Chapter 6
Spike’s eyes opened the moment the front door closed. His gaze settled on the folded piece of paper the Slayer had left on her pillow. A slight grin twisted his lips; he couldn’t decide if it was from the note, or the soft touch upon his cheek, the gentle press of her lips against his own before she turned and walked out of the room, that caused it. The demon in him believed it was the note she’d left – proof of his ownership, that she was letting him know where she’d gone. Though he didn’t need a message telling him what he already knew – that the Slayer’s destination was her watcher’s house right across the street.
Yet, as his fingers traced over his lips, that softer side, his inner “William” that refused to be crushed, told him there was another reason that made him smile. After the mess that was his busted relationship with his sire – the thought of the chaos demon still caused him to curl his lip in disgust – he had to admit it was nice to receive an honest show of affection from another. Even if the other happened to have been his mortal enemy.
Spike liked to think they’d moved beyond that.
He snagged the paper and opened it, his slight smile blooming into a full-blown one of amusement. ‘Ah, Slayer.’ He could practically feel her warring emotions as she’d determined what to write. The beginning of her note was all business, stating matter-of-factly that she was preparing Thanksgiving dinner at her watcher’s and needed to leave to get things started. Then, as if sensing how abrupt she was, her tone softened, shyly exclaiming her delight over the apartment and clothes. She left no salutation, just signed her name.
He brought the paper to his nose, inhaling the lingering scent of Slayer. Then wished he hadn’t when his body responded to the fragrant aroma. Sighing, mentally willing away his semi-hard erection, Spike allowed his eyes to close.
The Slayer was safe enough with the watcher and her mates. Though he’d found no trace of the Indian that had attacked his girl, he felt confident that she would be safe during the daylight hours. And, worst case, she could lure the thing away from the watcher’s home and back over here; between the two of them, they could take out the shape-shifting demon.
Pleased with his logic, he drifted off, succumbing to his body’s demand to rest.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy tested the knob and finding that it turned easily, she let herself in with a cheery, “I’m here!”
“Gathered as much, what with the shouting and all. Honestly, Buffy, you do realize it’s still early yet.”
“Yes, but the turkey has to cook, and I have to get it ready. I told you that yesterday, Giles,” Buffy explained, walking through the living room and into the kitchen where her watcher stood leaning against the counter sipping his tea.
Giles, getting a good look at the Slayer’s bare arm and the long, faded red line that stretched from her elbow to her shoulder, indicative of a recently healed wound, nearly spewed his drink all over the kitchen floor. “Good lord, Buffy! What happened?”
“Father Gabriel is dead.” Well, that was true, at least.
“Dead? What… never mind that. What happened to your arm?”
‘Play it cool, Buffy.’ “I’m getting to that.”
“Let’s try and get there a little faster, shall we?”
“Chumash guy. Fight. I got hurt. Fast enough?”
“Really, Buffy…”
“I’m fine, Giles. Sp— er, that is, it was a clean cut, so I just went home and wrapped it up. No bigs.” She held her arm up for his inspection. “See? Yay for slayer healing.”
Giles stared intently at her arm. “Hmmm… It appears to be almost healed.”
‘Yeah, thanks to Spike and that tongue of his. But, can’t very well tell Giles that, now can I?’ Instead she pasted on a cheery smile, saying, “Told ya!”
“So, what happened afterwards? Am I to assume that we longer have to deal with a vengeful Indian on the loose?”
“That would be a no, and it’s Native American?”
“Sorry?”
“We don’t say Indian, Giles. And, no, he’s still around. At least I assume so.” She’d passed out, but when she’d come to as Spike picked her up, she’d not noticed a body lying around.
“You assume so? Wouldn’t you remember if you’d killed the Native American or not?”
“Normally? Yeah. But…”
“But what? Honestly, why the reticence all of a sudden?”
“Red-i-what?”
“Oh, I give up.”
“Sorry, Giles. Just got a lot on my mind. Thanksgiving and all,” she called out as her watcher threw up his hands in disgust and walked out of the kitchen. ‘Not to mention a bleached-blond vampire that had taken up residence right across the street from Giles’ home.’
Buffy had just pulled the defrosted turkey out of the refrigerator to prepare it for the oven when the front door opened and Willow walked in.
“Giles, have you seen… Buffy! You’re all right! I was so worried! Riley told me that you would meet me back at the house. Which I can only assume he meant to say dorm, although—”
“Breathe, Wills.” She grinned at her friend to soften the blow of cutting her off. “And sorry I flaked. Ran into a bit of a problem last night at the church, and since home was closer, I went there instead.” Buffy just barely managed to not touch her nose and see if it was growing at the blatant lie. Honestly, Spike’s evilness was already rubbing off on her!
“Oh. Are you okay?”
“Yeah…scar’ll be gone by tomorrow, thanks to some kickass slayer healing.” She winked at her friend and waited for her watcher’s retort.
Three. Two…
“Really, Buffy,” Giles groaned, right on cue.
Giles sat in his chair and opening a book to read. Maybe if he looked thoroughly engrossed, his Slayer wouldn’t rope him into doing something else for the holiday “feast” she was preparing.
The two girls shared a look and started giggling.
Buffy excused herself and went back into the kitchen, checking on the progress of her turkey and other fixings. Willow, seeing an opportunity to speak with Giles alone, hurried to his side and out of sight of the Slayer.
“Angel’s here,” she whispered.
“Angel? You saw him?”
“Yes, at the coffee shop. He was stalking Buffy.”
“Not very stealthy of him, allowing you to see him. Does Buffy know?”
“No. At least I don’t think so,” Willow told him.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Willow mimicked locking her lips and throwing away the key.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy set the turkey on the table and smiled. Her dinner preparations had gone off without a hitch – no burned anything, for once.
Though there had been a close call with the rolls when she’d been daydreaming about her vampire lover… and what he was doing at home, all alone. If he was awake. Wishing she was there right now. His body sliding up and over her. Filling her.
It had been Willow’s question that had jarred her from mental images of Spike fisting his fingers in her hair, yanking her head back almost forcefully to expose the long column of her throat to his heated gaze. Fangs digging deep as he bit into her flesh, drawing sharp pulls of her blood into his mouth that caused her clit to throb with need.
She’d whirled towards the stove, exclaiming over the rolls, desperate to hide her suddenly flaming face. Shocked that she’d almost orgasmed while standing there daydreaming – in her watcher’s home, surrounded by her friends, no less.
“Smells good, Buffster,” Xander commented wanly. He swallowed the rising bile as the normally pleasant aroma caused his stomach to revolt. Feeling Anya pat his hand reassuringly, he glanced over at the ex-demon who was now his girlfriend – at least he thought he’d called her that this morning. The syphilis was playing havoc with his memory and he prayed that everyone would eat fast so that they could go out and put an end to the demon that had caused his debilitating disease.
“Yeah, Buffy,” Willow added. “Who knew? And no burning or anything.”
“Yep! Just call me Chef Buffy now.” She grabbed the carving knife and fork and moved to Giles’ side. “Here. I’ll let you cut it up. My cutting skills…well… you know.” Buffy made a jabbing motion into the air before handing them to her watcher.
“Erm, quite.”
Giles had the fork and knife poised on the turkey and had just leaned forward to begin carving when an arrow whizzed by his head and lodged in the opposite wall.
“Get down!” Buffy shouted, her eyes locking on the Indian poised near the open window, his bow aimed in their direction. Another crash sounded somewhere behind her, and the Slayer glanced over her shoulder to see two more trying to enter through another, larger, window. She needed a weapon. Glancing around at her friends and watcher scrambling to find some type of cover behind furniture, she mentally added backup to her list.
A strangled scream from one of the Indians sounded somewhere outside Giles’ apartment and her gaze returned to the windows. Finally noticing that the sun had gone down.
Spike.
It had to be.
Buffy didn’t know how many others were out there, but felt better knowing that the vampire was there. Returning her attention to the first Indian, she easily vaulted over the table, snagging the steel candleholder as she went. Wielding it like a shield, she easily deflected the arrow meant for her chest, and before he had a chance to load another into his bow, she threw the candlestick at him, knocking him in the head and sending him back out the window. With the threat in front of her seen to, Buffy turned and took on the other two Indians; launching herself at the them she sent both men, as well as herself, back out the way they’d come.
Already planning for the impact, the Slayer tucked her body allowing her to roll with the impact on the ground so that she returned swiftly to her feet. The sight that greeted her caused her to freeze in momentary shock – Angel was doing his best to fight of one of the Indians near the water fountain. She’d forgotten that Spike had mentioned he was in town. Though, to give herself credit, after the fighting and the cleanup and the apartment reveal – not to mention the sex, lots and lots of sex with orgasms aplenty (and man, she was channeling her inner Anya now) – her former vampire boyfriend’s appearance in Sunnydale had completely slipped her mind.
Her inattentiveness cost her. Though, thanks to Spike’s, “Slayer, duck!” the arrow aimed at her heart, lodged into her shoulder instead, dragging a shocked gasp from her lips. The force of the projectile hastened her descent to the ground; the arrowhead managed to enter and exit her flesh, leaving the arrow firmly embedded in her shoulder, and Buffy had just enough sense to turn so that the part that was protruding from her chest wouldn’t collide with the ground and cause further damage.
The sounds of fighting continued around her. Having gone into shock, she didn’t hear the inhuman roar that caused a momentary pause in the avenging Indians, recognizing a revenge-filled battle cry when they heard one. No, once again, the Slayer’s eyes slid shut and she allowed the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness to consume her.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike didn’t think the Slayer could get into any trouble in the time it took for him to get showered and dressed. The sun had barely set, and last night’s reconnoiter had turned up no trace of the Indian that had taken a swipe at his girl. He should have known better.
Trouble had a way of following the Slayer.
He’d managed to arrive just as she came vaulting out through the shattered window, the two Indians she’d taken with her showing surprise on their faces at her actions. He could have tanned her hide when he saw her easily leap to her feet in a defensive move worthy of his admiration, only to watch her stare in stupid fascination while his grandsire battled with another.
Spike knew he wasn’t going to make it in time; the arrow was already soaring through the air. His mouth had closed over with fear for a brief moment before he’d managed to shout out a warning.
He watched the arrow hit. Watched as her body jolted with impact. Watched as she crashed to the ground and lay silent.
His mind had shut down then; his anguished roar rent the air and caused friend and foe alike to pause for a moment in bewilderment.
It was pitiful how quickly he decimated the enemy. Fist and fangs were a blur as he worked his way through five of the six remaining Indians – the last his grandsire had dispatched before Spike had a chance, or he would have shoved his elder aside and done it himself. He didn’t draw out the fight, wanting only to kill and return to the Slayer’s side. See the extent of her injury.
~*~*~*~*~
Giles heard the anguished roar and figured Angel had been hurt. He jumped up, searching frantically for a weapon and darted out the front door. Outside, he gaped with astonishment at the scene before him; his weapon slackened in his grip and nearly clattered to the ground. Dead bodies lay strewn about the courtyard, but it was the figure that finished off the last remaining Indian that caused the watcher’s eyes to bug. He looked around for a trace of the Slayer and found her crumpled on her side, blood pouring from where an arrow was lodged in her shoulder. Unmindful of the others, he moved to her side and would have bent down to assess her injuries but at the “Don’t!” shouted by Angel and a warning growl erupting from the blond vampire’s chest, he thought better of it.
Giles watched as Angel motioned him to move away while he simultaneously walked in an intercept path between him and the other vampire. He took a cautionary step towards the dark-haired vampire, his eyes never leaving the other. When he finally gained Angel’s side, Giles could do no more than stare as Spike walked towards his fallen Slayer and knelt down, drawing her carefully into his arms.
Anya, Willow, and Xander – miraculously recovered from his bout of syphilis at the Indians’ death – came tumbling out of Giles’ apartment.
“Holy evil undead!” Xander exclaimed, grounding to a halt at the sight of Spike holding an unconscious Buffy in his arms. “Angel! Do something!” Xander demanded, glaring at Spike. Though he cared nothing for the dark-haired vampire at whose side he now stood, the sight of his friend being held in the arms of a deadly, evil vampire, far outweighed his hatred.
Angel sighed, staring down at Spike, at odds over the vampire’s behavior. Part of him wanted nothing more than to rip Buffy from his arms and beat the boy to a pulp for daring to poach upon his property. The Slayer was his whether or not he’d formally claimed her. But, that was Angelus talking. He’d seen the marks on Buffy’s neck. Marks that wouldn’t be there without her wholehearted agreement.
Besides, after witnessing the easy defeat of the band of Indians at the younger vamp’s hands, Angel wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to take on a possessive Spike and actually win.
He sighed again, drawing out the only human mannerism he seemed to have kept.
“He’s not going to hurt her, Xander. She’s his…” He didn’t want to say “property” knowing the term wouldn’t go over well with either the boy, or the watcher. Instead, he just left it at that, adding, “Spike’s claimed Buffy. He couldn’t hurt her even if he wanted to.”
“Claimed?” the boy questioned.
“Oh good lord!” Giles exclaimed.
Xander and Giles spoke at once, eyes firmly glued to the vampire that calmly stood up and made to leave the courtyard.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy barely reacted as she was pulled against something soft, smelling faintly of smoke and leather, fighting against waking and the pain hovering at the edge of consciousness. But, when she felt herself lifted and cradled against a hard chest, her eyes fluttered open.
“Spike…hurts…” she couldn’t help but whimper.
“I know, luv. But, Spike’ll get you fixed up and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“…keeps happening to us…” she mumbled. “Tired of getting beat up.”
“Well, if you’d been paying attention, you wouldn’t have gotten shot,” he growled. “Too busy moonin’ over the poof to watch your back.” He could feel his temper start to boil anew, this time directed at the girl held carefully in his arms. But the Slayer’s next words easily deflated his ire and produced his trademark grin, which he directed towards the vampire who stood within hearing distance.
“Forgot he was even here.” She laid her head against his chest and wearily closed her eyes. They opened a second later, her lethargy suddenly gone, when it finally dawned on her what she’d said… and what it meant. Wincing slightly, she turned her head, and sure enough, Angel was standing there. Along with everyone else.
“Crap.”
She lifted her head to see Spike arch his eyebrow.
“Not exactly what I had in mind either, pet.”
Buffy snorted. “You moved in right across the street from my watcher, Spike. What did you think was going to happen?”
“Didn’t know I was here before now, did they?” Spike looked away from the Slayer, his gaze settling on his grandsire. “Poof didn’t either.” At the elder’s narrowing eyes, his grin broadened.
“Think if I close my eyes, they’ll disappear?” Buffy asked, drawing his attention back to her. She was looking up at him, her face hopeful.
“You could try, but I seriously doubt it, luv.”
“You’re no help,” she huffed, then winced at the pain in her shoulder the movement caused.
The Slayer turned back to her friends, smiling slightly at their looks of astonishment.
“Hi, guys!” She waved half-heartedly, so not looking forward to the coming conversation with both the Scoobies and her watcher. Angel seemed pained but resigned. And, hey, it wasn’t like she owed him any explanations, he’d left her, not the other way around.
Spike could feel the Slayer’s apprehension and forestalled any conversation.
“Come on, luv. Let’s get that shoulder looked at.”
“You’re not going anywhere with her, Undead Guy,” Xander declared from the safety of Angel’s side.
“Think you could stop me, Whelp?” Spike’s eyes narrowed on the boy, his grip tightening about the Slayer possessively.
“Spike,” Angel growled.
“Sod off, Peaches!”
“Spike,” Buffy pleaded, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. A movement not lost on any of them.
“What? Am I supposed to invite them back to the place for some tea and biscuits?” he demanded incredulously.
“It would go a long way towards showing them you mean me no harm,” she reasoned.
“Couldn’t hurt you if I tried,” he grumbled. At her pointed look, he relented.
~*~*~*~*~
“Make yourself at home,” Buffy told her friends. “I’m just gonna go get this thing out of my shoulder.” She kept her voice even, not wanting to alarm her friends.
Xander’s eyes bugged as he stepped inside Spike’s apartment. The girls wandered off to exclaim over the décor, but his eyes were trained on the entertainment equipment dominating one wall. He checked to make sure he wasn’t drooling while plotting ways to get invited over. ‘Double-date,’ he thought crazily. He and Anya could go out with Buffy and Spike, then come back and watch movies on the huge screen that he just knew was High Definition Plasma. Heck, he could let bygones be bygones; he was all about second chances. Yep, that was him. Second Chance Harris. He brushed past Giles to get a closer look at the wall-mounted television.
“Two point two seconds to win Xander over,” Buffy commented just loud enough for Spike to hear as he carried her to their bedroom to see to her wound. “I figured it would be longer than that.”
Spike snorted but didn’t comment, kicking their bedroom door closed behind them. He strode swiftly into the bathroom and shut that door too – not that it would do anything to prevent his broody grandsire from hearing. After easing the Slayer down onto the toilet seat, he started the shower.
“I really liked this top,” he heard her comment wistfully.
“I’ll buy you another one.”
“You don’t have to… it’s just...”
Spike shrugged out of his duster and hung it on one of the hooks. The rest of his clothes quickly followed. Then he went to work on the Slayer’s, starting with her boots and working upward. When he got to her shirt, he snagged his pocket knife from his jeans and carefully sliced the thing to bits so that it slid off without disrupting the arrow, afterward folding the blade back up and tossing it aside. Her bra was next leaving her bare but for the arrow protruding from her shoulder.
He looked down to see her fighting back tears and leaned down to brush his lips across her own.
“This is gonna hurt, kitten, and I’d really rather you not make a sound and bring the Poof runnin’.”
Buffy nodded.
“I can clip ya, if you like?”
She shook her head; she didn’t need to be knocked out. “I won’t scream.”
“All right. ‘m gonna break the back off first. Then slide the arrow out the front.”
Again Buffy nodded and prepared herself for the pain the breaking of the arrow would cause. Before she had a chance to blink, the arrow was snapped and pulled free, then Spike’s mouth was licking at the gaping wound at the front of her chest, stemming the flow of blood, before he turned her and did the same to the back. Tears slipped unchecked from her eyes, the only evidence of her pain.
“Such a brave girl,” Spike murmured against her ear, lifting her into his arms and depositing her beneath the hot spray of the shower. He climbed in behind her and set about getting her cleaned up.
The sharp, agonizing pain gave way to a dull throb as Spike worked his magic with his hands. He started with her hair, shampooing and conditioning it, and Buffy gave herself over to his care, allowing him to turn her this way and that until she was clean, and her body thrummed with something other than pain.
Her head fell back against his shoulder as one hand cupped her breast and the other slid down her body to delve in the curls covering her mound. She moaned, then bit her lip at Spike’s gentle rebuke to keep quiet.
“Make you forget all about the pain, baby,” he whispered in her ear, lips closing over the lobe and sucking it into his mouth. He teased it with tongue and teeth, worrying the malleable piece of flesh until he felt her legs give way. Ignoring her body’s protest as he pulled his hand away from her pussy, Spike guided her hands to reach for the two hand rests he’d had installed specially.
“Hold tight, luv.”
Buffy nodded, gripping the two metal handles tight; her eyes rolled up as she felt herself lifted and impaled from behind on Spike’s cock. She ignored the pain clutching the rings caused her, concentrated solely on the feel of her vampire lover sliding slowly in and out of her body, and she wondered vaguely how he could incite her to such passion so quickly.
And so often.
“Spike,” she whimpered, desperate for the release he could give her. Thrilling when his hands tightened on her waist and he slammed into her, giving her what she needed. Her mind centered solely on his dick, how it pushed its way inside her body and demanded her to accommodate him. And she did, her pussy stretching like it was made for him, and him alone. She could feel the mushroom head, every distended vein that ran along his length scrape against her inner walls, teasing every pleasure sensor she had.
Her climax washed over her suddenly, causing small tremors that originated at her core and spread outward to wrack her body, until she hung limply from the two hand rests while Spike pumped a half of times more and joined her.
Spike was grateful for the extra large water heater that enabled the hot water to continue to fall long after other showers would have gone cold. It allowed him a moment to recover before sliding free of the Slayer’s heated passage, stifling the groan the action caused. Then he grabbed the body wash and loofah and cleaned them both, once again, before finally turning off the taps.
The Slayer’s two wounds were seeping slightly, so he pulled the modified first aid kit from beneath the sink and set about bandaging the two holes. Afterwards, he hustled her off to the closet to get her something easy to slip into – a tank top and sweatsuit, sans bra. Not that she really needed one of those anyway. He helped her dress then slipped into a black t-shirt and jeans.
Together they made their way out of their bedroom and towards the others.