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Pursuit	By : magista Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 3978 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Pursuit
- 2-...and Consequences
- 1
- 2
All the way back to the factory Spike was considering how he might explain to Drla tla the astonishing events of his evening with the Slayer. He wasn't entirely certain he was capable of explaining them to himself yet. He could still count on the fingers of one hand the times he'd stepped out on her - and he'd never before done anything that could be considered more than 'playing with his food.' That he'd let the Slayer live, that he'd actually considered for a moment ways to have her again - that was simply wrong.
He returned to the factoryhis his usual route, nodding to and being acknowledged in turn by those members of his and Drusilla's cadre of minions whose task it was to watch their perimeter. He'd held on to most of those who had been serving 'the Annoying One;' once he'd dusted the irritating prophecy-laden little sprog only a few hadn't found the new order of things teir eir liking. Less chanting, more fun - it was always the popular lifestyle that won them over in the end. Kept him from having to sire of hof his own; in his opinion a highly unreliable technique, with unpredictable results.
Drusilla, on the other hand, seemed to turn people at the behest of whatever fey mood seized her. Sire or no, any get of hers that sensed her current weakness ought to turn on her to begin the climb to power - yet something about her, her otherworldly nature, kept them fantastically devoted to her. He knew it well, at her side and firstborn of her dead. He was loath to share her with anyone, but she needed to be cosseted and cared for while he was about his schemes.
Thinking on his love brought a smile to his face, as always, and also reminded him that he must check with Dalton for an update on how the assorted plans were coming along. As he entered the building proper, he bellowed for his aide-de-camp.
"Y-yes sir?" Dalton ventured, emerging cautiously from his rooms and his carefully attended collection of books and artefacts like a snail from his shell. His glasses perched precariously on his nose; he'd clearly been drawn from his studies.
Dalton had never managed to master the slight-of-skin trick of feigning a human face - poor sod - yet even fangs and jutting brow ridge on him managed to look timid and shy, a milquetoast among vampires. "What did you need?"
Spike threw his arm over Dalton's shoulders in great good cheer, scrubbing hard at his thinning hair with the knuckles of his other hand. "What's the word, Dalton old chap? Where are we today?"
When released, Dalton fidgeted his clothes back into order, adjusted his glasses and consulted a small spiral-bound notebook that he brought out from his pocket. "We know now that Du Lac's book is actually in the Watcher's private collection. I'll arrange to have someone get it for us."
Spike nodded in satisfaction. "And the presents for my darling girl's party?"
"I've managed to track the location of all the pieces. They should begin arriving within the next two to three months."
Spike's hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder. "That's cutting it a bit fine, don't you think? It would spoil Drusilla's birthday party to have her gift be incomplete."
Dalton was too involved in correcting his meticulous notes to hear the warning in Spike's tone. "Well there have been some delays, of course, because naturally the former guardians--" He gasped in pain as Spike's hand tightened, vise-like.
"None of that is my concern. It's your job to see that it's all done right, and done on time. Do you understand?" He spoke this last slowly, as though he were addressing a child, or a simpleton.
"Y-yes, sir. Of course," he stammered. "I-is there anything e-else you need me to do?" But suddenly Spike had released his grip and was paying no more attention.
Drusilla meandered into the room, gliding along and shedding minions left and right - save for Lucy, who followed doggedly, determined to finish brushing her mistress's long hair. Drusilla spun easily to evade her, her skirts lifting as she did so to reveal just a glimpse of pale legs in laddered stockings. Look at the fine ankles of her.
"My bright boy," she murmured as she approached, and his face brightened under the beacon of her love. But before she reached him, she shuddered to a stop, bringing her hands up to pluck at her dress and her hair. "Oh Spike... what have you done?"
His smile slipped away. "Drusilla, love?" he asked uncertainly, holding out his hand to her. "What is it?"
"It's like you're under the wrong end of a glass. You've gotten so very far away."
Spike forced his smile back onto his face and attempted a cheery laugh for good measure. Drusilla's true visions were to be taken seriously, but more than half of the time it was simply vapours and megrims. "Nonsense, darling. Why Dalton here was just telling me how splendid everything is going to be, weren't you?" He looked back to the mousy vampire for support, but he'd already vanished back to the comfort of his non-threatening books. So glad that's not me any more.
Drusilla looked doubtful, yet willing to be convinced. He took both her hands, then spun her about neatly against him, her back to his chest and his arms coming over and around her to hold her close. "Not only that, but I have the most marvellous news about my night."
She cooed in anticipation, and with another loving squeeze he moved to her side, slipping an arm about her waist to lead her back into their rooms. He took the brush from Lucy in passing, and waved her away with all the rest.
Settling Drusilla on the edge of their bed, he began to brush her hair with long, gentle strokes, carefully working through the tangled strands. "I saw the Slayer tonight. She and--" He choked to a halt. Best if nothing were ever said to her about how Angel was debasing himself, much as he enjoyed seeing him brought low. "She took out a couple of scratters up the hill from here. Gave me a chance to watch her technique... I think I'll have someone get her on tape so I can study it more closely."
She pouted prettily. "You love the Slayer more than me. She's all you talk about."
"Nonsense. You know that you're my moon and stars, pet. Once you're cured, we'll dance together over her grave."
Drusilla was hardly convinced. "A little bird told me you'd already been dancing." He looked at her, stunned. She yanked his coat open, revealing the line of bruises across his bare chest. "And you think you can lie to me, when I can smell her - and see her - all over you," she added, in an uncharacteristic burst of lucidity.
Spike wanted nothing more than to throw her to the bed and prove his love, but since Prague she could barely bear his weight on her. For now there were other ways. He stroked and petted her, murmuring sweet nonsense in her ear until she quieted.
"There's my good girl. I've brought you a present, would you like to see?" One hand in her hair brought her to her knees in front of him, while the other managed his button and zip. The scent of blood riveted her attention. "I do have her blood for you."
Her lips closed over him and she sucked as avidly as a child on a sweet, her eyes falling closed as she savoured the taste of him, accented with traces of the Slayer's blood and come - a truly unique cocktail that no vampire had likely ever tasted before, or would again.
Drusilla's tongue curled about the base of his cock to clean him of every residue, and then traced skilfully along the thick veins up over the length of him to finally tease back the delicate foreskin. Her teeth closed sharply on his cockhead, and Spike yelled in pain. Looking up, she offered him only a Cheshire-cat smile. Then she set back to pumping her mouth and hand in tandem eagerly up and down his shaft. Glazed with her spit, and now some of his own blood, her tight fist slipped easily over him, keeping time with her mouth as she sucked, bobbing up and down.
Spike's hands tightened in her hair as he approached his climax, and considered for a moment pulling back from her mouth to spend there; droplets would shine on her dark hair like a crown of pearls. And what could be more befitting his dark princess? But she held him tightly and swallowed every dram.
When she lifted her arms to him and smiled, he took her hands and raised her up. He licked a pearlescent droplet of semen from the corner of her painted lips, the musky flavour strong against the background notes of perfumed cosmetics and blood. She was his heart's eternal darling; how could he have forgotten it for such a short-lived creature as a Slayer? Spike took her face in his hands, his thumbs meeting neatly under the delicate point of her chin like bonnet strings.
"I've been a very bad man, haven't I, poodle? I think I might have to be punished."
Never had a child on Christmas morning worn so eager an expression as hers. "Oh yes, please."
Only minutes later found Spike supine and naked on the bed, his wrists bound to the corner posts with her stockings tied in clumsy loose knots. The sheets clung to his back where he'd been scored and bloodied already by the Slayer, and he shifted awkwardly against them until Drusilla admonished him sharply.
She stood beside the bed stroking the age-velveted dark wood of a small box, rich with inlaid mother of pearl. "You've been very wicked tonight, even if you did bring me a lolly." The lid opened to reveal a set of antique bone-handled knives of various lengths. Despite their age, the gleaming metal attested to the care with which they had been kept.
The blades were so fine that he didn't feel the cuts at first, but only the spider's-foot tickle as the blood began to flow over his skin. Drusilla lapped at the welling wounds like a cat at cream, almost purring too in her delight. More cuts, then, and they began to sting, and to burn - but wouldn't he willingly burn for her?
She trailed the perfumed strands of her loose hair down across his chest, then over his stomach, slowing at last to wind them closely about his cock. "Oh look, nimble jack wants to play." An ivory wand swathed in black silk, his erection grew again like a magician's trick to strain, red-tipped and glistening, at her fingers.
"Go easy, pet," he cautioned, mindful of her weakened state.
Releasing her hold on him, Drusilla rose cautiously to her feet to stand precariously balanced on the bed. Lifting her skirts as though she were about to make her curtsey to the Queen, she settled herself down onto him with great delicacy, enveloping him in her cool folds. Humming her satisfaction, she rocked on him, gradually drawing up the fabric of her dress until he could see where he pierced her. He watched, enthralled, as she moved, her sweet cunt slicking his cock, sucking at it as she withdrew and then swallowing him whole again, as avidly as her mouth had only minutes ago. But what his body remembered was heat and bright fire. Spike grunted his own pleasure, and pistoned his hips upward as he came.
It was some moments before Drusilla noticed; she looked down at him in vexation. "I wasn't finished."
Spike's mind whited out in panic. He'd never left his woman wanting. With a deep, deliberate breath he forced his voice to steadiness. "I want you to come here, my dove; I'll take care of you."
Drusilla let him slip from her and slid herself forward, smearing streaks of his own blood and come across his stomach and chest until her pubic bone ground against his chin and forced his teeth closed sharply on his tongue. He contained his oath as she raised herself up.
Poised over his face, her long slender fingers spread the lips of her pussy wide, a gash into a rich, ripe fruit that dripped its juices into his waiting mouth. Spike lifted his head eagerly to taste her. His tongue worked a wicked dark magic all his own, bowing her back and wringing involuntary cries from her. When she would have collapsed, he pulled his wrists free from their confinement and held her in place as she trembled.
"Who loves you best, pet? I do. And who's my one and only? That's you." Then he bent his head to her again and set to with a will, to prove again with his mouth the truth of his words.
***
Steam choked the room, coating every surface with a slick sheen. A thousand stinging needles of hot water tattooed her. Buffy dragged the loofah repeatedly over her raw, red skin, attempting to scrub away the stain, the taint of his touch. Before even getting into the shower, she'd practically torn away her nails with her attempts to clean under them. She felt as though she were trying to beat a forensics exam. Not a trace of Spike could remain, anywhere on her body. Or in it.
She turned her face into the spray and opened her mouth, rinsed and spit water over the smooth cream tiles. One finger probed her mouth and squeaked over her teeth as though to ve eve even the taste of him. Rinsed, and spat again.
Buffy reached for the bottle of body wash and the washcloth hanging from the shower rail. She went through the motions on autopilot, snapping the cap open with her thumb and turning the bottle over to squeeze out the soap onto the cloth, but her eyes were focussed a thousand yards past the bathroom walls. Her mind ranged further yet, back to the cemetery.
She couldn't bring herself to actually think about what had occurred; it was as though a chasm had opened in front of her. Her mind approached the abyss and then veered away, a completely virtual motion that nevertheless left her stomach sick and spinning. What's wrong with me? What did he do to me to make me want--
The rough nap of the cloth on the tender flesh between her legs drew an involuntary hiss of breath between her teeth, not entirely from the pain. Dropping the cloth, she probed cautiously with her fingers. The wound in her thigh where he'd bitten her was already cleanly scabbed over, if tender, and she prayed it wouldn't scar, because how could she explain that to Angel? Of course, that would require that he would actually see her naked - her breath caught - and be looking... down there. She dispelled the fantasy with a violent toss of her head, resulting in a shining cascade of water droplets around her. Anything that Spike did was sure to be filthy and perverted, and Angel would never-- Never? But it felt so-- She discovered to her dismay that her fingers had taken the initiative in the matter, probing gently at a certain sensitive, responsive spot. Her eyes fluttered closed. It felt just like that... The bite mark in her thigh throbbed in time and that only made it better...
A liquid rush of heat welled up from between her legs. Buffy gasped and stumbled back into the cool tiles, her free arm about her waist as his would be when he held her against his chest. Only the picture her mind presented was ner ser serious dark-eyed boyfriend, but rather a lean blond with a shameless smirk...
"Oh god oh god oh god..." She slid down the wall, shuddering. Hard on the heels of pleasure came waves of disgust and shame. Buffy retched and sobbed helplessly, hunched over in the tub.
She remained huddled there, arms clutched about herself and rocking, long after the water ran cold.
***
He lay with his head in her lap amidst her puddled skirts while she teased his hair into fairy floss peaks. Above them, dusty beams of sunlight slanted in through the windows high on the former factory's walls, fingers of a vengeful god straining to reach into their sanctuary. Spike laughed out loud to dispel the fanciful image. Nothing could be further from the truth. His queen loved him again; all was right with the world. And one day soon he'd have the Slayer's blood for her in glorious torrents.
"Tell me where she'll be, pet, and I'll kill her for you as your birthday present." And to make sure I get her out of my head.
>"It>"It's all dark there."
They weren't the telly, his girl's visions. Clearly there was something lacking in the reception. He sighed, but persisted. "The Slayer's in the dark somewhere?"
"No. The dark is in her."
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Pursuit