Butterfly Ops
By Alexandra Huxley
Rating: R
Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 43.

Chapter Forty-Four (B)

========================


Wrong. She wasn’t sighing; she was crying. Her lips
weren’t brushing his chest in a kissing kind of way;
it was that her head had collapsed against him and she
was mumbling into his shirt.

“You even...” She burrowed against him, seemingly
losing her strength. Her voice quietly broke. “You
even talk like him, your words always smile; your eyes
always laugh. Always...”

He was barely hearing her words, concentrating instead
on not giving in to this need that was becoming
overwhelming in its intensity. A need to have her, no
matter what the consequences. A desperate urge to
taste and touch her, every single part of her.

By sheer force of will, he released her hand and
pushed her aside so he could move away. He tried to
focus on what she had just said: ‘like him’? He was
like Didier?

She fell into the wall, clearly fighting the urge to
cry as she trembled. As if to prove to herself that
she wasn’t about to lose all composure, she spun
around and spat out, “And you don’t listen to me.”

Riley resisted the impulse to go to her as she lost
her battle, tears streaming down her face. He made
himself walk to the table and turn his back on her as
she cried, feeling like an asshole every step of the
way. He couldn’t touch her again, though. Mustn’t.

“He never listened to me. I could have kept him safe.
I could have...” Her words trailed off as she shook
her head.

He sank down in the chair, completely shaken. Not
because of her thinking he was Didier, but because of
how close he’d just come to losing control.

And because now, with his back to her – without seeing
Sam – all he could hear was Buffy. The Buffy he had
just come dangerously close to casting away. The new
one who tried to balance the fierce protector with the
woman she’d become. The one who he could tell was
desperately trying not to fall back into old patterns
of seeing him as yet another thing to take care of, as
someone to cage in. The one whose frustration and
fear had been obvious as she fought to keep harm at
bay.

The same frustration that he was hearing from the
woman behind him – laced with pain; voicing the words
that made him smile bitterly as he was reminded of the
legend that formed the skeleton of his own life: the
Princess and the Trader. The woman with war coursing
through her ancient bloodlines; the man with, well,
nothing but blood. Woundable, mortal blood. No way
in hell for a happy ending. Just plain old doomed.

No, Goddamnit. Riley leaned forward, resting his
elbows on his knees as he ran his hands over his face.
This wasn’t going to be that ending. Not again.

He was willing to concede the loss of Buffy back in
Sunnydale – a colossal fuck-up for which he had no one
to blame but himself. He could even accept Sam’s
death. Well, mostly at least.

Sure it had taken a while. He’d come to terms with
it, though. They’d had almost eight years together –
eight years in which they’d treasured each other, in
which they’d made every moment count. Even the fights
had been passionate – and resolutely forgiven. Except
for the one at the very beginning of the marriage and
the one at the end, her angry words still resonating
every time he heard the slam of a door.

He’d stopped hating God, however, coming to the
conclusion that Sam had been a gift; an angel that
he’d only been allowed to borrow. An angel who had
left him with four sparkling lights, shining bright
whenever he thought he might slip into the darkness.

Now, though? Now that he’d gotten past that? Now
that he’d been given something new to cherish? Could
Fate really hand him a taste of that brilliant
happiness without giving him the chance for a
different ending? The universe couldn’t possibly be
that cruel.

Actually, that wasn’t true. The personification of
tragedy was standing right behind him. He turned to
face her – the Princess who had very possibly spent
several hundred years in this very room, sent here by
the Creator, by God Himself.

Was what she had done really worth that punishment?
What was it Graham had said – she’d gone crazy,
‘wreaked havoc’? After watching her lover die a
particularly agonizing death?

A lover, by the way, that she’d waited – literally –
eons for. For whom she’d dropped out of Heaven.
Wasn’t she allowed?

There but for the grace of God...

Well, and his kids. Graham and Sarah, too – at least
when Sarah hadn’t been busy trying to fix him up with
every single woman she knew. And Pete. Couldn’t
forget Pete. Not when he’d offered a legitimate
outlet for the rage. It had been a fine line, though,
and Riley couldn’t say with certainty that his odds of
survival had been good even with all those things in
the ‘don’t make it worse’ column.

This woman...

No. Better not to look at her – because she wasn’t
just Sam anymore. She was Buffy, too. A
nineteen-year-old Buffy with the weight of the world
on her shoulders, with yet another apocalypse nipping
at her feet.

Riley tried to shake it off. This wasn’t the universe
being cruel; it was him screwing up, all by himself.
He was starting to feel for her, starting to feel too
much of a connection, too much like someone who had
been there. Truly – in the history of the world, how
many couples were there made up of one warrior
princess and one mortal man? Riley couldn’t imagine
it was much more than two.

And of those four people, how many had shared this
prison – a prison she’d been in for going on several
hundred years now – its dark walls made up of
ungraspable memories, flickering shadows that were
always out of reach...

Was there an actual possibility that she wasn’t at
fault in this?

Was there an actual possibility that Joe was right?
That this had all been nothing more than the
Maymaygwayshi, tricksters pulling at the raw, painful,
trailing threads of lives that were coming undone;
pulling the puppet strings and putting themselves
where they didn’t belong? Casting spells so that
everyone could join in on the not-fun?

No. He turned back to her. Each of those dead men
had been in this room. He needed to at least ask the
question: “What happened to the other men?”

She was obviously taken by surprise. Enough so that
she was able to get back a semblance of control. “The
others?” She shook her head, confused. “Nothing. I
sent them home.”

“Home?” Not the right answer. “Is that what you call
it?”

She leaned back against the wall, her hand playing
with the hem of her top. “What I call what? I gave
them what they wanted.”

She was annoyed at him again, which - honestly? - he
preferred. Although he did have to admit that the
crying helped him remember that this wasn’t Sam,
wasn’t Buffy – that was becoming more and more key.
“What they wanted? They wanted to die?”

A flush came to her cheeks as she lowered her eyes.
“No one...” Her head jerked up as she seemed to
suddenly realize what Riley was implying. “Die? I
didn’t...” Her eyes grew defiant. “They were fine
when they-” Her mouth snapped shut; she shrugged
uncomfortably. “...Left.”

Riley jumped to his feet, any sympathy that he’d felt
gone. She wasn’t a prisoner here – she was the
gatekeeper, the one with the key. A key that he
needed if he wanted to get out. “When they left?
They just got up and walked out of here?”

Realizing that he was suddenly within arm’s reach of
her again, he stopped, feeling the sparks skim along
his skin.

That was going to make things difficult. How exactly
was he going to get this key from her if he couldn’t
actually come near her without wanting to-

“No,” she said quietly, her head down. “I sent them.”

“You sent them?” Something in the way she spoke
helped his brain get back into focus. “How did
you...?”

She looked up again, the defiance back, though
combined with...shame? “I...” Another uncomfortable
shrug and her cheeks turned bright pink. Before his
eyes, she transformed from the strong and unstoppable
warrior princess to the young woman she’d been
underneath the armor of her calling.

Only for a second, though. Only for one short second
before the Princess was back, suddenly regaining her
strength as she clearly began to realize that she
still held all the power.

Shit.

Her eyes turned to ice and the stare she gave him made
his blood run cold. “You think I don’t understand?”
she asked. She took a step closer to him and pointed
to herself. “What it’s like to see the woman you
love? To have her appear in front of you, speak to
you even though you know this couldn’t possibly be
true?”

Riley took a step back, thinking that this was not a
good turn of events. No. Most definitely not good.

And yet...so damn fucking good, even just by her
grabbing his hand and pulling it to her cheek. Oh,
God, was this an itch he did not want scratched. Not
by her. His breath caught as she guided his hand down
her neck, over her breast; her eyes closed and her
head fell back.

Think about Buffy. About the last time you did this
to Buffy. And you didn’t even do this back then. He
felt behind him for the table with his free hand – for
anything to keep himself steady.

“To feel her cry for you?” The Princess’ voice was
coming from somewhere deep in the back of her throat,
her throat that was now fitting perfectly under his
chin as she took a step closer, her tongue grazing the
side of his neck.

Feel Sam cry? Not... Oh, God, that felt good.
...possible.

“To feel how much she wants you?” She guided his hand
down to her waist, around to the small of her back
where she held it in place, pulling the tank top away,
shifting so that his fingers slipped under her
waistband. He could feel the last shreds of
resistance melt away as the heat of her body crept
through his skin. “To feel how much she wants to
taste you?”

He closed his eyes, willing his hands to push her
away. All they seemed able to do, though, was find
the smoothness of her back, the silkiness of her hair
as she sank down to her knees. Her own hands were
firmly holding him in place, grasping the backs of his
thighs as her mouth closed over the bulge in his
pants.

Air became a serious issue, and he almost cried out
when her lips began to move, when she spoke without
pulling away her head. “To feel how much she aches
for you...” She turned so that it was her cheek
pressing against him as she looked up from under her
eyelashes. “How much she needs to feel you just one
last time. She says she doesn’t want to, but...” She
turned so that her mouth was on him again. “...She
hasn’t set me free.”

His lips tried to form the word ‘no,’ but no air came
out. He was glad that his hands were already in her
hair because it made the struggle a little easier when
a splinter of reason broke through the surface,
helping him push her head away. Finally able to
speak, he gasped, “Is this... how you kill... all the
boys?” His voice gained a little more strength with
each word. “Or do I just rate... the extra special
treatment...”

That seemed to make her falter. Her eyes grew sad as
she stood up. There were about three seconds in which
he could breathe and then her hands were on him again
and her voice oozed with hate. “You want so
desperately for it to stop hurting, so desperately to
pull away.” She reached out and ran her hand down his
jaw, down underneath his shirt. “Yet you ache to touch
her,” she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed
his chest. “You still see her in me.”

When she pulled her lips away he feared his heart
would stop beating. In fact, he almost wished it
would. Oh, God, Riley – do not do this.

She looked up and caressed his cheek. “You still hold
out hope – that somehow this might be real.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. A spell;
it’s a spell. Her power is nothing more than words.
Just move away. She doesn’t want to be here either.
That’s real pain in her voice. Regret. You don’t
really want this. You don’t... real...

“You think I don’t understand?” Her arm snaked around
his neck, entrapping him again, and her grip tightened
as she pulled his head to hers; so close that he could
feel her eyelashes tickle his skin when she blinked
slowly, that he could feel her lips curve as she
smiled. “What it’s like to be bound to him? To be
entranced?”

“To him?” Riley asked, breathless as his voice found
an opening, as his hands – unfortunately – found her
hair again. “Don’t you mean her?”

Bad move, because the tears that formed in the
Princess’ eyes only seemed to make her angrier; in an
eerily calm, life-threatening kind of way.

She began to walk him backwards, continuing on,
completely ignoring that Riley had spoken. “And
there’s only one moment of freedom, only one way to
breathe.” The tears began streaming down her face,
and her voice took on an edge of desperation. “Only
one way to get him – to get her – out of my skin.”
Seeing as she was pushing Riley backwards toward the
bed, he had a pretty good idea of what that way was.

He tried to tell his feet to stop moving; tried to
keep his fingers from skipping down her back. Tried
to keep his hands from finding their way to her face
and lifting it up to his mouth. Tried to keep himself
from breathing her into his soul.

He said, “There must be...” Her lips teased his,
making his heart pound so hard that he thought it
would explode. “...another...”

This had reached an entirely new level, a level
infinitely higher than the one with those
put-him-to-sleep kisses in it; what she was doing had
some serious teeth. “...way.” Teeth that were
skimming his jawline, getting dangerously close to-

Fuck. Not the scars. Not... playing... fair.

The bed hit his knees, and she pushed him down, her
arms controlling his fall, her legs pinning him in
place, not stopping her own movement until their
bodies were flush.

“I can release you,” she murmured, placing her hand
over his heart. “I can give you her. I can give you
Sam.” Her lips went to his mouth. “I can send you
home.”




TBC...










=====
Writing as Alexandra Huxley
http://home.mindspring.com/~jenkel/fanfic/index.html

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