A/N: This is all Kantayra’s fault. At the end of her most excellent Double Spiked, she issued this throw away challenge: “OK, I know there are other B/S writers out there who have read this. And I think someone really has to write a S/B/B fic some day. After all, how fair is it that Buffy gets two Spikes, but Spike never gets two Buffys?” So here you go, Kantayra. Hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1 Coming Apart
“This is all valuable merchandise, you know,” Anya complained.
“Which won’t do you any good if you’re dead,” Xander replied patiently as he opened another box. “We’re just looking for weapons. Everything else we’ll leave. I promise.”
Buffy knelt to open a footlocker, then hesitated. “No mummy hands?"
Anya sighed. “No, the only one I had escaped when the shop was destroyed. How do you explain that to the insurance company?”
Xander and Buffy looked at each other and grinned, turning back to their work so she wouldn’t see. Buffy popped the latches on the trunk and lifted the lid. “Wow!”
“What did you find?”
“A whole lot of . . . junk.” She began poking gingerly through the mish-mash, looking for anything useful.
“Ahn, that stuff’s mine.”
“Well, you weren’t around when I moved out, were you? I didn’t want to forget anything important, and you were always just throwing stuff in there and forgetting about it. I figured I’d sort through it and give you back your junk.”
“After you kept everything marketable.”
“Hey, you can sell anything on Ebay . . .”
“It’s probably just as well, Xander,” Buffy interrupted. “We wouldn’t have noticed it at your place with all the other stuff. So we would have missed out on this.” Her hand closed around an Initiative taser rifle tangled among the junk. “Doesn’t this bring back old . . .”
There was a blinding flash as she went sailing through the air to crash into the wall behind the couch. Xander and Anya raced to her side as she lay stunned on the sofa.
“Buffy? You okay? Buffy!”
“She’s not bleeding, is she? Please don’t let her be bleeding!”
Xander looked at her.
“I just had it steamed . . .”
Before Xander could berate her, Buffy groaned and tried to get up on her elbows. “I think I’m okay. Woozy.”
He took her elbow to help her to her feet. “C’mon, we’ll take you home so you can sleep it off.”
“Rifle,” she protested.
Anya grabbed it gingerly. “I’ve got it,” she said, following them out of the apartment.
The setting sun’s light filtered through the blinds at an ever-decreasing angle, highlighting the features of the girl resting peacefully on the couch. It was fully dark before she finally awoke, disoriented and alone in an apartment that wasn’t hers.
She sat up stiffly, as much from sleeping on the couch as from the blast she had taken hours earlier. “Xander?” she called into the darkened apartment as she checked herself for injuries. “Anya?” Still no answer. Why had they left her here alone when she might have been hurt by that energy discharge? Unless someone else had been hurt worse. Her eyes widened. That must be it. One of her friends had been hurt in the blast and they had gone to the hospital, leaving her here, unconscious but unharmed. The thought of Anya bleeding profusely while Xander rushed her to the emergency room in a panic brought tears to her eyes. She had to get home. They would know what was happening there.
Chapter 2 Found
Spike had rarely been so happy to see sunset.
He’d only been in the house a few weeks, but living constantly in the presence of half a dozen teenage girls was becoming overwhelming. He hadn’t spent extended amounts of time in groups larger than a handful since he had been turned. But now he was living in the same small house with Buffy and her circle as well as the half dozen potential slayers, a number that threatened to grow by the week. A good dozen humans constantly surrounded him, each with their own load of emotional and physical baggage banging up against each other. Didn’t help that the little girls were curious, constantly sneaking into the basement for a look, a curious question, trying to figure out what was different about him when they had nothing to compare him to. It was tiring.
Being in the house brought other problems as well. An unexpected silver lining to his time in the hands of the First was that, for the first time since Africa, his head was clear. Enduring the pain the First had inflicted had forced him to narrow his focus to a pinprick, blocking out all the insanity the guilt that his new soul allowed him to feel had created. The agony had basically driven him sane.
But with the sanity came memory, and the house on Revello Drive was full of memories, each seeming to carry the seeds of loss or pain or sorrow. The kitchen where he and Joyce would talk for hours over coffee or hot chocolate. He didn’t think Buffy knew how often he visited her mother in the year after he was restrained by the Initiative. The living room couch where he and the Li’l Bit (Dawn. She wanted him to call her Dawn now.), where he and Dawn had spent hours and hours watching stupid movies when they didn’t want to think about Buffy being gone. The stairs Buffy had ascended and descended, bookends to her death, two of the most profound moments of his existence. The back porch where they had talked, so often when she was alone and hurting. The tree in the yard he had spread her under, making love to her in the moonlight.
The bathroom.
It was better for him to be out of the house. Away from all those memories and the intense feelings they aroused. It wasn’t always easy to do. The Scoobies tried to keep him on a short leash, and he didn’t fight them on it. Because she was usually the one holding it, and despite all the pain and sorrow, that was still exactly where he wanted to be.
He still loved her. More than before he had left, which he never would have considered possible. But she didn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t love him back. And that was fine with him. He had known going into the challenges in Africa that being with her was no longer an option. The soul had been a step toward atonement, of making up to her for all the transgressions he had made against her in the name of love, and not just that final one. That had only sealed his fate. After the soul, he hadn’t even had that much coherence, the only thought in his head an instinctive pull towards home. A home defined in his primitive mind not as the place where he’d been born and sired, but the place where he’d felt safest. Home sweet Sunnydale. Where all the women are tanned, all the men are well-off, and the screams in the night were answered by only a handful of people. So now he put himself entirely in her hands, to use or discard as she saw fit. He was hers to command, completely and utterly, for nothing he could do would ever be enough to atone for his sins. He doubted that even her death would free him, assuming he survived it. Which he wouldn’t, if he had anything to do about it. If she died, it would mean he had gone before her. The way it should have happened before.
That’s when the cries reached him. He turned, looking until he saw a slight figure struggling to break away from three men. They let her go with a laugh, giving her a moment’s head start before chasing after her. She ran for all she was worth, but she was no match for their speed. Spike raced toward her, suddenly realizing who the victim was. “Buffy!”
She saw him, turned towards the safety he offered. It took no time to reach her.
He turned with her as she caught the lapels of his jacket to swing behind him, pointing in the direction she had come. “H . . .h . . .help!”
His gaze swept back along her path to see the three vampires still chasing her. He armed himself without thought, taking two steps forward to meet the oncoming charge of the first, bracing himself to let the demon’s momentum drive the stake deep in his chest, carrying Spike through the dust to meet the next. Stupid mistake, he thought. These guys were fledglings, the first one only days old. What was she playing at? He blocked a punch and kicked back, catching number two in the gut and knocking him aside. He used the opportunity to glance back at her, saw her slumped in pain over one of the stones. Right. Fight first, questions later.
Another spin kick and he caught the fledgling’s incoming fist, keeping it up to leave his chest exposed as Spike backhanded the stake home. The dust cleared to reveal the third vamp, who’d been wise enough to slow down when he saw resistance. He turned and disappeared into the darkness.
He was about to follow when he heard Buffy’s soft call. He pocketed the stake as he went to her. “You all right? What happened?” He helped her gently into a sitting position.
“They cornered me by the front gate. I tried to break a shovel handle for a stake, but I couldn’t do it.” She took her hand away from her side, showing him the palm covered in blood. “They started fighting each other over who got to eat first. I ran.”
“Wait, you couldn’t break a shovel?”
She looked into his eyes, confused and a little scared. “My strength is gone. And my speed. You saw how quickly they were catching up to me.” She winced as she put pressure against her wound.
That galvanized him into action. “C’mon, we can talk later. Have to get you patched up first.” He helped her to her feet, and she relaxed into the supporting arm he put around her. “Harris’ place is closest.” He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. “We’ll fix you up and then see if we can figure out what happened.”
Chapter 3 Homefront
As soon as they got back to the house, Xander and Anya put Buffy straight to bed. They checked on her every half hour, but she slept motionless until well after dark.
She came downstairs just as Dawn was sneaking in the back door. “Buffy!”
Buffy nodded at her as she went to the fridge. Dawn shifted her feet nervously as Buffy began piling sandwich fixings on the counter. Finally she burst. “Okay, enough with the cold shoulder guilt already! I’m sorry I didn’t get the dishes done!”
Buffy looked up from her sandwich in puzzlement.
“You mean you didn’t notice?”
She looked over at the sink piled high with dirty dishes, then shrugged and went back to layering cold cuts and cheese.
“Okay . . .” Dawn was confused. “Don’t you even want to know where I’ve been?”
She slathered mayonnaise on another slice of bread, looking from Dawn to the door and back. She shrugged again, picking up the now enormous sandwich. “Out,” she said finally, taking a bite.
“Geez, hungry much?”
“Starved,” she said with her mouth full, spitting crumbs everywhere. Dawn watched in awe as she proceeded to decimate the sandwich.
“Holy Dagwoods, Buff!” Xander stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. “Hungry?”
She swallowed the mouthful she had angrily. “I wouldn’t be eating if I wasn’t hungry. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Whoa now, ease up. I was just asking,” he said soothingly. “You just haven’t been appetite girl in a long while. We don’t usually see you so . . . enthusiastic about food.”
She got the milk out of the fridge and slammed it on the counter. “Yes, I’m hungry, okay? Can I eat in peace now?” She took a long swig straight from the jug and began assembling another sandwich.
Dawn and Xander looked at each other in concern “Sure, Buffy, go ahead.”
“Hey guys, I’m home!” Willow called as she came in the front door. When there was no answer, she went into the dining room, dropping her school bag on the table as she passed through to the kitchen. “Guys?”
She found the three of them, Xander, Anya and Dawn, in the back hallway peering through the curtains into the back yard. “What’s going on?”
“Training.” Xander didn’t turn from the window.
“At this time of night?” She was surprised.
“Yeah, and it’s not your usual training, either.” Dawn stepped back to let her look.
Willow peered out the window and was appalled at what she saw. Buffy had the girls ringed around her, all heavily armed and, except for Kennedy, unsure of themselves. She was obviously egging them on to attack her, but whenever one approached she laid into them with full Slayer skill, knocking the girls around painfully.
Willow flew out the door just as Buffy let loose a wicked roundhouse to Rona’s head. “Buffy!” she screamed, leaping off the porch to stop her.
Buffy was bemused. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You almost took Rona’s head off!”
“We’re just training.”
“Just . . .” Willow was dumbfounded. Finally, she said “I think we’re done training for tonight. Girls, why don’t you go get ready for bed.”
The Potentials all collapsed gratefully, leaning on each other as they limped into the house.
Willow turned to Buffy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She stretched, catlike. “I think I’ll go grab a shower and go patrol.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Buffy didn’t even glance at the others as she crossed the deck into the house. Willow stopped next to them, watching her friend disappear up the stairs. “Is she okay?”
They looked at each other. “She’s been weird since the accident,” Anya finally admitted.
“What accident?”
Chapter 4 Regular
The shirt was ruined. Roughly torn and blood soaked, there was no way to salvage it. She had removed it and tossed it aside, revealing her bra-clad torso to his hungry gaze. She sat now at the table, left arm across her chest to expose the ragged wound to his care. She didn’t seem embarrassed or uncomfortable being half dressed in his presence.
He cleaned the wound carefully, steeling himself against her winces and gasps. “If you really have lost your slayer abilities, this is gonna take a long time to heal. You sure you won’t let the docs stitch you up?” He began taping the gash closed, grateful the Scoobies seemed to keep combat medic kits on hand. Or maybe it was just Harris. Hazards of the job.
“No, this is fine. It’s not like I’ll be on the front lines for a while.”
“Do you think the First did this?”
She half-shrugged. “Dunno. It certainly gains the most from it, and I can’t imagine who else would do something like this.” She sighed. “At least I know it’s not the Council this time.”
“This time?”
“Happened when I was in high school. Another stupid Council test. Almost got Mom killed . . .”
One more reason to hate the Council. If they still existed. He finished taping gauze over his handiwork, then began cleaning up the mess. “So, what now?” he called from the bathroom.
“Now,” her voice came from the bedroom, “I guess we go back home. Try to call Giles, make with the research. The usual.”
He went back into the dining room with the wastebasket, tossing out crimson wads of gauze and paper towel. “Least there’s extra hands for the book time. Good for them to learn early it’s not all the action hero routine.”
“Yeah, 90% investigation, 10% perspiration. The glamorous life of a Slayer.”
When she stepped back into the room, he realized she hadn’t been in the master bedroom, but instead had gone into the “closet” that had been Spike’s living quarters when he had stayed here. She was now wearing one of his shirts, blood red silk buttoned up to the third button, tails knotted loosely at her navel. She had never worn his clothing when they were together. To see her do it now so casually was amazingly erotic, like she had slipped into his skin. Like she didn’t mind him being a part of her.
“Maybe this is a good thing,” she mused, helping with the cleanup she didn’t notice her appearance had interrupted. “Maybe we’ll get home and find out one of the girls has been activated, and I can be done. Cheerlead the new girl through one last apocalypse and then run off to Cancun or Bora Bora, live out my days selling painted seashells to tourists on bright, safe, sunshiny beaches.”
He grinned. “You’d look right fetching in one of them little grass skirts.” She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him, making him chuckle. “Do you really think you’d be happy like that? Perfect sunshine might get boring.”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Used to be I’d say no. I was the Slayer; I’d accepted my destiny. But after everything I’ve been through the last couple of years, it might be nice to be boring Buffy for a change.”
“You could never be boring.”
“You know what I mean.” She rested a hand on his chest. “It’d be nice to have a regular job and regular responsibilities. Maybe even a regular relationship where I didn’t have to worry about anything besides making sure my legs are shaved.”
He smiled, drawing one finger along her arm gently, watching it move from shoulder to elbow. “Sounds divine.”
“I’d like to be able to be with who I wanted to for a change.” Her voice sunk to a sultry tone. He looked up from his stroking finger in surprise to meet her hooded eyes as she leaned in to kiss him.
It was a gentle kiss, open and generous, and he gave himself up to it, sliding his lips warmly, tenderly along hers. Her fingers almost hesitantly wove themselves in his hair. He slid his hands to span the small of her back, pulling her near in a tender embrace. He surrendered to it, this gentle coming together of body and heart that he had longed for so often last year. But finally he pulled back. “Luv, are you sure you want to be doing this?”
She smiled contentedly and wrapped her arms tight around him. “Definitely. First thing that’s felt good in ages.”
He kissed the top of her head, holding her close. “I don’t deserve this . . .”
“We don’t always get what we deserve.”
“And I hate to question such a good thing,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “but now might not be the best time for this.”
She drew back, hurt. “Don’t you want me?”
“Bloody hell, Summers, you’re the fuckin’ sun and sky to me. But what’s gonna happen when your little friends get you your powers back? Don’t want to be responsible for you hating yourself because we rushed into something.” He kissed her again, still soft but more passionate. “All I’m saying,” he rested his forehead against hers, “is that we should get all the information and then . . . do a whole lot of talking before we come back to this.”
She snuggled back into his welcoming arms. “Wow. That was remarkably thoughtful of you.”
“Totally self-serving. If I get to be with you, I’m gonna do it right this time.”
“So I guess this means we go home.”
“Yeah. In just a minute.” And he ravaged her mouth, exploring every corner as he slid his hands over the silk on her back. When he pulled away, she gasped for air, swollen lips smiling, eyes a bit vague. “Just in case.”
She laughed. He couldn’t have said how long it had been since he’d heard her laugh happily. It was better than the kisses.
Chapter 5 Face Time
The house was relatively quiet when they arrived. Spike
could hear the girls watching television in Dawn’s room, heard more adult voices
coming from the kitchen. Buffy kissed him lightly. “I’m going to go up and
change. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll start rallying the troops.” He watched her lightly ascend the stairs, then
headed for the kitchen.
Xander, Willow and Anya all looked up when he came in. “Slayer’s got a problem.”
“Yeah, we know,” Xander started to say.
That’s when the screaming started.
They were all in motion almost before they’d identified that the screams were
coming from upstairs. Xander was only a step behind Spike as they raced up the
stairs to push through the mass of teenage bodies packed tight and screeching in
the hall outside Buffy’s room.
Spike threw himself at the slight, blonde military-clad figure perched atop
Buffy with her hands wrapped around her throat. He threw an arm around the
attacker’s neck and grabbed her arm, levering her away from the Slayer, who
Xander was helping to her feet. Spike slammed his target against the wall,
pinning her in place.
Everyone gasped.
The woman he held trapped was Buffy. As was the one Xander was helping up to sit
on the edge of the bed.
“Bloody hell!”
“It’s the First!” the Buffy he had brought home insisted, pointing shakily at
her doppelganger. “It’s taken my shape to get into the house.”
“It can’t be the First, Buffy,” Willow said soothingly. “Look, Spike’s touching
her. The First is noncorporeal, remember?” She went to the attacker. “Who are
you?”
“Geez, Will, who do you think I am? We’ve only known each other since high
school.” She shoved Spike away but maintained her position.
Willow turned to the bed. “And you?”
“I’m Buffy,” she said insistently.
“ ‘S what I was tryin’ to tell you downstairs,” Spike intervened. “I found her
in St. Marks cemetery couple hours ago. She’s got no Slayer abilities. Was being
chased down by a couple of fledglings. She’d been hurt pretty bad.”
Dawn sat down next to her. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Spike patched me up. I’m just really confused.”
Xander piped up. “Well, we’ve been with that one all day. And except for the
accident, nothing unusual happened. She’s been . . . well, Buffy. A little more
Sgt. Rock-ish, but still Buffy.”
“Accident?” Spike growled. “What accident?”
“Taser rifle discharge.” It was Anya’s turn to contribute. “Knocked her clear
across the room. Pretty impressive.”
He turned back to the Buffy he had restrained. “You alright?” He laid a hand on
her arm.
“I’m fine!” She tried to push him off, but he grabbed her hand, trying to hold
it in place. A tug of war ensued as the two struggled for dominance. After just
a moment, he let go. “Whoever she is, she’s got full Slayer strength.”
“Just let me prove it,” she moved toward him threateningly.
Willow stepped between them, looking her in the eye. “That won’t be necessary.”
Strong Buffy backed down.
Dawn looked back and forth between the two copies of her sister. “It’s like
one’s Slayer Buffy and one’s just Buffy Buffy.”
“But how do we know which one’s the real one?” Xander asked. “If either one of
them is?”
“We start with the basics,” Willow took command. “Blood tests and magic. Do
either of you have any complaints?”
Both Buffys shook their heads.
“Well, that’s a good sign at least. An imposter would resist being examined too
closely. C’mon downstairs, we’ll get started."
The tests weren’t helping. Blood samples were identical, and Willow’s spell
showed that they were both Buffy, albeit they had both been touched by magic
recently. So the research had begun.
Buffy Buffy joined in the search as well, searching through books for
information on magical duplication. Slayer Buffy lounged in one of the chairs,
feet up on the table and knees splayed, rocking on the back legs of the chair
with nervous energy. Dawn watched her from the head of the table where she was
helping Willow.
Dawn spoke softly to Willow. “Slayer Buffy seems an awful lot like Faith.”
Willow nodded. “It’s kind of scary.”
Xander’s head kept bobbing from one Buffy to the other. “You know, this reminds
me so much of when I got split. I really get now why you guys kept staring.”
“There were two of you?” Spike shook his head. “Glad I missed that.”
But Willow looked horrified. “But it couldn’t be, could it? I mean, you guys
were alone in the apartment, right? No one came in while you were there?”
“No, it was just us.”
“Oh!” Anya squealed as she remembered something. Then more ominously, “Oh . . .”
She looked furtively from Xander to Willow and back again. “Uh-oh.”
Dawn slumped back in her chair. “That is so not good.”
“Anya,” Xander tried to keep the condescension out of his voice, “what did you
do?”
“Well it was just lying there in the middle of the floor, wasn’t it?” she
protested. “Thoth was dead, and his big old power rod was there, and I thought
‘Maybe we can use that someday!’ and if not ‘Maybe I can find a collector who
would pay big bucks for it!’ So I put it in the closet. And when we moved in, I
put it in the bottomless footlocker. And then we got so busy what with the
unpacking and the shop and the trying not to get killed by Glory, I just, well,
I forgot about it, that’s all.”
Willow sighed. “It’s okay, Anya, really. At least we know what it is. And, bonus
for us, it’s an easy fix. C’mon guys, let’s move the table away. Dawn, do you
still have that white poster paint from your history project?”
Five minutes later, the Summers’ dining room had been transformed into magical
space, complete with pentagram painted on the hardwood floor. The potentials
watched curiously from the living room door as Willow led the two Buffys to
stand in the middle of the pentagram. The rest scattered themselves around the
edge of the circle.
“Now remember,” Willow said comfortingly, directing her words more to Buffy than
the Slayer, “this’ll be really simple. Your natural state is to be together, so
we’re just going to help it along. Ready?”
“Just do it,” the Slayer grumbled.
Willow smiled and closed her eyes, spread her arms as she drew up energy from
the earth, and when she felt filled with it, spoke the simple charm and released
it, directed at the two parts of her friend. “Let the spell be ended!”
She opened her eyes with a smile.
Two pairs of glittering green eyes looked back at her
“That’s it?” Spike’s tone was incredulous.
“It worked on Xander!” Willow defended.
“Well, that’s just brilliant, innit? Bloody perfect time for another Scooby
screw-up, with Big Bad breathing down our necks!”
“What do you know about it, Fang-boy?” Xander challenged. “We’ll be just fine.
We’ve still got the Slayer, we’re not any worse off than before.”
“Not worse off? Not worse off? I knew you people didn’t understand her, what she
was, but I didn’t realize you were so bloody stupid!” He thrust out his arm to
point at Slayer Buffy. “That isn’t the Slayer. I can kill that. I did kill that.
Twice. Hell, even Dru killed that once and she’s off her nut! The reason I
couldn’t kill that,” he pointed again “is because of that.” And his arm shifted
to Buffy Buffy.
Slayer growled, advancing on him. “I could kill you where you stand!”
He looked at her sadly. “No, pet, you really can’t.” His foot lashed out
suddenly, and before anyone could react he was on her, knee across her gut, hand
around her throat, her right arm twisted painfully and pinned to the floor.
“See,” he continued coldly, “you haven’t got the intuition to take me. Or the
imagination. Or the drive. You’re all instinct, and instinct fails against the
unexpected.” He rose to his feet, dragging her along by her elbow. “And that,
children, is why you are well and truly buggered.” He pushed through the
potentials to grab his denim coat from the stair rail and yanked open the door.
“Where are you going?” Xander protested.
“Patrolling, you git. The vamps have been hiding while that turok-han was
prowling around. They’re hungry and they’re gonna be lookin’ to change that. If
you people manage to put her back together, I don’t want her brassed off at me
for letting things go to hell. Further.”
“I’m going with you,” Slayer insisted.
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m going with you or I’m going on my own.”
Willow intervened. “Spike, would you take her? I know it’s . . . awkward, but
she shouldn’t be out on her own.”
Spike’s eyes screamed his frustration, but he finally gave in. “Fine, get your
stakes.”
With a feral grin, she was off.
Willow drew him aside. “I know you will anyway, but you need to keep her safe.
If one dies, they both do.”
“This just gets better and better.”
She shrugged. “We gave up half-assed screw-ups a while ago.”
“Might want to consider taking it up again.”
“What, and miss all this fun?”
He was about to retort when the Slayer reappeared silently at his side. He
settled for glaring at the witch and opening the door for the Slayer. “Later.”
“Counting on it.” As the door closed behind them, Willow turned to those
remaining. “Okay people, research mode! Anya, I’m gonna need that rod . . .”
“All over it,” Xander jumped in. “And I’ll get cheesy comestibles while I’m out.
Anything else?
“I’ll come, too,” Anya volunteered. “I salvaged a couple boxes of books from the
shop that Willow didn’t brainsuck. You know, when she was evil. Which she’s not
now.”
“C’mon, tact girl.” Xander took her arm. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“Great. The rest of you help hit the books. Another long night at Scooby
Central. . .”
Chapter 6 Patrol
Three vamps at the Bronze. Two more near the Espresso Pump,
thanks to their new extended hours. Four more on the college campus. Now it was
almost one in the morning and they were headed back to Revello Drive, sweeping
the four cemeteries between the school and home on the way.
They didn’t talk much, which was just as well from his perspective. If she
didn’t speak, he could almost pretend things were normal. If he didn’t look in
her eyes. The vicious satisfaction he saw there was so different from the hint
of compassion Buffy wore after a kill. But they fought well together. His demon
and hers, synchronized, flowing. But she fought silently, the ultimate predator.
He missed the quips.
He tried not to think about the other Buffy sitting at home, the one whose soft
kisses and softer words had made him hope where he knew he had none. The
illusion of a second chance had been destroyed the instant he realized that the
Buffy who had kissed him wasn’t his Buffy. Not all of her. He knew he didn’t
deserve another chance, didn’t deserve her. But for an hour he had been allowed
to hope. He should have known better. Neither one of them seemed destined for
the happy ending. Things hadn’t changed so much that that would be any
different.
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
Her voice in the silence startled him. He glanced at her, then went back to
scanning the graveyard. “Usually.”
“Because you love her.”
He shrugged. “Love’s bitch.”
“But you’re man enough to admit it.”
So she remembered that conversation. “Look, pet, I don’t really want to talk
about this.”
“Fine.” She stepped in front of him. “No more talking.” And she crushed her
mouth to his hungrily.
The jolt of desire that shot through him was all the more powerful for the
surprise of the attack. He moaned into her mouth and could feel her smile as her
fingers tangled in his hair. He clutched at her shoulders, tried to lever her
away and stop the assault, but she tightened her grip in his hair, holding his
head still while her lips and tongue caressed his mouth feverishly, sliding her
body against his.
He couldn’t hold out against the oh-so familiar onslaught and slowly he gave
himself over to that kiss, exploring all the remembered curves of her mouth, his
hands relaxing their grip on her shoulders to slide down her back and up again
under the flannel shirt she wore over the tank top beneath, skin tight and
warmed with her body heat. She felt his surrender and allowed one hand to drift
down his neck, along his collarbone and over the planes of his chest. It wasn’t
until the night air caressed his suddenly bare arms that he regained his senses.
He pushed her away, backing up a step and nearly tripping over his jacket, now
laying on the ground behind him. “We can’t do this.”
She smiled wickedly. “We seemed to be doing pretty well a minute ago.” She
opened the collar of the flannel shirt and slowly dragged it down her arms,
revealing tanned shoulder and cleavage to his still-hungry gaze.
“Slayer, it’s wrong . . .”
“Oh, come on, Spike, the fluttering innocent routine doesn’t suit you.” She
grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, leaving her bare
breasts glowing in the night air. She rolled her head back as a passing breeze
brushed her, tightening her nipples into hard pebbles. “What is right and wrong
compared to want and need?” She began advancing on him slowly, the roll of her
hips causing her breasts to sway enticingly. He closed his eyes against her as
he backed away. Her hand snaked out to seize his wrist, trapping him, drawing
his hand to her to cup her breast, the rock hard nipple searing through his
palm.
“She wouldn’t want this,” he argued, but he couldn’t move his gaze from the
point where hand and breast met, his wrist rotating to allow him to fondle the
fullness of her, his thumb stroking tenderly over the puckered nub.
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” she replied with a soft gasp, leaning into
his touch. “You said it yourself. Seventy-six trombones. But I know what I
want.” She allowed her free hand to trail down his chest and over the tight
muscles of his stomach. “And more importantly, I know what you want.” And her
hand slid demandingly over the length of his rock-hard cock, the heat of her
hand burning him even through the denim of his jeans.
He had to make this stop. He had to be strong. For her. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t take the step backward that would break this and allow him to run home like a scared child.
“I won’t take advantage of her . . .”
She laughed knowingly. “Exactly what advantage do you think you have here,
Spike?” She began running her lips along his jawline, never taking her eyes off
his. “I have the strength, I have you right where I want you,” she surged
against him, hips and chests meeting, “and I have the will. I want this to
happen. And so do you. You couldn’t walk away from this for all the blood and
money in the world. You’re just afraid to admit it. But I’ll give you a chance.”
She backed away, releasing him to stand before him, legs astride, hands
caressing her hips and belly and breasts. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me
you don’t still dream about it, every night knowing I’m just two flights of
stairs away. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop.”
His body quivered from the battle raging within him. Lie to her, tell her and
this is done and she’s safe. His hands flexed convulsively, his mouth opened,
but no sound came out.
She stepped closer and laid her hand on his belt buckle. “Say it.”
He grabbed her arms to push her away, but it became a caress. “Slayer,” he
moaned, and even he could hear the desperate need in his voice.
Her tongue slid temptingly over her lips and teeth as she accepted his
surrender. She whipped his belt off with a crack, letting the leather length
fall from her hand. Then she met his gaze, knowing, seductive, still
challenging. “Go on then, Spike. Give it me good.”
He gave up restraint with a roar, crushing her to him, devouring her mouth as he
pushed her back, back to smash her against the marble crypt behind her. He
lifted her, pinning her body with his own against the cold stone. Her breasts
now in easy reach, he gave in to his desire and took one in his mouth, sliding
the length of his tongue over the crinkled nub before returning to spiral around
it, licking and sucking as she clutched at his shoulders. He dropped his right
hand to the button of her cargo pants, the loose fabric pooling at her feet as
his fingers moved beneath the elastic of her panties to caress deep into her wet
folds. She arched against his fingers with a faint cry, clutching at his t-shirt
to draw it up over his head, baring his chest and back to her heated touch. When
it caught at his wrist, he drew his hand away from her center to slide panties
and shirt down her muscled legs to join the pile of clothes building there. His
nails raked along the inside of her thigh as he returned to worship her other
breast. She wrapped her leg around him, rubbing herself desperately against his
denim-covered thigh. He wrapped his hand in her braid and yanked her head back,
exposing the length of her neck to his eager mouth. “What’s matter, pet,” he
whispered against her pounding jugular, “you don’t like what I’m doin’?”
“Love it. More,” she demanded, opening his pants to allow his cock free, heavy
and swollen. Her other leg lifted to circle his hips as she slid her sodden cunt
along his length.
Spike growled, thrusting his hips ineffectually. “I thought I was supposed to be
giving it to you.”
“You were too damn slow.” With that she arched backwards, knocking them off
balance to tumble into the grass.
She ended up on top, and he didn’t resist her, getting his own back by pulling
her head down to his hungry mouth. She devoured him with equal fervor,
supporting her weight with arms on either side of his head as she slid the rest
of her body up and down along his. He groaned and grabbed her hips, sliding her
up just enough to release his cock from between them, allowing it to spring to
its natural angle to prod against her soaked and swollen cleft. Her eyes rolled
up at the sensation and her hips rotated, stroking the head against her, opening
her up fully. Then she looked at him, eyes narrowly slit, dilated to pure
blackness, possession written large in her every feature as she thrust him deep
within her.
He cried out at the joining, and would have wept if she hadn’t started riding
him so hard. She arched back, sitting upright atop him, stroking him as deep as
she could get him, hands stroking and pulling at her own breasts, gasps of
pleasure escaping against her will. He grasped her hips and fell into her
rhythm, pulling harder, stroking deeper, desperate to give her release. But her
face contorted in frustration as she jerked erratically against him. “More!” she
demanded almost silently. “Harder!”
He knew what she needed, exactly how to give it to her. But if he took control,
he knew it would be the end for him. When she was normal again, she would take
back the small sliver of space she had given him in her life, kick him out of
her home and her heart. But only if he was unfortunate enough for her not to
stake him.
The Slayer whimpered again, the frustration building to cancel out her pleasure.
The pain of it was written large on her face.
He was damned. He would sacrifice his own version of heaven for her pleasure,
and he’d do it willingly.
He grabbed her arms and rolled, pinning her beneath him to thrust deep into her.
“Don’t worry, pet,” he murmured soothingly, “I know jus’ what you need.” He
hooked his left arm under her right knee, pressing back to lever her leg back
towards her chest. He did the same with his left arm, bracing both in the soft
grass beneath them to support himself, leaving her fully splayed before him with
her slit the lowest point of her body. “No where to go but up.” And he slammed
into her with all his might.
She gasped and arched, eyes showing only white, mouth opening in a silent cry.
And then he understood her increased quiet. This part of her was both predator
and prey. Silence meant survival. Her climax would not be expressed vocally, but
physically.
He hoped he still had a dick when she was done.
He quickly built up speed while maintaining force, and she clutched at his arms
with each thrust, her grip the only thing keeping her from being pushed across
the lawn. His balls slammed almost painfully against the curves of her ass with
each stroke, and he felt his own release building too quickly. He had to hold
back until she . . .
But she was there already. Her whole body began trembling,
her open mouth widening with each stroke. Suddenly she arched, thrusting against
him as her head snapped back, her whole body convulsing against him in her
release. He pushed through the iron bands of her inner muscles once and once
more before finding his own release, exploding deep within her to trigger a
fresh wave of tremors through her.
He released her legs, gathering her close as she began coming down, stroking his
hips in her gently, soothingly as she calmed. “You okay?” he whispered softly
against her ear.
She nodded, eyes closed, settling her breathing. After a moment, she pushed at
him lightly, moving away from him to roll to her feet and begin silently finding
her clothes.
He lay on his back in the cold grass, arm across his closed eyes as he fought
against the despair rising in him. It was just like it had been between them.
Nothing changed.
He was back in Hell . . .
Chapter 7 Muscle Memory
She finally understood what her friends went through. She glared in frustration at the pile of books in front of her, which hadn’t shrunk at all in the three hours she’d been struggling with them. She thought about Spike and her duplicate out on patrol, risking their lives while she just sat here. It made her feel so useless.
She wanted to help. She really did. But the bookwork was never her strong suit, no matter what her SATs said. Even Xander was a better researcher than she was, probably due to six years of experience. After the first forty-five minutes she gave up the struggle, taking on the bottom-of-the-barrel role of gopher. But the crowd had filled up on snack cakes and mochaccinos, leaving just the stack of books.
So now she dozed lightly at the table, propping the book up in front of her to look like she was busy.
Her mind wandered back to Xander’s apartment and the liquefying kiss she and Spike had shared. The gentleness of it had surprised her, but somehow deep down she had always known he would be a generous, passionate lover if only she’d allow him to, allow herself to accept it and all that it meant. She was ready now.
She relaxed into the memory, feeling his cool, calloused hands stroking along her arms, across her back, up to the round swell of her breast. She had to resist throwing her head back in pleasure, the sensations were so real.
But the cool press of lips against hers was no fantasy.
She jumped and looked around sheepishly, but no one had moved. “Too much time in naughty fantasy land for you,” she thought sardonically. “Back to work.”
She nearly dropped the book in her lap when she felt ghost kisses descending erotically along the column of her throat. She wasn’t imagining it. Something was really touching her.
She tried to squirm away, gasping at the sensation against her bare skin. Dawn looked up, concerned. Buffy just smiled apologetically and pulled the book closer to her face.
But the feeling continued, barely perceptible strokes and caresses across her back and belly, feathering up over her breasts. She groped surreptitiously around in front of her, hoping to grab the invisible whatever that was doing this to her. But it seemed to be coming from inside her skin, the cool touch warming and sensitizing her flesh. An unseen mouth closed over her nipple, cool and damp, ghostly suckling making her ache with the pleasure of it.
When the touch moved below her waist, she slammed the book on the table.
Everyone was looking at her now. “You okay, Buffy?” Willow asked over the screen of her laptop.
“Fine!” She hadn’t meant to squeak as the phantom hand settled at the junction of her legs.. “I’m fine, really. I think I’m just . . . tired. Yeah, I’m definitely tired. Think I’ll go upstairs and take a nap.”
Willow nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. You’ve had a rough day, what with being split and all. We’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“Good. Great. I’ll just . . . go upstairs and sleep.” She raced out of the room before she could embarrass herself any further.
In the sanctuary of her room, she slumped against the closed door, knees astride, giving herself over to the caresses flowing over her. Feather light strokes slid up her inner thighs, and she whimpered as her channel spasmed at the phantom sensation of penetration.
She forced herself away from the door, stumbling into the room to stand in front of her wardrobe mirror. Her body was not moving, despite the force she could feel driving deep into her. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed with desire. Through the silk of Spike’s shirt she could see her nipples tightly erect. Almost without realizing it, she unbuttoned the shirt and unhooked her bra, exposing the pale flesh beneath to her gaze.
She hadn’t looked at herself like this in such a long time. Certainly not since she’d died. Maybe not since Riley had left. She cupped her breasts, holding them up to her critical inspection. They seemed smaller than she remembered. Her fingers slid over their roundness, shaping and molding the flushed skin to her pleasure. This is what her lovers saw when they looked at her: flushed skin, open mouth, hooded eyes, tightly crinkled nipples. She ran one finger experimentally around one aureole, humming as she felt it crinkle more tightly at her touch.
She shrugged out of her shirt and bra. The contact of the silk down her arms made her sigh. Instead of dropping it on the floor as she did the bra, she gathered it up and held it to her face. Beneath the smell of soap and perfume the silk had absorbed from her during the evening, she could still make out Spike's scent, rich, musky, redolent of leather, tobacco and maleness.
It was cool like his skin as she slid it along her collar bone, then down so, so lightly over her breasts. Her eyes closed, her head rolled back in pleasure at the sensation. Her free hand released the button on her slacks and slid down the zipper as she stroked the fabric across her trembling belly. Her hips shimmied and she stepped out of her pants. Clad only in her lacy panties, she watched the red silk caress the insides of her thighs, around and up over the cheeks of her backside peeking out under the lace edge, back over her stomach and back to her breasts, her eyes never wavering as she watched her every response.
It was the most erotic thing she had ever done alone, like she was a voyeur watching someone else pleasure themselves for her amusement.
Her free hand slipped into her panties to explore her dripping center, and she knew the time for watching was over.
She stepped back once, twice, pushing the lace down to fall around her ankles, leaving them laying on the floor as her knees buckled against the edge of the mattress. She collapsed on the bed, hips and elbows pulling her into the middle as she began exploring herself in earnest. The shirt seemed an active participant, one sleeve down her left thigh and the other over her right breast, the rest of it pooled on her stomach. She pinched and rolled her left nipple between her fingers fiercely as her right hand spread her juices all around her mound, two fingers separating and tugging at her outer lips, sliding up to circle her clit. She groaned and arched into the touch, circling gently but with building force, dipping into the well of her slit to wet the tips, drawing the fluids out to cover her nub, keeping it slippery against the friction of her hand. Her left hand skated down her length to join the right, repeating her exploration before sinking one finger and then two into her channel with a groan. She arched eagerly into her own thrusts, mewling at the pleasure her own touch brought her. The silk shirt slid down over her hip, and the cool slither of the fabric was enough to shatter her over the edge with a moaning, gasping cry.
She lay there a moment, arms flung outward, panting as she recovered her equilibrium. Lethargy replaced lust as she crawled up to her pillows, slipping her arms into the silk sleeves of Spike’s shirt as she curled up to sleep, the phantom lover forgotten.
Chapter 8 Morning
It was nearly four when they got back to the house. Harris and Anya were sacked out on opposite ends of the couch. Willow looked up from the end of the table as they came in, the light from her monitor showing clearly that she hadn’t slept.
The Slayer didn’t stop, heading straight up the stairs without a look back. My services are no longer required, Spike thought sourly. He leaned against the dining room door frame. “Anything yet?”
Willow sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. “Just that you were more right than you know.”
He smirked, crossing the room to sling himself across the chair next to her. “Do we mark this momentous day in the official Scooby calendar?”
“You remember before, how I said that their natural state was to be together?” When Spike nodded, she continued. “Well, that’s not the case here. There’s so little overlap between Buffy’s spirit and the Slayer essence that they aren’t drawn to each other at all.”
“Christ.”
“I think the Council may be responsible for that, actually.”
“Finally,” he exclaimed in frustration. “Somebody I can blame. Do tell.”
“Well, I’ve been talking to the girls,” Willow slid comfortably into lecture mode. “You know, finding out some of their history, information on their training, that sort of thing. And the one thing that’s consistent is that they were removed from their everyday lives to focus almost exclusively on Slayer training. And that’s true for the other two Slayers I’ve known. Kendra could barely function socially. And Faith . . . well, Faith never did have a very well actualized sense of self. But it’s the Council training policies that made them vulnerable. Isolate them, train out the self-identity, make them as empty a vessel as possible for the Slayer package to fill. Buffy didn’t get Potential-ized, and her first Watcher died before he could train it out of her. And Giles never tried. Well, he tried, but he gave it up pretty quickly. She had her sense of self down pretty solid.”
He smiled, remembering the ballsy little chit she had been back then. “So what does that mean for the twins?”
She thought hard, getting her ideas carefully ordered before she spoke. “When Xander was split, he was just him. So the rod took half of everything, including his physical matter, and just made a second him. If this had happened to a traditional Slayer, I think much the same would have happened. But since in essence there were two beings in Buffy, it drew off the Slayer essence and a few of Buffy’s traits that are deeply connected to that. I don’t know what’s happened on the physical level, though.”
“What do you mean?”
She searched the table, scattering pages until she found the one she was looking for, a poor quality copy of some obscure text. “I’m worried that one of them is like a bad photocopy. There’s not enough toner to make a good copy, but the machine does it anyway.” She handed him the page. “The words are all there. In essence it’s the same. But without the right amount of toner, the copy is worthless.”
He studied the page, the ramifications sinking in. “So you’re saying that one of them didn’t get enough toner? Er, physical matter?” At her nod he asked, “So what does that mean for them?”
She shrugged. “Could mean nothing. Could be disaster. The usual.”
“You’re getting a little blasé about the negative stuff, aren’t you?”
“I’ve seen too many apocali. When you come back from trying to end the world, you stop sweating the small stuff.” She surprised herself by breaking into an enormous yawn.
“You should get some rest, pet. You can’t do anyone any good if you’re too tired to think straight.”
“I can’t. I have to finish with a couple of texts and then start dismantling the rod to see if we can reverse the mechanism . . .”
“Red, it’s bloody four a.m. Go upstairs and sleep, at least until the Bit,” he caught himself with a grimace, “’til Dawn goes to school in the morning. You’ll have more luck coming at this fresh.”
She shook her head. “But breakfast . . .”
“Harris and his bird can be house parents for one morning.” He took her by the arm and drew her gently out of her chair, angling her towards the stairs. “A couple hours’ll set you up right and proper.”
Finally she acceded, continuing up the stairs under her own power. She paused at the top. “Thanks, Spike.”
“’S what a pet vampire lives for.”
Buffy woke up before the Slayer did. She hadn’t given any thought to where her
double would sleep, and so had been very surprised to awaken to find the Slayer
in bed with her, as naked as she was and pressed back to back with her. Buffy
had managed to keep from screaming, but got out of the bed as quickly and
quietly as possible, her face burning in embarrassment.
She was sitting at the vanity finishing her makeup when the Slayer woke. Buffy tried to avert her eyes, but her gaze kept sliding over as the other woman slipped out of the bed and began stretching. Buffy couldn’t help but compare this body to the one she had studied in the mirror the night before. Flatter breasts, more muscled stomach, less curvy hips. The body of a warrior. She looked back at her own reflection. Rounder, softer. Weaker. What was she good for now?
“How was patrol last night?” she asked, distracting herself from darker thoughts.
“Great!” Slayer finished stretching, running her hands sensually down her body, skimming belly and legs to come back up to rub her breasts comfortably. “Lot of kills, some great sex, good sleep. It was a good night.”
Buffy nearly stabbed herself with the mascara wand. “S . . .s . .sex?”
Slayer glared at her. “What did you do, swallow a snake?” She grabbed a pair of sweats and pulled them on over her bare legs. “Yes, sex. You do remember sex, don’t you? Or did I get all of that?” She threw a tank top on and began braiding her hair.
“You had sex. With Spike.” When he wouldn’t make love to me, a cruel voice whispered inside her. “When?”
Slayer shrugged. “I don’t know. Late. We were done patrolling. Must have been around one.”
The time the phantom lover had begun arousing her. Buffy got up from her seat and went to Slayer, reached out and pinched her in the fleshy part of her arm. Hard. And felt an echo of it in her own arm.
“Hey!” Slayer cocked back a fist to punch her.
“No!” Buffy put her hands up in defense. “No hitting! Just . . .do what I did!”
Slayer was still angry, but curious. She reached out and pinched as hard as she could.
“Ow!” Buffy cried out at the pain, clutching at the already darkening bruise blossoming on her bicep. “Did you feel it?” she asked, her eyes watering.
But Slayer’s look of shock and confusion told Buffy what she needed to know. “How did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything. It must be how we are, because of the spell.”
“Damn!” Slayer thought for a moment. “And last night? You felt that?”
Buffy blushed.
Slayer grinned ferally. “Lucky girl!”
Buffy glared at her. “I don’t feel very lucky,” she growled, barely refraining from slamming the door as she stormed out of the room.
Chapter 9 In the now
She sat on the stairs, watching him sleep.
Above, the house was finally quiet. Buffy had pitched in, making twelve
breakfasts, helping to find book bags and weapons and hair brushes, but her
heart wasn’t in it.
She had wanted it to mean something. The passion, the vulnerability, the joy he
had shown her last night seemed meaningless now. She was the pale copy. He
wasn’t interested in what she had left to offer. She dropped her chin, blinking
back tears.
When she looked back, he was watching her.
“You’re awake,” she said pointlessly.
He propped his head up on his hand. “Where’s everyone?”
“Dawn and Willow are at school, and Xander’s at work. Slayer Buffy has all the
Potentials out for a run and then weapons training.” She began fidgeting
nervously with her hands, her words running together. “Andrew made Anya take him
grocery shopping. He’s taking the whole supply sergeant role way too seriously.”
He eyed her quizzically, sitting up on the edge of the cot. “Something wrong,
luv?”
She tried not to let her agitation show. “Course not. What could possibly be
wrong?”
“You tell me,” he said patiently.
“I mean, so what if I’m in pieces?” She began pacing. “So what if my friends are
going on with their lives? Who cares that some unspeakable evil wants me and a
bunch of girls dead? What difference does it make that I can’t do anything about
it? And what could possibly be wrong with the fact that you had sex with her
last night?” The hysteria bubbled forth, making her words a high pitched screech
as she rounded on him angrily.
He dropped his head with a growl. “She’s got a big mouth.”
“Oh, that’s not even the best part! She didn’t have to tell me. I felt it all
for myself! I get to know the joys of your touch when you’re touching someone
else!” She was not going to cry, dammit!
“Christ.” He stepped towards her, reaching out. “Buffy, it didn’t mean
anything.”
She struck his hand away. “No, I’m sure it didn’t mean a thing. Except that now
we know, don’t we?”
“Know what?” She could hear the anger rising in his voice.
“We know that given the choice, you prefer the strong, brutal part of me to the
normal woman.”
“You’re daft!”
“Am I? I can’t believe I bought all that crap about waiting and talking and
doing it right. You just aren’t interested in a woman who can’t knock the shit
out of you, are you?”
“Funny how I can’t seem to tell the difference.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure. But you still didn’t say no to her, did you?”
The gathering of his eyebrows was barely perceptible, but it sent a stab of cold
fear through her. “Oh my god, you did. And she still . . .” Her hand flew to her
mouth as a wave of nausea overwhelmed her.
“No.” He grasped her shoulders, looking square in her eyes. “No, Buffy, she
didn’t. It was totally consensual. Eventually.”
She sank down on the bed. “Eventually?” she asked in a small voice.
He sighed and sat down next to her. “She was very . . . determined.” He took her
hand in his, tracing gently along the veins mapping under her skin. “I didn’t
choose, Buffy. I can’t. You’re both her. Strong and soft. Brutal and gentle.
Hard and giving. It’s all Buffy. Just because it’s split up into little yin-yang
packages doesn’t mean I can pick and choose.”
“And last night?”
“I meant what I said at Harris’ place. I thought I was gettin’ a second chance
with you, and I wanted to do it right. When we got back here and found out . . .
well, I knew there was no second chance. What happened between me and her last
night wasn’t about love or desire. It was about seeing to her needs.”
“And you hated every second of it.”
“Not entirely, no. But it was like putting myself back into the hell we made of
last year.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because she needed it.”
“What if I need it?”
His eyes softened as he reached up to brush her cheek with his knuckle. “I’m not
going to deny you any more.”
“What about her? Afterward, when we’re all one again?”
He shrugged. “I’ll give her the stake myself. I can only be in the now. And I
promised to take care of her. That means taking care of you. Both of you, ‘s
long as you are here.”
One small hand reached up to tenderly stroke his cheek. That’s when he saw the
mottled bruise on the inside of her bare arm, a dark purple oblong almost the
size of a half dollar.
“What happened?”
“My better half. We were experimenting on each other.”
“Not better. Just different.” And he bent his head to gently kiss the tender
injury.
Her soft gasp was enough to encourage him to continue. He softly drew his lips
along the length of her muscle in slow, ever-widening circles. A fleeting
contact with the inside of her elbow drew another soft gasp from her, and he
focused on the tender skin there as her fingers tangled into the soft curls at
the base of his neck. He sketched delicate curlicues into the crease of her
elbow with the tip of his tongue, then freed his head to run lines up the length
of her forearm, pausing to lip at her wrist before descending again.
Her pulse pounded against his lips as he kissed the joint of hand and arm. He
outlined the circle of her palm in the softest of kisses and slowly dragged his
lower lip up the length of each finger, closing his lips over the very tip.
When he looked up at her, her eyes were closed, head tilted back, mouth slightly
open. She opened her eyes and he could see the hazel turned dark with desire. He
lifted her other hand and gently reversed the attentions he had paid to the
first, never breaking the connection of her gaze.
He continued back up along the length of her arm, slowly mirroring the caresses
he had placed on the other, watching her the entire time. But when he reached
her shoulder he continued up, gingerly stroking her collarbone, suckling
momentarily at the heartbeat fluttering at the base of her neck, up along the
column of her throat and the angle of her jaw to settle a soft, generous kiss on
the warmth of her mouth.
She sank into him, her arms drawing his head and chest closer as she returned
his kiss, lips and tongue meeting softly but with a new kind of hunger, the
desire to know, so different from the possessive kisses they had shared in the
past. Slowly they explored each other, mouths soon joined by the soft foray of
hands, each tenderly roaming faces and shoulders and backs. It was a gentleness
she had never allowed them to share before, but now she gave it willingly,
opening up to him and drawing him in to her.
The warmth of her hand on the bare skin of his back drew a gasp from him and he
arched into her, savoring the sensation. Her womanly smile made him tremble as
her other hand joined the first under his shirt to gently stroke the planes of
his back, sliding around to map out the definition of his stomach and chest, her
eyes closed in pleasure. Without separating, the two of them worked the shirt up
until he pulled it off over his head, dropping it to the floor as he recaptured
her mouth, his hands settling on the curve of her back to toy nervously with her
zipper.
“Please, Spike,” she murmured against his lips, arching against him.
Slowly he dragged the tang down with one hand, the other following over the bare
skin he revealed. The zipper stopped at the curve of her behind, but his hands
continued, cupping and caressing the firm roundness of each cheek, stroking her
closer against his hips before returning back up the vee of her now open dress
to slide the straps off her shoulders. She stepped back reluctantly, allowing
the soft fabric to slide down her body and pool at her feet, leaving her nude
before him save the soft white panties she wore.
He drank in the sight of her, exploring every inch of her with his eyes until
she turned her head aside, flushed in embarrassment. He stepped closer and
dropped his head to slide his lips along the top swell of her breasts. He
followed the curve along the outside edge, nibbling lightly at the sensitive
flesh where breast and rib met. She cried out softly, weaving her fingers deep
into his hair, not guiding or restricting but just holding.
He continued slowly circling the roundness of her breast, lips and tongue
spiraling slowly inward, covering every inch of the round flesh until he reached
its peak. He ran the flat of his tongue over her nipple, savoring the feel of it
crinkling and tightening against his skin before he sucked at it and released.
She mewed, arching her hips against him, but he refused to be guided, turning
his attention to her other breast, his hand cupping and pulling at the now
bereft one as he circled and stroked the other to equal sensitivity, rolling the
pebble of her nipple across his tongue in ecstasy.
He dropped to his knees, coursing soft, wet kisses over the velvet of her
stomach as he caught the elastic of her underwear in his fingers and slowly drew
them down, stroking the outside of her legs in his descent. He softly explored
the junction of leg and hip, resisting the desperate urge to bury his face in
the center of her arousal, so close to his sensitive nose. His palms slid up the
backs of her round thighs, fingers curled around to stroke the insides,
caressing so close to her center without touching. When his lips dropped to
follow his fingers, she collapsed to her knees with a sob.
His hands returned to her head, lifting the hair off the back of her neck as he
kissed her gently. “All right, luv?” he whispered.
She nodded quickly, her eyes closed. “Too much,” she answered huskily. Her hands
slid up his stomach and chest, out along his arms and slowly back. Her mouth
slowly followed, caressing the line of his collarbone and pectorals with warm,
open kisses and long, wet strokes of her tongue. She continued down, outlining
the definition of his stomach with fingers and tongue.
Her warm hand sliding along the length of his rock-hard cock broke him.
He was on his feet in a moment with her in his arms, and in three strides was
gently lowering her into his unmade bed. Her eyes and arms were open and
welcoming as he lowered himself between her knees.
“Yes, Spike, please!” she whispered so softly, the silk of her thighs against
his trembling in anticipation. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he
slowly pushed his length into her. “Oh! Oh god, yes! Spike!” She cried out, and
he watched in amazement as she broke around him, coming even as he finished
sheathing himself in her. He held her, placing gentle kisses on her face, softly
smoothing her hair back as she came back down.
She smiled beautifully at him, her eyes barely opened. He knew he was grinning
as well, but he didn’t care. This moment was perfection.
“I love you, Spike.”
He froze, the grin falling away. She clutched at him as he made to move away
from her.
“What? No, please, don’t go! What is it?”
“This,” he cursed hoarsely. “This isn’t real. You can’t love me.”
She held him tightly in place, her legs wrapped around his hips. “Yes, I can.”
She stroked his back and face and chest soothingly. “You said it yourself. We
can only be in the now. She may not let herself love you, but I do. Let me love
you while I can. So we both have that after.”
She kissed him then, warmly, erotically, soothingly, as the tension slowly
flooded out of him. She licked and nibbled along his neck and ears as he allowed
the passion to fill him again. Finally he raised his head, looked her in the
eyes.
“I love you, Buffy.”
She smiled as she kissed him, tears filling her eyes. “I love you, Spike! God, I
love you so much!”
He began moving his hips slowly, short strokes building into long ones as he
buried himself body and soul in her welcoming depths. He supported himself on
his elbows, his hands twisted in her hair, guiding her into his kisses as he
thrust against her. Her wet heat tightened around him as their kisses became
hungrier, the soft strokes on his back scratches, the gasps in his ear moans. He
rose up to look her in the eyes as he felt the familiar tightening inside. He
clutched at her hair, pulling, arching her up as he slammed deeper and deeper
into her, never breaking eye contact. The pressure building inside him came out
as a growl, the bed rocking so hard to their rhythm that it rattled the shelves
on either end. “God, Buffy . . . love you . . . so . . . damn . . .much . . .”
She clutched at him. “Please . . . god yes . . . Spike!”
He felt her seize around him, drove harder, swallowed her scream in a kiss as
she exploded. He gathered her close, kissed her hard and with one powerful surge
erupted deep inside her, his howl of ecstasy swallowed by her kiss.
They lay tangled in each other, slicked in her sweat as her breathing calmed,
sharing soft kisses and gentle, meaningless words. Finally, though, sounds from
the outside world filtered in, the voices of half a dozen girls ringing in the
back yard.
“Time’s up, pet.” He kissed her gently on the temple. “They’ll be looking for
you.”
She sighed and stretched, kissed him warmly and rolled to the edge of the bed,
snagging her panties with a groan. She smiled as she stepped into them, though,
watching him pull up his jeans. “Makes me wish Willow would take her time with
that solution.”
He smiled softly and cupped her cheek.
“What the hell is going on down here?”
The Slayer stood at the bottom of the stair, fist clenched in restraint. An
enormous bruise covered the goose egg pulsing just above her temple.
Spike went to her, barely touching the contusion as Buffy finished dressing.
“What happened?”
“I got . . . distracted.” She didn’t take her eyes off Buffy. “One of the girls
hit me.”
“With what? A club?”
She shrugged.
“What could have distracted you enough that one of those little bits could
wallop you like that?”
Buffy smirked. Slayer glared.
“I sense her, she senses me.” Buffy was unusually nonchalant.
“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do about it now?” The hostility and lust
seemed to pour off her in waves.
“Same thing I did last night.” She grabbed Slayer’s right hand and moved it to
her crotch. “Girl’s best friend.” She started up the stairs. “C’mon, Spike,
let’s get her some ice while she takes care of . . . things.”
Chapter 10 Breakdown
Spike sat alone on the back porch, watching the stars come
out and trying to make sense of the past twenty-four hours.
He was having a hard time accepting it, but it had seemed all afternoon as
though the Buffys were fighting over him. Nothing overt. Looks cast in the
other’s direction. A possessive hand laid on his arm or shoulder. Slayer had
used him more than usual in demonstrations for the girls while Buffy watched,
unable to participate. Buffy had brought him his blood at dinner, surprising the
Slayer with her mouth full.
He had to keep reminding himself that it didn’t mean anything. Red would slap
them back together any time and, if he wasn’t a big pile of dust, he’d go back
to being cellar dweller and training dummy, just the way it should be.
It shouldn’t feel so damn good that they both wanted him
“Hey.”
He looked over his shoulder to see Buffy leaning against the railing behind him.
“Evenin’, pet. Where’s your other half?”
She came over and sat next to him, folding her hands in front of her. “She went
up to lay down for a bit before patrol. Said she wasn’t feeling one hundred
percent.”
“I’d imagine being split in two would do that to a girl.”
She shrugged. “I feel fine.”
“Didn’t have as strenuous a day as she did.”
“It had its moments.” She smiled knowingly.
He couldn’t help but smile back. “That it did, pet. That it did.”
She started picking at a fingernail. “Are you going to go patrolling with her
tonight?”
“If she wants me to.” He needed a cigarette. And a large quantity of alcohol.
“What if I need you to stay here? With me?”
He looked at her incredulously. “You’re a bleedin’ menace, the both of you, you
know that? If I was smart, I’d get the hell away from here until this whole
thing’s sorted out.”
“Good thing for us you’re a dummy.” She wrapped her arms around him and rested
her cheek on his chest.
He sighed and put his arm around her. “Yeah, that’s me, the village idiot.” He
dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.
They sat like that for a while, quietly watching the moon creep over the hedge
as he gently ran her hair through his fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes
soft in the growing moonlight. “Spike . . .”
A wail of agony shattered the calm.
Buffy’s eyes were huge. “That’s her! I feel . . .”
“Go.” He pushed her towards the door, surging up to the roof in two strides
before she’d entered the house. Instinct started him toward her old window where
he had watched her so many nights before he remembered the room change and
turned toward Joyce’s old window. The sash lifted easily and he slid inside.
She lay on the bed, writhing in pain. He gathered her into his arms, still warm
from holding Buffy. “Shh, shh, s’okay, ‘m here now.” He rocked her, cooing
gently and stroking her hair.
“Hurts,” she moaned, agony making her voice tremble. “Like I’m coming apart.
God, make it stop!” She struggled against him in her pain.
Buffy raced in the door to stop next to the bed. “What is it?” she asked, taking
her twin’s free hand.
Slayer calmed almost instantly.
“What’s going on?” Xander panted as he, Willow and Dawn appeared in the doorway.
“She’s hurting,” Buffy said, never taking her eyes off Slayer, stroking her hand
gently. “I can feel it. Like a trembling all over.”
Dawn ducked out and came back a moment later with the polar fleece throw from
her room. “Here,” she offered it to Buffy.
Buffy released Slayer’s hand to shake out the blanket. As soon as she stepped
away, Slayer began whimpering in pain again. “Shh,” Buffy murmured, smoothing
her hair to calm her.
“Buffy, come here,” Willow asked, her voice concerned.
“But . . .”
“Just for a minute.”
She looked back at the bed in worry, but crossed over to her friend.
Slayer let out another cry, reaching out blindly.
Willow gave Buffy a push back. “Go back.”
She flew back to the bed, climbing up to spoon against Slayer. Spike loosened
his grip, letting Buffy gather her suffering twin in her own arms to caress her
hand and shoulder soothingly.
“Spike.” Harris and Dawn had slipped into the hall, and Willow gestured for him
to follow.
“Be right back.” He kissed them both on the forehead before sliding out of the
bed.
He closed the door gently behind him. “You know what’s going on, Red?”
“I think so,” she said hesitantly.
Xander picked up on her vibe. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I don’t really know. I think her physical body is starting to break down.
There’s not enough matter to keep her solid. You saw how she calmed down when
Buffy touched her?” They all nodded. “Her energy field is helping to stabilize
the Slayer’s, slowing the deterioration. It’s like their auras are merging,
tricking Slayer’s body into thinking she’s whole. But it’s only a matter of time
. . .”
Dawn’s face clearly showed her worry. “Maybe it’s time we got some help.”
Willow looked frustrated. “Giles is the only one I know who has any experience
with this, and we won’t be able to reach him for days. I’ll send an email to
Miranda with the coven; maybe they can come up with a way to stabilize her.
Until then, we keep the two of them together and keep on the research. We have
to find something soon.”
“I’ll go let ‘em know.” Spike started to open the door. “Send some books up.
I’ll go through ‘em and keep an eye on the twins.”
Willow nodded and Dawn turned towards the stairs. “I’ll get them.”
He ignored the look of distrust he got from Xander and went back into the
bedroom.
Slayer had dozed off in Buffy’s arms, curled up like a small child while Buffy
stroked her arm gently. Spike sat next to them. “She okay?”
“Better. The pain’s quiet now.”
“Cuz of you.”
“Me?”
Very softly he explained Willow’s photocopy theory and the balancing effect of
Buffy’s presence. She listened and nodded her understanding.
“So probably the more contact, the better?” she asked when he finished.
He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. But you can let her guide you. She seems to know
what she needs.”
Dawn slipped in quietly to leave a stack of books in the armchair by the window.
She stopped at the foot of the bed on her way out. “Willow wrote some
instructions. They’re in the top book. I think she gave you most of the foreign
language stuff.”
He smiled slightly. “Thank you, Dawn.”
She shrugged, watching her sister (sisters?) in the bed, fear plain in her eyes.
“Dawnie, they’re gonna be okay. Willow will take care of them. You’ll see.”
She met his gaze, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Buffy’s always okay, right?”
“Right.”
Her face softened. “Thanks.” And she disappeared out the door.
He shook his head. That was the most words she had said to him since she’d
threatened him three months before.
Maybe this whole situation was helping him on that front, too.
He turned back to Buffy. “You okay? Need anything?” She shook her head. “’kay
then. I’m gonna sit over here and do Red’s research. You need anything, just say
the word.”
“I will. And Spike?” she said as he moved away.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks from me, too.”
He cupped her cheek. “My pleasure, pet.”