Breaking a Slayer
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Threesomes/Moresomes › Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
50
Views:
10,463
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Threesomes/Moresomes › Angel(us)/Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
50
Views:
10,463
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.
Chapter 6
Breaking a Slayer: Chapter 6
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.
Author's Note: The poem I quote in this chapter is "First Fig" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Many many thanks to Kimberly for the reference.
*
Angel was done pacing. He'd had enough of waiting. He threw on his coat and went out into the darkness, searching for Buffy…for Spike…for anything tangible that he could grasp and hold or beat or shake some sense into. It didn't much matter to him which action took place as long as he could do something, anything to banish his growing sense of helplessness concerning Buffy, Spike and his entire unlife.
*
Buffy ran until she couldn't breathe from the pain in her lungs and the ache in her legs. Finally, she fell, panting, into cool, dew-covered grass and knelt there until her aching chest calmed. She looked up and realized where she was. Without thinking, she'd run to safety…she was staring up at her old house on Revello Drive. A faint light shone from the window of her old room and she was drawn to it as if by magic. She scaled the porch and climbed stealthily to the window, peeking cautiously in. There, tucked away in a four-poster bed that filled much of the small room, was a tiny, golden-haired girl. She slept peacefully in the gentle glow of a night light. Buffy stared at the child's innocent face and felt something jagged and painful break free inside her.
She moved off the porch, half climbing/half falling to the ground, and backed away from the house as if she'd seen a ghost. Looking in on the little girl jarred open every painful longing that she'd locked away deep inside her. She stood, weeping silently for her mother, her childhood, her future, her innocence...all the lost portions of a life now solely dedicated to death. Buffy turned her back on all of it and walked slowly back to the mansion with tears streaming down her face, entering and climbing the stairs to her lonely room where she closed and locked the door before crawling into bed.
She took in each breath and tried to go back to feeling nothing again. The void where her emotions had been was much more comfortable than this aching pain. She'd nearly killed Spike tonight, and could almost as easily have killed Angel, had it been him in Spike's place. She knew that she was out of control, knew that she was mourning the life she had lost, but knowing the truth and doing something about it were two very different things.
The sadness and anger raging through her body combined with the adrenaline rush and subsequent frustration from fighting in a roil of incompatible hormones coursing through her agitated body. She wasn't sure how much longer she could feel this much pain and still live. One uninterrupted day of sleep, just one…was that really too much to ask?
Buffy knew that self-pity wasn't the answer. There were others out there who'd had to deal with worse things than this. War, famine, death, disease - it was the human condition. She just didn't know how to deal with it herself.
Slaying was so easy compared to actually living. It had been simple to sink into apathy, killing and returning to the mansion to sleep. The vampires she dusted provided her with an easy release. The vampires she lived with had become her Watchers, her friends, her family *and how twisted is that, Buffy?*
Buffy felt as if she was awakening from a long sleep. Her mother's death ached rawly in her heart, as if no more than two days had passed since it happened instead of two months. Her body was clambering for attention of some kind…she'd ignored it for so long, but now it was making its needs known. The pain of unknowing rejection from her friends, who'd left with nary a care for their summer fun…left her to suffer at Faith's hands not even knowing what was going on, hurt Buffy all over again now that she was actually feeling.
They always said they'd come back, but she'd recognized that lie long ago, when first Daddy, then Merrick, then Angel left her behind. Now her mom was gone, and she could feel Giles slipping inexorably away as well. The Scoobs were growing apart as they matured and discovered that life really did go on. At least it did for them. She would stay behind in the dark until it swallowed her whole. Sometimes she wondered if Xander had really done her a favor by reviving her after her death at the Master's hands. It could have been so peaceful there with all her tasks over and someone else to take charge of saving the world…again. Buffy curled tighter into her pillow aondeondered if Faith had it right after all. Maybe "want…take…have" was the only philosophy a slayer *could* live by.
*
Spike was scared. What was it about the blasted Slayer that turned his comfortably evil ass so topsy-turvy? Hell and damnation, how was a vampire supposed to feel about her anyway? She was death personified for his kind and her beauty and strength just made her more deadly and alluring. He was called, moth to flame and felt no power to resist her. The fear of his sire's wrath meant nothing, Spike circled, ever closer to his own destruction and couldn't even find it in him to care.
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night
But oh, my foes
And ah, my friends
It gives a lovely light.
Buffy was his candle, and the light that was her - the beautiful, fragile spark that was her life made the glow of her flame all the more bright for its short duration.
*Gods and giants, listen to me now…William the Bloody Awful Poet rears his pansy head again. I've got to get the hell away from my pouf of a sire before I stick this way for good!* He stalked into the night, cursing and griping to himself at his never-ending talent for finding women who'd cause him pain.
*
Angel strode through the night like the dark predator he was. He wasn't conscious of picking any particular route, but found himself heading through a dim alley towards the Bronze for no real reason. He was knocked on his ass by his muttering childe before he knew what hit him. Spike stood above him, momentarily silenced, before smirking at his sire in a particularly nasty way.
"Hallo, you great pouf. Got yer pants all dirty, have I?" Spike pointedly didn't offer a hand up to his glowering sire. He'd been itching for a fight anyhow.
Angel rolled gracefully to his feet and glared at his irritating childe. "Where the hell have you been? And where is Buffy? What is with you two tonight, anyway?"
"Do I look like the Slayer's bloody keeper? I've more than done my share, you wanker. You can keep an eye on that murderous psychopath yourself from now on. I'm outta here. I'm not taking a pool cue to the chest before I get this blinking chip out."
"She tried to stake you? Why?" Angel growled, game face flowing outward. "What did you do to her, Spike?" He grabbed Spike by the shoulders and slammed his childe into the brick building at his back.
"Me?! Why's it always gotta be my fault, eh? She's the one went all bedlam on me. Freaked out in the middle of the Bronze with no one even touching her and nearly staked me before she even knew who I bloody was!" Spike's indignant comment sounded to Angel a he he was more insulted by the fact that Buffy nearly killed him by accident than he would have been if she'd attacked him on purpose.
Spike exploded into motion. Accompanying his verbal attack with a more direct physical one, he broke Angel's hold with an abrupt motion and kicked his sire in the gut.
Angel grunted as his non-existent breath was knocked out of him, countering by grabbing Spike's foot and twisting sharply to the left. Spike spun in midair before falling to the ground. He broke his fall with both hands and kicked Angel again with the other foot, this time in the knee. It gave a satisfying crack and Angel let go of him abruptly, falling and grabbing the damaged joint with a howl.
"I'm going to gut you for that, Boy!" he growled, glaring at Spike with golden eyes, no sign of soul present. He leapt at his childe, refusing to favor the already healing kneecap. Grabbing Spike by the arms, Angel threw him backwards into the wall before twisting one arm behind his back and up until it snapped audibly. Spike howled in anguish and sagged to his knees, cursing.
"Satan's balls, Angelus, first the Slayer nearly offs me and now you. Aahh." He growled in pain and frustration as Angel bit into his neck without a by-your-leave.
Angel drank lustily, sucking and pulling at Spike's neck until he felt his childe submit and relax against him. Slowly, he lowered Spike's arm, thrilled anew at his quickly suppressed whimper of pain. Angel strothe the snapped arm gently, before pulling Spike around into a passionate kiss. He cradled Spike's head in his large hands, stroking over the chiseled cheekbones with his thumbs and ducking to sip at the pouting lips again.
Spike sighed in pleasure, pain forgotten, as Angel coaxed his mouth open, nipping lightly at his childe's lips before delving deeper into the cool recesses of his mouth. Spike's mouth was filled with the taste of his own blood, an instant aphrodisiac after all these years with his brutal but passionate sire. He kissed Angel back, helpless in his lust, sucking hard on his sire's tongue.
Angel's mouth moved lower and he lapped hungrily at the healing punctures in Spike's neck aike ike moaned in appreciation. Angel moved his hands lower, caressing Spike's throat before moving to his chest, brushing the now erect nipples through his black t-shirt before ripping it from his body with one quick motion.
Spike groaned, "Angelus," and Angel's gentle caresses halted.
He slammed Spike against the bricks again and grabbed his face, hissing "Damn it, Spike, I'm not him. It's Angel, not Angelus. We're not the same." He glowered at his lust-dazed childe and Spike looked back, confused.
"What the hell do I care what you you yourself, Sire? You do the same things to me anyway, with soul or without," Spike growled in frustrated lust as he gave Angel a suggestive once over from top to bottom before returning his gaze to the raging hard-on straining under his sire's pants.
Angel looked shocked, his passion-filled eyes draining abruptly from golden back to dark chocolate. "I'm not him, I can't be him. This can't…I won't…" his voice trailed off weakly and he backed away from Spike. "Go back to the mansion and see if Buffy is there, Spike. Get some blood, too, you'll need it to heal that arm." Angel turned without another word and paced off into the darkness.
"Great. And what am I supposed to do with this?!" Spike yelled, trying in vain to adjust his too-tight pants around the throbbing ache in his rock-hard cock. "Fucking soul. I hate that thing. Hell and damnation." he stalked slowly back to the mansion, cursing his sire the entire way.
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.
Author's Note: The poem I quote in this chapter is "First Fig" by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Many many thanks to Kimberly for the reference.
*
Angel was done pacing. He'd had enough of waiting. He threw on his coat and went out into the darkness, searching for Buffy…for Spike…for anything tangible that he could grasp and hold or beat or shake some sense into. It didn't much matter to him which action took place as long as he could do something, anything to banish his growing sense of helplessness concerning Buffy, Spike and his entire unlife.
*
Buffy ran until she couldn't breathe from the pain in her lungs and the ache in her legs. Finally, she fell, panting, into cool, dew-covered grass and knelt there until her aching chest calmed. She looked up and realized where she was. Without thinking, she'd run to safety…she was staring up at her old house on Revello Drive. A faint light shone from the window of her old room and she was drawn to it as if by magic. She scaled the porch and climbed stealthily to the window, peeking cautiously in. There, tucked away in a four-poster bed that filled much of the small room, was a tiny, golden-haired girl. She slept peacefully in the gentle glow of a night light. Buffy stared at the child's innocent face and felt something jagged and painful break free inside her.
She moved off the porch, half climbing/half falling to the ground, and backed away from the house as if she'd seen a ghost. Looking in on the little girl jarred open every painful longing that she'd locked away deep inside her. She stood, weeping silently for her mother, her childhood, her future, her innocence...all the lost portions of a life now solely dedicated to death. Buffy turned her back on all of it and walked slowly back to the mansion with tears streaming down her face, entering and climbing the stairs to her lonely room where she closed and locked the door before crawling into bed.
She took in each breath and tried to go back to feeling nothing again. The void where her emotions had been was much more comfortable than this aching pain. She'd nearly killed Spike tonight, and could almost as easily have killed Angel, had it been him in Spike's place. She knew that she was out of control, knew that she was mourning the life she had lost, but knowing the truth and doing something about it were two very different things.
The sadness and anger raging through her body combined with the adrenaline rush and subsequent frustration from fighting in a roil of incompatible hormones coursing through her agitated body. She wasn't sure how much longer she could feel this much pain and still live. One uninterrupted day of sleep, just one…was that really too much to ask?
Buffy knew that self-pity wasn't the answer. There were others out there who'd had to deal with worse things than this. War, famine, death, disease - it was the human condition. She just didn't know how to deal with it herself.
Slaying was so easy compared to actually living. It had been simple to sink into apathy, killing and returning to the mansion to sleep. The vampires she dusted provided her with an easy release. The vampires she lived with had become her Watchers, her friends, her family *and how twisted is that, Buffy?*
Buffy felt as if she was awakening from a long sleep. Her mother's death ached rawly in her heart, as if no more than two days had passed since it happened instead of two months. Her body was clambering for attention of some kind…she'd ignored it for so long, but now it was making its needs known. The pain of unknowing rejection from her friends, who'd left with nary a care for their summer fun…left her to suffer at Faith's hands not even knowing what was going on, hurt Buffy all over again now that she was actually feeling.
They always said they'd come back, but she'd recognized that lie long ago, when first Daddy, then Merrick, then Angel left her behind. Now her mom was gone, and she could feel Giles slipping inexorably away as well. The Scoobs were growing apart as they matured and discovered that life really did go on. At least it did for them. She would stay behind in the dark until it swallowed her whole. Sometimes she wondered if Xander had really done her a favor by reviving her after her death at the Master's hands. It could have been so peaceful there with all her tasks over and someone else to take charge of saving the world…again. Buffy curled tighter into her pillow aondeondered if Faith had it right after all. Maybe "want…take…have" was the only philosophy a slayer *could* live by.
*
Spike was scared. What was it about the blasted Slayer that turned his comfortably evil ass so topsy-turvy? Hell and damnation, how was a vampire supposed to feel about her anyway? She was death personified for his kind and her beauty and strength just made her more deadly and alluring. He was called, moth to flame and felt no power to resist her. The fear of his sire's wrath meant nothing, Spike circled, ever closer to his own destruction and couldn't even find it in him to care.
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night
But oh, my foes
And ah, my friends
It gives a lovely light.
Buffy was his candle, and the light that was her - the beautiful, fragile spark that was her life made the glow of her flame all the more bright for its short duration.
*Gods and giants, listen to me now…William the Bloody Awful Poet rears his pansy head again. I've got to get the hell away from my pouf of a sire before I stick this way for good!* He stalked into the night, cursing and griping to himself at his never-ending talent for finding women who'd cause him pain.
*
Angel strode through the night like the dark predator he was. He wasn't conscious of picking any particular route, but found himself heading through a dim alley towards the Bronze for no real reason. He was knocked on his ass by his muttering childe before he knew what hit him. Spike stood above him, momentarily silenced, before smirking at his sire in a particularly nasty way.
"Hallo, you great pouf. Got yer pants all dirty, have I?" Spike pointedly didn't offer a hand up to his glowering sire. He'd been itching for a fight anyhow.
Angel rolled gracefully to his feet and glared at his irritating childe. "Where the hell have you been? And where is Buffy? What is with you two tonight, anyway?"
"Do I look like the Slayer's bloody keeper? I've more than done my share, you wanker. You can keep an eye on that murderous psychopath yourself from now on. I'm outta here. I'm not taking a pool cue to the chest before I get this blinking chip out."
"She tried to stake you? Why?" Angel growled, game face flowing outward. "What did you do to her, Spike?" He grabbed Spike by the shoulders and slammed his childe into the brick building at his back.
"Me?! Why's it always gotta be my fault, eh? She's the one went all bedlam on me. Freaked out in the middle of the Bronze with no one even touching her and nearly staked me before she even knew who I bloody was!" Spike's indignant comment sounded to Angel a he he was more insulted by the fact that Buffy nearly killed him by accident than he would have been if she'd attacked him on purpose.
Spike exploded into motion. Accompanying his verbal attack with a more direct physical one, he broke Angel's hold with an abrupt motion and kicked his sire in the gut.
Angel grunted as his non-existent breath was knocked out of him, countering by grabbing Spike's foot and twisting sharply to the left. Spike spun in midair before falling to the ground. He broke his fall with both hands and kicked Angel again with the other foot, this time in the knee. It gave a satisfying crack and Angel let go of him abruptly, falling and grabbing the damaged joint with a howl.
"I'm going to gut you for that, Boy!" he growled, glaring at Spike with golden eyes, no sign of soul present. He leapt at his childe, refusing to favor the already healing kneecap. Grabbing Spike by the arms, Angel threw him backwards into the wall before twisting one arm behind his back and up until it snapped audibly. Spike howled in anguish and sagged to his knees, cursing.
"Satan's balls, Angelus, first the Slayer nearly offs me and now you. Aahh." He growled in pain and frustration as Angel bit into his neck without a by-your-leave.
Angel drank lustily, sucking and pulling at Spike's neck until he felt his childe submit and relax against him. Slowly, he lowered Spike's arm, thrilled anew at his quickly suppressed whimper of pain. Angel strothe the snapped arm gently, before pulling Spike around into a passionate kiss. He cradled Spike's head in his large hands, stroking over the chiseled cheekbones with his thumbs and ducking to sip at the pouting lips again.
Spike sighed in pleasure, pain forgotten, as Angel coaxed his mouth open, nipping lightly at his childe's lips before delving deeper into the cool recesses of his mouth. Spike's mouth was filled with the taste of his own blood, an instant aphrodisiac after all these years with his brutal but passionate sire. He kissed Angel back, helpless in his lust, sucking hard on his sire's tongue.
Angel's mouth moved lower and he lapped hungrily at the healing punctures in Spike's neck aike ike moaned in appreciation. Angel moved his hands lower, caressing Spike's throat before moving to his chest, brushing the now erect nipples through his black t-shirt before ripping it from his body with one quick motion.
Spike groaned, "Angelus," and Angel's gentle caresses halted.
He slammed Spike against the bricks again and grabbed his face, hissing "Damn it, Spike, I'm not him. It's Angel, not Angelus. We're not the same." He glowered at his lust-dazed childe and Spike looked back, confused.
"What the hell do I care what you you yourself, Sire? You do the same things to me anyway, with soul or without," Spike growled in frustrated lust as he gave Angel a suggestive once over from top to bottom before returning his gaze to the raging hard-on straining under his sire's pants.
Angel looked shocked, his passion-filled eyes draining abruptly from golden back to dark chocolate. "I'm not him, I can't be him. This can't…I won't…" his voice trailed off weakly and he backed away from Spike. "Go back to the mansion and see if Buffy is there, Spike. Get some blood, too, you'll need it to heal that arm." Angel turned without another word and paced off into the darkness.
"Great. And what am I supposed to do with this?!" Spike yelled, trying in vain to adjust his too-tight pants around the throbbing ache in his rock-hard cock. "Fucking soul. I hate that thing. Hell and damnation." he stalked slowly back to the mansion, cursing his sire the entire way.
To be continued…