Part Five
She liked it better when they were talking. Silence burned—no matter how much he angered her, how irritating his answers and innuendos were, there was something soothing about listening to him speak. And despite any amount of wanting, Buffy knew that it had very little to do with the logic that an occupied Spike was much safer than a hungry-jonesing-for-slayer-blood Spike. That was just an excuse—a front, though the heavens and earth would collapse before she admitted it
“What’s your favorite movie?” Buffy asked, hating the resignation in her tone.
Spike did not turn to face her. “What’s that?”
“You’re favorite movie? You asked me.”
“Din’t know you still fancied chattin’, luv.”
She shrugged. “Might as well.”
He chuckled. “So you’re still in the game, eh, sweets?” He sighed again, sliding to the floor across from her once again. Since his earlier break in temper, he’d returned to his attempts put as much space between them as possible. “Okay. Let’s see. I’ve always fancied some older pictures. An’ Monty Python’s bloody brilliant.”
She made a face. “I hate Monty Python.”
“No. You don’ hate it. No one hates Monty Python. You jus’ don’ get it. There’s a difference.”
“How typical. ‘I hate it.’ ‘No, you just don’t get it.’” She rolled her eyes. “You’re an ass.”
The vampire grinned broadly. “I can’t help it if you don’ get British humor, pet.”
“This isn’t a British thing. It’s a good taste thing.”
“Next time you see your Watcher, ask him if he prefers Gilliam or Palin. Though if he’s a true fan, he won’ have a favorite.”
“Giles doesn’t watch Monty Python.”
“’Course he does.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Spike scowled, albeit good-naturedly. “What?” he demanded. “He can summon demons, but not while demandin’ that someone bring out the comfy chair?”
“How did you know about the demon-summoning stuff?”
“How else you figure?” he replied. “Angelus yapped endlessly. Almost as much as you do.”
That should have been obvious. “And you think just because Giles was a ticking time-bomb in his youth that he’d enjoy something like…Monty Python?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because it’s…Giles!”
“Are you naturally this ignorant?”
Buffy crossed her arms in a huff. “Says you.”
That flash of annoyance she was so accustomed to barely flickered in his eyes. Things were growing oddly comfortable, and she didn’t know if that was a good thing. “Yeh. Says me.” There was a brief pause. “What was the question again, luv? Oh right…favorite flicks. Well, Dru always liked that musical from the 70s. Made me buy the soundtrack an’ all.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. In the hundred and thirty years since his siring, she highly doubted that Spike had lawfully purchased anything. “Buy?”
He caved with an insolent shrug. “Right. I ate the guy workin’ the counter an’ knicked the record. What else do you need to hear?”
“What musical?”
“Not even gonna mention. Took a bloody decade to get those songs outta my head.” He shook his head scornfully. “Let’s jus’ say it was one of the only things out there as wacky as her. That should explain enough.”
“I take it you’re not an Interview With The Vampire kinda guy, are you?”
Spike scowled. “Hell no. Pitt playing a sap who’s bloody Angel all over again? Makin’ with the guilt without a tribe of gypsies to blame it on? What a bloody rip. It’s good for a laugh, an’ all that, but not much else. Truth be told, Slayer, I don’ like many of the monster flicks. None of them even touch on our world. Only one I can think of that deserves even a nod is The Exorcist, an’ that’s only ‘cause it was so funny.”
She couldn’t help herself. “The Exorcist was funny?”
“Hilarious. Though I can see why it’d get you all skittish.”
“I am not skittish.”
“Uh huh. Have you watched it since you became the Chosen One?” His grin broadened when she shook her head. “You must. It’s the funniest film out there. We’ll make a date out of it when we get outta here. What do you say?”
“Maybe when the earth rotates backwards.”
His eyes brightened the challenge, and without realizing it, they had both edged forward. “You mean it, Slayer? ‘Cause I know a fella who knows a demon. I’m sure a li’l rotation wouldn’t be a problem.”
“And the word metaphor suddenly has a brand-spanking new meaning.”
Another long and oddly comfortable silence. She found it strange that she was so calm. After all, the murderer of two slayers sat only a few feet away from her. There simply seemed to be no reason for panic. Spike was equally relaxed, and aside expected threats that surfaced every now and then, had yet to tire of her. She suspected she should be counting her blessings; boredom was a monster he hated above all others. She had known that since their first meeting.
The power inside Sunnydale High fails and two vamps crash through the windows. The night before St. Vigeous. A day early. A day before the promised attack. People scream in hysterical confusion. Then Spike enters, accompanied with a herd of cronies. “What can I say?” he drawls. “I couldn’t wait.”
And thus the reputation of his patience preceded him. She was suddenly lost in another foray of flashbacks.
Willow’s panic. “We can't run, that would be wrong. Could we hide? I mean, if that Spike guy is leading the attack…”
Giles’s cogent patience. “Well, he can't be any worse than any other creature you've faced.”
Angel’s earth-shattering declaration. “He's worse. Once he starts something, he doesn't stop until everything in his path is dead.”
For whatever reason, Spike had stopped now—now when killing her would be the simplest thing in the world. Her mind wanted to rationalize that it was the fight he loved; the fight and everything that came with it, and therefore killing the Slayer without a struggle involved would be tedious.
And yet he had been willing not so long ago. The previous Halloween had transformed her into something even weaker than she currently was. She’d been more than defenseless—she’d been someone else entirely. She’d been trapped in a body that did not recognize her.
He had tried to kill her then. Why were things different now?
It happened fast—everything suddenly became clear. Everything. The clouds parted and she saw things as she hadn’t before. There was one inherent factor: Drusilla. She had been there to fight for—to kill for. Now she was gone. When Buffy last saw Spike, he had been confident that he could win his insane lover’s heart. Not much time had passed, and he was back—without Dru at his side.
What had happened? The need for good scandal surged her veins, but she didn’t want to stir up past uglies.
And since when do we care about the evil thing’s feelings?
“Slayer?”
His voice shook her from her reverie, and she blinked and looked up. His eyes, much like his tone, were soft and conversational. He seemed to warm to her with each passing second, and she knew that had to be just as unsettling for him as it was for her. “Yeah?”
Spike paused, and she got the distinct impression that he wanted to say something profound. Say something that meant something more than the dance they were currently performing around each other. However, the notion faded the next second. Things were irrefutably easier when kept to the easy, known terrain. Buffy knew this as well as anyone.
“What’s your favorite color? An’ if you say pink, I’ll eat your eyes from your sockets.”
The threat was so flippant that she found herself fighting off a laugh. “Don’t have one.”
“You must be the hardest person to shop for in the world.”
“Why do you care?”
“Jus’ askin’. Dru was simple. Get her a few dolls, a severed limb of an ancient demon, an’ maybe a pint full of infant blood an’ she was satisfied.”
“And to that, a major ick.”
“Don’ knock it till you try it.”
“Not planning on trying it anytime soon.”
“Exactly. Don’ knock it, then.” At that, something unnerving jittered through him, seizing his body with the impact of a mini-seizure. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. “Knew I shouldn’t have mentioned food.”
For the first time in nearly an hour, her blood ran cold. “What?”
“Council wankers din’t feed me before…well, they were pretty much countin’ on an all out vamp/slayer bash.”
“And you haven’t…” The implications of his admission had the burden of a thousand cold showers. Whatever companionship she was enjoying flushed to a point of no return. “All right…that’s it. What’s going on?”
Spike glanced up impartially. “What?”
“You weren’t fed…and you’ve been trapped with a weakened slayer for…God knows how long, and you…” For the way he was looking at her, one would assume she had grown another head. “You’re the Big Bad! What the hell are you trying to prove?”
“Are we back to wantin’ a death wish?”
“I want answers, Spike. Now. From everything Angel’s told me about you, from everything Giles has dug up in the library…you have number three sitting right here, and you—”
The vampire’s brow furrowed. “What, Slayer?” he demanded. “You’re complainin’ that I’m not killin’ you? Sounds to me like you’re the one off her bird. I told you, boredom’s not exactly somethin’ I enjoy. Hunger isn’t either, but I can work longer with the second than the first. Rest assured, pet, it’s nothin’ personal. I want to kill you jus’ as dead as you want me.”
“Want you?”
“Dead.”
Buffy bit her tongue sharply, and she saw his eyes flicker and his nostrils flare.
Then he was consumed in mirth.
“Vanity, vanity,” he berated. “’S that it? You’re afraid I fancy you? Or is it the other way around? ‘Cause not that I’m not flattered, but—”
Aggravation rumbled through her throat. “You infuriating prick.”
“Infuriatingly shaggable, you mean?”
“I’ll kill you before I let you touch me.” Shivers crawled across her skin, bunching flesh into tiny goose pimples. Every hair on her arm stood at attention. “Stay away from me.”
“Not exactly an option in here, luv.” He edged forward to annoy her. “’Sides, I’m the one with the brawn, remember?”
“And obviously not the brains.”
Spike scowled. “Watch it, pet.”
“Well, come on—you’ve had the Slayer pinned for what…a really long time. Not only that, but your stomach’s making with the rumblies. And you haven’t even tried? I’m amazed that you have the gall to call Angel housebroken.”
Even as the words left her mouth, she had absolutely no idea why she was talking.
The next thing she knew, Spike had yanked her to her feet and had her pressed into the wall. Her eyes met his strained yellow gaze, his demon ridges melting out the human façade that he wore so well. And suddenly, her body flushed cold with fear. True fear. She hadn’t known she could feel real fear anymore. Not after Angelus.
Spike was proving that she wasn’t as seasoned as she thought.
“All right, kitten,” he snarled, his fangs skimming her throat. “You want the Big Bad? Here he is. The full. Din’t think you’d ever be a willin’ victim—’course I told you that you weren’t the beggin’ kind a long time ago. Never fancied you’d—”
“Oh, shut up!” she cried. “If you’re gonna do it, do it. Don’t talk my head off.”
He growled again. “Right then. Less talk, more feed. You ready, Slayer? Here’s your bloody death wish.”
She had every reason to believe him. He had her against the wall, his hands curled around her upper arms, his chest pressing her breasts, and the undeniable feel of his arousal digging into her stomach. A contended purr rumbled through him, and in a beat, she felt the prickle of fangs at her neck.
Buffy gasped and screwed her eyes shut. Her legs trembled and her body throbbed. And suddenly, she was fighting the incredibly bad impulse to thrust herself against his erection. God, something was seriously wrong with her. This was not a moment to swoon. This was not a moment to wonder how Spike’s mouth would feel against hers, how his cock would feel deep inside her body. He was nuzzling her throat, his fangs pricking at her skin, and there was nothing to suggest this wasn’t the end.
What was he waiting for?
Then it came. His fangs slid across her skin, startling her with his warm sensuality that she barely cared that he had drawn blood. His touch was gentle, nearly caring, and he withdrew from her just seconds after stealing the first taste. Buffy nearly collapsed in need, but he didn’t make another move to take her. Her body was suddenly screaming in protest. It wasn’t over. God, it couldn’t be over. He was going to tear her throat out at any second—she just knew it. This couldn’t be the worst—not when it felt so good.
The worst never came. Instead, Spike snarled and pushed himself away from her, slamming her against the wall. Buffy gasped again as the air was knocked from her, and collapsed into a boneless heap.
God he was furious.
“You bloody bitch!” he screamed. “Bloody rotten bitch! Look what you’ve done to me!”
Buffy blinked and scampered to the nearest corner. “Spike—”
“’S all your fault!” Spike growled, whirling to face her again. “God, I’m gonna kill you. Drink from your bloody brainstem. All this! All your—”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re the bloody reason Dru left me! The reason everythin’ went so fucking bad.” He stopped and laughed bitterly, shaking his head with barely contained fury. “Remind me never to call truce with you again. Why the fuck din’t you beat it over my head that it’s against the rules? Stupid bitch. You should’ve staked me for goin’ so fucking soft. Sod the world. She—”
“I told you as much when—”
“‘All I see is the Slayer,’” he quipped, his voice a derisive falsetto. “‘You’re poisoned with her, Spikey. Can’t see anything else. You hurt my daddy.’” He turned his back to her and started screaming at the opposite wall. “Well, fuck your bloody daddy! I’d’ve killed him a thousand times over for what he did to you!”
“To who?” Buffy squeaked.
“To either of you!” Spike froze in shock, but began pacing again before either of them could dwell on the admission. “None of it meant a lick to him. He played her against me. He played you from every angle from Sunday. But she’d never see it that way. Neither of you would. Nuh uh. To her, it was because of you.” He forced a pained laugh. “Have you ever heard anythin’ more ridiculous? I did it to save you? You?!” His paces were becoming more and more pronounced. “An’ you know what really smarts? What really yanks my chain?” He didn’t even pretend to wait for her reply. “She was right! I have you here, every vamp’s dream, an’ what to I do? Make bleeding conversation! What have you done to me?! What have…” Some semblance of calm began to fight through vibes of searing outrage. And then he stalked toward her again, pulling her to her feet with such ferocity that even he seemed unnerved. “You’re the Slayer,” he said, voice unnaturally soft and angry, his eyes feral. “Things shouldn’t be this buggered up.”
A war of emotions surged within her, each battling for superiority.
“This should be a kick.”
“I violently dislike you.”
“It’s not my fault,” Buffy finally replied, struggling futilely against his hold. “I didn’t trust you. I told you that it was the worst idea ever. You came to me, you arrogant jackass. You wanted my help. It’s not my fault that whatever you did just wasn’t enough for her. I—”
“Shut your gob!”
“Well, it’s the truth!”
“That’s it. Sod all the bloody reservations.” And that was it. She understood. Negotiations were over. Spike growled ferociously and lunged, mouth fastening over the ghost of a bite he’d given her just seconds earlier.
But then it happened—the thing happened. The thing that would change everything. The second her blood touched his tongue, his animosity melted with a moan. His grip on her loosened as lust overpowered outrage, and his fingers began rubbing soothing circles into her sore skin. His vampiric ridges disappeared the next second. And then—oh God—it was all Spike. His lips were on her throat, laving the small wound in her skin, and the hands that held her began to tremble. Buffy gasped and curled her arms around him, barely aware of anything but the feel of his mouth on her, his denim-clad erection thrusting against her pussy. God, she had never been so turned on in her life. He was dry-humping her, his left hand dipping between them to caress her thigh through the thin material of her skirt, and he worshipped her throat with his tongue.
“Oh God,” she moaned, her head falling back. “Oh my God.”
“Buffy…”
She didn’t know who sounded more surprised. The world came rushing back the next instant, she collapsed with realization. Her body was on fire. Her heart was hammering. Every inch of her trembled and ached. She was wet for him. God, she was wet for Spike. Spike, who was panting and looking at her like she was the hybrid of Heaven and Hell. Lust burned his eyes and blood was on his lips. Her blood. And she’d let it happen. She’d let it happen with a vampire. A vampire that was not Angel. A vampire without a soul.
“This is wrong,” she heard him say.
That was the understatement of the year.
Something resembling resentment seared her veins, and Buffy pounced before it abandoned her. “Really?” she spat, hand going to her neck. “What the hell are you thinking?”
His back was to her. He didn’t even bother playing dumb. If the hostility in her voice affected him, he did not show it. And even through the darkness, she could see him quivering. “I don’ know,” he replied uneasily. “God, Slayer…I…Bloody Dru. It’s all her fault. Her fuckin’ fault. Got this idea in my head that won’ go away. I came here to kill you, kitten. To prove to her that…that you…you’re just a girl.”
She balked. “Just a girl?”
“No.” Spike’s voice hardened. “No. Not jus’ a girl. You’re the Slayer.” He whirled around to face her again, his eyes blazing with familiar outrage. Good. Outrage was good. Buffy knew outrage. She knew how to react to outrage. Kissing and groping and dry-humping—yeah, those were things she wasn’t so good at. “You’re the fucking Slayer, for Chrissake! It’s wrong. Don’ you think I know that? An’ if she hadn’t opened her big trap…”
Buffy’s blood ran cold at the unspoken implications. “What are you saying?”
“’m sayin’ I killed that bloody Kralik fellow so I could have a go at you, myself. Give Dru your head on a stick. Prove that you mean nothing to me.” Another growl tore from his throat. “Bloody hell, what’s wrong with me? I’ve killed me two slayers, an’ I enjoyed the hell out of it. Why are you so sodding different? What makes you so special? Why can’t…why do you torture me?”
Buffy couldn’t think—couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe. What he was saying was beyond impossible—and what’s more, he knew it. He knew it.
“Because you’re screwed up!” she screamed.
And you enjoyed it. What does that make you?
He chuckled bitterly. “Understatement of the bloody year.”
“Stay away from me.”
“Gladly.”
Empty minutes filled awkward silence. There was nothing to say. Astounded neutrality settled where words could not exist. The impression of his lips against her skin blazed with sizzling warmth, but she ignored it. She had to ignore it—had to rid herself of such aberrant evils. She would not allow him to poison her heart.
However, the rage she craved was out of reach. Spike looked just as shaken—his eyes screaming with disturbed confusion.
“It’s wrong,” he said again, though she got the impression that he wasn’t speaking to her.
There was no time to mourn the loss of silence. “You’re damn right it is,” Buffy spat without thought.
“Bloody Dru.”
“You can’t blame that on Drusilla. She didn’t make you—”
“No?”
Buffy shook her head. “She planted the idea. It wasn’t her fault that you decided to act on it.
“This wasn’ my…I din’t mean for that to happen.” When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked at her pointedly. “It’s not like I’m enjoyin’ this, pet. It was wrong enough when Peaches…when he…”
Another silence settled over them. Somewhere, Buffy knew that she should have felt safer now; she knew that he wasn’t going to kill her. That he couldn’t kill her because of this…whatever it was. Had his admission made things better or worse? There was no telling. She didn’t know where the line resided.
Finally, Spike huffed out a sigh and reached for his cigarettes. “I’m sorry,” he said shortly.
Buffy licked her lips and hugged her knees to her chest.
Her feelings were best left to silence.
TBC |
