Summary: Buffy comes to terms with her feelings for Spike as they hunt for/run from a
particularly nasty vamp from Spike's past. Spoilers: mid season 5-no spoilers to speak of.
Disclaimer: The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of it's characters belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod.
Feedback:VVKS326@aol.com
~ Part 4 ~
Buffy lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Nothing had gone well after they'd
left the house that evening. Patrolling the cemetery had been a bust. Hanging
out at Spike's crypt, waiting for Butch to show, had only made her uncomfortably
horny, remembering what had happened there the night before.
Spike had
remained strangely distant the entire evening, as if he were uncertain how to
treat her. Now he was watching TV on the sofa again, alone. He'd wanted to stay
behind at his crypt, but she'd insisted that he come home with her again. She
wasn't sure why. She knew he could handle himself now that he knew Butch was
after him. She just wanted him in the house. **So I could lie here alone and
think about him lying down there alone, right?** This whole situation was
beginning to give her a major wiggins, and it was nobody's fault but her own.
She sighed and turned over again. In her hand, she held the crow's feather that
she had retrieved from the floor of the crypt.
Spike had muted the
infomercial that he hadn't really been watching after the third time he heard
Buffy's bedsprings squeak in as many minutes. She wasn't sleeping. He wanted to
go to her-and do what? Invite himself into her bed? **Right, you wanker, too
bloody smooth. As if Soldier Boy an' his self-righteous twaddle hadn't given the
poor little twit enough of a complex, what she needs is you an' your ragin'
beastie hormones creepin' up on her in her bed. Enough to turn a bird off sex
for good an' all.**
When he heard her soft footfall on the stairs, he
froze, hoping that she would believe him to be asleep. He felt rather than saw
her enter the living room and peer over the back of the sofa at him. He heard
her sigh and turn away.
Buffy went into the kitchen and stood for a
moment at the window, staring out into the back yard. The quiet was endless. The
window was open several inches and a slight breeze lifted tendrils of her hair
from her neck. She was dressed in a white cotton nightie, softened and thinned
from much washing. It was a comfort item, scented of sunshine on the line. She
wore it when her mind was troubled. It had seen a great deal of
use.
Suddenly, a horrible, wretched squall pierced the silence. The tiny
hairs that covered her body stood at attention, and she recoiled from the window
in terror.
Spike was poised in the doorway of the kitchen before he even
realized he'd left the sofa, in full game face and ready to rip to shreds
whatever demon had threatened the Slayer with that sound. Buffy cowered against
the stove, panting in momentary fear, before regaining her senses.
They
eyed each other and waited. The squall came again, longer, drawn out, agonized.
It sounded less threatening this time. Then came another, closer, at a different
pitch, and Buffy realized what it was.
A cat, in heat, calling for a
mate. How appropriate.
She sunk back against the stove and chuckled. "Oh,
God, I'm in bad shape if I let some poor kitty-cat flip me out."
"Well,
luv, seems you're in good company." He allowed his demon visage to slide away
and smiled at her from across the room. She looked so small and vulnerable in
her white nightgown, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes still dark and wide
from the adrenaline coursing through her. He was afraid to say more, afraid to
move from the spot he was standing in. He knew he couldn't be counted upon to
maintain control.
"Spike." Her voice had a strange quality
suddenly-almost sleepy. Surely it was a reaction to the momentary
fright.
"Yes, Slayer?"
"You came to save me from the kitty-cat,
didn't you?"
He didn't answer, just stood there, looking
sheepish.
"Didn't you?"
"Well, to be fair, luv, I didn't know it
was a kitty-cat..." He realized, when the words were out of his mouth, how
ridiculous they sounded. They laughed at one another from across the
room.
"Spike?"
"Yes, Slayer?"
"Do you know why the
kitty-cat is crying?"
"I believe I do."
"So do I." She was moving
toward him then, slowly, dragging her fingers along the surface of the counter,
the table; whatever she could touch, she did. He felt every touch in his own
body.
Then she was in the doorway with him, looking up at him. Her hands
were clasped behind her back like a child's, but the look on her face was like
nothing innocent. Another yowl of pained yearning split the air.
"The
kitty sounds desperate, doesn't she, Spike?" Her voice had grown husky. "I know
how she feels."
A battle raged within him. He knew what she wanted-or
what she thought she wanted. But he also knew that if he took advantage of her
desperation, it could erase any kind feelings she had for him once she regained
her sense of balance. The moments of bliss would not be worth the eternity of
contempt...were they?
Her eyes drilled holes into his. "You said you had
something to show me. Won't you show me, Spike? Please?"
It was the
"please" that broke him. The edge in her voice when she said it spoke more of
her need than anything ever could, and he could only serve her need in that
moment.
He swept her into his arms and carried her, cradled against his
chest, up the stairs to her bed. As he deposited her there, he saw the lights of
her mother's car as it swung into the driveway. **Damn.**
"Stay here,
luv. Be very still."
"You'll come back?" Her voice caught at the back of
her throat.
"Shhhh. I'll be back."
Silently, he made his way back
to the living room and with speed that surprised even himself, he gathered up
his boots and coat, turned off the TV, and was back up the stairs like a very
determined shadow.
He stood in the darkness for several minutes, waiting
for Joyce to check on Buffy and turn in to bed herself. Patience...long moments
of tormented patience for them both.
Finally, the house was silent again.
Moving with as much stealth as he could, he made his way from the corner shadows
to her bed. Perhaps she had fallen asleep. He knelt by the bed and listened for
her breathing.
As soon as Spike approached, Buffy sat up and reached for
him, pulling him into her arms with a desperate tug. He realized she had removed
her nightgown, and was now trying to strip him of his tee-shirt.
"No,
luv, no, lie back." He captured her wrists in one hand and tried to force her
back onto the bed. They struggled for a moment, then stilled, staring at one
another.
"Please, Spike."
"Slayer, just be quiet for half a
moment, can't you?" He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and
fought urge to run his hands over her naked torso. "Are you sure this is what
you want, pet? I'm more than willin' to oblige, but I must know that you're
sure..." His voice trailed off as his eye was caught by the long, black crow's
feather lying next to her pillow. He recalled what she had done to him with that
feather the night before. Everything in his body that hadn't already been
throbbing with longing awakened at the thought, and he squeezed her wrists
together almost painfully.
"Oh, Spike, just take off the clothes
already...I need to feel you..."
"No. No, ducks, the clothes stay on
tonight." He dropped her wrists and moved to sit at the edge of the bed,
watching the moonlight play across her skin through the filmy curtains. "This
time is just for you. If I lose my trousers, I'm very bloody likely to lose
control as well." He reached out and brushed her hair from her forehead,
allowing his hand to travel down her face, down her throat, over her breast to
her waist.
She surged upward to meet his touch, and the sound she made
was very like a quieter version of the kitty's yowl. His hand returned to her
face and covered her mouth. He leaned in and spoke urgently. "You must try to be
quiet, luv. Can't have your mum come flyin' in here to see what the trouble
is."
He removed his hand. "It's Ok. Mom has one of those...those white
noise machines. To help her sleep. Don't think she can hear us." She was panting
between her short sentences.
"Still an' all, we mustn't take any chances.
The shock of finding me in her sweet daughter's bed might set the good woman
back weeks of recovery time." He was looking around the room as he spoke,
finally spying something hanging from the closet doorknob. "Trust me,
pet?"
Buffy nodded, following his gaze. He rose from the bed and
retrieved the blue bandana. She sat up and allowed him to tie it firmly in place
around her mouth. She lay back on the bed and lifted her arms over head to rest
them against the headboard, her wrists crossed.
Seeing the way she
offered herself to him like that made him dizzy with wanting. He knew in that
moment that he could do anything with her-anything he fancied. A lesser man-a
lesser monster-would have simply taken her then, slamming into her, knocking her
back into the headboard, plundering her of everything she had to give. He chose
better, because he WAS better.
Gently, slowly, he lowered his mouth to
one breast, cradling it in his hand as his lips found her nipple. From that
moment forward, all coherent thought was lost to her. There was only physical
sensation and torrid emotion, each taking turns in controlling her.
His
tongue made soft circles at first, waiting to gauge her reaction. If his many,
many years of experience had taught him anything it was that every woman was
different, needed different things to reach satisfaction-needed different things
from day to day, night to night, sometimes even moment to moment.
He
felt her relax into the mattress and at the same time felt the temperature of
her skin begin to rise beneath his hands and mouth. Using the flat of his
tongue, he applied more pressure to the nipple, sucking on it slightly, and was
rewarded by a low, gurgling moan in the back of her throat. He bit down lightly
and she shuddered and tensed. He brought his hand to her other breast and began
teasing her there as well.
After several moments of this, he noticed that
she had begun to twist her hips toward him, searching for contact. Without
removing his hands or mouth, he stretched out full length and allowed her rock
herself against him. He knew it wouldn't be enough to bring her off, but he
enjoyed the feeling of her need. Finally, taking pity on her, her removed one
hand from her breast and began to drag it up and down her belly with a
feather-light touch, growing ever closer to his ultimate goal.
She had
begun to whimper and gnaw at the gag. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and
her head was thrown back in anticipation of that first touch. He made her wait,
as she had made him wait the night before.
So cold, his fingers and lips
and tongue were so cold. Her flesh broke out in tiny bumps and she shivered in
delight. "Oh, my sweet Slayer, I've fixed you good an' proper, haven't I? Can't
even beg me...can't even say 'pretty-please' can you?" His eyes gleamed yellow
for a moment in the darkness, and the evil satisfaction in his voice frightened
her. Then her returned his mouth to her skin and she forgot her
fear.
Dragging his tongue from beneath her breast to her navel, he
allowed his hand to brush against her curls for a moment, causing her to jump
against him. Then he began to stroke her inner thighs with his cool fingers,
kneading them tenderly, increasing the pressure incrementally until it was
verging on painful. He forced her legs apart, lifting her knees and moving down
low into position.
The aroma of her arousal filled his senses. Gently,
and with exquisite slowness, he parted her outer lips to reveal her most private
self. She was swollen and slick with desire, already throbbing, although
untouched. He blew softly on her, causing her to shudder
convulsively.
"Very pretty, pet. Very nice, indeed."
She lifted
her head and stared at him, pleading with her eyes.
"Yes, luv, I know.
All in good time." He released her, pulling away from her as she fell back
against her pillow in frustration.
His own excitement had become painful
for him. He stood and unbuttoned his jeans, but left them pulled up about his
hips, needing only to relieve the uncomfortable pressure. Then he lay back down
between her legs, sighing slightly as his engorged member made contact with the
cool sheets.
Spreading her outer lips again with the fingers of one hand,
he very softly began to trace her inner contours with the index finger of his
other hand, making certain that it was properly lubricated. She immediately
began to shudder and buck beneath his touch, and he stilled her with a firm
command. "Lie still now, ducks, or this won't work. Try for me, won't
you?"
She bit down hard on the gag and trembled as he continued his
exploration. He studiously avoided any direct contact with her clit, and she
wondered if he did this to torture her. Finally, he leaned in and gave her clit
a single, soft kiss, his cool lips nibbling at it briefly.
Tears sprang
into her eyes and she began to sob for release behind the gag.
"Shhh,
there now, don't fret, luv."
He pulled his face away and very softly, in
order not to startle her, he placed two fingers at the outside of her swollen
opening. Gently, with little force at first, he pressed them forward and into
her. Her hips lifted from the mattress slightly and met his forward thrust and
as they did, her hands came crashing down on either side of her body to dig into
the sheet.
Softly, sensuously, he fucked her with his hand, mimicking the
thrusts of his fingers with the rocking of his own hips as he rubbed his cock
against the sheets, trying hard to maintain his own composure.
Then he
stilled his hand as it remained buried deep inside her, palm facing upward
toward her navel. Curling his fingers forward, he searched for and found a
small, engorged area on her slick inner walls. He caressed it expertly.
A
sensation like none she'd ever experienced engulfed her. Suddenly, she couldn't
breathe, and felt panic rising in her chest.
He felt the change in her
immediately and froze. "That can't hurt, can it, pet?" One never knew with the
female anatomy.
She took a second to catch her breath and then looked
down at him and smiled around the gag, shaking her head. He resumed his soft
circles within her and she began to adjust to the new sensation. Heat poured out
of the center of body, down his hand and arm. He was astounded at the extreme
warmth from inside her and couldn't help thinking what it would feel like
to...**No, you wanker, get your bleedin' brain out from between your legs and
back in between hers. You've a job to do here.**
Once he was certain that
she was entirely comfortable with what was so obviously a new experience, he
lowered his head and began tracing her inner lips with his tongue. She whimpered
and thrust upward to meet his mouth, begging him to touch her clit.
He
had intended to draw it out, not so much to torture her as to show her how it
could be with someone who genuinely gave a damn for her pleasure. But his
fine-tuned senses had begun to pick up on a truly frenzied note of desperation
in her movements and soft sounds, and he knew that it would only be unkind to
continue teasing her.
Reaching up again to spread her outer lips wide
apart, he began to make tiny, light circles around and over her clit. She sobbed
with relief before burying her hands in his hair. He increased the pressure of
his tongue while increasing the pressure of his fingers on the sensitive spot
within her.
She felt nothing else, just his tongue and fingers. They were
the world, the universe, nothing else existed. The first spasm clenched her womb
like a vice, nearly doubling her into a sitting position and causing a strangled
cry to escape around the gag.
When he felt her orgasm begin to roll
through her, he took all of her into his mouth, her inner lips and clit, and
sucked hard and fast, driving his tongue against her. She rose up off the bed
again and again, grinding her teeth into the fabric of the bandana until she
felt herself biting through it.
The spasms lessened in intensity, and he
softened his onslaught somewhat, allowing her to gather herself. She fell back
for a moment until she felt him pull away. Looking into his face, she saw that
he was struggling with his demon. Finally, forcing it back, he came at her from
a slightly different angle, catching her by surprise as he sucked her into his
mouth again, his fingers still deep and tickling inside her. She could feel him
thrusting himself against the mattress and it excited her to know that he needed
her.
Seconds later, a second orgasm enveloped her, less intense than the
first, but warmer, sweeter, more drawn out. Indeed, her worked hard to draw it
out, with gently licks and nibbles that kept her coming and clenching around his
fingers long after she would have thought possible. Finally, her body stilled
and she lie back against the heated sheets, panting and trying to remove the gag
with clumsy fingers.
"Here, luv, let me get that." He moved to her side
and removed the bandana from her face, noting with satisfaction that she'd very
nearly bitten it clean through it. His game face slipped back and forth over his
human visage as he struggled with his own need.
She held out her arms to
him and he lay down next to her, battling the urge grab her and slam himself
into her. "Buffy..." The word came out in a growl, and he began to think that
he's have to leave before the demon broke through completely and ruined
everything.
She felt him vibrating against her, knowing that his body
demanded release. Her hands were still clumsy, her brain still slow as she
reached for him, sliding her fingers around the base of his cock and squeezing
hard.
The beast came roaring forth and he thrust forward into her hands,
burying his savage face in her shoulder and holding on for dear death. She
pumped him hard, using his pre-cum and the juices that still ran down her legs
and puddled beneath her as lubrication. She felt his fangs graze her skin and
she squeezed harder, feeling how close he was to coming.
Then he was
there, rocking violently against her as the spasms gripped him, growling
hoarsely and raking the tips of his fangs down her shoulder. Several spurts of
icy fluid splashed over her hands, and then he was still.
They lie
together for several moments. He listened to her heart slow and waited to see
what would happen next. Slower, slower, then her breathing softened, then her
grip on him lessened, and then he knew that she was asleep.
He waited
long minutes until he was sure she was deeply under. Then he gently disentangled
himself and surveyed the damage. Not good. **Bit of a bloody mess, in
fact.**
Moving quietly to her bathroom, he found a clean washcloth, ran
it beneath the warm water, and did his best to clean up. First, the scratches
and tiny punctures on her shoulders, then the puddles of cum and her juices all
over the sheets. Finally, he covered her tenderly and brushed a kiss against her
forehead.
"See how it can be with someone who loves you, pet?" Noting
that the crow's feather remained in its place beside her pillow, he searched for
and found the nearly shredded blue bandana. Stuffing his trophy into the pocket
of this duster, he left her room and then her house. His heart was lighter than
it had been in many years.
*~*~*~*~*~*
~ Part 5 ~
As soon as she opened her eyes, she knew Spike had left the house. Sunlight
streamed in the window to her left, warming her beneath the single sheet that
covered her skin. She stretched slowly and snuggled into the bed, taking a few
moments to recall the final details of the swirling darkness, his touch, his
cool weight next to her.
She wasn't surprised that he was gone, and she
wasn't sure where they would go from that point onward, but she was very
grateful to him for the feeling of almost perfect satisfaction and contentment
that coursed through her.
It lasted for another forty-five seconds, and
then the phone rang. It was Riley.
"Buffy? You awake?"
"I am
now."
"Can I see you this morning?"
"Not if we're going to argue
again."
"No arguments. I promise. We...we need to talk."
"Yes, we
do, Riley. We really do."
Silence.
Then: "Meet you at the coffee
shop in an hour?" He sounded very unsure of himself.
"OK."
"See
you then."
Her hard-won good feelings had shriveled. How did he do that
in one short conversation?
Her gaze fell on the crow's feather next to
her pillow, and she began to search the bedclothes and floor for something else.
The bandana was missing.
Smiling to herself, she stripped the very used
sheets from her bed and made her way to the
bathroom.
************************* The coffee shop was crowded. They
found a table near the back. Riley ordered a large breakfast, complete with all
the food-groups. Buffy ordered a glass of juice.
"That's all you
want?"
"Yeah." She paused, not knowing how to begin the conversation.
"Riley, I'm wondering if maybe we should take a break for a little
while."
He looked shocked. "You're breaking up with me?"
"Did I
say that?" She was instantly exasperated with him. "I just need some time...to
sort some things out." How could she make him understand, when she didn't
comprehend it herself?
"I don't get it, Buffy." It was his favorite
phrase. "Why does everything have to be so complicated? I love you, you love
me-let's just be happy already."
The waitress served them.
"I'm
sorry Riley-it IS complicated. I can't just snap my fingers and PRESTO-simple
life."
"OK, I know, the whole Slayer gig-but that's just your JOB, Buffy.
That's not who you ARE."
She dropped her head to the table in
frustration. He really DIDN'T get it. And she was running out of
patience.
"That's just it, Riley, the Slayer IS who I am. It's not like
I'm working at Dairy Queen, or the Gap. I'm the Slayer twenty-four/seven...in
class, at the movies, in the shower...and in bed."
He flinched when she
said that. "Here we go again with the sex stuff. What are you, nympho-girl all
of a sudden?" He'd meant it to come out as a joke, but it sounded
bitter.
She could feel her temper rising. "You know, Riley, I was called
when I was fifteen. It's not like I didn't exist before then-at least some of
the stuff that's going on with me has to do with ME-not just the Slaying. Is it
so unusual that I might want to experiment in the romance department a little
bit-does that really make me a perv?"
He ignored the last part of her
question. "OK, now I'm confused. First you're all about being the Slayer, and
now you're telling me that some of it is you, separate from the Slayer-which is
it Buffy? Don't you know?" His voice had taken on that patronizing,
I'm-a-psych-major-and-I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself tone that she
always found so attractive.
"Look, Riley, I'm asking you to give me some
space. Can you do that for me?"
He was silent for several seconds. Then:
"There's somebody else, isn't there?"
She startled inwardly, wondering if
he could smell it on her...
"God, Riley, THAT'S what you got out of
everything I just said?"
"'Cause if there's some other guy, Buffy, you
gotta tell me now."
She closed her eyes and had an involuntary vision of
Spike's face. He was smiling at her, and there was a promise in that
smile.
She took a deep breath. "Riley, what if there is some other guy?
How does that change anything? We haven't been connecting for weeks...I'm not
giving you what you need, and you aren't giving me-"
"Who is it? What's
his name? Is he a student?" He had begun looking wildly around the coffee
shop.
She nearly told him. The only thing that stopped her was the fear
that he would do something stupid-and since a chipped Spike was a defenseless
Spike, and a defenseless Spike was most likely a dusty Spike, and a dusty Spike
could never again make her feel like she felt last night...
"It doesn't
matter who it is." She grabbed his hand across the table. "Riley, listen to me.
I...I care about you. A lot. I don't want to hurt you..."
"It's a little
late for that, Buffy."
She flinched at the wounded bunny look on his
face. "I know. I'm sorry. I really don't know what's the matter with me. But
you've got to understand...this thing...this thing with this other guy...it
doesn't mean anything."
"How can you say that?"
"It's true!
Really, Riley, it's just something I need to get out of my system. It's just..."
She felt her face begin to turn red, but she forced herself to continue. "It's
just sex. That's all it is. It doesn't mean anything."
He just sat there,
looking at her. She noticed that even with all the angst in their conversation,
he'd managed to consume his entire breakfast. Her juice remained
untouched.
"Buffy, I've got class. I gotta go. We...we'll talk some more
later, OK?"
"Yeah, Riley, we'll talk. I promise."
She watched as
he paid the bill and left the shop. Then she dragged herself to class, feeling a
strange mix of emotions: partly guilty, for how she had hurt Riley, and partly
dreamy, because she couldn't seem to get her mind off Spike. Every time she saw
a blonde male out of the corner of her eye, she nearly jumped out of her skin,
although her common sense told her that Spike couldn't very well be strolling
about campus in the bright morning sunshine.
The day was very long. The
evening proved longer, as she slogged her way through three hours of study in a
nearly deserted library, trying hard to concentrate and failing. After that, a
quick patrol through the cemetery and...
Well, it wouldn't hurt to just
check on him. Make sure he hadn't seen Butch anywhere around. See how his day
had been.
The crypt was empty, upstairs and down. She tried to convince
herself that the feeling in the pit of her stomach was hunger, and to that end
she stopped at the all-night grocery a block from her house and picked up some
fruit.
Her head was down and she fumbled for her keys as she made her
way up the steps to the back porch. He was sitting in the shadows, so
still...only a flash of dim light reflected on his teeth as he smiled at her
alerted her to his presence.
"Hello, cutie."
She took a deep
breath and set the small bag of fruit on the top step. "Spike."
"Rough
day?"
"Yeah, you could say that." She sat down across from him and
reached for the bag. "Everything OK?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Then she
saw that in his hands he held her shredded blue bandana. He was playing with it,
drawing it back and forth between his fingers. She felt a flush touch her
face.
He heard her breathing deepen, her heart rate increase, and his
body responded.
They looked at each other in the half-light, taking
measure. Then she reached into the bag next to her and drew out something small,
round and deep red.
Looking directly into his eyes, she whispered,
"Wanna cherry?"
He laughed, a guttural chuckle that she could feel all
over her skin.
"Wish I could've had your cherry, pet. Willin' to bet
Angel didn't do half right by you, your first time." He shifted slightly and
leaned forward. "I'd have broke you in right, an' make no mistake. Wouldn't have
left you there to rot whilst I ran off and got exorcised of my soul,
either."
"Swine." She smiled as she said it.
"Oh, rough talk,
Slayer. " He held out his hand. She leaned toward him and dropped a single
cherry into his out-stretched palm and watched as he brought it to his
lips.
Never taking his eyes off of hers, he extended his tongue and
caressed the firm red flesh of the fruit. Then he sucked the cherry partway
between his lips and gave it a small, tender bite. Red juice spilled out over
his lower lip.
Her own lips parted and she could feel herself moving
toward him without ever making a conscious decision to do so. Dropping the
cherry away from his mouth, he pulled her close and gazed into her face. His
voice was beyond seductive.
"Slayer...we've been crawlin' all over each
other like ants on a cupcake...not that it hasn't been glorious, mind you. But
I'm wonderin' what you'd say to a proper shag...an' a proper kiss..."
His head lowered with excruciating slowness. She felt her lips part
again, ready to receive him. And just as they made contact...
"HOLY
CHRIST!! Buffy, what the HELL..."
Riley. Standing at the bottom of the
steps. Looking at them with murder in his eyes.
Still seated and leaning
in toward one another, lips touching softly, Spike and Buffy froze. She heard
the cherry he'd had in his hand drop to the floor with a tiny thud.
Then
they were on their feet. The three of them stood there, staring at one another.
Buffy struggled to speak first.
"Riley..." His mouth hung open. Kind of
like a carp. A very big carp.
She heard Spike mumble, "Luv, that's what
you call 'gob-smacked.'" He gave a small snort of derision.
"Shut UP,
Spike." She hissed it under her breath, as if they weren't all standing four
feet apart and able to hear each other whisper.
She felt Spike's hand
tighten briefly in her shoulder and then drop away.
She tried again.
"Riley...this isn't...I mean...don't get the wrong...um..." Nope. No way out of
this one. Better just plow straight on through.
She lifted her chin.
"Riley, I know what this looks like, and I understand why you might be
upset..."
He seemed to awaken from a dream at the sound of her words.
"UPSET! You understand why I might be UPSET! I find you making out on your back
porch with a VAMPIRE and you think I'm UPSET?" His voice broke all high and
squeaky on the last word.
"We were NOT making out...it was just one
kiss...not EVEN one kiss..."
"Yeah, an' thanks for THAT, mate. Your
timin' is bleedin' impeccable." Spike's arms were crossed over the front of his
duster, and his tone was relaxed, if sarcastic, but Buffy could feel the tension
in him. She wondered if any of them would walk away from this
un-bruised.
"Damn it Spike, SHUT UP!" She turned on him and he flashed a
smirk at her. He was enjoying this way too much.
"So THIS is the other
guy you were talking about...I can't believe this is happening to me." Riley
dropped his face into his hands for a moment as if to clear his
thoughts.
"You told him about us, pet? I'm right touched." Spike's hand
was back on her shoulder. Buffy stood there, caught between the two of them,
wanting to punch something very badly.
"Don't touch her, you scum-sucking
piece of..."
"Hey! Now, Riley, you need to calm down. Spike, back off.
Let's just try to get some perspective on the situation." Suddenly she realized
that she sounded very much like Giles.
"I SAID take your FUCKING hand off
of her..."
"Oh, this in't my fuckin' hand, mate. I'm a southpaw,
actually. Although I've been known to be ambidextrous when the circumstance
calls for it." She allowed the meaning behind his words to distract her for a
split second.
"You are SO dead, vampire." Riley took one step toward
them. Buffy heard a low growl emanate from Spike and knew that she'd have to
move fast to avert disaster.
"THAT'S ENOUGH! Riley, go home. We'll talk
about this in the morning. Spike-"
Riley cut her off by grabbing her
wrist and yanking her off the porch. Spike immediately went to full game face,
crouched and ready to spring. She twisted free of Riley and threw herself
between them.
"I will kick the SHIT out of the first one of you who makes
a move. I SWEAR I will." They stood there, the three of them, in a grotesque
tableau. She could hear Riley panting, trying to maintain control. Spike
continued to growl deep in his chest, his yellow eyes sparkling and
rolling.
Finally, she felt Riley back away slightly. Refusing to look at
Spike, he chose to address her. "So this is how it is, huh? A human male just
isn't enough...you gotta fuck a vampire? That's disgusting, Buffy. I'm ashamed
for you."
Her breath caught in her throat and she waited for the hurt to
descend on her heart. It didn't come. Instead, she felt anger, outrage and utter
irritation with this man and his super-sized self-righteousness.
"What
d'you want the girl to say, Soldier Boy? You make her feel like dirt, she's
gonna act dirty." Buffy looked up at Spike. His features had returned to normal,
but his eyes remained rimmed with gold.
"I didn't do ANYTHING DIRTY!!"
She wanted to shriek with frustration. This little testosterone-induced
tug-of-war was getting way old.
"Of course not, luv, you an' I know that.
It's the school-boy here that needs a lesson in what's shameful-as in the way
he's treated you. Nothin' WE'VE counts as dirty, in my book."
Riley
looked at Spike as if he represented everything that was wrong with the world.
It was a look of contempt more extreme than any Buffy had ever seen.
"So
Spike, how does it feel to be used like a...like a living dildo? Except you're
not even living. You're a dead dildo, aren't you? You're no better than
something she could pick up at the local stroke shop-except maybe you save on
batteries."
Buffy stepped toward him with a warning in her eyes. "Don't,
Riley."
"Don't? Why not, Buffy? You said it yourself...it doesn't mean
anything. It's just sex. That's what you said." A small smile of satisfaction
appeared on Riley's face as he said these words.
She turned and looked up
at the vampire on the porch. He was frozen in place, staring at her intently.
One tiny muscle in his jaw twitched.
Then he was off the porch, blowing
by her and Riley on his way down the street, his duster swirling behind
him.
"Spike, wait..." It came out strangled, choked by pain. She'd seen
his eyes.
That's when Riley grabbed her by the shoulders and propelled
her onto the sidewalk for his version of a heart-to-heart talk. She allowed him
to do it only because her mind was racing down the street after
Spike.
"OK, Buffy, this is it. This is where it ends."
First
things first. She looked him full in the face, then noticed where they were
standing-directly beneath the large tree in front of her house. It was the same
tree that had witnessed her little scene with Spike a few weeks ago-the
beginning of a battle, although she didn't know it then.
"You're right,
Riley. This is where it ends."
"Good. I'm glad you agree with me. I think
the first thing we need to do is get you some help-real professional help. I
think the college counseling office might be a good place to
start."
"Really? You think so?"
"Yes, I do. Next-and I don't want
you to argue about this-I think it's time we ended Spike's little reign of
terror. I know you feel sorry for him since he can't fight back, but he's
obviously manipulated you. I should have dusted him months ago, and I'm gonna do
it for real this time. Don't worry, I'll make it quick-he'll never know what hit
him."
Unfortunately for Riley, he DID know what hit him-the heel of
Buffy's right boot, in a straight shot to his solar plexus. In a lucky break for
him, she pulled the kick at the last moment, or he would have died right there
on the sidewalk. As it was, he went down like the sack of wet cement he was at
heart. Right before he passed out, he saw her standing over him. When she spoke
to him, he believed her words, which was his second lucky break of the
evening.
"Stay away from me, Riley. Far, far away. Don't call, don't
visit, don't write notes. As for Spike, you'd better hope he lives a long and
satisfying un-life, 'cause if anything happens to him-anything at all-I will
hunt you down and break every bone in your body." He flinched, gasping for air,
as she leaned over him to remove the cell phone from his pocket. She dialed a
number and spoke curtly into the phone. Then she tossed it back to
him.
"Your buddies will be here in five minutes to pick you up. Remember
what I said, Finn." But he was already unconscious.
Then she took off
down the street toward the cemetery.
*~*~*~*~*~*
~ Part 6 ~
He cursed himself over and over as he gathered his few belongings and stuffed
them into the worn duffel bag. **Bleedin' idiot...made a soddin' fool of
yourself this time...Peaches'd be proud...maybe you should go look him up and
see if he won't teach you the proper way to be a bleedin' pouf...**
His
emotions swung from rage through wounded pride to despair and back again. A
younger man-a greener monster-might have broken down beneath the weight of the
pain, but he had played this scene before and knew the remedy-escape. Fast and
clean, and don't look back. He was glad he had enough cash saved for gas and a
little liquid refreshment for the road.
His bag packed, he stood in the
center of the crypt, staring about him at what would no longer be his home. He
let his mind wander briefly to the scene they had played out here...only two
nights ago? He felt as if he'd lived his entire un-life over in the space of
that time-only to be brought to this.
His back was to the door when it
slammed open. He'd half-expected the Soldier Boy to show up at any time. In
truth, that's why he'd taken his time packing, hoping for a real confrontation.
He knew how it would finish-something quick and dusty in a size 'Spike.' He
turned, ready for the end.
She stood in the doorway, entirely unprepared
to face him. The sprint to the cemetery had given her time to think...of nothing
but how badly she'd handled the situation and how confused her feelings were.
He felt a painful twist in his chest at the sight of her. Then he forced
his face to become the blank mask that had covered his pain for more than a
century. He took measure of her as she paused in the doorway, sucking at her
with his eyes, absorbing every detail-the very fibers of her skin committed to
his memory.
"And where do you think you're going?" She'd intended it to
come out as a simple inquiry, but it sounded like a challenge. Everything
between them was a challenge, a battle of wits-always had been. Why should this
scene play out any differently? Except that there was a difference, and perhaps
the time had come to admit it-if not to him, no, never to him-then at least to
herself.
"I thought it time to take my leave, pet. The charms of dear old
Sunnyhell have suddenly grown a bit stale."
She winced at the
implication. "Don't do this, Spike. What Riley said-"
"What the boy said
was no more nor less than the truth, Slayer, an' I would have hoped you'd have
the grace to let me slink away into the night without a final game of
kick-the-Spike, but I can see I'm mistaken."
"He had no
right--"
"Oh, but he had, pet. He had every right. You're feelin' sorry
now? Don't. Save your regrets for those that need 'em." He settled his bag more
firmly on his shoulder and took a step toward the door.
"I won't let you
just take off like this."
"You won't let me? Is it to be more chains,
then? Delightful as that sounds, ducks, I believe I'll take a pass."
If
he had been all bluster and beast, she would have known what to do. This quiet
determination of his confused her and she felt panic rise in her chest. She knew
she couldn't stop him if he were intent on leaving. Chipped or not, he had
always been a master at escape. She went to the only place she had any strength
left-straight to her battle station.
She dropped into a crouch there in
the doorway. "Come on, Spike, make a move. I'll knock you flat on your
ass."
He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "Luv, this isn't
necessary. Just let me go."
"I won't. You'll have to hurt me to get out
of here."
He dropped his head. "Not fair, pet. You know I
can't."
"Why, because of that stupid chip? I thought you were stronger
than that, a master vampire-maybe you're losing your edge."
He lifted his
face and she read the truth. Chip, no chip, monster, man-no matter. He couldn't
hurt her-not anywhere near as badly as she had already hurt him. Still, he
dropped the bag and slid out of his coat, and the dance began again.
He
waited for her to make her move, fully intending to slip past her at the first
opportunity and out into the night. She could keep the bag and the duster-as
mementos, trophies, or more likely as trash for the dustbin. He wanted only
escape now.
She wasn't moving. She was just crouching there, watching him
watch her.
"Thought you wanted to dance, Slayer. Let's go-give it me
good. I've places to be before sunrise."
"You won't be going anywhere,
before or after sunrise."
"So says you. I'm done here. Had a bellyfull of
this town."
"I've heard that before."
They had begun to circle one
another. She was aware that, if given the chance, he'd bolt. She needed to get
closer-if she couldn't block him, she could catch him.
Spike bobbed
gracefully on the balls of his feet, falling naturally into a boxer's stance. He
feinted left and dove for the door. She flew halfway across the room in a single
leap, desperation fueling her. She caught him at the waist and brought him down
hard, her face buried in his back. The scent of him brought instant tears to her
eyes.
He lay there beneath her, savoring the moment-their last embrace.
Only fitting it should be this way-ultimately, they were destined to fight more
than to love.
She felt him relax and loosened her grip, only to be
flipped onto her back and held down by his weight. She didn't struggle, just
looked up at him, sorrow turning her eyes a deeper shade than he'd ever seen in
them before.
"I'm sorry, Spike. I didn't want it to go this
way."
"I know, luv. No harm, no foul." He began to pull away, but she
grabbed his shirt and held him fast.
"Don't go. Stay. Can't we...can't we
make this work somehow? Come to some sort of...arrangement?"
"What do
you suggest, Slayer? Shall we be like the whelp an' his demon bird? What does
she call 'em? Orgasm friends?"
"Well...isn't that pretty much what you do
with Harmony?"
Ooops. Wrong thing to say. Those little golden sparkles,
that vibrating rumble-yup, she'd pissed him off again. But it was worth it to
see the apathy drop away from his face-to know that she could get a response-any
response.
"Is that what you want, you silly bint? Some pet demon on the
side to keep the fire in you damped down so you won't go 'round scaring the
boyfriend? Might I suggest you just go an' find yourself a better man in the
first place-one who won't wet his trousers every time you wanna be on
top."
"Spike-"
"NO! I won't do it, Slayer. Much as I enjoyed it, I
won't hang about waiting to stick my tongue up your quim every time you've got
an itch."
She slapped him hard. She saw the ripples beneath the skin of
his face, saw his eyes shoot yellow fire at her. And she saw him push it back,
repress it. The mask had returned.
She let him go. He stood and
straightened his clothes, smoothed back his hair, and faced her, helping her to
her feet. Ever the gentleman.
"Buffy. Luv, what you need is a man that
understands you. Who appreciates the bright an' the dark in you and can match
'em both with his own. Your soldier boy isn't that man-not his fault, just his
misfortune. 'An yours, if you insist on tryin' to make it fit."
"I won't
be. Riley...he's gone for good, I think."
"Sorry, pet." He smirked.
"Well, that's a fib, an' I expect you know it. But you deserve
better."
She took a step towards him and then another. "Do I?" He was
inches away, his face filling her vision, blocking out the dim light.
His
voice was warm again, with a tenderness she'd first heard in her room the night
before. "Yes, Slayer. You do. Now I've taught you a bit about your body-how it
responds to the right touch-I expect you'll find someone to fill the
job."
That painful twist in his chest returned as he thought of her happy
and satisfied with another man.
"What if-"
"Shhhh." He placed his
palm against her mouth. "Time for me to go, luv. My work is done here. Strains
of William Tell, an' all that."
"Huh?"
"The William Tell
Overture-the Lone Ranger? Mythical white-hat of the American west? Oh, never
mind." He sighed and dropped a gentle kiss on her
forehead.
"Spike?"
"Mmmm?"
"On the porch...you said
something about a proper shag... and a proper kiss. Do you have
time-"
"Oh, ducks. Hauulin' out the big guns now, are
we?"
"Please."
"Well, I 'spose there's always time for a proper
kiss, provided you don't try to lure me into another compromisin'
position..."
He lowered his head and she stretched upward, the distance
between them measurable in millimeters. He watched her eyes close in
anticipation and felt a stirring deep within himself. He wondered if perhaps,
maybe...
"A touchin' scene, Spike, very touchin' indeed." They broke
their embrace, startled apart by a figure in the doorway of the crypt. He was
short and very homely. He wore a shapeless coat of indefinable fabric, and his
baggy pants were held up with blood spattered suspenders. On his bullet-shaped
head sat an old bowler hat, and between his stained fangs he held a stubby
cigar. Butch. And he wasn't alone.
"Sorry to interrupt, m'dears, but
we've a spot of unfinished business to discuss." Five or six vamps crowded into
the doorway behind him, and Buffy could see at least that many pushing in from
outside.
She felt Spike change behind her, transforming in a single
instant from lover to demon. She had time to recognize the change, and feel a
surge of pure desire for him, before slipping into fighting mode herself.
The pair backed away from the gang in the doorway. She glanced over her
shoulder and saw that Spike had left the trapdoor to the lower level open. She
heard him growl low in her ear: "On the count of three, luv-one"-Butch advanced,
removing his cigar from his mouth-"two"-Buffy shifted her weight, preparing to
pivot-"three!" - they dove for the open portal, bypassing the stairs completely.
Spike grabbed for the door as he leaped, slamming it shut behind them
and then dropping to the floor to roll next to her. Up in an instant, he had her
by the wrist and was dragging her to the far wall of the basement level. Kicking
aside a pile of scrap lumber and odds and ends, he shoved her through the
opening of what appeared to be a tunnel. She helped him to replace some of the
boards that had been covering it and the two slipped away into the darkness,
with the sounds of Butch's gang tearing down the stairs echoing after them.
She allowed him to pull her along, since he seemed to know where he was
going. Dodging in and out of various passages until the sounds of the vamp gang
behind them began to fade, they stopped briefly in a small alcove where she took
a moment to catch her breath. It was dark with a blackness that was almost
tangible, and she felt smothered by the thick, rank air.
He could feel
her fear mounting and he pulled her against him to calm her.
"Listen,
pet, here's the plan. It's me they're after, so we'll need to separate soon.
I'll guide you to fairly safe an' open area, give you directions to find your
way out, and take off the opposite way. With a bit of luck, you'll be safe in
your bed inside an hour."
She couldn't see his face in the darkness, but
the tone of his voice had the protective, almost paternalistic quality that
never failed to annoy her when Giles, Xander, Angel, Riley, or any other male
being used it.
"Boy, you must really want to get away from
me."
"Come again?"
"Love to. Maybe later. In the meantime, in case
you've forgotten, I'm the Slayer. I don't run from vamps, they run from
me."
"An' you're just itchin' to take on a dozen or so all at once, are
you? An' in the pitch black to boot?"
"It wouldn't be so dark if you'd
turn on your eyes-make with the yellow sparklies."
He laughed under his
breath, and complied. Instantly, the alcove was dimly illuminated by a golden
glow.
"Guess I'm good for something beyond dildo-duty after all, eh,
pet?"
"You'll do."
"Glad you think so. But Buffy, you have to get
out of 'ere. We can't take 'em all without reinforcements-gather up the Scoobies
an' come back, if you must. I think I can evade 'em for a bit. But go.
Now."
"Sorry, Spike. No can do. Got another plan?" She smiled sweetly at
him, but he recognized the intractable stubbornness in her voice.
He
dropped his head into his hand in frustration, and the space became instantly
black again. She waited, fairly certain that he would give in, but ready to
defend her position if necessary. When he lifted his head, he looked
resigned.
"Right, then. Take off your shirt."
"What?"
"Just
do it, an' be quick. They'll be on to us soon."
She removed the jacket
she was wearing, then the cotton shirt beneath it. She wore no
bra.
"Don't you ever go about in proper undergarments, Slayer?" His hands
reached for her, sliding over her skin as he helped her back into the jacket. As
she connected the zipper at the bottom, his cool fingers found her breasts, and
she froze as he caressed her there, gently squeezing and rubbing. Then the
sounds of many leaden feet came to them from a distance.
"Bugger-all."
This time his frustration found voice in a growl. He removed his hands and she
zipped the jacket, feeling the rough material rub against her hardened
nipples.
She watched as he stepped away from her and across the passage,
the light disappearing with him. When he returned a few moments later, the shirt
was gone from his hands.
"I rubbed it about a bit on the floor an' walls,
an' threw it a good ways down another corridor. At least some of them should
follow the scent, if we've any luck at all."
"Smart. OK, now
what?"
"Now we run, Slayer, an' I hope you've been keepin' up with your
trainin."
Then he had her by the wrist once more and they were
sprinting, dodging, and stumbling as the passages he chose grew rougher and more
narrow. Often, she had the sense that she was breaking bones beneath her feet as
she ran, as if this place were a huge underground cemetery that mirrored the one
above it. But surely they must have been out from under the cemetery by that
point-she felt as if she had run miles in the darkness with only his hand on her
wrist to support her and the glow from his eyes to guide her.
They came
to rest again and she leaned against him, breathing hard. They could hear no
footsteps in the distance, but she couldn't feel safe. The longer they ran, the
more disconnected she felt from anything real. The only difference she could
sense between her frequent nightmares and her current reality was his presence,
for in her nightmares she was always alone.
"Buffy, you alright luv?" He
felt her clutch at him, and heard her heart rate increase even as she
rested.
"Nope, not alright. Pretty damn far from alright, alright?" It
came out snotty, with an edge of malice that she didn't intend. He took no
offence, just held her closer.
"Spike, why are we still running? I want
to stand and fight. And what is this place, anyway?"
"We're running in
hopes that the pack of 'em will thin out a bit by the time we have to take a
stand. As for this place...you really don't know?"
She shook her
head.
"Your Watcher's been fallin' down on the job, I see." She glared at
him. "Alright, short version: you've heard of the catacombs of
Paris?"
She looked at him uncertainly. Yes, catacombs, Paris, it seemed
vaguely familiar-another history lesson she hadn't seen any point in giving her
full attention.
"Lore has it that wherever there's a Hellmouth-be it
Prague or Paris or sweet SunnyD.-one will find catacombs beneath the streets.
They're used as burial grounds, battle grounds, hiding places-a veritable city
of the damned."
"There's a Hellmouth in Paris?"
"What, you thought
the French were in love with Jerry Lewis 'cause they exist in such a stable,
upliftin' atmosphere?"
"I guess it does explain a lot...so where are we
headed?"
"To be honest, luv, I'm not entirely sure at this point. We're
long past any area that I've explored."
"Are you telling me that we're
lost?"
"I wouldn't say 'lost' so much as 'misplaced.' You're not
frightened, are you, Slayer?" A teasing note had crept into his
voice.
"No, I'm frustrated-I had better things to do tonight than race
around in some dirty tunnel." She stamped her foot in frustration, and felt
bones crumble to dust beneath her heel.
"Yeah? Better things? An' what
would those be?" He settled her more securely against him, leaned in close and
took her earlobe between two cool lips, nibbling gently.
She pulled away.
"WHAT do you think you're doing?"
"Makin' the best of a bad situation,
ducks. Now tell me, what are these better things you have waitin' for you
elsewhere?" He began to explore the terrain of her neck with the tip of his
tongue. Wherever he touched, he left a tingling sensation that reminded her of
biting into a wintergreen Lifesaver in the dark.
"Well...there's a psych
test next week...haven't done any of the reading...and Willow and Tara wanted to
rent a movie..." She was babbling and didn't care.
"Red and her bird have
most likely settled in for a nice snog by now, pet. It must be well after
midnight." He unzipped her jacket. The sound it made seemed very loud in the
confined space.
She struggled against him with very little conviction.
"We can't do this. Not now."
One cool hand had found her breast again,
and suddenly her head was swimming. She felt him shift against her, grinding
himself into her hip.
"Spike. Stop. Please." In her head, her words
sounded firm. In her mouth, they tasted weak as water.
"Alright, Slayer,
I'll stop...since you asked so very nicely." He pushed her away from him
slightly, and the damp air on her exposed skin made her shiver. "Now, I'll need
you to remove your knickers-provided you're wearing
any."
"Huh?"
"Your knickers, luv, your panties-same tactic as
before, but stronger scent this time."
"You mean THAT'S why
you-"
He favored her with his customized sardonic grin as he stepped away
to give space.
She kicked at him once in a fit of temper-a kick that he
neatly evaded-and then angrily stripped her jeans from her hips. Not bothering
to step out of her boots or pants, she tore the scrap of cotton-blue this
time-from her body and threw it at him. He caught it in midair.
"No need
to have a tantrum, pet." He felt the torn cotton in his fingers, noting the
dampness there. Giving a small grunt of satisfaction, he turned and disappeared
into the darkness.
Irritation and humiliation coursed through her as she
slid her jeans back over her hips and zipped her jacket. She was disgusted by
the betrayal her own body had visited upon her, and hated the feeling of being
bested by him in a game she hadn't even known they were playing.
The
seconds ticked by and he didn't return. She began to become aware of the
darkness in a way she never had before-as if it were an entity itself, stalking
her.
"Spike?" She whispered it, but even her whisper sounded like a
shout. She stepped away from the wall she'd been leaning against and immediately
stumbled over a pile of...of what? Stones? Bones? Something else?
Her
Slayer senses tuned in to a fine, high-pitched humming she hadn't noticed
before. On full alert, her body sang with tension. Then a cool hand grazed her
face, and she barely swallowed a scream.
"What took you so
long?"
"Sorry, pet, didn't mean to give you a fright. Just doin' a bit of
explorin' to see where we've ended up."
Her heart rate slowed and she
ceased panting. "And?"
"You hear that hummin' noise?"
"Yes-what is
it?"
"I believe it's electrical-think we might be beneath the power
plant."
"How...how far down?"
"Hard to say. Not too far, I think."
He watched her as she gathered her hair off of her neck and pulled it away from
her face. He saw weariness in the gesture.
"Are you ready to plow
forward, luv?"
She nodded. He stepped closer for a moment and she fought
the urge to sag against him.
"Just a bit further, then you can rest, I
promise." He held out his hand for hers, and together they started again into
the darkness.