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| In Omne Tempus - Shine Until Tomorrow by Holly (2 Reviews) | | - - - abc |  | | | Chapter Twenty
Shine Until Tomorrow
Buffy was certain everyone would know, simply from looking at her, what she’d been doing all weekend. She was even more convinced that those who knew her best would be able to tell how often and with whom. No one, however, stared at her impolitely or paid her more mind than usual, thus her theory was readily discarded.
The day went by fast, which surprised her. For how much work her teachers had decided to pile on—especially in the last throes of her high school career—to the careless daydreams of platinum blond vampires she caught herself in the middle of during virtually all of her classes, Buffy counted her blessings that she was relatively ignored by the day’s instructors.
For instance, she found her mind wandering as Mrs. Adams discussed the Pythagorean Theorem. Buffy heard tha which translated to thigh which ultimately led to a silent appraisal of Spike’s thighs. She was similarly fortunate to have eluded attention in English, for she might have answered, “Spike’s killer abs,” when asked about the dominant themes of Animal Farm.
The day didn’t provide much chance to talk with Willow about her weekend beyond the breakthrough her friend had encouraged. The redhead spent lunch period in the library, working on her English paper with Oz proofreading pages as she shot them out. Rather, Buffy found herself seated across from Xander and Cordy, who predictably only came up for air to greet her and to comment on the cafeteria food.
As it was, Buffy was looking forward to speaking with Giles, especially after all that Spike had divulged over the weekend. Her daydreams kept her company in the midst of boring classes, and by the time the dismissal bell rang, she found herself in good spirits, and more than a little anxious to see her Watcher.
“Buffy!”
Somehow, over the casual herding of students as they attempted to flee school grounds as quickly as possible, she heard Willow’s cries and eventually snapped from her latest Spike-filled reverie. Buffy turned with a grin and waited patiently for her friend to catch up with her.
“Paper done?”
“I’m halfway through relating the second major theme to my thesis,” Willow replied, catching her breath. “Oz helped me chop out all the stuff I don’t need.”
“What stuff?”
“The stuff that I think is super interesting but will make my paper not so much a paper as a short novel.”
“Ah. So you’re that into…who are you writing on again?”
“Vasily Aksyonov’s Generations in Winter. It’s about the Stalin era.”
Buffy made a face. “Definitely more a you thing than a me thing.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Willow grinned. “So…are you feeling better? The last time I saw you, you were all with the doom and gloom.”
“Not the entire time!” the Slayer pouted before the infectious smile that had been itching her lips all day bloomed into radiance. “Spike came over after you left.”
The redhead’s eyes flashed excitedly. “Oh?”
“…and he left this morning before sunrise.”
“You had him over all weekend?!” Willow looked impressed. “Buffy!”
“Not all weekend…he was gone for that time on Saturday when you were over.”
“For what, four hours?”
“It was six.” She flushed. “Six long, miserable hours.”
“Buffy…you two didn’t…” Her friend’s eyes widened scandalously. “You didn’t…did you?”
No, they hadn’t. They really hadn’t.
They’d practically done everything but, but they hadn’t.
“He said he loves me, Will.”
“But you—”
“No,” she replied. “We did not have the dirty sex. But he…we…did other stuff.”
Willow grinned knowingly, and it occurred to Buffy for the first time that her friend was in a relationship with a guy, just as she was, and had more than once confessed that she and Oz loved each other. She hadn’t, however, gone into illicit details of what the two did when they were alone.
“He loves you?” the redhead repeated as the library came into view. “He told you that he loves you?”
“Yes.” Buffy smiled, her mind already on a fast-track pace back to her sin-filled weekend. “At first it was an accident…him telling me…but then he…just kept saying it.”
In bed. Making breakfast. In the shower. On patrol. When he woke me with his tongue in my—
Buffy pushed the library door open, shaking the thought away before she lost herself again.
Only a familiar stirring stabbed her insides, and she felt him just seconds before she saw him. For a beat, she thought her mind had finally left her, and her naughty fantasies had come to life. But no, Spike was there. He was talking with Giles about something heated from the looks of it, only to be interrupted when he sensed her near.
For long seconds, they seemed deadlocked. As though years had passed since that morning, and they were old lovers that hadn’t seen each other in a lifetime or two. The moment passed and she released a breath when she realized how silly it was to ogle her boyfriend when she had spent the better part of two days wrapped in his arms, but her skin felt hot and her heart was thundering, and not even logic could change that.
“Hey,” she said awkwardly, breaking through the silence.
Spike smiled. “Afternoon, kitten. Was jus’ comin’ by to tell your Watcher what happened this weekend.”
Her face flamed and she stared at him, mortified.
“Angelus…he dropped by?” The vampire arched a brow. “Remember?”
Her shoulders sagged. Oh, of course. Angelus. He had come to tell Giles about Angelus…not about the dirty almost-sex. Which, obviously, Spike would never do…because he loved her and he would never do anything to embarrass her, especially in front of her Watcher.
Moreover, she was ashamed that her first thought centered on her sex-life with Spike, rather than the imminent danger of his family. She was the Slayer, and she couldn’t forget that.
He’s totally polluted my mind.
A mind he could read all too well. The next thing she knew, he was grinning wildly and wagging his brows.
“Yes,” Giles said, clearing his throat. “Spike arrived about ten minutes ago by means I’m not entirely sure of…all to tell me that the Order of Aurelius is evidently planning the apocalypse.”
“That’s Spike?” Willow asked, as though awaking from a stupor. “Wow, Buff, you weren’t kidding.”
Spike’s grin broadened. “Huh’s that?”
“Nothing…Willow’s just being…funny.” Buffy blushed furiously and lowered her backpack to the ground beside the check-out counter. “Funny Will, that’s what we call her.”
“I don’t suppose it’s unreasonable to focus on the apocalypse part of Spike’s presence here,” Giles said tiredly. “After all, if Angelus is meaning to end the world, we have all the reason to believe that he’s capable of it.”
“He wanted to hunt down Acathla once,” Spike said. “Dru had a vision an’ he spent a good five years tearin’ up the world to find him.”
“Oh dear lord. Acathla?”
“I’m taking it that Acathla isn’t Latin for hugs and puppies,” Buffy commented dryly, hoisting herself atop the counter.
Spike shot her a wary grin. “Hardly. Acathla’s an ancient demon who got himself speared through with a sword. Legend has it, remove the sword, an’ the world gets sucked into Hell.”
“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Giles protested.
“Yeh, well, my version’s simpler. I know how you Watchers get.”
Buffy made a face. “Honestly, what is it with vamps and ending the world?”
“Oh, watch it. Only a couple vamps you’ve faced have ever had aspirations that high.” Spike shrugged. “I figure it’s Angelus’s soddin’ complex bleedin’ through. He wants to destroy the world to make a name for himself.”
“Won’t that not matter if the world is, oh, I dunno, gone?”
Spike shook his head. “See, I don’ think I can credit the wanker for thinkin’ that far ahead. He jus’ wants the glory of destroyin’ it, even if he only gets to enjoy it for half a bleedin’ second.” A pause as he fiddled through his duster pockets and retrieved his cigarettes. “Most vamps hate the thought of Hell as much as anyone else, luv. In the spectrum of all things unholy, half-breeds are the lowest of the low. We’d be hunted out as much as you pulsers if the world was handed over completely. True demons can’t stand the thought of human blood taintin’ demonic lineage. So vamps enjoy the world up here. Only the oldest of the old, like the Master, would’ve ever thought they stood a chance among the full-breeds.”
Willow frowned. “Then why does this…Angelus want to destroy the world?”
“’Cause of his amazin’ ego. He thinks if he pulls it off, I’d wager, that’d earn him some credibility.” Spike lit his cigarette, ignoring Giles’s protests and observations that smoking on school grounds was against the rules. Rather, he tossed the Watcher a mean look, effectively shut him up, then turned to Buffy. “Angelus wants notoriety in Hell. He’s already considered one of the baddest of the bads up here, even among those who are above the pains of bein’ half-breeds. He used to brag about how the Scourge even thought highly of him.”
“The Scourge?” Giles echoed. “I thought you were the Scourge.”
Spike smiled dryly and puffed on his cigarette. “The Order of Aurelius—Darla an’ her offspring—are called the Scourge of Europe. I’m not talkin’ about that. The Scourge itself is a demon organization of full-breeds that declares war on anythin’ with human blood in it. They’re like Nazis, sans the humor. Like I said, vampires are the lowest of the low. An’ unfortunately, I think Angelus’s braggin’ rights on the Scourge are legit.” When he received nothing but another questioning look, he sighed and continued. “Fine. It was 1956. We were in Singapore when the Scourge attacked, targetin’ this clan of Frylik demons an’ any other half-breed that crossed their path. Angelus got us out of that mess by means I’m still hazy on, but even Darla—who doesn’ brag as much—said that the leader of the Scourge was impressed with my grandsire’s lack of humanity.” He shrugged and blew out a stream of smoke. “Din’t help the lot of us any. Almost wished they’d offed us for as much as the old sod bragged about it for the next three years.”
“You have issues with Angelus, don’t you?” Willow asked.
“Other than the fact that he threatened my mate the other night, you mean?” A dangerous glimmer flickered in Spike’s eyes. “The pages of history at its bloodiest can’t even begin to touch how deep my hatred for him runs.”
“So…yes, in other words.”
He smiled. “Yeh, we have a few issues.”
“However,” Giles added, sighing deeply, “seeing as we can’t begin to know what specific plans Angelus has in store, as he refrained from telling Spike, we’re having a meeting to discuss an entity we can’t fight.”
Buffy frowned. “And here I could’ve sworn that was our job…fighting evil.”
“Perhaps if Spike had decided to not shut his elder out so rapidly, we would have a more detailed account on what we can expect.”
“Are you outta your bleedin’ mind?” the vampire growled.
“He’s British,” came the response as the library doors swung open and Xander, Cordelia, and Oz paraded inward. “So let’s not rule anything out.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Xan…”
“Good day, all.” Her friend stopped and nodded in Spike’s direction. “I see we’re now associating with Billy Idol wannabes?”
Spike sighed. “I swear, one day I’m gonna kill that wanker.”
Xander threw his hands up in protest. “Me? What I’d do?”
“Not you, you prat, Billy Bloody Idol. Some day when his teeth are rottin’ an’ he can’t sing anymore.” At the Slayer’s look, he shrugged and indulged a puff of his cigarette. “What? He might be a git, but the boy’s got good music.”
“Is this the guy?” Oz asked, pecking Willow on the cheek.
Buffy flushed madly. Spike looked especially pleased with himself.
“Yeah,” she said, sliding toward her mate self-consciously. “This is the guy.”
“What guy?” Xander demanded. “Have I missed something?”
“Oh, judging by it being, well, you,” Cordy drawled, slipping coolly into the frosty-bitch persona she always put on when around people and Xander at the same time, “I’d say yes.”
Her friend sighed heavily. “Why do I put up with her?”
“And so say all of us,” Willow muttered.
Spike just grinned and wrapped an arm around Buffy’s waist, sliding her down the length of the counter until she was beside him. “Nice lot you hang out with, Slayer.”
“Shut up.”
“Who’s the guy?” Xander whined. “Come on.”
Giles cleared his throat. “Spike,” he said contemptuously, tossing the vampire and his Slayer a disapproving look. The coldness of his regard had Buffy in knots. He looked as though she had willfully chosen this fate for herself, and that he couldn’t be more disappointed with her decision if she had decided to abandon her duty completely.
Even so, her feelings over the past few days had blossomed radically, and it was no longer a matter of mates or claims. Not to her, and not to Spike. She felt it with every glance he gave her, every time his lips touched her skin. Moreover, he’d said it himself, and there wasn’t any reason to doubt it.
Spike loved her. And what’s more, she loved him. She loved him, and she wanted him to know it.
She’d wanted to say it all weekend, but hadn’t summoned the nerve. Ever since he whispered it to her on Saturday night, the words had been itching at her throat, begging for voice.
She hadn’t said it yet for several reasons. She wanted desperately for him to believe her; wanted there to be absolutely no doubt that she spoke the truth, and was not trying to simply return the words in kind. No, she needed him sure. She needed him to believe her.
When they had awoken the previous day, she’d set about ways of telling him, but the timing was always off. No matter what they did, it hadn’t felt right.
She didn’t want to gasp it as he brought her to climax. She wanted it real.
Tonight.
“Okay,” Xander said, shaking her back to the present. “I’m taking it that Billy Idol is Spike.”
“Spike is a vampire,” Giles explained. “As well as Buffy’s mate.”
Xander and Cordelia were the only people in the room that reacted.
“He’s a vampire?” the former screeched, newfound fear pouring into his eyes. “Then why is he all…cuddly with the Slayer? There should be no cuddlies between vampires and slayers!”
“You have absolutely no idea how much I agree with that sentiment,” Giles remarked.
“This just makes her an even bigger freak,” Cordelia decided.
Spike growled.
“Okay, sense is not being made here!”
Willow scowled. “There’s plenty of sense to be had!” she protested. “Spike is Buffy’s mate. He’s not like other vampires.”
“What bizarre-o world are you referring to, there, Will?”
“Willow knows?” Giles demanded.
“I told her on Saturday,” Buffy replied, feeling all of three inches tall. “I was going through some stuff and she helped me.”
“Okay, so everyone knows except Xander,” Xander said irritably. “Everyone always knows except Xander.”
“Oh calm down,” Giles snapped. “Buffy is Spike’s mate. Vampires are predestined to mate with other vampires. It’s eternal, unbreakable, unavoidable, and one of the most potent connections that ever was or ever will be. Though it has not happened before now, it was foreseen that all slayers are similarly destined to have vampiric mates, as slayers and vampires are of the same mold, and there is only one slayer at a time. Spike is the first vampire to have ever found this out…rather, he’s the only vampire who knows how and why it’s possible. And now, other than the Council, the lot of you are in on it as well.” He paused. “Spike is Buffy’s mate. He’s also a slayer killer, and he’s brought his family to Sunnydale to start the apocalypse.”
“Now hold on,” Buffy intervened sharply, hand going to her mate’s and squeezing tightly. “Spike’s been here ever since I’ve been here, and I don’t think we can say the same for the rest of those guys.”
“Huh?” Xander asked, lost. No one looked at him.
“And even so, Giles, Spike is my mate. And you just said that, like it or not, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. So start getting used to it.”
At that, the Watcher glanced down, almost ashamed. It seemed that much had somehow escaped his notice.
“Authority is addictive,” Spike murmured in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “An’ you wear it very well.”
“As for him killing slayers,” Buffy continued, flushed, “yes, it happened. It happened before he knew anything about me or the fact that we’re mated.”
“Have you claimed each other, then?” Giles asked softly.
No. I’m waiting.
For what, she did not know. Just as confessing her love didn’t seem right, she wanted to perform the ritual that would tie them together for eternity after everything was on the table. She didn’t want him wondering about how she felt, or if she could ever love him the way he seemed to love her.
Though she felt if they waited any longer, she would burst.
Tonight. It has to be tonight.
“The Slayer’s waitin’,” Spike explained, squeezing her hand again. “I jus’ dumped this on her recently. Don’ wanna push the girl in too far yet.”
“If it’s unavoidable—”
“Because somethin’ is unavoidable, Rupert, doesn’ mean you get careless about it. This is both our eternities we’re talkin’ about. If she’s not ready, I’m not, either.”
Oh yeah. She totally loved him.
“Very well,” Giles said with another long sigh. “I think it might be best, then, if you two take patrol tonight. We need to know what sort of apocalypse Angelus has in mind. Spike?”
“I’ve been tryin’ to track ‘em down for a few days,” he admitted. “Ever since I saw them the other night. Dru’s either gotten better at magic, or she’s kidnapped a warlock or what all, ‘cause their scent’s everywhere. I keep runnin’ into all these bloody dead ends.”
“We’ll hit it tonight, though,” Buffy said. “This town’s only so big. They can’t hide forever.”
“I am so confused,” Xander muttered.
“Imagine our surprise,” Cordy retorted.
“I’ll come by your house tonight,” Willow suggested. “To talk tactics…for if you find him, and if you don’t. Somehow, I don’t like the idea of an uber creepy vampire out there, just hiding until it’s time for him to push the ‘start’ button on the apocalypse.”
“Sounds good,” Buffy agreed. “What time?”
“Eight-ish? Will that give you enough time to make with the patrol?”
Buffy and Spike exchanged a glance.
“Should be fine.”
“I’ll try to head over around eleven, unless that’s too late.” Oz offered a shrug. “Band practice. Devon learned a new chord, and he wants to wow all of us with his now multi-chord tricks of magic and wonder.”
The Slayer grinned. “Should be fine. My mom’s not due back for another week.”
Cordy’s brows arched. “You get the house to yourself and Mr. Sex-On-Legs with a sacred duty to screw his brains out?” She cursed to herself. “I think I kinda hate you.”
Spike beamed. Oz shrugged. Everyone else looked uncomfortable.
“Ummm, right,” Willow said hurriedly, breaking the ice. “So…eight-ish? Your place?”
“We’ll be back by then,” Buffy said, hopping off the counter and tugging Spike along with her. “Now we’re heading back.”
Xander frowned. “Back where?”
“My house.”
“Isn’t it a little sunny outside?”
Spike whirled around at that, his arm closing over Buffy’s middle. “No worries, mate,” he said, waggling his brows. “We’ll take the scenic route.”
*~*~*
They made three uneventful sweeps of all the hot spots that night. Though he didn’t say anything, Buffy could tell that her boyfriend was getting irritated with himself. He’d pick up a trail and follow it for about a half hour before meeting a dead-end. There was simply no catching up with the Order. If they were even staying in town—which both Spike and Buffy agreed they must be—they were somewhere well hidden with all the anticipatory moves a vampire would make with the mindset of avoiding other vampires.
It was a quarter past seven. The town was dead—seriously dead. No fledglings, no demons, no nothing.
Nothing but forty-five minutes to kill before they met up with Willow.
Forty-five minutes, and a very agitated vampire who needed to blow off steam.
Which was why, Buffy supposed, she tackled him without warning. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to fight her or kiss her, but found herself in the welcomed mercy of his arms either way. Spike caught her with ease, his bumpies bursting through. With a quick twist and some very primitive growls that had her all kinds of horny, he shoved her against the side of the nearest mausoleum and attacked her lips.
There was something so primal, so wild, so wanton, about kissing him like this. When his demon was out to play. She loved playing with him, even if she was coming closer to lighting a match to gunpowder. She stroked his tongue with hers, teased his fangs with soft caresses that elicited whimpers of such passion that she thought at first that she was hurting him. His hands were everywhere, teasing her, bringing her body to life in ways that hadn’t been possible until she knew him. Until she had someone who was hers.
“Christ, Buffy,” he gasped into her mouth. “I need you so much.”
“Spike…”
“I can’t wait much longer, sweetheart. I need to…” He drew his lips from hers and lowered his mouth to her throat, his fangs teasing her skin but not drawing blood. She shivered at the feel of it, wondering who got the worst of this torment. Spike, no doubt. His fangs had wanted her blood for fourteen years, and these last few days had known an endless strain on his patience. “I need to taste you. I need to…god, I need to be inside…I need to make love to you so bloody badly.”
Buffy didn’t know what turned her on more. The fact that he said it, or the fact that he’d called their sex-life an act of lovemaking, rather than the cruder fucking she’d expected.
“Spike…I need to tell you…something…”
He drew away from that, eyes wide. “Sweetheart?”
“I just…here’s the thing.” She released a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you all weekend, ‘cause I wanted you to know I meant it and that I wasn’t just saying it to say it, you know?”
Awe coincided with the rush of realization. “God, Buffy—”
“I love you—” She found herself mauled with hungry kisses before she could finish, and her body rejoiced. “I love you,” she gasped again as his mouth began tracing a wet path down her neck. “And tonight…we can…tonight.”
He growled, face buried between her breasts, but he didn’t say anything.
“After Willow…and Oz…leave.”
He jerked down the front of her jeans and shed the fabric off her left leg so fast it nearly burned. His force knocked her shoe off along with it.
A thrill raced up her spine.
He lost control. I said it, and he lost control.
Her power over him was terrifying at times, but then, he held the same power over her.
They were true equals.
“Spike—”
“Love you,” he replied with soft ferocity, ripping her panties away as he cast her liberated leg over his shoulder. “Gonna show you how much.”
“Tonight—”
“Save tonight for tonight,” he said, nibbling at her clit. “My mouth wants this pussy now.”
Buffy threw her head back and gasped. Spike held her thighs and feasted.
There had never been such a night.
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-One: Masque of the Red Death…
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