Beloved in Blood

Author: Ameeya Hawke
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: S.3, during Lover’s Walk.
Summary: Spike returns to Sunnydale to kill the Slayer. He’s just too drunk to do it properly, and ends up getting himself into the deep without even realizing it. Perhaps worst of all, he has no memory of his actions the next day.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em; I’m just playing. Please oh please, do not sue me.

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Chapter 1

He’d come here to kill her.

Spike stood partially secluded among the library stacks, his eyes focused on the Slayer’s every move. Every bounce. Fuck, every pant. He hadn’t known what to expect when he arrived, and if he’d had a plan, he’d forgotten it by now. All he knew at the moment was that she was bouncing. God, she was bouncing. Or rather jumping. She was jumping rope; her tits were bouncing, her pony-tail was flopping, and Christ, she was making him hard.

He’d come here to kill her. That was the plan. That was what he told himself he was going to do. Kill her, make her neck his chalice at long bloody last, and return to his regularly scheduled life. Perhaps he’d even crawl on his hands and knees and beg Drusilla to take him back—further the humiliation even more. After all, she’d said that all she saw when she looked at him was the Slayer. If he returned to her with the Slayer’s blood in a vial around his neck, she could no longer rely on the he-doesn’t-love-me-anymore approach to her bouts of infidelity.

Buffy was as good as dead. She was jumping rope and bouncing; in a few seconds, she’d be cold on the floor, her blood washing down his throat. He was sure of it. Sure that as soon as he started moving, she’d be nothing more than a memory, and then his fucking reoccurring nightmare of the past few weeks would finally be over.

He was going to do it. He was going to kill her.

And yet, all he could do was watch.

It was crazy. God, he knew it was crazy. After all, she was the reason Dru had left him. She was the end-all cause of his misery; the proverbial thorn in his side. His plan had been simple: get drunk, get Slayer, get revenge. Tonight was supposed to be the night he repaid all debts. The night he settled all scores. He craved resolution; he needed solace. Perhaps killing her would win Dru back, and perhaps not. Either way, he was certain that he wouldn’t look back on killing Buffy as the moment it all went wrong. Oh no, bathing in her blood was the only way at this point to turn his life around.

He’d tracked her scent to the library; found her alone, oblivious, and blessedly vulnerable. Two of her chums were in the lab, putting together some sodding awful potion, the Watcher was nowhere to be seen, and Angel was halfway across town, buried head-first in some eighteenth-century bore of a read.

Granted, it wasn’t as though Spike hadn’t had the Slayer alone before. He had—only the world had been ending. It wasn’t now. The world was still here and he had her all to himself for as long as he wanted. And with as blissfully ignorant as she was at the moment, he could do any number of things to her for hours before anyone thought to call a search party. She wouldn’t have time to scream for help—not with as fast as he moved when he had his eyes on the prize.

His eyes were on the prize, all right. He couldn’t tear himself away from the prize. The toss of her hair, the bounce of her breasts, or anything that did everything to accentuate her femininity and nothing to ostensibly remind him that he was supposed to hate her.

Rather, his first thought was: I haven’t had a woman in weeks.

The Slayer, though, wasn’t a woman. She was a girl. Just a girl. And as much as he repeated that to himself, his cock wouldn’t listen. No, Buffy had had his cock’s attention from the very start; seeing her now, and running on both alcoholic confidence and the knowledge that he had nothing left to lose, seemed to do little more than accentuate said attention of the one part of his anatomy that hadn’t known any love in a long time, aside his left hand.

The same disobedient hand that was currently running down the front of his jeans, his fingers cupping the bulge pressed insistently against the zipper. A long, guttural moan crept through his throat, and all rational thought abandoned him. Buffy’s tempo with the rope hadn’t slowed—she was likely too much in her own world to pay anything—even turned-on vampire whimpers—any mind. Spike sucked in a breath and slowly dragged the zipper down, stifling another excited growl when his thick cock jumped into his waiting grip.

Fuck.

She was panting hard, now. Her speed kicked up a notch or two, and she began performing a few of those fancy criss-cross maneuvers that he’d seen girlies do on a whim in teeny-bopper movies. Spike bit back another moan, his hand tightening around his cock as his strokes intensified.

She’s magnificent.

That had to be a drunken thought, just as wanking off to her aerobics had to be a drunken action. Dreams he could excuse, as they typically consisted of him fucking her into the ground before sinking his fangs into her delectable throat. He never seemed to be able to see those dreams through, though; something always awoke him before he could snap her neck or watch the life fade from her eyes.

She was nearing the end of her workout, he could tell. Her jumps were becoming more forceful, the small grunts that escaped her lips more emphatic. His hand sped up as well, pumping his cock hard now, his eyes glazing over.

Magnificent.

How warm would she be, he wondered. Angelus had always said that was the high point of fucking the Slayer. She was wonderfully warm—gripped him like a glove, he’d said. A low growl tickled through Spike’s throat and something startlingly akin to jealousy spread through his veins.

Mine.

She was his slayer. He knew that much. If nothing else in this crazy world made sense, Spike knew that Buffy was his slayer. His to bleed, his to kill, his to fuck.

His head jerked up. “What the hell…” he murmured, though his foggy mind didn’t care to explore the thought more than necessary.

God, that was entirely the wrong image to conjure while his hand was pulling his dick. Buffy on her knees, her mouth open. Buffy’s lips surrounding his head. Buffy’s tongue tracing his length. Buffy’s hands squeezing his balls. Buffy on her back, her hands framing her pussy, her fingers stroking her clit. Buffy guiding his cock to her sopping entrance. Buffy’s nails scratching his back as he fucked her raw.

She’d lick his neck and tug at his earlobe with her teeth, then she’d whimper his name as she spasmed and drenched his cock.

Spike growled loudly and came, his spendings ending up on some dusty book that likely hadn’t been checked out in years. He swallowed a whimper and leaned his head against the book stack. God, he hardly ever came so hard when he wanked off, and while he was admittedly more boisterous than usual, masturbating in public was hardly a shining example of just how much of an exhibitionist he could be when prompted.

The library was silent. He didn’t realize just how silent it was until he tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped up. Spike lifted his head and peeked around the book stack. Buffy wasn’t jumping rope anymore. Rather, she was staring hard in his direction—not seeing him, thanks to the shadows, but she’d definitely heard something. She’d either heard something or sensed something, and now he has back to where he started. He’d come here to kill her, and yet he was at a loss.

Only now, there was no time to mull his options over.

Buffy frowned and stepped forward, her chest heaving, her body pink with exertion and glimmering with sweat. Human sweat wasn’t generally something Spike found appealing. Rather, he found most human things, aside from their propensity to bleed, rather disgusting. So why was it that her scent was tantalizing, and the image of her after a hefty work out did little more than make his cock harden all over again?

Christ, he wanted her. And that was only mildly disturbing. Which in and of itself was extremely disturbing.

Buffy reached for a towel that she’d left draped over the library check-out counter. “Hello?” she asked, frowning as she dabbed the terrycloth across her brow. “Angel?”

It was all he could do to refrain from shoving the book stack over. Instead, Spike bit back another growl and did his best to ignore the jealousy that flared in his chest.

She rolled her eyes. “Angel, look, we can give up the whole stalky thing. I told you, Giles is out of town this weekend. He has some weird retreat thing to go to. There’s no Wrath-O-Watcher coming up. Besides, I told him I’d be seeing you anyway.”

Spike snarled again and slinked further into the shadows. Daft bint. And here he thought she’d at least be able to tell the difference between her honey-pie and the one that had come to kill her. Weren’t slayer vibes supposed to be impeccable?

It wasn’t until Buffy started up the stairs of the veranda that his anger gave way to a fleeting spot of panic. And panic wasn’t exactly natural for Spike. If something unscheduled happened, he improvised. He always did, and it hadn’t failed him thus far.

Only he’d come here to kill her, and now, for whatever reason, he wasn’t so sure that was what he wanted. The only thing he was sure of was that he’d never get this close again—never get a chance like this again—and would be kicking himself come morning if let her slip through his fingers and he went home.

Since he didn’t know what he wanted to do—kill her, fuck her, or both—the most reasonable solution was to incapacitate her until he made up his mind. Which was why, when she rounded the corner, he wasted little time throwing her into the wall with a growl.

Buffy knew it a second too late. Slayers relied on every second, and she knew it a second too late. She was pressed against the wall, his chest at her back, and fuck she felt so good against him that he nearly tore her sweats off and got at least one of his urges out of his system right then.

“Spike!” she spat contemptuously, wriggling against him.

“Finally got the name right,” he growled. Then he fisted her ponytail and slammed her head against the wall. Once, twice, and then she fell limp against him.

Spike blinked and glanced down at her. He didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly he was holding a very unconscious slayer. Buffy’s head rolled back onto his shoulder, and before he knew what he was doing, he had scooped her up into his arms.

That hadn’t been part of the plan.

No, knocking Buffy out had not been part of the plan.

A slow smile spread across his lips as his eyes raked over her body.

This was a definite improvement.

To be continued…

Chapter 2 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed!

Chapter 2

Her head was throbbing. Her head was throbbing, and she couldn’t move. Her legs were in shackles—honest-to-god shackles—and her hands were cuffed above her head. And, perhaps strangest of all, she was on a bed.

Okay, so maybe being chained up was the strangest part of the scenario, but she knew for a fact that her bedroom had no chains. At least no chains that could be easily attached to her mattress.

And even if she did have chains that could be easily attached to her mattress, there was no explanation on this earth that could ease her discomfort at being shackled to a bed, her legs spread wide apart, and a headache the size of Lake Tahoe. Well, at least she was clothed. Being clothed and chained to a bed was infinitely better than naked and chained to a bed.

Her mind began to run its replay, and she suddenly remembered the furious growl of a blond vampire and the wall he’d slammed her into. Buffy’s eyes flew open and she twisted with a gasp, though the movement did little more than strain her already sore muscles. Spike. Spike had been watching her in the library. He’d watched her while doing something. And he’d managed to capture her by, well, running her into a wall, of all things cartoonish.

She’d known that a vampire was near. Hell, that was what her tinglies were for. She’d known that she wasn’t alone for several minutes before she decided to stop, because it had felt like Angel. Or rather, the presence had been familiar to her, and that only happened with Angel; therefore, she deduced that it had to be Angel, else it would have felt like something else. And even if she’d been slightly disappointed that her ex had lapsed back into his lurking-in-the-shadows routine, she could understand if he felt it was necessary. After all, things had been rather difficult and strained between them since he came back from Hell. He didn’t know how to act, and she didn’t know how he should act, so they’d kept their distance. Only…not really.

It was all so very awkward.

Not as strange, though, as confusing Spike’s vibes for Angel’s. Did that mean that she didn’t know Angel’s vibes anymore? Or did it mean that vamp vibes weren’t vamp-specific? She didn’t know; she just wouldn’t trust those vibes again.

Because right now? This wasn’t working out for her. She was shackled to an unfamiliar bed—really shackled. The chains attached to the cuffs around her ankles were stretched so tight that she couldn’t move her legs at all. The links around her wrists, while granting a little more wiggle room, were similarly too strong to break.

She was being held by a captor who knew slayers, and was familiar with slayer strength. She was being held by Spike.

But then again, she already knew that.

Why am I even alive?

The last time she’d seen Spike, he’d been carting an unconscious Drusilla out of the mansion. He’d left her to Angelus, despite their arrangement. Granted, that hadn’t really surprised her all that much. She’d figured, making the deal, that he’d bail the second that Dru was no longer a factor—once he saw a way to grab her and make a run for it.

He’d told her that night that he’d never return. Only now he had returned. He’d very much returned. He’d returned, knocked her out, slayer-napped her, and had her tied to a bed. Yeah, he’d returned. And judging by the drunken clashes coming from the other room, Buffy guessed that Dru was currently marketed as an accessory sold separately.

As her headache began to wane, the incoherent ramblings coming from the other room started crystallizing into actual words.

Though really, that didn’t make the situation any better.

“Right brilliant bit of thinkin’ you did back there,” he muttered. She didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was pacing. “So, mate. You got yourself a slayer.” He paused, and when she thought he might be peeking in at her, she slammed her eyes closed. While she had no idea what his plans were, something told Buffy that it would be best to feign sleep as long as possible.

He was silent for a long time. She felt his eyes on her, but she couldn’t be sure if she was imagining things or if he was actually doing the staring thing. However, judging by how close his voice was when he spoke next, she figured she hit closer to the mark with the second guess.

Spike swallowed hard, and her blood raced. “Right,” he said. “Right. You got yourself a slayer.”

Then she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a zipper being lowered, followed by a long, guttural moan.

Oh God.

He wasn’t…

“Slayer…” he whimpered, then gasped. His labored breaths became pants. His whimpers became mewls, and it hit her just seconds before he reached completion where she’d heard that sound before.

Earlier tonight. In the library.

Oh God. He’d been doing that while she worked out? Spike had…oh God.

“Buffy,” he moaned. “Oh fucking…sweet slayer…”

Oh. My. God.

There wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t red with shame. So he’d kidnapped her to do evil, dirty things to her? Well, that was certainly surprising. While Spike had always appeared to be many things, a sexual pervert wasn’t one of them. Then again, that might explain why he was masturbating and not touching her inappropriately. Not thrusting his icky Spike-shaped male parts into her practically virginal body. Not doing things that she’d have to stake him for. Because, really, kidnapping her and masturbating while she was chained to the bed was reason enough.

“Bleeding fuck,” he sighed, tugging his zipper back up. Then he was close—oh God so close—and she was certain that either her breathing or her heartbeat or a combination of the two was going to give her away.

It didn’t, though. At least he didn’t mention it if it did.

“So now I got me a slayer,” he said softly, his tone slightly giddy. “Question is…” He trailed a cold finger down the side of her neck, then over a breast, stopping to circle her nipple. “What do I do with her?”

She knew that tone. Her father often used it when he was either coming off or going on a bender. So she’d been kidnapped by a drunken slayer-killer who thought enough of her to masturbate as she lay unconscious, chained to his bed. Today was so not her day.

“Should kill you.” Spike lowered his face to her throat and bit lightly at her skin with blunt teeth. Buffy inhaled sharply, fighting every instinctual nerve in her body to keep from thrashing and bucking. It wouldn’t do her any good. Not now. No, Spike definitely had the upper hand.

Very definitely.

Well, two upper hands. Both of which were suddenly very interested in her boobs.

I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. I’m gonna wake up and be in my room. And Spike…oh my God, I’m being groped by Spike.

His breathing had suddenly turned ragged. He was licking at her throat, his hands palming her breasts as his thumbs stroked her nipples through her thin camisole. There was something incredibly raw about an overly amorous Spike. And she had to wonder, for a minute, if he wasn’t mistaking her for Drusilla.

Just as she had to wonder why she wasn’t more pissed off than she was.

Probably because you’re not convinced that this isn’t a dream.

“Fuck, but you’re pretty,” he purred, his tongue flickering over the Master’s bite mark. “My pretty little slayer.”

His own words seemed to snap him out of whatever spell he was in. The next thing she knew, Spike had torn himself from the bed and was pacing again. Or rather, it sounded like he was pacing again. She wasn’t brave enough to risk opening her eyes. Not just yet.

If she opened her eyes, two things would happen. One: Spike would see she was awake, and things would likely get much worse. Two: she would see that she was still as she had been, that she really was chained to a bed in the burned-out factory, and Spike really had been getting up close and personal with both her and her girl parts just a second ago. Those were two realities she would really like to put on hold as long as she possibly could.

“Sodding miserable chit!” he snarled. “Oughta jus’ kill you. Oughta rip your bloody heart out for what you’ve done to me!”

Right. Sense was being made there. It wasn’t like she’d ever done something as crazy as, oh say, this. Still, drunk Spike was better than sober Spike. Drunk Spike could make a mistake. Drunk Spike would make a mistake, and then this brief stint into nonreality would be over.

“Need…Christ, I gotta get outta here.”

Whoa…wait.

Leave? As in…leave? He was going to leave her here?

Buffy strained against her bindings. Yeah, those were really strong chains. Really strong.

And Spike was leaving? That was so not of the good.

It took a few minutes of silence to summon the courage to open her eyes.

The damn vampire had actually done it. He’d actually left her behind.

Buffy gasped loudly and made several futile attempts to sit up. She pulled at her restraints, attempted to kick her legs; tried anything that would loosen the grip. But no—some cognitive, rational part of Spike’s drunken, idiotic brain had thought to make sure that his bindings were tight enough to hold her.

She was trapped.

God, she was trapped. In the factory. And Spike was gone. He might get drunk enough to forget about her. Or worse, he might not.

He might not.

And then it happened. At last, it happened. The haze was over, and reality stepped in with a vengeance.

Buffy had finally woken up.

To be continued

Chapter 3 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
Okay, so…ummm, extremely nervous about this chapter. I just want to remind everyone that it is Season 3 Spike, and therefore he is evil. Not to mention drunk. He is very, very drunk.

If my planning goes right (and please don’t hold me to it) this is about as angsty as I intend to go. The fic itself is described (in my head, at least) as a fluffy fic, bordering on comedy. However, I didn’t want to shorthand the characters…at least not so soon in the story. I’m sure I’ll take them plenty out of character later, but for now, I’d like to at least try to maintain the pretense that I know how to write Spike before he gets bitten with the Buffy-lovin’ bug.

Having said that, I have major, major issues with non-con, which made very this incredibly hard to write. So, be prepared…some of this may be perceived (and likely will be) as non-con. But hopefully, the fluffiest non-con you’ve ever come across.

Thanks to my betas for talking me through it.

Chapter 3

“Schlaaaayer!”

Buffy tensed, her eyes flying open. While she hadn’t been sleeping, she’d taken an honest stab at it, hoping she’d be lucky enough to wake up on the other side of this with the middle conveniently cut out. Her mind, though, was too chattery to sleep, and every time she found herself drifting, the dread pooling in the pit of her stomach would lurch her back to consciousness.

Now Spike was back and—from the sound of things—very, very drunk.

“Still here,” he said shortly, stumbling slightly as he crossed the threshold into the small room. Her muscles were killing her, but it didn’t stop her from struggling helplessly against her restraints. “Wha’s this? Not crafty enough to slink away, are we?”

“Spike…”

It wasn’t as though she meant to sound all pleady and breathless; Buffy truly hated helplessness, and not being anywhere near the zone of control had her panicking.

“Dunno what’s keepin’ you here,” he retorted, his eyes glazing over as he raked her body with long, lustful looks. “Thought slayers were s’posed to have super strength.”

“Spike, you’re drunk.”

“I’m very drunk,” he corrected, stumbling over to her and shedding his duster. Oh God, he was shedding his duster; from the way his hands went to the hem of his tee, it seemed that wasn’t all he intended to shed. “An’ I intend to get drunker.”

She paused, fighting off the initial swell of mirth that climbed up her throat. “Spike, you’re so drunk you’re quoting Gone With the Wind. You really wanna be letting me go right about now.”

“Yeah. That’s what I wants to do with you.” He plopped down beside her, his left hand settling on her leg, fingers caressing her inner thigh. Then his head was dipping toward her, and he inhaled appreciatively. “Christ, you smell fantastic. You always smell so bloody fantastic.”

Buffy pursed her lips. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and she felt her body reacting against the will of her mind. It was humiliating—he was sniffing at her, touching her, and all she could do was tremble. She was terrified and furious; combined with mortification, the urge to kick and scream was near unbearable. But she couldn’t kick, and screaming would do little more than anger him. And while she had little to no practice with diplomacy, it seemed to be the best alternative. “Spike,” she said softly. “I really need you to untie me.”

He ignored her, and for the second time that evening, his sensuous tongue found her throat, licking at the vamp mark she’d been branded with a year earlier. Never before had the mark been an erogenous zone, so she was quite surprised at the pleasured gasp that tore through her throat and the rush of wetness between her spread thighs.

Spike inhaled and shuddered against her. “Naughty li’l schlayer,” he murmured, nipping at her neck as the hand on her thigh brazenly slid upward until he was cupping her clothed pussy. “Mmmm…”

Shock filled every inch of her body. Well, shock and the most potent rush of lust she’d ever experienced. That was sick. She was sick. He was touching her in that way, and her body was reacting to it. She was reacting to him, and he was touching her as only one man ever had before. More than that, she was chained to a bed, no one knew where she was, and he was drunk. She was chained and he was drunk, and she was in no position—aside from screaming in protest—to fight what he was doing to her.

“Show her,” Spike murmured defiantly, his lips trailing southward. He dropped kisses as he went, pausing to tease her nipples. In a blink, he’d torn her sweats and panties as far down her legs as he could, and tore the material away before she could hope that he’d unchain her legs to finish the job.

It wasn’t until she felt him dotting kisses along her pelvis that astonishment and self-loathing faded into true panic. He was going to—oh God, he was. Her first time experiencing this shouldn’t be terrifying. Shouldn’t be forced. Shouldn’t be with a vampire she hated. The dreamlike atmosphere vanished again, and she was left with the biting smack of reality.

“Spike, no,” she whispered, her urgent tone in direct counterpoint to her treacherous body—the same treacherous body that had stretched beneath him invitingly, her hips lifting in want of his mouth. Her mind was at war with her arousal; this was violation. It shouldn’t feel good—but God, he was nuzzling her and it did. And she didn’t want it to feel good. She wanted anything but to feel good about something so fundamentally wrong. She needed him to stop now before she betrayed everything there was about being female. “Please. You can’t do this. You hate me. You don’t wanna do this. I don’t taste good—God, I’m sure I don’t taste good. Please!”

While her mind and mouth objected, her body welcomed him. She was seriously hating her body right now.

This was something she’d wanted with Angel, in the fantasy future she had planned—the one where they eradicated the clause of his curse and had the chance at a crime-fighting life. He’d offered to do it their first and only night together, but she’d been too terrified and nervous to let him. In the months since she’d lost her virginity, she’d opened herself to experiencing any number of things that had seemed taboo at one point.

Okay, if she was totally honest with herself, the Angel part of the future equation was more out of lack of options. His behavior since returning from Hell had been understandably distant, and she wasn’t stupid enough to think that things could ever go back to being the way they once were. God, at this point, she wasn’t even sure she wanted that. Angel as a soulless killing machine had robbed her of her innocence in ways that no amount of violence or slaying or apocalypses could ever have. No. Going back to Angel wasn’t an option. She’d seen him as she’d never wanted to, and it would never be the same.

However, her girlish mind hadn’t quite been willing to let go of the fairytale, and thus, all her fantasies about the future she could never have had starred Angel as the male protagonist. There were things that she wanted to experience someday, and yes, the female dream of pro-cunnilingus boyfriends was one of them.

Spike nuzzled her pussy, his fingers massaging her skin through her curls. “Show her,” he murmured again, his tongue lapping at her folds. Buffy threw her head back and screwed her eyes shut, determined to feel nothing—enjoy nothing—and let him get whatever he needed out of his system. All she needed to do was get through to morning—or to a point where he was confident enough in her complacency to make a mistake and let her go.

She was determined to not enjoy this, no matter how good it felt.

“Slayer,” he growled, sucking her clit into his mouth. Buffy inhaled sharply and pulled at her restraints, her hips thrusting upward. He purred approvingly, spreading her pussy lips wide with two fingers. “My schlaaayer.”

“I’m dreaming,” Buffy gasped, arching into him again. “I’m dreaming I’m dreaming I’m dreaming.”

Spike’s tongue curled around her clit, his wandering fingers imploring her opening. God, this was so humiliating. Women were not supposed to react to coerced sexual acts like wanton hussies. She was not supposed to react to Spike like an under-sexed porn star. And yet, she found her legs were straining the chains to open wider for him, rather than close. Her pelvis thrust determinately against his mouth, and the moans that scratched at her throat were definitely not in protest.

“My slayer,” he repeated, his tone primal. His tongue abandoned her clit the next second, his eager fingers stretching her pussy lips again. Then he was lapping at her exposed skin, suckling at her, and at last, plunging into her tight, wet hole. Her eyes shot open at last, latching onto the attentive blond head between her legs, and Buffy trembled so hard that the bed rocked against the wall.

“Oh God,” she moaned. Reason abandoned her completely. “Oh my God.”

“Show her…show her. Covered with you. Covered.”

“Wha…?”

“My schlayer.”

“No…oh God, please…”

“Mine.”

He captured her clit between his thumb and forefinger and began massaging her rapidly. Ecstasy split her veins, and she trembled hard around him. Her body exploded into a thousand tiny spasms, and she cried out hoarsely. For a few seconds—a few, glorious seconds—nothing around her mattered. Nothing at all. She was drowning in pleasure and nothing else mattered. Nothing.

And then it happened. Spike slipped his tongue out of her pussy, filling her with two fingers as his thumb settled over her clit. He rubbed her attentively as his mouth moved to her inner thigh, licking at her tender skin with a purr.

Awareness shot through her. Buffy gasped loudly and attempted to sit up. “Spike—no, you can’t—!”

Her words were wasted. The next second, his fangs pierced her skin, sending her spiraling down a second orgasm. He feasted on her, growling and drinking his fill. And when he finally retracted his incisors from her flesh, she was too weak to fight him.

“Mine.”

Buffy blinked. She was numb all over.

Spike growled and slammed an angry fist into the mattress, his tongue sliding over her bloodied skin again. “Mine,” he insisted. “Say it!”

Defiance rose and died. At some point, she had simply stopped caring. “Yours,” she agreed, her voice small but satisfied. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to cry for him. He could have her blood—hell, even her body—but he wouldn’t have her tears. Not tonight. “Yours. Whatever. Just please…let me go.”

Her demand wasn’t out of desperation anymore; rather necessity. She’d been taken from a world guarded with rules—many, many rules. She might be a novice to the whole sex thing, but she was certain that what had just happened should not have given her the pleasure it did. She should not be trembling with the aftermath of an orgasm—let alone two. His fangs should have terrified her. Everything that had just happened should have terrified her. Instead, she was terrified of herself. She’d just experienced something that women dreaded, and she’d enjoyed it.

God, she was disgusting. And even knowing that didn’t change anything.

Again, Spike ignored her. Instead, he purred in delight and licked her clit again before pillowing his cheek against her thigh. And then he stilled, two fingers locked inside her. He stilled.

And slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His mate was crying.

Spike was barely awake—barely aware of anything. His senses and instincts were on autopilot. His conscious mind was completely absent, and only the demon was present. And all the demon knew at the moment was that his mate was crying. Crying and struggling beneath him. He sensed her displeasure at her tears, her fear and repulsion. He felt her disgust, both with herself and with him, and the awareness made him want to weep.

Instead, he groggily rose to all fours, his hand going to the clasp on his jeans. He didn’t know how he knew, but something told him that those new to a vampiric claim often craved a physical bond to soften distress. It was the best way, especially with the new sensations spreading through them, to soothe fears and concerns.

His cock was erect, which did little to surprise him. The rich scent tickling his nose always made him hard. He rumbled several encouraging growls and nuzzled her throat, his eyes remaining shut. She was his mate—sight wasn’t needed for this. All he needed to do was calm her. Calm her for now by giving her the physical connection she craved.

His tongue darted out instinctively and lapped up her tears, the head of his cock sliding sensually against her slick opening.

But this wasn’t about pleasure. Not now. Pleasure could wait.

Spike nipped at her neck and purred soothingly as he slid inside her. So warm, he thought, curling his arms under her shoulders, his head resting against her breast.

So warm.

Perhaps tomorrow, he’d think to question her near-virgin tightness. The strange presence of a heartbeat. The tears that refused to stop flowing down her cheeks. The whimpers that itched at her throat, and the foreign heat radiating from her body.

Right now, though, he’d done all he knew to do. He’d done what was needed to calm her.

So he rested.

To be continued

Chapter 4 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
I so appreciate all the comments/reviews on this fic, particularly the last chapter. I’m gonna try to get this revved back into the fluffy/comedic light and not do the “expected” thing when it comes to non-con…but at the same time, treat the non-con for what it was. However, I do think it’s important to note that, while Buffy was hurt by Spike’s actions, she was more terrified of her own reactions. It was the only way I could talk myself into doing non-con. Trust me, that scene was specifically for plot purposes. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.

Again, thank you so much!

Chapter 4

Every nerve in his body was on fire; he was swimming in warmth. God, there’d never been a feeling like this. Never in all his years, and he’d been around for quite a while. There were a few things he knew immediately, even if he wasn’t completely awake. First, he was balls-deep in the hottest, tightest pussy he’d ever felt. Second, the woman beneath him was very definitely human. Human, warm, wet, and wiggling.

It was quite possible that he’d never been this hard before. Spike moaned, rotating his hips as he began to lazily thrust inside her. His head was throbbing from the effects of more alcohol than the entire Barrymore family line had ever seen, and memories of the previous night came in a series of broken fragments.

Not a surprise. And even though his drinking rarely got so out of hand—he usually stopped before he lost control of himself completely—Spike saw little reason for concern. Obviously, the night had worked out well for him. He was in a bed, he was in a woman; the natural conclusion was, his carelessness hadn’t cost him his life. Rather, it seemed he’d had a right decent time.

Now if only he could remember it…

The woman beneath him gasped and whimpered and arched. Spike lowered his mouth to her neck, favoring her sweet skin with long laps of his tongue. “Mmmm…” he murmured. “So sweet.”

The words shocked the hell out of him. He’d long ago stopped trying to fill his sexual void with nameless women, especially since their faces seemed to turn into the Slayer’s rather than Dru’s. But even more than that, Spike wasn’t one to go for meaningless sex. He could do it, sure—and when he did, he did it with gusto—but a century had schooled him well and although he’d love to, casual fucking didn’t do it for him. He’d already had his revenge fuck. Well, in all honesty, several revenge fucks, but it didn’t take long to realize what he was missing. It didn’t take long for said revenge fucks to become anything but a reminder of how alone he was. And nothing—absolutely nothing—about those nameless, faceless women had been sweet.

The one beneath him tasted sweet, and Christ, she felt like Heaven. She was moaning and squirming, thrusting up against him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her breath hot against his skin. The whimpers scratching at her throat were driving him mad. There was something about her—he knew, even without opening his eyes, that time had yet to jade her. That was another thing about the few women he’d been with since Dru, and even Dru herself, that he hadn’t thought to question until now. Women who were no longer impressed by sex, who performed as though it were a routine to a dance they wished over long ago.

He didn’t take it personally, though he did relish the satisfaction of their surprise once he made them come. Bet that hadn’t happened in years. But in the end, they were just using each other, and he couldn’t give a damn if they got off or not.

How did he manage to get so drunk and find a woman like…

“Spike!”

His eyes flew open.

Oh my fuck.

A long, trembling whimper tore through Buffy’s lips, her eyes fluttering shut as she trembled beneath him. Spike gasped along with her; the pace of his thrusts increased. God, she felt so sweet, and he couldn’t keep himself from fucking her. Not when she was so hot. When she had been looking at him like that.

“You’re awake,” she hissed through her teeth, though he couldn’t tell if she was strained with pleasure, or outrage.

“Oh my God.”

“You’re telling me.”

Spike stared at her for a long minute, then his head fell to her shoulder, and he moaned. He forced his hips to a standstill, his cock slipping out of her pussy with reluctance that nearly tore his body in half. He immediately lamented the loss of her warmth, and shivered as though he could, after a century, finally feel the cold. “Oh my God. Slayer…I don’…how—”

It all came back in a rush. The library. Buffy jump-roping. Buffy’s luscious tits bouncing. Buffy chained to a bed. Buffy sleeping. And then—and then…nothing. There was nothing but a blur. He remembered a bar. Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol…and then nothing.

Only very obviously not nothing, as he’d awakened with his cock inside the Slayer’s succulent pussy. That was definitely not nothing.

“Oh for the love of Pete!” the Slayer all but growled. “Spike, please…don’t make me…God, don’t make…”

He blinked stupidly. “What?”

“I…I’m…” She was blushing furiously, which intrigued him until he realized what she was about to say. She was close. Fucking Christ, he had the Slayer close to coming. She was close and she didn’t want to say it—hell, from the look of things, she didn’t even want to think about it. She was mad as hell, though he couldn’t tell if he was on the receiving end of her anger, or if she was irritated with herself.

She’d seduced him. That had to be it. Little vixen had seen him stumble into the factory, very obviously drunk off his arse, and she’d seduced him to escape. Fuck, if he wasn’t so bloody horny, he might have to punish her by not getting her off. As it was, his cock was only too happy to slide back inside her.

“Slayer,” he growled, fangs descending. The gasp that scratched her throat only fueled his enthusiasm. She looked torn between ecstasy and humiliation, and God if the combination didn’t shoot another bolt of lust straight to his dick. “So hot.”

“Shut up,” she hissed through her teeth, her eyes falling shut. “Just shut up and do it.”

“Do it?” He grinned nastily, grinding his hips against hers. “The Slayer afraid the Big Bad’s gonna make her scream?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on. You wanna scream for your Spike.” He dropped his mouth, teeth clamping on her earlobe and giving it a good tug as he slid a hand between their thrusting bodies, his callused fingers finding her clit. The gasp that spilled from her lips was worth a thousand of these mornings, hangovers and all. “Tell your Spike how much you love this.”

He saw tears pricking at her eyes, but pushed his concern aside. For God’s sake, she’d asked for this. What did she expect? Candles? Roses? Sweet kisses and a promise of commitment? Had she forgotten who she was dealing with in her attempt to seduce her way out to freedom?

“Come for me, kitten.” He rubbed her clit fast, his other hand tugging her camisole down until her tits were exposed to his hungry eyes, and his wandering lips immediately navigated southward until he had a mouthful of Slayer-breast. “Come on. Come for Spike. Wanna feel your pussy squeeze me into the next sodding life.”

He said it more for her sake than out of desire. In all honesty, Spike didn’t want her to climax so quickly—he wanted to enjoy this, draw it out, because he knew it would never happen again. It was a realized fantasy that he’d never again get to taste. So when she finally cried out and trembled around him, drenching his cock with her juices and biting a lip to keep from screaming his name, he couldn’t hope to hold on. He suckled on her nipple a second longer before releasing her with a wet slurp, massaging her clit speedily as his eyes took in the sight of her.

God, she was a glorious creature when she came.

“You’re gorgeous,” he gasped, his voice near reverent.

And somehow, the Slayer managed to ruin that moment with a well-timed glare. “Shut up,” she spat.

Fucking bitch.

Spike snarled and dove for her throat, but his fangs decided to bite into the pillow instead. God, she was squeezing him mercilessly, her beautiful body in spasms as he spilled himself inside her, his growl of completion lost in a sea of goose down feathers.

It took several minutes for him to come back to himself. When he opened his eyes, he found his head pillowed at her breast. Her very-much heaving breast. A long moan rumbled through his throat. He felt spent, but his cock was on a very different train of thought. Staring at her ruby nipple gave a bloke ideas, and when he began to harden within her for round two, it was only her sharp, panicked gasp that had the power to send him spiraling back to reality.

The Slayer was staring at him, horrified. Horrified, and gloriously bedded. God, she was edible.

“Don’t,” she said shortly, ruining yet another moment. “Don’t. Just get out of me.”

“Slayer, never let anyone tell you that you don’t know how to romance a fella.”

“I mean it. Get. Out. Of. Me.”

Spike rolled his eyes and obliged, biting back a whimper when his cock was suddenly deprived of her warmth. “Don’t see what you’re so brassed about. You’re not the one that woke up with a hangover.”

“I swear to God, you’re counting away the seconds until you’re dust.”

His hands came up. “Oi! I just did what you asked for, you stupid bint. An’ after that, don’t you think it a mite rude to start makin’ death threats? It’s not like shagging the Slayer was my number one priority when I came back here. Fuck if I know what—”

God, the stupid bint looked ready to cry again. Women were so bloody fickle.

“What?” he demanded.

“Let me up. I wanna go home.”

“Yeah. Two seconds after you’ve threatened to stake me.” He rolled his eyes and jerked his jeans up. “Sorry, luv. You’re good, but not that good.”

He regretted the words the second they escaped his lips. The Slayer’s face crumbled completely and she dissolved into tears. And he didn’t know why, but the sound of her crying tore at him from every feasible angle. The next thing he knew, he was approaching her slowly, his hand diving into his jean pocket for the key to her shackles.

Stupid bird’s guiltin’ me into letting her go.

But guilt wasn’t on the menu—at least it shouldn’t be. However, he couldn’t deny the twist of something that took command of his body. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her brow, and tell her that everything was going to be all right. Didn’t that just beat all?

She was twisting so much by the time he knelt at the foot of the bed that it took several minutes before he had one ankle free. But it only took a second for her to kick him across the room.

Ungrateful li’l…

“You stupid bitch,” he growled, fighting to his feet. She was still crying, only she’d turned over—best she could—closing her legs but showing him her ass, which really wasn’t in her best interest, but he wasn’t one to complain. “I’m tryin’ to help!”

“You’ve done enough.”

“What? You want me to apologize for shagging you? Sorry, Slayer, but you asked.”

There was an angry pause at that, and she twisted to face him, her legs remaining stubbornly pressed together. “I didn’t ask for last night!” she screamed. “I didn’t ask for that.”

A very, very still beat spread through the room.

“What?” he replied slowly. “Wait a mo’. Start at the beginning. How’s it that I ended up in bed with you in the bloody first place?”

Buffy stared at him, then shook her head incredulously. “You don’t remember?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not, that doesn’ change anything. Near as I can figure, you wanted outta here so bad you put that scrumptious body of yours to use. Not a bad ploy when a man’s drunk, but—”

“Me?!” she shrieked. “You forced—”

The word stopped him dead, an ugly, heinous accusation that made even him shudder. He was many things—many cruel, nasty things, but a rapist wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t Angelus; he didn’t need to get his jollies off in order to, well, get his jollies off. He’d tortured girls till they cried and begged for death, sure—living with Angelus for twenty years, pre-soul, there hadn’t been much choice. His Yoda, after all, demanded that he be an obedient student.

Of the many terrible things he’d done to women, though, rape was simply inconceivable. Most female blood that stained his hands post-Angelus had been at Dru’s jealousy. She’d see a girl, make a snide accusation toward his nonexistent wandering eye, and the next thing he knew, she had dinner in a Victorian dress.

He hated to be a cliché, but really, violence against any woman—save those with a sacred calling—had never been his thing. There was something about his upbringing that refused to be shaken by violence and hatred—some residual William factor that kept popping up. It didn’t keep him from inflicting pain without bias, of course, but when possible, he avoided drawing blood that wasn’t male.

Fuck, he hadn’t even offed Cecily, and God knows, the bitch deserved it.

So Buffy telling him now that he’d forced himself on her…well, that was just impossible.

Only, the look in her eyes didn’t make it seem so impossible. Rather, it inspired a suddenly sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he knew without a doubt that she was telling the truth.

Oh God.

“Oh God.” Spike expelled a deep breath and turned away, his body trembling.

There was very little in his past that inspired guilt. Siring his mum for one. Dru’s run-in with the mob in Prague. Somehow, a whole past full of wrongs had washed away, and he was bathed in something he didn’t recognize. Beyond guilt. Beyond remorse. This was something no vampire should feel. Never.

Never before had his demon wept, but for the way in which his insides were shattering, it could be nothing else.

To be continued

Chapter 5 by Ameeya

Chapter 5

He was making her dizzy.

“Spike, please stop pacing.”

He shook his head frantically.

“Really, you’re driving me nuts.”

She didn’t know why she had this urge to reassure him that everything was okay when everything really, really wasn’t. And yet, the urge was there. There was something so authentic—so genuine—about his distress, and though she couldn’t explain it, she wanted to provide some solace.

Obviously, she was sick and twisted, but that was old news. Not only did she have the enjoying of what had happened last night, but not half an hour ago, she’d asked him to keep screwing her.

Well, not asked in so many words, but she definitely hadn’t complained when he read between the lines. Her body had been on fire—that strange buildup to orgasmic release that she was so not used to—and at that moment, it had seemed more important than her pride. Or almost more important, as she’d never actually gotten around to asking.

Now she wanted to comfort Spike for…well, rape was an awfully strong word, and since she’d enjoyed it—being the sicko that she was—she wasn’t too keen on using it. But still, she was entirely wigged and disgusted, and Spike was a big part of that.

She hated herself for enjoying it. Hated herself for not throwing him off of her in disgust once he started having sex with her that morning. Hated herself, most of all, for sitting here and feeling bad for making him realize the truth.

He really needed to stop pacing. Her sicko-eyes were really enjoying how taut and tense his body was.

I am completely disgusting.

He really did have that whole ripply-muscle thing going for him. It really, really wasn’t fair.

I am completely and utterly disgusting.

She needed to get out of here before she did something crazy, like actually comfort him.

“You need to slow down. Count to ten. Throw something. Breathe into a paper sack. I dunno. Just stop pacing!”

Spike stopped shortly and whirled around, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t breathe, you stupid bint!”

“Well, sorry! Forgive a girl for trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Well, obviously. Your nervous breakdown is going off without a hitch. Now will you please stop pacing?”

“I’m not pacing!”

Buffy blinked. Oh. He actually had stopped. “Well, good. Let’s keep it that way. You wanna maybe not pace over here and unprisoner me?” She shook her other leg demonstratively, careful not to reveal the bite mark on her inner left thigh. The one he’d given her the night before—the one he’d sealed with words and a demand that she didn’t understand. She sensed it was important; she sensed the bite mark meant something huge, something significant, and couldn’t thank her lucky stars enough that he’d somehow missed it in his wig out.

For some reason, she didn’t want him to see it. She didn’t know what it was or what it meant, but something told her that things would be much worse if Spike knew he’d bitten her. Much, much worse. Especially if he knew that said bite had been accompanied by a random caveman demand, followed by an order to respond in some derogatory fashion that threw Women’s Rights out the proverbial window.

She had absolutely no idea how he hadn’t seen it, but she was counting her blessings. Her mind was made up: Spike could never, ever know about that mark.

“You want me to untie you,” Spike repeated, blinking.

“Well, yes. As comfortable as this looks…it’s anything but.”

“You’re not crying anymore.”

Oh, so he’d noticed that. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel like crying, naturally, but the part of her that felt used and violated—while still shaken and angry—couldn’t be as mad as it wanted to be because she knew that he was just as shaken.

“Don’t take that to mean that I’m not super pissed beyond the telling of it.”

Spike shook his head, a strange emotion clouding his eyes. Well, not strange for normal people, but it definitely looked strange on him. She’d seen his guilt and regret, but the look on his face now was a step above that. He was thoroughly broken by what he’d done. As though all the hurt and outrage that she wasn’t feeling had transferred to him. And it wigged her out that she suddenly felt she had the power to read Spike’s emotions, because that was so not a thing she wanted added to her resume.

“I’ve never…” Spike sighed and shook his head again, nearing her cautiously as his hand dipped back into his jean pocket. “I swear, Slayer, I’ve never forced myself on a woman before.”

The funny thing was, she knew he was telling the truth. She knew it. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. She trusted that he was being honest with her—she could tell. Perhaps it was that strange non-resume-thing again, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Never?” she repeated skeptically. “Yeah, coming from the evil vampire, that’s much with the reassuring.”

“There are certain degrees to evil, pet,” he replied, his eyes on the ground. “Maybe it was Angelus’s thing. Well, no, scratch that—it was Angelus’s thing. He gets off on pain.”

“And you don’t?”

Spike sighed, his fingers sliding over her ankle. “Not pain like that. I’m a mean, nasty bloke—don’t need to add sex offender to the list to make me the poster child for all things evil in the world. I’ve done my fair share of torturing, yeh. I won’ deny it. An’ there’s no reason for you to believe me. I know it, but I’m sayin’ it anyway. Rape isn’t my cuppatea, luv.”

It’s not rape when you enjoy it, though.

Buffy shivered. “Just unchain me. I wanna go home.”

He paused and arched a brow, looking up. “You sure you’re not gonna boot me across the room this time?”

“No.”

She expected anger, but instead, he flashed a somber smile and dropped the shackle. The metallic crash against the floor made her jump. “I deserve it.”

“You’re creeping me out.”

“’Least I’m not pacing.”

Buffy grinned a little at that. “Now the arms, please?”

“You gonna stake me?”

“Maybe.”

He unchained her. Buffy blinked in astonishment and met his eyes.

Why is he doing this?

“Because I’m enough of a rat bastard. I had a plan. I buggered the plan an’ practically buggered you in the process.”

Had she said that aloud or could he read minds? “Spike—”

Was it natural to want to comfort the man who had assaulted her? Was it even assault?

God, she was confused. She’d just spent the night in a surreal place with a surreal version of Spike. First with his head between her legs, then with his cock inside her. She hadn’t slept, and when she’d finally decided to struggle, Spike had started moving inside her and all reason had been lost.

She was sick. She was absolutely sick. And on top of that, she was emotionally exhausted; caught between hating him and feeling sorry for him, piled on top of totally hating herself.

Her emotions were tangled. If she thought about it another second, she’d just start crying again. Because, drunk or not, Spike had terrified her. What he’d done to her was terrifying. And this wigsome, penitent Spike wasn’t helping matters. Things would be so much easier if he’d be the ass he had been after he’d slid out of her body. If he’d never known what he’d done the night before, so she could stake him and begin the healing process.

This Spike was more broken than she could ever be. And it scared her that she knew that. That she could tell just by looking at him how much turmoil he was in, and how badly she wanted to tell him that it was okay.

Buffy sighed and tugged her camisole down over her breasts and squeezed her thighs together.

“Slayer,” he said softly. “I know…this won’t mean anything but…I’m sorry.”

She shuddered. It meant something. It meant a lot. And she resented it.

But she didn’t tell him that.

“I wanna go home.”

He was still for a long beat, then nodded and backed away, hurrying to the other side of the room. “Best not look a gift horse in the mouth, yeh? Lemme find you some slacks.”

“Spike?”

He paused and looked back at her.

Buffy swallowed hard. “For the record…I’m willing to believe that what happened here…didn’t happen here. Don’t ask me why—as you said: gift-horse-mouth kinda thing. But here’s what is gonna happen: I’m gonna go home, take a shower, and forget everything.” She paused. “But…you need to leave. I mean it. Leave town. Never come back. If you come back—”

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I know this tune, Slayer.”

“I mean it.”

“An’ I have no reason to doubt it.” Spike forced a weak smile and nodded again. “Gonna go find you some slacks.”

“Then I’m leaving.”

And with any luck, so was he. Spike would leave and she could return to her normally scheduled life.

And try to fit herself into a universe where none of this ever happened. She didn’t want any self-examination. She didn’t want to think about how every woman’s nightmare had turned into the hottest experience of her life. She didn’t want to consider what that made her. She didn’t want to clash how hurt and angry she was against how good he’d made her feel. Physical pleasure didn’t win over emotional duress, and although she knew that, convincing herself was an entirely separate matter. She was confused enough for several lifetimes as it was. So she was determined not to think of it. She would walk away from Spike right now with this bizarre understanding, and never give their night together a second thought.

It was a nice idea, as far as pipe dreams went.

To be continued…

Chapter 6 by Ameeya

Chapter 6

Buffy was beyond exhausted. She climbed into her room and flopped helplessly on her bed before remembering that she did not want to fall asleep in Spike’s clothes. She didn’t want to fall asleep with his scent all over her, or the ghost of his hands and mouth on her skin.

She just didn’t have the strength to get up and walk to the shower. Furthermore, she was certain that her mom had stayed up the night pacing the halls and calling the entire Sunnydale directory because Buffy had never phoned or showed up for their scheduled college discussion. And Angel was probably worried, too, since she’d told him that she’d drop by.

She didn’t have the strength to start fabricating an elaborate where I was last night story just yet. A part of her needed to talk. Needed to tell someone that Spike had hijacked her life for about twelve hours and now she was confused and angry and disgusted with herself, only she wasn’t because she’d refused to think about it. It was over and done with, and as far as she was concerned, the entire affair had been a hellacious nightmare.

All she needed to do now was wake up.

There was a tentative knock on her door, followed by her mother’s quiet, inquisitive voice. “Buffy?”

She moaned and dragged a pillow over her head. No. Such. Luck.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice muffled. “I’m in here.”

The door flew open the next second, and before she knew what was happening, Buffy was all but yanked into her mother’s arms. “Oh, thank heavens!” Joyce exclaimed. “Don’t you ever do that to me again! I had no idea where you were! You didn’t call. You didn’t tell Willow. I couldn’t get a hold of Mr. Giles. And that awful…that vampire that you said was your boyfriend?”

Buffy tensed. “Angel?”

“Yes. He was here. He was here, Buffy! I had no idea what to do.”

She groaned inwardly. “Mom, it’s cool.”

“What?”

“Angel…he…he came back a little while ago. From Hell. He came back from Hell, but he’s all souled up and…” She scowled at the horror-laced disappointment flooding through her mother’s eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look. We’re just friends. I’m trying to help him acclimatize to life here on the boring ole Hellmouth.”

“Buffy, he’s dangerous.”

“No, he’s really not. Trust me; he’s soul-boy now. We’re not dating. We’re not gonna be dating. We’re not anywhere near Datesville. We’re just friends.” A long sigh rolled off her shoulders. “I couldn’t date him again if I wanted to.”

“Isn’t he the one who murdered your teacher?”

“Mom, please.” She was so not in the mood to argue about this right now. It was too early, she was running on little to no sleep, and her mind was suffering the most hellish of all hells. “Just…call school and tell them I’m sick.”

“Are you?”

She shuddered, her mind flashing to Spike’s head perched attentively between her legs, his tongue curling around her clit. And to her astonishment, she was attacked by a fresh wave of lust. Spike-lust. Oh, she was sick all right.

“Yes. Yes, I am very, very sick.” To solidify her ill health, she frowned and coughed into her hand, earning little more than the patented look of motherly disappointment. “I’m totally sick.”

“You were out all night.”

“Yes, and don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

“You were out all night and your ex-boyfriend, whom you sent to Hell, just happens to be around, too. And he came by here, looking for you. Then he left, and you were out all night.”

The only thing worse than being with Spike was being with Angel. Being with Angel led to badness. Much badness. And yes, her mother was partially right in that she’d been screwed senseless—literally—by a vampire. She just had the wrong vamp in mind.

But Buffy didn’t tell her that. Any of it. Rather, she just swallowed hard and said, “I really can do without the slanted looks and the judgment right now.”

“And I can really do with a little honesty.”

“I wasn’t out with Angel.”

Joyce visibly relaxed, a sigh rolling off her shoulders. “Oh,” she said shortly. “Okay. Good. Who were…you were out all night with someone else?”

Buffy shuddered again, her mind dragging her back to Spike’s bed. Back to the second that his cock had slipped inside her; despite the mind-numbing fear, some measure of peace had spread through her panic-stricken body. She’d felt whole for a blink before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to insert anything into her pussy—his fingers and tongue had been bad enough, but now she was marked with him. She was different now because of what had happened.

Only she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about it anymore.

“I…Spike came back to town.”

“Spike?” Joyce blinked. “Oh, the young British man? The one who helped you defeat Angel?”

“Mom, you do realize he was a vampire, right?”

“Well, yes, but he’s still a young British man.”

“A young looking British vampire.” She paused and made a face. “And he didn’t even really help me defeat Angel. He just kinda signed on so he could vamp-nap Drusilla. He snagged her and left me to die.”

Her mother looked appalled. “He left you to die?”

“Well, he had what he wanted. And he’s a vampire, so it’s not like he was acting out of a want for the greater good. He said he wanted to save the world, but he just wanted his ho-bag girlfriend back.” Buffy paused, surprised at the bitterness in her voice. Why should she care if Spike had wanted Dru back? She had no idea, but she cared anyway. “Stupid ho-bag bitch,” she added with an emphatic nod.

“Buffy, language!”

“Sorry.”

Joyce shot her a stern look, though her lips edged upward in a grin. At least one person was amused; Buffy most certainly was not. For whatever reason, the idea of Spike wrapped away in another woman’s arms—a woman he loved—made her feel violently ill.

I’m deranged.

“So Spike’s in town,” Joyce concluded, nodding and crossing her arms. “I…were you two fighting all night? About his leaving without helping you?”

Buffy groaned inwardly. She really needed to sit down with her mother—preferably sometime soon—and try to get it through her head that Spike was bad news. That all vampires, regardless of first impressions, were bad news. All vampires aside from Angel, who was only bad news if he got laid. Besides, Joyce’s first impression of Spike hadn’t been a positive one to begin with. She had, after all, smacked him upside the head with an axe. That most definitely did not make for hugs and heart-shaped chocolate kisses.

If her mother couldn’t get her mind wrapped around the fact that Spike was bad news, then she might do something stupid like invite him into the house. Not that Buffy had ever bothered to revoke his invitation. Not that Spike was dumb enough to come calling, especially since she’d made it painfully clear that he was a dead vamp walking if he ever tried.

Not that he wasn’t Dead Vamp Walking anyway. What with the being dead and all.

Okay, now she was getting a headache. And just who was she kidding? Of course Spike was dumb enough to stick around. She’d told him explicitly to leave, which meant he was likely sitting in his paint-smeared car at the city limits, unsuccessfully trying to convince himself to heed her demand.

Something monumental had happened between them. Something that, for all the want in the world, could not be blamed on coercion.

Buffy shivered again. “Mom, it doesn’t matter why he’s here. He came, we…talked, we fought, we did the tango, he left. I’m running on about two hours of sleep and I think if I try to go to school, I’ll pass out or get sick or something.”

Their eyes held for a minute, then the fight slowly left Joyce’s face and she finally nodded her acquiescence. “Okay, sweetheart,” she said, brushing a kiss across her forehead. “Mmm. You do feel warm. Maybe you should go take a cold shower…cool off a bit?”

She bit back a dry laugh. “No, I don’t need a cold shower. Really, I just need some sleep.”

Suddenly, the thought of washing Spike’s scent off her skin wasn’t as appealing as it had been. All she wanted to do was curl up and rest. Let her mind wander off to that wonderfully dreamless place where nightmares and slayer visions couldn’t touch her.

There would be plenty of time to wash off when she awoke. When the previous night felt more like a horrid stint in non-reality rather than an emotionally draining—however sensuous—fantasy getaway.

It would be easier to hate him—easier to forget last night had happened at all—after she had some sleep. It would be.

Buffy sank against her pillow as her mother left the room, softly closing the door behind her. She closed her eyes and sighed, and found herself drifting off within seconds.

It would be easier.

It had to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike sat in the Desoto, his hands curled around the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the sun-bathed sign that read: NOW LEAVING SUNNYDALE: Come back soon! He had the car in park, though his foot hovered over the gas pedal.

Leave.

He inhaled sharply and reached for his cigarettes.

Get the bloody fuck outta Dodge now.

God, he couldn’t. Something had a hold on him. Something that went beyond guilt. For the hell his mind had been through in the past few hours, he should have been out of town the second Buffy walked away from him. His insides were ripped to shreds. Every time his thoughts returned to her, he felt nothing but pain.

Pain that wasn’t hers. Pain at the thought of what he’d done. God, he’d never felt pain like this.

Spike choked a laugh and puffed on his fag. Somehow, he always managed to thoroughly bugger his plans. Kill the Slayer. It’d seemed so simple just twenty-four hours ago. Kill her, bathe in her blood, and go home to Dru. See if she really wanted slime and antlers when he could finally deliver Buffy’s head.

Instead, he’d forced himself on her. And now he couldn’t kill her. Couldn’t do anything but fight the need to crawl to her side on his hands and knees and babble apologies until she staked him.

Angelus’s example was through mental torment of his hapless victims. Spike hated Angelus’s example. He’d never wanted this. Not for himself, not for anyone; not even for his mortal enemy.

So here he was: deadlocked in a black car under the blazing sun, peering through the black-smeared windshield.

Spike trembled and sighed. It was useless.

He wasn’t going anywhere. It might kill him, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

To be continued

Chapter 7 by Ameeya

Thank you guys so much for all your lovely comments! I’m so glad you’re enjoying my little fic.

I would like to address one thing, though, so as to hopefully avoid any confusion in further chapters. As I understand claiming, it’s pretty much a fanon thing. Something that doesn’t really have “rules,” even if there are certain expectations that come with it. In the end, though, it seems to me that it’s pretty much writer’s choice on how a claim is written/portrayed. I’m trying something different here—something I haven’t seen before, though it might be written somewhere. Either way, since claiming is a fanon thing, I think it’s OK to explore.

Spike doesn’t know he claimed Buffy, and it’s not going to just occur to him from nowhere. I’ll get into it in further chapters, but basically, I’m working from the angle that Spike has never claimed anyone or been claimed before. He doesn’t know what to associate his feelings with, and jumping to the “claim” conclusion isn’t even on his radar. He has a passing knowledge of claims, but he’s never really researched them (again, something I’ll get into in later chapters), thus the demon claiming Buffy was an innate thing more than anything else. I just thought I should clarify that before I go on. In my little world, this isn’t something that Spike is just going to magically know. With as much as I’ve read, and with as much of a hot-button-issue as claims seem to be in the Spuffy fandom, I wanted to try something a little different.

Okay, that’s all. Thank you all again so much for your kind reviews. =)

- Ameeya

Chapter 7

Buffy very rarely looked at herself naked.

Several months ago, before the attack of Angel’s multiple personalities, Xander had asked her if girls ever stood in front of the mirror and looked at themselves naked. They’d been at the Bronze on a rare, demonically inactive Friday night, and he’d shouted the question during an inconvenient quiet point between the band’s songs. Willow had blushed profusely, Cordelia had huffed in disgust and slapped his arm, and Buffy had just laughed and laughed.

After she was all laughed out, she’d told him no. And the crestfallen look on his face was nothing short of hysterical. She’d cushioned the blow a bit—told him that some girls might, that not all females were linked psychically, and she didn’t know about girls that were more confident. Girls that were sexual creatures first and human beings second.

Just a few weeks ago, during one of the gang’s outings with Faith, Buffy had caught Xander’s eye and said softly, “She might be one of them.” And the goofy look on his face had told her that he got the message, loud and clear.

Buffy had no reason to be thinking of her friend’s bizarre question, aside from the fact that she was currently standing in the bathroom, naked, and looking at herself. Just looking. Her body had no marks that would be indicative of sexual assault. Her skin bore no bruises. And she wasn’t surprised, because sometime after waking, she’d consigned herself to the reality that her experience couldn’t be compared to the horrors of actual rape. Spike had been nothing but caring with her, even when he’d gone down on her in spite of her pleas. He hadn’t done anything to bring his own body release. He’d slid his cock inside her, yes, but nothing had happened after that. Nothing until the next morning, when she’d all but begged him to keep screwing her.

A long sigh hissed through her lips. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to be furious. She wanted to feel violated. But she didn’t now. She had before—before Spike awoke and regarded her with shock instead of malice. When he’d taken her slowly and sweetly, when he hadn’t bruised her body with his. When she’d seen the horror and guilt in his eyes rather than cold satisfaction.

Buffy had been angry that morning. She wasn’t now. Not with Spike. She was just disgusted with herself.

And she was looking at herself naked, her hands occasionally twitching at her sides. She lifted her smallish breasts, rubbed her flat stomach, and finally lowered her eyes to her pussy and shivered. Her body might as well have been a stranger’s—she didn’t know it very well. She was an organic weapon against evil, and only once before had she viewed herself as someone sexual. She was used to appraising her muscles, doctoring cuts and bruises, and applying bandages to sore skin before patrol. She wasn’t used to noticing her own femininity. Not in a sexual way. Sure, she loved clothes and make-up and doing girly things with her gal-friends, when possible, but even when she was a part of a couple—when she’d been with Angel—it was hard for her to view herself as anything other than Buffy. Girly Buffy, yes. Slayer Buffy, check. All-Woman-Buffy, double check. But never Sexual Buffy. Not until the night that Angel had taken her virginity, and certainly not any time since.

She’d thought about sexual things, yes, but always as other people would experience them. Even when she thought of Angel, she’d see herself and Angel from a distance, her mind taking on the role of a voyeur as she concocted fantasies that involved her without involving her.

Spike had made her feel sexual, and now she was looking at her body and wondering why. Buffy was pretty certain that she didn’t look any different than other girls, and she was more than convinced that there were women out there with more impressive figures. Women who had bigger boobs, better tits, and perhaps less hair between their legs—the sort of women she’d seen in her father’s dirty magazines a lifetime ago. The kind that were more plastic than human, but somehow still more appealing to the male population. She didn’t see herself as truly desirable, and yet Spike had wanted her. He could have come home with any demon whore he wanted—and damn if that didn’t smart. He could have, but he hadn’t. No, he’d returned to the factory with her in mind.

Well, she supposed she couldn’t prove that. Alcohol made the mind all foggy; at least, so said her health class instructor. Perhaps she’d looked more appealing to him when he was drunk. Perhaps she’d looked like a Playboy centerfold with too many clothes on. She didn’t know.

Buffy pursed her lips and parted her legs just slightly, her eyes immediately attracted to the bite mark that graced her left inner thigh for the first time. It was startlingly beautiful, nothing like she would have expected. Nothing like the ugly scar the Master had left on her neck. Spike hadn’t bitten her in anger or violence, rather with tenderness and care. And the mark was beautiful.

Compelled, she reached down to stroke it, and gasped at the shard of ecstasy that shot to her core the second her fingers ran across the mark.

“Oh my God.”

What the hell was that?

She ran her finger across the bite mark again, and her knees about buckled in pleasure.

Oh my God.

Instantly, she shot her hand back to her side and took a step away from the mirror, as though seeing her reflection was what had prompted both her action and her very prominent reaction. She turned quickly and twisted the bath nozzle. Better to just shower, as had been her intention upon coming into the bathroom in the first place, and return to her life. Her wonderfully dull if-you-didn’t-include-world-savage-and-occasionally-killing-your-boyfriend life.

It had been the strangest day, and she hadn’t done anything. She’d wasted away in bed, wrestling with her disturbing Spike-shaped thoughts and trying very hard to convince herself that she hated him when, actually, she found that she wasn’t even angry. And wasn’t that a kick in the pants?

Buffy sighed and braced her hands on the wall as water from the showerhead cascaded over her body. Had it only been twenty-four hours since her life made sense? She knew she wasn’t perfect; she knew that she had her problems—Angel’s sudden return from Hell being a big one—but she’d been at least mildly well-adjusted. What seventeen-year-old girl could attest to being so level-headed when the world was constantly falling down around her and she had to destroy her one-and-only to prevent the apocalypse?

Not many, she thought bitterly, reaching for the soap bar. Only one in every generation.

Her eyes fell shut as she began rubbing her body down. This time yesterday, she’d been chained to Spike’s bed. This morning, she’d walked out of the factory, and her life had changed. She wanted to ignore it, but Buffy wasn’t an idiot. She knew her life had changed. It would never be the same because of what happened, and honest to God, she didn’t know why.

Buffy sighed, her left hand skating down her stomach and coming to rest over the bite mark, and she shuddered with pleasure.

Why does this feel so good?

Tears pricked at her eyes; she didn’t know why she was so damned emotional over a bite. She should be grateful, right? At least he’d bitten her there and not on her throat where the world could see. Not that she liked that the bite was so close to her pussy. It made it so much easier to…

A strangled gasp tore from her throat and she squeezed the tender skin at her thigh, her right hand cupping her pussy, fingers dancing over her slick flesh. She shivered and ignored the churning in her stomach—the same that had followed her whenever her mind took her to subjects she’d always thought were taboo.

Buffy had never really tried to bring herself off. She’d explored, sure, but never like she’d read about in magazines. Something about it seemed dirty, or had at one time. But Spike wasn’t here—oh God, it was so easy to imagine that he was. So incredibly easy to picture that they were his hands caressing her body. That he was rubbing the bite mark, that his fingers were prying apart her pussy lips and dipping inside her.

“Ohhh…” She whimpered and threw her head back. Spike was behind her, kissing down her throat and rumbling unintelligible adorations into her skin. She felt the inside of his wrists rubbing across her pelvis as he caressed her clit. She felt his mouth tasting her skin. She felt his chest rumble behind her when she cried out, heard his whispered commands that she not hold anything back. He told her how warm she felt, purred at how wet she was, all the while thrusting his cock against her backside as his balls slapped against her backside.

Buffy whimpered again desperately, and he growled at her ear. And all the other voices shut up. The one telling her that she was being disgusting. The one telling her that it was wrong. The one telling her that Spike had abused her. The one telling her to forget it and move on. Everything drowned out. Everything went away. All that was left was Spike.

Spike, who had suckled on her clit, sunk his fangs into her left thigh, and declared, “Mine!”

The world trembled around her as she came. Her legs shook. Her insides quivered. Her fingers were drenched. Oh God, that had been wonderful. She’d taken something that was hers and enjoyed it. Enjoyed it with Spike, only this time, there was no guilt. There was no horror. There were no tears. There was only Buffy. Only Buffy and Spike.

Except Spike wasn’t actually there. He’d felt real, yes, but he wasn’t.

Something that Buffy remembered just seconds later when she sighed and tried to lean against him. Instead of a sturdy chest and loving arms, she met with cold air, and yelped in surprise as her footing abandoned her and she fell inelegantly to the shower floor.

“Owwie.”

Okay, so maybe next time, she shouldn’t get so caught up in the fantasy.

To be continued

Chapter 8 by Ameeya

Chapter 8

The only possible thing that he could do to top his own stupidity at this point would be to stroll up and knock on the Slayer’s door. Spike sighed and shook his head, his fingers coiling and uncoiling nervously, his eyes glued to her bedroom window. God, he was pathetic. It had only been hours since he saw her last—and after what had happened, that should have been enough to last lifetimes. And yet, here he was. Pacing beneath her window like a hopeless sap with some wretched crush.

It killed him to know that she was only a few feet away from him—just a few precious feet—and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Bitch,” he muttered irritably, though there was no malice behind the word. No true hatred. Was it even bloody possible that he’d hated her so thoroughly just twenty-four hours ago? He didn’t think so. And how was it that one little bizarre, drunken experience with her had turned him into a pathetic, sniveling, lovesick fool?

A long, bitter chuckle tore through his throat. “Well, princess, I guess you were right,” he drawled, cracking his knuckles to avoid the temptation of reaching for his smokes. “I definitely am covered in the Slayer.”

He was so bug-shagging covered in her that he couldn’t bear being apart from her for more than a day. He couldn’t manage to crawl past the stupid city limits and get on with his miserable unlife. He knew he was dust the next time she saw him. Knew that he’d have no excuse. Something told him that, “Sorry, pet, but I did try,” wouldn’t make up for much.

There was just something about her. Something that he wanted to be near always. And bloody hell, if that wasn’t a frightening thought, he didn’t know what was.

Dru had seen it all along. Not only that, but the stupid bint had actually taken it upon herself to go and mention it. As if he wanted to know that he was covered in the sodding Slayer. If the infuriating woman had only kept her filthy mouth shut, he’d never be in this position. He’d never have come back to Sunnyhell. Never would have done something as colossally stupid as swipe the Slayer from her own sodding safe hold, then force her to the drunken, albeit amorous attentions of his mouth. And for all that, he couldn’t even remember what the tart’s pussy had tasted like.

He wanted to kill her. Maybe that would get his mind back in order. But God, he wanted to fuck her more. Wanted to take the full Slayer tour—see her sights, ride her rides, the whole nine bloody yards. Killing her was no good; he knew that now. Something told him that if she died, he’d go with her.

The next time he ran into Drusilla, he was staking the bitch. And the truly terrifying thing was, his demon seemed to have no problem with that thought at all.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He had no idea; all he knew was that he needed the Slayer. Needed to see her; hold her. Needed to make sure she was all right. That the stricken light that had haunted her eyes that morning was gone. He wanted to sniff at her hair and run his tongue all over her delectable body. He wanted her to moan his name as she came. He wanted to feel her hands all over him. He wanted so many stupid, impossible things—the forefront of his desires being Buffy herself. The girl before the calling. It was so dim-witted, but it was what he wanted. What his demon was pining for—what he’d felt he’d lost the second she left the factory that morning.

The bloody tart had taken him with her when she left. How dare she make him want her this much?

“Am I bein’ punished?” he mused aloud, rubbing his jaw, resting back against the siding beneath her window. “I’ve killed slayers, an’ I tried to kill this one.” He turned his eyes upward and sighed. “Am I bein’ punished now?”

Not that he believed there was a thing out there to punish him, but right now his world was so dodgy, nothing was completely out of the question.

His answer came the next second with a bolt of the fiercest lust he’d ever experienced. It struck him from nowhere—blazing heat spread through his cold body so quickly that he wondered, for an insane second, if he was going to dust. Vamps didn’t just spontaneously combust under starry skies without a lit match in sight, but God, he was burning up.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his left hand beginning a slow massage of his erection through the denim. “Oh bloody…Buffy?”

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly thought he smelled her. Felt her—truly felt her, like her body was pressed against his. And God, if that wasn’t disconcerting. He could clearly see that she wasn’t with him. He was alone on her lawn, and she didn’t even know that he was still in town.

That didn’t keep him from feeling her. He felt her hands on him, her mouth nibbling sensually at his throat, felt her hands prying at his belt buckle—okay, so those hands were his, but they felt like hers. And as she curled her warm fingers around his cock, his eyes rolled shut and he thrust his hips forward with a needy growl. “Buffy,” he whimpered. “Bloody…”

When the sodding hell had she become Buffy to him? And what in the world was he doing, standing on her lawn with his jeans bunched at mid-thigh and his hand pulling at his dick?

Okay, so this was the stupidest thing he could do—masturbating in the Slayer’s yard while moaning her name. How in fuck’s name had he hit rock bottom so fast? How had he gone from badass slayer-killer to a sniveling, lovesick pansy who would follow the Slayer across the globe just to get another taste of her quim? He was pathetic; nothing could trump how bloody pathetic he was. How terribly low he’d sunk.

Not even the sight of Angel walking up the street.

Spike’s eyes rolled up. Fuck. Bloody figured. He didn’t leave when he had the chance, and this was how the Powers were punishing him. Buffy would have been well within her rights if she had staked him that morning, but instead, she’d let him go. She’d given him an out, and he, being the great git he was, had ignored her.

And where had it gotten him? If the Slayer peeked out her window, she’d see him spectacularly wanking off while her honey-pie walked up the bleeding street.

Bloody hell.

He might be the running for Dumbest Vampire in the World at the moment, but there was absolutely no way that Spike was going to tempt fate. Angel was strolling closer to the house, and while he couldn’t see him yet, he would in a minute. Spike wasn’t about to sit around and wait for a stake to find his chest. If Angel was here, chances were, he’d rely on the tree outside Buffy’s room to climb up.

And then his grandsire would be alone with Buffy.

The demon roared in protest. Spike shook his head and jerked his jeans back up his hips, biting back a groan as he tucked his thick cock back behind the zipper.

I’m bloody dust.

He still felt her hands on him. Buffy’s phantom hands and mouth caressing him in ways that the true Buffy never would. It took everything he had, rationale notwithstanding, to convince his legs to run. To tear himself away from the Slayer’s yard before he was caught lurking by the one bloke who deserved Buffy’s pussy even less than Spike did.

The burn only grew worse the farther he got. Something had his insides twisted and for the strangest second, he began to panic that he couldn’t breathe.

Sweet Jesus, what’s happening to me?

Even with as hard as he ran, Spike only managed to get a few lawns between them before he crashed to his knees and tore frantically at his fly. A loud growl ripped through his throat as his fangs burst through his gums, and he tossed his head back in relief the second his hand was around his cock again.

The burn only got worse. He was jerking himself off so hard he thought he might bruise, but there was no end in sight. The burn only got worse.

And Buffy was likely in the arms of another man.

Spike snarled again, and rubbed his shaft harder.

What’s happening to me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy yelped and jumped back, wrapping a hand around the towel she’d dressed herself in and leveling a glare in Angel’s direction. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

He scowled. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I’m in a towel, here!”

Something in his eyes told her that he’d noticed; that and the way he looked her up and down and swallowed uncomfortably. “I can see that. I—ummm—I was just wondering…you didn’t come in last night, and people started to worry.”

She had absolutely no idea why, but hearing even the hint of an accusation in his tone had her ready to lash out. Had his voice always been so annoying? How had she never noticed it before? “Yeah. So my mother told me. Hey! Speaking of which, where the hell do you get off coming to chat up my mother while I’m very much elsewhere? Need I remind you how much she hates your non-living guts?”

“Hey,” Angel barked, “you didn’t show. I was worried. Excuse a guy for coming up to check on a friend.”

“Yeah. I gotta tell you, though, if Willow eyeballed me the way you do, I’d have serious reservations about changing in front of her.” She ignored the hurt in his eyes and marched to her dresser. “Anyway, you can obviously see that I’m here. I’m alive. I’m in one piece. And I’m still in a towel. So you can uninvite yourself to now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Angel ignored her, stalking forward intently. “What is wrong with you?”

“Other than the fact that I wanna get naked without worrying about you going all Jeffrey Dahmer on me?”

“Stop it. That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair. What? You’ve only been around since Moses and you haven’t figured that out?” Buffy jerked her flannel pajama bottoms out of her chest of drawers and worried a lip between her teeth. She was in a bitchy mood to end all moods, and she had no idea why. Only that every second Angel lingered around like a broken puppy, the more difficult it became to keep from knocking his teeth out. In all honesty, she had no right to be angry with Angel, and somehow, knowing that just made her even angrier. “Look—I had a long, rough night and I don’t intend to make this another one. Just…just leave, okay?”

She turned around, hand clutching the terrycloth at her breast and her stomach falling when he took another step forward. God, did he have a learning deficiency or something? Couldn’t he tell that she was busy?

Okay, so maybe not so much with the busy. She’d just masturbated for the first time, thinking of Spike, and had hoped to float a little on her high before the ultimate crash and burn and mental ass-kicking over why she’d ever think of Spike like that, and—

She froze, her eyes going wide.

Was it possible to get horny as all hell again just by thinking of what she’d done? Because she was. It hit from nowhere—a storm of arousal so strong that she had to grab the dresser lest she sink to her knees. And to her astonishment, none of it was for Angel. Not for Angel, whose death had nearly broken her, and whose return had ruined everything about her life that she’d tried to put back together.

Angel, who until last night, she would have sacrificed anything to be with again.

Right now, she was wet and burning and she wanted Angel gone so Ghost Spike could tongue her to oblivion.

Buffy raised her eyes to Angel’s once more. “I—um. You need to go. Please. Go.”

Stupid vampire seemed to take every demand for his absence as an invitation to come closer. “You look…Buffy, are you okay?” No, she was very much not okay. Her legs were wobbly and her clit was throbbing, and she suddenly felt like Spike’s head had poked under the towel. That his mouth was currently very invested in her pussy, and not even her ex-boyfriend could provide the proverbial cold-shower.

“No. I mean yes. Yes, I’m fine. Please leave. I mean it. Leave.”

He paused and sniffed, then looked at her in shock.

“And don’t do that!” If she wasn’t so busy trying to subtly rub her thighs together to create friction, all the while holding the towel up to maintain dignity, she would have thrown something. “Did I give you permission to smell me?”

“Buffy—”

Maybe screaming at him wasn’t the best option, though something told her it was a bit late to try for soft and sweet. Anything was worth a shot. “Please…you just…you just caught me at a bad time. I’m sorry. I’ll try to…I’ll try to explain everything tomorrow, okay?”

Angel frowned again and for a second, she felt sorry for him.

But not sorry enough not to throw his ass out of her window if he didn’t leave her alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He almost missed the heat when he came. The second he moaned and spurted onto dark blades of grass, the warmth that had nearly dusted him vanished in a blink. Spike whimpered and tossed his head back again, pulling at his cock until he was sure he’d drained his balls dry.

He tried to ignore the fact that it had been Buffy’s name on his lips when he climaxed. That he’d felt her rubbing his erection, felt her silky tongue curling around his aching head, her ruby lips drawing him into her wet, blissful inferno of a mouth. He tried to ignore everything, but he couldn’t.

Instead, he lurched over, and fisted a handful of earth.

Something was very wrong. He’d never been pulled to anyone like this. Never. Not even Dru. And the thought that he’d have to sleep in an empty bed tonight didn’t help matters. If he was suffering, Buffy needed to suffer. Or fuck him. Yes, he preferred her fucking him. Riding him mercilessly to repay the crime he’d committed against her. She should bruise him with her body for what he’d done to her; use him the way he’d drunkenly used her.

No. That wasn’t fair, and he suffered a fresh wave of guilt simply for the thought. He’d hurt her. He didn’t deserve anything.

Spike released a trembling sigh and forced himself onto shaky legs.

Not deserving her didn’t make the fantasy stop, though. He didn’t suppose anything could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy merely squeaked and, for the second time in half an hour, fell on her ass the instant that whatever had been toying with her reached its release. And Angel stood there, slack jawed and dumbfounded.

She would have curled up in horror if she wasn’t feeling so satisfied.

To be continued

Chapter 9 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
Thanks so much to all my readers! *hugz you all*

Chapter 9

It was exhausting just watching Willow talk.

“So the bowling date was a good?”

Her friend nodded enthusiastically. “So much a good. And thanks to my wacky witchy talents, all wayward Xander lust is officially of the dead.”

Buffy was only slightly put off that she hadn’t heard of this random Xander-lusting before now, but she could definitely see how it’d be easier to talk about something that was no longer a thing. “Well, that’s good,” she said. “But, for future reference, maybe wait until Giles is here to dabble in the dark arts? What if the entire science lab had gone kablooey?”

Willow frowned. “It didn’t.”

“I know, but you know how easy it is for these things to get out of control.”

“But it was controlled! It was so with the control. I-I even managed to not turn Xander into a newt.” She nodded proudly. “It’s fine, Buffy. I got everything taken care of. A-and aside from my random Xander-hateage, it went off without a hitch.”

“Huh? Xander-hateage?”

She nodded guiltily. “Yeah. Ever since the delusting spell, I’ve experienced these sharp pangs of absolute loathing. I think it’s because a delusting spell is designed for two people who aren’t best friends…not two people who are not only best friends, but best friends who see each other every day.”

Buffy sighed and arched a brow. She was so glad that they had decided to save the girl talk for their mall trip after school. Girl talks with Willow at school were prone to interruption from Willow’s very quiet but very present boyfriend. Plus, there was Xander and Cordelia—whenever they came up for air—and the occasional interjection from a panicked and oh-so-very-British librarian. It seemed that whenever Buffy had a chance to sit down and talk with her friend about non-slayery stuff, Giles felt the need to tell her that the world was ending.

Thankfully, Giles was still out of town on his little retreat. If the world was ending, it was off his radar.

“So,” Buffy said slowly. “Have you just been calling Xander names, or—”

“W-well, after the spell was done, I threw an eraser at his head. And then a jar of, umm, frog guts.” Willow flushed and glanced down. “And then called him something I don’t really want to repeat. But at least the lust part is over.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me all this before.”

She shrugged. “Well, you had the Angel stuff going on, and I didn’t want to bother you about my being torn between my best friend and this incredibly great guy who I don’t wanna hurt for all the A-pluses in the world. Plus, I was kinda weirded out.”

“Splainy?”

“I always thought I wanted Xander to want me…and when he did, it was just…it felt wrong.” Willow sighed. “Anyway, that’s in the past. Very much over and done with, and Oz and I totally creamed them at bowling the other night.”

“Oz a good bowler?”

“Not as much that as the fact that Xander and Cordy really, really suck.”

Buffy bit back a grin and glanced down, taking a sip of her mocha latte. She loved the coffee shop at the mall. It was homey and inviting without the corporation feel of a Starbucks. Having spent three months in Los Angeles of the very recent, she was incredibly glad for that. In fact, coming home to Sunnydale had been surprisingly liberating. Not once had Buffy thought it possible that she would miss a place as much as she’d missed the Hellmouth. She likened it to prisoners who were so accustomed to the prison walls that life on the outside was too much to bear. She was conditioned—institutionalized—and as much as she hated it here, there was no place like home.

“Anyway,” Willow said, leaning forward earnestly. “I’ve been dying to ask you…are you and Angel a thing again?”

It was almost funny the way Buffy nearly spat her iced coffee across the table. “What?!”

“I take that as a no?”

“An emphatic hell no. Why would you ever think that?”

Confusion replaced the anxiousness in Willow’s eyes. “I…ummm, I…don’t know. Do I? You left Sunnydale because you sent him to Hell…then you hid his being not-in-Hell, only to be discovered making with the liplocking. And then…the other night, Angel just comes by the bowling alley all worried and broody and says you never showed and now you’re acting like you never want to see Angel again?” She paused. “Buffy…is there something you’re not telling me?”

Buffy frowned and flattened a hand against her stomach. Honestly, she didn’t know why she reacted so severely every time someone mentioned Angel; hell, anytime she thought of Angel. True, he was pretty high on her Crap List for standing around the night before as Ghost Spike got her off, but he hadn’t been in good standing before that. In fact, it had taken everything she had to refrain from tossing him out the window.

Right now, it was much easier to focus on being angry with Angel than the weirdness that was Ghost Spike. Especially since Ghost Spike gave her happies—happies that came without fear and crying and kidnapping and being chained to a bed. Once she sorted out why the mention of Angel warranted hisses and claws, she could go back to avoiding her mixed-up Spike feelings.

Only, at the same time, she really needed to get it off her chest. And Willow was sitting right across from her, her eyes wide; looking the part of the best friend down to a tee. And with as much fun as suffering through her confusion on her own sounded, Buffy was so not prepared to do this alone.

“Yeah, Will. There’s something I’m not telling you. Something pretty big.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Are you okay?”

“I hardly know,” Buffy replied with a helpless shrug and a forced smile. “Ummm, see…the night you and Xander and everyone had the double-date bowling style, Spike came back.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.”

“As in…back?”

“That’s pretty much what the word means, yes.”

“What happened? Did you see him?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “No, Will, my telepathy tipped me off. Of course I saw him!”

“Sorry, this is just a bit much,” she replied, glancing to the table, her cheeks reddening. “Was Drusilla with him?”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“Evidently, he and Dru broke up.” Buffy completely ignored the way her stomach tightened and her body tensed at the mention of Spike’s ex-girlfriend. It didn’t mean anything—the same way that her sudden allergic reaction to Angel didn’t mean anything. It was all melted together in a vat of means nothing. “And he was uber-pissed about it, so he came to town.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my fault that he and Dru split.”

The confusion on Willow’s face was strangely liberating. “Okay…” she said slowly. “So what happened?”

“With what?”

“Spike! You know—that moderately humungous thing that you’re only telling me about now?” She arched a brow and rapped her nails against the table. “I’m waiting.”

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. For whatever reason, it was difficult to remember that she hadn’t done anything wrong. “Oh, well. He kinda knocked me out in the library and took me to the factory.”

“He kidnapped you?”

“Just a little!”

“My God, Buffy!” Willow was shaking her head violently. “Please tell me he’s dust. I don’t think I can take vamps that kidnap you. I mean, getting eaten is bad enough, you know!”

It was perhaps the worst thing she could say. Buffy’s mind zapped back to Spike’s bed, his mouth feasting on her pussy, contented purrs rumbling through his throat. “Umm, yeah,” she said. I am one sick-sicko. “Very bad.”

“So he’s dust?”

“What? Oh, no.” She shook her head, avoiding Willow’s dumbfounded look. “No, it’s not that easy. See, he chained me up…ummm, to his bed.”

“He what?!”

“Oh God, Will, it’s not like that. It’s not like that at all.” She hung her head. “Only, yes. It’s exactly like that.”

“Buffy…”

“He chained me up and then left. When he came back, he was drunk. I mean, seriously, seriously drunk. And he…uhhhh…did things to me.” She squirmed uncomfortably and sucked intently on her straw. “And it…I never want to feel like that again. I was chained up and helpless, and what he was doing…God, I was terrified. But then it was…it…despite how horrible it was…it felt…good.” She hazarded Willow a glance, then sank dejectedly into her seat. “My God, I am disgusting.”

That seemed to snap the redhead out of it. Immediately, she leaned forward and patted Buffy’s shoulder reassuringly. “No, you’re not.”

“I so am. He…he used me, and I…he terrified me because it…God, I am so confused.” She blushed furiously and slid back again, wiping at her eyes. “It was just his…his mouth. You know…down there?”

Willow turned even redder. And Buffy felt even more disgusting.

“And then he bit me. On my thigh. And he said some stupid word and fell asleep with his head on my…vagina.”

Her friend shivered as though scandalized by the word.

Buffy inhaled sharply. She’d made it this far, and even as the story got worse, she found the words were coming easier. “After a while, after it really hit me what had happened, I started massively wigging. I mean seriously wigging. I was crying and struggling and trying to buck him off me. Spike woke up, but not really, and kinda just climbed on top of me and…once he was in, he fell asleep again.”

“Buffy…you realize what you’re saying, right? He raped you.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Yeah, I think he kinda did.”

She shook her head furiously. “No, he didn’t. And the weird thing is, I felt better once he was in me. Oh, please don’t give me that look, Will, I can’t take it. I know it’s gross. I know it’s wrong. I know I’ve failed at life, but it’s the truth. I’m sitting here telling you that I was sexually assaulted, only I wasn’t really because I enjoyed it. I’m sick. I’m really sick. And he made me feel so much better when he was inside me. Like I could stop panicking and just…be okay for a while. And when he woke up, he had no idea what had happened.”

“Buffy…”

“No, he really didn’t. I mean, think about. I was chained to the bed. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And you didn’t see him. His eyes…he really had no idea what he’d done.” Buffy’s eyes were glued to a mustard stain on the table. She didn’t know how mustard came to be in a café, but there it was. Must be a Hellmouth thing. “And he was so sorry. I didn’t think vamps could feel guilt like that, but he did. And he unchained me even though I told him I’d stake him. I didn’t. I told him to bolt and I went home. And please…don’t tell me how wrong it was. I know I should’ve killed him a thousand times for what he did, but…”

“I—”

“It wasn’t what I thought it was. It’d be so much easier if he’d been an ass. I could’ve staked him then. But he wasn’t. He was so…he was acting like…I dunno, but it wasn’t rape.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t that. And it has me so confused. I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I lashed out at Angel last night and I thought of Spike…like that. That’s not normal, is it?”

Willow worried a lip between her teeth and said nothing.

And her friend’s silence was as loud a condemnation as Buffy could take. She shook her head and released a choked sob, her head falling into her arms. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she cried. “I’m sick. I’m completely sick.”

The next thing she knew, Willow had scooted over and taken her into a protective, supportive hug. “No, Buffy, you’re not.”

“I shouldn’t feel like this!”

“Maybe not, but you’re not sick. You’re not.”

The understanding in her friend’s voice—confused as it was—just made it harder.

And sick or not, twisted or not, none of it made Buffy crave Spike any less.

To be continued

Chapter 10 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
Thanks so much to my wonderful betas. Your irreplaceable help aside, your enthusiasm for new chapters always leaves me giggling.

And to my readers. Wow. I can’t tell you how much the response to this fic has stunned the hell out of me. Thank you guys so much!! *hugz*

Chapter 10

“I know every band girlfriend says this,” Willow said enthusiastically, her eager eyes following Oz’s every move on stage. “But Oz is so much more talented than any other musician I know.” The Dingoes had just wrapped up their first set for the night and were in the process of mingling into the normal crowd of Bronze patrons.

Buffy arched a brow. “How many musicians do you know?”

“Well…Oz…and Devon.”

“So what you’re saying is that Oz is better than Devon.”

The diminutive werewolf in question popped up from nowhere at that, an amused grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh, I am,” he said, greeting Willow with a kiss. “We just haven’t let him know yet.”

“That you’re vastly superior?”

He shrugged. “It could lead to a coup.”

“You are vastly superior, you know,” the redhead said eagerly, beaming at her boyfriend. “We come here three nights a week, and your sets are always the best.”

The small little smile on Oz’s face grew, and he pressed his lips to her brow. “I think this is the pez witch talking.”

Buffy forced a grin as Willow leaned into her boyfriend, all snuggly and couple-like, and tried very hard to ignore the fact that Angel had been hovering dangerously near since they arrived that evening. She so was not in the mood to put up with his badgering, especially since she’d avoided speaking to him all week long.

And she’d really gone the full nine yards to accomplish said avoidance. Her window was adorned in strings of garlic and she’d nailed crucifixes to her walls. Granted, she’d done so telling herself that it was an extra means to ensure Spike couldn’t enter, but her heart knew better. Her heart knew that if Spike wanted in, there was little she could do by way of stopping him. Little she’d want to do, really—aside the preservation of her ego—to keep him from joining her under the covers.

Buffy choked a breath and shuddered. Although she was growing more and more accustomed to those perverse thoughts creeping up on her, that didn’t mean she was okay with it. And she definitely wasn’t okay with the growing pain in her gut—the one that had caught her attention the day that she blabbed to Willow, and had grown consistently more agitated with each passing minute. As though someone had robbed her of her jollity, and placed her in a perpetual state of mourning. Only in this sick, twisted world, the mourning became pain, and she spent every second waiting until sleep could carry her away.

Though truly, sleep had betrayed her, too. Every night, she dreamt of Spike. And every morning, she awoke in a lonely bed, cold from the lack of his arms around her. He warmed her in her dreams, something she would have scoffed at had she not already experienced it firsthand. Spike had the ability to warm her, even when she was paralyzed with fear and quivering from something she did not understand.

The ache grew worse and worse every day. And while she would have loved to blame it on any number of things, the truth was simple and hard to ignore: she missed him. She missed Spike. She missed the vamp that had chained her to his bed, tongued her into oblivion—albeit against her will—entered her body without permission, and wallowed in more guilt and shame than she’d ever seen. Hell, she hadn’t even witnessed Angel feeling thatguilty for what he’d done as his evil counterpart.

So the soulful ex-boyfriend wasn’t as contrite as the soulless vampire that wanted her dead. There was something incredibly wrong with that.

Logic intervened, of course, and told her that Angel had experience in dealing with his regrets. That he’d already suffered a century worth of guilt, and a few months didn’t really mean all that much in the long run. And even then, she conceded that she wasn’t being fair. He’d cried for his sins. He’d asked for forgiveness, and she’d given it to him.

However, she had never missed Angel as much as she was missing Spike. All the dreams, the guilt, and the yearning in the months spent in Los Angeles, and Buffy had never even come close to feeling as alone as she felt now. Oz and Willow were making with the coupley, and Xander and Cordelia were slowly moseying back to the table. Angel was hovering, and Spike was gone.

She could have Angel if she wanted. Well, not have, because that led to much badness of the patchety-murdery sort, but he could be her snuggle bunny if she wanted. But she didn’t want him. She wanted someone she should never want. Someone she kept dreaming about. Someone whose bite mark had become instrumental in how she currently enjoyed her alone time.

Suddenly, Buffy wanted to be home in her room. She wanted to be anywhere but in a public place, where the two loudest people she’d ever known had just rejoined the table.

“Xander—oof. I swear, if you step on my feet one more time…”

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to dance. I was out there trying to make sense of all the wild wiggling.” He shook his head good-naturedly and threw an arm around the Ice Queen’s shoulders. “Good set, Oz.”

“Thanks.”

“And you,” Buffy appraised, making a hearty effort to be social-girl. “With the funky dance moves.”

“I’m the Xan-Man. I bring the funk.”

“I find you loathsome, and my hatred of you knows no bounds,” Willow snapped from nowhere, glaring daggers at Xander. Then she paused and peeped a small sorry, burying her face in a confused Oz’s shoulder.

Cordelia’s brows arched. “Will’s been PMSing something fierce the past few days.”

“No, it’s just…it’s nothing.”

“Emphasis on the nothing,” Xander added.

“A big nod to nothing.” Willow smiled nervously. “Ohh, hey, look. They have soda here.” She turned to Oz and prodded his shoulder. “Wanna go buy me a coke?”

“Yeah,” he replied absently, though his eyes were caught on something in the distance. “Hey, isn’t that Spike?”

Buffy, quite literally, fell off her stool.

“Buffy!” Willow leapt down and helped her to her feet. “Are you okay?”

Okay? Okay? Was she okay? She hadn’t been okay in a week, much less right now. Now with Xander pulling a major wig and Cordelia looking anxious and Oz being Mr. Blasé when it came to announcing life-altering Spike cameos into what used to be her life? Yeah, she was okay. She was the picture of mental health. She was the poster child for okay.

Only incredibly not because that really was Spike, and he was looking for her. And thanks to her random attack of slayer klutziness, he’d found her.

“I’m fine,” Buffy said. It was the standard line. She was the antagonist of fine.

But then it happened. Spike’s eyes found hers, and the screaming stopped.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Xander demanded. “Buffy?”

She had no idea. Only yes, of course, she knew exactly why he was here. He was here for her. Because of her. Because he hadn’t taken that dust-to-dust threat seriously, and he was in a mood to risk all his parts. Because humiliating her in private hadn’t been enough; he had to do it in front of her friends as well. Because he missed her as much as she missed him and his unlife was dreary and bleak without her in it.

Buffy was honestly astonished when he walked right over to them. As though they weren’t mortal enemies. As though the last time they’d seen each other, she hadn’t issued an ultimatum. As though approaching the Slayer and her friends was something natural for him.

Though from the way he refused to tear his eyes from hers, she somehow doubted that he even saw them.

“I need to talk to you,” he said urgently, not even bothering to acknowledge that she wasn’t alone. “Outside.”

“Yeah,” Xander interjected. “Let me list the number of ways that’s not happening.”

Buffy just stared at him, her face slack with astonishment. “Spike,” she said.

“Slayer, outside.”

Xander seemed to be the only one with a problem. Everyone else was silent; watching the trade with rapt attention.

“Sure, because she’s dumb enough to walk right into—”

“Okay,” Buffy said with a nod, not even flinching away when Spike took her arm and led her intently through the crowd and toward the back.

For whatever reason, everything stopped mattering at that second. Her mental war was put on pause. The protests of her confused friends were ignored. And of course, her resident stalker, whom she hadn’t forgotten, but simply didn’t care about.

Nothing else mattered right now. The ache had stopped.

And Spike was with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In all honesty, he had no idea why he’d sought her out. Why it was so different tonight than it had been the night before. Why he needed to see her now. The pangs in his gut grew worse as the days went by, and when he’d awoken at sundown, he knew that tonight would be the night he saw her again.

That didn’t mean he knew what to say. He had absolutely no idea what to say. But Buffy was with him. She hadn’t jerked away from his touch when he took her arm. She hadn’t even protested when he told her that he needed to see her alone. She hadn’t tossed her friends a glance or even bothered to bat her pretty eyes at Angel, who was hovering like a child predator on the prowl.

Now that Spike had her all to himself, he was at a loss. Days of starvation were suddenly at an end, and Buffy was at his side. The second they stepped into the alley and the door closed behind them, he whirled around with an impassioned growl and smashed his lips to hers. Nothing else made sense right now. All he knew was he needed to taste her.

And at first taste, he was lost. Utterly lost. Buffy mewled and crooned against him, her fingers lacing through his platinum locks, her sweet little hands framing his face as her mouth warred with his. She tasted so good, so ripe, and he couldn’t get enough of her. Nor could he help the low, hungry growl that tickled his throat before melting into a moan when she sucked his tongue into her mouth. All he knew was that days of ache were over. Buffy was in his arms, and she wasn’t fighting him. For the first time since she’d walked away, he knew some measure of peace.

Especially when she broke away to collect her breath, rested her brow against his, then dove in for seconds. A dam broke and he allowed himself, ever so briefly, to hope. Perhaps these few days had been hell on her, too. Perhaps, just perhaps, she wanted him as much as he needed her.

Her kisses were addictive. If he wasn’t a Buffy junkie before, he certainly was now. As much as he’d loved fucking her—even amidst his confusion—it had lacked this. The simple intimacy of kissing her was worth so much more than whatever they’d shared. And Spike was a creature that craved intimacy.

The mind-numbing guilt was washed away; he felt forgiven.

Spike honestly had no idea how long they snogged. Buffy wasn’t protesting or squirming to get away, and he’d hold her as long as she let him. She didn’t shy away when she felt his erection pressing into her. She didn’t panic when she opened her eyes and saw him looking back. She held his gaze for long seconds, fighting for breath, her hands trailing down the sides of his neck until she was holding his shoulders. He missed her mouth the second it left his, but he wasn’t about to complain. He’d stolen his taste and she was still in his arms. That was more than he deserved.

“Wow,” she murmured dazedly.

Spike found himself grinning like an idiot; he couldn’t help it. The clouds had parted and suddenly he felt as light as air. “Bloody understatement of the year,” he replied. “Been wantin’ to do that for days.”

Watching her attempt to reclaim her breath invigorated him. For as rattled as he’d been since that morning, he loved knowing that he could throw her off course just as easily. “Do what?”

“Kiss you,” he replied softly, his lips grazing hers. “I never got to kiss you.”

He wasn’t surprised as much as he was disappointed when the starry look faded from her eyes. Even with as liberated as the knowledge of her wanting him had made him, there was something tragically rehearsed in the way he’d expected this to play itself out. In a matter of seconds, Buffy went from soft and compliant to tense and confused. She blinked rapidly and began to struggle against him.

“Spike, let go—”

No need to tell him twice. After what had happened, he wasn’t about to hold her if she didn’t want to be held.

The second she stepped away from him, he drowned in cold.

Buffy hugged herself self-consciously. “Sorry,” she said, her tone abrupt. “I didn’t…that is, I don’t know what came over me. I…” She blinked again, her brow furrowing in realization. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought I told you—”

“I know what you told me. I’m sorry.” He exhaled and offered a shaky smile. “I jus’…something’s happening to me. I tried to leave, Slayer. Honest. I got to the bloody edge of town an’ couldn’t do it. I’ve been tryin’ to leave for days, but I can’t. I can’t leave here without…” Spike paused and sighed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A strange emotion flashed across her face. Had he blinked, he would have missed it. “I…Spike, I can’t do this. I can’t be standing out here, talking about this with you. Not after…”

“I know what I did was unforgivable. But—”

“No, it’s not that, I…” Buffy caught herself and frowned. “Well, yes. It is that. You’ve confused the hell out of me. And I’m not saying that these past few days have been all peachy keen, because they really, really haven’t. I’ve thought about you…more than I wanna admit, but I can’t be doing that. Just…” She shook her head, her eyes darting to the ground, her arms going up in confusion. “Just let me go.”

Let her go? Now? Now when she’d admitted to thinking about him? Now that he knew he wasn’t the only one suffering? He didn’t bloody think so. Spike shook his head rapidly and reached for her. “Buffy—”

“No.” She backpedaled quickly until her back was pressed to the Bronze door. “No. Just…just try to forget it, okay? Try.”

Then she shut herself inside the Bronze, putting a wall between them. And though he missed her light the second she vanished, Spike couldn’t bring himself to be discouraged. There was nothing to lament. This fight wasn’t over.

Buffy wanted him as much as he wanted her. He knew she did.

Though if he hadn’t seen the agony in her eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy shouldn’t have been surprised to literally run into Angel the second she stepped back inside the club. She shouldn’t have been, but she was. She was so surprised she actually jumped.

But then, her encounter with Spike had left her feeling a little shaky, and more confused than ever.

“Spike?” Angel asked, his arms crossed and his brow perked.

Irritation surged within her, but she was too tired to nurse it. Instead, she nodded numbly and brushed passed him. “Yeah. Spike.”

“What’d he want?”

“To talk.”

“Really?”

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know what, Angel? And I can’t say this emphatically enough…leave me alone and stay out of my business.”

She moved on without waiting for a reply. Dealing with her ex was so not even on her radar tonight. She was bound to have more than enough trouble with her friends.

Though she had to admit, when she stopped at their table and met the redhead’s understanding, concerned eyes, she’d never been so happy to see Willow in her life.

To be continued

Chapter 11 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: The idea for this chapter occurred while I was at work last week, and it amused me, as well as my betas, so I decided to incorporate it. If this type of thing isn’t “your thing,” please stick with me till the end. I assure you, it’s not my thing, either.

Having said that, you guys totally rock! O.M.G, I can’t believe the reaction my little story has received. You guys just keep blowing me away. Thank you SO much!!! ***big hugz***

Chapter 11

Willow blinked at her, dumbfounded. “Okay…what?”

A low moan tumbled through her lips. Buffy buried her head under her pillow and whimpered pitifully. “I think I might be.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been moody as hell.”

“Well, I think you have reason enough for that!”

“I’ve been dismissive of Angel, and I can’t stop thinking about Spike.” She paused. “And when I say dismissive, I mean Frosty the Snow Bitch. Every time he opens his yap around me, I want to hit him on the head with large objects.”

“Yeah, but I’m that way around Xander and I don’t think that makes me pregnant.”

“No, that makes you silly for attempting a delusting spell without taking the proper precautions. I, on the other hand…”

Willow shook her head fiercely. “Buffy, no. It’s not possible. Spike’s a vampire. There’s no way he could get you pregnant.” She quieted for a second in thought. “Have you missed your period?”

“No. I had just ended it when…when it happened. Doesn’t that mean it’s more likely?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Don’t look at me. It’s not like I’m Ms. Experience when it comes to pregnancy…or sex, for that matter. But I do know that he can’t get you pregnant. It’s just not possible.”

“What if there’s some wonky prophecy? What if that’s the reason this happened? The Slayer needs to produce offspring?” Buffy shook her head furiously. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a mother. I don’t even like kids.” She worried her lip between her teeth. “Is there a Planned Parenthood in Sunnydale?”

Willow just blinked incredulously. “Okay. Calm down and stop with the gun-jumping. I seriously think you’re wigging for no reason. Giles would tell you about any prophecy that could be interpreted as carting a baby around. Besides, other than being moody, you’re pretty much without any symptoms. I mean, you haven’t had morning sickness or anything, have you?”

“No. How soon do you start getting morning sickness?”

The redhead offered another helpless shrug. “Again with the inexperience that is me. My cousin got it pretty soon, but I’m not sure if that’s normal or if it’s just because she’s weird and lived on the Hellmouth for twelve years before moving away and getting all knocked up. How long has it been since Spike—”

“Two weeks.” And one week since the melty kissage at the Bronze. The ache that had subsided the second that he walked back into her life had returned with a vengeance. If possible, she missed him even more now than she had before. “Two weeks is probably too soon to get morning sickness.”

Willow shook her head in confusion. “I dunno.”

“God, I’m gonna be a horrible mother. I don’t even know when I should be getting morning sickness!”

“No, you’re not gonna be a horrible mother,” the redhead argued sternly. “I do know that…mostly because there’s no way you’re pregnant. Buffy, you went through something horrific! You can’t expect to just be happy fun girl in two very short weeks…especially with random Spike stalkage.”

Buffy frowned. “Stalkage? He was only at the Bronze that one time.”

“Yeah, and I think that’s what threw you off.”

She laughed shortly. “Believe me, I was all thrown before he decided to show up. And then throw in the kiss—”

It was funny to watch Willow nearly trip, especially since she was standing upright. “He kissed you?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“In that he kissed me and the Earth kinda moved.”

“You didn’t tell me there was kissage!”

Buffy balked in surprise. “You didn’t ask!”

“Well, I didn’t think to ask. Besides, we were kinda in a public place with Xander, who was already pulling a massive wig over your zombie-like behavior—”

“There was absolutely nothing zombie-esque about me!”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Buffy, Spike asked you to go outside and you were all robot-girl when you replied. You followed him out there like he had some sort of…what do you call it…thrall on you.”

“I don’t think Spike knows how to thrall.”

“Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on that one for me. You should’ve seen him.”

“Kinda did. I was there, remember?”

“That doesn’t count—you were zombie girl. Besides, I wasn’t talking about Spike. I mean Xander with the massive wig.” Willow trailed off and shook her head. “But that’s not…okay. We’re getting off topic. Kissage?”

“Yes. He kissed me. It was…” Amazing. “It…it doesn’t matter. Eyes on the crisis.”

“There is no crisis.”

“I could be with child!”

Willow rolled her eyes and marched intently to the bed. “All right, fine,” she said, holding out a hand. “Let’s go.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled. “Huh?”

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the pharmacy to get you a home pregnancy test,” the redhead replied. “You’re obviously not gonna shut up until we bury this crack theory of yours. I’m telling you, Giles would know if there was some wiggy prophecy of a vamp who sleeps with the Slayer under the influence of buckets of alcohol.”

“Is two weeks enough?”

“Yes.”

Buffy paused. “You know that but not when morning sickness occurs or any of the other stuff I just wracked my brain over?”

“We just got to this unit in health class. I think Coach Jenkins wants to make sure that none of us are actually pregnant before she goes off on how stupid it is to have unprotected sex.” Willow shrugged. “She basically told all the girls to go out and get tested.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now?”

“Hey! I’m the blushing virgin, here. Why would I need a pregnancy test?”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she pouted miserably. “Immaculate conception?”

“I’m Jewish.”

“So was the Virgin Mary.”

“Yeah, well don’t tell the Catholics.” Willow shook her head. “Coach Jenkins said that you should be able to get an accurate reading within the first six to eight days of conception with a pregnancy test. You didn’t have sex with Spike in the alley at the Bronze, did you?”

She blinked stupidly. “What? Of course not!”

“Well, I wouldn’t have asked if you hadn’t mentioned the kissage.” Willow crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. She looked every part the stern mother. “So, come on. Let’s go get this done, okay?”

Buffy held her eyes for a long minute, then nodded and climbed wearily to her feet.

If she wanted to be entirely honest with herself, she’d have to concede that Willow was right. Despite the nagging fear that she might be pregnant, it was more a front to bury her concerns about what might actually be wrong with her. Her body was aching, and the hurt grew worse every day. On top of that, her mood was constantly on the fritz. She didn’t let anyone male-shaped touch her. She even got testy with Giles.

None of that spelled pregnancy, but she was out of theories. And even if she knew that the likelihood was practically nonexistent, her nerves would not be satisfied until she had crossed that possibility off the list.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow didn’t want to admit it, but she was nervous. Very nervous. The second they’d returned from the pharmacy, Buffy had bolted upstairs and shut herself into the main bathroom, leaving the redhead downstairs and alone with her thoughts.

When there was no one to argue, her own certainty of Buffy’s non-pregnancy began to waver. Not much, but some. Enough to give her a definitive case of the wiggins. After all, on the Hellmouth, there could be no certainties. True, they knew that vampires were incapable of reproducing, but who was to say that there couldn’t be a prophetic loophole?

Besides, if she wanted to be completely honest with herself, Buffy had been acting a little strange. Well, okay, a lot strange. Very, very strange. And though Willow had dismissed her behavior as post-Spike-sex weirdness, the more she thought about Buffy’s insane theory, the more credence she had to give it.

And what would happen if it was true? What if Buffy was pregnant? God, Willow had absolutely no experience with this whatsoever. Even when her cousin got herself knocked up, she hadn’t been around for the nine months leading up to her the birth. Heck, she’d only seen the kid twice.

She needed to talk with someone who wasn’t so much a virgin to get another opinion. A female someone. And unfortunately, the only someone that fit that description that Willow could begin to trust was Cordelia.

“I must be out of my mind,” she grumbled, reaching for the phone. “There’s no way she is.”

But if she was, Willow needed to be prepared. She needed to know what to tell her; needed to be there to remind her that there were options if the test was positive. Not exactly glamorous options, granted, but options nonetheless.

Mostly, if Buffy was pregnant, Willow couldn’t be the sole shoulder to cry on. This was a situation that required many, many shoulders. And Cordy was the only option; it’d be a cold day in Hell before she turned to Faith.

“Hello?”

Willow jumped slightly and shook her thoughts away. “Cordy? It’s Willow…I need some advice.”

There was a long, long pause. “How’d you get this number?”

“I’ve only known you since preschool and you’ve never moved. Plus, hey, we’re kind of friends.”

“Emphasis on the kind of. What’s up?”

“What do you know about pregnancy tests?”

She could practically see the astonishment on Cordelia’s face. “That they tell you whether you are or aren’t. Willow! You little sneaky whore, are you and Oz doing the wild thing?”

“What? No! I’m calling—it’s Buffy. She—”

“Oh. My. God.”

“No. Gah, please don’t—”

“With Spike, right? I so knew those two had something going on!” Cordelia was laughing now—hard. “God, Xander’s gonna flip.”

“No, Cordy. No. You can’t tell Xander. Please promise me you won’t tell Xander.” Willow knocked her head against the wall with a long moan. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Probably not.”

“You can’t tell Xander. Swear to me that you won’t.”

“You know, for a girl who claims to be my kind of friend, you’re not at all any fun.”

“Cordy!”

There was a sigh of exasperation. “Fine! Whatever. I solemnly swear that I will not tell Xander that Buffy’s gotten herself knocked up with demon spawn.”

“She is…” Willow glanced up just as the girl in question bounded down the stairs, a very silly, very happy look on her face. “Not. Not at all. Not in the least. Thanks for nothing.” She hung up before Cordy could get another word in and turned to Buffy with a large, falsely bright smile. “Good news?”

There was no sense in asking—it was all over her face. “No baby for Buffy. I’m not joining the Unwed Mothers of Undead Children Club. Who was that?”

“Uhhh…telemarketer. So definitely no baby?”

“No baby…which means it’s something else.” Buffy sighed and hoisted herself atop the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Something else that causes freakish mood swings and an allergy to all things male-shaped aside from the one vamp I should never, ever want to see again.”

“You thought you were pregnant because you don’t want to be around boys?”

“Not so much that as I want to be around Spike and everything else with a Y-chromosome gives me the heebie-jeebies. Angel especially, which isn’t at all normal in the eyes of Buffy.” She sighed again. “But at least I’m not pregnant.”

“Yeah,” Willow nodded, forcing a weak smile and eying the phone. “At least.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took less than three hours to figure out that Cordelia hadn’t kept her mouth shut.

“Mom!” Buffy called, throwing on her jacket. “Will and I are going to a movie!”

“Some Drew Barrymore piece of junk that you’re dragging me to,” Willow added good-naturedly, following her down the hall.

There was no sense in yelling. Joyce was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, a very confused and ill-humored look on her face.

Buffy froze in mid-step. “What?”

Her mother was quiet for a long minute. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Giles,” she began slowly. “Who heard from a girl named Rita who heard from a janitor named Phil who heard from a student named Thomas, who heard from his second cousin, Allison, who is Cordelia Chase’s neighbor that Buffy is pregnant with Elvis’s demon spawn from outer space.” She arched a brow. “Care to explain?”

A very still beat passed through the room. Buffy scowled and turned to glower at a flaming Willow, who offered little more than a shrug.

“Oops?”

To be continued

ETA: My betas told me it might be a good idea to kill off any babyfic ideas before they got started. For the record: Buffy is not pregnant and she’s not going to be. This was just one of the situations her crazy mind provided to explain her behavior, being as ignorant to babies/pregnancy as she is. That and I thought it was kinda funny.

Chapter 12 by Ameeya

Chapter 12

It was late on a Saturday night. She should be patrolling, she should be partying; she should be doing anything other than going to school. But no—the second after she’d explained to her mother that no, she wasn’t pregnant, she’d been out the door and on her way to the library to try to explain herself to her incredibly confused and undoubtedly pissed-off Watcher.

Buffy sucked in a deep breath, winced, and pushed the school doors open, a rambling, eager Willow trailing behind her.

“I don’t understand how so many people could know so soon,” the redhead was saying. “How would the janitor know?”

“I really don’t care.”

“I didn’t think Cordelia knew that many people.”

“Willow, shut up.”

“And even so, how mad can Giles be? He’s British.” She paused thoughtfully. “The British don’t get mad all that easily, do they? I mean, the maddest I’ve ever seen Giles is when Xander spilled soda on one of his books, and even then he wasn’t too mad. He just got quiet and did the jaw-tightening thing and went along with his business. I really think you’re overreacting.”

Willow had nervously yammered on the entire way over to the library, and Buffy was beginning to think that the fist-to-the-mouth tactic might be the best way to shut her up. Obviously, the contractual, however tacit best-friend decree of silence hadn’t done any good. Not only had Willow spilled the possibility of the Slayer’s tummy being full of Spike’s lovechild, but she’d had to tell Cordelia of all people. For God’s sakes, she might as well have advertised her problems on a blinking, neon-colored billboard.

“And if he’s really mad, then…well, it wasn’t your fault, was it? We can just tell him that it wasn’t your fault. After all—”

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around, her eyes wide and notably not amused. “No, it wasn’t my fault. I know that, you know that, and Giles will know that. But he shouldn’t have heard it from a girl named Rita! He should’ve heard it from me. It’s my thing to tell.”

“But you’re not pregnant.”

She stomped. “I know that. I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about the other thing. The thing I told you in confidence. The thing where I was…the thing with Spike. I told you that because I needed to tell someone I trusted. Someone I could rely on to keep quiet while I work this out. And the second—the second I turn my back, you blab to Cordelia?”

“H-hey! It wasn’t a second, all right? I held it in for two weeks!” Willow raised a hand in defense. “B-besides, I didn’t tell Cordy about Spike. She kinda just guessed on her own.”

“How would she guess that?”

“How should I know? Maybe it was the moon eyes you guys gave each other that night at the Bronze. I don’t know, but I so did not spill about Spike. Gimme a little credit!”

Buffy planted her hands on her hips. “Credit? So, you want credit for not telling Cordy about the forced sex, but hey, let’s blab about the pregnancy scare?”

“There was no pregnancy scare! You’re just wigged because you’re feeling things and you’re trying to find something to blame it on.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I have ears, Buffy. I’ve been listening to you go on and on and on for days. This random I could be pregnant thing was just another in a long line of really lame explanations for how you’re feeling.”

She arched a brow. “So you decided to tell Cordy because you thought I was being stupid?”

Willow squeaked and shook her head defensively. “No! No. It wasn’t…it was supposed to be…look, for one miniscule second, your highly irrational panicking leaked onto me. I started thinking about what would happen if you were pregnant and then the pressure got to me.”

“It got to you?”

She pouted. “I’m not saying I have a good excuse. I dunno. Suddenly, I seemed like the wrong go-to girl. A-and I so told her not to tell.”

“Yeah, because Cordy’s one to bypass hot gossip.”

“She’s supposed to be our friend now,” Willow protested weakly.

“She is, but she’s not the most reliable secret keeper, which is why I went to you and not Cordelia.” Buffy shook her head and turned on her heel, continuing her relentless march toward the library. “Remind me next time to cut out the middleman. At least then I’ll know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Buffy, I’m really sorry—”

“Yeah, so am I.”

“No. No! Stop.” Willow seized her arm and dragged her to a halt. “Please. I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. It was a moment of blind stupidity. I started panicking…and I know this isn’t an excuse, but it made sense at the time. I really don’t know why, but it did. And I’m super, super sorry.”

Buffy just glared at the redhead for a minute, irritated with herself when she felt her anger fade. She wanted so badly to be pissed at Willow. She really, really wanted to be pissed at Willow. However, like her mother, she had a soft spot for apologies, especially when she conceded that she’d dumped something rather huge on her best friend’s shoulders. Even if her panic about a nonexistent vamp-baby hadn’t been for naught, she’d done a fair amount of burden-loading onto Willow over the past two weeks. And while she might never, ever comprehend why anyone would think that turning to Cordelia Chase was a good idea, she understood the motives behind it.

And truthfully, things could be worse. With any luck, Giles didn’t know the Spike part of the equation just yet. Maybe she still had time on her hands.

“Yeah, okay,” Buffy said softly, nodding. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Well, I don’t wanna be mad at you. There are only so many people I can talk to without wanting to hit them on the head with something heavy, and I really don’t wanna add you to the list.” She forced a smile and tossed an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go get this crazy thing over with.”

Something told her that she’d just added another item to her growing list of things that were more easily said than done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy was certain that Giles was going for the world’s longest polishing session with those bifocals of his. In the ten minutes she’d been rambling about why she hadn’t come to him first, he hadn’t managed to look her directly in the eye at all. His skin was pink from blushing at the undoubtedly unseemly topic, and he kept coughing into his hands whenever she mentioned the word pregnant.

It really didn’t help that Xander and Cordelia were there. She didn’t know how or why they’d known to come, but there they were. Standing there and listening to her as though she were actually making sense.

Maybe Cordy had just anticipated that she’d come to explain, and had dragged Xander along for the show.

When she paused to catch her breath, Giles finally raised his hand and she about dropped in relief. If she said another word, dug her hole any deeper, she might as well fall through the earth.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” he said slowly, a long sigh rolling off his shoulders. “Why…after so many months…would you think it possible?”

Buffy frowned and glanced to Xander, whose eyes were on the ground. “Huh?”

“Well, it’s been well more than nine months since you were with Angel,” Giles continued. “Am I correct?”

It’d been nearly a year, but she really didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “Yeah. I mean, yes, of course. But I don’t—”

“There’s where I am confused. I don’t understand why you would suddenly worry about having a child.”

Her head was beginning to hurt. “I wasn’t—” Buffy stopped dead, her eyes finding Xander’s. He was looking at her intently now, and then she understood. She understood everything, and it shocked the hell out of her. And as astonished as she was, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d offered her a cover, and she was going to take it. “I wasn’t…ummm…I wasn’t thinking that a vampire would have a normal…I dunno. I guess I thought it might be different…with vampires. I thought since he’s not…he’s not human, that it might be different.”

She deserved an award. She’d just provided the lamest of all lame excuses.

Giles nodded and cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, the next time you’re worried about something so…well, preposterous, please come to me. No matter how much trouble you think you’re in, Buffy, you know that my door is always open to you. At the very least…” He tossed an irritated, sideways glance to Cordelia, “we’ll avoid relaying messages via the rumor mill.”

Cordy offered an apathetic shrug. “Don’t look at me. I just told Allison.”

“I told you not to tell anyone,” Willow practically growled.

“Correction: you told me not to tell Xander, and I didn’t.”

“Leave it to you to translate that so liberally.”

“Yeah, you really should know better.”

“Erm—yes,” Giles agreed, nodding softly. “Quite. Now that we’ve put this incredibly obnoxious matter behind us, though, I think it best if you four return home. It’s getting rather late.” His eyes met Buffy’s. “That is, unless there is anything further you wish to tell me?”

Buffy suddenly found herself the focus of four very intense, anticipatory stares. However, she pasted on a smile and shook her head. “Nope,” she replied. “That’s about it.”

He nodded, and she sighed.

Okay, so maybe that hadn’t been the nightmare scenario she’d envisioned. She still didn’t ever want to go through it again. It wasn’t worth the worry lines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been the world’s strangest day, and she’d seen some strange ones. Waking up in the burnt-out factory to Spike’s amorous mouth—yeah, that’d been pretty weird. Freaking out over having a vampire’s baby and, in the process of quelling her admittedly bogus fear, spilling the beans to the whole town? Somehow, she didn’t see the weirdness of that being topped anytime soon.

Though she would never know how she ended the day alone with Xander. It made for much awkwardness—if not only for his continued silence on the whole matter, then definitely for her growing desire to hit him simply for being a guy who wasn’t Spike.

This anti-men thing was really beginning to wig her out.

It was a good thing that Xander had caved and bought a car the previous week. With the way her day was going, the last thing she needed to do was run into Spike and melt into his arms. Not that there would be automatic meltage—only of course there would, because she’d been aching for him ever since the ground-moving liplocking the week before. She was addicted to him, and it had been much too long since her last fix.

That thought did little more than drag her back to the whole Buffy’s a disgusting psycho who gets off on force thing. Addictions were bad, bad things. She couldn’t have him, and the sooner she got used to that, the better.

“Will!” Xander called out his window. He had dropped off Cordy first, and Buffy was, of course, the last stop on the way back to his place. “Are we doing study group tomorrow for bio?”

The redhead whirled around and scowled. “Listen to me, jerk-face. If you have something to say to me, you say it to Buffy.” She paused, her eyes widening in horror. “Ohh! Xander, I’m sorry. Yeah, we’re totally on for tomorrow.”

“That oughta be fun,” Buffy murmured under her breath.

“Yeah,” Xander agreed, turning back to Willow with a nod. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be by around one.”

“I hate your breathing guts.”

“See you tomorrow!” He pulled back onto the street with a wry grin, rolling up his window. “I’m beginning to think we need to do a relusting spell. I’d rather have a Willow who wants to do wicked things to my male parts than…a Willow who wants to do wicked things to my male parts.”

Buffy gripped the door handle and squeezed. “So help me Xander, mention your male parts again…”

He flashed her a wounded look. “Oh. Have you jumped on the Xander-hating train?”

“No. I’m on a general man-hating train right now.”

He nodded and was quiet for a minute. “Because of Spike?” he ventured softly. “Don’t kill Cordy. She kinda spilled after I wigged about you getting all pelvic with Angel again…or having Elvis’s demon spawn.”

“You knew it was Spike and you didn’t wig out?”

“I didn’t say that. I just didn’t want to start blabbing to Giles without hearing it from you first.” Xander sighed and pulled into her drive, killing his headlights. “So…before the ‘Xander-smash’ impulse takes hold, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Buffy pursed her lips. “You’re being unusually rational.”

“Hey, I have a would-be witch who wants my head mounted on her wall half the time. I don’t wanna add a pissed off slayer.” He smiled weakly. “And I wouldn’t call it rational. It’s more like a survivor instinct. So, when exactly did you lose your mind and have sex with Spike?”

She shivered. “I’d rather not talk about this.”

“Buffy—”

“I mean it. I’d really rather not talk about this. It’s in the past. It’s over. It’s not happening again. It was…it was something that got out of hand really fast. And I’ve been wigging out ever since—obviously—but that’s it.” She unhooked her seatbelt and swung the passenger door open. “I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s over. Let it be over.”

A long moan stretched at Xander’s lips. “Oh God, Buffy. I didn’t wanna believe it. Please don’t tell me you were actually stupid enough to—”

Her eyes darkened. How typical. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“You know what happened last time! When are you gonna get it through your head that vampires equal bad?”

“When are you gonna get it through your head that certain things are my business? This is one of them.”

“If there’d been demon spawn—”

“There is no demon spawn! And even if there was, it wouldn’t make it any more your business.” Buffy released a heavy sigh and pressed a hand to her brow. “Look, thanks for the ride. Mention this again, and I’ll snap your spine in half.” She released a trembling sigh. “I mean it, Xander. Mind your own business.”

“I consider the possible deaths of my friends my business!”

“I’m alive. You’re alive. Willow’s alive. No one’s dead. No one’s gonna be dead. Leave it.”

That was it. She slammed the car door shut and practically ran to her house. No sense waiting for a reply that would only anger her more. She didn’t want to argue tonight. She just wanted to sleep. Things would look better in the morning.

Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

At least it couldn’t be any worse.

To be continued

Chapter 13 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
Nothing profound…just want to express my extreme thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed this story. I really can’t tell you guys how much it means to me. I know I keep saying it, but the response has been really, really overwhelming, and, well…that’s about it. Like I said, nothing profound…just the gratitude of an extremely thankful author. =)

Chapter 13

It was worse. Much worse.

Thankfully, Faith had opted out of patrol for the fifth night straight, which didn’t bother her as much as it should. The way Buffy was feeling, she needed as many vamps to dust as possible, if only to work off her stress. She needed the proverbial punching bag for all her frustrations. She needed time to think. She needed five minutes of quiet.

She needed to not run into Angel.

“Buffy.”

She needed to find out which specific Power thought messing up her life was so funny and beat it into submission. Angel popping up from behind a bush to trail after her was not an acceptable alternative to running into him.

She stopped short and sighed, her shoulders rolling back. “I’m not in the mood to talk tonight, Angel,” she said. “I just wanna dust some vamps and go home. So unless you’re offering yourself for dusting, I’d suggest staying the hell away from me.”

“You haven’t been in the mood to talk for three weeks. I’m worried about you.”

Buffy sighed again and crossed her arms, turning around slowly. He looked like a portrait right out of one of Giles’s reference books. Graveyard, ethereal moonlight, wounded guilt-ridden vampire. He had the full thing going for him, and yet the sight did little more than make her stomach turn. “You’ve also developed a nasty habit of not listening when I tell you to stay away from me.”

“You can’t keep brushing me off. As a friend, I want to help.”

She snickered unpleasantly. “Yeah. Friend.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop it? You’re here trailing me.”

“You’re avoiding me, and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t know why.” Angel stepped forward, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trench coat. And as much as it pained her to admit, the concern in his eyes was real. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Because you’re a guy, and you’re not the guy I want.

Buffy sighed and glanced down. “I don’t need help,” she said softly. “Besides…this isn’t something you can help me with.”

“It’s Spike, isn’t it? Tell me what happened.”

She didn’t even want to know how long he’d known.

“What happened…it’s nothing.” She shook her head and met his eyes tiredly. “It’s nothing.”

“People don’t tend to get pregnant over nothing.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Oh, come on!” she snapped, gesticulating wildly to the starry sky. “What, does everyone know now? Did I get it tattooed on my forehead? Is there such a thing as privacy anymore?”

“The guy who sold you the home pregnancy test was a ti’lyck demon. They’re a cousin of humans…so much that most can pass.” He took her arm and she had to fight the wave of very real nausea that stabbed at her insides. “Ti’lyck demons aren’t known for closed lips. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“Wow, Angel. You managed to keep from losing your head for a full twenty-four hours. Color me impressed.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“That’s why I’m impressed.” Buffy raised her hands, jerking away from him viciously. “I swear, touch me again and you’re losing something. You think I’m bluffing? Look at my face.”

He stared at her for a second before breaking away with an incredulous laugh. “It’s almost hard to believe that there’s not something on your mind,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, well, what is or isn’t on my mind is no concern of yours. So back off.”

Angel shook his head. “Not if it concerns Spike. That makes it my concern. Plus…I love you. That makes it my concern, too. And I know that things can’t be the way they were between us, but that doesn’t stop me from loving you. I don’t like seeing you in pain. Not when I can help.”

The look in his eyes was genuine, and she felt a surge of panic when her legs refused to buckle at the utterance of those three little words that she’d fought to hard to earn last year. He hadn’t told her until the night he took her virginity, and then not again until she shoved a sword through his gut. Now he was saying them. He was speaking words that would have, just a few short weeks ago, reduced her to a blubbery mess of irrational female hormones. How often had she fantasized about curling in Angel’s arms, as though the past year was nothing but a traumatic nightmare? She’d fled Sunnydale to escape his memory. She’d neglected her friends, abandoned her duties, and punished her mother for her own sins. Her sins against the man standing in front of her.

Buffy looked at him now and felt nothing. A nothing that terrified her. She was torn between who she had been just a few weeks back and who she was now. And as much as she’d hated the forced distance and the awkward silences and the will we or won’t we tension between she and Angel, she preferred it over something she didn’t understand. Something that made absolutely no sense. Angel had wronged her, but it hadn’t really been him. Not really. Spike had wronged her, and while he had apologized, he had no evil counterpart on which to blame his actions. He’d wronged her. He’d made her feel weak.

It was possible, however unlikely, that she reacted adversely to men because of what had happened. Because the last time she was alone with a man, he’d taken advantage of her. He’d practically forced himself upon her. But as much as she’d like to believe it, that theory would hold a lot more merit if she could summon as much revulsion at the thought of Spike’s touch as she did at the thought of Angel’s.

The trouble was, the thought of Spike’s touch didn’t engender revulsion. She craved it. She craved it to the point that she rubbed his bite mark to orgasm nearly every night, and felt cheated when life intervened. She welcomed Ghost Spike into her bed, her shower, everywhere she went because, although the fantasy wasn’t much of a substitute for the real thing, it was the only way she could suppress her hunger.

Buffy was almost certain he’d left town. She’d seen neither hair nor hide of him since the night at the Bronze. And while she knew she should rejoice that he’d finally listened to her, she couldn’t help the ache in her gut anymore than she could explain it.

She wet her lips and sighed. “Spike came back to town almost a month ago.”

Angel nodded understandingly. “I’m guessing the night that Giles left for that retreat,” he said. “The night you didn’t show up?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Buffy glanced down again. She didn’t want to tell him what happened. Because as much as it had terrified her, it was a private thing. An I-only-share-this-with-my-best-friend thing. She was not about to start chatting up a non-Spike male about her time with Spike. She was not about to spill anything that intimate with an ex-boyfriend, especially Angel. He had another thing coming if he thought otherwise.

“What happened doesn’t matter,” she replied breezily. “He…”

“No, I think it matters quite a bit.”

“Have you ever noticed how you think a lot of things that are completely wrong?”

“Buffy…” Angel took hold of her arm again, his face a mesh of concern and determination. “You can’t shut me out. You can try, but it’s not going to work. You need to know that you can talk to me.”

“You need to learn what piss off means.”

“Did he hurt you? You’d tell me if he hurt you, wouldn’t you? No…no, of course you wouldn’t.” Angel shook his head furiously. “Spike might be a sadistic son of a bitch, but if he hurt you, I know it wasn’t planned. He doesn’t like torturing girls. If he hurt you, he was drunk or out of control, and I’m not making excuses for him. I just know Spike. And as much as I will dust him the second I see him if I learn he hurt you, I know that whatever he did to you wasn’t on purpose.”

Buffy shoved off a shiver and nodded stoically. “Thank you, Angel, for that bout of divine wisdom. If you don’t mind, I have some slaying to do.”

“He didn’t…please tell me, he didn’t…God, I’ll kill him. I swear to—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his thought; her fist was too busy connecting with his nose. Watching his legs fly out from under him as the giant toppled to the ground was almost funny. Almost funny, but not quite enough to make up for the way she was trembling with the burden of what he’d nearly said.

If Angel tried to kill Spike, he was signing his own death warrant.

“If you value your unlife, Angel, you’ll stay the hell away from Spike.” Her eyes flashed dangerously. “I mean it. I killed you once, and I loved you then. Imagine how easy it would be for me to kill you now. You go near him, and I guarantee you’ll find out. Do you hear me?”

She took perverse pleasure in looking down on him. After the hell he’d put her through, knowing she could make those chocolate brown eyes fill with incredulous fear was one of the headiest sensations she could ask for.

Angel dabbed blood off his face. “Let me help you,” he said softly. “Buffy…this isn’t you.”

“No. It is. Get used to it.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and practically sprinted in the other direction. She was genuinely afraid that if she stayed around, he’d say something else equally inane and her impulses would overpower commonsense. Staking Angel was not what she wanted—not now, not in a thousand years—but if he kept blabbing, she feared she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

It didn’t matter how much he pissed her off; Buffy didn’t want him dead. And although he was succeeding in annoying the crap out of her, none of what he’d done warranted death. He’d already paid for his sins with his unlife—he’d spent centuries being tortured in some hell dimension.

But as fast as time seemed to have moved for him, she was still fighting to catch up. It was amazing that he could be so well adjusted, having suffered what he’d suffered. But that didn’t mean she owed him anything. Not for sending him to Hell.

Perhaps she could wait this thing with Spike out. Perhaps, eventually, the nausea from another man’s touch would go away, and she’d be back to normal.

Perhaps.

The twist in her gut said otherwise. All she wanted to do right now was wrap up patrol, go home, draw a bath, and see how many times she could get off by rubbing Spike’s bite mark.

I’m sick.

But at least she was enjoying herself. If she was going to be a sick pervert, she might as well enjoy herself.

“I’m okay,” she told herself, balling her hands into fists. “I’m okay. I’m really okay. I’m so okay that I’m talking to myself, and as we all know, that’s the universal sign of okay. Yeah, I’m gonna stop talking to myself.”

“Good idea, pet. You wouldn’t want the new-bloods to think you’re at all unhinged.”

She was certain that her gasp could be heard from miles away, almost as certain as she was that her neck pulled a full Linda Blair when she jerked her head up and met his azure eyes.

So gorgeous.

A hoarse, near reverent gasp tore through her throat. “Spike!”

And that was all she got out before walking directly into a mausoleum wall and promptly being thrown flat onto her back.

“Okay…ouch.”

Of all the effects Spike had on her, this klutz thing was definitely her least favorite.

To be continued

Chapter 14 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
This chapter ran a little long, but I didn’t have the heart to cut it. Hope you all don’t mind.

***bounces nervously*** I really, really hope this was worth the wait.

As always, THANK YOU all for your wonderful support. It makes me all kinds of fuzzy insides. =)

Chapter 14

She really, really hated the way her body warmed and melted into him. He had hold of her hand, his other arm wrapped around her waist, and even though he could barely contain his laughter, she found herself turning into slayer-goo at the feel of him against her. It was totally unfair. It took the crown of unfairness. Yet the more she tried to battle herself, the more pliant her will became.

“Easy now,” Spike said softly, trying and failing to conceal his mirth. “That’s it.”

“Could you be anymore condescending?”

“You’re welcome. Sit down.”

Buffy huffed indignantly as he practically forced her butt onto the nearest gravestone.

“You walk into walls often?”

“Oh, bite me.” She froze and glanced up, cringing at his dancing eyes, and she raised her hand to the place on her head that had suffered the brunt of the wall-to-face collision. “I so did not mean that literally.”

“Pity.”

Buffy frowned and rubbed her sore shoulder. “You know, you really have a dangerous effect on women.”

His shit-eating grin was both infuriatingly sexy and just plain infuriating. “So I’ve been told.”

“I’ve had more bruises and bumps this week just from just being Ditzy Buffy than from getting into actual brawls.”

“Thinkin’ of me that much, are you?”

“And we’re back to bite me. A very figurative, up-your-ass bite me.”

Spike just grinned and raised a hand to her face. “Come here, then. Let’s see the damage.”

“I don’t need your help.” However, that knowledge didn’t seem to stop her from leaning into his touch. “Ow.”

He ran his fingers gently over the wound, frowning. And for a fleeting second of insanity, she thought she saw concern flicker behind his eyes. “Nasty cut,” he murmured. “You know what you shouldn’t do anymore?”

“Walk into walls?”

He shrugged. “Jus’ a thought.”

“It’s only a bruise.”

“Nasty cut.” Spike grinned at her unrepentantly. “I can kiss it and make it better, if you like.”

She glared at him, trying very hard not to shiver in arousal at the hunger in his eyes. “You just want to see if you can suck up any slayer blood.”

“I admit, it is a perk.” He met her gaze again and forced a tight grin, tugging at the edge of his tee and dabbing the cotton along her brow. “So why have you been walking into walls?”

“Bite me.”

“If you keep sayin’ that, I just might.”

“It was just one wall.”

“I thought you said you were Ditzy Buffy.”

“I am, but in many ways. Not just in walking-into-walls ways. There are many ways I’m Ditzy Buffy.”

“I have no doubt.”

“I’m just special like that.”

“No need to tell me, kitten. I can definitely see how special you are.”

She glowered at him. “I will find a way to blame this on you.”

Spike just grinned and reached up to tuck fallen tendrils behind her ear. “I bet you will.”

“As a matter of fact, I know I will blame it on you, so I’ll just skip the finding a way thing and leap right to blaming it on you.”

“Well, you said I do have a dangerous effect on women.”

“That’s right.” Buffy pressed her palm to her brow and hissed. “Is it bad?”

Spike shook his head, his grin broadening into a wide smile. He was looking at her like she was the most adorable creature he’d ever seen. “You’re gorgeous.”

She tried so very hard to ignore the way her stomach filled with butterflies and how her heart pounded just a little faster, but she couldn’t. Not when he was undressing her with his eyes. “That’s nice, but I was talking about my head.”

“Your head’s gorgeous, too.”

Buffy flushed and broke her gaze from his, rubbing her legs when she couldn’t find anything to do with her hands. “I have this clear memory of telling you to leave town,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “In fact, I remember saying it twice.”

Spike shrugged. “I decided I din’t wanna listen.”

“Obviously.”

“Somethin’ told me you din’t mean it.” He tilted his head. “Come on. You can’t tell me you’re not a little bit happy to see me here. You haven’t reached for your stake yet.”

“That’s because I’m afraid I’ll fall over if I try to move.”

“I’m beginnin’ to think it was a mighty good thing I stayed.”

She met his eyes again, arching a skeptical brow. “Yeah?”

“Runnin’ into walls? Can’t be good for the baby.” He smirked at her unashamedly, chuckling when she slapped his shoulder. “You really thought I could get you pregnant? Well, my swimmers extend their thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Have people ever tried to kill you?”

“Yeah, but I defend myself with my superior wit and guile. You oughta know that, pet.” He laughed again and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, helping her to her feet. “Why on bloody earth would you ever think you were pregnant?”

“Spike, the last person I need to explain myself to is you.”

“So you’re good for tellin’ everyone except the bloke that might’ve—”

“You knew the second you heard it that it was ridiculous, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but that’s only because I also know that vamps can’t have brats.”

She glared at him. “That’s nice for you. Really. So now you can get back to leaving town.” Buffy shook her head and sidestepped him, her wobbly legs beginning the long, reluctant trek home. Each step was weighed in lead. She didn’t want to leave him; not when she’d been missing him so horribly over the past week. “Are you just suicidal? I gave you a chance to leave. I gave it to you. I practically gift-wrapped it, and you’re still here. In fact, I did it twice. I gave you two chances to leave without collecting on my much-deserved pound of flesh. Why oh why are you still here?”

“I can’t leave. I bloody told you, Slayer.” Spike was right behind her the next second, his arms closing around her middle, pulling her back against his chest. And God, it was wonderful being pressed against him. After her repeated visits from Ghost Spike, feeling the real thing behind her was nearly more than her will could bear. She wanted to shove him off, wanted to resist his pull, but her body happily ignored her. “Moreover…” he murmured, that damnably sinful mouth of his dipping to taste her throat. “I don’ think you want me to leave.”

“Oh, God…”

“I’ve missed you, pet.” A sharp, ironic laugh rippled through him. “You know how bleeding ridiculous this is? I’ve missed you. You’re all I can think about, an’ if you think it’s been easy keepin’ away from you these past few days, you’re off your nutter.”

“Spike…no…”

“I know it’s wrong. Fuck, I know it’s wrong. But it’s the way things are, an’ I’m tired of fightin’ it.” His blunt teeth scraped the milky column of her throat, and her knees buckled. He was all too happy to catch her before she collapsed, tightening his hold around her waist and thrusting his hard cock against her backside. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me. You’ve poisoned my thoughts.”

The knowledge that he’d thought of her even a fraction as much as she’d thought of him sent warm tinglies throughout her body. She moaned and arched against him and linked her arms behind his neck, turning to bear her throat to him; that was seemingly all the permission he needed. Spike growled, his hands sliding up until he was cupping her breasts, grinding his hips into her backside as he walked her toward the mausoleum.

“Spike…”

“No. No words. Don’ think. Jus’ let me make you feel good.”

Logical Buffy protested, but Purely Sensual Buffy shut her up pretty quickly. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted more reasons to look at herself naked in the mirror. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted to feel his hands on her. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted to feel his cock inside her. Purely Sensual Buffy wanted to revel in reality before she retreated back into the fantasy.

Purely Sensual Buffy could hardly believe that this was actually happening.

The door that slammed behind her was very real. When she opened her eyes, she was inside the mausoleum, and the veracity of what was about to happen slammed into her at full force. Spike was suddenly in front of her; he licked and nipped at her neck as his hands frantically tore at his fly before fisting the waistband of her sweats.

His desperate enthusiasm only made her wetter.

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he murmured. “Lemme taste you? I know I fumbled it the first time, but I’ll make you feel so good. So good. I need to know what you taste like. Wanna worship that tight li’l pussy of yours.”

Buffy melted on the spot. Well, melted and panicked. If he put his mouth anywhere near her…womanly parts, he would see where he’d bitten her. He’d see it and she couldn’t let him. She didn’t know why—God, she didn’t know why—but she somehow knew that if Spike discovered he’d marked her there, a world of bad would ensue.

Buffy’s hands shot to his biceps and squeezed, shaking her head tersely. “No.”

An unreadable emotion filled his eyes, and a deep pang stabbed her gut.

“Slayer…I’d never hurt you like that. You gotta know I’d never do that. Not again. Not after the hell I’ve put myself through.”

“I know.”

“An’ you’re not gonna let me taste?”

She choked a sob and shook her head again. “No. No, Spike.”

He was quiet for a long second, all except the harsh, needless pants that heaved through his chest. Then he met her eyes again, and the world around her fell away. The next thing she knew, he was leading her further into the crypt. He moved until they were a good distance from the door and stopped, shedding his duster and tee before he shoved his jeans to mid-thigh.

Buffy’s eyes followed the fervent bounce of his cock and she wet her lips.

“Take off your shirt,” he said, wrapping his hand around his erection. “If I can’t taste your quim, I wanna see your tits.”

She blushed but obeyed, doing her best to ignore his purr of approval when she peeled her camisole away, followed by her sports bra. Spike was pressed against her the next instant, tugging gently at her nipples as his mouth fell to her throat once more. He groaned and whimpered and thrust himself against her, helping her jerk her foot out of the right leg of her sweat pants. She heard her stake—the one she kept tucked between her waistband and the small of her back—clamor noisily to the ground. Then he was cupping her mound through the plain white cotton that separated them, his nimble fingers rubbing sodden flesh as his mouth dipped to suck a nipple between his teeth.

“You been this wet for me since that morning?” he asked hoarsely.

Buffy offered an answering mewl, but nothing else. There was no point in speaking it; he knew the answer. The same answer that had left her both confused and disgusted with herself for days—she didn’t want to give him that power over her. He’d done nothing to deserve it. Nothing at all.

Spike left her breast with a parting kiss before dropping unceremoniously to the ground.

“We’re doing this here?” she demanded, astonished.

“You got a better idea, Slayer?”

All of her current better ideas involved popping him in the nose, grabbing her clothes, and making a run for it while her dignity was still in tact. And yet, she remained. She stood awkwardly in the middle of a crypt, her body aching for a man that she was never supposed to see again. She was dressed only in her panties and her sweats—the one leg she refused to unclothe for fear of what he’d see. That forbidden patch of skin that colored her inner left thigh—the thing he could never know about.

Spike didn’t let her mull it over long. “Straddle me,” he said, and her eyes went wide. Her bewilderment either empowered or insulted him; she couldn’t tell. His tone was strained when he spoke again, and she knew without having to know anything that he was teetering on the very ends of control. “Don’t jus’ stand there, you infuriating bint. Just bloody do it, okay?”

A shiver raced down her spine. The edge in his voice should have terrified her, but it didn’t. Instead, Buffy found herself climbing over him, sighing breathily when her cotton-clad pussy pressed against the underside of his incredibly naked erection. “Spike,” she gasped, empowered at his moan. “I’ve never…that is…this is something that I haven’t done before.”

“Angel din’t let you steer, eh?”

Something violent jerked in her gut. “Hey—”

“I’m gonna let you steer, kitten. You’re gonna fuck me until my eyes cross.” He settled his hands at her hips, doming a brow in challenge. “You’re in charge. I never want you to forget that. When you go home tonight an’ cry about how I violated you, jus’ remember this. Remember right now. You’re in charge. You have me under you. If you wanted, you could end it.” A shaky breath hissed through his teeth, and his chest trembled beneath her palms. “So what’s it gonna be, Slayer? You gonna fuck me, or kill me?”

Buffy’s eyes misted with tears and she glanced down. She’d done something to anger him; hell if she knew what, but the sweet, caring guy that had worried over her cuts just a few minutes ago had been replaced with someone angry and vindictive. She had absolutely no idea what right he had to be so callous, or what right she had to care. All she knew was that her heart was aching and her hands were against his naked chest, and she wanted him caressing her and pretending that he liked her again. Just for now.

Because as much as she would like to run, her body was too much in need of his.

His fingers were under her chin the next second, tilting her head upward to meet his eyes.

“God, I’m sorry. I don’…balls, I don’t know what’s what anymore.” Spike smiled tentatively. “I don’t mean to be such a prize arse. I just need to know. Fuck, I need you to know. I need to know if this is what you want or… You’re driving me outta my mind an’…I wanted to make sure you had the upper hand in this. You deserve it—God knows how you deserve it after what I did. I know I haven’t earned anything you have to give, but I need it. I need you.” He raised a trembling hand to her breast before trailing his fingers down her abdomen, rubbing her slit through the wet cotton. “Please, baby. Let me in?”

Buffy wet her lips and nodded before she realized what she was doing. The relieved smile that graced his lips warmed her inside and out, and before she could stop herself, she’d leaned down to kiss him. Really kiss him. And God, he tasted good.

She’d loved kissing him at the Bronze. Kissing him here, when she was in charge, when he was below her, was perhaps the headiest sensation of her entire life. It was something so small that turned into something huge, particularly when he moaned and slipped his tongue past her lips, his left hand coaxing her fingers around his cock.

“Fuck, pet…” He kissed her again, then dropped his head against the floor as she slowly began pumping his shaft. “Gently. He’s tender.”

“He…?” She flushed and glanced down, and the foreign sight of her hand wrapped around an erection turned every inch of her skin red. “Oh. You mean your…your…”

“Dick? Yeah.”

Her flush deepened and she ignored his vulgarity. “He’s tender?”

“He’s been getting quite a workout lately.” He grinned, his fingers bunching the crotch of her panties aside. “Dunno what's been happenin' to me. Jus' randomly need to…well…you get the idea.”

Buffy got the idea, all right. Her mind was suddenly ablaze with naughty, x-rated images of the idea. And damn if it didn’t do anything but make her hotter.

“It strikes me at the oddest times, too,” Spike continued thoughtfully. “Like when I’m—”

“You’re talking to me about your…masturbation habits?”

“Just lettin’ you know to be gentle. Though really, it could be that all he needs is a nice, warm, wet place to recuperate.” He arched a brow. “Any suggestions?”

It was that self-righteous smirk that did it. She wanted it wiped off his face—she wanted him to eat his words. She wanted to ride him until her warmth made his skin peel, and then she wanted to do it again. More than anything, she wanted the ache in her gut to go away. She wanted the world where she lived and the world where she dreamed to coexist, if only this once.

She wanted Spike. And this once—just this once—she was going to have him.

Buffy shoved him to the floor and impaled herself on his cock, and the world around her exploded into color. In a blink, everything dissolved. The burning ache that had been slowly eating away at her insides became nothing, and she felt, for the first time, that she was whole again. Seeing him at the Bronze had nearly done this; she’d nearly felt complete just standing with him, but now that she had him inside her, there was absolutely no comparison. None at all.

How she’d gone two weeks without him was beyond comprehension.

“Bloody fuck,” Spike gasped, thrusting his hips forward desperately. “Oh God. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Ride me. Please.”

Her name was on his lips. She didn’t know why it made her eyes fill with tears, but it did. “Help me,” she implored softly, grinding against him. “I don’t…help me.”

Spike’s eyes went wide with understanding. He dropped his hands to her hips, lifting her off him just slightly, then slid her back down his cock again. “There,” he sighed, his hands sliding to hold her ass, massaging her skin. “Just like that, baby. Ride me just like that.”

Buffy gasped. “Oh my God.”

“Slayer…”

She glanced down, her eyes wide. “It’s so different,” she said, rotating her hips. “I can…God, I can…”

“You can do whatever you want, baby.” He grinned. “That’s the idea.”

“Ohhh…” She shivered and steadied her hands on his chest, her legs tightening as her thrusts hastened in pace. Now that she had him inside her, the burn stretching through her body had turned from an ache into a bottled need for release. She felt him everywhere—splitting her down the middle. The feel of his thick cock sliding steadily in and out of her pussy had her blood blazing and every nerve in her buzzing with ecstasy. “It’s so different.”

“Yeah?” Spike whimpered and dug his fingers into her hips. “Good?”

“I can…oh, God…” Buffy shook her head, lost, and met his eyes. “Help me,” she whimpered again. “I need to…God, I need to…”

“You got me, love. You got me.”

That wasn’t what she needed. She’d barely had him inside her a minute, and the heat blazing through her body was too much to handle. She needed release. She needed relief. She needed anything that would calm her ache. She bounced frantically on his cock, her left hand flying to squeeze her thigh, her fingers itching her skin through the cotton.

“You’re amazing,” Spike gasped, his gaze drenched in wonder. “So bloody incredible.”

“Oh God.”

“You like that?” His thumb landed on her clit and began rubbing her furiously as his eyes soaked her up. “You like fucking me into the sodding ground?”

She nodded helplessly, her pace quickening. She wanted to hear him moan. She wanted her name on his lips. She wanted to see his face dissolve in helpless bliss as he came. She wanted him addicted to this—addicted to the sound of their bodies slapping together, the wet, illicit smacks that they made together every time his cock thrust into her body. She wanted him crazy out of his mind for her, even more than he claimed to be now. She wanted to make him feel as helpless and weak as he’d made her feel. She needed him absolutely nuts for her. He’d made her absolutely nuts for him, and after a two week drought, she needed to pay him back tenfold.

Her heart did a strange back-flippy thing when he looked at her, though. And she feared she was lost beyond all hope.

“Buffy…my…need you. Needed this. Been needing you so fucking long.” He fisted a handful of her blonde locks and tugged her down to him. The move stretched her even wider, and she moaned in repletion. “Oh, Slayer. I’m gonna…”

Spike’s human face dissolved into his demon, a long growl clawing at his throat as he spilled himself inside her. The victory she felt at making him lose himself was only fleeting; her body all too aware of her own needs. And it seemed, the next second, that Spike was more than aware of that as well. His fingers continued massaging her clit intensely, his yellow eyes glued to her pussy.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled. He licked his lips. “Wanna feel you strangling me.”

Buffy couldn’t stop bouncing on his lap if her life depended on it. He was stroking her clit and watching her with his vampire eyes, and she was lost. Absolutely lost. And when she dug her nails into her thigh until she was squeezing the bite mark like there was no tomorrow, she trembled and came hard around him, her body awash in euphoria.

The last thing she saw was Spike’s yellow eyes. Darkness surrounded her, and she passed out on his chest.

To be continued

Chapter 15 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: WOW! Thank you all so much for the enthusiastic (heehee) reviews. Really, I can’t get over how much people seem to like this story. I am just…I’m touched beyond words.

And a HUGE thank you to megan_peta and adriana_is for recommending this story on their live journals. Also, to grave_tidings, who surprised me with several incredible and supportive reviews to several chapters. I’m going to try to answer them all individually, but for now, I want you to know how much your extremely kind words meant to me. You really, really made my night. Thank you so much.

Chapter 15

It was still dark when she awoke, snuggled comfortably against Spike’s chest. She didn’t know how long she’d been out—likely only minutes—but for as rested as she felt, it might as well have been hours.

“Spike?” she asked softly.

There was no reply. He was asleep.

She watched him for a long minute before sitting up in his lap, gasping when she realized that his cock was still buried deep inside her. Like the first time, only now, she was on top. She was on top and Spike was asleep. Again.

Buffy laughed shortly, her mirth dissolving into a wince as she forced herself to her feet. The wet sound of his cock sliding from her pussy rang loud in the still crypt around them, but Spike didn’t stir. He was completely out. His blond hair was mussed, his usually slick locks curling on the ends. A small, contented smile stretched his lips. He looked peaceful. God, he looked happy.

A long sigh rattled through her, and she quickly jerked up her sweats. It didn’t take long to redress—her sports bra and her camisole were in a heap about midway to the crypt door. In less than a minute, she was back in slayer attire, and Spike was still asleep where she’d left him.

It was ridiculous that someone could look that peaceful and happy while resting on a crypt floor, wearing nothing but jeans that had gathered around his knees, and his cock resting against his stomach. But God, did he look it.

Buffy plopped onto the floor and waited. She refused to think about how easy it would be to leave him. To just walk out and return to her life, and pretend that this interlude into her realized fantasy was only that—an interlude. Something short and sweet in a mocking rendition of what she wanted, but couldn’t have. She didn’t want to do this again. The vampire-equals-killer thing was such an old song and dance, and she felt she’d only completed the first set. And there were certain things she recognized when considering this…whatever she had with Spike. Her relationship with Angel, while totally doomed, shouldn’t be the bar to which she compared all future relationships, especially with the way it had fallen apart.

Yet, even acknowledging that Spike and Angel were completely different vampires, their differences didn’t make the notable problems any less…well, problematic. Spike didn’t have a soul. Spike very much liked killing. Spike was unapologetically evil. Spike didn’t love her.

That was pretty much a big. Spike didn’t love her. Which was totally fine; she didn’t expect love from a vampire who had not-really-raped her, disappeared, reappeared, disappeared again, then surprised her in the graveyard with his distracting manly…eyes. No, she didn’t expect Spike to love her at all, only it would make so many things so much easier. She just needed something. Something to convince her that what they had was beyond lust. Love would do that, crazy as it was. She needed something that suggested affection for her, and not just her body. She needed something.

But Spike couldn’t love her. He hated her. He’d gotten drunk and slept with her, and while they’d shared a few magical kisses at the Bronze and this incredibly phenomenal night, there was nothing to their story but lust. And while lust was of the good—of the very good—it couldn’t substantiate what she wanted. What she needed.

Spike liked her—of that she had no doubt. Spike liked her a lot. He liked touching her. He liked kissing her. He really liked having sex with her. But that was all. There would be no weepy promise, no tearful embrace, no riding off into the proverbial sunset as the credits rolled. Her own confusion about her feelings was enough—toss in the knowledge that whatever she had with Spike would be purely physical from his end, and it was enough to rip her apart.

Buffy was tired. She was so tired of trying to sort through her broken feelings, of pitting what she felt against what she was supposed to feel. What society told her to feel as a woman, and what her calling told her to feel as a slayer. She was driven to Spike, addicted to him, but she couldn’t let her need for him fog her judgment.

She’d seen him three times since he returned to Sunnydale, and each time, she’d felt three incredibly different things. If things progressed like this, she would lose every bit of herself. She couldn’t keep on with Spike if it meant sacrificing her calling. He wanted her, yes, but that was all. It wasn’t like she could blame him for that. Spike was a creature who lived for the moment—right now, he knew he wanted her. He knew that she made him feel good, for whatever reason. That didn’t mean he’d feel the same tomorrow. And while he wasn’t doing this to intentionally toy with her emotions, the further they went, the more of herself she lost.

Buffy shivered and sighed, and watched him, enjoying the quiet. She didn’t know how much time passed before he finally stirred, didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her lungs screamed for air, and didn’t realize she’d gasped until he blinked and looked at her.

Spike met her eyes, and the room lightened. “There you are,” he said softly. “Didn’t slink away in shame, I see?”

“I wouldn’t just leave you.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Buffy licked her lips and shook her head. “I’m not that girl, Spike…though give me a few years and half a dozen let-downs where men are concerned, and I might have a different answer. Right now, I’m not that girl.”

“What girl are you, then?”

“A confused one. That’s for damn sure.”

Spike tilted his head and considered her. “I didn’t mean to confuse you, ducks. I jus’…well, I see you an’ I kind’ve lose my head.”

“I don’t get that.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “If you want the honest truth, I don’t understand it, either. I told you that I’ve tried to leave. I’ve tried to leave a couple hundred times. Somethin’ won’t let me.” He paused. “You won’ let me. I try to leave, an’ I find myself lookin’ for you instead.”

“Looking for me?”

Spike arched a brow. “Jus’ because you haven’t seen me in a while, pet, doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you.”

“See, my brain knows that I should be officially wigged out—”

“But I’m too bloody gorgeous, an’ you really like shagging me.” He waggled his brows. No one should ever look that confident. “You can’t really blame me, either, luv. You told me to leave you alone, less I was clamorin’ for an early death.”

Buffy crossed her arms and perked her brows. “Spike, you’re like, eleven hundred years old. Not so much with the early death.”

“I’m not quite one forty-nine, but thanks for that.” He grinned. “Age on vamps makes them more distinguished.”

“Are you trying to tell me that the Master was sexy?”

Spike wrinkled his nose at her, which she unwittingly found adorable. “Should’ve known you’d turn that on its arse.”

“Hey, you started it.” Buffy glanced down and sighed. “Spike…”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna feed me some rot about how this shouldn’t’ve happened an’ how I’m an evil prat an’ how I’ve sullied your virtue by lookin’ at you. Bollocks, Slayer.” Spike shook his head heatedly. “I gave you a chance an’ you stayed with me. I—”

“I never said that.”

He paused for a moment, mouth ready to object, then slumped when he realized she was right. “Oh.”

“I’m not sorry we did this. I’ll never be sorry for that.” She sighed again. “But it can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” God, he was pouting. His lower lip had jutted out and everything. There was no civility to be had in the world.

“Because it can’t. You know it, too. Whatever this is…” She gestured between them. “This…this thing we have…it’s not something you want. I mean, yeah, the sex is fantastic, but I need more than that.” Buffy met his eyes and held up a hand. “And you don’t want to give it to me, Spike. Not really. You like…you like this part, but you hate what I do. You hate that I’m a slayer. You can’t deny that.”

For a wild second, she was afraid he’d try, but he didn’t. Instead, he just sat still and looked at her, his eyes wide and vulnerable.

“And it’s okay. I’m not wild about the fact that you’re a vampire, and you can’t expect me to be. I can’t expect you to throw a ticker-tape parade because of my calling.” She offered a watery smile. “And I’m so confused right now, my head hurts every time I try to think about it. Logically, I should be mad as hell at you. I should feel…disgusted and violated and I should definitely not want to kiss you or…do other things.”

“Slayer—”

“Yes, I am. And I’ll always be that, Spike. Always.”

“You don’ give me a lot of credit, do you?”

Buffy arched her brows. “Do you know what you want, then? Aside from lots and lots of sex, do you know what you want from me?”

Again, Spike was quiet. His silence spoke volumes.

And that was all it took. She swallowed hard and fought to her feet, dusting off her sweats with a small, resolute nod to herself. “I’m not sorry this happened,” she said again, nearing him. “I’ve been wanting this to happen for days now. But this has to be it. You’re rebounding hard and I don’t want to be that girl, okay?”

“Buffy—”

Whatever he said was lost the next second; she dipped her head and kissed him. God, she’d miss this more than anything. She could kiss him for a thousand years before she had her fill. His taste was raw, and she loved that. She loved that he kissed her gently, tenderly, even as he tensed with caution and arousal against her.

She loved the way he talked with her as though she were a person and not a title. And she hated it that she was finding more and more things that she liked about him when this had to be it.

It had to be.

“Goodbye, Spike,” she whispered against his lips. Then she turned and left, too quickly to see the conflicted pain in his eyes. The confusion that nearly rivaled hers.

The mark on her thigh burned with every step.

To be continued

Chapter 16 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: I posted this on my journal yesterday, but I have to say it again. Some amazingly wonderful person actually NOMINATED Beloved in Blood at the Lost In Spike Awards. It was actually nominated for Best Written, Hottest Bite, Best Claiming (AAHHH!!!), and Best Eppie Rewrite.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Also, check out the banner that Vampkiss made for me!!!! Isn’t it gorgeous?!

And, as always, thank you guys so much for your reviews and support. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. ***HUGZ***

Chapter 16

It had first attacked his gut, stricken him of hunger. Made him sick; made him want to heave for the first time in over a century. The pain was growing worse—fuck, more than that, it was growing. The pain was spreading. He felt it in his fingertips. Felt it saturating into his skin. Felt it on his eyelashes, in his throat—felt it everywhere there was to feel.

Spike moaned and peeled his eyes open.

The bloody crypt. He’d collapsed after Buffy left, and hadn’t yet managed to pull himself to his feet. His mind was still swimming with what to make of her little farewell speech. Things had seemed so bleeding fine before.

He’d had her. After two weeks of wanting her, of tearing his heart out for what he’d done to her—combating the knowledge of what he should do to her—he’d had her. And she hadn’t fought him.

He sighed longingly and sat up, blinked, and took in his surroundings while fighting off a yawn.

He didn’t want to think about her. His world would make a lot more sense if he could just bolt and have it over with. If he could forget the taste of her, forget the feel of her, forget the pained understanding in her eyes, and return to the essentials. He needed blood, sex, and violence, and not necessarily in that order. If he left now, he could possibly find Dru and torture her for making him so crazy over the Slayer. And maybe if he tortured her enough, she’d come back to him.

Only that thought made the pain worse. Spike winced and fought to his feet.

Unwittingly, his mind flashed back to the lost look on Buffy’s face. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Anger, yes. He definitely deserved her anger. He deserved to be beaten and bloodied for what he’d done to her. She might have forgiven him for his crime, but he wasn’t nearly as prepared to forgive himself. Nights that weren’t occupied with dreams of her were filled with nightmares. And while he was certain his mind was fabricating the memories of her cries and struggles, her pain and fear, he still knew that he’d done more to hurt her than any other bloke out there. He knew he deserved to meet the business end of her stake.

She hadn’t staked him. Fuck, that morning, she’d done more to comfort him than anything. Not that Spike hadn’t wanted to comfort her. It had taken every nerve in his body to keep him from parading across the room and taking her into his arms so he could encourage her to cry her heart out on his very willing shoulder. And while that wasn’t a particularly natural reaction for him—especially where slayers were concerned—he’d written it off as a part of the guilt. A piece of him that was still human enough to feel for her, for what he’d done, and attempt to atone for his sins.

Spike had many delusions of opulence, but Buffy’s failure to end his life that morning wasn’t one of them. He knew she’d spared him out of confusion. Out of something she couldn’t name—something she was likely still struggling to understand. With as much as it had thrilled him to see her at the Bronze—to hold her and touch her, to finally feel her lips against his—he was still more than astonished that he’d walked away with his unlife still intact. That first morning had been a fool’s gamble; what he’d gotten away with at the Bronze he attributed to sheer idiocy. Wanking off in the girl’s yard hadn’t been enough of a bloody death wish—he had to confront her in the flesh. He had to see her eyes, taste her lips, and claim everything he’d been too stupid to seize that first morning.

Why had it taken him so long to kiss the bint? Moreover, why did he care that it had taken him so long to kiss her?

Spike sighed and reached for his shirt. He didn’t know what to do now. He’d been prepared for Angry Buffy. Prepared to the point where he’d almost prefer her angry. Not that he wanted her brassed off per se—even if she was fucking beautiful when she was mad, and he did appreciate the way her chest heaved—but he knew how to deal with angry. Hell, if anything, he’d dealt with angry wankers for centuries. Darla, Angelus, the hordes of people they pissed off, and the occasional mob that had never learned how to properly dust a vampire. He might not like the consequences of Angry Buffy, but he certainly knew how to deal with it. How to respond to her if she raised her voice to him. If she had, after last night, reacted to him with disgust and herself with shame.

Had a speech prepared an’ everything.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t realize how bloody pathetic he was, though knowledge did little to minimize the sting. Last night had been a moment of weakness. After trying half a dozen times to leave the Hellmouth, after promising himself over and over again that he wouldn’t seek her out, after repeatedly wanking off so hard that his cock should bruise, he’d decided to see her. See her out in the open.

He was ashamed at how often he’d found himself following her. Most of the time when he left the factory, he’d go by Willy’s, drink himself into a stupor, get hit by a wave of lust from nowhere and have to sneak off for a wank before he came in his pants, then stumble outside and somehow find himself either at her window or trailing after her while she patrolled.

Spike had followed her much too much these past couple weeks. It was something Angel would do, and he hated it. He hated what she’d reduced him to. He hated that the pain in his gut softened when he was near her. He hated that his mind was filled with so many sodding questions and not even a launch point as far as answers were concerned.

He hated that every time he saw her, he wanted to take her in his arms. That was not a Big Bad thing to do. Shag her until she walked funny—yeah, those drives he could handle. Those made sense to him. Hold her and comfort her? She was the bloody Slayer. He wasn’t supposed to want anything from her but blood, and if he took solace in her body, he wasn’t supposed to care about her dainty little feelings over the matter. He wasn’t supposed to be following her around like a lovesick, Buffy-whipped man slave, just waiting for his mistress to give him some attention.

The world where he knew what he was had collapsed into a different world altogether. These past two weeks had brought out a version of himself that he didn’t know. When he’d touched Buffy the night before, his demon had purred in ecstasy, and even though the shagging was brilliant, he would have been happy simply to hold her all night. To trade jibes with her. To watch her flush when he called her on that bogus pregnancy scare, to feel the heat from her words that only accentuated the warmth of her skin.

Truth be told, a part of him—a sick, twisted part of him—had rushed with hope when word of Buffy’s undead conception reached his ears. Not that he wanted a brat around filled with his DNA, and certainly not that he thought it was remotely possible, but he did know a thing or two about prophecies. Prophecies served as logic’s loophole. They were the clause in every unwritten rule about life and living. And while odds that he and Buffy were prophesied to make a baby were laughably slim, it would have been nice to have a reason to be around her. An excuse. An explanation for his need to see her at all times, be near her at all times, and no one could say or insinuate anything.

Though, honestly, if he was going to have Buffy all to himself, he really wanted her all to himself.

Of course, all of that was sick. Absolutely twisted. It was bad enough that he wanted her like he did. That he dreamt of her. That he could find himself, on any given day, going from thinking of nothing in particular to being randy as hell and pulling his dick so hard it was a wonder the damn thing still worked properly.

He didn’t know what had happened to him. And he didn’t know why he was so sodding miserable over her bloody speech. Why he wanted anger rather than understanding. Except that anger was often passionate and illogical, and always easy to counter. Her calm rationale had thrown him for a bloody loop.

Perhaps it was the shock that she wasn’t going to cut and run. That she stayed long enough to tell him how she felt. To give him an answer beyond “you’re a vampire and it’s wrong.”

She’d thought about it. She’d thought about him. And she liked him.

Spike cast a hand through his hair and laughed shortly. Buffy didn’t want to be the sodding rebound girl? If only she knew how many rebound girls he’d gone through before he crashed into Sunnydale. If only she knew how often he’d thought of her while sleeping beside Drusilla. Christ, he’d shagged her in his mind so often that it was a sodding wonder it’d taken his psychic girlfriend so long to catch on.

Perhaps that was why he’d gone to Buffy that night. Perhaps he’d gotten pissed out of his mind, reverted to some primal state of Cave Spike that he didn’t know existed, and in an attempt to get her out of his system, decided to shag her rotten. Sounded feasible enough.

Only now—now shagging wasn’t all he needed. Not when he had these gooey, wrong feelings about wanting to hold her. Not when he loved watching her laugh as much as he hated watching her cry. Not when he treasured their small trades as much as he treasured touching every inch of her succulent body. Not when he found himself constantly biting back admiration where there should only be loathing.

There was no question: Spike was buggered. He was thoroughly up-the-arse buggered. Buffy had been bloody merciful when she walked away. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural. He needed to do what she told him to do: he needed to let her go.

He needed to go one bleeding second without thinking about her.

He needed to make the pain go away.

Spike sighed again, eying his surroundings wearily. The crypt was nice enough. A bit cozier than he would have expected. He wasn’t much one for holes in the ground, really; his years with Dru had him coached to always go to the finest places, always demand the best bloody service, even if that meant siring lackeys. For the first time in all his life, human included, he was totally on his own.

No more lackeys. No more fine wine. No more extravagant hotels or fancy art shows. Life with Dru had been painted red, yes, but done so in style. She might be off her nutter, but she was a classy dame.

Spike enjoyed class; he was just sick to fuck of it. He didn’t need a sodding mansion, or a burnt out factory. He was a creature of the night, and the crypt would do just fine.

Even if staying in Sunnydale meant staying near Buffy, and therein furthering his self-torment. He couldn’t leave her if he tried—a theory he’d confirmed by, well, trying.

Perhaps if he stayed around, he’d eventually come to his senses and snap the bint’s neck. Or perhaps he’d become even more pathetic than he was now. Perhaps these warm mushy feelings for the girl would transcend into something much worse—something much more permanent.

Something he couldn’t even begin to fathom now. No bleeding way.

Though it would go a long way toward explaining the pain in his gut, the lump in his throat, and the soreness in his chest. He wanted her so bloody badly, and not as he should. No. Buffy should have been a quick shag. She should have been the sodding means to an end. She should have been anything other than what she’d become.

How he saw her now.

The wealth of what he felt for her, undefined as it was, was absolutely terrifying.

He was beginning to wonder what he’d do without her.

To be continued…

Chapter 17 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
Thank you guys so much for the congrats on the nominations!!! ***HUGZ***

Chapter 17

Giles didn’t get paid enough overtime for the countless hours of his life that were occupied in the high school library. Not to mention all the extra work he put into saving the lives of ungrateful teenagers. There were some days when he barely got to enjoy his flat at all. His favorite albums were collecting dust. His favorite wine hadn’t been touched in months. His books were scattered across his den, each open to a different page so he wouldn’t forget where he’d been when he’d last sat down for a good read.

In many ways, he couldn’t wait for the school year to be over. Once Buffy graduated, he could retire his position as the undervalued high school librarian and rely strictly on the check the Council sent him every month.

Once again, it was nearing midnight and he was still in the library—tonight, so he could shelve books that he was sure had been moved by a poltergeist, as no one but Buffy and her chums ever set foot inside the library. More often than not, however, his late nights were attributed to his slayer’s training or research for some impending catastrophe.

Giles didn’t like being alone in the library. Too often, he was left with his thoughts, and that was always a dangerous thing. His thoughts led to questions, and his questions, more and more recently, revolved around Buffy. Her behavior recently had been most unusual. A random pregnancy scare from her one night with Angel? The same night that was nearly twelve months in the past? Either she wasn’t telling him something, or she’d returned from Los Angeles even loopier than he’d imagined.

He sighed and adjusted the titles along the historical fiction shelf. Bloody kids didn’t know how to alphabetize.

“Giles.”

A rather loud, unmanly squeak ruptured from his throat. He jumped, an armful of books flying into the air. Spinning around, he looked up to meet Angel’s eyes, a bitter taste running through his mouth.

“Get out,” he said sternly, arms falling to his sides. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of flapping paper finally hitting the ground.

Angel held up his hands. “I know I have no right to be here—”

“Something we can rectify quite simply. Get the hell out of my library.”

“It’s not that easy. I—”

“Oh really. Really? I, for one, think that it is exactly that easy. Matter of fact, I’m of the opinion that letting you walk away from me with your skin still attached is being a tad too reasonable. If I were you, I’d start counting my blessings.” His eyes narrowed. “Buffy might have forgiven you, Angel, but don’t think that her pardon makes your presence welcome. Now, I will reiterate…get the hell out of my library.”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

Giles stared at him blankly before rolling out a long, bitter chuckle. Though his scars had healed, there was something about seeing the vampire that made every faded wound on his body scream out again. “Sorry,” he replied, “coming from you, that phrase strikes me as rather funny. Sorry to bother me.”

“I need your help.”

“And the funny keeps coming.”

“It’s about—”

“You know, I have this perfect memory of ordering you out of my library…twice. And yet, here you stand.”

“I understand that I have no right to ask for it, but there’s no one else. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.” Angel expelled a deep breath. “It’s about Buffy.”

Giles just looked at him for a minute, then ducked his head and laughed again. “You know, I don’t believe I ever gave you enough credit for your nerve. You certainly have a lot of it. Of the many things I am not willing to discuss with you, anything related to my slayer is at the very head of the list.” He sighed resignedly. “You really are going to make me say it again, aren’t you?”

“Giles—”

“Get the—”

“Something is wrong with Buffy.”

There were very few things that Angel could say to save himself from a long-overdue stake to the heart. Invoking Buffy’s name in such a way was most definitely one of them. Giles stared at him for a minute longer, and finally sighed and nodded when he detected no sign of deceit.

“Very well,” he said, stepping aside and motioning for Angel to move ahead of him. “But I warn you, if I find this wasn’t worth my time, you are surrounded by weapons and I am known in some parts of the world for my impeccable aim.” He paused, his brows perking. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“I—”

“If you think I’m leaving you at my back—”

Angel’s hands went up and he nodded shortly. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I’m going.”

Giles kept his eyes glued to the vampire’s oversized head as they moved into the foyer of the library. He waited until Angel had seated himself atop one of the large tables, then headed intently for his weapon chest.

“That’s not necessary—” Angel protested weakly, shutting up the next second when Giles whirled around, a crossbow in his arms.

“Oh, I believe it is. Now, what is the matter with Buffy?” He arched a brow. “I don’t suppose it was you that filled her head with that ridiculous notion that vampires could impregnate slayers, was it?”

Angel looked horrified. “What? No, absolutely not. I would never try—”

“Because we know mind games are beneath you, correct? Buffy hasn’t exactly warmed up to you the way you were hoping she might, following your little spiel where you tried to kill her friends.” Giles cocked his head. “How did that work out for you, while I have you here?”

The discomfort on Angel’s face was almost worth the pain that stabbed at his heart.

“I know I can never make up for what I did,” he began cautiously. “I can’t say I’m sorry. I am—of course I am, but I can’t…words are cheap compared to what I feel. But I would never attempt to manipulate myself back in like that. I was…I was afraid that Buffy and I wouldn’t be able to fight whatever was between us. It’s not that way, and though it hurts, I’m glad.”

“It hurts,” Giles echoed stoically. “Yes, I’m glad, too.”

“But here’s the thing: Buffy didn’t think she was pregnant with my child.”

He froze. “Just who would she be referring to, then?”

Angel swallowed hard. “Spike.”

The crossbow clamored noisily to the floor. “Spike?!” Giles demanded, his eyes shooting wide with horror. “Why would she…oh dear Lord…”

“I don’t think she—”

“What on earth…when did Spike get back? Why didn’t she tell me? Good Lord, why did she…why—”

“I don’t have all the details, so jumping to conclusions would be a very bad idea right now.” Angel sighed. “All I know is that I’ve smelled him on her. All over her. From what she’s told me, albeit reluctantly, it began the night that you went away for some retreat.” He paused. “I don’t think you should panic, or…but I think something might have happened.”

Giles stared at him. “Well, thank you for that,” he said slowly. “For telling me that Buffy was afraid that she might have been pregnant with Spike’s child—a vampire I loathe almost as much as I loathe you—and that you can smell him all over her, because you think something might have happened. Your vagueness notwithstanding—”

“Look, I’m only trying to help.”

“How is this helping?”

Angel did a rather remarkable impression of a fish, blinked stupidly, and rose to his feet, confused. “I thought…I thought you would want to know.”

“You’re sure you’re not just telling me that my slayer is sleeping with another evil vampire in an effort to make me forget that—oh, that’s right, she already did that? And you managed to murder my girlfriend in the fallout?” Giles arched a brow before his eyes fell once more with the burden of realization. “But Spike? Buffy and Spike?”

“I don’t think it was something she could help.”

“What do you mean?”

Angel sighed. “As far as that's concerned, there's no question that there's a way to look at this where it's my fault.”

“What’s another way of looking at it?”

He paused. “Well, as much as I hate to admit it, there is no other way of looking at it. When I…while I was evil…” He sucked in a deep, pained breath, his eyes falling shut. “When I was evil…I did everything I could to tear Spike apart. Darla wasn’t around, and I’d always…before I was cursed, I’d always done my best to make Spike completely aware that Dru was only his on loan. When I…after I lost my soul, I did that again…only worse. He’d had nearly a century of Dru to himself, so he had a complex, and I had to make sure that he knew she would never fully be his. I did things to and with her that I’d rather not discuss, oftentimes in front of him so that he’d get the idea.”

Giles made a face. “Not that this isn’t completely, well, disgusting, but why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think that something happened after they left. Something that compelled him to come back here and seek revenge. His truce with Buffy notwithstanding—”

“His what with Buffy?”

Angel paused again, frowning. “His truce…Giles, you knew that Spike and Buffy collaborated to stop the end of the world, didn’t you?” He waited a second before it became painfully clear that Giles knew nothing of the sort. “He…stopped me from killing you because of the truce. If he hadn’t been there, you’d be dead and there’s a chance the world would be in Hell right now.”

“Well, isn’t he a bloody prince?”

“I’m not—”

“What is this? Are you trying to sell me on Spike?”

“No. No, absolutely not. But this is what happened, and I think it’s better to be honest with you than downplay my guilt.”

“How very astute.”

“I think Dru saw something in Spike that sent him back here to prove himself to her.”

Giles’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a rather specific hypothesis.”

“I might have been out of his life for a century, but I still know how his mind works.”

“There’s something to be proud of.”

“I think he came back to prove himself to Dru.”

“And that’s how he ended up bedding my slayer?”

Angel was quiet for a second and shrugged. “I don’t know. Buffy won’t talk to me about this.”

“I can hardly imagine why.”

“But something changed. More than just…whatever happened with them, something changed.” He glanced down. “I have a couple theories…one that’s crazy, and another that’s even crazier than the first.”

“Those being?”

A long pause. He shook his head. “No. No, I don’t want to worry you without cause. Give me some time to eliminate one or both possibilities. I—”

Giles barked out an incredulous laugh. “You don’t wish to worry me? My, my, my, how considerate. So instead of explaining to me why my slayer might have slept with a vampire, particularly after what happened with you, you’re going to work out your theories on your own?”

“That’s right.”

“Then why did you come to me?”

“That’s a perfectly fair question.” Angel sighed. “I guess I just needed someone to know.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked for help.”

“If it turns out to be one of my theories, I am going to need help.”

“What are you, Agatha Christie? Tell me what—”

“Even if my theory pans out, it won’t explain why Buffy slept with him in the first place.” It likely wasn’t a good idea for Angel to become testy, particularly with a man who hated him; a man that had many pointy weapons at his disposal. “I don’t want you to worry.”

Giles arched a cool brow, kneeling forward to collect the crossbow from the floor. “It’s a bit late for that,” he replied. “I assure you, whatever it is, it can’t be worse than the worst scenario I have imagined.”

“I think Spike claimed Buffy.”

The crossbow plummeted to the floor again.

Giles was wrong. So very wrong.

It was much worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy made a face and checked her watch. “This guy is never gonna wake up,” she decided, slumping against a headstone with a pout. “I’m running on three hours of sleep here, fella! The least you can do is be punctual!”

Not to mention the ache in her stomach was killing her, the burn of the bite mark had nearly consumed her leg, and she had the vague sensation that a giant hole was gnawing its way through her chest. But she wasn’t about to say that part aloud. Not with the company she kept.

Faith glanced up, rolling her eyes. “I don’t understand why we’re wastin’ so much time on…” She paused, then leaned over to study the epitaph. “Jeffrey Pilcher. Are you seriously that bored?”

“I just really need to kill something.”

“Yeah, okay. Remind me why I’m here again?”

“Because you’ve bailed on patrol every night for the past week. I did all the slaying, and this is what’s left.”

Faith made a face and shrugged. “Sorry, B. I just figured you and your honey-pot would want to take some time to discuss what color to paint the nursery.”

“In so many ways: bite me.”

“I would, but then Angel’d get mad.”

Buffy glowered at her in a sharp, electric reaction to Angel’s name, rubbing her thighs together to ease the screaming bite mark. If she ever needed Ghost Spike, now was the time. Only his mystical touch could make the pain go away. “There is nothing about you that I don’t hate,” she grumbled.

It was refreshing to feel rational dislike for someone. While the wealth of negativity for all things male had yet to be explained, this was something she understood.

“Ohhh, are we a bit touchy tonight?”

Buffy rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. As much fun as trading jibes with Faith wasn’t, she was especially not in any sort of mood tonight. It had been just over a day since she left Spike sitting naked in a crypt, his hair wonderfully rumpled from their romp, his eyes vulnerable and confused.

The ache would consume her eventually. And though she had resumed rubbing the bite mark to get herself off, while she moaned and whimpered and craved Ghost Spike’s touch, the sad reality remained that it was better to distance herself from him than give in to something that would never have anything to give back. Nothing but hot raunchy sex, that is, and as much as she enjoyed that, she needed something more. Something warm and real.

She liked Spike too much to only enjoy his body. She had no idea why she liked Spike so much—aside from her visits from Ghost Spike, she’d had such little time with the real deal. In the three times they’d crossed paths in the last month, there had been forced sex—albeit with mixed feelings, passionate kissage—sexy banter, and even sexier sex. She hadn’t had enough time for her feelings for him to develop all the way to liking, and yet, like him she did.

And it confused her like nothing else.

A heavy sigh rolled off her shoulders, coinciding nicely with the rustle of a vampire clawing to freedom. She eyed the fresh grave and sighed again, rising slowly to her feet. “About time,” she muttered, reaching for her stake.

“This one is so mine,” Faith declared, reaching for her stake at the same time.

“No way!”

“You’ve had dibs on vamps all week, B. Share the love!”

Buffy shivered at that and ignored the naughty image of Spike and his incredibly drool-worthy naked bod…well, as best she could, anyway. Besides, there was absolutely no way she was sharing anything of Spike’s with Faith. Not now. Not ever. “Yeah, you can imagine how bad I feel about that.”

“Oh, come on, B.”

“Really, I’m choking back tears.” She flashed the raven-haired slayer a triumphant grin, racing forward the second she saw the vamp’s head poke out of the ground. She seized a fistful of hair and dragged him out of the topsoil with an overly cheerful grin. “Hi! I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And this…” She raised the stake. “Is Mr. Pointy.”

“You’re Buffy?” the vampire repeated, brushing dirt off his jacket. “The pregnant one?”

What was left of her tattered self-esteem was thoroughly shot with Faith’s mocking laugh. “I am so not pregnant!”

“You bought a pregnancy test. Phil said so!”

“Phil?”

“The dude that bit me. He said so.” The vamp raised a hand to his neck and rubbed his mark in a way that Buffy envied. She wished she could be that open about her mark. “I think he was kinda gay. Got way into it. So you’re the chick that got herself knocked up with Abraham Lincoln’s seven-tentacled demon lovechild?”

Faith’s nose wrinkled. “Eww.”

“I am so not knocked up! I failed the test. I got a big massive F on the test. If I failed any more drastically, I’d practically be male.” Buffy demonstratively wiggled her stake hand. “And you’re about to be—”

Her witty retort died on her lips. The vamp exploded into dust the next second, and Faith winked at her through the particles. “You were taking too long,” she said, pocketing her stake and twisting on her heel. “Thanks for the laughs, B. It was a hoot and a half. Later!”

Buffy glared at her back and squeezed her stake so hard that it snapped in half, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Not patrolling. Not hating men. Not hating Faith. Not staking vamps, and not not staking vamps.

There wasn’t one part of her that didn’t yearn for Spike. Not one.

And the ache was only growing worse.

To be continued…

Chapter 18 by Ameeya

Chapter 18

He braced himself against the mausoleum wall with his right hand, panting so hard his chest hurt, his left busy tucking his cock back inside his jeans.

It wasn’t that he was complaining about whatever force out there decided he needed to get off as much as possible. He had no qualms whatsoever about getting off. However, it was bloody irritating that he had no control over it. If he ignored his cock, the lust only grew worse. Much worse. He was getting to the point where he avoided crowded places—like the pub—as much as possible. Spike wasn’t a socialite, by any stretch of the imagination, but he found forced solitude to be aggravating. If he wanted to go out and get sloshed, he should have that right with absolutely no fear that he might be driven to wank off on the counter.

He was beginning to wonder if Dru had some warlock in South America put a spell on him to get back at his infidelity. Wasn’t that a bloody laugh riot? His infidelity, which he’d only lived out mentally until the stupid bint told him to shove off. Until he wound up in Sunnydale, and found himself craving the Slayer like some pathetic soul-stuffed wanker. He’d betrayed Dru’s memory a thousand times here. Following Buffy. Watching Buffy. Hungering for Buffy. Moaning Buffy’s name every time he climaxed.

Calling her Buffy. Calling her by name. The intimacy in rolling her name off his tongue was, in itself, more than he’d had with Dru. She preferred to be his Mummy. His dark princess. His black goddess. And while Spike had doted those names on her all too gladly, there was something about the simplicity of a name that he’d always taken for granted.

Not to say that he’d never called Dru by her given name; he had, many times, but she always preferred things that made her royalty in his eyes. And he, being the willing submissive in their relationship, was always happy to give her whatever she pleased. Most of the time, even following Angelus’s departure, he felt all too fortunate with whatever she gave him.

The longer he was away from Dru, the more he saw himself the way she must have seen him. A favored pet, an eager lover, a cherished toy, but nothing more. Never as an equal. Never as someone she could love as much as he’d loved her. Granted, she was a step up from Cecily, even if she had mocked him quietly to Angelus. Even if she had used him for her pleasures while disregarding his. But for the first time, he knew it was not what he wanted, and certainly not what he deserved.

Dru had convinced him that what they had was everything he could ever want, and he’d wanted to believe her so badly. He’d allowed himself to be deceived by a pair of batting eyes and a slick tongue, and now he was on his own. For the first time in all his years, he was on his own, and the haze had finally thinned.

Spike wasn’t about to be anyone’s bitch again. He was sick of being in love with love, and as much as he wanted Buffy, he wasn’t about to hand over his balls in order to share her bed. He wasn’t going to be trained, or tamed, or something that she could justify to herself. He wouldn’t turn himself into something that would help her sleep at night, knowing that she had him thoroughly defanged.

Only Christ, it was so tempting. It was so bloody tempting. He’d not yet sorted out what her abrupt little speech the other night was alluding to, but some sick twist in his gut told him that a lot of her reasoning had to do with his nature. And to her credit, she hadn’t told him that she needed him to change; she’d accepted that he was the way he was…only she couldn’t tolerate him the way he was.

Fuck, he was buggered either way. Independence was swell but he wasn’t going to do well on his own if he kept having to seek out dark corners to pull on his dick. If his nights were haunted by her phantom hands and mouth.

Spike’s angered frustration with her was offset only by the guilt consuming his insides. Logically, he knew that Buffy owed him nothing. She had yet to seek him out, so it wasn’t like she was stringing him along for her own amusement. He owed her the world and she had not collected. His dust was hers if she ever wanted it. And despite that—despite knowing that whatever she gave him was more than he deserved—he lived to want more. And the more he thought about it, despite his reservations, the less intimidating the idea of muzzling himself to be with her became.

The bleeding Slayer had invaded his thoughts and commandeered his commonsense. He wanted her—fuck, he needed her. His body ached and his heart was sore, and he needed her. And he hated her for making him want her so much. And then he hated himself for hating her, especially when he knew that he couldn’t hate her. Not with the wealth of everything he that felt.

This has got to end.

Spike sighed and reached for his cigarettes. Eventually, he would either dust from the pain of their separation, or force himself to leave town. Perhaps if he escaped the air that smelled of her, the ache would eventually dwindle into nothing.

Trouble was, every time he thought of leaving, the ache became more prominent. He felt like his cells were splitting. Every second of every day was a struggle, and he had no idea why. And though he thought his theory about Dru hiring a warlock had some ground, it still didn’t make sense that she would punish him by making him ache for another woman.

For whatever reason, trying to blame his feelings on a spell or his ex made him feel even worse. There was just no winning. No winning. Not with Dru. Not with Buffy. Not with himself. He couldn’t reconcile his feelings. He knew right now that he hated Dru. He knew he wanted to hate Buffy but couldn’t because he liked her too damn much. He knew he shouldn’t feel anything but satisfaction at having such a powerful slayer stripped of her power and humiliated, but all he could summon was crippling guilt and this sappy need to cry whenever his mind wandered that way. And the worst thing was, he knew his guilt wasn’t the effect of some wonky spell. No, that was all him. Every twinge was a product of the man he was—in and of itself a source of both pride and shame. He was a walking contradiction, and he wanted nothing more than to throw off his feelings and leave.

“Stupid fucking slayer,” he muttered irritably, sucking on a cigarette. And then, as though waiting for its cue, the ache in his belly subsided and a familiar scent tickled his nostrils. His screaming nerves quieted and the rip at his muscles softened. The pain was still present, of course—the only time he felt nothing but peace was when he was touching her—but for the first time in days, his body knew some relief.

Which obviously meant that Buffy was near, so his head and his heart were in for another bruising. Spike glanced up and saw her, sighing a little as he let his eyes soak her up.

Buffy sensed him the second after he sensed her. He knew it from the way she tripped. And despite his warring emotions, Spike smirked around his cigarette. She was just so bloody cute. Never before had he had a woman constantly falling at his feet, and while he was irritated at her for looking so cute when he was trying to hate her, the ever-growing Buffy-adoration couldn’t help but swell.

“Spike,” she said, blushing furiously as she climbed to her feet. “What are you…what are you doing here?”

“It’s a graveyard, Slayer. I belong here.”

“I mean…I thought you would have gone.” She was struggling to maintain eye contact. “I thought…after what I said, that you’d leave. I haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

“An’ before that it was a couple weeks.”

“Yes.”

Spike extended his arms and shrugged. “I’m here.”

“Yes,” Buffy agreed awkwardly. “But I thought…my mind hasn’t changed. Staying around here won’t change my mind. Whatever’s happening between us…it can’t happen again.”

He felt a cool rush of irritation, and his feet carried him a few steps closer. “Why not?” he demanded. “You want me. I want you. I’m not seein’ much in the way of obstacles.”

“You’re amazingly self-confident. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I tell myself that everyday,” he replied bitingly, his heart wilting at the lie. If anything, his self-confidence was window dressing for how entirely unconfident he was. There were things, granted, that Spike knew he was good at. When it came to women, though, he was nothing but a mass of self-doubt. Cecily had stripped him of his confidence, and Dru had always held it just out of arms reach. Now Buffy, admittedly kinder and up-front, refused to give him what he needed because of what he was. It didn’t bode well for his ego. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried, he always ended up falling short.

Buffy sighed sadly and glanced to the ground. “You’re wrong,” she said, “about the obstacles. There are obstacles. There are tons and tons of obstacles. I’m not gonna tell you that you’re a vampire and I’m a slayer, because that’s both redundant and not my strongest argument. But the thing is—”

“Slayer—”

“I’m not the kind of person who can have meaningless sex, Spike. I can’t be the rebound. I can’t be the answer to your problems right now, and someone you want to kill tomorrow. And what’s more, I think I’m well within my rights to build boundaries around myself, especially with what happened.” Her heart was in her eyes, and it was breaking. It astounded him that she let him see it. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep thinking about you. I can’t…”

Spike had absolutely no idea what provoked it. Perhaps it was hearing the confusion in her voice—the confusion that nearly outmatched his. Perhaps it was hearing that she wanted him. Was it possible that she wanted him like he wanted her? Beyond simple lust, beyond pleasurable daydreams—true, agonizing, body-crunching, cell-splitting physical agony every second they were apart. And if so, was she out of her fucking mind? If only to ease this pain, they should be shagging on every hard surface they could find. Maybe then, eventually, whatever was in their system would leave them be.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with that plan. There was sex involved, there was Buffy involved, there was freedom from pain involved. It was one brilliant plan, if he didn’t say so himself.

However, the utter resolution in her voice had him trembling with outrage. Like he liked thinking about her any more than she wanted to think about him. Did she think he was enjoying this? Who the fuck did she think she was?

And who the hell was she to call their sex meaningless? It had meaning. There was loads of meaning in any sex they had. Every time he touched her, it was a bloody revelation. Was she just sparing her own ego by walloping his? Did she even have the first clue as to who she was dealing with?

“You rotten, conceited bint,” Spike growled dangerously, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out beneath his boot.

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Spike?”

“If you think a second of this is bloody fun for me, you’re outta your head.” He started forward, nearing her slowly—a predator sizing his prey. “You think I like waking up with you on my mind? You think I like bein’ seized so many times a day with the need to wank off? I admit, it was fun at first, but now?” He shook his head shortly and continued forward, walking her backwards until her back collided with the wall of yet another mausoleum. He slammed his hand against the wall next to her head and his nostrils flared. “You’ve taken every rational part of me an’ twisted it into something so bloody wrong that I’m giving Angel a run for his money with the number of screws I have loose. It was bloody pathetic enough, drenched in soul as he was. An’ that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to make my existence a mockery, too! Or is that you think I like craving slayer pussy? You think I want to be so bloody enamored with you? Huh?” His eyes flickered meaningfully, then he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Maybe, just maybe, I’m not the one who’s amazingly self-confident, sweetheart.”

It crashed over him like a tidal wave. The words were out there, between them, and suddenly he found himself drenched in her fear. In the crushing sound of her heart breaking. Spike realized for the first time that tears were tracking down her cheeks. That she was looking at him like she never had before—not like a vampire, not like a lover, not like a man…she was looking at him as though he had just eaten her heart, and spat it out when the flavor didn’t agree with him.

The part of him that wanted to hate her had wormed its way outside, and he’d allowed it. Oh Christ, he’d allowed it. Spike’s eyes went wide and he reached for her, every inch of him drowned in regret.

He’d spoken words that he didn’t believe; he’d spoken words that he wanted to believe, and he’d spoken them to make himself believe it. And in doing so, he’d slain them both.

“Oh balls, Buffy,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that. I—”

The ache was back, only it was worse. God, it had never felt like this. A sharp stab in the gut, wielded from a sword of hurt. And before he could stop her, Buffy had shoved him away and torn off across the graveyard. She was out of sight in a matter of seconds, and he was crippled in pain. He fell to his knees as the ache became too much, and gasped as his insides were consumed in guilt.

God. She was right. She was so fucking right. Only she couldn’t be, because he needed her. He needed her, and he’d ruined it.

How on God’s earth was he going to fix this?

To be continued…

Chapter 19 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: OH MY GOD! Beloved in Blood was nominated at Spuffy Awards!!!

I guess my desire to keep it light and fluffy totally got side-tracked. Heehee! It was nominated for Best Angst, Best Saga, and Best 'Missed The Bed Again'. ***BOUNCING UNCONTROLLABLY*** THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE NOMINATIONS!!! Now I just gotta stop running around the room long enough to get some more writing done!!!

And in case I don’t get a chance to update again before Tuesday (eeep!) Happy Fourth!!!

Chapter 19

Buffy didn’t know where she was running until her legs carried her up the walk at the mansion. Every nerve in her body screamed in rage and the sickness that had enveloped her stomach became more prominent with every step. Her skin was singed—as though someone had dangled her above a fire for their own amusement. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. She was gutted. Spike’s words had gutted her. His anger. His outrage. His crudeness. Her chest was burning and she needed relief.

No. Relief wasn’t what she needed. She needed the hurt to be gone completely. She needed to not break, no matter how hard Spike tried to break her. She needed to get over this—she needed to suck up and do what she’d told herself she’d do all along—forget the past few weeks. She needed to forget. She needed to forget everything.

There could be no more playing with her bite mark. No more waiting for Ghost Spike’s touch. No more snapping at her non-Spike male friends and ex-boyfriends and watchers. Whatever hold Spike had on her would eventually destroy her if she didn’t put an end to it. Walking away from him that first morning hadn’t lessened his hold on her—rather, every day thereafter had secured her fall, little by little.

At the Bronze, he’d kissed her and she’d pushed him away. She’d told him to forget her while knowing damn well that she couldn’t forget him. Just two nights ago, she’d allowed him into her body again. And again, she’d walked away, telling herself that time would heal all wounds.

Nothing could heal, though, if she didn’t try to heal it. Buffy wiped at her eyes and sniffed pathetically. Angel wasn’t the answer. God, she knew Angel wasn’t the answer. Any love she’d felt for Angel had dwindled into nothing. However, Angel was her only other link to the wild and wacky world of dating, besides Scott. And she wasn’t about to crawl to Scott. Besides, the guy had seemed kinda gay.

She was hung up on a vampire. It would take a vampire to fix it.

With the way she’d been acting, it would be perfectly fair for Angel to slam the door on her face, so Buffy didn’t bother wasting a knock. She barged right in, evidently startling the vampire so much that he jumped off the sofa and dropped the book he’d been reading.

“Buffy,” he said shortly, not bothering to mask his astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t say anything. Her body was hurting too much to say anything. Every step that she took toward Angel ripped through her insides. She’d be lucky if she made it all the way to him without passing out from the pain.

“Buffy, are you okay?”

The redundancy of the question annoyed her. Anyone with eyes could tell she wasn’t okay.

No, dumb-ass.

“Have…Buffy, have you been crying?”

She hadn’t stopped crying. If she wasn’t weeping on the outside, she was sobbing on the inside. But she said nothing. She couldn’t.

Instead, she swore an oath to herself, sucked in a breath, then marched forward until she was up against him. Her heart was thundering, and not from nerves. No, she wasn’t nervous from what she was about to do. She was, quite literally, ill.

But that didn’t stop her from grasping the sides of his head and pulling his lips down to hers.

No matter how sick it made her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike sat atop a headstone, smoking a cigarette, and feeling sorry for himself. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. Every time he inhaled, he smelled her tears. He was trying hard to ignore the pain stretching through his veins, though he was resigned to sleeping in a borrowed crypt if he couldn’t make it back to his.

It hurt to walk. It hurt to think. And he deserved it. He deserved whatever the Powers dished out. He deserved every pang of Dru’s wretched hex. For what he’d done to Buffy, what he’d said to Buffy…Christ, he deserved everything and more. She’d done nothing but be honest with him. She’d practically handed herself over on a golden plate. She’d given him more than he could have ever deserved in light of what he’d done to her, and he’d had the stones to ask for more. To insult her when she didn’t give it. To aim his words for the deepest cut when she refused to be someone that she wasn’t.

As though he’d want anyone else.

Spike chuckled miserably. Buffy had infected him with her light, and he was burning from the inside. He was becoming something he’d fought since his rebirth. The true self he’d covered under the persona of what Dru had wanted him to be. What Angelus had told him to be. He resented her so much he could kiss her senseless.

Buffy deserved nothing of what he’d given her. He was tearing himself up over something he couldn’t control, and it was because of what she’d done to him. What she’d unintentionally done to him. He’d kidnapped her, followed her, kissed her, convinced her to sleep with him again and still managed to blame her for everything that was wrong in his life. That wasn’t the sort of man he wanted to be. Not for her. He wanted to be someone she deserved.

And fuck if that wasn’t terrifying. The kind of man Buffy deserved was exactly the kind of man he was not. She deserved someone more like the gentleman he’d been lifetimes ago, only stronger. And Spike didn’t know how to be that man. He’d spent so much time running from his inherent nature—running from the man his mother had called William—that he’d forgotten what was important. The part of him that hadn’t been pathetic. The part of him that had been genuine.

Of course, wanting to be anything for Buffy was insane. It was absolutely insane.

But Spike was tired of fighting it. He was so bloody tired. It’d only been a few weeks, and he knew that there would be no getting over her. She was in his gut, in his throat—she swam in his blood and lived in his heart. No matter how much he might resent her light, he was drowning in it, and he wouldn’t fight his way out now if he could.

Spike offered the night another acerbic chuckle and shook his head. “I’m fucked,” he said, then laughed again. “I am completely buggered.”

The words died and the night was quiet again.

So quiet that when the first wave struck, he barely knew what hit him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was kissing Spike.

Buffy didn’t know how, but she wasn’t about to question it. The second her eyes had closed, she’d found herself kissing Spike. The hurt had vanished. The ache that had her insides broken had subsided. She was kissing Spike. She knew Spike’s kisses so well. She breathed him in and clutched desperately at his shoulders. Her mind washed away the illusion of a broad, bulky body—replacing Angel’s imposing frame with Spike’s smaller, wiry build. She drowned in his taste. Cigarettes and alcohol, and even the hint of leather.

It was so right. It was so unbelievably right. The Powers had intervened. They’d seen her mistake, and they’d given her what she wanted instead. And everything else, for the moment, didn’t matter to her. Not what he’d said, not her knowledge that whatever they had couldn’t last. Right now, she was in his arms, and all reservations could wait.

“Buffy,” he murmured against her lips. A girl could lose herself in his accent. “God, I’ve missed you.”

She swelled with happiness. “I’ve missed you,” she replied, drawing his mouth back down to hers. Her eyes remained shut. She just wanted to kiss him. She needed Spike so badly. She needed him to kiss her and whisper that everything would be all right. That all her worries were for naught, that all her fears were completely ridiculous, and that he needed her more than he needed blood.

But Spike wouldn’t say that. Not to her. So she’d settle for kissing him.

It made the hurt go away. Spike was the only one who could ease her pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was in agony. He was in complete agony, and he was seething with jealousy.

Jealousy at what, he didn’t know. It had seized his insides from nowhere, and he burned with knowledge. Someone was touching her. Someone was touching his slayer. And Spike couldn’t stand it.

He’d never felt anything like this. It didn’t wash away the pain; rather, his jealousy meshed with pain, and he found himself tearing headstones from the ground and smashing them against stone walls. He’d vamped uncontrollably, screaming and roaring at the sky, his howls an attempt to get the Powers to leave him alone.

It was impossible, but he knew it. He felt it. Buffy was with someone else.

Someone that wasn’t him.

And he’d done it. He’d driven her to that. His anger had driven her away.

Spike moaned pitifully and sank to his knees among the mess he’d made. Buffy was ripping him apart because he’d ripped her apart. It was poetic justice, he supposed, in some small way.

She was killing him. She was absolutely killing him. And he deserved it.

However, that didn’t make the demon howl any less. It didn’t ease the ache in his chest. It didn’t do anything to reign in his fangs. It didn’t stop his blood from burning.

Buffy was out there with someone else, and it was ripping him apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Buffy…”

She sighed happily. “Mmmm…Spike…”

There was a long, cold pause. The air was thick with astonishment.

“What?!” Strong, non-Spikeish hands grasped her shoulders and thrust her away from the arms that held her, and her eyes flew open. Angel was staring at her in a strange combination of horror and disgust. “Spike?” he demanded. “You were thinking of Spike while you were kissing me?”

Oh God. Oh God. She had been kissing Angel. It hadn’t been Spike at all. Suddenly, all the nausea and pain that the presence of Ghost Spike had chased away came rushing back, only worse. God, it was so much worse. Buffy gasped, pressing a hand to her stomach.

“Oh God…” she moaned. “Uhhh…”

“Buffy?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick…”

And she was sick. The few minutes she’d masked her infidelity were getting their own back in pain, and it was more than her body could handle. Buffy lurched forward with a gag, and vomited.

Violently.

All over Angel.

Buffy didn’t bother looking at him. Didn’t bother apologizing. She staggered pathetically and braced herself against the sofa, gathering her bearings. She heaved deep breaths and tried to keep her body from breaking down and gagging again.

Wasn’t Spike. It wasn’t Spike.

She needed to run before she tossed her cookies again. She needed to get away from Angel, and fast. He was making her sick.

And before her drenched ex-boyfriend could utter a word, Buffy summoned every inch of her strength and ran like hell was chasing her.

To be continued...

ETA: I don’t typically do that kind of humor (or like it, for that matter) but it was too good to resist. =D

Just thought I’d clarify – while Buffy was kissing Angel, her nausea didn’t go away. It was building the entire time, only repressed because her mind managed to convince her that she was kissing Spike. It was pretty much a mind over matter thing.

Also, I feel like I should restate that Spike knows very, very little about claims. I’ve already written the scene where Angel explains why that is (about three chapters away) but I wanted to get that out there again. As I said in my author’s note for Chapter 7, I’m working from the angle that since Spike has never claimed anyone or been claimed before, he doesn’t know what to associate his feelings with. Jumping to the “claim” conclusion isn’t even on his radar. I’m just trying something different. Please bear with me; I promise I won’t forget about the claim…but I’m having a lot of fun writing this, and if I answered the claim thing now, a lot of the story would be gone. =)

Chapter 20 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Hey everyone!! Hope you had a lovely 4th…those who celebrate it, anyway. =) Sorry about the delay in updates, but hopefully this chapter will make up for it. Thank you all again so much for your amazingly generous feedback. ***hugs***

Ohh! This story was selected as the Featured Fic at Buffy and Spike Central. Heehee!!! ***giddy***

Chapter 20

She was in pain.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that she was in pain. The second his jealousy evaporated, the second he knew that she was no longer being touched by another man, his insides had been engulfed in agony. Agony that he knew, somehow, didn’t belong wholly to him. Buffy was hurting. And since the past few days hadn’t provided shining examples of his aptitude, it didn’t take much to convince him to go to her. He wouldn’t sleep well until he saw her again.

So it came as little surprise when Spike found himself under her window. He’d arrived just seconds after she’d bolted up the tree and shut herself in her room. He’d waited through her nighttime routine, and now the lights were off. The lights had been off for a while.

He’d be lucky if she didn’t toss him out her window, but he had to know that she was all right.

And his raging demon needed to know that she was alone.

Spike drew in a deep breath and made short work of climbing up the tree. When he finally peered inside her room, a pang struck his heart, his breath catching in his throat. She was laying on her side, naked, her back to him. And she was crying. The small trembles that racked her body were practically indiscernible, as were her muffed sobs, but he heard and saw everything.

She was hurting, and he was the reason. And perhaps turning away was the right answer, but Spike didn’t pride himself on his forethought. He knew he couldn’t walk away without trying.

He rapped lightly on her window, then louder when she didn’t turn over or act like she’d heard him. Buffy remained on the bed, wrapped in her blankets, crying.

Bugger this. There was no time to wait. Spike pushed the window open and climbed into the room, not even bothering to stop and observe the fact that she had yet to revoke his invitation to her home. He quickly shed his duster and drew his tee over his head, hesitated, then turned his hands to his jeans. He was sure to make as much noise as possible, and from the way her sobs quieted, he was satisfied that she knew he was there.

Satisfied enough to approach her, lift the covers, and slide into bed behind her.

“Buffy?”

She shook her head and didn’t look at him.

Spike sighed and ran a hand down her arm, relishing her warmth. Relishing the way she trembled under his touch. He inhaled sharply, lowering his mouth to her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, accentuating each word with a kiss against her skin. “I didn’t mean a word of it, Buffy. I really didn’t.”

She shivered. “I didn’t mean to mess up your life, Spike.”

“You didn’t, baby.” I messed up yours. “You didn’t.”

“You were so angry earlier.”

“I know.” His hand slid down her body slowly, slipping beneath the covers to caress her skin. “Something bad’s got a handle on me, Slayer. Every time I think I got control over myself, I do somethin’ to bollocks myself up. An’ you…I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling, an’ I don’t know what I want anymore.”

She was quiet for a long minute. “I’m sick,” she said softly.

Spike frowned. “Huh?”

“I think I’m sick, and it’s getting worse.”

“You’re not sick.”

“Every part of me hurts.” Buffy shivered and moaned, parting her thighs for him when his fingers urged her legs apart. “Spike…what are you doing?”

“Do you hurt right now?” he asked softly, his hand cupping her pussy, his mouth peppering her skin with sweet kisses. “Does this make you hurt?”

A long whimper tore through her throat and she shook her head. “I don’t hurt when you’re with me,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean…Spike…we can’t…oooh!”

Spike smiled against her shoulder, sliding two fingers inside her, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing her gently. “Don’ think right now,” he murmured. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

“Uhhh…you do?”

“I can make the hurt stop, yeah?” His grin widened when she gasped and arched her back against him, twisting just slightly so that she could hook an arm around his neck and giving him access to those sweet little tits of hers. Spike’s lips dipped immediately, closing over a mouthful of Buffy breast. “I’ll make the hurt stop,” he mumbled, sucking intently on her ruby nipple. “I’ll make it all stop.”

“But…what I said…”

“I know what you said.” Spike looked up and caught her eyes. “I won’t do anything you don’t want, Slayer,” he murmured. “I want to make you feel good. I want to make you not hurt anymore.” He brushed his lips against hers, his fingers thrusting deeper inside her. He grinned when she gasped against his mouth. “Forget it all for tonight. Let me make you feel good.”

“This is only gonna make it worse,” Buffy protested. “I’m gonna wake up and it’s gonna be worse.”

“Then I’ll make it better again.”

She sighed. God, she sounded so tired. So thoroughly run down, and the implication tore at his heart. “I told you, Spike. I can’t be that girl,” she said. “You can make it sound as wonderful as you like, but it’s the same thing. I want you…but I can’t keep doing this if you’re gonna turn me into that girl.”

“The rebound girl, you mean?” He flicked his tongue over her nipple, gently easing his fingers out of her body. “Stretch your leg over my thigh.”

Buffy looked uncertain, but did as he asked. In a blink, he had his hand wrapped around his cock and was teasing her sopping folds with his velvety head. “You’re not my rebound girl, Slayer,” he whispered, kissing the swell of her breast. “I honestly don’t know what you are.”

“Spike, please.”

The hurt was gone. Being near her, having her body pressed to his, her eyes soaking him in, had chased the hurt away. Spike shivered. He needed her so much, and he didn’t know why. And truthfully, right now, it didn’t seem to matter. He could worry about what it meant for him tomorrow. Now he would try his hand at being the sort of man she deserved. The sort of man who eased her pain. The sort of man who was there for her when she needed it.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Buffy murmured again, her eyes misting with tears. “I can’t.”

“I know.” Spike brushed a kiss across her cheek. He’d never thought he could share tenderness with a woman who wasn’t Dru, but feeling Buffy against him made his demon want to banish every intimate memory that he’d captured with a woman that wasn’t his slayer. “Is this gonna make it worse?” he asked. “If I shag you, will it make it worse? The hurt, I mean.”

She was quiet for a long minute and swallowed hard. “I don’t think it can get worse,” she said.

Me, neither.

“I want you.” Spike curled his arms around her, the head of his cock slipping inside her hot sheath, and he hissed his pleasure against her neck. “I want you so much.”

“Ohhh…”

“I’ll make it better.” His arms tightened around her and he fought off a contented purr. “One more time. Let me chase your hurt away.”

Buffy mewled and nodded, and he sank balls-deep into her pussy. And the world around him dissolved in bliss. Spike growled and pressed his mouth to her shoulder, crushing her so tightly to his chest that he practically swallowed her. It just kept getting better. Their first time had been explosive. Their night in the crypt had rocked his foundations. But this? There was simply no comparison to this. To holding her in her girlish room filled with slayer things while drenched in her heavenly scent. To holding her in the place she called home, rather than somewhere where the world could at times feel false.

“Flatten your back against me, luv,” he murmured.

“I won’t be able to see you.”

He kissed her lips and grinned. “You’ll feel me, baby. That’s what matters.”

The look in her eyes was reluctant and uncertain, and though his body was screaming for her compliance, his heart warmed at the knowledge that she wanted to see his face while he was inside her. That she wasn’t trying to ignore him and pretend the pleasure he gave her came from someone else.

He sucked in a deep breath when she finally turned, when her back was fully pressed to his chest. Spike kissed her shoulder again, his right hand finding her hand where it rested against her abdomen, and he laced his fingers through hers.

“Close your eyes, pet,” he murmured, suckling at her throat. God, she tasted sweet, and while the hum of her pulse taunted his fangs, he was both pleased and surprised when they failed to descend. He began moving slowly, peppering her skin with kisses as he fought back a predatory growl. Her silken walls were driving him mad. God, she molded around him like no one else ever had. Like she was made for him.

Like she was his.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he murmured into her hair, cupping a breast. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“Really?” she asked, and Christ, she started flexing her vaginal muscles around him, and he about lost it. “I’ve never…this is a new thing for me…”

“From behind, you mean?”

Buffy nodded miserably.

Spike grinned and squeezed her hand, increasing his pace so that his balls slapped against her with every thrust. While his body was screaming to pound her into the mattress, the years with his crazed sire had not permitted gentle loving behind closed doors. He’d wanted to experience this with someone for so long, and she was arching and moaning against him, each drive into her pussy earning a sharp gasp, as though he touched something new every time.

“Good,” he purred into her ear. “I love hearing that I’ve given you so many firsts.” His fingers abandoned her breast with one last teasing pull to her nipple, sliding slowly down her abdomen. “I love knowing that no one’s ever eaten you out before—”

“You can’t remember that,” she teased.

God, he loved it when she teased.

“An’ I really think…you oughta give me another shot to make it memorable,” he purred, capturing her clit between his thumb and forefinger.

She moaned. “It was plenty memorable,” she countered, thrusting her ass back against him and spreading her legs wider. “Ohhh…oh my God.”

The strain in her voice did a number on him, and he felt his own voice weaken in turn. “I meant…memorable for me…but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“You don’t…don’t remember it…so it…obviously…wasn’t memorable.”

Spike grinned and nipped at her earlobe. “You just…said it was,” he reminded her, rubbing her clit furiously. “I know ‘cause I was right here.”

“Memorable for…me,” she said, her breath hitching on another long moan. “Not…for you.”

“I assure you…if I hadn’t…been pissed outta my mind…it would’ve been… memorable for…everyone.”

Buffy moaned and pressed hard against him. “You mean you and…me…instead of…just me…right?”

“You catch on fast, kitten.”

Spike was thrusting hard into her now, the growls scratching at his throat becoming more pronounced. There was nothing about this that he didn’t love. The raw slaps their bodies made as they moved together, the whimpers and moans that tumbled through her lips, the slippery feel of her clit between his fingers, the matchless warmth of her pussy, the way her wet tightness nearly made him pop. There were so many things about this that he loved. So many things that he’d never had all at once—so many things he’d never had at all.

He wanted to bite her. He wanted to taste her blood as her pussy clenched around his cock, as his name tumbled through her lips. He wanted it so bad. He wanted it, but he didn’t dare. Not now. Biting her was something the demon wanted, and he was determined to be the man she deserved, if only for now. If only for this time he had with her before reality tumbling back.

God, he loved the sound she made when she came. The way she cried out with a twisted gasp. The way her body trembled and convulsed around him. The way her muscles clamped around his cock, the way her hand squeezed his hand. The reverent breath of air that carried his name. He loved it all.

And that was when it hit him. Right then. At the peak of her orgasm, that was when it hit him.

It would be so easy to love her. So incredibly easy.

The thought was too much. Too large. Too terrifying. He was drunk on her, and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t think right now. Spike screwed his eyes shut and came violently, jolts of ecstasy tearing through his body. He pressed his mouth to her skin to stifle his moan of completion. There was no greater solace than this. None in the world.

And when the haze settled and he opened his eyes, the thought remained.

Buffy was pressed against him, panting, and the thought remained.

He could love her.

God, if that wasn’t a kick in the balls.

To be continued…

Chapter 21 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Again, I have nothing profound. I just love you guys. ***HUGZ***

Chapter 21

She would give anything for this to never end. It was such an odd moment—a rarity handed down by the universe—and she knew that once it was over, there would be none like it. Spike was in her bed. He was lying on his side, his head resting against her pillow. And even though he wasn’t touching her, it was surprisingly the most intimate moment of her life.

“You have a comfy bed,” Spike observed, stretching those gorgeous muscles of his and flashing a grin. “Fella could get used to this.”

“I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

“The bed or the fella?”

Buffy blushed and tore her eyes from his. It had been the mother of all strange nights, and Spike wasn’t doing much to clear matters up for her. Earlier, he had shoved her against a mausoleum wall and verbally torn her into pieces. In a matter of minutes, he’d converted her every fear into stark reality—the fears that had convinced her to walk away from him after that amazing night in the crypt. He didn’t want to want her; he resented himself for wanting her. His interest in her didn’t extend past her girl parts, and he’d just as soon snap her neck as get to know the girl who owned those parts.

Spike’s anger—his open loathing for her—had ripped her apart. And she didn’t know why. Granted, they had shared a few magical kisses and she craved his touch like she’d craved no one else’s, but that didn’t change the way things were between them. It didn’t change the circumstances that had brought them together or her confusion over those circumstances. She craved him and she didn’t know why, and every time they were apart, the hurt got a little worse. She’d thought she could fix her problems by erasing Spike’s touch with another’s, but no. Big, big no. Running to Angel had very obviously been a mistake.

Her body ached for Spike. She couldn’t be with anyone else. Furthermore, she didn’t want to be with anyone else. The thought of Angel touching her made her want to hurl—which perhaps explained why she’d actually, well, hurled. She’d gone to her ex-boyfriend as a means to an end. A way to eradicate the effect Spike had on her, which had backfired miserably.

Buffy felt so horribly guilty for kissing Angel, and she knew she shouldn’t. It wasn’t like she hadn’t told Spike each of the four times they’d been together that he needed to leave town and forget about her. They weren’t together. He wasn’t her steady. He wasn’t going to be her prom date. And yet, trying to find intimacy with another man had made her toss her cookies.

It defied logic, but she felt like she had betrayed Spike. Even after what he’d done to her, said to her, she felt that she’d betrayed him. And he was with her now. Spike was in her bed, his eyes warm and kind, if a little conflicted. Whatever had possessed him just a few hours before had evidently moved on, and he’d begged her forgiveness.

None of this made any sense to Buffy, but she’d stopped trying to rationalize her feelings. Being away from Spike made her hurt, and she didn’t want to hurt.

But being with Spike was almost as dangerous, because she was growing to like him too much. She loved the way he talked to her. The way he’d helped her up after she literally walked into a wall. The way his eyes danced when he watched her ramble. The helpless need that seized his body whenever she touched him.

But eventually, this thing they had would wear off. It couldn’t last forever. And when it did wear off, Spike would happily roar out of town and, if she wasn’t careful, take her heart with him. Buffy couldn’t allow that.

Only it was incredibly difficult to remember why she wanted him out of her bed when he looked at her like that.

“You still feelin’ sick, luv?” Spike asked softly, jarring her out of her reverie.

“Oh.” She flushed. “No.”

“So it worked, then?” He grinned, placing a hand on her hip and massaging her gently through the covers. “My healing technique?”

“Incredibly.”

“I’m available whenever you need me,” he offered, his tone insanely hopeful, and his eyes dancing as though he’d just discovered a lost Sex Pistols LP. “Just say the word an’ I’ll heal you right up.”

Yeah. He would. She knew he would. She could snap her fingers and he’d be at her side, his hands and mouth ready to take her to the stars and back. And she’d let him because she needed it—because the longer she was away from him, the more unbearable the pain became. Each tryst would be capped with a promise to herself to not slip up again and an ultimatum to Spike, who wouldn’t listen. Who would pop up to say something sexy and wonderful and she’d cave.

She’d cave until he owned more than her body, and then he’d leave. He’d remember who he was. He’d remember that he hated her. And he’d remember that there were women out there with much more talent in the bedroom, and much more to offer a man who wanted full service.

Her musings must have been plastered all over her face. The next thing she knew, Spike glanced down and sighed shortly. “Uh oh,” he said, more to himself. “You have that look again.”

“That look?”

“I know what’s coming next.”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “Spike,” she began softly. “I—”

“You can’t be that girl.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re not. You’re not that girl to me.” He leaned inward and pressed his lips to her brow. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, Slayer. No more than you do. But I know I can’t be away from you for a sodding minute without feelin’ like someone’s skinning me alive. I dunno what it is that’s doing this to us.”

Her heart fell a little. For as much as she hated the confusion, a part of her had needlessly clung to the hope that he would think it natural. Spell or no spell, her feelings were genuine, and that was what terrified her.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What’s doing this to us?”

“I’ve wondered if it’s Dru.”

Buffy tried hard to kill the insane bolt of jealousy that surged through her. She really did. “Dru?” she repeated tersely.

For a second, she thought she saw his lips quirk upwards in a grin. “Yeah,” Spike replied. “I got to thinking that she might’ve put a hex on me. She wasn’t too pleased with my truce with you.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“Yeah. I think she might’ve hexed us.”

“Into sleeping together?”

Spike nodded. “As often an’ as much as possible.”

That didn’t sound right. Buffy’s nose wrinkled, her jealousy dying. “This is a joke. You’re playing a little joke on me right now.”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Only I actually did mull that over, an’ I haven’t completely discounted it. Something’s going on, Slayer. I’ve been known to think with my dick before, but whatever’s happening between us has…well…I don’ know what’s happening between us.”

“I don’t, either.”

“All I know is it gets worse when we’re apart.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “To the point where we’re ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“That part I don’t mind so much.”

She sighed heavily. “I’ve told you, Spike. I can’t do that. I can’t do casual sex. I can’t—”

“Has any sex that we’ve had been casual?”

If she turned any redder, she’d start flagging in aircraft. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I know what you’ve meant each of the seventeen times you’ve told me that, an’ I know that what you mean’s gonna get in the way of what you want after you an’ I go a few days without seein’ each other.” Spike kissed her brow again, and God, she tried not to swoon at how wonderful his lips felt against her skin. “So I’m not seeing where your telling me to stay away from you is gonna make a bit of difference.”

“I can’t just keep sleeping with you until this thing goes away!”

Spike pouted. “Why not?”

“God, would you stop?!” At his confused look, she gestured toward his face and shook her head violently. “With the lip and the puppy dog eyes just because I can’t be Casual Sex Girl. I can’t. It’s going to kill me in the long run, and I’d rather die from this pain than from something much worse.”

His eyes became more confused. She’d lost him, and she wasn’t about to clarify. If she told him she was afraid that she’d fall in love with him in the meantime, only to be kicked to the curb once he was free of his slayer-lust, he’d laugh her out of the room. And since it was her room, she wasn’t about to stand for that.

A long sigh tumbled through her lips. “I just can’t do it,” Buffy whispered. “I can’t. Please don’t ask me to do something I can’t.”

Spike was quiet for a long minute, his eyes unreadable. Then his face softened and he nodded gently. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “Okay. But…Slayer, that doesn’ change anything. We’re still going to be hurtin’ when we’re apart.”

She flashed to the look on Angel’s face and moaned, stifling a sporadic giggle. Aside from her guilt for cheating on Spike—even though she hadn’t really been cheating because they weren’t together—the entire thing had been rather funny. “Yeah. I know,” she agreed. “Only it could be worse.”

“Worse?”

Buffy nodded. “I tried to…be with someone else tonight,” she said, and was only mildly surprised when Spike’s jaw tightened and he offered nothing but a short nod. “It…it was Angel.”

He was quiet.

“Spike? Spike, please say something. You’d scared me. You’d…I was hurt and I needed to see if I could get over you by…” She glanced down and shuddered. “I know it sounds horrible, but I was—”

“Slayer…”

“We’re not together, so it’s not like I was cheating—”

“Slayer—”

“—and even so, you’d just torn my heart out so it’s not like I wasn’t entitled—”

“Slayer—”

“And I was thinking about you the entire time—like literally, I moaned your name and everything, so I don’t see where you have a right to be angry with me.”

“Buffy!”

It likely wasn’t a good idea for him to be shouting—or speaking loudly, as that was more accurate—but she really didn’t care. Her heart was threatening to break out of her chest.

“Buffy, I…” Spike paused and looked at her for a long minute, a grin stretching his lips. “You were thinkin’ about me?”

She nodded pitifully. “Yes.”

“You moaned my name?”

“Yes.”

“An’ Angel was there.”

“He was right there.”

“An’ he heard you.”

“Unless he had his ears plugged, which he didn’t. But that’s not the bad part.” Buffy sucked in a deep breath. “I ralphed.”

“You what?”

“I ralphed all over Angel. I kissed him and I got so caught up in the fantasy that I was kissing you that I forgot I wasn’t and when I moaned your name and remembered where I was…I kinda just…threw up on Angel.”

Spike stared at her for a long, quiet second. “You kissed Angel.”

“Yes.”

“And you thought about me.”

“Again, yes.”

“So much that you forgot you were kissing Angel.”

“You have yet to say anything incorrect.”

“And when you realized you were kissing Angel, it made you heave.” A pause. “Literally.”

Buffy nodded. “That sums it up very accurately, yes.”

There was a long moment in which Spike just blinked at her, stone-faced. She held her breath in anticipation of his reaction, heart in her throat.

And then he burst out laughing.

“Hey!” She shrank back under the covers and whacked his shoulder. “It’s not that funny. It was…” Her mind flashed back to the horrified look on Angel’s face, and in a blink, she found herself laughing, too. “Okay, yes, it was that funny.”

“Angel made you heave.” His raucous chuckles were quickly disintegrating into shrill giggles. He was actually trembling with mirth, and she found it unspeakably adorable. “He made you physically ill.”

“Yes.”

It took a few minutes for him to find control. Just when she thought his laughter was about to die down, he’d remember why it was funny in the first place and guffaw loudly before dissolving into giggles again.

“Though to be fair,” he said when he found his voice again, strained as it was, “can you be sure it wasn’t belated mornin’ sickness?”

“You know what? Eat me.”

“I’ve been tryin’, but you keep shooting me down.”

Without realizing it, Buffy’s hand had wheedled under the covers, her fingers coming to rest on the bite mark. “You shouldn’t throw that in my face,” she said softly. “Especially since we’ve decided that we’re not having sex anymore.”

“Actually, you decided that. I jus’ sat here and listened.”

“Spike—”

He held up a hand and nodded. “I know. I know, kitten. But that doesn’ solve our problem. We go days without seein’ each other, an’ this is going to happen. Not to mention, if you go an’ try something stupid like snog Angel to get over me, you’ll heave. An’ not that I don’t find that unbelievably hilarious, but I don’ think it’ll be good for that delectable body of yours.” He went quiet for a minute, reaching over to caress her face softly. “So what do you suggest?”

Buffy pursed her lips. “That we…don’t go days without seeing each other?”

“Slayer—”

“No. Wait. This could work.” Her eyes lit up and she suddenly bolted upright in bed, forgetting the blanket she had clutched to her chest. Her mind was racing so fast that she didn’t even notice the way Spike’s eyes widened hungrily the second they landed on her breasts. “Yes! Yes, this will work. We’ll see each other every day. Every day. You’ll come with me on patrols.”

“Yeah, because that’s how I wanna spend my evenings.”

Buffy turned to glower at him. “You have a better idea? I have to patrol. I have to do it without being in pain. I have to do it without thinking about you.” She ignored the way his eyes softened as though he was actually concerned about her welfare. A girl could read way too much into that. “If you’re right there with me, I’ll not only not be in pain, but you’ll be there so I won’t need to spend time thinking about you.”

“So you’re ignoring me on these patrols?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Hardly ever.”

She shuddered with an aggravated grumble. “Are you with me on this are not?”

“I’m with you.”

The way he said it nearly made her feel that he was in no way referring to her new plan. Her new Getting-Over-Crushing-On-Spike-Before-He-Breaks-Your-Heart plan. Her plan that included spending every night with him—which may or may not have been a stroke of genius. Being with him and not allowing herself to touch him would be difficult, but it was better than feeling used for sexual gratification. Either way, she knew things couldn’t keep on the way they were going. There was no harm in trying something new.

Though when he said things like that, when he spoke in that tone, it was hard to remember why she needed a new plan to begin with.

“There can be no touching on these patrols,” Buffy said, her voice suddenly shaky. “No kissing. No inappropriate fondling. No—”

“Is there such a thing as appropriate fondling?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

“Well…no.”

“You’re not any fun at all, you know that?”

“Spike…”

“I’m gonna need to be able to touch you, Buffy,” he said softly, glancing to the mattress almost shyly. “Just a little. Lemme hold your hand or something.”

“A patrol date?”

He shrugged. “You can call it whatever you like as long as I get to touch you a little. An’ since you’ve ruled out snogging and fondling—appropriate or not—I’ll settle for what I can get.”

If Buffy ever met the girl that could resist that, she was fairly sure she’d have to slay her on the grounds of the girl being anything but human. A sigh trembled through her lips, and she nodded shortly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Spike smiled as though she’d given him the world, and before she could stop him, his lips were on hers. And God, she melted on the spot. She moaned and whimpered and threw her arms around his neck. This was a bad start. This was a very bad start. Spike was kissing her. She lived for his kisses, and he was kissing her. And damn, it was hard to remember why she had put up rules against kissage when he kissed her.

“Unh…”

Before she could blink, he’d rolled her beneath him, his cock teasing her sopping flesh as his mouth worshipped hers.

“You’re breaking the rules,” she complained half-heartedly once their lips parted. Spike began showering her face with kisses, his hand sliding between them to caress her clit. “This is breaking the rules.”

“Rules don’ begin until tomorrow,” he replied. “Lemme have you one more time?”

“Ohh…”

“Just once more before it’s against the rules.”

She knew she should say no. She knew it. She knew she should push him off her and send him packing for being so presumptive. But he was doting kisses into her skin, his fingers were massaging her clit, and the head of his cock was pressing into her slit. And if she wasn’t going to get to feel this again, she wanted it one more time. One more time before it was against the rules.

“Please, Buffy…” Spike’s head dipped and he licked sensually at her neck. “One more time?”

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly, a moan tearing through her lips as he sank inside her. “Oh, yes.”

Just once more. Once more.

Something told her that this was an exceptionally bad start to the plan.

To be continued…

Chapter 22 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Again, I have nothing profound. **shuffles feet** You guys are just so incredibly awesome. ***HUGZ***

Finally, I bring you some plotty goodness (hopefully!) and some explanations about the claim. Not explanations to the big question (Spike’s obliviousness) just yet, but I promise, it’s coming. =D

Chapter 22

“Giles.”

The air filled with a shrill scream. Giles jumped and whirled around, his papers flying into the air. “Angel,” he said with a squeak, clearing his throat and straightening his necktie. “I thought I might be seeing you tonight.”

The vampire arched an amused brow and took a few steps forward. “Then why did you scream?”

“I meant to say hello.”

“What happened?”

“I misspoke.” Giles sighed irritably and started collecting his papers off the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“You just said you thought you might be seeing me tonight.”

“Yes, but I never worked out why.” He turned and headed toward the foyer. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Yeah, I know it’s short notice, but—”

Giles paused and glanced back at him. “Actually I meant we have to stop meeting altogether. What exactly is short notice? Oh, don’t tell me. Invading my library twice in one week, especially since the first time you left after telling me that you believe Spike has claimed my slayer.”

“You asked,” Angel objected, his hands coming up. “It was just a theory.”

He stared the vampire down for a long second, then turned again and resumed the trek to the foyer. “A theory you have since discredited as completely erroneous and absurd?”

“No.” A heavy sigh rolled off his shoulders. “Giles, I think that we might have a problem on our hands.”

“I find that I have many problems, and most of them revolve around you.”

“I think my theory has crossed that line.”

Giles placed his stack of papers atop the library checkout counter and turned, crossing his arms. “That line?”

“The line that separates things that are theories from things that aren’t theories.”

“You’re saying your theory has been confirmed since we last spoke.”

“I’m saying I have new reason to think that Spike claimed Buffy, beyond the evidence I had before.”

Giles’s brows perked. “Such as?”

“Haven’t you noticed she’s been in pain?” He paused. “Physical pain, I mean. She holds her stomach a lot and she often looks like she’s, well, sick.”

“No. Come to mention it, I haven’t noticed that. Are you sure that isn’t a natural reaction to being around you?”

Angel huffed an irritated sigh. “Look, Giles, I get that I’m perhaps your least favorite person in the world, but I am honestly here to help Buffy. And from what happened tonight, I think I have extremely good reason to be afraid for her. I think Spike claimed her.”

“Yes, we have covered this.” Giles paused. “What happened tonight?”

“She came to see me.”

“Buffy?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “No, Giles, Ava Gardner. Of course, it was Buffy.”

“You’re really comfortable taking that tone with me?”

“No,” he replied, shifting awkwardly. “It just happened.”

Giles peered at him over the rim of his glasses. “All right. What happened when she came by tonight to make you feel that your theory concerning Spike and a claiming ritual had some merit?”

“She kissed me.”

There was a long pause. “I can see where you would arrive at the conclusion that Buffy is mated to Spike because of that, only you’re completely, utterly, laughably wrong. Namely because…if Buffy is mated to Spike, she physically wouldn’t be able to withstand putting her lips anywhere on your body. Not that I understand how she managed it before, mind you, but I’m talking about a severe, physical aversion to—”

“She threw up.”

Giles glanced up, his face comically blank. “I beg your pardon?”

“Buffy kissed me. She looked like she was in pain, and she grabbed me and kissed me. Then she murmured Spike’s name, and when I reminded her that it was me she was kissing, she threw up.”

A nearly indiscernible titter rippled through the Watcher’s body. “Where?”

“On me, Giles. She threw up on me.”

From the look on Angel’s face, it was very clear that he expected righteous outrage at this revelation, which likely made the blow all the more severe. Giles couldn’t contain himself. He doubled over in loud, high-pitched chuckles, his hand flying over his mouth as his body dissolved in mirth. The visual was simply too much, and his mind provided it over and over again, in widescreen, Technicolor, and THX surround-sound.

The look on Angel’s face…he would have paid top dollar to see that.

“Oh please,” he managed between giggles, “please tell me you have this on tape somewhere.”

“Giles! We have a real thing, here!”

“Because she vomited after kissing you? Are you sure that simply wasn’t the natural reaction one has to kissing you?”

“Do you want to help Buffy, or do you want to make jokes?”

“I can do both.” The Watcher held up a hand and shook his head. “Angel, if Buffy’s reactions are that severe, you know that the worst hasn’t happened yet. There’s no way that Buffy would have accepted a claim issued by Spike.”

“She would still be sick, even if she had.”

Giles nodded. “Yes, but I’m saying, that hasn’t happened. With as well as you know Buffy—or did before you started murdering her friends—do you honestly think that she would ever, ever accept a claim issued by a vampire she loathes even more than she loathes you?”

“No. But—”

“If Spike claimed Buffy, it was decidedly one-sided.”

“You sound certain.”

“That’s because I am.” He sighed. “If a claim exists, she hasn’t accepted it. Spike’s hold on her is putting her through mental and physical agony, and it will wear off once the claim wears off. In the meanwhile…do you think it’s possible for you to convince Buffy to kiss you again? Only, make sure I’m in the room. That’s something I don’t want to miss.”

“You’re taking this very well.”

“That’s because I know that if Spike claimed Buffy, it was one-sided. We just went through this, remember?” Giles waved a little. “I was the one standing right here.”

Angel paused and licked his lips. “And what if you’re wrong?” he asked. “What if Buffy did accept?”

“She didn’t.”

“And if she did?”

“I’m standing here, telling you that she didn’t.”

“You had a front row seat, is that what you’re saying?”

Giles rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m saying that I know my slayer, and that there is absolutely no way in this world or the next that she would have accepted a claim from a vampire she hates, whether or not that vampire helped her avert the apocalypse.”

The vampire’s eyes flashed dangerously and he took a violent step forward. “Could you just stop and allow room for the possibility that once in a while, there are people in the room as smart as you? I know that Buffy wouldn’t have accepted the claim, if she knew what it was. I haven’t yet heard anything to convince me that Buffy knows what a claim is, let alone would know not to accept.”

“You don’t think that Buffy would have the presence of mind to tell Spike that, no, she doesn’t belong to him?”

Angel was still for a long beat. “All I’m saying is, if Buffy did accept, we have an even larger problem on our hands.”

“I know. But she didn’t.”

“If she accepted, it’s permanent. There’s nothing we can do.”

“That is another thing I know.”

“If she’s accepted, the only thing that will make her feel better is claiming him back.”

“You do realize that I know quite a bit, right?”

“If she’s accepted—”

“Angel, as much fun as speculating over nonsense with you has proven to be, we still don’t know if your claiming theory is accurate.” Giles smiled thinly at the vampire’s blank look. “We need to verify that this claiming took place.”

“She vomited when she kissed me!”

“I still say that had less to do with a claim and more to do with the fact that she was kissing you.”

Angel sighed and glanced down. “We need to talk with her.”

“Yes.”

“Not that she’ll tell us the truth. Though…” He paused and glanced up, his eyes pensive. “Buffy’s birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

Another long pause. Giles stared at him coldly. “And here I would think that you, of all non-people, would remember.”

“My point is, she’s turning eighteen. Isn’t this the year that the Council requests the Slayer go through the Cruciamentum?” Angel waited for the Watcher’s stiff nod before continuing. “If we haven’t been able to get any answers from Buffy, we might use that to gauge how Spike reacts to feeling her in danger.”

“Spike is still in town?”

“If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Giles suspected that much was true. It certainly didn’t seem that Angel cared much for visiting him. Furthermore, had Spike left town, there would be absolutely no reason to fear something as preposterous as a claim. Especially if the claim had not been accepted. If the claim had not been accepted, there was every chance that Spike was going through even more physical and mental agony than Buffy was.

He frowned. The claim had not been accepted. He knew Buffy well enough to know that. If there was a claim, it had not been accepted.

But as much as he hated to admit it, Angel was right. If Spike had committed the monumentally stupid faux pas of claiming Buffy, utilizing the Cruciamentum to test their connection was the best bet. It would have to be controlled, of course. Monitored. He wasn’t about to put Buffy in danger for the sake of a science experiment.

Though, honestly, he didn’t have much choice. The Cruciamentum was a rite that had been performed since before the dawn of time in the most literal sense. It had to happen anyway, and while it did, they might as well make the most of it.

“We talk to Buffy first,” Giles said softly. “Give her a chance to refute.”

“She’ll refute regardless.”

“We’re still talking to Buffy first.”

Angel nodded. “Okay.”

Giles exhaled deeply.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t putting Buffy in danger—at least, not in danger that she wouldn’t be in anyway. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not in the slightest.

The knowledge did little to shake the feeling that he’d just made a deal with the devil.

To be continued…

Chapter 23 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: I meant to post this morning, but I decided I’d rather sleep in than be half-dead at work.

Thank you guys so much for your wonderful support. ***HUGZ***

Chapter 23

“He’s gonna meet you for patrol tonight?”

Buffy nodded and chewed on her straw, her eyes distant. The school day could not end quickly enough. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s a part of a new plan.”

Willow perked her brows and leaned forward with interest. “A plan?” she asked. “A plan to make sure there are no more instances of freakish baby scares and—”

“A plan to generally get us through the ‘have to be together to not be in pain’ thing.” She sighed. “Every time we’re apart, I feel like my body is split in two. And it’s gotten worse ever since that one morning.”

“The one where he…you know…with the r—”

Buffy glanced up sharply and held up a hand. “No. No. Don’t say it. He didn’t. It was force, yes, but it wasn’t…that other word. If it was that other word, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it. I don’t want to hear you hint around that other word again, okay? Spike’s not like that. Even Angel said so.”

“Angel said so?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Angel figured it out. At this rate, I think the only person that doesn’t know is Giles.” A sigh rushed through her lips. “Unless Xander told him.”

Willow’s eyes darkened. “Well, Xander’s head comes to a point,” she growled, then shrank back in her seat when she realized what she’d said. “Dammit, I really need to stop doing that. Oz isn’t buying the PMS excuse anymore.”

“You haven’t told him about the delusting spell?”

“Doing that would mean telling him about the initial lust, and that’s not something I particularly want to do.” She shuddered. “It’s just wrong…saying the word lust in reference to Xander.”

“Now you know how I’ve felt. Xander’s just…my Xander-shaped friend.”

The redhead nodded. “Who should really look into getting his brains bashed in.”

Buffy glanced down to hide her amused grin. “You can tell him that. Looks like he and Cordy are on their way over.”

“Oh great,” she muttered, sinking further into her seat. “Can you just do me a quick favor and staple my lips shut?”

Buffy just snickered and resumed chewing on her straw, doing her best to dissimulate the way Willow all but growled at the brunette couple once they stopped at the table.

“Oh joy,” Cordelia said snidely. “Looks like Willow’s in another shining mood today.”

Xander just smiled uncomfortably and nodded. “Buffy,” he said, his tone abrupt. “Willow.”

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. They hadn’t really spoken since their fight—not any more than necessary, anyway—and it didn’t look like today would be the day for burying the hatchet. And though she knew she could clear things up rather quickly by telling Xander the full truth—the fact that Spike had kidnapped her and forced her to have sex with him—she didn’t think she needed to justify herself in his eyes. Furthermore, since their argument, she’d both seen and been with Spike, voluntarily, if not eagerly, a few times. If she was going to use the forced excuse, she’d have to be choosy in her words. As it was, Buffy felt that she had nothing to apologize for. She was confused, yes, but she was approaching the subject rationally. Spike wasn’t her boyfriend; he wasn’t even her lover. Until they could live separately without suffering mind-blowing pain, he was her patrolling partner. No more. No less.

Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.

“I was just saying,” Willow began shortly, glaring daggers at Xander, “you should really look into getting your brains bashed in.”

“It’s interesting,” Buffy mused, crossing her arms. “The way that idea is starting to really appeal to me.”

Cordelia fumed. Xander paled. “You know what?” he said, forcing a small chuckle. “We’re gonna turn around right now and go sit across the room. It’ll be like we were never here.”

Buffy watched their retreat with a small, amused grin. “You know, it’s funny now, but when the dust from this thing settles, you know what we’re gonna get?”

“A little punishment?”

“A little punishment.”

Willow glanced off thoughtfully. “You know what?” she said after a second. “Xander is a sleazy, slimy, adolescent, oversexed blow-hole, so I really don’t care what he thinks.”

Buffy snickered. “It’s lucky you hate Xander right now,” she said. “’Cause I hate men in general and Xander is the only vaguely male person we hang out with.”

The redhead waved. “Umm. I do have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, I think I can keep myself from beating him into a little furry pulp.” Buffy frowned and glanced around the cafeteria. “Where is Oz, anyway? Doesn’t he have this lunch?”

“He might be hiding under a table, worrying that you’ll beat him into a little furry pulp,” Willow teased. “Nah. He and Devon were gonna work on this new chord that Devon discovered over the weekend. Besides, you know Oz. He doesn’t eat much and he likes giving me time to miss him.”

The happiness in her friend’s eyes was only a mild source of envy. Buffy unwittingly found herself thinking of Spike. Thinking how lovely it would be if she had a concrete date on weekends. If she was one half of a pair. If she could sit down in a cafeteria and explain to others that her boyfriend wasn’t going to join her because it was daytime and he was way too old to be in high school, anyway.

She’d never had that. Not even with Angel. Angel had always felt like her dirty little secret, even when they were openly together. Her relationship with Spike—strange as it was—wasn’t a secret at all.

Well, okay, so she hadn’t told Giles…but that was only because she really didn’t want to.

“So,” Willow said perkily, drawing her back to the present. “Patrolling with Spike?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“How am I saying it?”

“You’re making it sound all dirty.”

“I am not!”

She stared at the redhead for a minute before glancing down with a giggle. “Oh, yeah. That was me.”

“Buffy, you’re not…”

“No.” She shook her head resolutely. “I am not. I am not about to go patrolling with Spike tonight for any reason beyond making my insides not feel like they’re being flambéed. It’s a part of the plan I have.”

“The purely platonic plan?”

Buffy nodded proudly. “Purely platonic. No kissage. No inappropriate…or appropriate fondling. And definitely no sex. There will be no sex between me and Spike. There will, however, be handholding.”

“Handholding? Spike will really be willing to hold your hand? You know, in public?”

“Will!” Buffy scowled. “It’s not like I’m a leper! We have to have some sort of contact. It’s the only way the plan makes sense.”

“Actually, there’s no way this plan makes sense.”

“Plus, Spike was the one who wanted to hold hands. It was his idea.”

It was really annoying, the way Willow’s eyes warmed. “Awww!”

“Stop that!”

“Well, come on! It’s sweet.”

“I am not contesting that it’s sweet. It’s totally sweet.” Buffy’s face flamed. “But I can’t…see, this is the only way the plan makes sense. I can’t be noticing it when Spike is randomly sweet or when he looks at me like he gives an honest damn or…I just can’t be noticing it! He’s gonna get over this…we both are…and then he’s gonna leave.”

Willow pursed her lips. “How do you know?”

“What do you mean, how do I know? He hates me, Will. Not as much right now as he does normally, but he came here to kill me. Once our crazy ‘can’t keep our hands off each other’ phase is over, he’s definitely going to leave.” A long, despondent sigh rolled off her shoulders. “And I can’t…I can’t be attached to him. In addition to his being a vampire and my being a slayer as a vocational conflict, some day quick he’s gonna wake up and remember how much he hates me. And then he’s gone and I’m left here.”

The redhead’s brow furrowed worriedly. “Buffy…”

“But in the meantime, if we’re not around each other, we’re both in serious pain. Like really, really serious pain.”

“So until the pain stops and Spike decides that he can’t be around you, you’re going to spend as much time with him as possible?”

“Not as much time as possible. Just…well, yes, as much time as possible.”

Willow thought for a minute, then perked her brow and shook her head. “Wow, is that a stupid plan.”

“You have any better suggestions?”

“No, but if I did, it would almost certainly be better than your incredibly stupid plan.”

Buffy scowled teasingly. “You’re not at all helpful.”

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t thought of possible foils to the plan. Being with Spike every night, getting to know him little by little, was either going to open her eyes and make her realize how stupid she was, worrying about falling for Spike. Or she’d melt at all the wonderful things he said, and fall for him regardless.

Willow was right. It was a stupid plan.

But it was the only solution. She just couldn’t keep having sex with Spike. Not when it meant more to her than it did to him. She wasn’t the kind of girl that could do that. She just wasn’t.

Buffy sighed and sank further into her chair. No matter how she looked at this, the chances of walking away with her heart intact were becoming more and more obsolete.

To be continued…

Chapter 24 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
All right. Here it is. Finally some talk of Spike lacks so drastically in the knowledge of claims. I so appreciate everyone who’s trusted me this far. You guys are so incredibly awesome. ***HUGZ***

Chapter 24

“I just thought of something.”

Giles didn’t even bother glancing up from his book. For the past ninety minutes, Angel had done nothing but pace and mutter things anxiously to himself. They had decided the night before to orchestrate a confrontation with Buffy after school—sooner rather than later. Today seemed as good a day as any.

That didn’t mean that Giles was prepared for Angel to arrive as early as he had. It was growing more and more difficult to ignore the urge to dust the prat.

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t care,” the Watcher finally replied, his tone dull and disinterested.

“Spike probably doesn’t know that he claimed Buffy.”

Giles froze and looked up slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think Spike knows that he claimed Buffy.”

“How exactly does that work?”

Angel sighed and cast a hand through his hair. “He wouldn’t…it’d have to be instinctual. I’ll bet everything that he was drunk. And if he was drunk, it could be that he has no earthly idea that he claimed Buffy.”

“Then how is it that he…what is it, oh yes, claimed Buffy?”

“It would’ve…” He trailed off, his eyes darkening as his jaw clenched. “If Spike claimed Buffy, it would’ve been a purely natural reaction to being…aroused. Or something equally disgusting. It’s possible that his demon felt or sensed something on a level beyond Spike’s understanding, and claimed Buffy based on that sensation.”

“A level beyond Spike’s understanding? That only leaves every level of human reasoning.”

“Spike doesn’t know how to claim.”

“What do you mean, he doesn’t know how to claim?” Giles demanded, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not applied mathematics. It’s one bloody word. You mean he has made it this far as a vampire without knowing how to claim someone? He does know he’s allergic to sunlight, right? And to stay from garlic?”

“Claiming is a very complex ritual!”

Giles scoffed. “Oh yes, very complex. ‘Mine. Yours.’ It’s right up there with ‘you’re it, no tag-backs.’”

“You do a lot of demonic claiming in the Watcher’s Council?”

“I’m glad you feel so comfortable using that tone with me, Angel. Really, I am.”

“I never taught Spike about claiming. He heard about it by accident, and I discouraged him from looking it up.” Angel paused. “Kind of like slayers. It was something that just slipped out when we were on the run from a mob. Darla and I were talking one night and he overheard us mention a mated couple we knew. We explained it to him, and I told him that he could never have Dru. Never. She’d never accept him, and if he tried, he was as good as dust.

“Last year, while I was…evil, Dru told me that Spike had considered claiming her after I left the fold, but she sensed it before he could research it to find out what it was or what he had to do to claim her. Before he knew what it meant. She told him in no uncertain terms that she would never accept him. Never. She thought it was funny…the look on his face when she told him, and I did too, at the time…” Angel sighed, his face a picture of self-loathing. “It’s possible that Spike researched it anyway, but I highly doubt it. If Dru put an end to his thinking that she would ever accept a claim, then he would have let it die. She was the only one he’d ever consider claiming.”

“And yet, you seem to think he claimed my slayer.”

“Well, it’s not like vampires always had research to rely on,” Angel replied. “Claiming is an instinctive thing. Something a vampire is driven to when he’s around someone he feels is…well, a worthy mate. If Spike claimed Buffy on a purely instinctual level, it’s possible that he recognized her strength or her…something and it struck him as compatible with his own strength or…something.”

Giles’s brows perked. “You’re saying that vampires claim each other based random whims?”

“No. Not typically. But Spike’s never been a typical vampire.”

“So my slayer is potentially mated to an atypical vampire. Lovely.”

Whatever Angel was about to say died on his lips. The library doors flew open.

“Giles, I can’t stay long today,” Buffy was saying, her eyes light and vibrant, a slight skip in her step. “I’m gonna hit every cemetery tonight. I am! And then I’m gonna…” Her cheery mood vanished the next second. She stopped cold when she saw Angel. Her light faded to dark, and she stared at him with pure loathing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Such a good question,” Giles drawled.

“Buffy, I—”

“No.” She dropped her backpack shortly and stormed up to him. “What the hell is this?”

Angel’s hands came up. “You need to calm down. I can explain—”

“Angel seems to think that when you were afraid of being pregnant with his child, you were actually afraid of being pregnant with Spike’s child.” Giles shrugged unapologetically when they shot him identical horrified looks. “Just this once, I would like to get something accomplished rather than dance around the issue for a half hour.”

Buffy turned back to Angel, her eyes flaring dangerously. “Where the hell do you get off talking to my Watcher behind my back? You arrogant, conceited, big-haired jackass!”

“You hadn’t told him!” the vampire protested. “You were blaming it on me!”

“He reached that conclusion all on his own!” She paused when Giles cleared his throat pointedly, then continued with an apathetic shrug. “Okay, so I did nothing to dissuade him, but there is a reason this is called my life and not yours. It’s mine. And I don’t care if I think I got knocked up by the Dalai Lama, if I think I’m pregnant, it is in no way your business.”

“You thought you were pregnant with my child!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s what you told people!”

Buffy shook her head furiously. “That’s what people concluded on their own.” Giles cleared his throat again, and she flushed. “Even if I didn’t straighten out their incredibly flawed thinking.” At her Watcher’s indignant huff, she spun on her heel, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Oh, come on, Giles! Pregnant with Angel’s child? What the hell do you take me for?”

“Someone who wouldn’t sleep with vampires, for one thing. And yet, you’ve managed to prove me wrong.” A beat. “Twice.”

“Hold on,” Angel objected, holding up a hand. “The first time was love.” If he saw the look of disgust that flashed across Buffy’s face, he didn’t comment on it. “We loved each other. We couldn’t have known what would happen. And the second time?” He turned back to her, his brows perked. “I can only assume that he was drunk and got a little too—”

The stricken look that overwhelmed his slayer’s eyes shot a bullet through Giles’s heart.

“A little too what?”

“No.” Buffy had regained her footing, and was shaking her head furiously. “Absolutely not. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Just stop.”

“It’s not your fault if he—”

“He didn’t. I never said that he did anything.”

Angel’s nostrils flared. “You didn’t deny it! That night in the cemetery, I told you that it would’ve been because he was drunk, and you didn’t deny it!”

“So not acknowledging every lame ass theory of yours automatically verifies every lame ass theory?”

“Buffy, if he forced you—”

“He did not force me.” Buffy’s face went blank, unreadable. Her skin was pale and she was shaking. She was shaking so hard Giles feared she might collapse. “He didn’t force me. He kidnapped me, but he didn’t force me.”

“Wait a second—”

“He kidnapped you?” Giles demanded. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because I’m still in one piece and there was no reason to tell you.”

The blank look was melting away slowly; she was slipping into a façade that Giles knew well. All too well. It was the same look she had when she made excuses for not patrolling. The same look she adapted when she’d done something wrong that she didn’t want to confess. The look she’d worn for days after her return from Los Angeles. The look that had sharpened each time he asked her about Angel’s death until she finally told him exactly how her boyfriend had died.

She was lying, and she was doing it to protect herself.

“Spike didn’t do anything to me. He kidnapped me, and got drunk. And when he got back, I-I was afraid. I was tied up and he was very, very drunk. I didn’t know if he was going to kill me or…what.” She drew in a deep breath. “So I seduced him.”

Giles didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“You what?!”

Okay, so perhaps he overreacted over something that he was almost certain was a lie. But it was still rather startling.

Angel just stared at her in horror.

“That’s right,” Buffy continued, nodding. “I-I seduced him. And talked him into letting me go. And yes…” She tossed a pointed look at her ex-boyfriend. “He has been following me around a bit…because he keeps having…flashbacks of what happened. He doesn’t remember it all, see. And he’s confused. But there you have it. I was kidnapped. I seduced him. I escaped. I wigged. Of course I wigged. Why else would I think I was pregnant? He’s a vampire, for crying out loud.”

Giles just swallowed and nodded.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” Angel demanded. “That he kidnapped you and—”

“Because that’s how much what happened to me isn’t your business.” Buffy kneeled forward and collected her backpack from the floor. “I’m going home.”

She almost made it to the door. Almost.

“Buffy.” Angel inhaled and stepped forward. “Did he bite you?”

She didn’t bother turning around. “What?”

“Spike. Did he bite you?”

There was a long, deafening pause. Buffy pressed her thighs together and shook.

“No,” she replied. “No. He didn’t.”

She was gone without another word.

To be continued…

ETA: Explanation for why Buffy lied at the end of the chapter is coming in the next chapter. But let’s just say, her incredibly skewed logic is at it again.

Oh, and for anyone who might have forgotten, refer to Chapter 4 for a hint as to where Buffy got the idea to use seduction as an explanation.

Chapter 25 by Ameeya

Author’s Note I know, there was a tiny, miniscule delay in updates. But hey! I bring you an extra long chapter, filled with Spuffy goodness. I made up for it, right?

Again, as always, thank you guys so much for taking the time to read and/or review my story. ***HUGZ*** You have no idea what it means to me.

Chapter 25

Her oh-so-brilliant plan was failing miserably. It had been nearly two days since she last saw Spike, and in that time, the ache in her bones had grown unbearable. Her mother had refused to let her out of bed, which was just fine, because she couldn’t move. Not even forty-eight hours had passed; a short, insignificant, incredibly painful forty-eight hours since she’d last seen Spike, and she was trembling. Her skin was feverish, her stomach queasy. She couldn’t slay a fly, much less patrol. And it was because she hadn’t seen Spike. Because they’d kept her from him.

It was all Giles’s fault. Giles and Angel and their stupid buddy-buddying. The second she’d gotten home, her mother had all but forced her to stay home.

“Faith is patrolling tonight,” she’d explained. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Giles, and he says it’s important that I keep you from going out.”

Her heart had about stopped. “What?”

“Faith is patrolling tonight.”

“I heard that part. Why does Giles need me to not patrol?”

Joyce had frowned. “He didn’t say. Something about how you’ve been through enough recently and he doesn’t want you out there after everything that’s happened. Which brings me to…Buffy, what exactly has happened?”

She’d fed her mother some bull story before scurrying upstairs to get her stuff ready for patrol. Giles’s commands couldn’t stop her from seeing Spike any more than her mother could. However, when she’d shimmied down the tree outside her window, she’d found Angel and Faith waiting for her. And try as she might, she hadn’t been able to shake them. Every step was trailed by her ex-boyfriend, and every step made her absolutely nauseous.

Needless to say, Spike hadn’t shown. Chances were, he’d seen her with Angel and bolted. So she hadn’t seen him. Not on patrol, not later at her house. He hadn’t shown at all. He was probably pissed out of his mind, and she couldn’t blame him. Her first attempt at this plan of hers, and she’d failed miserably.

The sickness had never felt like this. Not so soon.

Not even two days since she’d seen Spike, and she was thoroughly miserable.

Which didn’t explain why she was at the Bronze. The last thing Buffy felt like doing was Bronzing it, and yet she’d allowed Willow to drag her out of her room. And while she knew that she should be patrolling, she wasn’t so hardheaded that she didn’t recognize that she was too weak to face anything that actually might attack her. If Spike didn’t show up, or if he didn’t find her first, she might well find herself in a very bad situation.

At the very least, he might know to look for her at the Bronze. Then again, perhaps he was punishing her for showing up on their patrol date with another slayer and her ex-boyfriend in tow. Perhaps he was staying away to make the hurt worse.

Buffy whimpered and dropped her head into her hands. She was alone at her table. All her friends were dancing. All her friends were having a good time. All her friends had dates.

All she had was a growing ache in her belly and a sickness in her heart.

She was alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was alone.

Spike hadn’t taken his eyes off her since Buffy and her mates waltzed through the door. Now she was alone.

Finally. Two bleeding days had gone by, and not sodding once had she been alone. Now all he needed to do was summon the strength to walk downstairs.

He had no idea why it was worse now, only that it was. Though true, each separation following each heated encounter had gotten a little worse, it had never been so fast before. It had never been like this. He’d been dying for her ever since he left her side two nights prior—it’d happened fast, so fast; he was losing himself quicker than he could brace the fall.

If this was Dru’s punishment, it was a fitting one. Make him ache for the Slayer; haunt him with the fear of loving the one girl he could never have. Of being so bloody broken for her that he didn’t know if it was worth being who he had been if it meant he couldn’t touch her.

The worst part? Spike knew how to suss out feelings manufactured by spells and feelings that generated as the byproduct of spells. Whatever he felt for Buffy was real. The lust might have been forced upon him—granted, he didn’t put up too much of a fight—but the soft, gooey feelings couldn’t be blamed on anyone. Not Dru. Not the spell, if there was one. No—if he was falling in love with Buffy, he had no one to blame but himself. It had been his bright idea to try to be the man that could deserve her. He was going soft. She’d given him more outs than he could count, and he’d turned them all down for want of her golden smile.

He was losing sight of what was important, and why it had been important. The past few days, when he fed, it had only been to survive. He hadn’t killed. He hadn’t even felt the drive to kill, which worried him. Furthermore, for the first time since he’d crawled from his grave, he’d made a point to avoid taking blood from women. It was wrong. It felt wrong. Every time a chit eyeballed him, he found himself cringing and looking away, wishing for Buffy’s smiling face so he could jump to her side and proclaim himself taken, whether he was or not. If he couldn’t stomach looking at other women, there was no sodding way he was going to use them for food. The thought alone made the part of him that couldn’t get sick feel sick; if he was going to taste any woman’s blood, it would be Buffy’s. And it wouldn’t be for food.

Spike shuddered, his eyes falling shut. He imagined how she would taste as her body trembled into orgasm around him. As she screamed his name, her pussy clenching around his cock, her nails scratching at his back, her legs tightening around his waist. God, she was a fucking vision when she came. And while he didn’t deserve to taste her—while her blood was perhaps the last thing he deserved—his eyes couldn’t help but cross at the thought of how spectacular it would be.

Only he shouldn’t be thinking of drinking her blood without going in for the kill. He shouldn’t avoid sampling other women. He shouldn’t feel that he was betraying Buffy when he accidentally bumped into some faceless brunette—or redhead, or non-Buffy blonde, or anyone who wasn’t, well, Buffy. He shouldn’t, but he did.

Spike tried hard to wish things differently, but he couldn’t. He wanted to want to be elsewhere, but he was hopeless. He was completely hopeless for her.

And despite wanting to care, he didn’t. Buffy had awakened him in ways he hadn’t thought possible—as much of a wanker as that made him sound. She was everything he shouldn’t want, and the very idea of her made him weak at the knees. So he was trying to be the man she deserved, even if he was cutting corners. The man she deserved wouldn’t dine on citizens, whether he was killing them or not.

He didn’t want to bag it. He wanted so much to cling to this last semblance of who he was. However, if she asked him, Spike was terrified he’d throw in the towel and swear himself hers for all eternity.

That didn’t scare him as much as it should have. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. Amazingly, after only a couple of days, none of it did. The only thing that truly bothered him, other than his obviously unstable mental condition, was the fact that it hurt like hell whenever they were apart.

Only Buffy was alone now, and there was no longer a reason to be apart. Especially when all the cheeky looks from the single women in the club were making his stomach coil. It had been a while since he’d been around so many non-Buffy females, so he truly hadn’t had time to appreciate how fantastically he couldn’t stand the opposite sex. These stupid come-hither looks were really beginning to annoy him, the women behind them—the women that weren’t Buffy—made him want to heave. He was a catch, to be sure, but surely they didn’t think he needed assistance looking for a bedmate. Did he look like he was in the market? There was only one girl in the whole sodding world that could tempt him.

And she was sitting just a few yards away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There had never been such sweet relief. Buffy felt him the second before he touched her. The second before his hands curled around her arms, the second before his chest pressed at her back. She felt her insides cleansing—a ritual, inner baptism that washed away all the hurt and the tenderness and left only reprieve.

“It’s all right, kitten,” he murmured, his mouth immediately drawn to her neck. “I’m here now.”

Buffy had to choke back a sob. It felt too good to be real. “Spike…”

“An’ I’m holdin’ onto you to make sure you don’t fall over.”

A shrill, strained giggle tickled her throat. “Good, ‘cause I think I would have.” She sighed and leaned back into him, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips caressed her skin. “Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“We were supposed to patrol yesterday,” she murmured, sighing when his arms linked around her middle. He tenderly chased away the pain. She never would have thought his touch could be so gentle. “Why weren’t you there?”

His grip around her tightened. “You were with him.”

“I so was not.”

“I saw you, Slayer. You were with him. An’ some chit who desperately needs to have her arse handed to her.”

“You mean Faith.” Buffy’s nose wrinkled. She so did not like the idea of Spike seeing Faith. And yet, to be a complete masochist, she swallowed hard and continued. “You didn’t think she was pretty?”

“Hell no.”

“Most guys think she’s pretty.”

“She’s certifiable. Am bloody amazed that Angelus managed to keep his fists from connectin’ with her mouth.” Spike tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, then pressed his lips to the base of her neck again. “Besides, I din’t pay too much attention to her. You were there.”

Buffy tried and failed to keep from turning into a puddle of slayer-goo. “You paid enough attention to note that she needs her ass handed to her.”

“That only meant I was listenin’.”

“You could have come to see me after I went home.”

“Yeah, but then I jus’ would’ve ended up shagging you silly, an’ you said there could be no more of that.”

Had she? With the way he was kissing her skin, it was hard to remember why.

He nipped at her neck and she trembled with a moan. Yeah, definitely hard to remember why.

“Buffy…” Spike murmured raggedly. “I need to take you…outside.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He scraped his teeth along the long column of her throat and purred. “You might wanna tell your friend.”

“What friend?”

“The one starin’ at us.”

She blinked dazedly and glanced up. Sure enough, Willow was standing just a few feet away, a dumbfounded look on her face. Buffy exhaled and relaxed, her body falling pliant against her vampire. She was relieved beyond relief that it was Willow; her resistance was completely worn down—she was too lost in Spike’s sinful touch to give a damn if the whole world saw her.

Well, she cared enough to be incredibly relieved that it was Willow, but not much beyond that.

“Hi, guys,” the redhead said weakly, offering a half-hearted wave. “Not that this isn’t sufficiently awkward enough with my being here, but you might wanna go elsewhere. I think Cordelia and her man-whore are on their way over.”

Spike quirked a brow. “Man-whore?” he echoed, his mouth ardently peppering kisses across Buffy’s neck.

“Xander,” Buffy whispered.

“Man-whore,” Willow huffed before her cheeks rouged. “Anyway, yeah. I’d make with the escape. Not all Buffy’s friends are as cool as I am.”

Buffy grinned and slid off her stool. “You’re the coolest, Will. We’re just gonna…ummm…”

“Pop out back for a bit,” Spike supplied, lacing his fingers through Buffy’s and tugging. He barely gave Willow a second glance. “Come on, pet. Wouldn’t wanna fuel the man-whore.”

Buffy giggled and bounced eagerly after him. She felt so deliciously scandalous, like the girls who used to sneak off during lunch at Hemery to give their boyfriends blowjobs in empty classrooms. At least, there had been rumors. And while it hadn’t appealed to her at the time, there was something to this feeling. She felt womanly and liberated, naughty and bold. And the fact that it was Spike leading her into the alley made all the difference.

This isn’t a part of the plan, her mind warned. You’re totally breaking the rules.

Her body couldn’t care less. Her body was celebrating the fact that Spike was there at all. That his hands were on her. That he had dragged her into the brisk Sunnydale night. That he had shoved her against the Bronze wall. That his mouth was wrestling hot, needy kisses from hers as he thrust his denim-clad cock against her.

“Unh…”

“You wore a skirt,” Spike commented, his voice annoyingly calm considering the wild look in his eyes.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, her hands clutching at his forearms. Two can play at this game…though God, he was so much better at it. “I am a girl, you know,” she replied, trying to sound as breezy and casual as he did, and failing miserably. He’d chosen that moment to latch his mouth onto her clothed breast.

“Baby,” he growled, hiking her skirt around her waist and tugging on her panties. “No need to tell me.”

“G-good.”

“Unzip my jeans.” He left her breast with a parting kiss, moving northward until his face was buried in her neck again. She felt his tongue lap against her pulse point, and her heart jumped, her hands anxiously tugging at his belt. “You taste so sweet,” he purred, nipping at her teasingly. “So fucking sweet.”

One last strain at logic fought for air. The plan. The plan.

Purely Sensual Buffy scoffed. Logic was terribly overrated, especially when her better senses were fogged with lust. Especially when Spike bunched the crotch of her panties aside and sank his fingers inside her wet pussy. The fire blazing through her veins roared in triumph, and she found herself pulling so hard on his jeans that the button popped.

Spike chuckled. “Eager, are we?” he asked, his thumb grazing her clit.

“I can’t wait. I can’t wait.” Buffy hooked her left leg around his waist, positioning him at her opening. Then she met his eyes and melted. He was looking at her like she was an angel.

Her heart quivered and ached. This is why you had the plan.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, the slick head of his cock nudging her sopping flesh. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

She kissed him and obliged. The taste of his moan against her lips was worth the world. She loved the way he kissed. The way he tasted. She could live off Spike’s kisses and never want for anything.

He whispered her name against her lips and drove himself inside her, and the world around her dissolved. The brick at her back, the grime in the alley, the sound of cats scrounging for food in nearby trashcans, the thrum of the band playing inside. Everything vanished. Spike was kissing her, his cock was inside her, and she felt like she had finally come home.

“Oh God,” she whimpered. “Oh my God.”

“Lemme guess.” Spike grinned and began rocking against her gently, though the flash in his eyes told her that it wouldn’t be sweet and tender for long. He was in need—he was in as much need as she was. She needed release more than tenderness. “First time against a wall?”

“First time outside,” she countered.

Something menacing flashed across his face. “You’ve done this against a wall before?” he growled, his thrusts rocking her harder. “You fucked Angel against a wall?”

The thought made her want to hurl. Again. “No,” Buffy protested. She drove her hips forward, desperate to recapture him every time he slid from her body. After being so long without him—barely two days—the agonized bliss of his cock stabbing inside her was nearly too much to handle. “No. Two firsts. Two.”

“Against a wall.”

“Yes.”

“Outside.”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes!”

“You like the firsts I’m givin’ you, don’t you?”

He grinned and kissed her, and she melted. The feel of his lips on hers while his cock was thrusting inside her was so completely singular to anything she’d known. She couldn’t remember if Angel had kissed her during their one and only night together—though, she was sure he had. And even then, it hadn’t made the ground move. It hadn’t even made the bed move.

Angel had never done to her what Spike did to her, and the knowledge rendered her shaken.

Did she like Spike’s growing list of firsts? Her mind was a jumbled mess of dead-ended confusion, and it was all his fault. She had talked herself into seeing him every day on the basis that this wouldn’t happen anymore. That she wouldn’t allow him to woo her with his wonderful words and his incredibly tasty kisses. That, as much as she loved the feel of him thrusting into her pussy, she needed to walk away from this with her heart in one piece.

She needed him to say something if he felt what she felt. She couldn’t be the first to say it. Not again. Not after last time. Last time, she had confessed everything—she had given Angel so much power, he’d ripped her to shreds with just a few well-aimed barbs. And while her mind was doing a good job of persuading her that Spike felt something more, she was half-convinced that she was just seeing what she wanted to see.

Two nights ago, he’d cuddled with her in her bed. He’d kissed her and loved her body so thoroughly that the next morning, she’d wondered if she’d dreamed herself into a smutty romance novel. The soreness between her legs told her differently. Thank God her mom had gone to work early; she’d felt bow-legged all morning, and the last thing she needed was an impromptu interrogation on Buffy’s pronounced limp mixed with the sounds that had undoubtedly reverberated through the walls.

“Say it, Buffy,” he growled against her mouth. “Say you like it.”

Like it?

“You love the firsts I give you.”

Oh, God. He’d been expecting her to answer that?

“I love it,” she gasped, choking a sob as his thrusts grew harder. She was slamming helplessly against his body and the wall at her back, and she loved every second. “I love it. I love it.”

“You want me to rub your clit?”

“Oh God.”

“Tell me, Buffy. Tell me what you want.” The next thing she knew, his cock had slipped from her entirely, and he was sliding his length between her pussy lips. “You like this?” he demanded roughly. “I can make you come anyway I like, but I want you to decide. You wanna come like this?”

“Spike!” she whimpered, wiggling desperately and thrusting her hips against him. “Spike, please!”

“Spike please…what?”

“Please! I need…I need…” She bit at his lower lip and gasped when he growled. “Inside me. I need you inside me. Please!” She seized his left wrist and guided his hand between so that the tip of his fingers grazed her clit, and she jumped in his arms. “Please.”

Evidently, she’d done something very right. Spike’s gaze turned molten and he favored her with a leer that managed to both turn her to liquid goo and fill her with fuzzy warmth.

“Hold on, baby,” he practically snarled, rubbing his spongy head against her slit, then slamming back inside her. The cry that tore through her throat was guttural, barely human, and made his eyes shine as though she’d handed him the world. “This is gonna be a rough ride.”

Buffy buried her face in the crook of his neck and squeezed his leather-bound arms until she heard him moan in pleasure-laced pain. He didn’t lie. He pounded her into the wall, growling things that sounded like words, stroking her clit as his balls slapped noisily against her and swirling his hips with every thrust. She wanted to scream, but didn’t dare. It likely wasn’t as fast as it felt, or even as hard, but her back felt bruised and her legs were sore simply from where his jeans rubbed against her skin.

She wanted to feel his fingers on her bite mark. She wanted to feel his fangs in her throat. She wanted to feel so many things, and she had to bite her lip, lest she scream something to give herself away. Instead, Buffy fisted a handful of platinum hair in her right hand, drawing his head from her throat so she could smash her lips to his, swallowing his growl and dropping her other hand between them.

The second her fingers slid over the bite mark, it was over. She broke their kiss with a hopeless cry as he sent her spiraling down the most powerful orgasm her body had ever known. Her nerves were singed, her blood was humming, and every inch of her shook. She felt deliriously weak, but happy. Borrowed happiness. It couldn’t last—not forever—but she held onto it while she could.

“Oh, Buffy.”

He sounded as helpless as she felt. Buffy pressed her mouth against his shoulder and screwed her eyes shut, absorbing every delicious sound that tumbled through his lips as he sputtered and came. The world tumbled around them, and for a few, scrumptious seconds, she thought she might black out again. Like she had that night in the cemetery. The night he’d made her dizzy with pleasure and she’d blacked out.

She didn’t this time, but she came close. In fact, the only thing that saved her from unconsciousness was the defeat of Purely Sensual Buffy, now that her body was sated. Logical Buffy stormed through the haze, and her eyes popped open.

Oh God.

“Spike!” She reeled back and scowled, slapping his shoulder. “This wasn’t the plan.”

Spike just blinked and stared at her. “The plan.”

“Yes, the plan.”

“The strictly platonic, no snogging, no shagging, only-handholding plan.”

“Unless you know of a second plan.”

He blinked again. “Love, must we really discuss this while I’m inside your cunny?”

Buffy flushed. “Just saying. I’m trying to be responsible here. We need to stick to the plan.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking about that sodding plan after what we jus’ did.”

“Spike, please.” She glanced down, which was bad, because her eyes automatically fixed on where their bodies were joined, and a fresh wave of lust crashed over her recuperating nerves. Oh damn. “This is why we can’t go days without seeing each other.”

“We risk having a good time?”

She wet her lips and tried not to wince. The last thing she wanted to be was a good time. Only a good time. The old standby that always put out. And while she knew she was quite a ways from Spike viewing her as such, the prospect terrified her all the same.

It didn’t matter how good it was; until he told her that he wanted something more, something beyond the spell or whatever they were under, there could be no more of this. No more earth-shattering sex against brick walls. No matter how much she wanted it.

Spike sighed, his jaw ticking. “Yeah, okay,” he said, slowly sliding his cock out of her. Buffy dropped her legs to the ground again, her balance wobbly. “We’ll jus’ call this a glitch, yeah?”

A glitch. It sounded so cold compared to what it was. But at least he’d stopped arguing with her.

“Yeah,” she agreed numbly, straightening her skirt as he tucked himself inside his jeans. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Don’t wanna bollocks up the plan.” He favored her with a defeated grin and cast a hand through his hair. “Honestly, Buffy…I din’t mean for this to happen…but it wasn’ just me.”

“I know.”

“You wanted it, too.”

“I know.” She held up a hand before he could speak again. “It was both of us. But Spike…I—”

He just smiled and nodded, and the understanding in his eyes moved her beyond words.

He gets it.

“The plan,” he said.

“It’s the responsible thing to do,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“An’ we’re responsible.”

“You bet your sexy little butt we are.”

Spike favored her with a long look, his eyes dancing. “Buffy,” he said softly. “Don’t go patrolling with Angel or what’s-her-name again. Not if you don’ want this to happen. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s getting worse. I’m not gonna be able to control myself…especially if you’re not gonna be able to control yourself. If you want this plan of yours to work, we should probably give it a shot, right?”

“I didn’t mean to go patrolling with—”

He held up a hand. “Jus’ saying.”

Yeah, and she heard him loud and clear.

The only thing was, every day was getting worse. Every encounter left her aching for more. So what happened when nightly patrols weren’t enough? For, despite her attempts to keep her emotions road blocked, Spike already owned too much of her heart.

They had to get this corrected before she had nothing left.

To be continued…

Chapter 26 by Ameeya

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! As always, thanks again for your incredibly awesome support. *hugs*

Gee, I never really say anything profound, do I? But I do love and appreciate all of you for giving me a chance, and for the warm reception to this fic. You guys are so awesome.

I should, however, mention that my updates might slow down a bit. Like, rather than updating every 24 hours, it might be every 48 hours. ***hides*** One of my betas, Meredith, is a little behind, and I want to give her a chance to catch up. I also want to maintain a healthy lead in the chapters I have written versus the ones I have posted, so...just a heads up. The speedy updates will continue...just not as speedy.

Chapter 26

Angel simply couldn’t take no for an answer. For the third straight day, he was waiting for her in the library after school, and for the third straight day, Buffy had to refrain from popping him in the nose. Not that the idea of punching him didn’t have its perks, and from the ever-ill-humored look on Giles’s face, she doubted her solution would meet with any objection.

Only Giles, with as much as he barely tolerated Angel, still tolerated him. And that meant that something was up.

And if something was up, she was going to be somewhere very else.

“Stalker much?” Buffy spat, turning on her heel.

“Hey—”

“Honestly, Angel, do you not know when to let go? Get a hobby and leave me alone.”

“I want to see your neck.”

She made a face and tossed him a nasty look. “Yeah. Of all the things plausible to happen in this world, can you imagine how far down I’ve put ‘letting vampires check out my neck’ on the list?”

“Spike bit you, Buffy. I know he did. We need you to talk to us.”

The mark on her thigh burned. Buffy stopped short and pivoted, her arms crossing. There was no way in this life or the next that she would ever share intimate details with Angel—not of her bite mark, and certainly not of Spike. It would just add something else to the growing index of evidence that supported the theory that something was wrong with her.

The questions were beginning to drive her insane, particularly the subject of Spike and vampire bites. In fact, so many of their arguments came back to that point that she was beginning to think that they were attempting to blame her strange defensiveness on a vampiric infection. That her unwillingness to say anything negative about Spike was due to the mark on her thigh. And the more Angel asked, the more Giles prodded, the more determined Buffy became to keep her bite mark a secret. It was hers; not theirs. It had significance inasmuch as she rubbed it on occasion to get off, and it tended to hurt during periods of long separation. Nothing totally unexplainable, especially if Spike’s theory of a curse had any ground.

The last thing Buffy wanted was Angel telling her that everything she felt for Spike had been manufactured by a pair of fangs. Her feelings were real. Incredibly real. And the bite was absolutely none of his business. The bite was the one thing that was hers. It was private. It was hers. Completely hers. In the fallout of the confusing forced-sex and the even more confusing pangs of lust, the bite mark was the only thing that had offered some stability. It was hers, and she wasn’t about to stand and listen to how wrong and evil it was.

Not that her feelings were public record, but Buffy wasn’t dumb enough to think that Angel or Giles had accepted her explanation for what had happened the night that Spike had kidnapped her. Angel believed that Spike had raped her, which was completely wrong, only in a way that was not so much. Things had been so confusing after that night—so confusing that she wasn’t even sure when her confusion had turned into pain, or if it had been pain all along. Hell, she was still confused, and the last thing she needed were words of wisdom from her Spike-hating ex-boyfriend.

“Let me see your neck,” Angel said softly. “If you have nothing to hide—”

“You’re not seeing my neck!” Buffy glared at him, shooting a glance to Giles. “Do something!”

Her watcher had a frighteningly pensive look on his face. “Why don’t you want him to see your neck?” he asked softly.

“Because, hello! It’s my neck. And it’s a vampire that, not too long ago, was seriously campaigning for my death.” She turned back to Angel. “What’s more, you’ve seen my neck. It’s not like I’ve gone around wearing turtlenecks and scarves.”

“I want to see it again.”

“Well, I want a pony. Give me mine, and maybe you’ll get yours.”

“Buffy.” Giles’s eyes were trained on the ground. She didn’t like the note in his voice. “Please. Don’t make this more difficult than need be. Just show Angel your neck, and then you can leave.”

“What? No!”

“Buffy.”

It wasn’t as though there was anything incriminating on her neck. Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. There would be no winning with either of them, and she was tired of having this argument. So, very carefully, she pulled on her collar until her left shoulder was exposed.

“Lift your hair,” Angel instructed.

Buffy huffed indignantly, rolled her eyes again, and obliged.

Giles gasped tightly. “What are those?”

“What?”

“You have a few red marks here,” Angel said, his fingers grazing her skin. She jumped as though scathed, her stomach rolling in disgust. “What’s this?”

Red marks? How would she have red marks on her throat? Spike would have told her last night. Last night…when he was busy giving her those red marks.

Buffy groaned inwardly. Great. Found out by a hickey.

It must have hit Angel at the same time. An odd look of betrayal and horror flashed across his face. “Where were you last night?”

Getting pounded into a wall. And yourself?

“None of your business.”

Giles sighed. “Buffy—”

“No. Since when do I need permission from either of you to have a social life? I went out with Willow and Xander. We danced. We partied. We did the teenage scene to death. You want Willow to vouch for me?” Oh God. Not a good idea. While she was certain that Willow wouldn’t say anything that Buffy didn’t want said, there was no way that she would do it convincingly.

Which meant it was best to vamoose and get her cover story settled with Willow before Angel and Giles took her up on her bluff. “Look,” Buffy said, turning to reveal the other side of her neck as well as her right shoulder, also doctored with hickeys but no fang marks in sight. None aside from the Master’s, of course. “There. Are you happy?”

“Not even close,” Angel muttered.

“Good,” Giles commented, turning his eyes back to the text he’d been reading. “Be sure to stay as miserably unhappy as possible.”

“Not much of a stretch.”

Buffy spread her arms. “Is that all? Can I go?”

The confusion on Angel’s face was panoramic. She wished she had a camera. “There were no bite marks,” he murmured. “No bite marks.”

“As I’ve been telling you for days now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna tend to the matter of my job.”

Buffy spun around and was out the door before either of them could respond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So this plan of yours?”

Buffy scowled at her reflection and tossed yet another blouse to her growing pile of clothing rejections. “The plan is in full motion,” she said, waddling over to her closet. It was surprisingly difficult to rummage for non-date attire for what was essentially a patrol date, especially with the phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder. “Last night was…”

“A glitch?” Willow supplied. “He actually called it a glitch?”

“It was a glitch of epic proportions.”

“You did seem kinda dazed when you came back to the table.”

Buffy flushed in spite of herself. Dazed was putting it mildly. She was amazed she’d had enough strength to walk, almost as amazed as she was that Xander and Cordelia had barely noticed her rather considerable absence. It had taken several minutes to finally get Spike to go home—wherever his home was. Since last night had been a glitch—a wonderful, earth-shattering glitch—he’d utilized it as an excuse to do some of that inappropriate fondling she loved so much. The night had been a failure, after all. The plan officially restarted tonight.

“The plan is totally on,” she affirmed with a nod. “Completely on. There will be no more glitches.”

“Uh huh.”

“No more glitches to speak of.” Buffy sighed and held up another top. Mmm. Potential. “Hey, Will. You know that burgundy camisole that I bought last Christmas?”

“The one that’s totally a date top and not for patrol? Sure! You look awesome in it.”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, that’s happening.” Willow giggled conspiratorially, then singsonged, “Buffy’s got a boyfriend.”

“God, what are you, three?”

“And a half, thank you.” She giggled again. “So, once this plan of yours completely blows up in your face, are we gonna be able to come clean?”

“You make it sound like I’m keeping it a secret. Everyone knows that I slept with Spike, and that I’m not particularly apologetic about it.”

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who knows how much you’ve slept with Spike.”

“Unless you decide to give Cordy a ring, you mean.”

“Hey…” Willow trailed off helplessly. “Shut up.”

“So the cami and my gaucho pants? You think that’ll look good?”

“So good that Spike won’t be able to keep his hands to himself. That is what you’re going for, right?”

Buffy flushed and rolled her eyes, tossing her selected outfit onto the bed and planting a hand on her hip. “What do you know?”

“That you’re secretly dating Spike.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“To go on your secret date?”

“You know, there are times when I violently dislike you.”

Willow laughed. “Only because you know I’m right.”

“You are in no way right.” She shook her head. “I gotta go. I’m meeting him in fifteen.”

“Okay. Have a good date.”

“Good patrol.”

“That, too.”

Buffy made a face at the phone and switched it off. “You’re wrong,” she said weakly, tossing it onto the bed. Right next to her total non-date attire. “I am not secretly dating Spike.”

No. She totally wasn’t. And she wasn’t dressing up for him, either. Just as she hadn’t shaved her legs today knowing that they might end up around his waist. Just as she hadn’t stopped by the lingerie shop in the mall that afternoon so he’d have something frilly to pull off…just in case.

Buffy sighed and pressed her palm to her brow. God, she was hopeless. There could be no dating Spike. There could be no sleeping with Spike. There could be no touching, aside from the aforementioned handholding, of any kind.

The plan officially began tonight.

To be continued…

Chapter 27 by Ameeya

Chapter 27

Buffy sighed and checked her watch. The minute hand had barely budged. She was still early. Spike was still on time. She didn’t have a right to be angry yet. He wasn’t late. In fact, he had five whole minutes—make that four minutes and twenty-six seconds—before he was officially late.

Not that being late for patrolling was a bad thing. No. No, of course not. And it totally wasn’t like they were meeting for a date. No, she was just out, meeting a guy for some vampire-slayage. And the fact that she had dressed up had absolutely nothing to do with said guy. She just really liked her vintage gauchos. And the camisole? She hadn’t had a reason to wear it since she bought it. What better time to try out a new outfit? Patrolling was where she met all the interesting guys. All the interesting dead guys. Not that she was out here to meet interesting guys. Just one. But it wasn’t a date.

Buffy huffed a sigh and checked her watch again. Three minutes and fifty-two seconds. Dammit, Spike still wasn’t late. And she was just some crazy person, dressed to the nines, standing out in the cemetery.

Figures he’d be the type to be right on time.

“’Lo pet.”

Before she had a chance to fall over in surprise, two strong arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her against a familiar chest. “Now, now,” Spike murmured. “None of that.”

Stupid heart. It didn’t know when not to melt. “Oh. There you are,” she said lamely.

He chuckled and helped her upright. “I honestly didn’t mean to startle you, luv. It just happened.”

“You didn’t startle me. I just happen to like…falling over and looking like an idiot.”

“Well, you’re very good at it.”

Buffy scowled playfully and dusted herself off. “Jackass.”

“I do what I can.”

“And hey! You broke the rules.” She pointed. “You touched.”

Spike’s hands came up. “I din’t fondle!”

“There was non-handholdy touching involved!”

He blinked. “’m sorry, Slayer. Next time, I’ll let you fall on your arse.”

Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “I didn’t say I didn’t appreciate the breakage of the rules. I mean, mitigating circumstances and all. But don’t take that as a starting point to mark tonight as a failure of the plan.”

“Not a failure.” Spike grinned and his gaze dropped and slowly raked her body in a way that made her heart beat way too fast. And from the way his eyes widened and the strain in his jeans became more pronounced, she figured that she had a stamp of approval from her total non-date. “You’re all dolled up.”

“You noticed.”

“I’m neither blind nor a eunuch, luv.”

“Those are both things that I happen to know firsthand.”

Spike smirked and ran his hands down his front, hooking his fingers through his belt loops and thrusting his pelvis forward just slightly. “Refresh my memory?”

She flushed and somehow managed not to melt or tackle him, which were both good things in her book. Well, not good as much as infuriatingly frustrating, but good for the plan. And what was good for the plan was good for Buffy and the not-breaking-of-her heart. “In your dreams,” she replied weakly.

“Every single night.”

Damn. Stupid vampire. How was she supposed to ignore him when he said things like that?

“We have patrolling to do,” Buffy said quickly, wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her hips. “And…it’s not gonna get done just…standing here talking about…stuff.”

Gee, that was profound.

What was it about being around him that turned her into an incoherent mess? Buffy heaved a sigh and shook her head, spinning on her heel. “Okay, so patrol. Kill us some bad guys…present company excluded.”

“Thanks ever so.”

“And then I need to get home and attack my evil homework and maybe even study for the even eviler test on Wednesday, and—”

“Buffy. Aren’t you forgetting something?” When she turned around, he was right behind her, his hand reaching for hers, his eyes burning. “It’s the rules, remember?”

Oh God.

Don’t melt. Please don’t melt.

“Y-yes.” She did her best not to tremble so hard that she pulled them to the ground. But the way her skin tingled as her fingers laced through his could not be outmatched. There was something in his touch that unwound her completely. “The rules.”

“An’ if I din’t mention it before, you look amazing.”

“So your plan is to be completely wonderful and have me melt at everything you say?”

“Yes.”

She scowled playfully and poked out her tongue. “Asshole.”

Spike arched a brow. “Be careful with that thing.”

“Always am.”

“What a shame,” he replied with a smirk. “So, luv, is there a routine you follow, or are we wingin’ it?”

Buffy frowned. “A routine? My routine is that I patrol.” She paused. “Well, okay. Usually, Giles tells me if there were any suspicious deaths in town…vamp or otherwise. I hit those graveyards first…the places where the suspicious deaths were buried. If it was a vamp, it’ll take a day or so—”

“No need to tell me that, pet.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“I asked about your routine.”

“And this happens to be a part of the routine. If we think that new deaths might be vamp related, I go to those cemeteries every night for about a week…because, as you know, every rising is different.” Buffy shivered and found herself squeezing his hand. It was odd talking to a vampire about her slaying pattern, and where she would have feared condemnation, she sensed only respect. The sensation was overwhelming. “But other deaths that might be demon related are different. We’ve had zombies and stuff. And…other half-breeds. Not much, but some. So I just go wherever Giles and the obituaries tell me to go.”

Spike nodded slowly, his free hand sliding into his duster pocket to retrieve his cigarettes. “What happens on nights when you don’ get any action?”

I go home and rub my bite mark.

Buffy’s cheeks flushed. “Faith…um…the other slayer. She talks about how you can feel…uhhh…unsatisfied if you don’t get a slay in. Or if a demon gets away. Especially if there’s a fight involved.”

He perked an interested brow. “Is that right?”

“Well, it’s what she says.”

Spike winced in disgust, puffing on his cigarette. “I don’t give a rot what Faith says. What do you say?”

Buffy couldn’t help the rush of excitement that flooded her veins. Spike’s open distaste for the other slayer made her happy in all the wrong ways. Ever since Faith had discovered that Angel wasn’t a bad guy, she’d been rather open in her interest in exploring a relationship with a vampire. And Angel, while he didn’t encourage the idea, certainly wasn’t as opposed to it as Buffy would have liked. Well, once. If he wanted, he could do everything aside from get perfectly happy with Faith, and Buffy would feel nothing but relief. Angel smooching on someone else would indicate that he was over her, and would stop asking about bite marks and hickeys.

It was almost surprising how much that knowledge failed to bother her.

“What do I say?” she repeated. “I…um…well, I go home and usually have a cup of non-fat yogurt and then…” Shower while touching my bite mark and thinking of you. “Go to bed.”

A low smirk stretched his lips. “You li’l liar,” he said slowly, blowing out a pillar of smoke.

“Am not!”

Spike just grinned and tugged her to a standstill. “Look at me,” he said, his eyes dancing as they searched hers. “Ah, yes, there it is.”

“There what is?”

“When you lie, your eyebrow does this little thing.” He mimicked the alleged eyebrow-thing, and he looked so damnably good that she had to press her thighs together and bite her lip. God, her pussy was on fire, and from the telling look on his face, he knew it.

“My eyebrows are perfectly normal.”

“Lie to me.” He was still grinning like an idiot; Buffy couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit him or tackle him to the ground with kisses. Well, okay, so she knew which she preferred—it just happened to be what she should not prefer. “Tell me you don’ want me to kiss you.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yes,” he agreed, stomping out his half-smoked cigarette beneath his boot. “But you want me to kiss you.”

“Do not!”

“Aha!” Spike pointed victoriously, and while she resented it, his smile was infectious. “There it is again!”

Buffy ducked her head and forced her mirth away, turning to resume their brisk pace through the graveyard. “Whatever,” she replied, trying to tug her hand from his. His fingers were locked; he wasn’t about to let her go, and though inconvenient, the larger part of her couldn’t help but swell with warmth. “Come on. The sooner we patrol, the sooner I can go home.”

“Then by all means, woman, slow down.”

“Spike—”

“What? A bloke can’t want to spend time with you?” He poked his lower lip out, and she forced her eyes back to the path ahead. He was too adorable when he pouted, and it was in no way fair. “I like spending time with you.”

“You just want me to be out here with you so you have more time to say more wonderful things and I’ll swoon, and the plan will be postponed until tomorrow.”

“That’s not at all my objective, but I wouldn’t complain.”

“The plan is on. It’s working.” She held up their joint hands and squeezed. “See?”

Spike smiled softly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s workin’ like a charm.” He released a deep breath and was quiet for a minute. When he spoke again, his tone was lighter and somewhat forced. But he was making an effort, and that was all that truly mattered. “Anythin’ exciting happen at school, pet?”

Buffy arched a brow. Okay, effort making aside, it was just weird hearing him ask about her day. “It was…it was good. I guess. Class was the same as always. Giles has me working on some project that involves identifying these stupid crystals. He says it’s crucial for my training…I dunno. It all sounds bogus to me.” Bogus and boring, but she wasn’t about to rant on the many ways that Giles was annoying her recently. “Then Angel dropped in and—”

Spike froze so fast that he nearly pulled her to the ground. “Angel?” he spat. “Angel was at your school?”

She blinked. “Ummm…yeah.”

“What the sodding hell was Angel doing at your school?”

“He knows.”

“He knows?”

Buffy squeaked inelegantly and nodded. “Uhhh, yeah. Kinda.” She paused. “Well, I did kiss him—”

Spike growled and his eyes flashed. “Slayer…”

“You knew about that! Me kissing him, and then yacking on him like some sort of…I dunno, gross-type-person-who-yacks-on-people? And I moaned your name. He also knows about the kidnapping incident—” When Spike growled again, Buffy tugged her fingers free of his and threw her hands up defensively. “Which he totally guessed on his own. He guessed it. I told him it was none of his business, but he went to Giles and now they’re all ‘let’s study Buffy’ about everything.”

“For Chrissake, Slayer—”

“I told him—I told them both—that I seduced you.”

Spike’s head shot up in astonishment. “You what?”

“I didn’t tell them…I didn’t tell them what really happened.” Buffy averted her eyes quickly to the ground and kicked at a clump of grass, feeling awkward and self-conscious. “You said that morning…you said that I’d tricked you into…doing what you did and…”

“Buffy—”

“So I told them that that’s what happened.”

“But it’s not.” His eyes were heavy and he was breathing hard. The guilt she saw there nearly knocked her off her feet. “Buffy, I—”

“No. Well…I dunno. I don’t really know what happened that night, but it’s not something…I dunno.” She smiled awkwardly and reached for his hand again, doing her best to ignore the way her skin tingled when their fingers entwined once more. “I just didn’t want them after you. If they’d known what actually happened—”

“So you took it all on yourself.”

“Well, I was upfront about the kidnapping.”

Spike shook his head. “God…you…” He trailed off helplessly and just looked at her. And for a second—for one blessed instant—she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something big. Something significant. Something life-changing. It was gone in a blink, if it ever existed. But she could have sworn she saw it. “You take my breath away.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “Spike, you don’t breathe,” she said.

“Not easily when you’re around.” He dropped his eyes to her mouth, and her heart stopped. “Buffy…”

God, he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to tell her that she was everything in the world to him and that he’d be around forever. That he’d be in it for the long haul. That she was worth the world—worth changing for—and that he’d love her in ways that made them both forget that they’d lived at all before they found each other. She wanted so many things.

Spike started for her lips. He was going to kiss her. Only he seemed to remember himself before he could, and before she could scream her protest, he forced himself to detour. His hand trembled around hers. His lips caressed her cheek, and he breathed raggedly against her skin.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Sorry?

“Broke the rules.”

The rules. Of course. Those stupid, stupid rules. Buffy blinked dazedly and nodded. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s…it was just…”

Everything.

It was everything.

The little bit of her heart that he didn’t own was beginning to chip away. There was no way she was walking away from this unscathed. No way.

Not when she feared that she could love him.

To be continued…

Chapter 28 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Heehee! So you guys seemed to like the patrol non-date? ***bats eyes*** Thank you so much for your continued enthusiasm, support, and oh-so kind reviews!!! ***hugs***

Not quite 48 hours, but I told myself I’d post before bedtime. And since I’m going to bed very, very early tonight, now would be it. =) I’m still in the “every other day” mentality as far as a revised posting schedule goes…just give or take a few hours. Need my betas all caught up before I run out of chapters.

Chapter 28

“Capris just don’t look good on me,” Buffy complained, tossing the khaki pants onto her bed with a huff. “I’m too short.”

Willow shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side…you can wear them as pants.”

Buffy pouted and kicked at the bed. As much as she loved her friend, there were just some things that fashion-challenged people didn’t know to appreciate. Willow was not cursed with a small stature. Rather, she had what a million girls would kill for; height, a full figure, and burgundy hair. She just didn’t know how to accentuate her assets, which explained why her favorite outfit was a sweater and a pair of overalls.

“Hey! That’s a good thing!” the redhead replied. “There aren’t many stores around here that carry petites.”

“Ugh. This is a nightmare.”

“You are just dressing up for patrol, right?”

Buffy made a face and held up a skirt to her waist, glaring at her reflection. Mirrors just really did not agree with her, as of late. She needed to beg her mother for access to her MasterCard again. “Patrol can be very fashion-challenging,” she replied defensively. “Ugh. What the hell was I thinking when I bought this?”

Willow arched a brow. “That you’re a knockout and you can wear sackcloth and still get men drooling over you?”

“This just does nothing for my hips.”

“It makes them less naked.”

She scowled at Willow through the mirror. “You’re not helping.”

The redhead paused and waved a little. “Ummm, hello? Remember me? I’m your fashion-impaired friend. The one that would wear flannel and fuzzy bunny slippers to prom if I could get away with it.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. If you want fashion advice, I am so not your girl.” Willow leaned over the side of the mattress to scoop up a magazine that had been collecting dust for God-knows-how-long. “Besides…” She glanced up coyly and grinned, “it is just patrol…right?”

“Of course,” Buffy replied, very intently ignoring the way her cheeks singed with heat. “Totally just patrol…with absolutely no sexy smoochies or naughty touching or anything that would…” A long sigh rolled off her shoulders. “I’m in such deep trouble.”

“Sounds like.”

“I honestly don’t know what to do. None of what I’m feeling makes sense to me.”

Willow shrugged. “Makes plenty of sense to me. You like Spike. You like smooching on Spike. You want Spike smoochies. Spike smoochies make Buffy a happy slayer.”

“That is entirely true except for the part where you’re incredibly wrong.”

“Huh?”

Buffy was quiet for a long second. “I don’t just want Spike smoochies, Will. Do you have any idea how easy it’d be if making out was the most I wanted from him? His lips are fantastic, I’ll grant you, but…they’re not all I want.”

“I’m still not seeing where I’m incredibly wrong. You’ve always seemed on the plus side of happy every time I’ve seen you post-nummy-Spike-encounter.”

“Yeah, well, that’s usually just the…erm…post-coital high.”

Willow flushed. “Ohhh. You mean that thing I have absolutely no way of knowing about?”

“No way? You have Oz.”

“In our incredible abstinent relationship, yes.”

Buffy frowned and stared at her. There was something in her friend’s voice that she’d never heard before. A sort of edge that only those who had experienced sexual frustration would know to identify. And for the first time in months, her eyes opened to the things that were happening outside her life—to things that were happening to her friends. Things that she should have noticed.

Willow had been a good sounding board recently, aside from her fantastic blunder of revealing the bogus pregnancy to the whole continent. And since then, she’d more than made up for her gaffe. She’d been all with the non-judgmental advice, and had even, at times, encouraged Buffy to pursue her feelings for Spike. All the while, Buffy had ignored her own duties in the best friend department. If Willow was having serious sex thoughts about Oz—serious cherry-popping thoughts—she wanted to be here to offer her sound advice.

Not that Buffy’s sound advice in the world of deflowering was all that great. Her first time hadn’t been one for the record books. But the second, third, fourth, and…okay, her skin was doing that blushy thing again. The thing was, Willow had to be sure that Oz deserved the privilege of being her first. Willow had to avoid making the mistakes that Buffy had made. She had to not wake up alone with a monster that wanted her dead.

Which meant that if Oz and Willow did get as far as doing the horizontal mambo, they should do it as far from a full moon as possible.

Buffy sighed and wandered back to her closet. What would the world have been like had she discovered this insane attraction for Spike prior to falling head over heels for Angel? What if Spike had been her first? Okay, so their first time together hadn’t been one to write home about, either, but it had beaten her time with Angel hands-down. Not only had Spike stayed with her until morning, he’d done the almost-sweet thing in…panicking that he’d forced himself on her.

God, that morning had been so confusing. It still was. But she couldn’t find it within herself to think ill of him for it. The more she grew to know Spike, the more she liked him, and the more she felt his horror at what he’d done. The Spike she knew now would never, ever force himself on a woman. There were times when she saw him gaze off thoughtfully; times when she felt him tense, and knew exactly what he was thinking. Even though she was more or less over the emotionally damaging part of that night, he still found himself mired in guilt.

He was more a man than Angel had ever been in all the time she’d known him. And he did it all without that soul that her ex found so handy.

Buffy blinked and shook her head. She’d gone from thinking about how bad a friend she’d been to Willow by focusing on her vampire-relationship problems, and had then proceeded to focus on her vampire-relationship problems.

“Will…are you thinking about…with Oz, are you two…?”

The redhead’s face flamed. “I…uhhh…I dunno. I mean, I think about it sometimes. Okay, a lot. All the time. But…but Oz wants to make sure I’m ready and I don’t think I am…just yet. I mean, I know it’ll be Oz when I am ready…but being ready is just not…” She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Do we really need to talk about this? I thought we had the pressing matter of your wardrobe to contend with tonight.”

“I just want to you to know that—”

“I can talk to you. Yes. How about stilettos?”

Buffy blinked. “You’re being avoid-o girl.”

“Yes. I’m not ready to discuss this. Really. Just the idea of me…and sex. Blah!” She made a face and shuddered. “I’d like to be the quivering virgin a while longer. Once I stop the quivering part, maybe we can focus on the…other part. But really! Stilettos?”

Buffy sighed and decided to let it go. If Willow didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t about to press the issue. “Stilettos?” she repeated. “For patrolling?”

Willow fidgeted again. “I actually don’t know what kind of shoes those are. Only that they’re shoes and they’re popular—and hey! At least I knew the term.”

“You did, at that.”

“So no stilettos?”

“Not for patrolling. Not unless I’m trying to attract demons in need of a good hooker.”

“Something tells me Spike wouldn’t like that.”

Guh. Willow had mentioned the S-word again. Buffy could in no way be to blame for the way her mind did the wandering thing while her heart flip-flopped. After all, she hadn’t mentioned the S-word.

Willow swung her legs over the edge of her bed and leaned forward intently. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“You’re just now picking this up?”

“No. But I am impressed that you acknowledged it rather than running headfirst into denial.”

“When have I ever done that?”

“Every single time I’ve mentioned Spike.”

Buffy shook her head. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping track.”

Willow grinned and shrugged. “I don’t see the big, really. I mean, yes, I can see where Giles and Xander, to name two people, will freak to epic proportions. But really, Buff, you should see…you. I know it’s causing you a lot of grief, but I’ve honestly never seen your eyes do the light-up thing before. Not even in the pre-killing-of-us days with Angel. And as totally weird as this sounds…Spike seems to care for you.”

Her heart thundered. “He does?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve only seen him twice. Once at the Bronze and then…that other time at the Bronze. But both times—”

Buffy exhaled softly and her shoulders slumped. Oh. “Yeah, both of those times, we were in massive…something with each other. Call it what you want. His eyes do a glowy thing whenever we’re together again after being apart for so long. It’s the lust spell, or whatever has us under this thing. It doesn’t mean he cares about me.”

The redhead didn’t look convinced. “Ummm…”

“And even if he does…care…once the spell is lifted, he won’t anymore.”

“Ummm, I was under the impression that you don’t know you’re under a spell when you’re under a spell.” She waved a little. “Remember last year? I came at Xander with an axe—a totally deserved axe, by the way, that rat bastard—and it was because of a stupid love spell. I didn’t know I was under a spell at the time. Neither did any of the other three hundred girls that wanted him dead—rightfully so—then.”

“That doesn’t mean all spells follow a certain pattern, though. It might be that the spell Dru put us under has us very aware of what we’re doing, and that’s where the revenge part of her plan is coming in.” Buffy sighed again and worried a lip between her teeth. The problem with that theory was that everything that she was feeling right now was authentic. The circumstances might have been otherworldly, but she liked Spike because she liked Spike, and not because a spell was making her like Spike. And perhaps that was it—perhaps Dru’s plan was only to seek revenge on Spike. Perhaps Buffy had just fallen in the crossfire of a bitter breakup, and she was falling for him as an added bonus for the scorned lover.

Only, from the sound of things, Spike was the scorned lover, so that didn’t make sense.

She shuddered. If she started thinking about their situation like that, her mind just might succeed in convincing her that Spike did care. She so wanted to believe it. She wanted everything they had to be real. But she couldn’t take the leap of faith just yet. Not yet. Not until the spell was over. If the spell ended and Spike was still making moon eyes at her, if he still felt all the heat and passion that he felt now, she would fall all too readily into his arms.

Until the spell was over, she’d just have to wait it out.

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit, Buffy,” Willow said softly. “You haven’t seen the way he is with you.”

“I have so,” she protested weakly. Dammit, the last thing her Spike-lusting mind needed was prompting from Willow to get with the Spike-lusting program. “I admit…he’s…”

“Yes?”

She was quiet for a minute, weighing her words carefully before everything collapsed. “God, Willow, I can’t. I just can’t. Let’s just say that I do throw my rules and my plan out the window. Say Spike and I do a lot of naked aerobics and I fall head over heels for him and then poof! The spell’s over. And then he hates me. He hates me and wants to kill me and goes on about how Dru is better than I am in every way and God, I couldn’t take that. It’s gonna be hard enough already if it happens. I’ve already had the…the physical stuff with him. Now we’re getting into the other stuff, and if I throw in physical on top of other, there’s just now way…”

“But you don’t know that’s going to happen.”

“Yes, but I don’t know that it’s not going to happen, either. I just need the spell to be over so we can see where we stand. If he still wants me when it’s over…” Buffy shook her head and glanced back into her closet. “Oh, screw it. Jeans and a halter top.”

Willow smiled weakly. “He’ll drool all over you.”

“That’s so not the objective.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not. It’s…” She trailed off miserably and sniffed. “I’m totally screwed, aren’t I?”

“I think you are just a little.”

“Gee, thanks.” She sniffed again. “Where’s my stock best friend reassurance?”

Willow frowned. “Oh. That was one of those moments?”

“Yes.”

“I totally dropped the ball.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Buffy stared at her for a minute, then chuckled humorlessly and shook her head. “I need to start getting ready,” she said weakly. “Meeting Spike in a half hour.”

“Watch how he watches you.”

“Will—”

Her hands flew up defensively. “I’m just saying. The guy has it bad. I don’t see how you’re blaming that on a spell, but if it’s your prerogative, go right ahead.”

Buffy scowled and planted her hands on her hips. “So about the having sex with Oz?”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Shutting up now,” she squeaked, and mimed zipping her lips.

“I’m wearing jeans and a halter.”

“But not stilettos.”

“Right. Because I’m not a hooker.”

“And because they’re not patrol shoes,” the redhead said, nodding.

“That’s right.” Buffy stared at her closet unblinkingly for a minute, then sighed dramatically. “I am so screwed.”

“Yeah. Looks like.” Willow quickly found herself on the receiving end of another glare. “I dropped the ball again, didn’t I?”

“Tossed it right into your court, and you dropped it.”

She nodded and practically sprinted for the door. “I’ll just be leaving now. Have fun on your not-a-date.”

“Have fun thinking of ways to have sex with Oz.”

“You know, right this minute, I don’t like you very much.”

“You can imagine how much of a problem that is for me right now.” Buffy didn’t move, didn’t even tear her eyes away from the closet. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Gossipy goodness,” Willow agreed perkily.

Thank God. As annoying as the redhead could be with her insightfulness—particularly with regard to all things Spike—Buffy depended on her right now for unloading of her Spike-related problems. She was the one person in the world guaranteed to not judge her, and if that meant tolerating her sense-making arguments on why she should be jumping headfirst into a relationship with her former worst enemy, then it was worth the price.

She could only hope that her heart agreed with her in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It should be illegal for any man to look that good, particularly since Spike’s looks tended to bring out the side of her that was gravity challenged.

“Spike!” Buffy gasped. She would have fallen on her face had she not found herself in his arms the next second, her heart pounding furiously against his cool, still chest. “Ohhh. Guh.”

“Gotta say, Slayer,” he rumbled amusedly. “If you don’t stop falling at my feet every time I see you, I’m gonna develop a complex.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re patrolling, remember?”

Oh, she remembered. She’d just scribbled a note to her late-working mother about said patrolling. Sure, she was running a few minutes late after going through every outfit in her closet twice, but not late enough to require a search party.

Finding Spike on her doorstep was a surprise totally worthy of falling-on-her-face, humiliating as it was.

“Sorry,” she explained hurriedly. “I know we’re patrolling, but I thought we were meeting at Restfield. Am I running that late?”

Spike shook his head, his eyes roaming her body predatorily. “No. I’m early, actually. Jus’ wanted…fuck, you look amazing.”

She flushed. Seems jeans and a halter top had been the way to go, after all.

“Oh, this old thing,” she replied teasingly. “It’s just—”

“Amazing.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Shall we?”

Oh God. We’ve been talking for thirty seconds, and I’m already melting.

“Ummm, yes.” She returned his smile weakly and nodded at the front door. “Just let me lock up and we’re all set.”

All set. Good God. He was here to pick her up. Like they were on a date.

And he was already reaching for her hand.

Buffy whimpered inwardly. Her heart was so doomed.

To be continued…

Chapter 29 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: ***bounces*** This story has been nominated over at the Love’s last Glimpse Awards!!! Thank you guys so much!!! ***massive hugs*** To whoever nominated me, and to everyone else for your wonderful support! I love you guys!

Chapter 29

Their fingers were laced, and their palms rubbed together with every step they took. Every few seconds, Buffy felt her eyes wander to their clasped hands, and warm butterflies filled her stomach. He was so close to her that a breath of air could not pass between them.

These patrol not-a-dates were the highlight of her day.

“So I’ve been thinkin’…”

Buffy’s head shot up. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of the plan, are you?” Because, at this point, I wouldn’t mind it if you gave it a shot. “Because the plan…is set in stone.” Really, really fragile stone. “Stone.”

Spike just grinned at her and shook his head. “No. I’m not gonna try an’ talk you outta the plan.”

That so wasn’t disappointment sliding down her spine. Really.

God, who am I kidding?

“Oh.” Buffy swallowed hard and forced a grin. “Okay. Then what is it that you’ve been thinking?”

“I don’ know if it makes sense for Dru to have cursed me because of infidelity issues.”

Gah. The butterflies were back. Maybe he was going to tell her that there was no curse. There was no spell. The pull between them was the natural force of attraction—pure attraction. Perhaps it was a vampire thing. Perhaps it was a slayer thing. And the only reason it hadn’t been there with Angel was that he wasn’t the one she was supposed to be with. The Powers had avoided giving her these feelings until she found Mr. Right. Because he was right. His scorned ex-girlfriend, psycho or not, cursing him to lust after another woman because she felt betrayed? Sense was so not with the making there.

Then again, it wasn’t as though her ephemeral flight of fancy had a ton of logic supporting it, either. Perhaps it was more the knowledge that her heart was in trouble, so her mind was looking for an out. A way to have Spike and not get hurt in the process.

That much made sense to her. Overactive Buffy brain, trying to override the rules of her own plan by providing escape hatches along the way. The fact of the matter was that her heart was going to end up in the shredder either way. Now she was split down the middle—panicking over her imminent heartbreak, and searching desperately for a way to keep Spike in her life.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “If it’s not Dru, then what—”

“Oh, I still think it’s Dru.”

No. That was not the sound of her heart screaming. That was the wind. “Oh. Okay.”

“She wouldn’t get back at me by giving me you, though. Truth of the matter is, I don’ think she cares very much.”

His tone surprised her. For as much the love of his unlife as Drusilla allegedly was, he didn’t give the impression of missing her, or caring that she didn’t care. Or hating her for leaving him. Or hating her for cursing him. Or hating her…period. Matter of fact, she didn’t detect any feeling whatsoever. It was as though he didn’t care about Dru at all.

That had to be wishful thinking. Of course he cared about Dru. He loved Dru. The second he was freed from being tied to her, he’d shake off whatever residual feelings this curse had given him and hop the first ship back to South America. Buffy would be lucky if he didn’t add insult to injury by trying to kill her first.

“So why would she curse us, then?” Buffy asked.

“I think it’s ‘cause you an’ I united to bring down her precious Angel.” Spike shrugged nonchalantly and lodged a cigarette between his lips. “She wanted to get back at us by makin’ us want each other bad.”

Buffy frowned. “So why give us the warm fuzzies to go along with it?”

Spike paused and glanced to her, smiling softly. “You have warm fuzzies over me?”

Guh. He was so gorgeous when he smiled like that. Okay, so he was pretty much gorgeous all the time. Being on the receiving end of his smile, though…there was nothing Buffy wouldn’t do to keep that smile aimed at her for the rest of her days.

“Well, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers,” she replied lamely.

“No. You kicked me outta bed because of some barmy plan.”

“Hey!” She pouted. “There will be no dissing of the plan!”

“Well, I gotta blame somethin’. You’ve had warm fuzzies about me, an’ you still managed to talk yourself into kickin’ me out of bed.” Spike shook his head and tsked. “Slayer, Slayer, Slayer. Whatever will I do with you?”

A good tongue-lashing oughta do the trick.

Buffy shivered. It was no wonder her heart was in such a perilous place, especially if these were the thoughts that kept her in check. “Well…I dunno if the warm fuzzies are just…me. Maybe Dru made it so—”

“No, sweetheart. They’re definitely not just you.”

Her face flamed and her heart swelled. “Oh.”

“I think she cast the spell thinkin’ that we’d go into this hatin’ each other. An’ maybe it was that at first.” Spike shrugged carelessly. “Don’ reckon I ever hated you.”

“You did.”

“Can’t seem to remember it.”

She shuddered again and squeezed his hand without thinking. “I do. And I remember…well, I remember a lot of things. Just a few days ago, you weren’t too wild with the idea of…well, me in general.”

Spike frowned and tossed her a wounded look. “I seem to recall makin’ up for that,” he replied. “At least, I tried.”

With sex. The last time we were supposed to have sex. Only we did it again after deciding on the plan. Oh, and again at the Bronze.

“Are you saying that the warm fuzzies aren’t generated from the spell, then?” Buffy asked, treading carefully. “Because if they are—”

“Doesn’ really make sense for Dru to get us panting over each other and enjoying it at the same time if it’s for revenge.”

She licked her lips. “So what you feel…the non-hatred, non-wanna-rip-your-throat-out stuff…that’s real?”

Spike domed a brow. “Wait,” he said, cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth. “Those don’ count as warm fuzzies?”

Her insides flushed cold. “In so many ways,” Buffy retorted, jerking her hand from his, “bite me.”

“That literal, pet?”

“Spike—”

“Of course I’m feelin’ something. An’ gimme your hand back.” Before she could blink, he had her fingers curled around his again. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“Obviously, yes.”

“Well—”

Logical Buffy intervened before he could speak. Suppose he said something wonderful. Suppose she melted into slayer-goo, and suppose she took this new theory at face value. It was all well and good until they discovered that the theory was just that—a theory—and the true reasoning behind their behavior was something else. And then they were back to square one. As feasible as Spike’s hypothesis sounded, they had nothing with which to support it. She couldn’t let him trap her under the illusion that everything was so readily explainable. Not when her heart was very literally on the line.

“Spike, stop.” She sighed heavily and shook her head, squeezing his hand for support in spite of herself. “The fact of the matter is, we don’t know.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged and met his eyes helplessly. God, they were so incredibly blue. She could lose herself in his eyes. “We don’t know. As wonderfully simple as your…Dru idea is, we can’t know if it’s that or something else. It could be a thousand things. Of all the demons I’ve pissed off, of all the demons you’ve pissed off, the odds of us discovering the culprit on the first guess are slim to none.”

Spike was quiet for a minute. He tore his gaze from hers and focused on the ground between them, his demeanor reminding her of a pouting child. “Second guess,” he replied insolently.

“What?”

“My firs’ guess was over infidelity, which is laughable. Dru could give a fuck about me.” Again with the odd non-caring in his voice. She really, really couldn’t read too much into that. “An’ even if I cheated on her a thousand bloody times in my head, she was the one that actually went off to shag some slimy-antlered demon.”

“I still don’t get that.”

“She din’t like me thinking about you, pet, an’ I’ve done little else since you first barreled into my life.”

Buffy blinked, stunned. “What?”

Spike smiled softly. “Don’ look so surprised. Fact of the matter is, that was my second guess.”

She looked at him for a few more dazed seconds before forcing herself to break away with a resolute shake of her head. “No. It was the first guess modified. And even so, we don’t have anything but a guess to go off of. And so we’re back to the beginning.”

“What beginning?”

“The beginning of not knowing why we feel this way.” She held up a hand before he could interrupt her. “Can you honestly say you’re positive that, once this is over, you won’t want to kill me?”

“Yes.”

Buffy blinked again. “Huh?”

Spike shrugged and grinned slightly, puffing on his cigarette. “You asked, pet.”

“Well…I don’t know if I’m positive.”

“About wanting to kill me?”

“About you wanting to kill me.”

His eyes narrowed. “So you suddenly know my feelings better than I do?”

“That’s not what I said—”

“Funny. That’s exactly what it sounded like.”

Buffy shook her head. This was not at all how she’d wanted tonight to go. “Can’t we just—”

The roar pierced the air the second before her gut twinged with a delayed spider-sense, and in a blink, Buffy found herself torn from Spike as a thick, intrusively male body barreled her to the ground. Her head smacked against a headstone hard enough to make her dizzy but not enough to knock her out. The vampire on top of her was smelly and dirty—obviously newly risen—and he was eying her like she was the prime rib special.

Fledglings, she thought irritably, moving quickly to shove him off of her. He’d interrupted her…well, argument, but he’d still interrupted. And patrol not-a-date or not, she didn’t like disruptions while she was speaking.

Something funny happened when she tried to shove him off. Her strength was zapped. Incredibly zapped.

Oh God.

The thought was accentuated with a particularly brutal punch to her face. And it was then that her body registered the pain splitting through her veins.

“Word of advice,” Mr. Smelly snarled. “If you’re walking through a cemetery, don’t get into a loud argument with your boyfriend, hmmm?”

The weight was gone the next second. Buffy sat up, gasping, just in time to see Mr. Smelly smash into the wall of a mausoleum hard enough to crack the stone.

Spike was in game face, and he looked furious.

“Dude, you’re a vampire?” Mr. Smelly said in disgust, dusting himself off. “What gives? You weren’t eating her, so I thought she was fair game. I’ll just—”

In all her years, Buffy had never seen such a display of rage. Spike roared and lunged. He didn’t just kill the fledgling; he slaughtered him. He beat him until there was nothing left to beat. Until his hands were bruised and stained with the vampire’s blood. Until the air around him was flecked with red dust. And he roared the entire time.

He made the headstones shake with the sound of his fury.

It was monstrous. It was beautiful. And it was for her.

The second the fledgling was dust, Spike growled and ran to her, collapsing to his knees at her side. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, his hands everywhere at once. “Show me where you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Buffy?”

“I’m okay,” she replied, but she didn’t feel it. Her head was spinning. Her muscles were flaccid. For the first time in four years, she felt completely powerless. “I…”

“You’re not okay,” Spike decided, lifting her into his arms. “What the fuck was that?”

“I got dizzy.”

“Is dizzy all? You’re not hurtin’, are you?” He met her eyes, and the wealth of concern burning through him warmed her insides. “You’re not hurtin’…in the way that only I can fix?”

She shook her head, but that made it worse. Her arms flew around his neck.

What is this? Why now?

“Spike…” she whimpered. “I’m…it’s all spinning.”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Spike?”

“I’m taking you home, Slayer.”

Her body protested. No, she didn’t want to go home. If she went home, the patrol non-date was over. She didn’t want it to be over. She wanted to stay out here with him. “It’ll pass.”

“Yes, an’ you’ll be home when it does.”

His tone told her that there was no arguing with him, so she gave up trying.

There was nothing to do but let Spike carry her home.

To be continued

Chapter 30 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Surprisingly, nothing profound. Just…thank you guys so much for everything. ***HUGZ***

Chapter 30

The island in the middle of the Summers’ kitchen was home to many things. A fruit bowl, a half-finished crossword puzzle, some rudimentary plans for a new branch of the gallery, and some clean dishes that both Buffy and Joyce had ignored for a few days.

It took half a second to sweep the surface clean.

“Spike—”

He wasn’t listening to her. “Gently, now,” he murmured, tenderly setting her atop the island. “Let’s see that cut.”

From the frown that marred her face, Buffy clearly hadn’t realized she was bleeding. She hadn’t, but oh, he had. With every step, he had to school his demon from growling possessively and licking the wound closed. The rich scent of her was driving him mad. She’d been hurt—a vampire had dared hurt her in front of him, and the knowledge had his demon reeling.

He needed her like he needed nothing else in this world.

“Cut?” she replied dazedly.

“Your head hit the grave marker,” Spike replied, gently turning her head to the side so he could determine just how bad it was. “When that…” Hot, burning outrage seared his insides. “When he—”

Buffy blinked rapidly and took his hand. “It’s over now.”

“He hurt you.”

“I get hurt a lot on this job.”

Spike shook his head. “Hold still, now. I’ll be right back.” He marched intently over to the sink and grabbed the nearest hand towel—one that smelled clean and looked unused—and soaked it with cold water. “You’re not supposed to get hurt when I’m with you,” he said over the hum of the faucet. “Not with me there. I could’ve stopped it.”

“We were kinda in the middle of a fight.”

Was that what that had been? Spike’s lips tugged upwards in a ghost of a smile. A lover’s quarrel? About how she was afraid his feelings for her were the product of a spell or some other ridiculous notion. He hadn’t figured that for arguing. It couldn’t be an argument; not with how bleeding ecstatic he’d been at the idea that he wasn’t the only one with feelings like that.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. Obviously, he sensed that Buffy liked him. He knew it from the way she talked with him. Looked at him. Touched him whenever they were together. Oh yeah, he knew that she liked him. He just hadn’t known it was like that. Beyond being physically drawn to each other, he hadn’t known that her feelings could ever be dubbed as, in her own words, warm fuzzies.

But she was bleeding terrified that his reciprocal feelings were the product of some poncy spell. Ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. After a century of living, and then some, he’d been under enough spells to detect when feelings were manufactured and when they weren’t.

Though he knew that she had a reason for believing the way she did. She had a thousand. And he cared for her too much to press the issue. Not now.

Not when she was succumbing to dizzy spells on patrol and nearly letting herself be done in by fledglings.

Spike was back at her side in an instant, lifting her chin with his fingers. “Hold still, pet,” he murmured, raising the washcloth to her wound. “You notice how all your head injuries of late have been when I’m around?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but her cheeks blushed prettily at the reminder. “You’re gonna give me crap for walking into the wall, aren’t you?”

“To be fair, it was hilarious.”

“For you, maybe.”

Spike grinned and nodded, dabbing the cut gently. “Well, yes.” His mirth vanished the second her eyes slammed shut and she hissed in pain, and in a blink, his outrage returned tenfold. “Did I hurt you? Am I usin’ too much pressure?”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“You let yourself get tossed around like a sodding rag doll by a weakling vamp. I don’t think that qualifies as fine.” He frowned and pressed the towel to her cut and held for a second. “Do you have a First Aid kit around here?”

“I don’t need First Aid.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Slayer healing. It’s not that bad.” Though from the look on her face, she was having trouble selling that idea to herself. “I’m not dizzy anymore.”

“Well, then by all means, let’s toss you around a bit.”

“Spike—”

He arched a pointed brow. “First Aid?”

Buffy glared at him stubbornly for a few seconds, then sighed and motioned vaguely with her hand. “Oh, what the hell. You’re being sweet and possessive and who am I to pass that up?”

Spike grinned. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“It’s in the bathroom. The one upstairs. First drawer on the left.” She grabbed his arm before he could bolt, and the lack of strength behind her hold made his heart wilt. The slayer grip he’d come to cherish was gone. There was nothing behind her hold but pure human. “Quietly. I don’t think my mom’s home, but you never know. And she hasn’t quite gotten over the last time you were here.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I was a saint the last time I was here.”

“Well, technically, the last time you were here, we had raunchy sex in my bedroom, so I don’t think that counts.” She flushed brightly, and he found the look so unbelievably cute that he had to refrain from kissing her gorgeous lips and telling her how much he adored her. “But I mean…with the killing of Angel and…stuff.”

“I was referring to that, too.”

“You weren’t a saint.”

“I was as close as I ever wanna come.” Spike kissed her cheek before he could help himself. “Don’t move, Slayer. I’ll be right back.”

It didn’t take long to find the kit, though once he had it in front of him, Spike had no earthly idea what to do with it. It wasn’t as though time and experience had granted him much need for antibiotics. Usually, just swathing wounds with a wet cloth was enough stimulation for his enhanced cells. It was one of the many perks that came with being a vampire.

It was supposed to be a perk of being a slayer, too. Buffy was the best slayer he’d ever known; she wasn’t supposed to get tossed around like a rag doll. When it’d happened, he’d been so bloody stunned that he couldn’t get his legs to move. His insides had filled with fire; his demon’s screams could have moved continents.

Spike huffed angrily, glancing up to the bathroom mirror, and was greeted with the reflection of the wall behind him. God help the git who tried to hurt her.

He found Buffy as he’d left her. Her ankles were crossed and she was gripping the edge of the island. She looked every part the warrior—injured, but not defeated. And none of that—none—had to do with strength.

Not the kind of strength that bent steel, anyway.

“Your mum’s not here,” he said, placing the First Aid kit on the counter. “So if this stings, feel free to scream your heart out.”

“I’m not going to scream,” she replied.

“Jus’ saying, the option’s open for you.” He heaved a sigh and laved a cotton swab with whatever disinfectant the kit provided, winced at the thick smell, and approached Buffy tentatively. “Here. Lean toward me, kitten.”

“Oh God.”

“What?”

“You look sick.”

“Smells bad.” He tapped his nose with his free hand. “Heightened senses can be a bloody bitch. Now, come here.”

“Look, I can do it if—”

“Bollocks to that. You think I’m not man enough to tough this thing out? Besides, you’re more important than my nose.” He grinned when she unlocked her ankles and parted her legs for him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, stepping between her thighs. “Grab hold of my arm, luv, an’ squeeze hard if it stings.”

“If I squeeze hard, I might tear your arm off.”

Spike pursed his lips. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Easy now,” he murmured, and dabbed her cut. Buffy hissed and her hand closed down on his arm, capturing him in a tight hold that would have been bloody painful were she at full strength. Were she at any measure of slayer strength at all.

She wasn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Spike dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder. God, she tasted sweet. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” she replied through clenched teeth.

“Of course.” He forced himself away from her heavenly heat to retrieve the bandages he’d left in the kit. “Good news is, worst part’s over.”

“You’re gonna bandage me?”

Spike blinked. “Well…yeah. It’s what you ruddy pulsers do, right? One of you gets hurt; you fix it with sticky tape an’ cotton. Or am I behind the times again?”

“Hello! Slayer, here. I’ll just tough it out.”

“What happened to me being sweet and possessive?” He held up the band-aid with a pout. “Wantin’ to patch you up isn’t being sweet an’ possessive?”

“So you’re gonna guilt-trip me into becoming Patchwork Buffy?”

Spike shrugged. “If it works. Hold still, luv.”

“You’ve said that like fifty times. Have I moved?”

He arched a brow. “Now you’re getting testy. You don’t wanna beat up on your sweet, possessive Spike, do you?”

“You’re never gonna let me forget I said that, are you?”

“It’s not lookin’ that way, no.” With cool dexterity, he slid the band-aid over her cut, and leaned back to admire his work with a grin. “There we are. All better.”

Buffy just looked at him for a minute, then blinked and sighed and averted her eyes to the empty space between them. “Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s been…a long, long time since I’ve ever needed…well, not that I know I needed anything or not…it’s been a long time since anyone really worried over me like that.”

Spike smiled. “My pleasure. Now…” He exhaled slowly and wedged himself between her thighs again. “If you’ll just hop back in my arms, I’ll carry you upstairs an’ tuck you in.”

“What?”

“If you’re lucky, I’ll even read you a bedtime story.”

“Whatever happened to walking? And…I can tuck myself in, thanks. Plus I’m all grimy and gross from patrol, and—”

“Pet, you gotta let your vanity go every now an’ then. You’re exhausted.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Make it the point for tonight, hmmm? Come on, then.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, then glanced almost reluctantly to the sanctuary his arms provided. “You’re really getting off on being the manly man, aren’t you?”

Spike shrugged and smirked wickedly. “I get off in many ways.”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Buffy stared at him a minute longer. “This,” she said, sliding effortlessly into his arms, “is humiliating.”

“If it was, you’d be walking.”

There was nothing about this that he didn’t love. The feel of her against him was remarkable—something he wouldn’t trade for all the blood in China. He loved the way she protested being the dainty female; it was refreshing, it was different. She was a woman who could take care of herself, and hated being pampered even when she deserved it.

Too often, during the last few decades of their relationship, Dru had capitalized on her illness by making Spike her all-too willing manservant—which, at the time, had been just fine with him. He hadn’t complained; he hadn’t known to complain. He hadn’t felt anything but pride in taking care of his woman.

The pride he felt in taking care of Buffy, though, was divine. He felt as though he was helping a fallen goddess—someone who didn’t reach out to many when she needed a hand, and he’d been lucky enough to be standing within reach. Buffy was so proud, so gloriously stubborn, and she wouldn’t accept help from just anyone. Similarly, she wouldn’t trust just anyone to see her weakness. To see her when she was less a deity and more a human. She was so accustomed to that bloody pedestal that her friends put her on—that her Watcher and her stupid brooding hulk of an ex put her on—that she didn’t know when to stop. When it was all right to look around and see if anyone was willing to lend her a hand, or at the very least, a willing shoulder.

Buffy didn’t depend on anyone but herself, and though she might think relying on him now was a sign of weakness, it was perhaps the strongest display he’d ever witnessed.

“Don’t s’pose you need me to help you change into your jams, do you?” Spike asked, lowering her steadily to the floor. “I…what the bloody hell is that?”

Buffy blinked dazedly. “Huh?”

He pointed to the mountain of clothing protruding from her otherwise normal-looking mattress.

“Oh,” she replied with a flush. “That. Erm…I was…having trouble. That is, I didn’t know what to wear tonight.”

“So you tried on the whole bloody town?”

“Hey! I didn’t…ummm.” Buffy shifted anxiously, pivoting on her heel and pressing her palms to his chest. “I need a minute. I need to…change. Oh.” She turned again and dove for the mountain of clothes, surfacing a minute or so later with a pair of flannel bottoms and a tank top in one hand. “I need to be in the other room to change.”

“Why?”

“I just do!” she insisted, brushing past him and marching intently toward the loo. “Don’t touch anything!”

Stubborn bint was going to shower anyway. Spike huffed and turned back to her room bemusedly. And he wasn’t supposed to touch anything? How the hell did she think she was going to get into bed over the mess she’d made? He had two hands and some time to kill—might as well make it easy for her.

It didn’t occur to him until he had the mountain successfully shoved onto the ground that the only engagement she had planned for the evening was patrol with him. She’d worried herself silly over her wardrobe for a non-date patrol…with him.

Spike found himself grinning like an idiot.

Buffy had dressed up for him. For him.

That was almost worth not breaking her trust by leaving her panties where he found them. He smirked to himself and shoved a few pairs into his duster pocket. Almost.

She didn’t leave him alone for long. Her scent hit the air the second before her voice did. God, she smelled divine.

“You touched things.”

Spike whirled around and shrugged. “Jus’ wanted to lend a hand, pet.”

She arched a brow pointedly at the pile of clothing that now resided on the floor.

“Never said I was any good at this housecleaning business.” He took a few steps forward, squinting at her bandage. “How did you manage to shower an’ not rub that thing off?”

“Feminine ingenuity,” she replied, then shuffled when his focus shifted to her scanty attire. “Don’t.”

“What?” he asked, his eyes glued to her breasts. Her nipples were saluting him through the thin fabric. God, it’d be so easy to reach out and touch her. Taste her. Caress her. He’d have her on her back and halfway to the stars before she thought to shoo him away.

“I should…” Spike expelled a deep breath and cast a hand through his hair. “I should go. Let you rest.”

Buffy’s eyes softened. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Spike…” The next thing he knew, she was pressed against him, her hands splayed across his chest. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable; the tease had vanished. It was as though she was just coming to terms with what had happened. As though she was just realizing that a vampire had been at her throat tonight, and she would’ve been dead were it not for him. Her former worst enemy. Her not-quite-boyfriend. Her not-quite anything.

Spike shivered. Boyfriend. The Slayer’s boyfriend. How was it that he suddenly craved that title above all others? What had she reduced him to?

Why didn’t he care more?

“When I…squeezed your arm downstairs,” she said slowly. “It didn’t hurt, did it?”

He swallowed. “Slayer—”

“Tell me.”

A beat. “No. It didn’t.”

“And earlier…” She frowned and trailed off. “Is this…is this another side-effect? Another symptom of…Dru’s spell or whatever?”

“I don’t know, pet. I don’t think so.”

Buffy’s frown deepened. “I could’ve…”

“No. You wouldn’t have.” He held up a hand. “I don’ bloody care if I was there or not. You’d’ve found a way to do it. To off the bastard that hit you.” The very thought made him shake. “An’ it’s prob’ly jus’ a glitch.” He swallowed hard. “You’ve been through a lot, recently. Rest up, kitten. Tomorrow’ll be better.”

He was going to walk away; he really was. But then, something strange happened. Something he couldn’t have predicted. Buffy’s small hands cupped his face, and the next thing he knew, he was in paradise. A moan scratched at his throat and his hands seized her shoulders. Her mouth whispered against his, her soft, silky tongue imploring his lips for entrance. He devoured her, determined to drown in her taste. It had only been days—Christ, just days—since he’d known the simple rapture of her kiss, but it felt like lifetimes. He’d missed her kisses. He’d missed everything. The small, panty moans she whispered against his lips. The way she thrust her hips against him, the way she rubbed against his hard, denim-clad cock as though she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. He’d missed this. God, he’d missed this so much.

But rationality shut him out. Buffy wanted him now. He could smell how much she wanted him. How desperately she wanted to lead him back to her bed and forget that tonight had happened. Forget all the bad while swallowing the good. But he couldn’t forget. Not with everything she’d told him. His body craved hers, but not in the way that had possessed him to lose control before. No, he craved her simply because he craved her. Because she was Buffy, and there was nothing to living except the want of her.

Her plan, however tortuous, had worked. The stupid thing had actually worked. They were together every night, and the pain had subsided. And he had control now. Control where he did not want it. He had the power to stop this before it turned into something she’d kick herself over.

Their argument, their lover’s quarrel, wasn’t over. Buffy didn’t think he wanted her for anything beyond what her delicious body had to offer. He was dead set on proving her wrong, and words were meaningless without action.

“Buffy,” he murmured helplessly against her lips, reaching behind his neck and seizing her wrists. “We can’t.”

She pulled back and blinked stupidly. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses.

Christ, he wanted her.

“The plan, kitten. Remember?” Spike brought her wrists to his mouth and worshipped the inside of each with a soft kiss. “I want you. I don’ think you know how much I want you. But if we do this tonight, you’re gonna regret it tomorrow. I don’t want you to go through that.” He paused, then neared to brush his lips against her brow. “I’m stopping before you become that girl.”

Buffy just stared at him in wonder.

“Pet, I’m not rejecting you. Fuck, if you need to feel how much I want you, just put your hand—”

“No. No. I…” Her head ducked and he caught the shine of what he thought were tears. And when she glanced back up, the look on her face was worth every ounce of frustration that roared through his body. “Thank you. Just…Spike, thank you.”

Warmth flooded him wholly.

He was wrong; it wasn’t just worth his body’s frustration.

It was worth the whole damn world.

To be continued

Chapter 31 by Ameeya

Chapter 31

“What do you mean, your strength is gone?”

Buffy looked up miserably. She’d managed to talk her mother into letting her stay home that Monday, convinced that she was sick. She felt so slack that little things, like changing clothes, had suddenly become burdensome. She hadn’t realized until she awakened how much she’d hoped that the previous night’s newbie-vamp experience had been a side effect of being near Spike. And at the time, she hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the fact that, were that so, it would not only make absolutely no sense, but also add another problem to her already lengthy roster.

Willow had called her around eleven that morning and, after listening to a considerable amount of begging, had broken one of her personal cardinal laws. In perhaps her first conscious act of academic defiance, the redhead had skipped school to spend the afternoon with her ailing friend. And while she kept casting dodgy glances to the front door, as though the mob squad would burst into the room and drag her back at any second, she seemed otherwise content to serve as the sounding board.

“Spike and I were patrolling last night, and I got attacked by a random fledgling vamp. He would’ve killed me if Spike hadn’t been there.”

Willow frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Gee, you think?”

“I take it Spike saved the da…erm, night?”

Buffy inhaled deeply, trembling. Spike had done more for her last night than anyone ever had. When she’d been weak, he’d given her his strength. Never before had anyone allowed her to be the damsel, and while it was hardly a role she wanted to grow into, Spike hadn’t berated her for something she couldn’t control. He hadn’t expected more from her, hadn’t demanded more from her; had, in fact, encouraged her to rest. She’d needed help, and he hadn’t thought any less of her because of it.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to say that her friends treated her any differently, but God, she certainly felt like they did. Xander seemed to think she was Superwoman, and was constantly disappointed when she couldn’t run faster than a speeding bullet. When bad things happened, his eyes always fell to her, silently demanding why she hadn’t done anything to prevent it.

Angel was the same way. If she slipped up, he wanted to know why. If there was an error in her judgment, he wanted to analyze every facet of her decision. If she was beaten, it was because she wasn’t strong enough. She’d let the baddies get the best of her. She’d done this. She’d done that. Anything and everything was automatically her fault, because the Powers had pointed to her in the lineup and decided it was her turn at bat. This was the only life she’d ever have, and she spent most of it feeling discouraged over things she couldn’t help. Feeling guilty for deaths she hadn’t prevented, and certainly not for lack of trying.

Buffy spent so much time trying to be a superhero that at times she’d forgotten how it felt to be human. Humans weren’t weak, as Spike’s wordless understanding had reminded her last night. There had been no condemnation in his eyes whenever she had to lean on him. When he’d carried her into her house, doctored her wounds, and carted her up the stairs like she was Scarlett O’Hara or something.

The strong-willed, strong-minded, but oh-so-female protagonist.

Spike hadn’t looked down on her for that. He’d made her realize, without saying a word, that sometimes, the strongest thing a person could do was rely on another for help.

And after that? She’d kissed him. She’d allowed her rules to fly out the proverbial window because of the way he made her feel—not as a slayer, not even as Buffy, but as a woman. As an individual who was different while still the same. Who was human while being superhuman. He’d given her so much, and without thinking, she’d cast the plan aside. The woman in her had reached for the man in him, and rather than take advantage of an emotionally confusing situation, he’d remembered enough for both of them.

He’d slaughtered the vamp that had hurt her in rage. He hadn’t used her body. He hadn’t done anything other than care for her. And in doing so, the last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. She knew without a doubt now; her heart would not survive this.

She was completely in love with Spike.

“Buffy?”

Buffy blinked and glanced up. Willow was looking at her strangely. “Oh,” she murmured. “Did I…”

“Wander off? Yes.” The redhead’s lips twitched. “I take it that I hit the nail on the head? With Spike saving the day?”

“Yes.” Damn, she hated that her voice was so shaky. “Yeah, he did.”

Willow frowned. “Buffy?”

“I don’t…” She cleared her throat and looked away quickly.

God. I love him.

It wasn’t as though the words hadn’t been floating around in her head; she’d been frightened of how deep her feelings were becoming for days now. But last night had cast aside any doubt. She was completely, insanely, and hopelessly in love with Spike. She’d never known love like this. Not with Angel; not with anyone. It felt…

Real.

Terrifying.

“I’ll…ahhh, I’ll go to school here in a while,” Buffy said softly, scratching absently at her thigh. “Talk to Giles about the…the thing that happened last night. Maybe every slayer runs out of batteries after a few years and needs a day or two to recharge or something.”

The redhead nodded helpfully. “Yeah.”

She wilted. “Or…or maybe the Powers have caught up with the news that there are two of us—two slayers, I mean—and decided that Faith should be the fulltime girl.”

“Huh? No way, Buffy. No way.” Willow frowned and shook her head furiously. “Are you kidding me? With the…it’s Faith. She’s like the dunce of all slayers. You do all her patrolling on top of yours. In the meantime, she does nothing but get into brawls and bar fights and she kills demons when she feels like it. When she needs to…ummm…”

Buffy arched a brow. Willow shifted uncomfortably.

“What’s this?”

“Well, one of those times that you and…Spike were off…at the Bronze, she came up and was all floozeyish and all over Xander.” The redhead’s green eyes flashed angrily. “Not that he minded, that unbelievable jackass. Cordy might be evil, but she doesn’t deserve being cheated on by Xander. And with Faith.”

“Xander cheated on Cordy?”

“No, but he really wanted to!” Willow nodded hurriedly. “A-at least…I think so. But Faith was going on and on about how she hadn’t gotten any good slays in and how she wanted…ummm…that. That or a fight.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Eww.”

“Yes! Exactly! Much with the eww. And there’s no way that the Powers would choose eww over you.” Willow paused. “That was an unfortunate rhyme.”

“Ahh.”

Willow was quiet for a second, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. When she spoke again, her tone was soft and considerate. “You’re not…if this no-powers thing turns out to be bigger than…you’re not worried that Spike won’t like you anymore, are you? Because you’re not the Slayer?”

Buffy froze, her eyes going wide. Truthfully, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“Not that he would!” Willow amended, her voice reaching a high note. “I-I mean, I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem like…he has a slayer fixation, yes, but—”

Buffy wasn’t listening. Her mind was on replay.

She knew. It wasn’t even a matter of concern.

“No,” she replied softly. Then again, louder. “No. No. Spike wouldn’t…no. It’s…he was…last night, he was…he was wonderful.”

If anything, if her powers suddenly vanished, Spike would be only second to her mother in giving her support. And even then, that was stretching it. Her calling might have brought them together, but it was also one of the things keeping them apart. No, if her powers were gone, losing Spike was at the very bottom of her concerns.

Of that list, anyway. It was probably the only list that didn’t feature her fear of losing Spike.

Whatever she was thinking must have been written all over her face.

“Buffy?” Willow asked timidly. “Ummm…did something happen with Spike last night?”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, God. It did, didn’t it? Something happened. You guys tossed out the plan? Or—”

Realization rattled her body. Buffy shook her head. “No. No. Nothing like that.” The plan failed. “No…I just…”

Willow leaned forward and placed a hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Buffy glanced up, blinking rapidly. “I love him.”

Then she burst into tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was no longer a surprise to see Angel in the library, but Buffy couldn’t help herself. She’d just endured one of the longest crying jags in recent memory over something she couldn’t help, and while Willow had told her repeatedly that she had nothing to cry over, nothing about her current situation could be labeled okay. Her strength was gone, her heart was lost, and she still didn’t know how much could be attributed to a spell—Dru’s or otherwise.

Seeing Angel provoked a whirlwind of negativity. She needed a reason to scream; she needed a target, and he was right there.

“You know, there’s a word for people like you,” Buffy spat coldly. “Stalker.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“No. It’s really not.” She turned her eyes to Giles, who was sitting behind the counter, thumbing through an ancient text. “And you! I need answers.”

“Hello, Buffy,” he greeted. “How was your day?”

“My day? Sucky. You know why?” She reached into her back pocket and produced a stake, then glanced to Angel. And before he had a chance to duck or even register what was happening, she hurdled it across the room in what would have been a perfect spiral aimed for his chest, and watched as it tumbled pathetically to the ground, a good five feet away from target.

“Hey!” Angel objected. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Buffy retorted, turning back to Giles. “Why didn’t that hit him?”

The Watcher’s eyes had an unusual light to them. “I don’t know. Shall we try again? I’ll hold him down, if you like.”

“Giles!”

“Giles!” Angel echoed, bending over and collecting the fallen stake from the floor, shaking it demonstratively. “She threw this at me!”

“Was that what that was?” He sniggered and shook his head. “Damn my fleeting bouts of blindness.”

“I’m way off my game,” Buffy continued, ignoring her pouting ex. “My game’s left the country. It’s in Cuernavaca. Giles, what’s going on here?”

Angel gestured emphatically. “Am I to understand that both of you are disappointed that I didn’t dust?”

They turned to him on the same dry beat and replied, “Yes,” in perfect unison before returning their attention to each other.

“It’s likely just a cold,” Giles replied airily, not meeting her eyes. “Take…forty-eight hours. I’ll have Faith cover your patrols for you.”

Buffy froze. No. No. Patrols were her time with Spike. She wasn’t about to just give that up. “Faith? Faith doesn’t even cover her own patrols. How the hell do you expect to get her to cover mine?”

Angel stepped forward. “I’ll—”

“No,” Buffy barked, not even tossing him a glance. “Giles—”

“It’s nothing. Look, you’ve been giving it a hundred and ten percent for the past few weeks. I don’t see the problem in allowing Faith to take over patrol for a night or two.” He blinked and glanced down to his text and sighed. “Besides…tomorrow is your birthday. Were you really expecting to be asked to patrol on your birthday?”

Buffy shrugged. “Hasn’t really stopped me before.”

“I thought you had a standing date with your father for ice skating.”

“Yeah, and how often has that occurred in the past three years?” She shook her head. “I’m patrolling.”

“If you’re weak—”

“I’m patrolling.” She turned to Angel and wagged her finger in warning. “And if you so much as think as of showing your abundance of forehead around my cemeteries, I’ll be throwing more than stakes at you.”

“You threw that very near the heart,” he complained.

“Yeah. Shame I didn’t make it.”

“Buffy—”

She shook her head and waved a hand. “I have to go get ready for patrol.”

This was a little thing. An incredibly little thing. It would pass. It had to.

And she wasn’t about to let Faith ruin her patrol non-date. Not for anything.

To be continued

Chapter 32 by Ameeya

Chapter 32

Spike didn’t like the idea of patrolling, and it didn’t occur to him until fifteen minutes before he was due to meet her that he could have looked up her number in the phone book and changed their plans. As it was, he’d spent most of his energy bolting over to her place to walk her to the hunting ground, and was only slightly shaken when no one answered his rather brutal pounding on the door.

If she wasn’t at home, she was likely coming directly from the library. And though his instincts told him to head her off along the way, he knew that, even with a town as small and pathetic as the Hellmouth, he could end up chasing her scent for hours before he finally found her. He knew where he was supposed to be, and he knew that she would be there, too.

Buffy wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea of abandoning her nightly routine, even if she was feeling under the weather. However, he wasn’t about to take another chance with her like the one last night. If it happened again, he might not be quick enough. He’d rip apart any rat bastard who was dumb enough to touch her.

In the meantime, he was hoping he could talk her into something else. Perhaps a walk or a movie or something else—and though it made him less a vampire and more a slayer-smitten man, by God, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. There obviously wasn’t anything he could do about it—his feelings were real and they weren’t going anywhere—and it was better being the man that she could deserve and being this close than being a vampire and not having her at all.

It took less than three minutes to race from Buffy’s house to the place in Restfield where they’d agreed to meet for their non-date patrols. He was mildly concerned when he didn’t see her waiting for him, but forced himself to keep from panicking. Slayer strength or not, Buffy was incredibly self-reliant. He wasn’t going to overcrowd her with mollycoddling…but he couldn’t stop himself from worrying.

Spike began to pace, then decided that it would be better if Buffy saw him as calm and collected and not overly alarmed. He forced himself to sit atop a grave marker, his fingers immediately beating a cadence onto the surface until he occupied his hands by searching for his smokes.

A foreign scent hit him the second he lit up, and he had to fight off a grimace. It was female, and non-Buffy, and had his insides churning immediately.

“You ever hear those things’ll kill you?”

“You can imagine how much I care.” Spike slowly trailed his gaze up. It was the other one. The brunette slut-of-an-excuse for a slayer. “You’re…Faith, right?”

She grinned, pleased, and crossed her arms. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Not sure that’s something I’d be proud of, pet.”

“You’re out here waiting for Buffy, aren’t you?”

Spike stilled and blew out a cool stream of smoke. “You know, for a bint I’ve never met before, you sure do seem to take an interest in what I’m doing.”

Faith shrugged and tossed her hair. “Hey, me slayer, you vamp. I don’t need to give you a copy of the script now, do I?”

He rolled his eyes. “Somehow, you don’ strike me as the type for convention. Of all the slayers I’ve known—which is, I assure you, quite the lengthy list—I don’ believe I’ve ever had one waltz up an’ start making introductions.” He took another long drag of his cigarette and cocked his head. “Most turn arse an’ run.”

“Now, now, Willy. It’s unbecoming of you to lie to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “That's a shame, pet, 'cause I want so much to be attractive to you.”

If she heard the sarcasm dripping from his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, her gaze slowly raked down the length of him and she licked her lips appraisingly. The sensation made him want to heave.

Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?

When her eyes met his again, he felt his insides recoil in disgust.

God, she didn’t honestly think I was serious, did she?

“You don’t think I know your whole sordid past?” Faith replied, arching a brow. “I know you’re out here waiting for B, which is a bust, by the way. She’s been told not to show up. And if she does, guess who gets to blow the horn?”

Panic shot to the bone. Spike was on his feet in an instant. “Why?” he demanded, forgetting himself. If she was looking to prompt a reaction and make him reveal something significant, he wasn’t doing much to stop her. Then again, she’d mentioned Buffy, so all rationality was irrevocably lost.

“Why? Didn’t you get the memo? B’s got a nasty cold. The kind that made her melt into a squishy, not to mention breakable human. We can’t have her running around thinkin’ she’s got power while the likes of you are out here waitin’ to teach her a lesson she so richly deserves.” Faith’s brows perked and she slid her hands into her pockets, taking a presumptuous step forward. “But see, the thing is, I don’t think B would mind runnin’ into a nasty if it looked like you. The girl’s got a major jones for vamps.” She paused. “From the look on your face, I’m guessin’ this is something you already know.”

Spike swallowed hard and began walking backward. Every step that she took propelled a fresh wave of nausea through his gut. But it was more than that; it was the wicked delight in her eyes. As though she knew exactly how he was reacting to her. As though she knew that he’d rather fall heart-first onto a stake than touch female skin that didn’t belong to Buffy. There was something off about her. Something dark and twisted. Something that the demon in him recognized, but rejected rather than welcomed.

Her darkness was too overbearing. Her voice struck him in the same manner as nails being dragged down the proverbial chalkboard. There was nothing appealing about her. Not to the demon. Not to the man. And perhaps that had everything to do with her not being Buffy, but to Spike, that reasoning was more than enough.

Plus, she seemed to really enjoy the fact that Buffy was elsewhere. As though she’d intentionally sought him out, knowing that he was the one to go after if she wanted Buffy hurt.

“Well, then,” he said. “I’ll jus’ be—”

She walked right up into his personal space and placed her hands on his chest, and he was hit by another wave of nausea. “What’s the rush?”

Umm, you’re psychotic?

“Look—”

“Buffy’s not here. I know she’s got you on a short leash, right?” She grinned when his eyes widened, and leaned in closer. “Oh, come on. You two haven’t exactly been discreet. If you’re gonna be her secret boyfriend, you might wanna make it more conspicuous than dates in a graveyard.”

He was paralyzed with loathing. His joints were stiff, his muscles suddenly stone. If she didn’t stop touching him, he was going to yack. And it wasn’t going to be pretty. “You stupid bint, take your hands off me.”

“Why? Buffy’s not been very giving. Thought you might want an actual ride.” Her teeth clamped down on his ear. “I’ll hold more than your hand.”

That was it. Spike’s bumpies burst through his human face and he seized her shoulders, thrusting her away from him in disgust. He wanted to lash out, make her bleed; make her scream until she begged for mercy for even hinting at what she’d practically shoved down his throat. However, his body was overwhelmed with dizzy sickness. He couldn’t move very well, let alone give her the arse-kicking she so richly deserved. “Get away from me,” he growled, coughing and reaching for a gravestone to maintain balance. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Aww! You’re faithful! That’s so sweet.” She neared again. “But then, so was my driving instructor. Didn’t stop him from screwing me senseless in the backseat of the driver’s-ed car. So was that cop that let me off the DWI for the price of a blowjob. So was—”

He was shaking with a combination of revulsion and outrage, the inner roaring drowning out her litany of sexual indiscretions—thank the bloody maker. His demon was clawing at his skin from the inside, screaming to rip the chit limb from bloody limb. If she touched him again, all bets were off. He’d let the beast go. He’d cast the human in him aside and let the beast go. And if that happened, he’d tear her apart.

“You don’t strike me as a vanilla kinda guy,” Faith observed. “Lord knows I’ve needed a good ride—”

Spike roared and swung at her, sending her to the ground with a deliciously satisfying crash. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he demanded. “You stupid—”

The next thing he knew, her foot collided with his chest, and he was sent spiraling back until he smashed against a mausoleum wall.

“Don’t tell me she’s got you tamed, too!” Faith shouted angrily. “You fucking coward. You’re all a bunch of cowards! Angel hiding behind his soul. Can’t betray little Miss Buff even though she’s out fucking another vamp, one already sans conscience who can’t be—”

Spike’s eyes widened and he rolled to his feet. “So that’s it, then? Whatever Buffy has, you gotta take?”

Faith shrugged. “She’s got so many things she doesn’t deserve. Angel’s loyalty? Where the fuck does she get off keeping him so damn faithful to her while she’s out doing evil—that’d be literally—every night? Her precious Giles doesn’t seem to mind, either. That nice house, her mom, her perky little friends…she screws up, and everyone turns a blind fucking eye. I screw up, and I got a fucking Inquisition breathing down my neck.”

He laughed humorlessly. “So, what? You think offerin’ yourself as a piss-poor consolation prize is gonna even the odds? Do you have any idea how many times you’d have to kill me before I’d even consider touching you? I can barely hold down my lunch long enough to kill you right an’ proper. You’re disgusting.” The flash of anger behind her eyes was delicious. “An’ that’s what this is about, innit? Buffy has everythin’ an’ you’ve got nothing. Boo bloody hoo. You’ve come to the wrong bloke if you’re lookin’ for pity. Tell me, how much have you worked for? How much have you sacrificed? How much do you deserve?” He punctuated his point with a severe right hook, his demon cackling with glee when she was sent crashing back to the earth. “Fuck, I don’ even know you, an’ I know the answer to that. Nothing. You deserve nothing. An’ that’s what you’re gonna get from me. Nothing. An’ you’ll never get it from anyone else, either. Not anyone with a bloody brain on their shoulders. There’s a reason she has more than you. She’s better than you. An’ you’ll never have what she has.”

“You’re smitten with her,” Faith panted, wiping blood off her chin. “And what do you get outta it beyond a stiff dick? I’ve seen you two together. She’s stopped putting out now, and she doesn’t let you touch. Never lets you touch.”

Spike’s eyes flared. “Better a saint than a whore.”

Faith shook her head. “She’s limp. She’s a fucking rag doll. If it’s strength you’re looking for, she has none.”

He laughed incredulously. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You have no idea how often I hear that.”

“So Buffy goes human an’ you think you can wheedle in an’ try to take more of what she has?” Spike shook his head. “You think that her being a slayer has anything to do with…” He broke off. “You know, you’re not even worth the air I don’t breathe.” He stomped over angrily and smashed his foot into her head with a swift kick. She collapsed, unconscious, and his demon roared his triumph. “Nighty night.”

He didn’t get two steps away. Spike stopped cold.

Buffy was standing just a few feet away, her eyes shining with tears and her jaw slack.

“Spike,” she gasped, trembling.

Something within him snapped, and a growl hissed through his fangs. She was there. She was right there. And he was in pain. He’d been touched by another female, and he needed Buffy. He needed her hands on him to wash the ache away. He needed her so much. He needed to protect her. He needed to touch her. He needed to hold her. He needed to fuck her. He needed everything.

Something snapped. Conscious thought was shoved aside. The man was gone in a blink.

And all that was left behind, raging with need, was the beast.

To be continued…

Chapter 33 by Ameeya

Chapter 33

She’d seen it happen. She’d seen Spike look at her and then vanish. She’d seen the demon overpower him, and the only thing that terrified her more than being alone with him—with the side of him that hated without prejudice—was the knowledge that she’d recognized it. The knowledge that there had been no doubt. No fleeting bout of confusion. Spike was there and then he wasn’t, and she knew it.

His eyes were burning amber and he was growling softly as he dragged her away from the slayer that he’d left unconscious among the gravestones. Buffy didn’t try to fight him. His grip was ironclad and she hadn’t the strength to protest. Though if those fangs turned to her throat, she wouldn’t stop herself from screaming bloody murder.

Only for the way the demon’s thumb kept rubbing circles into her wrist, she didn’t think that it was his intention to hurt her.

“Spike?” she asked, feeling weak and idle. Her eyes were still wet with tears. Tears prompted by his words, his righteous defense of her honor as he kicked the living hell out of Faith. He’d moved her so much, and he’d been gone before she could tell him. Buffy gasped at his answering growl, and barely had time to collect her thoughts before he shoved her against a mausoleum wall. “Spike, it’s Buffy. Do you—”

The next thing she knew, his lips were tearing kisses from hers, sucking her tongue into his fanged mouth as he pulled her hips against him so that his hard cock was cradled in the valley between her legs. Her panic evaporated into lust, and she didn’t even have time to contemplate what that meant—craving Spike’s demon alongside Spike himself—before he pulled away with a snarl and shoved her to her knees.

“Spike?”

His demon eyes flashed with a sort of primal recognition, but nothing more. He answered with a twisted growl as his hands ripped at his fly. And when she gasped in realization of his intent, he took her open mouth as an invitation and stuffed his cock down her throat.

“Mmphhff!”

He slammed against her with a few quick thrusts, his balls slapping her chin. Buffy was paralyzed with a strange combination of fear, disgust, and arousal; she’d never done this before. She’d never had her mouth around a cock before, and truth be told, she hadn’t given the whole oral thing a lot of thought until Spike roared back into her life. Until their incredibly physical relationship took off with a giant bang.

Now it was happening. She could barely believe it was happening. Her head rocked against the fierceness of his thrusts and the instant she tried to do anything but sit dumbly with her mouth open, her gag reflex kicked in and she choked.

God, she was pathetic. Dru probably never choked when things got a little rough.

She choked again when the head of his cock stabbed the back of her throat. Spike growled, then jerked roughly, his snarls melting to helpless gasps. He blinked rapidly and glanced down. “Buffy?” His erection slipped out of her mouth and she looked up, her cheeks flaming. If the world had any mercy, it would provide a hole for her to fall through before her humiliation was complete.

“Oh God.” Spike dropped to his knees, the face of his demon melting away, his eyes wide with horror. “Your mouth. Your pretty little mouth.” He kissed her lips sweetly. “I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry, Buffy. I have no idea what…I jus’…” It shook her, how hard he was trembling. “I din’t mean to…I never meant to force you to…” His lips grazed the corner of her mouth with a tremulous sigh. “I never meant to make you…do that.”

She blinked dazedly. “Spike?”

He kissed her chin. “God, your mouth’s all bruised.”

He’d stopped her. Buffy blinked again, realization stunning her cold. He’d stopped her. She didn’t know why that stung so much. It wasn’t like she’d been any good at it—hell, she’d choked on what he’d shoved down her throat. No, she wasn’t any good, but she’d wanted to try. After what he’d said to Faith, after everything he’d done for her, she’d wanted to give herself to him for whatever he needed. Whatever his demon needed. And at that moment, for some reason, he’d needed her lips around his erection.

“Was I that horrible?” she sniffed. “Lemme try again. I’ll do better.”

Spike’s head reeled back, his eyes swimming in confusion. “Sweetheart?”

Her hand dove for his stiff cock, and she flushed with womanly pride at his answering moan. “Let me try. I’ll do better.”

“Buffy, you didn’t do anything wrong. I—”

She cut him off with a fierce kiss, her flush warming when he whimpered against her lips. “Let me try,” she murmured, trailing a path of kisses down his neck and chest. “Stand up.”

Spike moaned in protest. “Buffy—”

“Stand up.”

The conflict in his eyes was jarring, but he didn’t deny her. Instead, he nodded fiercely, kissed her, and rose to his feet. It wasn’t until she was staring at his cock again that she lost her nerve. He looked so…

“Big.”

Spike chuckled and slid his fingers up and down his length. “You bring it out in me.”

“Spike…”

He glanced down at her, and the humor in his eyes vanished. She didn’t know what did it; the change was so sudden. “Fuck,” he gasped, his jaw clenching. “Buffy…please.”

“Please what?” She didn’t mean to be ornery. Her nerves were just pulling a massive number on her. Her hand tentatively reached up and curled around his cock, and she licked her lips in anticipation. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t know what to do.”

“For Chrissake pet, suck me or stand up. Stroke me or stake me. Jus’ make up your mind!” Spike was shaking hard, his eyes blazing yellow again. “I can’t look at you if you…not when you’re on your knees in front of me. I can’t take it. And I don’t want you doing something you don’ wanna do. You don’t—”

Buffy drew in a sharp breath and brushed a hesitant kiss over his silky head, and the moan that ripped through him made her blood sing. “Just tell me what to do,” she whispered shakily, her hands dropping into her lap again. “Please, Spike. I’ve never…this is another…another—”

“First?” he ventured, a ghost of a smile floating across his lips.

She nodded. “Uh huh,” she replied, sliding her right hand up his leg slowly until she was cupping his balls. “I…what do you like?”

“Your mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Buffy…please. It’s you. It’s your hands an’ your mouth, an’ do you honestly think I’m not gonna bloody well treasure whatever you give me?” He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp in a way that made her feel cherished. “Jus’…oh God.”

Her tongue circled his sensitive head again before drawing him completely into her mouth. The sensation was odd but not unpleasant. Buffy murmured experimentally around him and reveled in the long whimper that rippled through his body. The idea that she could do so much to him by doing so little was heady, especially considering the wealth of things he did to her. The wealth of what he’d given her, none of it deserved.

What he’d said to Faith meant the world to her, and she was determined to show him.

“That’s it, pet,” he murmured. “That’s jus’ perfect, there.”

Perfect? She hadn’t done anything.

“Take me in,” Spike urged softly, thrusting his hips forward. “As far as you can go. Let me know if it’s too much.” Buffy nodded and he moaned. “An’ your hand…massage my balls with your hand.”

The request sounded illicit and dirty, but she wasn’t about to back away. She’d asked for this, and he was letting her explore. Letting her try this thing that seemed daunting and forbidden and symbolized everything she wasn’t. The girl in her was running scared, but the woman was taking over. The woman who wasn’t a vamp-slaying machine—the woman who was growing into her femininity. Spike had done so much to bring the woman out without even realizing it, and now the woman wanted more. The woman wanted to know what it would take to keep him. Her inexperience notwithstanding, there was nothing she wasn’t willing to try now that she knew that she loved him.

Spike hummed in approval when her fingers began gently kneading his sac. “Ohhh, yeah,” he purred. “That’s it, kitten. Now take more of me into…ahhh, that’s a good girl.”

Buffy flushed and bathed him with her tongue, drawing back just enough that the tip of him was still in her mouth and sucking delicately. “Keep talking,” she whispered, wrapping her left hand around the base of his cock.

“You feel like heaven,” he growled. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve dreamt of this? Of…oh, God, of your lips wrapped around me? Your tongue licking me into bloody oblivion? You feel so wonderful. So…”

She sighed around him, the hand around his cock pumping in time with her mouth, her left hand squeezing his balls every time the tip of him met her lips. His small, encouraging whimpers soon drove her nerves away, and then she settled, relaxed, sucking his skin and squeezing him as tight as she dared. Spike gasped and tossed his head back, and the sight was so gorgeous she couldn’t help but gasp.

“Oh fuck,” he roared, blinking. “You’re perfect.”

He slid from her mouth with a wet plop. “I am not,” she objected, her hand stroking him fervently, her cheeks burning.

“Oh my God.”

“Spike—”

“Kiss the underside. Ohhh, yeah, that’s it. God, your mouth is so bleeding perfect.” She parted her lips to object again and, for the second time that night, found her mouth full with his cock; only when she looked up this time, a knowing leer teased his lips.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “I can smell how much you love it. How wet it makes you. You love knowing what you do to me. How hard you make me. How much I want you. How I always want you.”

She moaned around him, and his experimental thrusts grew more pronounced.

“You love this,” Spike repeated. “Nod for me, baby. Let me know you love it.”

She nodded.

“Ohhhh, yeah…again.” He hissed and fisted a handful of her hair, and his body tensed. “Oh my fuck. Buffy. Stop. You gotta stop.”

Her mouth froze around him as her heart stopped. When she glanced up, his crystal eyes were blazing with need.

“Get up,” he said quickly. “Get up. Lift your skirt.”

“Spike—”

An impatient roar tore through his lips, his hands gripping her shoulders and dragging her back to her feet. Then her skirt was bunched around her waist and her panties ripped clean off her body. The silky head of him rubbed against her sopping flesh, his thumb settling over her clit.

“Say it,” he growled against her mouth, his cock teasing her slick pussy lips as he pressed her back against the mausoleum wall. “Say you want me. Say it!”

“I want you,” she sobbed, nodding desperately. “Please, Spike.”

He grinned and kissed her, sinking into her body with a groan of completion. “God, how I’ve missed this,” he moaned, his mouth dropping to her throat as he began moving inside her. “I’ve missed your warmth so much.”

Buffy threw her head back, her arms linking around his neck. “I’ve missed this, too.”

“Your plan’s driving us dodgy, luv.”

She knew it. God, how she knew it. Now with Spike’s cock driving into her pussy rhythmically, his hands mapping the contours of her body as his mouth worshipped her skin…yes, she’d missed this. She’d missed the peaks her body scaled when joined with his. And even more so now—now that she knew she loved him, having him inside her took on more meaning than she could have anticipated. Now that she knew she loved him, everything had changed.

He felt so different, but he was the same. His kisses were the same. The fire in his eyes was the same. The hands that caressed her were the same. The tongue that licked at her skin was the same. She absorbed him, committed him to memory. Engrained him where she could keep him forever, even after he’d left.

After he’d gone back to the place he truly belonged.

Spike slipped a hand beneath the hem of her shirt and stroked her skin, his mouth nibbling a series of wet kisses back to her lips. “You feel so good. God, you feel good.”

“You do, too.”

He smiled and kissed her. “Buffy.”

“Hmmm?”

“Our first second.” He buried his face in her throat, his fingers slipping under the underwire of her bra to caress her naked breast. His right arm hooked around her waist as his thrusts grew harder. “This is our first second.”

Her eyes watered and she trembled hard around him. Spike had done the impossible; he’d given her what no man ever had before. A second. A second time doing anything. They’d had sex several times now, sure, but somehow, Spike always reminded her that he was giving her yet another first in whatever they did. And he relished that. He loved giving her firsts almost as much as she loved experiencing them. She wanted him giving her firsts in everything.

But now he’d given her something no man ever had. And yes, it was something small—second time outside against a wall at night—but the fact that he’d noticed meant the world.

Spike’s hand abandoned her breast and slid between them once more, his mouth dropping to suck at her nipples through the thin material of her blouse. He was rocking her against the wall, rubbing her clit between his thumb and forefinger as his cock worked her pussy. He murmured unintelligible adorations around her breast, stroking her clit until she cried out and spasmed around him, clutching at him helplessly.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he murmured.

“Ohhh…”

“I love it. God, I love how you feel when you come around me.” He raised his head slowly, his fingers continuing their cool manipulation of her sensitive pearl as his body pushed forward for his own release. “I love feeling your pussy tighten around me. I love the li’l sound you make. You’re a siren. You’re a bloody siren. An’ you’re all mine.”

She felt slick and sensitive, and every time he slid back into her, every time he caressed her aching clit, her body cried out in strained pleasure. It was too much. It was all too much. She was trembling and he was going to send her over the edge again. Right along with him.

“Yes,” he growled, his thrusts sharpening again. “I wanna feel you come again, baby. You’re gonna come with me.”

Buffy shook her head in desperation, trying futilely to ignore the hot rush that flooded her veins. “I can’t.”

“Never say never.”

He was right, of course. He was always right. It didn’t hurt that his fingers almost grazed the bite mark on her inner thigh. Almost. Not quite. The near-contact of her overly-sensitive flesh with his was all she needed. As he growled and spilled himself inside her, her body exploded into bliss.

There had never been a feeling like this before. Never. Spike purred as she came down, nuzzling her tenderly, murmuring into her throat and hair and stroking her with hands that loved her. At the very least, his hands loved her.

“We forgot the plan again,” Spike breathed against her ear.

Buffy just laughed. Right. The plan. The plan. The one that she’d come up with to guard her heart. The one that had betrayed her. Her heart had surrendered, and she was already sick with the thought of what was to come.

What would happen in the end.

But for now, she had these moments with him. These brief interludes between attempts to get back on the plan. When she could calm his monster by giving over more of herself. When she could hold him and let him give her firsts, and not worry about the plan or consequences of getting off the plan until afterward. When she could pretend that she wasn’t digging her own grave a little deeper. She had this. The break. The intermission. The stolen moments.

At least until the sun came up and she found herself heartsick all over again. She had this until then.

To be continued

Chapter 34 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: As always, thank you to everyone.

Chapter 34

By the time they arrived at his crypt, Spike felt like a prize wanker. Not only had he forced his cock down Buffy’s throat, but he’d taken advantage of the situation and persuaded her to open her thighs for him again. Any progress he’d made in the past few days—the warm glow that had been in her eyes the night before when he told her he wasn’t going to make her that girl—was thoroughly eradicated.

He didn’t know what had come over him. One second, his blood had been burning with fury as he’d stepped away from the other slayer’s unconscious body, and the next, any semblance of awareness had been shoved aside. And in the process, he’d managed to force her to her knees. He’d forced her to do something sexual.

The knowledge ripped him apart. And he hadn’t exactly made up with it for what he did afterward. The simple notion that Buffy might want to wrap her mouth around his cock had driven whatever commonsense he possessed to the wayside. He hadn’t been thinking. God, he hadn’t been thinking at all.

He wasn’t thinking clearly now, either. His right hand was curled around Buffy’s upper arm; he’d all but dragged her to the place he’d claimed as his home. If there was any humanity about him, he’d let her go. He’d tell her to run home after falling to his knees and begging her forgiveness. Telling her that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, but that, after what happened their first night together, he’d understand if she wanted to stake him good and proper. It’d certainly put an end to this sodding madness.

Spike released her shortly after crossing the threshold, whirling on his heel to slam the crypt door shut. His body was consumed in harsh, unforgiving pants. There wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t shake.

“Spike?” she asked softly. “I…”

He shuddered and shook his head. “God, Buffy…”

“I don’t—”

“I’m so sorry.”

There was no response. When he turned around, her eyes were swimming in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” she repeated. “What for?”

Spike blinked. Hadn’t she been with him a few minutes ago? Didn’t she know what he’d done? What he’d done to her again? He’d been right when he told her that her plan was driving them both dodgy—he could smell it on her every time she was near. Every time her silky hand folded into his. He knew how much she wanted him, but she’d made it perfectly clear that sex was forbidden. He’d given his word that he’d try to honor her plan, no matter how crazy it made him. And now he’d betrayed her.

Didn’t she know that? It was her bloody plan, after all.

“I didn’t mean…what happened out there, I didn’t mean that.” He sighed and glanced down, casting a hand through his platinum locks. “I saw you, an’ something snapped. I never meant to force you to do anything. Least of all…that.”

Her cheeks had darkened. “I…I thought we already talked about this.”

“Yeah, but then you distracted me with that heavenly mouth of yours.” Spike inhaled sharply and took a step forward. “Kinda lost all rational thought.” A sigh. “Pet, that was, perhaps, one of the greatest gifts you could’ve given me. Well…” He paused, his lips quirking upward in a grin. “It’s at least in the top five. An’ I never wanted…I wanted it to be something that you wanted to give me. Not that I jus’ took from you.”

Her flush deepened and she fidgeted. “No one…erm…no one forced me to—”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, okay. Yes. At first, yes you did. But…” Her fidgeting became more pronounced, and suddenly, her eyes were struggling to maintain contact with his. “I knew it wasn’t you, Spike. Not all of you, anyway. It was just that part. And I’m sorry I wasn’t any good. I’ll…it was my first time, and I—”

He blinked stupidly. “You’re sorry you were what?”

“I…ummm…”

“Are you completely daft?”

She smiled weakly. “Please oh please, let’s not rule that out.”

“Buffy…” An abrupt, aimless laugh escaped his lips, and he shook his head helplessly. “I don’ know how to make this clear to you, so I’ll just try an’…what you did for me, back there. I’ve never felt anything like it. Never. You were…I felt…your touch was so gentle an’…”

It didn’t surprise him when her eyes clouded with more confusion than enlightenment. God, he wasn’t going anywhere with this. Nowhere that she could follow, anyway. He could barely follow himself. What he really wanted to tell her was that the way she’d touched him made him feel treasured—adored—like no other woman ever had. Dru had always approached sucking him off as a task, or a means to getting his head between her legs or wherever else she wanted it. It was never for him—it always served an ulterior motive where she was concerned. It was always a demonstration of the power she had over him. Give his cock some attention, and she could lead him wherever she wished.

After the snarling was over and he had returned to himself, Buffy had touched and tasted him of her own accord. And inexperienced though she might be, what she’d done for him meant the world. Buffy had touched him with adoration and caring. He’d nearly felt…

Loved.

That didn’t make his guilt any less escapable; it simply made her an angel.

“No one’s ever done to me what you do,” he said finally, his eyes floating up to meet hers again. “Never. An’ yeah, it’s been a bumpy ride. An’ yeah, I still don’ know where we’re headed. An’ yeah, I am confused as hell about most of it, but I know I wouldn’t trade it for anything, luv. Not for the whole sodding world. You hear me?”

She just looked at him and swallowed hard. There was a strange emotion floating in her eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something he’d never seen.

Strange.

“I hear you,” she murmured. “And…don’t feel bad…about earlier.”

“Forcing you?”

“I didn’t see it as that.”

Spike fought off a sardonic snicker. That was because she was too good to see him for what he truly was anymore. Her memories of their past were muddied with knowledge of their present. If she thought he was above being a monster, she was in for a rude awakening. He didn’t know when—he just knew himself. His baser instincts couldn’t be denied. The further he went, the more he feared hurting her.

The more he knew it would be impossible to stay away.

“Besides…what you said to Faith…” Buffy sucked in a breath and blinked hard, her eyes shining with tears again. “That meant everything, Spike. You don’t know what…she’s done this before. I’ve never seen her so…up front about it, but this is what she’s done to me. Little by little, she’s come in and messed things up. Before you came back, she was trying to steal Angel. She was stealing my friends, my home, my mom, my fries, my Watcher…and now that she knows…about you and me, she was trying to steal…” She gestured emphatically between them. “Whatever this is, too.”

Spike stepped forward with a small smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even after the spell’s over?”

He bit back the instinctive response and considered her. Of course, now would be the time to assure her that it would take a successful apocalypse to keep him away from her, and even that wasn’t a sure thing. However, the part of her that was so much the wounded girl—the part of her that was trying to convince her that he wouldn’t break her patched-up heart—would never allow the rest of her to fully believe that he was here for good. He didn’t blame her. She’d gone in with blinders the last time she’d given her heart to someone, and had been ripped to pieces for her troubles. And the fact that she was with another vampire—a preemptively soulless one at that—complicated everything.

She wanted to trust him, but the circumstances that had brought them together were too bizarre to believe blindly. In the meantime, he would do everything he could to convince her that he was completely hers—that, even after the spell was broken, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. And if she couldn’t trust him wholly until that moment, so be it. It wasn’t as though he’d done anything to deserve what she had to give.

Spike sighed and took her hands in his, his thumbs softly caressing the backs. “Why don’t we worry about after the spell…after the spell, yeah?” he asked, his eyes downcast.

That clearly wasn’t the answer she’d expected, but Buffy hid her surprise well. She swallowed hard and nodded. “And until then?”

“Until then.” Spike swallowed hard, raising her hands to his mouth so that he could caress each with a soft kiss. “Until then…”

He trailed off. The words refused to come.

“Until then?” Buffy prompted. “U-until then, what? Spike?”

He honestly couldn’t believe he was about to say this, but it was for the best. The pay-off, as he’d discovered the night before, would be worth whatever he had to sacrifice now. He needed to show her that it wasn’t just about sex for him.

Any hope that it had been all about sex for him had been completely shot the second she came up with the sodding plan in the first place. When the part of him that was wholly male coincided with the poncy, romantic poet who wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her pretty things. Pretty, flowery, things. He’d wanted so much to bury that part of him, and it had only taken her a few days to unearth a century’s efforts to do just that.

The thing was, Buffy didn’t mind that part of him. She didn’t. In fact, she seemed to like it. She seemed to like the part of him that was a wanker of a romantic, just as she liked the demon. The demon, whom she’d attempted to calm with her wicked mouth.

Her acceptance of him made all the difference.

“Until then,” he continued at last. “We stick to the plan.”

Buffy blinked, astonished. She clearly hadn’t been expecting that. “We do?”

“Well…yes.” Spike forced a small smile. “We had one slip-up, luv, an’ the full of it was my fault. Maybe it was bein’ around a chit that wasn’t you. Maybe it was hearing her rip you apart. Or maybe, after so long, I jus’ really needed you.”

Her cheeks reddened again. God, he loved that look on her.

“So…we continue the plan…” she ventured slowly. “A-and if there’s a slip-up every now and then…we just ignore it? And get back with the plan?”

Spike grinned. “Well, I say if there’s a slip-up, we enjoy every sodding second of it.” He couldn’t help it; he couldn’t keep himself from leaning in and nibbling on her succulent lips. Her lips were silken, her kisses sundrops, and he was burning from the inside. His felt his body stirring instinctively, his cock hardening against his zipper. And when she whimpered into him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away.

“How about…” he murmured, breaking his lips from hers to explore her chin. “Whenever we slip up…” He trailed his hands up her arms, caressing the sides of her neck delicately, anchoring her into his kisses. “We allow the slip-up to extend until the next time we wake up?”

Buffy whimpered something unintelligible, hooking her arms under his shoulders and reeling him into her.

Spike grinned, kissing his way back to her mouth. “Can I take that as a yes?”

“Huh?”

“We continue the plan…but if we slip up, we go with it.”

She was quiet for a second—well, not quiet, but certainly without words. It took his teeth tugging playfully at her ear for words to return to her. “Uhhh…n-no. If we do that, you’ll just want to slip up all the time.”

“Well, yes. But fortunately, I know how to distinguish between what I want an’ the other thing.”

“Spike…”

“The damage is done. We might as well give in.”

“You were being so gentlemanly before.”

Spike’s fervor waned a bit at that, his guilt refreshed. Just a few minutes ago, he’d been determined to make her see that his interest in her wasn’t purely physical. Just minutes ago, he’d been contemplating what an arse he was for ruining what he’d given her last night with what he’d done tonight. But God, it was hard to remember what was best for her when she was whimpering against him. When she was thrusting her hips against his. When the rich scent of her arousal was floating around him.

“I’ll do what’s best for you, luv,” he murmured at last. “But I want you. Even if I’m not touching you, even if it’s only your hand that I get to hold, I’ll want you. The plan doesn’t change that. So, yeah. I guess I am jus’ trying to…” Spike’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he forced himself to step away from her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve asked it of—”

Spike would honestly never be able to say that Buffy couldn’t surprise him. The next thing he knew, she’d whimpered a complaint and launched herself into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist and her hands tugging his mouth to hers.

“I never said I don’t mind you not being so gentlemanly,” she said, thrusting herself brazenly against his cock. “A-as long as it’s only…when we slip up.”

“Yes,” he gasped, kissing her desperately as he walked her back to the nearest piece of furniture. “When we slip up.”

They ended up in a rocker he’d lifted from the local furniture chain. Buffy tore at his fly as he lifted her skirt just enough to make her comfortable. Fuck, he loved her skirts. She should never be allowed to wear anything else.

“But only then,” she whispered, rubbing the head of his all-too-eager cock against her clit.

“Only then,” he agreed helplessly. “Now, Buffy. Need to be inside you now.”

She captured his lips in a fiery kiss and sank down, infusing his body in bliss.

It was as though he’d been wandering through the wilderness for a hundred years, searching for something he didn’t know he’d lost. Searching for something down broken paths and empty promises. Searching through darkness until she’d blinded him with light.

In all his life, he’d never felt so found. The knowledge was enough to make stars weep. After wandering so long, he was found.

And with Buffy’s help, he’d never be lost again.

To be continued

Chapter 35 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Sorry for the extra day between updates. I actually forgot that I was supposed to update on Monday. At least it gave Meredith another day to try and play catch up. Anyway, here’s Chapter 35. Thank you so much to everyone for your incredibly kind words and support.

Chapter 35

She stifled a tired yawn and shifted in his lap, blissfully blocking out the rather abrasive voice of Logical Buffy, as well as the knowledge of the ticking clock. Soon, the hours of the night were going to be spent, and she’d need to rush home before her mother found her bedroom empty.

For the moment, though, she was happy to ignore everything. She was resting comfortably in his lap, dressed only in her ankle-length skirt and her bra, as her top had been rather literally ripped off just an hour or so ago.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, slap-happy with exhaustion and too many orgasms to count. She would definitely never look at sleeper-recliners the same way again. “You’re comfy.”

Buffy loved the way his chest rumbled beneath her when he chuckled. “Gotta say, luv,” Spike murmured, rubbing her back gently. “I’ve been called many things. Comfy isn’t one of them.”

She grinned and lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes dancing. “So that’s a first, then?” she asked eagerly.

He matched her smile, and warmth filled her wholly. “It is, at that.”

Buffy just giggled drunkenly and fell against his shoulder again, tightening her arms around him. “Yay.”

“Yay?”

“I finally found a first to give you.”

His lips brushed her brow. God, she loved it when he did that. When he kissed her cheek, her forehead, her hands, her chin—anything. Small gestures like that meant the world to her. “I assure you, luv,” he murmured. “You’ve given me many firsts.”

Buffy shook her head with a goofy grin. “You’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Mmmm…yeah, but in my defense…” He leered at her nastily, his left hand sliding under the hem of her skirt. A gasp tore from her throat and she parted her legs for him before she could stop herself. Spike just grinned and cupped her pussy, his thumb finding her clit and massaging her gently. “I love it when you’re buttery.”

“Ohhh…”

“I love the sounds you make. I love the way your eyes flutter shut. The way you pant an’ moan for me.”

Her exhaustion-induced goofiness combined with the incredible sensation of Spike stroking her clit made her especially lightheaded. “Ohhh…” she whimpered, her eyes falling closed as though by his suggestion alone. “That feels…”

“Incredible?” he ventured, suckling at her throat.

“Uh huh. Only I don’t…ohhhh…pant and moan.”

Spike smiled against her throat. “I think you do.”

She began moving her hips against his hand, her head flying back when his fingers slipped past her pussy lips and into her body. “You can think…that…but you’re wrong.”

“I don’t think I am.” Spike kissed her collarbone, pulling his head back so that his eyes could take her in. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”

“Uhhhh…”

“I wish you’d let me taste you here,” he murmured, rubbing her clit and eliciting a sharp gasp. “Your scent drives me outta my bloody head. I wanna bury my face between your legs. I wanna see you up close.”

The thought was nearly too much. In a blink, Buffy was back in the factory, chained to Spike’s bed. His mouth was sucking at her clit, his fingers thrusting into her pussy, small growls ringing through his throat as he swallowed her whole. Aside from the fear, it had been one of the most erotic moments of her life.

But if he went down on her, he’d see the bite mark, and the thought had her thoroughly unnerved. Not for the reasons she’d initially given herself to keep the bite a secret; no longer did she think something terrible would happen if she revealed exactly what had happened that night. At first, it had been about downplaying Spike’s guilt. Despite the tangle of confused feelings that night had given her, it hadn’t taken long to determine that the long-term emotional scars were far heavier on Spike’s side than hers. Letting him know that he’d pierced her flesh with his fangs would only make it worse for him.

After she’d discovered that touching the bite mark was literally orgasmic, it had ceased being something wrong and had become something private. Something that she did nightly to quench her thirst for Spike’s touch. She’d kept it from Giles and Angel to make sure they didn’t try to blame her growing feelings for Spike on his fangs. And now that she and Spike had a new, albeit strange, understanding, she wanted to let him know. She wanted to show him what he’d done, and confide both how wonderful it’d felt, and how much she enjoyed having the mark touched.

But then she’d have to own up to having hid the mark in the first place, and she didn’t know how he’d react to that. And true, she couldn’t keep him from seeing it forever, especially if whatever they had continued once the spell was broken. If it didn’t—if her fears proved accurate and Spike left her—then there was no harm done.

If not, then she’d cross the oh-by-the-way-you-bit-me bridge when she came to it.

Although, the thought of Spike knowing about the mark—as well as knowing what it did to her—sent anticipatory shivers down her spine. She imagined him perched attentively between her legs, his lips and tongue laving the bite as his fingers played with her clit and thrust inside her pussy. The thought alone unmade her completely.

“I want it,” Spike continued heatedly, his thumb stroking her clit quickly now. His eyes soaked her up, and shone with every whimper that crossed her lips. “I wanna suck on your pretty little pearl till your eyes cross. I wanna slip my tongue inside that juicy quim of yours and taste you as you spend. Fuck, Buffy, I want it so bad.”

He pinched her clit, and she came hard on his fingers, his name wringing from her lips as her body spasmed around him. She buried her face in his throat and licked at his skin, shivering when he inhaled sharply. She felt his cock nudging her through his jeans. He’d been so good about zipping himself up earlier to avoid further temptation, though they’d both done their best not to fall asleep so that the clause to the plan was still in effect.

It took a few minutes for the haze surrounding her head to dissipate.

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” Spike murmured, fingering a bra strap as he dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

Warmth rushed to her cheeks. “I…ummm…I don’t know what to say when you tell me things like that. You…it…”

“Butters you up?” He suggested with a grin. “Imagine what’ll happen when I have a chance to eat your pussy without bein’ pissed out of my mind.”

“Spike—”

“I know I hurt you the firs’ time, Buffy, but…” He released a long sigh. “What you did for me earlier…that was bloody…I jus’ want you to experience it. An’ since you’re shagging only me for the rest of your life or else joining a convent—which would be a bloody waste, so don’t do it—I’m the only one who can give it to you.”

Buffy inhaled sharply. “Spike…I…” Am too terrified of what you’ll say when you see what else you did that night. “I just…I need time.”

He was quiet for a long minute, then flashed a small grin. “Yeah. Of course,” he agreed, nodding tersely. “’Sides, we’re still under the plan.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. The plan.”

“With an amendment.”

“Yes.” Buffy licked her lips. “Which…okay. The amendment. If we…fall off the wagon, so to speak, we let ourselves enjoy it until the next day?”

“Yes.”

Isn’t that just incentive to break the plan as much as possible?

She didn’t say that, but it must have been all over her face, because Spike’s chest rumbled with a long chuckle. “I was wondering when you’d come back to that,” he mused. “An’ yeah, while knowing I can have a night shagging you brainless anytime I like by falling off the wagon is too bloody tempting for words, I’m only proposing that we make what we’ve done every time we’ve detoured from the plan, a part of the plan.”

“Okay…”

“Meaning, luv, that if we go a couple days without seeing each other, or my demon decides to…get rough…” The light in his eyes dimmed, and she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly to let him know, yet again, that she was all right. “If something happens like it has happened, we jus’ go with it. Like we did that night at the Bronze—”

“There was just fondling after that.”

“Well, if we’d had an amendment to the plan, there would’ve been a whole lot more.”

Buffy flushed. “Well…”

“An’ isn’t inappropriate fondling also against the rules?”

“You’re forgetting appropriate fondling.”

Spike grinned. “Balls. How could I forget?”

“I don’t know, but you did.”

“’m just saying, if we end up in a situation like tonight or that night at the Bronze, the rules are already broken, so we might as well toss ‘em completely. That way, we get it completely out of our systems an’ can climb back on…” He frowned. “You know this wagon metaphor is bloody confusing since we’re talking about sex.”

Her blush deepened. “It’s a good idea,” she admitted. “Your…amended plan, that is. It’s a good idea.”

“It’s a plan based on indulgences, luv,” Spike said. “There’s no benefit from it.”

“There’s nothing lost, either.”

He quirked a brow and tilted his head, studying her intently. “You sure?” he asked. “I don’t…I’m not gonna lie to you, baby, I’m looking out for what I want on top of what I know you want. What’s good for you, based on what you’ve told me. If you don’t wanna go along with this, I won’t hold it against you. Fuck, I’m surprised you haven’t given me a much-deserved slap.”

“I wouldn’t slap you.”

“I’d deserve it.”

“Deserving or not, I wouldn’t slap you.” She grinned. “I’d punch you. Slaps are for wimps, not slayers.”

Spike waggled his brows. “So why din’t you punch me?”

“Well, because I don’t particularly think it was deserving of a punch. And…” Buffy sighed and trailed off, and it only took Spike a minute to close his eyes and mutter a curse. “It’d actually be better for me to try and…slap right now.”

“God, pet, I’m such a berk.” He paused then, his eyes going wide. “Oh, fuck, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“Spike…”

“I’m serious. Tell me I din’t hurt you. God, I was so rough with you outside. An’ then in here…” He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered. “I can’t…please tell me I—”

“Spike, if you’d hurt me, I would have said something. Pain and Buffy? Not so mixy…especially when Buffy has no super strength to rely on.”

He willed his eyes closed and exhaled slowly. “You should have reminded me.”

“There wasn’t a need, silly.”

“Bugger that! I could’ve—”

“But you didn’t. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna break if you knock me over. I might be at normal human strength, but considering how hard I work out, my normal human strength isn’t something to scoff at.” She shivered. “Giles doesn’t seem too worried about it.”

Spike stiffened. “He isn’t?”

“He thinks it’s just a cold or something. And he told me that Faith would take my patrols until it was over.”

“Faith can stuff it.”

Buffy rolled her eyes dryly. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“I swear, Slayer, if I see her again, I’m gonna bloody rip her apart.”

“I really don’t mind, either.”

“So you’re giving me permission to do in my third slayer?”

She blinked and reeled back, affronted. “There will be no doing of any kind!”

Spike made a face and shivered. “God, Buffy, don’t make me sick.”

“It’s only fair. I’ve been sick over this thing with you. Quite literally.”

“That’s because you snogged Angel. That was all your bloody fault. You’re the only woman I’ve touched since I came back to town, an’—”

Her eyes darkened. “And it’ll stay that way.”

Spike grinned. “Of the two of us, who’s snogged someone else?”

“Hey! You were mean to me that night. I was—”

He batted a dismissive hand. “Excuses.”

“I think my absolutely spectacular hurling on Angel more than made up for the part where I accidentally kissed him.”

He arched a brow. “Accidentally?”

“Well, obviously I wasn’t thinking with a right mind.”

“You’d have to be in a wrong state to snog Angel in the firs’ place.”

Buffy sniggered appreciatively. “Where were you all last year?”

“Thinking that, but obviously not in a right mind to do anything about it.”

“So basically, there’s been a lot of wrong-mindedness going around.”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah, that seems fair.” He was quiet for a second. “About the other slayer, though…I’m bloody serious. If she touches me again—if she sodding approaches me again, I don’ know what I’m gonna do, but it won’t be pretty.”

“You really didn’t like her, did you?”

He shook his head. “I really din’t like her.”

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” Buffy shuddered. “Faith…she’s tried to take so much from me. And…when I saw she was with you…before I heard what you were saying…well, let’s just say, I had the very strong urge to do some limb-ripping myself.”

Spike was quivering beneath her fingers, and though she hated to see him so discomfited, she loved knowing that it was an aversion to Faith that brought it on. “She disgusts me,” he said. “She’s a…she jus’…I swear it, Slayer, if she tries to—”

Her mouth dropped to his shoulder. “If she tries,” she murmured, kissing his skin. He shivered violently, and when she looked up again, his eyes were bright with awe. “Get in line. But until my slayer strength is back, Giles wants—”

“Your Watcher should be less concerned with your patrols an’ more concerned with the fact that your strength is gone.” Spike shook his head in disbelief. “You told him?”

“Well, I tried using telepathy, but we haven’t hit that chapter yet in the Slayer Handbook.”

Her sarcasm was lost on him. “You told him an’ he din’t care?”

“He cared, he just didn’t seem to think it was a thing.”

“An’ if I hadn’t been there last night to stop that wanker from offing you?” Spike demanded, his eyes blazing. “What if you’d been hurt or…what would the professor have said then?” He broke off, seething. “Did you show him? Did you make it clear—”

“I threw a stake at Angel.”

Spike paused. “You what?”

“Angel and Giles have become best buddies, it seems. Angel’s always there when I go to see Giles.” She held up a hand before he could object. “I don’t know why. I don’t think Giles even knows why. He just is. But today, I threw a stake at him to demonstrate how my aim is totally off.”

The astonishment on Spike’s face melted into mirth, and in a blink, he was laughing hysterically. “You…at Angel?”

Buffy squirmed, feeling oddly proud of herself. “Yup.”

“I can only imagine the look on the git’s face.”

“He whined.”

“Imagine that.”

“And Giles told me to take forty-eight hours to get better.” She sighed. “So…if, after tomorrow, I’m still feeling like a weakling, then I’ll panic. But I’m determined to have a good birthday this year. I want very much to not have little kids suck me into their nightmares or my boyfriend lose his soul.” She froze and shot him a panicked look. “You’re not gonna go on a killing spree the likes of which can only be stopped by a sword through the heart and a one-way ticket to Hell, are you?”

Spike just blinked and looked at her. “Slayer…am I to understand that you’re calling me your boyfriend?”

“Just please…if you’re gonna go psycho serial killer on me, don’t do it tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you, love.” He shrugged. “Got no soul to lose.”

“It’s sad the way that reassures me.”

Spike chuckled. “So tomorrow’s your birthday…anything special you want?”

“I’d like my strength back.”

“I’ll move the heavens to make it so.”

When he said things like that, what else was there to do but melt?

Spike brushed his lips across her brow. “Anything sparkly?”

“You’re gonna do some last-minute shopping while I’m at school tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “A bloke’s gotta occupy his time somehow. An’ I gotta think of another first to give you the next time we fall off the wagon.”

“Because of our amendment.”

“That’s right.”

Buffy giggled. “If I didn’t think it’d turn Willow an interesting shade of red, I might talk her into typing up a contract so that the rules are official.”

“I thought the rules were official.”

“A contract never hurt anyone.” She sighed and pressed her brow to his shoulder. “I should really get up and go home.”

“Only if, by that, you mean dress in something of mine an’ come with me downstairs.”

“Spike, it’s getting to that special time of night where I’m so sleepy that I’m becoming awake.”

“I know, pet.”

“I can’t fall asleep here. Mom’ll wig out.”

Spike shrugged, tightening his arms around her when she tried to wiggle off his lap. “You’re the Slayer. You have slayer-like things to do. Jus’ tell her that you were dealing with a dangerous vampire all night.”

“She knows I’m weakened. You really think that’ll make her feel better?”

“Well, seeing as you’ll be right in front of her with no scrapes or bruises when you explain where you were—”

“Spike—”

His grip was unrelenting. The more she tried to climb to her feet, the tighter his embrace became. “I’m holding you hostage,” Spike declared. “You’re my hostage.”

“Spike, really—”

“You’re free to try an’ beat me off if you like.” He paused, then grinned nastily. “Actually, I could really get into that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Buffy—”

“I have to go to school tomorrow, and I can’t wear this. I can’t wear the same thing two days in a row.”

“So you can wear something of mine.”

She perked a brow. “To school?”

“It’d be a great birthday present.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Ahh, that’s right.” Spike smiled into her eyes. “Jus’…stay with me this once? I won’ break the rules, I bloody swear. I won’t touch. I won’t fondle. I jus’ wanna hold you tonight. You can make up whatever nasty story about me that you want to your mum. Let me sleep beside you.” He plucked the strap of her bra and dipped his head to nibble at her shoulder. “’Sides, I broke your shirt.”

“You tore it.”

“Yes. An’ you can only have one of my shirts if you’re wearing it with my jeans to school tomorrow. Else you’ll jus’ have to walk home in your knickers.”

“Yeah, but you broke those too. And like you’d allow that anyway.”

“Never say never, pet.” He waved a little. “Evil, remember?”

“Oh, there’s no need to remind me.”

“Stay with me tonight. It’s so late it’s early. Stay with me, an’ sleep through your first class.” He kissed the pulse point of her throat. “I’ll write you a note an’ everything.”

She giggled. “A note?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re adorable.”

“An’ comfy.”

“Totally comfy.” She leaned in and stole a kiss from his totally sinful lips, and felt the last strings of her resistance melting away. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll stay. Okay, I’ll worry my mother to death. Okay, I’ll wear your clothes to school tomorrow. Okay, I’ll sleep beside you. Okay to all the above.” She kissed him again. “You know why?”

“’Cause I’m adorable an’ comfy?”

“That helps.”

“An’ totally irresistible?”

“There’s that. But really?” Buffy grinned. “It’s a great birthday present.”

“I’ll say.”

“And you have a bed?”

Spike nodded, leaping to his feet before she could blink. She would have tumbled to the ground had his arms not been around her. As it was, she just squealed and clung to him, and enjoyed the rumble of his amused chuckle. “It’s downstairs,” he said.

Buffy blinked in surprise. “You have a downstairs?” she asked in the same tone.

“I’m a man of many surprises.”

That he was. He totally was. The entire night had been a surprise—an emotional rollercoaster, if she’d ever known one. And while spending the night with him might be yet another in a series of recent colossal mistakes, there was no contesting that it felt right. It felt deserved.

Tomorrow was her birthday, and, if only once, she wanted to wake up in the arms of the man she loved.

To be continued

Chapter 36 by Ameeya

Chapter 36

She awoke to the foreign sensation of a strong arm curled around her middle and a cool, comforting chest pressed against her back. He was rumbling gently, and while she had nothing but wishful thinking to rely on, her insides warmed at the notion that she made him happy enough to purr.

Buffy hadn’t thought it possible to sleep easily in jeans, but she hadn’t wanted to leave herself bare from the waist down. Not only did it leave her open to temptation—especially with the justification that it was her birthday and she should treat herself—but she didn’t want Spike discovering the bite mark accidentally. So she’d dressed in his proffered clothing, and despite the confines of denim, she’d been asleep within seconds.

Spike was small and wiry, but that didn’t stop his clothes from hanging off her. And though she knew it did nothing for her figure, she couldn’t help but swell in adoration, especially under the look he’d given her when she’d modeled his clothing for him.

It made her seriously doubt the power of halter tops and gaucho pants if a baggy tee and loose-fitting jeans could make him pant as hard as he had.

Buffy didn’t want to consider how late she’d slept. With as well-rested as she was, it had to be almost noon. So now, not only had she likely worried her mother into an early grave, but she would need a seriously good excuse or an extremely convincing note from Dr. Spike to keep Snyder off her back.

Then again, it was her birthday.

She knew the second he awoke. The arm around her tightened, and he began stroking her stomach lazily, but with such affection that she rapidly descended into a puddle of Buffy-goo.

“Morning, pet,” he purred.

“Is it morning?”

“Almost ten.”

Buffy blinked. Was it possible she’d slept so little? As exhausted as she’d been when her head finally hit the pillow last night, she’d thought she’d sleep the day away, especially without the additive of an alarm clock.

“You do mean…ten in the A.M, right?”

“’Course.”

She sighed. “I’m gonna have to get up and get ready, then. School. Homework. Teachers. The like.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly well-rested and really, really comfy.”

“Your strength?”

Buffy flexed and sighed. “Still on vacation. I’ll talk with Giles today. He’ll just tell me to wait until tomorrow, but I’ll talk with him today.” She paused, her lower lip jutting out. “I don’t wanna go to school.”

“Then don’t. Stay here.” Spike’s hand became more boisterous, slipping under the hem of the tee to stroke her bare skin. His mouth quickly fell to her throat, peppering her with soft, sweet kisses. “Stay with me.”

She whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re breaking the rules.”

“Sod the rules.”

“Spike…”

In a blink, his hand and mouth abandoned her, and she was instantly bereft. “Yeah,” he said raggedly. “Yeah. Sorry, pet. You just look so good.”

“I just woke up.”

“Yeah, an’ I happen to like that look on you.” She heard him shift as he sat up, and quickly rolled onto her back so that her eyes could enjoy the tussled look of his blond curls and the starry just-woke-up look that crossed his face. Spike had bed-head.

The thought made her giggle.

He arched a brow, which only increased her mirth. Bed-head Spike and arched-brow Spike combined were a lethal force.

“What?” he demanded, his tone amused.

“You look all cute.”

“I am not cute.”

Buffy scoffed teasingly. “Oh, so it’s okay to be comfy and adorable, but cute is pushing the line?”

Spike offered a lazy shrug and grinned. “What can I say, luv? I’m a puzzle.” He stood up and turned to his bureau, giving her a fairly remarkable view of his scrumptious ass. Damn, he wore his jeans well. It was almost enough to encourage her to return the ones on her person—that way he’d always have a pair handy. “Wanna grab brekky?”

She paused thoughtfully. “I’m going to interpret that as breakfast,” she replied, grinning. “Spike, I really gotta get to school.”

“It’s your birthday. I say you really gotta get yourself fed.”

“You can’t go out anyway. Sun’s up.”

“I have my ways.” He gestured to what looked like a walk-in closet. “Tunnels, see? We can go anywhere you want.”

“I really need to get to school.”

“Yeah, but you also need to eat. People die of starvation. They don’ die of not goin’ to school.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to die of starvation between now and lunch.”

Spike shrugged carelessly. “It’s the Hellmouth, luv, as well as your birthday. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Buffy began combing through her hair with her fingers, frowning. “I really should’ve thought this through,” she murmured. “I have no mirror. No toothpaste. No shower. No—”

Spike shrugged, unbothered, and pointed to his undoubtedly stolen dresser. “Top drawer,” he said.

She froze and tossed him a wary look. “Don’t tell me…”

“Some of it I knicked from your house. Some if it I knicked from the shops.” He shrugged again when her gaze became scrutinizing, and turned his eyes to the ground almost sheepishly. “What?”

“You have a drawer for me?”

“Well, with stuff you din’t know was missing. An’ some stuff I picked out, myself.”

“You have a drawer for me?”

“I wanted you to have some stuff here…jus’ in case.” Spike sighed when her stare refused to relent, his shoulders sagging. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? I know that stealing breaks the eighth commandment, but for Chrissake, I’m evil an’ stealing’s evil, ergo I steal. You’ve turned me on my sodding head enough as it is, luv. I oughta be out there munching on the populace, an’ instead I just knick li’l things that no sodding clerk’s gonna notice to begin with. I don’—”

Buffy stilled, awe filling her wholly. And a proverbial breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding for the past few weeks was finally given reprieve. In all honesty, she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the murderous part of Spike’s existence for fear of talking herself out of the plan, or her attraction, or the part of her that liked him to the point of having fallen in love with him. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it—not smart, considering she was a slayer—but she’d needed time to work out her feelings. And when she finally had, the idea of Spike killing civilians on her watch had been so far off her radar, she hadn’t even considered it.

Especially since he’d become more a fixture in her life since they agreed to the plan. Since the night he climbed into her room after she’d ralphed all over Angel. Until that moment, they’d attempted to keep their distance from each other. And overall, their connection had grown since the plan, despite their moments of weakness. She’d realized she was in love with him since the plan. And, since the plan, he’d been her routine patrol buddy. He’d been with her almost every night, and it hadn’t occurred to her that he might still be feeding.

“You’re not…” She sighed a little and smiled. “You’re not…eating people?”

“Well…I…” Spike averted his gaze quickly, and immediately, the high she’d felt plummeted with a chill.

No.

“I’m not killing anyone,” he amended. “I haven’t, I mean. I haven’t killed anyone. But Slayer, a man’s gotta eat. I have been feeding, but I haven’t killed anyone. An’ I haven’t taken so much that it hurts them, either. I’ve jus’ made blood donors out of a few blokes. I know—”

“Men?” Buffy blurted, her nerves singing. She knew she was being illogical, but that was the first thing she grabbed onto. “You haven’t been drinking from women?”

“Bloody fuck, no.”

“Oh.”

“But I have been feeding…I have to, Buffy. It’s what I am. If I don’t feed, I die. An’ don’ gimme any rot about pig’s blood.” Spike shuddered. “I bleeding hate pig’s blood. The difference between pig’s blood an’ human blood is the difference between eating a Denny’s dinner off a dirty bathroom floor an’ dining with the Queen. I can control myself. An’ since I’m not killing anyone—”

“It’s—”

“If you say it’s wrong, I’m gonna rip your bloody throat out.”

Buffy quirked a brow. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But I’d seriously consider it.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Spike held up a hand. “Stop that! The thing is, I’m not human. I’m not. An’ I shouldn’t have to live up to what is an’ isn’t right by human standards. What’s right for vampires is to stay alive by drinking blood. We’re not held to a moral compass. An’ I feed off humans because I am a vampire, dammit, an’ you can’t leash me. It’s my choice. Not yours. An’—”

“Spike—”

“If you think I’m gonna stop—”

“Spike—”

“You’re off your nutter. An’—”

“Spike!” That seemed to get his attention. He halted in mid-sentence and tossed her an inquisitive glance. “Spike, are you under the impression that I’m angry with you for not killing people?”

He blinked stupidly. “Well…yes.”

“Then, and I say this with utmost warmth and affection, you’re a moron.” Buffy shook her head. “I never asked you to stop killing. In fact, I never asked you to stop anything that makes you a vampire. I’ve never mentioned it, and I never intended to. Do you have any idea how much it means to me that you…all on your own, you made the decision…” She released a shaky sigh and glanced up. “Did you do it for me?”

“Buffy—”

“Did you do it for me, Spike?”

He exhaled slowly and nodded. “I did. Of course I did, Buffy. What do you think? I din’t wanna give you a reason to have to kill me. I know…I’m not trying to compare whatever we have to your great sodding love affair with the enormous poofter, but I din’t want you to be in a position where you had to off another bloke who’s…shared your bed. That an’…it wasn’t a huge sacrifice. I don’t need to kill people to be happy. Gimme blood, gimme violence, gimme a few good shags, gimme a telly, an’ toss in a remote. There are plenty of nasty buggers around here if I wanna good brawl. An’ then there’s you.” Spike smiled shyly. “You’re…you’re worth it.”

Oh yeah. She was totally in love with him.

She was totally screwed.

“And I have a drawer?”

“Full of some things that were yours before, an’ some other things that we’ll call pre-birthday gifts.” Spike smiled and stepped forward, reaching out to rub her shoulders. “An’ while we’re on that…” He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her brow. “Happy birthday, pet.”

Totally screwed.

“You gonna sing for me?” she asked teasingly, running a hand across his bare chest, over his unbeating heart. The way he inhaled sharply gave her a quick rush of feminine empowerment, and she warmed all over.

“Maybe later,” he replied. “Get me good an’ sloshed, an’ I’ll even go a few rounds. For now…” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her over to the bureau. “Look through your things. Get yourself all dolled up for school. I’ll go grab you some breakfast.”

Buffy bit her lip. “Spike, you don’t have to—”

He grinned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her spontaneously. “Got me some pop-tarts upstairs.”

Of all the lines to make me swoon, that has to be the most random.

And yet, combined with his thoughtfulness and his kiss and the boyish look on his face, there was massive swooning.

“Oh.”

Spike moved away before she could tackle him with her lips, which was likely for the best.

“Yes,” he agreed with a nod. “Sorry about that.”

“Huh?”

“Snogging you. Not a part of the plan.”

“It’s my birthday,” she protested lamely.

Spike grinned and neared her again. “Well,” he said, cupping her face again, “in that case…”

God, she loved the taste of his kiss.

“You have pop-tarts?” Buffy gasped breathlessly once their lips parted.

“An’ a toaster.”

“You’re prepared.”

“I think I ate a boy scout once. Maybe something stuck.” He grinned and pivoted, fishing out a tee from his bureau and sliding it over his head, hiding all that scrumptious flesh from her. Meanie. “Get yourself ready, pet. I’ll make you something quick.”

“And write me a note?”

“It’s your birthday. I’ll do whatever you like.”

Buffy turned and grinned, shaking her head as Spike bolted upstairs. He was so…perfect. This morning was so perfect. Like she was waking up with her boyfriend and getting ready. Like she was one half of a whole. Like she was in a true, functioning relationship.

The sentiment didn’t last, of course. Reality was too overbearing. Last night had been a glitch. A huge, massive glitch. This morning was different because she’d awakened with him. Because it was her birthday. Soon, they’d be back on track. The plan would be back on track.

Perhaps, if they abided the plan…Spike would eventually fall in love with her, too. And perhaps things would stay that way even after the spell was over.

It was a gamble that was almost worth the heartbreak.

Almost.

To be continued

Chapter 37 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: And a return to plot. Thanks to my betas for reminding me that I have a story to tell…and not just Spuffy-happy snippets. Heehee.

And I’ve won things at LSA! Squee!! Runners up for Best Claiming, Best Episode Rewrite, and a Judge’s Choice Award. ***bouncing*** Thank you all so, so much!!!

Chapter 37

“Have I mentioned the many ways in which you owe me big time?” Willow asked as Buffy, shame-faced, slid into the seat next to her in the Sunnydale High cafeteria. “Because you owe me so much that…are you wearing Spike’s clothing?”

“‘Hello, Buffy,” Buffy mimed, opening up the lunch she’d brought with her. Right before she’d finally left Spike’s crypt, he’d slipped a twenty into her jean pocket and told her to pick up something on her way to school. It was amazing how she could feel like a little kid and an adult simultaneously. “‘How was your night? Are you feeling better? And happy birthday.’”

“Hello, Buffy,” Willow echoed, rolling her eyes. “How was your night? Are you feeling better? Happy birthday. And do you have any idea how very much you owe me big time?”

“No.”

“Your mother called me in a panic last night.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, mirth vanishing instantly. “Oh God. Will, tell me you—”

“Lied my butt off? ‘Oh, Mrs. Summers. Buffy went patrolling with Faith. She’s coming here after to work on a science project.’” Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Are those Spike’s clothes?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

“So you two didn’t meet up last night and have a bunch of raunchy, naked sex?”

“Okay, so it’s exactly what you think.”

Willow crossed her arms, her stern expression finally melting into amusement. “Okay! Talk, missy! What happened to the plan?”

“The plan is still very much in effect.” Buffy nodded emphatically. “And when did you start saying things like ‘raunchy naked sex’?” A beat. “Oh my God! Have you and Oz—”

The redhead’s eyes widened comically. “No!” she all but screeched, shaking her head. “No. No. No, we really haven’t. I-I just like to see you…turn into Blushy Buffy, because that doesn’t happen very often a-and you know it.” She frowned. “Besides! We’re talking about you and your…stuff. Not me and the non-stuff that happens—or doesn’t happen—to me. So…stop trying to distract me!”

“Oh, but it’s so easy.”

Willow pouted. “You’re no fun. And you’re still totally in Spike’s clothes. So tell me why exactly I covered for you while you were having unscheduled raunchy naked sex that was, by the way, totally against the rules.”

“Hey! I made those rules!”

The redhead crossed her arms and perked her brows in jest. “So that means you can break them whenever you like?”

“Well…” Buffy frowned. “Yes.”

“In what crazy world does that work?”

“The world we live in. And besides, we totally didn’t break the rules.” She paused and caved under Willow’s incredulous stare. “Only, yes, we did break the rules, but now there’s an amendment.”

“An amendment?”

“To the rules,” Buffy concluded with a nod.

“An amendment that allows for raunchy naked sex?”

“N-not all the time, no. Just…ummm…just when we…fall off the wagon.”

Her friend’s brow furrowed and she squinted as though her brain hurt. “Fall off the wagon?” she repeated. “You’re now an addict?”

“Well, we obviously have some wiggy problem going on.”

Willow sighed and shook her head. “You’re crazier than any seven people I know.”

“You know seven people?”

“If you include my parents.” She glanced down pointedly at Buffy’s attire and arched a brow. “Why are you wearing Spike’s clothing?”

“How do you know it’s Spike’s clothing?” Buffy retorted, crossing her arms.

“It’s jeans and a black tee.”

“And I suppose Spike is the only one allowed to have jeans and a black tee?”

“No, but from the way you’re swimming in it…” Willow shook her head and waved a hand. “Stop with the avoidy. You already admitted that you’re wearing Spike’s clothing. And since we’ve already verified that you had raunchy naked sex, there’s nothing else that can surprise me.”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and exhaled slowly. “Faith came onto Spike last night.”

The shock on her friend’s face was almost funny. “She what?!”

“She came onto Spike. And stuff happened from there. I don’t really wanna get into it, but Spike ended up knocking her unconscious. And I think it was because of that that he…lost it a bit.” She smiled weakly. “Anyway, we went back to his place and amended the plan. He didn’t want me to leave, so I stayed.”

“Worrying your mom to death.”

“Yes, well, Spike wanted me to stay.” Buffy swallowed hard. “And…I love him, so I stayed.”

“And wore his clothes to school today.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Willow licked her lips. “Did you…did you tell Spike?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you love him?”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “What? No! No. God, you think I’d bring that on myself now? It’s my birthday. I’m already weakened and worried about what’s gonna happen when this spell is over. Plus, my not-quite-boyfriend is being approached by Faith, who’s had every man on the planet in her pants at one point…yeah, throwing in that I love him? I don’t wanna jinx myself.”

“What are you gonna do about the slayer strength thing?” Willow asked.

She sighed again and glanced down. “Talk to Giles, I guess. I mean, what else is there to do? I’ll talk to him, and then I gotta get home. I’m gonna want a nap before you and Xander come over.”

“You know, if we want to disinvite Xander, you could always have Spike come over instead.” Willow smiled prettily. “I really wouldn’t mind that.”

“Will, you should really see Giles about getting the delusting spell…fixed.”

The redhead blinked and straightened. “Fixed? Fixed implies there’s something wrong with what I did. There’s nothing wrong. There’s—”

“He’s sitting across the room with Cordelia.”

“I wonder if he’ll mind if I hit him over the head several times with this big lunch tray.”

“I think he’ll mind, yeah.”

“Okay, but at this point, I gotta tell you that the world in which I care is running right smack into the world in which I don’t.”

Buffy offered an amused smirk and rose to her feet. “I’m gonna go see Giles.”

“You didn’t eat anything!”

“Yes. I’m going to go see Giles, and then go home.” She shrugged at Willow’s questioning glance and stifled a yawn. “I woke up all rested, but I gotta tell you, I’m all kinds of tired right now.”

“So you’re gonna skip the rest of the day, since you skipped the first part?”

Buffy nodded. “That’s right.”

“Okay. I’m still seeing you tonight, though, right?”

“Oh, definitely. And we’ll do the party thing.”

Willow grinned. “I still say you disinvite Xander.”

“I’ll think about it.” Buffy reached into her bag and withdrew a fry, popping it into her mouth. “Okay. I’m off.”

“Buffy?” When she turned, Willow was smiling softly. “Happy birthday.”

She warmed. “Thanks,” she replied.

It was. It was, perhaps, the first happy birthday she’d had since she’d arrived in Sunnydale. At least, it was looking better thus far than her others.

Perhaps Spike was going to help her start a new tradition.

It was a nice thought, if nothing else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Any hopes of a calm day died the second she stepped into the library.

“Oh, look,” Faith remarked snidely, planting her hands on her hips and arching her brows. “She shows.”

Her veins flushed cold, and she was consumed with the fiercest wave of loathing she’d ever known. Faith was in the room. Faith was standing in the middle of the library, between Giles and Angel, looking particularly smug. Looking particularly satisfied with herself, which she supposed was a feat, since parts of Faith’s face were black and blue.

It was just a second, but Buffy had to flex her hands and tighten her jaw, and remind herself that Spike hated the girl almost as much as she did. That Spike had beat the girl unconscious for trying to touch him. And while Buffy knew that violence against slayers was something she should discourage, the thought was enough to ease her rage.

“Buffy,” Giles said, his eyes trained on the floor.

Oh God. His glasses were already being polished. This was so not a good.

“Are you…” Angel sniffed, his eyes blazing. “Are you wearing Spike’s clothes?”

Buffy flushed and crossed her arms, fidgeting. She hadn’t minded the strange stares she’d received since she arrived—not even those from Xander, that were less curious and more pointed. But now, with Angel glaring at her, with Giles’s look of disappointment and the pleased, smug grin on Faith’s face, she might as well have been naked.

“Yeah,” Faith drawled. “That’s what blondie was wearing last night. Right before he punched me in the face and then made with the incredibly loud fucking against a crypt wall with Slutty Summers here. Gotta say, B. He wears it a lot better than you do.”

Her face was on fire, but she refused to show any shame. She wasn’t ashamed. Not in the slightest, and if they wanted her to act it, they had another thing coming. “Well, I think he’d disagree.” If his wandering hands that morning were any indicator, anyway. “I take it you guys aren’t throwing me a surprise party. Just as well.” Her eyes landed on Angel. “We all know how well that turned out the last time.”

“Ouch, B. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in need of a good lay.” Faith smirked. “But no, that’s not it…”

She flinched, but she wasn’t surprised. Somehow, even in the fog that had surrounded her head last night, she’d had enough foresight to predict that something like this might happen; she’d just left it to wishful thinking that it wouldn’t. So much for that. “I can’t help it if you’re jealous,” she retorted.

“Of the big blond stud?” Faith shrugged indifferently, though there was a flare in her eyes that one would only catch if they knew her really well. “Well, I suppose big is relative. He didn’t seem too impressive when I was chatting him up.”

Buffy shrugged. “Sorry, Faith, you just don’t do it for him.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “So, is that what this is? You guys are all here, taking advice from some chick who can’t keep her legs together long enough to go on a decent patrol—”

Faith just shook her head, shaking in mirth, her black eyes shining. “Ouch! Kitty’s got claws.”

“—to accost me about my private life?”

“Your private life that now consists of boinking Spike?” Angel demanded. “God, Buffy, what has he done to you?”

Buffy just glared at him. “I’d tell you, but I neglect to recall the part where any of this is your business.”

Giles sighed. “Buffy…”

“No. I’ll talk to you, maybe, but not with these two around.” She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “And even then, don’t press your luck.”

Her Watcher cleared his throat and placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose with a long sigh. “As it is, we don’t have time to discuss your rather horrendous choices right now.”

“Can I get a ‘Happy Birthday, Buffy’?”

“We have training with the vibratory stones—”

She sighed. “Again?”

“And then Angel is going to accompany you on patrol.”

Buffy froze and tossed her all-too-smug-looking ex-boyfriend a nasty glare. “No,” she said. “No. I’m not going anywhere with him.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Giles, it’s my birthday. And I thought you said that I didn’t have to patrol tonight.”

“Well, since you’re so keen on patrolling on the nights that I give you off anyway, I didn’t think you’d mind my penciling you in tonight.” Giles glanced down. “However, since your strength is still amiss, I think it better if Angel accompanies you.”

“Guess that’ll free blondie up,” Faith mused, stretching. “Wonder if I can find something to…occupy his time.”

Fury washed through her, but Buffy refused to flinch. Spike’s more-than-vocal disgust with the raven-haired slayer was more than enough reassurance that she had nothing to worry about. “If you’re looking to get your ass kicked, go ahead.”

“Oh, sounds kinky.”

“No, it’s a lot more like getting your ass kicked.” Buffy smirked nastily. “Gotta say, F. You sure know how to turn a man flaccid.”

Angel sighed. “Buffy—”

She whirled on her heels. “Oh. So it’s okay for her to be disgusting, but when I give her a dose of the truth, I get the disappointed sigh? You guys are such hypocrites.”

“We don’t have time for this argument,” Giles said stoically. “Sit down. We’re going to train with the stones.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I can barely contain my enthusiasm.”

“And then you will patrol with Angel.”

“And there we do not agree.”

Giles held up a hand. “Look, Buffy. This isn’t up for discussion. You’re my slayer. You’re my responsibility. And while you’re weakened, you will be patrolling with Angel. Is that understood?”

She really had the most unnerving urge to rip his head off. “Not in the slightest.”

“Excellent. I don’t care. Sit down.”

Buffy sucked in a deep breath and glared at him, but sat down nonetheless.

Maybe this wasn’t the year to start a new birthday tradition, after all.

To be continued…

Chapter 38 by Ameeya

Chapter 38

He remembered some nights when he and Buffy had been too involved in each other to even notice that the outside world existed. When his arms had been perpetually locked around her small body and her lips had been glued to his; when it would have taken an apocalypse or worse to drive them apart.

The worst had happened. Buffy was moving so fast, he could barely catch her eyes. There would be no spontaneous leaping into his arms. No wresting kisses from his lips. No hungry moans, no brazen touching. He’d never again feel her heart pounding against his chest or smell the warmth of her arousal—and even if he did, it wouldn’t be directed at him.

It wasn’t as though Angel had expected Buffy to fall into his arms, especially after what he’d done to her the year before. After he’d returned from Hell, she’d cared for him; she’d even kissed him once, only that had led to a rather abrasive confrontation with the Scoobies, and she’d since declared them just friends. The declaration was something she’d done for herself; he knew enough to recognize that. They could never be what they’d once been. And though he’d known it, he’d been in no way prepared for her to actually move on.

And to move onto Spike? Honestly, who could be prepared for that?

However, Angel suspected that much of what Buffy was feeling was based on the claim. The claim that, despite the lack of a mark on her throat, he was still certain had occurred. He didn’t know how else to explain her symptoms, or the sudden perverse attraction to his idiot of a grand-childe. Buffy was certainly unpredictable, but he’d never pegged her for being openly and unabashedly foolish.

The trouble was, he didn’t know where claim-induced feelings began. Ever since Darla told him about claims, he’d lived under the impression that they couldn’t generate feelings; rather, claims thrived on feelings that already existed. In rare instances, claims might be instrumental in unearthing certain feelings, but it was impossible to fabricate emotions based on a claim—something several well-noted historic vamps had discovered the hard way. There were a few tales lost to vamp lore about vampires that were so lovesick that they claimed the object of their desire against his or her wish, only to end up a miserable, hollow shell for all eternity. When claims were forced, they only emphasized hatred and resentment. Forced claims did nothing but cut and destroy.

Angel was certain that any claim that Spike had placed on Buffy had been forced, but there was no hatred or resentment. And that meant, of course, that even if she was feeling things through the claim, it was all real. All of it. She’d really lost herself to a vampire, and he couldn’t help it if the notion made him sick.

Which brought him back to the notion that Buffy’s feelings had to be fabricated; that history was wrong. That, like many human fables, the tales about claims were meant to scare vampires into thinking before they selected lifemates. But it was a stretch; it was wishful thinking. Angel had met one or two wrongly claimed vamps; despite want, deep down, he knew that Buffy’s behavior couldn’t be blamed on anything. Not a thing.

She might have hated Spike when the claim was placed, but she didn’t hate him now. No, Angel knew the look in Buffy’s eyes well, only he’d never seen it so powerful. So vibrant. He recalled how it’d felt when she’d really looked at him the first time—when he’d seen her love for him shining in her eyes—and how his heart had leapt in his cold chest. How feeling had touched nerves that had long been singed—how for so long, he’d been numb and void of anything resembling warmth.

When he saw her eyes now, it was like staring down a supernova. He saw a universe explode into creation over and over again. Spike had done that for her. Spike had given her life, whereas Angel had only taken it away.

The Powers had handed him a soul, but gifted Spike with the key to redemption.

That’s not fair, he told himself, casting Buffy another glance. She was moving so fast; even in her weakened state, it was hard to keep up. I had it once. I had it.

The Powers had given him everything but the owner’s manual. Perhaps it was his fault for not researching gypsies in the wasted decades that followed the curse. He’d spent his time dragging himself from gutter to gutter. He’d climb the social ladder, then fall when dizzied by the heights. When he found himself feasting over the body of a man he could have saved if he hadn’t been so hungry for human blood. But in the midst of all that, he’d held onto his soul and attempted to cleanse his red-stained hands time and time again. There had been no indication that the soul wasn’t safely harnessed. None until Buffy barreled into his life.

Well, to be fair, until he barreled into hers.

He wasn’t supposed to be soulless, and he wasn’t supposed to be dead. And the only reason Angel saw in providing him an out to his soul was to make sure his behavior was maintained. Champions, after all, needed their fatal flaws. Their Achilles Heel. Perfect happiness, no matter what he did or how much he sacrificed, was something that he could never have.

He could never have Buffy. And while that pained him, the pain wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that she’d lost her heart to Spike. It wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that he had never created a universe in her eyes. Angel had always thought himself special; he’d felt that what they had was special. Different. Something shared by only them and no one else.

The more he saw of Buffy now, the more he realized that their relationship had been a dramatic, hell-laced version of every teen-angst Lifetime Original Movie to have ever aired. And damn if that didn’t sting.

Tonight was the final hurdle. Buffy didn’t have bite marks on her throat, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t have them somewhere else. Angel was just a few percentage points from complete conviction that a claim was the catalyst of her behavior, and if all went according to plan tonight, he and Giles would have enough ammunition to go about fixing whatever mess Buffy had unwittingly gotten herself into.

Unaccepted claims were an easy fix. It would just take separating Buffy and Spike as long as possible. Until the pangs of separation dwindled and life returned to normal. As long as Buffy hadn’t met Spike’s stake on her with a, “yours,” they had nothing to worry about.

If, however, she had accepted—something that Giles refused to afford plausibility, though Angel wasn’t so optimistic—their options were incredibly limited. If she’d accepted, the only thing that would make her feel better was claiming Spike back. Until then, they’d feel pangs of separation, and those pangs would grow worse the longer they were apart. The longer they were apart and the longer Spike’s demon went unclaimed by his chosen.

The vampire that Buffy had to face tonight for the Cruciamentum was called Kralik, and he was a nasty son of a bitch. He’d arrived a few days ago, and Angel had volunteered himself, much to the delight of the Watcher’s Council, to help keep Kralik under control. And though Angel hated the idea of leaving Buffy to face the monster alone, he surprisingly wasn’t too worried about her. Buffy was amazingly resourceful, and he’d be outside the entire time.

And if Angel was right about the claim, it would take Spike all of three minutes to show up.

Angel dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Oh,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had followed them since they left the library. “I bought you something.”

Buffy jerked to a fierce stop and cast him a suspicious glance. “What?” she demanded sharply. “Why?”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Oh. Yes. Okay.” Buffy shook her head, shivered, and continued walking. “That’s really nice for you.”

“For me?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Don’t you want to see it?”

Her brows arched. “Did it cost a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Does it come from the heart?”

“Buffy—”

“No. I wanna know. I want to know how much energy I should put into throwing it away after I beat the living crap out of you later tonight.”

Angel’s heart wrenched. “What the hell did I do?”

“Oh, don’t give me that!” she spat. “You know exactly what you did. So I’m not fawning over you or crying into my pillow over how you and I will never have the Disney future with fanged children running around the front yard—picket fence excluded. Am I not entitled to anything?”

“You’re entitled to make intelligent decisions, Buffy.”

She balked, her eyes flying open. “But, oh, no mistakes, right? Buffy can’t make mistakes. Buffy has to be flawless in everything she does. A living example for the lesser mortals that run around here. And she certainly can’t be with someone that doesn’t have the ex’s approval.” She shook her head. “Were you this much of a jackass while we were dating, or did losing your soul make you go stark-raving mad?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“No. Not that. Soulless Angel wasn’t that much of an enigma, and at least he was up-front about being a selfish, sadistic, son of a bitch. You? You try to come off as so innocent and condescending and when the hell did you decide that you were better than everything and everyone? Huh?” Buffy shook her head furiously. “You’re an unmitigated, unbelievable, sad, pathetic, and I would go on, but I actually have a life and a boyfriend that I like. And hey! He actually treats me right.”

“Yeah, if you call raping you treating you right.”

Buffy froze and turned, burying him under a glacier with her eyes. “I’m not going to waste a punch,” she said slowly. “Not now. I’ll wait until I’m better. I’ll wait until I know it’s going to hurt. And I swear to God, Angel, if you ever say anything like that again, you’re dust. Do you understand me? I will send you right back to Hell and who will give a damn? Aside from Giles, I’m guessing no one, and I’m guessing that you’d be hard-pressed for Giles to shed any tears.”

“God, what has he done to you?”

“Ripped the blinders off, that’s for sure.”

“And here I could’ve sworn he was just fastening them into place.”

“That’s only because the blinders I’m referring to are the ones that made me fall in love with you in the first place. But no, if it doesn’t work for Angel, it has to be wrong.”

“So you don’t want your present.”

“Not unless you want it shoved up your ass,” she replied with false sweetness, flashing a bright smile.

Angel fought off an eye roll. It was nice to know that Spike had passed on his more shining personality traits. “You’re not at all the girl I thought you were,” he remarked.

“You can imagine how very much I care.”

He snickered. “You really think you can tame him, Buffy? Has he convinced you that he can go on without feeding on humans? Without killing innocents? Without turning into someone that you will have to kill in much the same way you had to kill me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. And I should mention, I now recall that last part with fondness and warmth.”

“He can’t keep those promises.”

“Good thing he didn’t make them, then.” Buffy shot him another glare. “Spike hasn’t promised me anything, Angel, and I didn’t ask him to change. Whatever changes he’s made have been voluntary and at his own pacing. I can’t make anyone change. I, unlike some others in this conversation who shall remain nameless, understand that the vampire nature cannot be denied. If Spike changes because I asked him to, it’s not real. It’s only real if he changes because he wants to, and that’s what he did.”

“Spike wants this right now,” Angel barked. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but it’s true. You don’t know him like I do. He has the attention span of a fruit-fly, and eventually, his wants will shift and he’ll leave you in the dust, cleaning up his mess.”

The fire doused in her eyes, and he knew immediately that he’d struck a nerve. Something that she’d considered. Something that, even as he’d spoken the words, he knew was impossible. Spike might be many things, but he wasn’t one to fall in and out of love lightly. In all the years that Angel had known him, Spike had been in love with one woman. Just one. True, he’d been infatuated with some stuck-up nineteenth century wench before he was turned, but after that, the blond pest had only had eyes for Dru. If Spike was in love again, chances were it was permanent.

And Buffy was the same way. Both Buffy and Spike tended to crash head-first with love, rather than fall into it. And if they’d crashed into each other, it was fair to say that all hope for reconciliation was lost.

Especially if they were mated.

“You know what?” Buffy said blithely. “There’s absolutely no need for you to talk to me ever again.”

Angel sighed. She was nothing if not a drama queen. “Buffy.”

“That’s your cue to stop talking to me.”

“Buffy…” He didn’t like what he was about to do. He really didn’t. It was, however, incredibly necessary. He needed Buffy inside the abandoned boarding house with the crazed vampire, and it needed to happen soon. Now. Before Spike decided to randomly show up. Before his window of opportunity closed. He needed Buffy in the boarding house—the boarding house that was very conveniently across the street, the one he’d led her to without even trying—and he needed her in there now. “Buffy, stop!”

“Not until you do.”

“It’s Spike.”

“The source of the stick up your ass is Spike. Again, imagine my surprise.”

“No. Stop! I’m saying that Spike’s…I smell him.” He flinched. This deception was not at all pleasant. “It’s blood. His blood.”

Buffy froze, and the terror in her eyes was devastating.

“It’s coming from over there.” He pointed. “Wait a sec and I’ll—”

Buffy didn’t wait. She never waited. She didn’t even hesitate or question him. She took off like a bat out of hell.

Just like he knew she would.

To be continued…

Author’s Note: I’m so totally evil, aren’t I? ***cackles***

Chapter 39 by Ameeya

Chapter 39

He was officially worried. He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes, and Buffy never kept him waiting for fifteen minutes. Buffy never kept him waiting at all. If anything, Buffy always showed up for their patrols a few minutes early. Even the night that he’d beat the living hell out of the other slayer, Buffy had been there long enough to witness most of the encounter. She wasn’t one to be late. Not for him. She’d never been late for him.

It was her birthday and she was late, and Spike was worried.

Perhaps he’d been too forward that morning. God knows, the previous night had been unlike anything he’d ever known. Never before had Dru simply let him hold her. Never before had they shared playful banter. Being with Buffy meant sacrificing all of his guards; meant peering over the wall he’d built around himself. She knew him now, better than anyone. She knew the version of himself that he’d kept hidden.

And even if he had been too forward that morning, Spike couldn’t see her being late. Not when it came to their time together. Furthermore, it was her birthday, and from what he knew of her past—both what she’d told him and what he’d witnessed—the Powers seemed to take a sadistic interest in making sure that every year grew a little bit worse for her. That every year she lived—every year she outlasted her incipient expiration—the PTB made it their prerogative to kick her in the gut.

Before she left his crypt that morning, Buffy had jokingly asked him to refrain from feasting on Sunnydale citizens until midnight. Not that she didn’t trust him—though the idea that she did was more than a little heady—but she was worried that the karma that tended to follow her from year to year would catch up. That something terrible would happen—that despite his best intentions, he would end up hurting her against his will.

Knowing that he had a penchant for hurting her anyway didn’t help matters. Oh, but Buffy wouldn’t see it that way. She still refused to see the forced blowjob as something that she should dust him over. And it wasn’t that Spike was hankering to meet the business end of a stake—there was just something about Buffy that brought out a side of his demon that he’d never known before. The sort that would defile girlies without a second thought, and leave the shattered man to clean up the mess and harbor the guilt. The first time had been bad enough; he’d felt Buffy’s pain and confusion alongside his through means that weren’t altogether clear to him. And though he’d sensed none of those things from her last night, that didn’t make it okay.

However, fears aside, Spike was determined to keep from hurting her. Not even the curse of Buffy’s birthday could incite him to break that vow.

And perhaps he was being too hard on himself. Buffy had forgiven him for their first fumbled night together—the night she refused to see as rape, even if he knew better—and she hadn’t thought anything of what had transpired last night.

Rather, she’d told him that she wanted to be there for whatever he needed. Whatever his demon needed. And she’d understood that, at that moment, his demon needed her on her knees with her mouth open. She hadn’t complained. She hadn’t protested. She hadn’t even cried—well, not until she’d panicked over the daft notion that she wasn’t any good.

She’d wanted to please him. All of him. She embraced him when he was sappy and silly just as she did when he was rude and cruel. Not once through this whole ordeal had she turned him away because of who or what he was, rather for the demented notion that he wouldn’t want her for those very reasons. And, as she’d pointed out this morning, she’d never asked him to change. Not once. She hadn’t given him the ‘stop feeding or I’ll stake you’ ultimatum, and she’d never threatened him with tears in the face of the monster he was.

Buffy had given him what no one else ever had: she accepted him. All of him. The good and the bad. The virtues and the flaws. The man and the monster. She accepted every bit.

And she was late. His golden seraph was late.

Over twenty minutes now.

“Okay,” Spike said tightly to himself, kicking at a headstone. “Time to panic.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy felt as though she was moving through a tomb.

“Spike?”

God, she hated how shaky her voice was. How uncertain. Like a child waiting for a parent’s reprimand at church. The boarding house was so quiet, she heard the dust fall behind her as she moved. There was a very persistent pain in her gut—a strange combination of both slayer tinglies, faded as they were, and the beginnings of familiar pangs of separation.

He hadn’t answered her at all. She didn’t feel him at all.

And what the hell would he be doing in here, anyway?

Angel, Buffy thought, pursing her lips as a dark shudder claimed her violently. That, above all other things, made sense to her. After all, it was Angel who had led her here in the first place. It was Angel who had pointed at the old Sunnydale Arms and told her that Spike was inside, bleeding. It was Angel who hated Spike for being the boyfriend he never was, and it was Angel who had the ego to think that taking care of her and making decisions for her rested on his shoulders.

Buffy’s insides trembled. Perhaps Angel had trapped Spike in here. Perhaps he’d tortured him in hope of releasing the beast. Perhaps Angel wanted to put her in a position where she’d have to stake Spike to save her own life, therein proving that Spike was a monster that had no sense of right or wrong; one that would see her as means to his own survival if pressed.

Only Buffy didn’t feel Spike anywhere near her. And that was worrisome. However, it was her birthday, and that meant that things were always and forever off. If Spike was in here, there was no reason for her to feel him. None at all. As it was, her tinglies were going off like nothing else, which meant that a vampire was near.

“So help me,” Buffy said softly, peeking into another empty, cobweb-infested room. “Angel, if you’ve done something to him, I’ll have your head.”

If she was right—if Angel had caged Spike in here with the idea of shoving the man to the back by provoking the monster—then the joke was on him. Spike’s demon cared for her; she’d seen that last night. He cared for her and he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d just need her to help him calm down.

After that, they could go dismember Angel together. He’d better hope that Spike showed some pity, because she sure as hell wouldn’t.

Not if he’d hurt Spike in order to make a point. An incredibly Angelish point. The kind with a moral and everything.

Not at the expense of my boyfriend.

Buffy shivered again. That was at least the third time she’d referred to Spike—whether to herself or to others—as her boyfriend. It wasn’t entirely true, of course, as they were would-be platonic patrol colleagues who had to fight every urge in their bodies to keep from ripping each other’s clothes off. But the label, misleading as it was, filled her with warmth.

Maybe after she and Spike finished dismembering Angel, they could go to Giles about this stupid spell and see about getting it broken. After that, if he still felt the same way, they could look into making the boyfriend label a more permanent feature.

But she hadn’t found Spike yet. Spike was still somewhere in the house. Somewhere where he either couldn’t hear her or couldn’t respond. And he was still bleeding.

“Spike?” she called again, stepping over a jagged plank in the floorboard. “Spike? Make some sound so I know where you are.”

As if waiting for a cue, the walls moaned and the ceiling trembled under the weight of something heavy. Buffy’s eyes darted upward.

He was upstairs.

“I’m coming!” she shouted. “Just wait there, Spike! I’m coming!”

It took a few minutes to locate another stairwell. The halls were filled with dust and debris; a few paintings hung crooked in broken frames. It was the sort of place that she’d ignore if she passed it; one of the many condemned buildings in Sunnydale. A place for demons to claim when the graveyard was not an option.

Buffy’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she stepped over a broken crate, nearly stumbling onto the second floor. What a rat-trap. Yeah, there was absolutely no way that Spike would come here voluntarily.

“Spike?” She frowned and peered down the hallway, jumping when a long, vampiric roar finally answered. A roar followed by a bang, leading her eyes to the big crate that sat against the wall in the next room. “Oh my God.”

Angel had crated her boyfriend? And then, what, led her here?

It had to be a show of power. After all, she’d said it outside. The vampiric nature could not be denied. Not Angel’s, and as he was hoping to demonstrate, not Spike’s, either.

“Angel, I swear, you are so dead,” she gritted out. Then paused. “Again.”

There was another growl and a bang against the door. Buffy sucked in a deep breath, her legs breaking into a jog.

“I’m coming!” she called out. “Spike, I’m coming!”

Her heart was about ready to leap out of her chest as she yanked the door open.

And screamed.

Oh my God.

Buffy stumbled back in shock as the vampire stepped out of the crate, shrugging off what looked to be the shredded remains of a straightjacket. His yellow eyes flashed, his tongue licking his fangs as his lips pulled back in a smirk.

A smirk that definitely wasn’t Spike’s.

“My hero,” he quipped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was such an idiot. Such a prize idiot wanker.

“Killed two slayers,” Spike grumbled under his breath, lowering his fist from Buffy’s door. “Killed ‘em right quick. Could write the bloody book on slayers an’ all the sodding birds that get Chosen. Start shagging one, an’ you lose your marbles. Bloody brilliant, Spike. Good show.”

Not to mention he was talking to himself, which was never good.

It had hit him from nowhere—a bullet of knowledge that drove straight for the heart. Buffy’s lack of strength—the same that coincided with the days leading up to her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. He knew this part of the slayer training; Christ, the knowledge of it had driven him mad with curiosity once he stumbled over the text that detailed the rite.

The Cruciamentum, the Watchers called it. The sodding Cruciamentum. How the sodding hell had he forgotten about the Cruciamentum? The ritual in which the Council came in, drained their selected warrior of all her power, and pitted her against a powerful foe in a test that resulted either in her death or the next phase of her training. Fuck, he’d known this. He’d always been fascinated with the idea that the Council would ever test a trained, strengthened slayer by trying to off her. If they offed her, the next was called. If not, they continued on with training with a smile and a nod.

It always struck Spike as a particularly barbaric ritual with no point other than butchering slayers; something he had thought rather funny until recently.

Until now.

Until it became Buffy rather than some faceless name in the long line of slayers.

Now she was in danger. It was her birthday—the night of the ritual—and she was in danger. And he would have known if he’d stopped to think about it, he’d have put sodding two and two together. But in these past few days, he hadn’t been thinking at all. Everything that had anything to do with Buffy had something to do with the spell, or whatever had brought them together. He hadn’t been thinking straight, and now, Buffy was in danger.

Buffy was in danger because others had put her there. And Spike would rip apart whoever touched her. Whoever touched her and whoever was responsible for having her touched.

The Watcher. Spike snarled. The Watcher would be in on this. The Watcher, and from the way Buffy kept going on about Angel and the Watcher’s budding friendship, his wanker of a grandsire likely was, too.

If anything happened to her, they would beg for death before he gave it to them.

Spike tore away from her front porch with a growl. He had nowhere to look. Nowhere to begin. He could go torture the Watcher for information, but by the time he got to the school library, it might be too late. He had nothing.

Nothing but a rush of alien fear that nearly knocked him to his knees. Spike’s throat quaked with a tremulous roar. It came from nowhere, saturated his insides, spilled into his veins, and filled him entirely with her essence. Suddenly, the air was thick with her scent, and his demon roared to life.

He didn’t know where she was, but he felt her.

He felt her. And she was terrified.

And to find her, all he had to do was follow his instincts.

To be continued…

Chapter 40 by Ameeya

Chapter 40

She’d never felt her body abandon her, and if she had, it’d been long enough that she’d forgotten the feeling. The fear drenching her veins was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Beyond the soul-crushing knowledge of an impending apocalypse, or even running her loved ones through with a sword—no matter how deserved, in retrospect—the complete lack of strength coupled with staring down a pair of gleaming fangs made for the most frightening moment of her life. The hand around her throat was crushing her windpipe, and the vampire at the other end of it was grinning like it was a big joke.

“Why did you come to the dark of the woods?” he hissed, his other hand diving for her front pocket, fingers clasping around her stake. “To bring your sweets to grandmother’s house?”

Oh God. Oh God. Buffy plunged a hand into her other pocket. She hadn’t packed much when she’d left the library for patrol. She’d fairly well assumed that if any vamp needed its ass kicked, it’d be Angel. Or that Angel would do the ass-kicking for her.

However, years of being the Slayer had taught her to always be prepared. Which was why she had the stake.

And, she thought as her fingers victoriously wrapped around the familiar bit of silver in her pocket, a cross.

The vampire released her the second that she brandished the crucifix, jumping back in surprise. Buffy sucked in a deep breath and held it out at arm’s length, trying to ignore how hard she was shaking. It was humiliating, being this terrified of a common vampire. A vampire that would be dust on her shoes if she had any strength.

The shock of the crucifix didn’t last as long as she would have liked. The vampire’s yellow eyes twinkled, the fleeting flash of alarm vanishing. His arm shot out before she could blink, his hand curling around her wrist and guiding the cross to his chest.

Buffy inhaled sharply, her terror-rattled nerves suddenly combating a wave of familiar nausea.

Great. With any luck, I’ll yack on him.

“Oh-oh,” the vampire purred, his eyes alight with pleasure as he rubbed the silver into his skin. God, he made her sick. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh, her vision blurred with smoke. “Just a little lower.” He nudged her arm down and she had to choke her disgust. “Right…oh, yes. Yes. Oh!” He gasped. “Oooh! Thank you very—”

“I’m gonna be sick,” she informed him matter-of-factly, dropping the cross.

“I know just what you mean.”

The vampire did look sick, but not in a stomach-crampy kind of way. And it wasn’t just the straight-jacket that that clued her in. The hair was dirty and mussed in a greasy, hasn’t-been-washed-in-three-years style. His eyes were crazed in a manner that couldn’t be entirely blamed on the fact that he was undead.

But she wasn’t about to stand around and take in his less-than-glowing features all day, nor was she going to sacrifice what little strength she had in what would be a wasted backhand. Instead, Buffy turned on her heels and bolted down the corridor. She ran until her legs hurt, ran until her human lungs and heart demanded that she stop. She gasped for air and slammed the door behind her.

Not that a door would present a vamp any obstacle. Just buy her enough time to find a secure hiding place or a weapon.

Weapon. Weapon. Buffy sucked in a deep breath and took in her surroundings. The room she’d closed herself in was pukish yellow, and from the rotted refrigerator in the corner, she guessed it was the kitchen.

Kitchen. Kitchens had knives. Buffy’s eyes widened and she darted to the counter, jerking out drawers and cabinets in frantic search for anything.

She was on the third drawer when the pounding started.

“Okay,” she said quickly. “We’re not panicking. We’re not panicking just yet.”

The growls on the other side of the door grew angrier, the pounding more forceful.

That wasn’t the sound of a vampire that could be talked out of killing her dead.

“So, panic,” she continued, her voice hitting a high note. “Beginning to sound appealing.”

The pounding stopped the next second, and Buffy’s heart about stopped with it. She raised her shaking hands to her face, her stomach churning. Her mind was racing and none of the turns it took made any kind of sense. Spike wasn’t here. Spike was somewhere else. Not unless Mr. Vamp had dusted him—a thought so horrible, she didn’t think she could stomach it. But something told her that Spike wasn’t dust. That Spike wasn’t even here. Spike was very much alive—or undead—and likely worried off his cute British ass about her, seeing as she was now way late for bailing on Angel and making their patrol not-a-date.

So Angel had sent her into a condemned boarding house under the pretense of Spike being inside and bleeding. He’d sent her in here for a reason, and if Fangy was any indication, it was to get her ass royally handed to her.

At least Angel’s soulless face hadn’t been with the jealous vendetta. He’d just hated her for making him feel human.

Buffy sighed again and shook her head. She had no cross. No stake. Her speed was laughable and her strength? Well, she barely had any of that, and what she did have wasn’t going to amount to anything against a criminally insane dead guy.

The pounding had stopped. The guttural growls had moved away. The coast was probably clear.

I can make a run for it.

She wouldn’t get far. Maybe to Angel, presuming he was still outside.

Worth a shot.

One thing was certain: she couldn’t stay in the kitchen all night. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and opened the door a crack. Just a crack. The hallway was empty. Not even a shadow moved. She exhaled slowly and slipped into the corridor.

Find the door.

Door. Yes. But every door she found was either bricked up or led to another room—a room with bookcases and chairs with the stuffing ripped out. The place was a maze. She was nearly convinced that the walls had moved. Nothing looked familiar.

Her eyes fell on the staircase. Only led up. Not down. She didn’t know what floor she was on anymore.

Chicks in horror movies always run up, and they always end up with their guts spilling out.

Buffy shivered and made her way to the staircase. Movies weren’t exactly a barometer she wanted to use to measure real life. And even so, she wasn’t supposed to be just another chick. She was supposed to be the Slayer. She was not supposed to be creeping up stairs and jumping like a frightened rabbit at every noise the old house made. She wasn’t supposed to be such a girl about things.

She rolled her eyes at herself. “God, I hate that analogy.”

A splintering crack pierced the air, timed with the vampire’s furious roar. Buffy screamed and collapsed, her head smacking against a step as a cold hand seized her ankle. Her stomach fell, her body banging down the steps. The vampire didn’t manage to drag her far, but for how much it hurt, it felt like miles. Buffy snatched hold of the first thing she saw—a broken piece of railing, and managed to tear it from its post.

God, my aim sucks.

She whimpered and stabbed at the vamp’s arm, scampering up the stairs the second that he released her.

Okay. Cuts to the head were not helping in maintaining balance. The hallway she landed at was empty with its share of doors lining either wall. She inhaled sharply and winced.

Pain.

God, she hated pain. Especially pain that wasn’t cushioned by slayer-strength. Her insides were swelling. Every breath that inflated her chest ached.

Make it to a door.

Buffy limped to the first door on the left. Or rather, tried to limp. The second she budged, a hand fisted her hair and dragged her back against a cold, solid chest. Nausea bubbled. She was going to be sick.

“Going somewhere?” the vampire breathed.

And then she was going to be dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The big hulking sod was standing outside of an old, condemned building. An old building with a sign that read, ‘Sunnydale Arms, Rooms for Let, Breakfast Included, Inquire Within.’ The air was ripe with her scent. She’d been here just a second ago, and the big-foreheaded wanker was to blame.

“Gimme one reason not to kill you,” Spike growled, reaching for the stake he’d stuffed into his back pocket. “Or better yet, hold your lack of breath ‘cause I’m gonna kill you anyway.”

Angel turned slowly, his eyes falling as though disappointed. “Spike. That didn’t take as long as I’d hoped.”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

Spike roared, the bones in his face shifting as his fangs descended. “Don’t you fucking play dumb with me! Where is she?”

“Spike, there’s something you need to know—”

“Yeah. The way a stake through the heart feels? Tell you what. How about you go firs’, an’ then you can tell me about it.” He drew his arm back in what would have been the perfect arc for staking the pathetic bastard if a timely feminine scream hadn’t ripped through the air.

Spike’s head jerked, his eyes fixing on the condemned building to his left. “Buffy,” he gasped.

“She’s inside,” Angel said quickly. “Cruciamentum. It happens to all slayers—”

No need to tell him twice. Spike’s eyes blazed and landed on the self-righteous git, fist tightening around the chunk of wood as the rest of him gave way to rage. He growled and slammed the stake into his grandsire’s throat, then took off for the boarding house as Angel collapsed.

“Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” he spat, wiping blood off his hands, ignoring Angel’s pitiful moan.

The wanker wouldn’t be down for long. Too bad. Any other time and he would have really enjoyed that.

And he would. He’d get a good laugh.

After Buffy was safely in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air cracked as she smashed into the wall. Her skin was bruised and she was sure that the vamp only had a few more bones to break before he rendered every inch of her body completely ineffective. Her face was purple and bleeding from his punches, her eyes so swollen that she couldn’t see anything. The steps he took were thunderous. He had her right where he wanted her; there was no need for stealth.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” he quipped. “I took the one less traveled by. Which one will you take…Buffy? Is that right? Buffy? That man…the vampire. The one that was here while they…prepared me for you…he mentioned your name once or twice.”

Buffy merely croaked.

“He seems a bit bitter, I think,” the vampire continued. “Hell hath no fury like a demon scorned, or so I’ve been told. At least that’s what I told my mother before I ate her. Perhaps your friend would have been a little less willing to lure you here if—”

“God. If you’re gonna gab all night, can you please just spare me and kill me now?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the vampire berated. “Now, that, children, is what we call an oxymoron. Obviously, I can’t spare you and kill you at the same time. That defeats the whole purpose. In fact—”

Buffy whimpered as another vampiric roar sliced through the air, curling her aching body into as tight a ball as her muscles would allow. “Oh God.”

“You sonofabitch!” Something crashed in the hall and hope surged through her veins. She knew that voice. God, she knew that voice. “You fucking sonofabitch!”

“Spike?” she whimpered. If this was a last delusion before death, it was both a cruel and a welcome one. She wanted to be with Spike when she died—even if his presence was imagined.

“’m here, baby. Jus’ hold on.”

At his reassurance, her last nerve broke and a long sob tore through her lips. God. Spike was here. Spike had come for her. Hot tears welled behind her eyes, peeling down her swollen face. It hurt to cry. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. But it was okay. Spike was here. She didn’t know how he’d found her, but he had.

Spike had found her.

“This the one, Buffy?” the vampire taunted.

“Shut your gob! You don’t get to talk to her!” Spike snarled. “You don’ even get to look at her!”

“Her skin’s soft, isn’t it? So nice and warm…and breakable.”

There was nothing then but a feral roar. Spike’s roar. She knew his demon’s voice well. God, she knew everything. She felt everything. She felt every move that he made. Every time he lunged and crashed, every time he clawed and snarled and lashed out with his fangs. He was screaming things without saying a word, and she felt it all.

Buffy flinched and buried her head under her arms. The walls moaned and the floor shook.

Then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a vampire dusting. And the next thing she knew, strong, familiar hands coaxed her into equally familiar arms. Her head was cradled against his chest, his lips peppering sweet kisses across her swollen face. It hurt, but in a good way. In a way that she would gladly endure for the rest of her days as long as he never let her go.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

That didn’t matter. Didn’t he know that didn’t matter? The only thing that mattered was that he was here now.

“Spike…” Her voice didn’t even sound like hers. “Spike…”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He kissed her bruised lips, trembling hard against her. “I’m here.”

Yes, he was.

He’d come for her.

And that was all that mattered.

To be continued

Chapter 41 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: I realize that several people are disappointed that Buffy didn’t kill Kralik herself. Trust me, I’m every bit a feminist, but I had to keep in mind that circumstances for this story are very different than they were on the show. Buffy wasn’t informed of the Cruciamentum, so she didn’t know to go into the Sunnydale Arms with an arsenal, as she did in Helpless. Also, Angel had kept Kralik in line, so there was no early escape or a random spazzing about his meds. From the way he was presented on the show, Kralik didn’t strike me as a fledgling vamp that could be taken out with any measure of ease, especially if a weakened Buffy was caught off guard.

Just thought I’d clarify why I went in the direction I did. =)

Also, be prepared to hate Angel. I’m not an Angel-basher by nature, which you likely wouldn’t know with the next couple chapters. I actually like Angel quite a bit. He just proved very easy to pick on.

Chapter 41

He thrived on the steadiness of her heartbeat and the race of her pulse. He felt it in every melodic breath she took. Every word she whispered as he raced her home. When he ran up the steps to her front porch, Spike didn’t bother to ring the bell. He wasn’t about to lessen his hold on Buffy; not for the world. As for the door, a swift kick opened it just fine.

“Hold on, you moron,” Angel droned behind him, holding his hand to his sore neck. “You can’t get in without an invitation.”

Spike didn’t bother dignifying it with a response. He didn’t even toss the git a look. He figured his unobstructed entrance into the Summers residence said everything a well-barbed insult couldn’t.

Joyce Summers jumped to her feet as he exploded into the entry hall. “Oh my God. Buffy!”

“She’s fine,” Spike replied, his voice hitting a shrill note. “She’s fine.”

He didn’t waste anymore time. He just barreled up the stairs.

“Oh my God!” Joyce gasped behind him, then screamed when Angel attempted to follow Spike to the upstairs bathroom. “Oh my God. No. No.”

Spike shut the door as Angel’s pathetic attempts to explain how he wasn’t a bad guy anymore began rolling off the wanker’s lying tongue. He carted Buffy quickly to the shower and twisted the nozzle until cold water washed over them.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed frantically. “Come on. Look at me.”

“Spike…”

God, her eyes were swollen shut. Her gorgeous face was marred with bruises and cuts. She was bleeding, and he didn’t want to look where. He didn’t want to see something fatal—something that stole his hope away.

He brushed his lips against a purple patch of skin and shuddered. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m okay,” she murmured, digging her fingers into his shoulders. “He didn’t…he just got to beat me around a bit. You got there…before anything…anything else happened.”

The fact that he hadn’t been there to stop it knifed at his gut. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve known what was happening. I jus’ didn’t…I didn’t think. It was right there in front of me, an’ I didn’t think.”

“Wha…Spike?”

“It’s called the Cruciamentum, pet. It’s something the Council puts the slayers through when they turn eighteen. A test. A sodding test. It’s the reason for everything.” He choked, his eyes misting. “Your powers. The reason you’ve felt weak. It’s…God, I’ve been so bloody blind.”

She tried to open her eyes and moaned, cold water raining over her bruises. “T-test?”

“Brains over brawn thing, or so I’ve read.” He kissed her brow and whimpered when she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Buffy shook her head. “You didn’t…Spike, this isn’t…your fault.”

“I could’ve stopped it. If I’d known—”

“It’s okay.”

Spike shook his head. “I’m gonna kill them. Angel first, then your Watcher. I’m gonna do it, Slayer. They’re the ones who did this to you. They put you in there with that…in there with that bastard.”

The astonishment that flashed across her face was heartbreaking. “Giles?”

“Watcher’s in on it. It’s the sodding Cruciamentum. He’s the one who did it. Administered the drug. He’s the one.”

Buffy whimpered again and shook her head. “No. No, he wouldn’t. He—”

Spike sighed. The Watcher would be a blind spot. He knew it, and that would only make his betrayal all the more painful. “He had to, luv. God, I’m so sorry. I should have—”

The door burst open before he could finish his thought, and his nostrils were assaulted with the stench of Angel.

“That’s enough,” the overbearing sod growled, delivering a punch to his face before Spike could react. Not that he could have reacted. Wild horses couldn’t convince him to let go of Buffy; Angel, in that, didn’t stand a chance. “There’s enough for us to explain without you twisting her head around.”

“Oh dear Lord,” another voice said. “Buffy…”

Spike huffed angrily and twisted, holding her to his chest. “Yeah, Watcher,” he snarled. “Look your fill. This is what you did to her.”

“Spike,” Angel said, his voice barely above a growl. “Give her to me.”

“I’m not a doll!” Buffy yelped, throwing her arms around Spike’s neck.

Her observation went ignored. “Hand her over.”

Spike jerked back, his grip around her tightening. “You touch her an’ you’re dust.”

“He’s pretty much running that risk either way,” Buffy observed, then whimpered and hissed when Angel’s hand wrapped around her upper arm. “Don’t touch me.”

“We need to see where you’re hurt,” Angel said softly.

“I believe I’ll be the one inspecting her bodily,” Spike snarled. “Seeing as I’m not the one that jus’ tried to have her killed, you enormous arse!”

Angel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “It’s not like I had a choice. It’s the Cruciamentum, Spike. It happens to all slayers, and we can’t stop it just because it’s Buffy.”

He growled. “Yeah. I’m sure you did a lot of trying, in that regard.”

“If you think this was fun for me—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Giles rolled his eyes and wheedled himself between them. “I can assure the both of you that Buffy does not need this petty show of testosterone. Or a cold shower.”

“What Buffy needs is to be addressed like a person,” Buffy quipped and waved. “A fairly present person.”

Spike’s eyes drifted back to her bruised face, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Even wounded, she was the picture of strength. “You’re incredibly present, luv,” he murmured.

Her bottom lip poked out. How she could pout in her state was beyond him, but he found it adorable. “You’re the only one who sees me,” she replied.

“Buffy,” Giles said with a soft sigh. “Come with me, please.”

“No.”

He released another sigh, slightly testier this time. “Please come with me. There are some things I need to tell you.” His icy gaze drifted to Spike, who snarled and bared his fangs. “Things that neither Angel nor Spike are equipped to explain. Now, if you want answers, come with me. If not, you’re perfectly welcome to have Spike continue his method of…dousing you with cold water.”

Spike snarled again and jerked back. “You lay a hand on her—”

“Spike…it’s okay.” She attempted to open her eyes but only moaned and whimpered. “It’s okay. It’s just Giles.”

“He—”

“Has some explaining to do,” she concluded.

Angel cleared his throat irritably, still massaging his wound with one hand. “I think that’s going around.”

“Spike,” Buffy groaned as she felt out for Giles’s hand, shivering as she stepped out of the blond vampire’s embrace. “Please remind me, after I get my strength back, to knock Angel’s teeth out.”

“Gladly.” He reached for her and growled when Angel stepped forward. The bloody brute just didn’t know when to quit. He was still growling when he shook his head in resignation; the rumble only drowned out when he turned his eyes back to Buffy. “If you need me, pet, scream.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Spike cast Giles another mistrustful glance. “Jus’ scream. Yeah?”

“Make with the big shrill. I got it.” She leaned forward and frowned when she met nothing but air. “I can’t see you to kiss you.”

If he had a heartbeat, it’d be racing right about now. The fact that she’d reached for him in front of her Watcher and her ex meant the whole bloody world to him. Spike murmured her name piously and seized her lips before the others could drag her away.

“I’ll be right downstairs,” he whispered. “Right downstairs.”

“Yes, yes,” Angel grumbled, wedging between them. “Giles?”

The Watcher nodded, his face tight with displeasure. “Help me get her to her room.”

Spike’s eyes went wide. Her room? There was no bloody way he was letting Angel into her room. “Now hold on jus’ a second—”

“No. No holding. You’re leaving.” Angel gripped his upper arm. “You brought her home. You’ve used up all your usefulness. Leave.”

“Hey!” Buffy started struggling in Giles’s grip, but she was both too tired and too sore to fight. “Angel! You don’t have permission to kick anyone out of my house!”

“He’s—”

“He saved my life! Which is more than I can say for you, you jackass!” Buffy attempted to kick at him, but fell back in her Watcher’s arms with a pitiful moan. “There will be no kicking anyone out. Anyone who isn’t you, anyway.”

Giles sighed. “Buffy, please. I need to check your wounds. See—”

Buffy nodded. “Okay.”

“Angel?”

Before the blond vampire could object, the big brooding sod had actually dared to lift the Slayer into his arms. Spike couldn’t help it; his eyes flashed and he vamped uncontrollably, releasing a thunderous roar. “Don’t touch her!” he screamed. “You bleeding bastard!”

Angel rolled his eyes and dumped Buffy unceremoniously back into Giles’s arms. “I’ll be there in a sec,” he said, fisting a handful of duster and dragging Spike into the hallway.

“You unbelievable wanker. Do you have any idea how much I’m going to kill you?”

“Do you have any idea what you did tonight?” Angel shot back. “The Council—”

Spike snarled and leapt forward, only to be greeted with a near blasé punch to the jaw. His head reeled back and his hand went to his chin. “So now you’re the poster boy for followin’ the rules, is that it? Your sodding li’l test nearly got the girl killed. An’ the fact that you’re out here trying to justify what you did leads me to believe that you care less about her an’ more about the fact that she’s moved on.”

“It’s not that she moved on. It’s what she moved on to.”

“Last I checked, that falls under the heading of none of your business.”

Angel crossed his arms, unimpressed. “It’s Buffy. I made it my business. Now get the hell out.”

“She doesn’t want me gone.”

“She just got the stuffing kicked out of her. She’s not thinking clearly.”

Spike roared again, jumping for the sod’s overly large throat before he could think. “An’ whose fault is that?” he screamed, only to be seized by the lapels of his duster and handed a one-way ticket down the Summers staircase. The banister cracked and Joyce screamed and covered her mouth, rushing to his side like a doting mother and helping him to his feet.

Angel stood at the top of the stairs, his eyes dark. “Too bad the splinters missed your heart,” he drawled.

Spike shook himself free of sawdust and staggered to his feet. “If you think you can keep me away from her—”

“You’re not what she needs right now. I’m going to go help her.” Angel turned to head for Buffy’s bedroom. “Stay or don’t stay. Of course, I’d prefer that you didn’t, but if you care about her at all, you’ll let me help her.”

“If you cared about her at all, you wouldn’t’ve let her get hurt in the firs’ place!”

“The Cruciamentum had to happen. I had no say in it.” Angel spread his hands and shrugged. “Someday, Spike, you’ll realize that not all of your problems go away by blaming me.”

“Not all,” Spike seethed as he watched the git vanish. “Jus’ enough.”

If Angel thought he was going to sit down here quietly, he had another thing coming.

Buffy was Spike’s girl. He’d fought for her, and she wanted him. She didn’t want Angel. No. She wanted Spike. She wanted him. She’d reached for him. She’d asked for his kiss. She was his girl.

Something Angel was about to find out.

To be continued

Chapter 42 by Ameeya

Chapter 42

“It happened. I knew it.”

“Yes, yes. You’re very clever.” Giles tossed him a pair of flannel pajamas. “I can’t…do this part. You’re going to have to change her.”

Buffy whimpered. “Change? As in…with the removing of clothing?”

Angel shrugged. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Thank you for that,” Giles grumbled under his breath. “Please, refrain from speaking about any…knowledge you might have about my slayer during this one and only time you will ever have my permission to disrobe her.”

Buffy shook her head so hard that she dizzied herself. “No,” she moaned. “No. No. I-I can change myself. I’m not completely helpless. I—”

“Buffy,” Giles berated softly. “You can’t see anything.”

“Well, that’s only because my eyes are swollen shut.” She scowled and tried to pry her eyes open, only to give up with a defeated moan. “Something I believe you were going to explain.”

“It’s called the Cruciamentum.”

“That much I gathered from the massive yelling,” she observed dryly, only to gasp and jerk violently when Angel tried to inch Spike’s black tee up her body. “No! No! I do not give you permission to change me!”

“Buffy, your clothes are wet. Captain Peroxide—”

She all but growled. “If you so much as think of blaming any of tonight on Spike, I will personally shove your nonbeating heart down your throat.”

“Buffy—”

“You led me there!” she spat. “You led me there and then you told me that Spike was bleeding and then this happened. Undressing me is the last thing you’re gonna be doing right now.”

Angel sighed. She could be so difficult sometimes. “Buffy, if we don’t get you out of the wet clothes, you’re gonna get sick.”

“Then let Spike change me.”

“You’re gonna have to make good on the nonbeating-heart-down-my-throat thing before I let Spike touch you.”

“I guess I missed the part where it’s any of your business.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Okay. I get that you’re mad, but—”

“Mad?!”

“Angel was just assisting me,” Giles explained with a grumble from where he stood in the corner, his back to them. “The Cruciamentum is a test that the Council puts the Slayer through on her eighteenth birthday. As Watcher, it’s my job to administer the muscle relaxant—”

“Administer?” Buffy squeaked, ceasing her protests in astonishment, and allowing Angel the leverage he needed to tug the tee over her head. “Spike was right? You’ve been drugging me?”

“Buffy—”

“You drugged me and then ignored me when I started wigging?”

“But you didn’t,” Angel barked, turning his hands to the clasp of her jeans. “You’ve been so preoccupied with this Spike thing that you let the complete loss of your powers just barrel over you—”

“This Spike thing happened to be what saved my life tonight.” She paused and gasped when she realized that he’d jerked her jeans down her legs. “You sick pervert! Leave me alone!”

“Buffy—”

She kicked, but her effort was futile. “I want Spike!”

Angel froze and grabbed her leg. “Hold on.”

“I’m gonna ralph, Angel, I swear to God. Let me go!”

“Hold on.” He pressed her legs to the mattress, his eyes glued to her inner left thigh. “Giles?”

The Watcher didn’t budge. “Hmmm?”

“You need to see this.”

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t need to see this.”

Angel sighed. “This is no time for modesty. You need to see this.”

Buffy whimpered and twisted. “I don’t know what your damage is, but I’m not going to sit here and play the part of—”

Angel ignored her and scooted over as Giles joined him. “See?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed his finger across the bite mark. “There—”

That was definitely the wrong move to make. Buffy’s rather weak but full-hearted struggles exploded into a frenzy. She twisted. She swung. She opened her mouth and pealed loose a scream that would make the heavens quiver.

Giles and Angel froze.

This was not good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t understand,” Joyce remarked, sliding Spike a cup of hot chocolate and rounding the island, holding up an icepack. “Explain to me why Angel is here again?”

Spike sniggered and raised the mug to his lips, trying hard not to warm when she pressed the cold compress to his bruised head. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he’d done to earn the woman’s affection. There was no familiarity between them beyond the awkward discussion that took place the night that Joyce discovered her daughter was the Slayer. Well, their discussion along with the unfortunate head-hit-with-an-axe business. And yet, Joyce was serving him hot chocolate and looking at him as though he was her personal savior. That was a bit much for any bloke to take.

Especially when he was ignoring every raging instinct that demanded he bolt upstairs and hurl the intrusive tossers out the nearest window.

“Angel has a soul again.” He winced as the words left his lips. God, was that even an excuse? Spike snickered. “As if that matters.”

Joyce frowned and shook her head. “Buffy tried to explain this to me after she got back. And then…a few weeks ago, he was here. He was here one night when she wasn’t, and she tried to explain again when she got back. How Angel had gone from being her boyfriend to a murderer…I just never…it never made sense to me.”

Spike swallowed hard. The second time had been the kidnapping, he was sure of it. Angel had come by looking for her when she didn’t show. But the first time? When had Buffy popped off? From the way Joyce spoke, it sounded as though she’d taken an extended leave. “Buffy was away?” he asked pointedly, arching his brows so she couldn’t mistake his meaning.

A pained look crossed her face, and she nodded. “After…last year, after you left, Buffy and I got into a fight. I told her that if she left, she shouldn’t come back.”

Spike stopped drinking and calmly lowered the cup back to the counter. “What?”

“Well—”

“You kicked her out?”

The shame that colored Joyce’s eyes was perhaps the only thing saving her from being a midnight snack. That plus the knowledge that eating the Slayer’s mum wasn’t the surest way to win a girl’s heart. “She was the number one suspect in a murder, Spike. And Willow was in the hospital and suddenly, she comes out that she’s a vampire slayer. It was all a little hard to take on faith.”

“On bloody faith?” Spike demanded, recoiling in disgust. “We dusted a vamp right in front of you!”

“Yes, and that was rather startling.”

“You understand that if she hadn’t left, the whole sodding world would’ve been sucked into Hell, right?” He arched a brow and leered unpleasantly. “She saved the lot of you from something far worse than seein’ a vamp dust before your virgin eyes. An’ I’m willing to stake my unlife on the gamble that neither you nor any of her li’l friends bothered to show her any gratitude for what she sacrificed.” Spike scoffed and shook his head. “She hasn’t talked about it…about bein’ away an’ all, but I’m guessing it wasn’t a bloody picnic for her, either. Kicked out by her mum after running her honey through with a sword? Yeah, I can’t imagine why she’d never wanna see this pissant town again. Way I see it, you’re fortunate she loves the lot of you enough to come back at all.”

He’d struck a nerve; Joyce was pale and trembling, her eyes wide with remorse. “It…Spike, that was a couple months ago. We’re past this. Buffy…she’s apologized, and—”

“Did you?”

“What?”

“Apologize? You abandoned her when she needed you the most.”

“I was right here!”

Spike arched a brow. “You told her to leave. What was she s’posed to do?”

“She didn’t—”

“Joyce…” He held up a hand, then reached for his hot chocolate mug again. “I don’t wanna start a riff between you an’ your daughter, an’ I don’t wanna open up old wounds. But I think that asking her to shoulder the blame for everything is a bit unfair, especially considering the world she lives in. A world where…” He motioned upward with his eyes. “This happens.”

“Spike…” But she didn’t have anything to say.

Which was just as well. The next second, Spike felt a rush of pain and fury like nothing he’d ever known. It speared through him so forcefully he nearly fell off his stool. And in a blink, all rationality flew aside. Buffy needed him. She was being touched. She was being prodded by hands that were not his. She was crying for him.

“S-Spike?” Joyce ventured slowly.

The demon burst through his human face. He was halfway up the stairs by the time Buffy’s scream tore through the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get out.”

Angel blinked dazedly and met Giles’s furious eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. Get out.”

“She’s still—”

“You touched her. She screamed. Those are two things I would prefer never to have happen again.” Giles pointed at the door. “Get out.”

Buffy whimpered as she pulled the flannel bottoms that Angel had lain on her bed up over her hips. “Please,” she moaned pitifully. “I want…please. I want Spike. Please let Spike in here. Please.”

Angel and Giles just looked at her stupidly.

Tears squeezed through her swollen lids. God, why had she let them take her away from Spike in the first place?

“Please!” she gasped. “Where’s Spike? I need—”

Something crashed and the room was engulfed in a furious roar. She heard Angel barking in protest. Heard her Watcher object. The walls shook, and the roaring never stopped. And despite her confusion—despite the sheer frustration that came with her lack of sight—Buffy found herself calming down. Her heart wasn’t as sore. Her pulse wasn’t racing as hard. The bite mark still hurt, but not nearly as much. Angel’s alien, unwanted touch had her stomach in knots. She’d already had to choke down the need to vomit once, though had Angel not jerked away from her the minute she screamed, she might not have been able to help herself.

He’d touched her there. He’d shown her Watcher…that. He’d been so desperate to find a bite mark on her, and now that he had, she didn’t know what he was trying to prove. He hadn’t said, “Aha!” or made any allegations following the bite mark’s discovery. He’d just pointed it out.

Well, to be fair, she’d started screaming pretty much the next second.

Buffy jerked in time with a definite crash, swallowing a whimper when the door closed.

“Spike?”

She found herself in a familiar embrace the next second and the pain in her chest softened into a contented lull. “Spike?”

“I’m here,” he murmured, showering her face with sweet kisses. “I’m right here.”

“Giles? Angel?”

“I tossed Angel down the stairs. Giles…well, he’d’ve gotten the same treatment if he weren’t so bloody breakable.”

Buffy laughed and clutched at him. “Don’t leave me.”

Spike’s arms tightened around her. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, coaxing her head to his shoulder. “Not anywhere.”

To be continued

Chapter 43 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: I took some creative license in Buffy’s birthdays…in that I made the Season 1 episode “Nightmares” a birthday episode. Pretty much because, up until I rewatched it recently, it was a birthday episode in the very special land of my imagination. I think it’s because her father was there. Anyway, just wanted to clarify that. *smoosh*

And THANK YOU to everyone who voted for this story at Seven Seasons! *bounces*

Chapter 43

“My head feels all big and swollen,” Buffy murmured, stretching accommodatingly beneath him as Spike dabbed her brow with an ice pack. “Uhhh. I really hate this part of getting my ass so spectacularly kicked. Is there a demon or a warlock that can speed up time?”

He chuckled appreciatively. “Not that I know of, pet.”

“I hate being sick.”

“You’re not sick, baby.” He brushed his lips across her forehead and smiled softly. “You’re jus’…”

“Not well?” Buffy grinned, paused, and managed to wedge one eye open with some effort. “Oh hey. Look. There you are.”

Spike glanced up and smiled when he saw her looking at him. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’m a real knockout. I hear big purple welts are all the craze nowadays.”

“You’re still gorgeous.”

“You’re just being sweet.”

Spike shook his head. “I’m not sweet. I’m nasty an’ rude, an’ I’d tell you straight if I thought otherwise.”

“You would not.”

“’Course I would.” He kissed her brow again, flicking the strap of her camisole. “So, on a scale from one to ten, how does this birthday compare to the others?”

Buffy snickered dryly and turned on her side. “Don’t I need to rank my other birthdays first?”

Spike shrugged and settled in beside her, lifting his arm so that she could snuggle into his side. “If you feel that’ll help,” he agreed, though he couldn’t help the angry rumble in his chest that told him he was just asking for heartache. Of course, her birthday last year would have been worse than this one, and that was partially his fault. Moreover, the cause of her pain would be directly Angel-related, and petty as it might be, he didn’t think he could stand to hear it.

Especially now that he knew. He’d known the second he felt her pain. The second he’d felt her screaming. The second he’d imagined a world without her in it. He’d known.

He loved her.

It wasn’t much of a revelation, he supposed. After all, he’d felt it for days now. He’d likely known the night that he’d realized it was possible. The night he’d gone to her after scaring her in the cemetery. When he’d snuck into her room and felt her tremble beneath his fingers. He’d felt it then—he just hadn’t wanted to admit it. He hadn’t wanted to shove his baser tendencies aside so quickly. He hadn’t wanted to abandon his inner monster.

And he hadn’t. He hadn’t. His demon had overpowered him once already, and Buffy hadn’t shrunk back in fear. She’d calmed him, and the demon, in turn, adored her.

Why it had taken so long to realize he loved her, he didn’t know. But he did. He loved her entirely. He loved her like he’d never loved anyone. It was as though something cosmic had opened his eyes. As though the years before her had been spent wandering around blind, waiting for her to find him.

Whatever he’d thought he’d felt before, whatever misguided musings he’d had toward love, were completely washed away.

“Well,” Buffy mused, breaking through his reverie, “my first birthday kinda sucked. I mean, I turned into a vampire.”

Spike blinked dazedly. “You did?”

“Yup. Well, it was around my birthday, so to me, it counts. Coma boy…had a bunch of nightmares. Made all of our worst nightmares come true. Mine ranging from my father not loving me to becoming a vampire.” She spoke as though it were nothing, but he could tell that she was haunted still by the occasional nightmare. “Then again,” she said, shrugging casually. “Xander was chased by maniacal clowns, so maybe I got the better end of the deal.”

“Buffy—”

“And last year? Hello to the suckage.” Her expression darkened. “Then again, maybe if I’d known Soulless-Angel wasn’t as evil as Angel-Angel, it might’ve been easier for me.”

Spike blinked, surprised. “How you figure?”

“Well, Angel-Angel led me to that place tonight, and then got me to bolt inside by telling me that you were in there…hurt and bleeding.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, the way I have it figured, at least Soulless-Angel would’ve been up-front.” She shook her head. “After the big secret about his lack of soul was out, he was pretty out-in-the-open about how much he wanted me dead. That and I think he’d wanna do the damage himself rather than having some crazy vamp do the work for him.”

“Angel led you to the place where the Cruciamentum was happening?”

Buffy licked her lips and nodded, wincing when she rubbed her shoulder too liberally against his. “Ugh. I can’t wait until I get my powers back.”

“He led you—”

“He said you were bleeding.”

“He told you…an’ you—”

“I was just about to try and ditch him to meet you for patrol.” She shook her head. “And I didn’t even stop. Like Angel would even care if you were bleeding. And I didn’t even stop and think. I was all bolty-Buffy and crazy Mister…Crazy was in there waiting for me.” She paused. “I didn’t think.”

Spike sighed and tightened his arms around her. “You thought of me,” he murmured numbly, unable to draw his eyes away from her. She was a vision. A glorious, gorgeous vision; he couldn’t believe he’d done anything to deserve her. That he’d done anything to merit the bruises that colored her gorgeous skin. And the idea that all Angel had to do to get her racing into danger was mention his name…

God, I love her so much.

The knowledge warmed his insides. He’d fought it for so long. Why had he fought it? Why, when it brought him this sort of peace?

“When do you think I’ll get my powers back?” she murmured. “I really wanna pop Angel in the nose.”

“Get in line.”

“Well, no. That’s not fair.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. Not fair? Angel gets a busted nose as payment for nearly getting her killed? No, he supposed it wasn’t fair. The only way any of this could ever be fair was if he locked Angel in a room with several centuries’ worth of victims and let them have at him. Or better yet, hand him off to the sodding Council. Get a priest to try and exorcise his demon from his chest. Anything that involved a lot of torment: that was what Angel deserved.

“What I really want,” Buffy continued, coughing, “is to shred him into little dusty bits.”

Or that. That would work. He released a deep sigh and chuckled, brushing his lips across her shoulder. “You’ll get no argument from me, luv.”

“Giles would pitch a fit.”

“What, are you daft? The bloke offed his woman. You think he’s gonna cry any tears over Angel dust?” He shook his head heatedly. “An’ not that I’m not in favor of bruising the Professor’s dainty old-man skin, but I’d gamble everything I have that the only reason they’re workin’ together is because of us.”

She paused. “Us?”

“Angel’s known about us for a while, yeh?”

“Well, I let him know what happened, if that’s what you mean.”

“An’ who do you think he ran to?”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “But…Giles hasn’t mentioned anything. About you or…about whatever. I mean, he has recently, but Angel’s been showing up…” She shook her head, her brow furrowing. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. If Angel’s been ratting on me this whole time, Giles would’ve pulled a massive wig.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure? Do you have any idea how much crap they gave me when I got back from Los Angeles?”

“Luv, until your mum let the bloody cat out of the bag downstairs, I din’t even know you’d scampered to Los Angeles at all.”

Her face blanked, her one good eye falling shut. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t run out on me the first chance you got.”

“I din’t run out!”

Buffy snickered. “No. Sprinted is more like it.”

“I had—”

“You carted Dru away and then it was all, ‘Bye, bye, Buffy. Don’t let the apocalypse hit your ass on the way out.’” She pouted. He had no idea how she could pout when her gorgeous face was as bruised and swollen as it was, but her bottom lip poked out and he found himself drenched in guilt. “Angel got his soul back right before I had to send him down the express lane to Hell. Then I left town. I mean, my mom had kicked me out and my friends didn’t care that—”

“I still don’ get how she got the stones to boot you from your own house, luv.”

Buffy shrugged indifferently, though he knew from the look on her face that it still smarted. “She thought she was…I dunno. I shouldn’t have expected her to…just get it. Maybe I should’ve tried to come home and talk with her—”

“Yeah? I’m sure that would’ve gone swimmingly.” Spike rolled his eyes, his tone adapting a high falsetto. “’Allo mum. Jus’ saved your sorry ass from bein’ sucked into Hell. What was that we were talkin’ about before I went an’ killed my boyfriend for the betterment of humanity’?”

“Yeah, like I’d ever say, ‘Allo.’ You don’t even say ‘Allo’.”

He shrugged. “Jus’ saying.”

“And betterment? Who are you, Giles?”

Spike made a face at her that was positively infantile, but the radiance shining on her face when she dissolved into giggles made it more than worth it. “Ow,” she complained, rubbing her cheek and trying to reign in her mirth. “Don’t make me laugh, you ass.”

“Yeah, I’m a berk for bringing light to my girl’s face. Someone stake me.”

“You shouldn’t say that while you’re holding the Slayer.”

“I’m tremblin’ in my booties,” he retorted with a furious smirk, his fingers dipping to tickle her sides. “What were we talking about, again?”

“Something about Giles and Angel and the…massiveness that is…massive?” Buffy frowned and nuzzled his shoulder kittenishly, draping an arm over his chest and draping her right leg over his. “I dunno. I don’t think it matters.”

“I still can’t believe that prat sent you into the place by telling you that…” Spike sighed. “I should’ve staked him twice.”

“Yeah…what?”

He just chuckled and shook his head, stroking her cheek gently with his knuckles. “Rest, kitten. It’ll be better in the morning.”

“Nuh uh.”

“I’ll give you your present, then.”

“Present?”

He brushed his lips across her brow. “Your birthday present, luv. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

She pouted. “Buffy want prezzie now.”

“Buffy’s gonna have to wait till Buffy’s gotten some rest.”

“You’re no fun.”

Spike grinned. “Oh, I’m lots of fun. As you well know.”

“Perv.”

“You love it.” He stroked her hair, his eyes shining with adoration. “Go to sleep, pet. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Mmmm.” She was already drifting. He loved it that, despite everything, he could help her end the day with a smile on her face. “Promise?”

Spike smiled into her hair. “Promise.”

He was in her room. He had her in his arms. And he loved her.

There was nothing in the world could drag him away now.

To be continued…

Chapter 44 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Thought I’d give you guys a little more fluff before moving back to the plot. Ohh! And some numminess. ^_~ *glomps*

Chapter 44

He smelled her before she knocked and moved quickly to cover Buffy’s ears before she could be disturbed. She’d been resting so peacefully, with the occasional grin tickling her gorgeous lips. He didn’t want her waking up now. Not now, when she’d only been asleep a few hours.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Joyce said, almost meekly. “I just…you are both…dressed, right?”

Spike arched a brow and bit his lower lip to warn off a chuckle. “I might be evil, but I’m not about to sully your daughter while she’s bleeding an’ you’re downstairs.” At least not while she knew he was in the house. He might be one to push his luck, but that was a little too much push for his comfort. “What’s on your mind, Joyce?”

She chuckled dryly and crossed her arms, her eyes dropping to the floor before she looked up again. “Oh, if I start in I might not stop. Is she doing all right?”

“Jus’ fine. She’s been asleep for a while.”

“Oh. She’s…is that normal?”

Spike offered a dry grin. “She’s been asleep for six hours. After the night she had, I’d be surprised if she woke up before tomorrow night.”

His words, as always, were a jinx. Buffy moaned a bit and stirred in his arms. “Unnhh. Spike?”

He tightened his arms around her immediately, the mirth in his eyes melting into tender concern. “I’m right here, baby,” he murmured soothingly, though it was all for naught. She was in the middle of some dream, and hearing his voice was all she needed to keep from waking.

“All right,” Joyce said tiredly. “Ummm, well, Angel and Mr. Giles left quite a while ago. They wanted to know the second that Buffy awoke or…was feeling up to seeing them.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “How’s about you an’ I smuggle her outta the country?”

“I’ll be your co-conspirator.” Joyce smiled wryly, then folded her hands properly and turned. “Well, if you’re…I don’t want to wake her up, though I am hoping to have a conversation with someone that explains exactly what happened to her in a way that doesn’t make my head spin.”

“No chance of that.”

“I’m going to make pancakes. Do you want pancakes?” Joyce nodded to her daughter. “She’s going to want pancakes when she wakes up. And considering that she didn’t get a birthday party…”

“I’ll be down when she’s down,” Spike said.

The woman smiled and nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I…I know you went through a lot last night. Our conversation notwithstanding…but Mr. Giles…he let me know what happened. What you did…to save her. And I…” She shook her head and laughed, as though she’d said something foolish. “I just…thank you.”

Spike swallowed hard and nodded. What was there to say? It was nothing? It wasn’t—and it was, all at the same time. Saving Buffy was second nature to him. If she were in danger, he’d be where she was. He’d be at her side, fighting off whatever was doing her wrong.

“You’re…Joyce, it’s…” Spike blinked and glanced back to Buffy’s sleeping face. “Yeah.”

“You really care for her, don’t you?”

He shuffled uncomfortably. This was not the sort of conversation he wanted to have while he was in bed with the woman’s daughter, no matter how honorable his intentions were. Especially now—now that he knew that he loved her.

“I…ummm.” Spike cleared his throat and tried to force a grin. “Fried cake with liquid sugar?”

“I’m overstepping, aren’t I?” Joyce waved and edged out of the room. “I’ll just…go downstairs and start…frying the cake.”

Spike sighed and reclined. So Giles and the enormous wanker wanted to see Buffy. He imagined so. They’d give her some self-righteous spiel about how everything had been for her own good. How they’d been under orders, or how every slayer had to go through it, and there was no reason why Buffy should be any different. Why she should have special treatment. Just because she was the Slayer.

The rules were buggered, as it was. Made up by a Council of middle-aged Brits who would never have to be in the thick of a fight. Spike had met a watcher or two, and aside from Rupert Giles, they were all the same. All accustomed to controlled conditions with a vampire in a laboratory or in an arena where the other suits could monitor the situation. In all the research Spike had put into slayers, he’d only read of a few watchers who went above and beyond their roles. Most formed attachments to their slayers, but few would know what to do if they came across a vampire in conditions that were, for lack of a better word, uncontrolled.

Thus the entire idea of a test to prove the Slayer’s aptitude over her brawn made little sense in the long run. If she failed, the Council lost an experienced warrior and had to start from scratch. If she succeeded, the trust between slayer and watcher would be weakened; not to mention, the Slayer would likely be out of commission for a few days to both regain her strength and allow time for her wounds to heal.

Spike didn’t know Rupert Giles all that well, but from what he did know, he couldn’t help but boggle that the old man hadn’t reached the same conclusion. That he’d allowed such a bloody barbaric ritual to occur in the first place, especially considering how close he and Buffy were. The bloke was practically the Slayer’s surrogate father, and he’d allowed something like this to happen to her.

Not only that, but he and Angel were going to justify it. Bloody priceless.

“Is my face less swollen?”

Spike blinked and glanced down, grinning when he met Buffy’s green gaze. “Lookee here,” he purred, brushing a kiss across her brow. “My girl’s got two pretty eyes.”

Buffy scrunched her face up and whimpered. “I feel all achy.”

“You were in quite a tumble last night. I would offer to rub you down but then you’d prob’ly jus’ slap me.”

“Meh. Touching good. Buffy like touching.” She shifted upward and brushed her sore lips against his neck, her right hand running down his chest. “Buffy want good touching.”

“When did Buffy become Julius bloody Caesar?”

She giggled. “Hey, I’m delirious from the achies. Give a girl a break. And…Julius Caesar?”

“You know…” Spike shrugged, his eyes fluttering shut as her hand settled over his denim-clad cock. He whimpered and thrust up into her touch. “He spoke…about himself in third person…a lot.”

“You knew Caesar?”

He chuckled and arched a brow. “Yeah, because I’m two thousand years old. Don’t tell me bloody Shakespeare isn’t on your reading curriculum. I wouldn’t wanna have to eat one of your teachers.”

“Or her friends…” Buffy ventured, propping herself up so that she could pepper his chest with soft, sweet kisses. Even through the cotton of his shirt, the heat of her lips had his skin melting. She burned him so good. “Romans…countrymen?”

“Ha bloody ha.”

“Teaches you to question my Shakespeare knowledge.”

“You have Shakespeare knowledge?”

Buffy nipped at one of his nipples and squeezed his erection. “You shouldn’t make fun of me when I have your…ummm…boy parts at my disposal.”

Spike chuckled. She was too bloody adorable for words. “My boy parts?”

“I like your boy parts.”

“Trust me…” A moan hissed through his teeth as he thrust into her touch. “The sentiment’s more than shared.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. They think you’re bloody brilliant.” Spike moaned again. “Christ. Luv, your mum’s downstairs.”

Buffy just grinned deviously and squeezed his cock again. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly Mr. Prim and Proper.”

“You’re also bruised an’—”

She pouted and glanced up. “You don’t want me when I’m bruised?”

“I want you always. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Spike paused, a sensual leer stretching across his mouth as he bit his lower lip and thrust against her touch. “Not in all the wrong places, luv. I wanna make you hurt good, an’ the only way that’s happening is if you get your strength back.”

“You don’t think I could take you?”

“Right now?” He quirked a brow. “I don’t think you could take a feather-duster.”

Buffy moaned. “Meanie.”

“At least you can see now.”

A small smile flirted with her lips, and though the sight warmed his heart, it was bittersweet. He didn’t want to add that looking at the angry circles of red under her eyes made his heart break. That the cut running down her cheek and the gash on her brow only served as reminders of how he’d failed her. How every minute that he hadn’t remembered the Cruciamentum had hurt her just a little more. He could have prevented this. If he hadn’t been so wound up in her and what she did to him…God, he could have prevented this so easily.

She was still curled into his side, despite everything. And he loved her more than he was worth.

“You want your present, sweetheart?” he murmured, nuzzling her attentively. “Happy bloody birthday, an’ all?”

“Mass emphasis on the bloody?”

Spike shuddered. “No more, if I have my say.”

“Yes, because the life of a slayer is not without its perils.”

“Don’ you be educating me on the life of a slayer, luv.” Spike slid his hand down the length of his body, covering hers where it still rested over his cock and encouraging her to give him another squeeze. “Bleeding hell, you don’ know what you do to me.”

Buffy just grinned and rubbed him harder. “I know I want good touchies and you’re being Mr. Selfish.”

“You want touchies, eh?”

She nodded.

“Even with the plan an’ all?”

“I think we’ve safely postponed the plan based on severe ouchies and the consequences of life-and-death scenarios.” Her fingers began working on the clasp of his jeans. “So…Buffy get good touchies?”

“Buffy’s turned into Caesar again.” Spike wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Baby, I don’ wanna hurt you.”

“So don’t. Make with the good touchies.” She bit lightly on his nipple again, eliciting a long purr and another sharp thrust of his hips. “Good being the operative word.”

Spike growled and slid out from beneath her. “You make it hard to be less-than-evil, pet.”

“I want you all evil. Evil me up.”

He moaned in protest. “Buffy—”

“Evil me up until I can’t walk.”

“You can’t walk.”

She pouted. “You don’t know that!”

“Buffy—”

“Willing victim here! What kind of vampire are you?”

Spike willed his eyes shut and whimpered. “Be a good kitten,” he purred. “I’ll give you a little now. Jus’ a little. I want you to get your strength back up so I can shag you silly. You get your strength back, an’ I’ll evil you up.”

“Mmm. I like that plan.”

“Better than the one we have now, yeah?” Spike grinned and propped himself on his side, dipping his mouth down to tease her nipple through her camisole. “Spread your legs for me.”

“Spike…”

“Jus’ wanna touch. Won’t taste.” He met her eyes and pouted. “You won’ let me.”

“Soon,” she moaned, arching back when he slid his fingers under the waistband of her flannel bottoms and cupped her pussy. “Soon. I want it.”

Spike whimpered. The thought of her taste was enough to undo him completely. That and the thought that she trusted him—she’d overcome that final hurdle—and she was going to let him in. It was enough to make a grown man weep. “Yeah?” he asked, inwardly berating the childish hope in his voice. “You mean it?”

Buffy nodded fiercely, swirling her hips upward. “Please. Please.”

“Where do you want me, pet?”

She seized his wrist and guided him until his fingers were dipping inside her pussy. Then she moaned again and jerked. “Ohhh…”

“Christ, you’re wet.” Spike rolled his eyes back. Knowing what he did to her was one thing—he loved the scent of her arousal. The fire that stormed her gaze when she wanted him. The way she mauled him with kisses and set his blood aflame. “You this wet for me, baby?”

“Always.”

He grinned, his fangs slicing through his gums and making quick work of her camisole, his demon receding in a blink so that he could wrap his mouth around her naked breast. He pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, and growled when she mewled.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured. “Bloody seraph, you are.”

“I don’t…know what…that…means,” she replied, and he had to bite back a laugh at her attempt at casual. “But it…sounds nice.” She rotated her hips under him and bit her lip hard. “Back. Back. Inside.”

“Whass’at, kitten?”

“Fingers. Inside.”

He obliged her quickly, leaving her clit to his thumb as he thrust his eager digits inside her body once more. Buffy whimpered and arched again. She was close. She was so close already. The knowledge was both invigorating and somewhat disappointing. He loved it that he could do this to her. That he could render her into a puddle of incoherent slayer-goo with just a few masterful strokes of his hand, but the larger part of him hated the idea of leaving her body. He belonged inside her.

“Ohhh, God.”

“Baby like?” he cooed. “You feel like heaven.”

She opened her eyes dazedly. “You’re not—”

“You can still feel like heaven, pet. Doesn’ matter which part of me’s in you.”

He must have said something very right; her eyes widened with ecstasy and she began thrusting against his fingers in earnest. “Ohhh.”

Spike just grinned and sucked hard on her nipple, unable to stop himself from moaning into her skin when she trembled. When her pussy squeezed his fingers with the impact of her orgasm. He moved quickly and swallowed her whimper with a fiery kiss.

She mewled again when he slipped out of her, and again when her eyes fluttered open. When she saw him licking her honey off his fingers.

“Spike,” she moaned sleepily, her eyes warm. And the sight of her, bruises and all, smiling at him like he was a god, gave him more than he could ever want. It was something he’d never thought he’d see; the glow in her eyes. The look on her face. He knew that look. He’d just never been on the receiving end of it.

Happy. God, he’d made her happy.

“Was that my prezzie?” she asked, batting her eyes.

Wanton li’l nymph.

He loved her so much.

“That’s the present you don’t show your mum,” he replied dryly, though nothing could banish the grin from his lips. “The shiny I got you—”

“Oh! Shiny!”

“Is in my jean pocket.”

Buffy blinked and sat up, suddenly very awake. “Ohhh,” she drawled, the look on her face suddenly a perfect mock of a very satisfied cat that was stuffed full of canary. She leaned over him, sliding her hand intently over his lap, settling on his erection. “Is this it?”

“Minx.”

“Hey. Buffy got happy touchies. Spike saved Buffy’s life. Spike gets happy touchies, too.”

“I repeat: minx.”

She stared at him for a minute, then shrugged and dove for the aforementioned pocket. “Well, if you don’t want touchies, I can just—”

He moved like fire, seizing her wrist and guiding her back to his cock. “Quietly, now,” he murmured. “Don’ want your mum rushing up. She’s making us pancakes, you know.”

Buffy grinned and leaned in to nibble on his throat. “Let me help you work up an appetite.”

“Around you, luv, my appetite’s the last thing you need to worry about.”

“Yeah, but let me help anyway. My way’s more fun.”

Spike blinked and looked at her, then broke off with a laugh. “You are a shameless li’l minx.”

“Yeah, but you love me, anyway.”

There was nothing to say to that. Nothing to do but smile.

You have no idea.

To be continued…

Chapter 45 by Ameeya

Author's Notes:
*clings to TSR* Eeek! Okay, so, I bring you two - count 'em - two chapters. :) Oh, and I have the BEST FRIENDS in the world. That is all. *bounce*

Chapter 45

It took a full two days following the Cruciamentum for Buffy’s strength to return. And though her mother wanted her to stay home until the bruises faded, she was oddly eager to get back to school. She wanted to see Willow and—moreover—wanted to get the big confrontation-explanation shindig with Giles and Angel very much in the past. Better now than later; then she could focus on how to tell Spike about the bite mark.

Furthermore, she was fairly certain she owed Angel an ass kicking.

“Okay,” Buffy said, pushing the library doors open. She didn’t even bother to feign surprise at seeing Angel hovering around the stacks. “First things first…”

“Buffy—” Giles said, his hands going up. “I don’t think you should do anything rash.”

Her fist connected with her ex’s chin, her eyes shining as he flew into a rack of books that were waiting to be re-shelved. “I can’t tell you how good that felt,” she spat, kicking him sharply in the side as a book plunked his head. “Almost as good as that.” She kicked him again. “You know, I think I’ll just keep this up until it gets boring. What do you say?”

“Buffy—”

She held up a hand, hooking her foot under Angel’s beefy chin. “Giles, the sooner I’m through with Angel, the sooner I start beating your overly-British ass for your role in the make-Buffy-dead plan. Do you really want me to rush this?”

There was a long pause. “Oh, no. Do go on.”

“Buffy,” Angel choked. “It’s…it was the Cruciamentum. It…we had no choice.”

“You had a choice. You had a choice to not use my boyfriend as a way to get me into the house with a madman. You had a choice to not drag me away from him when I needed him the most.” She cocked her head. “And then with the forced undressing and the hands where your hands should never, ever be again.”

Angel didn’t even bother to look apologetic. “I had to know.”

“Had to know what?” She shrugged demonstratively. “What? Yeah, okay. Big secret. Spike bit me. He bit me, and it was amazing. So, is that it? The big ‘it’ you needed to know? He bit me. You wanna blame what I’m feeling for him based on the bite? Go ahead. It doesn’t change that—”

Giles cleared his throat and hazarded a step forward. “Buffy, there’s something you should know.”

She twisted and glared at him. “Was I not clear about the beating of your ass?”

“It’s about the bite.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Angel coughed. There was something in his eyes that she did not like at all. “Spike claimed you, Buffy. He claimed you when he bit you.”

She blinked. Okay. Weird way of putting it, but it sounded right. He’d bitten her, and he’d become a part of her. That much was a given. So Spike claimed her. The big? Still not seeing it. “Spike whated me?”

“Claimed,” Giles said softly. “It’s an ancient ritual practiced among vampires.”

Buffy frowned. “Ritual? No. No. There was no ritual. It—”

“It’s more a ritual in what it does rather than how it’s performed,” he clarified, holding up a hand. “And…I don’t believe that Spike…that is, Angel has provided reasonable evidence that Spike wasn’t aware of what he was doing when he claimed you. We believe he was rather…”

“Oblivious?” Angel ventured, earning a sharp kick to the sore spot on his throat. The place that Spike told her had met the pointy end of a stake the night he’d rescued her. “Buffy—”

Buffy glared at him. “Did I give you permission to talk? Or…exist, for that matter?”

“Last I checked—”

Giles exhaled slowly. “Buffy…I think it’s best if you s-sit down. There is much to tell you…about claims. A-and how it relates to your…situation with Spike.”

“My situation? The situation wherein he’s my boyfriend?” She threw her arms up in disgust. “Look, I knew both of you would massively wig over the Spike thing. And Giles, I can see where you come from a whole lot easier than I can Angel. Angel, who actively tried to make me very dead last year.”

The vampire under her foot wiggled angrily at that. “That wasn’t—”

“If you say that wasn’t you, I’m going to—”

“Oh, let me guess. Make another empty threat?”

Buffy dug her heel deeper into Angel’s throat, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You wanna test how empty my threats are? You nearly got me killed. You used my boyfriend to nearly get me killed. Oh, and then you tore me away from my boyfriend, undressed me, felt me up, and have the nerve to act like I’m overreacting?”

“Stop calling him your boyfriend!”

“That’s enough!” Giles practically shouted, holding up a hand. “Angel, need I remind you that you have already overstayed your invitation by, well, truthfully I stopped counting. Suffice to say, you are only here because I continue to allow it.”

“You need me to—”

“Guys!” Buffy rolled her eyes and released her hold on Angel. “Okay, so this claim thing. I suppose it affects how I’ve been feeling about Spike. All my emotions are fabricated through some mystical energy force that would otherwise not exist if he hadn’t bit me. Is that the song and dance you two have cooked up? And please, spare me no details.”

Giles and Angel—the latter of whom was rubbing his neck—exchanged an uneasy glance.

Buffy perked her brows. “Hit the nail right on the head, or is my aim a little off?”

“I—umm.” Giles cleared his throat again and slid his glasses into the waiting hem of his shirt. “No, not exactly. Among other things…a claim cannot fabricate feelings. Rather…why don’t I start at the beginning?” He released a deep breath. “I do think it best if…if you sit down, Buffy.”

From the look on his face, he was serious. Very serious. Buffy felt herself nod absently, only partially registering how hard her heart was pounding. The fog around her head was beginning to part, and all at once, it felt that the world around her was collapsing. They were going to tell her. They were going to explain everything. The mysterious draw, the stomach aches, the aversion to all things man-shaped. A nervous rush raced down her spine.

They were going to tell her. They were going to tell her everything.

“Okay,” she said slowly, hoisting herself onto the checkout counter. “So, with the talkage. What’s this claimy thing?”

Giles offered a weak smile. “As I said…an ancient ritual performed among vampires. When a vampire selects a suitable…mate. One they feel they want to be with for…well, eternity. It’s not done often anymore…and Angel seems to believe that Spike would not know h-how to claim.”

Buffy frowned. “And yet he did?”

“Claiming is an instinct, along with being a ritual,” Angel said, his voice a little raspy, his hand rubbing his throat. “If Spike was close to being a complete demon…like if, oh say, alcohol had worn down his lack of sensibility—what little he has—then the demon might have recognized you as someone…anyway, when he bit you, he said something, right?” He took an amazingly condescending step forward, narrowing his eyes. “Something along the lines of, ‘mine,’ perhaps?”

She froze. It wasn’t as though she’d given that moment a lot of thought, but on occasion, her mind was known for wandering. That morning had been the catalyst for many wayward thoughts. And since the birth of the plan, she’d been thinking about the long-term thing with Spike more and more…which, naturally, made her think of the past they’d shared. “Uhhh…”

“That’s the ritual.” Angel nodded. “It’s a simple word.”

“Not very…ritual-y.”

“No. And Buffy, it’s only valid if you acknowledge the demon’s claim.” The vampire took a step forward, his eyes boring into hers. “If you say, ‘yours,’ or ‘yes,’ or anything else that would affirm that you belong to the demon.”

“Oh.”

“If you didn’t, the claim’s not complete. It’ll wear off.” Angel glanced to Giles, then back again. “You just need to not see Spike anymore.”

Buffy blinked. Hard. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—”

“No, I know what you mean. And what? Why would I stop seeing Spike? I—he’s my…he’s my something. My boyfriend, my…claim-person. Or whatever.” She pointed at Giles, who stiffened. “And he said—”

“Buffy, if you go back to being around him, the temptation to acknowledge the claim will only get—”

She rolled her eyes, irritation surging. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Well—”

“I said yes, okay? I accepted his…his claim, or whatever.” When she found herself on the receiving end of two blank stares, she rolled her eyes again and held up a hand to count off her points. “Okay, firstly. One: I didn’t know what I was doing. I was scared and confused and…well, scared and confused pretty much summarizes what I was feeling nicely. Two: It’s none of your business. Three…” She frowned and drifted off in thought, then lowered her hand sheepishly. “Okay, so it’s only the two things. But Spike got a little demandy as far as my accepting went, and how the hell was I supposed to know what it means?” She paused and worried a lip between her teeth. “What does it mean, exactly?”

There was a long, burdensome silence.

“What?” Buffy fidgeted uncomfortably. “Look, I know…well…there will be no judging from the two of you. Angel, with the attempted murder and Giles! You drugged me and tried to feed me to an insane vampire! I’m not seeing much room to judge, here.”

“Buffy…” Giles sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. “I know I have been dishonest. And I’m sorry. You have no idea what putting…how much I hated the idea of putting you in danger. It ate at me. And if Spike hadn’t been there to stop it…I don’t think…I don’t know what I would have done. Suffice to say, the words, ‘Never forgive myself,’ don’t even begin to cover it.” He sighed again and glanced up, and the wealth of emotion that swam in his eyes made her anger slip a notch. Just one. He wasn’t getting off her crap list that easily. “However, I must say, that you haven’t exactly been forthcoming, either. The test was unavoidable, and if you think I enjoyed putting you through that…well, then perhaps you should consult Mr. Travers.”

“Travers?”

“Head of the Watcher’s Council. I did everything I could to cancel it. I-it’s an archaic, senseless exercise that does little more than…” Giles trailed off and inhaled sharply. “But then Angel suggested we use it…to test your…connection with Spike. To determine whether or not a claim was involved. And since you refused to come forward with anything about the bite that Spike gave you…or anything else, for that matter…you cornered me. I needed to know.”

“You didn’t tell me why!”

“If you had told me to begin…” Giles stopped again and shook his head. “I refuse to argue with you over this. What’s done is done. I made mistakes, but…somehow, I knew that you would be all right. That doesn’t excuse what I did. I know that. God, how I know that. I—”

“You accepted Spike’s claim?” Angel’s outburst was so sudden that even the dust froze in confusion. “How could you do that?”

“Wow,” Buffy appraised dryly, shifting. “Welcome back to the conversation.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Ummm, no. Hence the spirit of the meeting, I thought.”

He stormed forward impatiently. “You’re linked, Buffy. You tied yourself to him. Forever. There is no going back. There is no…there is no divorce in claims. There is no way to reverse this.”

“Furthermore,” Giles added, sighing. “I believe that many of your…symptoms might be linked to a failure to…complete the claim.”

“My symptoms…” Oh God. Perhaps this was the mystical reason for everything. The spell that she and Spike had tried to blame their actions on. The huge, searing pain every time she was away from him? Every time they were separated for any amount of time? Not to mention, she was allergic to men who weren’t Spike. Simply sitting in the library with Giles and Angel was making her stomach curl, and only a small part of that could be attributed to her disgust at what they’d done to her. “Okay, yes, my symptoms. Is there a way to…get rid of those?”

“You have to—”

“Rupert!” Angel barked.

Giles rolled his eyes. “Oh, what? You know damn well that there’s nothing that can be done, and she doesn’t look to be in a position to want to undo anything in the first place! I’m bloody sick of you, and I think it’s well beyond time that we listen to Buffy.”

“It’s Spike—”

“Yes. You can repeat that as much as you want; it’s not going to change anything.” He smiled thinly. “And even so, with as much as I abhor Spike, I suddenly prefer his company to yours.”

Angel’s eyes widened. So did Buffy’s.

“What?” the vampire demanded.

“Buffy is right. He saved her life. He took care of her. Furthermore, we both saw how protective of her he was. Had Spike known about the Cruciamentum, he would have done everything in his power, short of and perhaps including taking my life, to prevent Buffy from getting hurt.” Giles tossed her a glance, and his smile turned warm at the look on her face. “And even then, I’m not sure. I believe that Spike, from what I saw, knows that hurting Buffy’s friends or Watcher would upset her. Would hurt her. He didn’t kill me and he very much wanted to. He didn’t kill me or you, for that matter, to get to Buffy. I’m not sure that he would have done anything to—”

“Rupert—”

“I’m not sure of anything. Were you actually watching him, Angel? Or did you only see what you wanted to see?” When he was met with nothing but silence, he smiled again and turned back to Buffy. “I’m not going to stop you from doing what you feel is right,” he said. “I can’t say I’m…thrilled. I’m not. I don’t know where I stand, exactly. But I do know that Spike cares for you. In some…way, he does. Furthermore, it’s a bit beyond our control, now. You accepted the claim.” A shadow fell across his face, as though he had the most difficulty wrestling with that concept. “You…accepted. You accepted the claim. There is nothing that can be done.”

Buffy swallowed hard, her eyes misting with tears. God, she’d missed this Giles so much. The Giles that was all with the support and the giving-of-fatherly-advice and not so much with the judgment. “I claim him back,” she whispered, “and the pain stops? We can…be with the normal?”

“As normal as…Buffy, I can’t say that I approve, but there’s really nothing—”

Something occurred to her from nowhere—something that he’d said before that she hadn’t thought to leap at in the middle of the confusion. Buffy released a short gasp and hopped off the counter, her eyes going wide. “Wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “You…you said that claims can’t…they can’t make me feel things for him. Or…they can’t make Spike feel things for me?”

Giles glanced to Angel, then back to her. “No,” he said. “There have been a few examples in history…where vampires claimed other vampires, determined to force them into love. It always ends…badly. A claim does nothing but play on emotions and feelings that already exist.”

Buffy’s heart skipped a beat. She was too nervous to hope. “S-so…the things I feel for Spike…that’s real?”

Another long pause. “Yes.”

“A-and what Spike feels for me? That’s real, too?”

The look on Giles’s face told her everything she needed to know; by the time he nodded and whispered his affirmation, she was on the verge of collapse. All of the worries that she had focused on—all the thoughts of spells and vengeful exes and a broken heart—fell before Truth, and she found herself possessed by the fiercest wave of happiness that she’d ever known. It was real. It was all real. The way Spike looked at her. The way he held her hand. The way he kissed her. The way he loved her body with his own. The way he bantered with her and held her. The way he cared for her. All of it was real. He wouldn’t leave her. There was no spell. There had never been a spell. Spike had linked them together with his bite, and he would never leave her.

Buffy couldn’t help it; she burst into tears. Happy tears. Tears that liberated, rather than burdened. She felt the weight of the world roll off her shoulders, and there was nothing to do but cry. She loved him, and she could have him, now. There was no need for a plan or distancing or anything anymore. She could just have Spike. She wasn’t that girl.

Only she had to tie them together. She had to complete it. She had to claim him back.

“Buffy?” Giles whispered, taking a cautious step toward her. “Are you all right?”

She fought the urge to laugh. To cackle with happiness. The sensation was so foreign, so welcome, that she didn’t know how to express it. She was caught between laughter and tears, and it was wonderful.

“Tell me,” she said, wiping her shining eyes. “Tell me how to do it. Tell me how to claim him. Tell me how to make it final.”

There would be no more hiding. She loved him. There was no reason to hide.

Not anymore.

To be continued…

Chapter 46 by Ameeya

Chapter 46

About thirty minutes after her meeting with Giles and Angel, Buffy knew that there was no way she’d be able to wait until nightfall to see Spike. Not when she was bursting with this much happiness; not when all her fears for their once-uncertain future had been cast aside. She felt that she’d been waiting lifetimes for this—for some confirmation that her heart was secure, and now that she knew that it was real, the thought of waiting, even a matter of hours, was agonizing.

The night held a bizarre mixture of anticipation and anxiety. She didn’t know how she was going to tell him—how to explain that the night he’d kidnapped her, he’d also bitten her thigh and that she had decided to not tell him. At first, yes, her decision had been well-founded. Spike was supposed to have left town and never return, and the bite, other than being literally orgasmic to touch, was nothing more than a blemish. She hadn’t known. It had been something that was hers. Only hers. And by the time that she realized that he wasn’t going away—that he would eventually find out—it had been too late.

Now she had to tell him. She had to tell him that he’d claimed her. That there was no spell. That the pull between them had nothing to do with Drusilla. That the reason they yearned for each other was because of an incomplete claim, and once she made everything right, there would be no more aching. No more nausea. There would be nothing but the simplicity of being together, and all the bad would be cashed in for good. What they’d earn in pleasure would completely trump everything they’d experienced in pain.

Pain like the familiar, stabbing cramp in her stomach. Pain that wasn’t hers.

Buffy frowned and sat up with a jolt that had the students around her jumping in surprise. It rushed through her fast—so fast that she found herself clutching the edges of the desk as the first waves crashed over her overly-excited nerves. It had been so long since she’d suffered the pangs of separation that she barely remembered what they felt like.

Spike. Spike was in pain, and she felt it because they were connected. Because of the claim. He was in pain, and he needed her. And she wasn’t about to waste time in some boring class when he needed her.

It didn’t take much to sneak away. She fed her teacher some overused excuse, and was dismissed from class without incident. Mrs. Worthington was used to her excuses, after all, and like many teachers, to Snyder’s dismay, had long since ceased the campaign to keep Buffy in class. It always proved fruitless; Buffy had a way of making herself very much elsewhere when she put her mind to it.

“Do I even need to pretend that you’ll be back?” the old woman asked tiredly. “Or are we past this?”

Buffy smiled guiltily and shrugged. “I think we’re way past, Mrs. W. But I’ll have—”

“Mr. Giles write you a note?”

She nodded, the smile remaining. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ll wait with baited breath. See you tomorrow.”

Okay, so sneaking out wasn’t as much fun when the teachers didn’t object. Oh well. Nothing much lost. At least she didn’t need to look over her shoulder.

Besides, Spike needed her. It had barely been twelve hours, and he was suffering the pangs of separation. She didn’t know why the leash kept getting shorter, but it did. Perhaps it was because he’d been at her side faithfully for nearly two days as she got better. Perhaps the longer they were together, the shorter they could be apart.

It didn’t matter. It would be over tonight.

There would be no more pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy pursed her lips and dropped her backpack the second the door behind her slammed shut. She jumped in spite of herself, then frowned and huffed a small grumble. Stupid crypt doors. They really had a way of ruining the element of surprise.

Not that surprising Spike was really what she was going for, but it was an added bonus.

Only, at first glance, the crypt was empty. She’d only been here twice before—the night that he had stumbled across her in the cemetery and they’d ended up with the wild monkey love on the floor, and then four nights ago. When he’d brought her here and they’d made love in the rocker and added an amendment to the plan.

Sometime over the weekend, Spike had told her how excited he was that he’d found himself a place at all. And though she couldn’t see getting wiggy and excited over a crypt, he was strangely proud of it. Something about having a place of his own for the first time…ever. A place he’d picked. And while she wouldn’t choose it over a night at the Waldorf-Astoria, she couldn’t deny that the crypt had a strangely homey feel.

Maybe that was just because she knew it belonged to Spike.

To be fair, he’d actually done a lot to make it homey. The floors were covered with rugs. There were a few scattered pieces of furniture and a television with admittedly crappy reception, though he was talking about getting a DVD player or something in the near future.

“Spike?” she asked softly. He was nowhere in sight. “Spike…it’s me.”

Well, that was lame. Who else would it be?

He must be downstairs. And considering that the sun was hanging high in the sky, he was likely sleeping.

And aching. He was aching because of her.

Buffy sighed and walked over to the trapdoor that led to the lower level. “Well,” she said dryly, wincing at the metallic clank that bounced off the walls. “If that doesn’t wake the dead, I don’t know what will.”

She didn’t know whether to be amused or surprised to find Spike sound asleep. Very naked and very asleep. He was gorgeous when he slept. Well, he couldn’t be anything but gorgeous if he tried. Spike could juggle fish entrails; it didn’t matter. He was a work of art.

A work of art that was currently whimpering and holding his stomach. Buffy sucked in a deep breath, drawing her shirt over her head as she kicked her shoes off. He was in pain because of her. Because of her stupidity and her unwillingness to listen to Spike when he assured her that what he was feeling was real. That he truly cared for her, and wouldn’t leave her when the spell was over.

Only there was no spell. There had never been a spell. She was in love with Spike because she was in love with Spike. And he…well, he certainly felt for her. And she was his; she was his, and he’d be hers before the night was over. They’d belong to each other. And all the other things, like her sacred duty, his blood-drinking habit, and the ongoing battle between good and evil could take a much needed break from being number-one on her priorities.

Well, okay, so she hadn’t been active slay-girl since Spike barreled into her life. Her priorities had been a little askew over the past few weeks. And the world hadn’t ended and it didn’t look like it was going to anytime soon. It wouldn’t hurt anything if she took another couple days off.

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and cast her eyes heavenward. Please? At least a few hours?

Oh well. If there was a big evil to fight, she was certain that she could convince Spike to help her out. The sooner the big evil was defeated, the sooner they could race each other back to bed.

The thought filled her insides with warmth. They could do those things. She could fight evil, slay demons, and Spike would be at her side. And at the end of the day, they could go back to his place and do the coupley thing. Or to her place. Or maybe they could rent a hotel room somewhere. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was that there was no more hiding. No more ignoring her lusty feelings—or trying to—and no more worrying about the fate of her heart.

Buffy sucked in a breath and turned her hands to the clasp on her jeans, then hesitated. If she got naked, he’d want to make sure she got off, too, and she wasn’t here for that. No matter that the mark throbbed. No matter that she ached for his touch there like nothing else. She wasn’t here for her needs. Not now. She’d felt Spike’s pain and she wanted to ease it. She wanted to comfort him the way he’d comforted her. She wanted to repay everything he’d given her. The wealth of what he’d given her.

Thus she approached the bed, dressed only in her jeans. She felt strange but empowered. Making decisions like this, on some level, made them equals. It was something that Spike had been trying to make her see for a while now; she was only now catching up with him.

He twitched violently as she approached the bed, holding his stomach. Her insides ached with his pain. There was no reason for pain. She would erase it, and there would no longer be any pain between them. No pain. She’d paid her pound of flesh for the colossal wrongness that was slayer-falling-for-vampire, and there was nothing standing between them anymore.

Spike whimpered again, his head jerking. “Buffy—”

“Shhh.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over, running her fingers through his hair. She was always surprised at how soft his hair was. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Buffy…”

She brushed a kiss across his chest. “Sleepyhead,” she murmured affectionately. Then she turned and climbed to her knees, casting her legs astride his waist. “Semi-naked girlfriend here. You really don’t wanna miss out.” A tender smile flitted across her face, and she leaned forward until her breasts were pressed to his chest. “It’s okay,” she murmured, peppering his throat and chin with small, soft kisses. “It’s okay.”

“Buffy?” Spike blinked awake slowly, then moaned and cast his head back. “Oh, Christ. I thought I was dreaming.”

She giggled. God, this feeling was addictive. “You dream of me often?”

“Every sodding night,” he murmured, thrusting his pelvis upward. “I was…something was wrong.”

“Everything’s okay now.”

“What’re you doing here, pet?”

Buffy giggled and kissed his nipple, her right hand sliding down his abdomen. “Don’t you want me here?”

Spike whimpered again. “I never want you anywhere else. Oh, fuck, touch me.”

She arched a brow. “You want me to touch you,” she echoed, sliding down his body slowly. A kittenish grin stretched her lips, her hand curling around his cock. “Like this, huh?”

“Jus’ like that.”

“I’m gonna try this again.” Her grin widened and she licked a long path from the base of his erection to the tip. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“You do make me feel good, baby.” Spike sucked in another moan when she wrapped her lips around his head and suckled tenderly. “God, your tongue.” Her eyes floated up the lean expanse of his body, and she smiled, dropping her hands to cup his balls. “Bleeding hell, Buffy…”

“Your skin tastes good.”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered again. “You’re killing me,” he panted, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “I needed you.”

“I know,” she whispered, dotting kisses along the underside of his length. “I felt you, and so I came.”

“You…you felt me?”

“Uh huh.” She dipped her head lower, grinning as she wrapped her lips around his sac, her right hand curling around his cock and pumping him slowly. “I felt you. I skipped school. I came. You were all sleepy and cute and naked.”

“I am…not…cute,” he ground out. “Buffy, please.”

“Please what?”

“Need you…your mouth around my…” She grinned and released his balls with a parting lick, taking his cock between her lips once more. “Oh, fuck yeah. God, what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you?” she asked. She swept her tongue along his sensitive head, and her grin broadened at his answering moan. She loved this. She loved the feminine empowerment. The wealth of what he’d given her simply by helping her embrace her womanhood. The sexual being buried beneath layers of strength. The woman within who wanted love and pleasure to counteract the blood and violence that came with her vocation.

“You’re—oh God, jus’ like that, pet.” Spike purred, his fingers threading through her hair, his hips swirling to find a steady rhythm. “Your mouth is so hot. So bleeding perfect. Ahh…”

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. God, Buffy…”

She smiled and released him, a womanly vibe rippling down her spine when he shrilled a gasp and sat up, wide-eyed.

“Oh, God, please!” he cried, and the desperation in his voice made her shiver in all the right places. The idea that she had any sort of power over him made her weak with desire. Even when she’d been with Angel and they’d had the whole star-crossed thing going, she hadn’t thought of herself as anything special. She wasn’t the sort of girl that men fell in love with. She always saw herself as the way she’d been treated at Hemery—cute, blonde, bubbly, with nothing going on upstairs. With Angel, things had been soft and sweet and safe…well, up until the killing of her friends began. And though he’d never really given her a reason to think so, she’d always felt that the basis of his attraction to her was rooted in her slayage. If she hadn’t been the Slayer, he would never have wafted into her life.

Granted, the same could be said about Spike. But he’d made it very clear, especially considering her recent bout as a non-superhuman-human, that her powers meant nothing to him in the long run. The only thing that said powers had been instrumental in was bringing them together. And yes, while the idea of getting to wrassle it out with Spike every now and then made her tingle in a very good way, she was much happier knowing that he liked her for her.

Something, evidently, that wasn’t entirely odd. As Giles had told her in his explanation of humans who find themselves claimed by vampires, history had known several exceptions to the vampires-eat-humans law in the form of vamps who fell in love with humans.

“Buffy, please,” Spike begged, wrapping his hand around his cock. “I need you. I need you so bloody badly.”

“I wanna try something.”

He paused and arched a brow, his shoulders rolling back and his eyes flashing with interest. “Something new?”

“Something I read…” She broke his gaze and blushed furiously. “Something I read…”

Spike studied her for a long beat, arching a brow. “Have you been reading dirty magazines?”

“One of Xander’s.”

He fought off a grin. “Xander jus’ loaned you his collection, pet?”

“As if! I found it in his locker.” Her blush deepened. “I-I…I just don’t want you…I want to learn things to…with you. I don’t want to…bore you.”

Everything stopped. The pants that heaved through his chest. The needful strokes he gave his cock. The silence that fell around them was deafening. A few long seconds passed before she summoned the courage to look up. She swallowed a gasp when she met Spike’s eyes. He was staring at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Buffy shifted nervously. She felt more than out of place; her mouth perched over his cock, his eyes burning into hers. “Did I say something wrong?”

“In a million years, Buffy, you could never bore me.”

Oh God. Swoonage.

Though, when they hit their million-year anniversary, she was so going to call him on that.

“A million years, huh?” Buffy grinned and dipped her mouth again, suckling at the head of his erection. “How about two?”

“Oh, Buffy…”

She giggled and licked him again. “Is that a yes?”

“For-sodding-ever. I’m yours for eternity.”

God, she loved hearing that and knowing it. Believing it. Not having it tagged with a gut-wrenching fear that he was going to leave her.

“I wanna try this,” she murmured, giving his head one last lick before she moved to sit up. “I-I’ve heard that…some guys like…putting their…umm, things.” She tore her gaze from his cock, but the only other place to look was his eyes, and that was so not a go. “Ummm. Between my…uhhh…” She flushed and tried to smile, cupping her breasts demonstratively. “My…”

Spike arched a brow. “Are you askin’ me if I wanna fuck your titties?”

“Well, not like that, you perv! Only…” She ducked bashfully. “Yes, that. But…less with the…okay, just say it. I’m a crazy woman and—”

“Buffy…” He smiled tenderly and sat up, cupping her cheek. “Come here…”

She pouted. “I like it here,” she said, her mouth dropping to lap a wet path up his cock again. “And I wanna try my thing.”

“Let me fuck your titties?” he purred, his brows waggling.

“If you have to say it like that.”

“I think I do.”

Buffy flashed him a smirk and sat up, perching his cock between her breasts. “Okay,” she said nervously. “What now?”

“Jus’ hold still, baby,” he murmured, a catlike purr rumbling through his body. “I’ll do all the work.”

“I don’t want you to work.”

“Trust me…” Spike rumbled, beginning to thrust his hips again. “Ohhh, yeah. Jus’ like that.”

It was admittedly a strange sensation, but the look on his face quickly drowned out any of her numbered misgivings. The idea that she could bring anyone such pleasure simply by offering her body was more than a little intimidating. She shuddered a sigh and tried to ignore her screaming nerves and the butterflies that liked to live in her stomach whenever she allowed her feminine side to overpower the part of her that was, in many ways, still the quivering virgin. When she attempted to do something sexually new and bold.

“I can feel your heart beating,” he murmured, reaching down to tug at her nipples. “God, you don’ know what you do to me. Watching my dick move between—”

“You’re making me blush,” she protested softly, biting back a moan.

“I like it when you blush.” Spike gasped and threw his head back. “Lick me, pet. Need your tongue.”

If her skin grew any hotter, she’d start melting in the literal sense. Rather, she nodded and licked at his velvety tip with every thrust of his hips.

“You’re so perfect,” he moaned. “So bloody perfect.”

“Am not,” she retorted, lapping at his head.

“Don’…argue…with me.”

“You really like this?” It came out sharper than she’d intended, and when he narrowed his eyes in question, she ducked her head and fought the urge to shrink back. “I mean…you’re not just humoring me? I wanted to…and I know…I’m sorry my boobs aren’t…well, bigger. I…the…” Okay, he was looking at her like she was insane. Again. “I’ll just…look for a hole in the ground that hasn’t swallowed anything recently.”

Spike sat up immediately and cupped her face again. “Don’ be ridiculous,” he murmured, kissing her mouth sweetly. “When I say you’re perfect, woman, I mean it.”

“You’re—”

“Absolutely mad for you, an’ if you don’ know that by now…” He kissed her again and smiled. “Get up here.”

Buffy jerked back and shook her head, her hand returning to his erection. “I want…this is for you. Not me.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” She smiled and, before he could say another word, engulfed his cock with her mouth once more. Spike moaned and flopped back to the mattress, thrusting his hips upward. She took him in as far as she could, until his head brushed against the back of her throat. She hadn’t tried this since the night his demon had come loose and forced her mouth around him—hadn’t tried taking him in as deep. And when the urge to gag surfaced, she paused and breathed.

Spike blinked and looked up. “Buffy? What’s…oh—”

She inhaled sharply and swallowed around him, earning a sharp moan and a swift jerk of his hips. He babbled a quick apology as his head collapsed against the mattress again, but his words lost coherency fast.

Confidence building, she slid her lips up his length coyly and grinned. “I take it you like that,” she said, licking at his slit.

“Oh Christ.”

“More?”

“Slayer—”

She sucked him as far in as she could and swallowed around him again. And that was it. Spike barked a quick warning that she didn’t understand until the next second, when he jerked and came, spilling himself deep into her throat. Buffy fought the urge to balk in shock; rather, she did what came naturally and drank down. Spike whimpered helplessly and curled his fingers in her hair.

“Buffy…oh God, Buffy…” His cock slid out of her mouth, and the next thing she knew, he had dragged her up the expanse of his body and was mauling her lips with worshipful, loving kisses. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, his mouth whispering against hers. “So bloody amazing.”

“I—”

“If you say you’re not, I’m gonna rip your arms off.” Buffy paused and pulled back, arching a brow. Spike shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “Well, no. I like your arms.”

“You like my other stuff, too.”

Spike’s eyes dropped, widening as he appraised her heaving chest. His smile stretched into a leer; he palmed her breasts with near reverence, rolling her nipples between his fingers. “I love your other stuff.” He brushed his lips against hers again, then tugged her down so that she was curled into his side. “You came for me.”

“Well, if you wanna get technical…”

He grinned and barked a laugh. “Dirty!”

Buffy flushed and sank into the mattress. “You’re a bad influence.”

“The baddest.” He ran his fingers down her arm, his hand settling on the waistband of her jeans. “I think you’re overdressed.”

“I told you. This was about you. Not me.”

“I’ve had mine.” He hooked his fingers through one of her belt-loops and dragged her over. His lips found hers again before breaking away to shower her throat with soft, sweet kisses. “Lemme give you yours.”

“Nuh uh. You’re sleepy.”

“Am not.”

“You are so.” Buffy giggled, then blushed at the way his eyes sparkled at her mirth. “You’re all post-coital with the sleepy.”

“Like I’ll bloody let that get in the way.” He dipped his head, wrapping his lips around her nipple. “Buffy, lemme—”

“Go sleepy.”

“No—”

“Spike…” She smiled tenderly and took his face into her hands, bringing his mouth down to hers. “You stayed awake for me all weekend so that you could provide everything or anything I needed, right down to a Kleenex. Please get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

God, the taste of his kisses never ceased to amaze her. The way his tongue stroked hers, the way his lips moved against her lips, the way he whimpered. The way he held nothing back. She tasted everything in his kiss.

“You promise?” Spike panted when they pulled apart. “You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here.”

“An’ you’ll tell me why you broke the rules?”

“To the plan?” Buffy shrugged and settled against him. “What can I say? Rules are made to be broken.”

Spike looked at her for a minute, then shrugged and wrapped his arms around her. “Gotta say, pet,” he murmured, nuzzling her shoulder, closing his eyes. “Whatever spell that you’re li’l witch friend cast on you, she has my approval.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “No spell.”

There were no words to emphasize how important it was that he know that.

“Mhmmm.” He kissed her shoulder. “’Night…sweetheart.”

Of all his pet names for her, that was definitely her favorite. Well, one of her favorites. With Spike, she had many favorites. Like watching him fall asleep. That wasn’t a pet name, but it was still a Spike-related favorite. And it didn’t take long. A few minutes of quiet, and he was deep in slumber again.

He was asleep in her arms. There was still so much to tell him. So much. But she wanted this for him. She just wanted to hold him right now. The rest could wait. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she.

Buffy smiled tenderly and brushed her lips against his brow. “I love you,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.

Just as his flew open.

To be continued…

Chapter 47 by Ameeya

Chapter 47

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She’d been asleep for a little over an hour; every time he tried to convince himself that he should heed her advice—especially since she’d turned down a shag so that he could catch up on the rest he’d lost in worrying over her these past few days—her words floated back into his mind and rendered him sleepless.

She loved him. Buffy loved him.

God, was it even possible? He’d never thought it possible. Her love was something precious and fragile—something no man or demon deserved. The last time she’d given her love to someone, her life had been gutted, and she’d lost everything. Her friends. Her Watcher. Her mother. Her home. She’d lost any remnants of her childhood in her self-imposed exile in Los Angeles. Every shred of innocence she’d ever possessed had been contaminated, and all because she lost her heart to the enemy.

To a vampire.

Buffy was in his bed, curled into his side, and she’d whispered that she loved him. Buffy loved him.

It had been a pipe dream. A hope that he hadn’t even attempted to entertain. He’d realized how he felt over the weekend, and even then, it hadn’t been much of a revelation. The feelings stirring in his gut had been with him, it seemed, forever. Long before he found Dru snogging the Chaos Demon on that bloody park bench. These feelings were the reason that Dru had left him in the first place. And they had crept up on him so slowly that he hadn’t even realized he was in love until her life was in danger.

His love for her had slowly eaten away at his monstrosity, and he was too lost to care. He was with her. Something had brought her to him—the sodding spell, the whatever that had them lusting after each other. He didn’t know. Frankly, he didn’t care. He knew himself when he loved; after all, he’d spent most of his life crawling over hot ashes for one female or another. There was the misery that had been Cecily. Then it was Dru. Dru and the pathway to salvation. The pathway to Buffy.

But Buffy had given him something that no one ever had. For years, he’d fooled himself into thinking that Dru’s little sighs and her dance-around-words and her sodding riddles and mind games meant that she loved him. She’d played with the sentiment, sure, but she never said it. And he was becoming more and more convinced that her affection, particularly in their last few years together, had been more of a display of gratitude-wrapped-in-dependency.

Once he would have cared. He didn’t now.

Buffy loved him. God, Buffy loved him.

And he’d done absolute rot to earn it. He’d kidnapped her, forced his way into her body, stalked her, and abused her. Sure, saving her life earned him a few bonus points, but it in no way made up for everything he’d taken from her. Everything he could never repay.

Spike had figured, once he’d realized his love for Buffy, that he’d be fortunate if it didn’t dawn on her what an unworthy wanker he was, once the spell was over. If she let him stay in her life as her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend.

But Buffy loved him. She loved him. She’d come to him when he was in pain. She’d caressed him. She’d worshipped his body with her hands and mouth because she wanted to. Because comforting him was important to her.

He’d never had that. Not once. Never had a woman he’d cared about tended to him when he needed tending. Dru’s idea of healing his ailments was a quick pat and a comment about how the stars were arguing with Miss Edith.

Buffy had come to him.

Buffy loved him.

Spike sucked in a deep breath, his eyes clouding with tears. Buffy loved him.

“You realize you’re mine, now,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “I’m never letting you go.” His eyes fell to the chain around her neck, and a smile itched at his lips. He’d given her a ring for her birthday. Nothing particularly special—ostensibly—but it was something of a family heirloom. Something he’d never trusted Dru with.

Spike snickered, his fingers running along the expanse of the chain until he found the ring. He’d always wondered why he could never give it to Dru. He’d tried to make himself a thousand times. She loved jewelry, after all. She loved anything that sparkled for her, but keeping her interested in anything for any measure of time was a chore. If he’d given it to her, she would have lost it or tossed it the second that she found something she liked better.

When Buffy awoke, he was going to tell her everything. Everything. How he felt, that he didn’t give a bloody sod if they were under a spell; nothing could make him feel differently. There was no spell on the sodding planet that could fabricate feelings like this. He’d tell her that he loved her, and he wanted her, and nothing was ever going to change that.

He’d never hurt her. Not again. Not if he could help it.

Only he wanted her so much that it was difficult to remember that he didn’t breathe. She’d tossed the plan for him. She’d come here and touched him in ways that definitely qualified as off-limits. And now she was in his bed, half-naked. There was no sodding way that he was going to walk away from this now.

Spike released a trembling sigh, his lips wrapping around one of her pert nipples, stroking her other breast. He loved the feel of her in his hand, how the small weight of her filled his palm. The softness of her skin beneath his touch did him in every time. She was so warm—so warm where he was cold. He could feel the reverberation of her heartbeat under his fingers. The delicious rush of her pulse made his skin hum to life.

The thoughts had been with him for weeks now. The way his demon growled and insisted that Buffy was his. He’d felt it the night that Buffy snogged Angel. Hell, he’d ripped the graveyard apart because he’d felt that his girl was with another bloke. And when he’d seen her later that night, it was because his girl was in pain. His girl was hurting. And his girl had needed him.

The thoughts had been there; now the thoughts were backed with knowledge. Buffy was his. Her warmth. Her softness. Her heart. Everything. She belonged to him. She belonged to him almost as much as he belonged to her.

“I love you, too.” Spike licked her nipple with a contented purr. The hand occupied with her other breast slowly slid down the taut stretch of her stomach. He circled her bellybutton with his index finger before settling on the clasp of her jeans. “An’ I’m fairly certain,” he murmured. “That I told you to wear nothin’ but skirts.”

To be fair, she’d likely intended to change before their routine patrol non-date—something that he felt should be upgraded to gratuitous-bouts-of-violence-complete-with-victory-shags, but he wasn’t about to suggest that without feeling her out first. And even though she had come to him—even though she had been the one to break the rules—he knew well enough to not assume that meant that she wouldn’t reconstruct the walls she’d broken down once she awoke. She’d only whispered that she loved him when she thought he was asleep. Perhaps she didn’t want him to know. Perhaps she was only saying it because she needed the words to know life. There was every chance that he had a ways to go before he convinced her that his feelings weren’t the product of some sodding spell.

There was every chance, but he wasn’t a quitter. He wasn’t about to give up. Buffy loved him.

A silly grin tickled his lips. “You smell so sweet,” he purred, brushing a kiss across her belly, then moving his mouth lower. He hooked his fingers around her belt loops, sitting up to drag them down her legs. “So bloody good.”

Buffy moaned and shifted, rolling completely onto her back, her legs parting further for him.

Spike arched a brow, his lips fighting a grin. “I think baby’s awake. You playin’ possum, sweetheart?”

“Uhhh…”

His grin stretched into a devilish smirk. He slid back up to her, slipping his arms under her thighs and lifting her clothed pussy to his mouth. Spike inhaled deeply, burying his face between her thighs. “Christ, pet,” he gasped reverently. “You make my mouth water.” He slipped his fingers under the elastic lining at the crotch of her panties, bunching the intrusive fabric aside and baring her sweet, pink flesh to his hungry eyes.

“You better wake up quick,” Spike observed, his head dipping and his tongue taking a much coveted lap up her slit. Buffy moaned and gasped a little, her pelvis arching upward. He grinned again, wrapping his lips around her clit. “Else this is only a li’l fun.”

Another long whimper tore at her lips and her thighs opened even wider.

“Faker,” he teased, pulling his head back to enjoy the view. This was perfect. There was nothing in the world that could rival this. His eyes slowly trailed to her pussy again and he licked his lips. “You li’l…”

Spike paused and frowned, cocking his head. “What…”

No. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t supposed to be there. It had to be a trick of light. He blinked rapidly and shook his head. Little good it did. When he opened his eyes, it was still there.

And he was transfixed. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her. From it. From the thing that didn’t belong. He kept expecting it to vanish, but it did not. And he couldn’t stop staring. His eyes were glued to the two puncture wounds that marred the otherwise flawless skin of her inner thigh.

A vampire’s bite.

To be continued…

Chapter 48 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: I thought I might be extra evil and wait a day or so before updating, but I’m feeling rather charitable. *g* Thank you so much—to everyone—for your infectious enthusiasm.

Oh, and I decided to go against the fanon-vamps-know-their-bites thing. It was just more fun this way.

Chapter 48

“What the bleeding hell is that?”

Buffy jerked awake with a start, only to find a very gorgeous, very livid vampire perched between her thighs. He was staring at her like she was a stranger. Like she was someone he’d never seen before. She frowned and panicked for a second before realizing where he was—and what he was looking at it.

Oh God.

Her panic leapt off the charts. “Oh, God. Oh God. Spike. I-I can…I can explain. I’m so sorry. I—”

Spike snarled, his eyes glowing yellow, and Buffy shrank back when her heart leapt into her throat. Okay, so she’d known he’d take it bad. Very bad, even. After all, she’d been very much with the secretive. And the closer they’d become, the more she’d gone out of her way to make sure the mark remained hidden.

But yellow eyes and fangs? Oh, and ridges? Spike was having serious ridges. She hadn’t known he would take it that badly.

“When?” he snarled, running his hand over the bite. “When?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, she felt a rush of lust unlike anything she’d ever experienced. For weeks, she’d been craving his touch there. On her mark. Caressing her. Laving his territory with his mouth and tongue. Now, for the first time, his hand was over the place he’d marked her, and the sensation was orgasmic.

“Answer me, Buffy!” he growled, crawling forward and seizing her shoulders. “Was it the night you kissed him? Did you have him bloody mark you, too? Is that what made you toss your cookies? When? Answer me!”

Buffy blinked, stunned silent. “What?”

“When did you let him touch you?” He fisted a handful of her hair and craned her neck back. “When?!”

“Spike, you’re scaring me—”

His eyes glimmered and he flashed her some fang. “Oh baby, I haven’ even started.”

“Spike—”

“I gotta say, luv, if it was fangs you were lookin’ for, you shoulda told me.” He ran his tongue down one of his incisors and smirked nastily. “I’d’ve been bloody thrilled to accommodate your—”

Buffy blinked again, realization spreading cold through her veins. He thought…oh God, he thought that Angel had bitten her? He thought that?

It was awful, but her first instinct was to laugh. Hard.

“Spike,” she said, pulling carefully out of his grip. It was a chore, trying to keep her voice calm and mirth-free. She wanted so badly to guffaw like a mad woman. Like she’d ever let Angel bite her. Especially now. Was he insane? “You need to—”

“Least I could’ve done the job properly!” Spike continued furiously, spreading her legs further apart, running his finger across the mark again. And again, her insides flushed with heat. “You call that a sodding bite? I know poofters with stronger fangs!”

That was it. Buffy’s façade crumbled into loud, cackling laughter. The flash of confusion that stormed Spike’s eyes didn’t do much to help. She laughed until she couldn’t breathe, caught her breath, and then melted into giggles all over again. She tried to speak, but her words rode out on chuckles. The idea was just preposterous. Absolutely preposterous. And topped off with Spike unwittingly insulting his own fangs? This was so priceless, it deserved its own MasterCard commercial.

Spike’s confusion quickly gave way to angered hurt. “I’m glad you’re so bloody amused,” he growled, the ferocity in his voice doing little to mask his pain. “Pull one over on me?”

Buffy shook her head as her amusement calmed, pressing her lips together to wane off any other ill-timed chortles. “No. No. Spike, God no. I love you, you…git. I’m just…I’m sorry if I find this funny.”

At that, the fire in his gaze softened. “Did you just call me a git?”

“Hey! I don’t know what it means. Only that you use it as an insult, and right now I’m insulting you while making with the love declaration…and hey! You latch onto git but not the love thing?” Buffy scowled and slapped his arm. “I reiterate: big, big git!”

Spike exhaled slowly. “Slow down.”

“Me? I should slow down?! You’re the one that’s all with the conclusion-jumping, and I’m the one being told to chill?”

His eyes narrowed. “Buffy—”

“Like I would ever, ever let Angel bite me. Especially after you. Kissing him made me hurl in the incredibly gross, literal sense.” Buffy shuddered, then sighed and rolled her shoulders back, resignedly. Of course, though, there was no way for Spike to come to any other conclusion. Her nerves, no longer protected by amusement, were suddenly screaming. Screaming with his pain along with her anxiety. She sucked in a deep breath. There was no more hiding. She’d made her bed; it was time to face the music and dance.

Buffy groaned inwardly. Mixed metaphors, much?

“Spike…ummm…” She released a long, shuddering breath. “The bite…this?” She took his hand in hers and guided it back to the sacred place on her thigh, moaning when his fingertips brushed her tender flesh. “This is…yours.”

Spike froze. There was nothing for several long, agonizing seconds. He didn’t blink. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t move. His eyes just bore into hers, unreadable. Buffy swallowed hard but didn’t say a word. Her heart was pounding too hard to get her voice to work. He just stared at her.

When he finally spoke, the sound was so raw that her heart ached with regret. “What?” he demanded. Then paused, blinked, shook his head, and met her eyes again, incredulous. “What?”

“You…” Buffy sighed and cast her gaze downward. “It’s yours, Spike. The…poofter mark is yours.”

“Have you gone completely carrot-top?”

“Huh?”

There was a long pause. “I think I’d remember somethin’ as marvelous as biting you, pet.” His eyes narrowed. “An’ my fangs are not poofter-fangs!”

“Hey! Your words, not mine!”

“That’s not my—”

“Spike, trust me. I’d know if another vampire found his way between my legs and…” Buffy shook her head and sighed. “It was…Spike…it was the night you kidnapped me. You…when you came back, all drunk, you…were downtown man.” She shifted uncomfortably. “You bit me.”

Spike blinked. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You…I’ve seen you.” He shivered and sighed. “I’ve seen you…bloody well shagged you sideways. There was the crypt…an’ your room…an’ the Bronze an’…I’d remember seeing a bite mark.” He blinked again. “I’d…remember…”

Buffy sighed, her eyes falling shut. This was going to be harder than she thought. There was absolutely no way to calculate how deep learning of her deception would cut. She’d been incredibly thoughtless. Incredibly selfish. There was absolutely no way to tell him this without hurting him.

“I…I didn’t tell you,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Spike drawled, disbelief giving way to anger again. “Gettin’ that.”

“I…” She swallowed hard and gestured emphatically as she searched for words. “You were…really frazzled that morning. A-and I didn’t want to…make it worse for you. You were guilt-tripping—”

“That was bloody weeks ago!”

“Yes! A-and after that, I told you to skedaddle and you so didn’t do that. And then there was the sex and the more distancing and by the time we came up with the confusing, yet at the time, seemingly-reasonable plan, I didn’t know how to tell you.” Buffy shivered and rubbed her arms. “It didn’t…after we came up with the plan, I didn’t…I should have told you, but so much time had passed and I didn’t…”

“I still can’t…I’ve seen you, Buffy. I’ve seen you naked—”

“Not really. I hid…that part. I made sure you didn’t see that. I didn’t want…” At his look, she dropped her shoulders and sniffled. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean to. I really…I’m not saying…I know I made a mistake. A huge, colossal mistake. I’m not trying to exonerate myself or anything. I know I screwed up. But I was gonna tell you tonight, I swear.”

Spike cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Were you, now?”

“Yes! I so totally was.”

“That’s bloody convenient for you, pet.” He cast a hand through his platinum locks, a long, humorless laugh tumbling through his lips. “How could you keep this from me?”

“Spike—”

“No. How could you keep this from me?” He broke off and shook his head again. “You are some piece of work, Summers. I bloody well—”

“Spike, before you yell at me and give me the scolding I so richly deserve—” She paused and held up a hand when he gave her a stern look. “I’m not being glib. I’m glib-free Buffy. I know I deserve it. I really, really deserve it. But…Angel—”

A low growl rumbled through Spike’s throat. “Now would be the wrong time to mention Angel, pet.”

“No. Let me…finish.” Buffy laughed nervously and tucked her hair behind her ear. Oh God. Please let me not have ruined everything. “Angel’s been asking me for a while now if you bit me. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t…it wasn’t any of his business. It was mine. It was the one part of you that I still had…well, until the plan where I pretty much had you all the time.”

There was no way Spike could withhold a grin at that. He rolled his shoulders and waggled his brows. And that was it. Buffy sighed, releasing some of her tension. Words could not describe how happy she was to see that brow-waggle. “Others might say that I had you all the time,” he retorted.

She flushed. “Yeah…my point being, when we were trying the stay-away-from-each-other bit, the bite mark was all I had of you. And…touching it…”

Spike’s brows perked and he glanced down with interest. “Touching it…?” he drawled curiously, running an experimental finger across the mark. His eyes sparkled when she moaned and rolled her head back, thrusting up against his hand. “Oohh,” he cooed, rubbing her with more intent. “Isn’t that neat?”

“Uhhhh…”

Spike chuckled. “Oh, baby. Do you have any bloody idea how long we played, not explorin’ this?” He ducked his head, wrapping his lips around one of her nipples, his fingers massaging the bite mark tenderly. A helpless whimper tore at her throat and she trembled in ecstasy. God, and she thought it’d been good when she’d rubbed the mark. Having Spike touch that spot? She’d be lucky if she didn’t die from an overdose of pleasure. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to make up for lost time.”

“Uhhh…that feels…”

He grinned around her breast. “Heavenly?”

“Ohhh…so…not mad?”

The way his chuckle reverberated against her skin successfully banished any lingering anxiety. “You kept this from me. But…with as much as it bloody boggles, I can see how…well, no, I can’t, but I can think of a few ways to work out my frustrations,” he purred. “Though I’m very angry, so it might take me a while.”

“Spike, there’s something…”

“Lay back, baby.”

“Wait. I need to—”

“If you love me, you’ll lay back.” He flashed a wicked, knee-weakening grin at that. It was a good thing she was already lying down, else she’d likely find something to trip over. “Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that. Minx. Where do you get off, telling me you love me, an’ all?”

She reeled. He might as well have slapped her. “Spike—”

His fierceness only lasted a minute. Then his eyes flooded with adoration and the wicked leer on his face softened into the kindest, most loving smile she’d ever seen. He took her face in his hands and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “I was s’posed to say it first,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “An’ if you bloody well tell me it’s because of a sodding spell, I’m gonna—”

“It’s not a spell.”

Spike paused and blinked rapidly, falling back in surprise. “It’s not?” he replied, his voice trembling with hope. “You believe me, then? You know I love you? You know it’s not because of magic or—”

“I know.”

He smiled excitedly, rumbling in delight, though he couldn’t hide the confusion in his eyes. “I gotta say, luv, that was easier than I thought. An’ here I was, prepared to tie you up an’ torture you until you believed me. Granted, my idea of torture was gonna be a lot more like sexy fun, but—”

“Spike, there’s something else. Something that An…” She squeaked when his face fell to a frown again. “Ummm…that guy I used to date and Giles…they told me something this afternoon. Something that…kinda sorta explained why An—that guy I used to date used you to get me to rush into the very special make-Buffy-dead rite of passage.”

His eyes flashed angrily at the mere mention. “That—”

“Spike…when you bit me…you kinda…” She trailed off, suddenly nervous again. “Well, Giles used the word claimed me. Yeah. You claimed me.”

“I…” He paused, his brow furrowing, eyes wide with confusion. “I claimed…I bloody claimed you?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“I claimed…I don’ even sodding know how to…well, I looked it up once but I never…” He broke off and shook his head. “I claimed you. As in…I claimed you. I…Christ, Slayer, do you know what this means?”

She nodded perkily. “Uh huh. Giles and…that guy I used to date were all with the explainy. And I did some reading during class when I was supposed to be listening to the teacher. You claimed me, you got me to accept. It’s the reason we’ve been all with the…lusty goodness.”

“Because I claimed you.”

“Yeah. And all our feelings…they’re feelings that were already…there. Repressed feelings that…” She turned her eyes shyly to the stretch of mattress between them. “So, yeah, okay. The first time I saw you, I thought you were gorgeous with a body to die for and a killer accent…then you made that stupid ‘I’ll kill you on Saturday’ comment, but the lusty thoughts—”

Spike’s eyes swallowed her with awe. “Slayer…”

“S-so yes. Feelings…were there. Bad…very repressed…lusty feelings. A-and—”

“I wanted to shag you into the sodding ground the firs’ time I saw you.” He dived for her throat, sucking sweetly at her skin. “No harm in admittin’ it.”

“Spike…”

“I claimed you?” There was a giddy note in his tone now. He cupped her breasts and coaxed her back gently against the mattress. “I really claimed you?”

“Yeah…you did.”

“You’re mine?”

She smiled and stretched beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Wholly and completely yours.”

The light that filled his eyes could move stars. “For how long?” he demanded throatily. “How long are you mine?”

“Pretty much ever.”

“Forever?”

She shrugged. “Claims work that way on people. A-and Giles said that your…being a little less with the shredding innocent people to bitty bitty bits is something you get from me. Kinda like I get the new and improved non-existent expiration date.”

Spike blinked. “An’ you’re okay with this? You really—”

“Spike?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna talk or you wanna get with the wild monkey love?”

He grinned, his mouth nearing hers intently. “Neither,” he replied, sucking her lower lip between his teeth. “I still gotta punish you a bit.”

“Punish?”

“You’ve been a very bad girl. Keeping secrets from your Spike.” His grin widened. “So now…you get punishment.”

Buffy sat up—or rather, she tried to sit up. A very insistent hand shoved her back to the mattress. “A-and how exactly are we punishing?”

“You’re giving me…a taste.”

He kissed her hard before she could respond, then slid eagerly down her body, his mouth covering every inch of skin as he went.

Her nerves seared with heat. Oh yeah. This was definitely the sort of punishment a girl could go for.

To be continued…

Chapter 49 by Ameeya

Chapter 49

The hint of her taste teased his fangs. His fingers trailed slowly down her stomach, following his mouth as he nibbled his way to her center. With every breath he took, the drunker he became. Buffy Summers: drug of choice. He had no idea how he’d managed to get here—to earn her warmth or her purity—but he was sure he’d move the heavens and the earth to secure his place. The delicious aroma of her arousal dizzied him with delight, and every time he inhaled, his insides trembled and the whole of him gave over to awe. And while he was still unsure about this claim business—especially how he could end up doing it when he was drunk on things other than the gorgeous blonde beneath him—he wasn’t about to question it. Not when she was the reward.

“So,” Spike drawled, making quick work of her panties to bury his face in her pussy, consequentially forgetting what he was about to say. He whimpered helplessly in time with her throaty moan, licking at her wet, silken skin. “Fuck, but you taste good.”

Buffy mewled and thrust wantonly against his face. “Ohhhh…”

“You can say that again,” he rumbled in agreement, flashing her a wicked smirk. “Do you have any sodding idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you?” His tongue slipped inside her and purred approvingly when she gasped and arched off the mattress again. “You taste so sweet.”

“Spike. Oh God!”

“Oh God?” he echoed, brows arching. “Already?”

“You…I…” She spread her legs wider, her hand falling to her bite mark. “Touch me here,” she pleaded. “Please. I need—”

“Baby likes to beg, does she?” Spike teased, leaving her slit with a parting lick, gave her clit a quick suck, then kissed his way to the bite mark that graced her gorgeous skin. On closer inspection, he had absolutely no idea why he would have thought the mark belonged to anyone but him. Or how, for that matter, he could have accused the fangs responsible of being anything but the epitome of manliness. Must have been the fleeting bout of jealous insanity.

“No…I don’t like…begging…” Buffy ran her foot down the cool expanse of his back, small, helpless whimpers tearing through her lips. “Please. I’ve…I’ve wanted…this…I…”

Spike glanced up curiously, sinking two fingers into her pussy. “You’ve wanted this?” he demanded eagerly. The idea that she could have fantasized about him at all made his blood sing. “You’ve wanted my mouth here?”

“Spike, please!”

The shrill in her voice only made him harder. An impassioned growl clawed at his throat and he rubbed his erection against the mattress. “You have any idea how hot it makes me, hearin’ you beg?”

“I’m not begging!”

Spike arched a brow. “You’re not?”

“No! And if you don’t start macking on that bite mark, I’m gonna—”

“So less with the begging an’ more with the threats?” He grinned, pumping his fingers into her hot, tight channel. He settled his thumb over her clit, his grin widening when her protest melted into another helpless whimper. He fastened his lips around her bite mark, purring sensually as he sucked her sensitive skin between his teeth.

“Oh my GOD!” A long, hoarse cry tore through her lips and she thrashed uncontrollably. Spike was so startled by the enthusiasm of her response that he jerked and released her, his fingers sinking deeper into her body. She wailed in protest the second his mouth abandoned her. “Ohh! Spike, please!”

Spike blinked and stared at her, his body humming to life in ways he’d never experienced. In ways he’d never thought to experience. She was vibrating around his fingers and her eyes were swallowing him whole. “Buffy…”

“Please!”

“Oh, baby…” He dipped his head again, laving the bite mark with his tongue. Immediately, Buffy’s cries of protest gave way to moans of pleasure. He had absolutely no idea a bite mark could create such ecstasy. The bite that had made him a vampire had never been a particularly enticing erogenous zone. Granted, Dru had never really paid much attention to the marks she gave him, so it could be that he’d just missed out all these years.

Or it could be that claim marks were completely different from other vampire marks. It had been so long since he gave the concept of claiming any thought; obviously, some research was in order. He wanted to know how he’d done it. How, when he was so drunk he very literally didn’t have a handle on what he was doing, he’d managed to perform an ancient and binding ritual. One that had tied his lifeline with Buffy’s forever.

“That feels…” Buffy whimpered, her eyes squeezing shut. “Oh God, Spike, that feels so…”

Spike ran his teeth along the mark and grinned, his fingers wrapped in her velvet warmth, the pad of his thumb massaging small circles into her clit. He could feel her tensing beneath his touch. Could feel her body tightening. She was so gorgeous. So bloody gorgeous. She was whimpering and moaning and thrusting up against him. She was a fiery nymph, a creature of pure light, and she was all his. He had a mouthful of sacred skin. Her skin. A mark that made her his.

“I love watching you,” Spike murmured, licking at the mark before leaving it to his eager fingers. “Love watchin’ you squirm an’ moan for me. Love knowing that I’m the one that does it to you. The only one.”

“Only…only…”

“Such a pretty little clit,” he purred, treating the pearl with a long lap of the tongue. He curled his right arm under her leg so that he could massage her mark, his other hand working her pussy. “I swear, Slayer, I’d dust a happy bloke if I could stay here forever.”

It was fascinating; watching her ivory skin flush under the influence of his compliment. “Spike…”

“I can feel you tightening, baby. Let it go.” He sucked at her clit with a long, contented purr. “I wanna taste you as you come.”

“Spike!”

“Gonna taste you.” He nipped at her affectionately, slipping his fingers from her silky flesh to pinch her clit as his tongue plunged deep inside her body. “Come for me. Come for me now.”

“Ohhh!” She tightened and exploded, drenching his mouth and filling the air with a piercing, euphoric scream that took the form of his name. He drank her greedily, his tongue bathing in her. He lapped at her until the tremors subsided and her breathing regulated. And the second that she blinked drowsily and looked up at him, he flashed a loving smile and mouthed the words, I love you.

Right before his fangs descended and dove for her inner thigh. He sliced open the mark and drank deep, and growled when she screamed in ecstasy and came again. He knew Heaven the second her blood hit his tongue. And even if he did manage to live forever, there was absolutely no way he’d forget the moment he first tasted her.

“Oh fuck,” Spike moaned, slipping his fangs from her skin. “Your blood. You…Oh, Buffy…”

“Get up here.” Buffy curled her arms under his shoulders and dragged him up her body. “Inside. I need you. Get inside me.”

“Happy to oblige, pet.” Spike took her face in his hands and kissed her as his cock sank into her warmth, moaning around her tongue. “Ahhh…”

“Unh…”

“Buffy…oh fuck, Buffy, oh my God.” When he blinked and looked down, her beautiful eyes were swimming in tears. His breath caught in his throat. Never before had anyone looked at him like that. Like he was a god among men. Like he was worth any more than the dust he came from. Than the alley that had known his rebirth. She gave him the world in her eyes. She looked at him, and he had purpose. He had purpose like he never had.

“You’re my song,” he whispered against her lips. “My gorgeous girl.”

“Ohhh…” She curled a leg around his waist, propelling his cock deeper within her body. “I…you’re…I love…oh, Spike.”

He grinned, suckling at her throat. “You love Spike, eh?”

Buffy nodded frantically and tugged his mouth up to hers. “Yes,” she whispered, wresting a kiss from his lips. “Yes. Yes.”

“Spike loves you back.” He kissed her again, then his brow collapsed to her shoulder as his thrusts grew harder. Her walls molded around him, suctioning, warming him until her heat threatened to sear his skin. She burned. She thrived. She hurt him so good that his heart wanted to pound and his long-dead lungs demanded air. And the pain was only outmatched by pleasure. Every plunge into her pussy was like diving blind off a cliff. Her warmth cushioned and embraced.

He felt it in every move. When her tears finally spilled down her cheeks and baptized him anew. There was love in every touch, and the difference made all the difference. He felt the love in her body just as he saw it in her eyes. The way she rocked and moved against him. The small little sighs she took with every thrust of his hips. Every stab of his cock inside her. He felt it in her blood. Heard it sing through her veins and reach for him every time he pulled from her. Her legs tightened around him, her slayer muscles squeezed, her pussy clenched, and he saw stars. He felt it; she was his. Entirely his. And nothing would ever change that.

Nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, worn out, Spike crept an eye open as he felt her shift down near his feet. They’d collapsed into each other’s arms forty-five minutes earlier, panting and exhausted. He had absolutely no idea how much time had passed, or even what day it was, anymore. Had there even been life before Buffy came to his crypt this afternoon? He was sure his existence hadn’t started here, though for the shine in her eyes, he was certain that he couldn’t have made it as long as he had without her. Without the spark in her gaze and the smile on her lips.

Though, he was also drunk with pleasure and seconds away from passing out. There was every possibility that he was just sappier when he was sated and happy. He didn’t know. It’d been so long since he felt this way.

No. Nix that. He’d never felt this way. He’d felt variations. Shadows. Plays on how love was supposed to feel. He’d never had this, though. Buffy had given him a whole new bloody world.

“What’re you doin’ down there?” he murmured, attempting to summon the strength to kick at her insolently. And failing miserably. “Don’ tell me you’re—”

“I’m marking you,” she informed him, pressing wet kisses against his left inner thigh and wrapping her hand around his hardening cock. Stupid bloody thing had a mind of its own. “I wanna mark you.”

“Buffy, do you—”

“Yes. I know how.” She grinned and squeezed him, suckling sweetly on his sac for a few seconds before turning her attention to his thigh again. “And I want it here,” she said.

“There?”

“Yes.”

And before he could get another word out, Buffy had her teeth clamped deep into his skin. Spike roared and vamped and arched his hips off the mattress. Exhaustion vanished and energy soared. When she looked up, his blood was on her mouth.

It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

“Mine,” she said, her eyes locking with his as her tongue licked her red-stained lips. “Mine.”

Spike nodded numbly. “Yours. Yours, Buffy. For-sodding-ever. Is that what I need to say? Sounds right an’ familiar. Sounds—”

There was no need for words. It ruptured through him—a jolt of lightening, a flash of realization, and he was made whole. The next second, realities merged and blended. Pain vanished and he was filled with calm. Pleasure filled his veins. He gasped and arched back again, pulling on her until she was curled in his arms. Until she was positioning him at her opening and infusing him in bliss.

Her emerald eyes were drenched in love.

And he belonged to her.

To be continued

Chapter 50 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Thanks so much to everyone. *hugs* You guys rock beyond the telling of it.

I should let everyone know that Beloved in Blood is coming to a rapid end. Two chapters following this one. Thank you guys so much for your support and feedback and, well, everything. *hugs* You made writing this so, so much fun.

Chapter 50

There was absolutely no way that life could get better than this. Buffy stretched contentedly, gently running her fingers through Spike’s ruffled hair, enjoying the way his cool breath caressed her skin. His head was pillowed at her breast, his arms curled under her shoulders. The hard length of his cock was pressed against her hip, his right leg nestled between her thighs.

Buffy couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Not when Brent Hinkley asked her on her very first date when she was thirteen years old. Not when Tyler asked her to the Spring Fling the year that she was booted from Hemery. Not when Angel first kissed her. And, well, the long line of Angel-related dateage was really out of the running completely. She’d never been happy with Angel. Not really. Not when every step they took was overshadowed by the loom of impending disaster.

“I never wanna leave here,” she murmured, her fingers massaging his scalp affectionately.

“You’ll find no argument with me, pet,” Spike replied, his lips whispering a kiss at her breast. “Though I’d wager you won’t be happy with a hole in the ground.”

“I could adapt.”

He chuckled, and the vibrations against her chest felt so wonderful, she found herself melting further into the mattress. “I should prob’ly look into gettin’ a place for us,” he mused thoughtfully. “White bloody picket fence an’ everythin’.”

“Picket fences are dangerous,” Buffy objected.

“Bloody dangerous,” Spike agreed. “But useful, if you’re attacked on the way home.”

“If we move into a place of our own, how will the invite thing work?” she asked. “It’d be the home of a human and a vampire. Vampires can enter other vampire’s homes, but not people’s homes.” Her brow furrowed and she raised her head a bit, smiling when his warm eyes met hers. “I don’t want vamps getting into a place that we have. We’d never get any rest.”

Spike shrugged. “We’d never be bored, either.”

“Yeah, but we’d never get to sleep. Or…do other things that you like doing in bed.” Buffy grinned and trailed her hand down his body, gently running her nails across the small of his back. “I wouldn’t want to be caught off guard during a…crucial moment, you know?”

He shivered with pleasure under her touch. “See your point, luv.”

“I thought you might.”

“Come to think of it, there are certain vamps I’d wanna make bloody sure never got an invite.” Spike grinned, resting his cheek against her breast. “Angel, for instance, never gets on the guest list. I don’t care if—”

“Yeah. Like he’s done so much to earn an all-access-pass. Hello? Tried to kill me dead.”

“I still say we stake him through the heart.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah. But then he’ll just come back. I sent him to Hell, remember? The Powers or whatever are determined to keep him undead.”

“So?” Spike’s shoulders rolled in what looked to be a halfhearted shrug. He tightened his arms around her and sighed. “We can still give the sodding Powers a run for their money.”

“That’s not very responsible of me.”

“Well, you’re tied to a very irresponsible vamp for life, pet. If fate allowed us to happen, they gotta make allowances for bad behavior.”

Buffy giggled, then giggled again when the corners of his mouth tugged upwards at the sound. She was mated to such a sap, but God, she was so happy she feared a spontaneous musical number. Never before had she just lain in someone’s arms, or had someone lay in hers. She’d never had the chance to cuddle. And from the way Spike’s arms kept tightening around her—from the way he kept crooning against her breast—she could tell, he was big with the cuddling.

As with the PDA’s. She had a feeling they were going to be one of those sickeningly cute couples that everyone hated. Kind of like Oz and Willow. There were times—especially up until Spike’s explosive return—when Oz and Willow were so…well, Oz and Willow that Buffy had had to refrain from throwing something at them for being so cute and happy when she was so miserable and alone. But she wasn’t miserable or alone anymore.

It was so strange. The day had been so strange. She’d seen Giles and Angel, she’d learned that all her worries about Spike leaving her were unfounded, she’d learned that she was the mate of a vampire and had even read up on how to perform the not-so-complicated ritual. Now, it was drawing near to early evening, and she was lying in her lover’s arms. There was no plan anymore. Her life was blissfully unplanned.

Well, except the whole Chosen One thing, but that was a given.

Best of all, Spike wasn’t going to leave her. He loved her. Buffy grinned and sank further into the mattress. Spike loved her, and he wasn’t going to leave. This was total happiness. This was soul-losing-happiness, only without the soul-losing part. And Spike had given it to her. Spike had given her everything.

“What are you grinnin’ about?”

Buffy blinked and met his dancing gaze. “The same thing you’re grinning about.”

“Am I squishin’ you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, Spike. I’m smiling like a lunatic because I’m fighting to breathe. Hello, super-strength, here.”

“A simple no would’ve worked just fine.”

“Yeah, but my way was fun because I answered your question and got to mock you.” She giggled. God, she’d never giggled so much in her life. Spike made her giggle. Who would have thought? “I like you right where you are.”

“You like me in other places, too, I’d hope.” He grinned and kissed her, slipping a hand between them to gently caress the bite mark on her thigh.

Mirth vanished instantly. Her nerves sang and her blood raced with heat. She couldn’t help the moan that slipped through her lips any more than she could keep herself from begging him just a little. After so long craving his touch on that sacred spot—dreaming about what it’d feel like to have him stroke her skin as he loved her body with his—getting what she wanted was intoxicating. She just couldn’t wait until she got the chance to play with the mark she’d given him to see if it bore the same properties.

It would be totally unfair if he didn’t get to experience this.

“So, tell me about this claim business,” Spike murmured, dropping a kiss across her nipple, his hand sliding off her thigh as he pulled his head from her breast to meet her gaze fully. Buffy couldn’t stop from mewling in complaint if she tried, and from the apologetic look on her vampire’s face, he hadn’t wanted to stop any more than she wanted him to. “Sorry, pet…I din’t mean to—”

“I know,” she whimpered. “I just…good touchies.”

“You’ll get your good touchies.” He kissed the pulse point of her throat and purred. “I promise. Jus’ think it might be easier to talk if I din’t do that.”

He was right, of course, but that didn’t convince her body that the mature thing to do was to not pout. Buffy sighed and shifted. “How is it that you don’t know about claims?”

Spike shrugged dismissively, though something significant flashed through his eyes. Something that begged exploration, but similarly implored to let the matter alone. Either way, she didn’t have to ask him to elaborate. In a tone that very much mirrored his body language, he said, “I heard about them right after I was sired. Thought about it. Thought Dru was my bloody savior. Angelus never wanted me to have her, though the idea never went away.” He sighed. “After he got himself stuffed with soul, I thought about it again. Wanker was no longer in the picture, right? An’ Dru was…well, in my mind, she was mine.”

Buffy shivered, disgust and jealousy rolling in her stomach. An irrational feeling at best, considering that Spike was most definitely hers, but she couldn’t help herself. The idea that he had ever thought that of any woman that wasn’t her was too much for her overly-possessive mind. Spike was hers, dammit. He’d been hers forever—even before she was born. How dare a stupid, crazy vampire woman try and wheedle him away? Even if said stupid, crazy vampire woman was the reason that Spike was curled in Buffy’s arms. Stupid Drusilla still had no right to ever have a hold on Spike, and that so wasn’t the claim talking.

When she met Spike’s eyes, he was grinning like a madman.

“What?” she demanded.

“You must be havin’ quite the conversation with yourself in that gorgeous li’l noggin,” he teased, his mouth dipping to caress her lips. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

“I am so not jealous!” Buffy insisted immediately.

“An’ you’re not the best liar.”

“Hey!” She pouted. “Why do you think I’m jealous?”

“’Cause you are.” His grin widened and he kissed her again. “Doesn’ matter, baby. She led me here. That’s all. Without Dru, I never would’ve found you. An’ she stopped me from researching it. The claim. She got a vision of what I was hopin’ to do an’ put a right end to it. She made it perfectly clear that I was only hers on loan. Or maybe it was the other way around.” He shrugged. “Maybe she saw that you were destined for me. Bugger if I know or care. Doesn’ matter how I got here; only that I got here. But Dru’s say in the matter ended it for me. I never read up on claims ‘cause I never thought I’d do it. Not unless she changed her mind. Which is why it’s bloody surprising that I managed it in the first place, especially bein’ as pissant drunk as I was.”

“Angel—”

Spike growled.

Buffy frowned and smacked him. “Hey! You just said your ex’s name like…a bajillion times there. I don’t think I should have to talk about Angel in code if you’re not gonna do the same.”

“Yeh, well, unlike some people, I can bloody admit when I’m jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

“Case in point.”

“I am not!”

Spike chuckled and shook his head. “It’s amazing how little your lying ability improved in that minute an’ a half.”

“You’re mean.”

“Evil,” he corrected.

“Same diff.”

He feigned an indifferent shrug. “Comes with the territory, I s’pose. Now, go on. On the bloody edge of my seat. What did your precious Angel say?”

She batted her eyes innocently. “About what?”

“About claims, you infuriating bint.”

Buffy held his gaze for a long minute, then broke into a smile. “I love you.”

His frustration vanished immediately into tenderness and awe. God, she loved it when he did that. When he went from pissed off and sexy to lovesick and sexy. The change was so instantaneous—and so gorgeous. As though his default mode was to look at her like she was an angel, rather than rip her apart because she was the Slayer. It was just another thing in her catalogue of Spike-characteristics that she adored.

“I love you, too,” he replied ardently. “I love you so much.”

Her heart sang and she was instantly lightheaded. “Softie.”

“Oi.”

Buffy smiled and gently ran her nails along his sides, enjoying the way his skin shivered beneath her touch. “Angel said that claiming is an instinctive thing for vamps. That you must’ve recognized something…in me…that made for a good…I dunno. Very primal, or so he says.” She paused and frowned thoughtfully. “He also said that different vamps will respond or approach the idea of claiming from, well, different angles. Some vamps really want to claim or be claimed, and others don’t.” She met his eyes again and smiled. “I guess you really wanted it.”

“Not much of a surprise, that.” He smiled uneasily, as though the knowledge of his wanting to belong to someone was as crippling for him to hear as it was for her to say. It just told her all the more how lonely he’d been. That he could have been with Dru for so many years, and never once felt anything but alone.

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and reached between them to stroke his face. He’d never be alone again.

Spike shook his head a few seconds later, his eyes returning to her. “Anything else, sweet?”

“Not that I can think of. Oh! The pain…the hurty stuff that happens when we’re apart…it should end now.” At his look, she shrugged. “It was because I hadn’t done the claim thingy on you. Now that I have, we should be pain free. Which really, of the massive good. I’d hate to never get to go shopping alone with Willow again because getting five feet away from you gives me killer cramps. It was getting really bad.”

“Bloody right.”

“So, we also don’t have to do those patrol non-dates anymore.” Buffy paused and grinned. “We can go on patrol dates now. Complete with handholding and fondling of the appropriate and inappropriate kind.” Another giggle tore from her lips at the near-dreamy look that flooded his eyes. Her mouth latched onto his earlobe and nibbled, pulling him back down to her. “Wanna get started on that?”

“You mean, do I wanna leave this nice, warm bed, get thoroughly unnaked, an’ go out to kill things?”

“We can come back here and get re-naked after.”

Spike sighed and slipped his hand back over her mark. “Or we can give us something to look forward to.”

Rational thought abandoned her. There was absolutely no way to think rationally while his fingers were stroking her skin. “Ohhh…” Buffy moaned, releasing his earlobe and stretching her arms around his neck as his mouth fell to her throat. “Ohh…you’re…being very…bad.”

“Want me to stop?”

“No. No! Want good touchies.”

Spike chuckled, his lips making their way back to hers. He gave her the universe with his kiss. And there was a forever of kisses ahead of her. A forever of universes. A forever of kissing him.

Something told her that forever wouldn’t be enough.

“Then good touchies,” he murmured, “my girl shall have.”

To be continued

Chapter 51 by Ameeya

Chapter 51

“So he’s meeting you this afternoon?”

Buffy nodded happily, crossing her arms over her chest. Again, she was adorned with one of Spike’s tees. Again, his jeans were hanging off her hips. She knew she looked like a complete wreck—mostly thanks to Cordelia’s numerous observations—but she couldn’t care less. She was only here to collect assignments and attend the Scooby meeting, anyway. It wasn’t like there was anyone to impress.

Especially considering the way Spike had drooled and panted over her as he attempted to keep her from dressing that morning.

Willow arched a brow and crossed her arms, leaning against the row of lockers as Buffy worked her combination. “Your mother didn’t call me in a panic last night,” she said. “Why didn’t your mother call me in a panic last night?”

A blush warmed the Slayer’s skin. “Spike and I dropped by the house last night,” she said, trying to fit her math book into her locker. “It was very…odd and formal and weird. Maybe I let Spike do the talking because he’s ancient and much more able to be grown-up about the ‘being my eternal boyfriend’-type thing. He became all…old English. Like ‘do I have permission to court your daughter’ type old English.”

Willow wrinkled her nose in surprise. “That doesn’t sound like Spike.”

“I was very much on the far side of wigged,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “But it worked. And he did this cute little avoidy-of-the-eye-contact thing when we started on our way back to his crypt. Like he was all embarrassed.”

“That really doesn’t sound like Spike.”

Buffy just shrugged. “Other than the trying-to-kill-us, Will, you don’t know him very well. There’s a whole different Spike that you don’t know.”

“There’d almost have to be.” Willow beamed at the embarrassed look on her friend’s face. “So everything’s okay? With the…I mean you were all Ms. Excited when you got here and there were some blabbery could-be words, so I’m guessing—”

“He loves me.”

“That was one of the things I deciphered.” The redhead nodded proudly. “I’m good like that.”

“We’re mated.”

“See, that much I don’t really get.”

“There was no spell. There was…there was never a spell.” Buffy swallowed hard, and they turned together toward the direction of the library. People would be gathering there by now, and she was more than eager to see Spike. God, this feeling was so familiar, though larger than anything she’d ever experienced. The agony of the empty minutes between the time when she was with him again. “Spike was…it was all real. All of it.”

“Even the random bouts of lusty…confusion?”

Buffy shrugged. “Well…normal…as in, Spike claimed me the night he was all with the kidnappy. A-and the random bouts of lusty confusion are normal for people who…get claimed and don’t know it.”

“Not know it? How do you not know when you’re getting claimed?” Willow blinked and frowned. “Ummm…what’s getting claimed?”

She grinned coyly. “It’s a vampire thing.”

“That much I figured.”

“He bit me…the night that…with the slayer-grabbing…he bit me. A-and I don’t…I kept it from everyone.” She stopped and met Willow’s inquisitive eyes. “I mean it. Everyone. Not even Spike knew. A-and I would’ve told you, but after that whole bogus pregnancy-thing, it just…and it was mine.” She stopped again; her friend’s uninterrupty-silence was beginning to make her flustered. “I didn’t know that the bite was special. It was mine and I liked it and I wanted it to be only mine. And then Angel and Giles started with the questions…about bites…and the more they asked, the more I wanted to keep it to myself. And—”

Willow held up a hand. “Buffy. Do you think I’m…mad at you? For not telling me?”

“I…well…”

“Not. Not even. Hey, as I see it, I’m lucky to have been in the know at all. E-especially with that whole…pregnancy-blunder-telling-of-Cordelia.” She shrugged. “I’m happy that you kept me in the loop after the…stuff I did that deserved to be left out of the loop.”

“Well, to be honest, I thought so for a while.” Buffy smiled awkwardly and shrugged. “But then I had all this stuff I needed to tell someone, and you were the only one that I would ever tell. Plus, with the already knowing about me and Spike. That helped bunches.”

Willow nodded. “I try to be helpful...” She paused. “And so…you’re claimed.”

“Uh huh.”

“And that’s…a very good thing, right?”

A warm light filled Buffy’s eyes. “Oh, Will. It’s fantastic. It’s…” She sighed happily. “It’s wonderful.”

“No more mopey I’m-not-dating-Spike-but-what-should-I-wear-on-my-date-with-Spike?”

“No more. Just full-on giddy-as-a-schoolgirl Buffy who will be telling you massively dirty stories…except the ones that are too private or…dirty.” She winced. “I’m gonna try to get Spike to come with me to the Bronze tonight. I want him…with my friends. And I know Xander will pull a massive wig and he won’t be able to look at or talk to me for a while.”

“Which reminds me…I gotta have Giles do the un-delusting spell.” Willow flushed and ducked her head in embarrassment. “Yeah. I give up. Xander’s a giant weasel, but he doesn’t deserve my meanness. Though it has come in handy…”

“You’re finally gonna undo the delust? And what if the lust starts up again?”

The redhead shrugged. “Have you remind me how much I adore Oz? I-I really think the lust…it was only there because…childhood crush issues a-and being very confused. But Xander is swine. Smelly, ookie swine. And, being Jewish, I just don’t find him kosher.”

Buffy nodded. “Good for you, Wills.”

“Well, the Xander-hate worked for some things. I gave him a talking to about you and your decisions. Well, not so much a talking to as I threatened him.” She flashed an innocent smile and shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s gonna help him deal, but I tried.”

“And that means a lot. A whole lot,” Buffy assured her. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s just gonna have to deal. Being of the claimed? Not much with the options. And even if it was, I love Spike. And he knows it. And he’s all—”

“Spike’s here.”

Buffy looked up sharply, her eyes darting rapidly from one end of the hall to the next. “He is? Where? I don’t see him.”

Willow rolled her eyes and wrapped her hand around her friend’s arm, dragging her to the library door and pointing through the window. “In there.”

“Oh.” Oh. “Of course. I knew that.”

The redhead arched a brow. “Uh huh.”

Buffy just glanced down sheepishly. Okay, so she didn’t know how to play it cool. She was a big massive failure at playing it cool.

And why should she? Spike was here.

Playing it cool was not even on her radar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike rolled his eyes and took a quick survey of his surroundings. He was with the sodding Watcher; there ought to be some stakes lying around. Or a nice, sharp, axe. A crossbow would do. Didn’t rightly matter as long as it was sharp or pointy. All he needed was something to swing or throw at Angel the next time the overgrown ponce looked at him like that. Like he was a disease, and he couldn’t wait to give Buffy the cure. The stupid wanker was going to get a nice sliver of wood right through the chest, or a swift decapitation. Whichever was easier provided the available weaponry.

“Oi. Watcher.” Spike took a pronounced step away from his grandsire and shivered. “What’s this overgrown ponce doing here, anyway?”

Giles snickered appreciatively, drawing a book off the top shelf in the caged-off section of the library. “Bloody good question, if you ask me.”

“Hey!” Angel waved. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yeh, mate.” Spike arched a brow and slid a hand into his duster pocket for his fags. His search turned up nothing. Must have forgotten to slip the new pack into his pocket. Bloody figured. Just when he could really use something in his mouth. “That’s the problem.”

“When Buffy gets here—”

It took much effort to refrain from tearing the git’s head off for daring to speak Buffy’s name. He should get a medal for his restraint. “When Buffy gets here,” he growled, his voice strained, “she’ll say the same bloody thing. Only don’ expect her to be as calm as I am.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re real proud of what you’ve done to her, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly as proud as she is, mate.”

“You—”

Spike lowered his head, glowering. “Oi. Watch it. Don’t make me stake you jus’ to see how li’l Buffy won’t care. Had to talk the poor li’l twig down from sticking something nice an’ pointy in your chest for the…oh, what was that? Trying to get her killed.”

“I was trying to help,” Angel replied, his eyes darkening. “And you’re an idiot if you think I would have ever let anything happen to her.” He paused. “No. Check that. You’re just an idiot. The Cruciamentum is notoriously cruel and barbaric. Do you really think that the Council would have gone any softer? Do you really think that they would’ve done anything differently? Do you really think that Kralik was the worst thing they could’ve thrown at her?”

There was a quiet minute as Spike considered, his brows flickering upward in interest. “Well, when you put it that way…” He snarled and stormed over, reveling in the smack of Angel’s dainty flesh as his fist sank into the poofter’s eye. “You touch her again, an’ I’ll make sure your ashes are scattered at each corner of the globe.”

“I’ll be happy to help,” Giles offered cheerfully.

“There just aren’t enough words to express how much I hate the both of you,” Angel grumbled.

Spike gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his unbeating heart. “Peaches. You wound.”

“Spike—”

“Spike!”

His head whipped up just in time to see a blur of blonde hair flying through the library’s swinging doors. And instantly, his anger vanished, his scowl melting into a warm smile. Angel was immediately forgotten.

Buffy was here.

“Spike.” The next thing he knew, he had an armful of warm, vibrant slayer, her hands cupping his cheeks and dragging his mouth down to hers. And he melted into her kiss, his hands slipping down her sides, grasping her ass to grind her into his growing erection. He heard Angel’s disgusted sigh and Giles’s quick shuffling to make himself as busy as possible. He would have thought himself filled with warmth at the idea that she would snog him so liberally in front of her chums, but the second her lips touched his, the world melted away.

“I missed you,” she whimpered, sucking his lower lip into her sweet mouth. “It’s been—”

“Forever,” he agreed, nipping at her tongue. “At least three hours.”

“Three and a half, but who’s counting?”

Giles cleared his throat. Loudly. “Ummm…if you two…could just…separate for a second.”

“Sod off,” Spike growled threateningly into her mouth, grinding her against his erection, “we’re busy.”

Angel shrugged and marched forward. “Hey. I’ll help.”

“Try it,” Buffy murmured between kisses, “and I’ll scatter your ashes all over the globe.”

Spike pulled back at that, his eyes shining brightly. “Hey, that’s what I said.”

“Yeah?” she asked, leaning in to nibble on his lower lip again.

“Not two bloody minutes ago.”

“Nifty!” She kissed the corner of his mouth before swallowing him with her lips again. “We must be linked or something.”

“Mystical forces.”

“Some sort of ancient binding ritual.”

“Say,” Spike mused, brushing his lips across her cheek, then again at the pulse point of her throat. “You think it’s possible that our blood is tied together for all eternity?”

“Quite possible.”

The redheaded pipsqueak at the head of the library made a noise that sounded a lot like the sounds Dru used to make at cute, fuzzy animals before she gutted them.

“Awww. Aren’t they cute?”

Angel growled and the small little awww sounds vanished. “Well,” Willow amended, fidgeting. “They are.”

“She’s wearing Spike’s clothes again,” the old sod grumbled, pouting.

“Umm, yeah,” the redhead agreed, arching a brow. “A-and you’re surprised?”

Giles blinked rapidly, studiously avoiding turning his eyes to the blond couple that seemingly couldn’t take their hands off each other, and flashed Willow a weak smile. “Angel seems to be in a perpetual state of denial,” he said. “Every time he sees something regarding Buffy’s…closeness to Spike, he reacts as though it is, well, news.”

“I do not,” Angel grumbled.

“Yeah, all your posturing suggests nothing but warmth and puppies,” Willow retorted dryly. “I really don’t see the big, here. I mean, if you’re gonna scream about the whole vampire thing, I gotta say, look in the mirror.” She paused. “Or, you know, don’t. Because that won’t work…because of the vampire thing. Point is that there is serious pot/kettle stuff going on a-and Spike saved Buffy’s life after you endangered it and they’re all with the claimy goodness. Plus they’re in love. You know what in-love Buffy is like.”

“Bloody unreasonable,” Spike drawled, affectionately tugging at Buffy’s earlobe with his teeth. “Not a chit I would fancy pissing off. Savvy?”

Giles cleared his throat. Hard. “Perhaps you two would be kind enough to…stop touching one another inappropriately. After all, this meeting is to discuss the new…order of things. I think Buffy’s newly…claimed state will be easier for everyone to accept if there isn’t so much…”

“Groping?” Willow ventured.

“Fondling?” Angel growled.

“Erm. Touching,” Giles concluded, his glasses sliding seamlessly off his nose and landing in the hem of his shirt. “Buffy?”

“Xander and Cordy will be here in a second,” Willow agreed, nodding. “And Oz.”

The Watcher nodded. “And probably Faith, at some point.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, joy,” she spat. “Speaking of people who need their asses handed to them.”

Angel sighed. “Buffy…”

“No, I really don’t need a lecture from you. Now or ever.” Her hands slid down Spike’s arms. “We’re here to get with the program, right? Or help others…get with it. Then Spike and I are going to patrol. Then…” She flashed her lover a timid look and shuffled her feet. “I-I was hoping you…and I…we could Bronze it? You know, try to make some gang time so they feel more comfortable with the you and me that is…us.”

Spike grinned. She was so bloody cute when she was trying to play it coy. Did she honestly think there was even a snowman’s chance in hell that he’d say no? That he’d deny her anything? Her chums were important to her. Very important. And he knew it was vital that they understand. Not just the redhead, who seemed to be taking everything very well. There was the boy, and the cheerleader, and the wolf. She needed her friends happy. As much as the thought appealed to him, Spike knew that she couldn’t be all his all the time.

Therefore, if Buffy wanted to go dancing, he’d take her dancing. And he’d get her so bloody hot and bothered that she’d be begging him to take her to bed…or to the nearest dark corner. Which ever was more convenient.

“Right then,” he purred. “Whatever you want, pet. I’m at your disposal.”

“So we Bronze?”

“If that’s what you want.”

God, he loved putting that light into her eyes. That shine of happiness. That glow. She was so lovely. Christ, she was…well, for lack of a better word, effulgent. His effulgent goddess.

She was all his.

Something Spike was about to demonstrate with another hefty bout of snogging when the library doors swung open once more.

Speaking of the Scoobies. All three of them, right in a row. The whelp with the cheerleader and the wolf on either shoulder. How was that for bloody timing?

“So, what’s the what? Cordy keeps trying to tell me that Buffy’s really pregnant this time, but that just lost all its…hey.” Xander stopped, frowning, his eyes going wide. “What’s Buffy doing all cuddly with the undead…again?”

Willow rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Xander, do you selectively block out what I tell you?”

He smiled weakly, obviously confused.

“I told you.” Cordelia offered an indignant huff. “No one ever listens to me. She’s pregnant again.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “In order for me to be pregnant again, I’d have to have been pregnant a first time. There was no pregnancy. There was a fleeting bout of stupidity-laced panic. No demonic Elvis-impersonator lovechild. Okay? And Spike’s here because…well…”

Angel crossed his arms, his brows perking.

“Well…we’re dating. Only…permanently. Spike loves me. I love Spike. We did some serious mojo without knowing it and we’re kinda, umm, linked. But we’re happy about it. As in sublimely. Because we love each other.” As though to emphasize the love part, Buffy edged closer to Spike and wrapped her arms around his middle. Then her voice hardened—the small, frightened girl vanishing in the face of the woman she’d become. “And if you’re not okay with that, you’re free to leave. Now.”

There was a long, quiet moment. Xander blinked hard, his hands coming up in a show of neutrality. “Points for being okay with it,” he said. “Way I see it…anyone who rescues the Buffster from a souled-but-morally-ambiguous Angel has serious marks in the Xan-Man’s book. I’m not saying I understand it but—”

Buffy quirked a brow. “Willow threatened you?”

Willow beamed, oddly proud of herself.

The whelp nodded, not missing a beat. “And considering how much I haven’t been on her list of Most Favoritist People, I think I wanna keep my…parts intact. So…” He offered Spike a halfhearted wave. “Welcome to the show that never ends.”

He nodded, confused but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the Slayer’s friends were going to accept him literally with a smile and a nod, he’d take it. After all, it meant the world to Buffy. “Thanks, mate.”

“Here without bias. Want to keep my parts,” Xander affirmed with yet another nod.

Buffy nodded appreciatively, turning her eyes to Cordelia and Oz. “You guys want to weigh in?”

“I really don’t care what happens,” Cordelia replied, shrugging apathetically. “As long as the words killing and spree are far from the picture, you can screw the dead as much as you want.”

The Slayer wrinkled her nose. “Um. Thanks. I think.” She turned to Oz. “And you?”

He shrugged. “As Willow goes, so goes my nation.”

Buffy cracked a smile. “That sounds vaguely familiar,” she mused, tightening her arms around Spike’s middle. “Hey. Look at this.”

He grinned and kissed her cheek. “An’ you were worried.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t say anything. Instead, she just rested her head at his shoulder as her chums settled in around them. He felt her heart beating against him, felt her pulse racing under his touch. Felt her life thrum beneath his fingertips.

Her warmth. Her life. Her purity. It burned him, but he didn’t dust.

Not with her at his side.

With Buffy, he lived.

To be concluded

Chapter 52 by Ameeya

Author’s Note: Wow. Well, this is the end, folks. Thank you so, so much to all my incredibly wonderful readers for making this ride as fun as you did. Your enthusiasm has been overwhelming, and I’m so completely grateful to everyone.

Right now, I’m going to have to say that this is very much the end. Unless my muse decides to gift me with an interesting idea for a sequel, I think I’ve milked this plotline as much as I can. I’m very much invested in other story ideas right now (about seven of them…*kicks stupid muse*). It’s going to be a while before I add any of my projects to the archives, though. While my muse is in hyperdrive, it’s taken a few brutal beatings recently and I want to get a good amount of material written before I start posting.

The good news? I’m more than halfway through my next fic. *bounce* It’s gonna be rather short, but hey, at least I’m halfway through it.

In the meantime, I invite anyone who wants notification of when I have a new story out, or just chapter updates, to join my mailing list.

Again, thank you guys so, so much for your enthusiasm and your support. You’ve completely blown me away. I never expected the response to this story to be so explosive. Thank you SO MUCH.

And a huge thanks to Megan and Meredith for all your help with this story. You guys are invaluable. *snuggles* Thank you!

Chapter 52

It was amazing what a few weeks could do. Standing in front of the mirror, naked, Buffy frowned and tilted her head. Nothing had changed. Every mark that should mar her body was all with the marring. There was a thin hair of a scar just over her belly—the last of her birthday-bash wounds. A rather pronounced series of hickeys ran across her neck, and of course, there was the claim mark on her inner thigh. Nothing had changed. No, nothing had changed at all.

But something was different. Something was very different, and she couldn’t tell what.

And really, what was there to go off of? Her stomach was as flat as ever—flatter, even, for all the extra slayage workouts she’d been getting. Plus, her daily regimen now included hours of hot monkey loving with her gorgeous, albeit slightly morally ambiguous vampire of a mate. So, yes. Other than being slightly thinner and having a healthy lots-of-sex glow warming her skin, there was nothing that should ostensibly be different.

Maybe it was the lighting. The last time she’d checked herself out, she’d done so right before hopping in the shower. Right now, she was in mid-preparation for her patrol-date and subsequent Bronzing—only she hadn’t gotten further than the removal of her school garb. Her reflection had caught her eye, and whether by curiosity or something much naughtier, she’d felt compelled to give herself the once-over again. And something was different.

The lighting? No. This wasn’t a cosmetic thing. It wasn’t like she was checking out her pores or looking for unsightly blemishes. Hell, she had Cordelia for that. No, something was different. Something was very different.

Then again, she wasn’t feeling as lost and confused as she had the last time she’d surveyed herself in the mirror. Perhaps that was it. She wasn’t lost anymore. Spike kept her thoroughly and wonderfully found. And she wasn’t confused. Big no to confused. If anything, Buffy hadn’t felt so certain about anything in all her life.

She frowned and worried a lip between her teeth, lifting her breasts to further her inspection. No, nothing different there. No bigger. No smaller. The only thing that had changed in her boobs was the amount of attention they received now. Spike loved playing with her nipples, almost as much as he loved sucking on her claim mark. He made a nightly thing of it—trying to see how much she could take before she begged him stop. In which case, her begging only caused his efforts to redouble.

Then again, Buffy thought with a smirk, fair was fair. She’d definitely had loads of fun letting him know firsthand how good it felt to have the claim mark played with. She loved hearing him babble and melt and moan helplessly under her caress. It made her feel womanly. It made her feel…

Buffy blinked and met her reflection’s eyes. That was it. That was the change. Of course that was it.

Being with Spike—being his mate and his lover and his slayer and, well, his—it made her feel like a woman. Not a girl. Not an organic weapon against evil. She was female—through and through. And she could be the woman with him and the Slayer when the world needed saving. She could be both. Spike had shown her both.

Spike had shown her so much.

Buffy’s eyes raked down her reflection. She was astonished at what a few simple weeks could do. How she could have ever looked at herself in the mirror and not know her body as well as she did now. Her skin no longer felt borrowed. The tingly nerves that buzzed whenever she was aroused were no longer foreign. Her body no longer felt like a stranger’s. No, Spike had taught her to know her body well. He’d made it hers—he’d given her form as a woman rather than simply a slayer.

She remembered, a lifetime ago, standing in front of the bathroom mirror and wondering what it was that had driven a drunken Spike to see her as anything but the Slayer. How he could have, inebriated as he was, found her remotely desirable. And though her confidence in her sexuality was on the rise, her stomach still coiled in uncertainty from time to time. She wondered how he could see her as anything other than plain. How he could see her at all.

When she spoke of her fears, Spike would stare at her in wonder. “I can’t understand how you don’ know how gorgeous you are,” he’d whispered the night before, cupping her breasts with near reverence. “I could spend hours jus’ looking at you. Taking you in.” He’d pressed his lips to her flat stomach, his mouth wandering southward slowly until he was worshipping his claim mark, his fingers slipping inside her slick pussy. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Buffy trembled and sighed, her eyes falling to the claim mark. It was so small. So lovely. How was it that something so small could give her the whole world? She had absolutely no idea. She didn’t know how a bite could become something precious just by whispering a word. She didn’t know.

She didn’t know how such a small mark could mean so much. It just did.

She licked her lips, spreading her legs and gently running her fingers over the bite. Her insides rushed with lust and her legs wobbled. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, her head rolling back. “Spike…”

His fingers materialized from nowhere, sliding down her arms and curling around her wrists, pulling her gently until her back was pressed against a strong, familiar chest. “Starting without me, pet? That’s cheating.”

Buffy gasped, her knees buckling. She would have fallen on her butt had Spike not held her upright. Damn. And she thought she was past this. “Oh…”

“Not that I don’ appreciate the free show, luv, but I was hopin’ you’d let me have the honor of stroking you tonight.”

She moaned in protest, her head collapsing wearily against his shoulder. “The floor just never opens and swallows you when you want it to.”

Spike chuckled, his hands slowly moving up her torso until he was palming her breasts. She watched the play in the mirror. Watched her skin shiver under the presence of an unseen touch. She watched her reflection gasp and arch, invisible lips skating up and down her throat, Spike’s left hand dropping between her legs to cup her pussy.

“This…is just…weird,” she ground out.

“Weird?”

She waved at the mirror. “Me…with the…no you.”

“We need one of those cameras, pet. Those instant-photo gizmos of modern novelty?” He chuckled into her skin, spreading her pussy lips apart and dipping his middle and index fingers inside her warmth. “We could plaster the walls with gorgeous, naughty pictures of you…with me.”

“Unh…”

“An’ call it what you want, Slayer,” Spike continued, nudging her head with his until her gaze was fixed on the mirror again. “I find this…”

She rolled her eyes and thrust her ass back against his erection. “I know just how you find it.”

“My dirty li’l minx knows me so well.”

“You’re a perv. What’s to know?”

He chuckled again, his fingers slowly slipping out of her wet passage. “That standin’ starkers in your room when your very shaggable honey’s on his way over isn’t exactly the best game plan if you’re lookin’ to be on time to stake us some baddies t’night.” He pinched her clit and grinned when she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. Then he was urging her to face him, taking her face in his hands and claiming her mouth in an eager, ardent kiss. And Buffy melted on the spot. He kissed her like the world was ending—always. He kissed her, and the ground moved.

“Spike…”

“Your mum’s out, isn’t she?” he asked heatedly between kisses, helping her shove his duster off his shoulders before turning his hands to his belt as she tugged his t-shirt over his head.

Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to focus on anything aside from his wicked mouth, let alone try and do anything with hers that didn’t involve sucking on his tongue. “I…uhhh…”

“Wanna know how quiet we have to be,” he explained in a soft growl, kicking off his boots. “Wanna know if I’m gonna have to wait till later to hear you scream for me.”

“She’s out.”

An eager grin tickled his lips. “Good.”

“We should…really…go…” Buffy shoved him onto her bed, dropping to her knees in front of him to tug his jeans down his legs. Her eyes flashed when his cock bobbed free, and before she could stop herself, she had her lips wrapped around his silky head, her nails lightly scratching at the proud claim mark on his thigh.

“Oh fucking hell!” Spike roared and vamped, fingers threading through her hair to hold her to him as he drove himself deeper down her throat. “Oh bleeding…that’s it, baby. God, such a hot li’l mouth.”

Buffy grinned coyly and slowly slid her lips off him. She dutifully ignored his whimper of protest, her hand curling around his length as her mouth turned to the bite mark. “I better call someone,” she murmured, her tongue lapping at his sensitive flesh, her grin widening with every pleasure-tinged gasp that tore through his throat. “Let them know to not send a search party.”

“Buffy…” He fisted her hair and arched her neck back until she locked gazes with his demon. And God, even then, even with bumpies and fangs, he could not hide from her. She saw love behind the burning yellow in his eyes. She saw tenderness. She saw poetry. She saw a man—her man—entwined with the monster that loved her. And her heart swelled.

“Get up here,” he murmured, his tongue running down one of his fangs.

“You don’t want me to play?” she asked, batting her eyes innocently, lowering her head to sample the bite mark again. The tortured moan that hissed through his teeth burned her alive. “I thought you liked it when I played.”

“When exactly did you become a sodding dominatrix?”

She arched a brow. “Is that what I am? I thought I had to have whips or chains or something. And ewww!”

Spike perked a brow, his hands curling under her shoulders to haul her up the length of his body, reclining until his back was pressed against the mattress and she was sprawled on top of him. “You’re tellin’ me you don’ fancy the idea a little?” he asked, gently easing her up. “Me, chained to the bed? Lettin’ you have your wicked way with me? It’d be bloody appropriate, I think.”

“Letting me have my wicked way with you?” she echoed, arching a brow. “If you’re chained to the bed, you’ll be doing very little letting.” Buffy paused, inching her way up his body at the gentle prodding of his hands. “What are you—”

“Come here, baby.” And then she saw his intent, and her skin flushed wildly. He wanted her to straddle his face. Oh God, he wanted her—that part of her—there. There was no way she wasn’t going to Hell for this. “Kitty wants some cream.”

“You are so nasty.” The words lacked bite—or anything, really. Buffy worried a lip between her teeth, her hands reaching for the linen as Spike’s talented tongue parted her pussy lips and gave her a good lick. “Oh God.”

He chuckled. And though it occurred to her that she should slap him several times for finding her so amusing in a not-so-flattering way, she really didn’t care why he was laughing as long as the vibrations felt like that. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked her into his mouth, plunging two fingers inside her channel as his right hand curled around her hip to lazily stroke the claim mark.

This was not fair. It was not fair that he could manipulate her body so smoothly.

“God, I love your taste,” he whispered. Her blush deepened and she looked down, her eyes catching his. And he watched her so intently that she forgot what he was doing until the length of his fang grazed her clit. Her body jolted and she jerked with a compulsive rush of ecstasy and fear. He wouldn’t hurt her, of course. He would never hurt her. But knowing that he could—now, especially—so easily, made the entire experience that more illicit. More…

“Delicious,” he whispered, and she smiled, lovingly running her fingers over his brow ridges.

Spike’s eyes fluttered shut and he trembled hard. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he slowly eased her down his body again, until his hard cock was caressing her backside. He wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, then tugged her down for a soft kiss. She moaned, teasing his fangs with her tongue, pricking herself intentionally so that her blood spilled down his throat. And when he whimpered and growled into her, every nerve in her body positively hummed.

“Tell me,” he whispered against her lips as she positioned him at her opening. “Tell me you love me, Buffy. Like this.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his face, his amber eyes swallowing her whole. “Tell me you love me.”

God, he was going to make her cry again. Buffy inhaled sharply and sank onto his cock, fusing their bodies together in bliss. “I love you,” she gasped. “I love you. It…it happened so slowly.” She sucked in another deep breath, rose and fell. The feel of his cock sliding inside her was another sensation that would never lose its novelty. Every time felt like the first—only not, because every time, she fell more and more into him. She became more a part of him. And in that, the world of firsts was opened to a world of forevers. Forever with him would never be enough. “But I still don’t…I don’t remember not loving you, Spike. I know there was a time…that I…” She threw her head back and sighed, rotating her hips and finding a slow, cadenced rhythm. “I know it happened…but I…I don’t…remember it.”

His hand cupped her cheek, persuading her eyes open. “Really?” he asked softly.

Buffy blinked hard, but she couldn’t stop her tears. Stupid vampire. What was the deal with making her cry out of happiness, of all things? She so wasn’t used to this. “Really,” she murmured, leaning forward until her breasts were pressed intimately against his chest, moaning as his cock surged deeper within her, and caressed his mouth with hers. “Really, really.”

“You amaze me,” Spike murmured, his back arching off the bed, his hands clutching at her thighs. “You absolutely amaze me. Oh, Christ. Buffy. Jus’ like that.” He whimpered, his fangs receding as the man chased the demon away. It was, perhaps, one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. Watching his monster helplessly melt away at her touch.

She smiled softly, licking at his throat, rotating her hips. “I try,” she replied, sitting up again, pressing her palms to his chest as she began to ride him in earnest. “Ohhh…Spike…”

“God, you’re beautiful.” Spike’s eyes flickered, his fingers sliding up her sides. “Love watching you. Love watching those lovely li’l titties of yours bounce for me. Love watching your quim swallow me. Oh God, yeh, that’s gorgeous, that is.”

Buffy whimpered and tossed her head back, bouncing on his cock. The air around her filled with the smacks of their flesh colliding, the headboard rocking against the wall each time he drove back into her. “Spike…”

He tugged her down for another burning kiss, his other hand sliding between them. “Bloody well undo me,” he purred, giving her clit a good tap before flipping her over. He seized her wrists and pinned them to the mattress beside her head, a predatory growl tumbling through his throat. “Oh, yes. That’s it. God, Buffy…you feel so good. Squeezing me. Squeeze me jus’ like that.”

She flushed and clenched her slayer muscles, her arms breaking free of his hold and wrapping determinedly around his neck. “You, too.”

He pressed his lips to her shoulder, shuddering. “Tell me?”

“I love you.”

“Tell me what I do to you.” He stretched his hands under her shoulders, grasping her tightly as the pace of his thrusts increased. “Tell me. Tell me.”

Buffy blinked rapidly, her heart jumping into her throat. She didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t know how to be the talker during sex. She didn’t know how to vocalize what he did to her—how wonderful he felt inside her. Anything she pieced together sounded cheesy and clichéd to her soap-opera trained ears. But if Spike wanted to know what he did to her—if he needed her to say it—she would try. After everything he’d done for her, it was the least she could do. “You feel…” she moaned and sighed again. “I love the way…you feel.”

“Mmm.” He brushed his lips against her collarbone, then at the swell of her breast. “Do you?”

“Y-yes.”

He purred his encouragement, his thrusts exploding into a frenzy. He pounded her into the mattress, panting against her breast as his left hand broke away from her shoulder to slide between their thrusting bodies again. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and clutched at him. And when his fingers reached the place where they were joined them, she couldn’t hold back her pleasured cry. All coherency vanished in a blink. She tried blindly to form words—she blurted out every feeling her nerves touched. She wanted so bad to give him what he wanted. What he needed.

“Spike—”

He was massaging her clit speedily, his balls slapping her ass with every drive. “You’re so warm,” he panted. “So bleeding hot. My girl. My girl an’ her hot, fiery li’l quim. Squeeze me like that. Squeeze me so…oh yeah.”

“Uhhh, Spike—”

“I love you.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder, his bumpies bursting forward again. He nudged her cheek with his ridges, his fangs gliding across her jugular. “I love you, Buffy.”

“Love you.”

He pinched her clit and sliced his fangs into her golden skin, and she exploded around him. She exploded and the room fell away. The ceiling blinked out and she was blanketed with stars. His name tore off her lips, her body trembling hard, her nails digging into his biceps. And that was it. Spike growled as he spilled himself inside her, his tongue lapping sweetly at her skin as the rumble lulled into a low purr.

He buried his head in the crook of her neck and whimpered. “Mine. You’re mine, Buffy. All mine.”

She shivered and nipped at his earlobe. “I am.”

He sighed contentedly, licking at her skin. “An’ I’m yours. Forever an’ ever, luv. I mean it.”

He did. She heard it. She felt it. They had forever in front of them. An eternity in his arms. Forever.

Though something told her that forever wouldn’t be long enough. Forever could never be long enough.

It was, however, a very good start.

The End

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