http://baphrosia.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
baphrosia.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sb_fag_ends2015-10-26 09:57 pm
baphrosia.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2015-10-26 09:57 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt: There's a Demon Shark in the Foggy Dark (angst)
Prompt: There's a Demon Shark in the Foggy Dark
Setting: "Lovers Walk" AU following Part Seven
Rating: R
Words: 590
A/N1: Part 8 of 8 (so far)
A/N2: The individual parts of this story are not always Spuffy-centric, but the overall story is. So I hope that's okay...
A/N3: This is going darker than I expected. Mention of noncon/dubcon. Read with caution.
A/N4: This is the end... at least for now.
Spike’s lost in a haze of lust and alcohol, and it takes a while for that nagging little voice in his head, the one he thinks of as his sense of self-preservation, to assert itself. It finally breaks through with a metaphorical kick to his bollocks.
“Hold on,” he says, pulling away from Faith. She strains against her bonds, pushing her breasts closer to his face, and he almost dives back in, annoying little voice be damned. It won’t shut up, though. Spike narrows his eyes, thinking hard. Something... something isn’t right.
And then he gets it. “Oh ho. Aren’t you a clever thing?” And the bitch is, he’ll give her that. She almost had him. He’d been just about to loosen her ropes, for easier access to the tasty bits. But give a Slayer – a Slayer who most definitely would not be choosing to make out with a vampire in this situation, unless she was seriously bent (Spike favors that explanation, but knows better that to hope it’s the real one) – give a Slayer an inch of rope, and she’ll rip your bloody head off with it.
While the thought makes him even harder, self-preservation has taken over. “You’re good,” he says.
“You haven’t even found out how good, yet.”
Spike likes this one. She isn’t afraid to get dirty. Only problem is, she’s not the Slayer he wants. Not Buffy-fucking-ruined-his-life-Summers. “We’ll get there, don’t you worry. But I’ve got me a Slayer to kill first.”
The girl rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you been listening? Buffy’s not here. She’s been AWOL for months, bleach boy. If you think she’s just going to magically show up today of all days, I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
“Good thing I don’t need to breathe, then.”
Spike slides off the bed and over to his duster to rummage through the pockets for a smoke. Now that he’s got a little space from the Slayer, her words begin to sink in. Not here. Gone for months.
Fuck.
It’s going to be nigh impossible to carry out his plan of bringing Dru a Slayer’s-head-on-a-pike souvenir without a Slayer’s head to put on said pike. (For a moment, Spike gets distracted, wondering if he actually has a pike in his trunk. There’s a good chance he might, somewhere in there.) He looks over at the dark-haired Slayer, considering. He could bring Dru this one’s head. It would grant him a temporary reprieve. But he’s getting sick and tired temporary. Sick and tired of hearing about how he isn’t good enough, how he failed her, how he’s gone soft. Only the real deal will suffice, but Spike has no idea where Buffy is, no idea where to find her. And in the meantime, he’s got himself a hogtied Slayer at his mercy.
However will he pass the time?
After finally finding his smokes and getting one lit, Spike takes a drag. “You say she’s not coming. Fine. I guess the only question, then, is how do you want to die? Fast and messy, or slow and sweet?”
“I vote not at all,” she says, glaring at him.
From the top of the stairs, another voice says, “Do I get a vote? Because if I do, I second hers.”
He looks up, and there she is. Harder, thinner, less perky than he remembers. But it’s her.
God, she’s beautiful. Even with her hard eyes and her scarred face, she’s still the most glorious thing he’s ever seen.
Spike grins, fangs elongating. He can’t wait to kill her.
The End...?
Setting: "Lovers Walk" AU following Part Seven
Rating: R
Words: 590
A/N1: Part 8 of 8 (so far)
A/N2: The individual parts of this story are not always Spuffy-centric, but the overall story is. So I hope that's okay...
A/N3: This is going darker than I expected. Mention of noncon/dubcon. Read with caution.
A/N4: This is the end... at least for now.
Spike’s lost in a haze of lust and alcohol, and it takes a while for that nagging little voice in his head, the one he thinks of as his sense of self-preservation, to assert itself. It finally breaks through with a metaphorical kick to his bollocks.
“Hold on,” he says, pulling away from Faith. She strains against her bonds, pushing her breasts closer to his face, and he almost dives back in, annoying little voice be damned. It won’t shut up, though. Spike narrows his eyes, thinking hard. Something... something isn’t right.
And then he gets it. “Oh ho. Aren’t you a clever thing?” And the bitch is, he’ll give her that. She almost had him. He’d been just about to loosen her ropes, for easier access to the tasty bits. But give a Slayer – a Slayer who most definitely would not be choosing to make out with a vampire in this situation, unless she was seriously bent (Spike favors that explanation, but knows better that to hope it’s the real one) – give a Slayer an inch of rope, and she’ll rip your bloody head off with it.
While the thought makes him even harder, self-preservation has taken over. “You’re good,” he says.
“You haven’t even found out how good, yet.”
Spike likes this one. She isn’t afraid to get dirty. Only problem is, she’s not the Slayer he wants. Not Buffy-fucking-ruined-his-life-Summers. “We’ll get there, don’t you worry. But I’ve got me a Slayer to kill first.”
The girl rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you been listening? Buffy’s not here. She’s been AWOL for months, bleach boy. If you think she’s just going to magically show up today of all days, I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
“Good thing I don’t need to breathe, then.”
Spike slides off the bed and over to his duster to rummage through the pockets for a smoke. Now that he’s got a little space from the Slayer, her words begin to sink in. Not here. Gone for months.
Fuck.
It’s going to be nigh impossible to carry out his plan of bringing Dru a Slayer’s-head-on-a-pike souvenir without a Slayer’s head to put on said pike. (For a moment, Spike gets distracted, wondering if he actually has a pike in his trunk. There’s a good chance he might, somewhere in there.) He looks over at the dark-haired Slayer, considering. He could bring Dru this one’s head. It would grant him a temporary reprieve. But he’s getting sick and tired temporary. Sick and tired of hearing about how he isn’t good enough, how he failed her, how he’s gone soft. Only the real deal will suffice, but Spike has no idea where Buffy is, no idea where to find her. And in the meantime, he’s got himself a hogtied Slayer at his mercy.
However will he pass the time?
After finally finding his smokes and getting one lit, Spike takes a drag. “You say she’s not coming. Fine. I guess the only question, then, is how do you want to die? Fast and messy, or slow and sweet?”
“I vote not at all,” she says, glaring at him.
From the top of the stairs, another voice says, “Do I get a vote? Because if I do, I second hers.”
He looks up, and there she is. Harder, thinner, less perky than he remembers. But it’s her.
God, she’s beautiful. Even with her hard eyes and her scarred face, she’s still the most glorious thing he’s ever seen.
Spike grins, fangs elongating. He can’t wait to kill her.
The End...?