| In The Midnight Light by Holly |
| Chapter #6 - Part VI |
| lmbossy, with her lovely e-card, got me in a giving, lovey mood. So here's Part 6. Thank you for the card, sweetie. *snuggles* Happy Valentines Day! Granted, Spike wasn’t exactly the best decision-maker in the world. His determination to stay away from Buffy lasted about ten hours. Ten hours starting from the moment he collapsed in his chambers at the mansion to the time he awoke from a sequence of dreams all featuring her forbidden body. No amount of conviction could erase her from his system. He’d been foolish to think otherwise. He was so thoroughly hers. Why it had taken him so long to realize it was anyone’s guess, but the promise of her warmth was worth all the want of monstrosity. All the hope for being more of who he was, rather than what he was meant to be. The calm, unbiased expression in her eyes was his utter undoing. No one had ever looked at him like that. Like he mattered. Like he was anything but a consolation prize. She had every right to hate him. Not only for what he’d done to her that night in the park—and every night thereafter—but especially for the callous manner of her teacher’s death, even if the woman’s blood had never touched his hands. The particulars didn’t matter; Angelus had given her every reason to loathe vampires without prejudice. Spike honestly had no idea what it was that had won the girl over. How his not-killing her had transformed into something so precious; something filled to the brim with grace on top of the lust that surged his veins. The sweet taste of her had thoroughly unwound him. He wanted her so blessedly much, and no amount of logic could hope to touch him. It was so wrong, but bugger if he cared. Ten hours away from her had him thoroughly broken. His body ached for her, his mouth burned with her taste, and his stubborn mind refused him solace from the memories of her head thrown back; of the sweet little mewls that had touched the air. God, she’d sung for him. He was so painstakingly lost; it didn’t bother him now, in the morning light, that the vampire he’d tried to be was gone. The vampire he’d tried to be had never existed in the first place, and while it went against every instinct in his body, the far greater crime would be turning away from the first warm embrace that he’d ever known. He felt it with every inch of his being. The world had finally handed him what he’d spent an eternity craving. He wasn’t going to be foolish. No amount of wrong could hope to dwarf the right. And if it was right to live as he’d always lived—the puppet to Drusilla’s mind games, her fucktoy whenever she wasn’t getting satisfaction—then he never wanted to be right again. However, despite the sway of determination, the concept of losing himself in the Slayer absolutely terrified him. Despite however right it felt, there was always a small, however logical voice that screamed this could never end well. Perhaps they could heal each other, but he knew that once he gave himself to her, he would never want to let her go. He wasn’t foolish. Even with the way Buffy had looked at him the night before, he knew he wasn’t the long-term guy. Not for her. He was the one to heal her wounds; not the sort of gent she’d want to bring home to Mum. No amount of want could change that. And yet, staying away from her simply wasn’t in his system. He was allowed to hope, wasn’t he? Allowed to fantasize of things that would never be, even if it made the ultimate rejection unbearable in the end. Allowed to hope that, if he gave himself to her, she wouldn’t turn away from him after she snapped to her senses. God, the thought already made him ache. He was a bloody fool. That knowledge wouldn’t change anything. He might be a fool, but he belonged to Buffy. And touching warmth, even for a little while, would be better than an eternity without it. His life was so thoroughly buggered. Spike released a deep breath and sat up. The room was large and empty, of course; he hadn’t had a bed-mate for weeks. Even during Dru’s illness, he’d taken some satisfaction in being the one she slept beside. The one she awoke to, even if those hours of rest were the only ones filled with any sense of peace. It didn’t matter now. If nothing else, Buffy had helped him let go of the past. There was a sudden rasping on his chamber door. He shouldn’t have been surprised; usually when he was ready to let go of her, his little raven had a way of sensing that she’d endangered her hold on him. Likely through lack of attention or simple, deliberate neglect. She’d come in, coo about how she was his princess, stroke his cock, and leave knowing that he was still in the palm of her hand. That she’d given him enough to keep him on her reserve list, just in case Daddy wasn’t up to fucking her that night. Foolish concern, really. Angelus was still on his ‘I-was-a-poor-souled-boy-for-a-century’ kick. He needed to degrade both his women in every imaginable fashion before he felt like himself—before he found ultimate satisfaction. Dru undoubtedly sensed that she was losing him. She needed to remind him why he was enamored with her in the first place. Spike smirked as she strolled into the room. Too bloody late. “My prince sits all alone in the corner. Doesn’t he want to join the other kiddies at the table?” “Not particularly.” She pouted. “You’re cross with me.” “I wouldn’t sound so desolate, pet. Why don’t you run off an’ play with the others?” Dru shook her head, placing a finger across her lips. “Shhh. Daddy sleeps. Mustn’t wake him. It’ll anger the baker, and grandmum will be terribly upset.” “You can imagine at this point how much I care.” She flashed him one of the looks that normally guaranteed that he’d crawl on his hands and knees if only to appease her; it did little more than flood his veins with irritation. “I’ve lost you,” she moaned mournfully. “Haven’t I, my darling?” You never should’ve had me to begin with. “Would it bother you if you had?” “You are my prince, my darling. What can mummy do to make it better?” Dru poked out her lip and sauntered toward him, her eyes flashing as he sat up on the bed. “What can she do...” she murmured, running her hand brazenly over his crotch. “To please you?” Spike shifted and rolled his eyes. The surge of irritation that seized his veins was liberating, though somewhat disconcerting at the same time. He’d never reacted to Dru’s affectionate touches with anything but eagerness. Had never felt anything but gratitude that she was even looking at him, much less touching him with tenderness, false as it was. Incredibly false. He’d never noticed the lack of feeling behind her eyes—or if he had, he’d forced himself not to acknowledge it. She looked at him with intent, with a small smile that betrayed knowledge concerning her power over him. She was there to use him, to wear down his wall and ascertain her dominance. Her authority over the family, and she was willing to use anything to get what she wanted. Nearly against his will, Spike found his thoughts drifting to Buffy. To the warmth that glowed softly behind her eyes. To the shy way she looked at him, the warm, heartfelt smiles she flashed him. The genuine way she reacted to his touch. How she moaned and whimpered for him without any want of manipulation. A hundred years with Dru, and there had never been a hint of affection behind her eyes. Never had she looked at him the way Buffy had just last night. Dru, who should have been his everything—who had been for too long—couldn’t love him well enough to rival a seventeen year-old slayer. Who truly couldn’t love him at all. She was far too involved with Angelus, and even the souled Angel, to care much about anyone else. Hell, from the second they arrived on the Hellmouth, she’d turned into something else. She’d started complying with him, had become more affectionate, and it was all for the want of Angel. The souled bugger that was somehow more worthy of her love than the only vampire that had never abandoned her. And from the second that her Daddy came home, she hadn’t given Spike a second glance. The look Buffy had given him the night before was eons ahead of that from the one that was supposed to love him. Suddenly, a shot of revulsion shuddered through him at the thought of Dru’s hands on his body—something that empowered nearly as much as it horrified him. Her hold on him was gone. God, it was really gone. He was bereft and relieved, terrified and excited. Dru no longer had any power over him—but someone else did. Someone else that would ruin him completely. Spike shuddered again and captured her wrists, prying her hands off his body with a slight shake. “Toddle off,” he said. “There’s nothin’ in here that you want.” Dru’s pout became more prominent. “My prince speaks lies to appease the dove. The dove doesn’t want you, darling. It’s the angel she craves.” A bolt of fury spread through his insides, and he leapt up with a snarl. “What?” he growled. “What do you know?” “Little Slayer. You think she’s yours.” “No matter of thinking about it, pet.” The facade of seduction vanished as a grimace set across her face. “Ooohhh,” she moaned, rubbing at her tainted flesh as she clamored to her feet. “You’re all covered in her. She itches at you. Squirms inside to yank the shadow out. You’ve left me. You’ve left us all.” “You say that as though I was ever here to any of you in the firs’ place.” “She’s not the answer, my darling. She will bring you nothing but pain.” Spike’s eyes narrowed. Dru spoke as though she was saying something particularly innovative. Furthermore, she was deliberately trying to pass off her words as prophecy rather than the ramblings of a lunatic whose guilty pleasure had finally grown up. Had finally looked out the window and realized that true sunlight didn’t burn him at all. He knew her well enough to determine when she was moaning about a vision or moaning about something else. There were no stars in her eyes. Nothing she’d said could be accounted toward anything but her jealous greed to keep her family together. Bugger the rest. “I’m no stranger to pain,” he snapped, tearing to his feet. “Been with you long enough, right?” “It angers Acathla,” she warned. “An’ Miss Edith, too, I’d wager. It angers everyone in your pretty li’l head. You know what? I don’t give a fuck.” Spike pivoted sharply and seized his duster. “Go back to your family, Dru. You’ll find no love from me.” She moaned piteously and crashed to her knees. “Lost!” she cried. “You’re lost to the light. It’ll burn you. Eat away at your insides until there’s nothing left.” “Yeh. Must smart, knowin’ that someone else took your job.” “Don’t leave us!” He cast her a final look and shook his head. “There’s nothin’ left for me here. I’m not even sure there was anythin’ to begin with.” He paused, his jaw clenching at the look of false contrition coloring her eyes. “Oh, give it up, Dru. I’m through playing these mind games with you. I’ve bloody well had it, all right? I’ve found an out. I’ve found a way to bloody breathe again, an’ if you ever cared for me at all, you’d stand back an’ let me go.” Dru quivered and moaned, clutching at her stomach. “She’ll ruin you!” “There’s nothin’ left to ruin.” The first steps he took into the underground tunnels sent shivers of liberation down his spine. He had no idea where he was going—if he could hope for any direction whatsoever. It wasn’t like he could go from Dru’s bed to Buffy’s without incident. He’d be fortunate if he hadn’t already blown it with the Slayer. They might not have a future, but they had a series of moments he wanted to fill. Something to carry with him after she’d moved on. A sigh rattled his body. He didn’t want to think about the inevitable end of their relationship when they’d only just touched the beginning. For now, he had the promise of her warmth. That alone was more than the world had given him in over a century. He remembered watching her that first night. Watching her seductive curves as she danced with her friends, relishing in that fun, carefree smile on her face and hardening beyond belief just as the sight of her. He’d known then, before ever seeing her in battle, before even knowing her name, that she would be his greatest conquest. Now he’d tasted her. His tongue knew the secrets of her young body, his fingers had played her to orgasm, and he found himself wanting her so much it hurt. It hurt that there was distance between them—that he didn’t know if she’d greet him with a smile or a slap. If the yearning he’d seen in her eyes the night before would have melted into revulsion. She moved like nobody’s business. Spike released a deep breath and shook his head. It was dangerous enough coming here. Her friends were with her, and while the tension between them was undeniable, they appeared to be having a genuinely good time. He didn’t like the way the boy looked at her. Possessive, lustful. As though Angelus’s turning, while bloody tragic as far as the lot of them were concerned, was truly a progressive step toward taking what he wanted. The boyfriend, after all, was out of the way, and the crimes he’d committed fairly well guaranteed that he’d never lock lips with the Slayer again. The whelp, while on the arm of that bitchy brunette, didn’t even bother in disguising the looks he shot Buffy’s way as purely and unashamedly domineering. Buffy, for her part, either didn’t notice or didn’t care. The way her body moved drove him out of his mind. Spike finished off his drink and set it on the railing of the balcony, then turned slowly and made his way down the staircase. He blended easily with the assortment of students and pacifist demons that made this place their haven. The Bronze played host to one overenthusiastic and never-changing crowd that only gained in age and number. The perfect place to pick up a late snack, obviously, for the kids never seemed to wise up to the fact that they were being continuously hunted. Only tonight, he was hungry for a different flavor. Her friends needed to disappear. Now. In all likelihood, only a few minutes passed. He watched her with a sea of people between them. Watched her face, and found himself smiling at the carefree grin that tickled her lips. He hadn’t seen her look like that in months. Not since the torrid love affair with Angel, and certainly not since the world ripped away her rose-colored glasses. He wanted to believe that he had something to do with it, but he wasn’t about to turn to false hope. No. There was no room for wishful thinking where she was concerned. He couldn’t help the sliver of excitement that raced down his spine when the redhead yawned and told the Slayer that she was bowing out for the night. The boy, with his bitchy girlfriend, followed soon after. From the look on the fiery brunette’s face, the whelp’s attraction to Buffy hadn’t been obvious to Spike alone. It pleased him when Buffy didn’t follow their example. She bid them farewell, then turned back to the music, having absolutely no trouble in finding a dance partner. The second the others were out of the way, the growl he’d bit back rumbled through his throat. He wasted no time plowing through the crowd of clammy teens. The heartbeats around him egged at his hunger; the demon screamed at him for a sample. And yet, the second he was within inches of Buffy Summers, the environment melted into nothing but noise. Her back was to him, and she was dancing with some slobbering, unworthy bloke who did nothing at all to conceal the lust in his eyes. The growl itching Spike’s throat grew more prominent, such to the point that the git tore his gaze off the Slayer and balked when he clashed with the possessive vampire behind her. Spike smirked and wrapped an arm around Buffy’s waist, pulling her against his chest. She didn’t jump with surprise or twist and demand release; rather, he felt her relax, as though she’d simply been waiting for him to come over and stake his territory. Evidently, the bloke’s hormones won over sensibility, and the flash of fear faded quickly into anger. “Hey!” he snapped, stepping forward heatedly. “No cutting in!” The growl grew louder. Buffy ran her hand along the arm that had her around the middle, her fingers linking through his with such fluidity and acceptance that Spike was certain his insides trembled in awe. “Not this time, Kevin,” she said softly, though without apology. “My date’s here now, and you really don’t wanna piss him off.” The kid’s eyes bulged. “This guy? He’s your date?” “You heard the lady,” Spike snarled, tightening his arm around her waist. “Bugger off.” The horny teen, dejected, turned away and disappeared among the masses. Any sympathy he could have mustered on the kid’s behalf, faked or not, vanished just as quickly; Buffy twisted in his arms the second her former dance partner was out of view and seized him in a convulsive kiss. Spike froze a beat in astonishment, then growled against her lips and plundered her mouth with his tongue, grasping desperately at her shoulders as he drank her in. God, she tasted so warm. She was pure ambrosia, and he was hopelessly addicted to her. The warmth she radiated nearly swallowed him whole. “What took you so long?” she demanded between kisses. The neediness in her voice nearly drove him to his knees in reverence. Her soft heat was pressed against him all the right places. The affection that burned her eyes, that stroked his lips, that radiated through her touch was his ultimate undoing. He wanted to answer her desperately, but his lips couldn’t be persuaded to part from hers. “Spike...” He moaned into her, his mouth breaking at last to sample her honey skin. Across her cheek, her chin, down her throat. He couldn’t stop kissing her. I’m hers. Three days, and he was completely hers. Bugger. “I thought...” she whimpered, clutching him tighter. “I thought, when you left last night, that something was wrong.” He nibbled at her throat. “No,” he murmured. “Nothing’s wrong.” “You just left.” “Had to. It was a certain slayer’s beddy-by time.” She pulled away at that, depriving his mouth of her sweet skin. “Spike...I don’t do this part well,” she said. “I don’t. The last guy I was with...well, we both know how that ended up. So...I guess, with what happened last night...” A long sigh coursed through him, and he wrapped a hand around her wrist. “Come here,” he said, dragging her away from the dancing floor. This wasn’t a conversation to be had while a load of sweaty teens gyrated around them. He wasn’t even entirely clear on his line of thought. All he knew was that he had walked out on Dru, and while buzzed from the reclaiming his self-worth, the high would only lead him to an inevitable fall—perhaps not at what he’d done, rather for what it meant. Alone. He’d said he wanted it, and he did, but that didn’t mean he was ready. He shoved her through the nearest door, landing them in the utility closet. A wry smirk tugged on his lips. Of all the luck. “I can’t do this if you’re going to hurt me,” Buffy said the minute he whirled back to her. “Seriously, Spike, I can’t take it.” He blinked. Slowly. “I know I’m jumping the gun,” she amended quickly. “I mean, there is no this, and even if there were, it’d be totally wrong. Totally and completely wrong...especially since...well, you don’t particularly want to be the Slayer’s boyfriend, a-and I’ve already done the vampire thing. That didn’t end well, needless to say. But see, I just...you put your mouth...” The flush that fired her sweet skin thoroughly enchanted him. “You put your mouth on me...down there ...and then with the kissage back there—” Spike’s eyes widened in amusement and he held up a hand. “Watch it, pet. You’re the one that lunged into the kissin’. I jus’ reacted.” Hurt blazed her eyes. “You reacted really convincingly.” “That’s because I really believed in what I was doin’.” “Well, I just need to...I need to get this out there.” She paused. “I can’t do this if...this is all there’s going to be, okay?” “An’ this comes after you attacked me with your mouth?” “Couldn’t help it.” Her blush brightened and she turned her gaze to the ground, kicking at it stubbornly. “I just...last night was amazing, then you just left.” “I walked you home.” “Then left.” “An’ kissed you goodnight.” “Technically, I kissed you goodnight.” He grinned and shook his head. “You do that a lot, don’ you?” “No, I don’t! And that’s the point! I can’t...this can’t be something light for me, Spike.” “I never said it was.” “But it’s wrong. You know it’s wrong, and I know it’s wrong.” Buffy released a deep sigh. “And you wanted to kill me just a little while ago.” “Who says I still don’?” Her eyes narrowed. “We’ve already been over this.” “If memory serves, we never finished that conversation. Your tastier parts distracted me.” He raked his eyes down her body, his tongue playing against his teeth. “Look, Slayer, I don’ know what the hell is goin’ on. I won’ pretend to. But I walked out today, an’ the firs’ thing I wanted to do was find you. Doesn’ that mean somethin’?” “Walked out?” “Of the mansion. It’s over.” The words haunted him, struck a deep chord that he didn’t want to consider. A chord that affected him more for what it implied, rather than what it meant. There should have been more emotion latched onto releasing the woman that he’d lived for over the past century. Perhaps Buffy’s warmth swallowed up any lingering sorrow. Perhaps a thousand things. All he knew, at that moment, was that he was staring into the sun, and the sun, for the first time, had embraced him. “Over?” she echoed. “I left Dru.” “You left Dru?” Spike smiled softly and nodded. “Yeh.” “For...why?” “For me, luv. I left her for me.” The crestfallen look in her eyes shouldn’t have rattled him; naturally, while he was thoroughly Buffy’s bitch, even if she didn’t know it, there were certain things that couldn’t be attributed to her girlish wiles. Her succulent innocence. She already owned way too much of him to allow her that part, as well. It shouldn’t have rattled him, but it did. And that leant him pause. Was it possible that Buffy had played a larger role in his leaving Dru than he’d granted? He’d decided to leave the Order before that first confusing night they’d shared, but his thoughts had been wholly with the Slayer as Dru tried to con him into sacrificing himself to the clan completely. He didn’t know. He honestly didn’t know. “I don’ know what we’re doing, luv,” he told her honestly. “I don’. But...I don’...you’re...” The words you’re what I want were on his tongue, but he wouldn’t let them out. She couldn’t know that. Not yet. It was too much—too big a step. Larger than the kisses, than tasting her quim, than letting her live in the first place. It meant, for him, a complete sacrifice of who he was. Buffy was what he wanted. God, how had that happened? She couldn’t know. He knew she couldn’t know. The power she held over him right now was terrifying enough. Once she wised up to him, once she knew, there would be nothing left for him. Nothing that wasn’t owned or controlled. And with as sweet and innocent as Buffy was, he couldn’t allow himself to fall so hard again. To lose himself in someone who would never be satisfied with who he was. Though, by the way her face softened, by the sound of his name on her lips, by the feel of her in his arms as she—the Slayer—took him into the warm sanctuary of her embrace, he had a feeling that it was too late. Too late for him to walk away with anything left of himself. TBC |