Rating: R, maybe a little lower.
Feedback: Yes. I am a feedback ho, just ask my wonderful beta, Claudia.
Summary: W/S of course. Spike and Willow have a conversation, with lots of revelations, if I said more, I'd give it away.
A/N: This is gonna be confusing, so pay attention. In this story, Smashed has happened, but only part of it. Buffy and Spike did bring the house down with their nasty sex session, but Amy was not de-ratted yet, so no Bronze magic stuff for Willow and Amy. This takes places a few weeks after Smashed, but is completely AU after that episode. Willow and Tara have been broken up for weeks, and Buffy and Spike have been having sex for weeks, Giles is still in Sunnydale, and I think that's everything.
Distribution: This site, ff.net, and anyone else who wants it. Let me know first though, please. I like to know where my stuff goes.
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Willow opened her eyes, glancing around at the group of people surrounding her. The spell induced slumber was wearing off, leaving them all yawning as they opened their eyes.
Buffy, the first to recover, brushed her hair out of her face with a yawn. "Nothing here," she said, stretching her neck to work out the kinks. Her eyes settled on Dawn. "Anything?"
"No," Dawn answered, slouching in disappointment. She uncrossed her legs, stretching with the unabashed freedom of a child, though she was no longer that, she sometimes acted that way. She climbed to her feet with such ease and flexibility that Willow found herself envying her.
Willow's own legs were still crossed, and she wasn't sure she could unfold them without the ache moving all the way through her body. Spells took way too much out of her. Aspirin wasn't even helping anymore. Rubbing her aching head, she turned to the men in the room.
Xander clapped his hands loudly and jumped to his feet. "Nothing from me, Will. I told you, no one's messed with our memories since you--" when she looked down at her hands, he cleared his throat. "I just meant that... um, nope, nothing since Dawn and that whole thing, and now I'm going to go..." he pointed toward the counter before moving that way, "over there."
Giles glanced her way a bit nervously, which made her realize that they were all sort of avoiding looking directly at her, and when they did, there was awkwardness and distrust. She sighed as an uncomfortable frisson of guilt shot through her. They still didn't trust her. Would she ever feel normal around them again, short of removing herself from their presence completely?
Giles climbed quite slowly to his feet, reaching out a hand to support himself on the counter. A few nearly silent groans let everyone know how sore he was. When she caught another uncomfortable glance tossed her way, she looked away, not wanting to see the disappointment, but instead of disappointment, he looked over the tops of his glasses at her, and she saw genuine concern. "Are you all right?"
I must look worse than I feel, she thought, nodding and staying where she was. "Uh-huh. But I can't move. Other than that, you know, doin' pretty good." She waved away his helping hand and closed her eyes attempting to do a healing spell. Nothing happened. She was still sore, still sitting there in pain, and about to start whimpering like a baby from the ache in her all over.
"Willow?" Buffy rested her hand on Willow's shoulder, her voice full of concern. "Aspirin?"
"Yes, please," Willow answered, opening her eyes to smile up at Buffy. As soon as Buffy turned away to retrieve the bottle of aspirin from the bathroom, the smile dropped off of Willow's face. While the others were occupied with moving and discussing the failed spell, she very carefully uncrossed her legs and stretched them out, biting her lip to keep from crying.
Pressing her hand flat against the floor, she pushed herself to her feet. As soon as she was standing, the Magic Box started spinning out of control and the floor reached up to meet her.
"Willow!" she heard someone yell, before everything went black.
Willow snuggled down under the covers, smiling sleepily as Tara whispered in her ear. She'd missed her so much. Missed being with her lover. Why had they even broken up? She couldn't remember. But now Tara was back and things were normal again, and--
"Wake up, Willow," a voice whispered in her ear.
Willow moaned contentedly, stretching into her lover. "Tara?" She opened her eyes, and they immediately lost their happiness when she saw Buffy leaning over her in concern. Something cold and wet was on her forehead, dripping into her hair and onto the floor of the Magic Box. More concerned faces leaned into view. "Hello. Why are we all looking at me?"
"You fainted," Buffy explained, smoothing her hand down Willow's hair. "It was that stupid spell. I told you we shouldn't do it." She turned to look over her shoulder at Giles. "I told you."
Giles stood up, out of Willow's vision. "Yes, well, we had to know, didn't we?"
"But not at the expense of Willow's life," Buffy said angrily. "It's hurting her."
Giles propped his hands on his hips in a way rarely seen by the fussy Englishman. "I haven't the skill. Willow's the only one who--"
Hoping to stall an argument, she sat up, holding the dripping cloth to her head. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Just a little tired. And sore. Maybe kinda achy too. Really."
Dawn leaned down to help her up. "You don't look okay. Kinda icky, in fact. With an added dash of pukey."
Willow chuckled, accepting Dawn's hand. She'd intended not to let the girl actually pull her up, but she found she had to, because there was no strength left in her at all. "Oh, I think I need to rest."
"Okay," Buffy said, taking charge. "Giles, Xander, suit up." She waited until they headed into the training room for weapons before continuing. Turning to her sister, she sighed, not wanting to see the disappointment that was sure to come. "Dawn, I'm sorry, you can't come this time. I think you should stay here to keep an eye on Willow."
Instead of the immediate grousing and griping they'd come to expect from the younger girl, they were surprised to see an eager grin forming. "Cool," she squealed, hopping over to stand beside Willow. Seeing her wince, Dawn gently hugged Willow and apologized. "I've been dying to start on those magick lessons, and since you're all hurt and stuff, I can do a spell this time, right? In-- instead of you, I mean..." she trailed off, looking from one stern face to the other. "Oh, I can't do a spell then. I'll just," she gestured to the table and stomped over to it to drop ungracefully to one of the chairs. "Sit. And stare at the wall."
Willow had no desire to spend the next few hours with a complaining, pout-y Dawn. Nope, not with this headache raging inside her skull. Laying the wet cloth on the counter, she turned to Buffy with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll be okay alone, take her."
"But, Will, you can hardly stand," Buffy protested, ducking behind the counter and coming up with two stakes, which went into her jacket pocket.
"So? I'll sit." Gesturing to Dawn, who was already in the middle of a good pouting session, she raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "It's her first time going with big sis, she's been looking forward to it for, well, years. Sort of."
"Years?" Buffy repeated, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Willow tilted her head to the side and gave Buffy a look. "Just take her. You're losing precious nighttime out there. That stupid Gregarious demon really needs to be stopped before it turns the whole populace against each other. Go," she said, pushing Buffy toward the door. "Kill something for me," she added as Xander and Giles returned, both of them loaded down with weapons. "Dawnie," she called, not giving Buffy a chance to say no. "Go kill things with your sister."
Dawn, sitting at the table with her chin in her hand, lazily turned toward them. She snorted, rolling her eyes at Buffy. "Yeah, like she's *ever* going to let me go with her. I swear, I'll be, like, seventy before she allows me anywhere near a demon. Except Spike." Her eyes watched them arm themselves, her envy obvious.
Buffy tilted her head back and exhaled slowly. "Come on, Dawn." She hid her grin at the younger girl's sudden attentiveness and hopeful look at them all. "Hurry up before I change my mind," she complained, heading to the door.
"Oh!" More squealing, and jumping up and down. Dawn wasted no time and following them out the door, chattering excitedly every step of the way.
Willow laughed at the unadulterated exuberance in Dawn. The girl had way too much energy. As soon as the door locked behind them, she turned off the lights and headed into the back to lay on the couch. Making her way through the darkness wasn't as easy as she'd thought it would be. Twice she bumped her knee, once on the wall of the counter, and again on the doorjamb to the training room. Once through the doorway, she easily made her way across the open floor and to the couch, where she promptly collapsed.
As she lay there, trying not to think, or move, or even breathe, her mind drifted to Tara. A familiar subject that constantly occupied her mind since the breakup. Before that, her mind had been filled with Tara smiling, and whispering, them touching, kissing... now it was all arguing and hurt looks. Angry words, and painful conversations. She missed Tara like she would her own skin. She was raw and open without her.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall again. She had cried every night since Tara left her, but tonight, she wouldn't allow it. Two weeks was enough. Enough of wallowing in the pain and misery.
"Heal," she whispered, running her hand lightly over her forehead. Glittery blue light flashed in front of her eyes then disappeared along with the pain in her head. Wishing she had the strength and the nerve to heal her emotional hurt as well, she sat up with a relieved sigh, relaxing her stiff posture. She wasn't addicted to magick, no matter what Tara said. Tara was just jealous. "Oh, shut up," she told herself angrily. Sliding to the floor, she laid her head back against the couch cushions and brought her legs up to her chest.
Drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, she settled more comfortably against the couch just as a loud banging noise sounded outside. She jerked herself upright, snapping her eyes open, listening. Silence fell. The door to the alley was across the room, in the direction the noise had come, so she made her way cautiously over there. Stepping lightly on the mat, she smoothed her sweaty palms down her jeans, trying to still the thumping of her heart to keep it from bursting out of her chest. As she neared the door, she leaned forward, listening.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" Another loud bang sounded, making her jump nearly out of her tennis shoes. "Who's there?" she called loudly, her voice shaking only the slightest bit.
"Let me in," a muffled voice called through the door, the clipped British accent making her roll her eyes.
Shaking off the tenseness and fear, she sighed and opened the door, leaning against the doorframe. "What do you want, Spike?" She gave him an insincere smile. "Buffy's not here. Come back in the morning." Pausing to gasp dramatically, she slid her hand over her mouth, widening her eyes. "Oh, wait. You can't." Shaking her head at herself in mock shame, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm really, really sorry." Not an ounce of truth went into her apology, and his eyes narrowed at her.
"You did a spell," he told her. Accused, was more like it. He held his hand to his head briefly before pushing past her, flipping the light switch as he went. Light flooded the room in yellow shades and hues. Spike strode into the middle of the room, stopped and spun toward her. "Memory spell? Is it-- was it a memory spell like the last one?" he asked in agitation. His hands were shoved roughly through his hair, messing up the blonde strands. Instead of slicked back, they were now curling this way and that.
"No," she answered slowly, letting go of the door handle. The door swung closed on its own momentum, locking automatically. Demons had a nasty habit of breaking in, why give them better access? Aside from the one she'd purposely let in, that is. "This was a spell to reveal false memories, not--" she cleared her throat, uncomfortable discussing this with him. "Not one to make us forget. There's a Gregarious demon out there, peppering the town with false memories. Why?"
He didn't answer right away, just stared at her for a few seconds before removing his duster. Tossing it to the couch a few feet away, he waited until she'd crossed the room and sat down before continuing. "I... I think I have one. A false memory," he said hesitantly. A second later, he chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "A Gregarious demon?"
"Mm," she agreed, rubbing her temples. The headache was already coming back. Or was this a real one? Not magick-induced? "It's actual name is, Gkjnkan, but it's more commonly known as a Gregarious demon, because it's apparently very sociable, loves to party when it's not trying to kill everyone." Dropping her hands to her lap with a sigh, she looked up at him. "What do you think is a false memory?"
He half shrugged, half sighed. "Loving Buffy." His eyes dropped to the mat as he paced a few feet away, then came back, retracing his steps every yard or so. "I don't anymore."
Seeing the frown and the almost lost look on his face, Willow wished she could tell him differently, but... "That isn't the kind of thing this demon is using against us. He's more into the cheating spouse, or committing murder type memory. Not making people think they're in love with someone they're not." She didn't have to fake any sorrow when she apologized to him. She truly felt sorry for the way everything had happened, and because he was miserable. She knew misery. Was sort of in the midst of some right now.
He crossed the room, and dropped to the couch beside her. Closing his eyes, he flopped back against the cushions. "I don't love her anymore," he said, almost as if was testing out the words for the first time. "I don't love Buffy." His eyes opened, staring straight across the room at the wall.
Willow frowned, wondering if it was possible. Had the Gregarious demon planted that memory and-- no, it just didn't make sense. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch his hand in comfort, she raised her left leg onto the couch turned toward him, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Spike, this demon doesn't--"
"It wasn't the demon," he said, turning just his eyes to look at her. "The monks did it. They made me love her so I'd help protect Dawn." His eyes narrowed and he closed his mouth with a sigh of disgust. "They made me love her," he mused mildly, "and if they weren't already dead, I'd kill them myself." Closing his eyes wearily, he added, "Pain or no pain."
"Are-- are you sure?" she asked hesitantly. It was possible the monks had tampered with Spike's mind, they had, after all made everyone think they'd grown up with Dawn. And, despite knowing the truth, even now, Willow couldn't imagine never having known Dawn. She was a part of them, always had been, as long as she'd known Buffy, she'd known Dawn. "You just--poof--no longer love her?"
"Yeah," he agreed with a scoff. "Just like that I'm free." He laughed suddenly, genuine amusement lighting his eyes and turning up the corners of his lips. "You have no idea how good it feels to..." he trailed off, frowning, then shook it off, trying to smile again. "To no longer..." All traces of anything resembling amusement fled. His eyes slid away from hers with a self deprecating scoff and a shake of his head. "Figures," he mumbled. "It just bloody well figures."
"What? Is it coming back again?" Seeing him so relieved and happy had given her a small bit of enjoyment. She'd never been one for watching others suffer, so that he'd been given a way out of his misery... well, maybe it was just relief that he no longer loved her best friend.
He sat up, turning to face her. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to the side. He did that a lot, she noticed, tilted his head sideways when he listened or talked, when he was confused, or just watching Buffy. He was very much like an animal in that way. He inhaled deeply, still looking at her as if he'd never seen her before, then exhaled sharply. "I-- I didn't know. How could I forget?" he asked himself.
"Spike, what?" She'd never seen him at a loss for words. Ever. Even when he was drunk and crying over Drusilla, he'd still been vocal about it, ranting and raving and threatening. Here she'd thought he'd just found a silver lining to his black storm cloud. Now he was acting just a bit dumbfounded. She pressed her clasped hands between her thighs to warm them up and leaned against the back cushions, watching him. "Did you just discover you were in love with Harmony?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"No," he mumbled, his confused blue eyes raising to hers. "I was in love with you."
Willow sat up with a start. "That's not funny," she snapped, standing up to glare at him. "What is this? You got bored in that crypt all alone and decided you needed some amusement? Got tired of waiting for Buffy to come running to you?" Glaring at him wasn't incinerating him, which was probably a good thing, but she had brief thoughts of doing a spell to erase all traces of him. He was a big bother to them after all. Following Buffy like a puppy dog, stalking her, trying at every opportunity to get her into bed. Poor Buffy hardly had the time to live her newly returned life, she didn't need him constantly harassing her. "Get out," she ordered, tossing his coat at him.
He stood as well, letting his duster fall to the floor at his feet. "This isn't a joke," he said angrily. "I don't get my jollies by going around telling women I love them. Generally, the reaction's not good." He shoved his hands through his hair again, taking a step closer to her.
"And yet," she snapped, "here you go again, professing love to yet another woman in Sunnydale. And the best part is, she's the best friend of the previous woman you professed to loving." She scoffed rudely, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Are you brain damaged? Did that chip cause a few synapses to misfire?" Seeing his eyes narrow on her, she backed up a step, not wanting to let him close enough to... to what? He couldn't hurt her. Maybe not, but she also didn't want him to touch her, or look at her like that. He didn't love her, it was all in his mind. Or a sick joke. "Just go," she sighed. The hangdog look he got whenever Buffy insulted him was there now, because of her. "You don't love me." The only reason she wasn't magickally kicking his butt to the curb right now was because she felt sorry for him. Talk about co-dependency problems... huh, vampires with mental and emotional problems. Now she'd seen it all.
The fact that she probably couldn't light a single candle with her magick being as depleted as it was right now also played a bit of a part in her non-butt-kicking attitude.
He stayed where he was, making no further moves in her direction. But he didn't have to. His voice and words made her uncomfortable enough. "I do love you," he insisted, his voice forceful, his eyes burning into hers. After a moment, they softened and he spun away in frustration, not getting the response he'd wanted from her. "When I first came to town, I went to check out the all-powerful Slayer that the demons were so afraid of. I saw the three of you, sitting at a table at the Bronze, talking, laughing, dancing." He smiled a little in remembrance, shaking his head. "I was watching the Slayer, but you caught my attention too. There was just so much... innocence and sweetness in you. I wanted to corrupt you," he confided. His eyes slid away from hers, drifting to the wall behind her and further into the past. "Wanted to rip out that beautiful throat of yours, drink you dry, hold you as you died... maybe take you back to Dru, let her have a taste of what I knew would be the richest blood in the place." His voice had softened so much that she had to strain to hear him.
She didn't want to hear him. Hear about him, once again, wanting to kill her. Why did he always want to kill her? So she was innocent back then, not so much anymore, for sure, but back then she'd been innocence in spades, and naive, but was that any reason for vampires, this vampire specifically, to constantly try to kill her? Or just want to?
"Wow," she said, taking one step closer to talk to him in mock confidence, "I am just so turned on right now. Yeah, I have to fight back the urge to just run over to you and-- and kiss myself breathless as I thank the Goddess for bringing me such a catch." Turning hard eyes his way, she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her hands up and down to warm herself up. "This isn't sweet talk, Spike. No wonder women run for the hills when you profess your love."
He flinched at her words, dipping his head down briefly. "I'm just... trying to explain. I wanted to show you," he told her, sticking his fisted hands in his front jean pockets. "All those times I went after you, it was because you drew me to you, like a magnet. It was your blood. There's something about purity and sweetness that draws vampires in." He shrugged, at a loss as to how to explain it. "There's a certain scent or taste, sometimes it's nothing concrete, just a pull, but it's there, in the blood, and it's strong." He sighed and reached up to scratch the back of his head. "Remember that Halloween you got turned into your costumes?"
"Um, yes," she said slowly. "I'm not likely to forget it anytime soon."
He tilted his head to the side with a little shrug. "When Buffy was helpless and naive, alone and terrified, God, that was just a vampire's wet dream, and--"
"Yeah, oddly enough, details are not needed, thanks." She dropped back down on the couch, feeling safe enough for the moment. "So, how does this pertain to me?" she asked stiffly.
"It was always you..." he said simply, "always you. Except that night. That outfit you wore--" he paused, raising an eyebrow at her. "Just what was it you were supposed to be anyway?"
Willow shrugged, not sure herself. "It was something Buffy brought over. Come as you aren't night. She thought I could get Xander's attention by dressing... in that outfit. Never really said what it was I was supposed to be though."
He grinned crookedly, relaxing slightly as he slid his hand back into his pocket, rocking back on the balls of his feet. "Did you have any urges to stand on a street corner and offer yourself up for money?"
She couldn't really blame him for the question, she had looked rather... prostitute-ish. "Funny," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I went as a ghost, covered up my outfit with a ghost costume from the shop all the other cursed items came from. What is your point?" she asked.
"Just that that was when I really noticed you as more than a meal. You've got an amazing body," he confided.
He paused, waiting for her to protest, or blush, hide her face... she wasn't sure exactly what he was waiting for, but she was beyond that now. She was comfortable with herself, and if Spike felt the need to compliment her, so be it. "Thank you," was all she said. Okay, a small amount of awkwardness still remained. Her eyes slid away from his, finding a loose thread on the couch cushion that needed her attention before it unraveled some more.
He waved his hand in dismissal, crossing to the couch. As he was about to sit beside her, she tensed, ready to jump up and move. Seeing her stiff posture, he sat on the arm instead, facing her with his feet on the seat cushions. "Noticed you in a big way that night, but I was busy."
"Yeah," she agreed, nodding. "If I remember right, all your attention was focused on killing Buffy." She had no idea why she was somewhat calmly sitting here, discussing events from their pasts. Events in which he'd tried to kill them. Okay, so he saw her body then, he'd noticed her innocence before then, what did any of this mean to her? She had no feelings for Spike, not even an ounce.
On the other hand...
Oh, whoa! There was no other hand, she chastised herself. No other hands were available. Hate on one hand, dislike and distrust on the other, she only had the two hands. There was no pity and compassion for Spike. No sorrow for how he'd gone from being a big figure in the demon world to being a lovesick puppy of Buffy's. His mortal enemy. Poetic justice was being way abused in this instance. Way abused. But that did not mean she cared about him in any way at all. None. She couldn't stand Spike, he was rude, and mean, and hello! Evil. Self-proclaimed evil.
And he'd do anything for Buffy. He'd proved that time and time again.
He didn't desert the woman he loved. Didn't take off when things got bad. He loved to a fault. Tara had-- okay, no! Standing up, she spun away from him with wide eyes. What the heck was she doing? This was dangerous, time to put a stop to it.
"Willow?" He called her name like he'd been doing so for a minute. "Are you okay?"
She laughed harshly, her shoulders shaking with the force of her laughter. "Am I okay," she repeated, her tone considering. "No, I'm really not." Sucking in a deep breath, she turned to him, to tell him to leave, but one look into his concerned eyes, and she was lost. Lost to his compassion and longing. He did care for her, she realized. Maybe not as much as he thought, maybe not love, but he did care. And he was there, not running from her, chastising her for using magick and leaving her alone to cry every night.
Closing her eyes at the assault of emotions trying to drown her in memories, she shook her head, backing even further away from him. Now she was truly afraid of him. He was making her feel things, things she shouldn't be feeling for him, or even at all. "A spell," she said desperately, backing into the wall, which halted her retreat. "Someone did a spell--not me, because I wouldn't do that again--but someone else, and you were affected. I was too maybe, I-- the Gregarious demon--" she insisted, knowing even as she offered up the excuse, that it wasn't the right one.
Spike's lips turned up in a smile, a smile unlike any she'd ever seen from him. A genuine, non malicious smile. Huh. Rare first, she thought. "No," he said softly, running his eyes over her jeans and blouse as he stood up, moving toward her. "That night I kidnaped you and Xander, I wanted you again. Would've taken you right then and there if I hadn't been so drunk. This isn't a spell. This is real. I remember how good you smelled. Still pure even after all that time."
"No having," she whispered, remembering her words from that night. She'd been terrified, almost catatonic with fear even before he'd suddenly taken a big whiff of her neck. Drunk vampires crying on your shoulder... not the most enviable position in the world, but when they start smelling your neck and mentioning not having had a woman in weeks, well, that's when you needed to start laying down some ground rules. And she'd done just that. "No having of any kind," she mumbled, frowning at the residual fear that fluttered through her.
"Yeah," he sighed, standing before her, rocking back and forth on his heels. He resembled nothing more than a little kid waiting for approval. "I had every intention of coming back to you that night. I was going to kill Xander quickly. Snap his neck, just so I could take my time with you." His eyes went out of focus again as he remembered the past. "The night in your dorm, I told you I wanted to bite you when I kidnaped you. Didn't just want to bite you though. Always regretted not going back for you."
"Oh, yay," she laughed nervously, planting her hands flat against the cold stone behind her.
"When I first realized things with Dru weren't working, and that she'd never stop shagging every demon to come along, I fantasized about you." She could've sworn he slid his eyes away in embarrassment, but she had to be wrong. Spike, embarrassed? Not a chance in hell.
"Wow, I'm the object of a vampire's blood fantasy, I feel so special. Really. Not at all terrified." She glanced sideways, wondering if she could make it to the back door before he caught her. Did he want to catch her? Was he there to kill her? She scooted sideways along the wall, slowly, but steadily moving toward the door to the alley. He had his hands in his pockets again, casual and relaxed this time, not tense and stiff. He kept pace with her every step of the way, unnerving her with his calmness.
"Stop it," she ordered, holding her arm out to halt his approach. "Spike, even if you do think you love me--which you don't--it doesn't matter. I'm gay. And I love Tara. And I'm so not going to... well, do anything, with you."
Taking that final step closer to her, close enough to invade her personal space, he pulled one of his hands from his pocket and took her outstretched hand, twining his fingers with hers. "Tara left you," he whispered, gazing down at their clasped hands. Holding her hand still when she tried to pull it away, he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "I don't think gender matters to you, just so long as they love you." He kissed the inside of her wrist, holding her eyes with his own as he pressed his lips to her. "And I do love you."
"No you don't," she whispered desperately, ignoring the feelings his lips were stirring in her. Human contact, touch, it'd always been important to her. Tara had been gone for two weeks now. No touching since then. No kissing. No hand-holding. Willow missed it, and no matter how much she chastised herself for wanting the small contact she had with Spike right now, her body wouldn't listen.
"I do." He kissed near her elbow, moving another step closer. "Loving Buffy was always distasteful to me. I hated it even as I craved it. It never felt... right." Threading his fingers through her other hand, he pulled her closer to him, seducing her with his words and his voice. His nearness. His smell. The touch of his fingers on the back of her hand. "Now it feels right."
She shook her head, pulling back a few precious inches, bumping into the wall behind her. "It doesn't matter. I don't love you. I-- I don't want you." And she didn't... at least no more than she wanted anyone else. She loved Tara. Spike had been nothing more than a nuisance to her twenty minutes ago. This love-declaring thing was just confusing her. Making her think she wanted him, when in actuality, she just craved touch.
"Maybe not now. But that can come later." He leaned forward, chuckling when she turned her face away. Raising their clasped hands, he pressed them to the wall on either side of her face, leaned in and touched his lips lightly to her neck. "I want you enough for the both of us," he said huskily, pulling back to look into her eyes. "Can I finally have you?" Ducking forward again, he traced her ear with his tongue, shuddering as he inhaled. "Your skin tastes like cinnamon, but you smell like strawberries." He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, nipping it lightly with his teeth before releasing it to trail his mouth along her jawline.
Feeling suddenly weak-kneed, she leaned against the wall, drawing in a shuddering breath. "Magick ingredients," she whispered, trying not to feel the tingling in her stomach. Or the delicious chill that went up her spine, a chill reserved only for Tara. He wasn't Tara, damn it. Why was her body responding to him? "Please stop." Her voice was desperate, almost pleading, but he didn't stop his assault on her senses.
He inhaled again, sliding his tongue along her lower lip, forcing a moan to escape her against her will.
His lips hovered over hers for a second, until she dragged her eyes from his shirt to his face, then they lowered, touching briefly against hers. His body followed suit. A hard chest settled against hers, her breasts ached at the touch, straining for more contact with him. Hard thighs rested against hers, taut and muscular, bringing back memories of Oz and what it felt like to be with a man. But it was what was in the middle that made the biggest impression on her. His erection was full, and hard, and huge, and settled up against her. He moved their clasped hands higher up the wall as his mouth took control of hers. She wanted to protest, to tell him to leave, but all the strength had left her at the first touch of his body.
Her back pressed into the wall, arching the rest of her body against his. She raised herself up onto tiptoes to cradle his erection between her thighs, panted as he did his best to take her breath away. The fear was gone now... mostly. She still feared his intentions, but for now, in this moment, she felt safe. Her magick would save her if she herself couldn't. Which meant she'd made up her mind? She was going to allow this to happen? Groaning, with equal amounts of despair and desire, she fought to get control over herself. To stop this from happening.
To stop Spike's hands as they tightened on hers. To stop his mouth
from kissing her so forcefully. To stop him from making love to her.
As quick as that, she yanked her hands from his and pushed him away.
"Get away from me," she told him angrily, panting harshly with every breath.
Chest rising and falling. His eyes dropped to the open area between
her breasts, turning dark blue with desire. He wouldn't be put off
that easily she knew.
He reached out, cupping her face gently, making no move to kiss her again. He pressed his body against hers, sliding one thigh between her legs. One hand ran down her side to her right leg. Slipping his hand under her thigh, he lifted it up, wrapping her leg around his waist. They both gasped at the contact, but made no other move. Until he reached down with a devilish smile and lifted her other leg, settling her fully against his erection.
Another gasp escaped her as she felt a little bit of that friction she needed. Just enough to make her want more. Hooking her heels behind him, she pressed her back against the wall again, and pushed herself against him. His hands slapped onto the wall on either side of her, and he finally leaned in to kiss her. After sliding his tongue along her lips, not giving her the satisfaction of a full kiss, he grabbed her hips, holding her still. When she tried to move against him, to feel that electric shock of pleasure shoot through her, he held her down.
"I know you don't love me," he whispered, "but, I do love you." His eyes stayed steady on hers for a minute, before he leaned down to trace his lips along her neck. "I love the way you smell." He inhaled. "The way you taste." His lips found her mouth again. "The way your touch warms me." Fingers slid beneath the hem of her blouse. "The way it feels like your heart is beating for mine." He took her hand and placed it over his still heart. "The way your breath gives me life." He kissed her tenderly, drawing in her breath as he did so.
Lifting her the slightest bit, he lowered her back down, sending shockwaves throughout her body. "I just... want a chance," he admitted with a shrug.
Willow was willing to give him anything he wanted at this point. She didn't know how he could still talk when all she could do was feel. Her insides were melting from the electricity shooting through her veins and along her nerve endings, centering between her thighs, on her lips where his touched hers. Under her thighs where his hips held her up. Everywhere he touched her, she burned. Whether he loved her or not was inconsequential. She was burning with arousal, and needed to find some relief. It'd been too long. Tara wasn't there. Spike was. She wasn't cheating on Tara. This was no worse than pleasing herself. Just, with a partner.
Closing her eyes, she made a conscious decision to let Spike... make love to her? No. Have sex with her? Not even that. Help her relieve an ache that he'd built inside her. That sounded good to her. Threading her hands through his hair, she held him to her, raising her hips as her eyes sought his. His dark blue eyes, tinged with lust and desire, but still with more control than she could claim, examined her face, searching for something she didn't think he found. A frown dipped down his brows for a split second, but then it was gone, and he released his tight grip on her hips, allowing her to move.
Her legs tightened around his waist, and she pressed her mouth against his. Almost as soon as her lips touched his, he tore his mouth away and lowered his face to the crook of her neck. It didn't bother her. She didn't care that he didn't want to kiss her, or look at her. Didn't care that she was using him. She just needed to escape from the pain and the tension, the numbness. The loneliness.
Closing her eyes against the sight of Spike's face not turned toward her, his head ducked down, his body holding hers, she slid one hand down to his stomach and lifted his shirt. As her fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, his hand halted hers.
"No." His fingers tightened over hers when she scoffed and tried again. "No," he repeated, reaching back to unhook her legs.
She held tight, this time not letting him manipulate her into whatever position he wanted. "No? What do you mean, no?" she asked, feeling shame and guilt starting to eat at her. Not wanting to feel, she took it out on him by scraping her nails down his neck.
Finally, he raised his head, his eyes snapping toward hers. Now she had his attention. "I'm not going to just rip my pants open and--"
"And what?" she said angrily, moving her hips to remind him of their position. "Use me?" She laughed almost harshly, placing her hands on either side of his neck, wrapping her legs tighter. "I want you to use me." Kissing him hungrily, ignoring the shame spreading further throughout her, she ground herself against him. "I need you to use me."
He shook his head, dropping his arms to his sides and standing straighter.
"Again with the no," she whispered, shame flooding all the way through her now.
Tara would never be able to forgive her for this, it was already too late, she'd allowed things to go too far. Why turn back now? Why didn't he want her anymore?
Dropping her legs from his waist, she slid down his body, pretending she didn't hear his moan, pretending she didn't want to run and hide. To do a spell on him to make him forget their encounter, their conversation, maybe even his newfound feelings for her.
"Oh, God," she whispered, realization washing over her. She slid down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees, hiding her face from him. "What am I doing? I-- I didn't want to... didn't mean to-- I just miss her so much," she said tearfully, sniffling against her sleeve. "Every second she's gone, I miss her. My h-- heart," she sobbed, feeling the pain she didn't want to feel anymore. The pain that forced air from her lungs, and breath from her mouth. It was drowning her and she couldn't get up to the surface to take in any air. She was dying, and no one knew. No one cared. "I just wanted to forget, just for a little while," she whispered, embarrassed beyond the point of caring.
Spike knelt down in front of her, she felt him, more than saw him reach out for her. His hands were hesitant on her arms, unsure as he pulled her to him, but strong and comforting when she was in his arms. He understood. Both Buffy and Drusilla had ripped his heart out. Was his memory of loving Buffy as strong and painful as the actual loving?
Sighing into his chest, she closed her eyes and relaxed. After a few seconds, he shifted her on his lap, making them both more comfortable. His legs went out from under him so he was sitting flat on the mat, holding her to him. His hands didn't roam, didn't touch her inappropriately, didn't try to stoke the fire that he'd lit in her earlier. He didn't need to, it was still there, burning her up inside, the embers burning brighter with every breath she took, every spot her bare skin touched his. With each shuddering breath, she was brought that much closer to him.
He was still aroused, she felt him underneath her, heard him moan softly when she shifted a little. He still wanted her. And she wanted to forget. Forget the pain, and the loneliness inside her. The emptiness begging to be filled. Spike was offering to love her, and she wanted to be loved. Didn't want to be alone anymore. Everyone she loved left her; her parents, Jesse, Oz, Tara. Even Giles was leaving Sunnydale soon, going back to England to give Buffy some room to be an adult.
She slid her hands from where they were wrapped around his waist, to lay them flat against his chest. Pushing away a little, she turned so that she was straddling his waist. Wrapping her legs around him, she wiped the tears from her face and lifted her eyes to his.
"Make me forget?" she begged, her breath hitching pathetically. Ducking her head in embarrassment, she whispered, "Please?"
He sighed, and she was sure he wouldn't do it. He had more willpower than she did. Stronger morals too? That was a laugh. Vampires acted on impulse, he should be throwing her down and having his way with her, not trying to think of ways to extricate himself.
"All right," he finally whispered, surprising her with his agreement. He threaded his hands through her hair and kissed her. Softly, gently, not devouring her like she wanted him to. She needed overwhelming sensations to forget, not tenderness that only reminded her of Tara.
Scraping her nails down his neck again, she ground herself against him. His eyes flickered yellow, narrowing on her face, but that was the only reaction he gave, and they were blue again when he blinked. Leaning back, to support his weight on his arms, he thrust his hips up, pressing his erection into her with an expressionless face. He watched her gasp, licking his lips just a little bit as she leaned into him. Another gasp escaped her when he thrust up again. The seam of her jeans stimulated her. He did nothing more than lift his hips and watch her, which was unsatisfying in the extreme, not to mention unnerving. She felt like she was on a mechanical ride at the amusement park.
But she didn't care enough to stop.
She leaned forward again, cupping his face in her hands to kiss him, to trace her tongue along his lips, slide her tongue into his mouth and force him to respond. He responded more than she'd hoped. His hands cupped her face, and he leaned into her until they were both sitting upright. His tongue thrust into her mouth at the same time as his hips thrust up. She tightened her legs around him, squeezing him harder, pushing down against him with more force. Faster, and harder.
One of his hands slid down to rest on the swell of her breast visible
in the vee of her blouse. His hand turned, sliding inside her bra
to cup her breast. She arched her back into his touch, wanting more
contact, but he didn't do anything more than hold her.
Reaching under her blouse, she unhooked her bra, and took his hands
in hers, sliding them back under her blouse. At the first touch of
his cool, rough skin sliding along her stomach, she drew in a deep breath
and held it. As his hands spanned her waist, sliding up so far as
to only touch the undersides of her breasts, she exhaled sharply.
"Touch me," she panted, craving his hands on every inch of her body. Wanting his mouth everywhere it could reach. But he was doing nothing except the barest of touching. Once again reaching under her blouse, she moved his hands up until they cupped her breasts, finally cupped her breasts, fully and completely. Liquid heat poured through her along with an electric jolt of heightened desire. Occupying her mouth with kissing him again, she slid her own hands free and ran them along his chest. Lower, and she was sliding them under his shirt.
His whole body jerked when her nails scraped down his smooth stomach. His hips thrust against her, a moan matching hers escaping his mouth. Thumbs brushed against nipples, hands scraped flesh, hips thrust into each other, backs arched into touches. And then she felt the edge of the precipice. She tightened her legs around him, clenching her muscles and grinding her clit against his erection. She came with a gasp, her hands clawing in his shirt as she plunged over the edge to free fall. Her muscles continued to clench, her hips buck, her teeth to bite his neck. As she started to come down, to soar and float instead of free fall, she slid her arms around him, holding him close to her. Closing her eyes with a contented sigh, she played with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Mm," she whispered, "I love you so much--" her eyes flew open at the same time as his hips bucked against hers, his erection grinding against her overly sensitive clit. She didn't move away from him as he came, didn't pull away, though she wanted to. Instead, she pressed harder against him, giving him a little more pleasure, and herself a little bit of pain.
When he finally stopped moving, she held herself still. Had he heard her? She hadn't meant to say it, this wasn't Tara after all. It was Spike, and she didn't love him at all, not one bit. It was just the blissful aftermath of sex that had made her forget who she was with. His hand smoothed down her hair lazily, and she couldn't keep silent any longer.
"I-- I didn't mean to... I don't love you--" she began, but stopped when she realized how cruel she sounded.
His hands stilled on her hair, then slid down her back, smoothing along her heated flesh. He tightened his hold on her briefly before releasing her completely. "I know," he said softly.
They were both silent for a few minutes, neither one tried to move, neither one wanted to speak, but finally, Spike sighed, breaking the silence.
"When I went to your dorm to kill Buffy," he said slowly, "I was furious. I just knew she had something to do with me getting captured by the Initiative. Wanted to kill her in a big way." His hand moved up her back again, drifting down her hair. "But when I saw you, I couldn't have been happier. Finally, here was my chance to have you. I gave you a choice--"
"Die, or be like you," she interjected, nodding in remembrance. "I remember. You didn't look very happy to me."
"Like you said, I played the bloodlust cool, didn't want to scare you--"
"Yes, you did," she laughed bitterly, remembering the pain and fear she'd been immersed in at the time. And look, here she was again, making nice with the pain like they were old friends.
"Too much," he finished with a sigh. "You have no idea how much I wanted you that night, do you?"
She shook her head, not remembering any sort of wanting or having conversations that night. Except the reassurance they'd both heaped on each other. "No. I remember fear, and, um, more fear, but not a lot else."
He nodded against her, then suddenly they were rolling. She ended up underneath him on the training mat, while he did a fair imitation of their position from that night. Even his face was vampy. "Look familiar?" he asked, running his eyes over her. "Oh, wait," muttered absently, reaching up to press his hand against her mouth. Lightly, not enough to hurt either one of them.
It still scared her. He probably knew, due to her pounding heart, panting breath, and widened eyes. She nodded and tried to remove his hand, but he wasn't budging. When he grinned evilly, she screamed and shoved at him, trying to dislodge him.
"See there?" he asked, releasing her mouth. "Is it coming back now?" He leaned back on his knees, letting up with most of the pressure on her abdomen, but keeping her from escaping.
"No," she said bravely. "Let me up." But then she went and ruined all that braveness by whispering, "Please."
He frowned down at her, shaking his head. "I won't hurt you."
She laughed harshly, not believing him for a minute. "You can't hurt me, there's a difference."
"Didn't hurt Buffy," he mumbled, raising himself from her. He watched her scoot back frantically, and climb to her feet to back away even further.
"You can't," she told him as if he was two. "Can't is a whole lot different from won't, and didn't."
He too, climbed to his feet, his face back to being human. "I can hurt her. You brought her back... wrong." He grinned almost boyishly. "You broke her."
Willow shook her head, dismissing his words. It wasn't true. She'd yanked Buffy from heaven, they all knew that, and they all blamed her too, but she hadn't brought her back wrong. Buffy was the same as she always had been. More depressed and--hello--she had reason, but... and well, maybe a little distanced from them all, especially Willow, but that didn't mean she was wrong. Or broken. She was just Buffy. Slightly bent and dented in places maybe, but still Buffy.
"Liar," she accused, her eyes boring into his. "Just because she won't sleep with you, or fall in love with you, that doesn't mean she's wrong, or broken. It means she's stronger than I am." Frowning at herself, she sighed and scuffed her feet on the training mat. "She has morals."
"She has morals," he repeated with a chuckle. Amusement just radiated from him in the bounce in his step, the grin on his lips, and the laughter in his eyes. "High and lofty, these morals are I'll bet."
Not liking the sudden shift in attitude from him, nor where it made her mind lead, she turned away. "Just leave, Spike. You've had a nice full entertaining night. Your work here is done." She cried out in surprise when he grabbed her by the arm and spun her toward him. His grin was still in place, but no longer amused. It was cruel.
"You think this was all just a joke? An entertaining pastime?" He nodded once, scoffing at one of them, she wasn't sure which. "I had this dream last year. You were in my crypt, there to chastise me for not helping you find Dracula." He smiled, shaking his head with a chuckle. "As soon as you walked in, you were griping and bitching, your hair wild, your face flushed with anger, eyes narrowed. I kissed you, to shut you up, and threw you on my bed to have my way with you. Told you right then that I loved you. Woke up scared to death." He tossed her an apologetic shrug. "Loving a human isn't every vampire's wish. You're too warm, too... foreign. Too caring, and short-lived."
Willow nodded in understanding. Two different creatures, two different temperaments. Hot and cold, love and hate, good and evil. Vampires had to be just as opposed to loving a human as a human did to loving a vampire. Maybe even more so. She herself, couldn't imagine loving a vampire. Except in the physical sense.
Pacing closer again, he started to reach out to her before pulling his hand back. "And damn if you didn't get me so hot I found myself wishing Harmony was there to--"
She held her hands up to her ears with a snort. "Please don't finish that sentence," she begged.
"Right," he agreed. "Never planned to tell you. But then the decision was taken from me, and Buffy took your place." Anger lit his eyes, turning them to gold for a brief second. "I don't like being manipulated."
"So," she asked quietly, frowning at him in confusion. "Why are you here then? Why did you tell me?"
He shrugged, at a loss. "Don't know. I was on my way here, out in the alley, when something hit me, your magick, I guess, and I was knocked out for a few. When I woke up, I knew that loving Buffy wasn't real." Rubbing his forehead lightly, he sighed and dropped his hand. "When I remembered you, I just... had to tell you, before it was gone again."
"It probably won't go away," she muttered, almost wishing he'd kept the news to himself. Things were so much worse now. So much worse.
He grabbed her arms, pulling her close, his eyes serious as he looked down at her. "I just... needed you to know. If I start spouting love sonnets to that twit slayer, at least you'll know the truth."
She bit her lip, nodding. "Okay." She wasn't worried, didn't know why he was. The monks were all dead, Glory was gone, the spell was probably permanently removed. In fact, she was wishing the spell would make him forget again. Life would go back to being normal, she'd still be hurting and lonely, but she wouldn't have the added extra bonus of Spike suddenly thinking he was in love with her. He cared for her, she was sure that was real, but love? No, that was just too unbelievable. And if he did, what then? Then, she'd have to deal with what she'd done.
Oh, God, what she'd done. Begged him to use her. Begged him to let her use him. Grinding against him until she got off like a rutting animal. Not like a human being with feelings, and-- and--
"I have to go," she whispered, moving back so his arms dropped from her. "I have to leave-- get out of here. The others will be back soon, and I can't be here. I can't." Her eyes darted around the training room, looking for evidence of their encounter. Nothing was out of place except their clothes. Their shirts crooked. Reaching out to him, she smoothed his shirt down, straightening the shoulder with a quick, light touch, then fixed her own. Yanking on the hem of her blouse, she turned from his knowing eyes. Turned from his too aware face. She needed to change, go home and wash up, change out of her dirty clothes. Wash the filth off of her. Scrub her hands clean. "I have to go," she muttered, heading toward the door to the alley.
"Willow, wait--" he said softly, but when the door shut behind her, he didn't come after her.
She left the alley at a run, rushing through the streets, pushing people out of her way. Crossing streets in front of traffic, narrowly missing getting hit a few times. Straight to Buffy's house, her new home. Used to be her and Tara's home. Used to be a lot of things. Unlocking the door with a shaking hand, she shoved it open and slammed it behind her. Leaning against it for a few brief moments, she rested, panting from her mad dash through town. Afraid Buffy and Dawn would come home while she was still in the state she was in, she took the stairs two at a time.
Once she was in her room, she ran into the bathroom, coughing and gagging. Dropping to the tile floor in front of the toilet, she retched a few times before throwing up. Her head pounded rhythmically with her pulse, her stomach ached as she continued to gag and cough, but nothing more would come up. Flushing the toilet with a shaking hand, she climbed unsteadily to her feet and stumbled to the sink. Brushing her teeth and gargling with mouthwash, she toed her shoes off, hardly finishing her teeth before she was tearing her clothes off of herself.
She turned the water on full, and stepped in, hissing at the heat. Steam filled the room. Hot water sluiced down her body, and she let her tears do the same. "Tara," she sobbed, sliding down the wall and wrapping her arms around herself, shivering. "I'm so sorry, Tara."