Title: Cut Adrift, Still Floating Author: schumigal Email: gaileasey@hotmail.com Rating: NC17 Pairing: Buffy/Spike Improv: Darkness. Loosely. Disclaimer: Has anyone ever actually been prosecuted for writing fanfic? My name is not Joss Whedon and sundry and I do not own these people. Author's Notes: This is my first piece of fanfic ever, so I would really, really love any feedback, email gaileasey@hotmail.com. Please! Cut Adrift, Still Floating I wonder if death felt the same for the child gutted and devoured by the Krylsketh demon as it did for me. People on operating tables see tunnels, gardens, bright lights and waiting relatives. People generally see what they want to see. I didn't. That's how I knew it was real (always remembering now those last few seconds when I held my breath and thought the powers would somehow, some way, stop all this and let me flutter safe to the ground.... an leaf that fell too early for the autumn). Now I've got the beast cornered somewhere in the catacombs and sewer tunnels that riddle the ground beneath my town. I hold my lungs still, wait to hear its rasping breath. Spike stands nearby, chin tilted up. Handy, that predators' preternatural sense of smell his kind have. "This way" I turn and follow him into the cleft in the wall to our left. He glances back to make sure I'm following, taking a firmer grip on his axe and hefting it up to shoulder height. Tracking skills aside, I didn't really want him along. What I wanted was to be alone, stalking through the dark and listening to the sounds of water dripping down rock, the small rustles and whispers that could be rats, bats, retreating forms of hell-spawned creatures that know too well that I am not to be challenged. Not anymore. I have cheated death twice and they are not willing to try for third time lucky. "When we find it, its mine". The harshness in my voice doesn't frighten me the way it once did. Nothing does. Spike looks back at me again, nods. With a frown that once upon a time (sunshine, skirts... Buffy with books and a college boyfriend and a candy bar in her bag...) meant he was about to take on the role of The One Who States The Bleeding Obvious, but now.... it spells this strange mix of hurt and concern. I'm so glad to see the spindly body of the demon clawing at the dead end wall before it as we round the last corner. I vault past Spike over an outcrop of rock and fling myself feet first at its head. So glad to be able to lose myself in this and not have to hear what I knew the vampire was going to say. There's no bulk at all to a Krylsketh but they're deceptively strong with a big reach, plus a nasty whippy razor of a tail and a tendency to spit a vile burning substance when desperate. I concentrate on my next moves, dodging and feinting as I try to close in.... I need to break its neck and remove its heart to kill it properly. Spike, well, give him credit, he lets me go at it alone. Hangs back with axe at the ready in case I look like going down, which insults my Slayer pride but at least he's lost his chance to tell me I need help, that I'm a stupid bint, that I can't go on like this, that blah blah bliddy-fucking-blah. I cleave off one of the demon's arms with a neat stroke of my sword, leaving me clear to reach up and twist its neck 180 degrees. It staggers back, lashing its tail round and knocking me off balance. From the corner of my eye I see Spike dart forward but I manage to grab the stake in the back of my jeans and thrust it into the beast's chest before I hit the ground. It doubles over me in pain, screeching. I hear its brittle skin crack and I pull the stake out, the still-beating heart attached at the end like a grotesque toffee apple. Spike is silent as I step past him. He must be able to smell that my calves are bleeding from the cut of the demon's tail, but I don't think he dares say anything right now. ******************* Slayer's blood. Summers' blood. I lean my head back against the icy damp rock to dull the sound of my stolen blood hissing and screaming with lust for it. Pretty damn sure this little scenario wasn't in any of my Buffy bloodplay fantasies. How long ago was it that I wouldn't have hesitated to speak my mind? To her, to anyone? I don't know what I am, what I'm doing here. That all went - well, I could say when she did, but it was before that, really. That cocksure certainty I once had started to bleed away as soon as I came here, came to her town and stepped foolishly within her lethal orbit. Which way up does the earth go? I wish it had been me who had swandived into a hellworld portal, instead of just being slammed wretchedly undead against the ground. I wish I had this sodding chip out, then laid a trail of her friends like bloody breadcrumbs and led her to me (taking her blood, so slowly, a little cut at the base of my throat, and then, and then...) Fuck it. I shiver though I can't feel the cold and push both halves of my schizo mind aside. So the blokes that had her left her, and my arms are aching and burnt from this fucking torch I carry, still I can't ever touch her, so why the fuck can't I walk away like they did? The powers thought to bring her back but the pricks weren't about to answer any questions, not for her, not for me, not for any of her sickening little surrogate family. I always somehow knew the bitch would kill me. Just thought it would be in a more fucking literal sense. I'd been deep in conversation with Mr J. Daniels at Willy's when I heard the word. The Slayer had been spotted very much alive walking down the main drag of Sunnydale. One vamp was so pissed off he kicked the pool table clean in half. I ran so fucking hard for Giles' place the late afternoon sun barely had time to singe my boots. The bastard wouldn't let me in, of course. Said she seemed rather fragile and confused, best not to overwhelm her. I think he was too shocked to be as sneering as usual. Plus, he was probably well wasted already, same as he had been for the past six months since that hellbitch turned her little key. I pushed my shoulder past him far enough to see her sitting on the couch, so pale I would've thought she'd been turned if I didn't know better. She glanced over to see who Giles was talking to and looked me in the eyes for a heartbeat before she turned back to staring at the empty space that was so preoccupying her. I realised then that I didn't know who that girl was, sitting there with the last fading light of the day on her beautiful face. ***************************************************************************************** I slam the door of my apartment hard when I return. The neurotic bitch who lives across the hall used to complain about that, until one day I gave her a lazy smile and ran my fingers down the blade of the hunting knife I always carry when she started to bleat on about consideration and etc. When I came back, the first thing I saw was my own headstone. Such a nice epitaph. So very me. I lay for a while under the willow tree trying to get my head around the fact that this had really happened. After a while I thought I better find my way back to Revello Drive, try and see Dawn, let someone know I was here. It felt like after Mom died, only worse. Doing things because I knew that if I stopped, I would never be able to move again. So this morning I draw a bath, eat some microwave pasta while the water runs. Clean and plaster the wounds on my legs. Turn on the TV and try not to think. My unsuccessful non-thinking is interrupted by a knock at the door. The door of the apartment I rent because Dad sold the house, my house, after I died and took Dawn with him. Not until after Giles had tried beating the crap out of him on the front lawn when Dad called him a sleazy old drunk and Giles called Dad an asshole for abandoning us. Thereby losing any chance Giles had had of getting the guardianship of Dawn he'd applied for. Willow and Tara step hesitantly through the door as I open it. They've only been here a couple of time. Tara is carrying a Tupperware container. I can see the lumpy shape of cookies through the plastic. Both girls are wearing this new season's look of fearful, piteous concern, trés chic for all Buffy interactions. I wait for them to say something. Start to tell me that everyone's few months of hell weren't my fault, that I should let them help me, that what I'm feeling is complex and difficult but that it's legitimate and we love you and please let us in, let us help you.... Whatever. I've heard all this before, words from people I don't know anymore that are supposed to touch emotions I can't find. How can I know them when I don't even know who or what or why I am? "Umm... Hi. So how's the Buffster this fine spring morning?" Willow being perky. She doesn't look perky. She looks tired. "I'm tired. I've been hunting all night" "Oh, right. So'd you... um... kill anything good? I mean, bad? I shrug. "W-we bought you some cookies. Home baked." Tara holds the box up to me. "You can keep the container. We figured you'd need some, y'know, containery stuff like that." "Thanks. So what do you want?" Willow walks over to the tatty 2nd hand couch. Never figured I'd be living like Faith. She sits down, looking pensive. "Dawn ran away last night. Again." "And?" "Well, we thought..." I cut her off. "Dawn has made it pretty clear that she doesn't want anything to do with me. So how do you expect me to get her to come home again?" "Buffy, you know that's not why... She's still your little sister. Even after ... everything, I still think you both understand that." Oooh, some resolve face happening there. I dump the cookies on the bench in the kitchenette and try to steady my focus on the kettle. "I can't... I'm going to bed." I've already pulled the covers over my head when I hear the click of the door as I leave. I close my eyes and listen to the clock tick over as I wait for consciousness to fall away. The heavy curtains block out the morning light and the too alive sounds of the street (kids on their way to school, the low throb of music from a passing car, old women walking and chattering about their old husbands and their old cats). I wait and wait to try and immerse myself in something like the nothingness that filled my death. Silent, once the echoes of my life had fallen away. Cold, but that eventually seeped into numbness till all I knew was a calm, dark, amniotic sea of infinity. Can I go? Should I stay? Six months is a long time. ********************************** Part 2 I'm walking back from the abattoir, blood in one bag, a bottle of Jack and some fags in another, when I come across another Krylsketh demon snuffling around the site of its mate's last kill. Perfect. A chance to get pissed and violent, all in the one night. Spike heaven, officially. Add some shagging (yeah, right) and I could mark this down as one of the best of my lately miserable unlife since I got chipped. It's a bit smaller, this one, and not so inclined to put up a good fight. Still, I give it a good going over until the thing is an oozing mess of pale blue blood before I finish the fucker off. Some hours later, I'm sitting in my crypt well pleased with myself and pretty shickered too, watching some shite game show when the door crashes open. That would be the standard Buffy entrance then, kick first, snap questions later. I don't bother to turn around. I know it's her. That floral scent she used to have is gone now and all I can smell is her sweat, her blood... and other things... And anyway, it hurts more to look at her these days. "What is it Slayer?" "Why did you kill that second demon?" She comes and stands in front of me, blocking the telly and yanking my bottle from my hand. "Umm... how about to save more disgustingly cute ickle moppets from nasty spleen-eatin beasties? No, wait, how about because I was bored out of my mutilated brain?" "I SAID it was mine!" I notice her hand. Not the one resting on her perfectly curved hip, the one holding a stake. Hello, Mr Pointy. Fuck. "Bloody Christ on a stick Buffy, not like you're exactly gonna run out of evil things to pound on in this town." Yeah, nice one Spike. Open yourself up for a good thrashing by a royally pissed off, increasingly unhinged super-Slayer. With the strong possibility of a staking for afters. She smiles thinly. "Funny you should say that, Spike." Does that Old West six-shooter twirl with her stake and steps forward. Fine. FINE! She wants this, she can have it. I stand up so fast the chair tips over behind me, pull my shirt off and spread my arms before her. Huh. Déjà vu. "Go on then! Do yourself next and we'll both get what we're fucking after!" I snarl at her, less than a foot away now. Her hard eyes glitter up at me, bitter green glass. "DO IT!" I yell. An edge - no, a fucking surface - of desperation to my voice. When she plants her hot little mouth on mine and dives her tongue between my teeth, I'm so shocked that I can't actually unfreeze my body for a few seconds. I remember kissing Angel, his lips hard/soft and so cold, iced with moonlight. So much like this, but when I cut my lip against Spike's teeth and he licks the blood down, I don't feel that tiny bolt of fear I did when the same thing happened with Angel. I gasp when his lips leave mine and press along my jaw to the spot below my ear. He smoothes my hair back and I tilt my head aside, let him kiss his way down my neck. The tiniest hesitation when he reaches Angel's mark (he wouldn't dare. Would he?). I wrap my arms around him and run my hands down the icy silk of his back, feeling the muscles tense under my touch. His hand on the small of my back, then curving slowly around my hip and slipping underneath my top to trace my ribcage. "Buffy...." A growl of rank desire, not worshipful supplication. I've had too much of that. I remember kissing Spike, under Willow's spell. Not like this at all. That was too smooshy, too sloppy and exaggerated. This is - this is.... There's some reason why I'm doing this, maybe not a good one, but ... ah... I don't want to think anymore. All I can do is twist my fingers in his hair and pull his mouth back to mine; press close against him and feel his cock hard against my hip. He's less reverent, more insistent that Angel (or Riley, not that there's any real comparisons to be made here) when he moves me over to the bed and pushes me down on the mattress. I'm less hesitant, more desperate when I wrap my legs around his lithe body and grasp his ass. Do this hard enough, fast enough, I'm begging him in my mind, screw me and make me feel something besides the dull fear that has spun a cocoon around my heart. He tears at my t-shirt, too impatient, ripping it down the centre. I struggle out of it and he flicks at the clasp of my bra. It falls from my shoulders and he's at my breasts in an instant, suckling, sighing against my skin until I'm moaning and writhing beneath him. I want him naked, cool and lean and hard against me, over me, inside me. "Spike.. Spike, get...Aahhhhh!" His fingers slip inside my panties and push up into my soaking pussy, then draw back out and rub against my clit. I can't stand this. I reach down and scrabble at the top of my jeans. Fucking button flys. He pulls his mouth from my breasts and slides down between my thighs, the tip of his tongue drawing a faint shivering line along my belly, obligingly undoing my jeans and pulling them off my body along with my panties. Then his tongue is laving over my centre, dipping inside me, moving up to draw circles over my clit as he eats at me like... like a fresh kill. Within seconds I am crashing headlong into blissful oblivion (not exactly the kind I craved, but beyond this I don't know what I do anymore), screaming his name and twisting into his lips. He eases off briefly but then resumes again, thrusting two fingers, then three inside me in a rhythm to match his talented tongue. Drawing me up and over cresting waves of pleasure, once, twice, three times... So good, so good, still not enough... I grab roughly at his shoulders and pull at him until his eyes are level with mine, though I don't know if I.... "Buffy I lo-" I shut my eyes. "Just shut up and fuck me Spike." I open my eyes again just in time to see a tiny expression of hurt flicker across his undeniably beautiful face. There and gone, replaced just a quickly by devouring lust. And I flip him over onto his back, peel his jeans off. He gives me that sexy, infuriating smirk, the one that incites that good low down tickle as much as it makes me want to kick his ass. My body glides along his as we roll on our sides. I drape one leg over his hip and grind against him, reach behind me and stroke his cock. God, so fucking big and I need this, every inch of my skin is itching with need for this. Spike growls once more, a low animal sound and turns me on my back, entering me with a deep shuddering thrust. We lie locked there for a split second before I rock my hips up and he thrusts into me again, fucking me with a hard, pounding rhythm. He bends his head down to my neck and grazes his teeth against my throat. I come with a sobbing scream and he moves faster, faster still... anything beyond this moment, before and after is torn away until he hollers out my name and rams home with one last wrenching thrust as his cock shoots inside me. His cold weight presses, spent, against me for a heartbeat before I push him off and roll away. I try to catch her eye, try and decipher what's there but she moves onto her side with her back to me. I can't think of anything to say, for once. In a few minutes I hear her heart slow and I know that she's asleep. I lie awake for a long time. I can see the lethal daylight seeping under the door of the crypt when her small warm hand stroking me hard awakes me. We fuck with her on top this time. Her eyes clamped shut, her face lax as she rides me into the mattress, breasts bouncing, grunting and crying out as she comes. Afterwards she gets up and dresses. Her plain, dark clothes - not the fashion horse she used to be. I sigh. Maybe it was only for one night, but at least I did get what I wanted. Didn't I? "You're off, then." I want to beg but I won't. Not like she's ever done much for my pride Buffy glances over and I see her face clearly for the first time since she stood in front of me last night. Hope lifts me for the briefest moment - the first time I've seen her look at another being with even a trace of emotion since she's been back. Granted, it's possibly hatred - it was gone so quickly - but at least it was something real. "Dawn's run away." She doesn't sound overly concerned. A statement of fact, not impending action. "Oh." Niblet - lost little Niblet, packed full of sedatives with regular outings to the psych wards, living with a man who was her father but might just as well've been a stranger off the street for all he knew of her. "Do you want - are you going to look for her?" "No. I don't know" She sounds more like she's off to bed than off to LA. Christ, the woman just came umpteen bleeding times a few hours ago. You'd think she 'd have a bit more spark. I feel slightly less pleased with my prowess. She walks out, leaving the door open. I get up and close it after her. She doesn't look back. I put some clothes on and decide to pay a little visit to the Watcher. END - Author's Notes: This is my first piece of fanfic ever, so I would really, really love any feedback, email gaileasey@hotmail.com. Please!