| Part Six : A Midsummer Night's Dream Aye me! for aught that I could ever read Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth; But, either it was different in blood- Or else misgraffed in respect of years- Or else stood upon the choice of friends- Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream… Act I Scene I - A Midsummer Night's Dream - William Shakespeare |
| * * * * * 'The course of true love never did run smooth...' Buffy nervously dialed the phone number written on the card that Mr. Sinclair had so abruptly shoved in her hand yesterday in the park. “What am I getting myself into?” she thought. Yet there were several curious points of synchronicity in her encounter in the park with Mr. Sinclair that she wanted to sort out...his name first of all. Was there a connection with the ranch where she’d found Spike’s farewell presents? And then, of course, the coincidence of meeting him in the same garden she’d seen in Spike’s video, and the odd fact that he’d brought two teacups. Had he known she’d be there? She had a weird feeling about the whole experience and she wondered if perhaps if somehow the strange meeting with Mr. Sinclair might lead her to find out what had happened to Spike. “Probably just a wild goose chase, but still…” “Sinclair residence, may I help you?” A strange gravelly voice answered the phone. “Ah yes, is Mr. Sinclair there?” Buffy asked. “No, Mr. Sinclair is not in. Is this Miss Elizabeth? Mr. Sinclair was expecting your call.” “Yeah, well yes, it is, I…” The voice on the other end of the line interrupted her, “We’re expecting you at 8 pm. I’ve instructions to send the car around. Do you have suitable formal wear?” “I…no…who is this?” Buffy tried to regain control of the whirlwind conversion. “Ernest, Miss. I’ve instructions and will catch the devil if I don’t follow through.” Ernest sounded a bit desperate and Buffy felt a little sorry for him. “Well Ernest, I’m not sure I’m coming tonight, and if I did, I have my own car, and do jeans qualify as formal wear?” With a touch of panic in his voice, Ernest pled, “Oh you must come. I’ll catch it, really. He would be quite unhappy and he was so looking forward to your visit. You know, lonely old man, not much lively company ‘cept for the recent visitor. What a trouble…oops, forget that. No visitor. No one, I tell you. No, he hasn’t had a visitor in years…You must come!” He ended his plea with a strange squeal. Buffy was more intrigued than ever and surrendered to Ernest’s pleas. “Ok, ok…well here’s where I’m staying,” she gave him the address of her motel, “What time will I be picked up?” At precisely 6:30 p.m., an old silver Mercedes limousine pulled up outside Buffy’s motel. As she was about to lock the door of her room, she made a quick decision and slipped back into her room and took out a stake from her suitcase and put it in her purse. “You never know,” she thought. A pale young man jumped out of the car and opened the door for her. Other than saying good evening, he was silent during the drive. They pulled up a circular drive outside a three-story mansion in an elegant district of San Francisco. The mansion was noticeable for its lack of paint, and overgrown landscaping; it looked slightly eerie in the early evening light. However, the windows shone with brilliant lights, slightly cheering up its gloomy outward appearance. The young man helped Buffy out of the car and gestured mutely toward the front door. Buffy slowly climbed up the front steps and looked for a doorbell. She noticed a small silver horseshoe that served as a doorknocker and she clicked it three times. The door was swept open by an immaculately dressed butler. “Good evening, Miss, right on time.” Buffy recognized the voice on the phone. “Er…You’re Ernest?” she said in a shocked voice. She noticed immediately that Ernest was a demon, “Aren’t you a…” she stuttered. “Don’t worry Miss, I’m very tame and quite old. Haven’t been up to mischief in many years.” He gave her a little wink. “Please follow me.” Buffy followed Ernest into the marbled atrium and he motioned her to follow him upstairs. “You’ll want to freshen up from your trip, and Mr. Sinclair has a little present for you.” “Already fresh. No presents.” Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted to follow the demon upstairs. Ernest’s face fell. “But he bought it just for you. It’s stunning- stunning I say.” “Are we talking stunning as in clothes or stunning as in you hit me over the head?” “Tch, tch, so suspicious for such a young soul. Clothes of course. A dress…absolutely dreamy. You know, so you won’t feel out of place amongst all the other guests.” “Other guests? I thought you said Mr. Sinclair hasn’t had any visitors for years.” “Well… I might have stretched it a bit there, but please hurry, dinner will be served shortly and I have other duties.” He grabbed her hand and hustled her upstairs to an elegantly decorated bedroom. “Your dress is in the closet, just ring this bell if you need any help.” “No help.” Buffy exclaimed quickly. Ernest closed the door and Buffy glanced curiously about the room. The furniture was ornate and heavy and the curtains and bedspread were made of thick pink velvet. It was slightly garish but comforting in a solid, immoveable sort of way. She opened the closet and beheld the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. She took the dress off the hanger and held it before her. It was made of the sheerest pale pink silk; it reminded her of the inside of a sea shell; tiny seed pearls and small crystal beads were sewn in spiral patterns around the fitted bodice and scattered in random patterns over the full skirt. There was a pitcher of water and a basin on a small table next to the bedstead. She quickly undressed and washed up. She then noticed that on the bed lay several small slips of pink silk and a pair of high heels. The slips of silk turned out to be underwear, garter belt and stockings. She blushed as she held up the tiny garments. “Uh, Mr. Sinclair must have had an interesting shopping trip.” When she was finished dressing, she took a peek at herself in the full-length mirror. She gave a little gasp. She was beautiful. The dress fit perfectly. She gave the skirt a little swirl and sighed, “Well, ready for the ball here. Hope I don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.” There was a discreet knock at the door. It was Ernest. “Are you ready Miss?” “Ready as ever.” Buffy gave a little laugh. She followed Ernest downstairs and it wasn’t until she reached the bottom of the stairs, that she realized she’d left her stake back in the bedroom in her purse. Ernest led the way into a large dining room. The dining table seemed to stretch for miles. There must have been over a hundred guests seated at the table. He paused at the door and announced to the room, “Miss Elizabeth Summers.” Buffy heard a choking sound and then a familiar voice exclaimed, “Bloody hell!” * * * * * 'I frown upon him, yet he loves me still...' Frowning, Buffy quickly glanced around the room looking for the source of the voice she’d just heard. She saw someone ducking under the table at the far end of the room. “Perhaps, I’m just imagining things.” Ernest led her to a place next to Mr. Sinclair, at the head of the table, and seated her. Mr. Sinclair gave her a welcoming smile. “I’m just thrilled that you could join us. Wine here, Ernest.” He pointed to Buffy’s glass. Dinner passed by with a blur of wine and what seemed like a hundred different dishes all served soundlessly by a regiment of servants...mostly human, Buffy noticed. She was almost positive that some of the guests sitting around the table were vampires, but she couldn’t be sure as most of them seemed to be at least a hundred years old. The only exception was a handsome pair sitting midway down the table. “Definitely human,” Buffy thought. The woman had long auburn hair and was very voluptuous; she wore a shocking turquoise blue silk dress and a diamond necklace that if it were real, Buffy thought, would buy several small countries. The man had long black hair and had an extremely pale complexion; he looked almost transparent. “Interesting group, Mr. Sinclair,” she commented to Mr. Sinclair, “May I ask you something?” “You are a most persistent young woman. Please do call me Bertram.” “Well, Bertram, were you expecting someone? Ah…me in particular yesterday in the park? And what about Ernest? And do you own some property down in Sunnyvale?” “Well yes I do own a little estate just outside of Sunnydale and Ernest has been with me for a very long time—yes a long, long time.” He patted her hand, ignoring her first question. “Don’t worry, have patience, let things unfold.” Buffy sighed, realizing that Bertram wasn’t going to reveal anything about Spike. After the final course was served and consumed, Bertram rose from his chair and announced to his guests that it was time for everyone to move into the ballroom for a little music and dancing. Buffy took the opportunity during the brief confusion of movement into the ballroom to look for Ernest. She found him in the kitchen. She walked quietly up behind him to see what he was doing. He was crushing something in an ancient looking stone mortar. The mortar was filled with small white flowers with a deep purple center. She tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped back with surprise. “Miss, you shouldn’t be in here,” he exclaimed, trying to hide the mortar and its contents behind his back. “We need to talk.” Buffy pulled him out of the kitchen and roughly pushed him up against the wall outside the door. “I heard a voice just as I entered the dining room tonight...a voice I think I recognized, of someone I’ve been looking for. You said something today about Mr. Sinclair having a visitor.” She gave his neck a little squeeze. “Come clean Ernie, or I might just have to do something drastic here.” She tightened her grip. Ernest gave a squeak, and pointed to his throat, which was in Buffy’s tight grasp, “Can’t…speak…let go!” Buffy let go. “Blond…vampire… in love with you,” Ernest croaked, and then used his newfound freedom to quickly bolt away. “I knew it!” * * * * * 'Ill met by moonlight...' She left the kitchen hallway and followed some of the dinner stragglers into the ballroom. The room was enormous. The five large crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling were lit with candles, not electricity. The floor was covered with an intricate pattern of inlaid woods of many colors. The walls were hung with thick tapestries woven with unicorns, mermaids, and other mythological beasts. The flickering of candlelight over the room gave it a mysterious air, definitely not of the 20th century. Buffy glanced quickly over the couples dancing to music played by a small string quartet. She searched the room but did not see the blond vampire. She walked the length of the room and out onto a balcony overlooking a wild garden. The view was spectacular. The lights of the city glistened in the dark water of the Bay. The deep sweet fragrances of gardenias and lilies rose from the garden below. A pale crescent moon hung over the hills to the east. Her senses were filled with the beauty surrounding her. She was suddenly tired—tired of games, tired of the chase, tired of love. “I’d like to be the moon and just sail through the sky. Simple job. No killing, no hating or not hating, or loving someone I should hate or is that hating some I should love?” She gave a deep yawn and she sat down on a softly cushioned lounge chair. “I’m so sleepy.” She lay her head back and closed her eyes. “Not exactly the safest place to take a nap,” was her last thought as she drifted off to sleep. Bertram stood over Buffy’s sleeping form. He whispered urgently to Ernest, “Now, do it quickly before she wakes up.” Ernest took a small blue glass bottle and placed several drops of clear liquid on the edge of Buffy’s closed eyes. They disappeared silently back into the house. About twenty minutes later, Buffy was awakened by the sound of someone moaning. “Someone’s in trouble,” was her first thought, she looked around and saw, over in a darkened corner of the balcony, a blond man in a deep kiss with the woman in the turquoise dress. The man had released the woman’s breasts from her dress and was massaging them roughly with his hands. She was moaning and making desperate grasping motions at his pants. She suddenly broke away from the embrace and laughed up at the man; she turned away and ran down the balcony stairs into the darkness of the garden. The man turned his face, scanning the balcony as if to determine if he was being observed. In shock, Buffy recognized Spike. “Spike,” she whispered. She stood up shakily, feeling slightly dizzy. She was overcome with an overwhelming, helpless feeling of love. Spike turned toward the sound of her voice, saw her standing in the moonlight, and then just turned his back on her, quickly following the other woman into the darkness. * * * * * 'To die upon the hand I love so well...' She started to move toward the steps to follow Spike but a strong hand pulled her back. “I wouldn’t follow them if I were you.” She turned to face the pale, young man with the black hair. His face was white and his eyes burned with anger. “I’m going to kill them both.” He said, pushing Buffy behind him, “Stay out of this.” “Excuse me,” Buffy grabbed his wrist and flipped him over on his back. She stood glaring down at him. “If anyone is going to do any killing around here, it will be me, and believe me, you don’t want to get in my way.” She turned and rushed down the stairs into the garden. As soon as she’d gone twenty feet or so down the winding path, she had a strange feeling of disorientation. She turned around to look for the house. All she saw was darkness. There were no lights, no house, even the path that she’d just walked down had disappeared. Clouds moved across the moon obscuring even that pale light source. “Right,” she said, “Thanks a lot Bert and Ernie. I think I’ve landed straight in some alternate demonic dimension.” She continued forward and as she made her way through the trees and overgrown shrubs in the garden, she heard voices and laughter. She recognized the woman’s laughter and Spike’s low, caressing voice. Her heart burned with jealousy. She made her way quietly toward their sounds and came to the edge of a small clearing. At that moment, the clouds drifted away to reveal the moon and there, in the pale moonlight, she saw them. Spike was completely naked and fully aroused with his erection visibly throbbing in bestial lust. He had morphed into his demon face. He stood over the woman as she lay displaying herself shamelessly before him on the meadow grass. The woman spread her legs widely and began to stroke herself; she thrust her fingers deep inside her and then held them up, glistening with her arousal, toward Spike. He gave a deep growl of lust. The woman raised her arms up to him and he threw himself onto her with a roar and began to wildly mate with her. Her moans and cries of ecstasy as he pounded into her made Buffy burn with hatred. Buffy looked around for a weapon, anything, a stone, a stick, anything to stop the horrible site that was unfolding before her eyes. Her despair and anger were overwhelming. She reached up and broke a small branch off the tree under which she was standing. She quickly turned it into a makeshift stake and then walked into the clearing. “Spike,” she shouted. He was so completely consumed with his lust...was pounding so furiously into the woman beneath him that he could not hear her. “Spike,” she yelled again, and raced up to where the two lovers lay. She called his name again and then, in bitter rage, she plunged the stake deep into his back. He twisted in agony and turned to look at her face. His human face returned and all she could see was a deep look of sadness in his eyes and then something struck her from behind and she fell into unconsciousness. * * * * * 'Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind…' She woke up with a pounding headache. It was still dark, but the moonlight had grown strangely brighter. She raised her head and looked around. She was in a circular, glassed in room. She was lying on a soft bed that was covered with a white lace bedspread. She gingerly felt her head to find where she’d been hit, but could find nothing. She lay back on the pillow, and then the memory of what she’d done to Spike surfaced and she broke into tears. She couldn’t stop crying. The image of his face with his final look at her, when she’d pierced him with the stake, was burned into her mind. “Oh my god Spike-Spike what have I done? Love, what have I done?” For the next hour, she lay on the bed immobilized with grief. She was finally roused by a knock at window. “Go away,” she cried. The knocking continued. “Get lost. Leave me alone!” She shouted. The knocking continued. She got off the bed and went over to the window. Blinded by tears, she couldn’t see who stood outside. She felt for the door and found a metal doorknob. She turned it and the door blew open making her lose her balance. She was swept into a tight embrace by a pair of strong arms. “His arms,” she thought, and she knew, in her mind, felt in her heart, the impossible, that Spike had come back to her, back from oblivion, back from the final, brutal death to which her jealousy had sent him. She raised her hand to touch his face. Spike. She pulled his face down to her lips and kissed him deeply, and then slowly took a few steps over toward the bed. “I thought I lost you forever,” she whispered. “No love. You’ve found me at last.” With a quick movement, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her the last few steps to the bed and fell upon it, still holding her in his arms. He held her tightly and she clung to him with a desperate strength. They lay silent in the darkness, listening to the wind and the sounds of the night. They knew each other in the deepest way possible, their thoughts flowing back and forth silently, pouring with a pure silvery energy as they spoke wordlessly to each other of their sorrow, their jealousies and fears, and finally of their love. As the night passed, they both fell into a deep dreamless sleep. * * * * * 'I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell...' In the early hours of dawn, Spike awoke and gazed at the woman sleeping in his arms. He felt a slight twinge of fear, wondering if she’d accept what he’d have to do to complete Bert’s plan, but he couldn’t lose her now. He would never lose her again. He just couldn’t bear to exist another day without her by his side. Buffy opened her eyes and gave Spike a shy smile. “What are you thinking love?” she said softly. “I’m thinking that today will be the last day we’ll ever have to worry about being alone, being apart, but you’ll have to be brave, pet.” He pulled her up over him and pushed her into a sitting position. Her dress, a little worse for wear after her adventures last night, flowed out across his chest and legs. “But first let’s get rid of everything that’s keeping us apart.” He smiled. She jumped off the bed and took off her clothes. Spike watched as the filmy pink silk garments floated to the floor. He sighed deeply and moved to her side. He knelt on the floor in front of her, put his arms around her and placed his forehead against the silken skin of her stomach. He moaned softly as he inhaled her scent...felt the softness and warmth of her skin. He gave her stomach a little kiss and then stood up and quickly undressed. “The sun’s rising Spike, and this little house is made of glass. Don’t you need to find some place dark and safe?” Buffy asked worriedly. “I’m not sure I’m the same as I was, Buffy, and neither are you. I think we fell into hell last night and now it’s our time for a little bit of heaven.” “What are you talking about? Hell, heaven… Did someone hit you over the head last night too? “Not hit on the head, Pet, but you might remember that you staked me last night with a hawthorn branch.” “Well then where the hell are we?” Buffy watched in awe as the sun’s rays penetrated through the glass walls of the gazebo and fell harmlessly upon Spike’s face. “I’m not sure, but I’m feeling very warm here and I don’t think it’s the sun.” He pulled her into his arms, reveling in the feel of her soft breasts rubbing deliciously against his chest. He lifted one of her legs up and made her wrap herself around his body and with a quick thrust pressed his hard and aching erection deep inside her. “All I know is I’m home now,” he laughed. “You’re a very bad vamp…ah Spike…you’re so warm,” she felt the burning heat of his shaft as he thrust slowly back and forth inside her. Spike fell back onto the bed, with Buffy straddling him, and his cock still deep inside her. She clasped his hands and pressed them on her breasts. He caressed them and teased her nipples with the tips of his fingers. His fingers were so hot they almost burned her skin. Buffy frowned slightly, something jogging her memory. “Spike, if I ever see you touch another woman’s breasts again, I’ll personally chop off your hands.” Spike gave her several deep powerful thrusts and roughly massaged her breasts. He swept his hands down and grasped her buttocks, pulling her hard and fast up and down his shaft. Buffy groaned with pleasure, “Ah your hands, your hands, been missing them for so long, touch me, touch me all over. Need to feel your hands on my body, need your hard cock inside me always. You’re so warm…” He pulled her down against him and gave her a deep kiss her. He gently licked her ear lobes and the soft skin beneath her ears. He trailed his tongue down her slender neck and suckled deeply on the pale sweet skin of her full breasts; he grasped one of her erect nipples with his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly against it, making her moan and release a flood of slick cum over his shaft. He groaned and pulled out of her and rolled her over onto her stomach. He placed himself behind her, lifted her hips and spread her knees apart so she was fully displayed to him in all her ripe, swollen wetness. He bent over and began to slowly lap and suck on the tightly swollen and aching lips of her sex. He greedily sucked and drank the sweet musky wetness that was flowing out of her in her deeply aroused state. He explored her lips with his tongue, tilted her hips up higher, and found her thickly erect clit and began licking it with slow strokes. Buffy began to thrust wildly against the sweet pressure of his tongue. “Love me,” she begged him. He got up on his knees, spread her cheeks and pushed himself slowly inside her. She impatiently pushed back hard against him. “Harder,” she demanded. And he complied. He thrust into her with such force that he shoved her across the bed. He suddenly morphed into his demon face and began to pound her violently. Her wild cries of arousal driving him furiously, he felt her inner muscles begin to contract tightly around his shaft. He wanted...needed to see her face as she came. He withdrew and flipped her roughly over onto her back and quickly thrust himself deeply back inside her, driving her to a mind rending climax. She cried out and moved her hips desperately up against his to suck him in deeper. She wrapped her legs tightly around his back as he filled her completely with the warm flood of his cum. He collapsed onto her breast, his face nuzzled into her neck. “Buffy,” he murmured against her skin,” there’s just one more thing.” “There’s more?” Buffy asked weakly. Spike slowly, tenderly bit down into her neck and began to drink deeply. Buffy place her hands on the back on his head and pressed it tightly against her. “Drink me love,” she whispered, “I need to fill you up...be inside you as you are in me.” Spike felt his body burning, flowing with the strong blood of the Slayer...felt the blood rise in him, penetrating, swirling through his veins, his heart, his muscles, until it surfaced beneath the deadened layer of his outer vampire skin. He felt as if his body and his skin were splitting apart with the force and power of her blood. “Enough, must stop,” he thought, but he couldn’t stop until he felt the heat of her blood fill him completely. He rolled away from her and lay gasping on his back. The sun had risen completely and was shining brightly and warmly with full force on his body. “Gasping, breathing,” he thought wildly, “I’m breathing.” He looked over at Buffy. She was lying silent and deathly still. “Oh no,” he bent down over her in fear. With a sigh of relief, he felt her soft steady breath and felt her heart beat in a deep, slow rhythm. He covered her with the bed spread and placed her carefully in the warm sunlight. He lay by her side, watching over her until she regained consciousness. She opened her eyes at last and gave him a little smile. “Quite the greedy thing, aren’t you?” She gave him a pat on his stomach. He laughed nervously. “Spike I had this dream. You were so warm against my skin: almost human, so very warm, so strange.” She placed her hand against his chest and then pulled it back in shock. “Ah… Buffy, I have something to tell you.” “Heartbeat,” she gasped. (Continued in "The Dragonfly") Back to Dragonfly Home Dark Dreams |