As Spike made his way across town, drawing ever nearer to the Slayer to whom he was bound, he was surprised, and cautiously relieved, to feel the burning agony in his throat ease slightly. He could feel that Buffy knew he was coming, and his obedience was at least partially soothing the rage within her – but he knew better than to assume that it would completely make up for his defiance before.
With a trembling hand and a sense of dreadful anticipation in his heart, Spike cautiously opened the back door of the Magic Box leading into the training room. A small desk lamp on a little table against the wall was the only light in the large room, presumably in order to allow Buffy to sleep. But she was very definitely not sleeping – and although her form was shrouded in shadow, far from the lamp, Spike had no trouble seeing her at all.
She seemed to fill his vision until he could see nothing else.
She was leaning casually back against the wall behind her, her arms crossed over her chest as if in boredom or unconcern, apparently relaxed and at ease. When his eyes found her, mere seconds after he had opened the door, she was already focused on him, looking him up and down with a slight smile on her lips and a predatory gleam in her eyes.
It gave him the eerie sensation that she had known the exact moment when he would walk through the door, and had already been focused on that spot – just waiting for him to appear where she already knew he would be.
When her eyes finished their bold, blatantly possessive perusal of his body, they finally met his, and the stunning look of raw hunger and desire he saw there nearly took his breath away. It was a look of pure possessive need, declaring silently that he belonged to her – and she would not be deprived of him for another moment.
“Come here,” she said softly, her voice even and calm, though her desire was easy to read in her tone.
He hesitated for just a moment, fear slowing his steps. She did not sound angry, and all he could see in her expression was how badly she wanted him – nearly as bad as he had been wanting her.
But – she had tricked him in that way before, luring him in and not revealing her true intentions until it was too late for him to do anything about it – and then attacking him viciously when he was most vulnerable to her.
*Who’re you kidding, mate?* he reminded himself with sad irony. *It’s already too late…it was too bloody late the moment after you agreed to be hers.*
He had only wavered for an instant, and was already moving toward her again – but he watched with dismay as her eyes darkened slightly with anger, and the burning sensation in her mark that had almost faded, began again with renewed intensity.
“I’m coming!” he quickly assured her, hurriedly closing the distance between them on shaking legs, as the fire consuming him grew even stronger. “Please, Buffy – I’m…”
His words were cut off as he came within her reach, and she suddenly gripped his arm and pulled him closer to her, her other hand stretching to the limits of the chains that bound it to the wall, to rest at the small of his back and press him closer against her body. The scent of her mingled anger and arousal surrounded him, mesmerizing him as she yanked him into a desperate, demanding kiss, forcefully invading his mouth as if she wanted to devour him completely.
When she finally pulled back, holding him at arm’s length, she was breathing hard, her face flushed with desire, her eyes alight with an almost feral passion. He pressed in close to her again, craving more of her touch, her kiss.
The mark on his throat felt like it was on fire.
“Buffy,” he moaned softly in frustration and fear as she held him back from her, preventing him from coming any closer to her. “Please…”
“Shhh,” she whispered, and he obeyed, though he was past the point of desperation by now, in a fever of need. He stared at her in confusion. She was smiling with a sort of amused satisfaction at his dilemma, her eyes glimmering with the pleasure of the power she held over him. But then, she glanced toward the door pointedly as she explained, “We’re not exactly alone.”
His eyes widened as he realized that there was someone in the store. But he knew it would be closed by now, and he could see only darkness through the small gap that it had been left open. He looked back at her with a puzzled frown.
*Who?* he asked her, restricting himself to her thoughts, in order to obey her command to be quiet.
He had to please her, he reminded himself – had to get her to relieve the fiery agony of his need for her touch.
Her smile was knowing as she replied in his mind, *That doesn’t really matter to you – does it?*
He shook his head, closing his eyes, his breath coming harder and ragged as the burning sensation suddenly intensified. His eyes snapped open wide and he stared at her with a look of disbelief, feeling almost – betrayed.
What the bloody hell had he done to cause her to…?
But then, he saw the truth in her cruel smirk. Nothing. He had done nothing at all to merit her deliberately increasing the pain he was experiencing. She simply enjoyed the power she held over him, the ability to make him need her so much.
He was so desperate by now that he felt tears of frustration and despair spring to his eyes. *Buffy – please – please, I need you to…*
*Quiet.* Her voice in his head was calm but hard – merciless.
He was silent, his eyes downcast, still gasping for breath, as she softened her tone to add in a voice of patronizing affection, *I can’t do anything to help you as long as I’m chained up here, can I?* She pulled upward against her chains to demonstrate her point.
His eyes widened with realization, as he stared down at the taut chains, processing the truth of her words. Bound as she was, she could not raise her hands much farther than his waist. In his desperation, he could only think of one solution. If she couldn’t reach him, he would have to make it so that she could.
*Go, and – no, *stop*!* she ordered sharply, as he started to go to his knees in front of her, to bring the mark within her reach.
He was nearly delirious with the burning pain, his desperate desire for her, and was willing to do nearly anything just to make it stop. But her hands held him firmly, not allowing him to drop to his knees.
*Listen to me!* she snapped, shaking him slightly.
Once his attention was focused on her again, she smiled, pleased by his attention. Still, her voice was warning as she spoke softly, “You stop worrying so much about what you want *me* to do – and focus on what *I* want *you* to do – or I might not help you even when I can!”
His pleading blue eyes were desperately attentive as they locked onto hers, and he waited silently for her command, barely able to focus at all for the searing heat now radiating through his entire body.
Satisfied, Buffy repeated her interrupted order, slowly and calmly, holding his gaze. “Go and close the door. Then, go to that table over there and get the keys.”
His eyes followed the gesture of her hand toward the small table with the lamp on it, and he nodded as she released him to obey her. He hurried to close the door, being careful not to make any sound as he did, before going to the table and retrieving the keys.
He rushed back to Buffy’s side, reaching down with a trembling hand to unlock the manacle on her right wrist. Once it was freed, he went to work on the left, his hands shaking so badly that he could hardly get the key into the lock.
He was vaguely surprised when her freed arm slid gently around his waist in a soothing gesture, as she stood quietly beside him, patiently watching and waiting as he tried to free her. It was the closest to affection that he had seen from this dark, possessive side of Buffy – and he found it strangely calming – calming enough to allow him to get the remaining manacle off of Buffy’s left wrist.
The moment she was freed completely, she turned to face him, placing her other hand at the back of his neck and gifting him with a warm, grateful smile as she pulled him gently down into a tender kiss. He was more confused by the moment, as her anger seemed to have faded away completely, if one judged by the gentleness in her hands and lips, and the soft affection in her eyes.
He could almost have forgotten that this was not really *his* Buffy – not the gentle, affectionate girl that he had seen in her more lucid moments since the claim.
*She’s not ‘your’ Buffy,* he reminded himself. *You’re hers, but she’s not yours…never was…never will be…* But in the tender embrace of her warm arms – he could almost forget that, too.
He could almost forget – if not for the burning need that still consumed him, the fire slowly engulfing him through her mark, that could only ever be quenched by her touch.
When she finally ended the kiss, only out of her necessity to draw breath, he turned his head slightly, arching his neck up toward her, desperately, silently pleading for the soothing relief of her touch.
Her soft, throaty chuckle held affection, but also a wicked amusement, as her hand at the back of his neck played gently through his hair, and she leaned in close to his throat – but did not touch him.
A tremor of desperate desire shook through him as her breath fell tantalizingly across the mark when she whispered into his ear, “God, I’ve missed you!”
Despite the torment she was so coolly leaving him in, despite his fear and the trauma of this tumultuous new relationship that had consumed him so quickly, literally overnight, he could not deny that he had missed her too – and that her words, undeniably sincere in spite of everything, sent a little thrill of pleasure through him, to think that she had wanted to be with him, too, during their brief separation.
But the pleasure of that realization was quickly dampened by the ever-intensifying, searing agony that was still coursing through him.
“Buffy…” he whispered desperately.
He was silenced by another kiss, as she suddenly gripped the front of his shirt in both hands and spun them around, slamming him into the wall with breathtaking force as she once again ravaged his mouth, leaving him breathless and longing, instinctively following her mouth with his when she finally drew it back.
Her eyes were dancing with laughter as they met his for a moment before she slowly – torturously slowly – lowered her mouth toward his throat again, holding eye contact with him until the last possible second.
He slumped back against the wall, his trembling arms wrapped around her, relief coursing through him – but it was premature, and short-lived.
She slowly, sensuously kissed a soft, hot trail of kisses up and down the alabaster column of his throat – still deliberately avoiding the place that was causing him so much pain.
“You’re mine,” she whispered against his skin. “Right?”
“Right,” he gasped, nodding almost frantically, his hands clinging to her, drawing her nearer.
“Never gonna let anyone keep us apart again,” she murmured, and his confused mind could not determine whether she was stating that *she* was not going to, or demanding that he *not* allow them to be separated again.
Either way, he knew better than to argue. “No,” he agreed in a hoarse, desperate whisper. “No, Buffy – please…please…” The last word was nearly a sob, as she nipped lightly at the sensitive skin a mere fraction of an inch above the mark.
She drew back, a cruel little smirk on her face as she met his eyes with a challenging look. “Oh, that’s right,” she said slowly, in a voice of false innocence. “There was something you wanted from me…wasn’t there? You were just asking me about it, when I sent you to get the keys, right?”
He nodded, swallowing back a harsh sob that rose in his throat, his head bowed and his eyes closed, not wanting to see the cold expression in her eyes.
Relentless, she reached a hand out to raise his chin, silently demanding that he look at her. He forced himself to obey, his eyes welling with tears from the overwhelming tumult of emotions that had filled the last hour.
“Let’s see,” she mused softly, her eyes hardening, her lips quirking up in a smirk of cruel intent. “You were just about to beg me to do it…now, where were you, exactly…?” She spoke thoughtfully, a pensive frown on her face, as if trying to remember what he had been saying, stepping backward subtlely – giving him room…
…and he knew instantly that she was not talking about his words.
He swallowed hard, looking down again, as he realized what she wanted from him. Deep down, buried beneath the confusion and pain that overwhelmed all other emotions for him lately, he felt anger and indignation that she would expect it of him – and he fought it, for a few brief moments…
…before the searing, vicious agony of her mark stole away his last vestige of pride.
He slowly sank to his knees in front of her, his head bowed, its crown resting lightly against her stomach, his hands just barely hovering over her hips, before daring to lightly touch them with trembling hands.
“Please,” he whispered in a shaky, hoarse voice of desperation. “Please, Buffy – please…”
Finally, she granted his broken request, her fingertips lightly brushing over the inflamed spot on his throat – and just like that, the pain vanished, swallowed up in a soft soothing sensation of mild pleasure. He relaxed slightly against her, his shoulders shaking with sobs of relief and repressed agony, his hands thoughtlessly clutching at her waist for dear life.
She did not seem bothered by his touch. Both of her hands fell to stroke gently through his disheveled blonde curls in a twisted gesture of affection, as a little smile began on her lips, her eyes glittering with cold satisfaction.
“I told you – didn’t I?” she said softly, in a sad, vaguely apologetic sort of tone, crouching down in front of him, tucking her head in an attempt to meet his eyes, as one hand moved around to gently rub away a tear from his face. “I told you that if you made me – I could do this to you.”
He nodded silently, tears streaming down his face as he swallowed back a sob. He *did* remember, that first night when she had taught him the “lesson” of obedience to her at any cost. She had warned him of the power she now held over him through the mark – and he had agreed to obey, to do his best to please her.
In his confusion and pain and helpless desire, he could not figure out how exactly he had failed to do that.
She was more than happy to explain it to him.
“But then,” she said in a soft, deceptively gentle voice, her hand slowly stroking through his hair in a disarmingly soothing gesture, “you decided you had other plans. Trying to avoid me – choosing someone else over me, and hitting me to defend *her*…”
The hatred in her voice was a shock to his system, snapping him suddenly out of the lull her gentle touch and previously soft voice had been drawing him into, as the truth hit him full force.
His Buffy, of her own free will, would never speak of her mother with such hatred.
He looked up at her sharply, studying her face intently for a long moment.
She did not notice for a bit as she went on, “Messing around with another girl, when you’re *mine*!”
A note of anger entered his voice as he stared into the suddenly distant, foreign eyes of the Slayer, objecting to the untrue accusation. “I didn’t…”
In a flash she was standing up again, cutting off his words with a savage blow across his face, as she snarled, “Don’t lie to me, you filthy little whore! I *saw* you – I *heard* you talking about me behind my back – I felt you touching her when I wasn’t there – and your *not* hers, no matter what she thinks! You’re *mine*!” She slapped him again, knocking him backward into the wall behind him, reiterating forcefully, “*Mine*!”
He stayed there against the wall for a moment, breathing hard, his eyes carefully downcast as he struggled to reign in his own anger, anger that could get him hurt worse if he was not careful.
Slowly he raised his eyes to hers, blazing with repressed fury and defiance, as he finally answered softly but emphatically, “Buffy is the one who claimed me – and it’s her claim I accepted. Whoever the bloody hell *you* are, you’ve got nothing to do with it.”
Her eyes widened in shock at his words, then narrowed again in anger. Yet again her expression changed, as a slow smile came over her face, and she crouched down in front of him again, oppressively close.
“Is that right?” she sneered softly, leaning in nearer to him, her smile deepening when he drew back against the wall. She slowly stretched a hand toward the mark, and he cringed, knowing that in her eyes, he had earned more vicious punishment.
But her hand merely ghosted over the spot, not actually touching it, as she went on quietly but intensely, “Then why can I do this, Spike? Why do I have this power over you?”
He swallowed hard, not knowing the answer to the question. He turned his head away, his eyes closed as he struggled to make it make sense. All he really knew was that this terrible, powerful, dangerous creature facing him now had not been visible in Buffy prior to the claim.
Finally, he just shook his head slowly, still not looking at her. “I don’t know what you’ve done or how you’ve done it,” he said in a quiet, steady voice. “But Buffy’s stronger than you think – and she’s not gonna just take this lying down. She’s gonna find a way to stop you…to get rid of you…”
He half expected a violent reaction to his words, but the creature before him just laughed softly. Strange it was, hearing Buffy’s tinkling, musical laugh falling from the throat of this savage being facing him now.
“Get rid of me?” she echoed in a softly mocking, incredulous voice. “How is she going to do that, exactly? She *is* me! She can’t get rid of me – I’m not going anywhere – and soon enough she and her little friends are gonna figure that out…”
Her voice suddenly trailed off, and Spike looked up at her, curious and suspicious. He stared at her, frowning, as her eyes widened and she drew back slowly, staring off at some distant point across the room as if hearing or seeing something that he could not.
“No…” she whispered suddenly, shaking her head. “No…she can’t…”
She stood up suddenly, and he flinched at her erratic movements, not knowing what to expect from her as she began to pace nervously, her hands at her head as if trying to hold something in. “No,” she repeated emphatically. “No…she’s me…she can’t…you can’t…*no*!”
The last word came out as a frustrated growl of fury as she slammed her fist angrily into the wall, and the vampire on the floor beside her jumped, watching her every step warily. What the bloody hell was happening here? he wondered with rising trepidation. This situation got crazier by the moment.
Suddenly, Buffy doubled over, her hands crossed over her stomach as she sank to her knees on the floor with a groan, rocking slowly back and forth as if in terrible pain. “No…no…no…” she whispered, shaking her head, apparently in the midst of some deep inner torment or battle.
And then, suddenly, she stopped her frantic rocking, her head snapping up and her eyes locking onto his, slowly fading from confusion to focus and clarity.
And he instantly knew – could tell by the aching confusion, the deep sorrow and agonizing guilt in her eyes as the last hour came back to her.
Buffy had returned.
“Spike?” she whispered, her voice a haunted whisper of pain and shame, her eyes pleading for forgiveness for a mere instant…
…before they suddenly rolled back in her head, and without another sound the Slayer collapsed to the floor, completely unconscious.
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