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S p i k e / B u f f y . F a n f i c t i o n . b y .K J .D r a f t
TITLE: Still Life in Sunnydale AUTHOR: KJ (Katherine Jay) Draft SUMMARY: "Wishes may bring problems, such that you regret them. Better that, though, than to never get them." - Stephen Sondheim, "Into the Woods." S/B. Spike gets the chip out, courtesy of Warren. Vigilante justice, character death(s), and some heavy PWP ensue. 'Cause I can't resist. TIMELINE: Up to and including "Entropy." Breaks canon immediately following Dawn's visit to Spike in "Seeing Red." (Shocker, I know.) RATING: Starts out PG-13 (uh, I think?) then progresses to NC-17. That can be construed as either a threat or promise, take your pick. *As a service to the reader, here's some valuable info: the smutty chapter is Chapter 4. And I mean Smutty. Feel free to skip right to it (I know I would), but as penance, you must send me FEEDBACK: [email protected] DISTRIBUTION: Nauti has given it a home! No longer must it wander the streets Post FF.net Collapse. Valerie was the first to archive it in its entirety at bandofbuggered.com (Thank you, Val!) Feel free to link, just give me credit. It'd also be cool to let me know where. Thanks. DISCLAIMER: I don't own any plants, let alone characters from a television show. Ooh! But I do own a car! AWARDS WON: Honorable Mention at the Spiked Awards.
STILL LIFE IN SUNNYDALE Chapter One Spike moves through his crypt as though he's underwater, legs heavy and slow, even as his mind races to consider the best course of action. Shoving items haphazardly into a bag, he blames his sluggishness on the human blood. It had simply been too blasted long. Barely tasted them, actually. It was a hit, pure and simple. Assassination. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it; but when it came time to pick out strangers during the walk back for a true feeding, he found it oddly taxing to choose. Each female he spied on the sidewalks or alleys had a manner about her that, in certain streetlight illumination, reminded him vaguely of Dawn. Maybe I recognized them. That must be it. Can't be munching on her chums, now, can I? Once he places, say, fifty miles between himself and Sunnydale, he can unleash his own William the Bloody trademarked brand of hell on the unsuspectings. Europe all over again, but infinitely sweeter for his forced abstinence. That's right. God help them all. (If He's bored enough to try.) Spike licks his lips in anticipation and zips his bag shut. Hauling it over his shoulder, he pauses to relish the prior evening's events. Armed with Dawn's information regarding the true identity of Buffy's camera crew, he'd felt something brackish and hard inside him uncurl. Rage on Buffy's behalf, definitely; but more than that Something for himself, too. Something satisfying, like a tooth being yanked out. The realization I have nothing left to lose. Locating Warren proved relatively simple. Convincing the brat to remove his chip, even more so. And still they never saw it coming. He'd especially delighted in scattering their carefully organized action figures and cards across the floor. Wondered with amusement how much their collections would fetch in their luscious new blood smeared condition. Simple fact: Buffy wouldn't have to worry about the three idiot children again. Not that he expects any gratitude. His solution was akin to using an AK 47 on an army of ants. That's how she'll see it, leastaways. No turning back from this, no more pretending he's Safe, for either of them. Freak show's over for good. Buffy won't be with him; and now, she can't. Not now that he's returned to monster status, neatly stamped, categorized and filed away. He kicks
the crypt door shut and makes off toward the bus station, trying not
to think about the indignity of his final escape occurring under cover
of blanket. Trying harder not to think about that look on Buffy's
face outside the Magic Box. He hears her voice, low and wounded "Didn't
take long, did it?" *** Dawn, what exactly did you say to him? Think carefully. <font face="Verdana, Arial |