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BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
13
Views:
3,306
Reviews:
30
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
13
Views:
3,306
Reviews:
30
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.
The Big Bads
Author's Notes: Ewwww. I don't do Spike/Dru or Buffy/Angel, this is just the stuff I have to get out of the way.
The Big Bads
“Whatcha doin’, love?” the golden-haired vampire asked as she took a seat beside her brunette sire.
“I’m naming the stars,” he answered dreamily, gazing at the ceiling with a wistful smile.
“You can’t see the stars, love,” she said patiently. “That’s the ceiling. Also, it’s day.”
“No, I can see them,” he protested. “But I’ve named them all the same name and there’s terrible confusion.”
Buffy smoothed a hand over Angelus’ hair lightly in response. His insanity was taking a toll on her, but she couldn’t leave him alone with no one to protect him. He was her sire, her love, and in a strange way, he was her child, as well. She mothered him, guarded him, and fed him the blood from her veins when he was too week to feed off a human.
“You saw the new slayer, didn’t you? Is he as bright and beautiful as the sun?” he inquired liltingly, his Irish accent growing thicker in his exhaustion.
“He didn’t see me. You were right, love, the new slayer is a boy.”
“I want to eat him for breakfast,” Angelus muttered distantly, “but you don’t want that. No, you have the nastiness inside you… You’ll get tired of your prince and leave him behind.”
Visibly horrified by the thought, Buffy shook her head vehemently. “No, of course I won’t. I might have the nastiness inside me, but I won’t leave you.”
“Do you think he got your message?”
“I left the body in the locker as planned; of course he got the message.”
“Tá ocras orm,” whined the brunette vampire in his native tongue.
“I know you are, sweets. Here, let me feed you.” Buffy pressed her wrist against Angelus’ mouth firmly, having learned from experience that it was too dangerous to permit him to drink from her jugular when he was so weary. The last time, he had nearly torn her throat out.
She mewled in delight when his fangs pierced her wrist and tenderly stroked his ridged brow. She was stricken again by his beauty, and she tried to communicate her thoughts to him through her blood. She would never leave him; she could never leave him.
Angelus drank deeply and, lacking the control to be gentle, tore a large gash in Buffy’s wrist. A deep, throaty purr began in his chest and vibrated up through his lips as he nursed the blood from her wrist, his large hand locked firmly around her tiny arm as though he feared she would draw away from him before he was ready to let her go.
And she would leave him, he knew, in spite of what she thought. The stars had told him so, and they had never lied to him before. At length, he withdrew his fangs from her delicate flesh, nicking his tongue and lapping at the wound to urge it to heal faster. “Tá brón orm,” he apologized.
“Shh, grá mo chroí,” Buffy soothed him. She hoped that he believed her, knew that he was now and always would be the love of her heart. “Rest now, and when the night comes, I’ll bring you a pretty girl to play with.”
“We could go hunting…” he muttered hopefully as he stretched out on the large bed Buffy had set up for him. It smelled of the green grass of his homeland, a perfume, Buffy had explained, but he knew the truth. She had somehow bottled up Ireland and brought it with them.
“You’re still too weak, love, but I promise you, we’ll go hunting again soon. Do you believe me? You know I would never break a promise to you, don’t you?”
“Mmm,” Angelus replied absently, the soporific quality of her blood already lulling him toward the more peaceful land of his dreams. “I’ll be strong for you again, álainn.”
“Sleep,” Buffy insisted, kissing his brow gently. She watched with a small smile as his demonic countenance melted away to reveal his human features. He was so beautiful to her in that moment, so fragile… When she was certain he was asleep, she eased off the bed and took up pacing.
It was true that she wasn’t the typical vampire, that she had, as Angelus said, nastiness inside her, but she loved him with every fiber of her being. She would never leave him willingly, but there were aspects of her former life that refused to leave her, aspects of her very being that she could never deny without losing sight of who she was. And she knew in her heart that if she ever became who Angelus insisted she had been born to be, that he would leave her. She wasn’t ready for that, and she never would be.
Opening the door to their bedroom, the petite blonde crept out silently, avoiding the windows instinctively despite the protective coating that shielded her from the sunlight. She slipped into the study and booted up the computer, waiting impatiently for the horrid machine to wake from its slumber. “Come on, come on…”
“Is there something I can help you with, Mistress?” called a bespeckled Englishman.
“No, thank you, Wesley, and Angelus is asleep, you can call me Buffy,” she replied, studying the screen curiously. “Which little picture do I click to make it go online?”
“He’s asleep? Oh, thank God. Here, let me,” Wesley offered, leaning over to click on the appropriate icon. “Is there something in particular you wish to find?”
“Yes,” she replied, pushing to her feet to give Wesley control of the swivel chair and computer. “Find me everything you can on William Summers.”
The Big Bads
“Whatcha doin’, love?” the golden-haired vampire asked as she took a seat beside her brunette sire.
“I’m naming the stars,” he answered dreamily, gazing at the ceiling with a wistful smile.
“You can’t see the stars, love,” she said patiently. “That’s the ceiling. Also, it’s day.”
“No, I can see them,” he protested. “But I’ve named them all the same name and there’s terrible confusion.”
Buffy smoothed a hand over Angelus’ hair lightly in response. His insanity was taking a toll on her, but she couldn’t leave him alone with no one to protect him. He was her sire, her love, and in a strange way, he was her child, as well. She mothered him, guarded him, and fed him the blood from her veins when he was too week to feed off a human.
“You saw the new slayer, didn’t you? Is he as bright and beautiful as the sun?” he inquired liltingly, his Irish accent growing thicker in his exhaustion.
“He didn’t see me. You were right, love, the new slayer is a boy.”
“I want to eat him for breakfast,” Angelus muttered distantly, “but you don’t want that. No, you have the nastiness inside you… You’ll get tired of your prince and leave him behind.”
Visibly horrified by the thought, Buffy shook her head vehemently. “No, of course I won’t. I might have the nastiness inside me, but I won’t leave you.”
“Do you think he got your message?”
“I left the body in the locker as planned; of course he got the message.”
“Tá ocras orm,” whined the brunette vampire in his native tongue.
“I know you are, sweets. Here, let me feed you.” Buffy pressed her wrist against Angelus’ mouth firmly, having learned from experience that it was too dangerous to permit him to drink from her jugular when he was so weary. The last time, he had nearly torn her throat out.
She mewled in delight when his fangs pierced her wrist and tenderly stroked his ridged brow. She was stricken again by his beauty, and she tried to communicate her thoughts to him through her blood. She would never leave him; she could never leave him.
Angelus drank deeply and, lacking the control to be gentle, tore a large gash in Buffy’s wrist. A deep, throaty purr began in his chest and vibrated up through his lips as he nursed the blood from her wrist, his large hand locked firmly around her tiny arm as though he feared she would draw away from him before he was ready to let her go.
And she would leave him, he knew, in spite of what she thought. The stars had told him so, and they had never lied to him before. At length, he withdrew his fangs from her delicate flesh, nicking his tongue and lapping at the wound to urge it to heal faster. “Tá brón orm,” he apologized.
“Shh, grá mo chroí,” Buffy soothed him. She hoped that he believed her, knew that he was now and always would be the love of her heart. “Rest now, and when the night comes, I’ll bring you a pretty girl to play with.”
“We could go hunting…” he muttered hopefully as he stretched out on the large bed Buffy had set up for him. It smelled of the green grass of his homeland, a perfume, Buffy had explained, but he knew the truth. She had somehow bottled up Ireland and brought it with them.
“You’re still too weak, love, but I promise you, we’ll go hunting again soon. Do you believe me? You know I would never break a promise to you, don’t you?”
“Mmm,” Angelus replied absently, the soporific quality of her blood already lulling him toward the more peaceful land of his dreams. “I’ll be strong for you again, álainn.”
“Sleep,” Buffy insisted, kissing his brow gently. She watched with a small smile as his demonic countenance melted away to reveal his human features. He was so beautiful to her in that moment, so fragile… When she was certain he was asleep, she eased off the bed and took up pacing.
It was true that she wasn’t the typical vampire, that she had, as Angelus said, nastiness inside her, but she loved him with every fiber of her being. She would never leave him willingly, but there were aspects of her former life that refused to leave her, aspects of her very being that she could never deny without losing sight of who she was. And she knew in her heart that if she ever became who Angelus insisted she had been born to be, that he would leave her. She wasn’t ready for that, and she never would be.
Opening the door to their bedroom, the petite blonde crept out silently, avoiding the windows instinctively despite the protective coating that shielded her from the sunlight. She slipped into the study and booted up the computer, waiting impatiently for the horrid machine to wake from its slumber. “Come on, come on…”
“Is there something I can help you with, Mistress?” called a bespeckled Englishman.
“No, thank you, Wesley, and Angelus is asleep, you can call me Buffy,” she replied, studying the screen curiously. “Which little picture do I click to make it go online?”
“He’s asleep? Oh, thank God. Here, let me,” Wesley offered, leaning over to click on the appropriate icon. “Is there something in particular you wish to find?”
“Yes,” she replied, pushing to her feet to give Wesley control of the swivel chair and computer. “Find me everything you can on William Summers.”