"Fic" Repost: Spanne (Spike/Buffy, NC-17)
title: "Aztec Spanne" or "Weird Spuffy Thing" or just "Spanne"
pairing: Spike/Buffy
rating: NC-17
length: about 6400
notes: It's amnesia!fic, which is still one of my bulletproof kinks. I started writing this in November of 2003 and finished January 2004. I wanted to write something without angsting over it. I didn't edit, I didn't even look twice at it. Every snippet was written directly into the LJ update journal page. At the end, I had the idea that I might possibly rewrite it as an actual fic, complete with proper grammar and actual backstory and some kind of epilogue. That never happened. Now when I look at it, I don't think it needs an epilogue.
It's been locked up in my journal for a while, and I haven't minded. But I'm reposting it now, all 11 short parts together, for your reading enjoyment. It's still just as rough as it was, although I did a quick spellcheck. Strangely enough, I think I only found 2 misspelled words.
I kinda wish I could do this again. I felt free and creative when I was writing it. Maybe I'll 'write' something like this again sometime.
I'm reposting it now because I'm making a masterlist of my fics on LJ, and I wanted to put this in one place so I didn't have to link to lots of little parts.
01
So Buffy went to LA after sending Angel to hell, and she became Anne.
She was walking home to her crap apartment one day and got hit by a city bus.
She woke up and didn't know who she was. She had a lawyer waiting when she woke up, a young, hungry ambulance chaser with big dreams. They took on the city and won 2.6 million dollars. The lawyer took the .6 and started his own firm. Meanwhile, Anne decided that she needed to find herself. Literally. So she traveled around America, trying to figure out where she fit in.
America didn't help her any. She didn't fit anywhere. She figured out she was some sort of superhero or something, and came to the conclusion that she was either a mutant or an alien. So she decided to go on down to South America and see the ancient Aztec temples, because she'd heard that the had contact with aliens.
One night she climbed up on top of one of those high steppy pyramids and met this blond guy. He called her Slayer. She thought it was a cool nickname.
He'd just found his girlfriend with some slimy demon and was feeling vengeful against some girl named Buffy. Anne told him to drop it and to move on with his life.
She figured out he was a vampire the first time she kissed him. The night was all hot and balmy and he was cool against her, and his tongue was refreshing and she thought she could spend all night kissing him, just drinking him in under the moon.
He had this look in his eye that she couldn't fathom, and she wondered if he was going to kill her. He looked hungry. She was still trying to figure out the whole vampire/evil thing, but she didn't have a whole lot to go on.
He made her hot. Not just like ... pleasantly warm, like some of the nice looking college boys that had come into the diner. No, Spike made her hot -- sweltering, jumping-out-of-her-skin excited. She realized she wasn't a virgin, but he was the only time that mattered. She wondered for a moment who'd been her true first, but then he was moving inside of her and grinding against her clit with every deep stroke, and she just didn't care anymore.
He was surprisingly gentle. She didn't know what she had expected, but it hadn't been this. He touched her face while he fucked her, called her a bunch of pretty, twisted things. She got caught up in his voice and his hands and his cock, drowned in the riptide of those words. Slayer, pretty bitch, tight little quim, all for me, all mine, my Slayer and Anne believed him, she really was all for him.
02
Now I've got this whole thing where Spike gets really obsessive about Anne, and he starts living in constant fear that she's going to remember, so he thinks about turning her but he never gets around to it, and he makes her promise constantly that she loves him, that she belongs to him and that she won't leave him. And she knows there's something wrong, but she's so caught up in him that she can't see what it is.
She knows he's a killer, but she never sees him feed, never hears the screams of his victims. So she lets it go, even when one night he comes to her and his body's warm from a fresh kill and there's blood smearing his mouth. She lets him kiss her with that mouth, lets him lick the cream white of her neck like a big cat, even though she smells the blood and sees some in his hair. He's strong, holding her down and driving her wild, and he's making her promise.
"Tell me, tell me, tell me," he pleads, demands, orders, begs against her skin, and she does.
She tells him she loves him, "Spike, god, Spike, only you, I'm yours ..." and he tears her clothes away and she's naked and willing and hot.
"You won't leave me," he says fiercely, and he drives himself home, deep inside of her and she skids across the floor with every one of his thrusts, and her back is getting scraped up and he just keeps fucking her and telling her she belongs to him.
03
Anne is completely ignorant of what she was, or is, and she has no idea what's going on with Spike. Spike's pissed off because he's lost Dru and he hates Buffy and he hates Angel, so he's taking it out on Anne, making her want him, need him. He wants to be the only one for her, the way he never was with Dru and never could have been with Buffy. He starts seeing her as a completely different person than the Slayer he knew in Sunnydale.
He still calls her Slayer, but it doesn't mean the same thing to Anne and so it doesn't mean the same thing to Spike.
She knows there's something he's hiding for her.
One night she asks him if he knew her, before.
"What would make you think that?" Spike asks, all nonchalant, holding a cigarette between his fingers. Anne likes his blunt black nails. They're a symbol of sex to her, and she gets this flash of Spike dragging his fingers across her nipples, teasing them until they're tight little sensitive pebbles. He made her come once just by licking and nibbling and twisting her nipples.
"The way you look at me sometimes," Buffy says, shrugging.
Spike cocks his head and gives this leer that's both sleazy and fuck-me-now sexy. "And how do I look at you, love?"
Buffy shivers at his voice. It's all rough like sex. She wonders if he's trained his voice somehow, because every time he speaks like that she gets a twinge and an ache between her legs. "Not like that," she mutters.
He licks his bottom lip and chuckles when she groans. Sometimes she hates him.
04
Anne tries to be happy with the way things are, tries to make her place as Spike's, and that's who she is, and tries to make it fit. After all, he seems content to let this be who she is.
She asks him why she's stronger than a normal girl. She asks him if she's a demon. She doesn't seem distressed by the possibility, but he tells her no, that she's something else entirely. She's his Slayer, and nothing else matters.
But it *does* matter, and wants to know how much she can do. She tries punching first, and she knocks a hole in a wall of their hut and Spike laughs. "You trying to kill it, love?" he asks, amused.
"It's not like I have a punching bag," she grumps.
Spike gets this excited light in his eyes, and for a second Anne's reminded of a little kid about to go on a rollercoaster. Or something.
"You want to spar?" Spike asks her, and almost bounces from foot to foot.
"What do you mean, like fight? Me and you?" she asks. "What if I hurt you?"
Spike gives her this feral, charged grin and says, "All the better."
They take it outside, and Anne goes slow at first, not really remembering how to fight but slowly getting into the rhythm. Spike gets impatient and punches her in the jaw. "Come on, now. Give it to me, Slayer."
Anne frowns. That hurt. She's a little pissed off and so she swings back. Spike ducks out of the way and laughs at her. And *that* makes her even more pissed.
But then they've got this flurry of punches and kicks going on, and Anne is laughing every time she gets a good hit in, and Spike is taunting her, "Come on, you pretty bitch, gonna make you hurt good, gonna get you down," and it's turning her on like nothing else. He's using *that* voice, and the things he's saying are the same things he says when he's fucking her and she wonders if he even realizes it.
She traps him against a wall and pins his arms against it and bites his mouth, but then he kicks her away and knocks her down. He's got blood on his lips and he's panting like he's been fucking, and his eyes are so molten hot and he's grinning like a fool. He jumps on her but she levers against him enough to roll on top of him, straddling him. She's sweating and gasping and holy fuck, his mouth leaning down to kiss him. Her kiss is as hard as a punch.
He's not done with her yet, though, and he grabs at her and moves so fast she almost misses it, and he's up again and taunting her. She licks her lips and tastes his blood, and she wants to draw more.
They fight like they're fucking, and then they start fucking like they're fighting, rolling and grunting and taking. Her small hands are marring his skin, and she's got bruises and bites from his blunt teeth and she doesn't care because she's never felt like this, ever.
He fucks her hard against a tree, grunting, "Mine, mine, mine," with her skirt bunched up around her waist and her blouse half torn off and she's pulling at his hair, and he's biting her neck, human teeth that still make her bleed, and he's so deep inside of her that she can only scream and hold on while the world explodes and all she sees is white electricity behind her eyes.
05
She remembers something one day, a kiss, and she brings her fingers up to her mouth. "Angel," she whispers, testing the word on her tongue.
Spike's drinking something, a glass bottle with caramel colored liquor. He hears her and he's at her side in a moment, grabbing her wrist and glaring at her. "What?"
Anne frowns. "I remembered something."
"Tell. Me." Spike's intense and when she looks at him she shivers at the violence in his eyes.
"Nothing, just -- just a kiss. I think I was crying."
Spike looks slightly relieved. "And what was that before? That you said?"
"Angel," she whispers.
Spike's about to break something, or break Anne. "What's that mean to you?" he says, and his jaw is clenched and the muscle is flexing. It's mesmerizing.
She shakes her head and looks away. "I don't know. A name, maybe?"
Spike grunts and turns away from her. She wants to cry.
"I don't remember anything else," she says quietly. "You act like you don't want me to remember anything at all."
Spike throws his bottle against the wall of the hut and it shatters, glass and whiskey going everywhere, and she flinches.
He stalks over to her until he's in her face, and he looks like a predator.
"Why do you want to know? Why can't you just be happy here, with me?" he says.
She feels guilty, and damn him for making her feel this way. "I just, I just wanted ..." Her voice falters, sounds like a child.
His eyes soften, he's in a constant state of change, and he touches her face, tenderly. "You just wanted what, love?"
She turns her big eyes on him, scared and hurting, and his heart flips over for her, plunges down into some unknown place.
"I wanted to remember being loved," she admits. She's confused. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Course you were loved," he says, and he reaches out and strokes her hair.
"How do you know?" she asks, and there's tears in her eyes.
"Well, look at you," he says, smiling. "Bright young chit, pretty little face, with a roundhouse that would put a martial arts star to shame. What's not to love?"
She sniffs and leans into him, and he puts his arms around her. He makes her feel warm and fuzzy. It makes her wonder.
"Do you love me, Spike?" Her words are muffled into his teeshirt, but he hears them.
"Yeah, baby. I love you." It hurts him because he knows it's the truth.
06
He leaves at sundown, every night. He returns to her hours later, warm and buzzing. She fights a battle inside herself. Does she want to know? Does she want to pretend she doesn't understand?
She knows he's a vampire. His face has changed before, while they fought, while they've fucked. She's not afraid of those yellow eyes and sharp fangs. It's sort of a kink, she guesses, and sometimes when she's just about to go over the edge his face shifts and it's enough to push her just that little bit, enough to make her come. So it's not the theory she's afraid of.
Part of her wants to stay ignorant. If she never sees him kill, if she never sees him drink human blood, then it's not real and she can ignore the taste in her mouth when he kisses her and she can look away from the little dry flecks of brown on his skin and she can pretend she doesn't understand anything, can just be content to let him love her -- because she knows he loves her, now.
But one night she follows him, down the untraveled road to a town, down dirt streets and in between buildings where it's narrow and filthy. She watches him as he approaches a bar and goes inside, sees him convince a pretty young thing to leave with him. The girl is flirting with him shamelessly, all big brown eyes and fluttering black eyelashes. She tosses her long black hair seductively and Spike takes her hand and kisses her.
Anne is jealous. Spike is hers and hers alone and she has the sudden urge to barge right up to them and kill them both. She thinks she might be able to decapitate Spike with her bare hands.
She's more furious than disgusted or horrified when Spike grabs the girl's upper arms and bites her, just slides his fangs into her neck like a knife in warm butter. She's even more upset when she catches his amber gaze and he holds it. She realizes he's known she's been there the entire time.
Spike drops the girl before she dies, and she collapses to the ground with a moan. Anne stalks up to him and wipes the blood from his mouth with her thumb. She doesn't want another girl's blood on him.
She's so confused she thinks she might throw up from the feeling.
"Did you see what you wanted, love?" he asks.
She controls the shiver in her body. She glances down at the girl.
"She'll be all right. Didn't take that much, now did I?" He sounds proud of himself.
"If I hadn't been here, would you have killed her?" Anne asks.
Spike puts an arm around her and turns her away. "Course not," he says, and they walk back home together.
She decides to believe the lie.
07
By the time they make it back to the hut, they're running. Anne doesn't know why, only knows that she has to get him alone, all to herself, make him hers.
She's somewhere between angry and horny and so fucking pissed off she could ride him all night. She slams him against a wall as soon as they get in, and he's smirking at her like he knows all her secrets.
"Don't look at me like that," she says, and she punches him in the face. But then she's kissing him like a tidal wave, just crashing over him and washing him away. She breaks away for a second, long enough to glare at him. "You ever fuck your food, Spike?"
Spike opens his mouth to answer, but she doubts it's what she wants to hear, so she shuts him up with a fierce kiss. She doesn't want to hear it, even if it'll be exactly what she wants him to say because she'll be able to hear the lie in his voice.
She pulls away, panting, and hisses at him, because she's scared and jealous and desperate, "You only fuck me."
She's pulling at his clothes, yanking down the black leather of his coat until it falls to a heap on the floor. He's only wearing a black teeshirt and jeans under it, and she pulls the shirt over his head, needing to see the smooth white skin that's under it, because it's hers. It's maybe the only thing that's really hers.
Anne leaves his boots on, just yanks his jeans down around his knees and pushes him to the bed and then she straddles him, looking down at him. She wonders what he thinks of this sudden dominatrix kick of hers, but that thought is far away. She's hell bent on proving something. What exactly, she's not sure of.
"Jesus fuck, what you do to me, love," Spike says, looking up at her with something like awe and hunger.
"You're mine?" she says. She means to say it as a statement, as a rule, but it comes out like a little thready question.
"You're mine," he answers, and it's enough for her.
She sinks down on him, drawing him inside her inch by inch, and she's soaked for him and he fits like he was born for her. Or maybe she was born for him.
He tugs her dress up over her head so she's naked and golden in the lamplight, and his hands come up to cup her breasts while she rides him slowly, her eyes on his the entire time.
He plucks at her nipples once, twice, and then she's throwing her head back and moaning because he feels so good, inside her and touching her, her Spike, all hers, even if he won't admit it.
Then he's got her hips in a bruising grip and he's driving up deep inside of her, and she's not so much riding him anymore as holding on for dear life as he does all the work, and he's moving her up and down on his cock like she weighs nothing, and she's full of sensation and she's so hot that she thinks she's going to boil over.
She can hear him now, growling at her, snarling as he fucks her, "Mine, my Slayer, all mine, fucking bitch, pretty cunt, gonna make you mine forever ..."
Nasty words, so pretty in their meaning, because this is who she is, she's Spike's, and she belongs, and the rest doesn't matter.
She's climbing up, lifting into the air, gasping and grasping at that release that's so close she can taste it. She's got her head thrown back and her nipples are tingling and hell, her whole body is full of nothing but SpikeSpikeSpike. Then she looks down and she leans over him, writhing on him, still riding his cock and looking down at his amber eyes. Then she's coming so hard that it almost hurts, it's so strong, and he's dragging his fangs against her shoulder and coming inside her and he's shouting her name.
08
So then we skip ahead, a few months, and Spike and Anne have been living together kinda/sorta happily.
Anne hasn't had any more memories since the flash of the kiss, and the name 'Angel'. She doesn't want to have any more, actually, and she files it all away, buries it deep where it can't touch her or stand between them.
Spike seems to take for granted that she'll never recover her past. He's fine with this, and Anne moves farther and farther from the Slayer he once knew in Sunnydale. She's not even the same person she was when he first found her. Obsession will do that to a person.
They fuck for hours. Sometimes, in Anne's mind, she calls it making love, but it really isn't. Those words don't really fit what they share. It's too desperate, too hard, to possessive and raw to be called something so tame as 'making love'. She wonders what Spike thinks of it as.
Anne hasn't followed him since that night with the girl. She calls it trust.
**
Spike is banging on the top of the old television with the flat of his hand. Anne just laughs at him.
"Don't laugh, I need to see something besides these damn soap operas. Not that I mind the soaps, I just wish they'd show something in bloody English for a change." He gives up hitting the television and moves to glaring at it harshly.
"If you want to hear a different language, shouldn't we move somewhere where people speak it?" Anne asks.
Spike turns to her and frowns. "You want to leave?"
Anne swallows. She's scared and she doesn't know why. Her voice is small and hopeful. "We could ... try somewhere new. With ... people who speak English. And cable TV. And maybe shopping?"
Spike looks astonished, like he's totally missed the point of something and he is just now getting it. He grabs her and pulls her into his arms. "I've been terrible, love. You should be living like a queen, and instead I've got you living in a hovel in the middle of the bloody jungle, with one generator and no running water. You'll forgive me?" His eyes are big and blue and full of excitement.
There's no way for her to say no to those eyes. She nods and he goes on.
"I'll take you to a fancy place, some ritzy hotel, and you can drink champagne and eat those pizzas you've been missing, and I'll get you the best clothes and ... you like jewels?" He scoffs. "Course you do. All chits like jewels. Baby, I'll lay you down and cover you in diamonds and pearls. I'll pour fine wine on your body and drink you up. How's that sound, love?"
She smiles. It does sound good.
"And we'll go dancing. I'll take you to nightclubs and you can walk in and everyone'll have their eyes on you. But they can't have you, you know why?" He looks intense.
"Because I'm yours," she answers, and she's smiling and he picks her up into his arms.
"Bloody right you are. All mine. My Slayer," he says, and then his mouth is on hers, making her hot, claiming her all over again.
09
So Spike takes Anne back to the States. New York, Chicago. They stay in posh hotels and Anne never asks where Spike gets the money. She knows.
Spike starts staying away longer during the nights. He likes to brag, he likes to brawl, and he's hanging out in shady bars and gambling with all kinds of demons, and Anne gets restless. She's got this need inside of her, this urge to get out and hunt. So she goes out one night, looking for what she's missing.
She comes across this girl being attacked in the park. Some vamp is raping her while he drains her, and Anne dusts him. She looks down at this girl who's out of her mind with fright, just totally breaking down, and Anne feels something. Maybe it's not pity or shock or a twinge of conscious, but it's something. She's confused so she turns away, just leaving the girl there, bleeding and probably prey for the next vampire who comes along.
Anne starts thinking of the release she got when she stuck that piece of wood in the vampire, and she starts going out at night more, while Spike's away. She starts feeling like she has some purpose other than being with Spike, and it feels good. She doesn't slay to do good, or to help anyone, she just does it because it feels like she's supposed to. She likes the way it feels to make a vamp nothing but dust. It makes her tingly.
One night, Spike comes back before she does. When she comes in he's waiting for her. He's pissed off, but it's a cold anger, not like what she's used to. As soon as she walks in the door he grabs her behind the neck and throws her on the floor.
"Where've you been, Slayer?" he asks mildly, like he didn't do anything.
"Out." She's still buzzing from killing some big demon. It clawed a nice long strip of her back, but she got it. She's cocky now, defiant. She gets up, fast, and glares at Spike. "Where have *you* been?" she counters.
Spike frowns. "Out."
"Okay then. We were both out," she says, and walks away from him.
He comes behind her and grabs her arm, jerking around. "Don't turn your back on me."
She tries to jerk away from him but he's got a grip on her arms that'll leave bruises. "Let go of me!"
"Where. Were. You?" He's got his teeth clenched and that cold anger is turning hot.
She lifts her chin and tosses her hair back. "Same as you, I suppose. Killing."
"What do you mean?" he asks, and shakes her.
"Vampires. Demons. Things. Killing them."
Spike gets a look something like panic in his eyes. "Why?" He relaxes his hold on her and allows her to slip away.
She takes a step back. "I don't know, it's fun. It feels good."
"Slayer," he murmurs.
"What?" She cocks her head.
He shakes his head, like he's clearing it. "You're only doing it for fun, right?" he asks.
She gives him a slow smile. "Why else would I be going out, getting half eaten by some thing that looks like it belongs in a B-movie?"
He's smelled the blood on her since she's gotten in, but now he's paying attention. He makes her turn around and he's gentle with her, pulls her blouse off and looks at the damage. "Can't have you going around, being *good* now, can I? Us demons have standards."
She smiles, amused. "Don't worry. Your girl's morally ambiguous." She wonders if that's enough. She doesn't think she has it in her to be outright evil.
"Damn right you are," he says, contented with her answer. "Now lay down and let me take care of this."
Her back started bleeding again when he threw her on the floor.
She shivers when she feels his tongue, cool and slightly rough, on her back. He licks her, dipping his tongue into the already healing wound, up and down and side to side.
"You gotta be careful, love," he murmurs against her skin.
"It's fine," she says, sighing when Spike starts inching her pants down. He takes them off of her until she's wearing nothing but her bra and panties, face down on the bed.
"Such a pretty thing, my Slayer," he says, then goes back to licking her back.
She can feel his fangs graze her when he sucks at the cut. There's a little twinge of pain that makes her ache. She's getting wet, knowing that he's in game face behind her, and he chuckles lowly. He knows.
He runs a hand up the inside of her thigh, parting her legs. He touches her through the wet satin of her panties and she tries not to moan.
"I can feel you, Anne," he says. "You're wet for me, aren't you? You're soaked. You like it when I do this, don't you baby?" He leans up and scrapes her shoulder blade with a fang as he rubs her swollen clit through her panties.
Anne grabs the pillow under her and moans into it.
"Don't do that," he says, and he takes the pillow away. "I want to hear you. Now get up on your knees baby. I want to be inside you. I want to take you just like this, love."
She gets up. How can she not? She's aching, needing, shaking with want now. It's that damn voice. She thinks maybe the thing about vampire thrall is true after all.
He pulls and her panties rip off her like a little scrap of nothing. He touches her thighs and smoothes his hands up over her ass. "Fucking beautiful," he says. "Just like this, waiting for me." He runs a finger across her swollen lips. "Soaked for me."
"Spike, please," she says.
She hears him unzip his jeans and then he's pushing inside of her, holding her hips so he can angle just so. His fingers are harsh where they dig into her, and she can feel the rough edges of his jeans against her thighs. He reaches a hand around the front of her so he can stroke her clit while he's fucking her, and she arches up and then starts pushing back on his cock in time to his thrusts.
"Tell me," he says, and he presses against her clit and her brain is flying off in a hundred different directions. "Tell me!"
"Spike, fuck, yes!"
"Yes, what?" he says, pushing into her hard, and her knees skid against the sheets. "Do you love me?"
"Yes, Spike, fuck! I love you ..." She groans as he reaches a hand up to pinch one of her nipples, twisting it painfully, and it's so good she's out of her mind with lust.
"And you belong to me?" he demands.
"Ugnh, yes!"
He pulls out and flips her over. He stares down at her with his yellow eyes and growls, "You're mine," before plunging into her again, fucking her so hard that her head starts hitting the headboard and she's scratching and clawing at his back, and she forgets how to speak, she's just making these sounds that mean 'yes' and 'good' and 'harder'.
Spike is chanting 'Mine, mine, mine' and he's growling, snarling, making pretty grunts and groans. Anne is taking everything he gives her, everything he is, and is begging for more.
He bends down and kisses her, his fangs cutting her lips and making her bleed, and he's sucking at her mouth, drinking her screams when she comes.
10
Anne has dreams now, but she doesn't know what they mean. There are people there she doesn't know, and they're pulling her down dark, long hallways, urging her on. "Come on, you've got to come with us," they say. "You have to leave this place." Anne tries to fight them off, and she punches the redhaired girl in the face. There's a boy there, a teenager with dark hair and dark eyes, and he's pulling her, too. "Let's get out of here," he says.
But Anne is staring back to where she started, and Spike is standing there. "Help me!" she calls to him, but he doesn't move. His eyes don't even flicker.
Anne wakes up from her dreams, sobbing, and Spike shushes her and holds her. He talks to her so soothingly, like she's a little girl, and he chases all the nightmares from around her to back inside her head, where they can't press on her anymore.
***
"Do you hear this?" Spike yells above the music.
Anne rolls her eyes. She'd have to be deaf and living in another state not to hear it.
"Yeah!" Spike says, and he jumps up and kicks a chair over.
Anne walks over to the stereo and turns it off.
"What'd you do that for?" Spike asks, a little too loud for the sudden quiet of the room.
"I don't feel like getting kicked out of another hotel," she says, shrugging. "Besides, don't you get sick of hearing guys sing -- if you can call it that -- about sniffing glue? How is that music?"
Spike looks at her incredulously. "It's not about the music, it's the attitude. It's about bucking the bloody system, is what it is. Can't you hear it? You listen to that long enough and you'll want to take on the whole world."
"If I have to listen to it any longer I'm going to plunge a stake in my ear," she says dryly.
"I'm thinking of getting my eyebrow pierced again," Spike says randomly.
"Knock yourself out," she says. "Maybe I'll get my tongue pierced. You could do that, too, you know." She smirks. She's picked it up from him. She's got a lot of little quirky mannerisms now that are Spikelike.
Spike waggles his eyebrows and catches her in his arms. "Let's say we go out tonight. We'll dance. I want to show you off, love."
She thinks it's a good idea, so they go.
They hit a nightclub, and the music is loud and the strobe lights are hypnotic. They dance together, and it's more fucking with their clothes on than any kind of real dance. She's wearing a leather sleeveless top and tight jeans, and her hair is wild and free. *She's* wild and free. Spike loves watching her, loves seeing her this way -- she's raw. He thinks this is what she was meant to be, born to be. Free, and his, and hot and alive. It's almost enough to make him feel guilty for wanting to turn her.
He's grinding against her, harsh and possessive, but then he stops and looks up, scanning the crowd.
"What is it?" Anne asks, looking around. She doesn't see anything, just a sea of writhing, sweating bodies.
"Go back to the hotel," Spike yells above the music.
Anne's brow wrinkles. "But I want to dance some more. Come on, baby, dance with me." She wraps her arms around his neck and smiles seductively.
He grabs her forearms painfully and holds her away from him. "Go back to the soddin' hotel. Stay there."
She pulls out of his grip with a hurt expression. "Fine," she says with a toss of her head, then heads out of the club. She looks back for him when she's almost to the exit, but he's disappeared into the crowd.
11
Anne waits at the hotel room for an hour. Then another hour. When Spike still doesn't show up, she's about to go back to the club to look for him. There was something about his attitude that freaked her out, and she's worried. She hopes he didn't get into any trouble.
He shows up when she's on her way out the door. He's got blood on his mouth, and he doesn't even bother to wipe it as he stalks in and starts grabbing some of her clothes and puts them into a suitcase.
"What is it, Spike? What's going on, are you in trouble? Do we have to leave town?" she asks.
"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" he says, turning to her with a nasty look on his face.
She steps back. He hardly ever speaks to her that way, only when he's trying to get her to leave him alone.
"What are you doing?" she asks in a smaller voice.
"What's it look like I'm doing?" he says, pausing to glare at her before throwing a thousand dollar dress into the suitcase in a heap. "I'm getting your shit together. You're leaving."
Anne frowns. "Where are we going?"
"You, Slayer. You're the one that's going. I want you to leave town, and don't come back. You ever see me again, you run the other bloody way, you got it? Don't want to see your face again."
Anne swallows. There's a weight that's pressing on her throat, and she feels the burn of tears behind her eyes. "What ..."
Spike cuts her off. "Dru's back. I want you gone. You can take some money and get your ass on a bus. Hell, take enough for a plane."
She starts shaking her head, unable to believe what she's hearing. "I don't understand. You ... don't want me anymore?"
Spike's eyes soften a little. "You've got to leave."
"No!" Anne cries, and she comes forward to grab him by the collar of his duster. "I know you love me. I'm yours, remember? I'm not leaving you, I can't! Spike, don't do this to me, please!"
Spike gaze hardens, and he shoves her away from him. "Don't be so fuckin' pathetic. You're a Slayer, for Christ's sake, not some little simpering school girl."
Anne doesn't understand, and she's crying, and she feels rejected and alone, like she's losing her only place in the world. "I don't know what to do ... I don't have anywhere to go!"
Spike clenches his jaw. He thinks about telling her to stay, of taking off with her and leaving Drusilla behind. He doesn't, though. Him and Dru, that's eternal.
He grabs a scrap of paper and a pen, and scribbles something on it. He hands it to Anne, and she takes it, her hands shaking. She sniffs and tries to read it, but her eyes are blurry from her tears and she just wants this to stop, for Spike to tell her he's kidding, that this is just a joke, that he loves her and he'd never let her go, never leave her.
"What's this?" she asks in a small voice, wiping away her tears.
"Your address. Your name," Spike says. Then, in a quieter voice, "Where you belong."
Anne shakes her head. "I don't understand, what's ... Buffy Summers? Who ... I don't understand," she repeats, and nothing makes sense, nothing at all, all she knows is that Spike is her reason for living and he's throwing her away and nothing fits. She doesn't think anything will ever fit, ever again.
"Take the address. Go home to California. You get there, you'll remember again." His voice is kind again, and for a minute she has hope. She stares at the paper like it's going to start telling her more, like the name and address will suddenly make sense.
"How do you know this?" She's so confused that it is painful to think, to concentrate.
"I just know, alright?" He finishes packing her things, not everything, just a few things, he knows when she remembers her old life she'll probably burn everything in the suitcase, anyway. He hands her the suitcase and she takes it automatically.
She isn't sobbing, but the tears are just falling down her face, and she can imagine how she'll ever be able to stop. "I don't know," she says in a whisper. "I don't know how to ... to live without you ..."
He looks away and swallows hard. "You'll learn," he says, and then he walks out. The door clicks quietly behind him.
END
pairing: Spike/Buffy
rating: NC-17
length: about 6400
notes: It's amnesia!fic, which is still one of my bulletproof kinks. I started writing this in November of 2003 and finished January 2004. I wanted to write something without angsting over it. I didn't edit, I didn't even look twice at it. Every snippet was written directly into the LJ update journal page. At the end, I had the idea that I might possibly rewrite it as an actual fic, complete with proper grammar and actual backstory and some kind of epilogue. That never happened. Now when I look at it, I don't think it needs an epilogue.
It's been locked up in my journal for a while, and I haven't minded. But I'm reposting it now, all 11 short parts together, for your reading enjoyment. It's still just as rough as it was, although I did a quick spellcheck. Strangely enough, I think I only found 2 misspelled words.
I kinda wish I could do this again. I felt free and creative when I was writing it. Maybe I'll 'write' something like this again sometime.
I'm reposting it now because I'm making a masterlist of my fics on LJ, and I wanted to put this in one place so I didn't have to link to lots of little parts.
01
So Buffy went to LA after sending Angel to hell, and she became Anne.
She was walking home to her crap apartment one day and got hit by a city bus.
She woke up and didn't know who she was. She had a lawyer waiting when she woke up, a young, hungry ambulance chaser with big dreams. They took on the city and won 2.6 million dollars. The lawyer took the .6 and started his own firm. Meanwhile, Anne decided that she needed to find herself. Literally. So she traveled around America, trying to figure out where she fit in.
America didn't help her any. She didn't fit anywhere. She figured out she was some sort of superhero or something, and came to the conclusion that she was either a mutant or an alien. So she decided to go on down to South America and see the ancient Aztec temples, because she'd heard that the had contact with aliens.
One night she climbed up on top of one of those high steppy pyramids and met this blond guy. He called her Slayer. She thought it was a cool nickname.
He'd just found his girlfriend with some slimy demon and was feeling vengeful against some girl named Buffy. Anne told him to drop it and to move on with his life.
She figured out he was a vampire the first time she kissed him. The night was all hot and balmy and he was cool against her, and his tongue was refreshing and she thought she could spend all night kissing him, just drinking him in under the moon.
He had this look in his eye that she couldn't fathom, and she wondered if he was going to kill her. He looked hungry. She was still trying to figure out the whole vampire/evil thing, but she didn't have a whole lot to go on.
He made her hot. Not just like ... pleasantly warm, like some of the nice looking college boys that had come into the diner. No, Spike made her hot -- sweltering, jumping-out-of-her-skin excited. She realized she wasn't a virgin, but he was the only time that mattered. She wondered for a moment who'd been her true first, but then he was moving inside of her and grinding against her clit with every deep stroke, and she just didn't care anymore.
He was surprisingly gentle. She didn't know what she had expected, but it hadn't been this. He touched her face while he fucked her, called her a bunch of pretty, twisted things. She got caught up in his voice and his hands and his cock, drowned in the riptide of those words. Slayer, pretty bitch, tight little quim, all for me, all mine, my Slayer and Anne believed him, she really was all for him.
02
Now I've got this whole thing where Spike gets really obsessive about Anne, and he starts living in constant fear that she's going to remember, so he thinks about turning her but he never gets around to it, and he makes her promise constantly that she loves him, that she belongs to him and that she won't leave him. And she knows there's something wrong, but she's so caught up in him that she can't see what it is.
She knows he's a killer, but she never sees him feed, never hears the screams of his victims. So she lets it go, even when one night he comes to her and his body's warm from a fresh kill and there's blood smearing his mouth. She lets him kiss her with that mouth, lets him lick the cream white of her neck like a big cat, even though she smells the blood and sees some in his hair. He's strong, holding her down and driving her wild, and he's making her promise.
"Tell me, tell me, tell me," he pleads, demands, orders, begs against her skin, and she does.
She tells him she loves him, "Spike, god, Spike, only you, I'm yours ..." and he tears her clothes away and she's naked and willing and hot.
"You won't leave me," he says fiercely, and he drives himself home, deep inside of her and she skids across the floor with every one of his thrusts, and her back is getting scraped up and he just keeps fucking her and telling her she belongs to him.
03
Anne is completely ignorant of what she was, or is, and she has no idea what's going on with Spike. Spike's pissed off because he's lost Dru and he hates Buffy and he hates Angel, so he's taking it out on Anne, making her want him, need him. He wants to be the only one for her, the way he never was with Dru and never could have been with Buffy. He starts seeing her as a completely different person than the Slayer he knew in Sunnydale.
He still calls her Slayer, but it doesn't mean the same thing to Anne and so it doesn't mean the same thing to Spike.
She knows there's something he's hiding for her.
One night she asks him if he knew her, before.
"What would make you think that?" Spike asks, all nonchalant, holding a cigarette between his fingers. Anne likes his blunt black nails. They're a symbol of sex to her, and she gets this flash of Spike dragging his fingers across her nipples, teasing them until they're tight little sensitive pebbles. He made her come once just by licking and nibbling and twisting her nipples.
"The way you look at me sometimes," Buffy says, shrugging.
Spike cocks his head and gives this leer that's both sleazy and fuck-me-now sexy. "And how do I look at you, love?"
Buffy shivers at his voice. It's all rough like sex. She wonders if he's trained his voice somehow, because every time he speaks like that she gets a twinge and an ache between her legs. "Not like that," she mutters.
He licks his bottom lip and chuckles when she groans. Sometimes she hates him.
04
Anne tries to be happy with the way things are, tries to make her place as Spike's, and that's who she is, and tries to make it fit. After all, he seems content to let this be who she is.
She asks him why she's stronger than a normal girl. She asks him if she's a demon. She doesn't seem distressed by the possibility, but he tells her no, that she's something else entirely. She's his Slayer, and nothing else matters.
But it *does* matter, and wants to know how much she can do. She tries punching first, and she knocks a hole in a wall of their hut and Spike laughs. "You trying to kill it, love?" he asks, amused.
"It's not like I have a punching bag," she grumps.
Spike gets this excited light in his eyes, and for a second Anne's reminded of a little kid about to go on a rollercoaster. Or something.
"You want to spar?" Spike asks her, and almost bounces from foot to foot.
"What do you mean, like fight? Me and you?" she asks. "What if I hurt you?"
Spike gives her this feral, charged grin and says, "All the better."
They take it outside, and Anne goes slow at first, not really remembering how to fight but slowly getting into the rhythm. Spike gets impatient and punches her in the jaw. "Come on, now. Give it to me, Slayer."
Anne frowns. That hurt. She's a little pissed off and so she swings back. Spike ducks out of the way and laughs at her. And *that* makes her even more pissed.
But then they've got this flurry of punches and kicks going on, and Anne is laughing every time she gets a good hit in, and Spike is taunting her, "Come on, you pretty bitch, gonna make you hurt good, gonna get you down," and it's turning her on like nothing else. He's using *that* voice, and the things he's saying are the same things he says when he's fucking her and she wonders if he even realizes it.
She traps him against a wall and pins his arms against it and bites his mouth, but then he kicks her away and knocks her down. He's got blood on his lips and he's panting like he's been fucking, and his eyes are so molten hot and he's grinning like a fool. He jumps on her but she levers against him enough to roll on top of him, straddling him. She's sweating and gasping and holy fuck, his mouth leaning down to kiss him. Her kiss is as hard as a punch.
He's not done with her yet, though, and he grabs at her and moves so fast she almost misses it, and he's up again and taunting her. She licks her lips and tastes his blood, and she wants to draw more.
They fight like they're fucking, and then they start fucking like they're fighting, rolling and grunting and taking. Her small hands are marring his skin, and she's got bruises and bites from his blunt teeth and she doesn't care because she's never felt like this, ever.
He fucks her hard against a tree, grunting, "Mine, mine, mine," with her skirt bunched up around her waist and her blouse half torn off and she's pulling at his hair, and he's biting her neck, human teeth that still make her bleed, and he's so deep inside of her that she can only scream and hold on while the world explodes and all she sees is white electricity behind her eyes.
05
She remembers something one day, a kiss, and she brings her fingers up to her mouth. "Angel," she whispers, testing the word on her tongue.
Spike's drinking something, a glass bottle with caramel colored liquor. He hears her and he's at her side in a moment, grabbing her wrist and glaring at her. "What?"
Anne frowns. "I remembered something."
"Tell. Me." Spike's intense and when she looks at him she shivers at the violence in his eyes.
"Nothing, just -- just a kiss. I think I was crying."
Spike looks slightly relieved. "And what was that before? That you said?"
"Angel," she whispers.
Spike's about to break something, or break Anne. "What's that mean to you?" he says, and his jaw is clenched and the muscle is flexing. It's mesmerizing.
She shakes her head and looks away. "I don't know. A name, maybe?"
Spike grunts and turns away from her. She wants to cry.
"I don't remember anything else," she says quietly. "You act like you don't want me to remember anything at all."
Spike throws his bottle against the wall of the hut and it shatters, glass and whiskey going everywhere, and she flinches.
He stalks over to her until he's in her face, and he looks like a predator.
"Why do you want to know? Why can't you just be happy here, with me?" he says.
She feels guilty, and damn him for making her feel this way. "I just, I just wanted ..." Her voice falters, sounds like a child.
His eyes soften, he's in a constant state of change, and he touches her face, tenderly. "You just wanted what, love?"
She turns her big eyes on him, scared and hurting, and his heart flips over for her, plunges down into some unknown place.
"I wanted to remember being loved," she admits. She's confused. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Course you were loved," he says, and he reaches out and strokes her hair.
"How do you know?" she asks, and there's tears in her eyes.
"Well, look at you," he says, smiling. "Bright young chit, pretty little face, with a roundhouse that would put a martial arts star to shame. What's not to love?"
She sniffs and leans into him, and he puts his arms around her. He makes her feel warm and fuzzy. It makes her wonder.
"Do you love me, Spike?" Her words are muffled into his teeshirt, but he hears them.
"Yeah, baby. I love you." It hurts him because he knows it's the truth.
06
He leaves at sundown, every night. He returns to her hours later, warm and buzzing. She fights a battle inside herself. Does she want to know? Does she want to pretend she doesn't understand?
She knows he's a vampire. His face has changed before, while they fought, while they've fucked. She's not afraid of those yellow eyes and sharp fangs. It's sort of a kink, she guesses, and sometimes when she's just about to go over the edge his face shifts and it's enough to push her just that little bit, enough to make her come. So it's not the theory she's afraid of.
Part of her wants to stay ignorant. If she never sees him kill, if she never sees him drink human blood, then it's not real and she can ignore the taste in her mouth when he kisses her and she can look away from the little dry flecks of brown on his skin and she can pretend she doesn't understand anything, can just be content to let him love her -- because she knows he loves her, now.
But one night she follows him, down the untraveled road to a town, down dirt streets and in between buildings where it's narrow and filthy. She watches him as he approaches a bar and goes inside, sees him convince a pretty young thing to leave with him. The girl is flirting with him shamelessly, all big brown eyes and fluttering black eyelashes. She tosses her long black hair seductively and Spike takes her hand and kisses her.
Anne is jealous. Spike is hers and hers alone and she has the sudden urge to barge right up to them and kill them both. She thinks she might be able to decapitate Spike with her bare hands.
She's more furious than disgusted or horrified when Spike grabs the girl's upper arms and bites her, just slides his fangs into her neck like a knife in warm butter. She's even more upset when she catches his amber gaze and he holds it. She realizes he's known she's been there the entire time.
Spike drops the girl before she dies, and she collapses to the ground with a moan. Anne stalks up to him and wipes the blood from his mouth with her thumb. She doesn't want another girl's blood on him.
She's so confused she thinks she might throw up from the feeling.
"Did you see what you wanted, love?" he asks.
She controls the shiver in her body. She glances down at the girl.
"She'll be all right. Didn't take that much, now did I?" He sounds proud of himself.
"If I hadn't been here, would you have killed her?" Anne asks.
Spike puts an arm around her and turns her away. "Course not," he says, and they walk back home together.
She decides to believe the lie.
07
By the time they make it back to the hut, they're running. Anne doesn't know why, only knows that she has to get him alone, all to herself, make him hers.
She's somewhere between angry and horny and so fucking pissed off she could ride him all night. She slams him against a wall as soon as they get in, and he's smirking at her like he knows all her secrets.
"Don't look at me like that," she says, and she punches him in the face. But then she's kissing him like a tidal wave, just crashing over him and washing him away. She breaks away for a second, long enough to glare at him. "You ever fuck your food, Spike?"
Spike opens his mouth to answer, but she doubts it's what she wants to hear, so she shuts him up with a fierce kiss. She doesn't want to hear it, even if it'll be exactly what she wants him to say because she'll be able to hear the lie in his voice.
She pulls away, panting, and hisses at him, because she's scared and jealous and desperate, "You only fuck me."
She's pulling at his clothes, yanking down the black leather of his coat until it falls to a heap on the floor. He's only wearing a black teeshirt and jeans under it, and she pulls the shirt over his head, needing to see the smooth white skin that's under it, because it's hers. It's maybe the only thing that's really hers.
Anne leaves his boots on, just yanks his jeans down around his knees and pushes him to the bed and then she straddles him, looking down at him. She wonders what he thinks of this sudden dominatrix kick of hers, but that thought is far away. She's hell bent on proving something. What exactly, she's not sure of.
"Jesus fuck, what you do to me, love," Spike says, looking up at her with something like awe and hunger.
"You're mine?" she says. She means to say it as a statement, as a rule, but it comes out like a little thready question.
"You're mine," he answers, and it's enough for her.
She sinks down on him, drawing him inside her inch by inch, and she's soaked for him and he fits like he was born for her. Or maybe she was born for him.
He tugs her dress up over her head so she's naked and golden in the lamplight, and his hands come up to cup her breasts while she rides him slowly, her eyes on his the entire time.
He plucks at her nipples once, twice, and then she's throwing her head back and moaning because he feels so good, inside her and touching her, her Spike, all hers, even if he won't admit it.
Then he's got her hips in a bruising grip and he's driving up deep inside of her, and she's not so much riding him anymore as holding on for dear life as he does all the work, and he's moving her up and down on his cock like she weighs nothing, and she's full of sensation and she's so hot that she thinks she's going to boil over.
She can hear him now, growling at her, snarling as he fucks her, "Mine, my Slayer, all mine, fucking bitch, pretty cunt, gonna make you mine forever ..."
Nasty words, so pretty in their meaning, because this is who she is, she's Spike's, and she belongs, and the rest doesn't matter.
She's climbing up, lifting into the air, gasping and grasping at that release that's so close she can taste it. She's got her head thrown back and her nipples are tingling and hell, her whole body is full of nothing but SpikeSpikeSpike. Then she looks down and she leans over him, writhing on him, still riding his cock and looking down at his amber eyes. Then she's coming so hard that it almost hurts, it's so strong, and he's dragging his fangs against her shoulder and coming inside her and he's shouting her name.
08
So then we skip ahead, a few months, and Spike and Anne have been living together kinda/sorta happily.
Anne hasn't had any more memories since the flash of the kiss, and the name 'Angel'. She doesn't want to have any more, actually, and she files it all away, buries it deep where it can't touch her or stand between them.
Spike seems to take for granted that she'll never recover her past. He's fine with this, and Anne moves farther and farther from the Slayer he once knew in Sunnydale. She's not even the same person she was when he first found her. Obsession will do that to a person.
They fuck for hours. Sometimes, in Anne's mind, she calls it making love, but it really isn't. Those words don't really fit what they share. It's too desperate, too hard, to possessive and raw to be called something so tame as 'making love'. She wonders what Spike thinks of it as.
Anne hasn't followed him since that night with the girl. She calls it trust.
**
Spike is banging on the top of the old television with the flat of his hand. Anne just laughs at him.
"Don't laugh, I need to see something besides these damn soap operas. Not that I mind the soaps, I just wish they'd show something in bloody English for a change." He gives up hitting the television and moves to glaring at it harshly.
"If you want to hear a different language, shouldn't we move somewhere where people speak it?" Anne asks.
Spike turns to her and frowns. "You want to leave?"
Anne swallows. She's scared and she doesn't know why. Her voice is small and hopeful. "We could ... try somewhere new. With ... people who speak English. And cable TV. And maybe shopping?"
Spike looks astonished, like he's totally missed the point of something and he is just now getting it. He grabs her and pulls her into his arms. "I've been terrible, love. You should be living like a queen, and instead I've got you living in a hovel in the middle of the bloody jungle, with one generator and no running water. You'll forgive me?" His eyes are big and blue and full of excitement.
There's no way for her to say no to those eyes. She nods and he goes on.
"I'll take you to a fancy place, some ritzy hotel, and you can drink champagne and eat those pizzas you've been missing, and I'll get you the best clothes and ... you like jewels?" He scoffs. "Course you do. All chits like jewels. Baby, I'll lay you down and cover you in diamonds and pearls. I'll pour fine wine on your body and drink you up. How's that sound, love?"
She smiles. It does sound good.
"And we'll go dancing. I'll take you to nightclubs and you can walk in and everyone'll have their eyes on you. But they can't have you, you know why?" He looks intense.
"Because I'm yours," she answers, and she's smiling and he picks her up into his arms.
"Bloody right you are. All mine. My Slayer," he says, and then his mouth is on hers, making her hot, claiming her all over again.
09
So Spike takes Anne back to the States. New York, Chicago. They stay in posh hotels and Anne never asks where Spike gets the money. She knows.
Spike starts staying away longer during the nights. He likes to brag, he likes to brawl, and he's hanging out in shady bars and gambling with all kinds of demons, and Anne gets restless. She's got this need inside of her, this urge to get out and hunt. So she goes out one night, looking for what she's missing.
She comes across this girl being attacked in the park. Some vamp is raping her while he drains her, and Anne dusts him. She looks down at this girl who's out of her mind with fright, just totally breaking down, and Anne feels something. Maybe it's not pity or shock or a twinge of conscious, but it's something. She's confused so she turns away, just leaving the girl there, bleeding and probably prey for the next vampire who comes along.
Anne starts thinking of the release she got when she stuck that piece of wood in the vampire, and she starts going out at night more, while Spike's away. She starts feeling like she has some purpose other than being with Spike, and it feels good. She doesn't slay to do good, or to help anyone, she just does it because it feels like she's supposed to. She likes the way it feels to make a vamp nothing but dust. It makes her tingly.
One night, Spike comes back before she does. When she comes in he's waiting for her. He's pissed off, but it's a cold anger, not like what she's used to. As soon as she walks in the door he grabs her behind the neck and throws her on the floor.
"Where've you been, Slayer?" he asks mildly, like he didn't do anything.
"Out." She's still buzzing from killing some big demon. It clawed a nice long strip of her back, but she got it. She's cocky now, defiant. She gets up, fast, and glares at Spike. "Where have *you* been?" she counters.
Spike frowns. "Out."
"Okay then. We were both out," she says, and walks away from him.
He comes behind her and grabs her arm, jerking around. "Don't turn your back on me."
She tries to jerk away from him but he's got a grip on her arms that'll leave bruises. "Let go of me!"
"Where. Were. You?" He's got his teeth clenched and that cold anger is turning hot.
She lifts her chin and tosses her hair back. "Same as you, I suppose. Killing."
"What do you mean?" he asks, and shakes her.
"Vampires. Demons. Things. Killing them."
Spike gets a look something like panic in his eyes. "Why?" He relaxes his hold on her and allows her to slip away.
She takes a step back. "I don't know, it's fun. It feels good."
"Slayer," he murmurs.
"What?" She cocks her head.
He shakes his head, like he's clearing it. "You're only doing it for fun, right?" he asks.
She gives him a slow smile. "Why else would I be going out, getting half eaten by some thing that looks like it belongs in a B-movie?"
He's smelled the blood on her since she's gotten in, but now he's paying attention. He makes her turn around and he's gentle with her, pulls her blouse off and looks at the damage. "Can't have you going around, being *good* now, can I? Us demons have standards."
She smiles, amused. "Don't worry. Your girl's morally ambiguous." She wonders if that's enough. She doesn't think she has it in her to be outright evil.
"Damn right you are," he says, contented with her answer. "Now lay down and let me take care of this."
Her back started bleeding again when he threw her on the floor.
She shivers when she feels his tongue, cool and slightly rough, on her back. He licks her, dipping his tongue into the already healing wound, up and down and side to side.
"You gotta be careful, love," he murmurs against her skin.
"It's fine," she says, sighing when Spike starts inching her pants down. He takes them off of her until she's wearing nothing but her bra and panties, face down on the bed.
"Such a pretty thing, my Slayer," he says, then goes back to licking her back.
She can feel his fangs graze her when he sucks at the cut. There's a little twinge of pain that makes her ache. She's getting wet, knowing that he's in game face behind her, and he chuckles lowly. He knows.
He runs a hand up the inside of her thigh, parting her legs. He touches her through the wet satin of her panties and she tries not to moan.
"I can feel you, Anne," he says. "You're wet for me, aren't you? You're soaked. You like it when I do this, don't you baby?" He leans up and scrapes her shoulder blade with a fang as he rubs her swollen clit through her panties.
Anne grabs the pillow under her and moans into it.
"Don't do that," he says, and he takes the pillow away. "I want to hear you. Now get up on your knees baby. I want to be inside you. I want to take you just like this, love."
She gets up. How can she not? She's aching, needing, shaking with want now. It's that damn voice. She thinks maybe the thing about vampire thrall is true after all.
He pulls and her panties rip off her like a little scrap of nothing. He touches her thighs and smoothes his hands up over her ass. "Fucking beautiful," he says. "Just like this, waiting for me." He runs a finger across her swollen lips. "Soaked for me."
"Spike, please," she says.
She hears him unzip his jeans and then he's pushing inside of her, holding her hips so he can angle just so. His fingers are harsh where they dig into her, and she can feel the rough edges of his jeans against her thighs. He reaches a hand around the front of her so he can stroke her clit while he's fucking her, and she arches up and then starts pushing back on his cock in time to his thrusts.
"Tell me," he says, and he presses against her clit and her brain is flying off in a hundred different directions. "Tell me!"
"Spike, fuck, yes!"
"Yes, what?" he says, pushing into her hard, and her knees skid against the sheets. "Do you love me?"
"Yes, Spike, fuck! I love you ..." She groans as he reaches a hand up to pinch one of her nipples, twisting it painfully, and it's so good she's out of her mind with lust.
"And you belong to me?" he demands.
"Ugnh, yes!"
He pulls out and flips her over. He stares down at her with his yellow eyes and growls, "You're mine," before plunging into her again, fucking her so hard that her head starts hitting the headboard and she's scratching and clawing at his back, and she forgets how to speak, she's just making these sounds that mean 'yes' and 'good' and 'harder'.
Spike is chanting 'Mine, mine, mine' and he's growling, snarling, making pretty grunts and groans. Anne is taking everything he gives her, everything he is, and is begging for more.
He bends down and kisses her, his fangs cutting her lips and making her bleed, and he's sucking at her mouth, drinking her screams when she comes.
10
Anne has dreams now, but she doesn't know what they mean. There are people there she doesn't know, and they're pulling her down dark, long hallways, urging her on. "Come on, you've got to come with us," they say. "You have to leave this place." Anne tries to fight them off, and she punches the redhaired girl in the face. There's a boy there, a teenager with dark hair and dark eyes, and he's pulling her, too. "Let's get out of here," he says.
But Anne is staring back to where she started, and Spike is standing there. "Help me!" she calls to him, but he doesn't move. His eyes don't even flicker.
Anne wakes up from her dreams, sobbing, and Spike shushes her and holds her. He talks to her so soothingly, like she's a little girl, and he chases all the nightmares from around her to back inside her head, where they can't press on her anymore.
***
"Do you hear this?" Spike yells above the music.
Anne rolls her eyes. She'd have to be deaf and living in another state not to hear it.
"Yeah!" Spike says, and he jumps up and kicks a chair over.
Anne walks over to the stereo and turns it off.
"What'd you do that for?" Spike asks, a little too loud for the sudden quiet of the room.
"I don't feel like getting kicked out of another hotel," she says, shrugging. "Besides, don't you get sick of hearing guys sing -- if you can call it that -- about sniffing glue? How is that music?"
Spike looks at her incredulously. "It's not about the music, it's the attitude. It's about bucking the bloody system, is what it is. Can't you hear it? You listen to that long enough and you'll want to take on the whole world."
"If I have to listen to it any longer I'm going to plunge a stake in my ear," she says dryly.
"I'm thinking of getting my eyebrow pierced again," Spike says randomly.
"Knock yourself out," she says. "Maybe I'll get my tongue pierced. You could do that, too, you know." She smirks. She's picked it up from him. She's got a lot of little quirky mannerisms now that are Spikelike.
Spike waggles his eyebrows and catches her in his arms. "Let's say we go out tonight. We'll dance. I want to show you off, love."
She thinks it's a good idea, so they go.
They hit a nightclub, and the music is loud and the strobe lights are hypnotic. They dance together, and it's more fucking with their clothes on than any kind of real dance. She's wearing a leather sleeveless top and tight jeans, and her hair is wild and free. *She's* wild and free. Spike loves watching her, loves seeing her this way -- she's raw. He thinks this is what she was meant to be, born to be. Free, and his, and hot and alive. It's almost enough to make him feel guilty for wanting to turn her.
He's grinding against her, harsh and possessive, but then he stops and looks up, scanning the crowd.
"What is it?" Anne asks, looking around. She doesn't see anything, just a sea of writhing, sweating bodies.
"Go back to the hotel," Spike yells above the music.
Anne's brow wrinkles. "But I want to dance some more. Come on, baby, dance with me." She wraps her arms around his neck and smiles seductively.
He grabs her forearms painfully and holds her away from him. "Go back to the soddin' hotel. Stay there."
She pulls out of his grip with a hurt expression. "Fine," she says with a toss of her head, then heads out of the club. She looks back for him when she's almost to the exit, but he's disappeared into the crowd.
11
Anne waits at the hotel room for an hour. Then another hour. When Spike still doesn't show up, she's about to go back to the club to look for him. There was something about his attitude that freaked her out, and she's worried. She hopes he didn't get into any trouble.
He shows up when she's on her way out the door. He's got blood on his mouth, and he doesn't even bother to wipe it as he stalks in and starts grabbing some of her clothes and puts them into a suitcase.
"What is it, Spike? What's going on, are you in trouble? Do we have to leave town?" she asks.
"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" he says, turning to her with a nasty look on his face.
She steps back. He hardly ever speaks to her that way, only when he's trying to get her to leave him alone.
"What are you doing?" she asks in a smaller voice.
"What's it look like I'm doing?" he says, pausing to glare at her before throwing a thousand dollar dress into the suitcase in a heap. "I'm getting your shit together. You're leaving."
Anne frowns. "Where are we going?"
"You, Slayer. You're the one that's going. I want you to leave town, and don't come back. You ever see me again, you run the other bloody way, you got it? Don't want to see your face again."
Anne swallows. There's a weight that's pressing on her throat, and she feels the burn of tears behind her eyes. "What ..."
Spike cuts her off. "Dru's back. I want you gone. You can take some money and get your ass on a bus. Hell, take enough for a plane."
She starts shaking her head, unable to believe what she's hearing. "I don't understand. You ... don't want me anymore?"
Spike's eyes soften a little. "You've got to leave."
"No!" Anne cries, and she comes forward to grab him by the collar of his duster. "I know you love me. I'm yours, remember? I'm not leaving you, I can't! Spike, don't do this to me, please!"
Spike gaze hardens, and he shoves her away from him. "Don't be so fuckin' pathetic. You're a Slayer, for Christ's sake, not some little simpering school girl."
Anne doesn't understand, and she's crying, and she feels rejected and alone, like she's losing her only place in the world. "I don't know what to do ... I don't have anywhere to go!"
Spike clenches his jaw. He thinks about telling her to stay, of taking off with her and leaving Drusilla behind. He doesn't, though. Him and Dru, that's eternal.
He grabs a scrap of paper and a pen, and scribbles something on it. He hands it to Anne, and she takes it, her hands shaking. She sniffs and tries to read it, but her eyes are blurry from her tears and she just wants this to stop, for Spike to tell her he's kidding, that this is just a joke, that he loves her and he'd never let her go, never leave her.
"What's this?" she asks in a small voice, wiping away her tears.
"Your address. Your name," Spike says. Then, in a quieter voice, "Where you belong."
Anne shakes her head. "I don't understand, what's ... Buffy Summers? Who ... I don't understand," she repeats, and nothing makes sense, nothing at all, all she knows is that Spike is her reason for living and he's throwing her away and nothing fits. She doesn't think anything will ever fit, ever again.
"Take the address. Go home to California. You get there, you'll remember again." His voice is kind again, and for a minute she has hope. She stares at the paper like it's going to start telling her more, like the name and address will suddenly make sense.
"How do you know this?" She's so confused that it is painful to think, to concentrate.
"I just know, alright?" He finishes packing her things, not everything, just a few things, he knows when she remembers her old life she'll probably burn everything in the suitcase, anyway. He hands her the suitcase and she takes it automatically.
She isn't sobbing, but the tears are just falling down her face, and she can imagine how she'll ever be able to stop. "I don't know," she says in a whisper. "I don't know how to ... to live without you ..."
He looks away and swallows hard. "You'll learn," he says, and then he walks out. The door clicks quietly behind him.
END