Title: Marshmallows (1/10)
Author: Oni
Email: WasabiOni@n...
Website: http:/www.angelfire.com/id2/WasabiOni
Rating: NC-17
Content: Spike/Joyce
Summary: Spike comes back to Sunnydale with a plan....
Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are and shall
ever be the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Everything
else is mine, mine, mine. This is strictly for adults and
entertainment purposes only.
Distribution: Just contact me first.
Feedback: Love it.
Spoilers: Through Season 3.

Oh my baby baby I love you more than I can tell
I don't think I can live without you
And I know that I never will
Elvis Costello "I want you"


The bright rectangle of the kitchen window shone golden light into
the night. Perched in the avocado tree that shaded half of the yard,
Spike watched Joyce Summers bustling about the kitchen window rinsing
dishes, loading the dishwasher, then sitting down at the table to
write out bills. She was so goddamned domestic, at any moment he
expected her to start baking cookies. His hands clenched and his long
pale fingers gouged the grey bark. He remembered sitting at that
table, sipping hot cocoa (with marshmallows) drunk out of his skull.
She'd been very sympathetic, Joyce had. The silly cow had really
seemed concerned about his and Dru's breakup. He imagined the white
walls and glossy surfaces caked in her flesh and blood; her head
would make a nice centerpiece in place of those damned silk flowers.

She was alone, again. She'd been alone every night this week. He'd
kept goldie busy for a week, planting rumors of a new Master in town
at Willie's; making sure that Buffy would be fully occupied chasing
phantoms at the other end of town while he took care of this little
bit of business.

Joyce sighed and poured herself another glass of wine to celebrate
writing out the last bill. Another night alone in front of the TV
awaited her since Buffy was out again on patrol. Joyce had had hopes
for this evening, she'd stopped off at Blockbuster on her way home
and picked up 'Ever After' remembering that Buffy had mentioned
wanting to see it. She'd hoped they could watch it together, but she
hadn't even gotten the chance to make her pitch because Buffy was
already gone when Joyce came in from work. Her little girl, out in
the dark facing god knows what kind of demon or monster. Joyce took
another sip of wine. Wine was good. It helped her not think about
Buffy and slaying. And the less she thought about it the more likely
she was to remain reasonably sane.

There wasn't much resemblance between mother and daughter, except
maybe the hair and the nearly infinite talent for denial, Spike
thought. She had a tight body for her age, and she had bigger tits
than Buffy. He considered his options, should he leave the corpse in
the parlor, or like, build up to it like Angelus had with the
Watcher's bitch? It definitely needed to be something special. A
simple evisceration and exsanguination wouldn't be nearly enough. He
wanted to make this something that Buffy the Slayer Bitch would never
recover from. Something that would live on the inside of her eyelids
until he got around to killing her too.

First her mother would die. The Willow witch was next on the menu,
he'd kill her or turn her whichever seemed like a good idea at the
time. Then he rip out the throat of that annoying brat Xander. Then
the Wanker. And only then would it be her turn. He wasn't sure
exactly what to do to her: it needed to be long. He wanted her to
suffer like he had suffered, to have everything taken from her, to
know it was all her fault that her mother, friends were dead.
Amputation, now there was an idea. The Slayer, without her arms and
legs, stashed away in some institution where he could visit her at
his convenience.

Joyce stood up to go into the living room and stopped. An unpleasant
odor was wafting from underneath the sink. She remembered asking her
darling daughter to take the garbage out, but obviously she'd blown
it off. In this heat the garbage needed to go out every day. She
really didn't want to go outside again, but she also didn't want to
come down to breakfast to a kitchen that smelled like the bottom of a
garbage can. She sighed.

Showtime, Spike thought, as the door opened.

Feeling a little exposed in her robe and slippers she almost ran to
the trash can at the side of the garage. The moon was a thin sliver
in the black sky. She could see the flickering light of the TV from
the Johnson's next door. She dumped the bag, shut the lid and turned
to go back inside. Suddenly an iron hard arm was around her throat,
choking off her scream.

"Evenin', Missus," a familiar British accent. Not Giles.

"Spike," she gasped.

Her reaction was everything he'd hoped for. The smell of fear, the
sound of her racing heartbeat really got his appetite up. To his
surprise, the feel of her warm body struggling against him was
arousing other desires as well. Experimentally he moved his hand to
her soft breast and squeezed. She flinched, and the perfume of her
terror washed over him. He licked his lips. This was going to be even
more fun than he'd been expecting.

"Let's get out of this cold night air," he murmured into her ear. He
frog-marched her up the porch steps to the back door.

"Invite me in, Joyce," he said. Joyce hesitated, her gaze slid
towards the light and safety of Johnsons' house only a few feet away.
Spike grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed till the tears came
to her eyes.

"Shhh, now, you don't want anyone getting killed do you?" Joyce knew
he wasn't bluffing. He released his grip and she didn't scream. Good
on her, he thought as she muttered the invitation.

"Come in Spike." They went inside. To her surprise he let her go. She
wheeled around to face him. He was grinning.

"How about a cup of that hot cocoa then, for old times sake."

It was 8:34 p.m., pst. Surreal. Joyce now fully appreciated the
meaning of the word. That's what this situation was. Melting clocks
and glass pigeons had nothing on sitting at her kitchen table next to
Spike, watching him drink hot cocoa (no marshmallows, they were out
of marshmallows) and making small talk. Trying anyway. Joyce had
drunk two more glasses of wine. He'd just gotten back into town. Yes,
they had all survived the Ascension. Buffy was fine, going to college
next month, UC Sunnydale. He didn't mention Drusilla, and she lacked
the nerve to ask him about her. Angel was gone. They agreed this was
just as well. She wondered what he had in the black leather bag he'd
set down next to his leg and suspected she really didn't want to know.

He looked so damned young, and innocent with his bleached blond hair,
but after their last encounter Rupert and Buffy had given her the
crash course on Spike, a.k.a. William the Bloody. Even before his
death he'd been a cold blooded sadistic murderer. As a vampire....
best not to think about that. She glanced at the clock again. At
least two hours before there was any hope of Buffy coming home.

"You can stop checking the clock. Buffy won't be back for hours yet."
Spike said.

"What!" She said startled.

"Don't worry, she's tracking a rumor I planted. She should be busy
till dawn," he grinned smugly.

"Oh," she said, that final spark of hope fading.

"Wanted to make sure she was out of the way. Wanted to make sure I
had plenty of time to torture and kill you." He said calmly and
finished his cocoa.

Joyce paled. "Why?" She almost whispered. "What did I ever do to you?"

Spike's smile stayed on his face, but his eyes were flat and empty as
glass.

"You? Nothing. You're a means to my end. I want revenge, payback for
my Dru. Because I made that deal with your daughter, because my black
princess didn't think I was demon enough for her, my love is dead,
done, dust." As he spoke, his smile slowly faded from the pitiless
white mask of his face.

"Drusilla's gone. I'm sorry." Sorry they didn't get you as well, she
thought. Oh God.

"That's sweet. You know," he said a thoughtful expression entering
his eyes. "I really believe you are sorry. I like that about you." He
suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist, bringing to his mouth,
she flinched as he licked the inside of her arm from the pulse point
to the veins in her elbow. Joyce shuddered; his tongue was cold, it
was like having a dead slug being dragged across her skin.

"Maybe I won't kill you. It's been awhile since I've had a woman.
Fancy a quick one Joyce?"

Joyce stared at him, trying hard to believe that he hadn't said that.
He looked so human. She felt his hand slide up her thigh like a
spider made of ice, then one finger hooked in the top of her panties.
Her nerve broke. She shoved away from the table, sprang out of her
chair, and made it to the hallway before he grabbed her. He spun her
around and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over and he caught
her by the shoulders and shook her, his true face glaring at her.

"Stupid!" he snarled. "Do that again and I may have to go with Plan
A. Now, get moving!" Joyce sagged in defeat. She went up the stairs,
slowly at first, then faster, when Spike grabbed her ass and gave it
a vicious squeeze.

"We'll use your room," he said.

She led him down the hall, grateful that the door to Buffy's room was
closed. To her room. He shut the door behind him and locked it.

"Have a seat," Spike said, shoving her onto the bed. Joyce sat
nervously on the edge of the bed while he had a look around. He
picked up a picture of Buffy aged 6, grinning gap-toothed from the
back of a Shetland pony.

"Sweet." He opened the top drawer and rummaged around. "Oh, and what
do we have here." He brandished Joyce's Magic Wand and
chuckled at her blush.

"Nights been a bit lonely for you luv? Tsk." He tossed the vibrator
back into the drawer. "Well looks like tonight's your lucky night."

She watched in horror as he pulled a camcorder and tripod out of the
bag, and efficiently set it up, aiming it at the bed. When he was
finished he came over to the bed and stood over her, close enough
that she could smell him: leather, Aramis, and under it all a faint
whiff of old hamburger.

"Right. Stand up. Let's see the merchandise then." She stared at him.
"Want me to do it for you?"

His hand, morphed into its non-human form, plucked at her robe, she
heard the fabric rip as she recoiled. Quickly, trying not to think
about what she was doing, she took off the robe.

"The rest of it," Spike said curtly.

She slowly unlaced her gown, and finally let it drop. She could see
herself in the mirror, all alone, staring like a spotlit deer,
waiting for the bullet. Spike whistled in appreciation, he moved
closer, ran his hands lightly over her body.

"Nice ones Joyce. You're in pretty good shape for an old gal." Joyce
closed her eyes as he cupped her breasts in his cold hands, and
tweaked her nipples playfully. "Open your eyes Joyce." She opened
them, as he wedged his hand between her thighs and tried to put his
fingers inside. The angle and her non-cooperation frustrated him and
he ordered her to sit on the edge of the bed. He forced her legs
apart and she whimpered as he forced one, two, three fingers inside
her. He growled, annoyed.

"It's like the fuckin' Sahara innit. You know, pet, I'm beginning to
think you don't like me."

"Please. Stop. Why are you doing this." Joyce pleaded. She positively
reeked of terror; it affected him like champagne, made him all tingly.

"I told you. Revenge -- and a bit of fun. Relax Joyce, you don't seem
to be enjoying yourself." Spike grinned. "I'll just have to see what
I can do about that."

He knelt in front of her, and spread her legs again, but instead of
his hand he applied his cold rough tongue expertly to her inner lips,
slowly working his way to her clit. Joyce trembled and shuddered, but
not with lust.

"Fuck. Joyce, I feel like I'm wasting my time here." Spike said,
raising his head. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear. I'm going to
have you, in every sense of the word; and that means I need some
response. Tick, tick, tick. You wouldn't like Buffy to walk in on us.
I'd have to kill both of you. You got me Joyce?" She nodded.

As Spike went back to work, Joyce closed her eyes, and struggled to
forget that it was Spike between her legs, licking and nibbling. If
she could only ignore the cause, (bloodthirsty psychotic monster) the
sensations coming from between her thighs weren't unpleasant. They
could be very pleasant, in other circumstances, (with someone who
wasn't planning to kill your daughter and/or you). She couldn't see
him, it didn't have to be Spike, maybe it was George, the first man
to go down on her, all those years ago. His tongue, his mouth, were
cold because he'd been drinking soda out on the raft, before they
both ran into the cabin for a little afternoon canoodling. Dear
George, gawky, preppy, snobbish George. Really kind of an asshole,
but
he (almost) made up for it by being the King of Cunnilingus. Eyes
tight shut, she visualized the light and shadows thrown on the
cabin's
ceiling by the lake water as George teased and lapped, nibbled and
rubbed.

"That's more like it," Spike hissed, almost breaking the spell. Joyce
moaned as he slipped one, and then another finger inside her. It felt
good. So good. He began to finger fuck her, while his tongue kept
working on her clit. She started to move her hips in response to the
thrusts. God that felt good, god, god, god!

"George," she whimpered, as her body jerked in orgasm. She yelped at
the sudden pain in her thigh. She opened her eyes to see Spike, fully
vamped out, glaring down at her, her blood on his lips. "Spike!" she
gasped.

"Joyce! Glad you remembered my name." He put his two fingers in his
mouth and savored the taste of her fluids. "Mmmmm, mmmm! Finger
lickin' good. Don't say I never gave you anything." He grinned.

Jokes? Joyce felt herself redden with embarrassment, then wondered
how the hell it mattered to her.

"So, is this George someone else I'm going to have to kill?"

Joyce shook her head emphatically. "An old boyfriend. College."

"Glad to hear it." Spike said his words slurred by the fangs. He
grabbed her and pulled her up onto her feet. He nipped at her ear
playfully and licked the bead of blood that welled up. Joyce,
terrified, started to struggle. He shook her in warning.

"Don't be stupid! I'm not going to eat you." He buried his face in
her neck. "Though you do smell good enough to....You taste good
Joyce."

She really did. He'd just been having a little fun with her, playing
with her, and adding a little *interest* to the video tape before
getting on to the fun with sharp objects part of the evening; but
just that one taste had burned through him like fire. He nipped at
her
neck, savoring the blood. He was rock hard. It had been a long time
since he'd been this hard. Not since before Drusilla had left him.
Well, he could always have a late supper. Right now he had other
priorities.

Joyce felt his erection prodding her belly, she couldn't help
whimpering when he pushed her face first onto the bed, turning her to
face the camera. He pulled her up onto her knees, quickly freed
himself from his jeans, and forced her legs apart. Joyce screamed
into the pillow as his cold cock ripped into her.

Spike gasped and almost came right then and there. She was so tight,
so warm; her whole body trembling with terror. It had been a long
time since he'd been inside anyone warm. A long time since his cock
had known anything but the ice-cream sweetness of his black
princess's quim. He waited for the unbalancing wave of sensation to
subside,then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back towards him
with clawed hands and started to pump.

Each stroke burned like fire, she felt like she was being torn apart
by each thrust. She was going to die. Right here, right now. Oh God.
And Buffy would find her body. Please no. It went on and on,
relentlessly pounding, cold spreading from his cock, from his hands
till she was almost, blessedly numb when finally he shouted and came.

Spike sagged over her back for a moment until the stars stopped,
then pulled out and let her slump onto the bed. Released, Joyce curled
into a ball and just lay there. She felt him leave the bed, heard
water running in the bathroom. He came back into the room but she
kept her eyes closed; didn't move even when she felt his cold presence
standing over her. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up.

"Wakee, wakee Joyce," he said "I know you're in there. Look at me."

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The yellow eyed demon smiled
toothily at her from a few inches away. He kissed her, his lips
crushing hers, his tongue invading and possessing her mouth. He
tasted of sulfur and blood. Needle-sharp teeth nicked her lip and he
sucked eagerly at the blood. She couldn't breathe, but that was O.K.
because she realized that this was the last act, that finally he was
going to end it.

Then he let her go. Joyce gasped for breath. Spike was standing near
the door, fully human again, carrying his little black bag.

"Night, Joyce."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

"I'm going now. Unless you want me to stay?" he took a step towards
her, she cringed. He sniggered. "Didn't think so. Now pet, a few
things. Are you listening." Joyce nodded.

"Good. You will not tell anybody about this. If you do, I'll have to
kill them and hurt you -- and see to it that this tape gets
distributed to every mom and pop video store in Sunnydale. Right?"

"Yes."

"And no more nasty little revocation spells; Right?" She nodded.

"Good. I'll just let myself out then. And Joyce."

"Yes."

"Make sure you get some of those little marshmallows in, for the
next time."

Continued in Part 2