Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Kimi : The Story of B
Summary: Buffy's POV on a number of Season Six episodes.
AUTHOR: Kimi
EMAIL: kimi37212@yahoo.com
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SPOILERS: Season 6
DISCLAIMER. Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the
time...
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The
communication was wiped clean in Tabula Rasa, then smashed, wrecked, gone, put
through a doublemeat grinder and turned into a dead thing. This is the opening
chapter of the fic that will later feature "Succubus" all tucked away
in its proper place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was nothing like she'd imagined.
Um, not that she'd imagined it at all. Nope. Not once.
That's because she'd done everything she could do *not* to imagine it, and still her imagination kicked in at the strangest times. Who was she trying to kid? Because she'd imagined a lot of different endings for the night she'd come back from that hole in the ground and he'd come to the house, frantically searching for Dawn.
She *had* kissed him before, of course, while under Willow's misguided spell to have her will done. So she knew about the kisses. And the last 24 hours should excuse a lot of sins - what with the singing demons, threats of internal combustion, true confessions -
And this was just some kind of residual song and dance demon spell stuff, hardly a thing of any real permanence. Just a kiss. It wasn't like her life was going to change or anything.
Been there, done that. Crawled out of the grave, gasping for air.
A lot like she was doing right now.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Since she'd returned, Spike had been the only one she could really talk to. She'd been comforted by his acceptance, his implicit understanding. He didn't expect her to be the same old Buffy: he'd clawed his way out of his coffin just as she had. That had to change a person, right?
Frankly, she didn't expect anyone else to *ever* get that, although it would have been nice. So she'd found herself in Spike's company when she felt especially out of touch with her friends, her Watcher, her sister.
But since his disturbing confession tonight, while singing to her in his crypt, there'd been a threat to the status quo: Spike felt used, Spike still loved her though she didn't feel the same, and Spike wanted her to stay away from him. Hence the disturbed.
She hadn't even considered that. She'd just been content with the fact that there was someone out there that she didn't have to play 'let's pretend' with. And obviously, she wasn't playing 'let's pretend,' but he was: because he hadn't once mentioned love, hadn't said any of the things he'd said tonight in that 'widdle song,' as Xander had dubbed it, until it was wrung out of him.
Then, of course, there'd been her own confession, made in front of everyone she'd been hiding the truth from. The truth that she'd been in heaven, not the hell dimension they'd imagined. It would have been funny if she'd been able to really enjoy their shock and discomfort. They'd all thought they'd done such a great thing. 'Thanks, guys. Glad to be back in hell on earth. Be sure and do this again next time I find a good place to spend eternity.' Now they were hurt and guilty. And she couldn't stand to look at them. Saying it (singing it) out loud had opened the wound and she was bleeding.
So now the bad guy (was he really that bad? she hadn't ever really felt threatened by any of it, not even the dying part) was defeated, gang gathered for the big finale, singing bittersweet words, and suddenly, Spike was nowhere to be seen.
Ooh, big bad hero. Didn't even wait around for the swooning maid to thank him for stopping her from combusting and dusting into ashes.
He knew better. He knew she wasn't thanking him.
She'd continued singing for a moment with the others, but her voice had trailed off, spell broken. And she'd remembered that one line from the song he'd sung earlier to her in his crypt. 'I know I should go - '
She'd tried every way in the world to get rid of him and he still wouldn't leave. Well everything short of staking him, that is, and what was with that, anyway? You'd have thought she'd have had her 'one good day' after all these years, right? She was the slayer!
And now, with everything up in the air, with her drunken confession (oh, yes, she remembered saying it in the haze of tequila rushes, frustration, anger and nausea) that the only person she could stand to be around was a neutered vampire, he'd said *that*! Sang that line (and not very well, either, she thought spitefully) and now he'd left. Just vanished.
If he went away, really went away, who was left? Willow was off in her own little world, pleased as punch at what an 'oh, so powerful' Wicca she'd become. With his permanently pursed lips, Giles demonstrated his disapproval at her failure to get her life together. Xander was - occupied. And here the evil vampire was, being so sensitive, never pushing her to be 'okay' like her 'friends' did. Letting her be herself, which is what 'they' ought to be doing. That made her as mad as hell at him! That he was the one who she went to, not them. She needed to tell him -
Tell him what, exactly? She wondered about that as she broke away and followed him out into the night.
Well, she'd figure it out when she caught up with him.
They'd become - what? Friends? Friends, she admitted, cringing. How the mighty had fallen! And then he had to go and spoil it with one little song. He was always spoiling things. Always telling her stuff she didn't want to hear.
When she'd finally caught up with him outside the Magic Box, he'd looked at her like she was the very last person he ever wanted to see, to talk to. Cutting her off with his hand, dismissing her. He was practically sputtering in exasperation. And he really hadn't had the right. She was new to this whole 'waking up in hell' thing. He'd had a hundred years to deal with it! Um, without the heaven part, of course.
Then while she'd been trying to find the words to say to him, whatever they were, she'd had that residual reprise epiphany thingy. She'd opened her mouth to speak and it had just come out.
'I touch the fire and it freezes me - .' And he'd answered. Oh, great. A duet.
And that's what had gotten her in this mess, because mess it was going to be. At that moment, she'd felt warm again and she hadn't felt warm in a very long time. She just wanted a moment's peace to enjoy it.
But that wasn't how these lingering residual spells worked, was it? She'd kept on singing and then their voices were melding together.
And she'd kissed him.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. To stop the singing. To keep him from the part of the song that had hurt her so badly. To keep him from speaking 'his' truth. To keep him from rejecting her. To keep him from leaving.
And because she wanted to kiss him. It was that damn spell, of course.
So - lips of Spike.
This was a lot different from the last time. It wasn't happy-happy, joy-joy, 'let's get married' stuff. This was desperate and sad, urgent and hungry. It was exactly how she felt and how he felt. And it went on forever, so that she was gasping for breath. He'd put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer, but there *was* no closer. Not standing outside the Magic Box.
She loved (how weird was that?) the way his mouth felt and tasted. She maneuvered to try to get even closer herself, because she could tell that she was almost - thawing out. Beginning to feel warm and safe. Then he did something. She wasn't sure what, but she'd realized that he didn't just want kisses. And neither did she -
Frowning, she broke away.
She knew he was watching her go. She could imagine the expression on his face, imagine him letting out a disgusted breath and starting after her. Could almost feel him stop following, still confused and frustrated.
But there was no way he was as confused and frustrated as she was right now.
Damn demons!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
She didn't know how she'd ended up the same mess she'd been in a week ago, but she had. She was kissing him, yes, but it felt a lot more intimate than 'just a kiss.' Her body was melting against his just as her mouth was. And God, he did kiss really well.
His hands were on her shoulders again, squeezing, pulling her into every kiss. It was so incredibly sexual that she didn't know how it could get any better, until she thought of those hands on other parts of her. Kissing Spike was like - well, no, it wasn't. It wasn't like anything she'd ever known in her life.
Of course, considering he'd been doing it for over a hundred years as compared to her own limited years of experience, she shouldn't be so surprised, should she?
Okay, visions of Drusilla, Harmony and whoever else he'd planted those lips on. She broke away, looking down.
He dipped his head down in a silent question. She could feel it. Soon he'd be asking, 'what's wrong?' And in answer to that silent question, she raised her eyes to his, almost coyly. There was something in them that made her stomach lurch and her body grow hot. And his mouth was right there.
Suddenly, it was *so* not a big deal about Dru or anyone else.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It had been nice to be someone else for a while, especially someone who wasn't seriously disturbed. Yet. But why did Spike always have to be in the vicinity when Willow screwed up a spell? Was it a plot?
There she had been, 'Joan' the Vampire Slayer, getting a handle on the whole vampire fighting thing, even getting back a few good solid Buffy moves. Then, RL, real life, had all come rushing back: first, her mother's death (never far from her mind with Dawn to raise), Giles decision to leave (for her, a typical father figure response), Angel (the first one to bail in a big dramatic way), and Riley (now that had been a surprise). And of course there was the whole 'living, dying, living' thing that was a sure fight stopper.
She'd almost fainted. Maybe she had. She'd barely noticed that vamp kicking the hell out of her. It's like she wasn't even there really. She'd been completely numb, ready to tune out.
Then, he was there, hand outstretched to help her up, wearing that stupid 'disguise' in full gameface. The number one reminder of why she should never go to him. Ever. A reminder that 'chipped' didn't mean 'de-fanged'. And most upsetting of all, the reminder that there was no one she'd rather have at her back than Spike.
What was wrong with this picture?
What was wrong with her life?
She'd run.
She'd been sitting here quietly for hours, thinking about 'Joan,' her forgetful alter ego, and remembering what it had been like when she'd first become a slayer. Things had been so black and white then. Slayer good, Vampire bad. Very bad.
And suddenly, 'bad' *except* for Angel. Then, there was evil Angelus. And finally back again to the whole 'not evil' thing.
At least Angel had a soul. He'd had one three times now. All Spike had was a chip, a government chip that kept him from killing her and her friends. Not the same thing at all.
Except 'Joan' had gone out of her way to take care of 'Randy.' Joan liked Randy. A lot. She really wasn't even afraid of Randy when she'd realized he was a vampire. Instead of staking him, she'd talked to him, argued with him, fought beside him.
Familiar much? Obviously Joan was certifiably insane.
Too.
Then, her thoughts had been jarringly interrupted. He was there at her elbow, right there at the bar in the Bronze. And she didn't have the time to think about him standing there with that questioning look in his eyes, because she was *already* thinking about him, and she needed to finish thinking, because - she turned her head away.
Of course he'd found her. She hadn't gone to the airport with Giles. She hadn't done anything except get Dawn home and leave again. And there he was, back in black, ready to talk. It felt like he'd been talking at her now all of her adult life. He'd track her to the ends of the earth just to get a word in; The Bronze had been a 'chip' shot.
She didn't want to talk to him. She could barely look at him, with that hopeful expression on his face that had wavered to 'wounded,' then 'disgusted.'
What part of 'vampire slayer' did he not understand? Hell, he'd killed two of them. Tried to kill her at least a dozen times and now he was looking at her like she was the bad guy? She'd kissed him. That was all. And she blamed it all on that singing demon guy anyway. Never would have kissed him at all if she'd been in her right mind.
She had turned back to him to ask him to give her a break please. Just a small break so she could think. Because she'd been *so* close to figuring it out.
All she saw was a swirl of leather and his back.
Epiphany forgotten, she sat there dumbfounded. What? *He* was pissed? After all, Joan had had to deal with the fact that a prospective boyfriend, someone she thought was 'cool', someone she was majorly attracted to, had turned out to be a vampire, and *he* was pissed?
Well, she thought angrily, jumping down and heading toward the door, it was about time he realized how he was complicating her life.
He'd pulled away from her when she'd caught up with him and grabbed at his arm. Pulled away! From *her*!
And in her confusion, she'd tried to stop him. And she'd recently discovered a very good way to do that and shut him up at the same time.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Once again, it was about the fire. It was about the need to be touched, singed even, by something that also walked this living hell of a life.
And even though his lips were cool, she took the fire from them. His kisses burned her mouth, her heart, and the warmth crept out from within.
Suddenly, she was very, very warm. She felt flushed and fevered like she did when she'd been sick as a little girl. And she needed more of it, because it had been so long since any part of her had seemed so alive. She needed 'more', even though she didn't want to think about what 'more' meant.
Wasn't he getting hot in that coat? She was getting hot just being close to him while he was wearing that coat.
She tasted stale cigarettes, heard the crinkle of black leather as clearly as if it had been coming over a stereo speaker. Then his tongue started to move in her mouth in time with his hands as he kneaded her shoulders. And she realized she was pulling on his tongue, drawing it deep, in time to the same slow beat. And it was just like they were -
She thought she might be catching on fire, smoldering, seconds from igniting into flame, just from the friction of lips on lips and body rubbing against body. And he was so taut, so -
Time to leave, 'Joan,' she thought in a moment of clarity, because this could end up in a very bad place.
Like Spike's crypt.
'Joan' responded by thrusting herself against the rigid body part in question.
Now *that* really made it time to go.
She was through the door to the Bronze before 'Joan' did something Buffy would regret in the morning.
'The pain - is gone.'
He'd hit her. Hit her! She stared at him in horror as his lip curled up in disdain, mixed with some dark amusement.
Vintage Spike was standing in front of her with that old time bad boy attitude oozing out of every pore.
Then what he was saying penetrated her shock. And it was her, not the chip. The chip was working just fine.
'Don't you get it? You came back wrong.'
Practically paralyzed at his biting words, she shook her head, protesting, as a little voice inside of her said sarcastically, 'So Willow screwed up it up. Again.'
Then, finally, she was out of denial and back in the street, ready to kick a little vampire ass that was now actually (and was definitely) kicking back.
Her heart started beating faster as she got that old adrenaline rush that came every time she'd ever faced him down.
It had been such a long time since they'd danced.
With that wistful thought, she slammed the hell out of him.
++++++++++++++++++++++
She remembered his words like he'd said them yesterday: 'I'd rather be fighting you anyway.'
And her answer: 'Mutual.'
He was her favorite adversary. If he weren't so impatient, and she weren't so lucky, he'd have done her a dozen times. And vice versa. But with the chip, implanted courtesy of the good old US of A, Buffy's favorite Big Bad was history. Just a lot of old 'war' stories. All bark and no bite.
'Give it me good, Buffy.' She remembered the look on his face, years ago, when he'd said it, all hopped up for a good fight, even a one-sided one.
At her lack of response, his eyes had searched hers, and then seemed to look inside himself in puzzlement. He'd taken hold of her shoulders and whispered roughly.
'C'mon, Slayer, you know you want to dance.'
The intimacy of his words matched the intimacy of the moment. She had felt the world open up beneath her as he'd told her how he'd defeated the second slayer, telling her all of the things that she had begun to feel and that he so perfectly understood. His perceptiveness had struck like a blow. That was why she hadn't seen it coming.
She'd gotten out of there before things got out of hand.
Well, more out of hand.
Later that night, he'd come to her, angrily toting a shotgun, obviously determined to put an end to her even if it put an end to him. The night ended, not in violence, but with him sitting on the steps of her back porch, listening quietly as she talked about her mother.
She shook off the memory and tried to return her attention to Punk Ass Spike. The one who was standing in front of her right now. In the old days, he could take everything she had and bounce back with a debilitating punch, a sharp, cutting phrase and a smirk
He was definitely back, battering at her with his sarcastic jabs. Showing her over and over that he could hit her now. That she was 'wrong.' As if she hadn't already known that something wasn't right.
She'd kissed *him*, hadn't she?
He'd been bothering the hell out of her for two weeks now, ever since that first kiss. The other night at the Bronze had just made it worse. He'd been as annoying as hell. Hello, slayer here. What part of that did he not get?
And now he was dancing in front of her, looking for a way to slip in. And she was hungry for some serious ass-kicking. Something on the order of 'shooting the messenger.' And when you were spoiling for the real deal, fighting *against* him was the only way to go.
Settling in for a good punishing slugfest, she started connecting good solid punches. And he was getting right back in her face, bouncing on his toes, throwing out verbal jibes with that beautiful, cruel mouth of his.
He wasn't quite hitting her with the remembered power and he wasn't really even trading blows with her yet, but that was okay. They were both a little out practice. Things would pick up. She was a little off her game, too.
That ever-present smirk made her want to land a really nice one. If this was going to be his 'one good day,' she intended to give better than she got.
Even as she had the thought, she dismissed it. This wasn't a fight to the death, because he didn't want her dead. This was payback time for him. And, she admitted wryly, he was long overdue.
She didn't want him dead either. The world was a lot more interesting with him in it.
With that, she landed a blow that threw him into an abandoned building. And she wasn't even getting started yet! She went after him.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
'You haven't even come close to hurting me.' She had spit the empty words at him in retaliation.
'Afraid to give me the chance?'
It had felt like they'd been fighting for hours in the abandoned house. They'd physically thrown each other into walls, the staircase, even the fireplace. They'd verbally thrown every thing they had, words flying like wooden stakes. She was breathing heavily, flushed with exertion and something else that had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with it.
'Are you afraid I'll - '
And suddenly all her anger and frustration coalesced into an overwhelming need to connect with the one being who completely understood her.
She silently spun him around, pinning him to the wall in turn.
Moving past his guard, she hungrily planted her lips on his, hating that she was kissing him again and wondering how she'd held out this long.
Whipped up by the fight, he put his hands on her with a matching urgency, managing to get a hand under her skirt and rip away at the soaked wisp of fabric between her legs even as she spun him around and pushed him away.
What was about to happen was her call, not his.
It was going to happen *her* way or not at all.
She hoped he had absorbed the lesson, she thought, as she fastened her mouth on his again. She climbed up his body, finally hooking one leg around his waist. And while she was still kissing him, hungry for more, she grasped the zipper of his jeans.
In the quiet aftermath of the fight, the sound seemed amplified a hundred times.
She reached into his pants, freeing him, as she hitched herself up even further on his body. Carefully, she slid herself down, taking him into her slowly, savoring his shock. She watched him intently, almost frowning with all the sensations involved in lowering herself down onto Spike.
His eyes were wide with shock, looking at her face in disbelief. And when she was very sure that he understood what she had done, she began to move decisively up and down, locking her eyes on him until they closed and he buried his head against her.
She'd finally recognized that this moment had been inevitable. Finally admitted it to herself. And to him.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sometime during the night, Buffy had stopped fighting and let him lead.
He was a much better dancer than anyone else she'd ever been with.
She was going to pay for this, but right now she just didn't care.
She'd concentrated on wringing her pleasure from him by defiantly dominating this new dance just as she'd dominated him when they'd fought. She hadn't given in. He might be getting what he'd always wanted, but he should be more careful what he wished for. Maybe she *was* a demon, because she had never been as brutal as now.
She'd set a slow decisive pace for their first time, using it to take his measure. It was a pace designed to punish as she clenched her muscles on the down stroke, moving down with as much friction as she could create with the wetness that was smoothing his way into her. Finally meeting his body, she'd pushed down against him with slayer strength, almost gritting her teeth with the pain of it as bone met bone. She'd wanted him to understand that she wasn't doing this *for* him or *with* him. She was doing this *to* him, punishing him and her.
She'd pushed him back against the floor when he moved to take off her clothes. She'd stopped moving, pulling back until he was barely inside her, when he tried to take over the rhythm.
This wasn't about what he wanted.
She watched his face intently, listened to his groans, and unmercifully held off her own climax, until he was a quivering mass of reanimated tissue. She'd kissed him angrily; furious for wanting him inside her. She pushed herself away from his mouth, staring at him with an intensity that had made him gasp. Then, she began kissing him again, exploring his mouth savagely, taking perverse pleasure in the growls that were gathering for release in the back of his throat.
As she continued to build her own climax, she pulled back again to watch his face shift from ecstasy to an expression bordering on pain, calmly considering what a Spike orgasm looked like. Then her throbbing body betrayed her and she came. Hard.
She'd made her point.
As she collapsed on top of him, he quickly took over the dance, divesting her of her clothes with a rough impatience born of years of frustration. But only because she let him, she thought languidly.
He immediately bypassed all the usual erogenous zones other than her mouth and set off in directions that made Buffy shiver, calling her back from the malaise that was engulfing her. Spike was making up for all those years of sexual frustration with a hands-on exploration of obviously every single fantasy he'd ever had about her.
His clever mouth explored every nook and cranny. Even the undersides of her breasts hadn't escaped his attention. His tongue on this usually neglected and secret spot had made her writhe in discomfort because she loved what his mouth was doing to her and she really didn't want him to be able to make her feel that way.
His fingers had pushed and prodded nerves in her body that she didn't know she had, as he slid himself inside her from behind. As he moved, he'd gathered her to him, stroking her behind her knees, kissing her neck softly, grasping her hipbones through her skin and pushing the tips of his hard fingers into the nerves there. All of it was woven together into a dance that owed nothing to her and everything to him.
As she came again, this time moaning loudly, he withdrew and quickly turned her on her back, reentering her swiftly. As he relentlessly drew her toward a second more intense orgasm, his mouth investigated the more accessible places, again paying careful, tentative attention to her neck.
Lulled by the feathery touches, she'd forgotten what she was dealing with -- panicking when he'd opened his mouth widely on the juncture of her neck and shoulder, fastening onto her with lips and teeth.
She instinctively knew that if he could hit her, he could feed on her. But his mouth maintained a steady ebb and flow as he sucked at the skin of her neck with blunt teeth as he rocked inside her. She slowly relaxed, learning to trust him in this, too.
This was the most elegant dance she'd ever been partner to.
And when the aching need to have all of him slamming into her hard and fast had sent her moving under him, he had stilled himself, whispering softly to bring her back down so he could continue the dance he had designed just for her.
True to form, he hadn't stopped talking once he'd gotten over the shock of that first time. His words were indecipherable to Buffy, her brain reducing them to rough growls or tender murmurings. The sound of his voice had kept her anchored. Without it, she would have become lost in the sensations that were sweeping through her body and become completely detached from him. And he seemed to know that.
She was absolutely exhausted and she never wanted him to stop. If he did, she might have to think about what he was doing to her, what she was letting him do. Every other man she'd been with, alive or dead, had been an amateur compared to him.
She realized that this was the first coherent thought she'd had in hours. Sounds were coming out of her mouth, but she wasn't sure if she was making words or noises. She still didn't care. Right now, he could make her say anything - do anything.
She also knew that he wasn't going to stop doing this to her until she'd lapsed into unconsciousness. She sighed and sought his mouth, signaling that she was ready to go with him into the next phase of the dance he'd so carefully choreographed.
In answer, he led her into a thrumming, mind-paralyzing place where her body knew the moves even if her brain had shut down.
She heard herself scream his name.
Then she was completely lost in the heady mixture of violence and tenderness that was Spike.
Buffy had watched him jerk on his pants, jerk the zipper up, jerk his belt closed.
What a jerk!
All she'd been trying to do is go home. Out all night - nobody knowing if she was alive or dead. Again. She'd *never* just not gone home without calling and telling someone, except when she'd been fighting demons or -
She shook off that thought. No one had known where she was and she was trying to get home. That was her story and she was stickin' to it.
He'd almost seduced her into staying. Damn his hands anyway! Then he'd made that really crude remark that brought her to her senses triple-time. Just another reason never to sleep with him again in his unlifetime.
"I'm through being your whipping boy!"
As if! She'd been the one who'd gotten the verbal shakedown for weeks. And then there was his whole happy dance last night over the fact that *he* thought the resurrection spell had gone wrong. That *she* had come back wrong. He'd seemed pretty pleased at the idea of her being brought down to his level - all demony or something. Pretty shitty reaction for somebody who claimed to love her.
Jerk!
And then, *then* he'd had to bring Angel into it! What she and Angel had was *nothing* like this. What she and Angel had was once in a lifetime. Sweet and pure and soft. She'd been with Angel one time – one time and her world had fallen apart around her.
Double Jerk!
She didn't know why she'd ever said he was convenient anyway. Spike and the word 'convenient' didn't belong in the same sentence. Even the same universe.
Spike had gotten up (don't think about it!) and jerked on his jerk pants and started in, all puffed up with self-righteous anger.
He'd been looking awfully good all fired up like that. Hot.
Remember the Slayer remark. Angel remark. Remember the bad part. Don't think about him all bare chest, bare arms -
Don't think about his bare ass. Bad Buffy!
Couldn't believe she'd had sex with him! Maybe she *had* come back wrong.
Had sex with him so many times, she'd lost count.
She wondered how many times.
She was insane. Except - well, she'd always liked fighting with him. And it had been all violent and - that is, until it wasn't.
She'd floated off to sleep with him murmuring in her ear, playing with her hair -
So nice. Until she'd woken up and it was morning and he was all smug about it. All satisfied like he'd finally gotten his way.
Almost boyfriendy. Like having sex with him had meant anything anyway!
She'd known she was going to pay for it, just thought she might have a little while to bask in the afterglow.
Vampires got her hot? Well, in her line of work, those were the guys she met. Except for Xander or Giles.
Squick!
How dare he compare her making love with Angel to having sex with him! There *was* no comparison! She giggled.
Bad Buffy! Bad!
And he was pushing, pushing, pushing her.
She should've pushed him into that big sharp piece of wood that had been right there, all convenient.
She would've, too. If she hadn't also had the wild insane desire to just give in and have another 'go.'
Yeek! She was thinking in Spikespeak! What had she done?
It wasn't like she was going to wake up and find out it didn't matter if she was the Slayer and he was a vampire. Right?
Reality check. No soothing heartbeat to go to sleep listening to. No remedy for cold bed-feet. No long walks in the sunshine.
What had she been thinking?
Oh, yeah. No thinkage. Just sexage. Over and over and over and -
Okay, stop thinking. And ignore the fact that you've got a deliciously sore spot between your legs that's a constant reminder of how you spent last night.
It had happened once.
Well, maybe not once -
Okay, it had happened one *night*.
All night.
But it was so not happening again. He'd just slipped in, that was all. (Oh, yes, he had!) Okay, she admitted, she'd *invited* him in. With a big gaudy engraved invitation that said "Sex Here" on the front of the card.
Big, big mistake. Except -
Sleep. She just needed sleep. Obviously, she was tired. She must be if she was thinking about having sex with him again.
She was! She was thinking about having sex with him again. Bad Buffy!
So not happening again!
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Well, she'd *had* to find Dawn, hadn't she? And she'd been all over the place. The problem was she didn't have any informants. She usually just killed them. Willie had shut down on her. Scared to death.
She'd started to get really nervous. And she had only one informant she hadn't killed yet.
Spike.
Then, she was even more nervous.
First, she'd actually stood outside the door of the crypt. Finally, she'd actually knocked. Then she'd actually gone inside. Actually yelled for him, but not very loudly. And she'd actually gone down to the lower level, fully knowing that she was going into his bedroom.
Talk about nervous.
She'd eased down the steps and there he was: sleeping the sleep of the undead evil thing. And looking really gorgeous doing it.
Dawn. Think about Dawn. Dawn was in trouble.
And oh boy, so was she!
She couldn't just walk over there. He'd get the wrong idea if she just walked over and woke him up. Might think she was thinking of -
Dawn! And Willow. Willow was obviously over the edge. She *hated* it when Xander was right.
She'd picked up the closest thing that wasn't nailed down and lobbed it at him.
Oh, and then he'd become his usual disgusting self. Thank God! Magically he'd gotten over it immediately. For Dawn.
Dawn had him so whipped. Up and out of bed -
Oh, boy! Turn, turn, turn!
Could vampires smell it when you were turned on? God, she hoped not. Maybe if she pissed him off enough, he wouldn't notice.
She could do that.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
What a night! Dawn's arm was broken. Willow had crashed from her high in the privacy of her mother's bedroom while Spike was doing the parenty stuff at the hospital.
What was wrong with this picture?
Buffy looked up at the garlic strands hanging over the window, while clutching a wooden cross.
And this one?
He wasn't coming.
He really wasn't coming.
No chance to say her piece. Reject him while she was still resolute and strong. Tell him that this was crazy - that there was nowhere for this to go but straight down.
He never had found the place where Willow and Dawn were supposed to be. She'd thought at first he was stalling so that he could be with her.
Of course he'd never do that if Dawn were in trouble. Stupid Buffy. And if she had just left him alone, let him look for Rack's place, they might never have started talking about last night.
God, he'd been so sure of himself. She'd tried to tell him that it was a one time thing. He didn't even break stride.
"But I'm in your system now."
She'd flushed.
Bastard.
"You're gonna crave me, like I crave blood."
She didn't have a snappy comeback for that.
Cocky bastard.
"And the next time you come crawling, if you don't stop being such a bitch, maybe I will bite you."
Class A number one first-string bastard! Good thing they'd heard Dawn then. She might have staked him then and there. Just for being such a shit. He really *did* think he was God's gift!
Then, Spike had gone to Dawn, while she'd taken care of the demon - or tried to anyway.
Made her think twice about just leaving Willow there, alone and crying.
Took Dawn to the emergency room and waited for her. (Pacing like a caged animal, worried sick by the time Buffy'd finally arrived after taking Willow home)
Gotten his car as she'd gone in to sit with Dawn while they set her arm.
Held the car door open as she'd picked Dawn up to carry her inside the house.
And just left. She'd been so sure he'd be back to continue their conversation ...
He really wasn't coming.
She'd cut her hair.
And she'd done a really bad job of it.
She put her head in her hands, staring at the thick hanks of hair.
All his fault, of course. As usual.
She'd had to be really careful not to laugh when he came barreling into her kitchen that morning. He'd looked so cute with the smoke rising off, stomping on the smoldering blanket with his big bad Docs. She'd deadpanned, just because - well, just because!
"Yeah, well, the fact is my lighter's gone missing. Thought it might have, uh, dropped outta my pocket the last time I was here."
She'd loved his lame excuse, loved his rumpled shirt, the just up-and-out-of-bed look he had.
Of course, then she'd remembered that he shouldn't even be here. And that his excuse was *really* lame. And what could Willow be thinking at that moment, because he'd walked in like he lived there.
Or at least slept there sometimes. Which he most certainly *did* not! And wouldn't. Ever. Because she was *never* having sex with him again.
Once Willow had gone upstairs, leaving her alone with the evil undead thing with the gorgeous blue eyes, her resolve wavered between passive resistance and just plain passive. No, she had *tried* to shut him down. She really had. Tried her hardest.
That slow saunter as he approached had made her stomach drop.
And the thrills and chills went all through her when he came in for the kill, talking that sweet talk all low and soft, flirting with her just like a boyfriend, like someone she was sleeping with -
Hello? Not ever doing that again. Remember? Remember what? Bad Buffy. Very, very bad.
"My, uh ... little goldilocks? You know I love this hair. The way it bounces around when you-"
Then Xander had walked in and caught them.
*Caught* them? 'Caught' implied that someone noticed that *something* was going on. Buffy and the evil temptation called Spike been seen in a very compromising position (Spike's hand had actually been on her hip and was thinking about doing some traveling) and Xander was absolutely clueless.
What would it take to give Xander a clue?
Bad Buffy. Bad, bad.
Then, it had all fallen apart.
The evil vampire had not left when instructed to.
The evil woman from Social Services had arrived unannounced (Okay, so Buffy had forgotten she was coming - or she'd forgotten what day it was - or something) to meet about Dawn.
The evil vampire had taken up residence in the living room (Ready to 'chat it out').
The evil S.S. minion had looked at him with her nose in the air (And a stick up her ass).
And suddenly, the sexy vampire slouching in the chair became even more of an embarrassment than usual - and a real liability. Although to give the devil his due, he didn't have a lot of practice in social interaction with the living.
Obviously, Buffy didn't have much experience with it either. The minion shut Buffy down, in the midst of her bid for parental approval.
Everything that could go wrong did. When Social Services had finally left, pissed off, she'd had one chatty vampire in line to take her place. As if she hadn't already had the shock of her life: an authority figure (the type Buffy already had problems with anyway) telling her that she'd be keeping a close watch on Dawn.
Which meant a close watch on Buffy.
Which meant -
She'd been shaking by the time she - Doris, was her name, Doris? Doris had left.
And *he* was still there. The James Dean of Ready-to-Slay Vamps. All set to be her rock. Her anchor. Her port in the storm. Her guiding light.
And she wasn't having any of it! He'd just made it all worse. Gotten everything off on the wrong foot where it had stayed, limping along until the woman left.
So she'd pissed him off. Again. And he'd come flying across the room, hard fingers digging into her pocket.
His eyes bored into hers, white hot and hard. She closed her eyes as he very deliberately pushed his fingers into her front pocket.
Don't look. If you look at him, he'll know you're melting.
And she was - melting into a puddle of desire. She thought she might have gasped just a little.
"Just getting what I came for, luv."
He held the lighter up in front of her eyes.
Whoops!
"So long, Goldilocks."
How the hell could he make her so hot with that fire blazing out of his eyes like that? Screw Resolve and the horse she rode in on. She'd have gone down on her back right then and there.
Well, no chance of that. Or even a resounding slap to wipe that look off his face. He'd flounced out without another word.
Flounced.
Yes, flounced. He had definitely flounced.
Bastard. Not that she was ever sleeping with him again anyway.
She'd run upstairs, shaking even more violently than she had been when social services had left.
And soon thereafter, she had been staring at a pound of hair that was no longer attached to her head. It went downhill from there.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
She was just stopping by to mess with him a little. Pay him back for the way he'd left her house that morning - or rather, wouldn't leave. That was all. Really.
And now she was watching (yes *watching*) him disappear, the whole length of him, inside her.
Literally.
Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips as her eyes followed the upward sweep of his body. Looked at his groin, his stomach, chest, then face. She felt distanced from him even as she felt herself clench around him. She was a peeping tom, a voyeur. She felt free, free from his searching eyes that asked questions and demanded answers. She didn't have any answers.
His eyes were closed in concentration. She wished he would open them, but it seemed to put him off his rhythm to feel her under him and not be able to see her. He'd taken control again, but that was how the dance was done. The inside of her legs were damp halfway to her knees and there was a wet slap whenever his cool, hard body slammed into hers. They were both slippery with her sweat. All of that was her sweat? They were swimming in it.
They were way past foreplay. They were way past anything but pounding penetration. The kind of hot, hard sex that drives sound from the gut and out swollen lips: whimpers, moans, sucking gasps for air, groans, screams.... She was hanging on to the headboard for dear life.
Having the luxury of watching his biceps flex as he lowered himself onto her and lifted himself off, his whole upper body weight resting on his arms, well, that was - erotic. His shoulders rippled with the effort. She wished she could see his back. She liked his back.
Oh, yes, he was definitely in control now. She was ready to scream, her climax building into something that would erase all thought. She liked that, too. She didn't want to think about what she was doing.
Of course he might be in control now, she thought, gloating for a moment, but it hadn't started out that way.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Oh, the look of him when she'd entered the crypt! The way his eyes narrowed, the Big Bad in tune with the forces of the supernatural. Not!
He'd immediately gone on alert. Wary, but not afraid. Not him. He sauntered toward the door, toward her, all balls and testosterone. Big Bad vampire.
But he couldn't see her now, could he, she remembered. She could see him though. He was all coiled up, ready to pounce. Oh, yes, he looked relaxed, but that was deceiving. *He* was deceiving. Even InvisiBuffy had to be careful. He could be on her before she could react. He was very dangerous when he felt threatened. She liked that.
Playing with him, she darted over and turned off the television with a flick. He gave a disgusted sigh.
She circled around him, taking her time, taking him *in*, watching him turn smoothly with her, a half-step behind in the dance.
'That's all we've ever done.'
She shook off her daze. What? He was talking and she'd missed most of it. Oh, well. All he did was talk anyway. Usually about things she didn't want to talk about. She was getting very good at tuning him out. It all sounded the same anyway.
"I hurt beasties -- "
She almost giggled. A beastie? Okay, she could be a beastie, if she could just take her eyes off of him long enough to do something - beastie-ish?
She wanted to throw him up against the wall and rip his clothes off. She felt her face get hot as she remembered that lightning move this morning in her living room. He'd pinned her to the door with the weight of the air alone as he'd charged toward her, slamming his hands on the wall on either side of her head, eyes burning with anger and disdain.
'You're one step away, missy!' The words bubbled up out of long ago memory.
And then there had been the sure thrust of his hand into her tight front jeans pocket as he let his fingers do the walking, looking for that damn lighter. And taking his sweet time about it! She remembered how she felt --
And flushed at the memory all over again. There was a clenching between her legs and her stomach dipped, as her breathing audibly rasped out.
Startling herself with the noise, she moved. And she chose to distort his earlier attempt at dominance this morning by slamming him up against the wall of the crypt. She drove his back into the hard unyielding surface.
Slam.
Oooh. Very satisfying. Savoring her control over him, she held him there with his arms outstretched like a parody of Jesus on the cross. Long suffering Spike who was going to help her pay for all her sinful, wicked thoughts. She ripped his shirt open and fastened her mouth on his exposed neck.
"Buffy -- ?"
Well, that took him long enough.
"I told you," she said sternly, "stop trying to see me."
And she couldn't get him to a horizontal surface fast enough. Or at all, as they knocked things across the crypt, into the floor. Where had all this stuff come from anyway? Her house had less in it than his place did!
Oops! Table. Ah, there's the floor.
She pinned his arms to the ground with her knees, straddling him. She was flushed with exertion and desire. She saw him looking searchingly at where his body told him she was. He tentatively reached up, accidentally brushing the hem of her shirt, and grasped it, then ripped at it, struggling to get it off of her.
She did it for him. He settled back, feeling the stirring of the air as she took off her clothes. He opened his mouth to speak and felt her fingers, like rough ghosts, on his mouth.
"Shh," she demanded sharply. He closed his eyes, wondering how the hell he had ended up in the floor of his crypt being molested by the very air. And why he was letting it happen.
"Look at me!" she growled.
His eyes flew open in confusion. He opened his mouth again to speak, but suddenly she was pulling off his shirt, grabbing at his belt with savage single-mindedness. Oh, yes, definitely Buffy. She'd almost ripped his clothes off his back to get her mouth on him. And she was sucking at his mouth, biting an ear here, a hard nip to his neck there, always away before he could grab onto her.
And finally, she got her small, strong hands on the 'root' of her problem. And God, it was pretty, all hard like that! For a moment, he was perfectly still, looking down, then looking up at nothing.
He groaned as the 'succubus' put him in her mouth, one hand traveling his stomach, the other wrapped tightly around the base of his shaft. She pulled him in deep and freed three of her fingers, cradling his balls with them. She eased back, using her tongue to flick the knob, and gazing at him from beneath her lashes. Looking at his face, tight with pleasure and a growing frustration at his circumstances, she almost laughed
Almost..
"Buffy, what -- "
"I'm not really here, you know," she whispered teasingly. And she took him back into her mouth.
She would have never done this, with the light of day filtering into the crypt, if he could actually *see* her doing this to him and enjoying it. But she was in control, total control. She liked that.
Her thoughts and tactile sensations catching up with her, she moaned in the back of her throat. His growl answered back.
Now he was watching too. With clouded heavy-lidded eyes, he was watching his dick disappear as she slowly drew it back in to her mouth, then reappear as she eased back and slid her lips to the tip. At first, he gulped with discomfort. Castrated much, she thought spitefully. But when he finally opened his eyes again, she saw him become mesmerized with the whole impossible visual sensation of it. She slid him in and out of her mouth, doing different things, but staying with the same rhythm. Her own wetness was running down her leg.
"Christ, Buffy -- " he whispered hoarsely.
Her fingers felt him tighten, beginning to spasm, as he bucked into her mouth violently. She felt herself dissolving into a quivering puddle and quickly impaled herself on him, her saliva lending an odd friction as she slammed herself down, riding the waves of something that was becoming more mind- and body-numbing by the second.
And suddenly, he was absolutely certain where to put his hands. One behind her pressing against the small of her back, the other splayed across her abdomen, pushing. She gasped at the pressure. Then his hips ground up against her, even deeper. He cried out as she screamed in pleasure, both surrendering to the final crest.
She collapsed on top of him, covering him, sweat rapidly cooling her against him, as he clutched at her as if he'd captured some will o' the wisp.
"What have you done?" he panted.
She gasped for breath, unable to speak. "I --" She couldn't catch her breath.
He recovered first, trapping her with one leg and rolling her over on her back. He wildly grabbed for where her face should be and finally caught her chin, eyes bright blue with the remnants of desire and a little fear.
"What.Have.You.Done." he said angrily.
"Nothing," she said between breaths. "In town. One minute -- walking. Next -- no Buffy."
He rolled over and got to his feet. God, he was gorgeous naked. All unmarked white skin and rippling muscles.
"Get up," he demanded. Then he grimaced, realizing his mistake in letting her go. He looked searchingly. "*Are* you up?" he asked uncertainly.
She giggled and hooked his ankle with one hand, bringing him back down to her level with a muffled thud.
"Ow. Buffy -- "
She crawled over him, covering as much territory as possible, watching his brow furrow as he tried to stay focused on coherent thought.
"Shut up, Spike," she said silkily. She brought her mouth down on his, glorying in the freedom of being there, but *not* being there. At least, not to the casual observer.
Spike desperately seized her head with his hands, desire warring with the exasperation he felt. He was trying to decide whether to kiss her or kill her. His tongue made the decision for him as her lips assaulted his. He pulled her even closer, shutting his eyes tightly.
She could feel him getting hard.
Burying her face in his neck, she bit him again. No 'love' bite either.
"God, Buffy..."
She broke away to look at him. His eyes snapped open, seeing nothing but the ceiling of the crypt. She reveled in it.
Yep. She was in control. She could look at him all she wanted, delve into his face, his eyes, but his prying eyes were blinded to her.
She liked that!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Okay, maybe the playing around while Xander had been there had been a mistake. After all, it had gotten her kicked out of the crypt.
And for Spike to kick *her* out? Well, that defied all logicky things.
Found one shoe and her shirt. Period. No jeans, no underwear. She hoped Spike would trip over them and stake himself. Or cut his own head off on some sharp ax he might have lying around.
She'd had to come home, go upstairs and get dressed, just to go after Willow and the nerds.
Something really must be 'wrong' just like he'd said. The things she'd done today where totally irresponsible and not the actions of a 'nice girl.'
But maybe she was tired of being a nice girl. All it had ever gotten her was dead. Twice.
Like he'd said, things were different.
Different sounded good.
She liked it.
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