She made it as far as the 7-Eleven on the north edge of town before exhaustion forced her to call Giles for a lift.
"Are you sure we shouldn't take you straight-away to a doctor, Buffy? After all, we have no idea what the side-effects of such a spell might be."
"I'm fine, Giles. A little wobbly in the knee area and my fingers are still all tingly, but other than that..." She shrugged and stared out the car window at early-morning Sunnydale.
"How did you manage to get yourself cornered by this creature in the first place?"
"Oh, well, I was in Spike's crypt--that is, I was talking to Spike about--anyway, Butch and his buddies kind of took us by surprise and we had to make a run for it...did you know there are catacombs under Sunnydale? And how come you never told me about the Hellmouth in Paris?"
Giles sighed as he turned the car onto Revello. "Perhaps if you paid more attention, Buffy or took notes..."
"Right. Well, anyway, we were running through all these tunnels, and then we found a place to rest and I...I guess I let my guard down, 'cause the next thing I knew--Quadriplegic Girl."
"And you say Spike was able to overpower this Butch fellow?"
"Well, it's not like I didn't help--I used that thing from the training--the sound of one hand clapping thingy."
"The Zen technique?"
"Yeah, I guess. I was just lying there, listening to them talk, and then I made my mind go empty like we practiced...and the next thing I knew, I could move again. Not really well, but enough to surprise him--and then Spike..." Her voiced trailed off as she tried not to think about what Spike had done.
"Well, I suppose we owe him a debt of gratitude for that--but why on earth did he let you try to walk back home alone? Very inconsiderate."
"But it was morning, the sun was up. And anyway, I'm OK."
"Right then. Here we are." Giles looked up at her as she slid out of the car, still moving very slowly. "I suggest you skip classes today. Get some sleep. I'll call you tonight, yes?"
"OK. Thanks, Giles." She watched him pull out and drive away up the street.
Sleep was of the good. By the time she awakened it was after sundown and she felt renewed in body, if not in spirit.
The crypt was empty when she arrived. His duster was missing, but the duffel bag was lying on the center of the tomb, still filled with his belongings. She wondered if she should go look for him, or settle in to wait.
Then he was standing in the doorway, holding a package covered in brown paper and staring at her.
"Slayer. How're you feelin'?"
He didn't answer. Stepping around her, he set the package on the tomb and shouldered the duffel bag.
He lifted his chin and looked past her, at some distant point over her head. "It's been a good ride, Slayer. Entertainin' an all. You'll bid farewell to the Slayerettes for me?" His wry grin didn't quite make it all the way up to his eyes.
"I don't want you to go."
He sighed and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "Let's not do this again, pet. Just gets us into trouble. Let's just say goodbye with a little grace an' dignity an'..." He was amazed to see her eyes fill with tears. "Buffy?"
And then she was in his arms, her nose smashed up against the soft black leather, fighting back sobs. "Don't go. Stay. You can't--"
He dropped the duffel and pried her body from his chest. "Slayer, I have to. This...whatever...that's between us is no good. Not for me, an' certainly not for you."
She stamped her foot like a petulant child. "I'LL decide what's good for me--and what do you mean, I'm not good for you? I'm VERY good for you, you...you...ugly, stupid, misshapen..."
"I get the general drift of your thoughts, luv, but it doesn't change anythin.' What happened last night--an' your reaction to it--will just keep happenin.' I can be a good boy an' keep my fangs to myself--not much choice in the matter--but I'll never be the fairy-tale prince you think you need. An' I won't torture myself or you by continuin' to try."
"But--" She stopped. Damn him and his way of cutting straight to the truth. "But--you promised me a proper shag!" It was out of her mouth before she had time to bite it in half and kill it dead.
She felt the muscles in his arms grow tense and then he was pushing her away from him.
"So THAT'S what this is about, then? Well, cutie, you hardly needed to go all soft an' tearful just for THAT." He stripped off his duster and reached into the pocket for his lighter. "Tell me, what sort of thing did you have in mind?" He took a seat on the edge of the tomb, lit a cigarette, and looked at her speculatively.
"I...what do you mean?"
"Oh, there's all varieties of shags, luv. There's the pity shag, the boredom shag," he counted them off on his fingers. "The apology shag, the hungry shag, the angry shag--that's a personal favorite--the farewell shag. You get my meanin'?"
"Stop it. Stop making fun of me."
"Stop it. Stop making fun of me." He mimicked her whine perfectly.
"I hate you!"
"Yes, there's the I-hate-you shag, but that usually comes after the--" He broke off his words when he saw tears fill her eyes again. "All right, pet. I'm sorry. Look, I brought you a gift to remember me by." Sliding off the tomb, he stepped forward and handed her the package.
She unwrapped it warily. Under the brown paper there was rectangular box covered in black velvet. Too heavy to be jewelry. She looked up at him with a question on her face. He motioned for her to open it. She did.
Lying inside the box was a very large, very shiny, very silver vibrator.
Rage obliterated every other emotion in her mind and body. She launched herself at him, kicking and punching wildly.
He'd meant for a joke, mostly. But there was a small part of him--a part that he had resolutely ignored while choosing and purchasing the offending item--that had wanted to hurt her, humiliate her, the way he had been humiliated. And of course he'd wanted her to use the gift and think of him.
He hadn't expected this much fury. Dodging and ducking about the crypt, he stayed low and out of the way, hoping she'd tire before she landed anything beyond a grazing blow.
But as the frenzy of her anger wore down, her swings and kicks became more accurate. He took a blow to the head and another to the gut. Then another. Then he grabbed her leg as she launched yet another roundhouse kick and threw her down onto the tomb.
The chip in his head made a warning chirp. The small shock of pain caused his eye to twitch.
He held her down, staring into her furious eyes. She was panting hard. He had her by the hips and his fingers bit into the flesh beneath her clothes. She licked her lips.
"Right then. Angry
it is." He fell on her, assaulting her mouth, his hands ripping at her
shirt. She struggled beneath him, scratching at his flesh, biting his lips.
She wasn't sure if she was fighting him off or attempting to provoke him
to more aggression. Then it didn't matter, because there was no longer
enough blood left in her brain to consider it, as it was flowing through
veins straight down into the center of her.
Her shirt was
in shreds and his mouth was on her breast, sucking hard. She cried out
once and he lifted his head to look at her. She half-expected to encounter
his demon, but the expression of lust on his human face was disturbing
enough. Then his slapped his hand down hard over her mouth and pushed
her back onto the
stony surface of the tomb.
She continued to struggle, searching for a way out from under him, but with increasingly less conviction. His hand slid off of her face and began ripping at the button on her pants. His mouth moved from one breast to the other, biting harder, rubbing the surface of his tongue with building intensity over her nipples.
She groaned and he growled, and then his eyes flashed yellow and she sensed the demon in him approaching. It re-invigorated her will to fight, and she landed a hard punch to the side of his head.
He yowled in anger and tore her pants from the waist-band straight down the center, stripping her naked to the ankles in one movement. She kicked at him blindly as he pulled off her boots. He stepped back and grabbed her legs, trying to roll her. She fought harder, her heart in her throat, the dark room spinning before her eyes.
Finally succeeding in flipping her over, he shoved her fully onto the tomb. He placed a rough hand on her neck, forcing her head down. At the same time, his arm around her waist pulled the lower half of her body upward, so that she was resting on her knees with her ass in the air. She steeled herself, breathing hard, waiting.
She felt him climb on to the tomb behind her and heard the whisper of fabric as he dropped his jeans from his hips. Then he was leaning over her, the cool skin of his thighs in contact with hers. She felt his tee-shirt against her back, and then his mouth fixed itself on a spot below her shoulder blade and began to nibble and bite at the flesh there.
She felt his hand on her abdomen, pinching her roughly, and she squirmed in protest. Then his fingers were buried in the curls that covered her vulva and he was searching. He found his target, squeezing her clit firmly between his thumb and forefinger and then twisting it back and forth slowly.
She whipped her head back and let out a shriek. He pulled his hand away, and she felt something hard and velvety stroke her outer lips.
He froze, cock in hand, poised to enter her.
"No, Slayer?" His voice was a grinding growl.
"Well, what it is then...no or yes?"
There was a long moment of silence. She could feel his insistent throbbing at her opening.
She knew what he wanted to hear. A battle raged inside herall her pride at war with how much she wanted him at that moment. Finally: "Yesfuckme."
He gave out with a long, low sigh as he pushed himself into her in one smooth motion. Once inside, he held still, pressing his pelvis hard against her.
There were bells, whistles and birdsong in her head. A strange thought occurred to her: if Drusilla hadn't been a lunatic when she met him, she certainly would have been driven blissfully mad by fucking him for a hundred-plus years.
He began thrusting, gripping her by the hips, and increasing the pace and force gradually. A rumble began deep in his gut. He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated on holding back his demon and his orgasm, in that order.
She scrabbled her fingernails along the stone cover of the tomb, trying to brace herself against his thrusts. A ball of heat and tension began to form around the place where their bodies connected.
He felt the tautness of her muscles under him and the swollen slickness of her walls around him and wondered if he would ever be himself again after this experience. He wanted to howl her name...he wanted to break down and sob that he loved her.
Suddenly, her upper body shot up, forcing him out of her. He lost his balance and toppled over backward, off the tomb and onto the floor. She was on him in a moment, yanking his jeans down past his knees and sliding his cock back into her and squeezing it there tightly.
She bent over him, placing her hands on either side of his head, and watched the flickers of gold play in his eyes. She began rocking back and forth gently, and then with more force. His face contorted with pleasure and his fingers found her clit again, pinching and rolling it, driving her closer to the edge of release.
Then, in an action that was an unintentional duplicate of a move she'd made not long ago beneath the tree in front of her house, she leaned in and took his full lower lip between her teeth for a hard bite and a firm lick.
It broke his control, and she was treated to a close-up of his demon side. She half-expected to see smoke and flames shoot from his nostrils. Instead, she was suddenly on her back and he was pounding into her and raking his fangs down the skin on her arms.
She gloried in the sensation of surrender. She felt the tension building, felt herself slipping toward the edge. She looked up into to his hot gold eyes and whispered, "Do it. Drink me."
He let out a strangled cry that was like nothing she'd ever heard, and fell on her neck. When his fangs pierced her there, she matched his cry, and slammed her hips up to meet his with a violence that would have seriously damaged another couple.
A passing stranger, unfamiliar with the rites of love on a Hellmouth, might have assumed that two wild beasts had wandered into the crypt and were dueling to the death. Perhaps a wolf and mountain lion, or something even more dangerous. The sounds they made as their bodies shook and convulsed were unearthly, but sweet to their own ears.
They rode it out, wrenching the last bittersweet spasms from each other, and then collapsed together, still entangled. She cradled his head against her chest as he licked away the small streams of blood that flowed there. Her breath was ragged, and her body continued to shudder and throb as his hands roamed over her.
After several long moments, they lay still. He could hear her heart slow from a thundering gallop to a contented trot. His dragged his fingers softly up and down the length of her torso and was pleased when she tensed, still not sated.
"So..." Her voice came out about an octave too high. She cleared her throat and tried again. "That was...it was..."
"That, cutie, was an angry shag."
"I can see why it's your favorite."
"Mmm...one of my favorites." He was kissing her neck where his fangs had been, and his voice was muffled.
"Isn't this the part of the story where you declare your love for me and pledge your black heart to me forever?"
He let out a snort. "When did this turn into a bleedin' Barbara Cartland novel?"
"Good." She settled more firmly into his arms. "I was afraid..."
"What, luv?" He pulled back to look at her. "What were you afraid of?"
She sighed. She wanted to make him understand, but wasn't sure how to go about it. "I don't want things to change--between us--I mean, I know eventually they'll have to change, but for right now..."
"S'all right, pet. When it comes to the finer emotions, we'll just pretend we're the U.S. military--don't ask, don't tell."
"You're sure? And you won't leave?"
He was silent for a moment. Then: "I believe I can be persuaded to hang about a bit longer." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Persuaded? What does THAT mean?"
He lifted his head and looked about the floor of the crypt, searching for something. "Where's your present, pet? I'll show you what I mean."
He reached for the black velvet box. She squealed and struggled out from under him as the sound of a low buzzing filled the crypt.
Fifteen minutes later, a couple strolling past the gates of the cemetery heard a female voice raised in a warble of unmistakable pleasure. The sound was joined by a low snarl and then a louder roar.
"How come WE never do it in the cemetery anymore?" Anya's voice was accusing.
As she pulled him inside past the gates, her hands already working at the buttons of his shirt, Xander thought, and not for the first time, "Ah, the perverse joys of life on a Hellmouth."
Two evenings later found Spike taking up his customary station beneath the tree in front of Buffy's house. He'd had time to light his first smoke of the evening when she appeared before him, dressed for dancing at the Bronze.
"You know, for a vampire, you're very dependable."
"Wouldn't want to disappoint, luv."
"Well, you can just take the night off--I'm otherwise occupied." She said it with a flip of her shampoo-commercial hair and a hand on her hip.
"Yeah? Found a new boyfriend already, have you? Another cardboard cut-out, no doubt. You an' your bleedin' tragic taste in men"
She shoved him back against the tree, and he felt something hard press into the spot over his heart.
"Don't push your luck, Bleach Boy. I'm not in the mood to listen to your stupid comments regarding my love-life tonight."
"Why don't you stake me then, Slayer? But I know you won't. You're all talk, you are."
They was a flash of silver in the half-light, and suddenly whatever was pressing into his chest began to vibrate.
"Oi! That tickles!" They grappled in the dark, and then he was kissing her. She allowed him to continue for several seconds and then ended the kiss by biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood.
"Bitch! I'll get you for that"
"Yeah? You and what un-chipped army?" She danced in front of him, daring him to take a swing.
"Hmmm...there's more than one way to skin a Slayer--ever heard of the vengeance shag?" He waggled his eyebrows and made a grab for her.
She laughed and hopped just out of reach. "Have to catch me first!"
She raced down the street toward the cemetery, vibrator still clutched in her hand. He took a moment for a last drag on his cigarette, stubbed it out beneath his boot, and took off after her, the light of the moon glinting off his grin of anticipation.
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