Chapter Four
“Thanks for walking me home.” Buffy told Spike, unlocking the door and walking inside. Spike followed her through and shut the door. He then moved to join her in the kitchen, where she was filling a kettle with water. Putting it on the burner, she then got two mugs and the chocolate mix out of the cabinet. She gave her full attention to the task, not looking at Spike as he sat down. Her hands were still shaking as she carefully measured the cocoa in the cups.
It wasn’t until she was sitting across from him, a steaming cup in front of them both, that she spoke again.
“What could have done something like that?” She asked, staring into her cup. She idly tapped the floating marshmallows with a nail.
“Human.” Spike answered simply, raising his eyes to meet hers. Sighing, he tapped he side of his nose as an answer to her unasked question. If possible, she blanched even more.
“How could a human do something so. . .”
“Evil?” he supplied when she faltered for words. When her eyes clashed with his again, she saw the anger swimming there.
“That’s not. . .”
“What? What isn’t it?” he challenged, his voice hoarse with some unnamed emotion. She was shocked into silence by the sudden venom in his tone. He had been so tender at the park, holding her hand while she talked to the police. He had forced them into asking him his questions while they were together, refusing to leave her side. And now, she couldn’t even say he was acting like Spike again, because she had never seen him this angry. Or maybe angry wasn’t the right word. “Need I remind you, that Dahmer was human? Or how bout the Boston Strangler? Jack the Ripper? Oh, here’s a fine example of the human race, Ted Bundy. He used to play gimp to get to his victims. Not to mention Hitler, and at least a hundred more. Sometimes I think you’ve been the Slayer so long, you forget that humans can be just as evil as demons if not more so. At least demons are straight forward about it.” He said, the truth in his words making Buffy feel properly put in her place. Which of course brought her own anger into the fray.
“So, what? I should go out and start slaying humans now? Because, after all, they’re the real evil in the world?”
“NO.” he spat, eyes flashing yellow. “But maybe you shouldn’t be demon specific.”
“My title is ‘Vampire Slayer.’ I’d say that’s pretty specific. They have cops for humans.” Her face was flushed, and her hazel eyes were shooting sparks. *Gods, she’s beautiful.* Spike thought, pleased to see the vacant look gone from her face.
“Mm, huh. And they are ever so efficient, aren’t they. Especially Sunnyhell’s finest. Everything around here is done by crazed PCP gangs.” Spike snorted at the thought.
“They do what they can.” She said, her chin rising in defiance. It sounded as lame to her as it obviously did to Spike, but she couldn’t back down now.
“Yeah. And if a demon maims and kills, or destroys, we get a right quick death, depending on whether or not you’re PMS-ing. If a human does the same thing? What does he get?” Spike raised his eyes to the ceiling as if contemplating, then snapped them quickly back to hers. “I believe the term is ‘three hots and a cot.’ Courtesy of the state, and paid for with your tax dollars. And if the bloke, or bird, should be unlucky enough to be convicted in a state that still has the death penalty. Well, that happy convict has the knowledge that he has at least 6 or 7 years of appeals left before he gets fried, or injected, or whatever the ‘humane’ thing to do is. So, basically, just because humans have souls and pulses, they get a right cushy deal. Demons, just get dead.” He picked up his mug and drained the contents, wishing it was something with a little more bite. Setting it down with a clack, he glared at her.
And found himself transfixed by the sight of her. Her chest was heaving in deep breaths, attempting to calm down. Spike found his eyes glued to soft mounds, and he felt himself heating up for a totally different reason than anger.
Buffy’s own skin heated up as she felt the air change around them. Electricity seemed to crackle from his eyes as he continued to stare at the rise and fall of her breasts. She felt her nipples pebble under the boldness of his gaze. Buffy’s inner voice was screaming at her to slap the wanton look of lust and love off his face. She couldn’t seem to move, her body tingling as she imagined the thoughts that must be running through his mind.
Spike’s erection pressed even more painfully against the zipper of his jeans when the scent of her arousal reached him. His eyes, now the color of midnight with want, traveled from her breasts along the smooth column of her throat, then up further to linger over her slightly parted lips. A groan rumbled from his throat when her tongue darted out to moisten them.
“Spike.” She wanted to sound strong, and reproachful. Instead, she sounded breathless and needy.
“Don’t.” The word was sharp, his voice thick. His eyes burned her when they met hers. “Don’t try to tell me you can’t feel it, Slayer.” Heat, desire. “I can smell you.” This was said in almost whisper, as he rose to his feet. It should have disgusted her, it really should have. But as she watched him advance on her, she couldn’t seem to figure out why. Her breathing picked up when he stopped within a breath of her, and her heart triple timed in her chest when his hand reached out to possessively cup her breast. She whimpered, despite herself at the feel of his cool palm over her heated flesh. He lowered his head until his mouth hovered just above hers.
“I will have you.” he promised, his soft accented voice drifting over her like a caress. Instead of crushing his mouth against hers, like she expected (wanted), he shifted and brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. With one last, teasing squeeze to the soft flesh under his hand, and a quick flick of his thumb across her rock hard nipple, he stepped away. Her whole body screamed out in protest, willing her to jump him. She somehow managed to keep her seat, as she stared at him, her mind conjuring up images to go along with the promise of pleasure dancing in his eyes.
A purely male smile curled his lips as he took in her appearance. He tan skin was flushed, her breath coming in small gasps. Her erect nipples strained against the cotton of her tank top. Her eyes were wide and passion glazed. And she was instinctively leaning towards him, silently begging him to take her and make it good.
*Oh, I will.* he thought to himself, pulling out a cigarette. *And it will be.* He let the cigarette dangle, unlit, in his mouth. He wasn’t going to be her lap dog, like Peaches and Soldier boy. He’d regained some semblance of self on his short sabbatical from Sunnydale. He wasn’t going to toss it all away for a short tumble in the sheets that she would regret in the morning. No, when he finally did bury himself in her sweet, little body, it would be because she had stopped lying to herself, and admitted what had always been between them.
“Goodnight, pet.” he purred, his husky words washing over her. Then, he turned and walked out the door, pausing to light the cigarette. His head whipped up after the first drag, his nose catching a whiff of the scent from the park. It was faint, but it was there. He briefly considered going back in, but he quickly nixed it. Not only would to ruin a perfectly good exit, bet he figured she would have collected herself by now, and had probably worked herself up into a nice, hot rage. Swaggering a little as he walked, Spike strolled over to his tree and settled himself in for the night. He leaned back against it and smoked, confident that he had wiped the horror of the evening from her mind.
~*~*~
“Stupid vampire.” Buffy mumbled, placing the mugs in the sink a little harder than she had intended. “Cocky, self involved, EVIL, don’t forget EVIL, Buff. And soulless. Evil and soulless. Good things to remember.” She told herself, double checking the locks before walking up the stairs. “Evil. Soulless. Evil. Soulless.” She kept repeating it, over and over, trying to force the though through her over stimulated mind. It refused to take root, and her brain helpfully supplied new words to her diatribe. “Sexy, undead. Great hands. EVIL! Beautiful mouth. SOULLESS! And that ass!” He mind giddily tossed out the picture of her hands greedily clutching that ass as he pumped in and out of her, his strokes long and hard.
She groaned at the image, desperately trying to ignore the aching wetness between her thighs, and the almost painful feel of her sensitive breasts.
Just two seconds more of his hand on her, and she would have been begging him to fuck her.
With an angry yank, her shirt came over her head. She tossed it on the ever growing pile of laundry in the corner. A second later, her shorts and sopping panties joined the small mountain. She sighed in relief as the cool night air from the window drifted over her flesh.
Flopping on her back across the bed, she didn’t notice the black teddy bear resting against her pillows. It sat, holding a blood red heart in its stuffed paws, a silent voyeur as her restless hands slid across her heated skin. Her left hand teased and squeezed the hard peaks of her breasts. Her right hand coasted down across her abdomen, through the soft curls of her sex, to plunge two fingers deep into her dripping channel. A gasp escaped her as she worked herself, the heel of her hand pressing hard against her clit. She whimpered as she imagined it was him inside of her, his cool shaft plundering the depths of her slick core.
Her hips shifted on the bed as her hand pumped faster. She moaned in frustration as she desperately sought to ease the tension that had been building since their argument started.
With a sound caught between a sigh and a scream, she came. The waves crested and fell over her, her inner wall spasming around her fingers.
After she had calmed, she turned on her side, eyes closed. She had found her release, but she wasn’t fulfilled. She knew why. There was no denying it to herself anymore. She wanted him. Now she just had to figure what that meant.
Sighing heavily, she pushed herself off the bed and padded naked to the bathroom.
~*~*~
In a dark room across town, the man sat. The room was in shambles around him, a testimony to his despair. Hanging his head, he covered his face with his hands and wept. The sound of her voice calling that creatures name echoing in his head.