Summary: Once, William Pratt was a quiet poet, madly in love with his wife, Drusilla. Now, Spike is a loner, hunting in the night for the monster who took her away. He is focused on vengeance, making no room for anything else in his life – until his plan to get his revenge takes a turn he never could have predicted.
Author's Notes: Parts of this fic get very dark. There’s angst, there’s violence,
there’s stuff that’s not altogether happy. It’s not all angst, but
there is a good bit, especially in certain parts. If at any point it
gets to be two much for you, you can do one of two things: stop
reading, hold your breath and hope it gets better, or email me and ask
me to answer any question you have about what’s coming up to see if
it’s something you still want to read. (I’ll always answer those
questions in private emails sent to addie_logan@yahoo.com. I will not
answer them in a public forum like my livejournal or a review page. I
don’t want to spoil the story for people who don’t want to know.)
However, what I ask you not to do is complain to me about things
being too dark or tell me it’s too much for you. I have some readers
who have problems with angst and some who don’t. I’m not going to
shortchange the ones who do, or myself for that matter, because some
people can’t take it. That’s not fair to anyone. So if you don’t like
what I’m writing, then that’s your personal preference, and you’re free
to read something else. I understand that, and I’m fine with it. I’m
not fine with flame wars, nor am I fine with people harassing me,
writing me threatening emails, or trash talking me around the internet.
(And just so you know, I’m not paranoid – this has happened.)
So, to sum up – there is angst. If you like it, that’s cool,
keep reading. If you don’t, that’s cool, too, you can quit reading. Or
read with one eye covered. Or something. Just don’t flame me.
Rating: NC-17
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It had been so long since Spike had the feeling that it took him a little while to put a name to it. When he did, he smiled. Contentment…
It was refreshing to get to spend a quiet morning having breakfast in
bed with his lover, even if his came out of a fast food bag and hers
was pilfered hospital-stock blood in a ceramic mug.
He watched her from the corner of his eye as she sipped from the mug,
amazed at how quickly she’d begun to heal once he’d allowed her human
blood. Her pale, skin was growing smooth again, her eyes bright and
shiny. The spot on her head where her hair had been singed off was no
longer bald, though the strands of hair coming in proved beyond a
shadow of a doubt that she was no more a natural blonde than he was.
He reached out and ran his hand over the brown stripe before tucking it
behind her ear. Buffy sighed, lowering the mug from her mouth. “That
looks really weird, doesn’t it? The big patch of brown right there in
the front?”
“We’ll fix it when it grows out completely,” Spike assured her. “Make you look as good as new.”
“I still don’t know how you could want me with the way I looked before. I know I looked disgusting.”
Spike shook his head. “Don’t care how you look. You call to me, Buffy.
You make my body burn in ways I’d forgotten about – if I’d ever really
felt them in the first place.” He ran his hand down her naked thigh,
feeling the way she trembled from his touch. “When this is all over,
I’m taking you some place where I can spend days fucking you good and
proper.”
His promise made her shiver, and Buffy downed the rest of the blood in
her mug, set it on the arm of the couch, grabbed Spike’s head, and
pushed him between her thighs. Spike didn’t hesitate, only repositioned
himself so he could find better access before beginning to lick and nip
at her clit, two fingers pushing into her. Buffy moaned, her hand
tangling in his platinum curls, holding him in place.
“Mmm…that’s a good little vamp hunter,” she teased, smirking down at
him. He looked up at her and met her eyes before giving her clit a hard
bite. “Fuck, yeah!” Buffy yelled, her head hitting the back of the
sofa. “More, baby. Eat me up real good.”
It drove Spike wild to watch her grow strong again, move away from the
frightened, broken girl he’d seen in the bathtub. This was the
confident woman who’d made him rock hard as he’d fought her in that
alley, the woman who made him crazy with lust.
He lifted his head, panting, his pupils dilated with lust until his eyes were almost black. “Let me fuck you, baby. Please…”
Buffy shook her head, her eyes flickering gold for a moment and a
wicked grin firmly in place. “Not until I’ve had my fill of your
tongue,” she told him before pushing him back against her cunt. She
thrust her hips against his mouth, muffling his moans. “Make me come,
Spike. Make me come hard…”
Spike added a third finger, pumping them roughly in and out of her as
he alternated between lapping at her clit with his tongue and nipping
it with his teeth. Buffy writhed beneath his touch, animalistic growls
and high-pitched cries sounding from her as she hurtled towards orgasm.
She vamped out when she came, her hands grasping at him until she
grabbed his shoulder, bringing deep red welts to his skin. Spike looked
up at her, asking with his eyes for permission to take what he wanted,
but Buffy shook her head. “More,” she gasped, her body still shaking.
“Do it again…”
He did as she asked, low growls rumbling through him as he feasted from
her. He kept going, bringing her off a second and third time before she
finally said the words he’d been longing for. “Now, Spike… Fuck me, now…”
Spike surged up her body, thrust inside. Five deep strokes and he was
coming, his fingers digging hard enough into her hips to bruise a
normal woman. Buffy screamed his name, bucked against him, and came a
fourth time.
Spike panted, fighting to catch his breath as he rolled them over,
Buffy splayed out on his chest. “You’re a bossy little bitch, aren’t
you?” he asked playfully, tucking her hair behind her ear.
She smirked. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”
“Those really aren’t the kind of orders I mind,” Spike replied. He licked his lips. “You taste exquisite.”
“Angelus never really liked doing that much, so it’s nice to get to
indulge for once,” Buffy admitted. “And you have a really nice tongue.”
“Angelus is clearly a raving idiot on top of everything else.” Spike ran his hand down her ass. “And I do, don’t I?”
Buffy rolled her eyes, though there was a smile on the corner of her lips. “Cocky much?”
“Very much,” Spike replied with a grin.
Buffy chuckled at his response, but then he watched as her expression changed, her eyes going from playful to…something else.
“Tell me you love me again,” she pleaded, needing to hear it again,
needing him to make her believe maybe this could be something real.
“I…I liked how it made me feel when you said it.”
“Oh, sweetheart…Buffy… I love you. I love you.”
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his neck,
and suddenly she was the vulnerable girl again. Spike loved her like
this just as much as when she was in control, loved how it made him
feel to be able to comfort her, to warm her skin with his own.
And she was everything rolled up into one small package.
She was all he’d ever loved and hated, his salvation and his damnation.
She made him feel stronger even as she was bringing him to his knees.
She could break him with a touch, then use the same hands to put him back together again.
Spike remembered a time when he’d believed in fate, in a love so strong
it was destined, unavoidable. There’d been a time when he’d spend hours
penning odes to the power of such love.
One look into Dru’s dead eyes, and he’d lost the faith.
He’d stopped believing anything was meant to be. Life and love were
cruel, tempting you with something always out of reach, snatching it
away forever just when you thought you could almost touch it.
Then Buffy had fallen into his life, and the stars had crashed together.
The love he held for Buffy felt bigger than him, bigger than anything
he could ever control. It had taken him over, burst into his heart when
he hadn’t been looking, hadn’t been searching. He’d tried to look at
her through eyes of hate, yet in an instant, his world had turned
upside down and he couldn’t breathe anymore unless he was breathing in her.
If it wasn’t destiny, wasn’t fate, Spike didn’t know what else it could be. Passion like this could never be an accident.
And with Buffy, he had no doubt that whatever hand life dealt them, the
passion would be the same. Had they met in the suburbs at a bloody PTA
meeting, he’d still burn for her.
They were more than destined. They were epic.
Spike knew it might make him an arrogant sod to want to list them in
the pantheon of great lovers, but he knew it was true nonetheless.
“Love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word.”
Her declaration was barely more than a whisper, muffled by her face
against his chest, and Spike tilted her chin with his finger so she
would look at him again. “What was that, pigeon?”
“Love…it…it doesn’t seem like a strong enough word,” Buffy said again.
“To describe what I feel when I’m with you. I loved Angelus, but… It
wasn’t this. It was nothing like this. I’m with you, and everything
spins out of control.” She swallowed, her hand stealing between their
bodies to take hold of his, entwining their fingers. “When I was a
little girl, we used to visit my grandparents. They lived out in the
country, and there was this big field outside their house, full of
wildflowers and nothing else for as far as I could see. And I used to
go out there, and I’d spin around so fast that the sky and the field
would seem to blend together, like the world was out of control, and
all I could do was spin with it, even if I ended up falling.”
She looked down at their hands, and for a moment, she was certain her
heart was beating again. “That’s how I feel with you. Only…only bigger.”
Spike sucked in a deep breath, not needing to ask her for a further
explanation. He understood completely what she was trying to say, and
it made his heart constrict to realize her thoughts so closely mirrored
his own. “Buffy… Never knew I could feel this way. Didn’t…didn’t even think it was possible to burn like this.”
“I…I don’t think most people ever do,” Buffy replied softly, stroking
his hand with her thumb. “I think…” She stopped, shook her head, and
rephrased her words. “No, I know. We’ve got something special.”
“We do,” Spike agreed softly.
“Even if it would probably seem sorta crazy to anyone who’s not us,”
Buffy added, her brow furrowing. “I mean, we’ve only known each other
for a few days, and most of that was all torture-filled.”
“Who said love had to make sense to anyone but the two people feeling
it?” Spike squeezed her hand gently. “I’m not letting you go, Buffy.
Not even after Angelus is dust. You do know that, don’t you?”
Buffy let her eyes flicker away from his again. “I still don’t see how
we’re going to work, Spike. We’re from two different worlds. I mean,
aside from the little stuff like how you’d never exactly be able to
take me on a Sunday afternoon stroll through the park, what about the
big things? Like do you really think we can share the same bed after
going out at night and killing each other’s kind? You kill vampires and
I kill people – that’s going to cause some issues, no matter how strong
what we feel for each other is.”
“We’ll work those issues out,” Spike replied, his expression set in
stubborn determination the likes of which Buffy didn’t think she’d ever
seen before. “We’ll figure out a way to make it work. We have to. I
can’t give this up. I can’t live out the rest of my life knowing
there’s a woman out there who I love this much – who makes me feel this
much – and I’m not with her. We’ll just have to fight to make it work
is all.”
“Which is all very nice and romantic, but…” Buffy pulled her hand away
from his and sighed. “I can’t fight what I am, Spike. I can tell you
right now I’m not going to be able to keep it to bagged blood like
this. I love you, I do, but…I’ll slip. There’s no way I can keep from
slipping. Feeding…it’s about more than just getting blood. It’s…” She
sighed again. “I can’t even explain it. Not to a human. I’m sorry.”
“Try.”
Buffy shook her head, not wanting to tell him more. How could she tell
him the sheer rapture that came with sinking her fangs into a living,
breathing, victim? How could she tell him there was a part of her that
could only be sated when she felt the last bit of life slip from
someone? That she didn’t just crave blood, but craved taking the life
that came with it? How could she explain to a man who hated vampires
what it meant to be one?
“I can’t.”
Spike was quiet for a moment, a stillness passing through the room
before he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his chest
shuddering as he did. “Then maybe you should show me.”
Buffy looked at him sharply. He couldn’t be suggesting… “Spike?”
“When this is over. When Angelus is gone, and we’ve taken care of the past…” Another deep breath, and he was looking into her eyes…
“I want you to turn me.”
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