[Reviews - 837]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 5051 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Your support has been amazing – thank you! I’m sorry for the long hiatus! And well…ok, there’s no “gift” in this chapter like I promised last A/N. I know, I lied, but I changed the sequence of things, so it’ll come later. Dark fiction warning – rape scene. Again, there’s no “present” – this chapter is mean and dark, be warned and no flames, period. :)
It hadn’t been a dream, and his brow creased at the realization of what it meant. For a second, a millimeter of a second even, it had been almost gentle between them. He couldn’t help but drift to the last woman he had allowed himself to be that way around…

*

Sitting at his desk, he tapped the eraser of his pencil on the desk, staring at his worn-out sheet of paper. His brows furrowed in increasing frustration and he ran his left hand through his brown hair, sighing.

“I’m never going to get this done,” he shoved the paper aside, leaning back as if he was defeated.

“Get what done, William?” Drusilla’s voice whispered. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him from the back.

Feeling himself relax at her touch, he pulled her around into his lap, kissing her softly. “It’s nothing important, luv. Didn’t even know I was speaking out loud.”

She ran the back of her left hand down his cheek, “You worry too much. We should get away – go visit the beaches like we used to – spend the whole day playing in the sand…”

Looking up at her with a look of regret, “You know we can’t, Dru. We just can’t afford it right now.” He hated saying those words to her, having these discussions – it made him feel weak and incapable. He wanted her to sit back and relax while he took care of her – something he hadn’t been doing so well ever since the Los Angeles Times laid him off two months ago. And it had not been a big surprise to find out that his aspiration of becoming a real published writer was not currently well-paying.

“I can always ask daddy for a loan,” she said absently, running her hands through his hair. It was her automatic response – she had never worked a day in her life, always having men who provided for her.

Closing his eyes as he sighed again, he knew it would really help if he could get a loan. After all, their new apartment was anything but new – worn-out secondhand furniture, chipped paint, and shitty plumbing. But he refused. The man hated him, and thought he was a worthless and lousy wannabe writer.

“No, Dru. We talked about this,” he reminded her with clipped patience.

She pouted, hearing the edge of his tone, and he sighed, softening his expression. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how I’m going to find something that pays enough.”

She put her fingers to his lips, “You’ll find something. It’ll work out, William.” She caressed his face, “I promise we’ll have our happy ending.” She kissed him lightly and gave him a smile, an innocent gleam in her eyes.

His muscles relaxed and he smiled affectionately at her. She was his dark-haired beauty - although her innocence contradicted her striking looks. It was one thing he found fascinating about her, which is why he shouldn’t have been so surprised when that same innocence was so easily shattered.

*

‘Bitch,’ he thought to himself in growing anger, abruptly getting off the bed. He mindlessly threw on some clothes and stormed over to the bathroom door. Without bothering to knock, he burst the door open.


Startled, Buffy jumped up and whipped around, eyes wide. As soon as she registered it was him, she tightened her grip on the towel wrapped around her body and her eyes narrowed at him, “Get away from me.”


His expression turning dark, he strode over to her in two long strides, effectively backing her up into the edge of the sink counter. Wrenching her wrists forcefully, he pulled them down to the counter and pinned them there, causing her towel to loosen, but not fall down completely. Face coming dangerously close to hers, he said in a low voice, “You forget where you are, and who I am. If I were you, I’d be careful the way you talk to me.”


Buffy let the silence fill the air for a moment, feeling the edges of fear penetrate her stubborn resistance – it wasn’t often that he got that dark and cold look in his eyes, one where the rage overweighed his normally cool control. But seeing the beginnings of a victorious smirk on his face, the spark of defiance crept back into her eyes. “I haven’t forgotten who you are. You’re the disgusting low-life leader of some demented gang, and I’d wish you’d kill me so I wouldn’t have to look at your face anymore,” she spat venomously as she tried to jerk away from him, causing her towel to cascade down onto the floor.

His eyes narrowed for a moment before he leaned in closer and tightened his grip on her wrists. Antagonizing her, he pressed his body up against her naked skin, showing her who was in control. Her jaw was tight and Spike heard the sound of her deep, and obviously enraged, breathing coming through her nostrils. Finally, he asked with a squint of his eyes, “So as long as you don’t have to look at the person, you can fuck them in their sleep and still live with yourself in the morning?”

A look of incredulity flashed across her face before she began thrashing against him, trying to get away from him angrily. “Get away from me, you fucking bastard!” she screamed, wrenching a wrist free and trying to bash him with her closed fist.

Spike caught her fist, struggling with her to maintain his hold on her arms. But other attentions were being brought to play at the feel and sight of her naked body battling against him - her chest heaving, face flushed and skin beginning to glow from exertion. He suppressed a groan, his controlled attitude quickly slipping away, and he wondered when she was ever going to understand that naked-fighting only led to one thing…

Panting, she only stopped when she noticed the hungry look in his eyes, scanning up and down her body and settling on her mouth as his own lips parted ever so slightly. She began to protest, “Sto-,”

Silencing her, Spike slammed his lips to hers and pushed her up against the counter.

Her muffled protest died in her throat and turned into a gasp when she felt his hands grab her ass and pull her to him roughly, lifting her up onto the cool marble of the counter. At the sight of him unbuttoning his jeans, her eyes widened incredulously and she kicked him backwards roughly with her foot, getting back down to her feet. As he gave her a leer and came toward her again, she shot him a murderous look while her hand searched behind her for something – anything – on the counter that could be a weapon.

Pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, he advanced on her.

She suddenly felt exposed and panicked, feeling like his helpless prey. Behind her back, her hand knocked over a small standing mirror. Buffy fumbled with it, trying to get a grip. Clutching it in her hand, she swung with all her hate, aiming for his head.

The mirror shattered against his forehead, sharp edges cutting his flesh and causing blood to trickle down. Shocked, he staggered back for a moment, putting his hand to his head. As he brought his hand down, he saw red.

*

He felt his blood running down his chest, even though he didn’t look down to confirm it. His wrists were sore – skin raw and bloody where he struggled too hard against the chains. Drusilla stood before him, twirling a knife, admiring the patterns she had etched into his chest.
Feeling the unbearable pang of his broken heart, he managed to ask with a rasp, “Why?”

“Because you’re not good enough, William,” she answered simply, licking a spot of blood off her thumb.

*

He looked up at her, a dark coldness in his expression. She saw the unmistakable change in his demeanor, one that she hadn’t seen since the day he fought Angelus.

Lunging for the doorknob, she twisted and yanked, heart hammering in her chest. Halfway across the room, she felt his hand grip her arm painfully and fling her around to face him.

“Bitch,” he backhanded her roughly.

Falling onto his bed, Buffy let out a cry and clutched her cheek. She didn’t need to look at her hand to know that there was blood because she could taste it on her lips. Before she could move, he was on her, reaching into his jeans.

Tears of anger began to burn at the corner of her eyes, and she kicked at him, refusing to give in. He easily pinned down her legs, ignoring her protesting body and continuing his actions.

She sank down onto him, throwing her head back in pleasure.

Buffy let out her fury, punching him, scratching him, doing anything she could to stop him. “Get off me!” she screamed in complete anguish.

He didn’t hear her, pulling his cock out and positioning himself at her entrance before quickly shoving into her.

Her black hair fell forward as she leaned down to bite his lower lip, and she jerked up roughly, eliciting a grunt from him.

Buffy fought for air, Spike’s jerking movements unconstrained and violent - this time was different. She struggled against him, tears running down the side of her face. He wasn’t looking at her, and she was scared that this was it. This was the end.

Spike looked down at Buffy, without really seeing her.

He flipped her over so he was on top and started pumping into her furiously, cocky grin on his face. She smiled in satisfaction, un-phased by his violent movements.

She screamed, his violent jerks hurting her. His grip was bruising her, and she felt like she was dying.

He proceeded to fuck the life out of her, making her scream as she came close to her orgasm. Angelus turned to look at a chained-up Spike, giving him a taunting look before coming to his own release. The last thing Spike heard was Drusilla’s pleasured scream.

“No, you’re hurting me,” she sobbed hopelessly, the pain threatening her consciousness. Spike suddenly grabbed the back of her head and smashed his lips to hers, forcing his tongue in. The moment he tasted her blood, he stopped, blinking as he snapped back to reality.

His confused eyes looked down at her, his pained expression making him seem more vulnerable than he had ever appeared before. Though he had stopped, he was gasping for breath as he watched her cry, blood smearing the side of her face. He closed his eyes and opened them, hoping it wasn’t reality.

Buffy didn’t know what happened, but as soon as she realized he had stopped, she pushed him back harshly, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. Glaring at him with a quavering expression, she grabbed the sheet to wrap around her body. “You’re a monster,” she ground out, voice unsteady. She wanted to move, run, anything away from him, but her body was aching.

He backed up, pangs of guilt threatening to choke him as he took in the sight of her. Hair in disarray, tears staining her face, blood smeared around her mouth, hate in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean-,” he began, but couldn’t finish. With a shaky intake of breath, he moved to find his clothes, feeling more like William than he had in years. He couldn’t look at her anymore. He hadn’t felt this wrong in years. So he turned, and quickly left the room.





You must login (register) to review.