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fandomweekly2021-12-04 04:04 pm
apachefirecat) wrote in fandomweekly2021-12-04 04:04 pm
[#118] King of the World (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
Theme Prompt: 118: Mistaken Identity
Title: King of the World
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/T -- Dark AU
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 981
Summary: It's good to be King. Even if it wasn't the way he'd planned.
The high-pitched squeal made him growl, his black lips pulling away from his sharp and deadly fangs, but he swiftly relaxed, realizing that dinner was strolling boldly right up to him. "You're Billy Idol, aren't you?! Oh my God, I would recognize you anywhere!"
Spike grinned. "Sure I am, pet," he said, taking a puff off of his cigarette. Once he would have felt sorry for a young woman with so little brain and so much sexual appetite, but if she wanted to make a buffet of herself, he wasn't going to stop her, not now, not when as King of his own world. The outside world was falling apart, but he didn't care. He didn't care if time itself stood still or blood rained from the moon. He had everything he could want in this little bar, and now, he had everything he could need as well.
Once upon a time, he would have cared, but once upon a time, he had been trying to impress someone who had refused to love him in return. He had been trying so diligently to change everything he was so that she would love him, or at least look upon him in the same favor with which she gazed upon her friends and other trusted allies. She would never have admired him as much as she had the Great Poof, but to have simply been trusted by the girl... That would have been something. That would have meant the world to him.
And then somebody had finally beaten her. Somebody had killed her, but not just killed her. When Spike had found her broken body, he had lost his mind again. He had lost his soul laying there on the cold, hard ground that chilling, horrific, December night. Everything he had known, everything he had come to trust and believe in, had been taken from him in one solid, life-altering punch. He had wept an ocean of tears over the greatest Slayer the world had ever known.
Then he had discovered something equally horrific but amazing too: Buffy had not been killed after all. She had been almost turned, but he had staked the Vampires before they had been able to finish their surprise attack, a trap they'd set with Willow and Dawn both for bait. It had been too late for the girls, but Spike had acted selfishly before he had thought to stop himself and finished the job they'd began. For a little while, he'd been horrified at what he'd done, and then he had simply let go.
He had let go of his morals again. He had let go of the memory of what had been, and the memories of what she would have wanted done. He had let go of what she had taught him to believe in and every hope she'd given him. He had let go and clung instead to the one thing he'd had left: her body, her shell as she had called it once. Only he had found that it wasn't empty. She did love him now, and Spike, at long last, had been in paradise.
Now he stood in the dimly lit bar, hidden away in the depths of London's seediest neighborhood, watching his dinner come to him, feeling hot, nubile bodies press against his leather-clad body, and feeling the anger and wrath rise. He smirked as the American girl and her friends squirmed on him, sliding their flesh against his muscles. He remembered Buffy once prattling on at him for dressing like Idol, but he'd never stolen the look from Idol. The failing musician, Captain Kangaroo's kid, had stolen it from him instead.
A hand came up to his mouth, fingers fluttering tantalizingly against his black lips. Spike opened his mouth to bite -- and found the fingers suddenly yanked away from him. Buffy broke a neck and threw the girl at him. She killed the second girl just as swiftly and easily while the third was still backing away, pale, terrified, and stuttering. "W-Wait! You're... You're not... ?!"
"He's mine," Buffy snarled, her yellowed eyes flashing. She grabbed the other blonde and sank her teeth into the tender, warm flesh of her neck, all while Spike stood back, smiling and watching.
"What?" Buffy demanded, letting the body drop, seconds later, to the dirty floor.
"It's good to be King," he said, smirking.
"Eat your dinner while it's still warm."
He laughed and dug his fangs into the brunette's throat. "We'll share the redhead," he commented. She just nodded and grinned, pleased that he was pleased.
Sometimes, when he dreamed, Spike still remembered the other Buffy. He still remembered the woman she had been, and the girl he had known. He still remembered her valor and honor, both of which had known no end. It hurt, sometimes, to think of that bright, valiant side of her being destroyed, but she was still there. She was still there with him, only now it was approval that meant everything to her. He meant everything to her, just as she had meant everything to him for all those years. While he had tried so hard to earn her approval, to earn her acceptance, to even simply get her to trust him as she did her friends, she now hung on his every word.
She wasn't a monster. Buffy could never be a monster. He was the monster, Spike knew, but he was loved. He was loved and admired by her, and as long as he had her, he had the world in his arms. He spun her around now as they danced on top of the two bodies, having laid the redhead momentarily to the side. He had the world because he had her, and as Spike spun her around and watched those amazing, green eyes of hers, nothing else mattered. It was good to be King.
The End
Title: King of the World
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warnings: PG-13/T -- Dark AU
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 981
Summary: It's good to be King. Even if it wasn't the way he'd planned.
The high-pitched squeal made him growl, his black lips pulling away from his sharp and deadly fangs, but he swiftly relaxed, realizing that dinner was strolling boldly right up to him. "You're Billy Idol, aren't you?! Oh my God, I would recognize you anywhere!"
Spike grinned. "Sure I am, pet," he said, taking a puff off of his cigarette. Once he would have felt sorry for a young woman with so little brain and so much sexual appetite, but if she wanted to make a buffet of herself, he wasn't going to stop her, not now, not when as King of his own world. The outside world was falling apart, but he didn't care. He didn't care if time itself stood still or blood rained from the moon. He had everything he could want in this little bar, and now, he had everything he could need as well.
Once upon a time, he would have cared, but once upon a time, he had been trying to impress someone who had refused to love him in return. He had been trying so diligently to change everything he was so that she would love him, or at least look upon him in the same favor with which she gazed upon her friends and other trusted allies. She would never have admired him as much as she had the Great Poof, but to have simply been trusted by the girl... That would have been something. That would have meant the world to him.
And then somebody had finally beaten her. Somebody had killed her, but not just killed her. When Spike had found her broken body, he had lost his mind again. He had lost his soul laying there on the cold, hard ground that chilling, horrific, December night. Everything he had known, everything he had come to trust and believe in, had been taken from him in one solid, life-altering punch. He had wept an ocean of tears over the greatest Slayer the world had ever known.
Then he had discovered something equally horrific but amazing too: Buffy had not been killed after all. She had been almost turned, but he had staked the Vampires before they had been able to finish their surprise attack, a trap they'd set with Willow and Dawn both for bait. It had been too late for the girls, but Spike had acted selfishly before he had thought to stop himself and finished the job they'd began. For a little while, he'd been horrified at what he'd done, and then he had simply let go.
He had let go of his morals again. He had let go of the memory of what had been, and the memories of what she would have wanted done. He had let go of what she had taught him to believe in and every hope she'd given him. He had let go and clung instead to the one thing he'd had left: her body, her shell as she had called it once. Only he had found that it wasn't empty. She did love him now, and Spike, at long last, had been in paradise.
Now he stood in the dimly lit bar, hidden away in the depths of London's seediest neighborhood, watching his dinner come to him, feeling hot, nubile bodies press against his leather-clad body, and feeling the anger and wrath rise. He smirked as the American girl and her friends squirmed on him, sliding their flesh against his muscles. He remembered Buffy once prattling on at him for dressing like Idol, but he'd never stolen the look from Idol. The failing musician, Captain Kangaroo's kid, had stolen it from him instead.
A hand came up to his mouth, fingers fluttering tantalizingly against his black lips. Spike opened his mouth to bite -- and found the fingers suddenly yanked away from him. Buffy broke a neck and threw the girl at him. She killed the second girl just as swiftly and easily while the third was still backing away, pale, terrified, and stuttering. "W-Wait! You're... You're not... ?!"
"He's mine," Buffy snarled, her yellowed eyes flashing. She grabbed the other blonde and sank her teeth into the tender, warm flesh of her neck, all while Spike stood back, smiling and watching.
"What?" Buffy demanded, letting the body drop, seconds later, to the dirty floor.
"It's good to be King," he said, smirking.
"Eat your dinner while it's still warm."
He laughed and dug his fangs into the brunette's throat. "We'll share the redhead," he commented. She just nodded and grinned, pleased that he was pleased.
Sometimes, when he dreamed, Spike still remembered the other Buffy. He still remembered the woman she had been, and the girl he had known. He still remembered her valor and honor, both of which had known no end. It hurt, sometimes, to think of that bright, valiant side of her being destroyed, but she was still there. She was still there with him, only now it was approval that meant everything to her. He meant everything to her, just as she had meant everything to him for all those years. While he had tried so hard to earn her approval, to earn her acceptance, to even simply get her to trust him as she did her friends, she now hung on his every word.
She wasn't a monster. Buffy could never be a monster. He was the monster, Spike knew, but he was loved. He was loved and admired by her, and as long as he had her, he had the world in his arms. He spun her around now as they danced on top of the two bodies, having laid the redhead momentarily to the side. He had the world because he had her, and as Spike spun her around and watched those amazing, green eyes of hers, nothing else mattered. It was good to be King.
The End
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