Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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Chapter Seven

Darla was changing her plan.  As soon as the boy had entered the building, as soon as she felt his stare on her body, she knew that an opportunity had been too ripely offered to be refused. 

 He didn't even have to be pursued, his eyes settling on her and making quick work across the room to be once again in front of her.  His gaze was riveted on her legs and she grinned.  The short skirt got them every time.  Her lips formed a smile of satisfaction and the promising venture made her happy.  Things were looking up, and if she played her hand as lightly as possible, she could use this one to all sorts of gain.

 "Hey," Jesse greeted, trying for casual as he leaned against a pillar.  Bodies were sweating from dancing fun all around him, the music pounding a rhythm so hard and loud he could barely concentrate, and yet his heart thumping in fascinated terror played louder than it all.  His adopted cool slipped a fraction as amber flickered in her eyes and he stood spellbound waiting.  She didn't keep him long, her hand curling around his and dragging him behind her into the dark that surrounded the club.

 Her fingers were cold.  He remembered it from the night before, but now he knew the cause.  His heart seemed to jump a few beats before attempting to jam them back in between and making him almost faint with understanding.  And against it all, his dick twitched.  When had he ever cared about living?  It was a given when he woke that each day he would draw breath and just be.  This night had caused him to choose, and he wavered between desire and sense, his masculinity and need winning out.

 It was a compulsion, though.  This craving to be with her, to let her do to him whatever she was made for; turned for.  He felt like she was there for him and him alone—to make him into something special.  To teach him ways that had been denied to him by being sixteen and a loser.  By being friends with nerds and geeks.

 Darla turned to look at him, walking backwards while she still held his hand to guide.  She was grinning, her smile sly and knowing.  The tinkle of her voice was so girlish, so sexy and addictive. "I lost you last night.  Not letting you get away again." 

 In his head it was the death knell and he felt the zip of tragedy all the way to his toes.  His body was numb, his eyes scared but sure, and his hand began squeezing hers in acceptance.

 "No chance of that," he told her, his voice only a little shaky.  "I don't plan on going anywhere that you aren't."

 And then she kissed him, a brush of the lips so soft he thought he was dreaming and his frightening introduction to creatures of the night really had been in his hallucinations.

<> A flash of the yellow eyes and fangs was all it took for him to believe. </>

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He was drunk.  Fall-off-your-barstool pissed as a parrot, and giggling like one too.  Spike kept tapping the bar, growling at any barkeep that refused to refill his glass for free.  Waiting for something to kick him in the arse and shove him back into the dark cave of his former life before he woke up and realised the monumental cock up he'd caused by simply opening his mouth.  It seemed bullshit always flowed with a rapid current.  Always with the bloody foot insertion.  After a century he'd thought he'd grown out of the habit.  He was proven wrong far too often.

 A sharp sting at the base of his neck told him she'd arrived and his head hit the bar with a beer nut shattering accuracy.  He groaned, the alcohol fuzzing his brain nowhere near enough for him to ignore that he was caught.  He'd bloody kissed her, let his lips touch hers and know the sweetness of her innocence. He was completely buggered and he knew it.  But that didn't have to mean he liked it.

 He was almost tempted to go outside, lead her out by the nose, and off some poor sod right in bloody front of her.  If that didn't get the trouble fixed, nothing could.  Several things prevented that course of action, though.  One, he'd bleeding well die admitting it out loud, but...he liked kissing her.  She didn't have too much experience, and that naivety alone made him drown in her.  She treated him as special.  Girls don't go kissing blokes just for the hell of it.  Not as a rule. Nor do the blokes kiss them back when they don't care.

 He cared.  And wasn't that the rub.  She'd ripped the evilness right out of his body and left him flapping around all soulfulwithoutasoul, trashing his existence and all the comfort of a lifestyle he'd known for a hundred years—and he cared.  It was almost too much for him to handle—driving him to drink rather than the next sunrise.  But it wasn't all.

 Angelus.  His presence around the girl spoke of badness that Spike wasn't so comfortable with.  He knew how the guy operated, and though he still hadn't worked out exactly what the drama queen was doing getting so close to a potential stake to the heart, his being around was enough to make Spike falter.  He couldn't let Buffy succumb to the sleazy charm of his elder.  He couldn't let Angelus win—whatever the prize was he sought.  The pompous arse had taken everything from Spike at one time or another.  He'd zeroed in on what was precious and he seized it with a malicious grin.  Every.  Fucking.  Time.  Well, no more.  The Slayer would need Spike by her side, at her back and anywhere else he deemed necessary to protect her.  He just couldn't help the panic that need instilled.

 She was at his shoulder before he could swallow another shot.  That annoyed him.  Spike felt desperate to be wasted, having much faith in his ability to make sense of his world when he was three sheets to the wind.  Her hand on his back as she fell into the barstool beside him and he was stone cold sober.  Well, that tore it.  He'd have to give her a piece of his mind.  He'd have to assert his position and put her in her pl—

 He couldn't think when she was kissing him.  Silky soft lips brushed his in a tenderness of affection he'd never really experienced before.  A small hand seemed to tangle with his, Spike spinning in his chair to better face her and allowing him to tug her closer.  And then the hesitant point of her tongue slipped passed his lips and Spike felt the heat explode through his body like scorching magma.

 She never got so close as to touch his body.  The need to have that contact was akin to maddening, Spike's body buzzing in desperation.  Though he could scent her unease and he held himself back as much as an experienced soulless demon could.  This soul thing was becoming ridiculous, knowing beyond doubt that this mess would never have been created if he hadn't been inspired to spin webs of deceit.

 Pushing him to his limits, Spike almost groaned when she stepped back, though the happy smile on her face left him stunned.

 "Hey," she greeted, and Spike focused uneasily on the luscious green of her eyes and the healthy warmth of her skin. 

 What the fuck was he doing?  Kissing the Slayer?  Wanting more than her young body should be giving?  He was out of his bleeding mind, make no mistake.  Which completely explained why his hand lifted and brushed a stray hair off her face.

 "Hey yourself," he agreed huskily, wanting to badly get back into either the kissing or the drinking, He'd be buggered if he knew at this stage which he wanted more.

 Buffy looked at their hands still clasped together and felt giddiness wash over her.  The music was pumping, life thrummed through the building, and she was with a really gorgeous vamp.  One that she was falling hard for.  It was a night made for fun and her friends were eager to see him again.  Wanting to hear his side of the story in regards to Angel and going down to The Master's mystical prison.  But first, she needed time for her—for them—and did her best to peel him from his stool and lead him out to the dance floor. 

He looked confused once they stood in the centre of the throng of sweating dancing teens, almost as if he hadn't noticed her making him walk away from the bar.  But once she'd wrapped her arms around his neck, placed her head against his non-vibrating chest, he melted into her and let the music envelop them.  She was an addictive and persuasive bint and Spike was finding once his hands were on her, he couldn't let her go.

 He couldn't have buggered things up more if he'd tried.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He'd woken up in her bed, her naked body curled around strangled sheets with her back to him.  She was pristine but he was covered in bite marks and blood.  His stare focused on the ceiling, admiring the brave experiment of a darker canvas against the relief of paler walls.  It was nice.  Sort of calming.

 And then his lungs forced him to breathe.

 Jesse couldn't work out if he was disappointed, though that would be pretty selfish considering all that he'd gained throughout the night.  Or more accurately, what he'd lost.  Blood wasn't even the half of it—not if his own birthday suit and sticky cock was to tally up.  He was too exhausted to smile—too shattered to decide if he wanted to smile.  All he could tell right now was that he had left that loser club of geeky virgins and that he wasn't dead.

 Oh, and that vampires, and possibly other creatures that go bump in the night, were totally freakin' real.

 Darla moaned and rolled onto her back, giving him a luscious view of her breasts.  He felt crippled in hunger, realising too late that now he'd tasted her—that she'd taken blood from him—he needed much more to satisfy his urges.

 Her greeting wasn't all it could be.

 "Oh, it's you."  Her cold calculating eyes fell to the stir of his cock, licking her lips as she moved to straddle him.  He felt more afraid as she slipped his stiffness into her body than he had when she'd vamped and struck at his neck.  The bite had quenched some thirst he had to be drunk.  To renew that link that was created the first time she'd sipped from him.  Her eagerness to taste him wasn't as desperate as he wished, but when he was in the throes of ecstasy with his blood leaking away from his neck, he didn't much care, as long as she didn't stop.  As long as she fed his new addiction and allowed him sanity through provision.

 He'd never felt anything so moist and tight around his cock before.  Not even when he'd tried the age old apple pie routine.  Nothing could match this sensation and Jesse rejoiced in his courage.  Without it he may have been cast aside and never brought back here.  Never felt the joy of being screwed within an inch of his life while she snuck blood from naughtier places.

 All up, though, she was fearsome.  She growled at him for pumping too slow, her claws slashed at him for coming too fast.  And she bit him for just not knowing.

 She terrified him and made him shake.  But every little dig, every little cut told him his choice had been wise.  Told him he'd found life by risking becoming dead.

 And Darla just smiled.

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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It was wrong. No matter which way he twisted around the events that had dumped him on his ass, he couldn't make it look anything but horribly hideously wrong. But then, any occasion that had Spike dragging around its edges was enough to tip it toward bad right from the start.

He didn't have a clue what had happened. One minute he was paving his way into the Slayer's life—into Buffy's life—looking eagerly down the track of his redemption, when along came Spike with a cock and bull story that just happened to be his own existence. Well, as confused as he was, Angel had had enough. It wasn't fair—he was the one with the soul. He was the one who had allowed himself to fall so low through his certainty of damnation and guilt. Why did Spike get to walk in and claim everything Angel had been moving toward, all with a smile on his face and a fake soul in his flashy corpse?

Well, it stopped now. Stopped before the bleached pain-in-the-ass managed to snack on Buffy and bring an apocalypse down about their heads. As if there wasn't enough to be worried about with The Master trying to retrieve power and importance, now Spike had to come and complicate things even more. And again, Buffy. How had he managed to get to her, anyway?

He frowned, his brain tossing around the animosity and irritation he felt toward his grandchilde, focusing on how perplexed and frustrated he was that his plan had been interfered with. He had no choice but to get back on track, to reclaim his story from Spike and then spit in the ingrate's dust.

He was at a loss how to do it. Buffy was obviously already half enamoured with the hyperactive idiot. It wasn't like Angel was so blind he missed the dismissive glance she'd sent his way as she was half dragged out of the crypt. He'd built up the legend of this Slayer in his head so high that to see her gullible and trusting of a soulless vampire was a little too much for him to cope with. He didn't quite know how to protect her from the mess she'd gotten herself into. His only real option was to expose Spike for the lying, despicable fraud he was.

Angel wouldn't even consider the possibility that Spike could have a soul. He'd struggled with the pain and anguish being forced into a conscience entailed, and he'd spent a hundred years paying the price of a century and a half of evil depravity. He was unique and no way was Spike going to come along and steal his truth, his life, and his girl.

No way in hell.

 

It was the fifth day in a row that Jesse had turned up all but stoned. His skin was a waxen shade of sick, he shook, and his eyes were twitchy and unfocused. He'd become almost completely uncommunicative—even catatonic on occasions—and Willow, Xander and Buffy were just about freaked right out of their minds.

Xander tried to draw him out with jokes, failing miserably when the smiles Jesse rewarded them with were sly and sinister. Willow's attempts were with books, and his monosyllabic responses were enough to almost drive her round the bend. Buffy tried activity, hoping that if he came running with her, he'd either pick up the pace or collapse at her feet, thus making medical intervention necessary. He never showed up.

The big secret was still very much that: a big secret. Xander was jittery every time it looked like he needed to say something about the evil predators of the night, but chickened out before the words could escape his throat. The three teens shared worried looks, wondering why Jesse now turned to life altering drugs when he'd just survived an experience many didn't get to come back from. Buffy tried to stay out of much of it, sitting and doing little more than adding her silent worries about the mental state of her new friend to the pot. They were at a loss of what to do, his paleness and decreasing health frightening Willow into finally reporting it to Giles during one of their secret Jesseless meetings.

"He's pale and unresponsive, you say? Perhaps he is iron deficient after the attack and it has kept his energy reserves low. Also, it is possible that such a brush with death, no matter how confusing the actual brush might have been, would do something by way of frightening the poor boy into questioning his mortality."

Buffy considered. The first thing she had done when she noticed his pallor was check his neck. Other than the healing first bite, there was nothing there to indicate that he'd been the victim once more of an unexplainable attack. So, lack of iron could work. He had lost a lot of blood so it really was possible.

It was his lack of friendly banter and Xander-like sucky humour that really told her there was something wrong.

"Even if he's just tired, he wouldn't have a complete personality change. And he watches us. When he thinks we won't notice, he stares at each of us." Buffy stopped and shuddered, wrapping her arms around her suddenly cold self. "It's kinda like he's taking notes."

Giles dismissed their concerns with little interest, much preferring to go on to discuss any leads Buffy may have retrieved in regards the Master and his possible plans for escaping the Hellmouth.

There were none. "Sorry, Giles. Every vamp we come across is much more into the fighty and fangy than the talky. But next time I'll let one get extra special close just so I can try and get him to tell me something The Master would dust him for as soon as he got home." Her sarcasm was obviously lost on the Watcher as he mumbled about time and the lack of it remaining to sort it all out.

The frustration Giles felt was obvious as he twisted his glasses and shelved a book. "I can't abide all this waiting. Something disastrous is about to happen and we have absolutely no idea what it could be."

"I might be able to help you with that."

The man was a stranger to most, so his unexpected entrance made three of the library's occupants gasp. He stood in the back of the room, lurking in the shadows of the stacks as he had the undivided attention of four sets of eyes. They stared transfixed...

Until Buffy rolled hers eyes and huffily introduced him. "What are you doing here, Angel?" Her voice betrayed boredom, her expression too relaxed for a slayer around a vampire. Yet he took it as a good sign, believing she thought him safe and not the vicious monster Spike had treated him as inside the mausoleum. It was just more proof that the moron was going to go down, as soon as Angel managed to clear up the misunderstandings.

Still, it was a formidable audience. He cleared his throat and slowly made his way down the stairs, a book jammed under one arm. "I came to warn you." He brandished the ancient title with a flourish to Giles. "The Pergumum Codex. I thought it might be useful."

The researcher in Giles rejoiced at such a treasure, his hands smoothing the cover down respectfully. "Wherever did you get this? I thought it lost for good as it was last seen in the fifteenth century." The Watcher didn't even look up, allowing his hands to touch such essential and old information before his eyes could unravel the truth of the tales.

"Who cares where he got it, Giles? The issue right now is, why is there a vampire in our school trying to help me. I was kinda under the impression the handy dandy slayer's guide was all about the killing of the evil undead. Spike, I can understand the not dusting, what with the soul and all. But you, you're another story."

Giles grew white with alarm, taking an urgent step closer to Buffy as the truth of their interloper was revealed. He rather thought she could have dropped that little gem a bit sooner.

A squeak of impatience was intriguing to them all, however, as the one called Angel almost stomped his foot before sitting dejectedly in a chair at the research table.

"Look, you've got it all wrong. I have no idea how Spike made you fall for it, but you've got the wrong souled vampire. As in, I am, he's not."

Buffy laughed, the sound happy and carefree before seguing seamlessly into pissed off.

"You don't get to go around telling lies about my boyfriend." She ignored the gasps of surprise around her. Just because she hadn't told Spike she thought he was her boyfriend, didn't make it any less so. There had been kissage, and hand-holding. It put them on a step above friends and Buffy was more than happy to call it as she wanted it.

"I'm not lying—"

"Shut up. You say you have a soul, and sure, you've been kind of helpful in a really not kind of way. You may have given me the hints, but it's Spike that's been by my side with the actual action behind the information. He's the one that's been watching my back and helping me with the hands on fighting. So, how can you seriously sit there and tell me he hasn't got a soul?"

A flash of her conversation with Willow made Buffy stop—though to all it appeared she was finished anyway. While Angel sat spluttering, Buffy became lost in thought. How could she prove either way if one of them was lying? She really didn't think Spike was. He'd been around her for long enough now for her to have known if he had some sinister motivation for getting close to her. And if he did have some kind of plan—how did he intend to carry it out while he was kissing and dancing with her?

"Spike is nothing but a vicious murdering monster. He has no soul. He's been killing as recently as last week—" he stalled at Buffy's look of thunder, his own certainty dwindling a little without concrete proof. "—I'm willing to bet," he fudged, standing back up and straightening until his height had Buffy dwarfed.

She wasn't having any of his intimidation tactics. She kicked him hard in the knee and smirked at his look of agony before pushing his now slumped form back into his chair.

"I've seen Spike drink blood from a cup. If he was feeding I'd know. So good try, but no biscuit."

Giles, Willow and Xander looked at her askance. Buffy shrugged before explaining; "I heard it on a show once. It sounded much cooler when someone else said it though."

"Look, I know you don't want to hear it, but Spike is dangerous. If you don't start working that out soon you'll be dead." Angel cringed at the look of black fury that passed over and settled on Buffy's face, realising that standing back up might have been a bit presumptuous on his part and quickly slumping back into the chair.

"Okay," she said at last, said through gritted teeth and an urge for decapitation. "Just say what you're telling us is true and Spike doesn't have a soul. Why would he be doing this? Why would he be working with me to fight evil and The Master?"

The obvious answer was just on the tip of his tongue, but Angel felt the possibility of a pop to his nose could be very high if he dared suggest Spike was planning to kill her. And then the reality of it struck him. Spike didn't do plans—not well at any rate. Spike screwed them up on a fairly predictable basis. So if he'd entered this lie with the purpose to off the Slayer, he would have broken down now and attacked her. The alternative possibilities made Angel feel nauseous so he ignored them as best he could.

"I don't know." He couldn't do or say anything more to stop him looking as stupid as he already did. "I just know he is a soulless demon and if you aren't careful something bad will happen."

Buffy seemed satisfied with his answer, her rigid stance relaxing slightly as she turned her back on him and looked at her friends. Some kind of decision was reached and she turned back to their unwelcome visitor, studying him with the same degree of seriousness she often contemplated the demon goo on her designer shoes. "Look, I promise I won't take any risks. I'll stay on guard around him, but in my honest opinion, you're wrong. And from where I'm standing, actions speak louder than words, and Spike's actions so far shout so loud he's made me deaf. Think about it."

And she stared at him so hard that he felt uncomfortable and left

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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"It's been so cold, Spike. Princess was worried. Why have you been hiding in the sun?" Her voice tinkled inside the crypt he'd made home, sharp eyes assessing shrewdly the benefits of his seeming defection from both his family and his partner. Nothing of what she saw made sense and instead of instigating a petulant tantrum, Dru dissolved into insecure whimpers and fell seamlessly to the floor.

Looking up, insanity nudged a smile to her lips as the tears made her cheeks glisten in the muted moonlight. "You've seen the light, my love." And she giggled, losing the sense of herself as she ghosted the sign of faith against the cross of her torso. "It's just so funny. Daddy's laughing at you. My Spike lies, but Daddy has the real prize. Naughty Slayer doesn't believe. Her time will come."

He'd spent a good decade thinking about why he'd been saddled with Dru. What bloody great crime against the world and creation he'd carried out to have met her in that dark alley so long ago. Surely it couldn't be that he'd pissed off the Big Guy for being so pathetic a wanker as to strive to be a poet. Of course, he'd actually known he was pretty bad at it. Awful in fact. Didn't make it a crime against humanity—just one against good taste. Those that chose to mock and drown him in cruelty were far more deserving of punishment—and that's when he'd found he'd answered one question. Maybe becoming the undead was its own reward. He'd had to think so or become as mad as Dru.

When he'd first seen her, he hadn't recognised her darkness for what it was. Even now, Dru didn't look like the great evil he knew her to be. Didn't appear to be the one who whispered truths as she tore with force at a bloke's devotion and love. She'd suck a man dry, all while having him so oblivious to her true nature that when the shock of it came—when the great rising terror of a manipulating Angelus came and usurped his destiny—it left him seething and tired.

And ultimately, that's what he was now. He saw her histrionics on his crypt floor, listened to her confused ramblings with so little care that it left him shocked and reeling. But so very very tired.

His time with Dru was long gone. He realised that now. With Angelus in town, it was an opportunity that he'd refused to consider—not while he'd thought the death of the Slayer was his next goal to achieve. How royally that plan fucked him over should really have come as no surprise. He was getting used to being fucked over by ideas far too grand for execution. And Buffy was a very pretty shaped spanner to throw into his mess of a works. He was beginning to think that if he couldn't kill her, he had nothing left but to love her.

His eyes fell on Dru once more, panicking a little as her green eyes watered and settled upon him sadly.

"You promised me you'd kill her, Spike. Why can't you kill her?"

Her expectations infuriated him. For over a hundred years she'd been forcing him to live for her, keeping him at her beck and bloody call, and one look at a blonde beauty had him scattering his devotions. He felt like he'd grown more than a measure since crossing over into Hellmouth territory. Like he'd grown beyond Dru and the life he'd led since his turning. Like he needed more and meeting Buffy showed him a way of having it.

Looking at Dru hurt now. She would always need something he didn't have—something she'd found to limitless depths in the wanker that, no matter how many years went by, he could never thoroughly leave behind. Cruelty—something the trace of William within him couldn't bear yet the one thing Angelus had in abundance. Thrived upon. And here, in this godforsaken mouth of Hell, she could have it to her heart's content. He'd be relieved to never have them around him again.

That's what he'd found in this most unlikely place—what he'd found in the acceptance in Buffy's eyes, as much as he tried to reject and ignore it. A chance to start over. He just didn't know if he had the courage to take it. Saying yes to Buffy might put him on a new path—but it was a real wrench to let go of everything he'd had. As lacking as he may suddenly find that to be.

"You should know why, pet. Always could read me better than I could myself." He chanced a look and sure enough she was tearful, yet not choked with grief. Dru wasn't one to rally behind the laws of being Sire. She was too barmy to even know there were any. So letting Spike go was relatively easy—losing him from the throb of evil seemed to cut much deeper.

Her eyes glittered with anger, the tears evaporating before he'd barely had time to register their existence.

"Princess doesn't like when one of the party leaves before he's been excused."

And wasn't that the rub. He hadn't asked if he could leave her, had made the decision without her input after leaving her for a week at the mercy of Darla and The Great Ponce himself. Not that he guessed there'd been much mercy—not if the healing lashes on her neck and arms were a true indication. She didn't seem resentful of his actions, though. More irritated that he hadn't sought the ancient out alongside her. Well, too bloody bad. He'd brought her here on her demand. If she didn't like that she'd lost him for good, it was her own bleeding fault.

"Sorry, Dru. But just this once you forgot to serve the bloody tea. Now I think it's time you got back to mum, pet. She'll be wondering where you got off to."

She hissed at him. Him, who'd been by her side since he'd been enslaved to her mystery. "You've lost yourself, William. Telling lies to the Slayer, making her believe in you. What will Daddy think when he finds out you've tampered with the Gypsy vengeance and started to wear his face?"

There was no doubt the first part of her speech had him cringing—he just knew claiming to have a soul would bugger things up good and proper. But he was on an out-of-control spin now, needing to cling to the excuse that kept him by Buffy's side. The deprivation of her favour would hurt more than he'd ever thought possible in regards to a slayer—in regards to his food.

"Yeah, I lied. What of it?" His stubborn stance was blown all to hell as his door was kicked forcefully off its hinges and laid to rest halfway to the back wall.

A vision of slayer betrayal stood in the moonlit opening, tears coursing down her cheeks and deep breaths struggling to make it into her lungs. Spike registered the twist in his gut as pain, just as his whole world was thrown into chaos.

 

She really didn't want to think about what Angel had told them, but Buffy couldn't tear the doubt from her mind. Not when it was her life that could be affected. The lives of her friends. But no matter which way she turned it around, Spike had given her no reason to have doubts. No reason to trust this Angel guy over him. There was no test that she could administer to measure the existence of a soul. All she had to judge was the word of a slimy guy and the deeds of both.

So far, Spike was so far in front he was lapping the other.

Thinking of Spike made her smile. Since that night she'd found him at the Bronze, they'd spent every night together patrolling. Being near him made her senses almost explode on overload and her craving for him was increasing with every glance he sent her way. She was more than a little attracted to him—it would surprise her to find someone who wasn't—but if she were really truthful, she could admit that what she was feeling about him had an intensity that left her starry-eyed and breathless. She'd passed the crush stage, learned as much about him as she could while he was as tight-lipped about his past as he could be—not that it had bothered her at the time. She'd felt the gentleness of his embrace when he comforted her after nearly being taken down by a pack of vamps—the Master's lackeys eager to take her to him. She'd felt the cool sensation against her buzzing palm, her skin so sensitised she was almost bouncing along at his side. And she'd felt his kisses—so molten with natural magic that Buffy wasn't so with the remembering of her own name. So yes, she'd drifted through the stages of romantic interest until she'd stumbled awkwardly into love, and she was so blessed by it that she couldn't tear the smile from her lips.

She had no clue if he felt the same, though the looks of longing when they pulled away from each other made her heart beat harder for the hope that he did. He never talked about his feelings, didn't press her to share her own, but each time he brushed his fist against her arm in a move so tender it nearly made her drool, she knew. Knew herself if not him. Knew that if she lost Spike to the lies Angel insisted he was telling, it would surpass hurt. It wasn't something she wanted to think about—even if it did compromise the life of her friends and family. Even if it endangered her own.

Giles had argued that the stupid prophecy book was such a great gift to them that she should believe Angel's motives for wanting to help. Should accept he was ensouled and be willing to listen to his story. Only problem was, she already believed he had a soul. She'd looked up the history of Angelus—well, honestly, she'd only read a paragraph or two before her stomach objected to more. What the account had told her was that Angelus had not been the one giving her hints about badness around the Hellmouth. In his own mysterious way, he'd been trying to help. Not terribly efficiently, but she guessed it must be kind of hard to try and slip into a world of humans if you were feeling guilt for destroying so many of them.

That thought stopped Buffy cold, and a sudden chill of foreboding spread through her body right as she came to a stop at the door of Spike's crypt. It was propped open slightly, a sliver of air existing between the door and its frame. Enough to warn her of another presence as she was about to enter and make out with her hot new boyfriend.

It was a woman's voice—one that she'd never heard before. Belonging to someone she no doubt had never heard of before. And she knew Spike well, judging by the intimacy of her tone, the hurt as she accused him of something.

"Yeah, I lied. What of it?"

Spike's reluctant admission slammed into her with all the force of a building collapse and Buffy felt the horror sink down to her toes. What did he mean he lied? Had he been sneaking around with her behind someone else's back? Was Buffy suddenly cast in the role of 'other woman' when she was only sixteen? Oh God, what was he lying about and why was he doing it? Without knowing what lay behind the claim she was falling apart, the pain driving into her heart like a lethally sharpened stake

She'd put so much trust in him—hadn't even considered he might be lying about any part of himself. It never even occurred to her to wonder how such a specimen of salty goodness was available in the first place. She'd just gone with it, decided she wanted him and went about showing him that he wanted her back. Learning you may have made a monumental mistake was a little hard to take. Learning it in the presence of another woman? Intolerable.

Buffy felt sick at the rushing swell of anger and disappointment that swept away all commonsense as she planted her boot flat against the door and sent it crashing inward. Spike's surprise and dread filtered through her already quaking sense of supposed understanding, yet it was the malicious glee she caught in the woman's eyes before she attacked that Buffy deemed more important. Without thinking, by trusting her heart before her head, she'd barged into the lair of two vampires. Ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem, her usual confidence in her abilities allowing that most double-act vamps she came across would be dusty remains before they could share an ounce of their stupidity. This time, she could sense the power from both of them, Spike's almost heightened by his company, and Buffy at last realised her mistake.

Hands were around her throat and strangling her before Buffy could even call his name. Darkness beckoned as she tried to kick, tried to claw her way free. All the while the bitch was cackling like she thought Buffy's imminent death was funny and Spike stood shocked to the spot. Buffy saw it and didn't adjust her beliefs to the look of horror on his face, the fear that that reached out and met her own.

Not until Buffy was gasping did the pressure cease, only to leave her screaming as fangs sunk through tissue and sucked greedily at her blood. Buffy cried as her foolishness slammed into her and her mistakes flashed behind her eyes. Then it was over, blood leaking from her neck and weakness threatening to keep her collapsed on her knees. Partially in shock, she met furious midnight eyes feeding on terror and shrunk as he poured all his fear and anger into damaging punches that hit a too responsive Dru.

The woman Buffy didn't know—the one she hated and now feared with a very healthy does of reality—collapsed into a sobbing bundle of olden styled velvet. Everything about her was blood red—the out of fashion gothic styled dress, the murder in her eyes, Buffy's plasma that dripped from her fangs. And now she acted helpless against Spike's anger, remaining on the floor as she rubbed her face and whimpered about duty.

It was too much, Buffy cringing as Spike dragged the woman into the air, throwing her across his crypt and rushing back as she slid down the stone. The evil laughter was back, her eyes stripped of artifice as she maliciously entered the fight. Fists and fangs slashed through flesh and air, leaving Buffy scared and confused. She stood slowly, pushing her spirit and determination to support her legs, forcing one final look to confirm the preoccupation of both vampires as she painfully sidled out the door.

Spike had not stopped the movement of his kicks and fists until Dru lay bloodied and whimpering on the floor. He'd never felt such fear, such gut-clenching terror that he was going to lose the very thing he needed to keep him alive. Buffy. The image of his former's fangs hidden within the Slayer's throat had been enough to budge him from his catatonia, desperation to save Buffy—to really watch her back—spurring him to finally force Dru from her. Dru had taken him over completely during his past, but this encroaching on his territory—whether to kill or love a slayer was still the debate—it fuelled an intolerance he wasn't aware he had. No one could beat him, take away his purpose and so he had saved the girl. Didn't want her hurt anymore than he wanted to come to this hellhole in the first place.

Whatever had Dru worried about the situation now was not his problem. He'd beaten her into submission for the first time ever and amidst it all wondered if this was what he should have done if he'd really wanted her to be his all those long years past. Whatever he could have done, should have done, was long ago and he had his future now to protect.

It was time he surrender his stranglehold on his evil persona, allow himself to recognise there was so much more than killing and feeding. No matter how evil he was, how consumed he was by the demon within, there was always love. He'd never had it in Dru, but he knew he could with Buffy. Knew that he half did already.

He would not let her die, and especially not on the end of Dru's viciousness.

By the time the violence had stopped, Buffy had long disappeared into the night.
 

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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She'd not quite forced her stumbling steps to reach home before he caught up with her, seizing her in quivering arms and kissing apologies into her hair.   Buffy wasn't in any rush to pull away, she could wait to face the thing that had nearly killed her for a few more minutes while she filed away the smell and feel of him.  It was a pity he could tell she was crying—even if it was the great body shaking sobs that clued him in. 

 She clung to the leather of his coat as she delayed delving into a truth she didn't want to know.  Not really.  If she was the other woman, then she'd deal, because being held tight in his arms felt more right than being wrong. Felt like something she should fight for rather than give up.  But betrayal hurt much more than she'd expected.  She never thought it would be something she'd have to face this soon in her life.

 Within a minute of the embrace, Buffy realised she was finding it harder to breathe.  Having that automatic body function deprived for the second time so soon after the first, she was beginning to think she could develop a complex.

 "Spike!" she gasped, feeling the pain in her heart as it spread to her lungs.

 Buffy could feel the grit of sorrow on her face as she ducked her head in an attempt to hide.  But one of the fingers on a hand that she loved so much slipped along her jaw and lifted her chin, making her see that her eyes weren't the only ones that shimmered.

 "I'm sorry, Buffy."  And strangely he was.  He felt a true glimpse of what it must be like to have a soul and was ever grateful he didn't have one.  If this was the kind of pain he'd be stuck with every day for the rest of his existence, then he didn't want a bar of it.  Sure, he really preferred to not go through another scene like the last anytime soon, but daily torment he could do without.

 "I heard her, Spike."  A hard edge entered her voice—an edge that was pure bravado and self-defence.  "I heard what she said.  That you lied.  What about, Spike?  And who were you lying to?  Her, or me?"  Tears of frustrated expectation were again sliding down her cheeks, her nose throbbing and her throat all seized.   But this wasn't something Buffy could allow herself to avoid.  As much as she didn't really want to know—didn't want to know about HER—there was much experience that told her the dangers resulting from ignoring certainties.

 Spike did not look like a man keen on broaching the subject.  He looked over her shoulder, searching hard for something that could alter perception so he didn't have to go through this.  He'd saved Buffy from Dru's bloodlust—saved her from being hurt—and was on the verge of losing her for good.  What did he do then?  If he told her the truth, would she still want to know him?  Would she still need his lips to kiss her goodnight or would she wipe at them in disgust? 

 He could choose to tell her nothing.  Let another lie pass his lips and come back to bite him on the arse.  He didn't want to lose her, but if he did, what then?  If he told her the monumental lie that had presented him with the perfect cover to get close enough to kill her and her friends, told her that he'd fallen hard and changed his desire from one of death to life, would she still allow him close?

 He didn't think she could.  Not as the Slayer.  Maybe Buffy could have forgiven his deceit—if she really loved him.  But the Slayer would have to punish him, and the worst possible way of doing that would be to withdraw her affections and shut him out of her life.  He had no answer to what he would do then.  He hadn't completed any kind of transformation toward good, was still reeling from falling for the common enemy of his kind.  But he'd been testing himself, trying to hold back on the killing.  Well, bloody hell, not really, but he'd been thinking about it.  And had cut back.  Only one a night—and a quick death, not one as brutal as in his past life.  Not one who'd been his plaything for the night—no more chase and consume.  Now it was feeding for the sake of it, but becoming something he was getting closer to believing was wrong.  Would whatever process he'd begun come to a screeching halt as soon as the damning words fell from his lips and she discarded him completely?

 One look at the shadows developing beneath her eyes, her skin pale for the loss of blood, and he knew the choice was not in his hands.  Whatever happened after, it was time now to be honest—to be himself.  To be Spike.  If she couldn't be with him after, well, one step at a time would get him either comfy on the Hellmouth or completely out of the place.

 "Pet, can we go somewhere to talk?"  He still held her hand, even as she looked warily at the two of them entwined together before squeezing him in what he could only interpret as terrified clinging.

 "We can talk at my place," she told him quietly, taking two steps in the direction of her front porch before realising that he wasn't moving.  She didn't speak again as she stared at him, hoping the urgency wasn't quite showing.

 "Not sure I should, Buffy.  Think after this you might not appreciate me having unlimited access to your home." 

 He was serious, she could tell.  And it made her stomach feel all tight and flamey, making cold shivers beat and tickle against her skin.

 "Are you having an affair with me?"  Buffy couldn't hide the vulnerability she felt, her voice cracking with too much emotion.  God, this pain wouldn't stop, not unless he told her it was a mistake and that other woman wasn't his legitimate girlfriend.

Spike looked shocked at his question, then pensive.  "Never thought of it like that, but in a way, I guess I am."

 Buffy yanked her hand free and backed up toward her house, pain obvious in every wobble of her lip.  "How could you do that to me?  I thought you l—"  She slammed a lid on that line, refusing to bring herself closer to not recovering this blow.  If he didn't know, if he didn't suspect...

 "I do love you."

 Her face was on fire as she stared at him stunned, and then the sobs erupted from deep in her throat as she cursed the weakness of her knees when he was around.  He lifted her with grace, and carried her around to the back of the house and cradled her in his arms while he sat on the seat in the garden.  It was as private as he was going to get—not wanting to risk her hating that she took him into her house to learn the awful truth about a monster with her in his heart.

 "Buffy, I did lie to you—and you wouldn't believe how sorry I am about that—but not about Drusilla.  That was more a slip of the mind I guess.  I didn't not tell you on purpose, I just forgot about her as soon as I saw you."  Spike grinned nervously, his teeth biting his bottom lip while a brow quirked higher.  "She was a mite upset that I'd left her for you, I guess, but that's not what she was getting at, luv."

 Buffy beat down the panic that threatened to burn her throat with bile.  So much already and he hadn't even told her the information she'd requested.  What lie had he told? Why, it was looking like the one big fat lie about his hobag betterbe-ex wasn't even the start of it.  She was no closer to understanding the cause of her near death experience than she had been before Spike followed her and promised explanations.

 The grief in her expression wasn't alleviated even a little with what he'd shared so far and Spike sighed deeply, gathering strength from the fact that she hadn't removed herself from his lap or his touch yet.  His arms tightened around her and he looked off passed her shoulder, gaining distance and courage by not seeing the pain he was sure to inflict reflected in her eyes.

 "I'm a bad, rude man, Buffy.  I was dragged to this place kicking and screaming by my sire—Drusilla, the mad bird you unfortunately met back at the crypt.  She was hellbent on reuniting with the family, convinced she'd find Angelus and our unlives would go back to being hunky-dory.  Never bloody knew it wasn't, you know?  I didn't want to come, but I've been devoted to her for over a century and like the whipped fool I am, I gave in and here we are."  He could feel the pressure against the circle of his arms as Buffy tried to push away, could feel the increase in her temperature as she fought an internal battle not to stake him, was his guess.  Whatever it was, he was grateful that she hadn't yet broken free and he could finish his tale.  It wasn't going to paint pretty pictures for him, but at least he was telling it and not some other interfering wanker that didn't know the full truth.

 "It didn't seem so bad a move when I found out the Slayer was here guarding the Hellmouth."

 He very clearly noticed the second she stopped breathing, hoping that she would begin again as soon as he rushed in with the rest.  "Still, wasn' in any hurry to seek you out.  Had my own decisions to make, my own thoughts to sort out.  When I met you and your mates in the graveyard...it wasn' intentional, yeah?  I wasn't looking for a fight, not right then.  Was following, just out of interest.  When I helped, wasn't even planning on eating any of your friends.  Then Darla gave me an out, a way to be there and look good as well as give me an in to you."

 Ah, there it was, the air sucked back into her lungs and the vibrations of her body increased.  It broke something vulnerable inside that she was crying and he couldn't stop the need to crush her against his chest and compound the problem with apologies.

 "You were going to kill me?  So Angel was right?"  She didn't act like a chit who just heard her boyfriend had plotted her death.  She didn't move away as one would if they feared for their life.

 The desperation to never let go was filtering through him and seizing his fingers, causing bruises where he gripped her hard.  "I'm a monster, Buffy.  Killing slayers is what I do.  What I'm known for."

 She gasped in horror.  "You've killed other Slayers?"  And then her wet forest green eyes accused him with all the sadness he'd never been expected to react to.  While such weakness in a human always made Angelus laugh, to Spike it reminded him of the moment his mum had caught onto the truth of what he was telling her, what he wanted to share with her.

 "Two." The admission he was sure sealed his fate.  How could he come back to be anything worth looking at now that she knew what he was and all he'd done before meeting her.

 "Why haven't you done it yet?"  She searched him deeply, finding something he wasn't sure about but feeling relieved it kept him where she was for now.  "You're soulless; there was nothing in your way.  I totally trusted you and fell for you.  You could have killed me eighty times over.  Why haven't you?"  The repetition didn't quicken his answer and when it came, Buffy both melted and wished she could take it back and never have to hear it.

 "Because I found things in you and your friends I thought I could never have."  The tense hunch of his shoulders was enough to herald the world that he was uncomfortable with revealing such a weakness, and that he really didn't want to elaborate.  Buffy seemed to settle in his arms, though, and he felt the prickle of tears.

 She stared at him for what seemed like hours, the night growing around them and greeting all the routines of its arrival.  "You've never been liked before?"

 Spike startled, opened his mouth to deny it but knew.  No more lies or he could guarantee a brutal end to this heartfelt bare-all.  "No, not really." 

 And she kissed him.

 "I like you," she whispered bravely against his lips, trusting her heart and knowing that she could be wrong and end up dead tonight.  It was a risk.  Every night she wandered around it on her own, prepared with nothing but a pointy stub of wood while some evil demon could take her out whenever one came along that was stronger than her, bigger or just more prepared.  She could live each day in fear that a decision she made was wrong, that she was the sole reason people continued to die in this town, or she could just believe in herself and take whatever happiness passed her way.

 Spike made her happy, and though he had no soul, he's shown her a great deal more about himself and the way he could love by protecting her and being honest when he could have taken the easy way out.

 If admitting that he was with another girl while messing around with Buffy was taking the easy way.

 "So, this Dru?  She's out of the picture?"  Eager eyes watched his and Buffy felt a light inside lit to a powerful flame as he nodded his affirmation.

 "Completely," he voiced in wonder, his lips being teased by the presence of hers barely a breath away.  "She knows how I feel about you."

 She wasn't going to press, already having heard it once—probably only by accident.  She could wait longer, determined to give Spike all the time he needed to prove himself to her friends and Giles.  She had a feeling that a soul wasn't as big a deal as Angel made out.  If Spike could change his whole world around for her without one, then was she really supposed to be impressed by Angel's mediocre efforts with one?

 She could feel an eyeroll coming on and to prevent an immersion into Angel annoyance, she snuggled deeper into Spike's arms, feeling his affection in the unconscious efforts to breathe as well as his tight hug.

 "Spike?"  Buffy made a decision, ignoring the implications if she was wrong.  No way did she believe Spike was still planning to kill her.  Not even an evil vampire filled with hate could sustain this level of intimacy with just the desire to kill her to fuel him.

 No trace of her decision had passed through to him yet, his shoulders stiffening for the rejection Buffy suspected he felt sure was coming his way.  He was so gorgeous, all wounded and unhappy at the thought of everything between them being irretrievable.

 "Come into my home, Spike."  Buffy bit her lip as his awestruck gaze bathed her in happiness.

 "Buffy?" 

 He didn't move until she'd moved upright, linking their fingers and leading him to her back door.  She opened it, and slowly dragged Spike through it.  Progress to her room was slow, eyes locked as they trod each step carefully.  Buffy tugged him down fully clothed onto her bed and quickly positioned herself for healthy and happy vampire snuggles.

"Spike, I really like you."

 

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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There'd been no kiss in her little girl room. Spike laid back the length of her plush bed, holding her tight, and feeling like he'd never been this close to anyone in his entire life. And all without a kiss or a caress. It felt a lot like how he'd expect Heaven to feel, this giddy sense of comfort. This loving sense of fulfilment. And just like the git he was, he felt the urge to test its validity—to seek the end of something that made him feel so special and wanted if it wasn't truly right.

"Buffy?" he asked, his voice hesitant but hopeful. "You sure this is what you want, luv?"

Buffy giggled, Spike's eyes widening as he looked at her in amazement. Watched her as she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into his awestruck face. "Spike! I just found out my boyfriend—who I really really liked a lot before I found out he was a cheating, lying yet adorable soulless vampire—is a soulless vampire. Of course I'm sure this is what I want." Her smile revealed so much of her tender heart, her eyes betraying her sincerity of feeling for him, and all he could do was stare at her in wonder. The simple ecstasy of it crackled on the air around them.

But then he felt the doubt seep back into his body with the flashing images of her friends and watcher in his mind's eye. The shade of his eyes clouded as sadness consumed him. "Don't expect your mates will be half as forgiving or welcoming as you, pet."

He looked down at her comforter and missed the fear that cast a shadow over Buffy's face. Then determination swept it away as her mind was made up.

"They'll be fine." A heavy pause. "We just won't tell them." She avoided his eyes, knowing that she should be seeing a look of censure in them at her behaviour, but suspecting immense relief instead. Buffy could feel the undercurrent of hope and knew that she was making the right decision, even if it provoked derision when everyone eventually found out. But he needed a chance, and she wasn't ready for her friends to judge her fairytale and bring it to an early and less happy conclusion.

Angel's smug face when she told her friends the truth about Spike's lack of soul—and his original plan to take her down—made her feel petulant and fiercer in her need to protect the relationships Spike had formed with her friends.

"And...well...I have to admit it would be funny to see Angel explode from the inside. He's all 'my soul makes me so great. I am the one true soulful vampire; Spike is an imposter. Pick me, Buffy. Pick me!'"

Buffy's attempt to impersonate the brooding whiney voice of the Angel she'd been getting to know was hysterical and Spike couldn't help the small puff of a laugh that escaped his lips.

"Bloody brilliant. You should go into acting, pet."

She looked him up and down with a glint of mischief slipping through her grin. "I'd give you a run for your money, blondie."

"Oy! I'll have you know I was being perfectly...'m not gonna get away with that, am I?" he realised with a pout. She'd be onto every evil action now, leaving him totally buggered.

Buffy shook her head, even as amusement kept her smile in place. He was evil—and had been viciously so not so long ago. She couldn't expect him to take up the honesty train completely overnight. That didn't mean she didn't have standards—just that she'd cut him some slack as he moved up to meet them.

A shy searching look and Buffy let her head fall to his shoulder, her hand free to trace slow, light circles over his abdominals. Her fingers stroked over the bump of each muscular ridge, her body thrumming with electrified tingles as quiet breaths seemed forced through Spike's lips. Lids heavy with a desire that wasn't so new since meeting him, Buffy let her eyes close and follow the internal lustiness. She kept her hands innocent even as her mind explored the obscene.

"So, are we okay now? You're all free of insano vamps and duty, etcetera?" Buffy could feel his nod of affirmation against her cheek, his chest moving with the action. Her next words left him rigid, though, but Buffy was too absorbed in her imagination and where their new understanding of each other could lead to. "And you're soulless, though all with the good, right? No eating of the population with a pulse and helping me defend the Hellmouth against those vamps?"

His nod this time was slower, affected poorly by the sudden kick of what this choice would mean for him. It was one thing to start feeling a little peculiar in his belly when he drank his victims down, completely another to recognise it as guilt and give it up in the name of love.

It wasn't really an argument. He had Buffy in his arms right now after expecting her to shove him to the curb. He'd been a lucky bloke and it wouldn't do now to risk it all being stripped away with her discovering his secret little pastime. So yeah, he was going cold turkey off the happy meals.

He could rip someone's head off about it later.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He watched from the shadows as she led one of the Slayer's friends into the dark. The door of her place was left open, the weakened body slumped against the doorframe as he struggled with a satiated smile and a quickly abandoned attempt to reach out to her. Darla's lip curled in contempt, her demon's eyes glaring at the boy who just wouldn't take the hint. He was useful for some things, it was true, but he'd not yet learned the subtle art of disappearing when she'd had her fill.

"Sweetie." Her voice dripped with saccharine, more than a hint of her impatience for him to be gone in the forceful shove of him out her door. "You really should be getting home. You do have school tomorrow, right?" She tilted her head, knowing that it showed her off to a lovely advantage. He may not be the best toy she'd ever had, but he was sure fun for now. His connection to that frustrating little slayer added to his marketability no matter how annoying his tiresome flirting grew to be.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess." Jesse stared at her unblinkingly for a moment, his eyes dazed and unfocused as the blood made a sludgy trek through his veins.

He swayed drunkenly on his feet and swerved sharply once he lost the support of the building's solid structure. He fell, laughing hysterically as he struggled back to his feet. The sloppily dressed teen missed her flash of irritation as he stumbled again and finally rolled her eyes.

"Guess I took a bit too much this time. Better stay at home tonight and rest up. If you don't replenish your supplies then you are of absolutely no use to me. Understand?" She grabbed his chin and forced him to look her in her amber eyes, her loathing plain for anyone not half drained and drowning in lust to see.

Finally he blinked and instead of rearing back in horror at the monster less than an inch from his face, he grinned, a look of relief and desire making rapid imprints on his features.

"Don't think I can do that, baby." His voice was slurred, his body heavy on his legs as he smirked and looked her curves up and down. He was going for sexy; she thought he was pathetic.

"Look, as much as I don't care if your organs shut down from the loss of blood, I'm not ready yet for your superfreak friend to come bashing down my door. Be a good little stray and scat." She said it like 'boo', obviously thinking she still had enough menace to make him wet his pants, but instead he lunged forwards and latched onto her lips with an amorous kiss.

"Ewwwww, can't you take no for an answer?" A violent push sent Jesse careening against the wall of the next building, his head cracking on the bricks as he slumped down them and flopped on the ground unconscious. She felt such revulsion that her body shook, yet her gaze wandered almost immediately to find another hassle she didn't want to have to deal with.

"If you're planning to stalk me to death, at least be original about it."

Angel fell away from the shadows, his moves slow and calm as he casually walked up to his sire and one time lover.

"You planning on leaving the boy there?" He stared at her, his eyes soaking up the blonde beauty that had rejected him and his soul while he purposefully blocked out the very real existence of the Slayer's friend passed out through injury and loss of blood.

"Believe me, it couldn't have happened to a dumber geek." She turned her back and made to leave him, showing her disdain for his presence that made his jaw clench and his hands squeeze into tight fists.

"I need your help." The words were out before he could think them out thoroughly, and he cringed at his stupidity when she laughed uproariously. She was beautiful when she laughed—as evil and dangerous as she was at any time, the radiance of her smile always stunned him. It explained so much about him—his attraction to Buffy for one—and he was momentarily startled speechless.

"Why Angelus," she purred as she turned and began to stalk him, her fingers reaching out and walking up his arm to rest with a pat on his chest. "Whatever could I help you with?"

He couldn't miss the malicious glint that challenged him, couldn't suppress the growl that rumbled beneath his breast for the pleasure of her touch. It had been so long, too long since she'd cast him out, rendered him homeless and without family to love and provide for. He'd been a good provider—bringing home the bacon on a viciously regular basis. He felt a momentary pang of disgust before shirking it off and finding her again.

"I need you to help me find out what Spike's up to." His lips were tight as he watched every flicker of emotion on her face. She was an expressive woman, yet usually she settled on derision and flirty, two ends of the spectrum while she pursued her prey.

He'd expected her to refuse. Instead she looked confused which quickly changed to intrigued.

"Why, I thought our baby boy was all shiny like you. Has he been naughty?" Her smile was so infectious, so stunning that Angel often felt she'd inspire a man to breath, counteracting the undead part of his curse.

"Well, I don't know for sure," Angel admitted bashfully, but envy churned in his gut until he could barely stand there without committing violence. The little creep had stolen his life, had slipped in when he wasn't looking to take over his mission and pinch his girl. "I might not have the proof, but I know Spike. You know Spike. No way is he telling the truth. Can't you ask Drusilla?"

Darla waved her hand dismissively at that option. "That fruitloop hasn't said a thing that made sense in over a hundred years. I doubt I can decipher her babble now if my life depended on it. Which it doesn't." A slow disturbing grin spread over her face and consumed Angel in its glory. "But I have an idea." She stepped to the side and they both took in the crumpled form of Jesse. "Meet my own little pet spy. He's got an in with the Slayer. I shouldn't have to promise much for him to do exactly what I want. Lucky for you the boy is so desperate for me that he'll do anything I wish."

Angel cringed. He could feel the weight of his guilt settle heavily on his shoulders, but could feel the futility of his presence in this place even more. Buffy wouldn't need him if Spike were to stay by her side. She wouldn't need his soul, his muscle, or even his affection. It hurt even more that because of him, the biggest mistake of their family, Buffy didn't even want Angel. He'd never been last on the list before. Even soulful the Powers wanted him. Had expectations of him.

Still, his soul rejected he allow his sire to use this human. Angel felt the pain of it as it ate away at the thing in him that fought against evil every day. One more look at the brunette and he closed his eyes, stubborn and selfish need making up his mind. There were always casualties in war.

"Do whatever you need to. I'll be in touch."

And with the swish of his coat he was gone, not even watching as Darla turned her back on her fucktoy and headed back inside.

Jesse didn't even moan as Xander came out of hiding, the fear and shock making him shake violently as he heaved up his friend and dragged him to safety.

 

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

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Xander was fuming, and not a little scared. He'd managed to get Jesse all tucked up in a hospital bed before wandering home, his head full of vampire flambé. Seeing bleached hair enter the library behind Buffy was like waving a red flag. Xander was out of his seat and jabbing furiously into Spike's chest with his finger, emotion tying his voice up even as he spat out his hatred for the undead.

"Whoa!" Buffy gently shoved Xander away from her boyfriend, her eyes wide and disbelieving that her friends could possibly know Spike's truth. How could they? They hadn't believed Angel totally yesterday so it was quite a stretch that they suddenly did overnight. "What is going on here? I thought we were giving Spike the benefit of the doubt."

Xander stood, agitated and confused as he glared holes into a suddenly wary Spike. "This whole soul thing is a great steaming pile of horse crap." His arms crossed, he stared at the blonde couple and dared them to correct him.

"Oookay." Was it bad that Buffy felt fearful that they knew the truth and would judge him? "What exactly brought this on?" God she hoped it was something else. Something other than the truth she'd spent the night processing and forgiving. Buffy took Spike's hand, neither of them taking their eyes from the angry teen as Xander began to pace and throw out his arms in frustration.

"Creepy stalker guy, that's what brought this on. He says he's got a soul and he's all good? Well, big on the NO to that one, folks. Either he's lying or his soul isn't worth the...I can't think of a good way to finish that sentence, but he's full of it, and I'm not talking of a nice shiny soul." Xander practically threw himself back in his chair, his head falling forward hard to the wood of the table with a dull thump.

Spike squeezed Buffy's hand and then slowly took an opposite seat and sat down. He felt suddenly very insecure—and worried about these kids getting on any side of his grandsire. None of them would survive that meeting, except maybe Buffy, but the rest were too puny to go up against the wanker's games and come out of it alive.

"You saw Angelus? He didn't see you, obviously, or you wouldn't be here to tell the tale." Then the information that had spewed out in a colourful vitriolic message of hate hit him right between the eyes—in that place that was often a bit slow on the move. "Wait, what? What bloody soul? Bugger. I thought you were just taking the piss."

Buffy cringed under his intense stare. With all her wigging over his own soul status and his undead ex, she'd kind of forgotten to go into details about what late breaking news was discovered regarding Angel. Her crude joke about the vampire and his pompous claim of soul haveage was something that seemed to have skipped right past Spike. His look of confusion and panic tore at her heart and she was suddenly afraid that he was going to reveal everything in his shocked realisation that though his own soul was made up on the spot, Angel had supposedly possessed one for countless years.

Buffy caught his eyes and very slowly, sincerely told him what they all knew—if they'd been told the truth. Again, not with the easy tests for the soul existence. "Angel came by and told us he has a soul. He had some book thingy that made Giles's eyes bulge, but his main point was to tell us he was the real vampire with a soul." Please don't anyone ask Spike if he really has one. Don't let them find out now it was a trick. Buffy felt almost light-headed with holding her breath, then found herself trying to be inconspicuous about needing to drag in great gasping lungfuls of air as Spike's expressions of doubt caused her pain.

He felt like his very foundations had been taken to with a sledgehammer. Was the girl he was falling for making fun of him? Setting him up to fall not only in front of her friends, but against the tosser that had always ensured his failure in the past?

"There is no way Angelus has a soul. I would've known about it." Except niggling little images came to barrage his brain. Darla and Angelus had been rigidly supportive of each other, never allowing for either of them to be placed in the way of danger without a way to back out of it. Lessons had been learned was all they'd say, but Spike had always envied the way they had always watched each other's back. Even when it looked like they didn't.

He'd always thought it made no sense when she'd kicked him out. Made even less sense how quietly he'd gone. Any normal Angelus behaviour would have alerted him and Dru to the expulsion from their close knit group, and suddenly Spike felt the weight of his misunderstanding heavy in his gut. The bitch had never told him. She'd let them believe that Angelus had bolted because he was sick of them, that it was HER call to split them up. The years of disappointment and hurt that he'd been abandoned suddenly was lifted, and though it didn't give him any warm cuddlies for his grandsire, it removed some of the responsibility he'd felt at the loss. Altered his feeling of destiny that he'd finally gained Drusilla to care for. Events outside his control may have kept them together, but it wasn't some preordained destiny like he'd always romantically believed.

Still, knowledge didn't suddenly buy loyalty, not as much as this little group had earned just by trusting him and allowing him into their lives. He'd felt Angelus was off in their earlier encounter, and now that he was a little more advised of the facts, he understood Xander's concerns.

"What did you see?" he asked, his voice low with suppressed fury. Too many times had he stood by and been made a fool of by his own family. Too many times he'd been used, lied to, and callously tormented and denied simply because he was never enough. Well, he seemed to be enough for Buffy, and in a twist of irony that hadn't stopped his head yet from spinning, Spike was feeling bloody alright with that. Completely satisfied with the uncanny about turn of his life.

And her mates were more than enough for him. Thoughts of feasting on their blood were long gone; he saw them now as potential friends, and felt as well as saw the wisdom in waiting to reveal his lack of spiritual guidance. His soul was Buffy, and in time, he hoped they would hear that devotion and allow him to live with it.

Xander seemed startled at the anger in Spike's voice. The vampire had so far been especially careful to remain even tempered in front of Buffy's friends. While his plot had been to lure the Slayer in and be victorious in her death, he'd been gentle and unobtrusive so as to allay any fear they may have had that a vampire near was something to be rejected—whether with soul or not. It had worked like a charm, and now he was reaping the benefits of Harris seeing exactly how furious and concerned Spike was that Angelus had upset him with some scheme the boy had witnessed.

Their eyes met, warm chocolate brown melting the reserve as he found the sincerity that Spike didn't have to act to own. And Xander spoke, telling them all the scene he'd overheard and where Jesse was now.

"I went to the Bronze last night. I waited an hour or two and when no one showed—" he glared at Willow and Buffy, then shrugged and smiled sadly. "I started off for home. Thought I heard Jesse in one of the alleys, and after the other near death experience, I headed down to check he wasn't being someone's snack."

Buffy had taken a seat near Spike at the table across from her friend, watching with fear filled lungs that suddenly deprived her of air. Xander nodded in acknowledgement before dropping his head in his hands.

"I think we made a mistake, not telling him. I found him falling out of this blonde chick's place. The same one that took him before." He raised tortured eyes to the group, his guilt radiating off him so that they all felt it and sunk into the misery by his side.

"Darla," Spike offered, though he knew that they knew her name. "Bloody game of her to take him to her place. She's not one to take her food home with her. She doesn't like the clean-up."

Xander stared in shock, then the light of innocence that he'd clung to over the past week slowly faded until there was nothing left but the dark shine of a boy that had learned too much of horror and life to ever be carefree again.

"He told me it all on the way to hospital. He's been going to her for sex—" He screwed up his nose in disgust, even as the envy battled valiantly. "And letting her feed off of him. He knew she could kill him, but he doesn't seem to care." Xander seemed to space out before them all, his mind repeating the details Jesse had relayed rather vividly and fought extra hard to keep his cock flaccid even as the bile trekked up his throat.

Spike felt the apology teeter on his lips. "Some are seduced by the bite." He wanted the words to be more, but couldn't make it expand in meaning to these that had no real knowledge of what they were beginning to deal with. They were new to this game, to his breed, and even the Slayer, as young to the role of warrior as she was, didn't know the fools sex and blood could make of a man. Particularly a spotty one lured in with the promise of some mind-blowing sex and blood play.

But the Watcher was aware. He knew the lure of a vampire's bite, knew the danger many put themselves willingly in once they succumbed to their curiosity and danced with almost certain death. Spike could see the acknowledgement in the stuffy git's eyes and was surprised at the level of compassion he felt for these humans that chose to rub shoulders with his kind and come out winners. And righteous. It was enough to make Spike determined to fight, to show he was more than what his family had claimed him to be.

"I-I believe it's almost impossible to reject the desire one feels when they are bitten," offered Giles hesitantly, knowing that it was small explanation to Xander who was obviously hurting a great deal.

"And so not the point," Xander huffed, his hand suddenly slapping hard down on the table and making them all jump. Giles stepped forward, ready to intervene if this tale proved too much for the boy he was just getting to know.

"We can help Jesse. Chain him up somewhere till he gets his head back in the right place. It was this Angel guy that worries me. He came in here with the big talk, soulful warrior of the people yadda yadda, and he made a deal with this really dangerous babe. They plan to use Jesse as bait to find out what Spike's deal is. If not saving a human from the evil clutches of the monster that almost killed Jesse isn't part of his new job description, then it's beyond time the guy got terminated. All in favour, say aye?" And he gathered up the stick of wood he'd been concealing up his pant leg in his sock and brought it down with an emphatic crack against the table.

Buffy felt almost too afraid to turn to Spike—was desperate to not reveal in some subtle glance or worry that her boyfriend would fail the tests Darla and Angel set up for him. The truth of what this was finally hit her and Buffy felt sick at the responsibilities that were pushing brutally hard on her shoulders.

"He was so desperate to out Spike as an impostor that he was going to sacrifice a human?" Buffy's voice lacked the usual strength that made them all step back in respect to her position. This revelation had her rattled. If someone who claimed to have a soul was willing to let a boy possibly die in the course of proving his argument right, then he wasn't one to be trusted. She'd known both Angel and Spike for the same period of time, and not once had Spike threatened one of her friends. She'd never felt unsafe with him; never had to question if he would protect as well as inform her about his opportune warnings.

"Not only a human, pet. But one of your mates." It was so matter of fact that there was no argument and Buffy knew that the time spent considering the soul versus no soul debate was superficial and stupid. To compare them wasn't enough. She had to search deeper to know what to do, though losing Spike at this time was something she wouldn't contemplate. His lack of soul didn't concern her, and she was sure once he'd shown his new loyalties that it wouldn't bother her friends either.

"So, we have to take this Darla out as soon as possible." Grimly determined, the Slayer sat back and marvelled at how simple the solution was. To save her friends, to save her love life, she had to rid them of this one vampire. How hard could it be?

"Won't be so easy, pet. She's an elder and she's the Master's get, favoured childe and all that. Strong, cunning and vicious as hell. She taught Angelus everything she knows."

Giles stepped forward again, his eyes suspicious as he looked warily at Spike and kept himself on the opposite side of the table. "Yes, Buffy. Angel without a soul is not a vampire you want to tangle with normally. It would seem that the Aurelian clan are an imposing group. I should think you would be careful and tread lightly."

Spike glared. Something was up. Looked like the little Watcher had finally done some homework. "No need to pussyfoot around with the details, Rupes. Slayer knows my history. She met Drusilla last night. It's sorted. Yes, Darla isn't going to be a walk in the park, particularly if Angelus is in the background. But I've got Buffy's back. Nothing is going to happen to her as long as I'm around."

"And how long exactly would that be, Spike? What are your plans?" Giles shifted nervously and wondered at the spontaneous snort of amusement from Spike before the blond shuffled his feet, dug his hands into his duster pockets and leaned forward to stare intently at the one whose job it was to put Buffy in the line of fire every day until she perished.

"Plans always have a way of buggering me up, right and proper. I'm wingin' it."

And that was that.

Spike stared the Watcher down, his lips shaped in smugness that had the older human squirming.

"That's all well and good for you, but for Buffy to have any measure of success in this venture she will undoubtedly need to rely on a plan." Giles stood tall, nodding at his slayer before offering his thoughts on what he considered to be the most logical course of action, and Spike just leaned back to soak it in.

He was in, finally in the Slayer's circle and for all intents and purposes tolerated. The redhead kept darting him looks until he dared to return them, and her encouraging smile did everything to warm his heart. So many years he'd existed without true acceptance and he'd never realised he'd craved it quite to this extent. Never really knew how it would feel to be included in a plan that was to save lives rather than destroy them.

As the group discussed the pros and cons of attacking Darla before she could influence Jesse further, plotting sneaky ways of surprising Darla with a shapely stick to the heart, Spike sat back and admired them all. The stalwart Watcher who guided his slayer with a steady yet frustrated hand, her friends who stood by her despite not knowing her for long or being previously acquainted with the world of their nightmares. There was so much about them that was impressive and it was all that Spike could do to stay seated and not give in to the sudden urge to show affection. He couldn't do that. 'Big Bads' didn't hug their food, except now they were friends and not something he'd easily select off his menu. Still, it seemed somehow too awkward and not something he wanted to expose himself over. Tying himself up in emotional knots for Buffy was enough for now. So he let his heart swallow these knew emotions, felt them swirling around and influencing the smile on his face.

At last they'd decided and it was time for action—the part that Spike excelled at and looked forward to sharing with his...girlfriend. Grinning giddily, Spike realised how innocent that term was and how much he loved it. He loved everything about his current existence, this diversion into the light, and if that included a blonde petite slayer who smelled delicious and who had a heart the size of the continent, then he'd just have to suffer it.

"Right, let's bleeding well get on with it then."

Buffy gave last minute encouragement to those staying behind and took his hand in her warm fist.

He just couldn't get rid of that smile.

 

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