Awards for Wreckage

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: Set in the Wishverse, post the credits.
Summary: Buffy mourns the loss of a comrade when a favorite enemy shows up to play.
Warnings: blood-play, graphic sexual content, biting, claim, language

Response to fanon_spuffy’s first challenge.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. They are being used out of respect and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.



A/N: I don’t do Wishverse well, but I thought it’d be interesting to see a what-if. I know Buffy’s not as hardened in this as she was during the episode, but I offer a minor explanation…in the end, though, this is just a small bit of smutty fun and no one should read too much into it. Thanks!

Also, this is currently self-betaed. I just got impatient. *wiggle*

~

The gem made loops around her fingers. Under the index, over the middle, under the ring, and so on. How long she'd sat playing with the damn thing was anyone's guess, but time didn't matter. It wouldn't glow, and so long as it wouldn't glow, it meant the double was dead.

The double she'd sent to Sunnydale in her stead. The one she'd gotten killed.

Buffy sighed hard. Wesley had told her not to let it bother her. The doubles were there for a reason, after all; they were set to prevent her from suffering their fate. The Council's own special brand of damage control. Cleveland was a hotspot for which no one had been prepared, and with special circumstances came special rules.

It was how the potential had found herself dead. Kendra. Was her name Kendra? Buffy didn't know. They all blurred. One right after the other. Nameless girl after nameless girl.

“The ants go marching one by one,” Buffy sang under her breath, gripping the cords of the swing and kicking off the ground. Patrol was slow tonight. No uglies going bump in her night. Maybe the Powers had given her break—she wasn’t exactly in a slice ‘em and dice ‘em mood, no matter how much fun it sounded. There were other cemeteries, she supposed, but she didn’t feel like it tonight.

Tonight she wanted a break.

“Evenin’, love.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, skidding to a halt. “What do you want, Spike?”

“Hey now. No way to greet a mortal enemy.”

She sighed harshly and twirled in her seat to face him, the swing cords twisting. There weren’t enough words to describe how not in the mood she was for this. “Better than a stake through the heart,” she replied. “Which is more than you deserve.”

“We both know you don’t mean that.” Spike slid his hands into his duster pockets. “What’s eating you?”

Buffy held his gaze a minute longer, then sighed again, her eyes dropping to the ground. She always did this—always divulged more than she should. Spike had a way of wrangling more from her than anyone in her life, and through the lonely nights she’d come to rely upon that. Ever since he and his crazy bride had stormed into her town, her life had been on its head. Nights became longer, fights became tougher, but at the same time her enemy provided a constant sorely lacking in her life.

They had become…friends, which was weird for both of them. Really weird. Buffy didn’t have friends. She had Wesley, who watched after her, told her what apocalypse she had to stop, what bad-asses thought they owned this town, and all that jazz. But there were no friends. She was too well known for friends, and those who grew close to her typically wound up with two bloodied holes in their necks.

Or dead in towns no one had ever heard of.

“One of the girls died,” she said. “We were trying this new thing and she died.”

“One of who?”

“Can’t be everywhere, can I?” Buffy untwirled herself and rolled to her feet. “I get so many requests. I even got one for some demonic version of Oprah.” She made a face. “I didn’t even know demons had their own television stations.”

Spike smirked appreciatively.

“Did you know?”

“It’s a sub-culture,” he explained. “And bit if a bore, if you ask me. Nothin’ as riveting as Passions or even the home cooking network. More like ‘kill all humans, evil reigns forever’ and all that.”

Buffy nodded and stretched. “Well, Wesley got something devised with the Council where I could be a thousand places at once.” She held up the gem she’d been playing with. “They wear one of these and I hold onto it and they look and act and sound like me. I just sent one to some dive in California and she got crushed.” Buffy snickered and stuffed the gem into her pocket.

Spike looked fascinated. “Who’s they, love?”

Another shrug. “Name it. This last one was a potential, the one who was gonna be called when I snuff it. She came from a culture where being of the chosen is some glamorous…whatever, but they think it’s the shit. I can’t wrap my mind around that.” Buffy shook her head. “Others have been Council chicks or whatever. They wear the gem, they go where I can’t.”

“You telling me there are times when you and me have—”

She snickered and held up a hand. “Unless you’ve been out of the tri-state area in the past three months…I’m ground zero girl.”

“Bloody relief, that is. Hate to be pummeling the wrong person.”

Buffy arched a brow. “Who pummels who, now?”

“You’re due for a good thrashing, that’s for bloody sure.” He inhaled sharply, reaching into his duster pocket for his cigs. “So, Dru left me.”

A pause. From what she knew of Spike and his insane mistress of the night, the statement was way too blasé for the feeling meant behind it, which meant they were on dangerous turf. Perhaps this wasn’t a social call after all.

She licked her scarred lips. The scar was a present from their first encounter. She didn’t know yet if it would be permanent, but she didn’t care. A scar was a scar, and she had plenty—many of them mementos from Spike. “Did she?”

“Oh, don’t play that, Slayer,” he drawled, lighting up. “You knew it was coming, didn’t you?”

Her hands came up. “Poking around her head is your hobby, not mine.”

“Said I wasn’t demon enough for her, whatever that means.” He adjusted his shoulders, heaved a sigh, and set a glare on her. “Reckon it’s your fault.”

“Of course you would.”

“This isn’t right, what we have.”

“We don’t have anything, Spike. Except…” Her nose wrinkled. “We don’t have anything. There are nights when you need your ass kicked and nights when I’m too tired. This is the latter.”

“Oh, don’t play games with me,” he barked, cigarette dangling between his lips. “One of us should’ve been gone by now.”

“You’re too entertaining to dust.”

“And Dru thinks it’s because I got you under my skin…or want you there.”

“What?”

“Come on, love…” Spike’s eyes raked down her body in a way that made her feel much more aware of herself than she’d been in eons. “You know what I mean.”

She shuddered, nipples suddenly hard and a foreign heat making her thighs clench. Buffy hadn’t let anyone bone her since Pike the last time he was in town, and her muscles had squeezed him so hard he’d nearly wept, and not in the good way. At that moment she’d sworn off men, convinced slayers were supposed to wander single among the underworld, slaying demons without want of anything normal. She’d stopped perceiving herself as a woman then…which made it all kinds of weird to be smacked with perception now.

Therefore, she whirled on her heel, intending to head on home, not wanting to feel anything. Feelings led to loss, and she’d lost too much to give herself more to bereave. “And to that, goodnight.”

“Hold on, now.”

“No, don’t think I will.”

Spike growled and sprinted after her. “You don’t have a choice. I just told you—”

“That Dru left you. I got it. Boo hoo.”

“No, you don’t bloody got it!” He jogged up ahead of her and placed himself in her path. “Dru left me because of you.”

Buffy blinked at him. “Unless there’s an epilogue, this is old news, Spike.”

“She left me, and I don’t care.” He shrugged demonstratively. “I don’t care. I…there’s something wrong with me, Slayer.”

“Something?”

“I can’t get you outta my head!”

“Well, let’s start with getting me out of your sight and going from there.”

Spike snarled and shook his head, closing the space between them, his hands clamping down on her shoulders. “Get it through your thick head, already,” he hissed through his teeth, jerking her against his chest. Buffy swallowed hard, the rush coming back. The strange nipple-hardening, thigh-clenching rush. She felt hot, wet, and she hadn’t felt either in so long. It was as though an accumulation of every encounter had mounted into something unforeseen. Something of which she wasn’t even aware until that moment.

“It’s you, baby,” he growled, eyes roaming her face until settling on her mouth. On her scarred lips—the scar he’d given her. She knew then her life was about to change, just as surely as she knew she should fight it. But God, she hadn’t felt anything in so long. Nothing but cold and pain and death and she was tired of not living. Spike was all she knew of the world, the only person aside from Wesley she cared about, and no matter how screwed up that was, it didn’t make it any less true.

This was where she belonged.

“It’s all you,” Spike said again, then the cigarette was on the ground and his mouth was hot against hers, and everything else melted away. Buffy moaned—an honest to God moan. She didn’t think she had those in her anymore. He tasted like the world was on fire, desperate, needy nips of teeth against her lips before his tongue implored entry to her mouth. And immediately, her defenses deflated.

It had been so long since she’d been touched.

“Oh God,” Buffy whimpered as her lips broke from his, his mouth tearing down her neck. “I can’t…this…”

“You taste so good,” he purred, hands wandering, grabbing things that hadn’t been grabbed in what felt like lifetimes. “Such soft skin…” His tongue laved her skin. “So sweet…”

“I can’t believe this.”

Spike growled softly, teeth scraping the pulse point on her neck. “Neither can I,” he replied. “We’re buggered, you know that? Completely buggered. I’ve wanted to taste you since the moment I set eyes on you, Slayer. Wanted this…” His hand delved between her legs, palming her pussy through her sweats, “delicious cunt wrapped around me.”

“You have?” God, she hated how small her voice sounded. This wasn’t her—it was a shadow of the girl she’d once been, the girl she’d chased away the second she realized what being the Slayer truly meant. The hint of femininity she’d cast aside came crashing back, and just as quickly she was a wide-eyed school girl macking on her first crush. Only Spike wasn’t a crush, he was dangerous…and he was hers.

“Oh yeah, baby. Wanna fill you up. Make you cream so hard you’ll forget anything but what it feels like to have me inside you.”

It took a second to realize the ground was moving beneath her feet, but by the time it occurred to her to do something about it, her butt had collided with something slanted and cold. Buffy wasn’t an idiot; she should stop this. She should kick his presumptuous ass up and down Main Street, but it felt too good to stop. She’d been wandering in the wilderness without touch for so long, and with Spike, it felt right.

It felt too right to fight.

“God, you’re a picture,” Spike sighed, jerking down her sweats and panties together, but only managing to get one leg free before his patience ran out. “Skin all flushed, lips swollen…just begging to be fucked.”

No one talked to her like that.

Only, for her stunning lack of rebuttal, apparently Spike did.

“Mmm,” he drawled, running his fingers through her curls before dipping to explore her opening. “So wet. Didn’t know you were this hot for me, darling.”

“Bite me.”

Spike’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Be careful what you wish for.” Then his hands were tearing at his fly and shoving his jeans down to mid-thigh, his hard cock springing into Buffy’s eager grip. “Put me where you want me,” he murmured, thrusting into her hand.

She had no idea how she’d let things get this far. How in God’s name she’d managed to let Spike splay her body on a kiddie slide as his cock pried apart her pussy lips and sank inside her. She’d sworn this wouldn’t happen again, especially with what had happened with Pike, nothing could eradicate the voices screaming it was right. Her muscles ached as she remembered, but the pain she’d experienced the first time had dwindled to nothing. This was different. This was…

“Oh, my God,” Buffy moaned, linking her hands behind Spike’s neck and dragging him down to steal a kiss off his lips. He began rocking against her, cock dragging against her slick flesh. “This…”

“I know.”

“I’ve only…”

“I know.”

Her hands drifted to her sides, finding purchase on the rims of the slide. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” she murmured, hips rolling.

“You’re living.”

“This is crazy.”

“Mhmm,” Spike mused. “My kind of crazy. Dance with me, love. Just like that.”

She had no idea if she was doing this right, but perhaps there wasn’t a way to do it wrong. The world was no longer the world—she didn’t know where she lived anymore. All she knew was the bliss of being torn in two, of feeling a part of something larger than she was.

“No idea how long I’ve wanted this, do you?” Spike demanded heatedly, dragging his lips across her throat, fingers dancing over her pussy, and the dual sensation about drove her insane. She hadn’t had this before—hadn’t experienced a man touching her intimately while driving his cock inside her. Pike had been as considerate as a first lover could be, but he hadn’t touched her like she was cherished. He hadn’t pursued her satisfaction, hadn’t fingered her clit, like Spike was doing, hadn’t done anything special to drive her out of her mind.

Spike bit at her lips. “Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. You’re all I think about.”

His hands slid under her hips completely, anchoring her into his thrusts, which grew harder with every stroke. Pain sliced her insides, but she didn’t fight—pain was welcome. Pain was pleasure—pain was life. She needed this as much as she needed anything, needed to feel beyond the cold, beyond the death of friends, she needed touch and touch he gave.

“Tell me you think of me,” he begged softly, nibbling at her throat.

“What if I don’t?”

He stiffened, then exploded in what was either desperation or rage. “Lie to me, then,” he demanded, pounding her into the next world, bruising her body with his. Her muscles ached, but she’d never been wetter than she was at that second—the steady slip and slide of his cock from her pussy, her body contracting. “Tell me you think of me.”

“I think you’re disgusting.”

He rammed harder. “Liar.”

“Absolutely…ohhh, disgusting.”

“Seems like you love disgusting.”

Buffy found herself grinning in spite herself. Hot streaks of white flashed through her veins, her eyes dipping between them, watching her swollen pussy lips contract around his slick cock every time he entered her. “And what if I do?”

He raised her hips, following her gaze. “God, I love this,” he murmured. “Can’t ever get enough of it.”

“What is this?” Buffy demanded between gasps. “I need more.”

“You’ll get more.”

“No…Spike, I need…”

His lips pressed hard against hers. It wasn’t a romantic kiss, but it held a world of promise. “Not giving this up,” he promised, voice uneasy though not for lack of conviction. The hand between them remembered itself and resumed the torturous massage of her clitoris, rubbing her in tender circles and igniting a series of sparks across her body. “Wanna take you…somewhere and worship every inch…”

The thought had her insides liquefying.

“Wanna taste your honey. Wanna bury my tongue inside this sweet, hot cunt and eat you for hours.”

Buffy’s skin nearly melted right off her bones.

“Want to come, pet?”

She nodded harshly, not even sure what he’d asked. All she knew at that second, the fingers at her clit began working overtime, pressing her just hard enough to fan the sparks into an all out bonfire without pressing the burn into hurt. This was the part she worried about—the part where her muscles had clamped and squeezed so tight she hadn’t seen heads or tails of Pike since their disastrous encounter. But the explosion was something she wanted, something she needed. She needed so badly to feel attached, to feel needed, to feel…

Anything.

“That’s it,” Spike whispered, kissing her lips. “Feel that?”

Oh, she felt it. The flames licked higher, her pussy growing tighter and wetter with every plunge. And then something pierced her neck and the world tumbled into light, ecstasy ripping through her body. Her muscles clamped and squeezed and Spike roared and bucked, and it was wonderful. There was no pain—there was nothing but this.

Every second was wonderful. She’d never known pleasure like this.

She’d never known pleasure at all.

“Mine,” Spike snarled against her bloodied throat. “You’re mine, Buffy.”

“Oh God, yes,” she answered without thought.

“Forever, you understand? We’re just beginning, you and me. Just beginning.”

Buffy nodded hard, choking a sob and riding out the waves.

Forever.

She supposed it was a start.




The End