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| In The Midnight Light - Part I | | | | - abc + + | | | A/N: This fic exists because of Seven Seasons, and my wonderful beta, Megan/Peta's constant appeal to my long ignored desire to write a Season 2 story.
Not to be outdone, though, I would be lost without my other indispensable betas, Mari, Teri, and Kimmie. Thank you ladies so, so much!
It should be noted that Darla is alive (so to speak) and well in this timeline. Pretend that Angel just whacked her over the head in Season 1.
This story is dedicated to Megan/Peta. Her enthusiasm (and constant good-spirited nagging for new chapters) has been my driving force.
Lastly, thanks to Mandi for the gorgeous banner and icons.
Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (for language, violence, and sexual situation)
Timeline: Season Two (Post Passion, although in a verse where Darla did not die in Season One’s Angel)
Summary: A brokenhearted vampire discovers that the truly important things in life often come from surprising places, and even more surprising people. Suddenly, Spike finds himself in a crisis of faith—the better angels of his conscience battling the restraint of his demon, all for the love of a girl he shouldn’t want. A girl he’s drawn to, even beyond his own reckoning.
Distribution: Mandi, Yani, Luba, and the ladies at B/S Diaries...it’s all yours. Everyone else, just drop me a line. You can have it as long as I know where it’s going.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant enemy. They are being used for entertainment purposes out of love and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Part I
The fact that he’d known she’d been playing him for a fool the entire time didn’t make the proof smart any less. He supposed it was no small thing to her—after all, all she had to do was smile and coo and murmur that she was his princess, and he’d melt in her hand. He was terribly predictable like that. A toy she enjoyed manipulating. After all, time had proven that there was little he wouldn’t do for her, and little else she couldn’t persuade him into.
Her illness hadn’t changed anything. Despite his outrage at the mob and the hell he’d brought down on their houses, a small, treacherous part of him had rejoiced. The Judas Iscariot to his own redemption; he simply couldn’t help himself. Perhaps with her illness, she’d change. Perhaps with her illness, she’d be more the woman that he’d needed her to be since the beginning. She’d see how much he did for her. How much he sacrificed. How much he gave her without asking for anything in return.
Perhaps he’d been able to fool himself for a while—not anymore. Not even when she batted her eyes at him and cooed about what a success the ritual had been. The second she was well, she and her bloody grandmum had gotten to scheming over his wanker of a grandsire, and various ways to get him defanged.
Their reunion with Darla had been one of the worst things to happen to Spike in the past thirty years. The bint had ditched them nearly a century prior after it was bloody obvious that Angelus wasn’t coming back. That the soul she so scorned was anchored, and he was now what she loathed beyond loathing.
A human. A human trapped in a vamp’s body. Not that Angel had made too much of a name for himself. Saving puppies, occasionally feeding off crime victims that were going to kick it anyway, and most recently, taking to gutters and exterminating New York’s rat population. Or so it was rumored. The Scourge of Europe reduced to a common pest control. Only not now. Now he was at the bloody Slayer’s beck and call. He was the goody-good guy. Bloody hell, the guy should don blue tights and a cape for all the fun he’d ruined since they barreled into town.
Darla had filled them in on everything that had happened since Angel and Buffy became the talk-about-town. Then she and Dru had become best buds, the past of hurt and hatred evidently lost on his sire, and forgotten by the blonde bombshell who, once upon a time, had suggested staking the loony vampire when she was particularly bored. They were thick as thieves with one common goal: kill the Slayer, torture Angel for leaving the fold, then dust the problematic wanker and have that be the end of that. Not necessarily in that order, even. Killing the Slayer had taken a backseat to making the honorary patriarch of the family pay for his numerous sins.
Now even their plans for making Angel pay had been placed on hold. All because Dru had been struck with one of her infamous visions.
Angel’s soul evidently had a clause. A clause they had yet to uncover, but it had given the Aurelius ladies hope that their man could come back to them. That they could find a mystic with enough power to tear the sodding thing from the wanker’s chest.
And now that Dru was fully healed, there was little stopping them. Neither she nor Darla had any use for Spike anymore. Not since he’d nearly allowed the Slayer to kill his great-grandsire during Dru’s ritual by nearly getting them all flattened under a huge organ. So he was in the doghouse, and the girls were planning Angelus’s welcome home party.
He had no doubt that they could get it accomplished. Dru’s visions weren’t monumental without cause—he couldn’t think of a single premonition that had failed to come true. If the stars were predicting Angelus’s return, then he’d be wise to trust them.
There simply wouldn’t be anything left for him when the grand wanker was back. Nothing left at all. The Slayer remained untouchable, and even with Angelus on the team, Spike had his doubts about getting under her sweet-smelling skin. He knew that grandmum and Dru were counting on her emotional collapse with the loss of her honey; he didn’t think it would be that easy. Oh no. Buffy Summers was one irritating chit who had moon eyes for the wrong bloke, but that didn’t make her any worse at what she did.
She was the best slayer he’d ever seen, and Angelus, while an asset when it came to muscle, had very little to do with the girl’s integrity.
He had the feeling that if she lost the boyfriend to the dark side, it would wound her but ultimately do no more than strengthen her resolve. It’d piss her off something mighty; of that, he was certain. And something told him that the attitude they’d glimpsed at through kicks and punches would explode in a fit of rage the likes of which none of them had ever seen before.
A pissed off slayer was nothing to toy with. He knew that much from experience.
The girls, though, didn’t care much. They just wanted their man back. Their burly hunka forehead with his diabolical plans of world domination, or better yet, world annihilation. Angelus and his stupid delusions of grandeur. There would be no end to his strutting. No end to his appetite or his ego.
He’d also be mightily brassed, Spike wagered, at having spent the past century encased in some righteous pansy’s bleeding soul. Of course, there’d be big talk followed by a load of shadow-work as he taunted the Slayer with the same mind games that had driven Drusilla insane, and eventually he’d get around to the ‘killing her’ part of the plan. In the meantime, to satisfy his demonhood, he’d assert himself as the dominant male in the Order by fucking Darla blind, then fucking Dru blind, then fucking them together. He’d put on a show with enough decadence to shame Caligula, and he’d smile at Spike’s dismay.
But he couldn’t protest Angelus’s return. No. That’d be worse than a priest suggesting Christ might not have died a virgin. Angelus was the deity around here. The girls were his bishops, his legacy written in blood, and the endnote of his tale vaguely promising his eventual return.
Sodding. Wanker.
Spike couldn’t complain, though. Couldn’t complain.
He was, after all, the youngest member of the Order.
He couldn’t complain if Daddy was coming home.
*~*~*
Truth, at times, was easy to overlook in the face of its overwhelming simplicity.
Seemed that summoning a warlock was a fruitless activity. All it took to get the ugly beast out in the open was a young girl’s cherry.
And Angelus, being the superb wanker he was, couldn’t help but brag about every single second of his tryst with the unfortunate Slayer. He laughed and jested, recited the girl’s words of love and affection, commented roughly on how inadequate she was, and even staged a reenactment with the all too willing Darla. Had Spike not loathed the girl, he might have been moved to something resembling pity.
But, times being what they were...
There was nothing left to him beyond the simple abhorring of everything Angelus did and said. Every superior glance he cast his way, every smirk, every taunt, every everything that was played out if only to demonstrate how blasted superior he was. How Drusilla only whimpered for him when he was inside her. How she begged him for fangs and laughed as she bounced on his cock, delighted to have her Daddy back. Delighted to have a saving grace from the boring old curmudgeon she’d been saddled with for the past century. Once upon a time, Spike had respected Angelus; his days as a young vampire were filled with nothing but pure idolatry for his grandsire. Even after he established his ground with Drusilla, even after Angelus threw his misplaced love in his face by fucking the daylights out of her, if only to establish his territory, Spike’s favor for the old man hadn’t vanished. No, the eighteen years prior to that wonderful gypsy curse had been occupied by bending over backwards whenever it was demanded of him. He turned the other cheek, agreed wholly with the git’s judgment—passed, of course, that one wretched incident curbing his name-change from William to Spike. The prat had never forgotten that; never forgotten the audacity a young fledgling had in questioning the discernment of his elders.
A hundred years without him, and there was no room left for reverence. He couldn’t even sum up a smile for the irrefutable fact that four against one were better odds. Angelus’s boasting aside, Spike’s earlier assessment of the Slayer’s mental state, while perhaps altered by the events surrounding the change, remained overall unmoved. The girl had stones where no slayer before her had even tried.
In the years since the curse, Spike had tasted the lives of two slayers. He’d bathed in blood, showered Dru with gifts, tried to emulate the Big Bad that she so desperately wanted him to be. He’d offered her his heart on more than one occasion and attempted to claim her twice, only to be rejected for her devotion to Angelus. The legend that wasn’t so legendry anymore, and would never be hers even if he was. Angelus, for all his boasting, belonged solely to Darla. He’d fuck whomever he liked, of course, but his loyalty remained with his sire. He simply couldn’t get enough of her. Something about the old bat had him tamed, as far as he’d allow it.
Dru wasn’t bothered by the competition. She actually enjoyed it. She liked being the one who sucked Daddy’s dick while he indulged in grandmum’s pussy. She liked the comfortable relationship she shared with Angelus, sans affection, more than she ever had appreciated the gifts that Spike showered upon her. The love he proclaimed for her; the wealth of things he was willing to do to prove it.
A hundred years of knowing that, and Spike hated Angelus.
Now the bastard was back, and it was the girl’s fault. That rotten slayer and her inability to keep her mitts to herself. To resist Angel’s so-called dark temptation and save her virginity for someone worthy of the prize.
Not that Spike cared much for the Slayer’s pussy, but anyone was more worthy than the self-proclaimed head of the Aurelius clan.
Anyone in the whole bloody world.
He wished so bloody badly that Darla would get it through her thick skull that Angelus was a talking head whose ego rivaled hers, but in his case, he had no reason to assume leadership in their particular Order. It was simply for his sire’s needless infatuation with him that he got to be so fucking self-important. That he got to play the part of the enormous sod he was.
Spike absolutely abhorred this feeling. This sensation of uselessness. Dru wouldn’t let him touch her. She’d gotten what she wanted from him, after all. She was healthy as an undead horse, and he was reminded of her good fortune every day with the orgasmic screams that rang through the factory as she and her sire fucked each other senseless.
It would only be a little while, he told himself. Only a little while. Once Angelus felt like himself again and had thoroughly eradicated the past sexless century. Eventually, he’d get back filling in his self-righteous shoes, and wanting the Slayer’s head on a pike for having drenched his body in all that love that he found so disgusting.
Spike forced himself to think it was okay. Forced himself to remember that once Daddy was done with her, Dru would be all his.
Forced himself to understand that this was simply the way things were. He had no right to object.
He had no right at all.
*~*~*
Spike kicked at a charred plank of wood, glancing upward as his family surveyed the damage.
There was simply no way to ignore the tangible distance between them. Angelus, Darla, and Dru on one side of the burnt factory, and he on the other.
“What a waste,” his grandsire grumbled, kicking at the debris.
Spike huffed and looked away, his jaw ticking. Yeah. Bloody waste. Stupid ignorant sod. There were certain areas that the younger vampire knew his elder owned genuine bragging rights, but none of them landed near the feet of slayers, unless he wanted word to spread that the girl’s cherry had been popped by his soulful self. That, Spike figured, was something the bloke would keep under wraps. After all, he couldn’t say he’d taken little Buff by force. No, it had been purely consensual. And knowing what a spineless git Angelus’s less interesting half was,soulful and loving as he attempted to hold off tears.
Bleeding tragic, that was. Vampires tripping over themselves for the want of slayers.
“She ruined my tea-party, Daddy,” Dru moaned, placing a dramatic hand against her chest. “The bread spoils. No one will sit down for cake.”
“I gotta tell you, Angelus,” Darla said appraisingly, her brows perking. “When you pick ‘em, you pick ‘em.”
Spike smirked but said nothing.
Granted, in this gang, moving a hair never went without scrutiny.
“Something funny, boy?” his grandsire demanded.
“You, but there’s nothin’ new there, yeh?” He chuckled outright and shook his head, ignoring the malice that flashed across Angelus’s face. “What? I bleedin’ told you You don’ play soddin’ mind games with slayers. I don’ give a fuck how well you think you know this one. She’s a voracious spitfire, an’ you’ve been outta commission for too long. Have bloody forgotten how’ta play the game.”
“Somehow, I don’t think mocking your elders is in your best interest.”
His hands flew up. “You asked, mate.”
“You know, William, at times your arrogance knows no bounds.”
His eyes bulged. “My arrogance? My bloody arrogance? Right. You’re one talk, yeh? You snap the neck of her teacher, play a joke on the watcher, an’ think the girl’s gonna take this all with a smile an’ a nod? Or did you actually believe this would break her?” He shook his head. “But I see your point. After all, you have bedded the girl. That’s all you need to go on, right? Doesn’ matter that you haven’ been watchin’ her for months, learnin’ her tactical moves, learnin’ how she digests pain...memorizin’ her every bloody feature. As long as you know how her quim tastes, you have all you need to tear her apart.”
“And yet, despite your—and I say this loosely—accomplishments, you haven’t killed her. I hardly think utter failure makes you deserving of bragging rights.”
“Like it does you, then? I told you this would happen. You punch the girl, an’ she punches back. An’ you din’t kill her last night. She came in, a bloody emotional wreck, an’ you couldn’t handle it.” A taut smirk spread across Spike’s lips. “What’s wrong, Peaches? Have you gone soft?”
“You’re taunting me?” Angelus’s brows perked. “You’re taunting me?”
“Shhh. He’s very cross with you,” Dru whispered into Miss Edith’s hair, swaying slightly with the doll clutched close to her chest. “My Spike speaks out of turn. There will be no cake for naughty boys.”
“Imagine my surprise, luv,” he replied snidely, his eyes never leaving his grandsire’s face. “Jus’ sayin’, we’re homeless because your Daddy got a li’l over ambitious, an’ the girl rightfully pounded his sorry arse into the ground, then set our place on fire.” His eyes flickered to Darla, who was glaring at him with contempt, though for the first time since he beat his way through his coffin, there was a flicker of admiration buried deep beneath the surface. Surprising, but he wouldn’t question it. There wasn’t much to say in rebuttal of a convincing argument, especially when it was drenched in truth.
“It’s nice to see you gaining this sense of confidence,” Angelus said lowly, taking a step forward. “Really, good for you. And I like the way you overlook the fact that killing two slayers hasn’t made you any more of a vampire than you were before. Always trying to fit into the big kid’s shoes. Never really works out for you, does it?”
“An’ yet, here we are. You’re the one that bollixed this one over. You’re the one that got us thrown out on the street.” Spike released a long, mocking chuckle. “You once got on my case for likin’ the attention. Well, well, look at us now. Think there’s a difference between angry mobs an’ a pissed off slayer? What is it, Angelus? This one different ‘cause you’ve bedded the poor girl? You gonna make a bloody exception to your own rules for...what? Make her pay for bein’ dumb enough to fall for your ugly arse in the firs’ place?”
“He’s right,” Darla spat before Angelus could pounce, and Spike would’ve done anything for a camera at that moment; the look on the bastard’s face was beyond priceless. His precious blonde goddess had turned against him. “She came here looking to die for that sorry excuse of a watcher of hers, and you let her get away.”
Angelus’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Maybe you didn’t notice the big flames.”
“I noticed them, right before the Watcher beat the hell out of you.”
“Yeah, and where were you on that? Hmmm?”
“He’s human, Angelus, or don’t you remember? I was under the impression you could handle a middle-aged human who lacked not only super strength, but a history of actively pursuing demons.”
“You’re actually taking his side in this? This is really what’s happening now?”
Darla snickered. “You know I hate it as much as the next person. Spike might be a joke of our kind, but that doesn’t make his rare and wondrous point any less valid. The Slayer was right here and you fumbled it. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Rules change when circumstances change. Buffy isn’t just any slayer.”
“Yeh. She’s the one you’ve shagged. Oh wait.” He tossed his elder a nasty smirk. “I think I jus’ figured out why li’l Buff isn’t jus’ any slayer.”
“Big talk for someone I could dust whenever I feel like it.”
“Yeh? What’s stoppin’ you?” Spike spread his arms, and for a moment—a flicker of time outside himself—he thought he’d arrived at the definitive answer to the longstanding question: how many licks could the wanker’s ego take before he completely imploded. Goading Angelus, while funny, was the surest way to find one’s heard torn off. Bollocks to the rest, the elder’s sense of self-importance had never been able to stand any such challenge. “‘m right here, mate, an’ it’s not like you need a bloody reason, right?” You’ve jus’ been waitin’ for it.”
A long whimper tore through Drusilla. She began scratching at her skin with her long, manicured nails, and pulling at her hair, her eyes wide and troubled. “Nuuuuhh. My Spike. So lost. Wandering through the dark. No one there. No one. All alone in the cold. Wants his sunshine, he does. Seeking the light.”
“Well,” Angelus drawled spitefully. “Isn’t that sweet?”
Spike, for his part, was thoroughly perplexed. “What the bugger are you yammerin’ about, Dru?”
“It itches.” She scratched at her arms with no satisfaction. “The light. So bright. It eats you up inside. My Spike yearns for the sun.”
“So let him have it,” Darla sneered, waving at him dismissively. He wasn’t surprised. Her short-lived support had accomplished exactly what she’d aimed at: the great wanker was guessing. Wondering. She’d planted a seed of doubt, and what’s more, she had questioned her boy’s abilities to live up to his promise. To kill the girl and have it over with. “The fight isn’t here. That Slayer is rewriting history as we speak. Much longer, and even Angelus’s reputation will be beyond salvage. Angel did enough harm. Now the demon himself, soul-free as can be, can’t lay a finger on a little girl?”
“I’d think you’d appreciate the art of the hunt,” Angelus retorted dryly. “Even now.”
“I appreciate dead slayers.”
“Don’ we all,” Spike muttered, plucking a cigarette between his lips.
“And nothing will be accomplished by nagging each other,” Darla spat, sending him a particularly nasty glare. “You made good points, William, but please, you need to learn how to respect your elders.”
Ah, here it came. One of his favorite lectures.
“Should’ve guessed any support of yours would have the life span of a fruitfly.”
“Yes,” Darla agreed with a nod. “You should have. The thing is, despite how miserably we fumbled last night, we do have a frazzled slayer on our hands. She is emotionally unstable. Her Watcher attempted what would have ultimately been a suicide mission. I say we continue on him. Badgering him until he cracks, and we, consequentially, crack him.”
“An’ you’re no longer bothered that the very same Watcher was here las’ night an’ beat the hell outta Angelus, who din’t even blemish his old-man skin?”
“No,” the blonde retorted sharply. “I’ve moved on. You should, too.”
Typical. Fucking typical.
The gorge between them remained. The invisible line. No matter what he did, no matter how much bloody sense he made, it would always be like this. Three against one. He was there to keep Dru satisfied, but only just. He wasn’t allowed anything else.
He never would be allowed anything else. After all, it had been like this for over a century. Even while Darla was off with the Master and Angelus was stuffed up the arse with soul, Drusilla took too much pleasure in reminding him that she was only his on loan.
Always like this. Always.
Only now it was worse. Now even the facade of authority had been ripped away from him.
Only now he had to face the world a little deader than he’d been before.
All because of her. The fucking Slayer.
*~*~*
“Fucking Slayer!”
Spike watched with only minimal satisfaction as the headstone cracked and smashed in chunks on the ground. James Lee Harvey. Bloody unfortunate name to begin with. No one would miss that one. Not that the cemeteries were frequented with folks chatting up their dead relatives, or doing much else but burying the dead or killing vamps and other oogly-booglies. People died and were forgotten with relative ease. No thoughts for the deceased were to cross the boundaries of hallowed ground. Not in this bloody town.
Even the oblivious citizenry knew Sunnydale was a bit off. No one cared much for midnight strolls through local graveyards. No one who cared to live, anyway.
It would end tonight, he told himself. The next time he saw the Slayer, he’d up her move to one of these lonely plots. He’d see her neck snapped, her blood drained, and her body spat upon. He’d rip her limb from bloody limb, then come back after the mourners were gone and dance naked on her grave.
Her fault. Her fuckin’ fault. The lot of it is.
There was simply no denying it. She was the reason Angelus was back. She was the reason Dru wouldn’t let him come near her. She was the reason his life was buggered, and he wasn’t going to bloody well take it anymore. Bleeding chit couldn’t keep her knickers up and now the sod was on an ego-trip to end all ego-trips.
This wasn’t about bagging his third slayer. Not anymore. This was about justice—reclaiming what was his through any means available to him. Dru and her sodding sunlight. Bouncing merrily away on Angelus’s cock, her body marred with gashes and claw marks. But the kicker, the real kicker, was the branded A on her pussy.
“See, my sweet?” she’d giggled, cupping herself as her hips swayed to music only she could hear. “This belongs to Daddy.”
Good. He didn’t want her tainted pussy, anyway. She stunk of Angelus.
He was through being the family’s bitch. It was over. It all ended tonight.
He’d kill the Slayer. Bathe in her rich blood, and ditch town. He’d do what Angelus never could. Not without demons hoisting him on their shoulders. Not without his women draped under each arm. Not without the legions of adoring fans that jumped at the chance to walk in his shadow.
Yeah, he’d do what Angelus never could.
He’d survive.
Alone.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part II | | | | - abc + + | | | Part II
She felt like a gutted pumpkin, watching as her insides rotted while trying to ignore the pangs of vacancy that rattled her hollow body. There was so much of her that felt frozen. She walked through the hallways at school, her conscious separated from the rest of her. The sound of teenage chatter drowned into an annoying hum. Girls were gossiping about boys they liked, guys were bragging about chicks they’d banged over the weekend. Thoughts of prom and graduation hung over the school like a blanket of ignorance. The world that lived among the dead.
Every time she passed Ms. Calendar’s classroom, cold would consume her whole.
I did that, she thought miserably. I allowed that to happen.
Logically, Buffy knew nothing was black and white. She knew that she hadn’t forced Angel to snap the woman’s neck, no more than she’d forced Jenny Calendar to be in the school building after hours. None of the circumstances surrounding her death could actually be placed at the Slayer’s feet. She knew that.
But Giles didn’t know that. He might say he did, even believe he did, but his eyes told a different story. A sadness so ingrained that it had nearly manifested into a separate entity that now wore his face and bore his name. Similarly, Willow acted as though she had lost her best friend. She took no joy in constructing lesson plans for the class she had taken over, nor did she seem to care how the material was presented as long as the students learned something.
And Xander...if anyone blamed her, completely blamed her, it was Xander.
It was all undeserved, Buffy knew. Ms. Calendar’s death couldn’t have been predicted, even if they knew on some unspoken level that Angel wouldn’t be content simply to murder fish and send her messages through those he sired. No, Angel wanted her to bleed. He needed to make sure she felt the physical punch of all the bruises his ego had sustained while harbored to a soul. She knew from Giles’s research that Angel reveled in the psychological mind games, perhaps more so than he did in the actual kill. She knew it. She had known it. And yet, she did nothing but rock herself back and forth and whisper to her own tormented soul that this couldn’t possibly be her life.
Imagining the kind, gentle man as a brutal killer, even if she knew they were separate entities entirely, left her thoroughly gutted. How foolish she had been. How utterly naive she’d been to think that a relationship with Angel could work, especially with the intensity of the passion between them.
The passion, however, had always niggled at her as tainted. She hadn’t known it to say so, of course. After all, Angel was the first major love in her life that wasn’t platonic. Angel was the first love in her life that had gone beyond the casual glances and the flirtatious smiles. Angel was the first love in her life that had expanded to that realm of adulthood. Therefore, the tainted passion she’d always sensed was ignored and translated instead as something normal for a girl exploring her first relationship. She remembered feeling it the night she gave him her virginity. Feeling the hurt in the bottom of her stomach that she had mistaken for nerves. The erratic pounding of her heart that she had attributed to the near-death experience she owned up to Drusilla, that blonde bitch, and Spike.
Buffy had spent nights tormenting herself about her decisions following her and Angel’s escape. Had they not been confronted with death, would she have consented to sex? Probably. Eventually. Her relationship with Angel had been physical from the get-go, and as enamored as she’d been with his anguished soul and puppy eyes, sex was simply the next step. She’d loved him; there was no greater gift that she could give the man she loved than herself.
Just as there was no way to know that this would happen. No way at all.
Only a part of her had known. A part of her had sensed something terrible would happen. She’d simply ignored it, not wanting to allow fear to ruin the only perfect love she’d ever know. And in allowing herself to forgo precaution, she’d gotten Jenny Calendar killed.
After those horrible things she’d said. Those terrible things she’d said.
Look, I know you feel bad about what happened and I just wanted to say...good. Keep it up.
If nothing else, she’d never forgive herself for that. For harboring a grudge against Ms. Calendar in those last, agonizing days. For placing Giles in the position to choose sides—to respect his loyalty to the Slayer, or find solace with his heart’s desire. Buffy’s blind prejudice against the teacher had kept Giles from having a few precious weeks left with the woman. Hell, perhaps her blind prejudice also shared a part in Ms. Calendar’s death. She’d never know.
Now in her place, all she had were words.
Words, words, words.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t kill him for you...for her...when I had the chance.
As though the world could still rotate on the pledge of sorry, no matter how heartfelt.
I wasn’t ready.
She wasn’t ready, and Angel knew that. He’d known that from the first night, when she’d pleaded with him to remember who he was. To seek out that small part of him still drenched in soul. God, she was so guileless. So duped. From the beginning, her girlish fantasies had steered common sense. Angel had no trouble remembering who he was. Who he really was.
Angel was the creature that hunted her now. The vampire that tortured her friends to get to her. Angel was the thing that had waited for liberation beneath the mask. The thing that had clawed its way through a soul, and sought freedom through a lover’s embrace of mocked sensuality.
That night would be forever marred in her eyes. There was nothing but pain now. Nothing but the shadow of the girl that had believed in miracles.
She went through life as though looking through someone else’s eyes. Only days had passed since Ms. Calendar was found in Giles’s bed, and it already felt as though she had aged years in wisdom if not emotional growth. Letting go of Angel was no longer a task—it was something she looked forward to. He’d ruined her life; he’d helped her ruin the lives of others.
But letting go of him, however emancipating, didn’t make the pain go away. It was all encompassing; the weight of her sins. The scope of her crimes—the things she’d done against those she loved for the sake of a man who didn’t deserve her. No tortured soul was worth this.
Should have seen it. God, I should have seen it.
But she hadn’t. And here she was.
There was nowhere to go. The factory was gone, but the vampires in it had survived. She didn’t need to see them to know it—proof surfaced around every corner she turned. The body count was still on the steady increase. Residual Angel-tinglies followed her everywhere she went. She was almost certain that he or his henchmen were keeping watch on her house at night. The window she used to keep slightly ajar in case Angel wanted to visit was now securely latched. Another security measure atop revoking his invitation to her home.
Angel had already been in her bedroom one too many times.
Nighttime now. Patrol. Searching for the hidden. Buffy expelled a deep breath and kicked at a rock, frowning as her eyes landed on a headstone that had evidently been dismantled overnight. The name James Lee Harvey scrawled across three large, sledges of stone.
Unfortunate name, she thought cynically. Not worth smashing the thing over, but okay.
She could understand the need for destruction, though. Things would be so much simpler if she found the same pleasure in beating on punching bags. She didn’t. She couldn’t even fool herself into mentally pasting Angel’s face on the heads of her opponents. She wanted his blood, and he knew it. So he stayed away and sent others after her. He was waiting her out. Hoping her hatred for him wavered for the want of the good ole days so she would be just as love struck and clueless the next time he wanted to murder one of her friends.
The next time...
There would be no next time. She’d screwed up, yeah, but there would be no next time.
The next time, Angel would be dust. A memory. And yeah, she might shed a few tears and mourn the loss of the man he could never fully be, but she wouldn’t let it defeat her. She would not be broken.
There was nothing left to lose.
Strange how fast lives could change. Buffy sniffed and wiped at her eyes, irritated to find herself crying. Tears were for wimps. She couldn’t face Angel if she was a wimp. If she was remembering things the way they used to be, before he started jonesing for human blood and planning the general ruin of her life.
At the end of the day, there is no running from the truth, she thought, turning the corner to leave the graveyard. Nothing tonight. Another night of nothing. Three this week. Three in a row, but she’d keep going. The night she didn’t show would be the night that he did.
She didn’t want to go by Jenny Calendar’s grave. Buffy didn’t want the reminder of what she had done. Of her foul, bloody crime.
And the tears kept coming. She kept walking, and they kept coming. By the time she stopped, she was in the park. The park where she’d seen Angel talking to Dru forever ago. God, if she’d only known.
If I’d only paid attention.
She hadn’t seen anything beyond her jealousy that night. What foolish sentiment.
Yet the crack in her spirit seemed to get wider rather than smaller. She couldn’t quite convince herself of her own resolutions. Whatever she was fighting for had left a hole in her chest.
My fault. My fault. All of this is my fault.
And then she couldn’t handle it. Sniffling in tears that demanded freedom. Warring the screaming teenager inside her that didn’t deserve the hell she’d put herself through. The woman she’d watched Giles bury as he wiped at his eyes and attempted valiantly to look brave when he was devastated.
Her friends were broken pieces of the people they once were, and it was all her fault.
Buffy couldn’t hold it in anymore. She found her way to the swing set and sat, curling her hand around the chain as the ground beneath her swayed. The world was a collage of torn photographs. The Hellmouth had never been this for her, not even when the Master sampled her throat.
She ached. Not just a feeling—feelings she could handle.
Sobs broke through her, spilling into the embrace of night.
Never had she known pain like this.
*~*~*
There wasn’t enough alcohol on God’s green earth to drown out the harsh light of reality. And bugger it, he’d tried. Every shot he downed seemed to have the reverse effect. He couldn’t get drunk—getting drunk for vamps was a commitment of the body and mind. He had to immerse himself in liquor and convince his consciousness to let the world sleep for just a little while.
The world, however, refused to sleep. He found no clemency from the void eating away at his insides, and therefore left without putting too much of an effort into all out inebriation. There was nowhere to go, of course. Not the factory, not even the mansion that Angelus had discovered. A pretty little place with an open-ceiling in the garden, naturally leading to delicious daydreams of shoving the grand sod into an open stream of sunshine.
It never lasted, though. His thoughts, more and more frequently, came back to the Slayer. That bloody brutal bitch that had ruined everything.
The past few nights had garnered empty results. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be, that Slayer. He’d prowl the cemeteries a few hours after she’d gone on her nightly patrol, visit the Bronze with the hope of finding her chatting with her friends so that her humiliation would be complete upon death. He wanted to strip her of her power; he wanted to make a public mockery of everything she was and leave little room for doubt that the little girl was nothing that the legend depicted. That bloody awful fable in her honor that instilled fear in demons worldwide because some little mousy blonde had bested the Master.
Bloody Master. From what Spike had heard, the bloke hadn’t even tasted her properly. A quick bite, as though fangs were made with venom, and he left her to drown in a puddle beneath the ground. No sodding wonder the girl had survived, with or without the wonder lungs of her best male chum.
The Slayer deserved none of the credit for axing the Master. For leaving her alive, the old sod had it coming.
Didn’t stop Darla from whining, though. Not much did.
Christ, he deserved so much more than this. So much more than the half-existence he’d been living. If Dru wouldn’t love him, he’d find a woman who would. A bloody century was enough time spent playing slave to her mastership.
His mind flashed to her branded pussy, her fingers massaging her folds as she detailed how Angelus had made his mark. How deeply his she was.
Spike snarled at the night, his arm lashing out at a tether ball in the park. The park. The bloody park? How had he ended up here? Didn’t matter, he supposed. One wrong turn in Sunnydale could render a man lost entirely.
Then a scent hit his nostrils, and his demon roared to life.
Slayer.
It didn’t take long to spot her. She was seated at a swing set, her back to him, one hand curled around the chord that fastened the seat to the upper beam. From the way her head was bowed, he suspected she was either crying or praying, and since he didn’t know the girl to be overly pious, the first was the better guess.
The demon snapped. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to. With a low, predatory growl, he stalked forward, eyes slanted and primed on his target. He watched as she stiffened with awareness, her tight little body drawing up as a long sigh slid past her lips. Resignation. Yeah, she’d want him to pity her. Wouldn’t bloody happen. He was a slayer-slayer, and she’d fucked with him one too many times to continue the dance.
I’d rather be fightin’ you anyway.
Mutual.
Stupid chit. If she’d only kept her knickers up...
“Go away, Spike,” she said tiredly, not turning around, not trying to mask the tears stifling her voice. “I’m in no mood.”
That was it. A roar that would make the devil cower tore through his throat, and he bounded forward in a hazed blur. His hands clamped around her shoulders, ripping her away from the swing with a bark of triumph. Yes, yes, this was what he’d needed. He needed the little bitch to bleed.
Buffy made a half-hearted attempt to get up that didn’t take. He fisted a handful of her hair and sent her face first into the bar of the swing set.
“In no bloody mood?” he snarled, backhanding her with a growl. “You fucking conceited bitch! You don’ care about whose lives you destroy, do you? Your Watcher? You friends? Your mum? Hell, even a vamp you could give less than two pisses about. They’re all the same. Li’l Miss Buff got her rocks off. Doesn’ matter how many people she has to go through to do it.”
Her eyes shone upon him with surprise and sadness. But there was no fight. There was no fight in her at all. Ordinarily, this would have bothered him. He liked his slayers with a little fight in them—he wanted them a full participant of the dance.
Buffy was different. Buffy had ruined him. Spike wasn’t going soft on her because of his own rules when it came to killing slayers. She’d broken the rules already.
She was the reason for everything.
“You bloody miserable...” He kicked at her harshly, his foot finding the soft underside of her stomach as she attempted to crawl to her feet. “‘S your fault. It’s all your fault.”
The Slayer gasped and collapsed once more, her head colliding into the legs of the swing set. He seized her by the back of the neck and slammed her face first into the steel bar again. And again. And again. Stubborn bint wouldn’t pass out, but then, he didn’t want her unconscious. He wanted her awake and with him for every delicious second of her long overdue demise.
“But you don’ care about that, do you?” he demanded, circling her with a furious sneer. He seized her by the shoulders once more and dragged her up the length of his body until she was at eye level. His insides rocked with the flood of emotion that clashed when their gazes met, but he shrugged it off just as easily, throwing her to the ground the next second with a triumphant huff. “You got what you were askin’ for. You got Angelus to stick his dick in you. Was it worth it, pet?” She was on all fours now, trying to climb to her feet again. Bloody chit didn’t learn. He twirled her around and backhanded her another time, the scent of her blood becoming a bit too much for his eager fangs.
Still, the demon wasn’t done. The demon wanted so much more.
“I hope it was worth it,” he snarled. “I’ve seen that wanker deflower too many young girlies. They scream an’ he laughs an’ makes it hurt a li’l more. Was it like that for you? Was it what you thought it’d be? Was it what you dreamed fuckin’ a vampire would be like? Did he make it hurt?”
“Spike,” the Slayer gasped, reaching again for the bar of the swing set. The way she said his name nearly lent him pause. It wasn’t a plea for mercy. It wasn’t even a spiteful growl. It was just his name. Just Spike.
It didn’t take. Whatever game she was playing at, it didn’t take.
The fact that she wanted to dally with him only made it worse. Spike roared and fell on top of her, straddling her waist and twisting her so that she was facing him. And then it all went loose. What little he’d held back burst through the last of the floodgates, and the monster snarled in victory. He drew an arm back, smacking her hard across the face, watching gleefully as her head rocked with impact. Her skin was spoiled with bruises, her flesh was split open and bleeding.
He felt a pang of something, but brushed it aside.
“‘S because of you,” he spat, between punches. “You ruined my life. You stupid, callous bitch! You’re the reason she’s gone. You’re the one who took her from me!”
He caught the whiff of her tears but didn’t stop. So what if she cried? He’d cried enough for the both of them for everything she’d done.
“You—”
Then her lips parted, and the world came tumbling down.
“I’m sorry.”
Spike’s fists halted in midair, his chest heaving for oxygen that he didn’t need. Strange how two words could unmake the fabric of the universe. She wasn’t pleading. He knew what pleading sounded like, and she wasn’t pleading. Nor was she saying something for the sake of calming him. There was resignation in her voice—as though she knew this was the end, and she needed to cleanse herself of her crimes.
There was nothing to her words but truth.
“What?” he rasped, incredulous.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, tears leaking down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.”
Then there was nothing else but the heavy weight of her sobs, and Spike was at a loss. His outrage deflated, the red that had clouded his gaze blinking out of existence. It was as though he’d been living in a dream for weeks, and now the fog was gone and he saw with perfect clarity. The girl crying in his arms was an innocent. A true innocent.
Somewhere in the midst of outrage, he’d forgotten that she’d lost just as much as he had.
Spike had absolutely no idea what to do with himself. The thrill of her blood had lost its appeal. He watched as she trembled beneath him, rocking with hard, raucous sobs that commanded her entire being to sustain life. There was something there—a chord that the man inside had tried to bury, and with such simplicity, she had dug it up and exploited it without being any the wiser.
Bugger it.
Before he knew what he was doing, he gathered her in his arms and settled on the soft earth, rocking her gently as she cried.
Whether or not she was truly with him, he didn’t know. She didn’t fight him. Didn’t even seem to register the change of scenery—the fine line between violence and comfort. It was for the better, in truth. He was too lost to consider the larger implications of what he was doing. That, innocent or not, she was still the Slayer and he was still a vampire. There should be no solace between enemies.
“Shhh, love,” he murmured softly, stroking her bloodied hair. “‘S all right. Jus’ let it out.”
From tormentor to pacifier. His life was such a bloody joke.
How long they remained like that, he didn’t know. It seemed that centuries passed before her tears stifled and she remembered who she was. What’s more, who she was with. He knew it for the way her calming breaths grew heavier. How her heart began pounding all over again, how the rush of her blood intensified in potency. She pulled back after a few minutes and met his eyes, her own raw and swollen from crying. Her face was so open, so vulnerable, and for a second, he forgot he didn’t need to breathe.
“I...ummm...” Buffy glanced down, just as puzzled as he was by the hands that held her. “Sorry,” she said awkwardly, pulling herself from his arms. If he wasn’t confused before, the pang of loss that stung his heart as she moved away from him hit the final nail in his proverbial coffin.
Had he truly comforted the Slayer? The thorn in his side? The bane of his existence?
God, he really had.
“I’m okay now,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I...thanks. You wanted to fight? I can fight.”
The lack of conviction in her voice notwithstanding, Spike found himself at an unbeatable loss. The drive for her blood had vanished. Temporary side-effect of having a soft, female body in his arms after so long; it had to be. There were no other explanations. But he didn’t want to kill her tonight. He didn’t want her blood on his hands after this—after this bizarre, but somehow precious thing they’d shared.
Not tonight. They could forget they were enemies tonight.
“Nah,” he retorted, waving a dismissive hand. “I got the full of it outta my system.”
Her defensive stance faltered. “Oh. Okay.”
The awkwardness between them was magnanimous.
“Bugger it.” Spike sighed and cast a hand through his blond locks, flashing her a sheepish glance. “You’re a bloody vamp beacon, Slayer. Lemme walk you home, then we’ll forget this happened, yeh?”
Her eyes didn’t trust him. Wise eyes, those. “You...I thought you came here to kill me.”
“Not t’night. We’ll call it off t’night.”
“And pick up tomorrow?”
God-willing.
“Yeh.” He nodded, half-believing it, wholly hoping he could after this. His life was already too confusing to add in an emotion less than hatred for the Slayer. “Lemme walk you home.”
“‘Cause I’m a vamp beacon?”
“Yeh.”
“And you care...?”
“Because if a vamp’s gonna soddin’ off you, it’s gonna be me, dammit.”
She drew in a deep breath and winced. “I...I can’t go home like this,” she said, gesturing to her bloodied, swollen face. “My mom...she doesn’t know about the slaying. And I don’t think that this is the way I want her to find out.”
Sod all.
He knew what he should have said. He should have shrugged, told her it was her loss, and went on about his business. Why he didn’t was anyone’s guess. There was just something about her standing there that struck him in a way he’d never been struck before. The girl who had ruined his life in a moment of ignorance, bleeding and bruised because that’s the way he’d wanted her. And now she was an outcast from her own home because of his violent hands.
I don’ care, he told himself.
Trouble was, though, he did. As long as he wasn’t killing her tonight, he could give in and care about what happened to her as well.
But just tonight.
“Right,” he said, stepping forward and gently closing a hand around her arm, startled when she didn’t pull away. The girl was seriously off her game tonight. Any decent slayer would have planted a stake in his heart for what he’d done. Not this girl, and it wasn’t because he’d stopped just a hair away from killing her. There was something else. Something he didn’t want to see; something that drew him in all the same. “Come on, then.”
“Come on where?”
“We’ll find a place.”
“What?”
“Your redheaded friend? Can you stay with her?”
“On a school night? Shyeah.”
Plus her parents likely had eyes and knew how to use a phone. He’d rendered the girl homeless.
The Watcher was also out of the question. Spike would be dust the minute the old man set his eyes on the girl. Granted, the bloke was human and therefore fallible, but he’d had a front row seat to the beating of Angelus. If prompted, the Slayer’s Watcher could be downright frightening.
Sod it. This was his mess; he’d clean it up.
“Yeh. Okay.” He tugged on her arm, and she neared him tentatively. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m gonna find you a place to clean up an’ rest.”
“Why?”
Bloody good question.
“‘Cause I am. Shut up.”
He barked it with more ferocity than he felt. The emotions tackling him were too confusing to deal with right now. He didn’t need to go a round of twenty questions with the girl whose blood stained his knuckles.
There were many things he didn’t need tonight. Too many.
And all of them revolved around the girl at his side. The girl that was trusting him without cause.
He had no idea what had happened. It terrified him. And the sooner the night was over, the better. This interlude from reality was too much.
He couldn’t wait for daybreak.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part III | | | | - abc + + | | | Thanks to my betas. :)
Part III
Spike was certain he’d never felt quite as foolish as he did pulling up to the Sunnydale Inn, the Slayer in his passenger seat. There was absolutely no accounting for where his thoughts were veering, and for the moment, he was trying to ignore the shrill of warning bells and the questions his demon was shouting at full volume. Something had rocked him hard tonight, and he wasn’t looking forward to any such self examination. With as buggered as his life was, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he’d finally gone off the deep end.
In many cases, full-blown insanity was the natural result of having lived so long. Though since he was a relatively young vampire for those that the Watchers considered ‘old,’ he’d hope that his actions tonight could eventually be attributed to a momentary loss of perspective. After all, what self-respecting demon gave a fuck if the Slayer’s mum found out about her nighttime activities? Furthermore, what self-respecting demon would have a living slayer in his car?
His life was so thoroughly fucked over.
Buffy jarred back to herself as the car came to a stop. She hadn’t been sleeping, rather staring ahead with a blank look to beat all blank looks on her face. A slayer like Buffy wouldn’t sleep in the presence of a vampire, anyway. Regardless of the apathy he’d seen on the playground, she knew she had too much to live for to welcome death without so much as a kick of protest.
“Where are we?” she asked, then stilled as she realized who she was with.
Spike smirked and rubbed his jaw. At least the girl wasn’t lulled into a false sense of security. Should his demon overpower the conscience he wasn’t supposed to have anytime soon, he wanted her randy and waiting for a brawl. “Motel,” he said.
“Why are we at a motel?”
“‘Cause I can’t take you home, an’ your friend’s parents would ask too many bloody questions.” He slid his car keys into his duster pocket and turned to her. “Wait here, yeh?”
“Okay.”
He released a deep breath and stepped out of the Desoto, casting the blonde a long look before turning toward the inn. It bothered him that she had struck such a deep nerve. The sight of her tears had done something to him. Something he couldn’t define, because he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt it before. He wanted anger. God, he wanted anger. He’d been so angry with her just a short time ago, and it was gone now. He couldn’t work up an appetite for her blood. There was something in Buffy he’d never seen. Something that made him think she was more like him than she’d want to admit; more than he wanted to consider.
She’d lost so much. Almost more than he had. Almost.
Granted, sympathizing with humans wasn’t a part of the job description. It shouldn’t matter a bloody damn how much she’d lost. Her throat was still ideally his chalice, and he was certain—nearly certain—that he would hold her life in his hands before their relationship was over. He would drain her, take her as his third, and get back to the rest of his plan.
Not tonight, however. Tonight they would be compatriots. Tomorrow they would be enemies.
The Sunnydale Inn was the host of some of the town’s shadier human dealings, something he knew simply by looking at it. He hadn’t visited many places that still utilized the “box office” method of renting rooms. There was a sliver of clear plastic between himself and the bloke manning the night shift, a typical armhole at the bottom to allow for monetary exchange. A taut smirk spread across his face as he plucked a cigarette between his lips.
Perfect.
“It’s ten bucks more for a smoking room,” the kid said, without bothering to greet him.
“Yeh?” Spike retorted.
“Do you need a single or a double?”
It would be the last thing he would ever get a chance to say. Spike plunged his fist through the armhole, seized a handful of the bloke’s shirt, and yanked him forward so that his head smacked against the plastic barrier.
The door that led into the small booth was slightly ajar, which saved him the trouble of making a big racket by busting in. The sight of the unconscious boy on the floor filled him with peace. A sense of appeasing his monster, assuring himself that the living slayer in his car didn’t affect the status of his demonhood. Fangs descended, he dove for the bloke’s fleshy throat and drank to his unbeating heart’s content.
It wasn’t a long drink. He knew he couldn’t risk taking too much time, lest the Slayer remember exactly where she was and who she was with, putting an abrupt end to this already bizarre evening. Spike wiped his mouth and sat up with a grunt, turning to examine the rooms available for the night. He made his selection, wrote something down in the kid’s records as to buy the Slayer a bit more time by eluding the town’s clueless authorities, then turned and made his way back to the car.
“We’re on the second floor,” Spike announced as he slid into the driver’s seat. Again, the Slayer had a faraway look on her face. A countenance of such vacancy, such emptiness that he felt a pang of something other than commonality simply by looking at her. As though he actually cared about the chit’s feelings, on top of not wanting her dead.
Spike shivered and shook that thought off.
Human blood really made a beeline for the brain. He almost forgot the semi-psychedelic affect it could have if one wasn’t careful.
“When we get there, you should pop into the bath an’ clean up,” he said, turning the ignition. The drive was predictably short, but he wanted to avoid her walking by the check-in booth and seeing the mess he’d made. “I’ll try to hunt down a firs’ aid kit an’ some grub.”
“Why?” she asked. The word was barely even spoken; almost as though she’d simply thought too loud, and his vampiric hearing had picked up on something illicit.
“What’s that, pet?”
“Why are you doing this?”
He sighed. Bloody good question. “I told you as much back there, yeh? No one kills you but me.”
“So why aren’t we fighting? You wanted to earlier.”
“An’ I don’ now. What? A bloke can’t change his mind?” He arched a brow, pulling into a parking space with a sigh. “You don’ seem too keen on fightin’ right now, either, if you don’ mind my sayin’. So either stop lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, or I’ll off you now.”
Buffy licked her lips and glanced down. She didn’t say anything else.
God, the life in her was gone. Why did that bother him so much?
Perhaps the answer was simpler than all that. The Slayer had always been so full of life. So radiant. The embodiment of everything he was supposed to hate, yet admired against his better judgment. Seeing her like this—defeated—all because of his wankerish grandsire called to the primal beast within that demanded blood for stealing her sunshine. Blood against his own family; while not exactly a novel idea, it had never been for anyone’s sake outside his own. To want vengeance on the behalf of a girl he intended to kill within the next couple days was more than bizarre. It shook him to his core. It brought his other senses to life in ways he’d never imagined.
She was so terrifying. She threatened to change everything without even raising her voice.
Spike expelled a deep breath and killed the engine. “Come on. Inside we go.”
A single bed sat opposite a television, and the room was sparsely furnished with a few other offbeat selections that he figured were there simply to take up space, rather than necessity. It was a small and sleazy place, though no more than he had expected. Buffy stood in the doorway for a long minute, taking it all in.
It was impossible not to notice her rich, alluring scent when she was standing so close. She shone with warmth that complemented her beauty in ways he’d vainly attempted to ignore. Now, with nothing between them other than awkward silence, there was no way to put her out of his mind; to forget that she existed as more than the chit chosen by the almighty Powers to hunt his kind. Tonight, she wasn’t the Slayer. Tonight, she was a girl. A woman. And the man in him appreciated the woman far too much for his own good.
His cock twitched, and his senses were hit head-on with the fiercest wave of lust he’d ever experienced.
Oh holy fuck.
“There’s just one bed,” Buffy observed, her voice shaky.
“‘m not stayin’. Jus’ gonna get you set up.”
“Oh.”
He honestly couldn’t tell if that extra flavorful note in her voice carried relief or disappointment. And similarly, he honestly couldn’t tell which one he’d prefer.
“I should call my mom.”
“An’ tell her what?”
“That I’m staying at Willow’s?” She licked her lips. “Willow would cover for me. If she knew what happened, she’d cover for me.”
“As long as she doesn’ know I’m still here, right?”
“Well, you do tend to complicate things.”
Spike smiled wryly. “You do, too, luv. In more ways than you’ll ever know. Now, hop on into the bath an’ get yourself all cleaned up.”
“And you’re going to...?”
“Get you grub an’ see if I can’t find some disinfectant, or whatever you bloody pulsers use when you get into scrapes. I told you as much already.”
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Ummm...I’ll just be...in there, then. Getting cleaned up.”
“After you call your mum?”
She nodded again, turning for the phone. “Right.”
The conversation was so surreal, he briefly contemplated the possibility that he’d stepped into someone else’s life. He watched as she lied to her mum; admired how calm she was, like the routine was old hat—which it likely was, in all probability. Then she stood and sighed, and disappeared into the lavatory, hidden behind a door and the sound of running water.
Immediately, his treacherous brain presented a gallery of Buffy in the nude. Buffy’s small, nubile body covered in nothing but soap suds. How her nipples must appear as simple, innocent blushes underwater. Then lower, to the thatch of curls between her legs. He knew from fighting her how much the dance played on her arousal. How wet she became simply by facing him off. That had never phased him; he was always as hard as rock when he battled her, too. It was a part of the trade.
Of course, the fact that no opponent, slayer or not, had managed to turn him on as much as little Buffy was a fact he’d been happy to ignore until tonight.
He knew how wet fighting him made her. He wondered if he could make her wet now. Now, when they weren’t enemies. For this one night suspended in time and reason. He wondered how she’d taste. For the heady, heavenly scent of her, he figured her taste to be a step away from a realm of the otherworldly experience he’d never get a chance to touch.
Spike sighed and cast a hand through his platinum locks. Fuck, he had to get out of here before he lost control and barged into the bathroom to steal a sample. The little Slayer was forbidden fruit of the richest kind. He couldn’t give into temptation. If anything, he’d brought her here to heal, not to give her more scars.
Best to turn and leave before he dwelled over that thought too long. Why in the world it should matter a bugger if he took advantage of a naked slayer, especially when he’d already done his bloody good deed of the day by not killing her in the first place. A sigh coursed through his body.
Tonight was definitely one for the record books.
“’ll be back soon,” he called, and popped out the door before he could hear her girlish voice answering him. Before his control snapped and he stormed into her sanctuary and found himself in a deeper hole than he was in already.
He was back in a half hour with a bag full of fast food and a first-aid kit. He announced his arrival through the closed door to avoid startling the girl, and entered before she could reply.
And immediately wished he hadn’t.
“Oh God.”
Buffy was standing across the room, wrapped only in a towel, a flush warming her swollen skin. Her wet hair was tussled, framing her bruised but beautiful face with a shade of innocence that he was certain she was unaware of. His cock hardened painfully, strained against the confines of his denim slacks. She was a picture of strength without even trying. He’d never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her at that moment.
“Ummm.” She glanced down in embarrassment. “My clothes were all...bloody and dirty, and it kinda made no sense to get all squeaky clean and then—”
“Yeah,” Spike agreed, the word rolling out of his mouth with sensuality that he hadn’t intended. His eyes couldn’t help but rake up and down her scrumptious form. The demon within snarled with need. It’d been so long. Years since Drusilla was well enough, and now she didn’t allow anyone to touch her but her precious Daddy. And Spike, while temptation surfaced around every corner, had never allowed himself to indulge. Dru was his world, after all, and to him, fidelity was more important than satisfaction.
Rather it had been until recently. As far as he was concerned, he and Dru were finished.
“Spike, I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your bringing me here, but I’m feeling kinda—”
“Naked?”
“Uncomfortable. Is there anything—”
“Should be some cheaply bathrobes in the closet.” He mentally kicked himself the minute the words touched the air, then kicked himself for kicking himself. The night had been confusing enough as it was; add sex to the mix, and he was sure his world would thoroughly unwind.
Buffy nodded appreciatively and disappeared into the loo with a bathrobe in hand. When she emerged again, she was much more relaxed; granted, as much as she could be while dressed in a robe in her mortal enemy’s presence. “What’d you bring me?”she asked, flashing a weary smile.
Spike swallowed hard. Her more modest attire hadn’t done anything to quell his lust. “Burger. Fries. Shake.”
She nodded gratefully. “Sounds good.”
He’d done nothing to deserve that look. As though she owed him something for ceasing his attack on her. He didn’t like her like this. He wanted her snarky. He wanted that bitchy gleam in her eyes, the fight on her face, and that troublesome mouth at work. This wasn’t the Slayer he’d come to Sunnydale to kill. This was a different girl altogether.
He wanted the old Slayer back.
“Yeh,” he said, tossing the greasy bag onto the bed. “Eat up, then I’m gonna put some stuff on your bruises.”
“Why?”
He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Slayer, you keep askin’ me that question, even though I can guarantee you, my answer’s not gonna change. What do you bloody want from me?”
“Sorry. I’m not exactly sure how to handle former-enemy vampires.”
“We’re still enemies. Jus’ not tonight.”
“Why is tonight so different?”
Bugger if I know.
“It jus’ is, all right?” He gestured to sack. “Eat up.”
Buffy held his eyes a minute longer, then glanced down and nodded, and he all but roared with outrage. He could barely believe it was the same girl. She looked the same, sounded the same, but the fight—the glorious want of the dance that he so admired—was gone. Surely she couldn’t be the same face, the same girl that had launched a thousand proverbial ships, and burnt the topless towers of Illium.
His eyes never left her face as she ate. So expressionless. So void of anything. He wanted to add color to her cheeks. He wanted the fire back in her eyes. He wanted anything but the drone in front of him.
Well, his body, at this point, would have been satisfied with anything remotely Buffy-shaped. Spike, on the other hand, wanted the Slayer that he loved to hate.
He wanted his Slayer back.
“You din’t fight me back,” he stated matter-of-factly, biting back a grin when she glanced up in shock, as though that part of their strange night was off limits. Bloody right. Like he was going to let her off that easily. “In the park, you din’t fight me back. I could’ve killed you.”
She swallowed. “But you didn’t.”
“Doesn’ matter that I din’t. I could’ve, an’ would’ve if you hadn’t blown me away. An’ you’d be a cooling corpse now if I hadn’t stopped.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Because you apologized.”
“Apologies don’t mean you take your enemies to motels, buy them food, and doctor the wounds that, oh yeah, you put there in the first place.”
Spike smirked. There she is.
“I asked firs’,” he replied.
“Huh? Are you five? What the hell does that matter?”
“Answer the question, Slayer. Your death wish get here early, or are you really that depressed that your boy’s stickin’ his dick in women other than you?”
It happened fast. One second she was sitting on the mattress, the next she was before him, her eyes flashing with ire that made his blood hot and his cock even harder than before. The bite of her punch, while painful, was worth the passion she’d exhibited in those precious seconds. She was more of herself then.
Her hot little hands on his body, while her touch was anything but sensual, only served to fuel his lust.
“You know what I forgot?” she spat. “You’re an ass, and I hate you.”
She raised her fists again, and he caught them with ease, pulling her flush against his body with a grin. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, that’s not nice, pet. Remember, I’m the bloke who decided to not kill you tonight.”
“I was stupid for ever coming here.”
“Probably, but wishful thinking’s not gonna change that. An’ you still don’ have anywhere to go.” God, she felt good pressed against him. “Now, sit down, finish eatin’, an’ we’ll play Doctor.”
Her eyes went wide. “We’ll what?”
Spike just looked at her for a moment, then grinned when the reference hit him. About a thousand nasty suggestions leapt into his throat, but for whatever reason, he didn’t fancy ruining the tentative peace between them any more than he had already. His objective was complete; he had the girl acting more like herself. And he wanted to keep her here for the night at least. Telling her that he could erase Angel’s precious face from her memory in ten minutes wouldn’t do much to uphold their Pax Romana.
“You got a dirty mind,” he said instead, grinning when she flushed. “I told you, I’m gonna put some stuff on your bruises. Should accelerate the healin’ process.”
“I’m the Slayer. Consider me accelerated.”
“Like antibiotics are gonna kill you?”
“How do I know you didn’t do something to them?”
“Like poison? Slayer, what in God’s name would be the point in takin’ you here, bookin’ a room, leavin’ you to shower, an’ buyin’ you food if all I wanted to do was kill you? Again, I’ve already declined that option t’night, despite the go ahead you gave me back there.”
Her eyes flashed indignantly. “I did not!”
“Yes, you did. By not fightin’ back, you might as well have begged me to end you.” He quirked his head. “Not that I don’ fancy freebies from time to time, but slayers’ gotta have some bloody fight in them.” A beat. “Especially you.”
The anger faded from her eyes slowly, understanding washing over in its place. As though it just occurred to her how close she’d come to death tonight. How she could have been, right now, lying dead next to the swing set. How fortunate she was to be anywhere, with anyone, talking about anything. “Why’s that?” she asked, her voice softer. “Why especially me?”
Spike smiled softly, the first genuine smile of the night, holding up the first aid kit and giving it a good shake. “Let’s doctor you up.”
“Why especially me?”
“Because you’re the best.” There were a thousand other reasons, but he didn’t want to get into listing off her positive attributes, especially when he was still bloody confused as to why he was in the room with her in the first place. He took a seat beside her, and popped the lid of the kit. “This might sting a li’l,” he said.
“This has to be the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You an’ me both.”
She quirked a brow. “Of the slayers you’ve killed in the past, you never beat the crap out of them, then patched them up?”
He chuckled. “Gotta say, it’s a firs’.”
Buffy met his eyes then, and smiled a bit. And he nearly fell off the bed.
Bugger.
The sooner he got out of here, the better.
The silence between them was brutal, making him all too aware of her alluring scent, even tainted with the hint of disinfectant. She breathed so softly, as though deliberately trying to keep quiet. As though God would hear them and storm downstairs to fix the anomaly that was occurring.
“Anywhere else hurt?” he asked, gently doctoring the nasty scar that marred her forehead.
“Umm, yeah, but I’ll take care of it.” She shifted uncomfortably and put some much needed distance between them. “I could’ve taken care of this, too.”
“Guess I feel responsible.”
“You are responsible.”
He sighed. “Yeh, that’s probably why I feel responsible.”
Buffy grinned wryly and sat back on the bed, crossing her legs and reaching for her half-consumed milkshake. The way she was positioned, her bathrobe parted and revealed the length of her legs, bruised as they were, and held him captive as his eyes traveled up her body, resting intently on the treasure concealed by terrycloth, nestled between her thighs.
She must have caught him staring; the next thing he knew, her heart was pounding wildly and she’d yanked a pillow out from behind her, placing it over her exposed skin and ruining his fun.
The movement snapped him back to reality. Right. Slayer. Didn’t matter how sodding good she smelled, he still hated every inch of her golden flesh.
Best to get the hell out before he let his cock make any more decisions for him. Spike cleared his throat and sprang to his feet. “Right,” he said. “Well, looks like you’re all set up. I’m off.”
“Where are you going?”
To kill something. Hopefully something young, cute, an’ blonde.
“Did what I said I would. You’re here. You’re fed. I’ll kill you another day.”
Buffy licked her lips. “Are you going back to...wherever Angel is?”
Spike’s jaw tightened. “It’s not Angel, ducks. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better off we’ll be. Angel is the bloke who whispered frilly nothings in your ear, kissed you goodnight, an’ went to set a record for the world’s longest brood. He’s not the wanker I have to put up with. Angel isn’t a part of Angelus...now, the other way around, I gotta say—”
A shadow crossed her face. “Hey!”
“What?”
“Angel’s not a part of Angelus, yeah, I’ll bite. But there’s no way that Angelus is a part of Angel. No way.”
He smirked. “Think that if you want, pet.”
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
“An’ I’m sure he’ll appreciate it if you ever get your boy back, especially considerin’ what a load of bollocks it is.” Spike shook his head. “Sweetheart, you really think you’ve seen Angelus? Hell you think you saw Angel? I might not’ve been a part of his life for the whole of the century, but I know what I saw when I got here, an’ I sure as hell know that I’ve got the up on what he was like before he got a soul stuffed up his overly righteous arse. Angel was nothin’ but Angelus, sans the personality.”
Buffy’s face hardened and she turned away from him. “You know nothing.”
“You’re in denial, pet.”
“I am not! Angel...what...he’s nothing like the monster that—”
“Slayer, if that were true, it’d stand to reason that the second he was cursed, he’d revert back to that whorin’ Liam that Darla’s always goin’ on about. Guess what? He din’t. He became a bloody hybrid.”
“He learned from what he’d done.”
“For God’s sakes, is this really how you’re dealin’ with it?” He pointed an angry finger at the door, as though somehow he knew Angelus was at the other end, even with the miles between them. “Convincin’ yourself that the pompous egomaniac that’s currently fucking the daylights outta Dru is jus’ a shadow of the bloke that popped your cherry? You’re off your nutter. You can’t tell me that he hasn’ been a condescendin’, self-righteous, stuffy know-it-all since the minute his baby face stepped into your life. I know the man. Furthermore, I’ve seen you two together. I’ve watched the way he was with you, an’ never once did he gimme the impression that he felt you were in charge of your precious star-crossed soap opera. Either you’re in denial, Slayer, or you really had no idea who he was in the firs’ place.”
Sod. All. The chit’s eyes were filled with tears. Spike huffed and looked away. He’d never understood the fascination with making the girlies cry; it was something Angelus reveled in—seeing the evidence of pain that no punch could inflict. Seeing the utter demise of the human condition, complete with broken hearts, damaged dreams, and devastated ambitions.
What the fuck did it matter, anyway? He was gone, and the next time he saw her, their makeshift truce would be at an end. He could kill her then after he’d distanced himself from his treacherous thoughts.
“Bugger this,” he growled. “It’s been a thoroughly fucked over night, Slayer. Next time, let’s hope you have some fight in you. I want you to die squirmin’.”
He almost made it to the door, he really did. He was just seconds away from being on the other side and out of this bizarre parallel universe. A beat more, and he would have escaped with his sanity. But no, the Slayer would have none of that. It was her life’s mission, declared or not, to fuck with his head. To confuse matters even more than they were currently. To make everything worse.
“Spike? Would you...just for a while...just stay? I don’t really feel like being alone.”
He froze, staring at the door as though it was his last attempt to be a man of any measure.
Tell her to bugger off. She’s passed ‘Go’ one too many times tonight.
His shoulders dropped and a long sigh hissed through his teeth. Trouble was, there was nowhere for him to go. Back to the mansion? He didn’t particularly fancy listening to Angelus and the girls have their merry fun all night. He could go back to the bars that had failed to inebriate him tonight, but with his luck, he’d end up so bloody intoxicated that he’d pass out in a meadow or some other sun-drenched locale.
The longer he stayed here, the less he’d have to worry with the implications of his actions. Tonight, at least. Tomorrow he was sure he’d be playing many mental rounds of Kick the Spike for letting the ball slip through his fingers.
And, who knew? Maybe the demon would overcome whatever roadblock that kept the Slayer’s blood in her body and not on his hands.
More time, for that cause, couldn’t possibly hurt.
“Yeh,” he said at last, shrugging his duster off his shoulders. “I’ll stay. For a while.”
“Just a while.”
“Right.”
She smiled weakly and scooted over.
She wants me to sit with her?
The night was no longer simply bizarre. Maybe he’d finally gone off the deep end and was as wacky as Dru. It’d serve him right for all the years he’d put into mollycoddling her.
I’m certifiable.
Spike sighed and plucked a cigarette between his lips.
If Angelus could only see me now.
*~*~*
She had no idea how he’d done it, but he actually had her laughing so hard her sides hurt. The story had started some thirty years in the past—some cooky thing that his wacky girlfriend had done in effort to sire...Liberace? Buffy had already forgotten the bulk of the story, but her body still wracked with giggles.
There were so many things wrong with what had happened between them tonight—things she didn’t want to think about now. The knowledge that she’d be dead—had Spike not miraculously decided to not kill her—had her thoroughly shaken. He’d saved her from herself, in many ways, though she knew better than to tell him so. The thought that he’d ceased beating the crap out of her was already weighing heavily on his mind; she knew that much simply by looking at him.
Something else within her awakening. Something monumental, if not dangerous. Take the vampire out of Spike, and he was incredibly likeable. It was beyond difficult to imagine the same guy that was currently handing her his cigarette was the same guy that had held a wood plank over her head on Parent/Teacher Night. The monster and the man were thoroughly divided in the motel room. She liked the man, and that scared her.
Buffy coughed up a lungful of smoke and handed the cigarette back, shaking her head in disgust. “How can you stand that?”
“My lungs don’t work, you silly chit.”
“It tastes like...ugh!”
Spike smirked and indulged in a long puff. “I jus’ like it,” he replied, shrugging. “An’ if you’re so anti-smoke, why in the bloody world did you want—”
“Because it’s one of the things that kids do that I’ve never done. You know, try out the stuff that’s bad for you just because you know you’re not supposed to.” Her mouth tasted like an ashtray. “Oh God, I need water.”
He nodded at the bathroom. “Should be plastic cups by the sink.”
There was a long pause as she climbed to her feet. God she could feel his eyes on her with every move she made. The notion shouldn’t have been so empowering, but it was. She couldn’t help the small thrill that raced down her spine anymore than she could help the beat that her heart decided to skip.
Nor could she help the way disappointment coursed through her system with what he said next.
“Slayer, I got about a half hour before the sun rises.”
Buffy nodded her understanding. He had to leave, because if the sun rose, he’d be stuck with her all day. And that would be bad. Very bad.
“Yeah, okay.” She forced a smile and downed her cup of water. “Okay.”
“You should prob’ly rest, too.”
She nodded. “Yeah. ‘Cause the next time we see each other...”
“Fight to the death,” he agreed, shrugging as though he wished it otherwise, but had a duty first and foremost to fate, even if his voice lacked conviction. “Right.”
There was something here, though. Something that needed to be acted on before she lost her nerve. Something that had to be done, simply because. Buffy nodded again and tossed the plastic cup into the trash, trekking across the room to see him to the door.
“Right,” he said again as he stepped across the threshold. “Take care. Don’ let any baddies kill you before I get to.”
She smiled weakly. “I won’t.” A beat. “Spike?”
“Yeah?”
Now. Before you lose your nerve.
Her hands, thankfully, were braver than her brain. She grabbed him by the lapels of his duster and dragged him back to her, her mouth finding his with ease. And God, was that a mistake. She was an addict with the first taste. A full-blown Spike junkie with the simplest hint of his sinful flavor. God, his lips were so soft against hers. So soft, and they trembled slightly at her touch. He reacted instinctively to her indiscretion as though he couldn’t stop himself, even allowing a hint of his tongue to mingle with
hers.
Mmmm.
Okay. So she’d discovered where she liked the taste of cigarettes.
Buffy pulled back with a gentle smile. “Thanks for tonight,” she said. “For, you know...just thanks.”
The look on his face as she closed the door would stay with her forever.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part IV | | | | - abc + + | | | Hee! Some loverly person nominated In Omne Tempus at the Love's Last Glimpse Awards! It's up for Best Challenge Response, Best Saga, and Best Spike Characterization. *bounces* Thank you so much! That so made my day!
Part IV
It was well past noon when she woke, and despite the circumstances, she felt she had never had a more restful sleep. It took a few minutes to remember where she was, a few more to determine if the night’s events had actually occurred, or existed solely as a product of her subconscious. But no, she was in the room that Spike had secured for her. The ashtray on the night stand was compact with cigarette butts that she knew she wasn’t responsible for. Furthermore, despite the vampire’s attempts to doctor her wounds, her body felt worn in that ‘post-fight’ manner. It usually took a day or so to overcome a severe beating. Granted, it had been at least three years since she’d had the crap beat out of her. Not since the days of Merrick burning down school buildings had she found herself so thoroughly bruised.
The room looked strange in the morning light. Smaller, less dreamlike.
Spike had really been with her the night before. Spike had taken her away from her life. Spike. The vampire. Her enemy. The one that was supposed to kill her, and very nearly did. He’d stopped for reasons still beyond her. For reasons that had her thoroughly shaken. Moreover, the looks he’d shot her the night before had left very little to the imagination. He obviously hadn’t brought her to the motel to take advantage of her emotional vulnerability, but he’d wanted to the minute the door was closed.
He’d wanted her. God, Spike had wanted her.
Buffy honestly didn’t know what was creepier: the fact that Spike had wanted her, the fact that she had known he wanted her, or the fact that, despite all sensibility, a part of her had very much wanted him. Wanted him the way she knew he wanted her.
The Spike-lusting portion of her psyche had grown increasingly vocal through the night’s progression. And now, in the wake of morning, the prospect didn’t frighten her as she thought it might. After everything that had happened, she felt she had seen too much to allow a tiny attraction worry her any.
Tiny attraction. And either way, what had happened the night before had served as an eye opener.
Had any vampire but Spike found her, she’d be dead by now.
Any vampire but Spike...
Buffy sighed. There was a frightening thought. Spike was the self-titled harbinger of her execution, and he had stopped last night for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to her. The only thing she knew, the only thing she truly remembered, was breaking down and sobbing for the heartache in his voice. The heartache that seemed to represent the accumulation of everything her sleeping with Angel had done to those she knew—even those she considered her mortal enemies.
Willow had lost her fish. Her mother had lost her respect. Giles had lost Ms. Calendar. Ms. Calendar had lost her life.
And Spike had lost Drusilla because Drusilla loved Angel. Buffy knew that. She’d known that since the first night she saw the crazy vampire in the park. Her eyes had betrayed too much, even at a distance. Buffy had known that night that Dru loved Angel all for the way she looked at him, which was why she, at first, mistook the loony-toon lady for a human. Humans, she’d thought, were the only beings capable of love. Well, humans and dogs. Humans and dogs, and nothing else.
If discovering Dru was a vamp hadn’t changed her mind, seeing Spike last night had certainly done the trick. The agony in his eyes had been too real, the pain in his voice had torn at her insides, and even though his outrage took a tangible ‘kick-the-living-daylights-out-of-Buffy’ form, the heartache he’d emanated had touched a very real nerve. She suspected it would be a very long time before she could forget what had passed between them.
Buffy sighed and reached for the phone. Chances were, Giles was doing a fair amount of wigging at her absence, especially since she’d never checked in the night before after patrol. Her presence of mind had been elsewhere. As long as her mom knew where she was, the rest simply didn’t seem to matter.
Giles wouldn’t agree. He’d probably phoned the authorities within a half hour of her disappearance.
Of course, he’d likely run into a problem while trying to explain why a high school librarian was so worried that a student hadn’t contacted him at one in the morning.
She was likely the only student who had the school’s phone number memorized. The automated answering service picked up on the second ring, and she wasted no time in punching in the extension to the library. If she wasn’t quick enough, the office secretary would pick up—something she’d learned from experience, and it never ended well. Snyder had intervened on more than one occasion to yell at her for not being in school.
Thankfully, Giles was quick to the punch. She imagined him sitting at the checkout counter, casting anxious glances to the library doors when he wasn’t staring at the phone.
“Buffy?”
She blinked. “Whatever happened to ‘hello’?”
There was a long, relieved sigh. “Oh, thank God.”
“Tell me you haven’t been answering every call like that all morning.”
“Well, I wouldn’t need to resort to such tactics if you had reported in last night. Dear Lord, Buffy, do you have any idea how worried I was? I was a hair away from phoning your mother.”
“Good thing you didn’t, ‘cause then she’d wanna know why an old man wants to see me in the middle of the night.”
“You really feel comfortable being so flippant with me after the hell you put me through?”
She sighed. Giles could be overprotective, but he had lost a lot because of her. The adult within knew that it had been entirely insensitive to forget about him, especially with Angelus still on the loose. Especially with Ms. Calendar’s body still cooling.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice falling penitently. “Sorry. Just last night, it was all crazy and I honestly just didn’t...it didn’t occur to me to call.”
“What in God’s name happened?”
“Spike.”
She heard something large fall over. “Spike? What happened? Are you all right? Where are you? I can be there in—”
Buffy smiled softly into the receiver. “I’m okay, actually. He...well, he beat the hell out of me, but I’m okay. I was a little distracted last night and he caught me...thinking about things that I shouldn’t have been thinking about.”
There was silence at that.
“Look, I know—”
“Buffy, you are in no way responsible for what happened to Jenny. I don’t want you focusing on that while you’re patrolling. I don’t want you focusing on that at all. It’s not—”
“Yeah, you say that and I know you mean it, but I can’t control where my thoughts go. Last night was a bad night, and Spike found me. He would’ve killed me, too...he nearly did. But then he stopped because I had a nervous breakdown and I don’t think he knew how to handle it.”
“Just tell me where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Sunnydale Inn.”
Another pause. “Why are you at the Sunnydale Inn?”
“Because this is where Spike brought me.”
“Spike took you to the Sunnydale Inn?”
Buffy nodded to the empty room. “Yes.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask...he was in the middle of...” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “Killing you...and he decided to take you to the Sunnydale Inn?”
“Well, no. I told him I couldn’t go home looking like a piano had fallen on me. And I couldn’t go to Willow, and he didn’t mention you and I’m sorry I didn’t think of it. The night just got really weird, really fast.” She sighed and cast a glance to the mirror. The scars on her face were fading faster than she was used to. Antibiotic. Perhaps the vampire had been right about that, after all. She’d relied far too long simply on the healing powers of water. “He took me to the motel and doctored me up, got me food, and stayed with me all night.”
The silence on the other end was deafening.
“Giles?”
“He what?”
“I don’t know. He...I think my nervous breakdown made him go into a nervous breakdown. It was all just...it was just really weird.” Buffy glanced down. “Look, I don’t know what last night was all about. I don’t know if it changes anything. Spike told me he still wants to kill me, but I think he would have last night if that was true. He said the next time he saw me...look, my head hurts from trying to make sense of this.”
“I’m leaving to pick you up.”
She arched a brow. “And this is a good idea why? Snyder’s gonna flip his lid if you pull a disappearing act without notifying anyone.”
“I don’t give a bloody damn. I’m not leaving you out there where a very dangerous vampire, who has made a career of killing slayers, can come and go as he pleases.”
“Umm, Giles? You know that round, shiny thing in the sky that heats the Earth? Yeah, last I checked, Spike’s still allergic to it.”
“Yes, and he’s clever enough to find a way around it. It’s not uncommon for vampires to travel during the day; they simply have to be cautious. Using underground pipelines, for instance?” She heard him rustling his jacket over his shoulders. “Be watching for me.”
“Okay...but you need to take me home.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have any clothes.” She winced, envisioning all the horrible things that must have immediately started through her Watcher’s head at that. “No. Stop. Don’t say anything. My clothes are bloody and dirty. I’m in a bathrobe, and people will think things if I show up with you on school grounds while practically nude.” Buffy made a face at that. “Really disturbing, gross things.”
Giles cleared his throat. “I heartily agree with you.”
“Okay. So take me home. I need to wash the motel grime off my skin before patrol.”
“You intend to patrol after what—”
Buffy rolled her eyes. How typical. “This would be a good time to remind you that, hello, no other options? It’s not like I can tag my alternate. Kendra’s far away slaying vampires in the magical land of South America. In the meantime? The Hellmouth’s kinda my turf. Spike got the best of me last night, but he won’t again. I won’t let him again.”
The words sounded empty, and the silent voice of reason that she too often tried to smother rang out in protest. Things had changed last night; things she couldn’t have predicted. She had absolutely no idea what to expect the next time she saw Spike. He was so unpredictable—a proverbial loose cannon that could turn with the tide either way, pending on how the wind was blowing.
She groaned at herself. Mixing metaphors much? That sentence was so convoluted that even her young and snappy mind couldn’t follow her logic.
Perhaps the most disturbing factor in everything was her genuine desire to see him again. Her desire that went beyond kicking the crap out of him and staking his undead heart. Beyond seeing him as an enemy. Something had happened between them that went beyond conventional definitions.
She wanted to tell herself it didn’t matter, and believe it. The image of him as her enemy was so ingrained that it felt like her body was switching to default; a resignation of what she should feel, but didn’t. Even though he had come to kill her the night before. Even though he’d sworn the next time they met, it would be to fight to the death.
Something had happened. The demon in her mind, the demon that had turned her life upside down from the minute he’d steamrolled into town, was gone now. The demon was a front for the man she’d gotten to know. The man that had tended to the wounds that the demon had inflicted. Such destruction birthed from his hands; destruction and the power to heal all in one.
She’d never been bothered by irony before.
Either way, she knew she was right about patrol. So did Giles. And while that did little to make anything easier, the notion that she might see the man that had cared for her—in his own, perverse way—filled her with warmth.
She liked the man that Spike’s demon protected. She liked him very much.
And that in itself was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all. Spike wasn’t a man; he never could be a man. And whatever had happened between them last night didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow thoughts of one vampire to dominate her focus, especially since it felt like a cheap substitute for another.
Rather, it felt like it should be a cheap substitute for another. If she was going to be lusting after a vampire that wasn’t Angel, it should be because she couldn’t have the one she loved. However, with as much as she and the blond vampire had talked the night before, her thoughts had not once wandered to Angel. Not unless Spike brought him up in a fleeting fit of rage.
When she’d asked him to stay, they’d both left their pasts at the door. Things had changed the second that she acknowledged that she wanted him with her. Her enemy. And from that point on, they were people outside themselves.
After a certain point, there had been no room for others. Not at the Sunnydale Inn.
Angel had not touched her at all.
*~*~*
Both Buffy and Giles felt it was a bad idea, but once Willow learned what had happened the night before, she could not be swayed. Furthermore, she persuaded Oz to see things her way, most likely with smoochies or by monopolizing Oz’s usual apathy to her benefit. She let Buffy know, in no uncertain terms, that if the Slayer refused to let them patrol with her, they would patrol by themselves, anyway.
The tactic, as expected, worked like a charm. If her friends were going to wander around a cemetery, they’d do it where she could see their every move.
“Could you explain it to me again?” Willow asked the second they crossed the invisible barrier that separated the rest of Sunnydale from Restfield Cemetery. “Spike attacked you and then stopped?”
“Will, I’ve explained this in every way possible. I even drew you a diagram. If you want, I can tell you in French once I, you know, learn French.” Buffy shook her head, tightening a grip on her stake. She didn’t want to acknowledge how hard her heart was pounding; she knew if she did, she’d be forced to look at the cause behind her anxiousness, and that led to a very bad place. Not only had her friends asked her to describe the previous night’s events backwards, forwards, and sideways, but night had similarly arrived much too quickly.
Much, much too quickly. She found herself in the middle of an undeterminable arena. Willow was chatting way too much to count on sneaking up on any baddies tonight, and Buffy’s nerves were much too frayed to depend on should the worst actually happen.
Everything seemed on the fritz.
“I’m sorry,” Willow said, though she didn’t sound it. “I just don’t understand. I mean, when you say ‘Spike,’ you mean the same bleached bad guy whose sole purpose was to have you all kinds of dead when he came to town? You know, three months ago?”
“Unless you know any other vampires named Spike who are both British and bleached.”
“All I’m saying is—”
A dam broke within. She couldn’t help herself. If Spike was out here, the last thing she wanted him to know was that their meeting last night had affected her at all. Beyond, well, the bruises and the doctoring and the buying of food and the kissage that had really come from nowhere. No, she didn’t want him to know that she’d even pictured his face since waking; and she certainly didn’t want him keen on the fact that her heart hadn’t quite made the agreed shift back to mortal enemies.
That wasn’t all. The only thing worse than Spike knowing that she’d thought about him was the chance that Drusilla, Darla, or Angelus himself would overhear the redhead’s loud yammering. If they found out what had happened the last night, she knew that Spike’s life, as well as his reputation, would be a thing of the past. The only thing worse than not killing a slayer, in Angelus’s book, was not killing her—Buffy. If they found out that Spike had let her walk, there was no telling what they’d do to him.
Not that she cared...only, of course she cared.
She really couldn’t help herself, then, with this endless line of questions. She stopped cold and whirled to face her friend, her voice pinging the highest accessible note of cynicism. “Hey, Will. I’ve got an idea: let’s talk about this a whole lot more.”
Her friend’s face fell, hurt leaking into her eyes. “Buffy...I didn’t mean to—”
Guilt pricked at her almost immediately, but the Slayer brushed it off. She hadn’t had time with this to begin with, and now that she’d been pushed to such an extent, there was no reconciling her animosity. “No, really. In a graveyard in which I’m attempting to do my job—you know, the one that entails being quiet so I can sneak up on bad guys and stab them with my pointy stick, why don’t we keep on about my brush with death last night? Over and over and over again, if possible. And hey If Oz is up to it, we can stage a reenactment over here by my favorite mausoleum. You wanna start selling the tickets, or should I?”
“I don’t act,” the wolf replied with a shrug.
Willow frowned and smacked her boyfriend’s shoulder. “You’re not helping!”
“What? Buffy has a point. Stealth is pretty much her one non-action-packed job description, and what we’re doing is, well, not.”
She pouted. “Still, boyfriend. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I see, but the realist in me tells me to side with the girl who can bench ten times my body weight.” He smiled and kissed her cheek. “And my realist rarely gets distracted by Willow kissage.”
“You’re not the easiest person to love at times.”
“I get that a lot.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and turned away before they could mistake her disgust at their cutesy lovey-doveyness for something much uglier. That had been her such a short while ago. She’d been the one making her friends sick by lip-locking with her creature-feature of a honey. And while she wanted nothing but the best for Willow and Oz, she couldn’t help the pang of resentment that came with the actualization of her calling. If anyone’s non-human boyfriend was going to turn into a raving lunatic, of course it’d be hers. She was the Slayer, after all, and it was her cross to bear.
Of course, Oz had the added benefit of getting to play an active member of the human race unless the moon was looking a bit too round. And even then, the days were still his. Angel could never stop being a vampire. Day, night, Sunday, or Christmas—everything was dog-eared in the vampire-section. There was no halftime position in his particular race. Not even a soul could keep the monster at bay.
So what stopped Spike last night?
She frowned at herself and stamped that thought away. As if your life’s not confusing enough. Let’s add another vampire to the mix, shall we?
The familiar twinge in her stomach came too late. It would never cease to amaze her how quick and silent vampires could be. It was, perhaps, the one thing that hack writers like Anne Rice had nailed on the head. At first, Buffy had thought it was simply an Angel thing, as he was the only vamp she knew that actively attempted to walk on air when he moved. Those suspicions were trashed the second she’d first seen Drusilla in the thick of a fight. The raven-haired vampire always moved as though she never touched the ground. As though all the objects around her were merely in the way of her dance.
It didn’t surprise Buffy to see them, though she couldn’t keep her heart from jumping into her throat.
“Lookee here, grandmum,” Drusilla cooed. “They’re in time for the King’s tea party.”
Buffy felt Oz and Willow still to a halt behind her.
Darla cocked her head to the side and studied them, all the while looking rather pleased with herself. That face had long become one of the more annoying burdens about town. A year as being the Hellmouth’s residential slayer, and neither she or Angel had been able to stake the old bitch.
“Honestly,”the elder vampire barked, “what kind of slayer endangers the life of her friends to save her own skin?” She shook her head, tsking like a disappointed mother. “Makes you wonder what the world’s coming to nowadays.”
Buffy’s face hardened and she tightened her grip on her stake. “Oz,” she said calmly. “Grab Willow and run.”
“No way,” the redhead objected.
“Then stay quiet.”
“Oh, give it a rest,” Darla spat. “We’re not here to fight you.”
“Well, that’s a horse of a different color, isn’t it?”
The blonde vampire frowned. “Can’t two women walk through a cemetery without being accosted by some high school cheerleader and her friends?”
“She dreams of him. Ohhh, little girls reaching for pearls that mommy said not to touch.” Drusilla mewled and placed her hands across her heart, swaying to music that only she could hear. “She closes her eyes and he is what she sees.”
“Aww.” Darla’s smile turned nasty. “Isn’t that sweet?”
Buffy glared at her, her stake-arm not wavering. “If you’re not here to fight, then what the hell are you here for?”
“Ambiance?”
The insane vampire started giggling at that, and found she couldn’t stop.
Darla’s eyes shimmered with malicious humor; the same sort of pleasure a deranged child might experience in pulling the wings off butterflies. “Angelus wants to know how you are.”
“Isn’t that thoughtful of him? You think if I send him your dust, his question’ll be answered?”
The blonde paused, her eyes narrowing. “What an immeasurable ego you have.”
“You’re one to talk.” Buffy flexed her fingers along the wood in her hand, her mind racing, her body ready to leap at any sudden movement. Her heart pounded so hard, she was afraid force could break her body. “So, what? You’re taking orders from Angel now? I thought you made him. Doesn’t that give you...what? Seniority or something?”
“A good woman knows when to stand by her man and when not to.”
“The moon laughs at us,” Drusilla cried, throwing her head back. “Ohhh. Ohhh. It itches. It crawls all over but cannot find the milk. Grandmum!”
Darla rolled her eyes and turned. “Dru, sweetie, if you don’t shut up, the moon’s gonna be laughing at you for an entirely different reason.”
The other vampire met Buffy’s eyes, her face falling into a pout. “She’s cross with me.”
“Yeah,” the Slayer agreed. “You can imagine how bad I feel about that.”
“Ohhh, look who’s bitchy when she’s not getting any.” Darla flashed a nasty smile. “Thanks for that, by the way. Other than the obvious, it’s provided a running joke that I know will stick with the family for at least three generations. Although, I must say...Angelus seems to prefer my reenactment performance to the real thing.”
Willow all but growled at that. “You vindictive little—”
“Be quiet!” Buffy snapped, trying hard to ignore the pang that struck her heart. She suddenly found herself thrown back a number of weeks. Standing in Angel’s apartment as her lover approached with that scornful, mocking look on his face, his lips pulled into a taut sneer as he pinched her cheek and told her what a pro she’d been. How he could have held up her heart and ripped it up before her eyes, and she wouldn’t have known the difference.
There was a definitive void in the place where Angel had once occupied her heart, but it was calloused over now. Hardened. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
If anything, her night with Spike had solidified that. Angel couldn’t hurt her anymore. Not if she didn’t let him.
“Daddy likes it rough.” Drusilla giggled nastily. “He makes me quiver.”
“Shhh,” Darla admonished, a false scold falling across her face. “We mustn’t brag, Dru. That would be unseemly. After all, poor Buffy’s never gonna know. Well, unless he forces her. I guess we shouldn’t rule that out.” Her brows flickered teasingly. “He does so love it when his women squirm.”
The starry look in Drusilla’s eyes at the prospect of being ploughed by Angel left a bitter taste in her mouth. Darla was a given; she knew that Angel and Darla had been together in the years before the soul. Drusilla, though...Drusilla was another story. She’d seen the open lust in the crazy vamp’s face when Angel met her for the rendezvous in the park. She’d seen the glee that came with standing by her soulless sire’s side. However, for everything, it had taken being beat within an inch of her life for Buffy to understand just how many lives her ex-boyfriend’s turning had ruined.
Honestly, until the night before, she’d forced herself to live in a world of denial. But Spike had told her about Dru and Angel. Hell, that was why her skin was marred with healing bruises in the first place.
“So, is this it?” Buffy demanded, fingers tapping against her stake. Her arm was beginning to hurt, but she wasn’t about to waver. “You came out here to, what? Bully me? What kind of vampire are you?”
“Daddy has dibs,” Drusilla cackled. “Mummy came to make sure the dolly does what we want.”
The Slayer’s eyes darkened. “I’m not going to play for you.”
“And according to our sources, we should thank our lucky stars.”
“Uh huh. And where does Spike fit into all this?”
Buffy heard Willow gasp from behind, as though saying his name was suddenly taboo.
Darla cocked a brow. “Spike? You’re joking, right?” When she received no reply, she turned to the silent duo behind the Slayer, prodding them with a look. “Tell me she’s joking.”
“What? Isn’t he a part of the team?”
“My prince dances all alone,” Drusilla said, looking downward, almost forlorn. “He likes the light, you see. And Daddy wants us in the dark. We’re not to wander. We’re not to be disobedient dollies.” The despondent countenance vanished without warning, and the malicious grin that Buffy was beginning to loathe sprouted once more across her lips. “Daddy rewards us so nicely when we’re good.”
The Slayer swallowed hard. She was sticking her hand into a boiling frying pan, but she couldn’t help herself. Whatever had happened the night before with Spike had her loyalties split down the center. Despite her reservations and fears for warming to another vampire, this one entirely sans soul, something had happened that made them allies, if only in spirit. She knew from the way she ached how Spike felt about those he loved. How his emotions affected every inch of himself. How Drusilla’s infidelity hurt.
Dru obviously didn’t give a damn.
“I thought that you and Spike were together,” she ventured slowly, hating the sound of her voice against the mocking night. The stake in her hand was warm and clammy. Whatever was going on here needed to stop. Darla could change her mind at any moment. There was a reason beyond what was stated—a reason she had yet to attack, and Buffy had the sinking suspicion that it had nothing to do with Angelus.
“My Spike,” Dru replied nostalgically, however emotionally detached she sounded from the one she considered. “His touch is not like Angelus. His touch doesn’t make Miss Edith burn.”
“Buffy!” Willow hissed. “We need to—”
She honestly didn’t know what came over her. One second, she was standing there like a rational person, talking to two of her greatest enemies in a graveyard; the next, she was a blur of movement, tackling Drusilla to the ground with what could only be described as jealous fury pumping her veins. A betrayal of someone she cared about. A betrayal of Spike: the man that she’d touched despite his attempts to hide beneath the demon. This was, after all, the woman who was supposed to love him forever. The woman whose affection could seemingly be bought and paid for at the price of a soul. Souls were supposed to be nothing of consequence to vampires, but Angel’s had made all the difference.
Angel’s stupid soul tore people’s lives apart.
The stake had rolled away somewhere in the midst of her outrage. She’d lost sight on her objective. The only thing that made sense to her was to see Drusilla bleed for turning away from someone that loved her. Someone that would have done anything for her, as so recently Buffy would have done anything for the one that she now hated with every molecule in her body.
It lasted only seconds. Darla snarled and seized her by the shoulders.
“You fucking arrogant little bitch!”
Willow screamed her name. Buffy was too forgone to even recognize its sound against the night air.
Then in a blink, Darla was gone. Gone and replaced with eyes of the fiercest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“Spike!” she gasped just before his fist collided with her cheekbone.
It all happened in a flurry of confused seconds. She remembered hitting the ground. Remembered the pang of betrayal that again stabbed at her stomach, only now for her own sake rather than his. The look in his eyes was anything but sympathetic, though at the same time, he looked so conflicted that her breath caught in astonishment. It only lasted a beat; the next thing she knew, a large branch crashed down on the peroxided vampire’s back, and he fell with a surprised grunt.
Willow dropped her makeshift weapon the minute Spike collapsed and grabbed Buffy by the wrist. “Come on!” she urged. “Come on!”
There was no arguing with that logic. She wasn’t about to go against three aged vampires unprepared, especially while her friends were with her. No more lives were going to be lost at her expense. She wouldn’t allow it.
So for the first time since she was called, Buffy abided her first instinct.
She ran like hell. Oz and Willow, predictably, were hot on her heels.
*~*~*
There were times when she could not be more thankful for Oz’s van. After seeing Willow home safely, he dropped her off at Revello Drive and waited until he saw her cross the threshold before pulling out of the drive.
Buffy only lingered inside for appearance’s sake. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that Spike would be by tonight. Call it an inkling, Slayer intuition, or wishful thinking. For as abruptly as things had begun and ended in the graveyard, she knew that he would come after her, either demanding a proper end to their fight or answers as to why she’d thrashed the living hell out of Drusilla.
As though she, the Vampire Slayer, owed a vampire an explanation.
But Spike wasn’t just another vampire. Not to her. Not anymore.
Her cheek hurt where he’d punched her. God, it hurt worse than the accumulation of all the other wounds he’d given her within the last twenty-four hours.
Serves you right for trusting him, logic scolded.
There was no trust, though. There couldn’t be any trust.
Buffy didn’t have to wait long. She sat on her front porch, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes tracing the cracks in the pavement.
“Slayer.”
She’d felt him the second he was close. That didn’t make it any easier.
“I did what I do, Spike,” she replied, looking up slowly. His eyes were wide with anger and incredulity; two sentiments she was feeling in spades at the moment. “You made it perfectly clear this morning that the next time we met, anything goes.”
“Yeh, I did,” he ground out.
“That’s right.” She held his seething gaze a beat longer, then sighed her resignation and glanced back to the pavement. “Look...she was...I know it’s crazy, but she was saying things...about you. Not that I owe you anything for, you know, not killing me, but there’s an explanation if you need it. She was saying things about you and it just...the way she talked...something snapped.”
Silence settled between them. It took a few minutes to gather the courage to glance up again.
And God, when she did, she was bathed in his awe.
“What?” he rasped.
“Something snapped.”
“Somethin’ snapped?”
“Yeah, something snapped. It doesn’t make sense to me. Nothing does, as of late, but there it is.” She glared, daring him to poke fun at her. To tell her she was some British word for crazy, laugh at her expense, and saunter off. He didn’t. He just kept looking at her.
Just kept staring.
“You kissed me this mornin’,” Spike said, rattling her with his straightforward approach to the one thing she’d refused to let herself mull over all day. The kiss that should have never been. “Why did you do that?”
Buffy found herself gazing at the pavement again, her body twitching with discomfort. “I don’t know.”
“You know you have me thoroughly buggered over, right? I can’t bloody well think straight because of you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that.”
“Yeh, well, what did you bloody well mean for?”
“Hell if I know Look, are you here to fight, or what? My mom’s going to be home from the gallery soon, and I really don’t want her to see this.” She gestured between them. “I just got her to get off my back about Angel, and I’m really not looking to have a sequel to The Talk. So let’s fight. Let’s get this over with already. You’ll dust or I’ll die, and that’ll be that. No more worrying about Dru fights or kissage that really shouldn’t happen or freaky mortal enemies who beat the crap out of you just to patch you up again.”
Spike’s eyes flared. “Fine!”
“Fine!”
The next thing she knew, her back was pressed against the front door and his lips were mauling hers. Hot, hungry kisses. Real kisses. Kisses unlike the one she’d teased him with that morning. Kisses that started fires only to lead them to explosion. His tongue plundered her mouth, stroking hers with sensuality she hadn’t known to touch. He ignited things within her that were downright terrifying. She heard herself mewling against him, felt his own moans rumble against her chest.
God, her kisses with Angel had never been like this. Never.
She remembered thinking that morning that one taste would make her a junkie. Understatement of the century. He was a creature damned by nature, and she didn’t care. She’d let the flames of Hell lick her insides if it meant she got more of this. More of Spike. More of his mouth whispering words against hers, of his tongue exploring her, his hands mapping out her body in ways that should have shamed her for her brazen disregard of the one that had so recently broken her heart.
Buffy didn’t care. Screw the rest. That moment, the lines dividing black and white, good and evil, right and wrong vanished altogether. She was young and recently burnt, but she wanted back in the frying pan. She wanted the imprint of Angel washed away completely.
More than that. She wanted Spike.
How screwed up was that?
No more so than her mouth suckling hungrily at his tongue, or the thrill that ran down her spine when he moaned into her.
It felt that years passed before they pulled apart, gasping together, his brow resting against hers. It was oddly the most erotic moment of her young life. Knowing that she, an inexperienced and recently scorned ex-virgin, could make him pant like that. Could make him forget that he didn’t need to breathe. Could make him nuts for her, the enemy, just as she feared she was nuts for him.
“Spike,” she murmured against his lips. Softly. Sweetly.
And evidently, gentility was the only thing that could break the spell around them. It was over. Whatever had happened was over with such a small word. Such a heartfelt plea to sensations that she knew were forbidden, but couldn’t help but sample. She felt his body freeze beneath her fingers. The passion evaporated from his eyes. He knew her, then. Remembered who he was—and more importantly, who she was.
Who they were to each other.
The azure of his eyes melted into yellow. His roar of confused fury pierced the silence around them. Then he shoved her back against the door, angry and violent, and was gone the next second. Gone. No billowing exit. No snappy insult. He was there one second, and gone the next.
Buffy stared after him, shaken and disoriented.
He was gone.
But more than that, he’d left her without saying a word.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part V | | | | - abc + + | | | Part V
The night was spent tormented with thoughts of her.
Spike had absolutely no idea how his life had become so thoroughly buggered in such a short amount of time. Two days ago, and things had been...well, not fine, but bloody well better than they were presently. He hadn’t tasted the Slayer’s lips then. Hadn’t felt her skin beneath his hands. Hadn’t drowned in her warmth by simply standing so close to her. Hadn’t lost himself to the world of her coy glances, her eyes that were torn between longing and confusion. Hadn’t swum in the rich scent of her arousal. She was so sweet. And he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
It wasn’t supposed to like this. His body wasn’t supposed to flood with warmth when he thought of her. He wasn’t supposed to want to touch her like a lover, take her with anything other than violence. His mouth wasn’t supposed to crave anything but her blood.
He stayed in most of the night, cursing himself for being a coward, but completely unprepared to face the Slayer, especially after what had happened the night before. After a while, though, the strain of restlessness got to him. Hours after sunset, he was desperate for a good, clean kill; one that would hopefully help to clear his head and give him perspective on what was truly important in life.
Why he found his feet carrying him toward Revello Drive, he didn’t know. Nothing in his mind made sense anymore. Nothing. Every time he attempted to focus on his plan, on his vow to himself to kill the Slayer and get the fuck out of Dodge, he found himself shivering at the thought of her dead. The image of the Slayer’s lifeless body haunted him for reasons that made absolutely no sense. Yes, her skin was annoyingly soft. Yes, her lips tasted like milk and honey. Yes, he wanted to bathe in her arousal. He wanted to taste her as she came, and it had nothing to do with her blood.
Furthermore, it had nothing to do with her calling. Absolutely nothing. Her calling hadn’t given her those eyes, those lips, or that body. Her calling hadn’t forced her to look at him the way she’d looked at him last night. Her calling had ensured that their paths cross, but it was the girl beneath the warrior that had touched his long ignored humanity.
She lived in his every thought. In the needless breaths he stole. He was so lost in thoughts of her that the loud sounds of Angelus fucking the Aurelius women, particularly Dru’s cries of pleasure, hadn’t fazed him.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural.
Spike eyed the tree that sat conveniently outside the Slayer’s window and glanced up. She had long since retired for the night, he was sure. It was incredibly late and he was a fool for trying, but this madness couldn’t continue. He needed her out of his life. He needed her six bloody feet under where her eyes wouldn’t captivate him. Once she was dead, he’d be able to forget that she’d ever existed in the first place. That sassy little girl had him hard as a fucking rock just by thinking about her, and it couldn’t continue.
It had to end. Tonight.
He released a deep sigh and stomped out his half-smoked cigarette beside the tree trunk.
Let’s get this over with.
Not exactly the motivational speech he’d given himself in the past when plotting a slayer’s death, but it was the best he could muster. He shoved his displacement aside, whispering the empty promise to himself that everything would be all right if he could only close his hands around her throat while simultaneously ignoring the temptation to pepper her sweet skin with kisses.
Spike growled inwardly. Knock it off.
He would get nowhere if he kept that up. Nor would he profit from observing how sweet she looked, cuddled up in bed, a stuffed pig clutched close to her breast. He inhaled deeply, trying to ignore how hard he was trembling. The burning sensation that ate at his insides, screaming in protest that he leave the girl be.
She’d fucked up his life too much to bloody well to leave her be.
He growled again and tapped harshly on her window before his inner William presented a convincing argument on why the chit should live to see another day. He watched eagerly as she stirred, rolling over, her eyes fluttering open. She glanced to the clock and groaned, flopping onto her back with a deep sigh. She hadn’t even tossed the window a look.
Another growl rumbled through his throat. He rapped on the window again. Louder.
Buffy sat up again with a start, her eyes finding his immediately. He tried not to melt at the way she clutched her heart, at the innocence she radiated while hiding her deadly potential under a facade of a helpless damsel. God, he wanted her so much.
He groaned. Kill the girl. It’ll end this.
Still, his mouth couldn’t help but water at the way she moved to the window, unlatching the lock and pushing the pane open. She looked even sexier than she had two nights ago, wrapped in a bathrobe that did little to hide her goodies. The camisole she wore revealed more than it hid, tenting at her breasts where her nipples saluted him, imploring his mouth for a taste.
“Spike.” She breathed his name as though he were a patron saint, and his body hardened even further. “What are you doing here?”
He swallowed hard. “Come outside.”
“No.”
“Come outside, Slayer.”
She tilted her head and searched his eyes. “Why?”
“I’m here to kill you.”
The words rushed out before he could stop them, and something within him sank at their liberation. Now it was out there—it was said. A verbal contract against the cosmos. He had a duty to uphold now. A promise he’d made to himself, and signed with his tongue. Yet, Buffy didn’t disappoint. She maintained herself, determination wrought across her face. There was no shriveling back in fear or bursting into tears that the man that had all but fucked her against her front door little more than a day ago had decided it was time to end her life. Her eyes betrayed nothing but whimsical acceptance.
After a long minute, she drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
Spike balked as she moved away from the window.
Okay?
He watched, amazed, as she wiggled into a pair of sweats that had been casually strewn across the floor, his cock straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans. The girl was a bloody enigma; there was no denying that. She dressed methodically, her body calm, her heartbeat tempered. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail before turning to what had to be her weapons chest. There she paused, considered, and ultimately decided against a stake. Against anything. Even the cross chain that she wore obsessively around that lovely neck of hers was nowhere to be seen. Spike nearly gasped when she finally turned back to him. The look buried in her gaze was all woman; the little girl was gone.
“You should move back,” she said. “I need to climb down.”
He nodded numbly, hungry eyes soaking her in.
A small smile kissed her lips. “Spike?”
“Yeh?”
“Move back.”
“Yeh.” He paused and snapped back to himself, giving his head a hard shake. “Right. Movin’ now.”
She was the manifestation of poetry and grace. Logically, he knew that experience had taught her feet where to find the good footholes, instructed her hands which branch held the most strength, making her dance to the ground entrancing to his privileged eyes. He knew that she was molded by the habits she’d developed since becoming the residential slayer—that, like himself, she was divided into two halves that made up who she was. The Slayer, an instrument of immeasurable strength for the want of good. And Buffy. The girl. The woman who carried the Slayer’s burden while attempting to balance duty and life.
In that moment, she reminded him so much of himself that he was nearly tempted to weep. The man that he had tried to kill, the one that Dru found so disgusting because it bore the face of humanity that no demon could destroy. The man that carried his demon’s burden, divided wholly between what he was and who he was, and the separate needs that built him into Spike. Into the compromise of a vampire with a human past and a human with a demon inside. He was so used to beating the human down that, when struck with pangs of humanity, he found himself at a complete and utter loss.
Buffy touched the human. That bloody well terrified him, because the human was the last thing he wanted to be. That form of himself was supposed to be wholly and rightfully dead. Dru hadn’t killed him as thoroughly as she should have. Too much of his old self had survived. He’d been able to suppress it now for nearly a hundred and twenty years, but this girl—this Slayer—managed to call out the frightened man inside. Managed to make him feel things that he should never, ever feel for a girl with a pulse. And certainly, never a girl with a pulse who had a calling to answer.
She dusted off her sweats after hopping down, then glanced up expectantly. “Okay.”
Spike nodded again, cursing his treacherous mind that protested at the thought of putting a light like Buffy under the ground. The hands that didn’t want to kill her flexed strenuously as a hard, relentless sigh pressed through his lips. He gestured to the back yard and blinked at her blasé attitude. The hopelessness he’d encountered two nights before was nowhere to be seen, but she wasn’t in a frame of mind to fight. Either she was entirely over-confident, or she didn’t believe his intention to kill her.
She’s in for a surprise.
If only he could convince himself.
“Right,” he said, his voice strained. “Let’s do this.”
Buffy nodded resignedly and raised her fists.
Little bint really thinks I’m gonna back down?
His determination accompanied need. If he couldn’t do this now, he was truly a man lost. And yet, even knowing the full of what was riding on his actions, he could do nothing for long, empty seconds but stare at her. The girl with the sloppy ponytail who had called his bluff, slithered into sweat pants, and had her dukes raised in near apathetic acceptance of what they had to do. What he had to prove to himself.
Suddenly, he felt like the biggest dolt in the world.
She’s just one girl, he growled, his bumpies shifting forward. Not even the face of his demon seemed to rattle her. Why is this so bleeding hard?
He already knew the answer, though. There was no sense pretending he didn’t.
Buffy wasn’t just any girl. She was something radiant. Something unique. Something he had never touched before. And simply knowing that was dangerous. Her existence threatened him on every conceivable level, even as he stood in the quiet night with a slayer to kill.
“Wait,” Buffy said shortly, relaxing her stance. “We can’t do this here.”
Spike quirked a brow and growled with more force than he felt. “Why not?’
She gestured to the house. “My mom’s trying to sleep.”
The snarl faded from his face, and he straightened with a nod of understanding. “Oh, right.”
“We could go to the park,” she suggested with a shrug. “Or one of the cemeteries.”
“Angelus an’ his merry lot might happen on us there,” he pointed out. The tone of the conversation was too bizarre to question. They might as well have been quarreling over restaurant selection. “Anywhere else?”
“School?” Buffy suggested with another shrug. “A good a place as any.”
“You understand that when we get there, I’m gonna be killin’ you, right?”
She nodded. “So you told me.”
“You know that killin’ you works out pretty rotten in your favor, right?”
“Look, Spike, I’m not getting any deader by standing here and arguing about how dead you’re gonna make me. So if you intend to kill me, let’s go and get it over with. I’m not about to kill myself, you know.”
The tone she employed amused him. Spike glanced down sharply to hide his grin and nodded as they turned together in the direction of the school. It was quickly turning into the strangest night he’d ever lived through. And yet, despite her flippancy, he found that he was enjoying himself. He didn’t want to enjoy himself; the sensation was very much against his will, but there nonetheless. Too present to ignore.
“I meant to ask you last night,” Buffy said softly, sliding her hands into the pockets of her sweats. “Something about what happened just didn’t sit right with me.”
Spike swallowed hard. He didn’t know why, but he was suddenly terrified that she was going to go into some righteous spiel about how it was wrong between vampires and slayers. Granted, he didn’t know why in the name of everything holy and unholy he should give a fuck. The girl was literally on a death march. And what’s more, it was wrong between vampires and slayers. It was so bloody wrong that killing her had become now a matter of self-preservation rather than a need to bag his third slayer.
But God, if she thought that what had happened against her door was wrong, she might as well pull his heart out so he could watch it crumple to dust before he followed suit.
“Yeh?” His voice was strained.
Wanker.
“Dru and Darla,” she started, and he released the unneeded breath he’d been holding. “They were just...there. I mean, she—Darla said they were there because of Angel—”
Spike cleared his throat like a displeased instructor and cast her a sharp glance. She flushed and conceded the point.
“Sorry. She said they were there because of Angelus, but...I’m sort’ve used to Darla’s M.O. now. She’s never been the ‘diabolical plan’ sort unless it works out in her favor. With me...not trying to kill me or even trying to fight me just...it was strange.”
“It’s the way Angelus wanted it, pet.”
“He wants me alive?”
“No. He wants you guessin’. Always guessin’. He wants you afraid to look around the corner an’ think twice about venturin’ down dark alleys by your lonesome. He’s usin’ the girls to play games with you. Lull you both into a false sense of security, an’ terrify your knickers off at the same time.”
He growled inwardly. Was it really necessary to mention the girl’s knickers?
“And Darla’s letting this happen?”
“Well, she’s not happy about it, if that’s what you’re askin’.” Before last night’s shaga-threesome, the walls of the mansion had quaked with the fury of the elders’ argument. “When Angelus firs’ came back, she was trippin’ over herself with happiness at havin’ him with her again. But...he’s different. With as much of an annoyin’ git as he was in the days of yore, he’s even more so now. I think he’s over-compensatin’ for bein’ chin-deep in soul for a century. Feels he needs to be even bigger an’ badder than he was the firs’ time around.”
Buffy shivered. He didn’t blame her. “How so?” she asked softly.
“Well, he talks more nowadays about Armageddon. After he, you know, offs you.”
He heard the second her heart began pounding harder. “Oh,” she said, her voice a note higher. “Well, I guess he’ll have to live with disappointment, right?”
“Huh?”
“‘Cause you’re gonna kill me.”
“Oh.” Wanker. “Right.”
“Angel—”
“Ahem.”
Buffy held up a hand and nodded. “Okay. Angelus ...he didn’t want to end the world before?”
“Well, he used to mention it from time to time, but it wasn’ somethin’ he actively pursued, no.” Spike frowned. “He’s bluffin’, luv.” Why on earth he felt the need to comfort the girl, especially since she wasn’t going to be around to care about the world’s fate, was entirely beyond him. And yet, he couldn’t help himself. The need to soothe her was larger than he was. It had been with him two nights before when she collapsed in his arms, sobbing a thousand apologies for things that weren’t really her fault. “Angelus talks a good talk, but he likes the world’s luxuries too bloody much to give it up. An’ for what, really? The world ends an’ it ends for him, too. Unless he’s stupid enough to think he can brave Hell, this bloody rock isn’t goin’ anywhere.”
The Slayer nodded numbly, but didn’t reply. No other words were exchanged until they reached the school grounds.
His eyes soaked her up as she turned to face him, raising her fists once more. Reluctance tugged at every nerve in his being, the false pretense that whispered even emptier glee at the prospect of her death failing him completely.
You’ll feel better once she’s dead.
He didn’t think so. The minute he actually lashed forward, aiming a punch for her jaw, his gut lurched and a pang struck his heart. It was unnatural—almost as unnatural as Buffy’s response. She deflected the move indifferently, but made no attempt to hit back. Instead, she stepped back and raised her brows.
The tune of the dance was set, then. It continued like that for about ten minutes. Spike would attack; Buffy would block and step back. He found himself amused at first, but that quickly melted into irritation at her unwillingness to participate. Seemed she didn’t care that she was the cause of his crisis of faith in everything he was and had been. That simply being with her was unraveling him from the core.
The stupid girl wouldn’t play by the rules. Did she really think he was going to pity her if she refused to return the battle full force?
“What the bleedin’ hell is wrong with you?” he snarled. “Fight me!”
“You never said I had to fight,” Buffy protested, holding her hands up. “That was not a part of the deal, Spike.”
“It was bloody implied!”
“Not to me, it wasn’t.”
“Are you achin’ for death, is that it? Din’t get a good enough taste the other night, an’ you’re hopin’ to get your rocks off by bein’ beat within an inch of your life over an’ over again?”
“That’s masochism. It has nothing to do with death wishes.”
“Like I—”
“Look, Spike, I’m willing to do this as long as you are. I’ll come out here and pretend to fight. I’ll even cooperate when you wake me to kill me, and then don’t. You could’ve done it any time. Back home, while we walked here...the second I climbed outside, I was fair game.”
“An’ yet you’re here.”
She shrugged. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
“Not for bloody long!”
“Yeah, okay.” Buffy spread her arms in welcome. “Then do it. Come on, Spike. Kill me.”
He started to leap in; he really did. Some unnatural force of nature kept him grounded.
Then the Slayer lowered her eyes to the ground, and blew what little was left of his world away with five soft, simple words. “I don’t want you dead.”
He swore that time stood still. Spike practically fell over, his eyes wide and imploring, searching hers and finding nothing but truth. Actualization. God, she really meant it. She didn’t want him dead. She, the Slayer, didn’t want him, the Vampire, dead.
He’d known. Of course he’d known. Her body language all but screamed it. However, giving the words form and voice changed everything. It made a theory a fact, and the knowledge had him thoroughly shaken.
“What?” he rasped.
“I don’t want you dead.” She glanced down. “I don’t even want you hurt.”
“Why the hell not?!”
“Because I like you, doofus.”
The world stopped rotating. God, he was thoroughly unmade. There was nothing left of him but the look in her eyes. The way she saw him now. A monster turned into a man again because of a girl.
“Stupid?” she continued with a nod. “Yes. I know it’s stupid, but that doesn’t change anything. I do like you, so I’m not going to fight you just because you’re going through a thing. And no, this isn’t a ‘you’re a vampire and I just lost my vampire boyfriend’ lapse of judgment. I know it’s dumb. Trust me, I’ve already gone through how stupid I am for...well, everything related to you, recently. But there it is. I like you. And I don’t want you hurt, dead, or anything in between.”
Spike glared at her. Colors were bleeding together, he was so bloody furious. She liked him? She liked him? Where the hell did she get off liking him? Didn’t the silly chit know who he was? What he was capable of? What his murderous hands had done? How many towns he’d painted red? And she, the sodding Slayer, liked him?
“Well, stop it!” he screamed, at a loss for logic.
Buffy quirked a brow and bit back a laugh. “Stop liking you?”
“Yes! Stop it!”
“It’s not like flipping a switch, Spike.”
“You stupid girl. I brought you out here to kill you. Doesn’ that sound off warning bells?”
“No. You’re not going to kill me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I already told you that. If you wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Only, no I wouldn’t, ‘cause I would have never left the house. Honestly, don’t you think I’d be dead already if I just popped outside whenever a vampire asked it of me?”
Spike drew in a deep breath, his chest tight, his throat clogged with a foray of angry words that demanded freedom. But God, he was too furious to speak.
“You don’t want me dead.”
He was going to rip her head off.
“You like me too much.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do.”
The calm, self-assurance in her tone was absolutely infuriating. “You’re off your nutter, you know?”
“Yeah, but you still like me.”
“Stop saying that!”
And then he couldn’t help himself. Any front he’d put up, any pretense he’d tried to pass, was already utterly shot to hell. Tonight had never been about killing her. God, he’d known it. He’d known it the second he stepped out of the mansion. The instant his renegade feet carried him to Revello Drive. He wanted to want her dead. Bugger all, wouldn’t that make everything right again. But no. He didn’t. He couldn’t. Not with what they’d shared. The remarkable little they’d shared that had somehow become his everything.
The acceptance she’d given him after an hour that completely washed away everything he’d ever thought to have with Dru. With anyone.
There was no sense fighting it. He was a man lost. The Slayer was under his skin, in his system, and he needed her like he’d needed no one.
This time when he approached, she didn’t move back. Didn’t prepare to block another half-assed attack. There was something else now; understanding burned her eyes. His arms closed around her waist, his body rejoicing. This. This was where she belonged. Where he belonged. Buffy in his arms, her hands hooking behind his neck, her face tilting upward in anticipation of his kiss. And God, her lips tasted like home.
The world had been made for kisses like hers. Soft, sweet kisses. She was full of innocence; of vulnerability. Of everything he loved to exploit, but now yearned to protect. Her soft body molded against his as their mouths danced together. He whimpered into her and the world around him came completely undone. The way she clutched at him, as though she needed him as desperately as he needed her, had his heart thoroughly captured. There was no want of escape. No going back from this.
When he finally broke his lips from hers, he shuddered at the passionate gasp that tore through her body. At the way she quivered beneath his kisses as his wandering mouth nipped at her throat, suckling at her sweet flesh hungrily. If she was at all concerned at having a vampire at her neck, she didn’t betray a thing.
“Slayer,” he gasped, eager fingers tugging at her sweats. “Oh God.”
“Uhhh...”
Somewhere, he knew that he was moving too fast for her. He knew it. The girl was still recovering from her last tryst—the scars that Angelus left on her invisible, but near impossible to heal. Logic, however, had no want of voice. He needed to feel her flesh beneath his fingers. He needed to taste the parts of her that were forbidden; the parts that had only been sampled once before, but in no way that could begin to do justice for a girl of her pure resplendence.
“Tell me to stop now,” he growled, pulling just far enough away so that he could see her eyes. The lost haze of lust that did little more than fuel his own desire. Her scent was driving him crazy, and if she didn’t shove him away now, control would be a thing of the past. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
“Buffy, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you.”
Spike growled at that and walked her backward until her back was pressed against the wall of the school. “You don’ know what you’re askin’ for,” he snarled, slipping his hand under the waistband of her sweats. “You want the monster, baby?” He bunched her panties to the side, his knees nearly buckling at the soft flesh waiting his touch. “Want me to show you everythin’ that Angel din’t? I’m up for it, but it’s not gonna be bloody soft an’poetic. I don’ have a bleedin’ soul to hold me back, an’ if you think you can tame me jus’ by battin’ those doe eyes of yours, you’re off your bird.”
Buffy didn’t balk. The determination in her eyes inspired an unwarranted surge of pride. He grinned nastily and kissed her again, his fingers dancing over the slick flesh between her thighs. God, she was so wet. The air was perfumed with her arousal, and he was parched with want of her.
It was in her eyes, then. Ferocity abandoned him. He no longer wanted to scare her into submission. No, she was worth so much more than that. She was something precious, and he’d be a fool to squander any chance he had at having her with some needless attempt at self-preservation. She wasn’t attempting to make him into anything. When she looked at him, the stars in her eyes were directed at no one else.
In all his years, he’d never had that. Not once.
He’d be a fool to ruin this with a quickie against a school building. Despite how much she wanted him now, he wanted her to want him tomorrow, too. And the next day. And the day after that. He wanted her to want him and no one else. Taking advantage of her now was one of the surest ways to ruin something priceless. The last thing he wanted was to walk away knowing he’d touched pure sunshine for the first and last time.
He slid a finger into her warm heat, and he was a man absolutely unwound. Spike worried a lip between his teeth, his eyes flashing when she gasped and bucked against him. God, she gripped him like a glove, drenching his skin with the slightest touch. Her hands were at his arms, gripping him so hard he thought his limbs would snap, but he wouldn’t move away for anything.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” he blurted, then cursed himself for his abruptness. He might as well have slapped her across the face for how stricken she looked. “I mean...not tonight. I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”
A light entered her eyes that had not been there a minute ago. If there was a way for a person to look both relieved and disappointed in one stroke, she embodied it entirely. “Oh.” She paused. “Why?”
“‘Cause I’m not.”
“Is it something I’ve done?”
“God, no.” He flashed her a rakish grin, stretching her pussy lips wide and sliding a second finger into her tight sheath. “Christ, I jus’ don’ want you to stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you are right now.” He nipped at her breasts through her camisole. “Like I’m the only man in the world.”
Buffy gasped and arched against him, nodding wordlessly as his fingers manipulated her body.
Another whiff of her arousal hit him tenfold, and the last vestiges of control crumbled away completely. With a primitive growl, he dropped to his knees and jerked her sweats to the ground, working the left side free of her leg entirely. The surprised gasp that touched the air both enthralled him and made him quiver with the realization of the power he had over her. The Slayer was trembling at his touch. Christ, she was wholly at his mercy.
Buffy met his eyes and he shuddered. No, that wasn’t right.
He was wholly at hers.
Spike drew in a deep breath and hooked his thumbs under the sides of her panties, then slowly stripped them down her legs. Something within him started at the sight of her, bare and glistening in the cool night air. Her neatly trimmed curls did little to hide the prize beneath, her pussy sopping with need. He’d barely touched her, and his fingers were drenched.
Perhaps he’d lived too jaded for too long. Even when he had been actively fucking Drusilla, arousing her was as much an effort as anything. She wanted it hard and rough, and though he’d cave into her each time without fault, she was much too disassociated to give him what he needed. She didn’t want him; he didn’t know if she ever had. And as a result of that, she made him work for the prize of losing himself in her rigid body.
Two days ago, he’d been ready to snap this young girl’s neck for inadvertently instigating the loss of his black goddess. Now he was eye level with her pussy, and he couldn’t wish himself anywhere else.
“Has anyone tasted you here?” he asked, rubbing his finger along her slit.
Buffy expelled a deep breath and trembled beneath his touch. “No,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “No.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
Spike grinned, a thrill racing down his spine. He pinched her clit and licked his lips, his other hand turning to the clasp of his jeans. “No secret rendezvous with li’l boys in school? You never snuck off to play in the janitor’s closet?”
“Never...ohhh, God, what are you doing?”
“Not even Angel? He din’t service you before—”
“No!”
He loved the way she barked her rejection at the notion. If anything, he wanted to keep that revulsion in her voice whenever the great sod was mentioned. “You have such a sweet, juicy li’l quim,” he murmured, leaning into her, flicking his tongue over her clit as his cock sprang into his waiting hand. Buffy yelped in surprised and thrust her hips forward. Spike chuckled, his tongue exploring her drenched folds, his fingers parting her lips. “Mmm, somebody’s eager.”
“Oh my God.”
His grin broadened. “See what you’ve been missing, baby?”
“What are you...oh!” A long, impassioned mewl tore at the air. “Oh my God, what are you doing to me?”
This was going to be fast. Much too fast. He burned with the simple flavor of her; his hand working his cock rapidly, determined to reach his peak with her. She was so young, so blessedly inexperienced. A wreck that he was determined to fix. He would show her what it should have been like the first time. What Angel would have done to her had he had the stones. Stupid wanker didn’t even work the girl up proper—likely didn’t do much more than touch her south of the border to make sure he didn’t break her when he ripped her virginity away.
The thought of anyone else touching her infuriated him.
Mine! the demon raged. She’s mine! Angelus can’t have her.
Spike growled and saw red, plunging his tongue inside her tight, wet hole without warning. He was certain that Buffy’s cry of surprise would ring with him for the rest of his days. He captured her clit between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing her softly as he explored her pussy with his mouth. He stroked his shaft in time with her whimpers, murmuring sweetly into her wet skin a thousand wordless praises that he couldn’t let her wise up to. She already had too much power over him. Telling her how incredible she tasted would forfeit all control. She mustn’t know what she did to him. Never.
Women who held that sort of knowledge always—always—used it against him. He didn’t care how sodding pure they were. Dru, Cecily, and even though there was absolutely no love lost between them, Darla to an extent.
His tongue was bathed in her juices. He wanted to swallow her whole.
Buffy seemed lost to another world. She panted; she moaned; she writhed, and he found himself chipping away with every syllable, coherent or not, that crossed her lips. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, holding him to her. Whether or not the effort was conscious, he didn’t know. He bit back a grin and abandoned her opening with a parting lick, his fingers slipping inside her once more as he turned his attention to her swollen clit. That pretty little pearl of flesh that saluted him in desperate want of attention.
“Oh my...oh my...” Her grip on him tightened. He sucked on her clit hard, his tongue making a dance of it. His teeth nipped at her as an afterthought, but for the pleasured gasp that escaped her lips, it seemed baby liked her men with fangs.
Well, if it’s fangs she wants...
“Spike! I’m on...my...I’m on fire!”
She sounded so genuinely confused, so concerned, and he was torn between laughter and tears.
“I...ohhhh, my God!”
That was it. He lost all semblance of control. He curled his middle and index fingers within her as his mouth abandoned her, his thumb settling over her clit, massaging her furiously as his fangs exploded through his gums.
“Oh!”
His eyes caught the light in hers; there was fear there. Fear and a thrill of forbidden excitement. She was too lost to object, too close to likely form a coherent thought. Thus, when his fangs sliced into the milky inside of her thigh, there was nothing left for her to do but explode in his arms.
And God, he fell right with her. Her blood filling his mouth, her juices coating his fingers—it was perhaps the closest he’d ever been to another person. Human, vamp, demon; none had ever touched him like this. He came hard in his hand, swallowing mouthfuls of her rich blood as his fingers continued to thrust inside her, wanting more. Wanting to prolong this moment for another hour. Day. Decade. He didn’t care. He just didn’t want to come back to himself. Not after this. Not after the magic they’d shared.
Spike felt the minute that the pleasure from his bite turned to pain, and immediately retracted his fangs, lapping at the wound tenderly before turning his mouth back to her pussy. He followed his nose, drinking everything she’d given him with eagerness he was helpless to betray. He felt her shudder and gasp beneath him, felt her flinch as his tongue traced her more sensitive flesh. He felt her body responding, warming up to come for him again.
He glanced up and met her awestruck gaze, and berated himself for trembling when she cupped his cheek.
“Spike.” It wasn’t much; just his name, but whispered from her lips, he was thoroughly resigned.
Oh God.
She owned far too much of him.
He released a deep sigh and forced his disobedient mouth to part with her sweet flesh. Another taste, and he would be truly lost. He wasn’t ready for that. God, he wasn’t ready for so much.
“Spike?”
He glanced up again. Her eyes were so wide, so reverential. As though he had just taken her to the stars, and not the other way around. She wanted him to say something hopelessly romantic, he was certain. Tell her how she wasn’t like other girls, as though she actually needed the reassurance. Whisper that he’d never felt anything like that before. How special she was, and how he would proudly wear the badge of ‘Slayer’s Boyfriend’ now that she had him addicted to her pussy.
No. He wouldn’t allow it. He might want her more than he’d wanted anyone, he might not be able to kill her like he’d promised, but the girl was not going to house-train him. The line was drawn here.
Buffy was remarkable. He needed to get out of her life before he discovered just how remarkable she was.
Spike inhaled sharply and slid her panties back up her legs, followed by her sweats. He tucked himself safely back into his jeans, sighing in relief when their respective barriers were once again blocking the path to temptation.
He felt her hurt without needing to see it.
“Spike?”
“I’m gonna take you home,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I...did I do something wrong?”
The uncertainty in her voice killed him. No, of course not. It had absolutely nothing to do with her. He was the one that had buggered himself backwards when he wasn’t looking. He was the stupid sod that didn’t know how to read the warning signs to disaster.
He smiled. “No, baby. It’s late, an’ I’m gonna take you home.”
Buffy nodded numbly, and if possible, he felt like an even bigger wanker than before.
It wouldn’t change his mind, though. Nothing could.
The starry look in her eyes didn’t change anything, either, but it certainly didn’t help. Not even the kiss she gave him before he sent her back to her room. That heated, needy kiss that whispered relief and promise. He drank his fill of her mouth, knowing it had to be the last time. Absolutely the last time. They’d both get hurt the other way, and with as much as he wanted to protect his own heart, he found himself flinching at the thought of breaking hers.
He might be addicted to her, but he’d forget after awhile. Forget how sweet she tasted. How much promise he’d found in her arms.
The words sounded empty even to him, but he had to try. Buffy Summers was everything he couldn’t have. No amount of want could change that.
Thus when she whispered her goodbye to him, he knew it had to be final.
Even if he couldn’t muster the words to tell her, he knew it had to be final. What’s more, she did, too. Somewhere, she had to know how wrong they were to even hope for something more.
Despite how right it felt.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part VI | | | | - abc + + | | | 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!
Part VI
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 | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part VII | | | | - abc + + | | | Part VII
While he didn’t truly have anything to compare it to, Spike supposed walking Buffy home that night was his equivalent to ending a first date on a high, however ambiguous note. The evening had already maxed out his comfort zone as far as the ultimate surreal life went, though try as he might, he was helpless to resist her shy eyes or the sweet temptation of her soft skin. He was a man thoroughly buggered, no matter which way he looked.
“Where will you go?” she asked. “You can’t go back to…wherever you and the others were, can you?”
Spike smiled dryly and shook his head, fishing his cigarettes out of his duster pocket. “I’m homeless,” he replied with a shrug. “No worries, pet. I’m sure I’ll find a place to crash.”
“And if you don’t?”
The look in her eyes lent him pause. He was sure, eventually, he would stop feeling the strings of astonishment pulling on his heart every time he knew that she was concerned over his welfare. It just wasn’t likely to happen soon.
He lit his fag and sighed, offering little more than a shrug. “’m not goin’ back, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
“It’s not. That’s none of my business.”
There was a note in her voice that she couldn’t quite suppress. Whether or not it was any of her business, she’d never convince him that she didn’t care what he did or whose bed he occupied. Her eyes couldn’t lie to him.
“I’ll find a place. This town’s ripe with nice, roomy crypts. Jus’ a matter of findin’ the right one.”
Buffy made a face at that. “A crypt?”
“Yeh.”
“Like those things where the dead are stored?”
Spike waved a hand, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Hello, dead here,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not about to find an’ apartment in an upstanding neighborhood, Slayer. I’m not your bloody Angel. He wanted a heartbeat; I don’.”
She paused and worried a lip between her teeth. “I know,” she replied softly. “You…I’ve told you, I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to make you an Angel replacement, because I’m really, really not. I just…a crypt?”
“I do happen to be dead, an’ you gotta store me somewhere.”
A flinch crossed her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeh, you did, but we’ll ignore it.”
“No.” Buffy stopped suddenly, her voice sharp with intent. He turned to her wearily, mentally kicking himself but doing his best to look otherwise disengaged. “I didn’t. Don’t do that. Don’t try to justify whatever you’re feeling into treating me like crap because hey, Buffy misses her vamp boyfriend. That’s dumb. I said what I said not even thinking about vampires, because—even with that ‘lacking pulse’ thing, I don’t consider them dead. Things that walk, talk, and ingest fluids for the sake of survival are not dead. It’s just a hybrid of life. So don’t treat me like I’m trying to make you less than you are. I just didn’t know vamps camped out in cemeteries beyond the ‘climbing from the coffin’ thing. Okay? You got here and hid out at a factory, and now the others are at a mansion. Why on earth would I have any reason to think that you’d want a crypt? It just surprised me, is all.”
Spike stared at her for a long moment, amazement burning in his eyes.
“What?”
“You,” he replied hoarsely.
Her cheeks rouged at that, and she glanced to the pavement with a sudden surge of shyness. “What about me?”
“I’d get into it, but then we’d be out here all night.” He shook his head. “You’re remarkable, Buffy.”
There was a long beat at that; she looked up again in shock, and warmth filled her whole.
Spike frowned uncomfortably. He wasn’t accustomed to this—to being regarded as anything above a commodity. The wealth of affection that poured through her gaze was thoroughly alien to anything he’d ever experienced. Never had a woman looked at him like that. Like he was something important—something more than a walking vibrator.
She wasn’t supposed to stare at him like he was worth everything.
“What?” he asked after a few uncomfortable seconds.
“You called me ‘Buffy,’” she replied.
“And?”
A shy smile kissed her lips. “I like it. It’s not…‘Slayer’ or something. I just…it makes me feel like more than the Chosen One. You don’t call me that often, if you ever have.”
“You’re star-eyed because I called you Buffy? Not because I said you’re remarkable?”
“Well, that part helped.” She glanced down. “The past few days have been really confusing.”
That was, perhaps, the first logical thing he’d heard her say since that night in the motel. Spike smiled weakly and nodded in agreement. “Yeh,” he said. “But you seem to be taking it all well.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.”
“An’ how’s that workin’ out for you?”
“I’m actually managing to not think about it.”
She released a deep breath and glanced down, moving forward slightly as they continued together down the sidewalk. Her house was within view, and again, like an awkward first date, Spike felt his chest constrict. He didn’t want to leave her now; now that they had reached something. There was some sort of understanding between them, tacit in nature but no less sacred.
He couldn’t get over the way she touched him. The calm kindness that warmed his flesh whenever his hand brushed against hers. It was a bolt of lightening, the way it struck him—the pure astonishment at realizing that he still could feel her affection for him when they weren’t stealing kisses, gazing heatedly at each other, or basking in post-coital highs.
“You’re not thinkin’ about it?” he echoed softly, sucking on his cigarette.
“I don’t want to talk myself out of this,” she replied. “I don’t. Right now, my world is crazy enough to fill in the spaces for Charlie Manson. I know if I stopped and really mulled it over, I’d know how wrong it is. I mean, I know how wrong it is right now without having to mull it over...mulling over plus long concentration equals headachy badness.” Buffy wet her lips and heaved a deep sigh. “I told you that I like you...and I do. I like the guy I got to know in the motel that night after you decided to stay with me. I like you...and right now, that’s all I want to think about.”
“Even though I came to kill you the other night?”
She grinned dryly. “You don’t want me dead, Spike.”
He smirked. “You don’ have to bloody well rub it in.”
“Oh, I really think I do.”
God, he loved the way her eyes danced. There was no malice within her gaze—nothing but humor and enjoyment. This was the face of someone who truly understood him, or at least cared enough to try. He hadn’t even known her for a week—not really. He’d known the Slayer; now he was getting to know Buffy.
The scary thing was, she was getting to know him in turn. The true self he’d buried under a facade of Big Bad—the facade that had nearly dwarfed him completely; not with sincerity, rather with a need to become the mask he wore.
She took the mask away and didn’t reject what she found underneath. He was more in her eyes than he’d ever been in Dru’s. And God, it made him feel like such an imposter. He was wearing someone else’s skin, living someone else’s life. He couldn’t be the man she thought he was, no matter how much he wanted it.
“If I think about how stupid I’m being, I’ll stop,” she continued softly. “And I don’t want to. I like you...and I don’t want to stop liking you. I don’t want to stop this—this thing that we have that’s really weird and completely wrong but God I need it. I know it’s dumb. I really, really know it...but you...”
Spike smiled softly, forcing himself to ignore the voice that commanded him to take her hand. There were certain boundaries he had yet to cross; holding hands with the Slayer was a no-no. It implied affection beyond the lust. It implied that simply being with her was enough to sustain him; that he wasn’t after sex or blood, or any combination of the two. And while the notion was buried in verity, and he knew that his fondness for her was tangible, it didn’t bloody well mean he had to make a public statement about it.
Her words haunted him with truth. It was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. Holding her hand would only muddle matters more than they already were. Being with Buffy right now, simply walking her home, was confusing enough.
He’d taken so many steps. There was no turning back now; there was no deciding that he’d made a mistake. While he didn’t doubt that Dru would have him back, life with his family, following his leave, would make him crave death in ways he’d never truly thought possible. He wouldn’t last. Sunlight would be the only viable option.
Whichever road he took, he faced inevitable heartbreak. Buffy, however, would be much gentler with him. She might even cry authentic tears.
“You’re not like him,” she said softly, jarring him out of his reverie.
“What?”
“Angel. You’re not like Angel.” A pause. “Or Angelus, for that matter.”
The high vanished without warning. Of course he wasn’t like bleeding Angelus. Spike felt his chest tighten in preparation for the foreseeable punch. He clenched his jaw and glanced away to hide the hurt in a sea of anger. The last thing he needed was for her to discover how deeply she could cut him. How easily she could make him bleed. How much power she wielded with verbal weapons; how much damage she could really do if she wanted.
He felt her hand on his shoulder and tried not to shudder at her warmth. “No, Spike. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah,” he drawled bitterly, not willing to meet her eyes. God, he was such a ponce. Such a ninny. Such a pathetic open book, ready to be shredded by a sodding chicklet. “Right.”
“I don’t want you to be like Angel.”
“No worries, luv. I tried for years to master the role, an’ believe me, somethin’ in my performance always comes up short.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doin’ anythin’.”
“Yes, you are. Stop it.” She seized his hand forcibly and pulled him to a halt, though he honestly didn’t know what surprised him most; her audacity or the fact that she was touching him the way he’d wanted to touch her a minute ago. “Look, my feelings for Angel are...well, confused is the best way to describe them. The guy I knew doesn’t exist anymore. I have to kill the guy that took his place. He’s an evil, sadistic son of a bitch, and if Angel even had a chance of coming back, I’m not convinced that would be a good thing. He’s done too much. A-and if you’re right...about Angelus always being a part of Angel, then I just—”
“I am right. I’ve known the wanker a li’l longer than you, right?”
“But you never knew Angel. You’ve known him when he pretended to be Angelus, a-and when he was with me. It’s not like the two of you got together to catch up after you knew he was all with the soul.”
Spike’s eyes darkened. “You’re making excuses for him.”
“I am not!”
“Look, Slayer, I know I’m never gonna be your precious Angel. I bloody well have that figured, yeah? So don’ go into—”
“I don’t want you to be like Angel!”
“Well, we pretty much got that covered.”
“Can’t I still...I’m not saying I’m over Angel. I can’t be. It’s too soon.” She turned her eyes to the ground and shuddered. “But something’s happened to me. I don’t understand it. I won’t pretend to. What I was trying to say is...you...you’re soulless, like Angelus, but there’s this, too.” She squeezed his hand and he about melted on the spot. “I like this.”
“This is bloody dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You’re assumin’ I won’ come to my senses an’ kill you at any moment.”
“You could if you wanted to, yes. But you won’t.” Buffy released a deep breath. “Spike, this is a big thing for me. Huge. Not only are you...you’re turning my world upside down. Soulless vamps aren’t supposed to be like you.”
He snorted. “Tell me about it.”
“No, stop that.”
“You have any idea how much easier it’d make things if we jus’ agreed to hate each other?”
“I don’t want to hate you—I like you. Which is more than Angel ever got from me.”
For a minute there, he was certain the earth had stopped rotating. Spike nearly tripped, tearing his hand from hers and grasping her shoulder for leverage. “What?” he demanded. “What the hell does that mean? Honestly, Slayer, do you think I’ve been walkin’ around the Hellmouth blind for the past few months? I know bloody well what—”
“I never liked Angel. I loved him, yes, but I skipped that entire like thing. I thought he was creepy at first, then I hated him, then I fell for him. There was no liking him in between all that.” She rubbed her arms, turning her eyes to the pavement once more. “In some ways...in many ways...I feel closer to you than I ever did to him. I feel like I never knew him at all.”
She hadn’t, but he didn’t want to tell her that again. He didn’t want to disturb the ethereal wonder that settled around them in the aftermath of her outburst. The peace he felt with her revelation was worth the hurt—such that it nearly frightened him. While he constantly found himself in situations that caused him pain beyond pain, mostly by choice, Spike would never define himself as a masochist. He didn’t enjoy suffering, no matter that his decisions suggested otherwise.
Every second he spent with her, the further the proverbial knife twisted in his heart. He’d be dust by the time she was through with him—dust in the form of a man. Solid but never there. He was beginning to realize that Buffy simply wasn’t the sort of girl one recovered from with any measure of ease. It was the reason Angelus was so bloody obsessed with her. The reason that Spike couldn’t, for all the want of logic, let her go. The reason neither of them could overcome their reservations, as unwanted as they were, and kill her properly.
Angelus didn’t know what he’d given up. He’d never understand what he’d lost.
Spike grunted to himself and tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out beneath his boot. His grandsire would never understand what he’d lost; Spike wasn’t about to make that mistake.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he announced abruptly. And he didn’t hesitate; didn’t stop to allow her a word in. Instead, he stepped forward and cupped her cheeks, drawing her lips to his. Her kisses were drops of nirvana—so bloody pure, and though each taste sacrificed a little more of himself, he felt, in the end, a better man because of it. He swallowed her gasp of surprise, reveling in the long shudder that commanded her body. In the small mewl that she rumbled into his mouth. There were worse things, after all, than losing himself.
She murmured against his lips, her fingers curling around his upper arms as her mouth danced sweetly with his. “Spike...”
He’d conquer nations for the needy breathlessness that dominated her voice.
A whimper of complaint seized him when she finally pulled away, panting harshly, resting her brow against his. He trembled. The series of tender moments he’d shared with Buffy could fill a lifetime compared to those he’d ever had with Dru.
“You’ve turned my world upside down,” he murmured.
“You, too.”
“This doesn’ make any bloody sense.” Spike exhaled slowly and pressed his lips to her brow. The demon within roared in objection; unprovoked tenderness was not something to relish. “You’re changing everything.”
“Change isn’t a bad thing.”
The hope in her voice nearly made him laugh. There were times when he couldn’t deny that, in many ways, she was still such a little girl. Perhaps she didn’t see how this would end; perhaps she, in her youthful noble-mindedness, believed that anything they had could last forever. Perhaps.
The possibility that she could want anything resembling a normal relationship with him warmed him whole. Such idealism was reserved for fairytales.
He wanted a fairytale with her. He wanted it so bloody badly.
Spike hummed slightly and pulled away. “You make me crave things I can’t have,” he said, releasing a dejected sigh. “Come on, Slayer. We should get you home before your mum sends out a bloody search party.”
“There is nothing here that you can’t have.”
He trembled. “Buffy—”
“I really love it when you call me that.”
“If we do this, there’s no goin’ back.” He shook his head, his eyes heavy. “I don’ think you’re ready for that.”
“I—”
“I don’ think I am, either.”
She fell silent at that, nodding. There was resignation amid knowledge, and while he knew that it wasn’t the answer she wanted, he felt a sense of righteousness. Temptation was literally at his side, and he managed to shove his yearning away for the sake of what was right.
Though in retrospect, doing what’s right wasn’t exactly in the job description. Was he so thoroughly buggered that he’d completely reversed their roles?
Spike sighed and cast a hand through his platinum hair. Sod all.
She had him turned around. He didn’t know what was what anymore.
The rest of their walk was brief and laced with silence. He watched as she climbed up the trusty tree outside her bedroom window, and found himself following her without waiting for an invitation.
She climbed inside her window and turned to him with a small, forced smile. “Is that it, then?” she asked. “Or are we gonna say this is over and keep on meeting like this anyway?”
“It should be over, pet.”
“I don’t want it to be over.”
Then she leaned out her window and seized him by the lapels of his duster, attacking his mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. Spike froze for a long second, drunk with ecstasy, his skin aflame for the feel of her lips moving against his. He was such a fool. There was no denying her; no denying the completion he felt when she was in his arms. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her by the shoulders, all but dragging her through the window until she was on the branch beside him. He edged backward until his back met with the trunk. She followed him, unwilling to part her lips from his, to relinquish her mouth’s claim on his tongue as she warred with desperation that nearly matched his own.
“I want this,” Buffy gasped into his mouth. “I don’t care that it’s wrong.”
“You should,” he replied, nipping at her chin as his hands mapped her body. The scars he’d given her had all but faded now; the thought of marring her gorgeous skin with animosity made him quiver with self-loathing. Granted, without that first night, there would be none of this. This lovely, completely irrational bit of Elysium that they’d managed to find together, however woefully wrong it was.
“I don’t,” she replied breathlessly, tossing her head back as his mouth worshiped her throat. “I know I should, but I don’t. You’ve...God, you’ve confused that for me.”
He felt her hands unbuckling his belt, and for a long second, he could’ve sworn that his heart had started thundering once more.
“Buffy—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
Her nimble fingers pried open his fly, and the next thing he knew, his cock leapt into her willing hand, and he dissolved in warmth. A long moan tore from his lips and his head flew back against the tree trunk so hard that it hurt, though pain was secondary to rapture. With her hot, welcoming little hand was wrapped around his erection; there was no room for thought.
“Oh holy fuck!”
Buffy kissed his lips sweetly, and the world all but ignited.
“God, what are you doing to me?”
“You made me...last night, you made me come.” She blushed hard, something that him completely bewildered. The shyness, however, wasn’t a show. He knew she was terrified. The reverberation of her thundering heartbeat echoed through every inch of her skin. There was eagerness, too; excitement. A need to do what she was doing, even if the thought frightened her.
He wanted to tell her there was nothing to worry about, considering the way her hand massaged his length with expertise that made him want to either praise the gods or scream in jealous fury. The thought, however foolish, that she had done this before had his demon snarling for vengeance.
“You made me come,” she said again, this time with false bravado that made his heart swell. “Now I wanna make you come.”
There were no sweeter words in the English language.
Her hand pumped his shaft sweetly, her brow resting against his, her lips stealing kisses from his mouth every few seconds. He watched her in awe, his eyes shifting from her face to the sight of her fist coiled around his dick. Her thumb brushed against his head with every sweep, almost too softly, as though she was afraid adding pressure would break him.
“Oh, Buffy,” he moaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her grip tightened, coaxing a long whimper from his lips. “God, pet, that feels so good.”
“Really?” she replied, her voice leveled with uncertainty.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“I haven’t...I mean, I never...”
He raised his eyes to her almost reluctantly. “You an’ Angel never...” He trailed off, unable to see that thought to fruition. It was out there, ugly and real, though he was divided between need and dread at the prospect of her answer.
“No.” Her skin flushed deeper. “We kissed a lot. Before that...that night, there wasn’t a lot of other stuff. I was too...and I think he thought he’d break me.” She paused, her gaze trained on his cock. Her eyes on that part of him nearly did more to undo him than the magical feel of her hand stroking him. “Am I doing this right?”
He bit back a chuckle. “Trust me, pet, there’s no way to get it wrong.”
“Really?” He felt her lips brush against his throat. “Tell me what you like, Spike.”
He whimpered and attempted futilely to thrust his hips forward. “You won’ like it.”
“Blowjobs?” Buffy quirked a brow as her head reeled back. “I do know about guys and blowjobs.”
A sliver of fury combated with lust. “An’ how’s that?”
She smirked and leaned inward, nibbling gently on his lips. “I attend a public school, you know,” she murmured. It was amazing how sultry she could make a thoroughly unsexy statement sound. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like what you’re doing very much.”
“Tell me how to make it better.”
He paused, then quirked a brow. “Well,” he replied, steadying his hands on her hips. “You could use both hands.”
Buffy paused at that and frowned. “Both hands?”
“For starters.” Spike grinned and nipped at her mouth. “We’re in a tree, luv. Doesn’ really give us enough room to go into everything that I like. Unless you wanna move this into your bedroom...”
The hesitance that flickered across her face at that was all the answer he needed. She wasn’t ready to let him into her home, which was likely a wise decision. He’d find himself sneaking in at all hours, and thus doing little more than strengthen the intensity of their increasingly confusing relationship. Instead of waiting for her answer, he kissed her, wrapping his hand around hers.
“Faster, luv,” he murmured, choking back a moan when she immediately complied. “Now...ahh, yeah. That’s it. God, feels like Heaven, that does. Such a sweet li’l hand. You like doing this? You like wanking off dangerous vamps jus’ feet away from where you’ll sleep t’night?”
Buffy’s eyes flared. “Guh,” she stated ineloquently, her eyes fluttering shut.
The scent of her arousal nearly drowned him. Her wetness stung the air, imploring his tongue for a taste.
“You like that? Like the feel of my cock in your hand?”
She nodded rapidly, her other hand delving further into his jeans until he felt her tentatively cupping his balls. Spike tossed his head back again and moaned, encouraging her to stroke him faster. She squeezed and stroked him, kneaded affection into him without words. The tenderness in her caresses was more than he’d ever thought to touch.
It happened too quickly. Hell, a year could have passed and it would’ve been too quickly. Spike barked something he thought sounded enough like a warning, then came violently into her hand. He felt her still around him, though her heart began pounding even harder. Her excitement touched the air like a firecracker, and even coming down from his plateau, he found himself wanting—needing—to taste more.
“Buffy...”
Her eyes were glued to the spendings that coated her skin. He expected disgust, but she seemed enthralled.
Spike fisted a handful of cotton from his t-shirt and seized her wrist, wiping her skin off best he could. “You should go inside now,” he said quickly.
Her head flipped up at that, and the uncertainty in her eyes all but killed him. “What? Was that not good? Did I do something wrong? What did I do wrong?”
“No. God, no. But you should go inside.” He inhaled deeply, nuzzling her hair as he deftly tucked himself back inside his jeans. “I want you so bloody much, an’ I’m not above fucking the daylights outta you in a sodding tree, as uncomfortable as it is. You jus’ proved anythin’ possible.”
The scent of her arousal intensified, and his mouth watered.
“Slayer, get your biteable arse inside that girly bedroom of yours.”
He was immediately bereft the second that she left his arms. He watched with barely guised longing as she climbed back into the sanctuary of her room. The barrier was between them again, and while he cursed its presence, he was similarly grateful to have some boundaries defined.
“I want you to undress,” he said softly when she turned to meet his eyes. “I want you to stroke your clit until you come. An’ I wanna watch while you do it.”
There was a measure of satisfaction in the widening of her eyes. In the thrill that raced down her spine, nearly indiscernible, but there nonetheless.
“Spike—”
“I want to watch. An’ I want you to gimme your hand after you’ve come so I can lick up all your juice.”
“Spike, I need to say something.”
The sentence was so short, so declarative, that it leant him pause.
Buffy released a deep breath and glanced down. “I...what we’re doing...this is new. All of it. It’s new to me. Angel and I...well, I told you we didn’t do anything beyond make out up until...the actual sex part, as in you sticking your...” She gestured without meeting his eyes and flushed. “In me...I’m not ready for that.”
Spike softened and edged as close as he dared to the invisible barrier. “Slayer—”
“The first time was too terrible, and it broke me. This is helping me heal.” She exhaled softly. “This is something that’s ours. Yours and mine. But the actual sex part, however the hell you wanna define it...I’m not ready for that. I don’t want to hurt like that again. Angel told me he loved me and I got hurt. We...I don’t know what we’re doing, but I can’t do that part if...”
She trailed off awkwardly and her words fell with silent grace. Spike watched her for a long moment, then realized what she thought. That stating only oral play and handjobs, equaled not good enough if they couldn’t complete this mating dance with the traditional act of lovemaking. She didn’t need that—not if love wasn’t in the mix. She wanted love, and she was right to. No one deserved to be loved as much as the Slayer.
If he loved her, though, whatever hold he had left on his old life would be gone forever.
If, if, bloody if. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought it through to this extent. And with as terrifying as the notion was, there was a certain degree of peace that encompassed him with immeasurable warmth.
Love the Slayer...
Spike smiled softly and nodded, forcing his troubling thoughts away. She didn’t need to worry her pretty head about that tonight. If anything, he’d learned that making plans didn’t get him anywhere where she was concerned.
“No worries, sweet,” he reassured her. “We won’ do anythin’ you don’ want.”
Tension rolled off her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “Okay.”
There was a beat. She turned to her bed and began pulling down the covers.
“Slayer?”
She looked up.
“I’m still waiting for my juice.”
She paused at that, then a wise, womanly smile touched her face. “Oh,” she replied, straightening as she fisted the hem of her shirt. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Spike smirked and licked his lips, his eyes soaking her in.
There were worse things in the world than being wrong. The longer he stayed, the more he wanted. Only this was different. For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t alone. More than affection, more than kindness—the lust that burned her eyes wasn’t imagined. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Perhaps then, just perhaps, he could allow himself to ponder.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have to let go of her at all.
Wishful thinking or not, shady hope was better than resignation. He wanted to keep her; he’d be a fool to wish otherwise. He’d made the mistake of telling himself what her decision would be. Buffy alone was in charge of her destiny.
He wasn’t going to try and talk himself out of anything anymore. The girl was unpredictable; trying to warn himself off with threats of his inevitable heartache was setting himself up for failure. That had to end. Nothing was decided now. The future wasn’t set. Buffy wanted him now, and chances were, she’d want him tomorrow. He’d underestimated her a time too many, and this was where the buck stopped.
Perhaps, in the end, she’d want him forever. He could live with that.
After all, she had yet to stop surprising him.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part VIII | | | | - abc + + | | | Part VIII
It was near impossible to even pretend to be remotely interested in geometrical forms when her thoughts kept wandering to the ocean in Spike’s eyes. The way his gaze soaked her up, the way his lips tasted, the way he rumbled into her mouth when he was overwhelmed with passion. There was simply so much life to him that he, somehow, didn’t see.
The niggling voice that had haunted her for the first couple days was gone now. Whatever reservations she’d possessed had been dwarfed by the growing sense of justness she felt whenever they were together. The soul debate didn’t present the problem she would have anticipated, especially considering how hostile things had been between them prior to Angel’s conversion to his less sociable self. Ultimately, from what she’d seen, comparing Spike to Angel was equitable to comparing Xander to Giles. It just didn’t work—they were different people, and it wasn’t fair to judge one based on the sins of the other.
The monstrosity in Spike’s inherent nature did present a problem. She had no delusions that he had stopped killing for her. After all, their relationship was poorly defined, and the vampire had to eat. Was she okay with it? Absolutely not. The thought that her connection with a deadly demon was forming a potentially fatal blind spot didn’t rest well with her at all. But there was no killing the demon without killing the man. And the man, despite all the demon’s efforts, trumped the demon power and influence.
Spike was more virtuous than he’d ever admit, though he’d probably scream nasty things and threaten to kill her if she dared to share her revelation.
The ‘killing people’ thing bothered her. A lot. And while she knew it was happening—based on common sense above anything else—even the semantics of right and wrong couldn’t convince her that letting him go was the right move to make. His evil was not the same as Angelus’s. His evil was there in defiance of his humanity. His evil was there to protect the parts of him that were still too soulful to deal with the abuse of a demon world.
Humanity was something that Angelus simply didn’t possess.
By the time lunch period rolled around, Buffy had taken to crossing off the hours until sunset in her notebook. The end of the maze was marked with S-P-I-K-E, spelled out in bubble-letters. It was the closest thing to geometrical forms that she felt like touching.
The girlish swell of excitement was something she thought she’d never feel again. It was a complete step away from the smoochy-filled patrols she’d shared with Angel—this thing with Spike felt adult. It felt more than something she was obligated to go through as a high school experience, though she loathed to give her relationship with Angel any such label, especially since her heart had yet to recover. She’d heard about rebound guys from her friends at Hemery, and even suspected that her fling with Pike, while not rebounding off Tyler, had been a way to cope with the Chosen One crap. It hadn’t been serious; more a thing that was there as a this is how you’ll deal consolation prize.
After all, Tyler hadn’t exactly been one to write home about. Their break-up hadn’t necessitated a rebound. She didn’t even remember shedding tears into her pillow about it—likely because it tagged on burning down school buildings and making out with guys way too old for her.
Buffy snorted inwardly, swinging her bland brown sack as she approached the usual table her gang met around during the lunch hour. Willow and Oz were already seated, talking animatedly about some undoubtedly complicated academic matter that would fly right over her head.
The redhead’s eyes lit up when she saw her. “Hey, Buff!”
She offered a weak smile and pulled up a chair. “Hey,” she replied. “What’s up?”
“Oz and I were just talking about—”
“Something complicated and academic?”
“Close. The Dingos got a gig in LA,” Willow returned. “Oz has to drive up there this weekend.”
Buffy arched a brow. “Don’t tell me there are actual talent scouts that frequent the Bronze?”
“Stranger things,” Oz replied with an easy shrug.
“Did anything happen at the Bronze after we left?” Willow asked, sipping at her juice. “The band was kinda without, so I’m guessing not. Unless—ooh! Unless there was a big demon brawl. Or Angel showed up.”
“No demon brawl. No cameo from my ex.”
Buffy paused and licked her lips, her mind returning to thoughts of Spike and his gorgeous, stare-into-your-soul way of looking at her. There was no way she could announce another deadly attraction to yet another vampire and expect it to be taken with a smile and nod, but God, she wanted to talk to someone about it. Buffy glanced back to her friend and sighed. The chances of Willow understanding were slim to none. However, she was truly the only one who would even offer a sympathetic ear before shutting her out.
Xander would never understand. Never. He hadn’t understood Angel even with the soul; imagining his reaction to the revelation that she was enamored with not only another vampire, but a vampire that had already proclaimed his intention to kill her, did absolutely nothing for her plight.
“Buffy?”
She glanced up and sighed. Now. Get it out of the way now, before you lose your nerve. “Oz,” she said, smiling sweetly, “do you think you can make yourself scarce? I need to talk with Willow...about...stuff.”
Well, that was profound. Willow’s face was a mesh of confusion and intrigue, but she didn’t object.
The werewolf shrugged and nodded shortly. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “Do you need me to distract Xander?”
“That’d be swell.”
“Consider him distracted.”
“And Cordy?”
He shrugged again. “They’re a matching pair. I figure distracting one distracts the other by default.”
Buffy smiled her gratitude. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, not enough people know that about me.” He dropped a kiss atop Willow’s head and gathered up his books. “See you after fourth?”
“Yeah,” the redhead agreed. “Okay.”
By the time they were actually alone, the look on Willow’s face was all but bursting with curiosity. It wasn’t often that Buffy felt the need to demand privacy with her best friend, especially since Oz was practically ‘one of the girls.’ However, this instance was particularly sensitive. No matter how accepting the wolf was, she had to be cautious and pace herself; also, aside being Willow’s boyfriend, Buffy didn’t know him very well. The past few weeks hadn’t allowed much time for a formal ‘getting to know you’ session. She understood that he was becharmed with the redhead; up until recently, she had forced herself to be begrudgingly happy for the couple. After all, watching others bask in love and overly-excited teenage hormones was even less fun when one’s own honey was off on a murderous rampage.
But that was before Spike. Before her world had flipped itself upside down. Before he’d given her a reason to smile again.
“What is it?” Willow demanded quietly. “You have serious-face.”
“That’s because this is serious.”
“Uh oh.”
“Uh oh?”
“Serious, I’ve come to understand, equals bad. A-at least with all the bad guys that are running around out there right now. What’s wrong?” She paused. “You said Angel was a no-show. Was it...did Darla come back looking for—or Spike?!” Buffy started at the sound of his name, and her reaction must have been telling. Willow’s eyes practically bulged out of her head. “Oh my God. Did Spike...he threatened to make good on his ‘kill you dead’ thing, didn’t he? God, that guy really doesn’t know how to interpret getting whacked by a tree limb.”
Buffy exhaled slowly, a shrill chuckle rumbling through her throat before she could stop herself. “Well,” she replied. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Not exactly what?”
“Will...there are...some things...about me and Spike that I haven’t told you.”
The look on her friend’s face went slack. “I didn’t know there was a ‘you and Spike,’” she said.
“Yeah, that’d be one of the things I haven’t told you.”
“Buffy?”
“We’re...we’re kinda...” She cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is, Spike and I...there’s kinda this thing.”
“A thing?”
Buffy nodded guiltily. “We can’t keep our hands off each other,” she blurted, the words strained and awkward. And out there. God, they were out there before she could stop herself.
Willow sat back, her skin paling, her expression numb. They sat like that for a long, uncomfortable minute. Not talking. Not even establishing eye contact. The redhead was staring hard at something on the table, and for a horrible instant, the Slayer feared she had made the mother of all mistakes.
After all, Willow was understanding...but getting the suddenness of ‘Buffy likes groping Spike’ was pushing the envelope.
“Well,” her friend said finally, her voice strained. “That’s a...pretty big thing.”
“Yeah.”
“You and Spike...”
“I don’t know how it happened.”
“Yeah, I can understand the dark, sinister attraction of him nearly killing you.”
Buffy laughed uncomfortably, raising a hand in protest. “Hey, you’re reading way too much into that.”
“You’re into Spike now? As in, Mr. Soulless, president of the Slayer-Haters Unite Club? The same guy that, oh yeah, raided the school on parent/teacher night and has been trying to find a way to make you very, very dead for months?”
“I’m getting the impression that you’re not taking this well.”
“Well, how am I supposed to take it, Buffy? Last I checked, Spike’s a remorseless killer who, by the way, already has a girlfriend!”
“Not so,” she protested. “Spike broke it off with Dru last night.”
“How romantic.”
“I—”
“This is, of course, after he socked you in the jaw the other night when you were trying to stake the evil hell-bitch.”
“See, that was just a misunderstanding.”
Willow crossed her arms and huffed. “Oh really?”
A heavy sigh burdened the Slayer’s shoulders, and she glanced to her lunch sack in resignation. “Will, look, I know this is all kinds of crazy. I know it. Spike knows it, too. He keeps telling me we gotta stop...and I know it, but I don’t want to. He’s not Angel. He’s not Angelus. He’s not even the guy we thought he was. The demon is a face he wears. The demon has nothing to do with the Spike I know.”
“Well, that makes it really easy for you, doesn’t it?”
“No. No, I never said it was easy. It’s wrong and stupid, but I’m feeling things for him. Non-reboundy, true things.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “I’m not asking for your approval. I don’t expect it. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust Spike. I know that you think I’m insane. I don’t expect you to agree to be okay with it or any of the above. But that’s what’s happening right now. I’m...in something with Spike.” She trembled slightly, rising to her feet. Suddenly, she didn’t feel hungry in the slightest. “I’m okay with you not being okay with it,” she added. “Really, I am. And I understand why. I really do. I just...it won’t change anything. For whatever reason, Spike makes sense to me right now...even without the logic.”
The look on Willow’s face had softened a note, but she still didn’t look anywhere near satisfied, much less convinced. Instead, she sighed and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay?”
“Do what you want, Buffy. It obviously doesn’t matter. I don’t know why you told me in the first place.”
The Slayer’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re my friend and I think honesty, once in a while, is a good trait for friends to share. But, like I said, I understand your disapproval. I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know because I figured it’s better that you hear it from me than somewhere else.” She paused. “So there it is. Spike and I have a thing. It’s out there. You can do with it what you please—tell Xander, don’t tell Xander, it’s up to you. If you don’t, I will eventually. I’ll trust whatever decision you make.”
With that, Buffy pushed back her seat and snatched up her lunch sack. There was no point in trying to maintain a normal conversation with her friend after that. Furthermore, something told her that Willow wouldn’t be comfortable switching subjects from ‘current undead honeys’ to anything considered remotely normal.
She dumped her lunch into the nearest trash bin, cast her friend one last glance, then returned to the hallway. Telling Willow had either been a stroke of genius or a gigantic mistake; she couldn’t decide, and she didn’t particularly feel like mulling it over.
She passed Oz and the others in the hallway and nodded when he flashed her the patented ‘is it safe?’ look. Xander said something funny, and she forced a laugh, then turned and continued without bothering to tell them where she was headed. Probably a good thing, as she didn’t know herself. She didn’t want to see Giles, nor did she want to spend twenty minutes in an empty classroom before fifth period began.
The feeling didn’t strike her until she neared the basement door—the one needlessly branded with a sign that read: ADMINISTRATION ONLY: NO STUDENTS ALLOWED. The only people who ventured below the school building were students, normally on their self-scheduled smoke-breaks.
And evidently, vampires. Buffy frowned and neared the door tentatively. There was no mistaking her spidey-sense. Some creepy crawly was surveying the basement-filtered landscape. She worried a lip between her teeth and sighed.
There had to be some law preventing slayers from slaying ‘off-duty.’
Buffy curled a hand around the doorknob, double-checked to make sure Snyder wasn’t trolling the halls, then peeled the door open. She decided to ignore that she was without a stake and hope that the vamp was either a fledgling or Spike—if one of the other Aurelius clansmen had decided to up the ante, she was in for a world of hurt.
And if it was Spike...well, that was practically wishful thinking.
Only not so. The second she stepped onto the floor, she saw him emerge from the shadows, and her heart flip-flopped.
What was he doing here?
“Did I fall asleep in class?” she asked.
Spike quirked a brow. “You sayin’ you dream about me?”
“Well, as of late...yes.”
He grinned and stepped forward. “I’m flattered,” he purred, his eyes raking down her body predatorily. “Mmmm...how long’s it been?”
“Let’s see...you left me at about one in the morning, so...eleven hours?”
“Felt longer,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her arm. “What’re you doin’ down here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. In fact…what are you doing down here?”
“Need to talk with your watcher. Figured it’d be easier if I waited until after school hours.” He was still sizing her up as though they’d been apart for years. The possessive gleam in his eyes played a number on her nerves. If anything, the past few hours had given her a profound appreciation for the elasticity of Spike’s willpower. He’d gone from demanding that they had to stop seeing each other to fondling her inappropriately every other second. His reservations had been replaced with an unrepentant grin; the look of lost confusion dwarfed entirely with yearning that made her heart tremble.
“After hours?” she echoed.
“Yeh. Was gonna hunt you down. Make you face the Watcher with me.”
“Why?”
“I figure there’ll be less threatenin’ with pointy sticks if I have a slayer at my side.”
“Ah. Likely a good idea.”
Spike quirked a brow and nodded slowly. “Doesn’ explain why you’re down here, though. Is the Slayer playin’ hooky?”
“The Slayer doesn’t get breaks from her night job.” She spread her arms and shrugged. “No off switch. I felt a vamp was near, so I followed my feeling.”
“An’ your feeling brought you to me.”
“It would appear that way.”
He grinned and took another step forward, his eyes flickering. “Some night,” he murmured, trailing a path down her arm, his face brightening at the goose-flesh that followed him. “When all this is over...we’ll have to go a couple rounds. See how sharp your feeling is.”
Buffy trembled. “Like hide-and-go-seek?”
“Well, if you wanna call it that. Only our version would be a helluva lot more fun to play.”
That she didn’t doubt. There was no denying the look in his eyes; that flash of mischief that made her insides burn. She hated to admit it, but the way he spoke—the way he described their relationship, as though this thing they had would survive after the Order was gone—made her all gooey inside. The feelings she had for Spike were rapidly approaching the Point Of No Return. Somewhere, she knew she was in the right to curse the Powers and demand that something light swing her way for a change, but the notion faded every time she met Spike’s eyes.
Two heavy relationships back-to-back. She just hoped this one wouldn’t break her.
It had only been days, and she felt like she’d known Spike—this Spike—for years. That the easy smiles he cast her way, the awe that flared his eyes every time she touched him, and the way he trembled when she rested in his arms had been with her all along. The past with Angel was still painfully fresh, but she was no longer certain if it was for the love she’d had or the injuries she’d suffered. He’d wounded her emotionally, sure, but now, standing in the basement with her vampire, she couldn’t imagine returning to Angel’s side.
Perhaps her judgment was fogged. It was hard to tell when Spike looked at her.
“Why do you need to see Giles?” she asked.
“He’s the bookish type,” Spike replied with a shrug. “That an’ his name was in the paper.”
“It was?”
“Yeh...right next to the uncovering of Acathla.”
“Acathla?”
“I thought it was a new name for one of Dru’s dolls. She said that my leavin’ her would upset Acathla.” He shrugged again. “Turns out, Acathla’s the name of a rock that your watcher helped identify. If Dru was havin’ visions about it, it might mean trouble for you.”
Buffy stared at him long enough to make him shift uncomfortably. He was so adorable when he fidgeted.
“What?” he demanded when she didn’t say anything.
“You’re amazing.”
“How so?”
“You came here to help me.”
Spike frowned. “Never said that.”
“You came here to help me defeat a big evil thing. How cute are you?” Buffy giggled brazenly at the mock-ire that flashed across his face. “You’ve gone from wanting me dead to coming here to help me save the world.”
“You know, I could change my mind anytime I like.”
She shook her head, the grin remaining. “You like me too much.”
“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?”
Buffy simply grinned and stepped forward, hooking her fingers through the lapels of his duster and dragging his mouth down to hers. “I know it,” she murmured huskily, then gasped when he swallowed her in a kiss. The silky feel of his lips against hers never stopped surprising her, nor did the passion he managed to emanate with every breath he took. His hands steadied at her sides, and he rumbled into her mouth, as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing her.
Life without Spike—without this lovely distraction from everything that had gone so completely wrong, would be unbearable. She’d grown frighteningly dependent on him. On the solace he gave her with every touch. The warmth he provided without even realizing it. Their progression to where they were now, while rushed, struck her as so seamlessly natural that she couldn’t think to question it.
“Mmm...” Buffy murmured, suckling intently on his lower lip. “I should get to class.”
“No,” he replied, his hands becoming more boisterous. “You should stay here. Right here.”
“I’ll get in trouble.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” With the way his mouth was working up and down her throat, she didn’t doubt it. “Come on. You gonna leave me all by my lonesome down here in this big, empty basement?”
“You are such a faker, it’s not even funny.”
Spike raised his head, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But you want me, anyway.”
She didn’t know what did it, really. What little resolve she’d possessed melted without quarrel. Her arms found their way around his neck, her mouth dragging back to his. The sweetness of his kisses was, cliché and all, the stuff dreams were made of. He had her so drunk at just the hint of his taste that it didn’t occur to her that they were moving until her back hit the basement wall. The way he made her lose herself was terrifying, but she didn’t want to give it up. Fear of the unknown was worth this, and whatever debt she owed for her former sins was completely paid.
Angel had broken her; Spike was putting her back together.
And while she worried that he might end up breaking her all over again, the angst she’d experienced with her former was gone. Completely. The soulless vampire had let her feel again. She’d wondered briefly—very briefly—if lack of angst meant lack of feeling. It didn’t. Not when she knew Spike had the power to destroy her just as Angel had. She simply trusted him to not do it. To not hurt her, intentionally or otherwise.
“You’re a bad influence,” she managed teasingly between kisses, frantically untucking his shirt so she could explore that scrumptious flesh he was hiding from her. The moan that vibrated against her when she began stroking his stomach empowered her like nothing else. “Ohhh...”
“You love it, you saucy minx.”
“Spike!”
His mouth had fastened onto one of her nipples through the lace of her drastically unsexy bra. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d taken her shirt off. The thrills that raced up her spine were dangerously addictive, and she honestly didn’t know if it was because Spike touched her with confidence that Angel had never effused, or the knowledge that he lacked the conscience of other men. The training wheels were off—she had finally touched something pure. Spike’s demon wasn’t an arrangement by some cosmic father-figure; he was the composer, himself.
And even knowing that, she somehow felt safer in his arms than she ever had in Angel’s. For all the boasting Spike did, all the empty threats—even those that came with punches—he revealed so much more of himself than her old boyfriend ever had. He was blatantly unapologetic for everything he was, though when she looked at him, it was more man than monster that looked back.
He might be the full demon, but he’d kept his humanity. He’d guarded it for years, and now, because Drusilla was an idiot, he was giving it to her.
“You make me crazy,” Spike moaned, his hot mouth tearing at her lips as he eagerly snapped open the button of her jeans. The rustle of clothing became indistinct; she felt the cool basement air touch her skin as he pushed her pants down her hips. There was something else—another zipper, but that must have been her imagination. The next thing she knew, he was bunching her panties to the side. “Absolutely drive me outta my mind. I keep tellin’ myself—” He plunged two fingers inside her without formality, provoking a large gasp through her throat as her head flew back against the wall. “—to let it go. To walk away. Can’t. Bloody tried.”
His thumb settled over her clit, massaging her gently as his mouth peppered her throat with hot, needy kisses. Her hands found his forearms and squeezed. The feel of him touching her there was insurmountable—everything she’d ever told herself was dirty and wrong had been defeated with experience. She’d tasted it now, and she wanted more.
“I’m yours, Slayer,” he growled. Then—oh God—his fingers abandoned her, but something else brushed against her sodden folds. Something larger. She remembered this feeling. God, she remembered it well. His hands were on her hips, and he was preparing to slide his cock inside her. Shivers danced down her flesh and her eyes went wide.
“Fuck me,” he gasped. “I’m so yours.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Spike!”
“Slayer—”
Gah. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
“Spike!” Instinct took over in place of logic. She shoved him back violently, her body screaming in protest even as her mind submerged in relief. Not this way. She wasn’t ready—not like this. She needed something that he hadn’t given her. Something she wasn’t owed, but needed like she’d never needed anything.
The pleasure wasn’t worth the pain. Her body wanted his, her heart wanted his, but she wasn’t about to subject herself to further heartache. Not if she could help it.
The look in his eyes was stricken for a long second, then drenched with understanding. He was panting; so was she, and the sound was intolerably harsh against the silence. For long seconds, neither moved nor spoke, rather simply stared at each other.
It didn’t take long for the silence to drive her out of her mind. “I’m sorry,” she said, her shoulders falling. “I thought—I thought, last night, I thought I said that I can’t...I can’t do that yet. I might want to. I mean, I do want to. I really do...but I got clobbered emotionally and physically the last time, and—”
Spike held up a hand, thankfully drawing her attention away from his cock. Even with what she’d done to him the night before, Buffy still hadn’t managed to snag a good look at the male anatomy. Angel had kept everything dark and under the covers, likely thinking his throbbing hunk of man-meat would scare her out of putting out. Spike, unsurprisingly, had no such reservations. And despite the peeks she’d taken the night before, her imagination had been forced to fill in the blanks. Well, her imagination plus the ‘dick-doodles’ some of the overly-sure-of-themselves prep boys inscribed on desks when they thought the teacher wasn’t looking. Last year, her seat in fifth period had been covered with small ‘dick-doodles.’ Artistically uninspired, but there for her imagination, nonetheless.
“Buffy,” he said gently, and her heart melted. She really did love it when he called her that. “Don’. It’s my fault. I heard you last night an’...I believed it when you said it. I jus’...I got here an’ you smelled like heaven an’ I guess I let my other head do the thinkin’.”
He was fighting back shame—she knew that look.
“I’m sorry.” The words sounded so foreign in his voice, but they touched a part of her that felt like she’d known him all along. “I din’t mean to hurt you.”
That must have been quite the revelation, although he said it without flinching at the irony. He said it like he meant it.
Buffy licked her lips and stepped forward after deciding it was easier to just kick her jeans off rather than zip herself up again. Though for the fire that roared in his eyes when she bared her legs, she thought it was possible that she was just asking for it. She didn’t know—he’d simply made her too hot for confinement at the moment. “You didn’t. I’m just—”
“You’re jus’ skittish. No one can expect anythin’ less from you after the firs’ time. The bloke you loved hurt you. It was your firs’ time, an’ he ruined it. Intentionally or not.” Spike smiled softly. “You need your second time to be with someone who loves you enough not to fumble it as fantastically as Angelus did.”
“Angel,” she corrected thoughtlessly.
“Same difference.”
“Spike...I want to...with you. I do. I just...”
She trailed off awkwardly, unwilling to say the words. The idea that Spike could ever love her the way she needed was little more than a pipedream. It was for that reason that she had to keep her emotions bridged; had to keep herself distanced, even if her heart never recovered.
“You deserve it, Slayer,” he said, jarring her back to herself. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves love more than you do.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
Buffy flushed and nodded. “With everything you told me about Dru...about...the way she is and...don’t you deserve it, too?”
He soaked her up with awe. She held his gaze for a long minute, then, with sudden lack of bashfulness, dropped her eyes back to his cock. His erection hadn’t abated during their impromptu conversation; rather, he seemed even harder now. As though the talk of love, however abstract, had fueled his lust just as much as her body had.
The notion warmed her completely.
“See anything you like?”
The slow, confident drawl prompted her gaze upward once more. Spike was smirking now, his fingers dancing methodically up his shaft. The confidence he exuded made her tremble, more for the knowledge that he protected his insecurities with swagger. She wondered if anyone else had ever gotten to know him, or even cared to recognize which face he wore, and the reasons for selecting it.
“Well,” she replied, her eyes flashing. “Now that I can see what’s been poking at me...”
“You din’t get a good look last night?”
“We were in a tree, Mr. Observant.” She licked her lips, which made him moan, for some reason, and turned her eyes to his cock again. “I didn’t get enough room to do what I wanted.”
Spike tensed with excitement at that. “Oh?” he replied hoarsely.
“Yeah.” Buffy stepped forward until they were separated by inches. She studied him for a minute longer, then reached out and gently took him in her hand. “I wanted to know what you like,” she said. “Other than the ‘two hands’ thing, I didn’t get a chance.”
“That was a shame,” he agreed, his eyes rolling shut as she began stroking him. “Oh God, that’s lovely.”
She quirked a brow, amused. “Lovely?”
“Shut up.”
“What a manly word.”
Spike leered at her nastily. “You got your hand on my manliness, pet. Don’ be doubtin’ what’s right before your eyes.”
A sharp giggle tickled her throat. “Well, technically, it’s not right before my eyes. It’s kinda just...down between us.”
“Irritatin’ chit.”
“I wanna do something.”
“I’m putty in your hands.”
She squeezed him and he moaned. “Doesn’t feel like putty to me.”
“Fuck.”
“Lie down.”
Spike nodded eagerly, wasting no time. He kicked off his boots and stripped his jeans down his legs with avidity that touched her, though the excitement in his eyes did little to help her nerves. Her intentions couldn’t be ambiguous; she wanted to do something she’d never done before. Wanted to try something that she hadn’t had the courage to even suggest, much less attempt in her past relationships. Amid the passion, though, there was a measure of ease to being with Spike that made her feel like nothing wasn’t worth trying, even if she succumbed to performance anxiety.
He must have sensed her anxiousness, for his eyes softened. “Buffy—” He’d used her name again; she couldn’t get enough of that. “—if you don’...as much as I want you to do this—”
She forced an awkward smile. “I wanna do it, too. Just...another in a long series of firsts. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“Not possible.”
“You say that now...”
“An’ I mean it.” He sat up on his elbows contemplatively. Then his eyes lit up with an epiphany and he motioned for her to come closer. When she started to kneel between his legs, however, he shook his head and grabbed her hand. “No, up here.”
“Huh?”
Spike dragged her up his body until her mouth hovered over his, his erection caressing her backside. He kissed her thoroughly, calming her. And she realized then, with his body beneath hers, that he’d given her the dominant position. He’d handed over control—even if it was only a kiss. The message was subtle but impossible to ignore: she had the power. He’d forfeited authority to make her feel better. That was no small thing for a vampire—no small thing for Spike, and the knowledge secured her fall.
Angel had been hard to love. With Spike, the sentiment flowed naturally.
“Now,” he murmured. “I’m gonna have you do somethin’ that might seem a li’l strange. But trust me, you’ll love it. Promise.”
His hands were massaging her ass slowly, grinding her against his hard length in ways that were certainly contrived to drive her out of her mind.
“What?” she asked.
“Straddle my face.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Jus’ trust me, luv.”
And surprisingly, she did. Buffy frowned and nodded, crawling up his body until her clad pussy hovered over his mouth. He inhaled deeply and tongued her through her panties.
“Guh!”
“Turn around now.”
She obeyed awkwardly, not understanding what he was getting at until he told her to lie down on top of him. She’d heard about this before; remembered the jokes in elementary school about the sixty-nining chef one could theoretically see in the middle of a North American map. The appeal had been lost on her, even when her sluttier friends in Los Angeles told her how great it was to have a guy go down on them.
Now, though, with Spike’s mouth at her pussy and hers at his cock, her reservations were replaced with a swell of nerves. If he thought for one second that this made her any calmer, he was insane.
A growl tore through the air, followed by a slice of fabric. The next thing she knew, her ass was bare to his roaming hands, and her panties no longer blocked his questing mouth from exploring her sopping folds.
“Every time I do somethin’ you like,” he said slowly, “do it back to me.”
“Spike, I am...I don’t—”
“Take me into your hand, pet.”
She did. At eye level, his cock was so much larger than she’d originally thought, though perhaps that was the nerves talking. She hesitated a minute, then stretched her other hand to cup his balls, remembering how much he seemed to like that the night before. Her brazenness was rewarded with a quick suck of her clit, and she moaned helplessly.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured.
“Spike—”
“Do what comes naturally, love. You don’ need to use your mouth if you don’ want.”
“I want.” And then, to prove it to him and herself, she dipped her head and licked him up from base to tip. The moan she earned touched every cell in her body, and the vibrations against her wet, sensitive skin felt so damnably good that she’d do just about anything to keep them coming.
It hit her why he’d asked her to do this. He’d told her, of course, but now she understood.
Buffy curled a hand around his cock, stroking him rhythmically, offsetting the squeezes with which she favored his sac. Her wandering tongue flickered against his sensitive head, tentatively at first, and then with fervor when he gasped into her.
“Oh God!” she panted, tossing her head back, her hand tightening around his length. “Spike!”
“That’s so good. Jus’ like that, baby.”
She drew him into her mouth again at his encouragement, her body positively humming at the rumbles of adoration that spilled through his lips.
“Lick me up jus’ like that,” he growled, suckling hard on her clit, his fingers stretching her pussy lips wide. “You like this?” Spike devoured her wet skin greedily; he set her body ablaze, pushing aside everything she’d ever thought as forbidden without effort. The way he suckled at her private skin made her feel absolutely cherished.
It was quite possible that he was reading her thoughts. “You like the way I make you feel?”
“Oh God, yes,” Buffy managed, squeezing her hand around him as her mouth ventured further south. His arms were hooked under her thighs, and he whimpered in complaint when she shifted upward an inch until her tongue found his balls. Then he moaned and released her, his fingers plunging into her pussy as she explored him. She sucked on his flesh experimentally—soft at first, then harder when he whimpered.
“Buffy...”
Small shivers danced across her skin. He’d said it again.
“Buffy, please.”
She nodded, coaxing another moan, and returned her attention to his cock. Her tongue explored every vein, lathed every inch of him in near reverence. He’d given her such liberation, whether he knew it or not. The sensations he unbound through her body were unlike anything she’d experienced, and even the things she knew—kisses, gentle fondling, and the small steps that had eventually led to losing her virginity—were made new all for the sensationalism he inspired.
She nuzzled his erection playfully, tonguing at his sensitive head.
“Buffy!”
Whether or not she actually felt his body tense beneath hers, she didn’t know. It seemed strange that she, being so thoroughly inexperienced, would know to identify when a man was about to come. Whatever she lost in expertise, she made up for with instinct; her lips closed over his cock, easing him into her mouth as far as she could take him. She massaged his balls encouragingly, and when he growled and exploded inside her, she found herself so thoroughly empowered that nothing, at that moment, seemed out of reach.
His taste was rich. Neither pleasant nor unpleasant; for the way he purred into her, she was certain he’d made her an addict.
“Oh God,” he gasped, his fingers dancing softly over her thighs. “Oh my God.”
Buffy curled a hand around his cock and rested her head against his hip. It occurred to her that the peace she felt was oddly timed, though it seemed so natural that she didn’t want to question it.
Then the grip on her thighs tightened, and Spike tugged her pussy back to his mouth.
“Oh!”
“I got mine,” he purred, licking up her slit. “Now you get yours.”
He plunged his tongue inside her tight, wet hole, and Buffy swore she saw stars.
Rational or not, the rest didn’t seem to matter. There was every chance she was a fool; after all, her heart had been out there once before. And even with his help, the pieces Spike had placed together were still fragile. Fragile but holding. He’d keep her from shattering again. She knew he would.
Just as she knew she couldn’t deny the heat that consumed her. The sting of knowledge, and the terrified joy that filled her whole.
If this wasn’t love, then love was something she could live without.
And for all the peace her realization offered, the larger part of her couldn’t help but tremble.
But there was no need to fear. No need at all.
Spike would keep her from shattering, even if this was all they ever had.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part IX | | | | - abc + + | | | Part IX
Buffy pursed her lips as she pushed the library doors open. Her Watcher was hunched over the counter, perusing some ancient text in a way that was so predictable, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. There was something undeniably comforting in the calm clockwork of the man’s behavior. She just hoped he didn’t fly through the roof when she revealed who was waiting behind her.
“Giles?”
The Watcher glanced up in surprise. “Oh, hello, Buffy. Is school out already? I didn’t hear the bell ring.”
“No, but something important has come up.” She drew in a deep breath. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t wig out.”
“Pardon me?”
“I need you to not wig out.”
The look on her Watcher’s face went blank with apprehension. “What is it?” he asked. “What have you done?”
She blinked. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”
“Buffy...”
“I didn’t do anything! Nothing has been done by me...” She paused. “Only yes, I did something. But it’s not bad, so I need you to just stay there and not freak out.” There was a long beat as she searched Giles’s eyes. He didn’t even bother to reply; the look on his face was answer enough. “Okay. Ummm...”
Behind her, she practically heard Spike’s eye roll. “Oh, bloody hell, pet, jus’ open the sodding door.”
Giles all but tripped. “Buffy, surely you didn’t—”
Spike sighed and pushed the library doors open, and Buffy’s heart leapt into her throat. The last thing she needed was a heated, gut-reaction from her Watcher that led to a premature dusty ending for her undeclared boyfriend. She hurried ahead of him, throwing her body in front of his to block any impending attack that Giles might instigate on instinct.
“He’s here to help us,” she explained in haste. “He’s here because he has the inside scoop on whatever Angel’s planning.”
She felt Spike tense behind her, then mentally gave herself a good swift kick. The words had rushed out before she considered the darker implications—the appearance that whatever else they might be to each other was something to be kept in the shadows. He wouldn’t complain, though, or call her on anything that she might find shameful. She knew him well enough to know that.
Which was why she exhaled deeply and lowered her arms. Giles’s look of unadulterated astonishment hadn’t faded, thus she suspected she might as well hit him twice, rather than wait for him to gather his bearings. At least that way, he’d only once have to fight back to his feet.
“He’s also here because I want him here,” she said, wincing when the old man nearly tripped again.
“Buffy—”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want you to remind me that he’s a vampire, a slayer killer, and doesn’t have a soul. You’d be wasting your breath and our time. Spike’s an ally, and nothing you can say will change that.” She huffed a deep breath, feeling lightheaded with her bravado, but overwhelmingly relieved. “Okay, so, let’s get to business.”
“Buffy, you can’t—”
“I can and I did.”
“Our allies aren’t killers,” Giles spat, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Our allies don’t beat you within an inch of your life. Our allies aren’t soulless demons.”
Spike placed a hand at the small of her back, stemming her anger with a soothing caress.
And she was grateful. So, so grateful. Buffy released a deep breath and leaned into him, not even attempting to be subtle. He gave her strength where others would rip it away, and she didn’t care who knew how close they’d become. “Be that as it may—”
“No. You don’t get to make the decisions here. You brought a murderous vampire into my library.”
“Oh, knock it off, Watcher,” Spike snarled, his fingers itching around Buffy’s waist. “I’m not gonna eat anyone. The Slayer has enough to worry with without addin’ tension among the ranks to the mix.”
“I’m sorry if you don’t inspire warmth and comfort.”
“Well, to you, maybe,” Buffy mumbled. She had to fight off a grin when the vampire rumbled in amusement behind her, the comforting strokes becoming more prominent. “Look,” she said aloud, “we don’t have time for this. Spike’s here with—”
“I don’t care if he’s here with four mop-top boys from Liverpool, he’s not staying.”
Spike sighed in exasperation. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’ killed since that night that—”
“You nearly slaughtered my slayer?”
“Well, of course it sounds bad if you put it that way.”
“Yes. And either way, you’re lying through your teeth, so I don’t suppose how I sound should factor in at all.”
Buffy froze. Had it not been for the cool certainty in her Watcher’s voice, she would have assumed that he was making radical accusations in order to avow Spike’s status as an evil, relentless monster. However, there was something in the old man’s eyes that couldn’t be mistaken. It wasn’t as though Spike had promised her to stop killing; the subject itself was one they mutually avoided. She suspected it was a conversation they’d tacitly agreed to reserve until after this mess with the Order was dealt with. And though she understood that Spike’s need to eat coincided with killing innocent people, she’d forced herself to shove the issue to the back of her mind. There were no delusions that he’d bag it, as Angel had, and as long as she didn’t witness him feeding, she was more than satisfied to pretend.
Pretending was easier for her than the alternative, especially when she needed him so much.
“What on bleeding earth are you talking about?”
Giles didn’t say anything. Rather, he stood and stared at the vampire for a long, cold beat. Then a long sigh tore through the air, and Buffy felt Spike fall slack behind her. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
Buffy licked her lips, not wanting to admit how hard her heart was pounding. “Oh? What oh?”
“The bloke at the motel,” Spike said lowly. “Offed him an’ took a key.” He tossed the Slayer a glance. “You were in the car.”
The world around her dissolved completely.
“You...while I was with you...you killed...”
Buffy had never considered herself the sort of woman to faint when presented with an ugly truth, but for the way her head was spinning, nothing seemed impossible. She barely felt the hand that wrapped around her wrist, little more than she realized she was being moved out of the room and into the hallway. Giles barked something in protest, but the sound drowned out to a low drone. There was nothing but Spike’s hands steadying her, the cool concern in his eyes striking a familiar chord.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted.
“I don’t...” Buffy shook her head, her mind muddled. “I...”
“It was right after our fight, an’ I was bloody confused. I needed to kill something, an’ you...” He glanced to the ground. “Slayer, I never thought I’d be here. Standin’ here with you. I’d all but promised myself—”
The library doors flew open, an incensed Giles on the other side.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed through his teeth.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me. This is a private conversation.”
“Bugger that.”
Buffy blinked and shook her head. It wasn’t often Giles cracked out the British slang, and it troubled her to see him so unhinged. “No,” she said, startling both men. “No. Spike and I need to talk. We’ll be back in a minute.”
“Have you completely lost your mind?”
“I really hope not.” She glanced back to the vampire, who was gazing at her like she’d offered him heaven. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
“Buffy—”
Patience snapped. She twisted on her heel and pinned Giles with a glare. “In. A. Minute,” she all but growled. “Go read a book or something until we’re back.”
She grabbed Spike’s hand and jerked him down the hallway.
“Slayer—”
“Shut up,” she snapped, shoving him into the first empty classroom she came upon. She wanted to ignore the open, vulnerable look on his face. The way he could delve into her, reach her where no one else had even tried, with nothing more than a simple, however heartbreaking glance. She knew, though, without needing to mull it over, that any animosity was directed at herself. She couldn’t be angry with Spike—not when he’d done nothing more than be who he was.
After all, they had no promises between them. She hadn’t stopped staking vamps, just as he hadn’t stopped feeding on humans.
But it hurt. No amount of talking herself through it could stop the hurt.
Spike exhaled softly. “Buffy...I need to—”
She shook her head and raised a hand. She refused to be detoured by the seductive way he said her name, even when their conversation was serious. “No. I don’t want to do this. I don’t need you to tell me it was just ‘one time’ and...I don’t want to give you an ultimatum. I don’t want to tell you to stop being who you are and doing what you need. We’re not there. Whatever we have is...incredible, but undefined. You’re a vampire. I never asked you to stop killing, because I know you don’t owe me anything.”
“Buffy—”
“You are who you are.”
“Would you let me talk?” Spike sighed and cast a hand through his platinum locks. “I don’ want to hurt you. I told you that earlier, yeh? Downstairs?”
She flushed. He would bring that up now.
“I meant it. I meant every bloody word.” He glanced down. “I don’ know what to tell you...an’ I’m not gonna try to soften the blow. I kill, yeh. ‘S what I do. But you...you make me wanna be more than I am.” A pause. “This is a big thing for me, Slayer. I was fine livin’ life alone, then you had to come along an’ change everythin’. I don’ think you can know how much you’ve given me. You’ve made me see that...it’s possible to...oh, bugger all.”
Buffy reached out for him, but he shook his head and stepped away.
“You need to hear this without...” Spike sighed again. “If you touch me, I’ll lose it, an’ I need to get this out there. The thing is, see, I’m...I killed the kid ‘cause I needed to prove to myself that I was still a demon. I’d jus’ let you walk. Hell, I was bendin’ over backwards to make sure you were taken care of for the night. I needed to be monstrous, because I thought anythin’ else made me less of a man.”
“It doesn’t,” she whispered.
He chuckled bitterly. “To you, maybe. I’ve never been the kinda vamp the others said I should be.”
“But you’re not with them now.”
“I know that. It doesn’ make me any less a vamp.”
She nodded numbly, casting her eyes downward. “I know.”
“I can’t promise you anythin’. I want to. God, I want to, but I’ve buggered up too many times to tell you I’ll never stop doing things that hurt you.” He shuddered. “But God help me, I don’ want to hurt you. Thinkin’ about what...I’ll try.”
Silence settled between them—silence that even the loud shrill of the school bell was hopeless to disturb.
“I know who you are, Spike,” Buffy said after a long minute. “I’d already made up my mind to accept the ‘killing’ thing, even though it’s impossible. I can’t sit still knowing innocents are being hurt. I thought I could, because I need you, and I guess I was hoping that whatever we were made you wanna stop. But that’s you, right? That’s the whole thing.”
“You need me?” The words were barely a whisper.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She hadn’t intended to actually say that, and had rather hoped that it would go in one ear and out of the other. It had been a foolish gamble. “You give me strength,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve made the pain go away.”
“How?”
“Well...I was blocked before. With Angel. I’d look at the thing he’s become and think of Angel, and that’s not helping me. This...Angelus...he needs to be dust. And I’m not too keen on having Angel around right now, anyway.” She shivered and shook her head. “I don’t care what face he was wearing, he hurt me. I gave him everything and got my heart ripped out. You...” A long sigh shuddered through her lips, and she glanced up to meet his eyes. “You’re giving it back to me.”
The look he gave her was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It was a mixture of awe and wonder, humility and rapture—she had never been on the receiving end of such reverential regard. Never.
His lips parted whispering her name as a prayer of grace. Then she was in his arms, his mouth tearing at hers. The taste of him had yet to stop surprising her—he was a delicious mesh of liberation and danger, romanticism and rebellion. He nipped at her lips and warred with her tongue as his wandering hands mapped her body adoringly. Even through layers of clothing, the heat of his touch burned her skin—a slow, succulent burn that rattled her to her core.
He’d killed. He was a vampire. He was her enemy. But God, she wanted him so much.
“I’ll try,” Spike panted, breaking away from her lips and trailing a hot path of kisses down her throat. “God, Buffy, I’ll try. I’ll try to be a good boy for you. You’re worth it. You’re more than worth it. An’ I’ll do whatever I can. I’ll bag it an’ I’ll save the world. I’ll hunt with you. You drive me so bloody crazy, but livin’ out my days as a dangerous vamp isn’t worth it. Not without you.” He began to calm, breathing heavily, and pressed his brow to hers. “You’re in me now, Slayer. Couldn’t leave you now if I wanted to. An’ if that’s the price, I’m willin’ to fork it over.”
Her vision blurred and she let out an unattractive sniff. “Really? You...you didn’t seem so sure last night. You were ready to leave.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Why?”
‘Cause you’re here.”
“But—”
“Look...I’ve thought about this...a lot.” He paused. “You’ve been torturin’ the hell outta me ever since that night in the park. I thought it’d be easy. Don’ know why, but I figured I could kill you an’ get my life back on track. Sodding pipe dream, that was. An’ I don’ think I ever got off track—jus’ detoured to somethin’ better.” A grin kissed his face. “I’ve never done anythin’ without Dru. Understand? Never. An’ I’d made the decision to leave before you sunk your seductive li’l claws in. It jus’ never occurred to me that maybe...changing more than the small things...” Spike trailed off awkwardly, his eyes falling shut as he searched for words. “You’re so different,” he continued after a minute. “You’re warm. You’re giving. You look at me like...I’m worth somethin’.”
Buffy released another quaking breath.
“Dru taught me to be somethin’ that I’m not. An’ now, I honestly don’ know what I am. I’m not the demon she wanted me to be, an’ while that smarts, it doesn’ change anythin’ else.” His lips touched hers gently, and warmth rippled through her body. “I told you downstairs that I’m yours. ‘S true. An’ I’ll do anythin’ to keep from hurtin’ you.”
“Even if—”
“Yeah. All of the above.”
“What if Dru wants you back?”
“I walked out on her, luv. The only reason she’d want me back is to complete the happy li’l family. I’m not her sodding lapdog anymore.” He shook his head defiantly. “An’ even so, I don’ think you got a good grasp on what I do for the women in my life. I’m a bad penny. You made your decision—you’ve invited me into your world, Slayer. I’m here an’ I’m gonna stay.”
“But what if—”
“But nothin’. You’ve given me more than I had all the years with her.”
She heard the words and about tripped with awe. More than he’d had with Dru—that was what she gave him. And while she found herself trenched in glee at the admission, the treacherous voice that she had yet to kill still found volume. The one that whispered another truth. A crushing truth.
But he loved Dru.
If he loved Dru, yet found more with Buffy, did that mean he loved her, too? The love issue was way too complicated—where did admiration end and love begin?
People never loved for the right reasons, it seemed. She hadn’t loved Angel because it was the smart thing, just as Spike hadn’t loved Dru because she was what was best for him. And while he might recognize that Buffy gave him more than his sire had, that didn’t mean he felt for her what he’d felt for his former.
That thought, however forceful, remained unspoken. Instead, Buffy smiled and nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him down for another kiss. He was with her now, and that was all that mattered. And she had a promise—a pledge. He’d attempt to give up what was natural to him to be with her. To make her happy.
He’d already sacrificed so much to stand at her side. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could love her a little.
“We should get back,” Buffy murmured against his lips. “The bell rang a couple minutes ago.”
Spike’s grip on her tightened. “Sod it.”
“We really need to tell Giles about Alfalfa.”
“Acathla,” he corrected with a roguish grin. “You think he’s gonna be stake happy? I really don’ fancy becoming a pile of dust after I’ve had an epiphany.”
“Well, we can’t expect him to throw us a tickertape parade.”
“We can hope.”
“What was your epiphany?”
Spike merely looked at her and smiled, then squeezed her hand and led her into the hallway.
*~*~*
He knew it when she raised her voice against the Watcher. When she shouted that she was the one with the sacred Calling; she was the one that called the shots. He knew it when she glanced to him and smiled reassuringly, then turned back to the befuddled old man and demanded that he stop complaining and listen to what they had to say.
God, he knew it like he’d known nothing else.
“Very well,” Giles said, calming. The Watcher’s eyes were practically on fire. “I’ll listen...but first, you have to agree to something.”
Buffy frowned. “What?”
“Spike must put you under his protection.”
“What? He already has.” The Slayer mirrored his earlier action, stroking his skin through his t-shirt. He wondered if the old man could see that the girl had her arm wheedled inside his duster. Probably. The way she refused to hide their relationship thoroughly warmed him over. “See him here? With the protection?”
Spike smiled wryly. “That’s not what he meant, sweetling.”
“No, it’s not.”
The frown on her face became more prominent. “Huh?”
“Means I take your blood. Jus’ a li’l, mind you. Watcher-Boy here would have my head otherwise. I say a couple fancy words, yadda yadda, an’ you’re under my protection.”
“Which means?”
“He can’t hurt you,” Giles said. “It thoroughly prevents him from hurting you in any way. If he, oh say, decided to stab you to death, as vampires are so prone to do, he’d be the one with a knife in his back.”
The look that flashed across Buffy’s face was one of pure ire. Spike knew then, too, and the knowledge gave him peace. “That is so totally not necessary.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Watcher, you really think I’m gonna force my fangs on the girl when—”
Giles’s eyes darkened. “It’s the only way to give me peace of mind. I’m sorry if I don’t feel particularly forgiving, Spike. You see, someone very close to me was put into the ground by a vampire. A vampire I was foolish enough to trust. And while I admit that you’re not the vampire in question, I don’t believe it’s unreasonable to demand proof that you won’t do anything to harm my slayer, especially when you’re so well known for killing them.”
A surge of irritation combated with knowledge. “Look—”
“I’ll do it.”
Spike turned to the Slayer in absolute astonishment. “Buffy—”
“It’s fine. I’ll do it. As long as Spike doesn’t get hurt in the process.”
She met his eyes and warmed his heart. And he knew.
“He only gets hurt if he hurts you. It’s a blood-tie, and blood-ties are unbreakable.”
“And that’s it?” Buffy asked cautiously. “That’s it. No other wonky side effects or whatnot?”
“It’s a step away from a claim,” Giles concluded. “And its barely even referred to anymore among the vampiric community. The Watcher’s Council has a few documented cases concerning humans that fell under vampire protection, and while it never turned out well for the vampire, the human always lived.”
“Usually ‘cause the bloody pulsers pull a double crossed their protector,” Spike drawled. “Yeh, mate, I know the jist.”
“That surprises me. Most vampires don’t.”
“I’m not most vampires. Dru din’t teach me rot, an’ whatever Angelus taught me was based on the hunt, not our history. A bloke has to find some way to entertain himself, especially before the invention of the telly.” He paused, then added slyly. “‘Sides...Watcher’s Diaries make for good readin’.”
Giles seared him with a look. “You’ve had access to Watcher’s Diaries?”
“Well, yeh. After all, I do kill slayers, right? Where else am I gonna research?” Spike glanced down with a long sigh. “The protection ritual’s nearly died out. I’m not even sure Angelus knows about it, else I’m sure he’d’ve put Buffy under his protection a long time ago. But yeh...if she’s willing...”
“I am,” Buffy confirmed softly, her concealed hand squeezing him with affirmation.
God, there was no way to not know. No way to ignore the swell of his heart, the giddiness he felt when she tossed him a glance, or the warmth that encompassed him whole.
He loved her.
Spike averted his eyes to the ground.
I love her.
He did. He truly did. It had happened so quickly—crept up on him when he wasn’t paying attention. When his demon was screaming at him to flee town. To snap her neck and have it over with. She’d always looked at him differently, even when they fought. The emotion that sparked her gaze was completely singular to anything he’d ever experienced. She did everything with all she was. She fought, lived, and loved with every fiber of her being.
He loved her. He was in love with the Slayer.
Only now, he was faced with a new dilemma. Did he tell her? What would she say? Would she laugh? Would she tell him that he was beneath her, despite all his efforts? Would she think he was just trying to get into her pants? Was there any way she could ever love him back? And if not, did it matter? Buffy had already given him so much more than any other woman had even tried.
Spike wanted love. He needed love. But to be with her...
The library doors flew open, snapping him back to himself. He turned in time with the Slayer, who had nearly leapt out of her skin at the sudden intrusion. Spike bit back an instinctive grin. He adored the little things. Buffy was the strongest person he’d ever known, yet she could still allow herself to jump with fright at loud noises.
Inward bounded the little redhead with the wolf, loyal at her side. The girl’s eyes were ablaze with excitement, so much that she didn’t do anything more than pause when she noticed him.
“Buffy! Omigod, we just found it! We found it!”
“Huh?”
The wolf frowned at Spike. “Aren’t you that vampire?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Thought so.”
The redhead elbowed her boyfriend, all but trembling with glee. “We found it. Oz and I found it.”
“Found what?” Buffy demanded, her arm tightening around Spike’s middle. Brazen little thing, she was. She wasn’t even attempting to conceal their closeness now.
The other girl held up a small yellow disk and rocked on her heels. “Oz found what Ms. Calendar was working on. See? It’s the curse. Angel’s curse.” Buffy went rigid against him and the room began to spin. The redhead paused and waited for the ecstatic squealing, and when it didn’t come, she all but burst. “Don’t you see? We can do it again. We can give him back his soul!”
And just like that, Spike felt the walls cave in.
No. No, no, no.
The look on Buffy’s face was unreadable for the first time in days. He felt cut off—shut out, even as she stood beside him. Her arm was around his waist, but he didn’t feel her.
God, this couldn’t be happening not now.
Not now.
Not now that he loved her.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part X | | | | - abc + + | | | While I refuse to put this fic on “total” hiatus, I am going to have to work on it even less than I get to already, as I must get rolling on my Seasonal Spuffy fic. So don't be surprised if this is the last update for a while. I'll still be working on it, but my focus, primarily, is going to be on the other fic. The other fic should be really short, though, and I'm hoping to get most of it done over Spring Break.
I'm also going out of town week after next, and while I'll have the laptop with me, I don't know if they'll have Wi-Fi access at the place we're staying at. Either way, I hope to get at least one more chappie out before I leave, but I make no promises. And if I don’t get another out, at least I’m not leaving this off on a cliffie… (I don’t think)
Thanks, as always, to the irreplaceable Megan and Mari for betaing this for me. *hugs*
Also, this chapter's for Yani. Happy birthday, sweetie!!
Part X
There was no bloody way that Spike was going to do anything involving a blood rite with Buffy while under the unforgiving glare of her watcher. While Giles might rightly be the high expert on vampiric rituals on the west coast, there was no way he could begin to know what taking the Slayer’s blood entailed.
Truth be told, Spike wasn’t entirely sure, either. He’d been a vampire long enough, though, to know a blood bond tied together with ceremonial words was a private affair. He didn’t care that it was a measure of comfort for the old man any more than he cared for the venomous glares the Slayer’s friend had sent him when he suggested that they head for Revello Drive.
“You think she’s gonna invite you in?” she’d snapped. “Just like that?”
Buffy had squeezed his hand, leveling a glare in her friend’s direction. “Yes,” she replied softly. “I am.” Then she’d turned and silenced the angry retort ready on Giles’s lips with a quick, “It’s my life, not yours. I know what I’m doing, and you can’t change my mind.”
The Watcher’s face had filled with rage, and had Spike not intervened, he suspected the old man would have again brought up the teacher that Angelus offed; the last thing Buffy needed was a guilt trip. Thus, he’d held up a hand and offered softly, “Look, I know you don’ trust me; that’s fine. But trust her. Right? She deserves that.”
And that had been that. They were alone, now; they were underground, walking the tunnels back to Buffy’s home. On their way to do the ritual. Spike shuddered and exhaled deeply. Whatever else, taking her blood and sealing it with words would tie him to her forever. Not the other way around. No, Buffy could walk away freely after everything was over—run, actually, into the great ponce’s arms, and Spike would be left behind to watch.
The little redhead wanted to reensoul Angelus.
Can’t lose her. I can’t fucking lose her now.
“Spike.”
The gentle call of his name sliced through the uncomfortable silence that had settled around them. Her voice caressed him softly, and he felt his heart tremble in turn. He was so lost; so utterly and completely hers. “Yeah?”
“It won’t happen.”
Always better, times like these, to play it dumb. “What won’t?”
“Whatever you’re thinking concerning me and Angel. If Willow manages to do this crazy thing and stuff him full of soul, nothing changes.”
Yeah, she said that now. Everything would be different once her honey-pot was back in the picture. Somehow, through stealing kisses, copping feels, sending her shuddering into orgasm, and falling in love with her, Spike had forgotten just how much depended on Angelus’s termination. His complete eradication from the temporal realm. No matter how much Buffy might object, once Angel was back, the blond vampire would look shady in comparison.
Her words, however, couldn’t help but fill his body with warmth. She believed them. If nothing else, she believed them. This minute. This wondrous second with her belonged to him—Angel and his bloody soul couldn’t touch them. Not bloody now.
“You don’t believe me,” she said softly.
“I believe that you believe it, sweetling.”
“You honestly think that I could go back to Angel after everything he’s done to me? Everything he’s put me through?” A frown marred her gorgeous face, and his heart clenched at the sound of her conviction. “You really think that I could go back after you?”
“Buffy—”
“You must really have no faith in me if you, for one second, think I could not only forgive everything that’s happened, but take him back.” She shuddered and shook her head violently. “I told you that I never liked him. Ever. I loved him, sure, but I can’t…it was too dreamlike. The entire time we were together, it was a realized fairytale. I’m not stupid, Spike. I know that stuff can’t last. Happily Ever-Afters, especially for slayers, are a cosmic joke. And if Angel losing his soul was the price I had to pay to realize what an idiot I was, then maybe it was for the best.” There was a pause at that. “All except the lives he took.”
Spike pursed his lips. “An’ what about us? You think that we have any more of a chance than the fairytale? Same problems, pet. I’m a vamp, you’re a slayer, an’ accordin’ to our natures, one of us should be dead right now.”
“You’re not a fairytale, Spike.”
The words sounded callous, but knowing the sentiment, it was all he could do to keep from bursting with delight.
“What am I, then?”
Buffy tugged him to a halt and turned, and he nearly crippled with awe at the emotion that poured through her eyes. “You’re real,” she said softly. “Nothing about us is a fairytale. You’re real. And I…how dumb would I be to give up something real for something that can’t exist? Do you really think the past few days have meant so little to me that I’d rather be with someone who not only ripped my heart out, but has made my life a living hell for the fun of it?”
“You admittin’, then, that Angel’s the same wanker, no matter which way the coin is tossed?”
“I’m admitting that there’s enough of the monster in him when he’s souled, to make me wish I’d never cared about the man.” She shivered. “I’ve seen it before. He’s hurt me, and he’s hurt you.” A pause. “You know what really scares me, though? I think…had you and I never happened, that I never would’ve realized it.”
“How you figure?”
Buffy wet her lips. “I don’t know. I just do. He was the ultimate blind spot. Just thinking where I was emotionally this time last week…I feel like a completely different person. You…I don’t think you can know how much you’ve given me, Spike. And I’m not planning on running away just because Willow thinks she can make my ex stop killing people. He hurt me too much.”
Spike frowned and released a tremulous sigh. “I hurt you, too, pet,” he said, the words painful. They began walking again, nearly as a needed distraction. “I hurt you.”
“Not like he did.”
“Even in killin’ that kid at the motel?”
“How did Giles even know about that?”
“Probably the paper’s obit section, sweet. Answer the question.”
She was quiet for a moment. Good. He wanted to know that her response wasn’t rushed or reactionary. And while what had happened that first night wasn’t something he necessarily wanted her to remember, the logical side of his rationale knew that hiding anything from her would only hurt her in the end.
“What happened at the motel was…it hurts me that I got an innocent killed—”
Objection flared inside him. “You didn’t!”
“Had I not—”
He reeled in disbelief. “God, Slayer, is this how you deal with it? Every life lost means more blood on your hands? How, with that golden conscience of yours, have you made it this far? I killed the bloke. Not you. Had you known what I was doin’, you’d’ve stopped me. There’s no way we’d be here right now.”
“I know.”
The solemnity in her voice nearly killed him. He thanked his lucky stars that it had worked out this way. No small miracle, assuredly, but God, predicting this end was near impossible.
“But you wouldn’t now.”
Spike shot her a surprised glance. “What makes you so bloody sure?”
“You told me. And I believe you.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m not going back to Angel. I think that giving him his soul back is helpful in as much that he won’t be trying to end the world anymore, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. Take Angel out, and we have a shot of ending Darla and...”
There was no sense pretending that she was talking about someone else. Spike stared at her for a long second, then sighed and cast his eyes to the ground. In all honesty, he’d known that the subject of his ex would come up at some point, and he’d have to attempt and barter to make sure Dru escaped unscathed. It wasn’t out of love—not anymore. Realizing his love for Buffy had chased away the false history he’d shared with his sire. However, Dru had brought him this far—she had brought him to Buffy. And while their relationship had been a sham, he couldn’t summon enough hatred to want her dead.
A century of history was painful to let go, even if the history was founded on sentiment that had never existed.
“Spike—”
“We don’ need to talk about this now.”
“No, I really think we do.”
“Slayer, I walked out on her. I’m not goin’ back to her. You’ve bloody well bewitched me, an’ imaginin’ myself anywhere but right here with you...” He shivered. “But all that won’ stop my wantin’ Dru to get out with her unlife.”
“She’s a monster.”
“I am, too.”
“No...you’re not a monster like she is.”
“She made me, Slayer.”
“That doesn’t mean that you’re like her. If you were like her, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Buffy sighed deeply and paused again. “Look, this isn’t about me being jealous. But just to be clear, I’m crazy jealous. And on top of being crazy jealous, I am the Slayer. Will I enjoy killing her? Well, probably. You’ll compare me to her forever, and that’s something I don’t think I can overcome. But—”
Spike held up a hand, swallowing her with his eyes. The words positively stunned him while simultaneously catering to his need for Buffy to care for him as he cared for her. While true, their relationship was new and fragile, the small bundle of light at his side had completely overwhelmed whatever sentiment he thought he had harbored for Dru. The rapidity of the change terrified him, but denying his feelings wouldn’t do him any good. He loved Buffy, and she had shown him a side of love that he’d thought he didn’t deserve.
“Buffy, Dru doesn’ even begin to compare to you.”
Her eyes narrowed skeptically, though she couldn’t conceal the sparks of hope. “You’re just—”
“No, I’m not. If I wanted to be with her, I would be. Bloody hell, I was for a bleedin’ century. I’m not a masochist, an’ I’m not about to let you go.” A long sigh spilled through his lips. “She’s my sire. Of all the wankers in the family, she’s the only one who ever showed me compassion...in what little way she could. She’s the reason I’m here with you at all.” He paused. “I’ve turned my life upside down in jus’ a few days...for you. But you can’t expect me to stand back an’ let you kill my maker.”
“Spike—”
“Are you gonna kill Angel, if the girl manages to put his soul back?”
Buffy’s face fell at that, her expression open and lonely. Her hesitance was all the answer he needed.
“Din’t think so.”
“But I’m not going back to him, Spike!”
“An’ I’m not goin’ back to Dru. I’m yours, Slayer. Completely.”
Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “So what am I supposed to do? Just let her walk? Kill Angel and Darla and—”
“I’m not gonna ask anythin’ of you.”
“Then why are we—”
“‘Cause you need to know how I feel about it. If I interfere with whatever you decide, you’ll end up resentin’ me. I can’t be a part of your life if you think my goal’s to get you to give up slaying.” He quirked a brow. “Not sayin’ that idea doesn’ have its appeals, but vamps aren’ born with a sacred callin’. You were. To ask you to do anythin’ else would be to take away from who you are. If you decide to go after Dru...well, I can’t say I won’ try to stop you. But I’m not gonna ask you to make any promises you can’t keep.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “You’d try to stop me?”
“I wouldn’t hurt you, luv.”
“What if you had to?”
“Then I’d let you do it.” There was a certain degree of pleasure in watching her body overcome with shock. “I would. She’s not worth losin’ you. But Slayer...if you do kill her...I can’t promise things would be the same between us.” A beat. “I’m not tryin’ to threaten you or influence whatever it is you decide to do—that’s jus’ the way it is. She doesn’ mean anythin’ to me but what she is. An’ what she is, is my maker.”
Spike sighed again and glanced down as they started walking again. He didn’t want to hurt her—the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. And while he couldn’t discuss his feelings about Dru without causing Buffy pain, there was no better way to highlight why, exactly, he felt the way he did. He didn’t like her past with Angel anymore than she did his past with his sire; it was simply the way things were.
His past didn’t mean anything to him, but that didn’t mean he wanted it completely gone.
“Spike?”
“Yeh?”
“I’m crazy jealous of Dru.”
A soft smile played on his lips. “An’ I’m crazy jealous of Captain Forehead.”
She grinned. “I know you are. But you shouldn’t be.”
“An’ you shouldn’t be jealous of Dru.” You’re the one I love. It felt, somehow, like it had been her all along. That it had simply taken a century to find her. Romantic’s notion and all, it appeased the poet. “She’s got nothin’ on you.”
“And yet, here I am with the jealousy.”
“Of what we had, you mean? Sweet, in the past couple days, you’ve given me more than Dru was ever capable of giving. My past with her is full of hurt an’ blood an’ things I’d rather you not think about. It was never this.” He squeezed her hand. “Never what you an’ I have. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
He wanted so badly to tell her that he loved her, but the words refused to know voice. He had too many painful memories associated with unrequited love, and despite Buffy’s promises regarding their future, he couldn’t allow himself to trust in love enough to chance losing her now.
“I wouldn’t trade this for anything, either,” she said softly, brushing a kiss across the nape of his throat. A long shiver raced down his spine, and his hand tightened around hers. “For anything at all.”
There were times when the world felt ready to crumble around him for the wealth that he of what felt. When she looked at him, time and reason dissolved, and nothing mattered. Nothing at all except the look in her eyes.
If he really tried, he could believe she loved him.
The thought, the hope, was worth everything.
*~*~*
Buffy’s house was in view, and he had yet to say a word. Granted, taciturn behavior was hardly novel where Oz was concerned, but there was something about this silence that was driving her particularly mad. What was worse, despite verbal confirmation, Willow knew exactly why he held his tongue. She knew it, and knowledge was toxic. The territory around her was laced with eggshells. And it wasn’t as though she could blame him. Oz was, after all, a recently turned werewolf. A classification of monster that, like vampires, had a homage of horror movies dedicated to its existence.
But Oz was human. He was still human when he wasn’t all furry. Spike wasn’t. Spike never reverted back to a human state. When his fangs were retracted, he still craved blood and violence. When he talked with them about Acathla, he still reveled, albeit moderately, in the prospect of getting into a good brawl with his family.
And now his fangs were going to be in her best friend. Her best friend’s blood was going to be in Spike. And Oz acted like Willow’s insistence, coupled with Giles’s, to chaperone the ritual, was completely preposterous.
Hence the silent treatment. How she hated the silent treatment.
“I know what you’re thinking, so you can stop.”
Oz cast her an inquisitive glance.
“He acts like he cares about her. I’d have to be blind not to see it. Okay? So there it is. He cares about her.” Willow bit her lip. “That doesn’t mean anything. Angel cared about her, too. A-and now look at him. He’s all killing of innocents, and Ms. Calendar, and fishies.”
Her boyfriend frowned at that, though she continued sharply before he could speak.
“And I know that was an extenuating circumstance. Angel with a soul isn’t a fish killer. But Spike doesn’t have a soul to begin with! He’s the same guy that tried to kill me and you and Buffy a bajillion times since he got to town. He’s a vampire. He’s inherently evil. He’s all…dangerous.”
Oz’s frown deepened.
“And yes, I know I can’t judge all vampires based on the sins of one. It’s not fair to them. Or Spike. But it’s not like he’s the new vamp in town. He’s been here for a while now. Long enough to attempt to kill us multiple times.” She paused, calming. “Even though Buffy would be dead by now if Spike was the vampire he…if he was…”
She frowned. Oz was quiet.
“And he did tell us about Acathla. A-and he does seem to care a lot about Buffy.” A long sigh pressed through her lips. “And it would mean a lot to Buffy…if I…God, Oz, it’s just hard. There are certain rules about things. Giles has always been adamant on the rules. Even Buffy told me that when she first introduced me to the world of vampires and things that go ‘bump’ in the night. Granted, that was before Angel…a-and she doesn’t even really…she looks at Spike in a way she never really looked at Angel.”
Willow eyed the house warily, worrying a lip between her teeth. “They’ll want privacy for this…but what if Spike gets carried away? What if Slayer blood is like...crème brûlée or something, and he can’t stop himself? What if—”
Oz opened his mouth, but was again cut off.
“Then again, Buffy can handle whatever happens. A-and if she can’t, well, I’m guessing she can scream pretty loud.” She cast her eyes to the ground and nodded, as though making a vow to herself. “Okay. Okay. You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a try. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”
A small smile tugged on Oz’s lips, and he brushed a kiss across her cheek. “That’s all I ask.”
*~*~*
Buffy didn’t realize how nervous she was until Spike removed his duster and splayed it on the floor. She hadn’t given much thought to where they should perform the ritual, though the basement seemed as good a place as any. At least this way, they wouldn’t have to endure another painful encounter with Willow before getting down to business.
Spike undoubtedly sensed her anxiety; the look in his eyes was calm and loving, though she was nearly convinced the latter was wholly her imagination. “’S’all right, sweetling,” he said, his tone lulling her into a sense of security. “We’ll take this at your pace, yeah? I won’ make anythin’ final until I know you’re comfortable.”
She smiled and rubbed her arms. “I...umm...I’m still kinda muddled on what this is, actually.”
“Putting you under my protection?” Spike shrugged as though it didn’t mean anything, though the look on his face told a different story. The look on his face said that it mattered a great deal. “It’s somethin’ that doesn’ happen often anymore. A part of vamp lore that got lost, I s’pose. Like I told your Watcher, it stopped happenin’ regularly, an’ the tradition sort’ve died off.”
“The entire ‘Giles encouraging bitey goodness’ thing just…he’s not a pod person, is he?”
A wry smile tickled his lips. “Does sound pretty remarkable, doesn’ it?”
“And doing this makes it so that you can’t hurt me?”
“Yes.” Spike shrugged casually. “Another reason I think the ritual died out. It doesn’ work between vamps, pet. It’s a human-only ritual, for those select vamps that find themselves aligned with pulsers. Too many blokes found themselves knifed in the back for givin’ up the power, an’ it fell outta practice.”
“You won’t be able to hurt me at all?”
“Doesn’ matter. I don’ want to hurt you, so it seems like the best solution.”
“Can we still spar?”
“You say that like we’ve actually sparred.” He grinned and took a step forward, his eyes raking down her body predatorily. “Though I’d imagine we can. Anythin’ I do to hurt you, and go back on my word, has to be a conscious decision. What we’re about to do is a promise from my demon to you. A promise to never, ever hurt you, an’ to protect you with my life.” He held up a hand, foreseeing her obvious objection. “An’ I know, you don’ need my protection. I can’t give the ritual clauses. The ceremony does what it does, an’ this is the way it’s gonna be. An’ in order for my word to be revoked—an’ the Powers to hit me with repercussions—the demon has to make a conscious decision to go back on the promise to guard you.”
Buffy paused and pursed her lips. “And...that’s all it does? It just makes it impossible for you to go all Brutus on me?”
“Yes.”
“But we can still spar.”
“Again, we’ve never done that.”
“But we could, if we wanted to.”
Spike nodded. “Yes.”
“And stepping on my foot or pinching me or—”
He rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly, and stepped forward. “Won’ matter,” he assured her, raising a hand to toy with her golden locks of hair. “None of it matters. I’m not losin’ anythin’ by don’ this, luv. ‘S not like you’re programming me into bloody submission—my demon’s jus’ making a blood bond to never betray you.”
There was more to it, though. More than he wanted to admit. More than he was willing to tell her now. Buffy pursed her lips and nodded, averting her eyes to the floor. “So…we can do this here?”
“We can really do it anywhere.”
“What do you need me to do?”
Spike hesitated. “I need you strip.”
“Huh?”
“Jus’ your slacks an’ knickers. Although…” He frowned. “That top you’re wearing’s bloody distracting. Do you have somethin’ a li’l less…form-fittin’?”
“Is this a naked ritual?”
His mouth tugged upwards in a grin. “Hardly,” he replied, his eyes dancing with mirth. “I jus’ gotta make sure I don’ hurt you.”
“And that requires me to be naked?”
“Jus’ waist-down.”
She arched a brow. “You’re just looking to cop a feel, aren’t you? I’d think after what we did today, we wouldn’t have to resort to lying to get each other naked.”
“I’m jus’ impressed you can talk about what we did without blushin’.” The grin melted into an easy smirk, and he shook his head. “A vamp’s bite is painful...to humans, at leas’. It’s been a hundred an’ twenty years, but I remember how much Dru’s bite hurt. An’ I don’ wanna hurt you.”
Heat flooded Buffy’s cheeks. “Ummm...but you’ve bitten me before.”
“I know.”
“It didn’t hurt then.”
That was an understatement. Spike’s bite hadn’t hurt; it had felt incredible. The sensation of his fangs slicing through her flesh had filled her with such potent ecstasy that it nearly terrified her. Craving a vampire’s bite wasn’t in the Slayer job description, though no matter how many times she recited that to herself, the want of his fangs had remained, whispering dirties in her ear during times of emotional weakness. It frightened her that anything could feel so good. That something so deadly, so finite, could make her feel alive. He had bitten her, and in the few days since, she’d attempted, however futilely to forget the freedom of his bite. How hard she’d come at the feel of that part of him inside her.
Spike stepped forward again and slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her head upward until her eyes clashed with his. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of, sweet,” he said softly. “It’s s’posed to feel good.”
“Being bitten by a vamp is supposed to feel good?”
“When you’re aroused, yes.”
The word was so raw, blanketed with his own desire, and did little to lessen her embarrassment.
“That’s why I need you...” He broke off awkwardly, and it charmed her to see him appear momentarily befuddled. “Without gettin’ you...excited...a vamp’s bite is painful. Granted, there is a cult of human followers who like the pain, ‘cause it eventually gives way to pure pleasure, but you’re daft if you think I’m gonna hurt you when there’s another way. If it hurts too much, you might jerk an’ make it worse.”
“I—”
“Buffy, do you trust me?”
More than anything in the world. “Yes.”
A small smile tickled his lips, and that look of awe that she adored so much filled his eyes. “Okay,” he said softly, fisting the hem of his own t-shirt before stripping it over his head. “Put this on. Less form-fitting.”
Buffy glanced at the black fabric he shoved into her arms, and arched a skeptical brow. “I thought guys always went more nuts when their girlfriends wore their clothes.”
He shrugged. “Never heard that one. There was only Dru before you, an’ she never wore anythin’ I touched.”
Spike spoke so casually, though she knew him well enough to sense that small gestures like that had cut deeper than the wounds Dru intentionally inflicted.
If that were the case, Buffy would gladly wear anything Spike cast aside. She wanted him to know, in no uncertain terms, how much he meant to her. How she refused to take him for granted. Thus she wasted no more time and tugged her fitted-tee over her head, unsurprised at the heat that infused her skin under the power of his gaze.
“Christ,” he gasped, at her side in an instant. “I thought you’d at least have the decency to turn around.”
She quirked a brow and tossed her top to the ground. “Decency?”
He palmed her lace-clad breasts playfully, his mouth dropping to her shoulder. “Temptress.”
“Spike...”
While she knew her tone was set to make him pull away, Buffy had to bite back a moan of protest when it worked. Quickly, she slipped on his tee and did her best to ignore the fire that blazed in his eyes the minute the cotton fell against her skin. Just as she ignored the small growl that rumbled through his throat when she turned her hands to her jeans, kicking off her shoes. Her panties had been destroyed earlier, thanks to his eager fangs, and when she stepped out of the pool of denim, she felt, if possible, even barer than she would have in the full nude.
“Come here,” Spike said hoarsely, reaching for her.
She grinned. “So, the clothes thing is true.”
“Whass’at?”
“Guys seeing their girlfriends in their clothing—”
He nodded stiffly, as though afraid any further movement would render him under the complete authority of his body’s demands. “I’m thinkin’ maybe it would’ve been easier seein’ your sweet titties pokin’ out at me,” he said gruffly, seizing her left wrist and tugging her to the ground. “You’re more temptation than one man can handle.”
Buffy flushed and sat up on her knees across from him.
“So bloody beautiful, you are.”
“Spike—”
He smiled, the hand around her wrist tightening. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmured, his fingers dancing over her bare thigh. She trembled and obliged, her free arm instinctively going around his neck for support. “That’s it. Now relax.”
So completely easier said than done.
“Close your eyes.”
She did, then whimpered when she felt his hand cupping her center. His skin was cold where she was hot, and the duality of sensation just about undid her completely. “Ohhh...”
“That’s it,” he hummed again. She felt his mouth press against the inside of her wrist, felt his fingers spreading her pussy lips wide. He rubbed her exposed flesh gently, a low purr reverberating through his chest. “You smell like Heaven.”
“Ohhh, God.”
“You like that?” he rasped, his tongue worshiping the pulse point of her wrist as his fingers teased her sodden folds. “You like what I do to you?”
“Oh yes.” Her eyes screwed shut, her hips thrusting forward with a needful moan. “Oh God, yes.”
Spike murmured his approval, his fangs slowly descending. He ran his middle finger up her slit, caressing her with gentility that, despite all the feeling of his previous touches, she hadn’t felt before. His thumb settled over her clit, manipulating her into a slow frenzy. Something was different, though. This was different. He’d touched her in lust, he’d put his mouth on her forbidden flesh, he’d made her come so hard she saw proverbial stars, but somehow, this—just this—made her feel thoroughly cherished.
His tongue lapped delicately at her wrist, and it occurred to her, then, that he didn’t intend to bite her on the neck. And God, she didn’t know why that should bother her, but for whatever reason, the idea that he didn’t want her throat stung with rejection.
“Spike?”
He pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, beginning a gentle, tortuous caress that set her skin on fire. “No,” he growled.
He understood, then.
“Why?”
“Vampires don’ bite on the neck unless they kill.” His voice was overwhelmed with passion, as though the thought alone was too much temptation. “Or claim. If I bite you there, I won’ be able to stop from doin’ it.”
“Doing it?”
“Claiming you.”
“And...” Her nails dug into his forearms; the fire building toward explosion. “That’s bad?”
“Wonderful,” he corrected with a moan.
“I—”
And then it hit. Fangs slid inside her wrist, her body rattled with the power of her orgasm. It was a sensory explosion if there had ever been one; her skin burned and her nerves blazed. A long, hoarse gasp tore through her throat, and her grip on him tightened, fearing the fall that would consume her if she let go. She trembled and whimpered, gasping something incomprehensible as her free arm wound around his neck, holding him to her as the world dissolved in bliss.
The explosion withered, but the sparks it held over rekindled the fire. Buffy sobbed her pleasure and choked his name. There had never been a feeling like this. Beyond necessity, beyond desire, even beyond the hope of love, the sensationalism of his body trembling against hers encompassed her in complete rapture.
Slowly, Spike withdrew his fangs from her wrist and pressed a kiss against her flesh. “This blood is my ward,” he murmured. “My chalice to protect, and mine to cherish. May no harm fall upon it.”
When it crashed, it crashed wholly. All at once, walls collapsed and barriers vanished. As though they were no longer separated by flesh and consciousness, and his emotions were suddenly hers. The fire blazing through her body intensified tenfold, and she found herself overwhelmed with such burning actualization that she was certain the world stopped.
She felt it. She felt it so richly. He could not guard himself; not when she felt everything.
He loves me.
Her heart was submerged in completion.
He really loves me.
There was no mistaking it. His feelings were open; bare. They ripped through her, a current of knowledge and hope. She didn’t know if he felt the same—if he could distinguish her own as easily as she did his. If he felt their paths lock together with the single contract of blood and poetry.
Spike held her gaze for a long moment; the world around her blurred. Then it became too much. The love she saw there—the love she felt tearing through her system—quickly sent her on utter and complete overload, and she had to look away to gather her bearings. Buffy released a trembling breath and climbed to her wobbly feet.
“Buffy?”
Her name, accented in his voice, sent another wave crashing over her. Pure, unadulterated love. Love unlike anything she had ever felt before. She felt as though she’d managed to stand on water, and moving at all would force her to forfeit her footing, and there would be nothing left to do but drown.
“Buffy, sweetheart? Are you—”
It was quite possibly the boldest thing she’d ever done. Her heart was racing, her head was pounding, but there was love in Spike’s eyes that he could no longer hide. She saw him wholly as he was—no obstacles left between them. He’d bitten into her wrist, but she was the one that had been inside him.
There was no second-guessing herself. She knew what she wanted.
And now that she knew what he felt, there was nothing to hold her back.
*~*~*
She was in his arms the next second. Warm and eager, her hands linked behind his neck, her mouth tearing at his with womanly passion that she had grown so bloody masterful at holding back. The taste of her kisses complemented the blood that still flavored his mouth had him inebriated in seconds. With a long moan, he surrendered, melting completely into her with no further want of self-preservation. He was painfully hard, and in full need of her; if she wasn’t careful, she was going to trespass his final boundary. That line she had defined so well earlier that day in a different basement. A basement across town, where he’d nearly cost himself the trust and warmth he found in Buffy’s arms.
The line was drawn. The boundary understood. And yet—oh god—she was jerking down his fly.
Not a bloody saint.
He was too aroused to play it safe. If she touched him, all bets were off.
“Buffy—”
She tore her mouth from his as his cock sprang into her hand. The gasp that seized her throat rivaled his own. “Oh, God.”
“Buffy, we gotta—”
She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Need you.”
“Sweetling—”
“Please, Spike. I know what I’m doing.”
Her hot little hand tightened around him, her other fighting to shove his jeans to the ground. It wasn’t until he kicked off his boots that he realized he was helping her in her efforts to disrobe of him. Bloody fuck.
“I know what I want,” she said again, and for an insane second, he believed her.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Please…” Her lips found his throat, and he knew then, if he hadn’t before, that he was completely lost. Utterly and wholly lost. “Inside me. I need you.”
Spike moaned, steadying his hands on her hips. She was stroking his erection speedily, her eyes blazing with need that he hadn’t seen before. He feared she was half-drunk off her own orgasm, tied in with the pleasure that came with a vampire’s bite, but his body was too foregone to adhere any of the warnings his mind screamed at him. Her wet heat was more temptation than any man could resist. Dizzy with her blood, drunk on her kisses, taunted with the heady scent of her arousal, and he was thoroughly lost.
He lifted her slightly, his mouth caressing hers in a soft kiss. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”
Buffy mewled and obliged. And fuck if the feel of her body wrapped so thoroughly around his wasn’t the best sensation he’d ever experienced.
Only gets better.
“Now, Spike,” she gasped, thrusting wantonly against him. Her slippery flesh danced over his length, trying and failing to capture him as he held her. “I can’t wait.”
Against the wall again, he realized dazedly. He’d moved without realizing it. Buffy was in his arms against the wall, her pussy hovering over his cock. He released a strangled sigh and slipped a hand between her legs, massaging her clit tenderly with his thumb as his fingers explored her folds.
“Spike!”
“God, Buffy.”
“In me. In me now. Please!”
There was no denying her. Spike met her eyes, wide and vulnerable, and captured her mouth in a kiss as he began to slide inside her. Immediately, her silken walls constricted around him, her muscles tightening impossibly the deeper he sank within her depths.
“Oh, fucking Christ.”
Buffy hissed against his mouth. “Uhhh.”
Spike froze, his head reeling back. “Am I hurtin’ you?”
There was a long pause; she shook her head with a small smile. “No. I just…God. Seems…I don’t remember it feeling so…big.”
A grin quirked his lips, but he decided to forgo the obvious retort. “You weren’t against a wall the last time,” he murmured.
“You’re being modest.”
“Sweetheart, with as well as you know me, you should know that I’m not modest.” He paused. “Which is why I’m gonna tell you that if it was big you wanted, you should’ve had me pop your cherry in the firs’ place.”
She giggled and squeezed his shoulders. “One of the many, many reasons.”
“Bleeding hell.” He rested his brow against hers. “Are you ready, darling?”
“Yes. Yes.” Buffy nodded eagerly, wiggling against him. “It’s okay. I’m okay now. Please, Spike!”
A shuddering breath raced through his lips. He kissed her softly, his eyes fluttering shut. “Jus’ tell me if it hurts,” he murmured. “I don’ wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
God, he hoped so. With as hot as she was, how tight she was squeezing him, he hoped he had the resolve to keep from bruising her with his body. It was so bloody difficult to keep an even head about things when her muscles contracted around him, her warm pussy swallowing him whole. He impaled her with a quick thrust, swallowing her moan with a kiss, wincing when her nails dug into his forearms.
The sheer bliss of her body was second only to the awe burning her eyes. When she looked at him like that, he felt invincible. “You okay?” he asked, panting harshly. “Fucking God.”
“I’m perfect.”
“So bleeding warm.” He quivered, lost in absolute nirvana. The way she looked at him overpowered him completely. He wanted to make it slow for her; show her how it was supposed to be. Show her what she meant to him, especially now that she’d let him into her garden. He began moving within her in soft, agonizing strokes, her pussy strangling him with every parry. The slow, sensual slide of his flesh against hers seared him whole. “Oh, fuck, Buffy…”
“Guh!”
He swept his lips against her cheek, basking in the feel of her. The slow tempo of her hips thrusting against his, fighting to recapture his cock every time he slid from her slick passage. It was so new. So fucking new. There was no malice when she looked at him. No wickedly smiling eyes that knew too well how to play him before casting him aside. Buffy bathed him in a look of such pure adoration, and even if that was all he received, it was worth the whole bloody world.
“You’re wonderful,” he panted, sliding one hand under the hem of the t-shirt he’d given her. His fingers pinched at her nipples, his mouth dropping to suckle at her breast through the cotton that separated them. “So bloody perfect. Oh Christ, Buffy. How you feel. You feel so good.” His thrusts intensified, slow and deep still, but fused with growing need. “So perfect.”
“Oh yes.”
“Tell me.”
A choked gasp ripped through Buffy’s throat. “You feel…ohhh, God.”
“Yes, tell me.”
“So good.”
The words invigorated him and his thrusts intensified. “You’re so bleeding beautiful,” he moaned. “So perfect. My Slayer.”
“Unh!”
The cool, wet slip and slide of his cock from her pussy was driving him insane. Spike groaned and pressed his lips to her brow, moving madly within her now, unable to help the whimpers and moans that clawed at his throat. The haven she offered was too great for him, but he could pretend to be worthy for this short while. The taste of her flesh was so sweet, the feel of her too perfect—he wasn’t the sort of person who ended up here for the good run, but God, he wanted it like nothing else.
“Spike!”
He dropped his mouth to her throat, his thrusts rocking her with sharp pangs of need. He felt her back slam ruthlessly against the wall, though she whimpered in joy, not pain. Distantly, he recognized that the control he’d fought to withhold had abandoned him, but his mind was too fogged to battle it back. For the soft, sweet kisses she peppered against his face, the sobs of pleasure that rumbled through her lips, it seemed his slayer preferred pain with her pleasure, and the knowledge shot through him—a bullet of actualization.
“Spike, please. I need…oh God, I need—”
He slipped a hand between them, his fingers sliding over her clit.
“Oh God!” Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God!”
Spike whimpered and pressed his brow to hers once more, his eyes falling shut as his hips thrust frantically against her. The fingers at her clit massaged her rapidly, needing to feel her orgasm nearly as much as his own. His teeth scraped tenderly at the column of her throat, his balls tightening as the world tumbled out of order. “Come for me, baby,” he panted. “Need to feel that delicious pussy of yours come for me.”
Her body consumed him whole. And before he even realized it, his fangs sliced through his gums, the racing hum of her pulse driving him home. Her throat. His chalice. Then—oh Christ—her blood poured into his mouth, and she exploded around him. A hoarse cry commanding her as her muscles clamped around his cock, riding out the waves of her orgasm and sending him into the sweetest release he’d ever known.
“Mine!” he growled.
And that one little word startled him so much that he lost his footing. Spike collapsed to the floor, landing on his back with her on top of him. The fall drove his cock deeper inside her, and she threw her head back with a large gasp.
“Oh my God!”
He was hard again. Her muscles clamped around him, her blood—charged with sex—in his mouth. Spike’s hands fell to her hips again, his eyes burning as he drank her in.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, drawing the t-shirt over her head. He took a minute to admire how her nipples saluted him through her bra, then quickly reached around her to unclasp it. As lovely as her breasts looked when accompanied with lace, he liked them bare and in his hands more than anything.
“Ohhh…” Harsh breaths tumbled through her throat, her hands resting again his chest to steady herself. “Spike,” she gasped. “I haven’t…I…”
He knew she hadn’t. Angelus would never be the sort to forfeit control; didn’t bloody matter which mask he wore. And with that much—just that glimpse into the brief relationship she’d shared with his grandsire, Spike saw more than he ever cared to. Saw the woman he loved neglected into a sense of such brutal insecurity that she didn’t know how incredible she was, just with what she gave him with a look. And now—especially now. Now, with Buffy over him, slowly riding his cock with experimental thrusts that drove him out of his sodding mind, she gave him more than she knew just by trusting him to guide her when she was unsure of herself.
“You bit me,” she gasped as she began moving in earnest, his hands holding her ass as she bounced on his cock. Her words weren’t an accusation, rather a statement of fact. And there was nothing to do but nod his agreement. “Ohhh…”
“Did it feel good, Slayer?”
Buffy nodded without thought, her skin trembling beneath his touch. There was no sodding way he was going to last like this. Not with her galloping him into oblivion, his eyes glued to the sight of her pussy swallowing his erection with every thrust.
“Oh yes,” she mewled, and he could tell she was close. His thumb found her clit again, massaging her speedily to hurry her orgasm. He needed to hear her scream his name again before he took relief in her body.
“Do it again.”
Spike’s eyes widened. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.
“Sweetling?”
“Bite me!”
Some rational facet knew he should object, but his demon would not be deterred. And when his fangs found her throat again, when he felt her tremble into climax around him, he knew he was home.
Home, after so many years of wandering.
“Mine,” he murmured again, the demon purring in contentment as Buffy collapsed against his chest. “You’re mine.”
Later, he told himself, he would reflect on this moment as one of pure weakness. Sealing the Slayer’s lifeline to his when he knew he had nothing to offer. When he knew that she would rebuke the notion of belonging to a vampire in such a personal, intimate manner. When she knew what claims were, and what they meant for her.
It wasn’t final, though, so he had nothing to fear. His words hadn’t been accepted, and he knew better than to dream for reciprocation.
But for now—right now—he would hold her in this tranquility they had created together. Peace among monsters and slayers. An interlude in the first true home he’d ever known.
A quiet rest in the arms of the woman he loved.
TBC
| | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XI | | | | - abc + + | | | Thanks to Megan, Mari, and Jen for betaing this for me.
Previously: Having discovered Angelus's interest in Acathla, Giles requested that Spike put Buffy under his protection - a blood-ritual almost lost for lack of practice. The protection ritual wordlessly revealed Spike's emotions, and moved them to consummate their relationship - during which Spike claimed Buffy. Meanwhile, Willow and Oz wait upstairs, having accompanied Buffy and Spike to make sure the situation remained controlled.
Part XI
She didn’t realize she was shivering until he rubbed her arms and shifted behind her.
“Cold, sweetheart?” he asked gently, draping his duster over her shoulders before she could reply. His eyes swallowed her face in adoration, and the chill around her disappeared. “Bleedin’ thing just dwarfs you, doesn’ it?” He dropped a kiss onto her brow before sitting back.
Buffy smiled and gripped at the lapels of his duster, her heart swelling at the symbolism of the gesture. Sometime during that first night at the Sunnydale Inn, he’d told her how he’d won his duster. Her body was still tingling from his touch, and she worried that if she opened her mouth, she would fumble and betray herself. While she knew he loved her—there was no doubting what she’d felt the minute his fangs had sliced into her wrist—she similarly knew that loving her was the last thing he’d wanted. That he would see it as a curse, rather than something liberating and wonderful.
However, words could not conceal the emotions she’d felt.
And despite her fear of rejection—her fear that his fear would override the truth of his sentiment—she needed him to know. Now, before Angelus turned back into Angel.
The frown that crossed Spike’s face told her that her silence wasn’t reassuring.
“I din’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly, cupping her cheek. “Bloody hell, Buffy, I never meant to—”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
Relief colored his eyes. “You’re sure? I…when I bit you, I wasn’ in my right head. I jus’…”
Her cheeks burned. “That? That, I…umm…liked. It felt…” Her blush deepened when the concern in his gaze melted to awe, and she forced herself to look away before she died of embarrassment. Slayers weren’t supposed to crave a vampire’s fangs—it didn’t matter that she was in love with him.
There was nothing more sacred than that realization. She loved him. In just a few short days, she’d come to love him so much.
Knowledge was a frightening thing. She knew she loved him, and she knew she wanted him to know that she loved him. And she knew that he loved her, as well. Whether or not the sentiment was welcome, however, remained up in the air. There was absolutely no way she’d face Angelus without revealing herself to Spike. He was too concerned about something that her heart knew was impossible. That logic would overpower emotion, and he would shut her out for want of self-preservation.
It was likely a foolish concern. After all, shutting her out was more something Angel would do. However, Spike had not kept quiet concerning his that he found himself drawn to a slayer—beyond the thrill of the hunt, of course. And while she knew that his affection for her was genuine, the reservations he had concerning their relationship were similarly too real to ignore.
Buffy released a deep breath, shuddering and shaking her head. No. He wasn’t like that. Spike wasn’t like that. She wouldn’t attempt to gauge his reactions based on what she knew she could have expected from Angel. Before they went up against the Order, she needed him to know precisely how she felt.
She pursed her lips and cast the duster off her shoulders, her skin flushing at the widening of his eyes and the long, appraising looks he raked down her body. She reached for his discarded tee—the one he’d torn off her just a half hour before. There was some comfort in wearing his clothing that she simply couldn’t explain.
When she turned back to him, his eyes were molten with lust. He stood before her, confident in his nudity without appearing arrogant, even when his cock hardened.
“’m sorry I claimed you,” he blurted, and something within her fell. “I din’t mean to. But you won’ have to worry about it…it won’ happen again. If we…I’ll have more control in the future. An’ you din’t accept it, or reciprocate, so it should jus’ wear off eventually. We’ll jus’…if we…we’ll jus’ have to be more careful in the future.”
Her mouth tugged downwards into a frown as her hand reached to caress the sacred place on her throat where he’d tasted her. “You…you didn’t want to claim me?”
Spike paused. “I never said that.”
“But you— ”
“I did it without permission, sweetheart. I did it without you even knowin’ what it meant. ‘S better for both of us, really. Claims are—”
“What if I said I wanted that with you? Would that change anything?”
Spike just looked at her, his face blank with astonishment. “You can’t know what you’re askin’ for, pet. It’s not possible between us.”
If there was one thing Buffy knew for sure, it was the fact that there were no absolutes. Spike himself was proof enough of that. There was no black and white, or even the overly-referenced shades of gray in between. There was a world of color that could not be reduced to light, dark and the shadows they cast. That place that allowed her vampire to be with her now. “Why not?”
“A claim…bloody well out of practice, for one thing.”
“And therefore we shouldn’t start up a new fad?”
He scowled at her. “No—of course not, Buffy. That’s not what I meant an’ you bloody well know it. A claim is forever, an’ most vamps aren’t equipped for forever. The vamps in my family in particular.” He released a derisive huff. “Angelus an’ Darla bloody well belong to each other, but it doesn’ stop them from fucking whoever they feel like. Same with Dru. Monogamy isn’t somethin’ vampires practice, an’ a claim is a promise to one another.”
She swallowed. Hard. “Like…marriage?”
“Only more binding. It takes the deepest devotion to even…” He broke off uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “I said earlier that vamps don’ bite on the neck unless they mean to eat or…claim. That’s only partly true.” He paused, and she thought her heart would leap from her chest. “It depends on the vampire, I guess. Angelus bites his women all the time, but never feels the urge to…”
“Spike—”
“The urge to claim is based on the vampire in question.” He met her eyes and smiled grimly, offering a weak shrug. “I was always the romantic in the family.”
Something twisted in her stomach. She stepped forward and reached out to him. “Spike…” He just wanted to be loved. “Would you have claimed just anyone?”
Spike frowned and backpedaled. “What?”
“Could I have been anyone, is what I’m asking.”
A black shadow befell his eyes. “No.” The look on his face was dangerous—as though she had just said something so thoroughly unthinkable that he felt cut by the suggestion. “How can you even ask me that?”
“I was just—”
“Claim’s a bloody serious thing, Slayer. The few times it’s happened between humans an’ vamps, it’s ended badly. The human’s lifeline got tied to their mates. They din’t age, ended up bloody miserable ‘cause no one wants to live out Tuck Everlastin’. Humans can’t think in terms of forever. All the humans I know of eventually offed themselves, an’ left their vamps in a perpetual state of mournin’.” A long sigh rippled through him. “The demon doesn’ make its choice of mate lightly. It has to be…” He stepped forward. “That’s what it was, you understand? The demon’s need to claim you overrode common sense. I’ve never felt that before. Never. It wouldn’t have happened if it was anyone but you.”
Her heart fell. “So…it was just the demon, then?”
“You daft girl. Are you listenin’ at all?”
“Well, you just said it was the demon that made the decision—not you.” Granted, he’d said it in a way that would make Casanova bow out in shame, but she was determined not to focus on the poetry of his words. This was too important to her. “I’m not a vampire, Spike, remember? I don’t know how demon stuff works. I don’t feel the drives you do. So forgive me if I hear you say ‘the demon made me do it’ and interpret that as ‘he doesn’t want me after all.’”
The next thing she knew, she was in Spike’s arms, her back pressed against the wall as she drowned in the deep ocean of his eyes. His cock was hard, probing her wet folds with rough sensuality that threatened the stability of her foundations. She didn’t want him to win this easily—she didn’t want to give in simply because she loved him, especially when she didn’t know what he wanted.
He loved her, she told herself. She’d felt it. There was no denying the love she’d felt ripple through her the second he’d whispered the ceremonial words into her flesh. But did he love her enough to make it final?
“Does this feel like I don’ want you?” he demanded brusquely, a hand slipping between them to cup her pussy. “I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you. You were dancin’ with your chums an’ drivin’ every man in the bloody building out of his mind. I was in a right mind to throw you against the wall an’ fuck you raw. I’ll always want you.”
Hot tears pricked her eyes and she bit back a moan. “You want this,” she agreed breathlessly. “I do, too. But wanting sex and wanting me are two different things.”
“An’ you think you know the difference?” he demanded, arching a brow.
“Yes,” she gasped, and her voice hitched. The tears that had threatened to pour down her cheeks broke through her inner dam, and the last of her foundation fell apart. “I love you, Spike.”
That look of absolute awe flecked with adoration stormed his eyes, and he trembled hard against her. “Say that again.”
The wonder in his voice fueled her veins with hope.
“I love you,” she whispered, then moaned when his cock slid inside her. “I love you.”
“Oh God.”
His lips seized hers desperately, and the need behind his kiss made her insides tremble. Buffy clutched at him desperately, her heart clenching. It was difficult to ignore the fact that the words hadn’t been answered. That, while she knew the extent of his feelings, he wouldn’t be able to say the words. She was open; bare and vulnerable. She lay before him on the proverbial chopping block, prepared to be thoroughly ripped apart.
Spike broke his lips from hers with a trembling sigh as his hips moved steadily against hers, pumping himself sweetly into her body. “Hold onto me, sweetling,” he murmured, sliding his hands under her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me. Like before.”
She obeyed, and the next thing she knew, she was on the floor, splayed out atop his duster. His cock slid out of her pussy, eliciting a long moan through her lips. She strained to sit up, but he gently pushed her back, the wonder in his eyes overwhelming.
“Spiiike!”
A soft smile played across his lips. His left hand cupped her cheek tenderly, and for the way his love shone through his eyes, any doubt that haunted her thoughts was banished completely. “Sweet,” he murmured, his other hand slipping between her thighs. His fingertips just grazed her clit, shooting a bullet of pleasure through her veins. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Spike, please!” Her eyes fell on his erection and she licked her lips. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His head dipped and he lapped at her wet slit, his eyes slowly raking up her body until they clashed with hers. “I love you.”
A large gasp tore through her body. “Spike!”
“I love you, Buffy. God help me, I do.” He suckled hungrily at her clit, then left her pussy with a parting kiss before prowling up her body. The velvety head of his cock teased her sodden folds, and her moans gave way to a satisfied sigh when she felt him position himself at her opening. “I love you so much.”
She whimpered. “Ohhhh…”
He smiled into her eyes, sliding completely within her. “How could you even doubt it?”
Buffy hooked her arms under his shoulders and shook her head. Had she truly doubted him? The feel of him within her body cast every misgiving aside, the burn in his eyes chased away all shadows. There were no words to offer, nothing she could say to convey the wealth he’d given her. He’d rescued her from her own darkness when she thought there was no way to climb away from despair. When she thought warmth itself would never be touched again. The connection she felt with him was so new, so young, but somehow righted all the wrongs that she had previously associated with love.
It had happened so quickly, but God…
“Spike,” she gasped, arching back. She wanted his fangs in her throat. She wanted the words he’d murmured earlier. She wanted what he wanted. She knew he’d refuse her, of course. She was too young, too fantasy-prone to know exactly what it was she asked for. Too little girlish to get the full prospect of forever.
She wasn’t a normal human. Not like the others he’d mentioned. She knew what forever was, just as she knew of the expiration date that marked the Slayer package. She had dreams of forever, some that terrified, some that liberated. In the span of a few hours, her mind could take her where no amount of knowledge ever dared venture.
Buffy would never presume to know everything. However, as Spike moved within her, his lips doting her skin with soft kisses, his body telling her how much he loved her, she knew that he was worth everything and more. Whatever she had to surrender to prove to him that he was enough for her. That he didn’t need to be the one who gave up everything. Their mutual sacrifices would only bring them closer together. In just a few days, he’d given her so much.
“Spike…” she moaned. “Bite me.”
His eyes widened and his hips jerked forward in a sharp thrust. “Fuck, Buffy.”
“Bite me!”
“No!”
Resolve, however, could not control the demon. There was nothing quite like the sound of a vampire changing faces. She knew the second that his fangs descended. She turned, baring her neck to him. “Do it!”
“God, Buffy, please!”
“Do it. Claim me.”
Another hard thrust. He pounded his fist into the ground beside her head. “No!”
“Do it!” She grasped his head and jerked his mouth to the pulse point in her throat. “Bite me!”
Spike snarled against her throat, his incisors prickling at her skin. “Forgive me,” he murmured. His body tightened and tensed, burden weighing down—granting him no leave. She felt him surrender, and the hopelessness behind it gutted her completely.
Then the moment passed, and her body was swallowed in bliss. Buffy threw her head back and sobbed with pleasure, clutching him tightly as her body came hard around him. There was absolutely nothing in the world like the feel of his fangs inside her. He sipped at her blood slowly, despite his loss of control, as though taking communion. Her pussy clenched around him, and she held him to her firmly, lamenting the loss of his bite when he ultimately pulled away.
“Say it,” she demanded through tears. “Dammit, Spike, say it!”
Objection flared across his eyes, but he could not deny her nothing. “Mine,” he murmured, and the resignation in his voice broke her heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it—she knew that. She knew that now. She’d known it earlier, too, though human reaction had conflicted with inherent knowledge.
He just didn’t think she could want it, too.
“Yes, yes!” She felt him spill within her, felt him flood her completely, and knew there was nowhere else, for however long she lived, that she’d rather be. “Yours. Completely yours. Yes.”
Spike’s head reeled back in shock. “Buffy!”
“Yes!”
“Oh, Christ…” He glanced down at her dazedly, his expression torn between sorrow and euphoria. “God, Buffy…do you have any idea what you’ve jus’ done?”
Air fought back into her lungs. She knew he was upset, and knew that holding off on a serious conversation was not an option, despite however much she wanted to curl up in post-coital bliss and sleep away the rest of the afternoon. The love in his eyes was flecked with worry, and completely tore her apart.
No regrets. There would never be any regrets.
“I know what you told me,” she replied.
Wrong answer. He staggered and pulled out of her, reaching frantically for his jeans. “What I told you…fuck, Slayer, were you listenin’ at all? Do you have the foggiest notion what this means? What you’ve signed on for?”
“Yes.”
The calm certainty in her tone clearly unraveled him, and if anything, the façade of outrage strengthened in the face of her conviction. “Well, I don’ believe it. I bloody well told you…I told you what it meant. You’re off…I can’t…” Then it became too much; he choked off his words and ripped his eyes from hers, desperation winning out over anger. “You…how could you do that? How could…you love me now. For God’s sake, you love me now. An’ now…you let me ruin it.”
What?
“No. No! Spike, you—”
“You’re human, pet. You’re not equipped for forever. An’ you’re gonna end up hatin’ me. God, Buffy, I can’t—”
“It was my decision, Spike. Mine. I could never hate you for that.”
“But I—”
“And you’re overlooking something.” She stepped forward, grateful, in this instance, that she was still dressed in his tee. Had she been completely nude, she didn’t think she’d have the confidence to say what needed to be said. “I’m human, yes, but I’m not normal.”
“That doesn’—”
“Yes, it does. It means everything.” She reached up to caress the sore place on her throat where he’d marked her, and smiled gently. “I’ve had dreams about this. Nightmares about being a vampire, but dreams about being bitten. I know the difference. And maybe they meant this. Maybe they were prophetic.”
“Maybe you’re graspin’ at straws.”
That couldn’t help but bite. Buffy’s shoulders fell, and she cast her eyes to the ground. “I didn’t judge you,” she said softly, “based on what Angel did to me. Please, please don’t judge me based on what other humans have done. I’m a slayer. I’m not completely human. And I love you.” She stepped forward and cupped his cheeks, her insides melting as the insecurity in his eyes battled with wonder. “I’m not like Dru.”
He looked at her a minute longer, then glanced down, shaking his head. “God, it jus’ happened so fast.”
“I know.”
“A few days ago…”
“I know.” Buffy released a deep breath and hugged him closer. “But fast doesn’t mean wrong. I don’t…slayers have to think in terms of forevers; we have such a short life expectancy as it is, so everything we do is our forever. I can’t stress about the things that I know are certain. You’re certain. I want you. I love you. And that’s never going to change.”
That was it. She saw it in his eyes, and knew that she had him. Knew that the doubt was over. That he believed her. That his misgivings about their future were gone, and he finally saw that she knew what she was doing. That she’d accepted his claim for reasons beyond the superficial elements of lust, and felt as deeply as she did. Crazy as it was, as fast as it’d happened, it was all real. Completely.
“My God,” he gasped. And the next thing she knew, he’d crushed her to his chest. “My God.”
“Spike—”
The taste of his kiss would never stop surprising her. He commanded so much just by taking her lips—as though whispering prayers into her body. Every touch that whispered against her skin felt reverential, filling her with warmth and adoration—with everything she had craved but never received. Never truly grasped in the height of her past relationships. She didn’t have to be someone else when Spike was with her. She didn’t have to pretend for his sake. With him, she was just Buffy. Buffy, who occasionally played the slayage scene, but moreover wanted to experience things that the so-called ‘normal’ girls took for granted.
The Slayer wasn’t who she was—it was a part of who she was. Angel had never appreciated that. Spike did.
The list of differences between Angel and Spike was so long, she was beginning to suffer reservations about the authenticity of her time with her first love. It was so fresh—just a couple months ago, she and Angel had been the ones patrolling, the ones sneaking kisses when they could. The ones that were, as Xander had hinted, the hopeless slaves to passion. Yet the Angel she’d known was so radically different from the man she now loved. From the vampire standing before her, looking at her as though she had given him sunlight.
Angel’s touch had made her quiver; Spike’s made her burn.
“I love you,” she whispered when their lips parted. Then his head dipped and suckled sweetly on the fresh claim mark with tender veneration. The words tasted delicious, rather than bittersweet. God, how new was that? Her love for Angel had only succeeded in making her miserable. Her love for Spike embodied liberation. How was that possible? How did the vampire with a clause for humanity fall so short of a being that regarded evil as a driving force?
Perhaps it was because Angel’s humanity had been forced upon him, and Spike’s had never left. Perhaps.
She felt Spike smile against her flesh, his eyes rising slowly to meet hers. God, he was trembling hard. He betrayed so much in one little gesture. “I never thought it possible,” he said softly. “I never thought…”
Dru had ruined him long before they came to Sunnydale, she realized. Long before Angelus broke them up. Likely long before Buffy was Called. How much abuse he’d had to tolerate, she didn’t know, but the thought was crippling. Spike was full of love; to refuse his love in hopes of something better was like turning down Godiva. It didn’t get better than what he offered. What he offered practically didn’t exist anymore. To not cherish it was a sin.
It made Buffy hate Drusilla even more than she thought possible. More for the fact that she knew, despite the vampire’s cruelty, that Spike stood between the evil bitch and a dusty ending. His loyalty ran deep, even when there was nothing left but blood between them.
She’d have to force her jealousy aside. It didn’t matter. He loved her now. End of story.
And they’d go into the big brawl knowing that. There was no reason for him to fear Angel’s return, now. No reason at all.
Though she doubted she’d be able to get that through her vampire’s thick skull.
“I was gonna tell you before it happened,” she murmured, barely aware that she’d spoken.
“Sweet?”
Buffy frowned, blinked, and glanced up. “Huh?”
“You were gonna tell me what before what happened?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks reddened and she glanced down. “I was thinking out loud.”
Spike arched a brow and waited.
“Oh! Right. Okay. I was…before Willow, with the spell?” She worried a lip between her teeth as recollection swept his eyes. “Anyway, I was…if it works…if Willow manages to give Angel his soul back, I wanted you to know everything I’ve said. That I love you and I want you, because if Angel comes back, you and I? Not changing. Don’t think you can get away from me that quickly, buster.”
He smiled dryly. “We’ve had this fight.”
“Yeah, but now we have something else.”
“The claim—”
“The claim’s only part of it. Even if that hadn’t happened, I’d still love you, and I’m not blind as a bat like Dru. I know what I have. This…” She reached for the claim mark on her throat, stroking her sensitive skin reverently. “This makes it official. I’m completely yours.”
His smile broadened—God, she loved that smile. Not cynical, not teasing. He looked so happy. She’d never seen Spike so happy, and she’d given it to him. The thought was a little more than empowering.
With his arms around her, he lowered her to the ground once more, trapping her beneath him across his duster. His lips played across hers as her impatient fingers reached for the clasp of his jeans. Now that they had all their cards on the table, she was more eager now than ever before to feel him inside her. To make love with him without any questions about what he felt for her, if he could ever admit it, and the entire business about forevers and what happened once her ex-boyfriend returned to the picture. She needed to feel him inside her so badly.
Just once more before the world returned.
*~*~*
It wasn’t as though she didn’t know Buffy had had sex, because oh boy, she knew. Proof of Buffy’s sex life was currently stalking her friends, killing fish, and murdering teachers. Suffice to say, Willow was pretty much in the know when it came to her best friend and naked groiny grinding. She knew the whole thing.
That didn’t mean she needed to hear the soundtrack.
“They know we’re still up here,” Willow said to herself, flinching as the moans below their feet approached yet another crescendo. This one louder than those before it; she wondered if Buffy and Spike were trying to out-orgasm each other, then felt a flush at the dirty thought and sank further into the cushions of the sofa.
Bad, bad mind.
It grew quiet then. Quiet for a few wonderful, blessed seconds…until Spike’s conductor decided to take the repeat, and the porny whimpers started again. “Th-they know that…right?”
Oz glanced up from where he was reading the paper and shrugged.
Porny whimpers were becoming super porny moans. Oh God, this had been a long afternoon.
“W-we’ll give them another half hour,” she decided, turning the volume on the television as high as it would go. Not that it did any good. Stupid hormone-driven superbeings. “A-and then we’re definitely gonna have to break it up.”
Her boyfriend arched a brow. “You really wanna get in the middle of that?” he asked, his question emphasized with a particularly loud, however muffled, cry of pleasure.
Willow’s blush deepened. “Okay…an hour? They have to stop sometime…right?”
Oz held her gaze a minute longer, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Then he shrugged, took a sip of the coffee he’d made for himself, and turned back to the paper.
An hour, she decided with an internal nod. They’d have to be done in an hour. If they weren’t Giles would run over to Buffy’s in a hurry, and as much as Willow didn’t want to brave the downstairs, the thought of the timid, oh-so British librarian opening the basement doors really didn’t do her any favors.
An hour. One hour.
Though she ought to call Giles now. Just in case.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XII | | | | - abc + + | | | A/N: Giles and Xander in this chapter are a little more stereotypical in this chapter than I like writing, but considering that it follows Jenny’s death in Season 2, I felt it was appropriate. Just warning you: teh!cliché!
Previously: Having confessed their true feelings to each other, Spike claimed Buffy and she accepted. Meanwhile, the Scoobies are researching Acathla to preempt Angelus’s attempt to destroy the world.
Part XII
Spike didn’t like the way the old man was looking at him, though honestly, he couldn’t say he was surprised. Not with his arms around his mate’s waist and his mouth irrevocably drawn to her throat every few seconds. And to her credit, Buffy didn’t seem to mind. If she even noticed her Watcher’s disapproving glare, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she rested against him, her back pressed to his chest, and spoke when addressed as though she hadn’t just broken every rule in the Slayer Handbook.
It wasn’t like Spike could help himself. For the first time in a century, the demon was entirely at peace. Perhaps they could have been more discreet, but except for the occasional death glare, Spike didn’t care. Buffy’s back was pressed to his chest, her fingers laced through his where his hand rested at her belly, and the contact was so soothing that he was fighting off a purr.
He’d heard that vampires became very amorous in the immediate period following a claim, though that understanding in no way prepared him for the wealth of what he felt. Every brush of her flesh against his made him tremble. He couldn’t stop touching her if he tried.
“So,” Buffy said, “lemme get this straight. We’re talking a sword-in-the-stone thing, here.”
“There’s a chance the translation is faulty,” Giles replied, though his tone told Spike that he didn’t believe it. “But yes—in its simplest form, we are dealing with a realized fairytale. If Angel succeeds in pulling the sword from Acathla’s chest—”
“The whole world does a loopty-loop into Hell.” She nodded. “I think we got that part covered.”
“The legend is allegedly written on Acathla’s sword in Aramaic,” he continued. Then paused. “Though Acathla’s legacy is about as renowned as the story of Arthur and the true sword-in-the-stone.”
Spike nodded thoughtfully. “For a time in the ’80s, Angelus tried to get me interested in history. Never saw the appeal.”
“So you didn’t know your peoples’ sword-in-the-stone story?” Buffy teased. “My poor, deprived boyfriend. This explains so much.”
He smirked and nipped at her throat. “Quiet, you.”
“The ’80s?” Xander murmured, frowning. “I thought Angel’d been all…Soul Boy for at least a century now.” His eyes narrowed and shifted to Buffy. “Is this another thing you’re just now telling us?”
“The 1880s, I believe,” Giles corrected, smothering a cough. “When you live for centuries, you have to be more specific.” He paused and his expression hardened. “Though I suppose that’s something that Buffy will eventually know firsthand. Isn’t that right, William?”
A very still beat settled through the library.
“Giles—”
Spike growled and tightened his arms around his mate, his mouth brushing a kiss over his mark possessively. “That’s not up for discussion, Watcher,” he said. “We’re discussin’ the apocalypse, remember? Somehow, I think that’s slightly more important than your slayer’s bedmate.”
He felt Buffy’s flush as vibrantly as he would his own, but he couldn’t help the streak of pride that raced through him when she didn’t berate his vulgarity.
Giles’s jaw hardened, and though he resented it, there was something to be respected in the hate that colored the old man’s eyes. It took a lot for a human to hate that much; he’d seen it a time or two, but never from one as stuffy and proper as Buffy’s Watcher.
Then again, Spike had been around long enough to know that there was more than met the eye about everyone.
“Guys,” said the soft-spoken redhead. The chit who’d had the bloody brilliant idea of reensouling Angelus in the first place. “We really…ummm…with the plan? I know that everyone’s all wigged because of…well…” She glanced to the blonde couple tellingly, and cast her eyes away again just as quickly. “B-but, really…pressing matters. I-I think berating people on personal…stuff…can really wait until after world saveage. I’d much rather be alive and interventiony than not-so-alive.”
The vampire exhaled slowly and squeezed Buffy to him with another possessive grunt. While that afternoon had done wonders to quell his fears that the Slayer would run back into the Great Ponce’s open, overbearing arms the second he gasped her name in penance, there was a still a very real, very vocal part of him that couldn’t help but dread the next few days. Buffy was Spike’s girl—no questions there, though he didn’t think that she had a handle on how much power Angel had had over her in the before-time. Prior to popping her cherry and twisting their world on its axis.
How her stomach would clench and her heart would pound when he turned his remorse-drenched soulful eyes to her and reached for her hand.
It would never happen, she’d promised him. Never. And she’d spent the afternoon loving him with her mouth and body, telling him that he was her new everything. Allowing him to sup from her throat as he possessed her completely, and claimed her as his own. Spike knew she belonged to him. He knew she was his. He knew that she loved him; God, he felt it with her every move. Every glance. Every everything, and it had nothing to do with the claim. Buffy hid nothing from him. She’d been so hurt so recently, and yet she offered herself to him completely. No worries. No second-thoughts. She loved him.
There was nothing in the world quite like that knowledge. For the first time in a century, he held something precious in his hands. Something pure. Something more than what he was. Buffy’s love was everything he’d never thought to touch, and any threat to it—even those he imagined—made the demon roar.
Adding stress to his mate’s life now was not in the least beneficial. She didn’t need an impending verbal crucifixion weighing on her shoulders as she went in to save the world and confront the bloke who had ripped away her innocence.
The Watcher was still looking at him as though he’d singly masterminded the Holocaust, and Spike felt his patience running thin. For as much as the rational part of his brain told him to suffer through it—that Buffy was worth a world of animosity—he increasingly felt like the proverbial cornered animal. It was only a matter of time before he lashed out.
“Very well,” Giles said finally, nodding to Willow in agreement. “You’re right, of course. Angel takes priority. All else can wait until the apocalypse is off-course.”
Spike couldn’t help himself at that. He was too irritated to give a bleeding fuck about appearances, now. “The fact that I jus’ said the exact same thing doesn’ mean rot to you wankers, does it?”
“Not really, no.”
“You bloody hypocrite.”
Buffy covered his hand supportively and squeezed. “Don’t worry about him,” she said loudly, earning a scalding glare from her Watcher that likely bothered her more than she let on. “Really…let’s just get this over with. The more time we spend here, the less time you and I have for patrol. I’m really all for stopping Angelus before the ritual, and the more time we spend here, the less I see that happening.”
Cordelia sighed stridently and rolled her eyes. “Oh, would you guys give it a rest?! We’ve been here for twenty minutes and all you people have done is repeat what the last person said. Angel. Ritual. Big demon. Apocalypse?” She turned to Giles. “I’m guessing the removal of the sword begins the badness?”
“Whoa,” Xander said.
The Watcher looked at her for a dazed minute, then flushed and nodded. “If I remember correctly, the ritual discusses a sacrifice. The blood that is supposed to initiate Acathla’s awakening.”
“Angelus needs a blood sacrifice?” Buffy sighed and elbowed Spike in the ribs. “What is it with you people and blood sacrifices?”
“Comes with the territory, pet. ‘F you don’ know by now, I think you’re in the wrong profession.”
“Especially if you’re going to be so liberal in the application of the word ‘people,’” Giles added disapprovingly. He turned back to Cordelia before either of them could respond. “I believe the ritual is deliberately misleading in the definition of ‘blood sacrifice.’ If we’re lucky, Angel will be prone to believe that a ceremonial killing is involved.”
“Lucky?” Buffy spat incredulously.
“Lucky as in…he will be wrong, and the world will not be destroyed.”
“Lucky as in someone’s gonna get killed ‘cause Angelus doesn’t believe in Cliff’s Notes?”
“There’s a chance to prevent him from killing at all.” Giles paused, frowning, and cast a pointed glare in Spike’s direction. “And as it is, I don’t see where you have room to talk.”
Buffy stiffened. “Stop it,” she said quietly.
“I don’t—”
“No, Giles. Stop it.” The room suddenly fell deathly still. “I know this is hard for you. I know you don’t approve. I know that you likely will never approve. However, newsflash, my life. My life, my Calling—as in, not yours. Thank you. The End.”
A storm besieged Giles’s eyes. “Yes, well,” he replied in a low tone, removing his glasses. “I’d be more prone to agree with you if your recent decisions concerning your life and Calling hadn’t resulted in the careless desouling of one of history’s most infamous vampires. Your choices tell me that you don’t care about the blood he’s spilt so much as you do about your own happiness, so don’t lecture me on my willingness to sacrifice one life for the benefit of the whole.”
There were several degrees to fury; Spike knew this from experience. And while he was hardly the most tempered example in history’s pages, it generally took a lot for his wrath to reach its peak. In a simple matter of seconds, Giles had surpassed every degree, and was aiming for a new record. “That’s enough!” Spike snarled, his face shifting. “You—”
“Spike—stop.” The resolve in her voice didn’t betray how hard she was shaking, and just like that, he found himself overwhelmed with her determination. She was a pillar of force—a tower of fortitude that had him thoroughly floored. A century of disconnect from humans, and he’d somehow forgotten how strong they were. How much they could give when it was necessary, and how deeply they could hurt.
“Giles,” she continued, her voice low and dangerous. It was a tone Spike had never heard her take before, even with her enemies, and the power she displayed with mere words was enough to make the heavens tremble. “This isn’t up for discussion. Not now. Not ever. I can’t help it if you have a problem with it. Spike is…well, we’re together. And we’re gonna stay together. He’s gonna help me save the world.”
“And then run back to Morticia?” Xander barked. “Once the competition’s gone, the insane-girlfriend thing—”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Knock it off, White Bread. I left her.”
“Because of Angel.”
“Because she’s a cold-hearted, unfeelin’ bitch who used me for a century.”
“Yes…and you just figured that out when she started knocking boots with Angel?”
A snarl tore at his throat. The next thing he knew, he had relinquished his hold on his mate and was dangerously close to storming up to the boy and giving him the scare he so richly deserved. And perhaps he would have, had Buffy not seized his wrist sharply and tugged him back to her side.
He felt the sting of her jealousy, and it surprised him so much that he nearly fell over. Not for all the reading he’d done did he ever expect to feel so much through their connection. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but he could definitely feel her feelings. In time, he knew, she would develop walls to block him from sensing her moods—sensing everything—as it was the way of other vampires.
Feeling her envy of a woman he wouldn’t touch again for all the blood in the world wasn’t the heady experience he’d expected. Rather, it left him feeling hollow and crestfallen. He loved Buffy too much to let her believe that he would ever want anything but what he had with her right now. He wanted to banish her jealousy. Right now. This second. Prove to her—to everyone—that what he had with her was worth more than all the time the world could have offered him with his maker.
“What happened is none of your sodding business,” he said coldly. “I left Dru for me.” He paused and squeezed Buffy’s hand. “But your slayer gave me strength.”
“Must be all that blood she’s donating.”
“Okay, that’s it.” The surge of rage that tore through him was foreign for both its strength and the face behind it. The next thing Spike knew, Buffy was across the room, decking her friend in the eye with such force that he flew—quite literally—across the check-out counter and crashed haphazardly against the wall. “Is it going to take the world ending for you guys to shut the hell up?” she screamed, ignoring the roomful of stunned looks. “Spike and I are together. We’re mated. Hell, we’re in love. It’s not my problem if you can’t accept that. You know what my problem is? The world ending. Anyone here want to see the world end?”
Xander slowly peeked over the countertop but didn’t rise fully to his feet. No one else moved or spoke. They all just stared.
Spike held back a chuckle. He might be new to this ‘claimed’ thing, but he knew that attacking one’s mate, be it verbally or physically, was dangerous business. Especially when dealing with a newly mated couple—those who hadn’t developed the experience to control their baser emotions.
Her friends were in for it if they didn’t watch themselves.
“Yeah,” she continued with a short nod. “Didn’t think so. You can hate me all you want, but keep it to yourself. And hey! After we’ve stopped the apocalypse, you guys can all go back to pretending like my life should be run by committee. I don’t need any lectures. I don’t need any interventions. I don’t need anything but a little help in keeping the world from not being sucked into Hell. If anyone has a problem with that…” She pointed demonstratively. “There’s the door.”
The library fell silent amidst shock and wonder, and Spike was certain that he’d never seen her look so glorious. Her eyes were on fire. Her chest was heaving. Her expression was fueled with angry determination. It would crash down on her later; he knew that as well as he knew anything. The lack of support from her Watcher—the bloke that was practically her surrogate father—would be crippling once the rage was gone. Once she fell from her high. After this was over, Spike reckoned it might be wise to step aside for a while and let her piece her relationships back together—though as a mate, he wasn’t sure if that were possible. His first impulse was to comfort her, followed closely by his need to repay those that had caused her pain.
And even if he did melt into the background for a while—didn’t accompany her when she went out with her chums and did the things that girls did when they were her age—he knew simply from standing with her that things would never be the same. Buffy had asked him to tie them together, and he had. Their destinies were the same now, and nothing could change that. She’d accepted him. She’d accepted his claim, and now she belonged to him.
He would simply have to guard his temper, lest he made things worse.
“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. She reached for his hand, but didn’t look at him, and he was at her side in a heartbeat. Her fingers curled through his and squeezed; he was encompassed in warmth. “Willow…start putting the stuff together. Whatever you need to reensoul Angel. Spike and I are going to go patrol.” She turned to Giles. “And you…I need you to tell me how to stop Acathla. If we can’t get to Angelus in time and he starts the ritual, I need to know how to stop it.” A beat. “We’ll be back in two hours. Have some answers ready.”
Buffy turned on her heel without missing a beat and led him out of the library. And as they stepped out beneath the night sky, after the shadows of disapproval ceased their chase, she stopped and turned to kiss him. Telling him without words that she was okay. That they had survived the first hurdle of this new thing together.
That was all he needed. Spike moaned and melted into her, and that was all he needed.
Words could wait. He had her hand in his, her mouth teasing his mouth. He was at her side—where he belonged—and words could wait.
*~*~*
She honestly didn’t know when he’d become so fucking obsessed with ending the world.
Darla had never suspected that she would become one to pine for the good ole days. Four hundred years, and she had welcomed each new passing century as enthusiastically as the next. Time was a wonderful, boundless thing that could not be rationalized nor controlled. She was, after all, a proponent of chaos, and time was in chaos’s corner. She adored watching nations rise and fall—she had followed church collapses, had defiled priests, and introduced the profane into every realm of the known Sacred. The past century had given her independence, even where independence was not wanted. She had learned to live without Angelus—and until just a few years earlier, without the Master.
And yet, despite her love of independence, she had missed Angelus. She’d missed his creativity, his wit, his brutality—oh God, she’d missed his brutality. The face of the monster she’d loved so much, watching as he slaughtered children in front of their parents, just to bathe in their pain. Watching as he made people bleed just to remind them of their own filthy mortality.
She’d missed him; there was no denying that. And now she had him back.
She had him back, but he wasn’t the same. Angelus had never before shown a lasting interest in ending the world. True, he had always been more ambitious than any other vampire she’d known—Master included—but he had never thought to obliterate the whole when it was so much more fun to destroy in segments. He liked torment. He liked pain. He wanted his enemies to fear him and his allies to fear him more. Ending the world, while a fun thought, simply wasn’t Angelus. Not the Angelus she knew.
He was over-compensating. And it wasn’t that Darla couldn’t understand how confining a soul could be. Hell, watching him had been painful enough. Making kissy-face with the Slayer—what a fucking abomination. But God, it wasn’t as though he had anything to prove. Not to her. All she wanted was a dead slayer and maybe a night on the town. It wasn’t too much to ask.
But he wasn’t listening to her. A century trapped within a soul, and Angelus stopped listening to her. He wanted the world to end—he was set on it.
Dru thought it was brilliant, of course. She clapped and sang and told her daddy how much she was looking forward to dancing with the devil. She twirled around with her dollies and whispered to the stars. Fucking halfwit would have done anything her precious sire asked of her. Even drenched in soul, she had wanted him. Tormented Spike to death, but then, Darla had always found that part funny.
And as tragic as it was, there was nothing funny about the world ending. Nothing funny at all.
Darla heaved a sigh and eyed the dormant statue wearily.
Angelus was going to try for Armageddon, and there was little she could do about it. Any attempt to stop Angelus would be suicidal. He’d kill her if she tried to thwart him—and even with her advanced age working in her favor, he was stronger than her—stronger than any vampire she’d known. As it was, even if she managed to dust him before he dusted her, Darla wasn’t fool enough to believe she could escape the mansion unscathed. Not while it crawled with cronies that were loyal to Angelus’s cause.
There was little she could do.
The end of the world was coming. Angelus was going to destroy them all with his ego.
And all she could do was watch.
TBC
| | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XIII | | | | - abc + + | | | Part XIII
“You’re not goin’ alone.”
Spike had been saying it for the past ten minutes, as though repetition would induce her to listen to him. As it was, it was a miracle that there wasn’t a trench in the middle of the library for as heavy as his paces were. His concern ripped through her body in torrents, accompanied with the sharpness of his outrage that Angelus would make such a demand of her. He knew what his grandsire was trying to do just as well as she did, and as he’d told her adamantly, he wasn’t going to allow it.
“He wants you in the open. He’s playin’ you, luv. I’ve seen this happen countless bloody times, an’ it’s always the same!”
“Don’t you think he knows that you know that you’ve seen him do this? The immolation-o-gram was pretty specific. No one but me.” She shivered and glanced to Giles, his eyes heavy and sullen, lost in thought. “What do you think?”
Giles was quiet for a long minute. “I don’t think you should go alone,” he said softly. “It would be best if Spike was with you.”
“And if Angelus doesn’t show?” Buffy shook her head. She deliberately chose to ignore the rush of pleased surprise that came from her Watcher’s open acknowledgment that her mate came with at least some benefits. In the two days that had passed since the huge blow-up, she and her friends had tentatively attempted to patch things back together—though Xander always looked on edge whenever she moved, as though his presence alone was enough to warrant another black eye. “If I go with Spike, Angelus will know it before we even set foot in the cemetery, and then this whole thing is blown.
“We just need to buy time before he attempts the ritual,” Giles argued. “His coming to you indicates that the ritual is near completion.”
“The good version or the wonky version, Jeeves?” Spike asked, jamming a cigarette between his lips.
“Hopefully the…there is no smoking on school property.”
The vampire arched a flawless brow, blatantly unapologetic, and lit up. “’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Giles stared at him for a long minute, then heaved out a defeated breath and shook his head, wearily eying Buffy. “Once the apocalypse is over,” he said slowly, “I think it might be best for everyone if he…doesn’t accompany you when you see me for a while.”
She offered a dry grin. “Please, Giles. He’s my boyfriend, not my escort. The only reason he’s here is because of Angelus, anyway.”
“I assure you, Watcher,” Spike added, puffing out a pillar of smoke. “Once the enormous ponce is dust, you won’ see me ’til the world needs savin’ again.”
“Could I get that in writing?”
“Guys!” Buffy tossed up her hands in frustration. “Could you two possibly put your mutual bitch-out on pause?”
Spike cast his eyes downward and kicked at the floor. “He started it,” he pouted.
“I most certainly did not! You little—”
Buffy sighed and shook her head. “You guys are impossible. The both of you.”
“That’s not fair,” Giles complained. “Spike is much more impossible than I am. Honestly.”
“Right now, it’s pretty much a tie.” She paused then, and grinned weakly at the mopey look her mate was giving her. If nothing else, he certainly knew how to calm her when her nerves were on the fritz. “But Spike gets extra points for being so kissably cute.”
He smirked, tossing his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “I am not cute.”
“I’ll second that,” Giles offered, his face suddenly buried in a book. In the last two days, that had become the norm. Heated banter, then a series of uncomfortable looks as the newness of the claim got the better of Buffy and Spike, and they began making out like crazy.
“Totally cute,” Buffy argued, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss him. His mouth was within perfect kissing distance if she leaned upward. He didn’t have to crane his neck or anything. It was just one reason out of a bajillion that it was a totally good thing that she’d fallen head over heels for Spike.
Well, it was one good thing out of a litany of good things. His sinfully delicious lips were certainly a bonus. Plus that whimpering sound he made when she caressed his tongue with hers. The way he held her with such need, poured himself into her so openly. It had taken a few days, but she had Spike as she wanted him—sharing himself with her. The claim had her burning for him in ways she had never thought possible, and for every taste she got, she only lived to want more.
Giles was pleasantly silent for a few seconds, but only a few seconds. She wasn’t at all surprised when he huffed irritably and cleared his throat. “I—umm…oh, will you two stop it?”
Buffy paused, breaking her lips from her mate’s with a scowl. “God, Giles,” she grumbled. “Spoilsport.”
“Apocalypse,” he retorted, waving a hand. “Need I remind you that Angel is expecting you in less than a half hour?”
He was quiet as her conscience got the better of her, as she knew that he knew it would. Slowly, she forced herself to untangle herself from Spike’s arms, putting an inch between them. Okay, less than inch. Half a centimeter, really. Giles wasn’t going to get anymore than that.
“I do think it best if Spike accompanies you,” the Watcher continued. “Angel wants you to meet him alone for a reason. If he had the means to end the world between now and seeing you, I rather doubt he’d put his apocalypse on hold.”
“Right,” the vampire retorted, rolling his eyes. “’Cause you know the bloke so well.”
“I’ve read my fair share on Angel, yes.”
“If that was the case, you’d know to call him Angelus. Angel’s the git that moped an’ sobbed an’…” There was a brief pause at that. Spike’s jaw ticked, and he tossed Buffy a long look. She knew what he was thinking just from the sudden tension in his shoulders, and though her brief intimacy with Angel wasn’t exactly on the roster of things to be proud of, she wouldn’t have Spike now had it not been for that horrible night.
It was amazing, though, how he could make her feel guilty for something that brought them together. And she knew he didn’t know it—he didn’t realize what he was doing anymore than she realized it when she found herself seething with Dru-envy. Their respective pasts were just something they were going to have to deal with. And either way, all that mattered was that they belonged to each other now.
Spike exhaled slowly and shook his head. “Angel’s not Angelus. I told the Slayer as much in the beginnin’.”
Giles arched a brow. “Beginning?”
“Our beginnin’. When we din’t know it was the beginnin’ of anything.” A beat. “Angelus isn’t Angel. He’s reactin’ right now ‘cause he feels like he’s been tainted, yeah, but he’s not Angel. I’ve seen them both, mate. Angel had monster in him—a lot of it, but you can’t say that Angelus has soul.”
The Watcher was quiet for a long minute. “I don’t see what that has to do with Angel—Angelus’s willingness to put Armageddon on hold. If he has the means to end the world right now, why bother contacting Buffy?”
“’Cause he has a yen for her. Come on, mate. You said you read his history: did you jus’ skip over what he does to birds he has a yen for?” Spike sighed and shook his head. “He’s bloody obsessed with her. He hates her ‘cause of what she made him feel, but he’s intrigued, an’ he hates her more for intriguin’ him. He wants to be the one to end her…all up close an’ personal like. He said so right after me an’ Dru pieced the Judge together. Right after he came back, yeh?”
Buffy shuddered. She knew she should be ashamed that, out of the whole revelation, the only thing she could react to was the mention of Dru, even if Angelus’s obsession with her wasn’t exactly news.
It hadn’t been that long since she and Spike had hated each other. It was so easy to forget that they hadn’t been together forever.
Giles didn’t miss it, of course. His eyes darkened predictably, though to her surprise, he declined to make a thing out of it. “All right,” he said, his tone low. “Still, that doesn’t take anything away from my point. Angelus clearly wants Buffy there alone. He’s all but threatening her if she refuses to comply. Does going there alone sound like a good idea to you?”
“Absolutely not, mate. I’m on your side.” He paused. “In fact, the only reason I think it’s a good idea to go at all is to see if Angelus talks. If he’s as bloody over-confident as I’m guessin’ he is, he might give somethin’ up. Point out a weakness.”
There was an aggravated sigh. “You self-righteous wanker.”
“Oi! What did I do?”
“Wasted ten minutes of our time explaining something that matters very little in the grand scheme of the world ending!”
Buffy’s brows perked. “Oh,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “As opposed to you wasting a whole day and a half in the oh-no-my-slayer-mated-a-vampire-woe-is-me thing?”
“We’re still cleaning up the mess from your last boyfriend, Buffy! People have died. Jenny died.” At that, Giles sobered and glanced down, his voice cracking. “Jenny died,” he repeated. “And I realize that Spike is receiving the brunt of my hatred for Angel, but honestly, how did you think I would react? This…your mate beat you to within an inch of your life all of eight days ago. Now you’re in love and claimed and pardon me if that’s a bit much to take on faith.”
“You think I’d claim her if I din’t love her?” Spike demanded.
“Knowing what I know of your history…no.” He sighed heavily. “Forgive me if this is going to take a few…months to get used to. My Slayer dropped another bombshell while we’re still covered in debris. It’s…difficult.” A pause. “I never thought when I asked you to perform the protection ritual that this would happen. It was too soon. I thought you would refuse—flatly—and yet—”
“This would’ve happened eventually,” Buffy objected, and she received a warm, loving look from Spike at her assertion. As though there could ever be any doubt. “The ritual…he claimed me and then told me what it meant. I hadn’t accepted, though, so he said it was all right. That it would go away. Then he…while we were…I asked him to do it again, and he didn’t want to. And I asked until he gave in. I wanted it, Giles. He told me exactly what I was getting into after the first time. It wasn’t…he hadn’t planned it. It just kinda happened, and then he promised it would wear off, but I didn’t want it to. I had to talk him into doing it again. So please…don’t be angry with Spike. Not for that, at least. And not for loving me. He’s given me more strength in the past few days than I’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter how we started, or why. We’re here now.”
There was a long, still beat.
“God, I love you,” Spike rumbled.
Buffy blushed and buried her face in his shoulder. “Well,” she said, “it’s true.”
He purred contentedly and kissed her crown, wrapping an arm around his waist, and she was enveloped in warmth.
Another long, awkward pause; Giles cleared his throat. “It’s also true that Angelus is expecting to meet you soon,” he said. “And that we have a curse to attempt to not completely bugger up. And given the way things have been in the past few days, I think it wise if you two make yourselves scarce before Willow and Xander arrive with the others.”
“Arrive? Here?” Spike arched a brow. “Why are they arrivin’ here?”
Giles just looked at him. “To do the curse,” he said slowly.
“Are you completely out of your mind?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Spike stared him down for a long few seconds, then broke away and shook his head with a derisive laugh. “This is a bloody school, you stupid arse. As in, no invite needed? An’ as you keep bloody sayin’, Angelus killed the teacher. He did it here. In the school, an’ he did it ‘cause Dru had a vision about what she was tryin’ to do.”
From the look on Giles’s face, Buffy could tell that a line had been crossed. A necessary line. She was ashamed that the same hadn’t occurred to her. After all, Ms. Calendar’s computer had been found in flames, and she knew that Angelus had been the one to stage the scene at Giles’s house. Why it had never occurred to her that the teacher had died in the halls of Sunnydale High, she didn’t know. Aside from the computer, there had been no signs of struggle. None that were made public, as it were.
Once the Watcher had his temper under control, he offered a short nod. “Very well,” he said softly. “Where would you suggest?”
“Not Buffy’s,” Spike said. “Your place.”
“My place?”
Spike arched a brow. “Buffy’s mum’s gonna be home soon. You wanna be the one to explain to her why the school librarian and all her daughter’s chums are performin’ a voodoo ritual in her livin’ room? Oh, an’ why Buffy isn’t there playin’ hostess?”
“It’s not voodoo,” Giles objected.
“You really think that’s gonna matter?”
“Well…no.”
The vampire nodded, satisfied. “All right, then.” He turned to Buffy and reached for her hand. “Then we’re going to meet Angelus.”
A frown creased her brow. “Spike—”
“You’re not meetin’ that wanker alone. Not when we know that’s exactly what he wants.” He and Giles exchanged a knowing glance. “What if he’s deliberately tryin’ to separate us? He knows we’re mated, luv. He’ll have sensed it.”
“How?”
“Grandsire.”
“You vampires are all freaks.”
Spike offered a sardonic grin. “Point is, he’ll have sensed it. An’ if he hurts you, he hurts me. An’ though your friends have a bit more talent in the realm of demon huntin’ than anyone else in this pissant town, he knows that if he’s gonna be stopped, it’s gonna be by you an’ me. Plus…” He stepped forward, squeezing her hand. “I’m not about to let you outta my sight.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Won’ stop a bloke from worryin’.”
Her insides had developed the annoying habit of melting on spot every time he looked at her like that. And logic aside, she knew that she would feel the exact same way were the tables turned. All the strength in the world couldn’t ease the ache of a worried lover.
Furthermore, he had a point. A very, very good point. It was foolish to go alone, especially if that’s exactly what Angelus wanted her to do.
“All right,” she agreed softly. “All right. You’re right. It’s…it’d be dumb to go alone.”
“Treasure that,” her Watcher said with a cough. “You won’t hear her admit she’s wrong again.”
Buffy smirked. “Thanks, Giles. You should get moving, too. Go get Xander and Will and whoever else and head over to your place.” She tossed a glance to the window. “Sun’s going down.”
“Which means we have a date to keep,” Spike agreed. “Come on, sweetling. Angelus is a stickler for punctuality.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. You can imagine how much I care.”
“Buffy…”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She turned back to Giles. “Go. Now. I want you at your place before the sun sets.”
“I’m gone.”
She nodded, squeezing Spike’s hand again, and reveled in the comfort of his proffered strength.
“So are we.”
*~*~*
There were reasons that Giles invited them over so infrequently, and most centered on Xander’s penchant for touching things. He supposed the boy’s determination to get a feel for every weapon in the flat was compensation for having so few male friends. He’d be fortunate if all of his so-called “good” weapons weren’t thoroughly worn and useless by the time he had his home back from the invading teenagers.
Moreover, Xander’s recent stint as a soldier had him thinking, for whatever reason, that he was the expert on all weaponry rather than simply guns and other phallus-shaped instruments that made a large noise when activated. Twice now, Giles had barked at him to leave the lance alone, and to please not point the crossbow at the antique vase that sat precariously on a stand next to his library shelf.
“Oh come on, G-Man,” Xander objected. “How old can that thing be?”
Giles arched a brow. “It dates to 325 A.D, and for the money I spent, I could have put the lot of you through college. Now please, put my crossbow down.”
The color drained from the boy’s face, and he quickly obliged. He plopped down on the settee next to his girlfriend, who rolled her eyes and checked her watch.
“Willow is putting the last ingredients together,” Giles assured her. “We’ll get started soon enough.”
“Yeah,” Xander added weakly. “Besides, who wants to rush the apocalypse?”
“I’m not being impatient,” Cordelia said. Then paused. “Well, yes, maybe a little impatient. I don’t like sitting around here, watching my boyfriend get scolded while the world could get sucked into hell at any moment. And could Willow’s ingredients smell any worse?”
“Oh, they could,” Giles replied, his brows arched. “So let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”
Willow and Oz emerged from the kitchen then, each equipped with a tray.
“Smelly-herb man,” Cordelia observed.
Oz shrugged. “I do what I can.”
Xander frowned and waved a hand in front of his nose. “Don’t werewolves have a heightened sense of smell?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged again. “It’s okay. I’m manly.”
Willow shot him a proud grin. “Yes. Oz is all man. Man enough for smelly herbs.” She glanced back to Giles. “Where should we put these?”
“Here on the floor. The text indicates that we need a sacred circle.” He paused. “Xander and Oz will sit with you. Cordelia…I don’t suppose the impending annihilation of Earth would persuade you to wave around the…erm…smelly herbs?”
She threw her hands up. “Hey. I can sacrifice my nose for the planet. I’m not that shallow.”
Xander turned to beam at Willow. “She’s all man, too.”
“Oh, bite me so hard.”
Giles cleared his throat and tried not to grin. “All right. We should try this now.” He nodded at Willow. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with channeling so much power?”
“No,” she replied, her voice slightly shrill. “But I think I can do it.”
“Very well, then. Let’s all—”
It all happened quickly. Very quickly. The alarm sounded just seconds before the smoke from the upper level permeated into the living room, clouding over the herbs in simple seconds. And despite the sinking sensation in his stomach, an eerie calm overcame him as he rose to his feet.
“Giles…” Willow began, her voice shaking as she sniffed at the air. “Is that…that’s not—”
“It is,” he replied. “Xander, you may take the crossbow now. Everyone—outside.”
“What the—”
“Outside!” he yelled.
There was a certain measure of acceptance. Spike’s warning had prepared him. Thus when he found himself staring into Drusilla’s yellow, angry eyes, there was nothing but seasoned recognition.
“Giles!” Willow was at his arm, tugging at him like a child. “We can’t—”
“Kill the others,” Drusilla said loudly to the fanged cronies behind her. “Daddy needs the professor.”
The piercing crash of shattered glass exploded through the air, and Giles’s home went up in flames.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XIV | | | | - abc + + | | | Part XIV
They had only been mated for a few days, but Buffy could already tell that Spike’s overprotective streak had just as much potential to annoy as it did to fill her insides with warmth. Right now, he was being so possessive and vampire-y that she was half tempted to shove him into the nearest mausoleum and seal it shut until the upcoming confrontation was in the past.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love him to pieces for his protectiveness, but it was a little smothering when she could so take him in a fight.
“Spike, for the last time—”
“He’s gonna sense me there, anyway, pet. I don’ see why—”
“—you’re going to have to stay back until it—”
“—we’re even goin’ for the ‘gotcha’ routine. The second I step into the soddin’ graveyard—”
“—becomes absolutely clear that I need—”
“—the gig’s gonna be up. Honestly, one would think—”
Buffy stopped and stomped effectively. “Oh, will you please be quiet? Seriously, Spike, this is only going to work if you—”
He held up a hand, tugging at her with his other until they fell into pace again. “’S not gonna work—period. Oh, don’ gimme that look, pet, you know it as well as I do. Angelus isn’t gonna fall for anythin’. He din’t crawl out of the grave yesterday. If I’m with you, he’s gonna know I’m with you. Doesn’ bloody matter how crafty you are.” He paused. “Really, sweetling, I think he’d be disappointed if you showed up alone. Angelus doesn’ like complacent bait. An’ if you try to pull the wool over his eyes, he’s jus’ gonna be pissed.”
“I think we’re running that risk either way.” Buffy sighed and crossed her arms, shivering despite the southern California heat. “I don’t get why he wants to see me at all,” she said. “It’s not like he needs my permission to destroy the world.”
“No,” Spike agreed, his tone soft as he reached up to stroke her back reassuringly. “But he is drawn to you.”
“Phooey.”
He arched a brow. “You think I’m kiddin’? Fuck, pet, you’re all he talked about. Was drivin’ Darla outta her mind, an’ when Dru wasn’ beggin’ him for his dick, it annoyed her, too. He’s obsessed with you. He was inside purity an’ he can’t get over it.”
Buffy shuddered. “I don’t want him obsessed with me.”
“Believe me, sweetheart, I don’ want him obsessed with you, either. I know the way he gets when he’s obsessed. I’ve seen it.” Spike exhaled sharply and shook his head. “’S why I din’t want you comin’ by yourself. One of many, many reasons.”
“I still say I can handle myself,” she pouted.
Spike grinned and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I have no doubt.”
“Yeah, your overbearing protectiveness really speaks volumes for your confidence in my ability to handle myself.”
“Overbearin’?”
“A little overbearing.”
“Buffy, you’re gettin’ skittish at the thought of how obsessed with you this wanker is! How do you think you’ll handle yourself when—”
“Angelus has no power over me anymore. He can’t play the Angel card, ‘cause I’m not in love with Angel anymore.” She sighed. “And he knows he can’t do that…if he really can feel everything, he knows that you claimed me—”
“An’ since he considers you his personal property, he might feel a bit put out that I took what he sees as his. This might be a way to punish you, luv.” Spike frowned. “An’ if it is…trust me…you’re in no way prepared. He’s been playin’ with you up till this point—tryin’ to drive you daffy like he did Dru. Murderin’ the teacher, breakin’ into your house an’ makin’ sketches of your mum. Spillin’ the truth about poppin’ your cherry.”
Buffy fought off a grin at the jealousy that flashed across her lover’s face. As much as she hated the feeling, she loved it that he got all growly over Angel’s incredibly brief stake on her body. Spike’s possessiveness over her was something she was totally cool with—it empowered her with femininity and confidence. It still overwhelmed her that she could have any means to attract Spike at all—watching him wiggle because he knew that she had once loved another gave her authority that shook her to her core.
Spike shot her a sharp glance, his eyes narrowed. “Think it’s funny, do you?” he demanded.
She tried unsuccessfully to will away her grin. He was just so cute when he was jealous. “I didn’t say anything,” she replied innocently.
“’S not funny,” he retorted, the hand on her back sliding around her waist and hugging her to his side. “An’ I would demonstrate how thoroughly unfunny it is, but I won’ because I’m a gentleman.”
“Pshaw.”
“You’re pushin’ your luck, pet.”
Buffy’s mirth deepened, and she brushed a soft kiss against the nape of his throat, earning a long, sensual purr. “You know I love you, you big dummy,” she said. “And hey, you really can’t be mad that I had a boyfriend before you.”
Granted, the mention of her former boyfriend immediately conjured images of his former girlfriend. And just like that, her own words became her folly. Her stomach churned, and she suddenly experienced a violent twist of the ugly side of jealousy.
Lousy Drusilla.
Spike tossed her a knowing glance and smirked. “Doesn’ feel so good, does it?”
“How’d you know?”
“We’re mated now.”
Grumble. Of course. “Gah. That’s gonna get really old really fast.”
His smirk melted into a gentler smile, and he hugged her closer reassuringly. “Once this is all over, you an’ I’ll have to sneak away some weekend an’…practice blockin’ out our feelings from each other.”
“You can’t…read my thoughts, can you?”
Spike tossed her a coy glance and waggled his brows. “Why? You have some interesting ones?”
“Spike…”
“’S okay. I already knew I am a better shag than Angel.”
“SPIKE!”
“Li’l louder, pet, an’ every hope of a surprise attack’s gonna go out the window.”
“My God…” She shook her head and crossed her arms in a mock-pout, though she couldn’t keep herself from giggling when he tickled her side and nibbled affectionately at her neck. “Freak,” she said, though there was no venom behind it.
He was grinning like an idiot now, and he looked so happy and carefree that she couldn’t help the surge of pride that commanded her. Just a few days ago, he’d been a miserable shell of a man who couldn’t think but to destroy the source of his pain. He’d been fueled with agony and drunk with despair, and now he was happy-smiley-guy who totally loved her and made her burn every time he met her eyes.
“I can’t read your thoughts,” he finally admitted. “But I can sense how you’re feelin’. Since the claim is so new, I’m guessin’ all of your emotions are jus’ hittin’ me at full force.”
“Bad?”
“No. I rather like knowin’ when you’re horny.”
She blushed and glanced down. “Meanie.” A beat. “Why can’t I feel you and all of your pervy horniness?”
Spike was quiet for a moment. “’Cause you din’t claim me, sweetling.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“Why? You didn’t tell me…” Buffy jutted out her lower lip. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we’d done everything. I made it final, didn’t I? By accepting—”
“Yeah, luv. It’s final.”
“Then why—”
“Claimin’ me means you’d feel everythin’ I feel.” He paused meaningfully. “An’ I do mean everything. The bloodlust an’ the Buffylust. And then the lust for Buffy-blood. An’ everything in between.” Spike sighed and glanced to the ground. “I don’ know if I want you to know that about me yet.”
“Know what?”
“I’m a monster. You know it, yeh, but you haven’ felt it. I’d never want you to feel me feelin’ what I do, especially since we’re both so new to this.” He shook his head. “I’m evil, through an’ through. You might be my conscience, pet, but that doesn’ make the evil thoughts go away. They’re there—I jus’ stopped listenin’ to them.”
Buffy frowned. It wasn’t as though she didn’t understand his logic—because she was total understand-o girl. There was something incredibly wigsome in the idea that she might experience bloodlust via her connection to her mate. However, a larger part of her knew that the reward would completely justify whatever she had to put herself through to get to the good stuff. A part of being with Spike was accepting Spike as he was, and refusing to ignore the demon—the part of him that was and would always be evil and monstrous.
He was shielding her. She knew he was shielding her. As much as he loved and trusted her, there was a part of him that didn’t believe she could ever accept him wholly as he was.
Well, she wasn’t going to be chased off like that. It might be hard at first, but it’d be totally worth it in the end.
They were in this together, through and through.
“What if I said I wanted it?” she asked softly. “If I said it was worth it…I wanna share something like that with you.”
Spike drew in a sharp breath, tightening his arm around her middle. “You do share it with me, sweetling. Trust me, you’re gettin’ the better end of the deal. We have the connection, an’ you—”
“But I want—”
“You don’ know what it means.”
“I’ll find out.”
He paused sharply and shook his head. “You love me now.”
“I’ll love you still.”
“Maybe, but things are bloody perfect the way they are. I don’ wanna muck it up. I don’t want to risk you…lookin’ at me any different.” His head dipped and he kissed her brow, a ragged sigh shuddering through his body. “I want you to keep loving me.”
“I do.”
“Yes.”
“And even if—”
“Buffy, no. I can’t…” Spike drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “It’s too important to me. You can’t know that nothin’ will change, and I can’t risk losing you over somethin’ like this.”
“We’re mated. You can’t lose me.”
A small, poignant smile tickled his lips. “Oh, I can, luv. An’ then not only will you not love me anymore, but I’ll spend the rest of eternity knowin’ exactly how miserable you are. How much you hate me.”
“Spike, I won’t—”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you don’t know that the world will end if I claim you back.”
“Since I know how things are right now, I’m reasonably secure in sayin’ it’s better to stay like this forever than risk losin’ it all because I’m a vampire.” Spike sighed again, his shoulders rolling back. “Try to understand, luv, this is more than I’ve ever had. More than I ever thought I’d have…an’ the thought of jeopardizin’ what we have jus’…I can’t wrap my mind around it.”
“Spike—”
“You can’t be sure of anythin’. An’ I’m sure that havin’ you like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, an’ I’d just as soon dust as bet against the House.”
Buffy sighed and bit her lip. This wasn’t a fight she was going to win. Not right now.
But he was in for a big surprise if he thought the conversation was over.
*~*~*
He smelled her before he saw her, but that didn’t ward off the shock at all.
It happened just a few minutes after Buffy fell silent about the reciprocal claiming, and for that, Spike was glad. He felt her dissatisfaction as strongly as if it were his own, and had the terrible notion that he was dangerously close to giving in. And giving in was not an option—not when he knew that it could cost him everything.
Darla was not one to carry weapons. She was completely old-school in that regard, saw weapons as a weakness; she felt that anyone who relied on weapons was compensating for strength they didn’t truly possess. Spike supposed this was one of many reasons why it was so disconcerting to see her hand curled around the handle of a rather large, abrasive sword.
The look in her eyes didn’t do him any favors, either. The second her cold gaze met his, his fangs burst through his gums and his throat erupted with a snarl. “Oh, is that it?” he demanded. “A set-up?”
Buffy tensed at his side, whipping out a stake from her back pocket. “What the hell is this?” she demanded. “You two were gonna lure the Slayer out here and tag-team it? How pathetic are you?”
Darla stopped in her tracks, tossed Spike a dry look, and rolled her eyes. “Oh please,” she drawled. She kicked the stake out of Buffy’s hand without blinking, her hands coming up the next second in some mock-semblance of a truce. “If I was here to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”
“Over-confident bitch,” Buffy all but growled. “Just try it.”
“I reiterate, ‘oh please.’” She eyed Spike, thoroughly unimpressed. “Can’t you pull the reins on her or something? Or should I have come with the proverbial white flag?”
The Slayer balked. “Excuse me?”
“What the hell is this?” Spike snarled, struggling to push Buffy behind him as she collected her fallen stake. The fierce surge to protect his mate had overwhelmed his sense of logic. “Are you wankers so fucking desperate that you’re willin’ to pull anything?”
Darla blinked. “Wow, did you drop the ball, or what?”
“You smug—”
“You know what? You’re right. This was a bad, bad idea.” She shook her head and sighed emphatically, thrusting the sword into Spike’s arms. “There? Does that make you feel any better?”
He blinked dumbly and glanced to Buffy, then to the sword, then up again. “All right. You jus’ handed me a sword.”
“Wow, William. Can’t put anything past you.”
“What the hell is this?”
“That’s a sword.”
“I know that. What the hell is it doin’ in my hand?”
“Well, you were freaking out when I was holding it, so I gave it to you to make you feel better.” Darla flashed him a condescending smile, then glanced to Buffy and rolled her eyes again. “God, call your girlfriend off.”
Buffy smiled sweetly, her stake arm never faltering. “Sorry, honey. I’ve been told not to trust trash when it talks.”
“You know, any other day I’d rip your throat out, but since I don’t really care about you at the moment, I’m gonna let that slide.” She turned back to Spike and nodded at the sword. “A couple days ago, Dru got a vision from…oh, fuck if I know…the postman or something.”
He frowned. “What the hell—”
Darla held up a hand. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I’ve never pretended to understand her, and I’m not about to start now. Either way, her vision led us to the sword, which was intercepted on its way to Slutty the Vampire Layer’s watcher.”
In the world of all things Darla, the insult was rather tame. Incredibly tame. However, the demon within him roared in outrage, and the next thing he knew, Buffy’s arm was around his middle, keeping him from tearing his sanctimonious great-grandsire’s head off. “You fucking bitch!” he snarled. “I oughta rip your tongue out an’ shove it down your throat.”
Darla stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, but you’re on a leash.” She grinned at Buffy. “He really is incredibly easy to train, isn’t he?”
The Slayer’s eyes were cold and uncompromising. “Talk,” she said shortly. “Make it quick. Make it good. Make it worth my time, or I’ll add you to the pollen count.”
“Ohhh, feisty!”
“Talk!”
Darla’s eyes sparkled mischievously, but she nodded her compliance and exhaled slowly. “The sword is from…” She drifted off with a frown, then sniffed suspiciously at the air. “Oh my God!” she gasped, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Jesus, you claimed her?”
Spike and Buffy exchanged a skeptical glance. “You’re just now picking that up?” the Slayer asked.
“I make a point to ignore everything that I feel coming from Spike’s side of the Order.” She shook her head in disgust. “But goddamn, I thought you had at least some dignity. I mean, you finally got up the nerve to leave Dru, albeit dick-led by the Slayer, and you claim her?”
Spike was snarling again. “Talk,” he growled. “Or so help me, I will kill you.”
“It’d be funny to see you try.”
“The sword, Darla. You’re on borrowed time.”
“Right, right.” She rolled her eyes again. “The sword’s from the other slayer. She sent it a few days ago.”
Buffy froze, and Spike froze along with her. “What?” she demanded. “What did you do to Kendra? I swear to God—”
“Do you listen when other people talk, little girl? I told you—postman. Intercepted mail. There was some lame note saying that her watcher felt that you already had all the help you needed.” Darla shot a pointed look in Spike’s direction. “I’m assuming she meant you. The sword is…something to do with Acathla. It was blessed by the knight who killed him. I guess it was the fallback plan. If Angelus manages to wake him up…” She nodded at the sword. “This is probably the best way to stop it.”
Spike glanced down at the aforementioned sword, his brows perked. “Yeh, okay. An’ I’m holding it…why?”
“You know, I’d almost forgotten how thick you are. I was this close to forgetting.”
“Darla—”
“I want you to stop it. The end of the world. The apocalypse. My God, do you need me to spell it out for you?”
Buffy arched a brow. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh, were it so simple.”
“Lemme get this straight…you came out to meet us with a sword and we’re suddenly supposed to stop the apocalypse?”
“Yes.” Darla tossed her hands up. “I know, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. It’s your fault. You fucked with his head and now he needs to compensate for being a soul-drenched Slayer-fucking wimp for a century by, well, destroying the world. And as good an idea as that is on paper, I kinda happen to like the way things are now.” She glanced to the sword. “So there it is. You stop the end of the world, I’ll take Angelus somewhere and break him.”
“Break him?” Buffy repeated.
“Undo the damage you did.”
“Yeah, let me list the reasons that’s not happening. Starting with, oh yeah, he killed Ms. Calendar!”
Darla’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Let’s do it this way. You let us go or the world gets destroyed. He was mine first, and you’ve trained a new lapdog.”
Buffy made a face. “Oh please. It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I touch Angel again.”
“And here I thought you were still bitter that you got stuck with the consolation prize.”
Surprisingly, that didn’t bother him all that much. It stung, sure, but the pang was familiar now. He was tempered—controlled—and didn’t much give a damn what the old bitch said.
That didn’t explain the sudden urge of rage that coursed through him, or the predatory growl that tore through his mate’s throat. The next thing he knew, Buffy had torn herself from his side, and Darla was on the ground.
“You skanky ho-bitch, if you ever insult me or my mate again, I will personally rededicate the rest of my life to ruining the rest of yours. Do you get me?” She kicked the moaning vampire in the gut again. “Do you get me? I’ll chain you up some place and keep you alive until you’re begging to be dust. I’ll starve you until you rot, feed you, then starve you again. I’ll stick a stake in your chest just inches from your heart, and saw off your arms and legs so I can watch you wiggle. I’ll tear you apart. Understand? I’ll tear you apart.” Buffy flipped her over, delivering a vicious backhand. “You think I’m bluffing? Try me. So shut up and settle with the idea that, if I decide to go along with this crazy scheme of yours, you’re stuck with Angel and his needle-dick for the rest of your miserable, meaningless existence.”
Spike was dumbfounded. Absolutely dumbfounded.
Oh holy fuck.
She was feeding off him—feeding off of his demon, even when she couldn’t feel it. When she wasn’t supposedto be able to feel it. There was no other explanation. The fury in Buffy’s eyes wasn’t hers—not entirely. It was theirs; it was shared pain accumulated into mutual outrage. The words tumbling from her gorgeous lips weren’t hers, either. She was tapped into him—body and the other thing—and she felt everything that he felt.
Perhaps he was channeling it to her subconsciously. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t felt his own outrage—he’d poured everything he had into her.
“Buffy,” he said softly, stepping forward. “It’s all right.”
She glanced up, the haze leaving her eyes when she met his. “Huh?”
“It’s all right, sweetling. Let her up. She can’t hurt anyone right now.”
And she couldn’t. Darla was thoroughly defanged—defanged and humiliated. Her face was a mixture of bloody bruises and cuts, and she had to hold her stomach as she fought to her feet.
Spike stepped in front of Buffy again, handing her the sword. The rage had drained away, leaving her confused and shaken. Her eyes were on the ground. He didn’t want her to have to look at Darla again. She shouldn’t have to see what his fury had done—what he’d managed to accomplish simply by being her mate.
It wasn’t fair to her, especially when she didn’t understand what had just happened.
“Darla,” he said, his tone low. “Where is Angelus now?”
Spike had to admit that it was rather gratifying to watch his great-grandsire struggle to find words. She was battered and bleeding. Her blonde hair was streaked with red. And despite his shame, he felt a surge of pride at the thought that Buffy had enough of her own anger to do that to her. To stand up for him where Drusilla never had.
She’d hit her friend a few days ago, and now she’d practically ripped Darla apart.
“Where’s Angelus? I won’ ask again.”
“He’s…um…” She shook her head with a sigh. “He’s waiting for you. Restfield.”
“Why did he want to see me?” Buffy demanded, fighting to find her voice.
“It’s a diversion. He can’t get Acathla to wake up, and he needed you out in the open so that your friends would be somewhere unprotected.” At that, Darla straightened her shoulders and sighed, resolve setting in once more. “He wants your watcher.”
“Giles won’t talk,” the Slayer insisted. “And besides…they’re somewhere where Angelus can’t reach them. They’re at—”
“His house.” Darla sighed, appearing for the first time since Spike had known her to be thoroughly exhausted. “Wood is still flammable, right?”
Buffy inhaled sharply. “Oh God.”
“That’s right.”
Spike curled a hand around her wrist. “Buffy…”
There was no time to think. He felt it the second before she took off. The Slayer tore through the night like a silver bullet, and he was hot on her heels.
*~*~*
The sky was on fire. The lawn was littered with people; stupid, gawking people who wanted to watch the world burn its way into Hell.
She saw Oz before she saw anyone else, and ran so hard that her legs ached. He was on the ground just a few feet away from what had been Giles’s front door, cradling an unconscious Willow. There was no sense asking what had happened.
She’d walked into Angelus’s trap. God, she fell for it every single time.
“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, a hand going to her mouth. “Is she…?”
Oz shook his head. “No. The ambulance is on its way.”
“What about the boy?” Oh thank God. Spike was there. She’d nearly forgotten that he’d followed her. “Harris. Where is he?”
“He and Cordelia hopped into Cordy’s car to follow them.”
“Them?”
Oz glanced up. “Drusilla.”
Buffy froze and reality collapsed. “Giles,” she said.
Drusilla had Giles. Angelus had Giles. And the sky was on fire.
She glanced down. She still had the sword. Kendra’s sword. The one to stop Acathla.
The one to stop Angelus and Drusilla, and lay waste to her enemies.
They had her watcher. There would be no further negotiations.
All bets were off.
TBC | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XV | | | | - abc + + | | | A/N: Just two parts left!
Part XV
The crash to the floor made every cell in his body ache.
“I brought you a present, my sweet,” Drusilla cooed, brushing herself off. “Nasty doggy chased me home.”
Angelus arched a cool brow. “That Dalton?” he asked, his eyes following the cloud of dust that fell to the ground around Giles’s head.
“He wanted to be my prince.”
“Looks like he died a martyr. I swear, Dru, we lose more lackeys protecting your hide than we do fighting the fucking White Hats. Though honestly, I guess we should’ve guessed Dalton would be the one to get staked in the back.” The vampire grinned at that and stalked toward the sealed window, inhaling sharply. “Don’t tell me—it was—”
“The boy. The one I wanted.” Drusilla’s shoulders slumped and she dug her heel harder into the side of Giles’s head. He let out a pitiful, purely reactionary moan which seemed to please her, though the effect was fleeting. “He wanted to come to the circus, Daddy. He wanted to dance with the lions, but I would not let him.”
“Xander.” Angelus shook his head and stepped back, seemingly dismissing Giles entirely. “He really followed you?”
“He chased me down in a chariot.”
“Dru, we’ve been over this before. They’re called cars.”
“Don’t you like your present?” She fixed her heel over Giles’s throat and giggled. “He’s a bad, nasty dolly. He can’t join us for supper.”
“Ah, yes.” A slow, predatory smile crept over Angelus’s face as his eyes trailed downward to the librarian. “You did good, baby. This is exactly what I wanted.”
She squealed in delight and hopped over to her sire like a child eager for a treat. He kissed her savagely and squeezed her breast before returning his attention to the Watcher that littered his floor. “Ahhh, Rupert,” he said softly, a mocking note of fondness tagging his voice. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve wanted to see you bleeding on my rug.”
Giles rolled onto his back, gasping for breath.
The ceiling seemed so far away.
“The doggie’s gone back now,” Drusilla chimed melodically. “Back to fetch his master.” She huffed then. “She’ll spoil the milk for our party.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“My William is with her. He’s so very cross with you.”
Angelus’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I have a word or two I’d like to say to him at the moment. If little Buff and her trained lapdog decide to show up, well, it’ll be a real party then. In the meantime…” He glanced back to Giles and grinned. “Well, we need to figure out how to wake up the guest of honor.”
Giles looked up then—really looked up, and his eyes went wide with realization.
“Oh God,” he mumbled.
“No,” Angelus said softly, shaking his head. “God can’t help you here.”
That was the last thing he heard before the world faded to black.
*~*~*
She liked to maintain that she possessed a quiet dignity. While she flaunted and taunted and teased like any other self-respecting vampire, she similarly understood the necessity of subtlety. She hated that Angelus would know that she’d bled recently almost as much as she hated that she’d, well, bled recently. It was degrading, and the circumstances of her humiliation didn’t help matters any. She was crawling into the mansion, fresh from selling her lot to the enemy, and little Buffy had practically beaten her to a pulp.
Darla wasn’t especially surprised at her apathy, even if she had expected to feel more. The decision to betray Angelus had been an easy one. The human world had many flaws, and while she enjoyed watching her food wiggle, she had sense enough to know that she didn’t have what it took to withstand Hell. The actual Hell—that was a realm of darkness beyond her.
Should Angelus stop to think rationally rather than vengefully, he’d come to the same conclusion. And even if he never forgave her for siding with the enemy—she still couldn’t wrap her mind around that one herself—he’d at least come to appreciate the pride she’d sacrificed to offset his unbelievable bout of stupidity.
“You’re bleeding.”
Darla whirled around in surprise. Angelus shadowed the doorway. She hadn’t even sensed his approach, hadn’t bothered to close her chamber door. She had just peeled away her ripped blouse, and stood nude in the middle of the room, bare and vulnerable to his assessment.
“Your observational skills are astute as ever, my love,” she retorted after a delayed second, gathering her bearings. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
Her brows arched appraisingly. “Don’t tell me you suddenly care.”
A short, humorless chuckle rumbled through his throat, and he shook his head, taking a step forward. “Now, now. No need to get all pissy just because you got your ass handed to you by the Slayer.” He sniffed the air suspiciously. “Not Spike, though. He was there but he didn’t touch you.”
“He didn’t need to,” she grumbled, limping over to her vanity. The three-paneled mirror reflected only empty space, and yet, four hundred years had done little to quell her all-too-human habit of glancing upward to catch her likeness. The surprise to see nothing had long ago waned, but the habit itself showed no signs of following suit. At least not in this lifetime. “Mousy Little Buff took care of it herself.”
“Yeah. Here’s the thing, though.” Angelus lifted her silk robe off the end of her bed and held it out for her. “I don’t see why you were there in the first place. I thought we had an understanding.”
Darla rolled her eyes. “Well, God, Angelus, what did you expect from me? Dru’s so cock-up determined to impress you that she didn’t want grandmummy stealing her thunder when she went to snatch the old man. You’re heading off the Slayer. What the hell was I supposed to do? Sit here and knit?”
“So you decided to head out on your own?”
“Yes. I made a decision for myself. It’s this crazy thing I do from time to time.”
“I’m still not sure how your exercise in independence led to thwarting my killing of the Slayer.”
“It’s not like I have advanced knowledge of where she is and isn’t going to be. This is a small town, and unlike our resident psychic, I know basically as much as anyone else.” Darla sighed and flipped her hair. “I said something she didn’t like, and our newly mated friend just couldn’t contain herself.”
She was only moderately surprised when her reference to Buffy and Spike’s claiming ritual earned little more than a fleeting irritated look from Angelus. The past few days, he’d been screaming about a lot while he wasn’t planning the apocalypse, and chances were, his wayward grandchilde’s presumptions had made the top of the list. Not that she listened—unless directly addressed, Darla had adapted the habit of tuning him out. His constant bitching and exaggerated ego-trips had done little more than relegate him to a place of respect just slightly higher than Drusilla, and she did as much ignoring of people that irritated her as possible.
“So she beat you to a pulp,” he drawled instead.
“No, I’m just extremely partial to limping.”
“You let the Slayer beat you to a pulp.”
She tossed him a dirty look. “Seeing as she was likely channeling both Spike’s rage and his strength at the moment, I don’t think it’s particularly fair to say she beat me as much as she had an inequitable advantage.”
“What you’re telling me is you gave the pavement a fairly good mop-job with your ass.”
A growl tore through her throat. “Would you stop?”
“Why?”
“It’s humiliating.”
“Yeah, but you have to look at it this way.”
“What way?”
“It’s incredibly entertaining for me.” He reached out to finger the material of her robe, flashing her a predatory grin before fisting the lapels and baring her body to his hungry eyes. “Plus, I like seeing you bloody.”
“You like seeing me bloody because you know I hate it,” Darla retorted, shivering as he captured one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Despite her current uncertain status in the world of all things Angelus, he’d always had the uncanny ability to turn her into an annoying puddle of feminine goo whenever he touched her. Her reaction to Angelus had always been a source of frustration just as much as it was a source of pleasure. It just seemed wrong for someone as strong-willed as she was.
His icy lips grazed her throat. “I like seeing you bloody because it makes you smell delicious.”
“We don’t have time for this—”
“The apocalypse isn’t on a timetable, Darla.”
“Well, obviously.”
He lapped at a cut on her collarbone. “So I think we have all the time we like.”
“Angelus—”
The next thing she knew, she was against the wall, her legs hiked up around Angelus’s waist as he tugged at the fly to his trousers. She released a long gasp and dug her nails into his upper arms as the head of his cock slid against her folds before he grinned and thrust inside her.
“Gah!” She scowled and slapped his chest. “I wasn’t ready, you jackass.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before,” he snarled. “Me, either, for that matter.”
“Jackass.”
“Well, hold on tight, darlin’.” He withdrew sharply then slammed into her again. “’Cause I ain’t slowing down.”
Darla’s eyes fluttered shut and she arched against the wall, stretching her arms around his neck. “Apocalypse?”
“All the time in the world.”
*~*~*
“Buffy—Buffy!”
“I’m not slowing down, Spike. You’re just going to have to keep up.”
“Pet—”
“They have Giles. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“The part where you barge in like a maniac an’ get yourself killed.” Spike seized her wrist and jerked her to a fierce standstill. “Sweetheart, I know you’re brassed off, but you can’t jus’ go in there an’ start swingin’.”
“You want to watch me?”
“Buffy—”
“He has Giles.”
“Yeah, an’ I’m sure your bein’ dead is gonna go a long way in turnin’ that around.”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Believe it or not, luv, I don’ have superpowers.”
“And here I thought you did, thus the basis for the appeal of the whole vampire thing.”
Spike rolled his eyes, curling a hand around her upper arm. “Oh for Chrissake, pet, you know—will you bloody well slow down? I meant not more than the usual for my kind. An’ even so, I’m willin’ to bet that we’ll be outnumbered.”
Buffy’s anger melted just as quickly into frustration, stopping short when he tugged her to his side and shaking her head. “You’re just…I let him take Giles. I let him get the best of me and take Giles.”
He frowned. “Bollocks.”
“I let him—”
“You din’t let him do anythin’, sweetling. He wanted to get to Rupert, an’ so he did. There’s nothin’ you could’ve done about that. If it wasn’ this thing, he would’ve found another way.” Spike’s eyes softened and he brushed a kiss against her brow, and just like that, she felt a wave of calm wash through her. He had a way of making everything seem all right, no matter how bleak the world looked. “Angelus knows you’re anxious about meetin’ up with him an’ havin’ this bloody mess over with. That’s why he used himself as bait.”
“Which is why I fell for it.”
“We all fell for it, luv. It wasn’ just you.” Spike tugged her closer to him and kissed her temple. “Your lot did everythin’ they could. They relocated to a safe hold—”
“For all the good that did.”
“You did all you could. Honestly, Slayer, you’ve got to stop blamin’ yourself for every li’l thing. Like it or not, you’re not omniscient, you’re not all-powerful, an’ things are eventually gonna happen that you can’t help, much less predict.”
She exhaled and glanced down, her eyes falling to the sword in her hand. “And Darla?” she asked softly. “Can we be sure that Darla was telling us the truth?”
“No.”
Buffy frowned and slapped his shoulder. “Hey!”
“Ow!”
“Not much with the comfort, Mr. Man.”
Spike rolled his eyes and took her hand, tugging her back into the hasty stride toward the mansion. “I don’ think she was lyin’,” he explained quickly. “But what you asked me was if we could be sure, an’ of that we definitely can’t. Darla’s an evil bitch, but she’s not hankerin’ for the end of the world. An’ when he’s thinkin’ with a less crazy head, Angelus doesn’ want it, either.”
“So that means she’s willing to betray him?”
He shrugged. “She’s an odd bird to predict. She’s devoted to Angelus, but she doesn’ like answerin’ to anyone. She has an alliance to herself above all others. An’ since she came to you, I’m guessin’ that’s a fair indicator that she’s bein’ honest.”
“How do you figure?”
“Even if it was a ruse, Darla hates appearin’ weak. That an’ it’s too bloody, what’s the word…”
Buffy’s brows perked. “Lame?”
“Yeh. It’s one of those things that’s too lame to fall for, an’ Angelus would be more inventive than that.”
“Or maybe we’re just hoping that he’d think we’d think he’s more inventive than that.”
“That’s the million dollar question, then.”
She sighed again and fought off a grin, linking her arm through his. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said. “You sound silly.”
“I shouldn’t use American colloquialisms?”
Her nose wrinkled adorably. “Huh?”
Spike grinned. “Nothin’.”
There was simple quiet for several minutes. While her frustration with herself had subsided, she could do little to help her pounding heart or the sense of dread itching at her stomach. She had no idea what to expect—no idea if she could even count on seeing Giles alive again. She knew he’d die before he betrayed the secret to awakening Acathla, and that thought terrified her. Angelus had more patience than others, granted, but that didn’t mean he’d endure the silence of a defiant old man for endless hours before his temper flared and he hurled a lance through the Watcher’s chest.
Not to mention, once she knew whether or not saving Giles was a viable option, she still had a world to save and a vampire to destroy.
And then there was Drusilla. Buffy hazarded a glance at Spike. She knew how he felt about his sire, and despite the jealousy burning in her chest, she understood. Furthermore, her mate told her a couple of days ago that he didn’t want Drusilla to be dust, though he hadn’t said he’d stop her from rendering her as such. No, he’d let her dust Dru, but things might never be the same between them.
But if Dru insisted on becoming an obstacle to saving Giles, Buffy wasn’t going to sacrifice her surrogate father over her love for Spike.
A shuddering sigh hissed through her teeth when she saw the mansion. It stood against the black night like a castle in old horror films.
This was it, then.
Now or never.
She started to move forward, only to be tugged back into Spike’s arms, his mouth suddenly on hers, his arms cradling her to his body. He kissed her desperately, urgently, and it suddenly occurred to her that this might be the last time she knew the simple bliss of his embrace. She could die. He could die. The world could end.
Though that was a moot point. If he died, her would world end, anyway.
Though there was something in his kiss; the way his lips moved over hers only fueled her determination.
“I love you,” he whispered raggedly, kissing her again. “I love you. I don’ tell you enough.”
“You tell me all the time.”
“Could never be enough.” He trembled against her and pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. “Jus’…no matter what, baby. No matter what. I love you.”
There wasn’t one nerve in her body that didn’t hum with delight. “I love you, too.”
“So whaddya say we stop this apocalypse, save the old man, then I take you home an’ shag you until you can’t walk?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Sounds brilliant.”
“That settles it, then.” He kissed her again before releasing his hold, patting her hand encouragingly. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can do the other.”
Buffy grinned and nodded.
No matter what, it seemed, Spike could inspire her with hope. She just hoped it wasn’t false.
Still, false hope was better than no hope at all.
*~*~*
He didn’t like thinking about what he was about to do, but really, Darla had left him no choice.
There were many things about her that he would miss. The way she laughed when she was torturing children. The way she rolled her eyes whenever Drusilla opened her mouth. The way she stroked him at night when she thought he was asleep. The century without him, it seemed, had made her more affectionate. Not to his face, of course, but when the mansion rested and she was curled at his side, he’d feel her cold hands mapping out the contours of his body. He knew her touch so well. So incredibly well, and he’d miss it.
He’d miss this, though, most of all. The way she clawed at his back as he fucked her. The way she sliced her fangs into his chest and feasted, her vaginal muscles squeezing the life back into his cock as she cooed her pleasure. The way she encouraged his own fangs to her already bloody and broken body, and the way she cried out when he gave her want she wanted.
He hadn’t wanted to believe Dru when the vision hit. God, how he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Angelus had seen much betrayal over the past couple hundred years; had orchestrated a coup once or a thousand times, but never against his maker. Never against the one he seemed destined to share eternity with. And honestly, he didn’t know what she was thinking. What could she possibly be thinking?
No, he hadn’t wanted to believe Drusilla or the stars that whispered such secrets to her, but Darla stunk of the Slayer and the sword was missing. The sword was missing.
Darla had betrayed him.
He’d managed to get one last fuck out of her, though. Angelus would miss her, but at least his last moments with her were good ones. There was no yelling. No screaming. No accusations. He just fucked her, memorizing every squeeze of her pussy, every gasp that tore through her lips, every time she laughed and bit at him. He’d miss this. He’d miss this a lot.
It didn’t stop him, though, from rolling her beneath him. And when he pulled out the stake he’d stashed under their pillow, he offered little more than a somber, albeit knowing grin and a shrug.
“Et tu, darling?” he growled. Then he pierced her heart, and it was done.
He hadn’t expected the astonishment on her face, and found it surprisingly moving.
“Angel?” Darla gasped.
And then she was gone. She dissolved beneath him, and he collapsed to the mattress, covered in her dust.
There would be no traitors on the streets of Rome tonight.
TBC
| | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XVI | | | | - abc + + | | | Thanks to Megan, Jen, Mari, and Teri for, perhaps, the fastest beta job in the world.
Only one part left after this!
Part XVI
Spike knew something was wrong the second he stepped into the mansion. No matter how much Angelus had changed, he knew his grandsire’s penchant for littering his space with fledglings remained the same. Back in the days of Holtz, it was the only way to stay alive—once the dust hit the ground, he’d grab Darla and they’d be on the run again.
It was something that had kept them undead. Something he’d passed onto his childer. Spike wasn’t a fan of lackeys, but he recognized the necessity of having pawns to take the fall and distract the goody-good guys as he made a run for it. Only now, by some perverse twist of fate, he was the goody-good guy. He was here with the Slayer to stop the apocalypse.
The small girl at his side who had somehow stolen his heart.
He knew what she was thinking, and it destroyed him to feel her in such deep turmoil. Her feelings about Dru had become especially sharp since the mating; her concern over his ultimatum—the one he hadn’t even realized he’d given until the words tumbled through his lips—had loomed over them for days. She was worried about saving her Watcher—about how it might conflict with the promise she’d made to herself to not screw anything up, and what would happen if she ended up with no choice.
It hadn’t been a fair thing to demand of her, but Spike honestly didn’t know what else he could have said to convey how he felt about his sire. He knew his own primal instincts were geared toward tearing Angelus a new one; it had everything to do with Buffy and nothing to do with the decades of torment that Dru had put him through. Knowing that Angel had been inside Buffy, had known her sweetness before Spike had even thought to give her a taste, made his insides clench and the demon roar in fury. And from the vibes that she was radiating, the pangs that Buffy felt were much deeper. She wasn’t competing with one night—she was competing with a century.
But she had nothing to compete with. Spike had given up his love for Dru a long time ago. Long before he even met the Slayer, as he was beginning to realize. Long before Sunnydale. He’d wanted to love her with everything he had, but he couldn’t; not when his tenderness was met with apathy. Dru doted on him when she needed something. She was amorous with everyone, and it had taken him a long time, even beyond Angelus’s cruel lessons, to understand that.
And yet, even if he didn’t love her anymore, he couldn’t wish her dead. She’d been too much a part of his life to hate her. Furthermore, she’d brought him to his true destiny, and for that, he’d be forever grateful. How he’d made it until now without Buffy, he’d never know. Never.
But Dru had gotten him this far, and he wasn’t about to destroy her for not loving him. Not loving him, contrarily, had turned into her greatest gift.
When this was all over, he owed Buffy an explanation. One backed by their mating. Now that he knew she loved him, and that she was his forever, spilling his heart wasn’t so terrifying.
None of it was so terrifying.
However, first things first. He had an apocalypse to stop before he got started on the eternity he had with his mate.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” he murmured.
“I hate that expression.”
“Huh’s that?”
“Peeled eyes? Gross.” She squeezed his hand. God, she was such a tower of strength, even trembling as she was. “Is it just me, or is it really quiet in here?”
“He knows, love.”
“He does?”
Spike clenched his jaw and nodded. Through a not-quite-repressed distant strand of connection that he felt with Darla, he sensed that something was incredibly amiss with the family matriarch. Unlike Dru, he couldn’t sense when things happened—just as he hadn’t sensed when Angelus got stuffed inside a soul or when the Master had gotten his arse so deservedly handed to him before he was turned to dust. He’d never cared much for his family, outside Dru, and aside from whatever teachings Angelus had pawned off, he’d attempted to block out the abuse and other nonsense once he realized that they weren’t going to be buddies.
There was allegedly some hierarchy among vampires, and in that, he was expected to respect his elders. That hadn’t happened; Spike honestly couldn’t give a fuck about his elders. Perhaps more familial vamps felt their sires and grandsires and the assorted list of an Arkansas-like family clan; he didn’t. Never had. Not with any measure of strength, at least.
However, he could sense that something was wrong with Darla.
He stopped as they stepped into the great hall that led to Acathla. Yes, something was very wrong with Darla.
Angelus and Drusilla stood side-by-side. The statue was behind them. Darla was nowhere to be seen.
Buffy squeezed his hand to mask her astonishment. “Well,” she said blandly. “So much for our surprise attack. Lemme guess…the blonde bitch ratted us out?”
Something dark crossed Angelus’s face. Truly dark. Spike knew him well enough to get that his famous short temper was more a product of his impatience—the same impatience that he disguised by pretending that his mind games, while fun, didn’t drive him crazy. He enjoyed the buildup, but the collapse was what he loved the most. Angelus became irritated—never angry. Not unless something was well and truly wrong.
Right now, he looked angry. Very angry.
“Spike,” he said softly. “Pity you won’t ever have a chance to teach your mate never to speak ill of the dead.”
“You are late for the party, my sweet,” Dru scolded, her eyes flashing. She giggled and pressed a finger to her lips. “Bad doggie. Where are your manners?”
“Dead?” Spike quirked his head, relishing in the rush of satisfaction that came from blatantly ignoring his sire.
“Dead?” Buffy echoed, her eyes going wide. “Darla’s dead?”
“Grandmum didn’t love us anymore,” Drusilla cooed, pouting. “She brought spoiled milk for the children.” She turned to Angelus and stroked his arm lovingly. “Daddy had to take care of things.”
“What?” The Slayer snapped incredulously. “She didn’t want the apocalypse so you, what, kill her? For disagreeing with you?”
Spike smiled wryly. All things considered, it was actually one of the more rational reasons employed by Angelus for signing someone’s death sentence. Then again, as vampires, there generally wasn’t a need for reason behind action.
“It wasn’t so much that she disagreed with me.”
Buffy didn’t bother in playing dumb. “She came to me.”
“That’s right.”
“To stop you.”
“Correct again.”
“And you killed her for that.”
“Man oh man, never let anyone tell you that you’re a slow learner, Buff.” Angelus’s eyes twinkled maliciously. “You’re certainly on a roll tonight.”
Spike’s gaze narrowed, and he gave Buffy’s hand a small, encouraging squeeze. “Wouldn’t be so impressed, mate. It doesn’ take much to keep up with you.”
“Something tells me that Rupert might disagree with that.”
A nerve was successfully struck. Buffy practically growled, her fingers flexing around the sword handle. “Why you—”
“Ah, ah. Put on the brakes. I had to put your watcher’s torture on hold. The stupid prick thinks he actually has something to live for.” Angelus crossed his arms and took a step forward. “And something tells me that you’re a big part of that delusion. I’m thinking that once I present him with your bloody, lifeless body, he’ll start singing for me.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Honestly, where do you get your lines? The Idiot’s Guide to the 101 Lamest Threats?”
“She worries,” Drusilla whispered nastily, glancing to Spike with a coy grin. “She knows your thoughts, my darling.” Then she turned back to Angelus. “Little Slayer fears her Spike doesn’t want the dove after all. That he will spend forever yearning for his raven.” A mocking cackle tickled the air; Dru framed her hands around her pussy and thrust her pelvis forward, her eyes flashing. “Mummy’s milk is always sweetest.”
Spike snarled at that, shooting a concerned glance in his mate’s direction. His hope that her inexperience with Dru’s riddles had worked in his favor was quickly dashed. Buffy was red with anger and humiliation, and she refused to meet his eyes. The pure hatred he saw flickering across her face—felt coursing through his own veins—served more to break his heart than anything else.
Once this was over, he needed to take her away somewhere. Take her away and worship her with his hands, mouth, and body until there could be absolutely no doubt as to how much he loved her. How he wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. Not anything.
“That’s nice,” Buffy spat through clenched teeth. “But I really don’t see what it has to do with the apocalypse. Shouldn't you guys be pulling the sword out of Al Franken or whatever his name is? Or is the ritual too much for you without Giles? How sad. How long have you been around again?”
Spike grinned. “He never was a quick one.”
“Look who’s talking,” Angelus retorted.
“Oh, come on,” the Slayer continued. “He’s not the one that has to take the Armageddon for Dummies course.”
“You talk big for a girl I’m gonna be raping for the next couple days.”
“If you think that sounds threatening, you obviously haven’t lived in LA.”
She was lying. Spike could tell by how hard as she trembled, but God, the courage in her voice made him swell with pride. She might be terrified of her uncertain future, but she wasn’t about to let the enormous wanker relish her fear. Angelus saw enough simply through experience; Buffy wasn’t going to cower.
“There’s time enough to end the world,” Angelus continued matter-of-factly. “I wanted to say goodbye first. You are the one thing in this dimension that I will miss.”
Spike’s hand found the small of Buffy’s back, caressing her soothingly. Angelus was eating this up. He loved the talk-downs; the bantering; the verbal exchanges. He loved the Bond moments. He could give away all his secrets and still walk away unscathed.
Well, unless there were any gypsies around to stuff him full of soul, but the odds of lightning striking twice were slim.
“This is a beautiful moment we’re having,” his mate retorted with false sweetness. “Can we please fight?”
“You came here to fight?” Angelus retorted, frowning. “Gosh, I was hoping we could get back together. What do you think? Do we have a shot?”
Buffy actually laughed. “Are you kidding me? Sorry, I just…oh, God. I’m still thanking my lucky stars that Dru was stupid enough to let Spike slip through her fingers. Don’t get me wrong; you were…well, you were certainly…present, I think. At least Spike let me know what an actual orgasm feels like.” She barked another laugh and shook her head. “You’re pathetic.”
“Bad kitty,” Dru scolded.
Angelus’s face was as raw with loathing as Spike had ever seen, and the knowledge of what was coming was the only thing that stopped him from bursting into laughter. There would be time enough for laughing at the sod when all this was over. There would be time enough for plenty of things.
Angelus took a dramatic step forward. “That sword is mine,” he snarled.
The Slayer quirked a brow, raising the blade between them. “What, this one? It was a gift.”
“Paid for in blood.”
“Don’t you mean dust?”
“You have no idea what you’re holding.”
“It’s long and shiny and has a pointy tip. I’m going for exaggerated phallus symbol.”
Drusilla clapped with glee and bounced on her heels. “He’ll paint the walls with your entrails, dearie,” she cackled, and Spike saw red. In all his years, he had never known her to hate anyone, but there was no mistaking the blackness in her eyes. It wasn’t necessary for vampires to hate—evil didn’t need motive. She was too daft, too far removed from reality to really care about what went on around her. As long as she had blood to live on, people to feed on, and strong vampire men to mollycoddle her, she didn’t have a worry in the world.
So seeing her hatred for his mate shoved him over the proverbial edge. Dru might have been the vehicle that led him to salvation, but that didn’t mean he’d align himself with her out of appreciation. And she was even more out of her mind than he’d granted if she thought so.
“Darla gave it her best,” Angelus continued, taking another hazardous step forward. “She really did. And when it’s all over, I’ll make sure history remembers her for the martyr she was.”
“Point being?”
“The sword’s not gonna save you.”
“You want it so bad?” Buffy retorted. “I’m standing right here.”
And then something happened—something stark and unexpected. A piercing wail tore through the hauntingly still air around them, and the next thing he knew, Drusilla had lunged herself at the Slayer, her red nails scratching at her neck. The move was so random, so uncoordinated, that even Angelus looked surprised.
“They chase the light!” Drusilla shrieked. “They want to send the darkness away!”
Angelus’s face went slack with astonishment, and he glanced back to Buffy, his eyes filling with rage. “You—”
“Make her bleed! Make her pay!” Dru tore at Buffy’s arms. “The light cannot have my daddy!”
It was a strange realization. Spike felt so far away. He heard himself snarl from a distance. Watched his fangs descend and his eyes flash yellow as he whipped something out of his back pocket. He felt the stake in his hand. Felt the tiny splinters of wood that pierced his skin when he tightened his grip, and the familiar resistance as he whirled his sire around and slammed the pointed end into her chest. He watched it all from far away, but simultaneously experienced every second of it. Watching as her eyes went wide with sorrow and regret, suspended astonishment washing through the halls.
“My William,” she gasped, and then she was gone in an explosion of dust.
Spike glanced up, his face stone, seizing Buffy’s wrist to yank her behind him.
Nothing.
He didn’t feel a thing. Not a bloody thing. And perhaps that would have worried him once, but not now. Not when his mate’s skin was a map of bloody riverbeds, thanks to Drusilla’s claws. No amount of sodding gratitude would ever prompt him to stand by while the woman he loved was hurt. And in doing that, Dru had become just another face.
“Oh my God, Spike,” Buffy gasped. “You—”
“You presumptuous little bastard,” Angelus barked.
Calmly, Spike stroked the inside of his mate’s wrist with his thumb. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He felt the race of her pulse, and it was enough. “Jus’ taking a chapter outta your book, mate. Wasn’ it you that always said I’m a follower?”
“So you fucked my slayer—”
“Yeh, well, I can’t help it if you don’ manage to do things right.”
Angelus snarled again, and this time, Spike saw the strains of control snap completely. And while untimely, the sight provided one hell of a satisfying rush. Control wasn’t something the elder vampire gave up easily—even when provoked. He took a sip of his grandsire’s fury and found it exquisite.
“You were always a mistake,” he growled, his eyes flashing. “Drusilla’s shining prince that could never quite give her what she needed. Sure, we tolerated you. Darla thought you were good for a laugh, and you were always oh so eager to learn.” He flashed Buffy an unpleasant grin. “You should’ve seen the stuff we had to teach this one. Would you believe he didn’t know how to eat a woman out until Darla held—”
Spike sucked in an angry breath, but before he could get in a word, he was blown away by the force of Buffy’s hatred. “You know, if you’re going for the gross-out factor, you’re gonna have to try a little harder,” she growled. “I slept with you, remember?”
“Oh, baby, I could never forget.”
Buffy tore from Spike’s side before he could make a move, fueled with fury that had to be his—that she had to feel from their connection. She was a blur of motion, a flowing stream of violent poetry, and she was so channeled with rage that even he couldn’t touch her.
“Mmm, yeah!” Angelus cooed, ducking a series of blows, his arrogance never fading. “Maybe if you’d been this lively, your precious Angel wouldn’t have been so quick to bolt.”
Spike broke forward, but she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, and he couldn’t get close enough. God, he might as well have not been in the room at all. “Buffy!”
“You sick sonofabitch!” She took another swipe at his head, her swing messy, her form crippled by fury. “You—”
“I like what you’ve done to her,” Angelus called to him. “Definite improvement.”
“No!” Her leg kicked at his ankles, stealing his balance. It was like watching giants fall—the surprise in the elder vampire’s eyes was worth the world. It bloody figured. Angelus had always overestimated his own power while underestimating that of others. Buffy lowered the sword to his throat, planting her foot on his chest. “You don’t get to look at him. You don’t get to talk to him. You’re dealing with me, now.”
“Ummm, hello! My family, Buff; not yours. And I say, the kid needs a time-out.”
“Yeah, well, I think your body would look better without your head. Which theory do you wanna try first?” She pulled the sword back and flashed a cheeky, dangerous grin. “Well, since I’m on top…”
In as many years as he had existed, Spike had never experienced a moment where time was put on hold—not until tonight. Just a few minutes ago, he’d dusted his sire—the woman he’d loved for a century—and time had stopped for him. Now he was caught; he wanted to move, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be there for her when she collapsed, but his legs refused to obey. He saw it coming—saw the flash just seconds before she did, and time absolutely stood still.
The sword swept in a low arc toward Angelus’s neck, and he gasped. He gasped and his eyes shone bright. A true flash of color—the light that Drusilla had screamed about—and then it was over. The rage marring his face vanished and he fell back, panting for air, his expression confused and worn. And it was suddenly over.
Buffy saw it too, the sword checking in mid-flight and then dropping from her hands, clamoring heavily to the concrete floor.
“Oh God,” she murmured.
Spike’s legs were weighed with lead, but he moved toward her just the same. “Kitten—”
“Buffy?”
She staggered back in horror. “Oh, God.”
“Buffy…” Angel fought to sit up, blinking as though he’d only now regained his sight. “I…I can’t—”
A choked sob tore through Buffy’s throat, and the next thing Spike knew, she lunged forward, sinking her fist into Angel’s gut. Then again. And again. Her body was trembling, tears rained down her cheeks, and she hit him. She hit him until she lost her balance, until she was straddling his waist to leverage her punches. Until the ground around her was painted in Angel’s blood.
And the screams that stabbed the air tore at Spike’s heart.
“You sonofabitch!” she roared, ignoring his cries of pain, the blatant confusion in Angel’s eyes; ignoring everything but the power of her grief-laced fury. “Give me one reason! One good reason!”
Spike rushed toward her as the weight began to lift. “Buffy—”
“One reason!”
“Buffy!”
He didn’t know how it had happened. Somehow, he was the one pulling her off Angel, holding her as she struggled in his arms. She was sobbing; her voice weak with the power of her outrage, but it didn’t stop her from screaming. And by the time Spike had her away from the other vampire, she dissolved. Completely dissolved. The confused vehemence in her eyes broke him all over again.
It took looking at him, meeting her mate’s worried gaze, for Buffy to return to herself. “Oh Spike,” she whimpered, then buried herself in his embrace.
“Shhh…” He pressed a kiss to her brow and turned her head away from Angel, rocking her as his grandsire gathered his bearings.
A century of wishing for this couldn’t have prepared him. And when he met Angel’s eyes, he felt nothing but disgust. No hatred. No anger. Not right now.
“Spike…” Angel croaked, fighting to regain his feet. “What’s going on?”
It wasn’t until the older vampire took a step forward that Spike felt a fresh surge of anger. He vamped quickly and took a step back, tightening his arms around his trembling mate. “No,” he growled. “You don’ see her. Don’ touch her. You don’ know what you’ve done, but you will in a few minutes.”
Angel coughed and leaned forward, pressing his palms to his knees. “I don’t—”
“No, you don’t.”
“Spike…I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“Get out.” He took another step back. “Out of Sunnydale. If you try to come near her again, I’ll kill you.”
“I…” Then it hit—the realization. The dawning. He watched time return to his grandsire, watched a tower of fortitude collapse. Watched him melt in devastation, and for reasons beyond him, it wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought it would be. Angel gasped again and his face dissolved with tears. “Oh my God. Oh, God, Buffy…”
The trembling slayer in Spike’s arms hardened at that. She was still, then she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “You heard him,” she said. “Get out.”
“Buffy. Oh God, I can’t—”
“Get. Out. I mean it. Get out. I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
“Buffy. Please! I need help. Help me!”
She tugged at her mate’s arm and shook her head, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Go help yourself.”
Spike slid his arm around her waist, steering her away. “Your Watcher?” he muttered.
“Yeah. Then take me away from here.”
He nodded and kissed her temple. “Anything you want, baby.”
“I want to be away from here.”
Then away he would take her. Anywhere she wanted to go. Away from Sunnydale, away from the broken vampire on the floor—away from everything.
As long as she wanted, he’d keep her away.
He’d move the stars to give her what she wanted.
To be concluded | | | | |
| In The Midnight Light - Part XVII | | | | - abc + + | | | A/N: Okay. Whew! And this is the end, folks. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read/review/email me about this fic. I can’t believe I finally got a long fic done in less than 20 parts.
Major, major thanks to Megan, Mari, Jen, and Teri for betaing! And to Seven Seasons for giving me the excuse to finally write a Season 2 fic.
Whew. Now, finally, back to GoCR (though I’ll have to reread it to get back in the mood) and the continuation of the revamp!YBR.
Thank you all so much again! *snuggles*
Part XVII
Buffy stared at the white cream of the motel wall. It was strange being back here, lying in the same room she’d shared with Spike only a couple weeks ago. A couple weeks ago when her life had been less with the sense-making and more with the emotional breakdown. He’d brought her here after beating her within an inch of her life, and slowly, she’d started to live again.
Of course, in her wildest imagination, she never would have guessed that she’d ever see this hellhole again. She never would have guessed what a relief it was to be in a room that had nothing that belonged to her. She never would have guessed that she’d enter this room as the mate of a vampire.
Buffy exhaled slowly and shifted. She’d been awake for a while now, just staring at the wall and thinking. Was it fair to assert that her life had ever made sense? If it had, she was sure she’d missed it. There must have been a time when she could have said no. When she could have ditched the whole sacred calling thing and returned to her regularly scheduled life. And even if her attempt wasn’t successful, she could say she’d tried.
But then, she didn’t really want that. She was just hurting. She was hurting, and she didn’t know why.
Probably because Angel was still alive. After all he’d put her through, all that he’d done, she still hadn’t been able to stake him. However, she had practically ripped him to shreds with her hands. Maybe that was the thing that bothered her. How quickly he’d gone from being the one she loved to the one she had to be pried off of before she beat him to dust.
She knew that Spike thought it was his fault. That he’d channeled his demon into her—as he had when she’d attacked Darla earlier that night—but he was wrong. Buffy knew what his demon felt like. For the past few days, she’d attempted to reach out to him—to his dark side—and the couple times she’d been successful, she’d come to know the demon personally.
She was beginning to wish she’d just met Spike haphazardly, persuaded him to fall madly in love with her, claim her, and have everything they had now sans the baggage. No Angelus. No Angel. No Drusilla. No dusty Drusilla. No Darla. No Acathla. No apocalypse. She was sick of choosing between her personal life and what was best for the world. She wanted this—what they had right now. She wanted to spend all her nights without worrying about tomorrow.
She wanted something she could never have.
The mansion already seemed decades in the past. After finding Giles, they had dropped him by the hospital, run home and posted a hastily-scribbled note to her mother, and Spike had brought her here. The second the door closed behind them, she’d turned and leapt into his arms, and they’d made love for what felt like hours.
Now Spike was still beside her. He wasn’t sleeping; she could feel his eyes wandering over her body. Occasionally, he’d run his hand down her back, brush her hair over her shoulder, or whisper something that he didn’t intend for her to answer. Small things. Huge things.
She felt him vibrantly, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
She needed more.
Spike dropped his lips to her shoulder, his hand sliding across her back sensually. “I heard that.”
“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts.”
“I can sense your feelings.”
Buffy sighed and turned over, enjoying the way his eyes glazed over with lust at the sight of her breasts. As though he hadn’t sucked them tender just a couple hours ago. She wondered if he’d always get a kick out of her body. If, after six hundred and eleven years, she could turn over in bed and inspire him to all sorts of naughty thoughts.
Spike gave her a look. “I heard that, too.”
She smirked. “Peeping Tom.”
“Don’t you mean eavesdropper?”
“You can’t eavesdrop on things you can’t technically hear.”
“Oh, but you can watch them, is that it?” He returned her smirk and leaned forward, laving her right nipple with his tongue. “An’, to answer your question, you daft bint, I’ll always want you. Always. I’m bloody addicted to you. Whatever time we have will never be enough. Could last forever an’ it’d never be enough.”
She flushed and slapped his bare chest. “Sap,” she accused fondly, her eyes dancing and the corners of her mouth itching upward in a smile.
“Well, at leas’ I got a grin.”
“Doesn’t take much.”
He smiled gently and brushed a kiss across her brow. “You wanna chat up what happened tonight?” he asked. “’S all right if you need to talk about it, sweetling. He was your honey bear, an’ you—”
“I’d’ve beaten him into a bloody pile of dust if you hadn’t stopped me.”
Guilt flashed across his face. It was fleeting, but very present. “That was my fault.”
“No, it really wasn’t.”
“Buffy—”
She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. “It wasn’t. Believe me, my life would be easier if it was. Yeah, I was kinda juiced on Spike rage for my wail-out on Darla. But Angel? That was all me.” She shuddered. “I didn’t think I had that sort of fury in me, really. I didn’t think it was possible for me to…but evidently, it is in a big way. When he said my name, everything just came rushing forward and…God, I just really, really hated him in that moment. And I needed to rip him to shreds. He took everything from me and spat on it.” A pause. “But then…without him, I wouldn’t have you, would I?”
Spike smiled again, kissing her shoulder. “I would’ve found you.”
“How?”
“Somehow.”
“And we’re back to the sap thing.”
“Yeh, well, callin’ me a sap doesn’ make it any less true. You’re the Slayer. I’d’ve found you.”
“But love me?”
“Always.”
Buffy licked her lips, her eyes growing serious again. “And Dru?” she asked softly. “Spike, you killed Dru.”
He nodded. “I know, pet. I was there.”
If he was deliberately trying to guard his emotions, he was doing an admirable job. Buffy couldn’t sense a thing—not a thing—and while he might think he was protecting her, it only made her curse the dominantly one-way claim all the more. She didn’t want any part of him to be shut out from her—even the parts that he felt would hurt. The parts that he feared she wouldn’t like.
Hating Drusilla, though, wouldn’t make her memory die. It wouldn’t erase the century he’d spent with her; all the times he’d told her that he loved her, all the times he’d taken solace inside her body, all the times he’d sworn to her that he was hers, eternally, and that no woman would ever take her place. Spike might belong to Buffy now, but a very real part of him would always be Drusilla’s. Her memory would follow him, even in death, and one day he’d have to answer to the reality that he’d killed her because the claim told him to. Because of the stupid protection ritual that Giles had insisted they do. And the thought was nearly more than Buffy could bear.
“You know, you’re terribly cute when you’re wrong off your arse.”
Buffy blinked and scowled, hitting his chest again. The laugh that rumbled beneath her fingers warmed her heart, but it did little to change reality. “Stop prying in my thoughts!”
“Feelings,” he corrected, propping up an elbow and resting his cheek against a closed fist.
“Well, my feelings are being pretty damn specific.”
Spike shrugged. “Jus’ call it like I see it, baby. You’re wrong. I know what feelings are related to what. Your jealousy, your insecurities, your fears about the future…all of that. I’ve gotten good at readin’ them.”
Her frown deepened. “I really need a padlock on my feelings.”
“One of the many things we’ll work on, but for now, I jus’ gotta tell you, you’re wrong.” He paused meaningfully. “It wasn’ the claim, or the sodding ritual, or anythin’ else made me kill Dru. I’d know it otherwise. I’d’ve felt it. In the end, I din’t need any help seein’ what was right in front of me. I killed her because she was hurting you. I love you, I don’ love her. Once, yes, but not now. I’ll always be grateful to her…bringin’ me here. Bringin’ me to you. But jus’ because she was my tour-guide doesn’ get her a ‘get-outta-jail-free’ card. She was hurting you.”
“But she wasn’t killing me.”
“That’s right.” He blinked. “No one hurts my girl. You understand?”
She flushed. “I can take care of myself, Spike. I’m pretty much a self-made woman.”
“Yeh, an’ I like playin’ hero every now an’ again. An’ just because you can take care of yourself doesn’ mean I can’t worry about you, or get mad as fucking hell when I see you bleed.” Instinctively, he reached for the place on her throat where Dru had clawed her, and his eyes darkened. “She did this. She hurt you. No one gets to hurt you.”
Buffy swallowed hard. “You know you beat me to a pulp once.”
“Bygones.”
“Well, not if you ask Giles.”
“I jus’ helped avert the bloody apocalypse an’ carried the bloke to the nearest emergency room. You tellin’ me he’s not gonna let go of his sodding grudge?”
“I’m telling you that he’s my surrogate father and he’s not prone to forget things like seeing me all bloody and limpy.”
Spike pouted, and for a second, she saw a second wave of guilt color his eyes. “Yeh, well, not my shinin’ moment, but you can’t ask me to regret it. It brought me to you.” He paused. “Besides, you din’t put up a fight.”
“I so did!”
“Yeh, if your best defense is lyin’ on your stomach while the Big Bad kicks your slayer arse.”
“It was all a part of the plan.”
He arched a brow. “Oh really?”
“Yes, really.”
“You had a plan that involved gettin’ your delectable rear handed to you?”
“Well, naturally.” She beamed. “You got all guilty and fell madly in love with me, as men are prone to do.” A quick nod of affirmation. “All a part of the master plan.”
“That certainly played out in your favor, then, din’t it?”
“I’ll say.” Buffy grinned and kissed him softly. “So…do we have a plan?”
“Another plan, you mean?”
“Yeah. About, well…us. I’m thinking the claim’s not gonna let us live apart very long. And my mom still doesn’t know about you.” She flushed. “Or me, for that matter. So I guess we need to sit down with her, explain what I am, what you are…what we are to each other and if she doesn’t ship me off to the nearest asylum, work out an arrangement.” She was quiet for a minute, then her eyes lit up. “Oooh! Maybe you can move into our basement!”
Spike arched a brow. “Your basement?”
“Well, I don’t think she’d be in favor of her daughter moving out at seventeen. Especially when we’ve just broken the news that my life is in danger every night.” Buffy’s grin broadened. “Plus I’m in love with a vampire, and that might wig her out a bit more.”
“You haven’ even broken the news to her, an’ you’re assumin’ she’s gonna have a prejudice against vamps?”
“Spike, name one movie that features vamps in a positive light.”
He pouted at her. “’S bad advertisin’, is what it is.”
“Yeah. How many people have you killed again?”
“I’m choosin’ to ignore that.”
“Point being, my mom’s not gonna be too happy with this situation, and it might be good if we stuck it out at my house for a while.”
He domed a brow. “Yeah, an’ tell her to ignore all the screaming an’ panting an’ crashing sounds that come from downstairs? If you think I’m gonna be able to keep my hands to myself, you’ve got another thing comin’.”
“Literally, I’m guessing.”
Spike’s eyes darkened with passion. “Bloody right.”
“Well, I still wanna go away. Far away. And the school year’s nearly up, so maybe you can take me away for the summer. We can work on…” She blushed again at his look and sank down against the mattress. “Stuff.”
“Mind-readin’?”
“More like mind blocking. I like my privacy.”
“I like knowin’ when you’re horny.”
“We’ve already had this conversation.”
Spike shrugged. “Still like knowin’ it. But yeh, pet, I’m right with you. I don’ want you to have to guard yourself from me, but at the same time, you have what’s yours an’ no one—myself included—can take that from you.” He ran a hand down her arm softly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, tugging her toward him as he slid beneath her coolly, so that she was sprawled across his chest. “I told you mine,” he said softly, and the sudden seriousness in his tone threw her for a loop. “An’ no matter how good I am at sensin’ feelings, I wanna know…”
“What?”
He swallowed hard and looked away. “Angel.”
Buffy stiffened perceptively, then sighed and shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure and more than sure.”
“You’re okay?”
“Very okay.”
“Sweetling, you—”
“I wigged and then some, yes. I just…I was so mad. I didn’t think I’d be so mad when I saw him. Really, I didn’t know what to think.” She dropped a kiss across his chest and sighed again. “I thought I’d done a good job in convincing myself that he and Angelus were two different people. But when he looked at me—soul and all—all I felt was…”
“Rage,” Spike supplied gently.
She nodded. “Yeah. And like I said earlier, it was all mine. All of it. He killed Ms. Calendar. He tried to kill my mom. He tortured Giles. He played mind games with my friends, was mean to you, and threatened to do really nasty things to me. And having him…I’m glad Willow was able to pull it off. Yay, Willow. But…it didn’t change things, the way I’d expected things to change. I’d expected to forgive him, stupid as that sounds.”
“No, kitten. It’s what I expected, too.”
Buffy shook her head, her eyes blank. “I can’t imagine forgiving him now. How could I ever consider forgiving him? After what he’s done? What he did to me? To you? God, I hate him. I hate him.”
His lips brushed against her brow. “You won’ always.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Buffy…”
But he didn’t say anything. He just trailed off and looked at her, a mixture of happiness warring with astonishment in his eyes. And perhaps he was right—perhaps a time would come when she didn’t hate Angel. When she would be able to meet him again and not feel the urge to make him dust. It wasn’t now, though. Right now she hated him. She hated every inch of him.
The only good thing Angel had done was bring her to Spike. Spike, who filled her with warmth every time he looked at her. Buffy held his eyes for a few minutes, then smiled and lowered her mouth to his.
In a thousand years, she didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of his kiss. Or the way he moaned and stretched beneath her. The way he held her shoulders as his tongue explored her mouth, before his hands slid down her body, helping her as she straddled his waist, rubbing herself wantonly against his cock.
“You’re not sore?” he asked gently, reaching between them to position himself between her slick pussy lips.
Buffy’s brow flickered challengingly. “Are you?”
He studied her eyes a long minute, then the smirk returned tenfold as she lowered herself onto his cock, wiggling in his lap. “Minx,” he growled, his mouth claiming hers again. “My gorgeous, fiery minx.”
“My pretty, snarky vampire,” she shot back, her hands seizing his shoulders and squeezing. She rotated her hips, slowly lifting herself from his lap until just the head of his cock was still inside her. Then she slid down, and took him in to the hilt until their curls mingled. It was blissful torture; she loved the look on his face. She loved the helplessness that spread through his eyes, demanding that she give in and gallop him into oblivion but simultaneously indulging every slow, deliciously agonizing second.
Spike attempted to scowl and failed miserably. “Not pretty,” he moaned, massaging her ass encouragingly as she rode him. “Oh, fuck, pet, you feel so good.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He clenched his teeth, his fingers bruising her hips. “I aim to please.”
“Your aim has always been right on target.”
“Minx,” he said again.
“Yup.”
“Don’t know what you do to me.”
Buffy flashed him a cheeky smile and winked, leaning forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest, her heart pounding against silence. Spike hissed out another long moan, his mouth skating across her shoulder as his eyes fell shut.
“Oh,” she replied, her vaginal muscles squeezing his cock mercilessly as her hungry eyes drank in every flash of ecstasy to grace his face. “I think I know exactly what I do to you.”
Spike opened one eye. “You’re pretty confident for a girl I could beat to a pulp anytime I like.”
“This world of delusion you live in…” Buffy sat up, her hands finding purchase on his chest as she began to ride him in earnest. “It’s nice, right?”
There was a muffled moan in response. Spike threw his head back and whimpered. “Bloody fantastic.”
“Which?”
“Everythin’. You. The world. The world that has you in it.”
Buffy wasn’t surprised to feel her cheeks burn. He could do that. She was bouncing on his cock, and he could make her blush. He could make her insides quiver with the power of just one glance. And God, she loved that about him. She loved that with him, it was never just one thing. No; he wanted her to enjoy a rainbow of experience, and he gave it to her with everything he had.
God, she loved him. She loved everything about him, even the stuff that wasn’t good. The stuff he wanted to keep from her. She loved that, too. She loved it because it had molded him, in ways both good and bad, into the man he was today. The man who was sucking at her nipples as he massaged her backside. The man who showed her love with play, and how being together didn’t mean being alone together. And while it would take time, eventually, her life wouldn’t consist of separate categories for friends, family, and Spike. She could be with him and be Buffy, too. She could be with him and be the Slayer. It wasn’t one or the other.
Even if her Watcher, her friends, and her mother didn’t understand now—or even know to understand—she knew they would someday. She didn’t know how she knew it; she just did. And that knowledge gave her peace.
Buffy had everything she wanted at her fingertips. Everything aside from one thing.
One thing that she was determined to take.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Spike gasped, their pace exploding into frenzy. He drew her down for a heated kiss, brushing strands of hair away from her sweat-laced forehead. “Could watch you all day. All bloody day. Love this. God, how I love this.” He kissed her again, pressing his brow to hers. “Love you. You feel so wonderful. So hot an’ tight. Love you. Love you so much. Ride me, baby. Oh, yeah, jus’ like that. Feel so good. So good.”
Buffy just nodded, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Unh…”
“So good.”
She nodded again, her mouth running dry. Perhaps, one day, she would be comfortable with vocalizing how incredible he felt sliding in out of her body, how he made her clit throb and her body sizzle. Perhaps. However, even with as much as they’d done together, putting actions into words was still hard for her.
Thankfully, Spike said enough for both of them.
He tugged her down and brushed a kiss across her nipple. “Tell me you love me,” he pleaded softly.
“I love you.”
“How much, Buffy?”
“So much.”
He smiled into her eyes and nodded, his left hand finally slipping between them, his fingers sliding over her clit. “I love you, too,” he replied softly, massaging her tenderly. “That feel good, kitten?”
“Ohhhh…” She nodded furiously, her pussy swallowing his cock in a fury of desperate thrusts. “Spike!”
“Tell me how it feels.”
She glared at him. He grinned back unrepentantly. Oh yeah. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Can’t you…feel…how it…feels?” she demanded between pants.
“Ohhhhh, yeah,” he purred. “I jus’ wanna hear it from you.”
The tease in his voice pushed her over the edge. She was bouncing frantically, gyrating her hips against his as his fingers rubbed her clit, and his voice—that damned cocky tone of his—made her tremble into orgasm.
And in a moment of blind ecstasy, she stole her one thing.
Spike didn’t realize her intent until her teeth clamped down on his neck. He yelped in shock, his hands flying to her hips as he spurted inside her. The sound that tore through his lips was a stirring combination of horror, bliss, and hope. And when she said the word, the one word that would give her everything that she wanted, he moaned in protest.
“Mine.”
“Oh Christ. Buffy, you can’t—”
She shook her head desperately and licked at his blood, shuddering slightly. The coppery taste that filled her mouth was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It was hers. “Mine!” Her vision blurred with tears at the broken look on his face, and she lapped at him again. “Spike, please!”
He looked at her a second longer before his eyes fluttered shut in defeat. “Bloody hell, Buffy, you know I’m yours. I’m all yours. Yours for sodding eternity.”
She jerked and gasped, her body spasming again. And she felt it. She felt everything. The last gate between them was finally wide open, and the flood came rushing in. And she felt everything. Everything. Her world was split in two. She felt his agony, his anger, his fury, his wrath, his bloodlust, his lust, his passion, his uncertainties, his doubt, his kindness, his caring, his jealousy, his fear—and above all, she felt his love. His love for her. His love for her that had defeated all of the baser instincts of his demon. The thing that should have made her run simply made her tremble in awe. That anyone could feel the wealth that he did—the polarities of what he felt—and surpass it all with love was more than she could handle. He embodied beauty. He was a dark, fallen seraph that still looked to the heavens for grace. He held her and loved her, and while he was possessed with violence and fury, he was owned by love and compassion.
Buffy didn’t realize she was crying until he trembled beneath her, raising his hand to her cheek.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, his eyes bathed in fear. “I told you. I bloody told you. Why din’t you listen to me? I—”
She shook her head furiously and curled her arms under his shoulders, peppering his face with soft, sweet kisses. “You’re beautiful,” she gasped. “You’re so beautiful, Spike.”
He stilled, barely willing to hope.
“Buffy?”
“I love you. I love you forever. You’re so beautiful.” Her lips grazed his temple, and she pressed her cheek to his. “And you’re mine.”
Spike shivered, gently turning her chin until she was looking at him. His eyes searched hers for a long minute, and when he found what he was looking for, his entire being dissolved in bliss.
And she felt it. God, she felt everything.
“Oh Buffy…”
Then he was kissing her desperately, and the world around her faded. His kisses were molten. He tasted of tears, cigarettes, and grace. And she loved him.
He had her under him and was moving inside her again, slowly, kissing away her tears as he cried his own. Her name was a prayer on his lips, and with every amen, she felt how much he loved her.
He held her and trembled. She kissed his brow and ran her fingers through his hair.
The future didn’t matter right now. The road ahead would be a long one, but it didn’t matter. They would face their obstacles. They would slam through barriers. They would defeat whatever stood in their way, and they would do it together. They would move stars.
For now, though, the world was silent.
And Buffy and Spike, coiled together, rested in self-made grace.
fin
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