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That's Me Trying
Paper Promise
By Jess Marie
Timeline: S6, a few hours after we left Buffy and Dawn in “Older and Far Away”
Pairing: Spuffy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Canon-compliant. Ethics and missed opportunities. In a sexy way.
Disclaimer: Everyone else owns it. I still wish I did. I also wish I were capable of drafting disclaimers half as interesting and hilarious as those written by Mr.Monkeybottoms. If you haven’t read that stuff… man, you’re missing out.
A/N: All chapter titles and quotes at the first of each chapter hale from William Shatner's album, "Has Been." No, I'm not kidding. And yes, it frickin' rocks. =)
+~+~+~+~+
Years of silence. Not enough.
Who can blame us, giving up?
Above the quiet, there's a buzz.
That's me trying.
+~+~+~+~+
After three disastrous attempts at the mathematic intricacies of Yahtzee, one game of Chutes and Ladders, and two thrilling videotaped episodes of Passions (Buffy didn’t want to know who’d started that little obsession), Dawn had finally gone to bed. Apparently even the teenaged queen of separation anxiety had her family fun-time limits. Buffy peeked in on her sleeping sister before closing the door gently and padding down the hallway to her bedroom. Her own door slid closed with a soft click, and she stood for a moment in a pink cotton night shirt that hung a little too easily on her frame. She had lost weight in the past year.
She shook her head dismissively and moved to turn down the bed when a soft tap at the window brought her slayer senses to full alert.
Vampire.
For less than a heartbeat, her mind flipped back to
Angel at the window
the official worst birthday ever, and she felt the tips of her fingers grow cold and numb. Then she turned her head to the pane and Vampire was re-identified as Spike. Chilled fingertips grew warm and tingly, but she cocked a hip and drew her brow into her best “You’re pushing it” expression as he slid unceremoniously through the window.
“Spike, you’re pushing it,” Buffy said tightly.
“Ow, bloody…” Spike grunted as the tip of his boot caught the ledge and he half tumbled into a kneeling position in front of her. “Hunh. Thought you liked to see me on my knees.” He raised an all-too-innocent and slightly battered eyebrow at her, and Buffy’s resolve slipped a notch.
“Not gonna happen, Spike.” She tossed out. But she was hotly aware of the way his eyes slipped over her, taking in her thin shirt, lingering on the light cotton panties directly in his line of sight.
“Tempting,” he growled. Spike licked his lips, then snapped out of his reverie and stood to face her. “But not what I came here for, Slayer.”
“I already told you there will be no candle-blow… huh?” Buffy squinted through the dim light as her brain caught up with her mouth.
“No sex, pet.”
Spike smiled sweetly and tilted his head, seeming to take genuine pleasure at catching her off guard. Buffy bristled. She winced when her words fell out, more pouty than intended. “Then why are you here?” She didn’t like to think what her confusion implied about their relationship. Not that… not that there was a relationship. Of any kind.
“Simple,” Spike said, but he turned from her and began an abbreviated lion’s pace around her room. “I, um… I just wanted to…” He fumbled through his coat pockets, occasionally darting glances at Buffy’s face.
Buffy found a sharp response, but curiosity beat it back, and she sat down Indian-style on her bed while she watched Spike stalk back and forth. At length, he came up with a tightly folded, worn sheet of notebook paper. He stilled, thrust it at her with a mumbled “here” and returned to wearing annoying little vampire tracks into her carpet.
“What’s this?” Buffy held the paper at a distance from her between her forefinger and thumb.
Spike sighed with heavy exaggeration and then sat down beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and for a moment, Buffy thought of inching away from him, but that would have taken way too much effort. Her decision had nothing to do with the comfy smell of leather, sex and smoke that was Spike. And it was not remotely related to the soft low burn working its way down her body. Not related at all. There. All settled.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” he muttered. “It’s not gonna bite you. It’s a present, you silly bint.”
Buffy tossed her hair back with what she hoped was the right amount of aloof indifference. “As soon as I find out what that word means, you’re so gonna be dust.”
Spike only chuckled deep in his throat as she carefully unfolded the paper he’d given her. The fingers in his left hand tapped spastically against his leg. Buffy was tempted to grab them, still him for a moment. But that would be hand-holding. And… just no. Never mind the fact that they’d held hands at her party. And, brief though it was, it had felt… surprisingly not insane. Kind of boyfriendy, actually. Which should have been insane. Because Spike was not boyfriend material. The guy… the one Xander brought. She couldn’t actually remember his name right now, but he was the one who was boyfriend material. So why wasn’t he even a blip on her radar? And if all she and Spike had was sex, then why did he act like the jealous boyfriend? And more importantly, why did she like it when Spike acted like a jealous boyfriend?
Buffy turned her eyes back to the paper. A present. Gah, please don’t let it be bad poetry, she thought with a mental groan. Visions of awkward rhymes and a more awkward silence to follow floated through her mind as she spread open the last fold of the sheet.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Spike glanced at the paper, then looked at her bedroom wall. “No joke,” he managed softly.
“It’s… it’s blank,” Buffy said, wondering why she’d even have to say it, since they both knew it, and Spike normally wasn’t slow with the swaggering, annoying wordiness.
“Yeah, well…” True to type, Spike stood and began to speak. But with very little actual swagger. “See, I was thinking about the chip.”
“Spike,” Buffy said sharply, and she wasn’t quite sure why. The Chip was not something they talked about anymore. Not ever.
“And about what would happen if I ever got it out,” he finished slowly, turning to stare her down.
Buffy’s flinch was limited to the very corner of her eyes. If Spike noticed, he said nothing.
“I was gonna make a list. All the places I’d go, people I’d eat, things I’d kill.” Spike said the last part with awed fervor, and Buffy let out a disgusted little noise. Spike shrugged it off. “Thing is, in my head, every time I’d think of something to put down on the list, I’d hear you asking me not to. Bloody stupid really,” he said as his hands patted down his coat for cigarettes before stilling when he remembered his surroundings. “Know you’d never beg. Never care enough to want…” Buffy studied the fabric of her comforter, and Spike turned his back to her, his eyes focusing through the softly lit window pane.
“But if you did…” he murmured softly to the glass. He turned abruptly, calming his stormy face. “So it made me wonder. Where do I draw the line, yeah? Had to make a new list. Figure out what I wouldn’t do for you. What I absolutely would never lower myself to, no matter how much you wanted it.”
Buffy lifted her eyes to him and noticed the way the blue-white street-light filtered in through the tree outside her window to brush across his face. It made him softer somehow, even as he set his jaw in determination. “And?” Buffy said.
“And you’re holding it,” Spike answered, tipping a chin toward her before settling on the opposite corner of her bed with a small sigh. He looked down at his fidgeting hands. “All those sleepless nights. Well, days, technically. Trying to think of just one sodding thing. And there you have it.” Laughter fell from his throat like dry grass.
“What I Wouldn’t Do For Buffy.”
Buffy stared at the slip of paper with a sort of shocked interest. She noticed, for the first time, the little creases of use from constant folding and unfolding. Tiny tobacco smudged stains. Part of a red thumbprint in the bottom left corner. Ink? Or blood. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of so much feeling that it pared her to the bone. And responsibility. Buffy wasn’t made to be a moral compass. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she breathed.
Spike stiffened, then skimmed off the bed and made to leave as he grasped the window. “Yeah. Well. Just…Happy Birthday, Buffy,” he tossed over his shoulder with an efficient, casual air that didn’t quite cover the pain.
“Spike.” Buffy was up and holding his arm before she realized she had moved. His sudden closeness, the intensity of dark blue eyes as they stared down into her, was enough to cause a tremble. Unbidden, ideas of things he wouldn’t want to do, things she could make him, swirled in her head. Kill Drusilla. Stop smoking. Never hurt another human being. Be nice to Xander. And she knew they’d all crossed his mind. And she wondered how much it had taken, in his fantasy vision of her, before he’d pushed the pen away. If she only asked. For a moment, the power of it was a living, heady thing.
“I want you,” she whispered, daring to meet his eyes. The smile he gave her was so tender that she cut her gaze away and felt the blush rise into her cheeks. For a moment, she did a mental double-take to make sure she hadn’t said something more significant. Something involving an L word. Secure that her words were purely Want-related, she had to wonder if Spike had just started taking it to mean the same thing. As if it were a secret code they shared. Then he kissed her, and it didn’t seem so important anymore.
His lips were gentle, brushing hers, then grazing her temples. She gripped the leather at his arms in tight fistfuls when he laid a palm on her back and pulled her against him. Buffy felt his cock straining against his jeans in the narrow space between them and was amazed that so little could make him so hard. She lifted her face to catch his lips in something more, and he obliged, licking her lips before slipping his tongue into her mouth in a gentle play. Spike moved a hand under her shirt to cup her small breast and the chill tingle of his flesh against hers made her moan into his kiss. She brought a hand to his chest and felt his body shudder when she rubbed a finger across the fabric covering his sensitive nipple.
Spike pulled back a moment, recovering. Secretly, Buffy loved it when he did that. Loved the feeling of watching him forget and fight for breath. “Really,” gasp, “wasn’t what I came,” gasp, “here for, love.”
Buffy looked at him slyly before sliding her hand down his chest to cup his hard length, drawing a deep groan from him. She stroked him through denim, and he looked down at her with a clenched jaw and heavy lidded eyes. “I believe you,” Buffy said with a small smile. She leaned closer, brushing her face against his cheek as she whispered against his ear. “But maybe I do want to blow out my birthday candles.”
Spike’s guttural response and involuntary thrust into her hand brought Buffy a warm, wet rush down through her core. She threaded her arms under his coat to close the distance between them as she pulled him into an urgent, searching kiss. She remembered the bruises a heartbeat later and pulled back to check his reaction with a look of guarded guilt.
“What?” Spike stilled immediately.
“Nothing.” Buffy stared at a point above his left shoulder. “I just…” She shrugged one shoulder toward him. Her voice was soft and sad. “You know. If it hurts…”
Spike’s eyes narrowed before he caught her meaning. “Oh, that. It’s fine, love. Healing up right quick.”
“We didn’t really talk about…” Buffy couldn’t find words, even if she’d been certain she should have finished the sentence.
Spike assumed what Buffy had come to know as the Look of Infinite Patience which by turns endeared and infuriated her. In this case, she leaned toward endear. “It’s over, love. Why do you think I thought of the bloody list in the first place?”
Buffy tried to stifle a laugh, thinking, it’s not funny. You shouldn’t laugh about your boyfriend wanting to kill people because you beat him up. It’s most definitely not… not funny. She giggled anyway, and Spike took advantage of her weakened state to kiss her breath away. She ground herself against him and dug her nails into his back as he started licking his way down her throat.
Spike moved back for another deep kiss, and he slipped the coat off his shoulders without breaking contact, holding his mouth open and certain against hers. They parted as he stripped off his shirt. Spike had barely struggled free of the dark material before Buffy closed on him, grabbing a nipple in her mouth and giving it a gentle tug.
Spike shook himself into a measure of composure before locking his gaze with Buffy and murmuring, “Bed. Now.”
Buffy nodded, struggling with his belt buckle. She managed to pull the leather belt free just before he lay down. Together they worked his boots and jeans off, and he freed them with a little kick. Buffy stood over him and moistened her lips. “Did I ever tell you that you look really good naked?”
Spike laid his tongue against his teeth and smiled with wolfish grace. “Same to you, pet,” he nodded, request implied. Buffy started to shimmy out of her shirt, but Spike reached up and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. “Slow,” he said in a low purr as he nuzzled her hair. “Never done it here before.”
Suddenly Buffy grasped his meaning. This was her own room. Her bed. A place she was tender and quiet. Where she could just be Buffy. A slip of a nightmare came back to her, and although much of it was blurred now, she knew the only moment of comfort she’d had in the twisted dream had been the second he’d laid down beside her in her bed. Somehow, being here might change everything. Buffy didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she brushed a palm against his cheek and began to kiss his face. Softly, so softly, she brushed full lips against each bruise. Spike closed his eyes, and Buffy traced a line of whispery kisses over the worst one.
When she was done, Spike turned so that he leaned over her. She studied the sharp contours of his face while he watched his hand move over her skin. He rubbed his palm over one breast, drug fingernails lightly down her side, and then deftly brought one finger to brush at her sex through the wet, soft cotton of her panties.
Buffy’s hips arched at the first contact, and she fought back the urge to beg him for more. She knew that at this, he was best left to his own timing. Spike looked up into her eyes for a long moment, and Buffy found herself drowning in a sea of dark blue as he slipped a finger inside the sodden material and began to touch…
“Buffy,” Dawn’s tremulous voice cut through the night like a cold stream.
Buffy and Spike both jumped. “Dawn?” Buffy managed to squeak. “Dawn,” she said with slightly more force. “Just a second.”
Spike’s Look of Infinite Patience was nowhere to be seen, and Buffy silently prayed he wouldn’t growl out loud. His lips parted, but Buffy placed a finger across them. “I’ll take care of it,” she whispered. “We’re not finished,” she breathed steadily, holding his gaze for another moment before pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, and straightening her shirt and hair. Spike grabbed his clothes and slid to the other side of the room, out of any possible line of site, and Buffy cracked open her door.
“What is it?” Buffy said, squinting as the hall light filled her eyes. When her eyes adjusted she noticed Dawn’s tear-streaked face. “Dawn,” Buffy said with more feeling. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Buffy noticed a flutter of dark movement in the corner, then turned back to her sister. “It’s not a big deal, I guess,” Dawn said softly. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, and I’m too old for stuff like this, but I had a nightmare. Ok?”
“It’s not stupid, Dawnie.” Buffy stroked a lock of hair away from Dawn’s face. “Are you ok? Do you want to talk about it?”
Dawn shrugged and looked at the floor. “You were there. And Xander, and me, and Willow. And there was this big purple demon thing. With like, funny horns? And something about cheese. Which was kind of weird considering…”
“Bloody buggering…!”
Buffy whipped around in time to see a fully clothed Spike hopping on one foot and holding his shin near the window of her bedroom.
Dawn pushed Buffy’s door the rest of the way open. “Spike? That’s Spike,” she said plainly. She darted her eyes suspiciously to Buffy’s. “What’s Spike doing here?”
Spike looked up, and Buffy couldn’t help thinking, “Headlights. See, Deer In.” He stopped hopping and walked forward to Dawn.
“Right, well, you caught me, Nibblet.”
Buffy’s eyes grew wide, but Spike just stopped casually beside her. “Thought you might still be awake after the little slumber free-for-all, so I came to tell your sis about a new Big Bad. But I see you’re both all tucked into your beddie-byes for the night.” He looked at Buffy meaningfully. “It can wait.”
He turned to go, but Buffy grabbed his arm. “Spike? It sounds kind of… important,” she said, wracking her brains for a subtlety she was unused to. “I think you should stay.”
He glanced at Dawn before saying, “We’ll get around to it later. You’ve got other things on your hands right now.”
Dawn smudged a remaining tear away with the back of her hand before mumbling, “It’s no big deal.”
Buffy knew she should probably feel guilty, but she’d had Family Bonding Time for three days straight. Literally. And for just once, she wanted someone to make her forget her own nightmares for a while. Buffy turned back to him. “See? Dawn’s ok.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll get her settled back in, and then you and I can… talk. Please stay.” If Dawn heard the need in Buffy’s voice, she gave no outward sign. She continued to sniffle and stare at the floor.
“No, Buffy,” he said softly. “She needs you.”
For a split-second, Buffy fought the urge to throw herself into his arms, drown out Dawn, and housework, and slaying and responsibilities and just lose herself in his body. But Spike read the look in her eyes and stood firm with a barely perceptible shake of the head. Buffy slumped a little before nodding goodbye to him. He carefully stepped out over the ledge that had brutally defeated his first exit attempt and left the roof.
“He could just use the door, you know,” Dawn said groggily.
“Tell him that,” Buffy said with a smile.
An hour of pseudo-mothering and hot chocolate later, Buffy found herself alone in her room again. This time, there was no tap at the window. But as Buffy began to pull down the sheets, she saw the slip of paper Spike had given her, where she had left it earlier on the bed. A thought occurred to her, and she fumbled at her desk until she found a pen. She unfolded the sheet once more and chewed at her pen cap before writing a title across the top. “What Spike Wouldn’t Do For Buffy.” Below the title, on the first blue line, Buffy wrote, “Hurt Dawn.”
Satisfied, she pulled out her smallest jewelry box. She stared numbly at the contents. Petals from the first flower Scott had given her. A locket from her first birthday with Riley. Angel’s ring. Buffy gently laid Spike’s notebook paper over the other trinkets, closed the lid, and pushed the box back into her bottom drawer.
By Jess Marie
Timeline: S6, a few hours after we left Buffy and Dawn in “Older and Far Away”
Pairing: Spuffy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Canon-compliant. Ethics and missed opportunities. In a sexy way.
Disclaimer: Everyone else owns it. I still wish I did. I also wish I were capable of drafting disclaimers half as interesting and hilarious as those written by Mr.Monkeybottoms. If you haven’t read that stuff… man, you’re missing out.
A/N: All chapter titles and quotes at the first of each chapter hale from William Shatner's album, "Has Been." No, I'm not kidding. And yes, it frickin' rocks. =)
+~+~+~+~+
Years of silence. Not enough.
Who can blame us, giving up?
Above the quiet, there's a buzz.
That's me trying.
+~+~+~+~+
After three disastrous attempts at the mathematic intricacies of Yahtzee, one game of Chutes and Ladders, and two thrilling videotaped episodes of Passions (Buffy didn’t want to know who’d started that little obsession), Dawn had finally gone to bed. Apparently even the teenaged queen of separation anxiety had her family fun-time limits. Buffy peeked in on her sleeping sister before closing the door gently and padding down the hallway to her bedroom. Her own door slid closed with a soft click, and she stood for a moment in a pink cotton night shirt that hung a little too easily on her frame. She had lost weight in the past year.
She shook her head dismissively and moved to turn down the bed when a soft tap at the window brought her slayer senses to full alert.
Vampire.
For less than a heartbeat, her mind flipped back to
Angel at the window
the official worst birthday ever, and she felt the tips of her fingers grow cold and numb. Then she turned her head to the pane and Vampire was re-identified as Spike. Chilled fingertips grew warm and tingly, but she cocked a hip and drew her brow into her best “You’re pushing it” expression as he slid unceremoniously through the window.
“Spike, you’re pushing it,” Buffy said tightly.
“Ow, bloody…” Spike grunted as the tip of his boot caught the ledge and he half tumbled into a kneeling position in front of her. “Hunh. Thought you liked to see me on my knees.” He raised an all-too-innocent and slightly battered eyebrow at her, and Buffy’s resolve slipped a notch.
“Not gonna happen, Spike.” She tossed out. But she was hotly aware of the way his eyes slipped over her, taking in her thin shirt, lingering on the light cotton panties directly in his line of sight.
“Tempting,” he growled. Spike licked his lips, then snapped out of his reverie and stood to face her. “But not what I came here for, Slayer.”
“I already told you there will be no candle-blow… huh?” Buffy squinted through the dim light as her brain caught up with her mouth.
“No sex, pet.”
Spike smiled sweetly and tilted his head, seeming to take genuine pleasure at catching her off guard. Buffy bristled. She winced when her words fell out, more pouty than intended. “Then why are you here?” She didn’t like to think what her confusion implied about their relationship. Not that… not that there was a relationship. Of any kind.
“Simple,” Spike said, but he turned from her and began an abbreviated lion’s pace around her room. “I, um… I just wanted to…” He fumbled through his coat pockets, occasionally darting glances at Buffy’s face.
Buffy found a sharp response, but curiosity beat it back, and she sat down Indian-style on her bed while she watched Spike stalk back and forth. At length, he came up with a tightly folded, worn sheet of notebook paper. He stilled, thrust it at her with a mumbled “here” and returned to wearing annoying little vampire tracks into her carpet.
“What’s this?” Buffy held the paper at a distance from her between her forefinger and thumb.
Spike sighed with heavy exaggeration and then sat down beside her. Their shoulders brushed, and for a moment, Buffy thought of inching away from him, but that would have taken way too much effort. Her decision had nothing to do with the comfy smell of leather, sex and smoke that was Spike. And it was not remotely related to the soft low burn working its way down her body. Not related at all. There. All settled.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” he muttered. “It’s not gonna bite you. It’s a present, you silly bint.”
Buffy tossed her hair back with what she hoped was the right amount of aloof indifference. “As soon as I find out what that word means, you’re so gonna be dust.”
Spike only chuckled deep in his throat as she carefully unfolded the paper he’d given her. The fingers in his left hand tapped spastically against his leg. Buffy was tempted to grab them, still him for a moment. But that would be hand-holding. And… just no. Never mind the fact that they’d held hands at her party. And, brief though it was, it had felt… surprisingly not insane. Kind of boyfriendy, actually. Which should have been insane. Because Spike was not boyfriend material. The guy… the one Xander brought. She couldn’t actually remember his name right now, but he was the one who was boyfriend material. So why wasn’t he even a blip on her radar? And if all she and Spike had was sex, then why did he act like the jealous boyfriend? And more importantly, why did she like it when Spike acted like a jealous boyfriend?
Buffy turned her eyes back to the paper. A present. Gah, please don’t let it be bad poetry, she thought with a mental groan. Visions of awkward rhymes and a more awkward silence to follow floated through her mind as she spread open the last fold of the sheet.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Spike glanced at the paper, then looked at her bedroom wall. “No joke,” he managed softly.
“It’s… it’s blank,” Buffy said, wondering why she’d even have to say it, since they both knew it, and Spike normally wasn’t slow with the swaggering, annoying wordiness.
“Yeah, well…” True to type, Spike stood and began to speak. But with very little actual swagger. “See, I was thinking about the chip.”
“Spike,” Buffy said sharply, and she wasn’t quite sure why. The Chip was not something they talked about anymore. Not ever.
“And about what would happen if I ever got it out,” he finished slowly, turning to stare her down.
Buffy’s flinch was limited to the very corner of her eyes. If Spike noticed, he said nothing.
“I was gonna make a list. All the places I’d go, people I’d eat, things I’d kill.” Spike said the last part with awed fervor, and Buffy let out a disgusted little noise. Spike shrugged it off. “Thing is, in my head, every time I’d think of something to put down on the list, I’d hear you asking me not to. Bloody stupid really,” he said as his hands patted down his coat for cigarettes before stilling when he remembered his surroundings. “Know you’d never beg. Never care enough to want…” Buffy studied the fabric of her comforter, and Spike turned his back to her, his eyes focusing through the softly lit window pane.
“But if you did…” he murmured softly to the glass. He turned abruptly, calming his stormy face. “So it made me wonder. Where do I draw the line, yeah? Had to make a new list. Figure out what I wouldn’t do for you. What I absolutely would never lower myself to, no matter how much you wanted it.”
Buffy lifted her eyes to him and noticed the way the blue-white street-light filtered in through the tree outside her window to brush across his face. It made him softer somehow, even as he set his jaw in determination. “And?” Buffy said.
“And you’re holding it,” Spike answered, tipping a chin toward her before settling on the opposite corner of her bed with a small sigh. He looked down at his fidgeting hands. “All those sleepless nights. Well, days, technically. Trying to think of just one sodding thing. And there you have it.” Laughter fell from his throat like dry grass.
“What I Wouldn’t Do For Buffy.”
Buffy stared at the slip of paper with a sort of shocked interest. She noticed, for the first time, the little creases of use from constant folding and unfolding. Tiny tobacco smudged stains. Part of a red thumbprint in the bottom left corner. Ink? Or blood. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of so much feeling that it pared her to the bone. And responsibility. Buffy wasn’t made to be a moral compass. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she breathed.
Spike stiffened, then skimmed off the bed and made to leave as he grasped the window. “Yeah. Well. Just…Happy Birthday, Buffy,” he tossed over his shoulder with an efficient, casual air that didn’t quite cover the pain.
“Spike.” Buffy was up and holding his arm before she realized she had moved. His sudden closeness, the intensity of dark blue eyes as they stared down into her, was enough to cause a tremble. Unbidden, ideas of things he wouldn’t want to do, things she could make him, swirled in her head. Kill Drusilla. Stop smoking. Never hurt another human being. Be nice to Xander. And she knew they’d all crossed his mind. And she wondered how much it had taken, in his fantasy vision of her, before he’d pushed the pen away. If she only asked. For a moment, the power of it was a living, heady thing.
“I want you,” she whispered, daring to meet his eyes. The smile he gave her was so tender that she cut her gaze away and felt the blush rise into her cheeks. For a moment, she did a mental double-take to make sure she hadn’t said something more significant. Something involving an L word. Secure that her words were purely Want-related, she had to wonder if Spike had just started taking it to mean the same thing. As if it were a secret code they shared. Then he kissed her, and it didn’t seem so important anymore.
His lips were gentle, brushing hers, then grazing her temples. She gripped the leather at his arms in tight fistfuls when he laid a palm on her back and pulled her against him. Buffy felt his cock straining against his jeans in the narrow space between them and was amazed that so little could make him so hard. She lifted her face to catch his lips in something more, and he obliged, licking her lips before slipping his tongue into her mouth in a gentle play. Spike moved a hand under her shirt to cup her small breast and the chill tingle of his flesh against hers made her moan into his kiss. She brought a hand to his chest and felt his body shudder when she rubbed a finger across the fabric covering his sensitive nipple.
Spike pulled back a moment, recovering. Secretly, Buffy loved it when he did that. Loved the feeling of watching him forget and fight for breath. “Really,” gasp, “wasn’t what I came,” gasp, “here for, love.”
Buffy looked at him slyly before sliding her hand down his chest to cup his hard length, drawing a deep groan from him. She stroked him through denim, and he looked down at her with a clenched jaw and heavy lidded eyes. “I believe you,” Buffy said with a small smile. She leaned closer, brushing her face against his cheek as she whispered against his ear. “But maybe I do want to blow out my birthday candles.”
Spike’s guttural response and involuntary thrust into her hand brought Buffy a warm, wet rush down through her core. She threaded her arms under his coat to close the distance between them as she pulled him into an urgent, searching kiss. She remembered the bruises a heartbeat later and pulled back to check his reaction with a look of guarded guilt.
“What?” Spike stilled immediately.
“Nothing.” Buffy stared at a point above his left shoulder. “I just…” She shrugged one shoulder toward him. Her voice was soft and sad. “You know. If it hurts…”
Spike’s eyes narrowed before he caught her meaning. “Oh, that. It’s fine, love. Healing up right quick.”
“We didn’t really talk about…” Buffy couldn’t find words, even if she’d been certain she should have finished the sentence.
Spike assumed what Buffy had come to know as the Look of Infinite Patience which by turns endeared and infuriated her. In this case, she leaned toward endear. “It’s over, love. Why do you think I thought of the bloody list in the first place?”
Buffy tried to stifle a laugh, thinking, it’s not funny. You shouldn’t laugh about your boyfriend wanting to kill people because you beat him up. It’s most definitely not… not funny. She giggled anyway, and Spike took advantage of her weakened state to kiss her breath away. She ground herself against him and dug her nails into his back as he started licking his way down her throat.
Spike moved back for another deep kiss, and he slipped the coat off his shoulders without breaking contact, holding his mouth open and certain against hers. They parted as he stripped off his shirt. Spike had barely struggled free of the dark material before Buffy closed on him, grabbing a nipple in her mouth and giving it a gentle tug.
Spike shook himself into a measure of composure before locking his gaze with Buffy and murmuring, “Bed. Now.”
Buffy nodded, struggling with his belt buckle. She managed to pull the leather belt free just before he lay down. Together they worked his boots and jeans off, and he freed them with a little kick. Buffy stood over him and moistened her lips. “Did I ever tell you that you look really good naked?”
Spike laid his tongue against his teeth and smiled with wolfish grace. “Same to you, pet,” he nodded, request implied. Buffy started to shimmy out of her shirt, but Spike reached up and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. “Slow,” he said in a low purr as he nuzzled her hair. “Never done it here before.”
Suddenly Buffy grasped his meaning. This was her own room. Her bed. A place she was tender and quiet. Where she could just be Buffy. A slip of a nightmare came back to her, and although much of it was blurred now, she knew the only moment of comfort she’d had in the twisted dream had been the second he’d laid down beside her in her bed. Somehow, being here might change everything. Buffy didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she brushed a palm against his cheek and began to kiss his face. Softly, so softly, she brushed full lips against each bruise. Spike closed his eyes, and Buffy traced a line of whispery kisses over the worst one.
When she was done, Spike turned so that he leaned over her. She studied the sharp contours of his face while he watched his hand move over her skin. He rubbed his palm over one breast, drug fingernails lightly down her side, and then deftly brought one finger to brush at her sex through the wet, soft cotton of her panties.
Buffy’s hips arched at the first contact, and she fought back the urge to beg him for more. She knew that at this, he was best left to his own timing. Spike looked up into her eyes for a long moment, and Buffy found herself drowning in a sea of dark blue as he slipped a finger inside the sodden material and began to touch…
“Buffy,” Dawn’s tremulous voice cut through the night like a cold stream.
Buffy and Spike both jumped. “Dawn?” Buffy managed to squeak. “Dawn,” she said with slightly more force. “Just a second.”
Spike’s Look of Infinite Patience was nowhere to be seen, and Buffy silently prayed he wouldn’t growl out loud. His lips parted, but Buffy placed a finger across them. “I’ll take care of it,” she whispered. “We’re not finished,” she breathed steadily, holding his gaze for another moment before pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, and straightening her shirt and hair. Spike grabbed his clothes and slid to the other side of the room, out of any possible line of site, and Buffy cracked open her door.
“What is it?” Buffy said, squinting as the hall light filled her eyes. When her eyes adjusted she noticed Dawn’s tear-streaked face. “Dawn,” Buffy said with more feeling. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Buffy noticed a flutter of dark movement in the corner, then turned back to her sister. “It’s not a big deal, I guess,” Dawn said softly. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, and I’m too old for stuff like this, but I had a nightmare. Ok?”
“It’s not stupid, Dawnie.” Buffy stroked a lock of hair away from Dawn’s face. “Are you ok? Do you want to talk about it?”
Dawn shrugged and looked at the floor. “You were there. And Xander, and me, and Willow. And there was this big purple demon thing. With like, funny horns? And something about cheese. Which was kind of weird considering…”
“Bloody buggering…!”
Buffy whipped around in time to see a fully clothed Spike hopping on one foot and holding his shin near the window of her bedroom.
Dawn pushed Buffy’s door the rest of the way open. “Spike? That’s Spike,” she said plainly. She darted her eyes suspiciously to Buffy’s. “What’s Spike doing here?”
Spike looked up, and Buffy couldn’t help thinking, “Headlights. See, Deer In.” He stopped hopping and walked forward to Dawn.
“Right, well, you caught me, Nibblet.”
Buffy’s eyes grew wide, but Spike just stopped casually beside her. “Thought you might still be awake after the little slumber free-for-all, so I came to tell your sis about a new Big Bad. But I see you’re both all tucked into your beddie-byes for the night.” He looked at Buffy meaningfully. “It can wait.”
He turned to go, but Buffy grabbed his arm. “Spike? It sounds kind of… important,” she said, wracking her brains for a subtlety she was unused to. “I think you should stay.”
He glanced at Dawn before saying, “We’ll get around to it later. You’ve got other things on your hands right now.”
Dawn smudged a remaining tear away with the back of her hand before mumbling, “It’s no big deal.”
Buffy knew she should probably feel guilty, but she’d had Family Bonding Time for three days straight. Literally. And for just once, she wanted someone to make her forget her own nightmares for a while. Buffy turned back to him. “See? Dawn’s ok.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll get her settled back in, and then you and I can… talk. Please stay.” If Dawn heard the need in Buffy’s voice, she gave no outward sign. She continued to sniffle and stare at the floor.
“No, Buffy,” he said softly. “She needs you.”
For a split-second, Buffy fought the urge to throw herself into his arms, drown out Dawn, and housework, and slaying and responsibilities and just lose herself in his body. But Spike read the look in her eyes and stood firm with a barely perceptible shake of the head. Buffy slumped a little before nodding goodbye to him. He carefully stepped out over the ledge that had brutally defeated his first exit attempt and left the roof.
“He could just use the door, you know,” Dawn said groggily.
“Tell him that,” Buffy said with a smile.
An hour of pseudo-mothering and hot chocolate later, Buffy found herself alone in her room again. This time, there was no tap at the window. But as Buffy began to pull down the sheets, she saw the slip of paper Spike had given her, where she had left it earlier on the bed. A thought occurred to her, and she fumbled at her desk until she found a pen. She unfolded the sheet once more and chewed at her pen cap before writing a title across the top. “What Spike Wouldn’t Do For Buffy.” Below the title, on the first blue line, Buffy wrote, “Hurt Dawn.”
Satisfied, she pulled out her smallest jewelry box. She stared numbly at the contents. Petals from the first flower Scott had given her. A locket from her first birthday with Riley. Angel’s ring. Buffy gently laid Spike’s notebook paper over the other trinkets, closed the lid, and pushed the box back into her bottom drawer.
It Hasn't Happened Yet
+~+~+~+~+
When is the mountain scared?
When do I feel I haven't failed?
I have to get it together, man.
It hasn't happened yet.
It hasn't happened yet.
It hasn't happened.
+~+~+~+~+
“Loser.” Flip. “Loser.” Flip. “Mondo freakazoid Klingon-wannabe loser.” Flip. Andrew sighed. Going through his old high school yearbooks had seemed like a great way to spend a rainy morning while Jonathan poured over his Voyager schematics and Warren visited a Great Aunt from whom he hoped to inherit. An hour and three thousand, four hundred fourteen point three-five-seven-oh reminders of the lameness that comprised his high school career later, the idea had lost some of its sparkle and shine. He hadn’t even had any friends. He wasn’t even inside Jonathan’s radar in those days. At least Jonathan had thought of that totally cool kill-yourself-in-the-bell-tower-with-a-sniper-rifle idea. Not that it ever would have worked, even if the Slayer hadn’t intervened. Jonathan’s arms were totally too short to reach the trigger, no matter what he said. Still, points for dramatic flair.
The Slayer. Andrew turned the page to stare at Buffy Summers’ name. She wasn’t even pictured. She was probably off too busy having a real life to show up. The Slayer was so cool. In that total, “I want to kill her because she’s my evil arch-nemesis” way, of course. The way she fought, her snappy vigor, her witty comebacks. Not that he had really witnessed a lot of that first-hand. But he had definitely heard the stories. And he had seen things. Lots of things. He was an observer extraordinaire. That was it. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been involved in high school. He had just been too busy setting the stage, keeping a sharp eye out for danger and adventure at every turn. A reporter never became too close to his subjects, or he’d totally lose his objectivity.
Andrew began turning the pages with renewed intent. Praying Mantis Teacher? Hah! He’d known about her. Not that… he was a virgin or anything. Or had anything to be afraid of there. Uh. No. He was just a disinterested bystander. And if he’d placed a bug in the ear (Andrew giggled) of a lamer student or two about how hot she looked, that was mere curiosity, not self-preservation, at work. Right. Andrew nodded before flipping to a different portion. The light above his small desk chair shone dimly on the laminate before him.
Hyena people. Check. Directing them to Principal Flutie’s office had seemed like a stroke of evil genius at the time. Not like he got any credit for that, though. And after Snyder showed up as the replacement, it hadn’t seemed so great after all. Big on the evil. Little bitty on the genius. Nevertheless, he’d been able to stretch his do-badding muscles on that one.
The barest formulation of a plot dawned on Andrew. He had done lots of bad things in high school. Bad, wicked, devilish things! Jonathan and Warren just hadn’t had the chance to see his villainous mind at work. So, granted, he wasn’t so great at doing bad things on his own (school play monkeys excepted, of course), but he was really good at pushing violence in the right direction, lending it that extra twisted helping hand. All he needed was someone suitably foul, dangerous, aggressive, to shove along on his own little course. Then, there’d be no stopping his nefarious ways!
He’d be like Lore, Data’s dark, yet surprisingly dashing, evil twin. Or… like a Sith Lord. But not Darth Maul. Because Warren said they weren’t allowed to mention “Phantom Menace” ever again, unless it included Queen Amidala. And she was naked. Or he could be Alex Krycek, a darkly ominous behind-the-scenes presence of ambiguously evil intent. Only… icks-nay on the ooden arm-way. Andrew pushed frantically through the pages in front of him before coming to an abrupt halt. There. They would work perfectly. Warren would love this.
+++
Buffy continued glaring at the cooking pancake batter as Dawn bounded lightly down the stairs. Buffy turned and raised an eyebrow as the teen came into the room. “You’re awfully bright and perky this morning.”
“Yup,” Dawn said. “Must be all the crack.”
Buffy’s stern squint couldn’t quite hide the twinkle behind her eyes. “We don’t joke about illegal drug use in this house.” Buffy flipped the pancakes on the stove. She wasn’t sure how long she was supposed to let them cook. Was black a bad thing?
“Yeah,” Dawn threw in, “And we don’t joke about eating people either. Whatever.”
“You heard that, huh?” Buffy dumped the pancake briquette onto a plate in front of Dawn. “Look. Breakfast.”
“Uh-huh.” Dawn’s face played over a range of disgusted visages before settling on ‘ick.’ “So speaking of everybody’s favorite evil undead, did Spike come back last night?”
“No,” Buffy said. Stupid vampire. He left. He actually left. Unless… Dawn had a reason for asking. Maybe he did come back. Maybe she just hadn’t noticed. Had Dawn heard something later? Had he wanted to talk to Dawn and not her? Should that irritate her the way it did? Was he ok? And why did he leave in the first place? Stupid vampire. Redundancy? Check. Insecurity? Check. Annoying mental questions? Check, check, and is there a word for infinite check? Buffy tried for calm and casual. “Why? Did you see him?”
“Nooo,” Dawn drawled. “My room doesn’t have a tree,” she answered brusquely, “Duh.”
Buffy turned to pour another doomed pancake into the pan to hide her blush. She tried to remember the vague excuse Spike had thrown out last night. Work. Of course. When was Buffy’s life not about slaying demons? “Whatever the big bad is this time, he said he’d tell us about it later. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
“Sure.” Dawn pulled several generic cereal bars out of the cupboard and set them on the counter. “Look, Buffy, breakfast,” she said with a twitch of her lips.
“Oh, thank the cereal gods,” Buffy muttered before slipping onto a stool across from Dawn.
“Well, we normally go by mystical glowy key-thing,” Dawn answered sagely, “but cereal gods will work too.”
Buffy smiled, but her thoughts returned to the night before. Their shared time at this same bar. Her frustration at Spike’s premature departure. Then, inevitably, to the reason he left in the first place. Dawn was now in high school. In high school, and still having nightmares. About demons, and horns, and cheese, and friends being eaten, and there was nothing right about that. Buffy’s own bad dreams came with the calling. But there was no super-slayer strength to share for little sis. None of this came in the handbook. The one she’d never read. At least, she was sure Giles would have told her if it had. She couldn’t slay dreams. How could she hope to fix any of this?
“Buffy?” Dawn’s voice broke through the low hum of crackling pancake batter.
“Yeah. Sorry. Sort of spaced. All back now. Space-free. Except in the air sense. You know. Cause… I breathe it,” Buffy offered lamely.
“I was just saying,” Dawn said slowly, “thank you for last night. It really helped.”
“But I didn’t, I didn’t do anything.” Buffy looked at the counter and pulled at her cereal wrapper. “It was just a bad dream.”
“I know.” Dawn reached across the table and touched Buffy’s arm. “But it was nice to have you there. To know you were there for me. Like mom used to be.” Dawn pulled away when wetness threatened her eyes. “Hey, what do you know. Time for all that fun and funky learning at the place that is school.” She slung her book-bag over her shoulder and brushed back her long brown hair. “I’m staying at Tara’s until you’re done with work tonight, ok?”
“Yup,” Buffy answered, shaking off the softness of the moment. “I’ll pick you up there when I clock out.”
“Great,” Dawn said. She began to walk out, but she turned, walked back, and pulled Buffy in for a quick hug. “Thanks, Buffy. I meant it.”
The sound of the door closing vaguely registered as Buffy sat at the stool in awe. She’d just helped Dawn. She had actually helped Dawn. Buffy felt the world shift a little. For the first time since she’d died, she actually felt like she’d been good enough. She’d done something right. It felt nice. And solid. Real. And why had Spike been the one to see its importance long before she had?
+++
Spike stared at the blank telly and smoked his fifth cigarette with little feeling. Why couldn’t the bleeding world just make sense for a while? For a second, just a breath really, he’d thought… No. Didn’t matter what he’d thought. Bitch never would figure it out. Never would see him as any more than a thing to be used. She’d more than shown that last night. Cast his present off with no more thought than a used rag doll, all to grab him and tell him, what? That she wanted him? That she’d use his body to stop her pain? Spike tossed the burned cigarette to the floor and lit another.
What had the red witch said? Soothe all her little achies. Damn straight. So his gift, bearing his heart and his sou… well. No. Couldn’t very well bear that. Since he didn’t have one. But bearing all that he did have for her in one singularly important scrap of paper, and she’d tossed it off to have a rough screw on her frilly coverlet. Big fucking surprise. The cigarette flared as Spike took a deep drag.
Only, it was a surprise, really. That’s the bit that stung. Because for a second, when she stopped him, he’d thought she’d wanted more. The look in her eyes when she’d said the words. And when she’d kissed him… oh, he’d never known she would kiss him that way again. The once, after he’d taken a beating being tortured for the Bit, she’d kissed him like that. Gratitude and grace and “I’m sorry” all wrapped into a gentle press of lips on skin. Everything he’d ever wanted from her. Well, everything but love. And the less thought on that the better. Never one to dwell on things he couldn’t get. Much more fun to ruthlessly drive himself to get them.
Oh, who was he kidding? Far easier to kill this slayer than to love her. Angelus was a whole pisser of wrong about that one. She’d been killed twice. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her well-loved. She wouldn’t let him, wouldn’t let anyone. She was so far gone now. Hadn’t even cared that kid sis was whimpering in the hallway like an oft-kicked mutt. Just wanted him to bring her off, get her high, let her out.
And why hadn’t he? The memories of her warm body pressed into the soft bedding against his side brought a familiar tingle to his groin even now. He could have taken her. Claimed her slow and steady in her own bed. Made her see it different. Made things gentle for a change. But the Nibblet was crying. He could smell it, even if he hadn’t heard it. And suddenly he’d been using each ounce of preternatural speed and stealth to reapply shucked clothes and make a less than subtle exit.
Spike launched himself from the chair and kicked an empty bottle against the crypt wall, taking an eerie delight in the comforting crash. He was a vampire, damn it. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. He needed to go. Get out. Face the demon life for a spell. Remind himself of the way things really worked in the world. Honestly. What kind of world was right when Buffy didn’t care her own sis was in pain? What kind of world was it when he did? Spike grabbed his duster and slipped to the tunnels leading from his crypt. As he stepped into the moldering darkness, only one thing was clear: something had to change.
When is the mountain scared?
When do I feel I haven't failed?
I have to get it together, man.
It hasn't happened yet.
It hasn't happened yet.
It hasn't happened.
+~+~+~+~+
“Loser.” Flip. “Loser.” Flip. “Mondo freakazoid Klingon-wannabe loser.” Flip. Andrew sighed. Going through his old high school yearbooks had seemed like a great way to spend a rainy morning while Jonathan poured over his Voyager schematics and Warren visited a Great Aunt from whom he hoped to inherit. An hour and three thousand, four hundred fourteen point three-five-seven-oh reminders of the lameness that comprised his high school career later, the idea had lost some of its sparkle and shine. He hadn’t even had any friends. He wasn’t even inside Jonathan’s radar in those days. At least Jonathan had thought of that totally cool kill-yourself-in-the-bell-tower-with-a-sniper-rifle idea. Not that it ever would have worked, even if the Slayer hadn’t intervened. Jonathan’s arms were totally too short to reach the trigger, no matter what he said. Still, points for dramatic flair.
The Slayer. Andrew turned the page to stare at Buffy Summers’ name. She wasn’t even pictured. She was probably off too busy having a real life to show up. The Slayer was so cool. In that total, “I want to kill her because she’s my evil arch-nemesis” way, of course. The way she fought, her snappy vigor, her witty comebacks. Not that he had really witnessed a lot of that first-hand. But he had definitely heard the stories. And he had seen things. Lots of things. He was an observer extraordinaire. That was it. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been involved in high school. He had just been too busy setting the stage, keeping a sharp eye out for danger and adventure at every turn. A reporter never became too close to his subjects, or he’d totally lose his objectivity.
Andrew began turning the pages with renewed intent. Praying Mantis Teacher? Hah! He’d known about her. Not that… he was a virgin or anything. Or had anything to be afraid of there. Uh. No. He was just a disinterested bystander. And if he’d placed a bug in the ear (Andrew giggled) of a lamer student or two about how hot she looked, that was mere curiosity, not self-preservation, at work. Right. Andrew nodded before flipping to a different portion. The light above his small desk chair shone dimly on the laminate before him.
Hyena people. Check. Directing them to Principal Flutie’s office had seemed like a stroke of evil genius at the time. Not like he got any credit for that, though. And after Snyder showed up as the replacement, it hadn’t seemed so great after all. Big on the evil. Little bitty on the genius. Nevertheless, he’d been able to stretch his do-badding muscles on that one.
The barest formulation of a plot dawned on Andrew. He had done lots of bad things in high school. Bad, wicked, devilish things! Jonathan and Warren just hadn’t had the chance to see his villainous mind at work. So, granted, he wasn’t so great at doing bad things on his own (school play monkeys excepted, of course), but he was really good at pushing violence in the right direction, lending it that extra twisted helping hand. All he needed was someone suitably foul, dangerous, aggressive, to shove along on his own little course. Then, there’d be no stopping his nefarious ways!
He’d be like Lore, Data’s dark, yet surprisingly dashing, evil twin. Or… like a Sith Lord. But not Darth Maul. Because Warren said they weren’t allowed to mention “Phantom Menace” ever again, unless it included Queen Amidala. And she was naked. Or he could be Alex Krycek, a darkly ominous behind-the-scenes presence of ambiguously evil intent. Only… icks-nay on the ooden arm-way. Andrew pushed frantically through the pages in front of him before coming to an abrupt halt. There. They would work perfectly. Warren would love this.
+++
Buffy continued glaring at the cooking pancake batter as Dawn bounded lightly down the stairs. Buffy turned and raised an eyebrow as the teen came into the room. “You’re awfully bright and perky this morning.”
“Yup,” Dawn said. “Must be all the crack.”
Buffy’s stern squint couldn’t quite hide the twinkle behind her eyes. “We don’t joke about illegal drug use in this house.” Buffy flipped the pancakes on the stove. She wasn’t sure how long she was supposed to let them cook. Was black a bad thing?
“Yeah,” Dawn threw in, “And we don’t joke about eating people either. Whatever.”
“You heard that, huh?” Buffy dumped the pancake briquette onto a plate in front of Dawn. “Look. Breakfast.”
“Uh-huh.” Dawn’s face played over a range of disgusted visages before settling on ‘ick.’ “So speaking of everybody’s favorite evil undead, did Spike come back last night?”
“No,” Buffy said. Stupid vampire. He left. He actually left. Unless… Dawn had a reason for asking. Maybe he did come back. Maybe she just hadn’t noticed. Had Dawn heard something later? Had he wanted to talk to Dawn and not her? Should that irritate her the way it did? Was he ok? And why did he leave in the first place? Stupid vampire. Redundancy? Check. Insecurity? Check. Annoying mental questions? Check, check, and is there a word for infinite check? Buffy tried for calm and casual. “Why? Did you see him?”
“Nooo,” Dawn drawled. “My room doesn’t have a tree,” she answered brusquely, “Duh.”
Buffy turned to pour another doomed pancake into the pan to hide her blush. She tried to remember the vague excuse Spike had thrown out last night. Work. Of course. When was Buffy’s life not about slaying demons? “Whatever the big bad is this time, he said he’d tell us about it later. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
“Sure.” Dawn pulled several generic cereal bars out of the cupboard and set them on the counter. “Look, Buffy, breakfast,” she said with a twitch of her lips.
“Oh, thank the cereal gods,” Buffy muttered before slipping onto a stool across from Dawn.
“Well, we normally go by mystical glowy key-thing,” Dawn answered sagely, “but cereal gods will work too.”
Buffy smiled, but her thoughts returned to the night before. Their shared time at this same bar. Her frustration at Spike’s premature departure. Then, inevitably, to the reason he left in the first place. Dawn was now in high school. In high school, and still having nightmares. About demons, and horns, and cheese, and friends being eaten, and there was nothing right about that. Buffy’s own bad dreams came with the calling. But there was no super-slayer strength to share for little sis. None of this came in the handbook. The one she’d never read. At least, she was sure Giles would have told her if it had. She couldn’t slay dreams. How could she hope to fix any of this?
“Buffy?” Dawn’s voice broke through the low hum of crackling pancake batter.
“Yeah. Sorry. Sort of spaced. All back now. Space-free. Except in the air sense. You know. Cause… I breathe it,” Buffy offered lamely.
“I was just saying,” Dawn said slowly, “thank you for last night. It really helped.”
“But I didn’t, I didn’t do anything.” Buffy looked at the counter and pulled at her cereal wrapper. “It was just a bad dream.”
“I know.” Dawn reached across the table and touched Buffy’s arm. “But it was nice to have you there. To know you were there for me. Like mom used to be.” Dawn pulled away when wetness threatened her eyes. “Hey, what do you know. Time for all that fun and funky learning at the place that is school.” She slung her book-bag over her shoulder and brushed back her long brown hair. “I’m staying at Tara’s until you’re done with work tonight, ok?”
“Yup,” Buffy answered, shaking off the softness of the moment. “I’ll pick you up there when I clock out.”
“Great,” Dawn said. She began to walk out, but she turned, walked back, and pulled Buffy in for a quick hug. “Thanks, Buffy. I meant it.”
The sound of the door closing vaguely registered as Buffy sat at the stool in awe. She’d just helped Dawn. She had actually helped Dawn. Buffy felt the world shift a little. For the first time since she’d died, she actually felt like she’d been good enough. She’d done something right. It felt nice. And solid. Real. And why had Spike been the one to see its importance long before she had?
+++
Spike stared at the blank telly and smoked his fifth cigarette with little feeling. Why couldn’t the bleeding world just make sense for a while? For a second, just a breath really, he’d thought… No. Didn’t matter what he’d thought. Bitch never would figure it out. Never would see him as any more than a thing to be used. She’d more than shown that last night. Cast his present off with no more thought than a used rag doll, all to grab him and tell him, what? That she wanted him? That she’d use his body to stop her pain? Spike tossed the burned cigarette to the floor and lit another.
What had the red witch said? Soothe all her little achies. Damn straight. So his gift, bearing his heart and his sou… well. No. Couldn’t very well bear that. Since he didn’t have one. But bearing all that he did have for her in one singularly important scrap of paper, and she’d tossed it off to have a rough screw on her frilly coverlet. Big fucking surprise. The cigarette flared as Spike took a deep drag.
Only, it was a surprise, really. That’s the bit that stung. Because for a second, when she stopped him, he’d thought she’d wanted more. The look in her eyes when she’d said the words. And when she’d kissed him… oh, he’d never known she would kiss him that way again. The once, after he’d taken a beating being tortured for the Bit, she’d kissed him like that. Gratitude and grace and “I’m sorry” all wrapped into a gentle press of lips on skin. Everything he’d ever wanted from her. Well, everything but love. And the less thought on that the better. Never one to dwell on things he couldn’t get. Much more fun to ruthlessly drive himself to get them.
Oh, who was he kidding? Far easier to kill this slayer than to love her. Angelus was a whole pisser of wrong about that one. She’d been killed twice. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her well-loved. She wouldn’t let him, wouldn’t let anyone. She was so far gone now. Hadn’t even cared that kid sis was whimpering in the hallway like an oft-kicked mutt. Just wanted him to bring her off, get her high, let her out.
And why hadn’t he? The memories of her warm body pressed into the soft bedding against his side brought a familiar tingle to his groin even now. He could have taken her. Claimed her slow and steady in her own bed. Made her see it different. Made things gentle for a change. But the Nibblet was crying. He could smell it, even if he hadn’t heard it. And suddenly he’d been using each ounce of preternatural speed and stealth to reapply shucked clothes and make a less than subtle exit.
Spike launched himself from the chair and kicked an empty bottle against the crypt wall, taking an eerie delight in the comforting crash. He was a vampire, damn it. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. He needed to go. Get out. Face the demon life for a spell. Remind himself of the way things really worked in the world. Honestly. What kind of world was right when Buffy didn’t care her own sis was in pain? What kind of world was it when he did? Spike grabbed his duster and slipped to the tunnels leading from his crypt. As he stepped into the moldering darkness, only one thing was clear: something had to change.
Familiar Love
+~+~+~+~+
My lady belongs here, and so do I.
We know what the truth is and when to lie.
Oh, how I love her.
Familiar.
+~+~+~+~+
“I’ve got an idea.” Andrew sing-songed as he bounced up and down with a cheeriness Jonathan found both intriguing and profoundly disturbing.
Jonathon raised an eyebrow. “No way.”
“Come on,” Andrew whined. “This’ll be really totally cool. I promise.”
“The last time you said that, we watched a bootleg copy of The Star Wars Holiday Special.” Jonathon’s skin curled in a long, slow shudder at the memory. “Sorry, but I’ll pass.”
“I refuse to be held accountable for that,” Andrew stated. “It had Harrison Ford,” he added weakly.
“Yes,” Jonathon said as he turned from alphabetizing the movie collection in front of him. “For the last twenty seconds, it had Harrison Ford. For the three preceding hours, it was the most boring imaginative rendering of a Wookie Christmas ever committed to film. No thanks.”
“You’re exaggerating. I still think it was highly under-ra…”
“The grandpa Wookie watched virtual, alien, Christmas porn!” Jonathon threw his copy of Tomb Raider to the floor in outraged disdain and walked to the other side of the small lair, desperately searching for something to do. Preferably something more interesting than whatever Andrew was cooking up.
“Whatever,” Andrew said. “Look, this is a way better idea anyway.”
Jonathon began digging listlessly through a pile of records.
“It’s eee-vil…” Andrew wheedled.
“Not interested,” Jonathon muttered.
“Oh,” Andrew said sagely. “That’s right.”
“What’s right?” Jonathon looked up.
“Nothing.” Andrew turned on his heel and began picking at his shirt sleeve. “It just seems maybe a certain someone hasn’t been pulling his share of the weight in the battle of eternal darkness lately.”
“What?” Jonathon followed Andrew across the room. “Did Warren say that? Is this about… Katrina?” The last word fell on a whisper.
“Nevermind,” Andrew answered dismissively. “I’m sure it’s nothing. And he’s definitely not thinking of throwing you out of the gang.”
“He would do that?” Jonathon tried to force the insecurity from his voice.
“Of course not,” Andrew answered. “He’ll understand if you don’t want to be a part of my evil plan. I mean, it’s probably too hard for you anyway. It’s dealing with some prêt-ty heavy dark mojo, man. It might even cost me my life.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” Andrew drew himself up to his full height and settled his gaze on Jonathon’s face. A long pause found the taller boy staring the brunette down.
“Fine,” Jonathon answered, sighing in defeat. “No more melodrama. Ok? Just tell me what I need to do.”
+++
A bottle of jack and a bag of O positive later, Spike felt less hungry and more drunk. But the booze and blood had done little to sate his internal conflict. He glanced around the soggy, dim demeanor of Willie’s bar. Least the poncey demon set had stopped throwing him out of the bloody place. Probably had something to do with all the poker playing. And the fact that he’d long made a habit of losing the right amount to the right people. Neat trick, that. Demons had their price. Even if said price came with button noses and cuddly fur.
A pair of Glarbacks entered noisily, purple pustules dripping little green glops onto the grimy floor. Spike was sliding surreptitiously to his right to avoid the little buggers when he heard something that ran a tight chill across the back of his neck.
“…on the Hellmouth. They’re raising something.” The larger Glarback heaved itself up to look over the bar.
“Warlocks?” the other grumbled through long white tusks.
“Don’t know. But there’s power there.”
The smaller Glarback squinted. “We wait. If it’s big, we join. If it’s small, we eat.” Satisfied with their plan of action, the two turned to order their drinks. Spike sighed at the not-so-surprising demonic response. So. Trouble in Sunnyhell. What else is new? Not like he was supposed to do anything about it. Evil here, yeah? Not his job to go prancing about, balls cut, following every little scent the devils threw down just to save the sodding slayer some extra wor…oh, who was he kidding? Spike left cash for the tab on the bar and set out for the tunnels to what once was Sunnydale High.
A twenty minute trudge through the sewers found Spike at what he recognized as the former high school library. Huh. Rupert’d have a right sore time fishing through those card catalogs now. Then again, suppose none of that mattered much to old Rupes now. Left the children to play in traffic all by themselves while he skipped back to Merry Olde. Stupid git.
Spike shook off the thought and pressed along the side of the tunnel leading toward the Hellmouth. The debris had shifted from the last time he’d been there. Spike vaguely remembered that little trip. What was it they were stopping? Three demons bent on destroying the world, best he could tell. Guess that meant he’d stopped an Apocalypse. Two, then, if you counted helping put Angelus out of commission. Three, if one set his pathetic attempt against Glory into the mix. At this rate, he’d never get his reputation back.
A burnished orange glow from the center of the wreckage drew his eyes and Spike stilled, willing himself to fade into the shadows of the rock. The golden light formed a sphere. Spike tried to hone in on the wisps of ethereal chanting he caught resounding through the cavern to no avail. With so many echoes in the place, whoever was putting on the Disney trick light show could be anywhere. When the golden ball reached a six foot height, it suddenly flashed a deep blue and collapsed in on itself with a large thwack.
Spike watched warily as two forms rose out of the dust where the illumination had been. Demons, both. He could smell it. And if the Glarback’s interpretation of the magic was right, they’d just been brought back from the dead. Well, then. Question answered. Just the two, so it was nothing the Slayer couldn’t handle. Time to give her a heads up and call it a day.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The anguish in the words drew his attention back to the figures. Male and female. The girl was crying, great heaving sobs racking her chest as she clutched fiercely at the boy’s shirt.
“Shut up so I can think,” he screamed. The girl flinched and bit back further sobs, but she didn’t let go. The boy scanned the darkness around him, eyes glowing green in the shadows of the dead room. Spike silently tread further from view as he heard the boy’s hoarse whisper.
“What happened to us?” The boy stared down at the golden-haired girl kneeling before him with wary suspicion. The chanting came to a standstill and Spike heard light feet skittering off into the distance.
“I don’t know. I swear.” The girl’s strangled weeping cut into a place Spike preferred not to acknowledge.
“You always swear, don’t you, you little slut? But you never follow through.” The red-shirted boy punctuated the words with a hard slap to the girl’s face, knocking her head back and bringing the tears back full force. Spike took a small step forward before catching himself. Not his business. Just a couple of demons. It’s the Slayer’s turf anyway, innit? Still, he couldn’t help but follow as the boy drug the girl to a standing position and began pulling her through the tunnels. Spike told himself it was just so he could give the Slayer a better bead on their plans. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Wisps of conversation drifted back to the vampire as he stalked his way through fallen wood and stone.
“… were dead. Someone must have…”
“…didn’t know!”
“…follow their power.”
“…I think I see…”
“…if you’re lying to me…”
Spike recoiled sharply when a turn in the tunnels led him through an unexpected sliver of daylight. Damn. Forgot about the little afternoon sunshine problem. He peered through the opening the couple had just passed through, out into an alley near one of Sunnydale’s shops. Cautiously, Spike picked a shadowed path into the clearing behind them. Closer now, he could make out all their words.
“Did you have anything to do with this? Answer me. Did you?”
“No, no. I told you. There were two boys. Didn’t you see them? They ran this way.”
“It’s always boys with you, isn’t it?”
“Wait. It’s not like that. Besides, we’re together like this. Now we can be together forever. Don’t you see?”
The brown-haired boy’s laugh was cutting in the thin alley air. “Tell me why I’d want you this way.”
“What?” Solemn feminine eyes looked up in sad confusion. “But you said you wanted…”
“Well, you weren’t a demon then, were you?”
Spike’s throat constricted and his jaw clenched.
“But I want you. I love you. I’ll do anything you say.”
“Are you so stupid that you don’t get it? You’re not even human.” The teen grabbed the blonde and shoved her roughly against the wall, dragging her hair down to tilt her face upward to his. “It was bad enough before.” His punch landed across her jaw with a hard snap. “Watching you whoring, sneaking, selling me out.” He hit her again and again, blackening an already blued face. “But now? Look at you.” A stronger punch sent her reeling to the ground as he stood above her disdainfully. “You’re dead inside. You’re not even real.” The boy drew back a leg for a forceful kick.
“That’s just about enough.” Spike struck a hard blow at the standing demon, forcing a stagger. Spike dodged a fist and kicked the boy in the solar-plexus, knocking him back into the opposite alley wall. The boy slid against the coarse bricks and Spike drew his hand back for a punishing strike when strong hands grabbed his shoulders and threw him out into the mouth of the alley.
He looked up in shock at the blonde girl hovering over him, her eyes glowing green in haunted rage. “You can’t hurt him. He’s mine.”
Spike tried to pull himself up, but a heavy kick caught him in the side of the neck and dropped him back to the stone street, closer to the sunlight than before. “You stupid bitch,” he shouted. “I was trying to hel…” His words were cut short when another heavy kick caught him in the side, rolling him ever closer to the light.
Spike forced his eyes open in time to see the male demon coming to stand beside her. Right then. Two against one. And he was already down. And an inch away from Mr. Sunbeam. It wasn’t retreating. Not really. Re-grouping, more like. He needed the Slayer. Spike jumped to his feet, made a deft feint, and slipped past the couple. Just before he ducked out of the small alley, he heard them.
“You saw me, didn’t you? You saw what I did to him. Did I do good, baby?”
“Yeah, Debbie. You did real good.”
+~+~+~+~+
A/N: Never seen “Star Wars Holiday Special?” Be thankful. And don’t try. Just trust me on this one. Whatever you’re imagining… it’s worse. I’m not creative enough to make stuff like that up.
Common People
+~+~+~+~+
Are you sure you want to live like common people?
You want to see whatever common people see?
You want to sleep with common people?
You want to sleep with common people like me?
But she didn't understand...
...she just smiled and held my hand.
+~+~+~+~+
Spike’s smoking blanket dropped to the floor in perfect synchronicity with the jangling of the bell above the Magic Box door. He stamped out the remaining cinders as Anya swept toward him from the counter. “Put that out! What do you think you’re doing? It’s a fire hazard. And it’s very near my pretty and highly flammable things. You can’t have that in here,” she said shrilly.
Spike toed the blanket and glanced down at the dull wool before looking back unabashedly to stare at the former demon. “Yeah, and if you’d had the decency to keep the dark alley shop door unlatched, a vamp could get around without having to resort to such toasty measures.”
“Yes,” Anya replied. “A vampire could. Much like the vampire that tore the throat out of the former proprietor. I like my throat intact, thank you very much.”
“How the hell did you…” At Anya’s curiously open, non-accusatory expression, Spike broke off. “Uh, right. Never mind then.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Anya asked as Spike slipped past her into the store. She followed him as he strolled toward the back. “Vampires sleep during the day,” she continued, as if telling him something new. Spike rolled his eyes. Not worth it. Too easy. Anya suddenly brightened. “Do you have insomnia? We have some very desirable sleep aids. Extra strength for our customers of the demon variety. Actually, almost all of them are for those of the demon variety. Did you know you have to be licensed to sell prescription drugs to humans?”
Spike attempted to tune her out, only catching the tail end of something that sounded like, “which seems to be an unnecessary infringement on capitalism, if you ask me.” He grimaced, picking up the object he’d been looking for.
“What are you doing? You can’t use that,” Anya stated.
She snatched the phone receiver that had been dangling from his fingertips. “Not long distance,” he protested. “Just gotta make a call. Slayer’s got trouble. Thought she ought to know.”
“She’s at work. Why don’t you just go loiter over there?” Her tone was laced with resentful implication.
“Because,” Spike said as he jerked the phone back, “as you so brilliantly noted, it’s daylight out. And I doubt Buffy would enjoy spending the rest of her work break trying to interrogate my little floating puffs of dust.”
“How do you know when Buffy’s break is? And,” Anya paused as her brows drew together. “Did you just call her Buffy?”
Spike turned to the wall, effectively cutting her off, as he dialed the number to the Doublemeat Palace.
“Slayer,” he said emphatically, sneaking a glance back at Anya, when one of the other workers finally put Buffy on the line.
“Spike?” Her startled voice crossed the distance between them. “Why are you calling me at work? You’re not supposed to call me here.”
Spike felt the chilled recollection of past rejections slip down his spine at her words. Right. Can’t be in her work. Can’t be in her life. Not wanted, mate. Just needed.
“Look, it’s not a social call,” he bit out. “Just thought you’d want a heads up on a new nasty in town. Two of them, actually. Demons raised up off the Hellmouth.”
“So last night…” Buffy paused. “You really did just come over to talk about work?”
Bugger if she didn’t sound a bit disappointed. No faith in him at all. Bitch. “Not last night, pet,” he found himself saying gently. “Just found out about them today.”
“Oh,” was her only response.
“They’re fresh, but they’re bloody strong. Imagine they could do a number on old Sunnyhell before the day’s up. I’ll just wait for you here.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean?”
“I can’t,” Buffy said firmly. “I have to finish out my shift. I’ll be there at 6.”
“Evil. Demons. Indiscriminate killing. Sacred duty. Any of this ringing a bell, Slayer?”
“You’re the last person I need to remind me of my sacred duty, Spike.” The ice in her tone froze his veins.
“Right. Got it. I’ll just be off then.” He made no effort to hide the rancor in his mouth.
Spike was halfway to the door before he felt a small hand on his arm as Anya stopped him. “Does this mean I have to call Xander and Willow?”
“Probably be best, pet,” he said. “Give them a heads up. Tell ‘em the Slayer’ll be here when she’s done with the daily grind.
“Spike,” Anya said as he turned. “You’re coming back, right?”
“Course I’m coming back,” he murmured as he reached for the door. “You need the muscle. And it seems muscle’s the only thing I’m good for anymore.”
+++
“Tell me again, exactly, what either of you two idiots is good for?” Warren Meers paced across the small lair in front of his troops. Andrew and Jonathon stood at a stiff and awkward attention. Warren’s great aunt had cut their visit short. He had returned just in time to catch the two boys fortifying their lair against a potential demon invasion. Questions naturally followed.
“I knew I should never have listened to Jonathon,” Andrew said with a put-upon sigh.
“You were the one who made me go in the first place, you yoH’Ha’qu’!”
“You dare challenge me to a Blood Duel?” Andrew spat before uttering a high pitch squeal, locking Jonathon in a headlock, and raining noogies down on him.
Warren allowed the pair to continue for a moment in a spattering of feeble physical violence and Klingon taunts before he shoved both of them apart. “Enough of this. Explain everything. And this time, try to be a little more coherent than a pack of drunken tribbles.”
“Fine,” Andrew said, releasing Jonathon and brushing his clothes down. He raised his chin. “Jonathon decided—“
“You decided—,“ Jonathon cut in.
“We decided,” Andrew stated with a sniff, “it would be really cool to raise our own demons. That way we wouldn’t have to worry about calling on all these unpredictable ones like when Katr… when… other bad things happened,” he slid on smoothly at Warren’s dark look. “See… normal demons? They have their own personalities already intact, so their sense of self is too strong. And zombies… well, they’re cool, I guess, except for that whole flesh-eating thing.”
“Get to the point, lackbrain,” Warren muttered.
“Sooo,” Andrew plunged on, “I found a book about how to raise manifest spirits of those involved in volatile, angry deaths. Then you just spell a talisman, and presto, instant demon slaves!”
“So what went wrong?”
“Well,” Andrew said, “after the demons were raised, they kinda started to sense us before we were done.”
Jonathon narrowed his eyes at Andrew. “I told you we should have enchanted the talisman before we raised them.”
“Then,” Andrew continued as if he hadn’t heard, “the talisman sort of… got broken.” His voice raised almost questioningly at the end of the sentence.
Jonathon clenched his fists in disgust. “You stepped on it when you ran from the cave like a Luxan on crack!”
“Oh yeah?” Andrew sneered. “You ran too, you little nematode!”
“Both of you, stop it,” Warren interrupted. “What I want to know is, is there any way to fix it?”
The two looked at each other skeptically. Jonathon was the first to speak. “There may be. But… we’d have to go back and get it.”
“You left it there?” Warren slapped a weary hand over his eyes. “I don’t believe this.”
Andrew jumped to their defense. “Hey! It was very dark in that tunnel. And scary. And the power flash from the spell we performed was seriously intense. I think I may have an incidental case of dry scalp,” he added.
Warren shook his head. “And what about the demons?”
Jonathon responded. “They seemed pretty mad. I think they wanted to be turned back. I’ll bet that’s why they were looking for us.”
“It would probably be pretty easy,” Andrew added thoughtfully. “Just the opposite of a demon summoning with some type of specialized signature thrown in. I could look in Agamemnon’s Complete Guide to…”
“No way,” Warren broke in. “You boys have already gone to all the trouble of raising these guys. It’d be a shame to let all that hard work go to waste. If these two are as powerful as you say they are, and we can have total control over them? It’s back to the batcave, kiddies. We’re going to find that talisman.”
+++
“You’re the last person I need to remind me of my sacred duty, Spike.” Buffy bit her lip as she clenched the phone in the dingy work office more tightly. The sternly lecturing voice in her head that always seemed to remind, he’s a vampire, at the most inopportune moments had chosen to make itself known, prompting that last comment. But lately, a more gentle voice had been fast on the heels of the first. It wasn’t hers. It was his. You make me feel like a man. And it was growing more insistent day by day.
“Right. Got it. I’ll just be off then.” Spike’s last frustrated huff of air came just as he hung up, and Buffy failed to hear the telltale click of the receiver.
“Spike, wait. It’s not…” she sighed heavily. “It’s not about you. I just have other responsibilities. Grown up responsibilities.” She continued in a soft whisper, “You showed me that last night.” She waited a full ten seconds for his answer before impatience got the best of her. “Spike? Spike?” Buffy frowned and placed the phone back on the cradle.
He hung up on me. Spike hung up on me. When I was actually telling him something nice. Like that’s ever gonna happen again. Buffy felt a pinch of something akin to guilt at that telltale flippant thought. This morning coming in for work, she’d watched Mrs. Weathers’ husband drop her off. They drove a dingy little car, and Buffy had heard the woman mention before that her husband was a disabled veteran. The lawyer they’d trusted their savings to had made off with their nest egg and vanished for parts unknown.
Mrs. Weathers worked at the Doublemeat to supplement their income and cared for her injured husband and dying mother each night. Typical low-wage employment sob story, really. But what had really bothered Buffy about the whole scenario was that as tired as the old woman was, as many times as she zoned out by the fry cooker, or watched the counter with glazed eyes…each day when she got out of old man Weathers’ car, he kissed her goodbye, and she smiled. Buffy would see them talking, whispering little things to each other, and they always both smiled. “That’s what kindness is like,” she’d thought this morning as she watched the scene. “It gives you the strength to do things like this and still smile.” The thought that followed was far more serious, and far more terrifying in its implications.
That’s what Spike does for me.
Are you sure you want to live like common people?
You want to see whatever common people see?
You want to sleep with common people?
You want to sleep with common people like me?
But she didn't understand...
...she just smiled and held my hand.
+~+~+~+~+
Spike’s smoking blanket dropped to the floor in perfect synchronicity with the jangling of the bell above the Magic Box door. He stamped out the remaining cinders as Anya swept toward him from the counter. “Put that out! What do you think you’re doing? It’s a fire hazard. And it’s very near my pretty and highly flammable things. You can’t have that in here,” she said shrilly.
Spike toed the blanket and glanced down at the dull wool before looking back unabashedly to stare at the former demon. “Yeah, and if you’d had the decency to keep the dark alley shop door unlatched, a vamp could get around without having to resort to such toasty measures.”
“Yes,” Anya replied. “A vampire could. Much like the vampire that tore the throat out of the former proprietor. I like my throat intact, thank you very much.”
“How the hell did you…” At Anya’s curiously open, non-accusatory expression, Spike broke off. “Uh, right. Never mind then.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Anya asked as Spike slipped past her into the store. She followed him as he strolled toward the back. “Vampires sleep during the day,” she continued, as if telling him something new. Spike rolled his eyes. Not worth it. Too easy. Anya suddenly brightened. “Do you have insomnia? We have some very desirable sleep aids. Extra strength for our customers of the demon variety. Actually, almost all of them are for those of the demon variety. Did you know you have to be licensed to sell prescription drugs to humans?”
Spike attempted to tune her out, only catching the tail end of something that sounded like, “which seems to be an unnecessary infringement on capitalism, if you ask me.” He grimaced, picking up the object he’d been looking for.
“What are you doing? You can’t use that,” Anya stated.
She snatched the phone receiver that had been dangling from his fingertips. “Not long distance,” he protested. “Just gotta make a call. Slayer’s got trouble. Thought she ought to know.”
“She’s at work. Why don’t you just go loiter over there?” Her tone was laced with resentful implication.
“Because,” Spike said as he jerked the phone back, “as you so brilliantly noted, it’s daylight out. And I doubt Buffy would enjoy spending the rest of her work break trying to interrogate my little floating puffs of dust.”
“How do you know when Buffy’s break is? And,” Anya paused as her brows drew together. “Did you just call her Buffy?”
Spike turned to the wall, effectively cutting her off, as he dialed the number to the Doublemeat Palace.
“Slayer,” he said emphatically, sneaking a glance back at Anya, when one of the other workers finally put Buffy on the line.
“Spike?” Her startled voice crossed the distance between them. “Why are you calling me at work? You’re not supposed to call me here.”
Spike felt the chilled recollection of past rejections slip down his spine at her words. Right. Can’t be in her work. Can’t be in her life. Not wanted, mate. Just needed.
“Look, it’s not a social call,” he bit out. “Just thought you’d want a heads up on a new nasty in town. Two of them, actually. Demons raised up off the Hellmouth.”
“So last night…” Buffy paused. “You really did just come over to talk about work?”
Bugger if she didn’t sound a bit disappointed. No faith in him at all. Bitch. “Not last night, pet,” he found himself saying gently. “Just found out about them today.”
“Oh,” was her only response.
“They’re fresh, but they’re bloody strong. Imagine they could do a number on old Sunnyhell before the day’s up. I’ll just wait for you here.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean?”
“I can’t,” Buffy said firmly. “I have to finish out my shift. I’ll be there at 6.”
“Evil. Demons. Indiscriminate killing. Sacred duty. Any of this ringing a bell, Slayer?”
“You’re the last person I need to remind me of my sacred duty, Spike.” The ice in her tone froze his veins.
“Right. Got it. I’ll just be off then.” He made no effort to hide the rancor in his mouth.
Spike was halfway to the door before he felt a small hand on his arm as Anya stopped him. “Does this mean I have to call Xander and Willow?”
“Probably be best, pet,” he said. “Give them a heads up. Tell ‘em the Slayer’ll be here when she’s done with the daily grind.
“Spike,” Anya said as he turned. “You’re coming back, right?”
“Course I’m coming back,” he murmured as he reached for the door. “You need the muscle. And it seems muscle’s the only thing I’m good for anymore.”
+++
“Tell me again, exactly, what either of you two idiots is good for?” Warren Meers paced across the small lair in front of his troops. Andrew and Jonathon stood at a stiff and awkward attention. Warren’s great aunt had cut their visit short. He had returned just in time to catch the two boys fortifying their lair against a potential demon invasion. Questions naturally followed.
“I knew I should never have listened to Jonathon,” Andrew said with a put-upon sigh.
“You were the one who made me go in the first place, you yoH’Ha’qu’!”
“You dare challenge me to a Blood Duel?” Andrew spat before uttering a high pitch squeal, locking Jonathon in a headlock, and raining noogies down on him.
Warren allowed the pair to continue for a moment in a spattering of feeble physical violence and Klingon taunts before he shoved both of them apart. “Enough of this. Explain everything. And this time, try to be a little more coherent than a pack of drunken tribbles.”
“Fine,” Andrew said, releasing Jonathon and brushing his clothes down. He raised his chin. “Jonathon decided—“
“You decided—,“ Jonathon cut in.
“We decided,” Andrew stated with a sniff, “it would be really cool to raise our own demons. That way we wouldn’t have to worry about calling on all these unpredictable ones like when Katr… when… other bad things happened,” he slid on smoothly at Warren’s dark look. “See… normal demons? They have their own personalities already intact, so their sense of self is too strong. And zombies… well, they’re cool, I guess, except for that whole flesh-eating thing.”
“Get to the point, lackbrain,” Warren muttered.
“Sooo,” Andrew plunged on, “I found a book about how to raise manifest spirits of those involved in volatile, angry deaths. Then you just spell a talisman, and presto, instant demon slaves!”
“So what went wrong?”
“Well,” Andrew said, “after the demons were raised, they kinda started to sense us before we were done.”
Jonathon narrowed his eyes at Andrew. “I told you we should have enchanted the talisman before we raised them.”
“Then,” Andrew continued as if he hadn’t heard, “the talisman sort of… got broken.” His voice raised almost questioningly at the end of the sentence.
Jonathon clenched his fists in disgust. “You stepped on it when you ran from the cave like a Luxan on crack!”
“Oh yeah?” Andrew sneered. “You ran too, you little nematode!”
“Both of you, stop it,” Warren interrupted. “What I want to know is, is there any way to fix it?”
The two looked at each other skeptically. Jonathon was the first to speak. “There may be. But… we’d have to go back and get it.”
“You left it there?” Warren slapped a weary hand over his eyes. “I don’t believe this.”
Andrew jumped to their defense. “Hey! It was very dark in that tunnel. And scary. And the power flash from the spell we performed was seriously intense. I think I may have an incidental case of dry scalp,” he added.
Warren shook his head. “And what about the demons?”
Jonathon responded. “They seemed pretty mad. I think they wanted to be turned back. I’ll bet that’s why they were looking for us.”
“It would probably be pretty easy,” Andrew added thoughtfully. “Just the opposite of a demon summoning with some type of specialized signature thrown in. I could look in Agamemnon’s Complete Guide to…”
“No way,” Warren broke in. “You boys have already gone to all the trouble of raising these guys. It’d be a shame to let all that hard work go to waste. If these two are as powerful as you say they are, and we can have total control over them? It’s back to the batcave, kiddies. We’re going to find that talisman.”
+++
“You’re the last person I need to remind me of my sacred duty, Spike.” Buffy bit her lip as she clenched the phone in the dingy work office more tightly. The sternly lecturing voice in her head that always seemed to remind, he’s a vampire, at the most inopportune moments had chosen to make itself known, prompting that last comment. But lately, a more gentle voice had been fast on the heels of the first. It wasn’t hers. It was his. You make me feel like a man. And it was growing more insistent day by day.
“Right. Got it. I’ll just be off then.” Spike’s last frustrated huff of air came just as he hung up, and Buffy failed to hear the telltale click of the receiver.
“Spike, wait. It’s not…” she sighed heavily. “It’s not about you. I just have other responsibilities. Grown up responsibilities.” She continued in a soft whisper, “You showed me that last night.” She waited a full ten seconds for his answer before impatience got the best of her. “Spike? Spike?” Buffy frowned and placed the phone back on the cradle.
He hung up on me. Spike hung up on me. When I was actually telling him something nice. Like that’s ever gonna happen again. Buffy felt a pinch of something akin to guilt at that telltale flippant thought. This morning coming in for work, she’d watched Mrs. Weathers’ husband drop her off. They drove a dingy little car, and Buffy had heard the woman mention before that her husband was a disabled veteran. The lawyer they’d trusted their savings to had made off with their nest egg and vanished for parts unknown.
Mrs. Weathers worked at the Doublemeat to supplement their income and cared for her injured husband and dying mother each night. Typical low-wage employment sob story, really. But what had really bothered Buffy about the whole scenario was that as tired as the old woman was, as many times as she zoned out by the fry cooker, or watched the counter with glazed eyes…each day when she got out of old man Weathers’ car, he kissed her goodbye, and she smiled. Buffy would see them talking, whispering little things to each other, and they always both smiled. “That’s what kindness is like,” she’d thought this morning as she watched the scene. “It gives you the strength to do things like this and still smile.” The thought that followed was far more serious, and far more terrifying in its implications.
That’s what Spike does for me.
I Can't Get Behind That
+~+~+~+~+
Everyone knows everything about all of us.
That's too much knowledge!
I can't get behind that.
+~+~+~+~+
“Move it a little to the left.”
“Like that?”
“Yea… no… Ow! Would you stop hitting me with that thing?”
Johnathon rubbed his head fiercely as Andrew moved the flashlight toward another dark crevice. The sounds of slow-dripping water and the cold smell of ash surrounded them. Warren rolled his eyes. “The two of you are standing thirty feet from the most powerful portal to hell that exists in this dimension. So could you please, just once, get your frelling acts together?” He walked away from them, intent on scouring a cavern some distance away.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it,” Johnathon breathed as he slipped the talisman deep into a pants pocket.
“No,” came a dark voice from the far end of the tunnel. “We’ve got you.”
+++
“So, Buffy. What’s the what? Evil Dead here wouldn’t let on until you got here,” Xander spoke from his seat on the far side of the Magic Box.
“Right.” Spike’s voice was solemn and slow as he turned the chair he was straddling toward Xander. “I’m sorry I didn’t share. See, thing is,” he squinted, “I don’t like you.”
“Spike,” Buffy said sharply. She felt a twinge of regret when he turned hurt eyes on her. Great way to a new start, Buffy. Treat him like a child. Buffy’s more annoyed voice piped up… Not like it’d be necessary if just once he’d stop acting like one. Stupid vampire. She brushed the thoughts away and addressed Willow, Xander, Anya and Spike. “I asked Tara to keep Dawn till we’re finished here. Spike’s got some info on a new evil or something.”
Buffy walked to the table to stand nonchalantly by his side. Spike ignored her. He filled everyone in on the tip he’d gotten and the demons he’d found.
“Wait a minute…”
“Hold up…”
Buffy and Willow spoke simultaneously. Buffy continued, “You said he called her Debbie?”
Spike finally looked up into her face. “Yeah. What of it?”
Buffy and Willow’s eyes met. “But… they’re dead,” Willow squeaked.
“Or they were,” she added. “Only one way to know for sure. Spike, do you think you could identify these two if you saw them?”
His brow furrowed. “Sure. Not likely to forget that kind of ass-kicking.”
“But you have so many to choose from,” Xander tossed out.
Spike’s jaw tightened. On impulse, Buffy inched closer to him and subtly brushed an unseen hand against his shoulder blade in support. If anything, his tension grew. She took a step back.
“Yearbook,” Xander suddenly said.
Spike glanced over. “And thank you, Mr. Non Sequitur.”
“If that’s some kind of gay joke thing…”
“You’ve got a problem with implied gayness?” Willow narrowed her eyes and stared at Xander.
“Oh, for the love of monkeys,” Anya shouted. “Stop wasting time casting irreverent, and fairly impotent, aspersions at each other. Some of us still have inventory to do tonight.”
“Anya’s… right,” Buffy said awkwardly. “We should all be together on this.” Her eyes drifted to the black duster in front of her before making their way back to the others.
Xander spoke again. “What I mean is, Debbie and Pete’s pictures. They’d be in our high school yearbook. If we find those, then the Bleached Wonder can give the pictures the once over, and we’ll know for sure.”
“Right. So anybody got one handy?” Buffy asked.
Xander answered, “I think mine’s in the car. Some stuff fell out while I was moving. It’s probably still there.”
“Keys?” she asked. Xander tossed them to her. “Spike and I will go look for it. The rest of you stay here and look for dead-raising demon stuff. Or… whatever.” Buffy turned on her heel and walked out of the Magic Box. Spike slowly followed.
Instead of heading for Xander’s car, Buffy made a short turn and traveled down a dark alley a few blocks away. As Spike rounded the corner, Buffy spun on him.
“Spike, what the hell is your problem?”
“You really don’t want to know.” He sighed and looked away.
“Of course,” Buffy nodded. “Cause that’s why I asked you, you big jerk.”
“You only ever hear what you want to hear, pet. No point in chatting up stone.”
Buffy winced, but she pressed forward. One step closer, then two. Spike reached in his pocket as if going for his cigarettes. Then he seemed to give up. He dropped his hands and leaned back against the alley wall. “We should just head back.” The tightness in his voice and face belied his words. “Look, this isn’t going anywhere, Slayer. We both know it.”
Does he mean us talking? Or just us in general? Buffy’s heart sank in her chest, even as her anger at the implied rejection grew. “Spike, just shut up.” She took the final step toward him, lacing her hands in the lapels of his jacket as she pressed soft lips against his. His lips were cool and dry, and he made no move to kiss her back.
Buffy looked up into unrelenting grey eyes. “Spike?” she whispered.
Slowly, she drew her face to his again, searching for some kind of reaction. If she was just gentle with him, if she let things be softer this time… maybe something could change. She kissed him again. She felt no telltale hardening of certain parts of his body. No barely caged passion. He just stood and let her kiss him as he watched.
He continued staring when she pulled away. After seconds passed between them, he spoke in a soft, haggard voice. “What are you playing at, Buffy?”
She turned her face down toward his shirt while her fingers idly rubbed his duster. “Nothing. Nothing. I just thought… what I wanted was…”
It seemed for a moment his body grew even colder beneath her. In the next heartbeat, he was on her, spinning her around so her back slammed against the crusted brick wall, hands under her arms as he lifted her to straddle him. He caught her in a bone-crushing kiss, and Buffy lost her breath when his tongue forced its way to hers. The denim seam of his jeans rubbed tightly against her own, warming and wetting her as she felt his firm friction in just the right place. She could get him hard after all. One of his hands slipped under her shirt to roughly grab her breast, dragging the lace fabric of her bra against her nipple. Buffy gasped and moaned, then realized he was speaking to her, low and angry.
“That’s the ticket, isn’t it? Know what you want. What you need.” He thrust hard against her, lowering his head to lick her throat, moaning when she scratched her nails across his chest. “It’s always about what you want. From me. This is all you’ll ever…”
The words snapped her back. This isn’t right. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be this time. Not in a dirty alley. Not like this. Not again. Buffy kissed his cheek softly, working her way across his face to lick a small trail below his ear. If anything, the tenderness only wrought a fiercer reaction. Spike growled, biting down hard at the juncture between her shoulder and her neck. His human teeth gripped her, and despite her efforts to slow this, she felt her clit tingling and her abdomen clenching in a shadow of impending release.
Spike seemed to notice, slowing only to pop open the top button of his jeans. His rigid words didn’t stop. “Want me to take you like this? That it?” Buffy tried to bring a delicate hand to his face, but he shook her off. A part of her wanted to stop this entirely, before they went too far, but he knew her weaknesses too well. He nipped at the lobe of her ear and whispered into it huskily. “Want me to make you scream?”
Buffy whimpered with heat, then froze when Xander’s voice in the distance landed on her like water. “Buffy? Spike? Where’d you two go?”
Spike’s tempo never faltered. “Spike,” Buffy tried. “Spike, we have to stop. Xander’s coming.”
“Not before you do, kitten. Cause you don’t want to stop, do you, Slayer?” He brushed her shirt up, pulled her bra down, and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Buffy fought to stifle her moan while he suckled her, still pumping himself against her.
This was wrong. And bad. And… there. Right there. Yes. And Xander could find them at any second, and she had to stop… she had to…
“Come,” Spike breathed hotly into her ear.
Buffy felt the spasms rack her before she’d realized her body was obeying. Her thighs tightened against him fiercely, squeezing him to stillness while she ground out her orgasm against him.
Xander’s voice was growing closer, and Buffy knew she should pull herself away even as her head dropped to rest against Spike’s shoulder while they panted together.
“Liked that, did you?” Spike said. Buffy nodded against him. “Good.” He moved his hand down to his zipper. “Now it’s my turn.”
Xander’s steps were closer now, and so very real. Buffy grabbed Spike’s hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
“May not be a bright bint, but I’d think you’d be able to suss that much.” The grating of the zipper being lowered was deafening in her ears. She pulled his hand away roughly and stared hard into his face. “Spike, not now.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed to coal slits as he zipped himself back up. He nodded once. Xander’s voice again. He’d be there any minute. Spike set her down on her feet, rubbing himself sensuously against her one more time before leaning in for a velvet whisper. “If that’s how you think this bit goes, Buffy, you’ve still got a thing or two to learn about being a good little whore.”
Blindly, Buffy struck hard, and Spike fell back against the opposite wall. “You bastard,” she muttered. She saw the conflict on his face as he wiped the blood from his nose and Xander rounded the corner.
“Hey guys, I was looking all over for you. Anya found the book in the shop.” Xander waved the book in front of him before taking in Buffy’s rumpled clothes and Spike’s bleeding face. “So…What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Spike said as he shouldered past the brunette, leaving an empty-feeling Buffy behind him. “Nothing new, anyway,” he tossed back as he bitterly walked away.
Everyone knows everything about all of us.
That's too much knowledge!
I can't get behind that.
+~+~+~+~+
“Move it a little to the left.”
“Like that?”
“Yea… no… Ow! Would you stop hitting me with that thing?”
Johnathon rubbed his head fiercely as Andrew moved the flashlight toward another dark crevice. The sounds of slow-dripping water and the cold smell of ash surrounded them. Warren rolled his eyes. “The two of you are standing thirty feet from the most powerful portal to hell that exists in this dimension. So could you please, just once, get your frelling acts together?” He walked away from them, intent on scouring a cavern some distance away.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it,” Johnathon breathed as he slipped the talisman deep into a pants pocket.
“No,” came a dark voice from the far end of the tunnel. “We’ve got you.”
+++
“So, Buffy. What’s the what? Evil Dead here wouldn’t let on until you got here,” Xander spoke from his seat on the far side of the Magic Box.
“Right.” Spike’s voice was solemn and slow as he turned the chair he was straddling toward Xander. “I’m sorry I didn’t share. See, thing is,” he squinted, “I don’t like you.”
“Spike,” Buffy said sharply. She felt a twinge of regret when he turned hurt eyes on her. Great way to a new start, Buffy. Treat him like a child. Buffy’s more annoyed voice piped up… Not like it’d be necessary if just once he’d stop acting like one. Stupid vampire. She brushed the thoughts away and addressed Willow, Xander, Anya and Spike. “I asked Tara to keep Dawn till we’re finished here. Spike’s got some info on a new evil or something.”
Buffy walked to the table to stand nonchalantly by his side. Spike ignored her. He filled everyone in on the tip he’d gotten and the demons he’d found.
“Wait a minute…”
“Hold up…”
Buffy and Willow spoke simultaneously. Buffy continued, “You said he called her Debbie?”
Spike finally looked up into her face. “Yeah. What of it?”
Buffy and Willow’s eyes met. “But… they’re dead,” Willow squeaked.
“Or they were,” she added. “Only one way to know for sure. Spike, do you think you could identify these two if you saw them?”
His brow furrowed. “Sure. Not likely to forget that kind of ass-kicking.”
“But you have so many to choose from,” Xander tossed out.
Spike’s jaw tightened. On impulse, Buffy inched closer to him and subtly brushed an unseen hand against his shoulder blade in support. If anything, his tension grew. She took a step back.
“Yearbook,” Xander suddenly said.
Spike glanced over. “And thank you, Mr. Non Sequitur.”
“If that’s some kind of gay joke thing…”
“You’ve got a problem with implied gayness?” Willow narrowed her eyes and stared at Xander.
“Oh, for the love of monkeys,” Anya shouted. “Stop wasting time casting irreverent, and fairly impotent, aspersions at each other. Some of us still have inventory to do tonight.”
“Anya’s… right,” Buffy said awkwardly. “We should all be together on this.” Her eyes drifted to the black duster in front of her before making their way back to the others.
Xander spoke again. “What I mean is, Debbie and Pete’s pictures. They’d be in our high school yearbook. If we find those, then the Bleached Wonder can give the pictures the once over, and we’ll know for sure.”
“Right. So anybody got one handy?” Buffy asked.
Xander answered, “I think mine’s in the car. Some stuff fell out while I was moving. It’s probably still there.”
“Keys?” she asked. Xander tossed them to her. “Spike and I will go look for it. The rest of you stay here and look for dead-raising demon stuff. Or… whatever.” Buffy turned on her heel and walked out of the Magic Box. Spike slowly followed.
Instead of heading for Xander’s car, Buffy made a short turn and traveled down a dark alley a few blocks away. As Spike rounded the corner, Buffy spun on him.
“Spike, what the hell is your problem?”
“You really don’t want to know.” He sighed and looked away.
“Of course,” Buffy nodded. “Cause that’s why I asked you, you big jerk.”
“You only ever hear what you want to hear, pet. No point in chatting up stone.”
Buffy winced, but she pressed forward. One step closer, then two. Spike reached in his pocket as if going for his cigarettes. Then he seemed to give up. He dropped his hands and leaned back against the alley wall. “We should just head back.” The tightness in his voice and face belied his words. “Look, this isn’t going anywhere, Slayer. We both know it.”
Does he mean us talking? Or just us in general? Buffy’s heart sank in her chest, even as her anger at the implied rejection grew. “Spike, just shut up.” She took the final step toward him, lacing her hands in the lapels of his jacket as she pressed soft lips against his. His lips were cool and dry, and he made no move to kiss her back.
Buffy looked up into unrelenting grey eyes. “Spike?” she whispered.
Slowly, she drew her face to his again, searching for some kind of reaction. If she was just gentle with him, if she let things be softer this time… maybe something could change. She kissed him again. She felt no telltale hardening of certain parts of his body. No barely caged passion. He just stood and let her kiss him as he watched.
He continued staring when she pulled away. After seconds passed between them, he spoke in a soft, haggard voice. “What are you playing at, Buffy?”
She turned her face down toward his shirt while her fingers idly rubbed his duster. “Nothing. Nothing. I just thought… what I wanted was…”
It seemed for a moment his body grew even colder beneath her. In the next heartbeat, he was on her, spinning her around so her back slammed against the crusted brick wall, hands under her arms as he lifted her to straddle him. He caught her in a bone-crushing kiss, and Buffy lost her breath when his tongue forced its way to hers. The denim seam of his jeans rubbed tightly against her own, warming and wetting her as she felt his firm friction in just the right place. She could get him hard after all. One of his hands slipped under her shirt to roughly grab her breast, dragging the lace fabric of her bra against her nipple. Buffy gasped and moaned, then realized he was speaking to her, low and angry.
“That’s the ticket, isn’t it? Know what you want. What you need.” He thrust hard against her, lowering his head to lick her throat, moaning when she scratched her nails across his chest. “It’s always about what you want. From me. This is all you’ll ever…”
The words snapped her back. This isn’t right. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be this time. Not in a dirty alley. Not like this. Not again. Buffy kissed his cheek softly, working her way across his face to lick a small trail below his ear. If anything, the tenderness only wrought a fiercer reaction. Spike growled, biting down hard at the juncture between her shoulder and her neck. His human teeth gripped her, and despite her efforts to slow this, she felt her clit tingling and her abdomen clenching in a shadow of impending release.
Spike seemed to notice, slowing only to pop open the top button of his jeans. His rigid words didn’t stop. “Want me to take you like this? That it?” Buffy tried to bring a delicate hand to his face, but he shook her off. A part of her wanted to stop this entirely, before they went too far, but he knew her weaknesses too well. He nipped at the lobe of her ear and whispered into it huskily. “Want me to make you scream?”
Buffy whimpered with heat, then froze when Xander’s voice in the distance landed on her like water. “Buffy? Spike? Where’d you two go?”
Spike’s tempo never faltered. “Spike,” Buffy tried. “Spike, we have to stop. Xander’s coming.”
“Not before you do, kitten. Cause you don’t want to stop, do you, Slayer?” He brushed her shirt up, pulled her bra down, and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Buffy fought to stifle her moan while he suckled her, still pumping himself against her.
This was wrong. And bad. And… there. Right there. Yes. And Xander could find them at any second, and she had to stop… she had to…
“Come,” Spike breathed hotly into her ear.
Buffy felt the spasms rack her before she’d realized her body was obeying. Her thighs tightened against him fiercely, squeezing him to stillness while she ground out her orgasm against him.
Xander’s voice was growing closer, and Buffy knew she should pull herself away even as her head dropped to rest against Spike’s shoulder while they panted together.
“Liked that, did you?” Spike said. Buffy nodded against him. “Good.” He moved his hand down to his zipper. “Now it’s my turn.”
Xander’s steps were closer now, and so very real. Buffy grabbed Spike’s hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
“May not be a bright bint, but I’d think you’d be able to suss that much.” The grating of the zipper being lowered was deafening in her ears. She pulled his hand away roughly and stared hard into his face. “Spike, not now.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed to coal slits as he zipped himself back up. He nodded once. Xander’s voice again. He’d be there any minute. Spike set her down on her feet, rubbing himself sensuously against her one more time before leaning in for a velvet whisper. “If that’s how you think this bit goes, Buffy, you’ve still got a thing or two to learn about being a good little whore.”
Blindly, Buffy struck hard, and Spike fell back against the opposite wall. “You bastard,” she muttered. She saw the conflict on his face as he wiped the blood from his nose and Xander rounded the corner.
“Hey guys, I was looking all over for you. Anya found the book in the shop.” Xander waved the book in front of him before taking in Buffy’s rumpled clothes and Spike’s bleeding face. “So…What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Spike said as he shouldered past the brunette, leaving an empty-feeling Buffy behind him. “Nothing new, anyway,” he tossed back as he bitterly walked away.
Has Been
A/N: So... I've had this entire story finished for the last four years. And apparently never updated it here. I'm sure I updated it SOMEWHERE when I finished it, but I fell off the grid for a while under a swamp of work and totally forgot about it. Now that I’m back on the interwebs, I decided to look it up… and the incomplete version’s the only one I found out there. The problem is, the completed version on my hard drive didn’t have the old chapter titles on it. So I’m running on admittedly bad memory there for those. Bottom line is, if I did post this before, and if you’ve read the whole thing, and you’re re-reading it now, and you notice differences, then… um… my bad. And I wish I had a prize for ya or something. Cause you totally deserve it. So... yeah. Here's the (dare I hope--long-awaited?) continuation of Paper Promise.
-~-~-~
What are you afraid of?
Failure?
So am I
Has been implies failure
Not so
Has been is history
Has been was
Has been...
might again
The bells above the Magic Box door jingled as Spike stepped back into its muted glow. He was certain Buffy was behind him, plying the whelp with excuses and explanations for their absence and rough looks. He was trying very hard not to care.
Bugger. Hurt her with that last bit, no question. Well, so what? She got hers, didn’t she? And I’m not feeling guilty. ‘m not. Evil demon. Not like she hasn’t beaten that lesson home time and again. Can’t be a man. Can’t change. And even if I did, she can’t see it. No soul to pin the promise on, right? Spike tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the counter with studied insolence.
But for a second there, her little lips got so soft. Before I brought her off, and before the bloody whore comment. When she first kissed me, she almost seemed to be there with me. I could barely move with the terror and hope that maybe… No. It’s not about us. Never is. She made that crystal as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Always about what she wants. Numb the pain, take her away. She wants it hard, wants the devil, so let her have him.
Still, Spike couldn’t quite turn to face Buffy as she and Xander entered the shop. Her stride was calm, and he made a concentrated effort to pay no mind to the scent of arousal that lingered on her skin as she neared him by the counter. He stared at the floor, and suddenly a little laminate booklet was thrust under his gaze, pages open to the demon couple he’d tussled with, all decked out in over-bright high school kit.
“Is that them?” Buffy’s voice was in full-out Slayer mode, no trace of their earlier tryst coloring it.
Spike nodded. “Yeah, looks like.” He worked the nerve to dare a glance at her and saw a strange mix of anger, confusion, and shame as her gaze traced upward, over his cut and swollen face.
“Ok,” Buffy breathed, and for the briefest of seconds, their eyes caught and held.
It seemed a century’s breadth of emotions passed between them, but one stood firm, traipsing over the others with a leaden foot in Spike’s mind. I’m no good for her this way.
The instant splintered when Buffy’s clear voice addressed the others. “Looks like the demonic duo is our very own Debbie and Pete.”
“Great,” Anya said. “I’m so glad we’ve established that. That makes everything so very clear. Except for those of us who have absolutely no clue who in the name of Granthar the three of you have been talking about.”
“Point there, pet,” Spike added to Buffy. “What’s the story on these two?”
“Debbie and Pete were… we knew them in high school,” Buffy began. “They were kind of the uber-couple at the time. We all thought they were super-happy. Then one day we realize Pete’s got a Jeckyl-Hyde complex of the massive variety, and he’s taking out the full force of his crazy on love-struck Debbie.”
Willow piped up. “Who, despite some very stern warnings on the dangers of date-related violence, went back to him.”
Buffy’s fingers twitched nervously at her side. “He went damage-bound at the old high school, and I tried to save her, but… I got there too late. He killed her.”
“And the boy?” Spike asked.
“He got killed too.”
“Angel went all primeval on him to protect you, right Buffy?” Willow offered.
Spike’s jaw clenched, and Buffy brushed her hands nervously against her legs. “That part’s really not important right now,” she said quickly. “What we really need to focus on is, how do we find them?”
“Well, that’s easy enough,” Xander said. He crossed the room and leaned casually against a corner. “Wouldn’t they go home? I mean, Pete was nuts over her, right? I figure he takes the first chance he gets to go all ‘Me Caveman’ and drags her back to his lair.”
Buffy nodded. “That sounds good. Willow, do you think you could…”
“No,” Willow said, eyes hesitantly rising from the table to the confused looks of the others around the room. “What I mean is, he’s not going to take her to his old house. I don’t think. If we want to find them, we need to start at the beginning. At the Hellmouth.”
Buffy took a step forward. “Will, how do you know?”
Willow’s face pinched as she nervously clasped her hands together and stared down at her shifting fingers. “I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t really know. You know?” Her voice quivered. “It’s just… in the end, Pete lost control. It… it wasn’t about Debbie anymore. It wasn’t really about people at all.” She paused, and her next sentence fell in painfully soft tones from her lips. “Now it’s about the power.”
+++
“It’s all about the power, gentleman,” Warren spoke, heedless that Andrew and Jonathan were no longer near enough to hear him.
“You’re right. It is.”
Pete’s hand gripped Warren’s throat from behind as Debbie helped drag him through the caves back to the center clearing of the old library. Warren’s eyes bulged as he caught sight of Andrew and Jonathan, lying bound and gagged in a corner of the room. As Debbie untangled a length of coarse rope and Pete held him down, Warren bargained.
“Hey, let’s not be hasty here, ok?” His pitch grew higher and he winced as one of the knots cut into his wrist. “I mean, you want things, we want things… I know we can work something out. Just… just hold on a minute.” His volume raised as Debbie tightened a loop around his ankles. “The three of us,” Warren tilted his chin to indicate his incapacitated minions, “We’ve got power to do things. Lots of things. Like magic!” he added with a nervous laugh. “We can help you. We can…” Pete pulled a handkerchief from the floor and brought the grimy, rolled fabric toward Warren’s mouth. “Wait wait wait!” Pete paused. “We can turn you back,” Warren said desperately.
“Tell him.” Pete nudged Debbie with a hard elbow.
“Pete and I’ve been around town. You can learn a lot from one day in Sunnydale,” Debbie said with a slow smile. “At least, when you kill enough things. And we decided we don’t want to be turned back.”
“Fine, fine,” Warren uttered. “Whatever you want. You just let me know, and we’ll do it.”
“That,” Debbie said, pointing toward the center of the room.
“The Hellmouth?” Warren squeaked as he followed her finger to the blackened library floor. “What about it?”
Pete leaned over, his whisper a cold black snake in Warren’s ear. “I want you to open it.”
-~-~-~
What are you afraid of?
Failure?
So am I
Has been implies failure
Not so
Has been is history
Has been was
Has been...
might again
The bells above the Magic Box door jingled as Spike stepped back into its muted glow. He was certain Buffy was behind him, plying the whelp with excuses and explanations for their absence and rough looks. He was trying very hard not to care.
Bugger. Hurt her with that last bit, no question. Well, so what? She got hers, didn’t she? And I’m not feeling guilty. ‘m not. Evil demon. Not like she hasn’t beaten that lesson home time and again. Can’t be a man. Can’t change. And even if I did, she can’t see it. No soul to pin the promise on, right? Spike tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the counter with studied insolence.
But for a second there, her little lips got so soft. Before I brought her off, and before the bloody whore comment. When she first kissed me, she almost seemed to be there with me. I could barely move with the terror and hope that maybe… No. It’s not about us. Never is. She made that crystal as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Always about what she wants. Numb the pain, take her away. She wants it hard, wants the devil, so let her have him.
Still, Spike couldn’t quite turn to face Buffy as she and Xander entered the shop. Her stride was calm, and he made a concentrated effort to pay no mind to the scent of arousal that lingered on her skin as she neared him by the counter. He stared at the floor, and suddenly a little laminate booklet was thrust under his gaze, pages open to the demon couple he’d tussled with, all decked out in over-bright high school kit.
“Is that them?” Buffy’s voice was in full-out Slayer mode, no trace of their earlier tryst coloring it.
Spike nodded. “Yeah, looks like.” He worked the nerve to dare a glance at her and saw a strange mix of anger, confusion, and shame as her gaze traced upward, over his cut and swollen face.
“Ok,” Buffy breathed, and for the briefest of seconds, their eyes caught and held.
It seemed a century’s breadth of emotions passed between them, but one stood firm, traipsing over the others with a leaden foot in Spike’s mind. I’m no good for her this way.
The instant splintered when Buffy’s clear voice addressed the others. “Looks like the demonic duo is our very own Debbie and Pete.”
“Great,” Anya said. “I’m so glad we’ve established that. That makes everything so very clear. Except for those of us who have absolutely no clue who in the name of Granthar the three of you have been talking about.”
“Point there, pet,” Spike added to Buffy. “What’s the story on these two?”
“Debbie and Pete were… we knew them in high school,” Buffy began. “They were kind of the uber-couple at the time. We all thought they were super-happy. Then one day we realize Pete’s got a Jeckyl-Hyde complex of the massive variety, and he’s taking out the full force of his crazy on love-struck Debbie.”
Willow piped up. “Who, despite some very stern warnings on the dangers of date-related violence, went back to him.”
Buffy’s fingers twitched nervously at her side. “He went damage-bound at the old high school, and I tried to save her, but… I got there too late. He killed her.”
“And the boy?” Spike asked.
“He got killed too.”
“Angel went all primeval on him to protect you, right Buffy?” Willow offered.
Spike’s jaw clenched, and Buffy brushed her hands nervously against her legs. “That part’s really not important right now,” she said quickly. “What we really need to focus on is, how do we find them?”
“Well, that’s easy enough,” Xander said. He crossed the room and leaned casually against a corner. “Wouldn’t they go home? I mean, Pete was nuts over her, right? I figure he takes the first chance he gets to go all ‘Me Caveman’ and drags her back to his lair.”
Buffy nodded. “That sounds good. Willow, do you think you could…”
“No,” Willow said, eyes hesitantly rising from the table to the confused looks of the others around the room. “What I mean is, he’s not going to take her to his old house. I don’t think. If we want to find them, we need to start at the beginning. At the Hellmouth.”
Buffy took a step forward. “Will, how do you know?”
Willow’s face pinched as she nervously clasped her hands together and stared down at her shifting fingers. “I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t really know. You know?” Her voice quivered. “It’s just… in the end, Pete lost control. It… it wasn’t about Debbie anymore. It wasn’t really about people at all.” She paused, and her next sentence fell in painfully soft tones from her lips. “Now it’s about the power.”
+++
“It’s all about the power, gentleman,” Warren spoke, heedless that Andrew and Jonathan were no longer near enough to hear him.
“You’re right. It is.”
Pete’s hand gripped Warren’s throat from behind as Debbie helped drag him through the caves back to the center clearing of the old library. Warren’s eyes bulged as he caught sight of Andrew and Jonathan, lying bound and gagged in a corner of the room. As Debbie untangled a length of coarse rope and Pete held him down, Warren bargained.
“Hey, let’s not be hasty here, ok?” His pitch grew higher and he winced as one of the knots cut into his wrist. “I mean, you want things, we want things… I know we can work something out. Just… just hold on a minute.” His volume raised as Debbie tightened a loop around his ankles. “The three of us,” Warren tilted his chin to indicate his incapacitated minions, “We’ve got power to do things. Lots of things. Like magic!” he added with a nervous laugh. “We can help you. We can…” Pete pulled a handkerchief from the floor and brought the grimy, rolled fabric toward Warren’s mouth. “Wait wait wait!” Pete paused. “We can turn you back,” Warren said desperately.
“Tell him.” Pete nudged Debbie with a hard elbow.
“Pete and I’ve been around town. You can learn a lot from one day in Sunnydale,” Debbie said with a slow smile. “At least, when you kill enough things. And we decided we don’t want to be turned back.”
“Fine, fine,” Warren uttered. “Whatever you want. You just let me know, and we’ll do it.”
“That,” Debbie said, pointing toward the center of the room.
“The Hellmouth?” Warren squeaked as he followed her finger to the blackened library floor. “What about it?”
Pete leaned over, his whisper a cold black snake in Warren’s ear. “I want you to open it.”
Real
And I wish I knew the things you think I do
I would change this world for sure
But I eat and sleep and breathe and bleed and feel
Sorry to disappoint you
But I'm real
The moment Debbie and Pete stepped outside of earshot, Jonathan and Andrew spit out their gags.
“What the frell do you think you’re doing?” Jonathan’s voice was a panicked whine.
“He’s got a point.” Andrew continued quickly at Warren’s dark look. “I mean, not that I’m questioning your leaderly judgment or anything. But the whole opening the Hellmouth while we’re less than thirty feet away could lead to badness of Jar Jar Binks proportions.”
“You idiot,” Jonathan hissed as he wiggled his body back to look at Andrew. “He can’t open the Hellmouth. Even all of us working together wouldn’t have that kind of juice.”
“Short Round’s right,” Warren muttered.
“You see,” Andrew crowed. “I told you he… wait. What?”
“He’s right,” Warren said. “There’s no way any of us could magic open the Hellmouth, even assuming we knew where to start. What we’ve got to do is figure a way out of this. Some kind of distraction.”
“You mean like the time MacGyver used the coat string and chewing gum wrapper to…”
“Would you just shut up?” Warren’s angry voice flooded back to them, reflected by the cold stone and sobering the group.
The sounds of Debbie and Pete arguing loudly in the distance continued un-phased, save that Pete’s heavy slaps were falling more often and more fiercely than they had an hour ago.
“How can we distract them?” Jonathan ventured. “We can’t even use our hands.”
“If we were opening the Hellmouth we could,” Andrew returned.
“Don’t you ever give up?” Jonathan shook his head. “We’ve been through this already. We can’t open the Hellmouth.”
“No, we can’t.” Warren’s eyes took on the dark gleam that often made the back of Jonathan’s neck feel itchy and damp. “But they don’t know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, boys, that sometimes seeing is believing. Call them over here, Small Fry. It’s time to put on a show.”
+++
“I mean it, Willow. Show me one good reason why they should be all dark and broody behind us.”
“Xander,” Willow sighed as they set out on their trek to the Hellmouth, “Maybe they just have some important stuff to talk about. You know. Like Slayer-Vampirey stuff. No big.”
“I’m not buying it. Something’s not right there.”
Willow glanced back at Buffy and Spike, following and glaring quickly at each other in the brief moments when they thought they wouldn’t be caught. “Ok, so they’re a little extra bad moody at the moment. But we’ve all been a little more… on edge lately. Why do you think something’s different?”
“You’re right. Forget I said anything. It’s probably nothing. It doesn’t even make sense.” Xander ran frustrated fingers through his hair. “It’s just with ‘Debbie and Pete Reloaded’ and the whole new realm of wackiness… It’s nothing. You’re right. I’m just imagining things.”
Now he had Willow’s attention. “Xander, do you know something?”
“No, that’s the problem.” His chocolate eyes searched her for a reason to say more. “It’s just, have Buffy and Spike seemed weird together lately? I mean, aside from the whole ‘I hate you and want you dead and dusted’ vibes.”
“Well, Buffy just got back from Heaven, and she’s still got a lot to wor…”
“I’m not talking about their own stuff. I’m talking about them stuff. Buffy. And Spike. In a ‘there’s something not quite right there’ way. The way they look at each other, the way they act around each other. Right now they’re walking ten feet behind us, side by side, just so they can play evil eyeball tag. And it’s not just tonight. It’s been there for a while.”
“You think they’re fighting or something? In some kind of personal way?” Willows lips tripped awkwardly over the word ‘personal.’
“I don’t know what to think. Just stand under the tree for a minute while I go out on a really narrow limb here, ok?” Xander glanced nervously at his best friend. “You remember how Spike looked the night of Buffy’s birthday party, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, Anya wound up demanding he walk us home that night so she could feel safer.” Willow started to open her mouth, and Xander cut her off. “Don’t. I know. It was a moment of total emasculation. I feel particularly heroic to think I’ve put it behind me. Anyway, I finally asked him how he got the bruises. You know what he said?”
Willow stared, waiting him out.
“He fell,” Xander said simply.
“Well, ok…” Willow prompted. “So, he fell.”
“No, you don’t get it. He was all awkward and uncomfortable, and Willow, I swear he looked scared. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. And I know from first hand experience there’s a lot of mean grass out there, but there’s no way he got those bruises from just falling down.”
“So he got beat up and lied about it to save face. What does that have to do with Buffy?”
“Nothing,” Xander said, too quickly. “I mean, that’d be crazy talk, right? Sticking far to the right side of crazy field here. But tonight, in the alley, when I walked up on them, I could swear she’d just popped him.”
“That’s how he hurt his nose?”
“I wasn’t there. It just… They wouldn’t even look at me. And right before we left the Magic Box, I asked him what really happened in the alley. He told me to keep out of it.”
“Ok, so maybe he got fresh with Buffy or something, and she’s so never going down that road, so she had to put him in his place?”
“But then why did she go off with him to the alley in the first place instead of just going to the car? And if he’s been after her, why wouldn’t she tell us about it? Why wouldn’t she just stake him? Why would she be hitting him?”
“Hey there, Mr. KGB. I think we need to take a time-out before we throw our best friend in the gulag, right? Buffy’s been through a lot. She was pulled out of Heaven. We can’t know how that would affect a person. We can’t know how she’s dealing with it. And it’s our fault. It’s me. It’s my fault. So excuse me if I can’t judge her if she gets a little rough with the vampire who shoved a broken bottle in my face.” Willow let out a deep, huffing breath.
“Harsh, Willow. I’m backing away. Look, I’ve put down my judgey gavel and left the bench. You’re right. Ok? And I’m the last one to say Spike doesn’t deserve a good beating. You know how I feel about the peroxided blood-sucker.” Xander’s eyes were drawn to the pavement moving beneath his feet. “But that night,” he said in a lowered tone. “That night after the party. There was just something in his face. It reminded me.”
“Of what?”
“Of my mom.”
Willow’s eyes widened, and she uncertainly spoke. “But, it’s Buffy,” she said, encompassing as much feeling as possible in those three soft words.
Xander shook his head. “I know, Will. And I know she’s different. But say, for one second, we jump out of the ‘this would never happen’ patch and pretend that it’s true. I’m not saying I care about Spike. Cause… hey, that’s never gonna happen. But, it’s not good for her either. To hurt him just cause he’s evil. To do stuff to him just because he can’t feel. Willow, if you ever tell anyone this, I swear I’ll deny it till my dying day. But sometimes I think, if Spike had a soul, I’d almost feel sorry for the guy.”
+++
“So what do you think they’re whispering about up there?” Buffy finally broke the silence that had grown to ear-splitting proportions in the mere minutes since they’d stepped outside the Magic Box door.
Spike’s fists were clenched tightly inside his duster, every line of his body a rigid testament to a lightning storm within. His words, when spoken, were possibly the coldest she’d ever heard him. A simple, brittle, “You don’t want to know.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Buffy couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
Spike turned a fierce head to her. “What, exactly, my little Slayer, do you think it is that I’m doing to you? Slathering you in my evil ways by walking silently beside you? Single-handedly destroying your broken little life by helping you fight little bads night after night? By watching your back? By watching your sis? Or is it the constant affection you have at your beck and call, the comfort of a poorly whipped dog, that you take such an exception to? Because I know I’m damned, Slayer, but I’ll be damned to an even deeper hell if you can explain to me exactly which of the parts I play in your life make it such a sodding cross to bear to be with me.”
Buffy’s mouth gaped and her eyes widened painfully as she struggled with the verbal blow. He turned from her and stared ahead, jaw set in stone as he walked stiffly beside her. Ten steps, and Buffy could finally whisper an answer.
“You make me lose control. You make me stop caring.”
Spike’s steps hitched for a moment. When he turned to her, the lines around his eyes grew deeper, and his voice was velvet threat. “Did you ever think, Buffy, just for a moment, that might be your problem instead of mine?”
Buffy paused, and Spike took the opportunity to lengthen his stride and catch up to Willow and Xander. He didn’t look back.
+++
“So you guys can really pull this off?” Pete finished pulling the ropes off the last of the trio. Jonathan let out a small whimper when the rope roughly scratched his wrists. “Because I’m kind of looking forward to killing you if you can’t.”
Warren stepped forward. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get your Hellmouth open. We just need a clear space and a couple of minutes.”
“Two minutes,” Pete said, as he dragged Debbie back to the other side of the cave.
Warren watched him walk a good distance away before he turned. “Alright, boys. Jonathan’s on big raging Hellmouth-looking fire duty. Andrew handles summoning all the Hellmouthy demons, and I get the talisman back. In the commotion, they’ll never see it coming. Everybody ready?”
The small, skittish nods he received in response were a poor consolation, but Warren worked up what he personally considered to be a particularly evil smile. “Things are just about to get good.”
Ideal Woman
I want you to be you
Don't change
Because you think I'd like you to be different
I fell in love with you
“Great jumping jellyfish,” Xander whispered as the group looked down from a small ledge into the chaos below. Demons of assorted shapes and colors flounced, slid, and flopped from the green-tinged, flaming portal in the center of the former library while Jonathan and the other blondish, foppish nerd huddled in a corner, chanting and… fluting? Xander shook his head. That couldn’t be right. Debbie and Pete seemed unfazed by the commotion, intent on an argument he’d wager had been brewing far before their little unplanned trip to demonhood.
“Warren,” Xander heard Buffy whisper venomously. “I should’ve known he’d have something to do with this.”
“What’s the who?” Willow asked.
“Warren’s down there. Apparently sex slaves and invisibility games just tipped the iceberg with this guy. Geez, now he’s adding Hellmouth summoning to the list?”
Willow piped up. “It’s not the actual Hellmouth. Remember last time with the ick and the tentacles? Oh, right. You wouldn’t. Cause you weren’t there.” Xander looked up curiously. “But we told you about the ick and the tentacles. And Angel with the ‘argh’ and me with the ‘eep,’ and some old high school memories are really better left buried, aren’t they?” Willow dropped off with a nervous laugh at Xander and Buffy’s long stares, turning to survey the scene with nervous eyes. “It’s magic. A lot of it. Not enough to open the Hellmouth, but enough to make a whole big kablooey.” She finally pointed to the two nerds near the far wall. “Over there. We have to stop them to stop the demon portal.”
“What did I miss?” Anya’s voice broke the tension with a tenor slightly too brass for the small space.
“We’re demon-killing, sweetie.” Xander looked back as his girlfriend bounded up the tunnel toward them. “Glad to know closing up the shop takes priority over world-saveage.”
“Pish-tosh.” Anya waved an airy hand. “If I don’t balance the register before I leave, I’ll dream of little dollar bills with little mutated arms and legs chasing me down a road of uneven coinage. And I know you wouldn’t want that. Besides, it’s just two measly little demons.”
“Umm, Anya?” Willow’s voice cut in. “Really, not so much.”
Anya peered into the smoky hull of the building. “Oh, nuts.”
“Right,” Buffy said. “Willow and Xander, you’re backup. Keep the demons away from the two nerds, and kill as many as you can. Anya, you get to make them close their little glowy portal.”
“What? Why do I have to…?”
“Because I said so,” Buffy cut her off, but not without compassion. “And because Willow shouldn’t have to get so close to the magic.” Willow shot her a timid, grateful look. “Spike and I will take out the dangerous duo. Got it?” The slight shift in Spike’s muscles behind her was the only signal Buffy needed. Together, the small group leapt into the fray.
+++
“Buffy,” Pete’s lip curled in disgust around the word as the lithe blonde landed in front of him. “And… the vampire?” Spike’s lazy smirk split the space between them, its usual effect lost, as Pete had already turned to Debbie. “What the hell did you do? Lead them right to us?”
At that, Buffy stepped between the pair. “You know, this whole macho guy thing? So totally over-rated.” A hard uppercut to his jaw sent him spiraling toward a mass of stationary spiny demons to the left. Debbie moved to intercept Buffy’s next punch and found herself struggling against Spike’s firm grip.
“Let me go! I have to save him. You bastard,” she shrieked and wailed, finally jerking herself from Spike’s arms as he felt his right shoulder give.
“Sodding,” punch, “stupid,” kick, “bint,” Spike bit out with a final hard slap. “Just what’s it gonna take?” he said as he defended a flurry of spins and punches as Debbie regrouped and rounded on him. “You already let him kill you. Gonna let him do it again just for jollies? Losing your pride and all that made you human not enough for you?”
“You don’t know anything,” Debbie growled as she wiped a strand of stray blood from her lip.
“Know a thing or two about punishment, darling.” Spike’s last word fell hard as Debbie managed a fierce kick to his gut. “And I definitely know,” he took another swipe at her, “a glutton when I see one.”
+++
Willow struggled against some large purple demon that some recess of her mind had deemed “Slurpee,” while Xander fought against another that seemed mostly made of tails and teeth at her side. Anya stood beside them, staking random vampires if she could get a clean shot while the demons turned on each other, and occasionally hitting Slurpee with a stray piece of horn she’d garnered from one of the growing pile of dead surrounding them. Together, they neared the two chanting nerds.
Suddenly, Andrew and Jonathan noticed their slow, steady approach. Warren, on the other hand, was cutting a careful swath through the pack of incensed and largely befuddled demons and was steps away from the broken talisman that had fallen from Jonathan’s pocket when Andrew’s fey shriek pierced the air. “Warren, help us.” A second’s distraction was sufficient. A Chaos demon shoved the brunette leader to the rocky floor while its mate trod heavily over him. Andrew screamed and hid his face. Jonathan merely watched in terror as their friend’s skull cracked in the sickening tread of slime and blood. Shaken and waning, the two looked up just as Anya neared their clearing.
“You guys, they’re humans,” she tossed back to Willow and Xander. Magenta internal fluids dripped from the gory horn in her left hand as she held the stake in her right hand aloft. To Andrew and Jonathan she added with similar pep, “It’s been a while since I got to kill humans.”
The two trembling nerds faced each other.
“Run?” Andrew asked.
“Run.” Jonathan confirmed.
With a word, they cancelled the summoning spell and fled the cavern, bone and flute in hand.
+++
“You see?” Pete asked with a grim smile. “Debbie’s gonna take your man down while I finish you off.”
Repetition guided Buffy as she dealt him two hard blows to the ribs. “Spike is not my man.” Despite her words, one quick look at him, fists and fangs up, brought a flush of pride to her face. “And he’s so gonna kick her ass,” she added. The momentary distraction gave Pete the opening for a good hit to her face, and Buffy’s head reeled back.
“You like that, bitch?” Pete slipped from foot to foot with eager conceit. “In the end, they all fall,” he said as he dodged a roundhouse aimed at his head. “You. Her. You can’t even help yourself. You’re weak.” He marked his last word with a vicious kick to Buffy’s legs that swept her feet from under her. “Always getting in my way.” Buffy’s roll wasn’t quite fast enough to prevent the following kick to her ribs. “Always screwing up my plans.” Another kick caught the side of her head, and she dimly caught Spike’s concerned voice calling her name through the melee. She felt his presence nearing, dragging a kicking, screaming, and half-conscious Debbie clinging to his back across the stone floor.
Pete noticed Spike’s progress too, and the pause in his kicks gave Buffy a second to put her senses together. “You worthless shit,” he yelled out to her. “Can’t you do one thing right?”
When he turned back, Buffy faced him with a stiff glare. “You know, Pete, maybe for once you should focus on the real problem with your plans…” With a deft feint, she pulled alongside him. “You.” Just as she raised her knee to his groin, he gripped her ankle and flipped her off balance.
The action drew Spike’s gaze, and with a final hard thrust, he flung Debbie off his back. “Have you ever once thought of bettering yourself?” he asked the female demon conversationally. “Don’t you want more out of unlife?” As hoped, she threw herself at him with a livid snarl. Turning her momentum against her, Spike pulled her backward against him, hard, arms in position to twist her head from her shoulders. His voice cut through the din just as Pete was set to deliver another beefy kick to Buffy’s head. “Watch it, mate. You touch her again, and I end your girl.”
Pete turned a fraction of an inch, his glowing eyes taking in Debbie’s matted hair, the fat tears slipping down her dirty, blood-streaked face, and Spike’s steady hands around her. When he spoke, it was with a thin, sly smile. “So kill her. She means nothing to me.”
The next moments left a stunned Buffy and Spike in silence. A keening cry of bitterness tore the air as Debbie threw herself at Pete, kicking and biting with inhuman force. “You love me. You do. I know you do.” Her wails grew in force as the two fought, closer and closer to the jagged mass of spined demons lining the nearest wall. “Why can’t you love me? I’ll make you. I’ll make you love me.”
Buffy pulled herself to her feet, and she and Spike stood, feet apart, watching the fight.
Pete’s attempts to force Debbie from him grew more frantic as she pushed him toward the razor sharp points behind him. “You bitch. You’re nothing. You’ll never understand.”
With a last scream, Debbie toppled Pete. Locked in his arms, they fell together, impaled and killed by the dark black shards.
The absolute stillness was shocking in its intensity. Willow, Xander and Anya had dispatched the few demons who hadn’t killed each other or escaped, and together they watched the final moments of Debbie and Pete from a quiet distance. When it was over, the mutual looks of disgust and despair from Buffy and Spike were written clearly in the air. Their eyes met, and for a moment, it seemed a calm strength passed between them.
Spike’s phrase of simple desperation broke the peace. “This has got to end.” With a curt nod to Buffy, he strode from the cavern without looking back.
Buffy’s eyes trailed Spike’s form dimly until the darkness swallowed him whole. When he was gone, Willow stood quietly at her shoulder. “Xander and Anya are gonna go get the car. I’ll call Tara from the house, ok? Let her know we’ll pick up Dawn in the morning?” Buffy only nodded.
The trip back to Revello Drive with Willow, Xander and Anya was as awkward and uncomfortable for Buffy as a year’s worth of secrets and a night’s worth of soul-searching could make it. She just wanted sleep. Didn’t sleep make everything better anyway? No. Only after a night with Spike. That was what made the morning sun seem livable. That was what gave her back heart.
As she trundled up the stairs to her room and settled on her bed, she was disconcerted to see Willow’s slim form slip in behind her and close the door. The red-head settled down stiffly on Buffy’s coverlet. Buffy made a show of yawning widely. Willow studiously ignored it, staring down at the floorboard between her battered shoes.
“Buffy…”
“Hey, Wills. I’m really tired. Thanks for the help back there. Let’s call it a night, ok?”
“Umm. Ok.” Willow’s weight shifted minutely from the bed, only to shift back. “No. Not ok. Buffy, this is not ok.”
Buffy worked at stern nonchalance. “What’s not ok?”
“Well, Xander said he thought… No. Nevermind what Xander thought. That’s not… Look. I know I haven’t been here for you. I mean, the me dragging you out of Heaven thing was bad. And then there was the magic thing. And Dawn. And all of it was on a monumental level of bad. And sometimes I feel like the only way to help you is this monumental level of good. Like I have to save the world all on my own. But what I want more than anything… and hey, I know I don’t get to want things anymore. Don’t deserve it anymore, right? But Buffy, I want this.”
“What do you want, Willow?” Buffy made no effort to polish the exhaustion from her voice.
“I want us. I want us to talk, Buffy. I miss you.” Tears formed in her eyes. “God, I miss you so much. And every day I see you, and I know things aren’t ok, and I just want to ask you what’s wrong so bad that it kills me, but I feel like I don’t have a right to know.”
“Willow…”
“But whether I have a right to know or not, Buffy, I think you need to tell me. Please tell me.” Willow’s tears fell freely now. “Buffy, tell me what’s wrong?”
The only thought in Buffy’s mind as she began to weep was that somewhere, distantly, a dam should be breaking. Roaring flows of wild water should be tearing down fortresses and re-making mountains. Releasing her own guilt and grief was so much quieter. So much simpler. She opened her hands, hands that had clutched so tightly to bitterness for so long. She stared down now into her lined, empty palms. With a few words and broken sobs, she told Willow everything. Everything. And her lost best friend sat and held her as she cried.
+++
The late hour was the least of Tara’s worries as she cautiously moved toward her pounding door. One of the greatest of her worries was that each of the warning spells she’d set around her home was whispering “Vampire.” When she looked through the keyhole and re-classified the warning as “Spike,” she felt relieved, but only for a moment. She opened the door, and the desolate determination in the blonde vampire’s face chilled her to the bone. When he spoke, it was without pleasantries. He planted a hand on the door frame and deeply met her eyes.
“I’ve come to ask a favor.”
You'll Have Time
Maybe you won't suffer
Maybe it's quick
But you'll have time to think
Why did I waste it?
Why didn't I taste it?
You'll have time
Cause you're gonna die
“Chip?” Tara managed.
“What? No, not in a snack-food mood, sweetheart. I need to…” Realization fluttered in Spike’s face with a trace of… disappointment? “Oh. Course it’s still working. Welcome to come out here and test it though, if you’re up for a bit of slap and tickle.”
The words and his leer of faux enthusiasm were enough to bring a sigh of relief in Tara. Spike—not vampire—after all. She still forgot that sometimes. “Ok. It’s just, I’ve never…”
“Invited the living undead part and parcel through your doorway? Yeah, I get it. But this is important. Wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t.”
Tara shifted from foot to foot. “So why are you asking me?”
“Honestly? Cause I don’t trust your red-headed honey. And you’re the only other one around here with voltage enough, and maybe will enough, to get me what I want. Fair enough?”
Dawn was sleeping in the far room. It was the one thought that still hovered on the edges of her consciousness before she could make the invitation. She didn’t know what had happened tonight, but she knew that Spike looked changed… determined. And Dawn was sleeping in the far room.
Memories began to bring their force to bear. Spike watching taped Icecapades on TV. Spike advising on lipstick shades. A stolen moment, caught through the Summers’ front window, of Spike brushing Dawn’s hair from her face as he pulled their worn green blanket up to cover the sleeping girl.
“Come in, Spike.” Tara offered him a tender, tense smile.
He nodded his thanks with a tight smile and wild eyes.
Five minutes later, Tara was pacing and more agitated than Spike could remember seeing her.
“Y-you can’t know what you’re asking. I d-don’t have that kind of power. Besides, you shouldn’t even want it.”
“But you know how to do the spell?” he wheedled.
“Willow taught me, just in case Angel came back. But, Spike, it takes m-more than just one person. I can’t do it.”
“So I’ll help.”
“You’re a vampire.”
“So I’d noticed.”
“I should really call the others. This is a big decision, and we should really all be…”
Spike’s hand pulling the phone from hers stopped Tara mid-sentence. He set the phone back softly in its cradle. When he spoke, his voice flowed like new honey over warm bread. “It’s doubts about my motives then? Listen, kitten, I know it’s a big decision, don’t I? Not the work of a day or two’s time. This one’s been years in the making. And the long and short of it is, I want to be more. I want to be a man. I know you’ve kipped to something going between Buffy and me.” He checked her eyes for denial and found none.
“And thing is, it’s gotten bad. And it’s gonna get worse, if it keeps heading this way. Not fool enough to ignore it when my own black reflection’s right in my face, yeah?” Tara squinted, but said nothing. “So I figure, what if she’s right? What if it’s not love? It’s just twisted and sick cause I can’t know better? I could handle the fights, and the nastiness. But God, I don’t think I can take wondering if it’s not really love. Cause if it isn’t, I’ll kill her.”
“W-what?”
“Not now,” he waved dismissively. “But someday. ‘S what I am, right? I’m a killer. Slayer of slayers.” His eyes glassed as he turned toward the window on the far wall. “What if she’s right about everything?”
The depth of despair in Spike’s voice had Tara beside him and rubbing his shoulder tenderly before a conscious thought formed. “I feel for her. More than I’ve ever felt. So if I can’t love her… I can’t love. How could I live? How can I go on forever knowing I could never…?”
The lost boy look in his eyes was enough to break Tara’s heart. “I understand,” she whispered. And in her own small way, she did. “But I’m still not powerf—“
“Shut it,” he said, with a twinge of humor on his lips. “Your power hangs over you like a sodding windstorm. You carry it with you everywhere you go. And you may be able to fool the others, cause they’re children, or the Watcher with his tunnel vision. You can even fool Red, cause she’s looking at you half love-blind. But I know.” His last word was firm, and he forced Tara to meet his eyes before he repeated, “I know. You don’t like to use it, and I get that. ‘S your decision. But it doesn’t make it any less there.”
“I’d feel a lot better about this if we talked to the others. Willow…”
“…is not here. Understand your worry, ducks, but tell me one person on this earth who should have a bigger say in this than me.”
At that, Tara closed the mouth she had prepared for further objections. “I’ll have to go find the orb.”
Silken snark nearly covered his shaking hands and trembling voice. “Oh, goody. There’s an orb and everything.”
+++
Minutes or hours, and Buffy’s tears had finally slowed to a reasonable trickle. She hadn’t known, in all this time, how desperately she had needed it… to be heard. To be forgiven. Willow had listened to everything, Buffy’s pain, her abuse toward Spike, the sex. Her face had shown shock and guilt, along with a hefty dose of sympathy, and it left Buffy feeling rung out and hung to dry. A tired, washed feeling that nonetheless promised morning wind and sunshine.
“Spike was right, you know. I can’t even describe how much I hate to admit that. But he was right all along.”
Willow sniffled and blew her nose on a tissue before tossing it onto the soggy little pile they’d built beside the bed. “About what?”
“He told me that I was my own problem. Or that my problems were me. Or something. Pretty much this whole big thing that ended with Poor Pitiful Buffy being so totally not the right attitude about my life.”
“But Buffy, you’ve been through…”
“Hell. I’ve been through Hell, Willow. And I’ve been through Heaven, too. And the only thing I’ve really learned is that this… my life… it doesn’t get any better unless I want it to. And Willow, I want it to. So many things have happened to me that I couldn’t control. But the one thing I always could was me. And I want me to be better. A better life for a better Buffy. And I’m starting now.” She took Willow’s hands with purpose. “Willow, what you did to me sucked beyond the telling.”
“Buffy, I…”
“And I forgive you.”
Willow’s eyes widened, and a small gasp escaped.
“I should’ve forgiven you sooner for it. And I’m sorry. Will, you made a mistake. And it sucked. And I forgive you.”
A muffled squeak of “Really?” was all Willow could manage before she was caught in a wet Slayer hug. The air between them tasted cleaner, and the room around them, despite the length of hot tears, lost some of its staleness as they shuffled to their feet.
An awkward instant passed as they looked at each other and then both began to laugh. Buffy took the initiative. “So, Mom always said hot chocolate was the best way to end a girl’s night. Think this qualifies?”
“Definitely,” Willow nodded. The two descended the stairs together and Buffy set about finding the recipe while Willow took a seat at the bar. As Buffy stirred the warm mix in front of her, she glanced at the red-head and noticed the slightly lifted set of her shoulders, the smile that actually reached her eyes. After years of fighting impossible, nameless battles against evil, make that capital E, it occurred to Buffy that this might be what it was like to actually win. Sitting down with someone you love and knowing you gave them something they needed. Gave them something no one else could give.
+++
“Give it to me, Glinda.”
Tara couldn’t help a wry smile at the picture Spike presented, sitting in front of her with his eyes scrunched up, hands clenched before him, and every sinew of his body tense. Clearly not a fan of magic. Not that she could blame him. She’d heard stories. One of them had “The Wind Beneath My Wings” as a central theme.
“Spike?” He looked up with a fearful face. “You have to help. Incense and candles, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” He scrambled to grab his supplies and hold them aloft for her inspection. If Tara had been told Spike were capable of playing the sheepish child, she’d have laughed it off. But with the evidence full in front of her, she couldn’t help thinking she was making the right decision. He was scared. Not just of the magic, but of what he was getting himself into. That, to her, was a good sign.
They each assumed the positions she’d mapped out for them earlier when she’d explained the spell, and Tara and Spike began. Her chanting grew louder, and Spike, despite only a rusty knowledge of Latin, was pulled into the sheer power behind her words. When her eyes glowed gold and the orb filled with white light, he sniffed, set his jaw, and steeled himself.
It was over in an instant, and the overwrought thread of the moment was cut with Spike’s gleeful laughter. He swooped Tara into his arms, kissing her cheeks and dancing around the room. “You did it,” he shouted. “You did it, and I don’t feel any different. Thank God. It’s real. It’s all real. I’m real again.”
The pain in her heart for him was overwhelming and unexpected. “Spike,” she said softly.
Dawn, aroused by the commotion, stumbled into the room, raising sleepy hands to her face. “Spike? Gah, what’s your damage? It’s like three in the morning.”
“Bit,” he shouted, running to her and twirling her around. “Bit, I’ve got it. I’ve got it, and I’m still me.”
“What in the Sam Hill is he talking about?” Dawn turned her gaze to a white, dismayed looking Tara.
Spike answered for her. “My soul. Dawn, I’ve got my soul.”
“Spike, no.”
Tara’s two words fell like hammers in his heart. He turned back to her, wishing he’d somehow misread the disappointment and pity in her face. “But it…”
“No. It didn’t work.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re wrong. We did it right. I saw the spell. The orb lit up, and it…”
“It’s still here,” Tara said softly. “The orb’s still here. If the spell works, the orb disappears. Spike, I’m so sorry.”
“But it had to work,” he said, looking wildly to her face for confirmation. He found none. Tara looked away as his lower lip quivered. “We did it right.” He tried softly. “I know we…”
“I don’t understand,” she went on, moving toward him. She made no move to touch him. “We must have been wrong. I’m just not strong enough.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, exhaustion and acceptance seeping slowly into his voice. “I felt the power. We both did.” He walked back to the orb and laid a cold hand over it, staring at it curiously. “I still feel it. It wasn’t you. It’s me. I can’t even be cursed with a soul. God, how pathetic.” Spike looked up at Tara with deep, frayed eyes. “What do I do now?”
“Oh, Spike,” Dawn sniffled from the doorway. She didn’t enter, unprepared for and respectful of the level of seriousness she’d suddenly stumbled into.
“That’s it,” Tara said. “You can’t be cursed.”
“What I bloody just said now, isn’t it?”
Although her tone had gained the new energy of one making a discovery, it still harbored no hope. “No, I mean, that’s why it didn’t work. The curse was designed to punish. You want your soul, Spike. You can’t be cursed with one if you want it.”
Bitter laughter left his lips, and his body slumped to the floor. “You have got to be fucking joking.” He spared Dawn a brief glance. “Sorry, Bit.” She waved away the profanity as he looked back to Tara. “You’re telling me the only reason I can’t have a soul is cause I want one?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. Couldn’t be helped. At least you tried. And that means something to me. I mean it.”
Tara returned the sad and soggy smile he shot her.
Dawn soaked in the dampened emotions and took it as clearance to enter the room. She stepped forward and picked up the Orb of Thessula. “So this thing still has Spike’s soul floating around in it, huh?” She tipped it back and forth as she would a snow-globe. “Glowy.”
“Yeah, and it’s my glowy soul. So watch it, right?” Spike grimaced toward her.
“Are you going to give up?” Tara asked.
“Nah,” he shrugged. “Never been the quitting kind, pet. I’ve heard tell of a demon in…”
The crash was surpassed only by Dawn’s wail. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. So stupid. Oh god.” Frantic tears fell as she began hysterically grasping at the glass shards at her feet, trying to force them together, cutting herself over and over again in a desperate attempt to recapture the essence she’d held. “No, no. So clumsy… I... God, no.”
Spike’s own hands were cut by tiny slivers as the orb shattered mere inches in front of him. From instinct, he grabbed her to stop her from hurting herself. The moment Tara touched them both, their world went dark.
What Have You Done
Is this what death looks like?
My love was supposed to protect her
It didn't
My love was supposed to heal her
It didn't
You had said, Don't leave me
And I begged you not to leave me
We did
Buffy dropped her spoon into her mug of hot chocolate at the first firm knock on her front door. She ran to open it, Willow trailing behind. The door swung open to reveal a haggard looking Tara, carrying an unconscious Dawn in her arms.
“Dawn,” Buffy breathed.
“She’s fine. I’ve checked her a dozen times. She’s just sleeping.” Tara laid Dawn carefully in Buffy’s arms. “Can you take her upstairs and put her to bed?”
“Tara, what’s wrong?” Buffy stared hard at Dawn’s weak body and carefully bandaged hands, trying to fight back her panic with Tara’s assurances that everything was ok.
“She’s fine now, and we’re all safe. I promise. I’ll explain everything when you come back down.”
“Fine.” Buffy reluctantly nodded and climbed the stairs. “But I want answers,” she stated before she disappeared from view.
Willow cautiously stepped forward. “Tara?”
“I’ll be right back. I need to get Spike. I don’t know what he’ll do if I leave him alone. Do you think Buffy will let me bring him in?”
“Spike?” Willow stood, dumbfounded. “What’s wrong with Spike?”
“I’ve got to go get him.” Tara repeated. “He’ll need a blanket. I’ll be right back.”
Willow latched on to the one portion of Tara’s instructions she actually grasped and traversed the living room to grab a blanket from the couch. Tara entered the doorway with Spike leaning heavily against her just as Buffy descended the stairs. Buffy stood as stone, three steps from the bottom, as she watched her lover’s sharp face covered in blood and pain. For an instant, she distantly thought she couldn’t remember the last night she’d had that was so full of tears. It didn’t seem right, even for the Hellmouth. And despite how scarred and torn Spike suddenly looked, leaning on a woman with less than half his strength, and with bloody droplets matting his white-blond hair to black, she couldn’t help thinking he was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. He’d always been.
He also looked irrevocably broken. Every line of him screamed a torture she couldn’t quite discern, and this unspoken message prompted her to move her feet down the steps, to lay an arm under Spike’s and take on most of Tara’s burden. He took a sloppy sniff through a blood-filled nose and then leaned his head on Buffy’s shoulder, speaking only three whispered words. “Buffy. It hurts.”
She awkwardly shouldered him into the kitchen, settling him on one of the stools. Willow entered and darted forward to hand her the blanket before retreating back to the entryway. Buffy placed the green throw solidly around his shoulders. The moment he felt the motherly touch and the drape of the fabric, he set his head onto the bar, covering it with thin arms, and sobbing into the hard wood with garbled phrases that sounded too much like, “make it stop,” and “so sorry, so wrong.”
Buffy desperately needed answers. She attempted to disengage from him only to find him laying a trembling, sticky hand over hers. “Please, don’t leave me.” For the first time since he entered the house, his eyes met hers, and Buffy lost her voice. The color was the same deep blue it had always been, but somehow it conveyed so much more… more strength, more weakness. Any meaning behind it evaded her, but the mere possibilities had her chilled.
She fought for her voice and managed, “Oh, Spike.” She brushed a lank strand of hair from his face, and he leaned into the touch unconsciously. “I’m not leaving you. I promise. I’ll be right in the next room. And Willow will stay here with you. Right, Will?” Buffy cast an eye toward her friend that was far more demand than request, and Willow hesitantly nodded. He whimpered at the loss of contact when she pulled her hand from his, but he made no other motion.
The witch walked toward him slowly, taking Buffy’s place on the stool beside him and laying a tentative hand on his back. Buffy checked to make sure Willow continued her unwieldy attempts at comfort before storming toward the living room.
“I want names. Tell me who the hell did this to them and where I can find them. Now.”
Tara shifted uncomfortably. “Buffy, it’s not like that.”
“Then you better tell me what it is like, and fast. Tell me why my sister’s practically comatose and my vampire… Spike,” she amended. “Why he’s so… broken.” Her voice threatened to crack on the last word.
“Buffy, we need to sit down.”
“Funny. Not feeling particularly sitty at the moment. I’m more in the fighty mood.”
“I know. That’s w-why we need to sit down.” Tara sat and raised her face to Buffy’s with pleading eyes.
Buffy sat stiffly on the couch beside her. “What’s going on here?”
Tara took a deep breath. “Spike came to me tonight. He wanted his soul back.”
Buffy’s laugh was brittle and a little too loud. “That’s crazy. Spike wouldn’t do that. Why would he do that?”
Tara averted her eyes. “Buffy, you know why.” Still implication crept between them. “He said he wanted to be a real man. That he wanted to know what he was feeling was real.”
Buffy couldn’t help a weak, “He doesn’t think it’s real?”
“He said he had to know for sure.”
“But you didn’t do it. You told him you couldn’t do it.”
Silence was the only answer.
Buffy went on. “You can’t. That spell was powerful. You’re not strong enough to do something that… Oh god. Dawn. What happened to her? Did she help? Was she hurt?” Buffy forced herself not to grab Tara and shake loose the answers the so desperately needed to know. And she tried not to voice the one question she so desperately wanted to ask. Did it work?
“No, Buffy, I promise. Dawn’s fine. She’s just exhausted. Spike and I had given up when she picked up the orb.”
“So it didn’t work.” Buffy’s voice was studiously neutral on the subject. She tried to force her mind into a similar tone.
“The curse failed,” Tara confirmed.
Buffy didn’t know why she suddenly felt like crying. She never asked him to get a soul… had never even considered the possibility he’d do anything other than laugh at her if she’d suggested it. Of course, that meant she had considered suggesting it. Only once or twice. Those darkest nights when she wondered what a world with a trustworthy Spike would be like. Those nights when she didn’t try to punish herself with hopelessness. When he’d do or say something that made her wish she could let herself love him, just a little. But she had never asked.
She didn’t even know if it would’ve made a difference for the two of them if it had worked. Could they actually expect to have a relationship without the sweaty sex-a-thon’s that had pretty much been the whole kit and caboodle of what they were lately? She just knew that a part of her loved him for trying, and a part of her heart was breaking for his failure. And she couldn’t deny the depth of his feelings anymore. Because this was something unheard of. Something no one --Angel --else would ever have done. Not for her. Not for anyone in the world.
Buffy didn’t realize tears were running down her face until Tara handed her a few scraps of Kleenex. She quickly brushed them away.
Tara was plagued by uncertainty. Whether the tears were of relief or regret, whether she should go on or not. But she knew she had to make one thing completely clear.
“Buffy, Spike has his soul.”
“The curse didn’t work,” Buffy protested, subdued and dazed.
“It’s not a curse,” Tara continued quickly. “It’s permanent, as far as I could tell. Something happened after we failed. Dawn shattered the orb, and there was blood. When I touched them… I felt the power flow through me. I’ve never felt anything like that before, so pure and warm. Buffy, his soul was so pure. I don’t know what Dawn did. I don’t think she even meant to. But I felt her too. Like her energy was calling him out of the ether.”
Buffy darted another nervous glance upward to Dawn’s room and shifted in her seat. “She’s ok,” Tara affirmed. “I checked her over and over again while Spike was… trying to get himself together. She was awake at first, but she fell asleep on the way over.”
Buffy finally softened at the assurances. “Spike’s blood?”
“He went a little nuts, at first.”
“You’re not looking so lively yourself,” Buffy noted.
“I’m tired,” Tara admitted. “But it was so beautiful. That moment, when he got it back. Before he remembered everything, he smiled at me. And it was the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. He was at peace.”
“And now?”
“Now, I think he’s in Hell.”
“He’s got a soul.” Saying the words did only a little toward cementing the thought, but they brought to mind the true problem. “He remembers it all…”
“And it’s killing him,” Tara finished for her.
The Slayer in Buffy had been spoiling for a fight since she first saw her limp sister’s form in Tara’s arms. Now, she was deflated. No demons to kill. No evil to slay. No place for the Slayer at all. Only the girl in Buffy was left to pick up these pieces, and to her, the girl seemed so woefully inadequate. She sought out Tara. “So what do I do?”
“Help him.”
“I don’t know how. I don’t know what he needs.”
“Yes, you do, Buffy. You’ve always known.”
Buffy nodded slowly and set her shoulders before walking from the room. Brief panic seized her at the sight of her Spikeless kitchen until she noticed Willow standing uncomfortably by the back door and caught the stray sobs coming from the porch.
Buffy breathed in deeply, shooting a look of thanks to Willow before stepping out to face Spike. At first sign of her presence, Spike tried desperately to hide his tears, choking them back into childish hiccups that wouldn’t stop coming. He seemed to cave in on himself an inch more with each step she took toward him, but Buffy merely sat beside him, stiff to the chill night air. When he abandoned his attempts to hide and the sobs renewed, she placed a warm hand on the back of his neck, patting him several times before a wave of reminiscence and discomfiture stopped her. The next words from her mouth, though not wanted most, were maybe the most needed.
“I’m sorry.”
Spike choked a reply that Buffy best interpreted as, “I don’t deserve it.”
Buffy’s next attempt carried more personal meaning than the first. “Spike. I’m so sorry.”
“Makes no difference,” he muttered between his arms.
“What doesn’t?”
“Sorry,” he sniffled. “Peaches has it wrong, you know. Understand him less than ever now. Now that I know. What he saw. What he felt. Nothing’s enough. You can’t atone for what we did.”
“Spike…” His own pain wrenched her heart, and she stood on uncertain ground. Compared to Buffy, Spike was a master teacher at the comfort game, but she’d paid little attention to those lessons.
“You were right about me, before. You were right about everything.” He wiped his matted hair back as his voice grew clearer, and Buffy realized that most of the blood she’d seen earlier came from wounds on his hands, not his face. Tiny cuts, and slivers of glass all over his hands. They looked like silver glitter in the moonlight.
“I don’t feel very right,” she whispered.
He turned to her. “You understood what I was. What I am. I never did.”
“What, Spike?”
“Evil.” His voice hitched on the word, and his body shook with a physical effort to restrain another crying jag.
Somehow, blessedly, the words came then, in a lesson learned and forgotten so many years ago. Buffy took Spike’s face in her hands, forcing him to look at her as she spoke. “Giles,” she said certainly.
For a moment, the wry light returned to Spike’s eyes. “Beginning to wonder about you bringing the Watcher’s name into all our special little moments like this, pet. Sure you haven’t favored him with a Christmas shag or two?”
Buffy’s laughter took her by surprise. Spike shared it for only a second before pulling from her hands and looking to his shoes with a gasp, as if he’d been caught out cursing in church.
Buffy dropped her hand from the air down to rest atop his arm before continuing. “Giles told me once that there were two kinds of monsters. The ones that could be redeemed, and the ones that would never want to. You know what the difference between them was? Love. The ones that could be redeemed were the ones who could respond to love.” Her voice grew in passion. “Spike? We’re not them.” He met her eyes, his jaw tensed with his fear of hope. “We won’t let ourselves be them, Spike. We don’t want to be anymore.”
When he made no further move, Buffy pulled her hand back, uncertain if she should leave him to sort through his memories and sins alone. When she shifted away from him, he set a battered hand against her knee without looking at her.
“Know I’ve no right to ask,” his rough-hewn voice said. “Know I don’t deserve it. But… could you just… stay with me.” His last word was a gentle, hard-fought, “Please.”
Buffy set her arms around him, pulling his slightly resisting form to her breast. Together, their tears shimmered in the darkness.
Together
A/N: Here it is. The culmination… or will it be consummation (?) of what has turned out to be my very first (and so far, only) long fic. This particular chapter? Probably as big as four of my other chapters put together. What can I say? *shrugs* Smut takes time. Consider yourself warned. Oh, and I might have thrown some character development in here too. Just for kicks.
+~+~+
One year later
+~+~+
Buffy watched in dry amusement as Xander and Anya scurried out the door, no doubt intent on acting out whatever little fantasy had made Xander’s fingers twitch and his face go red when Anya had whispered it to him earlier in the night. Buffy thought, not for the first time, how glad she was they’d postponed the wedding. It seemed Debbie and Pete’s snazzy little after-school special repeat held warnings for more than just her.
She turned slowly on her heel. Time to face the terrible threesome. Willow, Tara, and Dawn were standing in the living room doorway with mischievous smiles. “So,” Dawn began. “I know it’s your birthday and everything, and even though we’re not physically forced to by some whacked out vengeance demon who so misinterpreted what I said, I could technically stay over tonight, but can I please please please spend the night with Willow and Tara instead?”
Buffy looked each one over slowly. Ok, so maybe she hadn’t been of the subtle the last few days. She smiled gratefully. “Sure. You guys go have fun.”
Girlish squeals resounded, along with several “thank you’s” from Dawn, and…Buffy paused. Did Tara actually just wink at her? She shook her head as they passed through the door, giggling. Willow stopped in the entryway, looking pointedly at the kitchen, then back to Buffy. She made several wild shooing motions and mouthed the words, “Have fun,” with a wicked grin before popping out the door and down the walkway.
Buffy closed the door. Decision time—kitchen or living room? With a nervous twitch of her shoulders, she tilted toward the living room instead of her preferred destination. She sighed at herself, stooping to pick up some of the confetti and wrapping paper closest to her. She was the Slayer. She wasn’t scared. She was just… full of healthy nerves. That was it. She was just a hefty bundle of healthy, nervy goodness, and she so wished she could just get this over with.
The past year had been full of hard lessons and harder healing. Absences were felt every single day. Giles. Her mom. Even Angel. But it had also been filled with more true family than she’d ever really had. Healthy family. Where Anya and Xander, Willow and Tara, were the brother and sisters she could turn to for anything. Where she was a good, though absent-minded, mom, and Dawn was a typical teenaged daughter. The only problem being that the current man of the house still lived in the basement. And that was a little glitch she was planning on ending tonight. Just… not quite yet. She absently picked up various cups and paper plates. So maybe she was scared. Just a teeny little bit.
He was still Spike. She knew that, without question. He still snarked at her when she got bossy. He still drank too much when he was feeling moody, and he still called her out when she tried to hide from things. He still smoked. He still cared. He had to care. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stayed. Wouldn’t have agreed to let them help him through the worst of it… back when his screams of penance cut holes in her heart, even as Tara cast spells of comfort and Buffy and Dawn stood awkwardly by, waiting and hoping for the day his nightmares stopped. Buffy knew they hadn’t. Just as hers never had. But she thought his, like hers, were maybe only echoes these days. She desperately hoped so.
He was also decidedly un-Spike, which was the crux of her dilemma. Like now. In the kitchen. Washing her dishes. Part and parcel of the healing process, six months ago Willow had taken it upon herself to assign him a list of chores each day. Handy-dandy helping tasks to take his mind off the centuries of unremitted evil. Or something like that. And surprisingly, it seemed to work. He watched Dawn. He helped out around the house. He took over patrols more than Buffy would like to admit. And apparently, laundry? Good for the soul. Who knew.
Buffy grabbed a small garbage bag from the corner and began stuffing assorted trash into the brown plastic. So Dawn had a father figure, and Buffy had a confidant, a helper, a friend. Sometimes late at night, they would still sit on the back porch, inches apart. He’d smoke cigarettes and she’d lean back to look at the stars or sip a cup of coffee while they talked about their day. Casual, little things… thoughts they knew no one else would care to hear, even if they understood. And it was sweet comfort. And all very mature, really. Caring. Polite, actually.
And infuriatingly platonic.
The last few weeks, Buffy had been desperately dropping hints. Simple, girlish things. Taking extra time with her hair before she walked downstairs for breakfast. Long, dragging moments where she asked him if he was sure there was nothing else he needed before she said goodnight. Making sure she was the one who heated his blood for him whenever they set the table for dinner. But to no avail.
Yesterday, she’d pulled out the big guns. Saturday morning, with Dawn asleep, and she could get away with coming downstairs casual. She’d used it to her fullest advantage. The lightest hint of makeup, tiny pink shorts that barely covered the tops of her thighs, and her tightest pink chemise… no bra. She wished him good morning with a bright smile and a flip of her hair. His eyes darkened. His jaw tensed, and his fists clenched. Then he turned and descended to the basement without a single word.
So Buffy was currently stalling.
But she was the Slayer, after all. And besides, there was nothing left in the living room to clean. She cut the light behind her and carried her little trash bag to the kitchen, taking a deep breath before she walked in. She wouldn’t hide anymore. Not ever again.
Her set shoulders and determined little nod deflated the instant she saw the duffel bags sitting on her kitchen floor. Spike was just ascending the stairs with what looked like a box of his clothes. When he noticed her, he tilted his head away with a slightly guilty glance.
“Right, then. You caught me,” he breathed. “Meant it as a surprise.”
Buffy had felt the wind knocked from her gut hundreds of times on patrol. She had never before felt it while she was standing still on her kitchen tile.
“For your birthday,” he added with an attempt at a smile. He looked toward her, but not at her. “No more of me leaching off you.”
Buffy dropped the trash bag, and her fists clenched. “This is your idea of a birthday present?”
Spike set the box down in front of him. “I know it’s not much,” he said. “But I’ve thought about it a while now. There’s nothing I have that you’d want. Got nothing of value left to give you, Buffy. Just this.”
The air separating them felt like thick syrup, but Buffy crossed the distance all the same. When she was close enough, she willed him to meet her gaze, willed him to see the gentle meaning behind it as she said, “We both know that’s not true.”
Spike backed away from her, awkwardly tripping over one of the bags behind him and raising fey hands to ward her off. “Don’t know exactly where you’re going with that, pet, but it’s best we don’t find out, yeah? I got a place all picked out. I’ll show you tomorrow night. You can come visit now and again, if you’d like.” With more distance between them, he began warming to the sound of his voice, as though it were an oft-practiced speech and he was just remembering his place. “And I won’t stop patrolling, so no worries. Told you when the witch suggested it, I’m good for whatever you need. Only have to ask.”
Spike watched with wary eyes as she closed the gap between them, using her preternatural grace to ease a perfect path through his luggage. She stopped, inches away. He could hear her breath, feel the pulse thrumming through her palm when she laid a soft hand on the side of his neck. “I’m asking,” she whispered, as she lifted her lips to his.
Before she could make contact, he pulled away, one hand on the doorknob, knowing only that he could feel the cage closing on his heart, and if he didn’t make it through that door, the lock would click into place. And this time, it’d be forever. This time, it’d be soul and all.
“Spike, what are you doing?” Buffy didn’t keep the hurt and frustration from her voice. Couldn’t if she had tried.
“The right thing,” he said, dropping his hands and standing defenseless before her.
“Running away? Sneaking out in the middle of the night like some thief?” Neither of them moved, but both felt her emotional advance, his painful retreat. “Not even bothering to tell me you’re leaving me?”
“Buffy, it’s not like…”
“Don’t tell me what it’s like,” she shouted. “Don’t you dare. How could you? Spike, how could you think this is ok?”
Slumped shoulders, a haggard voice. “You deserve more.”
Buffy’s eyes lit, pain-filled. “I get it. God, I get it.” Something wild and weary in her voice drew him in, made him lift a hand toward her even as she back away. She warded him off. “No. I’ve done this before. Only he had the guts to face me.”
Spike didn’t bother to ask who. The name in his head alone made his stomach boil. It was given voice a heartbeat later, when Buffy looked up at him, eyes almost black with anger and grief.
“The soul changed Angel,” Buffy spat, “but at least it never made him a coward.”
With a snarl, Spike hauled her back against the bar, body tight against hers and lethal teeth barely grazing her skin. “You stupid little girl. You just don’t get it,” he growled, as he thrust himself against her, her whimper brushing against his ear. “There is nothing stopping me,” he said. With a surgeon’s skill, his fangs cut a thread-thin line down Buffy’s throat while she trembled beneath him. His deadly whisper filled her ear. “You think I’m whipped because I watch your telly and clean the floors? You think I’m tamed? The soul didn’t fix me, sweetheart.” Her fingers flexed on his tight, black tee as he pressed infinitely closer to her. “I still crave the hunt... the kill.” His voice trailed off as he took the blood from her throat in one long, slow lick. He groaned low in his throat as she shuddered, desperately seeking the pressure of his cock where she needed it most.
“We can kid ourselves, but I’m no different,” he gasped as he pulled himself away. Containing himself with a crude leer, he sniffed the air, permeated with her arousal. “And let’s face it,” he said. “You’re no different either.”
Buffy’s eyes opened in time to feel the full insult of his words. Dragging a hand down his chest to his crotch, he grabbed himself. “You still don’t want me. Just this. You just like men who hurt you.”
Tears watered Buffy’s eyes, but her voice was agonizingly calm when she faced him. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Because you just hurt me worse than anyone. And I still love you.” With a tearful gasp, she ran from the room, climbing the stairs two at a time and slamming the door so hard it shook the floor beneath him.
An instant later, he was breaking through the cheap locked door and pulling a weeping Buffy off the bed and into his arms on the floor. “Shhh,” he murmured into her hair desperately. “Please don’t cry, kitten. I’m a bad, bad man. Didn’t mean it. Can’t stand it when you cry. Buffy.”
If anything her sobs increased, and he felt her tears dripping against his neck as she clutched him to her. “It’s too late. It’s too late, isn’t it? You don’t love me anymore. Oh god, I waited too long.”
He shook his head frantically. “Love you. Still. Always. Forever. Never stop loving you, Buffy.”
Her voice was a stricken child’s. “Then why don’t you want me?”
“Pet, you saw what happened just now. I can’t go back to what we were. And there’s nothing stopping it happening all over again.”
At that, Buffy drew in a lungful of air and stifled her sobs, forcing herself to look into his eyes. “How did you feel downstairs?”
A lustful shiver swept his flesh before he could stop it. He met her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“Angry? Desperate? Hot?”
He looked away.
“Me too,” Buffy said. She laid a hand on his face, pulling him to her. “But we didn’t hurt each other.”
“Your neck,” Spike whispered, eyes drawn to the tiny trickle of remaining red.
“Definitely not a pain thing.” Buffy blushed furiously as Spike licked his lips. “I didn’t even want to hurt you.” More softly, she added, “I just wanted you to hold me again.”
Spike laid his head against her collarbone. “Me too, kitten.”
Buffy ran her fingers through his tightly slicked curls. “I know things were bad.” She sniffled. “But we can work. We do work.”
“I want to believe it, Buffy. So much. But…”
“You don’t trust me,” she said weakly.
“That’s not it. You’ve changed. I’ve seen it. You care now.” He shook his head against her. “I don’t trust myself. You don’t understand, Buffy. Back then, I wanted you so much, I’d have done anything to drag you into the dark with me. Just to hold you, to touch you. I made myself your slave. Lost everything I was.”
“But you didn’t,” she said softly, pulling herself from his arms and scuffling through her things. “Not completely,” she added as she opened the small wooden box she’d found. She held the battered paper out to him and watched his hands shake as he took it.
“You kept it.”
“You remember it,” she said.
He nodded. “You’ve written on it.” What Spike Wouldn’t Do For Buffy. Hurt Dawn.
“You wouldn’t let me hurt her that night. And I wanted to tell you how much it meant. That you expected me to be better than that. It made me expect to be better for myself. You did that, Spike, even then. And you’re so much more now. You’re not more because the soul was some magical fix-it-all. You’re more because you wanted to be. You made yourself into something different because your will is so strong. Your love is so strong.” Buffy cupped his face in both hands. “I believe in you, Spike. And I’ve waited so long for you to see…”
Suddenly, Spike’s lips were on hers, tender and fierce. His teeth nipped her lower lip gently, begging entrance. She took his tongue in her mouth and swallowed his soft growl as she wrapped her own around it. Buffy’s blood heated with the rightness of it. The feel of his left hand kneading her breast through the soft white tank top she wore while his right hand pulled her closer. She moved to straddle him, and when she ground the denim of her jeans into his hardness he gasped and pulled back.
“Did you mean it?” he breathed desperately.
Buffy stared, perplexed.
“What you said downstairs,” he added. The stress and hope in his face served as sufficient reminder. “Did you mean it?.”
“I did,” she answered.
With a broad smile, he playfully drug her closer, rubbing her sex against his. “Say it again,” he dared.
Buffy smiled back with a hot breath, leaning her forehead against his. “Spike, I love you.”
Thunder didn’t clap. Lightning didn’t strike, and the earth stayed firmly planted where it was. But something deep and substantial shifted in Spike’s still heart. He felt free. And so happy. With a whoop, he picked her up and tossed her to the bed. They both laughed as he leapt up after her. Once at her side, Spike gently brushed the remains of a tear from her face with his thumb, laying a solemn kiss against her forehead. Suddenly, Buffy grew serious. “And you… you still…”
Spike longed to tease her, but the uncertainty in her face cut his thoughts short. “Want you? Need you? Love you?” he murmured. “All of the above.” He leaned in to the unmarked side of her throat and placed deeply tongued kisses against her skin. “And so much more.”
At that, Buffy sat up, lifting her arms above her head prettily as she asked in a little girl’s voice. “Undress me?”
He eyed her. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“Gah,” Buffy muttered. “If our sexual tension gets any more unresolved, I’m sure the house will burn down. Dawn’s bought fire extinguishers just in case.”
With a chuckle, Spike lifted the shirt over her head, eyes caught up in the lacy white bra now exposed to him. “So Nibblet’s had an eye toward our final showdown, eh?” he asked as he gently pulled the clasp on the bra and watched as her breasts fell free.
“Oh yeah,” Buffy exhaled. “She,” Buffy gasped as Spike threw the bra to the floor and pulled a thick nipple into his mouth. “She left with Willow and Tara so we could have the house to ourselves.”
Spike left a heated bite on the tip of her breast before pulling back to laugh. “Cheeky little bint. Somebody owes her a good seeing to when she gets home.”
At that, Buffy flipped him beneath her, straddling his thighs and earning a long, hearty groan from low in Spike’s chest. “Now listen here, mister,” she poked a finger at what she knew to be a particularly ticklish spot on his chest. “The only girl who gets a good seeing to in this house is me.” Spike giggled, then nodded obediently. “And I don’t think I like the idea of you using your British euphe-whatsits…”
“Euphemisms?”
She slapped his chest, “Those. I don’t like you using those on anybody else either.”
Spike gave a chagrined mockery of a salute before saying, “Yes, ma’am.”
Buffy nearly purred. “Oooo… I think I like you all playful and… dutiful.” She set to pulling up his shirt and Spike stretched happily beneath her.
“So, any specific duties you have in mind, pet?”
“I’m sure I can think of a few.” He sat up, and together they pulled his shirt off and tossed it away as she began to giggle. “Gah, I think I just took a brief detour into bad porn movie dialog.”
“Nah,” Spike said, tilting her back to lick the underside of her breast. “Not bad porn. Those are the best kind.” His leering grin brought a light slap to Spike’s shoulder that turned to a fierce grip when he began sucking and rubbing her nipples in earnest. “Oh, I love these,” he said into her breasts. “Nearly killed me yesterday… perky little tits all wanton and needy. Begging me to take a taste.”
Buffy moaned as she tilted her head back. “But you left. I thought you didn’t want me,” she said.
“Bollocks,” he whispered. He drug her legs around him and sat back on his knees so that she could straddle him, rubbing and throbbing against his jeans. “Nearly went off there in the kitchen. Went back downstairs and wanked for hours. Couldn’t get the smell of you out of my head.”
“Ohhhh,” Buffy sighed. Spike unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans before encouraging her to lie back so he could strip them off. Her silken white panties nearly undid him there and then. The ones with the bows. She knew he loved the ones with the bows. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing in deep and giving Buffy the barest tickle of the touch she wanted so desperately. He planted a chaste kiss on the tiny silk bows on each side of her hips, then a softer, longer kiss to her clit through the fabric, barely tonguing her before pulled away. Buffy whimpered and thrust up to recapture his mouth, but Spike was already standing beside the bed, shucking his own jeans.
“I love your cock,” she said when he was finally naked, then placed a shocked hand over her mouth and flushed at the boldness of her own words. Spike merely tilted his head back and held in a groan. Buffy had never been vocal in bed before. In fact, they’d barely talked at all. Being here tonight, in her bed, would’ve been pleasure enough. But knowing she wanted words instead of just the sex was almost enough to undo him. Spike sought control and promptly lost it when he realized she’d crawled across the bed to give his dick a closer inspection.
Buffy worked up more courage as she truly examined Spike’s… spike for the first time. She watched the goose-bumps form on his skin as she traced a deep vein with her finger, root to tip. The smooth skin flowed beneath her hand as she mapped the width and length of him, taking in the subtle curve and soft foreskin. She knew Spike was fighting to keep himself still, calm, and the feeling of his member swelling and throbbing in her hands made her so wet she could smell her own arousal, dripping past her panties along her thighs.
“Buffy,” he managed weakly.
She inched backward on the bed in silent invitation, and he lay down beside her, rubbing his hands across her stomach and down her hips. She spoke. “You know, I almost jumped you like a total ho the night you mowed the yard.”
Spike looked up with a startled gleam in his eyes.
“I came into the kitchen, and you were standing there all shirtless, and hot, and manly, and… hot.”
“Mentioned that, pet.”
“It bore repeating.”
“Ah.” He carefully unfastened the left bow. “That night when you and the kiddies went to the Bronze… You almost killed me.” At Buffy’s look, he added, “Again,” then smiled. “You came home in that little black mini with the red strappy top, all sweaty from dancing, and your hair in little ringlets round your shoulders.” Spike lost himself in the memory for a moment. Buffy pulled his hand down to the right bow, and Spike deftly unfastened it as well, dusting his fingers across her hipbone as he slid the fabric from her side. “That night,” he went on, “I came up to check on you and the Bit, and I could’ve sworn I heard… things.”
Buffy cut her eyes away for an instant before giving him a small grin. “Yeah. So?”
“So...” Spike pulled the panties from her slowly, watching as the fabric rubbed and pulled against her pussy before he tossed them away. He kissed his way up her torso and leaned over her to whisper silkily in her ear. “Were you touching yourself?”
“Yeah-huh,” she answered.
Spike brought a hand up to rub slow circles against her naked thigh. “And were you thinking of me?”
Buffy grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. “Ohhh, yes.”
“I thought so.”
His smug smirk brought her back to the present as Buffy decided to turn the tables.
Suddenly, Spike was presented with a perfect little Slayer ass as Buffy flipped herself around and knelt over him. When she took the head of his stiff cock in her mouth, his thoughts blanked. He’d always loved the feel of her sucking him off, but to his mind, it was so much better when they could do it like this… when he could lick that little quim of hers and taste just how much she wanted him, how hot they were for each other.
He pulled her legs back, strong hands gripping her thighs and holding her open over his face. “Sweet little cunny,” he whispered into her. When he stuck his tongue inside of her, he felt Buffy’s groan shake her body and his own. He dipped his tongue into and out of her wet passage in time with her deep sucks on his cock. He struggled for control when he felt her sexy little hands go to work on him… one rubbing the base of his cock while the other dipped and cupped his balls.
Spike changed positions then, holding her over him with his right hand so he could place the fingers of his left hand inside of her. Her deep-throated grunt when he hit the right spot inside probably shouldn’t have been a sexy sound, but the force and passion of it made him growl as his lips sought out her clit and his tongue licked its way around her most sensitive nerves.
Buffy desperately wanted to ride his mouth into oblivion, but she was possessed by a single minded concentration. Because this time, Spike was going to come first. Even if he didn’t know it yet. She focused on relaxing her throat, taking him in as far and deep as he could go, the warm heat of her mouth expanding, then collapsing in against him as she sucked him on the upstroke. She felt his stomach muscles tense against the tips of her breasts when she started stroking his balls more firmly.
Pausing for a moment, she licked two of her fingers to slickness before engulfing him again. Then she picked up speed and did the thing she knew he liked. The only thing he’d asked for that she’d actually refused on their first, wildest night together. When she placed her fingers inside him and stroked him within his tightest hole, his body seized, and he came with a deep, lasting roar.
“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he chanted as she swallowed and licked the last of his orgasm away. “Oh, my pretty, sweet Buffy.”
She lifted herself from him and turned to face him, then, draping herself against his side. “Love you, Buffy,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. She caught the tense caution in his muscles instants after. Seconds after that, she realized the reason.
“I love you too, Spike,” she whispered. She reveled in his satisfied sigh as she kissed the top of his head and stroked soothing hands against his firm chest.
After a few minutes, when Spike felt his brain could once more adopt a pretence of coherence, he looked into Buffy’s face. “Now, it’s my girl’s turn,” he said with a grin. He took in her deeply flushed face, disheveled hair, and bright eyes. “You’re so gorgeous,” he said earnestly. “Beautiful, nasty girl. Gonna fuck you so sweet.”
At that, he caught himself, looking at her with the edges of fear around his eyes. “I don’t mean…” He stopped; tried again. “It’s not like before,” he said. “Wanna make love to you. Not just fucking to me, Buffy. Was never just that.”
Buffy brushed a stray lock of hair back from his face. “Spike, I know. This year and last year? Light years apart. The badness is so totally over. And I really don’t want us walking on eggshells all the time and treating each other like we’ll break. Especially not in bed,” she added with an almost embarrassed glance. “Cause earlier? With the biting?” Spike held unneeded breath while she worked up her nerve. “That was so totally hot.” She went on quickly, before she lost the courage. “Not because of the hurting. But because it wasn’t about hurting. It was pretty much just about the hotness. And, maybe if you wanted to, we could try it again sometime, unless I’ve just totally freaked you out and you would so never do that, in which case I’ll probably just be shutting up now and we can pretend it was Bad Buffy’s brain, and she won’t come out to play ever again.”
The absolute stillness in the room was not a plus. “Spike… are you…”
“You mean it?” he asked quietly. “You’d do… I mean. You’d want that?”
“Not if you don’t,” she said in a rush.
“You never mentioned it before.” Thoughtful. Wary.
“I didn’t trust you then,” she admitted. She paused. “Why didn’t you ask?”
“Didn’t trust myself.”
“Oh.” Buffy absently toyed with Spike’s ribs as she spoke into his chest. “So, do you think maybe we trust each other now?”
Spike felt hope and love flood him with each word she spoke. Somehow, he managed a soft, simple, “Yeah, pet. I think we do.”
“So maybe later tonight we could…”
“You’re sure?” His blue eyes stirred with anticipation.
“Definitely.” She met his stare, felt his body stirring to lustful energy even as she said the word. With a growl, he pounced on her, kissing her breathless. Buffy smiled into his mouth, running her hands up a well-toned back to grasp the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Spike’s initial passion slipped into sweetness as he planted tiny whispers of kisses… dotting her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose.
He caught her eyes then, one leg thrown over her hip, and his cock rubbing deliciously against the top of her thigh. He placed an easy bite on her bottom lip to make sure he had her full attention. “Buffy, if we’re gonna do this, I’ve just got one thing to ask of you.”
Buffy’s brows knit together as she considered him.
He spoke into her throat, her elegant collarbone. “You know I love you. Know I’d do anything for you.” At her raised eyebrow he amended, “Almost anything for you. I’d bloody well dust for you, if the time ever came.”
“But?”
He could feel her muscles frisson with sex and worry beneath his bare skin, hear her heart speed and feel the whisp of the baby-fine hairs on her tummy standing on end.
“But,” he said firmly. “You mention the ruddy watcher’s name in the throes of passion tonight, and I swear I’ll do a bloody runner.”
His eyebrow cocked, and his eyes sparkled in that way that said he was particularly pleased with himself, and Buffy snapped.
With a twisted giggle, she shoved him off the bed.
“Cagey minx,” he snarled after landing with an ‘oomph.’
She tossed her hair back and laughed long and deep. “You so deserved that.”
“Did not.” He pouted. With an air of offense, he stiffly brushed himself down. The gesture would have been a perfect display of dignified affront had he not been nude.
Buffy giggled again before crawling sensually across the sheets toward him. When she spoke, though, her voice was all business. “Here. Let me help with that.” When she reached the edge of the bed, she took his hard cock in her hands and looked deeply into his eyes before swiftly and clinically patting him down. Spike’s dick lurched at the abrupt attention, even as his eyes narrowed and his lips formed an evil grin.
“Tease,” he muttered.
Buffy looked up, feigned surprise in hand. “I’m sorry. Did you want something?”
She knew she’d stretched his limits. Pushed him a little too far. Still, the tickling came as a surprise. Suddenly, she felt as if she were twelve years old again, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, as his deft fingers found all her sensitive places and she laughed so hard her chest was sore. Of course, she was never one to play victim for long. When he bent down to lay a kiss on her bobbing breasts, she toppled him down beside her on the bed and began her own frantic exploration of his little tender spots. Spike was ticklish. Gah, she loved that Spike was ticklish. He made the cutest little giggles.
Ten minutes or so and they were both panting and heaving, becoming increasingly aware of their sweat-slicked skin and the tangle of their limbs. Spike slid up the bed so his head rested on the pillows once more before grabbing her arm and pulling her body atop his. They lay, toe to toe, with his thick length pressed between them, as Buffy rested her head against his shoulder a moment to catch her breath. Spike’s gentle fingers petted her hair. With a deep breath, she looked at him and said, “This is so weird.”
His arm stopped, stray locks in hand. “What, kitten?”
She tilted her head up to look at him. “It’s fun,” she said with a slightly confused smile. “I just…I never knew it could be fun.”
His hand resumed its comforting stroking, drifting lower, down the soft skin of her back, tracing the slope of her spine, to cup her ass. He gave one cheek a pert squeeze before murmuring, “Fun’s not over yet, pet.”
Her smile could’ve blinded him. Brilliant, and radiant, shimmering, and a million other beautiful gleaming things, but good lord, not effulgent. He smiled softly at his own mental joke. The word, in his estimation, had long outlived its usefulness. And it was never particularly useful to begin with. Good enough for Cecily to glare down on, perhaps. And Dru had certainly gotten her own wicked mileage from it. But it wasn’t pretty enough for his bright, shiny Buffy. Not pretty enough by half.
He brought his other hand down her back, following a slow and simmering path, much like his first. When he reached the other globe of her ass, he swept both hands out and down the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs down on either side of him, gently coaxing her into a straddle. She shifted in his hands, made the change of positions languidly, sure to rub as much of herself against him as she could in the process. Spike didn’t mind.
She knew, as she stretched her legs to poise herself over his tight body, that somehow this was Important. It was the big important sex-having with Spike after they’d both admitted their love, after they’d both reclaimed their lives. But instead, it felt normal. Sweet and sexy. She’d broken her heart against the rocks of past loves over and over, looking for some elusive thing, the thing that would make her a regular girl who could be loved and made love to by a regular boy. Was this what she’d been looking for all this time? Vampire or not, wasn’t this normal? It seemed so simple, yet it had taken so much work to grasp.
She balanced on her knees for a moment, tracing the lines of his abs with gentle fingers, tweaking his nipples to hear him gasp, and running her hands up his shoulders and down his arms to where he held her. His hands rested on her hips, firm and waiting. Their eyes met. A taut nod. He reached down and grasped his cock. Buffy looked down her body. She never got tired of watching him touch himself, even if, as now, it was just a pre-cursor to deeper things. He rubbed the weeping head over her slit, his eyes locked on her face.
Buffy reached down, used deft fingers to slide the lips of her pussy apart. Now, both of their eyes were locked on her sex. The foreskin of Spike’s cock dipped and slid against Buffy’s clit in the best and most tingly ways as he rolled himself against her. The pre-cum from the tip painted her clit and slicked the friction between them. Buffy thrust and shuddered.
“Ready, kitten?” His voice was a sex-rough whisper. Buffy nodded, looking up at him as he pulled his dick slowly down her pussy, heating her own blood, if not his. When he was in place, his right handed grip on her hip tightened, and he began edging her down. Buffy followed his lead, sinking onto his cock.
Spike fought to keep her eyes, fought not to throw his head back and howl in triumph at the feel of the thick cream of her. Warm, snug pussy gloving him inch by luscious inch. Like cutting into molten butter, and he knew she was so wet for him. So wet he felt her dripping down the length of him before she’d even reached the base. He loved this girl. Everything was her. Right now, the world was honed to a fine point, the very thin thread of her body on his, of his body in hers. She was taking him in. For the first time, someone was taking him in whole. His soul had never burned so much.
The fierceness of Spike seemed wholly visible in his eyes as Buffy pulled him inside herself. She felt her muscles on the slow descent. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Big and stretching. How could she have forgotten how big? When she made the last tight slide home against his hips, he let out a choked groan and surged up into her. His lower abdomen brushed her clit just right and Buffy gasped. “Oh, Spike.”
“I’m right here, pet. Right here with you.” He raised a hand to brush her cheek, her lips.
“You’re trembling.” Her voice shook.
Spike took one of her hands in his and kissed the tips of her fingers before looking back to her. He tipped his head. “Same to you.”
“You love me?”
So much anguish and hope wrapped up in that one sweet whisper. “Always,” Spike answered. “You?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Somewhere in Buffy’s love and lust addled mind, it registered that this question called for a different answer. An answer that was a lot closer to “forever” than she’d ever come before. But she was the Slayer, after all. She was no shirker. She flipped her hair back and twisted her hips in the way that made her pussy tingle and Spike’s eyes roll back. “Always,” she said.
“Yes,” he hissed. With that, he grabbed her by the neck and pulled her down for a fast and dirty kiss. Buffy ground herself deep onto him, reveling in his gasp and lolling when he sucked her tongue farther into his mouth and bit it lightly.
She pulled back with a whimper before giving him a mischievous grin. “Bitey now?”
She felt his erection throb and jump inside her, tapping the special spot that rolled her head back with a deep, open-throated groan. Spike shivered with want, shoving his demon down into a stiff steel box. “Not yet,” he said.
“Why not?”
Fuck. She pouted, and he thrust. They both quivered. “Because,” he growled. “I’m saving it.”
Buffy shifted backward on her hips so that he hit her just… there. “Ok… saving it for wh…ohhhhh.” Realization that he was waiting for their climax hit her just before Spike sat up, dragging her body closer against his while he suckled her breast. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, hands splayed across her back, while Buffy draped hers over his shoulders, pumping and writhing against him to her own seductive rhythm.
His pulls on her breast were slow and strong, timed to the deep pressure she applied as she sat on his cock over and over again. When he pulled his mouth away, a tiny whine escaped her throat. He licked her chest up to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met, gave it a soft, human-teethed bite, before ascending to the pulse point just below her jaw. He sucked her there, tonguing and teasing in indolent strokes. She knew he was marking her.
For the briefest moment, Buffy’s mind traveled to a panicked, “Mom will totally freak if she sees I have a hickey.” The realization that it didn’t matter anymore, that it would never matter again, almost broke the steep climb she’d been making since she and Spike started their dance tonight. But then Spike began to speak.
She should’ve expected it, really. Before, when things were bad, his voice was like clockwork. She counted on it in a world where little could be counted on. When the thrusts went from tentative to steady, when she was so far into fucking him that nothing could’ve drug her from the target before she found her mark, he would start to speak. Dirty, nasty words that melted her secret places. Grotesque praises, carefully measured. Not too sweet. Not too tender. Nothing smacking of real emotion. Now, however, his slow baritone was full of both. Crudeness battled with gentility, and she wondered if it was hard for him, treading this new ground. If he was feeling the steps out for the first time, as she was.
“My naughty little princess. She likes daddy’s big cock, that it?” He licked the shell of her ear. “Sweetest girl in the whole world. Ride me, baby. Ride it as hard as you want.”
Buffy complied, gripped his shoulders in firm fingers. When her nails scraped the bare skin, they both smelled the blood. Spike’s hips lifted to meet her each time she landed deep onto him, and the feel of his balls slapping her ass with the force of their tempo spurred Buffy on almost as much as the sound of his voice.
“Love you. Love you so much. Pretty little Buffy. All mine. My titties.” He ran a possessive hand over her breasts. “My luscious little pearl.” Spike’s hand slipped to her clit, rubbing slow circles at first before progressing to heavy taps. “Love your cunt,” he moaned into her ear. “Love to fuck it. Love to lick it. You like it when I lick it, Buffy?”
“Oh, yes,” she panted. “Don’t stop.” She felt her lower body tightening. That warm slick feeling growing thick and taut as he plunged in deeper and her clit began to flutter.
It took her only a moment to process that Spike was no longer touching her.
“No, princess. Not yet.” She scrabbled for purchase as he pushed her backwards. Now he was over her, in her, thrusting steady with a little tilt to his slim hips at the end of each downward stroke. She clasped her ankles around his backside, digging them in, spurring him on. The pressure before felt like a butterfly’s kiss compared to this new bee sting. And oh, he was hitting that place so rich. “Yeah,” Spike grunted as the full pleasure of the new position opened itself to him. “Know what you need. Fill that sweet pussy. Such a sweet fuck. My love. My Buffy.”
“Yours,” she choked out, as his body ground new rhythms into her private places. She was fairly impressed she managed an actual word.
Spike’s senses soared. His elbows were locked tight beneath her so he could hold his hands in her golden hair. Her pert little breasts bobbed against him with each slide, and the feeling of her nipples grazing his own left him breathless and hazed. Her thighs gripped him tight, not wanting to relinquish even when he needed to pull back, to pull out, so he could plunge himself into her again. Each thrust was liquid fire. He watched the light in her eyes as she clenched herself around him, drug each drop of pleasure from his dick before he could slip far enough away to push it all back in.
His senses seemed finely tuned. He heard her harsh little pants, too rough to be pretty, but sexy as hell. He felt the button of her clit as she rubbed it desperately against him. Felt her fierce hands gripping his shoulder blades, kneading and pulling with frantic strength. And inside… oh… inside she was molten silk. Felt her soft honey all over his cock. Felt it dripping down his balls as they slapped, tighter and heavier against her, and oh, nothing in unlife had ever felt like making love to Buffy.
Her breath. “Fuck me, Spike. Oh, fuck me.”
“I will, sweetness,” he promised. “I am.” He brought one hand down from her hair, rubbed a firm path from her waist to her thigh and pulled her body even tighter against him. “Give it to me. Give me that sweet pussy.”
“Unh.”
With his right hand, Spike gripped her neck, turned her wanton face to him. “Tell me who’s fucking you, Buffy. Tell daddy whose cock you want.”
“Yours,” she obeyed without thought. “Spike.”
He answered with a gleeful smile. The tinder between them had blazed too hot to stand much longer. Spike settled back against her to rock with fast, deep thrusts. “My girl. Wanted you. So long. Always be my girl.”
“Love,” Buffy managed, straining harder and harder toward that one perfect place. Her toes began to tingle, and her body began to stretch.
“Wanna come, love,” Spike gasped. “Oh, wanna come inside you so bad. Let me in you. Let me put it all in you.” She nodded, and their eyes met, foreheads almost touching. Spike’s passioned pleas turned to desperate grunting as they pitched and rolled together. Spike’s eyes began to haze. “Buffy,” he begged.
She understood. Tilting her head, she pulled his face to her neck. “Oh, Spike,” she moaned. “Do it.” Her clit burned as his aching cock touched the best places inside over and over again. Buffy felt need and hunger in ways she never had. Vague memories of Angel’s bite tried to insinuate themselves, but it wasn’t hard to push them away. Spike’s touches now were far more sensual than the most intense of experiences before, and she knew she had to get him to do it now, or she’d black out, and she absolutely could not miss this. “Fuck. Spike. Bite,” she pleaded.
His senses narrowed. His elder face formed. He looked once into Buffy’s open hazel eyes before sinking his teeth into the giving, tender skin at her shoulder. The pulsing ache of his cock released as he felt himself spilling over and over into Buffy’s welcoming body. She rocked up to take each escape, brutally locked in her own orgasm. He could taste it in her blood. Her sweet pleasure. The twitching of her thighs and the long, succulent waves of delicious sex flowing out of her. Her pure Slayer’s blood went straight to his cock, and he knew he’d never come this way before, not this hard, not this long. She was giving it to him. She was giving everything to him.
Buffy’s cry of release at the first feel of his blissed out penetration was caught between a pant and a squeal as her legs vised against Spike’s hips. She could feel the pull, feel him licking her up, sucking her in, and she knew somehow he was now in his human guise, eating her like a man. Like a lover. Her pussy throbbed against him over and over, tugging each plunge of release from him. She bit back a sob when he suckled her, hard, pulling one last long flow of pleasure from her body.
They both lay gasping, though only one had need for it. Spike struggled to push himself up, to hold his weight off of his lover, but his shoulders shook, and he fell back to her.
“Sorry,” he murmured into her skin with a weak smile. He licked the last of the blood away, placing a chaste kiss on each puncture wound, wracking another slight shudder from Buffy’s twitching form.
There was no need to expound on his performance, to discuss his greatness in bed. Marking it down to a simple, “You’re the best, babe” seemed too cheap and easy for what they’d just shared, true or not. So even if Buffy could have found the strength to speak it, she couldn’t have found the words. Instead, she stared at his head with heavy-lidded eyes and a glazed smile. She ran a happy hand over his tousled curls before nipping gently at his ear. “Love you,” she said.
“Ohhh, love you too. So bloody much.” He reached a tired hand up to brush a sweaty stray lock of hair from her face; kissed her chin, her nose, then her lips with gentle pecks. Finally, he rolled off of her. Buffy lay in the crook of Spike’s shoulder. Together, they waited out the roll of aftershocks, worn and weak.
A minute. A heartbeat. Then Buffy’s perky voice cut through the silence. “So. Can we go again?”
Spike raised a sardonic brow. “Well,” he drawled, as he languorously scratched his chest, “seeing as we’ve made it to the bed this time, what say we try one under the sheets?”
Buffy giggled, and moments later they were cutting the lights and snuggling beneath the covers, children on a first campout. Buffy didn’t need a flashlight. Spike would protect her. It was a girlish and beautiful feeling.
Hours later, just before the sun rose behind the heavy curtains of her room, Buffy settled into Spike’s arms, thoroughly sated. She closed her eyes as “Happy Birthday, Buffy,” was nuzzled gently into her cheek.
“I love you, Spike.”
They drifted into peaceful, well-earned sleep, and a battered slip of notebook paper settled softly on the floor beside them.
Breath renewed
Every day with you
Our arms, our hold
We are not alone.
Together.
+~+~+~+~
A/N: I cannot stress how important everyone’s feedback has been to me in writing this. This is by far the longest thing I’ve written and actually completed. Ever. Thanks for showing me that I’m capable of this. Yes, it bugs me that I’ve broken several very significant and useful literary rules in making this last chapter so long, but I had some specific things I wanted and just couldn’t make myself cut. The most important of which was my vision of hot Spuffy sex that’s actually sweet and happy. Hopefully that worked. Truly told, the entire point of this story was probably just to get us to redemptive, sweet and happy Spuffy sex. So if that bugs you, I’m sorry. And you soooo should have read the NC-17 rating before you reached this point in the fic. Just so you know. ;-) A special thanks to BrunettePet, whose reviews are always so specific and well thought-out, and to Evilawyer, who encouraged me to write and keep writing. Y'all make me smile.
+~+~+
One year later
+~+~+
Buffy watched in dry amusement as Xander and Anya scurried out the door, no doubt intent on acting out whatever little fantasy had made Xander’s fingers twitch and his face go red when Anya had whispered it to him earlier in the night. Buffy thought, not for the first time, how glad she was they’d postponed the wedding. It seemed Debbie and Pete’s snazzy little after-school special repeat held warnings for more than just her.
She turned slowly on her heel. Time to face the terrible threesome. Willow, Tara, and Dawn were standing in the living room doorway with mischievous smiles. “So,” Dawn began. “I know it’s your birthday and everything, and even though we’re not physically forced to by some whacked out vengeance demon who so misinterpreted what I said, I could technically stay over tonight, but can I please please please spend the night with Willow and Tara instead?”
Buffy looked each one over slowly. Ok, so maybe she hadn’t been of the subtle the last few days. She smiled gratefully. “Sure. You guys go have fun.”
Girlish squeals resounded, along with several “thank you’s” from Dawn, and…Buffy paused. Did Tara actually just wink at her? She shook her head as they passed through the door, giggling. Willow stopped in the entryway, looking pointedly at the kitchen, then back to Buffy. She made several wild shooing motions and mouthed the words, “Have fun,” with a wicked grin before popping out the door and down the walkway.
Buffy closed the door. Decision time—kitchen or living room? With a nervous twitch of her shoulders, she tilted toward the living room instead of her preferred destination. She sighed at herself, stooping to pick up some of the confetti and wrapping paper closest to her. She was the Slayer. She wasn’t scared. She was just… full of healthy nerves. That was it. She was just a hefty bundle of healthy, nervy goodness, and she so wished she could just get this over with.
The past year had been full of hard lessons and harder healing. Absences were felt every single day. Giles. Her mom. Even Angel. But it had also been filled with more true family than she’d ever really had. Healthy family. Where Anya and Xander, Willow and Tara, were the brother and sisters she could turn to for anything. Where she was a good, though absent-minded, mom, and Dawn was a typical teenaged daughter. The only problem being that the current man of the house still lived in the basement. And that was a little glitch she was planning on ending tonight. Just… not quite yet. She absently picked up various cups and paper plates. So maybe she was scared. Just a teeny little bit.
He was still Spike. She knew that, without question. He still snarked at her when she got bossy. He still drank too much when he was feeling moody, and he still called her out when she tried to hide from things. He still smoked. He still cared. He had to care. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stayed. Wouldn’t have agreed to let them help him through the worst of it… back when his screams of penance cut holes in her heart, even as Tara cast spells of comfort and Buffy and Dawn stood awkwardly by, waiting and hoping for the day his nightmares stopped. Buffy knew they hadn’t. Just as hers never had. But she thought his, like hers, were maybe only echoes these days. She desperately hoped so.
He was also decidedly un-Spike, which was the crux of her dilemma. Like now. In the kitchen. Washing her dishes. Part and parcel of the healing process, six months ago Willow had taken it upon herself to assign him a list of chores each day. Handy-dandy helping tasks to take his mind off the centuries of unremitted evil. Or something like that. And surprisingly, it seemed to work. He watched Dawn. He helped out around the house. He took over patrols more than Buffy would like to admit. And apparently, laundry? Good for the soul. Who knew.
Buffy grabbed a small garbage bag from the corner and began stuffing assorted trash into the brown plastic. So Dawn had a father figure, and Buffy had a confidant, a helper, a friend. Sometimes late at night, they would still sit on the back porch, inches apart. He’d smoke cigarettes and she’d lean back to look at the stars or sip a cup of coffee while they talked about their day. Casual, little things… thoughts they knew no one else would care to hear, even if they understood. And it was sweet comfort. And all very mature, really. Caring. Polite, actually.
And infuriatingly platonic.
The last few weeks, Buffy had been desperately dropping hints. Simple, girlish things. Taking extra time with her hair before she walked downstairs for breakfast. Long, dragging moments where she asked him if he was sure there was nothing else he needed before she said goodnight. Making sure she was the one who heated his blood for him whenever they set the table for dinner. But to no avail.
Yesterday, she’d pulled out the big guns. Saturday morning, with Dawn asleep, and she could get away with coming downstairs casual. She’d used it to her fullest advantage. The lightest hint of makeup, tiny pink shorts that barely covered the tops of her thighs, and her tightest pink chemise… no bra. She wished him good morning with a bright smile and a flip of her hair. His eyes darkened. His jaw tensed, and his fists clenched. Then he turned and descended to the basement without a single word.
So Buffy was currently stalling.
But she was the Slayer, after all. And besides, there was nothing left in the living room to clean. She cut the light behind her and carried her little trash bag to the kitchen, taking a deep breath before she walked in. She wouldn’t hide anymore. Not ever again.
Her set shoulders and determined little nod deflated the instant she saw the duffel bags sitting on her kitchen floor. Spike was just ascending the stairs with what looked like a box of his clothes. When he noticed her, he tilted his head away with a slightly guilty glance.
“Right, then. You caught me,” he breathed. “Meant it as a surprise.”
Buffy had felt the wind knocked from her gut hundreds of times on patrol. She had never before felt it while she was standing still on her kitchen tile.
“For your birthday,” he added with an attempt at a smile. He looked toward her, but not at her. “No more of me leaching off you.”
Buffy dropped the trash bag, and her fists clenched. “This is your idea of a birthday present?”
Spike set the box down in front of him. “I know it’s not much,” he said. “But I’ve thought about it a while now. There’s nothing I have that you’d want. Got nothing of value left to give you, Buffy. Just this.”
The air separating them felt like thick syrup, but Buffy crossed the distance all the same. When she was close enough, she willed him to meet her gaze, willed him to see the gentle meaning behind it as she said, “We both know that’s not true.”
Spike backed away from her, awkwardly tripping over one of the bags behind him and raising fey hands to ward her off. “Don’t know exactly where you’re going with that, pet, but it’s best we don’t find out, yeah? I got a place all picked out. I’ll show you tomorrow night. You can come visit now and again, if you’d like.” With more distance between them, he began warming to the sound of his voice, as though it were an oft-practiced speech and he was just remembering his place. “And I won’t stop patrolling, so no worries. Told you when the witch suggested it, I’m good for whatever you need. Only have to ask.”
Spike watched with wary eyes as she closed the gap between them, using her preternatural grace to ease a perfect path through his luggage. She stopped, inches away. He could hear her breath, feel the pulse thrumming through her palm when she laid a soft hand on the side of his neck. “I’m asking,” she whispered, as she lifted her lips to his.
Before she could make contact, he pulled away, one hand on the doorknob, knowing only that he could feel the cage closing on his heart, and if he didn’t make it through that door, the lock would click into place. And this time, it’d be forever. This time, it’d be soul and all.
“Spike, what are you doing?” Buffy didn’t keep the hurt and frustration from her voice. Couldn’t if she had tried.
“The right thing,” he said, dropping his hands and standing defenseless before her.
“Running away? Sneaking out in the middle of the night like some thief?” Neither of them moved, but both felt her emotional advance, his painful retreat. “Not even bothering to tell me you’re leaving me?”
“Buffy, it’s not like…”
“Don’t tell me what it’s like,” she shouted. “Don’t you dare. How could you? Spike, how could you think this is ok?”
Slumped shoulders, a haggard voice. “You deserve more.”
Buffy’s eyes lit, pain-filled. “I get it. God, I get it.” Something wild and weary in her voice drew him in, made him lift a hand toward her even as she back away. She warded him off. “No. I’ve done this before. Only he had the guts to face me.”
Spike didn’t bother to ask who. The name in his head alone made his stomach boil. It was given voice a heartbeat later, when Buffy looked up at him, eyes almost black with anger and grief.
“The soul changed Angel,” Buffy spat, “but at least it never made him a coward.”
With a snarl, Spike hauled her back against the bar, body tight against hers and lethal teeth barely grazing her skin. “You stupid little girl. You just don’t get it,” he growled, as he thrust himself against her, her whimper brushing against his ear. “There is nothing stopping me,” he said. With a surgeon’s skill, his fangs cut a thread-thin line down Buffy’s throat while she trembled beneath him. His deadly whisper filled her ear. “You think I’m whipped because I watch your telly and clean the floors? You think I’m tamed? The soul didn’t fix me, sweetheart.” Her fingers flexed on his tight, black tee as he pressed infinitely closer to her. “I still crave the hunt... the kill.” His voice trailed off as he took the blood from her throat in one long, slow lick. He groaned low in his throat as she shuddered, desperately seeking the pressure of his cock where she needed it most.
“We can kid ourselves, but I’m no different,” he gasped as he pulled himself away. Containing himself with a crude leer, he sniffed the air, permeated with her arousal. “And let’s face it,” he said. “You’re no different either.”
Buffy’s eyes opened in time to feel the full insult of his words. Dragging a hand down his chest to his crotch, he grabbed himself. “You still don’t want me. Just this. You just like men who hurt you.”
Tears watered Buffy’s eyes, but her voice was agonizingly calm when she faced him. “You’re right,” she whispered. “Because you just hurt me worse than anyone. And I still love you.” With a tearful gasp, she ran from the room, climbing the stairs two at a time and slamming the door so hard it shook the floor beneath him.
An instant later, he was breaking through the cheap locked door and pulling a weeping Buffy off the bed and into his arms on the floor. “Shhh,” he murmured into her hair desperately. “Please don’t cry, kitten. I’m a bad, bad man. Didn’t mean it. Can’t stand it when you cry. Buffy.”
If anything her sobs increased, and he felt her tears dripping against his neck as she clutched him to her. “It’s too late. It’s too late, isn’t it? You don’t love me anymore. Oh god, I waited too long.”
He shook his head frantically. “Love you. Still. Always. Forever. Never stop loving you, Buffy.”
Her voice was a stricken child’s. “Then why don’t you want me?”
“Pet, you saw what happened just now. I can’t go back to what we were. And there’s nothing stopping it happening all over again.”
At that, Buffy drew in a lungful of air and stifled her sobs, forcing herself to look into his eyes. “How did you feel downstairs?”
A lustful shiver swept his flesh before he could stop it. He met her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“Angry? Desperate? Hot?”
He looked away.
“Me too,” Buffy said. She laid a hand on his face, pulling him to her. “But we didn’t hurt each other.”
“Your neck,” Spike whispered, eyes drawn to the tiny trickle of remaining red.
“Definitely not a pain thing.” Buffy blushed furiously as Spike licked his lips. “I didn’t even want to hurt you.” More softly, she added, “I just wanted you to hold me again.”
Spike laid his head against her collarbone. “Me too, kitten.”
Buffy ran her fingers through his tightly slicked curls. “I know things were bad.” She sniffled. “But we can work. We do work.”
“I want to believe it, Buffy. So much. But…”
“You don’t trust me,” she said weakly.
“That’s not it. You’ve changed. I’ve seen it. You care now.” He shook his head against her. “I don’t trust myself. You don’t understand, Buffy. Back then, I wanted you so much, I’d have done anything to drag you into the dark with me. Just to hold you, to touch you. I made myself your slave. Lost everything I was.”
“But you didn’t,” she said softly, pulling herself from his arms and scuffling through her things. “Not completely,” she added as she opened the small wooden box she’d found. She held the battered paper out to him and watched his hands shake as he took it.
“You kept it.”
“You remember it,” she said.
He nodded. “You’ve written on it.” What Spike Wouldn’t Do For Buffy. Hurt Dawn.
“You wouldn’t let me hurt her that night. And I wanted to tell you how much it meant. That you expected me to be better than that. It made me expect to be better for myself. You did that, Spike, even then. And you’re so much more now. You’re not more because the soul was some magical fix-it-all. You’re more because you wanted to be. You made yourself into something different because your will is so strong. Your love is so strong.” Buffy cupped his face in both hands. “I believe in you, Spike. And I’ve waited so long for you to see…”
Suddenly, Spike’s lips were on hers, tender and fierce. His teeth nipped her lower lip gently, begging entrance. She took his tongue in her mouth and swallowed his soft growl as she wrapped her own around it. Buffy’s blood heated with the rightness of it. The feel of his left hand kneading her breast through the soft white tank top she wore while his right hand pulled her closer. She moved to straddle him, and when she ground the denim of her jeans into his hardness he gasped and pulled back.
“Did you mean it?” he breathed desperately.
Buffy stared, perplexed.
“What you said downstairs,” he added. The stress and hope in his face served as sufficient reminder. “Did you mean it?.”
“I did,” she answered.
With a broad smile, he playfully drug her closer, rubbing her sex against his. “Say it again,” he dared.
Buffy smiled back with a hot breath, leaning her forehead against his. “Spike, I love you.”
Thunder didn’t clap. Lightning didn’t strike, and the earth stayed firmly planted where it was. But something deep and substantial shifted in Spike’s still heart. He felt free. And so happy. With a whoop, he picked her up and tossed her to the bed. They both laughed as he leapt up after her. Once at her side, Spike gently brushed the remains of a tear from her face with his thumb, laying a solemn kiss against her forehead. Suddenly, Buffy grew serious. “And you… you still…”
Spike longed to tease her, but the uncertainty in her face cut his thoughts short. “Want you? Need you? Love you?” he murmured. “All of the above.” He leaned in to the unmarked side of her throat and placed deeply tongued kisses against her skin. “And so much more.”
At that, Buffy sat up, lifting her arms above her head prettily as she asked in a little girl’s voice. “Undress me?”
He eyed her. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“Gah,” Buffy muttered. “If our sexual tension gets any more unresolved, I’m sure the house will burn down. Dawn’s bought fire extinguishers just in case.”
With a chuckle, Spike lifted the shirt over her head, eyes caught up in the lacy white bra now exposed to him. “So Nibblet’s had an eye toward our final showdown, eh?” he asked as he gently pulled the clasp on the bra and watched as her breasts fell free.
“Oh yeah,” Buffy exhaled. “She,” Buffy gasped as Spike threw the bra to the floor and pulled a thick nipple into his mouth. “She left with Willow and Tara so we could have the house to ourselves.”
Spike left a heated bite on the tip of her breast before pulling back to laugh. “Cheeky little bint. Somebody owes her a good seeing to when she gets home.”
At that, Buffy flipped him beneath her, straddling his thighs and earning a long, hearty groan from low in Spike’s chest. “Now listen here, mister,” she poked a finger at what she knew to be a particularly ticklish spot on his chest. “The only girl who gets a good seeing to in this house is me.” Spike giggled, then nodded obediently. “And I don’t think I like the idea of you using your British euphe-whatsits…”
“Euphemisms?”
She slapped his chest, “Those. I don’t like you using those on anybody else either.”
Spike gave a chagrined mockery of a salute before saying, “Yes, ma’am.”
Buffy nearly purred. “Oooo… I think I like you all playful and… dutiful.” She set to pulling up his shirt and Spike stretched happily beneath her.
“So, any specific duties you have in mind, pet?”
“I’m sure I can think of a few.” He sat up, and together they pulled his shirt off and tossed it away as she began to giggle. “Gah, I think I just took a brief detour into bad porn movie dialog.”
“Nah,” Spike said, tilting her back to lick the underside of her breast. “Not bad porn. Those are the best kind.” His leering grin brought a light slap to Spike’s shoulder that turned to a fierce grip when he began sucking and rubbing her nipples in earnest. “Oh, I love these,” he said into her breasts. “Nearly killed me yesterday… perky little tits all wanton and needy. Begging me to take a taste.”
Buffy moaned as she tilted her head back. “But you left. I thought you didn’t want me,” she said.
“Bollocks,” he whispered. He drug her legs around him and sat back on his knees so that she could straddle him, rubbing and throbbing against his jeans. “Nearly went off there in the kitchen. Went back downstairs and wanked for hours. Couldn’t get the smell of you out of my head.”
“Ohhhh,” Buffy sighed. Spike unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans before encouraging her to lie back so he could strip them off. Her silken white panties nearly undid him there and then. The ones with the bows. She knew he loved the ones with the bows. He buried his face in the fabric, breathing in deep and giving Buffy the barest tickle of the touch she wanted so desperately. He planted a chaste kiss on the tiny silk bows on each side of her hips, then a softer, longer kiss to her clit through the fabric, barely tonguing her before pulled away. Buffy whimpered and thrust up to recapture his mouth, but Spike was already standing beside the bed, shucking his own jeans.
“I love your cock,” she said when he was finally naked, then placed a shocked hand over her mouth and flushed at the boldness of her own words. Spike merely tilted his head back and held in a groan. Buffy had never been vocal in bed before. In fact, they’d barely talked at all. Being here tonight, in her bed, would’ve been pleasure enough. But knowing she wanted words instead of just the sex was almost enough to undo him. Spike sought control and promptly lost it when he realized she’d crawled across the bed to give his dick a closer inspection.
Buffy worked up more courage as she truly examined Spike’s… spike for the first time. She watched the goose-bumps form on his skin as she traced a deep vein with her finger, root to tip. The smooth skin flowed beneath her hand as she mapped the width and length of him, taking in the subtle curve and soft foreskin. She knew Spike was fighting to keep himself still, calm, and the feeling of his member swelling and throbbing in her hands made her so wet she could smell her own arousal, dripping past her panties along her thighs.
“Buffy,” he managed weakly.
She inched backward on the bed in silent invitation, and he lay down beside her, rubbing his hands across her stomach and down her hips. She spoke. “You know, I almost jumped you like a total ho the night you mowed the yard.”
Spike looked up with a startled gleam in his eyes.
“I came into the kitchen, and you were standing there all shirtless, and hot, and manly, and… hot.”
“Mentioned that, pet.”
“It bore repeating.”
“Ah.” He carefully unfastened the left bow. “That night when you and the kiddies went to the Bronze… You almost killed me.” At Buffy’s look, he added, “Again,” then smiled. “You came home in that little black mini with the red strappy top, all sweaty from dancing, and your hair in little ringlets round your shoulders.” Spike lost himself in the memory for a moment. Buffy pulled his hand down to the right bow, and Spike deftly unfastened it as well, dusting his fingers across her hipbone as he slid the fabric from her side. “That night,” he went on, “I came up to check on you and the Bit, and I could’ve sworn I heard… things.”
Buffy cut her eyes away for an instant before giving him a small grin. “Yeah. So?”
“So...” Spike pulled the panties from her slowly, watching as the fabric rubbed and pulled against her pussy before he tossed them away. He kissed his way up her torso and leaned over her to whisper silkily in her ear. “Were you touching yourself?”
“Yeah-huh,” she answered.
Spike brought a hand up to rub slow circles against her naked thigh. “And were you thinking of me?”
Buffy grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer. “Ohhh, yes.”
“I thought so.”
His smug smirk brought her back to the present as Buffy decided to turn the tables.
Suddenly, Spike was presented with a perfect little Slayer ass as Buffy flipped herself around and knelt over him. When she took the head of his stiff cock in her mouth, his thoughts blanked. He’d always loved the feel of her sucking him off, but to his mind, it was so much better when they could do it like this… when he could lick that little quim of hers and taste just how much she wanted him, how hot they were for each other.
He pulled her legs back, strong hands gripping her thighs and holding her open over his face. “Sweet little cunny,” he whispered into her. When he stuck his tongue inside of her, he felt Buffy’s groan shake her body and his own. He dipped his tongue into and out of her wet passage in time with her deep sucks on his cock. He struggled for control when he felt her sexy little hands go to work on him… one rubbing the base of his cock while the other dipped and cupped his balls.
Spike changed positions then, holding her over him with his right hand so he could place the fingers of his left hand inside of her. Her deep-throated grunt when he hit the right spot inside probably shouldn’t have been a sexy sound, but the force and passion of it made him growl as his lips sought out her clit and his tongue licked its way around her most sensitive nerves.
Buffy desperately wanted to ride his mouth into oblivion, but she was possessed by a single minded concentration. Because this time, Spike was going to come first. Even if he didn’t know it yet. She focused on relaxing her throat, taking him in as far and deep as he could go, the warm heat of her mouth expanding, then collapsing in against him as she sucked him on the upstroke. She felt his stomach muscles tense against the tips of her breasts when she started stroking his balls more firmly.
Pausing for a moment, she licked two of her fingers to slickness before engulfing him again. Then she picked up speed and did the thing she knew he liked. The only thing he’d asked for that she’d actually refused on their first, wildest night together. When she placed her fingers inside him and stroked him within his tightest hole, his body seized, and he came with a deep, lasting roar.
“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he chanted as she swallowed and licked the last of his orgasm away. “Oh, my pretty, sweet Buffy.”
She lifted herself from him and turned to face him, then, draping herself against his side. “Love you, Buffy,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. She caught the tense caution in his muscles instants after. Seconds after that, she realized the reason.
“I love you too, Spike,” she whispered. She reveled in his satisfied sigh as she kissed the top of his head and stroked soothing hands against his firm chest.
After a few minutes, when Spike felt his brain could once more adopt a pretence of coherence, he looked into Buffy’s face. “Now, it’s my girl’s turn,” he said with a grin. He took in her deeply flushed face, disheveled hair, and bright eyes. “You’re so gorgeous,” he said earnestly. “Beautiful, nasty girl. Gonna fuck you so sweet.”
At that, he caught himself, looking at her with the edges of fear around his eyes. “I don’t mean…” He stopped; tried again. “It’s not like before,” he said. “Wanna make love to you. Not just fucking to me, Buffy. Was never just that.”
Buffy brushed a stray lock of hair back from his face. “Spike, I know. This year and last year? Light years apart. The badness is so totally over. And I really don’t want us walking on eggshells all the time and treating each other like we’ll break. Especially not in bed,” she added with an almost embarrassed glance. “Cause earlier? With the biting?” Spike held unneeded breath while she worked up her nerve. “That was so totally hot.” She went on quickly, before she lost the courage. “Not because of the hurting. But because it wasn’t about hurting. It was pretty much just about the hotness. And, maybe if you wanted to, we could try it again sometime, unless I’ve just totally freaked you out and you would so never do that, in which case I’ll probably just be shutting up now and we can pretend it was Bad Buffy’s brain, and she won’t come out to play ever again.”
The absolute stillness in the room was not a plus. “Spike… are you…”
“You mean it?” he asked quietly. “You’d do… I mean. You’d want that?”
“Not if you don’t,” she said in a rush.
“You never mentioned it before.” Thoughtful. Wary.
“I didn’t trust you then,” she admitted. She paused. “Why didn’t you ask?”
“Didn’t trust myself.”
“Oh.” Buffy absently toyed with Spike’s ribs as she spoke into his chest. “So, do you think maybe we trust each other now?”
Spike felt hope and love flood him with each word she spoke. Somehow, he managed a soft, simple, “Yeah, pet. I think we do.”
“So maybe later tonight we could…”
“You’re sure?” His blue eyes stirred with anticipation.
“Definitely.” She met his stare, felt his body stirring to lustful energy even as she said the word. With a growl, he pounced on her, kissing her breathless. Buffy smiled into his mouth, running her hands up a well-toned back to grasp the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Spike’s initial passion slipped into sweetness as he planted tiny whispers of kisses… dotting her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose.
He caught her eyes then, one leg thrown over her hip, and his cock rubbing deliciously against the top of her thigh. He placed an easy bite on her bottom lip to make sure he had her full attention. “Buffy, if we’re gonna do this, I’ve just got one thing to ask of you.”
Buffy’s brows knit together as she considered him.
He spoke into her throat, her elegant collarbone. “You know I love you. Know I’d do anything for you.” At her raised eyebrow he amended, “Almost anything for you. I’d bloody well dust for you, if the time ever came.”
“But?”
He could feel her muscles frisson with sex and worry beneath his bare skin, hear her heart speed and feel the whisp of the baby-fine hairs on her tummy standing on end.
“But,” he said firmly. “You mention the ruddy watcher’s name in the throes of passion tonight, and I swear I’ll do a bloody runner.”
His eyebrow cocked, and his eyes sparkled in that way that said he was particularly pleased with himself, and Buffy snapped.
With a twisted giggle, she shoved him off the bed.
“Cagey minx,” he snarled after landing with an ‘oomph.’
She tossed her hair back and laughed long and deep. “You so deserved that.”
“Did not.” He pouted. With an air of offense, he stiffly brushed himself down. The gesture would have been a perfect display of dignified affront had he not been nude.
Buffy giggled again before crawling sensually across the sheets toward him. When she spoke, though, her voice was all business. “Here. Let me help with that.” When she reached the edge of the bed, she took his hard cock in her hands and looked deeply into his eyes before swiftly and clinically patting him down. Spike’s dick lurched at the abrupt attention, even as his eyes narrowed and his lips formed an evil grin.
“Tease,” he muttered.
Buffy looked up, feigned surprise in hand. “I’m sorry. Did you want something?”
She knew she’d stretched his limits. Pushed him a little too far. Still, the tickling came as a surprise. Suddenly, she felt as if she were twelve years old again, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, as his deft fingers found all her sensitive places and she laughed so hard her chest was sore. Of course, she was never one to play victim for long. When he bent down to lay a kiss on her bobbing breasts, she toppled him down beside her on the bed and began her own frantic exploration of his little tender spots. Spike was ticklish. Gah, she loved that Spike was ticklish. He made the cutest little giggles.
Ten minutes or so and they were both panting and heaving, becoming increasingly aware of their sweat-slicked skin and the tangle of their limbs. Spike slid up the bed so his head rested on the pillows once more before grabbing her arm and pulling her body atop his. They lay, toe to toe, with his thick length pressed between them, as Buffy rested her head against his shoulder a moment to catch her breath. Spike’s gentle fingers petted her hair. With a deep breath, she looked at him and said, “This is so weird.”
His arm stopped, stray locks in hand. “What, kitten?”
She tilted her head up to look at him. “It’s fun,” she said with a slightly confused smile. “I just…I never knew it could be fun.”
His hand resumed its comforting stroking, drifting lower, down the soft skin of her back, tracing the slope of her spine, to cup her ass. He gave one cheek a pert squeeze before murmuring, “Fun’s not over yet, pet.”
Her smile could’ve blinded him. Brilliant, and radiant, shimmering, and a million other beautiful gleaming things, but good lord, not effulgent. He smiled softly at his own mental joke. The word, in his estimation, had long outlived its usefulness. And it was never particularly useful to begin with. Good enough for Cecily to glare down on, perhaps. And Dru had certainly gotten her own wicked mileage from it. But it wasn’t pretty enough for his bright, shiny Buffy. Not pretty enough by half.
He brought his other hand down her back, following a slow and simmering path, much like his first. When he reached the other globe of her ass, he swept both hands out and down the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs down on either side of him, gently coaxing her into a straddle. She shifted in his hands, made the change of positions languidly, sure to rub as much of herself against him as she could in the process. Spike didn’t mind.
She knew, as she stretched her legs to poise herself over his tight body, that somehow this was Important. It was the big important sex-having with Spike after they’d both admitted their love, after they’d both reclaimed their lives. But instead, it felt normal. Sweet and sexy. She’d broken her heart against the rocks of past loves over and over, looking for some elusive thing, the thing that would make her a regular girl who could be loved and made love to by a regular boy. Was this what she’d been looking for all this time? Vampire or not, wasn’t this normal? It seemed so simple, yet it had taken so much work to grasp.
She balanced on her knees for a moment, tracing the lines of his abs with gentle fingers, tweaking his nipples to hear him gasp, and running her hands up his shoulders and down his arms to where he held her. His hands rested on her hips, firm and waiting. Their eyes met. A taut nod. He reached down and grasped his cock. Buffy looked down her body. She never got tired of watching him touch himself, even if, as now, it was just a pre-cursor to deeper things. He rubbed the weeping head over her slit, his eyes locked on her face.
Buffy reached down, used deft fingers to slide the lips of her pussy apart. Now, both of their eyes were locked on her sex. The foreskin of Spike’s cock dipped and slid against Buffy’s clit in the best and most tingly ways as he rolled himself against her. The pre-cum from the tip painted her clit and slicked the friction between them. Buffy thrust and shuddered.
“Ready, kitten?” His voice was a sex-rough whisper. Buffy nodded, looking up at him as he pulled his dick slowly down her pussy, heating her own blood, if not his. When he was in place, his right handed grip on her hip tightened, and he began edging her down. Buffy followed his lead, sinking onto his cock.
Spike fought to keep her eyes, fought not to throw his head back and howl in triumph at the feel of the thick cream of her. Warm, snug pussy gloving him inch by luscious inch. Like cutting into molten butter, and he knew she was so wet for him. So wet he felt her dripping down the length of him before she’d even reached the base. He loved this girl. Everything was her. Right now, the world was honed to a fine point, the very thin thread of her body on his, of his body in hers. She was taking him in. For the first time, someone was taking him in whole. His soul had never burned so much.
The fierceness of Spike seemed wholly visible in his eyes as Buffy pulled him inside herself. She felt her muscles on the slow descent. Tense. Release. Tense. Release. Big and stretching. How could she have forgotten how big? When she made the last tight slide home against his hips, he let out a choked groan and surged up into her. His lower abdomen brushed her clit just right and Buffy gasped. “Oh, Spike.”
“I’m right here, pet. Right here with you.” He raised a hand to brush her cheek, her lips.
“You’re trembling.” Her voice shook.
Spike took one of her hands in his and kissed the tips of her fingers before looking back to her. He tipped his head. “Same to you.”
“You love me?”
So much anguish and hope wrapped up in that one sweet whisper. “Always,” Spike answered. “You?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Somewhere in Buffy’s love and lust addled mind, it registered that this question called for a different answer. An answer that was a lot closer to “forever” than she’d ever come before. But she was the Slayer, after all. She was no shirker. She flipped her hair back and twisted her hips in the way that made her pussy tingle and Spike’s eyes roll back. “Always,” she said.
“Yes,” he hissed. With that, he grabbed her by the neck and pulled her down for a fast and dirty kiss. Buffy ground herself deep onto him, reveling in his gasp and lolling when he sucked her tongue farther into his mouth and bit it lightly.
She pulled back with a whimper before giving him a mischievous grin. “Bitey now?”
She felt his erection throb and jump inside her, tapping the special spot that rolled her head back with a deep, open-throated groan. Spike shivered with want, shoving his demon down into a stiff steel box. “Not yet,” he said.
“Why not?”
Fuck. She pouted, and he thrust. They both quivered. “Because,” he growled. “I’m saving it.”
Buffy shifted backward on her hips so that he hit her just… there. “Ok… saving it for wh…ohhhhh.” Realization that he was waiting for their climax hit her just before Spike sat up, dragging her body closer against his while he suckled her breast. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, hands splayed across her back, while Buffy draped hers over his shoulders, pumping and writhing against him to her own seductive rhythm.
His pulls on her breast were slow and strong, timed to the deep pressure she applied as she sat on his cock over and over again. When he pulled his mouth away, a tiny whine escaped her throat. He licked her chest up to the juncture where her neck and shoulder met, gave it a soft, human-teethed bite, before ascending to the pulse point just below her jaw. He sucked her there, tonguing and teasing in indolent strokes. She knew he was marking her.
For the briefest moment, Buffy’s mind traveled to a panicked, “Mom will totally freak if she sees I have a hickey.” The realization that it didn’t matter anymore, that it would never matter again, almost broke the steep climb she’d been making since she and Spike started their dance tonight. But then Spike began to speak.
She should’ve expected it, really. Before, when things were bad, his voice was like clockwork. She counted on it in a world where little could be counted on. When the thrusts went from tentative to steady, when she was so far into fucking him that nothing could’ve drug her from the target before she found her mark, he would start to speak. Dirty, nasty words that melted her secret places. Grotesque praises, carefully measured. Not too sweet. Not too tender. Nothing smacking of real emotion. Now, however, his slow baritone was full of both. Crudeness battled with gentility, and she wondered if it was hard for him, treading this new ground. If he was feeling the steps out for the first time, as she was.
“My naughty little princess. She likes daddy’s big cock, that it?” He licked the shell of her ear. “Sweetest girl in the whole world. Ride me, baby. Ride it as hard as you want.”
Buffy complied, gripped his shoulders in firm fingers. When her nails scraped the bare skin, they both smelled the blood. Spike’s hips lifted to meet her each time she landed deep onto him, and the feel of his balls slapping her ass with the force of their tempo spurred Buffy on almost as much as the sound of his voice.
“Love you. Love you so much. Pretty little Buffy. All mine. My titties.” He ran a possessive hand over her breasts. “My luscious little pearl.” Spike’s hand slipped to her clit, rubbing slow circles at first before progressing to heavy taps. “Love your cunt,” he moaned into her ear. “Love to fuck it. Love to lick it. You like it when I lick it, Buffy?”
“Oh, yes,” she panted. “Don’t stop.” She felt her lower body tightening. That warm slick feeling growing thick and taut as he plunged in deeper and her clit began to flutter.
It took her only a moment to process that Spike was no longer touching her.
“No, princess. Not yet.” She scrabbled for purchase as he pushed her backwards. Now he was over her, in her, thrusting steady with a little tilt to his slim hips at the end of each downward stroke. She clasped her ankles around his backside, digging them in, spurring him on. The pressure before felt like a butterfly’s kiss compared to this new bee sting. And oh, he was hitting that place so rich. “Yeah,” Spike grunted as the full pleasure of the new position opened itself to him. “Know what you need. Fill that sweet pussy. Such a sweet fuck. My love. My Buffy.”
“Yours,” she choked out, as his body ground new rhythms into her private places. She was fairly impressed she managed an actual word.
Spike’s senses soared. His elbows were locked tight beneath her so he could hold his hands in her golden hair. Her pert little breasts bobbed against him with each slide, and the feeling of her nipples grazing his own left him breathless and hazed. Her thighs gripped him tight, not wanting to relinquish even when he needed to pull back, to pull out, so he could plunge himself into her again. Each thrust was liquid fire. He watched the light in her eyes as she clenched herself around him, drug each drop of pleasure from his dick before he could slip far enough away to push it all back in.
His senses seemed finely tuned. He heard her harsh little pants, too rough to be pretty, but sexy as hell. He felt the button of her clit as she rubbed it desperately against him. Felt her fierce hands gripping his shoulder blades, kneading and pulling with frantic strength. And inside… oh… inside she was molten silk. Felt her soft honey all over his cock. Felt it dripping down his balls as they slapped, tighter and heavier against her, and oh, nothing in unlife had ever felt like making love to Buffy.
Her breath. “Fuck me, Spike. Oh, fuck me.”
“I will, sweetness,” he promised. “I am.” He brought one hand down from her hair, rubbed a firm path from her waist to her thigh and pulled her body even tighter against him. “Give it to me. Give me that sweet pussy.”
“Unh.”
With his right hand, Spike gripped her neck, turned her wanton face to him. “Tell me who’s fucking you, Buffy. Tell daddy whose cock you want.”
“Yours,” she obeyed without thought. “Spike.”
He answered with a gleeful smile. The tinder between them had blazed too hot to stand much longer. Spike settled back against her to rock with fast, deep thrusts. “My girl. Wanted you. So long. Always be my girl.”
“Love,” Buffy managed, straining harder and harder toward that one perfect place. Her toes began to tingle, and her body began to stretch.
“Wanna come, love,” Spike gasped. “Oh, wanna come inside you so bad. Let me in you. Let me put it all in you.” She nodded, and their eyes met, foreheads almost touching. Spike’s passioned pleas turned to desperate grunting as they pitched and rolled together. Spike’s eyes began to haze. “Buffy,” he begged.
She understood. Tilting her head, she pulled his face to her neck. “Oh, Spike,” she moaned. “Do it.” Her clit burned as his aching cock touched the best places inside over and over again. Buffy felt need and hunger in ways she never had. Vague memories of Angel’s bite tried to insinuate themselves, but it wasn’t hard to push them away. Spike’s touches now were far more sensual than the most intense of experiences before, and she knew she had to get him to do it now, or she’d black out, and she absolutely could not miss this. “Fuck. Spike. Bite,” she pleaded.
His senses narrowed. His elder face formed. He looked once into Buffy’s open hazel eyes before sinking his teeth into the giving, tender skin at her shoulder. The pulsing ache of his cock released as he felt himself spilling over and over into Buffy’s welcoming body. She rocked up to take each escape, brutally locked in her own orgasm. He could taste it in her blood. Her sweet pleasure. The twitching of her thighs and the long, succulent waves of delicious sex flowing out of her. Her pure Slayer’s blood went straight to his cock, and he knew he’d never come this way before, not this hard, not this long. She was giving it to him. She was giving everything to him.
Buffy’s cry of release at the first feel of his blissed out penetration was caught between a pant and a squeal as her legs vised against Spike’s hips. She could feel the pull, feel him licking her up, sucking her in, and she knew somehow he was now in his human guise, eating her like a man. Like a lover. Her pussy throbbed against him over and over, tugging each plunge of release from him. She bit back a sob when he suckled her, hard, pulling one last long flow of pleasure from her body.
They both lay gasping, though only one had need for it. Spike struggled to push himself up, to hold his weight off of his lover, but his shoulders shook, and he fell back to her.
“Sorry,” he murmured into her skin with a weak smile. He licked the last of the blood away, placing a chaste kiss on each puncture wound, wracking another slight shudder from Buffy’s twitching form.
There was no need to expound on his performance, to discuss his greatness in bed. Marking it down to a simple, “You’re the best, babe” seemed too cheap and easy for what they’d just shared, true or not. So even if Buffy could have found the strength to speak it, she couldn’t have found the words. Instead, she stared at his head with heavy-lidded eyes and a glazed smile. She ran a happy hand over his tousled curls before nipping gently at his ear. “Love you,” she said.
“Ohhh, love you too. So bloody much.” He reached a tired hand up to brush a sweaty stray lock of hair from her face; kissed her chin, her nose, then her lips with gentle pecks. Finally, he rolled off of her. Buffy lay in the crook of Spike’s shoulder. Together, they waited out the roll of aftershocks, worn and weak.
A minute. A heartbeat. Then Buffy’s perky voice cut through the silence. “So. Can we go again?”
Spike raised a sardonic brow. “Well,” he drawled, as he languorously scratched his chest, “seeing as we’ve made it to the bed this time, what say we try one under the sheets?”
Buffy giggled, and moments later they were cutting the lights and snuggling beneath the covers, children on a first campout. Buffy didn’t need a flashlight. Spike would protect her. It was a girlish and beautiful feeling.
Hours later, just before the sun rose behind the heavy curtains of her room, Buffy settled into Spike’s arms, thoroughly sated. She closed her eyes as “Happy Birthday, Buffy,” was nuzzled gently into her cheek.
“I love you, Spike.”
They drifted into peaceful, well-earned sleep, and a battered slip of notebook paper settled softly on the floor beside them.
Breath renewed
Every day with you
Our arms, our hold
We are not alone.
Together.
+~+~+~+~
A/N: I cannot stress how important everyone’s feedback has been to me in writing this. This is by far the longest thing I’ve written and actually completed. Ever. Thanks for showing me that I’m capable of this. Yes, it bugs me that I’ve broken several very significant and useful literary rules in making this last chapter so long, but I had some specific things I wanted and just couldn’t make myself cut. The most important of which was my vision of hot Spuffy sex that’s actually sweet and happy. Hopefully that worked. Truly told, the entire point of this story was probably just to get us to redemptive, sweet and happy Spuffy sex. So if that bugs you, I’m sorry. And you soooo should have read the NC-17 rating before you reached this point in the fic. Just so you know. ;-) A special thanks to BrunettePet, whose reviews are always so specific and well thought-out, and to Evilawyer, who encouraged me to write and keep writing. Y'all make me smile.
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