Fallen Angel by Sigyn
Chapter #1 - Fallen Angel


    Buffy knew Spike had heard her from the way his thrusts slowed, and then stopped. She was about to turn, to make some excuse, when he growled and grabbed her roughly, forcing himself into her all the harder.

    His fingers clenched at her, bruising her in perfect ten-spot patterns, and he plunged so deep inside her that things spasmed. Buffy grunted with the force he suddenly put behind his thrusts. He grabbed her hair so hard he lifted her right off the bed, and she cried out at the pain. The pain of it felt so good she started to sob with it, and her cries only seemed to infuriate Spike more. She found he was shaking words out of her, unbidden, god, yes, don’t stop, do it, as she felt him sliding in and out of her, over and over and over again, her body molded around the width of his cock.

    The pain and pleasure grew too intense, and she twisted in his arms, knocking him in the head with her foot. He fell backwards. She jumped him then, not ready to let him go, planting herself atop him and pulling him into a carnivorous kiss.

    They were wrestling, then, unsure which would win as one then another made their way on top. Bruises were inflicted on both sides as they rolled off the bed, across the floor, and Spike nearly throttled her against an old, empty coffin. Buffy squeezed him with her inner muscles, making his eyes roll up and his grip slacken, and she took the advantage again, forcing him down to the cold ground. “I’m,” Spike grunted, fighting her while holding himself tightly inside her, one hand on her hip. “Not. Angel.” He took control again, rolling her over, forcing her down.

    “No,” she breathed up at him, and then moaned as his weight bore down on her clit. Her head tipped back and her throat was exposed. He took full advantage of it and sank his human teeth into her flesh, hurting her, bruising her. His hands were digging into her upper arms, as if he’d wrench them out of their sockets. “Oh, god! Unh!” she thrust upward, forcing her body into him with the power of her legs, so hard she lifted them both right off the ground.

    Spike grabbed hold of her hair and wrenched her head back, so hard she gave a little scream. “I’m nothing like him!”

    “Nothing at all,” she whispered.

    He looked a little confused, but still too angry to question. He pulled her upright into a sitting position and forced her down, as if he were impaling her on his cock, and rocked her back and forth roughly, his hands on her hips. Buffy’s hands went around his torso, and she gnawed on his sweet smelling flesh as if she’d devour him, leaving perfect rows of bite marks on his pale skin. His throat, his shoulders, his chest, little half moons of teeth marks, and her nails raked red and white welts down his back.

    He howled as one of her attacks hurt a bit too much, and he knocked her back to the ground again, grabbing hold of her wrists to force her down, pounding into her as though it were a forced rape. His eyes glared into hers, the pain and the lust and the anger in the ice blue cutting into her, all sharper than his teeth could be. “Say my name,” he demanded.

    “Spike,” she said, nothing loath to say it.



    “More!” he growled, “or I’ll rip your head off, you hear me? Tear your wretched throat out.”

    “Spike, Spike, yes, Spike. Spike, don’t... oh, please... don’t stop, my god!”

    He was breathing hard, and not just from lust. She couldn’t tell if he was mollified, but he was hard as stone, and he was inside her, and he kept thrusting as much as she wanted. He kissed her, lightly. “Again,” he demanded.


    He kissed her harder, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She said it again when he released her lips. She was getting close – they could both tell. “Tell me you want me, or I’ll leave you whimpering,” Spike snarled.

    “I want you, Spike. You. Oh – oh, god I want you!”

    Spike pushed inside her harder, changing his angle of thrust to caress her clit with his weight. “Keep saying my name,” he said.

    “Spike. Spike, Spike....” she had to stop, then, as words were fast becoming an impossibility.

    “God damn you, slayer,” Spike grunted. “Damn you to hell.” He thrust fast and hard, making her grunt, then moan, then scream with release as he forced her down against the ground, and finally – as she knew he usually held back as long as he could for her – let himself go, as well. He almost howled with it, bruising her arms again as his head arched up. He didn’t let her go at first, either. He thrust into her again and again, torturing both of them with aftershocks of excruciating pleasure. Finally she had to push him off, and he only forced a thrust twice more before he let her.

    They lay beside each other, but not touching, for several exhausted breaths. “Get out,” Spike said then.

    Buffy looked over at him. “What?” she was still panting.

    “I said get – the fuck – out of my crypt. Bitch.”

    “Since when is that your line,” Buffy demanded.

    Spike stood up, standing away from her like she was some pile of midden. “You know, I don’t mind playing your whore,” he said. “I’ll be your willing sex slave, you can treat me like dirt – hell, I am dirt, I admit it. But you admit to yourself that’s what you’re fucking, or stay the hell away.”

    “Spike, that’s not what–”

    “If you want to go fuck Angel, go fuck Angel,” Spike snapped. “Lock him up, burn out his soul, and do whatever the fuck you want with him. I’m done.”

    “I don’t want to go fuck Angel.”

    “Could have fooled me. He’s the one you love, I’m just convenient, remember?”

    “You are convenient,” Buffy said.

    “Yeah, a nice convenient vamp you can stick Angel’s face on, his surrogate cock. I’m not your dildo, bitch.”

    “But you’re here.”

    Spike’s fist clenched. “Stand up and let me hit you proper, or I’ll kick you where you lie,” he growled.

    Buffy did stand up then, her eyes sparking. “You dare, and I’ll tear your arms off.”

    “Go ahead!” Spike said. “Tear ‘em off, tear my cock off and keep it in your bedside table like the toy you take me for. You already know you can play any game you want with me. I don’t give a shit what’s in your head – you can turn me into anyone from Riley to Martin Luther King, and so long as you tell me, I’ll play it for you, but I am not going to be the ghost of your perfect Angel, finally fucking you the way he bloody can’t.”

    “I’m not turning you into Angel or anyone else, you bastard!” Buffy shouted at him.

    “You could have fooled me. His name didn’t come out of nowhere. Sure sounded to me like he was in the bed with us.”

    “He was!” Buffy snapped. “But not on your body.”

    “What the fuck are you talking about?” Spike demanded.

    “I’m mad at him, okay?” Buffy shouted. “I’m fucking pissed off! I’m pissed off at him, and at Willow and Xander and Tara, I’m furious at Giles, I can barely even stand Dawn, and I flat out fucking hate you. But Angel’s out there, staying away for ‘my own good’ he says. He broke my heart, tore me apart, and left me here with you. And I’m so pissed off I’d love to see the look on his face if he saw me here. So yeah, he was here. In my head, he showed up somewhere around there,” she pointed to a spot near the ladder. “I was enjoying seeing him so jealous he was positively sick.”

    Spike stared at her. “If you’re lying to me–”

    “What does it even matter?” Buffy snapped. “I’m here, I keep coming here, to you, you disgusting freak. It’s not as if you haven’t noticed.”

    “Is it me?” he asked, a hard edge still in his voice. “Is it really?”

    “Fuck off,” Buffy said. She shook her head in disgust at Spike. “I don’t put anyone’s face over yours,” she said, contempt and hopelessness coloring her words. “I fucking can’t, you bastard. There’s no one else I want.” She glared at him. “If there was, you think I’d even be here?” She turned away from him. “You can go to hell.”

    She stalked over to the bed where most of her clothes had landed in a pile on the floor. She started wrestling on her skirt, holding the tears back as well as she could.

    A moment later she felt Spike’s hand on her shoulder and shrugged him off roughly. Spike grabbed her instead, and pulled her against him. His hands caressed her sensuously, and he gazed at her with such a wicked love it tore at her. “You don’t have to go,” he murmured.

    “I’m going,” she said, nearly pushing him away, but he held her. She could have fought him off. She didn’t.

    “I don’t think I’m done making him jealous, yet,” Spike said quietly. He ran his hand down the side of her face, and lightly twisted her hair into his fingers. “What did he look like?”

    Buffy stood in Spike’s arms, shaking with anger, desire, disgust, grief – she didn’t even know what all her feelings were. “Crestfallen,” she said.

    Spike kissed her then, so gently and so sweetly that her trembling increased. She nearly swooned against him, and hated herself for loving it so. It was how Angel would have kissed her, she knew. Lovingly. It really would have driven him completely mad to see. “What do you think would tick him off worst, eh?” Spike whispered. “If I went down on you,” he breathed into her ear, “or I let you chain me up?” He gently nibbled at her neck. “Or what if I just tell you how much I love you?”

    “That would probably be the worst of it,” Buffy admitted, “but I’m pissed off enough at you right now, you know you’re not getting off easy.”

    “Just don’t forget who you’re punishing,” Spike murmured.

    Buffy paused, still trembling. She gazed at him, sparks of fury and resentment in her eyes. She said one word before she kissed him, hard. “Everyone.”