Chapter 5
 
Buffy stretched and burrowed deeper into her pillow—the pillow which then moaned softly and gathered her closer. Huh? She opened her eyes and blinked slowly as memories fought their way through the sleepy fog. She looked down at the ‘pillow’ she had been so happily snuggled against. Spike. Her face flushed a deep burning red as the memories of what they had done the previous night flooded her brain;  she scooted backwards away from him, almost falling off the bed in her haste, only to be rescued from an ungainly tumble by the strong arm which snaked out and captured her as she teetered on the edge. Drawing her close against his side, murmuring quiet, soothing words into her hair, Spike snuggled her close, his arm banded tightly around her and his soft, sleepy tones trying to lull her back into slumber.
 
Buffy squirmed in his embrace, her struggles bringing him fully to consciousness. “Buffy, love, what’s wrong? Go back to sleep. ‘s early,” he tried to reason with her, but when she planted her hot little hands against his chest and pushed backwards he had no choice but to wake up and try to work out what exactly it was that had his mate so upset. Propping himself on one elbow and rubbing his face to try and clear the sleep from his mind, he looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. She was sitting up, the sheet clutched against her breasts, as far from him as she could get without falling off the bed.
 
“Buffy. Please, kitten, tell me what’s wrong.” The rising sun pulled at him, telling him it was time to sleep, and he fought hard to break through the fog of confusion and drowsiness.
 
“We are. This is,” Buffy summed up succinctly. Her lower lip trembled slightly at the too-appealing sight of the sleepy vampire, and she told herself firmly once again that any smoochiness with evil vampires, no matter how sweet and sexy and unbelievably good in bed they were, was completely out of the question and wrong in every possible way.
 
“Why is this wrong, love? Isn’t this your Sacred Duty or some such rot?” Spike growled, his tone harsh in order to keep the hurt from his voice. “Seems to me you’re being a good little slayer and following your Watcher’s orders nicely.”
 
A muffled sob sounded as she fought to smother her immediate response to his angrily ground out words; dropping her eyes to her sheet-covered lap, she muttered something quietly between heartbreaking sniffs and hiccups.
 
“Can’t hear you, slayer,” he snapped. Her misery ripped at him, but her rejection had stung more than he cared to admit and he sought refuge, as always, in the angrily spoken words and harsh actions which hid the pain.
 
Buffy drew a deep, shuddering breath, and without raising her eyes from her lap, spoke again. “I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it, or care about you. No caring about the evil undead; that leads to badness and people getting killed and…”
 
“’s that what this is all about?” Spike sat up quickly and, grabbing her arms none too gently, he forced her to look at him. “I am not the poof,” he stated, enunciating each word clearly. “I’m nothing bloody like him, pet. I don’t use little girls. I don’t make it a point to torment every one who ever loved me or who made me feel something for them. I don’t play mind games, kitten. If I wanna kill you, you know about it, an’ I’ll take you on face to face. I don’t have some twisted bleedin’ mission to destroy the world.” His voice softened and he reached out to gently stroke away the tears that tracked slowly down her face. “And above all else, I don’t desert that which is mine.”
 
Miserable green eyes locked with intensely burning blue. “Spike, I…” Strong arms gathered her close, and she sobbed helplessly into his neck as he stroked her hair and soothed her with gently-spoken words. When her sobs eventually subsided and he felt her relax into his arms, he gathered her up and, turning her sideways, cradled her on his lap; her face automatically burrowed back into the security of his neck as her arms snaked around him, holding tightly to her mate. “You’re sure it isn’t the claim making me feel this way?” she asked quietly, not quite sure what answer she was hoping for in response.
 
He brushed a kiss against the top of her head before pushing her gently back so that her eyes met his. “Nothing to do with the claim, love. ‘s’ all my natural charm and… talent,” he leered teasingly, earning a smile and a half-hearted slap on the arm.
 
“Ego much!?” she accused lightly, not quite finding it in her to deny his words.
 
“’s’god’s honest truth,” he replied playfully before his features turned serious once more. “Nothing either of us is feeling is the claim, Buffy. It doesn’t work that way; told you that before.” He brushed a soft kiss against her mouth, nibbling lightly at her bottom lip before drawing back with a sigh. “Everything we’re feeling is us, love… everything.”
 
She searched his eyes, and as he watched her seeking confirmation of his words he was struck once again by how young and vulnerable the supernaturally-strong girl in his arms truly was. Her lip trembled as she spoke once more in the tiny, lost-little-girl voice that ripped at his unbeating heart and made him wish for nothing more than to hold her close and shelter her from the world forever. “I’m scared, Spike.”
 
“I know, love. I know you are. But you’re not alone any more, ‘kay? I promise you that.”
 
“You won’t leave me?”
 
Spike cursed his grandsire anew for the insecurity in his beautiful girl’s voice, and swore silently that he would find ways to make him pay for what he had done to her. “Never, love. Not ‘til I’m dust.” He captured her mouth, kissing her gently but thoroughly as he lay back on the bed, rolling them to the side as he gathered her close against him. “Now go back to sleep. Sun’s barely up; ‘s too bloody early for either of us to be awake.”
 
Buffy relaxed against him, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster ride of the last twenty-four hours. Spike’s arms wrapped close around her, the soft nuzzling against her hair and the gentle, soothing purr that began low in his chest lulling her back into a deep, restorative sleep.
 
*****
 
Giles’ eyes opened to the murky darkness that surrounded him. The first things he noticed were that his shoulders burned and his head throbbed; additionally, he was naked from the waist up, and seemed to be suspended spreadeagled from the ceiling by his wrists. The manacles used to bind him had bitten deep into flesh, and a slow trickle of blood ran down his arm. He lifted his head slowly, suppressing the groan that threatened to escape as his tortured muscles stretched and flexed, and looked surreptitiously around the large room, quickly taking in the rough brick of the walls, the cold, bare concrete floor, and the one small window high on the wall covered by the thick, dark curtain that blocked all light from the outside world. With no light, he had no way of judging how long he had been here, strung up like a carcass in a butcher’s shop.
 
A movement at the far side of the room drew his eye, and he noted the two large goons stationed near the room’s only door. The two men were seated at a small table, and their quiet mutterings and quick flashes of hands as they moved across the table were the only movements in the room. Giles watched the men for a few moments before he realised that they were passing their time on watch with a game of cards; he recognised the soft rustling of the cards being shuffled, the quiet curses as a hand was lost. With his keepers’ attention focused elsewhere, he turned his head to look more carefully around the room, searching for some indication of his whereabouts and any possible methods of escape. The room was sparsely furnished; other than the small table by the door that the guards occupied, the only other visible objects in the room were another, larger wooden table positioned in the centre of the room. Several items on the table were covered by a large white towel; additionally, a hose sat coiled on the floor by the table one end leading off across the floor to the wall near the darkened window, the other resting on the bare concrete, the bright orange pressure nozzle vivid in the dim light.
 
Looking down at himself, Giles noted that along with his shirt, his shoes and socks had also been removed. The tightly stretched arches screamed with the same burning pain as his aching shoulders, the tips of his toes scarcely brushing the ground at full stretch. He still had his pants, but his belt was gone. He took a quick mental inventory; apart from the damage sustained during his battle with the two vampires he also sported sorely abused muscles and overstretched tendons, the only new injury he seemed to carry was from the blow he had taken to the back of his head; the tender spot throbbed painfully, but the pain was the dull pounding ache of deep bruising. As far as he could tell, no further bones were broken, and he had so far sustained no damage that would prove debilitating or should in any way hamper his escape—should the opportunity present itself.
 
*****
 
Spike opened his eyes to a soft, green gaze. Buffy lay on her side, propped on one elbow, a position from which, for the last hour, she had been watching him sleep. So much had happened in such a short time, and her mind still struggled to keep up. She knew that the events of the last twenty-four hours would have far-reaching consequences, that the reality of her having a vampire mate was probably more than her friends, her Watcher and her mother would be able to deal with, and that was without taking into account the baby that their mating was supposed to produce. But as she watched him sleep, his boyish face so peaceful and content, she somehow couldn’t find it in her to care, not now; she would worry about it later. As his eyes blinked sleepily open, she found herself captured once more in their cerulean depths.
 
She smiled tentatively at him, remembering her earlier tantrum with a mixture of horror and shamed regret. “Hey.” She reached out to run her fingers lightly down the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Sorry for…you know…earlier.” Buffy ducked her head, escaping the piercing gaze that always left her feeling more naked than anything they had done in this bed during the night.
 
“Shh, kitten. No need for that.” He lifted her chin until her eyes once more met his. “You have nothing to apologise for, Buffy.” He leaned towards her to claim her lips, only to have her pull away, her voice firm as she continued.
 
“Yes, I do, Spike. You didn’t deserve any of that. So… do you accept my apology, or not?”
 
Spike bit gently into the inside of his cheeks, every instinct screaming that the laugh that was trying so hard to burst free—caused by her serious little face and the false bravado which was betrayed by only the slightest tremble of that completely lickable lower lip—would not only not earn him any points with his mate but would, in fact, get him in more trouble with her than he ever wanted to be in.
 
“In that case, I accept your apology, love. Now can I have a kiss?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a slow, seductive smile as he once more moved to capture her mouth with his own.
 
Having received the sought-after forgiveness, Buffy happily gave in to his request for a kiss, her hand reaching out to toy playfully with his curls as his lips worked their incredible magic. Oh god, I could get used to waking up to this. She melted against him as he drew her close to his side, his hands caressing gently as they roamed across her body. She was drowning once more in the overwhelming sensations that Spike was able to draw from her with seemingly no effort; the sensual slide of his tongue against hers, the brush of his fingers, feather-light across her skin, and his lips tracing trails of fire down her neck. She moaned urgently against his mouth, her own hands actively seeking to trace every inch of her lover’s body.
 
They made love leisurely, with gentle kisses and soft caresses, gazing into each other’s eyes as they gave willingly of themselves, each knowing that their actions had crossed beyond that of unpleasant necessity and into something—more, something that it was far simpler to ignore than to try to fathom. So they remained silent while their bodies spoke of new beginnings and the promise of things to come.
 
*****
 
Buffy snuggled into Spike’s chest, the languor of afterglow lulling her gently once more towards sleep, and she fought the urge to give in to it and the slow soothing rhythm of his hand as it rubbed unconsciously up and down her arm. Stifling a contented yawn, she tilted her head and looked up into her mate’s eyes. “Spike?” she ventured, uncertainly.
 
“Yeah, kitten?” His hand moved from her arm to run lightly down her back; he was satisfied just to be touching her, and feeling no particular need to fight the sated drowsiness that pulled at him, his eyes began drifting closed once more.
 
“You should feed.” She spoke quietly but surely; she had given plenty of thought to what she wanted to say, and was well prepared for any arguments the vampire may voice in objection.
 
Spike slid slowly from beneath her, rolling to his side so they were facing; he looked deep into her eyes, gauging her sincerity, before answering her.
 
“You’re sure about this, love?”
 
Buffy smiled gently, grateful that he hadn’t made her fight him on this. “Yeah, I’m sure. I need you strong; if we’re going to have any chance of defeating him, I need you at your strongest. The only way that’s going to happen is if you feed, and I am so not having you running around biting anyone… so it’s up to me. Besides, my blood’s the best, right? I mean, I saw how the little bit you had healed you. So if you feed on me every day…” She reached out and stroked his face; leaning in, she brushed a soft kiss against his lips before continuing. “Besides, it’s kinda… nice,” she admitted, a deep, warm blush colouring her cheeks, and Spike couldn’t prevent the smile that tugged at his lips; reaching out, he gathered her close, claiming her mouth in a searing kiss.
 
*****
 
His life had certainly taken a hell of a turn in the last twenty-four hours but with his arms full of warm, willing slayer and the delectable taste of her potent blood as it poured across his tongue and down his throat, he could not find it in him to mind in the slightest. He withdrew his fangs, gently laving his mark before nuzzling tenderly against her neck, her contented sigh music to his ears as he gathered her pliant body closer.
 
They cuddled for a while, finding a security in each other’s gentle embrace that defied both logic and nature. After what was, in Spike’s opinion, too brief a time, Buffy’s head shot up from its resting place against his chest, a worried frown creasing her face.
 
“What’s wrong, kitten?” he asked as he pressed a soft kiss against her brow.
 
“Giles. He should have been back hours ago.” Buffy cursed herself that she had only just realised her watcher’s prolonged absence.
 
Spike stilled, reaching out with his senses as he searched the house in the hopes that the git was merely asleep or sulking on the couch. The only sign of life he encountered was that of the worried girl in his arms.
 
*****
 
Cool fingers traced slowly up his back, and small involuntary shudders jolted through him, despite his determination to deny his captor the satisfaction of a response. He swallowed hard, his tormented muscles spasming, and bit back the pained cry as the damp cane landed stingingly across the recently caressed skin. His head was jerked backwards suddenly as fingers tangled cruelly in his hair, brown eyes burning with intensity bored into his soul before surprisingly gentle lips brushed against his forehead.
 
“Now, tell me you are pleased to see me, Rupert.”
 
“Go to hell,” he ground out, his eyes drifting closed in self-rebuke. Just ignore the bastard, he admonished himself; whatever you do, don’t react.
 
“Oh, I imagine that is a given, don’t you?” Laughter echoed around the room, ringing loud in Giles’ ears after the deathly silence. “But then, I expected no less. Don’t tell me you think any other fate awaits you; or did you think your little stint as a Council do-gooder would absolve you of all your previous sins?”

tbc

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