A/N:   Set inside my Her Duty world, but not a sequel or continuation of any kind.  Just another way Season 2 could have happened after Angelus.  Kind of dark, moody at the beginning, not unlike the great Poof himself!

Pairing: Buffy/Spike

Rating: NC-17 for erotic sex, bloodplay, and emotional angst.

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Spike or any of the other characters from BtVS. I just like to get them naked and roll them around in a bed...or on a tomb...under the table...in the shower...ummm you get the idea...

Feedback? Please, please, with chocolate and Spike on top?  Email me:  spikesangel820@yahoo.com

His Need

by Dark Dreamluver

His Need:

Spike lay despondent on the bed in what was “their” room, now merely “his” room.  Tears streaked pale cheeks, blue eyes, bloodshot and glazed in all his misery.  He could hear them going at it again, as he had every night since Angelus had returned.  At first, he thought that it would be okay.  They had included him, took care of him bringing him someone to eat, helping him dress.  That had been weeks ago.  Now everything had changed.  They lived only for the hunt, kill, and the fuck. 

He turned over on the bed and pulled the pillow over his head hoping to muffle the sounds of his dark princess’s pleasure, the sound of her screaming another’s name, when for over a hundred years she only screamed his.  His long dead heart ached in his chest, a physical pain in which he rubbed incessantly for long hours, leaving an abrasion on his pale, thinning chest, a mark, a scarlet letter, branding him a fool for love. 

Tonight the sounds of their passion had continued for hours.  The two had returned early, well before sunrise, satiated from the kill and feed, wanting satiation of another kind.  They continued still. 

He burrowed further into the deep cushions of the bed, pillows, sheets, and blankets finally causing a cessation of sound.  He wiped his face with the sheet, uncaring that the snowy silk would be stained by his tears, he couldn’t hear them and that was a blessing, well worth the cost of new bedding.  He gave a hiccupping sigh and settled in to sleep, hungry as was the norm now, but much needed.  Dark sooty lashes had just closed over pained azure eyes when his world collapsed.

He sat up screaming his anguish, “No, fuck no! Drusilla!”  The ache in his heart of the past few weeks, the small part of his Sire that he carried inside, ceased to exist.  In the space where his heart resided, there was nothing.  He couldn’t feel her. She was dead to him now.  Mated to Angelus, claimed, leaving him alone--as alone in death as he was ever in life.

The blankets fell from him unnoticed, lost as he was in his grief.  He had to go, to get away from the pain.  Away from the sounds of their joy, their laughter in the face of his anguish.  Death would be welcome and maybe he would seek it before the night was through.  He dragged himself from the bed, legs working, but weak as he dressed hurriedly and pulled on his black duster—the one piece of “them” that belonged solely to him. He had defined himself as a slayer of Slayers, as Spike, as William the Bloody.  Turning his pain from Cecily’s laughter and scorn into something else, something stronger, better and in one act, his dark princess had reduced him into simply William once more. Perhaps it was fitting that it was she; she had, after all, made Spike.

He left through the French doors on the balcony that ran the length of the mansion, passing silently and unnoticed by their room.  His legs held him upright, barely, but he didn’t care.  He was leaving this place, this hell, even if he had to crawl.  To her.  To the one girl in all the world he should never seek out unless it was to destroy her.  He had to go and he couldn’t think of anyplace else, anyone else who might understand his pain, for it was her own.  Tonight he was William, laughed at and defeated, broken and she was a girl, just a girl that could kill him.

The walk to the Slayer’s house almost saved her the trouble.  By the time he reached the big tree in her front yard he was trembling. No doubt had he been capable of producing sweat, he would have been wringing wet with it.  He used the last bit of his strength to pull himself up the tree and onto the roof near the Slayer’s window, before collapsing there, breathing hard even when he had no reason to breathe at all. 

The stillness inside of him was now complete, the painful aching gone, and in its place—emptiness.  His face, handsome and strong, reflected this; perfectly smooth and emotionless except for the tears that refused to quite and which he no longer noticed.  He crawled the remainder of the way and used the ledge of the window to pull himself to his feet once more.  The girl, the Slayer, was lying on her bed, body clothed in an old pair of flannel pajamas and curled around a faded stuffed animal.  Her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her expression, but based on her defensive position, she was hurting as much as he.

He tapped lightly at the glass, flinching guiltily when he saw her startle and turn to the window in a hurry, a desperate, hopeful look on her tear-ravaged face.  He found that he was indeed sorry that he had given her that false hope.  He had been there recently himself and knew the disappointment of reality very well. He made sure that William showed in his expression, no need to alarm the girl needlessly and waited for her to reach a decision.

Her Choice:

Buffy was drowning and no one noticed.  She was drowning in sorrow and guilt. Sorrow for her lost love and guilt for the death of her teacher.  Giles could barely look at her and so he didn’t see it. Xander was too busy saying, “I told you so” and Willow, she of the best friend variety, hadn’t once asked how Buffy was feeling.  Her mom? Well, she hadn’t seen anything for a long time.  She had lost her boyfriend, her lover, and her mate in one wonderful, terrible evening and was drowning in grief, but no one noticed.  She was the Slayer, the Chosen One.  She wasn’t allowed to be just Buffy the girl.

She had been coping in public; however, in the privacy of her bedroom she was falling apart.  It was here in the quiet darkness of her room, in her girlhood bed, among the ghosts and toys of her past that she showed her true feelings and she was drowning. Tonight she had been on the verge of sleep, the first true sleep since her birthday, when she had felt the last link she had to Angel disappear.  She was young, true, but she was also the Slayer, she knew what had happened.  Angelus had taken another mate.  She was even pretty sure of whom—Drusilla.  She was alone, the way the Chosen One was supposed to be. Always alone.

When the tap came at her window, for one fantastic moment, she let herself believe that it was Angel, her dark and mysterious vampire, waiting for her with some cryptic message.  When she turned, full of hope and blossoming joy, and saw her reflection superimposed over another even darker vampire, she had an epiphany.  They were the same. She and this dark knight were exactly the same.  She raised a trembling hand to the glass and traced her reflection, a mirror of his; following the path of tears clearly visible on each grief stricken face.  She pulled her hand back and with the pads of her fingers felt the wetness on her cheek, watching as he copied the motion, surprise evident in both hazel and blue eyes.

She raised the window and pressed her hand against the barrier between her and the vampire, waiting patiently as he brought his hand forward hesitantly and mirrored her, the barrier the only thing between them. 

She pressed forward that small space and laced his long fingers with hers, “Come in, Spike.” Her voice was a quiet whisper in the pre-dawn night.

He didn’t speak at all, just accepted her invitation, following her as she backed up, pulling him into her room. 

She dropped his hand gently, turning to close both the window and the curtains, aware of the rising of the sun.  Once she had them secure she turned back to him, this vampire, this man and was unsurprised to see him on his knees before her, holding the blunt end of a stake out towards her.  She had known why he had come to her.  She felt the same.

“Slayer,” he began, voice, husky with pain. “I need...” he stopped, blue eyes beseeching.  “Please.” he whispered finally into the dark of the room and into the darkness that her heart had become.

Please.  That one word, filled with such longing, hope.  There was that word again. Hope. Buffy stared down at the blond vampire in front of her and felt hope resonate in her broken heart. 

She reached towards the stake held in his trembling hand, taking it from him and tossing it towards her chair.  Her heart pulsed in compassion as he let out a broken sob and tears welled once more in azure eyes. 

“Slayer, please...” he began again, crying in earnest this time. 

She stopped him with a gentle finger on his lips.  “Shhh,” she whispered.  She took a step back and slid the flannel pajamas down her legs, before pulling the top over her head, baring herself before him.

“I need too.” She said, still in that small whisper, helping him gain his feet and stripping him methodically.  She pulled the covers back, helping him to crawl in between soft, cotton sheets.

He went without protest, unsure of what was happening, not really caring as she joined him curling into his arms as if she had always been there.  She pulled the sheets and the blanket up over their shoulders and they lay curled together for a long time, not speaking, just holding, comforting each other in the warm cocoon that was her bed.  After a while, his tears dried and he sighed, settling further against her warmth, the steady cadence of her heartbeat lulling him, soothing both William and his demon. With the full rising of the sun, he slipped into sleep, warm and relaxed for the first time in weeks.

Buffy felt the moment he gave in and went deeply asleep, both his exhaustion and the sun working its will on him. She held him tighter to her, needing to feel him pressed against her. She really didn’t have a clue about what she had done.  Here was someone who could understand how she felt.  She had reacted instinctively.  She had seen in him herself and reached out getting more than she had hoped.  She felt better than she had in weeks.  Her heart not spun out of fragile glass any longer and easily destroyed.  He needed her, had unwittingly thrown her a life preserver, and she was going to hang on to him with all that she was.  She was not alone.

Their Hearts:

Spike awakened slowly, feeling warm and cared for.  He felt the warm press of limbs against him, heard her steady heartbeat and the warmth of her breath across his neck.  He wasn’t confused about where he was or whom he was with.  He remembered the early morning hours perfectly.  The pain of listening to them, the anguish and emptiness of being alone when Drusilla broke their claim; now however, that seemed far away.  He had come here for her to stake him.  Instead she saw in him, something of herself and offered comfort, a place to sleep, finally sleep.

He turned slightly to look down on her.  The golden girl in his arms.  Her long blonde hair tumbled half into her face, obscuring his study of her and he gently brushed it back.  He had never really taken the time to study her face.  Her body, yes.  The way she moved when they had danced, yes.  The way she danced with others.  But that was only a predator sizing up his prey.  Now he took the time while she slept to study her as a man. Fragile looking lids gently closed over what he knew to be hazel eyes, softly round cheeks framing a slightly crooked nose and a full, pink mouth. He looked and for the first time, found her breathtaking.

He felt himself harden and smiled.  It was the first time since he got his legs back that that had happened.  It pleased him that it was happening now, with her.  He also realized that for the first time in weeks his heart didn’t hurt quite as badly.  They had healed something in each other, just by her offering and him accepting comfort.  She had given him peace and now he wanted to give her something in return.

He pulled the blankets down slowly, easing it over round shoulders and toned arms, until it rested at her waist.  He gently turned her in his arms, exposing for his hungry eyes the swell of her breasts.  He caught and unnecessary breath at the beauty of them, firm and full, tipped with rosy nipples hardening in the cool air of the room.  She shivered involuntarily and instinctively tried to burrow against his warmed flesh.  He growled softly, holding her on her back with a strong hand wrapped around her shoulder.  He had to taste her.

He leaned into her, brushing his lips over the tight bud, she shivered again, this time at the sensation and pushed her nipple against his mouth.  He smiled at her movement, his heart healing further that he could give her pleasure.  He opened his mouth and sucked her nipple in, lathing it with his tongue, curling, flicking and gently biting with blunt teeth.  This time she moaned and when he looked at her face, he was met with shining green eyes. 

He pressed his burgeoning erection against her thigh and repeated the words he had said to her last night.  “Slayer, I need...” his voice husky with desire, his hips moving gently against her all the while. 

She looked at him with a small smile playing on her pretty lips, before cupping his head and bringing it down to her.  She kissed him softly, but firmly.  She licked along his closed mouth asking entrance.  When he parted his lips she dipped inside tasting him, taking her time.  She traced the edge of his teeth, stroked the roof of his mouth, before finding the sheaths that hid his fangs.  She toyed with them, rubbing the tip of her tongue over the delicate skin, causing him to growl and whimper in pleasure.  Pulling back she smiled against his lips, breaking the kiss.

 She looked at him, smile curving her mouth, eyes sparkling with what he could only describe as joy.  He sucked in a breath as her legs moved against him, rubbing his cock as she spread her legs to make room for him and issued her second invitation, mirroring her first, “Come in, Spike.”  Letting him know that he was welcome here.

Again, he didn’t speak, simply moved over her, accepting her invitation. His cock brushed against her rough curls and they both moaned at the small pleasure, she spread her legs wider, cradling his hips as he took himself in hand and pressed into her tight, slick folds.  As he inched his way inside her almost virginal sheath, he deliberately rubbed his fingers over her clit, pleasure to allow for any slight pain that she might feel.

She moaned and arched against his fingers, plunging his shaft in further.  She writhed and moved against him, not helping really, but unable to remain still. Her one time with Angel had been painful and so she wasn’t prepared for the extreme pleasure of being filled by Spike.

When he was seated to the hilt, he stilled his hips and concentrated on that small bud between his fingers.  She grasped his arms and held on as his stroking fingers brought her closer and closer to the edge of...something.

Finally, with a small growl he moved his hand and thrust against her, pulling out almost completely before shoving back in. She easily caught his rhythm, picking up his moves just as she had when they had fought.  It was a different kind of dance, but a dance still.  As they moved together a fire began to burn within her, a need to belong to him and him to her.  Desperate for some relief she pulled him down to her, wanting his weight on her, needing to feel him push so deep inside of her that she lost sight of where he left off and she began.

He growled as she pulled him against her, loving the feel of her breasts against his chest.  He took her mouth hungrily, tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock in her wet heat.  She was burning him alive and he never wanted to not feel this way.  His balls clenched, hard, signaling his release and he pulled back to look in her eyes.  Again, he saw a mirror of his own need, felt her pussy clench tightly around his cock and he growled, demon rushing forward.  The rush of fresh liquid around his aching length told him everything; she accepted both the man and the demon.  She bared her neck to him and he roared as sunk his fangs and cock into her body.

She screamed as his fangs broke her skin, body pulsing hard around his invading cock, as he drew the first blood from her body, her orgasm rushed over her and she felt him deep inside of her let go, his hips thrusting his seed into her womb.  Her body tightened around his, cumming with every pull of his mouth at her neck, milking him.

The first taste of her blood had him cumming fast and hard.  He ground himself in her clenching heat and exploded, hips jerking wildly.  He pulled several long mouths full swallowing greedily, allowing the pleasure of her body and blood to heal him completely.  He pulled back from her, feral amber eyes blazing, her blood on his mouth and looked deep into her eyes. “Mine.” He growled, making a new claim, one just for him, for her.

Her eyes, widened briefly at his words. Knowing what it could mean if she allowed it.  She curled her arms tightly around his neck, kissing his bloody mouth, uncaring as his fangs nicked her lips, tasting him and herself.  She grabbed a hold of the back of his hair, releasing his lips and baring his neck.  She bit deep into his neck, drawing blood, swallowing it, him.  She pulled away and looked back up at him, his blood staining her mouth. “Mine.” She said the word with possession, letting him know with certainty that she fully accepted and reciprocated his claim.

The bond between them snapped into place and laughter and tears came from both of them.  All the emptiness that was inside of him, was now gone and she was never going to be alone again.

The End.