Plan D

The unofficial continuation of the round robin series Ring Around the Buffy picking up after NautiBitz's 'Naked'.

Author: 1st Rab-id/Raeann

The Story: Buffy and Spike go cross country and under cover to infiltrate a vampire human slavery ring.

Rating: R, language, violence, sexual situations

Disclaimer: Uhm... not only do I not own any of this... even the situation is not of my creating... Joss owns the characters... and OGD owns the original idea... I am just a HIRED GUN here... or a volunteer gun actually!

Spoilers: General Season 5.

Previously... NautiBitz wrote... Part 9... "NAKED"

(And I quote NautiBitz... )

The corner of Tara's mouth lifted in a lazy smile as she affectionately rubbed her cheek against Anton's arm. "Buffy," she said haughtily, then frowned. "What happened to your hair?"

"Buffy?" Anton repeated loudly, a sneer on his face. "Buffy?!"

The entire hall went deadly quiet.

"The Slayer!" someone shouted, pointing an accusing finger.

Buffy and Spike froze in place.

Time for Plan B... Or is it C?

(... END NautiBitz Quote... )

Plan D, actually...

"That's right, mate," Spike said, nodding, affably, at their accuser. "The Slayer!"

He cocked his head to one side and considered the crowd.  It looked ugly.  Spike decided a little harsh language couldn't make things any worse. His eyes filled with a sort of manic glee that ran counterpoint to his fear as he addressed the assembly.

"Wondered when one of you bottom-feeders would recognize her," he said.  "She could have waltzed right in and dusted the lot of you before you even knew she was here.  Where's your instinct for survival, people?"

"Her hair's a different color!" a tweedy vamp near the door said, defensively.

"Well, that explains it, then," Spike scoffed, in acknowledgment of the heckler. "Only her bloody hairdresser would know for sure."

There was a subliminal, but general, shift of the crowd as the news sank in.  It left a wider circle around the pair than had been there before.  Spike felt an inner surge of pride in his beloved's reputation for devastation.

"And I know you'll understand," he continued, favoring Anton with a patronizing smile,  "if I don't care to exchange her for your over-ripe, shop-bruised, little plum."

"Balls of cast-iron," Buffy thought, as Spike, giving her leash a tug, turned on his heel and headed for the stage.

But Balls alone weren't going to get them out of this alive.  Spike hadn't taken two steps before the hulking Anton and a couple of his buddies blocked the way.

"You expect us to believe that YOU enthralled the Slayer?" Butt-Ugly asked, obviously NOT buying it.

"I don't much care what you believe," Spike growled, craning his neck back slightly to lock eyes with the behemoth. "But like I said, 'I got the chit right where I want her'."

Buffy let her hand fall to the hilt of one of her hidden stakes as the tension level mounted. There were 40 or 50 vamps between her and the doorway.  She could take twenty-five. Maybe thirty.  On a good night.  With surprise on her side.  If she wasn't particularly concerned about getting Tara out of there in one piece.

"I think you're lying to us, William," Anton continued, his fangs descending. "She may be the one in the collar but I think you're the one on the short lead."

He reached out with one massive digit and prodded Spike in the chest.  From the chorus of accompanying murmurs, it seemed that the jig was up.  Buffy tensed herself for the kick-off. 

Spike caught the telltale skip of the Slayer's heart and pulled her violently into his body catching her in a one-armed embrace.  She resisted, instinctively, almost imperceptivity.  The question in Spike's mind was, "Who else noticed?"

"Then why aren't you dead, Friend?" he asked, casually. "In case, you missed it before, that well-endowed treasure of yours is a buddy of the Slayer's.  You think she likes you parading her pal around like a summer-cut poodle?"

Anton and several others looked over to where Tara stood in all her lush glory.  Then they looked back at the now impassive Slayer.  Spike was petting her, stroking over her skin with firm authority.  Buffy's jagged pulse steadied.  Her breathing slowed, deepened and took up the rhythm of Spike's caresses.

The Slayer felt a surge of demonic power enter her body in a way that was totally unique in her experience.  It made her flesh burn like cold fire.  It was tactile hypnosis and it caught her off guard. 

Dracula had used his eyes to enthrall her and the sound of his voice. Buffy knew that most vampires used a similar method.  But Spike's thrall was corporeal... definitely of the body.  He was using his touch, his scent, and his proximity to seduce her.

Every one of the Slayer's senses recoiled from this sort of submission but she forced herself to move past those instincts.  Willing her body to relax into a meditative state, Buffy let everything else fall away.  After a few moments, eyes closed, she rubbed her cheek against Spike's shoulder in a conscious imitation of Tara.

Spike slipped his hand inside the cowl neck of Buffy's soft leather dress and lightly traced the swell of one firm, high, breast. There was no change in the Slayer's vital signs.  He glided his fingertips in quick circles over her nipple until the skin around it pulled tight under his touch. 

There was sudden and unmistakably earthy aroma radiating off the Slayer, an intoxicatingly primal perfume. Heat! Blood! Desire! It was a heady cocktail and Spike, at the epicenter of events, nearly lost his grip on the harsh reality of their peril.  The circle of spectators drew closer, like moths to the Slayer's flame.

"And you are willing to give her UP?!?" Anton repeated, with a lot more emphasis on the "up" this time.

"NO!" Spike thought, desperately, his hackles rising at the very idea. "God, No!"

But he stopped himself just short of saying it out loud. 

Instead, he shifted his weight so that his hip pushed Buffy away from him. His hand slid across her chest and around to the nape of her neck.  He grabbed a fistful of hair, tugging at it until her back arched slightly.  He held her in that pose while he considered their position, the distance to the door, the mood of the crowd and how much of the truth he was willing to tell.

"I can't fuck her," he said, after a long pause.

"What?" Anton gasped, coincidentally, echoing the exact, slack-jawed tone of the "WHAT?" in Buffy's mind.  For a half-second the Slayer was sure that she'd spoken aloud.

"You gone deaf? Or am I just using words you don't understand? Fuck... you know? Shag, Bang, Screw... Can't!"

"They got a pill for THAT now," a dark-skinned, weasel of a vamp joked to general laughter.  He leaned out of the crowd and smacked Buffy's ass for the visual gag.

There was a blur of motion as the Slayer struck.  She tore free of Spike's hold and thrust up under the comedian's elbow until it snapped.  Pivoting on one foot she brought the other around to connect with his temple as he fell sideways.  Mr. Funny hit the ground, bounced once and didn't move again.  Game faces bloomed all over the room. 

Spike knew a moment of abject panic and then he noticed that Buffy was standing very still.  She wasn't in her fighting stance.  In fact, she looked positively pliant.

--"Spike!"-- Willow's voice sounded in his head.

--"Buffy says, 'Play along.'"--

Another agonizing wave of admiration for the Slayer splashed down Spike's torso to his groin.  All he could think about for several seconds was where to find them a room.  A room with no view, good solid walls and sturdy hardwood furniture... and a deadbolt... and soundproofing... preferably, in another part of the state. 

With a great deal of effort, he brought himself back to the far less pleasant present.

--"Spike?"-- Willow prompted, anxiously.

--"On it,"-- he thought in reply and shut the mental trapdoor on Red's follow-up question about Tara.

"They got a pill for terminal stupidity?" Spike commented, in an aside to Anton. "What will they think of next?"

With Masterful assurance, Spike reeled in Buffy's leash.  She came meekly back to his side as he turned to address the crowd.

"This is the SLAYER, people!  Not some roadside strumpet or weak-willed Mama's boy. Try to keep your soddin' hands to yourselves."

"But surely... if she's under your control... " one of Anton's cronies began. 

Spike staked him with a glare.

"Ever done the thrall?" he asked and nodded, sagely, at the youngster's sheepish look and negative shake of the head. 

"Well, then... let me tell you it's not an easy thing," Spike continued.  "To fill your mind with tenderness, devotion and concern... when every fiber of your being is crying out for blood and death and ripping destruction."

Several of the Ancients in the crowd murmured their understanding of this point.   The mood of the room clicked back toward relaxed and Buffy heaved an inward sigh.  Whatever Spike was up to seemed to be working.  The auction crowd was visibly more at ease.

The Slayer, however, was uncomfortably aware of her body.  It was still reacting to Spike's hypnotic touch.  Buffy realized she wanted him with what bordered on obscene intensity.  She felt dirty, in a decidedly pleasurable way, all musty and crampy and more than a little bit whorish.  The texture of the red leather dress teased at her nipples and icy sparks danced up and down her spine.

 "Now, I won't lie to you," Spike was saying as Buffy struggled to tune back in, "Summers, here, is high maintenance.  Drop your guard for moment... let go of the love... and she'll hand you your head... minus the platter and garnish."

"Her will is that strong?" Anton asked, plainly intrigued. "She's still dangerous even under the thrall?"

"I've had her for three months and I don't mind admitting that I'm just about spent," Spike sighed, regretfully. "Tried everyway I can think of but I can't keep her under it and fuck her at the same time. So, I am here to find the vamp that can."

"Why don't you just drain her dry?" a male Demon in platform shoes and polyester jump suit asked.

"Nothing like the rush of Slayer's blood," his vampire companion supplied, to a general mutter of agreement.

"Spike knows about that first hand," Anton replied, suddenly, coming over all fangs-and-friendship.  "You've tasted it before, haven't you?" he continued, while slapping Spike's shoulder in camaraderie, "From two different Slayers, as I recall?"

"Three," Spike corrected, cutting his glance toward Buffy.

"Is it as sweet as they say?" Anton asked, with a tad too much eagerness.

Despite his sycophantic entourage, hulking size and Master vamp mystique, Anton had never bagged a Slayer.  He was far too civilized, too calculating, for the task.  He only played games he knew he could win. 

Spike, on the other hand, had mental acuity coupled with brash assurance.  The combination allowed him to do what the well-manicured Anton never could.  Spike took the necessary risks for his rewards. 

And he wasn't afraid of having his ass kicked for his troubles.  In fact, as far as Spike was concerned, that was often the best part.

"Sweet enough," Spike shrugged, "but my appetites have... changed."

He let the word hang in the air. 

Anton narrowed his eyes again but this time his penetrating gaze raked over Buffy in a way that made her skin crawl.

"And what are you asking for her?" the Master Vamp inquired in a business-like tone, just as Willow's voice went off again in Spike's head.

--"Spike? Buffy is about to start killing things.  And Tara is near you.  I can sense her but I can't get close enough.  Can you see her?" --

"Fair Blood Price," Spike said, off-handedly, while mentally adding, -- "Meet us backstage. Go now!"--

Buffy knew that the more expensive slaves were sold for talent... Passion or Parade prices.  Less valuable slaves were Blood Slaves. They were sold as food and drink.

"Like fine wine," she thought, her mood incendiary, "or a good cow."

"Not Passion Price?" Anton asked, with a lift of one eyebrow. "I thought you wanted her... broken."

"Oh, I do," Spike purred. "But I won't drive a hard bargain.  I'll let her go at Blood Price to the right Demon."

"SLAYER Blood Price, of course?" Anton guessed.

"Of course," Spike conceded, one vamp of the world to another.  His tone shifted and he added, "But there IS a condition on the sale."

"A condition?"

"I wanna watch!"

"Watch? Watch what?" Anton asked.  Thankfully, before Buffy forgot where she was and asked the same question.

"When she's broken to saddle," Spike replied, coldly.  His eyes glowed yellow as he raked them over the Slayer and said, "I want a front row seat for the entire show.  I wanna see her buck and shimmy and fight the inevitable until she is all lathered up and wobbly and begging for the bit in her mouth."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then a cough of laughter that spread from vamp to vamp until it filled the room.

--"YIKES, SPIKE!" -- Willow yelped, telepathically.  --"You have GOT to get Buffy out of there... RIGHT NOW!" --

But her warning was totally unnecessary.   Spike knew he'd crossed the line.  He was already moving forward, yanking hard on Buffy's leash to throw her off balance.  Her retaliatory strike turned into a stumble.

--"Get backstage," -- Spike, mentally, snarled at Willow. -- "Find some place we can be alone... a nook, a cubbyhole, a bloody broom closet... anything." --

Buffy had settled into a pressure cooker simmer at his back.  Biding her time, Spike thought.  He was under no illusions about how much she wanted to introduce him to a new level of pain.  His only hope was to keep her moving at speed until they could find someplace where he could explain himself. The black leather of his duster fanned out as they mounted to the stage level.

A jittery myopic vampire with a clipboard in his hand intercepted Spike and Buffy as soon as they ducked through the curtain.

"#46! You aren't up for almost an hour," the undead stage manager fussed, "You'll need to wait in the auditorium until you're cal... "

Spike strong armed him aside without a word and made for Willow who was waving frantically from the left wing.  There were people in chains arranging props and microphones behind the closed curtains.  And a number of others huddled together in cages. Several vampires lounged about joking and gossiping and prodding the merchandise. 

Spike didn't allow the Slayer time to take much of it in.  Jerking her forward, violently, every few steps, he kept up his brisk pace as they crossed to Willow's side.

"Where?" Spike barked, without ceremony.

"There," the Witch said, pointing as she led them toward a gray door at the end of a short passageway.  "It's a prop room.  The best I could find," she apologized, as she spell-keyed open the locks.

"Get rid of the census taker," Spike ordered, jerking his chin back towards the clipboard-wielding vamp that had trotted along behind them. "We're going to need a good twenty minutes here."

"It's REALLY not going to take me more than two or three," Buffy snarled.

Willow looked from the Slayer to Spike and managed to duck out of the way just in time.  Without preamble, the blond vampire whirled the Slayer around by her leash, gave her shoulder a hard shove and let go of the chain.  Buffy staggered into the prop room, coming up short against a heavy metal desk with hip bruising force.  Following close behind her, Spike slammed and bolted the door.

"You arrogant Bastard!!" Buffy growled.

"Hang on a minute, now! I... "

"You demon-animated, alley-crawling, sack of ashes! Who the HELL do you think you're jerking around?"

She gripped the edge of the desk and the inch thick metal crumpled under her hand like aluminum foil.  The ambient temperature in the room went up several degrees.  Spike would have backed away from the heat but there wasn't anywhere for him to go.  He was in the one place no sane vampire would ever be caught in... tight quarters with an incredibly brassed-off Slayer.

"Got copped, Luv," Spike soothed, holding up both hands in surrender, "had to think of something, dinnit I?"

Buffy wasn't mollified in the slightest. She crushed the tiny padlock at her throat, tore the collar from her neck and closed on him in a flash, snaking her leash out behind her like the lash of a whip.

"You want to see me broken?" she whispered, her eyes blazing. "You want to hear me beg?"

"Well... not... in a BAD way," Spike hedged... afraid, for some reason, of being caught in a lie.

The tip of Buffy's makeshift whip sang through the air toward his face.  Spike put out one arm to block the blow.  He realized, too late, that was exactly what the Slayer had expected him to do.  The chain length wrapped around his wrist and Buffy jerked him forward into a brutal gut punch.  The blow doubled him over as she ducked to the left and wound the slack of her former leash around his neck.

Within two heartbeats, Spike was thrown face down and pinned against the desktop.  His left arm was trapped close to his chest and the Slayer had twisted his right arm around behind his back.  She leaned into her hold on his wrist applying pressure until his joints creaked in protest.  The chain cut deep into his throat. 

Spike knew that the Slayer was capable of separating his head from his body with those delicate links. It was simply a matter of how much force she planned on exerting.

"I don't beg, Spike," Buffy breathed out, so close to his ear that he could feel his hair stir in response.

Spike tried to speak but only managed to choke out a few garbled syllables.  Buffy relaxed her hold a fraction so that he could draw in enough air to reply.  She showed no inclination to release him. 

"I might," he croaked.  Shifting his position slightly and gaining some relief, he swallowed, convulsively, before adding, "Right person... "

"What are you babbling about?" Buffy snapped, impatiently.

When he failed to answer, she brought one knee up between his legs with firm deliberation. Spike made a small noise in the back of his throat.  It was a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.  Buffy halted her upward thrust just short of actually emasculating him and waited for further explanation. 

"Beg," Spike clarified, as soon as he could form words again. "I, said, 'I might... for the right person'.  Cut of the lash... bite of the collar... you sure that's not what you want?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Buffy asserted, sliding her knee down and shifting her body weight back off of him. "That's disgusting."

"You think?"

The Slayer assessed their relative positions and bit her lip in consternation.

"Third Base," her treacherous mind reminded her. 

Slowly, she slackened the tension on Spike's choke chain.  Then, with a small sigh, she released him entirely and stepped back.

"Okay, you are enjoying this way too much!"

"Oh, don't pretend you never thought about it," Spike rasped, massaging his throat as he straightened up. 

He turned to face her, adjusting the set of his coat on his shoulders.

"About Bondage?" Buffy returned, her eyes wide and almost innocent. "Sorry! No!"

"About breaking me," the vampire corrected. "Wiping the smirk off my face? Holding me down and having your way? Bending me to your will until I lose all self-restraint and independent reason?"

Buffy's mind conjured up a swift montage of black leather, sharp white fangs and cherry red blood on pale skin.  Her gaze strayed down, taking in Spike's lean, fit, fully aroused person.  She bit her lip again. 

Spike studied the Slayer as she studied him.  He knew what Buffy wanted.  He knew it better than she did.  He didn't question that anymore.  He was only waiting for her to admit the truth to herself.

When his beloved's eyes finally flicked up to met his own, she smiled.  The pink tip of her tongue flashed just behind the white of her teeth.  Mouth lolling open in a wolfish grin, Spike closed on her in three swift strides. 

He took hold of both of Buffy's shoulders slamming her into the bolted door so violently that the wood split.  She gasped into his kiss, gripping his face between her hands and digging her fingertips into his flesh.  They clawed and bit at one another like the predators they were.  No thought between them but to satisfy their mutual appetite.

"Oh, God, Slayer," Spike choked into the foam of her hair, "I bet you come so hard we need a week to recover."

Buffy murmured her agreement and slid one hand up over the bulge in the front of his jeans.

"Go down," she commanded, knowing he would obey.

Showering her with kisses, Spike sank to his knees before the woman he loved.  He pushed up the jagged edge of her red leather skirt and yanked down her matching thong.  The tiny scrap of lingerie twisted around her ankles. 

Cupping the swell of her hips in both hands, Spike drank in the scent of Buffy's readiness.  He sighed, rubbing his cheek along the line where her silken skin gave way to course curls.

Stepping out of her thong, Buffy hooked her right leg over Spike's left shoulder.  The heel of her strapy sandal bit into his back as she arched her body, in encouragement.  Tilting her pelvis forward to meet his eager tongue, Spike lapped at her succulence, probing the softness and tickling the hardness of her.  There was the barest hint of blood in her tangy fluid, just enough to entice his Demon into breaking the skin of her inner thigh for a deeper draught.

Buffy gasped as Spike's fangs cut into her flesh.  The sound changed to a strangled little cry as he, simultaneously, thrust two fingers deep into her slippery core. He timed his strokes, keeping pace with the beat of Buffy's pulse against his tongue.

She clenched around him, soft as velvet, hard as steel and Spike knew he was going to come when she did.  He needed to be buried inside her when that happened.  He needed that more than he needed blood.  More than he needed anything. 

Breaking away from the bite, Spike pressed his forehead against Buffy's abdomen as he fought for control.  She was so close to release.  He could feel the shudder building in her gut.  He rocked back on his haunches to watch her writhe against the door.  Their eyes met and Spike felt his insides liquify.  He was so entranced by the play of emotion on Buffy's face that he froze in place, his slick fingers stilled in their work, his thumb resting on the hard nub of her arousal.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, closing her eyes and knocking her head back against the door in frustration.

"I need you," Spike said, simply.

The Slayer moaned her assent through lust-swollen lips.  She let her leg slide from the vampire's shoulder, reaching out to tug at him as he surged up into her arms.  He raped her mouth with his tongue, forcing her open to his need.  Fisting one hand in her hair, he braced himself against the wall with the other, but still he crushed her with the press of his body, as her fingers clawed at his clothing.

They broke the kiss just long enough for Buffy to gulp down fresh air.

"Take me in right now," Spike growled, into her neck as she gasped, "all the way inside... and I swear you will love every minute of it."

"Promise?" she panted.

"I'm your dog, baby! How could I lie to you?"

The boldness of him sobered her and she broke free,  reversing their positions, pushing him back into the door.

"Bet your full of stupid pet tricks," the Slayer rumbled, dangerously.

Spike tilted his head to one side, considering her mood.  His eyes glittered but his voice, when he spoke again, was teasingly soft.

"You give me my bone, Luv," he vowed, "and I'll do anything... anyway... anywhere... you say."

The full force of his earlier thrall came back to Buffy, in a wet rush.  She reached out to take Spike's hand, interlacing her fingers with his and pulling him with her as she backed across the room.  When her ass smacked into the edge of the metal desk, she slapped the palm of her free hand down on its hard surface.

"You standing... me leaning across... do it from behind," she directed.

"And then?"

"Then you up here on your back, me on top, face to face."

Spike shifted his hips forward, rubbing the bulge of his erection against her as he whispered...

"And then?"

Narrowing her eyes at his blatant challenge, Buffy let her dress fall to the floor and was flattered with a tiny whimper from her loyal mutt.

"Then," she purred, guiding his hand to her breast,  "you go down again and we'll see if you can... "

--"GUYS!"- - Willow's telepathic intrusion splashed over them like a bucket of ice water. - - "Company's coming." - -

"Bloody HELL!" Buffy exclaimed, in frustrated unison with Spike, as the room door was ripped off of its hinges.

Three enormous vampires shouldered their way into the small area.  They, angrily, thrust forward one, handcuffed, redheaded witch, in obvious need of a new Vampire Glamour Spell.

"We are so busted," Willow said, sheepishly... taking the words right out of the stark-naked Slayer's mouth.


Read the awesome conclusion to this series taken on by Anaunthe in 2006!

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