DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'. Well, the baddies are mine.
OK, Cortina’s mine, too. But everything else really is his. Too bad.
SUMMARY: Daymon has used Spike to get Buffy on his plane to Greece, while the Scoobies have decided to use Celie to track the Slayer.
The wounds chafed, exacerbated by his cramped quarters, and Daymon began to regret not having the plane outfitted for larger occupants when he’d had the chance. There was room in the hold, of course, but that was presently occupied, and somehow he suspected that the Chosen One would not be very welcoming of her host at the moment.
Now that he was bereft of Celie’s magics, arrangements would have to be made for containment of the vampire once they reached Greece. Rarely had Daymon seen such allegiance as that which bound Spike and Buffy, and he knew that his power over the Slayer lay in ensuring her companion’s continuing health. Before, he’d harbored suspicions regarding the true nature of their relationship; now, having witnessed the sacrifice she’d been willing to make, those doubts were banished. It was obvious the pair were lovers, possessors of some fathomless marriage of spirit, Slayer and vampire locked in the constrictive embrace of their emotions as they fought to face the world. It was rather romantic really, and if he were in any other place in his life, Daymon was sure that he would be among those watching the duo, engrossed in the melodrama as it unfolded. But, his plans superseded his voyeurism, the ritual far too vital to him now to brave giving it up.
The schedule would have to be moved, of course. Having shed the remnants of the human self he’d gained during his first attempt at the cleansing, there was nothing curbing the acceleration of the demon’s disease now. If he didn’t wish to go mad in the wake of its power, the ritual must occur quickly, sooner rather than later, although with enough time for both him and the Chosen One to heal completely. The Chalice needed to be perfect, ready to host the demon once it had been expelled from his body; if not, all of this effort would have been expended for nothing.
Although muffled through the plane’s fuselage, Daymon listened to the recurring thumps and curses from the hold, a common refrain since their lift-off, and stifled the chuckle that rose to his throat. How he wished at the moment he could be a fly on the wall, to espy the antics of his caged guests in whatever activities required such thunderous accompaniment. At least he could be assured that at their current altitude, he didn’t have to worry about their escaping…
Buffy stared down at the pile of blankets on the upturned bed frame, arms folded across her chest. “I think he meant for me to sleep on that,” she said tightly.
“Well, rah rah, sis boom, too bad!” snarled Spike, as he prowled around the edges of the hold. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you decided to hand yourself over on a bloody platter!” He kicked at an empty box, sending it ricocheting against the metal hull.
“How many times do I have to say this?” Buffy muttered, gritting her teeth. “He. Was. Going. To. Kill you!”
“Appreciate the sentiment, luv, but if what you’ve said is true and Rupes has got his research right, I don’t think my life is worth having a Slayer Demon on the loose. Granted, might be kinda fun to watch for a while, but long run? Not a shining Buffy moment.”
As he passed her on one of his circuits of the hold, the young woman’s leg shot out, sweeping across his knees, sending him sprawling to his back. She pounced on top of him, pinning him down under her thighs. “You wanna talk about shining moments, Spike? I got one for you. How ‘bout when you decided to not to tell me that Daymon was really a demon? ‘Cause, gotta tell you, that one could’ve saved us a whole boatload of trouble.”
His eyes glittered as he replied. “And exactly when do you think would’ve been the right time, pet? When you were riding my cock like a possessed she-devil? Or when your clit was between my teeth?”
It was habit more than anything else. Buffy’s punch connected with his jaw, wrenching the vamp’s blond head sideways. He wasn’t fazed by it, his stormy gaze swiveling back to face her immediately, his nostrils flaring. “And here I’d thought we’d moved past the Spike beating,” he said smoothly.
Two spots of red appeared high on the Slayer’s cheeks. I’m not going to apologize, she thought stubbornly. He was being crude. Out loud, she argued, “Maybe if you could have a civilized conversation, you wouldn’t have to be a punching bag.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t get on this plane to fight with you, Spike.”
“Well, you’re doing a bloody good job of it,” the vampire muttered.
“I think that maybe we’ve got some…issues we should be talking about,” Buffy continued, ignoring his comment.
“Like how you were a silly bint for letting Daymon get to you?”
Her fingers curled automatically into a fist, and the young woman had
to fight to control her temper. God, he could be so infuriating! Why did
he always insist on saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong
time? Deep down, though, she knew he honestly believed it, that he was only
voicing the same argument Giles had, and that, in a certain light, yes,
it could look like she had made a foolish choice. She’d given her
reasoning to her Watcher…but did she have the nerve to tell Spike
to his face?
“Let’s do this rationally,” the Slayer finally said, her voice too calm, too in control. “Fact one. We are on a plane with a demon, headed for god knows where, because he wants to use me as this Chalice thingy for his little ritual.” She held up her hand as the vamp opened his mouth to speak. “It doesn’t matter how we got here. What matters is that we stop him before I have to start seriously reconsidering my skincare routine.”
“And how do you plan on doing that five thousand feet in the air?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
Spike shifted underneath her, raising his arms and putting his hands behind his head. “Always knew that Rupert was the brains in your bunch.”
“Fact two.” Her jaw was tight as she struggled not to lose her temper. “As much as I’m sure they’re going to try, I don’t think we can count on Giles and Cortina showing up to rescue us this time. That means, we have to work together. Just you and me. Now I know you’re pissed as hell, ‘cause god knows, I’m not too thrilled by your little memory lapse either, but we can’t afford to be going solo right now. Truth is, when you’re not being a total ass, we make a pretty good team. We handled our first great escape without a hitch, didn’t we?”
In spite of his anger, the blond vampire grinned. “It had its moments. Although next time, I think you should be the one who gets tied up.”
The Slayer sat back, her ass against his hips, and noticed for the first time that he was hard beneath his jeans. She shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, her own underwear was already beginning to soak through from their earlier row. The passion he ignited in her, whether they were fighting or making love, shocked her, astounded her, but more than anything else…thrilled her. “You ever wonder how come I always end up on top?” she asked, her voice slightly husky.
Spike’s eyes darkened, pupils expanding to overcome the blue, and his tongue poked out between his teeth as it ran along their edges. “’Cause I let you,” he drawled, and in a movement too quick for Buffy to counter, his fingers were digging into her hips…flipping her to the side…slamming her onto her back so that he was now the one hovering over her. He leaned forward, his hands balling into fists and resting above her shoulders so that his chest, his lips, those eyes, were only inches from hers. “Why’d you do it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why’d you get on the plane?”
All of a sudden, she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Her gaze was riveted on his face…the scar above his eyebrow that seemed to speak volumes without him having to open his mouth…the white velvet of his skin as it stretched taut over those cheekbones…that full bottom lip, begging to be bitten…and then there were those eyes…
Bottomless pools of liquid sapphire daring her to drown herself in their depths…an intelligence that blinked from animal cunning, to uncommon insight, to the tenderest of passions, all within the space of seconds…mirrors for the emotions that refused to hide within the safety of his skin…
The breath caught in her throat, snagging on the lump that had formed there, and Buffy felt the momentary sensation of choking as she struggled to regain control of her racing nerves. “I told you already,” she murmured.
“Slayers aren’t supposed to keep saving vampires’ lives.”
“Why not? You keep saving mine.”
“That’s because I love you, Buffy.”
It hung there between them, an open invitation, and Spike found himself searching her hazel eyes for something…anything…
“…makes four…”she breathed.
The vampire frowned. “…Four?” he questioned.
“That’s how many times you’ve told me that since all this happened,” she explained. She finally knew what to do with her hands. Reaching up, her fingertips glided over his jaw, down the side of his neck, skipping to his nape before entwining in the curls they found there.
The blond vampire couldn’t hide the surprise in his face. She was…counting? Did that mean…?
“…I was trying to explain it to Giles,” Buffy was saying. “But he didn’t get it either until I actually said it.” Slowly, deliberately, the young woman pulled his head down until his lips met hers.
There was nothing hesitant in this kiss; she knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it, and damned if she wasn’t going to get it. Hungrily, her tongue forced its entrance, parrying with his for dominance, tasting the elixir that was uniquely Spike’s. She couldn’t breathe---didn’t really want to---the world a kaleidoscope of steel and smoke before her eyes. Squeezing them shut, her other arm wrapped around his shoulders, coaxing him down on top of her so that he pressed her into the floor with his weight. Buffy almost sighed with pleasure. This was right; this was real. Nothing else in this universe mattered, but being here…being with him…
As their mouths fought, mingling in a fervent heat, Spike felt the world around him tilt in dangerous confusion, spinning his head with thoughts of her blistering flesh and gentle words. Almost reluctantly, he tore away, his lips swollen from her assault. “How the hell am I supposed to stay mad at you when you go and do something like that?” he asked.
She smiled. “Too much talking,” she said. “Not enough kissing,” and pulled him back down to her waiting lips.
The passion that had fueled their fight exploded as they ground themselves together. Leaving the vampire’s neck, the Slayer’s hand dragged down his corded back, pulling out the t-shirt where it was tucked into his jeans, exposing the alabaster skin to her touch. Her fingers dwelled in the small of his back, playing with the fine hair they found there, before scooping under the waistband, her nails raking across his buttock as she reached to cup his ass, pulling his hips even closer to hers.
A groan rumbled from Spike’s throat. He wanted to feel her skin against his, to have his Slayer sear him with her heat, but the fabric of their clothing stood in the way. His breath jagged, he reached over his shoulder to grab the cotton of his shirt and yanked it over his head in a clean jerk, breaking from the spell of her lips just long enough to slide his arms out and toss it aside. “Your turn,” he rumbled, before leaning down to suck greedily at the curve of her neck.
Reluctantly, Buffy pulled her hand away from his body to try and get to the buttons that did her blouse up. But where the vampire’s chest pressed into her, there was no room for clearance, and she suddenly found that she didn’t want to break the seal that joined them.
As the seconds passed and the young woman remained clothed, Spike growled in frustration. “Taking too long,” he said into her throat, and yanked the collar of the shirt down in a single liquid motion.
The Slayer felt the buttons pop, separate, the soft material slipping to allow her breasts to melt against him. “Hey,” she exclaimed softly. “We don’t have Cortina’s clothing service to replace that one.”
“So you’ll wear mine.” Those words, like molten lava down her spine, were all it took for Buffy. Her hips bucked, disengaging him from her frame, and she rolled away, ending on her hands and knees, head down so that her hazel eyes were staring at him through her thick lashes.
He sat back on his heels, his muscled chest reflecting the light that was bouncing around in the steel hold, and slowly, deliberately, lowered his hands to his jeans…unbuttoning…unzipping…but not removing…allowing the head of his swollen cock to peek out from the black denim, the drop of pre-cum glistening against his dark curly hair.
She hissed, the flames of desire licking down her thighs, her eyes glued to the succulence of his flesh. Just as slowly, just as deliberately, Buffy began crawling forward, closing the distance between them until Spike could see how dilated her pupils were, the green swallowed by the black, making her seem almost feral. Her tongue darted out, licking around his nipple, and the vampire reached over her back to slide his long hands down the seat of her trousers, cupping her ass to pull her against him.
Somewhere along the journey to his lap, the young woman’s pants came undone, pushed down around her ankles, so that all she had to do was give them one sharp kick and they were off. Wrapping her slim legs around his waist, Buffy held herself up over his thighs, her arms clinging to his shoulders, feeling the tip of his hardness brushing against her outer lips. Her eyes locked with his. No waiting this time…no hesitation…in a single liquid motion, she lowered herself, impaling her wetness with his cock.
Spike’s arms curled around her body, hugging her against his, and buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the fragrance of her skin, as she pumped up…
All those dreams, all those stupid fantasies, none of them compared to the real thing…the force of his Slayer as her inner muscles squeezed, stroking him, sucking him dry…shattering every coherent thought as the storm within his gut threatened to erupt…
He felt her chuckle against his cheek and turned his head to look at her, a question in his eyes.
“Somehow I managed to get on top again,” she said, laughing.
The smile slowly spread across his face. “Like I said,” he drawled, and bent her backwards, burying her in the blankets he’d disrupted earlier, “only ‘cause I let you.”
Pulling his chest away enough to break her hold, Spike grabbed first one wrist, then the other, gripping them tightly as he lifted her arms over Buffy’s head, stretching her torso without letting her hips disengage from his erection, pinning them down so that her shoulders were immobile. For a brief second, the young woman flashed on her first erotic dream about the vampire. He’d done almost this exact same thing, but then it had been his fingers buried inside her instead of his cock. She held her breath, waiting for him to continue their lovemaking…but he only hovered, watching her intently with glittering eyes.
“What do you want?” he queried.
Her mind raced. What did he mean? She wanted him, she wanted his cock, she wanted it all. What did he want her to say?
“What do you want?” he repeated.
The pounding of her heart sent the vibrations in her neck aquiver. “You,” Buffy whispered. “I want you.” She paused, felt the breath burn in her throat. “All of you.”
That was all he needed. With a powerful lunge, Spike thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in her heat. He never let go of her wrists, not when he began pumping forcefully in and out of her…
…not when she began to writhe against him, the fire in her pelvis spreading down her thighs, up her sides, into her breasts, hardening her nipples…
…not when his own muscles began to tremble, his arms threatening to give…
…not even when the young woman threw her head back, slamming it against the floor, exposing the muscular curve of her throat, screaming a barely coherent, “Fuck me!”…
Her words lit the fuse as he slammed into her, squirting deep inside, her pussy clenching, squeezing, the Slayer’s own orgasm convulsing her muscles. Their screams of ecstasy mingled and echoed throughout their metal cage, and Spike’s grip loosened as the spasms took control, allowing Buffy to wrench herself free. She clutched at his torso, somehow believing that holding him could make it last even longer.
As the shudders wracking his body dissipated, the vampire slumped forward, his weight pressing against her breasts. Her sigh of contentment filled his ears and he smiled. “Guess this means we’ve officially joined the mile high club,” he commented, rolling to her side without losing the contact of her skin.
Buffy snuggled against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as she laughed softly at his joke, and she inhaled deeply, drinking in the infusion of his scent. “God, Spike,” she murmured, “I do love you…”
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Giles watched Cortina as she swallowed the last of the water, washing down the powdered medicine with a grimace, and handed him back the glass. “You should really rest now,” he said, smoothing the blanket around her.
“Not yet,” she replied. “Not until we’ve done this.”
The Watcher sighed. “I don’t see why this can’t wait.”
“Trust me on this one,” the white demon urged. “Please.” She waited as he leaned over and picked up the book from the table. "Now read the prophecy,” she instructed.
It only took a moment, his blue eyes flicking over the type as he scanned the text. “I still don’t see---.”
“Read it again,” she ordered.
Giles paused, then returned his gaze to the page. After a moment, he started, “It seems perfectly clear that---.”
“Again.” Cortina’s voice was firm but gentle, as if she were coaching a child, but the Watcher didn’t seem to mind as this time, he took a few more moments to pore over the words. When he was done, he looked at her and shook his head.
“Read it out loud.”
“…And Chosen is the Chalice,
To war, with passion, with strength,
Then to devour, with equal fortitude
As the demon possesses her
Body, soul, spirit---.”
“There,” she interrupted. “That’s it.”
He took off his glasses, staring at her in bewilderment. “That’s what?” he queried.
“You don’t see it?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied, shaking his head. “To me, it’s very clear that it’s predicting a cleansing ritual---.”
“Oh, I’m not arguing about that,” Cortina said. “As prophecies go, the ending on that one definitely describes the effects of a demon cleansing. I just think, maybe, we might be worried about the wrong demon.” She waited, expectant, her pale eyes intent on his.
“We can’t be,” Giles disagreed. “Daymon’s made it very obvious that his intention is personal. And besides, as far as we know, he’s the only demon onboard with Buffy and Sp---.” He couldn’t even finish the vampire’s name as the pieces Cortina had seen fell together.
Then…as the demon possesses her body…
…oh God, the sex…
…she loves him…
The Watcher looked at his companion, the disbelief etched in his brow. “But…he loves her,” he argued. “He wouldn’t…do that to her…”
Cortina’s voice was low, as she shook her head. “You’re right, he wouldn’t. Not…intentionally.” She rushed to add, “I could be wrong, you know. That’s been known to happen.”
But he didn’t hear her last words as the whirlwind within his head swirled out of control. The prophecy…the demon in the ritual…the one who possessed her…not Daymon…another…
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Eight: After…