A/N Okay people, this is it, the one...the chapter that all the previous chapters have been working toward, so I am way beyond eager to hear what you all think.
Also, Schehrezarde has been a beautiful person and nominated me at Vampires Kiss awards. If you vote for me, I certainly won't hate you.
Holly's new one, Grey Gardens of Shadowed Rapture, is majorly deserving of a read. Don't let the West Wing thing fool you, it is wonderfully spuffy and extremely funny. Nobody would regret it.
Also, Schehrezarde...Dark Gift...another great WIP....
Again...Please feed me with positive (or even negative if so inclined) praise.
Chapter Twenty-Two
That Oz would instruct Devon to pack up all his things came as a big surprise to the group. For Willow, it was that final nail that destroyed her hopes. Overwhelmed by her grief, she found no place to relocate herself: nothing that could offer any relief, even momentarily, and she began to resent her friends. She dipped into the alcoholic solution, only to find condemnation and intolerance from best buddy Xander and an overprotective Buffy. So, no fun was to be had in that quarter. Her trouble lay in the pain, the physical tearing of something from her body.
“I feel like I’ve been split down the centre and half of me is gone.” She sat on her bed that night, her face a mess from too many tears, and begged Buffy to understand. It wasn’t that she didn’t comprehend Willow’s experience-can we all say Angel?-but Willow was lost in a place that had no time for those who weren’t mourning right along side of her.
As Buffy slept, Willow crept from her bed, collected her magical paraphernalia and set up a circle in the dorm bathroom. The floor was chilled but her pain was colder, and truly the rush of flame from the evenly spaced candles around the circle offered very little distraction. She thought ‘So mote it be’ would be the magical incantation, the one that would eradicate her suffering, rid her heart of its drama, and return her to an even keel. She went back to bed with high hopes for an easier tomorrow.
But it wasn’t. Several attempts to mend her broken heart ended in confusion and a rising bitterness regarding her capabilities as a witch. And, to top things off, Giles’s unusual visit suggested that she was incompetent and unreliable to boot. Nobody cut her any slack. Everyone only cared about her suffering as long as it was convenient for them. During her rant at Giles, trying to show him that she just needed time- that she shouldn’t be punished for experiencing human frailty-she informed him in a fit of pique that when it came to her hurt, he just couldn’t see. He was meant to be her honorary father figure and he was giving her a hard time about a truth spell? If she was so late why couldn’t he just get the ingredients and do it himself? As she worked herself up more and more she didn’t notice Giles making a hesitant exit due to his dimming view.
Next she pleaded with Buffy for a girls night in, being all grievy, but Buffy had to once again rush off to do her duty as long as it meant extra snuggly time with Spike and her resentment grew some more.
While Buffy and Spike wandered around trying to find the entrances to the Initiative- and hey, she knew that it was important, just not right this minute- Willow tried to find solace in her oldest friend, Xander. She found him apathetic, his words holding a distinct lack of comfort. Even worse, he defended Buffy in being out with Spike, citing the urgency to take Adam out before he became active. And she knew that he was right, but the bitterness of Buffy’s desertion clouded her mind and all she saw was a girl who was falling in love while she was being torn away from hers. As far as she was concerned, Buffy and Spike should just get married and live happily ever after, like all good fairytales. Why should they care that her own fairytale was being decimated?
Xander’s sympathy had all but dried up by then, hating any mention of Buffy and Spike in the same sentence. His holier than thou attitude against Spike was getting to her, a little loyalty to the burgeoning relationship that was making Buffy so happy still within her, and her resentment had her recalling all Xander’s luck with demon dates. Finally, having had enough of all of them, she told him spitefully that he was a demon magnet, and left. As she contemplated dorm room wallowing as opposed to another splash at drowning her sorrows, with perhaps a little more lite and a little less beer, she had no inkling of the devastation a few poorly chosen words had inflicted on her friends. Well, at least not until she was abducted by D’Hoffryn and received an offer to be made a demon. Which she contemplated for a couple of seconds, because hey, who wouldn’t be tempted by all that power? She had been warned to be wary of her future attraction to black magic, however, and so found herself sent back with the determination to turn her careless will around.
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“Hey, Giles. We found an air vent and another entry in the graveyard.”
Buffy gave her report of the night, her smile to the blond vampire by her side, and only turned to face him when he dropped a tumbler of scotch on the floor. She was startled to see that he didn’t even look at the glass and the billowing stain on his carpet, instead his gaze fixed at the bare wall.
“Giles? Are you alright?”
“I rather think not.” He replied in an unsteady voice. “I think, in fact, that I’m, somewhat, blind.”
The hush in the room was disquieting before the first burst of denial.
“What do you mean blind? Watcher? You mean your pissed?” Spike looked around for the bottle of scotch, determined to see how much his former landlord had imbibed, when he was stopped by the harsh rebuttal.
“No, you bloody fool. I’m blind. I can’t see a thing.”
Buffy and Spike stood stunned, looking to each other for an explanation to this strange moment. They had been absent for the event of his rapid onset of vision impairment and were at a loss as to how to counteract it.
“Do you know how it ‘appened, Rupert?”
“I think it must be some form of spell…” he stopped on hearing Spike’s heavy step toward his books, and wondered at the frantic turning of pages.
“What you’ll need is a general reversal spell.”
They discovered that certain ingredients were needed and left Giles to fend for himself, with a replenished glass of scotch, while they headed out for the Magic Shop. They made quick time but unfortunately some of the ingredients were unavailable. They left the shop, hand in hand, their concern about the situation escalating.
Then Buffy seemed compelled to stop in front of a store window looking at a wedding dress, and Spike was hit with an abrupt need to solidify their new tenderness toward each other. He ran his fingers over a small ruby ring in his duster pocket, one of the very few things he had taken from his home on being turned, and wondered how he could give it to Buffy and have her see it for the promise that he wanted to give. He took her hand and led her to a bench along the street and sat her down, him crouching down on his haunches in front of her. Taking the ring from his pocket he held it low, staring at it for a short moment before raising his eyes to hers. He was bemused to find hers shimmering, and was gladdened that he could cause her these tears of happiness.
Before he could open his mouth and utter the words of friendship, loyalty and hope that he had been planning for days, something better inspired him and he asked her to be his wife. It hadn’t been his first plan but every time he had closed his eyes lately he saw images of the harshness that had been their future, and he felt raw terror that it would be repeated and he’d lose her all over again. With a sense of urgency he felt a need to assure her once and for all that he was hers, and he wanted her to be his, bound for all time in something more sacred than just a verbal promise.
Her eyes sparkled as she gripped his hand, a few tears escaping her rapidly blinking eyes to make watery paths down her cheeks. Her bottom lip wobbled and she brought one hand up to cover her mouth.
“Do you mean it?” she asked in a small, hopeful voice, and he swore he felt his heart beat just once as a defining stamp of approval to his decision.
He nodded and offered her the ring, the stone glittering under the streetlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to him.
He knew she wanted to ask him where he got it, but probably didn’t want to spoil the moment in case he had stolen it or it had once belonged to Dru. Both possibilities were far off the mark, and he gently told her it had belonged to his mother.
With no hesitation she held out her left hand and he placed the ring on her finger, admiring its perfect fit and her tanned, small hands. In silent agreement they stood and wandered toward his place, never noticing the stunned look on Riley’s face, who had been standing across the street.
Over the past few days Buffy had come to a kind of truce with Angel’s old place. She and Spike had gone out of their way to redecorate, even replacing the boring bed with something slightly more lavish and lush. Satin sheets and brocade coverings lent a Middle Eastern, erotic flavour that made Buffy’s blood heat each time she glanced at it. Delving into memory Buffy knew that it resembled a little of what Spike’s bedroom in the crypt would have been like, had they proceeded along that path. Buffy liked it. They had painted, taken out most of Angel’s remaining furnishings and replaced it with things more suited to the blond vampire, with a little splash of Slayer. And Buffy liked it. It was fast becoming her home away from dorm.
As if they had discussed it already and agreed upon the path, they headed nervously to the bed and stopped.
“Buffy.” His voice was husky, taken over by emotion and desire as he lost himself in the glimmering jade pools of her eyes. He began to slip and drown before remembering, and his body shuddered to think of what he now had in his life. “You are the most beautiful woman I know. There are no words powerful enough for me to tell you how much you mean to me, or how much I want to show you. You inspire me to do good, to be better. You open my heart to sing and celebrate life rather than destroying it. You are forever my light, my one shining hope. I love you with all that I am, with all that I can be, and all that I will be. I sought my soul for you, Buffy. I belong to you.”
Without waiting for any response he pressed his lips to hers and she sighed in complete acceptance that she was absolutely where she belonged. Without conscious thought her hands combed through his hair and held his head still, not allowing his lips to depart from her even slightly. Her tongue was lost within his mouth as he sucked on it, allowing the course slide of it to push out goosebumps on her skin. Nibbles on her lips caused her to shiver and she fell again under a wave of intense sensation that had her lose her heart entirely. Even when they finally pulled away his lips rested against hers, her warm, panting breaths a puff against his mouth.
She couldn’t believe it. He had asked her to marry him. She could feel the new weight of the ring on her finger and she couldn’t help but begin to cry at the beauty of this experience. While his arms held her tight, she buried her head in his chest and quietly sobbed her happiness before raising once again tear-drenched eyes to his.
“I told you in the Hellmouth, but you didn’t believe me.” She was unable to lift her voice above a whisper, emotion having sapped her vocal chords of all ability to be harsh or strident, as if knowing that tenderness was the flavour of the day. She was lost in it, her heart thudding and her body beginning to vibrate right to her fingertips. With trembling hands she traced her fingers over his hard chest until she reached the belt at this jeans. Looking him straight in the eye she raised the shirt out of his pants and lifted it over his head.
His look and subtle tilt of his head asked her if she was sure, and she nodded slowly, a huge smile lighting up her face. He let her go, allowing his hands to drop to his sides as her palms moved once again over his chest, this time sans shirt, and he felt like a silly teenage hormone bomb ready to blow. Her hands were hesitant the first time she had actually seen his naked torso and a fingernail gently clipped a nipple on its journey upward. He shuddered as she bent her head and her tongue flicked out to explore the same nipple. He moaned out loud and clenched his hands into fists, trying to restrain the need to touch. She needed to go at her own pace.
Her eyes grew hazy and heavy with desire as she contemplated all the things she wanted to see and feel and as she walked slowly around him her hands almost floated over his shoulder blades, the soft skin of her cheek barely brushing him as she inhaled his masculine scent. Not even Angel was all man like this. Hard as stone, muscular definition giving him planes and surfaces that all women would envy her for touching, holding, possessing. His muscles bunched under her hand, and without being told she knew that her slowness was torture for him. But in this instance, torture was of the good. Her hands skimmed over his hard shoulders to his chest as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck, her breath heating his skin as she licked and nibbled, and drove him insane. Running her hand slowly down his arm as she moved back to face him, she held his hand briefly before letting go and stepping back out of his reach. He almost cried out at her distance, several muscles going into spasms from the sudden loss of her body heat.
Without dropping her eyes from his she lifted the edges of her black top and slid the fabric upward. Inch by inch her tanned, smooth skin was exposed, and if she wasn’t so hot and eager she would have laughed at his hungry expression as the top passed her head and she tossed it to where his own T-shirt lay.
With not another second to spare he grabbed her and crushed her body against his, breast to breast, claiming her lips in a passionate assault that defined her meaning of hot. His tongue knew her and she allowed his familiarity as her hands roamed freely over his cool skin. His hands never loosened their grip on her arms but he subtly relaxed enough that her body drifted back to be barely touching, just the hardened tips of her nipples teasing against the skin of his chest. Little flicks of heat and desire jolted through her nipples before passing though her breasts to heat in her belly. Her attention had obviously been caught up somewhere because once she was again aware of her surroundings she realised that her olive pants had disintegrated, never remembering lifting a leg to divest herself of them. She remained in nothing before him, and her body blushed, eager for his touch and his love.
He stood back to admire her, and though shy, she felt unable to lift her hands to shield her naked breasts or sex from his view. She loved him so much that she wanted him to look. And that is when she realised. It was wrong to keep her feelings to herself, to hold a part of herself away from him. It was a betrayal to all he had done for her.
With deep, yearning contact her heated gaze clashed with his and she spoke, her voice wavering and weak, but high.
“I love you. Not in the future, where I so did mean it.” Her eyes softened with her affection. “But now. I love you now. So much.” And he collapsed at her feet, his face buried against her taut belly gasping needlessly for breath.
“Thank you,” he rasped, and she again lost her mind when his lips made determined contact with her skin.
They fell to the bed in a sensual haze and she gave herself over to learning again his body’s feel against hers. With an agony born of long abstinence she let him slowly trail his lips over her flesh, desperate to reacquaint with every part that was her. Her skin tingled, before flashing hot white fire when his clever lips delved into her secrets, and for the first physical time of her life, she felt a hot wet tongue slide inside her body. Hot blood thundered through her veins and she suddenly arched her back up off the bed and gasped as his lips and tongue found her clit and sucked, swirling and flicking until she called his name on a sob. Sensation shook her and at last she felt his kiss on one hardened nipple, his tongue laving her lovingly and she knew what it felt to make love. In her small distraction he claimed her lips with his for a short, but consuming kiss, leisurely running his cool hands up and down her body, her skin blazing with every small contact. The look in his eyes was the same that she remembered from her flashes of memory, but this time she accepted and saw them and allowed herself to return them, soft golden looks of love. And that is when she knew. Through all the hate, and anger, and fear and self-loathing that hall-marked their relationship after her death, the only reason she never experienced the bliss of his love, of their joined love, was because she never once looked him in the eye. It had always been there and she hated herself a little more for denying them of this molten knowing of their affection. She had been a fool.
The feel of his hand between her legs, slipping against her wet opening, raised her to another level of sensation and she thought her skin was about to ignite. She refused to close her eyes as he positioned himself above her. He dipped his head and licked along her collarbone, one hand running the length of her body and down her leg, encouraging her to bend a knee around him. She couldn’t keep her hands from his skin, the cool smoothness doing nothing to cool her heated energy and she thought that she would explode soon if he didn’t make a move. Just as she thought to beg him she felt the slippery and bulging head of his cock surge against her and her lips glued themselves to his in a silent cry of disbelief. With their eyes locked on one another he entered her and she released her breath, lungs burning from the torture of longing. His smooth length was bathed in her, surrounded by heat and moisture unlike he had ever felt. Even distant knowledge and memories of their old future together did not feel like this, always intense, but never so molten. Her hands braced on his hard shoulders as he moved within her, building a sensational tinder box, on the edge of that one match.
Her body rumbled and slickened with his movement and she knew again the deep satisfaction that came from being with only this man. Her skin buzzed and blood rushed through her veins and not once did she feel afraid that it would prove too much for him; the bloodlust. The pace never quickened, despite her bucking and swirling her hips in encouragement, this an event too sweet and pure to rush. She thought it was too slow, that she would never reach that pinnacle that her heart and soul craved for completion, but it built steady and solid steps. With a final kiss she felt his head burrow into her neck and a gentle sting as everything flowed forth in a grand rush, killing her forever to mediocre. Each and every skin cell reached high alert as they buzzed and burst in a hidden sea of bliss. She felt a deep flush take over and her body grew hot with release and shattered in an alarming implosion of a monumental kind. Her mind was lost on some other plane, one that drifted in and out of clouds pure white and she wanted to stay forever, only being drawn back by a severely choked voice claiming a possessive ‘mine’. She looked at him in wonder as she put a finger to his lips, and further tears clogged her throat. ‘Yours’ she agreed and they laughed nervously together before emotion took hold and they murmured and giggled softly in each other’s arms.
Only after hours of renewing their intimate knowledge of each other did they remember Giles, blind and alone with a bottle of scotch. Quickly they dressed only to fling themselves back in each other’s arms, whispering promises of love and forever, needing to hold and be held against fear of indecision.
On the walk back, Buffy held his hand and couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips. She felt satiated, comforted, loved like she never had before, even through the crazy time that was their beginning together. She looked at her ring with amazement and couldn’t wait to tell her mother, but felt hesitant about broaching the subject to her friends.
“Spike?” She pulled on his hand to get him to stop and they found themselves alone on the sidewalk. “Can we keep this to ourselves for a little while? With Willow so upset about Oz and, well, Xander’s over-all dislike of you, I kind of want to keep tonight special between us. We can tell them all tomorrow. Would that be okay?” He caught the urgent appeal in her eyes, and for once couldn’t think of a sarcastic thing to say or summon a snarky desire to flash his luck in the whelp’s face. He found himself agreeing without any hesitation and wrapped her in his arms, breathing in the fruity scent of her hair and the earthy scent of his possession. What did it matter when they all found out, he had his love, his fiancé, his mate, and he could be generous.
With a wistful sigh they found themselves in front of Giles’s door and forced their way into the middle of pandemonium. Willow stood in the middle of a storm of shouting and accusations, tears falling silently as she took all their anger and frustration upon herself.
“Willow did another spell,” Xander shouted at them before his eyes swung to their hands clasped together. He spied the ring that Buffy had forgotten to remove and his eyes widened comically.
“They’re engaged.” His arms swung around him wildly, before pointing another accusing finger at the devastated redhead. “I thought you reversed everything?”
Buffy looked on in confusion, a sudden chunk of lead thudding in her stomach and causing her to clench Spike’s hand in a fearful sense of foreboding.
“What do you mean Willow did a spell?” Her quiet voice seemed to calm the room and Giles stepped forth, obviously without any remaining difficulty in finding his way.
“Willow did a spell to do her will, to get over the heartbreak of losing Oz, but said some things in the interim that affected some of us. She said I couldn’t see, that Xander was a demon magnet, and that you…” and he hesitated, seeing the fear reflected in his Slayer’s eyes and Spike’s look of mounting rage. “She said that you and Spike should get married.”
Buffy pulled her hand away in horrified shock and shook her head, denial flocking at her tongue.
“It wasn’t a spell,” Spike shouted at her furiously, but she couldn’t look at him despite his frantic attempts to take back her hand.
‘Oh no,’ she thought, panic welling up inside her.’ No, no, no, no, no, no…’ and the word repeated furiously on her lips as she ran and ran away from them. We mated, she thought in blind terror as her legs sought her solace. Tears blurred her path and she landed on her knees, luckily on grass, and she looked up to find the front yard of her mother’s house. The thought of seeing anyone had her scrambling up the tree to her room and she sunk to her bed, both grateful that the boxes from the gallery had gone, and that no one was there to offer her false reassurances.
Had he only asked her because of a spell? Had she ruined their moment of knowing each other on a false sense of euphoria? Never before had she felt such pure hatred for her best friend. No cookies could repair or replace the moment she had been waiting for all her life. The moment that made her Spike’s. Now she didn’t know if she had given herself to him because she wanted him, needed him, or if a spell had directed her actions.
Oh God, her silent prayer through her sobs. What if that wasn’t really what he wanted? What if he only claimed me as an extension of the engagement. What has Willow done to us? On a tide of misery and fear, she cried herself to sleep.
A/N strike two.....Please please review....
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