Hurt Me

BY : Hopalong_Pendergrass
Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Threesomes/Moresomes
Dragon prints: 9184
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I make no money off this piece of fiction, and no claim toward the characters therein. Any attempt at rehosting this in the purpose of making money is illegal.

A/N: No sex in this chapter. A little play, a little repercussions. Next chapter, though... (blushes) I intend to update every Monday, if all goes as planned (crosses fingers).

I won't include the older cast (Jenny, Joyce, Giles, etcetera) into the pairings. Tried to picture it, didn't work. Jenny kept giggling, and Joyce just gave me the raised eyebrow in response. Giles blushed and polished his glasses.

As for Xander, one part of the depiction here is due to him being from an abusive home, and the other is because in my experience, BDSM isn't necessarily something you enter knowing exactly how to do it or why you like it. In my experience, being a dom in the bedroom doesn't mean you are one outside it, automatically know how to be one, or that the relationship doesn't require a lot of fumbling about, learning, understanding and trust. Everyone starts somewhere.

The incident with Joyce is based on a real event, by the way. Ahem. Nothing like being a young man explaining to your partner's dad why there's candle wax on the recliner cushions...

A good tip for a manga with a theme resembling the ones in this fic is Nana To Kaoru, a sweet romance about a man and woman exploring the BDSM lifestyle as newbies (not much sex in it, it's not a hentai, but it's a lot more accurate than you'd expect).

Phew. That was a long A/N. Sorry about that. Back to the plot! Smut next chapter! Cookies for everyone!

-

-

 

“So, um, the ribbon. How much?”

The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow at him, and he wanted to sink through the floor. “With writing, twelve dollars. That's real silk. Without the writing, seven. Writing can be on the outside or inside.”

He winced at the price, even though he tried to keep his cool. Twelve dollars. That was a hefty sum for him. More than half the money he'd made mowing lawns this summer. Anyone saying this wasn't much had never been a Harris. If you were a Harris, you took the pay offered and swallowed your pride, or you got nothing.

Well.

Unless you were a stupid Harris. Like his dad. Who never swallowed his pride, and was out of work more often than not.

Tony Harris still hadn't figured out that pride got you dead. Pride was what got people charging out to die for their country instead of making the other bastard die for his. Pride was what got people maintaining injust, cruel, vile economies just because of a stubborn refusal to admit they were wrong, that people and their lives mattered more than making a buck off their corpses.

Xander Harris had figured that out the day his best friend tried to kill him, and instead stumbled into his stake when he paused to gloat about how he'd do it.

Jesse had been proud. Proud of himself, his looks. Vampire Jesse had been the same as regular Jesse, only with all the nice ripped away. He'd refused to admit Cordelia thought he was a creep. Refused to admit he was being a jerk to her.

Cordelia wasn't a very nice person, and she didn't make it easy to like her, but no meant no.

Xander pursed his lips thoughtfully as he pondered burning twelve bucks – almost eighteen with the pendant he had in mind for it, leaving him less than five bucks for any fun and snacks all autumn. Nobody wanted their lawns mowed in September.

It wasn't hypocritical of him to maintain that age-old truth, that no meant no. He knew Buffy intimately now, and knew she got off on submitting to his fake dominance more than he got off on controlling her that way. It had started as him being angry and just seeing how far he could push her, and to his surprise she'd responded...

...well, she'd responded like she'd finally come home.

There was a newfound glow to her now. A quiet, confident joy to her. There had always been this tense feeling of...anticipation to her before, as if she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Looking at him, at Giles, at Angel as if any moment now she expected them to betray her, to walk away and leave her alone. Maybe it was a dad thing. Or maybe she'd had a boyfriend that cheated on her or ditched her.

Well, not him. Even if this thing between them had never happened, he would never leave her. And if this thing ended tomorrow, he'd still be there. Always and forever.

He had never made any grand vows to avenge Jesse or safeguard Buffy or any nonsense like that. It was pointless. All that mattered was what you did, not what you said. He could promise to spend his life and the lives of his sons and their sons to battle the Singh Brotherhood until the cows came home and pigs started up Porcine Airlines, but unless he backed that up with deeds he was no better than Angel.

So he would be there for them. Always. Until he died. If they walked away, he'd still be there when they came back, broken.

Always and forever.

“Um, okay. And that pendant there. And this is what I want for the writing...”

-

-

 

There was a wonderful scene in one of his favorite movies, which he first saw in a spring break matinée because kids who didn't have VCR or a TV of their own (forget even dreaming of having a DVD-player, the height of modern technology) kind of had to settle for that stuff. In all honesty, he liked watching movies that way better than on the small TV screen anyway.

Anyway, one of the protagonists had finally gotten to tell the (couple years older than him) girl he liked how he felt about her, and to the happiness of both, she felt the same way. It helped that they were both hyperintelligent overachiever nerds of course. And then the love interest asked if she should meet his parents.

No!

Why? Are you ashamed of me?

No, them!

He'd laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Willow had stared at him like he'd gone crazy as he chortled hysterically all the way through the credits and the lighting up of the theater, and kept chuckling to himself all night after.

He'd laughed because he knew exactly how the character in the movie, Mitch, felt. Also, he had the same dream Chris had about the pyramid and naked women throwing pickles, and had dreamed it even before he saw the movie. Still hadn't figured that one out.

But he smiled and stayed polite throughout the dinner, even though Tony made many a crack about him, about Buffy, about Willow...

He watched. He listened.

It would be rude to claim it was because he was having sex regularly. For one thing, they hadn't had any since Joyce caught them. Though he'd, ah, played a bit with Buffy at school, it was never anything overt or obvious unless you knew what they were doing with each other. What they were to each other.

But somehow he didn't feel the urge to angrily snarl at his dad, no matter how crude and assholish the man managed to make himself.

No, that wasn't true. He did feel the urge. Just not any inclination to act on it.

For one thing, Tony had no fucking idea what his dumbass son did with Buffy Summers behind closed doors. He'd probably be too stunned and flabbergasted to say a damn thing if the truth came out right here and now. Which was why he'd never tell the man. He didn't deserve to know. He didn't deserve to know anything about his only son.

Xander watched. And listened. And occasionally exchanged apologetic glances with Buffy, who was managing to keep her cool all through the night, and even snuck in a few wonderful digs at Tony that the man never noticed.

He watched Jessica, too. And Joyce.

Jessica winced every time Tony said something rude, insensitive or cruel, but never said anything, never looked up. There were no bruises, of course. Tony never struck the face if he could help it. Harder to hide.

Joyce, on the other hand...

...their eyes met, once. And her eyes told him everything he needed to know, and even gave him that little bit of extra strength he needed to...what was the word...persevere. Right. That one.

 

After the very awkward and humiliating dinner was finally over he offered to walk the two home, the perfect gentleman.

The moment he was out of earshot of the house, he let out an explosive breath, and turned towards Joyce. “On behalf of all of humanity, I apologize for that whole mess.”

She stared at him in shock, then let out a little giggle. “Oh, trust me Xander, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm just sorry you have to go home to that house again.”

He blushed. “Yeah, well...I'm still sorry.”

Buffy leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You were great. I'm amazed you didn't once stab his hand with a fork.”

“Buffy!” Joyce frowned, but it wasn't a serious one. “Seriously, what do they teach you kids these days. You use the knife.”

Both Buffy and Xander turned to stare at her incredulously, then burst out laughing.

The conversation lightened after that. All the way back to the Summers house.

Once there he bowed to Joyce, apologized again, promised to be there for dinner tomorrow evening, and to never use a fork when there was a perfectly good knife at hand.

Joyce grinned, told him he'd been a great host, and that he was welcome tomorrow, and good night. She glanced at Buffy with an amused smirk, then went inside.

Buffy leaned in, ostensibly to kiss his cheek, and as she did so she whispered softly in his ear. “Half an hour, tops.

 

It took forty-three minutes, actually.

Buffy hopped down from the tree she'd used to sneak out, and followed him behind the corner. “Sorry. Had to let her tuck me in, then make a decoy.”

He blinked. “Decoy?”

“Three pillows and an old wig.” She shrugged. “It's worked before?”

He nodded, keeping his skepticism to himself. Sometimes he wondered how fooled parents were by such tricks. Real parents, that was.

The walk back to his house was quiet. Not awkwardly so. He held her hand, she leaned against him for warmth and the extra little touch – she had this whole fetish about sniffing his shirts that was...no weirder than him sniffing her damp panties, he supposed.

As his house came within sight, they stopped. He embraced her, kissed the top of her head – she made a little disgruntled but not unhappy noise at that friendly dig at her height-challenged stature – and dug the box out of his pocket.

“Okay. Um. I figure this is a good time for this.” He held the box out to her. “As your, um, Master, I, ah, can't have you wear items belonging to other...men. You don't have to, to dispose of it, just...give it back to him any way you want to do so.”

The grateful look in her eyes made him want to take her right then and there, but there'd be time for that later. She'd loved the guy, sort of. Or crushed on him. She probably didn't want to part ways in an unfriendly manner, and hey. What kind of, m-master treated his slaves badly, right?

God, this was so goofy. And embarrassing. And hot.

She removed the cross from around her neck and pocketed it, and took the box. Then she looked up at him, the question open in her eyes.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

She did so, and her next words came in a breathy whisper. “Oh...Master...”

The black silk ribbon was a simple choker, an inch wide and adorned with an elaborate dangling silver cross with a local native design in the form of a blackbird engraved. It was no smaller or bigger than the one she'd worn from Angel, which was in a way also his way of saying he didn't feel threatened by the guy. Not anymore.

“Um. My great-great grandma was Chumash, and Blackbird is kind of a big deal with them. Look on the inside of the ribbon.”

She flipped it over, and saw the writing stitched into the thick, folded fabric. She grinned as she read it aloud. “Ha! 'Property of Xander Harris'. I love it.”

He felt his face turn red again. “Wear it always. And, um, when you're at bed. The, uh, cross can be removed for when you're sleeping.”

She grinned even wider, then put the choker on. The extra inch on the silk strap went inside the little buckle and under the ribbon, where the deed of ownership lay against her skin. Then she stretched up on her tippy-toes to kiss him full on the mouth. “I will, Master.”

The urge to just drag her into the bushes for a quicky got a lot stronger, but he tamped it down. He was late enough coming home as it was. Instead, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“You're mine. We both have a free tomorrow before lunch. Supply closet by the gym. Don't be late.”

She shuddered against him, and nodded eagerly before skipping off into the darkness.

He sighed. Tomorrow.

 

He got about three steps before a freight train smashed into him.

“What the hell did you do to her!?!”

There was no ground beneath him, just empty air. A grip like steel was holding him a foot above the ground, dangling helplessly. For a moment he was too disoriented to do anything but panic, but then he realized who was doing this. “...Angel?”

“You heard me!”

Xander frowned, getting angry. “None of your damn business, you jackass!”

Oh. The world flew by, and he slammed into a garage door hard enough to shove the air out of his lungs. A light went on inside, then went out almost instantly as whoever was in there decided it wasn't worth going out at night.

Then the stench of old blood and cemetery dirt was right there, as well as...whiskey? “I know Buffy, and she would never just-”

In the middle of gulping for breaths and making little noises like an asthmatic camel, Xander couldn't help himself. He started laughing. Sort of. “Y-y-you don't know jack shit about B-Buffy.”

The grip on his shirt eased up. “...what's that supposed to mean?”

He coughed, and tried sitting up. He glared down at his wrinkled and by now probably torn loaner suit, and turned an even more angry glare at the souled vampire. “Like I said, none of your damn business. It's called a 'personal life' for a reason.”

Angel's eyes narrowed. “You're blackmailing her, aren't you?”

What? Seriously, what!?!

“Oh, get the hell over yourself, Angel. If you knew even a single goddamn thing about her, you'd know what she'd do to anyone trying that. I'm in love with her. That's it. I'm not blackmailing her or doing anything to her she doesn't want. Anything further than that you're gonna have to ask her about, because it's not mine to freaking tell, you total dipshit.”

Still not penetrating that thick demon skull. “If I find out-”

“Find out what, Angel?”

He froze. Turned his head, finding Buffy there glaring angrily at him. “Buffy!”

“Yeah.” She ignored him, and instead walked over to Xander. “You okay, Ma...sweetie?”

He coughed. “I think so. Gonna see the school nurse tomorrow just to be sure.”

She nodded, helping him stand up and leaning him against the garage door. “Take it easy.”

Then she whirled around, focusing back on Angel. “Buffy-”

“Shut. Up.” A dangerous index finger went up, poking him in the chest hard enough to make him grimace. “What the hell is this? Huh? You're, what, 'protecting my virtue'? Marking territory is more like it. God, I can't believe you. Why don't you just whip it out and take out the ruler while you're at it?”

He grimaced again at the implied meaning. “I wasn't-”

“Wasn't what? Telling Xander here what a frail little innocent blossom I am? Can't possibly protect myself against big bad Xander? Newsflash, Angel, I am not your china doll! I am not yours. And what you just did here just told me I made the better choice.”

With each sentence, Angel seemed to shy back in shock. “But-”

“No. I said 'shut up' and I meant it. I'm a person. Not whatever picture you have in your head to justify hanging around me. At least Xander here stayed in the fight to help even after I rejected him, which is more than I think you would do. That's part of why I made a different choice. But only part.” She glanced at Xander, who hesitated before nodding slightly. She instantly turned back to her scorned would-be lover.

“The things Xander do for and with me are things you'd never believe I want, or even need. He gets me. He hasn't got some false vision of me that he compares me to, he's into me. The perverted me who likes to do stuff I can't talk to my own mother about even after she found out we were together. You think I'm, what, some kind of prize to be won? That if you fight beside me often enough or 'help' me with cryptic bullshit warnings, I'll swoon into your arms like some bad romance novel character? Think again.

Angel swallowed. “If he hurts you...”

She barked a laugh. “If he hurts me it's because I want him to! That's right! And tomorrow before lunch he's going to bend me over some gym equipment and make me feel like a dirty, dirty girl, because that's what I like!

The souled vampire went slackjawed in shock. “...what?”

She snorted, deliberately ignoring the fact that Xander's face had turned beet red. “Seriously, for being two hundred years old you are such a dork. Yeah. I like that. Didn't even know I did, but as it turned out, I like it a lot. I like it so much I'm betting I'm now more experienced than you are, even though you've probably slept with hundreds of women.”

“...not that many...” He looked embarrassed.

“Whatever.” She sighed. “We were never really a couple. We might have become one, and I'm starting to think that would have been a train wreck judging by the crap you just pulled. Seriously, beating up my boyfriend? I thought you were supposed to be the mature one!”

“But...it's Harris...”

“So?” She goggled. “What, you and Cordelia have your own mock-the-poor club now?”

Angel winced at the comparison. “Hey...”

Another, more frustrated sigh escaped her, and she dug the cross the vampire had given her out of her pocket, depositing it in his hand by the necklace so it wouldn't burn him. “Go home, Angel. Go home and think about why you're in the fight. Because if the only reason you were doing it was to get close to me, you need a serious reality check.”

He stared at her, silently. Then the cross. Then away, briefly. Somehow, even Xander felt kind of sorry for the guy. Then Angel sighed, and nodded. And turned a glare on Xander. “If I ever hear that you-”

“If I ever break her heart, you can bet either she or her mom makes sure even you can't find what's left.”

“Damn straight.” Buffy nodded.

Angel looked taken aback, but nodded, and walked away. They watched him leave until he was so far away even he shouldn't be able to hear them, and that was when Buffy began to cry.

Xander didn't even hesitate. He stepped up to her small, shaking, sobbing form and embraced her from behind, saying nothing. Just letting her cry out while knowing he was there.

He'd always be there.

-

-

 

School the next day was...interesting.

Xander had a quiet talk with Willow before first period, telling her they'd have a talk tonight after school. She'd nodded, pale as a sheet. Buffy watched her silently, and held her tongue.

For now.

To Xander, Willow was almost like a sister.

It was the 'almost' that was kind of the problem.

 

First of all, she wasn't.

Second, it was pretty damn clear Willow thought of him as a lot more than just a brother. Xander might be in denial, but she could see the sometimes awkward tension that rose whenever he noticed that Willow was female.

Third...she was pretty sure both Xander and Willow were convinced the only thing that worked was...monogamy.

In a way, Xander had liberated her. Finding out that her deepest, darkest wants and needs could be done in the comfort of a safe harbor like him was what had convinced her that she wasn't going to hold back out of fear anymore. She had kinks. Big ones, and smaller ones. And one of them was the thought of sharing a guy. Completely in the whole trust zone, though, not 'pick up random person at bar'-style. Her dad had picked up women at bars. Without telling her mom.

...she might also some day be shared with another guy, but that was entirely up to if she could ever find someone she trusted as much as Xander. She sort of doubted it. Guys like him were one in a billion, she felt.

And she was pretty sure Angel never would. She could trust the guy, yeah, but not with her heart. And not with sharing her. He'd already proved he didn't trust her.

 

But anyway. Sharing Xander with Willow, and possibly someone else in the future, was...okay, yeah, she sort of liked the idea. A lot. It made her very, um, excited, and caused her to look forward to whatever Xander had planned before lunch even more.

The problem was how to get them both to that point. She knew it would work. The love was there. The attraction was there. It just needed...trust. And she hated to say it, but Willow didn't trust him enough. Not yet.

That was one of the main issues Willow had. She only trusted herself, and barely that. The reason she kept wanting to do things on her own was because she thought she was the only one who could do what she did. She never noticed the little things, but Buffy...well, she would like to claim she did, but in truth she hadn't. She did now, though.

One thing she noticed was that Xander was in a lot of the same classes Willow was.

Sure, his grades were so-so, but he wasn't exactly applying himself. Which she suspected was because of his home life. And on a college application, this wouldn't look good enough, because according to her mother, most colleges had so many applicants they only looked at SAT scores, extracurricular activities and grade average. Not the actual classes taken.

Buffy tested well.

She didn't have perfect grades either, but letting go of cheerleading and using that extra time to actually do her homework properly had brought her grade point average up by a fair amount. She wasn't the greatest in English class or History, but she got by, and she did pretty darn well in Math and Science. She knew she could get into a halfway decent college, and she knew her mother had a college fund for her all set up and rearing to go. It had been a condition in the divorce settlement.

Willow was the kind of girl who breezed through Math and Science, tap-danced through CompSci and did just about everything except Gym with a minimum of effort. She would never understand how the normal and average had to struggle with the things she could do in her head. So she had no patience with Xander when he asked for help, got frustrated easily...

...she'd done a study group session or two with them at this point. It was like watching an Abbott and Costello routine.

Yeah. Setting aside the idea of sharing him with Willow (say thank you Mistress Buffy for letting her pet be fucked by the Master), she'd need to have a talk with the girl herself, later.

...and that last little fantasy had her shuddering.

She couldn't wait for their pre-lunch free.

T minus forty minutes and counting...

-

-

 

In an old abandoned warehouse, safe from the deadly rays of the sun, a woman danced to music only she could hear.

...though technically that made the warehouse not abandoned.

Spike sighed. They'd gotten rid of the Annoying One, but the Slayer bint had taken down most of the remaining Aurelians, leaving him without disposable morons. He needed to recruit. Soon. But the local talent was either unwilling to join, too powerful to submit to him, or just plain too bloody naff at everything. As for turning people, the locals were too dumb to notice all the vampires and demons walking around bold as brass in plain sight, making that not a prospect with promise.

And Dru was dancing about without a care in the world.

He tilted his head, watching her.

She reminded him of a clockwork ballerina. Revolving slowly as a gentle, brittle melody played in its music box. A beautiful doll.

She opened her eyes as she spun again, giving him a brief, amused look that suggested she knew exactly what he'd just thought, and found it amusing.

He smiled. His Drusilla. Beautiful, mad, beloved.

If he was honest, he would admit that what vampires felt wasn't love. Actual love wasn't possible for them. One needed a soul for something like that. But they could fake it well enough to pretend they felt it, even though it was mere obsession or possessiveness in disguise.

He wasn't honest, of course. What vampire could be? They weren't even honest to themselves. It was why the more pureblooded demons considered vampires 'too human'. That and the diet.

To the other demons, humans were chattel or a nuisance to be eradicated forever at best, actual loathsome vermin at worst. Some demons only ate other demons, because they considered humans to be just as disgusting to feed on as vampires felt about rats.

To vampires, humans were the perfect renewable food source. You only ate a few of them now and then, and that meal lasted you for some time. There were billions of them, all of them delicious. The bonus was the funny noises they made when tortured and/or raped.

The minus was the Slayer.

 

He'd killed two Slayers in his day. One was a Chinese bint during the Boxer Rebellion, the other some black girl in a subway. Big hair. He barely remembered their names. Wasn't important, really.

He often bragged about it. More impressionable vampires heard it and joined him in the mistaken belief that Spike was a beast of a vampire, a true demonic force of nature, a powerful force to be reckoned with. He encouraged this, of course.

But the truth was that he was complete and utterly shite at it. Fighting other vampires and demons to establish dominance was one thing. Fighting Slayers was a whole other ballgame. Possibly cricket.

Slayers were simply better at it. They hit harder, took the best punch of even the strongest demon, and got right back up. Most vampires were impressed by his score because they knew they wouldn't last ten seconds against a Slayer.

The difference between him and them wasn't that he was as good at fighting as a Slayer was. He wasn't even as good at it as his grandsire Angelus, or great-grandsire Darla. No, the secret was that he cheated.

A vampire younger than two centuries simply couldn't last very long against a Slayer at their best. Angelus had admitted once that he avoided most Slayers because he knew they had the edge on him.

So Spike never fought them when they were at their best.

The Chinese one had been simple. As a white Englishman he had easily sent English patrols towards the Slayer with a few well-worded lies. Thus she had been fighting demons and humans for days by the time he got to her. She was exhausted, tired, and weary of everything.

That's when he struck. If he'd attacked her a week earlier, she would have skewered him in seconds. Instead, the fight lasted minutes, and he emerged victorious. And even then he'd only gotten through her guard because she was so tired that she'd made a mistake in her situational awareness.

And the girl in New York had been a single mother, raising an infant. He might be undead, but he knew what babies did to their parents for the first few years. All he had to do was hide out near her apartment for a few weeks, tapping the window and scaring the baby every time she was about to get some rest. After that, the fight just needed the right arena, and he used a subway car to negate her kicks and weapons. Hard to swing a sword when it keeps hitting the walls, ceilings and seats.

So, no. He wasn't a master fighter. He was nowhere near an expert combatant.

He was a low down dirty cheater...and deep down he knew it.

This Slayer, however...she was tricky. Clever, fast, hard to taunt, had back-up...yeah, she was going to be a tough nut to crack. But she'd break. He knew she would. And he would get his hat trick.

Drusilla danced, and smiled mysteriously...

-

-

 

To Be Continued...



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