Buffy Meets the Vampire Lestat

It didn't take long. In the middle of downing his bottle of water, Xander began shifting uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes wandered over Anya, who was singing softly to herself. Everything about her was suddenly attractive—her foot tapping to the beat, her finger curling around a dark piece of her hair, the place where her t-shirt tucked into the waistband of her skirt. His eyes followed the curve of her neck, the gentle swell of her breasts, and he shifted again, clearing his throat.

"How's it going out there?" he asked, dabbing at some sugared powder on his napkin and licking his finger. These donuts were particularly good.

"We're just waiting for Oz," Anya said, looking at him sideways. His eyes were on her breasts, which wasn't uncommon, but his look of lust was unmistakable. She leaned over, giving him a better view, and rubbed at the powder around his mouth.

"Ahn," Xander said, his voice sounding pained. She lifted her eyes to his, her innocent expression the perfect façade.

"Yes, Xander?" She continued to rub at the corner of his mouth with her thumb, her tongue sneaking out as if she were in deep concentration.

"Remember what I said before?" He swallowed hard, licking his lips and staring down the front of her shirt. "About end of the world sex just not being right?"

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, working on the other corner of his mouth now.

"I take it back." He lunged over the kitchen island at her, his mouth rough and hard as he pressed her back against the counter. Anya gasped and then moaned, feeling how hard he was through his jeans against her thigh. That stuff worked fast! she thought, as Xander groped under her t-shirt, his tongue threatening to force its way down her throat.

"Xander," she gasped as he thrust against her, rocking her body against the sink. "Maybe we should go upstairs?"

"Now you want to worry about sexual etiquette?" he asked, tugging her skirt up with one hand. When his fingers probed her wetness, she forgot that she was supposed to care if someone came into the kitchen and she gave in to exactly what she had wanted in the first place. He was wild, like an animal, biting at her neck, growling, shoving his hand between her legs. He wasn't like her Xander at all, and it was making her crazy with lust.

Anya turned so he was pressed against the counter and sank to her knees, unzipping his jeans and pulling at them, freeing his cock. It was red and swollen and the tip was wet already. Xander didn't give her a minute to consider—he forced himself into her mouth, grabbing a handful of her hair and thrusting. She seemed just as eager to be used as he was to use her, gagging and sucking by turns, letting him fuck her mouth again and again as she reached under her skirt, thrusting her panties aside to play with herself.

Xander stood staring at the open doorways to both the dining room and the foyer, knowing that at any moment, anyone could walk through and discover them. He knew he should care—he just simply didn't. Anya's mouth swallowing his cock was the only thing he could think about, and that wasn't so much thinking as was some primal instinct. There didn't seem to be much thinking involved going on in his brain at all.

"Ahn," he warned, and she knew exactly what he meant and she whimpered. He was close to cumming. She tried to stop, but he wouldn't let her, plunging his thick shaft between her lips at an even faster pace. His hips rocked and bucked, and he grunted, spilling waves of cum into her mouth that she had no choice but to swallow. She gave a disappointed sigh as his softening cock slid out of her mouth. She had so wanted to feel him inside of her.

Xander looked down at his girlfriend, his hand still tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. The sight of her watery, mascara streaked eyes and swollen red mouth with his cum dribbling out of the corners filled him with an undeniable lust. Anya saw the look in his eyes and was confused by it. The Xander she knew was a considerate lover who gave her an orgasm or two, sometimes three, and then came once and fell asleep. This wasn't the Xander she knew and she stared as his cock throbbed to life again before her eyes.

He sank to the floor and kissed her, sucking at her tongue and tasting his cum in her mouth. His hands moved over her body as if he were inspecting her for ripeness, rough and indifferent, simply exploring her body for his pleasure. He tugged and twisted at her nipples as he kissed her, making her gasp and writhe in his grip. Sliding her skirt up her thighs, he cupped and kneaded the flesh of her ass as his cock pressed between her legs, demanding its due.

Without a word, he let her go and she gasped, grabbing onto the counter to keep her balance. His hands were on her, roughly turning her around on the linoleum, shoving her skirt up high around her waist. He yanked at her black, mesh panties, sliding them down to her knees and positioning himself behind her.

Anya rested her cheek against the cool floor, lifting her ass up in the air and waiting. Normally, she would reach for him, guide him, but she knew from the way he was acting that she didn't have to. She could hear Buffy's voice in the dining room and she realized the Slayer could walk in and find them here coupling on the floor like bunnies. No, not bunnies. Anya shivered and bit her arm to keep from crying out when Xander shoved his cock between her swollen pussy lips, driving himself deep inside of her flesh.

She heard him grunt, but that was the only sound he made as he started to fuck her. He felt huge to her, much bigger than usual, and she wondered if the horny goatweed could effect penis size as well as libido. She only wondered for a moment, though, as his flesh began to pummel her, his hips smacking into hers and sliding her inch by inch across the floor with every thrust.

Xander couldn't stop. The incredible lust that was driving him seemed insatiable, like an itch that just wouldn't be scratched. Anya's pussy was a sweet, wet tunnel of heat, engulfing and squeezing his aching cock. He wanted to cum so badly it hurt—he had never wanted anything more. He was working as hard as he could, aiming toward that goal with a fierce persistence that he hadn't experienced much of anywhere in his life.

Anya arched her back for him, wanting more, slipping her fingers between her swollen lips and finding her throbbing clit. Her body was responding with great enthusiasm to this new Xander, and she knew it wouldn't take much stimulation to bring her to completion. She gasped as she rubbed her clit in little circles while Xander pounded her little by little across the slippery linoleum.

She felt her climax coming and bit her lip. Shuddering waves crashed over her again and again. Her pussy quivered around him, the little fluttering spasms threatening to take him over the edge, but not quite following through on their delicious promise. Xander groaned in frustration, grabbing her hips and pressing in, using the deep recesses of her cunt to massage the head of his cock, the sensitive tip exploring her deepest, softest parts.

"Ahn," he whispered, and it was his warning again, unnecessary this time, as he bucked into her, filling her still trembling pussy with his thick, hot cum. He didn't think there could be so much, not after cumming in her mouth first, but there seemed to be no end to it, or to the ache. He was still throbbing and more than half-hard as he pulled out of her.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he whispered, looking down at his cock as if it had betrayed him. The sight of his second round of cum beginning to seep out of Anya's slit was firming his erection back up in a hurry, which seemed impossible, but it was true.

Anya rolled to her back, looking up at him, her eyes glazed. She saw his cock, like a steadfast soldier reporting for duty, and she grasped it. He hissed through his teeth, shaking his head, but the more she tugged, the more he gave in. There really didn't even seem to be anything to give in to—there was only this endless aching agony of pleasure that was steering him onward.

She slipped her panties all the way off and slid him inside of her, using his shaft as she rolled her hips around, rubbing the shaft over her clit. He had two orgasms to her one, and that just wasn't fair, as far as Anya was concerned. She pulled her t-shirt up over her breasts, exposing them to him. She went braless most of the time for comfort. He couldn't help himself—his tongue and lips went immediately to her nipples, sucking and licking, back and forth between them.

Anya's breath came faster as she worked her hips under him. Xander was thrusting into her, helpless to stop, and she felt her second orgasm building. She moved faster against him, twisting and rolling underneath his body as she felt the sensation swelling between her thighs. Her climax caught up with her and she shuddered against him, digging her nails into his back and biting his shoulder as she came.

Xander winced, but he just couldn't stop. His body was exhausted and while he was still hard, he couldn't see how he could possibly cum again. He felt like he was running on empty. Anya whimpered beneath him, and still he couldn't let up. Some insatiable lust was pressing him into her, again and again. She pulled him close, and he let her, his hips still rocking, moving in and out of her hot flesh.

"I can't stop," Xander whispered into her hair against her ear.

"Don't stop," Anya whispered back. He was huge inside of her, thick and swollen and insistent. It was taking her places she never knew existed—and that said a lot, coming from someone who had traveled through multiple demon dimensions. Anya rocked with him, their motion slower now, a more gentle rhythm, but it was incessant, an endless dance. She never wanted it to end, and she thought with a smile that she just might get her wish. They could do this until the world ended in a brilliant flash of light.

"Oh god," Xander murmured. "I can't stand it." Anya ran her hands down his back, up under his sweat dampened t-shirt. She slipped her hands down over his ass, feeling the muscles there working as he moved inside of her.

"Don't stop," Anya begged him, meeting his easy thrusts with more eager ones. He sighed, feeling his balls growing tighter, knowing what that meant and still finding it just impossible. He couldn't cum again, he just couldn't. And yet the familiar tickling ache was there, spreading wider as he sank into Anya's willing, wet flesh.

"Don't ever stop, Xander," she whispered again, meeting his thrusts with her own, feeling another orgasm waiting in the recesses of her belly. "Please, make me cum."

Xander felt like he didn't have a choice. He banged his cock into her, the linoleum making little squeaking sounds under their wet flesh. They had slid partway across the kitchen in their lust and were nearly at the end of the island now which would leave them in plain view of anyone walking by. He pushed himself up on his arms and rolled his hips, shoving himself deep into her. Anya nodded, her eyes half-closed, grabbing his biceps and digging her nails in, her thighs gripping him tight.

"Yes," she whispered, reaching her pinnacle and feeling herself being pushed off the edge. She was falling into it, her body quivering and shivering as she went, the world fading to black around the edges. There was nothing better about being human than this.

Xander's eyes were wide as he came for the third time, his mouth open in shock, but his shaft throbbed with delicious release, spurting more cum than he thought he could possibly have deep inside of her.

"Very sweet." The sound of Spike's voice made them both gasp and scramble for their clothes. He was leaning over the kitchen island and peering down at them.

"Don't think this means I'm going to stop referring to you as a 'poofter,'" he said to Xander.

Anya yanked her shirt and skirt down, grabbing her panties and trying to pull them up at the same time. Xander was staring down at the slick, red swollen thing between his legs like he wasn't sure what to do with it. It was still as hard as a rock.

"Spike, get out of here," Anya hissed, managing to get all her clothes in their proper places in the right order.

"Buffy sent me in," Spike explained. "They're gonna start the ritual. Spell. Whatever this thing is."

"Did Oz come back?" Xander asked, wincing as he painfully slipped his erection back into his jeans.

"Willow says he'll be here," Spike shrugged.

They heard Buffy's voice and Xander and Anya both scrambled up off the floor.

"You coming?" Buffy asked, inclining her head toward them, taking in their disheveled appearance with a frown.

"You have no idea," Xander said, trying to ignore the painful throbbing between his legs.

*****

Oz saw the warm, welcoming lights of Buffy's house and sighed in relief. They were all still here. He'd made it. Tracking the Gaia spring had been much more difficult than he had anticipated. His sense of smell was extraordinary, even when he hadn't turned into the werewolf, and most things could be tracked, especially those that were static. The problem with the spring, he realized later, was that its magic gave it some concealing properties. He considered taking off his talisman and turning wolf, but thought better of it. His own lust for blood could still overtake him in that state—it was too dangerous.

Considering the exigent circumstances, he had instead resorted to his simple but efficient powers of deduction. If I was the Breast of Gaia, where would I be? It seemed logical that it would be located close to the Hellmouth, considering it's equalizing purpose, which meant exploring the burned-out high school. The overpowering smoky smells of the place had been impossible for him to track through, and he had spent hours searching and had nearly given up hope when he heard it. It was the faintest trickle, but he followed the sound. His ears were nearly as attuned as his nose.

The Breast of Gaia had yielded her milky substance to him from a swell in the earth under the basement of the old high school, not ten feet from the closed mouth of hell. Oz could feel the evil radiating from the hellmouth like a sick heat, as if the ground itself had a fever, but the moment his hands touched the milk of Gaia, his mind and senses were cooled. He filled the cup Xander had given him before he left—a travel mug with a snap-on top. It seemed a rather profane container, with its corporate logo on the side, but he meditated for a moment and said a small Tibetan prayer as he thanked Gaia for her offering. Not long though. It was past dark, and he knew he had to get back.

Oz removed the travel mug from the cupholder of the van and opened the door. He smelled it immediately, the sick, cloying scent of dead madness. It filled his senses and he gagged, his eyes searching the darkness for a glimpse of something. Holding the mug against his body protectively, he edged around the side of the van, glancing toward the house. If he could make it close enough to alert them, he knew it would be ok. There was safety in numbers, and two Slayers in the house, besides.

"How much is that doggie in the window?" Dru sang, slipping out from behind a tree. Her white gown was ghostly in the black night.

Oz bolted for the porch, but she was on him, knocking him to his belly on the ground, overpowering him with a vampire strength he couldn't possibly match when he wasn't turned wolf. The wind was knocked out of him and the travel mug bounced on the ground, but the lid stayed on. He grabbed it, uprighting it as he struggled underneath her, waiting for his breath to return so he could yell.

"Do you have a waggly tail?" Dru purred against his ear, bringing her knee up between his legs tight and hard, making his balls ache. Oz winced, wondering how to get her off him while still hanging onto the milk of Gaia.

"Don't tease the doggie, Dru," came a smooth voice from behind a tree. "You can play with the puppy later—after he's neutered."

Drusilla pouted at the figure, her attention diverted. Oz's brain registered the other vampire's words, and his panic gave him the adrenaline strength to knock Dru off his back, starting to yell for Buffy, Faith, Willow, anyone!

"Lestat!" she complained, howling in frustration and struggling to stand.

Lestat raised his hand and Oz stopped in his tracks, his limbs frozen, his voice caught in his throat. His eyes scanned the front door, the windows, hoping someone had heard him. The lid had come loose on the mug he was carrying, he knew, because the milk of Gaia was dripping down his hand.

"Come here, wolf," Lestat said, making a spinning motion with his fingers. Oz was propelled around and came toward the blonde vampire, his eyes wide, but his limbs obeying in spite of his mind's protest.

"Good doggie," the vampire murmured, ruffling the small man's dark hair. Oz could do nothing but glare at him. Lestat noticed the mug in the man's hand and he pryed it from his fingers, lifting it to his nose, his nostrils flaring.

"Ugh." The vampire shook his head, as if to clear it. He tossed the mug aside, spilling the creamy white fluid all over the sidewalk beside Oz's van. "The milk of Gaia, I presume? That means your little friends are onto us, hm?"

Oz could only move his eyes, but the sight of his hard-won treasure dashed on the ground made his head swim. He knew Willow needed it to complete the spell—without it, there was no way to fight this thing that the mad vampire in front of him was set on summoning. The talisman on his chest was burning, the magic that kept him from turning wolf strained to its limit.

"Let me kill them," Dru murmured, nibbling and sucking at ends of the vampire's wavy blonde hair. "Dru's so hungry."

Oz listened for someone, anyone, hoping to hear them bursting out the front door at any moment.

"No need," Lestat said, reaching between Oz's legs and squeezing hard. The man's face twisted in pain. "We have what we came for. They can't stop us, now, Dru."

The vampire turned his attention back to Oz whose pain and rage tolerance were nearing a boiling point. His eyes were beginning to turn to that of the wolf, his teeth becoming feral.

"Ah, good," Lestat murmured, squeezing harder. "Just what we need. Let's go, Fido."

The vampire turned and crooked a finger over his shoulder at Oz, whose face was half-wolf and half-man, his eyes a deep, rageful black. Still, he followed helplessly after the insane pair, unable even to turn around to see if anyone might be following them.

*****

Willow looked around at the circle, all nine of them standing, their hands clasped together, their eyes closed, chanting the words that she had taught them: "Animus no viscus, animus no viscus, animus no viscus." Spirit made flesh.

There should be ten, she thought. Oz should be here. She wasn't sure if this was going to work without him—or the milk of Gaia. She glanced nervously toward the door, hoping he might appear, her knight in shining armor.

She couldn't stall any longer. The hour was growing later, and the end of the world loomed large. She said a silent prayer to Gaia and began the ritual, taking her hands out of Buffy's on her left and Spike's on her right, joining their hands together behind her and stepping into the circle. She didn't see Spike's leer or Buffy's eye roll.

Their voices washed over her, a droning chant that was gathering strength. She could feel the energy moving within the circle. Willow knelt, dropping spell ingredients into her bowl and grinding them with her pestle, one at a time. The order was important to bring the demon manifest on this plane. The last ingredient was the horny goatweed, a powerful and potent herb. She just needed a half teaspoon.