Fic: Persephone - Chapter 1
Rating: Vampire slayage, some language, explicit sex later chapters
Timeline: Season 2
A/N: Thanks to the incomparable beanbeans for much appreciated encouragement and betaing! All remaining errors are mine.
This is a crack!fic whence the whole point is for virginal season 2 Buffy to get it on with ebol, unchipped season 2 Spike. There is a special hell for people like me, I just know it.
Persephone - Chapter 1
It was a lot harder when you knew going in that you were going to lose. Buffy circled the stone sarcophagus, her enemy a moving shadow in the dark crypt. As they circled, there were little things about him that caught the light of the flickering candles: his eyes, that stupid hair, and it was going to have to get a whole lot darker in here to hide a smirk that big. God, he was such a pig.
A pale hand seemed to float against the black, stroking over the surface of the stone without quite touching. “What’s the matter pet, feeling shy? Maybe--”
Buffy saw the flash of a smile, heard a chuckle. “Maybe you’d like to get to know one another a little better first, hmm?”
Buffy felt her throat tighten in revulsion and her fists itched, but she said nothing.
There was a flash of movement as he vaulted the barrier between them like a normal person might leap up onto a curb. He landed lightly in front of her, blocking her path. She could have met him with a dozen different blows, preferably ones that led with a stake, but she had no weapons and couldn’t use them even if she did. Feeling naked, she crossed her arms under her breasts and waited.
When he went on, there was a soft certainty in his voice that made the hair on her nape stand on end. “First thing you’ll learn about me, pet--I’m not a patient man.”
***
24 hours earlier…
It was late, and Buffy was deeply irritated and long way from April fresh, more like… late August fresh. She rubbed at the side of her neck and grimaced. She was also completely empty-handed, unless her liberal coating of dust and grit counted for anything. Usually a bunch of dusted vamps was a job well done. Go Buffy! But, tonight was different.
She felt a shiver of apprehension closely followed by a wave of anger. She was the vampire Slayer, not the vampire Catcher. She definitely was not the-
Shaking her head she walked faster. She was the Slayer, and the Slayer did what had to be done.
The cemetery had been her first thought, get one of the new vamps that hadn’t ever hurt anyone. But that really hadn’t panned out. True, fledgling vamps had never responded to her quips with anything but hungry growls, but she hadn’t realized before that they were pretty much incapable of rational speech.
“’Don’t even talk to me until I’ve had my first mayhem,’” she muttered. Who knew? After she’d staked the fifth one she’d decided it was time to move on.
Next stop, the clubs. That’s where the better-looking ones were, for whatever that was worth, former frat boys still hanging around their old haunts. Personally, she thought most of them hadn’t even noticed they’d been vamped. Buffy’s mouth twisted. Vampires were gross. Well, except for Angel, who-Angel, who she was absolutely not thinking about right now.
It wasn’t long before a familiar sign glowed ahead of her. It was late enough that more people were leaving the Bronze than going in. Most of the people were in pairs or groups, all rosy-cheeked, and bright-eyed, and laughing.
"Stupid happy people," Buffy muttered.
She had probably looked just like that a couple of nights ago, leaving the Bronze with her friends. Xander had been doing his impression of Giles. Giles when someone said Miss Calendar’s name and Giles when Miss Calendar was nearby and Giles when Miss Calendar actually talked to him, and it wasn’t really that funny, but Buffy had laughed until tears came and she’d had to lean on Willow to stay upright.
When Angel had shown up at her window that night, he’d known somehow that she’d been crying (how romantic was that?) and she’d smiled into those dark, serious eyes of his and told him they had been happy tears. His slow smile and slower kisses had been the end of a perfect evening.
And thinking about it just made things that much worse. Squaring her shoulders, she tuned out the too-loud voices and laughter and began paying closer attention to the couples, and gee, wasn’t it her lucky night after all?
Drifting away from the crowd was a drunk co-ed in a pretty floral dress. She was draped over an athletic-looking guy who had clearly let the self-tanning craze pass him right on by. He was leading the girl toward the deserted, industrial part of town with an arm looped around her waist, and the sight of his smiling face bent close to the girl’s neck made Buffy clench her jaw. No staking, she reminded herself.
Buffy strode forward and tapped the guy on the shoulder. "Can I cut in?"
The vamp spun around, making the girl stumble and shriek. The first thing she noticed were his eyes, they were very light, grey or blue. He looked disconcertingly human, with a clean cut, All-American sort of face; the kind with a mother somewhere who had driven him to Boy Scout meetings and always made him eat his veggies. He was actually really cute. You know, if you liked the type.
“Can I help you?” He frowned when Buffy leaned forward and grabbed his protesting date by the arm, tugging her away. “Is there some problem?” He looked genuinely concerned. Wow, he sounded… normal, rational even. The side of his mouth kicked up revealing a dimple. She suddenly felt hopeful.
“Look, I know what you are-” she said.
The boyish face twisted with rage, “Slayer!” His features twisted even more, his baby blues disappearing in a wash of feral yellow. The girl took one look and screamed.
“Run,” Buffy said, without looking away from his face, giving the girl a push in the direction of the club. "Look, I don't want to-"
“-fight you?”
Buffy popped up out of her crouch, staring at the vamp's rapidly departing back.
"My irresistible charms," she muttered as she started after him.
This was a good sign right? That he didn’t want to fight? Things were actually looking up, which was good because she was running out of time.
She was closing in when he suddenly dodged around something, something that collared him like he was standing still.
Buffy skidded to a stop, her shoes sliding on the concrete, as Spike stepped forward out of the shadows. Her ‘vamp next door’ was choking and scrabbling at the arm wrapped around his neck.
"Lose something, Slayer?" Never looking away from her face, Spike reached over with his other hand, curled his fingers around the vamp’s jaw and gave a vicious twist and a jerk.
There was a nasty, wet, rending sound. Buffy stared, mouth open, as her vamp dissolved into dust, the head pinwheeling dramatically off to one side until it faded to nothing.
Spike started to brush himself off. He was saying something too, but Buffy couldn’t hear him over the rush of her own thoughts. It was all so unfair. It was bad enough what she had to do night after night, but this new thing, this was so much worse. She looked into Spike’s smirking face. In that moment, Buffy had never hated anything so much.
The next thing she knew she was standing over his prone body. Her right fist burned, but the rest of her was filled with a fierce satisfaction. For an eye blink his shocked face stared up at her, then her foot connected with his jaw and he was out. Yanking the stake out her waistband she raised it high and brought it down hard with both hands. This was one slaying that she was going to remember for a long time. At the last instant, his final expression flashed again in her mind’s eye, his blue eyes wide, almost cat-like in his pale face, and then the blow hit home and she felt his body jerk.
Buffy crouched on the sidewalk panting, staring blindly at her hands resting on his chest; the stake listed in her loosened fists. She had her vampire. There was no point in looking any more; they were all the same anyway, all monsters--some just hid it better than others. At least this was a devil she knew. Slowly, she got to her feet. The adrenaline was fading, the hope was gone, leaving her feeling drained and foolish. She sniffed and carefully smoothed her skirt down over her hips.
Mission accomplished anyway, at least partly. Not letting herself think about the rest, she hefted him up by one arm and grabbed him around the waist. Spike flopped away from her, head lolling back, adam’s apple standing out on his white throat. Annoyed, she leaned back and shifted him towards her.
He swayed upright, balanced there for a moment, and then slumped forward. Her breath went out with a little ‘whuff’ and she almost dropped him in shock when he fell heavily against her, his face plastered against her neck.
She waited, eyes closed, feeling him from neck to knees. She half expected his arms to flash up to grapple her, to hear the sound of his face shifting as his teeth closed on her throat. There was nothing, not a moan or a breath. A cool, tickling sensation on her collarbone made her eyes fly open, but she squeezed them shut a moment later. He was drooling.
This was not happening. She did not let vampires this close to her, she just didn’t. She felt a moment of despair. God, how was she going to do this?
With a low sound she dumped him back on the sidewalk, half-hoping he would wake so she could fight him. He didn’t, but the relief of having him out of her personal space was sharp and visceral. Duty warred with a profound desire to just walk away, not stake him even, just leave him there. She was still thinking about it when she straightened her spine, pushed her hair out of her face, and started over.
This time she picked him up like she would an injured person, slinging one of his arms around her shoulders and holding him against her side with an arm around his waist. The reek of smoke and cheap hair gel made her nose wrinkle. Grimly she consigned another outfit to the grave, one more fashion victim of the battle of good against evil. Demon goo could be explained away by cafeteria riots or lab experiments gone wrong, but if her mom found something smelling of cigarettes…
As she moved forward the vampire’s free arm swayed and his thigh bumped against hers with every step, setting her nerves jangling. Unsure of when he might wake up, every creak of his duster, and the bump and drag of his boots on the ground sent little prickles of adrenaline over her skin. But the worst part, the thing that really wound her to the staking point, was the way that his head was hanging, his mouth brushing up against her hair every few steps and occasionally making the lightest contact with her neck. Each brush of his lips made her muscles tighten just a little bit more. Bad, bad, bad, she thought.
It got worse, and ahead of schedule even. Her hand slipped, the t-shirt sliding up, exposing his waist to her palm. As she grabbed for a better hold, it was disturbing to find that his skin felt like, well, skin: smooth and soft, sliding easily over the bone and muscle underneath. She thought it should feel dead somehow, rubbery or stiff. Of course, Angel didn’t feel that way but-not that Spike felt like Angel, he definitely felt different-he was leaner, the muscles not as thick, but somehow harder and-
Whoa. She blew out a breath, trying to refocus. Restfield, she thought, secure him, and then find Willow.
Buffy marched along, one foot in front of the other. Maybe, after all this was over, she’d put this outfit where her mom would find it. She imagined herself far away from Sunnydale making crafts, maybe even reading some books, having time for guided personal growth. And if it turned out there were demons there... Who was she kidding? There were always demons. But hey, she'd never burned down a reform school before. Buffy shifted the weight of Spike's arm across her shoulders. Even if there were demons, it would still make a nice change of pace.
On to Chapter 2
Timeline: Season 2
A/N: Thanks to the incomparable beanbeans for much appreciated encouragement and betaing! All remaining errors are mine.
This is a crack!fic whence the whole point is for virginal season 2 Buffy to get it on with ebol, unchipped season 2 Spike. There is a special hell for people like me, I just know it.
Persephone - Chapter 1
It was a lot harder when you knew going in that you were going to lose. Buffy circled the stone sarcophagus, her enemy a moving shadow in the dark crypt. As they circled, there were little things about him that caught the light of the flickering candles: his eyes, that stupid hair, and it was going to have to get a whole lot darker in here to hide a smirk that big. God, he was such a pig.
A pale hand seemed to float against the black, stroking over the surface of the stone without quite touching. “What’s the matter pet, feeling shy? Maybe--”
Buffy saw the flash of a smile, heard a chuckle. “Maybe you’d like to get to know one another a little better first, hmm?”
Buffy felt her throat tighten in revulsion and her fists itched, but she said nothing.
There was a flash of movement as he vaulted the barrier between them like a normal person might leap up onto a curb. He landed lightly in front of her, blocking her path. She could have met him with a dozen different blows, preferably ones that led with a stake, but she had no weapons and couldn’t use them even if she did. Feeling naked, she crossed her arms under her breasts and waited.
When he went on, there was a soft certainty in his voice that made the hair on her nape stand on end. “First thing you’ll learn about me, pet--I’m not a patient man.”
***
24 hours earlier…
It was late, and Buffy was deeply irritated and long way from April fresh, more like… late August fresh. She rubbed at the side of her neck and grimaced. She was also completely empty-handed, unless her liberal coating of dust and grit counted for anything. Usually a bunch of dusted vamps was a job well done. Go Buffy! But, tonight was different.
She felt a shiver of apprehension closely followed by a wave of anger. She was the vampire Slayer, not the vampire Catcher. She definitely was not the-
Shaking her head she walked faster. She was the Slayer, and the Slayer did what had to be done.
The cemetery had been her first thought, get one of the new vamps that hadn’t ever hurt anyone. But that really hadn’t panned out. True, fledgling vamps had never responded to her quips with anything but hungry growls, but she hadn’t realized before that they were pretty much incapable of rational speech.
“’Don’t even talk to me until I’ve had my first mayhem,’” she muttered. Who knew? After she’d staked the fifth one she’d decided it was time to move on.
Next stop, the clubs. That’s where the better-looking ones were, for whatever that was worth, former frat boys still hanging around their old haunts. Personally, she thought most of them hadn’t even noticed they’d been vamped. Buffy’s mouth twisted. Vampires were gross. Well, except for Angel, who-Angel, who she was absolutely not thinking about right now.
It wasn’t long before a familiar sign glowed ahead of her. It was late enough that more people were leaving the Bronze than going in. Most of the people were in pairs or groups, all rosy-cheeked, and bright-eyed, and laughing.
"Stupid happy people," Buffy muttered.
She had probably looked just like that a couple of nights ago, leaving the Bronze with her friends. Xander had been doing his impression of Giles. Giles when someone said Miss Calendar’s name and Giles when Miss Calendar was nearby and Giles when Miss Calendar actually talked to him, and it wasn’t really that funny, but Buffy had laughed until tears came and she’d had to lean on Willow to stay upright.
When Angel had shown up at her window that night, he’d known somehow that she’d been crying (how romantic was that?) and she’d smiled into those dark, serious eyes of his and told him they had been happy tears. His slow smile and slower kisses had been the end of a perfect evening.
And thinking about it just made things that much worse. Squaring her shoulders, she tuned out the too-loud voices and laughter and began paying closer attention to the couples, and gee, wasn’t it her lucky night after all?
Drifting away from the crowd was a drunk co-ed in a pretty floral dress. She was draped over an athletic-looking guy who had clearly let the self-tanning craze pass him right on by. He was leading the girl toward the deserted, industrial part of town with an arm looped around her waist, and the sight of his smiling face bent close to the girl’s neck made Buffy clench her jaw. No staking, she reminded herself.
Buffy strode forward and tapped the guy on the shoulder. "Can I cut in?"
The vamp spun around, making the girl stumble and shriek. The first thing she noticed were his eyes, they were very light, grey or blue. He looked disconcertingly human, with a clean cut, All-American sort of face; the kind with a mother somewhere who had driven him to Boy Scout meetings and always made him eat his veggies. He was actually really cute. You know, if you liked the type.
“Can I help you?” He frowned when Buffy leaned forward and grabbed his protesting date by the arm, tugging her away. “Is there some problem?” He looked genuinely concerned. Wow, he sounded… normal, rational even. The side of his mouth kicked up revealing a dimple. She suddenly felt hopeful.
“Look, I know what you are-” she said.
The boyish face twisted with rage, “Slayer!” His features twisted even more, his baby blues disappearing in a wash of feral yellow. The girl took one look and screamed.
“Run,” Buffy said, without looking away from his face, giving the girl a push in the direction of the club. "Look, I don't want to-"
“-fight you?”
Buffy popped up out of her crouch, staring at the vamp's rapidly departing back.
"My irresistible charms," she muttered as she started after him.
This was a good sign right? That he didn’t want to fight? Things were actually looking up, which was good because she was running out of time.
She was closing in when he suddenly dodged around something, something that collared him like he was standing still.
Buffy skidded to a stop, her shoes sliding on the concrete, as Spike stepped forward out of the shadows. Her ‘vamp next door’ was choking and scrabbling at the arm wrapped around his neck.
"Lose something, Slayer?" Never looking away from her face, Spike reached over with his other hand, curled his fingers around the vamp’s jaw and gave a vicious twist and a jerk.
There was a nasty, wet, rending sound. Buffy stared, mouth open, as her vamp dissolved into dust, the head pinwheeling dramatically off to one side until it faded to nothing.
Spike started to brush himself off. He was saying something too, but Buffy couldn’t hear him over the rush of her own thoughts. It was all so unfair. It was bad enough what she had to do night after night, but this new thing, this was so much worse. She looked into Spike’s smirking face. In that moment, Buffy had never hated anything so much.
The next thing she knew she was standing over his prone body. Her right fist burned, but the rest of her was filled with a fierce satisfaction. For an eye blink his shocked face stared up at her, then her foot connected with his jaw and he was out. Yanking the stake out her waistband she raised it high and brought it down hard with both hands. This was one slaying that she was going to remember for a long time. At the last instant, his final expression flashed again in her mind’s eye, his blue eyes wide, almost cat-like in his pale face, and then the blow hit home and she felt his body jerk.
Buffy crouched on the sidewalk panting, staring blindly at her hands resting on his chest; the stake listed in her loosened fists. She had her vampire. There was no point in looking any more; they were all the same anyway, all monsters--some just hid it better than others. At least this was a devil she knew. Slowly, she got to her feet. The adrenaline was fading, the hope was gone, leaving her feeling drained and foolish. She sniffed and carefully smoothed her skirt down over her hips.
Mission accomplished anyway, at least partly. Not letting herself think about the rest, she hefted him up by one arm and grabbed him around the waist. Spike flopped away from her, head lolling back, adam’s apple standing out on his white throat. Annoyed, she leaned back and shifted him towards her.
He swayed upright, balanced there for a moment, and then slumped forward. Her breath went out with a little ‘whuff’ and she almost dropped him in shock when he fell heavily against her, his face plastered against her neck.
She waited, eyes closed, feeling him from neck to knees. She half expected his arms to flash up to grapple her, to hear the sound of his face shifting as his teeth closed on her throat. There was nothing, not a moan or a breath. A cool, tickling sensation on her collarbone made her eyes fly open, but she squeezed them shut a moment later. He was drooling.
This was not happening. She did not let vampires this close to her, she just didn’t. She felt a moment of despair. God, how was she going to do this?
With a low sound she dumped him back on the sidewalk, half-hoping he would wake so she could fight him. He didn’t, but the relief of having him out of her personal space was sharp and visceral. Duty warred with a profound desire to just walk away, not stake him even, just leave him there. She was still thinking about it when she straightened her spine, pushed her hair out of her face, and started over.
This time she picked him up like she would an injured person, slinging one of his arms around her shoulders and holding him against her side with an arm around his waist. The reek of smoke and cheap hair gel made her nose wrinkle. Grimly she consigned another outfit to the grave, one more fashion victim of the battle of good against evil. Demon goo could be explained away by cafeteria riots or lab experiments gone wrong, but if her mom found something smelling of cigarettes…
As she moved forward the vampire’s free arm swayed and his thigh bumped against hers with every step, setting her nerves jangling. Unsure of when he might wake up, every creak of his duster, and the bump and drag of his boots on the ground sent little prickles of adrenaline over her skin. But the worst part, the thing that really wound her to the staking point, was the way that his head was hanging, his mouth brushing up against her hair every few steps and occasionally making the lightest contact with her neck. Each brush of his lips made her muscles tighten just a little bit more. Bad, bad, bad, she thought.
It got worse, and ahead of schedule even. Her hand slipped, the t-shirt sliding up, exposing his waist to her palm. As she grabbed for a better hold, it was disturbing to find that his skin felt like, well, skin: smooth and soft, sliding easily over the bone and muscle underneath. She thought it should feel dead somehow, rubbery or stiff. Of course, Angel didn’t feel that way but-not that Spike felt like Angel, he definitely felt different-he was leaner, the muscles not as thick, but somehow harder and-
Whoa. She blew out a breath, trying to refocus. Restfield, she thought, secure him, and then find Willow.
Buffy marched along, one foot in front of the other. Maybe, after all this was over, she’d put this outfit where her mom would find it. She imagined herself far away from Sunnydale making crafts, maybe even reading some books, having time for guided personal growth. And if it turned out there were demons there... Who was she kidding? There were always demons. But hey, she'd never burned down a reform school before. Buffy shifted the weight of Spike's arm across her shoulders. Even if there were demons, it would still make a nice change of pace.
On to Chapter 2