Buffy pulled back, breathless, from the last of a series of tender, intimate kisses, intended, with her gentle caressing touch on her mark, to comfort and reassure Spike – who would not *need* comforting and reassuring if not for her own vicious abuse of him before, she was reminded with a pang of guilt. It made her feel terribly uncomfortable to think of how vulnerable he was to her, how badly he needed her.
And yet, in comforting him, in the tender nearness of these few sweet moments, she found that a deep need within her was satisfied as well. It was as Anya had said, she guessed. She was starting to feel the effects of his claim as well, although she had not accepted it.
“God,” she whispered as she finally drew back, searching his wide, vulnerable blue eyes for a moment before he lowered his head to rest against her shoulder. “What’s happening to us?”
He was breathing hard himself from the intensity of the moment, his trembling hands clinging to her waist as if he thought she might vanish if he stopped touching her. Finally, he raised his head to look at her again, a bit apprehensive as he whispered a hesitant correction.
“*You*.” When she just looked at him blankly for a moment, confused, he went on. “*You*, love. What’s happening to *you*? I know what’s happening to *me*.” He was quiet for a moment, dropping his gaze as he went on softly, “You claimed me – and for whatever reason I accepted it. I – I’m yours. So now – I want you desperately. I’ll never stop wanting you. I belong to you.”
“Because of the mating claim.” Buffy nodded solemnly, her voice a hushed, almost reverent whisper, her heart heavy with the weight of his words, the responsibility that came with this new-formed relationship between them.
He nodded, opening his mouth to speak again, but then hesitating over the words. “But – but *you*…” he finally managed – then stopped, glancing up at her with uncertainty, and barely masked fear.
She forced herself not to flinch at the sight of it, knew that she had caused his fear, his mistrust of her, and had no right to feel hurt over it – and focused instead on his words. “Me…?” she prompted gently, waiting for him to go on.
He looked away, unable to bring himself to say anymore, not wanting to risk angering her with his simple honesty. But his silence spoke volumes.
“I’m the one who’s messed up,” she concluded with a heavy sigh, though they both had already known that much. “This – this super-possessive, controlling – thing – that doesn’t happen in a regular mating claim? Not even for the – the dominant partner?”
*If the claim is returned, both ways,* he thought with a certain resentment, and a sad sense of longing, *there *is* no dominant partner.*
Aloud, he said softly, “No. I mean – there’s some possessiveness, to a point – but – but not like…”
*Cruel…violent…abusive…* The terrible descriptions finished his statement in her mind, a sick feeling starting in the pit of her stomach.
“Not like this,” she finished in a near whisper, pulling back from him and into her own troubling thoughts. She slowly moved across the room to the sofa and sat down, her head in her hands. “What am I going to do?” she said in a soft, despairing sort of voice.
Slowly, cautiously, Spike followed her, sitting down on the end of the sofa, careful to leave a good bit of distance between them. “Maybe your Watcher’ll know…”
“*No*!” Buffy looked up and cut him off sharply, alarm in her wide green eyes. Spike did not visibly react to her tone, but she could feel his sudden tension, the little spark of fear that shot through him, and she softened her voice as she repeated firmly, “No. I’m not telling Giles.”
Spike was quiet for a moment, accepting that, before he said in an even, cautious voice, “Love – it’s not exactly the sort of thing that lends itself well to secrecy. How do you plan to keep him from finding out? Especially now that Anya knows about it?”
Buffy frowned. “She won’t say anything. And it shouldn’t be that hard. We’re just gonna have to act like everything went according to the original plan. One way or another, you *are* in submission to me, so it shouldn’t be that hard to pull off.”
“Think you’re forgetting one thing, love.”
“What’s that?” Buffy gave him a look that was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
His expression, his tone, was calm as he looked her in the eye and replied quietly, “Your rampant need to rip my clothes off, throw me against the nearest flat surface and shag me senseless every five minutes.”
Her eyes widened at his blunt words, and the open desire in his eyes as he spoke them, that look that suggested that if she felt like fulfilling that particular need at this very moment, he would not have any objections. In fact, as her eyes slowly moved over his lean, muscular body and back up to eyes that were at least a shade or two darker than they had been when last she’d looked…
“S-self control,” she replied distractedly, unsure herself whether she was attempting to answer his comment, or giving herself instruction for the moment at hand. She shook her head slightly, trying to break the sort of trance that seemed to be falling over her, as she said slowly and deliberately, “We just have to show a – a little – self-control…”
A soft little smirk came over Spike’s lips as he studied her face, saw her inner struggle, the desire for him that she was trying so hard to manage – and slowly but surely yielding to, despite her better judgment.
That desire was the only scrap of power that he had left in this equation.
Aware of the effect it would have on her, he slid closer to her on the couch, his voice lowering to a soft, warm-honey tone that made her pulse quicken and her arousal surge. “*I’m* under control, love,” he reminded her. “Yours, to be exact.”
He reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear in an affectionate gesture that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, her eyes beginning to drift between his eyes and his lips – betraying her thoughts as he moved in closer.
He didn’t need the telepathic power she seemed to have to know what was on her mind.
“The thing is, Buffy,” he went on, his voice soft and hushed and utterly mesmerizing as he slid nearer to her on the sofa until their legs were touching, one hand coming to rest just above her knee, and sliding slowly up her leg. “This whole thing was about – keeping me under control – but it seems to me – that you’re the one that needs controlling…”
His comment was intended to call her attention to her uncontrolled attraction, the need for him that was apparently taking her over – but something he had said seemed to trigger something in her mind, and she frowned thoughtfully for a moment, before suddenly meeting his eyes. Her own were clear, the haze of desire overcome by a look of curiosity…wait…not curiosity…
Suspicion.
Before he had time to react, she seized his wrist in an iron grip, stopping the progress of his wandering hand, and giving him a hard, speculative smile. “Speaking of control,” she said, tilting her head slightly in an inquisitive gesture she could have stolen from him, “that reminds me.”
He realized suddenly with dismay what the Slayer had just remembered.
The failure of the chip.
“Now, Buffy…” he began nervously, trying to pull his wrist free. “…wait just a bloody minute here, love…”
He could see the anger in her eyes – just normal Buffy-anger, but still pretty bloody scary, considering how much damage the Slayer could inflict on him and how easily she could render him powerless to do anything about it. The accusation in her eyes made it clear that she believed that she had been tricked, deceived about the chip in an effort to manipulate her – and she did not intend to let him get away with it.
She ignored him, holding him fast and taking his other wrist in hand as well, pushing him firmly back against the couch, leaning over him and holding him down in a way that was both intimidating and seductive.
“Buffy,” he tried again. “it’s not what you think…I didn’t even know…”
“Shut up,” she said casually, her oddly calm tone betraying her anger more than shouting would have, and having ten times the effect as she smiled calmly down at him. Verging on panic, he pushed up against her, trying to break her hold on his wrists, raising one knee up in an attempt to push her off of him.
That was a mistake.
Her eyes narrowed, her smile fading, as she snapped with clear authority, her tone leaving no room for doubt, “Stop.” As she spoke, she used her own knee to push his back down, shifting so that her legs straddled one of his, one knee between his parted thighs, just barely touching his slightly hardened manhood, without exerting any actual pressure.
He gasped at the slight contact, and the subtle threat in her eyes as they met his again – and did not move again.
“I have a question for you, Spike,” she said sweetly, her smile widening as she added, “and I’d better like the answer,” sliding her knee forward just slightly and eliciting a frightened little cry from his throat that he did his best to stifle, turning his head away from her.
She released one wrist as she leaned in closer, to turn his head back and force him to look at her. “But I’m already pretty sure I won’t,” she finished in a near whisper with a cool smile, seeming calmer now that his resistance had ceased.
She was still furious, he could tell – but he realized with relief that at least she was still *her* -- and that was a small mercy at the moment.
There was an accusing note in her voice as she went on, “I’m really curious, Spike, as to how one minute the very thought of hurting a human makes your head explode in pain, and the next, you’re taking the opportunity to stick your fangs in my neck and try to kill me…”
“Claim you,” he corrected automatically in a whisper.
“Same difference, to me,” she replied with a harsh tone that made him flinch – that, and the hurtful comment, indicating just what she thought of the idea of belonging to him as he belonged to her.
“Anyway,” she went on, oblivious to his reaction. “What I want to know is what happened to your ‘chip’?” She spoke the last word with a derisive skepticism that implied she really wasn’t sure if he’d even had a chip at all to begin with.
He was in a terribly dangerous position, he knew. He knew how weak his explanation of “I don’t know” would sound to her suspicious ears, and knew that she would likely react with violence first thing when she heard what she would perceive to be a lie.
He took a deep breath before launching into his defense. “Buffy, I know you’re not gonna believe this so why would I even say it if it wasn’t the truth, but you’ve got to believe me no matter how bloody stupid it sounds because I swear to you on my soddin’ unlife that it’s the absolute truth…” he blurted out in a desperate, shaky rush, closing his eyes in anticipation of her punishment when she did not believe him – because, bloody hell, if he was her, he wouldn’t believe him either!
He drew another deep breath, and then finished slowly in a measured voice of resignation, “I’ve got no bloody buggering clue, love. I *don’t* *know*.” He winced, his body tensing in expectation of the brutal blow he expected, the Slayer’s retribution for his deception.
It didn’t come.
After a brief pause, Buffy asked in an uncertain voice, “So you just decide you’re gonna just – I don’t know, check and see if it’s still working? – by biting me? Let’s hurt Buffy and see if my head explodes?”
“No,” he admitted quietly, looking up at her and bravely meeting her eyes. “I knew by then it wasn’t working. But only just barely. You – you should have known, too. I found out when I – when I pushed you off me. This morning.”
Buffy’s grip on his wrists suddenly slackened as she drew back slightly, swallowing hard at the sick feeling that came over her at the memory of her behavior. All at once she released him, raising up to her knees and averting her eyes with a sudden sense of shame. His next words only increased her guilt, spoken softly and full of an aching hurt.
“And just so you know – didn’t intend to hurt you. Only wanted to – to make you mine. Like I’m yours.”
She did not respond, did not make a sound or move for a long moment. Then, finally, she moved off of him completely, turning and sitting back down on the end of the couch, leaning forward and running her hands through her hair in a frustrated gesture.
“I believe you,” she said quietly, sounding exhausted and confused, and very troubled. “So the chip thing must just be another freaky side effect of the stupid ritual.”
Overwhelmingly relieved, Spike released a long, deep breath, his eyes closed for a moment before pulling himself back up to an upright position on the far end of the couch. He shot her a resentful glare as he asked in a shaken, wounded voice, “Was that really necessary, Slayer?”
The physical threat seemed to have passed, but he was still stinging from her verbal barbs, on top of her physical rejection, embarrassed and hurt by his own honesty and self-revelation – and her rather disappointing reactions to it.
“It’s bloody bad enough dealing with this whole new very unpleasant and more than a little psychotic side of you, Buffy,” he informed her in a sharp, scathing tone, “without having to deal with your natural ordinary bitchiness on top of it!”
“I’m sorry, okay?” she said quietly, and she meant it, but her exhaustion made it sound like an attempt to shut him up. “I – I just wanted to be sure you weren’t lying to me. I thought – I thought you were trying to…” She gave up, the vague impressions she had had evading words, and just shook her head, resting it in her hands again.
Spike looked at her for a long moment, trying to gauge her sincerity, and then nodded, acknowledging her words. He could understand how, especially for a Slayer, his bite upstairs could tend to make her a bit suspicious and paranoid.
“If I was lying,” he reminded her quietly after a moment. “You’d have known it.”
Her eyes widened as she remembered the little mind-reading trick that she seemed to be able to call up at will. She suddenly felt very overwhelmed again – so many new and disturbing things to try to process, and with them so much responsibility and change.
“And the freakiness just keeps on coming,” she muttered darkly.
They were both silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Buffy looked up at him again through solemn but questioning eyes. “Why did you want to?”
He frowned, a bit distractedly, looking up at her. “Want to what?”
She hesitated, before asking softly, “Make me yours.”
His eyes widened for a moment with a vaguely trapped expression, before he looked away quickly. “I – I just – just wanted to – even the score a bit,” he lied, forcing a casual tone to his voice. “Thought – if the claim was mutual – returned – maybe your need to control wouldn’t be so strong, and – and things could get back to normal around here.”
Buffy was surprised at the disappointment that went through her at his words. She had expected – well – more, or – or something – different, from what he had said. Certainly not for him to say that it had only been about evening the score. And why, she wondered suddenly, *should* he want to claim her for any other reason than that?
And why should she care if he didn’t?
“Well,” she said quietly, with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry, Spike, but I can’t let you do that. This is hard and all, but we’re gonna find a way to control – this – whatever this is that’s making me act this way. But I can’t let you – ‘even the score’,” she informed him, unable to keep the slightly bitter note out of her voice as she repeated his words. “Not now. Not that the chip has stopped working.”
He looked up at her, surprised. He had not thought about that.
“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded. “Maybe this whole thing was pointless and we didn’t need to do it. There’s no question that it was a mistake,” she admitted with a harsh laugh. “But now – since your chip’s quit working – if I give up the control I have over you – well, I’d – I’d have to stake you.”
He blinked, taken aback a bit by the blunt words. “But that’s just the thing, pet,” he said quietly, edging closer to her again, but this time with no ulterior motives. “Since this is a mating claim we’re involved in here, it involves powerful – feelings – devotion – like nothing you’ve ever experienced, love. Even if you accept my claim – you won’t have to worry about me causing trouble, chip or no – because – I’d not do it, just – just to please you. Just because – I’d still be *yours*. Only – you’d be mine, too,” he finished softly, looking down in a manner that was almost shy.
“I don’t know,” she said softly, shaking her head, too lost in her worries to notice the insecurity, the soft question in his voice. “Spike, I – I can’t do anything like that – let *you* do anything like that – until I understand more about what’s going on here.”
He was silent for a moment, taking in the new unintentional blow that was her complete obliviousness to his feelings. Finally, he replied calmly, his tone revealing only a hint of his disappointment and resignation, “Then, perhaps you should talk to your Watcher, love. I know you don’t want him to know things went wrong, but…but if he could help you find a way…”
“No,” she insisted firmly. “Not – not yet. Maybe – maybe – later. But not yet. I just – I just can’t.” She paused, before looking up at him to speak quietly but certainly, “For now, we’re just going to go to that meeting, and act like everything went the way it was intended to. Anya’s working on finding a solution, and if she can’t, then I’ll talk to Giles. But for now, this needs to be a secret.”
She looked away, and when she spoke again it was not really to him, her head resting in her hands again as she said in a voice that was almost a moan of shame and confusion, “I just can’t – can’t let him know what I’ve done.”
It was suddenly painfully clear to Spike, in her tone, that she was still horrified and just sick at heart over what she had done – over claiming him.
And Buffy was utterly unaware as once again his heart shattered in pieces at her feet.
[Reviews - 1135]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 3430 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +