Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER 22: The Masks, They Slide

CHAPTER RATING: T/M (for some sexy time, much of which is not entirely consensual)

CHAPTER PAIRING: Tara & Spike, Giles/Joyce, ?/? (you'll just have to read to see!)

TIMELINE/SPOILERS: AU after AtS "Not Fade Away"

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I'm just fixing their mistakes! Ha!

CHAPTER CREDITS: References to the BtVS episodes "Band Candy" and "Flooded"

CHAPTER NOTES: I enjoyed writing this chapter. Perhaps a little TOO much. Heh.
.

This dream must have been the longest one Giles had ever had. He and Joyce had been talking (and flirting, he had to admit) for hours now. Sometime after she came inside, the sun had risen so brilliantly that his awful hangover forced him to close the draperies. His theme tonight had been profuse apologizing—since Buffy was no where to receive it—but Joyce was having none of it. Whatever he had done, she brushed off as though no apology (to her, at least) was necessary. Instead she allowed him to confess and share with that gentle warmth he remembered. She listened, and seemed to only have eyes for him. How his conscience managed to allow him this shred of happiness, he didn't know. But he intended on taking advantage of it for as long as possible. Who knew when he'd have a reprieve from his guilt again?

Their mutual flirting and need increased as the day went on. By the afternoon, they were secreted away in Giles' bed, a trail of clothes leading down to the cooling teapot. Without his glasses, Giles found himself needing to be closer and closer to Joyce, wanting to see that glittering in her eyes he always cherished. Her soft gasps and moans made him feel virile and alive again, just like that never-spoken-of night when they relived their teen years together. But this time, instead of rutting away like horny teenagers, they savored the moment, making love until they both had each others' bodies memorized. Joyce had the softness of a mother, but underneath that was the playful young woman that he imagined she once was. He wanted to please both, for as long as he could.

If Giles had been exhausted before Joyce visited, he was dead to the world now. He basked in the afterglow as he fell to her side, stretching out the kink in his back and closing his eyes happily. Beside him, Joyce let out a giggle.

That's another first, Giles thought. He wished he could have had more time all those years ago to experience each of these delightful sides of Joyce. She stirred a bit, settling into his sheets. Smiling, satisfied, he reached out to stroke her. But the firm breast he caressed was not Joyce's.

"Dear God!"

She tsk-tsk-tsked as she straddled him then, pinning his wrists on the mattress above his head. "Naughty boy can't even remember his lady's name! It's Drusilla, luv."

His heart raced, and he felt her demon respond to it. As fast as his eyes searched for his bedside stake, she tore one of her hands from him to hurl it away.

So, this was his payback, eh? He'd have laughed at the awful joke if he weren't so scared.

The vampire giggled again, back to gripping his wrists tight. "No, no," she replied to the Watcher's thoughts, brushing her breasts against his frightened face. She wasn't here to kill him.

He trembled beneath her.

The delicious fear caused her demon visage to come forth. "Well, maybe just a taste..."




Willow had been slowly regaining consciousness over the past couple of hours. The first thing she noticed was that it was now morning. How nice to see some daylight after being in the dark of sleep for so long! The second thing she noticed was that the apartment was empty. How was it daytime and Spike not be here? What was going on?

Suddenly, Spike's door burst open. Standing there, hulking in his figure, was a demon of the sort she had hoped she'd never see again after Sunnydale. A M'Fashnik. Visions of Buffy's flooded basement hit her.

...

Upon seeing the girl bundled on the sofa, Ryk stopped. He was planning to tear through Spike's place to get back the money the vampire stole from him on their last poker night, but this was too delicious of a diversion.

Looks like the bastard was saving himself a little treat for later, he thought, eying Willow. Just because I ate already doesn't mean I can't have a little taste...




The motley bunch looked on as Papa Jean did his thing. There was some chanting, then a sprinkling of powders that Stan could see would clearly ruin the carpet, and then more chanting.

Spike played with his lighter, a nervous tic. That is, until the old man started a low singing, at which point the vampire lit up another cigarette and inhaled strongly.

The vibrations coming from Papa Jean were deceptive in their strength. He held his bony arms high, the crepey skin humming as his voice lowered. Each being in the room, demon and otherwise, felt it rattle to the core.

So rapt was their attention on the old priest that none saw Tara flicker away.




Drusilla had her taste and a little more. The Watcher was now asleep beneath her, his breath shallow but his heart pumping steadily. He wouldn't give up. That's why Angelus couldn't stand him. But Dru, she always liked this one. Not only did he seem unbreakable, but he was spicy with magic. Whether from his kisses or his blood, she had enjoyed his taste from the first time she had him, all those years back. He wasn't like the other Watchers, and she should know—Watchers were her thing. Angelus had his virgins, as he was in it for the power. Spike had his Slayers, because for him it was all about the fight. And Dru had the poets and the Watchers (who were often one in the same), because she needed something to reach the deeper levels of her, something that found her past the madness that Angelus had created. They were her connection between heart and mind, what made her whole again. Their blood spoke of knowledge and prophecy, structure and piety; it was the closest she could get to God now.

Giles may have been able to hide his Ripper days from the children, but not from her. Dru uncovered that delightful secret as soon as Spike had sought out this new Slayer. Although Dru's injuries in Prague led them to the Sunnydale Hellmouth, it was her visions that led them to the Slayer and her Watcher. She knew Spike would be obsessed with the Slayer; she didn't need her special sight for that. That was his way. But her visions told her this time would be different. Not only would this Slayer prove to be her gallant prince's undoing, but this Watcher was not what he seemed. Beneath his unassuming exterior was a smoldering darkness that called to her. While Spike danced with the Slayer, Ripper was hers.

Remembering this caused Dru to lap at the prone Watcher's neck, moving down to his chest. Her lips sucked at the skin above his heart, slowly waking him. As his pulse increased from awareness of the situation, Dru slid her fangs in. Her gentle undulating against him hid the quick sharpness of that moment, enough that he merely gasped. After that, there was no pain. In fact, the rhythmic draw of his blood made his head swim. But instead of feeling as though he was being drained, he felt a flush of warmth, of desire.

Oh God, is this what Riley felt? His rational mind tried to make sense of what was happening. Giles felt incredible, needed for the first time in years. Now he knew why Riley fled to those vampire whores. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but the bite marks on Buffy's neck made him understand, too, why even the Slayer would want to continue with a vamp lovelife.

The more Dru suckled on him, the harder he got. He wouldn't voice this. No, he didn't even want this, but Sweet Lord...

Drusilla knew what she was doing. Hell, she'd done it for, what, 150 years? Without breaking her lips from the wound, she wriggled down his length, listening to him moan. Sometimes she liked that sound even more than the screams. And, now, she had this powerful man exactly where she wanted him.





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