Her lips attacked his with aching desperation, caught in a frenzied dance of nips and bites. The constant pressure of his kiss reassured her of the tangibility of his presence, a truth bolstered by the strong arms that banded around her waist. Restlessly, Buffy’s hands traversed the corded plains of Spike’s upper body, finally coming to rest at his shoulders. And with undisguised ferocity her trembling fingers grasped the soft leather of his duster, clutching him forcefully, inconsolably, in her frantic embrace.
He was her lifeline.
The tenuous link that bound her to the unbearable life thrust upon her. The one unerring presence that prevented her from drowning in the despair and confusion that threatened to overwhelm her angst-ridden heart.
Their kiss grew more demanding as Buffy drew his tongue into the heated cavern of her mouth. One hand ventured behind Spike’s neck, and she allowed her fingers to tangle in the belying softness of his gel-confined curls. Groaning, the Slayer deepened her embrace, and through the haze of desire, she felt Spike’s hands grip painfully at her waist as he reluctantly broke free from her zealous lips and allowed her to breathe.
A desperate gasp tore from her throat and Buffy immediately recaptured his mouth in an all-consuming kiss. This is wrong, she thought, grasping him tighter. It’s me. I came back wrong. Consequently, the Slayer quickly banished her brain from the equation; thinking led to reason, and logic was not welcome here.
Under no circumstances should the Slayer be entwined in the fervent embrace of a soulless killer. However, in this stolen moment of comfort, the darkness that surrounded her was perforated by tiny pinpricks of raw, unadulterated sensation, and despite the inherent wrongness, Buffy was unable to bring herself to care. Cloaked in the shadows beneath the stairway, she felt her carefully constructed barriers crumble to ruins as she sought to possess everything the bleached vampire had to offer.
In her passion inebriated mind, the rest of the world faded away, leaving nothing but the intoxicating taste of Spike’s kiss in its stead.
Nothing else mattered.
“Buffy, so sweet... Christ, you taste so good,” Spike whispered against her lips as his boisterous hands hauled her against the solid length of his body.
With each sinful caress, the vampire swore he felt his undead heart thunder in his chest. The hollow ache to which he was accustomed, replaced by a raging inferno of hope and desire. She brought him to life. Set his blood on fire with each heady gasp and unrestrained whimper of pleasure. Spike could only pray he wouldn’t burst into flames, here in her arms.
“I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much.”
Spike swore his declaration ardently against her mouth and marvelled at the tremors that racked her tiny frame. His words were an oath, an unconditional promise of devotion, yet no sooner had the words filtered through Buffy’s covetous haze, did she wrench herself from his embrace. In an instant, reality crashed down around her and shocked at her audacity, Buffy wrapped her arms around her waist in a protective stance. Though, whether she was defending herself from the man before her or the abruptly encroaching world was uncertain.
Instinctively, Spike moved to take her back into the protective circle of his arms, but stopped, frozen to the spot, as Buffy’s heavy lids fluttered open to reveal the anguish in her eyes. Spike prided himself on his ability to know precisely what his Slayer needed, but lately his innate skill was coming up short. Before his very eyes, the woman he loved was fading away. The bright spark of her existence smothered and extinguished by a world undeserving of her light. The fact that the soddin’ Slayerettes could dare look themselves in the mirror beggared belief.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Buffy’s words were barely a whisper as they broke through his reverie. Her head hung low, shoulders slumped in defeat as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Why do I keep doing this? This is...”
“Buffy, love.” Spike kept his voice low and took a cautious step towards her trembling form. “Look at me. Look into my eyes. There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart, nothing.”
“There has to be,” she said, shaking her head as she implored him. “Why else would I keep... why you?”
The look on her face was heart-breaking, and her unbidden tears won their quest for freedom, wetting her cheeks. In an instant, Spike closed the distance between them and drew her into his strong embrace. Her body shook under the heavy weight of her sobs, and Buffy buried her head against his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and cigarettes. Cautiously, Spike raised his left hand and ran his fingers through her hair as he held her close, whispering gentle reassurances into her ear.
Spike had dreamt of this. He’d spent many sleepless days wishing he could give Buffy the physical comfort she so obviously needed. However, even his most detailed fantasy could not compare to the heart-wrenching reality in which he found himself. The taste of her kisses remained on his tongue. The sweet aroma of her perfume permeated the air, and the woman he loved was cradled, distraught, in his arms.
Spike knew it wouldn’t last. He was living on borrowed time, and any minute Buffy would realise in whose arms she stood, and the moment would be lost like dust on the wind.
Bloody William. That stupid ponce really picked his moments to start waxing poetic!
“Oh god, I can’t do this. I have to...”
As if on cue, Buffy mumbled the words against his chest. Spike’s heart sank as she tensed against him, and pulled away as if appalled by the solace he offered. Trembling fingers brushed against her kiss-swollen lips as her eyes darted around, searching frantically for an escape route. With words of placation stuck in his throat, Spike stood dumbstruck as in the blink of an eye, the Slayer vanished within the throng of revellers inside the nightclub.
This wasn’t his Buffy.
Gone was the golden goddess whose beauty and tenacity inspired him to turn his back on his entire existence. The only woman who could foil his plans and put him in his place with an insolent quip or well-timed pop to the nose. The girl that remained was a desolate shell of the vibrant slayer he fell so desperately in love with, and it was more than any mere man could handle.
Mortal or otherwise.
Without a thought to his public location, Spike shifted into his demonic visage as a wave of frustration swept throughout his body. An anguished growl tore from his throat as his fist connected with the stonework before him. The pain from his bruised knuckles was oddly therapeutic, quieting his tormented demon, and it was with a tremendous amount of willpower that Spike shook off his game face and pushed his way between the heaving bodies of the Bronze’s patrons as he headed towards the bar.
He signalled the bartender and within moments, a shot of whiskey was placed before him—the first of many as far as he was concerned. Without pause, Spike tipped his head back and swallowed the glass’s much needed contents. His eyes closed in relief as the amber liquid burnt a fiery trail down his throat, but he was unable to quench the churning sensation within him.
Her eyes.
God, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. That torturous look of sorrow would be forever burned into his mind’s eye. Lost, empty, and interwoven with nameless emotions, they wordlessly implored him to make sense of the chaos that was her life.
Spike had been damn near crippled by the void caused by her death. If it hadn’t been for his promise to protect the Niblet, the vampire would have gladly walked out to greet the sunrise. Through mutual sorrow they formed a unique bond, supported each other in their grief, safe in the knowledge that she was in a better place.
Of course she was. Someone like Buffy was destined for the bountiful rewards of heaven, and given the chance; Spike would have willingly walked through fire to prevent her friends from doing that spell. Nevertheless, the sanctimonious prats had kept him in the dark.
Chip or no chip, he wanted to kill her fucking mates for doing this to her. From the moment Buffy confessed the truth of her severance from heaven, Spike was consumed by the injustice of the situation. How dare they? How the buggerin’ hell could her so-called mates—the persons who were supposed to care about her—deprive her of eternal peace simply because they didn’t bother to bloody well check their facts?
Buffy had actively sought him out since her resurrection. Her friends couldn’t understand her need for solitude and Spike did his best to offer her a refuge from the harsh realities of her life. Night after night she confided in him her darkest secrets, and Spike did his best to be a shoulder to cry on, a non-judgmental presence in her hour of need.
But that was before.
Before some soddin’ chorus line wanker blew into town and made him spill his guts. Before he told her how it was killing him to be so near and yet so far. Before every facet of their burgeoning friendship was shattered by two simple kisses.
It galled him that despite the misery caused by the Scoobies’ short-sightedness, Spike was unable to lie to himself. Seeing her alive again was the single happiest moment of his entire existence, and despite the consequences, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. Existing in a Buffyless world, deprived of her radiance, damn near ended him, and regardless of his best-intentions, he couldn’t wish her gone.
Nevertheless, the fragility that surrounded her since her enforced return frightened him dreadfully. Buffy seemed so detached from the world around her, and he was deeply concerned that some God forsaken demon or vampire could easily get their one good day.
“To hell with this,” Spike said as he slammed his glass back on the counter. “I’m not gonna sit here and brood like soddin’ Peaches.”
In a swirl of black leather he leapt from his stool, and without paying his bar tab, he headed for the nearest exit. The bloody chip may have restricted the majority of his guilty pleasures, but he could still get his evil on where possible, and petty theft would have to suffice.
Spike stormed through the fire exit door and inhaled a deep breath of cool night air, quickly regretting his decision when the abhorrent stench of piss and rotten garbage assailed his senses. With an incensed growl, he took his anger out on the nearest trash can and stalked towards the end of the alley. Hurriedly, Spike sought out a packet of Marlboro’s from inside his duster pocket and growled in irritation when his prominent erection refused to be abated and chafed against its denim confines.
With shaky fingers, Spike lit his cigarette and then reached down to absent-mindedly readjust himself whilst he considered his options. The way he figured it the Slayer was long gone, so he could either move on to Willy’s or call it a night and head back to his crypt. Much to his chagrin, Spike had spent far too much time getting to know his own left hand recently, and he was in dire need of a new hobby.
He wasn’t William the Bloody Wanker for Christ’s sake.
Willy’s it was then. Decision made, he inhaled a deep lungful of smoke and sauntered out of the alley. With any luck he could drown his thoughts in liquor, catch a game of kitten poker and stumble back to his place before sunrise.
But then, Spike’s plans always had a tendency to fall apart on him. br>
Buffy scrutinised the disused and neglected playground. The swings, slide and climbing frame had undoubtedly seen better days. Rusty and fallen into disrepair, long since abandoned by children with better games to play. A wave of childhood nostalgia washed through her as she remembered sunny afternoons spent with her parents in another California playground, back in the days before her calling. Back when they were happy and the future was hers alone to decide.
Those days seemed so long ago now, nothing but a distant memory. Nowadays, it was a struggle just to get out of bed in the morning. She managed it of course. Her responsibilities as a single-big-sis-parent never ceased, and she was forced to put on a brave face for those around her.
Everyone except Spike, she thought.
Buffy didn’t know how he did it, but without fail the master vampire was capable of seeing right through her carefully constructed facade to the lost and confused girl within. He was her sanctuary, her confidant. With effortless ease Spike coaxed her from the bitter wasteland of numbness and made her feel—
He made her feel.
If Buffy was honest with herself, it angered her that her so-called friends and family were unable, or more likely unwilling, to see the patent truth before their eyes. Her waking moments were a constant battle to overcome the sense of emptiness and loss that threatened to consume her. With each passing day her resentment and frustration amplified as her every action was scrutinized and dissected in an attempt to understand her obvious detachment.
As an act of self-preservation, Buffy had taken to avoiding the Scoobies rather than risk a confrontation of what promised to be epic proportions.
Matters had deteriorated further still when the truth emerged about her heavenly resting place. Overnight, the curious looks and endless questions were replaced by awkward silences and Willow’s constant need for reassurance that Buffy didn’t hate her.
An answer that felt increasingly hollow with each obligatory denial.
The arrival of Sweet had not only forced another wedge between herself and the gang, but it tore her budding relationship with Spike asunder.
Buffy shivered as an icy gust of wind sent the fallen leaves skittering around her feet and away from the swing on which she sat. Cold and exhausted, she pulled her leather jacket tighter around her body in an attempt to shield herself from the bitter chill of the night.
Sunnydale’s demon community were keeping a low profile, but it wasn’t her sacred duty that kept her from returning home. Willow’s latest spell had unleashed a whole new set of complications to her already screwed up life, and she was in desperate need of tranquillity and another bout of quiet reflection.
It was with an immense amount of self-discipline that Buffy stopped herself from heading towards Spike’s crypt. The irony of seeking solace in the home of her former mortal enemy was not lost on her, but since her return it felt like Spike was the only person who truly understood her plight. Unlike her friends, he didn’t push her or make demands. With a shrewd smile, he accepted her pensive silences and was there for her when she needed to vent her aggravation and grievances.
Except he isn’t, thought Buffy, not anymore.
Perhaps if they had never kissed then things could be different. But they had, and now the very foundation of their tentative friendship was irrecoverably altered. Spike had made it clear that being around her, but not being able to have all of her, was a torment in itself. Their musical extravaganza had brought many unspoken truths to the surface, and it was too late to bury them again.
Buffy knew that Spike was in love with her. Sure, she denied it vehemently in the past, but the unadulterated truth shone brightly whenever he looked into her eyes. Buffy wasn’t sure exactly when the rigid confines she placed on their relationship had merged into dubious shades of grey, but her feelings towards the vampire where definitely not of the good. It frightened her to think that she was capable of caring so strongly for another vampire, and so, by no fault of his own, Buffy was forced to shut Spike out of her life, if not her heart.
A heavy guilt settled in her stomach as she considered her latest rejection of the vampire. Buffy hadn’t missed the wounded expression that flashed over his chiselled features when she’d turned from him, and she hated herself for causing the hurt that clouded his expressive eyes.
It was a far cry from the way he looked at her the night of her resurrection. In those first bewildering hours, Spike’s eyes were awash with awe and disbelief as he gazed upon her as if she were his own personal miracle. His voice, cautious and understanding, had gradually coaxed her from her apathetic state and given her back her sense of self. With patient tenderness, Spike had held her damaged hands in his own cool, strong grip and answered her shell-shocked questions. His eyes, like his grasp, were gentle and supportive, and Buffy had felt a wave of disappointment wash through her when the Scoobies burst through the door and interrupted them.
Spike had left soon afterwards, and even through her numbness Buffy was aware of a sense of sorrow that the only person who seemed to comprehend her grief was no longer around. Her friends were too excited about their magical triumph to notice her distress, and she’d quickly pleaded exhaustion in a bid to escape them.
The seeds had been sown that very night. An inimitable bond that grew into something unexpected and extraordinary... and completely wig-worthy!
Buffy heaved a deep sigh as she massaged her temple in an effort to relieve the pulsating headache caused from constant over-thinking. I learned my lesson with Angel, she thought, unable to keep the dejected tone from her inner monologue. Vampires and happily-ever-afters are completely non-mixey. I’m so not going there again. Not with Spike... not with anyone.
If her train wreck of a romantic history could attest to anything, it was that the Slayer was destined to be alone. The people she let into her heart inevitably left her one way or another. Obviously, there was something about her that made a successful relationship an impossible reality. Be it her inherent strength or her Calling, it appeared the Slayer was all consuming, and the woman that remained wasn’t feminine enough to be loved back... for the long haul, anyway.
Buffy blinked back a fresh deluge of tears as she resigned herself to a life devoid of the companionship she desperately craved. Sure, Spike loved her now. But in the long run it would probably get him killed... dusted... whatever! The end result would be the same. He would leave her... just like any other man she dared to care about.
Spike had done so much for her since her impromptu return, and he deserved better than the inevitable misery that being around her seemed to entail. She had to be strong... for both their sakes.
But why did it have to hurt so damn much?
Spike was beginning to regret his decision to head across town. It was bloody difficult to forget about Buffy when her sweet vanilla aroma clung to his duster, taunting him with fresh aromatic bursts upon each new step. The tantalizing taste of her kisses remained in his mouth and the sound of her passionate whimpers echoed throughout his mind. Reaching down, Spike readjusted his persistent erection for the umpteenth time and released a low rumbling growl.
Oh yeah, a wank sounded pretty bloody tempting right about now.
On several occasions, Spike caught himself subconsciously circling towards her home, as the urge to seek Buffy out grew harder to resist. Each time, his progress was halted at the realisation that his presence was unlikely to be appreciated by the unpredictable Slayer.
Can’t help the girl if you’re a pile of dust, mate. She needs you, even if she’s too bloody stubborn to admit it.
With renewed determination, Spike increased his pace as he attempted to put as much distance between himself and Revello Drive as possible. If he didn’t know better, Spike could swear that her scent was getting
stronger. His mind was playing tricks on him because surely that was wishful thinking. Buffy would be safely tucked up in her bed by now. Denying, rationalising, and above all, ignoring the turbulent emotions that raged between them.
Spike paused beside a large wrought iron gate as he once again fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. The spark from his lighter illuminated the sculpted features of his face and he inhaled a deep, nicotine laced breath. His dissatisfaction relieved temporarily, Spike moved to continue his journey, but froze mid-step as he caught a movement in the corner of his eye.
His long dead heart clamoured in his chest as he registered the sight before him. In the middle of a disused playground, his girl sat slumped and defeated on a gently rocking swing. Buffy had never looked more childlike and vulnerable. Her delicate fingers were clasped tightly around the chains and she visibly trembled beneath his penetrating gaze.
The sight alone caused his entire being to ache in sympathy.
So much for kitten poker, thought Spike, as his unsteady hand reached to open the park gate, Looks like good ol’ Willy’s gets a reprieve tonight after all.
But bugger if he didn’t need that drink now, more than ever.
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!
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!