Wolf At Your Door
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,672
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,672
Reviews:
6
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.
Wolf At Your Door
Title: Wolf At Your Door
Author: Amejisuto
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (WTF?!! Yes, Spike and Buffy!)
Feedback: Please! Let me know what you think!
Concrit: by email, please
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Major Character Death. Dark fic, and umm, Het. Yes, Het.
Summary: Spike looks back on the Slayer he’s killed. This is an alternate ending to the episode Fool For Love.
Notes: Okay normally I write Spike/Xander but this started out as a joke in reply to how much Spuffy we had earlier in the Summer on live journal, but, well, I kinda liked writing this. This is kind of how I can see Spike loving, dark and to the point of obsession.
Again this is a dark fic with character death. Just so you know.
There's a wolf at your door,
He wants your money, wants your soul
A wolf at your door, you give it all, he wants more
There's a wolf at your door,
He says he's playin' for keeps
Breathin' down your neck, boy
It's sure hard to sleep
~ Meat Loaf Wolf At Your Door
He never learned the Chinese Slayer’s name. If her Watcher had taught her English she didn’t try to talk to him, not even to taunt him. Then again, by the time they danced the girl had been tired from running and fighting, both human and demon. She’d been a mere slip of a thing, barely able to keep up with him and he’d been so young at the time.
He remembered the taste of her blood to this day, the way it felt to drink it and be filled with its energy. It was like liquid sunshine after years of being in the dark. It was better than cocaine or opium or even the acid he’d drunk from one of those damn hippies in the sixties.
He and his Dark Princess had fallen to the floor and fucked right then and there, and he'd shared the Slayer’s blood that was on his fingers and in his mouth. It had been a magical night that he still remembered well over ninety years later, filled with death and sex and blood.
His second Slayer was even better. He spent the better part of a year dancing with her. She was beautiful and deadly and her dark skin would shine with sweat as they danced in the back alleys and the clubs of New York. He loved taunting her, leaving a dead body near her current safe house to get her enraged and then back away, only to find her next safe house and do the same thing.
Regretfully, their dance had to end. Drusilla and Miss Edith were upset that he spent most nights annoying the Slayer. And deep down inside Spike knew that Dru had reason to worry. The Slayer was single minded in her determination and he knew that she shared his love of the hunt. He would have loved to turn her, keep her young and strong forever.
As much as he loved Drusilla, they had their differences and she’d go haring off one place or another. Their biggest bane was the fact that she loved to play mind games, use her powers to twist human minds to help her hunt, while he loved the physical side of it, the running and the hitting and the biting. Nikki would have been a bloody wonder at that sort of thing, and he could just imagine having her strong legs wrapped around his waist after hours of playing with their food.
In the end he did as Drusilla wanted, as always. He couldn’t stand the thought of feeding from her, though; she had been a good enemy and he owed her more than that. In the end, all he took from her was her coat and the memory of an honorable enemy.
His third Slayer should have been easy. All of his sources said that she was weak. Hadn’t even been trained by the Watchers until she was called so she had no sense of destiny or duty. For fuck’s sake, she’d been a bloody cheerleader!
Except Buffy wasn’t weak. She was, in fact, one of the strongest people he’d ever known. All Slayers should be raised by Joyce Summers; the woman was strong and powerful in her own right and during his first confrontation with the Slayer her Mum had protected her with the fierceness of a mother bear.
Her friends were just as good. Or just as bad, depending on how you looked at it. A half-grown boy with hardly any skills at all except for a sense of humor but he had big brass balls and would take on anything to protect her. A small slip of a girl who hid behind her books and long red hair turned to magic and witchcraft to help her friend. Add in a Watcher that none of the other Watchers trusted because of his dark past, and they were a force to be reckoned with.
Spike always regretted that he was never able to dance with Buffy as he had with Nikki, but it was as if his unlife had been cursed with a string of bad luck. His Wicked Princess was ill and needing most of his attention.
Then came the thrice damned wheelchair and, even worse, Angelus. Not the Angelus he knew but one meaner and even more obsessed with the Slayer than Spike could ever be. And all the while in the back of his brain he wondered what it would have been like to fight her when they were both at full strength. No distractions.
It would have been fucking beautiful.
His unlife, such as it was, went even further downhill, with Dru shagging every Tom, Dick and Chaos demon. Things other demons found disgusting she spread her knees for, but whenever it was just the two of them she was more interested in bloody Miss Edith. There were nights he wanted to grab that fucking doll, run it over several times with the DeSoto, then take the bits and pieces and have them ground into powder. He fucking well hated that doll.
And then it happened. Dru called him on his fantasies of fighting the Slayer. His what if's. Said that she couldn’t be with him, that the Slayer was all around him.
Spike knew for a fact that it was true in a way, but what the fuck did she expect? Maybe if Dru had spent more time with him than that fucking doll he wouldn’t have had all that time on his hands. Time that he used to think about fighting the Slayer, how they would fight, how she would feel under him as he drank down the last drop of her blood.
The next year and a half went by in a blur. First there was drunkenness and then there was the pain of the goddamned chip.
He hated the chip. Hated how it made him weak. Made him crawl to the Slayer, not to fight her as an equal but beg for help. The fucking Scoobies taunted him, the Slayer and the whelp mostly but all of them looking down on him for being what he was. He was a vampire, he was evil. It was his nature to kill but they looked down on him for that and he hated them with a passion he didn’t know he had.
Even in the middle of his hate he couldn’t help but take the piss out of the Slayer. What should have been a physical fight of equals became snark and banter and a war of words. This he could understand, in a way, and the Slayer gave as good as she got.
Then came the dreams of fucking instead of fighting and he knew he couldn’t do that. She had Farm Boy and would never accept him as a suitor, not even if he hired someone to kill the bloody git. And god, how he hated Riley Finn. Hated him because of what he took from Spike, not just Buffy but his ability to hunt and feed for himself. Spike dreamed of the day the damned chip burned out and he could torture the ass, take out his inside bits one by one until he tore Riley’s beating heart from his chest.
But that wasn’t going to happen, at least not anytime soon, so all Spike could do was live with the dreams and engage in more verbal foreplay that never went anywhere.
Oh, but earlier tonight, just for a moment, he had hope. Even demons needed hope sometimes, it wasn’t a soul thing. He just needed to know that there was a chance for his unlife to get better, if only by a fraction.
And that had happened. Buffy had come to him. She needed his advice and his knowledge and there wasn’t another being, living or undead, that could really give her the information she needed.
The true story about how Slayers fought. How Slayers died.
Most vamps avoided the Slayer, ran from her like human children ran from the thing in the closet. She was their Bogey Man, their horror, and even Angelus avoided them when he could. Well, until he went completely bug-fucking nuts he had avoided them; after slipping the soul he had made her his hobby.
But he had fought, had danced with two. Had snuffed out their lives and left their families to pick up the pieces. Not that he cared. He didn’t think the Slayers did either; after all, they were dead. They had gone on to wherever good little Slayers who died in the line of duty go.
In the words of the Bard, they’d gone onto The Undiscovered Country, and wasn’t he getting maudlin to allow himself to even think about Shakespeare?
But it was true; Slayers worked with death, saw it a hundred times a week. Hard deaths, nasty, messy deaths. Was it any wonder that they were curious? How it felt, would they get cold or scared?
What came next?
And he told her. Told her what it was like to die, the feeling of terror and euphoria he’d felt as Drusilla, his Black Goddess, his Sire drained the life out of him. How he’d come as he died.
He’d told her of fighting the Chinese girl, and how the entire city was one big buffet of blood and anger and fear.
And he told her of dancing through the subways with Nikki. Not all of it, but enough that she knew how seductive death could be. How it called to a Slayer’s soul until she wanted it, was hungry for it. Nearly begging for it.
By the end of the evening he’d all but laid his heart at her feet. He’d bared his heart and he could smell that part of her wanted it.
Wanted him.
And what did the bloody bitch do?! Threw his fucking words right back in his face.
“You’re beneath me, Spike.”
He’d show the bint what was beneath her. He ignored Harmony’s whining and moaning; she was a stupid cow that was useful, that’s all. She had never been what he needed.
What he wanted.
At first he’d picked up the shotgun. Whatever he picked, he knew the damned chip would make him pay and it would hurt like a fucking bitch. He knew he’d be all but incapacitated when it went off. So he’d changed his mind and gone for a sniper’s rifle instead. He’d get a cleaner shot and wouldn’t be rolling around on the lawn with a headache as the Slayer’s Mum rammed a broom through his chest.
Spike found the perfect place, the roof of one of the fancier, bigger houses in the area. Through the site he could see Buffy sitting on the back porch, a look of sadness on her face as tears slowly tracked down her face.
For a moment he wanted nothing more than to put down the gun, walk up and sit down beside her and just…be there. Help her. Wrap her up in his arms and let her rest. Make everything all right.
And then her words came back to him, echoed in his ears like the tolling of a bell.
“You’re beneath me, Spike.”
The pain from the chip caused him to crumple to his knees as he pulled the trigger. The last thing that went through his mind was how now she’d be under him.
Six feet under.
~~ Fini ~~
Author: Amejisuto
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (WTF?!! Yes, Spike and Buffy!)
Feedback: Please! Let me know what you think!
Concrit: by email, please
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Major Character Death. Dark fic, and umm, Het. Yes, Het.
Summary: Spike looks back on the Slayer he’s killed. This is an alternate ending to the episode Fool For Love.
Notes: Okay normally I write Spike/Xander but this started out as a joke in reply to how much Spuffy we had earlier in the Summer on live journal, but, well, I kinda liked writing this. This is kind of how I can see Spike loving, dark and to the point of obsession.
Again this is a dark fic with character death. Just so you know.
There's a wolf at your door,
He wants your money, wants your soul
A wolf at your door, you give it all, he wants more
There's a wolf at your door,
He says he's playin' for keeps
Breathin' down your neck, boy
It's sure hard to sleep
~ Meat Loaf Wolf At Your Door
He never learned the Chinese Slayer’s name. If her Watcher had taught her English she didn’t try to talk to him, not even to taunt him. Then again, by the time they danced the girl had been tired from running and fighting, both human and demon. She’d been a mere slip of a thing, barely able to keep up with him and he’d been so young at the time.
He remembered the taste of her blood to this day, the way it felt to drink it and be filled with its energy. It was like liquid sunshine after years of being in the dark. It was better than cocaine or opium or even the acid he’d drunk from one of those damn hippies in the sixties.
He and his Dark Princess had fallen to the floor and fucked right then and there, and he'd shared the Slayer’s blood that was on his fingers and in his mouth. It had been a magical night that he still remembered well over ninety years later, filled with death and sex and blood.
His second Slayer was even better. He spent the better part of a year dancing with her. She was beautiful and deadly and her dark skin would shine with sweat as they danced in the back alleys and the clubs of New York. He loved taunting her, leaving a dead body near her current safe house to get her enraged and then back away, only to find her next safe house and do the same thing.
Regretfully, their dance had to end. Drusilla and Miss Edith were upset that he spent most nights annoying the Slayer. And deep down inside Spike knew that Dru had reason to worry. The Slayer was single minded in her determination and he knew that she shared his love of the hunt. He would have loved to turn her, keep her young and strong forever.
As much as he loved Drusilla, they had their differences and she’d go haring off one place or another. Their biggest bane was the fact that she loved to play mind games, use her powers to twist human minds to help her hunt, while he loved the physical side of it, the running and the hitting and the biting. Nikki would have been a bloody wonder at that sort of thing, and he could just imagine having her strong legs wrapped around his waist after hours of playing with their food.
In the end he did as Drusilla wanted, as always. He couldn’t stand the thought of feeding from her, though; she had been a good enemy and he owed her more than that. In the end, all he took from her was her coat and the memory of an honorable enemy.
His third Slayer should have been easy. All of his sources said that she was weak. Hadn’t even been trained by the Watchers until she was called so she had no sense of destiny or duty. For fuck’s sake, she’d been a bloody cheerleader!
Except Buffy wasn’t weak. She was, in fact, one of the strongest people he’d ever known. All Slayers should be raised by Joyce Summers; the woman was strong and powerful in her own right and during his first confrontation with the Slayer her Mum had protected her with the fierceness of a mother bear.
Her friends were just as good. Or just as bad, depending on how you looked at it. A half-grown boy with hardly any skills at all except for a sense of humor but he had big brass balls and would take on anything to protect her. A small slip of a girl who hid behind her books and long red hair turned to magic and witchcraft to help her friend. Add in a Watcher that none of the other Watchers trusted because of his dark past, and they were a force to be reckoned with.
Spike always regretted that he was never able to dance with Buffy as he had with Nikki, but it was as if his unlife had been cursed with a string of bad luck. His Wicked Princess was ill and needing most of his attention.
Then came the thrice damned wheelchair and, even worse, Angelus. Not the Angelus he knew but one meaner and even more obsessed with the Slayer than Spike could ever be. And all the while in the back of his brain he wondered what it would have been like to fight her when they were both at full strength. No distractions.
It would have been fucking beautiful.
His unlife, such as it was, went even further downhill, with Dru shagging every Tom, Dick and Chaos demon. Things other demons found disgusting she spread her knees for, but whenever it was just the two of them she was more interested in bloody Miss Edith. There were nights he wanted to grab that fucking doll, run it over several times with the DeSoto, then take the bits and pieces and have them ground into powder. He fucking well hated that doll.
And then it happened. Dru called him on his fantasies of fighting the Slayer. His what if's. Said that she couldn’t be with him, that the Slayer was all around him.
Spike knew for a fact that it was true in a way, but what the fuck did she expect? Maybe if Dru had spent more time with him than that fucking doll he wouldn’t have had all that time on his hands. Time that he used to think about fighting the Slayer, how they would fight, how she would feel under him as he drank down the last drop of her blood.
The next year and a half went by in a blur. First there was drunkenness and then there was the pain of the goddamned chip.
He hated the chip. Hated how it made him weak. Made him crawl to the Slayer, not to fight her as an equal but beg for help. The fucking Scoobies taunted him, the Slayer and the whelp mostly but all of them looking down on him for being what he was. He was a vampire, he was evil. It was his nature to kill but they looked down on him for that and he hated them with a passion he didn’t know he had.
Even in the middle of his hate he couldn’t help but take the piss out of the Slayer. What should have been a physical fight of equals became snark and banter and a war of words. This he could understand, in a way, and the Slayer gave as good as she got.
Then came the dreams of fucking instead of fighting and he knew he couldn’t do that. She had Farm Boy and would never accept him as a suitor, not even if he hired someone to kill the bloody git. And god, how he hated Riley Finn. Hated him because of what he took from Spike, not just Buffy but his ability to hunt and feed for himself. Spike dreamed of the day the damned chip burned out and he could torture the ass, take out his inside bits one by one until he tore Riley’s beating heart from his chest.
But that wasn’t going to happen, at least not anytime soon, so all Spike could do was live with the dreams and engage in more verbal foreplay that never went anywhere.
Oh, but earlier tonight, just for a moment, he had hope. Even demons needed hope sometimes, it wasn’t a soul thing. He just needed to know that there was a chance for his unlife to get better, if only by a fraction.
And that had happened. Buffy had come to him. She needed his advice and his knowledge and there wasn’t another being, living or undead, that could really give her the information she needed.
The true story about how Slayers fought. How Slayers died.
Most vamps avoided the Slayer, ran from her like human children ran from the thing in the closet. She was their Bogey Man, their horror, and even Angelus avoided them when he could. Well, until he went completely bug-fucking nuts he had avoided them; after slipping the soul he had made her his hobby.
But he had fought, had danced with two. Had snuffed out their lives and left their families to pick up the pieces. Not that he cared. He didn’t think the Slayers did either; after all, they were dead. They had gone on to wherever good little Slayers who died in the line of duty go.
In the words of the Bard, they’d gone onto The Undiscovered Country, and wasn’t he getting maudlin to allow himself to even think about Shakespeare?
But it was true; Slayers worked with death, saw it a hundred times a week. Hard deaths, nasty, messy deaths. Was it any wonder that they were curious? How it felt, would they get cold or scared?
What came next?
And he told her. Told her what it was like to die, the feeling of terror and euphoria he’d felt as Drusilla, his Black Goddess, his Sire drained the life out of him. How he’d come as he died.
He’d told her of fighting the Chinese girl, and how the entire city was one big buffet of blood and anger and fear.
And he told her of dancing through the subways with Nikki. Not all of it, but enough that she knew how seductive death could be. How it called to a Slayer’s soul until she wanted it, was hungry for it. Nearly begging for it.
By the end of the evening he’d all but laid his heart at her feet. He’d bared his heart and he could smell that part of her wanted it.
Wanted him.
And what did the bloody bitch do?! Threw his fucking words right back in his face.
“You’re beneath me, Spike.”
He’d show the bint what was beneath her. He ignored Harmony’s whining and moaning; she was a stupid cow that was useful, that’s all. She had never been what he needed.
What he wanted.
At first he’d picked up the shotgun. Whatever he picked, he knew the damned chip would make him pay and it would hurt like a fucking bitch. He knew he’d be all but incapacitated when it went off. So he’d changed his mind and gone for a sniper’s rifle instead. He’d get a cleaner shot and wouldn’t be rolling around on the lawn with a headache as the Slayer’s Mum rammed a broom through his chest.
Spike found the perfect place, the roof of one of the fancier, bigger houses in the area. Through the site he could see Buffy sitting on the back porch, a look of sadness on her face as tears slowly tracked down her face.
For a moment he wanted nothing more than to put down the gun, walk up and sit down beside her and just…be there. Help her. Wrap her up in his arms and let her rest. Make everything all right.
And then her words came back to him, echoed in his ears like the tolling of a bell.
“You’re beneath me, Spike.”
The pain from the chip caused him to crumple to his knees as he pulled the trigger. The last thing that went through his mind was how now she’d be under him.
Six feet under.
~~ Fini ~~