* * * * * Chapter 13: Gently * * * * *

"Hey sleepyhead...." Buffy sits down on the tile next to the unconscious vampire. He doesn’t react. She reaches out and jostles his shoulder a bit. Nothing. She leans down, putting her mouth right next to his ear, speaking soft and low. "Spike. Wake up, I need you."

He twitches a bit, but does not wake. "Mmm...Buffy..."

"Right here, Spike." She sits up and cocks her head. He is definitely not awake. She realizes he must be dreaming. "Vampires dream? Never thought about it..." She leans closer when he starts to murmur again, his words muffled in his throat.

"Oh God, Buffy...so beautiful... I want to...don‘t leave me..." He trails off into unintelligible words. She smiles.

"Won’t leave you, Spike." She whispers these words in his ear and he smiles in his sleep. "So...he’s dreaming ‘bout me. So sweet. I should leave him alone for a few." Buffy pops up and turns to the fridge as he continues to makes small noises and moans. Shaking her head at the debris on the floor in front of it, she swings the door open and grabs a bottle of iced tea. Standing in the open door, she pops the top and starts to drink.

From behind her, a moan followed by a low whisper, "Buffy...I love you so much..." The bottle drops from her suddenly nerveless fingers and explodes on the tile floor. She spins as the glass and liquid scatter around her and Spike starts to a sitting position, awakened by the sound. Buffy holds her breath as she realizes he was still dreaming when he said it.

"Wha...what the - ? Buffy, luv, you okay?" Spike, quickly alert, looks around for the source of the noise.

She finds her voice. "S’okay, Spike. I dropped a bottle."

He smirks. "Thought the Slayer package gave you some protection against being clumsy, pet."

"Uh, right." Cheeks flaming, Buffy stoops to pick up the shards, desperate to avoid his eyes. It was just a dream, doesn’t mean he really...oh dear. Spike is immediately suspicious at her lack of retort to his comment. He stands up and starts to approach her.

"You sure you’re okay, Slayer?"

"OW! Dammit!" She drops the sharp piece that cut her and immediately sticks the freshly sliced finger in her mouth, sucking on it.

"Why don’t I help you?" Heedless of the glass on the floor and his bare feet, Spike comes closer and takes her hand, gently pulling her finger from her mouth. He slides the finger into his mouth, the tiny drops of her blood burning his tongue. Her eyes focus on his and they have a strangely calming effect. Rather than exciting her beyond reason, he is somehow bringing her closer, slowing her breathing, by just looking at her, his eyes a bottomless blue. She can feel her pulse drop to a normal level as he slides her finger out of his mouth. The bleeding has already stopped on the small cut.

"Now, Buffy...I’ll ask one more time. Are you okay?" His eyes refuse to let hers ago, burning the truth out of her.

Swallowing hard, she nods. "I’m fine. I was just...startled. You...called out in your sleep and it scared me, is all." She drops her eyes and you can almost hear the snap as the connection is broken. "We should clean this up. Oh Spike, you cut your foot!" In his hurry to reach her, Spike stepped on a piece of glass. A small pool of blood beneath his foot reveals the pain he is in.

"S’alright, luv. Been cut before." He flashes her a grin. "Though I will say, feel a little vulnerable without a stitch of clothes on." He winks and she giggles at him.

"I’ll take care of this mess, Spike. Why don’t you sit down for a sec, y’know, for safety’s sake?" Buffy tiptoes over to the back door and slides on a pair of flip flops to protect her bare feet. Grabbing a broom, she begins to sweep up the glass under Spike’s watchful eyes. Very watchful eyes. The tank top she slipped on is skintight. He watches the muscles of her back work as she sweeps and admires the view as she stoops to grab a piece of large glass. Realizing his interest will be quite plain in his current unclothed state, Spike looks away, attempting to think of other things. He notices the daylight streaming in the window and realizes it must be early afternoon by now. Nearly two days since his world turned on its end. All started with that dream the other night. Guess his sub-conscious knew something he didn’t. That he wanted the Slayer. All this time, he thought he wanted her in the ground, but now...he casts his eyes at her busy figure and they soften in tenderness. He shakes his head, disbelieving. Could things really change this quickly? The last couple years of fighting and snappy comebacks. How could it add up to...this? Of course, they were always equally matched in battle, maybe it was just a matter of time before they found other ways they were matched? He is snapped out of his reverie by Buffy’s voice.

"Spike??" She is clearly repeating herself. "You in there?"

"Oh, sorry, luv. Just thinking...what is it?"

"I asked if your foot was alright." Spike looks down to his right foot, still dripping blood.

"Well, hurts a bit." He realizes she is done cleaning. Guess he was pretty distracted. Kneeling down, Buffy takes his foot in her hand, turning it to check the bottom.

"Ya think? There’s a two inch gash here. Probably got glass in it, too." She shakes her head. "Just hold still."

"Yes, ma’am." Spike mock salutes her and she shoots him a withering look. He grins, disarming her once again. She holds up her finger, signaling him to remain. After a brief foray into the bathroom, Buffy returns with a pair of tweezers. "Where you planning to stick those, pet?" Spike stiffens a bit in his chair.

"What’s the matter, Spike? Big Bad afraid of a little pair of tweezers?" She clicks them together in his direction.

He gulps. "’S not the tweezers I’m worried about. It’s the person wielding them."

"I promise to be gentle." Spike raises one eyebrow in doubt, his one movement drawing her attention to the series of bite marks, scratches and various bruises covering his body from their recent adventures. She smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief. "No, really. I will. Dontcha trust me, Spikey?"

Spike drops all his playful tone at once. "Yes, ‘course." The corners of her mouth drop slightly as she realizes their teasing conversation has taken a serious turn. He holds his foot out and she sits in the next chair, taking it into her lap. Studying him as he studies her, she finally relents and turns her attention to his foot. Gently probing the injury, she spreads the skin enough to see the glinting glass still lodged in the cut. Taking the tweezers, she steadily withdraws the glass, eliciting no protest from Spike. Dropping the bloody piece of glass in the trash can by the island, she smiles at him.

"See, gentle as a fluffy lamb. Well, if lambs could use tweezers, but y’know they lack the thumbs and..." Her words trail off as she looks up at Spike.

"Thanks, pet. By the way, how’s your side? I never did get to bandage it for you, what with all the distractions."

Buffy grins a little as visions of the ‘distractions’ dance through her mind’s eye. Pulling up the side of her tank top, she shows Spike. A light pink line is the only indication she was stabbed. "Despite my vigorous lack of rest, it healed right up. Go Slayer powers." She looks down at his foot again. "Even though I know you will heal nearly as quickly, let me get a bandage. Can’t have you bleeding all over Mom’s carpet." Standing up, she sets his foot on the chair and pats it once reassuringly as she leaves the room. Spike stares at his foot, her absentminded gesture, gentle and caring, leaving him a bit stunned. He honestly didn’t know she had this side. The side that takes care of people, even takes care of him. He looks up as she returns, waving the gauze and hydrogen peroxide in her hands.

"Girl in my line of work is always prepared. I’m like a boy scout, only female and not so much with the group camping trips." She smiles at him, her blond hair haloing her face.

"Regular angel of mercy, luv." He grimaces a little as she cleans the cut and then bandages it tightly. The task at hand completed, it returns to Buffy’s attention that Spike is completely and utterly naked. The warmth in her belly returns as she imagines having her way with him. Imagines him saying those words to her this time while he was awake. Could happen. Her eyes dart over him and as usual, he reads the thoughts telegraphed across her face.

"Think you can walk on it?"

"Think so. What did you have in mind?" His smirk reveals that Spike already has a few things on his mind. Wordlessly, she stands up and takes him by the hand. Her warm fingers entwine with his, sending a shiver up his arm. She pulls him into the living room and then suddenly yanks his arm and throws him onto the couch. Startled by her quick movements, Spike stares up at her, standing over him.

Eyes sparking wickedly, she whips the tank top off and shimmies out of her workout pants. Standing there in her bronze and naked glory, she grins at him. He swallows hard, his body responding quickly to her actions.

"Spike, if it’s all the same to you, I’m ready to take a break from being gentle." Her tone drops on the word gentle, her voice turning thick and dripping with seduction. She straddles him on the couch, leaning down to drag her hot tongue all the way up from his navel to his neck. By the time she reaches the top, he is already breathing hard.

His voice is fractured by arousal. "Sounds like a bloody brilliant plan to me."
 

* * * * * Chapter 14: Shiver * * * * *



Buffy grabs one of Spike’s wrists in each hand and holds them up, to either side of his head. She wriggles her hips against him and he responds with a sharp intake of air. His cock comes to life as she rubs against him repeatedly. She slides up and then down him until his erection is hard and ready.

"Look ma, no hands." Her naughty smile is intoxicating. She leans down and presses her lips against his, firm and insistent, forcing his mouth open immediately and driving her tongue in. Already wet and willing, she shifts her hips and takes him into her in one movement, swallowing his gasp in her kiss. The sensation is bordering on pain, her body sore from their repeated encounters. Still, his firm chest against hers, his soft lips pressing into hers makes her forget that part, allowing her to focus on the pleasure. She raises up and drives back onto him, eliciting a deep growl from somewhere deep in his chest. With one furious burst of strength, Spike rips his arms from her grasp and takes a hold of her wrists instead. In virtually the same moment, he rolls them off the couch and onto the floor, landing on top.

"Oof." Buffy grunts as she takes his weight onto her for a second. Moments later, her startlement is forgotten as he lifts slightly and then presses into her, starting below the waist and rolling all the way up her chest, crushing her breasts beneath him for a moment. The sensation is intense as he pins her down, their bodies touching from fingertips to toes. He holds his entire weight off her with his hands, but she is still covered by him, his cool skin kissing against hers in a thousand places. He renews their kiss, lips brushing against hers with increasing intensity as she opens her mouth to him.

Spike’s head spins with contradictory thoughts. Her soft lips, warm body make him want to live and die in her arms. Except for that small detail of him already being dead and all. Still, he feels like he belongs with her, that he belongs to her, and it is really freaking him out. He can’t tell if these feelings are his own or if someone is pulling his strings. Could be magic. He breaks their kiss and looks at her, her skin flushed and glowing and he wonders if perhaps she could be magic. Magic pressed into this amazing form. Magic always has consequences...will this? Buffy has bewitched him with her grasping warm hands, her tender lips, her insatiable appetite. She is like a Siren, drawing him in, closer and closer to her rocky shore. Making him vulnerable and weak to her charms.

But the look in her eyes, could that really be a trick? She shields her emotions, always has, but he has been so close to her in such intimate ways now, he has seen those wide open moments. When she forgets to drop the veil and he can see her, the true Buffy. Not just the Slayer, but the whole package. Her feelings, her heart, her soul, all of those intangibles that make her spectacular...and human. There was a time in very recent memory that he would take that vulnerability as an opening for attack. Spike leans back down to take her mouth with his. She has treated him like a man for the first time since he’s known her. He doesn’t want to give that up, doesn’t want to find a way to hurt her. He just wants to have her look at him that way again.

Buffy feels Spike’s eyes on her even as she feels him inside her and his lips on her willing mouth. Somehow, the eyes are what seem to be the most penetrating. Like he is seeing something new. A flash of fear passes through her. Is this going to turn bad soon? Is he just waiting for the opportunity, for the moment when she is finally and truly unaware, completely exposed so he can swoop in for the kill? Buffy scolds herself. It’s true, he’s made no secret of his wish to kill her, but all that seems distant now.

The only thing that seems real is him, his body, his hands, his piercing eyes, his tenderness. The last one something she had never seen before...except when he was with Dru. Buffy feels a surge of white hot heat in her belly at the thought of the crazy vampire. With a truly unsettling clarity, she realizes this feeling is jealousy. Dammit. She is jealous of what he had with Dru. Of their caring, looking out for each other. This can only mean one thing. She wants him for more than sex, for more than his insanely sculpted abs. It seemed possible to write it all off to lust-driven temporary insanity before the arrival of these emotions. She could say she swooned over his baby blues and his impressive pecs. Now... now this feeling is something altogether different.

Coming out of their thoughts nearly simultaneously, Buffy and Spike re-focus on each other. A nearly visible spark flies between them. Their bodies continue to respond to each other despite the inner turmoil rocking them both. Buffy lifts her legs to wrap them tightly around his waist, angling her hips to receive him as deeply as possible. Spike drives into her again, his mouth seeking her breast. He runs his tongue around her nipple, tweaking it to attention. Buffy arches her back, pressing into him, meeting every thrust with matching strength. Spike moves to the other breast and then kisses his way up her chest, finding her mouth once again. Their kiss is bruising and intense, both of them seeking to find an anchor in the other. Feeling adrift in confusing emotions and new desire, they lock onto each other with a desperate passion, letting their bodies take control of the situation.

Spike releases Buffy’s wrists and runs his hands into her long blond hair. It is splayed out on the floor around her, framing her features with a golden haze. His fingers tighten as her newly free hands roam around his back. He half-flinches as he feels the fingertips at the top of his shoulders. The welts she gave him earlier are still fresh. He enters her again and he feels the slightest tightening of her grip on his shoulders. Instead of ripping her nails down his back on the next thrust, she lightly dances her fingertips down his back, avoiding the skin she tore into earlier with her whispering touch. He shivers slightly at her soft touch. Her hands keep moving, sliding into the valley where his strong back meets his butt. As Spike begins to thrust, her hands take a firm grasp of his ass and slam him into her with greater force.

Her voice covers him like a rolling fog. "The Slayer, Spike. I’m the Slayer. I can take what you can dish. Show me how much you want me. Make me believe it." Spike stares at her for a split second, assessing her seriousness. The tight grip on his ass, holding him deep inside her, is enough confirmation.

"You will, luv. Because I do." Spike’s kiss is fierce, rough and leaves Buffy breathless. He begins his relentless assault on her body, driving his desire for her home with each powerful thrust. Every entrance forces a gasp out of Buffy’s mouth, her heart rate accelerating, her skin heating, her breaths growing shorter and shorter. Their coupling reaches fever pitch, mirroring the ferocity of their first encounter the night before. Neither realizes that the magical effects that drove them together are waning. Their craving has not. It is as if they have to make up for a lifetime apart right now, right this very second. Each gasp, each impact of skin on skin a testament to their passion. She clings to him, squeezing his skin between her fingers, holding tight. She strains to keep her mouth on his as their bodies rock against each other. Their kiss is finally broken, Spike moving his mouth past hers to kiss her neck, up to her ear and down again, christening every inch with his lips. He feels it coming, knows his orgasm will be bone-shattering. His hands run up and down Buffy’s body, shoulders to hips and back again. He slips one hand between them and between her legs, massaging where she is most sensitive and swollen. She screams at the sensation, his motion startling her in its quickness and effectiveness. He grabs her mouth again, nipping her bottom lip as he continues his all points attack on her senses and her body. Pressing harder with his hand, he feels her shudder beneath him. Moments later, he sends her into the abyss and then jumps in himself, his roar rattling the windows as he comes and comes. She scrambles to hold onto him as her body pulses, her muscles contracting over and over.

Lying still on the floor for a few minutes, Spike and Buffy are struck speechless. The afternoon light is beginning to fade as the sun begins to set on their first full day as lovers. Neither is any closer to understanding what is happening and at the moment, they don’t care for an explanation. Spike looks at Buffy in the near silence of the house, his eyes gone soft sky blue in the fading light. Thankfully, the curtains are closed and he is only washed by an indirect glow of sunlight through the fabric. His hand goes to her face, somehow deep tenderness the result of their recent and ferocious session. His fingertips touch her cheek as his thumb grazes her mouth. Buffy presses her lips against his thumb, her eyes liquid green searching his face. He sees a small tremor run through her whole body.

"Cold, luv?" His voice pierces the quiet.

She nods. "I think so. A little." He realizes the tremble may not have just been the chill, but decides to act on it. With his other hand, he reaches behind them for one of the throw pillows and a soft fleece blanket from the couch. Tucking the pillow under her head, he wraps the blanket around both their bodies as best he can without moving too much. Sliding off her, he rests his head on the pillow next to hers. She turns to face him. Neither is able to find many words at the moment.

"Thanks." Buffy’s voice seems small and childlike, shaking a bit. She feels weak all over, from both exertion and a quivering reaction to Spike’s presence near her. Another tremor runs through her. Spike feels it.

"Still cold?" He looks concerned.

"No, no. It’s not the cold." She leans closer, squeezing her lids tightly together as her lips meet his. He feels the trembling in her lips and pulls back a bit.

"What is it, Buffy?"

Her mouth refuses to cooperate with her attempts to speak and her brain tries to shut down completely before she can form a sentence. She struggles on.

"I can’t stop feeling, Spike. I...thought...this was just a sex thing, but if so, why am I feeling this way? Why can’t I stop shaking?!" Her voice rises slightly in alarm.

Spike runs his hands up and down her arms, as if to warm her. "I don’t know, Buffy. It’s...I’m the same way. Could it be...no." They are mere inches apart, heads on the same pillow.

"What?" Buffy’e eyes dart from his eyes to his mouth.

"Well, I dunno if some magic is at work, but this doesn’t feel like Red’s spell from before. I was out of my mind then, didn’t know what I was saying or doing. Not now. I know I’m here, know what I’m doing..."

"You can say that again." Buffy grins at him, her confidence growing.

He can’t help but chuckle at her interruption. "Thanks, luv, but you know what I mean, don’t you? Is it like that for you?"

"It is. This is not Willow’s will at work. Geez, say that three times fast. True, last night I was in a fog, couldn’t think of anything but...well, you know. Crazy monkey love. But now. There is no fog. And yet, here I am." She gestures with one hand, taking in their current position.

"Right. Same here, pet. What do you make of it?" There is a flash of fear in his eyes, wondering what her reaction will be. He is really laying it all on the line, treading dangerously close to exposing these fresh new feelings he has. Opening himself up for kick in the teeth or worse...her stake to his heart, literally or figuratively. Both would be painful. If he’s read her wrong...

"I honestly don’t know. I just know one thing. I..." She stops, eyes searching his, fighting her need to be tough and invulnerable. "I...care about you. I think it could be...something." She half-smiles at him, afraid of his reaction to her half-admittance of feelings.

"Yeah. Something." He smiles back, thinking they’ve pushed the envelope enough for the moment. He slips his hand over her waist, holding her against him still. Her skin is hot and moist with a light sheen of sweat. The pulse of her blood beneath the skin is hypnotic and he is soon drifting to sleep.

She slides her hand around his waist, their arms entwined. Both drop away to sleep, faces nearly touching, bodies tangled and limp. More time for talk later...


 

* * * * * Chapter 15: Rude Awakening * * * * *



The sudden, piercing sound breaks the quiet in the room, causing both Buffy and Spike to jerk straight up.

"Phone. Not my heart bursting out of my chest...it’s the phone!" Buffy scrambles off the floor, remembering Willow’s admonishment to ‘answer the phone this time’. She snatches the phone from the cradle by the couch and almost yells into it, "Hello!?"

"Buffy? You okay?" Willow’s concerned voice comes over the line.

"Sure, I’m fine. What’s up?" Buffy strains for nonchalance, while she waits for her breathing to slow. She notices it has gotten dark outside as she focuses on the high-pitched voice.

"Buffy...are you naked!? You sound naked!!"

"Me, naked? Heck no, Will." Buffy shakes her head furiously at Spike, who threatens to burst into laughter. He settles for a low chuckle as he surveys her completely nude body from his position on the floor. She scowls at him as he raises his eyebrows at her suggestively. Buffy puts her finger to her lips, hushing him as she tries to listen to the rambling of her best friend.

"Wait, what did you just say?" Buffy’s eyes widen and she feels her stomach drop. All the air in the room disappears in one breath.

"I said, it’s magic! The thing with you and Spike! Definitely magic. I figured it out!" She can hear the note of triumph in Willow’s voice, can see her proud face in her mind’s eye.

"Ma..magic, you say? How can you be sure?" Buffy’s eyes dart away from the questioning look on Spike’s face. Her voice drops. "You mean, something or someone is making us act this way?"

Spike frowns as he picks up every word, despite her whispering. Magic, huh? His body goes cold...colder than normal. He wondered if it was magic, but he felt so different today. She pretty much admitted that she did, too. If it’s magic, it’s some serious mojo to completely fool them both. Spike studies the floor, confused. He should be relieved. Relieved because this thing with the Slayer would never work. He looks up to see her fidgeting on the phone, the early evening moonlight washing her body in silver. Somehow, he doesn’t feel relieved. She seems very nervous and he notices she is becoming more and more self-conscious about being naked. She pulls another throw from the couch and wraps it around herself. He knows the Slayer well enough to see the walls going up. Buffy is shutting him out. It is almost palpable. She appears to be taking the avenue Red has opened for her. The escape from bizarre emotions and a soul-less vampire. Her words are tremulous, her glances at him furtive.

"Are you serious, Will? Did you just say Cupid?"

"Yes, yes. Once I had exhausted demon research, I started thinking about fairy tales and mythology. Not the first time something from the storybooks has come to bite us in the butt, right?"

"Right." Buffy looks at Spike briefly. There is a noticeable tension building in his previously relaxed frame. Is he glad to hear it was magic all along? Will he take this chance to bolt?

"So, I hit on Cupid! Cupid was...well, is notorious for meddling with human lives. For kicks. I found all these stories about him. And it would be funny to a god to make a vampire and the Vampire Slayer jump each other’s bones, right? The whole opposites attract, love/hate dynamic, see?"

"Yeah, funny." Buffy’s voice is hollow. Every one of Willow’s hyper words is a slap in the face. Was this feeling she was starting to have for Spike someone’s idea of a joke?

"So, I hit the books with a vengeance, found out about his arrows and the chest pain you had and Buffy - here’s the best part!"

"The best part." Buffy can’t find anything to do but repeat Will’s last words as she feels herself getting sadder and sadder.

"It’s just temporary! Sounds like he hit with you some lusty arrows and they should wear off in, like, 48 hours. Should be feeling like your normal Buffy self very soon. Fully wearing clothes and no more Spike!"

"No more Spike." Buffy is facing the window as these words fall off her tongue. Too late, she realizes what she’s said. The series of phrases he’s just heard. The sudden movement behind her reminds her. By the time she turns, he is halfway up the stairs. The day is shattered.

"Will...Will!" She manages to cut off the stream of words for a second. "I have to go. I’ll get the details from you later, okay? Promise." Without waiting for a reply, Buffy cuts off the phone and tosses it to the couch, heading for the stairs. She stops at the bottom, staring up. Her heart races. What is she going to do? Follow him? Ask him not to go? He’s leaving. Definitely. He must want to get as far away from her as possible ‘til the mojo wears off. Why is this upsetting? It’s magic. Some damn god is pulling their strings, making them feel these things, making them want these things that are so wrong. Better to let it subside. Better to let things get back to normal. Hah. Normal. What is that like? A sudden thump on the stairs freezes her, throws her heart into her throat. He is standing at the top of the stairs in his black leather pants and boots. His chest is thrown in carved relief by the dim light and she finds it hard to breathe. Her eyes move up to his and the feeling worsens. There is nothing. No spark, no passion, no playfulness. His eyes are dead. Setting his shoulders, he clomps down the steps.

"Sounds like I should get going, Slayer. Good for Red for figuring it out. Smart bird. How long did she say it would last?" He avoids her gaze now, grabbing his shirt and duster from the hall floor.

"Um, 48 hours or so. I mean, she doesn’t know exactly..."

"Right. So we should be right as rain by tomorrow night." His dark blue eyes lift to hers and she nearly gasps. She was wrong. That deadness was a veil, one that is wavering. She swears there is pain, but he looks away again before she can be sure. He turns to the door, grabbing the knob.

"Spike. Wait." Her hand rests on his arm, stopping him in mid-motion. He hears the pleading note in her voice and wonders at it for a moment.

He doesn’t turn. "Slayer, don’t. It’s magic. We should just be happy it will go away." Spike snatches the door open and heads off into the night. Her hand drops to her side.

Words fail her. For once, actions fail her as well. She just watches him leave, torn and confused. Willow is seldom wrong about these things. Even if it sounds funny that Cupid is involved, it’s not the strangest thing that has ever happened in Sunnydale. Makes sense that these feelings were false. I mean, it’s Spike. She hates him. Right? So why does it hurt so much?

Spike resists the urge to look back, to see if she is still standing there. If she called out, he would probably run back and grab her into his arms again, but he knows better. That is not the Buffy way. Somehow, all this will be his fault tomorrow. She’ll wake up in her sex-wrecked house and wish him dusty all over again. And he’ll...he’ll want her...dead again, too. Spike struggles to even think it. "Bloody fuckin’ hell. This is why I hate soddin’ magic." He wipes a stray tear from his face with the back of his hand and breaks into a run for his crypt.

* * * * *

Cupid rests his hand on his chin, watching the lovers separate in the early, cold evening. Psyche comes up behind him and gently places her hand on his shoulder. She reacts in surprise at the tenseness she feels.

"Darling? What is it? Are they fighting?" She glances down at the water and sees Buffy standing in her open door, shaking.

"No, not fighting. Not anymore." He sighs. "They found out about me."

"What!? You mean, they know you shot them?"

"Yes. Apparently, one of her friends is a witch with considerable intelligence. She figured it out. And now..." He gestures at the water, taking in Buffy leaning on her open doorframe and Spike running through the cemetery. "It’s all broken."

"Oh, sweetie. But we saw something with those two. Something beyond the lust spell, right?"

"Well, I thought so. I mean, I do have some experience in the matters of the heart."

Pysche leans closer to the images in the pool, squinting. "Bring us closer to her, dear."

Cupid looks over his shoulder at her quizzically. His gesture makes Buffy’s image fill the pool. For the first time, he sees the tracks down her cheeks. "Crying. I didn’t even see it." Standing up suddenly, he waves at the pool again, bringing Spike into focus. "His eyes are wet as well! This is....fantastic!!"

Pysche looks slightly confused. "It is?"

"Yes, my love, don’t you see?! Emotion. They are both sad to know it was magic, though I prefer the term divine intervention. Anyway, not the point. Why would they be sad if they didn’t feel something, right? They are just not good at communicating with each other. Too much negative history." He smiles widely at his sweet Pysche.

"So, what will you do?"

"Do? Nothing, I think. I’m resolved to let this run its course a bit longer. The last lust arrow should still be in effect, if a bit weaker now. Maybe it will help melt them. Bring them back together? Crying! Oh, these humans...and vampires are fascinating." His eyes glint in excitement as he takes Psyche by the hand and leads her away from the images flickering below.


 

* * * * * Chapter 16: Distraction * * * * *



Spike grabs the nearest object and throws it with as much force as he can at the crypt wall. The sound of glass shattering fills the empty crypt. He kicks a small table over and then kicks it again into a sarcophagus.

"Wanker. If I ever get my hands on this bleedin’ Cupid, I’ll rip his little wings off and stuff them down his throat." Spike throws himself into his armchair, breathing hard, fists clenched. Every step to the crypt was filled with a vision of her. Even now, he can taste her skin on his tongue, can feel her taut muscles under his hands, can see her deep hazel eyes looking into his.

"Arrrgghh!" He stands up suddenly, running his hands through his hair. He decides he either has to get blinding drunk or kill some demons to distract himself. Maybe both. Spike storms out of his crypt, slamming the door behind him.

* * * * *

Later that evening...

Buffy turns the nightstand upright, replaces the clock and lamp that were knocked off it. She looks around and sighs. "Man, did we ever tear this place up. Thank God Mom’s not back from her trip for a few more days. She would have split a gasket if she saw the house like this." Finishing up in her bedroom, Buffy flops down on the bed with a sigh. The busy task of cleaning up has kept her distracted from the aching in her heart and the still pulsing need for him. Every room in the house where she and Spike ran wild has now been restored to order and her thoughts threaten to invade again. She looks down at herself, at her now sweaty running pants and tank top. Going to her dresser, she pulls out some extra clothes she left there and heads for the bathroom. Opening the door brings a rush of memories back. Him helping her into the shower, gently washing her body... Cursing the emotional roller coaster she is on, Buffy yanks the curtain back and turns on the water. "I’ll just make it quick and get the hell out of here."

The hot water pounds into her tender skin, awakening every nerve ending. She grabs the washcloth, soaps it and starts to wash herself off. She flinches as she rubs a bit too hard on her sensitive skin. Her entire body is sore from the strenuous activity of the last twenty four hours. Lightening her touch, she works the cloth up to her chest, up her neck. She grazes the still fresh bite mark there and instantly freezes. The look in his eyes when she offered her blood. The feeling that drove her to do it. The incredible sensation of pain/pleasure as he clung to her, as she felt herself filling him with life and warmth. Hot tears sting her eyes as they well up and fall. Buffy backs up until she reaches the cool tile. Sliding down the surface, she ends up sitting on the shower floor. Water pours over her as she puts her head down on her knees and pours out her disappointment in quiet sobs.

* * * * *

Even later that evening...

"Another."

"’ey, don’t you think you’ve had enough, buddy?"

Spike launches himself half over the bar, grabbing the bartender by the shirt. "I. Said. Another." A low growl begins to emanate from the vampire’s chest.

"Uh, yessir. Right away." Spike slumps back onto his bar stool. Filthiest, most disgusting dive in town and they try to cut him off? He turns on the stool and leans against the bar, surveying the crowd. Demons, vamps and the generally undesirable of Sunnydale. As long as the Slayer doesn’t feel like picking a huge bar fight, she won’t be here tonight. He was sure that would help, but it hasn’t gotten her out of his mind. Not her or her golden body or her breathless words in his ear as he... "Dammit!" He slams his hand down on the bar and turns back to face it. The drink has appeared while his back was turned. He sips it at first, letting the amber liquid burn his throat on the way down. Spike is finding it difficult to get drunk enough to forget. If anything, the alcohol is making him more and more depressed. He slams the remaining contents of the glass. Spike mutters to himself, "Damn my vampire constitution. Takes forever to get hammered." He raises his voice to be heard over the clamor in the bar. "’ey! Another." The bartender begins to open his mouth, but Spike holds up a finger, silencing him. He then turns the finger and points at the empty glass, an eyebrow raised. The bartender gulps and snatches away the empty glass. Again murmuring to himself, Spike muses, "Must be new. Won’t last in a place like this." Five drinks later, Spike is finally starting to feel it. The bartender is keeping a safe distance from the vampire as he grows more and more surly.

"’Bout bloody time. Been drinkin’ for two hours straight." He starts to turn around on the barstool and suddenly finds himself on the floor. A pair of large muscular arms pick him up. "’oy, thanks, mate. Stool musht ha’ moved on me. Wha - wha the hell you doin’? ‘EY!"

Spike is rather unceremoniously tossed out the door of the bar, landing in a sprawled heap in the dank alley. The door slams behind the two bouncers without a word.

"Was bloody rude, ya ashk me." On his third attempt, Spike manages to stand up. He goes to the alley wall for support and stands very still for a minute. " ‘aven’t been this sloshed in a bit. Everythin’s nice an’ blurry..."

Spike laughs to himself, and then squints as he sees two very blurry and large forms approaching him. "Not those bloody bouncers again." He raises his voice, " Shove off, alright? I’m out of the bleedin’ bar already!"

"So we noticed, Spike." The deep voice is vaguely familiar.

"Tha’s funny, you sound a lot like that Wa’shaar demon I whacked t’other night. Oh wait, that was tonight, actually. See, I‘ve been drinkin - "

"That was one of my brethren, Spike. And we don’t find it very funny."

"Oh balls, don’t tell me you’re here for wha - revenge? Boys, not really the besht night for it. Maybe you could look me up later on?" Spike spreads his arms wide as the two demons get closer...and bigger. "Boysh?"

A sudden punch in the stomach is Spike’s answer. He tries to swing back, but his coordination is seriously hampered by his drunken state. The swing goes wild and the other demon slams his fists into Spike’s back, dropping him to the ground. Several kicks in the gut and punches to his head later, he hears a scream of pain from one of the demons. Struggling to see what is going on, Spike looks up and notices one of his attackers is now sprawled out on the ground... and maybe without his head. "Wha’s goin’ on? Who’s there?" The other demon turns his attention from kicking Spike to this new attacker. A familiar scent is on the air. Vanilla and jasmine tickles his nose. Spike sees a blur of blond hair and moans, his belief confirmed. He cannot escape her. Even in the filthy underbelly of Sunnydale she shows up. ‘Course it is her job... He lets his head drop back to the pavement, praying for unconsciousness. Moments later, the sounds of struggle cease and he feels a hand on his back, resting lightly.

"Spike?" Her voice is gentle, concerned. He imagines he looks pretty wretched after a couple hours of demon fighting, heavy drinking and now a one-sided beating.

He manages to pull one eyelid open and look up at her, despite a throbbing pain in his head. "Shlayer. T’anks." With that last effort, blessed unconsciousness takes him.

Buffy sits back on her heels and sighs. Surveying the scene in the alley, she realizes she better get out of there...and fast. Only a few feet from the door to the roughest demon bar in town and she’s killed two of the customers. Plus, there’s Spike. Not the most popular vamp in town since he started going after demons. She cocks her head at his prone form. He is a mess. And wow, really drunk. With a grunt of effort, she pulls him off the ground, dragging one arm around her shoulder. He’s even more of a mess than she thought. "Good thing for you I couldn’t sleep, Spike. Otherwise, they’d be sweeping up your dusty remains in the morning." Despite her light tone, she is worried. He really could have been killed...well, dusted. And despite all her protests to the contrary, it’s not what she wants for the blond vampire. "I’ve done a very good job of avoiding you so far. Been nearly five hours." She sighs as she half-drags him down the alley and around the corner. "Stupid spell."

Buffy struggles up the steps to her house, Spike’s limp body a dead weight, his arm around her shoulders. "This just keeps getting better. My house is closer and I can’t freakin’ carry you any further. You weigh a ton unconscious. And I must be really losing it to keep talking to a knocked-out vamp I’m trapped in a lust spell with. This evening just sucks on all new levels." Kicking the door open, Buffy gets as far as the living room couch before dropping her charge. The momentum pulls her down on top of him. He grunts in his sleep as she lands with an elbow in his gut. She takes a deep breath before pushing herself off him. The rich scent of leather and the lingering smell of smoke. So Spike. It makes her thighs quiver just being this close to him. She backs a few steps away and stares down at him. Peaceful in his drunken stupor. She moves in again to check over his wounds. Split lip, black eye, definitely some bruising on his face. Her fingers run gently over his cheekbones. Her glance drops to his torso. "Should probably check for more serious injuries." Glancing back at his face to make sure he’s still out, she slips her warm hands under his shirt, carefully pushing it up. Buffy holds her breath as she reveals his abs, the washboard stomach that was pressed against her mere hours ago. Slowly, she presses up and down his chest, feeling for broken bones or any sign of major damage. "Probably some cracked ribs or at least bruised ones. He’ll be alright." Her voice is low and she speaks just to keep herself from shaking. With her hands on him, her self-restraint is slipping. Damn lusty feelings. Buffy looks up at his face, battered a bit, but still beautiful. Gently, she pulls the shirt back down, covering him. She stands up quickly, moving away from him before she can make a mistake. "Can’t act on the spell. It will go away. It WILL go away." She chants it like a mantra, wondering if that will make it true. Her eyes pop up to the curtains, which are wide open. Moonlight washes over him, but she knows that also means dawn could make Spike extra crispy. Risking another approach, she leans over him and yanks the curtains closed, checking for any stray light. Satisfied he won’t end up a pile of dust, she turns away and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time to escape as fast as she can.

A few moments later, the silence is broken as Spike cracks open his eyes. His hands go to his chest where her warm hands danced up his skin. Never has he employed so much willpower. Ever. Even now, his erection strains his pants as he remembers the haze of her warmth and her delicate scent around him, over him when she closed the curtains. "Soddin’ magic. Always consequences. Always..." With that, he drops back off to sleep, hoping his dreams will provide escape.

 

* * * * * Chapter 17: Impulse Control * * * * *



Buffy turns over for the hundredth time, desperately trying to get comfortable in her tangled sheets. Curled onto her side, she smacks the bed with her hand in frustration.

"So so stupid. Oh Buffy, you can’t stop thinking about having sex with a certain bloodsucking vampire, so what do you do? Go out and save his drunk butt and wait, what next? Bring him back to your HOUSE! Good one." She slaps the bed again and turns over, landing on her back. Her aggravation has done nothing to drive out the thoughts of the vampire sleeping one floor beneath her. Thoughts which are giving her warm, wet feelings growing increasingly harder to ignore. His strong hands holding her, running up and down her spine. Goosebumps spring up on her skin just thinking about it.

Almost of their own volition, her own hands begin to roam over her body, seeking out the most sensitive spots. Buffy slips one hand up under her shirt, running her fingers over her nipples, sore and tender. They respond immediately and she feels a stab of sensation below her waist. She pushes her head back into the pillow, surprised by the power of the feeling. One hand pulls roughly on her pajama bottoms and she manages to kick them off. She lets her hand rest gently on top of her panties, feeling the wetness grow there as her mind wanders over his body. His strong shoulders that she clung to as he drove into her. The muscles stretched taut in his arms as he held her hips while she bucked on top of him. She shudders a bit, remembering the rolling, pounding sex on the floor of the kitchen. Her hand slides into her panties, and she begins to rub her swollen clit in circles with her thumb. The hour of tossing and turning with thoughts of Spike have her already incredibly wet and aroused.

As her hand works its magic down below, her mind sends flash after flash of him. Like a series of snapshots, she gets images of Spike. The curve of his full mouth, the surprisingly soft platinum hair, the rippling tightness of his chest, the groove of his spine down his strong back, his words tickling her ear, teeth nipping at her neck... The images come faster and faster as her pace increases. He is there, taking her body, running his hands through her hair, his deep voice moaning her name... ‘Buffy...I love you so much...’ Remembering his words muttered from a dream sends shockwaves through her system and she moans to a climax, riding the wave of those words. Letting the ripples in her pelvis dissipate, Buffy lies still, staring at the ceiling and panting. All those images of his body, his face and what makes her come? His words...his profession of love. She scolds herself. In a dream, Buffy. Doesn’t mean a thing and why would I want it to? Thankfully, the efforts of her orgasm are stealing over her, and her eyelids grow heavy as her body lapses into a relaxed state. Her thoughts are stored away for another few hours as sleep takes her.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Spike stares daggers into the ceiling. The alcohol wore off...way too fast...and his natural wakefulness at night took over. He wakes to a very faint sound, a very faint scent. Both unmistakably Buffy and both unmistakably aroused Buffy. He strains to listen to her, simultaneously thanking and cursing his vampiric hearing for this little show. Her telltale moans make Spike’s jaw twitch. "Least the bloody spell is still workin’ on her...too." His body responds to her even at this distance. He feels his jeans get tighter as his cock springs to life. Spike growls deep in his throat in frustration. He can see her, cheeks pink, moist lips open as she moans, hands running down her body, lower and lower. Listening very hard, he confirms his suspicions and his hand drops to his zipper. Won’t be walking in on him while she’s in the middle of that. Quickly, Spike undoes his jeans, releasing his erection. His hand immediately goes to it, rubbing in time with her sounds, letting his imagination roam, seeing her in his mind’s eye. He grips harder as he remembers her throwing him down on this very couch, standing over him, eyes glinting, stripping down to reveal her flushed body before straddling him. Spike closes his eyes as he continues to stroke himself. His pace increases as he remembers her body stretching above him, her breasts begging to be touched, her neck bared. And then, later, that look in her eyes. The one that nearly burned him from the inside out. A passion, some undefined emotion when she looked at him. He hears a whimper from the room upstairs and it is too much for him. Spike finally comes with a low deep groan, straining to be quiet. He lies still for a few minutes, stilling his strangely accelerated breathing. Buffy does a number on him, even in his memories, his visions of her.

Finally, he struggles to his feet, swaying a bit from the aftereffects of his drinking binge. His hands go to his head. "Sod it, ‘m going to feel this tomorrow..." Moaning slightly, he stumbles to the bathroom to clean himself up. On the way back, he stops at the foot of the stairs. Grasping the banister on one side and placing his hand on the opposite wall, he stares into the dark at the top of the stairs. She is sleeping now, taken to that state by her own hand. He can see her, skin still very warm, heart rate slowly returning to normal. Spike’s grip tightens on the banister. He doesn’t even want to have her body right now, he just wants to let her curl into him, hold her while she sleeps, share that intoxicating warmth.

He jumps back from the steps as if he was burned, shaking his head. "Spell must be getting to me. Just a sex thing, nothin’ more..." With one last glance up the stairs, he wobbles to the door and out into the night, fleeing the confusion in his brain and his still heart.

* * * * *

The next morning...



Buffy stretches, feeling warm and satisfied. Glancing at the clock tells her she has a little time before she has to head over to campus. Slowly her smile fades as he remembers that she missed all her classes yesterday...and the reason why. The reason is asleep on her couch downstairs. Buffy covers her face with her hands, wondering how she can face him this morning. And these feelings...god, how can it continue like this? She wants him, craves him even now, moments into the new day. And he will know it. The minute he looks into her with those baby blues, he’ll know what she wants.

"I can’t. I have to go to class. And it’s just the spell. How many times do I have to tell myself...ugh!" She cringes at the thought of him saying no to her. How mortifying. "Just have to avoid him, get to class and forget all about his...just forget it. By tonight, back to sane Buffy. Who may stop talking to herself quite this much." Shaking her head, Buffy concentrates her efforts on getting ready and any thoughts not centered on Spike.

An hour later, she can avoid it, avoid him no longer. Tentatively, she starts to head down the stairs, absently straightening her black sweater, touching her hair and then getting mad at herself for primping. For Spike. Taking a deep breath, she enters the first floor, her eyes automatically shooting towards the living room.

And the empty couch.

Her heart drops when she sees he is gone. Despite her dread of facing him, she still wanted to see him. Confirming the craziness of the last two days. She checks into the kitchen. Nothing. Going back to the living room, she flops on the couch, running her hands over the upholstery. Seeing him there, black leather, alabaster skin. Otherworldly he is, makes everyone else look so ordinary, so plain. So human. Buffy sighs in exasperation. Why can’t she want the normal things a girl wants? A quiet voice in her head points out that she is hardly ‘normal’, so why should she seek it?

She pushes off the couch, grabs her bag and heads for campus, hoping to shake these thoughts and just make it to the end of the spell.

* * * * *

Willow watches her friend, a concerned look creasing her features. "Um, Buffy, forgive me for being Little Miss Repeat Herself, but are you sure you’re okay?" Her eyes still on Buffy, she crunches into a potato chip.

Buffy pulls herself out of daydreams, naturally centered around a certain blond vampire and focuses on Willow. "Wha-? I’m sorry, what was that, Willow?"

Willow sighs. "Buffy, something’s wrong." She drops her voice. "Is it the lusty spell? You still thinking about Spike?"

Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, Buffy laughs. "Oh heck no. Not even at all. Nope. Not thinking about Spike..." Her voice trails off, losing conviction with each word.

Barely noticing, Willow continues, "Oh good, ‘cause I’ll tell you, whew, what a relief when I found the Cupid thing. Otherwise, yikes, right?"

Blinking back an unbidden tear, Buffy smiles a bit too brightly. "Absolutely. Such a major relief, Will. Knew you’d come through for me. I was just, uh, wondering how much I missed yesterday. I’ve got some catching up to do."

Willow blushes as she remembers, all too vividly, the reasons Buffy missed her classes. Ducking her head, she fumbles for a notebook. "Well, I’ve got notes from Pysch class and I’m sure you can make up anything else. I’ll help you out."

"Yep, you’re always there for me, Will. Done?" Buffy nods at Willow’s lunch, stealthily dumping her mostly untouched lunch into a bag to throw away. She wonders if Willow had to be quite so there for her on the Spike thing. If they didn’t know about the spell, she could be with him right now...

* * * * *

He moans, wondering when his sarcophagus got to be so uncomfortable. "Prob’ly when you got used to the Slayer as your pillow, wanker." Spike squirms a bit, fighting consciousness, willing himself back into the peace offered by sleep. He punches at the pillow he made of his duster, trying to make it more comfortable. Mouth twitching, thoughts of her tripping unbidden into his dreams, he manages to drop back off to a relatively peaceful slumber as the day wears on...
 

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