Therapeutic Properties
The Burn Away Series 2



Written by: PerleTwo
Author's Website

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Summary: Buffy. Spike. Hot water. You do the math. S2, set during Phases. Sequel to Subliminal Influences
Disclaimer: The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of it's characters belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod.
Feedback: perletwo@yahoo.com

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Buffy groaned as she made her way through the tunnels underneath Sunnydale. Her spidey-sense was tingling, warning her a vampire was nearby. {{Please,}} she entreated the Powers silently, {{can't I go just an hour or two tonight without having to play Slayer?}}

She made her way through the dusty underground paths, keeping a sharp eye peeled and a stake handy until she reached her destination. The cavern was familiar territory to her, off the beaten path even for the tunnels and home to a large, bubbling hot spring that emptied into a small pool, just deep enough to stand up in, with a naturally-eroded stone shelf at just the right height for sitting if you were sure enough of your grip to try it.

It was the Hellmouth's Own Jacuzzi, and after hard nights' Slayer-duty like the one she'd just finished, she liked to take advantage of it. At odd moments the thought had crossed her mind that it might be a sign of all kinds of bad mojo - who knew how close to the Hellmouth that water bubbled up from? - but no harmful side-effects had occurred so far, and she meant to take it as a gift until they did.

Or until the world's most abrasive vampire turned up naked in her hot spring. Whichever came first.

{{Why me?}} she implored the Powers. {{Why tonight?!}}

* * * *

"If you're plannin' to stake me, y'might at least wait 'til I get out, luv," Spike called to her without opening his eyes. "No sense pollutin' the water table while we're about it."

"Maybe later. If you misbehave. Which I'd really rather you didn't. I'm not in a slaying kind of a mood tonight." Buffy glanced around the cavern. A towel sat beside him on the edge of the pool. He'd left the wheelchair in arm's reach, clothes and boots stacked neatly in the seat.

His jeans were there, and she didn't remember seeing him take off any kind of underwear the other night. She glanced back at the pool and blanched. Definitely naked. And not going anywhere anytime soon. Damn him.

"So what's your business here, Spike?" she asked, with as much casualness as she could muster.

"Spot of hydrotherapy, pet," he said, languid. "Angel's wearin' out his welcome as a houseguest. Happy as I am to have the wanker back in the game -" she blanched at the Britishism. "- I'd like to get my feet back under me so I can kick him out proper." His eyes opened, and she nodded. "Yourself?"

"Same," she answered lightly. "Been a rough night. Much...slayage. You know."

His eyes slipped half-closed again. "Mm-hmmm. I'd'a thought you'd have access to one'a those high-tech hot tubs up topside. You bein' human an' all."

Buffy settled down on her haunches beside him. "Yeah. But I'd have to use a public one, like at a health club or a Y, and that's - inconvenient. Like with weight training - I have to do it in private, it won't do to have questions asked like why a little thing like me can bench-press twice their setup's weight capacity."

"Not seein' the connection." Through heavy-lidded eyes, Spike was examining the curves of the Slayer's body, now that she'd set down the gym bag that was blocking his view. Nice.

She looked away. "Secret identity problems. Share a tub with strangers, and I get into having to explain about all the wounds and bruises and scars. Without having somebody call the cops and social workers on me. Or God forbid, on my Mom."

"Ah." He opened his eyes fully and gave her an open, neutral once-over. "Shoulder botherin' you?"

"What? Oh." Buffy looked down at the shoulder she'd unconsciously been rubbing. "A little sore. Nothing major. Like I said, rough night."

One scarred eyebrow cocked up. "Angel said something about havin' a run-in with some kinda Hell-dog," he threw out, fishing.

"Werewolf. All beastie during the full moon, but Human the rest of the time. As was the very disagreeable fella hunting him I had to run out of town. Therefore, much punch-pulling, and voila! sore shoulder."

"All taken care of, then?" They were eyeing each other warily.

"For the rest of the month, at least." Buffy checked the disance she'd have to cover to connect stake to heart. "And I'm pretty beat, so I'd just as soon not mix it up with you tonight, Spike."

He caught the motion of her eyes and calculated how far away he could make it in one jump if she lunged. "I'm just talkin' here, Slayer," he purred.

"And it's not really like you're mobile without your wheelchair anyway," she chirped back, trying for bright-eyed innocence. "So let's just keep talking 'til I feel like leaving, shall we?"

He looked nettled at that, then let his features relax again. "Could do with a smoke here, pet. Would you mind? Fags're in the right-hand coat pocket."

"Thought you were worried about the water table."

"I can control where cigarette ash goes." She shrugged, went over to the wheelchair and fished in the pocket. No box there, but she pulled out a wad of white fabric. Her mouth opened and closed in shock, and he smirked. " 'Preciate the souvenir there, Slayer."

She stuffed the panties into her gym bag. "You've been carrying them around with you?" she ground out finally.

"Never know when you might need a li'l pick-me-up," he said lightly. No reason to tell her he thought Angelus might be having his room searched from time to time. "Like what you saw?"

Buffy sat down cross-legged. "Okay. So you know I was there the other night. While you were -" She gestured briefly and blushed. "Then again, that also means I know you're not as paralyzed as you look." He tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Long's we know where we stand with each other. So to speak." He hesitated, gathered his nerve. Temptation warred with his good sense and won out. "Y'know, I got no desire to mix it up with cops. You could join me in here." She snorted. "I'm in no 'urry to get staked, Slayer. Can't promise not to touch you at all, but you got my word, I won't touch you in any way you don't want. That do?"

"Now why in the world would I trust you that much?"

"Because you can stake me a lot easier than I can get away, healin' or not? I got no more guarantees o'safety than you do, pet. Make a move an' I'll fight, an' vice versa, but I'm not lovin' my odds. So you can trust *that* to keep me all gentlemanly. Right?"

She shrugged, looking him over while she considered. The hot water had flushed his skin a lifelike pink. He looked delectable. His posture was respectful. And she really, really needed a soak. She started pulling her clothes off and ignored his frank stare, more curious than leering.

* * * *

Buffy let out an involuntary shudder and sigh as the roiling water enveloped her. She curled up on the stone ledge facing Spike and opened her eyes. "Like what you saw?" she asked, mimicking his accent, and his mouth twisted in appreciation. A bold jab, out of synch with her usual goody-goody act.

{{Glorious. Mouth-watering. Mind-blowing.}} "Not bad," he said lazily. Then he sat up straighter and looked over the top of her head. "Turn around." She leaned back, arching an eyebrow skeptically. "There's no good arteries back there, cutie. You've trusted me this far, now -" His hand made a twirling gesture, and after a long hard stare Buffy maneuvered herself around.

"Owtch. Yeah, that'd be hard to explain, right enough." She looked back over her shoulder, questioning, and he held up two fingers, eyes telegraphing a request for permission. She nodded. "Big, big bruise over most of this shoulder -" she jumped slightly as his fingertips traced the edges of the discoloration. "- here, an' lots of little cuts and scratches."

"Those were a lot of big cuts and scratches, actually. They've already started healing. Hematomas take a little longer to fade." He stretched out an arm past her for her gym bag, leaning forward. The motion brought his chest into contact with her upper back and she sat up straighter.

He pulled the large butterfly clip he'd seen out of the bag, twisted her hair around the back of her head and secured it. Then the same two fingertips tapped the point of her shoulder lightly, nudging her back down to submerge the bruise. She did so, with a wary glance backward, hissed and sighed in relief when the hot water made contact with her swollen shoulder. "Better..."

Spike reached over her shoulders, holding his hands out before her on display. She looked back and saw the question in his eyes again, and she arched an eyebrow skeptically. He brought his hands back to her waist and grasped the flesh there firmly, fingers kneading, thumbs working hard at the small of her back. Buffy gasped, and when his eyes flashed the question again, she swallowed hard and nodded.

* * * *

"Lean forward." She gave him much the same haunted look, full of pain and fatigue but with a new note of something like hunger creeping in, and then obeyed, folding her forearms up over her breasts, fingertips resting at the base of her throat. A glance reassured her the stake was still comfortably in arm's reach.

Then his hands began moving over her back again, and animal pleasure took control of her brain. His fingers dug deep into the sore muscles, moving up from the small of her back, and she moaned low in her throat. When he'd kneaded her flesh to the edge of pain he stopped and slid his palms soothingly along the planes of her skin, then worked his way back up again, gentler this time.

When he reached the sore spots at her shoulders, he edged closer to her on the ledge and leaned over her back for leverage. He applied his efforts to those areas with special care, alternating deep and light pressures and paying close attention to her tiniest reactions to be certain he wasn't making things worse.

By this time Buffy was making a steady low noise in the back of her throat, a cross between a moan and a purr. Spike could feel her water-inflamed flesh heat up still further under his hands, and heard her heartbeat speed up a notch.

He rose up a little higher to work the base of her neck with his thumbs, and the intimacy of the pose made his cock rise and swell. Buffy jumped and pulled away when it brushed against her ass, and he reached over the edge of the pool for her bag again, pulling out a smaller towel. He soaked it in the overheated water, folded and rolled it into a compress, and held it against her bruised shoulder.

* * * *

After a moment Buffy relaxed again and looked back at him. "Why're you doing this?" she asked softly.

"Don' know," he answered, disturbed to find his own voice was hoarse.

An image popped into his head: the Slayer in a red 18th-century ballgown, cowering and trembling under his fangs. That image dissolved into one of her popping up from under him with a cheery, "Hi Honey, I'm home," and the wave of - satisfaction? relief? - that came over him when he'd realized she was herself again, ready to fight it out square.

He cleared his throat. "Actually I do know." She turned back to meet his eyes, but found his cast downward. "I don't like seein' you...diminished. It makes gettin' the better of you...less of an honor."

Startled, Buffy thought back to the first time she'd seen Spike in the wheelchair, while watching Drusilla's party from the catwalk. A shot of some emotion close to sympathy had zinged through her. {{Better I'd dusted him outright than this,}} she'd found herself thinking.

She ducked her chin under the surface of the water and twisted back around facing him, bringing her head underneath the arm holding the compress against her shoulder. She edged in closer until their knees were just barely touching, and craned her neck to examine one side of his face.

"The scarring's almost gone," she murmured. Meeting his eyes, she held up two fingers and he nodded. The fingers hooked lightly under his chin and turned his head into profile, then lightly traced the roughened areas around his cheekbone and temple. "What happened here, exactly?"

"You know that metal plate at the front of an organ, where all the knobs an' switches are? Not made t'be landed on face-first."

She swallowed, eyes wide. "I'm not sorry I did that." Her voice came out far smaller than she'd intended. "I had to save Angel."

He turned to face her again. "I'm not sorry I kidnapped Angel." His voice was just as hollow as hers. "I had to save Dru."

After a long moment she broke eye contact, glancing up at his brows. "Did you already have this -" Her fingertips traced the notch at the corner of one eyebrow.

"When I was turned? No. Got it fighting my first Slayer, in China. She 'ad a sword, I think it 'ad some kinda magic on it to 'urt vampires 'specially." He swallowed as her fingertips moved up his temple to his hairline.

"Your hair's curling!" She chuckled, brushing her fingertips up over his hair. "Is this what it does when you don't slick it back?"

"Yeah. 'Eat's puttin' the curl back in. Drives me nuts. Slicked back I don't have to think about it any."

She nodded. "Basic ponytail does that for me." She was stretching out and releasing a curling lock between two fingers, testing the texture. Softer than she'd expected. "What color is it under all this?"

"Light brown," he rasped, eyes fixed on her parted lips and the gleaming edge of teeth they showed, all of ten inches away from his own. "Picture your little redheaded friend's hair with all the red leached out of it, an' that'd be about the color." For no good reason he could fathom he added, "I was wearin' it long - then. An' for a long time after. Used t'have these curls fallin' in my eyes all the time. From here -" he took her hand and brushed her fingers over the right-hand point of his hairline, then the left. " - an' here."

She nodded and pulled her hand free from his, sweeping her fingertips down the side of his face, down past the point of his jaw to his jugular. The pads of her fingers played over the two ragged white scars there. "Angel?"

He met her eyes, saw a plea in them he didn't quite understand but couldn't quite refuse. "Dru. She...lacks the self-control to make it...painless."

Buffy's head cocked to one side, questioning. "She wanted a playmate. A protector. I think she sensed her Sire was tiring of her madness. I've been that and more to her since she turned me." He turned his head away briefly. "An' she's been...everything...to me." {{Until now,}} he added mentally, bringing his eyes back level with the Slayer's.

Buffy drew her fingers away and settled back, taking the compress out of his hand. "Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded back, not certain what her thanks were for exactly but unwilling to break the mood. He let his eyes range openly over her body. "Show me your scars?" he asked softly.

Her breath caught in surprise. But she nodded, and took his hand in hers as he'd done.

* * * *

Buffy started his fingertips moving at the right side of her neck, tracing the two white puncture marks at her jugular. "Where the Master bit me," she murmured, eyes locked on Spike's. "Drained me."

"The prophecy?" he murmured, caressing the vein running down her neck, and she nodded. "How'd you..."

"My friends. Got to me in time. Did CPR."

"Doesn't help if you bleed out, pet." His palm opened over the side of her neck, thumb playing in the hollow of her collarbone.

"I was alive - just barely, and healing already - when he dropped me. Into a pool of shallow water, while I was unconscious." She shrugged. "Technically, I didn't bleed out, I drowned. In three inches of water. Moral of the story, keep up with that Red Cross certification."

"And you killed him instead." A dreamy expression she didn't understand drifted over his features.

"Yeah. Closed the Hellmouth back up. Good guys win. Yay for me."

"You're quite something, y'know," he said, leaning in a little closer. "Even as Slayers go. Gettin' a rep to rival mine, you are."

She shrugged. "So I strike fear into the hearts of evildoers. Big deal. You should see what they've done to mine. I had nightmares for almost a year about the Master coming back. About dying." {{And now Angel,}} she thought but didn't add.

{{And now Angel,}} he thought but didn't say. Instead he moved his hand off her throat and brushed a stray lock of hair back off her temple, the tickling contact making her smile.

"Next?" She took his hand back in hers and moved it to her ribcage. "Broke a couple ribs here, broke through skin. Not fun." She led his fingertips along the jagged raised line on her skin.

"An' this?" He moved his hand a little lower down her midsection.

"Appendix. I was twelve." She grinned impishly. "No school, a cute surgeon and much ice cream. Dream come true." He chuckled, liking the lightness that came over her at the memory.

Then her expression clouded over again and she moved her hand to her other side, running his fingers along a long, ragged, reddish line curving over the edge of her hipbone, around her waist and up around the back of her ribcage.

"From one of the first fights I got in after I was Called, back in L.A. I went through a wall and kinda caught and rolled. My first Watcher'd died, nobody else'd turned up and I didn't even know they were supposed to, Marrick hadn't got that far with me yet." She shook her head. "I had no clue what I was doing and I don't think the regenerative thing'd fully kicked in yet, 'cause it's never really healed right."

"How old?" he asked softly.

"Just turned sixteen."

"No fun." She shook her head.

"No. No fun, ever again. Just live things getting dead and dead things getting deader." Her eyes misted up.

Then the wicked grin returned and she pulled his hand away again, this time to a scar on this side of her ribcage and one up around the socket of her shoulder. He cocked an eyebrow up.

"You."

The pride that lit his face made her laugh out loud. Vampires. "When?..."

"In the church. Guess you were, um, highly motivated." She dimmed a bit as thoughts of Drusilla and Angel intruded again. Shoved them firmly away. "Least you got a *little* of your own back, huh?"

"Yeah." His fingertips stroked the wet skin of her bicep, spreading the beads of water around. "Any more?"

She grinned impishly again. He could get to like that look. She pulled her right leg up and set her foot flat on the ledge, knee bent. She took his hand and led it to the remains of a gash up the length of her shin, near the long bone. "Well?"

The grin blossomed into a real smile. "Ice skating. Fell on my ass and one leg landed smack on the business end of my blades. I was six."

* * * *

He laughed in surprise. "Really? Ice skating? Did you wear those little costumes?"

"Nah. I didn't compete, just practiced. Endlessly." His fingers were massaging the length of her calf muscle and sneaking fluttery little touches to the tendons at the back of her knee, doing odd things to her respiration. {{The heat. It's the heat. Think of ice,}} she told herself, and rushed on. "My parents' marriage was self-destructing, although I didn't know enough to understand that at the time, I just knew I felt awful all the time except when I was on the ice. It's like the next best thing to flying. Got pretty good at it by the time I was eight."

"Then what?" His hand settled into a steady rubbing over her kneecap.

"Divorce went through when I was nine. No more time or money for skating." She shrugged. "Then school. Puberty." An eyebrow arched. "Boys."

Spike laughed. He'd had a hard enough time suffering through puberty in his own era, when society imposed powerful controls on sexual impulses. He couldn't even imagine enduring it in this age with no restrictions or guidance. "Did you work with a trainer? Skating?"

Buffy shook her head. "Taught myself. Watched TV, rented tapes, practiced moves at home. Fell down a lot. Like I said, I was obsessive."

"No guidance there either." He shook his head, and Buffy blinked, missing the connection. "Sounds like you were pretty disciplined about it, Slayer. In good shape to learn to do things you have to do now. Mentally, I mean."

"I guess. Just, I didn't ask for this, y'know? It's got its upside as lives go, but it's not what I'd ever've picked." He nodded, meeting her eyes. "Yeah. Guess you do know at that..."

Spike edged a little closer to her on the ledge. "About that upside..." He pulled his hand away from her leg and held both of them out before her, his face questioning. "I never did finish that massage..."

* * * *

She looked terribly confused and conflicted. And vulnerable. And tempted.

He ran two fingers lightly along the line of her cheek, down to her chin and back up, stroking soothingly. "No touching you don't want, pet..." he breathed, then leaned in close to catch her lips with his.

He pulled lightly at her lips with his mouth until he felt her begin to return the gesture, then pulled away and just looked at her, full in the face. Eyes enormous and frightened, she nodded solemnly and leaned back in, seeking his mouth again. This time she was the active party in the kiss, and he held back, letting her explore his lips.

Spike's hand returned to her leg and rubbed his palm over the long muscle at the front of her thigh, using the pad of his thumb on her inner thigh. Her muscles twitched and jumped under his hand, and her legs eased open slightly to give him better access. His mouth shifted away from hers to work the soft skin behind the point of her jaw and her ear.

"Angel never let you play with him like this, did he, pet?" he whispered. "Never let you do more than kiss, I'll wager." Trembling, she shook her head. "Anything you want, pet. Nothin' you don't want. I won't break an' I won't get pissed off if you let yourself go. Relax, pet...just play..."

Buffy's hand slid tentatively along the outside of his thigh, and his free hand caught it and guided it into a strong massaging rhythm that matched his pace. Her breathing quickened into sharp pants, and he let his mouth skim down her neck and play over her shoulder. Her head settled in to rest against his opposite shoulder.

Lightening his touches, Spike slid two fingers easily between her swollen nether lips. He stroked gently at the aroused flesh, applying his thumb to her stiffening clitoris, and teased the tips of his fingers at her entrance. When her hips began moving in time with his hand, he twitched his shoulder, nudging her head up, and met her eyes.

Seeing the question in his look, she rested her forehead against his, swallowed hard and nodded. He pulled his head back to watch her face, and slipped the two fingers as far up her as he could. Her eyes widened, but she gave no other reaction, so he continued, rubbing and stroking up and down her tight inner channel.

His explorations brought his fingers to a swollen, spongy knot of tissue inside her vaginal wall, and he pressed down against it gently, watching her pupils dilate in pleasure. "...oh yes...right there, pet..." She gasped and began moving against his hand, trying to increase the pressure of his fingers. "...baby likes to play..." he purred into her ear, and a shiver went through her.

He obliged her, adding a fast up-and-down stroking motion to the pressure, and she moaned. "...please...more...ohgod..." Her hand found its way around his thigh to his cock, grasping and stroking the soft skin covering his shaft in time with the motions of his hand inside her. He groaned and shook his head, trying to maintain focus.

"...oh that's good...you're so close, pet..." His face was buried in the crook of her neck and shoulder, drinking in tremors shaking her whole body. "...just let it come...promise I'll catch you..." His free hand snaked around to the small of her back and began massaging her there again with his fingertips, palm rubbing against the top of her buttocks.

Her stroking fingers clutched at him suddenly as shockwaves started deep within her, and he bucked in her tight grip, coming in sharp spasms. Her whole body seemed to seize up around his stroking fingers and she cried out, all her tensions dissolving into the heat that flooded through her, hips bucking reflexively in response to his fingers' ministrations.

* * * *

When the shudders died down they collapsed against each other, gasping and panting for breath. He kissed her forehead gently and rested his head against hers, listening to her speeding pulse gradually return to normal.

His palms lightly skimmed the surface of her back and shoulders, soothing, and after a moment he became aware of her hands mimicking his caress. She pulled her head back from his, eyes asking permission, and he stroked over the tops of her arms and lay back against the edge of the pool, guiding her hands over his shoulders to his chest and trunk.

When her fingertips began exploring on their own, he stroked back up her arms and cupped her face in his palms, his blue eyes glowing with pleasure and pride. He groaned as she found a sensitive spot buried in the ridges of muscle banding his abdomen, and her eyes lit up with delight at the response. His head fell back for a moment, relishing her attentions and the sensations washing through him.

His eyes opened lazily, and his wet hands smoothed the loose tendrils of hair back off her face, loving its silken texture. "There's so much I want to teach you, pet..." he murmured, voice low.

||You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night.||

Angel's voice broke over her like a bucket of icewater. She sat back up straight and yanked her hands away, folding her arms across her torso in a vain attempt to cover herself.

He sat up, alarmed, and reached for her hands. "Pet? ...Buffy?" She stiffened and jerked back from his touch, meeting the puzzlement in his eyes with loathing in hers. Then she backed up on the ledge, put her arms back behind her and launched herself out of the pool in one smooth press of her arms.

She quickly gathered her clothes and bag up under one arm, and seeing him struggle to pull himself out of the pool, brandished her stake with the other. "Come after me and I dust you," she hissed. "Understand?" His eyes flashed gold sparks as anger, hurt and confusion crossed his face in turn, but settled back into the water with a resentful nod.

She started to speak again, but her voice caught on the lump in her throat and, humiliatingly, she felt her chin start to tremble. She turned and ran out of the cavern, not stopping to dress.

Body leaden, Spike sat still on the ledge and listened to the slap of her wet feet echo through the stone tunnels and recede. Three minutes later the footfalls stopped and by straining his vampiric senses he could just make out the sound of sobbing, raw and pain-filled, very far away.

Cursing under his breath, he reached behind him and focused all his energy on pressing the dead weight of his lower torso up over the lip of the pool. He dried himself off and with frustrating slowness maneuvered himself over to the wheelchair and into his clothes. As an afterthought, he picked up the damp towel he'd used as a compress and tucked it into a corner of the chair beside him.

* * * *

By the time he made it out into the tunnels, Buffy was long gone. He let out a string of colorful curses and pounded a fist into a stone wall, sending shrapnel flying. Then he sat still, head in his hands, trying to put himself back together.

Resigned, he pulled out the towel and worked it through his fingers, re-folding it as small as he could. The scent of her skin and hair lingered in the warm, wet fibers, and Spike counted it as a reasonably fair trade for the loss of her panties, considering the new memories he was taking home to go with it.

* * * *

From the mouth of a further tunnel, Buffy stopped dressing at the sound of his voice. She closed her eyes as an occasional curse made its way intelligibly to her, losing the rest in a steady rumble. Then she flinched at the sound of an impact.

Straining her ears for the sound, she finished reassembling herself as soon as she heard the squeak of rubber wheels on stone, moving away from her position. She choked down hard on a sob and trudged up to street level, heading home on limbs heavy with their reassumed burdens of guilt and pain.



Continued...


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