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CHAPTER TWO
She can’t help it. For a moment, all she can do is blink at him stupidly. Then she realizes what he means.
“If you want to kill me, why didn’t you just do it when I was asleep?”
On some level it amuses her, how genuinely appalled he looks.
“Christ, Slayer! What the bloody hell kind of vamp do you take me for? I may be evil but I’ve got my standards. And they don’t include grabbing the glory without the guts!”
He glares at her, and she’s pleased to see she’s ruffled his cool. His outraged indignation almost tempts her into a smile.
“’Sides…killing you ’s not what I had in mind.”
Except, suddenly, it’s not remotely funny.
“So help me, if you’re suggesting what I think—”
“Here’s the thing. My Dru’s sick, yeah? A mere shadow of her former glorious self. Came here to find a way to make her well, and now I have. Only…” He pauses and the sly look reappears. “Turns out, you’re the cure.”
She stares at him. “You’re delusional.”
“Actually, no. That would be Dru. But I can see where you might be confused about it.”
“You seriously expect me to hand myself over to you for god knows what, all so you can cure your looney tunes girlfriend?”
“No, I expect you to hand yourself over to me to save your big hunk of burnin’ love. So he won’t…you know…actually be burnin’. ’Sides, I already explained. Not gonna kill you. Just gonna borrow you for a bit.”
He looks at her as if it’s all self-evident. Growls a little as he shifts impatiently on heavy booted feet.
“Look. It’s not a big deal, all right? We do the deed. I drink your blood. Not enough to kill you,” he adds, hand lifted to head off her expected protest. “Then I go back to Dru, give her the cure, and Angel-face is all yours again.”
She’s poised to send the stake on a one-way trip into his twisted excuse for a heart, but the bit about Angel stops her, reminding her she can’t kill him. Yet.
“Okay. You’ve got one minute to explain, or I swear, Angel or no Angel, I will dust your sorry ass and make Drusilla the next stop on the Buffy Express.”
Her threat hits home and his expression turns cold, though his eyes blaze with a fire she’s never seen before in the walking dead. His body tenses as he leans forward, muscles coiled in a pre-fight stance that makes her clutch the stake just a little tighter. He comes no closer, but he’s crowding her all the same.
Pins her with his razor-sharp gaze. “Found a book. Been gettin’ it translated. It has a cure for what ails her, only the git who wrote it failed to include one for a female vamp. So I’m aiming to improvise a mite. Says a dying vampire can be saved by the blood of a slayer if it’s offered willingly while his parts are joined to her parts or some such bloody nonsense. Not sure about that last bit, but Dalton’s certain it means your basic physical union. So…we do our bit, then I hotfoot it back to Dru with your freely given slayer blood all fresh and burnin’ in my veins, and before you know it she’s back to her beautiful deadly self. And, oh yeah. You get Angel back, and me and Dru are long gone. Never have to set eyes on us again.”
She stares, because it’s too insane for words.
His smirk reappears. “Never have to tell your love bucket what you did, either, do you? Can be our little secret.”
That snaps her out of it.
“You give new meaning to the word ‘revolting.’” Acid scorn drips off each syllable. “You’re also stupid if you think I’m buying this exercise in lameness, Spike. Did you spend all night thinking up that one?”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, right. You really think I’d make up somethin’ this daft?” Then stops. “Well, yeah…I suppose.” And shrugs. “But it happens I’m not. More to the point, why would I? Said, yourself, I could’ve killed you in your sleep. And if you think I’ve dreamed this up just to get inside your knickers, sorry, petal…while I’m sure you figure prominently in the wet dreams of any number of little Sunnydale school boys, truth is you’re no match for my dark princess.”
Buffy refuses to wonder why this stings. Glares hard instead and focuses on the sudden interest he’s taking in her room. Clenches her jaw and her fist as he saunters to the dresser to eye the scattered bits of her life, all too exposed to his questing hand.
Within a second he pounces. Scoops up the bottle of Passion’s Promise. Takes a sniff and quirks an eyebrow as he reads the name. Lifts his head and smiles, the unholy gleam in his eye giving her a little shiver inside.
“Tick tock, Slayer,” he reminds her. “Best be gettin’ on with it. Unless you want me to send dear old Angel out to play with Mr. Sunshine.”
She needs to kill him so bad but knows she can’t risk it. Settles for a poor trade-off and calls him a pig, instead.
He only grins harder as he forsakes the perfume in favor of something plush and pink. “Oink,” he smirks, tossing Mr. Gordo into the air and catching him as he falls.
Short strides and she snatches the pig from his hand, breathing fire as she hauls back to punch him full in the face. An oof escapes him as he stumbles back into the wall, slides halfway to the floor before he catches himself. Gives her a look full of anger and glee. Something more is there, too, but she doesn’t want to know.
He straightens slowly. “That a yes?” he drawls as he rubs his chin. Eyes all sultry, voice all satin and gravel.
It makes her uneasy, how readily she notices this. So she plasters on a bright smile. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Gotta say, I’m a little surprised, with your rep and all. But as mortal enemies go? You’re turning out to be a major disappointment.”
His glare is back, and her fake smile turns real. “C’mon, Spike…haven’t you spotted the one fatal flaw in your plan? It’s pretty hard to miss.”
“Yeah?” The scarred eyebrow lifts as a sneer curls his lips. “Enlighten me then, oh She of the Great C Average. Didn’t know I was dealing with the bloody head of the class. Or whatever passes for it in what you lot laughingly call an educational system.”
And now she’s the one glaring as the jibe hits its mark, but she’s got bigger demons to slay. Time to set aside issues of nagging insecurity and national pride. Slayer’s moving in for the kill.
“You want enlightenment? Try this. Where in that pea-sized brain of yours does blackmail equal ‘freely given,’ huh? I’d take a flying leap off a cliff, Spike, before I’d ever sleep with you.”
He looks at her, insufferably smug, and her fist itches to punch the smirk right off that beautiful face.
“Never said anything about sleepin’, Slayer. As for the rest, reckon it’s mostly a matter of semantics. Seems to me this Du Lac who wrote the book was a pretty literal sort of fella. As long as you’re givin’ yourself, doesn’t really matter why. It’s all in the technicalities. And if I’m wrong and it doesn’t work, haven’t really lost anything, have I? Not like you’d agree if I asked you flat out, all polite and such.”
He steps closer and she suddenly feels trapped, even as she stands her ground. “C’mon, Slayer.” His voice is husky, more intimate and cajoling than it has any right to be. “No one has to know. Your chums are all tucked up in their beds, your Watcher isn’t watching, and I know your mum’s away for the weekend…” He offers a lazy smile as he drops this last little bomb. “And just because I’m feelin’ extra generous tonight, I’m gonna make sure you enjoy it. Call it a bonus.”
His tongue curls behind his teeth in a way that’s meant to bait or beguile. But she stands there not answering, and it’s clear he’s losing patience. Casts his eyes heavenward, though she’s certain it’s not God he’s calling upon. Considers uttering her own prayer for space to breathe, room to think.
Before she can, he gives it to her, surging away in an explosion of kinetic energy.
“Bloody hell, can we just get on with it? You’re makin’ way too much of this, you know.” He swings about to face her down. “It’s just a bargain, alright? We do what we have to do, and we both get what we want. Not like it’s—”
And he stops. Looks. Smiles. In a way that chills her to the bone. He’s seen something in her face. And now she can’t breathe again.
“Well, well, well…I’d have pegged you as an early bloomer, but looks like Slayer’s been a less-than-naughty girl.” Stepping closer, he bites his lip. The gleam in his eyes speaks to something dark and deep inside her. “I meant what I said, pet. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Know how to treat a lady. Can take care of you real good. Make it nice. Make you scream for more. Make you shiver and shake and all kinds of nasty-good things. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves, yeah?”
Yeah…
Or…no. Big reason. Every reason.
Her chin lifts to hide the desperation nibbling at her facade. “Here’s a better idea. What say we skip all that, jump straight to the dusting, and I go rescue Angel?”
“Well, yeah. You could do that. Might even find him before it’s too late. Maybe. And if not, well…” He shrugs. “You’ll have your virtue to keep you warm. I’m sure Angel would understand.”
He would, too, and the bastard knows it. Would prefer it even, to the alternative. But this isn’t about what Angel wants. Never was.
His smirk reappears as his head tilts, one hand sliding suggestively across his chest. “So what’s it to be, Slayer? Feeling lucky?”
It’s a rhetorical question at best, since he already knows her answer.
“I hate you,” she says. It makes no difference, but she feels the need to say it.
He smiles again -- that slow, dangerous grin that chills her to the bone and makes her tingle in places she doesn’t want to think about.
“Don’t go sweet talkin’ me now. Already told you, I’m yours for the night.”
Then he looks to the bed, eyebrow arching, and she has to try, even though she’s sure it’s part of the appeal.
“Not here.”
His grin merely widens.
“I mean it. It has to be somewhere else.”
“Oh, right. Think I’m gonna give you the chance to put a sodding hitch in my well-laid plans? Not bloody likely. We do it here, now, and without anymore stalling, or your hunny bunny won’t be comin’ ’round for you to make googly eyes with anymore. Moment of truth, Slayer. Game on.”
And with that, snarky Spike is gone. He’s every inch the predator. She’s every bit his prey. He moves toward her, panther on the prowl and a hint of swagger as he stalks. Her last chance is slipping away, and it scares her that she’s not sorrier to see it go.
When he stops in front of her, pride keeps her still. Or that’s what she tells herself. Strives for unaffected even as satin-clad breasts betray the lie. Stands frozen, watching the distance close between his mouth and hers.
Forgets to breathe as his face brushes past...
Then contact is made with a jolt of shocking intimacy, velvet-soft caress on naked flesh, and it takes all the power she wields not to react.
It’s the opening salvo in a battle she’s already lost.
A flurry of feather-soft kisses dance along her shoulder, spaghetti strap nudged aside to lay it bare. His cool breath on her moist skin makes her tingle. Closes her eyes to shut it out, for no other reason, but that makes it all the more visceral. Tries to open them again. Can’t seem to manage it.
His mouth travels lower, lips trailing across the swell of her breast, dipping into the deep v of the camisole. She struggles against a traitorous head that threatens to tip back, all but begging him to explore her vulnerable neck. Suddenly, he’s there without her asking and she almost groans aloud.
Then an instant later, everything stops. Eyes fly open to find him staring. Cutting deep with his intensity. Drawing blood with what he knows.
“Like that, do you? No use denying it. Can smell it on you. Taste it, too.”
He’s up against her now, close and closer still. Barely enough space between them to fit a gnat. Brings his lips to her ear, whispers something low. Makes her freeze, makes her burn. Gazes lock and she stands her ground. Meets the silent challenge with one of her own.
Hates what’s happening, even as she thrills to it. It kills her, how much she wants this now.
He breaks the standoff, lashes lowering as lips curve upward in a sly smile. Then drops to his knees and all she can see is the top of his head. Her breath catches as cool lips brush across the soft flesh of her abdomen.
His tongue delves into her navel, and she jumps. Draws wet, lazy circles on her belly till she thinks she might scream. One hand settles on her hip, while the other rests large and firm against her back. Holding her in place as she wriggles.
Then his mouth moves on, teasing her nipples with satin-covered kisses, targeting her weakness with open-mouthed accuracy. She wants to be stone. Wants to float above her need. Thinks he can’t touch her if she doesn’t feel.
But passive is not her flavor of choice and hands-off has never been her style.
There’s a flash of panic in his eyes when she pins his arms, sweeter than chocolate and headier than wine. Holds him there for a moment, trapped in the folds of the red shirt shoved off his shoulders, air thick with wanting as it pulses between them.
Then his nostrils flare and she drops her gaze so she won’t have to see the knowledge in his face. Pushes the shirt the rest of the way. Tosses it aside and attacks the black tee. Gets it off a split second before her camisole tears in half. Doesn’t care as satin scraps flutter to the floor.
Thinks she must be dreaming again when her fingers find the buttons on his jeans.
Is certain of it as his rough-tender-ravenous mouth suckles on her breast.
Stops thinking altogether when his hand plunges inside her pants.
Buries itself between her legs.
And ignites an irreversible firestorm of throbbing, aching need.
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TBC in Part 3
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Author's Note: I got this into my head one night, wondering if there was any plausible way for Season 2 Buffy and Spike to...um...get together, in an angsty kind of way of course, being Season 2. I finally had to sit down and write it before it would leave me the heck alone. This was something of an interesting experiment for me, using a little different writing style. We’ll see how that works out. ::rolls eyes::