Dedicated to Mary B. who has been nagging me unyeildingly about working on my WIP's

Lady Carlotta pulled her white blond hair back behind her slightly pointed ears and spoke one word. “Disolvo.”

Her brother then handed Travers a picture—a very old picture. “Look like anyone you know?”

To Winston Giles, the spells removal was mildly uncomfortable, but to Quentin it was like hellfire had exploded behind his eyeballs and was leaking out of his ears. He fell face first onto his desk, pleading with every deity he could think of to let him pass out, but that was not his fate. As his stomach muscles began to cramp, it forced him into the fetal position. He fell off his desk and rolled half under his chair as he sobbed loudly.

“Oh, I must protest!” Winston stated loudly as he poured himself a scotch. He smirked at young Henri’s raised eyebrow before continuing, “Oh, don’t stop on my account, but for the record, I feel I must protest. Rituals must be maintained.”

“Do you remember it now, Quentin?” Carlotta asked in a cold, deadly voice as she crouched over the head of the Council. “I wonder if this is the way my Elven mum felt when you slipped a knife into her kidney? Or maybe Uncle William’s Grandmum when your family had her burned for being of the Fey?”

~~~~^^~~~~

Mudville California State Prison.

Faith was fidgeting in her seat when Wesley sat down, both from nerves and a weird case of super lust that had her panties drenched and her nipples aching. The suave, sexy Englishman in front of her didn’t help. When had the Wes the wonder wuss become the wonder stud? Even his obvious case of paranoia didn’t turn her off. It just made her want to rip off his clothes and fuck him raw.

“Faith?” Wes said, his voice cutting through the rampant hormones. “Are you alright?”

God! She wondered if he might be interested in making this a conjugal visit? She closed her eyes and tried to focus, then realized that she was twirling her hair around her fingers like some slutty cheerleader and quit instantly.

“Uhhhmm, sorry, Wes,” she answered him contritely

“So there is a problem?” her former Watcher asked in that ohhhh so smooth voice with a tiny smirk on his face. Man, he pissed her off! She could just hit him. Lots. Hit him, tie him up, then ride him till his eyes rolled back and his nose bled.

“No,” Faith squeaked. “No problem whatsoever.” No problem that you bending me over the desk and spanking me as you fuck me till my brains dribble out my ears wouldn’t solve, she thought ruefully.

“So it is true then?” Wesley leaned back in his chair and studied her intently.

“Is what true?” Faith demanded as she tried to get the runaway rollercoaster of emotions under control. Lust, anger, lust, shame, lust, fear, lust…and a heaping side order of more lust. “That Faith is a freak and guilty of just about anything you could accuse her of?”

“No. You do know that Buffy took a childe today?” Wes asked. Catching the look of confusion in her eyes, he continued, “She re-sired William the Bloody, and by now has quite likely claimed him as her mate.”

“Buffy’s a vamp?” Faith was so startled that for a moment that she forgot about her body’s primal urges.

“No, it seems that on rare occasions and under very strict conditions, a slayer can re-sire certain vampires and make them something of a male slayer.” His smirk was back and bigger than ever. “That is probably why you are feeling this way. It’s something of a side effect.”

“What way?” Faith tried for coy but only succeeded in looking hungry.

“It is making you rather…randy.” Wes’ smug tone sounded more than a bit condescending. “Right now, you would shag Quentin Travers if he were here and you could get to him.”

Faith looked at Wes for long moments through cold, calculating eyes before stating, “Be glad I can’t get to you, Wes. Be very glad.”

“Why, Faith?” Anger made the former Watcher’s voice hard. “What type of torture is left? What would you use? Sharp? Blunt? Hot? Cold? What is left, Faith?”

The dark slayer leaned back in her chair, her smile one of a cat luring in its prey. She slowly—oh, so slowly—began to unbutton her prison issue shirt. It took only a few buttons before it became obvious to Wesley that she wasn’t wearing a bra. As her top fell open and her lush breasts bounced into full view, she began twisting and pulling on her nipples as she spoke, “I’d try a few new ones, Wes. The kind that have nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure.”

Her face twisted into a decidedly naughty smirk and her voice dropped to a throaty purr. “I’d slip my wet mouth over your hard cock and suck for a little while, then pull it out and lick it like an ice cream cone. You ever had any one bite your balls, Wes? I mean not hard, like intense pain, but just hard enough to get your motor running.”

Wes couldn’t help himself. He had to adjust himself and just like that, the mood was broken. Both the former Watcher and his former Slayer found themselves blushing like school kids.

“God, Wes, I’m sorry!” Faith cried out in horror. She actually sounded contrite as she fumbled to do up her blouse.

“Understandable.” Wes could hardly bring himself to look at her. “It isn’t something you would normally say to me.”

“Wes?” Faith could feel the lust rising again. “If you want to turn this into a conjugal, it’s five by five.”

Wes smiled ruefully before answering her. “You’re not in your right mind, Faith, therefore I must regretfully decline.”

Faith once again worked her nipples as she smiled at him playfully. “If I live to see Sunnydale tomorrow night, I’m fucking your brains out.”

“When you arrive in Sunnydale, Miss Lehane.” Wes smirked at her. “If you still wish it, then it’s a date.”

“A fuck date? The only kind of date worth having.” Faith said as she stood and began to walk out. She desperately hoped that Brock was recovered enough for round two.

~~~~~~~~~^^~~~~~~~~

Back in London

Carlotta’s normally kind features were now a mask of rage as she squatted over Quentin Traver’s huddled form. “What, old man? Did you honestly think your transgressions would go unpunished? You shoved a poisoned blade into my mum’s kidney, then smiled into her face as she died. Did you think I would never catch you?”

“In all fairness, sister.” Henri said as he lit a cigar and set down next to a smirking Winston. “It wasn’t the first time he had done such. There was also the spell of forgetfulness that Grandmum cast. Poor git didn’t realize that anyone even knew.”

“Are you going to kill him Lady Carlotta?” Winston asked.

“No,” she said, drawing back. “We have done far worse, actually. His family fortune is gone,and his Council monies are not enough to pay his debts. Add in the fact that Elven magic has rendered the only three remaining males of his line impotent, and he is ruined. The revenge begun by Lady Charlotte, Lord William’s sister, is complete.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile back in Sunnydale

Buffy listened to the conversations around her, just letting them wash over her. She needed this. Not this exactly, but something very close. This was a sense of family that ran so deep that it moved her, relaxed her body, her mind, her very soul. This was what she was trying to build towards.

“But someone is missing,” she said aloud, embarrassing herself.

“Get used to it mate,” William told his younger doppelganger sagely. “She tends to just blurt things out.”

Buffy felt herself being pulled back into the strong arms of her mate and pouted slightly in his comforting hug. She felt an almost irrational urge to stick out her tongue at the other Spike.

“The people we are gathering,” she said instead. “We are missing at least one.”

“Who do you have coming?” Joy asked her.

Buffy went through the names carefully, not wanting to leave anyone out. When she had finished, both of the future folks smiled.

“Andrew,” they said as one before William continued, “Though I wouldn’t think he was crucial. I thought maybe Percy could replace him.”

“Please,” Joy retorted, rolling her eyes at her father. “I’m sure this Wes is a great guy, but give Aunt Dawn a few years and then believe me, Uncle Andrew is very, very crucial.”

“Andrew? Dawn marries a guy named Andrew?” Buffy couldn’t begin to imagine her sister married.

“It gets worse before it gets better, luv,” William snickered. “Right now, the boy couldn’t find his ass with both hands. Though I will be the first to admit that he gets better.”

“What is that colloquialism Uncle Xander loves to use?” Joy asked, pondering for a moment. “Something about pouring piss out of a boot with the instructions printed on the heel?”

Once Buffy had heard the word ‘colloquialism’, her brain blocked out the rest of the conversation. Here was her daughter—hers and Spike’s—using words like colloquialism. At sixteen, she had still been into valley girl speech!

Once again this other Spike was smiling at her; a gentle, knowing smile. Evidently his years with his Buffy made her easy to read.

“My eldest here will be seventeen in four months, and she and her twin, William, have already finished their first year at Oxford.” Buffy understood the pride in his voice easily. Joy wasn’t truly her daughter, yet she felt pride in her as well. She turned to her silent mate with a small smile.

“So I guess you are smarter than you look, huh, bleach boy?” she teased him lightly.

“Wot?” he replied. “’S not like you are as dumb as you let the Scoobies believe you to be, pet.”

Buffy realized she had lost the entire thread of the conversation. She noted for the first time the lost, haunted look in his eyes. It overwhelmed her with a deep need to make him feel better. He needed her not for sex, or friendship, or friendly bantering, he needed his sire, his mate, to help him heal. She didn’t notice as the other two realized they were unneeded and slipped out of the house. Buffy was too lost in her basic need to help this man—yes, man—understand how important, how loved, he was now.

She led him gently back upstairs, not even aware of the sweet nothings she was whispering to him, just concentrating on helping him to feel better. While her own pain almost overwhelmed her, she realized that here was a soul not only worth fighting for, dying for, but living for as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~^^~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in London

Quentin Travers lay on the floor in the Council’s chambers covered in his own urine, defecation, and puke, his eyes bloodshot and his skin ashen.

“Please?” he begged, trying to drag himself towards the others. “Just kill me outright, the suffering is too much.”

The other three sat at a table where Winston Giles was playing cards with Henri Kenticott while Lady Carlotta looked on.

“Please?’ Winston mocked him. “Bloody shut up, you candy-arsed poofter! You know as well as I that the magics will have run their course within the next few minutes unless the Lady intends to kill you.”

“No that would end the revenge before it began Lord Winston,” Carlotta replied demurely. The turning to Quentin she asked, “Have you figured out yet who Lord Henri resembles?”

Quentin shook his head, still trembling all over.

“That is strange,” Henri said to him. “Since it was your ancestor that orchestrated the events that sent poor Lord William into that alley that dreadful night."

“What alley?” Quentin managed to croak out.

“The one he met Drusilla the Mad in, of course! The one where he became William the Bloody, Spike, Slayer of Slayers,” Carlotta said with a small, vicious smile.

tbc
maybe
someday :-P