Promise of a Kiss

by Spikesdeb


Buffy dragged her feet as she headed away from the crypt, kicking at the leaves and trash that was blowing in the early summer breeze. She'd gone to see him all happy and giggly, but despite her promise to herself to keep things lighthearted and not to do the whole kick him in the head thing, after only about a half hour, that's exactly what she did.  

And she still couldn't say why. 

Truth was, he disturbed her in ways she'd never admit to him.  Just being near him had her on edge and nervous, and the damned vampire knew it too.  There was something unfair about that whole enhanced senses thing that vamps got, like it was a reward or something.  Because try as she might to tell him – and show him – that he was nothing to her, that he was beneath her, just one second in his company and he could hear her racing heart, smell the mingled aroma of fear and excitement that she just knew he'd be inhaling. 

Damn him!  God, he made her mad.  More like crazy insane. 

She stopped dead, fists balled at her side, as she breathed in slowly through her nose and let the breath out...something to do with chi?  Vague memories of Giles vainly trying to ingrain in her a love of yoga and tai chi flicked across her mind.  Yeah, chi – that was it; channeling her inner peace and stuff. 

She could do this.  She'd gone to his crypt for a reason that afternoon and she would do what she'd set out to do if it killed her.  And it may just do that. 

+ + + +             

“Stupid bint.”  Spike was mumbling under his breath as he prowled about his crypt, unable to chase after the Slayer and smack her about due to the big ball of fiery death high in the sky at three in the afternoon.  “Dunno what she wants with me half the time, and don't care neither.  Gonna rip her bloody head off and drink from her brain stem.  Bitch.” 

He couldn't even remember exactly what had set her off this time.  He'd been jarred from a rather delicious dream involving a shower, some scented oil and very little clothing, to find a hyper and falsely cheery Buffy leaning over him and bouncing on her toes.  She was poking him in the ribs and less than gently slapping his face when he managed to open his eyes and focus on her. 

“Hey!  Back off, Slayer – and there'd better be impending doom on the horizon or you're so going down.  Only been snoozing for minutes, and I need my sleep to keep fit for all the evil-doing.” 

Buffy snorted, a less than ladylike sound that strangely seemed to suit her.  “Yeah, right.  Big Bad, all fangy and grrr – more like fangless and purrr.  Spike – you're about as evil as a...well a not evil thing.  Now get up – I've got something to show you.” 

Weirdness had followed whereby Spike had raised his eyebrow in the direction of the door and Buffy had ignored him, so he'd thrown off the thin sheet to reveal his nude body in all its glory.  She'd not moved for a few seconds, eyes wide as she stared at the rapidly growing erection that sprung to life at her proximity, as ever, and Spike had smirked as he scented her definite interest. Oh, she might rant and rave and deny that there was anything between them, but a sensitive nose never lied.  It was only a matter of time and she'd be dropping her virginal white panties and riding him 'til he popped. 

Eventually, she'd dragged her eyes away, muttered that he was a pig and busied herself looking through the sparsely stocked fridge while he got dressed.  When she heard the sound of his zipper being pulled up she'd slammed the fridge door shut and stalked back towards him. 

“'k, now you sit there and I'll sit here and I'll show you what I've brought.” 

Spike had done as asked but he'd continued to eye her warily even as he lowered himself into the knackered old chair in front of the television set.  “Go on then, Slayer – do your worst.” 

She'd been aglow, like she had a secret and was just bursting to share it – so he'd been ever so puzzled when she'd merely taken out of her pocket a creased and crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it, smoothing it out and laying it on the upturned crate that served as a table. 

He'd looked at it. 

She'd looked at him looking at it. 

He'd looked at her.  She'd looked back.

He'd looked down again, then back up. 

She'd grinned.  He'd quirked an eyebrow. 

She'd pointed her finger and tapped the paper, grinning and raising her shoulders in glee. 

Spike had creased his brow and looked down to follow where she was pointing. 

Time could almost be heard passing in the silence of the crypt, but eventually he'd shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well?  Don't you see what it is, Spike?” 

“It's an old piece of paper.  Sorry, pet – but it's not really getting me all excited.  Now if it was green and had dead presidents on it, maybe I could raise the interest.” 

“Spike!  Look at it!”  She leant nearer to him, lowering her voice to whisper conspiratorially; “See, I know what day it is today, I've found you out!” 

“Have you gone completely off your rocker?  'Course I know what day it is – it's Thursday, bloody May 18th if you're desperate to know.  What of it?” 

That's when things had gone pear-shaped.  She'd completely freaked and he had no clue why that had set her off.  He could only surmise it was that time of the month because she was so far from rational she'd have to hitch a lift back.  Suffice to say that the Slayer was not pleased. 

“Gah!  Why do I even bother!  I come round here when I could be sipping ice cold mocha frappes with Willow and buying shoes, just to be nice to you and you don't even have the decency to...and okay, I sound like Giles and I'm scaring myself but you really.... piss me off!” 

Before he could even gather any sense from her words and offer a reply, she'd been off, crypt door bouncing back off the door jamb and swinging on the hinges, leaving him confused and angry and trapped inside the cold crypt while she disappeared into the light and warmth of the afternoon. 

Oh she was so going to pay.  He usually knew what had pissed her off, and yeah – so it was usually him – but this time he had not the faintest idea.  

He continued his prowling, lighting up a cigarette and smoking it angrily, tossing the butt away to the far corner when he'd done.  He spied the piece of paper that had been so important to her still lying on the table and snatched it up.  It was old; he brought it to his nostrils and inhaled.  The scent was familiar and disturbing; it was his past.  He screwed up his eyes to read the cursive handwriting, the faded brown lettering almost melting into the sepia paper and making it all but illegible.  He made out a few words – place of birth, London, England; sex – boy child; given name – William....bugger.   

His legs gave way and he sank into the soft yet lumpy chair gratefully as he continued to read. 

The bloody bint had somehow got hold of a record of his birth.  And sod it, if it wasn't his birthday today.   

It had been decades since he'd even thought about it and he'd certainly never celebrated it in over a hundred years.  Dru insisted that they exchanged gifts on his turning day, but his human birth was forgotten. 

But not by Buffy.  He tried to stamp down on the little spark of hope that flared in his heart.  It must have taken some digging to get this; he was damn sure the Watcher's Council didn't have it – he'd made every effort to cover his tracks so that the wankers had no way of getting beneath his skin.  So she'd worked bloody hard to find what he'd thought hidden forever. 

Must have meant something to her. 

He raised misty blue eyes to the entrance as the Slayer's shadow encroached on the sun-dappled stone floor.  She stood, silhouetted in the doorway, her expression unfathomable since her features were shrouded in darkness. 


If it hadn't been for his enhanced hearing, he would have missed his name on her lips. 


She shuffled her feet, uncharacteristically nervous as she looked upon his face.  It helped that she knew he couldn't see her properly with the sun behind her.  What had she been thinking?  She hadn't even told Giles or Willow about her research, had kept it secret from Dawn too.  She wanted it to be all hers and hadn't really given much thought to the impetus that had her ringing up strangers on the other side of the world when everyone else was asleep.  All that she knew was that she'd had a sense of extreme satisfaction when she finally felt the creamy, thick paper in her hands and touched the words that scrawled across its surface.  During her research she'd discovered things that surprised her, things that she'd have bet good money against.   

He'd been a gentleman, for one. Given his accent and his demeanour, she'd always assumed he'd been a cutthroat villain when human, but it turns out he'd been a gentle poet who adored his mother.  Made sense really, even if it set her teeth on edge because she was forced to re-evaluate the soulless vampire.  Second shock was that far from being stupid, William had been a first class scholar and could very probably rival Giles in the brain stakes.   

Just goes to show you should never judge a book by its cover. 

Or a vampire by its lack of soul. 

Buffy took a step forward.  “Can I come in?” 

Spike merely shrugged in reply, so she took that as a yes and softly closed the door behind her shutting out the sun.   

“Did you see?” 

He nodded.  “I did.  'm sorry, love.  Didn't mean to be ungrateful.” 

Buffy chuckled.  “Well, I wasn't good at being Explainy!Girl so I guess I'm sorry too.  I just wanted...” 

“What, Buffy?  What did you want...what do you want?  You know ...I'll do anything...” 

Spike let the rest of the sentence hang, unwilling to break the fragile understanding he could feel building between them.  It was a toss up between the Slayer cutting and running and him getting up the nerve to kiss her unconscious.  One false move and they'd both be nursing cuts for days, he could tell. 

The soft tap of her footsteps across the stone floor drew his attention.  She was coming closer, at least, not walking away.  Whether it would end in a slap or a snuggle was anybody's guess, but he'd never been one to back away from a challenge.  He got to his feet as she stopped inches away from him. 

“I...I..I want to wish you a happy birthday...William.  And to give you this.” 

Her lips brushed his, softly at first, a mere whisper of a kiss before she backed away, eyes wide and frightened, her fingers touching her own sensitised flesh as if she couldn't believe what she'd done.  Before he could think it through, Spike reached for her and dragged her back towards him, his fingers cutting into the flesh of her upper arms as he used the contact to steady himself, the birth record crushed in his grasp.  As her lips neared his, her eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping unbidden as her hot breath tingled across his face.   

Suddenly, the ancient paper that had sparked the Slayer's interest was dropped as Spike's fingers released it to tangle in her hair.   Lips, tongues and teeth clashed and battled for dominance as the two warriors fought their own desires – one more than the other, it had to be said – and succumbed to the overwhelming need to taste and touch.   

Gasping for breath, Buffy sprang away from Spike's embrace, her heart pounding and her legs shaking as she struggled to compose herself.  She'd meant only to gift Spike with the document, a reminder of days gone by, and to honour the day of his birth with her remembrance...hadn't she?  Nothing in her plan, so far as she could remember, had contained the instructions to stick her tongue as far down the vampire's throat as she could and to grind her groin against his. 

But that was what she'd just done. 

She had to get out of here, think things through. 

“I...I have to… Dawn will be...  Erm...I'll see you later, yeah?  We'll patrol?” 

Spike narrowed his eyes; he could probably make her stay – either with soft words or hard kisses – but he wanted her to want to of her own volition.  And if he wasn't very much mistaken, it would be a matter of days before he held in his arms a warm and eager woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her. 

So he could wait.     

Buffy was at the door, her hand on the latch, before she turned and ran back towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and crushing her lips to his, her tongue snaking out to taste him.  It was the hardest thing she'd ever done to let go of his lithe body and back away, but she did it.  Her disappointed body extracted a promise from her though: she'd feel his arms around her again, his lips on hers – and the next time she wouldn't turn tail and disappear. 

No, the next time she'd run alright – but towards him. Try to figure out what exactly it was that she felt for him, and why.   

But for now...

“Happy Birthday, Spike,” lingered in her wake long after the door had shut behind her departing back, her scent permeating the air and wrapping him in the promise of future delight.   


His future.  And hers. 

He stooped to collect the now crumpled paper that declared his birth and read the words again.  He smoothed it out before folding it and taking it to his memory box, the one that he hid away from prying eyes – the one that held the little snippets of Buffy's life that he'd managed to steal and which he took out and fingered greedily in lieu of actually having her to hold. 

But that seemed set to change... 

“Well, William, my old son.  Looks like we've had a happy birthday after all.  So if you're waxing lyrical and want to rattle off an ode to the Slayer, feel free.  She'll be back to collect it.  Just you wait and see.”