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This takes place the night AFTER Buffy saves Dawn.
Spike heard the fight before he saw it. He could hear the low grunts and groans of the Slayer and the deep growls of whatever vampire had taken leave of his senses and decided to throw down with the best. Moving around the side of a decrepit looking mausoleum, Spike dug through his pockets for a cigarette and watched as Buffy squared off against the large, hulking vampire.
She moved like a tiger, predatory, with her lips pulled back into a half smile and half snarl. Her perfect white teeth glinted in the moonlight, and for a brief second, Spike could have sworn he saw pointed tips. He waved away the smoke that was curling around his face and squinted, satisfied that it had just been a trick of light. There was something different about the way she moved, though. She had always been quick on her feet, quite the worthy opponent, but he couldn't recall ever seeing so much satisfaction in her gaze as she launched kick after kick. Instead of simply staking the vampire, she fought until it was wounded, then circled, her head cocked to one side.
He could only wonder what it would be like to shag her senseless when she wasn't under some kind of spell.
Not that he was about to complain about the circumstances of their last encounter. Her eyes were intense and inflamed with something that he could almost feel on the air, moving like a current. She stalked the creature, which had crumpled to the ground and was clutching his arm. Spike shifted uncomfortably when she leaned down, gripped the demon's arm, and brought it down over her leg, sending shards of bone through the skin. Blood spewed over her face and arms, then she drove the stake she was holding through the demon's heart, and only then after she had heard its guttural scream.
Spike realized that he had frozen with the cigarette a few inches away from his mouth as he watched her. The smoke burned his eyes and he dropped his hand, and the cigarette, his eyes widening in disbelief. The Slayer was kneeling, staring at the blood on her hands. He started to say her name, then paused as she brought her hands up, smearing the blood over her face. He watched with wide eyes as she rubbed it over her skin, down her bare arms, and over the bite mark on her neck. And then she did the unthinkable.
She brought her hand to her mouth and tasted the blood.
No! he thought, it wasn't possible! Could she be - no, there was no way!
"Slayer!" he yelled, leaving the comfortable shadows behind and racing toward her.
Buffy leaped to her feet, bracing herself as she saw someone coming toward her. Part of her screamed that he was familiar, but the hairs on the back of her neck began to dance upward, and she lifted her stake. Vampire! The coppery taste of the demon blood on her tongue had her hungry for more. Another battle. Another victory. Destruction. Absolute power. Her body ached for another kill. Her muscles longed to be stretched in battle. She shifted slightly, her eyes finally resting on the demon's cold blue ones.
Familiar. So familiar.
Spike came to a skidding halt when he got a good look at her eyes. Against the reddish brown from the drying blood on her face, her eyes were even greener than usual, almost glowing with an emerald light. "Buffy?"
Nostrils flaring, she lunged at him. He caught her arm and sent her flying past him, his head flaring painfully in protest. "Oh, bloody hell!" he cried, grinding the palm of his hand against his forehead. "I didn't hurt her! I just moved her!" he shouted at no one. "Fuck!"
As her knee connected painfully with a headstone, Buffy lost her balance and rolled onto her back. Breathing heavily, she stared up at the sky, trying to place where she was. There was a bitter taste on her tongue, something rancid and sour, and she sat up slowly, stretching her leg. "Ow!"
Spike put his hands on his hips and glared down at her. "Ow? You just tried to kill me! And I'm the one who should be screaming Ow!" He tapped his head. "Ow!"
She frowned, unsure of what he was talking about. "No. I was fighting a big hulking- Where's that vampire?"
"Dead." Spike narrowed his eyes at her. "Did you get hit on the head?"
"I- I don't know. I don't think so." She ran her fingers over her face then gasped at the blood all over her hands. "Oh my god!"
"Relax." Spike rolled his eyes and reached down, pulling her to her feet. "It's not your blood."
"Whose is it?" Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust as her fingers began to stick together from the tacky liquid.
"The vampire's." Spike gripped her elbow and began walking, leading her toward one of the water taps at the back of the cemetery.
"Oh god, gross." Shaking her head, she squeezed her hands into fists. "I don't even remember what happened. I mean, one minute I was chasing that guy and the next you were .."
Pointing at the water spigot, Spike lit another cigarette and watched as she rinsed her hands. "You might want to get your face too, killer," he said.
Buffy tensed immediately. "Don't call me that!"
"What? Killer? That's exactly what you were doing back there." He walked around her, keeping an eye on her. "You circled that vampire like he was your prey and you bathed in his blood. You even tasted it." He watched her reaction when he said those words. How often did she do that? How long had she done it?
Recalling what had happened with Dracula, Buffy quickly cupped water in her palm and rinsed her mouth, spitting it behind her.
"What's going on with you, Slayer?" Spike asked. There were a million other questions he wanted to ask and demand that she answer, but he chose a careful approach.
"Nothing. I- I don't know." She rinsed her face and stalked toward him, using the front of his shirt as a makeshift towel. She didn't even register his noises of disgust. Her dream? The first Slayer? The mud on her face? Blood? Being called 'killer'. Tasting blood. What was happening with her? "I should go."
Spike followed her as she started back through the cemetery, watching the way her hips moved as she walked. "Did you find Harmony's lair last night, Slayer?"
Buffy glared back at him. "Yes."
"Did you stake her?" Spike pretended not to be very interested in her reply, but in truth, he was dying to know.
She stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. "What's the matter, Spike. Afraid I killed your woman? You can rest easy. She got away." Crossing her arms over her chest, she allowed herself to fume for a few brief seconds. "And you know what? Your taste in women sucks as much as you -used- to!"
Spike watched her pivot on her heel and stalk away from him. Could it be? Was it possible that she had a little green eyed monster in her? "So that's why you decided to rough me up last night?"
"What?" Buffy whirled to face him, eyes blazing.
"And here I thought that those sucker punches at my nose were because you didn't like me." Grinning, Spike took a few steps and paused in front of her. "You're jealous of Harm and me! You like me."
"No, I'm repulsed by you." Despite the conviction in her tone, Buffy felt her body betray her and she took a tentative step closer to him. Drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.
"Are you?" Smiling a little, Spike glanced down at her chest, watching the steady rise and fall of her breasts. "'Cause I could swear that you're sending off very different vibes, killer."
Licking her lips, she let her gaze roam over his features, before settling on his eyes. "I told you not to call me that. Not unless it's an invitation."
"An invitation to what?" He took a step closer, closing the small gap that had been between them. His body ran the length of hers, pressing intimately against her every curve. Grinning triumphantly, he put a knee between her legs and pressed his thigh against her core.
Her mouth went dry and her knees almost buckled as the memory of him in her bed, between her legs, suddenly crashed into her again. Just as it had done every night in the week since they'd been together. "An invitation to-" And then his mouth was on hers and his hands were behind her, on her backside, lifting her roughly against him. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her, aware of nothing except the slamming of her heart in her chest, the rush of her blood in her veins, and the naughty satisfaction of doing something she wasn't supposed to. 'How do you like my darkness now?' her mind whispered.
Something inside her responded with glee.
Spike was surprised when he felt her fingers in his hair. Urging her legs around his waist, he ran his hands over her curves, kneading her denim clad flesh until she moaned. Breaking the kiss, he looked into her eyes and was stunned to see the emerald shining he had witnessed earlier. The almost inhuman glow. Was it a reflection from the moon? Or was her body mirroring the fire he felt inside his own body when she was within three feet of him?
Her smile was slow, seductive, and very aware of the effect she was having on him. She almost felt like a stranger in her own skin. She watched her hand move upward, cupping his jaw, trailing a line over his sharp cheekbone and the angle of his chin, and then she heard herself telling him to stop looking at her and take her.
His eyes widened at the husky whisper her voice had taken on. The scent of her arousal was powerful, more powerful than it had been when Dracula had left her panting in her bed. He should have taken macho pleasure in that fact, been compelled to rub her nose in it, literally - but instead, the change in her scared him.
Because he knew. He knew exactly what the change could be. Slayers were – they could --
She yanked the front of his shirt open, sending a spray of buttons showering around them. The night was punctuated by the sounds of ripping material and her feet thudding to the ground as she slid down his body. Part of him wanted to push her away, but the part of him that recalled what she felt like when her body enveloped him, urged her on. Her hands were sure and steady on the buttons of his jeans, sparing them the fate of his shirt. He watched through hooded eyes as she freed his erection and kneeled down in front of him.
His first thought when she sucked him into her hot, sticky mouth was that he should be on guard. It was Buffy, queen of all things unexpected. But by the time she had licked the length of him and engulfed him again, all reason had been replaced by want. And need.
Buffy delighted in how cold his skin was. Like marble under bare feet. Stainless steel against a bare back. Sin against salvation. The image of what she was doing, and who she was doing it to, sent a delightful shiver up her spine. It was wrong. And it was breathtaking.
That same feeling passed through her. The feeling of being on the outside looking in, but it quickly passed when she heard him growl. It reverberated through her, into her, causing wetness to pool between her legs. She was soaked, eager and aching for him to touch her. Grinning up at him, she stood, knowing that he was on the verge of exploding.
"Hey!" Spike blinked a couple of times, instinctively gripping his aching shaft and trying to quiet the painful protests his cock was issuing at her absence.
Her eyes were drawn to his hand, watching as he pumped himself a few times. Licking her lips, she unbuttoned her pants and toed off her shoes, then tossed her pants to the side. Without saying a word, she gripped his hand and moved it between her thighs, relishing the way his fingers slid against her damp skin. So cold. So powerful. So deadly. So - wrong.
Spike couldn't believe it was actually happening. There was no spell. There were no magick vampires running around putting the burn on her. He had done it. She wanted -him-. His dick was harder than it had ever been and his legs were threatening to buckle, almost as if he'd gained a thousand pounds in the past ten minutes. His head swam, making him feel intoxicated and as she bucked against his hand, he thought he would surely lose his balance and fall.
Almost as if she read his mind, she took a step back and nodded toward the nearest mausoleum. He wanted to protest, to take her right there, but the sight of her turning, bending over to retrieve her clothing and exposing her tan lined backside, had him stumbling after her. He found her leaning against a stone slab, much like the one in his own crypt. It was dusty, dirty, and smelled stale, but it also smelled of her. Shedding his pants fast, he joined her, lifting her under the arms and setting her on the edge of the stone.
Buffy ran her feet over the backs of his legs and kissed him, her tongue swirling around his. He tasted good; cool with a dash of liquor, and power. One of his hands moved under her shirt, cupping her breast and flicking her hardened nipple. Her vaginal walls clenched angrily and she could take it no more. Pulling away, she lay flat, balling up her discarded clothing under her head, and opening her legs and herself to his gaze.
He didn't look long. He crawled from the foot of the slab, slowly, meticulously trailing his mouth up her leg, over her knee, flicking his tongue against her core, and then he was inside of her and his mouth was on hers. He growled when he was buried in her tight flesh. He tangled his hands in her hair and drove into her, abandoning any pretense of resistance.
He wanted her.
And she knew it.
It was hard, fast, and frenzied, and it was exactly the way Buffy needed it. Her muscles, still tense from the fight, warred against his; hips pumping, arms clinging, legs wrapping around his waist. She thrust against him, the icy feel of the stone against her back eclipsed by the icy length of flesh inside her. He rubbed her in a way that she had never felt with another man. Without any clitoral stimulation, she felt the walls of her pussy clench, tighten, and then it felt like the earth had tilted and she screamed his name.
Spike listened to the sounds of their pelvises slapping together, listened to the cries of ecstasy coming from the back of her throat, and finally allowed himself to seek his own release. He slammed against her, pistoning his hips so hard that the slab they were on shifted slightly, and he filled her with his seed at last. Reaching between them, he gave her clit a sharp, quick twist, and she came again, fast, hard, and with another scream.
He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck. His demon, used to being shamed because of the chip in his head, didn't bother coming to the fore. He gulped in deep, unnecessary breaths, mimicking her. It took him several seconds to realize that she was sobbing quietly and he propped himself up, staring down at her. "Buffy-"
"Don't say anything," she whispered. "Just - don't."
Nodding, Spike watched a tear trace its way down her cheek and caught it with his thumb. -This- was the Slayer he knew. Gone was the animalistic hunger in her eyes, the stalking air of confidence, and it had been replaced by the same familiar look he had seen a million times on her face. Despair. Guilt. A touch of fear.
"I don't know what's happening to me," Buffy choked out, pushing him off her. She let her legs dangle off the side of their makeshift bed and stared at the floor. "I shouldn't- we shouldn't-" But it wasn't guilt she felt, not really. It was relief and contentment and - curiosity at what was happening to her. She was trying to compensate by forcing herself to feel guilty.
"It doesn't matter if we shouldn't," Spike sat up as well and grabbed his pants, quickly pulling them on. "We did. And you need to tell your Watcher."
With a gasp, she spun and faced him. "I could never tell Giles what we- that you and I-"
Moving around the slab, Spike gripped her chin in his hand. "You need to tell him what happened when you fought tonight. You need to let him know that you're - Bloody Hell - Slayer, you need to let him know you're getting off on it."
"I did not!" Her eyes widened and she pushed him away.
With a shrug, he leaned down and grabbed his boots. "Word it how you want to, but he needs to know." He let her go and moved toward the door, then paused. "Hey, Killer?"
She didn't meet his gaze. "What?"
"You tasted that vampire's blood tonight. Mortals have done that for years, it's like a cheap high, a glimpse into darkness, a little rush of power. The ultimate drug." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. If he gave away too much information, there was a very real chance she could piece it all together; the things that had been omitted from the Watcher's Journals. "And just like any cheap high, there are side effects. I don't know who told you about the tasting, but you watch your step."
"Or what?" She turned to face him.
"You just might get a glimpse of the real you." He opened the door and stepped outside. "And not many people like what they see."
She sat there until the sun had risen and crested in the sky, then she dressed slowly and made her way home. It felt like her entire existence had been altered in some way. The hunt, the kill, the craving to fight - and have sex with a demon. She didn't understand it. There was no balance. She was hungry for the very thing she was supposed to destroy. She didn't know if it was what had happened with Dracula, or if there was something out there playing with the cards, stacking the deck against her. And she didn't understand why there was no guilt at having cheated on Riley with Spike. There was nothing there. Nothing inside of her to tug at her.
All she knew for certain was that for the first time in the week since the Dracula situation, she was sated enough to sleep. For the first time since Spike had touched her for the first time, her body and mind felt at peace with one another. There was no way to explain it, no way to second-guess it, it just was.
And she knew there would be a next time.
But didn't know why.
Dawn was in the kitchen when Buffy slipped into her mother's house. The young girl was standing over the toaster, waiting for her Eggo and glanced at her watch. "I'm telling Mom. She specifically told you last night not to go out again."
"Tell her what you want. I'm just aching for a reason to tell her about your little mishap with Harmony." Buffy dropped her bag in one of the kitchen chairs and went to the refrigerator, pulling a carton of juice from the shelf. Opening it, she took several deep gulps straight from the container.
"That's disgusting, Buffy! You're so gross!"
"Deal with it," replied the Slayer, polishing off the remaining juice. She smiled at her kid sister and put the empty container on the table. "I'll also deny leaving this out, so you better throw it away."
With narrowed eyes, Dawn watched Buffy grab her bag and head up the stairs. She tossed the carton into the trash and put her Eggo on a plate, then sat down at the table. Her journal lay open and she picked up the pen, chewing the tip thoughtfully.
'I don't like being a kid sister. I would much rather have come here as what I am. I think Buffy would be a lot less inclined to be mean to me if she knew the real me. Everyone thinks she's some kind of wonderful person, some kind of super hero. They don't know the truth about her anymore than she does. They couldn't handle the truth! Sorry, Mom and I watched A Few Good Men tonight. I like having a mom. That's the best part. Anyway, I think it has already started. I think I got here just in time. If she was nicer to me it would make my job a little more enjoyable. But then again, I have to see the real her. I see past the smiles and fake laugh and the 'Slayer' bravado. I know if I don't like what I see, she won't. That's why she can't know. That's why I have to block it out. If she stops being a Slayer - she stops BEING.
And there's a big battle ahead.'
Onto the Replacement