“I knew it wouldn’t last, Slayer.” Spike growled into her ear, his erection pressed into her belly. “You can’t stay away from me – can’t resist me.”
Buffy shoved him against the stone wall of the crypt, pushing down all the feelings of disgust his voice arose in her. She ignored the guilt and the shame as she fumbled with the zipper on his leather pants, concentrating instead only on the heat building between her legs. When he was inside her it would be okay, she could forget all about weddings, and love and living happily ever after. He would remind her that this was all she was – death and pain and darkness – that this was all she had to expect from the rest of her existence.
“You know I hate all this foreplay crap,” she muttered roughly. “Just hurry up and do it already.”
“Do what?” he smiled wickedly, sliding a hand across the taffeta bodice of the bridesmaid’s dress she was wearing and squeezing her nipple tightly between his finger and thumb.
“Fuck me, moron,” she yanked his pants down further and kissed him roughly on the lips.
“You’re going to have to ask me nicer than that,” he pulled away, teasing. “I wanna hear you beg me for it, Summers.”
Buffy stepped back, horrified. “Go to Hell.”
Spike lunged after her retreating form, grabbing her around the waist and tackling her to the floor. “Or we could just forget that idea and screw.”
“Stop talking,” she commanded, grabbing him by the shoulders and covering his mouth with her own. Buffy closed her eyes tight as his icy fingers lifted her skirts, ripping away her flimsy panties in a single movement. She hated him, hated herself, even as she opened her legs for him, wrapping her thighs around his hips, inviting him in.
He thrust into her and it was like a release, like drugs pulsing through her system as bright white stars began to build before her eyes. Maybe Spike was right, maybe she was addicted, just the same as Willow in her own way, hooked on the rush, on the one tiny bit of pleasure she still had in her so called life. At that moment it was all about her, all about coming closer and closer to that edge she was constantly seeking, all about the little deaths she felt every time he made her come.
And yet still it wasn’t enough. There was no room for the mundane in her life anymore. She’d tried that with Riley, a fuzzy nothingness that left her restless and unsatisfied, her insides itching for more. She just wanted to feel, but it was taking more and more just to break through the barriers she’d built up around herself. Perfect happiness and perfect despair were all that were left for her anymore. Tiny glimpses of what had been then and was now, breaking through the endless grey that filled her world.
Spike could never be heaven, she knew that. Not with eyes that leered instead of caressed and a touch that was far colder than just body temperature could create. But he wasn’t quite Hell yet either. For all that he claimed to be evil he still whispered words of love into her ear, still called her ‘his girl’. She didn’t need that, couldn’t handle it. She didn’t want to be loved anymore, with love came too much responsibility, too much pain, too much loss. She wasn’t here with Spike now for him to hold her and make it all better – she was here because he tasted like death and blood, and that’s all she wanted anymore.
It was the demon she was rutting with on the dusty stone floor, not the man.
“Bite me, Spike.” the words were jarred out of her mouth as his hips crashed into hers. “I know you want to. I know you’ve dreamed about this. Bite me.”
His face turned ridged and golden eyes peered hazily down into hers. “Slayer…” he mumbled before sinking his fangs deep into her throat.
Yes… Buffy tipped her head back, feeling her eyeballs roll upwards in their sockets against her tightly shut lids. This was it, this was the feeling she had been searching for. Not just touching the darkness, but being consumed by it, working her way ever closer towards peace and oblivion as her life’s energy flowed out of her.
//“Blood
is life, lunkhead. It makes you warm. Keeps you hard… ‘Course it’s gonna be her
blood.”//
She came with a shudder that tensed every one of her muscles, clenching tight around Spike as he spilled into her. Her heart began to race, pumping crimson liquid out through her veins and into Spike’s mouth, even to the very last still betraying her.
Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Buffy heard the crash of wood splintering. Spike’s mouth tore from her throat, his teeth leaving a jagged hole that trickled blood down her neck. He rolled off her, fumbling for his clothes. Dazed and confused, she twisted her head in the direction of the noise, wincing with the movement.
“What the FUCK is going on here? Get the hell away from her!”
The booming voice echoed through the empty crypt and Buffy’s formerly thumping heart seemed almost to stop beating in pure shame and horror.
“Xander…” she whispered.
* * * * *
Anya gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Everything was perfect. The dress was exquisite, with a tight silk bodice that showed just enough cleavage to tantalise, but not too much to be unfit to go to church in, and a huge full skirt made from hundreds of yards of scrunchy, frothy net that rustled when she walked. She looked just like all the pictures in those magazines she’d been poring over for the past few months, caught mid-way between a meringue and a fairy princess. The perfect bride.
She’d even had her hair done for the occasion, twisted into loose ringlets – just the way Xander liked it – and pinned elegantly back off her face with the fixings of her lacy veil. Her make-up was flawless, her shoes were far too pretty to be remotely comfortable and her newly manicured nails tightly gripped the stems of a stunning bouquet of fresh flowers – roses, lilies and carnations, all twisted up together with shiny leaves of dark green ivy.
But none of that mattered anymore. All the details she’d put so much effort into suddenly weren’t worth a damn. All the plans she’d made and the dreams she’d had, had now fallen apart. There wasn’t going to be a wedding today. She wouldn’t marry Xander and live happily ever after with the beautiful children and the clapperboard house and all the money he promised he’d make for her.
Instead she wasn’t even sure if there was still going to be a her and Xander at the moment. Or if she could ever even forgive him for what he did to her. And it was all Buffy’s fault. She had to be the centre of attention all the time, couldn’t stand the thought of someone else being more important than her, just for a day even. That was all Anya had wanted, just a couple of hours where everyone was looking at her, smiling at her, talking about how lucky she was to be with a wonderful man like Xander, indulging in all those ridiculous human customs they seem to associate with two people pledging their lives to one another. But Buffy had to go and take it all away from her, didn’t she? Not content with destroying her own life, she had to go and ruin everyone else’s in the process.
And Xander – Xander who had spent the past two years telling Anya how much he loved her, how he was over Buffy, had moved on from her completely – now he was the one destroying their entire wedding because of her. He the one who was with Buffy right now trying to sort out her problems when his own fiancées pain should have been far more important to him.
Anya kept on staring into the glass, watching steadily as tears began to spill over her lashes, running down her face in large, heavy droplets and smudging away her perfect mascara as they fell.
* * * * *
“I’m going to stake him,” Xander paced back and forth across the room, his ruffled dress shirt open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I’m going to kill the bastard even deader than he’s been for the last 130 years!”
“Xander,” Tara spoke hesitantly. “Maybe you should – ”
“Calm down?” he interrupted. “Not going to happen. Not until Spike’s dust. Somebody tell me why I didn’t kill him on the spot.”
“Maybe it’s because you knew you needed to hear the back story before rushing in and doing something you’d regret later,” Tara laid a calming hand on his arm.
Xander shrugged her off and whirled around to face Buffy sat silently in the corner, still wearing the soiled and ripped bridesmaid dress, a stark white bandage taped to her neck. “No,” he shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it was just the shock of seeing Spike naked.” He sighed deeply, addressing Buffy. “How…why…what…? No, wait, I’m not even going to bother asking the question, there’s obviously no answer I’m gonna like.”
“And that’s supposed to bother me, why?” Buffy asked, the calmness of her words betrayed by the shaking voice in which she uttered them. “I don’t live my life for you Xander – it shouldn’t matter whether or not you approve of the choices I make.”
“The choices you make?” he mocked. “You make it sound like you’re deciding what flavour of ice cream to have or what pair of shoes to wear, not…not…” he trailed off.
“Not letting a soulless demon fuck me to death?” Buffy supplied. A shocked silence filled the room. “Well somebody had to say it, didn’t they?” she continued. “I can’t just carry on like everything’s okay anymore. I c-can’t…”
“And you shouldn’t have to,” Tara reassured her softly. “We’re here to help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Do what?” Xander resumed pacing. “Live? Everybody has to do that alone, remember? And somehow we all manage to without turning to demons to get us off. Or is this just a vampire thing for you – first Angel, then Dracula, now Spike. Why don’t you start putting an ad out: anyone without a pulse is welcome in Buffy’s pants.”
Buffy flew out of her chair, barely controlled rage burning in her eyes. “How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you pass judgement on me? You know nothing about what I’m feeling, about what I’m going through!”
“No, you’re wrong,” Xander squared up to Buffy, less than six inches away from the girl he’d been unrequitedly then fraternally in love with for the past six years; the girl he could barely recognise anymore. “I know more than you think, more than I ever wanted to.”
They stood in silence, staring each other out, two best friends separated by a gulf of circumstance and understanding. Animosity crackled in the air, tension filling the living room of the Summers’ residence, shattered only by Willow’s small voice coming hesitantly from the other side of the room.
“I-I don’t understand, I thought everything was getting better. I know things were hard for a while, but I thought you were okay now.” Her voice carried a hint of desperation. This was Buffy they were talking about; Buffy the strongest one of them all, Buffy the girl who could deal with anything the Hellmouth threw at her, who quipped in the face of mortal danger; Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If Buffy couldn’t cope, then what hope was left for the rest of them?
Buffy seemed to deflate suddenly, the anger inside her being replaced with an emotion it was almost shocking to see in her – helplessness.
“I’m sorry, Will,” her insides felt like they were collapsing in on themselves and she stumbled back onto the sofa. The same sofa her mother had died on, the thought registered involuntarily in the back of her mind. “I’ve let everyone down – I’m sorry…”
Xander backed away in confusion, he wasn’t sure he understood either, despite his angry words. How had things come to this? Just a couple of hours ago everything had seemed great. Today was his wedding day and all he had wanted to do was make sure all the people he cared about were there to share it with him. When Buffy had gone missing this morning, somewhere between her house and his apartment, he’d only dropped by Spike’s crypt on the slim chance he might know about some Slayer business that could have distracted her. In fact, she hadn’t even been that late to meet him, he’d just been looking for an excuse to get out of the apartment and away from his interfering relatives. He’d never really believed Buffy wouldn’t turn up eventually; of course she would have come. She was just that kind of person – the reliable kind, the kind who could always do the right thing and always be there for you. Or at least he had thought she was…until now.
He felt a small twinge of guilt – maybe they had been expecting too much from her recently. After all she’d been through a lot, what with Joyce’s death and her own death, then being pulled out of heaven to a life where she not only had to look after a sister and a home but also take the time out to save the world. He pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away. Buffy was supposed to be able to handle all that herself, she was The Chosen One; she was special, stronger than anybody else he knew. And it wasn’t as if they had been helping her along the way. Everyone pitched in with the slayage and with Dawnie, and Xander was even cancelling his wedding today because of her.
His wedding. It was virtually the first time he had spared a thought for Anya since discovering Buffy doing…well, something he couldn’t even bear to put into words in his head, just the memory of the horrific images he had been faced with ((naked Spike…urgh)) was enough to have to deal with. He hadn’t even spoken to Ahn about it yet, had just sent a message with a curious Dawn that Buffy was in trouble and the wedding would have to be postponed until another day. Anya would be fine though, he was almost sure of it. They loved each other – that was all that mattered – and they could get married anytime. As long as Ahn got to keep the dress and the presents she wouldn’t mind the actual ceremony being put off a few weeks…or a few months, considering how bad Buffy seemed to be at the moment.
He took a hesitant step towards her, unsure of what to do next. Should he still be mad with her or should he be trying to understand? He was no good at dealing with distressed women, his general tactic was just to make jokes and try to cheer them up, but this wasn’t exactly a laughing matter. His eyes met Willow’s, his general source of advice on all issues female, but all he saw in her was an equal amount of confusion and loss. He was going to have to try and tackle this one on his own.
“Buffy…” he began, reaching a hand out to hesitantly touch her on the shoulder. But before he could get any further Dawn breathlessly burst into the room.
He quickly drew back again, twisting around as he did so. “Not now, Dawn.”
“But it’s important,” she protested.
“Just leave Dawn,” Buffy interrupted in a strangled voice. “Go back upstairs – please.”
She fixed her sister with a stony gaze. “Like I can’t hear the yelling from up there anyway.”
Buffy seemed to withdrawn even further into herself, cowering back into the couch cushions, her face turning a pale shade of grey.
“Maybe you should go anyway,” Tara offered softly. “Everyone’s a bit upset here and it’s better if you don’t get involved.”
The teenager’s eyes flicked over to Tara and then back to Buffy, her expression cool and disdainful. “I don’t think I want to get involved,” she pouted, her hostile mood then turning suddenly back to panic as she heard a sound on the stairs. “Whatever,” she continued. “It’s not that I came to tell you about – it’s Anya.” She addressed Xander. “She’s real upset. She says she’s leaving. That since there wasn’t a wedding today there’s not going to be one ever.”
Xander’s heart seemed to flip in his chest, his mouth falling open at Dawn’s words, which were quickly reinforced by Anya stomping into the room still wearing her wedding dress and dragging a bulging suitcase behind her.
“Goodbye everybody,” she announced dramatically. “It has been an enjoyable experience knowing you – apart from the multiple occasions where I was nearly killed by various demons because of my association with you. But I shall endeavour to forget those times and remember our acquaintance in a more positive light.” She turned to go, then hesitated before leaving. “By the way, Buffy – I’m afraid I took some of your clothes, since I didn’t want to have to go back to Xander’s – ” she spat the word out with contempt – “to get the rest of mine. I didn’t think you’d be needing them, since you’ll be mostly naked for all that sex you’re having with Spike.”
With that parting shot, she spun around on her heel and stormed out of the door.
Xander stood in stunned silence for a second or two, then hurried after her. “Anya!” he called, managing to catch hold of her arm as she stumbled across the front yard in her white satin, pearl-beaded, four-inch-heeled sandals. “Wait! Please, can we talk about this?”
“I thought you were too busy talking to Buffy right now,” she snapped back at him.
“I’m sorry,” he let go of her arm. “I’m sorry I had to ruin our wedding for this. But it’s serious, she’s really a mess…”
“She’s having sex with someone she shouldn’t be,” Anya interrupted. “People do it everyday. I did it for two years!” Her face softened as she saw the hurt on Xander’s face and began to regret her comment. “I didn’t really mean that,” she sighed. “See, now I feel bad for hurting you when you hurt me far worse first. I can’t cope with this love stuff – it’s too complicated, and there’s far too much breaking of hearts.”
“But that’s what it’s about,” Xander argued. “Screwing up then forgiving each other. Fixing each other’s hearts after you break them. Taking what you had and putting it back together again…making it better.”
Anya shook her head. “I can’t keep doing that. I want something that works right away, something that doesn’t leave me feeling like someone ripped open my chest and poured boiling oil in there. And if I can’t find it then…” she shrugged. “I spent eleven hundred years on my own, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage another fifty.”
“But what about me,” Xander asked desperately. “I love you. I want us to be together.”
“But we don’t work. I can’t stay here and try to fit in with your friends who don’t even like me in the first place.”
“They like you,” he protested weakly.
Anya shook her head. “They like you. They put up with me. And they’re just too big a part of you life for me to ever get over that – I think today proved it once and for all.” She held out her hand to shake Xander’s, exhibiting a stiff kind of formality. “Thank you for all the orgasms you gave me. I’ll always remember you.” Then she walked away, flagging down the first car that passed by on the road and climbing in, demanding that the driver take her to the bus station.
Xander closed his eyes against the sight of her leaving his life, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of tears welling up against his tightly shut lids.
How had the happiest day of his life suddenly turned into the worst?