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A Link is Forged by behind blue eyes Chapter Nine
*hanging head in shame* Yeah, yeah, I know. I've been very bad for not posting in sooooo long. In my defense, I have been writing! I've written five chapters!!!! *hanging head lower and now whispering* just not in this story. *back to full voice* Ahem...Please don't despair, gentle viewers. I've whipped my muse into submission to get into the mind set to write for Link. Thus far, the muse is behaving. Big thanks to my beta, Sanityfair. Love ya lady!
Spike woke with a start by a loud hissing, followed by the recognizable rolling whoomp of something setting alight. Instantly, Spike tugged at his bindings, but despite his strength and determination, not a one budged. Guess Peaches’ Kinbaku techniques aren’t slacking after all.
After several more unsuccessful jerks, he realized this was useless and tried another way. Grabbing the arms of the chair, he pushed up, using both his feet and hips. At last, with each ungraceful but effective hop, he was that much closer to his goal of turning around.
He scanned the room and only relaxed after realizing it was Angel perched at the top of a twenty-foot ladder, welding one of the two lengths of chain suspended from the rafters. With the turn of a knob, Angel extinguished the flame, shifted, and looked down at Spike. Even with the darkened lens of Angel’s welding goggles, Spike knew he was clearly being eyed in annoyance. “What? You’re just one spark away from your very own bonfire of the vanities, and I for one surely don’t wanna miss a minute of it.” Not responding to Spike’s goading, Angel stood, balanced on a single rung and laid the welding torch down. He then gathered the two chains, nimbly shifted his body, and was now hanging by the lengths. Hand under hand, he lowered himself to the floor. On touchdown, he gave an extra tug to each prior to appearing satisfied with the solidity of the weld.
Then with one fluid motion, Angel removed his goggles, amazingly, not a single hair moved, and approached Spike. With skill spanning over centuries and unlimited practice, Angel trussed up Spike in the iron manacles in no time at all. Now, a leather-clad marionette, Spike’s hate-filled glare bored holes in his captor.
“This is getting a tad bit ridiculous, don’t ya think?” To elaborate, Spike lifted one arm, shaking his metal encircled wrist.
Both Giles and Xander headed over to Willow, giving the area around the table a wide berth to not disturb any possibly evidence.
Cautiously, Giles was the first to approach the altar. He first studied each item alone then them collectively. “But I am.” Angel entered the front door and stepped further into the Magic Box.
“Angel!”
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe having Angel right there was the only way to cool down the lusties long enough so they could figure out what the hell was going on. In an instant, Buffy felt her body calming. She no longer felt adrift in her turbulent feelings, yet, at the same time, she felt even more out of control than ever.
Never before had she kissed or had been kissed with this type of unbridled passion, this type of hunger. It scared the hell out of her, yet thrilled her at the same time. Need—more.
Her breathy plead sounded so needy. She was glad she hadn’t spoken her imploring out loud.
As they each tried to digest what had just happened, to and between them, Spike’s tongue laving the smear of blood on his lip and his eyes flashing gold, was all the reality Buffy needed to fully break away and run.
Without looking back, she ran into the night, almost resembling a timorous prey with only a small head start of its persistent hunter.
Bonfire of the Vanities “refers to the burning of objects that are deemed to be occasions of sin.” The most common happened during 1497, but this was not the only one. They were regular occurrences during outdoor sermons in the first half of the century.
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