Chapter Sixteen
Flesh. Bare flesh.
Pale and hard, gleaming in silvery blue light.
Her bed.
A breeze disturbing the curtains at the window, causing
them to play with the moonlight that streamed in, lighting blue eyes. A
familiar voice, not his, the tone huskier than was usual. Darker. Whose?
It’s a woman’s voice, she thought, her brow furrowing.
Mine? I think it’s mine.
She couldn’t make out any of the words.
And… blood.
There was blood.
~*~
She could hear her
blood rushing through her body, racing faster and faster. Her heart was
pounding, and the sound of it was intensifying, beginning to fill the room.
Excitement, emotion, amazement; something was gripping her, and it was unlike anything she’d ever felt
before.
He was on his
knees, looming over her, and she could hear the rumbling in his throat. The
sound, oh, so familiar to her, fell somewhere between a growl and a purr, and
it called to her on a deeply primal level, sending desire coursing through her
veins and drenching her with a thrill of satisfaction and power. He pulled back just enough to look into her
face. Their eyes locked, and she was riveted by his – intent, pulling her in,
flashing and streaking with gold. A challenge? She dropped her head back, exposing
herself to him. His hand sank into her hair, and he tugged her head back even
further, as his mouth moved over her chin, and began to trail down her throat.
Her heartbeat
was even louder now, stronger, the very air around them was pulsating in rhythm
with it, thudding, thudding. Louder, stronger.
And then…
He was covering
her, consuming her, his body joining with hers, closer, merging, closer,
closer, oh, there, there. He was in her, and she
realized that she was in him too, that they were both crying out sounds of
mingled shock and pleasure. Oh god, he was there – on her, inside her, with
her – he was part of her, he was her, inside, outside, all
over her. She could feel her blood
pounding now, matching the beat of her heart as it should, but now it was
pounding through him, through his veins, through his
mind.
Your blood,
my blood, our blood…
Remembered words
whispered through her mind briefly, and were lost in sensation.
Their bodies
convulsed.
Lost.
Lost…
…and found.
~*~
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...
~*~
She didn’t gasp, or come awake with a
shock of fear. Instead, Buffy simply rolled to sit on the edge of the bed and
pushed her hands into her hair. She wondered vaguely if there was some limit to
the number of dreams a person could have in a night, or to the number of times they
could have the same dreams in a week. Because she was pretty sure that,
whatever those limits might be, she was waaay over them.
Automatically, her senses reached out,
seeking Spike. Yes, he was there.
Always.
<< You okay, love? >>
< Yeah. Just – weird dreams. > Again.
A long pause. << Nightmares?
>>
< No. Not really. Kind of -- odd, though. >
Somewhat to her surprise, he didn’t press
her for details. The mental silence between them stretched out.
<< Do you want me to…? >>
Oh god, yes. Please. < We’ve
talked about this. You know we can’t… >
<< Could just get you off. It’d help
you get back to sleep. Medicinal, in a way. >>
< Medicinal sex. Be still my heart. >
<< You know I’ll make that heart of
yours pound. >>
< D.A.W.N. >
<< Sleeps like a log. >>
< And
She could almost see his shoulders hunch.
<< Restless bint. >>
Buffy gave a huff of amusement. Since
< You know I’ll stop by in the morning. >
<< Is that what you call it?
‘Stopping by’? >>
An element of flirtation crept into her
thought. < What do you want me to call
it? >
<< Unbloodybelievable?
>>
Alone in her room, Buffy laughed softly.
< What. Ever. Blondie. I’ll ‘stop by’. >
<< I’ll be waiting. At the door.
>>
< Oooh… Good. >
‘Waiting at the door’ meant yummy barefoot
and shirtless Spike; strong hands risking the sunlight to tug her quickly
inside; crypt door banging shut as he pushed her up against it; eager mouth,
hard body, husky words.
Oooh… Definitely good.
And, um, bad. Definitely bad. Spike and
crypt door thoughts were not going to
help her get back to sleep. And she needed to sleep. After all, hadn’t she just
said she’d be ‘stopping by’ the crypt? That
involved a lot of energy. A girl
needed her rest!
And she hadn’t been getting a lot of that
lately.
Distracted and restless, Buffy rose and made
the long trek down the darkened stairs for a glass of orange juice. She’d been
drinking a lot of juice lately, craving the various citrusy
or uncitrusy-but-still-fruity flavors. She swallowed
half of the tall glass she poured out thirstily, then
leaned back against the counter to enjoy the rest at a slower pace.
These dreams – were they Slayer dreams? When
they’d first begun, she hadn’t thought so. But she was beginning to wonder…
There were just so many of them. A few of them were well known to her by now, the
details unchanging, while others varied from night to night. And, even though
some similarities seemed woven through all of them, they didn’t always seem
related.
Blood.
There was always blood, thoughts of blood,
or talk of blood.
Of course, most of them involved sex too.
Hot, monkey sex.
And more blood.
Her feelings about the dreams were
changing. At first, they’d frightened her, leaving her gasping, and often,
pressing a hand to her throat to check for the wet stickiness of blood. Then
she’d decided they were just dreams and had dismissed them. But their growing
frequency was making her nervous and uneasy. Concerned.
Even if they weren’t ‘official’ Slayer
dreams, did they have some importance? Something all propheticy?
Buffy's face twisted. And did that mean they were something she should be
sharing with Giles? Because, wow! That
would be fun! She could almost hear the conversation.
“Spike and I are having amazing sex again, and --”
“Sex?”
“Er, yes, and --”
“With Spike?”
“And --”
“Again?”
“Will you listen? They’re
dreams, Giles. But, um, now that you
mention it…”
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to define ‘amazing’.”
~*~
“You planning to gaze rapturously at my
handsome profile for the rest of the night, or are you coming out?”
“I can’t sleep,” Buffy complained, crawling
out her window. “I’ve been back in bed for more than an hour, and all I’ve done
is stare at the clock. Which is a
big bore-a-thon. Especially since I memorized where all the numbers go last night.”
Spike's arm curled around her waist and he
swooped her up, depositing her between his legs. She
wiggled, settling against him, her back to his chest, as he wrapped her in his
arms.
“I like
sleeping. I want to sleep.”
“A trait our girl inherited from you.”
“She
never has any trouble.”
“Not often,” he agreed. It was true. Dawn
rarely tossed and turned, which made it more noteworthy when she did.
“It’s not fair,” Buffy whined.
“Life’s a bitch.”
“Yeah.”
Spike adjusted his position, loosening his
duster so that he could envelope her in its leather folds. Buffy squirmed again,
nestling closer, and dropped her head back onto his shoulder.
“Comfy?” he murmured into her hair, moments
after she’d stilled.
“Mmmm.” Her sound of contentment trailed
off into a light snore.
Smiling, Spike tightened his arms and
rested his chin on her head.
Life wasn’t always a bitch.
~*~
When
She hadn’t heard him enter the house;
hadn’t noted his footsteps in the hallway. She had some vague recollection of
the sounds of her parents leaving -- minutes ago? Hours? She didn’t know, and
cared less.
Her oldest friend was frowning. His eyes
swept around the room, taking in the pile of boxes, contents spilling out; the
drawn curtains; the plates scattered here and there on several surfaces, and
the mostly untouched helpings of food that had long since congealed on them. He
snapped on the overhead light in order to check out the scene more thoroughly.
“What?” she demanded. “Like your place,
pre-cohabitation days, was always spotlessly spotless.”
“I’ll help you clean up.”
“You want it clean, do
it yourself.”
“Is that how you want to play this, Will?”
he asked grimly.
She didn’t answer, looking away from his
steady regard to pick at her bedspread, and pretended to ignore him as he began
to stack up the dishes. She continued the pretense as he unpacked the boxes
he’d delivered to the house several days ago, shoving her clothes haphazardly
into drawers and closet, but she kept stealing glances at him, trying to see…
How mad was he?
He’s here, isn’t he? That probably means he doesn’t completely
hate you.
And the others aren’t here.
Did that mean they did?
Xander picked
up a blue top draped over the back of a chair and tossed it toward the hamper
in the corner of the room. Half her wardrobe was now piled around the hapless
wicker basket.
“Buffy told me
you dropped out of school.”
“I didn’t drop
out. I just dropped all my classes. There’s a difference. Besides, Buffy did
the same thing.”
“Her mom was sick,
a crazy bitch hellgod wanted to use her sister to destroy the world, and then
she died. All valid quitting school reasons. Why don’t you explain yours?”
“Maybe I just
felt like I needed a break.”
“From school? You?” Xander's
expression revealed the utter ridiculousness of that statement, and
She looked
away. “I’m going back next semester,” she grumbled.
“Which doesn’t explain why you dropped all your classes. Now.
With the semester almost over.” Xander sat down on the bed, facing her, and she
looked into his familiar face again. His worried
face. His eyes held a hundred questions, but he only asked the most important
ones, his voice gentle. “What’s going on, Will? Can’t you tell me?”
The silence
dragged out. And out. She could almost feel the tension building in him, and
when he spoke again at last, his tone was noticeably cooler.
“Did your
professors suggest you stay home until the electricity stopped shooting out of
your fingers?”
“W-What are
you talking about?”
Xander shook
his head and stood. She could feel the anger and disgust rolling off him. “Damn
it, Will!” He paced across the room and back. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.
Just tell me what the hell is happening to you! What, in the name of all that’s
incomprehensible, were you thinking?!”
“I didn’t do
anything wrong!”
“You do think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
“Rack is
dead,” he stated baldly.
“She didn’t. It
was Spike,” Xander said.
“Spike! What
does any of this have to do with him?”
“Apparently
your big power buddy threatened Dawn. And possibly Buffy.
The details are a little murky.”
“I’m sure they
are – because they’re lies. Rack
isn’t -- wasn’t like that. And why
would he threaten Dawn or Buffy? He didn’t even know them.”
“That’s not
the impression I got. Besides, Buffy is the Slayer, Will. A lot of demony types
are gonna know who she is, or at least be aware she lives in town.”
“Spike's a big,
fat liar,”
“No, they
didn’t. Buffy didn’t know anything about it. And, you know what? I didn’t think
I’d ever say this, but I believe Spike. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of
tolerance for threats aimed at ‘his girls’.”
“His girls,”
“The others
are dead, too.”
“What others?” she asked carefully.
The flat of Xander's hand slammed against the top of her
dresser. “Son of a --! Knock it off. This whole innocent/ignorant act really
doesn’t look good on you.”
“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about.”
“The freaking power dealers, Will. They’re all dead. Cleaned
out. Gone. You’re gonna have to get
along without them.”
Her face paled. “What? How?”
“We took them out. All of us. Together. Even Tara and Dawn helped.”
She could feel her face crumbling, and she bowed it back over
her knees. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“For you. You know we
love you.”
His softened tone only angered her, and when she felt his hand
touch her shoulder, she shrugged it away.
“I think you
should leave.”
“For god’s
sake, Will, let me help you. Tell me how I can.”
(( Find me another dealer. ))
Xander's body
jerked. “What?”
“Are you out
of your mind?”
The redhead’s
eyes narrowed. “What did you do?” She grabbed at his arm. “Damn! Spike – that
protection spell. You had one done? You? You really felt you needed protection from me?”
“We all had one done. Giles insisted. I told
him we didn’t need to, told him we could trust you; that you’d never try to
make us do anything against our will.” His eyes were dark with the pain and
disappointment of betrayal. “I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
“Who did it?
What spell did you use?”
Xander shook
his head, backing into the hall. “No.”
(( Tell me. ))
“Not. Gonna. Happen.”
Xander turned
and strode away. She heard the front door slam shut behind him.
Really, she thought to herself, I’ll
have to start locking that.
~*~
“Are you going to stop back at Tuck’s to see what kind of
buzz he’s hearing on the power dealers?” Buffy kneaded Spike's shoulders more
firmly, massaging the scented oil into his skin.
“Not if I can help it.”
Buffy grinned and brushed her lips against the back of
his neck. “Didn’t you promise to autograph some photos? You know, per-son-a-lize
them?”
“You’re never gonna let that go, are you Slayer?”
“Of course not. It’s totally against the woman code to
close the book on something so completely tease-and-taunt worthy.”
“Wouldn’t want you doing anything unwomanly.”
“Pffft. So – you think that one we beheaded last night
was the last of them?”
“According to my sources,
yeah. I’ll keep my ear to the ground, though.”
“This one?” Her
teeth nipped lightly at an earlobe. “Or this
one?”
“C’mere, and I’ll tell you,” he promised, turning to reach for her.
“Uhn-uh,” she refused. “I am
supposed to be giving you a massage. It’s my turn, remember?”
Spike shifted his shoulders under her hands and rolled
his neck. “’s right, pet. It is. Get
to it, then.”
Her hands pressed more deeply into the muscles of his
upper arms. “I was wondering…”
“Yeah?”
“What kind of massage…”
“Yeah?”
“… you wanted.”
His tone changed, deepened. “Yeah?”
“I mean, do you want me to use my hands? Like this?”
“Or?”
“Or would you rather I do this?” She pressed her breasts
against him and began to move her torso, rubbing herself against the taut
muscles of his back.
“Both?”
“I think you should choose one,” she drew away from him,
her hands remaining on his shoulders, “or,” she leaned back into him, “the
other.”
“Those my only two choices?”
She huffed with amusement. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I
could massage other, um, parts.”
“I’m listening.”
Buffy buried her face in the side of his throat as she
slid her hands around him and stroked them over the almost flawlessly smooth
planes of his chest. A forefinger traced the cross shaped scar over his heart
before she flattened her hand against him again. When she’d asked about the
scar, Spike had told her he had no idea where or how he’d gotten it. The slight
tension she’d been able to feel in his body had kept her from asking the when.
“Mmmm, maybe – here?” Her tongue came out, gliding from
collarbone to ear. His body jerked. She exhaled, her breath warm against his
cooler flesh, and traced the same path again, lingering on the slight ridges
she discovered there. His body jerked again.
Buffy lifted her head, letting her hands get more
adventurous. “You like?”
“Yeah.”
When he tipped his head to the side, Buffy's mouth descended
onto his shoulder, but Spike reached up to tug her face back to his neck.
“There,” he groaned out. “Don’t stop.”
“Mmmm…” she smiled against him. “Don’t wanna…”
Her hands continued to explore his body while she licked
and nibbled on his neck. Vaguely, she noted the change in his breathing, felt
the tremors starting up under his skin, but it took several minutes for her
brain to process the information. By that time, his breathing was ragged, and
shudders were running through his body. Deep
shudders.
Buffy drew back, surprised and a little concerned by the
strength of his reaction. “Spike?”
The swift movement caught her completely unaware.
Hard hands grabbed her, yanking her around
his body so that they were face to face, her legs straddling his. Her gasp was
lost as his mouth closed over hers and he kissed her with a raw hunger that
sent bolts of lust shooting into every part of her body. Warmth flooded her, and
she wrapped herself tightly around him, returning the kiss wildly.
He tore his mouth away from hers, and
pressed her face into his throat again, burying his own face in hers. She felt
his teeth there, nipping at her. His
voice was harsh, guttural. “Don’t. Stop.”
He moved and she felt the long length of
him thrust up into her, strong and hard. When she cried out with pleasure and
dropped her head back, he savagely yanked it back up, growling as he pushed her
mouth back to the scarred skin on his neck.
<< Use. Your. Teeth. >>
The burning intensity in the thought only made
her groan and quicken her movements.
“Closer,” he muttered against her flesh.
“Take me deeper. Ride me hard. Yeah, oh, fuck yeah, like that. Just like that.”
Buffy held him tightly, her arms and
thighs and all her inner muscles squeezing hard as she bit down on his neck.
Spike's face twisted as he cried out and
exploded inside her.
~*~
The sudden shift in mood from teasing and
playful to near violent passion had left her stunned. Once her breathing calmed
and she felt like she could actually move, Buffy drew back to look into Spike's
face. He looked, she thought, like it had pretty much had the same effect on
him.
Spike’s dazed blue eyes went cloudy. He
looked down at their joined bodies, touched his eyes to her neck and reached up
to feel the unbroken skin on his own.
“Bloody hell.”
He fell back onto the mattress, pulling
her down with him.
<< Tell me I didn’t hurt you.
>>
“No, I, um, no. You didn’t hurt me.”
He raised a hand to push her hair off her
face and gazed into her eyes.
“You didn’t hurt me,” she said again,
anxious to reassure him. “In fact, I kind of, um…”
Spike's eyes softened and his mouth did
one of those sort of quirky thingies.
“… liked it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His mouth found hers and he kissed her,
long and slow and hot, and oh, my, god…
Spike rolled, pressing her into the sheets
and leaning over her. Even now, with his emotions a little out of whack, he
carefully kept his weight off of her.
“Love you, Buffy…” << I love you so
much. >>
With a purr of promise, his mouth began a
long, leisurely and infinitely gentle slide down her body.
~*~
Buffy twirled a finger around one of his curls. They were
laying on their backs, at right angles to each other. Spike's head was resting
on her stomach, and his hands were moving expressively as he regaled her with a
story that involved a pack of werewolves, the catacombs of Paris and the last
decade of a century old, er, century.
“…walls made of bones, and a bunch of skulls arranged in a
sodding heart…”
God, how was it she hadn’t known? Because really, she’d had no idea. At all.
“…howling loud enough to reanimate all six million
Parisians, and god, wouldn’t they’ve
made a racket, bloody Frogs…”
It was like a – like a whole new world had opened up.
Worlds. Plural.
“…Edvard Munch – I mean, have you seen ‘The Scream’?
Pretty bleeding obvious…
With new languages. And they didn’t even sound weird and
incomprehensible to her because she understood them; she was even learning to
speak them. A little. Because Spike was like one of those Universal Transistor
thingies. Um, Translators. And he kept inviting her to try out her new tongues
on him. Oooh! He encouraged her to test them, and learn to speak them better
and better and oh, god, there’s another one?
“… yapping at our heels, and those
sodding tunnels go on forever…”
It was all so – intense. And exciting. And ohmygod, could you really do that? And oh, don’t stop
because I never had any idea anything could feel so good and if you stop now
I’ll lose what little sanity I have left right here in front of you, and how
would you explain that to my Watcher, and oh, god, again? Again?
“… did that vampire painting.
Always wondered if it was a self portrait. Lovely lady vamp in
Maybe it wasn’t so hard to understand.
Her night with Angel had been wonderful; loving, gentle,
and exciting. But it had only been one night, and her first time, and she’d
been a little nervous and worried. After all, he’d had so much experience, and
he… Those insecurities had probably made it easier for Angelus to begin his
manipulations of her the next day.
Parker had been a one night stand who had treated her
like one.
And Riley? Well… It’s not that the sex had been bad.
Exactly. But it had been kinda – predictable. As a lover, Riley had been -- oh,
what was the word? There was a perfect word, she knew there was, it was right
on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t come up with it right now.
But with Spike…
Hard, gentle, wild, easy, top, bottom, side by side,
inside out and dozens of ways she’d never even imagined, and every time was
like some new journey to one of those new worlds with the beautiful languages.
And he wanted her to see them all, and hear each of them…
“…Dru wanted one for a pet. Stubborn bint wouldn’t listen
when I told her Munch would be a lot less bother. Travel alone would be sod all
to organize with a …”
Oh – that was it! The word she’d been looking for.
Organize. Organized.
As a lover, Riley had been organized. Really, really
organized.
~*~
“Maybe at Christmas time. You know --
Peace on earth. Good will toward men.”
“Fat lot of good that will do either of
us.”
Buffy made a face. “Dawn will be happy,”
she offered.
“Yeah.”
“I’m thinking it will be a better gift
than anything she’d gonna find under the tree. If we have a tree. I suppose that’s, like, my responsibility now,” she
lamented. “Another one. How did my mom ever do it?”
“We’ll get the bit a soddin’ tree. We tell
her first, too.”
“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “Just her. Before,
um …”
“The whole bleeding gang?”
“Yeah.”
Spike stroked a hand up her back. “Are you
ready to deal with all the crap they’re gonna pile on us?”
She shrugged. “Probably not. Are you?”
“Dunno.” His hand slid back down, cupping
her bottom. “It’s not like I wanna hide it…”
They hadn’t been. Hiding it. Exactly. They
just hadn’t revealed it. Um, blatantly. Like, with the kissing in front of
people or saying ‘Hey! We’re kind of checking out the couple-y thing here.’
“I know. And Willow…”
“… has got your pals all stressed out.”
“Big time. And us… We’re still so – new.”
Her leg wound around his. “But the whole secret keeping thing? Really hasn’t
worked all that well for me in the past.”
“I think you like your secrets.”
“Huh?”
“Admit it, Slayer. You get off on sneaking
over here during the day, then acting like you haven’t
been climbing all over me when the others are about.”
“I do not
‘get off’ on it.”
“Enjoy it, though.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh, I
get off on it.”
She snorted. “You would. Jerk.”
“When we’re sitting at the Magic Box with
your friends all yammering on, and I catch your eye across the room… I can see
it on your face. I know you’re thinking about having my cock in your hot little
hands…” his tongue curled, “… and other places. Know you’re thinking about
being all wrapped around me, about how I can make you moan my name… All. Day.
Long.
“Oh yeeeaaah, love, I get off on that.”
Buffy moved against him, then blushed as his expression intensified at the telling
little hip shimmy. Damn him!
Spike's fingers traced a repeating pattern
on her hip.
“What are we, Buffy?”
She’d known this question would come; had
known it needed to come. They
couldn’t just keep meeting for marathon sex sessions every day without, sooner
or later, looking at the bigger picture. Or, well, they shouldn’t.
Probably.
She’d been feeling a lot more sure of
herself lately; not so lost and alone and scared and confused and fuzzy. She
even felt all sort of slayerish again, more sure of her fighting skills, and
like she was – like she was all there. Like the pieces she’d been so
desperately afraid were missing had been found. A small line appeared between
Buffy's brows. That was a little odd. She hadn’t really noticed…
“Listen to me, love. This edge you’re talking about – you
want it back, don’t you?”
“I need it back.”
Spike's
reassurances from that memorable night at the Bronze came back to her.
“No, you don’t. ‘Cause you have it.” His forehead came to
rest against her. “I know you. Oh, god, Buffy, I know you. And everything you
need is here.” He lifted one of her hands and laid their palms together. His
fingers threaded through hers and folded down, gripping her hand tightly. “It’s
here,” he repeated, his voice firm, compelling. “I can feel it. It’s in you.”
For a minute they both gazed at their clasped hands, the
entwined fingers.
“Look at me, Buffy.”
Her eyes moved to his.
“Maybe it’s like your memories – the edge, the fire. Just
not as accessible as it should be. Something zaps some type of mojo on us and your memories are jogged loose. They’re
there for you now. You haven’t needed your Slayer edge. Not yet. You need it,
it’s gonna be there for you too.”
He held her eyes, and she knew he was trying to drive the
point home.
Unconsciously, Buffy disengaged her hand from his and
began toying with the fingers of his other hand. Her fingertips traced the
edges of each digit, lifted one, then another, as she considered his words.
“You really think it’s in me? That it’ll be there for
me?”
“Yeah.”
Maybe… Maybe he’d been right. Maybe that’s
exactly what had happened. As the situation with
He’d probably gloat if she mentioned it.
Now that the power dealers had been dealt
with, Buffy felt less nervous about the situation with
And a lot of rather – unusual – things had
been happening…
She knew she cared about him, counted on
him. He was special to her – meant something to her. But she wasn’t quite sure
what or how deeply or for how long or…
“I don’t know yet,” she told him honestly.
“But I want to find out.” She levered herself up to look into his eyes. “Is
that enough?”
“No,” he answered. “I love you. You know
that. And I want it all.” His hand wove through her hair. “We can be good
together, love. We are good
together.” His eyes roamed over her serious face. “But for now – yeah, I’ll let
it be enough.”
~*~
Emily
turned over the sign on the door to “Closed”. Almost in unison, she and Dawn
gave exaggerated sighs of relief before sitting down next to each other on the
steps leading up to the door.
“Geesh!
Is it always like this?”
They’d
been rushing about all day long, wrapping up this, taking down that item from a
display, finding just one more, please!, of those.
“Christmas
is looming, and the shoppers have quite obviously progressed to the panic
stage.”
“I
could tell! You know, when you offered me this job, I thought you might have
‘created’ it ’cause you knew I liked the store, and could use the extra dollar
fifty an hour,” Dawn said. “Which I so can. But I can see you totally didn’t. It’s nuts here! How did you ever do it on your own?”
“I
was losing my mind!” Emily admitted. “Haven’t you realized yet how I oh, so casually
lured you here? Trying to pretend it was because I knew you like my
merchandise…Ha! Now you know. I completely pulled the wool over your eyes, and
got you to work here at slave wages in an attempt to restore my sanity!”
“If
these are slave wages – what is it that Giles is paying me at the Magic Box?”
“Sub-slave?”
“Minion?”
“Peon?”
“I
don’t think there’s anything that really qualifies as lower than ‘slave’.”
Emily
smiled. “I promise, sweetie, as soon as the holidays are over, I’ll let you
start unleashing your creative talents.”
Dawn's
eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Of
course. I think you’re a wonderful young artist, and I want to encourage that,
give you an outlet to express it. In retail related ways, of course.”
The
girl shrugged her shoulders, looking very young and incredibly pleased.
Emily
groaned and pressed a hand to the small of her back as she pushed back to her
feet.
“I
made some homemade soup earlier this week. It gets better every time I warm it
up. Would you like to come up and have a bowl?”
Emily
lived upstairs. She’d invited Dawn – and Spike, for that matter – to stop up,
but, for one reason or another, neither of them had yet entered her private
rooms. Today was going to be no exception.
“I
can’t. Buffy made me promise I’d come right home.” Dawn grimaced. “I think
she’s cooking.”
“Oh.”
Emily patted her shoulder. She’d heard this tale of woe before. “I’m sorry.”
Dawn
snickered.
“I’m
sure you – oh, dear heavens! I’m so glad you mentioned your sister. I almost
forgot! A young woman I know – Lynn Alexandra – is looking for some help over
at the university. She worked here while she was in high school. She’s a supergirl, very nice. Anyway, she works at the
Dawn
considered. “I don’t know. She – she might enjoy that kind of work. She’s been
doing self defense stuff with me, and seems to like that, so maybe… We’re
lucky. The whole money thing I was kinda worried about?” she looked at Emily until
she gave a nod of understanding. “A friend of ours went through a lot of the
financial papers, and things aren’t as bad as they might have been. So
probably, Buffy doesn’t, you know, have to work.”
“That’s
wonderful news.”
“But
I’ll ask her. I don’t think she’s gonna try to go back to school until next
year, so she might be interested. And, even if we can pay all our bills, a
little extra money is always of the good. Especially, you know, with Christmas
coming up.”
Emily’s
mind went back to the years just after she’d graduated from UC-Berkeley. Money
had been extremely tight. And Michael’s situation had taken over so much of her
life that finding something that paid a decent wage in the limited number of
hours she had availabl… Well, suffice it to say,
those years had been filled with a wide variety of stresses. She smiled to
herself a little sadly. She’d give anything to be living through those hard
times again, if it meant that Michael was still a part of her life. She’d never
stop missing him.
“I
don’t know what the pay is, but since it’s for the university system, I imagine
the benefits are fair – health insurance, dental. Those things can cost a
fortune. If you’d like, I’ll talk to
Dawn
went behind the counter to get her jacket. “I’ll talk to Buffy,” she said,
struggling with the zipper. “If she can keep her Slayer strength under control,
it might be a really good job for her.”
The
teenager’s eyes went wide as she seemed to realize what she’d said. “She, um,
used to do gymnastics. So, you know, strong.” Dawn flexed her bicep. “And my
dad called her ‘the slayer’. It was, like, a family joke. He was big into WWF
Wrestling.” Her eyes revealed that she was perfectly well aware of how forced
the explanation seemed. “Stupid, I
know.”
Emily
just nodded, smiled, and pretended ignorance. “The Slayer, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Both arms flexed this time. “Strong.”
“Sounds
like she’ll be perfect for the job.”
~*~
She’s perfect.
All that strength, all that power, stretched
out across his bed, writhing with pleasure and need.
“Yeah, like that,” he approved. “Hold onto
the headboard.”
His hands shaped her narrow hips, smoothing over supple
skin, savoring taut muscles beneath. She arched toward him, encouragingly, but
he still didn’t move to enter her.
“Spike?” Her voice was soft, questioning his lack of
action.
“Anticipation, love. It can be so sweet. Just thinking
about how it’s going to feel when I slide into you – how good. You’re wet.
Slick. So ready for me. I’m gonna slide in so smooth, your juices drenching me.
Your scent—it’s surrounding me, love. I
can smell how much you want me; can feel how you’re waiting for me. You’re
gonna be so tight, so tight. Holding me, your walls clamping around me,
squeezing me, keepin’ me buried deep and tight inside you. It’s gonna be so
good.” His eyes captured hers. “How’s it gonna feel for you?”
He could feel
the heat suffusing her body and his tongue curled as her color heightened. All.
Over. That. Heated. Luscious. Body.
“Please, just…” She twisted her hips toward him again,
trying to force the movement they both craved.
“It’s just us
love, just you and me. Tell me. Tell me how it’s gonna feel when I slide inside
you.”
“Strong,” the word seemed torn from her throat. “Oh god,
so strong. And hard. Thick - the way you stretch me, I – I never think you’ll
fit inside. But you do, and oh god, you fill me, stretch me…Feels so good. And
it’s like – like every nerve in my body is singing. And you know just how to –
how to move, how to make me…”
She broke off as he groaned, clutching her hips tightly.
“Guide me in, love. Take me in your hand and guide me
in.” Even as he spoke he was taking her hand in his, folding it around his
shaft, hips thrusting urgently toward her. “Now. Fuck, Buffy, now, now—”
Need. It was eating away at him. At her, too. He could
feel it – the near greed of her wanting.
Buffy tugged him closer, positioning him against her.
“Inside you.”
“Yeeesss. Now, now, now.”
And then he was there, in her – oh god, deep, so deep. Smooth, silken joining; perfect,
perfect fit. Just how they’d known it would be. Filling her, stretching her,
feeling her tighten and quiver around him.
His head fell back, jaw clenched, tendons standing out
starkly in his neck. “Deep, so deep. So good, love, you feel So.
Bloody. Good. Slick and wet and so damn hot. You burn me, burn me.
Afterwards, I never think it could have been as good as I’m remembering. Then
I’m inside you again – and it’s better, always better.”
~*~
She was sleeping.
He’d never imagined he would take such
pleasure in holding a sleeping woman in his arms, but he seemed to find it, in
a different way, every bit as satisfying as the shagging.
She was lying on her side, curled against his side, with her hand resting lightly
over his heart. Her face was peaceful in repose, and he felt a fierce pleasure
that she could feel that here with him, that she could find peace in his arms
after the passion dimmed enough to allow sleep.
The peace implied – trust.
Trust.
Don’t!
Trust.
He was starting to do it – starting to –
believe.
Bloody well shouldn’t, and was doing it
anyway.
Bugger.
Don’t fucking think about it. Don’t get caught up. Just enjoy the
bloody ride, remember? He’d already opened his mouth more than he should have.
“What are we, Buffy?”
“I don’t know yet. But I
want to find out. Is that enough?”
And then, worse yet…
“No. I love you. You know that. And I want it all.”
Stupid git.
Of course he’d told her he’d let it be
enough. And he would. It was more than he’d ever thought he’d have.
Her.
Alive.
In his arms, his bed. And more. The
beginnings of companionship. It
sounded such a small thing, but he was starting to understand that it might be something
that could fill holes in his life he’d hardly acknowledged existed, and was beginning
to suspect might be rather gaping.
Buffy's foot slid up his leg and curved
around his calf, tugging it toward her. He turned his face into her hair,
inhaling its woodsy scent. Mmmm… It tugged at a memory...
No, gone.
She’d surprised him. He’d expected her to
be as strong and fierce a lover as she was a warrior. And she was. Sometimes.
But not always. Sometimes she’d say something, or do something, or, he smiled
to himself, more often not say
something; not do something, that
made him look deeply into her eyes, trying to see inside her mind. It had taken
him days to suss it out.
Insecure.
Bloody, buggering hell, he’d thought, when the realization first struck him. She’s
the Slayer and she’s bloody insecure as a lover. It hadn’t taken
long, though, after the first shock of it, for him to understand how that could
be; how she could be unsure of her appeal and doubtful of her ‘skills’.
Angelus.
Frat boy.
The two of them had combined to give her a couple of very
mornings after.
His grandsire’s scathing words to her had to have been pretty
crushing to a young virgin. And he knew Angelus had been her first. The newly
soulless vampire had described the art of her seduction, to him, to Dru, to a
sodding room full of minions in minute detail.
Several times. Spike knew the version of her deflowering they’d been
treated to had been corrupted to suit the audience. The ponce
had obviously loved her, and Spike was sure there’d been a revolting number of
months filled with soft and soulful looks of longing, followed, at last, by a
sweet and tender initiation. If that hadn’t been the case, Angelus probably
would have hated himself, and her, a lot less after he lost his soul again.
Even if Buffy had been able to separate Angelus’ words and his desire to hurt
her as much as demonly possible from what she would
see as Angel’s acts, the similar
treatment by the college prat the next time she’d given in to the urge had
probably left seeds of doubt in her mind.
Seeds that had grown into worries before blossoming into insecurities.
He’d done his own part in driving those doubts home, he
thought, remembering their battle in the sunlight; the words he’d used to taunt
her.
Buffy's reactions to him and to their many recent hours-long
sessions of sexual dalliance had told him that Soldier Boy had been not only someone
he’d have enjoyed eating, but a right tosser sorely lacking in imagination as
well. Spike had him pegged for missionary almost all the way, the type of bloke
who thought he was being adventurous if he let his bird climb on top every tenth
go or so. Still, they’d been together for a long time, and he imagined the length
of their relationship had helped to build confidence in his Slayer. Of course,
when the wanker had taken to visiting vamp whores, her self esteem had probably
taken a blow. Of top of everything going on with her mum and her sis, it must’ve
been a bit like being beaten about the head with Olaf’s
hammer.
Could’ve spared her that, he supposed. The trip to the
brothel. But he hadn’t and he didn’t much regret it. She’d needed to know what Tall
and Tedious had been up to, and Finn’s actions would’ve hurt her whenever and
however she found out about them. Better sooner than later.
And the great lunk had gone
pouting off to
Buffy made a soft sound in her sleep and shifted slightly.
Her neck arched, her face turned, and her mouth brushed across his shoulder.
Moist lips pursed, turning the motion into a kiss of sorts. Spike's fingers
traced the now familiar line of her spine.
No matter how well he felt he was getting to know it, her
body continued to be a source of amazement to him; her strength and power, and
the warm softness of her.
Slayer.
Woman.
Buffy.
So bloody
beautiful.
He had no idea how she could ever doubt that, even for a
moment. She didn’t mention it, didn’t spend time cajoling reassurances out of
him, but there had been a few telling words and phrases, ones he hadn’t paid a
lot of mind to until hours after they’d been spoken, when he’d been replaying
one or another of their encounters in his mind.
‘Get so hard
just thinking of you.’
‘You do?’
‘Mmmm. Love your
hips, pet.’ Hands stroking. ‘ And this curve
-- here.’
‘But… You said I
was skin and bones.’ A real question,
he’d later realized, had underlain the humor.
She might have surprised him, might not have been quite
what he’d expected, but he wasn’t disappointed. Sod that! Bloody well felt like he was gonna go up in
flames every time he touched her, didn’t he? He was completely captivated; bewitched
and – and sodding delighted – by her
in ways no self respecting demon would ever admit to.
She had inhibitions.
And he bloody well loved them. Loved encountering them; loved trying to coax
her through them; loved watching them fall away one by one. He loved how she
responded to him, loved her passion, loved watching her lose herself in it, her
body caught up, her face transformed.
He even loved how some of those same inhibitions might be
back in place the next day.
He loved watching her sleep, too. Like this. Watching
over her. He touched his lips to her head, and let his eyes fall closed. Just
for a moment…
Buffy’s hand unfurled and spread over his
chest, fingers splayed. Spike opened his eyes again to look at her, but he
could see she remained soundly asleep. Still, her hand began to move, stroking
with slow thoroughness over the hard planes of his chest, down along his side,
and over his hip to his thigh.
Unconscious exploration.
“Mmmm,” she breathed out. “Mmmm.” She
snuggled closer.
She seeks me, he thought. Asleep, and she
seeks me.
Believe.
No.
She seeks me.
Don’t…
Her hand slid between his legs, cupped his
sac, fondled softly.
“Mmmm,” his own approval echoed hers, and
he lifted a knee, granting her greater access. She took advantage of it.
Minutes later, that perfect little hand
left his balls and curled around his aching shaft. Tight. Even asleep, he
thought, she knows when to take care, and when to show me her strength.
“Mmmm,” she murmured again. “Nice.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. More than nice.
He found everything about her so –
pleasing, so perfect.
So bloody
perfect.
Her hips began to rock against the outside
of his thigh.
She seeks me.
Spike turned toward her, luxuriating in
the glide of his flesh against hers as he lifted her leg to hook it over his
hip. His mouth kissed her awake, and he gave her what she sought.
~*~
The cleaned up corner of the bedroom seemed safest. It
gave her a view of the entire room. Maybe she’d be able to see…
Dead.
They were all dead.
She thought the conflicting emotions running through her
might drive her insane.
Fury.
Fear.
Relief.
And pure, undiluted terror.
She had no idea how long it had been since Xander left.
She wasn’t even sure if her parents had returned home from the conference
they’d been attending. Why had he come, anyway? She didn’t want to see any of
them. Couldn’t bear it. They knew.
They’d seen inside her. Knew she’d tried to…
Oh god, Tara, Tara,
It’s not like
It’s not
wrong. There was nothing wrong.
You are not wrong.
You were just
trying to heal things. Make them better.
And that is right. The right thing to do.
Stop! Stop it!
Argue. Whisper. Engage in never-ending debates.
You’re strong,
powerful.
Was it strong to leave Dawn alone in a room
that was bound to attract big demony customers?
So what? It’s not your responsibility to
take care of the Slayer’s imaginary little brat of a sister, is it? If Buffy
really loved the girl, she’d send her somewhere safe, away from the Hellmouth.
Away from demons. And if Dawnie-girl is going to stay here, she’s needs to
learn to deal with the realities of life in Sunnydale.
Really, you were helping her.
Maybe the make
believe girl should leave. Go away.
Far away. Maybe she’d be better off. Better off…
Please stop!
God she was
tired. So very tired. She slept, but never woke feeling rested. It had been
going on for a long time now. Weeks, at least, possibly months, and she’d grown
sick of it. Sick of all the odd things, the nightmares that had come to fill
her nights, and had lately taken to invading most of her days as well.
Argue. Whisper. Engage in never-ending debates.
Stop fighting with yourself,
I’m strong.
Yes, and we can help you get stronger. You’ll – enjoy it.
You know you will.
They’re my friends.
Are they? Do friends have
protection spells performed? Do they kick you out of their houses, slam doors,
and tell you that you’re wrong, wrong, wrong?
They’re afraid
of you.
I only wanted to protect them. I didn’t want them to be
afraid!
If they were your friends, they’d understand that,
wouldn’t they? Find another dealer, and it will all get better. Remember how it
felt? The strength? The power? The control?
The power Rack
had given her – it had been wonderful. She’d loved the feelings coursing
through her veins, the knowledge that she was finally, finally in control. Since the resurrection it was the only time…
She needed the kind of power Rack had been
able to give her, and she needed to find another source.
Because
whatever it was he’d given her, whatever it had been, it was…
It was the
only… the only…
The only
thing…
Bump.
…that had
silenced…
Bump.
… all the noise…
Bump.
… in her head.
Bump.
All the
never-ending noise.
~*~
Author’s Notes
When
I posted the first chapter of Journeys on
I’m amazed and thrilled that readers have stayed with this story for so long, especially since so many fans feel this ship has grown unbearably stale, has sailed, or even sunk. Spike's story, and the Buffy/Spike love story (the greatest love story never told as Barb Cummings called it) appeal to me on a number of levels and in a way no other fictional characters or their stories ever have. I am loving creating this fantasy world for them – writing out what would have been if I had been the one with the say so. I guess I think that’s, for the most part, the purpose of fanfiction.
Thanks
again to Lou in
For
what it’s worth, I’m throwing this challenge out there: Childe. That word.
Hated by some, reviled by a few. Unless someone can suggest to me a suitable
alternative, it’s going to be making an appearance in this story some time in
the near future. If you simply can’t read a fic
containing that word, you can do one of two things; stop reading before it
burns your eyes out of their sockets, or e-mail me a great idea for a wonderful
word that means the same thing! It’s, like, an opportunity!! It can’t be
‘minion’ or ‘fledgling’ and I don’t want something slangy or informal such as
‘get’. I need a formal designation – the direct companion to ‘sire’.
If
you’d like to go on the update notification list, just drop me an e-mail at: MKStatz@aol.com. Feedback can come to this
same address!! *snort* I thought there would only be one more chapter of
Awakenings after this one, but this one got so long, I divided it into two
parts, so there are still two to go. Then, it’s on to Part Three: Revelations.
Lastly,
I don’t use a beta. As I’ve mentioned before, this is the first thing I’ve
written in many, many years, and the idea of sending chapters to a beta
completely terrifies me. (I actually feel kind of sick to my stomach every time
I send a new chapter to the hosting sites, and the churning continues until the
first couple ‘good chapter’ reviews come in.) So spelling errors and the major
breakage of the rules of the grammar should all be laid solely at my door. I
try to catch most of them, but since I don’t actually know all those pesky grammar rules (hey! it’s been like, um, five
years since I was in high school – maybe even six! LOL), I’m sure I offend
numerous people every time a new chapter is released! I apologize for the times
I make you cringe or grit your teeth. When the story is complete (someday,
someday, someday), I’ll probably go back and correct the most glaring errors,
for my own peace of mind. I do consider this all a huge learning experience, as
well as being an extremely challenging and entertaining adventure.
As
always, thanks to the webmistresses who are kindly
hosting Journeys and to everyone who has taken the time to comment on the story
– particularly those who have written long, well
constructed comments that somehow make me feel like I actually know what I’m
doing!! I appreciate all of you, and am incredibly grateful for your support.
Mary