Blood Will Out (R)
Title Blood Will Out
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating R for swearing, fighting and bloody imagery
Words c1000
Setting more in the post-series AU Proverbs verse
Prompt The battle-club does not find out his name, it just finds his flesh.
They have, by Spike's count, saved fourteen people this past week. Haven't even really been looking for Good Deeds to perform, just keeping an eye out in the shadows and the forgotten places - soon enough, you spot the vulnerable and the fearful.
Spike's had a century and more of doing exactly that, and a few years of impotence hasn’t dulled the skill. It goes against nature to follow up a sighting with a quick check of the vicinity to identify waiting predators, instead of leaping in to get what he can from a cowering victim. Only the promise of a fight at the end consoles him.
Sometimes, amazingly, there's no lurking predator after all, despite the screaming opportunity, and Spike and Buffy merely watch the weak human into a place of safety. Bad nights, which end with too-hearty, too-painful sparring and fucking in alleys, broken glass under his knees and rats rattling garbage cans in place of music and champagne.
Sometimes, there's a single vamp, a dumb demon, a simple foe that one or other of the reluctant heroes can slay one-handed. Or a human predator, easily taken care of with a few threatening moves, or a brandished cellphone. Rubbish. Trash. Barely worth stirring Spike's stumps for. Nights like that, he paces the alleys, furious, hating his fate. Buffy not much better, looking for surcease. They knock off early, and drink, and don’t quite get off as well as they know they can, and sleep irritably, unsated.
But there are good days, like today. A gang of four, nicely mixed. Two vamps, and one's an old guy, probably three-four hundred years, definitely Spike's senior and starting to run slightly to brow-lumps. The girl with him - vamp, not too juvenile either, though Spike dates her to about the 1930s and chalks one up to his side - is clearly more than a bit of totty. She's dangerous, elegant, distinctly enviable. And they've got two hefty demons as bodyguards, probably in order to keep their date night in Atlantic City clear of interlopers rather than because they were expecting a Slayer, but still, enough to give the good guys an extra challenge.
There's a glory to a fight like this. Fist to face, boot to belly, back to back with the Slayer as the four opponents converge, then separating to fight their own individual fights as the rhythm demands. Spikes watches Buffy using the street furniture for weaponry and leverage: a car can be a hiding place, a launching pad, a source of glass and metal. Very neat, she is. She takes out Henchman A pretty much as Spike garrotes Henchman B, accidental but harmonious of them.
Maybe he's distracted by the pleasure of that sight, but it's then that Vamp!Woman gets Spike in a tight hold, teeth descending into his neck, tearing out the vessels and trying to drain his lifeblood. How she's missed that he's a dead man, he's a little baffled about, but perhaps she's not used to Buffy Summers' way of upturning traditions.
To be fair, Spike's never heard of a vampire taking service with a Slayer. Well, apart from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, but Soul Boy wasn't a proper vamp for decades before the Slayer got her pearly nails into him. So Spike's pretty sure he's a novelty. Certainly, Vamp!Woman finds him so, spitting out the chunk of his neck with a vicious oath. "What the fuck are you? Slayer-whipped traitor?"
He laughs, and breaks her hold while she's inattentive, launches upwards, backwards, then spinning hard down and fighting hectically tooth and nail till he's finally, painfully into position behind her, stake to her sternum, ready to end it. "Whipped? Not lately. Bloody well fucked, though." He gets to gloat, sometimes.
He's sorry when she crumbles into dust. You don't see too many classy middle-aged vamps these days. The Council has had its efficient times in previous decades and there's often an abrupt disjuncture between older Master types and the routine run of modern fledges. (Not that Masters are too commonplace…)
Which makes the fight Buffy's having with this latest Master something to be cherished. Could be a tourist, fair enough, but they'd caught rumours of an East Coast Master, lurking in the Jersey hinterlands, and this might just be him, the local bigwig caught unawares. Which would make him Buffy's, what, third Master? Ness, Angelus, can't really count Dru or Spike what with them still being around… and then the Slayer got all imbrangled with gods and scientists… ubervamps don't count… but of course Spike doesn't know how many other Master vamps she's offed this past year. And it's not like there's a perfect classification, so….
So he's blethering mentally, enjoying the moments of watching Buffy give the fight her all, but now it's time to get stuck in.
You can tell it's a proper fight by the way Spike loses the narrative now, acting on impulse and reflex, desperate self-saving moments interspersed with glorious attacking passages. His eyebrow splits, again, and some small bones break in his fingers. There's a nasty moment when Buffy dislocates her shoulder, but Spike catches the Master's attention long enough for her to pop it back with a practiced and flinching twist. Other tableaux pass by, as though unconnected, but Spike knows he'll relish them later.
Because there is a later. In the end, Buffy's stake enters the demon's heart, with Spike's fingers sunk deep into the Master's eyes, holding him immobilized, sacrificial. Dust, only dust.
Buffy meets Spike's eyes, intense in the aftermath.
It'll be swiftly back to their motel, and tonight, no one will be unsatisfied. Meantime, she holds out her spare bandage. "Your neck. It's pretty… uhm, bitten."
Yes, it is. Spike can feel cold, dead blood slipping down his shoulder and chest. He's a vampire's victim, and he's dead.
But he's also still alive, and he's saved hundreds of people from future depredations of some dread fiends. So he's going to have a fucking fantastic night to prove it.
***
The Demon and the Deep Blue Sea is next
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating R for swearing, fighting and bloody imagery
Words c1000
Setting more in the post-series AU Proverbs verse
Prompt The battle-club does not find out his name, it just finds his flesh.
They have, by Spike's count, saved fourteen people this past week. Haven't even really been looking for Good Deeds to perform, just keeping an eye out in the shadows and the forgotten places - soon enough, you spot the vulnerable and the fearful.
Spike's had a century and more of doing exactly that, and a few years of impotence hasn’t dulled the skill. It goes against nature to follow up a sighting with a quick check of the vicinity to identify waiting predators, instead of leaping in to get what he can from a cowering victim. Only the promise of a fight at the end consoles him.
Sometimes, amazingly, there's no lurking predator after all, despite the screaming opportunity, and Spike and Buffy merely watch the weak human into a place of safety. Bad nights, which end with too-hearty, too-painful sparring and fucking in alleys, broken glass under his knees and rats rattling garbage cans in place of music and champagne.
Sometimes, there's a single vamp, a dumb demon, a simple foe that one or other of the reluctant heroes can slay one-handed. Or a human predator, easily taken care of with a few threatening moves, or a brandished cellphone. Rubbish. Trash. Barely worth stirring Spike's stumps for. Nights like that, he paces the alleys, furious, hating his fate. Buffy not much better, looking for surcease. They knock off early, and drink, and don’t quite get off as well as they know they can, and sleep irritably, unsated.
But there are good days, like today. A gang of four, nicely mixed. Two vamps, and one's an old guy, probably three-four hundred years, definitely Spike's senior and starting to run slightly to brow-lumps. The girl with him - vamp, not too juvenile either, though Spike dates her to about the 1930s and chalks one up to his side - is clearly more than a bit of totty. She's dangerous, elegant, distinctly enviable. And they've got two hefty demons as bodyguards, probably in order to keep their date night in Atlantic City clear of interlopers rather than because they were expecting a Slayer, but still, enough to give the good guys an extra challenge.
There's a glory to a fight like this. Fist to face, boot to belly, back to back with the Slayer as the four opponents converge, then separating to fight their own individual fights as the rhythm demands. Spikes watches Buffy using the street furniture for weaponry and leverage: a car can be a hiding place, a launching pad, a source of glass and metal. Very neat, she is. She takes out Henchman A pretty much as Spike garrotes Henchman B, accidental but harmonious of them.
Maybe he's distracted by the pleasure of that sight, but it's then that Vamp!Woman gets Spike in a tight hold, teeth descending into his neck, tearing out the vessels and trying to drain his lifeblood. How she's missed that he's a dead man, he's a little baffled about, but perhaps she's not used to Buffy Summers' way of upturning traditions.
To be fair, Spike's never heard of a vampire taking service with a Slayer. Well, apart from He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, but Soul Boy wasn't a proper vamp for decades before the Slayer got her pearly nails into him. So Spike's pretty sure he's a novelty. Certainly, Vamp!Woman finds him so, spitting out the chunk of his neck with a vicious oath. "What the fuck are you? Slayer-whipped traitor?"
He laughs, and breaks her hold while she's inattentive, launches upwards, backwards, then spinning hard down and fighting hectically tooth and nail till he's finally, painfully into position behind her, stake to her sternum, ready to end it. "Whipped? Not lately. Bloody well fucked, though." He gets to gloat, sometimes.
He's sorry when she crumbles into dust. You don't see too many classy middle-aged vamps these days. The Council has had its efficient times in previous decades and there's often an abrupt disjuncture between older Master types and the routine run of modern fledges. (Not that Masters are too commonplace…)
Which makes the fight Buffy's having with this latest Master something to be cherished. Could be a tourist, fair enough, but they'd caught rumours of an East Coast Master, lurking in the Jersey hinterlands, and this might just be him, the local bigwig caught unawares. Which would make him Buffy's, what, third Master? Ness, Angelus, can't really count Dru or Spike what with them still being around… and then the Slayer got all imbrangled with gods and scientists… ubervamps don't count… but of course Spike doesn't know how many other Master vamps she's offed this past year. And it's not like there's a perfect classification, so….
So he's blethering mentally, enjoying the moments of watching Buffy give the fight her all, but now it's time to get stuck in.
You can tell it's a proper fight by the way Spike loses the narrative now, acting on impulse and reflex, desperate self-saving moments interspersed with glorious attacking passages. His eyebrow splits, again, and some small bones break in his fingers. There's a nasty moment when Buffy dislocates her shoulder, but Spike catches the Master's attention long enough for her to pop it back with a practiced and flinching twist. Other tableaux pass by, as though unconnected, but Spike knows he'll relish them later.
Because there is a later. In the end, Buffy's stake enters the demon's heart, with Spike's fingers sunk deep into the Master's eyes, holding him immobilized, sacrificial. Dust, only dust.
Buffy meets Spike's eyes, intense in the aftermath.
It'll be swiftly back to their motel, and tonight, no one will be unsatisfied. Meantime, she holds out her spare bandage. "Your neck. It's pretty… uhm, bitten."
Yes, it is. Spike can feel cold, dead blood slipping down his shoulder and chest. He's a vampire's victim, and he's dead.
But he's also still alive, and he's saved hundreds of people from future depredations of some dread fiends. So he's going to have a fucking fantastic night to prove it.
***
The Demon and the Deep Blue Sea is next