Disclaimers: Characters and concept of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are property of Joss Whedon and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. Original characters and story are exclusive property of the author.
Spoilers: All episodes from "Dracula" onwards, although nothing truly specific.
Warning: **This an AU of what might have happened one of these days.** Sexy, angsty, and definitely the darkest piece I've ever written. If you prefer only happy endings, turn back now. ;-) Also written just before "Into the Woods" (12/19/00) aired, so it's my view of Riley's motivations and where the vamps were coming from, prior to any official explanation (although I did edit a bit thanks to the two-line TVGuide synopsis). I fully, completely and smugly blame Joss for this, since he's the one who started Riley on this downward spiral. (Bad Joss! Bad, BAD Joss!)
Author's Note: Rhea's Obsession is once again the accompaniment group of choice. This time it's piece called "Momento Mori," also from their debut album 'Initiation' (which was re-released as "Re:Initiation" in 5/01). I highly recommend listening to that song while reading this story. Failing that, try "Number One Crush" by Garbage (on the Romeo & Juliet soundtrack), or else "Bachelorette" by Bjork. (If you don't have any of these, hey -- Napster is a wonderful thing. :-)) For an image of the vamp in your head, think Lexa Doig, who is currently on Andromeda.
Fire
© 2000, Grace Macy
She was beautiful, shapely, her movements smooth and seductive even when constrained to the dance-floor of the Bronze. Riley watched her carefully, analyzing the fluidity of her movements to determine if she was what he was seeking. His surmise was confirmed when she pulled her dance-partner towards the back-door, a glint in her eyes that had nothing to do with sexual desire. It was hunger, pure and simple. Riley followed them.
The hallway leading to the alley was dimly lit, and he quickly realized that she hadn't led the mortal to the alleyway but to one of the storage-rooms. A very confident vampire, then. Just in case, Riley rested one hand on the slim wooden stake tucked into his jacket. There was a slight sound from behind one storage-room door, and Riley crept towards it silently. The door opened on nearly silent hinges, revealing neat piles of boxes and shelves, but no occupants.
Another sound, a slight groan, came from behind a high shelving unit. Riley approached, senses hyper-aware, prepared for a fight if the vampire didn't decide to do as he asked. As he rounded the corner, he spotted the mortal's foot, moving slightly. The rest of the mortal came into his view, the man probably just a couple of years Riley's junior, a sophomore at the most. He was still alive, blood seeping from the wound at his neck to discolor the lapel of his shirt. The vampire was gone.
Riley froze, his heart suddenly pounding with a rush of adrenaline as he realized he'd walked into a trap, if an impromptu one. He spun to face the entrance of the room, and found his way blocked as the vampire swung lithely down from the piping where she had hidden herself. She knocked the stake away easily, following the absurdly simple move with a sharp blow across Riley's jaw and mouth.
He let himself fall backwards, feeling blood on his lower lip from the force of the blow, and ducked the next one. Unexpected even to him, he found his mark as he swung his own fist back at her. The vampire let out a soft grunt at the blow to her ribs, and stumbled back, then dropped into a roll that took her out of his range. When she stood again, her face was in its vampiric mask, but there was no mistaking the broad grin. She tilted her head, watching him as he watched her, both of them keeping their distance, but neither making a move to attack. "If you're the Slayer," she drawled, "times really have changed."
Riley caught his breath, some part of him cursing the fading of the 'powers' that the Initiative's drugs had given him. He had gotten so used to the strength, the speed, the endurance, that he felt incomplete without them. Not to mention that a situation like this would have been much easier to handle with that ill-gotten 'power'. He didn't acknowledge any of this consciously; he never did.
"I didn't come here to kill you," he told the vampire.
There was laughter in those yellow eyes as she looked pointedly at the stake lying on the ground a few feet away. "Then what is that? An early Christmas present?"
Riley shook his head. "That was just in case."
"Just in case what?" There was a note of curiosity in her voice now.
"In case you weren't interested in my business proposition."
The vampire cocked her head, yellow eyes looking him over slowly. Her face shifted into its human form, yellow eyes turning brown, features smoothing to become alluring, exotic, and more beautiful than he had been able to see or appreciate from a distance. "I'd be interested in any proposition from you," she purred. "What did you have in mind?"
Riley straightened slightly, bringing himself out of the fighting stance. "I want you to drink from me."
A delicate eyebrow rose, and her full lips quirked into a slight smile. "Really."
Riley nodded. "Just drink," he told her firmly. "I'll pay you."
The eyebrow rose higher and the smile widened, accompanied by a laugh this time. "First time I've ever been offered money for that," she chuckled. Then she shrugged. "All right." She glanced over her shoulder at the barely conscious boy. "He wasn't all that tasty anyway." She stepped forward slowly, carefully, watching for any reaction from Riley that would indicate an intention of betrayal. "You, on the other hand. . ."
She lifted one hand and touched cool fingers to his mouth, her touch gentle as she wiped away a streak of crimson from his lower lip. Her gaze locked with his, she brought the blood-stained fingers to her mouth and licked delicately at them. Riley swallowed hard, trying to fight the shiver of anticipation, of adrenaline, of a dozen other things he never could have named even to himself. The vampire smiled. "You," she continued softly, "promise to taste rather nice."
Riley swallowed again, and forced himself to speak normally. "Not here. I'd rather not be interrupted."
She regarded him with a smile. "Neither would I."
*
The intriguing young man gave her directions to their destination, in case she wasn't able to follow his car. He needn't have worried; she would have been able to follow his scent anyway. She hadn't been planning on staying for long in Sunnydale, not with rumors of the Slayer's presence, but now she was rather glad she had. When they arrived at the old building, however, she couldn't help a frown. As they went inside and climbed the stairs, her frown grew.
The tenement had been empty for some time, barely fit for vagrants, discarded furniture threatening to rot away unnoticed. The vampire regarded the apartment before her with distaste evident on her features. She could smell old blood, his blood, and the scent of various vampires. But no dust to indicate they'd suffered death at this one's hands, so she relaxed minutely.
He was already moving towards an old chair, its stuffing threatening to attack allergies by hand. She watched him, but made no move to approach, even when he frowned at her. Instead, she moved about the apartment, wary of weak floor-boards, double-checking for possible traps. Her survey completed, she turned and regarded the young man carefully, assessing him. He was beautiful, strong, but there was an edge of darkness to him somehow, underlying the purity she could sense just as clearly. And in 150 years, she had gotten very good at sensing. She found that she rather liked the combination.
He frowned at her, clearly displeased with the delay. She could hear the rapid beat of his heart, sense the rush of adrenaline. He knew the danger, anticipated the rush of knowing that one of the vampires he paid might change her mind -- they were always female, she could smell that as well -- and take more than he had bargained for. That was precisely why he sought out different vampires. She decided to find out the details behind this behavior; he wasn't like the other pain-junkies she had met in her travels. She smiled and approached slowly.
"How long have you been doing this?" she asked.
His frown grew. "I didn't ask for conversation."
She chuckled. "No," she agreed. "But I'm an old-fashioned gal. I like to know about who I'm tasting."
He started to reply, then stopped and looked away. The muscles in his jaw worked for a moment, until it became clear she wouldn't come any closer until he answered her. "A couple of weeks."
She smiled. "Liar." His gaze swung to her, startled. "The oldest blood I smell is at least a month old."
His eyes fastened on hers, glinting hard in the dim light. "Fine," he gritted out. "A month."
"There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She chuckled, the sound almost warm, friendly. She approached again, stopping when their knees touched, and looked down at him. "Why do you do it?" His jaw firmed and his eyes hardened. She chuckled again. "Such a shy boy. Shall I answer for you?" She climbed onto the chair, legs straddling his, and lowered herself onto his lap. He glared at her, but she ignored it. "You like it," she told him softly. "You're a little bit in love with Death. . . . But it's more than that, isn't it?"
"That's enough," he growled. "If you won't drink--"
He tried to push her off, glaring at her, but her hands came down sharply on his wrists, pushing them away from her waist and down onto the arms of the chair. He hadn't fully counted on her strength, had underestimated it, and found himself effectively trapped. Her eyes met his, amused and hungry. "Oh, I'll drink," she assured him.
A niggling touch of fear crept into his mind, making his heart skip a beat as he realized the peril he had put himself in. "Let go!" he ordered her sharply, anger fighting with fear in his voice.
She chuckled as she heard the jump in his heart-rate, and smelled the tracings of fear working into his scent. She also scented and felt something else, though: arousal. She wondered if he even realized it. She smiled at him warmly, almost tenderly. "But you don't really want me to let go, do you?" she asked softly. Her tone was strangely gentle. Understanding. Intoxicating. "This is what you've really been wanting. The risk. The danger. Knowing that the one of us that you paid might decide to take more than she agreed to." She tilted her head and smiled softly at him. "Yes, it's more than being a little in love with Death," she repeated. "You feel incomplete without Its touch, without feeling that moment of utter terror when you know that your life is hanging by a thread."
Some part of him noticed that her hands had released his wrists, but he didn't take advantage, didn't move to dislodge her. Their gazes were locked, and Riley found that not only couldn't he look away . . . but he didn't want to. It wasn't mesmerism; it was hearing his subconscious being given a voice. His throat was dry, his heart was pounding, and all he could do was listen.
"That moment of the rush," she continued, her voice that same sweet murmur that seemed to speak the deepest secrets of his mind and soul. "The thrill. Seeing the darkness closing in, eternity hungry for you, calling to you . . ." Her touch drifted up and her hands gently caressed his face. Her gaze followed their movement, as if fascinated by each inch of skin they covered. The expression on her face was hungry in a way that reminded him almost of Buffy's when they made love. "You need it," she told him, her gaze returning to his own, capturing it effortlessly. "You hunger for it. That pounding of your heart in your chest, the thrum of energy through your veins as you face the darkness. The way it fills you, takes you over, lifts you up . . . Makes the darkness a part of you, ingrained in you . . ."
She leaned forward as she spoke, until her lips were a scant inch from his own. Riley sat frozen, his eyes locked with hers until he felt the light brush of her mouth on his. Then he blinked and jerked his head back. "No," he whispered. He didn't know whether he meant it as an entreaty, a denial of her words, or a rejection of her advance. But she seemed to know.
"Yes," she whispered back, her voice confident. She leaned forward again, her body pressing against his, a cool, firm weight. Her lips touched his lightly, inviting. He didn't answer it . . . but he didn't pull away either. She didn't press him, but pulled back slowly, her fingers languidly brushing back a lock of hair from his brow. Silently, she moved back until she was off of his lap, and had regained her feet. "Do you still want me to drink?"
Riley swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes." It was hardly even a whisper.
She smiled and knelt smoothly between his legs, her hands settling over his own, one going to the sleeve over his left arm. She could smell the wounds there, and revealed them almost gently as she pushed back the fabric. His scent was exhilarating, calling to her Hunger. Her fingers slid gently over the familiar teeth-marks, and he shivered. She looked up at him then, brown eyes locking with blue, and her hand drifted down until it mirrored its partner, both resting atop his hands. He had beautiful hands, she noticed, with long slender fingers, and faint scars to testify to past encounters with hardships.
His hands remained tense on the chair's arms for a moment, then relaxed, allowing her to twine her fingers with his. Her grip was gentle for now, but he knew it would become firm, inescapable, if he struggled. Their gazes locked again, an unspoken acknowledgement that he was surrendering power to her. It was a risk -- the risk he needed. Craved. She leaned forward, her head dipping until her lips brushed his skin. Her touch was cool, devoid of the warmth of true life, and far more erotic than it had been with any of the vampires before her, even the ill-fated Sandy.
Riley tensed as he felt her mouth settle over the oldest set of marks, her tongue flicking out to lap at his skin briefly. He heard the soft sound of her face shifting, and steeled himself for the sharp pain of her teeth. Rather than a bite, however, he felt her teeth scrape across the tender flesh, leaving a long, ragged cut. Despite himself, cursing himself, he shuddered at the pleasure-pain, his body tensing in other places as well. Her tongue lapped at the cut, almost gentle as she nursed the blood, probing the incision.
"Please. . ."
He barely recognized the voice as his own. The vampire looked up at him briefly, yellow eyes gleaming in the spill of light that came through the half-covered window. Then her face shifted again and her smile was no longer filled with twisted teeth. It took him a moment to realize that she intended to drink from him in this form, the only sign of her Otherness the strength with which her fingers twined with his own. "Death has many faces, my sweet boy," she murmured. "Remember mine well."
Riley's breath caught, harsh in his throat and chest as he watched her lower her head again, the eternally beautiful face a promise of what could be if he wasn't more careful. He shuddered again, and bit back a sharp cry as her mouth locked on the deep cut, human teeth pressing into the cut as she began to drink. He tensed, instinctively trying to pull away, but her hands held him firmly. He could feel the darkness approaching, languid, taking its time as it always did -- but this time, with a vampire to whom he had willing conceded control, he knew that its approach might be unstoppable.
And then she pulled back, denying him that darkness, and some part of him cried out in disappointment. She licked the wound one last time, gently, and leaned back on her heels. Her fingers released his almost reluctantly, almost caressing as she sat back. There was blood on her lips, streaking down lightly to her chin, and Riley watched as she cleaned it off carefully with tongue and fingers, her eyes partly closed, clearly savoring every drop. Then her gaze rose to meet his own, and her smile became different as she read something in his eyes of which even he was not fully aware.
She straightened and placed her hands beside his on the chair's arms, then pulled herself up and forward. Their gazes remained locked, something unknowable moving between them, and she whispered to him. "Tell me what you want, my sweet one."
His voice barely rose above a whisper. "I don't know. . ." But it was a lie, and she knew it. And he knew that she knew. So he allowed that darker part of him to speak, to make itself known to them both. His words remained a whisper, but there was something more in it now, something that made his voice hoarse. Desire. Arousal. Need. "More." A long pause followed, then, almost inaudible: "Harder."
She smiled and shifted her position, pulling herself up until she once again straddled his lap. She pulled his arms down, under her, until his hands lay on his knees. Then she shifted again, so that her knees were holding down his arms. His liberty. His one chance to fight. He wanted it like that, needed it. Needed that surrender of power, that added risk, danger. She could take his life if she wanted to. It was what made the need in him, the hunger, scream in release and joy. Her eyes met his, strangely tender. Her hands caressed his face and wound through his hair, gentle, promising.
The fingers of one hand wrapped in the silky strands and pulled slightly to the side, urging him to expose the side of his neck. He complied, but fear was suddenly tumbling into him, making him resist it a bit. She smiled and placed her other hand against his jaw, pushing gently but firmly until his head turned. Riley closed his eyes, feeling his heart pound, feeling the remaining sharp pain of the wound on his arm, especially as her weight pressed against it. Pressed against him. He felt another part of his body responding as well, harsh and urgent, filling him with shame. It had never been personal before, never been a betrayal of Buffy, but now . . . He started to speak, managed a sound, but never got a chance to know what it might have been. Her mouth was on his neck, cool lips warmer than they had been before, and there was no more time for self-recriminations.
There was only sensation, as her tongue licked at his skin, and then the sudden, sharp, overwhelming agony of razor-like teeth driving into the sensitive skin along his neck. Riley gasped, his eyes flying open, and bucked underneath her. But she wouldn't be budged. He could feel the hard beat of his heart driving his blood into her mouth with accelerated speed. Could feel the grinding of her teeth against his skin and muscle. Could feel the darkness suddenly laughing at him, spinning towards him in that grand spiral he had only felt a few times before. But oh, those times . . .
They had been just like this one . . . just like she had described . . . that wild dance with fate, stopping and spinning, inviting and running, escaping and desiring, all at the same time. Just like now, wanting to pull away and at the same time wanting to push himself closer to her, demand to be taken nearer to that tempting, terrifying, unknowable darkness. He might have made a sound, he wasn't sure. All he knew was the inescapable mix of pain and pleasure, terror and fascination. He wanted to scream, to cry, to hide himself from it all -- and to embrace it, let it lift him ever higher, until there was no where left to go.
And then, once more, just as he neared that eternity, almost close enough to reach out and touch it, she pulled away.
Her eyes were shining brilliant gold in the dim light of the room, seeming to illuminate the room all on their own. Their gazes locked, and some part of him realized that her chest was heaving, as if her body had forgotten its lack of need for air, going on instinct instead as it displayed her own arousal. And he knew it was arousal. He could see it in those gleaming golden eyes, could see it all the clearer as she shifted back into her human face, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted. Those beautiful lips, still stained with his blood, gleaming brilliant crimson. Beckoning, promising.
"Do you want me, my beautiful one?" she whispered, her voice made hoarse by desire. "Do you want to come with me?"
He knew what she was asking. He knew exactly what she was asking. And the thing to enter his mind was not his love for Buffy, not the thought of how she would react, what she would want. . . . Instead, it was the darkness. The dance. Wild, intoxicating, addictive. Calling to him, promising him that dance for eternity, never again to feel so small and indistinct. He almost didn't recognize his own voice as his answer slipped from his lips, unguarded even by the propriety of full consciousness. He was spinning, flying, dreaming, and only a little part of him, buried far back in his mind, was aware of what was happening. "Yes. Yes. . ."
She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss him, his own blood a sharp taste of copper against his mouth. He kissed her back, hungrily now, still wrapped up entirely in the dance, the darkness. She laughed quietly into his mouth, then pulled back, her face shifting back into its vampiric mask. She kissed the side of his neck, wetting her lips with the blood still seeping from the wound, and then followed her instinct and desire. Riley's cry as her fangs sank into him this time was one of pleasure, of welcome.
She drank deeply, intoxicated by the feel of him within her as his blood became her own. His life, his beauty, his needs and loves and secrets, all became, for those instants, a part of her. When she felt his heart begin to falter, she pulled away again, regarding him through a sheen of orgasmic pleasure. He turned his head to look at her, his eyes meeting hers without fear. She sat and watched him, feeling the echo of his heart in her own veins, telling her that he was falling ever closer to the abyss.
She leaned forward and murmured, "Are you still enjoying the dance, beautiful one?"
His eyes began to lose focus, a touch of fear entering them now as his conscious mind realized that she wasn't acting as expected. That she was making no move to return that precious share of blood to him. His eyes widened, and she smiled, sweetly, tenderly, and caressed his face.
He was such a beautiful boy, he really was, but she liked traveling alone. She considered, weighing her options, wondering if he would be the type who would cling to her or if he would accept the gift and let her be. Although really, what was the point of giving someone eternity if you didn't expect them to stay with you for at least part of it? She sighed, feeling his heart-beat falter further, and saw his eyes begin to unfocus completely. Undecided, she shrugged and moved back.
His eyes followed her for a short distance, denial screaming at her from the pale blue gaze as his chest struggled to lift in breath. She shook her head at him. It was a shame, but she really had no use for tagalongs, no matter how handsome. She hadn't Made another vampire in all of her 125 years as an immortal, and she wasn't going to start now. "You play with fire, my beautiful boy. . ."
His voice didn't even manage to rise to a whisper, but she heard him nonetheless. ". . . burned . . ."
She nodded. "Indeed. But if it's any consolation to you, you're the best meal I've had in days."
There was no answer this time. The blue eyes were empty, the chest still, and his heartbeat was gone from her veins. She shrugged again and headed for the door, idly running a finger along her bottom lip to capture a last drop. She sucked that last bit of crimson off of her finger with a little sigh of contentment, and closed the door of the room silently behind her.
end
(Author's Note #2: Told ya it was the darkest thing I'd ever written.
And I like Riley! Joss' brand of evilness must be rubbing off on me . . . .)
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