SECTION 2 - HOUSE OF FIRE

Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin' it with our love
We are buildin' a house of fire
every time we touch
We are building this house
together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
that you can't tear down

(Alice Cooper, Album - Trash)




Chapter 2.01
Monday, May 13th, 2002

Lorne was, unsurprisingly enough, normally of the disposition to sing in the bath. Somehow, though, the idea of getting all dressed up for a date that he'd neither instigated nor agreed to was having a negative effect on his musical urges. It wasn't that she was an unattractive woman. He could think of a few mornings when he'd woken up with a decidedly less physically appealing female lying next to him.

If she'd walked into Caritas back in the day, who knows? Maybe he would have stood her a drink, got her to sing a little something and maybe they might have hit it off. No, it was this whole 'Do as I say or Something Might happen to those kids' thing that made him want to tuck tail, or other parts, and run. He just hoped that that whole aggressive thing was a front. Even with the best will in the world, Lorne couldn't see himself performing on demand with that hanging over him. Maybe in private she might display a softer side and give him something he could relate to.

The whole situation had him vacillating between outrage at being treated like some sort of whore, anxiety about her expectations, fear of what could happen to the kids if he didn't live up to them and curiosity as to what might have happened had they met under other circumstances. Was she even genuinely attracted to him or was she getting her kicks from her power over him? It wasn't like he could ask her to hum a few bars, was it?

Lorne gave a sigh and returned to getting washed up as quickly as possible, because sunken tub not withstanding, there was something about being naked when hostile strangers could walk in whenever they pleased that he found detracted from the whole luxury bathing experience.

It was probably this that had deterred any of the teenagers from making use of the bathroom for more than just a cursory wash. Either that or they thought he was a jolly, green paedophile, one of the two. Ugh. There was a thought he didn't want to take any further.

Just as he was at that point where he was stepping out of the tub but hadn't quite managed grab a towel, he heard the outer door of the room open. He grasped at the towel rail, one foot in the bath and one out, frantically trying to get covered up in case whoever it was decided to come in and make a nuisance of themselves.

Fortunately, it seemed that he wasn't about to be interrupted. He could make out the voice of the same convivial guard who had set him to work on Spike's care.

"Tell the frog prince that he's got ten minutes to get dressed and get you lot out into the living room. We're moving out."

Lorne yanked open the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a towel. "What's happening, sweet cheeks?" he asked the thug. "There's another two hours before I'm due to dine with her ladyship."

"Yeah? Well, ain't that a shame. Get a move on, Kermit," the guard barked.

 

---

 

Lorne made his way into the living room with the teenagers filing out behind him.

He surveyed the scene with some little amazement. Three or four people were scurrying back and forth laden with luggage. In the midst of it all, Scheherazade paused in what she was doing to watch Lorne and his troupe make their way downstairs.

"I guess things aren't going quite so well for our heroine as she was expecting." Despite his words Lorne deliberately kept his tone as conciliatory as he could. After all, it wasn't just his life he was playing with.

"You could say that." The woman gave a shrug that seemed inconsistent with her normally elegant bearing. "It seems there's been a minor setback. Certain plans are having to be put into operation somewhat sooner than we anticipated.

Look, there are a number of ways this little scenario can go. It depends not so much on you as on the kids as to which one we chose." She let her gaze pass over the group, meeting the eyes of each one in turn.

"Any of you that want to be on the next chopper out of here have one option. We've got enough narcotics here to fuck up each and every one of you.

The only way you're getting on that chopper is if you are so wasted that no one is going to believe a word you have to say. Of course, dumping you on the street in that sort of condition anything could happen to you before you're able to look after yourself.

Your other choice is that we set you loose to wander till you find your way to some sort of civilisation. Of course, that option has its drawbacks, too. Chances are you'll die of hunger or exposure before you find anywhere, but hey, a bunch of kids getting lost in the middle of nowhere. All the cops can tut away about these kids who come up in the mountains without proper footwear or equipment. When they eventually find the bodies, that is. If they ever do.

Lastly, you could choose to wait it out here. There's enough canned food and stuff up here to last you a month once the fresh stuff runs out. The water feed runs in from a natural reservoir so you should be okay there, providing you remember to boil it before you drink it. But that might be a problem. See, without someone topping up the generator, the electricity will go off in a matter of hours. You'll probably run out of gas cylinders after a couple of weeks. In theory, you could use firewood, but then, we'll be locking you in tight. So, I guess you'll just have to hope someone turns up before then. I'm guessing you'll be worrying about who to have for dinner before you need to worry about the septic tank. You just have to decide if you think anyone will come to find you before it gets to that stage.

Assuming you think anyone will miss you. You have fifteen minutes to decide what you want to do, and it's all or nothing. Whatever you choose, that's it for the whole group.

You," she continued, turning her attention to Lorne, "are a whole different matter. We're going to be too busy to baby-sit anyone. It's not like you can go to the police, but you do hang around with all those pesky do-gooders. If we put you back into the general population, you'll have all your little friends out looking for this bunch in no time." Her lips folded into a rueful smile that Lorne was convinced was a sham.

"Sorry, sweet thing, but that just doesn't fit with our plans. We need some time to make some arrangements before the authorities catch up with who we used to be, if you catch my drift. So, whatever the kids decide to do, you stay here. That's the best deal you get."

"I guess I might as well fix myself a drink, then." The green demon tested his bounds.

"Sure, help yourself. Might as well make yourself at home while you sit here keeping your fingers crossed that Angel can actually manage an investigation. Seems to me that they're probably missing their ex-watcher round about now.

You should hope he does a better job of finding you than he made of trying to find that seer of yours... cause that's all the hope you've got."

 

---

 

Half an hour later, the helicopter took off. Lorne listened to the whirr of the rotors in the distance. The kids had stayed. He had known they would, and he suspected Scheherazade had known, too. If he could pick up on the signs that one of the girls was pregnant, then he was fairly certain the vampire would have picked up on the second heartbeat, even if they hadn't heard her and her boyfriend talking about it. The whole choice thing had just been a way to set the group at odds with each other. One last cruel joke, like asking them to choose how they wanted to die.

For now the kids seemed happy enough, laying claim to their own rooms and exploring the confines of their luxury prison. Some of them had joined him in raiding the drinks cabinet. He'd managed to convince them to hold off on smashing up the furniture until it became their only source of fuel. Once things started to run short, the recriminations would start, though. A couple of the kids had wanted to take their chances in the wilderness. Most of the others had been willing to take their chances on the streets and trust the vampires not to simply give them a deliberate O/D. They would all start laying the blame at the feet of the couple and their unborn child as soon as things started to run out.

Lorne hoped he wouldn't have to wait that long. Despite Scheherazade's comments, Angel normally did pretty well when the chips were down.

In the skies above them, Scheherazade watched the cabin for as long as she could before it was hidden from view by the stark planes of the mountains. It was the last time she would see it, after all. She almost wished they could have taken the green demon with them, but that might have tipped them off. Now, it didn't matter. By midnight she would be safely on her way to a new but equally luxurious life. A couple of hours after that, the little fire bomb that had been set up in the locked cellar would go off, surrounded by the cabin's store of spirits and all the spare fuel for the generator. It would be weeks before they had any hope of identifying the bodies. If she was really lucky, one of the girls would play dress-up with the clothes and jewellery she'd left behind, and they might make a false provisional identification on the basis of personal effects. Of course, if the authorities realised they had a non-human body in there, it could cause problems, but by that time she and her associates would be long gone.

 

---

 

Back in Los Angeles, Buffy screwed the top back onto the large jar of burn cream which she had emptied tending to Spike's wounds and set it to one side when she realised there was no bin in their chosen room. She rubbed her hands together until they absorbed the last of the ointment before reaching over to brush an errant curl from Spike's forehead.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, before clarifying her question. "I mean, the Drusilla thing, not the burns. I know they'll heal in time."

"I... I guess. I mean there's this kind of empty feeling where I know I'll never see her again, but when the memories came back, it's like this sort of distance came back with them. Before that, I don't know. I mean the last thing I remembered was the fight that put me in that wheelchair. We loved each other. I would have died for her. All those things that happened after that, her and Angel, those other demons. All that hurt; it was wiped clean. I mean I've known for years that we'd never get back together. It doesn't mean you stop caring, but it doesn't cut as deep."

"You seemed pretty bad when it happened," Buffy commented.

"That? That was nothin', not compared with... other times." Spike sighed before continuing in a soft voice. "Look, love, I'm not trying to shut you out, but I don't really want to talk about it either."

"That's okay," Buffy whispered as she leant in to claim a gentle kiss. "We've got other ways to share what we're feeling." She drew her head back a fraction of an inch to tell him, "I missed you, so much. It seemed like forever."

Spike's hand reached out to gently pull aside the huge towel that Buffy had wrapped up in when she took off her wet clothes, but his eyes never left her face. "Missed you, too, love, when I could remember who I was missing. She wanted me to give up on you, but I never did. I knew if I couldn't find a way out on my own that you'd find a way to come for me."

Buffy chose to answer him with some silent communication. She lay on her back and then shuffled towards him, slipping her arm through the gap between his chest and the mattress, so that she was pressed against his left side and had only to lift her head to kiss him again. Her fingers stroked his back, and her other hand gripped his bicep, partly to make sure she didn't accidentally brush against his damaged flesh. Spike leant into her embrace, his cool lips brushing softly against hers before he traced the line of her jaw instead, savouring the gentle beat of her pulse as they lingered just below her ear. Buffy nuzzled against him, offering solace in her touch.

The two came together with a gentleness that was partly due to care for Spike's injuries and partly an expression of Spike's sorrow and Buffy's consideration for his feelings. Buffy whispered one word as he nibbled at her earlobe. "Mine." She could feel his lips curve into a smile without leaving her flesh.

"Always," he confirmed. "With or without the scars to prove it. Just like you're mine."

"Till the end of the world, Blue Eyes."

She turned her head to reclaim his lips with her own, but after a time, Spike evaded her efforts, working his way down her body instead. Buffy didn't bother to ask whether he was physically up to consummating their relationship. She could feel his answer brushing against her thigh. Instead, she let him decide what he wanted and let him chose their relative positions while she continued to lavish whatever unmarred skin she could reach with tender caresses. A thousand times her fingertips and her lips told him without words that she loved him, that she shared his grief. With a thousand kisses, he let her know that her feelings were returned and shared his sadness, so that in time, he could put it behind him. She arched against him as his lips teased an erect nipple and then winced as he drew in a sharp breath. She let her fingers run through his hair, drawing him back from his position over her.

"Sit up," she whispered as if even a loud word could break the fragile beauty that they created with their bodies. Spike shifted to a kneeling position, and Buffy moved to kneel opposite him. First she leant in to claim his lips. Then, she took her turn to work her way down his body. Her teeth grazed against the flesh on the left side of his neck. This simulated act of feeding caused his dick to throb as she stroked it, avoiding the tender area near the base where the creases in his jeans had partially channelled the holy water toward his groin. She brushed her lips against his collarbone, so perfect in comparison to the brutalised flesh on the other side of his neck.

She knew she should be repulsed by his injuries, that a human, who suffered similar wounds would be permanently disfigured, but all she could see was the man she loved. When she shied away from the areas that had been scorched by the holy water, it was solely to spare Spike's discomfort. She shuffled back slightly as she ducked her head lower, her tongue teasingly playing over his nipple before she blew delicately on the dampened flesh to send tingles through his body. Her hands continued to bestow gentle caresses all over, even as she began to use her tongue to trace the lines of his abdomen, her hair brushing against the sensitive flesh of his shaft as she moved lower.

When she finally took his head into her mouth, Spike was unable to stifle a groan. Her tongue traced the ridge that ran up the front ofhis dick, and she bobbed her head in a slow rhythm. Spike's hands moved to tangle in her hair though he didn't exert any pressure to influence her movements, letting her set her own pace. She slowly sucked and teased at his most sensitive flesh until she knew he was near to being unable to endure further torture. Sitting back up, she pulled his lips to meet her own, letting him taste his pre-cum in her mouth. Even as they kissed she shifted to the edge of the bed, drawing him with her. Taking his hand in hers, she rose and made her way to the room's dressing table. She turned to kiss him one last time before she shifted to stand facing the unit with her thighs pressed against it and her legs slightly parted. She bent over the unit, offering herself to him in the way that allowed him most control over the contact between them. With her right hand she reached behind her, and Spike took it in his, their fingers twining in a bond that belied the seeming crudity of their upcoming coupling.

As he pushed into her, she was unable to tear her gaze from the mirror she was facing. It looked like she moved on her own, but she knew that she pushed back against her lover's thrust. She knew that it was the feel of her flesh stretching around his dick that caused her eyes to widen and her pupils to dilate. She knew that as he gently withdrew his eyes watched the reflection of her own. She knew that even though she couldn't see its reflection, it was his hand that cupped her breast, his thumbnail rasping back and forth against her erect nipple, causing electric impulses both there and between her legs. She knew that his eyes would watch her every expression until she finally screamed his name. She shivered in anticipation as his hand shifted down, fingers splayed to cover her stomach as if he was using it to claim her flesh as his own before thrusting back into her. She missed the feel of his groin pressed her flesh but she knew that his injuries made this impractical. Instead, his hand shifted lower using the ball of his hand in a firm rotating massage against her clit while his fingers teased gently at her folds. All the time she watched her own reflection, transfixed by its changing expressions as Spike moved inside her.

There seemed to be all the time in the world as they moved against each other. None of the troubles of the day were important here. The world outside their room might as well not exist. All that was important was the way they felt about each other and their expression of it. Everything else faded into insignificance as they re-affirmed their emotional bond. When they came, it wasn't to the sound of Buffy's loud cries or screams of passion but to her tremulous sigh of contentment. When Spike drew her back to their bed and lay on his back so that she could tuck her shoulder under his arm, resting her head against his shoulder and draping a leg over his. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that they should drift off into a gentle slumber. And as they did time continued to run out for Lorne and his charges.