| The Other Side Of Midnight by Holly |
| Chapter #4 - IV |
There was an endless world beyond the darkness. He remembered dying the first time. Remembered the blackness that came with Drusilla’s bite. Remembered collapsing to the ground and knowing nothing again until his useless lungs gasped in the crisp freshness of a new night only to discover he did not need to breathe. His dark princess had waited for him as he clawed to freedom. His sire—ever the traditionalist. The road to his salvation. The road to the sunshine that was snuggled against him. Spike was nearly afraid to open his eyes. For the first time in what seemed like generations, the pain had faded in the place of sanctuary, and all else was lost for the warmth he found in her arms. Buffy was in his embrace. Buffy had taken him home, clothed him, fed him, and loved him. Buffy had loved him. He couldn’t believe it. The world around him was real. The woman curled in his arms was real. She was breathing gently against his chest, golden wisps of her hair tickling his skin. She was so soft. So warm. Buffy was in his arms. It was as though he had been blind for so long had had finally been given back his sight. As though he had felt her just as she was, loved her just as she was, without seeing her with everything that made her Buffy—made her into the woman that had won his heart so many years ago. He had known he loved her yesterday. Known it the minute she gave him back his sense of self. Known it the second her blood had touched his tongue two nights earlier, and he had known her as the Slayer. And known, similarly, that he would follow her to the end of the earth. He simply hadn’t known why. If he hadn’t found her that night, he feared what he would have done. Before he saw her, before she took his hand, he had been another vampire without anything to establish who he was. He hadn’t even had the definition that came with bearing a soul. He had fangs and bloodlust. That was all he knew. The soul hadn’t truly shown itself until he found her. Until he saw her, tasted her, and knew he was home. The pain was gone. There wasn’t much beyond the dark. A world of screams and fire and torment. Of insanity. Of lost souls. Of despair beyond death. Of temptation beyond all else. A need to let go of the world he was holding onto. The world that was wrapped entirely in the woman resting in his arms. Had he let go, he would not be here. And Buffy loved him. Tears filled his eyes. Buffy loved him. He didn’t know where he was and he didn’t care. Didn’t know how much time had passed. Didn’t know where the Fates had dropped him after his will refused to break. All that mattered was that he was with her. He had gone where she was. There was nothing else for him. Nothing beyond the Slayer. The Slayer he had defied all of Hell for. She loved him. “Buffy…” He felt like he had awakened after a long nightmare. Felt as though millennia had passed, and he was finally back in his reality. He needed to touch her. Needed to feel her. Needed to bask in her warmth. He had been touching her blind for two days. Now he had his vision back, and he needed her as much as he ever had. Spike hugged her to him close, brushing his lips across her brow. “Buffy,” he whispered, lifting her gently out of his arms so that she shifted completely onto the mattress. “Wake up, sweetheart.” She murmured gently but didn’t oblige him. He drew in a shuddering breath and edged the blankets covering them down her body. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he gasped reverently, dropping a kiss against a breast. “More than I remember. My lovely Slayer.” His lips skimmed her stomach before he nuzzled his face in her pussy. “’ve missed you.” And God, was that the understatement of the century. He hadn’t just missed her. He’d ached for her. Every second he was away, feeling her pain that was only secondary to his. He’d felt her—that was the other. He’d felt every emotion that had touched her heart. Felt her tears, her sorrow, her love, her regret, and finally her apathy. The way she melded into the world without being a part of it any more. And all because of him. He’d felt her. Alongside the pain of the world, he’d felt the pain of the one he loved. That was what had nearly broken him. Nothing but Buffy could snap his will. A lesser man would have given up and given in. Would have done anything to stop the hurt. Stop the pain he felt that was not his, even if it was caused by him. But it was Buffy, and he would rather spend the rest of eternity in that hell than sever the connection, however minute, he had with the woman he loved. The woman that was his salvation. The woman he would cross the universe to touch. There was nothing in the entirety of his existence that was more important than Buffy. Not to him, and there never would be. Spike shuddered a breath against her, lapping sweetly at her folds. God, he’d missed this. Her taste. Her scent. The way she arched against him and gasped his name. The way she looked at him like she was drowning. Like she could love him if she just let herself. She did now. She had shown him such tenderness in the past two days, he could barely believe he wasn’t dreaming. Their relationship in Sunnydale had been progressing in this direction for a year. Ever since he came back from Africa, soul drenched with penance. Through blood, tears, blame, and forgiveness, they had come full circle. They had reached understanding, and found that love wasn’t the way it was written by poets or portrayed in the movies. Love was what they had. Real, hard, messy, but true and deep. Worth fighting for. Worth dying for. Love was the only thing on earth that had no price. And for love, he had sacrificed himself. For Buffy, he had given up everything. For Buffy and the world. The world he had once painted red, and the woman that had given him new life. He was with her now, and he would never let her go. “Buffy,” he whispered into her, sinking a finger into her pussy, his tongue curling around her clit. “Wake up, baby.” He needed to see her looking at him. Needed to hear the words again. Needed that blessed reassurance that he wasn’t dreaming. Their past was shaded with misgivings, hurt, and remorse. He wanted none of that for their future. Buffy wasn’t a slayer by obligation anymore. She was free. And she was his. He never thought he would get this far. Never thought her love could be anything he would rightfully deserve. He still didn’t, but he was far too selfish to refuse her. He wasn’t noble. He wasn’t going to make decisions based on a misconception of her own good. They could have eternity if they wanted it. It came slowly. The warm influx of her juices over his fingers. The shrill gasp that sounded through the air. She thrust her hips against his mouth as her eyes flew open, finding him perched between her legs, feasting hungrily on her hot sheath. “Oh my God.” He grinned. “’Bout time you woke up,” he drawled, enjoying the flood of hope that doused her gaze. “’ve been here lookin’ for ways to entertain myself for the past ten bloody minutes or so.” There were tears in her eyes; the small mewls tickling her throat growing more desperate. More hopeful. She arched into his mouth and choked a euphoric sob. “Spike?” “You’re even lovelier than I remember.” He suckled at her clit with a moan of approval, exploring the warm softness of her. He knew her body well. Better than any man ever had or would. No one else would ever come this close to her again. She was his. All his. And he was never giving her up. “Have any idea how long I’ve dreamt of this?” He smiled into her as she gasped again, her eyes hazing over with adoration. “Touching you like this? Like…” “Spike…” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and his heart ached. “Oh God. I’m dreaming…uhhh…oh god, I’m dreaming.” He sighed, nipping at her lovingly. “No, sweetheart,” he murmured, tongue swirling around her hypersensitive pearl. His fingers pressed deeper into her tenderly, a shared whimper tumbling from their lips. “You’re not dreaming.” She shook her head, a sob tearing through her body. “I am. You’re—” “I’m right here.” His tongue drew a long lap up her opening. “I’m here.” “Oh God…” “You’re tellin’ me,” he gasped, scraping his teeth over her clit. “You’re so warm. So tight. An’ you taste…” He suckled her essence further into his mouth, drinking everything she gave him eagerly. “There are no words for how good you taste.” “Spike!” His questing lips abandoned her clit as his fingers eased out of her body. “Bleedin’ ambrosia.” She mewled in protest, thrusting forward needily. “Oh God.” “No worries, kitten,” Spike purred, licking at his wet fingers with a seductive wink. “Have I ever left you wantin’?” He lowered his head again and his tongue plunged into her pussy, and she threw her head back with a hoarse cry of ecstasy. His thumb settled over her clit in the absence of his mouth, massaging her tenderly as his eyes drank in the gorgeous sight of his girl writhing in pleasure. There was nothing like this. Nothing like her taste. “Oh God!” she gasped, thrusting off the bed. Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her. As though he could pull away as his mouth rediscovered her body’s secrets. He suckled at her, indulging in her juices with zeal that betrayed his own need. His fingers massaged her clit roughly, free hand dancing up the smooth expanse of her abdomen to capture a nipple. She was parrying in time with every thrust of his eager tongue, the shrill gasps tumbling through her lips driving him to the point of madness and back. There was nothing in the world like this. Nothing at all. “Spike!” The sound of her reaching release reminded him of one of the symphonies Angelus had dragged him to back when he was a part of the Order’s happy family. Something Spike had ridiculed the enormous poofter for to no end while similarly hiding his eyes when the uproar of music became too emotionally engaging to ignore. That was Buffy. An opus of minors and flats, sharps and crescendos. An imperfect package of perfection, whose tangle of emotions, irregardless of circumstance, never failed to bring tears to his eyes. When she was sad, he cried. That was simply all there was to that. She was his symphony. She was just now touching what she had been meant for all along, and if possible, he loved her more than he had before. More than he had the last time he saw her. With the world collapsing around them, their hands tied with fire, her gaze swimming in tears, and words of love on her lips. “Spike…” She cupped his face and offered a watery smile, her eyes shimmering. “Oh God…” He smiled gently and prowled up her body, nestling himself between her legs, his cock teasing her sodden folds sensually. The feel of her was unlike anything at all. In a thousand years, he could not have forgotten this. Could not have given it up, no matter what the world offered in return. Her brow was pressed to his, and she was crying. “No tears,” he murmured gently, sinking gently into her body. A sharp gasp clawed at her throat and her nails dug into his shoulders. “My sweet, sweet girl.” “Oh God.” Buffy shook her head, her muscles clenching around him. “I…I…” Spike’s lips met hers as he began moving inside her, swallowing her whimpers and tantalizing moans. The way she grasped at him every time he left her body only to swim in her rapture when he thrust back into her. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” “You…when?” “This mornin’. I woke up an’ knew.” He released a tremulous sigh and buried his face in the crook of her throat, hooking his hands under her arms as he drove steadily within her. Basking in the warmth of homecoming. This sacred place he never thought to touch again. This piece of Heaven that Buffy had brought home with her, and shared now with him. “I remembered everythin’.” “Oh…” He kissed her again as his thrusts deepened, the slow, rhythmic slip and slide of his cock swallowing him in heat. “Remembered the graveyard,” he murmured, lips abandoning hers to explore the cool expanse of her throat. Teased the hum of her pulse as her body tightened around him. “Remembered…you brought me here…you…” She whimpered and nodded. “I…Spike, I…” Their pants mingled as her body tightened around him. “I…you feel…” “’S’all right.” “I can’t…” She squeezed him again and he about saw stars. “Oh God.” “Bleedin’ right,” he gasped. He didn’t know what it was. Whether or not it was the joy of being united with her by something stronger than the physical—the physical a simple byproduct of their feelings. Of feeling warmth and love after an existence of having neither. Of being a part of something, experiencing bliss instead of pain…or the simple fact that Buffy’s wet flesh was molded around him, and there was no righteousness in the world if it did not exist with her. “Fuck, I’ve never felt anythin’ like this. Never. Not with…not even with you. It’s never been like this.” She nodded her agreement. “Never.” His head settled at her shoulder, his fingers tangling around hers. He stretched her arms over the mattress, squeezing her hands intimately with every thrust and parry. Every stroke burned his skin; every time he withdrew, his body lamented her loss. A haven of sweet torture. The shades of passion that crossed her face took him by storm. The flashes of pleasure, the hues of something beyond perfection. Her hips battled his to recapture him every time his cock left her body, her hands squeezing his as though the world would vanish, and this small paradise they had discovered would be reduced to nothing more than a bittersweet memory. It was almost a surprise when her hands released him, though it was more for the demands of a hungry mouth than the acceptance that the world around them was real. Truly real. She let go and tugged his mouth down to hers. She tasted him thoroughly, breaking only when she had to gasp for air. “This is real,” she gasped, thrusting her hips into his. “God, this is really real.” Spike smiled, sliding a hand between them. “’S real, kitten,” he promised. Every touch against her skin stirred another memory to life. Another image that time was giving back to him. Little flashes that usually lost face under life’s more monumental moments. Her pussy was strangling him into a new breed of existence. Beyond his days as a man and stronger than the century and a half he had spent as a vampire. He had died twice; so had she. They were truly even now. Spike dropped a small kiss to the corner of her mouth before his own began a slow descent of her body, nipping at her breasts and laving her nipples with his tongue as he watched her. Watching her—unable to drag his eyes from her gorgeous face. She was strangling him into a new life with every cadenced squeeze. “I’ve missed you so much,” she cried. “Shhh…” His thrusts grew deeper—more frantic. Need surfaced beyond sensationalism. He was striking her at a new angle with every plunge. Touching areas that only he could touch. “S’all right now. Never leavin’ you again.” He released a steady breath and lowered his head to her throat once more. Back to the hypnotic beat of her pulse. Her pussy tightened around him again. He wasn’t going to last long like this. Not with her beneath him. Not for a millennia of waiting for a home he had convinced himself no longer existed. Yet, as he always had, he couldn’t abandon her out of selfishness. He needed to achieve that pinnacle with her. Needed to taste her orgasm before he completely lost himself. “Never leavin’ you again.” “You promise?” “God, yes, I promise,” he murmured, hips jerking forward. “You ‘bout killed me all bloody over again.” “What?” Spike’s eyes rolled inside his head, his thrusts deepening. “I don’ even know how to answer that, luv,” he murmured. “God, you feel so good. So bloody good. Gonna burn alive, baby.” He knew something about fire now. Buffy was an inferno. “Ohhh…” The hand between them stirred to life, nimble fingers finding her clit again. His eyes remained glued on her face, watching her hungrily as she neared completion. The look clouding her gaze was one he knew so well. One he had memorized. The same face that had launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium. A goddess among humans. Her pussy was swallowing him whole with every plunge, her walls tightening around him, growing wetter by the second as he pushed her toward the edge. He massaged her clit speedily, ravenous gaze soaking up every flash of pleasure to touch her eyes. “Spike…” “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.” “Bite me.” His eyes went wide. “Buffy—” “Please. Make me…” She turned her head, revealing the half-healed scar that marked the place his fangs knew intimately. That first night when he had seen her in the graveyard and his demon had targeted her as prey. Prey first; then he had tasted her, and known her as the Slayer. Mate. Spike gasped as his hips pounding her into the mattress, staving off his orgasm for the reward of sensationalism. There was nothing he wanted more than her blood. Her blood, then the words between them that would make her his forever. He wanted it too much to chance it. Loved her too much to take such a risk. She couldn’t possibly know what she was asking. “Buffy!” “Do it.” “I—” “Spike! Bite me!” His fangs burst through his gums and sliced into her throat, and it was over. Warm blood flooded his mouth as her body exploded around him. He felt everything. A gateway unlocked, and a whirlwind of knowledge spilled through. Things he already knew; things he had already seen. His girl crying for him. Every whispered prayer, every tear she had shed, every hope that poured through her veins at the distant promise of finding this again. Things he had experienced without a body now barraged him with emotion, and he could do nothing but take what the world had so nearly stolen from him. She was his. She had asked for this, and she was his. Spike pulled back with a feral growl, clutching her tightly as he let go of all else and spilled himself inside her welcoming heat. “Mine!” he snarled. “Mine…Buffy…fuck, you’re mine.” “Yes.” He felt her teeth skim the column of his throat, and he swore his heart was pounding again. “Yours.” Then she was biting him. Jesus Christ, she was biting him. Her incisors were lodged in his skin, and she tasted him. All of him. His blood. His fear. His love. His endless devotion. The thousands of years he had spent away from her, holding onto the image of her face. Holding onto the link that had brought him deliverance, and saved him from total self-destruction. She’d said yes. God, she’d said yes. When she finally released him, he thought he might weep from loss. Then her tongue was laving the small mark she’d given him, and she whispered a single word into his skin. “Mine.” Spike screwed his eyes shut. Their bodies had finally stilled, but he felt as though he was tumbling over that edge all over again. Reaching a pinnacle beyond the flesh. Uniting with something bigger than he was, bigger than even the woman in his arms. He’d lived so long for such little purpose until he found her. Up until he set in motion the events that would bring him to this. Curled in Buffy’s arms, her heart thundering against his unanswering chest. The world crashed and rebuilt itself, and she had placed a claim on him. She had made him hers. “Yours,” he agreed hoarsely, eyes swimming with tears. “Buffy…” “Mine,” she said again, cupping his cheek reverently. “Spike…” “Shhh…” Spike released a deep breath and collapsed against her shoulder, unwilling to admit how hard he was trembling. “’S okay, pet. It’s over now.” “How did you…” “I jus’ did. I can’t even explain it.” There was a long pause before he drew his head up once more. Too many things compacted tightly in his memory, most centering on the past two days. The way she had doubted that he would ever fail to want her. That he could ever walk away, even if he was unwelcome. Buffy provided the greatest sanctuary the world had known. He knew nothing else if he wasn’t with her; if he wasn’t by her side, or fighting for the opportunity to bask in her light. “I love you. Never doubt that. Never doubt for a sodding instant that this isn’t what I want.” “I just—” “I love you. Always will. Death can’t change that.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “Never bloody could.” There was so much he wanted to tell her. So much he wanted to share. New memories to make, and a debt to be repaid. His mind barraged him with images of the first hours of his new life. Things he’d done, things his soul already bled for, but most of all, the kind face of a wounded angel. She’d taken him to her home, given him clothing and a bed, and had, even though her fears were wholly unfounded, avoided him for want of his own need. And she’d said she loved him. More than once. She had kissed him and cared for him, and she’d loved him. “I do,” she whispered, drawing his eyes back to her face. “I do love you, Spike.” The words were worth everything. He’d submit himself to another eternity of torment if only to hear them once. And she’d known that he needed to hear them. He didn’t know if he had spoken aloud or if she’d read his mind and he didn’t care. The words were there. Spoken. And she belonged to him. No. That was wrong. They belonged to each other. He had so much to share, but it could wait. Right now, he simply wanted to lie in her arms. Curled in the peace of his haven. The rest could wait, if only for a few hours. TBC |