squawks 05/18/17 04:16 am pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories! pj 03/20/17 01:20 am 10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well. Rabbit_moon1 12/23/16 01:12 pm I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up! AudryDaluz1 10/06/16 08:34 am Great post. Chrissel 08/31/16 03:45 pm And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;) Chrissel 08/31/16 03:43 pm Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
A/N1: Snippet of dialogue from “Something Blue.” The poem is Sonnet 145 by William Shakespeare. The title interprets the last part of the sonnet.
A/N2: Thank you to Blacknblue2 for another beta! Also, thanks go out to Hollydb for her insight and suggestions, Bloodshedbaby and Redwulf50 for their read through.
Revised 7/31/05 ~ Corrected some plot errors that were pointed out to me.
‘She will come for me.’
‘She will come for me.’
‘She will come for me.’
Spike kept repeating that mantra over and over again. He knew the ‘Buffy’ in front of him was just a figment – the ubervamp not so much. In a sadistic way, he longed for the days of Glory. Hell, at this point, he would welcome the ‘soft’ touch of Angelus.
His wounds weren’t healing, as they should; he knew that. How much longer could he last? His soul and his demon longed for his Slayer – his Buffy to come for him. She’d told him she believed in him. She would come for him.
She came for him! The wounds on her face spoke of a battle, but it was her eyes that drew him in. Sorrowful, yet filled with determination. She had found him, and released him from his bonds. With the utmost gentleness, she wrapped her delicate, powerful arm around him and allowed him to lean on her for support. He hated to do that – to show weakness – but the feel of her next to him assuaged his pride.
Buffy reminded herself to stay strong – he couldn’t see her weak, not in his state. Spike wouldn’t like it. Tears had threatened to well up when she first had entered the cave and saw his beautiful frame all marred and broken. When he had become aware of her presence, she almost rejoiced – but then his words cut at her heart like the knife she still carried in her hand.
That look. He gave her that look again. Her heart leapt. So many times, she had seen the awe in his gaze, most notably when he realized that she wasn’t that silly bot – after Glory had tortured him so. He used to look at her the same way at times last year, when she was using him. Tonight, though, that look held so much more meaning.
Buffy found his weight on hers as they walked out of the cave comforting. She’d missed him. Being able to touch him, reassured her. While she would never admit this to anyone – and she would deny it, if anyone found out – Spike was her touchstone. During the summer, his absence from her life hurt, making her wake up and see that Spike had always been the one whom she could count on. Annoying as he could be, he knew her like no one else.
She had decided that the others shouldn’t see him like this – at least not until she could clean him up a little. Grabbing her cell, she hit a button and said, “Clem.” Spike shifted his weight, as if he was trying to figure out what she was doing. Clem answered after the second ring.
Spike heard his Slayer calling his ‘best friend.’ Although, frankly, he hadn’t been around the lovable demon since … damn, since he had left for Africa. Despite his acute hearing, he couldn’t make out what Clem was saying, but he did note what Buffy was telling him.
“Clem. Is the crypt available?”
He did hear Clem shout, “Spike?” In fact, Buffy held the phone away from her ear for a second.
“Yeah. I got him. Need a safe place for a bit.”
“Good. Oh, and Clem? Can we get a lift?”
“Not too far. We’ll meet you on the west side of the park. Yeah, there’ll be fine. Thanks.”
Out of the corner of his good eye, he watched as she shut her phone and slipped it into her back pocket, all the while continuing to help him move forward.
After what seemed like eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, they arrived at the edge of the park. Clem’s tiny, red VW beetle idled in front of them. He must look awful, because Clem’s expression made his face the tightest his loose skin could muster. His usual boisterous self was no longer evident. He was all business. Bloody hell, he must appear as bad as he felt.
Buffy helped Spike enter his old home; the place held so many memories. Clem had really worked on cleaning up the mess she had left it in after she had dropped Riley’s belt of grenades to the lower level. She knew that Spike hadn’t stepped foot in this place since the night he left – Clem kept her informed. She settled Spike in the new comfy chair, and then thanked Clem for getting everything ready.
Moving over to the kitchen area, Buffy found some cloths. She wet them in the sink that Clem had rigged. Then she opened the brown bag that Clem had given her before he departed. Three bags of O-Neg, a First-Aid kit, two rolls of heavy-duty bandages and a bottle of Jack – check. Grabbing the cloths, the bag, a mug, and a straw, she made her way back to her vampire. Spike appeared to be asleep, and while she knew he needed his rest, he required some attention before that happened.
“Hey, sleepy-head. I need you to look at me.” Buffy cooed, while she began to wash the dirt and blood off his still beautiful face. Sure, Angelus had been given that name because he had the looks of an ‘angel.’ But it was Spike who truly appeared to be a gift from Heaven. His hair was mussed with curls, framing his soft face. One deep, azure eye opened – the other tried but failed – and met hers.
“There you are.” Grabbing a bag, she tore it open and poured its contents into the mug. Placing a straw in it, she gently put the straw in his lips. “Just like old times…except without all the chains and the bathtub.” Buffy knew she was being overly bubbly, but she couldn’t help it. When he wasn’t sipping, she frowned. “Come on, Spike, you gotta drink.”
“No luv, it’s human.” Spike whispered, his voice dry and cracked.
“I know that. You need to heal. I need you to heal. Please, drink. For me?” She used the one weapon in her arsenal that she knew would never fail her – her pout.
Spike smelled the delicious aroma of human blood. So recently he had partaken in that forbidden pleasure under the control of the First. He couldn’t stomach it. Those people. Was she crazy? Taunting him like that. Had the First somehow gained form? Was this all a lie?
Her words broke through his train of thought. She ‘needed’ him to heal? Then, the pout. He couldn’t resist her pout. He began to sip, the precious fluid coating his throat. Spike didn’t realize how starved his actually was; the bloodlust took over – his soul was remarkably quiet.
Just as soon as he finished one mug, another bag was poured – then another. He was still famished. Spike craved more, but he dare not ask for any.
Her eyes filled with understanding. She picked up the bag and stood. “Do you think you can make it downstairs?” she asked.
“Nothing’s downstairs anymore, pet.”
“Yes, there is. Clem helped me restore it.” Buffy smiled.
Shock didn’t begin to cover his emotions. She had worked with Clem to clean up the lower level? Feeling somewhat better with three bags of blood in him, he tested his legs, finding them capable; he stood. “Let’s try.”
Candles had been lit, illuminating even the darkest of corners. A bed with crisp, red sheets filled the space where once his bed had been. Luxurious rugs topped the cool, earthen floor. He was amazed. And there before him stood his goddess.
Her hand took his, and she led him to the bed, sitting him down. She began washing his chest and back. Even though her touch was clinical, his mind whirled. She was willingly touching him again. She gently rubbed salve into the worst of his cuts, before bandaging his ribs.
What was she doing?
Buffy stood in front of her charge. It had been hard not to allow her fingers to wander during applying First-Aid, but she kept reminding herself that he was in no shape for that. She had used him last year to satisfy her own needs; she never wanted to ‘use’ him again.
He was so beautiful. She knew he was still hungry; his eyes displayed that hunger upstairs. His control overwhelmed her. He tensed in her examination of him. She knew he was trying to figure out what she was thinking. Smiling, she bent over and kissed his forehead.
“Let’s get you into bed, okay?” She hoped he didn’t pick up on her nervousness.
With a little assistance from her - she helped him remove his pants – his naked form gleamed in the candlelight. Her eyes raked over his body, causing her to wince when she saw the deep gashes. Yet despite those marks, his beauty could not be diminished. She had appreciated what his body could do to her last year, but she had never fully cherished his form. Like some sculpture in a museum, she wondered if he’d posed for any artists in the past.
What she was about to do would change everything. Buffy understood that and embraced that change. She wanted him to get that she truly believed in him – that he meant something to her – that he was important.
Buffy didn’t now when she first began to trust Spike. Was it when he had come to make a truce with her to stop Acathla? She had left him alone with her mother – the most precious person in the world to her, before Dawnie – for a bit, not once thinking that he would dare harm her mother. Or was it after the monks planted those memories of all those times he had cared for Dawn as a kid – protecting her and her Watcher from Angelus? Was it after he didn’t harm her mother, Willow, and Xander – well, he had knocked Xander out – but he didn’t kill them – when he returned to Sunnydale that first time?
While she never would have said it was trust, her actions spoke differently when she had brought her mother and her sister to Spike for safekeeping during Glory.
Spike had protected Dawn and even her from that sword that knight had plunged into the RV. He even almost saved Dawn from the tower. He kept his promise to her after her ‘death’ – staying with Dawn, caring for her, never leaving.
And even though Spike had almost forced himself on her last year in the bathroom – the summer had shown her, she had contributed to his confusion. She had told him no, but then engaged in the roughest of sex with him. While she would never, ever say she asked for it – she knew he would never say that either. She had seen his eyes afterwards – the shock, the pain, the confusion. All that led to Spike going to get a soul, so he would never hurt her again.
When he first returned, a mere touch of his shoulder to hers brought back both that moment in the bathroom and the desire for him to continue. She had been confused. Now, she wasn’t. Everything was clear. Yes, she trusted Spike. She just needed to show him that.
She knew he was watching her as she removed her shoes and pants. She left her shirt and undergarments on. He was in no condition for that type of ‘healing.’ Maybe later, but tonight wasn’t about sex. It was about her wanting to show him how she felt.
Spike held in a whimper as he watched her golden legs come into view. Those legs had once wrapped around his waist, bruising his sides, as she held him in place as he plunged into her depths. He let out an unneeded breath as she kept her top on. Though he longed to see her in all her beauty, he thought the worst torture would be for him to lie next to her and not be able to worship her properly.
His eyes followed as his Slayer crawled into the bed, her green eyes almost black with the soft lighting. Her hair, he noticed, was still tied back. Buffy propped herself on one elbow, and whispered, “Spike, I need you to listen and not interrupt, okay.”
Spike nodded as he waited for her next words.
“I need you. I want you to do something for me…well, it’s for me…but really it’s for you. Ummm. I want you to bite me.” The last words spoken so hurriedly, he almost missed them.
“Buffy?” His eyes widened. She couldn’t mean it. Two of her dainty fingers were placed on his lips; his tongue ached to escape his mouth and taste them.
Buffy continued, despite wanting to kiss those lips instead of putting her fingers on them. “Shhh. No interruptions, remember. Slayer blood is the best cure-all for vampires.” She saw his eyes dull. Damn, she’d said the wrong thing. She didn’t want him to think she wanted him to bite her just because.
“Spike, you know I don’t go around letting just anyone bite me. Well…the Master and Dracula weren’t planned. I didn’t want them to. They took advantage. Angel…”
Spike growled at her former lover’s name. Oops. She was really bad at the talking thing.
“’kay, no more talking. Talking and Buffy are not mixy.” He snorted, he actually snorted at her! She rolled her eyes. “Mister, you are so going to pay for that… later.”
She bent her neck toward him, seeing his eyes widened in surprise.
She wanted him to bite her neck?! He licked his lips in hunger and anticipation. He expected a wrist, not her neck. His bloodlust was dangerous; didn’t she know that?
“Luv, bloodthirsty, half-starved vampire here. Too dangerous. Might hurt you; and I don’t want to ever hurt you, love.” Spike tried to push her away. “Might drain you and not mean it.”
Serene eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “I trust you, Spike. You would never hurt me.” Buffy replied, continuing to bend down within the reach of his mouth.
“Buffy!” His soul soared at her words; his demon craved the blood and the woman. His demon assured him – never hurt the girl. Never again. She trusted him! Still he resisted, until….
She began running a finger up the curve of her neck. “Look at my poor neck. All bare and tender and exposed… all that blood just … pumping away…” She giggled. She remembered that time in the tub, before the engagement spell. So not fair.
Still in his human guise, he licked a vein over the marks left by that no-good welcher Dracula. She should never have to have that wanker’s marks on her. He teased and worked the skin above the vein ‘til it was right under the surface.
The smell of Buffy’s arousal wafted to his nose. He loved that aroma. Both the demon and the man in him were proud he could affect her so much by doing something so little.
Casting a look into his love’s face, he saw her eyes closed in pleasure. He shifted. Her eyes opened in that last moment he had paused to glance at her. She smiled, acceptance plain on her face. If his heart beat, it would have stopped at the sight. Buffy gave a slight nod, reassurance.
Spike returned to the slope of her neck, and gently sliced through her skin. He remembered that the chip didn't go off after she returned from Heaven, but after being in the presence of the First, he didn't want to take any chances. Never wanted hurt her. The fact that the chip didn’t fire comforted him.
The incredible elixir began to fill his mouth. His senses reeled at its potency. He’d tasted the power of the Slayer in China – but that blood was swill compared to Buffy’s. He moaned with pleasure as he continued to swallow. Surprisingly, his demon reined him in, allowing him only five mouthfuls. Reluctantly, he retracted his fangs and licked the wound closed.
His love’s eyes were still closed. The words of a sonnet by the Bard entered his mind. Those lips that Love's own hand did make Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate' To me that languish'd for her sake; But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was used in giving gentle doom, And taught it thus anew to greet: 'I hate' she alter'd with an end, That follow'd it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away; 'I hate' from hate away she threw, And saved my life, saying 'not you.'
Her hand still held the back of his head to her neck, and he kissed his marks.
Buffy felt that she had returned to Heaven. She was in bliss. She wanted more; his kiss to the marks sent shivers throughout her body.
Slowly she opened her eyes. One day, she promised herself, she would tell him.
She allowed Spike to lay her beside him – her back to his front. His arms caressed hers, lulling her to sleep.
Spike knew; he tasted in her blood that she no longer hated him – she genuinely cared. In the past, such a crumb would have been exploited. But now, he no longer felt the desire to rush her. He loved her. That was all that mattered.
She had come for him; she had given him the gift of her precious blood; she was his – regardless of any claim – she was his.
He was hers, and she had come for him.
**** The End
This site is not affiliated with big scary corporations that could sue my pants off, I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (though I desperately want Spike:) This site and its content is meant to entertain, not infringe:)