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05/18/17 04:16 am
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Authors Chapter Notes:
Hello all.
Here is something new for you, set at the beginning of an alternate season 5. I really hope that you enjoy it. If you do, please leave me love notes. If you don't, please leave me notes all the same.
The quote in the summary comes from Season 2's "I only have eyes for you" and was spoken by Giles.

Please note, I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of its associated genius. Everything here belongs to Joss and ME.

When he got home it was early morning. The sun was just barely grazing the horizon, and he was cutting it fine. Very fine, in fact.

It had been a long night. The good kind of night, with gore and violence, and that old familiar feeling of victory. An intoxicating feeling that he had barely had a chance to feel since the damn chip. Granted, he got his jollies hunting vamps and demons now, but at least he could still have that. The violence was something he’d always craved and gloried in, so now he’d take it from any source. It made him feel good. Made him feel like himself again. The old him. The wicked him.

It was on this high- with the sunrise snapping at his heels- that Spike strolled into his crypt and sensed her.

It stilled him, for a moment. Then it spurred him into action. She was downstairs, he could tell. She wasn’t pacing around or breaking things, though, which seemed just out-of-character enough to be unsettling.

Spike stalked to the uncovered trapdoor to his bedroom, and cursed her for figuring it out. Nothing was sacred, with the Slayer around. She was probably lying in wait, preparing some prize-winning quips to spoil his good mood. Maybe she was priming herself for an attack, though for the life of him he couldn’t think what he might have done to provoke it.

Carefully, Spike lifted the trapdoor that led down to his lair, and, putting a foot onto the ladder, prepared himself for the next inevitable round as the Slayer’s favorite punching bag.

She was sitting on his bed, with her back to the step ladder. Her bare back.

Spike froze on the bottom rung and stared at the strong curve of her golden flesh. She was completely nude. Completely unafraid. And she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, meeting his eye in the soft, half-light.

He didn’t know what she was playing at. Didn’t know why she was here, or why she was naked. This had to be a trick of some sort, or a test. Maybe it was some kind of mystical punishment for all of his past misdeeds.

She’d vanish, when he got close enough. Or she’d turn to moths and skitter away in all directions. Spike edged further into the room, keeping his eyes on her. Giving her a chance to get up and bolt, if that was what she was going to do.

She kept on watching him, her chin turned and tucked against her bare shoulder. Her blonde hair was tied up in a knot and he decided then and there that if she’d let him touch her, then he’d have it all loose in an instant.

He edged around the room until he was parallel to her, seeing the silhouette of her naked body against the candles that she’d lit. The sight made him wary, and he fixed her face with a stare. “What’re you playing at, Slayer?” He asked, surprised by the flatness of his own voice. Surprised that he’d even managed to get the words out, let alone succeeded in implementing that low tone of distrust.

She said nothing for a while. She stared back into his eyes, and she didn’t look her usual self. Not really. She was missing the snarkiness that normally turned her lip, and the disparaging glint that sharpened her eyes like flint or frost. Then she said, “Come here,” and her voice was soft.

“Spell?” Spike said, toeing his boots off slowly, even as he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”


“Not a trick.”

“Trap?” His eyes held a tense, suspicious edge. He looked like a cornered animal- afraid that she might turn on him in a heartbeat, even as he bent to pull off his socks. She watched him. She shook her head again, opening her mouth. Then closing it. She raised her knees to her chest and hugged them.

“Not a trap either, Spike.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something feral. Then the cornered fox was gone and in its place was a handsome wolf. Predator, not prey.

He tugged off his t-shirt and approached her slowly, saunteringly. Making a show of his languid pace, he stopped within feet of her, and softly cocked his head. “Why, then?”

She faced him, her whole body his to look at. He didn’t look, though. Not yet. “Why, Slayer?”
She wouldn’t say ‘why not?’ That would be out of character and an immediate giveaway that something was off. She had so much to lose: her friends, the sodding soldier boy, the Watcher, her mum. She must have something to gain, or else she wouldn’t be here. She must be after something.

She lay back, looking up at him. Then she sat up again, changing tact. Her sudden show of anxiety made him forget his question for a second, and that soft second’s reprise was all that he needed. He took a step forward and caught her by the chin- gently, not as he might’ve done if he were feeling bitter toward her- and he tipped her head back, leaning down with one knee on the mattress to meet her lips in a kiss.

She kissed him back, her hot mouth soft and willing. It was unlike anything. She was unlike anything. Of course she was. Showing up nude in his crypt with no reason at all. Making him forget that she was the bloody thorn in his bloody side. Making him melt against her, until he was pushing her gently back into the sheets and kneeling above her, letting his lips take over on instinct. Letting the kiss go on, until it was quiet and surprisingly slow.

Her hand snaked up around his neck and she pulled him down, fighting hard against his reluctance to be close to her. She drew him down, his chest to hers, and then- as if by accident- his hands were on her.

And once he’d started, he found that it was impossible to stop. Every inch of her was interesting. Worth touching. His cool hands explored her body while she closed her eyes and groaned and explored his mouth. He found her dizzying, perplexing, but he couldn’t stop. She’d started it. She’d wanted him, and that was enough to make him want her too. That was what he needed, after all. That was all he’d ever needed from Dru. Just to be wanted. To be more than just a convenience, or a plaything. He hadn’t expected it from the Slayer, but would never reject it. Not if she wanted him. And she sure did a damn good job of making it look like she did.
Maybe she’d finally snapped. Spike thought that was the most likely explanation, after spell, trick and trap, of course. Maybe she’d had a near death experience, and finally realized what all Slayers come to realize in the end. That she’s meant to be in the shadows. That no one could equal her better than someone like him. And maybe she’d picked him, of all the beasts in Sunnydale.
Course, he didn’t quite believe it. Didn’t want it, either, you understand. But he kissed her deeply all the same. As if, maybe, he did.

And then his hands tangled in her thick swathe of golden hair, and he tugged out the band holding it all in place. He scooped an arm around her back, grasping her, and then hauled her upright against him, watching as that thick blonde hair fell, ransacked, over her chest and shoulders. She was stunning, up close. Her face was flushed, and she panted, with her nose practically touching his and her wide, hazel eyes flickering across his face as if she were trying to figure him out, as much as he was trying to understand her.

He stared back at her with confusion wandering through his gaze. It made his stomach ache, to see the way that she was looking at him. So much… What was that? Desire?
His hands were still in her hair, and he bent his fingers and combed them through. He tucked her hair behind her ears, then cupped both of her cheeks, running his smooth palms down to meet at her chin. He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her flushed cheeks, and then her lips. All the while, she stared at him. They studied each other in silence, and it was more erotic than anything else they’d done.

Buffy touched his chest tentatively, first with just her finger tips, then with her whole hand laid out flat. She pressed her palm to his white flesh, and watched his eyes. He ran his thumb over the break of her lips, and she drummed her fingers above his still heart.

She dropped her hand to his pants, and he held her eye. He looked like a man in this light, not a vampire at all. His head tilted again, and he brushed her hair back over her shoulder. Then he looked down at her hands, and back up at her. “You’re sure, Slayer?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“You want me?”

She nodded again, very seriously. So seriously that he could have laughed, except he didn’t dare. “I want you, Spike.”

“Well… Alright then.”

After that, it happened fast. She eased him out of his pants, then pushed him back against the bed, kissing his neck as if she didn’t mind being close to him at all. She clung to his shoulders like the world was ending around them, and he let her have the moment, let her take the lead.

“Christ, Slayer-” he moaned against her brow, and she darted up and met his lips. There was a slow burn to her closeness. It was like torture, only, he didn’t mind it.

“Spike,” she breathed against his wet mouth, “Will you-”
He flipped them, pinned her against the mattress, and then nodded. “Yeah,” he said.

She sighed, relieved. He looked down at her body then, and marveled at the vision she made. All glossy flesh and perfect limbs. She was flushed, and panting, and beautiful. “Spike, please-”

“Alright, love.” He said gently. He brushed the hair away from her eyes, and then kissed her again. Slowly. Everything about this was fast, but slow. Gentle, and tender. Just the way it shouldn’t be. She’d come here lookin’ for a quick, quiet shag, and that’s what he should’ve given her. Still, didn’t seem able to go any faster than this, now. She looked like she needed something slow, something powerful.

“Ahh,” she said, feeling him against her. With one languid, sensual push, he eased inside of her.

She arched up against him, and he pressed a fervent kiss to her neck. She didn’t freeze. Didn’t shove him off and out of her, as expected. Instead, she tipped her chin and grasped the back of his head, begging him without words to kiss her there again.

He did, and he found a tranquility in her fluttering pulse. It was evidence that her heart sped up for him. He kissed her there a third time, then tilted her head back and kissed her plump lips.

“Nuuugh.” Buffy moaned, as he pumped slowly in and out of her. Taking his time, and feeling her coil up beneath him. She was… Incredible. And yet, there was a sudden sadness in her. In the way she abruptly caught his gaze and stroked his cheek.

He watched the play of emotions with curiosity, and wondered whether this was it. Perhaps the world really was ending, and she’d come to him for solace.

He pressed his brow to hers, pushing deep into her and feeling her quiver. They were so close. They’d never been so close, and yet it seemed to make sense. Not speaking. Not barbing. Not trading hits or insults. Just silent in the early morning, with two bodies made for loving.
“Christ, Slayer, Buffy,” Spike said, clutching her shoulders, then easing the grip of his left hand and sliding it up into her hair. He adored that hair. That much made sense to him now. He adored the Slayer’s hair. “Is that why you’re here?” He asked, his lips now pressed to her ear. “Is the world ending? ‘Cause Christ, Buffy, I can’t think of any other reason. The world must be going to hell.”

And then she said the unthinkable. And she stopped his unneeded breath with her quiet, panting little voice.

“Not anymore.” She said.

His hold on her tightened as every muscle in his body tensed up. For a second, he thought he’d shove her away, but then he felt the crest of the wave hit her, sending her trembling and tumbling, clawing into his back with her fingernails, and he couldn’t help but follow her into the abyss.

He shuddered his release into her and then flopped down against her slick flesh. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, and he breathed against her neck, sucking deep lungfuls of unneeded air into his aching lungs.

He slid over onto his back, and tensed when he felt her roll in close to him. Her hand reached again for his chest, but she hesitated, and that was when he knew that he should ask.

“Prophecy?” He said, trying to sound off-hand. Stupid idiot, he told himself. The only option left unasked. And of course it had to be the one. Prophecy. Why else would the Slayer come to him, looking like she wanted him, and him alone.

“It was-”

“Right,” he agreed. “Well, spare me the details, luv. I think I can do without them.” He got abruptly to his feet, ignoring the urge to stay beside her, and instead reaching for his discarded jeans and shoving his legs into them. “Go on then.” He said, looping his belt and pulling it tight. “Get up. You got what you came here for, didn’t you?”

Buffy sat up slowly, and he watched the anxiety cross her face. She closed her arms over her chest, and he scoffed, turning away. Of course she’d never look at him as she had and actually mean it. What a bloody fool he was for taking her at face value. Damn Slayer must’ve known that finding her naked on his bed would be enough to have him forego the questioning. Damn crafty bint.

“Come on, Slayer,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder and finding her still seated with arms tightly crossed. “What’re you waiting for? A second go?”

Her eyes sprang up to meet his, and she flinched at the coldness that she found there. He couldn’t help the stab of hatred that he felt for her then. Not because she’d used him to save the world. But because she’d figured out what made him tick- that he wanted to be wanted- and then she’d tricked him into thinking that she wanted him. Now… Now he was humiliated. The Slayer had slept with him to save the world, but what the bloody hell was his excuse? Damn bitch had made him a laughing stock. No warning, no apology.

It figured. When she wasn’t breaking his nose for information, she was seducing him for the good of humankind.

“Not a trick, huh?”

“Spike, I’m-”

“Don’t bother yourself, Slayer.” He said, not looking at her now. He didn’t know if he could.

He stalked over to his step ladder and committed himself to a clean exit. He put a hand onto the rungs and began to climb-

“Spike,” she said, freezing him in place. “I didn’t think you’d…”

Don’t look at her he told himself sharply, knowing how she’d be. Disheveled and shiny-eyed, still gloriously nude and still sitting in amongst his rumpled bed sheets. Looking at her would be suicide. It’d be best if he never looked again. Damn bitch, she’d already sent him loopy. Just one go, and he was mad.

“Buffy,” he said, his voice hot in the silence. Her name ringing out, and sounding strange. He clutched the ladder, and clenched his jaw tight. “Slayer… The next time you need something- because you will; you always do- the next time, just… Ask. Right? Because I might want to say ‘no’.” He sucked in his cheeks, but still didn’t look back to see how his words washed over her. “S’not right to knock a man about, Summers.” He snarled, low. “Does things to his head. Things you wouldn’t like to know about.”

He felt rather than heard it as her heart rate picked up. So he’d frightened her? Hadn’t managed that one in a fair few years. Good. He thought viciously. That’s how it should be.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, before he could cut her off, though the tempo of her apology made it seem like there was more to come. Like she might break out a speech and acknowledge all of the things that she had done to him over the years.

She didn’t though, and the stretching silence stung between them. Fine, Spike thought bitterly. Enough. He wouldn’t say ‘It’s alright Summers,’ because it damn well wasn’t. Screw her. She seemed to think he was a chew toy that she could take out and toss around at will. But it wasn’t that way. She was his damn enemy and it was time he started acting like it.

“Get out.” He said. Voice cold. “And stay the hell away from me.”

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