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Pursuit	By : magista Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 3977 -:- 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
Pursuit

by magista
Unlike Drusilla, he didn't believe in blind fate - but when he spotted the couple leaving the movie theatre he knew he'd be following them. Maybe this was the way it would happen. No big plan, no elaborate production, just wait until she was alone and then he'd have himself a good day. The problem was, of course, that she wasn't alone. Yet.
The Slayer and her tame vampire. His lip curled in disgust that someone of lus'lus' stature should have been reduced to no more than a teen crush - the doe-eyed looks she kept turning on his disgraced sire made his guts heave. Calls himself 'Angel' now. It's a good name for a pretty-boy Slayer toy.
Unpant ant reality intruded to remind him that, souled or no, Angel was still quick with his fists, and that a bigger fool than he currently was would take on both the Slayer and another vampire in one fight. So he trailed along behind them as they made their way slowly down the street, holding hands and peering into darkened windows, pausing every now and then for a brief kiss.
Taking their damned time about it, he groused internally. Counselling himself to unfamiliar patience, he consoled himself with the undeniably pleasant sight of the Slayer's hips sashaying as she walked. High boots and a short skirt did nothing to impede his view. A light open jacket concealed her upper body from him, but when she turned to point out some curio in a shop window, he could clearly see the hard points of her nipples through the thin fabric of her skimpy top.
The warm buzz deep in his belly was now quite a bore ore pronounced than could be explained by the mere proximity of a Slayer. He was grateful that his own presence would be masked from her senses by the vampire much closer to her. He was careful, too, to stay downwind so Angel wouldn't scent him.
Finally. His quarry had reached the corner where the road angled sharply up hill past the cemetery, and they were preparing to part ways. But first there had to be a series of passionate - yet paradoxically chaste - kisses and a lingering embrace. Angel kept his hands at the Slayer's shoulders as though ready to push her away at any moment. In contrast, her hands - looking absurdly small on his beefy frame - trailed down to rest for a moment in the small of his back, then lifted his jacket to explore further. That is, until Angel's hands dropped swiftly to pin her wrists as he backed away.
First I've heard that being cursed with a soul castrates a bloke as well. Angelus would have had her spread-eagled on the floor of the first convenient abandoned building long before now. Hell, not even abandoned - the bastard always liked an audience. Mind you, sex was the last thing he'd get around to.
And now there were tears - always a woman's ultimate weapon, Slayer or no - and finally some conciliatory kisses that threatened his stomach again. But at long last, Angel headed alone up the hill, and the Slayer turned to enter the cemetery.
This being Sunnydale, home of the scenic Hellmouth, it wasn't very long at all before the Slayer was confronted by a gangly youth, the grave dirt still fresh on his too-small suit. As though he'd been through a growth spurt just before he'd died and his mother couldn't afford to--
He shook the intruding thoughts aside and focussed on watching her technique, but didn't get much of a show. With almost contemptuous ease, she had the hapless fledgling on his back and was plunging a stake into his heart. Where does she hide a stake in an outfit like that?
He drew closer, hoping to come up on her by surprise. He'd only managed to close the distance between them to half when she straightened, brushed the dust from herself, and took off across the lawn at an easy lope. If he wanted to take her tonight, he'd have to give chase. The stake had vanished from her hand as quickly as it had appeared before. Where the hell--? Several rude suggestions presented themselves, and he grinned. I'd almost pay money to see that.
She didn't end up running any great distance, however, only far enough to take her to where the cemetery edged up against a small, scrubby outcropping of the woods. He had to stop abruptly and take refuge behind a convenient monument when she turned back to survey her surroundings more cautiously. He peered out again in time to see her clamber up onto the low stone wall that marked the cemetery boundary and quickly moved to follow.
"Hey there," she called to someone unseen. "You know, this isn't really the safest place to hang out--"
He was close enough now to see she was addressing a couple currently enjoying an enthusiastic snog up against a tree. Vampire senses told him quickly that that wasn't all they'd been enjoying recently, though the Slayer still hadn't noticed. The equally heady scents of sex and blood had reached his nose just as the couple turned to face her, revealing amber eyes gleaming in the shadow of ridged, leonine brows. He thought wistfully of perhaps taking Drusilla out one night for a shag by moonlight once she was well again, followed by a choice kill, before turning his attention back to the spectacle at hand.
"Then again, the Hellmouth is probably a four-star resort compared to where you come from." Had to give her credit: she didn't turn a hair or pause for a moment. "Let me introduce myself: I'm Buffy, and I'll be your activities director while you're here. On tonight's schedule, we've got arrogant boasting and threats, followed by rash decisions to attack. And then finally there's screaming for mercy, and disappearing into a big pile of dust. Who'd like to go first?"
They didn't reply at once, only looked her up and down with insouciant stares before languidly untangling their limbs from one another. The Slayer shifted impatiently froot oot to foot on the wall, waiting.
"I'll eat your eyes like grapes," the woman declared in a strangely conversational tone, as though she couldn't quite bring herself to be concerned that this was the Slayer challenging her. She's drunk. Either that, or she's monumentally stupid.
"So glad you've decided to go with the program," the Slayer chirped brightly. She dropped down onto the cemetery side of the fence again and bounced lightly on her toes in anticipation.
The woman hissed in rage at this flippant response, and vaulted the wall easily in her rush, her partner close behind her. The Slayer's eyes never left her attackers, but her posture was relaxed and ready.
Spike realized that what he'd taken first for arrogance was in fact strategy, and his estimation of her training ratcheted up a few notches. By goading them into rushing her together, they'd made themselves less effective. Any two assailants, unless they'd trained to fight a coordinated attack, often would hinder each other more than they would help. Take out one, and you could deal with the other at your leisure.
That the Slayer, too, knew this she demonstrated when she spun with liquid grace and kicked out, planting her foot squarely into the side of the woman's knee. She collapsed with a shriek and a satisfying crunch of bone, her leg bent out under her at an unnatural angle. "You bitch! That's not fair!"
"Not fair? Not fair? " Incredulous now, the Slayer almost missed the moment when the woman's partner chose to rush her. She sidestepped him at the last possible instant, and spun to kick him as he passed. "Two on one, and you're complaining about fair?"
Spike reeled back behind the stone that concealed him from her sight. It wasn't that she had almost seen him, but rather what he had seen. It unnerved him that he, William the Bloody, who had possessed Drusilla's naked and willing snatch a dozen different ways should be so captivated by a flash of schoolgirl panty. It made him remarkably uncomfortable, and he resolved to put an end to the feeling at once. And the source of it, as well. But... not until she had taken care of those two fools. When he killed her, he wouldn't need their help.
"I'll tell you what's not fair." Without even having to look, she drove her elbow into the man now rushing her again from behind. "I've got SATs coming up that I haven't even studied for yet, you know." The same elbow to the back of his neck drove him face-first into the grass.
A well-placed boot to his stomach tumbled him sideways. "My mother thinks I'm over at Willow's studying right now. And all I hear from her is how important it is to get into a good college. Like I'm going to even live to have to worry about it." She scraped loose tendrils of hair back from her face with both hands in exasperation. "And let's not even mention the boyfriend who's more interested in being noble than-"
The iron bar of the man's forearm across her windpipe choked off her complaint in mid-whine. But with a deft dip and flip, he flew over her shoulder and hit the ground - again - with a meaty thud.
"I mean, a girl sends all the signals and he just chooses to ignore them?" Before the man could rise again, she was at his side, falling to plant one knee firmly in his belly and brandishing the ubiquitous stake. "He doesn't get it, you know? I don't have the time, that I can wait."
The woman screamed in inarticulate rage and pain from where she lay.
The Slayer spared her a brief glance, devoid of any sympathy. "And then I have to come out here and find the two of you trying to swallow each other's tongues. Which you know, might actually work for you, what with the whole not breathing thing and all. But when even the vampires have better love lives than I do-" The stake punched through meat and bone without so much as slowing, and the vampire beneath her vanished into an obliging cloud of dust. "It just kind of pisses me off.
"But don't worry," she said, rising to her feet and advancing on her second helpless victim. "You won't get to feel lonely very much longer." The woman scrabbled back desperately, dragging her useless leg and trying to escape. In a flash the Slayer was at her side, one hand brutally yanking her back by the hair so that her body arched into the descending stake.
"Not fair..." the Slayer echoed once more as she rose, brushing away dust. "No kidding..." Her breaths came shallow and fast, her face flushed - and he could smell now that it was from a bit more than just the exertion of the battle. He almost laughed out loud at the thought of Angel - now prissy beyond all telling - reacting to his supposedly innocent girlfriend's taste in turn-ons.
He watched as she settled herself on low, round-topped stone monument - to catch her breath, he supposed, and gathered himself to attack. But then she swung one leg over to straddle the rough stone.
What the hell--? He froze, mesmerized.
Her head tipped slowly until her hair fell forward to conceal much of her face as she rocked slowly and rhythmically astride the stone memorial. Letting her teeth close on her lower lip, she worried at it in time to her motions.
He shifted uncomfortably in his hiding place. The front of his jeans was now painfully tight, and he slipped one hand down to ease the new ache t. H. His eyes, however, remained locked on the unexpected gift of the spectacle before him.
Her pace gradually increasing, she threw her head back. Her lips parted in a soundless 'O' of delight as she slid both hands up her bare thighs. As her skirt slid up her legs, he caught a glimpse of that white cotton again, now darkened with moisture. Slim fingers circled firmly against the taut fabric and a breathy gasp escaped her. Her back arched as though to present her perfect breasts to him, erect nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric of her top. They bounced enticinin tin time to her movements. Soft kittenish gasps and moans slipped helplessly from her mouth.
S cou couldn't take any more. With a savage at at his zipper, he set his prick free into his hand and matched her stroke for stroke, fingers almost painfully tight. They continued like this, watched and watcher, for some several more minutes, until he thought he'd reached the end of his endurance. But finally her hips bucked sharply once, twice, and she gave herself over to her climax. Her louder cries handily covered his own as he let himself spill at last, gratefully, onto the dry brown tangle of dead grass that surrounded his hiding place.
Once he'd regained some semblance of self-control, he tucked himself away again and drew his zipper closed, swearing. The perfect moment, and he'd missed it, caught with his own pants down. And now she was going to get away. Keeping up a steady stream of invective under his breath to distract himself from his shaken composure, Spike scrambled out from behind the monument. He slowed to a casual pace at the exact moment to saunter forth into her line of sight, clapping in slow, deliberate insolence.

"Well hello Slayer. Fancy meeting you here. And such a show." He clucked his tongue in mock outrage. "Really. You'd think Angel wasn't taking good enough care of you." He could hear her heart thundering in her chest, sending a rush of blood to pink her cheeks at his words. Shamed heat radiated outward from her in waves, practically bathing him in her warmth. He gloried in it.
"You're disgusting."
"Oh, don't I know it." He edged closer over the lawn. "And yet there's always more to learn. Are you offering lessons, pet?"
"I'll teach you something, Spike." The stake was back in her hand once again without visible transition. "It's a song called 'Blowing in the Wind'. Maybe you've heard it?"
"Doubt it was covered by the Sex Pist--" It wasn't the stake she hit him with, though, it was her fist. Packing the force of a sledgehammer, it connected perfectly with the point of his chin and sent him sprawling.
He bounded back to his feet in an instant, a wide grin splitting his features. Now this was just what he'd been looking for in an evening's entertainment. A little sex, a little violence - what more could a bloke ask? He hoped he still had a few cigarettes left that he could smoke over her corpse when he was done. He attacked.
And was promptly set flat on his ass again.
He got to his feet again, a little more slowly than the first time. This was not the way it was supposed to go. He circled her warily, trying to figure out where the plan had gone all pear-shaped. Time after time, he moved in to attack, and time and again ended up receiving just as much as he dished out.
To make things worse, the Slayer kept up a steady stream of snide commentary all through the battle, mocking everything from the colour of his hair to the size of his boots. He was hard pressed to find the words to keep up, much less the blows. Still, he kept attacking, and kept grinning. He hadn't had a dance like this one in a hundred years.
It seemed as though they'd been duelling this way forever; neither one able to make any lasting headway against the other. Belatedly he remembered hearing from the local boys that this Slayer was the one that had killed the Master, after having died herself and being brought back. Clearly this one ho deo death wish yet. But couldn't she at least be getting tired? He redoubled his attack and scored a few blows of his own, but was still barely managing to penetrate her defences.
Spike snarled frustration. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Anger and desperation drove him forward for one more attempt, and the Slayer back-pedalled from the sudden onslaught. At the moment she backed away to regroup, her boot heel hit a protruding root, and losing her footing, she stumbled bintointo the trunk of the interfering tree.
Well, if he couldn't win by skill, he'd take luck. It had done for him before just as well, and it wasn't as though there was going to be anyone around to challenge his story when all was said and done. He grabbed for - and caught - her windmilling arms, one in each hand. He could feel the small bones of her wrists grind over one another as he tightened his hold. The stake fell from suddenly numb fingers.
He thrust his hip against her, forcing her against the tree, and took a deep, deliberate breath to savour the essence of sweat and hot blood before him. "Thanks for the dance, Slayer." Skin burned and bones ached as the demon emerged, senses locked on throbbing veins clad in translucent flesh.
Her head drove forward suddenly,shinshing her mouth against his before he could strike. Fangs threatened, but she didn't recoil, only tore at his lower lip with her own blunt teeth before pulling it hard into her mouth.
In his boundless surprise he lost his grip on her. Had she wished it, she could have escaped and dusted him before he had a chance to recover. Instead, her arms shot about him, one hand weaving painfully tightly into the hair at the back of his head and forcing him closer. Clearly, she didn't wish.
That... was a kiss.
In his surprise he let the demon melt away. Glossy pink lips parted and released him, her tongue flicking out eagerly to trace the outline of his now tender mouth. She tastes just like raspberry cordial. She clung fiercely to him like a second skin, not letting a breath of night air grow between them, and he found a moment to wonder how she could manage without air for so long.
His fingers crept unopposed up her bare thighs under her skirt and hooked into the fabric of her panties. The cotton was no match for him and parted easily before his assault, the elastic giving way at last with a sharp snap more felt than heard. Some unconscious impulse made him stuff the resulting scrap of cloth into his back pocket.
The rich musk of her exposed cunt rose heady on the night air. None too gently, he plunged his fingers into her, palm cupping the soft curve of her mons. But rather than pull away, she ground eagerly against his hand in hungry rhythm, driving him deeper. Her own fingers were now pulling at his belt, then tugging impatiently at his zipper. Fuck, her hands are warm! Bet she's driven the ponce round the bend with these hands...
He began to entertain the most wonderful fantasy of leaving her naked, dead and drained on Angel's doorstep, legs spread wide to expose her willing snatch, overflowing with his jism. What a rare treat that would be, to hang about long enough to see his reaction. Might even be worth having to scarper from Sunnydale the very next day in order to escape his sire's wrath. His idyllic reverie was rudely interrupted with a sharp tug that he correctly interpreted as a request for his full attention.
He shoved roughly into her - and froze, at both her pained cry and the sudden sharp scent of fresh blood on the night air. He realized its source an instant later. A broad grin splis fis face and he roared laughter. "Priceless! This is priceless! The Slayer's cherry--"
"Shut! Up! Spike!" Each word was accompanied by a hammer-blow across his face - and yet she didn't push him away.
He could take a hint. Wordlessly he growled, and thrust hard into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck to suckle there, so that he could feel the heady pulsation of the blood in her veins, smell its rich promise - separated from him by only the most delicate of barriers. It wouldn't even require fangs to open that glorious font. Maybe he could still make that fantasy a reality after all--
He threw his head back and howled his surprise when he first felt the vice-grip of her internal muscles working on him, mercilessly pulling and kneading his rigid cock. Pain opened the door to more pleasure, and he began to lose whatever control he thought he'd had over this encounter. The same alchemy seemed at work in her, because she mewled satisfaction in time with his thrusts.
At first he thought the tearing sound was his own flesh, but it was only his shirt giving way to the assault of her hands, slipped up under his coat. One slim leg cocked up over his hip and pressed him ever more tightly against her. Her nails ripped and gouged his flesh until the blood rilled down his back, but she took his surprised grunts for passion, and worked him harder. Or perhaps she knew the discomfort was was causing him, and simply didn't care. Soon enough she was writhing against him and moaning, sounding for all the world as enthusiastic as Drusilla. This was an exceptionally disturbing thought, and he banished it at once.
Or tried. But he'd never in his long century of stolen nights felt such powerfully contradictory sensations. She was as ruthless and cruel and demanding of his body - or more so - as his dark queen, whose pale, lean body he grappled with eagerly every chance he could take. Such traits belonged to flesh cool and still as stone, not warmly alive. Yet she was undeniably, gloriously hot; to his every sense she blazed like limelight in the darkness. He thought he might burn up from the heat of her, but he couldn't find enough strength to care any more. She could have led him into an inferno; he would have taken little notice, lost as he was in sensation.
Her mouth fastened to the skin of his throat and she pulled the thin flesh there hard against her teeth. She left a series of small, precise and livid suck marks in a chain across his neck and chest. Several of the bites broke the skin and left her lips smeared with his own blood. When he would have opened his mouth to voice his astonishment, she snarled "I don't need to hear you talk, Spike. Just shut up and fuck me."
No one would believe there could be such darkness hidden in her. He stiluldnuldn't believe it, but any thoughts he might have entertained of leaving her lying drained and dead had fled. All thoughts were flown - except the one that insisted that he must make her his own, must have her. This may be even better than killing her.
Not that she cared one whit for his own satisfaction. She was using him; he was a toy, a machine made for her pleasure, and she was clutching at him now, faster and harder. It had to be painful for her, this first time, but her limbs shook, and her body began to tense and tremble in his hold and she uttered a low, keening moan of gratification.
Sweet Christ, woman... "Buffy..." he gasped, spending helplessly into her and letting her wring him dry. "Buffy... sweet..."
She didn't give him a single moment to enjoy his own release. She pushed him away from her with both hands, aided momentarily by a boot heel planted squarely in his solar plexus. He spra acr across the scrubby earth, stones and branches digging painfully through his now sticky coat and into his abraded skin.
Buffy stared down at him with wide eyes, her mouth agape, and drew both hands to cheeks gone ruddy with shock. Don't know what's surprised you more, love - that you liked it when I hurt you, or that you liked hurting me more.
For a long moment, neither one of them dared to move. He thought he'd never seen anything so devastatingly, terribly beautiful as the sight of her in the moonlight, her blood and his come intermingleainiaining her thighs.
He scrabbled in the closely manicured lawn, attempting to recover, found himself on his knees before her like a supplicant to some pagan goddess, and knew his own defeat. I am the Slayer's dog. When she closed her eyes and let her head loll back, he was quick to take that his petition had been granted and he buried his face between her legs.
Hands raked hard through his hair again as he feasted on her swollen flesh. Fingers and tongue worked together to tease out every last morsel of sweet Slayer blood. She brought one leg up over his shoulder where he knelt before her, opening herself further to him. Her quim held just enough traces to keep him suckling at her until at last she cried a second release into the night, but it left him unsatisfied. Without pause for second thoughts, he let his fangs descend again, and turned to sink them deeply into the flesh of her thigh. He had time for only one swallow before a two-handed blow to his face cracked the bridge of his nose and knocked him away from her.
"You fucking bastard!" she hissed, clutching at the wound in her thigh.
"Thought that's what you loved best about me, pet," he replied with a brazen grin, recovering his equilibrium. I'm no one's dog. I can have her any way I want, if I want. He wiped away the blood streaming from his broken nose and licked it from his fingers nearly as eagerly as he had hers, moments before. It had only been a mouthful, but his head reeled with the power in it. A century had clearly dulled his memory of the electrifying effects, or he'd never have let the New York Slayer lie untouched. Dazed, and sated on what couldn't have been more than a few teaspoons of her, he collapsed back to wonder what it might be like to do this again, but when she was rich and fecund with the dark of the moon. Never happen. But at least I know she'll have some fun trying to explain that scar.
"Get out of Sunnydale, Spike. The next time I see you, I'll kill you." She tried, without much success, to draw her clothes back into order and resume some semblance of dignity.
He was having none of it; it was far too much fun to taunt her - since he'd get no more other satisfaction from her this night. "Will it be this much fun, next time? Can we play hide-the-stake again?"
Her face tightened in wordless fury and he decided not to press his luck any further. After all, it was enough he'd likely have to chain Dru down once she caught wind of the Slayer's scent all over him. He wondered idly if there'd be enough traces of her blood on his cock to placate his darling, or if he'd have to get the knives out again.
Scrambling to his feet before the Slayer could change her mind and dust him this very night, he tugged his jeans back up, stumbling momentarily when his foot got caught up in one leg. He yelped as tender flesh was nipped by the zipper's steel teeth, but managed to close and button quickly. But he needn't have worried; she seemed to have all but forgotten he existed, caught up in her own confusion.
Could take her out right now - but I've found something better than killing a Slayer, and it's worth a second go.
He turned his back on her then without concern, and set off for home at an easy lope. He spared a single glance back, and was rewarded with the sight of her collapsed against the stone wall, face buried in her hands.
Oh yes. This is going to be a very interesting year.
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Pursuit