Disclaimer : I own nothing and if you come after me all I can give you is my cat...and my husband,.
Rating : PGish I think


A Slayer and Her Vampire



The Slayer and her Vampire

Chapter one

Rae’s Birthday Gift

It was an old piece of equipment; big and bulky and a tremendous pain in the arse. If only it had earmuffs so he could add deafness to his list of disabilities, then he could remain ignorant to the screams and grunts of ever-loving bliss pouring through the walls of the mansion.

Fucking bitch, sire. Complete fucking wanker of a grandsire. They sucked out all his patience. Made him wallow in his little hell on wheels until the moment he could make the move to prove he wasn’t quite yet out of the game.

They’d retired for the night, forgetting to provide him with some satisfying feed. He’d just have to go and find himself something; it was a bit of a chore when you got peckish while restrained in the chair and under their gloating eye.

A small bitter smile curled Spike’s lips as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He’d had just about enough of it all. One grand moment had shown him that all women were fickle bitches, good for nothing but the blood they could dribble down his throat. Stuck in a body with weakened legs was beyond bloody extreme, and Spike decided to ignore the dangers known to him if he went a wandering on Slayer turf without the strength to protect himself.

Would almost be a blessing. And there’s a plan! Find the annoying little chit with shampoo commercial hair, make a bite at her and he’d be so much dust on the wind. Bloody perfect, it was.

With a far more chipper smile for one committed to allowing his existence to explode into a cloud of dust, he slowly made his way out of the mansion, legs rickety from disuse.

The night was young for all those vamps not yet fed and tucked up with someone else’s significant other. The continuing steps added a little zing in the swagger. He was convalescent, yet still had enough Big Bad to scare away any of the younger pups thinking of possibilities of one upmanship. It was no secret in such a disloyal bloody world of evil that he was weakened. A wreck at the hands of the Slayer. Well, Spike was determined to find her and have her finish off the job.

A loud altercation in the first graveyard he came to had him sniffing her out. The blunt thump of fists hitting faces suddenly went silent as a pouf of ash hit the air, and Spike couldn’t help but smirk in admiration. She’d been improving; was better even than when he’d last fought her in the church.

A moment of melancholy stayed his movement, sadness that he would be going out at less than his best.

Didn’t matter. He shrugged it off and reconciled himself to his end and continued to creep up behind her. He marvelled at her obliviousness as she kept her back to him. He stopped, tilted his head to the side and waited for her to calm and sense him.

Her turn was slow, but finding him within a step behind her had her jump half out of her skin. Instead of fuelling Spike’s humour, her sudden rush of fear disappointed him.

“What the hell do you want, Spike?”

He couldn’t help the direction of his eyes as he swept her from gorgeous hair to fashionably booted feet. No doubt about it this Slayer was a looker. Fists were still lethal, though. And whether he’d changed his mind or not was too late, his legs far too weak to get him back to the mansion let alone propel him through this fight and remain standing.

Time to take the bull by the balls, he thought as a fist swung and connected with her cheek. Her look of shock confused him enough that he didn’t see her kick as it effectively knocked him off his feet and to his back, a lump of warm slayer straddling his belly in the most inconvenient manner. She clung to the stake raised in her fist, poised for the down-stroke that would take him from this world and condemn him to one of continual torment.

He couldn’t close his eyes, kept them on her and took her in. The abruptly snubbed nose, the glittering shine of jade-coloured eyes, and the plush plumpness of lips he suddenly thought looked kind of interesting. He wanted to see her at his demise, not focus on the stake that was arrowed toward his heart.

The softening of his facial features as he soaked in her scrutiny stayed her hand. Her knees squeezed his ribs as she lowered her pointy stick and she watched him closely as his eyes glazed at the sight of her mouth.

‘What the hell?’

Buffy had been stumped by this vamp before, but now his altered look of hunger was mystifying. His focus hadn’t even once drifted to her neck, and for some reason that reassured her of his lack of danger. Not to mention he’d gone down like a…like a…like a vamp with crippled legs! They seemed kind of flimsy right now, and his colour was paler than usual. He looked like he was verging into starved territory and Buffy started to wonder what it would be like to feed him.

It was bad, bad, bad. Slayer as vamp cow, had surely never been done, but he’d come straight to her, willing to go up against her when he obviously hadn’t done much therapy outside his wheelchair.

“Slayer?”

His call shocked her back into taking notice of the loosening of her thighs around him. Yet he had made no attempt to throw her off his body, instead had snaked his hands up to her waist and was subtly moving her backwards over the surprise erection he’d sprung under her preoccupied consideration of his face.

What did she see when she looked at him? He felt washed up, used and useless to his own family while they rutted like wilderbeast to a captive audience. But to her? She was the killer of his kind and yet he found himself in such an astounding situation—one that should never have been possible.

She sat fully on him, her heat seeping through her outerwear to scorch him with her brand. He could scent such beautiful surprises from her body, ones that did nothing to cool his confusion.

His hands had spanned her waist and now were heading to her chest, brushing hesitant fingertips against the nipples not quite hidden by the skimpy fabric of her top.

“Sweetheart, I’m thinking that if we aren’t going to dance tonight I might need a bit of help getting home.”

The unconscious licking of her lips near did him in and his cock twitched against her sodden centre, inflaming him enough to consider discarding sense. An abrupt nod and she was back on her feet, leaving his throbbing body bereft and colder than any undead man should ever have to feel. He sat up and tried to push himself to his feet, but without help it was hopeless, he was left to flounder like a banked snapper.

Before he could say the words that would humiliate him beyond measure she had him in a hold and yanked him back to his feet. An arm wound around his waist as his own settled on her shoulders.

“You’re weak and you aren’t feeding well. What are those morons doing to you?”

He couldn’t help but gawk at her in pleased surprise. Her concern knocked him for six but it brought back that small seep of feeling that had drained when she took her body away from his.

“Yeah, well, can’t take time out of our busy shagging schedule to feed the invalid vamp now, can we.” His pained gaze caught hers and he felt a momentary sense of shame for bringing up the poof’s activities. Her hurt affected him in ways he could never have anticipated and he felt like an arse for doing it. Still, she wiped his mind with her gentle smile.

“Would some top shelf from Willy’s help?”

Stunned into immobility, despite the lack of movement as of yet.

His eyes softened; he could feel his own rising affection for her concern and felt a knot in his throat prevent his voice from working. He nodded his consent and they slowly set off into the night—a slayer and her vampire.

By the time he collapsed on the stool at Willy’s bar, he was struggling to stay upright.  The Slayer had kept her arm around him the whole walk and had even given a few demons the evil eye as they made moves toward Spike.  What kind of moves she didn’t wait to confirm.  The first one who got too close lost an arm.  Literally.  After that, they stayed back and just wondered at this strange pairing sitting at the bar.  One with glass after glass of blood chased with several shots of the good stuff, the other with an uncorrupted can of soda.

Once upon a time—and not so long ago—he would have thought sitting in companionable silence at a demon bar with his mortal enemy would have been the stuff of nightmares.  Rather it felt peaceful; calm.  Almost natural.  As if two supernatural creatures created to destroy one another were the perfect drinking buddies.  Even if it was the aim of one to not get pissed—or even have the hard tasting liquor pass her lips.

Once the fire of alcohol seemed a permanent burn down his throat, Spike felt his muscles relax and his legs go numb.  By then, it didn’t seem to make a lick of difference that the girl perched beside him had deadly stakes stashed all over her body.  Spike squinted at a portion of said body, intent on locating just one of the little buggers, and found himself leaning over far and landing in her lap with only the slightest thump against the bar top.

Her lap was nice.  Soft and comfy with the most tantalising aroma that went straight to his goolies.  When he felt the velvet softness of her hand stoking his face and then her fingers tangling in his hair he knew he was in trouble.

“I think you might have had enough, Spike,” she said to him and for a second his sloshed brain tried to tell him she was singing.  Singing god-awful poetry, sure, but something tinkling and lovely and gleaming.

And bloody hell was her lap the most comfy place he had ever rested his head.  It led to thoughts of other soft bits that might be comfy and in the shock of that moment, he shot up and hit his nose on the bench in his upswing.

“Ow,” he whined.

“Poor baby,” she comforted as she leaned forward and kissed it.

Both sets of eyes became as huge as saucers and immediate freakage took place. 

“That so did not happen,” she almost screeched into the dead silence of Willy’s, her voice cracking in sudden fright at her impulsive actions.

“Bloody right it didn’t.”  His eyes bugged even as other parts of him tingled.  Her lips had been nice, felt warm and slippery as if she’d just licked them.  He was hard pressed to keep his hand from swiping her taste from the tip of his nose onto his finger so he could hold it against his lips and sample what he felt a great need to.

They stopped and stared, words lost as they scrambled for some foothold in territory that had suddenly become foreign.

“’M gonna still need that help gettin’ out of here, luv.  Legs are all wonky.”

That concern shot through her once again, bringing forth slivers of gold mixed with her calm green that he’d not seen in her eyes before.  Not that he’d ever been this close to her and bothered to look.

“Can you stand?” 

She held her hand against his waist as he slipped forward on his stool to test his weight on one foot.  His knee buckled before he could find purchase against the surface and her brows crinkled in worry.  She seemed frantic to land on a plan, her eyes darting back and forth between Willy and the numerous evil patrons who would love to take Spike out of the picture.  Something seemed to click and her gaze settled on the bar owner with a ferocity steeped deep in Slayer legend.

“Clear the place.  Now.”

Willy jumped; the cold force of her voice sent anxiety tripping along his veins as his blood pounded through his body.

Within seconds his fear motivated his feet to scuttle around the bar and he very effectively convinced every patron to leave with only minor grumbling along the way.  He fidgeted in the middle of the room, eyeing the odd blond couple still perched up at his bar.

“Gimme your keys.”

The objection was immediate and without caution.

“Oh no.  I’ve heard about your driving skills—of the ‘don’t have any’ variety.”

“And I’ve heard how easy it is to crack your skull.  Go pull your car around the front then give me the keys.  And Willy?”  The weedy little man stood perfectly still, heart pounding with fear and a little irritation at being forced to give up his belongings because he was weaker.

“Yeah?” he asked hesitantly, a tiny shiver taking possession of his limbs.

“Make sure none of your customers are waiting outside because I will kill them all.  Might be kinda bad for business.”  She finished on a smile, catching Spike’s fingers in a random show of affection that left him gasping a breath.

Willy wasted no time leaving and they almost immediately heard the roar of some presumably ugly old clunker.  Buffy felt her belly clench in worry, knowing that Willy wasn’t that far wrong about her driving skills. Thoughts of wrapping some big tank around an electric pole gave her icy fingers of dread circling her neck.

When she returned to the present—by virtue of a very yummy squeeze on her fingers—it was to see Spike’s head tilted to the side and a question in his eye.

“Why haven’t you staked me, Slayer?  It’s why I came looking for you.”

She cringed at the reminder, being quite comfortable in forgetting that she had had him sprawled beneath her body and a stake ready to be thrust between his ribs.  The image was suddenly abhorrent, despite the cruel jibes and the frightening promises of death.  Honestly, she couldn’t answer his question.  Nothing was making sense—except that he couldn’t fight back, and that seemed more of a crime than she should be wanting to consider.

“The night is still young, Spike.  Let’s move your ass outside and get you home before I change my mind.”  And so she filled him up with some of her empty threats, unknowingly sparking a trend of forgiveness and tolerance that seemed unexplainable.

He gazed at her in wonder and she shuddered under the intensity of his consideration.  Her tongue seemed suddenly incapable of words and instead she grabbed his arm, slung it round her shoulders and bared the majority of his weight as she half-dragged him to the doorway.

Willy practically threw her the keys, caught in the graceful hand of the evil vampire she had hanging bare centimetres from her exposed neck. 

Their eyes clashed in uncertainty, steps fumbling a little confusion.  Buffy could feel her own body reacting—completely without her permission.  Her fingers gently massaged the wrist of his arm slung around her neck as if he were someone special—if not her boyfriend.  Her other arm gripped him around the waist, catching on his jutting hipbone.  His thinness and pale colour did little in making her happy to take him back amongst the monster pit.

“You have to, pet,” his voice soothed her secret worry.  “They don’t know I’ve gone an’ besides, I’ve nowhere else to go.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to refute that, to offer her own basement as a nice dark cubbyhole in which to heal—and be available for whatever reason Slayer’s needed evil soulless vamps free in their homes.

Instead she nodded, bundled him far too carefully into the passenger seat, and contemplated the controls in the car for a full ten minutes before jerking and sputtering to a laughable roll into the street.

Finally confident she had it worked out, she chanced a quick glance to the side and nearly screamed at how corpselike Spike looked.

“Jesus, Slayer.  Who in the fuck taught you to drive?”

The Slayer just smiled and drove on.

It was no surprise when they rolled to a stop about half a metre over the curb outside the mansion. The entire trip had been fraught with terrifyingly sharp corners, stalled intersections—at least those where the stop sign hadn’t been completely ignored—and the parking half-on half-off the road. Even Buffy was gripping the steering wheel in a clasp a crowbar would have trouble prying loose.

Neither moved as she turned off the engine, eyes filled with fear staring straight ahead.

“Bloody…hell!” Burst past Spike lips, the panic finally finding release in the expulsion of his breath. “You won’t be done in by one of us, pet. You’re destined for a car wreck. I’m tellin’ you now, drop me off and bleeding well walk home. You won’t be lucky attemptin’ to get this thing back to Willy’s.”

Ordinarily Buffy would have shredded him with her tongue, challenged him with perfectly thought out barbs. Not this time though. This time her knuckles were white and she was still seeing the strange blue colour of that car she had almost slammed into.

An emphatic nod indicated she thoroughly agreed with him, hair all springy as it bounced around her shoulders. She found the prospect of walking home past a multitude of cemeteries bursting with vamps infinitely safer than climbing behind the wheel of this ridiculously powerful engine again.

“Stupid dumb car,” she mumbled, the words barely squeezing past her pout.

It was captivating, Spike found. That lush lip distracting him from the reality of being back ‘home’, despite the front door being in plain view. And much bloody closer than any other car could have gotten him without the Slayer being behind the wheel—barely even stopping for the footpath.

The tension was released as he barked a laugh. They’d made it, all in one piece and only a couple of bruises to show for it. He could feel the stirring tingle in his gut as she joined his mirth with a reluctant giggle.

“Don’t think it was the car, luv. Get the impression that puttin’ you behind any kind of machinery just might be askin’ far too damn much of the Slayer.”

Her eyes sparkled when she finally looked away from the windscreen, her glance falling on his face and watching the interesting shadows cast by the street lamp.

“Was the widdle vampire scared of the Big Bad Slayer?”

“Who are you callin’ little?” His voice was filled with so much inadequacy that it made Buffy wince.

Completely impulse driven she slid across the seat, lifting a gentle hand to rest against his cheek, her palm feeling so warm she was afraid of chafing the skin of his gorgeous face.

“Don’t let them win, Spike. You aren’t unimportant, or even weak. She’s stupid. He’s stupid. And right now, you have me.” Her lips slipped over his in the most gentle caress he’d ever experienced. Warm moving sensitive flesh rubbed sensually over his and he was silent, allowing his own to fall apart so as to receive her fully. His tongue brushed lightly against the inside of her bottom lip and he felt the first stirring of personal esteem since he’d found himself confined to a wheelchair.

The kiss stirred him from his near slumberous participation and he couldn’t help but move his hand to tangle in the length of her hair. Another arm snaked around her waist and quite by accident he found her abruptly in his lap. Her tongue was stroking his now, his body feeling alive and pumping blood more forcefully than when he had most recently fed—life leaking from one failing body to the animated one.

Her lips slipped and slid against his, her tongue seeking out the coolness of his mouth and he could feel the heated imprint of her hands as they weakly braced against his chest. Her fingers were curled; he could feel the sharp edge of her nails as she clutched at the t-shirt covering his flesh, and he couldn’t hold back the little hungry growl deep in his throat.

It worked better than mere memory that she was in the lap of a vampire who had been hellbent on depriving the world of her existence a few short months ago.

“Was that an ‘I want to eat you’ kind of growl, or an ‘I want to eat you’ kind?” Buffy asked him nervously, her hands already strengthening against his chest for the possibility of having to get away from him fast. The cheeky smirk of his lips was enough to relax Buffy’s guard, but only a little.

“Definitely the second one, pet. Your lips are some very fine cuisine. Give ‘em back.”

Buffy watched his eagerness for her in wonder, not even thinking of the weirdness for a second. But already her fingers had relaxed and as her brain ticked over an answer her hands had taken on a mind of their own by tracing a repetitive pattern over his heart.

“You know this is wrong, don’t you? Me Slayer, you Vampire,” she emphasised with a jab to each of their chests, her own obviously lacking the oomph she stacked behind the finger that connected with Spike’s person.

“It’s naughty, Slayer. Not wrong. You helpin’ me ‘cause I’m weakened shows what a caring and fair girl you are. An’ if you didn’t know it, I appreciate it. Now, you on my lap, the kissing, feels all sorts of good to me, and that is something life has been more than bloody short on lately. So, yeah. Got the titles down right, luv. Jus’ can’t help thinkin’ how fun it would be to play.” He emphasised his hope of play with a sultry heat to his voice and roaming fingers that teased at the buttons of her shirt. His lips curved in a smile when she started to squirm, broadening when he sniffed the reason out as one other than an urgency to remove herself from his evil clutches.

The night surrounded them, hiding them within the loaner car as he continued to fiddle with the buttons that kept her protected from his eyes. Slowly she covered his persistent fingers, halting his action before he could succeed and the burning in her belly got in the way of her stopping him before he could touch her warming skin underneath.

“Spike,” she warned, her voice husky with unwanted repression. “We can’t. We have to get you back inside before it gets much lighter.”

Both of them were drawn back to look across the front wall to the door of the mansion. With a resigned sigh, Buffy released the catch and pushed the car door open, stumbling gracelessly from Spike’s lap into the road. He caught her just as her knees were about to hit the tar.

“Careful, Slayer,” he growled low, the deep reverberation lodging in her lower body and making her itch.

Quietly she helped him from the seat, the proud set of his straight lips the only sign of how very much he hated being at her mercy and whim for help. By rights she should have dusted him. He’d stumbled his way into her path so there would finally be an end to his struggles. He should have bloody known that all his plans went arse backwards. Particularly the ones where the Slayer had a starring role. The infuriating chit was too unpredictable.

Yet he made sure his arms drew her warm body closer as she helped him up the small step and through the gate. She bore the majority of his weight, and for that alone he felt less of a man.

Gone was the anger and furious desire for retribution towards her. It might be her fault he was in this chair, but her generous heart had helped him home. He should have been left defenceless out there to the other demons—if she hadn’t planned on taking him out. Instead, she’d brought him back.

The grunting he’d been attempting to escape still bounced around the stone walls of the mansion, making him grit his teeth in disgust. The hurt had faded just a little, and again he found himself being grateful for the Slayer.

She half-dragged him across the room until he finally fell soundlessly into the hated chair. The expression on his face immediately hardened to one of stoic bravery. The subtle shift of his head as his chin nudged her shoulder was the only indication of how much this situation hurt him and Buffy wondered again if this was the best place for her to be helping him settle in.

“You better go, pet. They won’t be happy if they see you here. They’ll be too strong for you on your own and I’m too gammied up to help you.”

The sweet sincerity of his desire to help her despite his frailty made her gasp, so unexpected it threw her whole worldview out the window. But she nodded, knowing he was right and had to face the monsters in the other room without her still present. If she were caught, it could only lead to worlds of bad.

Feeling newly brazen, Buffy kissed the corner of his mouth and sighed against his soft lips.

“Good luck,” she whispered sadly, and then the Slayer was gone.

And Spike was an invalid once more.A/N...your support for this fic that was originally meant as a one shot is awesome. I hope you like this chapter.

She couldn’t leave. The changes in mood and attitude Spike had displayed over the hours she had spent with him were so lightning fast that she could feel a steady thump at the base of her skull. Yay, she was in for a headache. Staring at Willy’s tank disguised as a car didn’t help to dim any of the tension either. So, casting her eyes around, she found herself searching for a window that would help her to spy on Spike. For no other reason than to make sure he didn’t wheel himself into a fire or something. That the grate was free of flame was so not the point, Buffy conceded with a humph.

It looked like she’d left him alone in the chair just in time, as he was soon set upon by his vampiric claim to family. It was funny how those few hours watching him get drunk, watching him slowly accept that she wasn’t about to stake him while he couldn’t even stand, gave her an alarming ability to read him. Know the nuances of his lips and the glitter of his eyes when he was in pain but masked by sarcastic bravado.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected the treatment had been for him to be so resolute in seeking his death. Sure, losing his love to his long lost grandsire wouldn’t have made him want to do wheelies while singing in the street. But even if Drusilla was a fickle bitch, she couldn’t see that the woman who had previously enjoyed the loving devotion of William the Bloody would be intentionally unkind to him. But the callous acts being performed in front of Spike would be more than enough to make the blonde vamp decide to end his torment. Seek a permanent release from his pain.

It was horrific. It was awful and so deliberately cruel. Not to mention gross and disgusting. No way was she putting up with this.

Without questioning why she felt so strongly about taking Spike away from this kind of daily life, Buffy spun away from the window and headed for back-up. And a plan. And a shred of commonsense.

She didn’t even give Willy’s car a second glance as she blurred down the street.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He wasn’t ready. Not bloody ready to return to the persona that belonged in this chair. Become the beaten down childe that didn’t deserve anything but the stalest crumbs tossed his way.

Before he’d prepared his heart for it, before he’d resolved the kiss with the Slayer in his head, they bombarded him with their carnal scent. Skipped around his chair with cruel delight as they resumed their play with each other. The only thing he was grateful for was that the distraction kept them from smelling danger on him. Smelling small traces of betrayal and discontent.

Dru’s voice was a nasty trill as she giggled and sung the praises of her most special Daddy and his meaty schlong of terror. Spike hurt his eyes by rolling them back so hard at the waggling appendage of his grandsire and wondered if he could chip his teeth with a superhuman jaw clench. Good thing for vampire healing her of Spike’s nice shape or that little thing would fall right out of Dru’s slippy tunnel of love. But if Dru’s new thing were to throw hotdogs down her hallway, he’d find blonder pastures to stretch out in.

She slunk over his lap, her head swaying and body nude as they sung a serpent’s song, her eyes far away and dreamy and in no way focusing on him as she writhed her pussy against his jeans.

For the first time, the hedonistic act made him feel ill. Made him wish he hadn’t wasted the strength in his legs earlier in seeking the Slayer out. Made him wish he had waited for this repulsive moment to grow a set and seek some comforts instead of eternal damnation.

It wasn’t even that the sojourn into the Slayer’s lap had his mind casting for alternatives to take his mind off his current humiliation. Wasn’t that her lips had whispered a promise of other ways to exist. Wasn’t even that her maniacal driving scared the shit out of him and the life back into him.

For some fucked up reason, it was her hair. Shining gold that he would love to just fold in his hand; let his fingers smooth with a gentle touch while perhaps curled up in front of the telly.

The image brought a smile to his lips, and as out of it as Dru was, she took the sign as intended for her and slipped all over him some more. Her clammy skin made him colder and he found his mind wandering to warmer places, seeing other horizons.

Dru’s hands wandered to his pants, despite the lack of solid behind the zipper. Before she connected with metal, however, Angelus had torn her off Spike’s lap with a fist twisted roughly in the woman’s hair. She whimpered a little before her usual insane cackle grated in Spike’s ears.

A little shake of his head may have released him from the images of the blond out of his reach—‘and with bloody good reason’ he thought with a confused frown—but even the intricacies of his long-time lover had his teeth on edge. For the first time in over a hundred years she failed to captivate him. Just plain out failed, and that set a more desperate fear in his heart than the thought of meeting the business end of the Slayer’s stake should have.

Angelus shoved his conquest face forward across Spike’s lap and he cringed back in his chair in the face of understanding. Once upon a time he would have had his dick in her mouth, being sucked to a blissful place while she was pleasured from behind. But this act was designed to hurt, designed to keep him in his place by an Angelus with a point to prove. Her hair brushed against his crotch as she moaned and writhed above him, Angelus pounding into her sopping hole with all the vengeance of a hundred year craving for freedom.

What could he do but zone out? So Spike put himself back there, returned in his head to the role of invalid wishing for a savior.

Wishing for Buffy.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It wasn’t until she got to her Watcher’s door—pounding on it like the hounds of hell were after her brand new Jimmy Choo knock-offs—that she realised that Giles was going to look at her like she’d been turned. The thought of it nearly made her giggle, and probably would have if she’d not remembered the scene she had just run from.

A groggy middle-aged Watcher opened the door to her and at once Buffy was inside. He closed the door in a haze of confusion.

“Sorry for the early wake-up call, Giles. I forgot that not everyone else is up killing demon’s like me,” she told him, the small shot of sarcasm for once not intended but established nonetheless with his grimace.

She looked impatient as he retrieved a pair of glasses from the pocket of his robe and gingerly placed them upon his nose. He squinted at her, his eyes still in the land of nod even if his brain was ticking over slowly.

“I kinda need the gang’s help. But yours most of all, ‘cause… you know…you’re the man with the car.”

Giles’s brows hit his hairline in a sudden premonition that he was in for something he wasn’t going to like.

“Indeed,” was his reply as he snapped his glasses from his face and began to rub them nervously. “What happened, Buffy? I will try and help you if you need it. Of course I will.”

“Okay,” she started, her mind finally catching up with her motive and wondering if he would think she had gone around some shaky bend and crashed into a pesky hidden wall. “I kinda need your help in rescuing someone.”

The blank expression on his face immediately was replaced with active concern and he was racing for his room to get dressed. “Of course,” he tossed over his shoulder as he retreated into his loft. “Just let me throw on some clothes and get the keys. You can explain along the way. Will you need anyone else?”

Buffy nervously eyed the lightening sky—freezing out the image of Giles’s inevitably incredulous expression when they arrived and she explained her purpose—and smiled. It would be much easier to rescue Spike with a big stake, a bigger cross, and a confused but loyal watcher watching her back. That made her giggle quietly, not wanting Giles to hear and suddenly slow and not see any urgency in the sitch if she was laughing in the midst of apparent disaster.

“Nah, we should be able to do it on our own.”

He returned, scruffy but covered a little in tweed. Buffy grabbed his small bag of stakes, holy water bottles and cross and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Giles? Grab a thick blanket, too.”

His expression puckered as he contemplated the blanket, an uneasy feeling settling over his shoulders as he followed her into the approaching morning. As he unlocked his car—noticing Buffy’s flinch as the key lodged in the ignition—he asked for directions, wondering at her street by street by-play as he rumbled closer and closer to the mansion.

Once he realised the final address, he groaned and waited patiently for the reason he was sitting parked outside the home of their latest worry. One look at Buffy’s determined face told him he wasn’t going to get one that was rational, and instead of questioning her, instead of doing anything that might prolong his return to his bed, he crept along behind her.

Ready with resigned breath to watch the latest folly unfold.
Chapter Five
For Oracleholly

They waited at the front door of the mansion, the sun rising in a hurry over their shoulders. The perverted sexual act had progressed and it grossed Buffy out enough to make her stop and check Spike’s expression. He looked as repulsed as she did, which was so of the good. If he had been enjoying this little activity he was so going to be kidnapped with a stake in his chest.

“Oh Buffy, really. I don’t think this is such a good idea. Angel would appear to be…rather…busy just now. Couldn’t you kidnap him at some other, less exposed moment?”

“Ssh,” she hissed over her shoulder, snatching the large bulky cross from Giles’s bag and grabbing the thick blanket in her other hand. “Okay, this is the plan. You hold the cross against the naked couple while I throw the blanket over Spike. You push him out while I guard our backs. Got it?”

She blinked as Giles’s spluttered indignant.

“Are you bloody well mad? What are you thinking, Buffy?”

“He’s crippled, Giles. Look, I’ll explain it all later, but right now we have to get him out of there.” Her annoyed whisper lacked the impact of her usual hands on hips, normal tenor as she outlined and expected agreement to her plans.

Giles couldn’t decide if he should laugh or cry. “I have always thought you a strange girl, Buffy, but if this doesn’t take the cake.”

“I’ll bloody well buy you cake. Lot’s of cake. British cake, even. If we can just get in there and get him out. And Giles, make sure he’s covered. I don’t want him to get crispy.”

He just mumbled about her ‘atrocious’ accent as he grabbed a stake.

Waiting for no more argument, Buffy was off, bounding into the mansion with a hesitant Watcher wielding his dangerous cross and hitting out and causing some singed skin just for the sake of his twisted satisfaction. A shocked Angelus fell back and out of his cold lover’s passage, feeling a burning rage as the elder Brit covered his mouth and snickered. He caught Spike’s eye—in a bizarre moment of male solidarity—and both turned to Buffy. Before she could complete the swing of the blanket, she pouted.

“Hey, it was dark,” she defended despite the flush of embarrassment that heated her cheeks. “And virgin here. How was I supposed to know?”

The shrouding blanket cut the gaffaw short as it was replaced by an annoyed shout and a struggling set of arms. He was shifting the blanket and would definitely get burned if he didn’t stop it. So, in typical Buffy fashion, she hit him over the head with a heavy statue and knocked him out. Which was more than good for the whole kidnap scenario. Arranging the blanket quickly and safely over his head, she rolled him to Giles and took the cross, rolling her eyes at the hissing and spitting vampires that tried to crowd her to the door. Giles swung it open and at last they were in the light.

With a smile tossed their way, Buffy went to help Giles. She put a bundled Spike into the back seat while Giles collapsed the chair and stowed it in the trunk. As the blanket seemed to slip and Spike’s leg began to steam, Buffy smiled at the ingenuous reason to stay close to him in the back. Quickly getting into the seat, she was ready for everything as she nursed the heavy booted feet in her lap, a satisfied smile making her feel all warm and tingly. It was a feeling similar to the one where she’d reacted to Spike’s head falling into her lap, his nose brushing against her crotch.

Giles got back in the driver’s seat, shooting her an irritated glare before setting off.

“And where exactly were you planning to keep Spike?” he asked in his watchery huffy voice.

She pouted. Her frantic plan hadn’t gone past tearing him away from Dru’s evil hair.

“Um, your place?” she asked hopefully, knowing by the way his foot slammed down on the brake and they skidded to a scary halt that that idea wasn’t so much of a goer. She was really going to thank God for keeping her safe in cars when her head finally hit a pillow tonight.

“Not bloody likely,” he confirmed, his voice at least one octave higher than normal when she’d hit him with something hard to swallow. Oops, needed to extend the plan.

“I guess I could put him in our basement.”

“Buffy,” he nearly shouted at her, concern getting the better of his propriety. “You can’t put your mother in danger like that.”

“Oh, no problem,” she told him, her voice filled with a happiness and good humour that had been sorely missing since the whole return of Angelus, which admittedly had so far only been two weeks.

“She’s gone on one of her buying trips. So, I’m all curfew-free Buffy. All good with the vamp-sitting.” She could feel it rising within her, her body tingling with an excitement that had her wanting to bounce in her seat, wanting to explore the hidden gift under the blanket.

Her hand found a spot underneath the cover right at his ankle. She jimmied his tight jeans up a little and allowed her fingers to find the skin at his knobbly bone. It apparently tickled as he moved slightly. Skin seemed to be a no-go due to the tightness of his jeans and instead she ran her palm lightly over his shin and up to his thigh, stopped only when her hand was covered by a cooler one and she was deliberately placed over the stretched denim of his hardened cock. She let it rest for a blinding second, snatching her hand back out from the blanket to the tune of his low growly laugh and flushed so hot her hair felt on fire.

“Oh God,” she panicked under her breath, yet that funny persistent smile stretched her cheek muscles as she felt all slick and uncomfortable in her seat. She felt a rising burn between her legs and she couldn’t stop the squirm that had Spike’s legs rubbing over her lap. Nor could she hold back the moan that built in her throat at the exquisite pain of having some of him touch her. She had an awful feeling she was in mega trouble and that she hadn’t saved him to get him away from the others at all. Right now she was a horny Slayer, who should really have known better after her last vampire sexual experience.

Giles pulled up in her driveway just as Buffy was contemplating parting her legs and finding a way to deal with the white hot itch that was making thoughts flash at painful rates in her head.

With a swift bump of her forehead against the warming glass of her side window, she reasserted some form of control and moved out from Spike’s legs and raced up and through her bedroom window to open her front door from the inside. Giles was already there with the compacted wheelchair and without speaking or handing it to her, he dropped it against the wall and walked further inside to retrieve a glass before becoming ensconced at the cabinet where he knew Joyce kept her alcohol.

Buffy eyed him warily before being diverted by a shout from the car.

“Bit bloody heat sensitive, you bint. Get me the hell out of the sauna.”

Buffy hurried to the car, flung open the door closest to Spike’s head and dragged him—mindless of the positioning of the blanket—out of the car and over her shoulder.

She cringed at his pained cries as she hurried to her front door, hopefully moving fast enough that none of her early riser neighbours could see anything and wonder how she could carry a grown man—smoking at an alarming rate—across her front yard and into her house.

Once inside she practically threw him on the couch, thankful that her mother kept the curtains closed over night and grateful that she herself was too busy to have opened them the day before.

Fortified with strong spirits, Giles took one look at the cursing punk-looking vampire and his fussing Slayer, shook his head and left.

Whatever was going on this time, he was more than happy for it to go on without him. His bed was the only thing that could comfort him after this very strange end to the night. He only hoped that, again, Buffy knew what she was doing.

Because only God could help them all if she was doing what he thought she was doing

Chapter Six
For Demonicamills

“You vamp-napped me.”

They’d been staring at each other for the full five minutes since Giles had burned rubber in his haste to get away from an unexplainable topic.

“Uh, yeah. Didn’t mean to.”

Spike couldn’t get over how adorable her pout was; couldn’t work out if the Slayer had banged her head in one of her driving mishaps and gone loopy, or if she’d enacted the kidnap scene for the purpose of some as yet secret plan.

“Huh.” There just didn’t seem to be words.

“You know I’m a vampire, luv. Don’t you?”

His confusion caused a deep furrow as he tried to sort it all out in his head. For sure they’d been the bitterest of enemies, which seemed kind of personal now that he actually knew her. Sort of jumped a few steps to that. Mortal enemies for sure, was all in the job. Vampire. Slayer. They were supposed to hate one another. Yet without having a clue how it happened, their little spot of togetherness seemed to have changed the focus of what they were. Seemed to strip away the titles with a uselessness borne of sensitivity.

“Of course I know you’re a vamp. I might be blond, but I’m not stupid.”

His smirk so got on her nerves.

“Look, I saw that skank fawning all over you and I just thought what they were doing was too cruel, even for you.”

“Sure you weren’t jealous of her tight figure and thought you’d—”

“Thought I’d what? Flash mine at you so you’d see who has the perkier boobs? You so wish,” she huffed, going bright red even at the sarcastic suggestion of something she’d once thought would only happen if she’d received a brick to the skull. But Spike kept inspiring these things in her. These weird little tingles that even first love flush with Angel hadn’t. Not this intense, which made her feel better. No love so it wasn’t important. Must just be a vampire thing. He was old, but younger than Angel, so maybe these little trickles of intense yearning had to do with her Slayer desire to dust him.

Except her hand hadn’t gone near a stake since she’d taken him to Willie’s.

Buffy frowned.

Then she noticed Spike’s intent focus on the front of her top.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her lip was curled in embarrassed fury, hands going straight to her hips until she saw his eyes cross.

Then he moaned. Buffy hit him with her confused glance and waited.

“Oh baby, do it again!”

“Huh,” she asked, completely stumped.

“Show me,” he croaked, holding out his hand to her while completely mesmerised by the pert push of her breasts against the skimpy white top she was wearing.

“Sh-show you?” Buffy squeaked, her hands already at the hem of her top as her feet brought her closer to his unmoving form on the couch. She got close enough that his hand could stroke her belly, curl around her waist and pull her to straddle his lap.

“Wh-what are you doing to me?” she asked, her body and mind in conflict.

The fabric of the top scratched her skin, stroked it to a mad fever as it ascended over her belly, finally clearing her breasts with a tortured scrape against her diamond hard nipples. The top was tossed to the floor and as she brought her arms down, ending her stretch over his lap. She nearly screamed as his hands spanned her waist. Her relaxed posture brought her right nipple to close to his lips. His sharp teeth latched around it and she did scream, falling backwards off his lap in such an intense bolt of need that it hurt her all the way to her pussy.

“Oh my God,” she panted, her body tingling and burning. Suddenly her eyes were blinded by hot salty goodness and she rushed back to his lap, seizing his mouth with a hard kiss, urgent need of possession making her crazy for him. Whatever had happened tonight was so in the running for research, but now? Playtime was beyond the order of the day. Thinking had gone to bed. The place she had not managed to embrace for the day. Maybe fatigue had short-circuited her brain cells, but nothing seemed to be telling her that this moment needed to be stopped.

Nothing told her that the cool tongue tenderly stroking and licking her was wrong. That the hand that had taken one nipple and twisted it till she was a writhing wanton on his lap was out of her normal boundaries. When her fingers found the muscles under his t-shirt she became desperate for the feel of him against her. One smooth move and he was as topless as she was, his arms in an unfortunate mess of twisted shirt and duster. His mouth reattached itself to her as he leaned forward, desperation guiding his frantic moves to rid himself of both from his arms.

Whatever impulse had her crushing the damp crotch of her jeans against his thick erection was getting a medal. Damn he felt hard, and thick, and soo good. Then thought totally went on the fritz as her breasts finally came into contact with cold skin, the clash of temperature driving her heat up even higher. He undulated against her, hard planes stroking her soft flesh until her nipples became so over-sensitised she felt tears getting cold on her cheeks.

“Slayer,” he murmured against her neck, licking circles against her throbbing vein while his hands explored her belly. He was so hard for her, so desperate for her he felt the urge was beyond calming. “Baby,” he moaned as his hand unsnapped her jeans. She lifted her hips and sucked in her belly just as his fingers ventured inside. The little cooperative jut upwards moved his hand lower than he expected and he felt hot Slayer juices spreading their fire over his fingers. Then he found it. She threw back her head and he had double treasure, one finger on the pulse of her pussy and a hardened nipple between his teeth.

He could smell her tears, could feel the swell of tension in her body. She was the most responsive woman he had ever heard of. Despite being a vampire, he’d always been monogamous. Trying out human girls would be cheating just as much as demons, and he wasn’t part of that scene. Until now. Dru had shown what she thought of him by fucking her sire right in front of him, right on top of him, and this hot little blond was taking his mind completely off his miserable existence.

As his fingers stroked her wet pussy lips, his mind completely blanked on anything not blond. His fingers slid easily inside her and he couldn’t believe how hot her moisture was. He forgot names, forgot history as the Slayer fucked herself on his fingers. It was too much, the pain of his jeans and he growled against her delicious flesh.

Then nothing else mattered as they both tore at jeans, baring themselves completely. Buffy was off his lap for seconds as she tugged the denim from his motionless legs and down to pool at his boots. Her own flew over her shoulder as the intensity escalated almost beyond understanding. She was back, hot and slippery against the bell of his cock and he thrashed desperately against her. His chest scratched at her nipples and she moaned in song as his heart soared. Never had anyone lost their mind with wanting anything from him.


He roared as she sunk down smooth on his rigid flesh, feeling the slippery slide of her walls as they clenched him every millimetre down. Her descent was slow, and he agonised over every little bit of stretching his cock caused her passage. He knew she was new to this, knew she was inexperienced, and he’d be dust before he would ever let anyone else even attempt to go where he now was.

“Spike,” she cried, and he couldn’t help but lick her face, capturing every tear she shed for him, cherishing her ability to show the impact this joining was having on her. Every little bit of her flesh was touching him, was stroking him. Her slide against his cock was driving him out of his mind; he could feel the travelling cum through his glands, scorching him for the first time ever. It had never felt like this, never affected him like this, never moulded him like this.

And then his fangs descended, burying deep in her neck as her nails cut deep gouges in his shoulders. The frantic thrust and parry making her lose her breath, robbing her of everything but the feel of him in every part of her. It was so much, too much yet not enough.

“Spike, Spike,” she implored him and he began to drink, sucking her essence until he felt himself explode against her twitching walls, his ears blocking the sound of her ecstatic screams. Even coming down she pumped him. Up, down, up, down, until slowly reaching the end of the euphoria and collapsing against each other in exhausted satisfaction.

“Slayer,” he hissed through almost pained teeth. “Your boobs are much perkier.” And he collapsed against them in defeat, a happy purr reverberating against Buffy’s flesh.

“Good,” she answered. And lost herself in a gleeful and satisfied smile.
Chapter Seven
For Bittenandstaked





“What jus’ happened here, pet?” Spike didn’t even raise his head, feeling nothing but comforted by the steady beat of her heart against his resting cheek on her pillowy breast.

“Mmm, something wonderful?” she answered, her voice all sleepy and sticky like caramello. The sexiness of it clung to him like a vine, tangling him so close to her that he thought perhaps whatever had just taken place between them was a culmination of months of erotic yet violent foreplay.

“Hmmm,” he conferred sleepily, wanting nothing better than to fall asleep with her scorching heat still around him so he could wake up and know she was still there. And as he drifted he slid to the side, his head falling in the direction of the comfy chair beneath him, the Slayer curled around him and clenching hold of his hardening length. He left it there, lengthening and stretching within her and yet in no hurry to turn her into a rushing mess of limbs so soon. For a crippled sod, he just got the exercise of his unlife. Now, he needed a break.

He rolled to his back and found her following, clinging to his cock with muscles that should be outlawed. Or at least whacked with a warning. Lying on top of him, she bestowed a sleepy kiss into the crook of his neck, encouraging his erection to stand strong and straining. Then she pushed against his chest, looked around the floor beside them and grabbed his coat.

She looked a little sheepish as she bit her lip, watching him as she attempted to drape the coat over her back.

“It was chilly,” she defended herself, her eyes unable to escape the raw intensity of his emotion, shining brightly in the dimmed room.

He palmed her cheek, feeling himself consumed with a softness he’d only ever used with Dru, and his mother. “You plannin’ on stayin’ down here then, luv?”

She couldn’t hide the sudden trepidation that maybe he was asking because now he’d seen her, now he’d done her, he didn’t want her to stay. That he was caressing her face with heart-clenching affection didn’t stop the onslaught of insecurities that she wasn’t worth the one time.

“I-I’m s-sorry. I shouldn’t have, I mean of course you don’t…”

“Hey,” he interrupted with a finger softly pressed against her lips. The crease between his eyes was troubled, worried that he’d said something that would have her bouncing off his lap and running away. “None of that, pet. Jus’ breathe,” he suggested, an encouraging smile locked in hope.

They were at a crossroads. Two mortal enemies that should never have found themselves in such a position. Two people who had shared something not many could possibly ever find. If he hurt her now he just knew he would suffer the acerbic lash of her tongue before he could ever get another taste of her. And more of the various tastes were what he wanted. He’d never felt so sure, even the night he’d welcomed Drusilla’s siren call to his death. While then he’d been seduced with words, pretty and hitting hard at his insecurities, this was a moment of pure sensation. It was a Higher Power directing them to each other.

He didn’t want to muck it up.

And she hadn’t been able to tear her frightened eyes away from his, clinging to the dusky promise as he actually thought about actions to take that would keep her against him. Made no plans but listened to his heart, listened to his cock as it pulsed within her heat.

“I want you to stay,” he affirmed, his voice pulled from somewhere down deep that had put it through the ringer before stripping it of polish. Rough, like his persona. Like his need for her.

He could feel the shaking start in her body as her tears once again formed wet trails down her cheeks.

“You want me to stay?” she asked, her voice breaking against her need for him to be honest.

He swiped at the tears, found his fingers slipping through silken strands of her hair and knowing he was falling. Falling into a pool of jade and swirling spun honey gold and he couldn’t stop himself from drowning if he tried. He’d sought his end this night, wanted it in the form of a dusty exit with the Slayer’s face the last image burned into his brain. Instead he’d stumbled across a beginning.

His hand was hard against her skull as he pulled her forward, her lips barely a promise away from his own. His cold exhalation stirred her to further shivers, reverberating through her and so to him with a depth of meaning he was unable to deny, even if he’d wanted to do it.

“I want you to stay,” he repeated before claiming her lips in the softest kiss. A kiss only taught by Angels.

“Spike,” she said around her sniffles and surrendered to the shaking, the tingling and the stretching that was changing her from the Slayer who released a monster on the world, to the Slayer who was releasing a man.

It wasn’t passionate; there was no further movement of their hips against the other, though the agony of his swell kept things interesting. It was a kiss of the sweetest nature, the exploration a hello that maybe had been missed earlier in the fight to surrender.

Buffy lay poised over him, her nipples barely hovering over the sensitive skin of his chest as her hands gripped his shoulders. But then her tongue grew bolder and she sipped his, bit it lightly as something hot burst in her head. It was like that romantic novel jargon of fireworks, great bursting lights of dragons and sparkles that took her away to a different world. Angel’s lips had never given her this. Never brought her this peace along with a building need to move. To want, to cherish, to own.

And then it was as if instinct had taken her over and she was no longer Buffy. No longer the rational Slayer who slayed vampires for comfort, for release. Only this vampire would mean that for her now, and not so much with his dustiness. She had to move, had to raise her hips over him and moan at the sucking feel of him gliding from her. She was poised over him, his tip gently teasing her opening with a rotund fullness that made her want to weep. His hand was raised to stroke her face and she switched paths so that her lips caught his palm.

“You are so beautiful,” he gasped against the pulling sensation as his cock strained up toward her, desperate to feel himself buried deep again within her.

“Oh,” she breathed out in wonder, totally in sync with her acceptance of him back inside, squeezing her eyes tightly closed against the pleasure of him expanding her. “So are you,” she said stupidly, wondering if it was okay to tell a man that. Even if he was the most beautiful hunk of man-flesh her fevered brain had ever lusted after.

And then it was too late to sustain slow and steady, the driving need to stir the sensations of her wet passage against the solidness of him. He cupped her breasts, weak pinches on her hardened tips stirring the bonfire in her belly and sweeping away the barriers as the burning flashed through every limb of her body. Every muscle was stretched taut, taunting her brain that despite the shutdown, they could rely on instinct. She moved above him, speechless as the sensation crawled over every inch of her skin and left her hot and moaning. He slid in and out of her and she didn’t know how she was prolonging it, her break for the final line being on the brink of her consciousness for far too long.

As it built harder she sobbed, completely wrung out by the intensity of such a joining. It was there, so very close and yet she couldn’t reach it. Didn’t know in her head what it was that would bring her over, lift the caps off her fuse and allow her to ascend into sensorial heaven.

“Please,” she begged him, not for one moment resenting him that power. In one night she had transferred her loyalty, transferred her knowledge of love from one callous and cruel monster to one with more compassion and care in his little finger than almost anyone she knew.

“Do you want me to bite you?” he asked, knowing that last time he hadn’t asked but knowing that this time, he should.

Buffy was unprepared for the blunt question, shuddering to an agonising halt on his cock as she tried to calm the thundering of her heart. Her fingers ghosted over the marks he had left the last time, knowing with some inherent confidence that she could trust him, that he wanted her dead as little as she wanted to see his dust. So with blurred vision she tried to see his expression as she nodded yes. It was what she wanted from him, what she needed from him.

“Yes,” she breathed in sultry supplication, arching her neck to him as she bent over and allowed him to begin the second penetration of her body.

And then the cut stung her flesh, but only for seconds before his lips latched around and strengthened his grip, pulling on the flesh, sucking her blood to the surface and into his mouth. The gate was released low in her belly and she could feel the rush of lava-like heat shoot through to her pussy, slathering him with her essence and gripping him with everything she had.

“Yes, yes, yes,” was her rhythm as she pumped him determinedly, cradling his head to her throat like her life depended on it. Her breasts were crushed against him, his jerking thrusts hard and punishing, but God it felt so good. And then she was screaming its end, releasing everything into the quiet house as she began to slip into the mind-frame of love.

Because surely perfect sensation like this could only come from one bound to your heart.

Panting heavily against Spike’s chest, she rejoiced again as she felt the pressured spurts deep in her core, wanting so much to taste and feel everything about him.

“Time,” she mumbled against his chest before pushing her slack and exhausted body up to look into his sparkling eyes. “We have time to figure it out.” And at his surprise, she could see it was the same for him. Something had bound them together and it would all come out in time.

“Sleepy Buffy now,” she told him even as her eyes closed and she slumped back against him, asleep before he had even dragged back the duster to give them cover.

“Yeah,” he agreed against her hair. “Plenty of time.” And he followed her into the land where dreams could in no way match the perfection of reality.
Chapter Eight


His recent exertions had apparently taken everything out of him. Even with Buffy lying slack on top of his body he should have been able to wiggle his toes. But there was nothing. Apparently plucking up the gumption to go walkabout and then engaging in enthusiastic if not energetic sex just was not recommended for those vamps recovering from severed spinal cords.

But he was comfy, or as comfy as a self-respecting vamp with a Slayer cosying into his chest and under his chin could be. He got a whiff of her sweet hair, the tang of fruit wafting like some pheromone that caught him in her spell forever.

She wriggled as she surfaced from sleep, her heartbeat becoming irregular as she acclimatised herself. She didn’t move. Instead he felt her warm lips brush against his chest and her hand searching for his at his side, linking their fingers together. He’d expected outraged desertion, her jumping angrily to her feet before she attempted to stake him.

He couldn’t do anything but hold his body still, staring at the ceiling while he hoped that she felt everything as he had. Hoped that she wouldn’t leave him as he began to swell inside her. It was the sweetest torture, this wait. Not knowing what would happen. What he hoped would happen. In what direction she would accept for them to go in.

“Mmmmm,” she whispered against his skin. Skin that had taken on her warmth as she lay sleeping. Skin that would never thrive with anything but her touch. He knew it for a certainty, knew he wasn’t the type of vamp who could easily experience this kind of emotion with more than one woman at a time.

He’d rocked up to Sunnydale, plowing down the ‘welcome’ sign in an act of childish rebellion, and wondered what it was he’d really come for. Sure, on the surface it was to awaken his dark beauty to her health, release her back to full potential. But so much had gotten in the way; so much had changed his focus.

And now he had her in his arms.

“Spike?” Buffy lifted her head, her eyes shy and veiled as she sat up. Her hands fluttered upward to cover her breasts, and she looked away from him in embarrassment. And yet she still sat astride him, his cock buried deep inside and thickening more every second she sat there and looked beautiful.

“Ssh,” he hushed her, sitting up with a determined push of his hands into the cushions. “Buffy, don’t hide, sweetheart. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” The change in angle pressed his length to a new spot and she moaned deep in her throat, her eyes almost drifting closed. And then he peeled her hands from her breasts so he could look his fill. “So bloody beautiful, love.”

And she met the risk, entwined her arms around his neck and kissed him goodmorning. Or goodlunch, or something.

“Don’t hurry out on this, yeah? It meant somethin’ and I want to see where it could go. I want us to feel it again and again.”

She answered with a hesitant nod, her teeth scraping over her bottom lip in nervousness.

“’M feelin’ a bit peckish, pet.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise before immediately offering her throat to him. She lifted the length of her hair away from her flesh, leaving her skin pale and creamy and vibrating with her pulse. He swallowed hard. “Not what I meant, sweetling.”

Her look of confusion spoke volumes. He kissed her softly while nudging her off his cock with a miserable moan, and moved her up to his abdomen.

“Spike? What are you…oh…”

He positioned her on his chest and pushed her back to rest against knees that were wonderfully cooperative for the moment, leaving her open to him like a succulent flower as he stretched out with his eager tongue and lapped at her silky moist pussy lips. She tasted like pure manna from the Gods, something he’d thought lost to him forever as a walker of the night. Her nervousness crumbled around her into erotic bliss and she quickly used her hands to hold his face against her, her eyes rolling back in her head at how much the burning itch spread through her with the questing depths of his tongue. He buried it inside her, exploring between the walls and allowing the roughness on the surface to scratch in blissful irritation until she couldn’t stay still. And then he stroked her most sensitive nub, rolling it and flicking it with the edge of his tongue and she was panting, moaning as she fixed on the white head consuming her between her thighs. As he bobbed a little up and down she pushed herself a little more forward, climbing some haphazard incline as a flush stole over her body and left it tingling and hot. Her writhing increased as the bolts of pleasure surged and receded with the depth and desire of his tongue until finally she couldn’t hold it anymore. Her own fingers reached up to pinch her nipples hard, pulling them with excruciating pleasure as he released her energy with the rapid but rhythmic rubbing of his tongue.

It was too much, sensation bounding through her until all she could see was blinding light—something she at first had mistaken for the blurring outline of his head. But it was a plain she had never visited, a place that told her of higher things totally unexpected.

And then she heard whispers, a hand wiping her face as she sobbed her relief and scooted far enough down his body to bury her face in the crook of his neck. Held him tight against her before she had to face the likelihood of losing this too, despite the promise of his kiss and that of the Powers that guided her life.

Her ability to be coherent escaped somewhere unknown, showing her nothing but images of how he’d loved her through the day until now. Even so young and relatively naïve to the ways of passion, she felt no sense of modesty or regret now. Nothing had ever felt so inevitable as being in this vampire’s arms, and nothing would make her surrender the hope she felt from being there. And so she surrendered to the thinking rather than the expressing, knowing more than anyone that Buffy and words were not the mixiest of things in such a situation.

His hands felt warm and so right as he rubbed her gently, sharing her body heat and recycling it back to her. And she smiled, quite willing as she had more than enough warmth to give. Glad that her heart was allowing her to share when she had thought it irreparably broken.

She was interrupted from her hazy study of his neck—the skin feeling so silky and right against her possessive lips—when she came across the scar of a bite and knew instinctively that it was the mark of his sire, Drusilla. Buffy’s eyes widened as a bolt of fear ran through her and she realised anew where she was, who she was with and what it would mean. This vampire she had given herself so wholly to had no loyalty to her, had no feeling for her. He was evil, prevented from the hunt and kill through her own directed attempt to kill. He was crippled and lying naked on her mother’s couch, his ready fangs so very close to her neck. And then it came to her that he had already been buried deep inside her—in numerous and equally satisfying ways—and the sudden burst of fear erupted into a nervous giggle.

Spike’s body tensed beneath her, his hands holding her in a steady brace against his body.

“Baby, please don’t be scared.” His voice was filled with that soft worry that Buffy had first flinched at during that time he had panicked as she held a stake to his lover’s chest. And yet, now she was his lover. She was the woman he held in his arms. But for how long? Would he discard her once his legs gained strength and he could move away from her? Leave her behind with a second crushed heart, and one she didn’t think would be so easily distracted? Images of a naked Drusilla and Angelus as they fucked each other over the top of Spike’s useless legs flooded her in misery, bringing the pain she had pushed away at the evil and cruel nature of her first lover. But now her heart heard Spike, felt his hurt from his sire’s betrayal and his uncertainty about Buffy’s own loyalty.

And he’d called her baby. It brought an inner warmth to her body and she expressed it with a smile into his neck and a lick of the hated marks. He groaned deeply, a very sexy growl rumbling underneath her and making her vibrate against his body. God, that was so hot and so she did it again. Slayer teeth latching onto the mark that made him who he was, the mark that brought him through the world and the ages until he tangled limbs with this Slayer.

And this time his feral nature broke out, growling for possession at her ear even as his cock pushed thick and strong against the centre of her ass cheeks. Intense energy surged through her pussy again and she wondered if he’d turned her into a nympho just by getting her naked. All sparked from a simple request to show herself to him in a lewd moment of lust. And she’d fallen, almost like she had been lured with her mind shutdown and floundering. Except she was now back with herself, unbearably aware that she wanted him again, craved his lips and his hands and his penis as all of him stroked her into a blazing fury of passion.

She nibbled at his chin, working her way to his lips and losing herself in the taste of master vampire, not even tasting the blood that dripped from her cut lips as he seduced her totally.

“Not scared,” she told him as she wriggled backwards, crying in agonised pleasure when she dropped down onto him again, the hard surface of his proportions gliding into her with the smooth slickness of her desire for him.

“Oh pet,” he moaned and moaned again as she whispered ‘Buffy’ against his lips, feeling overcome with this new feeling and uttering unintelligible words of devotion as her body rode him slowly. He could call her Buffy. In his heart she was the girl of power, the one who was strong enough to step back away from her destiny and seek truth in that surrounding her. She saw him and took a risk with him like no other. Dru had seen him in the beginning, but even now he wondered if she was guided by some strange power that she might have better ignored. She’d seen something, brought him into a world that he’d never fit into though he forced his awkward dimensions into every shaped hole possible, never finding one that fit him like a glove—until now.

And evil fled his heart for that moment; fled his memory for ones that were more pure, more profound than all those filled with bloodshed and death. He could sort it all out some other time; berate himself for being a fucking wanker and prissyboy about it much later. Later when the scent of the Slayer wasn’t drugging his mind with words of beauty, ones of description that were more sensation than English. He wanted to write on her skin, etch effulgent in the softened flesh of her breasts while he licked her nipples hard.

Wanted to write his names on her thighs, mark her forever as his so that no other filthy bastard could get anywhere near her, and yet his fangs were still there, still near her neck as she collapsed against his chest, her pelvis moving in hypnotic circles around his cock. She was exhausted with feeling, he could sense it. Resembled the same and yet all he did was lie back. Feel the grasping pain in his balls and knew it was the time, quickly grabbing a fistful of her hair as he dragged her neck before his mouth, sinking his teeth deep into her throat and pumping her wildly with another bruising grip at her thigh. She moaned and bucked, her back arching off him as far as his fangs allowed as she reached back and squeezed his balls and shuddered against his rigid flesh.

His heart was involved in the showdown, momentarily pumping frantically as his seed found its place inside her down deep and he could feel the magic begin its woven net around her, binding her to him and making her unreachable for anyone else. No one could touch her now but him. She could never return to the Poof with the fucking ridiculous poofy hair, and in return Spike was thoroughly banished from the snatch of his previous love. And he didn’t want it any other way.

Buffy felt the swell of change around her, felt the expansion of her heart and the tingle of something new as it twisted and then settled within her. She didn’t understand, didn’t ask or yell for explanations, just snuggled into the chest she wanted to be hers forever. Nothing could possibly be like this. That plain of white had told her, promised her that this wasn’t to be her punishment. Had smiled when they forgave her the release of a monster by commending her progress in changing another back to something good.

Spike.

How could this be anything but Love with a capital L?
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