Fic: Triptych (Buffy/Spike/Tara, Adult)
Title: Triptych
Author: Maren
Genre: Angst, Romance
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: S/B/T
Summary: Alternate Reality fic: current time set 10 years in the future, flashbacks set in Season 6 after “Older and Far Away”; Written for![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
remember_nomore
Author Note: I apologize in advance toremember_nomore for not following all of the requests. I had a *really* hard time even imagining this threesome in the first place so I had to write what would come to me, or flake completely. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Triptych
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When Buffy saw the triptych at the gallery, she knew she had to have it. The trio of paintings was displayed in a nearly-hidden corner that housed tasteful but relatively inexpensive antique art. Despite its comparatively cheap cost, she had to dig heavily in to their savings account to buy it. She had just finished grad school, after all, and she hadn’t built up enough of a practice yet as an adolescent psychologist to really be able to splurge on original art.
The paintings were beautiful, though, and Buffy felt them call to her as if the brushes had been applied to the canvas with only her in mind. The gallery owner told her the triptych was actually quite an unusual piece. The three nude Greek deities it depicted in sensual embrace were not typically associated with one another in mythology—no legends existed that might have inspired the artist to paint these three figures entwined together like they were. Perhaps that was why it had remained an unimportant painting in spite of its beauty.
“What drew you to this piece?” the woman asked, surprised that the triptych was selling after hanging on the wall for so long.
Buffy gave her a small, secret smile, her lips touched by sadness and something else that the gallery owner couldn’t place. It was her only answer. The owner smiled back, and inwardly chided herself for her lack of discretion.
“You’ll want to get it appraised so that you can insure it, of course,” she said quickly, folding the side panels inward and wrapping the piece in acid-free tissue paper.
Buffy murmured a response and handed over her credit card, eager to get it home so that her lover could see it too.
********
To say that she had been shocked as hell to walk in on Spike and Tara that first night would have been a massive understatement. She had gone to Spike’s crypt in a moment of weakness, hating herself (as was usual in those days) for wanting him . . . and hating him even more for wanting her. Still, the hate and pain didn’t keep her blood from rushing through her veins in anticipation or the heat from flooding her center. She was ready for him even before she opened the door to the crypt and silently moved toward his underground living quarters.
The sight that met her eyes as she stood in the threshold of the stairway had made the tiny hairs at the base of her neck stand on end, a firecracker spark of awareness racing down her spine and causing her nerve endings to leap in startled appreciation.
Tara was spread out on the silk that covered Spike’s bed, her hands tightly clenched in the sheets at her sides, her heavy-lidded eyes focused on the vampire who was softly kissing up her inner thigh. The only sound that broke through the still, silent air of the crypt was Tara’s ragged breathing.
Buffy stood rooted to her spot in the doorway, unable to move even though her mind was screaming at her to get the hell out of there. She didn’t know which part of the scene in front of her was more surprising—- that Tara and Spike were together in the first place, or that Spike was being so careful and gentle with the other woman, his hands soft and caressing, his lips pressing feather-light kisses into her flesh, his teeth nibbling instead of biting the skin between them. It was never like that between her and Spike. With them it was fist and fang, not always fast but invariably hard—- with them it was fucking and it was punishment and it was just as sweet to her as the softness between Spike and Tara.
With mind reeling, trying to process what was happening, Buffy watched as Spike finally reached his destination and buried his face in the apex of Tara’s thighs. The other woman’s hands moved from the sheets to his head, and with one flick of his tongue, Spike had her arching off of the bed and softly moaning his name. Her moans turned more desperate when the hands that had been kneading her hips moved-- one underneath her to cup her bottom and lift her closer, the other to join his mouth at her sex.
On some level Buffy knew she should leave, understood that she should get out of there before either of them noticed her presence, but she couldn’t quite work up the impetus to do so. She felt a bit detached from her body, as though there were some disconnect between her mind and limbs. Combined with the confusion about what exactly she was or should be feeling (was that jealousy she felt, was it intense desire, was it hurt?), the dissociation froze her in place, her rapid, shallow breathing the only movement in her body.
She watched as Spike brought Tara to orgasm twice with his mouth and fingers. She watched as he finally moved away from the plump lips and engorged bud between her legs up her body, his tongue and lips lingering at her breasts, before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.
Then she watched as he positioned himself at Tara’s entrance, and with an agonizing slowness that had both women holding their breath, pushed himself deep inside her. Buffy watched the tactile pleasures manifest on both of their faces—her face flushed, eyelids fluttering over her closed eyes, mouth open in a small moue as she arched her back and pressed her breasts more securely into the cool expanse of his chest—- his face tense as he held himself back, small ripples of pleasure washing over his countenance as he savored the feeling of being inside her, eyes that Buffy knew were a deep blue smoldering as they stared into Tara’s face, and full, sensuous lips moving toward hers once again.
Finally, miraculously, Buffy’s body responded to her brain’s command to leave, and she quietly turned and made a move toward the exit.
In that moment, Spike’s voice cut through the crypt, startling in its sudden appearance in the sighing, moaning quiet that had preceded it.
“Care to join us, luv?”
Buffy whirled back to face him, embarrassed that he had seen her and cursing herself for not being quieter. When she saw his face, though, with its smirking grin and raised eyebrow, Buffy knew that he had known she was there all along. Tara, however, had not. The other woman was staring at her with wide, shocked eyes and Buffy imagined that Tara’s face mirrored her own.
“I don’t think so, Spike,” she choked out, trying for cold indifference but missing by a long shot.
Spike’s nostrils flared as he sniffed at the air, and his grin spread a little wider.
“Now now, pet, good slayers don’t lie,” he purred. Then he thrust into Tara, drawing her attention back to him as another unbidden moan of pleasure slipped from her throat.
Buffy turned and ran, willing herself to get away as fast as she could.
********
During breaks between her clients, Buffy searched the web for information on the scene depicted in the triptych. She quickly found out that that gallery owner had been right—there were no myths that explained why the unknown painter had shown these particular Greek deities together.
It didn’t matter to Buffy that no one else could explain the trinity—deep in her heart she knew that it was an ancient representation of something that would come much, much later in time. A wistful smile on her lips, Buffy thought about the set of paintings that she had carefully unwrapped last night after bringing it home.
Ares, god of war and conflict, was painted in repose on a long couch, looking down at the sight before him with unmistakable lust and something that might have been a little like love. Spread across the couch on either side of him and meeting over his lap were Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, and Artemis, goddess of the hunt, their lips meeting in a kiss. Hestia’s hair cascaded over her bare shoulders and breasts, hiding much of her voluptuous form from sight. Her face was serene and she tenderly cupped Artemis’ cheek with one hand. Artemis was more fully dressed, one small breast peaking out from her suede-like toga. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held in place by what looked like a band of connecting crescent moons. Her green eyes sparkled with confidence, and she had one hand placed on Ares naked chest as though to keep her balance while the other trailed beside her, clutching a bow.
The three deities were painted in delicate shades of ivory, grey, green, and blue, rich in color but muted by the painter’s brush and time. They invoked in Buffy a feeling of nostalgia and bitter memory turned sweet and precious.
Sighing, Buffy clicked off the internet search engine and prepared herself for her next client, pushing the past back into the recesses of her mind.
*********
The next time it had been Tara who had walked in to see Spike’s lips on another woman, and it was Tara who watched in shocked and titillated silence.
Buffy had been pressed with her back against the wall, her shirt ripped open to reveal a barely-there black lace bra. Spike was positioned in front of her, shirt off and jeans unzipped, his lips hard and brutal against hers. His hand grazed up her stomach until it was cupping one of Buffy’s breasts, and he squeezed, pinching her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Buffy let out a moan of half pleasure/half pain and, moving her hands from where they were wrapped in Spike’s hair, placed them on his chest and pushed him roughly away. He stumbled back, knocking over a small table that held a glass and a bottle of whiskey, and growled. Then he was advancing on her again, his movements predatory in their smooth, purposeful grace.
Tara watched as Buffy threw a punch at Spike as he approached, and then saw Spike duck the punch and use Buffy’s momentum to spin her around so that the front of her body was pushed into the wall. Before Buffy could catch her breath, Spike had pulled the short skirt she wore up over her waist and ripped away her panties.
Letting out a moan as Spike forced his way into her body, Buffy placed her palms against the stone and turned her head toward where Tara still stood, surprise and desire both evident on the other woman’s face. Their eyes met and Buffy held Tara’s concerned gaze for a long moment as Spike fucked her into the wall. Then her eyes fluttered close, shutting Tara out, as she concentrated on the extreme pleasure building inside her with each violent thrust of Spike’s hips. When she came, clenching and shuddering around Spike’s cock with a long, breathless moan, he erupted inside her and shouted her name.
On the way home, Buffy tried to forget how much more aroused Tara’s presence had made her.
*********
Pushing through the large oak doors, Buffy entered the public library and asked the reference librarian for directions to the books on ancient Greece. Her eyes brightened in amusement when she considered how shocked and pleased Giles would be if he knew what a keen interest she’d recently taken in Greek mythology. Then she remembered why he would never know, and the brightness faded as a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Buffy shook off her melancholy thoughts and pulled a large book off of the shelves. Retreating to a private table, she placed the book on the table and took a legal pad and pen out of her bag so she could take notes.
Two hours and 4 books later, Buffy took off her reading glasses (aging was a bitch) and rubbed her tired eyes. This exercise in research couldn’t help but to remind her of similar time spent in high school, perusing texts for needed information on the demon of the week. A large part of her still missed that life, and the people who had lived it with her. She hadn’t spoken with most of them in a long time. Dawn was still a part of her life, of course, as was her long-time lover. Xander and Anya had gotten married and moved to Arizona, and she didn’t hear from them too much anymore—- they were busy with their thriving and lucrative construction company and their three children. Giles. . . Willow. . .
Buffy sighed and shook her head. It was never good to ruminate on that for long. She missed her friends, but the truth was that she was happy now. She had a good, mostly normal life with a new family and new friends who would never take the place of the old, but were cherished nonetheless.
Looking down at her pad of paper, Buffy stared at the scratches she had made with her pen as she read about the deities pictured in the triptych. It was no wonder that the painting was considered to be strange. Hestia and Artemis, along with Athena, were known as the three virgin-goddesses. They were reported never to have taken lovers, much less been engaged in a passionate affair with one another and Ares.
Other things that she learned about them, though, made her smile and realize why she felt such a connection with the painting. Ares had been brash and somewhat careless, a lover of the fight without care for who might win as long as he was able to draw the blood of his enemy. Only his immortality saved him from the many wounds he earned in battle. Buffy grinned when she read that he wasn’t a well-liked god, despite his good looks.
Hestia was a revered goddess who guarded over hearth and home. She was kind, gentle, giving and forgiving. Hestia preferred to stay and guard the home when the other gods and goddesses went out to fight, and she was considered the most loving and mild of them all.
Artemis was goddess of the hunt and the moon, and protector of the innocent. The goddess was powerful, courageous, and independent. She was also deeply conflicted and could be vengeful when provoked. For some reason, Buffy didn’t like to focus on the less glowing attributes of Artemis.
Buffy glanced at her watch and realized with a start that she had spent much longer than she intended at the library. She needed to get home so she could spend some time with her young sons before it was time for them to go to bed. Then she would share what she had found out about the figures in the paintings with her lover over dinner and a glass of wine.
*********
Buffy was surprised when, a few nights after her exhibition with Spike, Tara showed up at her doorstep, nervous but determined to talk.
“Buffy, I th . . . think we n . . . need to talk,” she stuttered out. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she continued with more confidence. “Can I come in? I know you’re alone—- I saw everyone else leave a few minutes ago.”
Swallowing nervously, Buffy nodded and stood aside so that Tara could come inside. Closing the door quietly behind her, she gestured to the living room.
“Um, do you just want to talk in here?” she asked.
“That’s fine,” Tara answered simply before taking a seat on the couch in almost the exact position she’d been in when Buffy first told her about her affair with Spike.
Buffy took a seat in a side chair, and they sat in awkward silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Another deep breath later, and Tara finally spoke.
“I. . . I’m sorry for betraying you with Sp . . . . with Spike. I never meant to hurt you—I don’t even really know how it started. I went to talk with him about you after your birthday party, and things just . . . just happened. I . . . I’ll break it off if you want me to, I promise,” she blurted out, her hands twisting in the fabric of her long skirt.
Blinking in surprise, both at Tara’s admission and at her own emotional reaction to the information that Tara and Spike had more together than a one-night stand, Buffy momentarily forgot to breathe.
When her lungs felt like they were going to explode, Buffy let out the air in her lungs in a rush and shook her head.
“No, you don’t have to stop . . . seeing Spike. I can tell he must really care about you. He’s different with you . . . gentle,” she murmured, not daring to make eye contact with Tara until after she was done speaking. She didn’t trust herself not to cry, not to break down in another emotional bout of self-hatred at Tara’s feet.
“Is. . . is it always like th . . . that—between you two?” Tara asked her, worry darkening her eyes as she waited for Buffy’s answer.
Buffy felt the shame well up inside her, and made herself force it back before she answered. Still, Tara could see the dampness that flooded her eyes.
“More or less.”
Tara’s expressive face flooded with compassion, and she reached out to touch Buffy’s knee. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”
Buffy let out a shuddering breath, and the tears that she had been trying to hold back tipped down her face despite her intentions. “I didn’t want you to know, I didn’t want anyone to know. I. . . I don’t . . . when I’m with Spike it’s the only time I feel anything. I hate myself but at least I feel something,” she cried.
This time it was Tara who sank to her knees at Buffy’s feet. Pulling her into her arms, Tara held her as she sobbed out her grief and self-hatred for the second time since they had known each other. When her tears had subsided, Tara pulled back and gazed into Buffy’s tortured eyes.
“It’s not wrong to want to feel, Buffy. It’s not wrong to want to be loved and desired.”
Buffy hiccupped back a sob and looked back at her, seeing the forgiveness and understanding in Tara’s blue orbs.
Later, when Buffy entertained her memories of that day, she couldn’t recall who had made the first move that brought their lips together. It didn’t matter. What mattered is that they kissed, first tentatively, the whisper-soft stroke of lip on lip; then with more passion, tongues touching and tasting the other’s flesh for the first time.
It was the longest and the shortest kiss of Buffy’s life. Finally, she pulled away, gasping for air as her cheeks burned in a mixture of desire and embarrassment. She jumped off the chair, maneuvering her body quickly out of Tara’s reach.
Tara blushed, and shifting slowly to her feet, stammered an apology.
“I’m s . . . s . . . sorry.”
Buffy shook her head in the negative, but refused to look at the other woman. “No, don’t be. . . I just need to get some air.” Grabbing her coat off the rack next to the door, she rushed out into the night, leaving Tara behind in her house.
Several nights later, she approached Spike’s crypt, her sense of self-respect once again losing the war with desire that was waged in her mind and body. When she opened the heavy stone door and heard the sounds that were coming from the room below, she instantly knew what was happening in the recesses of the crypt. Instead of turning around and leaving, Buffy moved down the stairs and into the shadows cast from the flickering candlelight in the room where Spike was once again making love to Tara.
They both looked to where she stood, bathed in a darkness that was interrupted only by fleeting amber light. For a panicked moment, Buffy prepared to run and never look back, forget her need to feel and resign herself to a life of empty duty. Then Tara smiled at her and stretched out one hand toward her in invitation.
That night Buffy surrendered to her need to be wanted, her need to feel, her need to be loved. Spike and Tara welcomed her into their bed and they undressed her slowly, tenderly touching and kissing the newly exposed flesh before moving on to the next piece of clothing.
On that first night, Buffy was passive, receiving the soft touches and gently insistent strokes of the woman and vampire who worshipped her with their hands, lips, tongues, and bodies. When Spike entered her, so delicately that she thought she might cry in relief, Buffy gasped and deepened the kiss she was sharing with Tara. Then she was once again lost to the sensations of building pleasure as two mouths and four hands roamed over her.
As Buffy felt her muscles tighten and her womb clench as the pleasure reached a breaking point, Spike leaned in close. “I love you, Slayer,” he groaned in her ear as he shuddered inside her. For the first time, Buffy believed him.
After that night, she was less selfish. Sometimes she would watch, touching herself hard and fast, as Spike and Tara arched against one another. Sometimes Spike would be the voyeur, enjoying the sight of Buffy and Tara tasting one another, writhing together thigh to thigh as they brought one another to completion. Often it was more symbiotic, all three taking pleasure in each others' bodies and the sights and sounds of their union.
Buffy learned to let Spike treat her with gentleness, and as each day passed, she felt less and less as though she deserved nothing more than hurt and violence from him. They didn’t completely give up their struggles for dominance during sex, but they tempered their violence for Tara’s sake. In turn, she allowed them to initiate her into their games, gasping in pleasure when Buffy bound her wrists to the bed and teased her nipples until she was begging for mercy, shuddering and moaning when Spike drove mercilessly into her as Buffy sheltered her shoulders between her beautiful thighs and tormented them both with the forbidden words that sprung from her lips.
Three months passed before the inconceivable happened, and their trinity was broken.
Carelessly, they had convened at Buffy’s house on a night when Dawn and Willow were supposed to stay at Xander and Anya’s for a movie night/slumber party. Willow, feeling a little tired and depressed over not hearing from Tara in a long time, had come home early. The sight that met her eyes as she walked into Buffy’s room to talk to her friend burned like hot pokers into her brain, and she gasped in genuine pain.
Spike was spooned behind Tara on Buffy’s bed, buried deep inside her as he rocked his hips gently in time with hers. Buffy was on Tara’s other side, one leg thrown between the tangle of Tara and Spike’s limbs, kissing the other woman as their fingers played between each other’s thighs.
At the sound of Willow’s strangled gasp, the lovers stopped, three pairs of eyes flying to the woman standing in the open doorway.
“Willow!” Buffy called out, scrambling off the side of her bed and bending quickly to grab a piece of clothing to cover herself.
Willow barely glanced at her before returning her gaze to Spike and Tara’s quickly untangling forms. Spike pulled the sheet up to cover them, and Tara stared at her former girlfriend, stunned into silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, Tara found her voice. “W. . . Willow?”
The explosion of sobs that shook Willow’s frame in response to Tara’s plea rent through the otherwise silent room with violent force. Her eyes flew from Tara, to Buffy, and then landed on Spike.
“You monster! What did you do to them?” she screamed at him, fury temporarily blotting out her pain as the spittle flew from her mouth.
“What? I bloody didn’t do anything to them! Well, except. . . ” Spike yelled before he was cut off from his planned self-defense by twin looks of censure from Tara and Buffy.
Buffy took a step toward her friend. “Will, let’s go downstairs—we can talk,” she hesitantly began, but the words were barely out of her mouth when Willow backed out of the room and ran down the stairs, then out the door.
The lovers quickly got dressed. When Spike moved to follow Tara and Buffy in their planned pursuit of Willow, they stopped him.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea Spike,” Tara said quietly, concern for her former lover etched in every line of her face.
“Well that’s just too bad, luv, ‘cause I’m not lettin’ you go out there and face the crazy witch alone,” he retorted.
Buffy had slipped into Slayer mode and stared Spike down. “You’re not going Spike. You’ll only make things worse, if it’s even possible. That’s final,” she commanded.
He gave her a long, hard look before nodding in acquiescence. “I’ll wait for you at my place. Be careful.” Then Spike had kissed both of them goodbye, and swept out the door in front of them.
Buffy and Tara raced through town in silence, each caught up in their own feelings of guilt and betrayal, as well as worry for Willow. First they stopped at Xander’s, hoping that she had returned there to seek comfort from her friends, but Xander, Anya, and Dawn just stared at them with curiosity and denied seeing her since she left earlier in the night.
When they checked the Magic Box, their fear and concern grew. It was obvious she had been here, and Tara gasped in dismay when she saw that books that sat in a pile on the table. They were all dangerous books containing dark magics. When Tara opened one and saw the blank pages staring back at her, she worried. When she continued her search through the pile of books, all with empty pages, her worry turned to panic.
“She . . . she drained these books Buffy. This is not good,” Tara said.
Buffy looked grimly at the pile of emptied magic books and tapped her fingers against the hard surface of the table. She didn’t know where else to look for Willow. . .
Their heads snapped up simultaneously, their eyes meeting in panicked understanding.
“Spike.”
The women raced to Spike’s crypt, but they were too late. Shattered furniture gave evidence to the fight that must have taken place only minutes before. They searched the floor frantically for signs of ashes, but finding none, left the crypt and stood in the dark cemetery.
“Oh my god, what is she going to do?” Tara cried, tears threatening to spill down her face.
Buffy shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line as she tried to anticipate where Willow would have taken Spike. “We have to find them, Tara. I just don’t know where else to look,” she said, her businesslike voice belying the turmoil she felt inside.
Tara shot her a small, joyless smile. “We don’t have to know where to look. We’ll just have to follow the light.” With that, the witch spoke a few words and a small ball of green light sprung from the palm of her hand and danced into the darkness ahead of them.
They followed the light, and when they found them, their whole worlds changed.
Willow, in her grief and jealous rage, had drawn on the darkest of her powers and trapped Spike in the woods, flaying his skin from his body and basking in his screams of agony before perversely levitating a pencil over his exposed heart and taunting him before shoving it home.
Buffy and Tara had found them just in time to see Willow’s final strike, had watched as Spike’s ashes crumpled to the ground and scattered in the wind.
“Willow, noooo,” Tara screamed, falling to her knees next to what was left of Spike’s remains. Buffy had stood to the side, shock momentarily freezing her in place.
Willow, her once-red hair now the same jet black as her eyes, stared at her crying ex-lover. “He raped you; he cast some spell on you and Buffy and made you. . . I can’t even say it” she intoned, her voice dead and emotionless.
“No, Willow, no! He didn’t. There was no rape—there was no spell. The only person who’s ever raped me is you. I loved him. I love Buffy,” Tara cried out in anguished grief.
Something dangerous flickered in Willow’s bottomless eyes. “You loved him? You love . . . her?”
Tara hadn’t answered, hadn’t been able to through the sobs that wracked her body. Finally Buffy was able to move again, and she quickly sunk to the ground next to Tara, wrapping her arms around the weeping woman. Soon her tears were mingling with Tara’s, even as she whispered meaningless words of comfort in her ear.
Willow had stared at the crying women in front of her and suddenly, defeated and deflated, she let the magic ooze out of her into the dark night sky. She stumbled clumsily into some brush and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the ground in great, gasping convulsions. Then, with one last look at Tara and Buffy, she had left them there together without another word.
Willow was in England with Giles now, a broken shell of her former self. They had all agreed that it would be best if they didn’t contact each other for a while, that they give Willow time to heal in the safety of Giles’ home without having to worry about being confronted with Tara and Buffy’s relationship. A little while turned into years, and Buffy had finally resigned herself to the fact that she would likely never have the chance to rekindle her relationships with her former friend and her watcher. She kept in minor touch with Giles only through Dawn and Xander—only knew that he was alive and doing well, and that Willow was alive and doing not-so-well.
She grieved her losses with Tara and slowly began to heal in the loving and accepting arms of her lover.
**********
Standing in the bedroom that she shared with her lover, Buffy gazed into the mirror over the large dresser at Tara’s reflection, watching as the other woman straightened the pillows on the bed and looked intently at the paintings hung in a place of honor above it.
Now that it was over and it was just the two of them living in relative domestic bliss with 2 kids, a dog, and an ornate wrought iron fence (because they couldn’t be too predictable and white picket fences were passé), it seemed like they might have only imagined the nights that the three of them spent tangled together. Only the triptych that hung over their big, fluffy bed gave any hint to their past liaisons.
Every time Buffy saw Tara look at the set of paintings that depicted Hestia, Ares, and Artemis in sensual repose, she knew she wasn’t the only one with bittersweet memories of their relationship with Spike. It had been a dark and painful time for her, one in which she seriously doubted her own sanity and her place in the world.
Amazingly . . . blessedly, it had also been a time in which she found love, contentment, and security for the second and final time in her life.
Tara tore her gaze away from the figures and glanced over her shoulder at Buffy. Catching her eyes in the reflection in the mirror, Tara turned up her lips in the beautiful, knowing, close-lipped smile that Buffy loved.
The two women turned toward each other in concert, and with a sweet lingering kiss and a final glance at the trio of paintings, left the room hand-in-hand to greet another day in their life together.
---End
Author: Maren
Genre: Angst, Romance
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: S/B/T
Summary: Alternate Reality fic: current time set 10 years in the future, flashbacks set in Season 6 after “Older and Far Away”; Written for
remember_nomoreAuthor Note: I apologize in advance to
remember_nomore for not following all of the requests. I had a *really* hard time even imagining this threesome in the first place so I had to write what would come to me, or flake completely. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Triptych
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When Buffy saw the triptych at the gallery, she knew she had to have it. The trio of paintings was displayed in a nearly-hidden corner that housed tasteful but relatively inexpensive antique art. Despite its comparatively cheap cost, she had to dig heavily in to their savings account to buy it. She had just finished grad school, after all, and she hadn’t built up enough of a practice yet as an adolescent psychologist to really be able to splurge on original art.
The paintings were beautiful, though, and Buffy felt them call to her as if the brushes had been applied to the canvas with only her in mind. The gallery owner told her the triptych was actually quite an unusual piece. The three nude Greek deities it depicted in sensual embrace were not typically associated with one another in mythology—no legends existed that might have inspired the artist to paint these three figures entwined together like they were. Perhaps that was why it had remained an unimportant painting in spite of its beauty.
“What drew you to this piece?” the woman asked, surprised that the triptych was selling after hanging on the wall for so long.
Buffy gave her a small, secret smile, her lips touched by sadness and something else that the gallery owner couldn’t place. It was her only answer. The owner smiled back, and inwardly chided herself for her lack of discretion.
“You’ll want to get it appraised so that you can insure it, of course,” she said quickly, folding the side panels inward and wrapping the piece in acid-free tissue paper.
Buffy murmured a response and handed over her credit card, eager to get it home so that her lover could see it too.
********
To say that she had been shocked as hell to walk in on Spike and Tara that first night would have been a massive understatement. She had gone to Spike’s crypt in a moment of weakness, hating herself (as was usual in those days) for wanting him . . . and hating him even more for wanting her. Still, the hate and pain didn’t keep her blood from rushing through her veins in anticipation or the heat from flooding her center. She was ready for him even before she opened the door to the crypt and silently moved toward his underground living quarters.
The sight that met her eyes as she stood in the threshold of the stairway had made the tiny hairs at the base of her neck stand on end, a firecracker spark of awareness racing down her spine and causing her nerve endings to leap in startled appreciation.
Tara was spread out on the silk that covered Spike’s bed, her hands tightly clenched in the sheets at her sides, her heavy-lidded eyes focused on the vampire who was softly kissing up her inner thigh. The only sound that broke through the still, silent air of the crypt was Tara’s ragged breathing.
Buffy stood rooted to her spot in the doorway, unable to move even though her mind was screaming at her to get the hell out of there. She didn’t know which part of the scene in front of her was more surprising—- that Tara and Spike were together in the first place, or that Spike was being so careful and gentle with the other woman, his hands soft and caressing, his lips pressing feather-light kisses into her flesh, his teeth nibbling instead of biting the skin between them. It was never like that between her and Spike. With them it was fist and fang, not always fast but invariably hard—- with them it was fucking and it was punishment and it was just as sweet to her as the softness between Spike and Tara.
With mind reeling, trying to process what was happening, Buffy watched as Spike finally reached his destination and buried his face in the apex of Tara’s thighs. The other woman’s hands moved from the sheets to his head, and with one flick of his tongue, Spike had her arching off of the bed and softly moaning his name. Her moans turned more desperate when the hands that had been kneading her hips moved-- one underneath her to cup her bottom and lift her closer, the other to join his mouth at her sex.
On some level Buffy knew she should leave, understood that she should get out of there before either of them noticed her presence, but she couldn’t quite work up the impetus to do so. She felt a bit detached from her body, as though there were some disconnect between her mind and limbs. Combined with the confusion about what exactly she was or should be feeling (was that jealousy she felt, was it intense desire, was it hurt?), the dissociation froze her in place, her rapid, shallow breathing the only movement in her body.
She watched as Spike brought Tara to orgasm twice with his mouth and fingers. She watched as he finally moved away from the plump lips and engorged bud between her legs up her body, his tongue and lips lingering at her breasts, before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.
Then she watched as he positioned himself at Tara’s entrance, and with an agonizing slowness that had both women holding their breath, pushed himself deep inside her. Buffy watched the tactile pleasures manifest on both of their faces—her face flushed, eyelids fluttering over her closed eyes, mouth open in a small moue as she arched her back and pressed her breasts more securely into the cool expanse of his chest—- his face tense as he held himself back, small ripples of pleasure washing over his countenance as he savored the feeling of being inside her, eyes that Buffy knew were a deep blue smoldering as they stared into Tara’s face, and full, sensuous lips moving toward hers once again.
Finally, miraculously, Buffy’s body responded to her brain’s command to leave, and she quietly turned and made a move toward the exit.
In that moment, Spike’s voice cut through the crypt, startling in its sudden appearance in the sighing, moaning quiet that had preceded it.
“Care to join us, luv?”
Buffy whirled back to face him, embarrassed that he had seen her and cursing herself for not being quieter. When she saw his face, though, with its smirking grin and raised eyebrow, Buffy knew that he had known she was there all along. Tara, however, had not. The other woman was staring at her with wide, shocked eyes and Buffy imagined that Tara’s face mirrored her own.
“I don’t think so, Spike,” she choked out, trying for cold indifference but missing by a long shot.
Spike’s nostrils flared as he sniffed at the air, and his grin spread a little wider.
“Now now, pet, good slayers don’t lie,” he purred. Then he thrust into Tara, drawing her attention back to him as another unbidden moan of pleasure slipped from her throat.
Buffy turned and ran, willing herself to get away as fast as she could.
********
During breaks between her clients, Buffy searched the web for information on the scene depicted in the triptych. She quickly found out that that gallery owner had been right—there were no myths that explained why the unknown painter had shown these particular Greek deities together.
It didn’t matter to Buffy that no one else could explain the trinity—deep in her heart she knew that it was an ancient representation of something that would come much, much later in time. A wistful smile on her lips, Buffy thought about the set of paintings that she had carefully unwrapped last night after bringing it home.
Ares, god of war and conflict, was painted in repose on a long couch, looking down at the sight before him with unmistakable lust and something that might have been a little like love. Spread across the couch on either side of him and meeting over his lap were Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, and Artemis, goddess of the hunt, their lips meeting in a kiss. Hestia’s hair cascaded over her bare shoulders and breasts, hiding much of her voluptuous form from sight. Her face was serene and she tenderly cupped Artemis’ cheek with one hand. Artemis was more fully dressed, one small breast peaking out from her suede-like toga. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held in place by what looked like a band of connecting crescent moons. Her green eyes sparkled with confidence, and she had one hand placed on Ares naked chest as though to keep her balance while the other trailed beside her, clutching a bow.
The three deities were painted in delicate shades of ivory, grey, green, and blue, rich in color but muted by the painter’s brush and time. They invoked in Buffy a feeling of nostalgia and bitter memory turned sweet and precious.
Sighing, Buffy clicked off the internet search engine and prepared herself for her next client, pushing the past back into the recesses of her mind.
*********
The next time it had been Tara who had walked in to see Spike’s lips on another woman, and it was Tara who watched in shocked and titillated silence.
Buffy had been pressed with her back against the wall, her shirt ripped open to reveal a barely-there black lace bra. Spike was positioned in front of her, shirt off and jeans unzipped, his lips hard and brutal against hers. His hand grazed up her stomach until it was cupping one of Buffy’s breasts, and he squeezed, pinching her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Buffy let out a moan of half pleasure/half pain and, moving her hands from where they were wrapped in Spike’s hair, placed them on his chest and pushed him roughly away. He stumbled back, knocking over a small table that held a glass and a bottle of whiskey, and growled. Then he was advancing on her again, his movements predatory in their smooth, purposeful grace.
Tara watched as Buffy threw a punch at Spike as he approached, and then saw Spike duck the punch and use Buffy’s momentum to spin her around so that the front of her body was pushed into the wall. Before Buffy could catch her breath, Spike had pulled the short skirt she wore up over her waist and ripped away her panties.
Letting out a moan as Spike forced his way into her body, Buffy placed her palms against the stone and turned her head toward where Tara still stood, surprise and desire both evident on the other woman’s face. Their eyes met and Buffy held Tara’s concerned gaze for a long moment as Spike fucked her into the wall. Then her eyes fluttered close, shutting Tara out, as she concentrated on the extreme pleasure building inside her with each violent thrust of Spike’s hips. When she came, clenching and shuddering around Spike’s cock with a long, breathless moan, he erupted inside her and shouted her name.
On the way home, Buffy tried to forget how much more aroused Tara’s presence had made her.
*********
Pushing through the large oak doors, Buffy entered the public library and asked the reference librarian for directions to the books on ancient Greece. Her eyes brightened in amusement when she considered how shocked and pleased Giles would be if he knew what a keen interest she’d recently taken in Greek mythology. Then she remembered why he would never know, and the brightness faded as a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Buffy shook off her melancholy thoughts and pulled a large book off of the shelves. Retreating to a private table, she placed the book on the table and took a legal pad and pen out of her bag so she could take notes.
Two hours and 4 books later, Buffy took off her reading glasses (aging was a bitch) and rubbed her tired eyes. This exercise in research couldn’t help but to remind her of similar time spent in high school, perusing texts for needed information on the demon of the week. A large part of her still missed that life, and the people who had lived it with her. She hadn’t spoken with most of them in a long time. Dawn was still a part of her life, of course, as was her long-time lover. Xander and Anya had gotten married and moved to Arizona, and she didn’t hear from them too much anymore—- they were busy with their thriving and lucrative construction company and their three children. Giles. . . Willow. . .
Buffy sighed and shook her head. It was never good to ruminate on that for long. She missed her friends, but the truth was that she was happy now. She had a good, mostly normal life with a new family and new friends who would never take the place of the old, but were cherished nonetheless.
Looking down at her pad of paper, Buffy stared at the scratches she had made with her pen as she read about the deities pictured in the triptych. It was no wonder that the painting was considered to be strange. Hestia and Artemis, along with Athena, were known as the three virgin-goddesses. They were reported never to have taken lovers, much less been engaged in a passionate affair with one another and Ares.
Other things that she learned about them, though, made her smile and realize why she felt such a connection with the painting. Ares had been brash and somewhat careless, a lover of the fight without care for who might win as long as he was able to draw the blood of his enemy. Only his immortality saved him from the many wounds he earned in battle. Buffy grinned when she read that he wasn’t a well-liked god, despite his good looks.
Hestia was a revered goddess who guarded over hearth and home. She was kind, gentle, giving and forgiving. Hestia preferred to stay and guard the home when the other gods and goddesses went out to fight, and she was considered the most loving and mild of them all.
Artemis was goddess of the hunt and the moon, and protector of the innocent. The goddess was powerful, courageous, and independent. She was also deeply conflicted and could be vengeful when provoked. For some reason, Buffy didn’t like to focus on the less glowing attributes of Artemis.
Buffy glanced at her watch and realized with a start that she had spent much longer than she intended at the library. She needed to get home so she could spend some time with her young sons before it was time for them to go to bed. Then she would share what she had found out about the figures in the paintings with her lover over dinner and a glass of wine.
*********
Buffy was surprised when, a few nights after her exhibition with Spike, Tara showed up at her doorstep, nervous but determined to talk.
“Buffy, I th . . . think we n . . . need to talk,” she stuttered out. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she continued with more confidence. “Can I come in? I know you’re alone—- I saw everyone else leave a few minutes ago.”
Swallowing nervously, Buffy nodded and stood aside so that Tara could come inside. Closing the door quietly behind her, she gestured to the living room.
“Um, do you just want to talk in here?” she asked.
“That’s fine,” Tara answered simply before taking a seat on the couch in almost the exact position she’d been in when Buffy first told her about her affair with Spike.
Buffy took a seat in a side chair, and they sat in awkward silence for what seemed to be an eternity. Another deep breath later, and Tara finally spoke.
“I. . . I’m sorry for betraying you with Sp . . . . with Spike. I never meant to hurt you—I don’t even really know how it started. I went to talk with him about you after your birthday party, and things just . . . just happened. I . . . I’ll break it off if you want me to, I promise,” she blurted out, her hands twisting in the fabric of her long skirt.
Blinking in surprise, both at Tara’s admission and at her own emotional reaction to the information that Tara and Spike had more together than a one-night stand, Buffy momentarily forgot to breathe.
When her lungs felt like they were going to explode, Buffy let out the air in her lungs in a rush and shook her head.
“No, you don’t have to stop . . . seeing Spike. I can tell he must really care about you. He’s different with you . . . gentle,” she murmured, not daring to make eye contact with Tara until after she was done speaking. She didn’t trust herself not to cry, not to break down in another emotional bout of self-hatred at Tara’s feet.
“Is. . . is it always like th . . . that—between you two?” Tara asked her, worry darkening her eyes as she waited for Buffy’s answer.
Buffy felt the shame well up inside her, and made herself force it back before she answered. Still, Tara could see the dampness that flooded her eyes.
“More or less.”
Tara’s expressive face flooded with compassion, and she reached out to touch Buffy’s knee. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”
Buffy let out a shuddering breath, and the tears that she had been trying to hold back tipped down her face despite her intentions. “I didn’t want you to know, I didn’t want anyone to know. I. . . I don’t . . . when I’m with Spike it’s the only time I feel anything. I hate myself but at least I feel something,” she cried.
This time it was Tara who sank to her knees at Buffy’s feet. Pulling her into her arms, Tara held her as she sobbed out her grief and self-hatred for the second time since they had known each other. When her tears had subsided, Tara pulled back and gazed into Buffy’s tortured eyes.
“It’s not wrong to want to feel, Buffy. It’s not wrong to want to be loved and desired.”
Buffy hiccupped back a sob and looked back at her, seeing the forgiveness and understanding in Tara’s blue orbs.
Later, when Buffy entertained her memories of that day, she couldn’t recall who had made the first move that brought their lips together. It didn’t matter. What mattered is that they kissed, first tentatively, the whisper-soft stroke of lip on lip; then with more passion, tongues touching and tasting the other’s flesh for the first time.
It was the longest and the shortest kiss of Buffy’s life. Finally, she pulled away, gasping for air as her cheeks burned in a mixture of desire and embarrassment. She jumped off the chair, maneuvering her body quickly out of Tara’s reach.
Tara blushed, and shifting slowly to her feet, stammered an apology.
“I’m s . . . s . . . sorry.”
Buffy shook her head in the negative, but refused to look at the other woman. “No, don’t be. . . I just need to get some air.” Grabbing her coat off the rack next to the door, she rushed out into the night, leaving Tara behind in her house.
Several nights later, she approached Spike’s crypt, her sense of self-respect once again losing the war with desire that was waged in her mind and body. When she opened the heavy stone door and heard the sounds that were coming from the room below, she instantly knew what was happening in the recesses of the crypt. Instead of turning around and leaving, Buffy moved down the stairs and into the shadows cast from the flickering candlelight in the room where Spike was once again making love to Tara.
They both looked to where she stood, bathed in a darkness that was interrupted only by fleeting amber light. For a panicked moment, Buffy prepared to run and never look back, forget her need to feel and resign herself to a life of empty duty. Then Tara smiled at her and stretched out one hand toward her in invitation.
That night Buffy surrendered to her need to be wanted, her need to feel, her need to be loved. Spike and Tara welcomed her into their bed and they undressed her slowly, tenderly touching and kissing the newly exposed flesh before moving on to the next piece of clothing.
On that first night, Buffy was passive, receiving the soft touches and gently insistent strokes of the woman and vampire who worshipped her with their hands, lips, tongues, and bodies. When Spike entered her, so delicately that she thought she might cry in relief, Buffy gasped and deepened the kiss she was sharing with Tara. Then she was once again lost to the sensations of building pleasure as two mouths and four hands roamed over her.
As Buffy felt her muscles tighten and her womb clench as the pleasure reached a breaking point, Spike leaned in close. “I love you, Slayer,” he groaned in her ear as he shuddered inside her. For the first time, Buffy believed him.
After that night, she was less selfish. Sometimes she would watch, touching herself hard and fast, as Spike and Tara arched against one another. Sometimes Spike would be the voyeur, enjoying the sight of Buffy and Tara tasting one another, writhing together thigh to thigh as they brought one another to completion. Often it was more symbiotic, all three taking pleasure in each others' bodies and the sights and sounds of their union.
Buffy learned to let Spike treat her with gentleness, and as each day passed, she felt less and less as though she deserved nothing more than hurt and violence from him. They didn’t completely give up their struggles for dominance during sex, but they tempered their violence for Tara’s sake. In turn, she allowed them to initiate her into their games, gasping in pleasure when Buffy bound her wrists to the bed and teased her nipples until she was begging for mercy, shuddering and moaning when Spike drove mercilessly into her as Buffy sheltered her shoulders between her beautiful thighs and tormented them both with the forbidden words that sprung from her lips.
Three months passed before the inconceivable happened, and their trinity was broken.
Carelessly, they had convened at Buffy’s house on a night when Dawn and Willow were supposed to stay at Xander and Anya’s for a movie night/slumber party. Willow, feeling a little tired and depressed over not hearing from Tara in a long time, had come home early. The sight that met her eyes as she walked into Buffy’s room to talk to her friend burned like hot pokers into her brain, and she gasped in genuine pain.
Spike was spooned behind Tara on Buffy’s bed, buried deep inside her as he rocked his hips gently in time with hers. Buffy was on Tara’s other side, one leg thrown between the tangle of Tara and Spike’s limbs, kissing the other woman as their fingers played between each other’s thighs.
At the sound of Willow’s strangled gasp, the lovers stopped, three pairs of eyes flying to the woman standing in the open doorway.
“Willow!” Buffy called out, scrambling off the side of her bed and bending quickly to grab a piece of clothing to cover herself.
Willow barely glanced at her before returning her gaze to Spike and Tara’s quickly untangling forms. Spike pulled the sheet up to cover them, and Tara stared at her former girlfriend, stunned into silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, Tara found her voice. “W. . . Willow?”
The explosion of sobs that shook Willow’s frame in response to Tara’s plea rent through the otherwise silent room with violent force. Her eyes flew from Tara, to Buffy, and then landed on Spike.
“You monster! What did you do to them?” she screamed at him, fury temporarily blotting out her pain as the spittle flew from her mouth.
“What? I bloody didn’t do anything to them! Well, except. . . ” Spike yelled before he was cut off from his planned self-defense by twin looks of censure from Tara and Buffy.
Buffy took a step toward her friend. “Will, let’s go downstairs—we can talk,” she hesitantly began, but the words were barely out of her mouth when Willow backed out of the room and ran down the stairs, then out the door.
The lovers quickly got dressed. When Spike moved to follow Tara and Buffy in their planned pursuit of Willow, they stopped him.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea Spike,” Tara said quietly, concern for her former lover etched in every line of her face.
“Well that’s just too bad, luv, ‘cause I’m not lettin’ you go out there and face the crazy witch alone,” he retorted.
Buffy had slipped into Slayer mode and stared Spike down. “You’re not going Spike. You’ll only make things worse, if it’s even possible. That’s final,” she commanded.
He gave her a long, hard look before nodding in acquiescence. “I’ll wait for you at my place. Be careful.” Then Spike had kissed both of them goodbye, and swept out the door in front of them.
Buffy and Tara raced through town in silence, each caught up in their own feelings of guilt and betrayal, as well as worry for Willow. First they stopped at Xander’s, hoping that she had returned there to seek comfort from her friends, but Xander, Anya, and Dawn just stared at them with curiosity and denied seeing her since she left earlier in the night.
When they checked the Magic Box, their fear and concern grew. It was obvious she had been here, and Tara gasped in dismay when she saw that books that sat in a pile on the table. They were all dangerous books containing dark magics. When Tara opened one and saw the blank pages staring back at her, she worried. When she continued her search through the pile of books, all with empty pages, her worry turned to panic.
“She . . . she drained these books Buffy. This is not good,” Tara said.
Buffy looked grimly at the pile of emptied magic books and tapped her fingers against the hard surface of the table. She didn’t know where else to look for Willow. . .
Their heads snapped up simultaneously, their eyes meeting in panicked understanding.
“Spike.”
The women raced to Spike’s crypt, but they were too late. Shattered furniture gave evidence to the fight that must have taken place only minutes before. They searched the floor frantically for signs of ashes, but finding none, left the crypt and stood in the dark cemetery.
“Oh my god, what is she going to do?” Tara cried, tears threatening to spill down her face.
Buffy shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line as she tried to anticipate where Willow would have taken Spike. “We have to find them, Tara. I just don’t know where else to look,” she said, her businesslike voice belying the turmoil she felt inside.
Tara shot her a small, joyless smile. “We don’t have to know where to look. We’ll just have to follow the light.” With that, the witch spoke a few words and a small ball of green light sprung from the palm of her hand and danced into the darkness ahead of them.
They followed the light, and when they found them, their whole worlds changed.
Willow, in her grief and jealous rage, had drawn on the darkest of her powers and trapped Spike in the woods, flaying his skin from his body and basking in his screams of agony before perversely levitating a pencil over his exposed heart and taunting him before shoving it home.
Buffy and Tara had found them just in time to see Willow’s final strike, had watched as Spike’s ashes crumpled to the ground and scattered in the wind.
“Willow, noooo,” Tara screamed, falling to her knees next to what was left of Spike’s remains. Buffy had stood to the side, shock momentarily freezing her in place.
Willow, her once-red hair now the same jet black as her eyes, stared at her crying ex-lover. “He raped you; he cast some spell on you and Buffy and made you. . . I can’t even say it” she intoned, her voice dead and emotionless.
“No, Willow, no! He didn’t. There was no rape—there was no spell. The only person who’s ever raped me is you. I loved him. I love Buffy,” Tara cried out in anguished grief.
Something dangerous flickered in Willow’s bottomless eyes. “You loved him? You love . . . her?”
Tara hadn’t answered, hadn’t been able to through the sobs that wracked her body. Finally Buffy was able to move again, and she quickly sunk to the ground next to Tara, wrapping her arms around the weeping woman. Soon her tears were mingling with Tara’s, even as she whispered meaningless words of comfort in her ear.
Willow had stared at the crying women in front of her and suddenly, defeated and deflated, she let the magic ooze out of her into the dark night sky. She stumbled clumsily into some brush and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the ground in great, gasping convulsions. Then, with one last look at Tara and Buffy, she had left them there together without another word.
Willow was in England with Giles now, a broken shell of her former self. They had all agreed that it would be best if they didn’t contact each other for a while, that they give Willow time to heal in the safety of Giles’ home without having to worry about being confronted with Tara and Buffy’s relationship. A little while turned into years, and Buffy had finally resigned herself to the fact that she would likely never have the chance to rekindle her relationships with her former friend and her watcher. She kept in minor touch with Giles only through Dawn and Xander—only knew that he was alive and doing well, and that Willow was alive and doing not-so-well.
She grieved her losses with Tara and slowly began to heal in the loving and accepting arms of her lover.
**********
Standing in the bedroom that she shared with her lover, Buffy gazed into the mirror over the large dresser at Tara’s reflection, watching as the other woman straightened the pillows on the bed and looked intently at the paintings hung in a place of honor above it.
Now that it was over and it was just the two of them living in relative domestic bliss with 2 kids, a dog, and an ornate wrought iron fence (because they couldn’t be too predictable and white picket fences were passé), it seemed like they might have only imagined the nights that the three of them spent tangled together. Only the triptych that hung over their big, fluffy bed gave any hint to their past liaisons.
Every time Buffy saw Tara look at the set of paintings that depicted Hestia, Ares, and Artemis in sensual repose, she knew she wasn’t the only one with bittersweet memories of their relationship with Spike. It had been a dark and painful time for her, one in which she seriously doubted her own sanity and her place in the world.
Amazingly . . . blessedly, it had also been a time in which she found love, contentment, and security for the second and final time in her life.
Tara tore her gaze away from the figures and glanced over her shoulder at Buffy. Catching her eyes in the reflection in the mirror, Tara turned up her lips in the beautiful, knowing, close-lipped smile that Buffy loved.
The two women turned toward each other in concert, and with a sweet lingering kiss and a final glance at the trio of paintings, left the room hand-in-hand to greet another day in their life together.
---End
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