|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| FATHER CHRISTMAS | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| A Secret Spike Gift | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| For Bree | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| BY-Bree's Secret Spike 1stRab-id | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| STORY - For and somewhat about Bree | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| RATING- G, PG, R, NC-17 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| COUPLE - B/S but lots of S/D too though not shipperishly | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| REQUEST - A Dramedy | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| SPOILERS - Up to WRECKED | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| MY BETAS - The AIGTeers, Carrie, Sabrina, Nauti, Rilla and also MKStatz | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| CANON COMMENT: Re: Spike and siring (with Ford or Sheila).� Nauti caught me out on this already...but I didn't miss anything there (Ford was with dozens of other vamps and Sheila was with Dru).� I could easily be wrong, but this is my take on Siring for this fic.� And I would challenge you to prove something different but remember...because something was insinuated doesn't mean it ACTUALLY happened. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| DISCLAIMER - Suddenly I own it all...no just kidding...still Joss and Co. and UPN and Fox TV and Mutant Enemy, et al...definately NOT ME! | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| PART FIVE | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Buffy woke to an aching emptiness.� She was alone in her mind...alone in her body.� She was no longer filled with her lover's cold flesh.� He was no longer thrusting into her thoughts.� She reached out, her hand smoothing the rumpled surface of the sheet and blanket.� Her bed was empty, too.� She sat up, checking the rest of the room.� Spike was gone.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| A rumble of engine noise drew her to the window.� She arrived in time to see Spike's bike pull away from the house.� He hesitated at the end of the driveway.� Buffy placed her fingertips against an icy pane, cupping her hand around him.� For a moment she seemed to hold him under her palm, like a butterfly under glass and then his motorcycle roared out into the street.�� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| She watched as he passed beneath the glow of the streetlight on the corner of Revello Drive.� He disappeared into the darkness, the night quickly swallowing up the sound of his motorcycle.� Hugging herself against the chill, Buffy stumbled back to bed.� She tried not to care that he'd left her.� Then she tried to be angry.�� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| She told herself she had every right to be furious with Spike.� He had assaulted her.� He had entered her mind, accessing her private thoughts.� He had forced her to submit to his will.� Buffy knew she should hate him for the violation but all she could manage was a deep sense of loss.� Shaking, cold and lonely, she curled up in a tight ball in the center of the bed. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| He had made a mistake.� Spike acknowledged it privately as he drove away.� He hadn't realized how serious a mistake it was until he'd tried to leave.� The siren's call of the Sire Bond was blaring inside him.� He paused at the curb outside the Summers' house, gunning his engine. �He needed to stay with his love, the bond screamed.� He needed to keep her safe.� Turn her; feed on her, flow into her.� They loved each other.� He knew it was true even if she refused to admit it.� She was his.� And the urge to complete the siring was more primal than appetite. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| It was a new experience for him.� He had never sired anyone.� Spike wasn't one for elevating the livestock.�� Never met anyone he fancied living forever at his expense.� And frankly, it had never been necessary.� Dru was a prolific breeder.� She had kept them hip deep in unwanted minions without Spike's help.� But he knew what was expected of him.� It was instinctive, the drive to procreate.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The Sire bond turned lover into offspring.� It helped perpetuate the species. But it went beyond that.� It connected all of his kind, generation to generation.� They were, in a sense, one demon.� It was the simplest form of reproduction, the division of self.� And once the bond was invoked it was always consummated.� It wasn't supposed to be temporary.� It was eternal.� Not a test of fidelity but fidelity itself.� Infinitely more binding than "'til death do us part." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Bloody fool," Spike snarled inwardly, "leg-shackled yourself to the Slayer.� Not enough of a slave to her already?� Had to make it worse?� Had to burn her soddin' brand into your flesh?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike had no idea how long he sat, with his motorcycle idling, outside his crypt.� He didn't know when he'd arrived.� He remembered nothing of the trip to the cemetery.� His mind had been filled with images of red death and tenderness.� His mouth watered and his body ached.� When he stepped out of the saddle, he nearly collapsed.� His knees buckled and he, quickly, widened his stance, bracing himself against the bike.� Panting, head hanging low, he stood there. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| God, if he went back now...if he took her...?� Spike's heart and mind rebelled against the thought even as his demon voiced the demand.� He must take her.� It was no longer a question of if, only when and how.� She was his; his Mistress, his Daughter, and his love.� The same blood flowed in their veins.� She would fight him but he would pull her down in time.� Spike knew one day he would remake Buffy in his image. And he was horrified at the thought of it. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| He needed a distraction.� Something to return him to the semblance of humanity, something loving, something, in short, far removed from the cold-blooded monster he knew himself to be.�� Spike needed to focus on the task that had driven him back to his crypt. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Hey," a familiar voice twanged, "whatcha doin' back here?� Don't tell me she threw you out on Christmas Eve? Man, that is cold-hearte-ehhhgk," Larry squeaked, backing hastily away as the beam of his flashlight picked up the amber fire in the vampire's eyes. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Forehead casting bumpy shadows and white teeth glinting in the moonlight, Spike stalked the groundskeeper.� Larry two-stepped around tombstones in a complicated dance of avoidance. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Uhm...look, Spike...we go back a long way," he babbled, "...you and me.... and I know you don't want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendshiiiiYEAACK!" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The little man tripped over a sprinkler head and went down.� Spike was on him in a heartbeat.� His fingers curled like talons, cutting into Larry's arms, dragging him upright.� The vampire leaned in close.� Chilled breath crawled along the groundskeeper's skin as Spike spoke in a low menacing growl. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "I need a Christmas present," he said. "Fast!� Tonight!� Who do you know?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "It's a junkyard," Spike said.� He cast a dubious eye on the high wooden fence lit by his motorcycle's single headlight and the double beams of the cemetery station wagon.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Yep," Larry agreed, happily, his head half out the car window.� "Better hours than the Sunnydale Mall. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The groundskeeper shut off the car, climbed out and slammed the door.� After a moment's hesitation, Spike knocked down the kickstand.� He cut his engine and stepped off the bike, adjusting a black duffle on his back with one hand as he pulled his 12-gauge from the motorcycle's holster with the other.� He still felt off.� He struggled with the bloodlust as he watched Larry ramble over to the barbwire-topped fence.� The groundskeeper pressed his finger on a button next to the gated entrance, holding it down.� A buzzer blared in the distance.� Dogs barked and snarled on the other side of the gate.� Spike snarled back. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Doesn't quite have that mall atmosphere," he commented, peering through a crack in the fence.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Well," Larry shrugged, when he finally released the button, "it's like I told you, Spike, this ain't the best time to go shopping.� But my buddy, Darrell, is a night watchman here.� Lives in...sweet deal...got a little place set up and all.� And he has this side business in nearly-new and previously-owned merchandise." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Yeah," Spike said, turning a very toothy smile on the man, "but I'm not looking for a set of hubcaps.� I need something nice.� Tasteful. Something for a young lady." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "You'd be surprised what people leave in their cars, Spike.� 'Specially the DUI's that need late night towing.� Lots of fine things just laying around on the seat or in the trunk." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Thought the police took that stuff into custody," Spike said, carelessly.� "Being evidence and all?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Nah," a deep masculine voice growled, from behind the fence, "not in Sunnydale." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| A large black dog with a nail-studded collar barked furiously, lunging up behind the man as he opened the gate.� He swatted it hard; eliciting a sharp yelp, "Shut the Fuck up, you stupid mutt," he roared at the beast before turning back to his visitors.� "Cops'll come by in the morning and go over a tow sometimes," he continued,� "I'm not suppose to touch 'em 'til they give the okay."� He laughed, heartily, at this idea. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The newcomer was a dark, heavy-set man with two days growth of beard and three days worth of body odor.� A motor-oil stained t-shirt made a valiant effort but didn't quite cover the expanse of his belly.� He scratched the hairy skin of his abdomen as he ran a critical eye over Spike. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "So, Larry here tells me you gotta do a little last minute shopping," he said, chuckling again.� He waved one beefy arm, pointing down a darkened corridor between smashed vehicles, "Come on in, I'll fix you right up." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "My aren't you the jolly old elf," Spike muttered, as he trailed after Darrell and Larry. "Shame I don't still have those Santa Pants to trade." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The unlikely trio wandered through a maze of crushed vehicles stacked twelve feet high.� Spike tried to ignore the claustrophobic feeling that tingled through him.� He looked back at the distant gate and caught the red wink of 2-dozen pairs of eyes.� Small things watching from the shadows; dogs, cats, rats or maybe Santa's little helpers.� Spike tightened his grip on his shotgun as a wave of paranoia swept over him. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Darrell and Larry stopped and waited at the center of the web of connecting passageways.� As Spike drew closer he noticed that what appeared to be a random pile of junk was actually a cottage. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Home sweet home," Darrell announced, waving them ahead of him. "Ya'll come on in out of this harsh winter night." He laughed again, his belly rolling.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike wrestled with the urge to cut and run as he approached the shed.� The door was narrow and the ceiling was low.� Ducking to avoid the steep slanted beams overhead, Spike entered Darrell's lair.� The place smelled like the man that owned it only more so.� It was close inside and cluttered with all manner of machinery, gutted appliances and crates of car parts.� Greasy, yellowed newspapers tied in twine were stacked to the ceiling.� Drawers and bins and boxes were filled to overflowing with bottle caps, string, nuts, bolts, gears and other less easily identifiable things.� At the center of it all was an overstuffed recliner and a huge entertainment console.� A scuttle of movement drew the vampire's eye to a dining table half-buried under empty beer cans and old plates apparently being picked clean by the cockroaches. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Think I've seen enough," Spike said, turning on his heel to leave.� The massive body of Darrell was blocking the exit.� The man needed to loose a few pounds or add a few inches to the doorway.� A low growl rumbled in Spike's throat; the hairs bristled up on his arms.� He could feel the warm flood of Buffy stirring in his belly, urging him to attack. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Now, don't be coming over all queasy on us, Spike," Larry soothed.� "Darrell may not be the best housekeeper in the world but he's got an eye for what will fence." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike searched the confines of the tiny room with mounting apprehension.� He and Larry were standing well back as the fat man huffed and heaved himself into the cramped space.� The vampire checked for another exit, just in case.� He found one.� There was a dormer style skylight halfway up the slanted roof.� Spike relaxed slightly, still high on Slayer blood but less of a trapped predator now that he had an escape route. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Right then," he snapped, placing his shotgun on the table and trying to ignore his radical internal swings from euphoria to paranoia.� "Let's get on with it.� I need a gift.� Something special.� For a young lady." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "He's in the dog house," Larry supplied, earning a glare from the vampire and a murmur of denial. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "How bad?" Darrell asked, edging past Spike to lift down a plastic bin from one of the many stacks.� "For the royal fuck up, I got a really nice fur from a totaled Mercedes tow last Tuesday...fox...size 16." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Is that real small?" Larry frowned.�"'Cause his old lady wouldn't overflow a rain barrel...little slip of a thing." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Look here," Spike said, trying again for coherent communication, "you got the wrong end of this.� I need a present for..." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Petite, huh?" Darrell considered, caught up in the problem and ignoring Spike in favor of the more familiar Larry. "Not clothes then.� Don't have nothing decent smaller than a eight...'cept a few leather items."� He addressed the vampire over one ample shoulder, ass in the air as he shoved through the clutter, "Your woman?� She into that sort of thing? Studded collars? Thongs?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike stood very still while he contemplated the corpulent man through dangerously narrowed eyes.� On the one hand, Buffy in a studded collar was a wonderful idea...inspired really...he could picture her vividly...stripped to the barest essentials...moaning beneath him...manacled to the head of her bed...but on the other hand... | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "What the bloody hell kind of question is that?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Okay," Darrell said, calmly.� "I'll take that as a no...can't blame a fella, though!� By the look of you...I thought maybe...." He let the sentence trail off.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Larry was nodding in sage agreement with his buddy's remarks but as Spike shot him a baleful look he held up a placating hand, "Nothing against her, Spike...beautiful little girl, sweet as springtime to look at...I'm just saying," he shrugged in helpless apology, "she's kind of a street fighter, you know?� Last month, I saw her take on three of your sort and lay them out cold...nothing but net." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike felt that sense of duality take him again as he contemplated Buffy's extraordinary skill at hand-to-hand.� Mental images of flesh impacting flesh assaulted him...sensory memories of rib-cracking punches merged with those of slender fingers thrusting deep into his core.� He needed to be with her...he needed out of this stinking hole...he needed...blood and sex and death...sweet violence, like honey full of stinging bees...and... | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Darrell had returned to rummaging in assorted cardboard boxes, but he broke off at Larry's final comment to ask, "She the physical type?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Hey, now," Spike blinked, snapping back into reality with his mind so far in the gutter it couldn't see over the curb, "you really need to watch your mou..." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Sports, I mean," Darrell said, pulling a tennis racket out from behind a dishwasher carcass. "Does she need any new equipment?� I got rackets, weights, gym bags and shoes. Lots of shoes.� And a fine pair of skis came in yesterday..." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Must work out," Larry commented. "Seen her throw a huge ax near 20 feet once...using only one hand, too.� But I'm not sure he should get her any thing sharp...it's bad luck...'specially if she's likely to use it on him." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Okay, that's ENOUGH," Spike barked, coming out from under the influence for a minute.� "Present's not for BUFFY...it's for her sister." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Oh, Spike," Larry cautioned, "Sisters are bad news. You don't want to go there." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike gaped at the man and then rolled his eyes heavenward.� He opened his mouth to explain, considered his impaired senses and thought better of it.� Instead, he unzipped his duffle and upended it into the seat of the recliner.� A number of beautiful crystals and magical texts and amulets tumbled out of the bag.� Darrell levered himself up and shuffled over to peer at the vampire's offering. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Not much to trade," the fat man said, getting down to business, "but I have a buyer for that Lasseria Stone...throw in your shotgun and I could get you a nice audio system for her car." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "I don't think she drives," Larry said, quietly. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Which one?" Darrell asked, out of the side of his mouth, his eyes never leaving Spike's barter items. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Neither of 'em."� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Jewelry?" Spike suggested, starting to space again. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Well," Darrell considered, "Costume jewelry maybe...don't pay to keep the real stuff around." He wrinkled his nose up and added, "Not that you could afford it."� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike zipped open a pouch on the duffle and took out a wad of bills and a small packet of stained and faded cloth.� He tucked the mystery package into his jeans' pocket and tossed the money into the chair.� Biting down on the need to ask what the vampire was holding in reserve, Darrell scrunched up his face and thought hard. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Turning, he waddled over to the entertainment center, popped open one lacquered door and took out a red metal box.� The box was bent and battered but Spike noticed the lid was painted with the Chinese symbols for peace and longevity.� It made him want to giggle.� The sides of the box were decorated with an interlocking pattern of white cranes.� Darrell pried off the lid and held the Oriental tin out so that Spike could inspect the contents. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Any of this do?" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Sadly, none of it would.� The jewelry in the red box was tangled together in a gaudy mess of bright beads and tarnished chains.� Turning away with a sigh, Spike started reloading his bag. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Hey, where are you going?" Darrell said, sharply.� He reached past the vampire, pudgy fingers straining toward the Lasseria Stone.� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike morphed up, whipping around and striking without thought.� The headache arrived on cue.� But it was distant and blunted.� His synaptic responses were already on overload from the continual stimulation of the incomplete bond.� Spike realized with gleeful certainty that he could tolerate the diminished pain.� He could work through it.� Snarling, he advanced on Larry and Darrell. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The little groundskeeper squealed in terror.� He pushed past his buddy and headed for the door at best possible speed, scrambling like a rat over the piles of junk in the way. �Spike smiled at the spectacle, exposing sharp teeth.� He was about to pounce when Darrell loomed up in his path. The mountainous man had stepped directly in front of a bloodthirsty vampire, cutting off his charge.� Nobody did that unless they were slack-brained...or suicidal...or....� | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spike's eyes took the long trek up the steep slope of belly to Darrell's face and completed the thought, "or...armed?" he said, gravely. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The rotund man nodded.� He was holding a remote control device in one hand and with a flick of his wrist he plunged them into darkness.� Spike froze for a second.� Nothing happened.� He shifted back a step.� Nothing continued to happen. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "You turned out the lights," he said, after another few seconds ticked by uneventfully. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Yep!" | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "I'm a vampire.� I can see in the dark, you stupid git." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "It won't help you." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| And suddenly the room was full of movement.� The darkness stirred, coagulating into solid form.� Spike felt the rush of lithe bodies circling. Red-eyed beings, dozens of them, were materializing around him.� They mewed and snapped and hissed as they came through the walls like apparitions.� Spike knew what they were, not upper echelon demons, but lower animal forms.� Beings too much a part of the dark to live independent of it.� They weren't intelligent or large or even particularly strong but then again they didn't have to be. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Vespertines!" Spike spat out the name even as the pack leaders leaped in to hamstring him. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Fur flew, fangs ripped, necks and backs and assorted limbs crunched.� Larry paused in the open doorway to look back toward the sounds of battle.� It took a minute or two for his eyes to adjust to the dark and in that time, Spike killed ten or more of the creatures.� But they kept coming.� The floor grew slick with ichors as the body count mounted.� As far as Larry could tell, the vampire was relatively unscathed but he was being pressed back, maneuvered into position.� Larry saw the trap first and, reflexively, yelped out a warning. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| "Spike, behind you." | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| NEXT PART | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| E-MAIL RABID | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| PREVIOUS PART | HOME PAGE | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||