Taking Back The Night

By Larilyn

As soon as the moonlight hit his violated flesh, he collapsed against me. I lost my grip a little and we both slid to the ground.

He cocked his head to the side, studying me with the one eye that was not swollen shut. "Promise me something."

I asked him with my eyes what promise it was that he needed from me.

"Promise me you’re real."

I lifted my hand and caressed his cheek. He leaned into it and we stayed that way for a while. A minute went by, or maybe just a few seconds did. But what does time really matter? I felt his hot tears slide into the space between my palm and his cheek. Hot tears. Or cold ones warmed by my hand. Whatever. It didn’t matter. None of it matters.

"Spike, we have to get inside."

He nodded and climbed to his feet. Every step was a struggle. Every inch caused us both pain. We were both so beaten, so battered, so very tired.

When we reached the house, I took him straight to my room. No one said a word. No one would question me for a while. Not after the show I put on tonight.

I took him to my room, laid him down in my bed and went to fetch supplies. Bandages, antiseptic. Anything in the medicine cabinet to heal a soul?

I vaguely remember Willow asking if I wanted someone else to clean his wounds. "No," I’d replied, "I’ll take care of him."

I know he heard me.

As I shut my bedroom door, he gave me the look. The one where he shows how unabashedly he loves me. The one I used to pretend to hate. You know the one.

This time I smiled. Just a little.

"Now I know I’m imaging this," he rasped.

I smiled a bit wider and he began to chuckle. It gave way to deep body wracking coughs. Guiltily, I allowed him to cling to me until they subsided.

"What did they do to you?"

He didn’t answer. It was a rhetorical question anyway.

I cleaned his wounds in silence. I bandaged the symbols carved into his flesh. I prayed that they wouldn’t scar. I prayed that we all would live long enough for me to find out. I prayed.

All the while I could feel his eyes upon me. Did he still think I was a figment of his imagination? Did he believe he was dreaming? Were we?

"So I guess you’re not going to be writing that book, ‘Making Friends Through Torture’."

He snorted in amusement.

"Guess not."

Again, our eyes locked. His eyes don’t look any different; now that he has a soul. I don’ t know why I thought they would. They were the same blue, clouded with tears that threatened to fall. His voice, normally so assured, was choked with misery. "She said that you wouldn’t come for me."

"She was wrong."

Willow knocked on the door and peeked in, "Do you guys need anything?"

I asked him, "Have you eaten anything?"

He shook his head, "Not for days."

"We have blood in the fridge," my friend offered. But he shook his head. "I don’t want any. Not hungry."

"But…" Willow protested.

"Its okay, Will. Just leave us alone for a while, okay?"

She closed the door quietly, perhaps fearing for my safety. I had none. He allowed himself to be tortured…again. And, still he had remained faithful to me. He would die for me.

"She tried to break me," he admitted. "Nearly did."

"But she didn’t. You beat her Spike. You’re stronger than her."

"It was you. I clung to you. And all the while I could feel you slipping away."

"I’m real Spike," I promised, "I’m real."

I felt a tear slide down my cheek. What had I done to inspire such loyalty from him? I raised my eyes to his and I was quickly reminded, he loved me. And I believed in him. And that was all either of us needed. " No one will hurt you again, I swear."

He wiped away the next tear that fell.

He once told me that love wasn’t brains. It was blood screaming inside you. Screaming inside me. Crying, yelling, begging, pleading, screaming to work its will.

The world was crumbling around us, so I put my brain on hold, and led with my blood. Blood that was pumping through me, beating in my ears that I needed him. And he needed me. And tonight, we needed each other like we never had before.

So I kissed him. Tenderly, like a whisper. Our lips barely brushed. But it was enough to ignite a fire inside me. I needed to touch him, hold him, possess him.

I slowly unbuttoned my blouse. He watched me in disbelief.

I slid the silky fabric off my shoulders and it puddled on the bed behind me. I quickly unclasped my bra and tossed it on the floor. Then I drew him to me. Flesh against flesh. One hand held him close while the other ran its fingers through his hair, nestling his head against my shoulder.

"Buffy." I felt his tears fall against my shoulder. His arms wound around my ribs and pulled me tighter.

"Shhh," I soothed. "I have you now."

Fragile kisses rained down on my shoulder and neck.

I drew back a bit to look at his beautiful face, its perfection marred by the evil that had abused him. He looked so unsure. Afraid. I hated it. So I erased it. I eased him back into the pillows and worked his leather pants off. Then he watched as my shoes and jeans joined my bra on the floor.

I crawled back onto the bed and pulled him into my arms.

We kissed for what seemed like hours. Time. Like I said: it doesn’t matter.

My hands wound in his hair, stroked his supple back. My legs caressed his and pulled him closer. I needed to be closer to him. I needed to be surrounding him, part of him. I needed him in me.

I wrapped my fingers around his erection and guided him in. His heavenly azure eyes widened slightly, and then closed in rapture. And he pushed himself all the way in.

Sometimes, when you really want it to, the past can just fade away. Like it never happened. In my mind, in my heart, this was our first time. The man I thought I knew, the body I had long ago memorized, were all new to me.

We stayed motionless for a time, connected. He was mine now. I took him back from The First, erased her brand with bandages, and replaced it with my own, one you couldn’t see.

He made love to me slowly, barely moving his hips. It was sweet torture. I wanted more…more.

I thought I understood desire. What the hell did I know?

I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him tighter, harder. I replaced his rhythm with a faster one. Driving him deeper. I didn’t come. I didn’t care. This wasn’t about satisfaction, it was about possession.

He was mine.

When he came he gasped, "Don’t leave me."

Holding him against my breast I promised, "Never."

Sometimes people talk about a revelation hitting them like a thunderbolt or a ton of bricks. They make it sound so painful. My revelation was more like a warmth spreading through me: I love him. I do. It took nearly losing him for me to realize it, but by taking him from me, The First made a big mistake. She gave me another weapon in my arsenal.

Love. Friendship. Loyalty. These are weapons The First will never possess. These are the weapons I will use to reclaim what’s mine.

I am a creature of the night.

I’m taking it back.

~Fin~