[Reviews - 7]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 3750 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Story and chapter titles borrowed from U2's "A Sort of Homecoming."
Sometime later he found himself at the dump, and grinned at the symbolism. Garbage, coming home to roost.

Eyeing a pile of scrap he reached over and selected a length of metal. Heavy cement filled pipe. Perfect tool for a vamp with his mad on. "Born to smash and bash and bleed." Oh, too right, Dru. He sniggered, then growled and swung the pipe. Metal hollered, glass shrieked. Bash. His fangs gleamed.

Smash. Again and again and again and again

He was still going hard at it when he felt her approach, a Chinook of a girl, sweet soft breeze diffusing the reek of refuse. Sod off, wanker, his demon bitch-slapped his soul and it cried out but stubbornly held its ground (stupid thing, what chance did it have against the other), while he tried to shut both of them up, get himself together. His features smoothed as she rounded a heap of garbage and caught sight of him, but he didn't look at her. Couldn't.

"I could hear you halfway across town," she said neutrally; his answer was another swing at the windshield of what had once been a PT Cruiser. Smash. With a squeak and a mild glare, Buffy dodged flying debris and moved behind him for cover. "You know, I think that's an improvement for that car. They are the ugliest things..."

"Go home, Slayer." Swing, smash.

"I wanna talk to you."

"Don't much feel like talking." The hood this time. Crumple-crunch. Lovely.

She pulled in a loud breath, through her nostrils. Irritated, Slayer? Good. Join the crowd.

"Okay, so just listen."

"Kinda hard to, with all this breakage going on," he grunted, hefting the pipe again, only to be forestalled on the downswing as she grabbed it. He turned and glowered at her. Sweetly insincere, her smile did nothing to improve his disposition.

Neither did her words. "If you've quite finished being such a drama queen - "

"Drama queen!" he roared. God, how she could push his buttons! Buffy Summers, Agent Provocateur. "Slayer, do you have any idea what happened tonight?"

"Well, yeah." Heavy 'duh' implication. "Robin triggered your demon so he could kill you, and found out he'd bitten off more than he could chew." She grimaced and chuckled. "Ugh. Bad punnage."

Spike groaned. "'S'not funny!" He twisted the pipe from her grasp and sent it spinning whup-whup-whup over a wall of trash; they heard it land and slide in a shower of junk, come to rest with a clank. Heedless of the dirt, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Coulda killed 'im. Wanted to kill 'im," he muttered.

He felt her take a step toward him and he tensed - for flight? Attack?

"I got that part," she said, more softly. "But you didn't, and the trigger's gone, so I'm chalking this one up in the win column."

He raised his head and stared at her. "What?" She grinned, and sod it all if that didn't scrape his last, raw, stretched-to-the-breaking point nerve. Was she laughing at him?

Mocking him? For a brief crazed second he thought she was the First, but no, she'd grabbed the pipe -

And then a horrible notion coalesced and swept through him, raking his gut like a toothy clawed parasite so that he moaned and nearly doubled over, wanting to purge it, vomit it out.

Win column? What - Did she help to - set up the game?

"Spike, what's wrong?" Brow furrowed, she reached out to him again, but he staved her off with an upraised hand and a wild, accusing look.

"Was it your idea? Test o' some sort?"

She tottered back, shocked, lips forming a perfect 'O'. "No!"

"No? Isn't this what you wanted? The 'Spike who's dangerous'?" He glowered at her, chest heaving, as he straightened. "Remember that, I do - you slicing my balls off in front of everyone - "

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" she spat, fine nostrils flaring.

Oh...you...BITCH.

Vamp-fast he invaded her space, got right up in her grill, and she gasped and stepped back. He followed, grinning ferally. "Yeah. Worked just fine," he purred, golden eyes glowing into bewildered green. He brushed knuckles against her cheek. "Is this what you want, Buffy?" and he snarled, grabbed her face in his filthy hands and kissed her, painfully hard, crushing her soft lips against his fangs. Pulled back, growling, "You want this?" and fastened on her again, harder, bruising her lips open. She whimpered - pain? desire? - and he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

mm-oh

Like immersion in a hot tub, brief sizzly burn and then the heat permeating in waves deep through every molecule, sinking in, sinking in until there is nothing else

the taste of her the taste of Buffy

Buffy

Heaven

The only Heaven he would ever know.

His demon yelped and ran for cover - his soul clamored at him to stop - but the man, oh, the man was lost, simply lost in her, sinking deep, deeper

Oh, love - Soft, softer now -

Sweet, so sweet, better than blood, better than life - won't hurt you - love you so, Buffy - Buffy

She wasn't fighting him - too stunned, maybe - and the implicit consent spurred him on. He clasped her to him with one hand splayed between her shoulder-blades and the other sliding down the taut curve of her arse, down her thigh to the bend of her knee, lifting, wrapping it around him and grinding against her, hip swivel hardness into heat just the way she liked it and oh yeah, there she was, frozen no longer, little moan into his mouth, hot little tongue stroking his, wrappy leg and strong little hands pulling him closer, and her scent -

Bloody Hell

She was responding - responding to him -

Him! Disgustingrapistthing - abomination -

Of all the - Bleeding, buggering fuck -

He pulled away, turned away, shaking so hard with horror and shame and desire that his very bones rattled. She could - she should end him now, for that violation. No forgiving that. His chest heaved as he choked out, a strangled echo: "Is this what you want, Buffy?"

Gentle touch on his shoulder, a tremulous but fervent whisper: "Yes."

A sob tore at his throat and he spun blindly, wrapping her in his arms. Hers stole around him and held on just as tightly, as the dam burst, tears pouring down his face. Through his idiot crying he heard her murmur into his chest, directly to his aching, unbeating heart, "I need the Spike who's dangerous and can stop himself when he has to. When it's time." Her hands flowed warm and calming across the planes of his back. "Like you did with Robin. Like you did just now."

"Like I couldn't - then - " he groaned, letting it all hang out now, why not, he was too shattered, too tired to be polite, to avoid going to that place they'd avoided for so long, the white-tiled abattoir of his hope.

Soft little gasp. "Spike...you did stop."

What the - He drew back, eyes wide and wet, mouth slack in disbelieving astonishment. His head rapidly, jerkily shook No even as her lips curved in an almost-smile and she nodded.

"No, Buffy - if you hadn't - "

"I saw your face, after I pushed you away. You looked so - horrified... no, shh," she soothed as he hiccupped an attempt at apology. "I've thought about it a lot, since then... You didn't know, until I pushed you away, that I really meant No that time, did you."

He shook his head and his shoulder twitched; she deserved a better answer but he had none for her. Countless guilt-shadowed rehashings of that night had merged with the event itself and he just wasn't sure anymore. Wasn't sure he'd even heard the No.

"I didn't - " He just didn't know. Maybe she was right...and maybe not...

"And you didn't come back at me, after." She cupped his cheek in her palm and stroked away his tears with her thumb, green eyes shining compassion into his. He bit his lip to quell a fresh flood of tears. How could she be so sure of him, when he wasn't?

Bloody amazing, she was. Miraculous.

"I shouldn't have - "

She gently pulled his head down to her shoulder and sighed, as if she was just as weary as he. Probably was. "Yeah. You shouldn't have," she agreed softly.

And with that, the terrible compressing tension broke, dissolved. Something inside him that had been clenched into a tight aching ball released, uncurled and stood up, looked around and cautiously stretched, and smiled when it found no limits.

He slid to his knees, face pressed to her stomach as he struggled for control, and to rebalance himself now that he was so much lighter. Recalibrate his reality now that the burden had been parceled out properly and he could carry his portion without being crushed.

Trust. Such a rare, precious gift.

His demon tried to rally enough to sneer at his poncy weeping, but it was just as wrecked as the rest of him and gave up. A small thing, but capitulation nonetheless. And when Buffy's hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck, gently massaging, the damn thing started purring.

Lost in the comfort of her touch, the crashing weariness of all that had happened, he didn't even realize it until she gave a little giggle and her massaging changed to gentle scratching, right there on his scruff. He blinked up at her, registered the purring, and scowled.

Bugger. Shut up, already.

Releasing her, he lurched to his feet, stepped back and brushed the grit from his jeans. When he risked a glance, her eyes were gleaming with amusement, though she wisely refrained from comment. Huh. Probably figures I've had enough humiliation for one night, he snorted to himself, backhanding away the last of his tears. Not wrong there.

She observed him quietly for a moment, then asked, "You okay?"

His quirked eyebrow replied eloquently and she winced, shrugging acknowledgment. But he replied softly, "Yeah."

She lightly touched his arm. "Let's go home."





You must login (register) to review.