Chapter Fourteen
She
was beautiful. Tall and graceful with masses of long near black hair and huge
silvery gray eyes, she had a mysteriousness to her, a
fey, other-worldly quality that reminded Buffy in some ways of Drusilla.
Not
that there was any obvious insanity,
but she had that whole
drifty-spacey-I-sorta-live-in-my-own-world-and-I-like-it-here-just-fine thing
going on. Definitely reminiscent of the vampiress.
Buffy
didn’t like her. At all.
C’erdd-Circe
of Gwen’s voluptuousness, her height and grace, were making the Slayer feel
short and oddly unfeminine. And, as Xander might say, if he could pull his tongue back into his mouth, ‘Great Googly-Moogly! What, in the name of all that’s diaphanous,
was the witch wearing?’ Her
curvy-in-all-the-places-men-like-curves body was draped in some flowing fabric
that, with a good number of her dramatic movements, went completely
transparent. Xander hadn’t blinked for at least ten minutes, and, after the
first stare of surprise, Giles had quite studiously avoiding looking anywhere
in her direction.
The
longer she watched the white witch sway and chant, the more Buffy found herself
longing to discover that the other woman was a demon of some type so she could
indulge herself by knocking her unconscious.
How
had Spike met her? And when?
As
she continued her exotic and bordering-on-pornographic movements, the witch was
busy preparing an oddly-scented concoction, and Buffy, who had been keeping a
careful eye on the ingredients going into the glass bowl on the table, sincerely
hoped the woman wasn’t expecting them to actually drink any of it. Because – no. If she had anything to say about it,
and she would, none of it would be passing Dawn’s lips either. In her opinion,
they’d be a lot safer taking their chances with
Chant,
sway, drop in eye of newt. Sway more. Add sensuous
arching of back, flash full frontal nudity, and toss hair.
Instinctively,
Buffy found herself reaching for a stake. She could just twirl it couldn’t she?
All sorta nonchalant-like? Damn. No stake. She glanced longingly at Giles’
weapons chest. Her Watcher was sitting on it, studying some notes. Double damn.
Dawn’s
eyes, which had done a whole popping thing as soon as the witch had come into
the room, had recovered and gone narrow. She leaned closer to her sister. “What
kind of material is that? I can totally see her –”
“Shhh,”
Buffy hushed her.
“She
could at least wear something under it! Anything!”
Dawn hissed back. “Hello! Minor here! I didn’t know this was going to be an
X-rated spell casting. And her boobs are huge!”
Dawn folded her arms, looking mutinous. “How well does Spike know her?”
Buffy
gave her the Summers Death Glare – Version: Sister Special, but Dawn missed her
reaction because C’erdd-Circe, did one
have to say the ‘of Gwen’ part?, chose that moment to lift her arms over
her head and sway even more enthusiastically to some unheard rhythm.
Transparency alert! Dawn gasped, Buffy folded her arms, and Xander tried to cover his groan with a cough.
Anya
sidled up next to the Summers girls, taking the side
not occupied by the enthralled
Buffy
clenched her teeth. “I have no idea,” she gritted out. Then her eyes widened as
she realized she was feeling jealous and possessive and vaguely threatened. Oh.
My. God. That was sooo not good. Er, um, she frowned, was it?
“She’s
obviously evil.” Anya went on. “Evil and naked.”
“I
think she’s beautiful.” Buffy and Dawn turned to gawk at
“Yes.
And you’re gay. You’re probably lusting after her amazingly well endowed and
unnaturally firm body.”
“She’s
not lusting after her well-endowed parts, or, er, any of her other parts,
either,” Buffy objected, trying to stare Anya down. “No lusting. She is
lustless.”
“There’s
nothing wrong with it,” Anya said. “After all, her lover is insane now. In my
opinion that frees her up to lust after anyone she darn well pleases.” She
leaned around the sisters to smile encouragingly at
“I
– I’m n-not ready to g-go!”
“Of
course you’re not!
Dawn
raised a brow. “Crazy?” she suggested. “Nuts?”
“Wildly
unstable?” Anya contributed.
“Confused,”
Buffy decided at last, trying to sound firm. She really wanted to spare
“It’s
okay,” she said. Both the distress and the stammer had disappeared from her
voice. Instead, she just sounded sad. “
The
women were silent for a moment, gauging the truth of that. Naked witch or not,
none of them were going to refuse to have the protection spell done and they
all knew it. Unless…
“Is
she expecting us to drink that disgusting goop?” Dawn voiced their collective
fear.
“No,”
“Oh.”
Anointing they could probably live with.
“Do
you think she has implants?” Anya tilted her head, studying the witch closely.
“Yes,”
all three of the other women answered together. Nearby, Xander coughed again.
“Aren’t
white witches supposed to be all with the respecting of nature? Surgically
altering your body doesn’t seem very respectful to me.” Anya’s arms were folded
now, too, making the gesture unanimous among all the
fully-clothed-in-non-transparent-clothing females in the room. She turned to
glare at her fiancé. “If you want to see me naked anytime in this century –
which I’ll remind you, Xander Harris, is very, very young – you will stop
panting now.”
“I’m
not,” he panted. “Panting. No panting here.”
Giles
joined them. “I could hear your huffing clearly from across the room,” he said.
“Hey!
Guy here! Could we please have some guy-type solidarity? A little
stick-up-for-each-otherness?”
“I’ll
consider it when you’re able to breathe normally again,” Giles said dryly. He
inclined his head toward the witch. “I believe she’s ready for us.”
~*~
“I
don’t feel any different. Well, kinda hyper. She said that junk she rubbed on
us might make some of us act kinda weird and hyper-like for a few hours. Do you
feel different? Or hyper? Or different?”
“No,
Dawnster. I don’t think any of us do,” Xander added. He had no idea how any of
the others were feeling, but he was the
third person she’d asked the same questions of in the last one point five
minutes, and, by reassuring her, he thought he might be able to head Dawn off
before she cornered Giles and Tara and started chattering away to them as well.
“What
did she say to you?” Dawn plowed on. “Did she say something weird?
Insightful-like? Or sorta forecasty?”
“You will be tested.”
Sooo not going
there. The Xan-man and testing did not go together well. Exams had long been
total choke time for him, and in his opinion, no more school should translate
into no more testing. Ever. With a side dish of never.
Was ‘you will be tested’ forecasty? It had
a forecasty feel to it, but he didn’t much feel like thinking about the witch’s
words right now. Every time he saw
Way
creepy.
Don’t look right at her, he told
himself. Again. It’s easier.
“No,”
he denied. “It was nothing.”
“Oh.”
“Why?
Did she say something like that to you?”
“Your destiny is renewed.”
“No,”
Dawn glanced away briefly as she answered, but her eyes returned almost
immediately to Xander. “Besides, Giles and Tara didn’t, like, certify her as a
fortune teller or anything, right? So even if she spouted out – stuff – it
wouldn’t necessarily mean anything. She could, you know, be totally wrong
about, er, whatever she said. Anything forecasty. And hey! No crystal ball. I
bet it was all totally bogus.
“She
was just supposed to be good at protection spells. And I’m not even sure if that worked. ‘Cause
I don’t feel any different. Am I supposed to? Do you? You know, feel
different?”
~*~
Buffy
was glad to see her leave. Weird witchy person. And what was up with that
Ancient Knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade stuff?
“Choose wisely.”
Huh?
Buffy
was literally bouncing on the balls of her feet as she stared at the door
C’erdd-Circe of Gwen had just passed through. Maybe she’d get arrested for indecent
exposure on the way home. They could all read about her in the paper tomorrow
and gloat. Except Xander. He’d probably go downtown and check out the mug shots
or something. Buffy was pretty sure
Did
the witch’s weirdo-ness remind Spike of Drusilla, too? Did that make her his
type?
Oh.
My. God.
Was she a weirdo? Is that why Spike was
attracted to her? Oh, stop being so
stupid, Buffy, she chided herself. You’re
not nearly as weird/freaky/insane as Drusilla was. You’re only sorta weird and
a little freaky and mostly not insane at all.
Still….
How
had he met her?
And how well did he know her?
And,
just out of curiosity, could she hit something now? Or maybe get doughnuts?
Oooh – with jelly!
~*~
The
Watcher was preparing some tea.
“Would
you like some help with that?”
He
started. Apparently he hadn’t heard her come in. Soft of foot,
Giles
smiled. “Of course. Thank you.”
“I
hope you’ve chosen something without caffeine,”
“How
about you?” he asked, looking concerned.
“I’m
a little tense,”
“Yes,
quite.” He handed her some plates, and watched as she set them out on the
counter. “You are confident this
spell was completely safe?”
“Yes,”
she assured him.
“May
I ask you something,
“S-sure.”
“Do
I seem close-minded to you?”
The
question surprised her. “N-no. Not at all. I think you have a very curious
mind. You, um… You seem to like
learning new things, exploring issues from all sides.”
He
looked pleased. “I’ve always thought so.”
“Examining
the ups and downs, finding just one more source to confirm a theory,
extrapolating possibilities to the nth degree…” she went on, deadpan.
“Yes,
yes,” Giles broke in with dry humor. “I get your point.”
“Why
do you ask?”
“Open your mind. Look to discover.”
“Oh,
no reason. Just something I was thinking about. I’d hate to become too stuffy.”
Giles
own mouth curved as he caught it. “What’s that you say,
They
laughed softly together. It was – nice.
~*~
“I
still say she was evil. I’m pretty nervous about this spell we let her cast,
let me tell you.”
“We
did investigate her,” Giles reminded Anya. “She has an excellent reputation,
and is considered quite trustworthy.
“And
naked.”
The
Watcher sighed. “Yes. Mostly.”
“And
her boobs were gigantic,” Dawn contributed. “Fake, too.”
“She
threatened me,” Anya went on.
Everyone’s
eyes flew to her in surprise. “She did? When? How? What did she say?” Xander
asked.
“It
was when she was doing that touching thing. She said something about tearing my
heart out.”
“Eeeww,
heart tearing! Gross, gross, gross!” Catching everyone’s pointed stares, Dawn
seemed to realize she was overreacting. “Um, sorry.” She folded her hands
neatly in her lap and sat up very straight. Her foot, though, continued jiggle
up and down rapidly. The movement made Xander and Anya, who were seated on the sofa
with her, vibrate.
“Are you certain that’s what she said?” Giles
frowned.
“Close
enough!”
The
glee with which Anya responded led Giles to believe she was indeed experiencing
a rather milder case of the hyperactivity that was so affecting Buffy and Dawn.
He glanced over at the older Summers girl, who was
shadow boxing feistily in a corner of the room, seemingly oblivious to the rest
of them.
“If
you must do that, Buffy,” he said with some exasperation. “Please refrain from
dropping your left shoulder. It’s extremely poor form.”
Buffy
turned to them, her punching movements slowing. “Anyone wanna
spar? I am so up for it! Xander? We could go to the training room, and you
could get all puffy.”
“You
are not puffing up my fiancé!” Anya objected. “No puffing or swelling of any
kind!” She turned an accusatory stare toward Giles and Tara. “Was there some
sort of lust ingredient mixed into this spell?”
Giles
rolled his eyes. “No, Anya.”
“I’m
never letting naked witches put spells on me again. Nope. Not this girl. Even
if I am the only one she threatened.” She looked around, studying their
faces. “She said something to all of
you, too. She didn’t threaten to tear anyone else’s parts out? Or off?” She
scooted closer to Xander and looped his arm around her shoulders so that she
could snuggle up against him. She looked into his eyes anxiously. “She didn’t
threaten any of your, um, parts, did
she?”
“She
didn’t threaten me at all, Ahn.”
The
others looked at each other, mumbling amongst themselves and agreeing that none
of them had been threatened either.
“Perhaps
you misunderstood her,” Giles tried to soothe Anya. “There was no reason
whatsoever for her to threaten any of us. And,” he finished, “she did tend to
speak in that breathy sort of –” his hand gestured expressively, “Whisper.”
“I
suppose… Maybe,” Anya conceded.
Buffy,
who was once again ignoring them and boxing her invisible opponent, turned
back. “Will Spike be here soon for his Willow-Watching shift? He’ll spar.”
“The
two of you will not spar inside my
home!” Giles said firmly.
Buffy’s
lower lip jutted out, and, as he often did, he caved to its power.
“If
you feel the need to work off some energy,” he allowed. “There’s some space in
the garden that should afford you some privacy.”
Dawn
and Xander looked at each other instinctively, giggled like exceedingly
ill-behaved school children, and mimicked his pronunciation of ‘privacy’. Since
the proper pronunciation of ‘schedule’, and any reference to the boot of a car
as anything other than the ‘trunk’, elicited the same reaction from them, he
should have expected it.
Giles
glared at them. “We did invent the language, you know. Just because you
Colonials have butchered large parts of it…”
Buffy
looked satisfied to have gotten his concession on the Spike sparring, and was
punching the air in a rapid-fire volley of short jabs. “Will he be here soon?”
The
Watcher pulled off his glasses and wearily rubbed at his eyes. “Yes. Soon.” Please. Soon. With the arrival of the
‘next shift’ so to speak, this lot would, perhaps, have the good sense to go home. He was exhausted, and
desperately longed to seek his bed. Spike would roll the tally into the spare
bedroom and occupy his time watching
Dear
Lord, he thought. I’m anticipating the arrival of Spike as a step toward the return of sanity, and possibly some
semblance of order, to my home. That must surely be a sign of impending doom.
“Oooh!
Pizza!” Dawn burst out, jumping up from her seat. “I’m ordering! Who wants in?”
A
chorus of ‘me’s’ filled the room. Apparently, going
to their own homes hadn’t yet occurred to them.
Couldn’t Spike show up a bit early and glare at them or something? That
might clear out at least one or two.
“And
who’s paying?” Dawn went on.
“Me!”
Anya volunteered with enthusiasm.
Which, Giles decided, proved conclusively that Anya was experiencing some unusual side
effects from the spell and the anointing.
Oh,
bother.
~*~
C’erdd-Circe
of Gwen had spoken to each of them,
quietly, privately, as she touched an anointing forefinger to the hollows of
their throats. She’d watched the expressions of surprise or puzzlement crossing
the others’ faces, and had hoped that, when her turn came, the other woman
would have some words of comfort to offer, something that would make it
possible for her to look toward the coming months with more hope.
But
there hadn’t been a message for her. The witch had touched her and looked into
her eyes, just as she’d done with the others. But instead of saying something
in her theatrically spooky voice, she’d gasped quietly, and tugged her hand
away, a look of shock on her face.
Shock
that was mixed with wonder, and with something more. In her entire life,
Because
that hint of something more in C’erdd-Circe of Gwen’s eyes had been fear.
~*~
Buffy
was angry and tired, and extremely glad
It
had been four days since Dawn had been attacked, and it seemed her world had
shrunk down to long hours at Giles’ apartment, and equally long hours not at
Giles’ apartment worrying about what was happening there. Or what might happen there. Even though
Willow-Watching wasn’t physically taxing, it, and the entire situation, had
been emotionally exhausting for the entire gang.
She’d been so sure. She might have denied it if asked, but Buffy had been certain that once the power dealer’s
magic was completely out of Willow’s system and she was again awake, everything
would be fine.
But
the
Instead,
she was sullen, and mostly silent, and seemingly resentful of everyone who
cared about her.
The
first words out of her mouth – her sarcastic inquiry of Buffy as to whether or
not ‘her’ power dealer had been fun to slay – had hardly been reassuring to any
of them. When Buffy had reminded her that she didn’t know who ‘her’ power
dealer was,
Immediately.
Buffy
knew for a fact that, unlike the other night with C’erdd-Circe of Gwen, she had
not been the only person in the room
who had been looking with longing eyes towards Giles’ weapons chest during
Willow’s little awakening ceremony. Even Xander had eyed it once or twice.
Everyone was angry. Very angry. And hurt. Dawn, who’d been expecting Willow to
be horrified that she’d left her in a waiting room where she was attacked by a
demon, and Tara, who’d hoped for some sign, any
sign, of remorse and love, were especially devastated.
Dawn
and Tara had been locked in their respective bedrooms since they’d arrived home
nearly two hours ago, and Buffy sincerely hoped they were finally asleep.
Xander had suggested they spend the evening at a movie – something light, and
funnily distracting, to take their minds off the New and Not One Bit Improved
Willow. Determinedly, they had all agreed, but the movie hadn’t seemed very
amusing at all when they could all hear
Buffy
punched her pillow viciously.
She’d
been mad at
Buffy
thought they were all feeling betrayed. After Xander and Giles had returned
from driving
Damn
it.
Buffy
rolled restlessly on the bed, and flipped her pillow over to expose the cooler
side. She felt like she hadn’t slept in days. She had, of course, but her
nights had been filled with worries and an increase in nightmares, and hadn’t
been particularly restful. She’d also been upset about – well, about no Spike
out on the roof. She didn’t know what was more disturbing – the fact that she
found his absence so disturbing, or the fact that she didn’t find it very
disturbing that she found his absence so disturbing.
He
was out there tonight. She could feel him easily.
They’d
barely seen each other since the night Dawn had been attacked. Their
Willow-Watching shifts didn’t cross. Even though Spike stayed all night, and
Buffy arrived in the morning, she didn’t come until Dawn had left for school,
and by that time, Spike had already taken off to avoid being trapped at Giles’
house all day by the sun. Apparently, tunnel access was a problem in her
Watcher’s neighborhood. Further, and to everyone’s surprise, Anya had asked Spike
if he would mind helping out at the shop a little until Giles was free to
resume his regular schedule. Spike had then surprised everyone even more by
agreeing.
Since
she’d come back, this was the longest they’d gone without talking. Or sharing.
Or just spending time together.
Buffy
curled onto her side, stroking her cheek across the smooth cotton of her
pillowcase.
< I miss you. >
<<
Miss you, too, love. >>
Why
did this not startle her?
< Come in here. To me. >
She
heard the mental groan clearly. << I can’t. >>
< We can talk. >
<<
Right. I come in there now and the only talking we’ll be doing will involve
things not intended for the bit’s ears. She’s still awake. So’s doe eyes. >>
< Doe eyes? >
<<
< Oh. > Of course. < Spike, I – I… >
A
long silence.
<<
Me, too. Now go to sleep, pet. I know you haven’t been resting. I can see it in
your eyes. >>
< You’ve been close enough to me
to see into my eyes? >
<<
Managed it once. Last night about
< She ate seven pieces of pizza
in less than fifteen minutes! >
<<
That will teach her not to race with Harris. >>
Buffy
laughed softly. < Didn’t matter. Anya
beat them both. >
<<
Go to sleep. >>
< I – > She gave up. < Night, Spike. >
<<
Night, love. >>
One
more try. < I’m, ah, glad you’re out
there. >
A
shorter silence.
<<
‘m glad, too. >>
< I didn’t like it when you
weren’t. >
<<
I know, love. >>
~*~
As
soon as he heard the first gasp, he was beside her. She was upset and
overtired, and he’d known she’d have a nightmare. He was pretty bloody sure
she’d had several already this week, and he’d been bracing himself for this one
since he’d heard her breathing drift into the evenness of sleep.
His arms were around her, his hands stroking, and his
voice rumbled, a soothing presence against her ear.
“Shhh. You’re safe, love. Safe.”
He kept up the familiar flow of words as she began to
wake.
“Spike?” she gasped
out.
“Yeah. I have you, love. You’re awake, alive. You’re fine.
Just breathe for me now. Just breathe.”
He felt her struggling against the terror, fighting to
regain her ability to take in air and expel it normally. Her anger over the
attacks continued to increase, and she had grown even more verbal about that
anger, but her ability to control them or work through them with any success
was still inconsistent. And he knew she was seriously brassed off about that
too. “It’s just breathing,” she’d
said, over and over.
“God! I hate this. Hate
it. It’s so – so … I hate that I can’t breathe, hate that I can’t control
these stupid attacks… But I hate the dreams even more. Hate living through that
again, night after night. Buried alive. Can’t get out, dirt falling on me,
filling my mouth, can’t scream, can’t breathe, can’t…”
“I know, pet.” And he did. “I still remember. Been 120
years, and I still remember.”
“I hate it so much,” she said again. “Am I gonna have
these nightmares that long?”
He smiled into her hair. “Yeah, love. When you’re 140
years old, I’ll still be climbin’ in your window to wake you from them, too.”
He felt some of the tension leave her body, felt her
soften against him.
“Very funny, Mr. Older than Dirt.” The tiniest smile
curved her lips.
“Got you to relax a bit, dinit?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “Those dreams, Spike, they’re –”
“Suffocating. I know.”
“Will they – will they really last for years?”
“Can’t say, love. Can only tell you that mine did, and
that –” he broke off.
“What?” she prompted, looking at him in the moonlight.
“An’ that I hope yours don’t,” he finished quietly.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. It looked
silver in the light and he was struck once again by the memory of that night –
here in her room – when she’d been dead. When she’d come to him in some kind of
vision and he’d spent the night burying himself in her body over and over.
“You’re so beautiful,” he told her starkly. He didn’t
elaborate, just ran his eyes over her face and hair. His right hand cupped her
neck, and his left touched her softly, his fingertips grazing gently over the
contours of her face, tracing the line of her lips and cheeks, the quirky bend
of her nose.
“Spike –”
“Shhh.” He leaned into her, his lips following the path of
his fingers. “The way you taste, your smell. Everything about you. I can’t stop
thinking about how it feels to touch you, put my mouth on you,
watch your face when you come. How it feels to come in your hands, to feel them
cupping me, wrapping around me, stroking.
“And I bloody well can’t stop thinking about the way
everything inside me heats up and I feel like I’m all bound up with you in some
kind of – I don’t even know. A different world. You.”
“Ohhh –”
His hands were touching her now, moving, sliding over her
head, her neck, tracing the still too sharp curve of
her shoulders. She shivered under his touch, and closed her eyes, and he could
feel the change in her body, feel it move from the accepting of comfort to
something more. A wanting, a yearning that matched his own. When his mouth
closed on hers, he knew she felt the same wave of desire wash over her that he
felt. Intense.
But still… not enough.
Never enough.
Her arms lifted to encircle his neck, and she held him
with all the magnificent power in her body. Her mouth opened to his, inviting
him to deepen the kiss, and she moaned.
Sonofa—
He wanted to hear her moan like that again. Right into his
ear. All night. Wanted to hear those little catches in her breath, the almost
silent huffs of air that screamed out her pleasure. He’d heard them before, and
he wanted to hear them again, this time as he thrust into her, withdrew, thrust
again…again, again, again…
~*~
He heard the quiet sobs before Buffy did, and his head
lifted from her breast to tilt, senses alert. His first thought was that the
bit was reliving her run in with that Vpastus’zyn demon, but it
wasn’t her sobs he heard.
His eyes met Buffy’s.
“I should… do you think…?”
Reluctantly, he rolled to his feet and reached down to
offer her his hand. “Yeah, go.”
~*~
The soothing sounds faded away, and as the women’s voices
grew more distinct, Spike shifted restlessly.
None. Of. His. Business.
He tossed his cigarette off the edge of the roof, watching
the glowing arc disappear into the grass below. After a quick glance at the
window of Joyce’s old room, Spike decided to give the birds some privacy, and
he followed the path of his cigarette, leaping off the roof after it.
Not only did he not want to intrude, he really didn’t want
to know. He was already annoyed by the fact that he
seemed to have developed a soft spot for
Buffy and Dawn, he told himself firmly. Again. That’s it. Just his girls. They mattered. The rest of humanity
could take a flying leap…
Well, maybe the Watcher. Respect, at least. He didn’t care about the other man. Didn’t…
Spike felt a sense of horror wash over him. Bloody… Buffy, Dawn,
Giles. Three. No real threat to his demon status, was it?
And
Sonofa…
Like Liza at the soddin’ flower shop. After that first time, he
and the bit had stopped in fairly regularly at the shop, and the Englishwoman
and the young girl had developed a very nice friendship. He’d encouraged it
because Emily made Dawn laugh, and he was glad his girl was working for the
other woman now. Be a good place for her, her own place, one with no ties to her big sis. Give his girl a taste
of independence; help her build her own identity.
Not to mention the inexplicableness of Liza knowing what he was
and never acting like it was a source of concern or even worth mentioning. A
bit like his Slayer’s mum in that regard, she was.
So… five. Five. That had to be his limit.
He hoped
He paused under his old tree to light a cigarette. Ah,
old times. Stalker boy, as that tosser Harris had called him. Just because
he’d hung out here a lot, and had entertained himself
by sneaking around in the house while they’d been in bed... Just because he’d
watched his Slayer sleep once or twice, or, okay, maybe a few more times than
that, and nicked a few pairs of her little bits of lace, didn’t mean...
Well, okay, yeah, maybe it did. Still, hadn’t harmed any
of them, had he? Should earn him points for failure to terrorize or something.
Deliberate failure to terrorize, he amended. He was damn well capable of
terrorizing anyone he pleased. He was a terrifying fellow. Make the tiniest
effort, flash just a hint of fang, could make anyone tremble… Add a little
snarl, and he’d have half the wankers in town pissing themselves…
Enjoying the images, Spike was exhaling a long stream of
smoke when he saw the movement and spun toward it.
Buffy was walking across the lawn toward him. She wasn’t
strolling casually, nor was she hurrying. Her pace was steady, and there was a
solemn, determined look on her face. Spike frowned. Not fast, not a stroll, her
face solemn. He felt a clutch of fear. What was it? Was something really wrong
with
“Slayer?” his voice carried his questions.
She didn’t say a word. She just walked right into his
arms, right into him, and started
wrapping him in her limbs.
“Buffy?”
“No more waiting,” she said.
What?
Disbelief.
“No more.”
Euphoria.
Her mouth sought his, hot and needy.
Hungry.
Wild.
His own hunger exploded. He sank a hand into her hair, and
wrapped the other arm around her, hauling her up so that she wrapped her legs
around him. He took her weight into his arms, lifting her higher against him.
Her thighs tightened. Oh, yeah. He loved
that. “Anything, Slayer. I’ll give you anything you want, anything you need.”
God, the taste of her. He needed to feel her, to
sheath himself in her body, deep. Deeper. Now. No more waiting. Tonight he was bloody well going to make her his.
Starting now.
Sonofablo – Where? Where?
There - that tree. It was by the curb and near the
sidewalk, but it didn't matter. The outside tips of the branches dipped low,
almost to the ground, and it was dark beneath them, a shadowed and private
cavern of night darkened greenery encircling the furrowed bark of the trunk.
His hands were tugging at her clothes, even as he was
carrying her swiftly into those promising shadows. Impatiently, he tore the
strap of her thin cotton tank top, and pushed the fabric out of his way,
fastening his mouth to her breast as he ducked under the branches, and felt
them sweep along his back. Buffy cried out loudly at the rough contact with his
mouth, but the sound faded into a series of pleasured moans as his cheeks
hollowed and he began to suck on her flesh fiercely. His own
groan echoed hers. Oh, harder, suck her harder. Suck her, suck her...
Push, pull, tear, get her clothes
off. Strip her bare. Strip her, and… fuck... He couldn’t work his zipper.
Couldn’t – sonofablo –
Buffy’s hands took care of the stubborn metal for him, and
he groaned in surprise and lust and appreciation.
There, yeah, gotta get inside her, get inside, inside...
Oh god, oh god… Right there.
His entire body flexed, and then surged forward, thrusting
deeply into her heat. Into her.
Buffy.
Ahhh. Ahhh...
Finally.
Years of wanting, dreaming,
imagining…
Buffy.
Buffy. Buffy.
For a minute he shuddered to immobility, as his flesh
cried out in thanksgiving. Oh, good, so good, so good, so... He was inside her.
Inside her. Inside Buffy. His cock was buried deeply within her,
sheathed in her tight passage. Oh, tight, tight.
The shock was almost more than he could handle, and he
held himself savagely rigid for several moments as his brain tried to adjust,
to accept, to believe.
He felt torn between the desire to howl with triumph and the aching need to
weep with gratitude. He remained still until he felt he’d gained enough control
to hold out for a bit – maybe an entire minute, he thought with a flash of
amusement.
Spike raised his head from her breast, and smoothed her
hair back from her face with a shaking hand. He had her pinned up against the
trunk of the tree, and she was wrapped tightly around him, clinging. She looked
almost as stunned as he felt.
“Spike…” She breathed out his name,
and leaned forward, flicking her tongue against his lower lip.
“Buffy...” Only that, her name. “Buffy…”
And then he began to move. The drive was still strong, but
the desperation had lessened once his body was buried deeply within hers. It
was as if the connection soothed something within him, calmed him, even while
his passionate need didn’t fade.
His hands slid under her body, cupping her and lifting her
a little, shifting her position to give him more freedom of movement, and a
better angle of penetration. Buffy gasped at the difference, and began to rock
against him.
Shallow little thrusts. Try to hold out. Velvet. She’s
velvet. Wet and tight and so hot. So
hot. Green eyes shot with gold, mouth open into an ‘O’. Heat. Desire. Throaty,
guttural moans, gasps… His? Hers? Tension building, coiling within him. Need
rising, squeezing his entire body.
A deeper hunger.
Needed to come, to pour himself
into her, leave a part of himself inside her to be absorbed by her body, taken
in. Just one cell. One. To stay. Deeper now. Longer strokes. Reach deep. Take
her. Brand her body with yours. Leave your imprint in her mind forever.
Groans. Louder, joining together into one continuous
noise; ecstasy seeking verbalization. Brain shutting down, closing off until
there was only this; take me, take me, take me, take me, take me, take me, take
me, takemetakemetakemetakemetakemeeee.
And then, nothing but sensation as his body went still,
the long groan as he began to come, moving again as he continued to pour
himself into her, planting his essence deep, endless release, so powerful that
he couldn’t think, could only hold on, hold her,
and ride it out, pleasure beyond reason or words.
When his body stopped shuddering, Spike slowly lifted his
head from Buffy’s shoulder, and looked into her face. He felt shaken,
shattered. He couldn’t quite believe… He took in her dazed expression, the huge
eyes, the soft curve of her mouth. Buffy. His touched his forehead to hers.
“I love you.” It was a vow. “More than existence, more
than blood.”
She didn’t respond, and he hadn’t expected her to. He knew
she wasn’t ready, might never share his feelings, but it hadn’t mattered; he’d
had to say it. This once at least. Her eyes stayed on his, though, open and
accepting, and her body quivered around him.
Without changing position, he started to move again. She
kept her eyes locked to his in just the way he liked. He loved looking into her
eyes, watching the pleasure there deepen and grow. Watching it build and build
and build…
And he wanted her to see him, to really see him. All of
him.
He wondered if she did. If she ever would. Ever could.
Her eyes began to fall closed.
“No. Don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me.”
She did.
~*~
“You move on me like a dancer,” he growled. His hands
slid up her thighs to her hips, oh, those
hips, and his eyes, hungry and dark with passion, roamed her graceful form.
“Just watching you makes me feel like I’m gonna explode.”
His
hips left the ground, thrusting up into her. “More, take more.” Stroking deep.
Deeper.
“Ahhh.”
She
said almost nothing. But she made the most delicious sounds. Needy little gasps
and moans that sent fire licking though his veins, and kept him marble hard.
He
closed his hands more tightly on her hips and changed the rhythm and direction
of her movements just a little, meshing them with his own. “Yeah, like that.
Good? Deep enough?”
“Mmmm.”
Her body spasmed, pre-orgasmic. “Unnh.”
“Bloody
beautiful. You’re so bloody beautiful.”
He
ground his head back into the turf, squeezing his eyes closed. Maybe if he shut
out the visual stimulation, he could last longer. Almost as soon as his lids
lowered, though, he knew it wouldn’t help. His others sensed were still
drowning in her. Scent, taste, sound,
feel. She was washing over him in waves, sucking him under the surface.
Riptide.
Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.
She moaned and his eyes flew open. Her head had fallen
back, and she had that look on her
face. Blind. Exalted. Approaching climax. Just what he’d been waiting for… He
wanted to come with her, to feel her body gripping and squeezing his as he shot
his seed into her. He was shocked by this unexpected and overpowering need – to pour himself into her over and
over and over, to have her accept that part of him.
“Lean back, love,” he urged. “Yeah, a little more. Come
with me now.” His voice went guttural. “Now, Buffy.”
She did.
~*~
They were laying flat on their backs, breathing raggedly.
God! The grass was cool against her bare flesh, and her brain tried to scream
at her for a moment. Of course the grass is cool! It’s the middle of winter!
And you’re laying naked on the lawn in your front yard. You’re also just a few
feet from the sidewalk and the street. And there’s a streetlamp not so very far
down the block.
Someone
could see you.
Yeah, but it’s the middle of the night, another part of
her whispered, and it’s dark here under the branches
of this tree. Sheltered and secret, and oh, god, I want him again.
She’d just come, what – two minutes ago? – and she wanted him again. She felt like she was starving and
he was bread. Life sustaining bread. She rolled toward him, her hands seeking
his body.
He groaned, and pulled her over him.
Buffy bent to him, stroking open palms with pleasure over
the hardness of his chest.
“Come inside me,” she invited, and caught his mouth with
hers as he slid into her again. Her tongue stroked and swirled against his, the
two twining together in a primitive mating dance. He tasted so good. And the way he kissed…
She pulled back, her hands sliding along his arms so that
she could lace her fingers with his and draw his arms up over his head. His
eyes caught hers as she leaned forward to press his hands firmly to the ground.
The hunger she could read there made her body tighten around his.
“Oooh,” she moaned out, and bent over him to brush her
breasts invitingly against his face. He accepted, capturing a nipple and
sucking fiercely on her aroused flesh.
“Unnh, ohhh, more, more…”
He complied.
“You’re insatiable,” he muttered minutes later, his breath
still touching her wet, hard nipple. Approval and satisfaction were dripping
from his voice.
She lifted herself just enough so that she could see into
his eyes, her hips keeping his rhythm. “Me? You’ve been hard all night long.”
“Yeah, I know. You do that to
me, love. Bloody wonderful, innit?”
“Yeeesss,” she moaned out, and
leaned down to push her other breast into his mouth.
It was.
~*~
He pulled her to him, snuggling closely to her back, and
running his hands over the front of her thighs. When she leaned back into him,
wordlessly encouraging his hands to continue to explore – other – parts of her
front, they complied.
He didn’t think his lady should have to ask twice. Or,
really, even once.
Spike turned their bodies a little so that they were
facing the ancient trunk of the tree. Strong hands closed over hers and lifted
them to the rough bark, where he held them. His body moved against hers,
caressing her back with his chest, and thrusting his hips against the smooth
cheeks of her ass.
“Brace yourself, love,” he urged, and released one of her
hands so that he could guide himself into her.
She moaned as he filled her again. A series of little
sounds – ooohs, and ohs, ahs and unnhs, started to escape her between harsh
breaths. The steady stream of encouraging sounds hardened him even further,
which he’d’ve thought would’ve been physically
impossible. Gonna make it last this time. Long and slow.
He slid his fingers between hers.
“You’re like molten lava inside,” he said into her ear.
“I’ve never felt anything so hot. You burn me, Buffy, and I never wanna pull
out of the fire.”
“Oooh.”
His hands left hers, sliding with slow sensuality up her
arms, as he continued to rock into her. They went to her face, covering it,
exploring every detail as though he was a blind man attempting to see her
through the tips of his fingers. They came at last to her mouth, and he slid
two fingers between her lips.
“Can you taste yourself on my hand?”
“Ohhh. Mmmm.”
Those same fingers had been buried inside her body just
minutes ago.
“Suck on them. On my fingers.”
“Mmmm.”
She did, taking the time to stroke her tongue along the
sides of each digit.
“Yeah, like that. Taste good?”
“Ahhh.”
He slid his hand down her body and between her legs,
stroking her there where the hard ridge of his flesh moved in and out of her.
She gasped.
His fingers, freshly coated with her juices, replaced the
ones in her mouth.
“Unnh.”
His breath hissed against her ear. “I like how you taste,
too. That night in my crypt, with my tongue inside you… Your flavor, Buffy… I
almost went off in my jeans, just from the taste of you.” He pressed deeper
into her, and moved his fingers in her mouth, stroking them in and out. “Oh,
yeah. Yeah. Suck me, love. Suck me clean.”
Her body arched and a deeper moan escaped.
His body changed its rhythm, drawing her away from the
edge.
“No, not yet. Not
yet. Don’t come yet. It’s too soon.”
“No,” she protested.
“Not yet. Too soon.”
”I can come again when you’re ready,” she was finally able
to articulate some words, and her voice held promise, reminding him
unnecessarily of just how many times she could come in an hour. “Don’t –”
“Not yet, love. You come now,
you’ll take me with you. Your body clamps around my cock so tight when you
come… I’ll never last through that without going off.”
“Noo-ohhh.”
Her protest faded into a deep groan as his fingers moved
to her breasts. She had the most amazing breasts, incredibly sensitive and
responsive. Her nipples were gonna trigger a thousand orgasms, he was sure.
More. And he was bloody well gonna pull that trigger whenever he could. But not
right now. Don’t let her come yet…
“Oooh. Okay, unnh, I’ll wait if you keep doing that…”
He gave a rumble of amusement.
She pulled a hand away from the tree to press his hand
more tightly to her breast, but the movement almost threw them both off
balance.
“Ohhh.” Her hand flew back to the tree trunk, bracing them
again.
“More?”
“Unnh. Ah. Oooh...”
“Love how you love
that, pet.”
His fingers twisted and she cried out.
“How?” she gasped.
“What? Talk to me.”
“Make me feel sooo good…” She groaned out the words. “Sooo
good. I’m gonna, gonna…Spike!”
Long enough. He pulled her away from the tree and turned
her so that she was supporting her upper body with her hands on the ground now.
“Hard. Noowww.”
“Yeah. Now. Gonna take you hard, now, Buffy. Lean down.”
His hands grabbed her hips, and then he was thrusting into her forcefully,
almost slamming his hips against hers. He’d bury himself, grind against her, then pull back only to slam into her again. More. Harder.
Her cheek hit the grass. Bloody… She’d probably have died to see herself in
this position, but right now, she didn’t even seem aware of it, and she
certainly wasn’t protesting. Instead, she was making those sounds. Again. Intense, mindless sounds of
pleasure.
Bloody beautiful.
Hard. Fast. Deep. Deeper.
Deeper.
Deeper.
“Squeeze me now, love.” He leaned over her,
his chest pressed to her back, and slid his hands around her body. One went to
a breast, teasing and twisting the nipple again, while the other slid between
her legs to touch her the way he knew her body was screaming to be touched.
Buffy convulsed, and her inner muscles clamped down on
Spike’s aching flesh just as he’d known they would.
“Grrraa…” He began to come with
a groan that started somewhere deep within his chest, and exploded out of his
mouth. “Ah, more. I have more.
Tighter, Buffy,” he begged, continuing to thrust and release himself into her.
“Squeeze me dry.”
She did.
~*~
“Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t stop. Don’t
stop touching me.”
“I won’t,” he said
again. And then, sounding helpless, “I can’t.”
“Oh,
god, closer. Closer. I need…”
“You
need to take me deeper. All. The. Way. Take me to the hilt.” He gasped. “Fuck,
Slayer, you’re tighter than your own fists, and I bloody well know just how
tight your fists are.”
“Do
you even know the meaning of the word ‘inhibitions’?”
“Sod
inhibitions. Admit it, love, you’re bloody glad I don’t.”
Oh,
god, yeeesss.
She
was.
~*~
“Mmmm.”
< You taste so good. >
<< You can’t know good until you’ve tasted
yourself. >>
< Didn’t I do
that a little while ago? >
Silent laughter.
<< Yeah, love, you did. >>
< You make me
feel so warm inside. >
<< Heating up from the inside out. >>
“Mmmm.” < Yeah.
> Her hand touched his mouth, tracing over his lips. < Spike. I
want that back, so much. Wanna feel that again… >
<< Bein’ inside each other? On the sofa? >>
< Yeah. >
<< What was that? >>
< Who knows? Who
cares? >
There was a kind of dazed amusement in her thought.
<< Didn’t scare you, then? >>
< No! > A pause. < Did it scare you? >
<< Not hardly. >> His own silent snort of
amusement. << But still, unnatural… some force, maybe. >>
< A good force. Only good could feel so – good. >
<< Hate to break it to you, Slayer, but evil can
feel pretty good, too. Why do you think it seduces so many? >>
< Do you think it was evil? > Some concern now, reassurance
sought.
<< No. >> Another pause. << No. It was
good. I could – tell, somehow. >>
< Me, too. > Relief. Warmth flowing through her and into him.
< Promise me that we’re gonna find that again. >
<< I want it, too, love. >>
A few minutes of near silence, punctuated only by soft
sounds of pleasure, a gasp, another, quiet little
moans.
<< So, this new method of yappin’ at each other…
Could get used to it right quick. Leaves our mouths free for all sorts of other
interesting things, doesn’t it? >>
It did.
~*~
“We
need to go in. It’s starting to get light.”
“Not
yet.”
“Sunlight,
flammable vampire, people starting to get up to go to work and seeing us naked
under the tree…”
“One
more time. I need you one more time. C’mere.”
Buffy
attempted to ignore him. She found her tank top on a branch and slipped it on.
The torn strap hung loose, and the side of the top it should have been
supporting drooped down, catching on the tip of her breast.
Spike
groaned. “How can you cover up that body? Gotta be a sin, Slayer. Being a white
hat, isn’t it your duty to avoid those?”
“It’s
getting light!” she said with more force.
“Fast
then,” he urged. Spike tugged the pajama pants she’d just found out of her
hand, and pulled her back onto his lap. His hands curled around her calves as
he wrapped her legs around his waist, settling her against him. Once she
complied, his palms slid up the back of her thighs and came back to rest again
on her hips.
“Spike…”
His
mouth went to her ear. “We have time, love. I slide in, all the way. Bury
myself in you. Then you use those Slayer muscles on me. We have time for that…”
Oh, god.
And
damn him, damn him, damn him, she thought, even as she moved against him,
positioning herself. How could she still be so hungry?
She
almost lost it as he slid back inside her. The long, slow, moan that worked its
way out of her as he pushed in caused his hands to tighten.
“All
the way. Take me all the way in.”
“Yes.”
Her body shifted, rocked, accommodating him, finding just the right angle… oh, right there.
As the last inch of him disappeared into her folds their heads fell back in
twinned ecstasy, and they both shivered with pleasure.
“So
good,” she breathed, drawing his head back up and leaning her forehead against
his.
“Yeeeaahh,”
he agreed. He looked momentarily dazed, and his mouth found hers, kissing her
with a deep voluptuousness that made her whole body go liquid. The need to be
quick seeped out of her mind as their mouths met, parted, met again, slow, hot,
never satisfied.
A
car horn sounded somewhere on the next block, bringing them back to the
present, and Buffy drew back reluctantly.
Spike
brushed a trembling hand over her hair, but then his eyes slowly transformed,
taking on a wicked gleam. When he spoke, his voice was positively sinful. “Have
at it, love. Squeeze me. Tight. Let me feel those muscles. Two, three times,
an’ we’ll both explode.”
She
looked into his eyes, and slowly, slowly, tightened her vaginal muscles. She’d
never done this. Never allowed herself… His whole body went rigid as she
clenched around him, tightening around his shaft with slow deliberation.
“Oh,
fuuuu… Buffy!”
The
gray of the coming dawn had lightened the air, making his every expression
visible to her. And the look on his face, right now, of pleasure so intense it
bordered on, and perhaps even crossed over into pain,
mesmerized her. She’d never been free to…
“Oh
god, again, love,” he panted. “Again. Tighter, harder. Strangle my cock. Hard
as you can.”
She
was concentrating now, taken over by an overwhelming desire to make him shake
in her arms. To make him moan and cry out. She wanted to unleash all the
strength in her body, the power she’d always had to keep a tight rein on
before. Always. She’d never been able to let that power out during sex, nor
anything near all of it. She wanted to…
She
saw his face change again, saw a different kind of
light come into his eyes.
Understanding.
<<
Show me, Buffy. >> None of the wickedness that had been in his voice and
eyes was present in the thought. Only warmth, passion and tenderness. And
another invitation. This time, to be herself. To, for the first time ever with
a man, let herself go. Completely.
<< Show me all of you. Everything you have. Let go, love, let go.
>>
She
felt something break free in her. Something deep inside. She never thought
she’d… Centimeter by centimeter she squeezed up his length again, her muscles
slowly contracting around him from base to tip. Intense pleasure quivered along
every nerve ending in her body.
His,
too.
“Agggraaggah.” Spike’s head felt forward, onto her shoulder,
and he turned his face into her throat as his arms closed around her with
crushing force. His whole body was shuddering now, his hands shaking as they
wrapped into her hair. “Graaahhhaaagain…”
Shuddering.
Shaking.
With pleasure.
Pleasure
she was giving him. Her. The
No-Holds-Barred-Buffy.
Oh
god, the freedom. The unbelievable
freedom. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.
She
felt his teeth on her neck, blunt, nipping, and she cried out. Too much, it was
all too much… Her body was going to shatter into pieces.
<<
Again, again, again. There’s never been anything like this, Buffy. Like you.
Never. Again, love. Take us both over the edge. Make us soar. >>
< I will. I will. >
They
did.
~*~
He was
running. Using his preternatural speed, he raced for his crypt, anxious to beat
the dawn. He no longer begged silently for the touch of the sun. He had all the
light he needed. The light he’d always craved.
Buffy.
He felt
weightless. Almost as though, if he ran just a bit faster, he would become
airborne. Maybe he was already flying.
Buffy.
Tonight she’d been his. Even if it didn’t change things,
didn’t make anything permanent, or still his lingering fears, for this night,
at least, she’d been his.
~*~
The message
was most unwelcome.
Doc glanced at
the still twitching body of the E-Ur Y’d’Ice demon
on the floor at his feet. Whoever it was that had argued against killing the
messenger obviously didn’t understand the deep pleasure it afforded.
Rack was dead.
What, exactly,
had that hothead done to bring about his newly heartless state? No apparent
witnesses… No reports from his usually strong security…
And worst of
all, no more contact with the witch.
They’d worked
together several times, and he’d had such hopes for the young Shroyer-Shanasher power dealer. He’d known Rack sometimes fell victim to the temptation of impatience, so he’d taken
particular care in explaining that the situation with the witch should be drawn
out slowly, resulting in a lovely, painstakingly beautiful fall into darkness,
one they could all relish and enjoy. They could have told the tale of her
descent for hundreds of years, embellishing as one was wont to do with these
things…
Doc was
confident that his – detailed –
descriptions of what Rack could expect if he messed up his assignment by
rushing things with the witch or any of the Slayer’s other little friends, had
been more than adequate. The fool’s death must be unrelated.
But now they
may never really have the powerful young witch. Her fall had just begun, and
certainly she hadn’t been taken deep enough. Sadly she could still find her way
back to light. It was always such a disappointment to lose the most promising
young ones. And the redhead had been so full of potential, such a find!
The things
that had first brought her to his attention, those deep ties to the loathed
Slayer, were a wonderful bonus.
Of course, he
hadn’t told Rack the truth. The power dealer hadn’t been interested in working
with Glory last year, and Doc had assumed he would be equally unwilling this
time around. After all, even though Glory was out of the picture, the goal was
the same. The ruse that their ultimate goal was to corrupt and use the Slayer
had been carefully designed for maximum appeal to the greedy Rack.
The little
demon pulled his tail into his hands, and stroked it slowly, comforting himself, as he mourned the loss of personal contact with the
young witch. Oh dear. It would be such a dreadful defeat to lose her
altogether. Of course, there were still links, but they were tenuous at best.
Without someone right there to observe and supervise, he had no way of judging
how effective those links were, and he simply didn’t have anyone else he could
send to Sunnydale to concentrate exclusively on her.
Nor could he
go himself. He’d never met her, but showing his face to her was far too risky
until her descent was much further along. Another annoyance…
He would have
to give the situation some thought, weigh the potential benefits against
various scenarios of time and trouble. Perhaps there was someone else in
Sunnydale capable…
The witch’s head had been full of information
about the Slayer and the souled vampire. The Slayer’s greatest love, and her greatest weakness. The redhead’s certainty on
those points had just begged him to set up shop in
Really, the
mind boggled at the thought of a Slayer with close ties to not just one, but two vampires, he thought, remembering
the other one – the one on the tower. Blond. Cocky. Easily defeated, but taking
up just a little too much time…Delaying the cutting, the bleeding, the opening of the portal – delaying it all just long enough
to give the Slayer time… That arrogant vampire had saved this miserable world.
Patience, he reminded
himself. The next alignment wouldn’t be for months. He had a small group of
scholars working on it now, but he fully expected the time would coincide with
the last alignment, coming sometime in this country’s springtime. It wouldn’t
do at all to rush things, to succeed too early with plans that would then
become useless because the Slayer would have too much time to heal wounds, to
recover and regroup before he needed the key. Glory, although – glorious – had
been a fool at times. She had revealed herself too soon, given the Slayer and
her friends time to prepare for her. He’d tried to hold the lovely goddess back,
but she’d been far too stubborn. He shook his head sadly. Even gods made errors
in judgment. Only his presence at the tower, unexpected by the Slayer,
had saved the night from being a complete disaster. They’d been unsuccessful in
their goals, and Glory had, of course, been destroyed, but at least his cutting
of the key had forced the death of the Slayer – and he still felt a fierce pleasure
that his actions had forced suffering and pain onto those who had worked with
the Slayer to defeat them.
It was his
only consolation, and it had done much to soothe him as he twisted in the
blinding light and pain of the portal for long centuries.
And it
reinforced his believe that it was wisest to keep a low profile. One could get
information in so many ways. Glory had never understood that. Her arrogance had
not done well in this dimension.
He hadn’t yet
met this vampire – this Angel who was so important to the Slayer. He’d
toyed with the idea of approaching him on a professional level, seeking his
assistance in finding some non-existent missing person, or some foolishness
such as that. And, if all else failed, that was still an option.
But the
wonderful rumors he’d heard about this vampire – this one with a soul who was supposedly seeking his
redemption – had led him on a different, and far more entertaining, path. This
Angel had been backsliding in the last year, having problems staying on that
straight and narrow path. He’d heard
stories; about mistakes the vampire had made, about walks he had taken on the
dark side, this supposed warrior of light.
Tsk, tsk.
Perhaps this as yet unseen champion could use some – help.
Enter Bellamy.
Over the long
years of his existence, he’d spent a lot of time listening. Listening and
looking harmless. He’d done so well with that duo. Humans, especially, were
delightfully susceptible to it. The soulful eyes, the gentle smile, the head
cocked caringly to the side, the nods of understanding; all carefully practiced
and expertly executed. But he’d learned that a lot of non-human types were
almost equally susceptible to the Bellamy persona.
It had served
him well so often in the past, and now he’d worked his
way into the confidence of one of the souled one’s inner circle. He’d only just
made contact with Lorne, the glorified bartender, and already the host had
referred two of his patrons to him.
Soon, perhaps,
he would refer his most unique friend. The vampire with a soul, who was having
so much trouble controlling himself, and fitting into the human world. So in
need of just the kind of help Bellamy could offer…
And his
patience and care would once more be rewarded.
The corners of
Doc’s mouth turned up in a perfect little bow.
~*~
He’d only
slept for a short time. He could see that the light hadn’t changed much. Half
an hour, maybe. He rolled onto his back, his arm curving to drape over his
eyes.
Bloody hell.
He let the images
of Dru, of Angelus and Darla, wash over him. They were already fading, as
dreams so often quickly do, but the taunting words of his vampiric
family lingered, striking at him like vicious body blows.
Stay the hell
out of my sodding head, the lot of you!
A small noise
had him shooting up in his bed, eyes searching for the nearest weapon. They
stopped dead on his Slayer, who stood silently at the base of the ladder.
“Buffy.”
“I had to wait
for everyone to leave,” she told him. Her eyes were riveted to his mouth.
A smile,
pleased, but with definite gloating overtones, curved it. He stretched his hand
out to her. “C’mere.”
She moved into
his arms, her body melting against him.
“I have to be
home by three. No later.”
Six hours.
“Okay.”
“By three,”
she reiterated, with an attempt at firmness. The effect was lost as her voice
became muffled against his chest. “Don’t let me be late.”
“I won’t,” he
assured her. Spike lay back on the sheets and pulled her over him, his hands
going to the buttons of her blouse.
~*~
He tugged her
closer. Her body slid against his as she settled more comfortably against him,
their legs entwining. She was sleeping deeply, exhausted. Worn out. I did that,
he thought with satisfaction. Finally wore my lady out. He smiled into her
hair, inhaling her wonderful scent. Mmmm…
He dozed.
They were making love. She knew exactly how to move to
make him groan, how to touch him to make him gasp. They’d done this hundreds of
times, thousands. He knew her body better than he knew his own, and she knew
his. He was going to come, could feel the beautiful build up of pressure, the
wild pleasure. Then his fangs were buried in her neck and he was drinking her,
coming violently inside her, taking her – oh god, no, draining her, turning
her, even as she called out that she would love him forever. Forever and ever
and ever...
Fuck!
Spike’s eyes flew open. I’m
never bloody gonna sleep again, he raged to himself. Never. But nothing in his
hold telegraphed his unease. His arms remained close about her, clasping her to
him.
~*~
Satisfaction curved her lips.
Mmmm… Even asleep, her mind was reliving the unbelievable pleasures of the last
hours.
They were making love. He knew exactly how to move to
make her groan, how to touch her to make her gasp. They’d done this hundreds of
times, thousands. She knew his body better than she knew her own, and he knew
hers. She was going to come, could feel the beautiful build up of pressure, the
wild pleasure. Then his fangs were buried in her neck and he was drinking her,
coming violently inside her, taking her – oh god, no, draining her, turning
her, even as she called out that she would love him forever. Forever and ever
and ever...
Buffy flew up in the bed with
a gasp, yanking herself out of Spike’s embrace.
“What is it, love?” he asked.
His voice sounded odd, off kilter.
Buffy pushed a hand into her
hair, and forced herself back to calmness.
It had been a dream.
Just a dream.
“Nothing,” she murmured, and
moved back into his arms. “Nothing at all.”
~*~
Author’s Note
Just a quicky in case there’s anyone out there who doesn’t share my weird sense of humor and is confused by some of the demon or secondary character names included here, or even some unusual phrasings…
If your name/e-mail name/pen name appears in this story – even if I’ve made you a blob of gooey demon flesh – the acknowledgement is a thank you. Either your stories or your feedback to mine have touched me, and led me to want to include you in Journeys. Thank you for the pleasure you’ve given me.
Mary