For Chelle, Christmas Gift fic ’06.
Summary: Set in season 7, Touched. On a night when everyone is against her and Spike is her only friend, Buffy finally discovers the truth about herself and the vampire who gave her his soul.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Too many months had passed since she’d been the one that was the left-over victim to their maladjustments. Lonely months on her own being forced to adjust without a crutch, and in spite of Spike’s disappearance, she’d learned again to live. In spite of Giles running home with his tail between his legs. Despite Willow going all dark and dangerous and despite losing Tara in the most mixed up sense of justice she’d ever known. Dawn had been the one who’d dragged her out of a despair that she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, and now she was standing on the wrong side of her front door; all those who’d turned their back on her in the past had now thrown her out of her own home. And despite how much it hurt, it felt like a gift as well. It felt like an opportunity, and Buffy refused to allow the urge to be depressed and dejected ruin it.
She didn’t choose a direction consciously; she just walked. Walked until her legs ached and her head was a little less with the fuzzy than it had been when all her friends had rejected her. Walked long and far so that she could think and sort it all out before she ended up with Spike in her face and a craving to have him blot out all the ugliness. She didn’t want to surrender to that impulse. If she was to spend the night with Spike, alone, she didn’t want it to be because he was always there for her. Just once, she wanted to be there for him—and be whole while she was at it.
She should have known it was all heading toward this. She’d screwed up, and since she’d managed to get them all through one apocalypse after another with limbs and eyes intact, this time she was a failure because no one came out of the vineyard unscathed. There’d been death and it was her fault. Not The First. Not evil’s fault for existing and being a brutal enemy this go around. No, it was hers, and now they’d see just how well they’d do on their own. With Faith.
It wasn’t intentional—nor was it meant to be nasty in implication. But truly, Faith? And they thought a slayer with absolutely no experience in warding off and winning against the bigger bads would have a better chance of getting them to the other end of this alive than she did? It was a joke, and one that deserved a laugh. Faith had always wanted her life—well now she had it. Watcher, friends, house and kid sister too. But she didn’t have Spike, and if Buffy knew him half as well as she thought she did, she didn’t expect that Faith would end the night completely unbruised.
A nostalgic smile touched her lips just as Buffy found the house. A man with a shotgun tried to protect it against who-knows-what, but Buffy hadn’t the patience to explain carefully the danger he was in if he didn’t pack his things and get out now. She just snatched the gun from his loose clasp and he was out of there faster than a shot. And she was alone. Blissfully alone—though Tab-less—until Spike found her.
She knew he would. Knew it with a gut clenching certainty and she couldn’t have been happier if she’d tried. Spike would come for her—to shower her with comfort and his unspoken love. The smile dimmed from her eyes at that thought. Muzzled Spike wasn’t as pretty a sight as she’d dreamed the year before. She’d wanted nothing more than for him to close his mouth and let her lose herself on his cock. Imagine he was anyone but who he was—as long as she got lost in the sensations of pleasure and could get up and go as soon as she was done. She was cruel last year—cruel and cold and selfish in every extreme. And through it all, Spike lavished her with love, verbally and in action and it was close to making Buffy scream. He’d managed to leave Sunnydale in the nick of time, before she lost it with him completely and done the one thing neither of them would come back from. A stake in the heart would have solved his verbal diarrhoea problem once and for all, but even then a little part of her must have known. Must have suspected that Spike wasn’t completely alone in his delusional world of soft touches and intense kisses.
A happy burst of understanding blossomed in her heart and Buffy decided to look on this moment as fortuitous for her and Spike. It was a chance she’d never have found while she was surrounded day and night by busy, whining potentials that hadn’t yet mastered the art of co-habiting gracefully. It was a mirage amidst the wasteland of death and Buffy seized it as though her life depended on it. Tomorrow her friends would discover what a mistake they’d made, and by then Spike would know exactly where he stood. There was no need for General Buffy to raise her head and watch as she unfailingly managed to flay those she loved. No need for any fight at all to convey in her touch.
Being cast aside should have made her suicidal, but damn if she hadn’t already been there and clawed her way back from the edge. She refused to see this as losing the battle. It was just a shift in tactics. One could argue that the others had cast out the attitude and ego that was getting them all killed, but Buffy knew better. The egos had stayed properly bolstered within their comfy surroundings as she’d walked out the door, tears dripping down her face. But now? The silence of the night had given her time to think—to put it all in perspective. The decision had always come down to her. She may not have marched into the fight alone, but when it came to the hand-to-hand combat, it was as lonely and silent as being alone could ever be.
She was not impressed with the implicated tragedy of the night. Buffy wandered the halls of the house and peered inside each room curiously, looking for its secrets and wondering about those that had lived here. Had they touched death like she had? Did they know how many times she’d saved their lives or how many times she’d prevented the sky from turning red? How many in this town really closed their eyes to the truth and ignored the strange looking people that wandered their world? Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they just accepted the reality of this place with a determination borne out of stupidity. Maybe they knew enough to know that this time, Sunnydale wasn’t coming out unscathed.
And maybe Buffy didn’t really care.
She thought she probably should, but the overwhelming burden of not giving a damn wasn’t anywhere near as crippling as it had been in previous years. She’d died once saving the world, and while she’d prefer to not do it again unless it was absolutely necessary—if only to prevent that sick jetlagged feeling of diving toward death and waking in a coffin buried exactly six feet deep—she’d never say no to something that could save the world from sinking into a giant pit of evil.
Buffy completed the tour in under five minutes and was, quite frankly, a little disappointed. Her new sense of freedom was difficult to relish on her own. It was impossible for Spike to have made it back from whatever mission Giles had sent him on, but she really wished he’d hurry. Being left alone gave her too much time to consider things. Too much time to plan and this was really something she wanted to look natural. Spontaneous. Right.
She wanted this to be one of those nights neither of them could ever forget—and not for its end of the world qualities, either. She wanted to see if her love was the added ingredient to knocking down another house, and one stronger in its foundations than their first which had barely been standing in the first place. This one looked sturdily built, but she thought it was worth the old college try.
All she needed now was Spike.
Buffy resisted the urge to curl up into a non-responsive ball on the inviting-looking bed. She scorned the temptation to fall into despair over the way the one person who should have been her unflinching support—the one who should have had her interests under advisement as much as a parent would have—was now busily no doubt flinching repetitively in the face of Faith’s plans. Kennedy’s plans. The whiny, self-obsessed potential had very big ideas for herself and Buffy could already imagine the struggle Faith would have to retain leadership when the younger brunette tried to push herself forward.
In itself that thought boosted her spirits and Buffy wandered off to find the bathroom. It was larger and plusher compared to the ensuite attached to the main bedroom, and Buffy was more in the mood for indulgence now that she’d been able to reconcile her position to herself. Bubbles and hot water up to her chin seemed like the sure way to rid herself of all this negativity that crowded her brain. Not to mention the fool she’d be if she didn’t take advantage of a bathroom without the usual line-up of smelly post-training girls outside the door. This was a time she needed to focus, for Spike would be along and she had to be ready.
She had to be prepared for that one special moment when she told him the truth and took their trust and friendship to that higher level. When she left behind the condemnation of her friends and thought for herself what was best for her. Who was best for her.
Why he was best for her had Buffy entering the room with a smile. She absently ran through a visual catalogue of all the times he’d fought her; fought by her side. The times he’d cared for her sister and even her friends and his self-conscious efforts to woo her with invitations to violence, all while she coaxed steaming water from the taps and filled it with scented bubbles.
He was best for her because he knew her—and better than her own friends apparently did. He stood by her side—or at her back—whether she was right or wrong. He knew the meaning of the word loyalty and he gave her space to grow, to discover who she really was without disappearing and being the valiant not-so-suitor who had her best interests at heart. Spike did have her best interests at heart, but he was also smart enough to know she could find where she belonged with him still within eyesight. For that she was grateful, because it made the whole process of recognising her love for him and not having to waste time on a broken heart by working it out too late.
Buffy sank naked into the tub, every single cell soothed by the heat of the water and the heady scent of flowers rising into the steamy air. It didn’t take much to start imagining how this night would go. Her body craved Spike’s closeness and she almost wept for the tension in her muscles just the expectation of finally touching him brought. Kissing him was almost too much for her brain to contemplate and Buffy finally lost herself to the dream that so much hope wanted as a reality by the time their lids dropped in sleep.
She had no idea how much time had passed while she succumbed to the relaxing effects of water and her own imagination. Buffy felt renewed and refreshed and her body buzzed with a yearning and need to finally hold Spike in her arms. She quickly climbed out of the tub, gave her body a quick rubdown with the towel and dried her hair into straggly clumps. Wrapping the towel around her torso, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
They stood in a surprised silence outside the bathroom, Buffy wrapped in the first dry, fluffy towel she’d seen in the past few months and steam billowing out in a guilty cloud around her. She could see the scorching desire he fought to hide and then the aversion of his eyes as he first looked at the floor and then focused on her…eyes. He was trying not to look at her but see all her ‘goodies’ just the same. And Buffy was reassured. Not that she’d ever doubted he still wanted her—not after the awkwardness that was him knowing about her date with Robin. Still, any indication that things remained in the land of good was a positive sign in Buffy’s book. And this almost shy determination to uphold her virtue—despite this being the second time he’d encountered her outside a bathroom partially dressed—was actually endearing. She wanted to hate this souled version of the vampire that she’d first fallen for when he was rough and crude and knew no different. But she couldn’t, because even though this Spike was heavily leashed by the demons inside his own head—if not of his body—it was still Spike and if she hadn’t spent most of last year with her eyes and heart closed, she would have seen snippets of his softer side then. What she’d witnessed had been through a hazy shroud of resurrection blues, and while she could laugh about it now—well, that might be pushing it just a little—it had taken away a year of her life that she’d shared with the vampire. She wanted to take it back, to start again, and somehow show him that it wasn’t all bad like she’d claimed. Like she’d believed so whole-heartedly. That she could and did see the good in him and that now—right when she needed him most—he was drowning in it. That Giles and the others still couldn’t see it amazed her, but didn’t surprise her. Not that it mattered. Not anymore.
The first true smile of happiness in his presence she’d ever allowed herself to express stretched her lips and her eyes dazzled. Spike was saying stuff and Buffy couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t hear anything over the crazy thumping rhythm of her heart and the blood pounding in her ears. She saw his gulp of courage and the dimming of his eyes as he resigned himself the self-instilled ‘hands-off’ rule, then the return of the jubilant sparkle as he told her what he’d found out. Snippets circulated in her brain but all Buffy could think of was how gorgeous he was, how handsome in that beat-up old leather coat he’d been dragging around for thirty years or more. Its origins mattered so little to her now, and even though it was odd and that she should side more with her fallen sister, she found it so easy to disassociate Spike with his past deeds and instead enjoy the now that he could offer her.
Enjoy the man he’d struggled to become for her.
In the middle of something about Caleb and that the insanely dim preacher was hiding something from her—because ‘duh’; like she hadn’t figured that one out yet—Buffy crept forward, her eyes holding his and shining with all that she was ready to hand over to him, and wound her arms around his neck. His body rebelled but she pushed in closer, one hand creeping up the back of his head to push his face down level with hers and then she had him, her lips brushing softly against his before she swept by them again, lingering longer to taste the bottom lip. As his mouth opened to object in words, Buffy slipped her tongue against the sensitive flesh and met his, groaning at finally meeting again after such a long separation. She breathed him in as eyes drifted closed and she tasted him. Tasted lips, breath, tongue, teeth and melted at each second she shared with him.
Spike was involved—for breathtaking seconds he swept her away with his intense exploration. The way he struck against her tongue and held her tight to his body, the way he moved his mouth to suck the very life from her, the way he moved his lips to renew the lust—to remember the love he’d drowned them both in the year before.
And in one crushing second, it was gone. Torn away from her and thrust into the nothingness that surrounded her. Spike stood too far away for her to reconcile in her mind, and his face held such a look of shame and horror that Buffy’s blood turned instantly icy.
“Pet? Just get dressed, yeah? Then we’ll talk.”
It was horrible. Suddenly being almost naked felt terrifying and Buffy rushed back into the bathroom, trying not to slam the door shut while she gasped for breath and forced the threatening tears away.
How had she read it all so wrong? Or maybe she hadn’t but she’d managed to finally turn him off with all her General Buffy bossiness. Maybe showing she was able to go on a date with the son of a slayer that Spike now felt guilt for was too much for him to cope with. Or maybe she was just ugly or—what really hurt—he’d met someone else.
The urge to lock herself in the bathroom became overwhelming and Buffy gave into it, clicking the lock as quietly as she could and then stepping back away, staring at the handle in case it jumped off and bit her. Not that it could really stop him if he wanted to come in—though Buffy was pretty sure he didn’t want to. But it was enough to indicate to him that she needed him out of her space for a while—her heart hurt and the slayer part of her was hiding back behind the woman that had been snubbed—snubbed by the one man that she wanted to stand beside her.
Hands shaking, Buffy backed further away from the door and bumped her hip against the sink. Gulping down the emerging sobs, she scrambled for her icky clothes and dragged them back on, feeling so much better with her body fully covered. As so many of her vulnerabilities became hidden by an armour of cloth.
Her world felt like it was crumbling before her eyes and every feeling of abandonment and isolation she’d been bombarded with when first kicked out of her home came back and slammed her in the gut. Crippling pain had her falling to her knees and Buffy leaned forward, gasping for breath with hands braced on the cold tile floor.
Spike didn’t want her.
It didn’t seem possible and yet there was nothing about the truth she could deny. She wasn’t Denial Girl anymore. That was so last year and she refused to go to the end of the world with UST on her conscience. With unresolved love. Except apparently there wasn’t. No unresolved tension of the sexual kind at all. How could she have read him so wrong? And more importantly, how could she ever look him in the face again?
Her lips trembled and she cursed the lack of control she had over her emotions now. There was nowhere for her to go—no place further she could run. Once upon a time there’d been Angel, a souled vampire with the appearance of having her every need covered, but since knowing Spike and realising what it meant to have someone really care for her—to really have her back no matter what the situation, Buffy realised there was much more out in the world than Angel. There was Spike, and now she felt so humiliated that she couldn’t bear him to see her.
What choice did she have? There was a war going on in her town, one she couldn’t escape from forever, and Spike bore news of the positive variety and she’d be a fool to let a breaking heart interfere with reality. With winning.
Washing her face and taking deep breaths to try and achieve some small measure of calm, Buffy stared down the back of the bathroom door and tried to imagine how this fight would go without the surety of Spike’s heart. Oh, she knew he’d be there to the end, that he’d fight for good and do all and give all that he had to save the world. But somehow, the loss of the one thing she’d always been sure of struck her dumb. Banished her to a place of uncertainty and fear without any clear path of escape. The one thing she thought she could count on was no longer there, waiting patiently for her to decide on the moment she could take it up with both hands. The one thing she now knew she wanted more than the full acceptance of those she’d left behind under her roof.
Her friends. Her family. Her watcher. Their loss had been painful, but she was used to them turning their back on her at one time or another. But Spike never had. He’d always looked at her with those shining deep blue eyes nearly begging her for a kind word—that crumb of hope that her heart might one day miraculously melt in his direction and he could have just a little piece of her love. Now that she was ready to offer him a big honking chunk—pretty much the whole cake if she was fully realising the depth of this hurt—he was pushing her away. Too late. She was always too late with the decisions, with the understanding. Too late for love.
Buffy quietly left the bathroom, her actions slow and careful as she made her way to the bedroom. This wasn’t where he was—she could feel the strong signature of his demon wandering around the house and she could tell he was restless. Anxious.
She was in no hurry to see his eyes cleansed of all emotion toward her. The power of his soul had long been reflected in that cool penetrating gaze that had more often than reasonable rested on her. She’d embarrassed them both now with her impetuous need and now they were probably identically cagey and scared of confrontation.
Buffy crept toward the bed and crawled up the middle, quickly climbing under the covers so she could beg solemnly for sleep. Her body crumpled and she felt so incredibly small as every single word said to her in the night struck her with a force of a thousand swords. Dawn asking her to leave. Giles and her friends losing faith in her ability to lead. Spike falling out of love with her. She truly was alone and it was an existence far from worth living.
She felt Spike in the doorway before she heard him. Just one more occasion she could think of to despise vampire stealth. There was no being stoic in the face of more rejection—she’d had pretty well as much as one person deserved to receive in just one night and the tears were now impossible to hold back. It really was over and she had nothing left—no one left on her side to get her back through this cloud of apathetic carelessness to whether she lived or died. Of whether she was victorious this fight or not. No longer any hope that Faith would fail, just gratitude that the criticisms would now fall on her rather than Buffy herself.
“I came to tell you I found something. You were right, Buffy. Caleb is hiding something, and I think you’re right about it being at the vineyard.”
His voice had lost some of the earlier excitement, but even making sense of the words now did nothing for her enthusiasm. Now she just focused on the hesitation and the fact that he hadn’t set foot over the room’s threshold.
“It’s over, Spike. Go and tell it to Faith. She’s the leader now.” She couldn’t raise her head, feeling so lethargic and despondent that it was all she could do to move her jaw to speak.
“Bollocks.” A flash of anger as he finally entered the room and stood over her and yet Buffy could feel nothing but misery creep up and rest heavily on her shoulders. “That girl can’t lead. Not like you can.” He paused, and then he was sitting on the bed and touching her arm, sincerity and belief laden in the hushed tone of his voice. “Like I know you can.”
“Not anymore,” she replied stubbornly, almost feeling joyous at his annoyed hiss.
“You were their leader, and you still are. This isn't something you gave up, it's something they took.”
She’d never wanted to be the leader. Not really, but when it had been taken away it had felt like her insides had been torn out along with the friendly defection.
“And the difference is?” Whatever it was, it had one result. She was gone, banished, now tarnished with their distrust and she wasn’t sure she even cared anymore how they could do it to her. What was one more person she loved turning their back on her? Not that she could put the potentials or Faith into that line up—or even Robin Wood or Anya or Andrew…so okay, there were plenty of people there she didn’t even care about who had rejected her. Buffy couldn’t really blame them. If she’d been in their shoes and had just witnessed a really big catastrophe like that, she’d probably want to mutiny too. But Spike—she so didn’t need this on top of everything. This night was meant to be the opportunity she’d been afraid would never come along, the night she could finally join her body and soul with his and tell him how she really felt. It wasn’t meant to be a night where everything was too late. She’d started out making it a positive thing to be kicked out of home, only to come crashing down to earth with a thump not so unfamiliar.
He’d waited for her to think her negative thoughts, to wipe away a tear or two, and then he told her, “We can take it back.”
And she really wanted to.
If she had just one wish, she’d take everything back to a time where things made sense. Or relatively anyway. She’d take everything back to a night where she’d faced Spike down in the doorway from the height of the stairs and saw him for the warrior of light he was trying to be. He’d thought he was doing it for her, so that she’d feel something for him and give him that moment at the end, when Dawn was safe. She’d wanted to kiss him so badly that night—the night she’d died. Wanted to know just once if the feelings he’d awoken when they’d been under Willow’s spell had been real.
But she didn’t have a wish. She didn’t have anything but a wrecked night of losses and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep. She didn’t want to take it back. Didn’t want to do this exhausting tête-à-tête that got her nowhere but more tired. Didn’t want to string words together that reminded her of the bad times with Spike. She just wanted to sleep, to forget the banter. To forget her failures.
It was the mention of casualties that started it. The moment when the air became electrified and her heart began a new beat. His voice, so deep and meaningful, told her the realities of her position and Buffy had no choice but to acknowledge it—not that she ever took the singular choice. She just made up her own, jumping in with excuses for why she was the way she was. Making excuses why she was too late in showing him her heart. Making excuses for why she’d been unattainable to him for an entire year of being attained.
And then the game changed, breath caught in her throat as tears clogged and made it ache painfully. Oh God he was beautiful, and he was before her, kneeling and declaring things that she’d believed were gone.
“You listen to me.” His eyes were alive and sparkling and Buffy was completely captivated. “I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I prefer you didn't. I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain. So I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong bloody calls.” Intently searching, their eyes connected and Buffy saw a glimpse of Heaven in the clear blue gaze and it made her so homesick she wanted to crawl right into him before he even finished what he wanted to say. She once again saw his soul and was humbled. “A hundred plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of: you.”
It was too much, the emotion that clawed up her throat and made her nose runny. There was nothing more she regretted than the automatic flinch when he touched her face, and Buffy hoped with all her heart that the look she gave him betrayed how sorry she was and how much she wanted him to touch her again.
“Hey, look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say, "I love you," it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me.” He softened even more when the first of her tears slid a sad, smooth path down her cheek. “I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy.”
Totally speechless, Buffy listened to the rapid beat of her heart and decided it was now or never. He said he loved her, right this minute. There was no past tense, no qualifiers that said he could take it back if she pushed too hard and too fast. So she finally took his hand and marvelled at how they trembled at each other’s touch. Lifting it she placed his palm against her breast and smiled a watery smile.
“My heart beats for you. I’m not so good with the words like you,” she admitted, chewing on her lip nervously. “But I think I need to give it a try. You are my strength. These past years you’ve been at my back too many steps of the way to count and I’ve grown to like you there. The thought of losing you makes me feel nauseous and the thought of dying before telling you how everything has changed for me…well, it’s unacceptable. I’ve learned tonight who my real strength is, and it’s not my friends or my watcher, it’s not my family or even being the Slayer. It’s you and the way that you love me. It’s you, Spike, and I think in this crazy mixed up world that it always has been. My heart beats for you and it’s yours if you still want it.”
Buffy forgot to breathe as she watched him process the words, watched each point filter through his guard and make an impact in his head. But still he was hesitant and the hopefulness he looked at her with almost made her cry her eyes out with relief.
“What are you saying?” He tilted his head to the side, his hands clenched into the bedding at her hips in a betraying action of his tension and Buffy felt the tiny release of the first string around her heart. There was nowhere left to go but forward now, so with a deep breath for courage and an internal demand to control her shaking, Buffy formulated the words in her head and repeated them to herself several times before testing them on air.
“I love you,” she breathed out in a rush. “What they did doesn’t matter to me now. All that does is that I love you and how you feel about that. If I’m too late…” Whoever said that taking risks was a good thing needed to take a few on the Hellmouth for some added perspective.
“You mean it?” The blossoming look of happiness stilled and he restrained himself from standing and seizing her in his arms, one qualifying question trembling from his lips. “How exactly do you love me? As a friend? A soldier of war? A vampire with a soul with a penchant for saving damsels in distress?”
If it weren’t so serious she’d laugh. Instead Buffy felt her gut clench in anticipation, felt her body loosen in need and her heart flutter in full speed ahead, explosive love for the vamp in front of her.
“I love you as a lover. As the man who holds my heart and keeps it safe from harm. I love you as the moon does the stars and the sun kisses the earth. I love you as my mate through life.” A deep breath. “I love you in the way of getting naked and really, really groiny. Can we do that now?” Buffy adopted her famous pout for good measure, knowing full well she could make him do anything when she hit him with the Summers pout.
“Bloody hell, woman. You should warn a bloke when you’re going to get all bad with the words. A vamp can’t take this much emotional strain.” He smiled, naked emotion showing how vulnerable to her he always was.
And still she waited, nervously clenching and unclenching her fists as she waited for something to change. For Spike to take her words and take some action one way or the other. As the silence dragged, Buffy prepared for the view of his back as he took flight and rejected her, only to cry in relief as his mouth finally captured hers in a hungry kiss that spoke of centuries of wanting.
“I’ll be strong for you, Buffy. I’ll be anything you want me to be.” His low, husky voice made promises Buffy was impatient to cash in on and she drew him closer to situate between her knees.
“I just want you to be you. You’re everything just as you are.” And then the words stemmed their flow as they lost the ability to think in a comprehensible way.
For months she’d given her body over to a vampire she should never have found reason to trust, and yet she could not remember one occasion where she’d taken pleasure in tasting him. She’d been so selfish in striving for her satisfaction each and every time she’d been with him and this time she wanted him to know it was different. That she was different and felt so much more for him than she was willing to before.
Breaking reluctantly away from the kiss, Buffy let her lips trail across his cheekbone and passed his ear down his neck. His skin tasted divine and Buffy adored the hiss that escaped his lips as she rediscovered places she should already know of by heart. In a way she was glad, because this renewal meant the beginning in so many ways. There was no point wishing she’d discovered this love long ago or that this would be their first time moving against each other. They had history and Buffy had to accept it—just like she’d accepted so much of her past. That time was over and this was a fresh beginning.
Losing herself amidst the haze of desire, Buffy pushed Spike’s duster down his arms and let it puddle across his legs. She took his hand and indicated for him to stand, feeling drugged as she also found her wobbly feet and then shuffled back onto the bed, leading him to her. Eyes darkening with passion, Buffy harkened back to the one night she felt like she’d been connecting to him finally but had been too vulnerable to trust it for what it was.
“Tell me you love me,” she implored, no less desperate now than she was the night Riley had swooped back into town with his army-issue wife.
Spike looked up in surprise, the familiarity of the phrase making his eyes glisten with too long repressed emotion. “I love you.”
“Tell me you need me,” she whispered against his mouth, ready for the moment when she would finally belong to him.
“I always need you. In point of fact—” And this time she felt it in her bones, all the levels of truth he’d meant to convey the last time. They collapsed into another kiss, hands seeking desperately to find skin or be lost in curls. Buffy pushed Spike back on the bed and crawled over him, becoming quickly overwhelmed in the pleasure of making love to the man who was her everything. Busy fingers delved under the hem of his tee and she sighed into his mouth at finally discovering skin.
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t help the words that emotion squeezed out of her, needing him to know that she took at least partial blame for the previous year.
He looked at her in amazement, shook his head and then seized her lips in a brutal kiss. “Silly girl. We’re beyond that now, Buffy. Beyond everything. I know how much courage it took for you to admit you feel anything for me at all. Let’s just glory in the moment, yeah?”
Buffy nodded gratefully, running a finger along his cheek and then nose, so grateful that she’d wised up and took that definitive step to get her what she wanted. Why she’d turned her back on him for so long, denied her own feelings in favour of keeping with the Buffy her friends had thought her to be was anyone’s guess. When it came down to it, she couldn’t be enough Buffy, even for them. They hadn’t sent her packing because of a love affair with the undead. They hadn’t kicked her out because of a second glance at the vampire they loved to hate. They’d turned their backs on her because of fear and a lack of trust. She could understand it—but she couldn’t forgive it, and as thus, nothing they could say could sway her from this. From finally accepting love into the emptiness that was her life.
She liked it when his weight rested over her, pressing her hard against his body and making the bed dip shallowly beneath them. It was easy to pull the black tee over his head and Buffy nearly stopped breathing when he carefully removed her white mesh top and nosed his way around her bra before unfastening it and letting it drop to the floor beside him. There was a marked lack of violence and she was pleased. There was enough anger and hatred around them without devoting their reunion to it as well.
The rough pad of his fingertips scraped under the waistband of her pants and Buffy dissolved into continuous shivers, squeezing her eyes closed as she sucked in a gasping breath. Her own fingers helped with the button and then she was lost in the bliss of sensation. Spike’s lips touched her everywhere, sometimes lingering and teasing until she was bucking and shaking with need. Her pants disappeared down her legs and then the rasp of stiff hair tickled between her thighs.
Her hips bucked up into his face as a long, cool tongue flattened and dragged up her slit, slowing at her clit and tickling it mercilessly. Buffy clenched two handfuls of the bed linens and gave in to the onslaught of searing lust. All the heady moments of bliss when she’d lost herself in his oral talents rushing in on her too fast for her to process and Buffy felt herself melting as Spike slid his tongue sensually about her folds, sucking and licking until she was drenched in their mingling liquids. Her body felt clammy and tight, out of control, and there was absolutely no desire to prevent anything—to stop anything now that it had begun.
Spike milked her clit with his mouth, sucking voraciously as he introduced his fingers and poked inside her warm haven. It was just the start of feeling full and complete, but it was a beginning that blew her mind. His teeth scraped against the swollen nub and there was no more resistance left in her; Buffy succumbed to a body wracking explosion of pleasure that completely sizzled her senses and she lay back lax and gasping.
But she was far from finished.
Coaxing Spike up her body with a crook of her finger, Buffy allowed the tangy kiss before twisting hard so that Spike lay beneath her. He moaned as she started depositing gentle biting kisses against his swollen lips and then became gradually rougher as she made her way to his neck and naked chest. The jeans were no obstacle for her, not when her hands were desperate to mould the shape of his beautiful cock once more. Not when she hungered to taste and tease that appendage into bursting submission.
“Buffy!”
The slayer grinned evilly as her teeth nibbled a path around sensitive nipples and then she licked an enthusiastic trail down rock hard abs. One hand was already cupping his balls and she squeezed them as her lips barely brushed down the length of his cock, relishing a charge of feminine delight when his hips rocked against the urge to slam his girth between her lips, instead allowing her to take her sweet, torturous time.
It wasn’t the kind of night that leant toward prolonging the sexual agony, though, and Buffy parted her lips and allowed him to slide inside her mouth, moaning in relief as she stretched her lips around him. She would never have thought this was the sign—the one that made her truly believe she’d really opened her mouth and taken charge of her love life. She’d felt so powerful when she’d first learnt how to give pleasure this way. Riley had been encouraging and she’d enjoyed the trip, but it wasn’t one that delivered her to any kind of destination that had a meaning. Spike taught her all kinds of tricks, including how to hold him in the depths of her throat without gagging and how to swallow around him in a way that would have him shooting off in barely a minute. And when they reached the end, he’d always pull her into his arms and reassert the love that always bubbled freely from him. And Buffy felt complete. It was never the end of their sexual escapades for the night, but somehow knowing she could do this for him made her feel so much achievement that she should have worked out her feelings so much sooner.
She sucked him now, leaving the deep-throating for the finale when she was sure he couldn’t take anymore. When she couldn’t take anymore. She was the Slayer and her patience was finite. She’d suck and lick him until her pussy throbbed and itched for the feel of him there and then she’d ravish him till he blew. She was ever grateful for vampire stamina because she got to enjoy a multitude of pleasure that normal women couldn’t possibly, and for once Buffy saw why she was so drawn to the monster she’d once pegged for dust.
Her body was becoming cold while she was suspended over his cock and Buffy decided it was time to move things along. She didn’t even wait for him to come like she’d always do; this time she slid up his body, sighing at the feel of his cool flesh against hers and becoming even more excited as her hardened nipples scraped against his skin. His cock rubbed a groove in her belly as she rocked against him, her mouth zeroing in on his and renewing the heat of their earlier kisses. It was a heady experience, this seduction and she could see in startling clarity how she had become an addiction to him, and he to her. There hadn’t been loathing between them for a while, so that emotion hadn’t fuelled their ill-fated relationship. There was too much silent respect and gratitude for Buffy to feel anything so strong toward Spike, and now she just wished she’d used her voice more to resolve issues between them rather than the balm of her flesh.
Spike whimpered against her mouth as Buffy finally angled herself up and gently allowed the tip of his cock to slip between her vaginal lips before descending at a deliberately slow pace. He tore his mouth away and groaned in tortured bliss as she scorched him with her wet heat all the way down. He didn’t lose voice until he was as far inside as was possible, but instead emitted some other strangled cry as she started the rhythm that got her heart pounding hard.
“Spike? Look at me.” The sweat broke out and made her skin glisten and Buffy had never felt so happy in her life. Or thought she hadn’t until Spike caught her in his gaze and lavished her with his awe-filled expression.
“Is this real?” he asked, his voice broken with harsh gasps.
Tears gathered in her eyes but she nodded. Oh yeah, this was real. And so had everything else ever shared between them, however much she’d denied it.
“This is real. It’s us.” And she claimed his lips once again, sliding her tongue into his mouth as she massaged his cock with pulsing internal muscles. The release was slow and mutual, something that came upon them in the quiet of their joining. Buffy wept and surrendered to his arms, her arms holding what was dearest to her now that she’d been separated from all she’d previously treasured. The truth was startling in its lack of complexity and Buffy fell asleep in her lover’s embrace, happy.
~ * ~ * ~ *
They’d talked through the night and Spike had filled her in on what he and Andrew had learned, and as he awoke with his arms empty and flesh cold, he began to curse his stupidity. He’d been handed all his dreams on a platter and as soon as the sun began its daily warming of the earth, she’d gone, whisked away with her virtue—not so much fluttering now as probably wrapped in a guilty and bruised package. He was just about to start cursing her cruelty and bugger off for good when he spied the letter on her pillow. He’d been around for a long time and had seen his fair share of folded notes, but this was the first time he’d experienced bowel-clenching fear from staring at a piece of paper.
His hand shook as he reached for it and tears pricked at his eyes as his fears were calmed. She’d said it again, those words that no one had really awarded him before and which meant so much to a romantic wanker like him. She’d gone to retrieve the weapon and then she was taking back her house—her little army—and Spike grinned as he imagined her using brutal and paralysing force to do it.
The nasty sunlight made returning to her just yet impossible, but for the first time since he’d known the Slayer, Spike felt surer of her and her intentions than he ever had. He could wait, get a little kip, and then he’d return and sweep her up in his arms. If she let him kiss her in front of her friends he’d know for sure she meant all of it. That last night hadn’t been the search for cold comfort he’d first thought she was after. That it really was the beginning of a new chapter for them.
And he could wait a few hours before he read more of the book.
Good books were worth the wait.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
She was biding time.
Her home was now a hospital and her bed belonged to Faith. Everyone looked at her guiltily and Amanda’s assurances that they were being punished made Buffy blink. She kind of agreed in a way. They were being punished. For not having the strength to believe in the hard decisions. For not knowing that division was exactly what The First wanted to conquer their pathetic little army.
The inner circle was busy researching her new scythe and Buffy waited for Spike. Her blood sang a song of mourning for having left him behind, but she’d had little choice. She’d watched him sleep and fell a little bit more in love at the innocence she could easily see in him now. The soul made him different—she couldn’t deny that, but it wasn’t what tipped her decision in how he made her feel. The pall of gloom had finally lifted with the help of world end-age and Buffy was just grateful that Spike was still here for her to see clearly once the chance had occurred.
He came in as she descended the stairs, his ‘Honey, I’m home’ making her rattle with excitement and relief. She didn’t need to be blind to see that the defensiveness had crept back into his eyes and he didn’t quite trust her, despite the night they’d shared. Despite the words that she had pressed from her lips to his. She couldn’t allow that uncertainty or rejection to pass into the now. There was too much he was responsible for: her finding the scythe, her being there to save Faith and the girls from the ubervamps, for having the strength to come home and not scream and demand apologies from people who would never see that they needed to give one. Everyone in that house owed Spike their life and Buffy was sick of how they shoved him to the sidelines and withheld all the credit he deserved.
She had no choice. Last night had changed things and today was her chance to prove that it meant something. That it meant everything.
Letting the scythe drop to her side, Buffy took that one necessary step closer to him, reached out to curl her fingers in his hair and brought his lips down to hers. His kiss was heady, lips caressing her sanity gently away and making her deaf to the horrified coughing fit behind her. Dawn’s loud objections shrivelled to nothing as Buffy renewed her dependence on his mouth and she whimpered in abandoned pleasure as he gradually pulled away.
His eyes were filled with respectful awe and Buffy shook with happiness. She’d done something right—made his faith in her rock solid. His hand squeezed her hip and Buffy’s lower regions tightened in anticipation. They’d shared the night of their lives together, creating something so strong and emotional that Buffy wondered if all lovers had moments like that, or if she and Spike were unique.
“That was disgusting. Is that what you do? One weak moment and you’re back with the evil undead?” Dawn’s strident voice tore a strip or two off her confidence, but one look into the dejected eyes of her lover and she stood taller, back straighter as she turned to look up at her raging sister.
“Who had a weak moment, Dawn? It wasn’t me. Spike made me—makes me—strong and you saw what I brought home because of it. Besides, there is no evil undead here. Get over it.” Buffy took Spike’s hand and lead him through the kitchen and out onto the porch. It felt good, freeing to not care what they thought. To love in reckless abandon and know she was right to do so.
“You sure that was wise, pet? You’re only just back in the fold, and the Bit’s a feisty one when she’s seeing things a certain way.”
Buffy couldn’t help the small flash of uncertainty—it was ingrained from years of worrying what others thought and only loving where there were conditions already met: a vampire with a soul, and a human with super strength and knowledge of her world.
“Spike, the only one who has ever stood by me without question, the only one who hasn’t made decisions for me for my own good, is you. I think I’m old enough to see the world as it really is, and the clearest picture around me is you. I don’t want to be self-conscious about how I feel. If they don’t like watching me show you what you mean to me, they can leave.” She stopped and a beatific smile graced her lips. “It is my house, after all.”
And he accepted that. They had a war going on around them with the defence dropping like flies, and if that didn’t take precedence over Buffy’s love life, then the lot deserved to die.
“Fair enough,” he said with a bounce and a wicked glint in his eye. “So, about the pretty new weapon. Got any missions we should be off on to learn more about it?”
Buffy batted her eyelashes and allowed her gleaming happiness at being part of someone else’s life bathe her in an exceptional glow.
“Funny you should mention that—”
The End
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is a gift fic written especially for Chelle. I hope you like it!
Look out for more gift fics over the next month! ROFL.
Also, an invitation. Come along and find old favourites and hard to find fics as well as catch updates of new fics at a brand spanking new archive, Elysian Fields.
Elysian Fields
Look out for more gift fics over the next month! ROFL.
Also, an invitation. Come along and find old favourites and hard to find fics as well as catch updates of new fics at a brand spanking new archive, Elysian Fields.
Elysian Fields