Author's Note: Ok, so I have this idea for a story buzzing in my head. I think it has potential, but I'm not 100% convinced I have the time to flesh it all out. I decided to write a couple of chapters and see how it goes. They couldn't be more different, but I think that's OK. I'm going for something a bit unusual with this. I'll be writing & submitting the chapters out of order (honestly, they came to me that way). I've decided that I like the mystery-factor of this approach. I'm happy to tell you how the chapters relate in the timeline of the story if it isn't obvious. It wasn't my intention that this be the first chapter I posted (it's rather uncharacteristic!)--it wasn't the first I wrote-- I wasn't sure initially whether it might just be a smutty one-off. But now that it's done, I think it's not such a bad place to start.
Story Title: Once a Slayer
Author: Mad (marksandspence@yahoo.com)
Setting: BtVS, AtS future (four years post Chosen)
Rating: Mostly R, but the occasional NC-17 (starting with the first chapter!)
Summary: It's been four years since Willow distributed the Slayer power to the entire succession. When evil forces start to regain a foothold, the gang discovers that every act of witchcraft has consequences. Again. I would classify this as action/adventure, but I tend to tell stories through the prism of relationships, so there are some romantic themes as well.
Disclaimer: As usual, ME owns Giles, Spike, Angel, Buffy, Faith, Xander, Connor, etc. I am eternally in their debt for creating such a fantastic 'verse for me to play in.
Feedback: Please let me know if you'd like to read more. I'm on the fence about continuing and feedback will make all the difference.
Chapter Title: “Outside In”
Chapter Summary: After surviving the final battle, Angel finds the line separating his split personality has blurred, leading to some very uncharacteristic behavior.
Warning: Non-consensual sex. M/F. If non-con offends you, please DON'T READ!! You have been warned. [BTW, if you want to skip this chapter altogether and go straight to the second, you probably could without losing much. Odd as it may sound, these events are not central to the main story. I got a little carried away with the darkness....]
***********
With his eyes clamped shut, he rhythmically thrusts his cock into her body, letting the warmth of her permeate him. How quickly his lower body warms, blurring the contrast between the living and the dead —though never quite enough to reach into his chest, his heart which remain cold and dead. Her pussy, still wet from the last time, squeezes the slippery length of him, making him choke on the air he needlessly forces into and out of his chest. He feels himself building, the ache growing stronger, the desperation chiseling away his reserve, his need for denial.
“Open your eyes”, the voice within suggests, softly. He resists, not ready to surrender the illusion. Not ready to embrace the darkness within, the darkness that has with growing frequency taken hold. Instead he pumps and pumps, letting his mind feel only the pleasure of the flesh.
But he’ll come soon. And then there will be nothing to distract him from the reality of what he has done. Of what he is doing. Of what he will likely continue to do until his desire is spent.
“Open your eyes”, the voice pleads, desperate to be set free.
The muscles of his face relax. He stops the fight to clear his mind and lets the alcohol back in to drown his reservations. He wants to see her. His eyes open as slits, kept deliberately narrow and angry. He stops thrusting a moment, letting his hard cock rest within her walls. His eyes wash over the woman in front of him. She is lying on her back on a high bed, her ass near the edge. He is standing, with her limp legs draped over his arms, his hands loosely gripping her hips. She is naked from the waist down, he with clothes still clinging to all but what’s inside her. His gaze fixes on her face. Her eyes are closed, her hands tied loosely, gently together above her head with a piece of fabric.
As always, there is a moment of panic at seeing her unconscious form. What is he doing? How did he let it go this far?
“Doesn’t matter. It’s your right”, the voice snides.
“My right.” He breathes aloud. To himself. To the unconscious woman.
A twinkle of something more sinister breaks to the surface, the only evidence of which is a suppressed smirk. He pulls out slightly and thrusts into her, hard and deep, all the while scanning her face for a reaction. He does it again. And again. Until he’s pounding her with a steady rhythm, gripping her hips tightly.
She begins to stir. Her eyes flutter, her head rolls from side to side. He feels himself get harder in anticipation. The first time she woke up in the middle, he had been mortified, horrified, repulsed. Now he longed for it. A twinge of disgust escapes his muddled head, but is quickly buried. As he continues to thrust with vigor, the voice within groans, “Please, let her ask me to stop. Beg me to stop.”
Her eyes roll slightly as she tries to focus—her body unwillingly limp and unresponsive. She makes a feeble attempt to pull at the fabric binding her wrists, but manages nothing more than twitch. In a moment, she manages to slur in a whisper:
“...kill you...’uckin kill you for this...”
Not as enticing as a plea, but thrilling enough. A moan of pleasure escapes his throat. He’s so close to coming, his mind spins. How can she still be so tight? He pulls her closer to him and lifting her pelvis just slightly off the mattress, plunges himself deeper and deeper with each thrust. She stifles a whimper. Hearing this, he throws his head back and grunts as he shoots into her well-worked cunt, continuing to plunge madly in series of quick strokes.
This is the first time he’d let himself come inside her—well, perhaps more accurately this was the first time he didn’t have the discipline to make himself pull out. At first, he had changed the sheets each time. Now they are practically drenched in his seed. So what? He’d clean her up. And maybe whatever was left inside would be just enough to tease Spike the next time he was there—a familiar taste he wouldn’t quite be able to place out of context. Angel(us) smiles at the thought.
After a few seconds, his body relaxes and stills. He lets out a couple of long breaths and brings he head forward again. He lifts his head to look her in the face, all previous trepidation gone.
She must have been holding her breath for the last bit, as she now exhales forcefully and sucks in a shaky chest-full of air. She still appears to be trying to wake from a dream—her eyes widen and roll. After a few more attempts at movement, she accepts what must be a drug-induced confinement. The anger from before is hidden just below a veil of fear. Something in his eyes convinces her that this man wouldn’t do this and let her live. He has boundless shame. She tries hard not to show her fear and looks off to the side.
“You’ll kill me now, then”, she states, wanting him to know what she sees.
She had never reached this level of consciousness before. That is, before he’d done the spell and given her another pill. Before he’d felt sick with himself and gone scrambling back to the bottle. He imagined if she had, it would shock him back to his senses. It would flush his conscience, his soul, from its hiding place and banish the emptiness occupied by the demon—by Angelus. Instead, he is horrified and delighted to find her semi-lucidity excite him.
“Oh, I’m not done”, he gruffs.
A look of mortified disbelief crosses her face until she feels him expand again inside her.
He feels her legs twitch slightly at her command. He tightens his grip and with a wild look in his eyes, he begins to move, thrilled by the possibility of some resistance. Perhaps even punishment. His thrusts are immediately forceful, deliberate.
Her anger returns, more focused despite her drug-hazed mind. She tries to calculate how long it might take before she can regain control of her limbs. Even if she could just get away...her revenge could wait.
“You’d think I’d have gotten tired of this by now. I mean, you’re not even my type.” He lets out a sarcastic sort of laugh. As if this were about type.
He licks his lips while soaking in the sight of her naked lower body—the pale white skin contrasted with the just off black curls of her muff and the pink of her parted lips. He holds his gaze long enough to watch himself withdraw, then slowly submerge his dick, shiny and slick with her juices and his previous orgasm. “But...mmm...I can’t seem to stay outside.”
He picks up the pace again, his eyes glazing slightly.
“Bastard”, she hisses with the little venom her limited strength will permit. How long has she been here? Drawing a breath and focusing her efforts, she adds, “He’ll dust you...’f I don’t manage it first.”
“No he won’t.” Part of him wishes this weren’t true. “He won’t know.”
“He’ll know I’ve gone missing. He’ll know something happened.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but the increasing forcefulness of his thrusts betrays his annoyance. He speaks, but not strictly to the girl.
“It’s Spike’s fault, you know. This whole thing. Never would have happened if it weren’t for his constant yammering. He does it to tease me, embarrass me—his dimwitted little joke. He went on and on about you. How your pussy never got tired. How you were always up for it, always aching for a fuck. How your cunt just got more wet and welcoming with every poke. I’d roll my eyes and walk away and he’d giggle like the prissy, insipid schoolgirl that he is.” He shakes his head before continuing his rant. “Oh and he told me about your little threesome, too.”
He hears Spike’s voice in his head, saying “It was unbelievable, man. Best ever. Better than those twin whores in Romania, that’s for sure. They were eating each other’s pussies and coming in each other’s mouths. That is, when they weren’t sucking my cock or taking it from behind. Even the bi-girl was beggin’ for it from all angles. Must’ve come like 10 times that night. And my girl was just as precious as ever. ‘Never seen a cunt so wet and swollen...”
Angel closes his eyes in disgust at the memory.
“He thinks it’s funny because he thinks I’m a prude. Or a eunuch.”
As he says this, he lets his anger swamp his desire for the moment, and his thrusts grow hard and stunted.
“I’m not a eunuch.” He’s on a roll now with the justification. “How can he tell me that and think it won’t matter? Did he think he could keep you from me? What’s his is mine for the taking. He forgets, but that’s the way it is with family. It’s the way it has always been, only the idiot forgets sometimes. Needs to be reminded of his place.”
After a moment he adds, in a quiet, yet determined voice, “It’s my right.”
He turns his attention back to the girl, repositioning them to get a better angle—to allow himself deeper access. He takes one hand off of her hip and reaches up under her t-shirt to grab her breast. He massages it until he feels the nipple harden and moves to the other and does the same.
Getting a bit breathless as he nears release again, he says,
“You’re just an irish slapper anyway. Might as well lay back and enjoy being fucked. It’s not your fault. There’s no guilt.”
“Never”
Angel(us) scoffs knowingly.
“You came the first time. And it felt good—Spike was right about that.”
The girl looks confused and gasps “No, I...”
Angel(us) cuts her off. “Something you probably don’t realize—I’ve fucked you probably a dozen times already, maybe more. You don’t remember because of a handy little forgetting spell I came across a while back—honestly never thought I’d use it for something like this, but life takes you in unexpected directions sometimes. We fuck, I clean you up, do the spell, give you another pill and well, you know the rest.”
Visibly crushed by this, she mumbles “I thought you were supposed to be a...”
“Don’t. Don’t even....” He continues, “Hey, it wasn’t my fault your friend gave you the wrong pills...or dosage, or whatever. That was unexpected. So was your dream that first time you fell asleep...”
It’s all true. He hadn’t intended this to happen. She had twisted her ankle. He had brought her here to recoup after her insistence on not being taken to the hospital. She’d gotten supplies from a friend—a nurse or something. The pills were too strong—maybe not even the right sort. She’d passed out. Then she was dreaming. He was drinking. Something he’d taken up since he didn’t die—since he’d made it out of the final battle—been dragged off by Spike to fight another day. Nothing had been right since. Nothing. So he let the gutter welcome him back for a while. For a while...
Her scent filled the room. It was clear what she was dreaming about. She’d kicked the blanket off. He’d gone to pull it over her—his hands may have brushed across her breasts. Maybe. She’d actually opened her eyes. Given him a look. But then she was off again. He watched her writhe. Listened to her moan softly. In a moment of weakness, he touched her—wanting to feel the scent. She was so wet. So ready. She had moved against his fingers, never waking. He let go. Just for an instant, but that was enough. Next thing he knew, he was inside her. And she was still in the ecstasy of her dream, moving with him. What harm, really? So he plunged and plunged and before long, her eyes fluttered as her hole gripped him tightly and spasmed against his hardness. He pulled out and came next to her on the mattress. That was how it started.
“So I know I can make you come. See, Spike’s problem is he has always wasted too much time on the clit. Never learned to pay enough attention to the cunt.”
He snarls slightly and lets his eyes half close again, focusing all his attention on drilling the prone woman underneath him.
“I’ll know”, she says with defiance.
“Guess you will be sore. Especially if I keep going like this—fill you up.”
“How could you?”
“This is nothing. Really. You have no idea. Ask Spike sometime. Oh wait, you won’t remember to.”
“But I’m a slayer.”
She is not even sure why she said this—what point she was trying to make.
This makes him pause in mid-thrust. Not that he didn’t already know.
“Shut up.”
He closes his eyes tightly and resumes his rhythm, perhaps with slightly less force. She won’t remember—she can’t know. This will be the last time. He stifles a groan as he shoves himself as deep he can without drawing blood and shoots into her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a hell dimension—perhaps The hell dimension that we most know and love. Two figures are captivated by a display showing the previous scene.
“That never happened”, she says to Spike as she looks in horror at the video screen above them.
Because of where they are, what they are watching could be something quite different from a video--possibly a dream or a memory, or ???
Spike’s expression turns dark.
“They just want to use your anger.” She adds with more emphasis, “It didn’t happen.”
“Maybe not. But the bastard thought it—every bloody detail.”
tbc...
Next Chapter, Attrition