| * * * * * Buffy sat in a dark corner of the Bronze and watched as Spike danced with a voluptuous college student named Jenn. They wove slowly, obliviously across the floor. Jenn’s long, naturally blonde hair reached to her waist. Spike’s hands slowly stroked the long strands of Jenn’s hair, pausing briefly at the curve of her hips. His eyes were closed and he moved his hips in a slow, gently thrusting motion against Jenn’s body. Jenn’s mouth was slightly parted. Buffy watched in disbelief as Spike leaned in for a kiss. Buffy had seen enough. Her face flushed with anger and a deeper, wilder emotion she couldn’t quite identify. She stood up from her chair and strode over to where Spike and Jenn were dancing. She grabbed Spike’s hand off Jenn’s backside and twisted him around to face her. “Give it a rest Slayer.” Spike said coldly, as he jerked his hand out of Buffy’s grasp, “Can’t you see I’m busy here?” “Why are you doing this?” Buffy stammered. A sudden wave of humiliation swept over her. “Doing what, pet?” Spike leered back toward Jenn. “Oh you mean seducing that juicy little tidbit? Did you notice she’s quite visible and doesn’t seem to mind rubbing up against my bad self in public? Unlike others. And what the hell did you do to your hair?” Buffy reached up and nervously ran her hand through her shorn hair. She started trembling. She stared into Spike’s eyes, and felt their coldness. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Oh my god”, she thought, “What am I doing here?” Spike gave a shallow laugh and turned away from her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Later Slayer. I’ve serious business to attend to now.” He walked back across the dance floor and grabbed Jenn into a tight embrace. “Miss me sweetness?” he asked, loud enough for Buffy to hear. Buffy turned and ran out of the Bronze and into the night. The night air was damp and melancholy. Only a sliver of moon, weaving in and out of the clouds, shed an occasional light. Buffy walked blindly. She kept walking. On and on, as if she could walk into knowingness. As if she could walk into some understanding of what she was feeling, of what she’d felt back at the Bronze and why she felt so desperately bereft. Spike hating her coldly. This was a good thing, right? What she wanted, right? “I’m going mad… can’t think, won’t think…forget him, must grasp something…oh there’s nothing, nothing…” “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.” She broke into a sob and started running. She ran until she stumbled over a thick slab of granite and tumbled onto the soft grass. She lay face down on the grass,her fingers digging into the soft turf, deep into the sweet smelling dirt, grasping the earth tightly as if she might fall off into space. Exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep. She was in the cemetery, lying in front of Spike’s crypt. It was still a few hours before dawn. Spike stumbled through the cemetery toward home. His face was set in grim thought remembering the look on the Slayer’s flushed face, her tears. “Where the hell is she?” he thought. He’d searched for her everywhere after she’d fled the Bronze. He saw his crypt up ahead and picked up his pace. He tripped on something and fell. He looked over to see what he’d tripped on and saw a body. “Bloody Vamps never pick up after dinner.” Then he recognized the tiny black leather skirt and his heart fell. He sat up and gently rolled her over onto her back. He touched her wrist, feeling for a pulse. She was alive. He placed his forehead against her face savoring her soft, shallow breaths. “Buffy,” he whispered. Still sleeping, as if drugged, so deep in sleep, but slowly rising to consciousness at his touch, his scent, his voice, Buffy murmured, “I love him.” * * * * * …could we stay right here 'til the end of time, 'til the earth stops turning wanna love you 'til the seas run dry Buffy opened her eyes. She’d had the most beautiful dream. Someone loved her. Someone was so deep under her skin, she knew he’d never leave. The delicious feeling of coming home after a long weary night of slaying, filling her up, penetrating deep into her bones. Safe. Loved. Not alone anymore. Except this wasn’t her home or her bed. Old, musty smells. Whiskey and the smell of death. She panicked, imagining herself back in her grave. She sat up on the lumpy, dusty mattress which was curiously covered with new, dark red satin sheets. “Where the hell am I?” she said out loud. She jumped as a cool hand reached out from under the slippery sheets and caressed her back. Spike’s hand. “Come back here, luv”, he said sleepily. “Why am I naked and in your bed?” Buffy yelled as she ripped the sheet off of Spike’s body and grabbed it to her breast. “Don’t you remember, pet?” he smiled quietly at her discomfort. “You decided to take a nap outside my door last night and I thought it a shame to leave you out there when it started to rain. By the by, didn’t realize that you loved dirt so much. It was quite the job to get you cleaned up. You weren’t very helpful you know. Drink too much last night? Something get you upset? Your clothes are over there on the TV, still a bit damp. Mmm…come here.” His voice, so deep and sweet. Was his voice home? Was the sound of his voice, his very own voice her home? Buffy was suddenly very tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of trying to be good or appease the unappeasable. Just wanted to be loved for a while. Was that so bad? She reached behind her and grabbed the hand that was stroking her back. She pulled Spike’s hand up to touch her face. She was overwhelmed with a deep feeling of joy. She looked down at him. He was gazing at her with eyes filled with love and longing. “My hand”, she smiled at him. She kissed his hand gently. “This is my hand, for me. To touch me. No one else.” She heard his gasp and felt his arm circle her waist, as he pulled her down into his arms, crying, “Your hand, luv. Always and forever.” * * * * * …if i should die this very moment i wouldn't fear for i've never known completeness like being here wrapped in the warmth of you loving every breath of you Spike pulled Buffy down into a soft embrace. He was so afraid of the meaning of this moment, so afraid of what it meant to him when she claimed his hand. He thought of the thousands of women both demon and human that he’d held in his arms. He remembered the moment last night when he first recognized her still body lying outside his crypt, how he’d thought for a brief moment that she was dead, again. The blackness of that moment was unmatched in his 120 or so years of undead life. He thought he’d lost her forever when he’d thrown her out of his crypt the night before last. He’d known then that she wasn’t quite ready to fathom the depths of his love for her, not ready to claim the feelings that tumbled chaotically through her when they were together. She’d thought that her brief flight from visibility brought her escape. But it brought her straight to him, to his bed. She made it into a joke. But he’d known the moment she slammed him up against the wall and slowly nuzzled and licked his neck that her invisibility had freed her to go where she belonged, where her heart knew her true home lay. Her heart. He could feel it now beating slowly against his chest. It was a strong sure heart- strong enough to beat for two. He slowly stroked the curve of her back. He tangled his fingers into her hair, gently touching the tips against the silky skin of her neck. As soon as he’d seen her sitting alone in the Bronze that night, staring forlornly at him as he held another woman, he’d known or perhaps just hoped that she’d recognize her feelings - that moment of devastation, that moment of free-fall into the abyss, into love. “What’s life?” he thought, “Just a mess of chemical reactions, the ability to produce energy, transform light.” He’d watched the mass of loveless humanity flow past him for many years and felt them to be more dead than himself in this moment - this moment with Buffy in his arms, snuggled against his neck, warm and soft and vulnerable and loving him. He couldn’t imagine why in the universe the Fates would allow him this gift. * * * * * …here is true peace here my heart knows calm safe in your soul bathed in your sighs wanna stay right here 'til the end of time, 'til the earth stops turning The crypt was filled with a soft, rose red light. Dawn was breaking and one of the sheets hanging across a small window on the far end of the crypt had slipped to the side revealing a deep crimson sky. “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning…” the thought floated through Spike’s mind. “Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry...” A pang of fear struck his heart. He jumped from the bed and quickly walked over to re-cover the window. “Light, I was dreaming of sunlight.” He turned back to look back at his bed. It was true. There she lay, in such naked beauty, sprawled across his bed. The sheets that he’d been saving for just this occasion were grasped in her small, strong hands and held sensuously against her mouth. She was breathing deeply, slowly in complete slumber. He walked over and knelt at the side of bed and stared at her in wonder. They had not made love last night. They had held each other tightly, possessively, satisfied by just the touch and feel of completely exposed skin. They hadn’t spoken. Their skins had merged and spoken for them. Her skin was silken under his gentle caresses and kisses. She had held onto his hand all night. He slowly reached out to smooth the tousled hair from her face. She frowned in sleep and pulled away from his touch. He was overcome with a wave of despair. He looked sadly around the dank, dirty room. He had nothing. He was nothing. He could give her nothing. He was all darkness, and evil, and betrayal. He was dead. He would never walk with her in sunlight, never walk with her into the deep green beauty of the world and claim her, be her beloved husband, fill her with children. Grow old with her. He would watch her die and then have to exist on, and on in a world empty of her touch. At that moment, he hated his existence more than anything on this earth. “I can only bring her pain, humiliation and despair. Not peace. Not joy.” He stood up resolutely and quickly dressed, careful not to awaken her. He threw a blanket over his head and disappeared out the door. Buffy opened her eyes, slightly disoriented by the darkness of the room. “Where am I?” she thought, then remembered - remembered the night and his hands and her dream. A quiet smile crossed her face. She rolled over to touch her love. “Spike?” she spoke sleepily into the empty room. “Spike? Are you there? Come back here. Come back to me. Come love…” She sat up abruptly, realizing that he was not there. She was alone. * * * * * A month had passed and no one had seen or heard of Spike. He’d disappeared completely. Buffy could not sleep. She hadn’t slept well since Spike’s disappearance. She couldn’t explain to her friends why she looked so bedraggled and distraught during these last weeks. They were all rejoicing at Spike’s departure. One less vampire to worry about. Especially Spike – one less extremely annoying vampire to worry about. They debated about his demise. “Perhaps his chip short circuited and he went up in flames” Xander joked. “Probably out searching for some replacement for Dru or Harmony. He was always a sucker for crazed women.” Buffy winced at this last suggestion. Was she a crazed woman? The only truth Buffy knew was that she’d told him she loved him. He’d held her through the night and then he left. The thought wove through her mind endlessly. Love. Leave. Love. Leave. Empty, empty days. Sometimes she thought that she could feel his body moving through air. Somewhere out in the world, he was walking, his arms and hands moving in a slow dance. It was as if she could feel him across a thousand miles. The wave and flutter of wind, air displaced by his presence, brushed gently against her skin. Those were the good moments. Other times, she’d sit in the cemetery outside his abandoned crypt, her eyes searching the grass before her for ash. “If he does not exist in this world, then why should I?” she thought glumly. She was sinking deeper into depression. One day she refused to eat or get out of bed. She started having vivid dreams of him. She needed to be in bed; find sleep; find him in her dreams. She’d stolen his crimson sheets from his crypt. She would wrap herself in them, desperate for his scent which still lingered in their folds. In her dreams, he was real. In her dreams, he told her he loved her. He would kiss her deeply, touch her skin, her body, and slowly lick away the tears flowing freely from her eyes. She’d hear his voice, his words, and then repeat them to herself again and again, “Your hand, luv. Always and forever.” Her friends were desperately worried. When she woke up between dream states, she would murmur his name. Spike. Spike. If she said his name, claimed his name enough times, surely she could summon him. What was the use of all that Slayer strength and power and knowledge if she couldn’t bring him back to her? Willow carefully closed the door to Buffy’s bedroom. She looked at Xander who was waiting outside in the hallway. “Someone’s got to find Spike,” she said grimly. * * * * * He stood in the dingy bar in the Mission district of San Francisco. He’d found a flop house apartment, on Leavenworth Street, to share with a few other displaced, down on their luck vampires. The Mission was a good place for tequila. He was on his third bottle, trying to get to oblivion as quickly as he could. He liked the pure cold fire of straight tequila racing down his throat. Sometimes he hallucinated if he drank too much. He tried to avoid that, because his hallucinations would always be of her lying before his eyes across his bed with her soft kisses and breath against his face, his throat, his chest, his… He took another long swig straight from the bottle. “Bye, bye, Slayer,” he mumbled then passed out on the floor. * * * * * all i've known all i've done all i've felt was leading to this all i've known all i've done all i've felt was leading to this He was dreaming. He was running through Golden Gate Park toward the ocean, savoring the darkness, the sweet smells of the night, the faint scent of salt and eucalyptus leaves. The fog was low and thick before him. He saw a woman come slowly out of a grove of pines. It was Buffy. He stopped in shock. She stood before him, looking straight at him but not seeing him. She was calling his name, whispering, moaning his name. He tried to reach out to her, to touch her. He cried out to her. She disappeared. His head was exploding. People were shouting, laughing and generally smashing things all around him. He was in the living room, lying on the floor, of his dingy apartment. Brian, the youngest of his vampire roommates, was doing a little jig across the floor to the blaring, tinny sounds of an Irish flute. “I’m the Master of the Dance,” Brian laughed drunkenly. “Would you shut the bloody hell up and stop moving!” Spike moaned as he tried to sit up. “What the hell is going on here, mate?” “We went looking for you to tell you the good news. We found you at the bar and carried you back and on the way met up with dinner. Mine was a dancer. Mmm. We’re celebrating and getting ready for a road trip. Wanna come?” “Come where? Celebrate what?” Spike growled from the floor, looking around for something stake-like, and contemplating murder. “To Sunnydale. It’s the Slayer,” the young vamp shouted, “She’s dead! Time to party!” “NO!” Spike screamed and jumped up off the floor. He swung his fist at the young vampire and knocked him across the room. He reached down and picked up the stunned vamp by the neck. “What do you know?” he demanded. He had to wait until nightfall before he could steal a car. Someone had foolishly parked a brand new black Mercedes on the street outside his apartment. You had to wonder about the naiveté of some people in this world, he thought. Ten minutes later, he was driving 100 mph down highway 101. Dawn, Willow, Xander and Anya were all sitting around the table at the Magic Box. For once the table was empty of books. There was nothing to read or research about Buffy’s current state or non-state so to speak. No one could think of anything to say. Willow sadly traced her finger in a circle on the table. “I can’t use magic. You all know she wouldn’t want me to. I mean, she really wouldn’t want me to … I think, well, what do you think Xander?” “Well…you know I have this feeling that this has nothing to do with magic, or slayer stuff, or possession or anything like that.” Xander said quietly looking at Anya. “I think her heart was just plain broken.” * * * * * if i should die this very moment i wouldn't fear for i've never known completeness like being here wrapped in the warmth of you loving every breath of you still my heart this moment or it might burst He pulled the car up on the curb outside of Buffy’s house. He opened the car door and leaned out to look up at her window. It was dark. A feeling of dread rose in his heart. He jumped out of the car and ran up her walk to the door. It was unlocked. He let himself in and quietly called her name. “Buffy, It’s me. It’s Spike.” The words echoed in the silent house. He walked slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. The door was closed. He reached out to touch the doorknob. He looked down at his hand, so pale in the dark, and trembling. He quickly pulled back his hand and stood outside her door listening. Nothing. Where were all her friends, he thought angrily? Humans, he thought in disgust. He approached the door again and this time opened it. Buffy lay still and silent on her bed. She was covered with one of his crimson sheets. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Spike stood over her bed looking down at her face. So beautiful and peaceful and so very pale. He remembered what she’d made him promise never to tell her friends; about where she went when she died and about being angry to be dragged back into this world. “I’ll make them leave you alone this time Slayer,” he spoke the words aloud. He bent down to kiss her lips and recoiled back in shock. She was warm. He quickly felt her body and realized that she was not dead, yet. With his heightened vampire senses, he began to sense the ebb and flow of her slayer blood, very weak, but still there, still alive. He gathered her up in his arms , wrapping the sheet over her naked body, and placed a warm blanket around her shoulders. “You’re coming home with me,” he growled fiercely. He carried her out and placed her gently in the car. He carried her up to his crypt and opened the door. He looked around in amazement. His crypt was completely clean. There was a white lace table cloth on the table and a glass jar filled with dried lavender and rosemary. New curtains hung in the windows and someone had thrown out all his liquor bottles – the empty and the full ones. No cobwebs, dust or dead mice. “What the hell happened here?” he thought. He carried Buffy over to his bed and gently laid her down. He covered her with all the blankets he could find. He pulled a small knife out of his pocket and then he quickly took off all his clothes and climbed into the bed with her. He pulled her up against his chest so that her head was slightly elevated and then took the knife and made a small slit in his wrist. He held his wrist against her lips and begged her to drink. “Buffy come back to me,” he pleaded, “Drink, drink as deep as you can, love. It’s all I have to give you, it’s everything I have- this blood, this wild, bad vampire blood. Drink me deep. I need you. I need you.” His tears flowed down his face and splashed against her pale cheeks. “My love, my love”, he whispered, “Always and forever.” And then slowly, weakly, she began to suck his wrist. The hours passed and she kept on drinking his blood. So sweet and strong and wild, it tasted like the ocean and moonlight and faint scent of eucalyptus. She was ravenous. Someone was holding her tightly so she wouldn’t fall. “Hmm,” she thought “where am I that I might fall?” But the hunger inside her drove away all thought and she lapped and sucked his blood until dawn and then she fell asleep. Spike carefully laid her head back onto the pillow after she stopped feeding. Her faced was flushed and her pulse strong. He slowly moved his hands over her breasts and felt the beat of her heart. She moaned slightly, awakening at the touch of his hands. He felt her small nipples slowly harden under his gentle hands. She opened her eyes and looked deeply into his. “Spike,” she whispered, “I couldn’t find you.” She took his hands in hers and slowly moved them down her body. “Spike,” she said, “Love me.” * * * * * wanna stay right here 'til the end of time, 'til the earth stops turning gonna love you 'til the seas run dry i've found the one i've waited for the one i've waited for the one i've waited for... “Spike," she said, “Love me.” “Yes, yes love,” he cried and moved his body to cover hers. He gently pushed apart her knees and nestled himself into the warmth of her soft curves. He leaned down and kissed her lips, chastely at first, and then slowly began to press his tongue deeply into her mouth. Their tongues entwined and danced in ever deepening hunger. His hardened cock was bathed suddenly with the sweet flow of her arousal; he ached to penetrate her, to claim her. His love. He pulled back and looked into her eyes and then bent down and began to lick and kiss her face. He licked slowly, in long strokes down into the curve of her neck, under her ear and down to her shoulder. He licked and then sucked each of her nipples at first tenderly, and then took one deeply into his mouth and began sucking fiercely, a low growl rising from the depths of his chest. She shuddered and moaned, and began to move her hips in a begging motion toward his body. He leaned back and spread her thighs far apart. He stroked the silken skin on the inside of her thighs, stroked gently toward her wetness. He gazed at the lush beauty of her swollen pink lips. She was so wet. Wet for him, wanting him. The strong scent of her arousal flooded his senses. He felt himself grow harder, if that was even possible. The ache of wanting her, to be inside her deep soft wetness was unbearable. He slowly placed himself just inside her and looked into her eyes. “You’re mine,” he said fiercely as he thrust slowly, deeply into her body. “Mine. You’re mine,” he said with each slow, deliberate stroke, watching her face, her eyes dark with desire and love. For him. “Love me Spike, love me.” His eyes filled with tears at her cries as he continued his slow, sensual rhythm. His tears fell silently, sweetly onto her face. She reached up and pulled his face down to her lips. She kissed him deeply, then licked his tears, drank in all his sorrow and love. “Spike. My mate. Mine,” she moaned as she thrust her hips to meet his slow strokes. She felt his cool flesh slip deeper into her tight wetness and, as his pace increased bringing her to the brink of orgasm, she cried his name over and over again. He reached under her thighs with his hands and placed her legs over his forearms, spreading her as wide as possible. He needed to get deeper, higher, needed to touch her very heart. Her body started trembling as her orgasm began to sweep through her body. She arched her back, drawing him deeper into her. He felt her muscles massage his cock in the involuntary spasms of her coming and then she released him. Her wetness flooded down his cock; he cried out as her warm wet love poured down his thighs. He grabbed her tightly to his chest, placed his mouth and teeth against her neck, bit and sucked her sweet blood as he poured his orgasm deep into her womb. They collapsed into a tender embrace, inseparable in body or heart. They snuggled down deep into the covers and fell into a sweet, long, dreamless sleep. Spike woke up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains at the window at the back of his crypt. Buffy was lying across his chest. His hand clasped tightly in hers. “Bloody hell, who bought lace curtains for a vampire’s crypt?” He turned to Buffy and saw her looking innocently at him. “Well, you weren’t around to choose and they were on sale,” she laughed. “I supposed I’ll have to keep the bloody things,” he growled. “Yes love,” she smiled, looking down at his hand in hers, “Always and forever.” (continued in “Turn and Counter-Turn”) Back to Dragonfly Series Home Back to Dark Dreams |
| Part One : Gorecki …all this time i've loved you and never known your face all this time i've missed you and searched this human race - Lamb |