Disturbing quote of the day: "There is enough of a rapist in every man to give him insight into the grossest manifestations of sexual passion...this kind of love is intimately associated with the impersonal violence of war." – J. Glenn Gray
*Two months earlier…*
Frustrated that Cordelia and Darla barely gave her the time of day, Buffy found herself wandering to the training room. The hate and indignation was building inside her, and her fingers itched for something to vent her emotions. Find a way out, find a way to kill Spike – what could she do? She felt helpless, and absolutely hated it.
Looking around, Buffy’s gaze settled on the punching bag. A thin thought came to her. She didn’t have the experience, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t train herself – to become stronger, to become the person that would one day fight her way out of this place. She would do it – somehow.
Glancing around the room and seeing that it was completely empty and dead silent, she refocused her attention to the bag before her. Buffy punched it once with her right fist, and as if to defy her, the punching bag barely moved, making her feel weak. Aggravated, she punched it again – this time with both fists. She focused on what made her angry, and what came to mind was more than enough to get things going.
She screamed, his violent jerks hurting her. His grip was bruising her, and she felt like she was dying.
The bag jolted more under her hits, her breathing becoming heavier. Sweat began to emerge on her skin – on her face, under her clothes – but it didn’t matter.
“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.
Blinded by the images, she let out a punch that sent the bag spiraling in the other direction, swinging around wildly. She stopped, her chest heaving as her anger took a pause. Hearing the sound of the squeaking chain as the bag slowed to a stop, she realized she wasn’t alone.
Buffy expected to turn around and see the image of him that she had etched in her mind – cold, unfeeling, monstrous. When she turned with a steely look, he looked…unreadable.
Spike stood there, observing her silently. There was no doubt who she had been envisioning instead of that punching bag. When she stopped, the bag swinging back and forth from her last punch, he could see – he had finally done it. He knew what he had to do now, what he had to let her do.
So he said what he knew would strike the wrong chord, “Sleep well, pet?” Seeing her infuriated expression, he saw her fists clench.
“You’re despicable,” she replied in a tight voice.
“That, I am,” he stated without a hint of remorse. “Is that all you got?”
Without answering, she attacked him with a flurry of punches.
He blocked her punches easily, never letting out one of his own. She tried for a backhand – he grabbed her and pulled her against him, hand on her arm. She elbowed him in the gut to get loose, determined not to give up. Buffy punched him, sending his head reeling back and he touched his hand to his nose. She didn’t stop to think about it – she just attacked him, letting her emotions drive her actions.
Spike could’ve tried, but he hardly did. She was the fastest and most angered she had ever been, but to him, it was a mechanical fight, where he knew it wasn’t about what he could block or not. He felt the sting of her blows, the harsh edge of her elbows to his gut, the venom in her expression – but at the same time it was surreal, and the fight didn’t fuel him, invigorate him like it usually did. When he realized she had probably given him a few good bruises already, he grabbed her by both arms, slamming her back against the punching bag.
“Do you feel better now? Was that satisfying for you?” he asked in a low voice, deadly calm.
“I’ll never be satisfied until you’re dead,” she spat back at him, trying to wrestle her way out of his grip. “What you did was disgusting. You’ll never be more than a low-life bastard.”
“Who did you think I would be? This is who I am,” he told her evenly, tone full of conviction and bitter acceptance.
She ignored him, focused on getting her arms out of his tightening grip. “Let go!”
He looked down at where his hands gripped her arms and a slight frown crossed his features. As if scalded, he dropped her to the ground. He realized in that moment, those things had become so natural to him, that they hardly seemed to register as wrong anymore.
She looked up at him with a hateful glare once she had regained her balance, clutching one of her arms. “You’re beneath me,” she stated evenly, her eyes full of judgment.
He said nothing – there was nothing to say to that.
*The present day…*
Buffy washed the blood off her hands, watching the color of red swirl among the faucet water and go down the drain. The quiet ease at which she continued her task was a bit unsettling, when she thought about it. Since when did blood and violence stop bothering her? Or was it just because it was Parker – the man who killed her mother and took away her first piece of innocence?
No, she didn’t feel guilty at all. Looking up at herself in the mirror, she realized that the coldness had already begun to work itself into her heart. But she didn’t regret it. She was stronger because of it. Bitterly, she laughed at the one good thing Spike had given her. She remembered the night she changed it between them, and began taking what she could.
*Seven weeks earlier…*
She felt his needy kiss on her lips, and she knew that he had known she wasn’t really asleep. Opening her eyes, she saw his face hovering over her, knowing his intentions. He had just come out of the shower, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Despite the way he was waiting for her response, she felt bitter that it was back to sex again.
Because she wasn’t protesting, he leaned down again to kiss her, pulling the sheet slowly down her nude body. Reaching down, he found her clit and began massaging it, all the while kissing the skin of her neck fervently, as if trying to devour everything he could get.
She gasped as his lips and the tip of his tongue caressed the nape of her neck, her head automatically tilting to give him more access. As his thumb pushed down on her clit in just the right way, she felt a jolt shoot through her body and she arched up, feeling the wetness begin to pool.
Taking that as his cue, he pulled the towel away from his waist and flung it aside, his strained erection waiting for release. Spike positioned his body over hers, letting the tip of his cock delve slightly into her increasingly-wet folds.
She restrained a whimper, her brow creasing in concentration. As he kissed her skin, a thought came to her amidst the heat her body was feeling. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be - it wasn’t like the first time, the first time they had sex after he had gotten violent. They had fought and fucked equally, not…this. She felt like she was suffocating, reality bringing her back to the sensation of Spike’s mouth on her breast, sucking on her hardened bud. She shook her head in silent protest, at a loss for words, but Spike didn’t notice. Buffy moved to grasp his arms and pull his mouth off her body so he could see her, but her grip turned into one of surprised ecstasy when he plunged all the way into her warm entrance, the slippery heat sucking him in deeper.
He groaned, closing his eyes and lifting his head away from her in pleasure. The feel of her fingernails digging into his back only made him harder for her. Beginning to pump in and out of her pussy, he kissed her lustfully, probing his tongue into her hot mouth.
The burning inside her core was building, but she still felt like she was suffocating, helpless against him. The week that had past silently between them had confused everything, and now she felt herself losing the control she had gained ever since then. ‘No. Too soft,’ her mind whispered.
The way her body was writhing beneath him only fueled him, thinking she was enjoying it that much more. He sank into her, grinding himself against her smooth and burning hot channel. She let out a pleasured gasp, and jerked. Before he could pull back out, he suddenly felt her push him roughly, and flip him over.
He blinked in surprise, utterly shocked that he was now on his back, and Buffy was on top. He had always been the one on top. He felt his stomach clench and his cock jump, suddenly very aroused by the change. Gripping her hips, he looked up to her in question, trying to control himself from exploding at the same time.
Her chest heaved slightly, and his gaze was transfixed to her breasts, now above him. “I wanna be on top this time,” she told him in a raspy tone, before beginning to sink down onto his stiff cock and rocking forward.
“Oh fuck,” he let his head flop back onto the pillow, jaw clenched as his body sang with tension.
She looked at his expression as she continued to move against him, and realized the suffocating feeling was gone. The tenderness was gone. All that was there, was power. Her power. For the first time, she realized just what her weapon was.
Her movements quickened and he knew he was way past just arousal. The occasional profanity slipped out of his lips as he alternated between closing his eyes in concentration, and gazing up at the erotic sight of her riding him toward their climax. Never had it been this way, and he began to curse at himself, wondering why the hell not. Her heat was pulling on his cock, strangling it as she clenched her muscles around him.
“Buffy…,” he managed to rasp.
She didn’t stop – the tone in which he said her name empowering her. Instead, she leaned down until her face was close to his, pace never slowing, and whispered, “Do you want me to stop?” She knew there was no stopping, but something inside of her felt like teasing him when she knew he couldn’t resist. He had been her cruel torturer – now she was his.
A part of him wanted to turn the tables and assume control again just because he knew what she was thinking – the other part of him was so turned on by the whole thing that there was no way he could refuse. Feeling her milking him for all he was worth, he ran his hands down her waist slowly before gripping her hips and helping her ride him harder. “No, don’t,” he choked out, climax deadly close.
Feeling her own body begin to lose control, she bit her lip and pulled back, letting his cock slip out of her aching pussy. He looked panicked for a second, hips jerking, thinking she was really stopping. But instead, he felt her slam down onto him so hard, that the tip of his dick pushed against the deepest part of her slick walls, and she began to climax with loud exclamations that she couldn’t contain. “Yes, yes, yes,” she repeated as her body convulsed with pleasure, feeling the jolts shoot through every region of her body, and burn her deep down.
Feeling her inner muscles strangle his cock until he felt like he couldn’t breathe, he burst into her with his own exclamations. “Fuck, yes,” he rasped as he spasmed, Buffy still riding him to the very end.
When the sensations finally stopped, she collapsed on top of him, trying to regain her breath.
Feeling his erratically beating heart calm, he still couldn’t believe she was on top of him. Now, she was lying on his chest, both of their sweat making their skin incredibly slippery and hot. He couldn’t help but break the blissful silence, “Not that I’m protesting, but where did that come from?”
She lifted her head away from him, his question bringing her back to reality. Somehow mustering up the strength in her legs, she got up and pulled away from him.
He instantly regretted asking, feeling the aching loss of her heat.
Looking at him with the most composed look she could have at that moment, she answered, “I don’t see why you always have to be the one on top.” She raised her eyebrow at him in question, and stood up, uncaring of her nudity. She turned away from his curious and still obviously lustful gaze, walking to the bathroom, knowing that his eyes were on her every moment. In a weird way that wasn’t her at all, she felt like she just got a little piece of herself back.
*The present day…*
Turning off the faucet and wiping her hands on a towel, she turned towards the door, only to find Spike in the doorway.
“So are you here to kill me now?” Buffy asked sarcastically, throwing the towel into the sink casually. At his lifted brow, she sighed and elaborated with an annoyed expression, “For failing your stupid little initiation?”
He shook his head as he gave her a questioning look, “Why didn’t you do it? You wanted to, don’t deny it.”
“I never said I didn’t want to,” she replied evenly, walking past him out of the bathroom.
Spike followed her out, not done with the conversation. “Then why? He certainly deserved it.”
“I told you. I’m not going to reduce myself to your level. I know it’s what you want – you want me to become one of you.”
“That’s not what it’s about,” he said in a frustrated tone.
“That’s exactly what it’s about,” she ground out, turning around to glare at him.
Fists clenched, he took a moment before slowly saying, “I brought him here for you.”
“Just shut up,” she turned away and began to walk across the room, “I don’t want to hear it.”
Wanting to reason with her, he struggled with the words to say. “I thought this would be something you wanted – that you have probably been waiting for. I did it so-,”
“So you can feel better about yourself? So I can forgot that you threatened to kill my family and friends?” she asked venomously as she whipped around again.
He tensed, knowing there was no way he could adequately answer that. Finally, he asked, “Would you have tried escape if I hadn’t threatened you?”
She took a step toward, appearing to calm. “You’re right. What was I thinking? That makes it all better. You’re excused. I’ll continue to live here blissfully.”
“Is it really so bad? What have I not given you that you’ve asked for? Look around this room, Buffy. Your stuff is all over it,” he gestured.
“I don’t care about any of this crap,” she snapped. “What have you not given me? My freedom. Do you think it’s supposed to be comforting that I’m your whore? Buy me off with all these meaningless…things?”
“Don’t think I don’t know,” he replied in a low warning voice.
She widened her eyes slightly before returning to her collected demeanor, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Suddenly, he was on her, pushing her back into the edge of the dresser and pinning her wrists down. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know why you’ve been fucking me back?”
“In your dreams,” she responded with malice.
“I don’t have to dream,” he replied with a smirk. His expression turned serious as he regarded her with cold eyes, “I know you think you have more control than you do, Buffy – that you can just play me and I’ll never notice. Guess what, princess? I’ve known all along.” At her widened eyes and hesitant look, he added, “I just indulge you.” That last statement even bit into him a little, seeing her flinch.
She pushed him back and managed to punch him in the face before he could regain his balance. Glaring at him, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
He let his shoulders slump slightly, brow creasing. It seemed like there was no way to talk to her – reasonably or unreasonably. It reminded him of the week after he had lost control of himself, and how silence was the only thing they had.
*Two months earlier…*
Walking in the room, he looked up towards the bed to see her still form, sleeping. Exhaling, he shrugged off his duster and tossed it on the chair off to the side. Spike walked over to his dresser and unlocked a drawer, putting his few possessions inside before closing it up again. Looking up in the mirror, he saw himself, but his attention went straight to Buffy’s sleeping form.
He knew why he had said those things to her six days ago; she had needed the release – he knew what it felt like to have hate consume himself from the inside out. The few bruises that she had inflicted would fade – they didn’t matter.
As he took off his shirt to get ready to sleep, he wondered how long silence would be the only thing between them. True, she had definitely calmed her anger toward him – she was no longer trying to kill him each day, but it was almost more torturous now that she hardly regarded him. Lying there, sleeping in peace, it seemed like she had accepted the life she had been forced into, but refused to acknowledge him as anything significant.
Spike got into bed beside her. She was right next to him, in a strange domestic way, but she was still so far. He didn’t wake her, lying down and going to sleep, not even giving sex a second thought. For some reason, it hadn’t appealed to him that entire time, and that was a big thing to say. But if he questioned why, he might get answers he didn’t want to admit yet.
The next morning, Buffy woke up when she hit something beside her. Realizing it was a person, she reluctantly opened her eyes to see Spike’s sleeping form next to her. Those were the weirdest moments for her – surreal to be lying in a bed, so at ease with the person she was supposed to hate the most. Not like she really had a choice, she remembered bitterly.
But he had stopped using her for sex in the past week, and she didn’t dare to question it, even though his actions confused her. Spike was, at times, cold and snarky, voicing no regret or guilt, but yet, he didn’t try to touch her. She found her anger at him slowly lessening, or more like, she found it harder and harder to sustain that hate everyday. She spent days wracking her brain, trying to figure it out without giving him the benefit of the doubt. That was when she understood. It was the only way he could say that he knew what he had done.
She continued to believe that theory, until two days later when their brief and unspoken understanding came to an end, making her realize he was nothing more than he had to be. It was the day the sex started again…
He saw her tire, her sweaty appearance only adding to the fact that her moves were getting softer by the punch. Grabbing her by the shoulders roughly, Spike asked, “Are you getting soft on me already?” He smirked, shoving her back as the spark of anger came back into her expression.
She lunged at him, letting out rough punches, a few of which hit him roughly in the face. Spike rubbed a hand to his jaw, but looked at her unimpressed. Buffy felt like her blood was boiling – the way he looked so cocky and arrogant while they trained made every inch of her want to lash out and inflict violence.
Suddenly, she remembered something Darla had said to her during one of their training sessions: Violence is power. It’s what puts us in control of others. It’s like sex, but sometimes even more enjoyable if done right. In that moment, she knew why it always felt like she couldn’t fight well enough, even when she was fueled by plenty of anger. No matter how many times she got in a punch, or gave Spike a bruise, she didn’t control him. He had controlled her, and taken what he had wanted without a second thought. Looking up at him, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.
Something began to formulate in her mind, but she quickly went back to the fight as she saw his inquiring expression. Buffy ran forward, letting her fists fly as they battled. Purposely, she attempted a move that she knew he would block, by grabbing her arm and swinging her around into a hold, her back to his chest.
“That was a disappointing one, luv,” he said into her ear.
She struggled against his hold as she gasped for breath.
Feeling her body move against him, he clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the feelings of lust that he had tried to bottle up for days. He threw her forward, breaking the contact before it went any farther.
They battled again, exerting more energy than they had for the past hour. She ducked his swing, and aimed for his gut, but he caught her right fist with his left hand. Frustrated, she tried to punch him with her left fist, but he caught it with his right hand. Both of her hands in his fist, he smirked and shoved them down.
Noticing he always pushed her back instead of going for the ‘kill.’ “What’s the matter? Lost your edge?” she let her lips part seductively as she mocked him.
Glaring at her in indignation, he replied in a low voice, “You don’t want to see my edge.”
“I think I’ve already seen it all,” she replied with malice. “So shut up and stop holding back.”
Feeling a chord strike within him, he began to let loose, not holding back. She ducked many of his punches, proving that speed definitely was a factor, but as she rose up, he had the perfect chance for a shot. Changing his mind at the last moment, he grabbed her and pushed her backwards until she slammed into the wall roughly.
She gasped, feeling a sense of de ja vu as her back hit the cold wall. Staring up at him with an unrelenting gaze, she knew this was the moment she could begin to make a change, even if certain values had to be sacrificed. She didn’t have to wrack her brain over it – as soon as she remembered what Darla had said, she knew what she had to do. Sex wasn’t love, but it could be power.
He stood there with his hold on her still intact, looking down with an expression that showed he was struggling with something. But then he heard her taunting voice, Shut up and stop holding back. It was a direct challenge, and he knew it. Crushing his lips to hers, he answered the challenge. When she didn’t push him away, he couldn’t help the tiny part of him that read into that…
*The present day…*
Well, that was disappointing,” Cordelia crossed her arms, looking down at Parker’s unconscious form.
“Are we just gonna let her get off that easy?” Faith asked incredulously, not believing someone would actually pass up a chance at sweet revenge, handed to them on a platter.
“Maybe she’s just not cut out for this,” Darla commented, looking down at Parker in thought.
“Or maybe Spike’s the one not cut out for this,” came a male voice. Drusilla and Angelus stepped out of the shadows, as if they had been there all along. The others looked up at them in surprise, bodies tensing in case of a fight.
“I don’t think we sent you two the invite, now did we?” Lorne asked, him and Gunn stepping forward challengingly.
“Now, now, boys. Don’t get all excited. We just wanted to see how the lame side of the gang parties. And apparently, I was right. I’m guessing next is a round of ‘Pin the Tail on the Donkey?’” Angelus smirked.
“Only if you’re the donkey,” Gunn replied with a mocking smile.
“Since you’re already the jackass,” Cordelia muttered not-so-quietly.
“This one,” Drusilla said, pointing to Cordelia, “always so jealous because daddy likes me more.”
“What!?” Cordelia shot her an outraged look before lunging at her neck, wanting to strangle her for even implying something that was even revolting in thought.
“Whoa there,” Angelus commented, amused. “If you two are going to fight over me, you might as well take some clothes off.”
“Get out,” Illyria spoke up, staring directly at Angelus as the others pulled Drusilla and Cordelia off of each other.
Glancing at her for a moment, he rolled his eyes and turned to grab Drusilla by the arm, dragging her away with him. “What kind of freak has blue hair anyway?” he muttered as they left the room.
When Drusilla and Angelus were gone, they relaxed themselves, confused at what just happened. Then they all stood in silence for a moment, their enemy just having voiced the one opinion they had all been pondering themselves: Or maybe Spike’s the one not cut out for this. But they quickly snapped out of it, because after all, Spike was still leading them to success, and had done nothing to jeopardize the gang…yet.
“So what should we do with dickhead, here?” Faith asked as she kicked Parker’s still form slightly with her foot, breaking the silence.
Darla smiled sweetly, stepping forward as she peered down at the loser, “Oh, I’m sure we can figure something out.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Your reviews are really feeding my muse this week – thank you! For this specific chapter, it’s a whirlwind of Spike and Buffy flashbacks, scattered all over. It’ll be confusing to some people – interesting to the others, but this is the way I liked it, so I’m sorry if it’s hard to follow. You can always ask me to clarify after :)