19. Possession
Buffy
was surprised herself at the intensity of the protective rage
boiling up inside her as she stormed down the stairs from her bedroom,
and toward the second staircase that led to the basement, and the slave
quarters.
Where she was certain that she would find her husband.
As she started down the basement stairs, she acted on instinct, knowing
what she would need, and gripped one of the rails of the wooden
banister beside her, yanking hard and pulling away a jagged, broken
piece of the wood in her hand. She frowned, a little disturbed at the
effort that it had taken. She was still strong enough to break the
rail, but it should have torn away from the banister as easily as
ripping tissue paper in her hands.
She was sick and tired of feeling so weak!
She stalked down the hallway, hearing the laughter and soft, suggestive
voices from several doors down. Was he making no effort whatsoever to
hide what he was doing? No, of course not, she realized in anger. Every
slave on this floor, in this entire household, knew how Mr. Finn liked
to fill his free time.
The only one who had been kept in the dark was her.
Well, not anymore!
She slammed the door open, crashing it into the wall behind it with a
bang, and stood in the doorway for a mere instant. That was all it took
to take in the emotionally brutal scene that assaulted her eyes.
Her husband, lying on his back on the bed, still wearing his pants,
apparently still in the stages of foreplay. And the vampire girl who
straddled him, her hips slowly swiveling as Riley moaned in pleasure
beneath her.
It took him a moment to register what was happening through the
powerful sensations he was feeling. The girl never *did* register what
happened to her. In an instant, Riley's consort was reduced to dust
that sifted down over him, choking him as he breathed some of it in. He
scrambled hurriedly to his feet, afraid and a bit disoriented, to see
who had dusted his chosen lover of the moment.
His wife – the Slayer – stared at him coldly through brilliant eyes of
jade, darkened with rage, her stake in one hand, the other resting on
her hip.
"Buffy!" he gasped, his expression one of innocent surprise, as he
stepped toward her. To her utter amazement, he did not even look
guilty. "Honey, what..." As he spoke, he reached out to take her arm,
and
she jerked away violently.
"How dare you!" she whispered in a voice low and trembling with fury
and pain. The other issue for which she was angry with him, the issue
of his brutal abuse of her slave, was momentarily forgotten in the face
of the ultimate betrayal she had caught him in the act of committing.
He reached for her again, and again she pulled away from him. "Don't
*touch* me!" Her voice came out in a strangled scream of rage and the
agony of his betrayal. "How can you do this, Riley? In my own home! How
can you touch *that* and then touch me?" she demanded, with an emphatic
gesture toward the fine layer of dust that now coated the bed.
His next words stunned her beyond belief, leaving her helpless to
respond at all.
"Buffy," he said, a pleading note in his voice, his eyes wide with
confusion as he shook his head slightly. "I thought you *knew*..."
Buffy stared at him, her eyes widening, a stricken expression on her
face. When she finally managed to regain enough composure to respond,
she whispered, taking a step backward, staring at him as if he were a
complete stranger, "You thought I knew...*what*?"
"Buffy...she's a vampire. She's not even human. She means nothing!" he
insisted, coming toward her again.
She shook her head emphatically, her eyes welling with hurt, angry
tears as she stepped back away from him again. "No!" she replied in a
low, intense voice. "No, that is *not* 'nothing', Riley! You were
sleeping with her!"
"Buffy," he protested again, coming closer to her. "What I did with
her...it meant nothing. These girls...they're not even human. It's like
a
fantasy, Buffy. Like reading a sexy story or watching a movie. It's not
real."
She stepped back again and broke down in anger and frustration when her
back hit the wall, and she realized she had nowhere else to go, as he
advanced cautiously toward her again, tentatively touching her arm.
"It looked pretty damn real to me, Riley!" she snapped back, jerking
away from his touch, slapping weakly at his hand, her voice coming out
as a sob of anger and pain. "I don't care what you want to call it, you
were sleeping with her, and that's cheating, Riley! You were cheating
on me with that – that *thing*..."
Her words cut off, as she was overwhelmed again by the painful reality
of what she had just witnessed; tears streaked her face as she looked
away from him, unable to bear looking at him for another moment.
There was a long silence, in which she could not bring herself to look
up at him again. She could not understand why the revelation of his
unfaithfulness should make *her* feel ashamed. "Oh, so that's really
how you see it, then," Riley finally spoke, and the anger in his tone
surprised her into looking up at him again. "Is that right."
Something in his eyes brought a sudden sick feeling of guilt to the pit
of her stomach, and she realized all at once...he knew.
"So let me get this straight," he said in a quiet, hard voice. "When
*I* use one of my more attractive slaves for sexual pleasure..." She
flinched at the cold, clinical way he referred to what he had done,
surely a result of his time working for the Initiative and similar
organizations. "...it's cheating." He paused, a momentary weighted
silence, before he went on, "But when *you* do it...it's...*not*,
somehow?
Help me understand this, Buffy, because I *really* don't see where
you're coming from here!"
Buffy felt ashamed of the kiss that he obviously somehow knew about,
and looked away from him again. She cursed her foolishness; that one
moment of weakness on her part had stolen away her credibility in this
situation. Still...it was nothing compared to what Riley had done.
"I never..." she began, her voice barely over a whisper.
"Buffy...I know you kissed him," Riley said bluntly, cutting off her
attempts at explanation. He did not say anything more for a moment, and
when he moved forward to take her arms again, she stiffened under his
touch, but did not pull away. He sought her eyes until she finally
looked up at him, surprised to see a gentle, indulgent smile on his
face.
"And it's okay!" he insisted, shaking his head a little with a smile
that seemed to indicate that her tears, her shame, were silly and
unnecessary. "Buffy, he's your slave! You can do whatever you want with
him, you think it matters to me? It doesn't count! Just like these
girls...these *slaves*..." he said pointedly, shaking his head again.
"They
don't count."
Buffy did not agree with him. Not for a moment. She knew in her heart
that it did matter. Riley's passion for these vampire girls, human or
not, spoke as clearly of his lack of feeling for her, as her kiss with
Spike spoke of her own need.
And both were intensely, painfully *real*...no matter what Riley said.
Suddenly, she remembered her original reason for coming down here, and
pulled away from him again, glaring up at him defiantly. "I saw what
you did to him," she snapped at him, her anger clear in her eyes and
her tone. "You said you were going to let it go. You said you were
going to leave it to me."
Riley laughed softly, a quiet, bitter sound, and his smile faded as he
said, "Yeah. And look where it got you. Letting him take advantage of
you."
"He didn't..."
"He told me as much himself, Buffy," Riley interrupted, and she felt
her stomach do an odd little twist. "He was bragging about it to me.
Like he thought it'd make me jealous or something."
His cold little smirk, that said how ridiculous the idea of the kiss
making him jealous had been, sent another stab of painful rejection
through Buffy's heart.
"It didn't," he told her, as if there had been any doubt. "Make me
jealous. But it did make me mad. Because he thought he was getting one
over on me by kissing you. Thought he could use you to get to me." He
paused, meeting her eyes with sincerity in his own. "That's why I did
it, Buffy. That's why I hit him."
Buffy's stomach turned at the words – but not because she believed him.
She did not. She had experienced that kiss, and knew that *she* had
been the one to initiate it; Spike had in no way taken advantage of her.
But for some reason, she said nothing, just looked away from him again.
For some reason, he held such sway over her. With his smug, patronizing
looks and the tone of his voice that said how patient he was being with
her ignorance, her foolishness, he always managed to reduce her to
utter insecurity and uncertainty, even when she knew in her heart that
she was right.
"I did it for you, Buffy," Riley said softly, his hands moving up and
down her arms now, as he leaned in slowly as if to kiss her.
The thought disgusted her. She tried to pull away from his hands, but
found with alarm that he was far too strong. Why could she not break
his grip, not even budge him? He seemed to be getting stronger by the
day.
"Come on, Honey, stop it," he said, a slight edge creeping into his
voice as he leaned down, his lips covering hers.
She pulled her mouth away. She knew already that eventually she would
give in, as she always did, and he would have his way. But right now
she was far too angry and hurt still to submit to such affection.
But he would not let it go.
"Stop it!" she cried, her tears flowing again, as she weakly struggled
against him. "Riley, stop!"
He ignored her, pulling her closer to him, moving in to try again to
kiss her.
She managed to pull one hand free, and struck him across the face. She
did not have much preparation for the blow, and it was a weak one, but
it stung. In an instinct reaction, Riley drew back his fist to return
the blow, and Buffy instinctively flinched, knowing that his strength
was much greater at this point, and the blow would be a brutal one.
At the last second, he stopped, breathing hard, fury in his eyes, as he
barely reigned in his temper and lowered his fist.
"Fine!" he snapped, releasing her with a shove that knocked her
painfully back into the wall. "Whatever, Buffy!" He stepped away from
her toward the door to the room. He glanced back at her with a
disgusted look to add, "And you wonder why I have to turn elsewhere.
When you treat me the way you do. Honestly, Buffy, you can be such a
bitch!"
The cruel words stung her worse than any blow, and after he walked out,
she stood there for a moment, sobs overtaking her, her tears flowing
freely down her face at his heartless rejection. After a few moments,
she managed to regain control of her emotions, and looked up, as a
thought occurred to her. She debated for a moment, her bruised, needy
heart arguing with her timid, ravaged spirit.
And then she made her decision, and headed back for the stairs...back
up
to her room.
She had somewhere else to turn, too.
Spike waited anxiously for Buffy to return, pacing slowly across the
floor, glancing toward the door every few moments. He wanted to follow
her, but was hesitant to do so. She had ordered him to wait for her
here. He had seen the blind fury in her eyes, had known what she was
going to do...and he was terribly afraid that she was going to get
herself hurt.
Finally, he decided that this was another occasion in which it was
better to do what was best for her than to do what she told him. He
made up his mind and headed for the door... bumping into her as she
returned from her little excursion.
He stopped short, his eyes downcast suddenly, inexplicably nervous. "I
– I'm sorry," he said softly.
"I told you to wait for me," she said, her voice quiet, but loaded with
some unidentifiable emotion, as she stood there, and he could feel her
penetrating gaze boring into him.
He looked up at her, wondering at her odd tone. She was looking again
at the bruises that covered his torso, and although they had faded
nearly completely away since she had left, and the pain was
considerably less now, due to his accelerated vampire healing, he could
still see the sorrow in her eyes that they were there at all. "I'm
sorry he hurt you," she said simply, in that same soft, loaded tone
that was so puzzling to him.
He felt a bit put on the spot, not quite sure how to respond to that.
He shrugged slightly, wincing at the painful pull on his bruised
ribcage. "Not your fault," he murmured. "You didn't..."
He stopped talking suddenly when her gentle hands came to rest on his
shoulders, and he looked up at her in surprise and apprehension as she
pushed him backward toward the bed, putting one hand behind his back to
steady him as she helped him to sit down, careful of his injuries, and
then sat down beside him, looking him in the eyes with a calm little
smile.
"Buffy...what...?" he began, his voice little more than a whisper,
wide,
anxious blue eyes searching hers.
"Shhh," she reproved him softly, placing a finger to his lips, her own
eyes seeking, studying every line of his face, as the finger against
his lips, slightly parted in wonder at her unprecedented behavior,
slowly moved upward to trace the lines of his flawless features.
Her hand moved gently around to the back of his neck, and she leaned in
closer to him, her heartbeat quickening at the soft little gasp that
escaped his lips.
*Don't think, Buffy,* she told herself, closing her eyes and plunging
forward, pulling him to her as her lips melded to his, her tongue
pushing insistently forward, invading his mouth with an urgent
intensity.
He returned her kiss with a fervent hunger, his arms sliding around her
with much more certainty than they had in their last kiss. He could not
understand what had brought about this turn of events; he was only glad
to be holding her in his arms, to be allowed this chance to lavish his
affection upon her.
Gently, she pushed him backward, down onto the soft pillows of her bed,
in an echo of her actions a few weeks before. But this time, she did
not pull away. She knew exactly what she was doing from the very start.
Her mouth never left his as his back hit the bed, and her hands moved
slowly down his body, one remaining at his hip, the other moving around
to softly cup the growing evidence of his desire, swollen against the
confining fabric of his black jeans.
He arched his back and let out a soft moan at the contact, and it urged
Buffy on to more, as she began to stroke him, still gently, but more
firmly through his clothes.
"Oh...Buffy..." he gasped. "Buffy...please..."
She pulled away from the kiss again, her own desire awakening with a
new intensity at his open need for her, at the near desperation in his
voice. She studied his face again, her eyes wide, taking in the desire,
the passion, that she had not seen on anyone's face, not for her, in so
long.
Without even realizing she was saying it until it was said, she
whispered, "You're mine," in a tone that was both fiercely possessive
and full of gentle affection; and as she spoke she tightened her hand
slightly around him.
He gasped again at the pressure, affected as much by her claim as by
her touch. "Yes," he gasped. "Yours...all yours, sweet...sweet Buffy..."
Satisfied, she leaned down to claim him again, with her kiss.