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Full Circle
Part Three
His use of her title instead of her name had Buffy flinching back from him. She felt as if he’d slapped her with his hand instead of raining blows upon her with his words.
“After years of fuckin’ torment, I finally got my ‘crumb’. I got to hear those three magical little words. Of course you had to say them while the Hellmouth was spitting hell-fire and brimstone down on my bloody stupid head, but you said them and I knew I couldn’t bear it if you took them back. I figured as long as I stayed away from you, I could convince myself that you meant it.”
All the anger drained from him so suddenly that he sagged against his chains, his head bowed in a picture of perfect dejection. “The bleedin’ tragedy of it all is that I fall for it every stinkin’ time, even knowing that you crazy bints are lightning fast with your affections. Dru only wanted her ‘daddy’, and you showed me right enough how much you really cared by skipping off with that slimy Immortal wanker before my ashes even had a chance to cool.”
An endless time ago they had confronted each other across another basement, only that time she had been the one in chains. She knew now exactly how Spike had felt when she had flung his declaration of love back at his stunned face.
He was right. Of course he was. It had all been about her righteous indignation and hurt feelings. She hadn’t given much thought to her plans other than debunking his reasons for avoiding her. Had never considered that he might be unwilling to jump right back on the hormonal rollercoaster ride that was her love life.
Then, as now, her inability to express her feelings had led him round the wrong bend in the path. It had been the height of conceit for her to even begin to imagine that this time would be any different than any other time she had tried to tell him how she really felt. Her grand gesture of reenacting the scene from his crypt wasn’t to prove her love for him. It was to prove his love for her. Again.
But his love had never, ever been in doubt.
Fighting to swallow the achy knot of tears that stung her throat, she stepped forward. He lifted his head and watched her warily as she came near, but Buffy refused to meet those all-seeing eyes. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she pulled out a tiny silver key. Kneeling down, she released his legs first, and then moved up to his arms, careful not to touch him anywhere else. Once she had him freed, she backed away quickly, putting as much space between them as she could.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was so faint that even he had to strain to hear it. “You’re right.”
Spike frowned and stuck his pinky in his ear and wiggled it around. “Care to repeat that?” His posturing earned him only the tiniest of smiles, and she still refused to look him in the eye.
“I said, you’re right. Well, not about the Immortal, but the stuff about me just assuming you should come running back to me?” The faint smile turned self-deprecating. “Pretty much dead on, as usual.”
“Buffy…”
“No, don’t,” she cut him off, her voice gaining strength. “It was…I had hoped that things could be different, that I’ve grown up at least a little, but I haven’t changed. I’m still taking you for granted and I still think it’s ‘all about me’. You deserve better than that. Better than me.” A quick glance up at the small window above her head told her that dusk was approaching.
“Allessandra’s trancs knocked you out for quite a while, so I’m pretty sure you’ve missed Wolfram and Hart’s plane. I’ll call Giles and have him send one of the Council’s jets for you. I’m sure you’ll be glad to get back…home,” she finished with a dismissive monotone.
Spike stared at her, eyes wild and mouth agape, completely gobsmacked by her swift change from flirty dominatrix to chastened little girl. “What the hell just happened here?” he demanded. “Oh, this is bleedin’ rich! Now you’re listening to me?”
She wrapped her arms around herself in the face of his irritation. “I-I thought that was what you wanted from me. For me to listen, I mean, a-and, well…now I have, and you can l-leave. You’re free to go.” Her eyes bore all the innocent good intentions of a small child as she finally braved a look at him, her bottom lip wobbling alarmingly.
“Fuck. That,” he snarled. He’d thought himself angry with her presumptuous actions earlier, but now he was royally pissed. He wanted nothing more than to drag her over his lap, throw that wispy, diaphanous little skirt over her head, and pound her backside till his hand bled. His eyes glowed yellow for an instant as he struggled for self-control in the face of her mind-numbing mood swings.
Before she knew what hit her, Buffy found herself scooped up and upended over a hard-muscled shoulder. “Spike! Oof!’ she squeaked indignantly. “What are you doing, you ass?”
“What I shoulda done a long time ago, your highness.” He wormed a hand under her skirt, ripping her fragile silk panties from her and squeezing her bottom roughly.
Buffy squealed and thrashed, kicking her legs and pounding her fists into his back. All resistance came to a screeching halt, though, when his fingers parted her folds and slid inside her, his thumb finding and fondling her clit with a familiar, unerring precision. She stiffened, arching with a sobbing gasp for air and then melted against him.
“Now, you’re getting’ it,” he chortled, adding an extra bounce to his step as he mounted the stairs. “We’re gonna go on up to your room and make up for lost time, and every time you open your pretty mouth to spout off anything besides ‘yes, Spike,’ or ‘more, Spike, more,’, I’m gonna stick something in your mouth to shut you up. I’ll leave that part up to your imagination, but be warned, I’m not the least bit picky.”
“Ungh!”
He smirked at her little grunt of pleasure and added a little twisting action to his thrusting fingers. “Knew you’d see it my way, luv.”
Finding her room presented no problem. He simply followed her scent up to the second floor and down the long hallway and kicked her door in with a flourish. The combined smells of her perfume and the faint waft of her arousal hit him in a rush. There was no hint of any masculine odors and a wicked smile curled his lips. Hmmm. Now that was a pretty picture, his slayer pleasuring herself, writhing in lonely, frustrated passion between sheets that had never known the sweat of another partner.
Until now.
“Ooh, baby’s been a bad girl, hasn’t she?” he purred. “Were you thinking of me while you diddled that pretty little pearl of yours, Slayer?”
“Oh, God.” If her face weren’t already red from all the blood rushing to it, it would be glowing by now. “Okay, the sniffy thing? CUT IT OUT!”
“Oh, but it smells so delicious.” He continued to torment her with both his words and his fingers until he reached the massive bed and then flipped her neatly back onto the silky red comforter. Her skirt flew up over her face and she didn’t even bounce one time before he’d sprawled between her splayed thighs and replaced his fingers with his voracious mouth.
Buffy screamed, her earlier humiliation forgotten beneath the force of his ardor. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard as she jack-knifed her body and curled around his head.
It had been far too long since achieving the pinnacle of pleasure hadn’t involved bullet-shaped, buzzy toys and batteries. God, she had missed this! No vibrator could ever reach the places he was able to with his talented tongue, and no mechanical whirr could ever mimic the hungry growls that ripped from him as he went at her like a man crazed.
Her first orgasm slammed into her, racing through her veins like wildfire and seizing every muscle in her body. The first was followed by seemingly unending waves of rapture, and he refused to let up until she was a twitching wreck beneath him.
A heartbeat later he was naked and looming over her, his body glowing a pale bluish-white in the twilight that leached through the lace at her windows. Her t-shirt was whipped over her head and flung away, but he merely made the concession of bunching her skirt around her waist as he snugged his hips into the trembling cradle of her thighs.
The rough thrust and conquer she was expecting after the way he had devoured her pussy never came. He slid in a few inches and then stopped, bracing himself above her, his midnight-blue eyes boring into hers. The only sound in the room was her ragged breathing as she stared back at him. His expression was hard and implacable and his voice was almost curt when he finally spoke.
“I’m bloody tired of always wrong-footing it with you. Up and down, hot and cold; it’s always got to be one or the other. Now is the time to make up your mind and tell me exactly what you want from me, or I’m getting up and walking right out that fucking door. Now, tell me.”
“You gonna believe me this time?” she retorted without rancor, her hands sliding up his arms to loop around his neck.
He snorted rudely. “Believed you last time, you barmy chit. Was just a little bit preoccupied with…oh, I dunno…saving the bloody world for you? In fact—”
Buffy’s fingers pinching his lips shut cut him off. “Spike?” Her voice was saccharine-sweet.
“Bwhut?” he garbled through his pinched lips.
“I need you. I love you. I’ve been completely lost without you. Is that clear enough for you?”
His reply was a quick, sinful glide of hard flesh that stretched and filled her to aching perfection. All the way in and then stilling once more. “Works for me,” he rasped as he swooped down for a scorching kiss.
Soft and tender had never been a part of their repertoire. Even that last night in the basement before going up against The First had been tinged with more than a hint of desperation. Now, for the first time ever, they were joining as equals, without anger or fear of discovery.
Buffy wound her arms around him and responded eagerly. At last! Her heart sang as she lost herself in the blissfully familiar taste and texture that was Spike’s mouth on hers once more. He relaxed his arms and settled over her, burying his face in the cove of her shoulder as his whiskey-rough voice whispered of every sinful delight he wanted to subject her body to. When she nudged her hips upwards in an attempt to entice him into picking up his pace, his diabolical chuckle told her he wasn’t about to be rushed. He kept his rhythm slow and deep, his hands slipping under her butt to lift her into each thrust while he ground his pelvic bone into her clit.
She lifted her legs to hug his ribs and slid her hands down the undulating muscles of his back to grip his ass, forcing him even deeper with a soft groan that was echoed by her lover. He kissed her again, biting gently at her mouth before nipping a path down the smooth column of her throat.
Spike lingered there, taunting her with a quick rake of fangs over her trembling flesh. Laughing softly, he lapped at the delicate ribbons of blood as her body quaked around him.
“Something you wanted, luv?” he teased her mercilessly. Lifting his head, he blew a stream of cool air over the scratches before his rough tongue flicking out to taste her once more.
“Evil…” she purred, arching against him as he found the sensitive place beneath her ear and laved it expertly. He knew her so well, knew exactly where and how to touch her so that the pleasure became blindingly intense. So necessary. So blessedly familiar, but never predictable. She couldn’t help but smile as his hand drifted over her hip, tracing the sharp thrust of her hipbone before delving lower to stroke her to a frenzy. “God, yesss!”
He leaned back, using his free hand to drag her with him as he settled smoothly back on his heels, heaving her up to straddle his lap without missing a stroke. He gripped her waist with bruising force, guiding her as she bounced eagerly on his thick, pulsing cock.
Buffy’s head fell back in ecstasy, grunting lustfully on each down stroke as his long fingers continued to pluck and twirl her swollen nub and slide down to caress where they were joined. Cool lips and a wicked tongue blazed a trail of fiery sensation down her neck to her chest. Beads of sweat sparkled like tiny diamonds between her bobbing breasts and he lapped at them, savoring it like the finest wine.
“Never again,” he muttered as he nuzzled his face against her satiny skin. “No one. Not your friends, not my brooding git of a grandsire, and especially not that prancing ninny that thinks he’s God’s bloody gift to women everywhere…no one is gonna come between us again, you got me?”
She could barely form a coherent sentence so settled instead for nodding her head wildly, her tangled hair whipping around her face. “No one,” she gasped. “God…missed you so much, Spike.”
The whimper of loss in her broken voice both wrenched his heart and increased his ardor. He strengthened his thrusts and doubled his efforts to bring her satisfaction before he himself breached the pinnacle. When he felt the first tremors of her release radiating from her hot core, he struck, sinking his fangs into the soft mound of flesh over her heart.
A kaleidoscope of colors whirled behind her eyes and a short, harsh scream clawed at her throat as the icy-hot burn of his bite sent her hurtling into oblivion. She wound her arms around his head, holding him tightly in place as she jerked against him. Spike lay back, dragging her with him as he nursed at the seeping wounds he’d left on her perfect skin.
Buffy collapsed against him in a daze. Biting had been discussed more than once during the long tenure of their affair, but she had never allowed him to penetrate her with anything but his cock. It wasn’t that she feared he might lose control as Angel had when he’d nearly drained her to cure himself. It was the level of intimacy that biting implied that had frightened her, the giving in, giving in and admitting that she might feel something more for him than animal lust.
Some might have attributed the sudden surge of euphoria she felt to blood loss, but Buffy knew better. Besides, Spike hadn’t taken more than a few mouthfuls before he contented himself with drawing arcane patterns through the trickling remains with his tongue.
The sudden burst of energy had her sitting up, a huge, crafty smile on her face as she tightened her pussy around his still-turgid cock and squeezed mercilessly, just the way he liked it.
Spike could swear he felt his eyes bug out and his eardrums pop. “Christ, woman, you’re gonna burn me up,” he sputtered, arching his head back into the pillows as he dug his fingers into the resilient flesh of her hips.
“Not a chance. I like you lusty, un-dusty, and amulet-free,” she grinned as she wrenched her pelvis in ever-tightening circles. She sneakily reached behind her and between his legs. His balls were drawn up tight against his body, and all it took was one firm squeeze to send him bucking and howling beneath her. Buffy clamped down and rode out his release, her shining eyes marveling at the euphoric expression on his face. She leaned down, giggling as she kissed his slack mouth and fluttering eyelids.
“Is it still there?” he mumbled.
“Is what still there, baby?” Buffy snickered.
“Top of m’ head. Swear I felt it blow off.”
She threaded her fingers through thoroughly mussed bed head. “Nope. It’s still there.”
Surprisingly alert blue eyes popped open. “Good.”
Before she knew it, she was flying over the side of the bed with a scream. She landed flat on her back on the thick carpet and barely had time to catch her breath before she was covered from neck to toes in a blanket of horny vampire. Her horny vampire.
“Someone is getting’ entirely too full of herself,” Spike commented almost too casually as he began to kiss his way down her chest to her quivering belly.
“You should punish her, then,” Buffy agreed with breathless anticipation.
~*~*~
Angel stretched and groaned as he sat up, cradling his groggy head in his hands. He felt the familiar gentle pitch and roll of Wolfram and Hart’s private jet beneath him and opened bleary eyes.
Velvety black eyes framed with thick, sooty lashes stared back at him and an adorable button nose was less than an inch from his. He flinched back with a startled yelp and fell with a complete lack of grace from the couch he’d been reclining on to land with an ignominious thump on the floor.
Her tinkling laughter grated on his nerves and he glowered up at her. Now he recognized her; the little sprite with the tranc gun. He tried not to be too obvious as he looked her over to see if she might still be packing her weapon, but he had the feeling that those fathomless dark eyes missed nothing. A sweet smile curved her rosebud of a mouth, revealing perfect white teeth and engaging dimples.
“I make you nervous, yes?” she greeted him cheerfully.
“A little, yeah,” Angel muttered, his movements slow and guarded as he levered himself back up onto the plush seat beside her.
“Ah. I don’t mean to.” She made an airy gesture with incredibly small hands. “Buffy assures me it is all part of the slayer package, this intimidazione.”
At the mention of his former lovers’ name, Angel perked up and began to look around. “Buffy? Is she here? Why did you shoot us? And where the hell is Spike?”
“Buffy is not here. She is in Roma. I shot you because she told me to, and Spike? He is with Buffy. Sono sicuro che stanno avendo sesso.”
“They’re what?” His voice rose to a decidedly unmanly squeak on the last word.
“Having sex?” She scrunched her forehead in deep thought then nodded with another bright smile. “Yes. Sex. Lots and lots of sex, I think.”
“Spike. That little…I knew he was up to something,” Angel muttered with a vicious snarl. When he made as if to lunge from the seat and head for the cockpit, he was stopped by a very sharp piece of wood pressed against his chest. He gawped up into eyes that had lost their velvety softness and now glowed like hot coals. “You’re a slayer?”
“Il mio padre ha detto che eravate un idiot. Indovino che era di destra.”
“Who the hell is your father and how would he know I’m an idiot?” Angel flinched as she laughed gaily at his choice of words. “I mean, how dare he call me an idiot?”
“Yes, I am a slayer, as are two of my younger sisters. We were called forth when the white witch worked her magic. And as for il mio padre…” She tossed her curly black hair out of her face. With a saucy smile, she stalked him across the seat and settled herself on his lap. “You met him quite some time ago, Signore Angel. You and Signore Spike ed i vampires graziosi della signora. He remembers you all quite fondly. You might remember him as Il Immortal.”
“Oh…hell,” Angel groaned and slumped back into his seat. Her scent…her heat grinding down onto his raging erection…her wicked little tongue tracing delicately around his ear…thank God his soul was anchored! “FUCK!”
“Precisely,” Alessandra purred before descending upon him.
~*~*~
“So he was really pissed when he found out that not just one, but three of his precious babies were potential slayers.”
Spike laughed so hard he dropped the bunch of grapes he was trying to feed Buffy.
“You know, you could be just a little bit magnanimous about this, Spike.” Buffy dug a squashed grape from under her butt and popped it into the snickering vampire’s mouth. “God, you can be such a child!” she shrieked in exasperation when he spat the squishy green blob back out in a fresh torrent of laughter.
“’M sorry, baby,” Spike snorted, wiping the dampness that his mirth had generated from his eyes. “But I can just picture the look on that fop’s face when he found out the happy news.”
“Not so happy as it turns out. Seems having three slayers in the family tree is very bad for business. They were either killing his clientele or staking his women. That’s the reason he’s been wining and dining and dancing me all over Rome. He’s been trying to convince me to have Willow reverse the spell. Not because he wanted to pry apart the Slayer’s dimpled knees,” she told him with a pointed glare. “He never had a chance. There’s only one vampire that has that privilege now.”
“Only one, eh?” He felt like a complete nance, but he couldn’t hold back the flare of hope that colored his voice.
“Only one.” Her eyes met his unflinchingly. “The One.”
Swamped with utter bliss, he pulled her down beside him and covered her eagerly seeking mouth with his, kissing her breathless. When he finally let her go she was flushed and panting. He cuddled her against his side and rumbled with satisfaction as she squirmed closer.
“Spike?”
“Pet?”
“Do you think we should call and make sure Angel is okay?”
Her guilty flush perked his interest, but Spike snorted. “I think Peaches can handle one little bitty Italian bird, Slayer.”
“Yeah, but three?” Buffy ventured nervously.
“Huh?”
“Triplets. Alessandra, Antonia, and Audrianna.”
“Bloody hell!”
THE END
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