I thought I had brought this fic up to date on here, but it appears I did not. *sighs*
This chapter is un-beta'd
The remainder of the evening proved to be the most trying that Spike had experienced since he had held the car door open for Buffy that fateful night so long ago. The urge to rip out her watcher's throat was intense and consuming, but the image of seeing disappointment echoed in Buffy's eyes was much stronger. And that just wouldn't do.
They had come too far for that.
So he endured.
But, he thought with wry satisfaction, he wasn't the only one suffering. Buffy's mum was holding her own with the git; tossing dirty looks whenever the pompous mouth was opened. It was clear that the old man was still holding onto misplaced resentment for the role Spike had played during the torture at Angelus's hands. The barely veiled and inappropriate comments tossed out randomly made that perfectly clear.
Fortunately for Spike, Buffy was able to read between the lines and knew there was something going on. Not wanting her peace interrupted just yet, Buffy refused to let Giles announce why it was so important that she be located.
"Come on, it's late. Let's go to bed," Buffy suggested to him in a neutral voice, although her eyes spoke volumes of wicked promise.
Spike's agitated eyes darkened intensely, his cock jumping to buck against the confines of his jeans and a low growl left his throat.
Buffy gulped, it had been a while since she'd seen him like this. This... worked up. Guess the shoveling didn't quite do the trick like it usually did, a release of a different sort was definitely in order here. Buffy found herself unable to look away from his captivating stare.
"Really Buffy, we have many things to discuss," Giles interrupted impatiently, his displeasure in clear evidence.
Buffy looked over at Giles sharply, her arm whipping around to stop the pounce she knew was inevitable. She allowed her fingers to splay against the hard contours of Spike's muscled chest in an instinctive gesture to keep him from succumbing to his instinctive urges. Buffy felt like causing some major pain herself, and could only imagine how Spike felt.
"Not tonight we're not. Spike and I are going to bed. I'm tired." Buffy's voice was firm and slightly frigid, and even Giles recognized it as a tone that he dared not argue with.
"Very well then. However, we will be discussing this first thing in the morning," Giles warned.
Buffy ignored him and went to give her mother a good night hug. Both Summers' women suddenly found themselves with tears in their eyes as they stayed in each others embrace far longer than intended.
"Oh god, I missed you," Joyce whispered, mentally slapping herself for once again falling prey to her tears. She had told herself there would be no more hysterics of a sniveling kind, no more regrets, and yet here she was. Clutching her daughter and never wanting to let her go.
"I missed you too, mom." Buffy's voice was hoarse with the burden of unshed tears. "I'm sorry I stayed away."
"I know, I understand. I'm sorry too."
Buffy drew back slightly, a happy smile spread across a face that was now wet with the tears that refused to be kept back. "New pact. No more with the apologies, ok? New start for both of us."
Joyce smiled, nodding her head enthusiastically. "New start. Good idea."
Buffy began to draw away when she looked over her shoulder and saw the hungry look that remained on her husband's face. Shifting nervously under his powerful gaze, she turned back to her mom. "Uh, mom? You might want to stay down here for a bit."
The look on Joyce's face turned questioning. Suddenly, her daughter was pulled from her arms roughly and dragged willingly towards the stairs.
"Night, Joyce," Spike called over his shoulder, as he quickly went up the stairs, Buffy in tow. It didn't go unnoticed that Giles was ignored, and Joyce turned a baffled look on her face towards her fellow traveler.
It hit them both at the same time.
Spike was dragging Buffy upstairs to have sex.
Joyce inwardly cringed, then remembered Buffy's parting words and crossed the room to help herself to the stack of home improvement magazines she had spotted in the bookshelf. She tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head that protested against her baby having relations of a sexual nature. Some things were better to be kept ignorant about, and this was definitely one of them.
A violent shudder wracked Giles at the imagery of what was going on behind closed bedroom doors, and his face hardened. It was too much to comprehend. His slayer having relations with a demon while he was in current residence. It was a slap in the face of massive proportions. Truly.
At the first sound of banging that came from the third level, Giles stiffened and prepared himself to march up the stairs.
"Don't... you... dare..." Joyce hissed, having settled herself comfortably on the couch.
Giles whipped around to argue, then saw the look of resolve on Joyce's face. With a pained, heavy sigh, he once again made his way to the side bar and allowed himself a healthy sized refill before joining Joyce on the couch.
There were so many times when Buffy found herself forgetting that Spike was a vampire, but this was definitely not one of them. She knew his demon was in full arousal here, and Spike was fighting a bitter battle with his natural instincts. He seemed to be doing a remarkable job of controlling things, she had to give him credit.
God help her, it just made her love him that much more.
When he kicked the door shut to their bedroom and smashed her unresisting body roughly against the closed door, she reveled in the sensation of being at the complete mercy of a fully aroused vampire.
"Thank you for not killing Giles," Buffy whispered huskily, her arms snaking around his neck while she rubbed herself against the hard bulge pressing into her stomach.
Spike snarled, lowering his face into the delicate curve of her neck. "Don't bring up the sod when I'm about to fuck you good and proper."
His crude words combined with the feeling of his cool tongue probing her jugular halted any further comments as she tipped her head back and to the side, a low groan sliding from her lips at the attentive worship.
The groan was Spike's final undoing, his need to possess her now overwhelming. The musky scent of her arousal perfumed the air, and with the subtle sounds of bones shifting, his demon slid across his face.
Buffy felt the tongue at her throat turn rough, the smooth planes of his face against her skin becoming distorted and sharp, and a pool of moisture flooded her crotch. There was no fear, only desire, as she impatiently reached for the buttons of his jeans. He didn't succumb to his demon often, and Buffy was more than willing to take advantage of it.
Keeping up a series of harsh, constant growls, Spike batted her hand away and ripped the fly of his jeans open, his cock springing free and more than ready. His face didn't leave the haven of her throat when he took his hands from her succulent body to shove his jeans roughly down his slim hips, kicking them impatiently off before reaching for the waistband of Buffy's pants.
Finding himself suddenly without the patience to remove them, Spike merely ripped them away, ignoring the squeak of protest of the girl in his arms. The urge to bury himself into her welcoming depths was almost unbearable now, and Spike reached around to grab the firm ripeness of her ass, hauling her up so that her heat was in intimate contact with his hard shaft.
"Need to be inside you." His rough voice danced across her skin, bringing a new flood of desire rushing through her. God, she loved the way he made her feel, this passion. She never knew she was capable of such desire, and eagerly embraced it.
"Take my underwear off," Buffy ordered breathlessly, clutching onto Spike's shoulders as he dropped one of her bare thighs to press his fingers against her sopping mound. She arched against the mastery of his talented digits as they stroked her feminine core. Her heart was beating with all the subtly of a runaway freight train, and she could feel his fangs grazing the skin at her shoulder where his tongue was worrying the tender skin.
"Fuck your underwear." With an impatient sweep, Spike pushed aside the thin layer of cotton and in a single rough stroke, impaled Buffy on his hard, arching cock.
Buffy's eyes slid shut at the tremendous force of sensation that slammed into her at the bold intrusion of Spike's cock into her sodden passage. She could feel her inner walls stretching to accommodate his large girth, until he was in her to the hilt. Without pause, she rose up, slipping herself almost off his erection before slamming her hips downward, burying her own face into the cool, pale column of Spike's throat.
"Oh god," she cried, as Spike slammed her back against the door, one hand seeking purchase against the door jam to sustain his balance while thrusting into her. Buffy brought her legs up to circle his waist, bringing him even more intimately inside her, matching each thrust with a downward motion of her own.
"Fuck, Buffy..." Spike growled, propelling his hips forward, driving her to bang against the door with each forceful movement.
Wanting to be even deeper within her, Spike wrapped one arm around her back, the other clamped around her ass for support, and he swiftly pivoted around with the bed as his intended destination.
However, Spike didn't expect Buffy to clamp her inner muscles suddenly around his cock like an inner strangling vise, and suddenly all feeling left his legs and he could swear he felt his eyes cross. He was unable to prevent falling helplessly to the bare floor, bringing Buffy to land atop of him.
The sudden jarring motion was more than either could take, connecting their bodies in such a way that they both moaned simultaneously. Spike wasted no time in flipping them over quickly, their hips slamming together as they bucked against the other. Spike's growls were fast taking on a savage and primal note, deep, coarse rumbles from his chest, keeping perfect time with their powerful thrusts.
Buffy thought she was going to die. The intense pleasure building up as Spike moved inside her was almost excruciating. When she looked up and realized he had not shifted out of game face, she knew exactly what it was that Spike needed from her.
And she was more than willing to give it.
With a gesture born of trust and love, Buffy tipped her head to the side, offering her throat to the raging demon above her.
With a savage snarl, Spike bent his head down and sunk his fangs into the delicate tissue, not using the usual care Buffy had grown accustomed to.
Her subsequent orgasm almost killed her.
Well, she thought she was dying anyway, as brilliant colors of light flashed before her eyes, and her body exploded in a wild prism of sensation. She was so gone with multiple waves of pleasure, she didn't even hear the load roar that sounded practically in her ear.
Bonelessly, Buffy drifted back to awareness to find Spike spread out in a heap on top of her spent body, pressing her into the hard floor beneath.
With limbs that seemed drained of supernatural strength, she pushed weakly at him. "Off," she ordered weakly. "Can't breathe."
Spike lifted his head up from its warm pillow and flashed a red-tinged smile, his demon having found the fulfillment it craved and had retreated, and it was blue eyes that flashed at her now; his face smug with satisfaction. With an alarming burst of strength, Spike rolled them over so she lay pillowed against his hard chest, still intimately connected to his body.
She nodded. "You know, next time you could at least kiss me," she pretended to pout. "And taking my clothes off would definitely be of the good. You know, not tearing them off my body."
Those words were barely out of her mouth before firm lips were crushed against hers, silencing any further words she had planned to say...
The next morning, Buffy entered the kitchen in a good mood, her body feeling the burden of the previous night's endeavors, but her mind perfectly content and happy.
"Morning," she greeted, noting her mom was already up and had coffee brewing. A sudden blast of nostalgia hit her; this domestic scene bearing a striking resemblance to many mornings she had spent with her mother before she had left Sunnydale.
When her mom looked over at her with a knowing look and a raised eyebrow, Buffy became flooded with embarrassment. "Oops," she mumbled, not sure exactly how to address what had undoubtedly been very loud. "Uh.. sorry...?"
However, her mom merely smiled at her daughter's discomfiture and took a moment to really study Buffy. She was pleased to note the exuberant happy glow that practically radiated off of her, something that had been missing since they had intruded the day before. She wouldn't embarrass Buffy by drawing attention to it, but it wasn't so long ago that Hank used to work his own magic and would create the same languid glow within her.
Of course, that magic had only lasted a few minutes... or until Hank opened his fat mouth and chased away any post-coital bliss that dared to linger. Joyce sighed heavily, the subject of her ex-husband far too disturbing to take that trip down memory lane.
"Well, let's just say I'm glad you told me to stay downstairs," her mom commented dryly, handing Buffy a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "The sound was bad enough in the living room."
Buffy clamped her hand over her mouth after a mortified giggle dared to escape, not quite sure if her mom was seeing the humor in it despite the words she had just spoken. Because her mom and sex? That was a subject they had both avoided like the plague except for the obligatory "don't do it" lecture when Buffy had entered high school.
The teasing glint in her mother's eyes was a welcome sight.
"Sorry," Buffy repeated, taking a slow sip of coffee. "Spike had a bit of uh..., pent up aggression to work out."
"Ah. Is that what you kids call it these days?"
Before Buffy was able to register that her mom was teasing her about sex, Giles shuffled into the kitchen, wincing at the bright stream of sunlight pouring through the small window above the sink.
Grateful for the distraction, Buffy drew the blinds with sure, quick movements; bringing the kitchen into blissful darkness for Giles's hangover.
Turning to face her watcher, she tensed in preparation for the disapproving onslaught. "Good morning, Giles," she said carefully.
"Er, yes. Good morning, Buffy." Giles had been given specific instructions from Joyce before he had retired for the evening, and he had no intentions of incurring her wrath again. Ignoring what they had heard through closed doors was far preferable to him, at any rate.
Joyce handed him a cup of coffee, wishing it was a properly prepared cup of tea instead. His stomach rebelled at the strong brew, but Giles forced it down, desperate for the caffeine. Sinking down into one of the kitchen tables, an odor snuck through the heavy fragrance of freshly made coffee.
Puzzled, he turned to Buffy. "Do you smell something?"
Buffy shook her head distractedly, joining him at the table, keeping her guard up. She didn't like facing him without Spike by her side, and she didn't know what that said about her now. And surprisingly, she found she didn't really care.
Glancing around, his eyes settled back on his young charge, noticing something that made his blood run cold. "Did he bite you last night?" he ground out, his fists clenching tightly around the ceramic mug.
The tentative air of acceptance went sour with that remark, and Buffy's face closed off. "Yes, Giles, he did. Several times, in fact."
"Are you insane? Do you have any idea how serious that is?" Giles sputtered.
Joyce opened her mouth to intervene, having noted the healing wounds on her daughter's neck for herself, and while she wasn't going to say she liked seeing them there, she disliked the accusatory tone Rupert had taken even more. Joyce soon discovered that Buffy was clearly able to speak for herself, however.
"What Spike and I do behind closed bedroom doors is none of your concern, Giles, " Buffy bit out, her eyes cold and narrowed. "In case you haven't realized it by now, I am no longer the slayer that you can just boss and order around. My personal relationship is none of your business and it is not up for discussion."
"If it has something to do with a vampire, it most assuredly is my business," Giles insisted, his hangover fueling his irrationality.
Buffy set her coffee cup down on the table and sat back deliberately in her chair; her arms crossing defensively in front of her. "I will repeat this only once more and then I will not be held responsible for my actions. My relationship with Spike is none of your business." Her carefully poignant censure was ruined when her nose scrunched up in disgust.
"God, something does smell in here," she admitted. Looking at her mom, she asked, "Did it smell when you first came in here?"
Joyce nodded carefully, glad she didn't have to worry about insulting her daughter's housekeeping skills.
"Ugh. It smells like something died in here," Buffy commented, holding her nose and wishing for the heavy aroma of coffee to once more blanket the odor.
"Well, you think this is really all that surprising?" Giles retorted arrogantly.
Buffy rounded on him. "What? You think the smell has something to do with Spike?"
"It's remarkably suspicious, you have to admit. He is, after all, a vampire. Death and vampires go hand in hand. "
"Something bloody stinks," a voice commented from the entry to the kitchen, and three sets of eyes looked over at the sleepy, rumpled vampire strolling into the kitchen. "Woke me up from a dead sleep, it did."
"Giles thinks you're responsible," Buffy informed him, her eyes roaming appreciatively over his bare, muscular torso.
A derisive snort was her reply, and she tipped her face up for a good morning kiss and wasn't disappointed as Spike pulled her into his embrace.
"Was I digging holes for all those dead bodies again?" he asked, pointedly ignoring the other Englishman, who stood with a disapproving look on his face.
"Yeah, I think so, " Buffy replied back with an easy smile, leaning back against the chest she had been hauled against.
Joyce was hard pressed to keep her own smile at bay, and she walked towards the sink to pour the dredges of her coffee down the sink.
"The smell seems to be stronger over here," Joyce commented.
Spike tipped his nose in the air and inhaled, immediately crossing the room towards the stove. He sniffed around, then turned back to Buffy.
"So... I've been burying dead bodies in the stove, have I?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
A puzzled look come over Buffy's face as she watched Spike turn around and gather tools from the organized drawer just left of the stove. They all observed while Spike undid the screws to the grill covering the fan above the stove, and the moment he removed it, a burst of foulness spread through the room.
"Oh god!" Buffy cried, holding her nose. "What is that smell?"
"It's something dead, whatever it is."
"Are you sure?" Joyce cried, her own face turning pale.
"Vampire here, Joyce. Trust me, I can smell when something is dead."
That comment hung in the air as Spike retrieved a flashlight, Buffy and her mom unconsciously backed away, almost as if they expected something to leap from the stove. They all watched as Spike slid into game face and shone the light up to inspect the fan and vent above the stove.
The look of disgust that became plastered on Spike's game face might have been funny in another situation, one with far less anticipation. "Now this is bloody disgusting, Buffy."
"What?" Buffy cried, her stomach rolling.
Spike ignored the question, his game face sliding away to reveal a pensive look on his handsome face. "What I just can't understand is how it happened."
"The bloody fan. We haven't used the thing since we moved in."
Buffy tried to figure out what he was talking about when a memory of a few days prior flashed into her head. The scuffling sounds coming from the vents.
"Wait! I turned it on the other day to scare away the birds that were pecking on the roof."
Spike sent her a dumbstruck look. "The birds," he echoed derisively.
Buffy nodded, and Spike rolled his eyes. "Well congratulations slayer. You managed to take out a whole nest of mice single-handedly."
"Yeah, and it's going to be ever grosser when you clean it up."
Buffy's look of disgust turned to one of outrage. "What? I'm not cleaning it up!"
"Well, then we can all appreciate the finer aroma of decay for quite some time then." Spike flicked the flashlight off and advanced on Buffy who began backing away with a look of barely veiled panic on her face.
"You killed them, you clean them up," he informed her, his good mood of the morning having long since deserted him. Between the stench of decaying rodents that smelled far worse for him than any of the humans, and seeing the Watcher's glowering face, he was suddenly thrown back into a right rotten mood. "You're the soddin' slayer, for christ's sake, this should be nothing for you."
"No!" Buffy cried, spinning around and using her excessive strength to blast her way out of the kitchen.
The pounding of her frantic feet up the stairs and then the slam of the bedroom left the kitchen bathed in profound silence, as Giles and Joyce watched Spike's face intently to gauge his intentions.
With a snarl, Spike headed back to the stove, kicking a chair over along the way. Joyce didn't want to admit to being wary, but seeing the thunderous look on Spike's face was making her slightly on edge.
Spike gathered his supplies for his Search and Retrieve mission before turning back to glare with disgust at the stove. He looked over his shoulder and tossed out,
"And you people call ME the bloody evil one?"
a/n- ok, if you're totally grossed out right now, I just have to admit that this part of the story was based on a true story.
And the mice are back and haunting me again too. *nods*
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