I'll Fly Away

4-29-02

Part 11: Vampire Mine

One of Dawn's boy bands crooned that line, back in the day. Buffy remembered how it had blasted from her stereo in the wake of a slamming door, loud and grating enough to wake the undead. But that was years ago, and Dawn was miles away. Smarmy Backstreet Boy lyrics should not have been drifting through Buffy's head at this moment.

Maybe it had something to do with Spike's lips on hers, singing another song of risk and rapture, this one richer and sweeter, composed of breathy moans and yummy growls. Oh, he was master of the art, pouring himself into her mouth with intensity and joy, a godless creature seeking the only communion he would ever know.

Buffy hitched her body higher against the bathroom counter, so they could be at eye-level. He immediately moved between her knees, darting those fierce kisses along her jaw line. If it weren't for her sweat and his wet kisses, Buffy was certain she'd have exploded in flames. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, folding their bodies together like origami hearts. Hearts, not swans, because they were wild, not graceful, in that moment, smashed together in that small space, knocking over bottles of perfume, and about to fall into the bathroom sink.

He slid one hand underneath her short skirt and Buffy felt her heartbeat accelerate and roar off into the night. Daddy's puttin' the hammer down! She never felt his fingers skate over her underwear. But they were suddenly there, at the soft, vulnerable juncture of her. Buffy gasped; He was a sexual magician, able to make clothing disappear with a boast and flick of his wrist. Spike started to explore, and Buffy wanted to scream and kiss and bite and swear. She wanted to call the police because, Jesus Fucking Christ, this was criminal. His touch made her drunker than his vodka ever had.

He made the soft, uncontrollable sound that always drove her crazy, and Buffy crooned comforting nonsense in his ear and ran her fingers through the heavy, live silk of his hair. His curls were damp from the shower and smelled like honey, a nice change from apple, pear and banana scents. These days, the scourge of Europe smelled like a fruit bowl. Buffy's smirk melted and her breath caught as he fiercely buried his mouth against the fluttering hollow between her throat and collarbone. He bit down lightly, added just a hint of fang, and Buffy felt the soft sweep of lashes against her skin as his eyes lowered like dusk. The combined beat of her heart and his courage created ecstasy, and Buffy wound her arms tighter around his neck. She rose off the vanity, pressing her body against the length of his and----

"Buffy? Are you ready?"

Willow's voice echoed shrilly up the stairs.

Spike groaned and rested his head on Buffy's shoulder. "That girl will have a successful career as a foghorn if nothing else pans out."

"We'll be right down, Will!" Buffy called.

"We will?" Spike pouted.

Buffy traced one finger along the proud ridge of his cheekbone, while her hand traveled south to other hard places. Spike drew in a sharp breath and attacked the buttons of her shirt. His tongue dipped into her ear and it was Buffy's turn to gasp.

"But--but--what about Willow? And Xander? He's waiting at the--oh!--Bronze."

"Buffy? Did you mean sometime tonight?" Willow sounded vaguely irritated.

"Tell her you're looking for your socks!"

Buffy stared at Spike like he'd suddenly grown three heads, but then his hands were on her bare skin.

They'd go right down. After.

Yes, after.

***********************************

Willow's stood at the bottom of the stairs, more than a little puzzled. She twisted her body over the railing, trying to peer into the upstairs hallway. Finally, she shrugged and called out again.

"Buffy? Do you want to borrow a pair of mine?"

A muffled shriek drifted down from the upper floor, but that was all the response Willow received. She was getting ready to go up and investigate when the chiming of the doorbell drew her attention away from the sock-hunting pair and their unexplained pokiness.

Willow straightened her skirt and tried to look casual as she pulled the door open. But her heart was doing trippy little things, and her palm felt sweaty against the cool knob. She knew that her nervousness was probably reflected on her face and sighed miserably. Goodbye, self-assured Wicca woman! Geek girl, come on down!

"Hello, Will."

And there she stood, Willow's Aphrodite, her serene earth goddess. She stood straighter than in the past, and her soft voice betrayed not the slightest hint of a stutter. This was the only way Willow saw her now, on these special nights when she came to Revello Drive, at Buffy's invitation, or on those starlit evenings when she came for Miss Kitty. Oh, Willow missed her; missed her sleepy eyes, missed her funny pancake shapes, missed her laughing, missed her dancing. She still heard Tara's song in her dreams.

And indeed she had. That day was one of their happiest, and one of their last. So much had changed…

Willow smile was false and bright. "Tara, come in."

As Tara moved through the door, Willow's hand hovered over her back, yet never alit. She wondered if, underneath the silken fabric, ink stains lingered on Tara's fair skin, where Willow had penned her love in the opening scene of a strange and prophetic dream.

******************************************************************

Spike watched in satisfaction as Buffy rooted under the sink for her bra, sneezing and swearing as dust bunnies hopped up her nostrils.

"Where the hell is it…Dawn was supposed to dust under here, goddammit…it was on the list!…gonna be late and its all your fault…"

He just chuckled affectionately and pinched the rosy little bum that was waving in the air so enticingly. He was considering the risks and benefits of an additional swat to her backside when the world tilted suddenly, and Spike found himself lying on the tile beside Buffy, his arm still held in her vice-like grip.

"No touching until I have my clothes on! And find my shoe!"

Spike located her boot in the bathtub and kept his hands to himself as she leaned on his shoulder and zipped it up over a shapely, golden calf. Bloody adorable, she was, all sexed up and in a snit.

"Do we have to go?" Spike whined as Buffy fiddled with her hair in the mirror, trying to cover up the hickeys that he was rather proud of.

Buffy didn't turn from the glass. "Yes, we have to go. No, we are not going to have sex there, ever, ever again. Yes, we will cut out early. And no, you will not entertain yourself by tormenting Xander." Buffy pointed her hairbrush at him. "He's been nice to you lately. I thought he'd stake you over that accident in the backyard." Buffy shook her head. "Really, Spike. Singeing Xander's eyebrows with the gas grill?"

"I've never bloody worked one before!"

"My point exactly!" Buffy picked his coat up from the floor and shook it out. She held it up and he slid his arms into the familiar leather before turning to face her.

"So be nice to Xander tonight. Don't embarrass him if we run into Anya. And remember the rules."

Spike sighed and recited, "Don't vamp out, steal his money or touch his tools."

Buffy beamed. "Very good, sweetie. Although I don't think we have to worry about the last one tonight. Now go tell Willow we're ready." She opened the door and shoved him out.

Spike swaggered down the hall, zipping up his jeans and beaming like a git over the sweetie she'd bestowed on him. He was startled when a soft body suddenly collided with his. Spike reached out to steady her.

"Glinda." He nodded.

"Spike." Tara eyed the vampire, taking in his disheveled appearance, hickeys--which he was extremely proud of--and half-zipped condition.

Spike thought fast. "We were looking for Buffy's socks." He wondered if she'd buy it.

Tara's tawny eyebrow climbed and she glanced significantly at his crotch.

"Socks…in your pants?"

She smiled coquettishly and brushed past him, leaving Spike sputtering.

*****************************************************************

It was his turn to holler up the stairs. "Slayer, get your lovely arse in gear! The bloody seasons are changing!"

Her profanity-laced reply made him grin, and Spike was glad the two witches were too involved in each other to pay attention to the verbal sparring. They stood on opposite sides of the entryway, eyeing each other cautiously.

"Slayer! Put a rush on it!"

"Vampire! Shut the fuck up!"

He paced restlessly, eager to be out and about, even if just for a night of Bronzing.

As happy as he was with the fairy tale turn his unlife had taken, Spike needed the darkness as well, longed to feel the night fold her voluminous wings around him like a great bird. He was not a creature of light, just a foot soldier in Buffy's war. The best times were when it was just the two of them, cutting a righteous swath through the night, kicking ass and not bothering with names. And afterward, when they shed their leather armor and fell into each other's arms, they were not warriors then, just humble pilgrims at a holy place, or beggars at a feast of the senses. Was he really home? In those moments, Spike had no doubts. Waking up in the Slayer's bed, he felt home. Hearing the scritch of Willow's slippers on the kitchen linoleum, the hum of the freezer adjusting its temperature, the burble of French Roast, and the soft cadence of Buffy's breathing, he heard home. Kissing her good morning, he tasted home, and it was bittersweet, like their past.

His musings were interrupted by Buffy thumping down the stairs, all brushed and glossed, and, he remembered with a not-so-tiny-thrill, all his.

She came to his Spike's side and smoothed his hair back with her fingers. "You look good."

Willow coughed and raised her hand like she was in class. "Ummm…Buff? I hate to be stating-the-obvious-girl here, but he looks exactly the same."

Tara frowned. "I think he looks different."

Three pairs of large, bright eyes focused on Spike. He squirmed like an amoeba under the microscope. Just then Willow's cell phone trilled, saving him from further analysis.

"That's probably Xander, wondering where we are." And then it was shepherd!Buffy, clapping her hands and herding the other three to the door like sheep. "Okay, house guests. Let's get this show on the road!"

She snagged Spike by his belt, just as he was about to cross the threshold, and snaked an arm around his waist. "We've never been together in public. Well, we've been together but not together." She looked up at him. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I do, pet." His words were calm, but inside Spike was praying to whatever deities were saddled with the care of his kind that she wasn't going to tell him to keep his distance once outside these walls. He had to touch her, or cut his own hands off. He couldn't not be with her. Things were different, now.

Spike needn't have worried. Buffy wrapped both palms around the nape of his neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss. She tasted like Revlon, redemption, and home. "Stay close to me," she breathed, and he kissed her back with a dizzying force that rocked them both to their foundations. When they parted, he felt both healed and hungry for more, restored, yet reduced to mere essence. Buffy touched one finger to his lower lip. He nipped at it, only half-playfully.

"Behave yourself tonight," she whispered. "But not too much." The Slayer leaned in close. "And if you even look at another girl, the band will be playing "Dust in the Wind" all night long. Just for you." Her teeth grazed his ear and Spike barked out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

This was just too good. Spike was going to wake up from Willow's latest witchy spell any minute, he was sure of it. He'd wake up to am empty crypt and empty arms, then cry like the milquetoast he once was, the ninny William with buckles on his shoes. Spike yelped as Buffy's fingers crept around to his backside and pinched hard. Nope! No dreaming there! Buffy gave the area a final pat, then laced her fingers with his. Together, they stepped out into the cool night.

"You'll pay for that. Later." Spike muttered as Buffy tugged him down the steps.

Buffy laughed lightly and tossed her hair. "Promise?"

TBC

Coming up next….the gang goes Bronzing and shit happens.