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
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