DISCLAIMER: Buffy, Spike and all things related to the BtVS series belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and many others who, sadly, are not me. This fiction is not intended to infringe upon the copyrights of those owners, I’m simply borrowing the characters to take them on a nice smutty romp and share the idea with others. :-)
RATING: NC-17 for Spuffy smut.
A/N & Summary: One of my favorite episodes of Buffy, even with the majorly dark undertone and that damned Spike abuse at the end, is "Dead Things." Because I so dislike the ending of the episode I’m rewriting it so that it goes the way I want. We start with the balcony scene at the Bronze (with a few creative liberties taken with the scene) and go to the cemetery the following night with Buffy going to Spike’s crypt (for reasons I will have Buffy go into with some angst), just like things went in the actual episode. I come in and take us all into 'the way it should have been' dreamland' by writing over Joss’s work at the moment when I have Buffy still be there when Spike opens the door.
I'm thrilled to announce that this fic has been nominated for "Best Episode Stealer" at the Love's Last Glimpse awards - http://www.loveslastglimpse.com/awards/index.html Great Spuffy fanfiction award site, be sure to check it out and thanks for the nomination!
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He’s here.
Somewhere among all the happy shiny people she can only pretend and remember how to be now, he’s here.
Her slayer senses tell her it’s a vampire lurking among the shadows. Her body tells her it’s Spike and from those shadows he’s watching her. Knowing her every thought as she watches her friends have fun around her.
The refill she’d been waiting for no longer held any appeal to Buffy and she leaves her empty cup on the bar to make her way up the stairs to the Bronze’s balcony. There weren’t many people up here tonight she was glad to see as two people pushed their way down the stairs while she moved up off the last step then over to the railing.
With a sigh she folded her arms over the metal bar and looked down over the crowd on the dance floor. Her green eyes found her friends among the strangers moving mindlessly to the music playing and a small part of her was envious as she watched Anya, Willow and Xander doing their own silly movements to the song. They were having fun and in a world of their own, oblivious to the people around them who might look at them and laugh at the old fashioned moves the trio made to the swing music.
Just like they were oblivious to her. To what they had done by bringing her back. To what she had to do now to feel anything remotely like the happiness she saw them feeling as they ignored the everything but each other and just danced for the sheer fun of it.
Had she so perfected the mask she wore that those three people who supposedly knew her so well knew nothing about what she was going through?
"You see," she’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d forgotten to expect him, "you try to be with them," she fought to control her breathing, to show no outward sign of reaction as he moved closer, "but you always end up in the dark," she felt him right behind her, his ever present erection pressing against her ass and his scent of leather and tobacco and darkness and Spike threatened to overwhelm her senses, "with me."
Dear God, what kind of sick joke was being played on her that he had to be the only one who really saw her now? Who understood and seemed to care and know and be there? Why was he the only one she felt anything real with?
She hated him in that moment. For knowing her better than her friends did. For knowing about the darkness and making her crave it so much as she tried in vain to deny that just the sound of his voice, the feel of his undead body and the combination of scents that was distinctly him were making the thong she wore sopping wet. That her heart was fluttering with needs and emotions in her chest just because she was near him.
"What would they think of you," he continued to torment her with that voice and words that fell like salt in the gaping wounds she’d been trying to deal with since being pulled from Heaven, "if they found out all the things you’ve done?" he placed his cold rough hand on her shoulder then ran it gently down her arm leaving every inch he touched tingling with life and sensations she so desperately needed to feel.
Like they’d believe a word of it, she thought as she looked down at her dancing friends. They could look up right now and not have a clue. If they even saw Spike behind her they’d probably make excuses for it. For her. Everyone made excuses for her now.
Everyone but him.
Damn him.
And damn that hand that wasn’t stopping it’s downward decent, she thought with a shuddering sigh escaping her at his touch.
"If they knew who you really were?"
That’s one thing he has to be wrong about and she prayed Tara would give her the proof to make him see she wasn’t a demon regardless of what that damned chip indicated. She just couldn’t be evil like him. She still fought the good fight and did normal human things. She wasn’t a demon.
Even if she felt like one.
"Don’t," she makes a weak attempt as protest as his hand glides down over her hip and thigh.
"Stop me," he countered knowing she wouldn’t.
She wanted to, somewhere inside she wanted to, but she couldn’t.
And as his fingers curled under the hem of her skirt and began dragging the fabric upward she knows why she can’t.
Because she wanted this more than she wanted to obey her inner voice of reason and deny or protest or fight it.
She’d known, or maybe just hoped, that he would be here tonight, stalking her as he still did and she’d been waiting for it. She’d worn the skirt and flimsy thong for it. She’d been moist all night anticipating it.
Her eyelids fell shut and she hoped that his insight into her character didn’t make those facts obvious to him.
It was one thing to allow this to happen, she knew as she heard his zipper rasp downward and felt him push the thin barrier of cloth covering her pussy aside to bury himself inside her with one hard, sudden thrust without any preliminaries aside from making sure she was wet for him, but for her to anticipate and prepare for it? That was wrong on so many more levels than her just letting him have his way with her.
Her hands grip the railing before her hard, her body instinctively beginning to undulate against his and she curses the gasp of pleasure that escaped her at feeling his cool, thick cock driven deeper into her wet heat than she’d ever had anything go.
He was angry at her, it was clear in the way he was doing this. Part of him hated it as much as she did, but she never dwelled on that thought because it gave them more common ground to share and there was too much of that now as it was.
"No," he orders his tone cold and controlled, "don’t close your eyes,” he commands as she began to do just that. "Look at them."
Damn him, she thinks again as she obeys without hesitation and opens her eyes. Through the passion beginning to fog her gaze she looks down on her friends and watches them continue dancing unaware of her presence and activities in the shadows above.
"That’s not your world," he confirms what she already knows and part of her stubbornly clings to the argument that it had been her world not that long ago and always would be no matter what she went through. "You belong in the shadows," she held her breath knowing what he would say next and prepared every internal denial she’d been working on for so long now to combat the words, "with me."
Oh, God, she prays silently as Spike’s thrusts and whispered words in her ear are making her body quiver and her breath hitch in her throat, let that just be wishful thinking on his part. Give me some sign that it isn’t true. Tell me my heart isn’t pounding and my blood boiling with agreement at that statement. Please, just don’t let it be true.
"Look at your friend," the vampire behind her continued to taunt in time with his cock’s movements inside her, "and tell me," he thrust into her a bit harder with those three words, "you don’t love getting away with this," her mouth twitched over the words to deny his statement, but she feared she’d been given the sign she’d prayed for when nothing but gasps and more labored breaths of pleasure escape her parted lips, "right under their noses."
That’s not what it’s about, her mind protests as she watches the trio dancing on on the dance floor below, getting away with it, pulling one over on them has nothing to do with it. Not really. It’s about feeling. Making me feel again.
Because this is the only time she feels anything she likes feeling. In these moments that he’s inside her she felt so many things they overwhelmed her – cold and hot, empty and so full, needy and satiated. She doesn’t feel the anger or hatred or guilt or shame or bitterness or envy or sense of loss and confusion she feels when she’s around them trying to be normal and knowing inside she’s failing even if her friends are too oblivious to see it.
"Tell me," the devil has not finished tormenting her with his words, "that you don’t love this."
All at once she knows she can do that and she moistens her pink glossed lips with her tongue then turns to look at him over her shoulder. His face is right in hers when she does so, his stunning blue eyes looking straight into her green one and his lush lips so close to her she’s tempted to forget about speaking and just devour that mouth with her own.
"I don’t," she manages to say quietly and with enough conviction that he believes her and stops his thrusts. "I don’t love it, but," she moves one hand from the railing and slides it back behind her to clutch at his denim covered hip and keep him inside her when he begins to pull out, thinking her to be rejecting him, "I need it."
He freezes with his only half his length inside her and looks at her with a hint of uncertainty that she hadn’t seen in his eyes since their first time - that moment she’d surprised them both by fucking him instead of continuing to try beating him senseless in that abandoned house.
"I need it," she repeats in little more than a whisper as she clenches her muscles around his cock and uses the squeezing wet warmth of her cunt lure him back in case the words fail to do the job.
"That’ll do," he says quietly to himself and she knows the words weren’t meant to reach her ears even though they had.
His hips slam forward again, the metal teeth of his zipper leaving tiny impressions on the soft skin of her thighs as he holds himself still for a moment to relish the sensation and knowledge that she had finally conceded something to him by acknowledging a need.
She moans and her eyes drift shut once more at the sensation, but again, after taking time himself to savor the feelings, he orders her to open them.
"No, look at me," he commands when she automatically returned her gaze to the floor below after opening her eyes.
Despite the crick she feels forming in her neck from the way she has to twist to keep her attention on his face, Buffy obeys and watches him as he grips the rail in front of them on either side of her body and begins thrusting harder. She latches onto the metal bar’s support, as well, to be able to meet his thrusts and watches the way his jaw clenches every time he drives his cock inside her. Watches the way his eyes are darkening with lust and need and hunger and the love she can sometimes believe he really feels for her as they look deeply back at her without any of the barriers she feels the need to erect against him. Watches the way his lips and nostrils move to take in unnecessary breaths as he pushes them both on to the ecstasy they only find together.
Unable to resist she again licks her lips, this time in a silent plea that he kiss her, and Spike quickly presses his mouth against hers. His kiss is hungry, consuming and still just a bit angry, causing his lips to grind down on hers in a way that would make them swell and bruise later.
And she loved that. Loved when his actions were so desperate or hungry or needy or passionate that they marked her with bruises or scrapes or sometimes cuts. The hurts lingered and the fact that she felt the sting of pain from them proved she was alive and somewhat normal.
What was she becoming, she wondered at her thoughts as he tears his mouth away and begins moving it down her neck.
As his lips bite and suck at the sensitive skin along the side of her throat and her body clenches uncontrollably around him at the exquisite touches, she wonders if perhaps the correct phrasing of the question should be what had she become?
His climax was fast approaching, she knew, when he worked his right hand down into the front of her skirt and underwear to shove his fingers through her moist curls and find her engorged clit. He almost always made her come first no matter how much she didn’t want to come at all because the way she lost her control of her body to him was just too much. There had only been two occasions where he’d allowed himself to come first and both those times had been her fault. She’d been in control and determined to make him lose his. Memories of those times made her feel hollow and cold, so she shook them off firmly and focused on the present. On the fullness and heat she felt right then as he drove his length into her and worked the sensitive nub of nerves between her legs to drive her into the welcoming oblivion of orgasmic bliss.
When his mouth moved from her neck to her shoulder and she felt the sting of his blunt teeth against her skin through the barrier of her top she did something that would stun them both later when they thought of it without the blinding haze of desire disrupting their normal trains of thought.
Though she was moaning and gasping in delight from his fingers plucking at her clit and the tip of his cock pounding against her womb on every inward thrust she needed more to make her climax this time. Without really realizing it she raised a hand to push the fabric of her white shirt aside to bare her shoulder to his teeth and breathlessly ordered him to bite her.
She whimpered protestingly at the feel of his blunt teeth nipping harshly at the tanned flesh, only making faint impressions on her skin rather than breaking the surface, and after a second’s hesitation as he considered the meaning of that noise she made he vamped out and gave her what she was really needing. Spike’s hand flew up to cover her mouth and stifle the scream that escaped her lips as the brief stinging pain of his fangs entering the soft back of her shoulder followed by the unbearably erotic sensation of him draining the blood from her body sent her careening into the most intense orgasm she’d ever had.
She must have blacked out a bit from it because the next thing she was consciously aware of was his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist, holding her slightly limp body up, as his tongue slowly licked over the two tiny puncture wounds in her otherwise flawless skin.
"You could have killed me," Buffy was so stunned by the stupidity of her request in those frantic moments before climaxing that she felt a bit faint.
"Never," he said firmly and whipped her around in his embrace so she couldn’t escape his open, honest and piercing stare. "Push me all you want, I still could never kill you now."
"Because of this?" she falls back on scorn to try and change the emotion in his gaze to anger.
"No, Buffy," a steely glint of determination mixes with the love she sees, but there’s no anger at her words, "because I love you."
Unable to maintain eye contact she looked away with a slight gulp of emotions she refused to acknowledge or define and in doing so noticed that Anya, Willow and Xander were no longer on the dance floor below.
Reading her mind or body language or both as only he could, Spike quietly straightened her clothing with a lingering touch over her shoulder.
"All right, then," he stepped away and straightened his pants. "All good and proper looking again. Lipstick’s a bit smudged," he raised a hand and roughly scrubbed her kiss swollen lips clean of any makeup with his thumb. "Off you go to play normal for your Scoobies."
Without responding to the taunting in his tone she turned to make her way down the stairs, pausing with a slight gasp after one step as she felt a trickle of their combined come run down her inner thigh.
"Next time you … ‘need it,’" he said quietly from behind her, "you know where to find me."
Her head snapped around with some unformed threat on her lips in response to his callous offer, but her mouth snapped shut in surprise when she saw nothing there when she turned.
With an adeptness he’d long ago mastered he’d vanished without a trace knowing his words would ‘put her knickers in a knot,’ as he would say, and he’d left before she could retaliate.
She couldn’t sense him anywhere in the Bronze with her anymore and she hated that a slightly disappointed sigh escaped her at the realization.
Double damn him.
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