Chapter 2

Angel was already to the mansion by the time Buffy had caught up with him. He stalked and cursed and moaned all the way home. He was acting like a spoilt brat and he knew it but he couldn’t help it. He lost all rhyme and reason when it came to Buffy.

He felt her before he saw her. The sun had just gone down leaving the sky a darkening red when Buffy came gliding through the long curtains. She left them open slightly as she walked towards him.

“Buffy,” Angel stated, his back towards her.

“Angel we have to talk.”

“That’s an understatement,” he replied turning around and looking at her. “What the hell possessed you to kiss him?”

“Hey! That wasn’t my fault. And let’s have the record show that I did not initiate it.”

“It’s Spike for god’s sake. Spike!”

“I know,” Buffy said running a hand through her long blond hair. “What made the powers that be give him his soul back? What makes him soo special? Yeah he helped me, big freaking deal. It’s not like he single – handedly saved the world.”

“It figures. I get killed and Spike gets his damn soul. Always about Spike. Spike…Spike…Spike!”

“Yeah calm down Jan.”

Angel raised his eyes to hers bewildered, not knowing what she meant by that statement. He had never seen the Brady Bunch.

“Yeah whatever Buff,” Angel sneered turning his back to her once again.

“Hey what’s your problem? I was just kidding.”

“Maybe I don’t need to be the butt of your adolescent jokes anymore.”

“What?” Buffy practically yelled as she marched over to him and made him face her.

“You heard me.” Angel’s face was wiped of emotion; his cold, hard eyes stared into hers.

“You’re an asshole Angel.”

“What does that make you then?”

He never even had time to brace himself for the punch she threw, even as he landed against the fireplace, the marble and concrete crumbling under his body. She never even graced him with a parting comment as she raced out the curtained doors and into the moonlight.

*~*

Spike had finally managed to get out of the watcher’s clutches and was having a long desired smoke outside of the vacant Sunnydale High School. He was sick of the questions upon questions of the why, the how and the what. If he knew all of that he would have said.

Spike grimaced and took another drag of his smoke. He didn’t want to come to Sunnydale. He had fought tooth and nail in not coming to this exact spot but it called to him. It rang through his body like a beacon, beckoning and tantalizing him. He could try to tell himself it was the town itself that he came back to but he would be lying. It was her. It was always her. Dru had said so after they left.

“The slayer is all around you.”

He had helped the slayer and now he was being punished for it in the form of a reward. Spike started to pace as he continued his smoke, the ashes raining down as he tapped the white paper stick in between his fingers. The slayer… what exactly was that kiss about? It was weird one minute they were fighting then the next they were reaching for each other, their lips crashing in a bruising yet intoxicating kiss. A kiss that made his mouth burn for more. He threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it, squishing it into the concrete, allowing not even the tiniest chance that it may spark again.

His hand went to his mouth as he rubbed the pads of his fingers against the smooth softness of his lips; even through the haze of nicotine he could still taste her shell-like mouth.

“Vanilla and sunshine,” he mused, leaning back against the stucco exterior of the school and closing his eyes.

That’s what she was to him.

Something sweet and bright all in one shot.

Something he craved even when he didn’t know it.

It was hard…to hate someone and want them all in the same breath. He had no idea why he kissed her. It was as lost to him as it was to her and all those who witnessed it. All he knew is he only got a taste of heaven, lord knows he wanted a hell of a lot more.

He was just about to return to the library when the girl in question came charging towards him. Her long blond hair was flying behind her, the high moon above casting a glowing aura around her. The look on her face was murderous as she stopped in front of Spike, her emerald green eyes shooting pointy stakes at him.

“Wot?” he asked her, still leaning against the stucco wall.

“You! It’s all your fault!” she yelling pointing a finger at him.

“Ah…let me guess. You and the brooding forehead have a fight?”

Buffy was indignant. She sputtered and moved closer to him, pinning his body between hers and the building.

“Why are you here Spike?” she practically growled at him.

“I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Look if I actually knew the bloody reason why I was here, don’t you think I would have said something? Sunnyhell called to me, beckoned me to come back to the hell of a town and so here I be. Here in front of you…”

“I hate you. I really, deep down honestly hate you,” Buffy snarled even as her lips brushed against his.

“Not as much as I hate you,” He growled crushing her mouth against his.

Buffy groaned against him and put her hands on his shoulders. Spike wound his arms around her, her body fully against his. He could feel the pounding of her heart against his long dead heart. He could feel the pulse of each beat in her lips. He opened his mouth to her and was pleasantly surprised as she brought her tongue out to play, moving her warmth against his cool.

This is wrong.

My god, this is soo wrong, Buffy thought but was helpless as his kisses moved from her mouth to trail down her neck. Even as his head was buried against the throbbing beat of her jugular vein she couldn’t push him away.

She needed this.

She needed him.

And she had no idea why.

Spike growled against her skin and swung them around so her back was resting against the harsh uncomfortable ness of the building. He had one hand resting on the small of her back and the other on the wall above her head. His lips continued their assault on her mouth, dancing with such fierce lust and want that it made Buffy shiver in excitement. She touched his shoulders again, the leather of his duster constricting her as she wanted to feel his muscles, his skin, his body. She tugged on the offending material and pried it off his arms. Spike allowed it to fall and even helped pull the leather off. It landed in a pool of black at their feet.

Buffy moaned in need as the black t-shirt he was wearing under the jacket came into view. She wanted to feel his skin. She bit at his bottom lip with her blunt teeth as she coasted her hands down his broad shoulders, down his muscled chest, down his taut and tightly packed stomach to his waist. In one move she pulled the black material out of the waistband of his jeans and broke their kiss for a scant second as she pulled the shirt off over his head.

As her fingers made contact with his cool stomach, his mouth met her lips, his tongue dueling and dancing with hers. Spike nearly groaned aloud at the touch of her soft little hands but he held it in. He didn’t want her to think he was actually enjoying himself. He didn’t know why he was allowing it to progress any farther then it already had. He just knew he couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t want to stop.

And he had no idea why.

Her skin was scalding hot wherever she touched him. It should have burned him, scorched him into a fiery abyss but it only drove him on, made him want her more. And want her he did, his length hardening and straining against the material of his jeans. Spike slid his hands from her back to her front, kneading her soft breasts in his cool palms. He could feel her nipples harden and grow tight, practically stabbing his hands with their peaks.

Buffy broke their kiss and moaned, her back arching against his hands, making her breasts rub against his calloused palms. Buffy couldn’t help it as the moan turned into another one. The feel of his hands on her breasts was exquisite. Buffy arched against him once more and closed her eyes. She wanted him to devour her, to knead her breasts to the point of pain and then kiss the pain away. She wanted to feel things she hadn’t felt since she had lain with Angel.

Angel.

The fight they had just had ran through her mind, the look on his face, her sailing punch, it played like a movie against the backs of her eyelids. Buffy opened her eyes and found herself looking straight into a set of clear blue orbs, Spike’s lips inches from hers. The anger she felt towards Angel resurfaced and she attacked Spike’s mouth with vigor, her teeth clashing against his as she fought for dominance.

Spike wanted to shout in realization that she was doing this to get back at Angel. She wanted to hurt his sire and deep down Spike was hurt by that. But at the same time his body betrayed him, becoming traitorous to him, wanting her even as his mind hated her.

Hated her for doing this to him.

Hated her for still loving Angel.

Hated her because if he didn’t get to touch her skin soon he would explode.

He growled against her mouth and grabbed the collar of her shirt. Pulling in opposite directions, he tugged the material, tiny seed buttons flying in all different points. His hands were on her bra-clad breasts immediately. Her skin hot and moist under his cool touch. His mouth trailed down her cheek to her neck, kissing and nipping with his blunt teeth. Buffy’s head fell back and rested on the stucco as Spike progressed farther, his lips a cool heaven against her fevered skin.

His hands ran down her back, his nails scraping lightly on her skin before landing on her ass. Slowly he pulled her up as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.

It’s a good thing I’m wearing a skirt, Buffy thought as her wet panties came into direct contact with Spike’s very hard, denim-clad cock.

Buffy rubbed herself against him, grinding herself against his straining length. Spike couldn’t help it as he returned her grindage, thrusting against her tentatively, his body wanting more but waiting to see where she wanted to go next. Her hands were winding through his hair, clutching at the vibrant blond strands. She pulled on his hair bringing his mouth to hers again. Instead of kissing him she looked in him deep in the eyes.

“This means nothing.”

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