[nextpage title=”Chapter 27″ ]
Chapter 27
Buffy sighed and checked her watch. The minute hand had barely budged. She was still early. Spike was still on time. She didn’t have a right to be angry yet. He wasn’t late. In fact, he had five whole minutes—make that four minutes and twenty-six seconds—before he was officially late.
Not that being late for patrolling was a bad thing. No. No, of course not. And it totally wasn’t like they were meeting for a date. No, she was just out, meeting a guy for some vampire-slayage. And the fact that she had dressed up had absolutely nothing to do with said guy. She just really liked her vintage gauchos. And the camisole? She hadn’t had a reason to wear it since she bought it. What better time to try out a new outfit? Patrolling was where she met all the interesting guys. All the interesting dead guys. Not that she was out here to meet interesting guys. Just one. But it wasn’t a date.
Buffy huffed a sigh and checked her watch again. Three minutes and fifty-two seconds. Dammit, Spike still wasn’t late. And she was just some crazy person, dressed to the nines, standing out in the cemetery.
Figures he’d be the type to be right on time.
“’Lo pet.”
Before she had a chance to fall over in surprise, two strong arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her against a familiar chest. “Now, now,” Spike murmured. “None of that.”
Stupid heart. It didn’t know when not to melt. “Oh. There you are,” she said lamely.
He chuckled and helped her upright. “I honestly didn’t mean to startle you, luv. It just happened.”
“You didn’t startle me. I just happen to like…falling over and looking like an idiot.”
“Well, you’re very good at it.”
Buffy scowled playfully and dusted herself off. “Jackass.”
“I do what I can.”
“And hey! You broke the rules.” She pointed. “You touched.”
Spike’s hands came up. “I din’t fondle!”
“There was non-handholdy touching involved!”
He blinked. “’m sorry, Slayer. Next time, I’ll let you fall on your arse.”
Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “I didn’t say I didn’t appreciate the breakage of the rules. I mean, mitigating circumstances and all. But don’t take that as a starting point to mark tonight as a failure of the plan.”
“Not a failure.” Spike grinned and his gaze dropped and slowly raked her body in a way that made her heart beat way too fast. And from the way his eyes widened and the strain in his jeans became more pronounced, she figured that she had a stamp of approval from her total non-date. “You’re all dolled up.”
“You noticed.”
“I’m neither blind nor a eunuch, luv.”
“Those are both things that I happen to know firsthand.”
Spike smirked and ran his hands down his front, hooking his fingers through his belt loops and thrusting his pelvis forward just slightly. “Refresh my memory?”
She flushed and somehow managed not to melt or tackle him, which were both good things in her book. Well, not good as much as infuriatingly frustrating, but good for the plan. And what was good for the plan was good for Buffy and the not-breaking-of-her heart. “In your dreams,” she replied weakly.
“Every single night.”
Damn. Stupid vampire. How was she supposed to ignore him when he said things like that?
“We have patrolling to do,” Buffy said quickly, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her hips. “And…it’s not gonna get done just…standing here talking about…stuff.”
Gee, that was profound.
What was it about being around him that turned her into an incoherent mess? Buffy heaved a sigh and shook her head, spinning on her heel. “Okay, so patrol. Kill us some bad guys…present company excluded.”
“Thanks ever so.”
“And then I need to get home and attack my evil homework and maybe even study for the even eviler test on Wednesday, and—”
“Buffy. Aren’t you forgetting something?” When she turned around, he was right behind her, his hand reaching for hers, his eyes burning. “It’s the rules, remember?”
Oh God.
Don’t melt. Please don’t melt.
“Y-yes.” She did her best not to tremble so hard that she pulled them to the ground. But the way her skin tingled as her fingers laced through his could not be outmatched. There was something in his touch that unwound her completely. “The rules.”
“An’ if I din’t mention it before, you look amazing.”
“So your plan is to be completely wonderful and have me melt at everything you say?”
“Yes.”
She scowled playfully and poked out her tongue. “Asshole.”
Spike arched a brow. “Be careful with that thing.”
“Always am.”
“What a shame,” he replied with a smirk. “So, luv, is there a routine you follow, or are we wingin’ it?”
Buffy frowned. “A routine? My routine is that I patrol.” She paused. “Well, okay. Usually, Giles tells me if there were any suspicious deaths in town…vamp or otherwise. I hit those graveyards first…the places where the suspicious deaths were buried. If it was a vamp, it’ll take a day or so—”
“No need to tell me that, pet.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“I asked about your routine.”
“And this happens to be a part of the routine. If we think that new deaths might be vamp related, I go to those cemeteries every night for about a week…because, as you know, every rising is different.” Buffy shivered and found herself squeezing his hand. It was odd talking to a vampire about her slaying pattern, and where she would have feared condemnation, she sensed only respect. The sensation was overwhelming. “But other deaths that might be demon related are different. We’ve had zombies and stuff. And…other half-breeds. Not much, but some. So I just go wherever Giles and the obituaries tell me to go.”
Spike nodded slowly, his free hand sliding into his duster pocket to retrieve his cigarettes. “What happens on nights when you don’ get any action?”
I go home and rub my bite mark.
Buffy’s cheeks flushed. “Faith…um…the other slayer. She talks about how you can feel…uhhh…unsatisfied if you don’t get a slay in. Or if a demon gets away. Especially if there’s a fight involved.”
He perked an interested brow. “Is that right?”
“Well, it’s what she says.”
Spike winced in disgust, puffing on his cigarette. “I don’t give a rot what Faith says. What do you say?”
Buffy couldn’t help the rush of excitement that flooded her veins. Spike’s open distaste for the other slayer made her happy in all the wrong ways. Ever since Faith had discovered that Angel wasn’t a bad guy, she’d been rather open in her interest in exploring a relationship with a vampire. And Angel, while he didn’t encourage the idea, certainly wasn’t as opposed to it as Buffy would have liked. Well, once. If he wanted, he could do everything aside from get perfectly happy with Faith, and Buffy would feel nothing but relief. Angel smooching on someone else would indicate that he was over her, and would stop asking about bite marks and hickeys.
It was almost surprising how much that knowledge failed to bother her.
“What do I say?” she repeated. “I…um…well, I go home and usually have a cup of non-fat yogurt and then…” Shower while touching my bite mark and thinking of you. “Go to bed.”
A low smirk stretched his lips. “You li’l liar,” he said slowly, blowing out a pillar of smoke.
“Am not!”
Spike just grinned and tugged her to a standstill. “Look at me,” he said, his eyes dancing as they searched hers. “Ah, yes, there it is.”
“There what is?”
“When you lie, your eyebrow does this little thing.” He mimicked the alleged eyebrow-thing, and he looked so damnably good that she had to press her thighs together and bite her lip. God, her pussy was on fire, and from the telling look on his face, he knew it.
“My eyebrows are perfectly normal.”
“Lie to me.” He was still grinning like an idiot; Buffy couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit him or tackle him to the ground with kisses. Well, okay, so she knew which she preferred—it just happened to be what she should not prefer. “Tell me you don’ want me to kiss you.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Yes,” he agreed, stomping out his half-smoked cigarette beneath his boot. “But you want me to kiss you.”
“Do not!”
“Aha!” Spike pointed victoriously, and while she resented it, his smile was infectious. “There it is again!”
Buffy ducked her head and forced her mirth away, turning to resume their brisk pace through the graveyard. “Whatever,” she replied, trying to tug her hand from his. His fingers were locked; he wasn’t about to let her go, and though inconvenient, the larger part of her couldn’t help but swell with warmth. “Come on. The sooner we patrol, the sooner I can go home.”
“Then by all means, woman, slow down.”
“Spike—”
“What? A bloke can’t want to spend time with you?” He poked his lower lip out, and she forced her eyes back to the path ahead. He was too adorable when he pouted, and it was in no way fair. “I like spending time with you.”
“You just want me to be out here with you so you have more time to say more wonderful things and I’ll swoon, and the plan will be postponed until tomorrow.”
“That’s not at all my objective, but I wouldn’t complain.”
“The plan is on. It’s working.” She held up their joint hands and squeezed. “See?”
Spike smiled softly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s workin’ like a charm.” He released a deep breath and was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his tone was lighter and somewhat forced. But he was making an effort, and that was all that truly mattered. “Anythin’ exciting happen at school, pet?”
Buffy arched a brow. Okay, effort making aside, it was just weird hearing him ask about her day. “It was…it was good. I guess. Class was the same as always. Giles has me working on some project that involves identifying these stupid crystals. He says it’s crucial for my training…I dunno. It all sounds bogus to me.” Bogus and boring, but she wasn’t about to rant on the many ways that Giles was annoying her recently. “Then Angel dropped in and—”
Spike froze so fast that he nearly pulled her to the ground. “Angel?” he spat. “Angel was at your school?”
She blinked. “Ummm…yeah.”
“What the sodding hell was Angel doing at your school?”
“He knows.”
“He knows?”
Buffy squeaked inelegantly and nodded. “Uhhh, yeah. Kinda.” She paused. “Well, I did kiss him—”
Spike growled and his eyes flashed. “Slayer…”
“You knew about that! Me kissing him, and then yacking on him like some sort of…I dunno, gross-type-person-who-yacks-on-people? AndI moaned your name. He also knows about the kidnapping incident—” When Spike growled again, Buffy tugged her fingers free of his and threw her hands up defensively. “Which he totally guessed on his own. He guessed it. I told him it was none of his business, but he went to Giles and now they’re all ‘let’s study Buffy’ about everything.”
“For Chrissake, Slayer—”
“I told him—I told them both—that I seduced you.”
Spike’s head shot up in astonishment. “You what?”
“I didn’t tell them…I didn’t tell them what really happened.” Buffy averted her eyes quickly to the ground and kicked at a clump of grass, feeling awkward and self-conscious. “You said that morning…you said that I’d tricked you into…doing what you did and…”
“Buffy—”
“So I told them that that’s what happened.”
“But it’s not.” His eyes were heavy and he was breathing hard. The guilt she saw there nearly knocked her off her feet. “Buffy, I—”
“No. Well…I dunno. I don’t really know what happened that night, but it’s not something…I dunno.” She smiled awkwardly and reached for his hand again, doing her best to ignore the way her skin tingled when their fingers entwined once more. “I just didn’t want them after you. If they’d known what actually happened—”
“So you took it all on yourself.”
“Well, I was upfront about the kidnapping.”
Spike shook his head. “God…you…” He trailed off helplessly and just looked at her. And for a second—for one blessed instant—she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something big. Something significant. Something life-changing. It was gone in a blink, if it ever existed. But she could have sworn she saw it. “You take my breath away.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Spike, you don’t breathe,” she said.
“Not easily when you’re around.” He dropped his eyes to her mouth, and her heart stopped. “Buffy…”
God, he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to tell her that she was everything in the world to him and that he’d be around forever. That he’d be in it for the long haul. That she was worth the world—worth changing for—and that he’d love her in ways that made them both forget that they’d lived at all before they found each other. She wanted so many things.
Spike started for her lips. He was going to kiss her. Only he seemed to remember himself before he could, and before she could scream her protest, he forced himself to detour. His hand trembled around hers. His lips caressed her cheek, and he breathed raggedly against her skin.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Sorry?
“Broke the rules.”
The rules. Of course. Those stupid, stupid rules. Buffy blinked dazedly and nodded. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s…it was just…”
Everything.
It was everything.
The little bit of her heart that he didn’t own was beginning to chip away. There was no way she was walking away from this unscathed. No way.
Not when she feared that she could love him.
Author’s Note: Heehee! So you guys seemed to like the patrol non-date? ***bats eyes*** Thank you so much for your continued enthusiasm, support, and oh-so kind reviews!!! ***hugs***
Not quite 48 hours, but I told myself I’d post before bedtime. And since I’m going to bed very, very early tonight, now would be it. =) I’m still in the “every other day” mentality as far as a revised posting schedule goes…just give or take a few hours. Need my betas all caught up before I run out of chapters.
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[nextpage title=”Chapter 28″ ]
Chapter 28
“Capris just don’t look good on me,” Buffy complained, tossing the khaki pants onto her bed with a huff. “I’m too short.”
Willow shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side…you can wear them as pants.”
Buffy pouted and kicked at the bed. As much as she loved her friend, there were just some things that fashion-challenged people didn’t know to appreciate. Willow was not cursed with a small stature. Rather, she had what a million girls would kill for; height, a full figure, and burgundy hair. She just didn’t know how to accentuate her assets, which explained why her favorite outfit was a sweater and a pair of overalls.
“Hey! That’s a good thing!” the redhead replied. “There aren’t many stores around here that carry petites.”
“Ugh. This is a nightmare.”
“You are just dressing up for patrol, right?”
Buffy made a face and held up a skirt to her waist, glaring at her reflection. Mirrors just really did not agree with her, as of late. She needed to beg her mother for access to her MasterCard again. “Patrol can be very fashion-challenging,” she replied defensively. “Ugh. What the hell was I thinking when I bought this?”
Willow arched a brow. “That you’re a knockout and you can wear sackcloth and still get men drooling over you?”
“This just does nothing for my hips.”
“It makes them less naked.”
She scowled at Willow through the mirror. “You’re not helping.”
The redhead paused and waved a little. “Ummm, hello? Remember me? I’m your fashion-impaired friend. The one that would wear flannel and fuzzy bunny slippers to prom if I could get away with it.”
“Ugh.”
“Yeah. If you want fashion advice, I am so not your girl.” Willow leaned over the side of the mattress to scoop up a magazine that had been collecting dust for God-knows-how-long. “Besides…” She glanced up coyly and grinned, “it is just patrol…right?”
“Of course,” Buffy replied, very intently ignoring the way her cheeks singed with heat. “Totally just patrol…with absolutely no sexy smoochies or naughty touching or anything that would…” A long sigh rolled off her shoulders. “I’m in such deep trouble.”
“Sounds like.”
“I honestly don’t know what to do. None of what I’m feeling makes sense to me.”
Willow shrugged. “Makes plenty of sense to me. You like Spike. You like smooching on Spike. You want Spike smoochies. Spike smoochies make Buffy a happy slayer.”
“That is entirely true except for the part where you’re incredibly wrong.”
“Huh?”
Buffy was quiet for a long second. “I don’t just want Spike smoochies, Will. Do you have any idea how easy it’d be if making out was the most I wanted from him? His lips are fantastic, I’ll grant you, but…they’re not all I want.”
“I’m still not seeing where I’m incredibly wrong. You’ve always seemed on the plus side of happy every time I’ve seen you post-nummy-Spike-encounter.”
“Yeah, well, that’s usually just the…erm…post-coital high.”
Willow flushed. “Ohhh. You mean that thing I have absolutely no way of knowing about?”
“No way? You have Oz.”
“In our incredible abstinent relationship, yes.”
Buffy frowned and stared at her. There was something in her friend’s voice that she’d never heard before. A sort of edge that only those who had experienced sexual frustration would know to identify. And for the first time in months, her eyes opened to the things that were happening outside her life—to things that were happening to her friends. Things that she should have noticed.
Willow had been a good sounding board recently, aside from her fantastic blunder of revealing the bogus pregnancy to the whole continent. And since then, she’d more than made up for her gaffe. She’d been all with the non-judgmental advice, and had even, at times, encouraged Buffy to pursue her feelings for Spike. All the while, Buffy had ignored her own duties in the best friend department. If Willow was having serious sex thoughts about Oz—serious cherry-popping thoughts—she wanted to be here to offer her sound advice.
Not that Buffy’s sound advice in the world of deflowering was all that great. Her first time hadn’t been one for the record books. But the second, third, fourth, and…okay, her skin was doing that blushy thing again. The thing was, Willow had to be sure that Oz deserved the privilege of being her first. Willow had to avoid making the mistakes that Buffy had made. She had to not wake up alone with a monster that wanted her dead.
Which meant that if Oz and Willow did get as far as doing the horizontal mambo, they should do it as far from a full moon as possible.
Buffy sighed and wandered back to her closet. What would the world have been like had she discovered this insane attraction for Spike prior to falling head over heels for Angel? What if Spike had been her first? Okay, so their first time together hadn’t been one to write home about, either, but it had beaten her time with Angel hands-down. Not only had Spike stayed with her until morning, he’d done the almost-sweet thing in…panicking that he’d forced himself on her.
God, that morning had been so confusing. It still was. But she couldn’t find it within herself to think ill of him for it. The more she grew to know Spike, the more she liked him, and the more she felt his horror at what he’d done. The Spike she knew now would never, ever force himself on a woman. There were times when she saw him gaze off thoughtfully; times when she felt him tense, and knew exactly what he was thinking. Even though she was more or less over the emotionally damaging part of that night, he still found himself mired in guilt.
He was more a man than Angel had ever been in all the time she’d known him. And he did it all without that soul that her ex found so handy.
Buffy blinked and shook her head. She’d gone from thinking about how bad a friend she’d been to Willow by focusing on her vampire-relationship problems, and had then proceeded to focus on her vampire-relationship problems.
“Will…are you thinking about…with Oz, are you two…?”
The redhead’s face flamed. “I…uhhh…I dunno. I mean, I think about it sometimes. Okay, a lot. All the time. But…but Oz wants to make sure I’m ready and I don’t think I am…just yet. I mean, I know it’ll be Oz when I am ready…but being ready is just not…” She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Do we really need to talk about this? I thought we had the pressing matter of your wardrobe to contend with tonight.”
“I just want to you to know that—”
“I can talk to you. Yes. How about stilettos?”
Buffy blinked. “You’re being avoid-o girl.”
“Yes. I’m not ready to discuss this. Really. Just the idea of me…and sex. Blah!” She made a face and shuddered. “I’d like to be the quivering virgin a while longer. Once I stop the quivering part, maybe we can focus on the…other part. But really! Stilettos?”
Buffy sighed and decided to let it go. If Willow didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t about to press the issue. “Stilettos?” she repeated. “For patrolling?”
Willow fidgeted again. “I actually don’t know what kind of shoes those are. Only that they’re shoes and they’re popular—and hey! At least I knew the term.”
“You did, at that.”
“So no stilettos?”
“Not for patrolling. Not unless I’m trying to attract demons in need of a good hooker.”
“Something tells me Spike wouldn’t like that.”
Guh. Willow had mentioned the S-word again. Buffy could in no way be to blame for the way her mind did the wandering thing while her heart flip-flopped. After all, she hadn’t mentioned the S-word.
Willow swung her legs over the edge of her bed and leaned forward intently. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“You’re just now picking this up?”
“No. But I am impressed that you acknowledged it rather than running headfirst into denial.”
“When have I ever done that?”
“Every single time I’ve mentioned Spike.”
Buffy shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping track.”
Willow grinned and shrugged. “I don’t see the big, really. I mean, yes, I can see where Giles and Xander, to name two people, will freak to epic proportions. But really, Buff, you should see…you. I know it’s causing you a lot of grief, but I’ve honestly never seen your eyes do the light-up thing before. Not even in the pre-killing-of-us days with Angel. And as totally weird as this sounds…Spike seems to care for you.”
Her heart thundered. “He does?”
“Well, I mean, I’ve only seen him twice. Once at the Bronze and then…that other time at the Bronze. But both times—”
Buffy exhaled softly and her shoulders slumped. Oh. “Yeah, both of those times, we were in massive…something with each other. Call it what you want. His eyes do a glowy thing whenever we’re together again after being apart for so long. It’s the lust spell, or whatever has us under this thing. It doesn’t mean he cares about me.”
The redhead didn’t look convinced. “Ummm…”
“And even if he does…care…once the spell is lifted, he won’t anymore.”
“Ummm, I was under the impression that you don’t know you’re under a spell when you’re under a spell.” She waved a little. “Remember last year? I came at Xander with an axe—a totally deserved axe, by the way, that rat bastard—and it was because of a stupid love spell. I didn’t know I was under a spell at the time. Neither did any of the other three hundred girls that wanted him dead—rightfully so—then.”
“That doesn’t mean all spells follow a certain pattern, though. It might be that the spell Dru put us under has us very aware of what we’re doing, and that’s where the revenge part of her plan is coming in.” Buffy sighed again and worried a lip between her teeth. The problem with that theory was that everything that she was feeling right now was authentic. The circumstances might have been otherworldly, but she liked Spike because she liked Spike, and not because a spell was making her like Spike. And perhaps that was it—perhaps Dru’s plan was only to seek revenge on Spike. Perhaps Buffy had just fallen in the crossfire of a bitter breakup, and she was falling for him as an added bonus for the scorned lover.
Only, from the sound of things, Spike was the scorned lover, so that didn’t make sense.
She shuddered. If she started thinking about their situation like that, her mind just might succeed in convincing her that Spike did care. She so wanted to believe it. She wanted everything they had to be real. But she couldn’t take the leap of faith just yet. Not yet. Not until the spell was over. If the spell ended and Spike was still making moon eyes at her, if he still felt all the heat and passion that he felt now, she would fall all too readily into his arms.
Until the spell was over, she’d just have to wait it out.
“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit, Buffy,” Willow said softly. “You haven’t seen the way he is with you.”
“I have so,” she protested weakly. Dammit, the last thing her Spike-lusting mind needed was prompting from Willow to get with the Spike-lusting program. “I admit…he’s…”
“Yes?”
She was quiet for a minute, weighing her words carefully before everything collapsed. “God, Willow, I can’t. I just can’t. Let’s just say that I do throw my rules and my plan out the window. Say Spike and I do a lot of naked aerobics and I fall head over heels for him and thenpoof! The spell’s over. And then he hates me. He hates me and wants to kill me and goes on about how Dru is better than I am in everyway and God, I couldn’t take that. It’s gonna be hard enough already if it happens. I’ve already had the…the physical stuff with him. Now we’re getting into the other stuff, and if I throw in physical on top of other, there’s just now way…”
“But you don’t know that’s going to happen.”
“Yes, but I don’t know that it’s not going to happen, either. I just need the spell to be over so we can see where we stand. If he still wants me when it’s over…” Buffy shook her head and glanced back into her closet. “Oh, screw it. Jeans and a halter top.”
Willow smiled weakly. “He’ll drool all over you.”
“That’s so not the objective.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not. It’s…” She trailed off miserably and sniffed. “I’m totally screwed, aren’t I?”
“I think you are just a little.”
“Gee, thanks.” She sniffed again. “Where’s my stock best friend reassurance?”
Willow frowned. “Oh. That was one of those moments?”
“Yes.”
“I totally dropped the ball.”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
Buffy stared at her for a minute, then chuckled humorlessly and shook her head. “I need to start getting ready,” she said weakly. “Meeting Spike in a half hour.”
“Watch how he watches you.”
“Will—”
Her hands flew up defensively. “I’m just saying. The guy has it bad. I don’t see how you’re blaming that on a spell, but if it’s your prerogative, go right ahead.”
Buffy scowled and planted her hands on her hips. “So about the having sex with Oz?”
Willow’s eyes went wide. “Shutting up now,” she squeaked, and mimed zipping her lips.
“I’m wearing jeans and a halter.”
“But not stilettos.”
“Right. Because I’m not a hooker.”
“And because they’re not patrol shoes,” the redhead said, nodding.
“That’s right.” Buffy stared at her closet unblinkingly for a minute, then sighed dramatically. “I am so screwed.”
“Yeah. Looks like.” Willow quickly found herself on the receiving end of another glare. “I dropped the ball again, didn’t I?”
“Tossed it right into your court, and you dropped it.”
She nodded and practically sprinted for the door. “I’ll just be leaving now. Have fun on your not-a-date.”
“Have fun thinking of ways to have sex with Oz.”
“You know, right this minute, I don’t like you very much.”
“You can imagine how much of a problem that is for me right now.” Buffy didn’t move, didn’t even tear her eyes away from the closet. “Call you tomorrow?”
“Gossipy goodness,” Willow agreed perkily.
Thank God. As annoying as the redhead could be with her insightfulness—particularly with regard to all things Spike—Buffy depended on her right now for unloading of her Spike-related problems. She was the one person in the world guaranteed to not judge her, and if that meant tolerating her sense-making arguments on why she should be jumping headfirst into a relationship with her former worst enemy, then it was worth the price.
She could only hope that her heart agreed with her in the end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It should be illegal for any man to look that good, particularly since Spike’s looks tended to bring out the side of her that was gravity challenged.
“Spike!” Buffy gasped. She would have fallen on her face had she not found herself in his arms the next second, her heart pounding furiously against his cool, still chest. “Ohhh. Guh.”
“Gotta say, Slayer,” he rumbled amusedly. “If you don’t stop falling at my feet every time I see you, I’m gonna develop a complex.”
“What are you doing here?”
“We’re patrolling, remember?”
Oh, she remembered. She’d just scribbled a note to her late-working mother about said patrolling. Sure, she was running a few minutes late after going through every outfit in her closet twice, but not late enough to require a search party.
Finding Spike on her doorstep was a surprise totally worthy of falling-on-her-face, humiliating as it was.
“Sorry,” she explained hurriedly. “I know we’re patrolling, but I thought we were meeting at Restfield. Am I running that late?”
Spike shook his head, his eyes roaming her body predatorily. “No. I’m early, actually. Jus’ wanted…fuck, you look amazing.”
She flushed. Seems jeans and a halter top had been the way to go, after all.
“Oh, this old thing,” she replied teasingly. “It’s just—”
“Amazing.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Shall we?”
Oh God. We’ve been talking for thirty seconds, and I’m already melting.
“Ummm, yes.” She returned his smile weakly and nodded at the front door. “Just let me lock up and we’re all set.”
All set. Good God. He was here to pick her up. Like they were on a date.
And he was already reaching for her hand.
Buffy whimpered inwardly. Her heart was so doomed.
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[nextpage title=”Chapter 29″ ]
Chapter 29
Their fingers were laced, and their palms rubbed together with every step they took. Every few seconds, Buffy felt her eyes wander to their clasped hands, and warm butterflies filled her stomach. He was so close to her that a breath of air could not pass between them.
These patrol not-a-dates were the highlight of her day.
“So I’ve been thinkin’…”
Buffy’s head shot up. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of the plan, are you?” Because, at this point, I wouldn’t mind it if you gave it a shot. “Because the plan…is set in stone.” Really, really fragile stone. “Stone.”
Spike just grinned at her and shook his head. “No. I’m not gonna try an’ talk you outta the plan.”
That so wasn’t disappointment sliding down her spine. Really.
God, who am I kidding?
“Oh.” Buffy swallowed hard and forced a grin. “Okay. Then what is it that you’ve been thinking?”
“I don’ know if it makes sense for Dru to have cursed me because of infidelity issues.”
Gah. The butterflies were back. Maybe he was going to tell her that there was no curse. There was no spell. The pull between them was the natural force of attraction—pure attraction. Perhaps it was a vampire thing. Perhaps it was a slayer thing. And the only reason it hadn’t been there with Angel was that he wasn’t the one she was supposed to be with. The Powers had avoided giving her these feelings until she found Mr. Right. Because he was right. His scorned ex-girlfriend, psycho or not, cursing him to lust after another woman because she felt betrayed? Sense was so not with the making there.
Then again, it wasn’t as though her ephemeral flight of fancy had a ton of logic supporting it, either. Perhaps it was more the knowledge that her heart was in trouble, so her mind was looking for an out. A way to have Spike and not get hurt in the process.
That much made sense to her. Overactive Buffy brain, trying to override the rules of her own plan by providing escape hatches along the way. The fact of the matter was that her heart was going to end up in the shredder either way. Now she was split down the middle—panicking over her imminent heartbreak, and searching desperately for a way to keep Spike in her life.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “If it’s not Dru, then what—”
“Oh, I still think it’s Dru.”
No. That was not the sound of her heart screaming. That was the wind. “Oh. Okay.”
“She wouldn’t get back at me by giving me you, though. Truth of the matter is, I don’ think she cares very much.”
His tone surprised her. For as much the love of his unlife as Drusilla allegedly was, he didn’t give the impression of missing her, or caring that she didn’t care. Or hating her for leaving him. Or hating her for cursing him. Or hating her…period. Matter of fact, she didn’t detect any feeling whatsoever. It was as though he didn’t care about Dru at all.
That had to be wishful thinking. Of course he cared about Dru. He loved Dru. The second he was freed from being tied to her, he’d shake off whatever residual feelings this curse had given him and hop the first ship back to South America. Buffy would be lucky if he didn’t add insult to injury by trying to kill her first.
“So why would she curse us, then?” Buffy asked.
“I think it’s ‘cause you an’ I united to bring down her precious Angel.” Spike shrugged nonchalantly and lodged a cigarette between his lips. “She wanted to get back at us by makin’ us want each other bad.”
Buffy frowned. “So why give us the warm fuzzies to go along with it?”
Spike paused and glanced to her, smiling softly. “You have warm fuzzies over me?”
Guh. He was so gorgeous when he smiled like that. Okay, so he was pretty much gorgeous all the time. Being on the receiving end of his smile, though…there was nothing Buffy wouldn’t do to keep that smile aimed at her for the rest of her days.
“Well, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers,” she replied lamely.
“No. You kicked me outta bed because of some barmy plan.”
“Hey!” She pouted. “There will be no dissing of the plan!”
“Well, I gotta blame somethin’. You’ve had warm fuzzies about me, an’ you still managed to talk yourself into kickin’ me out of bed.” Spike shook his head and tsked. “Slayer, Slayer, Slayer. Whatever will I do with you?”
A good tongue-lashing oughta do the trick.
Buffy shivered. It was no wonder her heart was in such a perilous place, especially if these were the thoughts that kept her in check. “Well…I dunno if the warm fuzzies are just…me. Maybe Dru made it so—”
“No, sweetheart. They’re definitely not just you.”
Her face flamed and her heart swelled. “Oh.”
“I think she cast the spell thinkin’ that we’d go into this hatin’ each other. An’ maybe it was that at first.” Spike shrugged carelessly. “Don’ reckon I ever hated you.”
“You did.”
“Can’t seem to remember it.”
She shuddered again and squeezed his hand without thinking. “I do. And I remember…well, I remember a lot of things. Just a few days ago, you weren’t too wild with the idea of…well, me in general.”
Spike frowned and tossed her a wounded look. “I seem to recall makin’ up for that,” he replied. “At least, I tried.”
With sex. The last time we were supposed to have sex. Only we did it again after deciding on the plan. Oh, and again at the Bronze.
“Are you saying that the warm fuzzies aren’t generated from the spell, then?” Buffy asked, treading carefully. “Because if they are—”
“Doesn’ really make sense for Dru to get us panting over each other and enjoying it at the same time if it’s for revenge.”
She licked her lips. “So what you feel…the non-hatred, non-wanna-rip-your-throat-out stuff…that’s real?”
Spike domed a brow. “Wait,” he said, cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth. “Those don’ count as warm fuzzies?”
Her insides flushed cold. “In so many ways,” Buffy retorted, jerking her hand from his, “bite me.”
“That literal, pet?”
“Spike—”
“Of course I’m feelin’ something. An’ gimme your hand back.” Before she could blink, he had her fingers curled around his again. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”
“Obviously, yes.”
“Well—”
Logical Buffy intervened before he could speak. Suppose he said something wonderful. Suppose she melted into slayer-goo, and suppose she took this new theory at face value. It was all well and good until they discovered that the theory was just that—a theory—and the true reasoning behind their behavior was something else. And then they were back to square one. As feasible as Spike’s hypothesis sounded, they had nothing with which to support it. She couldn’t let him trap her under the illusion that everything was so readily explainable. Not when her heart was very literally on the line.
“Spike, stop.” She sighed heavily and shook her head, squeezing his hand for support in spite of herself. “The fact of the matter is, we don’t know.”
“Huh?”
She shrugged and met his eyes helplessly. God, they were so incredibly blue. She could lose herself in his eyes. “We don’t know. As wonderfully simple as your…Dru idea is, we can’t know if it’s that or something else. It could be a thousand things. Of all the demons I’ve pissed off, of all the demons you’ve pissed off, the odds of us discovering the culprit on the first guess are slim to none.”
Spike was quiet for a minute. He tore his gaze from hers and focused on the ground between them, his demeanor reminding her of a pouting child. “Second guess,” he replied insolently.
“What?”
“My firs’ guess was over infidelity, which is laughable. Dru could give a fuck about me.” Again with the odd non-caring in his voice. She really, really couldn’t read too much into that. “An’ even if I cheated on her a thousand bloody times in my head, she was the one that actually went off to shag some slimy-antlered demon.”
“I still don’t get that.”
“She din’t like me thinking about you, pet, an’ I’ve done little else since you first barreled into my life.”
Buffy blinked, stunned. “What?”
Spike smiled softly. “Don’ look so surprised. Fact of the matter is, that was my second guess.”
She looked at him for a few more dazed seconds before forcing herself to break away with a resolute shake of her head. “No. It was the first guess modified. And even so, we don’t have anything but a guess to go off of. And so we’re back to the beginning.”
“What beginning?”
“The beginning of not knowing why we feel this way.” She held up a hand before he could interrupt her. “Can you honestly say you’re positive that, once this is over, you won’t want to kill me?”
“Yes.”
Buffy blinked again. “Huh?”
Spike shrugged and grinned slightly, puffing on his cigarette. “You asked, pet.”
“Well…I don’t know if I’m positive.”
“About wanting to kill me?”
“About you wanting to kill me.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you suddenly know my feelings better than I do?”
“That’s not what I said—”
“Funny. That’s exactly what it sounded like.”
Buffy shook her head. This was not at all how she’d wanted tonight to go. “Can’t we just—”
The roar pierced the air the second before her gut twinged with a delayed spider-sense, and in a blink, Buffy found herself torn from Spike as a thick, intrusively male body barreled her to the ground. Her head smacked against a headstone hard enough to make her dizzy but not enough to knock her out. The vampire on top of her was smelly and dirty—obviously newly risen—and he was eying her like she was the prime rib special.
Fledglings, she thought irritably, moving quickly to shove him off of her. He’d interrupted her…well, argument, but he’d still interrupted. And patrol not-a-date or not, she didn’t like disruptions while she was speaking.
Something funny happened when she tried to shove him off. Her strength was zapped. Incredibly zapped.
Oh God.
The thought was accentuated with a particularly brutal punch to her face. And it was then that her body registered the pain splitting through her veins.
“Word of advice,” Mr. Smelly snarled. “If you’re walking through a cemetery, don’t get into a loud argument with your boyfriend, hmmm?”
The weight was gone the next second. Buffy sat up, gasping, just in time to see Mr. Smelly smash into the wall of a mausoleum hard enough to crack the stone.
Spike was in game face, and he looked furious.
“Dude, you’re a vampire?” Mr. Smelly said in disgust, dusting himself off. “What gives? You weren’t eating her, so I thought she was fair game. I’ll just—”
In all her years, Buffy had never seen such a display of rage. Spike roared and lunged. He didn’t just kill the fledgling; he slaughtered him. He beat him until there was nothing left to beat. Until his hands were bruised and stained with the vampire’s blood. Until the air around him was flecked with red dust. And he roared the entire time.
He made the headstones shake with the sound of his fury.
It was monstrous. It was beautiful. And it was for her.
The second the fledgling was dust, Spike growled and ran to her, collapsing to his knees at her side. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands everywhere at once. “Show me where you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“Buffy?”
“I’m okay,” she replied, but she didn’t feel it. Her head was spinning. Her muscles were flaccid. For the first time in four years, she felt completely powerless. “I…”
“You’re not okay,” Spike decided, lifting her into his arms. “What the fuck was that?”
“I got dizzy.”
“Is dizzy all? You’re not hurtin’, are you?” He met her eyes, and the wealth of concern burning through him warmed her insides. “You’re not hurtin’…in the way that only I can fix?”
She shook her head, but that made it worse. Her arms flew around his neck.
What is this? Why now?
“Spike…” she whimpered. “I’m…it’s all spinning.”
“I’m taking you home.”
“Spike?”
“I’m taking you home, Slayer.”
Her body protested. No, she didn’t want to go home. If she went home, the patrol non-date was over. She didn’t want it to be over. She wanted to stay out here with him. “It’ll pass.”
“Yes, an’ you’ll be home when it does.”
His tone told her that there was no arguing with him, so she gave up trying.
There was nothing to do but let Spike carry her home.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 30″ ]
Chapter 30
It took half a second to sweep the surface clean.
“Spike—”
He wasn’t listening to her. “Gently, now,” he murmured, tenderly setting her atop the island. “Let’s see that cut.”
From the frown that marred her face, Buffy clearly hadn’t realized she was bleeding. She hadn’t, but oh, he had. With every step, he had to school his demon from growling possessively and licking the wound closed. The rich scent of her was driving him mad. She’d been hurt—a vampire had dared hurt her in front of him, and the knowledge had his demon reeling.
He needed her like he needed nothing else in this world.
“Cut?” she replied dazedly.
“Your head hit the grave marker,” Spike replied, gently turning her head to the side so he could determine just how bad it was. “When that…” Hot, burning outrage seared his insides. “When he—”
Buffy blinked rapidly and took his hand. “It’s over now.”
“He hurt you.”
“I get hurt a lot on this job.”
Spike shook his head. “Hold still, now. I’ll be right back.” He marched intently over to the sink and grabbed the nearest hand towel—one that smelled clean and looked unused—and soaked it with cold water. “You’re not supposed to get hurt when I’m with you,” he said over the hum of the faucet. “Not with me there. I could’ve stopped it.”
“We were kinda in the middle of a fight.”
Was that what that had been? Spike’s lips tugged upwards in a ghost of a smile. A lover’s quarrel? About how she was afraid his feelings for her were the product of a spell or some other ridiculous notion. He hadn’t figured that for arguing. It couldn’t be an argument; not with how bleeding ecstatic he’d been at the idea that he wasn’t the only one with feelings like that.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. Obviously, he sensed that Buffy liked him. He knew it from the way she talked with him. Looked at him. Touched him whenever they were together. Oh yeah, he knew that she liked him. He just hadn’t known it was like that.Beyond being physically drawn to each other, he hadn’t known that her feelings could ever be dubbed as, in her own words, warm fuzzies.
But she was bleeding terrified that his reciprocal feelings were the product of some poncy spell. Ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. After a century of living, and then some, he’d been under enough spells to detect when feelings were manufactured and when they weren’t.
Though he knew that she had a reason for believing the way she did. She had a thousand. And he cared for her too much to press the issue. Not now.
Not when she was succumbing to dizzy spells on patrol and nearly letting herself be done in by fledglings.
Spike was back at her side in an instant, lifting her chin with his fingers. “Hold still, pet,” he murmured, raising the washcloth to her wound. “You notice how all your head injuries of late have been when I’m around?”
Buffy rolled her eyes, but her cheeks blushed prettily at the reminder. “You’re gonna give me crap for walking into the wall, aren’t you?”
“To be fair, it was hilarious.”
“For you, maybe.”
Spike grinned and nodded, dabbing the cut gently. “Well, yes.” His mirth vanished the second her eyes slammed shut and she hissed in pain, and in a blink, his outrage returned tenfold. “Did I hurt you? Am I usin’ too much pressure?”
“No.”
“Buffy—”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“You let yourself get tossed around like a sodding rag doll by a weakling vamp. I don’t think that qualifies as fine.” He frowned and pressed the towel to her cut and held for a second. “Do you have a First Aid kit around here?”
“I don’t need First Aid.”
“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Slayer healing. It’s not that bad.” Though from the look on her face, she was having trouble selling that idea to herself. “I’m not dizzy anymore.”
“Well, then by all means, let’s toss you around a bit.”
“Spike—”
He arched a pointed brow. “First Aid?”
Buffy glared at him stubbornly for a few seconds, then sighed and motioned vaguely with her hand. “Oh, what the hell. You’re being sweet and possessive and who am I to pass that up?”
Spike grinned. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”
“It’s in the bathroom. The one upstairs. First drawer on the left.” She grabbed his arm before he could bolt, and the lack of strength behind her hold made his heart wilt. The slayer grip he’d come to cherish was gone. There was nothing behind her hold but pure human. “Quietly. I don’t think my mom’s home, but you never know. And she hasn’t quite gotten over the last time you were here.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I was a saint the last time I was here.”
“Well, technically, the last time you were here, we had raunchy sex in my bedroom, so I don’t think that counts.” She flushed brightly, and he found the look so unbelievably cute that he had to refrain from kissing her gorgeous lips and telling her how much he adored her. “But I mean…with the killing of Angel and…stuff.”
“I was referring to that, too.”
“You weren’t a saint.”
“I was as close as I ever wanna come.” Spike kissed her cheek before he could help himself. “Don’t move, Slayer. I’ll be right back.”
It didn’t take long to find the kit, though once he had it in front of him, Spike had no earthly idea what to do with it. It wasn’t as though time and experience had granted him much need for antibiotics. Usually, just swathing wounds with a wet cloth was enough stimulation for his enhanced cells. It was one of the many perks that came with being a vampire.
It was supposed to be a perk of being a slayer, too. Buffy was the best slayer he’d ever known; she wasn’t supposed to get tossed around like a rag doll. When it’d happened, he’d been so bloody stunned that he couldn’t get his legs to move. His insides had filled with fire; his demon’s screams could have moved continents.
Spike huffed angrily, glancing up to the bathroom mirror, and was greeted with the reflection of the wall behind him. God help the git who tried to hurt her.
He found Buffy as he’d left her. Her ankles were crossed and she was gripping the edge of the island. She looked every part the warrior—injured, but not defeated. And none of that—none—had to do with strength.
Not the kind of strength that bent steel, anyway.
“Your mum’s not here,” he said, placing the First Aid kit on the counter. “So if this stings, feel free to scream your heart out.”
“I’m not going to scream,” she replied.
“Jus’ saying, the option’s open for you.” He heaved a sigh and laved a cotton swab with whatever disinfectant the kit provided, winced at the thick smell, and approached Buffy tentatively. “Here. Lean toward me, kitten.”
“Oh God.”
“What?”
“You look sick.”
“Smells bad.” He tapped his nose with his free hand. “Heightened senses can be a bloody bitch. Now, come here.”
“Look, I can do it if—”
“Bollocks to that. You think I’m not man enough to tough this thing out? Besides, you’re more important than my nose.” He grinned when she unlocked her ankles and parted her legs for him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, stepping between her thighs. “Grab hold of my arm, luv, an’ squeeze hard if it stings.”
“If I squeeze hard, I might tear your arm off.”
Spike pursed his lips. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Easy now,” he murmured, and dabbed her cut. Buffy hissed and her hand closed down on his arm, capturing him in a tight hold that would have been bloody painful were she at full strength. Were she at any measure of slayer strength at all.
She wasn’t.
“I’m sorry.” Spike dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder. God, she tasted sweet. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Doesn’t hurt,” she replied through clenched teeth.
“Of course.” He forced himself away from her heavenly heat to retrieve the bandages he’d left in the kit. “Good news is, worst part’s over.”
“You’re gonna bandage me?”
Spike blinked. “Well…yeah. It’s what you ruddy pulsers do, right? One of you gets hurt; you fix it with sticky tape an’ cotton. Or am I behind the times again?”
“Hello! Slayer, here. I’ll just tough it out.”
“What happened to me being sweet and possessive?” He held up the band-aid with a pout. “Wantin’ to patch you up isn’t being sweet an’ possessive?”
“So you’re gonna guilt-trip me into becoming Patchwork Buffy?”
Spike shrugged. “If it works. Hold still, luv.”
“You’ve said that like fifty times. Have I moved?”
He arched a brow. “Now you’re getting testy. You don’t wanna beat up on your sweet, possessive Spike, do you?”
“You’re never gonna let me forget I said that, are you?”
“It’s not lookin’ that way, no.” With cool dexterity, he slid the band-aid over her cut, and leaned back to admire his work with a grin. “There we are. All better.”
Buffy just looked at him for a minute, then blinked and sighed and averted her eyes to the empty space between them. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been…a long, long time since I’ve ever needed…well, not that I know I needed anything or not…it’s been a long time since anyone really worried over me like that.”
Spike smiled. “My pleasure. Now…” He exhaled slowly and wedged himself between her thighs again. “If you’ll just hop back in my arms, I’ll carry you upstairs an’ tuck you in.”
“What?”
“If you’re lucky, I’ll even read you a bedtime story.”
“Whatever happened to walking? And…I can tuck myself in, thanks. Plus I’m all grimy and gross from patrol, and—”
“Pet, you gotta let your vanity go every now an’ then. You’re exhausted.”
“That’s not the point—”
“Make it the point for tonight, hmmm? Come on, then.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, then glanced almost reluctantly to the sanctuary his arms provided. “You’re really getting off on being the manly man, aren’t you?”
Spike shrugged and smirked wickedly. “I get off in many ways.”
“I don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
Buffy stared at him a minute longer. “This,” she said, sliding effortlessly into his arms, “is humiliating.”
“If it was, you’d be walking.”
There was nothing about this that he didn’t love. The feel of her against him was remarkable—something he wouldn’t trade for all the blood in China. He loved the way she protested being the dainty female; it was refreshing, it was different. She was a woman who could take care of herself, and hated being pampered even when she deserved it.
Too often, during the last few decades of their relationship, Dru had capitalized on her illness by making Spike her all-too willing manservant—which, at the time, had been just fine with him. He hadn’t complained; he hadn’t known to complain. He hadn’t felt anything but pride in taking care of his woman.
The pride he felt in taking care of Buffy, though, was divine. He felt as though he was helping a fallen goddess—someone who didn’t reach out to many when she needed a hand, and he’d been lucky enough to be standing within reach. Buffy was so proud, so gloriously stubborn, and she wouldn’t accept help from just anyone. Similarly, she wouldn’t trust just anyone to see her weakness. To see her when she was less a deity and more a human. She was so accustomed to that bloody pedestal that her friends put her on—that her Watcher and her stupid brooding hulk of an ex put her on—that she didn’t know when to stop. When it was all right to look around and see if anyone was willing to lend her a hand, or at the very least, a willing shoulder.
Buffy didn’t depend on anyone but herself, and though she might think relying on him now was a sign of weakness, it was perhaps the strongest display he’d ever witnessed.
“Don’t s’pose you need me to help you change into your jams, do you?” Spike asked, lowering her steadily to the floor. “I…what the bloody hell is that?”
Buffy blinked dazedly. “Huh?”
He pointed to the mountain of clothing protruding from her otherwise normal-looking mattress.
“Oh,” she replied with a flush. “That. Erm…I was…having trouble. That is, I didn’t know what to wear tonight.”
“So you tried on the whole bloody town?”
“Hey! I didn’t…ummm.” Buffy shifted anxiously, pivoting on her heel and pressing her palms to his chest. “I need a minute. I need to…change. Oh.” She turned again and dove for the mountain of clothes, surfacing a minute or so later with a pair of flannel bottoms and a tank top in one hand. “I need to be in the other room to change.”
“Why?”
“I just do!” she insisted, brushing past him and marching intently toward the loo. “Don’t touch anything!”
Stubborn bint was going to shower anyway. Spike huffed and turned back to her room bemusedly. And he wasn’t supposed to touch anything? How the hell did she think she was going to get into bed over the mess she’d made? He had two hands and some time to kill—might as well make it easy for her.
It didn’t occur to him until he had the mountain successfully shoved onto the ground that the only engagement she had planned for the evening was patrol with him. She’d worried herself silly over her wardrobe for a non-date patrol…with him.
Spike found himself grinning like an idiot.
Buffy had dressed up for him. For him.
That was almost worth not breaking her trust by leaving her panties where he found them. He smirked to himself and shoved a few pairs into his duster pocket. Almost.
She didn’t leave him alone for long. Her scent hit the air the second before her voice did. God, she smelled divine.
“You touched things.”
Spike whirled around and shrugged. “Jus’ wanted to lend a hand, pet.”
She arched a brow pointedly at the pile of clothing that now resided on the floor.
“Never said I was any good at this housecleaning business.” He took a few steps forward, squinting at her bandage. “How did you manage to shower an’ not rub that thing off?”
“Feminine ingenuity,” she replied, then shuffled when his focus shifted to her scanty attire. “Don’t.”
“What?” he asked, his eyes glued to her breasts. Her nipples were saluting him through the thin fabric. God, it’d be so easy to reach out and touch her. Taste her. Caress her. He’d have her on her back and halfway to the stars before she thought to shoo him away.
“I should…” Spike expelled a deep breath and cast a hand through his hair. “I should go. Let you rest.”
Buffy’s eyes softened. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Spike…” The next thing he knew, she was pressed against him, her hands splayed across his chest. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable; the tease had vanished. It was as though she was just coming to terms with what had happened. As though she was just realizing that a vampire had been at her throat tonight, and she would’ve been dead were it not for him. Her former worst enemy. Her not-quite-boyfriend. Her not-quite anything.
Spike shivered. Boyfriend. The Slayer’s boyfriend. How was it that he suddenly craved that title above all others? What had she reduced him to?
Why didn’t he care more?
“When I…squeezed your arm downstairs,” she said slowly. “It didn’t hurt, did it?”
He swallowed. “Slayer—”
“Tell me.”
A beat. “No. It didn’t.”
“And earlier…” She frowned and trailed off. “Is this…is this another side-effect? Another symptom of…Dru’s spell or whatever?”
“I don’t know, pet. I don’t think so.”
Buffy’s frown deepened. “I could’ve…”
“No. You wouldn’t have.” He held up a hand. “I don’ bloody care if I was there or not. You’d’ve found a way to do it. To off the bastard that hit you.” The very thought made him shake. “An’ it’s prob’ly jus’ a glitch.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve been through a lot, recently. Rest up, kitten. Tomorrow’ll be better.”
He was going to walk away; he really was. But then, something strange happened. Something he couldn’t have predicted. Buffy’s small hands cupped his face, and the next thing he knew, he was in paradise. A moan scratched at his throat and his hands seized her shoulders. Her mouth whispered against his, her soft, silky tongue imploring his lips for entrance. He devoured her, determined to drown in her taste. It had only been days—Christ, just days—since he’d known the simple rapture of her kiss, but it felt like lifetimes. He’d missed her kisses. He’d missed everything. The small, panty moans she whispered against his lips. The way she thrust her hips against him, the way she rubbed against his hard, denim-clad cock as though she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. He’d missed this. God, he’d missed this so much.
But rationality shut him out. Buffy wanted him now. He could smell how much she wanted him. How desperately she wanted to lead him back to her bed and forget that tonight had happened. Forget all the bad while swallowing the good. But he couldn’t forget. Not with everything she’d told him. His body craved hers, but not in the way that had possessed him to lose control before. No, he craved her simply because he craved her. Because she was Buffy, and there was nothing to living except the want of her.
Her plan, however tortuous, had worked. The stupid thing had actually worked. They were together every night, and the pain had subsided. And he had control now. Control where he did not want it. He had the power to stop this before it turned into something she’d kick herself over.
Their argument, their lover’s quarrel, wasn’t over. Buffy didn’t think he wanted her for anything beyond what her delicious body had to offer. He was dead set on proving her wrong, and words were meaningless without action.
“Buffy,” he murmured helplessly against her lips, reaching behind his neck and seizing her wrists. “We can’t.”
She pulled back and blinked stupidly. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses.
Christ, he wanted her.
“The plan, kitten. Remember?” Spike brought her wrists to his mouth and worshipped the inside of each with a soft kiss. “I want you. I don’ think you know how much I want you. But if we do this tonight, you’re gonna regret it tomorrow. I don’t want you to go through that.” He paused, then neared to brush his lips against her brow. “I’m stopping before you become that girl.”
Buffy just stared at him in wonder.
“Pet, I’m not rejecting you. Fuck, if you need to feel how much I want you, just put your hand—”
“No. No. I…” Her head ducked and he caught the shine of what he thought were tears. And when she glanced back up, the look on her face was worth every ounce of frustration that roared through his body. “Thank you. Just…Spike, thank you.”
Warmth flooded him wholly.
He was wrong; it wasn’t just worth his body’s frustration.
It was worth the whole damn world.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 31″ ]
Chapter 31
“What do you mean, your strength is gone?”
Buffy looked up miserably. She’d managed to talk her mother into letting her stay home that Monday, convinced that she was sick. She felt so slack that little things, like changing clothes, had suddenly become burdensome. She hadn’t realized until she awakened how much she’d hoped that the previous night’s newbie-vamp experience had been a side effect of being near Spike. And at the time, she hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the fact that, were that so, it would not only make absolutely no sense, but also add another problem to her already lengthy roster.
Willow had called her around eleven that morning and, after listening to a considerable amount of begging, had broken one of her personal cardinal laws. In perhaps her first conscious act of academic defiance, the redhead had skipped school to spend the afternoon with her ailing friend. And while she kept casting dodgy glances to the front door, as though the mob squad would burst into the room and drag her back at any second, she seemed otherwise content to serve as the sounding board.
“Spike and I were patrolling last night, and I got attacked by a random fledgling vamp. He would’ve killed me if Spike hadn’t been there.”
Willow frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“Gee, you think?”
“I take it Spike saved the da…erm, night?”
Buffy inhaled deeply, trembling. Spike had done more for her last night than anyone ever had. When she’d been weak, he’d given her his strength. Never before had anyone allowed her to be the damsel, and while it was hardly a role she wanted to grow into, Spike hadn’t berated her for something she couldn’t control. He hadn’t expected more from her, hadn’t demanded more from her; had, in fact, encouraged her to rest. She’d needed help, and he hadn’t thought any less of her because of it.
Perhaps it wasn’t fair to say that her friends treated her any differently, but God, she certainly felt like they did. Xander seemed to think she was Superwoman, and was constantly disappointed when she couldn’t run faster than a speeding bullet. When bad things happened, his eyes always fell to her, silently demanding why she hadn’t done anything to prevent it.
Angel was the same way. If she slipped up, he wanted to know why. If there was an error in her judgment, he wanted to analyze every facet of her decision. If she was beaten, it was because she wasn’t strong enough. She’d let the baddies get the best of her. She’d done this. She’ddone that. Anything and everything was automatically her fault, because the Powers had pointed to her in the lineup and decided it was her turn at bat. This was the only life she’d ever have, and she spent most of it feeling discouraged over things she couldn’t help. Feeling guilty for deaths she hadn’t prevented, and certainly not for lack of trying.
Buffy spent so much time trying to be a superhero that at times she’d forgotten how it felt to be human. Humans weren’t weak, as Spike’s wordless understanding had reminded her last night. There had been no condemnation in his eyes whenever she had to lean on him. When he’d carried her into her house, doctored her wounds, and carted her up the stairs like she was Scarlett O’Hara or something.
The strong-willed, strong-minded, but oh-so-female protagonist.
Spike hadn’t looked down on her for that. He’d made her realize, without saying a word, that sometimes, the strongest thing a person could do was rely on another for help.
And after that? She’d kissed him. She’d allowed her rules to fly out the proverbial window because of the way he made her feel—not as a slayer, not even as Buffy, but as a woman. As an individual who was different while still the same. Who was human while being superhuman. He’d given her so much, and without thinking, she’d cast the plan aside. The woman in her had reached for the man in him, and rather than take advantage of an emotionally confusing situation, he’d remembered enough for both of them.
He’d slaughtered the vamp that had hurt her in rage. He hadn’t used her body. He hadn’t done anything other than care for her. And in doing so, the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. She knew without a doubt now; her heart would not survive this.
She was completely in love with Spike.
“Buffy?”
Buffy blinked and glanced up. Willow was looking at her strangely. “Oh,” she murmured. “Did I…”
“Wander off? Yes.” The redhead’s lips twitched. “I take it that I hit the nail on the head? With Spike saving the day?”
“Yes.” Damn, she hated that her voice was so shaky. “Yeah, he did.”
Willow frowned. “Buffy?”
“I don’t…” She cleared her throat and looked away quickly.
God. I love him.
It wasn’t as though the words hadn’t been floating around in her head; she’d been frightened of how deep her feelings were becoming for days now. But last night had cast aside any doubt. She was completely, insanely, and hopelessly in love with Spike. She’d never known love like this. Not with Angel; not with anyone. It felt…
Real.
Terrifying.
“I’ll…ahhh, I’ll go to school here in a while,” Buffy said softly, scratching absently at her thigh. “Talk to Giles about the…the thing that happened last night. Maybe every slayer runs out of batteries after a few years and needs a day or two to recharge or something.”
The redhead nodded helpfully. “Yeah.”
She wilted. “Or…or maybe the Powers have caught up with the news that there are two of us—two slayers, I mean—and decided that Faith should be the fulltime girl.”
“Huh? No way, Buffy. No way.” Willow frowned and shook her head furiously. “Are you kidding me? With the…it’s Faith. She’s like the dunce of all slayers. You do all her patrolling on top of yours. In the meantime, she does nothing but get into brawls and bar fights and she kills demons when she feels like it. When she needs to…ummm…”
Buffy arched a brow. Willow shifted uncomfortably.
“What’s this?”
“Well, one of those times that you and…Spike were off…at the Bronze, she came up and was all floozeyish and all over Xander.” The redhead’s green eyes flashed angrily. “Not that he minded, that unbelievable jackass. Cordy might be evil, but she doesn’t deserve being cheated on by Xander. And with Faith.”
“Xander cheated on Cordy?”
“No, but he really wanted to!” Willow nodded hurriedly. “A-at least…I think so. But Faith was going on and on about how she hadn’t gotten any good slays in and how she wanted…ummm…that. That or a fight.”
Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Eww.”
“Yes! Exactly! Much with the eww. And there’s no way that the Powers would choose eww over you.” Willow paused. “That was an unfortunate rhyme.”
“Ahh.”
Willow was quiet for a second, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. When she spoke again, her tone was soft and considerate. “You’re not…if this no-powers thing turns out to be bigger than…you’re not worried that Spike won’t like you anymore, are you? Because you’re not the Slayer?”
Buffy froze, her eyes going wide. Truthfully, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.
“Not that he would!” Willow amended, her voice reaching a high note. “I-I mean, I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem like…he has a slayer fixation, yes, but—”
Buffy wasn’t listening. Her mind was on replay.
She knew. It wasn’t even a matter of concern.
“No,” she replied softly. Then again, louder. “No. No. Spike wouldn’t…no. It’s…he was…last night, he was…he was wonderful.”
If anything, if her powers suddenly vanished, Spike would be only second to her mother in giving her support. And even then, that was stretching it. Her calling might have brought them together, but it was also one of the things keeping them apart. No, if her powers were gone, losing Spike was at the very bottom of her concerns.
Of that list, anyway. It was probably the only list that didn’t feature her fear of losing Spike.
Whatever she was thinking must have been written all over her face.
“Buffy?” Willow asked timidly. “Ummm…did something happen with Spike last night?”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, God. It did, didn’t it? Something happened. You guys tossed out the plan? Or—”
Realization rattled her body. Buffy shook her head. “No. No. Nothing like that.” The plan failed. “No…I just…”
Willow leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”
“No.” Buffy glanced up, blinking rapidly. “I love him.”
Then she burst into tears.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was no longer a surprise to see Angel in the library, but Buffy couldn’t help herself. She’d just endured one of the longest crying jags in recent memory over something she couldn’t help, and while Willow had told her repeatedly that she had nothing to cry over, nothing about her current situation could be labeled okay. Her strength was gone, her heart was lost, and she still didn’t know how much could be attributed to a spell—Dru’s or otherwise.
Seeing Angel provoked a whirlwind of negativity. She needed a reason to scream; she needed a target, and he was right there.
“You know, there’s a word for people like you,” Buffy spat coldly. “Stalker.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“No. It’s really not.” She turned her eyes to Giles, who was sitting behind the counter, thumbing through an ancient text. “And you! I need answers.”
“Hello, Buffy,” he greeted. “How was your day?”
“My day? Sucky. You know why?” She reached into her back pocket and produced a stake, then glanced to Angel. And before he had a chance to duck or even register what was happening, she hurdled it across the room in what would have been a perfect spiral aimed for his chest, and watched as it tumbled pathetically to the ground, a good five feet away from target.
“Hey!” Angel objected. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Buffy retorted, turning back to Giles. “Why didn’t that hit him?”
The Watcher’s eyes had an unusual light to them. “I don’t know. Shall we try again? I’ll hold him down, if you like.”
“Giles!”
“Giles!” Angel echoed, bending over and collecting the fallen stake from the floor, shaking it demonstratively. “She threw this at me!”
“Was that what that was?” He sniggered and shook his head. “Damn my fleeting bouts of blindness.”
“I’m way off my game,” Buffy continued, ignoring her pouting ex. “My game’s left the country. It’s in Cuernavaca. Giles, what’s going on here?”
Angel gestured emphatically. “Am I to understand that both of you are disappointed that I didn’t dust?”
They turned to him on the same dry beat and replied, “Yes,” in perfect unison before returning their attention to each other.
“It’s likely just a cold,” Giles replied airily, not meeting her eyes. “Take…forty-eight hours. I’ll have Faith cover your patrols for you.”
Buffy froze. No. No. Patrols were her time with Spike. She wasn’t about to just give that up. “Faith? Faith doesn’t even cover her own patrols. How the hell do you expect to get her to cover mine?”
Angel stepped forward. “I’ll—”
“No,” Buffy barked, not even tossing him a glance. “Giles—”
“It’s nothing. Look, you’ve been giving it a hundred and ten percent for the past few weeks. I don’t see the problem in allowing Faith to take over patrol for a night or two.” He blinked and glanced down to his text and sighed. “Besides…tomorrow is your birthday. Were you really expecting to be asked to patrol on your birthday?”
Buffy shrugged. “Hasn’t really stopped me before.”
“I thought you had a standing date with your father for ice skating.”
“Yeah, and how often has that occurred in the past three years?” She shook her head. “I’m patrolling.”
“If you’re weak—”
“I’m patrolling.” She turned to Angel and wagged her finger in warning. “And if you so much as think as of showing your abundance of forehead around my cemeteries, I’ll be throwing more than stakes at you.”
“You threw that very near the heart,” he complained.
“Yeah. Shame I didn’t make it.”
“Buffy—”
She shook her head and waved a hand. “I have to go get ready for patrol.”
This was a little thing. An incredibly little thing. It would pass. It had to.
And she wasn’t about to let Faith ruin her patrol non-date. Not for anything.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 32″ ]
Chapter 32
Spike didn’t like the idea of patrolling, and it didn’t occur to him until fifteen minutes before he was due to meet her that he could have looked up her number in the phone book and changed their plans. As it was, he’d spent most of his energy bolting over to her place to walk her to the hunting ground, and was only slightly shaken when no one answered his rather brutal pounding on the door.
If she wasn’t at home, she was likely coming directly from the library. And though his instincts told him to head her off along the way, he knew that, even with a town as small and pathetic as the Hellmouth, he could end up chasing her scent for hours before he finally found her. He knew where he was supposed to be, and he knew that she would be there, too.
Buffy wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea of abandoning her nightly routine, even if she was feeling under the weather. However, he wasn’t about to take another chance with her like the one last night. If it happened again, he might not be quick enough. He’d rip apart any rat bastard who was dumb enough to touch her.
In the meantime, he was hoping he could talk her into something else. Perhaps a walk or a movie or something else—and though it made him less a vampire and more a slayer-smitten man, by God, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. There obviously wasn’t anything he could do about it—his feelings were real and they weren’t going anywhere—and it was better being the man that she could deserve and being this close than being a vampire and not having her at all.
It took less than three minutes to race from Buffy’s house to the place in Restfield where they’d agreed to meet for their non-date patrols. He was mildly concerned when he didn’t see her waiting for him, but forced himself to keep from panicking. Slayer strength or not, Buffy was incredibly self-reliant. He wasn’t going to overcrowd her with mollycoddling…but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying.
Spike began to pace, then decided that it would be better if Buffy saw him as calm and collected and not overly alarmed. He forced himself to sit atop a grave marker, his fingers immediately beating a cadence onto the surface until he occupied his hands by searching for his smokes.
A foreign scent hit him the second he lit up, and he had to fight off a grimace. It was female, and non-Buffy, and had his insides churning immediately.
“You ever hear those things’ll kill you?”
“You can imagine how much I care.” Spike slowly trailed his gaze up. It was the other one. The brunette slut-of-an-excuse for a slayer. “You’re…Faith, right?”
She grinned, pleased, and crossed her arms. “My reputation precedes me.”
“Not sure that’s something I’d be proud of, pet.”
“You’re out here waiting for Buffy, aren’t you?”
Spike stilled and blew out a cool stream of smoke. “You know, for a bint I’ve never met before, you sure do seem to take an interest in what I’m doing.”
Faith shrugged and tossed her hair. “Hey, me slayer, you vamp. I don’t need to give you a copy of the script now, do I?”
He rolled his eyes. “Somehow, you don’ strike me as the type for convention. Of all the slayers I’ve known—which is, I assure you, quite the lengthy list—I don’ believe I’ve ever had one waltz up an’ start making introductions.” He took another long drag of his cigarette and cocked his head. “Most turn arse an’ run.”
“Now, now, Willy. It’s unbecoming of you to lie to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s a shame, pet, ’cause I want so much to be attractive to you.”
If she heard the sarcasm dripping from his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, her gaze slowly raked down the length of him and she licked her lips appraisingly. The sensation made him want to heave.
Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?
When her eyes met his again, he felt his insides recoil in disgust.
God, she didn’t honestly think I was serious, did she?
“You don’t think I know your whole sordid past?” Faith replied, arching a brow. “I know you’re out here waiting for B, which is a bust, by the way. She’s been told not to show up. And if she does, guess who gets to blow the horn?”
Panic shot to the bone. Spike was on his feet in an instant. “Why?” he demanded, forgetting himself. If she was looking to prompt a reaction and make him reveal something significant, he wasn’t doing much to stop her. Then again, she’d mentioned Buffy, so all rationality was irrevocably lost.
“Why? Didn’t you get the memo? B’s got a nasty cold. The kind that made her melt into a squishy, not to mention breakable human. We can’t have her running around thinkin’ she’s got power while the likes of you are out here waitin’ to teach her a lesson she so richly deserves.” Faith’s brows perked and she slid her hands into her pockets, taking a presumptuous step forward. “But see, the thing is, I don’t think B would mind runnin’ into a nasty if it looked like you. The girl’s got a major jones for vamps.” She paused. “From the look on your face, I’m guessin’ this is something you already know.”
Spike swallowed hard and began walking backward. Every step that she took propelled a fresh wave of nausea through his gut. But it was more than that; it was the wicked delight in her eyes. As though she knew exactly how he was reacting to her. As though she knew that he’d rather fall heart-first onto a stake than touch female skin that didn’t belong to Buffy. There was something off about her. Something dark and twisted. Something that the demon in him recognized, but rejected rather than welcomed.
Her darkness was too overbearing. Her voice struck him in the same manner as nails being dragged down the proverbial chalkboard. There was nothing appealing about her. Not to the demon. Not to the man. And perhaps that had everything to do with her not being Buffy, but to Spike, that reasoning was more than enough.
Plus, she seemed to really enjoy the fact that Buffy was elsewhere. As though she’d intentionally sought him out, knowing that he was the one to go after if she wanted Buffy hurt.
“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll jus’ be—”
She walked right up into his personal space and placed her hands on his chest, and he was hit by another wave of nausea. “What’s the rush?”
Umm, you’re psychotic?
“Look—”
“Buffy’s not here. I know she’s got you on a short leash, right?” She grinned when his eyes widened, and leaned in closer. “Oh, come on. You two haven’t exactly been discreet. If you’re gonna be her secret boyfriend, you might wanna make it more conspicuous than dates in a graveyard.”
He was paralyzed with loathing. His joints were stiff, his muscles suddenly stone. If she didn’t stop touching him, he was going to yack. And it wasn’t going to be pretty. “You stupid bint, take your hands off me.”
“Why? Buffy’s not been very giving. Thought you might want an actual ride.” Her teeth clamped down on his ear. “I’ll hold more than yourhand.”
That was it. Spike’s bumpies burst through his human face and he seized her shoulders, thrusting her away from him in disgust. He wanted to lash out, make her bleed; make her scream until she begged for mercy for even hinting at what she’d practically shoved down his throat. However, his body was overwhelmed with dizzy sickness. He couldn’t move very well, let alone give her the arse-kicking she so richly deserved. “Get away from me,” he growled, coughing and reaching for a gravestone to maintain balance. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“Aww! You’re faithful! That’s so sweet.” She neared again. “But then, so was my driving instructor. Didn’t stop him from screwing me senseless in the backseat of the driver’s-ed car. So was that cop that let me off the DWI for the price of a blowjob. So was—”
He was shaking with a combination of revulsion and outrage, the inner roaring drowning out her litany of sexual indiscretions—thank the bloody maker. His demon was clawing at his skin from the inside, screaming to rip the chit limb from bloody limb. If she touched him again, all bets were off. He’d let the beast go. He’d cast the human in him aside and let the beast go. And if that happened, he’d tear her apart.
“You don’t strike me as a vanilla kinda guy,” Faith observed. “Lord knows I’ve needed a good ride—”
Spike roared and swung at her, sending her to the ground with a deliciously satisfying crash. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he demanded. “You stupid—”
The next thing he knew, her foot collided with his chest, and he was sent spiraling back until he smashed against a mausoleum wall.
“Don’t tell me she’s got you tamed, too!” Faith shouted angrily. “You fucking coward. You’re all a bunch of cowards! Angel hiding behind his soul. Can’t betray little Miss Buff even though she’s out fucking another vamp, one already sans conscience who can’t be—”
Spike’s eyes widened and he rolled to his feet. “So that’s it, then? Whatever Buffy has, you gotta take?”
Faith shrugged. “She’s got so many things she doesn’t deserve. Angel’s loyalty? Where the fuck does she get off keeping him so damn faithful to her while she’s out doing evil—that’d be literally—every night? Her precious Giles doesn’t seem to mind, either. That nice house, her mom, her perky little friends…she screws up, and everyone turns a blind fucking eye. I screw up, and I got a fucking Inquisition breathing down my neck.”
He laughed humorlessly. “So, what? You think offerin’ yourself as a piss-poor consolation prize is gonna even the odds? Do you have any idea how many times you’d have to kill me before I’d even consider touching you? I can barely hold down my lunch long enough to kill you right an’ proper. You’re disgusting.” The flash of anger behind her eyes was delicious. “An’ that’s what this is about, innit? Buffy has everythin’ an’ you’ve got nothing. Boo bloody hoo. You’ve come to the wrong bloke if you’re lookin’ for pity. Tell me, how much have youworked for? How much have you sacrificed? How much do you deserve?” He punctuated his point with a severe right hook, his demon cackling with glee when she was sent crashing back to the earth. “Fuck, I don’ even know you, an’ I know the answer to that. Nothing. You deserve nothing. An’ that’s what you’re gonna get from me. Nothing. An’ you’ll never get it from anyone else, either. Not anyone with a bloody brain on their shoulders. There’s a reason she has more than you. She’s better than you. An’ you’ll never have what she has.”
“You’re smitten with her,” Faith panted, wiping blood off her chin. “And what do you get outta it beyond a stiff dick? I’ve seen you two together. She’s stopped putting out now, and she doesn’t let you touch. Never lets you touch.”
Spike’s eyes flared. “Better a saint than a whore.”
Faith shook her head. “She’s limp. She’s a fucking rag doll. If it’s strength you’re looking for, she has none.”
He laughed incredulously. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You have no idea how often I hear that.”
“So Buffy goes human an’ you think you can wheedle in an’ try to take more of what she has?” Spike shook his head. “You think that her being a slayer has anything to do with…” He broke off. “You know, you’re not even worth the air I don’t breathe.” He stomped over angrily and smashed his foot into her head with a swift kick. She collapsed, unconscious, and his demon roared his triumph. “Nighty night.”
He didn’t get two steps away. Spike stopped cold.
Buffy was standing just a few feet away, her eyes shining with tears and her jaw slack.
“Spike,” she gasped, trembling.
Something within him snapped, and a growl hissed through his fangs. She was there. She was right there. And he was in pain. He’d been touched by another female, and he needed Buffy. He needed her hands on him to wash the ache away. He needed her so much. He needed to protect her. He needed to touch her. He needed to hold her. He needed to fuck her. He needed everything.
Something snapped. Conscious thought was shoved aside. The man was gone in a blink.
And all that was left behind, raging with need, was the beast.
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[nextpage title=”Chapter 33″ ]
Chapter 33
She’d seen it happen. She’d seen Spike look at her and then vanish. She’d seen the demon overpower him, and the only thing that terrified her more than being alone with him—with the side of him that hated without prejudice—was the knowledge that she’d recognized it. The knowledge that there had been no doubt. No fleeting bout of confusion. Spike was there and then he wasn’t, and she knew it.
His eyes were burning amber and he was growling softly as he dragged her away from the slayer that he’d left unconscious among the gravestones. Buffy didn’t try to fight him. His grip was ironclad and she hadn’t the strength to protest. Though if those fangs turned to her throat, she wouldn’t stop herself from screaming bloody murder.
Only for the way the demon’s thumb kept rubbing circles into her wrist, she didn’t think that it was his intention to hurt her.
“Spike?” she asked, feeling weak and idle. Her eyes were still wet with tears. Tears prompted by his words, his righteous defense of her honor as he kicked the living hell out of Faith. He’d moved her so much, and he’d been gone before she could tell him. Buffy gasped at his answering growl, and barely had time to collect her thoughts before he shoved her against a mausoleum wall. “Spike, it’s Buffy. Do you—”
The next thing she knew, his lips were tearing kisses from hers, sucking her tongue into his fanged mouth as he pulled her hips against him so that his hard cock was cradled in the valley between her legs. Her panic evaporated into lust, and she didn’t even have time to contemplate what that meant—craving Spike’s demon alongside Spike himself—before he pulled away with a snarl and shoved her to her knees.
“Spike?”
His demon eyes flashed with a sort of primal recognition, but nothing more. He answered with a twisted growl as his hands ripped at his fly. And when she gasped in realization of his intent, he took her open mouth as an invitation and stuffed his cock down her throat.
“Mmphhff!”
He slammed against her with a few quick thrusts, his balls slapping her chin. Buffy was paralyzed with a strange combination of fear, disgust, and arousal; she’d never done this before. She’d never had her mouth around a cock before, and truth be told, she hadn’t given the whole oral thing a lot of thought until Spike roared back into her life. Until their incredibly physical relationship took off with a giant bang.
Now it was happening. She could barely believe it was happening. Her head rocked against the fierceness of his thrusts and the instant she tried to do anything but sit dumbly with her mouth open, her gag reflex kicked in and she choked.
God, she was pathetic. Dru probably never choked when things got a little rough.
She choked again when the head of his cock stabbed the back of her throat. Spike growled, then jerked roughly, his snarls melting to helpless gasps. He blinked rapidly and glanced down. “Buffy?” His erection slipped out of her mouth and she looked up, her cheeks flaming. If the world had any mercy, it would provide a hole for her to fall through before her humiliation was complete.
“Oh God.” Spike dropped to his knees, the face of his demon melting away, his eyes wide with horror. “Your mouth. Your pretty little mouth.” He kissed her lips sweetly. “I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry, Buffy. I have no idea what…I jus’…” It shook her, how hard he was trembling. “I din’t mean to…I never meant to force you to…” His lips grazed the corner of her mouth with a tremulous sigh. “I never meant to make you…do that.”
She blinked dazedly. “Spike?”
He kissed her chin. “God, your mouth’s all bruised.”
He’d stopped her. Buffy blinked again, realization stunning her cold. He’d stopped her. She didn’t know why that stung so much. It wasn’t like she’d been any good at it—hell, she’d choked on what he’d shoved down her throat. No, she wasn’t any good, but she’d wanted to try. After what he’d said to Faith, after everything he’d done for her, she’d wanted to give herself to him for whatever he needed. Whatever his demon needed. And at that moment, for some reason, he’d needed her lips around his erection.
“Was I that horrible?” she sniffed. “Lemme try again. I’ll do better.”
Spike’s head reeled back, his eyes swimming in confusion. “Sweetheart?”
Her hand dove for his stiff cock, and she flushed with womanly pride at his answering moan. “Let me try. I’ll do better.”
“Buffy, you didn’t do anything wrong. I—”
She cut him off with a fierce kiss, her flush warming when he whimpered against her lips. “Let me try,” she murmured, trailing a path of kisses down his neck and chest. “Stand up.”
Spike moaned in protest. “Buffy—”
“Stand up.”
The conflict in his eyes was jarring, but he didn’t deny her. Instead, he nodded fiercely, kissed her, and rose to his feet. It wasn’t until she was staring at his cock again that she lost her nerve. He looked so…
“Big.”
Spike chuckled and slid his fingers up and down his length. “You bring it out in me.”
“Spike…”
He glanced down at her, and the humor in his eyes vanished. She didn’t know what did it; the change was so sudden. “Fuck,” he gasped, his jaw clenching. “Buffy…please.”
“Please what?” She didn’t mean to be ornery. Her nerves were just pulling a massive number on her. Her hand tentatively reached up and curled around his cock, and she licked her lips in anticipation. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t know what to do.”
“For Chrissake pet, suck me or stand up. Stroke me or stake me. Jus’ make up your mind!” Spike was shaking hard, his eyes blazing yellow again. “I can’t look at you if you…not when you’re on your knees in front of me. I can’t take it. And I don’t want you doing something you don’ wanna do. You don’t—”
Buffy drew in a sharp breath and brushed a hesitant kiss over his silky head, and the moan that ripped through him made her blood sing. “Just tell me what to do,” she whispered shakily, her hands dropping into her lap again. “Please, Spike. I’ve never…this is another…another—”
“First?” he ventured, a ghost of a smile floating across his lips.
She nodded. “Uh huh,” she replied, sliding her right hand up his leg slowly until she was cupping his balls. “I…what do you like?”
“Your mouth.”
“Oh.”
“Buffy…please. It’s you. It’s your hands an’ your mouth, an’ do you honestly think I’m not gonna bloody well treasure whatever you give me?” He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp in a way that made her feel cherished. “Jus’…oh God.”
Her tongue circled his sensitive head again before drawing him completely into her mouth. The sensation was odd but not unpleasant. Buffy murmured experimentally around him and reveled in the long whimper that rippled through his body. The idea that she could do so much to him by doing so little was heady, especially considering the wealth of things he did to her. The wealth of what he’d given her, none of it deserved.
What he’d said to Faith meant the world to her, and she was determined to show him.
“That’s it, pet,” he murmured. “That’s jus’ perfect, there.”
Perfect? She hadn’t done anything.
“Take me in,” Spike urged softly, thrusting his hips forward. “As far as you can go. Let me know if it’s too much.” Buffy nodded and he moaned. “An’ your hand…massage my balls with your hand.”
The request sounded illicit and dirty, but she wasn’t about to back away. She’d asked for this, and he was letting her explore. Letting her try this thing that seemed daunting and forbidden and symbolized everything she wasn’t. The girl in her was running scared, but the woman was taking over. The woman who wasn’t a vamp-slaying machine—the woman who was growing into her femininity. Spike had done so much to bring the woman out without even realizing it, and now the woman wanted more. The woman wanted to know what it would take to keep him. Her inexperience notwithstanding, there was nothing she wasn’t willing to try now that she knew that she loved him.
Spike hummed in approval when her fingers began gently kneading his sac. “Ohhh, yeah,” he purred. “That’s it, kitten. Now take more of me into…ahhh, that’s a good girl.”
Buffy flushed and bathed him with her tongue, drawing back just enough that the tip of him was still in her mouth and sucking delicately. “Keep talking,” she whispered, wrapping her left hand around the base of his cock.
“You feel like heaven,” he growled. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve dreamt of this? Of…oh, God, of your lips wrapped around me? Your tongue licking me into bloody oblivion? You feel so wonderful. So…”
She sighed around him, the hand around his cock pumping in time with her mouth, her left hand squeezing his balls every time the tip of him met her lips. His small, encouraging whimpers soon drove her nerves away, and then she settled, relaxed, sucking his skin and squeezing him as tight as she dared. Spike gasped and tossed his head back, and the sight was so gorgeous she couldn’t help but gasp.
“Oh fuck,” he roared, blinking. “You’re perfect.”
He slid from her mouth with a wet plop. “I am not,” she objected, her hand stroking him fervently, her cheeks burning.
“Oh my God.”
“Spike—”
“Kiss the underside. Ohhh, yeah, that’s it. God, your mouth is so bleeding perfect.” She parted her lips to object again and, for the second time that night, found her mouth full with his cock; only when she looked up this time, a knowing leer teased his lips.
“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “I can smell how much you love it. How wet it makes you. You love knowing what you do to me. How hard you make me. How much I want you. How I always want you.”
She moaned around him, and his experimental thrusts grew more pronounced.
“You love this,” Spike repeated. “Nod for me, baby. Let me know you love it.”
She nodded.
“Ohhhh, yeah…again.” He hissed and fisted a handful of her hair, and his body tensed. “Oh my fuck. Buffy. Stop. You gotta stop.”
Her mouth froze around him as her heart stopped. When she glanced up, his crystal eyes were blazing with need.
“Get up,” he said quickly. “Get up. Lift your skirt.”
“Spike—”
An impatient roar tore through his lips, his hands gripping her shoulders and dragging her back to her feet. Then her skirt was bunched around her waist and her panties ripped clean off her body. The silky head of him rubbed against her sopping flesh, his thumb settling over her clit.
“Say it,” he growled against her mouth, his cock teasing her slick pussy lips as he pressed her back against the mausoleum wall. “Say you want me. Say it!”
“I want you,” she sobbed, nodding desperately. “Please, Spike.”
He grinned and kissed her, sinking into her body with a groan of completion. “God, how I’ve missed this,” he moaned, his mouth dropping to her throat as he began moving inside her. “I’ve missed your warmth so much.”
Buffy threw her head back, her arms linking around his neck. “I’ve missed this, too.”
“Your plan’s driving us dodgy, luv.”
She knew it. God, how she knew it. Now with Spike’s cock driving into her pussy rhythmically, his hands mapping the contours of her body as his mouth worshipped her skin…yes, she’d missed this. She’d missed the peaks her body scaled when joined with his. And even more so now—now that she knew she loved him, having him inside her took on more meaning than she could have anticipated. Now that she knew she loved him, everything had changed.
He felt so different, but he was the same. His kisses were the same. The fire in his eyes was the same. The hands that caressed her were the same. The tongue that licked at her skin was the same. She absorbed him, committed him to memory. Engrained him where she could keep him forever, even after he’d left.
After he’d gone back to the place he truly belonged.
Spike slipped a hand beneath the hem of her shirt and stroked her skin, his mouth nibbling a series of wet kisses back to her lips. “You feel so good. God, you feel good.”
“You do, too.”
He smiled and kissed her. “Buffy.”
“Hmmm?”
“Our first second.” He buried his face in her throat, his fingers slipping under the underwire of her bra to caress her naked breast. His right arm hooked around her waist as his thrusts grew harder. “This is our first second.”
Her eyes watered and she trembled hard around him. Spike had done the impossible; he’d given her what no man ever had before. A second. A second time doing anything. They’d had sex several times now, sure, but somehow, Spike always reminded her that he was giving her yet another first in whatever they did. And he relished that. He loved giving her firsts almost as much as she loved experiencing them. She wanted him giving her firsts in everything.
But now he’d given her something no man ever had. And yes, it was something small—second time outside against a wall at night—but the fact that he’d noticed meant the world.
Spike’s hand abandoned her breast and slid between them once more, his mouth dropping to suck at her nipples through the thin material of her blouse. He was rocking her against the wall, rubbing her clit between his thumb and forefinger as his cock worked her pussy. He murmured unintelligible adorations around her breast, stroking her clit until she cried out and spasmed around him, clutching at him helplessly.
“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he murmured.
“Ohhh…”
“I love it. God, I love how you feel when you come around me.” He raised his head slowly, his fingers continuing their cool manipulation of her sensitive pearl as his body pushed forward for his own release. “I love feeling your pussy tighten around me. I love the li’l sound you make. You’re a siren. You’re a bloody siren. An’ you’re all mine.”
She felt slick and sensitive, and every time he slid back into her, every time he caressed her aching clit, her body cried out in strained pleasure. It was too much. It was all too much. She was trembling and he was going to send her over the edge again. Right along with him.
“Yes,” he growled, his thrusts sharpening again. “I wanna feel you come again, baby. You’re gonna come with me.”
Buffy shook her head in desperation, trying futilely to ignore the hot rush that flooded her veins. “I can’t.”
“Never say never.”
He was right, of course. He was always right. It didn’t hurt that his fingers almost grazed the bite mark on her inner thigh. Almost. Not quite. The near-contact of her overly-sensitive flesh with his was all she needed. As he growled and spilled himself inside her, her body exploded into bliss.
There had never been a feeling like this before. Never. Spike purred as she came down, nuzzling her tenderly, murmuring into her throat and hair and stroking her with hands that loved her. At the very least, his hands loved her.
“We forgot the plan again,” Spike breathed against her ear.
Buffy just laughed. Right. The plan. The plan. The one that she’d come up with to guard her heart. The one that had betrayed her. Her heart had surrendered, and she was already sick with the thought of what was to come.
What would happen in the end.
But for now, she had these moments with him. These brief interludes between attempts to get back on the plan. When she could calm his monster by giving over more of herself. When she could hold him and let him give her firsts, and not worry about the plan or consequences of getting off the plan until afterward. When she could pretend that she wasn’t digging her own grave a little deeper. She had this. The break. The intermission. The stolen moments.
At least until the sun came up and she found herself heartsick all over again. She had this until then.
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[nextpage title=”Chapter 34″ ]
Chapter 34
Chapter Notes: As always, thank you to everyone.
By the time they arrived at his crypt, Spike felt like a prize wanker. Not only had he forced his cock down Buffy’s throat, but he’d taken advantage of the situation and persuaded her to open her thighs for him again. Any progress he’d made in the past few days—the warm glow that had been in her eyes the night before when he told her he wasn’t going to make her that girl—was thoroughly eradicated.
He didn’t know what had come over him. One second, his blood had been burning with fury as he’d stepped away from the other slayer’s unconscious body, and the next, any semblance of awareness had been shoved aside. And in the process, he’d managed to force her to her knees. He’d forced her to do something sexual.
The knowledge ripped him apart. And he hadn’t exactly made up with it for what he did afterward. The simple notion that Buffy might want to wrap her mouth around his cock had driven whatever commonsense he possessed to the wayside. He hadn’t been thinking. God, he hadn’t been thinking at all.
He wasn’t thinking clearly now, either. His right hand was curled around Buffy’s upper arm; he’d all but dragged her to the place he’d claimed as his home. If there was any humanity about him, he’d let her go. He’d tell her to run home after falling to his knees and begging her forgiveness. Telling her that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, but that, after what happened their first night together, he’d understand if she wanted to stake him good and proper. It’d certainly put an end to this sodding madness.
Spike released her shortly after crossing the threshold, whirling on his heel to slam the crypt door shut. His body was consumed in harsh, unforgiving pants. There wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t shake.
“Spike?” she asked softly. “I…”
He shuddered and shook his head. “God, Buffy…”
“I don’t—”
“I’m so sorry.”
There was no response. When he turned around, her eyes were swimming in confusion.
“You’re sorry?” she repeated. “What for?”
Spike blinked. Hadn’t she been with him a few minutes ago? Didn’t she know what he’d done? What he’d done to her again? He’d been right when he told her that her plan was driving them both dodgy—he could smell it on her every time she was near. Every time her silky hand folded into his. He knew how much she wanted him, but she’d made it perfectly clear that sex was forbidden. He’d given his word that he’d try to honor her plan, no matter how crazy it made him. And now he’d betrayed her.
Didn’t she know that? It was her bloody plan, after all.
“I didn’t mean…what happened out there, I didn’t mean that.” He sighed and glanced down, casting a hand through his platinum locks. “I saw you, an’ something snapped. I never meant to force you to do anything. Least of all…that.”
Her cheeks had darkened. “I…I thought we already talked about this.”
“Yeah, but then you distracted me with that heavenly mouth of yours.” Spike inhaled sharply and took a step forward. “Kinda lost all rational thought.” A sigh. “Pet, that was, perhaps, one of the greatest gifts you could’ve given me. Well…” He paused, his lips quirking upward in a grin. “It’s at least in the top five. An’ I never wanted…I wanted it to be something that you wanted to give me. Not that I jus’ took from you.”
Her flush deepened and she fidgeted. “No one…erm…no one forced me to—”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, okay. Yes. At first, yes you did. But…” Her fidgeting became more pronounced, and suddenly, her eyes were struggling to maintain contact with his. “I knew it wasn’t you, Spike. Not all of you, anyway. It was just that part. And I’m sorry I wasn’t any good. I’ll…it was my first time, and I—”
He blinked stupidly. “You’re sorry you were what?”
“I…ummm…”
“Are you completely daft?”
She smiled weakly. “Please oh please, let’s not rule that out.”
“Buffy…” An abrupt, aimless laugh escaped his lips, and he shook his head helplessly. “I don’ know how to make this clear to you, so I’ll just try an’…what you did for me, back there. I’ve never felt anything like it. Never. You were…I felt…your touch was so gentle an’…”
It didn’t surprise him when her eyes clouded with more confusion than enlightenment. God, he wasn’t going anywhere with this. Nowhere that she could follow, anyway. He could barely follow himself. What he really wanted to tell her was that the way she’d touched him made him feel treasured—adored—like no other woman ever had. Dru had always approached sucking him off as a task, or a means to getting his head between her legs or wherever else she wanted it. It was never for him—it always served an ulterior motive where she was concerned. It was always a demonstration of the power she had over him. Give his cock some attention, and she could lead him wherever she wished.
After the snarling was over and he had returned to himself, Buffy had touched and tasted him of her own accord. And inexperienced though she might be, what she’d done for him meant the world. Buffy had touched him with adoration and caring. He’d nearly felt…
Loved.
That didn’t make his guilt any less escapable; it simply made her an angel.
“No one’s ever done to me what you do,” he said finally, his eyes floating up to meet hers again. “Never. An’ yeah, it’s been a bumpy ride. An’ yeah, I still don’ know where we’re headed. An’ yeah, I am confused as hell about most of it, but I know I wouldn’t trade it for anything, luv. Not for the whole sodding world. You hear me?”
She just looked at him and swallowed hard. There was a strange emotion floating in her eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something he’d never seen.
Strange.
“I hear you,” she murmured. “And…don’t feel bad…about earlier.”
“Forcing you?”
“I didn’t see it as that.”
Spike fought off a sardonic snicker. That was because she was too good to see him for what he truly was anymore. Her memories of their past were muddied with knowledge of their present. If she thought he was above being a monster, she was in for a rude awakening. He didn’t know when—he just knew himself. His baser instincts couldn’t be denied. The further he went, the more he feared hurting her.
The more he knew it would be impossible to stay away.
“Besides…what you said to Faith…” Buffy sucked in a breath and blinked hard, her eyes shining with tears again. “That meant everything, Spike. You don’t know what…she’s done this before. I’ve never seen her so…up front about it, but this is what she’s done to me. Little by little, she’s come in and messed things up. Before you came back, she was trying to steal Angel. She was stealing my friends, my home, my mom, my fries, my Watcher…and now that she knows…about you and me, she was trying to steal…” She gestured emphatically between them. “Whatever this is, too.”
Spike stepped forward with a small smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Even after the spell’s over?”
He bit back the instinctive response and considered her. Of course, now would be the time to assure her that it would take a successful apocalypse to keep him away from her, and even that wasn’t a sure thing. However, the part of her that was so much the wounded girl—the part of her that was trying to convince her that he wouldn’t break her patched-up heart—would never allow the rest of her to fully believe that he was here for good. He didn’t blame her. She’d gone in with blinders the last time she’d given her heart to someone, and had been ripped to pieces for her troubles. And the fact that she was with another vampire—a preemptively soulless one at that—complicated everything.
She wanted to trust him, but the circumstances that had brought them together were too bizarre to believe blindly. In the meantime, he would do everything he could to convince her that he was completely hers—that, even after the spell was broken, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. And if she couldn’t trust him wholly until that moment, so be it. It wasn’t as though he’d done anything to deserve what she had to give.
Spike sighed and took her hands in his, his thumbs softly caressing the backs. “Why don’t we worry about after the spell…after the spell, yeah?” he asked, his eyes downcast.
That clearly wasn’t the answer she’d expected, but Buffy hid her surprise well. She swallowed hard and nodded. “And until then?”
“Until then.” Spike swallowed hard, raising her hands to his mouth so that he could caress each with a soft kiss. “Until then…”
He trailed off. The words refused to come.
“Until then?” Buffy prompted. “U-until then, what? Spike?”
He honestly couldn’t believe he was about to say this, but it was for the best. The pay-off, as he’d discovered the night before, would be worth whatever he had to sacrifice now. He needed to show her that it wasn’t just about sex for him.
Any hope that it had been all about sex for him had been completely shot the second she came up with the sodding plan in the first place. When the part of him that was wholly male coincided with the poncy, romantic poet who wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her pretty things. Pretty, flowery, things. He’d wanted so much to bury that part of him, and it had only taken her a few days to unearth a century’s efforts to do just that.
The thing was, Buffy didn’t mind that part of him. She didn’t. In fact, she seemed to like it. She seemed to like the part of him that was a wanker of a romantic, just as she liked the demon. The demon, whom she’d attempted to calm with her wicked mouth.
Her acceptance of him made all the difference.
“Until then,” he continued at last. “We stick to the plan.”
Buffy blinked, astonished. She clearly hadn’t been expecting that. “We do?”
“Well…yes.” Spike forced a small smile. “We had one slip-up, luv, an’ the full of it was my fault. Maybe it was bein’ around a chit that wasn’t you. Maybe it was hearing her rip you apart. Or maybe, after so long, I jus’ really needed you.”
Her cheeks reddened again. God, he loved that look on her.
“So…we continue the plan…” she ventured slowly. “A-and if there’s a slip-up every now and then…we just ignore it? And get back with the plan?”
Spike grinned. “Well, I say if there’s a slip-up, we enjoy every sodding second of it.” He couldn’t help it; he couldn’t keep himself from leaning in and nibbling on her succulent lips. Her lips were silken, her kisses sundrops, and he was burning from the inside. His felt his body stirring instinctively, his cock hardening against his zipper. And when she whimpered into him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away.
“How about…” he murmured, breaking his lips from hers to explore her chin. “Whenever we slip up…” He trailed his hands up her arms, caressing the sides of her neck delicately, anchoring her into his kisses. “We allow the slip-up to extend until the next time we wake up?”
Buffy whimpered something unintelligible, hooking her arms under his shoulders and reeling him into her.
Spike grinned, kissing his way back to her mouth. “Can I take that as a yes?”
“Huh?”
“We continue the plan…but if we slip up, we go with it.”
She was quiet for a second—well, not quiet, but certainly without words. It took his teeth tugging playfully at her ear for words to return to her. “Uhhh…n-no. If we do that, you’ll just want to slip up all the time.”
“Well, yes. But fortunately, I know how to distinguish between what I want an’ the other thing.”
“Spike…”
“The damage is done. We might as well give in.”
“You were being so gentlemanly before.”
Spike’s fervor waned a bit at that, his guilt refreshed. Just a few minutes ago, he’d been determined to make her see that his interest in her wasn’t purely physical. Just minutes ago, he’d been contemplating what an arse he was for ruining what he’d given her last night with what he’d done tonight. But God, it was hard to remember what was best for her when she was whimpering against him. When she was thrusting her hips against his. When the rich scent of her arousal was floating around him.
“I’ll do what’s best for you, luv,” he murmured at last. “But I want you. Even if I’m not touching you, even if it’s only your hand that I get to hold, I’ll want you. The plan doesn’t change that. So, yeah. I guess I am jus’ trying to…” Spike’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he forced himself to step away from her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve asked it of—”
Spike would honestly never be able to say that Buffy couldn’t surprise him. The next thing he knew, she’d whimpered a complaint and launched herself into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist and her hands tugging his mouth to hers.
“I never said I don’t mind you not being so gentlemanly,” she said, thrusting herself brazenly against his cock. “A-as long as it’s only…when we slip up.”
“Yes,” he gasped, kissing her desperately as he walked her back to the nearest piece of furniture. “When we slip up.”
They ended up in a rocker he’d lifted from the local furniture chain. Buffy tore at his fly as he lifted her skirt just enough to make her comfortable. Fuck, he loved her skirts. She should never be allowed to wear anything else.
“But only then,” she whispered, rubbing the head of his all-too-eager cock against her clit.
“Only then,” he agreed helplessly. “Now, Buffy. Need to be inside you now.”
She captured his lips in a fiery kiss and sank down, infusing his body in bliss.
It was as though he’d been wandering through the wilderness for a hundred years, searching for something he didn’t know he’d lost. Searching for something down broken paths and empty promises. Searching through darkness until she’d blinded him with light.
In all his life, he’d never felt so found. The knowledge was enough to make stars weep. After wandering so long, he was found.
And with Buffy’s help, he’d never be lost again.
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[nextpage title=”Chapter 35″ ]
Chapter 35
She stifled a tired yawn and shifted in his lap, blissfully blocking out the rather abrasive voice of Logical Buffy, as well as the knowledge of the ticking clock. Soon, the hours of the night were going to be spent, and she’d need to rush home before her mother found her bedroom empty.
For the moment, though, she was happy to ignore everything. She was resting comfortably in his lap, dressed only in her ankle-length skirt and her bra, as her top had been rather literally ripped off just an hour or so ago.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, slap-happy with exhaustion and too many orgasms to count. She would definitely never look at sleeper-recliners the same way again. “You’re comfy.”
Buffy loved the way his chest rumbled beneath her when he chuckled. “Gotta say, luv,” Spike murmured, rubbing her back gently. “I’ve been called many things. Comfy isn’t one of them.”
She grinned and lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes dancing. “So that’s a first, then?” she asked eagerly.
He matched her smile, and warmth filled her wholly. “It is, at that.”
Buffy just giggled drunkenly and fell against his shoulder again, tightening her arms around him. “Yay.”
“Yay?”
“I finally found a first to give you.”
His lips brushed her brow. God, she loved it when he did that. When he kissed her cheek, her forehead, her hands, her chin—anything. Small gestures like that meant the world to her. “I assure you, luv,” he murmured. “You’ve given me many firsts.”
Buffy shook her head with a goofy grin. “You’re just trying to butter me up.”
“Mmmm…yeah, but in my defense…” He leered at her nastily, his left hand sliding under the hem of her skirt. A gasp tore from her throat and she parted her legs for him before she could stop herself. Spike just grinned and cupped her pussy, his thumb finding her clit and massaging her gently. “I love it when you’re buttery.”
“Ohhh…”
“I love the sounds you make. I love the way your eyes flutter shut. The way you pant an’ moan for me.”
Her exhaustion-induced goofiness combined with the incredible sensation of Spike stroking her clit made her especially lightheaded. “Ohhh…” she whimpered, her eyes falling closed as though by his suggestion alone. “That feels…”
“Incredible?” he ventured, suckling at her throat.
“Uh huh. Only I don’t…ohhhh…pant and moan.”
Spike smiled against her throat. “I think you do.”
She began moving her hips against his hand, her head flying back when his fingers slipped past her pussy lips and into her body. “You can think…that…but you’re wrong.”
“I don’t think I am.” Spike kissed her collarbone, pulling his head back so that his eyes could take her in. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”
“Uhhhh…”
“I wish you’d let me taste you here,” he murmured, rubbing her clit and eliciting a sharp gasp. “Your scent drives me outta my bloody head. I wanna bury my face between your legs. I wanna see you up close.”
The thought was nearly too much. In a blink, Buffy was back in the factory, chained to Spike’s bed. His mouth was sucking at her clit, his fingers thrusting into her pussy, small growls ringing through his throat as he swallowed her whole. Aside from the fear, it had been one of the most erotic moments of her life.
But if he went down on her, he’d see the bite mark, and the thought had her thoroughly unnerved. Not for the reasons she’d initially given herself to keep the bite a secret; no longer did she think something terrible would happen if she revealed exactly what had happened that night. At first, it had been about downplaying Spike’s guilt. Despite the tangle of confused feelings that night had given her, it hadn’t taken long to determine that the long-term emotional scars were far heavier on Spike’s side than hers. Letting him know that he’d pierced her flesh with his fangs would only make it worse for him.
After she’d discovered that touching the bite mark was literally orgasmic, it had ceased being something wrong and had become something private. Something that she did nightly to quench her thirst for Spike’s touch. She’d kept it from Giles and Angel to make sure they didn’t try to blame her growing feelings for Spike on his fangs. And now that she and Spike had a new, albeit strange, understanding, she wanted to let him know. She wanted to show him what he’d done, and confide both how wonderful it’d felt, and how much she enjoyed having the mark touched.
But then she’d have to own up to having hid the mark in the first place, and she didn’t know how he’d react to that. And true, she couldn’t keep him from seeing it forever, especially if whatever they had continued once the spell was broken. If it didn’t—if her fears proved accurate and Spike left her—then there was no harm done.
If not, then she’d cross the oh-by-the-way-you-bit-me bridge when she came to it.
Although, the thought of Spike knowing about the mark—as well as knowing what it did to her—sent anticipatory shivers down her spine. She imagined him perched attentively between her legs, his lips and tongue laving the bite as his fingers played with her clit and thrust inside her pussy. The thought alone unmade her completely.
“I want it,” Spike continued heatedly, his thumb stroking her clit quickly now. His eyes soaked her up, and shone with every whimper that crossed her lips. “I wanna suck on your pretty little pearl till your eyes cross. I wanna slip my tongue inside that juicy quim of yours and taste you as you spend. Fuck, Buffy, I want it so bad.”
He pinched her clit, and she came hard on his fingers, his name wringing from her lips as her body spasmed around him. She buried her face in his throat and licked at his skin, shivering when he inhaled sharply. She felt his cock nudging her through his jeans. He’d been so good about zipping himself up earlier to avoid further temptation, though they’d both done their best not to fall asleep so that the clause to the plan was still in effect.
It took a few minutes for the haze surrounding her head to dissipate.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” Spike murmured, fingering a bra strap as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.
Warmth rushed to her cheeks. “I…ummm…I don’t know what to say when you tell me things like that. You…it…”
“Butters you up?” He suggested with a grin. “Imagine what’ll happen when I have a chance to eat your pussy without bein’ pissed out of my mind.”
“Spike—”
“I know I hurt you the firs’ time, Buffy, but…” He released a long sigh. “What you did for me earlier…that was bloody…I jus’ want you to experience it. An’ since you’re shagging only me for the rest of your life or else joining a convent—which would be a bloody waste, so don’t do it—I’m the only one who can give it to you.”
Buffy inhaled sharply. “Spike…I…” Am too terrified of what you’ll say when you see what else you did that night. “I just…I need time.”
He was quiet for a long minute, then flashed a small grin. “Yeah. Of course,” he agreed, nodding tersely. “’Sides, we’re still under the plan.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes. The plan.”
“With an amendment.”
“Yes.” Buffy licked her lips. “Which…okay. The amendment. If we…fall off the wagon, so to speak, we let ourselves enjoy it until the next day?”
“Yes.”
Isn’t that just incentive to break the plan as much as possible?
She didn’t say that, but it must have been all over her face, because Spike’s chest rumbled with a long chuckle. “I was wondering when you’d come back to that,” he mused. “An’ yeah, while knowing I can have a night shagging you brainless anytime I like by falling off the wagon is too bloody tempting for words, I’m only proposing that we make what we’ve done every time we’ve detoured from the plan, a part of the plan.”
“Okay…”
“Meaning, luv, that if we go a couple days without seeing each other, or my demon decides to…get rough…” The light in his eyes dimmed, and she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly to let him know, yet again, that she was all right. “If something happens like it has happened, we jus’ go with it. Like we did that night at the Bronze—”
“There was just fondling after that.”
“Well, if we’d had an amendment to the plan, there would’ve been a whole lot more.”
Buffy flushed. “Well…”
“An’ isn’t inappropriate fondling also against the rules?”
“You’re forgetting appropriate fondling.”
Spike grinned. “Balls. How could I forget?”
“I don’t know, but you did.”
“’m just saying, if we end up in a situation like tonight or that night at the Bronze, the rules are already broken, so we might as well toss ‘em completely. That way, we get it completely out of our systems an’ can climb back on…” He frowned. “You know this wagon metaphor is bloody confusing since we’re talking about sex.”
Her blush deepened. “It’s a good idea,” she admitted. “Your…amended plan, that is. It’s a good idea.”
“It’s a plan based on indulgences, luv,” Spike said. “There’s no benefit from it.”
“There’s nothing lost, either.”
He quirked a brow and tilted his head, studying her intently. “You sure?” he asked. “I don’t…I’m not gonna lie to you, baby, I’m looking out for what I want on top of what I know you want. What’s good for you, based on what you’ve told me. If you don’t wanna go along with this, I won’t hold it against you. Fuck, I’m surprised you haven’t given me a much-deserved slap.”
“I wouldn’t slap you.”
“I’d deserve it.”
“Deserving or not, I wouldn’t slap you.” She grinned. “I’d punch you. Slaps are for wimps, not slayers.”
Spike waggled his brows. “So why din’t you punch me?”
“Well, because I don’t particularly think it was deserving of a punch. And…” Buffy sighed and trailed off, and it only took Spike a minute to close his eyes and mutter a curse. “It’d actually be better for me to try and…slap right now.”
“God, pet, I’m such a berk.” He paused then, his eyes going wide. “Oh, fuck, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“Spike…”
“I’m serious. Tell me I din’t hurt you. God, I was so rough with you outside. An’ then in here…” He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered. “I can’t…please tell me I—”
“Spike, if you’d hurt me, I would have said something. Pain and Buffy? Not so mixy…especially when Buffy has no super strength to rely on.”
He willed his eyes closed and exhaled slowly. “You should have reminded me.”
“There wasn’t a need, silly.”
“Bugger that! I could’ve—”
“But you didn’t. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna break if you knock me over. I might be at normal human strength, but considering how hard I work out, my normal human strength isn’t something to scoff at.” She shivered. “Giles doesn’t seem too worried about it.”
Spike stiffened. “He isn’t?”
“He thinks it’s just a cold or something. And he told me that Faith would take my patrols until it was over.”
“Faith can stuff it.”
Buffy rolled her eyes dryly. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“I swear, Slayer, if I see her again, I’m gonna bloody rip her apart.”
“I really don’t mind, either.”
“So you’re giving me permission to do in my third slayer?”
She blinked and reeled back, affronted. “There will be no doing of any kind!”
Spike made a face and shivered. “God, Buffy, don’t make me sick.”
“It’s only fair. I’ve been sick over this thing with you. Quite literally.”
“That’s because you snogged Angel. That was all your bloody fault. You’re the only woman I’ve touched since I came back to town, an’—”
Her eyes darkened. “And it’ll stay that way.”
Spike grinned. “Of the two of us, who’s snogged someone else?”
“Hey! You were mean to me that night. I was—”
He batted a dismissive hand. “Excuses.”
“I think my absolutely spectacular hurling on Angel more than made up for the part where I accidentally kissed him.”
He arched a brow. “Accidentally?”
“Well, obviously I wasn’t thinking with a right mind.”
“You’d have to be in a wrong state to snog Angel in the firs’ place.”
Buffy sniggered appreciatively. “Where were you all last year?”
“Thinking that, but obviously not in a right mind to do anything about it.”
“So basically, there’s been a lot of wrong-mindedness going around.”
Spike shrugged. “Yeah, that seems fair.” He was quiet for a second. “About the other slayer, though…I’m bloody serious. If she touches me again—if she sodding approaches me again, I don’ know what I’m gonna do, but it won’t be pretty.”
“You really didn’t like her, did you?”
He shook his head. “I really din’t like her.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” Buffy shuddered. “Faith…she’s tried to take so much from me. And…when I saw she was with you…before I heard what you were saying…well, let’s just say, I had the very strong urge to do some limb-ripping myself.”
Spike was quivering beneath her fingers, and though she hated to see him so discomfited, she loved knowing that it was an aversion to Faith that brought it on. “She disgusts me,” he said. “She’s a…she jus’…I swear it, Slayer, if she tries to—”
Her mouth dropped to his shoulder. “If she tries,” she murmured, kissing his skin. He shivered violently, and when she looked up again, his eyes were bright with awe. “Get in line. But until my slayer strength is back, Giles wants—”
“Your Watcher should be less concerned with your patrols an’ more concerned with the fact that your strength is gone.” Spike shook his head in disbelief. “You told him?”
“Well, I tried using telepathy, but we haven’t hit that chapter yet in the Slayer Handbook.”
Her sarcasm was lost on him. “You told him an’ he din’t care?”
“He cared, he just didn’t seem to think it was a thing.”
“An’ if I hadn’t been there last night to stop that wanker from offing you?” Spike demanded, his eyes blazing. “What if you’d been hurt or…what would the professor have said then?” He broke off, seething. “Did you show him? Did you make it clear—”
“I threw a stake at Angel.”
Spike paused. “You what?”
“Angel and Giles have become best buddies, it seems. Angel’s always there when I go to see Giles.” She held up a hand before he could object. “I don’t know why. I don’t think Giles even knows why. He just is. But today, I threw a stake at him to demonstrate how my aim is totally off.”
The astonishment on Spike’s face melted into mirth, and in a blink, he was laughing hysterically. “You…at Angel?”
Buffy squirmed, feeling oddly proud of herself. “Yup.”
“I can only imagine the look on the git’s face.”
“He whined.”
“Imagine that.”
“And Giles told me to take forty-eight hours to get better.” She sighed. “So…if, after tomorrow, I’m still feeling like a weakling, then I’ll panic. But I’m determined to have a good birthday this year. I want very much to not have little kids suck me into their nightmares or my boyfriend lose his soul.” She froze and shot him a panicked look. “You’re not gonna go on a killing spree the likes of which can only be stopped by a sword through the heart and a one-way ticket to Hell, are you?”
Spike just blinked and looked at her. “Slayer…am I to understand that you’re calling me your boyfriend?”
“Just please…if you’re gonna go psycho serial killer on me, don’t do it tomorrow.”
“I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you, love.” He shrugged. “Got no soul to lose.”
“It’s sad the way that reassures me.”
Spike chuckled. “So tomorrow’s your birthday…anything special you want?”
“I’d like my strength back.”
“I’ll move the heavens to make it so.”
When he said things like that, what else was there to do but melt?
Spike brushed his lips across her brow. “Anything sparkly?”
“You’re gonna do some last-minute shopping while I’m at school tomorrow?”
He shrugged. “A bloke’s gotta occupy his time somehow. An’ I gotta think of another first to give you the next time we fall off the wagon.”
“Because of our amendment.”
“That’s right.”
Buffy giggled. “If I didn’t think it’d turn Willow an interesting shade of red, I might talk her into typing up a contract so that the rules are official.”
“I thought the rules were official.”
“A contract never hurt anyone.” She sighed and pressed her brow to his shoulder. “I should really get up and go home.”
“Only if, by that, you mean dress in something of mine an’ come with me downstairs.”
“Spike, it’s getting to that special time of night where I’m so sleepy that I’m becoming awake.”
“I know, pet.”
“I can’t fall asleep here. Mom’ll wig out.”
Spike shrugged, tightening his arms around her when she tried to wiggle off his lap. “You’re the Slayer. You have slayer-like things to do. Jus’ tell her that you were dealing with a dangerous vampire all night.”
“She knows I’m weakened. You really think that’ll make her feel better?”
“Well, seeing as you’ll be right in front of her with no scrapes or bruises when you explain where you were—”
“Spike—”
His grip was unrelenting. The more she tried to climb to her feet, the tighter his embrace became. “I’m holding you hostage,” Spike declared. “You’re my hostage.”
“Spike, really—”
“You’re free to try an’ beat me off if you like.” He paused, then grinned nastily. “Actually, I could really get into that.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“Buffy—”
“I have to go to school tomorrow, and I can’t wear this. I can’t wear the same thing two days in a row.”
“So you can wear something of mine.”
She perked a brow. “To school?”
“It’d be a great birthday present.”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Ahh, that’s right.” Spike smiled into her eyes. “Jus’…stay with me this once? I won’ break the rules, I bloody swear. I won’t touch. I won’t fondle. I jus’ wanna hold you tonight. You can make up whatever nasty story about me that you want to your mum. Let me sleep beside you.” He plucked the strap of her bra and dipped his head to nibble at her shoulder. “’Sides, I broke your shirt.”
“You tore it.”
“Yes. An’ you can only have one of my shirts if you’re wearing it with my jeans to school tomorrow. Else you’ll jus’ have to walk home in your knickers.”
“Yeah, but you broke those too. And like you’d allow that anyway.”
“Never say never, pet.” He waved a little. “Evil, remember?”
“Oh, there’s no need to remind me.”
“Stay with me tonight. It’s so late it’s early. Stay with me, an’ sleep through your first class.” He kissed the pulse point of her throat. “I’ll write you a note an’ everything.”
She giggled. “A note?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re adorable.”
“An’ comfy.”
“Totally comfy.” She leaned in and stole a kiss from his totally sinful lips, and felt the last strings of her resistance melting away. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll stay. Okay, I’ll worry my mother to death. Okay, I’ll wear your clothes to school tomorrow. Okay, I’ll sleep beside you. Okay to all the above.” She kissed him again. “You know why?”
“’Cause I’m adorable an’ comfy?”
“That helps.”
“An’ totally irresistible?”
“There’s that. But really?” Buffy grinned. “It’s a great birthday present.”
“I’ll say.”
“And you have a bed?”
Spike nodded, leaping to his feet before she could blink. She would have tumbled to the ground had his arms not been around her. As it was, she just squealed and clung to him, and enjoyed the rumble of his amused chuckle. “It’s downstairs,” he said.
Buffy blinked in surprise. “You have a downstairs?” she asked in the same tone.
“I’m a man of many surprises.”
That he was. He totally was. The entire night had been a surprise—an emotional rollercoaster, if she’d ever known one. And while spending the night with him might be yet another in a series of recent colossal mistakes, there was no contesting that it felt right. It felt deserved.
Tomorrow was her birthday, and, if only once, she wanted to wake up in the arms of the man she loved.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 36″ ]
Chapter 36
She awoke to the foreign sensation of a strong arm curled around her middle and a cool, comforting chest pressed against her back. He was rumbling gently, and while she had nothing but wishful thinking to rely on, her insides warmed at the notion that she made him happy enough to purr.
Buffy hadn’t thought it possible to sleep easily in jeans, but she hadn’t wanted to leave herself bare from the waist down. Not only did it leave her open to temptation—especially with the justification that it was her birthday and she should treat herself—but she didn’t want Spike discovering the bite mark accidentally. So she’d dressed in his proffered clothing, and despite the confines of denim, she’d been asleep within seconds.
Spike was small and wiry, but that didn’t stop his clothes from hanging off her. And though she knew it did nothing for her figure, she couldn’t help but swell in adoration, especially under the look he’d given her when she’d modeled his clothing for him.
It made her seriously doubt the power of halter tops and gaucho pants if a baggy tee and loose-fitting jeans could make him pant as hard as he had.
Buffy didn’t want to consider how late she’d slept. With as well-rested as she was, it had to be almost noon. So now, not only had she likely worried her mother into an early grave, but she would need a seriously good excuse or an extremely convincing note from Dr. Spike to keep Snyder off her back.
Then again, it was her birthday.
She knew the second he awoke. The arm around her tightened, and he began stroking her stomach lazily, but with such affection that she rapidly descended into a puddle of Buffy-goo.
“Morning, pet,” he purred.
“Is it morning?”
“Almost ten.”
Buffy blinked. Was it possible she’d slept so little? As exhausted as she’d been when her head finally hit the pillow last night, she’d thought she’d sleep the day away, especially without the additive of an alarm clock.
“You do mean…ten in the A.M, right?”
“’Course.”
She sighed. “I’m gonna have to get up and get ready, then. School. Homework. Teachers. The like.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Surprisingly well-rested and really, really comfy.”
“Your strength?”
Buffy flexed and sighed. “Still on vacation. I’ll talk with Giles today. He’ll just tell me to wait until tomorrow, but I’ll talk with him today.” She paused, her lower lip jutting out. “I don’t wanna go to school.”
“Then don’t. Stay here.” Spike’s hand became more boisterous, slipping under the hem of the tee to stroke her bare skin. His mouth quickly fell to her throat, peppering her with soft, sweet kisses. “Stay with me.”
She whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re breaking the rules.”
“Sod the rules.”
“Spike…”
In a blink, his hand and mouth abandoned her, and she was instantly bereft. “Yeah,” he said raggedly. “Yeah. Sorry, pet. You just look so good.”
“I just woke up.”
“Yeah, an’ I happen to like that look on you.” She heard him shift as he sat up, and quickly rolled onto her back so that her eyes could enjoy the tussled look of his blond curls and the starry just-woke-up look that crossed his face. Spike had bed-head.
The thought made her giggle.
He arched a brow, which only increased her mirth. Bed-head Spike and arched-brow Spike combined were a lethal force.
“What?” he demanded, his tone amused.
“You look all cute.”
“I am not cute.”
Buffy scoffed teasingly. “Oh, so it’s okay to be comfy and adorable, but cute is pushing the line?”
Spike offered a lazy shrug and grinned. “What can I say, luv? I’m a puzzle.” He stood up and turned to his bureau, giving her a fairly remarkable view of his scrumptious ass. Damn, he wore his jeans well. It was almost enough to encourage her to return the ones on her person—that way he’d always have a pair handy. “Wanna grab brekky?”
She paused thoughtfully. “I’m going to interpret that as breakfast,” she replied, grinning. “Spike, I really gotta get to school.”
“It’s your birthday. I say you really gotta get yourself fed.”
“You can’t go out anyway. Sun’s up.”
“I have my ways.” He gestured to what looked like a walk-in closet. “Tunnels, see? We can go anywhere you want.”
“I really need to get to school.”
“Yeah, but you also need to eat. People die of starvation. They don’ die of not goin’ to school.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to die of starvation between now and lunch.”
Spike shrugged carelessly. “It’s the Hellmouth, luv, as well as your birthday. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Buffy began combing through her hair with her fingers, frowning. “I really should’ve thought this through,” she murmured. “I have no mirror. No toothpaste. No shower. No—”
Spike shrugged, unbothered, and pointed to his undoubtedly stolen dresser. “Top drawer,” he said.
She froze and tossed him a wary look. “Don’t tell me…”
“Some of it I knicked from your house. Some if it I knicked from the shops.” He shrugged again when her gaze became scrutinizing, and turned his eyes to the ground almost sheepishly. “What?”
“You have a drawer for me?”
“Well, with stuff you din’t know was missing. An’ some stuff I picked out, myself.”
“You have a drawer for me?”
“I wanted you to have some stuff here…jus’ in case.” Spike sighed when her stare refused to relent, his shoulders sagging. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? I know that stealing breaks the eighth commandment, but for Chrissake, I’m evil an’ stealing’s evil, ergo I steal. You’ve turned me on my sodding head enough as it is, luv. I oughta be out there munching on the populace, an’ instead I just knick li’l things that no sodding clerk’s gonna notice to begin with. I don’—”
Buffy stilled, awe filling her wholly. And a proverbial breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding for the past few weeks was finally given reprieve. In all honesty, she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the murderous part of Spike’s existence for fear of talking herself out of the plan, or her attraction, or the part of her that liked him to the point of having fallen in love with him. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it—not smart, considering she was a slayer—but she’d needed time to work out her feelings. And when she finally had, the idea of Spike killing civilians on her watch had been so far off her radar, she hadn’t even considered it.
Especially since he’d become more a fixture in her life since they agreed to the plan. Since the night he climbed into her room after she’d ralphed all over Angel. Until that moment, they’d attempted to keep their distance from each other. And overall, their connection had grown since the plan, despite their moments of weakness. She’d realized she was in love with him since the plan. And, since the plan, he’d been her routine patrol buddy. He’d been with her almost every night, and it hadn’t occurred to her that he might still be feeding.
“You’re not…” She sighed a little and smiled. “You’re not…eating people?”
“Well…I…” Spike averted his gaze quickly, and immediately, the high she’d felt plummeted with a chill.
No.
“I’m not killing anyone,” he amended. “I haven’t, I mean. I haven’t killed anyone. But Slayer, a man’s gotta eat. I have been feeding, but I haven’t killed anyone. An’ I haven’t taken so much that it hurts them, either. I’ve jus’ made blood donors out of a few blokes. I know—”
“Men?” Buffy blurted, her nerves singing. She knew she was being illogical, but that was the first thing she grabbed onto. “You haven’t been drinking from women?”
“Bloody fuck, no.”
“Oh.”
“But I have been feeding…I have to, Buffy. It’s what I am. If I don’t feed, I die. An’ don’ gimme any rot about pig’s blood.” Spike shuddered. “I bleeding hate pig’s blood. The difference between pig’s blood an’ human blood is the difference between eating a Denny’s dinner off a dirty bathroom floor an’ dining with the Queen. I can control myself. An’ since I’m not killing anyone—”
“It’s—”
“If you say it’s wrong, I’m gonna rip your bloody throat out.”
Buffy quirked a brow. “No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not. But I’d seriously consider it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
Spike held up a hand. “Stop that! The thing is, I’m not human. I’m not. An’ I shouldn’t have to live up to what is an’ isn’t right by human standards. What’s right for vampires is to stay alive by drinking blood. We’re not held to a moral compass. An’ I feed off humans because Iam a vampire, dammit, an’ you can’t leash me. It’s my choice. Not yours. An’—”
“Spike—”
“If you think I’m gonna stop—”
“Spike—”
“You’re off your nutter. An’—”
“Spike!” That seemed to get his attention. He halted in mid-sentence and tossed her an inquisitive glance. “Spike, are you under the impression that I’m angry with you for not killing people?”
He blinked stupidly. “Well…yes.”
“Then, and I say this with utmost warmth and affection, you’re a moron.” Buffy shook her head. “I never asked you to stop killing. In fact, I never asked you to stop anything that makes you a vampire. I’ve never mentioned it, and I never intended to. Do you have any idea how much it means to me that you…all on your own, you made the decision…” She released a shaky sigh and glanced up. “Did you do it for me?”
“Buffy—”
“Did you do it for me, Spike?”
He exhaled slowly and nodded. “I did. Of course I did, Buffy. What do you think? I din’t wanna give you a reason to have to kill me. I know…I’m not trying to compare whatever we have to your great sodding love affair with the enormous poofter, but I din’t want you to be in a position where you had to off another bloke who’s…shared your bed. That an’…it wasn’t a huge sacrifice. I don’t need to kill people to be happy. Gimme blood, gimme violence, gimme a few good shags, gimme a telly, an’ toss in a remote. There are plenty of nasty buggers around here if I wanna good brawl. An’ then there’s you.” Spike smiled shyly. “You’re…you’re worth it.”
Oh yeah. She was totally in love with him.
She was totally screwed.
“And I have a drawer?”
“Full of some things that were yours before, an’ some other things that we’ll call pre-birthday gifts.” Spike smiled and stepped forward, reaching out to rub her shoulders. “An’ while we’re on that…” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her brow. “Happy birthday, pet.”
Totally screwed.
“You gonna sing for me?” she asked teasingly, running a hand across his bare chest, over his unbeating heart. The way he inhaled sharply gave her a quick rush of feminine empowerment, and she warmed all over.
“Maybe later,” he replied. “Get me good an’ sloshed, an’ I’ll even go a few rounds. For now…” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her over to the bureau. “Look through your things. Get yourself all dolled up for school. I’ll go grab you some breakfast.”
Buffy bit her lip. “Spike, you don’t have to—”
He grinned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her spontaneously. “Got me some pop-tarts upstairs.”
Of all the lines to make me swoon, that has to be the most random.
And yet, combined with his thoughtfulness and his kiss and the boyish look on his face, there was massive swooning.
“Oh.”
Spike moved away before she could tackle him with her lips, which was likely for the best.
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “Sorry about that.”
“Huh?”
“Snogging you. Not a part of the plan.”
“It’s my birthday,” she protested lamely.
Spike grinned and neared her again. “Well,” he said, cupping her face again, “in that case…”
God, she loved the taste of his kiss.
“You have pop-tarts?” Buffy gasped breathlessly once their lips parted.
“An’ a toaster.”
“You’re prepared.”
“I think I ate a boy scout once. Maybe something stuck.” He grinned and pivoted, fishing out a tee from his bureau and sliding it over his head, hiding all that scrumptious flesh from her. Meanie. “Get yourself ready, pet. I’ll make you something quick.”
“And write me a note?”
“It’s your birthday. I’ll do whatever you like.”
Buffy turned and grinned, shaking her head as Spike bolted upstairs. He was so…perfect. This morning was so perfect. Like she was waking up with her boyfriend and getting ready. Like she was one half of a whole. Like she was in a true, functioning relationship.
The sentiment didn’t last, of course. Reality was too overbearing. Last night had been a glitch. A huge, massive glitch. This morning was different because she’d awakened with him. Because it was her birthday. Soon, they’d be back on track. The plan would be back on track.
Perhaps, if they abided the plan…Spike would eventually fall in love with her, too. And perhaps things would stay that way even after the spell was over.
It was a gamble that was almost worth the heartbreak.
Almost.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 37″ ]
Chapter 37
Chapter Notes: And a return to plot. Thanks to my betas for reminding me that I have a story to tell…and not just Spuffy-happy snippets. Heehee.
And I’ve won things at LSA! Squee!! Runners up for Best Claiming, Best Episode Rewrite, and a Judge’s Choice Award. ***bouncing*** Thank you all so, so much!!!
“Have I mentioned the many ways in which you owe me big time?” Willow asked as Buffy, shame-faced, slid into the seat next to her in the Sunnydale High cafeteria. “Because you owe me so much that…are you wearing Spike’s clothing?”
“‘Hello, Buffy,” Buffy mimed, opening up the lunch she’d brought with her. Right before she’d finally left Spike’s crypt, he’d slipped a twenty into her jean pocket and told her to pick up something on her way to school. It was amazing how she could feel like a little kid and an adult simultaneously. “‘How was your night? Are you feeling better? And happy birthday.’”
“Hello, Buffy,” Willow echoed, rolling her eyes. “How was your night? Are you feeling better? Happy birthday. And do you have any idea how very much you owe me big time?”
“No.”
“Your mother called me in a panic last night.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide, mirth vanishing instantly. “Oh God. Will, tell me you—”
“Lied my butt off? ‘Oh, Mrs. Summers. Buffy went patrolling with Faith. She’s coming here after to work on a science project.’” Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Are those Spike’s clothes?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
“So you two didn’t meet up last night and have a bunch of raunchy, naked sex?”
“Okay, so it’s exactly what you think.”
Willow crossed her arms, her stern expression finally melting into amusement. “Okay! Talk, missy! What happened to the plan?”
“The plan is still very much in effect.” Buffy nodded emphatically. “And when did you start saying things like ‘raunchy naked sex’?” A beat. “Oh my God! Have you and Oz—”
The redhead’s eyes widened comically. “No!” she all but screeched, shaking her head. “No. No. No, we really haven’t. I-I just like to see you…turn into Blushy Buffy, because that doesn’t happen very often a-and you know it.” She frowned. “Besides! We’re talking about you and your…stuff. Not me and the non-stuff that happens—or doesn’t happen—to me. So…stop trying to distract me!”
“Oh, but it’s so easy.”
Willow pouted. “You’re no fun. And you’re still totally in Spike’s clothes. So tell me why exactly I covered for you while you were having unscheduled raunchy naked sex that was, by the way, totally against the rules.”
“Hey! I made those rules!”
The redhead crossed her arms and perked her brows in jest. “So that means you can break them whenever you like?”
“Well…” Buffy frowned. “Yes.”
“In what crazy world does that work?”
“The world we live in. And besides, we totally didn’t break the rules.” She paused and caved under Willow’s incredulous stare. “Only, yes, we did break the rules, but now there’s an amendment.”
“An amendment?”
“To the rules,” Buffy concluded with a nod.
“An amendment that allows for raunchy naked sex?”
“N-not all the time, no. Just…ummm…just when we…fall off the wagon.”
Her friend’s brow furrowed and she squinted as though her brain hurt. “Fall off the wagon?” she repeated. “You’re now an addict?”
“Well, we obviously have some wiggy problem going on.”
Willow sighed and shook her head. “You’re crazier than any seven people I know.”
“You know seven people?”
“If you include my parents.” She glanced down pointedly at Buffy’s attire and arched a brow. “Why are you wearing Spike’s clothing?”
“How do you know it’s Spike’s clothing?” Buffy retorted, crossing her arms.
“It’s jeans and a black tee.”
“And I suppose Spike is the only one allowed to have jeans and a black tee?”
“No, but from the way you’re swimming in it…” Willow shook her head and waved a hand. “Stop with the avoidy. You already admitted that you’re wearing Spike’s clothing. And since we’ve already verified that you had raunchy naked sex, there’s nothing else that can surprise me.”
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and exhaled slowly. “Faith came onto Spike last night.”
The shock on her friend’s face was almost funny. “She what?!”
“She came onto Spike. And stuff happened from there. I don’t really wanna get into it, but Spike ended up knocking her unconscious. And I think it was because of that that he…lost it a bit.” She smiled weakly. “Anyway, we went back to his place and amended the plan. He didn’t want me to leave, so I stayed.”
“Worrying your mom to death.”
“Yes, well, Spike wanted me to stay.” Buffy swallowed hard. “And…I love him, so I stayed.”
“And wore his clothes to school today.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Willow licked her lips. “Did you…did you tell Spike?”
“Tell him what?”
“That you love him?”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “What? No! No. God, you think I’d bring that on myself now? It’s my birthday. I’m already weakened and worried about what’s gonna happen when this spell is over. Plus, my not-quite-boyfriend is being approached by Faith, who’s had every man on the planet in her pants at one point…yeah, throwing in that I love him? I don’t wanna jinx myself.”
“What are you gonna do about the slayer strength thing?” Willow asked.
She sighed again and glanced down. “Talk to Giles, I guess. I mean, what else is there to do? I’ll talk to him, and then I gotta get home. I’m gonna want a nap before you and Xander come over.”
“You know, if we want to disinvite Xander, you could always have Spike come over instead.” Willow smiled prettily. “I really wouldn’t mind that.”
“Will, you should really see Giles about getting the delusting spell…fixed.”
The redhead blinked and straightened. “Fixed? Fixed implies there’s something wrong with what I did. There’s nothing wrong. There’s—”
“He’s sitting across the room with Cordelia.”
“I wonder if he’ll mind if I hit him over the head several times with this big lunch tray.”
“I think he’ll mind, yeah.”
“Okay, but at this point, I gotta tell you that the world in which I care is running right smack into the world in which I don’t.”
Buffy offered an amused smirk and rose to her feet. “I’m gonna go see Giles.”
“You didn’t eat anything!”
“Yes. I’m going to go see Giles, and then go home.” She shrugged at Willow’s questioning glance and stifled a yawn. “I woke up all rested, but I gotta tell you, I’m all kinds of tired right now.”
“So you’re gonna skip the rest of the day, since you skipped the first part?”
Buffy nodded. “That’s right.”
“Okay. I’m still seeing you tonight, though, right?”
“Oh, definitely. And we’ll do the party thing.”
Willow grinned. “I still say you disinvite Xander.”
“I’ll think about it.” Buffy reached into her bag and withdrew a fry, popping it into her mouth. “Okay. I’m off.”
“Buffy?” When she turned, Willow was smiling softly. “Happy birthday.”
She warmed. “Thanks,” she replied.
It was. It was, perhaps, the first happy birthday she’d had since she’d arrived in Sunnydale. At least, it was looking better thus far than her others.
Perhaps Spike was going to help her start a new tradition.
It was a nice thought, if nothing else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Any hopes of a calm day died the second she stepped into the library.
“Oh, look,” Faith remarked snidely, planting her hands on her hips and arching her brows. “She shows.”
Her veins flushed cold, and she was consumed with the fiercest wave of loathing she’d ever known. Faith was in the room. Faith was standing in the middle of the library, between Giles and Angel, looking particularly smug. Looking particularly satisfied with herself, which she supposed was a feat, since parts of Faith’s face were black and blue.
It was just a second, but Buffy had to flex her hands and tighten her jaw, and remind herself that Spike hated the girl almost as much as she did. That Spike had beat the girl unconscious for trying to touch him. And while Buffy knew that violence against slayers was something she should discourage, the thought was enough to ease her rage.
“Buffy,” Giles said, his eyes trained on the floor.
Oh God. His glasses were already being polished. This was so not a good.
“Are you…” Angel sniffed, his eyes blazing. “Are you wearing Spike’s clothes?”
Buffy flushed and crossed her arms, fidgeting. She hadn’t minded the strange stares she’d received since she arrived—not even those from Xander, that were less curious and more pointed. But now, with Angel glaring at her, with Giles’s look of disappointment and the pleased, smug grin on Faith’s face, she might as well have been naked.
“Yeah,” Faith drawled. “That’s what blondie was wearing last night. Right before he punched me in the face and then made with the incredibly loud fucking against a crypt wall with Slutty Summers here. Gotta say, B. He wears it a lot better than you do.”
Her face was on fire, but she refused to show any shame. She wasn’t ashamed. Not in the slightest, and if they wanted her to act it, they had another thing coming. “Well, I think he’d disagree.” If his wandering hands that morning were any indicator, anyway. “I take it you guys aren’t throwing me a surprise party. Just as well.” Her eyes landed on Angel. “We all know how well that turned out the last time.”
“Ouch, B. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in need of a good lay.” Faith smirked. “But no, that’s not it…”
She flinched, but she wasn’t surprised. Somehow, even in the fog that had surrounded her head last night, she’d had enough foresight to predict that something like this might happen; she’d just left it to wishful thinking that it wouldn’t. So much for that. “I can’t help it if you’re jealous,” she retorted.
“Of the big blond stud?” Faith shrugged indifferently, though there was a flare in her eyes that one would only catch if they knew her really well. “Well, I suppose big is relative. He didn’t seem too impressive when I was chatting him up.”
Buffy shrugged. “Sorry, Faith, you just don’t do it for him.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So, is that what this is? You guys are all here, taking advice from some chick who can’t keep her legs together long enough to go on a decent patrol—”
Faith just shook her head, shaking in mirth, her black eyes shining. “Ouch! Kitty’s got claws.”
“—to accost me about my private life?”
“Your private life that now consists of boinking Spike?” Angel demanded. “God, Buffy, what has he done to you?”
Buffy just glared at him. “I’d tell you, but I neglect to recall the part where any of this is your business.”
Giles sighed. “Buffy…”
“No. I’ll talk to you, maybe, but not with these two around.” She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “And even then, don’t press your luck.”
Her Watcher cleared his throat and placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. “As it is, we don’t have time to discuss your rather horrendous choices right now.”
“Can I get a ‘Happy Birthday, Buffy’?”
“We have training with the vibratory stones—”
She sighed. “Again?”
“And then Angel is going to accompany you on patrol.”
Buffy froze and tossed her all-too-smug-looking ex-boyfriend a nasty glare. “No,” she said. “No. I’m not going anywhere with him.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Giles, it’s my birthday. And I thought you said that I didn’t have to patrol tonight.”
“Well, since you’re so keen on patrolling on the nights that I give you off anyway, I didn’t think you’d mind my penciling you in tonight.” Giles glanced down. “However, since your strength is still amiss, I think it better if Angel accompanies you.”
“Guess that’ll free blondie up,” Faith mused, stretching. “Wonder if I can find something to…occupy his time.”
Fury washed through her, but Buffy refused to flinch. Spike’s more-than-vocal disgust with the raven-haired slayer was more than enough reassurance that she had nothing to worry about. “If you’re looking to get your ass kicked, go ahead.”
“Oh, sounds kinky.”
“No, it’s a lot more like getting your ass kicked.” Buffy smirked nastily. “Gotta say, F. You sure know how to turn a man flaccid.”
Angel sighed. “Buffy—”
She whirled on her heels. “Oh. So it’s okay for her to be disgusting, but when I give her a dose of the truth, I get the disappointed sigh? You guys are such hypocrites.”
“We don’t have time for this argument,” Giles said stoically. “Sit down. We’re going to train with the stones.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I can barely contain my enthusiasm.”
“And then you will patrol with Angel.”
“And there we do not agree.”
Giles held up a hand. “Look, Buffy. This isn’t up for discussion. You’re my slayer. You’re my responsibility. And while you’re weakened, you will be patrolling with Angel. Is that understood?”
She really had the most unnerving urge to rip his head off. “Not in the slightest.”
“Excellent. I don’t care. Sit down.”
Buffy sucked in a deep breath and glared at him, but sat down nonetheless.
Maybe this wasn’t the year to start a new birthday tradition, after all.
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[nextpage title=”Chapter 38″ ]
Chapter 38
He remembered some nights when he and Buffy had been too involved in each other to even notice that the outside world existed. When his arms had been perpetually locked around her small body and her lips had been glued to his; when it would have taken an apocalypse or worse to drive them apart.
The worst had happened. Buffy was moving so fast, he could barely catch her eyes. There would be no spontaneous leaping into his arms. No wresting kisses from his lips. No hungry moans, no brazen touching. He’d never again feel her heart pounding against his chest or smell the warmth of her arousal—and even if he did, it wouldn’t be directed at him.
It wasn’t as though Angel had expected Buffy to fall into his arms, especially after what he’d done to her the year before. After he’d returned from Hell, she’d cared for him; she’d even kissed him once, only that had led to a rather abrasive confrontation with the Scoobies, and she’d since declared them just friends. The declaration was something she’d done for herself; he knew enough to recognize that. They could never be what they’d once been. And though he’d known it, he’d been in no way prepared for her to actually move on.
And to move onto Spike? Honestly, who could be prepared for that?
However, Angel suspected that much of what Buffy was feeling was based on the claim. The claim that, despite the lack of a mark on her throat, he was still certain had occurred. He didn’t know how else to explain her symptoms, or the sudden perverse attraction to his idiot of a grand-childe. Buffy was certainly unpredictable, but he’d never pegged her for being openly and unabashedly foolish.
The trouble was, he didn’t know where claim-induced feelings began. Ever since Darla told him about claims, he’d lived under the impression that they couldn’t generate feelings; rather, claims thrived on feelings that already existed. In rare instances, claims might be instrumental in unearthing certain feelings, but it was impossible to fabricate emotions based on a claim—something several well-noted historic vamps had discovered the hard way. There were a few tales lost to vamp lore about vampires that were so lovesick that they claimed the object of their desire against his or her wish, only to end up a miserable, hollow shell for all eternity. When claims were forced, they only emphasized hatred and resentment. Forced claims did nothing but cut and destroy.
Angel was certain that any claim that Spike had placed on Buffy had been forced, but there was no hatred or resentment. And that meant, of course, that even if she was feeling things through the claim, it was all real. All of it. She’d really lost herself to a vampire, and he couldn’t help it if the notion made him sick.
Which brought him back to the notion that Buffy’s feelings had to be fabricated; that history was wrong. That, like many human fables, the tales about claims were meant to scare vampires into thinking before they selected lifemates. But it was a stretch; it was wishful thinking. Angel had met one or two wrongly claimed vamps; despite want, deep down, he knew that Buffy’s behavior couldn’t be blamed on anything. Not a thing.
She might have hated Spike when the claim was placed, but she didn’t hate him now. No, Angel knew the look in Buffy’s eyes well, only he’d never seen it so powerful. So vibrant. He recalled how it’d felt when she’d really looked at him the first time—when he’d seen her love for him shining in her eyes—and how his heart had leapt in his cold chest. How feeling had touched nerves that had long been singed—how for so long, he’d been numb and void of anything resembling warmth.
When he saw her eyes now, it was like staring down a supernova. He saw a universe explode into creation over and over again. Spike had done that for her. Spike had given her life, whereas Angel had only taken it away.
The Powers had handed him a soul, but gifted Spike with the key to redemption.
That’s not fair, he told himself, casting Buffy another glance. She was moving so fast; even in her weakened state, it was hard to keep up. I had it once. I had it.
The Powers had given him everything but the owner’s manual. Perhaps it was his fault for not researching gypsies in the wasted decades that followed the curse. He’d spent his time dragging himself from gutter to gutter. He’d climb the social ladder, then fall when dizzied by the heights. When he found himself feasting over the body of a man he could have saved if he hadn’t been so hungry for human blood. But in the midst of all that, he’d held onto his soul and attempted to cleanse his red-stained hands time and time again. There had been no indication that the soul wasn’t safely harnessed. None until Buffy barreled into his life.
Well, to be fair, until he barreled into hers.
He wasn’t supposed to be soulless, and he wasn’t supposed to be dead. And the only reason Angel saw in providing him an out to his soul was to make sure his behavior was maintained. Champions, after all, needed their fatal flaws. Their Achilles Heel. Perfect happiness, no matter what he did or how much he sacrificed, was something that he could never have.
He could never have Buffy. And while that pained him, the pain wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that she’d lost her heart to Spike. It wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that he had never created a universe in her eyes. Angel had always thought himself special; he’d felt that what they had was special. Different. Something shared by only them and no one else.
The more he saw of Buffy now, the more he realized that their relationship had been a dramatic, hell-laced version of every teen-angstLifetime Original Movie to have ever aired. And damn if that didn’t sting.
Tonight was the final hurdle. Buffy didn’t have bite marks on her throat, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t have them somewhere else. Angel was just a few percentage points from complete conviction that a claim was the catalyst of her behavior, and if all went according to plan tonight, he and Giles would have enough ammunition to go about fixing whatever mess Buffy had unwittingly gotten herself into.
Unaccepted claims were an easy fix. It would just take separating Buffy and Spike as long as possible. Until the pangs of separation dwindled and life returned to normal. As long as Buffy hadn’t met Spike’s stake on her with a, “yours,” they had nothing to worry about.
If, however, she had accepted—something that Giles refused to afford plausibility, though Angel wasn’t so optimistic—their options were incredibly limited. If she’d accepted, the only thing that would make her feel better was claiming Spike back. Until then, they’d feel pangs of separation, and those pangs would grow worse the longer they were apart. The longer they were apart and the longer Spike’s demon went unclaimed by his chosen.
The vampire that Buffy had to face tonight for the Cruciamentum was called Kralik, and he was a nasty son of a bitch. He’d arrived a few days ago, and Angel had volunteered himself, much to the delight of the Watcher’s Council, to help keep Kralik under control. And though Angel hated the idea of leaving Buffy to face the monster alone, he surprisingly wasn’t too worried about her. Buffy was amazingly resourceful, and he’d be outside the entire time.
And if Angel was right about the claim, it would take Spike all of three minutes to show up.
Angel dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Oh,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had followed them since they left the library. “I bought you something.”
Buffy jerked to a fierce stop and cast him a suspicious glance. “What?” she demanded sharply. “Why?”
“It’s your birthday.”
“Oh. Yes. Okay.” Buffy shook her head, shivered, and continued walking. “That’s really nice for you.”
“For me?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Don’t you want to see it?”
Her brows arched. “Did it cost a lot?”
“Yes.”
“Does it come from the heart?”
“Buffy—”
“No. I wanna know. I want to know how much energy I should put into throwing it away after I beat the living crap out of you later tonight.”
Angel’s heart wrenched. “What the hell did I do?”
“Oh, don’t give me that!” she spat. “You know exactly what you did. So I’m not fawning over you or crying into my pillow over how you and I will never have the Disney future with fanged children running around the front yard—picket fence excluded. Am I not entitled to anything?”
“You’re entitled to make intelligent decisions, Buffy.”
She balked, her eyes flying open. “But, oh, no mistakes, right? Buffy can’t make mistakes. Buffy has to be flawless in everything she does. A living example for the lesser mortals that run around here. And she certainly can’t be with someone that doesn’t have the ex’s approval.” She shook her head. “Were you this much of a jackass while we were dating, or did losing your soul make you go stark-raving mad?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“No. Not that. Soulless Angel wasn’t that much of an enigma, and at least he was up-front about being a selfish, sadistic, son of a bitch. You? You try to come off as so innocent and condescending and when the hell did you decide that you were better than everything and everyone? Huh?” Buffy shook her head furiously. “You’re an unmitigated, unbelievable, sad, pathetic, and I would go on, but I actually havea life and a boyfriend that I like. And hey! He actually treats me right.”
“Yeah, if you call raping you treating you right.”
Buffy froze and turned, burying him under a glacier with her eyes. “I’m not going to waste a punch,” she said slowly. “Not now. I’ll wait until I’m better. I’ll wait until I know it’s going to hurt. And I swear to God, Angel, if you ever say anything like that again, you’re dust. Do you understand me? I will send you right back to Hell and who will give a damn? Aside from Giles, I’m guessing no one, and I’m guessing that you’d be hard-pressed for Giles to shed any tears.”
“God, what has he done to you?”
“Ripped the blinders off, that’s for sure.”
“And here I could’ve sworn he was just fastening them into place.”
“That’s only because the blinders I’m referring to are the ones that made me fall in love with you in the first place. But no, if it doesn’t work for Angel, it has to be wrong.”
“So you don’t want your present.”
“Not unless you want it shoved up your ass,” she replied with false sweetness, flashing a bright smile.
Angel fought off an eye roll. It was nice to know that Spike had passed on his more shining personality traits. “You’re not at all the girl I thought you were,” he remarked.
“You can imagine how very much I care.”
He snickered. “You really think you can tame him, Buffy? Has he convinced you that he can go on without feeding on humans? Without killing innocents? Without turning into someone that you will have to kill in much the same way you had to kill me?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. And I should mention, I now recall that last part with fondness and warmth.”
“He can’t keep those promises.”
“Good thing he didn’t make them, then.” Buffy shot him another glare. “Spike hasn’t promised me anything, Angel, and I didn’t ask him to change. Whatever changes he’s made have been voluntary and at his own pacing. I can’t make anyone change. I, unlike some others in this conversation who shall remain nameless, understand that the vampire nature cannot be denied. If Spike changes because I asked him to, it’s not real. It’s only real if he changes because he wants to, and that’s what he did.”
“Spike wants this right now,” Angel barked. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but it’s true. You don’t know him like I do. He has the attention span of a fruit-fly, and eventually, his wants will shift and he’ll leave you in the dust, cleaning up his mess.”
The fire doused in her eyes, and he knew immediately that he’d struck a nerve. Something that she’d considered. Something that, even as he’d spoken the words, he knew was impossible. Spike might be many things, but he wasn’t one to fall in and out of love lightly. In all the years that Angel had known him, Spike had been in love with one woman. Just one. True, he’d been infatuated with some stuck-up nineteenth century wench before he was turned, but after that, the blond pest had only had eyes for Dru. If Spike was in love again, chances were it was permanent.
And Buffy was the same way. Both Buffy and Spike tended to crash head-first with love, rather than fall into it. And if they’d crashed into each other, it was fair to say that all hope for reconciliation was lost.
Especially if they were mated.
“You know what?” Buffy said blithely. “There’s absolutely no need for you to talk to me ever again.”
Angel sighed. She was nothing if not a drama queen. “Buffy.”
“That’s your cue to stop talking to me.”
“Buffy…” He didn’t like what he was about to do. He really didn’t. It was, however, incredibly necessary. He needed Buffy inside the abandoned boarding house with the crazed vampire, and it needed to happen soon. Now. Before Spike decided to randomly show up. Before his window of opportunity closed. He needed Buffy in the boarding house—the boarding house that was very conveniently across the street, the one he’d led her to without even trying—and he needed her in there now. “Buffy, stop!”
“Not until you do.”
“It’s Spike.”
“The source of the stick up your ass is Spike. Again, imagine my surprise.”
“No. Stop! I’m saying that Spike’s…I smell him.” He flinched. This deception was not at all pleasant. “It’s blood. His blood.”
Buffy froze, and the terror in her eyes was devastating.
“It’s coming from over there.” He pointed. “Wait a sec and I’ll—”
Buffy didn’t wait. She never waited. She didn’t even hesitate or question him. She took off like a bat out of hell.
Just like he knew she would.
To be continued…
Author’s Note: I’m so totally evil, aren’t I? ***cackles***
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 39″ ]
Chapter 39
He was officially worried. He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes, and Buffy never kept him waiting for fifteen minutes. Buffy never kept him waiting at all. If anything, Buffy always showed up for their patrols a few minutes early. Even the night that he’d beat the living hell out of the other slayer, Buffy had been there long enough to witness most of the encounter. She wasn’t one to be late. Not for him. She’d never been late for him.
It was her birthday and she was late, and Spike was worried.
Perhaps he’d been too forward that morning. God knows, the previous night had been unlike anything he’d ever known. Never before had Dru simply let him hold her. Never before had they shared playful banter. Being with Buffy meant sacrificing all of his guards; meant peering over the wall he’d built around himself. She knew him now, better than anyone. She knew the version of himself that he’d kept hidden.
And even if he had been too forward that morning, Spike couldn’t see her being late. Not when it came to their time together. Furthermore, it was her birthday, and from what he knew of her past—both what she’d told him and what he’d witnessed—the Powers seemed to take a sadistic interest in making sure that every year grew a little bit worse for her. That every year she lived—every year she outlasted her incipient expiration—the PTB made it their prerogative to kick her in the gut.
Before she left his crypt that morning, Buffy had jokingly asked him to refrain from feasting on Sunnydale citizens until midnight. Not that she didn’t trust him—though the idea that she did was more than a little heady—but she was worried that the karma that tended to follow her from year to year would catch up. That something terrible would happen—that despite his best intentions, he would end up hurting her against his will.
Knowing that he had a penchant for hurting her anyway didn’t help matters. Oh, but Buffy wouldn’t see it that way. She still refused to see the forced blowjob as something that she should dust him over. And it wasn’t that Spike was hankering to meet the business end of a stake—there was just something about Buffy that brought out a side of his demon that he’d never known before. The sort that would defile girlies without a second thought, and leave the shattered man to clean up the mess and harbor the guilt. The first time had been bad enough; he’d felt Buffy’s pain and confusion alongside his through means that weren’t altogether clear to him. And though he’d sensed none of those things from her last night, that didn’t make it okay.
However, fears aside, Spike was determined to keep from hurting her. Not even the curse of Buffy’s birthday could incite him to break that vow.
And perhaps he was being too hard on himself. Buffy had forgiven him for their first fumbled night together—the night she refused to see as rape, even if he knew better—and she hadn’t thought anything of what had transpired last night.
Rather, she’d told him that she wanted to be there for whatever he needed. Whatever his demon needed. And she’d understood that, at that moment, his demon needed her on her knees with her mouth open. She hadn’t complained. She hadn’t protested. She hadn’t even cried—well, not until she’d panicked over the daft notion that she wasn’t any good.
She’d wanted to please him. All of him. She embraced him when he was sappy and silly just as she did when he was rude and cruel. Not once through this whole ordeal had she turned him away because of who or what he was, rather for the demented notion that he wouldn’t want her for those very reasons. And, as she’d pointed out this morning, she’d never asked him to change. Not once. She hadn’t given him the ‘stop feeding or I’ll stake you’ ultimatum, and she’d never threatened him with tears in the face of the monster he was.
Buffy had given him what no one else ever had: she accepted him. All of him. The good and the bad. The virtues and the flaws. The man and the monster. She accepted every bit.
And she was late. His golden seraph was late.
Over twenty minutes now.
“Okay,” Spike said tightly to himself, kicking at a headstone. “Time to panic.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy felt as though she was moving through a tomb.
“Spike?”
God, she hated how shaky her voice was. How uncertain. Like a child waiting for a parent’s reprimand at church. The boarding house was so quiet, she heard the dust fall behind her as she moved. There was a very persistent pain in her gut—a strange combination of both slayer tinglies, faded as they were, and the beginnings of familiar pangs of separation.
He hadn’t answered her at all. She didn’t feel him at all.
And what the hell would he be doing in here, anyway?
Angel, Buffy thought, pursing her lips as a dark shudder claimed her violently. That, above all other things, made sense to her. After all, it was Angel who had led her here in the first place. It was Angel who had pointed at the old Sunnydale Arms and told her that Spike was inside, bleeding. It was Angel who hated Spike for being the boyfriend he never was, and it was Angel who had the ego to think that taking care of her and making decisions for her rested on his shoulders.
Buffy’s insides trembled. Perhaps Angel had trapped Spike in here. Perhaps he’d tortured him in hope of releasing the beast. Perhaps Angel wanted to put her in a position where she’d have to stake Spike to save her own life, therein proving that Spike was a monster that had no sense of right or wrong; one that would see her as means to his own survival if pressed.
Only Buffy didn’t feel Spike anywhere near her. And that was worrisome. However, it was her birthday, and that meant that things were always and forever off. If Spike was in here, there was no reason for her to feel him. None at all. As it was, her tinglies were going off like nothing else, which meant that a vampire was near.
“So help me,” Buffy said softly, peeking into another empty, cobweb-infested room. “Angel, if you’ve done something to him, I’ll have your head.”
If she was right—if Angel had caged Spike in here with the idea of shoving the man to the back by provoking the monster—then the joke was on him. Spike’s demon cared for her; she’d seen that last night. He cared for her and he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d just need her to help him calm down.
After that, they could go dismember Angel together. He’d better hope that Spike showed some pity, because she sure as hell wouldn’t.
Not if he’d hurt Spike in order to make a point. An incredibly Angelish point. The kind with a moral and everything.
Not at the expense of my boyfriend.
Buffy shivered again. That was at least the third time she’d referred to Spike—whether to herself or to others—as her boyfriend. It wasn’t entirely true, of course, as they were would-be platonic patrol colleagues who had to fight every urge in their bodies to keep from ripping each other’s clothes off. But the label, misleading as it was, filled her with warmth.
Maybe after she and Spike finished dismembering Angel, they could go to Giles about this stupid spell and see about getting it broken. After that, if he still felt the same way, they could look into making the boyfriend label a more permanent feature.
But she hadn’t found Spike yet. Spike was still somewhere in the house. Somewhere where he either couldn’t hear her or couldn’t respond. And he was still bleeding.
“Spike?” she called again, stepping over a jagged plank in the floorboard. “Spike? Make some sound so I know where you are.”
As if waiting for a cue, the walls moaned and the ceiling trembled under the weight of something heavy. Buffy’s eyes darted upward.
He was upstairs.
“I’m coming!” she shouted. “Just wait there, Spike! I’m coming!”
It took a few minutes to locate another stairwell. The halls were filled with dust and debris; a few paintings hung crooked in broken frames. It was the sort of place that she’d ignore if she passed it; one of the many condemned buildings in Sunnydale. A place for demons to claim when the graveyard was not an option.
Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she stepped over a broken crate, nearly stumbling onto the second floor. What a rat-trap. Yeah, there was absolutely no way that Spike would come here voluntarily.
“Spike?” She frowned and peered down the hallway, jumping when a long, vampiric roar finally answered. A roar followed by a bang, leading her eyes to the big crate that sat against the wall in the next room. “Oh my God.”
Angel had crated her boyfriend? And then, what, led her here?
It had to be a show of power. After all, she’d said it outside. The vampiric nature could not be denied. Not Angel’s, and as he was hoping to demonstrate, not Spike’s, either.
“Angel, I swear, you are so dead,” she gritted out. Then paused. “Again.”
There was another growl and a bang against the door. Buffy sucked in a deep breath, her legs breaking into a jog.
“I’m coming!” she called out. “Spike, I’m coming!”
Her heart was about ready to leap out of her chest as she yanked the door open.
And screamed.
Oh my God.
Buffy stumbled back in shock as the vampire stepped out of the crate, shrugging off what looked to be the shredded remains of a straightjacket. His yellow eyes flashed, his tongue licking his fangs as his lips pulled back in a smirk.
A smirk that definitely wasn’t Spike’s.
“My hero,” he quipped.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was such an idiot. Such a prize idiot wanker.
“Killed two slayers,” Spike grumbled under his breath, lowering his fist from Buffy’s door. “Killed ‘em right quick. Could write the bloody book on slayers an’ all the sodding birds that get Chosen. Start shagging one, an’ you lose your marbles. Bloody brilliant, Spike. Good show.”
Not to mention he was talking to himself, which was never good.
It had hit him from nowhere—a bullet of knowledge that drove straight for the heart. Buffy’s lack of strength—the same that coincided with the days leading up to her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. He knew this part of the slayer training; Christ, the knowledge of it had driven him mad with curiosity once he stumbled over the text that detailed the rite.
The Cruciamentum, the Watchers called it. The sodding Cruciamentum. How the sodding hell had he forgotten about the Cruciamentum? The ritual in which the Council came in, drained their selected warrior of all her power, and pitted her against a powerful foe in a test that resulted either in her death or the next phase of her training. Fuck, he’d known this. He’d always been fascinated with the idea that the Council would ever test a trained, strengthened slayer by trying to off her. If they offed her, the next was called. If not, they continued on with training with a smile and a nod.
It always struck Spike as a particularly barbaric ritual with no point other than butchering slayers; something he had thought rather funny until recently.
Until now.
Until it became Buffy rather than some faceless name in the long line of slayers.
Now she was in danger. It was her birthday—the night of the ritual—and she was in danger. And he would have known if he’d stopped to think about it, he’d have put sodding two and two together. But in these past few days, he hadn’t been thinking at all. Everything that had anything to do with Buffy had something to do with the spell, or whatever had brought them together. He hadn’t been thinking straight, and now, Buffy was in danger.
Buffy was in danger because others had put her there. And Spike would rip apart whoever touched her. Whoever touched her and whoever was responsible for having her touched.
The Watcher. Spike snarled. The Watcher would be in on this. The Watcher, and from the way Buffy kept going on about Angel and the Watcher’s budding friendship, his wanker of a grandsire likely was, too.
If anything happened to her, they would beg for death before he gave it to them.
Spike tore away from her front porch with a growl. He had nowhere to look. Nowhere to begin. He could go torture the Watcher for information, but by the time he got to the school library, it might be too late. He had nothing.
Nothing but a rush of alien fear that nearly knocked him to his knees. Spike’s throat quaked with a tremulous roar. It came from nowhere, saturated his insides, spilled into his veins, and filled him entirely with her essence. Suddenly, the air was thick with her scent, and his demon roared to life.
He didn’t know where she was, but he felt her.
He felt her. And she was terrified.
And to find her, all he had to do was follow his instincts.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 40″ ]
Chapter 40
She’d never felt her body abandon her, and if she had, it’d been long enough that she’d forgotten the feeling. The fear drenching her veins was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Beyond the soul-crushing knowledge of an impending apocalypse, or even running her loved ones through with a sword—no matter how deserved, in retrospect—the complete lack of strength coupled with staring down a pair of gleaming fangs made for the most frightening moment of her life. The hand around her throat was crushing her windpipe, and the vampire at the other end of it was grinning like it was a big joke.
“Why did you come to the dark of the woods?” he hissed, his other hand diving for her front pocket, fingers clasping around her stake. “To bring your sweets to grandmother’s house?”
Oh God. Oh God. Buffy plunged a hand into her other pocket. She hadn’t packed much when she’d left the library for patrol. She’d fairly well assumed that if any vamp needed its ass kicked, it’d be Angel. Or that Angel would do the ass-kicking for her.
However, years of being the Slayer had taught her to always be prepared. Which was why she had the stake.
And, she thought as her fingers victoriously wrapped around the familiar bit of silver in her pocket, a cross.
The vampire released her the second that she brandished the crucifix, jumping back in surprise. Buffy sucked in a deep breath and held it out at arm’s length, trying to ignore how hard she was shaking. It was humiliating, being this terrified of a common vampire. A vampire that would be dust on her shoes if she had any strength.
The shock of the crucifix didn’t last as long as she would have liked. The vampire’s yellow eyes twinkled, the fleeting flash of alarm vanishing. His arm shot out before she could blink, his hand curling around her wrist and guiding the cross to his chest.
Buffy inhaled sharply, her terror-rattled nerves suddenly combating a wave of familiar nausea.
Great. With any luck, I’ll yack on him.
“Oh-oh,” the vampire purred, his eyes alight with pleasure as he rubbed the silver into his skin. God, he made her sick. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh, her vision blurred with smoke. “Just a little lower.” He nudged her arm down and she had to choke her disgust. “Right…oh, yes. Yes. Oh!” He gasped. “Oooh! Thank you very—”
“I’m gonna be sick,” she informed him matter-of-factly, dropping the cross.
“I know just what you mean.”
The vampire did look sick, but not in a stomach-crampy kind of way. And it wasn’t just the straight-jacket that that clued her in. The hair was dirty and mussed in a greasy, hasn’t-been-washed-in-three-years style. His eyes were crazed in a manner that couldn’t be entirely blamed on the fact that he was undead.
But she wasn’t about to stand around and take in his less-than-glowing features all day, nor was she going to sacrifice what little strength she had in what would be a wasted backhand. Instead, Buffy turned on her heels and bolted down the corridor. She ran until her legs hurt, ran until her human lungs and heart demanded that she stop. She gasped for air and slammed the door behind her.
Not that a door would present a vamp any obstacle. Just buy her enough time to find a secure hiding place or a weapon.
Weapon. Weapon. Buffy sucked in a deep breath and took in her surroundings. The room she’d closed herself in was pukish yellow, and from the rotted refrigerator in the corner, she guessed it was the kitchen.
Kitchen. Kitchens had knives. Buffy’s eyes widened and she darted to the counter, jerking out drawers and cabinets in frantic search for anything.
She was on the third drawer when the pounding started.
“Okay,” she said quickly. “We’re not panicking. We’re not panicking just yet.”
The growls on the other side of the door grew angrier, the pounding more forceful.
That wasn’t the sound of a vampire that could be talked out of killing her dead.
“So, panic,” she continued, her voice hitting a high note. “Beginning to sound appealing.”
The pounding stopped the next second, and Buffy’s heart about stopped with it. She raised her shaking hands to her face, her stomach churning. Her mind was racing and none of the turns it took made any kind of sense. Spike wasn’t here. Spike was somewhere else. Not unless Mr. Vamp had dusted him—a thought so horrible, she didn’t think she could stomach it. But something told her that Spike wasn’t dust. That Spike wasn’t even here. Spike was very much alive—or undead—and likely worried off his cute British ass about her, seeing as she was now way late for bailing on Angel and making their patrol not-a-date.
So Angel had sent her into a condemned boarding house under the pretense of Spike being inside and bleeding. He’d sent her in here for a reason, and if Fangy was any indication, it was to get her ass royally handed to her.
At least Angel’s soulless face hadn’t been with the jealous vendetta. He’d just hated her for making him feel human.
Buffy sighed again and shook her head. She had no cross. No stake. Her speed was laughable and her strength? Well, she barely had any of that, and what she did have wasn’t going to amount to anything against a criminally insane dead guy.
The pounding had stopped. The guttural growls had moved away. The coast was probably clear.
I can make a run for it.
She wouldn’t get far. Maybe to Angel, presuming he was still outside.
Worth a shot.
One thing was certain: she couldn’t stay in the kitchen all night. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and opened the door a crack. Just a crack. The hallway was empty. Not even a shadow moved. She exhaled slowly and slipped into the corridor.
Find the door.
Door. Yes. But every door she found was either bricked up or led to another room—a room with bookcases and chairs with the stuffing ripped out. The place was a maze. She was nearly convinced that the walls had moved. Nothing looked familiar.
Her eyes fell on the staircase. Only led up. Not down. She didn’t know what floor she was on anymore.
Chicks in horror movies always run up, and they always end up with their guts spilling out.
Buffy shivered and made her way to the staircase. Movies weren’t exactly a barometer she wanted to use to measure real life. And even so, she wasn’t supposed to be just another chick. She was supposed to be the Slayer. She was not supposed to be creeping up stairs and jumping like a frightened rabbit at every noise the old house made. She wasn’t supposed to be such a girl about things.
She rolled her eyes at herself. “God, I hate that analogy.”
A splintering crack pierced the air, timed with the vampire’s furious roar. Buffy screamed and collapsed, her head smacking against a step as a cold hand seized her ankle. Her stomach fell, her body banging down the steps. The vampire didn’t manage to drag her far, but for how much it hurt, it felt like miles. Buffy snatched hold of the first thing she saw—a broken piece of railing, and managed to tear it from its post.
God, my aim sucks.
She whimpered and stabbed at the vamp’s arm, scampering up the stairs the second that he released her.
Okay. Cuts to the head were not helping in maintaining balance. The hallway she landed at was empty with its share of doors lining either wall. She inhaled sharply and winced.
Pain.
God, she hated pain. Especially pain that wasn’t cushioned by slayer-strength. Her insides were swelling. Every breath that inflated her chest ached.
Make it to a door.
Buffy limped to the first door on the left. Or rather, tried to limp. The second she budged, a hand fisted her hair and dragged her back against a cold, solid chest. Nausea bubbled. She was going to be sick.
“Going somewhere?” the vampire breathed.
And then she was going to be dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The big hulking sod was standing outside of an old, condemned building. An old building with a sign that read, ‘Sunnydale Arms, Rooms for Let, Breakfast Included, Inquire Within.’ The air was ripe with her scent. She’d been here just a second ago, and the big-foreheaded wanker was to blame.
“Gimme one reason not to kill you,” Spike growled, reaching for the stake he’d stuffed into his back pocket. “Or better yet, hold your lack of breath ‘cause I’m gonna kill you anyway.”
Angel turned slowly, his eyes falling as though disappointed. “Spike. That didn’t take as long as I’d hoped.”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
Spike roared, the bones in his face shifting as his fangs descended. “Don’t you fucking play dumb with me! Where is she?”
“Spike, there’s something you need to know—”
“Yeah. The way a stake through the heart feels? Tell you what. How about you go firs’, an’ then you can tell me about it.” He drew his arm back in what would have been the perfect arc for staking the pathetic bastard if a timely feminine scream hadn’t ripped through the air.
Spike’s head jerked, his eyes fixing on the condemned building to his left. “Buffy,” he gasped.
“She’s inside,” Angel said quickly. “Cruciamentum. It happens to all slayers—”
No need to tell him twice. Spike’s eyes blazed and landed on the self-righteous git, fist tightening around the chunk of wood as the rest of him gave way to rage. He growled and slammed the stake into his grandsire’s throat, then took off for the boarding house as Angel collapsed.
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” he spat, wiping blood off his hands, ignoring Angel’s pitiful moan.
The wanker wouldn’t be down for long. Too bad. Any other time and he would have really enjoyed that.
And he would. He’d get a good laugh.
After Buffy was safely in his arms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The air cracked as she smashed into the wall. Her skin was bruised and she was sure that the vamp only had a few more bones to break before he rendered every inch of her body completely ineffective. Her face was purple and bleeding from his punches, her eyes so swollen that she couldn’t see anything. The steps he took were thunderous. He had her right where he wanted her; there was no need for stealth.
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” he quipped. “I took the one less traveled by. Which one will you take…Buffy? Is that right? Buffy? That man…the vampire. The one that was here while they…prepared me for you…he mentioned your name once or twice.”
Buffy merely croaked.
“He seems a bit bitter, I think,” the vampire continued. “Hell hath no fury like a demon scorned, or so I’ve been told. At least that’s what I told my mother before I ate her. Perhaps your friend would have been a little less willing to lure you here if—”
“God. If you’re gonna gab all night, can you please just spare me and kill me now?”
“Ah, ah, ah,” the vampire berated. “Now, that, children, is what we call an oxymoron. Obviously, I can’t spare you and kill you at the same time. That defeats the whole purpose. In fact—”
Buffy whimpered as another vampiric roar sliced through the air, curling her aching body into as tight a ball as her muscles would allow. “Oh God.”
“You sonofabitch!” Something crashed in the hall and hope surged through her veins. She knew that voice. God, she knew that voice. “You fucking sonofabitch!”
“Spike?” she whimpered. If this was a last delusion before death, it was both a cruel and a welcome one. She wanted to be with Spike when she died—even if his presence was imagined.
“’m here, baby. Jus’ hold on.”
At his reassurance, her last nerve broke and a long sob tore through her lips. God. Spike was here. Spike had come for her. Hot tears welled behind her eyes, peeling down her swollen face. It hurt to cry. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. But it was okay. Spike was here. She didn’t know how he’d found her, but he had.
Spike had found her.
“This the one, Buffy?” the vampire taunted.
“Shut your gob! You don’t get to talk to her!” Spike snarled. “You don’ even get to look at her!”
“Her skin’s soft, isn’t it? So nice and warm…and breakable.”
There was nothing then but a feral roar. Spike’s roar. She knew his demon’s voice well. God, she knew everything. She felt everything. She felt every move that he made. Every time he lunged and crashed, every time he clawed and snarled and lashed out with his fangs. He was screaming things without saying a word, and she felt it all.
Buffy flinched and buried her head under her arms. The walls moaned and the floor shook.
Then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a vampire dusting. And the next thing she knew, strong, familiar hands coaxed her into equally familiar arms. Her head was cradled against his chest, his lips peppering sweet kisses across her swollen face. It hurt, but in a good way. In a way that she would gladly endure for the rest of her days as long as he never let her go.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
That didn’t matter. Didn’t he know that didn’t matter? The only thing that mattered was that he was here now.
“Spike…” Her voice didn’t even sound like hers. “Spike…”
“I’m here. I’m here.” He kissed her bruised lips, trembling hard against her. “I’m here.”
Yes, he was.
He’d come for her.
And that was all that mattered.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 41″ ]
Chapter 41
Chapter Notes: I realize that several people are disappointed that Buffy didn’t kill Kralik herself. Trust me, I’m every bit a feminist, but I had to keep in mind that circumstances for this story are very different than they were on the show. Buffy wasn’t informed of the Cruciamentum, so she didn’t know to go into the Sunnydale Arms with an arsenal, as she did in Helpless. Also, Angel had kept Kralik in line, so there was no early escape or a random spazzing about his meds. From the way he was presented on the show, Kralik didn’t strike me as a fledgling vamp that could be taken out with any measure of ease, especially if a weakened Buffy was caught off guard.
Just thought I’d clarify why I went in the direction I did. =)
Also, be prepared to hate Angel. I’m not an Angel-basher by nature, which you likely wouldn’t know with the next couple chapters. I actually like Angel quite a bit. He just proved very easy to pick on.
He thrived on the steadiness of her heartbeat and the race of her pulse. He felt it in every melodic breath she took. Every word she whispered as he raced her home. When he ran up the steps to her front porch, Spike didn’t bother to ring the bell. He wasn’t about to lessen his hold on Buffy; not for the world. As for the door, a swift kick opened it just fine.
“Hold on, you moron,” Angel droned behind him, holding his hand to his sore neck. “You can’t get in without an invitation.”
Spike didn’t bother dignifying it with a response. He didn’t even toss the git a look. He figured his unobstructed entrance into the Summers residence said everything a well-barbed insult couldn’t.
Joyce Summers jumped to her feet as he exploded into the entry hall. “Oh my God. Buffy!”
“She’s fine,” Spike replied, his voice hitting a shrill note. “She’s fine.”
He didn’t waste anymore time. He just barreled up the stairs.
“Oh my God!” Joyce gasped behind him, then screamed when Angel attempted to follow Spike to the upstairs bathroom. “Oh my God. No. No.”
Spike shut the door as Angel’s pathetic attempts to explain how he wasn’t a bad guy anymore began rolling off the wanker’s lying tongue. He carted Buffy quickly to the shower and twisted the nozzle until cold water washed over them.
“Come on, baby,” he coaxed frantically. “Come on. Look at me.”
“Spike…”
God, her eyes were swollen shut. Her gorgeous face was marred with bruises and cuts. She was bleeding, and he didn’t want to look where. He didn’t want to see something fatal—something that stole his hope away.
He brushed his lips against a purple patch of skin and shuddered. “Sweetheart…”
“I’m okay,” she murmured, digging her fingers into his shoulders. “He didn’t…he just got to beat me around a bit. You got there…before anything…anything else happened.”
The fact that he hadn’t been there to stop it knifed at his gut. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve known what was happening. I jus’ didn’t…I didn’t think. It was right there in front of me, an’ I didn’t think.”
“Wha…Spike?”
“It’s called the Cruciamentum, pet. It’s something the Council puts the slayers through when they turn eighteen. A test. A sodding test. It’s the reason for everything.” He choked, his eyes misting. “Your powers. The reason you’ve felt weak. It’s…God, I’ve been so bloody blind.”
She tried to open her eyes and moaned, cold water raining over her bruises. “T-test?”
“Brains over brawn thing, or so I’ve read.” He kissed her brow and whimpered when she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Buffy shook her head. “You didn’t…Spike, this isn’t…your fault.”
“I could’ve stopped it. If I’d known—”
“It’s okay.”
Spike shook his head. “I’m gonna kill them. Angel first, then your Watcher. I’m gonna do it, Slayer. They’re the ones who did this to you. They put you in there with that…in there with that bastard.”
The astonishment that flashed across her face was heartbreaking. “Giles?”
“Watcher’s in on it. It’s the sodding Cruciamentum. He’s the one who did it. Administered the drug. He’s the one.”
Buffy whimpered again and shook her head. “No. No, he wouldn’t. He—”
Spike sighed. The Watcher would be a blind spot. He knew it, and that would only make his betrayal all the more painful. “He had to, luv. God, I’m so sorry. I should have—”
The door burst open before he could finish his thought, and his nostrils were assaulted with the stench of Angel.
“That’s enough,” the overbearing sod growled, delivering a punch to his face before Spike could react. Not that he could have reacted. Wild horses couldn’t convince him to let go of Buffy; Angel, in that, didn’t stand a chance. “There’s enough for us to explain without you twisting her head around.”
“Oh dear Lord,” another voice said. “Buffy…”
Spike huffed angrily and twisted, holding her to his chest. “Yeah, Watcher,” he snarled. “Look your fill. This is what you did to her.”
“Spike,” Angel said, his voice barely above a growl. “Give her to me.”
“I’m not a doll!” Buffy yelped, throwing her arms around Spike’s neck.
Her observation went ignored. “Hand her over.”
Spike jerked back, his grip around her tightening. “You touch her an’ you’re dust.”
“He’s pretty much running that risk either way,” Buffy observed, then whimpered and hissed when Angel’s hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Don’t touch me.”
“We need to see where you’re hurt,” Angel said softly.
“I believe I’ll be the one inspecting her bodily,” Spike snarled. “Seeing as I’m not the one that jus’ tried to have her killed, you enormous arse!”
Angel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “It’s not like I had a choice. It’s the Cruciamentum, Spike. It happens to all slayers, and we can’t stop it just because it’s Buffy.”
He growled. “Yeah. I’m sure you did a lot of trying, in that regard.”
“If you think this was fun for me—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Giles rolled his eyes and wheedled himself between them. “I can assure the both of you that Buffy does not need this petty show of testosterone. Or a cold shower.”
“What Buffy needs is to be addressed like a person,” Buffy quipped and waved. “A fairly present person.”
Spike’s eyes drifted back to her bruised face, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Even wounded, she was the picture of strength. “You’re incredibly present, luv,” he murmured.
Her bottom lip poked out. How she could pout in her state was beyond him, but he found it adorable. “You’re the only one who sees me,” she replied.
“Buffy,” Giles said with a soft sigh. “Come with me, please.”
“No.”
He released another sigh, slightly testier this time. “Please come with me. There are some things I need to tell you.” His icy gaze drifted to Spike, who snarled and bared his fangs. “Things that neither Angel nor Spike are equipped to explain. Now, if you want answers, come with me. If not, you’re perfectly welcome to have Spike continue his method of…dousing you with cold water.”
Spike snarled again and jerked back. “You lay a hand on her—”
“Spike…it’s okay.” She attempted to open her eyes but only moaned and whimpered. “It’s okay. It’s just Giles.”
“He—”
“Has some explaining to do,” she concluded.
Angel cleared his throat irritably, still massaging his wound with one hand. “I think that’s going around.”
“Spike,” Buffy groaned as she felt out for Giles’s hand, shivering as she stepped out of the blond vampire’s embrace. “Please remind me, after I get my strength back, to knock Angel’s teeth out.”
“Gladly.” He reached for her and growled when Angel stepped forward. The bloody brute just didn’t know when to quit. He was still growling when he shook his head in resignation; the rumble only drowned out when he turned his eyes back to Buffy. “If you need me, pet, scream.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Spike cast Giles another mistrustful glance. “Jus’ scream. Yeah?”
“Make with the big shrill. I got it.” She leaned forward and frowned when she met nothing but air. “I can’t see you to kiss you.”
If he had a heartbeat, it’d be racing right about now. The fact that she’d reached for him in front of her Watcher and her ex meant the whole bloody world to him. Spike murmured her name piously and seized her lips before the others could drag her away.
“I’ll be right downstairs,” he whispered. “Right downstairs.”
“Yes, yes,” Angel grumbled, wedging between them. “Giles?”
The Watcher nodded, his face tight with displeasure. “Help me get her to her room.”
Spike’s eyes went wide. Her room? There was no bloody way he was letting Angel into her room. “Now hold on jus’ a second—”
“No. No holding. You’re leaving.” Angel gripped his upper arm. “You brought her home. You’ve used up all your usefulness. Leave.”
“Hey!” Buffy started struggling in Giles’s grip, but she was both too tired and too sore to fight. “Angel! You don’t have permission to kick anyone out of my house!”
“He’s—”
“He saved my life! Which is more than I can say for you, you jackass!” Buffy attempted to kick at him, but fell back in her Watcher’s arms with a pitiful moan. “There will be no kicking anyone out. Anyone who isn’t you, anyway.”
Giles sighed. “Buffy, please. I need to check your wounds. See—”
Buffy nodded. “Okay.”
“Angel?”
Before the blond vampire could object, the big brooding sod had actually dared to lift the Slayer into his arms. Spike couldn’t help it; his eyes flashed and he vamped uncontrollably, releasing a thunderous roar. “Don’t touch her!” he screamed. “You bleeding bastard!”
Angel rolled his eyes and dumped Buffy unceremoniously back into Giles’s arms. “I’ll be there in a sec,” he said, fisting a handful of duster and dragging Spike into the hallway.
“You unbelievable wanker. Do you have any idea how much I’m going to kill you?”
“Do you have any idea what you did tonight?” Angel shot back. “The Council—”
Spike snarled and leapt forward, only to be greeted with a near blasé punch to the jaw. His head reeled back and his hand went to his chin. “So now you’re the poster boy for followin’ the rules, is that it? Your sodding li’l test nearly got the girl killed. An’ the fact that you’re out here trying to justify what you did leads me to believe that you care less about her an’ more about the fact that she’s moved on.”
“It’s not that she moved on. It’s what she moved on to.”
“Last I checked, that falls under the heading of none of your business.”
Angel crossed his arms, unimpressed. “It’s Buffy. I made it my business. Now get the hell out.”
“She doesn’t want me gone.”
“She just got the stuffing kicked out of her. She’s not thinking clearly.”
Spike roared again, jumping for the sod’s overly large throat before he could think. “An’ whose fault is that?” he screamed, only to be seized by the lapels of his duster and handed a one-way ticket down the Summers staircase. The banister cracked and Joyce screamed and covered her mouth, rushing to his side like a doting mother and helping him to his feet.
Angel stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes dark. “Too bad the splinters missed your heart,” he drawled.
Spike shook himself free of sawdust and staggered to his feet. “If you think you can keep me away from her—”
“You’re not what she needs right now. I’m going to go help her.” Angel turned to head for Buffy’s bedroom. “Stay or don’t stay. Of course, I’d prefer that you didn’t, but if you care about her at all, you’ll let me help her.”
“If you cared about her at all, you wouldn’t’ve let her get hurt in the firs’ place!”
“The Cruciamentum had to happen. I had no say in it.” Angel spread his hands and shrugged. “Someday, Spike, you’ll realize that not all of your problems go away by blaming me.”
“Not all,” Spike seethed as he watched the git vanish. “Jus’ enough.”
If Angel thought he was going to sit down here quietly, he had another thing coming.
Buffy was Spike’s girl. He’d fought for her, and she wanted him. She didn’t want Angel. No. She wanted Spike. She wanted him. She’d reached for him. She’d asked for his kiss. She was his girl.
Something Angel was about to find out.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 42″ ]
Chapter 42
“It happened. I knew it.”
“Yes, yes. You’re very clever.” Giles tossed him a pair of flannel pajamas. “I can’t…do this part. You’re going to have to change her.”
Buffy whimpered. “Change? As in…with the removing of clothing?”
Angel shrugged. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Thank you for that,” Giles grumbled under his breath. “Please, refrain from speaking about any…knowledge you might have about my slayer during this one and only time you will ever have my permission to disrobe her.”
Buffy shook her head so hard that she dizzied herself. “No,” she moaned. “No. No. I-I can change myself. I’m not completely helpless. I—”
“Buffy,” Giles berated softly. “You can’t see anything.”
“Well, that’s only because my eyes are swollen shut.” She scowled and tried to pry her eyes open, only to give up with a defeated moan. “Something I believe you were going to explain.”
“It’s called the Cruciamentum.”
“That much I gathered from the massive yelling,” she observed dryly, only to gasp and jerk violently when Angel tried to inch Spike’s black tee up her body. “No! No! I do not give you permission to change me!”
“Buffy, your clothes are wet. Captain Peroxide—”
She all but growled. “If you so much as think of blaming any of tonight on Spike, I will personally shove your nonbeating heart down your throat.”
“Buffy—”
“You led me there!” she spat. “You led me there and then you told me that Spike was bleeding and then this happened. Undressing me is the last thing you’re gonna be doing right now.”
Angel sighed. She could be so difficult sometimes. “Buffy, if we don’t get you out of the wet clothes, you’re gonna get sick.”
“Then let Spike change me.”
“You’re gonna have to make good on the nonbeating-heart-down-my-throat thing before I let Spike touch you.”
“I guess I missed the part where it’s any of your business.”
Angel rolled his eyes. “Okay. I get that you’re mad, but—”
“Mad?!”
“Angel was just assisting me,” Giles explained with a grumble from where he stood in the corner, his back to them. “The Cruciamentum is a test that the Council puts the Slayer through on her eighteenth birthday. As Watcher, it’s my job to administer the muscle relaxant—”
“Administer?” Buffy squeaked, ceasing her protests in astonishment, and allowing Angel the leverage he needed to tug the tee over her head. “Spike was right? You’ve been drugging me?”
“Buffy—”
“You drugged me and then ignored me when I started wigging?”
“But you didn’t,” Angel barked, turning his hands to the clasp of her jeans. “You’ve been so preoccupied with this Spike thing that you let the complete loss of your powers just barrel over you—”
“This Spike thing happened to be what saved my life tonight.” She paused and gasped when she realized that he’d jerked her jeans down her legs. “You sick pervert! Leave me alone!”
“Buffy—”
She kicked, but her effort was futile. “I want Spike!”
Angel froze and grabbed her leg. “Hold on.”
“I’m gonna ralph, Angel, I swear to God. Let me go!”
“Hold on.” He pressed her legs to the mattress, his eyes glued to her inner left thigh. “Giles?”
The Watcher didn’t budge. “Hmmm?”
“You need to see this.”
“I can’t tell you how much I don’t need to see this.”
Angel sighed. “This is no time for modesty. You need to see this.”
Buffy whimpered and twisted. “I don’t know what your damage is, but I’m not going to sit here and play the part of—”
Angel ignored her and scooted over as Giles joined him. “See?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed his finger across the bite mark. “There—”
That was definitely the wrong move to make. Buffy’s rather weak but full-hearted struggles exploded into a frenzy. She twisted. She swung. She opened her mouth and pealed loose a scream that would make the heavens quiver.
Giles and Angel froze.
This was not good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I don’t understand,” Joyce remarked, sliding Spike a cup of hot chocolate and rounding the island, holding up an icepack. “Explain to me why Angel is here again?”
Spike sniggered and raised the mug to his lips, trying hard not to warm when she pressed the cold compress to his bruised head. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he’d done to earn the woman’s affection. There was no familiarity between them beyond the awkward discussion that took place the night that Joyce discovered her daughter was the Slayer. Well, their discussion along with the unfortunate head-hit-with-an-axe business. And yet, Joyce was serving him hot chocolate and looking at him as though he was her personal savior. That was a bit much for any bloke to take.
Especially when he was ignoring every raging instinct that demanded he bolt upstairs and hurl the intrusive tossers out the nearest window.
“Angel has a soul again.” He winced as the words left his lips. God, was that even an excuse? Spike snickered. “As if that matters.”
Joyce frowned and shook her head. “Buffy tried to explain this to me after she got back. And then…a few weeks ago, he was here. He was here one night when she wasn’t, and she tried to explain again when she got back. How Angel had gone from being her boyfriend to a murderer…I just never…it never made sense to me.”
Spike swallowed hard. The second time had been the kidnapping, he was sure of it. Angel had come by looking for her when she didn’t show. But the first time? When had Buffy popped off? From the way Joyce spoke, it sounded as though she’d taken an extended leave. “Buffy was away?” he asked pointedly, arching his brows so she couldn’t mistake his meaning.
A pained look crossed her face, and she nodded. “After…last year, after you left, Buffy and I got into a fight. I told her that if she left, she shouldn’t come back.”
Spike stopped drinking and calmly lowered the cup back to the counter. “What?”
“Well—”
“You kicked her out?”
The shame that colored Joyce’s eyes was perhaps the only thing saving her from being a midnight snack. That plus the knowledge that eating the Slayer’s mum wasn’t the surest way to win a girl’s heart. “She was the number one suspect in a murder, Spike. And Willow was in the hospital and suddenly, she comes out that she’s a vampire slayer. It was all a little hard to take on faith.”
“On bloody faith?” Spike demanded, recoiling in disgust. “We dusted a vamp right in front of you!”
“Yes, and that was rather startling.”
“You understand that if she hadn’t left, the whole sodding world would’ve been sucked into Hell, right?” He arched a brow and leered unpleasantly. “She saved the lot of you from something far worse than seein’ a vamp dust before your virgin eyes. An’ I’m willing to stake my unlife on the gamble that neither you nor any of her li’l friends bothered to show her any gratitude for what she sacrificed.” Spike scoffed and shook his head. “She hasn’t talked about it…about bein’ away an’ all, but I’m guessing it wasn’t a bloody picnic for her, either. Kicked out by her mum after running her honey through with a sword? Yeah, I can’t imagine why she’d never wanna see this pissant town again. Way I see it, you’re fortunate she loves the lot of you enough to come back at all.”
He’d struck a nerve; Joyce was pale and trembling, her eyes wide with remorse. “It…Spike, that was a couple months ago. We’re past this. Buffy…she’s apologized, and—”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Apologize? You abandoned her when she needed you the most.”
“I was right here!”
Spike arched a brow. “You told her to leave. What was she s’posed to do?”
“She didn’t—”
“Joyce…” He held up a hand, then reached for his hot chocolate mug again. “I don’t wanna start a riff between you an’ your daughter, an’ I don’t wanna open up old wounds. But I think that asking her to shoulder the blame for everything is a bit unfair, especially considering the world she lives in. A world where…” He motioned upward with his eyes. “This happens.”
“Spike…” But she didn’t have anything to say.
Which was just as well. The next second, Spike felt a rush of pain and fury like nothing he’d ever known. It speared through him so forcefully he nearly fell off his stool. And in a blink, all rationality flew aside. Buffy needed him. She was being touched. She was being prodded by hands that were not his. She was crying for him.
“S-Spike?” Joyce ventured slowly.
The demon burst through his human face. He was halfway up the stairs by the time Buffy’s scream tore through the air.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Get out.”
Angel blinked dazedly and met Giles’s furious eyes. “What?”
“You heard me. Get out.”
“She’s still—”
“You touched her. She screamed. Those are two things I would prefer never to have happen again.” Giles pointed at the door. “Get out.”
Buffy whimpered as she pulled the flannel bottoms that Angel had lain on her bed up over her hips. “Please,” she moaned pitifully. “I want…please. I want Spike. Please let Spike in here. Please.”
Angel and Giles just looked at her stupidly.
Tears squeezed through her swollen lids. God, why had she let them take her away from Spike in the first place?
“Please!” she gasped. “Where’s Spike? I need—”
Something crashed and the room was engulfed in a furious roar. She heard Angel barking in protest. Heard her Watcher object. The walls shook, and the roaring never stopped. And despite her confusion—despite the sheer frustration that came with her lack of sight—Buffy found herself calming down. Her heart wasn’t as sore. Her pulse wasn’t racing as hard. The bite mark still hurt, but not nearly as much. Angel’s alien, unwanted touch had her stomach in knots. She’d already had to choke down the need to vomit once, though had Angel not jerked away from her the minute she screamed, she might not have been able to help herself.
He’d touched her there. He’d shown her Watcher…that. He’d been so desperate to find a bite mark on her, and now that he had, she didn’t know what he was trying to prove. He hadn’t said, “Aha!” or made any allegations following the bite mark’s discovery. He’d just pointed it out.
Well, to be fair, she’d started screaming pretty much the next second.
Buffy jerked in time with a definite crash, swallowing a whimper when the door closed.
“Spike?”
She found herself in a familiar embrace the next second and the pain in her chest softened into a contented lull. “Spike?”
“I’m here,” he murmured, showering her face with sweet kisses. “I’m right here.”
“Giles? Angel?”
“I tossed Angel down the stairs. Giles…well, he’d’ve gotten the same treatment if he weren’t so bloody breakable.”
Buffy laughed and clutched at him. “Don’t leave me.”
Spike’s arms tightened around her. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, coaxing her head to his shoulder. “Not anywhere.”
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 43″ ]
Chapter 43
Chapter Notes: I took some creative license in Buffy’s birthdays…in that I made the Season 1 episode “Nightmares” a birthday episode. Pretty much because, up until I rewatched it recently, it was a birthday episode in the very special land of my imagination. I think it’s because her father was there. Anyway, just wanted to clarify that. *smoosh*
“My head feels all big and swollen,” Buffy murmured, stretching accommodatingly beneath him as Spike dabbed her brow with an ice pack. “Uhhh. I really hate this part of getting my ass so spectacularly kicked. Is there a demon or a warlock that can speed up time?”
He chuckled appreciatively. “Not that I know of, pet.”
“I hate being sick.”
“You’re not sick, baby.” He brushed his lips across her forehead and smiled softly. “You’re jus’…”
“Not well?” Buffy grinned, paused, and managed to wedge one eye open with some effort. “Oh hey. Look. There you are.”
Spike glanced up and smiled when he saw her looking at him. “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I’m a real knockout. I hear big purple welts are all the craze nowadays.”
“You’re still gorgeous.”
“You’re just being sweet.”
Spike shook his head. “I’m not sweet. I’m nasty an’ rude, an’ I’d tell you straight if I thought otherwise.”
“You would not.”
“’Course I would.” He kissed her brow again, flicking the strap of her camisole. “So, on a scale from one to ten, how does this birthday compare to the others?”
Buffy snickered dryly and turned on her side. “Don’t I need to rank my other birthdays first?”
Spike shrugged and settled in beside her, lifting his arm so that she could snuggle into his side. “If you feel that’ll help,” he agreed, though he couldn’t help the angry rumble in his chest that told him he was just asking for heartache. Of course, her birthday last year would have been worse than this one, and that was partially his fault. Moreover, the cause of her pain would be directly Angel-related, and petty as it might be, he didn’t think he could stand to hear it.
Especially now that he knew. He’d known the second he felt her pain. The second he’d felt her screaming. The second he’d imagined a world without her in it. He’d known.
He loved her.
It wasn’t much of a revelation, he supposed. After all, he’d felt it for days now. He’d likely known the night that he’d realized it was possible. The night he’d gone to her after scaring her in the cemetery. When he’d snuck into her room and felt her tremble beneath his fingers. He’d felt it then—he just hadn’t wanted to admit it. He hadn’t wanted to shove his baser tendencies aside so quickly. He hadn’t wanted to abandon his inner monster.
And he hadn’t. He hadn’t. His demon had overpowered him once already, and Buffy hadn’t shrunk back in fear. She’d calmed him, and the demon, in turn, adored her.
Why it had taken so long to realize he loved her, he didn’t know. But he did. He loved her entirely. He loved her like he’d never loved anyone. It was as though something cosmic had opened his eyes. As though the years before her had been spent wandering around blind, waiting for her to find him.
Whatever he’d thought he’d felt before, whatever misguided musings he’d had toward love, were completely washed away.
“Well,” Buffy mused, breaking through his reverie, “my first birthday kinda sucked. I mean, I turned into a vampire.”
Spike blinked dazedly. “You did?”
“Yup. Well, it was around my birthday, so to me, it counts. Coma boy…had a bunch of nightmares. Made all of our worst nightmares come true. Mine ranging from my father not loving me to becoming a vampire.” She spoke as though it were nothing, but he could tell that she was haunted still by the occasional nightmare. “Then again,” she said, shrugging casually. “Xander was chased by maniacal clowns, so maybe I got the better end of the deal.”
“Buffy—”
“And last year? Hello to the suckage.” Her expression darkened. “Then again, maybe if I’d known Soulless-Angel wasn’t as evil as Angel-Angel, it might’ve been easier for me.”
Spike blinked, surprised. “How you figure?”
“Well, Angel-Angel led me to that place tonight, and then got me to bolt inside by telling me that you were in there…hurt and bleeding.”
“He what?”
“Yeah, the way I have it figured, at least Soulless-Angel would’ve been up-front.” She shook her head. “After the big secret about his lack of soul was out, he was pretty out-in-the-open about how much he wanted me dead. That and I think he’d wanna do the damage himself rather than having some crazy vamp do the work for him.”
“Angel led you to the place where the Cruciamentum was happening?”
Buffy licked her lips and nodded, wincing when she rubbed her shoulder too liberally against his. “Ugh. I can’t wait until I get my powers back.”
“He led you—”
“He said you were bleeding.”
“He told you…an’ you—”
“I was just about to try and ditch him to meet you for patrol.” She shook her head. “And I didn’t even stop. Like Angel would even care if you were bleeding. And I didn’t even stop and think. I was all bolty-Buffy and crazy Mister…Crazy was in there waiting for me.” She paused. “I didn’t think.”
Spike sighed and tightened his arms around her. “You thought of me,” he murmured numbly, unable to draw his eyes away from her. She was a vision. A glorious, gorgeous vision; he couldn’t believe he’d done anything to deserve her. That he’d done anything to merit the bruises that colored her gorgeous skin. And the idea that all Angel had to do to get her racing into danger was mention his name…
God, I love her so much.
The knowledge warmed his insides. He’d fought it for so long. Why had he fought it? Why, when it brought him this sort of peace?
“When do you think I’ll get my powers back?” she murmured. “I really wanna pop Angel in the nose.”
“Get in line.”
“Well, no. That’s not fair.”
Spike’s eyes darkened. Not fair? Angel gets a busted nose as payment for nearly getting her killed? No, he supposed it wasn’t fair. The only way any of this could ever be fair was if he locked Angel in a room with several centuries’ worth of victims and let them have at him. Or better yet, hand him off to the sodding Council. Get a priest to try and exorcise his demon from his chest. Anything that involved a lot of torment: that was what Angel deserved.
“What I really want,” Buffy continued, coughing, “is to shred him into little dusty bits.”
Or that. That would work. He released a deep sigh and chuckled, brushing his lips across her shoulder. “You’ll get no argument from me, luv.”
“Giles would pitch a fit.”
“What, are you daft? The bloke offed his woman. You think he’s gonna cry any tears over Angel dust?” He shook his head heatedly. “An’ not that I’m not in favor of bruising the Professor’s dainty old-man skin, but I’d gamble everything I have that the only reason they’re workin’ together is because of us.”
She paused. “Us?”
“Angel’s known about us for a while, yeh?”
“Well, I let him know what happened, if that’s what you mean.”
“An’ who do you think he ran to?”
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “But…Giles hasn’t mentioned anything. About you or…about whatever. I mean, he has recently, but Angel’s been showing up…” She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. If Angel’s been ratting on me this whole time, Giles would’ve pulled a massive wig.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure? Do you have any idea how much crap they gave me when I got back from Los Angeles?”
“Luv, until your mum let the bloody cat out of the bag downstairs, I din’t even know you’d scampered to Los Angeles at all.”
Her face blanked, her one good eye falling shut. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t run out on me the first chance you got.”
“I din’t run out!”
Buffy snickered. “No. Sprinted is more like it.”
“I had—”
“You carted Dru away and then it was all, ‘Bye, bye, Buffy. Don’t let the apocalypse hit your ass on the way out.’” She pouted. He had no idea how she could pout when her gorgeous face was as bruised and swollen as it was, but her bottom lip poked out and he found himself drenched in guilt. “Angel got his soul back right before I had to send him down the express lane to Hell. Then I left town. I mean, my mom had kicked me out and my friends didn’t care that—”
“I still don’ get how she got the stones to boot you from your own house, luv.”
Buffy shrugged indifferently, though he knew from the look on her face that it still smarted. “She thought she was…I dunno. I shouldn’t have expected her to…just get it. Maybe I should’ve tried to come home and talk with her—”
“Yeah? I’m sure that would’ve gone swimmingly.” Spike rolled his eyes, his tone adapting a high falsetto. “’Allo mum. Jus’ saved your sorry ass from bein’ sucked into Hell. What was that we were talkin’ about before I went an’ killed my boyfriend for the betterment of humanity’?”
“Yeah, like I’d ever say, ‘Allo.’ You don’t even say ‘Allo’.”
He shrugged. “Jus’ saying.”
“And betterment? Who are you, Giles?”
Spike made a face at her that was positively infantile, but the radiance shining on her face when she dissolved into giggles made it more than worth it. “Ow,” she complained, rubbing her cheek and trying to reign in her mirth. “Don’t make me laugh, you ass.”
“Yeah, I’m a berk for bringing light to my girl’s face. Someone stake me.”
“You shouldn’t say that while you’re holding the Slayer.”
“I’m tremblin’ in my booties,” he retorted with a furious smirk, his fingers dipping to tickle her sides. “What were we talking about, again?”
“Something about Giles and Angel and the…massiveness that is…massive?” Buffy frowned and nuzzled his shoulder kittenishly, draping an arm over his chest and draping her right leg over his. “I dunno. I don’t think it matters.”
“I still can’t believe that prat sent you into the place by telling you that…” Spike sighed. “I should’ve staked him twice.”
“Yeah…what?”
He just chuckled and shook his head, stroking her cheek gently with his knuckles. “Rest, kitten. It’ll be better in the morning.”
“Nuh uh.”
“I’ll give you your present, then.”
“Present?”
He brushed his lips across her brow. “Your birthday present, luv. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
She pouted. “Buffy want prezzie now.”
“Buffy’s gonna have to wait till Buffy’s gotten some rest.”
“You’re no fun.”
Spike grinned. “Oh, I’m lots of fun. As you well know.”
“Perv.”
“You love it.” He stroked her hair, his eyes shining with adoration. “Go to sleep, pet. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Mmmm.” She was already drifting. He loved it that, despite everything, he could help her end the day with a smile on her face. “Promise?”
Spike smiled into her hair. “Promise.”
He was in her room. He had her in his arms. And he loved her.
There was nothing in the world could drag him away now.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 44″ ]
Chapter 44
Chapter Notes: Thought I’d give you guys a little more fluff before moving back to the plot. Ohh! And hopefully some numminess. ^_~ *glomps*
He smelled her before she knocked and moved quickly to cover Buffy’s ears before she could be disturbed. She’d been resting so peacefully, with the occasional grin tickling her gorgeous lips. He didn’t want her waking up now. Not now, when she’d only been asleep a few hours.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Joyce said, almost meekly. “I just…you are both…dressed, right?”
Spike arched a brow and bit his lower lip to warn off a chuckle. “I might be evil, but I’m not about to sully your daughter while she’s bleeding an’ you’re downstairs.” At least not while she knew he was in the house. He might be one to push his luck, but that was a little too much push for his comfort. “What’s on your mind, Joyce?”
She chuckled dryly and crossed her arms, her eyes dropping to the floor before she looked up again. “Oh, if I start in I might not stop. Is she doing all right?”
“Jus’ fine. She’s been asleep for a while.”
“Oh. She’s…is that normal?”
Spike offered a dry grin. “She’s been asleep for six hours. After the night she had, I’d be surprised if she woke up before tomorrow night.”
His words, as always, were a jinx. Buffy moaned a bit and stirred in his arms. “Unnhh. Spike?”
He tightened his arms around her immediately, the mirth in his eyes melting into tender concern. “I’m right here, baby,” he murmured soothingly, though it was all for naught. She was in the middle of some dream, and hearing his voice was all she needed to keep from waking.
“All right,” Joyce said tiredly. “Ummm, well, Angel and Mr. Giles left quite a while ago. They wanted to know the second that Buffy awoke or…was feeling up to seeing them.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “How’s about you an’ I smuggle her outta the country?”
“I’ll be your co-conspirator.” Joyce smiled wryly, then folded her hands properly and turned. “Well, if you’re…I don’t want to wake her up, though I am hoping to have a conversation with someone that explains exactly what happened to her in a way that doesn’t make my head spin.”
“No chance of that.”
“I’m going to make pancakes. Do you want pancakes?” Joyce nodded to her daughter. “She’s going to want pancakes when she wakes up. And considering that she didn’t get a birthday party…”
“I’ll be down when she’s down,” Spike said.
The woman smiled and nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I…I know you went through a lot last night. Our conversation notwithstanding…but Mr. Giles…he let me know what happened. What you did…to save her. And I…” She shook her head and laughed, as though she’d said something foolish. “I just…thank you.”
Spike swallowed hard and nodded. What was there to say? It was nothing? It wasn’t—and it was, all at the same time. Saving Buffy was second nature to him. If she were in danger, he’d be where she was. He’d be at her side, fighting off whatever was doing her wrong.
“You’re…Joyce, it’s…” Spike blinked and glanced back to Buffy’s sleeping face. “Yeah.”
“You really care for her, don’t you?”
He shuffled uncomfortably. This was not the sort of conversation he wanted to have while he was in bed with the woman’s daughter, no matter how honorable his intentions were. Especially now—now that he knew that he loved her.
“I…ummm.” Spike cleared his throat and tried to force a grin. “Fried cake with liquid sugar?”
“I’m overstepping, aren’t I?” Joyce waved and edged out of the room. “I’ll just…go downstairs and start…frying the cake.”
Spike sighed and reclined. So Giles and the enormous wanker wanted to see Buffy. He imagined so. They’d give her some self-righteous spiel about how everything had been for her own good. How they’d been under orders, or how every slayer had to go through it, and there was no reason why Buffy should be any different. Why she should have special treatment. Just because she was the Slayer.
The rules were buggered, as it was. Made up by a Council of middle-aged Brits who would never have to be in the thick of a fight. Spike had met a watcher or two, and aside from Rupert Giles, they were all the same. All accustomed to controlled conditions with a vampire in a laboratory or in an arena where the other suits could monitor the situation. In all the research Spike had put into slayers, he’d only read of a few watchers who went above and beyond their roles. Most formed attachments to their slayers, but few would know what to do if they came across a vampire in conditions that were, for lack of a better word, uncontrolled.
Thus the entire idea of a test to prove the Slayer’s aptitude over her brawn made little sense in the long run. If she failed, the Council lost an experienced warrior and had to start from scratch. If she succeeded, the trust between slayer and watcher would be weakened; not to mention, the Slayer would likely be out of commission for a few days to both regain her strength and allow time for her wounds to heal.
Spike didn’t know Rupert Giles all that well, but from what he did know, he couldn’t help but boggle that the old man hadn’t reached the same conclusion. That he’d allowed such a bloody barbaric ritual to occur in the first place, especially considering how close he and Buffy were. The bloke was practically the Slayer’s surrogate father, and he’d allowed something like this to happen to her.
Not only that, but he and Angel were going to justify it. Bloody priceless.
“Is my face less swollen?”
Spike blinked and glanced down, grinning when he met Buffy’s green gaze. “Lookee here,” he purred, brushing a kiss across her brow. “My girl’s got two pretty eyes.”
Buffy scrunched her face up and whimpered. “I feel all achy.”
“You were in quite a tumble last night. I would offer to rub you down but then you’d prob’ly jus’ slap me.”
“Meh. Touching good. Buffy like touching.” She shifted upward and brushed her sore lips against his neck, her right hand running down his chest. “Buffy want good touching.”
“When did Buffy become Julius bloody Caesar?”
She giggled. “Hey, I’m delirious from the achies. Give a girl a break. And…Julius Caesar?”
“You know…” Spike shrugged, his eyes fluttering shut as her hand settled over his denim-clad cock. He whimpered and thrust up into her touch. “He spoke…about himself in third person…a lot.”
“You knew Caesar?”
He chuckled and arched a brow. “Yeah, because I’m two thousand years old. Don’t tell me bloody Shakespeare isn’t on your reading curriculum. I wouldn’t wanna have to eat one of your teachers.”
“Or her friends…” Buffy ventured, propping herself up so that she could pepper his chest with soft, sweet kisses. Even through the cotton of his shirt, the heat of her lips had his skin melting. She burned him so good. “Romans…countrymen?”
“Ha bloody ha.”
“Teaches you to question my Shakespeare knowledge.”
“You have Shakespeare knowledge?”
Buffy nipped at one of his nipples and squeezed his erection. “You shouldn’t make fun of me when I have your…ummm…boy parts at my disposal.”
Spike chuckled. She was too bloody adorable for words. “My boy parts?”
“I like your boy parts.”
“Trust me…” A moan hissed through his teeth as he thrust into her touch. “The sentiment’s more than shared.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. They think you’re bloody brilliant.” Spike moaned again. “Christ. Luv, your mum’s downstairs.”
Buffy just grinned deviously and squeezed his cock again. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly Mr. Prim and Proper.”
“You’re also bruised an’—”
She pouted and glanced up. “You don’t want me when I’m bruised?”
“I want you always. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Spike paused, a sensual leer stretching across his mouth as he bit his lower lip and thrust against her touch. “Not in all the wrong places, luv. I wanna make you hurt good, an’ the only way that’s happening is if you get your strength back.”
“You don’t think I could take you?”
“Right now?” He quirked a brow. “I don’t think you could take a feather-duster.”
Buffy moaned. “Meanie.”
“At least you can see now.”
A small smile flirted with her lips, and though the sight warmed his heart, it was bittersweet. He didn’t want to add that looking at the angry circles of red under her eyes made his heart break. That the cut running down her cheek and the gash on her brow only served as reminders of how he’d failed her. How every minute that he hadn’t remembered the Cruciamentum had hurt her just a little more. He could have prevented this. If he hadn’t been so wound up in her and what she did to him…God, he could have prevented this so easily.
She was still curled into his side, despite everything. And he loved her more than he was worth.
“You want your present, sweetheart?” he murmured, nuzzling her attentively. “Happy bloody birthday, an’ all?”
“Mass emphasis on the bloody?”
Spike shuddered. “No more, if I have my say.”
“Yes, because the life of a slayer is not without its perils.”
“Don’ you be educating me on the life of a slayer, luv.” Spike slid his hand down the length of his body, covering hers where it still rested over his cock and encouraging her to give him another squeeze. “Bleeding hell, you don’ know what you do to me.”
Buffy just grinned and rubbed him harder. “I know I want good touchies and you’re being Mr. Selfish.”
“You want touchies, eh?”
She nodded.
“Even with the plan an’ all?”
“I think we’ve safely postponed the plan based on severe ouchies and the consequences of life-and-death scenarios.” Her fingers began working on the clasp of his jeans. “So…Buffy get good touchies?”
“Buffy’s turned into Caesar again.” Spike wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Baby, I don’ wanna hurt you.”
“So don’t. Make with the good touchies.” She bit lightly on his nipple again, eliciting a long purr and another sharp thrust of his hips. “Good being the operative word.”
Spike growled and slid out from beneath her. “You make it hard to be less-than-evil, pet.”
“I want you all evil. Evil me up.”
He moaned in protest. “Buffy—”
“Evil me up until I can’t walk.”
“You can’t walk.”
She pouted. “You don’t know that!”
“Buffy—”
“Willing victim here! What kind of vampire are you?”
Spike willed his eyes shut and whimpered. “Be a good kitten,” he purred. “I’ll give you a little now. Jus’ a little. I want you to get your strength back up so I can shag you silly. You get your strength back, an’ I’ll evil you up.”
“Mmm. I like that plan.”
“Better than the one we have now, yeah?” Spike grinned and propped himself on his side, dipping his mouth down to tease her nipple through her camisole. “Spread your legs for me.”
“Spike…”
“Jus’ wanna touch. Won’t taste.” He met her eyes and pouted. “You won’ let me.”
“Soon,” she moaned, arching back when he slid his fingers under the waistband of her flannel bottoms and cupped her pussy. “Soon. I want it.”
Spike whimpered. The thought of her taste was enough to undo him completely. That and the thought that she trusted him—she’d overcome that final hurdle—and she was going to let him in. It was enough to make a grown man weep. “Yeah?” he asked, inwardly berating the childish hope in his voice. “You mean it?”
Buffy nodded fiercely, swirling her hips upward. “Please. Please.”
“Where do you want me, pet?”
She seized his wrist and guided him until his fingers were dipping inside her pussy. Then she moaned again and jerked. “Ohhh…”
“Christ, you’re wet.” Spike rolled his eyes back. Knowing what he did to her was one thing—he loved the scent of her arousal. The fire that stormed her gaze when she wanted him. The way she mauled him with kisses and set his blood aflame. “You this wet for me, baby?”
“Always.”
He grinned, his fangs slicing through his gums and making quick work of her camisole, his demon receding in a blink so that he could wrap his mouth around her naked breast. He pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, and growled when she mewled.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured. “Bloody seraph, you are.”
“I don’t…know what…that…means,” she replied, and he had to bite back a laugh at her attempt at casual. “But it…sounds nice.” She rotated her hips under him and bit her lip hard. “Back. Back. Inside.”
“Whass’at, kitten?”
“Fingers. Inside.”
He obliged her quickly, leaving her clit to his thumb as he thrust his eager digits inside her body once more. Buffy whimpered and arched again. She was close. She was so close already. The knowledge was both invigorating and somewhat disappointing. He loved it that he could do this to her. That he could render her into a puddle of incoherent slayer-goo with just a few masterful strokes of his hand, but the larger part of him hated the idea of leaving her body. He belonged inside her.
“Ohhh, God.”
“Baby like?” he cooed. “You feel like heaven.”
She opened her eyes dazedly. “You’re not—”
“You can still feel like heaven, pet. Doesn’ matter which part of me’s in you.”
He must have said something very right; her eyes widened with ecstasy and she began thrusting against his fingers in earnest. “Ohhh.”
Spike just grinned and sucked hard on her nipple, unable to stop himself from moaning into her skin when she trembled. When her pussy squeezed his fingers with the impact of her orgasm. He moved quickly and swallowed her whimper with a fiery kiss.
She mewled again when he slipped out of her, and again when her eyes fluttered open. When she saw him licking her honey off his fingers.
“Spike,” she moaned sleepily, her eyes warm. And the sight of her, bruises and all, smiling at him like he was a god, gave him more than he could ever want. It was something he’d never thought he’d see; the glow in her eyes. The look on her face. He knew that look. He’d just never been on the receiving end of it.
Happy. God, he’d made her happy.
“Was that my prezzie?” she asked, batting her eyes.
Wanton li’l nymph.
He loved her so much.
“That’s the present you don’t show your mum,” he replied dryly, though nothing could banish the grin from his lips. “The shiny I got you—”
“Oh! Shiny!”
“Is in my jean pocket.”
Buffy blinked and sat up, suddenly very awake. “Ohhh,” she drawled, the look on her face suddenly a perfect mock of a very satisfied cat that was stuffed full of canary. She leaned over him, sliding her hand intently over his lap, settling on his erection. “Is this it?”
“Minx.”
“Hey. Buffy got happy touchies. Spike saved Buffy’s life. Spike gets happy touchies, too.”
“I repeat: minx.”
She stared at him for a minute, then shrugged and dove for the aforementioned pocket. “Well, if you don’t want touchies, I can just—”
He moved like fire, seizing her wrist and guiding her back to his cock. “Quietly, now,” he murmured. “Don’ want your mum rushing up. She’s making us pancakes, you know.”
Buffy grinned and leaned in to nibble on his throat. “Let me help you work up an appetite.”
“Around you, luv, my appetite’s the last thing you need to worry about.”
“Yeah, but let me help anyway. My way’s more fun.”
Spike blinked and looked at her, then broke off with a laugh. “You are a shameless li’l minx.”
“Yeah, but you love me, anyway.”
There was nothing to say to that. Nothing to do but smile.
You have no idea.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 45″ ]
Chapter 45
It took a full two days following the Cruciamentum for Buffy’s strength to return. And though her mother wanted her to stay home until the bruises faded, she was oddly eager to get back to school. She wanted to see Willow and—moreover—wanted to get the big confrontation-explanation shindig with Giles and Angel very much in the past. Better now than later; then she could focus on how to tell Spike about the bite mark.
Furthermore, she was fairly certain she owed Angel an ass kicking.
“Okay,” Buffy said, pushing the library doors open. She didn’t even bother to feign surprise at seeing Angel hovering around the stacks. “First things first…”
“Buffy—” Giles said, his hands going up. “I don’t think you should do anything rash.”
Her fist connected with her ex’s chin, her eyes shining as he flew into a rack of books that were waiting to be re-shelved. “I can’t tell you how good that felt,” she spat, kicking him sharply in the side as a book plunked his head. “Almost as good as that.” She kicked him again. “You know, I think I’ll just keep this up until it gets boring. What do you say?”
“Buffy—”
She held up a hand, hooking her foot under Angel’s beefy chin. “Giles, the sooner I’m through with Angel, the sooner I start beating your overly-British ass for your role in the make-Buffy-dead plan. Do you really want me to rush this?”
There was a long pause. “Oh, no. Do go on.”
“Buffy,” Angel choked. “It’s…it was the Cruciamentum. It…we had no choice.”
“You had a choice. You had a choice to not use my boyfriend as a way to get me into the house with a madman. You had a choice to notdrag me away from him when I needed him the most.” She cocked her head. “And then with the forced undressing and the hands where your hands should never, ever be again.”
Angel didn’t even bother to look apologetic. “I had to know.”
“Had to know what?” She shrugged demonstratively. “What? Yeah, okay. Big secret. Spike bit me. He bit me, and it was amazing. So, is that it? The big ‘it’ you needed to know? He bit me. You wanna blame what I’m feeling for him based on the bite? Go ahead. It doesn’t change that—”
Giles cleared his throat and hazarded a step forward. “Buffy, there’s something you should know.”
She twisted and glared at him. “Was I not clear about the beating of your ass?”
“It’s about the bite.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Angel coughed. There was something in his eyes that she did not like at all. “Spike claimed you, Buffy. He claimed you when he bit you.”
She blinked. Okay. Weird way of putting it, but it sounded right. He’d bitten her, and he’d become a part of her. That much was a given. So Spike claimed her. The big? Still not seeing it. “Spike whated me?”
“Claimed,” Giles said softly. “It’s an ancient ritual practiced among vampires.”
Buffy frowned. “Ritual? No. No. There was no ritual. It—”
“It’s more a ritual in what it does rather than how it’s performed,” he clarified, holding up a hand. “And…I don’t believe that Spike…that is, Angel has provided reasonable evidence that Spike wasn’t aware of what he was doing when he claimed you. We believe he was rather…”
“Oblivious?” Angel ventured, earning a sharp kick to the sore spot on his throat. The place that Spike told her had met the pointy end of a stake the night he’d rescued her. “Buffy—”
Buffy glared at him. “Did I give you permission to talk? Or…exist, for that matter?”
“Last I checked—”
Giles exhaled slowly. “Buffy…I think it’s best if you s-sit down. There is much to tell you…about claims. A-and how it relates to your…situation with Spike.”
“My situation? The situation wherein he’s my boyfriend?” She threw her arms up in disgust. “Look, I knew both of you would massively wig over the Spike thing. And Giles, I can see where you come from a whole lot easier than I can Angel. Angel, who actively tried to make me very dead last year.”
The vampire under her foot wiggled angrily at that. “That wasn’t—”
“If you say that wasn’t you, I’m going to—”
“Oh, let me guess. Make another empty threat?”
Buffy dug her heel deeper into Angel’s throat, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You wanna test how empty my threats are? You nearly got me killed. You used my boyfriend to nearly get me killed. Oh, and then you tore me away from my boyfriend, undressed me, felt me up, and have the nerve to act like I’m overreacting?”
“Stop calling him your boyfriend!”
“That’s enough!” Giles practically shouted, holding up a hand. “Angel, need I remind you that you have already overstayed your invitation by, well, truthfully I stopped counting. Suffice to say, you are only here because I continue to allow it.”
“You need me to—”
“Guys!” Buffy rolled her eyes and released her hold on Angel. “Okay, so this claim thing. I suppose it affects how I’ve been feeling about Spike. All my emotions are fabricated through some mystical energy force that would otherwise not exist if he hadn’t bit me. Is that the song and dance you two have cooked up? And please, spare me no details.”
Giles and Angel—the latter of whom was rubbing his neck—exchanged an uneasy glance.
Buffy perked her brows. “Hit the nail right on the head, or is my aim a little off?”
“I—umm.” Giles cleared his throat again and slid his glasses into the waiting hem of his shirt. “No, not exactly. Among other things…a claim cannot fabricate feelings. Rather…why don’t I start at the beginning?” He released a deep breath. “I do think it best if…if you sit down, Buffy.”
From the look on his face, he was serious. Very serious. Buffy felt herself nod absently, only partially registering how hard her heart was pounding. The fog around her head was beginning to part, and all at once, it felt that the world around her was collapsing. They were going to tell her. They were going to explain everything. The mysterious draw, the stomach aches, the aversion to all things man-shaped. A nervous rush raced down her spine.
They were going to tell her. They were going to tell her everything.
“Okay,” she said slowly, hoisting herself onto the checkout counter. “So, with the talkage. What’s this claimy thing?”
Giles offered a weak smile. “As I said…an ancient ritual performed among vampires. When a vampire selects a suitable…mate. One they feel they want to be with for…well, eternity. It’s not done often anymore…and Angel seems to believe that Spike would not know h-how to claim.”
Buffy frowned. “And yet he did?”
“Claiming is an instinct, along with being a ritual,” Angel said, his voice a little raspy, his hand rubbing his throat. “If Spike was close to being a complete demon…like if, oh say, alcohol had worn down his lack of sensibility—what little he has—then the demon might have recognized you as someone…anyway, when he bit you, he said something, right?” He took an amazingly condescending step forward, narrowing his eyes. “Something along the lines of, ‘mine,’ perhaps?”
She froze. It wasn’t as though she’d given that moment a lot of thought, but on occasion, her mind was known for wandering. That morning had been the catalyst for many wayward thoughts. And since the birth of the plan, she’d been thinking about the long-term thing with Spike more and more…which, naturally, made her think of the past they’d shared. “Uhhh…”
“That’s the ritual.” Angel nodded. “It’s a simple word.”
“Not very…ritual-y.”
“No. And Buffy, it’s only valid if you acknowledge the demon’s claim.” The vampire took a step forward, his eyes boring into hers. “If you say, ‘yours,’ or ‘yes,’ or anything else that would affirm that you belong to the demon.”
“Oh.”
“If you didn’t, the claim’s not complete. It’ll wear off.” Angel glanced to Giles, then back again. “You just need to not see Spike anymore.”
Buffy blinked. Hard. “Excuse me?”
“I mean—”
“No, I know what you mean. And what? Why would I stop seeing Spike? I—he’s my…he’s my something. My boyfriend, my…claim-person. Or whatever.” She pointed at Giles, who stiffened. “And he said—”
“Buffy, if you go back to being around him, the temptation to acknowledge the claim will only get—”
She rolled her eyes, irritation surging. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Well—”
“I said yes, okay? I accepted his…his claim, or whatever.” When she found herself on the receiving end of two blank stares, she rolled her eyes again and held up a hand to count off her points. “Okay, firstly. One: I didn’t know what I was doing. I was scared and confused and…well, scared and confused pretty much summarizes what I was feeling nicely. Two: It’s none of your business. Three…” She frowned and drifted off in thought, then lowered her hand sheepishly. “Okay, so it’s only the two things. But Spike got a little demandy as far as my accepting went, and how the hell was I supposed to know what it means?” She paused and worried a lip between her teeth. “What does it mean, exactly?”
There was a long, burdensome silence.
“What?” Buffy fidgeted uncomfortably. “Look, I know…well…there will be no judging from the two of you. Angel, with the attempted murder and Giles! You drugged me and tried to feed me to an insane vampire! I’m not seeing much room to judge, here.”
“Buffy…” Giles sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. “I know I have been dishonest. And I’m sorry. You have no idea what putting…how much I hated the idea of putting you in danger. It ate at me. And if Spike hadn’t been there to stop it…I don’t think…I don’t know what I would have done. Suffice to say, the words, ‘Never forgive myself,’ don’t even begin to cover it.” He sighed again and glanced up, and the wealth of emotion that swam in his eyes made her anger slip a notch. Just one. He wasn’t getting off her crap list that easily. “However, I must say, that you haven’t exactly been forthcoming, either. The test was unavoidable, and if you think I enjoyed putting you through that…well, then perhaps you should consult Mr. Travers.”
“Travers?”
“Head of the Watcher’s Council. I did everything I could to cancel it. I-it’s an archaic, senseless exercise that does little more than…” Giles trailed off and inhaled sharply. “But then Angel suggested we use it…to test your…connection with Spike. To determine whether or not a claim was involved. And since you refused to come forward with anything about the bite that Spike gave you…or anything else, for that matter…you cornered me. I needed to know.”
“You didn’t tell me why!”
“If you had told me to begin…” Giles stopped again and shook his head. “I refuse to argue with you over this. What’s done is done. I made mistakes, but…somehow, I knew that you would be all right. That doesn’t excuse what I did. I know that. God, how I know that. I—”
“You accepted Spike’s claim?” Angel’s outburst was so sudden that even the dust froze in confusion. “How could you do that?”
“Wow,” Buffy appraised dryly, shifting. “Welcome back to the conversation.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Ummm, no. Hence the spirit of the meeting, I thought.”
He stormed forward impatiently. “You’re linked, Buffy. You tied yourself to him. Forever. There is no going back. There is no…there is nodivorce in claims. There is no way to reverse this.”
“Furthermore,” Giles added, sighing. “I believe that many of your…symptoms might be linked to a failure to…complete the claim.”
“My symptoms…” Oh God. Perhaps this was the mystical reason for everything. The spell that she and Spike had tried to blame their actions on. The huge, searing pain every time she was away from him? Every time they were separated for any amount of time? Not to mention, she was allergic to men who weren’t Spike. Simply sitting in the library with Giles and Angel was making her stomach curl, and only a small part of that could be attributed to her disgust at what they’d done to her. “Okay, yes, my symptoms. Is there a way to…get rid of those?”
“You have to—”
“Rupert!” Angel barked.
Giles rolled his eyes. “Oh, what? You know damn well that there’s nothing that can be done, and she doesn’t look to be in a position towant to undo anything in the first place! I’m bloody sick of you, and I think it’s well beyond time that we listen to Buffy.”
“It’s Spike—”
“Yes. You can repeat that as much as you want; it’s not going to change anything.” He smiled thinly. “And even so, with as much as I abhor Spike, I suddenly prefer his company to yours.”
Angel’s eyes widened. So did Buffy’s.
“What?” the vampire demanded.
“Buffy is right. He saved her life. He took care of her. Furthermore, we both saw how protective of her he was. Had Spike known about the Cruciamentum, he would have done everything in his power, short of and perhaps including taking my life, to prevent Buffy from getting hurt.” Giles tossed her a glance, and his smile turned warm at the look on her face. “And even then, I’m not sure. I believe that Spike, from what I saw, knows that hurting Buffy’s friends or Watcher would upset her. Would hurt her. He didn’t kill me and he very much wanted to. He didn’t kill me or you, for that matter, to get to Buffy. I’m not sure that he would have done anything to—”
“Rupert—”
“I’m not sure of anything. Were you actually watching him, Angel? Or did you only see what you wanted to see?” When he was met with nothing but silence, he smiled again and turned back to Buffy. “I’m not going to stop you from doing what you feel is right,” he said. “I can’t say I’m…thrilled. I’m not. I don’t know where I stand, exactly. But I do know that Spike cares for you. In some…way, he does. Furthermore, it’s a bit beyond our control, now. You accepted the claim.” A shadow fell across his face, as though he had the most difficulty wrestling with that concept. “You…accepted. You accepted the claim. There is nothing that can be done.”
Buffy swallowed hard, her eyes misting with tears. God, she’d missed this Giles so much. The Giles that was all with the support and the giving-of-fatherly-advice and not so much with the judgment. “I claim him back,” she whispered, “and the pain stops? We can…be with the normal?”
“As normal as…Buffy, I can’t say that I approve, but there’s really nothing—”
Something occurred to her from nowhere—something that he’d said before that she hadn’t thought to leap at in the middle of the confusion. Buffy released a short gasp and hopped off the counter, her eyes going wide. “Wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “You…you said that claims can’t…they can’t make me feel things for him. Or…they can’t make Spike feel things for me?”
Giles glanced to Angel, then back to her. “No,” he said. “There have been a few examples in history…where vampires claimed other vampires, determined to force them into love. It always ends…badly. A claim does nothing but play on emotions and feelings that already exist.”
Buffy’s heart skipped a beat. She was too nervous to hope. “S-so…the things I feel for Spike…that’s real?”
Another long pause. “Yes.”
“A-and what Spike feels for me? That’s real, too?”
The look on Giles’s face told her everything she needed to know; by the time he nodded and whispered his affirmation, she was on the verge of collapse. All of the worries that she had focused on—all the thoughts of spells and vengeful exes and a broken heart—fell before Truth, and she found herself possessed by the fiercest wave of happiness that she’d ever known. It was real. It was all real. The way Spike looked at her. The way he held her hand. The way he kissed her. The way he loved her body with his own. The way he bantered with her and held her. The way he cared for her. All of it was real. He wouldn’t leave her. There was no spell. There had never been a spell. Spike had linked them together with his bite, and he would never leave her.
Buffy couldn’t help it; she burst into tears. Happy tears. Tears that liberated, rather than burdened. She felt the weight of the world roll off her shoulders, and there was nothing to do but cry. She loved him, and she could have him, now. There was no need for a plan or distancing or anything anymore. She could just have Spike. She wasn’t that girl.
Only she had to tie them together. She had to complete it. She had to claim him back.
“Buffy?” Giles whispered, taking a cautious step toward her. “Are you all right?”
She fought the urge to laugh. To cackle with happiness. The sensation was so foreign, so welcome, that she didn’t know how to express it. She was caught between laughter and tears, and it was wonderful.
“Tell me,” she said, wiping her shining eyes. “Tell me how to do it. Tell me how to claim him. Tell me how to make it final.”
There would be no more hiding. She loved him. There was no reason to hide.
Not anymore.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 46″ ]
Chapter 46
About thirty minutes after her meeting with Giles and Angel, Buffy knew that there was no way she’d be able to wait until nightfall to see Spike. Not when she was bursting with this much happiness; not when all her fears for their once-uncertain future had been cast aside. She felt that she’d been waiting lifetimes for this—for some confirmation that her heart was secure, and now that she knew that it was real, the thought of waiting, even a matter of hours, was agonizing.
The night held a bizarre mixture of anticipation and anxiety. She didn’t know how she was going to tell him—how to explain that the night he’d kidnapped her, he’d also bitten her thigh and that she had decided to not tell him. At first, yes, her decision had been well-founded. Spike was supposed to have left town and never return, and the bite, other than being literally orgasmic to touch, was nothing more than a blemish. She hadn’t known. It had been something that was hers. Only hers. And by the time that she realized that he wasn’t going away—that he would eventually find out—it had been too late.
Now she had to tell him. She had to tell him that he’d claimed her. That there was no spell. That the pull between them had nothing to do with Drusilla. That the reason they yearned for each other was because of an incomplete claim, and once she made everything right, there would be no more aching. No more nausea. There would be nothing but the simplicity of being together, and all the bad would be cashed in for good. What they’d earn in pleasure would completely trump everything they’d experienced in pain.
Pain like the familiar, stabbing cramp in her stomach. Pain that wasn’t hers.
Buffy frowned and sat up with a jolt that had the students around her jumping in surprise. It rushed through her fast—so fast that she found herself clutching the edges of the desk as the first waves crashed over her overly-excited nerves. It had been so long since she’d suffered the pangs of separation that she barely remembered what they felt like.
Spike. Spike was in pain, and she felt it because they were connected. Because of the claim. He was in pain, and he needed her. And she wasn’t about to waste time in some boring class when he needed her.
It didn’t take much to sneak away. She fed her teacher some overused excuse, and was dismissed from class without incident. Mrs. Worthington was used to her excuses, after all, and like many teachers, to Snyder’s dismay, had long since ceased the campaign to keep Buffy in class. It always proved fruitless; Buffy had a way of making herself very much elsewhere when she put her mind to it.
“Do I even need to pretend that you’ll be back?” the old woman asked tiredly. “Or are we past this?”
Buffy smiled guiltily and shrugged. “I think we’re way past, Mrs. W. But I’ll have—”
“Mr. Giles write you a note?”
She nodded, the smile remaining. “Uh-huh.”
“I’ll wait with baited breath. See you tomorrow.”
Okay, so sneaking out wasn’t as much fun when the teachers didn’t object. Oh well. Nothing much lost. At least she didn’t need to look over her shoulder.
Besides, Spike needed her. It had barely been twelve hours, and he was suffering the pangs of separation. She didn’t know why the leash kept getting shorter, but it did. Perhaps it was because he’d been at her side faithfully for nearly two days as she got better. Perhaps the longer they were together, the shorter they could be apart.
It didn’t matter. It would be over tonight.
There would be no more pain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy pursed her lips and dropped her backpack the second the door behind her slammed shut. She jumped in spite of herself, then frowned and huffed a small grumble. Stupid crypt doors. They really had a way of ruining the element of surprise.
Not that surprising Spike was really what she was going for, but it was an added bonus.
Only, at first glance, the crypt was empty. She’d only been here twice before—the night that he had stumbled across her in the cemetery and they’d ended up with the wild monkey love on the floor, and then four nights ago. When he’d brought her here and they’d made love in the rocker and added an amendment to the plan.
Sometime over the weekend, Spike had told her how excited he was that he’d found himself a place at all. And though she couldn’t see getting wiggy and excited over a crypt, he was strangely proud of it. Something about having a place of his own for the first time…ever. A place he’d picked. And while she wouldn’t choose it over a night at the Waldorf-Astoria, she couldn’t deny that the crypt had a strangely homey feel.
Maybe that was just because she knew it belonged to Spike.
To be fair, he’d actually done a lot to make it homey. The floors were covered with rugs. There were a few scattered pieces of furniture and a television with admittedly crappy reception, though he was talking about getting a DVD player or something in the near future.
“Spike?” she asked softly. He was nowhere in sight. “Spike…it’s me.”
Well, that was lame. Who else would it be?
He must be downstairs. And considering that the sun was hanging high in the sky, he was likely sleeping.
And aching. He was aching because of her.
Buffy sighed and walked over to the trapdoor that led to the lower level. “Well,” she said dryly, wincing at the metallic clank that bounced off the walls. “If that doesn’t wake the dead, I don’t know what will.”
She didn’t know whether to be amused or surprised to find Spike sound asleep. Very naked and very asleep. He was gorgeous when he slept. Well, he couldn’t be anything but gorgeous if he tried. Spike could juggle fish entrails; it didn’t matter. He was a work of art.
A work of art that was currently whimpering and holding his stomach. Buffy sucked in a deep breath, drawing her shirt over her head as she kicked her shoes off. He was in pain because of her. Because of her stupidity and her unwillingness to listen to Spike when he assured her that what he was feeling was real. That he truly cared for her, and wouldn’t leave her when the spell was over.
Only there was no spell. There had never been a spell. She was in love with Spike because she was in love with Spike. And he…well, he certainly felt for her. And she was his; she was his, and he’d be hers before the night was over. They’d belong to each other. And all the other things, like her sacred duty, his blood-drinking habit, and the ongoing battle between good and evil could take a much needed break from being number-one on her priorities.
Well, okay, so she hadn’t been active slay-girl since Spike barreled into her life. Her priorities had been a little askew over the past few weeks. And the world hadn’t ended and it didn’t look like it was going to anytime soon. It wouldn’t hurt anything if she took another couple days off.
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and cast her eyes heavenward. Please? At least a few hours?
Oh well. If there was a big evil to fight, she was certain that she could convince Spike to help her out. The sooner the big evil was defeated, the sooner they could race each other back to bed.
The thought filled her insides with warmth. They could do those things. She could fight evil, slay demons, and Spike would be at her side. And at the end of the day, they could go back to his place and do the coupley thing. Or to her place. Or maybe they could rent a hotel room somewhere. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that there was no more hiding. No more ignoring her lusty feelings—or trying to—and no more worrying about the fate of her heart.
Buffy sucked in a breath and turned her hands to the clasp on her jeans, then hesitated. If she got naked, he’d want to make sure she got off, too, and she wasn’t here for that. No matter that the mark throbbed. No matter that she ached for his touch there like nothing else. She wasn’t here for her needs. Not now. She’d felt Spike’s pain and she wanted to ease it. She wanted to comfort him the way he’d comforted her. She wanted to repay everything he’d given her. The wealth of what he’d given her.
Thus she approached the bed, dressed only in her jeans. She felt strange but empowered. Making decisions like this, on some level, made them equals. It was something that Spike had been trying to make her see for a while now; she was only now catching up with him.
He twitched violently as she approached the bed, holding his stomach. Her insides ached with his pain. There was no reason for pain. She would erase it, and there would no longer be any pain between them. No pain. She’d paid her pound of flesh for the colossal wrongness that was slayer-falling-for-vampire, and there was nothing standing between them anymore.
Spike whimpered again, his head jerking. “Buffy—”
“Shhh.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over, running her fingers through his hair. She was always surprised at how soft his hair was. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
“Buffy…”
She brushed a kiss across his chest. “Sleepyhead,” she murmured affectionately. Then she turned and climbed to her knees, casting her legs astride his waist. “Semi-naked girlfriend here. You really don’t wanna miss out.” A tender smile flitted across her face, and she leaned forward until her breasts were pressed to his chest. “It’s okay,” she murmured, peppering his throat and chin with small, soft kisses. “It’s okay.”
“Buffy?” Spike blinked awake slowly, then moaned and cast his head back. “Oh, Christ. I thought I was dreaming.”
She giggled. God, this feeling was addictive. “You dream of me often?”
“Every sodding night,” he murmured, thrusting his pelvis upward. “I was…something was wrong.”
“Everything’s okay now.”
“What’re you doing here, pet?”
Buffy giggled and kissed his nipple, her right hand sliding down his abdomen. “Don’t you want me here?”
Spike whimpered again. “I never want you anywhere else. Oh, fuck, touch me.”
She arched a brow. “You want me to touch you,” she echoed, sliding down his body slowly. A kittenish grin stretched her lips, her hand curling around his cock. “Like this, huh?”
“Jus’ like that.”
“I’m gonna try this again.” Her grin widened and she licked a long path from the base of his erection to the tip. “I wanna make you feel good.”
“You do make me feel good, baby.” Spike sucked in another moan when she wrapped her lips around his head and suckled tenderly. “God, your tongue.” Her eyes floated up the lean expanse of his body, and she smiled, dropping her hands to cup his balls. “Bleeding hell, Buffy…”
“Your skin tastes good.”
Spike squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered again. “You’re killing me,” he panted, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “I needed you.”
“I know,” she whispered, dotting kisses along the underside of his length. “I felt you, and so I came.”
“You…you felt me?”
“Uh huh.” She dipped her head lower, grinning as she wrapped her lips around his sac, her right hand curling around his cock and pumping him slowly. “I felt you. I skipped school. I came. You were all sleepy and cute and naked.”
“I am…not…cute,” he ground out. “Buffy, please.”
“Please what?”
“Need you…your mouth around my…” She grinned and released his balls with a parting lick, taking his cock between her lips once more. “Oh, fuck yeah. God, what you do to me.”
“What do I do to you?” she asked. She swept her tongue along his sensitive head, and her grin broadened at his answering moan. She loved this. She loved the feminine empowerment. The wealth of what he’d given her simply by helping her embrace her womanhood. The sexual being buried beneath layers of strength. The woman within who wanted love and pleasure to counteract the blood and violence that came with her vocation.
“You’re—oh God, jus’ like that, pet.” Spike purred, his fingers threading through her hair, his hips swirling to find a steady rhythm. “Your mouth is so hot. So bleeding perfect. Ahh…”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really. God, Buffy…”
She smiled and released him, a womanly vibe rippling down her spine when he shrilled a gasp and sat up, wide-eyed.
“Oh, God, please!” he cried, and the desperation in his voice made her shiver in all the right places. The idea that she had any sort of power over him made her weak with desire. Even when she’d been with Angel and they’d had the whole star-crossed thing going, she hadn’t thought of herself as anything special. She wasn’t the sort of girl that men fell in love with. She always saw herself as the way she’d been treated at Hemery—cute, blonde, bubbly, with nothing going on upstairs. With Angel, things had been soft and sweet and safe…well, up until the killing of her friends began. And though he’d never really given her a reason to think so, she’d always felt that the basis of his attraction to her was rooted in her slayage. If she hadn’t been the Slayer, he would never have wafted into her life.
Granted, the same could be said about Spike. But he’d made it very clear, especially considering her recent bout as a non-superhuman-human, that her powers meant nothing to him in the long run. The only thing that said powers had been instrumental in was bringing them together. And yes, while the idea of getting to wrassle it out with Spike every now and then made her tingle in a very good way, she was much happier knowing that he liked her for her.
Something, evidently, that wasn’t entirely odd. As Giles had told her in his explanation of humans who find themselves claimed by vampires, history had known several exceptions to the vampires-eat-humans law in the form of vamps who fell in love with humans.
“Buffy, please,” Spike begged, wrapping his hand around his cock. “I need you. I need you so bloody badly.”
“I wanna try something.”
He paused and arched a brow, his shoulders rolling back and his eyes flashing with interest. “Something new?”
“Something I read…” She broke his gaze and blushed furiously. “Something I read…”
Spike studied her for a long beat, arching a brow. “Have you been reading dirty magazines?”
“One of Xander’s.”
He fought off a grin. “Xander jus’ loaned you his collection, pet?”
“As if! I found it in his locker.” Her blush deepened. “I-I…I just don’t want you…I want to learn things to…with you. I don’t want to…bore you.”
Everything stopped. The pants that heaved through his chest. The needful strokes he gave his cock. The silence that fell around them was deafening. A few long seconds passed before she summoned the courage to look up. She swallowed a gasp when she met Spike’s eyes. He was staring at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Buffy shifted nervously. She felt more than out of place; her mouth perched over his cock, his eyes burning into hers. “Did I say something wrong?”
“In a million years, Buffy, you could never bore me.”
Oh God. Swoonage.
Though, when they hit their million-year anniversary, she was so going to call him on that.
“A million years, huh?” Buffy grinned and dipped her mouth again, suckling at the head of his erection. “How about two?”
“Oh, Buffy…”
She giggled and licked him again. “Is that a yes?”
“For-sodding-ever. I’m yours for eternity.”
God, she loved hearing that and knowing it. Believing it. Not having it tagged with a gut-wrenching fear that he was going to leave her.
“I wanna try this,” she murmured, giving his head one last lick before she moved to sit up. “I-I’ve heard that…some guys like…putting their…umm, things.” She tore her gaze from his cock, but the only other place to look was his eyes, and that was so not a go. “Ummm. Between my…uhhh…” She flushed and tried to smile, cupping her breasts demonstratively. “My…”
Spike arched a brow. “Are you askin’ me if I wanna fuck your titties?”
“Well, not like that, you perv! Only…” She ducked bashfully. “Yes, that. But…less with the…okay, just say it. I’m a crazy woman and—”
“Buffy…” He smiled tenderly and sat up, cupping her cheek. “Come here…”
She pouted. “I like it here,” she said, her mouth dropping to lap a wet path up his cock again. “And I wanna try my thing.”
“Let me fuck your titties?” he purred, his brows waggling.
“If you have to say it like that.”
“I think I do.”
Buffy flashed him a smirk and sat up, perching his cock between her breasts. “Okay,” she said nervously. “What now?”
“Jus’ hold still, baby,” he murmured, a catlike purr rumbling through his body. “I’ll do all the work.”
“I don’t want you to work.”
“Trust me…” Spike rumbled, beginning to thrust his hips again. “Ohhh, yeah. Jus’ like that.”
It was admittedly a strange sensation, but the look on his face quickly drowned out any of her numbered misgivings. The idea that she could bring anyone such pleasure simply by offering her body was more than a little intimidating. She shuddered a sigh and tried to ignore her screaming nerves and the butterflies that liked to live in her stomach whenever she allowed her feminine side to overpower the part of her that was, in many ways, still the quivering virgin. When she attempted to do something sexually new and bold.
“I can feel your heart beating,” he murmured, reaching down to tug at her nipples. “God, you don’ know what you do to me. Watching my dick move between—”
“You’re making me blush,” she protested softly, biting back a moan.
“I like it when you blush.” Spike gasped and threw his head back. “Lick me, pet. Need your tongue.”
If her skin grew any hotter, she’d start melting in the literal sense. Rather, she nodded and licked at his velvety tip with every thrust of his hips.
“You’re so perfect,” he moaned. “So bloody perfect.”
“Am not,” she retorted, lapping at his head.
“Don’…argue…with me.”
“You really like this?” It came out sharper than she’d intended, and when he narrowed his eyes in question, she ducked her head and fought the urge to shrink back. “I mean…you’re not just humoring me? I wanted to…and I know…I’m sorry my boobs aren’t…well, bigger. I…the…” Okay, he was looking at her like she was insane. Again. “I’ll just…look for a hole in the ground that hasn’t swallowed anything recently.”
Spike sat up immediately and cupped her face again. “Don’ be ridiculous,” he murmured, kissing her mouth sweetly. “When I say you’re perfect, woman, I mean it.”
“You’re—”
“Absolutely mad for you, an’ if you don’ know that by now…” He kissed her again and smiled. “Get up here.”
Buffy jerked back and shook her head, her hand returning to his erection. “I want…this is for you. Not me.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.” She smiled and, before he could say another word, engulfed his cock with her mouth once more. Spike moaned and flopped back to the mattress, thrusting his hips upward. She took him in as far as she could, until his head brushed against the back of her throat. She hadn’t tried this since the night his demon had come loose and forced her mouth around him—hadn’t tried taking him in as deep. And when the urge to gag surfaced, she paused and breathed.
Spike blinked and looked up. “Buffy? What’s…oh—”
She inhaled sharply and swallowed around him, earning a sharp moan and a swift jerk of his hips. He babbled a quick apology as his head collapsed against the mattress again, but his words lost coherency fast.
Confidence building, she slid her lips up his length coyly and grinned. “I take it you like that,” she said, licking at his slit.
“Oh Christ.”
“More?”
“Slayer—”
She sucked him as far in as she could and swallowed around him again. And that was it. Spike barked a quick warning that she didn’t understand until the next second, when he jerked and came, spilling himself deep into her throat. Buffy fought the urge to balk in shock; rather, she did what came naturally and drank down. Spike whimpered helplessly and curled his fingers in her hair.
“Buffy…oh God, Buffy…” His cock slid out of her mouth, and the next thing she knew, he had dragged her up the expanse of his body and was mauling her lips with worshipful, loving kisses. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, his mouth whispering against hers. “So bloody amazing.”
“I—”
“If you say you’re not, I’m gonna rip your arms off.” Buffy paused and pulled back, arching a brow. Spike shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “Well, no. I like your arms.”
“You like my other stuff, too.”
Spike’s eyes dropped, widening as he appraised her heaving chest. His smile stretched into a leer; he palmed her breasts with near reverence, rolling her nipples between his fingers. “I love your other stuff.” He brushed his lips against hers again, then tugged her down so that she was curled into his side. “You came for me.”
“Well, if you wanna get technical…”
He grinned and barked a laugh. “Dirty!”
Buffy flushed and sank into the mattress. “You’re a bad influence.”
“The baddest.” He ran his fingers down her arm, his hand settling on the waistband of her jeans. “I think you’re overdressed.”
“I told you. This was about you. Not me.”
“I’ve had mine.” He hooked his fingers through one of her belt-loops and dragged her over. His lips found hers again before breaking away to shower her throat with soft, sweet kisses. “Lemme give you yours.”
“Nuh uh. You’re sleepy.”
“Am not.”
“You are so.” Buffy giggled, then blushed at the way his eyes sparkled at her mirth. “You’re all post-coital with the sleepy.”
“Like I’ll bloody let that get in the way.” He dipped his head, wrapping his lips around her nipple. “Buffy, lemme—”
“Go sleepy.”
“No—”
“Spike…” She smiled tenderly and took his face into her hands, bringing his mouth down to hers. “You stayed awake for me all weekend so that you could provide everything or anything I needed, right down to a Kleenex. Please get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
God, the taste of his kisses never ceased to amaze her. The way his tongue stroked hers, the way his lips moved against her lips, the way he whimpered. The way he held nothing back. She tasted everything in his kiss.
“You promise?” Spike panted when they pulled apart. “You’ll be here?”
“I’ll be here.”
“An’ you’ll tell me why you broke the rules?”
“To the plan?” Buffy shrugged and settled against him. “What can I say? Rules are made to be broken.”
Spike looked at her for a minute, then shrugged and wrapped his arms around her. “Gotta say, pet,” he murmured, nuzzling her shoulder, closing his eyes. “Whatever spell that you’re li’l witch friend cast on you, she has my approval.”
Buffy smiled weakly. “No spell.”
There were no words to emphasize how important it was that he know that.
“Mhmmm.” He kissed her shoulder. “’Night…sweetheart.”
Of all his pet names for her, that was definitely her favorite. Well, one of her favorites. With Spike, she had many favorites. Like watching him fall asleep. That wasn’t a pet name, but it was still a Spike-related favorite. And it didn’t take long. A few minutes of quiet, and he was deep in slumber again.
He was asleep in her arms. There was still so much to tell him. So much. But she wanted this for him. She just wanted to hold him right now. The rest could wait. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she.
Buffy smiled tenderly and brushed her lips against his brow. “I love you,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.
Just as his flew open.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 47″ ]
Chapter 47
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She’d been asleep for a little over an hour; every time he tried to convince himself that he should heed her advice—especially since she’d turned down a shag so that he could catch up on the rest he’d lost in worrying over her these past few days—her words floated back into his mind and rendered him sleepless.
She loved him. Buffy loved him.
God, was it even possible? He’d never thought it possible. Her love was something precious and fragile—something no man or demon deserved. The last time she’d given her love to someone, her life had been gutted, and she’d lost everything. Her friends. Her Watcher. Her mother. Her home. She’d lost any remnants of her childhood in her self-imposed exile in Los Angeles. Every shred of innocence she’d ever possessed had been contaminated, and all because she lost her heart to the enemy.
To a vampire.
Buffy was in his bed, curled into his side, and she’d whispered that she loved him. Buffy loved him.
It had been a pipe dream. A hope that he hadn’t even attempted to entertain. He’d realized how he felt over the weekend, and even then, it hadn’t been much of a revelation. The feelings stirring in his gut had been with him, it seemed, forever. Long before he found Dru snogging the Chaos Demon on that bloody park bench. These feelings were the reason that Dru had left him in the first place. And they had crept up on him so slowly that he hadn’t even realized he was in love until her life was in danger.
His love for her had slowly eaten away at his monstrosity, and he was too lost to care. He was with her. Something had brought her to him—the sodding spell, the whatever that had them lusting after each other. He didn’t know. Frankly, he didn’t care. He knew himself when he loved; after all, he’d spent most of his life crawling over hot ashes for one female or another. There was the misery that had been Cecily. Then it was Dru. Dru and the pathway to salvation. The pathway to Buffy.
But Buffy had given him something that no one ever had. For years, he’d fooled himself into thinking that Dru’s little sighs and her dance-around-words and her sodding riddles and mind games meant that she loved him. She’d played with the sentiment, sure, but she never said it. And he was becoming more and more convinced that her affection, particularly in their last few years together, had been more of a display of gratitude-wrapped-in-dependency.
Once he would have cared. He didn’t now.
Buffy loved him. God, Buffy loved him.
And he’d done absolute rot to earn it. He’d kidnapped her, forced his way into her body, stalked her, and abused her. Sure, saving her life earned him a few bonus points, but it in no way made up for everything he’d taken from her. Everything he could never repay.
Spike had figured, once he’d realized his love for Buffy, that he’d be fortunate if it didn’t dawn on her what an unworthy wanker he was, once the spell was over. If she let him stay in her life as her boyfriend.
Her boyfriend.
But Buffy loved him. She loved him. She’d come to him when he was in pain. She’d caressed him. She’d worshipped his body with her hands and mouth because she wanted to. Because comforting him was important to her.
He’d never had that. Not once. Never had a woman he’d cared about tended to him when he needed tending. Dru’s idea of healing his ailments was a quick pat and a comment about how the stars were arguing with Miss Edith.
Buffy had come to him.
Buffy loved him.
Spike sucked in a deep breath, his eyes clouding with tears. Buffy loved him.
“You realize you’re mine, now,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “I’m never letting you go.” His eyes fell to the chain around her neck, and a smile itched at his lips. He’d given her a ring for her birthday. Nothing particularly special—ostensibly—but it was something of a family heirloom. Something he’d never trusted Dru with.
Spike snickered, his fingers running along the expanse of the chain until he found the ring. He’d always wondered why he could never give it to Dru. He’d tried to make himself a thousand times. She loved jewelry, after all. She loved anything that sparkled for her, but keeping her interested in anything for any measure of time was a chore. If he’d given it to her, she would have lost it or tossed it the second that she found something she liked better.
When Buffy awoke, he was going to tell her everything. Everything. How he felt, that he didn’t give a bloody sod if they were under a spell; nothing could make him feel differently. There was no spell on the sodding planet that could fabricate feelings like this. He’d tell her that he loved her, and he wanted her, and nothing was ever going to change that.
He’d never hurt her. Not again. Not if he could help it.
Only he wanted her so much that it was difficult to remember that he didn’t breathe. She’d tossed the plan for him. She’d come here and touched him in ways that definitely qualified as off-limits. And now she was in his bed, half-naked. There was no sodding way that he was going to walk away from this now.
Spike released a trembling sigh, his lips wrapping around one of her pert nipples, stroking her other breast. He loved the feel of her in his hand, how the small weight of her filled his palm. The softness of her skin beneath his touch did him in every time. She was so warm—so warm where he was cold. He could feel the reverberation of her heartbeat under his fingers. The delicious rush of her pulse made his skin hum to life.
The thoughts had been with him for weeks now. The way his demon growled and insisted that Buffy was his. He’d felt it the night that Buffy snogged Angel. Hell, he’d ripped the graveyard apart because he’d felt that his girl was with another bloke. And when he’d seen her later that night, it was because his girl was in pain. His girl was hurting. And his girl had needed him.
The thoughts had been there; now the thoughts were backed with knowledge. Buffy was his. Her warmth. Her softness. Her heart. Everything. She belonged to him. She belonged to him almost as much as he belonged to her.
“I love you, too.” Spike licked her nipple with a contented purr. The hand occupied with her other breast slowly slid down the taut stretch of her stomach. He circled her bellybutton with his index finger before settling on the clasp of her jeans. “An’ I’m fairly certain,” he murmured. “That I told you to wear nothin’ but skirts.”
To be fair, she’d likely intended to change before their routine patrol non-date—something that he felt should be upgraded to gratuitous-bouts-of-violence-complete-wi
There was every chance, but he wasn’t a quitter. He wasn’t about to give up. Buffy loved him.
A silly grin tickled his lips. “You smell so sweet,” he purred, brushing a kiss across her belly, then moving his mouth lower. He hooked his fingers around her belt loops, sitting up to drag them down her legs. “So bloody good.”
Buffy moaned and shifted, rolling completely onto her back, her legs parting further for him.
Spike arched a brow, his lips fighting a grin. “I think baby’s awake. You playin’ possum, sweetheart?”
“Uhhh…”
His grin stretched into a devilish smirk. He slid back up to her, slipping his arms under her thighs and lifting her clothed pussy to his mouth. Spike inhaled deeply, burying his face between her thighs. “Christ, pet,” he gasped reverently. “You make my mouth water.” He slipped his fingers under the elastic lining at the crotch of her panties, bunching the intrusive fabric aside and baring her sweet, pink flesh to his hungry eyes.
“You better wake up quick,” Spike observed, his head dipping and his tongue taking a much coveted lap up her slit. Buffy moaned and gasped a little, her pelvis arching upward. He grinned again, wrapping his lips around her clit. “Else this is only a li’l fun.”
Another long whimper tore at her lips and her thighs opened even wider.
“Faker,” he teased, pulling his head back to enjoy the view. This was perfect. There was nothing in the world that could rival this. His eyes slowly trailed to her pussy again and he licked his lips. “You li’l…”
Spike paused and frowned, cocking his head. “What…”
No. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t supposed to be there. It had to be a trick of light. He blinked rapidly and shook his head. Little good it did. When he opened his eyes, it was still there.
And he was transfixed. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her. From it. From the thing that didn’t belong. He kept expecting it to vanish, but it did not. And he couldn’t stop staring. His eyes were glued to the two puncture wounds that marred the otherwise flawless skin of her inner thigh.
A vampire’s bite.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 48″ ]
Chapter 48
“What the bleeding hell is that?”
Buffy jerked awake with a start, only to find a very gorgeous, very livid vampire perched between her thighs. He was staring at her like she was a stranger. Like she was someone he’d never seen before. She frowned and panicked for a second before realizing where he was—and what he was looking at it.
Oh God.
Her panic leapt off the charts. “Oh, God. Oh God. Spike. I-I can…I can explain. I’m so sorry. I—”
Spike snarled, his eyes glowing yellow, and Buffy shrank back when her heart leapt into her throat. Okay, so she’d known he’d take it bad. Very bad, even. After all, she’d been very much with the secretive. And the closer they’d become, the more she’d gone out of her way to make sure the mark remained hidden.
But yellow eyes and fangs? Oh, and ridges? Spike was having serious ridges. She hadn’t known he would take it that badly.
“When?” he snarled, running his hand over the bite. “When?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, she felt a rush of lust unlike anything she’d ever experienced. For weeks, she’d been craving his touch there. On her mark. Caressing her. Laving his territory with his mouth and tongue. Now, for the first time, his hand was over the place he’d marked her, and the sensation was orgasmic.
“Answer me, Buffy!” he growled, crawling forward and seizing her shoulders. “Was it the night you kissed him? Did you have him bloodymark you, too? Is that what made you toss your cookies? When? Answer me!”
Buffy blinked, stunned silent. “What?”
“When did you let him touch you?” He fisted a handful of her hair and craned her neck back. “When?!”
“Spike, you’re scaring me—”
His eyes glimmered and he flashed her some fang. “Oh baby, I haven’ even started.”
“Spike—”
“I gotta say, luv, if it was fangs you were lookin’ for, you shoulda told me.” He ran his tongue down one of his incisors and smirked nastily. “I’d’ve been bloody thrilled to accommodate your—”
Buffy blinked again, realization spreading cold through her veins. He thought…oh God, he thought that Angel had bitten her? He thoughtthat?
It was awful, but her first instinct was to laugh. Hard.
“Spike,” she said, pulling carefully out of his grip. It was a chore, trying to keep her voice calm and mirth-free. She wanted so badly to guffaw like a mad woman. Like she’d ever let Angel bite her. Especially now. Was he insane? “You need to—”
“Least I could’ve done the job properly!” Spike continued furiously, spreading her legs further apart, running his finger across the mark again. And again, her insides flushed with heat. “You call that a sodding bite? I know poofters with stronger fangs!”
That was it. Buffy’s façade crumbled into loud, cackling laughter. The flash of confusion that stormed Spike’s eyes didn’t do much to help. She laughed until she couldn’t breathe, caught her breath, and then melted into giggles all over again. She tried to speak, but her words rode out on chuckles. The idea was just preposterous. Absolutely preposterous. And topped off with Spike unwittingly insulting his own fangs? This was so priceless, it deserved its own MasterCard commercial.
Spike’s confusion quickly gave way to angered hurt. “I’m glad you’re so bloody amused,” he growled, the ferocity in his voice doing little to mask his pain. “Pull one over on me?”
Buffy shook her head as her amusement calmed, pressing her lips together to wane off any other ill-timed chortles. “No. No. Spike, God no. I love you, you…git. I’m just…I’m sorry if I find this funny.”
At that, the fire in his gaze softened. “Did you just call me a git?”
“Hey! I don’t know what it means. Only that you use it as an insult, and right now I’m insulting you while making with the love declaration…and hey! You latch onto git but not the love thing?” Buffy scowled and slapped his arm. “I reiterate: big, big git!”
Spike exhaled slowly. “Slow down.”
“Me? I should slow down?! You’re the one that’s all with the conclusion-jumping, and I’m the one being told to chill?”
His eyes narrowed. “Buffy—”
“Like I would ever, ever let Angel bite me. Especially after you. Kissing him made me hurl in the incredibly gross, literal sense.” Buffy shuddered, then sighed and rolled her shoulders back, resignedly. Of course, though, there was no way for Spike to come to any otherconclusion. Her nerves, no longer protected by amusement, were suddenly screaming. Screaming with his pain along with her anxiety. She sucked in a deep breath. There was no more hiding. She’d made her bed; it was time to face the music and dance.
Buffy groaned inwardly. Mixed metaphors, much?
“Spike…ummm…” She released a long, shuddering breath. “The bite…this?” She took his hand in hers and guided it back to the sacred place on her thigh, moaning when his fingertips brushed her tender flesh. “This is…yours.”
Spike froze. There was nothing for several long, agonizing seconds. He didn’t blink. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t move. His eyes just bore into hers, unreadable. Buffy swallowed hard but didn’t say a word. Her heart was pounding too hard to get her voice to work. He just stared at her.
When he finally spoke, the sound was so raw that her heart ached with regret. “What?” he demanded. Then paused, blinked, shook his head, and met her eyes again, incredulous. “What?”
“You…” Buffy sighed and cast her gaze downward. “It’s yours, Spike. The…poofter mark is yours.”
“Have you gone completely carrot-top?”
“Huh?”
There was a long pause. “I think I’d remember somethin’ as marvelous as biting you, pet.” His eyes narrowed. “An’ my fangs are not poofter-fangs!”
“Hey! Your words, not mine!”
“That’s not my—”
“Spike, trust me. I’d know if another vampire found his way between my legs and…” Buffy shook her head and sighed. “It was…Spike…it was the night you kidnapped me. You…when you came back, all drunk, you…were downtown man.” She shifted uncomfortably. “You bit me.”
Spike blinked. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You…I’ve seen you.” He shivered and sighed. “I’ve seen you…bloody well shagged you sideways. There was the crypt…an’ your room…an’ the Bronze an’…I’d remember seeing a bite mark.” He blinked again. “I’d…remember…”
Buffy sighed, her eyes falling shut. This was going to be harder than she thought. There was absolutely no way to calculate how deep learning of her deception would cut. She’d been incredibly thoughtless. Incredibly selfish. There was absolutely no way to tell him this without hurting him.
“I…I didn’t tell you,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Spike drawled, disbelief giving way to anger again. “Gettin’ that.”
“I…” She swallowed hard and gestured emphatically as she searched for words. “You were…really frazzled that morning. A-and I didn’t want to…make it worse for you. You were guilt-tripping—”
“That was bloody weeks ago!”
“Yes! A-and after that, I told you to skedaddle and you so didn’t do that. And then there was the sex and the more distancing and by the time we came up with the confusing, yet at the time, seemingly-reasonable plan, I didn’t know how to tell you.” Buffy shivered and rubbed her arms. “It didn’t…after we came up with the plan, I didn’t…I should have told you, but so much time had passed and I didn’t…”
“I still can’t…I’ve seen you, Buffy. I’ve seen you naked—”
“Not really. I hid…that part. I made sure you didn’t see that. I didn’t want…” At his look, she dropped her shoulders and sniffled. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean to. I really…I’m not saying…I know I made a mistake. A huge, colossal mistake. I’m not trying to exonerate myself or anything. I know I screwed up. But I was gonna tell you tonight, I swear.”
Spike cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Were you, now?”
“Yes! I so totally was.”
“That’s bloody convenient for you, pet.” He cast a hand through his platinum locks, a long, humorless laugh tumbling through his lips. “How could you keep this from me?”
“Spike—”
“No. How could you keep this from me?” He broke off and shook his head again. “You are some piece of work, Summers. I bloody well—”
“Spike, before you yell at me and give me the scolding I so richly deserve—” She paused and held up a hand when he gave her a stern look. “I’m not being glib. I’m glib-free Buffy. I know I deserve it. I really, really deserve it. But…Angel—”
A low growl rumbled through Spike’s throat. “Now would be the wrong time to mention Angel, pet.”
“No. Let me…finish.” Buffy laughed nervously and tucked her hair behind her ear. Oh God. Please let me not have ruined everything.“Angel’s been asking me for a while now if you bit me. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t…it wasn’t any of his business. It was mine. It was the one part of you that I still had…well, until the plan where I pretty much had you all the time.”
There was no way Spike could withhold a grin at that. He rolled his shoulders and waggled his brows. And that was it. Buffy sighed, releasing some of her tension. Words could not describe how happy she was to see that brow-waggle. “Others might say that I had you all the time,” he retorted.
She flushed. “Yeah…my point being, when we were trying the stay-away-from-each-other bit, the bite mark was all I had of you. And…touching it…”
Spike’s brows perked and he glanced down with interest. “Touching it…?” he drawled curiously, running an experimental finger across the mark. His eyes sparkled when she moaned and rolled her head back, thrusting up against his hand. “Oohh,” he cooed, rubbing her with more intent. “Isn’t that neat?”
“Uhhhh…”
Spike chuckled. “Oh, baby. Do you have any bloody idea how long we played, not explorin’ this?” He ducked his head, wrapping his lips around one of her nipples, his fingers massaging the bite mark tenderly. A helpless whimper tore at her throat and she trembled in ecstasy. God, and she thought it’d been good when she’d rubbed the mark. Having Spike touch that spot? She’d be lucky if she didn’t die from an overdose of pleasure. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to make up for lost time.”
“Uhhh…that feels…”
He grinned around her breast. “Heavenly?”
“Ohhh…so…not mad?”
The way his chuckle reverberated against her skin successfully banished any lingering anxiety. “You kept this from me. But…with as much as it bloody boggles, I can see how…well, no, I can’t, but I can think of a few ways to work out my frustrations,” he purred. “Though I’mvery angry, so it might take me a while.”
“Spike, there’s something…”
“Lay back, baby.”
“Wait. I need to—”
“If you love me, you’ll lay back.” He flashed a wicked, knee-weakening grin at that. It was a good thing she was already lying down, else she’d likely find something to trip over. “Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that. Minx. Where do you get off, telling me you love me, an’ all?”
She reeled. He might as well have slapped her. “Spike—”
His fierceness only lasted a minute. Then his eyes flooded with adoration and the wicked leer on his face softened into the kindest, most loving smile she’d ever seen. He took her face in his hands and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “I was s’posed to say it first,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “An’ if you bloody well tell me it’s because of a sodding spell, I’m gonna—”
“It’s not a spell.”
Spike paused and blinked rapidly, falling back in surprise. “It’s not?” he replied, his voice trembling with hope. “You believe me, then? You know I love you? You know it’s not because of magic or—”
“I know.”
He smiled excitedly, rumbling in delight, though he couldn’t hide the confusion in his eyes. “I gotta say, luv, that was easier than I thought. An’ here I was, prepared to tie you up an’ torture you until you believed me. Granted, my idea of torture was gonna be a lot more like sexy fun, but—”
“Spike, there’s something else. Something that An…” She squeaked when his face fell to a frown again. “Ummm…that guy I used to date and Giles…they told me something this afternoon. Something that…kinda sorta explained why An—that guy I used to date used you to get me to rush into the very special make-Buffy-dead rite of passage.”
His eyes flashed angrily at the mere mention. “That—”
“Spike…when you bit me…you kinda…” She trailed off, suddenly nervous again. “Well, Giles used the word claimed me. Yeah. You claimedme.”
“I…” He paused, his brow furrowing, eyes wide with confusion. “I claimed…I bloody claimed you?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“I claimed…I don’ even sodding know how to…well, I looked it up once but I never…” He broke off and shook his head. “I claimed you. As in…I claimed you. I…Christ, Slayer, do you know what this means?”
She nodded perkily. “Uh huh. Giles and…that guy I used to date were all with the explainy. And I did some reading during class when I was supposed to be listening to the teacher. You claimed me, you got me to accept. It’s the reason we’ve been all with the…lusty goodness.”
“Because I claimed you.”
“Yeah. And all our feelings…they’re feelings that were already…there. Repressed feelings that…” She turned her eyes shyly to the stretch of mattress between them. “So, yeah, okay. The first time I saw you, I thought you were gorgeous with a body to die for and a killer accent…then you made that stupid ‘I’ll kill you on Saturday’ comment, but the lusty thoughts—”
Spike’s eyes swallowed her with awe. “Slayer…”
“S-so yes. Feelings…were there. Bad…very repressed…lusty feelings. A-and—”
“I wanted to shag you into the sodding ground the firs’ time I saw you.” He dived for her throat, sucking sweetly at her skin. “No harm in admittin’ it.”
“Spike…”
“I claimed you?” There was a giddy note in his tone now. He cupped her breasts and coaxed her back gently against the mattress. “I really claimed you?”
“Yeah…you did.”
“You’re mine?”
She smiled and stretched beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Wholly and completely yours.”
The light that filled his eyes could move stars. “For how long?” he demanded throatily. “How long are you mine?”
“Pretty much ever.”
“Forever?”
She shrugged. “Claims work that way on people. A-and Giles said that your…being a little less with the shredding innocent people to bitty bitty bits is something you get from me. Kinda like I get the new and improved non-existent expiration date.”
Spike blinked. “An’ you’re okay with this? You really—”
“Spike?”
“Hmm?”
“You wanna talk or you wanna get with the wild monkey love?”
He grinned, his mouth nearing hers intently. “Neither,” he replied, sucking her lower lip between his teeth. “I still gotta punish you a bit.”
“Punish?”
“You’ve been a very bad girl. Keeping secrets from your Spike.” His grin widened. “So now…you get punishment.”
Buffy sat up—or rather, she tried to sit up. A very insistent hand shoved her back to the mattress. “A-and how exactly are we punishing?”
“You’re giving me…a taste.”
He kissed her hard before she could respond, then slid eagerly down her body, his mouth covering every inch of skin as he went.
Her nerves seared with heat. Oh yeah. This was definitely the sort of punishment a girl could go for.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 49″ ]
Chapter 49
The hint of her taste teased his fangs. His fingers trailed slowly down her stomach, following his mouth as he nibbled his way to her center. With every breath he took, the drunker he became. Buffy Summers: drug of choice. He had no idea how he’d managed to get here—to earn her warmth or her purity—but he was sure he’d move the heavens and the earth to secure his place. The delicious aroma of her arousal dizzied him with delight, and every time he inhaled, his insides trembled and the whole of him gave over to awe. And while he was still unsure about this claim business—especially how he could end up doing it when he was drunk on things other than the gorgeous blonde beneath him—he wasn’t about to question it. Not when she was the reward.
“So,” Spike drawled, making quick work of her panties to bury his face in her pussy, consequentially forgetting what he was about to say. He whimpered helplessly in time with her throaty moan, licking at her wet, silken skin. “Fuck, but you taste good.”
Buffy mewled and thrust wantonly against his face. “Ohhhh…”
“You can say that again,” he rumbled in agreement, flashing her a wicked smirk. “Do you have any sodding idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you?” His tongue slipped inside her and purred approvingly when she gasped and arched off the mattress again. “You taste so sweet.”
“Spike. Oh God!”
“Oh God?” he echoed, brows arching. “Already?”
“You…I…” She spread her legs wider, her hand falling to her bite mark. “Touch me here,” she pleaded. “Please. I need—”
“Baby likes to beg, does she?” Spike teased, leaving her slit with a parting lick, gave her clit a quick suck, then kissed his way to the bite mark that graced her gorgeous skin. On closer inspection, he had absolutely no idea why he would have thought the mark belonged to anyone but him. Or how, for that matter, he could have accused the fangs responsible of being anything but the epitome of manliness. Must have been the fleeting bout of jealous insanity.
“No…I don’t like…begging…” Buffy ran her foot down the cool expanse of his back, small, helpless whimpers tearing through her lips. “Please. I’ve…I’ve wanted…this…I…”
Spike glanced up curiously, sinking two fingers into her pussy. “You’ve wanted this?” he demanded eagerly. The idea that she could have fantasized about him at all made his blood sing. “You’ve wanted my mouth here?”
“Spike, please!”
The shrill in her voice only made him harder. An impassioned growl clawed at his throat and he rubbed his erection against the mattress. “You have any idea how hot it makes me, hearin’ you beg?”
“I’m not begging!”
Spike arched a brow. “You’re not?”
“No! And if you don’t start macking on that bite mark, I’m gonna—”
“So less with the begging an’ more with the threats?” He grinned, pumping his fingers into her hot, tight channel. He settled his thumb over her clit, his grin widening when her protest melted into another helpless whimper. He fastened his lips around her bite mark, purring sensually as he sucked her sensitive skin between his teeth.
“Oh my GOD!” A long, hoarse cry tore through her lips and she thrashed uncontrollably. Spike was so startled by the enthusiasm of her response that he jerked and released her, his fingers sinking deeper into her body. She wailed in protest the second his mouth abandoned her. “Ohh! Spike, please!”
Spike blinked and stared at her, his body humming to life in ways he’d never experienced. In ways he’d never thought to experience. She was vibrating around his fingers and her eyes were swallowing him whole. “Buffy…”
“Please!”
“Oh, baby…” He dipped his head again, laving the bite mark with his tongue. Immediately, Buffy’s cries of protest gave way to moans of pleasure. He had absolutely no idea a bite mark could create such ecstasy. The bite that had made him a vampire had never been a particularly enticing erogenous zone. Granted, Dru had never really paid much attention to the marks she gave him, so it could be that he’d just missed out all these years.
Or it could be that claim marks were completely different from other vampire marks. It had been so long since he gave the concept of claiming any thought; obviously, some research was in order. He wanted to know how he’d done it. How, when he was so drunk he very literally didn’t have a handle on what he was doing, he’d managed to perform an ancient and binding ritual. One that had tied his lifeline with Buffy’s forever.
“That feels…” Buffy whimpered, her eyes squeezing shut. “Oh God, Spike, that feels so…”
Spike ran his teeth along the mark and grinned, his fingers wrapped in her velvet warmth, the pad of his thumb massaging small circles into her clit. He could feel her tensing beneath his touch. Could feel her body tightening. She was so gorgeous. So bloody gorgeous. She was whimpering and moaning and thrusting up against him. She was a fiery nymph, a creature of pure light, and she was all his. He had a mouthful of sacred skin. Her skin. A mark that made her his.
“I love watching you,” Spike murmured, licking at the mark before leaving it to his eager fingers. “Love watchin’ you squirm an’ moan for me. Love knowing that I’m the one that does it to you. The only one.”
“Only…only…”
“Such a pretty little clit,” he purred, treating the pearl with a long lap of the tongue. He curled his right arm under her leg so that he could massage her mark, his other hand working her pussy. “I swear, Slayer, I’d dust a happy bloke if I could stay here forever.”
It was fascinating; watching her ivory skin flush under the influence of his compliment. “Spike…”
“I can feel you tightening, baby. Let it go.” He sucked at her clit with a long, contented purr. “I wanna taste you as you come.”
“Spike!”
“Gonna taste you.” He nipped at her affectionately, slipping his fingers from her silky flesh to pinch her clit as his tongue plunged deep inside her body. “Come for me. Come for me now.”
“Ohhh!” She tightened and exploded, drenching his mouth and filling the air with a piercing, euphoric scream that took the form of his name. He drank her greedily, his tongue bathing in her. He lapped at her until the tremors subsided and her breathing regulated. And the second that she blinked drowsily and looked up at him, he flashed a loving smile and mouthed the words, I love you.
Right before his fangs descended and dove for her inner thigh. He sliced open the mark and drank deep, and growled when she screamed in ecstasy and came again. He knew Heaven the second her blood hit his tongue. And even if he did manage to live forever, there was absolutely no way he’d forget the moment he first tasted her.
“Oh fuck,” Spike moaned, slipping his fangs from her skin. “Your blood. You…Oh, Buffy…”
“Get up here.” Buffy curled her arms under his shoulders and dragged him up her body. “Inside. I need you. Get inside me.”
“Happy to oblige, pet.” Spike took her face in his hands and kissed her as his cock sank into her warmth, moaning around her tongue. “Ahhh…”
“Unh…”
“Buffy…oh fuck, Buffy, oh my God.” When he blinked and looked down, her beautiful eyes were swimming in tears. His breath caught in his throat. Never before had anyone looked at him like that. Like he was a god among men. Like he was worth any more than the dust he came from. Than the alley that had known his rebirth. She gave him the world in her eyes. She looked at him, and he had purpose. He had purpose like he never had.
“You’re my song,” he whispered against her lips. “My gorgeous girl.”
“Ohhh…” She curled a leg around his waist, propelling his cock deeper within her body. “I…you’re…I love…oh, Spike.”
He grinned, suckling at her throat. “You love Spike, eh?”
Buffy nodded frantically and tugged his mouth up to hers. “Yes,” she whispered, wresting a kiss from his lips. “Yes. Yes.”
“Spike loves you back.” He kissed her again, then his brow collapsed to her shoulder as his thrusts grew harder. Her walls molded around him, suctioning, warming him until her heat threatened to sear his skin. She burned. She thrived. She hurt him so good that his heart wanted to pound and his long-dead lungs demanded air. And the pain was only outmatched by pleasure. Every plunge into her pussy was like diving blind off a cliff. Her warmth cushioned and embraced.
He felt it in every move. When her tears finally spilled down her cheeks and baptized him anew. There was love in every touch, and the difference made all the difference. He felt the love in her body just as he saw it in her eyes. The way she rocked and moved against him. The small little sighs she took with every thrust of his hips. Every stab of his cock inside her. He felt it in her blood. Heard it sing through her veins and reach for him every time he pulled from her. Her legs tightened around him, her slayer muscles squeezed, her pussy clenched, and he saw stars. He felt it; she was his. Entirely his. And nothing would ever change that.
Nothing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hours later, worn out, Spike crept an eye open as he felt her shift down near his feet. They’d collapsed into each other’s arms forty-five minutes earlier, panting and exhausted. He had absolutely no idea how much time had passed, or even what day it was, anymore. Had there even been life before Buffy came to his crypt this afternoon? He was sure his existence hadn’t started here, though for the shine in her eyes, he was certain that he couldn’t have made it as long as he had without her. Without the spark in her gaze and the smile on her lips.
Though, he was also drunk with pleasure and seconds away from passing out. There was every possibility that he was just sappier when he was sated and happy. He didn’t know. It’d been so long since he felt this way.
No. Nix that. He’d never felt this way. He’d felt variations. Shadows. Plays on how love was supposed to feel. He’d never had this, though. Buffy had given him a whole new bloody world.
“What’re you doin’ down there?” he murmured, attempting to summon the strength to kick at her insolently. And failing miserably. “Don’ tell me you’re—”
“I’m marking you,” she informed him, pressing wet kisses against his left inner thigh and wrapping her hand around his hardening cock. Stupid bloody thing had a mind of its own. “I wanna mark you.”
“Buffy, do you—”
“Yes. I know how.” She grinned and squeezed him, suckling sweetly on his sac for a few seconds before turning her attention to his thigh again. “And I want it here,” she said.
“There?”
“Yes.”
And before he could get another word out, Buffy had her teeth clamped deep into his skin. Spike roared and vamped and arched his hips off the mattress. Exhaustion vanished and energy soared. When she looked up, his blood was on her mouth.
It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.
“Mine,” she said, her eyes locking with his as her tongue licked her red-stained lips. “Mine.”
Spike nodded numbly. “Yours. Yours, Buffy. For-sodding-ever. Is that what I need to say? Sounds right an’ familiar. Sounds—”
There was no need for words. It ruptured through him—a jolt of lightening, a flash of realization, and he was made whole. The next second, realities merged and blended. Pain vanished and he was filled with calm. Pleasure filled his veins. He gasped and arched back again, pulling on her until she was curled in his arms. Until she was positioning him at her opening and infusing him in bliss.
Her emerald eyes were drenched in love.
And he belonged to her.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 50″ ]
Chapter 50
There was absolutely no way that life could get better than this. Buffy stretched contentedly, gently running her fingers through Spike’s ruffled hair, enjoying the way his cool breath caressed her skin. His head was pillowed at her breast, his arms curled under her shoulders. The hard length of his cock was pressed against her hip, his right leg nestled between her thighs.
Buffy couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Not when Brent Hinkley asked her on her very first date when she was thirteen years old. Not when Tyler asked her to the Spring Fling the year that she was booted from Hemery. Not when Angel first kissed her. And, well, the long line of Angel-related dateage was really out of the running completely. She’d never been happy with Angel. Not really. Not when every step they took was overshadowed by the loom of impending disaster.
“I never wanna leave here,” she murmured, her fingers massaging his scalp affectionately.
“You’ll find no argument with me, pet,” Spike replied, his lips whispering a kiss at her breast. “Though I’d wager you won’t be happy with a hole in the ground.”
“I could adapt.”
He chuckled, and the vibrations against her chest felt so wonderful, she found herself melting further into the mattress. “I should prob’ly look into gettin’ a place for us,” he mused thoughtfully. “White bloody picket fence an’ everythin’.”
“Picket fences are dangerous,” Buffy objected.
“Bloody dangerous,” Spike agreed. “But useful, if you’re attacked on the way home.”
“If we move into a place of our own, how will the invite thing work?” she asked. “It’d be the home of a human and a vampire. Vampires can enter other vampire’s homes, but not people’s homes.” Her brow furrowed and she raised her head a bit, smiling when his warm eyes met hers. “I don’t want vamps getting into a place that we have. We’d never get any rest.”
Spike shrugged. “We’d never be bored, either.”
“Yeah, but we’d never get to sleep. Or…do other things that you like doing in bed.” Buffy grinned and trailed her hand down his body, gently running her nails across the small of his back. “I wouldn’t want to be caught off guard during a…crucial moment, you know?”
He shivered with pleasure under her touch. “See your point, luv.”
“I thought you might.”
“Come to think of it, there are certain vamps I’d wanna make bloody sure never got an invite.” Spike grinned, resting his cheek against her breast. “Angel, for instance, never gets on the guest list. I don’t care if—”
“Yeah. Like he’s done so much to earn an all-access-pass. Hello? Tried to kill me dead.”
“I still say we stake him through the heart.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah. But then he’ll just come back. I sent him to Hell, remember? The Powers or whatever are determined to keep him undead.”
“So?” Spike’s shoulders rolled in what looked to be a halfhearted shrug. He tightened his arms around her and sighed. “We can still give the sodding Powers a run for their money.”
“That’s not very responsible of me.”
“Well, you’re tied to a very irresponsible vamp for life, pet. If fate allowed us to happen, they gotta make allowances for bad behavior.”
Buffy giggled, then giggled again when the corners of his mouth tugged upwards at the sound. She was mated to such a sap, but God, she was so happy she feared a spontaneous musical number. Never before had she just lain in someone’s arms, or had someone lay in hers. She’d never had the chance to cuddle. And from the way Spike’s arms kept tightening around her—from the way he kept crooning against her breast—she could tell, he was big with the cuddling.
As with the PDA’s. She had a feeling they were going to be one of those sickeningly cute couples that everyone hated. Kind of like Oz and Willow. There were times—especially up until Spike’s explosive return—when Oz and Willow were so…well, Oz and Willow that Buffy had had to refrain from throwing something at them for being so cute and happy when she was so miserable and alone. But she wasn’t miserable or alone anymore.
It was so strange. The day had been so strange. She’d seen Giles and Angel, she’d learned that all her worries about Spike leaving her were unfounded, she’d learned that she was the mate of a vampire and had even read up on how to perform the not-so-complicated ritual. Now, it was drawing near to early evening, and she was lying in her lover’s arms. There was no plan anymore. Her life was blissfully unplanned.
Well, except the whole Chosen One thing, but that was a given.
Best of all, Spike wasn’t going to leave her. He loved her. Buffy grinned and sank further into the mattress. Spike loved her, and he wasn’t going to leave. This was total happiness. This was soul-losing-happiness, only without the soul-losing part. And Spike had given it to her. Spike had given her everything.
“What are you grinnin’ about?”
Buffy blinked and met his dancing gaze. “The same thing you’re grinning about.”
“Am I squishin’ you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, Spike. I’m smiling like a lunatic because I’m fighting to breathe. Hello, super-strength, here.”
“A simple no would’ve worked just fine.”
“Yeah, but my way was fun because I answered your question and got to mock you.” She giggled. God, she’d never giggled so much in her life. Spike made her giggle. Who would have thought? “I like you right where you are.”
“You like me in other places, too, I’d hope.” He grinned and kissed her, slipping a hand between them to gently caress the bite mark on her thigh.
Mirth vanished instantly. Her nerves sang and her blood raced with heat. She couldn’t help the moan that slipped through her lips any more than she could keep herself from begging him just a little. After so long craving his touch on that sacred spot—dreaming about what it’d feel like to have him stroke her skin as he loved her body with his—getting what she wanted was intoxicating. She just couldn’t wait until she got the chance to play with the mark she’d given him to see if it bore the same properties.
It would be totally unfair if he didn’t get to experience this.
“So, tell me about this claim business,” Spike murmured, dropping a kiss across her nipple, his hand sliding off her thigh as he pulled his head from her breast to meet her gaze fully. Buffy couldn’t stop from mewling in complaint if she tried, and from the apologetic look on her vampire’s face, he hadn’t wanted to stop any more than she wanted him to. “Sorry, pet…I din’t mean to—”
“I know,” she whimpered. “I just…good touchies.”
“You’ll get your good touchies.” He kissed the pulse point of her throat and purred. “I promise. Jus’ think it might be easier to talk if I din’t do that.”
He was right, of course, but that didn’t convince her body that the mature thing to do was to not pout. Buffy sighed and shifted. “How is it that you don’t know about claims?”
Spike shrugged dismissively, though something significant flashed through his eyes. Something that begged exploration, but similarly implored to let the matter alone. Either way, she didn’t have to ask him to elaborate. In a tone that very much mirrored his body language, he said, “I heard about them right after I was sired. Thought about it. Thought Dru was my bloody savior. Angelus never wanted me to have her, though the idea never went away.” He sighed. “After he got himself stuffed with soul, I thought about it again. Wanker was no longer in the picture, right? An’ Dru was…well, in my mind, she was mine.”
Buffy shivered, disgust and jealousy rolling in her stomach. An irrational feeling at best, considering that Spike was most definitely hers, but she couldn’t help herself. The idea that he had ever thought that of any woman that wasn’t her was too much for her overly-possessive mind. Spike was hers, dammit. He’d been hers forever—even before she was born. How dare a stupid, crazy vampire woman try and wheedle him away? Even if said stupid, crazy vampire woman was the reason that Spike was curled in Buffy’s arms. Stupid Drusilla still had no right to ever have a hold on Spike, and that so wasn’t the claim talking.
When she met Spike’s eyes, he was grinning like a madman.
“What?” she demanded.
“You must be havin’ quite the conversation with yourself in that gorgeous li’l noggin,” he teased, his mouth dipping to caress her lips. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”
“I am so not jealous!” Buffy insisted immediately.
“An’ you’re not the best liar.”
“Hey!” She pouted. “Why do you think I’m jealous?”
“’Cause you are.” His grin widened and he kissed her again. “Doesn’ matter, baby. She led me here. That’s all. Without Dru, I never would’ve found you. An’ she stopped me from researching it. The claim. She got a vision of what I was hopin’ to do an’ put a right end to it. She made it perfectly clear that I was only hers on loan. Or maybe it was the other way around.” He shrugged. “Maybe she saw that you were destined for me. Bugger if I know or care. Doesn’ matter how I got here; only that I got here. But Dru’s say in the matter ended it for me. I never read up on claims ‘cause I never thought I’d do it. Not unless she changed her mind. Which is why it’s bloody surprising that I managed it in the first place, especially bein’ as pissant drunk as I was.”
“Angel—”
Spike growled.
Buffy frowned and smacked him. “Hey! You just said your ex’s name like…a bajillion times there. I don’t think I should have to talk about Angel in code if you’re not gonna do the same.”
“Yeh, well, unlike some people, I can bloody admit when I’m jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“Case in point.”
“I am not!”
Spike chuckled and shook his head. “It’s amazing how little your lying ability improved in that minute an’ a half.”
“You’re mean.”
“Evil,” he corrected.
“Same diff.”
He feigned an indifferent shrug. “Comes with the territory, I s’pose. Now, go on. On the bloody edge of my seat. What did your preciousAngel say?”
She batted her eyes innocently. “About what?”
“About claims, you infuriating bint.”
Buffy held his gaze for a long minute, then broke into a smile. “I love you.”
His frustration vanished immediately into tenderness and awe. God, she loved it when he did that. When he went from pissed off and sexy to lovesick and sexy. The change was so instantaneous—and so gorgeous. As though his default mode was to look at her like she was an angel, rather than rip her apart because she was the Slayer. It was just another thing in her catalogue of Spike-characteristics that she adored.
“I love you, too,” he replied ardently. “I love you so much.”
Her heart sang and she was instantly lightheaded. “Softie.”
“Oi.”
Buffy smiled and gently ran her nails along his sides, enjoying the way his skin shivered beneath her touch. “Angel said that claiming is an instinctive thing for vamps. That you must’ve recognized something…in me…that made for a good…I dunno. Very primal, or so he says.” She paused and frowned thoughtfully. “He also said that different vamps will respond or approach the idea of claiming from, well, different angles. Some vamps really want to claim or be claimed, and others don’t.” She met his eyes again and smiled. “I guess you really wanted it.”
“Not much of a surprise, that.” He smiled uneasily, as though the knowledge of his wanting to belong to someone was as crippling for him to hear as it was for her to say. It just told her all the more how lonely he’d been. That he could have been with Dru for so many years, and never once felt anything but alone.
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and reached between them to stroke his face. He’d never be alone again.
Spike shook his head a few seconds later, his eyes returning to her. “Anything else, sweet?”
“Not that I can think of. Oh! The pain…the hurty stuff that happens when we’re apart…it should end now.” At his look, she shrugged. “It was because I hadn’t done the claim thingy on you. Now that I have, we should be pain free. Which really, of the massive good. I’d hate to never get to go shopping alone with Willow again because getting five feet away from you gives me killer cramps. It was getting really bad.”
“Bloody right.”
“So, we also don’t have to do those patrol non-dates anymore.” Buffy paused and grinned. “We can go on patrol dates now. Complete with handholding and fondling of the appropriate and inappropriate kind.” Another giggle tore from her lips at the near-dreamy look that flooded his eyes. Her mouth latched onto his earlobe and nibbled, pulling him back down to her. “Wanna get started on that?”
“You mean, do I wanna leave this nice, warm bed, get thoroughly unnaked, an’ go out to kill things?”
“We can come back here and get re-naked after.”
Spike sighed and slipped his hand back over her mark. “Or we can give us something to look forward to.”
Rational thought abandoned her. There was absolutely no way to think rationally while his fingers were stroking her skin. “Ohhh…” Buffy moaned, releasing his earlobe and stretching her arms around his neck as his mouth fell to her throat. “Ohh…you’re…being very…bad.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No. No! Want good touchies.”
Spike chuckled, his lips making their way back to hers. He gave her the universe with his kiss. And there was a forever of kisses ahead of her. A forever of universes. A forever of kissing him.
Something told her that forever wouldn’t be enough.
“Then good touchies,” he murmured, “my girl shall have.”
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 51″ ]
Chapter 51
“So he’s meeting you this afternoon?”
Buffy nodded happily, crossing her arms over her chest. Again, she was adorned with one of Spike’s tees. Again, his jeans were hanging off her hips. She knew she looked like a complete wreck—mostly thanks to Cordelia’s numerous observations—but she couldn’t care less. She was only here to collect assignments and attend the Scooby meeting, anyway. It wasn’t like there was anyone to impress.
Especially considering the way Spike had drooled and panted over her as he attempted to keep her from dressing that morning.
Willow arched a brow and crossed her arms, leaning against the row of lockers as Buffy worked her combination. “Your mother didn’t call me in a panic last night,” she said. “Why didn’t your mother call me in a panic last night?”
A blush warmed the Slayer’s skin. “Spike and I dropped by the house last night,” she said, trying to fit her math book into her locker. “It was very…odd and formal and weird. Maybe I let Spike do the talking because he’s ancient and much more able to be grown-up about the ‘being my eternal boyfriend’-type thing. He became all…old English. Like ‘do I have permission to court your daughter’ type old English.”
Willow wrinkled her nose in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like Spike.”
“I was very much on the far side of wigged,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “But it worked. And he did this cute little avoidy-of-the-eye-contact thing when we started on our way back to his crypt. Like he was all embarrassed.”
“That really doesn’t sound like Spike.”
Buffy just shrugged. “Other than the trying-to-kill-us, Will, you don’t know him very well. There’s a whole different Spike that you don’t know.”
“There’d almost have to be.” Willow beamed at the embarrassed look on her friend’s face. “So everything’s okay? With the…I mean you were all Ms. Excited when you got here and there were some blabbery could-be words, so I’m guessing—”
“He loves me.”
“That was one of the things I deciphered.” The redhead nodded proudly. “I’m good like that.”
“We’re mated.”
“See, that much I don’t really get.”
“There was no spell. There was…there was never a spell.” Buffy swallowed hard, and they turned together toward the direction of the library. People would be gathering there by now, and she was more than eager to see Spike. God, this feeling was so familiar, though larger than anything she’d ever experienced. The agony of the empty minutes between the time when she was with him again. “Spike was…it was all real. All of it.”
“Even the random bouts of lusty…confusion?”
Buffy shrugged. “Well…normal…as in, Spike claimed me the night he was all with the kidnappy. A-and the random bouts of lusty confusion are normal for people who…get claimed and don’t know it.”
“Not know it? How do you not know when you’re getting claimed?” Willow blinked and frowned. “Ummm…what’s getting claimed?”
She grinned coyly. “It’s a vampire thing.”
“That much I figured.”
“He bit me…the night that…with the slayer-grabbing…he bit me. A-and I don’t…I kept it from everyone.” She stopped and met Willow’s inquisitive eyes. “I mean it. Everyone. Not even Spike knew. A-and I would’ve told you, but after that whole bogus pregnancy-thing, it just…and it was mine.” She stopped again; her friend’s uninterrupty-silence was beginning to make her flustered. “I didn’t know that the bite was special. It was mine and I liked it and I wanted it to be only mine. And then Angel and Giles started with the questions…about bites…and the more they asked, the more I wanted to keep it to myself. And—”
Willow held up a hand. “Buffy. Do you think I’m…mad at you? For not telling me?”
“I…well…”
“Not. Not even. Hey, as I see it, I’m lucky to have been in the know at all. E-especially with that whole…pregnancy-blunder-telling-of-Corde
“Well, to be honest, I thought so for a while.” Buffy smiled awkwardly and shrugged. “But then I had all this stuff I needed to tell someone, and you were the only one that I would ever tell. Plus, with the already knowing about me and Spike. That helped bunches.”
Willow nodded. “I try to be helpful…” She paused. “And so…you’re claimed.”
“Uh huh.”
“And that’s…a very good thing, right?”
A warm light filled Buffy’s eyes. “Oh, Will. It’s fantastic. It’s…” She sighed happily. “It’s wonderful.”
“No more mopey I’m-not-dating-Spike-but-what-should-I-wear-on-my-date-with-Spike?”
“No more. Just full-on giddy-as-a-schoolgirl Buffy who will be telling you massively dirty stories…except the ones that are too private or…dirty.” She winced. “I’m gonna try to get Spike to come with me to the Bronze tonight. I want him…with my friends. And I know Xander will pull a massive wig and he won’t be able to look at or talk to me for a while.”
“Which reminds me…I gotta have Giles do the un-delusting spell.” Willow flushed and ducked her head in embarrassment. “Yeah. I give up. Xander’s a giant weasel, but he doesn’t deserve my meanness. Though it has come in handy…”
“You’re finally gonna undo the delust? And what if the lust starts up again?”
The redhead shrugged. “Have you remind me how much I adore Oz? I-I really think the lust…it was only there because…childhood crush issues a-and being very confused. But Xander is swine. Smelly, ookie swine. And, being Jewish, I just don’t find him kosher.”
Buffy nodded. “Good for you, Wills.”
“Well, the Xander-hate worked for some things. I gave him a talking to about you and your decisions. Well, not so much a talking to as I threatened him.” She flashed an innocent smile and shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s gonna help him deal, but I tried.”
“And that means a lot. A whole lot,” Buffy assured her. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s just gonna have to deal. Being of the claimed? Not much with the options. And even if it was, I love Spike. And he knows it. And he’s all—”
“Spike’s here.”
Buffy looked up sharply, her eyes darting rapidly from one end of the hall to the next. “He is? Where? I don’t see him.”
Willow rolled her eyes and wrapped her hand around her friend’s arm, dragging her to the library door and pointing through the window. “In there.”
“Oh.” Oh. “Of course. I knew that.”
The redhead arched a brow. “Uh huh.”
Buffy just glanced down sheepishly. Okay, so she didn’t know how to play it cool. She was a big massive failure at playing it cool.
And why should she? Spike was here.
Playing it cool was not even on her radar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spike rolled his eyes and took a quick survey of his surroundings. He was with the sodding Watcher; there ought to be some stakes lying around. Or a nice, sharp, axe. A crossbow would do. Didn’t rightly matter as long as it was sharp or pointy. All he needed was something to swing or throw at Angel the next time the overgrown ponce looked at him like that. Like he was a disease, and he couldn’t wait to give Buffy the cure. The stupid wanker was going to get a nice sliver of wood right through the chest, or a swift decapitation. Whichever was easier provided the available weaponry.
“Oi. Watcher.” Spike took a pronounced step away from his grandsire and shivered. “What’s this overgrown ponce doing here, anyway?”
Giles snickered appreciatively, drawing a book off the top shelf in the caged-off section of the library. “Bloody good question, if you ask me.”
“Hey!” Angel waved. “I’m standing right here.”
“Yeh, mate.” Spike arched a brow and slid a hand into his duster pocket for his fags. His search turned up nothing. Must have forgotten to slip the new pack into his pocket. Bloody figured. Just when he could really use something in his mouth. “That’s the problem.”
“When Buffy gets here—”
It took much effort to refrain from tearing the git’s head off for daring to speak Buffy’s name. He should get a medal for his restraint. “When Buffy gets here,” he growled, his voice strained, “she’ll say the same bloody thing. Only don’ expect her to be as calm as I am.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re real proud of what you’ve done to her, aren’t you?”
“Not nearly as proud as she is, mate.”
“You—”
Spike lowered his head, glowering. “Oi. Watch it. Don’t make me stake you jus’ to see how li’l Buffy won’t care. Had to talk the poor li’l twig down from sticking something nice an’ pointy in your chest for the…oh, what was that? Trying to get her killed.”
“I was trying to help,” Angel replied, his eyes darkening. “And you’re an idiot if you think I would have ever let anything happen to her.” He paused. “No. Check that. You’re just an idiot. The Cruciamentum is notoriously cruel and barbaric. Do you really think that the Council would have gone any softer? Do you really think that they would’ve done anything differently? Do you really think that Kralik was the worst thing they could’ve thrown at her?”
There was a quiet minute as Spike considered, his brows flickering upward in interest. “Well, when you put it that way…” He snarled and stormed over, reveling in the smack of Angel’s dainty flesh as his fist sank into the poofter’s eye. “You touch her again, an’ I’ll make sure your ashes are scattered at each corner of the globe.”
“I’ll be happy to help,” Giles offered cheerfully.
“There just aren’t enough words to express how much I hate the both of you,” Angel grumbled.
Spike gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his unbeating heart. “Peaches. You wound.”
“Spike—”
“Spike!”
His head whipped up just in time to see a blur of blonde hair flying through the library’s swinging doors. And instantly, his anger vanished, his scowl melting into a warm smile. Angel was immediately forgotten.
Buffy was here.
“Spike.” The next thing he knew, he had an armful of warm, vibrant slayer, her hands cupping his cheeks and dragging his mouth down to hers. And he melted into her kiss, his hands slipping down her sides, grasping her ass to grind her into his growing erection. He heard Angel’s disgusted sigh and Giles’s quick shuffling to make himself as busy as possible. He would have thought himself filled with warmth at the idea that she would snog him so liberally in front of her chums, but the second her lips touched his, the world melted away.
“I missed you,” she whimpered, sucking his lower lip into her sweet mouth. “It’s been—”
“Forever,” he agreed, nipping at her tongue. “At least three hours.”
“Three and a half, but who’s counting?”
Giles cleared his throat. Loudly. “Ummm…if you two…could just…separate for a second.”
“Sod off,” Spike growled threateningly into her mouth, grinding her against his erection, “we’re busy.”
Angel shrugged and marched forward. “Hey. I’ll help.”
“Try it,” Buffy murmured between kisses, “and I’ll scatter your ashes all over the globe.”
Spike pulled back at that, his eyes shining brightly. “Hey, that’s what I said.”
“Yeah?” she asked, leaning in to nibble on his lower lip again.
“Not two bloody minutes ago.”
“Nifty!” She kissed the corner of his mouth before swallowing him with her lips again. “We must be linked or something.”
“Mystical forces.”
“Some sort of ancient binding ritual.”
“Say,” Spike mused, brushing his lips across her cheek, then again at the pulse point of her throat. “You think it’s possible that our blood is tied together for all eternity?”
“Quite possible.”
The redheaded pipsqueak at the head of the library made a noise that sounded a lot like the sounds Dru used to make at cute, fuzzy animals before she gutted them.
“Awww. Aren’t they cute?”
Angel growled and the small little awww sounds vanished. “Well,” Willow amended, fidgeting. “They are.”
“She’s wearing Spike’s clothes again,” the old sod grumbled, pouting.
“Umm, yeah,” the redhead agreed, arching a brow. “A-and you’re surprised?”
Giles blinked rapidly, studiously avoiding turning his eyes to the blond couple that seemingly couldn’t take their hands off each other, and flashed Willow a weak smile. “Angel seems to be in a perpetual state of denial,” he said. “Every time he sees something regarding Buffy’s…closeness to Spike, he reacts as though it is, well, news.”
“I do not,” Angel grumbled.
“Yeah, all your posturing suggests nothing but warmth and puppies,” Willow retorted dryly. “I really don’t see the big, here. I mean, if you’re gonna scream about the whole vampire thing, I gotta say, look in the mirror.” She paused. “Or, you know, don’t. Because that won’t work…because of the vampire thing. Point is that there is serious pot/kettle stuff going on a-and Spike saved Buffy’s life after you endangered it and they’re all with the claimy goodness. Plus they’re in love. You know what in-love Buffy is like.”
“Bloody unreasonable,” Spike drawled, affectionately tugging at Buffy’s earlobe with his teeth. “Not a chit I would fancy pissing off. Savvy?”
Giles cleared his throat. Hard. “Perhaps you two would be kind enough to…stop touching one another inappropriately. After all, this meeting is to discuss the new…order of things. I think Buffy’s newly…claimed state will be easier for everyone to accept if there isn’t so much…”
“Groping?” Willow ventured.
“Fondling?” Angel growled.
“Erm. Touching,” Giles concluded, his glasses sliding seamlessly off his nose and landing in the hem of his shirt. “Buffy?”
“Xander and Cordy will be here in a second,” Willow agreed, nodding. “And Oz.”
The Watcher nodded. “And probably Faith, at some point.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, joy,” she spat. “Speaking of people who need their asses handed to them.”
Angel sighed. “Buffy…”
“No, I really don’t need a lecture from you. Now or ever.” Her hands slid down Spike’s arms. “We’re here to get with the program, right? Or help others…get with it. Then Spike and I are going to patrol. Then…” She flashed her lover a timid look and shuffled her feet. “I-I was hoping you…and I…we could Bronze it? You know, try to make some gang time so they feel more comfortable with the you and me that is…us.”
Spike grinned. She was so bloody cute when she was trying to play it coy. Did she honestly think there was even a snowman’s chance in hell that he’d say no? That he’d deny her anything? Her chums were important to her. Very important. And he knew it was vital that they understand. Not just the redhead, who seemed to be taking everything very well. There was the boy, and the cheerleader, and the wolf. She needed her friends happy. As much as the thought appealed to him, Spike knew that she couldn’t be all his all the time.
Therefore, if Buffy wanted to go dancing, he’d take her dancing. And he’d get her so bloody hot and bothered that she’d be begging him to take her to bed…or to the nearest dark corner. Which ever was more convenient.
“Right then,” he purred. “Whatever you want, pet. I’m at your disposal.”
“So we Bronze?”
“If that’s what you want.”
God, he loved putting that light into her eyes. That shine of happiness. That glow. She was so lovely. Christ, she was…well, for lack of a better word, effulgent. His effulgent goddess.
She was all his.
Something Spike was about to demonstrate with another hefty bout of snogging when the library doors swung open once more.
Speaking of the Scoobies. All three of them, right in a row. The whelp with the cheerleader and the wolf on either shoulder. How was that for bloody timing?
“So, what’s the what? Cordy keeps trying to tell me that Buffy’s really pregnant this time, but that just lost all its…hey.” Xander stopped, frowning, his eyes going wide. “What’s Buffy doing all cuddly with the undead…again?”
Willow rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Xander, do you selectively block out what I tell you?”
He smiled weakly, obviously confused.
“I told you.” Cordelia offered an indignant huff. “No one ever listens to me. She’s pregnant again.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “In order for me to be pregnant again, I’d have to have been pregnant a first time. There was no pregnancy. There was a fleeting bout of stupidity-laced panic. No demonic Elvis-impersonator lovechild. Okay? And Spike’s here because…well…”
Angel crossed his arms, his brows perking.
“Well…we’re dating. Only…permanently. Spike loves me. I love Spike. We did some serious mojo without knowing it and we’re kinda, umm, linked. But we’re happy about it. As in sublimely. Because we love each other.” As though to emphasize the love part, Buffy edged closer to Spike and wrapped her arms around his middle. Then her voice hardened—the small, frightened girl vanishing in the face of the woman she’d become. “And if you’re not okay with that, you’re free to leave. Now.”
There was a long, quiet moment. Xander blinked hard, his hands coming up in a show of neutrality. “Points for being okay with it,” he said. “Way I see it…anyone who rescues the Buffster from a souled-but-morally-ambiguous Angel has serious marks in the Xan-Man’s book. I’m not saying I understand it but—”
Buffy quirked a brow. “Willow threatened you?”
Willow beamed, oddly proud of herself.
The whelp nodded, not missing a beat. “And considering how much I haven’t been on her list of Most Favoritist People, I think I wanna keep my…parts intact. So…” He offered Spike a halfhearted wave. “Welcome to the show that never ends.”
He nodded, confused but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the Slayer’s friends were going to accept him literally with a smile and a nod, he’d take it. After all, it meant the world to Buffy. “Thanks, mate.”
“Here without bias. Want to keep my parts,” Xander affirmed with yet another nod.
Buffy nodded appreciatively, turning her eyes to Cordelia and Oz. “You guys want to weigh in?”
“I really don’t care what happens,” Cordelia replied, shrugging apathetically. “As long as the words killing and spree are far from the picture, you can screw the dead as much as you want.”
The Slayer wrinkled her nose. “Um. Thanks. I think.” She turned to Oz. “And you?”
He shrugged. “As Willow goes, so goes my nation.”
Buffy cracked a smile. “That sounds vaguely familiar,” she mused, tightening her arms around Spike’s middle. “Hey. Look at this.”
He grinned and kissed her cheek. “An’ you were worried.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t say anything. Instead, she just rested her head at his shoulder as her chums settled in around them. He felt her heart beating against him, felt her pulse racing under his touch. Felt her life thrum beneath his fingertips.
Her warmth. Her life. Her purity. It burned him, but he didn’t dust.
Not with her at his side.
With Buffy, he lived.
[/nextpage]
[nextpage title=”Chapter 52″ ]
Chapter 52
Chapter Notes: Wow. Well, this is the end, folks. Thank you so, so much to all my incredibly wonderful readers for making this ride as fun as you did. Your enthusiasm has been overwhelming, and I’m so completely grateful to everyone.
Right now, I’m going to have to say that this is very much the end. Unless my muse decides to gift me with an interesting idea for a sequel, I think I’ve milked this plotline as much as I can. I’m very much invested in other story ideas right now (about seven of them…*kicks stupid muse*). It’s going to be a while before I add any of my projects to the archives, though. While my muse is in hyperdrive, it’s taken a few brutal beatings recently and I want to get a good amount of material written before I start posting.
The good news? I’m more than halfway through my next fic. *bounce* It’s gonna be rather short, but hey, at least I’m halfway through it.
In the meantime, I invite anyone who wants notification of when I have a new story out, or just chapter updates, to join my mailing list.
Again, thank you guys so, so much for your enthusiasm and your support. You’ve completely blown me away. I never expected the response to this story to be so explosive. Thank you SO MUCH.
And a huge thanks to Megan and Meredith for all your help with this story. You guys are invaluable. *snuggles* Thank you!
It was amazing what a few weeks could do. Standing in front of the mirror, naked, Buffy frowned and tilted her head. Nothing had changed. Every mark that should mar her body was all with the marring. There was a thin hair of a scar just over her belly—the last of her birthday-bash wounds. A rather pronounced series of hickeys ran across her neck, and of course, there was the claim mark on her inner thigh. Nothing had changed. No, nothing had changed at all.
But something was different. Something was very different, and she couldn’t tell what.
And really, what was there to go off of? Her stomach was as flat as ever—flatter, even, for all the extra slayage workouts she’d been getting. Plus, her daily regimen now included hours of hot monkey loving with her gorgeous, albeit slightly morally ambiguous vampire of a mate. So, yes. Other than being slightly thinner and having a healthy lots-of-sex glow warming her skin, there was nothing that should ostensibly be different.
Maybe it was the lighting. The last time she’d checked herself out, she’d done so right before hopping in the shower. Right now, she was in mid-preparation for her patrol-date and subsequent Bronzing—only she hadn’t gotten further than the removal of her school garb. Her reflection had caught her eye, and whether by curiosity or something much naughtier, she’d felt compelled to give herself the once-over again. And something was different.
The lighting? No. This wasn’t a cosmetic thing. It wasn’t like she was checking out her pores or looking for unsightly blemishes. Hell, she had Cordelia for that. No, something was different. Something was very different.
Then again, she wasn’t feeling as lost and confused as she had the last time she’d surveyed herself in the mirror. Perhaps that was it. She wasn’t lost anymore. Spike kept her thoroughly and wonderfully found. And she wasn’t confused. Big no to confused. If anything, Buffy hadn’t felt so certain about anything in all her life.
She frowned and worried a lip between her teeth, lifting her breasts to further her inspection. No, nothing different there. No bigger. No smaller. The only thing that had changed in her boobs was the amount of attention they received now. Spike loved playing with her nipples, almost as much as he loved sucking on her claim mark. He made a nightly thing of it—trying to see how much she could take before she begged him stop. In which case, her begging only caused his efforts to redouble.
Then again, Buffy thought with a smirk, fair was fair. She’d definitely had loads of fun letting him know firsthand how good it felt to have the claim mark played with. She loved hearing him babble and melt and moan helplessly under her caress. It made her feel womanly. It made her feel…
Buffy blinked and met her reflection’s eyes. That was it. That was the change. Of course that was it.
Being with Spike—being his mate and his lover and his slayer and, well, his—it made her feel like a woman. Not a girl. Not an organic weapon against evil. She was female—through and through. And she could be the woman with him and the Slayer when the world needed saving. She could be both. Spike had shown her both.
Spike had shown her so much.
Buffy’s eyes raked down her reflection. She was astonished at what a few simple weeks could do. How she could have ever looked at herself in the mirror and not know her body as well as she did now. Her skin no longer felt borrowed. The tingly nerves that buzzed whenever she was aroused were no longer foreign. Her body no longer felt like a stranger’s. No, Spike had taught her to know her body well. He’d made it hers—he’d given her form as a woman rather than simply a slayer.
She remembered, a lifetime ago, standing in front of the bathroom mirror and wondering what it was that had driven a drunken Spike to see her as anything but the Slayer. How he could have, inebriated as he was, found her remotely desirable. And though her confidence in her sexuality was on the rise, her stomach still coiled in uncertainty from time to time. She wondered how he could see her as anything other than plain. How he could see her at all.
When she spoke of her fears, Spike would stare at her in wonder. “I can’t understand how you don’ know how gorgeous you are,” he’d whispered the night before, cupping her breasts with near reverence. “I could spend hours jus’ looking at you. Taking you in.” He’d pressed his lips to her flat stomach, his mouth wandering southward slowly until he was worshipping his claim mark, his fingers slipping inside her slick pussy. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”
Buffy trembled and sighed, her eyes falling to the claim mark. It was so small. So lovely. How was it that something so small could give her the whole world? She had absolutely no idea. She didn’t know how a bite could become something precious just by whispering a word. She didn’t know.
She didn’t know how such a small mark could mean so much. It just did.
She licked her lips, spreading her legs and gently running her fingers over the bite. Her insides rushed with lust and her legs wobbled. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, her head rolling back. “Spike…”
His fingers materialized from nowhere, sliding down her arms and curling around her wrists, pulling her gently until her back was pressed against a strong, familiar chest. “Starting without me, pet? That’s cheating.”
Buffy gasped, her knees buckling. She would have fallen on her butt had Spike not held her upright. Damn. And she thought she was past this. “Oh…”
“Not that I don’ appreciate the free show, luv, but I was hopin’ you’d let me have the honor of stroking you tonight.”
She moaned in protest, her head collapsing wearily against his shoulder. “The floor just never opens and swallows you when you want it to.”
Spike chuckled, his hands slowly moving up her torso until he was palming her breasts. She watched the play in the mirror. Watched her skin shiver under the presence of an unseen touch. She watched her reflection gasp and arch, invisible lips skating up and down her throat, Spike’s left hand dropping between her legs to cup her pussy.
“This…is just…weird,” she ground out.
“Weird?”
She waved at the mirror. “Me…with the…no you.”
“We need one of those cameras, pet. Those instant-photo gizmos of modern novelty?” He chuckled into her skin, spreading her pussy lips apart and dipping his middle and index fingers inside her warmth. “We could plaster the walls with gorgeous, naughty pictures of you…with me.”
“Unh…”
“An’ call it what you want, Slayer,” Spike continued, nudging her head with his until her gaze was fixed on the mirror again. “I find this…”
She rolled her eyes and thrust her ass back against his erection. “I know just how you find it.”
“My dirty li’l minx knows me so well.”
“You’re a perv. What’s to know?”
He chuckled again, his fingers slowly slipping out of her wet passage. “That standin’ starkers in your room when your very shaggable honey’s on his way over isn’t exactly the best game plan if you’re lookin’ to be on time to stake us some baddies t’night.” He pinched her clit and grinned when she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. Then he was urging her to face him, taking her face in his hands and claiming her mouth in an eager, ardent kiss. And Buffy melted on the spot. He kissed her like the world was ending—always. He kissed her, and the ground moved.
“Spike…”
“Your mum’s out, isn’t she?” he asked heatedly between kisses, helping her shove his duster off his shoulders before turning his hands to his belt as she tugged his t-shirt over his head.
Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to focus on anything aside from his wicked mouth, let alone try and do anything with hers that didn’t involve sucking on his tongue. “I…uhhh…”
“Wanna know how quiet we have to be,” he explained in a soft growl, kicking off his boots. “Wanna know if I’m gonna have to wait till later to hear you scream for me.”
“She’s out.”
An eager grin tickled his lips. “Good.”
“We should…really…go…” Buffy shoved him onto her bed, dropping to her knees in front of him to tug his jeans down his legs. Her eyes flashed when his cock bobbed free, and before she could stop herself, she had her lips wrapped around his silky head, her nails lightly scratching at the proud claim mark on his thigh.
“Oh fucking hell!” Spike roared and vamped, fingers threading through her hair to hold her to him as he drove himself deeper down her throat. “Oh bleeding…that’s it, baby. God, such a hot li’l mouth.”
Buffy grinned coyly and slowly slid her lips off him. She dutifully ignored his whimper of protest, her hand curling around his length as her mouth turned to the bite mark. “I better call someone,” she murmured, her tongue lapping at his sensitive flesh, her grin widening with every pleasure-tinged gasp that tore through his throat. “Let them know to not send a search party.”
“Buffy…” He fisted her hair and arched her neck back until she locked gazes with his demon. And God, even then, even with bumpies and fangs, he could not hide from her. She saw love behind the burning yellow in his eyes. She saw tenderness. She saw poetry. She saw a man—her man—entwined with the monster that loved her. And her heart swelled.
“Get up here,” he murmured, his tongue running down one of his fangs.
“You don’t want me to play?” she asked, batting her eyes innocently, lowering her head to sample the bite mark again. The tortured moan that hissed through his teeth burned her alive. “I thought you liked it when I played.”
“When exactly did you become a sodding dominatrix?”
She arched a brow. “Is that what I am? I thought I had to have whips or chains or something. And ewww!”
Spike perked a brow, his hands curling under her shoulders to haul her up the length of his body, reclining until his back was pressed against the mattress and she was sprawled on top of him. “You’re tellin’ me you don’ fancy the idea a little?” he asked, gently easing her up. “Me, chained to the bed? Lettin’ you have your wicked way with me? It’d be bloody appropriate, I think.”
“Letting me have my wicked way with you?” she echoed, arching a brow. “If you’re chained to the bed, you’ll be doing very little letting.”Buffy paused, inching her way up his body at the gentle prodding of his hands. “What are you—”
“Come here, baby.” And then she saw his intent, and her skin flushed wildly. He wanted her to straddle his face. Oh God, he wanted her—that part of her—there. There was no way she wasn’t going to Hell for this. “Kitty wants some cream.”
“You are so nasty.” The words lacked bite—or anything, really. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth, her hands reaching for the linen as Spike’s talented tongue parted her pussy lips and gave her a good lick. “Oh God.”
He chuckled. And though it occurred to her that she should slap him several times for finding her so amusing in a not-so-flattering way, she really didn’t care why he was laughing as long as the vibrations felt like that. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked her into his mouth, plunging two fingers inside her channel as his right hand curled around her hip to lazily stroke the claim mark.
This was not fair. It was not fair that he could manipulate her body so smoothly.
“God, I love your taste,” he whispered. Her blush deepened and she looked down, her eyes catching his. And he watched her so intently that she forgot what he was doing until the length of his fang grazed her clit. Her body jolted and she jerked with a compulsive rush of ecstasy and fear. He wouldn’t hurt her, of course. He would never hurt her. But knowing that he could—now, especially—so easily, made the entire experience that more illicit. More…
“Delicious,” he whispered, and she smiled, lovingly running her fingers over his brow ridges.
Spike’s eyes fluttered shut and he trembled hard. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he slowly eased her down his body again, until his hard cock was caressing her backside. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, then tugged her down for a soft kiss. She moaned, teasing his fangs with her tongue, pricking herself intentionally so that her blood spilled down his throat. And when he whimpered and growled into her, every nerve in her body positively hummed.
“Tell me,” he whispered against her lips as she positioned him at her opening. “Tell me you love me, Buffy. Like this.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his face, his amber eyes swallowing her whole. “Tell me you love me.”
God, he was going to make her cry again. Buffy inhaled sharply and sank onto his cock, fusing their bodies together in bliss. “I love you,” she gasped. “I love you. It…it happened so slowly.” She sucked in another deep breath, rose and fell. The feel of his cock sliding inside her was another sensation that would never lose its novelty. Every time felt like the first—only not, because every time, she fell more and more into him. She became more a part of him. And in that, the world of firsts was opened to a world of forevers. Forever with him would never be enough. “But I still don’t…I don’t remember not loving you, Spike. I know there was a time…that I…” She threw her head back and sighed, rotating her hips and finding a slow, cadenced rhythm. “I know it happened…but I…I don’t…remember it.”
His hand cupped her cheek, persuading her eyes open. “Really?” he asked softly.
Buffy blinked hard, but she couldn’t stop her tears. Stupid vampire. What was the deal with making her cry out of happiness, of all things? She so wasn’t used to this. “Really,” she murmured, leaning forward until her breasts were pressed intimately against his chest, moaning as his cock surged deeper within her, and caressed his mouth with hers. “Really, really.”
“You amaze me,” Spike murmured, his back arching off the bed, his hands clutching at her thighs. “You absolutely amaze me. Oh, Christ. Buffy. Jus’ like that.” He whimpered, his fangs receding as the man chased the demon away. It was, perhaps, one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. Watching his monster helplessly melt away at her touch.
She smiled softly, licking at his throat, rotating her hips. “I try,” she replied, sitting up again, pressing her palms to his chest as she began to ride him in earnest. “Ohhh…Spike…”
“God, you’re beautiful.” Spike’s eyes flickered, his fingers sliding up her sides. “Love watching you. Love watching those lovely li’l titties of yours bounce for me. Love watching your quim swallow me. Oh God, yeh, that’s gorgeous, that is.”
Buffy whimpered and tossed her head back, bouncing on his cock. The air around her filled with the smacks of their flesh colliding, the headboard rocking against the wall each time he drove back into her. “Spike…”
He tugged her down for another burning kiss, his other hand sliding between them. “Bloody well undo me,” he purred, giving her clit a good tap before flipping her over. He seized her wrists and pinned them to the mattress beside her head, a predatory growl tumbling through his throat. “Oh, yes. That’s it. God, Buffy…you feel so good. Squeezing me. Squeeze me jus’ like that.”
She flushed and clenched her slayer muscles, her arms breaking free of his hold and wrapping determinedly around his neck. “You, too.”
He pressed his lips to her shoulder, shuddering. “Tell me?”
“I love you.”
“Tell me what I do to you.” He stretched his hands under her shoulders, grasping her tightly as the pace of his thrusts increased. “Tell me. Tell me.”
Buffy blinked rapidly, her heart jumping into her throat. She didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t know how to be the talker during sex. She didn’t know how to vocalize what he did to her—how wonderful he felt inside her. Anything she pieced together sounded cheesy and clichéd to her soap-opera trained ears. But if Spike wanted to know what he did to her—if he needed her to say it—she would try. After everything he’d done for her, it was the least she could do. “You feel…” she moaned and sighed again. “I love the way…you feel.”
“Mmm.” He brushed his lips against her collarbone, then at the swell of her breast. “Do you?”
“Y-yes.”
He purred his encouragement, his thrusts exploding into a frenzy. He pounded her into the mattress, panting against her breast as his left hand broke away from her shoulder to slide between their thrusting bodies again. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and clutched at him. And when his fingers reached the place where they were joined them, she couldn’t hold back her pleasured cry. All coherency vanished in a blink. She tried blindly to form words—she blurted out every feeling her nerves touched. She wanted so bad to give him what he wanted. What he needed.
“Spike—”
He was massaging her clit speedily, his balls slapping her ass with every drive. “You’re so warm,” he panted. “So bleeding hot. My girl. My girl an’ her hot, fiery li’l quim. Squeeze me like that. Squeeze me so…oh yeah.”
“Uhhh, Spike—”
“I love you.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder, his bumpies bursting forward again. He nudged her cheek with his ridges, his fangs gliding across her jugular. “I love you, Buffy.”
“Love you.”
He pinched her clit and sliced his fangs into her golden skin, and she exploded around him. She exploded and the room fell away. The ceiling blinked out and she was blanketed with stars. His name tore off her lips, her body trembling hard, her nails digging into his biceps. And that was it. Spike growled as he spilled himself inside her, his tongue lapping sweetly at her skin as the rumble lulled into a low purr.
He buried his head in the crook of her neck and whimpered. “Mine. You’re mine, Buffy. All mine.”
She shivered and nipped at his earlobe. “I am.”
He sighed contentedly, licking at her skin. “An’ I’m yours. Forever an’ ever, luv. I mean it.”
He did. She heard it. She felt it. They had forever in front of them. An eternity in his arms. Forever.
Though something told her that forever wouldn’t be long enough. Forever could never be long enough.
It was, however, a very good start.
The End
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