and put a hand on his chest to get his attention. “It’s important—” “Christ, don’t stop!” She lifted off him a little, determined to get his attention. “I saw—” “I don’t care what you saw, you little cocktease,” he growled, flipping her over and pinning her hands beside her head as he finished, dragging her with him relentlessly. She opened her mouth to tell him but he jammed his mouth over hers and pushed his tongue inside, releasing one of her hands to grab her jaw and slant it so he could have better access. She tried to bite his tongue but he just moaned in pleasure, shoving his hands under her knees and pushing them up to provide a lovely new angle. A few moments later she clenched around him and he followed immediately, pulling his mouth from her to shout his approval. “Now you want to tell me what the hell that was about?” Spike groused, flopping beside her. “It was Jonathan.” Spike paused in the middle of lighting up a cigarette. “You were thinking about Jonathan?” he clarified, his voice deadly. “He’s not right.” “Something not right with Jonathan,” he repeated slowly. “Adam said the same thing.” Buffy raised her eyebrows. “What, you and Adam are buddies?” “Hardly—I’m using him to get my chip out.” He laughed. “Just like I’m using you to fuck my brains out.” Anger flashed through her, and she slapped his chest hard enough to leave a bruise. Of course, that just made him laugh harder. “It was a few months ago—when—” she broke off abruptly. It was around when Faith had gotten out of the coma and tried to take over her life, again. But Faith had failed and taken off, and Jonathan hadn’t had much to do with the whole thing. But it was around that time—something strange had happened—she could feel it niggling at her— “The demon!” “What demon?” “The one Jonathan wouldn’t kill.” “What, there’s a big bad out there the golden boy didn’t off? Be still my heart.” “It was dangerous—it attacked Tara, and some other girl. There was a strange symbol on its forehead, and Jonathan said it indicated the demon provided balance to the world, and that the world would spin out of control without it. So he’d keep it neutralized, and the world would continue like it was supposed to.” “A demon that provides balance to the world…” Spike raised an eyebrow. “And you fell for it? And I thought Harmony was thick.” She felt her cheeks heating up. It did sound painfully stupid. “It sounds different when he says it,” she mumbled. For a moment Spike’s eyes took on a faraway look. “He is a magnificent figure of a man,” he murmured, barely audible. “What?” He shook out of it and rolled his eyes. “Had you going, didn’t I?” he covered. “So how’d he neutralize it?” “He had a cage constructed in the caves by the beach—he had Willow and Tara enchant the bars so the demon couldn’t get out. He has people stationed there to guard it, in case something happens.” “What could happen if the bars have a protection spell?” Buffy thought a moment. “The spell was so it couldn’t get out. I don’t think it prevents anyone from getting in. I mean, why would anyone want to?” “Why would anyone?” Spike mumbled, not really caring. “So are you going to help me?” “If there are people guarding it, I’m not sure how much help I can be with this chip in my head,” he said silkily. She ground her teeth. There had to be a better way. **** There was no better way. Luckily, Buffy knew just the person to remove Spike’s chip. After all, she'd seen him around the Initiative often enough. “I can’t help you,” said the doctor for the fourth time, looking terrified, casting a desperate look towards the safety of his front door, just a few feet away. “You know who sent us here?” demanded Spike. “Jonathan.” The doctor’s jaw dropped, and Spike shot a glare at Buffy, his gaze insistent. Buffy hesitated a moment before swallowing her discomfort. “I’d never ask for something like this if it wasn’t because of Jonathan,” she assured him. Which wasn’t a lie. “Why didn’t you say so?” exclaimed the doctor. “We’ll need something some tool for the surgery—do either of you have a box cutter?” “Box cutter?” repeated Spike with alarm, touching his head protectively. “I can’t believe Jonathan knows who I am! Did he ask for me by name? Did he say anything about me?” “What do you think you’re going to need a box cutter for?” Spike asked suspiciously. “Oh, anything sharp will do, really,” the doctor shrugged. “What?” Spike yelped in dismay. Buffy eyed him nervously. “Shouldn’t we go to the hospital?” “Yeah! Yeah, that.” “But Jonathan’s waiting,” protested the doctor. “Besides, Hostile 17’s a vampire—he’s not going to die from a little discomfort.” “I think Jonathan wants my brain relatively undamaged,” Spike snapped. “Keep that in mind when you’re rummaging around in there.” The doctor looked at Buffy and she nodded. He looked dejected. “Fine. We’ll take my car.” He turned towards the car, but stopped suddenly. “Just one thing.” Buffy and Spike eyed each other nervously. “What?” she said asked. “What was he wearing?” *** It wasn’t hard to kill the demon, not with the both of them. Once the spell that Jonathan had cast over them had fallen, she knew she could have killed it on her own, with no help from Spike. He didn’t need to be de-chipped. He shouldn’t have been de-chipped. It was just the miserable cherry on top of the crap sundae that was waking up to a world in which Jonathan wasn’t a superhero. And a magnificent athlete. And the greatest chess player who ever lived. She’d been so stupid, so foolish, that she’d unchipped one of the most dangerous vampires who’d ever lived. And they were lovers. “Buffy.” She jumped and Spike touched her back softly, soothingly. His voice was a whisper in her ear. She glanced up and realized that they were in his cemetery. She’d wandered aimlessly after the spell was lifted, him tagging along silently, and for some reason she’d come here. “You holding up okay?” Buffy shrugged. What was there to say when the world as you know it has totally changed, because of you? It had been the right thing to do, but that wasn’t a comfort. And the things she’d done... Spike's voice, softer than usual, intruded into her thoughts. “I know you, Slayer. I know you better than you do yourself. I know you wouldn’t feel right about shagging me now that I’ve got my mojo back.” She was a little stunned by his perceptiveness, but he continued before she could answer. “So I’ll make it easy for you, Slayer. I can kill now. And if you don’t want me to, you’d better keep on with the hot and cold running sex. Because I’ll be a very bored vampire otherwise—who knows what kind of mischief I might get into.” She gasped and swung to face him and he backed off, holding up his hands with a laugh. “I’ll give you three days, Slayer. Three days I’ll stay in my crypt all nice and tame. And if you don’t come by then—well, I’ll have myself a time. You want me to stay in the yard, fine, but I have to have some incentive, don’t I? Think about it, sweetheart. You can tell yourself you’re coming back because of the threat, but we both know better. Don’t we?”

Chapter #5 - Five

The three days crawled by. The entire city was moping. For all Buffy knew, the entire planet was moping. Prodded by an impatient Buffy, Giles had come up with a plan for defeating Adam involving a magic gourd. The gang was throwing themselves into it so they wouldn’t think about how strange their lives seemed without Jonathan at the center.  She let the full three days elapse before she went to see Spike, but as she’d laid in bed a few hours after he’d threatened her, she knew what her response would be. She wasn’t a sidekick anymore. She was Buffy. She didn’t crash the door open when she went to his crypt, but he seemed to know she was coming, sitting alertly on his sarcophagus, eyes bright and amused. She walked straight across the crypt without pausing, pushed him on his back, and straddled him, the flower-flecked fabric of her sundress pooling up around her thighs. “You were right, Spike. I do want you. You don’t have to blackmail me.” His eyes flamed and he reached for her. She batted his hands away just as they began to close on her shoulders. “Baby, I—” “—but, Spike, I don’t like threats. So I’ll tell you what. You be a good boy and keep your fangs to yourself, and keep me happy in bed, and maybe I won’t stake you.” His jaw dropped. “What?” “I think you heard me. You got a problem with that?” “No, ma’am.” “No, what?” “No, Buffy.” “That’s more like it.” The End