The Slayer drew back from her badly injured, weakened opponent, her eyes wide in disbelieving surprise and elation. She had not intended to quit until she had “convinced” Spike to accept her claim, had had no doubt that in the end she *would* succeed – but she had not expected it to be this easy.
“*Mine*!” she repeated forcefully, just to be sure, drawing his head back with her fist in his hair, to expose the brutalized spot on his throat, torn and bleeding, making him even more vulnerable to her, her mouth hovering over the spot, lest she should have to repeat the claim.
“Yours,” he reiterated immediately with a weak nod, in a heavy tone of defeat and resignation, leaving no doubt as to the fact that it would not be necessary.
He was already submitting to her.
She had won!
The Slayer laughed in triumphant surprise as she released him roughly and stood up, leaving Spike struggling through his exhaustion and pain to rise from the floor. Her laughter faded, though her eyes glittered with cruel triumph, as she suddenly seemed to change her mind, grabbing the dizzy, unsteady blonde by the hair and jerked him painfully to his feet.
“Come on, Baby,” she purred with a sadistic smile as she met his eyes. “Don’t quit on me now! This night is far from over. We’ve still got to consummate this new little relationship of ours – don’t we?”
A chill went down his spine at the words, as a cold, sick feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He could feel Buffy’s hatred of the situation as strongly as his own, knew that she wanted desperately to spare him this indignity, this abuse. And along with her sorrow for what he would have to endure, he could feel her possessive, protective anger building within her at the thought of *her* mate with someone else – even if the “someone else” happened to be in *her* body at the time.
*Do you think you could maybe – do it *before* she – I mean – take her off guard, maybe?* Buffy suggested anxiously in his head.
As awkwardly worded as Buffy’s suggestion was, Spike understood what she was saying; but as much as he wanted to say yes, wanted that to be a possibility, Spike knew that the risk was too great. *No,* he replied reluctantly. *I’m too bloody weak, pet…the second she realized what I was doing she’d toss me across the room and the game would be up. Gotta see it through to the end, pet…much as I hate to.*
Their conversation was cut abruptly short as the cruel Slayer dragged him to the bed and slammed him down without regard for the tremendous pain he was in. Spike let out a groan of agony at the jarring impact.
*I don’t know if I can do this, pet,* he said suddenly, feeling a dark sense of panic begin to close in on him. *Buffy – I have to finish the act for her to think that she’s won – and I can’t! How the bloody hell am I supposed to make myself…*
*It’s okay,* she whispered soothingly. *I love you, Spike. I know it’s going to be hard – but just listen to *me* -- focus on me – and I’ll try my best to get you through this…we’ll get through it, together – okay?*
Before he could respond, the Slayer was upon him, the light pressure of her body against him painful, despite her slight weight, managing to reopen several of his wounds, as she held him pinned under her on the bed, smiling with malicious pleasure into his fearful eyes.
“What’s the matter, Baby?” she mocked him with false sympathy. “Having a little performance anxiety?”
“Go back to hell,” he muttered in response, unable to completely restrain his anger at the cruel, belittling words that seemed to flow so easily from her mouth.
Could he bloody well help it if he couldn’t exactly get excited about the idea of shagging the cruel creature that had terrorized and abused him for the past week, and had spent the past few hours torturing him until he could hardly move?
“Sorry if I’m not feeling quite in the mood, pet,” he sneered. “But did you ever think that maybe *you’re* the one what’s lackin’?”
*Spike!* Buffy’s voice rang out in his head in alarm. *Don’t! You’re supposed to be submitting to her…*
*Not yet, I’m not,* he countered in a dark, resentful tone. *I may have no choice but to let her touch me – but I don’t have to pretend to like it. The bond wouldn’t go into effect until after the act, anyway, pet – and I’m gonna tell this soddin’ bint just what I think of her in the mean time!*
Buffy’s typical steely stubbornness was evident even in her mental voice as she shot back, *You won’t be telling her anything if she kills you, Spike. You’re in no condition to be…*
The Slayer’s forceful slap across his face abruptly cut off their little mental argument, as she grabbed him and slammed his head into the headboard with vicious force, nearly knocking him unconscious with the violence of the blow.
“Shut up!” she snarled into his face, pulling him back close to her again, one hard hand sliding down between their bodies to wrap tightly around his vulnerable member. “You wanna keep this?” she demanded in a nasty, threatening tone, squeezing just hard enough to border on painful.
“You wanna keep *this*?” he shot back without hesitation, glancing down with pointed arrogance at his own body, before meeting her eyes in a challenge. “ ‘Cause if you do, you’d best lay off the manly bits until after you’ve completed the soddin’ ritual, don’t you think? Or I’ll *never* *really* be yours, will I?”
Her eyes widened in outraged surprise at his defiant words and tone. But her grip eased, and the motion of her hand on his body suddenly changed form violent and threatening, to a softer, more enticing touch designed to prepare him for their union, rather than to ruin any chances of its occurring at all.
He *did* have a point.
Her words, however, were anything but arousing, as she leaned in close to his ear, timing her hushed, hypnotic words with the cadence of her motions.
“When this is over – and you *are* mine,” she murmured in a low voice of chilling softness, a seduction not fitting to the threatening words she poured forth, “I’m gonna take you off someplace quiet – peaceful – and take my time with you, Baby – make you beg me to kill you – before I’m finished humiliating you – breaking you – I’ll teach you what your true place is – you disgusting, worthless little whore…”
*I love you, Spike – listen to me – focus on *me*, Sweetheart – they’re nothing but words. She won’t be able to touch you when this is all over…she’ll be gone…and it’ll just be you and me…* Buffy’s gentle, firm words of love and reassurance, though softly spoken, managed to drown out the terrifying threats and belittling insults the Slayer was pouring out.
Clearly, the age-old demon had no concept of male sexuality, if she thought for a moment that the things she was saying to him were in any way conducive to the sex act they had to perform in order for her ritual to take effect. If anything, the terrifying, chilling promises she was making to him would have been enough to make any man lose his desire.
Fortunately – Buffy *did* know what it took to arouse the desire of her mate, intimately; and though she hated the thought of his having to endure a physical union with this wicked creature, she knew that it had to happen, despite Spike’s utter lack of desire for it to. He might have been able to trick his body into responding to the Slayer, without Buffy’s help, if not for the vicious words coming out of the Slayer’s mouth.
After all, it *was* Buffy’s body she was using to perform the act – and a part of Spike could not help but respond to the beauty of his mate.
But at the moment, it might have been Buffy’s body – but it was not *Buffy*.
Still, Buffy was determined to make this act as easy on her mate as possible – to do all she could to ease his pain, to make him feel as if it were her arms around him, her gentle touch caressing and cherishing him, in place of the cruel, ruthless, hurtful hands of his tormentor.
Willingly Buffy poured out sweet, tender words of reassurance and affection, to counteract the cruelty of the demon, mentally surrounding her mate with her love and devotion like a protective shield, as she whispered soft, loving words that somehow drowned out the Slayer’s hate and abuse.
*When this is over,* Buffy promised, *When she’s bound again – gone – *I’m* going to take you somewhere – just you and me – and I’m going to make all of this up to you, Spike. I’m going to make all the pain and the fear, and the total *badness* of this night fade away into nothing but a distant memory…*
*I’m going to claim you again, to make you mine again, no one else’s – and I’m going to let you claim *me* again, Spike – make me yours – mark me again so everyone will know…*
It was at about that point that her words started to have their desired effect, as Spike willed himself to get lost in sweet thoughts of *his* Buffy, and what they would share once the Slayer demon was defeated.
The demon in question misunderstood completely – fortunately – believing that it was her own physical ministrations that were resulting in the evidence of Spike’s desire. In reality, her touch was clumsy and too harsh, having no real experience with human sexuality, and would not have been effective under the best of circumstances.
But Buffy’s words of love for him, the sensation of their emotional and mental connection, her warmth and affection surrounding him, could not fail to fill him with desire.
“Knew I could get you hot,” the Slayer sneered into his ear, her voice derisive and mocking, and nearly having the exact opposite effect on Spike’s body. “You *like* being put down? Treated like the worthless little piece of nothing that you are?”
*Not worthless…* Buffy’s voice argued softly, firmly, with a touch of defensive anger for her mate that only served to increase his desire for her, filling him with a warmth and security that belied his current situation. *…never worthless…amazing…incredible… gorgeous and perfect and *mine*…*
The possessive little almost-growl on the last word did it.
The demon laughed, assuming that she had been right in her guess, that it had been her own sadistic work that had brought Spike to readiness for her – for of course, she had no way of knowing the truth of the matter.
Forcefully she plunged Buffy’s body down onto Spike’s, setting a pace that was grueling, painful and relentless considering the pitiful condition that the vampire was in at the moment. He could not suppress a choked little cry of pain, that only made her laugh and increase the speed and force of her movements.
*Almost there, Spike…almost over…once this is done, you can have your revenge…and once she’s gone…* He could hear the smile in his mate’s voice as she added enticingly, *…you can have *me*…*
Despite the pain, despite the helplessness and shame of his situation, Spike felt a faint smile rising to his lips at his mate’s almost playful words. As the malicious creature above him moved on his body with cruelty and utter disregard for his pain or pleasure, he just closed his eyes, shutting out the sadistic, vindictive smile on her face, shutting out her vicious words and the abuse she was inflicting on him – focusing his attention instead on his mate, and her promise of what they would enjoy together once the Slayer’s power had been returned to its rightful place, and was no longer able to wreak this havoc with their lives.
Lost in Buffy – lost to his oblivious tormentor, though she did not know it yet – Spike allowed the sweet words echoing in his mind to draw him to the edge of physical release, though he feared that when the Slayer attempted to stake her claim, he would not be able to carry through with it.
The very thought of her calling him “hers”, attempting to bind him to her forever, was enough to kill the mood in an instant, as far as he was concerned.
Suddenly, he found himself wondering if what he had been taught about mating claims ever since he had been turned was really accurate.
Buffy’s prior claim *would* render any claim the Slayer might try to make meaningless – wouldn’t it?
*Trust me – it’s gonna be fine – you just have to say the words, Spike…it doesn’t mean anything…*
*I know – it’s just – what if…?*
*Spike – you belong to *me*…and I belong to you – and *nothing* she can do can change that, no matter what happens. Our bond *will* stand…*
Physically, Spike could feel that he was very near the fulfillment of the act that was being forced upon him – and so was the Slayer above him. She lowered her mouth to hover over the badly battered mark Buffy had left on Spike’s throat a few days earlier, that had been so viciously used to torture him this night. It was terribly sore and sensitive, from the burns and cuts she had inflicted on it earlier – and Spike held no misconceptions as to whether or not the Slayer’s claiming bite would be painful.
*Buffy…* he began uncertainly, fighting back a slow building panic that started to come over him. *Buffy…*
*I love you, Spike,* she interrupted, reassuring him in a firm, intense voice, as he felt her love surrounding him, embracing him with a sense of security and safety. *My Spike – my mate…*my love*…*
“By your blood and our bond,” the Slayer was speaking the words of her dominance claim, a possessive lust in her voice, as her cruel hands gripped his sore arms, pinning him down as she leaned in nearer to his throat, “I claim you and make you *mine*!”
**Mine*!* Buffy declared in his head, in unison with the Slayer’s spoken word, and yet powerful enough to obliterate the sound. *Mine, forever, Spike…*
“Yours,” he whispered, his eyes closed, his response directed only to his mate.
But the Slayer did not know that.
She was gasping for breath, weary and spent from the union they had just completed, yet laughing in disbelieving triumph as she rose up off of him on trembling limbs.
“*Yes*!” she crowed, climbing off the bed and standing beside it, grinning down at the exhausted, brutalized, violated creature with cruel pleasure. “You’re mine!”
Irritated by the harsh, grating interruption to the sweet comforting connection he was still experiencing with his actual mate, Spike ground out derisively, “Already established that, pet – didn’t we? Let’s not talk about it to the point of nausea.”
Her smile faded in annoyance – but then widened again with realization. As she moved back toward him with dark purpose in her eyes, Spike winced inwardly.
*You were right, love…shoulda just kept my bloody mouth shut…*
*I won’t say I told you so…*
*Just did, pet…*
“Shut up!” the Slayer snarled, smiling smugly, sure that he had no choice but to obey her command.
And in a way – he *hadn’t* any choice.
Pleased with his immediate response to her order – or more accurately, his *lack* of a response – the Slayer smiled wickedly, grabbing him and dragging him off of the bed again, allowing him to fall weakly to the floor beside it, his back braced against the side of the mattress as he tried to gather what meager strength he had left, in order to face whatever horrible thing she no doubt had in mind for him.
*Spike – Honey – stay with me here. We’re almost there – but not quite – she’s gonna try to test the claim…* Buffy warned him softly but urgently.
Sure enough, the Slayer glared down at him, a speculative look in her dark, menacing eyes, as she ordered coldly, “On your knees.”
*Bloody sadistic bint…I’ll kill her…*
*Spike – I hate it, too – but…*
*I know,* he sighed wearily in defeat, both aloud and in his mind. *No bloody choice…*
He realized with alarm just how bad his condition really was, when he found the shift from leaning against the bed to kneeling, supporting himself, far more difficult than it should have been. But he forced himself to do it, fighting off a wave of dizziness that came over him at the movement.
*Spike!* Buffy’s urgent voice momentarily drew his attention from the Slayer, circling him like a shark, cruel intent obvious in her eyes. *Spike – Dawn’s coming!*
*How do you know?* he asked, feeling a sense of alarm at the thought.
*I can feel her, Spike – she’s a part of me – I’ll explain it all later, but for now, just know she’s coming! And we can’t let her face the Slayer alone! She’s helpless now!*
“Maybe you ought to deadbolt the door,” Spike said aloud, his voice weak and weary, his eyes downcast. “Just in case…Dawn’s got a key.”
The Slayer raised her eyebrows in surprise, stopping in her slow, even pacing to regard him suspiciously. “And you would warn me about that exactly *why*?”
Spike released a heavy, defeated sigh, swallowing hard as if in deep sorrow and emotional struggled, before replying softly, “Because I’d rather be able to spare her the pain of falling into *your* bloody hands, all right? I’d rather her not end up dealing with you first…you don’t have to do anything, I’m just saying…” He shrugged listlessly, never once raising his eyes to meet hers.
She stood there for a moment, studying him intently – before turning and walking slowly to the door, fastening the deadbolt.
Buffy and Spike breathed a simultaneous, internal sigh of relief.
The Slayer was completely unaware of their reaction, smiling secretively as she returned to stand over him, a malicious expression on her face that sent a chill of apprehension down his spine.
“Looks like it worked,” she smirked, crouching down beside him, reaching to run a deceptively gentle hand through his damp, tangled hair. “I know you wouldn’t be on your knees to me unless it did.” She paused. “Only one way to be sure though,” she shrugged calmly.
*Is there?* he wondered with sudden alarm. *A way to be sure?*
*Whatever she says, Spike,* Buffy answered, her own voice in his mind betray8ing a certain anxiety and uncertainty. *You have to do it – until she lets you drink…*
“Drink.”
Spike looked up at the Slayer, startled out of what had appeared to her to be nothing more than his own thoughts, his eyes widening with surprise. Surely it would not be this easy – was she already instructing him to drink from her, without benefit of testing his submission first?
But then, she shattered that brief, wild hope, with a simple nod of her head toward a small object in her hand. Spike looked down at her outstretched palm – and his stomach dropped dangerously.
It was a small glass bottle, matching perfectly the one she had earlier emptied onto his throat, searing his flesh with the caustic fluid it contained. He raised stunned, disbelieving eyes to hers, wide with fear and shock. The malicious smile on her lips told him the answer to the question reverberating in his mind.
Yes, she *did* mean it. She *would* make him do this.
*Bloody hell.*
The Slayer’s hand in his hair remained gentle and almost affectionate a moment longer, as she pressed the tiny vial into his hand, holding his gaze with pitiless, unyielding determination in her cold smile.
“There’s more than one way to shut you up, Baby,” she said softly, suddenly tightening her hand in his hair just slightly, not quite hurting him, as she held his head back slightly and gave her terrible command again.
“*Drink*.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
WARNING: this chapter contains non-con, in the form of the completion of the ritual...not very graphic, but be warned! :)