The Draco and the Scoobies chapter 18
Title: The Draco and the Scoobies chapter 18: Speed me
Pairing: Buffy/Spike; Zamolxis/Bendis; Xander/Anya; Willow/Tara; and so on... ;)
Rating: Adult
Summary: Something insidious is brewing in the Universe. And that something is boredom. Gods, supernatural beings and mortals will find themselves forever changed by the consequences of one bored Being.
Here: The aftermath of Glory's demise
Spoilers/Warnings: BtVS:S5; Adult language; Sexual situations
Disclaimer: Not mine, really! So please don't sue. Joss, Fox, Mutant enemy and all the others are the ones!
dusty273
AN: I know it's been a long time, but RL and other issues prevented me from updating this sooner. I'm very sorry. Many thanks to both Sotia and Mari.
*Spike's crypt, 3 days after Glory's death*
The door banged open, the echo reverberating down to the lower level. A figure stood still at the threshold, bathed in the waning light of the sun, her shadow darting ahead of her like an advanced scout. After a few moments of hesitation, the first step was followed by another, and yet another. The door swung closed, leaving just a sliver of light to illuminate the chamber. In the silence that had descended, the sound of footsteps seemed to fill the place with a cadence that would have been good enough to set a clock to.
After a few more seconds of inner debate, the trap door to the underground was opened and then she descended. Once on the bottom rung, she turned around to look through the darkness for a source of light. All of a sudden, a Zippo flicked open and the contours of the bed's single occupant could be guessed. “I've been waiting for you. Should I put some pants on or how are we doing this?”
It annoyed her to no end that she could almost feel as well as see his smirk. She crossed her arms over her chest and motioned with her chin for him to get a move on. She refused to speak, knowing that if she did, nothing would be the same again. She looked on, trying to spot something through the darkness that had descended once again when the lighter was extinguished.
She could tell he was taking his time, trying to foresee what was to happen. In that respect, she could understand him perfectly. Like any good warrior, he was assessing the situation in order to react appropriately. What was it that he'd said? That's right, all we do is dance. This deadly and exciting game they played, this dance around each other shaped every single encounter. She tried to imagine what steps he had planned for the next part, what style, what rhythm. She was pulled out of her reverie by Spike lighting up the torches on the wall, breaking the spell that darkness had woven inside her mind.
She watched him move around the chamber, hair still ruffled from sleep, barefoot and with only his tight black jeans on. Yumm! She could tell from the way he carried himself that he was a seasoned warrior and that led her to wonder how other people perceived her movements. Did she exude the same image of quicksilver in motion when they saw her? Or did it take a warrior to detect another warrior, the civilians being blissfully unaware? And if so, how did she look like through his eyes? She didn't have to wonder for long, as he was now standing in front of her, leaning against the bedpost and watching her with a mixture of awe and reluctance. Apparently she looked deliciously deadly.
When he was unwilling to start the conversation, opting instead for lighting up one of his ever-present cigarettes, she took a deep, calming breath and tried to focus her thoughts. Failing to do that, she went with the next best thing, winging it. “Nice place, should I ask how much of it is stolen?” She didn't mean to start with a jibe, but when it came to the two of them, it was like second nature. She saw the ticking in his jaw and realized they were starting with the left foot. Again.
“Sorry to offend your sound logic, Slayer, but none of this is stolen. A vamp can furnish his home without resorting to petty theft.” Inhaling from his cigarette, he spoke through the billows of smoke coming out with every word. “So what brings you up and about?”
“I-” she stopped herself and took another breath. Deciding to switch strategies, she sat down on his bed, fighting the urge to lie down. Noticing the slight change from anger to apprehension in his countenance, she could clearly see his concern. “I came here to thank you.” The way his eyes filled with wonder made her heart constrict. Had he really been so starved for such a simple thing as a thank you? And had she really thanked him before? She couldn't remember ever saying those words to him before and the realization shamed her. “So thank you for... well, for doing my job for me.” She smiled bitterly and shrugged her shoulders.
“You know me, luv; always up for a bit of rough and tumble. No need to make a big fuss about it.” The way he was watching her, though, belied his words.
Buffy briefly wondered how long it would have taken her to really see the adulation in his eyes and how much longer still to accept it. She felt a cold chill at the answer. “No. It matters a lot to me that you were out there when I couldn't be.” She leaned forward a bit and placed her hand on his arm. That simple touch meant more for both of them than words could convey. Enjoying the feeling of his skin on hers, she whispered, “You were my Mister Protector.” They both smiled at that, even though Spike raised an eyebrow in protest.
Speaking just as softly as she had, he covered her hand with his own. “Buffy, I told you I'd always be there for you. I don't leave, kitten.”
Hearing her name from his lips was like hearing a prayer from a dying man. All of a sudden, she blurted out her biggest concern. “Are you sorry?”
Frowning, he withdrew his hand from atop hers, without pulling away from her touch, though. “What's that, Slayer?”
She tightened the grip on his arm and repeated her question, trying to make it clearer both to him and to herself. “Are you sorry for all the people you ate? Especially now, hearing about Vampiri and all of that?” She held her breath and started worrying her lower lip while she waited for his response. After a few tense moments in which his face betrayed a sway of conflicting emotions, she started breathing again once he spoke.
“I don't work that way.” Seeing her face fall, he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look, for me-for any vamp-we feel like somethin' needs to be done, we do it, and bugger the consequences. Feedin', huntin', stealin', everythin' goes if we feel like we need it.”
“So... because I'm part-”
“Don't even start with that bollocks! I know what you're gettin' at, Slayer, but you're off your bloody gourd if you think that what you did with that git housin' Glory was wrong.” She opened her mouth to protest again, so he grabbed both her shoulders and looked right into her eyes. “Possession by a Hell God does things to you. You don't mean to tell me you think he just happened to be there, do you? Even if you hadn't snapped his neck, when the bitch went home, he would have been sucked dry in the process.”
“What's that got to do with anything?” Her eyes were opened wide, and her jaw felt a bit slack at the way Spike presented things.
“It's bloody obvious. You did the bloke a right favor by offin' him so easily. He would've been consumed from the inside out slowly by the loony bint until there was nothing left of either his mind or his body.” Seeing her lower her unfocused eyes in an attempt to process, he decided to up the ante. “And never forget, it was his life or the Nibblet's. Tell me if that was the wrong choice, because me-plain old vamp that I am-I'd always choose to keep your sis breathin'.” He smirked when her gaze snapped to his, revealing the realization she was coming to at long last. “Just don't tell the Bit, or she'll blow out my eardrums with her teenage squealing.”
Next thing he knew, something so wonderful happened, he half-believed that he was still dreaming. For the first time since Red's spell, he felt the warmth of her lips on his own and after she withdrew, he sucked on his own lip to relish her taste. It was just a chaste peck on the lips, but those few moments their mouths were pressed together felt like eons to him. Before he had a chance to possibly ruin the moment by saying something stupid, she placed her right index finger on his lips.
“I just wanted to thank you. For everything.” Ducking her head shyly, she looked up at him and withdrew her hand. “It's getting late.” He felt his heart plummet at her words, but tried not to show it. “I'm not ready for patrol yet, so could I ask you for one more night of doing it alone?”
Feeling like he was used again, but finding it really difficult to mind after she'd kissed him, he tried to figure out if he should be offended or resigned. He chose to be indifferent for the time being, until she left and he could whoop with joy and then break some bottles against the walls in frustration. “Whatever you need, Slayer.”
She grabbed his arm again, keeping him from getting up and stepping away from her. “Is... is it okay if I wait for you here? I kinda need to think of stuff and when I'm with you it just comes so much more easily.” Smiling impishly, she tilted her head to the side. “And maybe when you return I'll thank you some more for being so helpful.”
Mentally calculating how he could perform the world's fastest patrol ever, he barely contained his excitement at her words. “Sounds interestin'. You know? I'd have done this a long time ago, if I'd known what the reward would be.” Winking at her and dodging the pillow she threw after him, he picked up a shirt and his boots without bothering to put them on. He then darted back to the bed and, moving lightning fast, stole another kiss from the supposedly upset blonde, after which he climbed the ladder to the upper chamber and disappeared before she could protest.
Once he was gone, Buffy touched her fingers to her lips and smiled contentedly. Things were definitely looking up from the pit of despair her mother and sister had worked overtime getting her out of. Pointedly ignoring that, for most people, it would be weird to feel safe below a crypt in the middle of a cemetery in the town built on the mouth of Hell, she curled up in the middle of his bed, drew the covers around her and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
~~~***~~~
Throughout the entire patrol, Spike was restless. His thoughts kept drifting back to his bed, where the woman of his dreams was waiting for him. He didn't want to get his own hopes up too high, but with each step he took, more and more scenarios flashed through his head. His mind was so distracted that he was taken by surprise when a lowly fledgling tackled him from the side.
Normally, he would have relished the challenge-meager as it was-and attempted to draw out the fight for as long as possible. He had no time for such nonsense, however. With brutally efficient movements, he gained the upper hand, overpowered his opponent and dusted him in less than a minute. Without even pausing, he continued his patrol with just as much fervor as before.
In an attempt to clear his head, he wondered how Giles was faring in Britain. The man had left the very next day after Glory's defeat, declaring he was taking Zamolxis and Bendis on a tour of the Watcher's Council. If Spike were a betting man-and he was-he would put his money on the two PTB representatives setting into motion the next step in their plan. If that step meant the disappearance of people like Travers or the dissolution of the Council itself, that could only be answered when they returned, but Spike's impression was that they would salvage as much as they could of the aging institution.
He chuckled to himself imagining what a Watcher's Council might look like with Giles in command, especially now that his Ripper persona was so much closer to the surface. He wondered how many of those wankers he could put the fear of God into by flashing a bit of fang in the middle of their meeting hall. He had no doubts that if Giles was to become head Watcher, he would move the whole operation to California rather than be forced to stay away from Joyce. And Joyce wouldn't leave Buffy, who, in turn, wouldn't leave the Hellmouth. All those stuffy old Brits would be like fish out of water under the hot Californian sun, and it was clear as day what much fun could be had at their expense.
Before long he found himself in front of the house on Revello, his customary last stop of every night. He circled the house carefully, making sure no baddies threatened his Nibblet. Just as he was about to leave, though, the front door swung open and Joyce stepped on the porch. Spike lit up a cigarette, his first since leaving the crypt, and tried not to show how anxious he was to get going again.
“Hello William.” Joyce was looking at him strangely and Spike was glad for the distraction provided by smoking.
“Joyce. How come you're up and about? It's nearly midnight.”
The look Joyce gave him made him feel like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Take good care of my daughter, or I'll finish what I started three years ago with that ax.” She looked pointedly at him and leaned against the wall of the house. “And please think before you speak. You and I both know she's been hurt before. Can you handle that?”
“I c-”
“Because if you can't, you're not good for my daughter and you don't really love her.”
Spike felt like someone had punched him in the gut and speared him in the heart at the same time. “I'll do my best, Joyce. I'll take care of Buffy and I promise not to hurt her.”
She looked him over once more, head to toe, seemingly weighing his worth again. Satisfied by what she found, she nodded once and turned to go back into the house. She put her hand on the door knob and spoke without turning her head. “Now go back to her and be really careful. I know everything.” She then walked inside her home, leaving an extremely worried vampire behind her to snap out of his shocked state and trudge back to his crypt, his mood split between being glad he had Joyce's blessing and terrified at the ominous warning she'd given him.
Eventually, he reached his crypt and made his way to the lower level. On the way down, he gave a mental thanks to Zamolxis and Bendis for telling him to get rid of both Harmony and the shrine he had built for Buffy. If she'd seen either of the two, the Slayer would have probably staked him instead of...
There she was now, an angel with her hair spread on his pillow, his sheets wrapped around her like a safe cocoon. Her closed hand near her mouth looked like she was about to suck on her thumb, and made her even more adorable, if that was possible. His heart soared when he thought about the fact that it was his bed that she had found safe enough to look so peaceful in. Just one question remained, though.
Should he wake her up to maybe get another kiss, or wait for her to wake up on her own, watching her from beside the bed and memorizing every single strand of hair? Or perhaps even crawl in beside her, enjoying the feel of her in his arms? The last option would probably see him dust come morning, but he found it too hard to resist. He took off his boots and his duster and climbed beside her, relishing the fact that she snuggled into his embrace once he was settled. Inhaling her scent deeply, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep with a contented smile on his face.
Pairing: Buffy/Spike; Zamolxis/Bendis; Xander/Anya; Willow/Tara; and so on... ;)
Rating: Adult
Summary: Something insidious is brewing in the Universe. And that something is boredom. Gods, supernatural beings and mortals will find themselves forever changed by the consequences of one bored Being.
Here: The aftermath of Glory's demise
Spoilers/Warnings: BtVS:S5; Adult language; Sexual situations
Disclaimer: Not mine, really! So please don't sue. Joss, Fox, Mutant enemy and all the others are the ones!
dusty273
AN: I know it's been a long time, but RL and other issues prevented me from updating this sooner. I'm very sorry. Many thanks to both Sotia and Mari.
*Spike's crypt, 3 days after Glory's death*
The door banged open, the echo reverberating down to the lower level. A figure stood still at the threshold, bathed in the waning light of the sun, her shadow darting ahead of her like an advanced scout. After a few moments of hesitation, the first step was followed by another, and yet another. The door swung closed, leaving just a sliver of light to illuminate the chamber. In the silence that had descended, the sound of footsteps seemed to fill the place with a cadence that would have been good enough to set a clock to.
After a few more seconds of inner debate, the trap door to the underground was opened and then she descended. Once on the bottom rung, she turned around to look through the darkness for a source of light. All of a sudden, a Zippo flicked open and the contours of the bed's single occupant could be guessed. “I've been waiting for you. Should I put some pants on or how are we doing this?”
It annoyed her to no end that she could almost feel as well as see his smirk. She crossed her arms over her chest and motioned with her chin for him to get a move on. She refused to speak, knowing that if she did, nothing would be the same again. She looked on, trying to spot something through the darkness that had descended once again when the lighter was extinguished.
She could tell he was taking his time, trying to foresee what was to happen. In that respect, she could understand him perfectly. Like any good warrior, he was assessing the situation in order to react appropriately. What was it that he'd said? That's right, all we do is dance. This deadly and exciting game they played, this dance around each other shaped every single encounter. She tried to imagine what steps he had planned for the next part, what style, what rhythm. She was pulled out of her reverie by Spike lighting up the torches on the wall, breaking the spell that darkness had woven inside her mind.
She watched him move around the chamber, hair still ruffled from sleep, barefoot and with only his tight black jeans on. Yumm! She could tell from the way he carried himself that he was a seasoned warrior and that led her to wonder how other people perceived her movements. Did she exude the same image of quicksilver in motion when they saw her? Or did it take a warrior to detect another warrior, the civilians being blissfully unaware? And if so, how did she look like through his eyes? She didn't have to wonder for long, as he was now standing in front of her, leaning against the bedpost and watching her with a mixture of awe and reluctance. Apparently she looked deliciously deadly.
When he was unwilling to start the conversation, opting instead for lighting up one of his ever-present cigarettes, she took a deep, calming breath and tried to focus her thoughts. Failing to do that, she went with the next best thing, winging it. “Nice place, should I ask how much of it is stolen?” She didn't mean to start with a jibe, but when it came to the two of them, it was like second nature. She saw the ticking in his jaw and realized they were starting with the left foot. Again.
“Sorry to offend your sound logic, Slayer, but none of this is stolen. A vamp can furnish his home without resorting to petty theft.” Inhaling from his cigarette, he spoke through the billows of smoke coming out with every word. “So what brings you up and about?”
“I-” she stopped herself and took another breath. Deciding to switch strategies, she sat down on his bed, fighting the urge to lie down. Noticing the slight change from anger to apprehension in his countenance, she could clearly see his concern. “I came here to thank you.” The way his eyes filled with wonder made her heart constrict. Had he really been so starved for such a simple thing as a thank you? And had she really thanked him before? She couldn't remember ever saying those words to him before and the realization shamed her. “So thank you for... well, for doing my job for me.” She smiled bitterly and shrugged her shoulders.
“You know me, luv; always up for a bit of rough and tumble. No need to make a big fuss about it.” The way he was watching her, though, belied his words.
Buffy briefly wondered how long it would have taken her to really see the adulation in his eyes and how much longer still to accept it. She felt a cold chill at the answer. “No. It matters a lot to me that you were out there when I couldn't be.” She leaned forward a bit and placed her hand on his arm. That simple touch meant more for both of them than words could convey. Enjoying the feeling of his skin on hers, she whispered, “You were my Mister Protector.” They both smiled at that, even though Spike raised an eyebrow in protest.
Speaking just as softly as she had, he covered her hand with his own. “Buffy, I told you I'd always be there for you. I don't leave, kitten.”
Hearing her name from his lips was like hearing a prayer from a dying man. All of a sudden, she blurted out her biggest concern. “Are you sorry?”
Frowning, he withdrew his hand from atop hers, without pulling away from her touch, though. “What's that, Slayer?”
She tightened the grip on his arm and repeated her question, trying to make it clearer both to him and to herself. “Are you sorry for all the people you ate? Especially now, hearing about Vampiri and all of that?” She held her breath and started worrying her lower lip while she waited for his response. After a few tense moments in which his face betrayed a sway of conflicting emotions, she started breathing again once he spoke.
“I don't work that way.” Seeing her face fall, he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look, for me-for any vamp-we feel like somethin' needs to be done, we do it, and bugger the consequences. Feedin', huntin', stealin', everythin' goes if we feel like we need it.”
“So... because I'm part-”
“Don't even start with that bollocks! I know what you're gettin' at, Slayer, but you're off your bloody gourd if you think that what you did with that git housin' Glory was wrong.” She opened her mouth to protest again, so he grabbed both her shoulders and looked right into her eyes. “Possession by a Hell God does things to you. You don't mean to tell me you think he just happened to be there, do you? Even if you hadn't snapped his neck, when the bitch went home, he would have been sucked dry in the process.”
“What's that got to do with anything?” Her eyes were opened wide, and her jaw felt a bit slack at the way Spike presented things.
“It's bloody obvious. You did the bloke a right favor by offin' him so easily. He would've been consumed from the inside out slowly by the loony bint until there was nothing left of either his mind or his body.” Seeing her lower her unfocused eyes in an attempt to process, he decided to up the ante. “And never forget, it was his life or the Nibblet's. Tell me if that was the wrong choice, because me-plain old vamp that I am-I'd always choose to keep your sis breathin'.” He smirked when her gaze snapped to his, revealing the realization she was coming to at long last. “Just don't tell the Bit, or she'll blow out my eardrums with her teenage squealing.”
Next thing he knew, something so wonderful happened, he half-believed that he was still dreaming. For the first time since Red's spell, he felt the warmth of her lips on his own and after she withdrew, he sucked on his own lip to relish her taste. It was just a chaste peck on the lips, but those few moments their mouths were pressed together felt like eons to him. Before he had a chance to possibly ruin the moment by saying something stupid, she placed her right index finger on his lips.
“I just wanted to thank you. For everything.” Ducking her head shyly, she looked up at him and withdrew her hand. “It's getting late.” He felt his heart plummet at her words, but tried not to show it. “I'm not ready for patrol yet, so could I ask you for one more night of doing it alone?”
Feeling like he was used again, but finding it really difficult to mind after she'd kissed him, he tried to figure out if he should be offended or resigned. He chose to be indifferent for the time being, until she left and he could whoop with joy and then break some bottles against the walls in frustration. “Whatever you need, Slayer.”
She grabbed his arm again, keeping him from getting up and stepping away from her. “Is... is it okay if I wait for you here? I kinda need to think of stuff and when I'm with you it just comes so much more easily.” Smiling impishly, she tilted her head to the side. “And maybe when you return I'll thank you some more for being so helpful.”
Mentally calculating how he could perform the world's fastest patrol ever, he barely contained his excitement at her words. “Sounds interestin'. You know? I'd have done this a long time ago, if I'd known what the reward would be.” Winking at her and dodging the pillow she threw after him, he picked up a shirt and his boots without bothering to put them on. He then darted back to the bed and, moving lightning fast, stole another kiss from the supposedly upset blonde, after which he climbed the ladder to the upper chamber and disappeared before she could protest.
Once he was gone, Buffy touched her fingers to her lips and smiled contentedly. Things were definitely looking up from the pit of despair her mother and sister had worked overtime getting her out of. Pointedly ignoring that, for most people, it would be weird to feel safe below a crypt in the middle of a cemetery in the town built on the mouth of Hell, she curled up in the middle of his bed, drew the covers around her and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.
~~~***~~~
Throughout the entire patrol, Spike was restless. His thoughts kept drifting back to his bed, where the woman of his dreams was waiting for him. He didn't want to get his own hopes up too high, but with each step he took, more and more scenarios flashed through his head. His mind was so distracted that he was taken by surprise when a lowly fledgling tackled him from the side.
Normally, he would have relished the challenge-meager as it was-and attempted to draw out the fight for as long as possible. He had no time for such nonsense, however. With brutally efficient movements, he gained the upper hand, overpowered his opponent and dusted him in less than a minute. Without even pausing, he continued his patrol with just as much fervor as before.
In an attempt to clear his head, he wondered how Giles was faring in Britain. The man had left the very next day after Glory's defeat, declaring he was taking Zamolxis and Bendis on a tour of the Watcher's Council. If Spike were a betting man-and he was-he would put his money on the two PTB representatives setting into motion the next step in their plan. If that step meant the disappearance of people like Travers or the dissolution of the Council itself, that could only be answered when they returned, but Spike's impression was that they would salvage as much as they could of the aging institution.
He chuckled to himself imagining what a Watcher's Council might look like with Giles in command, especially now that his Ripper persona was so much closer to the surface. He wondered how many of those wankers he could put the fear of God into by flashing a bit of fang in the middle of their meeting hall. He had no doubts that if Giles was to become head Watcher, he would move the whole operation to California rather than be forced to stay away from Joyce. And Joyce wouldn't leave Buffy, who, in turn, wouldn't leave the Hellmouth. All those stuffy old Brits would be like fish out of water under the hot Californian sun, and it was clear as day what much fun could be had at their expense.
Before long he found himself in front of the house on Revello, his customary last stop of every night. He circled the house carefully, making sure no baddies threatened his Nibblet. Just as he was about to leave, though, the front door swung open and Joyce stepped on the porch. Spike lit up a cigarette, his first since leaving the crypt, and tried not to show how anxious he was to get going again.
“Hello William.” Joyce was looking at him strangely and Spike was glad for the distraction provided by smoking.
“Joyce. How come you're up and about? It's nearly midnight.”
The look Joyce gave him made him feel like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Take good care of my daughter, or I'll finish what I started three years ago with that ax.” She looked pointedly at him and leaned against the wall of the house. “And please think before you speak. You and I both know she's been hurt before. Can you handle that?”
“I c-”
“Because if you can't, you're not good for my daughter and you don't really love her.”
Spike felt like someone had punched him in the gut and speared him in the heart at the same time. “I'll do my best, Joyce. I'll take care of Buffy and I promise not to hurt her.”
She looked him over once more, head to toe, seemingly weighing his worth again. Satisfied by what she found, she nodded once and turned to go back into the house. She put her hand on the door knob and spoke without turning her head. “Now go back to her and be really careful. I know everything.” She then walked inside her home, leaving an extremely worried vampire behind her to snap out of his shocked state and trudge back to his crypt, his mood split between being glad he had Joyce's blessing and terrified at the ominous warning she'd given him.
Eventually, he reached his crypt and made his way to the lower level. On the way down, he gave a mental thanks to Zamolxis and Bendis for telling him to get rid of both Harmony and the shrine he had built for Buffy. If she'd seen either of the two, the Slayer would have probably staked him instead of...
There she was now, an angel with her hair spread on his pillow, his sheets wrapped around her like a safe cocoon. Her closed hand near her mouth looked like she was about to suck on her thumb, and made her even more adorable, if that was possible. His heart soared when he thought about the fact that it was his bed that she had found safe enough to look so peaceful in. Just one question remained, though.
Should he wake her up to maybe get another kiss, or wait for her to wake up on her own, watching her from beside the bed and memorizing every single strand of hair? Or perhaps even crawl in beside her, enjoying the feel of her in his arms? The last option would probably see him dust come morning, but he found it too hard to resist. He took off his boots and his duster and climbed beside her, relishing the fact that she snuggled into his embrace once he was settled. Inhaling her scent deeply, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep with a contented smile on his face.