The Sandman's Promise by NautiBitz


Summary: In the Season 4 finale, 'Restless', Spike had a dream, too.

Originally Published/Completed: August 2001

Stats: 1,386 words | Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Spike/Buffy | NC-17/M (not for kids)

Author's Note: I wrote this post-Season 5, so I totally cheated 'cause I knew all about Dawn, etc. The title refers to my one-shot, 'Sleeptalking', in which the Sandman promised Spike a dream.

Distribution: Links only, please. Do not reprint. Do not post translations. Thanks!


God, it's good to be back.

S'like riding a bicycle, really. The sweet morsel I've got shoved against an alley wall is struggling for her life while fresh, zesty plasma coats the back of my throat and rushes into my bloodstream.

Her warm body convulses in an exquisite, familiar dance of terror.

Yeah. That's the difference. The dash of spice missing from the flavorless, pre-packaged sludge I've lowered myself to lately? Fear.

Haven't had a good meal in... seems like forever. Can't quite remember why that is.

Right. Some government chip or some odd. Well, it must be out now, cause I'm doin' this. This girl is nearly drained and my head doesn't hurt a bit.

Of course. It all makes sense now. That chip, that sodding chip was just a horrible dream, and now I'm back, biting, drinking. Alive.

Strange. She should be limp and floppy by now, but she's still fightin' me.

I extract my fangs, and I'm afraid to look. The blonde hair, the silky golden neckline. The superhuman grip.

I choke on her blood. "Slayer?"

A devious grin spans her face, and I zoom out to view her standing spread-eagle in full riding regalia, bonnet and all. She snaps the crop in her hand. Her glistening lips part to say, "Giddyup."

Bugger.

She kicks me in the gut, and I'm on my back on the cement. Only it's not the ground, it's a bed, and the Slayer's not in her riding gear anymore, in fact she isn't in anything at all. And for that matter, neither am I. Plus she's on top of me.

Interesting.

I watch her rise and fall on my swollen cock. She's got a pretty little quim. Like a coral-colored seashell, sucking me out to sea.

Her flaxen hair brushes across my chest as she whips her head forward then tips it back to expose that impossibly long neck.

I remember I just bit her but I don't see the scar. Suddenly two holes open and bleed, the trail of red dripping gracefully over one rosy nipple.

I reach up, intending to taste her, and a riding crop stings my hand. It's Rupert, glaring down at me.

"No touching!" he shouts, then begins to pace between the two beds in Buffy's dorm room.

"You must anticipate your opponent's every move," he snips at her.

Terrific. I'm in on a buggery training session.

"Now, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze," he chants like a bloody aerobics instructor, and the Slayer follows along, giving my cock the old death grip.

It feels dead good, and I'm about ready to pop.

"Like warm champagne?" she asks in that nasally drawl.

"Thought that wasn't you," I say, vaguely remembering when she said that first.

"Oh, that was me." She rests her soft cheek against mine, directing my vision to the closet near the bed. "They're all me."

There's someone, some thing, skittering around on the floor. It frightens me, and I'm not sure why. "What is it?"

I hear her voice in my ear. "Didn't you know I have a dog?"

When I look back up at her, she's got a leash in her hand. It connects to a chain... around my neck.

Searing daylight scorches my eyes. Lovely. We're in the Uni-bloody-versity quad and I'm stark naked, my knees bleeding from crawling on all fours behind the Slayer's billowy sundress. I claw frantically at my collar.

"Heel," she orders, snapping the leash and choking me into submission.

"Oh, he's so cute," squeals a girl who's face I can't see...

Her witch pal. I recognize her by her Bead-dazzled pantlegs. I look up. Willow's fluffy red hair glints in the sun as she considers me with a frown. "But won't he catch fire?"

"I trained him," the Slayer says proudly, and ties me to a flagstaff. "Now stay here," she says to me, finger wagging. "And don't bite."

"Where are you going? Wait," I beg her, scared out of my wits. "You can't just leave me here."

"I have to," she says plainly, pointing at my wrists, shackled now between two poles. "I don't have the key yet."

I glance at my bindings, each cuff secured with a padlock. The light around me fades to pitch black. Something's wrong, and I can't see the Slayer anywhere. "Buffy!"

An antique lamp begins to glow; a room materializes around me. And then I see it, far in one corner: that creepy crawly dog-thing. "Buffy! Help!" I shout and yank on my shackles, attached to... bedposts now. Bedposts I recognize.

Black eyes shine in the dark, and a familiar laugh fills the air. "She can't help you now, dear heart."

"Dru?" I shake my head to clear my vision. "Dru?"

She's waltzing. And for the first time, I can hear her music. Off-key harpsichord and forlorn violin.

"Dru. Untie me. There's something out there, love, it's coming for me..."

"GRRR-uff." She slaps my face. "Bad dog."

Someone else strides into the room. Big, hulky... Angelus.

He cuddles up to my Dru and chortles, "Look at him. The lion afraid of the lamb."

They laugh together. At me.

"Let me go!" I roar, rattling my chains.

"You see, my Angel?" Dru's tone becomes stern. "He's the Slayer's dog now."

Angelus squints and bends down to me menacingly. "I'll always be the first."

I hear something above me, and look up. The blasted thing scuttles across the canopy top, its silhouette even more ominous than its 3-D form. Aiming for my head, claws rip through the silk.

I scream. Or, I try, but my voice is gone. I wriggle out of my cuffs. It's not 'til I've dived past the curtain through Dru's dressing closet and into the dark and musty sewers, running, running, running, that I realize I could have escaped all along.

When I look back, it's gone. But I know I've got to get out of here. I spot a ladder rung and jump up, then punch open the circular slab. I peer out.

Funny. It's led to my crypt.

There's a party going on. People standing around, drinking martinis. I crawl out and replace the lid, brushing the dust off my clothes.

In the meantime, I try to remember why there's a party in my crypt, and who these people are.

I see the Slayer towards the door, laughing with her friends. On my way over, a short, balding man wearing wire-rimmed specs stops me. Waving a platter of cheese before me, he says, "It only gets better with age."

"Not me," I say, and push past him.

Buffy turns to me with a big smile. "Spike! Where've you been? We've been waiting for you for hours, honey!"

She wraps her arms around me and kisses me. All the background noise fades out.

After a nice while, I push her off. "Slayer," I say, noticing her blockhead boyfriend at the far wall, eyeballing me along with several of his armly buddies. "Let's do that later."

"Punch?" She hands me a glass of dark crimson liquid. "It's fresh squeezed." I take it and sip slowly, watching the boys in fatigues.

Riley points at me. "He's the one."

They fan out and grab their weapons. I look to the Slayer for help, but she's watching and laughing with... Angelus? And Dru?

Suddenly, that Thing comes crashing through the wall. I see it clearly for the first time. Wild dredlocks, mud-smeared face. Primal. It's carrying a huge tree trunk and coming straight for me.

I'm frozen there, can't move a bloody muscle.

"The first," Angelus says.

The trunk pierces my midsection. All the important parts. I watch my hands disintegrate to dust.

My last sight is of the Slayer, rolling her eyes.

I bolt upright. My bed. My crypt. It's night? I'm still here. I check my chest for large tree trunks.

It was a dream.

"Bloody Hell."

Vampires don't usually dream. When we sleep, we're pretty much dead. And when we do dream, it's pretty bloody important.

So what the hell was this about?

"The Slayer." I should go find her.

Slowly, it comes back to me. The other, less unpleasant part of the dream.

I smile and lay back against my pillow, one hand behind my head, the other sliding down my stomach.

Well. Wasn't all bad.


THE END


Characters and settings property of respective creators.
Story, dialog and prose property of NautiBitz.
All rights reserved. (IE, it is not okay to borrow it for your fic.)