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 Title: Breaking a Slayer 5-8 Disclaimer: I don't own them. Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel. Distribution: Sure, just let me know. Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com Rating: NC-17. Author's Note: Ok, thanks to the wonderful, marvelous Mickie, who painstakingly retyped the printout for me, I have reintegrated the lost chapter with the previous one, which will, I hope, make more sense to everyone. Angel cooking was of the good, Buffy thought, sitting on the couch and happily munching on something or other that he had whipped up for her. She actually felt hungry. She didn't remember the last time that had happened. Maybe before Mom died. Everything in the months since then had been a blur of violence and depression for her. She'd never been all that adept at handling her emotions, and the one-two-three punch of being thrown from her body, abandoned by her friends and losing her mom had really done her in…not to mention the other stuff. She still had trouble even thinking of it. Luckily, the guys seemed ok with letting her heal at her own pace. They'd settled quickly into a comfortable routine, sleeping through much of the day and patrolling, sometimes with her and sometimes apart. Angel and Spike insisted that she have back-up on patrol at all times, for which she was grateful. She did wonder, though, what would happen when her friends arrived back from vacation. Giles was due back from England in two days and she was clueless about what to tell him. It would be hard enough explaining to him that he'd left the wrong slayer in Sunnydale while his had been trying to get help. Talking to him about the…rape, her mother's death, her subsequent breakdown, and Spike's intervention with Angel to save her was just downright impossible. Still, she owed her Watcher the truth. Angel smiled down at her, dumping more whatever it was onto her plate. "At this rate, honey, I'm going to weigh a ton!" she said, half-jokingly. "You still need more calories, Buffy," he said seriously. "As a slayer, your metabolic rate is nearly double a normal girl's…your body needs fuel to function at peak performance." "You are such a wanker, Peaches," Spike muttered, strolling lazily into the great room and plunking himself near Buffy's feet. "She isn't a bloody car, she's a woman. Here, give us a taste, Luv," he said, opening his mouth. Buffy obliged, spooning some of the whatever it was into his waiting mouth. Spike purred with pleasure. "Mmmm, you made poitrine de veau farcie again, Peaches? Is there any more blanquette de veau?" "Spike, let Buffy eat it. You can have blood. She needs real food; you don't!" Angel scolded, secretly happy that his mate and childe loved his cooking so much. "C'mon, Sire, please? Pretty please? We're all out of Wheatabix for my blood and I'm bored." "Ok and may I just say, 'Eeewwww' to the crackers in the blood thing, Spike?," Buffy interjected, now that she was done chewing the pwah-duh-voh-fa stuff. "What self-respecting vampire puts crackers in his blood, anyway?" Angel laughed, "No one has ever accused Spike of having self-respect, Buffy." Spike snarled at him good naturedly, enjoying the banter with them. When had this become so comfortable? And should he feel this good being with his sire and the slayer? Spike knew it was stupid to get close to them, it made him weak. He was the Big Bad. He should be out sucking the life from humans, not crouching like a dog at the Slayer's feet. Relying on them for blood, craving their companionship, their approval? This wasn't right for the vampire who'd pounded railroad spikes through his screaming victims. A wave of nausea swept over him. He hated being this dependent on anyone, let alone a souled nancy-boy and a Slayer. This distorted parody of domestic bliss would drive him insane faster than the chip ever could. He jumped up and grabbed his duster, disappearing into the night without a word to Angel or Buffy. "He's suddenly all bad moody. What got into him? Maybe your stew wasn't bloody enough?" Buffy teased. Angel looked glum, "I knew things were going too smoothly, Buffy. I asked him for his help with you and he gave it…for a price. Now it looks as if he wants the payment I promised him." Buffy was hurt and confused. "You had to pay him to get him to help with me? Oh…what did he want?" *And why am I hurt that he didn't want to help me. Stupid, Buffy, why the hell would he want to help you? But he did. He could have left me there in that alley…* Angel paced to the kitchen, avoiding Buffy's eyes. She got up and followed, determined to know the price Spike put on helping her. "He wants the chip out, Buffy. I promised I'd pay for the surgery in LA." "NO! You can't…he'll be like he was before, all vicious and grrr and he'll try to kill us…again!" *I'll have to stake him. Really stake him this time. I can't do it. Not after all this…I need them. God, I need *them.* How had she let Angel back into her life? And, GOD! how had she become so reliant on Spike?! Why had he helped her? And now here they were, an impotent vampire, a damaged Slayer and an undead, chipped sociopath. Some insanely warped "Three's Company" - but could she make it without them? If Spike lost his chip, he'd leave her or die…again. Would Angel stay? Not likely. Then she'd be alone again. Alone with the dark and the cold and the death. "Angel, don't do it," Buffy was crying in fear, her barely stable world collapsing around her once again. Angel grabbed her in his arms, shaking her gently. "Buffy, I swore. I gave my word. I was a gentleman once. My word means something to me. I promised Spike and he promised that he'd leave…go far away where we wouldn't be in conflict…wouldn't be forced to fight each other." *But I'll miss him so much. My beautiful, vicious childe.* Buffy broke away from him and ran to the door, sobbing. She grabbed her weapons and headed out into the night, once again shutting down her treacherous emotions so she could focus on slaying. It was the only thing that never changed…the only thing she could truly count on. Buffy stalked, silent and wary, through the cemeteries of Sunnydale. She'd already dispatched four vamps and a particularly obnoxious demon of the slime generating variety. Strangely, she felt better than she'd anticipated. This was what she was called to do. This was her gift. Feeling somewhat more at peace, Buffy decided to stop at the Bronze and catch the end of the last set of the night. Perhaps she'd just been brooding too long. She needed to throw herself back into life again. She sauntered through the door and moved nearer the dance floor. The Bronze was unusually crowded for a weeknight, but the band playing was hot…that probably explained it. Buffy stood in the shadows, willing herself to relax and join in the fun. * Spike had stormed out with no real destination in mind, too wired to sit still. He'd gone to Willie's and taken great pleasure in intimidating a half dozen minor demons there, but the thrill of that was quickly past, despite the excellent O neg that Willie stocked. Spike left, roaming the streets looking for a spot of violence…anything to get him back on his game. He found it in spades with a pair of M'fashnick demons in an alley. They were unbelievably strong and wasted no time in pounding on him. Their mistake. Spike was no longer conflicted or bored. This was fun. This was what unlife was all about. He circled the demons like a shark, intent on their every move. One lunged toward him and he seized its arm, jerking it away from the safety of its buddy. He kicked it in the head as it sailed past him, following up with a crushing crescent kick to its vulnerable backbone. The other M'fashnick grated something in its native tongue, then leapt on him, flailing huge hands that could eviscerate him with one blow if he allowed them to land. "What's a matter, mate, had a bad day?" Spike sneered, reveling in the violent rush of adrenaline filling his body and freeing his game face. C'mon, let the Big Bad make it all better for you." He grabbed a piece of rebar leaning handily against the bricks of one building and swung, ripping a gaping wound in the demon's gut. It wailed something and clutched at its spilling entrails. "Now that's gotta hurt, mate. Hey, I never knew that you blokes had purple guts. Very pretty. Let's see if the rest are that color." Dropping the bar, Spike leapt forward and yanked on the snake-like guts of the thing, wrenching handfuls of intestine and other nameless organs from its body in a revolting shower of putrid purple. It shrieked in agony, then fell to its knees, expiring on the spot. The other half of the pair stumbled to its knees and screamed in rage as it rushed him, clearly intent on exacting revenge for the gruesome death of its companion. Spike chortled with glee, leaping forward to rip at it with fangs and fingers. They rolled through the filthy alley, pummeling and grunting at each other in violent turns. Finally, Spike gained the upper hand and wrenched the M'fashnick's head from its shoulders with a jerk of pure strength. Its clutching hands continued to bash at him for two more minutes before it finally died. "Now *that* was fun! All I need now is a fag and a shag," Spike laughed, dusting himself off and lighting up. He sauntered to the Bronze, intent on a pint and a game of pool before he returned to the mansion and his undoubtedly irate sire. * This had been a mistake, Buffy realized quickly. There were too many people here. She'd been alone except for her vampires *and when did you start thinking of them both as yours, Buffy?* since her mother's death and hadn't considered how the noise and crowd would feel until she was trapped within it. She couldn't get out without brushing against people and every random touch sent warning tremors through her jangled nerves. The dark pulsing beat of the band was too loud in her ears and there were men everywhere. (Boys, really, but to Buffy's strained nerves and overwrought senses they were all a threat, regardless of age.) She turned and tried to reach the door, but ended up being pushed and shoved into the pool table instead. At the feel of the table against her back, something in Buffy snapped and she was transported back in her mind to the awful night at the bar. She shook in terror and rage, her hyped up senses mistakenly informing her that she was under attack yet again. She threw two hapless guys through the air and snapped a pool cue in half to use as a weapon. Snarling, she turned and thrust the cue at the vampire she sensed behind her. *Gods No!* It was Spike, and she tried desperately to reverse the thrust, wrenching her arm back and pulling the killing blow. He tumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the now silent floor. Buffy looked up at the crowd now staring at them and freaked. Dropping the broken cue, she darted for the door and took off down the dark street, crying in reaction and relief that she hadn't killed him, unwilling to think about why she cared so much. * Spike picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off for the second time that night, then walked to the door as if nothing had happened. He looked around for Buffy the moment he hit the street, but she'd run off somewhere and he wasn’t sure that now was a good time to chase her. *Bint nearly did you tonight, bloke, and she wasn't even trying to. That's what's gonna happen the minute that chip comes out, if you stick around here.* But where else could he go? Sure, Paris was fun this time of year, but the hellmouth was so much more entertaining. *Yah, right, mate. It's the hellmouth that's keepin' you here…not your sire and the slayer…keep tellin' yourself that and maybe you'll believe it. Wanker!* Still, he'd better head back to the mansion and see if little miss Psycho had returned. His sire wouldn't be happy if Spike left her roaming the streets in her cute, psychotic rage. * Angel was pacing. And pacing. And brooding. Their little menage was
fundamentally unstable and he saw no way to fix it. Spike didn't want to
be with them, despite their dependence on him. *And when did he become
so vital to your unlife again, you idiot?* he asked himself. The fact remained
that Buffy seemed more relaxed and, dare he think it, normal around his
childe and he himself was already more than passing fond of the irritating
brat. They needed him. The question was, did he need them, too?
Chapter Six
Author's Note: The poem I quote in this chapter is "First Fig" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Many many thanks to Kimberly for the reference. * Angel was done pacing. He'd had enough of waiting. He threw on his coat and went out into the darkness, searching for Buffy…for Spike…for anything tangible that he could grasp and hold or beat or shake some sense into. It didn't much matter to him which action took place as long as he could do something, anything to banish his growing sense of helplessness concerning Buffy, Spike and his entire unlife. * Buffy ran until she couldn't breathe from the pain in her lungs and the ache in her legs. Finally, she fell, panting, into cool, dew-covered grass and knelt there until her aching chest calmed. She looked up and realized where she was. Without thinking, she'd run to safety…she was staring up at her old house on Revello Drive. A faint light shone from the window of her old room and she was drawn to it as if by magic. She scaled the porch and climbed stealthily to the window, peeking cautiously in. There, tucked away in a four-poster bed that filled much of the small room, was a tiny, golden-haired girl. She slept peacefully in the gentle glow of a night light. Buffy stared at the child's innocent face and felt something jagged and painful break free inside her. She moved off the porch, half climbing/half falling to the ground, and backed away from the house as if she'd seen a ghost. Looking in on the little girl jarred open every painful longing that she'd locked away deep inside her. She stood, weeping silently for her mother, her childhood, her future, her innocence...all the lost portions of a life now solely dedicated to death. Buffy turned her back on all of it and walked slowly back to the mansion with tears streaming down her face, entering and climbing the stairs to her lonely room where she closed and locked the door before crawling into bed. She took in each breath and tried to go back to feeling nothing again. The void where her emotions had been was much more comfortable than this aching pain. She'd nearly killed Spike tonight, and could almost as easily have killed Angel, had it been him in Spike's place. She knew that she was out of control, knew that she was mourning the life she had lost, but knowing the truth and doing something about it were two very different things. The sadness and anger raging through her body combined with the adrenaline rush and subsequent frustration from fighting in a roil of incompatible hormones coursing through her agitated body. She wasn't sure how much longer she could feel this much pain and still live. One uninterrupted day of sleep, just one…was that really too much to ask? Buffy knew that self-pity wasn't the answer. There were others out there who'd had to deal with worse things than this. War, famine, death, disease - it was the human condition. She just didn't know how to deal with it herself. Slaying was so easy compared to actually living. It had been simple to sink into apathy, killing and returning to the mansion to sleep. The vampires she dusted provided her with an easy release. The vampires she lived with had become her Watchers, her friends, her family *and how twisted is that, Buffy?* Buffy felt as if she was awakening from a long sleep. Her mother's death ached rawly in her heart, as if no more than two days had passed since it happened instead of two months. Her body was clambering for attention of some kind…she'd ignored it for so long, but now it was making its needs known. The pain of unknowing rejection from her friends, who'd left with nary a care for their summer fun…left her to suffer at Faith's hands not even knowing what was going on, hurt Buffy all over again now that she was actually feeling. They always said they'd come back, but she'd recognized that lie long ago, when first Daddy, then Merrick, then Angel left her behind. Now her mom was gone, and she could feel Giles slipping inexorably away as well. The Scoobs were growing apart as they matured and discovered that life really did go on. At least it did for them. She would stay behind in the dark until it swallowed her whole. Sometimes she wondered if Xander had really done her a favor by reviving her after her death at the Master's hands. It could have been so peaceful there with all her tasks over and someone else to take charge of saving the world…again. Buffy curled tighter into her pillow and wondered if Faith had it right after all. Maybe "want…take…have" was the only philosophy a slayer *could* live by. * Spike was scared. What was it about the blasted Slayer that turned his
comfortably evil ass so topsy-turvy? Hell and damnation, how was a vampire
supposed to feel about her anyway? She was death personified for his kind
and her beauty and strength just made her more deadly and alluring. He
was called, moth to flame and felt no power to resist her. The fear of
his sire's wrath meant nothing, Spike circled, ever closer to his own destruction
and couldn't even find it in him to care.
My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night But oh, my foes And ah, my friends It gives a lovely light.
Buffy was his candle, and the light that was her - the beautiful, fragile spark that was her life made the glow of her flame all the more bright for its short duration. *Gods and giants, listen to me now…William the Bloody Awful Poet rears his pansy head again. I've got to get the hell away from my pouf of a sire before I stick this way for good!* He stalked into the night, cursing and griping to himself at his never-ending talent for finding women who'd cause him pain. * Angel strode through the night like the dark predator he was. He wasn't conscious of picking any particular route, but found himself heading through a dim alley towards the Bronze for no real reason. He was knocked on his ass by his muttering childe before he knew what hit him. Spike stood above him, momentarily silenced, before smirking at his sire in a particularly nasty way. "Hallo, you great pouf. Got yer pants all dirty, have I?" Spike pointedly didn't offer a hand up to his glowering sire. He'd been itching for a fight anyhow. Angel rolled gracefully to his feet and glared at his irritating childe. "Where the hell have you been? And where is Buffy? What is with you two tonight, anyway?" "Do I look like the Slayer's bloody keeper? I've more than done my share, you wanker. You can keep an eye on that murderous psychopath yourself from now on. I'm outta here. I'm not taking a pool cue to the chest before I get this blinking chip out." "She tried to stake you? Why?" Angel growled, game face flowing outward. "What did you do to her, Spike?" He grabbed Spike by the shoulders and slammed his childe into the brick building at his back. "Me?! Why's it always gotta be my fault, eh? She's the one went all bedlam on me. Freaked out in the middle of the Bronze with no one even touching her and nearly staked me before she even knew who I bloody was!" Spike's indignant comment sounded to Angel as if he was more insulted by the fact that Buffy nearly killed him by accident than he would have been if she'd attacked him on purpose. Spike exploded into motion. Accompanying his verbal attack with a more direct physical one, he broke Angel's hold with an abrupt motion and kicked his sire in the gut. Angel grunted as his non-existent breath was knocked out of him, countering by grabbing Spike's foot and twisting sharply to the left. Spike spun in midair before falling to the ground. He broke his fall with both hands and kicked Angel again with the other foot, this time in the knee. It gave a satisfying crack and Angel let go of him abruptly, falling and grabbing the damaged joint with a howl. "I'm going to gut you for that, Boy!" he growled, glaring at Spike with golden eyes, no sign of soul present. He leapt at his childe, refusing to favor the already healing kneecap. Grabbing Spike by the arms, Angel threw him backwards into the wall before twisting one arm behind his back and up until it snapped audibly. Spike howled in anguish and sagged to his knees, cursing. "Satan's balls, Angelus, first the Slayer nearly offs me and now you. Aahh." He growled in pain and frustration as Angel bit into his neck without a by-your-leave. Angel drank lustily, sucking and pulling at Spike's neck until he felt his childe submit and relax against him. Slowly, he lowered Spike's arm, thrilled anew at his quickly suppressed whimper of pain. Angel stroked the snapped arm gently, before pulling Spike around into a passionate kiss. He cradled Spike's head in his large hands, stroking over the chiseled cheekbones with his thumbs and ducking to sip at the pouting lips again. Spike sighed in pleasure, pain forgotten, as Angel coaxed his mouth open, nipping lightly at his childe's lips before delving deeper into the cool recesses of his mouth. Spike's mouth was filled with the taste of his own blood, an instant aphrodisiac after all these years with his brutal but passionate sire. He kissed Angel back, helpless in his lust, sucking hard on his sire's tongue. Angel's mouth moved lower and he lapped hungrily at the healing punctures in Spike's neck as Spike moaned in appreciation. Angel moved his hands lower, caressing Spike's throat before moving to his chest, brushing the now erect nipples through his black t-shirt before ripping it from his body with one quick motion. Spike groaned, "Angelus," and Angel's gentle caresses halted. He slammed Spike against the bricks again and grabbed his face, hissing "Damn it, Spike, I'm not him. It's Angel, not Angelus. We're not the same." He glowered at his lust-dazed childe and Spike looked back, confused. "What the hell do I care what you call yourself, Sire? You do the same things to me anyway, with soul or without," Spike growled in frustrated lust as he gave Angel a suggestive once over from top to bottom before returning his gaze to the raging hard-on straining under his sire's pants. Angel looked shocked, his passion-filled eyes draining abruptly from golden back to dark chocolate. "I'm not him, I can't be him. This can't…I won't…" his voice trailed off weakly and he backed away from Spike. "Go back to the mansion and see if Buffy is there, Spike. Get some blood, too, you'll need it to heal that arm." Angel turned without another word and paced off into the darkness. "Great. And what am I supposed to do with this?!" Spike yelled, trying in vain to adjust his too-tight pants around the throbbing ache in his rock-hard cock. "Fucking soul. I hate that thing. Hell and damnation." he stalked slowly back to the mansion, cursing his sire the entire way. Chapter Seven Buffy sat and rocked in her bed, growing more angry and frustrated by the minute. The blank denial she'd carried for so long was gone and the pain of losing her mom had transformed into a killing rage. Why was her beautiful, vibrant mother dead? So many worthless beings, human and otherwise, walked the streets of Sunnydale. *What were the powers thinking letting Mom die?* She got up and paced the room like an angry wolf. She needed something, anything to take out her frustration and rage on. As she was turning on the antique armoire, ready to reduce it to kindling, an intrusive knock sounded on her door. "Slayer! Are you in there, you psychotic bint? Let me in!" Spike's agitated voice was muffled by the thick door. Buffy moved to the door in a flash and turned the key, ripping open the door and grabbing Spike by the throat. "I almost killed you tonight and you're pounding on my door and calling me names?" she growled and shook him. Anger flooded her system with adrenaline and she turned and threw Spike across the room. He crashed into the bed, eyes flashing from blue to gold in an instant as his fangs descended and ridges formed on his brow. He sneered, crouched and leapt at her, arms outstretched, then howled in anguish, clutching his head and falling to the floor in a ball of excruciating agony. "Ah, bloody fucking hells. Sodding military bastard sons of bitches…" he groaned, writhing. Merciless, Buffy pummeled him, momentarily ignoring the fact that her prey couldn't even protect himself, let alone fight back. Spike gasped at the doubled pain in his body and head and grabbed at her arms gently, trying to stop the attack without engaging the chip again. Buffy's strikes became softer and then ceased altogether as she collapsed on top of him, crying in reaction and anguish. "Shush, Pet, s'ok. You didn't hurt me much at all. Think those love taps were bad? That wasn't even foreplay for Ang…" Spike cut himself off before finishing the thought. Buffy didn't know about Angelus's predilection for sex and torture combined…she thought it was just torture. *Wouldn't do to go blabbing that particular secret, William, my boy. Your sire would hang you out to bake in the morning sun for sure.* "I nearly killed you tonight by accident, Spike. How can you even stand to be around me? All those guys at the Bronze, and the music and the dark…it was just too much like…like the bar that night. I freaked out, didn't I?" "Luv, it's nothing. You haven't been near people for two months now. T'wasn't quite smart to try to jump right back in, but you've never lacked for guts…brains maybe, guts, never," he joked, smiling at her to tease her a bit. "That's because I spend my nights wading in them. Speaking of guts, coming in here calling me names isn't exactly brilliant on your part either. What the heck is a 'bint' anyway?" Buffy asked. Spike looked quizzical. "A bint is a girl or woman. Back in my day, it wasn't an insult, though I wouldn't have used it to describe a gentlewoman. Nowadays…well, s'not exactly complimentary. And we already know the definition of psychotic…that would be Buffy, wouldn't it? Hell and damnation, woman, when are you going to start talking to us instead of just lashing out?" Buffy ducked her head. "I'm sorry…." Spike interrupted her, annoyed and a bit peeved now, "Don't want your apology, Slayer. Don't need it. Want you to start thinking again instead of just reacting." He shook her gently, pulling her closer to him without thinking. Buffy's eyes spilled more tears and Spike stopped, angry at himself now for making her miserable again. "Shush, Pet. Don't cry now. Can't stand drippy Slayers, myself!" He brushed her tears away with gentle fingers and tilted her face up to his own. "Shush, now, Luv…shush," he crooned. Buffy leaned into his strong but gentle hands, not thinking, just feeling. It had been so long since anyone touched her with tenderness. Her days were spent in restless sleep populated with brutal nightmares that left her more tired than when she'd gone to bed and her dark nights were spent in constant, painful struggle against seemingly limitless evils. No one held her these days. His face was so close and she was so lonely…it didn't seem to matter that it was Spike…she leaned into him a tiny bit more and brushed his lips with her own. Spike's unbeating heart threatened to burst into instantaneous rhythm as he felt Buffy's tentative kiss. He caressed her face with gentle fingertips, stroking her cheekbones and jawline as he deepened the kiss. She sighed, opening her mouth to him and touching the tip of her tongue to his. "Buffy," he sighed, as he delved deeper into her eager mouth. She was so hot, so full of life. He could hear the blood flowing through her veins; smell her wakening arousal. His fangs ached with the need to sink themselves deep into her neck, but he didn't want to feed as much as he wanted to sip her essence, her vital energy, her very self and make it his and his alone. Now, more than ever, he understood how this inexperienced girl-child had made his debauched and corrupt sire loose his soul in one night of love. Had Spike one, he'd have lost it gladly in the embrace of this fiery goddess of death for his kind. Buffy's heart was racing, her senses coming alive in a way she'd only felt once before. Spike's skillful kiss and soft caresses were awakening desires she'd cut herself off from since the wonderful/horrible night of her seventeenth birthday. All her rage and pain transformed into want, sheer animal lust, as her body demanded payment for the ceaseless hours of torment inflicted upon it. Her hands moved down Spike's cool taut body, stroking his muscular arms and back and rubbing, caressing every inch of his torso with strong, smooth strokes. Spike moved his eager mouth from Buffy's to her neck, kissing and tantalizing her with tiny grazing nips of his elongated teeth, never breaking the skin. She moaned and bared her throat to him and his senses sang in delight as this gorgeous killer offered him her very life. He fastened his mouth over the throbbing pulse, tasting the blood through her skin and barely restraining himself from plunging fangs deep into her heated body. His hands stroked lower, tracing the undersides of her breasts. He teased her, drawing circles around the sensitive nipples, but never allowing her the release of actual contact there. Buffy groaned in desire, her body one heated vessel of need. She grabbed Spike's taunting hands and pulled them to her nipples, brushing his black-tipped fingernails against the straining buds. He complied with her demand, stroking and teasing the sensitive peaks as they strained to break free of the tank top. Finally, when she thought she'd expire from need, Spike rolled her nipples between hard fingertips, pulling and twisting them into rock hard pained/pleasured pebbles. As he twisted and teased her aching nipples, Spike continued to suck at Buffy's racing pulse, brushing the sensitized flesh with his fangs, harder now, but still not breaking the skin. His cock throbbed with carnal need in his jeans, but he gave it no thought, consumed with making the Slayer beg for release from him, her enemy. *Right, Will, keep kidding yourself. You're her slave, not her enemy, and you have been for some time. Pansy!* Spike told his inner self to shut the fuck up and focused his thoughts on delighting the Slayer. Not hard, she was captivating in every way, so fierce and wanton now in his arms. Buffy closed her eyes and moaned in agonized pleasure against his teasing fangs, unable to remain quiet with this need pounding through her veins like quicksilver. Suddenly, Spike's avid mouth and demanding hands jerked abruptly away, leaving her wanting and bereft. Buffy opened her mouth to protest this renewed teasing, but paused in confusion, her eyes blinking open as Spike was thrown across the room by a totally enraged Angel. "You traitorous little fuck. How dare you attack my mate?! Mine, she's mine. Not to be touched by the likes of you…" Angel's rant reverted into fierce growling and he jumped upon his startled childe, pounding his face and body with ceaseless fury. Buffy was speechless with shock, desire draining from her in a cold rush that left her shaking. "No, Angel…it wasn't like that." She jumped from the floor and ran to the struggling males, grabbing Angel's shoulders and pulling, trying to get him to stop hitting Spike, who oddly, wasn't retaliating. "Spike, do something, stop him from hitting you. This wasn't your fault…" Buffy trailed off as Angel turned growling and pushed her back away from his childe. "He's gone without proper discipline for too long and this is the result. I don't know how he was able to attack you, Buffy, but I promise, he'll never do it again. Leave us!" Angel commanded, turning his attention back to his recalcitrant childe.
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