Part V

“I trust you’re, ah – feeling better?”

“Yep. Wide awake and ready to go!” she replied with forced enthusiasm. Admittedly, that was after a day comprising more painkillers and cups of coffee than she could count. And that on top of slayer healing powers. And she did feel kind of tired…..

“Good. Good.” Giles seemed lost in thought.

“Are you really mad?” she asked hesitantly.

“Not at all. Just because we’ve found creatures of unknown origin invading your own home, that’s no reason at all why you should, for example, remain vigilant. And just because you’ve had the sort of experience with alcohol in the past in which one regresses to a Neanderthal state; well, that’s no reason why you should have learned a lesson of any type.”

“Giles….please? Some of us have headaches here.”

He refrained from comment.

“You know it’s all your fault?” she continued. “All the Spike-contact you’ve forced on me, it’s no wonder I’ve become an alcoholic. Speaking of alcoholics, where is he?”

“Late. Even later than you, I might add.”

“Ha. Can’t handle his drink,” she said smugly.

Giles stared at her. “Please tell me the two of you weren’t competing? Oh dear lord.”

“What?”

“Buffy, you’re old enough to know better. And you’re the Chosen One!”

“One girl in all the world to put up with Spike.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said, pet,” said an annoyingly familiar voice.

“Spike, excellent, let’s get down to business,” said Giles briskly.

“Let’s make this snappy. Places to go, people to see.” Spike drummed his fingers on the table.

“Where have you got to go?” asked Buffy with deep cynicism.

“What’s it to you?” he said, pleasantly, “Maybe I’ve got a date?”

“Eww. That is the grossest idea I’ve ever heard! And who would date you?!”

“Fascinating as Spike’s love-life is, could we please get down to work?” interrupted Giles, looking frustrated.

“Jealous?” mouthed Spike. Buffy ignored him.

“The demon that was found in your basement was a Rayfori demon, as characterised by the tattoo on its face and the melting into slime,” began Giles, immediately in lecture-mode. He stopped to glare at Buffy as she yawned.

“They are generally found in packs and sightings have been reported around the old cemetery, with particular disturbances having been noted by the crypt on the south-east side.” He was interrupted by a strange sound from Buffy as she tried to swallow a yawn and instead snorted.

“They can be killed by any of the usual methods, as you found….” He gave up as the pencil with which Buffy had been fidgeting dropped to the floor.

“Do you pay this much attention in college?” he enquired politely.

“Can I go kill stuff?” she begged.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Was there any point to that little talk at all?” she asked, preparing to leave.

“No, not really,” he replied, quite cheerfully. “I suspect it could have been avoided entirely had you been capable of walking last night.”

*****

“So that was like, punishment boredom?” Spike said with disbelief.

“I know. It’s so like the usual type!” They both laughed. Buffy quickly straightened her face.

“Never knew Rupert had an evil streak,” wondered Spike, shaking his head.

“Let’s just get this over with. Find this pack of – Raffle demons – and go home.”

“Not hungover, are you, pet?” he asked with a grin.

“No,” she said defensively. “Anyway, I thought you had things to do. Not that I believe you.”

“Now that nearly hurt. Happens I’m looking for a place to live.”

“Xander throw you out?”

“Not quite. But he keeps leaving garlic round the place. I don’t mind garlic myself but I’m startin’ to take the intention kind of personal.”

“Let me offer my support for that idea right now. If there’s anything I can do to move you out of our lives, you have only to ask.”

“Very touching. Speaking of which….”

“What?” she snapped, her eyes glinting dangerously.

“Isn’t that where we’re going?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Creepy looking crypt. Looks about right. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

They entered cautiously, Buffy’s eyes gradually becoming accustomed to the dark.

“No big bads,” observed Spike.

“They’ve been here though,” she replied, pointing out the signs of habitation; a mess.

“Nice little place they’ve got here.” Spike looked about appreciatively.

“Are you house-hunting?” she asked incredulously.

“What’s wrong, pet, don’t want me out of your life just yet?”

“A) Yes I do, B) This so isn’t far enough away and C) Can you keep your mind on the job and stop checking out this revolting crypt, please?”

“’S not revolting!” He looked offended. “Look, there’s even a downstairs.”

Buffy rolled her eyes but followed him across the floor and down the makeshift steps. Glaring at his annoying back, it crossed her mind to step on his stupid duster and make him fall down the stairs. She was prevented from making a decision by the world beginning to shake and spew rocks at them. The stairs they were standing on ceased to exist and they landed together with a thump on the ground.

“Earthquake,” Spike surmised, brushing himself down and assessing the situation.

“Thanks, Einstein,” Buffy snapped, trying to control the trembling of her legs. She got up slowly, determined not to reveal such weakness to Spike, of all people.

“Don’t tell me the Slayer’s scared of earthquakes.” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“No, it’s the apocalypse and death that follows that I have issues with,” she sniffed. She chose not to specify whose death.

“It’s an earthquake,” he repeated dismissively. “It’s all….shifting landmasses and what-not. Don’t you people tend to have them around here?”

“Yes. And then we have the end of the world. It’s like a regular calendar holiday except without the fun and presents. Oh god – these demons! The ones that just, like, wander around my house. It’s them – they’re apocalypse demons!” Her voice grew in volume and shrillness and Spike rolled his eyes.

“Says who?” he groaned.

“The earthquake!” she insisted.

“Okay, say earthquakes do mean apocalypse – a dodgy premise, I must say - how do you know it isn’t predicting a completely different apocalypse – say tomorrow or next week?”

“Oh, thanks, real comforting!” she said sarcastically.

“Anyway, I think we have worse things to worry about right now.”

“Like?”

“You and me trapped in a very small space.”

Buffy looked around and saw what he meant. The earthquake had dislodged enough rock to halve the size of the lower chamber, cutting them off from the stairs that no longer existed. There was no way out.

“Oh god no. Please, no!”

*****

“This is just great. Stuck in a horrible cave with the most annoying man in the world, waiting for the apocalypse demons to come home.”

“You could help me move rocks instead of complaining, but oh no, I can see how sitting there whining will solve the problem much faster than actually helping!” he grunted, attempting to clear a way out.

“The most annoying person in the world now doing Watcher impressions,” she corrected herself.

An extra tonne of rocks crashed down, sending Spike scuttling backwards.

“And you’re only making things worse by doing that,” she added, knowingly.

“Well, fine. We’ll just sit here and – have a conversation,” he said sarcastically.

“No! No conversation. We should get out. Quickly!” said Buffy, suddenly attacking their prison walls with enormous enthusiasm.

“Oh give over, Slayer,” he sighed, as her efforts were met with the same results as his had been.

“What the hell are we supposed to do? Just sit here?” she complained.

“Well, there are other things we could do…” he began suggestively, eyebrow raised.

“Not a chance in hell,” she replied firmly. “Even if that should arrive very soon.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, trying to banish a smile. “What about the other night?”

“Moment of insanity,” she said breezily.

“Moment?” he huffed, insulted. “More like five hours straight!”

“Not the point,” she said, trying hard to drag her mind from the memory of those very hours. Damn him!

“You seem to have had a lot of these moments of insanity recently,” he observed. “You considered talking to someone about it? Could be a slayer thing. Or it could just be that I’m irresistible.”

“Is there anything that’s going to make you shut up?” she asked, wearily. “Not that!” she added quickly, seeing his smirk.

“How do you explain it to yourself?” she demanded, going on the offensive.

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“You’re supposed to be the big bad. Why are you chasing the Slayer and….”

“And what?”

“You know what!”

“And what was the question again?” he asked mischievously.

“Spike!” She kicked his leg in rebuke.

“I don’t know. Can’t kill anymore. Man has to have a hobby.”

“I’m a hobby?” said Buffy indignantly, standing up and beginning to pace.

“What would you like to be?” he asked seductively, pulling her towards him.

“I’d like to be having a conversation with somebody sane,” she retorted. She broke away from his grip, but more reluctantly than she would ever have admitted. “You know, preferably human, I’m not fussy.”

“So what would the problem be?”

“With what?” she asked, confused.

“With you and me.” He pointed from one to the other.

“Are you serious?” She looked at him blankly.

“Of course not!” he said, with just a hint of defensiveness. “But hypothetically?”

“Where do I start?” she sighed.

“Isn’t that what you said the other night?”

“Shut up!”

“Three reasons!” he insisted.

“Why are we having this conversation?” she wondered aloud.

“Because we’re stuck here with nothing better to do?”

“I hope the world ends soon.”

“Three reasons,” he repeated.

“You are a vampire,” she said, as though reciting a lesson. “An evil soulless vampire,” she clarified as he raised his eyebrows. He swelled with pride.

“And there’s the talking. You always have to say things.”

“Is it the way I tell you the truth when you’re refusing to see it that gets to you?”

“No, it’s the sound of your voice.”

“Right back at you, love.”

“And while we’re on the point – you and the truth? Ha!”

“Next reason,” he said, ignoring her.

“It’s ridiculous,” she said scathingly.

“That’s a point,” he agreed, unperturbed. His hand brushed her face.

There was no forethought. No planning, she thought afterwards, in self-defence. It was an *accident*. The sort of accident where you accidentally kiss someone. For the fourth time in a week.

Her breathing grew heavy and she moved instinctively closer to him, knocking him off balance. They crashed to the ground and she straddled him.

“You sure?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. She could’ve sworn that Spike had just been, well, nice. Considerate, even.

“Oh yeah,” she groaned, dimly aware that she was rubbing herself against him as she spoke. I’m so gonna need therapy if I live past twenty-five.

“Then let the end of the bloody world stop me,” he growled, tossing her on her back and jumping on her.

From somewhere that seemed very far away, they became aware of a crashing noise.

“Oh damn,” he said, throwing his head back.

“You so asked for that,” she pointed out, rearranging her clothes and leaping to her feet.

The wall of rock protecting them began to shake and then crumble.

“Oh no, nobody could get through that,” mocked Spike, watching as something did indeed break its way through.

“Shut up, Spike.”

Moving far enough from the crashing debris, they fell into fighting stance. The demons never knew what hit them – the combination of pissed off Slayer and frustrated vampire was unstoppable, even when confronted with six Rayfori demons that seemed unhappy to find Goldilocks and the Big Bad waiting in their home.

The fight was swift and effective. Buffy had to admit to herself that fighting alongside Spike was different to fighting with the others. Although, she realised ruefully, even fighting against Spike had always been different to fighting anyone else.

“Mine!” she yelled running for the final demon. As she got to it, it was tackled by a fast moving, black-clad blur. “Spike!” she yelled in frustration, “What part of ‘mine’ do you not get?”

Spike rolled off the liquefying demon with a grin. “What, you wanted to kill it?” he inquired innocently.

She growled and kicked him. He rolled a little further, catching her foot in one hand and bringing her down on top of him. He captured her wildly swung fist, laughing. Grunting in frustration, she fought to break his grip, and preferably his arm. They tussled for a moment, before he managed to spin her onto her back. Taking advantage of her position, he threw a leg over her waist and held her legs still while he pinned her arms above her. Their eyes met, a fiery battle of wills. Gradually her movements changed in tempo, from furious escape attempt to rhythmic pelvic thrusts against his body. Sensing her conversion to the new game, he bent into her body and she arched into his kiss.

He slid his hands down the contours of her body, tracing the curves, lingering to pull her top over her head and caress the lace beneath. As he sucked and teased her to distraction, she reached between them, fumbling for his zipper.

“God, Slayer, I always knew you’d be a demon,” he cackled, shifting position to help her.

“Shut up, Spike,” she growled, shoving his trousers down over his hips, and running her hands over his hard length. He gasped, tearing frantically at her pants and ripping her underwear. She continued to rub against him, teasing him with her fingers until he kissed her ferociously. As she became vaguely aware of the taste of blood, he entered her forcefully, making her gasp in pleasure.

“So bloody hot,” he murmured, sucking on her neck, moving towards the jugular.

“Shut up, Spike,” she whimpered in reply, craning her neck a little to give him better access. This was far closer to ecstasy if she could pretend that she wasn’t fucking a soulless vampire.

“Give it to me, baby,” he groaned, grinding his hips against her.

“Shut up Spike.” She dragged her fingernails down his back, and tore at his neck, the violence of the action driving him over the edge.

“Oh god, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy,” he babbled, loosing control. “God I love you.”

And the world stopped.

Spike froze, mid-thrust.

Buffy stared at him.

Was there supposed to be a punchline?

She laughed nervously.

Why can’t the end of the bloody world come when you want it to? he asked himself in disgust.

He pulled out of her, painfully, leaving her groaning.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, as he scrambled for clothes.

‘Oh Slayer I love you!’ his own voice mocked him, the words echoing in his mind. Like a great prancing poofter. He pulled on trousers and cursed himself. Just give me a soul now. And a pink fucking dress.

“Spike?” Buffy lay there, torn between annoyance and humiliation.

“Sod off, Slayer,” he barked, fury etched in his face.

“You’re just going?” she asked in amazement.

“Get a vibrator, bitch. It’s all you really want anyway.” He added for good measure, “It’d still be better than your ex.”

“Right. That’s it. This is over!” she growled, reaching for her own clothes, angry to find that she was shaking.

“Damn right, it’s over! I’m moving out of the Whelp’s and I’m not going to be your bloody house pet anymore!” he yelled.

“Good!”

“And don’t come crawling to me when you need help, Slayer!”

“As if!” she scoffed, fastening her shirt.

“Oh you will,” he said, lowering his voice. “But you can come crawling on your hands and knees before I’m going to run round after you again.”

“I thought I was your hobby?” she mocked, her voice harsh.

“Who says you’re anything?” he spat. “You’re just a way to pass the time, always have been.”

He strode off purposefully, leaving behind a deeply confused Buffy, searching for her shoe.

Next Part

Return to Fiction

Return to Main