The soft sound of the Slayer’s voice in the next room drew Spike slowly from his sleep, calling to him in some way that went beyond her words, a pull that he could not even begin to explain, in his drowsy state of half-wakefulness. He frowned in irritation before he even opened his eyes. The infuriating bint couldn’t even let him catch a decent nap without somehow interrupting it.
There was not a problem in his whole soddin’ life that he couldn’t trace back to the bloody Slayer!
His fallout with Dru, the bloody chip in his head, the painful wound on his throat…
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, wide with shock as the memory of the past hours came flooding back to fill his mind. A sense of rising horror came over him as he remembered – the Slayer’s hands, her mouth, her body, urging him closer and closer to the dangerous edge of his control, until finally, she had managed to push him over.
He could still hear her possessive, enticing growl in his ear, *Mine!*
And he had responded.
*Bloody hell!*
He rose quickly from the bed, his mouth suddenly dry with a fear bordering on panic, as he stood there for a moment, listening to the Slayer’s hushed phone conversation in the next room. Her voice was soft and low; apparently she was keeping her voice down in an attempt not to wake him.
She had forgotten to take into account his acute vampire senses.
It sounded as if she was talking to her Watcher, from her nervous, vague explanations, and the tone of her voice that sounded like a little girl about to be punished. As he heard her explain – leaving out certain choice details – how she had managed to subdue him, he felt his anger rising. When he heard her lie to Giles, telling him that she had “knocked him out cold”, his indignation became overwhelming, overpowering his fear completely.
*Lying little chit!* he thought resentfully. *She never even came *close* to beating me in a fair fight! She never would’ve gotten the upper hand at all if she hadn’t tricked me – distracted me – why if she hadn’t have made me lose my focus like she did, I’d have never given in to her, never have said…*
The thought cut off, his eyes widening, and he drew in a sharp, involuntary breath as reality hit him – hard. The reasons why he had done it did not matter. The fact remained that she had stated her claim – and he had accepted it.
Occurring in the very midst of a dominance challenge as it had, he had no idea what sort of effect this particular claim might have. But regardless of whether his single whispered, “yours” had been in response to her challenge or her claim – or both – one thing was certain in his mind, beyond all doubt.
He was utterly and completely, totally and thoroughly buggered beyond all help.
Anger gave way to fear again, as his mind raced with the possible ramifications of what they had done. He had the distinct feeling that whatever it was, it went far beyond “just” a dominance ritual, or “just” a claim – but was something different, some odd mystical combination of the two, the effects of which were still unknown to them both.
But he did not intend to stick around long enough to find out what those effects might be.
The Slayer was still talking in the next room. Silently, he slipped into his clothes from the night before, and cautiously approached the doorway. He could clearly see her, despite the darkness, standing with her back to him, talking softly into her cell phone. She did not notice as he made his way silently past her along the wall, toward the door.
Her eyes were nowhere near as good as his in the dark, and the room was pitch blak except for the faint glow from her cell phone, which did nothing to reveal him to her eyes, clothed all in black as he was, as he edged toward the door, and his escape.
Once he reached the door, he found that he had a new problem. He could not open it and leave without drawing her attention – not while she was standing so near to the door. He waited, breathless, for some chance or opportunity to escape unnoticed, listening to the last bit of her conversation as he did.
His eyes, fully adjusted to the darkness that was their natural element, could see her clearly, though he knew that she still had no idea he was there. Subtle movements of her body here and there, slight nuances of her voice, brought back vivid memories of the night before. Almost against his will, he found himself wanting her again.
He wondered with a sort of sadness, and a fear that went beyond physical pain, to some deep emotional insecurity that had followed him throughout his life and unlife, if she had any idea at all the magnitude of what she had done. The truth was – he didn’t either, not really. She had claimed him, yes – but in the midst of the dominance ritual. He did not really know what that meant; all he knew for certain was one thing.
She had denied his claim.
He had always been more one for action than for study, and most of what he knew about vampire customs and laws was from his years as a fledgling with his “family”.
Once, he had dared to claim Dru, against the wishes of Angelus. She had just giggled and wagged a finger at him as she told him that he was “naughty” and she was only her “daddy’s girl”. When Angelus had confronted him about the claim, emphasizing with brutality and cruelty that both he and Dru were his and his alone, Spike had defiantly declared that it was too late. He had already claimed Dru, and there was nothing Angelus could do to change that.
Angelus had mocked his “ignorance”, telling him that, unreciprocated, his claim was meaningless, and Dru was no more his than she had been before he had claimed her. He had then proceeded to viciously punish his childe’s defiance, and Spike was left believing that Dru’s rejection had made his act of love and devotion meaningless.
And believing that Buffy’s rejection now had done the same.
But that did not make Angelus’ lies true – and it did not make his claim any less valid – then, or now. True, an unreciprocated claim would fade with time, if not returned, and in the end would be of little effect. But that did not make it any less real or powerful, at the time it was made.
But he had no way of knowing that.
As he listened to Buffy tell her Watcher of her plans to leave him here at the mansion, to chain him up and go home for the rest of the night, his hurt was almost a physical pain, though he did not know why. It wasn’t as if he was in *love* with the bloody bint! Yes, he had wanted her, and attempted to claim her in an impulse of desire the night before. But that did not mean that she *really* meant anything to him – or that he should expect to mean anything to her.
So why did her rejection of his claim, followed by her apparent unconcern about the claim *she* had made, hurt him so badly?
So she thought she could just do something as important as claiming him, and then just chain him up and leave him like it meant nothing, did she? Well, he was not going to stick around for that! Not bloody likely!
He waited until Buffy disconnected her phone call and walked back into the bedroom, still completely unaware of his presence in the room with her, and then took the brief chance that might be his only one, as he slipped out the door into the night.
He stopped for a moment, just outside the door, feeling the strange compulsion to go back. It might have been his imagination, but the sore spot on his neck where Buffy had bit him seemed to throb for a moment as he made his decision and stepped onto the sidewalk, heading deliberately away from the mansion.
Claim or no claim, he was not going to allow the Slayer to control him.
She couldn’t control him if she couldn’t bloody *find* him, now could she?
It was time for Spike to leave Sunnyhell behind, once and for all.
As he made his way through the deserted residential streets of the little town, heading toward downtown Sunnydale and, hopefully, some unattended vehicle that he could nick, he tried to ignore his growing unease, the unexplainable desire he felt to go back – back to the Slayer who had claimed him and rejected him in the same night, who wanted to own him, but to be able to cast him aside as she chose.
*No,* he told himself firmly as he moved through the back alleys of the business district, keeping his eyes open for some convenient means of leaving town. *Keep going. Fight it, mate…don’t let her…*
He was so lost in his thoughts, his inner struggle, that he did not sense her presence, did not know she was there, until a powerful hand gripped his arm from behind, slinging him back against the wall with breathtaking force. An instant later, he felt the heat of her body, pressed in close to his, pinning him between her and the wall.
He was not surprised by the defiance that rose up in him in response to her rough, possessive manhandling; or the tingle of fear that went through him at the anger he felt radiating off of her, her rage at his rebellion.
He *was* surprised by the sense of relief that came over him unexpectedly in spite of the other emotions – as if he had been lost, and had suddenly found the way home.
The Slayer’s small hands trailed up his arms to rest just below his shoulders, holding him there against the wall with a strength that was a bit frightening, though he knew that he would be able to break her grip if he tried. Judging by the time frame she had given him earlier, his chip should still be non-functioning; he could defend himself against her if he wanted to.
What was most frightening was that he *didn’t* really want to.
Her brilliant emerald eyes were glittering with a dangerous light as she leaned in close to him, her voice a soft, husky murmur as she asked, “Going somewhere?”
He returned her gaze boldly with a defiant smirk as he replied, “Doesn’t appear so, does it?” He glanced down derisively at her hands on his arms, one of which was slowly sliding upward toward his shoulder, trying not to show how deeply her nearness, her touch, affected him.
“Did you want something, Slayer? Cause I’m actually in a bit of a hu – uunngghh!”
The light – if forced – mockery in his tone was swallowed up in a moan of sensation, indistinguishable as pleasure or pain – an exquisite, terrible mix of the two – as her hand found the tender, bruised spot where she had marked him earlier, and her thumb pressed down hard into the sensitive flesh.
He felt his legs weaken beneath him, as flashes of colored light fell before his eyes. He closed them, and leaned his head back against the wall, gasping for breath as she moved in closer, her body pressed against and partially supporting his, as her other hand rose to the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly back to further expose her mark to her touch.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I want something, Spike.” As she spoke, she swiveled her hips slowly against his swiftly hardening erection, and his eyes opened wide with shock, staring into a strangely soft smile that was somehow both gentle and predatory at the same time.
Eyes darkened to jade with her lust for him bored into his until he had to look away, as she leaned in closer, her words a whisper of hot breath against his ear. “You.”
She pressed harder in a slow circular motion on the spot where she had claimed him, at the same time rotating her hips slowly against him again – and he was not sure which touch was more powerful in eliciting the soft, desperate cry that rose from his lips as she went on, “And you’re already mine.”
No. He *was* sure. He had never felt anything to compare with the power of her touch on the symbol of her claim. The sensation of that simple touch was both an intense pleasure beyond anything he had ever felt, and an agony that was more than he could bear, bringing him to a point where all he could do was whisper a soft plea of desperation.
“Please…Buffy…please,” he whimpered, all rational thought, his determination to escape, vanished under the power of her touch, his body trembling with sudden, overwhelming need.
He did not know if he was begging her to stop – or not to stop.
“Buffy,” he gasped. “*God!* Please…”
She ignored his words, her hand, her body, still working to drive him to greater desperation, her lips falling from the place just below his ear where they had spoken, down along his throat, on the opposite side of the mark.
She pulled up to look him in the eye with an expression of terrifying promise, as she whispered, “You shouldn’t have left.”
He did not reply, as her mouth lowered to his throat again, working slowly around, covering his skin with soft, hot kisses, her teeth closing lightly over the spot just above his jugular for just a moment, making him gasp at the silently dominant gesture, before she moved on around, her mouth a bare inch from the mark on his throat.
Suddenly, she removed her hand from the bite, raising it instead to grip his hair and pull his head back, making the spot vulnerable to her mouth, hovering over it, so close that her warm breath caressed the wound, the feeling driving him to a frenzied fever of desire.
Smoldering eyes of jade flame met his in a relentless demand, as she said in a voice that came out as a soft snarl, “*Mine*!”
He did not know if the expected answer would prevent or encourage the response from her that he both dreaded and craved; all he knew was that he could do nothing but respond.
“Yours,” he whispered, a desperate ache of need in his hoarse voice. “Yes – yours, Buffy – please…”
With a savage, primal growl of possession, she sank her teeth into his throat again, and he felt his legs give out under him as the powerful sensation engulfed him, pleasure so terrible and pain so sweet that he was lost in it, drowning in it, as the rest of the world went swirling away into darkness, and he felt himself sinking, sinking down into the depths of his own need, overwhelmed by the power of what was taking place.
As the unconscious vampire slumped down against the wall, half-supported in her arms, the Slayer drew back in surprise – and a bit of alarm. She had not meant to overwhelm him so completely. She still had a lot to learn about the claim she had made, the power and effects of it that she had not expected.
Her eyes narrowed over a small, sly smile as she looked at the collapsed from between her and the wall, contemplating.
He still had a lot to learn about *her*, too.
Spike was awakened a short time later by the sweet taste and soft sensation of the Slayer’s kiss, her warm, moist tongue sliding over his teeth, caressing his mouth as she slowly pulled back, the moment he became aware enough to respond.
He tried to follow her as she pulled back, but found his progress impeded – tried to raise up off the soft surface he was lying on – the bed? – but found that he could not get any leverage to move. In fact – he couldn’t move at all.
*What the bleedin…?*
He opened his eyes, glancing around quickly to see with dismay that he was indeed back in the mansion, on the very bed where Buffy had claimed him.
And he was chained to it.
His wrists and ankles were fastened tightly to the four posts of the bed, so that he could barely move at all. He pulled slightly against them, instinctively testing the bonds that restrained him, and finding that they were indeed strong enough to hold him.
A soft, throaty chuckle drew his attention to the Slayer, standing at his side and very near. Her voice was soft with amusement and a strange affection, her lips turned up in a playful little smile as she said in a voice of quiet triumph that sent shivers down his spine, "You're not going anywhere."
He looked up at her as she turned her back to him, sauntering slowly toward the foot of the bed. "Buffy," he whispered, hating the slight tremor of uncertainty he heard in his own voice as he spoke. "What...?"
His voice trailed off as she turned to face him again, and he saw that the soft little smile had become a calculating smirk. His mouth went dry and his eyes wide as he stared at her, unable to hide his reaction to the seductive and terrifying image that she had become.
She stood at the foot of the bed, facing him, still fully clothed in her tight-fitting black top; short, tight red leather skirt, and high black boots. She might as well have been naked, for the effect she had on him. Bloody hell, but she was stunning! A frightening, amazing, enticing vision of power and desire.
Her eyes met his for a moment, then darted down to something in her hands before meeting his eyes again, her eyebrows raised in a question. He managed to somehow tear his eyes away from hers for long enough to look to see what she was holding -- and his jaw dropped and his eyes widened when he saw the object that she was lovingly caressing, sliding through her fingers slowly and seductively.
It was a black leather belt.
*His* black leather belt.
He looked down again and realized with a little thrill of fear and excitement -- he was absolutely, completely naked. Chained to the bed, at her mercy, utterly vulnerable to every whim of the Slayer he had defied. He knew that he should feel nothing but terror -- and that emotion was definitely present, there was no denying that -- but the intoxicating scent of the Slayer's arousal filled the air around him, and the look in her eyes promised him that if he could handle what she intended to dish out -- the pleasure she would reward him with would be worth it.
If he could handle it.
Mingled with the arousal, beneath the tiny smirk that ghosted about her lips, was a smoldering anger, an outrage at his defiance, in daring to flee her. The realization made his blood run cold, and yet flow as fire through his veins at the same time.
The Slayer was pissed.
"Buffy," he whispered, meeting her eyes, forcing himself not to look away from the blazing power of her fury and desire. "Buffy -- love..."
In an instant she was at his side, one hand fisting in his hair to yank his head back, baring his throat to her threateningly, as she leaned down close to his face with a cool smile to say softly, "Shut up."
He was wise enough to obey, but held her gaze boldly, knowing that he could give her no less and retain any shred of his dignity -- and that if he *did* give her any less, she would cease to desire him as she did now. He was hers to punish, hers to break -- but if he allowed the latter, he would not be worthy of her.
And he knew that really, despite her bold, menacing show -- she did not want that, either.
It was, however, quite a *convincing* show.
She lowered her head so that her lips were inches from his, meeting his eyes for a moment before capturing his mouth in a forceful, bruising kiss that had him hard and longing for her again in moments. As she kissed him, her free hand moved down his body, playing lightly about his swollen member in a torturously enticing way.
She broke the kiss, smiling into his eyes -- and suddenly gripped his erection in a strong, powerful hand, just on the border between pain and pleasure. And as he stared into her wild, lustful eyes, saw the sweet and cruel intentions there -- he knew that, pain or pleasure, he was lost to her.
Her soft words next to his ear spoke both his reward and his doom as she reaffirmed and emphasized in a whisper the words she had spoken in the alley.
"You *really* shouldn't have left."
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Author's Chapter Notes:
WARNING: This chap plays around the edge of non-con with general kinkiness... you have been warned!! :)