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Author's Corner

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Kiss From A Rose

By: Golden Buffy

Summary: Buffy visits Spike after his escape from Glory, posed as Buffy-Bot.

Disclaimer: Hey, Joss said to write fan fic, so I'm only following orders.

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Author's Notes: No archiving to sites unless you've e-mailed me and I've given my permission. Thanks to Just_Sue for doing another fab job! If you find any type-o's, I take full blame! I'm a tad late but this is a present for Bloody Tears of Life. Hope you enjoy sweetie! Title and quote taken from Seal's “Kiss From A Rose”.


“To me you're like a growing addiction that i can't deny.. yeah.

Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?”

Spike's body was unmoving as he rested on top of the sarcophagus. The crypt was shrouded in darkness, not a single candle had been lit. Just the way Spike wanted it. His eyes, even now partially swollen shut, black and blue, were extra sensitive to the intrusion of light. Spike's whole body ached, a silent witness to the torture that Glory had visited upon him. Closing his eyes and releasing a sigh, he let the cool fingers of sleep take him over.

Through his drifting mind Spike was faintly aware of his crypt door being slammed open. If it was that crazed bitch of a hell god, or her lackey minions, they were in luck. The bruised and battered vampire sprawled upon the coffin had no fight left in him.

The door flung open, slamming against the crypt wall with a loud thud. Buffy, who was assuming the role of that way wiggy bot strolled in as if she owned the place. Spotting Spike she strutted over to him, a slight but perky bounce to her step.

Coming to rest next to the casket, Buffy glanced down at the beaten vampire, for the first time really taking in the damage inflicted upon him. She cringed, reminding herself why she was there. She had to make sure that the bleached wonder didn't sell them out, or she'd make him fit into a dust buster, chip or not. The Slayer put on a bubbly yet flirty front and started her investigation.

“Spike! You're covered in sexy wounds,” Buffy chirped, again gazing over his body.

Completely sweeping the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, Spike cracked his bruised eyes open, getting a look at his new toy. “Yeah,” he began, sitting up slowly, “feel real sexy. Where you been?” he asked, his legs hanging over the side of the sarcophagus as he used his hands for support; wincing as a few broken bones scraped against each other in the process.

Buffy watched him sit up, his muscles straining under his skin. She found herself transfixed, unable to look away. Even battered and bruised Spike was pretty hot. 'Gah, could your mind be any more gutter Buffy? Here he is, the bane of your existence who could have sold your sister out to a hell god, and all you can do is ogle his way sexy body.' Vaguely aware that he had asked her something, Buffy desperately searched her mind for an answer.

“I fell down and got confused. Willow fixed me. She's gay,” Buffy supplied, staring at Spike with a blank look.

Surprised, the battered vampire looked up, “Red fixed you? I thought they'd melt you into scrap,” he replied as his shoulders slumped. He must have aggravated some more internal wounds, because Spike could taste blood in his mouth.

“They were confused too. Do you want to ravish me now?” the blonde finished with a bright smile, waiting for Spike's next move.

“Give us a minute,” Spike uttered, still very weak, “got some bones need mending.”

“Why did you let that Glory hurt you?” Buffy asked, looking at Spike with a hint of confusion. She really couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that Glory had hurt Spike, and badly. But, more importantly why did he let her?

“She wanted to know who the key was,” Spike stated matter of factly; he added a mental shrug for good measure, since he couldn't do it physically.

“Oh, well, I can tell her, then you'll...” Buffy trailed off turning to head out of the crypt. Spike's forceful “NO!” stopped her in her tracks.

“You can't ever. Glory must never know,” the vampire insisted as Buffy turned to face him once again.

Confused once more, Buffy questioned him, “Why?”

“Cause Buffy... the other, not so pleasant Buffy, anything happen to Dawn, it'd destroy her. I couldn't live... her bein' in that much pain. Let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did,” he finished barely a whisper followed by a cough. This whole conversation seemed to be zapping Spike's remaining energy, and he wanted to lie down, shut out the world and just heal. But he knew he had to explain to Buffy-bot just why he hadn't told Glory - or she might go and do something stupid.

Buffy was taken aback. Spike had refused to give that psychotic ho-biscuit any information as to who, and what, Dawn was. For that she was grateful, and then Buffy was hit with a thought. Call it an epiphany, or enlightenment, but what ever it was it hit her like a ton of bricks. She had heatedly denied Spike loved her, that he could even love her. Demons just couldn't love with the killing, and the no soul having. But Spike wasn't like other vampires; he always did the unthinkable. And if someone had come to Buffy just a day before and told her what Spike would do, she'd have laughed in their face and called them a liar. But here he was, sitting in front of her with the marks to prove his devotion to her.

He loved her.

And with that thought, Buffy's plan changed. Leaning forward she bent down, angling her neck to reach Spike's lips... and kissed him. Spike began to kiss Buffy back, but stopped, pulling his head away to look up at her. Shock, awe, and bewilderment washed over his bruised face. This wasn't the bleeding bot, this was Buffy! 'Holy buggering fuck!' Spike's inner voice exclaimed, as he stared at her with wide eyed amazement.

Buffy held his gaze for a moment before she turned and walked away. Spike watched her retreating back. “And my robot?” he asked hoarsely, his throat becoming suddenly dry.

Buffy turned to face him, making sure he got a good look at her face, “The robot is gone. The robot was gross and obscene.”

Spike lowered his head in shame; he couldn't take the look the Slayer was sending him at the moment. In some small, minute way, he felt as if he'd betrayed her. “It wasn't supposed to be...” he murmured.

Buffy forcefully cut him off, “Don't. That... thing, it... it wasn't even real.”

Spike refused to raise his head, just listened as Buffy's steps carried her towards the crypt door... and away from him.

“What you did, for me, and Dawn... that was real.”

Spike lifted his head just as Buffy to look at him over her shoulder. Cerulean eyes locked onto emerald and something passed between them. Buffy's breath hitched in her throat at the emotions she saw swirling around in those fathomless depths. Spike conveyed so much emotion in just one look, like a window to where his soul would be - if he had one.

God he loved that girl, as wrong as it was for a Master vampire to love the Chosen One. But Spike couldn't help it; he loved Buffy Summers. Would bloody dust before he let anything happen to her, or the Niblet. It pained him that she couldn't, wouldn't, see it. That she brushed him off as some overly zealous school boy, or something whose feelings didn't matter. But he still ached to touch her as the warmth from her smooth lips still scorched his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly as he remembered their touch, the softness they contained, and the hidden promise of all that he would never get a chance to have. Some times he truly hated his un-life; why did he always have to go for the emotionally unavailable woman?

“I won't forget it, Spike,” Buffy promised, walking towards the door. Spike looked away shielding the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes; he didn't need to watch her walk out on him again. The door closed, softer this time, and Spike inhaled deeply the scent that was uniquely Buffy - jasmine, vanilla... and power.

Silently turning, she watched him. She had to do this. Hadn't she just told him she wouldn't forget? Taking a deep breath, Buffy walked back towards the sarcophagus. Spike quickly turned his head, raising his eyes to the figure slowly moving towards him. Eyes downcast, Buffy could feel Spike's penetrating gaze upon her. She refused to falter; she needed to follow through with plan B.

Reaching her destination, Buffy hopped up next to Spike, mindful of his injured body. Neither said a word. Finally curiosity getting the better of him Spike decided to break the silence.

“Don't need a baby sitter Slayer. Won't go gettin' another bot if that's what you're worried about.” Spike tried to read the Slayer's face; she seemed to be deep in thought.

“I wasn't... not here for that.” This was going to be harder than she'd thought. “I was just thinking, You're all with the hurting and I need you to heal. I need your help... when Glory strikes. Dawn needs you. And animal blood really doesn't help with healing, and I'm so not breaking into a blood bank to feed you. 'Cause, hello, sick people could use the blood I stole,” Buffy babbled nervously.

“So what are you getting at Slayer? You offerin'?” he asked with a raised brow. Spike knew he was pushing set boundaries, but for Buffy to sit there and say she needed him all healed up and refused to get him human blood, it was like pouring salt into his open wounds.

Selfish bitch.

Buffy didn't answer - she didn't even shoot daggers his way - instead she eyed Spike's leather duster. Hopping off the coffin Buffy quickly crossed to the battered chair sitting in front of the old black and white TV. Grabbing the duster off the arm of the chair, Buffy raided its pockets until she found her prize. Her hand closed around it and, she returned to her place beside Spike.

Opening her hand Buffy revealed his small, silver pocket knife. Exposing her left wrist, Buffy flicked open the knife with her other hand. With fluid motion she brought the blade down and across her wrist, watching the red liquid rise from the cut. Spike's nostrils flared as the coppery, sweet smell of slayer blood assaulted him. His demon screamed for the crimson nectar it needed to heal, to restore all that was damaged... but Spike resisted.

Buffy held her bleeding wrist up to him, offering him her life source.

Did she even know what she was doing, what she was offering? Still hesitant, Spike did not move. Growing more frustrated with every passing second, Buffy had started to second guess herself. Maybe he didn't really love her. With all his talk, he didn't even want her blood. And if Buffy was honest, she felt rejected. Not because Spike wasn't feasting on her arm, but because his rejection hurt. No, she didn't love him - well loved tormenting him - but that was another story. Buffy knew she had feelings for Spike; bad, wrong feelings she'd tried countless times to deny.

Dawn told her he had a thing for her, Buffy tired to play it down. Then Spike went there, confessing his love for her. Buffy had felt disgusted, but on the inside a small part of her had been flattered. Just when exactly his desire to rip her head off and use it as a drinking fountain passed and turned into love, she didn't know, but she liked it. And if truth be told, she couldn't deny the attraction she'd felt towards the bleached blond the moment she laid eyes on him.

Small trickles of blood started to run down Buffy's arm. With a renewed flood of emotions. Buffy set her face in grim determination; she was going to make Spike drink even if she had to force him. 'Stupid vampire.'
“Well?” She looked at him, waiting, giving her wrist a little shake. Spike regarded her with trepidation. This slip of a girl, whom he loved with every fiber of his being, was offering her blood to him. Taking the offered wrist Spike raise it to his mouth.

The contact of Spike's cool tongue on her warm flesh had Buffy shivering in delight, along with butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She briefly entertained the idea of Spike using his tongue on other areas of her anatomy when the feel of sucking drew her from her musing.

Spike latched his lips around the cut, slowly sucking the blood into his mouth. It had been so long since he'd fed from a human, and the blood danced upon his tongue. Without second thought his face shifted as his demon came forth, and he bit into Buffy's wrist. The Slayer released a soft cry of pain then relaxed twisting her fingers through his curly locks.

The first gulp of blood filled his mouth, coating his tongue before sliding down his throat. This was pure bliss. He was in heaven and already feeling the healing effects of slayer blood. Spike pulled three more small mouthfuls from Buffy's wrist before retracting his fangs and licking the wound closed.

Processing what the vampire was doing, Buffy released her grip on his hair. She was in awe at how fast his body began to heal from her blood, and she felt a sense of pride that she was able to help.

Raising his head, Spike was unable to read the expression on Buffy's face. Instantly he thought she regretted helping a cold, twisted monster. Then she smiled. A smile so radiant Spike thought he'd dust from it. Running her hand over his left cheek, Buffy stared into his eyes, telling Spike plainly just what she was feeling.

“I think I'm ready to give that crumb now.”


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