Spike had been following her around on patrol like a teacup poodle and they’d somehow gotten onto the topic of Angel.
“This isn’t remotely the same thing as me and Angel. This is not love,” Buffy had said, as they were picking their way through rows of tombstones.
“Love, that’s rich. If that fickle ponce loved you so much, why didn’t he visit Dawn once during the time you were gone? You die, and instead of helping your friends take care of little sis, he traipses off to Tibet to grieve in the most melodramatic way possible. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a full orchestra trailing him to heighten the effect.
‘Meanwhile, yours truly and your little band of misfit toys here are trying to muddle through, keep what you held dear safe. Mr. King of Pain didn’t even come to your funeral. Cordelia Chase and that watcher whose career you ruined came, but Forehead had to go find himself. Oh yeah, and he’s supposed to be running a detective agency, but when Tara calls to see if they can track down your dear old dad because he’s stopped paying child support, they tell her that they don’t do that sort of thing,” Spike said.
“Did they know it was for Dawn?” Buffy asked.
“Yeah, ‘cause Willow called the next day asking and they said the same thing. I ended up finding him, had Anya pretend to be a lawyer to get him to assume his responsibility,” Spike said.
“Thank you,” she said, quietly.
Spike seemed taken aback by that; he looked like he’d been preparing to continue his tirade. They walked in silence for a little while. Buffy knew what Spike had said about the funeral was true; Angel had told her himself that he couldn’t handle it, or seeing Dawn again.
It hadn’t really hurt her as much then, but seeing it through Spike’s eyes, the eyes that had watched the people she loved grieving, Buffy felt embarrassed. Angel seemed to think nothing of everyone else in her life, unless he needed Willow for a spell. He’d moved on and was helping the helpless with his own makeshift family. He’d moved on from loving her.
“Nothing you can say would change the way I feel about Angel. You have no idea what we had,” Buffy said, in her same quiet, measured tone.
She wanted to put the subject to rest, and she absolutely meant what she’d said. Buffy had wished so many times that she didn’t love Angel. Caring about other people didn’t alter her affection for him to any degree. Her love for Angel was a little like the scar over Spike’s eye; imperfect, sure, but it was so much a part of who she was it would be impossible to imagine her without it. Buffy couldn’t really explain that though, least of all to Spike.
Spike threw his hands up in the air.
“Oh please! I’ve shagged him more times than you did, and that was just for a laugh,” Spike said.
She turned to look at him, and the expression on her face made his narrow, gas-blue eyes widen and his lips stumble wordlessly.
Then Buffy tripped over a tombstone and spilled onto the ground.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said, but of course she knew he wasn’t kidding; decadent vampire orgies are sort of a given. Her voice was muffled because she was face down in the grass. He squatted beside her and offered a hand.
Buffy sat up on her haunches without taking it. Spike folded the rejected hand and stuck it in the pocket of his long, black, leather coat.
“Guess he’d have no reason to mention it,” Spike said. He smiled, curling his tongue behind his teeth.
Buffy glared at him, wiped her muddy palms on her jeans and stood up. He rose beside her.
“Look, you live a hundred years, you get bored,” he said.
“I don't want to hear it,” Buffy said.
“The first time we were very, very drunk on absinthe and I think there was some opium involved,” Spike said.
“Not making this better,” she said.
“We were different people then, him quite literally,” Spike said.
“Just shut up.”
They kept walking in silence until they reached his crypt. He went to the door.
“Coming in?” he asked.
She ignored him and kept walking home. When she tried to sleep, Buffy was tormented by images of Spike and Angel rolling around naked, their bloodless skin gold in candle light. It wasn’t just a jealous type of torment, either.
She was sick with desire.
The next morning she got Dawn off to school and then headed in for Double Meat Palace duty. She watched her hands folding the hamburgers in wax paper, scrubbing silvery, metal counter tops, taking money, sliding the drawer closed and passing back change. They didn’t feel like her hands.
Her mind was somewhere else; in bed with her former lover and her current lover. Spike was her lover. It felt strange to put that word into what they were doing.
Right after the lunch rush, Buffy burnt her wrist while she was dropping a basket of fries into boiling oil. To her credit, she didn’t scream, even though the searing pain took her by surprise, leaving a red welt shaped like a question mark on the soft skin.
Her manager saw Buffy clutch her hand to her chest. She came over and grabbed Buffy’s wrist to examine the underside of Buffy’s arm. The manager sent her home early, probably hoping her employee wouldn’t try to file a workers’ comp claim.
It was only one-thirty when she got home. As Buffy tried to shower away the greasy smell from her hair with a third application of shampoo, she thought about what she should do.
She should meet up with Tara so they could both pick up Dawn from school. It would be nice to catch up with her friend and it would make Dawn happy to see her…probably. It was always hard to tell what kind of mood her sister was going to be in.
She shut the water off and stepped onto the bath mat, being careful not to drip on the floor. She dried herself mechanically, then began rubbing ginger scented lotion onto her strong, slim legs.
Spike hated it when she wore perfume. He said he preferred the natural scent of her body; he said all the chemicals made his chip buzz for some reason. Buffy realized she was anointing her skin in a deliberate attempt to keep herself from going to see Spike.
It didn’t work.
In less than twenty minutes’ time she’d dressed and made her way to his crypt.
She found him asleep in the underground chamber. He was naked, of course and she took him in as she approached the bed. He was lying on his back with one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting on his chest. His lips were parted and his hair had fallen into loose curls. His skin reminded her of moonlight pooling on her window.
In this supine position and without the need for breath, he looked like a statue. Spike was a beautiful object, made to be touched, made to be wanted. Drusilla made him for that purpose. He was a monster created by another monster so she could be loved.
His legs were spread and he had an erection that was snagging the red sheet, keeping it from sliding to the floor.Buffy sat beside him, but he didn’t stir. She started stroking him under the sheet and he let out a little shudder.
“Oh Buffy,” he whispered.
She gripped him tighter and he gasped, then his whole body jerked. The arm covering his eyes fell back and he was awake. Buffy let go of him.
“Oh. Buffy?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“What time is it?” he asked, his voice gruff with sleep.
“Afternoon, I got out of work early, wanted to see you. I need you to tell me about you and Angel,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think so,” he said, pulling the sheet around him.
“Spike,” she said, her green eyes wide and imploring. She hoped saying his name would be enough to make him want to indulge her.
“Gonna take more than that, love, a lot more,” he said, softly.
“What, why?” she asked. Her frustration was starting to overwhelm her.
“I’m not letting Angelus play around in here,” Spike said, touching her forehead, “not without a price.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to beg,” he said.
Buffy backhanded Spike across his lovely face. She pulled the punch because she didn’t want to send him flying to the other side of the room, but she struck him hard enough that it would have broken his jaw had he been a mortal man.
Spike did not pull his punch when he hit her back, and Buffy careened along the bed before she slammed into the stone wall, face first.
Buffy felt the stars exploding behind her eyes when his hand made contact and felt the second impact of the wall. Slowly, she regained her footing and stood. She brought her fingers to her burning lips and then looked down at her hands.
They were covered in vivid blood, but at least they felt like hers again. She was trailing blood from her mouth like Kali the death goddess.
Spike was suddenly in front of her, lids heavy over his blue eyes, mouth drinking and sucking at the tiny wound he’d made.
It wasn’t the first time she’d let him drink her blood. He’d never bitten her, but he’d take a taste of any cuts or scrapes she earned on patrol or during one of their sessions. Buffy blanched to think of anyone finding out what he’d done when she was on her period.
Spike was pressing up against her. He was so hard, that when she gripped his cock she feared the tight skin would split apart.
“Tell me,” she said. His balls rested in her free hand, and she gave them a little squeeze.
He laughed, his lips still pressed to hers.
“Hear you loud and clear, love. Take your clothes off,” he said.
He stepped away from her, conceding defeat and Buffy slid out of her clothes. Her damp panties landed with a slight splat on the floor. The sound made her cringe.
“Lay face down on the bed,” he said.
“What are you going to do?”she asked, not moving.
“Look, if you want this, you’ve got to do what I say, right?”
She nodded, and then got onto the bed.
“If you and I were going to pretend it was the first time, for historical accuracy’s sake we’d need a few more girls. Since I don’t think you’re ready to phone Red, we’ll just do it like the last time,” he said.
She could almost see the little smile turning up his lips; see the tip of his tongue poking out.
“The last time you slept with Angel?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yeah. “
She heard him move to the side of the bed, open a drawer and withdraw something. He let her wait a second, as though he were just looking at her. That was just enough time for her adrenaline to wear off and she started to wonder what she was in for. They hadn’t tried anal sex yet, but this looked like it would be the big moment. She was scared, but she’d never let that stop her. She couldn’t stop when she was this close to finding out.
Spike knelt between her parted legs. She could feel his cool hands on her lower back, then oil dripping along her spine. He began rubbing in sweeping circles, picking up the oil on his thumbs as he massaged her.
“He used to have me rub his back, thought I wouldn’t figure out what he was really after. He always thought he was making me fuck him, I guess he had to. I liked it though. I liked that I wasn’t supposed to get off with another bloke; I liked making him cum. I liked having that power over him. It was one of the only times I had any power over Angelus,” Spike said.
“What was he like?” Buffy asked. Her voice was shaking.
“Selfish, greedy and needy as hell,” Spike said.
“Like me,” Buffy said.
His hands stopped moving.
“No, not like you. You give when you’re with me like this. You care, even though you say you don’t, it’s the only time you’ll let yourself feel for me. That’s why I’m always trying to get you in bed,” Spike said, his voice catching.
She twisted her torso so she could look up at him.
“Aside from the obvious reason,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling down at her. He brushed his slick thumb against her lower lip.
“Cut’s already healed,” he said.
Then he bent to her mouth and kissed her. Buffy rolled onto her back and angled her hips so that when she wrapped her legs around him, he glided inside. Spike moaned.
“Don’t you want to keep playing?” he asked.
“I want to make you cum first,” she said.
“That could take hours, love,” he said.
Buffy smiled up at him and then clenched her legs tighter. She rolled her internal muscles with as much strength as she could, a trick she learned when she was desperate to make Riley finish. Riley had stamina but lacked finesse and sometimes after one of their bouts he’d pound her tender bits into numbness.
Spike’s smug grin disappeared as soon as she started her slayer death grip. He let out a choked groan, mumbled something about the queen and then collapsed into orgasmic twitching on top of her. After a few minutes, he recovered his capacity for speech.
“You’ve been holding out on me, slayer,” he said.
She almost told him that she’d never wanted to make him stop before, but that would’ve been admitting something to herself.
“I like power, too,” she said. Buffy had been absently stroking his hair. She suddenly realized she loved the feel of his weight on top of her, the way the over-processed curls crinkled under her fingers. Buffy gently pushed him away.
“So,” he said with a sigh, “game’s back on, is it?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Well, roll over and we’ll start strolling back down memory lane,” Spike said.
He pawed the sheets until he found his bottle of oil, then resumed her massage. He kept stroking her until her body was soft and pliant. The sound of his voice made her start; despite the need that had been twisting through her all day, Spike had managed to nearly lull her to sleep.
“Now, I’m going to tell you what to say, just repeat it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Say, fuck me, William.”
“Fuck me, William.”
She felt his fingers slide down the cleft of her ass and then penetrate her. He started rubbing her clit, which alleviated the awkwardness. Then there was no awkwardness, just pleasure. She was moaning, she knew because the sound was filling the room.
“Say, you love me William, that’s why you do this for me,” Spike said.
“You love me William, that’s why you do this for me.”
“Say, and I love you.”
“I love you,” she moaned, without thinking.
Suddenly, he replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock. It burned, and she nearly told him to stop, but that would be a sort of defeat. He took it slow, until she got used to the ache, before he buried himself completely.
“Say you love me,” he said.
“I love you, Spike.”
He started rocking shallowly inside her, his fingers kept up their delicate play on her clit. They moved gently together until an orgasm undulated throughout her body. Spike came tumbling after, moaning in her ear. He was panting unnecessarily against her, sending strands of her hair spinning. They tickled her face.
“Tell me the truth, baby. Let’s say the soul’s a non-issue. Would you wish I was him right now?” Spike asked.
His voice was a cool whisper against her ear.
“You're the only one I could be with like this. He’d never love me if he knew what I was really like,” she mumbled into the pillow.
Spike was grabbing her, moving so they were lying face to face. He was still hard inside her.
“You listen to me. You don’t need him, you don’t need anybody. You have me and I’m always going to love you. If I exist to see the end of things, I’ll be sitting on this burnt out ember of a planet, watching the stars blink out with the memory of your taste on my lips. When the universe shudders and coughs to a halt the last word it hears will be your name, your ridiculous, fucking name, Buffy Summers.”
She kissed him, devouring his lips and wished she could believe him.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
"King of Pain" is a the title of a Police Song.
Chapter End Notes:
Has this concept been written about very often before? I thought it was sort of sexy and disturbing. Also, should I just pull this chapter out and make it a stand-alone story?