Breaking a Slayer
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Threesomes/Moresomes › Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
50
Views:
10,475
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Threesomes/Moresomes › Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
50
Views:
10,475
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chaper 18
Breaking a Slayer: Chapter 18
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel.
Distribution: Sure, just let me know.
Feedback: Is always nice.
Rating: NC-17.
Buffy woke near noon to the delicious smell of Angel's homemade scones. Following her nose down the stairs, the diminutive Slayer padded barefoot into the kitchen, where Spike and Angel awaited her. Angel smiled at her as he slathered a scone lavishly with butter and placed it on a dish in front of her. "Latte, Buffy?"
"Mmm, please!" she answered, biting happily into the steaming scone and sighing in satisfaction at the scrumptious taste. Angel poured espresso into a mug for her and added heaps of sugar before dumping the steamed milk and foam on top.
"You're the best barrista in town, Peaches," Spike teased as he sipped at his own triple espresso, prompting a good natured scowl from his sire.
"Spike, I could serve you harbor sludge and you'd think it mead as long as I added a cup of sugar to it. Only childe I ever knew with a sweet tooth," Angel groused, putting on water for tea.
"Buffy, Giles is coming over, he called a short while ago. Do you want to…clean up before he gets here?" Angel inquired, looking over his mate's scanty sleep attire. Buffy was clad in her usual tank top and sweats, looking delightfully tousled but not appropriate for others' eyes, at least not in Angel's estimation.
"Um, yeah, I want to shower and change. Keep another scone warm for me, K?" she asked, gulping a bit more of her latte before heading back up the stairs.
"Damn," Spike muttered. "Bloody wanker of a Watcher comin' over means we don't get to have fun in the tub today," he grumbled.
Angel chuckled but turned the subject to more serious matters. "Spike," I'm taking you to LA with me tonight. Buffy will stay with Giles while I'm gone. I'll watch over you until we're sure the operation was a success. Then…well, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?"
*Angel looks broody as a bloody hen,* thought Spike. *Don't suppose I can blame him, though. Leaving his mate alone here to see to his worthless childe can't be bringing the big Pouf a happy.*
"You sure the Slayer's ready for us to up and leave on her?" Spike asked, knowing the answer already.
"No, I'm not, but I don't see what choice we have. She's not getting better, Spike, not with anyone but us. I'm afraid that if she isn't near people…real people soon, that she'll never reacclimate. You saw how jumpy she was with Giles yesterday. And he's her War. Wr. What is she going to be like with regular humans? She needs help that we can't give her," Angel said, pacing in agitation. "The only answer is for her to live with him and get used to humans again."
"Bloody hell, Sire," Spike swore. "You can't blame the chit for bein' jumpy. It's only been a couple months since it happened."
"Seedseeds something we're not giving her, Spike. Therapy, counseling, I don't know. She's just so hurt, still," Angel said, his normally impassive face filled with worry for his mate and frustration at his inability to save her.
A knock echoed into the kitchen from the great hall and Spike turned to get the Watcher. Angel stood alone in the kitchen, pacing and swearing to himself that somehow, someway, he *would* make this better.
*
Buffy stepped into the stall shower in the corner of her capacious bathroom. The blissfully warm water sheeted down over her body, rinsing away the vestiges of yesterday's tears and the soreness of muscles held tense for too long.
As she stood beneath the pounding spray, she tried not to think about Giles and what he would probably ask of her today. She knew her Watcher as well, if not better than he knew her. Buffy wasn't stupid. She could see his concern and knew that in his well-meaning way, he would rip at the scabs she'd let grow over her emotional wounds, baring her soul to the light of day and searing it anew in the process.
Her rean ton to his proximity had surprised her yesterday and Buffy was painfully aware that if Giles grated on her nerves in such a fashion, that any other human male was likely to do far worse. She had no way of knowing whether she was reacting normally in the aftermath of the rape or not. *Certainly screwing a vampire is probably not a normal response to rape,* she chided herself, ruefully, *no matter how good it felt at the time.*
Stepping reluctantly from the shower, Buffy bed bed a capacious bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, toweling dry her short hair before donning her usual uniform of baggy gray sweats, tank top and flannel shirt. She pulon ton thick athletic sox and her Doc Martins, lacing them tightly around her slender ankles.
She ran her fingers through her curls and shook them, once again glad to be rid of the weight of blonde mane that had required so much maintenance. She trotted downstairs, doing her best impression of a non-psychotic, well-adjusted, untraumatized Slayer.
*
Giles had been unsure of his welcome at the mansion that morning. He knew that both vampires blamed him for at least a part of Buffy's injuries, and if he were honest, he blamed himself as well. Regardless of Faith's duplicity, he should, somehow, have recognized Buffy, the daughter of his heart. Giles couldn't help but wince upon entering the mansion, it held such dire and dreadful memories for him.
Spike showed him into the kitchen, a pleasant room, despite the black-out shades on every window. Angel had filled the room with light, using a hodgepodge of lamps of all periods and sizes, the the air was one of cozy comfort. Giles was surprised to find that the dark vampire was a shockingly good pastry chef, serving up scrumptious scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves, as well as piping hot tea with cream, just as Giles liked it.
"Giles," Angel said seriously, "I must take Spike to LA. I will be gone for at least two days, maybe longer. Buffy needs to stay with you. I don't want her alone here in the mansion without us, and she definitely needs company on patrol. It's been light lately, but that can chang a h a heartbeat, as you know."
Nodding seriously, Giles studied the two vampires. He'd never really seen them together before, and they had vastly disparate exteriors, but there was something, a certain air about them that seemed as if they were related somehow. A way of standing…an aspect of their faces…some indescribable element linked the two. He suspected that he was seeing the sire/childe bond in action and longed to question them about it further. *Rude, Rupert, old man,* he thought to himself. *Rather like inquiring about a couple's bedroom habits clear out of the blue. Just isn't done at all.*
"Of course I want Buffy with me, but have you discussed this with her? Does she realize that you're leaving tonight?" he inquired, sipping at his tea.
"No. No she doesn't know that they're leaving tonight," Buffy's voice came from the doorway. Giles was unsure how long she had been there, but it was certainly long enough to get an earful, of that he was sure. He'd expected anger from her tone of voice, but the Slayer merely looked remote, as if she'd withdrawn somehow from their presence while still standing right there.
"Buffy," Angel muttered, striding over to her. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way, I wanted to talk to you privately."
"Why bother, Angel?" she asked, walking past him and picking up a scone and her still-warm mug. "I'm sure that everything you're doing is for my own benefit, as always. And really, you don't need to ask me. I'll stay here on the Hellmouth, it's my job after all. You've been free to go at any time." Her tone grew colder with every word and she flinched from his touch when he reached for her. "I…I have some things I'll need to pack if I'm coming to your place, Giles," she murmured, stuffing the last of the scone in her mouth and dropping the mug into the sink with a plunk.
Turning on her heel, Buffy strode from the kitchen and up the stairs, never looking back at the three men who loved her.
To be continued…
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel.
Distribution: Sure, just let me know.
Feedback: Is always nice.
Rating: NC-17.
Buffy woke near noon to the delicious smell of Angel's homemade scones. Following her nose down the stairs, the diminutive Slayer padded barefoot into the kitchen, where Spike and Angel awaited her. Angel smiled at her as he slathered a scone lavishly with butter and placed it on a dish in front of her. "Latte, Buffy?"
"Mmm, please!" she answered, biting happily into the steaming scone and sighing in satisfaction at the scrumptious taste. Angel poured espresso into a mug for her and added heaps of sugar before dumping the steamed milk and foam on top.
"You're the best barrista in town, Peaches," Spike teased as he sipped at his own triple espresso, prompting a good natured scowl from his sire.
"Spike, I could serve you harbor sludge and you'd think it mead as long as I added a cup of sugar to it. Only childe I ever knew with a sweet tooth," Angel groused, putting on water for tea.
"Buffy, Giles is coming over, he called a short while ago. Do you want to…clean up before he gets here?" Angel inquired, looking over his mate's scanty sleep attire. Buffy was clad in her usual tank top and sweats, looking delightfully tousled but not appropriate for others' eyes, at least not in Angel's estimation.
"Um, yeah, I want to shower and change. Keep another scone warm for me, K?" she asked, gulping a bit more of her latte before heading back up the stairs.
"Damn," Spike muttered. "Bloody wanker of a Watcher comin' over means we don't get to have fun in the tub today," he grumbled.
Angel chuckled but turned the subject to more serious matters. "Spike," I'm taking you to LA with me tonight. Buffy will stay with Giles while I'm gone. I'll watch over you until we're sure the operation was a success. Then…well, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?"
*Angel looks broody as a bloody hen,* thought Spike. *Don't suppose I can blame him, though. Leaving his mate alone here to see to his worthless childe can't be bringing the big Pouf a happy.*
"You sure the Slayer's ready for us to up and leave on her?" Spike asked, knowing the answer already.
"No, I'm not, but I don't see what choice we have. She's not getting better, Spike, not with anyone but us. I'm afraid that if she isn't near people…real people soon, that she'll never reacclimate. You saw how jumpy she was with Giles yesterday. And he's her War. Wr. What is she going to be like with regular humans? She needs help that we can't give her," Angel said, pacing in agitation. "The only answer is for her to live with him and get used to humans again."
"Bloody hell, Sire," Spike swore. "You can't blame the chit for bein' jumpy. It's only been a couple months since it happened."
"Seedseeds something we're not giving her, Spike. Therapy, counseling, I don't know. She's just so hurt, still," Angel said, his normally impassive face filled with worry for his mate and frustration at his inability to save her.
A knock echoed into the kitchen from the great hall and Spike turned to get the Watcher. Angel stood alone in the kitchen, pacing and swearing to himself that somehow, someway, he *would* make this better.
*
Buffy stepped into the stall shower in the corner of her capacious bathroom. The blissfully warm water sheeted down over her body, rinsing away the vestiges of yesterday's tears and the soreness of muscles held tense for too long.
As she stood beneath the pounding spray, she tried not to think about Giles and what he would probably ask of her today. She knew her Watcher as well, if not better than he knew her. Buffy wasn't stupid. She could see his concern and knew that in his well-meaning way, he would rip at the scabs she'd let grow over her emotional wounds, baring her soul to the light of day and searing it anew in the process.
Her rean ton to his proximity had surprised her yesterday and Buffy was painfully aware that if Giles grated on her nerves in such a fashion, that any other human male was likely to do far worse. She had no way of knowing whether she was reacting normally in the aftermath of the rape or not. *Certainly screwing a vampire is probably not a normal response to rape,* she chided herself, ruefully, *no matter how good it felt at the time.*
Stepping reluctantly from the shower, Buffy bed bed a capacious bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, toweling dry her short hair before donning her usual uniform of baggy gray sweats, tank top and flannel shirt. She pulon ton thick athletic sox and her Doc Martins, lacing them tightly around her slender ankles.
She ran her fingers through her curls and shook them, once again glad to be rid of the weight of blonde mane that had required so much maintenance. She trotted downstairs, doing her best impression of a non-psychotic, well-adjusted, untraumatized Slayer.
*
Giles had been unsure of his welcome at the mansion that morning. He knew that both vampires blamed him for at least a part of Buffy's injuries, and if he were honest, he blamed himself as well. Regardless of Faith's duplicity, he should, somehow, have recognized Buffy, the daughter of his heart. Giles couldn't help but wince upon entering the mansion, it held such dire and dreadful memories for him.
Spike showed him into the kitchen, a pleasant room, despite the black-out shades on every window. Angel had filled the room with light, using a hodgepodge of lamps of all periods and sizes, the the air was one of cozy comfort. Giles was surprised to find that the dark vampire was a shockingly good pastry chef, serving up scrumptious scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves, as well as piping hot tea with cream, just as Giles liked it.
"Giles," Angel said seriously, "I must take Spike to LA. I will be gone for at least two days, maybe longer. Buffy needs to stay with you. I don't want her alone here in the mansion without us, and she definitely needs company on patrol. It's been light lately, but that can chang a h a heartbeat, as you know."
Nodding seriously, Giles studied the two vampires. He'd never really seen them together before, and they had vastly disparate exteriors, but there was something, a certain air about them that seemed as if they were related somehow. A way of standing…an aspect of their faces…some indescribable element linked the two. He suspected that he was seeing the sire/childe bond in action and longed to question them about it further. *Rude, Rupert, old man,* he thought to himself. *Rather like inquiring about a couple's bedroom habits clear out of the blue. Just isn't done at all.*
"Of course I want Buffy with me, but have you discussed this with her? Does she realize that you're leaving tonight?" he inquired, sipping at his tea.
"No. No she doesn't know that they're leaving tonight," Buffy's voice came from the doorway. Giles was unsure how long she had been there, but it was certainly long enough to get an earful, of that he was sure. He'd expected anger from her tone of voice, but the Slayer merely looked remote, as if she'd withdrawn somehow from their presence while still standing right there.
"Buffy," Angel muttered, striding over to her. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way, I wanted to talk to you privately."
"Why bother, Angel?" she asked, walking past him and picking up a scone and her still-warm mug. "I'm sure that everything you're doing is for my own benefit, as always. And really, you don't need to ask me. I'll stay here on the Hellmouth, it's my job after all. You've been free to go at any time." Her tone grew colder with every word and she flinched from his touch when he reached for her. "I…I have some things I'll need to pack if I'm coming to your place, Giles," she murmured, stuffing the last of the scone in her mouth and dropping the mug into the sink with a plunk.
Turning on her heel, Buffy strode from the kitchen and up the stairs, never looking back at the three men who loved her.
To be continued…