Title:            A Demon's Deal – 1 of 5

Author:           mahaliem

E-Mail:           mahaliem@yahoo.com

Feedback:         Yes, please.

Distribution:     Post it wherever you want but please let me know.

Summary:          Spike comes back wrong, told from Buffy's POV

Spoilers:         Through the end of Season 6, some Season 7 spoilers   

Content:          Sex, violence, nothing too explicit.

Rating:           R

Disclaimer:       The characters are the property of Mutant Enemy & Joss Whedon

This story has been nominated for Best Drama Fic at Precious Illusions http://www.precious-illusion.tk/

Please Note:      If you have read my previous fiction, Rising From Our Dust, and have accessed this page hoping for something similar then this isn't it.  First of all, the format is different.  This story is told from Buffy's point of view not as a script.  Secondly, this story is not sweet.

Thank you to my beta readers, who both write wonderful stories (better than mine).   They are treacle antlers whose stories can be found on Fanfiction.net and Theresa V. whose stories are at fanficden.mybravenet.com.

The Return

It was while I was fighting three fledglings that I first felt his presence.  It started as a niggling at the back of my skull that I ignored.  But it grew into a tingling and when I smelled the smoke, the smoke of his cigarettes, I knew it was him.  It threw me off my game so badly that I found myself on the ground, with the last remaining fledgling hovering over my neck, his fangs bared and no stake in my hand.

I held him off for a long moment, half-expecting for him to turn into dust with a thrust from behind.  The moment became two, then three, until I couldn't wait any longer and kicked him off of me.  With a roll I managed to make it to where my stake had landed when it had been knocked out of my hand and when the vamp leapt back on me I was ready, dispatching him quickly in a shower of dust.  To tell the truth, I was still so taken aback at Spike's return I didn't quip, pun or anything. 

As I stood and brushed myself off, I heard a slow clapping at my performance.  Turning my head I saw him.  Leaning lazily against a tree, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he was clothed, as always, in his signature black.  He didn't have his duster since it had been relegated to the dark recesses of my closet.  Instead he wore a black cloak.  A cloak that seemed oddly familiar, but that I couldn't quite place. 

"A little help would've been nice," I said.

"Suppose it would've," he replied as he reached for his cigarette and blew out the smoke.

He looked fantastic, all lean and hard.  What had Xander once said? Compact and muscular?  His skin glowed in the light as he smiled at me, his bleached hair gleaming.  How often had I spied a blonde in the last few months, my breath catching in my throat, until the head turned and I was disappointed?  But he was here, actually here at last and, suddenly mad as hell, I marched up to him.  I was angry that he was back, but so much angrier that he had left. 

"What do you want?"

Slowly his eyes drifted down over my body and my skin seemed to quiver under his scrutiny.  It reminded my of the many nights we'd lie in bed, exhausted after our exertions and he would prop himself up on his elbows and study me intently.  Staring at me.  Trying to memorize every curve, every indentation.  His eyes always made me self-conscious, but more often than not, his stare would start a whole new round of lovemaking. 

His gaze finally having reached my boots, was working it's way back up, and I couldn't help but notice it hesitate for a few moments at the apex of my thighs.  When this caused a rush of dampness to the area he smiled and moved higher, my hardening nipples also a source of amusement.  Finally he reached my face.  Looking into my eyes for a moment, he brought the cigarette to his lips again for another drag.  As he blew the smoke at me he answered my question.

      "Not a damn thing."

With that he turned from me, and headed through the cemetery towards his crypt.  Never one to keep from making a bad situation, worse I followed. 

He knew that I'd followed him, of course, and when he reached his crypt he held the door open and waited for me to enter.  The place looked the same as the last time I had seen it, the day I'd brought Dawn here for safety, only to be met by Clem.  Taking a seat on the sarcophagus Spike motioned for me to take the chair, but I chose to remain standing.  He kept on smoking his cigarette right down to the filter, then brought out another one and lit it, cupping his hand around the flame.  He watched me the entire time, and slowly, the silence stretched out and filled the room. 

Without even knowing why, I began to talk, telling him about everything that had happened after he had left.  When I told him about being shot I saw him glance quickly at my chest, but there was little to no reaction to the rest of the tale. Willow going berserk, killing Warren, fighting me and Giles, and then trying to end the world, but I told him anyway.  I told him about the hot, bright day we lowered Tara into the cold, dark ground. 

I should've ended my story there, but instead I told him of the loneliness of the summer.  How Giles and Willow were away in England.  How Dawn had finally been invited to spend some time with Dad, and had only recently returned.  I told him how my relationship with Anya, never close to begin with had been irrevocably damaged by his night with her.  Even now we were still feebly trying to stitch some kind of patchwork-friendship back together, and I wasn't much good at arts and crafts projects.  I told how Xander was increasingly distant, busy with his job and how, with Willow gone, and his no longer dating Anya, his ties to me seemed stretched and frayed.  I told him I felt that I was losing him. 

He smoked in silence, listening to me as I prattled, watching me closely.  I should've shut up then.  I wish I had shut up then, but I didn't.  It all came gushing out.  I was Buffy the Babbling Brook.   I started talking to Spike about him, about us.  I told him how much what he had done in the bathroom had hurt me, but how his leaving had hurt even more.  I told him that I had needed his help during the fight with Willow.  How patrolling had become a lonely chore without him.  I told him I missed him.  I told him I still had feelings for him.  

He seemed to sit up a bit at that.  I tried to cover myself, to make it clear that no matter what, we would never be lovers again.  I explained to him that I wouldn't love him, that I couldn't love him.

He hopped off of the sarcophagus and crushed his cigarette out with his foot.  Fixing my eyes with that intense blue gaze, he prowled toward me until he was scant inches away.  My breathing became shallower as he stood there, his nearness causing the heat of my body to warm his cool one.  I could almost feel the pulse in my throat throbbing at his presence.  Smiling he spoke.

      "Guess this would be a bad time to ask you to go down on me then, wouldn't it?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His laughter after I punched him and ran away, echoed in my ears for days.  I started avoiding his cemetery.  If evil demons had arrived in Sunnydale intent on taking over the world, they would have succeeded if their headquarters had been located among the tombstones near his crypt. 

But even as I patrolled the other dark and dank spots of Sunnydale, I scanned my surroundings for him.  I became twitchy, nervous that I might turn and find him there, watching me with that sardonic expression.  You would think that I would have been prepared then for the next time I saw him.  I wasn't. 

I had promised Dawn that I would take her to the Bronze.  Xander had reluctantly agreed to go with us.  He sat with us downing whiskeys as we sipped our diet sodas and told us unfunny jokes with that fractured smile of his.  Truthfully, a lot of his humor hadn't been funny in the past, but these were different, bitter and mean-spirited.  In a desperate effort to stop the toxic spill I asked him to dance with me. 

It was while I was dancing that I felt the heightening of my senses that signaled Spike's presence.  Turning to hunt the corners, I was unable to find the source.  The tingling felt as though it was coming from all around me, covering me, passing through me, and my lack of concentration on the dance caused me to stumble against Xander.  Laughing, he joked about cutting me off from liquor-free beverages in the future and led me back to the table, where Dawn took my place with him on the dance floor. 

Closing my eyes I attempted to focus my slayer senses and, after a second, I lifted my head and saw him.  He was standing on the balcony.  The exact same spot where he had taken me from behind, as I watched my friends dance in blissful ignorance below.  I could tell that he was pleased that I had located him at last.  There was a girl with him, a petite blonde.  She was laughing, drunk and seemed completely unaware of the type of creature she was with.  Looking down at me, he stuck his tongue between his teeth and quirked his eyebrows suggestively.  His hand came up and he slowly stroked the length of her golden hair.  Our eyes still on each other, he moved his hand from the ends of her hair to her breast, caressing it while I watched.  I felt my skin flushing under his gaze despite myself.  Then, bracing his hands against the railing he began to thrust his hips slowly forward and back against the girl. The blonde was too drunk to care what he was doing, but I was mesmerized as I watched him mimicking our actions from months before with someone else.  His thrusts were slow at first, timed to the beat of the music drumming around us, but then sped up, becoming wilder and more powerful.  When he closed his eyes and threw back his head in mock ecstasy, I felt my treacherous body shudder in response and I let out a gasp.   With that sound, his eyes flew open and his gaze pierced me.  Even from that distance away, he knew, could smell the arousal that was soaking my panties.  Then, with a flashing grin, he winked and backed away into the darkness, abandoning the unknown girl. 

Dawn and Xander returned to the table to find me gathering my things.  I had to get away from there and their puzzled questions forced me to lie.  Telling them that I wasn't feeling well, I insisted on them staying and having fun and, when my flushed face made them press me further, I grimaced and whispered "cramps".  Dawn gave me a sympathetic smile, while Xander blanched and on that, I practically ran from room.  I needed to shower.  I needed to scrub the feeling of violation off of my skin. 

I had almost completed my escape, was almost home when I felt him.  He was standing by the tree in the yard, the tree I now thought of as his.  The tree he had stood under as he watched my house, leaving cigarette butts littered about.  The tree under which he had made rough, amazing, love to me, staining my coat with the wet grass as he pressed me down on the ground.  And I'd really liked that coat, too. 

Once again he had a cigarette lit, the smoke curling around him.  He moved forward until his body brushed up against mine, forcing me to take a step back.

      "So, luv," he smirked.  "Was it good for you, too?"

Spike had once told me that he had never learned to enthrall someone.  That Drusilla was the one who enjoyed getting into peoples' heads and treating them like living dolls, after which she would lose interest and let her victims die of neglect.  Spike considered enthralling someone to be cheating, much preferring to use fist and fangs instead.  Enjoying the thrill of the contest, the possibility of losing as much as the rapture of the blood afterwards.  If I hadn't known already known all this, I would have believed at the moment that he had me under his spell.

I couldn't move as he started touching me.  My hands remained limp at my sides instead of clenched into fists, as he began to caress my cheek, my chin, my neck.  His fingers moved lower still on my body and yet I remained acquiescent.  He palmed my breast for a moment, flicking a hardened nipple with his thumb through the fabric of my clothes, and I let him.  It was only when he gave my breast a sudden vicious twist, hurting me, that I was able to break the spell.  Gasping, I stumbled back, pushing him away.  He only laughed and backed off. 

Dismissively, he turned to leave, his cloak flowing out behind him.  It was then it hit me, where I'd seen it before.  I called to him before I thought better of it, delaying his departure.

      "Why are you wearing Dracula's coat?"

He spun back, a gleeful smile on his face.

      "Recognized it, did you?" he asked.

I nodded.  Curious about what he would say, I waited for him to continue.

      "Took it from him.  Right off of his back before staking him into dust."  

I had known that Spike was a better, more dangerous fighter than Dracula.  I had never been able to beat him despite our many contests.  Dracula, once you got by all of his mental tricks, was easy in comparison.  Although, technically I suppose I hadn't actually managed to kill him either.

      "Didn't he do the dust devil thing and form up again?"

Spike's smile broadened, becoming maniacal. 

"He did.  Came back and came back and came back.  Each time he came back, he found me waiting for him.  Thought of lots of different ways to kill him.  Once I cut him into teeny bits before chopping off his head.  My favorite was setting him on fire, hearing him scream before he dusted. Must have done that a couple of dozen times for the pure pleasure of watching it."

Listening to him, I felt the sodas I had drunk earlier churn in my stomach, threatening to reappear in a new yucky form.  A dawning comprehension caused me to quickly back away to the safety of my home.  He looked like Spike.  He sounded like Spike.  But it wasn't.  It couldn't be.  Spike's double didn't notice, too busy reliving the joy he had experienced.

"Near the end he would solidify, already sniveling, begging me for mercy.  Offered me anything and everything he had if I would only leave him alone.  Would take what he offered, then kill him again. Only quit when he stopped begging, stopped whimpering.  Wasn't fun after that."

With trembling fingers I reached behind me and turned the knob, and, just as he leapt up onto the porch, wrenched open the door and fled inside.  I thanked God that Xander had insisted that we do the Uninvite Spell.  I had tried to reassure him that it was unnecessary but, when Dawn had agreed, I had conceded to keep the peace. Giles had done the honors before leaving the country with Willow and breathing heavily, I now sent him a silent thank you. 

As it was I barely made it inside before he slammed up against the barrier.  He knew what it was, but as I watched he prodded and poked at it, seeing if it would hold.  My limbs were shaky and my voice trembled as I asked him,

      "Who are you and what have you done to Spike?"

He took a step back and glared at me, hatred emanating from him in waves. 

      "It's not what I did to Spike.  It's what you did."