Sword and Stake Home Gen/Ensemble Page Shippy (M/F) Page Slash (M/M) Page Short Stories Page
To Un-Live and Die in LA
Chapter Six Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 7
*******************************************************************************
The music was loud and pounding. Buffy felt the beginnings of a headache building behind her eyes, exacerbated by the excessive bass. What was she doing here? There was something going on and she was totally out of the loop. With the activation of hundreds of Slayers, Buffy had felt free to slack off . . . after all, she’d been fighting the Forces of Darkness for seven long years, she deserved a vacation, didn’t she? A chance to have some fun?
Well, her “spider sense” was tingling, her headache was getting worse, and she wasn’t having fun at the moment. What she wanted to do was cut the evening short, go back to her apartment and call Giles.
Buffy tugged on the Immortal’s sleeve, leading him off the dance floor, asked for a rain check, declined his offer to see her home, and soon found herself walking in the soft Roman night.
A light rain began to fall—more of a mist, really, and Buffy breathed deeply, clearing her head of the noise, smoke and heat of the dance club.
The Immortal was exciting, mysterious, fun and great in bed . . . really, really great in bed, but there was no emotional connection there. As she walked through the mist, she wondered if she’d ever be able to let herself connect emotionally.
In retrospect, she thought she would have been able to connect with Spike, but she wouldn’t allow herself to get over Angel. Now, when she thought about a possible future with Angel, she was finally able to be honest enough with herself to realize that she probably wouldn’t be able to get over Spike.
Damn it! Why hadn’t she just arranged a threesome with both of them? Hmmm, a ménage a trios . . . possibly with oil. Bad Buffy! You’re supposed to be pondering emotional connectiveness and your lack thereof, not vamp-slayer-vamp action!
The throbbing in Buffy’s head was gone—actually, not gone, just migrated southward. Maybe she should go back and find the Immortal after all . . . No. He wasn’t the immortal she really wanted. Back to the original plan; go home and call Giles.
**********
Buffy fitted her key into the lock, but the door was flung open before she could turn it. She instinctively dropped into battle stance.
Dawn pulled her into the apartment.
“Giles is here, Buffy. He wouldn’t tell me why until you got home, but he’s got a really weird look on his face and . . . what took you so long?”
“I came home early!” Buffy defended out of habit.
“Well, you’re here now . . . and Giles is drinking Scotch instead of tea!” Dawn warned.
At that moment, Giles came out of the kitchen with a steaming cup of cocoa for Dawn and he did, indeed, have a tumbler of Scotch in his other hand. Buffy took one look at his face and sank down on the couch. Giles sat on the other end, angling his body to face her. Dawn plopped into the easy chair where she could watch them both.
“Buffy . . . I don’t know where to begin.”
Buffy braced herself. This was going to be of the bad, she could tell.
“I deeply regret to have to inform you that Angel is . . . gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“He’s dead, Buffy. He was playing a double game with Wolfram and Hart, trying to bring down the Senior Partners from the inside, and apparently was somewhat successful, as they are currently cut off from access to this world, but in the process, Angel was killed.”
Buffy felt numb. She closed her eyes and sent out her Slayer senses. She had never tried this before, especially not from a distance, but instinctively sent out tendrils of awareness, seeking for Angel. Willow had said everything was connected. If Angel was anywhere in this dimension, she’d find him, she’d recognize his . . . essence, she knew she would. Her Slayer senses continued to seek and brushed against . . . Spike?
Buffy’s eyes flew open. “Spike! I touched Spike. Spike’s . . . alive?”
Giles nodded. “Some force brought Spike back. He’s been working with Angel . . .”
Buffy leaped to her feet. “You knew? You knew and didn’t tell me?” Her fists clenched and she felt fury build inside her.
“Buffy, no! I didn’t know until recently. I came to tell you as soon as I was sure. It was all rather disconcerting. Apparently Spike called Andrew to inform us of Angel’s death. He thought we might want to send a slayer to LA. Willow teleported over to discover what has been happening, I came to tell you and I have a call in to Faith to see if she’s able to fill in at present.”
“Faith?”
Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them. “Well, yes. Faith has worked with Angel’s team before and is somewhat familiar with LA, so Spike thought . . .”
Giles’ voice trailed off as Buffy turned and left the room, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Giles and Dawn looked at each other in consternation and silently sipped their drinks.
Ten minutes later, Buffy appeared in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back in a ponytail, a carryall slung over her shoulder. She picked up the phone and called for a taxi.
“If Spike wants a Slayer in LA, he’ll get a Slayer. Take care of Dawn, Giles. I’m going to the airport.”
**********
William entered the Royal London Hotel dejectedly. He had searched the streets of the West End, but was unable to find Dru. Hearing grunting noises coming from the bedroom, he paused.
Angelus was standing over the bed, hips thrusting, pumping into . . . Dru?
William felt the blood drain from his face and pure rage fill him. He rushed for Angelus and was swatted away like a bug. Angelus had laughed, telling him Dru wasn’t his, nothing was his . . . William had hated Angelus then. Hated Angelus for making him feel small and humiliated, and especially for mocking his destiny.
“You violated my woman, you cad!”
“An’ she let me! Will you be lettin’ me get away wi’ this boyo?” Angelus taunted.
William drew himself up to face Angelus. “No. NO! What do you suggest, Angelus?” he asked coldly. He had never actually fought a duel before, but was willing to do so to defend Drusilla’s honor.
Angelus roared with laughter and threw his arm around William’s shoulders.
“For the nonce, I suggest we go out, get drunk, get laid an’ have a bit o’ fun of our own. Ye can try ta’ kill me tomorrow.”
Ignoring the peals of laughter coming from Drusilla, who turned and floated into the bathroom, Angelus scowled and stalked out of the room. With a lingering glance of longing at the door through which Drusilla had disappeared, William followed.
Entering the first Public House they came upon, Angelus strode up to the bar and threw down two pieces of silver, obtaining two bottles of Irish whiskey in return. Handing one to William, he pulled the cork from his own bottle with his teeth and took a long draught. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he continued down the street, William following in his wake.
William took a tentative swig from his own bottle. He wasn’t really used to strong drink, partaking mainly of sherry and the occasional brandy in his former life. It felt like fire going down and left a pleasantly warm feeling spreading through his insides. He took another swig.
By the time he had finished the bottle, he was clutching Angelus’ arm to stay upright and the pain of Dru’s betrayal had faded.
Staggering down the street, Angelus spied a not unattractive lady of the evening leaning against the brick entrance to an alley. Producing a gold sovereign from his purse, Angelus approached her, holding it between his first and second fingers, gold twinkling in the dim light. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the coin and she started to reach for it. Angelus pulled it back.
“Ye take us ta’ yer rooms, both m’friend and me, an’ this pays fer all night,” he stated his terms.
Nodding, she turned into the alley, Angelus and William following. They had gone two blocks when she began to ascend a rickety staircase on the outside of a rundown building. Upon reaching the third floor, she took out a key and unlocked the door.
“Invite both me an’ my friend in, an’ the coin is yours.”
She dropped a half curtsy. “Come in, my fine gentlemen, and welcome.”
Angelus flipped the coin to her. She caught it and bit it before putting it in the drawer of the dresser. The room was furnished with an iron bedstead, and a single dresser, with a pitcher and ewer on top, two additional dresses hanging from nails on the wall.
She turned coquettishly toward Angelus and began to unfasten her bodice.
“What’s your name?” William asked.
She turned to look at him in surprise. “Molly,” she answered.
Angelus undid the laces in the front of his breeches. His cock sprang free, and without bothering to undress further, he pushed Molly back on the bed, flipping up her skirts. He wrenched her knees apart and roughly thrust into her. Molly choked off a cry and bit her lip. She made no further protest as he pounded into her. He’d paid for the privilege of using her as he willed.
Angelus grabbed her shoulders and lifted her upper body off the bed. Sinking his fangs into her throat, he drained her dry, still thrusting into her. Dropping her limp body, he pulled out of her, cock still hard and glistening with her juices. Angelus shook his head with regret.
“Oh, now look what I’ve done! These humans just have no stamina. Well, boy, looks like ye’ll have to finish me off, then.”
Angelus shoved Molly’s body off the bed and sat on the edge, leaning back on his elbows, cock quivering.
“Well, what’re’ye waitin’ for?”
William approached the bed, not sure what Angelus expected him to do about the situation.
Angelus reached out his big hand and grabbed William’s shoulder, forcing him to his knees in front of the bed. Shifting his hand to the back of William’s neck, he immobilized his head, thrusting his cock into his mouth and down his throat. William was very glad vampires didn’t have to breathe. Angelus pulled back and then thrust forward again, bruising William’s tonsils.
“Com’on, boy, suck! Don’t make me do all the work, here!”
Spike awoke with a start. Illyria was curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully, and Angel was dead . . .
Spike slid out of the bed and padded to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face.
Hurriedly dressing, he silently let himself out of the flat. He needed to go kill something. And he hoped whatever it was put up a bloody good fight.
****************************************************************************************
Sword and Stake Home Gen/Ensemble Page Shippy (M/F) Page Slash (M/M) Page Short Stories Page