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 |
