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| Past Perfect - Chapter 1 | | | | abc + + + | | | England
Four months after the fall of Sunnydale
The heat was intense, but she refused to let go of his hand. She had to hold on. There were so many things she had to say…tell him. Sure, he was her champion.
But not like this.
She hadn’t wanted this.
He just looked down at her with those solemn blue eyes of his and calmly told her it was time for her to go. She’d done enough, and it was left for him to do the cleanup.
Buffy woke with a start, her mouth frozen open on a silent scream.
No, you don't. But thanks for saying it.
Wearily, she ran her hands down her face, pausing to take a deep, calming breath as the recurring dream settled into her subconscious. Her tired eyes took in the ancient alarm clock on the bedside table. Noted with a groan the hour – three o’clock in the morning. Another sigh, and she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and stood up. No point in trying to go back to sleep.
Octobers in London were cold. And the bare floors just seemed to make it even more so, but that didn’t prevent her from padding barefoot across the wooden floor as she walked out of her room and down the hall towards the kitchen. No, she took odd comfort in how the cold seeped into her bones, chilling her to the core. It grounded her, kept her mind in the here and now rather than focusing on other…darker…things.
~*~*~*~*~
“Can’t sleep?”
Buffy swung around to see Giles standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Giles!” she gasped. “You scared me! Wha…what are you doing up?”
“Same as you, I suspect.”
The Slayer stiffened; she didn’t want to have this discussion with him. With any of them. Her last moments with Spike were all she had left of him, and she hoarded the memories to herself – even if they were harsh.
Seeing the understanding in the Watcher’s eyes made it that much worse. It was like he knew.
“Tea?” she asked, changing the subject.
Giles played along and nodded, stepping into the room and taking a seat at the small round table in the corner.
The kettle was just about to start its warning shrill when Buffy snagged it from the burner. She cut off the eye and filled two cups full of the boiling water, teabags already in the bottom. Replacing the kettle on one of the spare heating elements, she then snagged a spoon to lift the used teabags out of the cups and drop them in the trash. Feeling his eyes practically boring into her back, she glanced over her shoulder and noted Giles’ disapproving look.
She had to hand it to him, he recovered well; his frown quickly disappeared as he gifted her with an overly bright smile.
‘Tea snob,’ she thought silently as she laid the spoon aside.
Cups in hand, she crossed gingerly from the stove to the table, careful not to spill the scalding liquid on her hands. Once there, she placed one cup in front of Giles, then took the seat across from him. Immediately, Buffy set about adding liberal doses of sugar and milk to the concoction.
Giles watched the whole process in silent indignation, until after the third helping of sugar was added to the Slayer’s cup, he was compelled to comment, “Why do you even bother drinking tea?”
“Huh?” Buffy looked up at her Watcher, confused, the hand gripping her spoon pausing in its stirring.
“Your tea. It’s a wonder you can taste it for all the bloody milk and sugar you’ve added to it,” Giles griped.
“Oh… uh…” She stared down at the liquid that had gone from a dark shade to an almost cream colored one. “Habit, I guess…”
Giles rolled his eyes and made a production of adding just a dollop of milk to his own cup, and Buffy giggled in amusement at his antics.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since…” His voice trailed off, and the Slayer’s eyes became haunted as her mirth was squelched in an instant at the reminder...of him. Giles was ready to kick his own arse at his faux pas. “’M sorry…It’s just…Buffy, you’re hardly sleeping. And when you do, it’s never more than a few hours at a time. I know the destruction of…of Sunnydale came as a sharp blow—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she announced abruptly as she vaulted to her feet. “I just…” Instead of finishing what she was about to say, she turned on her heel and, with tea in hand, left.
~*~*~*~*~
“Here,” he murmured as he held out a small pouch to the Slayer.
Buffy looked away from the fire blazing in the hearth to glance first at the leather sack lying on the palm of Giles’ hand then to his face.
“Take it,” he urged.
“What is it?” she asked, making no move to grab his offering.
“Just a sleeping potion…and don’t look at me like that. Strictly white magicks, all natural ingredients, and completely non-habit forming. Trust me.”
The slayer eyed the pouch dubiously, but took it out of his hand nonetheless, and Giles released the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding – she could be so contrary sometimes. Her next words just confirmed his opinion.
“If I take this, will you quit harping on me?”
“Uh…yes…really, Buffy… I’m just trying to look out for you.”
Buffy sighed.
“I know, Giles. Really…I do. It’s just…it’s something I have to work out on my own. But…” she added when he looked to interrupt. “…I’ll take this like the good Slayer I am.”
She opened the pouch and tilted her head back to pour the contents into her mouth, snagging her tea from the coffee table in front of her to wash the powder down. A tingling sensation started where the sleep agent hit her tongue, spreading out from her core to race along her limbs. Her eyelids grew heavy, and Buffy stretched out on the couch as sleep quickly overcame her.
Giles closed his mouth, biting back the retort for her to wait to take the potion until she was in bed; there was no harm in the Slayer sleeping on the couch. The only other people that shared the flat with him were Willow and Dawn, and the two girls had gone off on a Wiccan retreat a few days ago.
He pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and settled it over his Slayer’s frame in a show of fatherly affection. As she was fast on her way to REM sleep, he could clearly see the fatigue that lined the girl’s face – that no amount of cosmetics could hide. He knew she was harboring some painful demons, just as he himself was. While slowly rebuilding the Watcher’s Council from, literally, the ground up, he’d spent an equal amount of time pondering – and writing down – the actions of the blond-headed pest that had loved his Slayer.
And who apparently loved him.
Though, to call him a pest….
No, he wasn’t a pest. Not at the end…when it had mattered. He’d been a hero. A champion. A demon that had gone against his nature and obtained a soul for the woman he loved. In the end, sacrificing himself for her so that she might live.
Only, she hardly seemed to be doing that now. She seemed a shadow of her former self, even worse than when she’d been ripped out of heaven and thrust into the mess that accumulated in the months since her death.
Part of him was ashamed at his duplicity, but he’d often proved that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his Slayer. If, by manipulating her dreams he was betraying her trust…
…well, that’s something he could live with. He’d been accused of and done far worse in his time.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy seemed to stand on the sidelines as the moment in the magic shop when they’d all lost their memories played out before her eyes. A nostalgic smile tugged at her lips as she watched her “other” self. Even as “Joan,” she’d seemed to know that she was a leader; and her actions, even without the knowledge of who exactly she was seemed to prove it. Her eyes ate up the scene, and everyone.
Everyone, but him.
Him she saved for last, her gaze finally drinking him in just as he got to his rant about his name. A full-blown grin engulfed her face at his righteous indignation.
“…Randy Giles? Why not just call me ‘Horny Giles,’ or ‘Desperate for a Shag Giles’? I knew there was a reason I hated you!” Spike complained.
“You don’t have to be desperate. I’ll shag you anytime,” she murmured aloud.
Spike’s head swiveled away from his ‘father’s’ and pinned her in place. Buffy froze for a moment before she realized that he couldn’t hear her. In fact, he was probably just projecting that smoldering look on her other self. She turned around to see where “Joan” had gotten off to, doing a complete 180 when she didn’t encounter the slayer behind her.
Then Spike was speaking, and she swallowed hard as she felt a rush of moisture between her legs.
“That a fact, pet?”
‘He’d heard her?’ she thought, followed quickly by a, ‘And how did he do it?’
Even with amnesia, and garbed in those outlandish clothes, he still exuded that Bad Boy sexuality inherent in his nature.
She nodded helplessly.
Hey, it was her fantasy after all, right?
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| Past Perfect - Chapter 2 | | | | abc + + + | | | Buffy raced into the deserted alleyway, the sounds of “Randy’s” bewildered shouts coming closer as he chased after her. She bit her lip as she struggled not to laugh, not wanting to confuse him anymore than she already had.
After her comment and the gang’s subsequent reactions – she’d especially liked Giles’ “dear lord!” – Buffy had done her best to re-enact the scene in the Magic Shoppe, forcing the others to escape via the sewer tunnels while she and “Randy” forced their way outside and steered the group of vampires away. She knew she didn’t have a lot of time before the spell was reversed and their memories were returned – and she figured, the end of this dream. Which was why she’d been a tad forceful as she’d plowed her way through the group of vamps, dusting two right off the bat.
Then Spike had done his whole “superhero” thing and she’d suppressed a grin with how endearing he looked – almost like that time… No, not going there. This was supposed to be fun, lighthearted – maybe get a bit of action – dream. Reliving the more poignant memories could wait until she was awake.
Speaking of…
“Buffy? Buffy, why did you run away? You know I wouldn’t hurt you, right?”
And cue melting…
He rarely said her name, oftentimes settling on a derisive “Slayer.” To hear it now? Yeah. Still brought chills – it was just the way he said it, like it was the sweetest word that had ever left his lips. And as for the other? No, he wouldn’t, hurt her, that is. After their time in that abandoned warehouse, every word, every taunt, every sexual encounter had been to help her heal. Hell, he’d goaded her into hitting him often enough, nearly beating him within an inch of his unlife time and time again…just so she wouldn’t take any of the anger and hostility she felt towards her friends out on them.
She knew that now.
In hindsight.
She stepped from behind a wooden crate and into Spike’s line of sight. He was still sporting that part confused part hurt countenance from earlier, and Buffy’s heart nearly broke. Eager to take that expression from his face, as well as banishing the ghosts of her past, she hurried forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his woolen blazer and thrusting him up against the brick wall.
Buffy had a moment to witness the astonishment in his startled blue eyes before she sealed her lips to his.
She had to admit, though, he recovered quickly, switching their positions so that it was she with her back pressed up against the wall. His compact frame leaning into hers until there wasn’t a sliver of space between their bodies. He felt good, just like she remembered, the moan at the feel of his hard angles hitting all the right spots forcing her mouth open. Something of which he took instant advantage, his tongue sliding between her parted lips to duel with her own. The kiss was carnal, and unrelenting, as if he somehow knew who he was….and that he’d done this before. Even if the event had yet to happen in this time.
Buffy didn’t care. Just pulled him even closer as his mouth continued to plunder hers, if such a thing were possible.
As his hands began to roam over her arms, her shoulders, one slowly making its way down her side and firmly cupping her breast, she was struck with the thought of how real this dream actually felt. Unlike her waking memories, where she relived each moment she’d spent in his company, each shadowy caress, this time she felt like it were really happening. Her fantasies come to life, for real this time.
It just made her desperate for more. To experience their joining before something pulled her from sleep, leaving her frantically grasping at straws as the images faded away. Renewed by her sense of purpose, her fingers sought the button of his woolen pants, making quick work of releasing the fastening and lowering the zipper.
In true Spike fashion, he wore no underwear, providing her questing hands instant access to his hard cock. As her fingers closed around his length and pulled him free, Buffy felt him gasp into her mouth, like he’d been unaware that he went commando. Something that caused her to silently smile.
Her actions seemed to set him aflame, because his hands were suddenly everywhere, her slacks shredding beneath his claws when they didn’t come off fast enough. Not that he noticed. Or that she cared. It was still a dream after all, and Buffy figured if she concentrated hard enough, she could keep someone from appearing in their darkened alley.
A cool finger brought her back to the present. And when had her panties disappeared?
“Yer ready for me, aren’cha, Buffy?” Spike growled in her ear. “Make you hot, I do.”
Oh boy, did he! Even when he was unchipped and they’d been fighting tooth and nail against one another, he’d still managed to make her cream her panties. Fighting was definitely a form of foreplay. Spike had had the right of it, only she’d been too locked in her own misery to understand. “Please…. hurry,” she whimpered and was rewarded with the digit slowly easing its way between her outer folds to plunge deep within her pussy. Her fingers tightened reflexively on his shaft, and she heard his breath hiss through his teeth as he pushed his hips forward into her hand. Buffy bucked against his hand, her clit grinding into his palm, desperate for some type of friction. Only it wasn’t enough; her body knew what it wanted. And the finger teasing her – no matter how expertly wielded – could not compare to the feel of his cock and how it filled her so completely. Her mouth turned down in a pout as her frustration mounted.
“Cor, pet. So wet,” he murmured huskily, sliding another two fingers inside her moist passage with little resistance. She was a ripe one, coating his digits with her growing ardor, her legs splaying wider to take more of him. Her hand…fuck yeah! It seemed to know just what he liked, her grip bordering on the rough side as she pumped him vigorously.
The scent of her continued to wash over him, proving too much for his control, and his features shifted to that of his demon. His amber gaze zeroed in on the pulse point in her neck, mouth watering as he wondered what she’d taste like as she screamed his name when she came. And if he didn’t focus and wrench his cock free, he’d be spilling his load long before he was ready.
Buffy sensed the change in him and lifted her leg to wrap around his waist as he pulled his fingers free. Followed seconds later by her leaning away from the wall and literally jumping him. She felt the head of his cock brush against her entrance, then she was slammed back against the wall as he thrust himself inside her.
She saw stars, not from colliding with the unyielding surface, but from the feeling of pleasure that washed over her at being stretched so completely. She couldn’t help it, gasping his name as he buried his face in her neck. He must not have heard her, or was too far gone in lust to register that it had been “Spike” and not “Randy” that had issued forth past her lips.
Then nothing mattered except the feel of him inside her, how he knew just how to angle his hips to drive her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her fingers making a mess of the slicked-back curls on his head, her teeth nibbling on any exposed piece of his flesh she could find.
Already she could feel her orgasm approaching. It had been a long time, after all, and the setting combined with his borderline savagery that was so much a precursor during their sexual relationship had her engines humming and eager for the checkered flag. Spike, too, seemed to have the same thought, his pace steadily increasing with each passing moment.
When he stilled abruptly, Buffy couldn’t prevent her cry of frustration. She was so close. Could actually feel the beginning tingling in her lower extremities that announced her imminent climax. She felt him shift next to her and she relaxed her grip marginally so that he could look her at her.
His expression of wide-eyed wonder, brought tears to her eyes.
“Buffy?” he whispered, his fingers caressing her face with the barest of touches.
It was him. Spike. The spell had been reversed, and she was now intimately entwined with the vampire that had tried for over a year to get her to see him. Confusion, love, his eyes expressed his emotions so effortlessly – something she’d never taken the time to notice before.
And she was suddenly transported back to another time. Another wall. How she’d lowered herself down on him and watched transfixed the riotous play of emotions that had crossed his features before they’d begun kissing in earnest. Just thinking about it made her inner muscles constrict around his length, causing him to bite his lip and stifle a groan.
“Buf—Slayer? Wha—”
“Shhh,” she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips, halting his questions. Her dream; she didn’t want to waste it with words. Shallow, perhaps. But, at times, when words wouldn’t come, they’d often spoken this way. Their bodies expressing all that lay locked away inside. Her grip firm about his lean hips, she slowly lifted herself off his cock, her butt connecting with the wall behind her, then inch-by-decadent-inch impaled herself all over again. Buffy repeated the movement once, twice, before Spike took over, pressing her back flush against the wall so that it was he that controlled their movements.
His pace was slow and unhurried, unlike before, as if he were trying to make love to her there against the wall. Prove to her that he didn’t have to be a monster. Once more her tears threatened to fall. Spike’s tender ministrations had the same effect as his earlier ones, his slow, deep thrusts hitting the exact same spot over and over causing her muscles to tighten in anticipation.
So caught up in what she was feeling, she didn’t feel him shift against her neck, his sharp canines piercing her neck with precision. Buffy gasped at the sting, her eyes going wide for a second…until they screwed shut as her orgasm ripped through her body. She arched into him, unconsciously driving his fangs deeper, setting off another waves of explosions throughout her slight frame.
She heard him growl into her throat as he continued to pull blood into his mouth, sometimes hard, sometimes barely lapping at the wounds with his tongue. Buffy remembered, her body remembered, how he’d handcuffed her to the bed after she’d done her own bondage experimenting. How he’d fucked her until she’d screamed his name, then bitten her and dragged out her orgasm for what seemed like hours, all from his varied methods of sucking the blood from her neck.
It had been a week before she’d gone back for more, not liking how the tables had been turned. How she’d almost told him how she really felt, if only to get him to stop, her pleasure crossing over into pain at being constantly stimulated without relent.
This time she gave without reservation, her whispered, “I love you,” dragging his mouth from her neck, Spike’s penetrating gaze searching her features for any hint of a lie. She just gazed back at him with all the love she felt, her face flushed in the aftermath of her climax.
What ever he’d seen seemed to appease him, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, and he gave himself over to find his own release. His thrusts were erratic, his normal finesse gone by the wayside at her confession. A handful of pumps of his hips and he was shouting her name as he filled her with his seed.
His fangs unerringly finding his previous marks and biting deep…
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy woke with a start, momentarily disoriented as she tried to recover from her vivid dream. Her hand lifted automatically to stem the flow of blood, pausing halfway to its destination when she realized it had been just a dream.
“Buffy! Are you all right?” Giles asked, concerned, as he leaned over the back of the couch.
“Giles! You scared me! What—”
“You must have been having a bad dream. You screamed, though now that I think on it…” His voice trailed off.
“It’s alright, Giles. It was nothing.” She mentally shook herself and swung her legs over the side of the couch. She was tired, like her body had gotten too much sleep…then she remembered.
Giles had given her something. Some type of potion to make her sleep.
Her eyes narrowed as she gained her feet, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness assaulted her. She swung around to glare at him, pointing a finger in his direction as she demanded, “What the hell did you give me, and just how long have I been asleep?”
“Uh… I…I told you,” he stammered under the force of her stare. “It was just a light sleeping draught. Non-habit forming. And, you’ve only been sleeping for a couple of hours, which was why I hesitated to wake you. You need your rest, Buffy.”
“Oh…” Her anger deflated instantly in the face of his response. “Two hours? It feels like I’ve been asleep for days. Why do I feel so tired?” she asked as she collapsed back onto the couch. She reached for the blanket and drew it up over her shoulders. Already her eyes were starting to droop.
“It’s the herbs,” Giles explained, resettling the blanket over her feet. “They’re designed to let the person sleep uninterrupted for about eight hours straight.”
“Hmmm… that’s nice,” she mumbled, almost halfway there. Buffy curled on her side, her hands tucked against her neck, brushing over the freshly healed marks there. She smiled, reassured by their presence, and settled into a deep slumber.
~*~*~*~*~
“We deal with whatever comes next,” Angel told his crew as he opened the envelope he’d been given. The object clattered soundlessly to the floor, instantly glowing to life as if jarred awake.
A mist ejected from the huge stone, gaining in size and density as it swirled in a tight circle in mid air. A figure appeared, its skeletal remains slowly taking shape until it coalesced into the image of Spike. The spiraling cloud disappeared abruptly and Spike, snarling in pain and confusion, fell to the ground at Angel’s feet.
“Is that…..?” Wesley began.
“Spike,” Angel growled.
Hearing his name, the vampire rolled over, his tormented amber gaze taking in the countenance of his displeased grandsire.
“Angelus?” he questioned before he passed out.
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| Past Perfect - Chapter 3 | | | | abc + + + | | | A/N: Yes, this was finished, but bloodshedbaby wanted to see it continued, and since it was her birthday....
The next time he woke, he was lying on something soft. A bed, perhaps? He opened his eyes and squinted at the sunlight filtering in through the open curtains.
“Bloody ‘ell,” he croaked out, rolling over as fast as his body could and falling out of bed and onto the carpeted floor…hiding there in the shadows.
Heavy footsteps sounded from another room, and then the door was flung open.
“Spike? What the hell?” Angel stood just inside his bedroom, staring at the vacant bed and disheveled bed sheets. He stepped further in the room and frowned; Spike was huddled on the floor, naked body quivering as he struggled to remain hidden from the sun. When he lifted wide, terrified eyes in his direction, Angel could have kicked himself for not thinking to pull the shades. His only excuse was that he’d gotten used to the sun shining into his bedroom, thanks to the special glass that made up the windowed exterior of the law offices, and hadn’t given a thought to the younger vamps reaction to it upon waking.
“Sire? ‘m sorry…whatever it was… won’t do it again,” Spike whimpered, still hiding on all fours.
Angel frowned at the other’s subservient tone, and he watched as Spike seemed to shrink even further in on himself. Almost as if…
“Spike?”
Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition at the moniker. He sighed heavily, glancing skyward. Why him? Nothing like tempting his inner Angelus with the way his grandchilde used to be. Young and impressionable, eager to do anything Angelus had ever asked. He could practically feel his unsouled self clawing at his insides, and knew there was no way that Spike would be able to remain here like this.
He needed reinforcements. As much as he hated to see the younger vamp with his first love, he needed his snarky, hands-off attitude grandchilde back worse.
The consequences would be too great otherwise.
“William, get off the floor and on the bed.”
Wild, fearful eyes glance from him to the windows and he had to practically bite his tongue to keep from demanding, “Now, boy!” Instead, he moved a bit closer, speaking softly. Telling Spike that the windows were treated and that the bright light was no danger to him. He even demonstrated the fact, by sitting on the bed, directly on top of one of the patches.
Angel forced himself not to react as Spike shifted to his knees, moving closer to him. His hand reached out and caressed Angel’s cheek and the sunlight striking it, marveling at the phenomena, and again Angel remained motionless under the other’s explorative touch.
Oh, yeah. He needed Buffy here. Bad.
“See? Can’t hurt you,” Angel croaked. He coughed, clearing his voice and congratulated himself when his voice didn’t crack with his next command. “Get back in bed, Will. You’ve been…away for a while and need to recover your strength. I’ll get you some blood.”
William nodded and settled himself beneath the covers, still marveling over the fact that the sun was having no adverse affects, turning his palms back and forth as his head rested upon the pillows stacked against the headboard.
Angel was nearly to his bedroom door when Spike’s voice rang out in the quiet.
“Angelus, where are we?”
“My place.” His voice was abrupt, his back to the other; he was desperate to put some distance between himself and the other vamp. Then a thought occurred to him and he turned around. “You’re not to leave this room.” He made his voice intentionally harsh, but he needed Spike to obey him in this. He’d rather not find out about Spike’s soul, or lack thereof, by the younger vamp snacking on his employees.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Then Angel was gone, fleeing out of his bedroom and towards the refrigerator that held his blood. He poured himself a glass and gulped down the contents, praying that would help him appease the demon that was whispering in his ear. Telling him what fun could be had remolding Spike in his image. Instead, the blood only inflamed the voices in his head.
Whispering about the fun the pair had had. Urging him back into the room to start anew. He shuddered and eyed the glass with disgust, throwing the empty container in the sink.
The Senior Partners. They were doing this. Trying to bring Angelus back.
He had to get out of there.
His office!
He’d escape to his office after giving Spike some blood. Then he’d call the Slayer. Buffy would come. Spike was in her heart, after all… as much as the idea sickened him. But, he needed the buffer she’d provide. And, maybe she could help Spike to remember.
Oh, god, he hoped she’d be able to help Spike remember.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy woke to hear Giles speaking in hushed tones. She knew the two of them were alone in his flat, so she figured he was on the phone.
She sat up slowly, oddly refreshed after her “nap.” Aside from the dream she’d had a first, her sleep was untroubled, and for the first time in a long while, she felt alive. Flinging the afghan off her body, she gained her feet and hurried to the bathroom. After making use of the toilet, she stood in front of the sink and washed her hands. She ignored the mirror, not wanting to be reminded of how awful she looked. The weight she could ill-afford to lose making her look older than her years.
The Slayer was almost to the door when she remembered. Her fingers lifted of their own accord to ghost over skin that would confirm her dream. Yet, when they encountered the raised scars, her eyes grew wide, and she practically flew back to the mirror to examine the marks.
She pulled her shirt up and over her head, and sure enough, the skin on her neck was puckered, indicative of a recent bite. Her fingers pushed and prodded every minute detail of the marks, and she gasped softly as tiny tremors rushed through her body.
It hadn’t been a dream. Somehow, some way, she had been in that alley with Spike. Only, she wasn’t sure about the when. If it had really happened when it was supposed to, the marks should have been old and faded, rather than fresh, the skin on her neck still swollen.
Buffy turned away from the mirror, a soft smile on her face. Though Spike was still gone, she was oddly comforted by the bite marks. And that she’d been able to tell him again that she loved him.
She opened the bathroom door and nearly collided with Giles standing on the other side. His stoic features made her wonder what apocalypse could be happening now to elicit such a grim look, before she tamped down the sarcastic thought.
“What is it?” she asked, injected a bit of concern into her voice.
“Buffy… I’m not quite sure how to say this—”
“Then just say it. Wait! Don’t tell me. Another apocalypse, right?”
“Erm, not exactly…” he stalled. Why had he not had Angel explain to Buffy about Spike’s return?
“Well, what is it?” Buffy stood there, arms folded across her chest.
“I-It’s…well…it’s Spike,” he rushed out. “He’s…he’s apparently come back from Hell.”
Buffy felt like she’d been kicked in the gut, but in an oddly good way. She soon recovered and shoved her way past Giles, hurrying towards the room she was using. Once inside, she went straight to her closet, pulling out two duffle bags. One empty, which she used to start shoving jeans, blouses, and some lingerie inside. The other one was Spike’s; it was the bag he’d packed – one they’d all packed on that fateful day. A bag, just in case…
“Buffy, I feel I should warn you…” Giles stood in the doorway to her bedroom, hesitant on how to continue.
“I’m going, Giles. You can’t stop me.” Buffy didn’t bother to look up, just stuffed articles of clothing into her bag until it was full. Then she began hunting for her passport and other identification. Not that she had any idea where she was going yet, but that was incidental; she’d make Giles tell her.
“I…that is… Buffy I’m not trying to prevent you from going to Spike. Only warn you.”
“Not the evil vampire routine.” She stood up, her eyes boring into those of her watcher’s. “I told you… he has a soul.”
“That may not be the case anymore.”
That comment brought her up short.
She watched as he took off his glasses and snagged his handkerchief, setting to cleaning the lenses. Knowing that he often used the task to stall.
“Doesn’t matter.” And as she said it, she realized that it didn’t. “He loved me… even before the soul. If he doesn’t have one now…” She shook her head. “No. I’m going.”
“That’s what I told Angel,” he said finally.
“Angel? What does he have to do with anything?”
“Buffy, Spike recorporealized in Angel’s new office. Spike’s with him in LA.”
“Can you book me a flight to LA?”
“No.” He shook his head, holding up his hand when his Slayer was about to object. “Angel’s sending his private jet. It’ll cut down on the time.”
“Wow,” Buffy murmured. “Guess he’s making good use of the evil law firm’s resources.”
“Just be careful. Alright? With Spike… and with Angel.”
“I will. You’ll let the others know I’ve gone?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Come on. Let’s get you to the airport.”
Buffy smiled back. The first true smile since before Spike had died.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy fingered the armrests nervously. She was going to be on the ground in a matter of minutes, the jet now on its final approach into LAX. The entire flight across the Atlantic, she’d paced the small confines of the Lear jet, her mind going over the dream that was not a dream, and the fact that Spike was back, and apparently without any memory of her. While they’d waited for her plane to land, Giles had passed on the information Angel had shared. That Spike viewed Angel as his sire and had no recollection of any of the events that had transpired recently. It was like Spike was newly turned.
The only thing keeping the younger vamp in check was his desire to please his sire.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she told herself firmly. ‘I’ll make him remember me.’
The tires squealed as the jet touched down and decelerated, jarring Buffy to awareness. She turned her head towards the small windows and looked outside. The darkened sky made it difficult to see anything.
The pilot came over the loudspeaker then, informing her that a car was waiting in their hangar to take her to Wolfram & Hart. That it would just be a few minutes until they reached it and to remain seated with her seatbelt securely fastened until the plane came to a complete stop. Buffy just rolled her eyes.
Once seated in the back seat of the limousine that had been waiting for her arrival, she allowed herself to take in her surroundings. The driver had told her it was just a ten minute drive from the airport to the law offices before shutting the window divider, giving her some privacy. The city hadn’t changed much since she left, not that she’d paid particular attention in the aftermath of Sunnydale. Demons still roamed at night, looking for a meal, for a human or other creature caught out alone and unaware. And there was still an abundance of them.
‘Not my problem. Plenty of slayers to see to that now,’ she thought.
A few minutes later, the car started its long, winding climb up a solitary street. At the top, it widened a bit near the front entrance. This, the driver passed by, headed straight to the underground parking garage.
The limousine finally pulled to a halt in front of a group of elevators, and Buffy climbed out before the driver could open her door. She’d been on edge the moment the car had driven onto the lot, almost as if she could feel the evil surrounding this place, and didn’t want to be caught off guard. The driver just walked past her and opened the trunk, reaching down to retrieve her two bags. Saying nothing, he turned and headed towards the elevators, stopping before the one that needed a key to operate. This, he extracted from his pants pocket after setting the bags on the ground.
“Lift’ll take you straight to the top, Ms. Summers. Mr. Angel is expecting you,” he told her politely.
“Er… thanks.” She grabbed her bags and stepped inside the elevator.
~*~
When the doors opened onto the executive lobby, Buffy forced herself not to recoil from all the vibes she was getting from the people milling about.
“Buffy… hey!”
The exuberant, girlish voice drew her attention away from the others, and the Slayer turned to see Harmony waving excitedly from behind a desk. ‘Harmony works here? Angel, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?’
Another door opened and the object of her thoughts stood looking uncertain as to his welcome.
“Hey.” His mouth quirked in a half smile.
“Hey yourself.” Yeah… awkward much?
“Why don’t you come in? Here, let me help you with those.” Angel started forward and grasped one of the bags held in her slim hands. “How was your flight?”
“Fast.”
“That’s Wolfram & Hart for you.”
“Yeah.”
“Uh…Yeah.”
The door closed behind Angel’s last comment, sealing the two alone inside his private office.
“Where’s Spike?” Buffy demanded now that they were alone.
“Look, Buffy, I’m not sure that Giles told you—”
“Giles told me everything, now take me to Spike.”
He sighed dramatically, and Buffy wondered if the action had always been annoying or if it was a new thing, say… maybe since her ex-lover had taken over an evil law firm.
“This way.” He gestured with his free hand towards the private elevator at the back of his office. Buffy started forward, moving in the direction he’d indicated, leaving Angel to fall into step behind her. When they reached the doors, Angel pulled out his key card and activated the elevator. The doors swung open and the pair stepped inside, neither looking at the other, nor speaking.
The bell dinged, signaling their desired floor, and Buffy was never so grateful to be released from the tiny box that bore the tension between the two. She waited while Angel moved off, then followed behind, weaving through the dining room and living room on his way towards the closed door, to what she could only assume was Angel’s bedroom. His hand closed over the knob and Buffy couldn’t prevent the denial that burst from her lips.
“No!”
He paused, his face a mask of confusion as he turned back to her.
“I’ll go…alone.”
“Buffy, I don’t think—”
“I said… I’ll go alone. Angel… just leave.” Seeing his hurt expression, she added as an afterthought, “Please?”
Angel stiffened to his full height, towering over her, then turned on his heel and abruptly left the room. The slamming of the door caused her to cringe, but didn’t sway her in the least. Still carrying the bag of Spike’s things, she reached out with the other and opened the bedroom door. She stepped inside quickly and shut the door before she lost her nerve.
Buffy watched as he lifted his head at the noise, and she couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes at seeing him alive…well, not so much alive as undusted.
“Well, hello, luv,” he drawled out, setting the book he’d been reading aside and eyeing his latest meal intently. “Aren’t you a lovely treat.”
She stood unmoving as he swung the covers aside and climbed from the bed, completely comfortable in his nudity. Staring at him, the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he prowled his way closer to her, she couldn’t help the flood of desire stealing itself through her limbs.
He stopped suddenly, inhaling deeply, and she recalled his delicate sense of smell.
“Oh, you are a tasty morsel,” he murmured.
In the blink of an eye, he moved, pinning the Slayer up against the door as he leaned against her.
“Not sure what ‘ve done to deserve this, but I’ll have t’ remember t’ thank my sire.” His head dipped and blunt teeth nibbled their way down the girl’s neck, and he nearly groaned as her response to his touch tantalized his senses. He wondered idly if she tasted as good as she smelled, and made quick work of shredding her pants until only a tiny scrap of black lace covered her mound. Then watched in amazement as the girl started working the buttons of her blouse until it fell open to reveal the matching top to her knickers.
He wasn’t one to normally fuck his food, but with her, he felt he could make an exception. His hand wrapped around hers, drawing her away from the door and back towards the bed, and surprisingly, she followed willingly.
At the edge of the mattress he turned her around and pushed lightly, allowing her to fall back upon the rumpled sheets. She smiled up at him, sultry-like, causing his cock to jump. He moved to lie down on top of her, but the heeled boot in his chest prevented the action.
“Boots?” she questioned.
William started down at the girl for a moment before taking in the boot digging into his chest. He shook his head at her finally, saying, “Leave ‘em on.”
Her grin, if anything, grew wider, and she shifted it off of his chest, allowing him to settle between her parted thighs. Warm hands closed around his shaft, and a sense of déjà vu rocked him causing him to jerk, and he looked down to see her frown up at him. He shook off the feeling, his tongue curling behind his teeth as he lowered his mouth to her lace-covered breast. His lips closed around her puckered nipple within the confines of her undergarment, teasing it unmercifully. The fabric was scratchy against his tongue; he wanted to see how smooth her flesh was, pierce it with his fangs and drink from her like a babe would.
He leaned away and tried to work the clasp free, finally growling in frustration when he couldn’t figure out the contraption and grabbed either side and pulled. Her breast sprang free, and he lowered his head to take the peak in his mouth. His fangs elongated and punctured the milky-white skin; he took a deep pull of her blood and nearly came as the sweet vintage of Slayer flooded his mouth.
What the bloody hell…
But even as he tried to question why his sire would drop a Slayer in his bedroom, one that not only was on the brink of being fucked into the mattress by an evil vampire, but who didn’t seem to mind the fangs digging into her breast, another, more disturbing thought, came to mind.
The girl had cried out someone else’s name.
Spike.
Who the fuck was Spike, and why did the fact that she’d shouted another’s name spark such an intense jealousy within him?
With a snarl, he ripped the fabric covered her mound, positioned himself at her entrance and rammed his way home. He’d teach her to think of another while he was sticking it to her.
Spike.
There it was again. That name. Dragged from her lips as he thrust into her. He tore his mouth from her breast, bracing himself on his elbows so that he could stare down at her.
Her head was thrown back, exposing the long line of her neck. And he froze when the shirt she was wearing parted to reveal the fresh set of bite marks on her neck.
Buffy mewled her displeasure, his warning growl in retaliation causing her eyes to open and glance warily in his direction.
“Spike?” she called out softly.
His gaze shifted from the bite marks he’d been staring at to her face. She lifted her hand, intent on touching his cheek and he snarled again. He watched as she stopped, her hand poised in mid air.
“Spike, it’s ok. I know you don’t remember just yet. But you will. And I’ll be right here.”
William stared down at the Slayer, assessing her words for truth.
She was calling him Spike? His eyes strayed back to the marks on her neck. He lowered his head, careful to keep one eye on her – although, with him buried deep inside her, his body stretched out on top of her own, she really had no recourse against him – and sniffed at the barely healed scar. He recoiled slightly when his own scent came back to him.
But how?
“I don’t know,” she answered his unasked question. “But I dreamed about you. And in my dream you bit me. At least I think it was a dream…”
“You… dreamed about me?” His voice sounded rough from disuse, and he tried to grapple with what she was trying to tell him.
“Yes. Ever since…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, unwilling, or unable to verbalize what had happened to him. How she’d relived it every night since. “But, this last time, it was like it was really happening. And then the spell wore off and you were seeing me, really seeing me. And we…”
Tears welled up and leaked from the corner of her eyes as she recalled the moment he’d gone from being Randy to Spike, his shock at being buried deep inside her, how he’d looked at her with such love.
“I love you, and I’ll be here as long as it takes. Even if… if you don’t get your memories back. I’ll still be here. I can’t…I can’t lose you again…”
William stared down at the Slayer openly weeping now. Definitely not what he’d envisioned when she’d first stepped inside the room. Which brought him back to the fact that he was still balls deep inside her pussy. And he was slightly amazed that throughout her entire confession, he’d managed to remain hard.
He flexed his hips, pulling back and sliding back inside the wet depths of her quim, biting his lower lip as her inner walls rippled along his length. Her heat scorched him, but it was a fire he’d gladly brave.
Hadn’t he told Angelus that there was more to unlife than just lurking in the shadows?
And with the Slayer beneath him, her words still ringing in his head, he figured that he was as far away from the shadows as he could get.
~*~*~*~*~
Angel opened the door to his bedroom some time later. Both Buffy and Spike were sound asleep, but the vampire woke at the presence of his sire.
“What she say true?” William asked, sleepily. “That we’ve got a history?”
“Yes.” His answer was barely more than a whisper. “Before you came back…she… she was broken, Will. I think she would have rather died with you down in the Hellmouth than for her to think you didn’t believe her.”
“Die with me?”
“She didn’t tell you yet? About what happened?”
“No… just something about a dream she had. And that I bit her. Stranger still, is that she’s wearing the marks from it.”
“I don’t know, Will.”
“She says my name is Spike. Well, she called me that, anyway.”
“Yeah, it is. Was just always partial to Will myself. Now sleep. I’ll be in my office.”
William nodded and closed his eyes once more.
“Oh, and no feeding. I’d hate to have to dust you when you’ve only just got back.”
“No feeding? How the bloody hell’s a bloke supposed to live?” William complained.
“Blood’s in the fridge. Human. Microwave’ll warm it up for you.”
Then his sire was gone, leaving William more confused than ever. He wasn’t sure about the no feeding mandate, but Angelus had seemed adamant. Definitely not characteristic of the Angelus he knew, but then, neither were the posh digs, or the fact that his sire had said he’d be in his office.
Too much for him to take in just yet.
Better to do like Angelus said and sleep.
He curled next to the Slayer’s warm body and was soon lulled back to sleep. He’d leave the other stuff for later.
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