~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 6~
"Okay. Vampires," Buffy started her explanation as they walked down the street. "Gosh, I feel all Giles-like! Anyway, vampires are demons who used to be human. If they have enough control, you might not be able to tell just by looking at them that they're a vampire. Until their face changes," she added.
"Yeah, we got a look at that last night," Duncan replied. "Why do they do that?"
"That's the demon." Buffy shrugged. "The human face is just a mask. If they're new, they won't have as much control over their human mask, and they're easy to pick out."
"If most vampires wear their human mask, how do *you* tell if it's a vampire or not?" Methos asked, finding himself interested in the subject despite his better judgment.
"My spidey sense tingles," Buffy replied.
"Spidey sense?" Duncan asked.
"Oh, come on, MacLeod! Spiderman!" Methos replied. "I thought all you superheroes knew each other."
"I get the reference,*Adam*," Duncan responded. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know. I just don't understand how it works."
"Me neither, really. I can just sense them." Buffy shrugged. "It's a Slayer thing. I can sense them, and they can sense me."
"Great," Methos said. "So they know we're coming?"
"They always know I'm coming," Buffy replied.
"So," Duncan asked the question he really wanted the answer to. "How do you kill them? We found out last night that decapitation works."
"Yep." Buffy nodded. "Decapitation, a stake through the heart..."
"A stake?" Methos asked. "A wooden stake?"
"Yep, just like in all the movies," Buffy agreed. "Direct sunlight, fire. Crosses and holy water'll burn. That's about it," she concluded, as she turned into the first cemetery.
"Why are you patrolling a cemetery?" Duncan asked. "I would think the vampires would be cruising places like The Bronze, looking for unsuspecting victims."
"Some do. But mostly they like to hang out in cemeteries, where they have crypts and other dark, dank places they can live. Plus, there's a new one about to rise tonight. We try to get the new ones before they have a chance to wreak havoc," she continued her explanation.
"Now *that* is a vampire," she said, as she pointed out a vampire standing over a fresh grave.
"And you know this because you can sense him?" Duncan asked.
"That, and..."
"And he's standing in a cemetery at night waiting for his friend to, uh, rise?" Methos added.
"Well, yeah, plus, look at his clothes. Vampires tend not to change their wardrobe after they die; dead giveaway," Buffy explained.
"Why doesn't he sense you?" Duncan asked.
Buffy shrugged. "Too far away? Stupid? Hey!" she called out to the vampire as she approached it, pulling a stake out of her waistband. "Waiting for me?"
The vampire turned and looked at her, its human mask fading away to be replaced by the demon. "Slayer," it hissed.
"Slayee," she responded.
The vampire swung, and Buffy deflected its punch with her arm, and then kicked it. The vampire stumbled, but recovered quickly and charged. Buffy stood her ground, and then ducked, grabbed the vampire around its legs, and stood, tossing it over her shoulder and into a gravestone.
She waited for it to regain its feet before she started pummeling it with several punches to the stomach and face. When she was done, she stood back, took a deep breath, and staked the vampire. It dissolved into a cloud of dust. She shook her hair and smoothed out her rumpled clothes, and then walked back over to the two men waiting by the grave.
"Sorry. Needed the exercise. I hate research." She squatted beside the grave and waited.
"What now?" Methos asked.
"We wait. For this one." She nodded towards the recently turned dirt. "Charles Delle, Beloved Husband, Beloved Father," she read the headstone aloud.
"What happens when a vampire is first...made?" Duncan asked, as he squatted beside Buffy.
"Well, to turn a person into a vampire, a vampire has to suck their blood until they're very close to dying, and then he makes them suck his blood. It's a big suckfest. The vampire who makes another vampire is called their sire; a new vampire is a fledgling. They can be either childer, favored ones, or minions, more like servants or soldiers, depending on the amount of blood they were fed. I guess it makes them smarter, or stronger, or something."
"Anyway, they die, and they come back. When they first rise, they're filled with blood-lust. Luckily, fledges are also pretty stupid, especially if they're minions... Here he comes." Buffy stood and moved back.
They watched as the dirt moved, and a hand appeared. A second hand appeared and they could tell that the vampire was digging its way out of the ground. Finally the head and torso appeared.
Buffy knelt beside the struggling vampire. "Hello, Mr. Delle."
The vampire looked up at her in surprise. "Who are you?" he asked, looking around for his missing sire.
"I'm Buffy," she said, and then struck out with her stake, turning the vamp to dust. She stood and started walking. Duncan and Methos followed her.
"How did you know he was going to rise tonight?" Duncan asked.
"Willow."
"Willow?"
"Yeah, she keeps an eye on the obits and morgue reports for suspicious deaths," Buffy explained.
"Morgue reports?" Methos shuddered. "That's awfully morbid."
"Yes, well, that man's family will be thanking us when they're still alive in the morning." Buffy pointed behind them at the grave they had just visited.
"What do you mean?" Duncan asked.
"Many vampires go after their human families first," Buffy explained shortly. Duncan and Methos were silent at that horrifying revelation.
"Where are we going now?" Duncan asked after a couple of minutes of walking.
"We finish patrolling this cemetery," Buffy said. "And then there are 11 more. Also, Willow found one more possible rising. Some of the older cemeteries are full, so no new burials, but I do a quick search to make sure no one's moved in. And then I hit places like downtown, or the docks, depending on my mood, and how busy the night has been."
Buffy led them through that cemetery and two others before she came across the grave where the next 'possible' had been buried, dispensing information on vampires as they walked. "Well," she said, looking at the disturbed dirt. "Guess he was just upgraded to 'probable'."
They all heard a scream. "And I think I know where to find him!" Buffy began to run, and Duncan and Methos followed her. "You two stay back!" she yelled, when she caught sight of half a dozen vampires surrounding two girls, who had obviously been brought to the cemetery for the fledges first meal.
"Let the girls go," Buffy cried, as she ran toward the group.
One of the vampires turned. "Make me, Slayer," it lisped at her through its fangs.
"Gladly," Buffy replied, as she jumped into the air and landed both feet in the chest of the vampire. He went down, and Buffy somersaulted and landed on her feet, swinging her leg to take out another vamp. The fledgling, in its hunger, was ignoring the fight around it, concentrating on the screaming girl it held.
Buffy kicked two more vamps out of her way and managed to get behind the fledgling. She staked it, and dust rained down on the girl as she fell to the ground, unconscious. Buffy could see blood on her neck, and knew she'd been bitten - she just hoped she'd gotten there in time. She stood with her legs braced, and looked at the last vampire standing, who was holding the other girl.
"Come near me, and she dies." The vampire had his hand around the girl's throat and was squeezing.
Buffy shrugged, "Not my problem."
And then the girl was falling and gasping for air, as Duncan stepped up behind the vampire and broke its neck.
"Thanks," Buffy said. "But I thought I told you to stay back? Here." She tossed him her stake. "Finish it off." She turned and looked around the now-empty cemetery. "Great, now I've gotta chase 'em. I hate chasing 'em. Loser vampires," she groused.
Buffy helped the fallen girl to her feet, made sure she was okay, and then moved to the girl who had been bitten. She checked her pulse, which was still pretty strong, and then tapped her face gently, trying to rouse her. The girl opened her eyes, and Buffy and her friend helped her stand.
"You might want to get her to a hospital," Buffy suggested, and stood watching as the two girls walked out of the cemetery as fast as their fear-weakened legs could take them. She held her hand out for the stake and Duncan returned it to her.
"So," she asked, as they continued through the cemetery, tracking the vampires. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"
"Uh, doesn't everyone know?" Duncan asked feebly. Buffy just looked at him skeptically. "Must be from watching tv," he covered. Methos snorted at his pitiful attempt.
"Right," Buffy replied, obviously not believing him, but having more important things on her mind. They finally came across the remaining four vampires huddled behind a crypt, conducting a hasty conference.
"Hey, guys!" Buffy greeted them happily. "Remember me?"
"Geez, Slayer!" one of the vamps complained. "Can't you just give it a rest? I mean, you saved the girls, killed two of our friends... Haven't you done enough for one night?"
"Um, let me think." Buffy tilted her head, and looked back at the vampire. "No. I just hate leaving things half-done."
"Great, an overachiever," the vampire grumbled.
"Giles would probably disagree with you," Buffy said, as she swung her fist at the vampire. It blocked the swing and punched her in the face. Buffy went down and two vamps charged her while the other two attempted to run. But they hadn't counted on Duncan and Methos.
Duncan put his martial arts training to good use as he initiated a deadly dance around one of the vampires, landing blows with his fists and feet. Methos flicked his wrist and let his dagger drop into his hand, and then attacked the other vampire.
Buffy rolled towards the two vampires and swung her leg, knocking their feet out from under them. She jumped to her feet and waited calmly as the first vampire stood. It charged her again. Buffy just shook her head at its stupidity. Did they *never* learn?
She gracefully stepped to the side and staked the vampire in the back after it had run past her. She had a moment to check on Duncan's and Methos' progress before the other vampire was on its feet. Instead of attacking her, it turned and ran. Buffy tossed her stake in the air, caught it, and threw it at the retreating vampire.
The stake hit it in the back, and the vampire exploded into a cloud of dust. She walked over and retrieved her stake, and then stood and watched Duncan and Methos fight. These guys could really fight, she thought.
"Mac!" she called. The big man looked at her, and she tossed the stake to him. He caught it out of the air and staked the vampire he held in one smooth move. Buffy and Duncan then stood and watched Methos toy with the other vampire, inflicting shallow cuts all over its body.
"Are you going to finish him off, or play with him all night, Old Man?" Duncan asked, and then stiffened slightly when he realized what he'd said.
"I was just waiting for you two," Methos said, as he stepped in and neatly sliced his dagger through the vampire's neck, and then stepped back from the resulting cloud of dust.
Buffy looked between the two men. "I thought you guys did research?" she asked.
Methos wiped his dagger off on the grass, while Duncan shifted nervously.
"We never said that," Methos hedged.
"No, but Giles said you were here to research demons." Buffy stood her ground.
"Uh, you do research," Duncan attempted.
"I can't help Spike translate a demon language I've never seen before." Buffy crossed her arms.
"Well, all right, we know how to fight," Methos said. "Satisfied?" He started to slide the dagger back up his sleeve.
"Not hardly," Buffy replied. "May I?" She held her hand out.
Methos froze, and then slid the dagger back out of the hidden sheath and handed it to her. Buffy examined it, and gave it a few experimental swings.
"Very nice," she said. "I can't believe you took his head off with one strike!" She sounded impressed, as she handed the dagger back to him.
"You'd be surprised what you can do when you're inspired," Methos said, as he replaced the dagger.
"Tell me about it," Buffy said, as she started walking again. "There was this one time I had to kill a vampire who had been a football player when he was alive. He had this really thick neck. And all I had was this little, little Exacto knife..."
~Part: 7~
"Oh, Giles, look!" Willow squealed, as she jumped in her seat. "I think I found something!"
Everyone turned bleary eyes toward Willow. They had been researching for hours to no avail, and they were all getting tired. Giles set his cup of tea down on the table, and picked the book up that Willow had been reading. He scanned the passage quickly, and then went back and read it more slowly. He lifted his head and smiled at Willow.
"Yes, I believe you have! Good job, Willow," he congratulated her warmly, patting her arm.
"Watcher's pet," Xander muttered.
"It's late. Why don't you all go home and get some rest? Tomorrow we can do some more research to make sure this information is accurate," Giles said. "But if it is," he said, as he tapped the open page, "this is just what we needed to figure out how they're planning on opening the Hellmouth, and how to stop them. Don't forget to bring that bloody contraption with you, all right?" he reminded Willow.
"All right, Giles." Willow smiled as she stood and put her jacket on. "I'll come over as soon as my last class lets out."
"Yes, well, I'll see you all tomorrow then," Giles said.
"Need a ride, Wills?" Xander asked, as he and Anya stood.
"I told the Slayer I'd make sure the witch got home safely," Spike answered for her.
Willow huffed, grabbed her book bag, and stormed towards the front door. She caught Anya's eye and winked. Anya ducked her head and smiled. Men, even the undead kind, could be so blind, she thought, with an imperceptible shake of her head.
***
Spike stopped outside the magic shop and lit a cigarette. Willow stopped walking and turned to face him, her hands on her hips, one toe tapping.
"Are you coming?" she asked, as she drank in the sight of him. Goddess, he was just so...sexy, with those blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, and the nice chest, and she might admit to having checked out his butt once or twice...
Spike stepped up to her and lifted the book bag off of her shoulder. He carried it in one hand and held his smoke in the other.
"You don't need to carry my bag," Willow protested, as she fell into step beside him. "It's not like you're my boyfriend...or, uh, anything."
They walked to the dorm in silence, both contemplating what Willow had just said. Willow was mentally slapping herself. She couldn't believe she'd used the b-word in front of Spike! Now he'd probably think she wanted him to be her boyfriend, and there was no way she wanted him to think that! Even though it might be partly true, she admitted to herself, and blushed.
Spike noticed Willow's heart rate speed up after her last comment, and that her breaths were coming faster. He glanced over at her and saw that her usually pale skin was flushed. She couldn't *want* him to be her boyfriend...could she? Spike finished his cigarette and threw it into the road. He grabbed Willow's hand and held it as they walked.
Willow almost hyperventilated when Spike took her hand. She felt her palm start to sweat, and horses galloped in her belly. When she felt her nipples harden just from the touch of his hand on hers, Willow stumbled. She grasped Spike's hand tighter as he caught her and pulled her up.
"Sorry," she said breathlessly.
"You all right?" he asked.
"Yes, fine," Willow squeaked. "Stupid, uh, sidewalk."
"Right," Spike agreed, glancing behind them at the smooth walkway.
When they reached the steps outside the dorm, Spike stopped walking. Willow turned around and looked at him. Well, at his chin.
"Thanks for walking me home," she managed to get out.
"You're welcome," Spike said, as he raised her hand to his lips and gently brushed them over her knuckles. He watched her eyes widen, and turned her hand over to kiss her palm, letting the tip of his tongue slip out to taste her.
Willow's knees went weak, and she thought her heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest. What was he *doing*?
"Well, um, all right then." She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp. "I'll just be, uh, calling it a night."
Spike lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Did you lick me the other night?" he asked.
"Wh-wh-what?" Willow stammered, her eyes going even wider, her flushed skin paling. Oh, uh, darn, he knew!
"Right here." He let go of her hand and touched her neck with the tip of one finger. Willow's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Like this." He lowered his head and softly touched his lips to her neck, letting his tongue out to taste her.
Willow jerked back. "I, uh, don't, um... I have to go!" She turned and started up the steps on legs that threatened to give out.
"Want this?" Spike asked, lifting the hand that still held her book bag.
Willow turned around and stared at the bag. "Oh, uh, yeah," she said, not moving.
"Come and get it." Spike smirked at her.
"Can't you just, er, throw it?" she asked, holding her arms out.
"Wouldn't want you to drop your laptop," Spike said, as he walked to the bottom of the steps and stared up at her. Willow swallowed hard and walked slowly down the steps until she stood on the last one. She reached out for the bag, her eyes locked on Spike's. He surrendered the bag, and she turned and ran up the steps and into the dorm.
Spike stood there for a long moment, enjoying the scent of Willow's arousal, and then turned to leave.
***
When they got back to their hotel room, Methos shook his coat off and tossed it on the bed. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers and headed directly to the shower. He felt itchy from the dust, even though he couldn't see any on his clothes. He took his time in the hot shower, letting tense muscles relax. When he was done, he walked out of the bathroom dressed only in the boxers.
"Bathroom's all yours, MacLeod," he told the other Immortal, who was stretched out on one of the beds drinking a beer, as he dumped his dirty clothes on a pile in the closet.
"Thanks," Duncan replied distractedly.
"What's wrong?" Methos asked, ever sensitive to Mac's change of mood.
"Nothing. Just thinking," Duncan replied without looking at him. He tipped the bottle and finished the beer, and then rose and walked to the bathroom, grabbing a clean pair of boxers and sweats on the way.
Methos watched him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mac had been awfully thoughtful the last couple of days, he thought, as he grabbed one of the beers out of the fridge and settled himself on the other bed with the remote in his hand. He turned the television on, but didn't see it.
Mac had been distant ever since Richie's death. Part of the reason, Methos knew, was because he was afraid of losing another friend. The other part of the reason, Methos suspected, was because Mac just didn't trust himself enough to be certain that it wouldn't be at his own hand.
He feared that he would be overcome by the darkness again, as he had with the Dark Quickening, and under Ahriman's influence, and be the one to hurt or kill another one of his friends. None of those same friends blamed him for Richie's death, and would in fact trust him with their lives. But it was enough that Mac blamed himself.
Methos was still lost in thought when Duncan emerged from the bathroom, but the presence of the other Immortal drew his attention. Mac was...gorgeous, Methos thought. His hair, long once again, lay wet on his shoulders; his chest was covered in fine droplets of water.
Duncan settled himself on the bed and crossed his legs, assuming a meditative pose. Methos watched him through half-lidded eyes that roamed the other man's body; avidly devouring him like a starving man before whom a banquet had been set. He felt his penis grow hard in his boxers, and almost groaned aloud.
He often wondered how just the sight of Duncan could turn him on, when all he did was annoy the hell out of him, consistently playing the Boy Scout, the hero. His bloody irritating insistence on constantly getting *involved*, just like they were doing here.
These people fought demons and protected the Hellmouth all the time, although you wouldn't know it to look at them; they didn't need *their* help.
"Why are you staring at me?" Duncan asked, interrupting Methos' musings without opening his eyes or turning his head.
"Just wondering what's going on inside that head of yours, MacLeod," Methos replied. He shifted himself in his boxers, hoping Mac wouldn't look over and see what else he'd been wondering.
Why in the world did he stick it out with the moral, judgmental, interfering Highlander? Because he judged himself more harshly than he judged others. Because he needed someone there to watch his back. Methos took a deep breath. And because he was in love with him. Had started falling in love with him the day they met, Methos admitted to himself.
He'd probably been halfway in love with the dashing Highland hero, the best of their kind, before they'd even met, just from reading his Chronicles; and one look into those chocolate-colored doe eyes and he'd been lost. Bloody fool. He'd never acted on those feelings, of course. He and Mac had been friends in a mutual awe-struck sort of way until Kronos' return and Mac's discovery that Methos had been one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; Death on a pale horse.
Their friendship had taken a beating over that, but had survived it, though a little worse for wear. After Ahriman and O'Roarke, Methos had changed his habit of disappearing, and vowed to stick beside the Highlander who needed his friends; and that's what he'd been doing for the past two years. They'd eventually slid back into an easy camaraderie - Mac had stopped looking at him with disappointment in his eyes, and one day Methos had stopped expecting to see it there.
Duncan finished his meditation and climbed off the bed. He walked over to the mini-fridge, stretching. "Want another beer?" he asked Methos.
Methos looked at the warm beer left in the bottom of his bottle. "Yeah," he agreed, as he finished the beer and set the empty bottle on the bed stand. Duncan brought Methos a cold beer, and then settled himself on the other bed with his own beer and a book he'd packed. When Methos didn't move, even to take a sip of the beer, Duncan frowned.
"Are you watching that?" he asked, indicating the television.
"Oh, no, not really. Bothering you?" Methos asked, as he turned the television off and tossed the remote on the bed.
"No. What's bothering you?" Duncan asked.
Methos turned his head and looked at Duncan. "Why did you choose to stay here and help these people with their fight? Make it your own?"
"I told you," Duncan replied uncomfortably, knowing he'd only told Methos part of the truth.
"Yeah." Methos nodded. "You want to learn more about demons. Because you think it might lessen your guilt, make it..."
Methos watched Mac's jaw work. "No. Nothing will do that. I am guilty."
"Oh, for the gods' sake, MacLeod!" Methos exploded, forgetting why he'd started asking questions in his frustration with the Highlander. "Enough with the self-flagellation already! You are no more to blame for Richie's death than I am for not believing you. You may have been the instrument, but you were not the cause!"
"Does it matter, in the end?" Duncan asked sorrowfully. "Richie's still dead."
Methos sighed deeply as he fell back onto the bed, because he knew, to Mac, it didn't.
"Acceptance," Duncan spoke softly. "It's not as easy as it sounds."
"I know, Mac," Methos replied. "I know."
~Part: 8~
The bell hanging above the front door jingled as Willow walked into the Magic Box late the next afternoon, and all conversation immediately ceased.
"What?" she cried, as she skipped down the steps. "Why do you stop talking every time I come into the room?"
"We thought you were a customer," Giles covered smoothly. Despite the severity of the newest big bad attempting to open the Hellmouth, they had in fact been talking a bit about Immortals, a subject which Giles found fascinating. The two Immortals arrived at the magic shop earlier that afternoon, and as soon as he could, Giles sent Anya out on an errand so he could ask them some questions that he’d been thinking about since meeting them two days before.
Before the door was fully closed behind the ex-vengeance demon, Giles had seated himself at the research table and asked, "Would you mind if I asked you some questions?"
Duncan and Methos looked at each other, communicating without words, and then Duncan said, "All right. You can ask. We can’t promise to answer everything, but we’ll tell you what we safely can."
"Fair enough," Giles responded, with a nod. "How old are you?" he asked.
The two men exchanged glances again, and Duncan replied, "I am over four hundred years old, and Adam is a bit older than that." Giles noticed a wry smile curve Methos’ lips, but he couldn’t decipher its meaning.
"Four hundred years old," Giles repeated slowly. He was stunned. Even Spike looked surprised. That was older than Angel's and Spike’s ages added together. "The things you must have seen," he breathed, looking into the distance dreamily. He glanced at the two men. "This is really just..."
"Fascinatin’," Spike finished for him, his tone dry.
"Well, er, yes," Giles agreed. "Terribly fascinating. So, do you live together? I mean, Immortals. Like in a community?" he asked.
Methos nearly choked on the tea that Giles had plied them with, and Giles quickly stood to get him a napkin. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," Methos said, coughing as he wiped up the spilt tea. "Fine. No, we don’t live in a community. In fact, we tend to try and avoid each other, if at all possible. Except for MacLeod, who likes to gather us all into his clan." Methos tilted his head towards the other Immortal. Duncan just rolled his eyes.
"Avoid each other?" Giles asked. "How?"
"How what?" Methos asked.
"How do you avoid each other? Or rather, how to you identify other Immortals to be able to avoid each other?" Giles clarified.
"We have our own spider senses," Methos answered.
"Huh?" Giles asked, not understanding the reference.
"We can sense each other," Duncan explained, helping him out. "Much like Buffy can sense vampires."
"Ahhh," Giles said, nodding. "You know," he went on. "I just can’t imagine...four hundred years. All that history...lost to the ages."
"Not lost entirely," Duncan commented wryly.
"How so?" Giles asked, deeply interested.
Methos snorted. "Immortals have Watchers, too."
"For what purpose?" Giles asked.
"To watch," Methos replied.
"Watch what?" Giles asked, confused.
"Us," Duncan answered.
"Watch you do what?" Giles asked.
"Live," Duncan said.
"They just...watch you?" Giles asked, his brow furrowing in concentration. "To what purpose?"
"To record the history of Immortals," Methos replied.
"That...that’s..." Giles was at a loss for words. Watchers who just...watched. "They’re like...Peeping Tom’s," he said. "Voyeurs!"
"Exactly," Duncan replied.
"Why do you stand for it?" Giles asked.
"Most Immortals don’t know about it," Duncan explained. "I only know because I stumbled upon them by accident when I was investigating the murder of...a dear friend."
"And you?" Giles asked Methos.
"I’ve known about them for years," he said. "In fact, I joined them."
"You joined...?"
At that point, Willow had arrived. Now she asked, "Where’s Anya?" She looked around the shop as she slipped around the table and set her bag on it.
"She’s doing the banking," Giles replied.
***
Willow pulled her laptop out of the book bag and set it up. She turned it on, and looked at the four men, er, three men and one vampire, sitting around the table. "Okay, not a customer, so you can continue talking."
She looked at each of them in turn as they stared at each other and tried to come up with something to say. "See? I knew it was me!" She stormed away from the table and into the kitchen, muttering to herself, "Here Willow, do the research, let’s do a spell, stake the big, ugly vampire, but, no, we can’t tell you what we’re talking about!"
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a long, thirsty drink. She leaned against the counter and rolled her shoulders, trying to stretch muscles that had tightened in irritation. Big meanies!
***
"Excuse me," Giles said to Duncan and Methos, and started to stand. Spike rose to his feet and put his hand on the Watcher’s arm.
"I’ll go," he said, and turned to follow Willow into the kitchen, as
the other three men shared a knowing look.
He found her leaning against the counter, head bent, a bottle of water in her hand. She looked very unhappy, and didn’t acknowledge his presence. Spike walked up behind her and put his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. Willow still didn’t say anything. He lowered his head and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "I’d tell you, if I could," he whispered.
"Why can’t you?" she pouted.
"Because it’s not my secret."
"Well, whose is it?" She was still pouting.
"It’s theirs," Spike said softly against her ear. Willow shivered.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked shyly.
"Doing what?" Spike asked.
"This." She jiggled her shoulders to let him know she was talking about the hug.
"Why do you think?" he asked.
"I don’t know," she said, her voice so low only his vampiric senses allowed him to hear it at all.
He took the water bottle out of her hand and set it on the counter, then turned her around and pulled her against him.
"Spike," she whispered, as she buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. It felt so good to have him hold her; even better than in her dreams.
Spike breathed deeply of Willow’s scent, and felt himself grow hard as he held her. Willow felt Spike’s erection against her stomach, and tilted her head to look up at him, her face flushed. Spike lowered his head...and the bell jingled again as the front door opened, and they heard Anya’s voice.
"You should probably get back out there," Spike said, without letting her go. Now that he actually had her in his arms, he didn’t really want to let go of her.
"Hmm, probably," Willow agreed, without moving. "Except I don’t think I can walk," she added. There was a delicious heat spreading between her thighs at the knowledge that Spike wanted her.
Spike smirked. "I’d take care of that for you, Red, but we don’t have a door." He indicated the open doorway behind them with a tilt of his head.
"Right." Willow blushed, and took a careful step back and out of Spike’s arms. She looked into his eyes and licked suddenly dry lips.
Spike watched her tongue come out and wet her lips. He opened his mouth and brought his teeth together with a loud ‘click’, as if he wanted to take a bite out of her. Willow’s eyes widened; she reached for her water bottle with a shaking hand.
"I, uh, you ready?" she asked.
"I’m gonna need a minute," Spike said, as he adjusted the fit of his jeans. Willow’s eyes followed the motion and caught on his erection pressing against the front of the black denim. "And that’s not helping," he added, as she stared at him, making him harder.
"Sorry. I’ll just..." She pointed towards the door. "Be, uh, going." She sidestepped towards the doorway, and then turned and walked through it. She took a deep breath as she moved back to the table.
"Hey, Anya," she greeted the blonde now seated behind the counter, as she took a seat in front of her laptop.
"Hi, Willow," Anya replied, looking up briefly from the supply catalogue she was looking through.
"Okay, Giles," Willow said, pointedly ignoring the other two, still a bit miffed that she couldn’t be included in the secret, whatever it was. "What did you want me to research?"
Giles pulled the book over and opened it to the passage Willow had found describing the Host of Pan’kr and the ritual to open the Hellmouth. They reviewed it together, and picked out key terms to search. When they were done, Willow started her first search.
Spike returned to the table with a mug of warmed blood and retook his seat beside Willow. He picked up the book he had been reading before Duncan and Methos showed up that afternoon; before Giles asked the two Immortals if they would answer some questions for him.
He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs, letting his thigh rest alongside Willow’s. He smiled as her heartbeat sped up.
***
After Willow and Spike left the table, Giles returned to the research he had been conducting before Duncan and Methos arrived, and Duncan had turned his attention to the ‘Demon Anthology’ text Giles had given him yesterday. Bored, Methos pulled another book over, careful not to touch the cover too much, flipped it open, and began reading.
He looked up when Willow returned to the table, but she paid him no regard. He figured that she was still annoyed at them, and turned his own attention back to the book he had chosen, though he did notice that she seemed a little flushed. When Spike returned to the table, Methos didn’t look up; but he thought he heard the redhead gasp as the blond settled himself in his chair.
***
When Buffy and Xander arrived a couple of hours later, just before sundown, Giles gathered everyone around the table and told them what Willow had found the night before.
"Now that we’re all here, I want to let you know what information Willow found last night," he began. "It turns out that the vampire Buffy staked didn’t actually say that their ‘boss’ wasn’t in town yet, but that *B’az*, which roughly translates to high priest, wasn’t in town. B’az will attempt to perform a ritual to bring forth their god, Pan’kr, who it seems their race was named for."
"Pan’kr is a non-corporeal, well, demon, as far as we’re concerned, and needs a, uh, vessel, to house its essence. The Host of Pan’kr, rather than meaning a very large number of Pan’kr, such as an army, is instead the living being who will, er, house the essence of the demon. Hence, the *Host* of Pan’kr," Giles explained.
"Willow has done some additional searches on that, er, dread machine," he continued, "and we have determined how to stop B’az. Now, having said that ‘host’ doesn’t mean a ‘large army’, it seems certain that a high priest would not be sent to the Hellmouth to call forth the god of his people without a sizeable force to make sure he succeeds."
"Willow and I will work on the means to stop the priest from performing his ritual. Buffy, Spike, Anya, and Xander, you four will come up with a plan of attack to get through the priest’s lines of defense and take out B’az and the Host. Clear?" he asked, looking around the table at each of them in turn.
"Yes," they all replied.
"What about us?" Duncan asked. "We can help."
Methos just rolled his eyes.
"Yes," Giles replied with a sigh. "You could. And I’ve given that some serious consideration this afternoon. We all," he said, indicating the young people sitting around the table, "have worked together for years. One year, for some of us." He inclined his head towards Spike and Anya. "And four years for others. We are a team. We may not be the well-oiled version of the machine, but we work well together. We know each other. We trust each other."
Willow glanced at Spike, and saw that he was staring at the table, a purposely blank expression on his face. He felt the weight of Willow’s gaze, and looked up at her. She curled her lips into a small smile and brushed her fingertips across his thigh. Spike reached out and grabbed her hand, holding onto it like a lifeline. Buffy and Xander shifted in their seats, wondering what Giles was talking about.
"Should you join us in this battle, you introduce an unknown into the equation, and we can’t afford unknowns. We would need to be completely honest with each other so that all of us..." He circled his finger around the group seated at the table. "...know the capabilities of each of the rest of us."
Duncan started to open his mouth, but Giles stopped him with a raised finger. Willow’s eyes widened as she realized that Giles was talking about the discussion she had interrupted that afternoon.
"Although your help would be appreciated, we’ve battled demons and kept the Hellmouth closed in the past *without* your assistance. Let me just give you an example of what I mean. Suppose a stranger came to town one day and said he, or she," he added, looking down at Willow when she huffed, "wanted to help us in a battle against demons. What this stranger didn’t tell us is that he, *she*, has the ability to heal quickly. Now, in the battle, she is stabbed in the side with a sword. Not knowing that she will heal quickly, one of our number rushes to her aid, leaving their post unguarded...for nothing. That could very well spell disaster."
"I am not telling you that you have to expose your secret. Only that you must *if* you want to help us. However, I want you to think about it before you agree. We, in turn, have secrets of our own to tell..."
"Do you really think that’s a good idea?" Anya asked worriedly.
"I’m with de...er, Anya," Spike said, squeezing Willow’s hand tighter, until he heard her squeak in pain. "Sorry," he whispered, loosening his grip, glad the pain had been unintentional and the soddin’ chip hadn’t gone off.
"...but it will be a mutual sharing," Giles continued, ignoring Anya and Spike. If these Immortals agreed to help them, their assistance could be invaluable. But he wasn’t going to tell them that.
"Now, if you decide not to help us, you will, of course, still be welcomed here to avail yourselves of the books in my collection. But I must ask you to leave at this time, so we may begin our preparations. If you *do* decide to help us, please be here by ten o’clock tomorrow night. The ritual is slated to take place at midnight. That should give us enough time to discuss our, uh, unique capabilities, our proposed plan of attack, and get there in time. Any questions?" he concluded, looking around the table at everyone.
There were questions galore, but everyone shook their heads ‘no’.
"Even if we decide not to assist you in the actual fight," Methos spoke up, "we do have battle experience, and could at least help you plan your attack."
Duncan looked at him in surprise. Methos tried not to show his own surprise at his unsolicited offer of assistance.
"I agree," Giles nodded. "Your assistance in planning this attack would very probably be invaluable. However, the very attack we plan will encompass each of our individual...talents, if you will, which some of us might be as uncomfortable to share as you are."
"How come you get to decide if we share?" Anya muttered. She didn’t want anyone to know she was an ex-demon. People didn’t take kindly to demons. Even if they were currently productive members of society.
Her complaint was lost in the sounds of Duncan and Methos reluctantly gathering their coats and taking their leave. As soon as the two Immortals left, Giles set Buffy, Spike, Xander, and Anya to figuring out how they were going to get into the old, burnt-out high school to eliminate the Host. He and Willow moved into the backroom to discuss the binding spell they’d use on the priest, B’az, and to gather the necessary ingredients.
***
"You’re going to do it, aren’t you?" Methos asked, as they walked down the sidewalk.
"Do what?" Duncan asked innocently.
"Don’t be obtuse, MacLeod," Methos replied. "You’re going to tell all of them you’re an Immortal."
"Maybe," Duncan admitted.
"There’s no maybe about it," Methos scoffed. "You’ve already decided. You’d have told them back there if that Watcher didn’t stop you." Methos tried to distance himself from the other group.
"No!" Duncan turned on Methos. "I would not have exposed you to everyone without discussing it with you first."
"What good is a discussion if you’ve already made up your mind? Your ‘secret’ and my ‘secret’ are the same thing! You expose me if you expose yourself!"
Duncan just stared at him, his mouth working. "I know," he finally said, and turned away and continued walking.
"So, what?" Methos called. "End of discussion?"
Duncan didn’t answer.
~Part: 9~
The sound of metal clanging against metal could be heard in the old cemetery. If you were close enough, you could also hear the sounds of harsh, ragged breathing as the two men struck and parried, dodged and thrust. If you got even closer, you could see the sweat beading up and running down their faces, soaking their shirts.
"Why are we still even *in* this town, MacLeod?" Methos asked, as he lunged at Duncan, pushing to find out what the other man was really up to.
"I told you, Old Man!" Duncan caught Methos' sword on his and threw him back. "I need to learn more about demons."
"So buy a book." Methos stood in front of the younger, but insufferably stubborn man, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his Ivanhoe held at the ready, his body relaxed.
"That's not enough!" Duncan moved into position, his arms above his head, his katana held loosely in his hands, its tip pointed down.
"And what would be enough, Highlander?" Methos asked, making no move to engage him.
"I need to understand, to learn, how these people can fight them, demons, day in and day out... And win. I need to understand why I couldn't..." Duncan lowered his arms, his breaths coming fast now, from emotion rather than exertion.
"But you *did*," Methos reminded him softly.
"Not in time! Not in time to save Richie. I know I'll never be able to forgive myself. I don't know..." He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I will ever be able to assuage my guilt enough to accept what I've done. But if I could find something, *do* something, to give his death some *meaning*, Methos." Duncan looked at him hopefully.
Methos froze at Duncan's words, his tone, as he finally got the information he'd been looking for. "What are you thinking, MacLeod?" he asked in disbelief. "You really *are* going to make this fight your own! And not just tomorrow's battle. What, you don't have enough to worry about with Immortals coming for your head, now you want to fight demons, too? Fighting demons will not bring Richie back; it will just give you more opportunities to get yourself killed! Is that what you want? To end it?"
"I don't expect you to understand, Methos." Duncan shook his head in resignation. "Although I would like it if you did. And I don't expect you to stay, although I wish you would..."
"Damn you!" Methos interrupted him angrily. "Damn you, MacLeod, for making me care whether you live or die! Damn you for making me need you! And damn you...damn you for making me love you," he practically whispered, as he turned away from Duncan and kicked a headstone. "You stupid...bloody...sod." He let his shoulders slump.
"Methos...," Duncan began softly, and Methos wondered whether the other man had overheard him. Before he could find out, they were interrupted.
"Aww," came an unfamiliar voice. "Lover's quarrel? That's so sad. Want me to make it all go away?"
As one, Duncan and Methos turned to face this new threat. Four vampires, game-faces to the fore, stood a dozen steps away. They'd been so caught up in their own heated discussion, they'd forgotten the dangers around them.
Oh, well, Methos thought. He had a lot of frustration to work out. Probably best if he worked it out on these demons, whose presence was rather fortuitous, instead of on MacLeod. Wouldn't do to accidently take the man's head in a fit of pique.
"You can try." Methos took a step towards the group, his sword held down at his side, his other hand held out towards them, fingers motioning to them in a 'come and get it' manner. The vampires charged, splitting up between the two men. Methos held his position until the two that were running at him were almost upon him, and then he raised the Ivanhoe.
***
Duncan moved away from Methos as the other man was talking, so they would have room to fight without worrying about a stray swing taking either of their heads. Despite Methos' earlier words, he didn't have a death wish. He just wanted the pain to go away; almost as much as he wanted to hold on to it as a reminder of Richie.
He also stood his ground as the vampires charged him. When they neared, he did a spin kick, knocking one of the vampires onto the ground, and immediately whirled to face the other. He lashed out with his sword, leaving a deep slash down the arm of the vampire who'd spoken earlier.
"That hurt," it hissed, turned, and angrily rushed him.
"And that was stupid," Duncan muttered, stepping to the side as he had seen Buffy do, and neatly slicing the vampire's head from his shoulders as it passed him. The vampire exploded into a cloud of dust, and Duncan continued his motion so that he was facing the vampire he'd kicked to the ground. The vampire took a step back, but Duncan was not about to let it get away.
***
Methos skewered one of the vampires on his sword. He placed his foot against the vampire's stomach and pushed, shoving him off of the blade. The vampire fell to the ground, and Methos turned his attention to the other vampire, who approached him more cautiously. This vampire kept glancing at its friend, and Methos chanced a glance down to see that the other vampire was carefully rising to its feet, its hand holding a wound that was slowly closing.
Great, Methos remembered. They heal quickly. He darted towards the standing vampire, slashing his sword before him. The vampire backed away from him, stalling for time until Methos backed it against a crypt. The vampire's eyes widened in surprise when it realized it was trapped, and then the expression was gone as Methos sliced through its neck.
He turned back towards the other vampire and found it standing right in front of him. The vampire lashed out with its hand, and Methos automatically jerked back. He wasn't fast enough, and the vampire connected, slicing Methos' cheek with its sharp nail.
Methos hissed in pained surprise. He brought his sword up defensively as the vampire swung at him again, and lopped off the vampire's arm at the elbow. The vampire screamed in pain, and Methos took advantage of the vampire's distraction. He grabbed the hilt of his Ivanhoe with both hands and swung, removing the vampire's head. The vampire dispersed in a cloud of dust, and Methos backed away, coughing as he breathed some of the dust into his lungs.
He turned back towards the fight to see that Duncan had finished off both of his vampires and was moving towards Methos. The other man looked angry. Must be he hadn't worked all of his frustration out on the vampires. Although, truth be told, Methos hadn't either. Fighting an unarmed opponent just wasn't as satisfying; the battle was over too quickly.
Duncan stalked towards him, and Methos took an instinctive step backward, running into the same crypt he'd driven the vampire against. Methos stepped forward, unwilling to let Duncan think that he was intimidated, although he looked like nothing so much as the Highland warrior he once was, as he strode towards him.
Duncan didn't stop walking until he stood inches from Methos. "You're hurt." He reached out to touch the already healing gash on Methos' cheek.
"It's just a scratch." Methos pulled his head away.
"What did it cut you with? I didn't think they were armed."
"It wasn't. Used its fingernail. Bloody sharp," Methos replied, reaching up to touch his own cheek.
"Good thing you won't catch anything," Duncan said seriously. "They can't be clean."
Methos gave him a questioning look. The depth of his concern for Methos' well-being after being scratched was odd.
Duncan looked like he wanted to say something, but must have realized that this was not the place to have a heartfelt discussion. "Let's get back to the hotel," was all he said.
Both men walked over to the headstone where they'd left their coats. Duncan produced a cloth that they used to wipe off their blades. They sheathed the swords in their coats and swung them on, then began the interminably long, though uneventful, walk back to their hotel. Neither man attempted to break the silence that fell between them, each lost in his own thoughts.
Methos couldn't believe he had slipped, had let the other man know how much he needed him. That was foolish. But so was staying around the Highlander. For the sake of his head, and of his heart. He'd lived with his unrequited love for years, and had often wondered what Duncan would do if he told him. Now he prayed the Scot hadn't heard his whispered declaration, because he didn't know what he'd do if Duncan didn't feel the same.
***
Duncan, on the other hand, was surprised that the older Immortal needed him at all. He only seemed to be able to irritate Methos, and could never understand why he bothered to stick around. Until the times he didn't. And then Duncan wondered if he'd come back. But after the battle with O'Roarke, Methos had rarely left his side, except for short trips when he was needed to translate some obscure document or to authenticate some important historical discovery.
Duncan always thought it was because Methos thought he was mentally unstable, after Richie, and Ahriman, and O'Roarke. Now he wondered if it wasn't just because Methos liked being around him, as much he enjoyed having the older Immortal near. And how had that happened exactly? Their...friendship had started out as hero worship. Methos, the oldest living Immortal was supposed to be a myth; and then there he was, in the flesh.
What was a 400 year old Immortal to do when faced with a 5000 year old myth? Kneel down and worship; and that's what Duncan had wanted to do. And then he found out that his hero had feet of clay. It took a while to work through the emotional detritus left in the wake of the Dark Quickening, the reunification and destruction of the Four Horsemen, Keane, Byron, Ahriman, Richie's death, and O'Rourke; but they had finally managed to do it.
Methos' whispered admission stunned Duncan; left him breathless. He tried to remember when hero worship had turned to love, but couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. Perhaps it had always been, and he had just needed to discover it. The man was frustrating and irritating, but Duncan found himself growing aroused as the image of Methos, standing in the middle of the cemetery with his sword held down at his side and yelling at Duncan, filled his mind.
That image was quickly followed by another; that of Methos taking a step back when Duncan had stalked him, a wild look in his eyes that could only be described as desire. He had never imagined that Methos felt anything more than friendship for him, and was still wondering how he should respond when they reached the hotel.
Duncan and Methos walked through the hotel lobby and entered the elevator without even noticing their surroundings. They were standing outside their room before Duncan thought to reach into his jeans pocket for the keycard. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, shrugging his coat off before he'd even cleared the doorway.
He hung the coat up and held his hand out to Methos.
"What?" Methos asked, as he slipped out of his coat.
"Give me your coat," Duncan replied. Methos handed him the coat and Duncan hung it up. "Get me a beer, too," he said, as he strode to the bathroom, knowing Methos would head directly for the mini-fridge.
Duncan reappeared with a warm, wet washcloth to find Methos sprawled out on the couch, a beer in his hand, a second beer on the coffee table in front of him. Without a word, Duncan leaned over him and wiped the dried blood off of his cheek, making sure that the skin underneath was completely healed.
***
"What's with you, MacLeod?" Methos pushed his hand away, the gentle touch too much for him. "I have been hurt before, you know."
Duncan sighed, and looked down at the rust-colored stain on the washcloth. "That was before you told me you loved me."
"Oh, yeah, right." Methos had hoped that Duncan hadn't heard that little revelation, or had perhaps forgotten it during the fight. "About that..."
Duncan sat down on the couch beside Methos, and reached for the beer. He took a long draw on the bottle, and then interrupted Methos, who he hadn't really been listening to any way. "I'm not trying to get myself killed, Methos. I just need to make a difference."
"You make a difference every bloody day, Mac." Methos' voice was deep, and wound around him like the smoke from a good cigar, flowed over him like smooth brandy. "What you really want is to bring Richie back, but you can't."
"I know," Duncan admitted. "That's why I need to make his death mean something." He turned his head to the side, and they stared at each other for a moment. "Needing you made me feel weak. I didn't think you ever needed anyone. I wanted to be strong like you," Duncan finally spoke.
"Ha!" Methos laughed. "I'm not strong! I need people far too much, that's why I always...," he broke off.
"Leave?" Duncan asked.
"Yes," Methos whispered, taking a drink to ease his suddenly dry throat.
Duncan reached out and brushed Methos' cheek with his fingers, and this time Methos let him. "Do you want to leave now?"
"You scare the shit out of me, Mac," Methos said, as if that answered the question. And maybe it did.
"Will you stay anyway?" Duncan asked, letting his thumb graze over Methos' lips, as his eyes caught and held Methos'.
"Are you trying to bribe me, MacLeod?" Methos asked in breathless surprise, as the feel of Duncan's fingers on his face, on his lips, aroused him.
"Would it work?" Duncan asked, the tone of his voice a heady combination of deep fear and light teasing.
"Might." Methos swallowed hard.
Duncan leaned towards Methos, and replaced his thumb with his lips, and just let them brush softly over the older Immortal's. He took Methos' lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it, and Methos groaned. The sound broke the spell they were under, and Duncan pressed his lips to Methos' more forcefully, with more urgency, running his tongue over them.
Methos parted his lips and let Duncan in, allowed Duncan to explore his mouth, and then he sucked on Duncan's tongue. Duncan groaned as the sensation sent a spark straight to his groin. Methos moved his free hand to the side of Duncan's face and held him, as he leaned into him and took control of the kiss, his tongue invading Duncan's mouth, exploring, then laying claim.
Eventually they had to break apart so they could breathe. Duncan rested his forehead against Methos', and closed his eyes. Methos let his eyes roam hungrily over Duncan's face. His hand moved down Duncan's neck, to his shoulder, then down his chest and abdomen. Duncan's stomach muscles clenched at the contact, and he gasped as Methos' fingertips slipped beneath his waistband.
Duncan pulled back and set his beer on the coffee table, and then reached for Methos', taking it out of his hand and setting it beside the other. He lowered his head to Methos' neck, pushed his collar out of the way, and ran his tongue over the sensitive skin, then sucked on it. Methos' fingers closed convulsively over Duncan's biceps.
"Methos," Duncan breathed in the other man's ear.
"Duncan," Methos groaned, as his head fell back, exposing his neck to Duncan's lips and tongue.
~Part: 10~
After the four Scoobies had determined the best way to approach and enter the old High School, they decided who would fight the force that B'az would have with him, and who would attempt to slip past them to find and eliminate the Host before the demon was called forth.
Willow and Giles found a binding spell and a protection spell, read them over several times so they were familiar with them, and gathered the ingredients for both.
When each group had completed their respective tasks, they all sat around the table and shared their information. They would approach the school from the street, as there was no direction they could come from where they wouldn't be seen. Spike, Xander, and Anya would battle the demon forces, while Buffy fought her way to the Host.
Willow and Giles would remain outside the school, in what used to be the courtyard where Buffy, Willow, and Xander would sometimes meet for lunch. Giles would cast the protection spell around them, and Willow would then cast the binding spell while Giles stood additional guard over her in case any of the defending force noticed them and attempted to break through the protective barrier.
Since there was nothing left for them to do that night, except get plenty of rest for the upcoming battle, Giles sent them all home, except for Buffy and Spike, who would do a quick patrol first.
"Come on, Red," Spike said, as he stood. "We'll walk you home before we patrol." Spike looked over Willow's head at Buffy, to make sure that was all right.
"Good idea." Buffy nodded her head, and continued into the backroom to gather up some weapons.
"I'm not...," Willow began heatedly, and then looked up at Spike with a smile, "gonna argue."
"Well, that's a first," Spike drawled. "Any other firsts you wanna try out tonight, Red?"
Willow blushed furiously as she thought about the many firsts she and Spike could try out, and refused to look at him as she fumbled for her jacket. Spike took it out of her hands and held it for her. Willow slipped her arms into the sleeves and blushed again when Buffy came out and raised her eyebrows.
"When did Spike go all gentlemen-prefer-redheads on us?" she teased.
"Buffy!" Willow squeaked.
"Do we need to go there?" Xander, who had been trying to ignore the byplay between the two, groaned.
"It's about time," Anya commented.
"An," Xander moaned.
"I have to agree," Giles added, as he joined them after making sure the back door was locked and the lights out.
"Giles!" Willow protested.
"Well, really," he said. "You two have been dancing around each other for weeks. It was getting quite ridiculous." Giles headed for the door. "Are you all coming or did you plan on spending the night here?"
The five of them rushed to catch up to him. Giles opened the door and let his herd of children pass him, and then turned out the lights and locked the front door. They escorted Xander and Anya to Xander's jalopy, and then Giles to the little red convertible that was still the topic of much teasing.
After the others had driven off, Spike lit a cigarette and then took Willow's hand in his. Willow blushed again as Buffy made sure Willow knew she noticed the hand-holding, and the three of them headed for the UC Sunnydale campus.
When they reached the steps outside the dorm, they all stopped walking and stood around awkwardly. "Well, I guess I should go in," Willow said. "You guys need to patrol."
Spike just stared into her eyes.
"Oh for God's sake!" Buffy exclaimed. "Just kiss each other already!" She turned her back and stomped off to wait on one of the benches.
Willow blushed and looked up at Spike through lowered lashes. Spike placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. He lowered his head and gently pressed his lips to hers. He stepped back suddenly, squeezed her hand, and let go.
"Spike!" Willow took an uncertain step towards him, not understanding what just happened. He was kissing her...and then he wasn't.
"Don't touch me, Willow," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "Unless you want the Slayer to patrol alone tonight." He tried to smirk, but it came out as more of a grimace, as his erection pressed painfully against the binding denim.
Willow's eyes dropped to his jeans, and then rose to his eyes. She couldn't help the heat that rose in her, flushing her face, and spreading to her center. "Do you think she would mind?" she asked softly, partly teasing, and partly dead serious.
"That's...gonna earn you a spankin', missy!" Spike threatened, as he took a step forward, and then back. "After this mess with B'az is over, you're mine," he promised, pointing his index finger at her.
"Okay," Willow agreed breathlessly, imagining what exactly Spike would do to her.
"You, uh, get yourself inside now." He waved his hand towards the dorm behind Willow.
"All right." She smiled. "Bye, Buffy, see you later. Be careful. Both of you," she added, as she looked back at Spike.
"I'm always careful, Red," Spike smirked.
"Uh huh," Willow agreed noncommittally.
"I'll try not to wake you when I come in." Buffy rejoined them.
"I'm not concerned about that. Just stay safe. B'az and his henchmen might already be in town."
"Don't worry about the great bleached one. I'll make sure nothing happens to him," Buffy assured her.
"Buffy!" Willow protested. "It's not just Spike. You too!"
"I know," Buffy admitted with a smile. "I'll be careful, too. Now, shoo!" She waved her hands toward Willow, shooing her towards the dorm.
"All right," Willow agreed. "Goodnight."
"'Night, Red." Spike reached out and tugged gently on a strand of Willow's hair. "Go on." He inclined his head. Willow turned and walked up the steps. With one last look over her shoulder, she pushed the door open and went inside.
***
Methos tugged on Duncan's waistband to pull him closer. Duncan obligingly rearranged himself so that he was lying atop Methos, his erection pressing into the other man's groin, where Methos' erection mirrored his own. Duncan groaned and bit down on Methos' neck as their sensitive flesh came into contact through two layers of denim.
"Oh gods, Duncan!" Methos cried, as Duncan simultaneously bit him and pressed into him. Duncan sucked on Methos' neck and moved his hips against him. He slipped his hands between them and tugged Methos' shirt out of his jeans, his hands slipping beneath to press against the warm, firm skin of Methos' stomach.
Methos spread his legs and locked his thighs around Duncan's hips, bringing them into closer contact. He placed his hands on Duncan's ass, pulling him nearer. "Jesus, Duncan," he groaned, lifting his own hips into the other man. He'd waited so long for this, wanted it so badly, he almost couldn't believe it was happening.
Duncan groaned loudly in response, his mouth full of Methos' skin; skin he wasn't willing to part with. Suddenly he realized that Methos was still talking. He caught the words 'naked' and 'bed' and thought that sounded like a good idea, but was loathe to separate himself from the other man.
He finally lifted his head and examined the purpling bruise surrounded by the imprint of his teeth that he'd left on Methos' neck. His mark. Unfortunately, it would be gone before they fell asleep. Well, he'd just have to mark him again. And again. Duncan lifted his head and looked down into hazel eyes that were dark with desire.
Duncan let his eyes run over Methos' face, devouring him with a look. He lowered his head and licked Methos' lips, biting gently on the lower. There was just something about that lower lip. He'd wanted to know how it tasted almost from the day they met, when he'd recognized the oldest Immortal; when he had invited Duncan into his home with the words 'mi casa es su casa'.
"Duncan," Methos protested weakly. "Bed."
"Mmm hmm," Duncan agreed, as he kissed the other man again. "Excellent idea." He kissed him again. "Just one problem."
"What's that?" Methos asked, a smile curving the corner of his lips as Duncan dipped his head for another kiss.
"Don't want to stop touching you." Duncan kissed him again, slipping his tongue between Methos' lips, feasting on the taste of him, the feel of him, as he rocked his hips against him. And then he was tipped off of the couch. His back hit the floor, and his breath 'whooshed' out of him.
"What in hell was that for, Old Man?" he yelled at the man crouched over him as he nursed a bruised elbow, his previous desire slightly diminished.
"I want you naked, Duncan. Now," Methos snarled in reply.
"Oh, Christ!" Duncan moaned, his cock surging at Methos' words.
"Problem?" Methos smirked at him.
"Nothing you couldn't fix," Duncan responded breathlessly.
"Let's just see," Methos said, reaching for Duncan's waistband. "I am a Doctor, you know," Methos teased. "Just tell me where it hurts."
Duncan's hips bucked as Methos' fingers grazed his painfully hard erection. Methos unbuttoned and unzipped Duncan's jeans, and reached inside his boxers to wrap his fingers around Duncan's cock. Methos closed his eyes and let the sensation of touching Duncan fill him. He moved his hand up and down the shaft, and ran his thumb over the head, coating it with precum.
Duncan opened his eyes and watched Methos' face. He looked like a man at worship. The thought of Methos worshiping his cock brought a small smile to his face at the same time it caused his cock to jump in Methos' hand.
Methos opened his eyes and looked down at Duncan. He raised his hand to his lips and licked the precum off of his thumb. "Lift your hips," he said. Duncan complied and Methos pulled his jeans and boxers down far enough to free his cock and balls.
"Ah, yes," he moaned, as he slipped his hand between Duncan's thighs and cupped his heavy sac. He lowered his head and licked a path from the base of Duncan's cock to the sensitive spot just below the head. Duncan fisted his hands and tried to grip the rug beneath him.
"Methos," Duncan growled. Methos raised his eyes to Duncan's as he swirled his tongue around the head. Duncan could see the mirth mixing with the heat in the other man's eyes. "Methos," he growled again in warning.
Methos smiled. The smile reached his eyes and Duncan realized that not all of Methos' smiles did that; he almost cried at the beauty of it. And then Methos pulled the head of Duncan's cock into his mouth, and Duncan did cry out. Methos sucked the head, letting his tongue play over the nerves bundled just below the ridge, as he gently kneaded the firm balls in his hand.
Methos lowered his head and took more of Duncan into his mouth. Duncan couldn't help bucking his hips, the desire to fuck Methos' mouth building in him. And then Methos' finger was pressing against the puckered opening behind his balls, and Duncan screamed his release as he came, his cock exploding into Methos' mouth.