Lethal (BtVS, R)
Tile: Lethal
Author: Ersatz Fiction
Fandom: BtVS
Parring: None in parts 1 and 2, 3 has Joyce/Giles and a hint of Joyce/Ripper/Spike
Spoilers: Season 5 through “The Gift”
Rating: R (implied sexual content, language and suggested violence)
Disclaimer: I am not Joss. All characters within belong to him and Mutant Enemy. The title of part one is from Blake’s “The Sick Rose”. The title and italicized bits in part three are from Joyce Carol Oates short “Lethal”. I’m not her either.
Summery: It was Joyce’s decision, in the end.
A/N:Written for the Vamp-a-Scooby challenge at ats_btvs_fanfic. Unbeta'ed. Constructive Criticism is love.
Dark Secret Love Does Thy Life Destroy
Standing an arm span away, she holds his questing gaze as the moments stretch on like something warm and sweet. So enthralled, he doesn’t notice the knife until she slides it down her wrist, blood welling up in blades wake.
"Spike!"
Her voice loud, fracturing the early morning stillness of the house. Thrusting her wrist forward she takes two steps, drops of red dribbling down her forearm. He takes three steps back, hard enough to shake the front door frame. Eyes wide, he shakes his head over and over again, denials and arguments spilling forth from his cupid bow lips.
Quick as a thought, she slices his t-shirt with the knife in her right hand as she smashes bleeding wrist over his mouth. He hisses in pain, the movement of his head jerking back smearing her blood over his chin.Whatever combination of blood and pain causes his demon face forth in a howl. The face she hasn’t seen since parent-teacher night, arches and ridges carved his brow; lion’s ruddy eyes with tears of diamond: a live Blakean illustration.
She can feel his fangs graze the slit flesh of her arm and she shivers, his lips close around the gash and sucks.
“Spike…”
It’s not quite a swoon, but she leans into his shoulder, smelling the iron rich sent of his blood where she cut him. She leans her head down, nosing the cut fabric aside and kisses his open wound. Their crimson joy: he is hard against her belly, it has been far too long for her.
His whole body jerks, supplementary breaths coming fast and hard as she licks up the oozing blood, nicking the edge of his nipple with her tongue’s underside.
His left arm is a tourniquet around her waist, right hand crushing her wrist like a lime, wringing out every last drop into his waiting mouth.
The last thing she hears in conjunction with her beating heart is Spike’s tender whisper in the shell of her ear.
“Joyce.”
This Is Just To Say
Dawn! Honey, why are you in a graveyard after dark? Where is Buffy? Don’t yell, it’s not his fault. I made a decision. I wasn’t ready to let you two go. Of course I still love you honey. You and Buffy both.
Did Giles tell you that? Fuck what Giles said. I didn’t trust the Council of Watchers after Buffy’s birthday; I trust them even less now. What? I can swear. I drink blood and you’re concerned about me swearing. I’m hungry. Is there blood in that Thermos? Thank you. Oh Dawn, my darling Dawn, don’t cry. You smell so good when you’re crying. No, I’m fine. Really. You can let me up, Spike.
This is why I need to go away. Just for a little while. I need to learn how to be around people without thinking about food. Buffy won’t hurt me if I’m not eating people.
Look at Spike. Yes, you’re still scary, dear. Is there any more blood? I’m still hungry. Spike, could you move her--? Thank you. What about Dawn? Can I walk home with you two? Oh. No, it’s fine Dawn. It’s not like I’ve never been chained up before. Dawn, I’m an adult and a vampire--I can say these things. Spike! There are virgin ears here! I’ll tell you later.
There’s more blood at the crypt, right? Why would I do that? I don’t have enemies! Well, accept for that prick Maggie hired at the gallery. Robert. I swear he’s pocketing money from his sales when I’m not around. He always says the most inappropriate comments to every women who comes in. I bet he would even invite me in.
No, I’m fine. You can let me up. Dawn, don’t worry. I’m as strong as him now. No arguments young lady: your going straight home and to bed. It’s a school night.
Yes, well Buffy also graduated by the skin of her teeth. I want you to get into a good college one day. Spike! Don’t threaten my daughter or I’ll rip out your intestines and strangle you with them. No, I feel great, better then I have in years. Is there any more blood? Don’t cry Dawn. Your fear smells so good.
I Just Want To Touch You A Little
If pressed, you would say because he'd have killed Dawn. You would argue his hand in Buffy’s own demise. In the three times he deliberately attempted to murder Spike for siring you. But really, it was because your demon wanted a mate, and the first time you saw him through tawny eyes, you though he would make a beautiful vampire.
I just want to touch you a little. That delicate blue vein at your temple, the soft down of your neck.
You played “Sunday Morning” on his record player the night you rode his cock and sucked him dry. It seemed fitting at the time. But if anyone asked: it was “Don’t Fear the Reaper” turned up to 11.
Don’t squirm! This is serious! This is the real thing! I just want to suck a little. I just wan to press into you a little.
You aren’t wrong: Ripper is everything you wanted. And when all was said and done, Spike has no reason to complain. Not after he saw what Ripper’s dark magic could do. The chip from his head is thin as a communion wafer and crunched nicely in the palm of Spike’s hand.
I just want a taste of it. Your saliva, your blood. Just as taste.
You asked them, one evening, what happens next. Piled in Spike’s bed, twined around one another, you wanted nothing more then the press of flesh and warm blood. But there is Dawn to think of, a promise Spike made in love and unwilling to break. Ripper kissed carnage down your spine, suggestions of sweet vengeance in London
You're being ridiculous. You're being cruel. You're being unfair. You're hysterical. You're hyper-ventilating.
In the end, it is your decision. A sweet always memory: you walk up the familiar path to what was once your front door and unlock it. You gather a sleeping Dawn in your arms and take her to the waiting car grumbling in the driveway. She awakes thirty miles from Sunnydale with your hand caressing her temple. Her fear tastes so sweet.
***
Feedback is love
Author: Ersatz Fiction
Fandom: BtVS
Parring: None in parts 1 and 2, 3 has Joyce/Giles and a hint of Joyce/Ripper/Spike
Spoilers: Season 5 through “The Gift”
Rating: R (implied sexual content, language and suggested violence)
Disclaimer: I am not Joss. All characters within belong to him and Mutant Enemy. The title of part one is from Blake’s “The Sick Rose”. The title and italicized bits in part three are from Joyce Carol Oates short “Lethal”. I’m not her either.
Summery: It was Joyce’s decision, in the end.
A/N:Written for the Vamp-a-Scooby challenge at ats_btvs_fanfic. Unbeta'ed. Constructive Criticism is love.
Dark Secret Love Does Thy Life Destroy
Standing an arm span away, she holds his questing gaze as the moments stretch on like something warm and sweet. So enthralled, he doesn’t notice the knife until she slides it down her wrist, blood welling up in blades wake.
"Spike!"
Her voice loud, fracturing the early morning stillness of the house. Thrusting her wrist forward she takes two steps, drops of red dribbling down her forearm. He takes three steps back, hard enough to shake the front door frame. Eyes wide, he shakes his head over and over again, denials and arguments spilling forth from his cupid bow lips.
Quick as a thought, she slices his t-shirt with the knife in her right hand as she smashes bleeding wrist over his mouth. He hisses in pain, the movement of his head jerking back smearing her blood over his chin.Whatever combination of blood and pain causes his demon face forth in a howl. The face she hasn’t seen since parent-teacher night, arches and ridges carved his brow; lion’s ruddy eyes with tears of diamond: a live Blakean illustration.
She can feel his fangs graze the slit flesh of her arm and she shivers, his lips close around the gash and sucks.
“Spike…”
It’s not quite a swoon, but she leans into his shoulder, smelling the iron rich sent of his blood where she cut him. She leans her head down, nosing the cut fabric aside and kisses his open wound. Their crimson joy: he is hard against her belly, it has been far too long for her.
His whole body jerks, supplementary breaths coming fast and hard as she licks up the oozing blood, nicking the edge of his nipple with her tongue’s underside.
His left arm is a tourniquet around her waist, right hand crushing her wrist like a lime, wringing out every last drop into his waiting mouth.
The last thing she hears in conjunction with her beating heart is Spike’s tender whisper in the shell of her ear.
“Joyce.”
This Is Just To Say
Dawn! Honey, why are you in a graveyard after dark? Where is Buffy? Don’t yell, it’s not his fault. I made a decision. I wasn’t ready to let you two go. Of course I still love you honey. You and Buffy both.
Did Giles tell you that? Fuck what Giles said. I didn’t trust the Council of Watchers after Buffy’s birthday; I trust them even less now. What? I can swear. I drink blood and you’re concerned about me swearing. I’m hungry. Is there blood in that Thermos? Thank you. Oh Dawn, my darling Dawn, don’t cry. You smell so good when you’re crying. No, I’m fine. Really. You can let me up, Spike.
This is why I need to go away. Just for a little while. I need to learn how to be around people without thinking about food. Buffy won’t hurt me if I’m not eating people.
Look at Spike. Yes, you’re still scary, dear. Is there any more blood? I’m still hungry. Spike, could you move her--? Thank you. What about Dawn? Can I walk home with you two? Oh. No, it’s fine Dawn. It’s not like I’ve never been chained up before. Dawn, I’m an adult and a vampire--I can say these things. Spike! There are virgin ears here! I’ll tell you later.
There’s more blood at the crypt, right? Why would I do that? I don’t have enemies! Well, accept for that prick Maggie hired at the gallery. Robert. I swear he’s pocketing money from his sales when I’m not around. He always says the most inappropriate comments to every women who comes in. I bet he would even invite me in.
No, I’m fine. You can let me up. Dawn, don’t worry. I’m as strong as him now. No arguments young lady: your going straight home and to bed. It’s a school night.
Yes, well Buffy also graduated by the skin of her teeth. I want you to get into a good college one day. Spike! Don’t threaten my daughter or I’ll rip out your intestines and strangle you with them. No, I feel great, better then I have in years. Is there any more blood? Don’t cry Dawn. Your fear smells so good.
I Just Want To Touch You A Little
If pressed, you would say because he'd have killed Dawn. You would argue his hand in Buffy’s own demise. In the three times he deliberately attempted to murder Spike for siring you. But really, it was because your demon wanted a mate, and the first time you saw him through tawny eyes, you though he would make a beautiful vampire.
I just want to touch you a little. That delicate blue vein at your temple, the soft down of your neck.
You played “Sunday Morning” on his record player the night you rode his cock and sucked him dry. It seemed fitting at the time. But if anyone asked: it was “Don’t Fear the Reaper” turned up to 11.
Don’t squirm! This is serious! This is the real thing! I just want to suck a little. I just wan to press into you a little.
You aren’t wrong: Ripper is everything you wanted. And when all was said and done, Spike has no reason to complain. Not after he saw what Ripper’s dark magic could do. The chip from his head is thin as a communion wafer and crunched nicely in the palm of Spike’s hand.
I just want a taste of it. Your saliva, your blood. Just as taste.
You asked them, one evening, what happens next. Piled in Spike’s bed, twined around one another, you wanted nothing more then the press of flesh and warm blood. But there is Dawn to think of, a promise Spike made in love and unwilling to break. Ripper kissed carnage down your spine, suggestions of sweet vengeance in London
You're being ridiculous. You're being cruel. You're being unfair. You're hysterical. You're hyper-ventilating.
In the end, it is your decision. A sweet always memory: you walk up the familiar path to what was once your front door and unlock it. You gather a sleeping Dawn in your arms and take her to the waiting car grumbling in the driveway. She awakes thirty miles from Sunnydale with your hand caressing her temple. Her fear tastes so sweet.
***
Feedback is love