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 |
