Full of Grace
+part five+

Buffy rolled over in bed, waking promptly for school for the first time since she became the Slayer. Stretching out comfortably, she ran one hand up her stomach and 'mmm'ed softly in contentment. Hard to say what had given her the late-night happy exactly. Maybe the fact that she'd fallen asleep brick-hard and had finally gotten a decent night's rest, for the first time since Ms. Calendar's death.

 

Or it could've had something to do with the erotic Spike-dream that she'd had... which she'd unconsciously gotten herself off to. Something that she had never even realized was possible!

 

Yeah, the Erotic Spike-Dream was a biiiiig honking part of it.

 

Buffy sighed and flopped onto her back again in defeat. Okay, so while her mind was busy knife-stroking up DeNile, the rest of her was doing the whole primordial thing and apparently stating, very loud, and very clear, "We want Spike! Give us Spike!"
 

Hmph. At least they were straightforward about it.

 

Okay. She could do this. She could admit this to herself.

 

She was attracted to Spike. Big time. In the throw-me-down, rip-my-clothes-off, bite-me, suck-me, lick-me, fuck-me, beat-me-and-make-me-love-it kinda way.

 

And, really, the evil bloodsucking fiend aspect aside? Why shouldn't she be attracted to him? As established the first time she'd seen him, Spike was hot. And not Angel-hot, Spike was a hotness all his own. Spike's hotness could establish a country ruled by democracy, by the people, for the people, all in favor of Spike... never mind having it's own zip code.

 

Oooh... And with the way he'd been watching her lately -- not to mention The Kiss -- combined with the big lump she'd noticed growing in his jeans every time she got close to him... Seriously, how could she not have a reaction to him? After all, he was certainly having a big reaction to her.

 

"BUFFY!" she heard her sister screech. "GET DOWN HERE NOW! IF YOU MAKE ME LATE, MOM WON'T LET ME SPEND THE NIGHT AT CHELSEA'S!"

 

Buffy's head slowly turned to the left as she glanced at the alarm clock by her bedside. She groaned and her head flopped back. 7:45 a.m.

 

Her lower lip thrust out. < Wah! > 

 

There was something occupying the 'little one.'

 

Angelus had been watching him for over an hour now, and though he knew that Spike was fully aware he was being scrutinized, that didn't stop the blonde from drifting off into his own little world every five minutes. It wasn't really anything odd, but the thoughtful, slightly confused look on Spike's face was bringing out Angelus' curiosity -- which was consequently annoying the piss out of him.
 

Angelus had even tried to have Drusilla read her Childer, but not even that had worked. The only oddity to come out of that was, as usual, Dru and her insane ramblings about the moon and stars.

 

It looked like the only way Angelus would get an answer about his grandchilde's distraction would be if he either a) asked him or b) beat it out of him.

 

And with the way things were going for Spike lately, neither one of those options sounded fun anymore, as Spike was numb in all the places that would make the second option hilarious.

 

Fuck.

 

Whatever. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered - except, of course, his revenge against a certain blonde little Slayer.

 

He grinned to himself. Oh, yeah. Not to mention bringing Hell to Earth. Naturally.

 

Spike was utterly confused. He wasn't sure why... as things seemed pretty simple to him. At least, they should after what he'd witnessed last night. He now knew for sure -- yes, the Slayer fancied him. The question of the day was why.

 

Not that he blamed the poor chit. Probably had taken one look at him, and hadn't been able to resist. The thought made a smug smile crawl across Spike's face. Which he then quickly covered up, should his "sire" see it. Angelus has been watching him obsessively since Spike had wheeled himself down the hallway and out of his room that evening, not bothering to take part in their choice of meal tonight -- a luscious, brown-haired girl with luminescent blue eyes. Angelus had taken particular joy in terrifying the hell out of the poor girl before diving for her throat.

 

But back on topic...

 

As mentioned before, Spike knew quite well that he was under scrutiny. Which meant that he was trying (with not too much difficulty) to make it seem as though he was brooding -- not, not brooding, Big Bads never brooded, that was for poncy 'once upon a time I had a soul' gits like Angelus -- moping, over Drusilla.

 

Yeah, right.
 

All those years... One hundred and eighteen joyous years of bloodshed and mayhem, with Drusilla by his side... Pointless. Worthless. Less than nothing. Drusilla was nothing short of a whore. And he was a fool not to have acknowledged it sooner.

 

Well, better late than never.

 

It still hurt... hearing her with him every night, knowing that it was simply done for his benefit, so he would be tortured and furious and hateful, and every bit of a bloody killer as he'd been before they'd come to this godforsaken town... He still hated it. He hated Buffy for crippling him in the first place, allowing him to become weak in his ex-lover's eyes. He hated Drusilla for not loving him more, for not loving him enough... for not loving him in the first place, going directly to Daddy the minute he was back. He hated the Powers That Be for permitting the most royal of sick fucking jokes to be played on him. He hated himself for becoming so damn weak, for wallowing in his self pity and his pointless jealousy while Angelus situated himself in his place and took the only thing he'd had to his name.

 

And he hated Angelus just because the asshole deserved it. < Stupid bloody wanker. >

 

But it always came back to two certain women: Buffy and Drusilla. One woman that Angelus wanted to fuck and murder and destroy (although he'd fucked up his chances on the fucking her part by the bullshit that had come out of his mouth the day of his return), and one woman that he just plain wanted for the sake of the Childe/Sire bond, and annoying the hell out of Spike.

 

Spike would be damned... okay, not the best choice of words, as he already was damned, but Spike would as sooner run outside in the broad daylight wearing a cross around his neck in the nude before he'd let Poofy get his way.

 

That settled it, then. Spike was going to have Buffy Summers, the Slayer.

 

But first, he had to find a new room. Faaaar away from the S&M Energizer bunnies.

It didn't take him long after seeing her again to realize that... there was no way he could resist her.

 

Spike had bravely subjected himself to torture by yet again attending a meeting with Buffy and her... er... associates. And it hadn't just been the regular, meticulous idiocy of the whole group (with the exception of Willow and Wolf Boy, combined with the intensity of the migraine that usually accompanied Xander's presence whenever he came in Spike's general vicinity) that began to annoy him.

 

It was being so close to her.

 

Little things popped out at him as he began to understand how futile it was to fight any attraction to the girl. He had, in fact, noticed that her lower lip had a tendency to extend when Giles was lecturing and/or reading his excessively boring books out loud. And he had also noticed (though quite long ago) that her lower lip also quivered when she cried. He knew that despite the misery that Angelus had taken great pleasure in subjecting her to, she was fighting it off as fiercely as the feline predators that the vampires of Spike's line had always been compared to might (with exception of Angelus, who stumbled around like an elephant with a head cold). He'd noticed the sadness was receding from her eyes.

 

And try as he might to ignore it (especially with the two so-called anti-vampire vigilantes in the room) he couldn't help but notice her even more when she wore her short little skirts, her tight little tops, the bras that she seemed to want to forego, the way her ass swayed from side to side as she walked, the way her cute, pert little titties bounced, the tiny little outlines her nipples made against her shirts when the prats in this school turned the air conditioner on too high...

 

It was all he could do not to toss her on the ground and pound into her from behind when she always, always so slowly leaned over a table and made her pretty little ass stick straight up in the air everytime she was near him oh Christ he had to fuck her bite her taste her have her, and he had to do it SOON.

 

But meanwhile, he was kicking himself for zooming back toward her like a bee to honey. Well, he'd had it now. All those thoughts had gotten him horny and riled up, so, if anything, he was at least going to corner her in the stacks and get a little groping in (at the least). It might calm him down a little bit -- or, at least until he could actually thrust into her without sullying everyone else's stupid silly little virtuous visions of her first.

 

Naturally, that would come later.

 

At the moment, her head was down on the table, chin resting on her hands, much the way a feline might during it's rest, her pretty green eyes glaring resentfully at the giant ninety-chapter tome sitting in front of her. He could practically read her thoughts in those eyes, and they were currently saying, "Die, Giles. Die, die, die."

 

Or maybe that was just his wishful thinking. 

 

Maybe she thought if she stared long enough at it, she could set it on fire with her glares. Hell, he'd always wondered if Slayers had any powers besides their strength, speed and healing.

 

He waited a beat, anticipating the demise of the book in a fiery explosion from the onslaught of her eyes.

 

Huh. So much for other powers.

 

Eventually, though, it appeared she'd finally had enough of staring at the book, and she got up and walked out of the library. Spike noticed that not a one of her friends acknowledged this. Beyond odd, although to be fair, everyone else was hidden either in the stacks, or by an enormous pile of research. But otherwise, this was much appreciated, given that now would be the prime time to shag her senseless. His hormones were raging, and he was more than a little desperate to get off, given that he was currently no-longer-getting-any from his cheating cunt-bitch of a former mate.

 

Yes, former. He had actually felt his bloodclaim -- the one that literally made her scent and presence jump up and scream out at him, "MATE!" -- completely dissolve two nights ago. Her infidelities with Angelus hadn't done a thing to erase his mark, but when Angelus was feeling frisky, apparently all it took was a well-placed bite mark. And given that the Master and Darla were both dead and gone, and Angelus was the Master of their line, it was only natural (and obvious) that Spike's claim would be immediately over-ridden.

 

Well, yeah, anyway. That had happened just after he'd witnessed Buffy's interactive dreaming, the night that he'd moved across the mansion in order to avoid Tweedle-Dipstick and Tweedle-Dickhead. He supposed it was closure.

 

He had caught up to her by now, just barely. She really was a quick little wench when she wanted to be. Maybe she knew she was being followed. Hell, he didn't care. Just so long as she got them as far away as possible from the library so nobody heard her scream. In the pleasant way, of course. So, of course, it didn't matter how fast she went.

 

He could be faster.

 

"Slayer!" he called out, his combat boots thudding hard as she charged down the hall after her. There was no way in hell she couldn't have heard him. And yet the bitch didn't turn around.

 

Well. She was gonna play like that, then? Well he could play, too, and much, much dirtier. A wicked grin curled his lips.

 

"Slay - er, Buffy!" he called again, and this time he succeeded in getting her attention. She spun around to gape at him in surprise. Well, he figured she had the right. He'd never (really) called her by name before, just title.

 

The surprised fish look went on for a bit until Buffy comprehended who was chasing her. And then she rolled her eyes. "What do you want?" she asked.

 

Spike went into acting mode. (He was gonna have to if he wanted Buffy to fall for his little seduction thing.) Creeping closer, he tilted his head, peering closely at her.

 

"Are you alright, luv?" he asked.

 

Buffy snorted - not very lady-like of her at all. "What do you care? You're a vampire, remember? Evil undead? I'm the Slayer. I don't really believe that you actually care what's wrong with my life."

 

Spike pushed his lower lip out into a pout, then grinned when she frowned and turned her head away to ignore it. His hand reached out to grasp her arm, slowly sliding down her soft, yet hard bicep, and trailing down until it left her arm completely and rested on her waist. The grin only widened when he felt her stomach muscles tense up at the contact.

 

"Why wouldn't I care what's wrong with you, luv? We're... friends. Aren't we?" At this point, he was murmuring into her ear, his other arm snaking around her waist until she was trapped against him, her back against every inch of his front. One hand slowly began stroking up and down her belly, and he hooked his chin over her shoulder, pressing himself firmly against her.

 

Buffy shuddered at the sensations that their new position evoked. Oh, ggggod, it felt so good... << It'd be even better if his hand moved just... a little... lower... >> the secret voice in the back of her mind whispered treacherously. << Bad voice! Evil voice! Go away! >> Buffy thought back at it viciously. She snapped to at once and shrugged Spike off of her.

 

"No! No, Spike, we're NOT friends. We never have, and never will BE FRIENDS. We. Are. Enemies. Of the mortal kind. Slayer. Vampire." (Her hands were moving back and forth, as if weighing the differences between them.) "Grrr, argh. Does this ring any bells for you?"

 

Spike merely smiled and moved closer to her. His ultimate plan was to seduce the Slayer -- well, okay, his ultimate plan was actually to get laid (and well), and dammit, NOTHING was going to stop him!

 

Buffy was still yapping. "... I mean, GOD, you must be blind AND stupid AND a lunatic if you even see anything between us. You must be if you see an 'us' at all! There IS no 'us!' What the hell are you even thinking?!"

 

Christ. It was a good thing that she'd led him to the other side of the school. If she'd been yelping this loudly in front of the library doors, then they'd have been rudely interrupted by the Scooby Dipshits yesterday.

 

He was backing her up against the wall, now, his smooth, deep baritone rumbling deep into her very core. "I'm thinking," he began, "That we're in the same boat. Birds of a feather and the like. Spurned lovers. Stupid, vain former mates that figure it's okay to cheat on us out in the open." A slow grin, as he looked her up and down. "Why not make the most of it all?"

 

Buffy's eyes widened, and she managed to simultaneously cough and choke a bit. "W-what? Make the most of... huh?" she croaked, backing up faster - upon which she smacked directly into the wall and yelped, looking up at him in alarm.

 

Spike chuckled and placed both hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently, before his hands took on a mind of their own and began slipping her spaghetti straps down. He leaned in, once again pressing his length against her and slipping a leg between both of hers. His head bent down, and he placed his soft lips along her now-bare shoulder.

 

"Relax... Buffy," he whispered.

 

His touch was so cold. Buffy shivered, from both the coldness and from her (apparently) unwilling reaction to him. Her hands weakly attempted to push him away, but her hormones were beginning to take over, and were currently very focused on the nice source of friction that was placed between her legs. Hmph. Stupid libido.

 

His lips continued to dance down her shoulder, and he raised her arm, transplanting his cool caress to the inside of her elbow. His tongue darted out, licking her skin hungrily, and suddenly, he hoisted her up into his arms, pushing her firmly against the wall. Buffy yelped, her hands scrabbling for purchase; she ended up grabbing his biceps through the leather coat he wore.

 

Oh, this was in no way like her dream. In her dream, at least, she'd been more herself. She'd fought back, and she'd snarked at him at first. But here, right now, she was anything but herself. And in truth, it had been so long since Angel had changed, and so long since she had been touched so intimately by someone besides herself, that she was beginning to wonder if maybe Giles really was just a big blowhard about all the dangers of fucking vampires, and was seriously contemplating throwing caution to the wind. Or at least, any caution around Spike. If he could make her feel this good, whether he was gonna kill her or fucked her, then it was worth letting up her guard. 

 

Spike was getting more and more adventurous with his teeth, lips and tongue, and was currently nibbling across her chest. Her top slipped lower and lower, the curves of each small, perky breast appearing. Spike ducked his head and swiped his tongue up in a straight line between them, causing a shocked exhale to escape her lips. Reacting instinctively, her legs came up around his waist, and one hand grasped the back of his head, pulling him closer. No thought to the fact that he was a vicious, century's old vampire, no thought to the fact that for months he'd wanted to kill her, no thought to how close his teeth actually were to her neck.

 

It all dissolved away, leaving him, her, and his lips. God, his lips...

 

Spike began sucking on her skin, tracing the little marks he made with the tip of his tongue to sooth them. Abstractly, he knew it was a very stupid idea to try and take the Slayer right in the middle of a hallway when any one of her damned friends could wander around and find them, but when he compared that to the soft, breathy moans she was making, reason pretty much flew out the window.

 

He pulled her top down and fastened his lips around the soft pink tip of her breast.
 

Buffy moaned, leaning her head against the wall. Spike's hand moved up to cup the creamy mound of flesh as he sucked on her nipple. His other gripped her ass tightly. Pulling her up, he ground his hard, thick bulge against her. All he could think was < Thank God, she's wearing a skirt! >

 

"Buffy," he whispered, pulling his mouth off of her, kissing and licking at her naked chest.

 

"Oh, god, Spike," she gasped, her hips beginning to thrust against his. "Please, please, please," she whimpered. Her body shifted, and she started to move up and down, desperate to gain any sort of friction against her most sensitive spot.

 

"What do you want, baby?" he asked, hoisting her up again, so that she bounced against him. She gave a small cry as her pussy pounded right against his jean-covered cock. Spike reached between them and pushed her skirt up around her waist, smiling when he revealed her cute, frilly little blue panties. His clever fingers moved between her legs, and without any pretense whatsoever, began rubbing quick, aching circles around her clit. Buffy yelped, her hips bucking.

 

"M-more," she groaned, wrapping her legs around him more tightly, all the while attempting to spread her legs wider.

 

"You want my hand, precious?" he asked, gently prodding her panties to the side. At the first full contact of his cold fingers on the quivering, moist skin, she cried out, "Yes!"

 

Spike smiled and shoved the panties away. "Like this?" he began, then demonstrated by running the tip of his finger along the outer lips of her pussy. She whined, her head thrashing from side to side, her body twitching. Spike chuckled softly, and her head shot up to glare at him.

 

"Spike -- if you're gonna do something, then stop fucking around and fucking DO it! Quit STALLING!" she growled.

 

He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. "Well, if you insist." Then he pressed his fingers tightly against her hard, extended clit, rubbing faster. Buffy threw her head back and screeched, her fingers desperately trying to grab onto something besides her sudden lover. "That what you mean, princess? My hand in you? My hand touching, rubbing, making you scream? My hand up your sweet, hot quim?"

 

Buffy was nearly sobbing with pleasure, arching her hips and thrusting hotly. "Oh, god... oh, Spike, yes... please, please!"

 

Spike leaned in to her, licking and nipping at her earlobe, his index finger now tracing a mischievous circle around the entrance to her pussy. "How bad do you want it?"

 

Now she really was crying, tears of frustration running down her cheeks. "Spike, PLEASE! I want it! I want it bad!"

 

He grinned, gently probing his finger into the hole. "What is it that you want again?"

 

Buffy clenched her teeth and fought the urge to either scream or bite him -- although, knowing Spike, either one would make him move faster. "Touch me, Spike!"

 

His eyes twinkled in amusement. The bastard was enjoying her torture! "Where?"

 

One of her hands came off of his shoulder, and she whapped him upside the head. "Touch. My. Pussy. Finger me, do SOMETHING to me, I don't care, just do it!"

 

For a second it looked as if he was going to listen to her. And then he dropped her to the ground, fingers still firmly inside of her, making her 'eep.' "Anything?" he asked.

 

Buffy's eyes blazed. "Anything." The glare faded and she blushed as she realized she sounded like something of a nympho.

 

Spike was mesmerized. For a minute, he stood there doing absolutely nothing except watching her, and when she began to fidget from her discomfort, he was on her again, lips pressed firmly against hers in their first kiss since the night they'd, er, gone patrolling.

 

Buffy gave a muffled yelp at the sudden sensation of his lips on hers, but much as they had the first time, her protests lost their vehemence, and she fell into the kiss. Spike's lips frantically attacked hers, and when she yelled at her brain to stop thinking, and began encouraging her long-neglected libido, she was on him just as much.

 

And then, Spike began moving down. His lips trailed over the smooth column of her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her. He worked his way down to her breasts once more, and 'worship' was the only appropriate word for what he was doing to her body. He placed open mouthed kisses along her stomach as he fell to his knees, and with her skirt bunched up about her tiny waist, all he needed to do was give her panties a good hard yank before they fell to the floor, and she was revealed to him.

The incredible burst of her arousal hit him full force in the face, and his cock sprang up to press painfully against the zipper of his jeans. His lips moved over her abdomen, his tongue becoming more and more adventurous the closer he got to her center. And when his lips pressed against her own, she let out a grateful wail and nearly collapsed on top of him. His hands quickly moved up to catch her around the hips, pinning her to the wall. He pushed his body in between her legs, spreading them apart as best as he could, then dipped his head down and swiped his tongue up her slit.

Buffy sobbed. Oh, god, this was really happening to her. She was actually letting Spike go down on her! And oh, god, he was so good at it...

She had never felt this way before. Her one and only sexual experience with Angel had been gentle, soothing, everything that a romance novelist would envy in writing. Not carnal. Angel had introduced her only to the main act. His fingers had traveled below the waist in order to prepare her, of course, but then it had been nothing but their hips meeting sexually.

Apparently, Spike was aware of a whole lot more than that. She was beginning to get dizzy from watching the stars spin around her head every time he sucked on her clit or traced his tongue around her hole. So obviously, when he pushed his tongue inside of her, it was justifiable that she screamed so loud, her voice echoed down the school corridor. Hopefully not loud enough to send the Peanut Brigade hurrying after them.

Her hips began to thrust against his mouth, her hands moving to his head, entangling themselves in his hair. His hair was so smooth and silky, one would never realize that he probably treated it weekly with that stupid peroxide. Well, they wouldn't if they were blind.

His hands reached in front of her and began to finger her clit, rubbing and flicking it back and forth as he fucked his tongue in and out of her. This was by no means the first time he'd done this to a human being. When Drusilla had been in one of her spells, and he'd been left out in the cold, he'd had to find the necessary arrangements to, well, get off. And on the occasion that the substitute had pleased him, he'd repay her for it accordingly, before eating her - in the literal, blood-sucking way.

Buffy was all kinds of different. First of all, he'd never seduced the Slayer before. Any other Slayer that he'd come in contact with probably would have attempted to behead him - or worse, castrate him. Any other Slayer would have been cold and unfeeling and unresponsive, and later probably would have attempted suicide for accepting a demon into her bed. Slayers generally didn't make a habit of sleeping with vampires, though, which, he supposed, worked out well for him, now that he'd met Buffy. She seemed to have no problem going against her elder sisters' traditions - after all, she'd fallen in love with a vampire, hadn't she? Albeit, he was a self-righteous ponce with a soul, but he was still, in demon, a vampire.

Spike had to admit how often he'd wondered about it.  When he'd first seen her, there had been no doubt in his mind that she oozed sexuality, that she was most definitely not a virgin. And, yes, well, he'd been quite wrong about that. (Giving it up to Angel? That pansy, of all people?)

But she moved as though she was a sex goddess, which was what had cemented the not-a-virgin thing in Spike's brain. So when he'd finally gotten up close and personal with her, and had smelled the innocence in her blood, he'd been understandably surprised. And with what happened later, given the giant organ falling on him and rendering him incapacitated, he hadn't been able to carry out his very, very dear wish of deflowering her. And then she'd fucked Angelus, and the world was shot to hell.

Except now he was getting his chance. He'd seen the changes in her, and realized how much she truly regretted becoming intimate with the Great Gelled Poof - or maybe that was just his wishful thinking, but anyway, the point was, she'd given up on Angel. She realized he wasn't going to come back to her, and she was moving on to someone else.

And hopefully this would be just as good for her as it was for him. She tasted so sweet - like sun kissed peaches and ripe, tangy berries. And she was so hot, so burning hot. None of the human girls he'd been with before had ever tasted like this... this vibrant, strong explosion of womanliness and good GOD he wanted inside of her so badly. But he had a feeling he would only be able to sate himself with her pleasure tonight.

He tongued her until her whimpers became louder, and transformed from mewls, to moans, to shrieks in under .05 seconds. A warm sensation began to travel along Buffy's abdomen, making her face flush and her breath come faster and god oh god she was almost there so why wouldn't he just --

A shriek resounded through the halls again, and Buffy's hips flew up, humping wildly against Spike's face. "Oh! Spike, yes! Oh god, oh god, oh, fuck, YES!" she cried out, nearly falling to the floor as her legs gave out from under her again. Her body clenched, and she came in a flood around his tongue, her back nearly bent over backwards from her pleasure.

Spike smiled to himself as he licked up all her spendings. When was the last time he'd ever had a woman that responded like that in bed? Or, not technically in bed, but in a hallway, or any other place, really? Oh, Gods, he couldn't wait to have her all.

When Buffy recovered, she looked up at him and gave him a weak grin. "Wow," she mumbled. And then it actually hit her. Her eyes widened. "Wow?" She looked down at herself, then back up at Spike, who had a smug, satisfied grin on his face. "Oh my god!" she gasped, beginning to pull at her clothes. Panties, skirt and tank top all went back to their appropriate places on her body, before she quickly looked up and down the hall. Then she grabbed Spike by the lapels of his duster and shoved him roughly against the wall.

"Did anybody see us?" she asked.

Spike, after letting out an indignant yelp for being manhandled... or womanhandled, or whatever the word was in this case, scowled at her. "No, luv. We were perfectly alone."

Buffy whimpered and smacked him. "Well I don't wanna be 'perfectly alone' with you! You, you big... freaky pervert!"

Spike chuckled. "I'm the pervert? I didn't just let an evil demon go down on me in a school hallway in plain sight of anyone, did I?"

Buffy punched him this time, then slammed his head back against the wall. "Shut. Up. I swear to God, if you tell anyone about this, Spike, and by 'anyone,' I mean everyone living in this little Hell on earth, I will chop off all of your extraneous parts and shove them down your throat!" Her eyes lowered predictably to his pelvic regions, which she then patted lightly, all the while giving him a sweet smile. "Got me?"

Well. What could he say to that? Spike was, after all, a man. He liked his parts. He liked them just where they were. Especially the one she had her hands on at the moment.

What could he do? Spike swallowed hard and nodded. "Gotcha. Crystal clear, you are."

Buffy nodded approvingly and dropped his parts. "I'll see you back in the library," she said, as if nothing had happened, and then she turned on her heel and began to walk down the corridor.

Before she could even move a step, Spike grabbed her back and shoved her against the wall. He looked at her silently for a moment, taking in her startled eyes and rigid form, before pressing his lips against hers once more.

It was a rough, savage kiss that barely lasted more than half a minute. But as she pulled away from him when he stopped, then walked away dazedly, he figured he'd gotten his own message through pretty clear.

I won't tell if you won't.

She looked back at him once. And her head inclined just the fraction of an inch. But he saw it, and smiled. She turned away again and continued back to the library.

Spike stretched slowly as one hand rubbed over the now raging erection that his jeans could barely contain.

This was going to be such fun. Angelus was going to shit a brick when he found out.

Suddenly, he felt a prickling in the back of his mind, and smirked confidently.

Shh. Don't tell.

He made his way after Buffy.

Large brown eyes opened, and a wicked smile curled beautiful, full lips.

Drusilla sat up in bed, the only thing covering her Sire's bedsheets. Angelus had apparently taken to stalking the courtyard, hoping that he would find Spike wheeling about, ready for more psychological torture. Which proved fine for now, as Drusilla was at her most lucid -- a rarity that usually alerted Angelus to when she had just picked apart someone's thoughts.

And, oh, the thoughts that she had just picked.

But she would do as her darling Childe desired. Not a word would be spoken to her sire.

If Spike wanted to seduce the Slayer, thereby making Drusilla the only woman in Angelus's life, then so be it. She had no qualms against that.

And she figured she owed him. After all, if it hadn't been for her herbs and spells, Spike wouldn't be walking right now.

She just didn't see a reason that Angelus needed to know this. She was more interested in keeping his mind occupied with other things - mainly her, and the end of the world.

Drusilla's smile widened, and she laid back down on the bed.

"Don't worry, my pet," she murmured. "Mummy's little bird won't sing."

Title: Full Of Grace

Author: AJ Hofacre

Rating:  NC-17
 
 
 

Drusilla had a secret.

When she was human, just shy of her eighteenth birthday, she'd lain down with a man. Not willingly, no, not the good Catholic girl she'd been then. She'd been ever so sinful, ever so trusting, since the man she'd lain with had been her mummy's older brother. Shortly after, on the day of her eighteenth birthday, her mother found out.

That was when the visions began. At first, it was only little things. Her father's missing wallet, her mother's favourite shawl, her sister's cherished porcelain doll... Drusilla could find them in the blink of an eye. But later on... dreams of fires, bright and blazing, consuming the local pub turned out to be true. She saw it sometimes weeks, days, hours, mere minutes before it happened.

At the age of twenty-one, when she predicted the vampire attack on the mayor three towns over, her parents called in the pastor to perform the exorcism (not that she knew what vampires were -- she'd only known what she'd seen, and what she'd seen had been demonic.) Father Lowell had brandished a large crucifix, made of two steel bars welded together. He had heated it, then burned it into her back.

Her agonized screams, and her parents frightened faces still haunted her to this day. Even now, as a vampire, the scar remained, like a morbid tattoo; the large cross was fixed right between her shoulder blades. It wasn't lethal to her - she'd had it before she'd been reborn, so how could it be? - but Angelus and Spike had made certain never to place their hands on her back. Ever.

That was a bit daunting, as she continuously had backaches while she'd been ill.

Obviously, the exorcism hadn't worked. Just a year later, she'd had another vision - the penultimate one - a crash. And later, the news had spread - there had been a cave in and one of the mines had collapsed. Two men had died. Mummy and Daddy had fought. Daddy was worried for her, terrified that his little girl was being possessed. But Mummy remembered the incident with her brother, and Mummy knew that Drusilla had been traumatized. Mummy wanted Dru sent to an institution. Daddy thought Dru would be better off going to the more conventional pastor that had taken Father Lowell's place, and confessing her sins.

Daddy was wrong.

The night she'd gone to confess had been the night that she had unwittingly met Angelus, and thus sealed her fate. Perhaps if Daddy had listened to Mummy, her meeting with Angelus never would have come about, and she never would have been doomed to an afterlife of utter lunacy.

But that was neither here nor there.

She did love her darling William - she did. His demon was begot of hers, how couldn't she love him? But he was better off without her. She didn't possess the facilities to care for him the way he deserved to be cared for. She was strong again - she could take care of herself now. William knew that. But William still didn't understand her fixation on Angelus, and she couldn't help that, couldn't make him understand. In the long run, she and Spike didn't belong together, and she'd tried to tell him that as best she could.

As he was still, in some ways, her sweet, darling, wicked Spike, she offered him a minor consolation -- healed him, slowly, little by little with the right herbs and the right spells. His blossoming interest in the little Slayer was rather... weird, to say the least. But that was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, because just as Drusilla could not help her dark attraction to her Sire, Spike couldn't help his interest in the tiny Slayer.

And so now, Spike could walk again. Was likely plotting with the Slayer and her group against them. More than likely still thought of Drusilla as his, and was even more likely planning her miserable death for abandoning him for Angelus. And it made her dead heart ache.

But it was better this way.

She couldn't help the way she'd been created.

So Drusilla had a rather large secret on her thin, diminutive shoulders. She had to keep Angelus from finding out about Spike, at least not until the proper time called for it. Unless Spike blew it, which was what he was usually prone to do, being so forward and ambitious and all. But the pretty, vicious Slayer would keep him in line. Things would end just the way they were supposed to, whether Spike liked it or not.

After all, Drusilla was psychic. She, if anybody, would know.

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Buffy was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Since it was such an uncharacteristic change from her usual quips and witticisms, Willow was reasonably nervous. Oz was doing his best to relax her, but the analogy his brain was making wasn't helping things along much -- a quiet Buffy was like a hyper-active Oz. Such things did not occur in the normal universe.

Giles, of course, was worried as hell, but was trying to chalk it up to Buffy missing Angel. Xander thought so as well, and he was in a foul mood because of it, which in turn put Cordelia in a bad mood.

Little did they know.

Any lingering feelings that Buffy might have had for Angel had disappeared altogether. Poof. Gone.

All that was left inside her was Spike.

All that was left was a man who hated her, who wanted her dead, but still got irrationally jealous, or irrationally psychotic, or just plain irrational altogether whenever a man who was NOT him was involved with her (mostly Angel).

All that was left was a man that had come on to her, and hadn't killed her at her most vulnerable, who had gotten her drunk (or had tried to get her drunk, anyway), and was sorry about Jenny's murder. A man who hated Angel, who was in love with a woman who had betrayed him, who had kissed Buffy in the grass, and armed himself literally to the teeth with hurtful retaliation barbs when her words lacerated him. This man who had followed her into a deserted hallway and had proceeded to go down on her, like it was the one and only thing that he had ever wanted in his life. This man... who still wasn't back yet, who was possibly the only man on earth that could decipher Drusilla's psychotic rambles, and whom Giles was currently cursing to within an inch of his unlife for not being there when it was imperative to find out some information about a big fucking rock.

She really hated that stupid rock.

Good God. Spike had gone down on her. Spike! Had gone down on her! He had actually been on his knees with his face buried between her legs, licking, sucking, sliding his unnaturally long tongue inside of her and holy shit it wasn't even decent for a demon to have a tongue that sinful...

Buffy suddenly whimpered, allowing her head to drop and bang down on the table. And then she whimpered again, this time for good measure, and also for the owwie that had resulted in her being stupid enough to let her head hit the table in the first place.

"Buffy!" Giles barked in alarm. He rushed over to her, placing a hand on her back as he bent down to her level. "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly, looking at her with warm, caring, "tell your father everything" eyes. Although she could detect a faint hint of panic and "what do I do, what do I do?!" there as well.

She stared up at him, smiling weakly. "I'm fine, Giles, really." Yeah. Like what was she actually going to tell him?

"Giles, Spike just went down on me in the hallway earlier, and I think I want to fuck his brains out later. You know. Just to see where things lead."

Oh, that would go over REAL well.

"Are you certain? I could make you a cup of tea, chamomile is your favourite, correct? Do you need sleep? I could take you home if you'd like, we don't have to continue anything tonight, not if you're ill, dear."

His eyebrows narrowed fretfully, and it was in that moment that Buffy realized how much this man cared for her - like she was his own flesh and blood.

The thought made a genuine smile appear on her face. She hadn't heard a peep out of her father since she'd last seen him at the end of her Los Angeles summer; the thought of Giles-playing-Dad was too sweet to not allow. "Absapos-o-tively," she replied. "Nothing wrong in Buffyland. No worries."

Giles sighed in obvious relief at her perky response, but stood up with his head slightly tilted. "You're sure?"

Buffy nodded, making 'shoo' gestures. "Yes, Giles, now go back to cursing Spike with weird British words that I don't wanna know the meaning of, and solve the mystery of that stupid rock."

He rolled his eyes, but walked away from her smiling.

Buffy grinned at his back, then sighed and waited until everyone (who had jumped when she'd hit her head) had looked away. She twisted left and right, stretching her back and then crossed her arms over the table, laying her head down over them.

She felt a little better now, sure. But she wouldn't feel completely better until Spike was back.

And hopefully, he'd be back soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was breathing.

He shouldn't need to breathe. It was unnecessary. He was undead, and it was pointless.

But there was something about her that made him want to defy conventions.

Buffy.

He groaned softly, closing his eyes.

How could he have never felt this way before? With anyone? Not that he'd had much experience with human women since he'd been turned. Drusilla had been his one and only for so long that it was almost a slap in his face to consider that she wasn't anymore.

That Buffy might be.

It terrified him.

It terrified him.

He, who could laugh in the faces of thousands of people with dead bodies strewn at his feet and blood smeared over his face; he, who had committed a bloodbath worthy of the centuries and guaranteed to mark his name in this history books for ages to come, simply to protect the one he had loved; he, who had escaped with barely a scratch on him from a mob in Yorkshire, who had stood up to Angelus before the lunatic had been driven crazier by a soul and the love of a pretty girl --

No. Not pretty. Not a girl, either. She was a woman. A beautiful, amazing, spectacular woman. And he had no idea how she'd done it, but she'd brought him under her spell.

He was hers. In every way that the souled poof might have wished he was.

And it scared him to death.

"Gah!'

Luckily for him, he didn't scare that easily.

A lazy smile appeared on his face. And what was he afraid of exactly? Being the Slayer's footman/lapdog/lust slave?

Pffft. If the Royal Ponce could do it while he was souled up, then Spike could do it, too -- without that prancy little soul. He didn't need a soul. He'd never needed one.

He'd always held himself in the highest regard because of his capacity to love. Other vampires loved, also -- but their love often turned sour and was worth little more than cow's blood when it came to survival. Spike put love above everything else. He had before he'd been turned, he had while he'd been with Drusilla, and he did now, with -- with...

God Almighty. Wait.

Love.

Love?! With... with The Slayer?

No.

No. Never love. Just lust. He didn't think he could handle the pressures of being in love again. Not after... not after what she had done to him.

He didn't truly care that Drusilla had read his mind. When he asked her to keep her mouth shut, she would. And all the more, she could use the situation to her advantage. Since Dru didn't want him anymore... since she wanted... Angelus... now, the information that she had gleaned from him would help her make certain to keep Angelus out of their way.

At least until the right time.

And until that right time, he would bide his time.

But he needed to curb his infatuation with bouncy blonde shampoo commercial hair, and bright, sparkly green eyes that he could swear brought his heartbeat back, and, and...

He could keep his mind away from Buffy. He could. And would.

He tucked himself back in to his jeans and zipped them back up again, untucking his shirt and letting it hang over any... marring evidence of what he'd been doing. Then he turned and walked down the hallway to the library, a pair of green eyes dancing around in his mind.

He should really get back before Buffy worried.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had decided by now that it was only a matter of time before Angelus took his chance and made for the rock. At least now, though, because of Spike, they had a heads up that the obelisk was involved in Angelus's intended catastrophe.

Now if they could just figure out how to prevent it.

Good Lord. He certainly hadn't expected anything like this only a year after The Master. The main thing he'd been concerned with had been just getting Buffy back to normal after the trauma of her death. He hadn't counted on the growing relationship between Buffy and Angel, he hadn't expected to feel so much hatred for that bastard when he had killed Giles' beautiful Jenny, he had never anticipated that the bastard in question would attempt the end of the world, nor that his very own Childe would betray him.

And that was the shocking part. Spike had completely rallied against his own family. He had betrayed his blood Sire in order to get revenge on his former lover, and instead of going to another, more powerful evil to take them out, he had gone to the White Hat's side for assistance, despite knowing how certain people in the group must've felt about him.

Giles couldn't understand the blonde vampire. Spike's girlfriend had betrayed him with the Sire that she hadn't seen in less than a century, and ignored Spike, who in turn had spent the last century taking care of her and who had been confined to a wheelchair and had essentially worshipped the psycho.

Worshipped. Spike had worshipped Drusilla. He had... he had loved the dark woman, actually; deeply, mentally and physically loved her, and she had betrayed him through her own insanity and obsession with the man that had molded her into what she was today. So what was Spike to do? How could he ever compete with that? Obviously, the most dominant thought in his mind had to be revenge.

But it was only one of the thoughts in his mind at the moment.

Giles had seen the way that Spike had looked at the Slayer. On one hand, he was fuming – there was no way that he would allow yet another vampire to involve himself with this remarkable girl that Giles privately called "daughter," no matter what the circumstances. But on the other hand, he was inexplicably pleased. Because not only did it mean that Buffy was moving on from Angel – but it meant that she might be moving on with the person Angel and Angelus disliked most.

And at that thought, his shoulders slumped. Because he remembered seeing how the Slayer herself had stared at Spike. And he knew very well that it would be Buffy's decision to make. If he interfered in any way, Buffy would do the opposite of what he wanted, no matter what she wanted, just to spite him.

So what could he do but simply... back off?

Well, bugger.

He took a deep breath and reread the letter he had received from the curator of the Sunnydale Museum of Natural History. It seemed that a large stone obelisk -- the one Drusilla had Seen, and the one they were hunting for -- had been found beneath a housing development, and was awaiting study. The curator had contacted Giles after hearing that the Briton was a known historian in Sunnydale, following his stint as the curator of the British museum. The Sunnydale curator, a Doctor Doug Perren, had sent the letter in the hopes that it would entice Giles into helping to identify what exactly the stone was.

This was their chance.

And more than anything, if it saved lives -- if it saved Buffy's life in particular, and gave her the chance to develop this... thing... with Spike... to be happy for a change...

Giles would just have to take a chance as well.

No matter what the cost.

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Buffy was Action Girl. She took great pride in this, because it was generally her habit of taking the initiative and running off half-cocked that tended to save the day from something or another.

Unfortunately, this tendency also happened to get her shit-deep into trouble, on several occasions. This was why she had Willow.

Willow was Buffy's logic. If the Slayer was debating something with the group, and her eagerness to fight was displaying itself before them, Willow was the one who tapped Buffy on the shoulder, gave her a Resolve face, and told Buffy to sit her ass down and listen to reason before she went off and got herself killed. Not that Buffy always listened, but it was handy to have someone willing to be the voice of reason hovering over you sometimes.

But this was precisely why Buffy couldn't talk to Willow at the 'mo. Divulging the fact that she was having some very lusty feelings, and some very more than lusty feelings for the sexy blue-eyed vampire that was developing the bad habit of following her around would only help in making Willow panic.

And that was something that Buffy really didn't need right now.

Who else could she talk to? Xander?...

Bwahahaha! No.

Cordelia? Pfft. Same as above, with a "tactless bitch" tacked on to the end of it.

Oz... Hmm. Well, Oz didn't really talk all that much. When he did talk, it was usually to contribute some sort of information to keep Giles's head from exploding, or to calm Willow down in the midst of a panic attack. Otherwise, he usually just blinked a lot. So if that helped any, given the amount of 'blinking' that Oz did toward Spike when the latter was in the room, it was safe to assume that the werewolf liked the vampire.

So she had that in her favor, at least.

But Giles? Out of the fucking question.

She was fighting a losing battle. And yet, she still kept fighting.

What was Spike to her? She would off herself in disgust if she ever thought that she could use someone for revenge. But she certainly wasn't using Spike for revenge -- well, not anymore, anyway.

But she knew that, deep down, despite the cruelty that she blasted into his face, that he did mean something to her. She liked him. And he was important to her. That was all that mattered right now.

There was just no time to sit down and suss out why he meant so much to her --that would take a few weeks, and they barely had days left before Angelus finally made his move. Maybe, when this was all over, she'd take some quiet time and do a little thinking on HOW important he was to her, but she was racing the clock, and she just couldn't come to terms with everything right this very second.

In fact, there was limited amounts of time for even thinking right now.

Zero hour was coming closer and faster than ever before now. She wasn't completely ignoring Giles, but she could hear him muttering about how they may have gotten a lead of some sort at the Sunnydale Museum, and how he would be checking it out tonight.

And then, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She sat up, turned around in her seat, and stared at the door. The others, noticing this, stopped what they were doing, and copied her, mostly in confusion.

A beat passed.

Then, just as the others turned back to their work, Spike pushed through the library doors.

And Buffy's heart leapt into her throat. She drew a deep breath, and turned back around to the table, focusing on the large tome in front of her, but not before she'd gotten a good look at him.

His chest had been rising and falling, telling her that he'd been, oddly enough, breathing. And his shirt had been curiously untucked.

Actually, she was going to stay away from that one.

Damn, but he looked hot, though.

Buffy mentally groaned. God, she was just supposed to be getting over Angel, so she could fight and kill Angelus. And now she had the hots for Spike, in a major, major way.

Ugh, what the hell was it with her and vampires?! She was supposed to be killing them. KILL-ING THEM. Period. She was not supposed to fuck, then kill the one, and she was most definitely not supposed to dream of fucking... and fucking... and fucking the other one.

She wasn't sure if the reactions of her base instincts when she thought of Spike were a good thing or not.

And she wasn't exactly sure where her subconscious thoughts stood at the 'mo, but she was pretty sure that they were somewhere along the lines of "DON'T KILL SPIKE!"

Hmph. Just because she didn't follow orders -- often -- it didn't mean that she couldn't. And, quite honestly, she could happily comply with this order, even if she wasn't quite sure about how she felt towards him.

Shit.

How she felt about Spike? No earthly clue. He was certainly more than she had expected. That he could feel all the roiling emotions -- anger, jealousy, sympathy, and even love -- that could make a person ... human ... It was so surreal. It was stuff that television shows were made of. Or, more realistically, life on the Hellmouth.

Buffy had no delusions about this... relationship. It certainly wasn't love she felt toward Spike -- and she knew better than to think it was love on his part as well. Also, Buffy was fairly certain that she would be giving in to him soon -- Spike would fuck her eventually, he had made his physical attraction to her all too clear. She herself had given him the green-light-go the minute he'd gone to his knees before her.

Most of all, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that there would be no resistance when it did eventually come down to sex between them. And she would certainly welcome it.

But as far as feelings of the non-lusty variety? Love? Not love? Intense physical and mental connections? Wasn't that two of the main bases for love right there?

Not love. Not yet. She couldn't say not ever, because it was starting to look pretty likely. But most certainly not yet.

No.

Her mind formed the notion that, at present, all she and Spike were to each other was comfort. Spike could numb her body with pleasure, chase away the dark thoughts plaguing her, and most importantly, he could teach her. It was the late nineties, and she knew the things to do; she just needed the "hows" -- and Spike was more than willing to help.

Unfortunately, she didn't exactly know where she stood with Spike. Was he fascinated by her because she was a Slayer? Because she was a distraction from Dru? Or because, as a guy, he liked sex, and he knew as well as Buffy did that she'd eventually give it up to him?

A passing fancy.

Just a fun time to be had.

It hurt.

She hadn't heard the words out loud, but all the same... they sounded so eerily haunting, echoing over and over in her mind.

No. No, she was fairly certain that Spike couldn't possibly love her -- but didn't he care about her? At least a little bit? She wasn't really just a fun time to him.

Was she?

Oh, god. That settled it. She couldn't care less how much she (or rather, her body) wanted the comfort that he could provide for her so easily. And she didn't care how much he could want her, and the big "duh" that was his reaction to how much his body wanted inside of hers.

She couldn't care less how much she was starting to see parallels in their situations, and she REALLY couldn't care less about how it was making her sympathize and ... care... for him.

This thing between them absolutely had to be stopped before it completely unraveled her.

She was terrified of what would become of her if it did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"More."

Her back slammed violently into the wall and she gave a great cry as her hands scrabbled for purchase against him. She most certainly was not content to be the attackee here.

Yeah, she'd slipped up again.

Of course, she couldn't really help it. She'd been adamant about ignoring him, about following her stance on what the relationship between them could and could not be. Buffy had left the library with the full intention of patrolling, going to sleep, waiting for Giles' call in the morning about the curator, and above all, ignoring Spike.

And then, on her way out the library's double doors to the cemetery (Peaceful Memories, this time), he had hurried up behind her, swung around in front of her, and simply looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes. Those eyes that could put the ocean and sky at the horizon to shame.

Out of her four original goals, she had half-completed one, and blatantly ignored the others. Half-way through her patrol, Spike still following along behind her like Peter Pan's very adamant shadow, she had come upon two new vampires. And when she had dusted the both of them, still breathing heavily from the fight, Spike had made his move. He'd pounced on her and dragged her along with him to the cemetery wall, his mouth and chest and hips and legs pressing against her at all angles.

Needless to say, any protests she might have made had been silenced.

So, yeah, she'd screwed up and let him wreak havoc so delightfully on her hormones once again, but in all honesty, how could anyone blame her? Especially if they had ever looked into those eyes, or tasted that mouth.

The fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous (she mentally giggled at the image of a woman walking past him and being so astounded by his looks that she crumpled to the ground at his feet) and unbelievably sexy was just the plus part of the equation.

She threw herself forward and set to work on swallowing him whole, kissing him greedily with all her pent-up frustrations. His hand wrapped itself around the back of Buffy's head, her hand in turn burying itself in his soft hair as he pulled their lips and bodies more firmly against each other.

"Spike," she gasped into his mouth, and he thought he had never heard such a sweeter sound in all his years. He responded instantly to her lower body's slow grind against him, as he tackled her back more firmly. He growled, and the vibrations he caused, he noticed proudly, nearly had her weeping from her arousal.

He momentarily lost interest in her mouth and moved down to worship her neck when her head fell back against the wall. "Beautiful," he snarled, running a hand beneath her shirt, "Buffy, my Buffy, minx, my bloody beautiful, brazen, clever, hot little bitch, you're mine!"

Flashes of white light appeared behind her eyelids as he talked to her, as he mapped every favourite bit of her skin with his tongue. His voice was... sinful, and he smelled so good, and his words were so... decadent. And the thought pulsed through her mind before she'd actually had time to finish processing it: How can I make him feel the way he always makes me feel?

An answer to that question came at her faster than the question itself.

Strangely enough, it seemed like a fair cop.

She lowered her hands down to his waist and unbuckled his belt quickly, because she knew she would chicken out if she didn't do it right that minute. She barely registered Spike's cool hands sliding around inside of her shirt as she undid the button and lowered the zip. Looking up at him, she pushed his face up, then quickly pressed her lips to his.

Then she dropped to her knees.

Never had there been a moment when Spike had ever been truly blessed than the second he felt her wet little tongue on the tip of his cock. He let out a soft little whimper, then backed her up so that she was pressed to the wall. He lightly placed a hand on the top of Buffy's head and looked down at her, longingly waiting for what she planned to do next.

He really didn't need to wait for very long. Buffy took a deep breath and swallowed any nervousness she had before sliding her lips around the head of his dick and straight down the length of his shaft, like she'd known how to do this, knew she was made for this, for him, for years.

For all she knew, it could be true. To say that a relationship between two mortal enemies (above the Hellmouth, of all places) was impossible was discrediting the weird (and yet strangely reassuring) magical oddity that was Sunnydale.

And yeah, Sunnydale did have a weird habit of pushing weird people together.

So no. A relationship between herself and Spike? Not remotely impossible.

She wanted this.

Her head bobbed up and down over his shaft and she reached below to tentatively stroke her finger lightly across the soft, stretched skin between his sac and cock.

Apparently, this was a good thing to do. Spike howled.

Buffy's tongue stroked lightly along his length, and her hand stroked the part of him that, to her, remained reluctantly outside of her mouth.

Well, it wasn't like she hadn't tried to get him all the way in. It was just that her mouth was so small, and his cock was so... not.

His taste intrigued her, she thought as she flicked and dipped her tongue into the slit at the head of his prick. It certainly took some getting used to, since this was the first time she had ever done this to a man -- or, for that matter, had ever wanted to do this. His cream didn't actually have much of a taste at all, but it was cool, like his body, and if she had to assign any specific tang to this magnificent man, then the only one she could decide on was... sugary. He was almost refreshing, like her tongue was poking at little drops of fresh water to sate a desperate thirst that was bound to come to her.

It would just take a while for it to actually get to her.

Spike, from his point of view, was reeling from the sensations coursing through him. This was probably the only time in his life -- unlife -- whatever -- that coherent thought did not attach itself to his acceptance of oral pleasure.

Buffy was young enough. The only sexual experience she'd had, had been with Captain Hair-Gel, and here he repressed a wince of sympathy for her. It was bad enough that the Poofter had given the poor girl a rather... lacking education, but for him to lose the soul that kept him from reverting to an assaholic psycho-sociopath on top of it?

There were just some things that no one should have to suffer. Least of all his mortal enemy. 

Fortunately for Buffy, Spike was very kindly, and very willingly taking up the torch. Not that he really needed to pick up the slack. He was well aware of the fact that this was the first time she'd ever had a cock in her mouth, but Jesus H. Christ, if this was only her first time, he most definitely wanted to be there for the second. And the third. And fourth -- actually, pretty much any other time after that. Apparently, Buffy had great faith in the saying, "You can do it if you put your mind to it."

She was putting her mind to it, all right. She was putting her mind, her mouth, her tongue, her throat, and her hands ALL to it.

His hips lightly began rocking against her mouth and, after taking a quick breath, she looked up at him. Spike was panting, gasping heavily, his forehead resting forward on the wall, his eyes closed and his teeth clenched, as if by not looking down and fully acknowledging by sight that Buffy had her mouth full of nice, thick Spike, it would stop his body from climaxing too quickly. His hands were fisted in his hair, his elbows on either side of his head; this was obviously his idea of keeping restraint, so he didn't completely lose it and just altogether skull-fuck her.

Not that she would have minded much at this point.

The sight of him so barely in control renewed her efforts, and her motions accelerated, determination to make him completely lose any bit of control he thought he might have still had claiming her actions. She would make him come, she would make him come spectacularly, or she would bloody well asphyxiate trying.

Spike groaned, pulling his hands away from his hair and slamming them palm down into the wall. His fingers dug so hard into the cement of the mausoleum that small amounts of stone crumbled into dust around Buffy's head. His hips picked up, retaliating against the speed of Buffy's mouth, and he was content with the knowledge that despite how hard or fast he went, he wouldn't hurt her. And she was allowing him to plunge his length this hard and fast into her mouth, willingly.

God, she was perfect for him.

He had honestly never met a more perfect woman. And that thought almost hurt, because he'd been so certain for years that the most perfect woman in the world for him, his salvation and his reason for existence, had been Drusilla. But this... his feelings for the Slayer -- for Buffy -- only proved that Drusilla most certainly wasn't. His affections for Dru paled in comparison to what Buffy did to him, and how she made him feel.

He was finally letting go.

Finally.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear Buffy's words: "Give it to me, Spike," she whispered. "Let me taste you." Her voice lowered. "Let me drink you down."

He hadn't thought his cock could get any harder. But, as was the usual result whenever he was around Buffy, he had guessed wrong. The sheer wantonness of her words, the audacity she'd entertained to say those things only solidified the inevitable reaction. His back arched and the rest of his body seized up, his cock twitching desperately for its near-completion. Then he gave a hair-raising (and quite frankly, arousing) howl, and bucked his hips once more as he flooded her mouth. And when he'd spent himself, he slid bonelessly to the ground in front of her.

She gave him a tiny, satisfied smile, lazily licking her lips and staring at him with heavy-lidded, arousal-laden eyes.

But Spike knew better. Because despite the fact that her senses were raring and her juices were flowing, from the bits of her eyes beneath the lids that he could see, something akin to terror and apprehension were opening the floodgates to her uncertainty. He could practically read her mind -- her thoughts were just projecting her fears that loudly.

Bloody bastard -- Angelus had really done his job all right. He'd really spun a number on this one. Angelus had made Buffy so afraid and uncertain of anything even remotely related to sex that she could barely look Spike in the face in order to keep up the wanton sex kitten routine that she so desperately wanted to pull off for him.

Quite obviously, it wasn't working.

Well... he couldn't undo what his idiot grandsire had done to her; but he could certainly do his best to make her forget about it and reassure her now.

Not hesitating for a moment, even when his demon rose to start the token protest, he lunged toward her. Spike chuckled to himself when he heard her squeak, then lost himself all over again as his lips came down on hers.

It certainly put Buffy's present fears to rest -- not to mention, lodging her in a daze. Spike's kiss was shattering, possibly the most powerful thing that she had ever been a part of in her entire life. But it was more than that: it showed her that, no, she hadn't made an utter fool out of herself; no, she hadn't overstepped any boundaries that she hadn't been entirely aware of; and (most importantly), yes, she had made sure that Spike had definitely enjoyed her little endeavor.

It seemed that the Big Bad liked being dominated. And, what's more, the person he most specifically liked being dominated by was Buffy -- the Slayer and the girl combined.

Well, hey --  worked for her.

Her arms rose up around his neck, giving her best attempt to climb on top of him. Naturally, she promptly overbalanced, fell backwards, and pulled him down with her, somehow managing to not knock both of their heads into the wall.

It was, to say the least, definitely an interesting sensation having his already hard again cock pressing against her stomach.

Wait. Holy shit. He was still hard?

... Had Angel been like this? Or was she just adjusting to her own horndog levels with Spike? Maybe when she'd first been with Angel, her sexual stamina hadn't quite kicked in yet; but now that she was having lots of kinky fun fooling around with Spike, her stamina had pistoned?

Well, whatever it was, it was affecting Spike, too. She knew full well when he could smell her arousal -- after all, the ass had never failed to tell her every time they fought. So maybe now she had some sort of weird sex connection to Spike, which endowed Spike -- pun intended -- with no refractory period?

He began growling and purring alternately, throwing himself with incredible ease to both sides of the spectrum: on one hand, he was nuzzling and kissing her neck like a playful, affectionate pet. On the other hand, he was crossing the perv line with his bare cock, still glistening from her mouth, hanging out of his jeans and being very determinedly (and lewdly) ground into her covered crotch.

Okay. So maybe Spike was just perpetually horny. Not like it made any difference. He seemed determined to, at the very least, thank her for her very appreciated oral check-up. And at the same time, he was also trying to tell her how good it would feel if he was actually inside of her, and not half dry-humping her, like he was now.

His lips pressed down to hers, and she responded eagerly, her fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hips arched and dipped faster as they kissed, and he pulled his mouth away from hers long enough to growl softly, "My Slayer.... my Buffy... my beautiful, soft, violent Buffy..."

And she was his. He was right. She knew damn well that this was it for her. There would be no more men beyond him.

Spike was the only one. He was slowly and methodically ruining her for any other man, and she was letting him. Because here, now, forever -- she really couldn't give less of a damn.

She was his, and he was hers. And that was all there was to it.

Spike groaned, his thrusts coming more quickly now, as he felt her beginning to writhe from her imminent orgasm. And when Buffy came, she did so with a wail that could rival an ambulance siren.

She went limp beneath him, and he collapsed over her, his face buried in her hair. Her hands, still clutching his biceps (and which, frankly, were the only parts of her body than hadn't gone limp following the fantastic la petite morte), lightly began rubbing his arms and shoulders while she attempted to come back to herself. Spike, meanwhile, entertained himself by making every affectionate mark on her neck -- short of biting her -- that he thought was possible.

"You know how wrong this is, don't you? On so many levels? I mean, not just for me, but for you, too?" Buffy asked softly.

Spike's initial answer was a low, rumbling growl -- one that was evidently angry and annoyed. "Do I look the type to give a rat's ass what's wrong or right, luv?"

She looked up at him meekly. "Shouldn't you be? You're a Master. Angelus and Drusilla are your Sires. You come from one of the most famous and fearsome vampire lines in history. You'll either be the greatest that the Order has ever seen, or the Order will throw you out on your ass for even having the gall to be seen with me.

"Me, on the other hand: I'm a Slayer. It's my stupid 'life mission' to kill vamps. Am I the only one on the face of the stupid planet in the history of Slayers to be with vampires? I keep being taught how wrong it is, how vampires are just one big evil, and need to be killed, but what about you? What about Ang -- " She stopped, not just from her realization, but the threatening growl being issued from Spike's throat. "Oh. I guess I can't use him as an example anymore," she murmured to herself. "Sorry," she added, smiling sheepishly at Spike.

Buffy looked up at him. "Are you a hybrid? Why are you so different from other vamps? Their main thought process is wake up, kill, food, kill, food, go to sleep. What's yours?" Her hand reached up to twine into his hair. "Tell me, Spike. Please?"

He growled for a third time, though this time with some amusement, and rolled over on top of her. "At the mo', it's 'get the Slayer to shut the bloody hell up!'"

Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled and tilted her head to kiss him. "You're different from the rest, Spike. You kill, but you kill only for food." She frowned thoughtfully. "As far as I know." 

Spike glanced sideways at her and decided to never -- ever -- let slip about that orphanage he'd massacred. Then he shook his head, blinked, and went back to listening, because suddenly her words had become very interesting. 

"... And you fuck," she said, her hands trailing a searing line of heat down his chest, "but you don't just fuck for pleasure. And instead of having six or seven ho-biscuits following you around, you've been with one person for over a hundred years. You're the King of fucking monogamy."

She peered up at him, curious to his reaction -- then she smirked. "You're weird, Spike."

He made a disgruntled sound and started to protest, but she jerked him close and kissed him long and hard before he could utter so much as a squeak. "And I still want you," she finished. She gave him another wide grin. "Hey, it's not like I have any room to talk. I am way weird."

And he couldn't resist. He gave a deep belly laugh, running a hand up her arm. "But just weird enough for me, eh, pet?"

She nipped his jaw lightly. "Perfectly." Buffy turned her head to his to launch yet another kiss, but stopped dead when she finally took in their whereabouts. "Um, Spike?"

He quirked his head to the side. "Eh?"

"Can we go somewhere other than the icky cemetery? Please?"

Spike frowned. "I dunno... it's got an oddly quasi-homey feel to it... I kinda like it." He grinned at Buffy's slack-jawed face. "Fine, we'll go. Wench."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so she'd done it. She'd given him back a semblance of life, the life she'd first stolen from him that cold London night one-hundred-and-eighteen years ago.

And now to turn her mind to more important matters. Her dearest Angel would be ascending soon, and they needed to find their little guest in order to make it possible.

They just had to get to it before William and his little Slayer did.

In the coming days, most especially the coming hours, they would all have a role to play. Spike in pretending that he was still incapable of walking; Drusilla herself in pretending that she'd had nothing to do with his speedy recovery -- at least in front of her Sire; the Watcher in pretending that his main concern was for the world's safety and not his desperate need to avenge the death of the pretty dark-haired gypsy-witch; Angelus would continue to pretend that the Slayer hadn't affected him as deeply as she had; and the Slayer would pretend that it was all a matter of business between her and her new lover -- at least until her friends discovered their relationship.

And meanwhile -- the end of the end would be drawing ever near.

Nothing that the Slayer could do about that.

Hmph. She may still have had most of her human emotions intact, but Drusilla was still insane and evil.

It was expected of her, after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Review please! I swear it makes me write faster :)


 

Title: Full Of Grace

Author: AJ Hofacre

Rating:  NC-17
 
 
 

He had brought her home safe and sound, thankfully without running into her mother at any point during the night. It was bad enough that Spike was a vampire and a century older than Buffy -- not that Joyce knew that -- but Spike obviously appeared older than Buffy in looks alone. Granted, not old enough to tip Joyce off to anything odd, not like Angel had, but enough that Buffy's worrying mother would worry even more.

Spike didn't feel that he was up to a Spanish Inquisition regarding his intentions for the Slayer. Especially since his intentions involved quite a few deeds of the dastardly naughty variety. Somehow, he didn't think that the woman who had thought nothing of smacking him upside the head with an axe would appreciate those thoughts.

He hadn't gone inside 1630 Revello Drive, but had waited for Buffy to climb the tree outside of her bedroom window before hauling himself up after her and perching on the windowsill. And despite her playful attempt to shove him off, he had managed to keep his balance. Spike had then snatched a hold of her and pressed a searing, promising kiss to her no-longer-protesting lips, before wiggling his eyebrows at her and jumping off the roof to land cat-like on the grass below. He'd been gone long before she had come out of her daze.

Sigh. And now, here he was. Back at "home," to a mansion that was riddled with nothing but hurt, anger, and betrayal. A place where he should've been loved beyond all mortal comprehension was instead the place where both of his Sires had forsaken him.

He was more alone here than he ever had been in his entire existence.

And he missed Buffy.

His eyes closed miserably as he settled himself back into the metal deathtrap. He couldn't wait until the last time he would ever see this stupid bloody chair again. No more taunting and snideness from the asshole who'd been passed out like a pussy while Spike himself had gotten his spine crushed.

And as if on cue, his door burst open. Spike looked disinterestedly over his shoulder at the furious countenance of his grandsire, then sighed and looked away again.

"Somethin' you want, Peaches?" he asked dully, wheeling the chair away from his blacked out window to his bed. He looked up at Angelus, resigned to the inevitable cruelty.

Angelus snarled and grabbed the front of Spike's shirt, startling the younger vampire so much that he nearly fell out of the chair. "Have you been out anywhere, boy? Anywhere you shouldn't have been?"

Once he realized that Angelus was doing nothing more than attempting to be scary, Spike growled and shoved his Sire away, then looked down at his chair pointedly. "An' where'm I gonna go, you great nonce? The skatin' rink?" Oh, yeah, Spike, that's it -- give Angelus MORE reasons to mock you! Stupid git... the sarcastic voice in his head groaned. Spike ignored it.

"Why don't you tell me, Spikey. You obviously smell like you've been outdoors, and I just wonder how that can be, since you've been a pathetic, free-wheeling gimp for the last three months." He grabbed for Spike again, this time capturing him by the neck and squeezing. "Care to tell me how it's possible, mate?"

Spike lunged for Angelus' free hand, sinking his fangs in viciously. Angelus gave a great yelp and jerked both hands away, before roaring and backhanding Spike across the face. Spike's head jerked with the force of the blow, and he pushed himself away, growling a soft warning at Angelus not to come near him unless he wanted Spike to take off his entire hand. "I live on the first floor, you incredible dolt. The chair can be moved outside by doing this bloody amazin' thing -- see, first, you grab the door handle. Then, you twist it and pull it open. Remarkable, innit? It's so damn easy to just OPEN THE FUCKIN' DOOR!"

There was a beat. Spike was glaring at Angelus so hatefully that it nearly jarred him when -- it wasn't possible. His eyes had to be deceiving him -- Angelus actually looked sheepish.

Whatever. Spike was just glad that Angelus couldn't smell Buffy on him. Thank the Powers for running water and shower nozzles.

"Oh. Er. Right." Angelus frowned at himself, then rolled his eyes. "Anyway. Dru's had a vision. I need to know what you make of it. Not that I actually care what you think, but Drusilla insists." The darker vampire turned to the open doorway. "Dru, baby?"

A long curtain of black hair swung into view almost instantly, and a pair of bright brown eyes peered in at the both of them. Spike's body automatically tensed at the presence of his former lover. Unfortunately, Angelus noticed this and played on it. He sauntered over to the vampiress, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing before sliding his hands down her arms to her breasts, cupping them lightly.

"Yes, my Angel?" Dru's lilting voice purred, looking up at her Sire in sublime adoration.

Angelus glanced back at his blonde grandChilde for a moment to make sure he was watching before focusing on Drusilla once more. "Our dear boy Willy here needs to hear the nitty-gritty about your vision.... just like you wanted." Abruptly, he grabbed her by the neck and bodily threw her at her Childe. "So tell him. Show him. Like you did me."

If he had been a weaker man, nothing would have stopped him from filleting Angelus on the spot for his rough treatment of someone as delicate as Drusilla. As it was, he had to gather every bit of willpower he had in him to keep himself from launching a barrage at Angelus and beating him into the ground until not even the pulp remained. Spike settled for a deadly glare. Besides...

It wasn't as if Dru didn't enjoy it.

Harder still was keeping every muscle in him schooled to not jerk back from her when she approached and knelt before him, peering stoically into his eyes.

Angelus folded his arms and watched critically as his Childe placed her hands on either side of Spike's head. The blonde's eyes met hers, then shut instantly -- but there was still movement beneath the closed lids. Angelus knew that the blonde was analyzing whatever information Dru was sending to him.

Angelus still wasn't quite sure when Dru had figured out that mind meld trick, but it made it a hell of a lot easier than trying to decipher her stupid riddles.

A bright flash appeared and Angelus blinked. Funny, he didn't remember that happening when Dru had told him about the vision earlier. He grinned maliciously. Maybe it was meant to give Spike brain damage. THAT would be fun.

Spike's eyes opened slowly, a concerned crease in his brow. His eyes suddenly shot wide open as Drusilla's information processed and he turned to the broody one.

"Acathla?" he spat, disdain for the name clear in each syllable. "What the bloody hell is that?"

Angelus sighed. Nope. No brain damage. Damn the luck. He smirked and clapped Spike on the back. "Acathla, my boy, is going to be our salvation." He held out an arm to Drusilla, who peered cautiously at Spike through bright eyes before drifting over to her Sire and pressing her lithe body against his -- just the way he liked. Angelus jerked her tightly against him, as if there was still room between them to begin with, then glared down at Spike as if daring him to protest.

Spike scowled. Stupid bastard.

"Acathla will bring the world to its knees. And those who are worthy will be there to rule. "His gaze drifted pointedly to Drusilla, who nuzzled against his chest, purring. "Namely... us."

Namely, not me, Spike thought, rolling his eyes as two glowing sets of yellow demon eyes turned to look at him. Okay. That's fine. Just means that Buffy an' I get to stop 'em.

Drusilla cooed as she returned to her human visage, her dark eyes flashing in an instant from demonic yellow, to sultry brown. "He will free us all, my knight will."

Angelus gave a low, approving growl. "That's right, Dru." He shot a look at Spike and gave an evil smile before looking at the raven-haired beauty again. "Now come with me, Childe. I feel the need to relieve some... tension."

As he turned to leave the room, Angelus was hard pressed not to laugh out loud when he heard Spike snort and say, "Of course you do. Like always."

The blonde scowled as he watched the big behemoth's retreating back. Oh, he was sworn to letting Buffy have full rights to killing him, but not before Spike gutted him first.

Painfully.

Maybe with a crowbar.

He was so indulged in his visions of Angelus in misery that he very nearly did not notice Drusilla stopping in front of him on her way out the door. When he did sense her presence, he looked up and met her sad brown eyes in confusion.

She kneeled before him again, her hand cupping his cheek. "I'm sorry, my Spike," she said softly. She paused, then looked down at her skirt. "It is how we were made to be -- how I was meant to be."

His eyes glanced over her for a single moment before he lowered his gaze and turned his head away from her -- and what killed him the most was that he knew she was being completely sincere. This was one of the few times that Drusilla's lucidity had taken control.

Her lower lip quivered noticeably, and she only glanced back once as she stood up and left the room.

Spike sat still in the wheelchair for nearly ten minutes after she left, running her parting words around his mind.

It was her attempt at an apology. It was her attempt to explain herself and her actions. But the truth was that there was no excuse for Drusilla's actions. Her words rang true. Angelus had tortured and molded her into a frail, evil, clinically psychotic child of a woman that was utterly dependent on a sociopath.

Also, she was a bitch.

He sighed and bowed his head, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. Then, deciding not to chance what little luck he still had left on his side, he remained in his wheelchair and wheeled out of his room, closing his door solidly behind him. The resulting bang felt oddly morose, and yet still refreshing.

Like he was closing the chapter on that life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

He drew a deep breath, pushing the door open.

This is it, he thought. He was finally going to get a glimpse of the mysterious obelisk that he and the children had all been wondering frantically about.

Well, maybe it was just him. Whatever.

He turned down the hall on his left, then opened the door to the research lab of the Sunnydale Museum of Natural History. Looking around as he entered, he spotted the huge stone block immediately, along with a young woman cleaning it and the older man hovering over her. The man glanced up when Giles cleared his throat, approaching.

"Er, hello?" Giles asked, anxiously tugging on his tie.

The man closed the distance, his head slightly tilted. "Rupert Giles?"

Giles gave a small nod. "Yes..."

"Doug Perren," the man smiled, stretching out his hand to shake Giles'. Ah. The curator, then. "Thanks for coming."

Giles started when he noticed that he was actually shaking in anticipation, so he returned the smile, shook the man's hand, then ducked his head. "Oh, not at all. It's... I'm flattered to be asked."

"I spoke with Lou Tabor at the Washington Institute, and he told me we had the best authority on obscure relics right here in Sunnydale," Perren mentioned.

The Watcher looked down, chuckling. "Oh, he may have, uh, exaggerated a little." Giles slid his eyes toward the obelisk and gave a false start of surprise. "Ah, is this the..."

Doug smiled proudly as the walked toward the stone. "This is our baby. Construction workers dug it up outside of town. Don't have a clue what it is. Any ideas?"

Giles carefully schooled his face to remain neutral, as his hand tentatively reached out to touch the cool stone. "... a few. None that I'd care to share until I can verify." Even though I'm already quite certain that I won't like it. He frowned as he spotted the etchings in the stone -- the etchings that matched the paperwork that Mr. Perren had sent to him when he'd originally asked Giles to come observe the rock. "You have, uh, carbon dated it?" Giles asked, running a finger along the runes.

Perren deadpanned. "The results'll be back in a couple of days. For now, I'll go out on a limb and say old."

You have NO idea, Giles thought, smirking. "Um, yes, it, it certainly..." His hands fumbled for a jar and a scraper, "uh, predates any, uh... settlements we've read about." Giles looked at the curator and pointed. "Um, may, may I?"

Perren shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Giles drew a deep breath and leaned forward, finding a slight groove in the stone and scraping the rock dust away from it and into the jar. He stopped scraping when the groove became a very obvious cut in the stone. Giles blew a stream of air into the cut, then took a step back.

"I assume you've, uh, you haven't tried to open it, then," he said.

Perren frowned. "Open it?" He leaned over in front of Giles, his eyebrows shooting up. "Ah, I'll be damned. I figured it was solid. What do you think is in there?"

Giles bit on his lower lip, staring at the cut. He would need to converse with Spike about this as soon as possible. "I don't know," he murmured.

Perren glanced over at the Briton. "Well... I guess we won't know until we open it up."

Giles nodded. "Yes, but could I ask, um... would you wait? I, uh... I'd like to work on translating the text completely. It-it-it might give us an indication of... what we'll find inside."

"You don't want to be surprised?"

"A-As a rule... no."

Perren raised his eyebrows. "Alright. You're the expert. But I'm pretty damn curious, though."

Giles stared worriedly at the obelisk, removing his glasses as a dawning sense of dread sank onto his shoulders. "Yes... Yes, so am I."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike was sprawled out in his chair, one leg over the arm. His left arm rested behind his head; the right arm, though, had wound its way around the back of Buffy's chair -- completely hidden from Slayerette view, of course. This wouldn't have even merited a problem -- except that every bit of Spike's body was obviously charged, since his body language was showing just how much he liked being so near to Buffy right in front of her friends, and how much he was just dying to pounce on her -- and the pouncing would most definitely not lead to eating.

Er... of the normal, vampire kind, anyway.

To be honest, though, Buffy's body language wasn't much better. In fact, if she was seriously trying to hide the fact that she was holding her hand on Spike's thigh while trying to play it off as a death grip, then she was doing a really crappy job. To anyone on the other side of the research table, though, it looked like she was ignoring him, while threatening punishment for anything her might say.

The problem there was that, at the same time, her chair was so close to Spike's that 1) it was a wonder she wasn't sitting in his lap, and 2) it was a good thing that Spike didn't need to breath -- because by this point, Buffy would have stolen all of his oxygen. Their eyes lingered on each other way too much to merely be construed as wariness between enemies -- and when they caught the other watching them, their gazes locked; they didn't turn away in embarrassment. Instead, small, secret, flirtatious smiles graced their lips.

And then there was the touching.

Nothing obvious, other than the blatant Buffy-hand-on-Spike-thigh thing -- that nobody else could see - but Buffy would grab at his arm if an idea occurred, or would shove him if he made one of his brash comments, except that her hands lingered a little too long for the shove to be considered justified. And Spike -- well, he'd already been busted once (by Oz) for having an interesting grasp with his rather friendly fingers on one of Buffy's ... er ... parts (which he had since refrained from doing, and which, luckily for him, no one else had noticed). However, possibly being caught didn't stop those fingers from stroking Buffy's bare shoulder, or from caressing the flaxen strands of her hair.

If they were playing footsie with each other under the table, Willow was, simply put, going to freak.

As it was, sitting so close to them, and watching them tease each other right in plain view, Willow was close to hyperventilating from her panic. Were they...? Was Buffy ... and Spike ...? Were they together? Was Buffy dating another vampire?!

Okay. Last straw. Willow had seen enough -- the urge to have an emergency meeting with Buffy RIGHT NOW was too strong to deny.

Waiting until she caught Buffy's eyes, then nodding pointedly between Spike and the door, Willow widened her eyes at the Slayer to get her message across.

Buffy then pulled off, without a doubt, the best teenage deer-caught-in-headlights look anyone had seen in ages. Her eyes grew wide at the realization of how friendly she was being with Spike in front of her peers, then looked at Willow and shook her head negatively. Willow, in turn, scowled, stood up, grabbed Buffy by the arm while giving Spike an apologetic smile (and she was STILL questioning that move!), before hauling the little blonde Slayer out into the hallway. And considering how strong Buffy physically was, and how strong Willow physically wasn't... that was saying something.

Buffy stumbled to a halt reluctantly in the hallway. "What? What, what, what?" she said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at Willow. The redhead in turn folded her arms and glared right back at the Slayer.

"What's going on?"

Buffy blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. What's going on?"

"Where?"

Willow's lips thinned and she pointed a finger toward the library, jabbing it twice. "In there!"

Buffy's scowl deepened -- by now she was staring at Willow like the young witch had lost her mind, though Buffy was in fact doing a rather good job at playing innocent. "You realize that you are making no real sense to me right now, right? You dragged me out here to Twenty-Question me? Will, I have to say -- SO not enjoying this right now!"

Willow closed her eyes and took a deep breath -- then almost blew Buffy away with the rather annoyed Resolve Face that the redhead threw at her. "Let me clarify it for you then -- what is going on with you and the semi-Spike cuddling in there? Are you..." she swallowed, "Buffy, are you... with him?"

Suddenly, Buffy's eyes wouldn't meet hers, and that gave Willow all the answer she needed. Her jaw dropped in utter horror. "Are you CRAZY? Oh my God, Buffy, why? He's evil! Why him? Why would you do this to us again?! And I realize I'm starting to sound like Xander, but what are you thinking?!"

Buffy's head shot up, her eyes narrowed. "Why would I do this to you? You, Willow?" Buffy shook her head disbelievingly. "Do you even know how much of a leap I'm taking by just letting myself near him?"

"But he's a vampire!"

"And your point there would be...?"

Willow's jaw dropped again. "He doesn't have a soul!"

Buffy stared compassionately at her friend for a moment, before sadness took over and she turned away, folding her arms and grasping her biceps. Staring down, she said softly, "Will, that's just it. All that means to me is that... there's nothing there for him to lose."

Anything Willow might have said after that got completely stuck in her throat. Because, honestly, what could she say after that? Yeah, the Angelus debacle had affected them all in some way -- hell, it still was -- but how could anyone forget or deny that it had been hardest of all on Buffy? After all, nobody like to say it, and least of all in front of the Slayer - except maybe Xander when the Asshole Fits overtook him - but Angel losing his soul had been Buffy's fault.

Feeling like a complete heel, Willow looked up at Buffy, apology on her lips and sympathy in her eyes. Buffy shook her head. "Wills, you have to understand... Angel with a soul loved me more than anything. Angelus, without Angel's soul, wants nothing more than to see me tortured and broken before he kills me. But Spike doesn't even have a soul... and he's been good to me regardless. So... what does that say about them?"

She turned and looked into the library door's round window, a small smile on her face. "I want you to come and take a look at this."

Willow inched over, peeking into the window over Buffy's shoulder. And she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled from her lips when she saw her boyfriend the werewolf, and Spike the vampire -- two naturally warring entities, mind -- getting along. They were deep in conversation about something with each other, which apparently terrified Xander, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Both the vampire and the werewolf froze when they sensed that they were being watched. Then, in tandem, their noses twitched as they sniffed questioningly at the air, before their heads turned simultaneously to look toward the girls. Willow watched in amazement as a slow, knowing smile curled Spike's lips. His eyes were resting firmly on Buffy, despite the fact that as soon as she knew he was going to look, she had moved away from the window -- and he gave her a clever wink. A ditzy, goofy grin overtook Buffy's face, and she giggled softly. And Willow suddenly saw a light in Buffy's eyes that the redhead though had dimmed forever when the Slayer had lost Angel. It was a light that Willow was quite familiar with; after all, she and Oz had given each other that look since the moment they'd finally met, only between her and Oz, it was a little... less intense.

Oh.

Oh...

Wow. Oh, wow. 

Buffy was in love with Spike.

Beside her, Buffy shook her head in amazement, her awe distinct. "He can sense me. He always knows just where I am ... never needs to look for me."

Willow's brows creased as she heard Buffy's words. Her best friend was already so in tune with her brand spankin' new vampire boyfriend that they were as attached at the hip to each other as ... as Willow was to Oz.

The redhead's gaze drifted between her boyfriend and Spike -- who were now tilting their heads comically in the same direction as they resumed their conversation, and suddenly, things clicked.

Buffy was dating another vampire. Well so what? Willow herself was dating a werewolf. What right did she have to ridicule Buffy on her choice? From everything she'd seen of Spike earlier (when he thought no one was looking, at least... and when her fright of him had finally regressed to mild curiosity), the blonde vampire was attentive, and affectionate, and playful, which Willow hadn't thought was possible, since the only one she'd ever had prolonged contact with before now was Angel, and Spike was... quite obviously completely head over heels for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

For God's sake. He was willing to throw in his lot with a bunch of teenage White Hats who had barely a chance of coming out of this apocalypse alive, and he was turning his back on the ones who were his actual family. For Buffy.

Spike was changing himself for her benefit. And to top that, Buffy was doing the same. She now believed that a soul was no guarantee -- it was the milk of human kindness, their humanity, their capacity for love, their passion -- that was what really mattered, and Spike apparently had all of that in spades.

So if they were fully willing to turn their backs on their original beliefs -- if they were willing to actually revolt against what their natural instincts as a Slayer and a Vampire dictated -- for each other... well, then, where was the bad?

Besides -- how hypocritical would it be of her to condemn Spike for being a vampire, a supernatural being, when Willow herself was in love with a supernatural being of her own? How could she deny Buffy her approval for being with Spike, when Willow could never give Oz up for anything in the world, no matter what anyone said about him and his wolfiness?

A reassured smile finally came to her face as her mind made an agreement with her heart, and her body relaxed. Her desire for Buffy to be happy won out over her worry of what others would think, and she tentatively raised her arm, setting a hand down against one of Buffy's shoulders. The blonde, startled, looked questioningly at her friend, then smiled back happily when Willow threw her arms around Buffy's neck in a big hug.

"Are we okay?" Buffy softly asked. What she was really asking was, "Can you accept us?"

Willow's answer to both was a resounding yes. As she moved back into the library, she paused, and gave Buffy a wink. "He really is pretty cute," was all she said.

Buffy followed her back in, laughing with delight.

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Things had been relatively quiet - not quite peaceful - for the last half-hour. Buffy was relieved that her talk with Willow had gone so well, since she had originally dreaded the meeting in the first place. Her hand blindly reached for Spike's under the table, and she leaned her head back against the back of her chair, closing her eyes --

The door banged open, and Buffy shot straight up, nearly giving herself whiplash. Giles entered the room, a grim look on his face. Buffy cringed to herself. Uh-oh. Not good.

She pulled away from Spike (much to Xander's relief, she noticed in annoyance), and went straight to her Watcher. "Giles? Did you find something?"

Giles tugged his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut. "One could say that."

Xander spoke up, "Well could you explain what one would say?" When Giles turned annoyed eyes to him, he squeaked out, "Please?" At the very least, it managed to garner a few nervous chuckles from the group.

Giles sighed, replacing his glasses. "He's going to destroy the world."

Cordelia gave him a confused look. "Who? The museum guy?"

Spike heaved an irritated breath. "Angelus, you idiot bint."

"Hey!" she yelled, moving as if to protest the word, before Xander grabbed her and jerked her back down to her seat again, shaking his head. "Don't irritate the evil bloodsucker, Cord," he muttered. His eyes followed Spike's movements hatefully, watching as the vampire's hand came down to rest on the back of Buffy's chair, fingers just slightly rubbing against her shoulder.

Thankfully, Willow brought their attention back to the matter at hand with one terrified little squeak. "Angelus is going to destroy the world? As in, really destroy it, not the, 'Oh, I'm evil, I'm gonna destroy the world but not really 'cause I just really wanna make you all scared of me' type of destroying the world?"

Giles stared at her blankly for a moment, before just deciding to answer in the positive. "In a manner of speaking. The obelisk I saw tonight at the museum... the runes I've been translating for it... they indicate that there is a demon within the stone, called Acathla. Unfortunately, I still haven't finished the translation, and I still haven't found any books that contain all of his infor --" a loud crack stopped Giles' continued explanation as his mouth closed and he searched for the source of the noise.

Spike was standing behind Buffy, holding a piece of broken wood that, apparently, he had gripped hard enough to snap right off of Buffy's chair. Buffy, meanwhile, looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. And though it had never happened before now, Giles could honestly say that he had seen William the Bloody looking... rather sheepish. The vampire quirked a little grin and shrugged, tossing the wood on to the table. "Sorry, mate," he offered.

Giles scowled. "You're paying to fix that."

"In your dreams, Watcher. Now, did I hear you right? Did you say Acathla?" Spike asked.

The word yes had barely even passed Giles' lips before Spike began swearing up a storm. "Spike!" Giles barked, irritation clear on his face. "Granted that the children don't understand what half of those words mean, but a little decorum, please!"

Spike snorted in disgust, leaning over the table. "Angelus and Dru are already on the alert. They know it's here in Sunnyhell, thanks to Dru's visions an' her bloody big mouth."

Giles straightened. "Do they know where it is located at the moment?"

Spike shook his head. "Don't think so. I think they just know the bugger's in town. Then again," he added bitterly, "'S not like they tell me much anymore anyway, is it?"

Buffy frowned. "So... wait. You guys are completely serious? This Alfredo guy is really bad news?"

Spike gave her an amused grin at the name change, but shook his head. "Your Watcher already said it, pet. If Big, Dark an' Broody gets a hold of this bastard, it's good-bye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester bloody Square."

Buffy stared at him in total confusion. "Um. Again? In English, this time, please?"

Giles snorted as Spike rolled his eyes. "Say good-bye to Starbucks, pet."

Buffy gasped. "No more Sunnydale? No more mall?!"

Spike's mirth suddenly disappeared. Buffy seemed to be treating this like a joke, when it had already been said several times over that Broody was planning to destroy the world. "Buffy, pet. It goes beyond the mall, beyond Sunnydale. If Angelus figures out how to get Acathla, and then how to wake him up -- Sunnydale is going to become a wasteland. Angelus will turn this whole world into a virtual hell dimension." Spike snorted then, in bitter amusement. "And he thinks that he and Dru are going to rule us all when it happens."

There was absolute silence in the room. The amusement that had been gathered in Buffy's eyes suddenly dimmed, and she looked almost sad. Willow finally broke the quiet by summing things up. "Oh my god," she whispered. "He's got to be stopped."

Without really meaning to, everyone turned their heads toward Buffy. She remained quiet for quite some time, perfectly aware that she was being stared at, but refusing to acknowledge it. She finally gave her answer when she stood up and said, "Then I'll just have to kill him faster."

She started to walk away, muttered, "excuse me," as she left, and Spike was alarmed to hear the beginning of what sounded like tears in her voice.

"Buffy," he murmured softly, and apparently Willow had noticed the note of the Slayer's departure as well, because they both made for the door at the exact same time -- Willow just got farther.

"Spike," he heard the Watcher call, and winced. He stopped in his tracks and turned back, jaw set defiantly.

Giles wasn't looking anywhere near him. "I'd like to discuss something in my office, please."

It wasn't a request. The Watcher's voice sounded like cold steel.

Spike glanced back at the door's once, his Slayer's harsh breathing and pitiful sobs, and Willow's soft comforting voice reaching his ears. He sighed. Red was taking care of his girl for now. He closed his eyes and followed Giles into the office, thinking that there had never been a better time for stake-proof vests to be invented than right now.

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Her body was shaking violently as it fell back against the wall. Her eyes were focused ahead unseeingly, and she remained like that for what seemed like hours before her legs buckled. She slid to the ground and landed with a thump, before burying her face in her hands as she started to cry.

Everything that Angel had meant to her was all for naught. She would have to kill the evil being that had stolen Angel away soon, canceling his entire existence in the world.

He had come to mean so much to her in so little time... and now, this was the end of it.

So she cried. Deep, wrenching, heartbreaking sobs that consumed her -- consumed her so fully that she didn't realize that she had been found until her best friend ran toward her, sat down, and gathered the Slayer into her pale arms. And as usual, without saying anything at all, the redhead seemed to understand exactly what was going on in Buffy's mind.

As her crying tapered off, Buffy remembered fiercely that behind dual doors sat a new future for her - a future who was entirely devoted to every aspect of her and her alone.

It was time she stopped living in the past -- what she could, should, would have done to stop Angel from losing his soul. Fate worked in mysterious ways, and fate seemed to want Buffy to be with Spike. Spike, who was her present and her future.

She needed to start living.

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Giles already had his glasses off and was cleaning them fiercely when Spike finally swaggered in to the office.

Despite the fact that the children seemed to think that he was oblivious to all but the mission, he was anything but. He saw more than they realized. Tonight... for instance. He had witnessed the death of his Slayer as a child, and her rebirth as an adult, because of a decision that he knew was painful for her. And again, he had witnessed the alarmed reaction of not only the Slayer's best friend, but her supposed enemy as well. An enemy who had seemed more occupied with Buffy herself than with her possible death, or a probable apocalypse.

One thing was for certain - he was talking to Spike. Now.

Giles set his glasses back on his face and folded his arms. "I don't believe I have to mention, once again, exactly what I think of you, Spike."

Spike slipped his thumbs into his front belt loops and rocked back on his heels, snorting scathingly. "Don't think so, Rupert."

Giles refused to look up. If he caught sight of the blonde, he might throw caution to the wind and throw his chair at the vampire, but then he would be in the unenviable position of trying to explain to the vampire slayer what had happened to her ally and possible vampire... boyfriend. He took a deep breath, and started quietly. "I've seen how you watch her. I've seen how you are around her. I saw you try to go after her earlier before I held you back; tell me, what do you hope to gain from this alliance between yourself and Buffy, Spike?"

The blonde frowned. "I thought we'd already gone over this, Watcher. I get to keep my sorry hide, and help the Slayer get revenge on the bastards that deserted us." Spike tilted his head. "An' you get your revenge, too."

Giles murmured, "Yes... but that's not all. Is it?"

He knew Spike was playing dumb. He wasn't sure if it was to protect Buffy, or to protect himself, but sure enough, he replied, "What are you talkin' about, Rupes?"

"I am talking about my Slayer. I see your interest in her, and it concerns me -- greatly -- that I see the lust you have for her rather than hatred. Need I remind you, Spike -- this girl is like my daughter." He suddenly yanked his glasses off again and advanced on the vampire. "And since I think of myself as the father she should have had, I swear to God, William, vampire or no, whether it is her wish or not, I will destroy you should you ever lay a harmful hand on her or any one of her friends!" He was inches from Spike now, his menacing blue eyes peering into the stormy blue of Spike's. "Understood?"

Spike stared at him for a moment before scoffing, shaking his head. "You are a piece of work, yeah? Wot, did you forget why I came to this godforsaken town in the first place? I was tryin' to cure Drusilla! Killin' the Slayer was more of a, 'It'd be nice, but I'll get to it when I can' deal, 'stead of huntin' her down."

The vampire began pacing. "I've had about -- what? Three, four major fights with her since I met her? An' I have barely laid a hand on her as is. I obviously haven't killed 'er, she obviously hasn't killed me. An' I honestly couldn't give a rat's ass about her friends, then, or now!"

His eyes narrowed. "Sorry, Watcher, but I believe you're takin' me for the wrong bloke, here. Angelus is the twat that plays with his food. Me? Never have. Prolly never will now." Spike looked down, slight embarrassment clouding his features. "'ve got too much respect for the chit to pull that."

Giles watched him as that statement ran through his head. Funnily enough, though the Watcher had believed that Spike had never had respect for any authority figure in the past, much less the Slayer now, the older (looking) man was inclined to believe the vampire. There was something in the blonde's eyes that spoke sincerity and truth.

And, anyway, hadn't Giles already come to terms with his conclusion that if he pushed Buffy away from Spike, they would only come together that much more fiercer, and stronger, disregarding anything the Watcher had to say?

He had made his decision ages ago.

Giles' head sank and his shoulders drooped. Giving a soft sigh, Giles said, "I hope I don't need to warn you what will happen to you if you hurt her -- emotionally or physically. Yes?"

Spike nodded slowly. "I got you."

Giles looked at the vampire, eyes narrowing. "Be good to her."

The blonde simply smiled, giving another, almost imperceptible nod before turning away to leave the office.

The minute his hand touch the doorknob, Buffy pushed the library doors open, followed closely by Willow.

He stared at her longingly - there was no way he had seen anything so beautifully tragic before. Even as her world came crashing down on her, she fairly glowed with the power and determination her predecessors offered her, to be a good person, to do the right thing - even if it hurt her.

He waited until she looked around for him, and caught his eye, then tilted his head, blue eyes concerned and questioning.

To Buffy, he seemed to be asking, "How can I help?" But her breakdown had already happened, and she'd already cried through the last vestiges of her feelings for Angel. So she smiled and shook her head at him. Drawing a deep breath, she nodded her head toward the table.

Spike took that to be his invitation. He slowly walked over, being careful not to sit too close to the Slayer, should her Watchers - the real one, and the idiot who though he was - balk at their proximity.

Buffy gave him another smile, this one more genuine, and her hand found its way into his below the cover of the table, squeezing gently.

He smiled back.

She was going to make it. She was going to fight.

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Despite the fact that he had patrolled with her before, Spike still felt uncomfortable whenever he saw that stake in her hands. He knew it was irrational, that she wouldn't stake him - now, anyways - but he also knew that, not too long ago, they hadn't really liked each other much and had really, really wanted to put the kibosh on the other's life.

This time, tonight, however, was a different matter entirely. He wasn't uncomfortable - he was downright worried. But he was worried for Buffy.

When they had left Slayer Central, despite Buffy's continuous reassurances that she was okay, she had gotten quieter as the night progressed. And though he knew the whole 'I'm a Valley blonde' act of hers was just that - an act to hide her real, astounding intelligence - he knew, he KNEW, that a quiet, contemplative Slayer was dangerous.

It also made for a very sloppy Slayer.

Sure enough, a half an hour into patrol, a fledgling had attempted to attack her. She had beaten it down in her usual aggressive style, dishing out puns and quips with the best of them, but when it came time to kill it, she missed the heart.

Twice.

That alone had freaked Spike out. Buffy never missed, save for the rare occasions when she had been fighting him. 

She had dusted the blighter on the third try, but the fact remained that her first two attempts had failed, ergo she was obviously distracted and not in the proper mind for slaying. But Spike allowed the thought that maybe it had been a fluke. He didn't say anything to her.

Save for the fact that she was walking through the cemetery with him like an automaton, she was otherwise functioning normally.

Until the next attack. And these boys weren't fledglings. They were stupid, to be sure, but not newly raised.

Spike roared in irritation when the oldest of the two attackers thought it was a good idea to jump him from behind. The blonde vampire stepped out of the way, of course, his senses having told him an attack was coming, but it was still annoying that they thought they could just get the drop on him like that. Bloody gits.

He kept watch over Buffy out of the corner of his eye while he beat the unliving hell out of his opponent (phrase used loosely here). Buffy was doing a fine job of fighting the one who had come after her, so he resumed his focus on having a good fight - he'd not had a decent one by himself in weeks.

He was like a cat with a mouse. The other vampire would strike a blow, and would get excited, thinking he had a shot of either winning, or escaping, but then Spike would tug him back into a vicious brawl, as if to say, "This is what you get for thinking you can beat me!"

He had fun with it, really. Spike was working out a hell of a lot of frustrations this way.

And then he heard Buffy's cry of displeasure from twenty feet away at the Fraelich mausoleum He knocked his opponent down once more, before pinning the git down at the neck with his boot. And when he looked, if his heart could have stopped, it would have.