Disclaimer: If I owned 'BtVS', I would be seriously behind with episode updates. It's probably better I don't.
Rating: M for kinky smut. If you want to skip it - because the story is not really about that - please read the last few paragraphs of the italic part so that you understand what happend. It's angsty, but not full on kink like before.
Setting: During Season Six, sometime after 'Dead Things', but before 'As you were'
Summary: "He was on his way to her house. He was on his way to her house to say goodbye." Buffy takes their mind games one step to far.
A/N: I wrote this story around November '11, so it's been a long time in the making. I like it and it was nice to write something smutty again for the first time in ages. Usually, I don't like girl on top, but let's face it: Buffy is clearly the dominant party in this and Spike's enough of a masochist to enjoy every second. So this was a premiere for me. :)
What's more important to me, however, is the story around it. The general idea was to have Buffy do the cruel thing she does and Spike actually having enough and trying to leave her. And that actually worked out. I'm glad it's finally published and DONE.
Please read and review! It makes my day! :)
He was on his way to her house. He was on his way to her house to say goodbye.
After all he'd been through with her he never would have thought it could ever come to this. That he, Spike, would willingly part from her ever again. He'd spent so much time missing her and grieving her that even suggesting he might one day be on his way to tell her he wouldn't be around anymore, for her to play with as she saw fit… He would most likely have given the bearer of that particular piece of information about his future a long and painful death.
It wasn't that he had stopped loving her somewhere along the way of harsh words and sex and bruises, quite the opposite, in fact. Spike could honestly say he'd never loved her more than he did right now. He could tell, because it had never hurt so much.
She was using him and he'd been fine with it. More than fine, even, ecstatic. Sure, he would have preferred the version in which she had never died and come back a changed person, in which she had grown to love him until some day, she'd been able to look past her previous prejudice against him and they'd shared a sweet kiss leading to sex that was actual love-making. In his perfect world, she let him love her and say the words without punching and gagging him for it.
But even that was more than he'd ever expected. She was letting him do things to her he had only touched in his darkest and most perverted dreams. More importantly, she wanted him to, encouraged him with violent deeds of her own. He had done unmentionable things to her body and she had soaked, sucked them up like a starved vampire preying on an entire wedding party.
It was the closest thing he had ever been to heaven and as much as she'd deserved to rest in peace in hers, he could not bring himself to wish her dead again. She was his brand of heaven – had been before any of this – and now she expertly hung him right between heaven and hell.
He could be happy just being her sex-slave until the end of her days. He could even be happy just seeing her from afar every day. She made him forget being a creature of darkness because she shone so bright.
At least she had.
And that was it. That was the thing that was wrong with the picture. Buffy had been in a really bad place ever since she'd been resurrected. As was to be expected. But it wasn't getting better. In fact, it felt as if all the minor breakthroughs he'd had with her – back when she'd almost treated him like a friend and opened up to him, even chose him to be the one to confide all of her dark secrets in – they had been erased ever since the night they'd first kissed.
(Didn't change that fact that it had been bloody glorious, that.)
Since then, she'd only grown more destructive each day, not letting anybody in, least of all him. He felt as though he was suffocating her light with the things they did in the dark.
And that was hell. Watching her suffer, watching her hate herself and dragging her down deeper than he'd ever planned, that was his hell.
Because he couldn't stop. He'd take her any way he could get her. But it was killing her.
Even that, he'd been able to live with. Even hurting her.
But last night, she had brought Angel into it and that was too much.
Spike could deal with cuts and bruises, with venomous words and being used without being seen, but he could not deal with Angel.
It should have been fun. Just another game they played to please their sick minds and insatiable bodies. He'd gladly let her.
She pushed him backwards upon the bed, her top coming off before he even had time to recover.
"You trust me, right?", she whispered in his ear before sucking on the lobe, effectively rendering him completely unable to answer that question with anything other than a strangled:
"Of course I bloody do. You know that, love."
He always did. Even when she wasn't seducing him into yet another little game. There was nobody he trusted more. Stupid really, considering he doubted she'd have qualms to stake him whenever he even got remotely evil again. But it was hard not to trust the woman you loved with your life. Let alone with whatever kinky thing she might be planning that required your trust.
Not like he was very much capable of rational thought when she was grinding against him like that. With her smirking down on him, black lacy bra showing off her gorgeous breasts and skirt ridden up so far, she was a bloody sight to behold. And even a blind vampire would dust at the feel of her alone. But at least his sodding denims had to go. Now.
When he made to remove them, however, she grabbed both his wrists before they could reach their destination and pushed them above his head.
"So that's how you want to play. Alright, I can do that", he leered, loving the dangerous sparkle in her eyes.
"Oh, Spikeyboy, you have no idea how I want to play."
And with that, he felt something cold snap shut around his wrist and broke out into a full-on grin.
"I thought we'd lost those. Couldn't find them after last time."
She just stroked his bare torso with one of her tiny hands and scratched him slightly with her fingernails, making him hiss in pleasure.
"I took them with me. Figured they might come in handy."
All the while rubbing herself on his jean-clad hard-on. God, he could smell her getting closer and closer… The thought alone was enough to make him grind harder into her.
Biting back a moan, she dug her nails into his shoulder blade.
Then, quick as a flash, she'd dismounted long enough to shove him into a sitting position, his back against the wall. In the next second, she was back on him, focused on cuffing his other wrist so that they were tied together above his head, obviously fastened to something so that he couldn't move them.
It was then, strangely, that he became painfully aware of the fact that she hadn't kissed him yet.
When she licked her way down his chest – the black shirt long gone and forgotten somewhere next to his bed - and her hands opened his belt, then button and zipper without much of a ceremony, he was perfectly willing to wait for that a little while longer.
Then her hand was on him and even the last remaining rational thought disappeared into thin air. Damn her and her power over him, no matter how much he loved to let her have it…
Her thumb gave the head a quick caress, enough to smear the pre-cum already seeping from it and to make him arch into her. Quick as a flash, her nails were buried in his inner thigh, a clear warning. Buffy tutted and dug them in deeper.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you…"
God, could a voice that was so angelic at times sound so dirty? He'd love to punish her for a change, but how could a bloke not be happy? She fed his masochistic streak more than he'd ever thought possible. Her green eyes were gleaming dangerously and he managed to ground out a "Yes".
Her teeth closed around a nipple harder than they should and her other hand reached down to squeeze his cock painfully.
God, he loved her.
Satisfied with his answer, she gave the burning mark on his chest more than one soothing lick while her fingertips started tracing erotic patterns from the base of his appendage to the hypersensitive head. The hand previously clawing his thigh had moved down to his heavy balls. God, the chit was bound to drive him crazy with the triple stimulation…
He was panting hard, needlessly taking in air out of habit – or maybe because she liked it, but it was reassuring that she wasn't fairing better.
Spike honestly thought he'd die when she pulled back her hands from his aching body parts and started fondling her breasts through that insufferable bra of hers. Watched her pinch her own nipples until they were so erect he could clearly see their outline against the black material. Watched her eyes roll back into her head and listened to her moan in a way that almost had him coming right there.
"Buffy…", he groaned, need making him forget all about her apparent dislike for reaction of any kind. Big mistake.
Faster than he could think, his discarded shirt was stuffed into his mouth, rendering him effectively and literally speechless.
"I said 'Shut up'. Now you will watch quietly and without moving and maybe, just maybe I will consider actually fucking you when I'm done."
That said, one of her hands disappeared beneath her skirt while the other dipped beneath her bra. He could see the movements, transfixed by them and knew underneath the fabric, she was rubbing her perfect little clit. And she wasn't letting him see. Bloody cruel, the bint.
Her deep, breathy moans, the speeding up of her hand, now joined by the other, undoubtedly burying skilled fingers deeply inside her, he wanted to move so badly, if only to move his cock in her general direction, if only to soothe the ache by a tiny fraction of the bliss that awaited him… Because he knew she would take him, even as she was rushing towards what seemed like it was going to be one hell of a glorious orgasm. She'd ride him, if only to get off again.
Her eyes opened as a silent 'oh' escaped her mouth, the pleasure too great for more than that tiny sound. Her entire body went rigid and he could feel her thighs clamping deliciously around his. It was a mesmerizing sight, really. One she didn't give him very often. Yes, she let him or made him go down on her plenty, let him finger her into oblivion any time she wanted him to, came beneath him, on top of him, sitting up against him, trapped between him and a wall or trapping him against a wall, wrapped around him in impossibly ways, sometimes even let him take her from behind, but he could never get enough of her satisfaction. And most of the time, he was too occupied with his own mind blowing climax or the feel of her clamping down on him to appreciate it fully.
He loved her like this. Hell, he loved her no matter what, but this? This was the closest to heaven she could get and it relieved him to no end that she found that with him.
Her eyes had drifted shut again and she had sunken forward against him, arms carelessly draped around his neck, head resting against his shoulder. He could smell her, hear her heartbeat and her slow, deeply sated breaths and feel her breasts carelessly rubbing against his chest. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he almost wanted it more than relief.
But he'd be damned if he moved now and made her angry.
"Hm… That was good…"
Then she looked at the slick fluid coating the index and middle finger of her right hand as if wondering what to do with it now. Then she held them underneath his nose and sweetly asked:
"Want a taste?"
Did he want a taste? Did he want a bloody taste? After that spectacle (and before it, too), he wanted almost nothing more than eating her out! God, she smelled good… He futilely tried to spit out the shirt obstructing his access to her glistening fingers.
"I forgot", she lied beautifully, as if genuinely distraught over the fact.. "You were bad and had to be punished. So I guess you will also miss out on this…"
He let out a pained gasp against the fabric in his mouth when she brought her sticky fingers to her lips and almost obscenely licked them clean, in, and out of hollowed cheeks, sucking, slurping, devouring her essence and moaning during it like a whore, fixating him with her horny gaze. She took longer for this than necessary – to torture him some more, of course. Taunting him with her delicious juices, someone as orally fixated as him and she knew it, too.
When she was done, she sighed deeply.
"Now what to do about you… I can't say that I'm not still displeased by your behavior earlier..."
Please don't leave me here like this… I swear, Buffy, if you leave me here like this-…
"But you did keep still after I admonished you, so… I guess I can give you this."
And quick as lightning, she had impaled herself on his aching cock, drawing a muffled scream out of him and a decidedly sexual whimper out of herself.
Nothing, not one bloody thing had ever felt as good. He was almost too far gone to notice anything other than the way her Slayer muscles squeezed him as she moved on top of him in just the right rhythm and letting him finally, finally move against her, matching her thrust for thrust and just harshly enough to make him ready to pop within seconds. He wouldn't, of course, a century of practice (and with a right sadistic bitch, too) giving him the advantage of at least a little self-control. He'd hold on until she came, which – judging from her clouded vision – mercifully couldn't be too far off.
But then, suddenly, she stopped moving and her eyes flew open and there was an anger in there he couldn't explain. What had he done wrong now?
"Don't ever try to make love to me again", putting the words 'make love' in with a sneer, "I'm still disgusted just thinking about it."
Now? She was going to punish him for that now? It had been three bloody months since then! Since he had forced her to go slow, steady, accept that he was making love to her instead of just fucking her senseless. That first night, in the destroyed house, between the fifth and the seventh time. She'd hated him for it and fucked him harder for it, but she had to be kidding about wanting to discipline him for it now.
From the look in her eyes, the evil glint that would give Darla a run for her money, he was wrong.
"Remember how I said you were beneath me? Well, look at where we are now. How right I was. Of course, I meant it differently, then. And I still think it, every time I'm with you."
Please, no… Please, Buffy, don't go there…
"Though, come to think of it, if I close my eyes I can almost believe you're him. Just feeling without having to look at your face, it's not that far off…"
If his blood wasn't already room temperature, it would run cold.
She smirked down at him in a decidedly unpleasant way and ostentatiously let her eyelids drop. He tried wiggling out from under her, tested the restrains, but nothing would give.
"Hey, it turns out you're not completely useless!", she exclaimed, eyes firmly closed and her mouth grinning in a way he had never seen him. That was it, he had to get away before she-… She momentarily distracted him by circling her hips.
He bucked against her, now in earnest trying to get her off of him, to make her stop, anything to make her not do this… He shouted through the gag, begged for her to please, please let him go… Don't act like Dru, don't do this, please… Except Drusilla hadn't meant to. Dru hadn't tried to castigate him by saying her sire's name instead of his. Buffy – his sweet, wonderful Buffy who was supposed to be one of the good guys - was showing cruelty he hadn't thought her capable of.
He realized her eyes had snapped open when a sharp sting indicated she had just slapped him with all her might.
"Shut up. You're ruining my fun."
Despite wanting nothing more than getting away, he did. Because he just might want her more than to get out of this punishment.
And she simply closed her eyes again and proceeded to ride him, her delicious pussy milking him for all he was worth and he could not stop her. She felt so bloody glorious; he would have been her complacent little sex-toy without the chains. And every time she moaned his name he hated himself a little bit more for not hating her.
"Oh Angel… So good…"
For not struggling half as much as he could. For not seriously trying to break free and make her stop anymore. Part of him couldn't care less as long as he got to feel her a little bit longer, Slayer muscles contracting around him, squeezing him so tightly he just knew he would pop. Part of him even relished in the humiliation as long as he would get off.
And he would. Not much longer and he would. He could tell she was close, too. He just wished he could tell her to please open her eyes and stop pretending he was someone she actually wanted to be with when it was so clear that he wasn't.
He wouldn't be Angel. He'd never be Angel. Normally a reason for celebrating. Who wanted to be that bloody wanker, anyways? But this wasn't about what he wanted. It was about what she wanted.
He had never understood so completely that she would never want him.
And with that thought in his mind and a deep moan of the wrong name, Buffy came and took him along with her.
She collapsed on top of him and the sensation of having her so close to him and in such a vulnerable way for once didn't elate him.
When she opened her eyes, that hard, self-satisfied smirk was still gracing the corners of her mouth. He could hardly see her and for a second or so, he wondered why his vision was so blurred. It took her smirk fading and a look of horror settling in to make him realize he'd been quietly sobbing throughout it all.
He averted his eyes, body trembling from a very different cause than orgasm.
There it was. Plain and simple. The truth.
She would never love him.
Buffy was sitting on her porch when Spike showed up.
Spike. How much she loathed him right now for being such a sappy fool. How dare he of all people – dead or undead – be the one to stick by her through this whole death thing? How dare he be the only one to understand? He was the only one whose presence she could stand. To make her feel… anything. She wasn't empty when she could abuse him – be it emotionally or physically. Even just talk to him.
Spike made her feel alive. And she craved it.
But why him? Why couldn't she open up to her friends? Why couldn't they listen to her sorrows and make it all better? They knew where they'd pulled her out of, now. So why couldn't they relate to the way she felt? Why couldn't she make them? She was dark right now. So dark. But they deserved to see it. She didn't want to spare them – after all, they'd made her what she was. But she didn't feel the need to talk to Willow or Xander. Heaven forbid she'd ever breathe a word about this to Anya. Dawn just made her feel exhausted and heavy with responsibility and Giles wasn't even there anymore.
She missed Angel right now. Missed him so much – the way he'd made her feel. She missed that, most of all. Because she did love him, she always would, but seeing him had made her feel worse. Him, she didn't want to see her like this. And it was getting so hard to conjure up his face…
There was only one face in her memory and it kept haunting her with its tears and the shame etched into every last beautiful line in it.
She had done a lot of things to hurt him, to make him stay the hell away. To make him stop loving her. (Because, how could he?) She'd pulled a lot of bullshit on him to make him suffer, but he'd always been so… happy to be with her at all, that it had barely bothered him. She'd always been meaning to get even with him for making her be completely aware of the fact that he was making love to her that one time. She'd wanted him to pay.
Last night, she'd done that. She'd gotten her revenge.
And she'd hurt him so bad that he hadn't been able to look at her. His quiet sobs that hadn't stopped when she'd climbed off him, gathered her clothes and hurried the hell away from the vampire that cried like a man.
Seeing him like this had terrified her. It had made him real. Vampire or not, soul or not, Spike's feeling for her were as real as they could get. And she didn't care about crushing him one bit.
So she'd sat down on that very porch he had comforted her on twice now and tried to figure out what to do. She doubted she'd be able to just send him on his merry way for good. She was under no illusion about that. She needed him, no matter how twisted that was. The last time he'd threatened to leave, she had kissed him.
But it made her feel a new rush of self-disgust to know she'd just keep sleeping with him, regardless of his feelings for her. His very real feelings for her that she couldn't and wouldn't share.
Just a split second, that was all it took. That split second when she hated Angel for being a cruel bastard without a soul and realized Spike was not Angel.
Love. He claimed he loved her. For the first time, Buffy almost believed him.
Spike. How much she loathed him for being such a sappy fool. And she loathed him even more for the relief that flooded her body and even almost brought a smile to her lips upon seeing him walk down the street toward her.
So this was how this was going to happen. He would sit down next to her and wordlessly comfort her, without even looking at her or touching her. And despite loathing him to bits, she would feel so much better then.
But as he came closer, she caught a good, long glance of his face. She almost stopped breathing.
Not even with bumpies, back when he'd still been her legit enemy, had he ever scared her that much.
Spike was in pain. A different, quieter pain than the one he would so ostentatiously show, mixed with just a spot of disappointment. Of regret. And of fear. All that? Not so horrible, though. Not making her feel guiltier than expected. But the thing that had her shaking to her bones with terror, was the clenched jaw of determination.
He didn't sit down next to her on the porch. He just stopped, a careful distance between them.
And she did the first thing that came to mind.
"I thought I told you not to come here", she sneered coldly.
His voice was even when he answered. Almost polite.
"No worries, slayer. Won't take a lot of your time. I just came here to say goodbye."
His face morphed into a genuine, in lack of another word heartbroken smile. She didn't react and it faded away slowly.
"Just thought I'd tell you. Thought I owed you as much."
She still remained frozen in place, simply watching as a hurt frown formed on his brows.
"Well, goodbye, then."
And turned to walk away. She still didn't move. Just stared at his almost retreating back. Because, of course, he shot back around.
"What, that's it? You don't even try to stop me? You don't even say goodbye? You don't even say sodding anything?"
And within the blink of an eye, he was kneeling before her, face inches away from hers, his hands grasping her shoulders. Softer now, even pleading.
"Buffy… Don't you care at all?"
And she said the one thing she hadn't wanted to say. Not really.
"Of course I don't. I've been waiting for you to get the hell out of my life from the moment I first saw you."
Leaning in a bit closer to him, she whispered almost sweetly:
"This is a cause for celebration."
Watched him watch her with that last heave of hope she was determined to crush forever. She could see it in his eyes. That he couldn't find anything in her that indicated she would miss him at all.
And that was the thought that cracked her. As tears welled up, she pushed him away from her with all of her strength, sending him sprawling on his back beneath her.
"So this is it? Huh, Spike? You're just gonna leave now? I tease you a bit and you just walk away forever? Because that's weak. Even for you."
Now it was his turn to stay frozen in shock, eyes wide and staring at her.
Something was very wrong with her. Why in the world was she having a complete breakdown over news as wonderful as Spike leaving? It was insane, how close she was to begging him to stay. Even when Angel left, she hadn't felt so desperate and him, she had loved! Spike was merely a means to an end, a body to scratch her itch, a non-existing soul to abuse. Sure, he made her feel almost remotely alive, bus she still hated his guts. Him with his stupid proclamations of love that he knew she didn't want to hear.
He had brought it all on himself. He wanted to take away her choices in life, stop her from doing the right thing, served him right she had beaten him up in an alleyway behind a police station. And he'd always tried to slow things down, gentle them down, make love to her when the mere thought disgusted her… Sure, he'd given her what she wanted and he'd give it to her they way she wanted it most of the time, as soon as she'd gotten his obsession with loving her beat out of him for the moment, but she had been itching to pay him back and make him stop treating her like she mattered to him when all she could do was detest him.
It had been completely impulsive, what she had ended up doing, but in hindsight it really was the worst she could have done to him, much, much worse than the physical violence he was so used to by now or pointing out with words how little he meant to her. What her sick little mind had come up with didn't just tell him he was nothing. It proved it. And she had never been more horrified at herself, his post-death-Buffy with more darkness in her than she'd ever thought herself capable of. The sheer cruelty and how much she enjoyed it. How she sometimes thought it was all his fault, because without him all she would be was numb.
Most of the times she had tried her best to get rid of him and now that she finally pushed him away for good, she had actually started crying in front of him, in her confusion masking pain of all things with anger.
He was on the ground, half-sitting up, simply staring in disbelief and shock, all wide-eyed with no clue what to do. She knew what was happening to her was the most absurd reaction his words could possibly have evoked in her. It didn't make the least bit of sense to feel as though her lover, her best friend was being ripped away when all that he was was… Spike.
And suddenly, the need for him to leave was almost as strong as the sense of betrayal that overwhelmed her at the thought. She didn't understand and if he'd leave her alone in the mess her life had become since her resurrection, she'd much rather have him gone now. She was already humiliating herself enough with those abstruse tears and the vehemence with which she had pushed him.
"You want to leave? You want to abandon me like everyone around me always does? Then go!"
She spat out the words and pulled him back up at the front of his black shirt so that he was inches from her seething confusion.
He was beyond shocked at the violent grief she emitted. Buffy seemed completely out of control and for the first time he was scared for his life when he felt a stake against his chest.
"Leave right now or I'll stake you!"
But he couldn't move, maybe wouldn't move, only look at her tear-stricken face while the pressure on his heart increased.
"Why won't you leave?"
And something inside him just broke and he brought his arms around her, regardless of the very real threat to his existence. It cluttered to the ground uselessly, deafeningly loud in the moment. And then she was kissing him and he was greeted with more passion and despair than she had ever given him, rendering him as breathless as her. A devastating surge of hope because she had never tasted so raw.
Her lips moving frantically against his, tongues fighting, dancing, always dancing with each other… It wasn't about sex, it wasn't about love, it was about needing each other. Needing to be together, to share the misery. A bitter experience that couldn't possibly be sweeter.
They broke apart at the same time, resting their foreheads against the other, Spike greedily swallowing her warmth, Buffy craving his coolness.
"Oh Buffy", he sighed and despite how vulnerable it made him, it came from the heart of all mutual sorrow.
She had no idea what she had just given him. This was more than a crumb. And it was killing her.
They stayed exactly like that for what seemed like an eternity. Then she broke the heavy silence.
"Sometimes I don't even recognize myself…"
Her tiny words were even more astonishing than anything else that had transpired between them in the last few minutes, because they were the closest to an apology as she would probably ever give him.
"I do", he said quietly.
She looked up at him sharply.
"You're still in there somewhere, Buffy. And someday you'll find that again."
It was true, too. Attempting to drag her down into the darkness with him had been the most wrong he had ever done her. Even if he hadn't known what else to do, how else to keep her close. She would never lower herself to his level if she could see how good and pure she still was. Someday he would have to say goodbye because of that. But that day was not now.
"I'll stay if you want me to."
Almost immediately she answered "I don't", words with no conviction, no bite. He smiled at her stubbornness and felt like crying for her inability to admit that something big had just happened between them.
"I'll stay because you need me to", he corrected himself softly.
This time, there was no objection, just a deep breath. With a caress to her face, he broke away from her and finally began his walk back to his crypt. Behind him, he heard her say:
"This doesn't change anything."
And maybe it wouldn't.
"And I still don't love you."
Maybe they'd go back to heartbreak and violence and it would be as if he'd never threatened to leave her. But for him, it made all the difference in the world. She would never love him, but as long as she needed him, it was more than he'd ever hoped for. And that's what he answered her, without even turning around, his steps echoing on the concrete.
"But you need me."
He had never kissed her like that, tasting of goodbye and love and hope. Maybe she had never let herself be kissed like that. It had always been passion and lust, the occasional attempt at tender and caring that she had shot down as soon as she had the chance to, but it had never, never been so addictive. Perhaps that was because she'd come this close to missing it forever, not him, just the way he could make her – in lack of a better word – feel. She hadn't been so alive since before she had died. He was drinking up her hiccoughing sobs, drained her of her anger and gave her life in exchange for emptiness. And for the first time, she understood.
She couldn't dust him. She couldn't let him leave. She couldn't let him love her. But she did need him in her life right now. Without him, despite the mutual destruction, she was barely hanging on.
She needed Spike.
And when he walked away from her house, for once not exploiting the opportunity to make more of a kiss, so full of hope, with so much warmth inside icy blue eyes, she had to tell him. He had to know that none of whatever had just happened between them did not change the fact that she would never be able to love him. That it would all remain the way it had been prior to this night.
But he would stay and that was all that really mattered.
It occurred to her that the first time she had kissed him, really kissed him had been because then, he had been drawing away from her, too. She wondered what that said about her.
It was almost inaudible against his fading steps.
"But you need me."