XI
Even with a soulless monster terrorizing the Hellmouth, Buffy’s life managed to fall into a series of habits. On weekdays, she dragged herself from bed—usually tripping over the echoes of an earth-shattering orgasm—showered, avoided her mother’s intense gaze at the breakfast table, and went to school. She and Willow would commiserate over the resident baddie-slaying and how it was they’d both fallen madly in love with creatures of the night.
Well, Willow did most of the talking. While the weeks had eventually wrangled a confession from Buffy’s lips as to the confusing nature of her relationship with Spike, she was perceptive enough to know the redhead was weirded out at the idea of a slayer and a vampire bumping uglies.
Even if no uglies had actually been bumped in reality.
Willow didn’t pretend to understand Buffy’s relationship with Spike, which was fine because Buffy hardly understood it herself. All she knew was he was there for her. Every night, he was there for her. She didn’t know why. She didn’t really care that she didn’t know why; in the end, the why and how didn’t matter to her. Perhaps they really had been slated by the Powers to kill each other in their dreams, but if such was the case, the Powers clearly had no handle on who they were dealing with. Neither Buffy or Spike were prone for control, and they had an equally messy way of handling anyone who attempted to throw a leash around their necks.
He was there every night. Always first. Always waiting for her. He’d grin at her and rise to his feet the second she popped into the room. Then he’d storm forward and take her face in his hands, kiss her lips numb and walk her backward until they fell into a tangle on the bed. His hands knew her body so well now. Every night, he perched himself between her open legs and inspected her for new bruises, convinced they would carry over into their sub-reality if Angel had managed to get his hands on her.
Similarly, every night his inspections resulted in toe-curling pleasure. Spike never tired of teasing her with his hands and mouth. It seemed he could spend hours with his head between her thighs, happily tonguing her to the stars and back. If he was trying to make the hurt go away by paying her pussy extra attention without asking her to return the favor, he was on the way to full exoneration. Really, there was no way she could remain distrustful when he was currently her rock. He was the thing keeping her from completely losing her mind.
There was peace in her dreams even if reality was chaotic. Spike was with her. He was there. He kissed her and every concern niggling her brain melted into nothing. He was there. He caressed her and held her and let her be weak in a world where she was supposed to be nothing but strong. He was there.
Giles had given up trying to find an explanation for her nocturnal activities. Once she told him the pendant was no longer needed, his concern for her well-being—atop the looming threat of Angel and the deaths mounting around them—had him delving full-force into research mode. He’d been researching the dreams since the night the organ fell, but now that she had resumed her schedule of meeting Spike every night rather than avoiding him, the need to find the cause of her dreams had skyrocketed at full strength.
Only to no avail. There was nothing.
“I really have no answer,” Giles told her one day, frowning at the lack of concern on her face. “Any number of things could have happened to give you these dreams. Perhaps you unknowingly made a wish around a vengeance demon. Perhaps a witch cast a spell with rather peculiar results. Perhaps you’ve garnered the attention of a Greek deity who wished to have a little fun at your expense. There is no telling, Buffy. The psychology of dreams and the mysticism behind them…the possibilities are endless.”
Buffy mulled his revelation over for a long minute, wording her reply carefully. “I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?”
“I’m fine, Giles. I’m fine and more than fine.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “He…he makes me happy.”
Giles’s frown deepened. “He wasn’t making you happy before. You…Buffy, he made you miserable.”
“That was before. Drop it.”
“Buffy—”
“Giles. Drop it.”
And he did. She didn’t know why, but he did. Perhaps because he trusted she could handle herself. Perhaps because he knew she needed someone. Perhaps because he thought they could rely on Spike as a last resort. Perhaps because he knew Spike would let her know if Angel was planning something—or hoped, at least, that he would.
Buffy didn’t know, and she didn’t question it.
Spike was the one constant in her life. And she loved him.
No matter if he didn’t love her, she loved him.
Knowing she would see him at night got her through the day. And she wasn’t about to give that up.
*~*~*
Buffy blinked. Hard. She knew she’d had a weird day—one of the strangest in recent memory—but there was no way she thought it could get stranger after she went to sleep. If anything, she’d expected Spike’s faithful consistency to keep her grounded in sight of everything else that had occurred since she awoke. And while, yes, Valentine’s Day was a day for one’s respective honey to do something sweet and romantic, she hadn’t expected anything beyond the ordinary. Valentine’s Day just didn’t strike her as a holiday celebrated by demons.
And yet, here was Spike. Standing in the middle of their special room.
Oh yeah, and he was wearing a tux.
Spike. In a tux. Looking awkward but hopeful, his eyes shifting with shy uncertainty that had her stomach knotting and loosening all at once. His hair was slightly ruffled rather than slicked back, and she had the warming sensation it was due to a remark she’d made a few nights ago about how adorable he looked with bed-head.
The floor beneath her suddenly vanished and Buffy found her head inexplicably projected into the clouds.
Can anyone say yum?
“Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” he said at last, shrugging awkwardly as though to present himself.
Buffy blinked again. “Oh my God.”
Spike shuffled, his eyes growing nervous. “I…I din’t know what…I…”
“You dressed up for me?” she asked softly. “God, you look good enough to eat.”
Her words banished all tension, and he rolled his shoulders back, a familiar cocky grin spreading across his face. “Might jus’ take you up on that, kitten,” he purred, running a hand down his front and giving her eyes no option but to follow. The lack of denim provided little doubt as to how she was affecting him—his cock was hard and straining for attention, tenting his slacks in a way that had her cheeks reddening and her head telling her it was rude to stare. But her eyes couldn’t be swayed. Spike wanted her. She’d just arrived, and he was already hard for her touch.
“I…umm…you’re…ummm…showing.”
Spike’s grin broadened and he licked his lips. “Like what you see?”
Buffy’s throat ran dry and she nodded numbly. “Uh huh.”
“Got a surprise for you,” he said slowly, taking a step forward.
“How did you manage to get into a tux?” she blurted before she could help herself.
The immediate frown on Spike’s face told her plainly he hadn’t expected to be questioned. “Huh’s that?”
“A tux. I…did you go to sleep in a tux? Wouldn’t Angel and Dru find that majorly weird?” For some reason she couldn’t stop herself from asking, even knowing she was ruining what Spike had tried to make special, but her inquiring mind couldn’t be denied. “A-and you always…do you really sleep in your clothes, or do you just show up like that? ‘Cause I always show up in the jammies I sleep in, and—”
Spike held up a hand, arching a brow. “Buffy?”
She pouted and kicked at the ground. “Sorry,” she said. “I just…I’ve been wondering.”
“And only now thought to ask?”
“Well, you’re in a tux!”
“Am I? Am I really?”
Buffy scowled, though she couldn’t help the smile tugging her lips. She loved it when he teased her. When his eyes brightened with mischief and sparkled as though the world around them wasn’t crumbling away. “Yes, and you look beyond yummy. But…I’m with the…massively confused.”
Spike grinned. “I don’ think I wanna share.”
“Huh?”
“I like seein’ you in your li’l slayer jams.” The look in his eyes was positively sinful, and it made her want to devour him from head to toe. “I like seein’ you the way no one else does. Makes this all the more mine.”
Her pout deepened. “Still…with the unfair.”
“’S a dream, love.”
“Yeah, but I could’ve dressed in some kinky lingerie or something.” A giggle battled her throat at the dreamy look that stormed his eyes. How was it that she’d thought of it before him? “You know…black lace…maybe a few appropriately placed little red bows. So you could open your Buffy present—”
“’S a dream,” Spike said urgently, his head bobbing with eagerness that betrayed him.
She blinked. “Huh?”
“I got here firs’ that firs’ night, yeah?”
“You always get here first.”
Spike waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Well, I got here that firs’ night…starkers, as you might imagine.”
She blinked again.
“…I sleep without a stitch, pet.”
Thoughts she’d had weeks ago surfaced without warning, and her cheeks reddened under the influence of some deliciously naughty images. Naughty images with her involved, of course. She didn’t like to think of Spike as being naked around Drusilla, especially since they’d been sharing a bed up until the organ collapsed. And knowing their nocturnal activities, it wasn’t hard to imagine Spike in real time getting aroused…and touched by another woman as he slept.
“Oh.”
He smiled softly as though reading her thoughts, but didn’t comment. Instead, he took her face in his hands and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. “I figured it to be a dream,” he continued, his low voice making her nerves buzz with anticipation. “So I wished me some clothes.”
“Wished?”
“You can control dreams, love. The strong-willed can, anyway.” He pulled back with a devastatingly sexy wink before allowing his eyes to roam the length of her. “An’ you’re as bloody strong-willed as any chit I’ve ever met. So why don’ you wish yourself into some of that sexy lingerie you mentioned?”
Her will abandoned her. Sexy lingerie? Her? She’d just embarrass herself.
Luckily, Spike continued talking before she could protest.
“Or I could jus’…” He kissed her again, and the ground shook beneath her feet. “…give you your surprise.”
It was the last thing he said before vanishing.
*~*~*
Tapping. What was that tapping?
A thousand things could plague a girl before the truth reached the surface. All she knew was Spike was gone. He’d been there one second, his fingertips caressing her face, and he was gone the next. And in a world where nothing was certain, she couldn’t keep her head from screaming in panic.
What if he was dust? What if she’d been right all along and Angel really did know what was going on between them? What if, what if, what if.
Tap tap tap.
She paced the floor of the dream-world motel so hard it was a miracle she didn’t wear herself into a trench. She wanted to awaken so badly. She tried screaming her head off, tried pounding on the walls, tried singing The Song That Never Ends, tried pinching herself, tried everything under the proverbial sun and nothing worked. Nothing. It’d seemed so easy—the few times she’d forced herself awake in the past hadn’t required any thought. It was a silent acknowledgment. A voice within that whispered, I can’t be here anymore and she’d find herself awake.
Now when Spike might be in trouble, she couldn’t budge.
If she lost him, she’d never forgive herself. She couldn’t lose him.
She couldn’t.
Tap tap tap.
Buffy jerked awake with a chest-crushing gasp, twisting in her bed sheets and blinking hard until her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her. She was in her room, alone, and she was awake. Spike had been with her just minutes before, but he’d vanished. He’d vanished without a word. And now she had to—
Tap tap tap.
Tears in her throat, her head jerked up violently as her eyes settled on the window.
“Oh my God.”
In a blink, her fears washed into astonishment, her heart slowing in release when their eyes locked. For the first time in months, their eyes actually made contact. There was no fog between them. No distance. The vampire she’d fought with forced passion at the church—the vampire whose mission originally revolved around her death—sat outside her room. And despite everything, despite what she knew of him now and everything they had shared, a shiver of fear raced down her spine. Real meant no hiding. No jerking herself awake. Real meant true consequences.
Real changed everything.
And even knowing it—knowing she was treading new and unexplored territory—the shiver of fear quickly gave way, and all she felt was relief. It was the most potent reprieve she’d ever experienced. The burning panic in her veins washed away. Spike was all right. He was all right. He was here.
Buffy went numb, her heart cadencing back to a thunderous roar. Spike was here. Spike was at her house. He wasn’t being hurt by Angel or anything of the sort. He’d left the dream-world to come here. To come to her house. And there he was—all real, not imagined. The lines of his face were as authentic as the day was long as were the cool contours of his familiar body. Her panic died and resurfaced all in one blow, anxiety clamping down on every nerve in her tired being.
Anxiety which could do little to bade the sudden surge of anticipation away.
Spike smiled softly and offered a little wave, which was enough to break her from her daze. Wobbly legs met the carpet of her bedroom floor, her heart thundering relentlessly in a body that suddenly felt small. Spike was here. Spike was here. Her house. Her room. He was here, and God, she’d never gone from terrified beyond belief to quaking with nervousness so fast in all her life. The few times she and Spike had met each other outside the dream-world hadn’t gone well. He’d attempted to kill her on Halloween, he’d saved her life then dry-humped her against a wall in the bunker, he’d wound up in a wheelchair in the church; now he was at her home. The man she loved was at her home. There was no callousness in his eyes. Nothing but the tenderness she’d come to depend on every night.
She trembled as she unlatched the window and pushed it open. But confronted with closeness after so long knowing he was miles away, her voice failed her completely. She simply stared at him, numb, afraid he would vanish if she blinked. Wondering if the touch of his hands was as gentle as it was lethal. Wondering how his lips would taste in a realm where they could not hide from each other.
Wondering if he was here in actuality, or if her mind had finally collapsed with want.
The air between them was suspended. She heard him breathing. Watched the curve of his sensuous mouth as he grinned at her, his eyes drinking her in. He was so quiet she began to doubt he was really with her, then his lips parted and his voice washed over her like warm satin.
“Surprise,” he said softly, brows flickering.
“Ohhh…”
“I take it you weren’t expectin’ a visit?”
Buffy shook her head numbly, her eyes dropping to take him in. “You’re not in…you can walk?”
“Back’s all mended.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
Spike cocked his head. “Wanted to show you,” he replied. “Wanted…are you all right?”
She licked her lips and nodded again, meeting his gaze and smiling sheepishly. “I’m just…you’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“Why?”
He arched a brow. “’Cause here’s where you’re at. Should I…Buffy?”
She should speak. She knew she should speak, but words wouldn’t come. Not even when disappointment washed over his face, and he shifted uncomfortably as though only then realizing that his presence might not be welcome. It was the furthest thing from the truth, of course, but her stunned nerves were too numb to immediately jump and reassure him. So many months apart—never had they been face-to-face with the understanding they had now. And she didn’t know what to do. God, without the dreams, she didn’t know what to do.
She’d imagined their next real meeting a thousand different times. A thousand different ways. Never in her fantasies had she been stunned silent.
“You’re here,” she said again, her mind breaking through the haze. He wasn’t disappearing. She kept blinking and gaping and he was still there. Spike was with her in real-time. “Are you…we…”
“I was hopin’ you’d invite me in, love.”
Buffy blinked. “Oh…oh yes.” She nodded eagerly and stepped aside, a small smile replacing the thoughtful frown on her face. “Come in, Spike.”
It should have alarmed her how easily the decision came, but after the hysterical screaming died down and she realized he wasn’t going to vanish, the whole of her gave over to elation.
This is happening. This is real. This is really happening.
A long shudder coursed through Spike’s body, his gaze turning molten. “Jus’ like that?” he asked hoarsely, slipping under her window, his eyes fluttering shut as he stepped into the air that belonged to her. “You invite me in to the place where you…” He glanced to the rumpled state of her bed and sighed. “…sleep.”
Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. Every cell in her body was attuned to him. He shifted and the movement rippled across her skin. And then she couldn’t stand the distance between them. He was in her room—he was in her space—and she’d never gotten to touch him as a lover. She’d never truly felt his flesh beneath her fingertips or known the taste of his lips. And now that he was here, she needed to know it was real. She needed to know so badly.
“Spike?”
Apparently, hearing his name was all he needed. Spike moaned in surrender, storming forward and taking her face in his hands. “I wanna kiss you,” he murmured, and for some reason, the vocalization of his desire did more for her than any amount of taking could have hoped to touch.
Lust flared in her eyes and she pressed her thighs together, nodding with desperation she didn’t recognize. “Yes. Yes.”
The second his lips brushed hers, the walls around her collapsed and she felt. She felt. Spike moaned into her mouth and she felt it. His hands slid down her shoulders and she felt it. He murmured her name against her lips, his tongue seeking hers, his hips thrusting up with eagerness that betrayed him. Warmth blazed every inch of her skin. She couldn’t get enough of him—enough of this. Enough of the long strokes of his tongue, of the sensuous dance of his lips against hers, of the guttural moans scratching at his throat. Every move he made was wrangled in need—need she recognized. Need she could identify.
Need for her.
Tears stung her eyes and she had to bite back a laugh. Seemed there was nothing she didn’t cry about nowadays. Spike didn’t want her, and she wept. Spike wanted her, and she wept. Spike kissed her, and she wept. Sooner or later she’d be a sniveling baby every time he changed his socks. She really needed to get a handle on her emotions. Buffy wasn’t used to being the teary-eyed female in any role, which was how her mother knew when she was really upset versus when she was overreacting for attention’s sake. Tears on Buffy equaled the rawest form of emotion.
Now she was crying because she was finally kissing Spike. It was no longer a dream. It wasn’t. He was really with her, and his taste was the warmest homecoming she’d ever known.
“What’s this?” Spike asked softly, raising a hand to her cheek again, his thumb wiping her tears away. “Din’t mean to make you cry, love.”
Buffy just laughed and cried harder. “You’re here,” she blubbered, unsurprised when his brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re really here.”
“Yeh…thought it’d be the sort’ve thing that’d make you happy.”
“I’m…” How could she even begin to describe how she felt? Buffy broke off, trembling with ecstasy wrapped in shock. Every fantasy she’d ever entertained had become solid. Spike was here. His skin was under her fingers and the very real taste of him flavored her mouth. His eyes were finally absorbing hers with nothing but yearning and softness—the qualities in the dream-world she’d come to cherish were soaring with life. Spike was here. The Spike she knew in her dreams was in her reality. Every strain of her being split with bliss and all at once, she felt she was soaring far above herself with no fear of the inevitable fall.
For the first time the prospect of crashing didn’t bother her. She had the immediacy of the moment. She had right now, and it was more than she’d ever thought she’d touch.
“You’re here,” she whispered, insensible to how foolish she seemed—how childish and vulnerable. Nothing seemed to matter at the moment; Spike was with her and nothing else was important. “I…I…”
“You are happy, right?” Spike ventured cautiously, his eyes searching hers. “These are happy tears?”
“Yes, doof!”
“Oi!”
Her gaze widened and she pressed her hand to his mouth, shivering at the soft feel of his lips against her skin. “Shhh,” she berated, her pulse racing. “My mom.”
Recognition swept across his face and he nodded sheepishly, though her warning didn’t prevent his tongue from taking a quick lick of her palm. The contact made every inch of her burn. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Jus’ watch the name-calling, yeah?”
“Well watch the stupid questions.”
“Doesn’ do much for a bloke’s ego when the girl starts weepin’ the second he kisses her,” he countered even as tension rolled off his shoulders. He glanced down to collect himself, and when he met her eyes again, the shine of emotion was so heady she nearly forgot to breathe. “I’ve wanted to be here so bloody badly.”
“You have?”
He blinked. “You doubt it?”
“N-no. I just…” Buffy shuddered hard and sighed, her eyes dropping to his chest, her hands soon following suit. He was no longer in the tux, obviously, as that had been a projection of the dreams, but his normal clothing was almost sexier. Perhaps because she knew it was real. “It’s just…I’ve…with the…being real, and all.”
“’S what I mean, kitten,” Spike replied, smiling gently, brushing his lips across her brow. “’ve wanted to be here.” His hands ran up and down her arms before hesitating and cupping her breasts. When she didn’t protest, his thumbs took to rubbing gentle circles against her aching nipples. “Wanted to feel you under my hands.” His mouth dropped to her throat, his tongue lapping eagerly at her throat. “See if you taste as sweet as you do in the dreams.”
“I-I…”
“Mmm…” He teased her breasts a minute longer before dropping his hands to the hem of her bedtime tank. Then he paused, his eyes seeking hers before proceeding. “Buffy?”
The move surprised her; the past few weeks hadn’t known any sense of propriety. They met and clothing was inevitably shed. It was the way things were—the way they were together. The imploration was as unexpected as it was moving; it took very little to conclude the symptom of his hesitance.
It was real. They were no longer guarded by the protective veil of a dream. Anything they did now carried the weight of permanence.
And amazing as it was—even while exploring the novelty of real touches between them—Buffy wasn’t afraid. She’d come to terms with her feelings and the unavoidable places they would take her long ago. Standing with Spike in her bedroom, while an unexpected turn, felt too right to fight, and she wouldn’t if she could.
Buffy drew in a deep breath and nodded, grinning and raising her arms in the air, enjoying the way his eyes widened and his unneeded breath caught in his throat. He paused as though fearing she would retract the invitation, then fisted the cotton of her tank and dragged it over her head with trembling hands. He held her eyes for a long second before dropping his gaze to the fabric in his hands, ultimately pitching it to the corner of her room.
“Buffy…” He flexed his hands, his jaw tightening. He looked anywhere but at her. “We…if we…”
“My mother’s asleep.”
Spike swallowed hard. “Yeah?” he replied, voice hoarse, his eyes unable to keep from zeroing in on her breasts a second longer. He stared at her hungrily for endless seconds, licking his lips before raising his head to meet her gaze. “She’s sleepin’?”
Buffy nodded and fought the urge to cover herself. Spike might have seen her naked a thousand times, but there would never be any getting over the sensation of his eyes on her body. Especially now. Especially this true first time. “S-she’s a…umm…a heavy sleeper.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “I’d think so.”
“Oh?”
“All the sneakin’ out you do.” Spike inhaled sharply and closed the space between them, raising a tentative hand to one of her breasts. His fingers were immediately drawn to her nipple, pinching her with a shared shiver. “Buffy…do you…do you want…?”
“Yes.”
Spike paused hopefully. “I din’t ask—”
“You don’t have to.” She raised her hands to his chest, pushing at the lapels of his duster until he unwound and allowed the leather coat to slide off his shoulders and to the floor. And while she hadn’t known what to expect, a part of her shivered when her eyes took in his muscular body. He was dressed, of course, but she knew that chest so well. She knew the arms the duster had hidden. She knew Spike, and her dreams had not lied to her. “I…I want…” She paused, words failing her. Verbalizing her desires had never been her strong suit—especially when she was caught unawares. Now, with her heart pounding so hard she could barely keep her breath, she trusted her body with words she couldn’t voice. Not allowing herself another moment’s pause, she consumed his mouth with hunger she barely recognized, pouring her nervous whimper into him as liberation burned her whole.
Spike melted into her with a growl, sucking her tongue greedily into his mouth. “You drive me wild,” he told her, breaking their kiss just long enough to rip his shirt over his head. “So much I can’t bloody think straight.”
She grinned with confidence she didn’t feel. “We’re even, then,” she replied, her eyes dropping to his flesh, placing a tentative hand on his chest. “This is…it’s real. No more…here, in this…in real-time, I’ve never gotten to touch you.”
For a second she thought he was going to object, but nothing but heat passed between them.
“I’ve never felt this chest,” she continued bravely, her fingers caressing his skin. “Never…gotten to taste your skin.” Fully aware she was echoing his earlier actions, her mouth dipped to nip at his breast. She’d never played with him the way he did her—tasted his skin, licked his nipples, or worshipped his body, aside from his cock, as he worshipped hers. She wanted to make up for it now. “Never…”
“Buffy…”
She smiled shyly and walked him backward until his legs hit the bed, her hands tugging on the waistband of his jeans. “I’ve never gotten to…to taste your…”
Spike’s eyes bore into hers with heat that had her melting into goo. “God, Buffy…”
Her bravado vanished before she could say the actual word. Where Spike had no trouble uttering little dirties, she was trying to perfect the art. Saying things like cock and balls, though knowing he’d probably get turned on just by hearing her try, was too far beyond the comfort zone she’d established for herself as a young teen. Eventually, she would try to incorporate what she called dirty language into her vocabulary for Spike’s benefit; right now it was a matter of mastering a verbal description of everything she wanted to do to him.
Her cheeks reddened even further, trembling fingers unzipping his fly. “I want—”
“You have me.”
She arched a brow with courage she didn’t feel. “You didn’t let me finish.”
“You can have whatever you want,” Spike replied urgently, jerking his hips forward. “Jus’—”
His words rode out on the sexiest moan she’d ever heard, her hand closing around his cock with a bizarre surge of novel familiarity. She’d done this a thousand times. She’d held him, laved his length with her tongue, taken him into her mouth and swallowed around him until she was drinking him down in earnest. She’d done it all without doing it; now her hand was truly around him. Her eyes were studying his naked erection for the first time, and all too soon it wasn’t enough. She wanted so much more than just to hold him; she wanted him inside her. She wanted his cock thrusting into her mouth, she wanted him cradled within her body. She wanted everything.
“Wanna taste,” she said, barely aware of her words, her hands pushing his jeans down his legs as he tried to kick off his shoes—a collaborative effort which had him crashing to her mattress with an enthusiastic bounce.
“Buffy…” The need raging in his voice had her trembling to her core. It was very clear he was attempting to hold onto control; the slightest touch had him rattling dangerously close to the edge, and it was all at her hand. “Please…”
“Please?”
“I need…” He sighed heavily, his eyes soaking her in. “I…I know it’s…it’s different, yeah?”
His ability to read her without effort had her feeling even more self-conscious. Buffy shifted uneasily and shook her head, licking her lips. “It’s not…well, yes.” There was no sense lying to him when her emotions decorated her proverbial sleeves. “I am…with the real—”
Spike swallowed hard and forced a nod. “Buffy—”
“But I want you. I do.” Buffy leaned forward, her lips dropping to his throat. She loved the taste of his skin, almost as much as she loved having the flavor of Spike in her mouth. “I just…” Words scratched her throat, her lips doctoring his flesh with gentle, loving kisses. She didn’t know how thickly her emotions poured through actions; she didn’t know if Spike even cared that she tried to show her love through touch. All she knew was she loved him, and her body couldn’t turn off love. When she was with him, it was all she could do to keep her confession from rolling like a ceaseless mantra off her lips. “I didn’t…”
“Oh God,” Spike hissed as her teeth gently scraped one of his nipples. Then he blinked and closed his hands around her forearms. “What? Buffy?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what, sweetheart?”
Buffy inhaled deeply and avoided his eyes. She knew he would berate her indignantly for her fears, but she couldn’t help herself. “I didn’t know…you’d want this…here.”
Spike blinked dumbly. “Huss’at?”
“…with me. No dreams.” She motioned between them, feeling smaller by the second. “I-it’s real… I didn’t—”
“Oh for Christ’s sake—”
“Well, with everything—”
“Buffy, I thought we were…” He cupped her chin and jerked her face upwards, forcing her gaze to clash with his. “I know I was a right bastard not too long ago, an’ I know I deserve every sodding ounce of doubt, but you know I…it’s never been about not wantin’ you. Never.”
He was right. It was more about not wanting to want her. Not that the distinction made her feel any better, but she supposed it was only fair to get all the facts straight.
“I know,” Buffy replied a long minute later, her voice braver than she felt. “I…I just…”
“I wanna make love to you.” The emotion in his voice nearly swept her off her feet. “I wanna feel you around me. You’re…I’m lost for you, love. I’m completely buggered an’ I could give a damn ‘cause you’re here. I came here because I know the dreams…wonderful as they are…I know they’re not enough for you.” His hands gently caressed the length of her stomach, coming to rest above the waistline of her pajama bottoms. “They’re not enough for me, either.”
Her blood raced and her heart thundered with hope she barely allowed herself to feel.
“They’re not?” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as he palmed a breast, his thumb flicking her nipple as his hungry gaze devoured her face.
Spike swallowed hard and shook his head. “No,” he replied hoarsely, leaning in and favoring her nipple with a long, sultry lick. “To know I’m not really holding you? That you’re not really shivering against me? An’ waking up without you…without you beside me an’ knowing I won’ see you again till…”
Her face was a flood of tears. It seemed her poor eyes never caught a break. “Spike…”
“It’s not enough. Playin’ them at this angle isn’t enough for me anymore.” His mouth trailed a series of wet kisses to her other breast, his hands sliding her pajama bottoms over her ass and down her legs until they pooled around her ankles. “I can’t pretend to want you dead when the idea makes me…” He completed the thought in a rumbling growl around her flesh, coaxing her legs apart with his left hand, his fingers sliding sensually between her pussy lips. “God, you feel—”
“Unh…”
“Can’t wait to taste you.” He licked his lips and winked. “See if your honey’s as sweet here as it is in our dreams.”
“No.”
Spike arched a brow. “No? You’re not as sweet?”
“I wanted…I-I had a plan.” Her hand dipped between them, eager fingers wrapping around his cock, enjoying the bliss which clouded his eyes. “I wanted…you always make it…about me.”
“Oh Buffy—”
“I wanted—”
“Next time,” he promised, kissing her hard. “I wanna be inside you.”
“I want that, too. I just—”
“Slayer, if we…this is your…I know it’s bloody ridiculous, not to mention as deliciously twisted as anythin’ I’ve ever experienced, but you…you’re…” He paused, though not for lack of words. His eyes instead fell to her pussy, eager fingers rubbing her slit until his skin glistened with her juices. “We’ve never done this. Not here.”
“God, Spike—”
“You’re a virgin here.”
She suddenly had the urge to laugh, even if she knew it was true, and had known since their first night. It seemed so absurd for as often as they’d made love. She truly was a virgin in this world—in the real world. Her body had never known the touch of a man. And while this was nothing she hadn’t recited to herself a thousand times, he was right: it was ridiculous. They’d been lovers for weeks. They knew each other’s bodies as well as their own. And yet, in the real world, none of it had ever taken place.
“If we’re not careful, I could hurt you.” He thumbed her clit with careless grace, the move so light she nearly thought he wasn’t aware of his actions. The smoldering of his eyes told her otherwise. The trembles coursing through her body made him purr with pleasure. “I don’t ever wanna hurt you.”
Buffy’s hands had found his shoulders when she wasn’t looking, and she was holding onto him as though the world would fall away if she let go. “Ever?” she repeated, shuddering and bucking against his hand before she could stop herself.
“Sweetheart—”
“When…unh…when this is over—”
Spike lowered his head again, teasing her pert, eager nipples with his mouth, switching off to treat each breast with equal care. “When this is over,” he replied softly, his hands sliding to her hips, gently coaxing her forward until she risked either straddling his legs or falling onto him. She chose the former. “You an’ I…are gonna have a confrontation.”
Her heart clenched and her blood pulsed with panic. “You can’t—”
“A nice, delicious confrontation. Preferably somewhere far away from here with nothin’ but food, water, blood, an’ a big fluffy bed.” He regarded her with dancing eyes, mouth sucking intently on her breast. Fingers slipped between her thighs again, probing her feminine folds in a way she knew so well. She loved the way he rubbed her. The way his fingers thrust inside her pussy to test her readiness. To feel her feminine secretions roll down his skin. She’d never thought her body anywhere near the enigma Spike seemed to think it was; he was constantly exploring her, attempting to unlock her secrets, as though she had anything to hide.
“But no, kitten,” he replied, nipping at her breast and deftly sliding his touch away from her sopping hole. He regarded her with a heated look at her whimper as he wrapped his hand around his cock and lathered himself with her juices. “Not gonna hurt you.”
“I—”
“You love me. Don’ wanna bollocks that up.” He dragged his lips along her collarbone and up her neck until he was kissing her again in earnest, coaxing her body downward. He rubbed himself along her clit as he’d done countless times, hungrily absorbing every pleasured sigh coursing through her body. “Want you to keep loving me.”
“Always.”
Spike pulled back just a hair. Just so she saw the blue of his ocean gaze as he pierced her with a look. “Tell me,” he whispered, the head of his cock parting her wet, pink flesh. “Tell me, pet. Please.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I love you.”
A smile stretched his lips, and he tended to hers with a gentle kiss. “An’ you’re sure?” he whispered, even as his hands urged her downward, his cock pressing into her. “God, Buffy…”
“I’m sure.”
“It’s gonna hurt, love. Not like—”
She didn’t care. She’d waited too long for this moment. She’d waited too long to have Spike’s hard body against hers in reality. If she hesitated, if she blinked, it might all vanish. The world could have ended and she wouldn’t have cared. Buffy attacked his lips with hers and sank down on him, seating his erection deep within her. She waited for the explosion of pain he’d forewarned, but there was nothing. Nothing but the familiar tightening in her lower stomach as her flesh stretched to welcome him. It was uncomfortable only for a second before pleasure rippled through her body. Spike poured a helpless moan into her mouth and clutched desperately at her hips. Ecstasy spiked her blood, elation sparking her every cell. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t tremble. Every corner of her body echoed with ecstasy. She felt him everywhere. Her scalp tingled, her eyes blazed, her skin shivered, and he was there. Watching her hungrily. Devouring her face with veneration that betrayed him. For a blessed second, there was nothing between them. His wide eyes studied her face, his heavy breaths crashing against her mouth. She felt split down the middle, and sewn together all at the same time.
It was different but it was the same. It was wonderful. She nearly laughed when the familiar sting of tears attacked her eyes. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him to her, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Oh God,” Spike murmured into her hair. “Oh God.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she fell back on the only truth she knew. “I love you.”
“Oh Buffy.” He kissed her brow, his hands squeezing her ass as she lifted off his cock and sank down again. This was a dance they knew well—a dance they had perfected with each other. And while everything was different, there was so much that remained the same. “Are you…any pain, love?”
She shook her head, her eyes shining. “No.”
Spike arched a brow and kissed the corner of her mouth. “None?”
“Is that…ohh…is that bad?”
He grinned and shook his head. “No. I jus’…” He blinked and the matter became moot the second her pussy clenched around him. A long whimper tore through the air and his expression melted again, hands following the bounce of her ass as she moved in long strokes against him. “Oh God.”
Buffy tossed her hair back. The air around her burned with novelty. It was so new—so new, yet familiar all at once. Her body protested her mind’s knowledge, clenching when she wanted nothing more than to gallop him into a vampire-shaped hole in her mattress. “You’ve told me so many times,” she whispered, her teeth scratching his lips as she thrust her hips against him, “but…I never thought we’d really…here.” The rhythmic slide of his erection in and out of her pussy had her insides melting. She was surrounded by familiarity rather than the cold impersonal walls of an imagined room. The breaths against her lips were real, as were the muted mewls that whispered around them.
“Never say never.”
Spike’s arms slid around her middle and the next thing she knew, he’d flipped her back onto the mattress and was gazing down at her, perched on his elbows and nestled between her legs. He hadn’t broken contact; his cock was still moving inside her, striking her with mastery that only shared familiarity could allow. He knew every inch of her so well. So damnably well.
“Buffy…” His lips wandered across her face, rolling his hips as though savoring every contour of her being—his erection striking nerves inside her she still hadn’t been convinced truly existed outside the fantasy world. But the dreams hadn’t lied to her—hadn’t given her a false sense of worldly pleasure. The dreams had done nothing but provide what reality wouldn’t allow.
“I din’t think it’d feel like this,” he whispered hotly, hands sliding under her shoulders. “Din’t think anything could really feel so good.”
Buffy smiled hopefully, nipping at his lips when his mouth dipped for hers. “Do I?” she whispered.
“You’re so hot. So bloody hot.”
“D-different?”
“No.” He smiled and her heart soared. “An’ yes. I can’t…explain.” His mouth dropped to her throat, lips dancing across her skin with heated expertise. “It’s different, but God you’re still…you feel so good. So bloody good. Liquid heat, you are. My hot li’l slayer.”
Her nails clawed at his shoulders, her hips battling his in a desperate need to recapture his cock inside her body every time he drew away from her. The wet slide of his flesh against her vaginal walls had the room spinning. She was set with completion; there was nothing beyond this. Beyond Spike pounding her into the mattress. Beyond the feel of his balls slapping her ass with every thrust. Beyond the squeak of a bed she didn’t know could squeak so loud. The walls of a room that had previously defined her adolescence melting away as she embraced the fullness of her womanhood.
“Slayer,” Spike gasped against her mouth, his pace quickening. “God…”
“Spike…”
“Tell me,” he growled, his mouth dancing southward until he was nursing at her breast. A hand danced across her abdomen, slow and calm even as the thrusts of his body grew more demanding. She felt his breaths rocking against her skin, felt his moans rumble through his chest in the guise of a thundering heart. He chewed on her breast and captured her clit between his fingers, massaging her in gentle counterpoint to the wild stabs of his cock. “Tell me how this feels.”
Her burning face flushed even redder. “Spike…”
“No one else, love,” he snarled, panting hard into her skin. “No one else gets to taste this.”
“No one,” she agreed breathlessly. The idea alone was more than she could handle. Her body belonged to Spike. Her everything belonged to Spike. He possessed her thoroughly. She was his; his to fuck, his to love, his to break. She just didn’t know which option he would choose in the end. How he would regard the gift that was her.
Right now, she felt like he wanted to love her. It was a pipe dream, of course—the romanticism of the day swirling with the magic of the moment. Spike was in her room, in her bed, in her body, loving her with all the words he refused to speak. The love he kept from her.
None of it mattered. She belonged to him either way. She was irrevocably lost, and she’d consigned herself to her fate.
“You’re mine.” It was a statement rather than a proclamation; he was speaking of something he already knew. He’d vamped in a blink, his yellow eyes consuming hers, his slippery fingers caressing her clit speedily until the strokes, combined with the thrusts of his cock into her warm depths, had ecstasy piercing her every nerve. “Squeeze me, kitten,” he murmured around her breast. “Wanna feel that juicy li’l quim of yours squeezin’…God, please.”
A smile tickled her lips, her slayer muscles immediately contracting around him. Spike’s eyes fell shut and he surrendered with a low moan, and in the guise of his demon, she’d never seen anything more beautiful. He favored her breast with another long, lavish lick before seizing her lips with his, teasing her with the hint of his fangs against her hot skin even if he never came close to nicking her.
“Oh yeah,” he purred rakishly, his words riding out on a whimper. “Buffy…Buffy…”
“Need…need…”
“I know what you need, kitten.” He buried his face in the crook of her throat, shuddering hard. Every stroke of his fingers had bolts of lightening shooting through her body. The heat storm mounting in her belly was on the verge of an explosion the likes of which she’d never experienced. His mouth was on her, his fangs were glimmering in the shards of moonlight peering in through the open window, his cock stuffing her pussy with every stroke—it was too much.
“Wanna feel you strangling me,” Spike growled. “Want you to drench me with your sweet…”
“Spike—”
“Do it, Buffy. Come for me. Lemme hear it.”
And from nowhere, her blood shot with a desire so forbidden she nearly wept. But how could she deny herself when this might be all she ever had? When the novelty of screwing a slayer wore off—when her love for him was no longer deserving of reverence, and she became a punchline for the history books. She’d already sold herself this far—there was no sense holding back now.
“I need you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the illicit smack of their naked bodies as she barreled closer to climax.
“You’ve got me.”
“I need…your fangs.”
Spike’s eyes went wide, but his body barely registered astonishment. She didn’t know what she’d expected; a laugh, a kiss, the immediate halt of their lovemaking so he could make sure he’d heard her properly. None of that happened. If anything, the instant her words hit the air, her mind and body parted completely—body lost to bone-melting pleasure as he unmade her with every stroke, her mind racing to catch up with the magnitude of what she’d just asked.
She thought for a second he might ask her to repeat herself to make sure it was something she truly wanted. He didn’t. Instead, a leer stretched his lips before he lowered his head again, his movements slow and intentional even as his hips rocked hard against her. “You’re mine,” he whispered again, and the words made her insides shiver in the midst of blazing heat.
Then his fangs sliced into her neck, and the world around her exploded into a foray of color. Buffy screamed—she was sure she screamed, only no sound escaped her lips. Her scream was muted but deafening, every cell in her body rocketing as her body clenched and spasmed around him. She felt herself pouring out; felt his incisors in a strained pleasure-pull, Spike drinking her down his throat. He growled around mouthfuls of blood as he spilled himself inside her, as his cock rubbed her wet, sensitive flesh. Pleasure numbed her until there was nothing left but a dull tingle. Until she was aware of nothing but his ivory fangs and the welcomed weight of his body. He was inside her in every possible way, and somehow, it was still not enough.
But he was with her. He’d given her more than she’d thought she’d ever have.
He’d given her a part of himself. Turnabout was fair like that; he owned everything she was.
“Buffy,” he whispered, soft lips caressing her bloodied skin. “My Buffy…”
She trembled and wrapped her arms around him, her eyes fluttering shut.
Perhaps if she held on tight enough, perhaps if she wished hard enough, morning would never come.
Perhaps he’d never disappear.
Perhaps this moment would last forever.