SUBJECT: B/S, slash F/F
RATING: NC-17
FEEDBACK: Rabid1st@yahoo.com
BETA: Mary
SETTING: A week or two after Older and Far Away…This is a Pre-As You Were Fic…showing the B/S relationship in a working mode.
SUMMARY: According to Wayne Magnuon: English Idioms: The Sweet Spot is "the best spot to touch, the spot the feels good." Spike and Buffy take some time to explore each other after the Dead Things' beating and the rocky reunion of OAFA. This fic started life as PWP and became something else entirely. It's all about motivation and convenience and what might have changed between Dead Things love scene and the one in As You Were. This fic is most definitely B/S but does include female slash of a slightly different bent. If you are even a bit open-minded on the subject you might want to take a look…if the very idea gives you the wiggins…don't bother.
DISCLAIMER: I swear I didn’t know the plot was loaded! Okay, okay, all of this belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy and Fox and UPN if any one or all of them decide to take it there is nothing I can do…because I have no rights to these characters or situations…I know it…you know it.
Buffy let out a sharp gasp, as Spike's hands found their way under her blouse, not to fondle but to lay skin on skin. The first touch was tentative. The first kiss a mere brush of lips in the soft curve of the Slayer's throat. And even that scant contact was broken almost immediately.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Buffy who pulled away. It was Spike.
“Damn and blast this thing,” Spike choked. Buffy turned around in time to see the other woman step swiftly away. Spike tore furiously at her weevil-manacled wrist, to no avail. After a brief struggle, she muttered another bitter curse and used the heel of one hand to rub impatiently at her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked, steadfastly ignoring the two-dozen answers to that question supplied by her own mind.
“Nothing,” Spike said, in a pouty voice. She ducked her head as the Slayer moved closer but not before Buffy caught the wet glint of tears.
“You’re crying?”
“Well…yeah…”
“Because?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know…because,” Spike yelped, whipping around to face her. “Because I can’t seem to bloody well stop. This soddin’ weevil’s come a cropper and now I’m a full-on watering pot. Feeling things like I usually feel them…only sharper.”
An impish grin tugged at the corners of Buffy’s mouth but she manfully wrestled it down. “Probably hormones,” she said, when she could manage it without laughing. Spike’s look of horror nearly set her off anyway.
“You sayin’ this is normal?”
“Well, not for everybody,” Buffy admitted. “But you are kind of…sensitive.”
“Tkgwah?” Spike ejaculated, her mouth dropping open. “I AM NOT!”
“Come on, Spike. You tear up over insurance commercials.”
“I told you I was jus’ missing the death-dealing. Cutting people off in their prime and what-all.”
“Okay,” Buffy sighed, with a pointed “sez you”-roll of her eyes.
Spike’s gaze narrowed to two icicle points. A predatory stillness spilled over her as she enunciated, carefully, “I am a vampire. A monster. An unholy terror and don’t you ever forget it, Pet.” Slinking toward the Slayer with a feline grace, she hissed, “Evil see, straight through. William, the Bloody Scourge of Europe, that’s what I am.”
“Yeah,” Buffy returned, with an unimpressed smirk, “You’re the scourgiest.”
Spike pounced. She hit Buffy at the mid-point, carrying her to the pillow-festooned bed in one swift swoosh. She squeaked in surprise but didn’t resist. Bouncing, she slithered about on the creamy coverlet, putting up a decidedly ineffectual struggle, as Spike straddled her hips for the pin.
There was nothing tentative in Spike's approach this time. What she lacked in height and weight advantage she made up in determination. She dominated the Slayer, wrestling her into position and holding her down, despite vehement protest.
“Get off me you skanky Bastard,” Buffy yelped, twisting her body between her opponent’s thighs in a delightfully erotic fashion.
“Skanky BITCH,” Spike correct, with a wolfish grin. She buried both hands in Buffy’s hair, fingers clenching tight, and kissed her with penetrating force, before growling, “And you know you like it rough.”
An almost prophetic chill lanced through the Slayer at this proclamation. She froze, shaking from the cold, staring up at the other woman through startled doe-eyes. Spike stilled, too, staring back. They breathed in heavy synchronicity. Time seemed to advance frame by frame as a tenuous understanding bloomed between them.
Buffy’s heart hammered out the seconds. After what seemed like eternity, she whispered, “No, I don’t.”
It was a terrifying confession. Admitting he didn’t please her, that she needed something more, was almost beyond her abilities.
In her entire sexual history, Buffy Summers had never asked for anything. She had given. She had taken. But she had never expressed a contrary desire. Never turned down what her lover offered. She’d never even considered it. At first, she’d been handicapped by inexperience. Eager to please and worried she might not. Then, with Riley, she’d subconsciously made her own needs subservient to her role in his life. She’d played the sweet, loving, achingly normal girlfriend with meticulous care. And even then, she'd failed to please him.
Spike had given her the chance, for the first time, to please herself. And she had taken merciless advantage of the opportunity. He was a thing not a person and that distinction allowed her the freedom to demand satisfaction from him. Want. Take. Have. And still there was no need to ask. Not as long as she kept telling herself there was nothing between them but hunger and convenience.
A glowing light seemed to suffuse Spike's porcelain skin. She smiled. It was a soft little smile made beautiful by its remarkable compassion. Relaxing the tight grip of her fingers, she gently combed Buffy's hair back, clearing strands from her face. Spike petted and crooned, "There now, my darling girl, see…it's not so very hard. Say the word. Let me give you what you need."
Buffy couldn't speak for her trembling. But she nodded, just a slight bob of her chin. Her gaze was fixed on the other woman's mouth. As Spike leaned closer, Buffy's eyelids fluttered shut and a tiny, helpless whimper opened her lips to the gentlest of kisses. No other kiss, from Spike, from Angel, from anyone, compared to this. Its poignancy seemed to bite at the Slayer's heart.
A wet rush of yearning arched her hips off the bed. She ground against the straddle of her lover, eliciting a breathless groan of response. Her hands, moving of their own accord, sought Spike's skin and hair, tugging the vampire's new softness even closer. They pressed breast to breast. Clothing was peeled away and discarded until they could both taste flesh.
It was so easy. Fingers, mouth, tongue, soft, wet…open.
They lay side-by-side, facing one another, naked, touching deep. Spike had toys in his bag of tricks but they didn't use them. Didn't need them. They discovered new preferences and possibilities and teased each other to release with gentle urging, slight and significant pressures and a steadily building friction.
Buffy was amazed at the intensity of her own response, the slick heat of it. She came so readily for this woman, who was both familiar and new. Spike and yet…not Spike.
She wondered briefly if her wantonness might offer some clue to the riddle of Willow and Oz. It had puzzled her, how Willow could react to first a man and then a woman with apparently equal passion. Buffy wondered if it was possible to be captivated by a lover's inner self? To love without regard to gender or previous sexual orientation? The idea was chilling in its implication. Was there something about Spike, beyond the masculine hotness and vampiric power of him, something inside, that Buffy found irresistible?
With panicked haste, she slammed the mental door closed on her truant thoughts before she could follow them to a logical conclusion. And yet, the truth was there, naked beside her, in the eyes of another woman.
"Spike," Buffy breathed the name, shuddering to climax again.
Spike waited for Buffy to uncoil before easing out of her supernaturally tight accommodation. Then as Buffy watched in sleepy-eyed fascination, Spike brought three wet fingers to her mouth.
"Want a bit of honey, Luv?" she offered, presenting one glistening digit.
Seeing Buffy's startled hesitation, Spike didn't press the idea of sharing. Instead, she sucked the juice from her own fingers before sliding closer for a deep kiss. She let Buffy know the flavor, tongue to tongue.
It wasn't the first time the Slayer had tasted herself on Spike's lips. She was used to it, in fact. But it was the first time she'd ever been aroused by the experience. It was intoxicating, not just the tangy flavor but the implied invitation. Buffy wanted more. And she wanted it from Spike. She slithered down the vampire's cool body, licking and biting softly as she went, teasing pink nipples into rock hardness. She explored her lover's surprising peaks and valleys, taking her time, until Spike cried out, begging for her touch.
Buffy complied, not really surprised at the ready slickness of her lover's need. Yet, extraordinarily moved by it. Her fingers slid effortlessly deeper, gently probing, spreading open folds of flesh as delicate as tissue paper surrounding a gem. Pale skin gave way to pinks and roses. At the center of it all was a crest of mauve, firm and glistening wet. Buffy licked her lips in anticipation.
The bouquet of Spike's arousal surrounded her, inviting and immediate. Generally, female but also singular…the smell of this woman beneath her, separate from her own scent…differing from the scent of any other. The aroma was intricate…difficult to define…like wine or perfume. There were layers of unidentifiable odors within the main one. Buffy smiled at the notion even as she wondered about the flavor of this woman who she knew well and yet didn't know at all. Would Spike taste as she had when male or would she taste like her new fragrance, with the bite of citrus and the spicy undertone of fallen leaves?
Buffy longed to find out even as part of her mind recoiled from the idea. She had never been this close to another woman. Never wished to be. True, she had toyed with the notion of kissing Faith. She'd seen it clearly in her mind tongues thrusting and hands grinding hips together. She'd even been intrigued by the thought. But she hadn't carried the fantasy beyond the point of titillation. She never imagined the taste or smell of Faith lingering on her body. Never felt the need to pleasure, to please or to bring her sister Slayer to mind-blowing release. Such thoughts would have shocked her. Not because she was closeted or repressed, but because she simply didn't crave women in that way.
"I only crave you," she whispered, her breath hot and close against Spike's skin.
"Buffy?" Spike moaned, writhing beneath her. "Luv…Please…"
Buffy gave in to temptation, tonguing the length of her lover's wetness. She pleased herself with the taste, lingering over it, before turning her sucking attention to the other woman's swollen need. She used her mouth to excite and inspire. Licking, coaxing, kissing and suckling, she threw herself into the task of leading her demon lover to deliverance and was gratified at the sincere and copious nature of the resultant prayer.
Spike called on the Lord with a steady chant of abject supplication, "Oh, Oh God Buffy, baby, swe-sweet Love, GAW-awhg," The Slayer reached one hand up to roll a nipple in counterpoint with her busy tongue, causing a brief break in the entreaty.
"…Awgh…gah…yes, like that, feels good, feels so…Oh, I…I had no idea…yes, yehhsss, yes, please god in sweet heaven, OH-Hh…" The vampire came, curling up and then falling, bonelessly, back against the sheets, panting, "oh…ohhhh…awhohhhh."
A cool squirt of ejaculate danced over the Slayer's tongue.
The flavor hit Buffy's taste buds with explosive force, distracting her completely. She didn't notice the wriggle of something near her right foot. Her Slayer senses gave no warning, until the creature wrapped itself around her ankle. Even then, she was slow to react, merely pushing at the tickle with her other foot.
Pain took her in the midst of ecstasy. Searing, blinding, paralyzing pain…and then there was nothing. No sight, no sound, no breath…just the pounding thunder of the pulse in her veins. She was totally alone. Buried alive.
But this time Spike was there, close by, working to free her from imprisonment. Less than twenty scant seconds later, she was drawing ragged gulps of air into her starving lungs. Physical awareness returned. She was kneeling on the bed, on all fours, head hanging low. It took several heartbeats for her mind to clear enough to notice her hands.
They were huge, blunt-fingered things, with broad square palms. Buffy blinked at them and then gave a girly-scream and tried to back away. She popped over the side of the bed, hit the floor with a bump and rolled, before lurching, at last, to her feet. An immediate disorientation of height made her head swim, dizzily.
Spike scrambled after her, murmuring words of comfort and concern. His diminutive female form looked even more fragile from Buffy's suddenly, lofty perspective. The sight of his naked perfection was more than Buffy could bear. She turned and fled to the bathroom. Misjudging the width of her shoulders, she whacked brutally into the doorframe as she entered the tiled room. The force of the blow spun her around to face the full-length mirror. She saw herself transformed and the sight checked her panicky flight, arresting her.
The man staring back at her in wide-eyed dismay wasn't the monster she'd imagined. In fact, objectively speaking, the man was a hottie. He had chiseled features, elaborately defined muscles and piercing hazel eyes. He wasn't overly tall either, about Spike's masculine height or maybe an inch above. Not as light-framed as Spike though and darker skinned, with a shoulder length fall of chestnut-colored hair. Buffy's natural color. She turned to stare dumbfounded at Spike. He was standing in the doorway watching her. She noted the vampire's pale blond curls. Not his natural color, her eyes strayed lower and she mentally amended, as a male anyway.
"Why aren't I blonde?" she asked.
"Who can say?" Spike returned, edging into the room. "Nobody knows how it really works. 'Cept the weevils. You are the man you would be if you were a man. Or so they say but I always…"
Tuning him out, Buffy turned her attention back to the mirror, stepping closer to glass to study her image. She pulled her hair back with one fist and catalogued her features: teeth, nose, ears, lips and throat. The flat chest captured her attention and she pressed one hand against the slight pectoral rise where her left breast should be. Then, with breathless anticipation, she let her hand wander, sliding it down her torso while simultaneously following its progress in the mirror. When she finally reached her destination, she paused, fingering the flabby bundle of flesh nested in her coarse hair. It was remarkably anti-climactic.
"This is the thing we're supposed to envy,"
Buffy thought, disdainfully, experiencing no thrill of excitement in her new
anatomical possession. "Course, to be fair, it's not nearly as
impressive as Spike's."
Spike saw her disappointment and, covered a smile as he stepped nearer, saying, "Well, you did just have a bit'a shock, Luv. Bound to affect your concentration."
"What?"
"Not up is all," the lady vamp explained, giving a delicate little nod toward the Slayer's groin.
"I KNOW that," Buffy snorted, though, truthfully, she had monetarily forgotten about Riley's sleeping figure.
The first night the soldier spent in her bed, she'd studied him in some detail, never having seen a male at rest. Angel and Parker had both been aroused at the start of things and they were gone before she awoke. And Spike…well…Spike had the advantage of never having her sleep over…and being hard as marble as soon as she wanted him. Even that first time, waking beside him in an abandoned building, she'd failed to study him…and then…he'd been awake…and she'd been naked and well…. But now, Buffy felt a nearly overwhelming desire to see Spike in sated slumber. She wondered if he would be soft and vulnerable; if she might make him swell in her hands.
As if in response to her thoughts, Spike's small fingers slid around Buffy's hip and down to the maleness of her. He took firm hold, at first kneading gently and then stroking with more authority. He trailed his nails along her thigh and rolled her balls in his palm. Buffy's breath caught in her throat. The blood seemed to burn in her veins. She could feel it flaring up, like a river of oil to a lighted torch. Individual corpuscles sprang to attention, turning from their pedestrian path to stream toward her center. The heated flood, poured down into her groin, straining the flesh.
Buffy's entire awareness was focused on the man in her mirror. She watched his cock take shape under Spike's invisible ministrations. Never slowing the busy work of his fingers, Spike slithered down Buffy's right side, pressing ample breasts against her, until he was kneeling on the tile floor. He shifted slightly to face her, tilting his head back to look up and stopped all stimulation. When Buffy forced her gaze to meet his, he gripped her length in one hand and ran the fingers of the other between her legs. The touch was like a sword sliding into her vitals. Spike traced lightly over her ass and then, as she stared in breathless fascination, he took her swollen shaft almost completely into his mouth.
The mirror lost its appeal.
All that mattered in the world was this pale woman, sucking her off with such incredible proficiency. He's done this before, Buffy thought. Surely, this was practiced skill, not natural talent. She wondered who he had practiced on and a slender knife of jealousy pierced her heart. Had he liked it? Was it with a weevil-altered Dru? Was it Angel? What else had they done? The thoughts came but were quickly swept away on a swelling tide of sensation.
Spike's tongue slurped over her, probing and flickering its way to her tip even as his small hand pumped the exposed section of her shaft, mixing his cool saliva with her hot pearls of pre-cum. Suck, pull, slurp, flick, pump, swallow down, repeat and repeat…faster and rougher until…in one swift motion, he slid a finger up into her, touching the sweet spot.
"Oh, SpikeARAAGGHHaaahhdD," Buffy's hips thrust forward as the melt streamed through her. Her insides seemed to liquefy, draining away, down to her cock and then out into Spike's mouth. He swallowed every drop. He swallowed down her heart.
It might have ended there, with a better understanding between them. But it didn't. Couldn't, in the face of so much suppressed emotion.
Buffy wanted her heart back.
Angrily, she pulled Spike away from her by the scruff of the neck. The heady rush of testosterone stimulated her need for violent confrontation, urging her to dominate, crush and devour. She lifted Spike, hands scooping under his arms, leaving his feet dangling in the air. He struggled but Buffy's transformation seemed to have amplified her Slayer strength. With a minimum of effort, she pinned him between her body and the wall and tried to take back what was hers. She was brutal, savaging the fragile femininity of Spike's mouth with her tongue, but the kiss didn't satisfy. She needed so much more. She needed total submission.
Her manhood swelled with the thought of violence. It jumped sporadically, thudding impotently into various portions of her lover's anatomy, thigh, stomach, and hip, as Spike twisted in her grip. Finally, responding to her unvoiced, yet obvious desire, Spike surrendered to her fervent kisses, giving up the fight for dominance. He wrapped himself around Buffy, arms about her neck, legs encircling her waist.
He became wildly lustful, drunk on his heady draught of Buffy's semen. The vital fluid was as intoxicating to a vampire as Slayer blood. Craving consummation, Spike showed sharp teeth. He pulled his transformed lover closer with all of the unequal strength of his new body, rocking the drenched curls of his pussy against the sharp jutting bone of Buffy's pelvis. Buffy groaned. Her hands cupped Spike's sweet ass as her cock settled in the valley of it, pushing for entry where none existed.
"Bed," Spike advised, panting out words between kisses "Easier, better…bed now, much…faster…inside."
Even in her current mindlessly aggressive state, this struck Buffy as a good idea. She carried her lover through the door, peeled him off her body and dropped him unceremoniously in the center of the bed. Spike's knees fell open in wanton invitation and Buffy came down hard between them, shafting deep in one swift motion.
There was resistance, brief and ineffectual, and Spike screamed as it gave way.
The scream was a high, sharp, agonized keening that tore through the fog in Buffy's mind, sobering her instantly. She focused on the beautiful face beneath her. The face of a female, a woman like her, not a child but created this very day, fresh and untouched. The gritted teeth, the helplessly spilling tears and the fearful expectation of more pain to come spoke to the Slayer, woman to woman. Her heart came home with a thump.
"Oh, oh, no," she murmured, softly. "Shhh…shhh…sweetheart…it's okay. I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I didn't know…shhh…"
"Hurts," Spike managed, after a minute or two.
"Yes," Buffy agreed, not daring to move. "The first time. But not usually as bad as this, if I'd been careful…" She let the thought trail off and ran a finger along the curve of Spike's cheek, tenderly soothing, "Just…try to relax."
"Don't move," Spike pleaded, sounding like anything but the "Big Bad."
"Not moving," Buffy granted. "Waiting for you to relax."
But it was so very hard to wait. Hard not to thrust into the quaking velvet surrounding her. Hard not to give in to the urging of her hormones and drive furiously into the moist flutter of Spike's womanhood. It was amazing how wonderful it felt to be so deep inside him. Poised above him, waiting, Buffy had ample opportunity to savor the sensation. Caught up in it, she lowered her mouth to Spike's, tongue flicking out, teeth nipping gently at his bottom lip.
He inhaled sharply, shifting his hips and Buffy felt her cock slip a millimeter or two deeper. They both groaned.
Buffy buried her face in the curve of Spike's neck, wrestling with her decidedly butch impulse to fuck his Sweet Betty brains out. Holding onto her ragged composure with effort, she let her virginal, if jaded, lover lead the dance. He jerked them both through a series of false starts before finding the rhythm. It was an agonizing process for the horny Slayer.
Unconsidered words tumbled out of her mouth as she slid slowly in and out of her vampire lover's cool, slick cleft, "Oh, damn, you are so wet, so tight, so beautiful. Why do you do this to me? How do you do this to me? Make me want to fuck you like this…like a man. I need you. So very much, need to be inside my Spike, lover, you sweet, wild, wicked animal you."
"Tell me what it's like," Spike encouraged, sliding his legs further open to take her all the way in, despite his obvious discomfort, "Being inside."
"You know," Buffy panted, picking up the pace despite her resolve. Her fingers explored soft flesh, tickling over tight nipples as her mouth betrayed her. "You have to know. You drive me crazy. Make me want to fuck you all night. Fuck you 'til we both go blind. Need it. Want it. Love doing it. Doing you."
Horrified at the depth of feeling behind her observations, Buffy broke off abruptly. She stifled any further urge to babble by setting her tongue to work on one of Spike's perfectly formed breasts. She suckled, pulling and nuzzling, until he started to twitch and shudder beneath her. She was pounding into him now and whatever pain he felt was inconsequential when measured against the pleasure of having his Slayer buried in his flesh.
Spike thrust up to meet each of his lover's frenzied downward strokes. Delighting in this new form of surrender, he gloried in the swelling tension at his core. But then, just at the brink of release, he pushed Buffy away, seeking her eyes with a question.
"Are you drown…drowning?" he gasped.
"Yes," Buffy confessed, unable to stop herself. Her gaze was steady on his as she whispered, "I'm drowning in you."
It was enough. More than he'd ever dreamed of receiving from her. They came together. Release crashed into them, taking them both at the same time. Buffy felt herself literally fall into Spike, spilling her essence into his body. He wailed, a high desperate plea, as he clamped down, inner muscles milking her length, pulling her under, taking her deeper than she'd ever consider going on her own. All the way to the demon realm where there was no hope of salvation.
Blind and deaf to all but her passion for this seductive creature, Buffy saw the root of her inability to resist Spike, his touch, his love. She saw her raw emotion exposed with stark clarity, backlit by merciless hellfire. She put a name to her motivation…and the name made her tremble.
"Buffy," Spike was saying as Buffy slammed back into reality, "I love you. So much. Like blood, like life…like something beyond…anything else."
It was all she could do not to answer him in kind. Buffy wondered if it was normal to feel such a rush of tenderness in the wake of an orgasm. Did all men feel this sense of compassion for, this need to pamper, their beloved? If they did, it would explain so much about Spike. As a man or a woman, his soft words, ardor-filled eyes and trembling lips held Buffy spellbound. She couldn't look away as she settled into him, gasping.
He was so very beautiful. She couldn't help but kiss his sex swollen lips with gentleness and open generosity. He sighed into her mouth and she grew hard again. They rolled over so that Spike could straddle Buffy's hips, controlling the depth of penetration as they started up the dance for the second time. The Slayer's rich jizz warmed and lubricated the action. Bands of rippling suppleness clenched around her shaft. It was an amazing sensation, breathtaking. Buffy was awed by it. She watched in fascination as Spike rode her with extreme care, his breasts bouncing, gently. It was unbelievably erotic, like hardcore porn and poetry. Gradually, the tempo quickened. Buffy fingered her way to the vampire's clit, stroking firm and fast to push him over the brink. He convulsed around her, head thrown back, lips parting in a howl of ecstasy.
As he fell forward, Buffy caught him in her arms, lifting him from her still rigid cock. She slithered down his exquisite body until she was able to nuzzle into the wetness between his legs. The mix of their fluids coated her tongue as she probed deep into Spike's feminine softness. The heavy musky taste was liberating and Buffy lost her inhibitions in it. She began to suck and lick in a heated frenzy. Spike hissed. He gyrated over her face, emitting throaty animalistic growls. Buffy felt her manhood jump in response but she stayed on task, until the vampire urged her to take him like he would take her.
"Give it to me, Buffy," he panted. "Give it to me good."
Buffy used her strength to maneuver them both into position. Then, catching Spike about the waist with one hand, she pushed him face down into the pillows with the other and pulled his ass back into her, entering him from behind. The bruising slap of flesh on flesh echoed in the room as Buffy gave in to her lust. She slid in to the hilt, reveling in the power of her masculinity, the sheer brute strength of bunched muscles and testosterone.
This, she told herself, was what she wanted. Sex for its own sake. She wanted to be Spike, as she had habitually envisioned him, an evil, disgusting thing, filled with wicked impulse. Pumping furiously, she let herself go, clawing deep grooves into the pale skin of Spike's back and biting hard into his shoulder as she came. He bucked under her, climaxing even as she did, and sobbing her name into the bedding. The sound squeezed at Buffy's heart.
She eased back, sliding free of her lover's tight embrace. She trailed her fingertips over the welts she'd made in his flesh. Tears stung at her eyes.
Murmuring endearments, Buffy shifted her weight to one side. She couldn't believe what she'd just done. Couldn't believe the way she ached inside at the thought of it. Part of her wanted to run, to scramble from the bed and flee into sunlight. And another part of her wanted to be swallowed up in eternal night. Neither part had the final say. Because she was the Slayer and in love with the very thing she was supposed to abhor.
Sighing, she pulled Spike closer, curling around his cool, delightfully pliable body. Cradling his head against one of her well-muscled arms, Buffy gently lifted dampened strands of hair from her lover's brow. He sighed, smiling dreamily up at her. Buffy looked down into his sublimely satisfied face.
"You still love me," she said, softly, not making it a question, knowing it was true.
"Always," he whispered.
"I'm a bad man, rough and wicked," Buffy said.
"No," Spike returned, gently. "You're still my sweet girl."
Buffy felt an overwhelming urge to protect the exquisitely vulnerable person the bane of her existence had become. She didn't understand how or why Spike could care for someone who abused and used him as she did. When she wasn't gentle, when she wasn't worthy of anything close to this kind of loyalty. She only knew she couldn't let it go on. It was tearing her apart.
Oblivious to Buffy's inner turmoil, Spike snuggled into her, whispering words of devotion even as his eyelids fluttered shut. He drifted off into sated slumber.
The day wore on. Buffy watched it pass on the far wall. She thought about her enemy, the Slayer Killer. When had she lost sight of him? She could think of Spike now, only as her lover. She twisted and turned the word in her mind, examining it from all angles, and found no way to deny it. It frightened her. Because it left no room for self-deception.
They slept together. Woke in their own bodies. Loved. Showered. Dressed. And started on the long ride home.
Huddled on the back of Spike's motorcycle, arms encircling him, buffeted by wind and leather, Buffy reached her decision, pressing close to her enemy turned lover. He wasn't a thing to her now, a vampire, a disgusting annoyance, a thrilling diversion, a killer of thousands. He was someone who loved her, a person. And what they were doing was wrong. Buffy knew it. Knew too that it had to end. She couldn't go on using him, not feeling as she did inside. She couldn't go on, turning the act of love into meaningless ritual. Never speaking the words aloud. It was killing her and it had to end.
Buffy was confused, conflicted, even angry. And yet, strangely, she was also at peace.
She knew where they were going…
Wish this story didn't have to end on a sad note? Can't stand "As You Were?" Wish Tara never died? Want me to make it all better?…JUST CLICK ON THE SWEET SPOT AU link BELOW and wish granted!
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