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49 Steps
 
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A/N: Sorry if I didn’t respond to your review for last chapter, but the reviews for 48 seem to have been eaten by Dennis. :)

And Sideways has just won Best Plot and Runner Up Best WIP at the Rogue Poet Awards round 4! *squeee!*


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Chapter 49 - Steps

It was late when Buffy got done with patrol. She’d hung out at the Magic Box beforehand, since she had told Willow she’d meet her there that afternoon. She’d also trained some, and then she and Giles had made almost a full circuit around town. They had caught several new vampires crawling out of their graves and several more hunting at the Bronze.

Not a bad night, vampire wise.

And now she was on her way back to Spike’s to deal with her own vampire. A very drunk vampire.

Somehow, Buffy knew that she wasn’t going to be going home that night. Which meant that she had to call her mother. She sighed and reached for her phone.

Fortunately for her, Joyce must have been taking a bath or already in bed, because the answering machine picked up.

“Hi, Mom. Um, I probably won’t be home tonight. I’mstayingatSpike’s. Call if you need me. So, um, see you tomorrow!”

Buffy stopped at the open-till-midnight sandwich place and got herself something to eat, munching as she walked and finishing as she tromped up the outside stairs. She didn’t really expect Spike to be awake (or at any rate, coherent), so she tried the front door before knocking. She wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked.

She was surprised, however, to find the lights bright, the TV on, and Spike lying on the couch and idly flipping through channels with the remote. His clothes looked clean and he must have taken a shower, because his hair was loose and curled instead of all slicked back.

Buffy just stared at him.

She shut the door behind her. “Okay, I know I wasn’t gone that long. Six hours, maybe.”

Spike took a sip from a bottle. “And?”

“Is that—?”

He held it up. “It’s root beer.”

“Uh-huh.” She peered closer. It was a root beer. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re all…about.”

“Vampire constitution, love. Just needed some fluids to fix things up. And speakin’ of fluids…” His eyes lingered on her neck.

Buffy wasn’t convinced. She made a quick motion with her hand. “Come to me in a straight line.”

“You’ve got to be bloody kiddin’ me.”

“No walky, no feedy.” She crossed her arms.

Spike stood and walked across the room. “Look, I’m good. Yeah, I boozed it up last night. Might be a bit hung over still, and don’t really wanna go toe-to-toe with somethin’ right now, but my head’s all clear. I was sleepin’ it off, even before you showed up, and got some good shut-eye after.”

He certainly didn’t sound like he had earlier.

Spike turned off the TV and looked at her.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Do you want to now? In the bedroom?”

“All right.”

Buffy followed him in. She was beginning to regret leaving the message on the answering machine. Hopefully her mother hadn’t heard it and she could erase it before morning.

Because if Spike was fine now, he wasn’t going to ask her to stay. Not that she missed clingy, needy Spike. It was just that she had sort of been expecting him, that was all. Really.

She sat down on the bed and Spike shut the door behind her. The kitchen light had been left on, and it cast a halo around the crack of the bedroom door. Buffy shifted slightly, waiting for Spike to pull her to him, to arrange her how he wanted.

But after a moment, she was fairly positive that he wasn’t anywhere near her. Buffy glanced uncertainly into the darkness. He was so damn quiet when he wanted to be.

“Spike?”

“Yeah.”

He was to the right of her from the sound of it.

“Can we please not do the creepy vampire thing? Either sit down, or turn on the lights so I can see you.”

“Sorry, pet.”

The bed shifted under his weight. He ran his hand down her back almost hesitantly. Then both hands found her waist, gently tugging her toward the middle of the bed. She lay down as he eased her back.

Spike was still sitting up. She felt his hip against her stomach, felt the bed move as he placed an arm on the other side of her. He was leaning over, their positions switched from that afternoon.

His other hand ran under her chin, tilting it. Buffy waited for him to cover her, to take what he wanted from her.

He didn’t move.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna?”

“In a minute.”

Okay, that was just weird. He’d never not jumped right in when it came to her blood.

“Well, as long as we’re just sitting here, let me ask you something. Would Slayer blood really have cured being drunk?”

He gave a half laugh. “Slayer blood’ll cure just about anything, love. Course, other blood does too, just takes more.”

“Oh. So do you remember what happened earlier?”

“Meanin’?”

“You and me,” she ventured. “When you wanted blood. You were completely out of it, but you stopped the second I told you to.”

“So?”

“Why? I mean, I figured it would take more than that. Me saying something else, or getting up… But you just stopped.”

There was a long pause.

“Spike?” Buffy whispered.

“You were afraid.”

“What? No, I wasn’t.”

“I could smell it, love,” he said quietly.

Spike looked down at her, able to see her questioning face even in the near darkness.

It hadn’t registered as a bad idea at the time—sinking his teeth into her when he couldn’t walk straight. He’d only thought about the blood. But then the scent of her fear had washed over him like a cold shower.

“I’m always a little nervous,” Buffy said. “I mean, you know, the biting.”

“No. You were afraid. Fear, panic—call it whatever you want.”

“Okay, for like a split second, maybe.”

“Too long.”

Buffy’s eyes had adjusted and she could see the outline of his head now. “I wasn’t worried that you meant to hurt me; I was worried that you could hurt me. But I wasn’t going to let you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Spike’s hand cupped her face.

Then his body moved over her, his weight slowly pressing down as he shifted his position. He rested his forehead against hers before sliding his face down to her neck.

She was still surprised when he didn’t immediately bite her. His mouth paused and then moved to the other side of her throat. He started to kiss her, working way his around her neck, his lips methodically marking every inch of it.

A moment more and she felt him change, though he continued with what he was doing.

“Never be afraid of me,” he breathed.

Even in game face he kissed her like she might break.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were,” he said into her skin.

“You were out of it.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His attentions shifted slightly, his teeth scraping over her as he softly gnawed without breaking the skin. Like he was trying to prove something.

Buffy brought her hand up to the back of his head, pressing him to her. “Spike, it’s okay.”

He slid into her throat.

There was a sharp sting at first. The pinch, the prick of his fangs. Then it faded into a dull ache, the slow throb that she was becoming accustomed to. It wasn’t so much a pain as an intense awareness of his presence.

Of course, there was no way Buffy could not be aware of a vampire biting her, but it was more than that. Every touch seemed heightened, every cell in her body alert to what was happening at her neck.

There was the pull, the sensation of her blood flowing into his mouth. She could feel it in every extremity as he took her into him, drop by drop. He wouldn’t take too much, but her body was unaware of this fact. It rebelled against the vampire at her throat, her heart fighting to retain the life that he drew out of her.

Then there was the feeling of him on top of her—head gently bumping her jawbone, hands kneading into her shoulders, one leg winding between hers. His lips around her as he lapped and sucked. The soft noise of him swallowing her seemed to fill the dark room. Spike slowly moved as he drank, his chest pressing against hers bit by bit; more pressure, then slightly less pressure. His hands steadily rubbed and squeezed her upper arms, his thumb sometimes grazing a breast. And his mouth, locked to her without release.

It was a physical presence that wholly enveloped her. His complete possession of her.

And her absolute surrender to him.

It was a moment that happened again and again, unacknowledged in words but understood without them. Unspoken, but recognized bodily, physically. Everything about the situation of her payment should have been awkward, uncomfortable, but it never had been.

Spike’s grasp on her lessened and his teeth slipped out of her neck. She felt his features shift, and once again he started kissing her, his lips gently touching over the holes he’d made. Caressing the spot he’d bitten her.

A minute more and he moved to rest his head on her shoulder. His breath tickled her drying skin, his still body draped over her like a blanket.

And silence reigned.

Ever since the day on the couch, she had known it wouldn’t be as simple as ‘bite, suck, repeat.’

And a part of her was glad it wasn’t.
 
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