Part Eighteen: The Road Less Traveled
Eight months later
The night had not been going well.
Of course, it being her birthday, she really couldn’t say that she was surprised.
Buffy had been having a decent day up until a few minutes ago. A splendid way to spend one’s day of jubilee prior to celebration events. A friendly breakfast with Xander and Willow—who gleefully insisted that skipping morning courses on birthdays was not a deadly sin—followed by two hours of chick-flicks before the guilt-ridden trek to the study hall, which was simple in itself. Class was fantastic; her three o’clock exam was canceled and she learned that she had aced her history paper.
Though for that, she couldn’t take all the credit. She enjoyed the privilege of a good tutor.
It was also her anniversary with said tutor. A year had passed. Only a year—an entire year. A year since that fateful night that had found them pitted against each other in a fight to the death. A year since her life had changed for good. Changed for the better.
Changed.
When she wasn’t being pampered by friends or bored by one of her professors, her mind took to serious reflection. After all, anniversaries were nothing if not a time for reflection.
So much had happened in the past year. They were in college—all except Xander, who had taken a hermit-like status in his parent’s basement and was currently entangled in a bizarre relationship with Anya. Willow and Oz had split after she caught him naked with another werewolf and he consequentially decided to leave town to find a cure for his monthly problem. Giles was unemployed but still her Watcher and enjoyed semi-regular visits from a British woman named Olivia. Wesley and Cordelia had both left directly following Graduation and were evidently now employed by Angel in Los Angeles. Word had it that a half-demon had even had the wonky notion that Cordelia should inherit his power of Sight before he’d martyred himself to save the town.
Stranger things had happened.
Things on the Hellmouth were currently at a lull. Well, except for the strange Commando guys running around and kidnapping random demons. Buffy had enjoyed one or two run-ins with them of the personal nature—both times when they had tried to nab Spike while on patrol. They were a cattle-prod happy group.
But no one messed with her boyfriend and got away with it.
It seemed so much more time had gone by than one measly year. At the time, she had been so angry and overwrought. Suffering the loss of her slayer powers plus Giles’s deception, all to be put against a vampire she’d despised. Now, when she considered it, the thought that it could have gone any other way made her feel uneasy. Made her more levels of grateful than she knew existed. Everything that had transpired since relied on the events of that night. She would not be here otherwise—wouldn’t be so blissfully content. Wouldn’t have everything she had ever wanted.
She was intent on making the most out of this anniversary. At least, that had been her plan. They had arrived at the dorm relatively early to indulge some much-needed alone time, and acquired said alone-time for perhaps two minutes before a panting, panicked Willow burst through the door to announce that something had happened to Xander.
Of. Fucking. Course.
Buffy suspected on some level that blaming Xander for being accident-prone wasn’t exactly fair, but she had waited all day for something of the mega-bad to happen. When it hadn’t, she foolishly squandered the idea of luck to a mini-revelation that her curse had passed.
It was Spike who had tugged her to her feet. He flashed an understanding smile and nodded his head in agreement to follow the frightened redhead to the scene of the crime.
“So it was a demon?” Buffy asked, shrugging a jacket over her shoulders as her boyfriend pulled her hair free of the collar. “What’d it look like?”
“Big,” came the short reply.
Buffy and Spike exchanged a long glance.
“Oh, I know just the one! The one with the claws and the thing, right? A little help, Wills, if it’s not too much to ask.”
“It was big and greenish yellow. Or maybe purplish blue. Or grayish brown.” Willow threw her hands in the air. “I really can’t remember. It happened really fast. Just…come quick, okay? Giles is looking it up.”
“Off your FBI-like description? I’m sure that’ll get us on the case in a jiffy.”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Less fighty, more findy Xander, okay?”
Buffy heaved a long sigh and offered a quick nod before turning to bustle toward the darkened foyer on her best friend’s heels.
The moment they switched on the light—and really, that should’ve been the first clue; the light in there was never off—a chorus of “Surprise!” nearly knocked her off her feet.
Well, it did knock her off her feet. Buffy tumbled back against Spike, who promptly swept up in a hug and a birthday kiss. The traitor had been in on it.
Buffy twisted in his arms and gave him a very deserved whack on the shoulder.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he cooed between chuckles and unsuccessful attempts to evade her non-threatening slaps.
“You jerk!”
“Oh yeah. Real jerks are defined by a need to surprise their girls on their birthdays.” He paused to point at Willow. “Besides, it was her bloody idea!” He turned to the attentive audience and announced dramatically, “Everyone here’s a witness. I’m automatically the guilty party. If that’s not ingrained prejudice, I don’t know what is. Equal rights for vamps!”
Buffy’s gaze narrowed. “Oh please.”
“Breaking my dainty heart, pet.”
“You’re the evil one here. Not much deducing actually needed.”
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around her in one of his loving gestures that she didn’t think he was even aware of anymore. “See what I have to put up with?” he teased. “Where’s the sodding trust?”
The comment earned a laugh from the crowd, which was comprised of mostly strangers. Those who knew Buffy and Spike well enough to know that they were nearly inseparable, even if they spent a good part of that time taking jibes at each other. More often, they were accused of being too cutesy.
And for the most part, neither she nor Spike gave a damn.
Willow shrugged with an easy smile, taking Buffy by the arm to steer her away from her boyfriend—a task that had grown increasingly difficult over the past few months. “Sorry, Buff. We couldn’t resist. Besides, when’s the last time we got down and partied?”
There was no sense arguing with that. Buffy offered a somewhat abashed grin. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Buffster,” a perfectly unattacked, unharmed Xander replied as he approached. “We know that you’ve been…distracted.”
Her flush deepened.
Spike was at her side in a flash. “Hey now,” he said as the guests began to dispense into their respective groups with cake and punch. “Lay off my girl. All criticism of our relationship can resume as scheduled after tonight. Savvy?”
“How about 12:01?” Xander asked. “No longer birthday, no longer special treatment, right?”
“Not in this lifetime, Stay Puft.”
Willow snickered. “Nice try, though, Xan. Remember, when it comes to babying, no one gets it better.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped along with Spike’s in perfect syncopation.
“He does not baby me!”
“I do not baby her!”
“We really should do something to separate them before they get scary,” Xander stage-whispered.
“Too late,” Willow whispered back.
And from there, the night went splendidly well. As good a night as Buffy had ever had for her birthday celebration.
But tonight was special to her in ways that far surpassed the anniversary of her birth. And she wanted to celebrate it with Spike for reasons that would either go ridiculed by her friends—excluding Willow, who knew practically every skeleton in the closet with frightening familiarity—or ignored for the sake of her party. So she smiled and laughed and socialized, avoided the slimes from her classes that were always trying to get her consent on a date despite numerous reminders that she was in a serious relationship with someone else, and let the night slip through her fingers.
When the party finally began to die down, Spike pulled her aside and asked if she wanted to escape before her face cracked from smiling. She nodded her enthusiasm, made her way through the remaining guests to say her goodbyes and repeat her thanks before collecting her presents with her boyfriend’s help to deposit them in her dorm.
“Sorry our evening was interrupted,” Spike said when it was all over and done with. “Red was just adamant on throwin’ you a party. Couldn’t say no. She needed me to get you here and—”
“No. Thank you. I had a great time.” Buffy met him in the middle of the room, wrapped her arms around his waist. “I don’t spend as much time with them as I should.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Piffle.”
“I don’t! And really, after Oz left? Insensitive Buffy, much?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t there for her. And she could’ve gone further off the deep-end than she did.”
“Yeah,” Spike retorted, rolling his eyes. “We might’ve actually made it down the sodding aisle.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Besides…Xander with the demons and whatnot? Not of the fun.” She rested her brow at his chest, enjoying his calming caresses against her back. “We’re just lucky it didn’t get any worse.”
“And that Rupert knew how to stop it?”
“That too.”
Spike sighed and turned to rest his cheek upon her crown. “So, on top of everything else, you get the guilt-game on your special day. Right.”
“Well, come on. When was the last time I even stayed here for a full night? Honestly?”
“Does that mean you don’t wanna come home with me?”
Buffy stiffened in alarm. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then let’s get outta here.”
No need to ask her twice. Better to get out now before another disaster impeded the road. Tonight was about them, and she was determined that he know it, too. While there was no doubt in her mind that he obviously recognized today as their anniversary, he was acting aloof and doing everything he could to make sure that she had the perfect birthday.
Which, really? Appreciated. Much. But she loved him, and she wanted him to know that today—this date—would always be something more to her because of him. Because he was in her life, at her side, and would always be so.
They took to the streets of Sunnydale at a leisurely pace, despite her urgency to make the evening up to him. Hand-in-hand, they toured the sites—minimal as they were—and paused often to share kisses that quickly became too indecent for public.
All. She had it all. The cake was in front of her, she had a fork in hand, and she was being granted the largest bites anyone could ever imagine. And nothing would ever take it away from her.
“Favorite gift?”
“The blouse Wills gave me was nice.” She paused, hand going to her throat. “But really? The sword.”
“Sweetheart, I promise I won’t be offended if—”
“I mean really. Weapons are so the way to this girl’s heart. I can’t wait to make with the decapitations.”
He grinned. “Gotta say, you look bloody hot wielding it.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s penis-shaped.”
“Well…yeah.” He smirked and kissed her temple. “Mmm. Those blokes, the ones drooling all over you tonight…”
“They weren’t drooling. There was no drooling.”
“Buffy, I might be irrational at times, but I’m not blind.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “And I can’t say I blame ‘em, of course. You’re what most men spend their whole lives—or unlives—not having.”
“Spike—”
“I just wanna know if they give you any trouble.”
She couldn’t help it; she giggled. “You think poor wittle me can’t handle a couple of horny coeds? Gimme a break. Besides, these guys are decent. They know that no means, well, no.”
Spike huffed. “Most.”
“Riley’s harmless.”
“Riley’s a wanker.”
“Well, even still, he’s harmless.”
“There’s just something about that bloke that rubs me the wrong way.” He shifted. “The way he looks at you…then me…then you. I wanna tear his balls off and shove ‘em down his throat.”
“Maybe you got it wrong. Maybe he likes you.”
“Cheeky wench.”
“Not that I could blame him, of course.” She tipped upward to kiss his cheek. “You’ve got a really great ass.”
He just smiled and kissed her. Then went stiff and turned to cast a wary eye over his shoulder. And just like that, the merriment of the evening vanished. She knew that look well, and it was anything but good.
“What is it?”
“Saw somethin’.”
She knew that tone, too.
“Sure it’s not just a cat-something?”
“Bloody positive.” The look was not going anywhere, and evidently, neither were her plans for anniversary goodness. Spike’s temperament these past couple of months had danced along the border of noble, though his determination to be everything she deserved, at times, wandered into annoying territory.
After all, it wasn’t like she had seen anything.
“Went inside that building, whatever it was,” he was saying. “I’m gonna go scope it out.”
“Coming with,” she said, more out of habit than an announcement.
“No, you’re not.”
Okay. Strange. “What?”
“You’re staying here…keeping an eye out. It might come out through the back or what all.”
“Spike, are you—”
“It’s probably nothing. I’ll be in and out in a bloody jiffy. Sit tight.”
Only it couldn’t be nothing. It was never nothing on her birthday. There was always, always, something.
And yet, that knowledge did nothing to change the fact that Spike left her with a kiss and disappeared inside the building that looked old and condemned and certainly gross enough to support his claim. Definitely of the demon locale—she couldn’t think of any other species of anything that would consider it habitable.
Such was her life. But Spike was right. If he thought he saw something that tingled his vampire senses, it was worth investigating.
Duty, and all that.
So she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Though there had been no noise, Buffy started to worry after ten minutes.
When fifteen rolled around, she could wait no longer. The invisible manacles of panic that held her back in these situations retreated to the shadows. It was her birthday. She was foolish for taking any chance.
Particularly with someone she loved.
It was strange, though. She never worried about Spike. Well, she worried that he would get into a fight with a big demon at a pub or something like, but she knew he could take care of himself—for the most part. He was a big boy. He had survived things she couldn’t even imagine. With him, the lines of love and worry were separated.
But tonight—right now—that was not the case. With no thought for herself, Buffy raced toward the house, kicked the door open and screamed, “SPIKE!” into the nest of shadows that greeted her.
Her voice faded, echoing through the rooms before dying altogether.
No answer.
Oh god.
“No,” she gasped, her eyes widening with before settling on the stairs that looked far too unstable for her liking. It didn’t matter, though. She followed her senses and her senses took her to the second floor.
Took her fast.
Took her to a long, dark hallway. Empty.
Buffy choked back a sob, willing herself not to panic. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not to them.
“Spike?”
Her voice again echoed down the dark corridor, but there was no answer.
No.
“Dammit, Spike!” she snapped, stomping with more force than the foundation was prepared to accept. “If this is a joke, it is nowhere near the county-line of funny!”
Well, obviously. Her voice was rattling and her hands were shaking. God, why had she let him come in here alone? Spike could take care of himself, sure, but not now. Not on her birthday. Things always went wrong on her birthday. Horribly wrong.
“Spike?” she asked again. “Answer me!”
Okay, she was probably panicking for no reason. Knowing him, he was likely outside. Or out of earshot. Or enjoying a gag for kicks.
God, if he made her worry for no reason…
“Please?”
There was nothing.
Nothing.
Then a big something, in the form of a soft glow coming from the end of the hallway.
And instantly, Buffy was smacked out of the dark with enough force to shake her bones and melt her reserve. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before.
To his credit, he had set her up. And well.
This was their place. A year ago, Giles had pulled up at the curb outside. A year ago, Spike had backed her into a corner before chasing her into this hall. Right here. A year ago, they had tumbled into the safe room. A year ago, her life had changed forever. Here. In this place.
In the place where Spike had brought her.
Their room was still there. The safe room. Only a blanket was set on the floor this time. A blanket, a couple of candles, a picnic basket, and a bottle of wine on the ice.
All of her anxiety and anger—everything—simply vanished.
Then the door behind her shut. Buffy turned and Spike was there, gaze holding hers.
“Hi,” he said softly.
She smiled. “Hey.”
“Didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”
Her smile broadened. That thought itself was laughable. She had learned long ago that he never forgot anything when it came to her, or their relationship. “Never,” she replied. “I just figured you would ignore it.”
The corners of his mouth tugged into a gentle smile and he began toward her, his hands reaching for her face to bring her mouth to his. And then words were overrated—his lips and tongue teasing her with a softness that she had previously thought no man capable of. He tasted her fully but slowly, making that soft whimpering sound that drove her out of her mind.
“Ignore the anniversary of the night my life changed?” he said after their lips parted. “The night you introduced me to paradise? The night I came home for the very first time? I could no sooner give you up.” He paused. “Or blood. I need blood, too.”
She grinned, drawing his mouth back to hers. His tongue teased hers knowingly, tasting, teasing, doing its damnedest to drive her up the wall. God, she loved kissing him. She could spend hours doing nothing but.
“You didn’t say anything,” she reminded him.
He buried his face in her hair, lips dancing across her cheek and down her neck. “Wanted it to be a surprise,” he replied. “And to be fair, you didn’t say anything, either.”
Buffy made a low murmur in the back of her throat in response, but nothing else.
His answering chuckle filled her completely. “I’m sorry for scaring you, though,” he said.
“I know.”
“Thought you’d recognize the place right off.”
“If someone had told me that I wouldn’t, I would’ve argued the point until I was blue in the face.” Buffy pulled back and pursed her lips. “I don’t have reason to come down here all that often…and it’s been a year.”
“But it’s our love nest,” he teased, teeth skimming her skin. His hands had found the hem of her dress. “Honestly, sweetheart, I’m shocked and appalled that you could’ve ever forgotten—”
“It’s been a year!”
“You’re talking to the man who’s approaching his bicentennial,” Spike reminded her, whisking the dress over her head. “One year’s sodding nothing.”
“Yes, well I am nineteen as of today, so bite me.”
His eyes widened and he immediately jerked forward to sink his blunt teeth into the proud mark on her throat. Buffy turned to silly putty and thrust her hips against him. The answering hardness that ground her stomach made her fingers and toes go numb. With as much as they had shared, she would have expected his thirst for her to quench eventually. No. Never. If anything, their lovemaking seemed to intensify. As though every time was the first time but not.
He never got over the fact that she was with him.
“God, Buffy.” Spike began planting feverish kisses along her neck. “I can’t imagine what would’ve…where I’d be today if we hadn’t…if I—”
Her vision blurred and she clutched him tighter to her, rolling her head back as he ran his hands over her collarbone before dropping to cup her laced breasts.
“I know,” she gasped. “I don’t like thinking about it.”
“Keep expecting to wake up. Even now.” He lapped at the mark on her throat. “You’re so soft. So warm.” A hand slid up to stroke her cheek. “Beautiful. My goddess.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the flickering candlelight as he began to edge down the straps of her bra. “Spike?”
He buried his face between her breasts, nuzzling and licking at her perspiration. He pushed the cup of her bra aside and wormed a hand around to fiddle with the clasp. “Mmmm…” Then the bra was gone, and his mouth engulfed one of her nipples.
Sensation overrode whatever she’d been about to say. Buffy pulled him tighter into her, pushing her pussy against his cock in fervent need.
Then her eyes landed on the picnic again, and the thought returned. A little fuzzy, but there nonetheless.
“Don’t—ahhh…you…wanna…eat first?”
Spike dropped a hand dropped to her panties at that, then slid under the elastic to tease her sodden flesh with nimble, dutiful fingers. He encircled her clit once, twice, then eased an eager digit into her. She gasped and clutched him tighter as his teeth scraping the tip of her nipple. “Mmm…” he replied into her skin before turning to give her neglected breast a nibble. “Don’t mind if I do. You smell delicious.”
He slipped another finger into her as her back found the wall.
He pressed the heel of his hand into her cunt, and she bucked enthusiastically. “Oh my god.”
“Still? Even after all this time?”
“Always,” she replied. “Love you, Spike.”
He released her breast with a wet plop and looked up, his blue eyes dancing. While she had done her best since the night of her high school graduation to catch up with his many admissions, she still had much to make up for. There had been the trip to Europe. The Christmas minibreak to New Orleans. His random weekend road trips that never went by the itinerary that he insisted he thought over before whisking her off. Everything. Everything that made him Spike. Made him hers. Forever.
That word wasn’t as frightening as it had been once.
“I love you too,” he whispered. “You’ll never know how much.”
And, without ceremony, he began to slide down her body, dragging her panties along with him.
“What are you doing?”
Spike quirked an eyebrow and licked a wet path up her slit. “If you don’t know by now…”
“What about the picnic?”
“Sod the picnic. Want you.” He nibbled her inner thigh. “You’re all a man could ever need.”
“I wanted to taste the wine,” she retorted with a pout.
“I’m tasting your wine right now. My golden girl.”
“Yours,” she agreed.
“Taste so fucking good.”
“God, Spike. Oh my god.”
He parted her labia and darted out his tongue to taste her. She fisted his hair and pulled him as far into her as she could, felt him slide a hand under her bare hip to anchor her into his mouth. He murmured and mewled and suckled at her, scraped his teeth against her, stabbed his tongue into her and stroked her to perfection. His mouth made love to her with tenderness. With intensity. With every fiber of his feeling. And when her orgasm hit, she rode it out for waves. Her grip on his hair tightened and her mouth dropped open.
And he licked her up.
Charged and overwhelmed, Buffy fell against him, suddenly sans bones. Spike hauled her into his arms and curled on the floor, where he caressed her cooling body with hands that knew her so well. His cock nudged her ass, reminding her that he had gotten her naked but hadn’t yet so much as kicked off his shoes. And while she wanted to remedy that, she found she couldn’t move.
“Don’t ever tell me,” she said a few minutes later, pressing back against him, “where you learned to do that.”
Spike brushed a kiss across the nape of her neck. “Jealous, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” The ability to move returned to her. She twisted in his arms. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“Was wondering when you’d notice that.”
Buffy dragged his shirt over his head and threw it to the other side of the room where she presumed his duster was, then immediately took to caressing the skin he had so cruelly concealed from her. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “Like this much better.”
“Appreciate the sentiment.”
She smirked and stole a kiss from his lips. “That, too. I was talking about this.” She gestured to the room. Their surroundings. The place it had begun for them. “Being here with you…it’s surreal.”
A kind smile swept his eyes. “I know, baby. Only wish we had had the presence of mind to do it like this the first time around.”
“Like this?”
He nodded.
“Fall in love in the first hour? Please. I was totally into Angel then.”
His expression darkened and he mock-growled at her. Buffy poked her tongue out at him before dropping her hands to his fly.
“Besides, we would’ve missed out on all that much-needed growth.”
“Not helpin’, love.”
She reached up to caress his face with one hand, the other pulling his jeans down his legs until his cock bobbed freely, rubbing her stomach and begging her for attention.
“I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and closing her fingers around his dick. His own hand was tracing patterns against her thigh, traveling downward slowly to hook under her knee and drape over his own so the head of his cock was teasing the mouth of her pussy.
“You were saying?”
“I love you. You make me happy. You…more than…anyone.” She sank her teeth into his shoulder blade as he began to edge inside, his hands on her hips, holding her against him. “I never knew it could be like this until…”
“I love you, Buffy.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
She rested her brow against his, intermingling whimpers and gasps and nods of encouragement. When they began moving together, it was a symphony of pure bliss. The feel of him inside her as he caressed her with loving hands and worshipped her mouth was sensory overload. No matter how many times she experienced it, she couldn’t get enough.
Pressure began building without warning, and he rolled them over so that she was under him within a second. The pace he set was slow but hard—clasping her hands in his and spreading her arms wide as he slammed into her with moans of feral possession. He released her hands the next minute, trailing his fingers up her arms until they found her breasts again. He laved her nipples with his tongue and placed sweet kisses along the underside of her sensitive flesh. Her legs were wrapped so tight around his waist that he would have been crushed were he anything less than a vampire. And every time she clamped her slayer muscles around him, squeezing him, he moaned and babbled in ways that made her fall in love with him all over again.
It shouldn’t have been like this with them. It shouldn’t have been anything. But it was. A dance they knew well but never took for granted. He picked the song but she knew the moves—always and beyond, vice versa and everything in between. She lifted her hips to recapture his cock every time he pulled away. She battled him and conceded, then turned around and conquered. And it only got better. With every breath, it only got better.
A ball of ecstasy sparked to life in her gut as Spike’s thrusts became deeper, more frantic. He reached up to brush strands of dampened hair from her eyes.
Then paused, his cock poised at her opening, and said, “Your favorite movie still Ferris Bueller?”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything sweetheart. You know that.”
She did. Of course she did. But it surprised her all the same.
“No,” she replied, and he thrust inside her again. She cast her head back and welded her eyes shut. “It was for a long…oh god…time…but you…uuhhhh…”
“What’s your favorite…movie now?”
“The Holy Grail.”
“Told you. Monty Python…brilliant.”
“What’s…yours?” Her eyes opened again. “You…you never…told me.”
“Don’t have one,” he replied through his teeth, hands going to either side of her head, palms pressed against the floor as his thrusts grew quicker still. “Favor…oooohhh, fuck. You feel so good.”
“You too. Always.” She paused. “And how…can you not have one?”
He smirked. “Live as long as I do, love, and find out. Favorite color?”
Buffy’s hands flew to his forearms, digging her nails into his skin, which only encouraged him to thrust harder. “Blue,” she gasped. “And yellow.”
“Why?”
“Your eyes.”
“Buffy…”
“You?”
“Green.” He nodded, wrestling a hot, needy kiss from her lips. “Your eyes. Oh god, Buffy. Buffy. So much. Love you so bloody much.”
“I…”
He collapsed his left arm onto his elbow, his other hand traveling the expanse of her body to caress her where they were joined. Encouraging. Needing. Pleading.
“Come for me, baby. Please.”
“Spike…” She threw her head back. “Bite me.”
The request alone, the sound of her sweet voice asking it of him, pushed Spike over the threshold. He glued his eyes to the heavenly alabaster at her throat. At the blood rushing through her veins. Blood that she offered him. The most coveted blood in all the land.
Not because she was the Slayer.
Because she was Buffy.
He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. They had talked about this—about what it would mean. While he had no qualms drinking from her now, it was dangerous when they were fucking. Dangerous because he was so close to being out of control that the thought of what he could do frightened him.
His fangs had already decided, though. His demon wanted blood. Her blood.
It also wanted to claim her. And he didn’t know if he could stop himself.
“Oh fucking Christ—”
“Do it.”
“Buffy…you know what you—”
Her smoldering eyes found his. She cupped his cheek and nodded.
“Buffy!”
“I know what it means, Spike,” she said, throwing him with the steadiness in her resolve. And there it was. There, buried within her gaze. She knew what she was doing. She wanted this. This, and everything that came with it.
Forever.
The thought was almost more than he could comprehend. The weight of her gift. What it meant for him. For them. More than he had ever hoped to have. Too late. Too late to turn back. This was it.
“I want this,” she whispered as his head descended to her throat. “I love you. I want this.”
He kissed brushed the mark he’d given her. “Buffy…”
Then he could wait no longer. His fangs slid into the buttery softness of her skin.
And she exploded.
The minute her blood touched his tongue, he followed her over. Her body quenching him. Bucking into him. Her cries of pleasure filling the air. Her nails clawing at his arms and back. It was everything. She was everything. And she was giving him what he had wanted for so long.
“Mine!” he roared, hips pistoning against hers as she milked his cock for everything he was worth. “Always mine! Always mine. Buffy. My Buffy. Oh god…”
“Yours. Yours, Spike. Always.”
His demon rejoiced and his man broke down weeping. And his body kept coming.
And she held him.
At last the waves began to recede. Prickles of aftershock raced through his body, his pelvis still rocking against. Heady gasps colored the air. Her blood was in his mouth, and she was his.
Spike rested his forehead against hers. Holy fuck, she was his.
Then something unexpected happened.
Buffy pulled back to look at him, her eyes filled with love and acceptance, and she smiled. Smiled, then lurched forward and latched her own teeth onto the mark Drusilla had left him over a century before.
He had never hardened nor climaxed so quickly in his unlife.
“Fuck!”
“And you’re mine!” she said as his body sought comfort, numb from shock, winded from excursion for the first time in the whole of his existence.
Spike saw his blood on her lips and wanted to cry.
“Yours,” he whimpered before ravaging her mouth with his. “Always. Yours. Yours yours yours yours. Fucking god. Love you so much. Christ, Buffy.”
Her eyes met his in the soft glow of candlelight, and she was so vibrant, shaking with the foundation of her love that he knew he’d never know the dark again.
*~*~*
“I wanna try the wine.”
Spike grinned, climbing over her naked limbs to retrieve the bottle and two glasses. The food in the basket remained untouched and the candles were burning so low that it would be a surprise if they lasted the next half hour.
“It is an excellent brand, if I do say so myself.”
Buffy smiled and propped her head against her palm. “What is it?”
“Fuck if I know,” he replied, pouring a single glass and hailing it to his senses before indulging a small sip. Then he adopted a pompous, upper-class accent that should not have turned her on but did anyway. “Embodies complexity and delicacy at the same time.” His twinkling eyes found hers. “The best of which are seductively enchanting in their intense aromatics…much like yourself…complex in flavor and long silky texture.” He took another sip. “Mmm…wonderfully rich, full-bodied but graceful. Just how I like my wine.”
“And your women?”
“Only one woman in my life, and the wine is nothin’ compared to her.”
She sat up, reaching for the glass. “Wanna try.”
“Sorry, love. No can do.”
Her smile melted instantly. “What? Why not?”
“You’re only nineteen. That would be scandalous.” He took in a full minute to enjoy the look on her face before obligingly handing her the glass and rising to his feet.
“Mmm…this is good.”
“Told you.”
“But I’m better?”
“No comparison.”
It took a minute for Buffy to notice that he was slipping into his jeans.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside for a smoke. Be back in a jiffy.” Off her look, he smiled gently and pressed a kiss across her forehead. “Won’t smoke in here, love. Too cramped. Know you don’t like it.”
“I don’t mind.”
His smile turned devious and he wagged a finger at her. “Little liar,” he replied, reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
Then he yanked—and stumbled against the door.
Spike looked at her over his shoulder, smiled, and began to tug in earnest.
Nothing happened.
Buffy frowned and set the glass of wine aside. “Spike?”
“Uhhh…funny story.”
“Don’t tell me…”
“Yeah.” He thumped a fist against the closed door, shoulders sagging. “Bugger all.”
The End.