A Spara Falls: Chapter 1, tandem fic, Spike/Tara
In this chapter, Spike has become a
Pylean vampire demon and is losing
himself to the sensuality and violence of being free of the chip and
his wrenching affair with Buffy. Tara, meanwhile, is telepathically
joined to demon Spike, and his bloodlust and erotic thoughts are
frightening to the gentle virgin. Oz, Tara's protector, works to keep
demon Spike far away from Tara...
A Spara Falls by Jancie &
Rooibas
Rating-NC17
Summary: Alternate Universe. A romance
spanning time and
space. Tara, stranded in Pylea after going through a portal to escape
from the Gentlemen, casts a spell that pulls a S6 Spike to her side,
and thus begins a modern-day tale of Beauty and the Beast.
Many thanks to Yogateachr for all her help.
Dialogue, in blue, are thoughts
belonging to Ziggy, a telepathic zebra-striped wartpig.
Dialogue in red are Spike's
thoughts-even if Tara is thinking them.
Dialogue in green are Tara's
thoughts-even if Spike is thinking them.
Dialogue, in brown, are thoughts
belonging to Oz.
Each day as they dined The
Beast would
ask Beauty to marry him and each day she would refuse, for even though
she was sweet of nature, she could not bring herself to love one so
ugly. She longed to return to her days as an innocent child and begged
The Beast that she be allowed to visit her home once again.
The Beast agreed that she should visit her kin but made
her promise to
return soon for she was a part of him now and he would surely die if
she were gone for long.
~Beauty and the Beast~
Chapter 1
Oz removed the leaf-wrapped bundles of food from the smoldering fire
and Tara found her gaze drawn to his hands. She had noticed them
before, of course.
They were like Oz himself, small for a man yet sturdy, stronger than
they looked yet surprisingly delicate of touch.
She had noticed men's hands before, had wondered what it would be like
to be touched by them. She had never wondered what it would be like to
touch with hands like that.
Moving her own hands out, she contemplated them. They were stronger
than most women's but weak in comparison to the hands she remembered
from her communication with the beast. Strong hands. Tara recalled her
palmistry. His fingers were a combination of types but the palm was
spatulate. She suspected his personality was dominated by those
characteristics--risk taking, excitability, dexterity, and imagination.
Memories flooded into her mind. Those hands clasping slight form,
grasping soft skin. Those fingers running through sweet-smelling hair.
Reining in, holding back the power, touching light, knowing how easy ...
... how easy it would be to bruise and
crush and ruin.
She shuddered herself away from the memory and realized that Oz was
staring at her; his dark eyes were focused upon her face, intent with
concern. She smiled in answer to his unspoken worry and accepted the
plate he offered.
They ate in silence.
Tara appreciated the ease of their friendship. They communicated with
glance and gesture but today she wished for words, for sound. Anything
to draw herself outward. She started to speak and saw that Oz was lost
in thought of his own. She swallowed and the moment passed.
The Beast moved again. He was a shadow in her mind, quiescent but
present.
She felt surfaces sliding under her fingers. He liked to touch, slide
his hands over
everything. Touch. Squeeze. Test for weight. Push for resistance. Push
into. Push ...
... OUT!
Tara gasped.
Get Out. Bite you. Bleed you. Taste
your Blood ...
Tara put her plate down. The images he was sending were horrible.
Feeding, tearing. She concentrated on centering herself. The Beast had
no more desire to meld thoughts than she did. If she could just find
herself.
After a moment she felt a measure of stillness. The Beast was pulling
away as well. Moving on, moving away but phantom flashes of sight and
sound still ghosted around her. He was like an animal. Rolling,
tasting, smelling, touching. So focused on the physical.
Tara felt.
She felt surfaces sliding under her fingertips.
Rough, soft, slippery. Tara felt the sensation of hands
crushing leaves--breaking, snapping. She saw broken leaves dripping
with moist, oily fluid. Felt the cool sensation as the oil seeped
around his fingers. Liquid foamed as his hands rubbed, scrubbed,
twisted around each other. Oil-slicked, strong hands ... and Goddess help
her, she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be touched by
those hands. Touched, stroked, invaded.
Tara realized she was sliding her hands down her arms. They crawled
over her thighs and across her breasts. Her fingers were dancing,
feathertipped, over her body. Her gaze flew to Oz with embarrassment.
He was watching her. His breathing was ragged, and he trembled. She
thought he would speak but he turned away and busied himself with the
fire.
Tara wrapped her shawl more closely about herself and rubbed her face
against the rough threads. She had woven it herself, it was something
of hers. She would surround herself with the pattern and fabric of
herselfâ€"Yes! This was hers. Harsh wool catching
at her skin, prickly, almost painful. So at odds with that soft,
slippery stuff he was...
... so cool. Sweet leaves, soft like
skin. Like sweat-wet skin. Slick. Smooooth.
She felt his fingers tracing oily tracks along his belly. They dripped
oil into the depression and circled. His fingers pushed into one muscle
after the other. She heard the slight popping sound as his fingers
created suction and pulled away from his skin, the froth bubbling
between them. He pulled against the oil and the air was cool as his
hands lifted away. He savored the contrasts, friction heat and cool
air, push into and pull away.
Tara felt her nipples puckering in response. She felt coolness dripping
along the curves ...
... of his chest. Hands rubbing. Friction flaming the oil to heat.
Nipples burning. Cool. Hot. Smooth.
No! Pushing away the
thought, Tara rubbed the shawl against her skin until it stung. Rough, prickly. Prickly. Pri ...
... ckly! Yes!
... Cool.
... Smooth.
... Prickly!
His hands gathered more leaves--crushing--sw-e-e-e-t
oil dripping. Collecting into the crevice between...
...her breasts were beaded with sweat. Tara ran her hands along her
shawl, played with the thin hairs along the threads. Rough ...
... hairs. His oil-slicked fingers slid around his heavy sack and he
gently tugged the fine hairs. He kneaded... Prickly!
...the shawl was bunched in one hand. Rough!
The other slid down. Tara sought the heat and the wet, oily crevices
and her fingers slid across her slippery surfaces ...
...sliding. His hands wrapped firmly around his shaft, firm hands, firm
shaft, sliding soft skin ...
...Soft!? A sparkle of surprise threaded
through Tara's sensations. The firmness, the solid heft, the pulsing
she had expected, but the softness, the foreskin ...
... Faster! Hands sliding, friction burning, prickly, rough, hair, smooth
... pricklySoftHeatSmooth ... pricklySoftHeatSmooth ...
Tara's breath balled in her throat, and her belly muscles trembled and
the sensation pushed. Pushed! Bursting its way out ...
... spurting, thick ropes ...
... threads of electric tingles burning through her veins ...
... thighs twitching, muscle pulsing, sparkles dancing light in dark ...
Tara's vision cleared and she felt the sweat trickling into her eyes.
The world blurred again and she saw The Beast running his fingers
through the mess on his belly. Playing with the different consistencies
of oil and sperm and sniffing at his hands.
She blinked and saw Oz, crouching before her. His face was twisted with
concern, and worry and something else ...
... Lust! He lusts. He lusts after mine ... ?
I'll rip his throat out! The Beast sat up, all thoughts of his
own lust gone. I'll sink my teeth into his bones!
Move away from him!
Tara felt herself shaking as thoughts were thrust into her mind like
the stabs of a knife. She looked at Oz and saw his face a smashed ruin
with emptied eye-sockets and gaping throat. Bile flooded into her mouth. This wasn't her, it wasâ€"that thing. What was
happening to her? She was being swallowed! Her hands flew to Oz'
face, to reassure herself that it was whole and his features swam back
into focus. Whole, blessedly whole.
Images of blood and entrails splashed and smashed into her brain.
Broken teeth and bleeding lips.
Tara cried.
Sudden sobs heaved their way from deep within her. Tears burst free and
splashed trails down her cheeks. Inarticulate sounds tore from her
throat and she cried.
Sex! Her first time, even if it wasn't really and this ... violent and ...
invasive and now! She couldn't get away from the blood! Tara ran her
hands through her tears and scrubbed. She was soaked in blood and not
even her tears could wash it away. She was being swallowed by The Beast.
The bloody images stopped. The visions ceased and Tara heard only the
slightest echo. A faint, small voice that dwindled in upon itself and
disappeared. No. I am a Beast but I don't hurt
you.
And Tara was alone. Her mind was her own.
Oz was stroking her hair. The lust that had been in his face was gone,
replaced by worry, fear, and love. She could see the love. Gentle and
sweet and Tara wanted it. She held her arms out to him. She wanted to
be held.
He knelt beside her and put his arms around her. His warmth replaced
the shawl that lay abandoned on the ground. Tara closed her eyes, and
leaned into him. She felt his heartbeat thrumming against her ear. She
felt safe here. Wrapped in good, safe arms.
His hand was patting her shoulder and she opened her eyes to look at
it. Small hand, but sturdy. Tara knew that Oz was a wolf, that the wolf
was strong in him but she had never been afraid of him. She listened to
his heart. She felt his breath dancing across her hair.
She became aware of the length of him and the heat of him. She felt the
sting of his sweat where his skin touched hers. He held tighter, then
pulled away slightly. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. Oh,
she could see the wolf clearly now, peering out, but his was a quiet
beast, an obedient beast. Ready to leap forth, surging out at command
but not until commanded.
Tara reached up and he closed his eyes. She touched them with softest
of touches. She was feeling. Feeling sensations she had never felt
before. Yearnings and urges and she wanted to feel more.
She didn't want to be a ravening animal, raging and unruly and rutting.
She wanted something sweet. Something that didn't invade. Oz could
teach her. He loved her. She loved him. It wasn't romantic love, not
yet. But it could be. He was a good man.
Oz opened his eyes and looked down. She ran her hand down his face,
sawed against the stubble of his beard and felt the tingle against her
palm. His breath hitched and she felt him swelling against her. She
shook, remembering The Beast. How would Oz look? How would he feel in
her hand?
She was overcome with the desire to be close and nuzzled into his neck,
smelling his scent. The bitter odor of his sweat seemed to satisfy
something she hadn't even known she longed for. She was suddenly aware
that the juices drying between her legs were being moistened with a
fresh release.
Tara could tell that Oz was aware of it as well. His nipples were
outlined against his shirt and she moved her hands to them. Her touch
was hesitant, exploring.
Oz took her hands in his and moved away from her. Her eyes flew to
hisâ€"was she doing it wrong?
For a moment she thought he would speak. His eyes were full of words,
words of love, words of loneliness. Surely, he would speak ...
He didn't so Tara did, her voice rusted and rough, "Please."
Oz shook his head. Sorrow drowned the lust in his eyes and he turned
away and left her standing alone.
***
Oz was shaking in reaction and close to tears when he forced himself to
leave Tara.
Crying. Stoic Oz. Who would have thought?
He shook out some supplies he kept in a box in Tara's hut next to her
weaving supplies. A blanket, material for a little fire, the Pylean
version of coffee. Everything Oz needed so he didn't have to be around
in the morning and face Tara.
Suited him perfectly...'cause...when a werewolf was attracted to
someone, it was never simple. And when he loved her...
To love a woman meant Oz had to figure out a whole new balancing act.
So far that hadn't worked out so well for him. See, cross a wolf's
primal instincts with the sex drive of young human male...and you got
some fucky wiring. Oz had to cut some wires and bypass others.
Consciously. All the time. Because human females were always
technically in heat. They always smelled good to him. Their
bodies were always saying: Yes, mount me, now!
Uhhhh. So the problem was to sublimate and ignore those signals. Oz was
pretty good at that. Except when his heart was involved. Then his
wiring shot hot sparks everywhere and it got...messy.
He didn't lay down on his blanket. And despite the nip in the air, he
lay off on the fire. He wanted to keep his eyes sharp. He could feel
the demon prowling his territory and the only thing that kept him from
seeking it out and crying challenge was his human practicality. He
needed to keep Tara safe. Getting into a fight, satisfying as it would
be, wasn't gonna do that.
Not for the first time, he wished he'd thought to bring his guitar to
Pylea...
He began to thrum a growl deep in his throat before he consciously
realized he'd caught a whiff of the demon. It had returned. The
creature was drawn to Tara.
Oz let his hands transform into claws and growled into the night in
warning...
* * *
Spike had never felt better. He was natural demon, natural male, free
of the slayer and all the hoops he had to jump through...and NO CHIP.
When he thought of ripping the heart out of that boy who dared to touch
her, he'd felt...no pain...just good, old-fashioned
blood lust. It was nice.
But now...he had to fight to keep himself from returning to the
cave...to her.
He'd only managed a glimpse of her so far. Soft, round, blond,
luscious.
He wanted to sink his fangs into that soft flesh...
She stirred in her dreams and he felt her unconsciously reaching out to
him in the new pathway between them. He felt...her loneliness. The
emptiness she'd tried to paste over by reaching out to the boy tonight.
The boy...had been familiar...
He closed his eyes and he could see her! Whatever this connection was
they shared...he could see her lying on her bed with tears drying on
her face. She sniffed in her sleep and rubbed a hand across her plump
cheek. Her skin looked as delicious as a fresh peach.
He felt the void of her pain...sucking him in...so like his own and he
wanted to shove her away, but he found himself...nuzzling her gently in
her sleep.
He...he was just trying to settle her, right? Something in her made the
beast inside him...still for a moment...then she reached out and
touched his rawness.
You are NOT a MAN!
She, Tara, shared with him that moment. That defining
moment in his doomed affair with the slayer. The epicenter of Spike's
rage and pain.
Spike severed the connection abruptly and with a howl resumed running
like the free, wild creature he was here in Pylea. Through their bond
now he knew the name of this place. Knew the boy WAS Oz, whom he'd
known in Sunnydale. And she was Tara...
After a while even the beast's great stamina wore out and he couldn't
run any more. He slowed down...then found himself...found himself
circling back towards her.
Spike knew for some reason he and Tara were bonded. He couldn't escape
his far orbit around her world.
Tired now...
He walked to a rocky shelf he'd seen earlier. Near her cave.
But still he found himself needing a glimpse before he let himself
sleep.
Stealthy as a big cat, Spike moved through the brush and saw a dark
figure silhouetted against the orange Pylean moon. Silvery threads of
clouds covered the moon in a red wash in that moment and the
boy--Oz--was suddenly stained with the colors of bloody moon.
Simultaneously, Oz sat up and peered into the darkness, obviously
sensing Spike's proximity.
The boy growled and Spike answered him with an almost silent vibration
deep in his throat.
The fact that Oz had touched Tara sent a bizarre wave of possessive
rage through Spike...he wanted to stain the dirt in front of the cave
with the entrails of the boy, werewolf or not...but he conquered his
blood lust and forced himself to retreat.
The fact was...Spike was lost. In a strange world, with a unwelcome
psychic bond to she who had summoned him and his senses were at flood
tide with all the sensations of this new place...and he was...tired...
Near her. Needed to rest...near
her...
He lay down and as he did, he studied his body for the first time since
he'd come to this place.
He was some kind of hybrid. His hands were gone, replaced by
green claws. His face when he reached up to touch it felt hard and
leathery in patches...and his penis was...larger.
The heavy thickness and gentle bend to the left were familiar, but he
was thicker and his foreskin hid a secret. When he reached down and
touched himself, red and green tipped barbs sprung aloft, rich with
blood. He didn't understand their purpose but playing on them gave him
incredibly intense sensations of pleasure. The crown of his penis had
doubled in size and was always swollen now.
He lay back, his eyes half slitted and petted himself, pulling the
hairs in his crotch before rubbing a nail through his deep slit...and
he thought of her. Tara. He closed his eyes and used their connection
to see her again.
Sleeping safe in her pristine little bed.
He pictured himself there in her room. Looming over her
like a hungry shadow as she slept.
Her eyes opened, blue as a gentle lake. She saw him looking down at her
but didn't cringe in fear at his size or the size of his manhood,
swollen and fearsome.
She threw back the covers and drifted towards him and he sensed ...
curiosity ... wonder ... a little fear...
He saw the light silhouetted through her gown so that her legs, softer
and larger than was fashionable in Sunnydale showed through her gown.
With a growl he took that night rail and shredded it in his hands.
Tara jerked back in sudden fear but he stalked her to her bed.
Then...he put a claw on her bare shoulder and under the light of the
candle by her bed he saw himself gently guide her onto her back.
She did not resist him.
He put his claws on her generous breasts and large as they were, she
spilled free of his grasp.
He purred in pleasure at his workings of her and she dared to reach out
and touch the swirls on his face. The patterns of the demon he wore
like a mask.
She didn't resist when he parted her at first...but her eyes widened in
alarm at his size and intent...and the barbs which had bristled free of
his foreskin in preparation for mounting her.
She grabbed his forearms, trembling like a flower shaken by rain and
wind and he held himself off...needing her. Needing so badly to sink
inside her sweetness and be gentled and accepted.
He couldn't speak as a man. His vocal cords were thickened by the
change that had made him demon, but he nuzzled her jaw, showing her he
would not take what she would not offer him.
Her gaze met his. Her breasts were heaving with her emotions and her
doubts but a gentle sweat dewed her skin. She wanted him inside her
body.
Spike forced himself to tenderness and cupped her mons, playing her
delicately with his blunt claws, seeking only to wake her to
pleasure...after a while she relaxed and her legs fell open further in
invitation. Demon Spike purred to her as he fitted himself to her
opening. She shied away, but he pulled her back. Let her feel him
there...waiting.
As a demon he lacked the art to kiss her, but when he pushed inside and
met her virginity and took it, he sipped her silent tears.
Tara gripped his arms as he undulated over her, her gaze as wise and
serene as a Sybil's. When he reached his peak, she touched his demon
mask. Accepting him.
Alone in the night, far from Tara's warm body, Spike purred as he lost
himself in the fantasy in his mind and his claws reached down and found
himself and began to tug on the huge, meaty stalk between his legs...
*************
In her bed, Tara woke from the dream that had been so real. She threw
back the covers from her sweat-soaked body but her thighs weren't
bloody...instead they were sticky with the juices of her desire.
She shuddered and pulled her knees up and rocked against them.
TBC...