Whose purely temper'd Clay was made
So fine, that it the guest betray'd.
Else the soule grew so fast within,
It broke the outward shell of sinne,
And so was hatch'd a Cherubin.’
The soft glow of the night light lit up their room as Spike looked down upon his son in his bassinet. Aidan was sleeping peacefully, blissed out and drunk enough on mother’s milk to allow his Dad to carry him back to the bassinet and gently lay him down amidst the nest of blankets. A flood of pure, unadulterated love shot through Spike as he gazed down at the sleeping babe, the miracle of fatherhood, the joy of shared love, and the amazing uniqueness of the little lad himself combined to overwhelm him with a hit of mainlined euphoria.
No doubt every parent thought his or her child astonishing and special, but with Aidan, well it really did seem like he was one of a kind. He had a presence and an alertness about him that appeared far beyond what any of the child development books had attributed to two-month old babies let alone two week olds. His physical strength and social awareness seemed particularly advanced, and Cat might deem it improbable, but both Buffy and Spike would absolutely vow that Aidan could not only hold his head up, but also smile at his parents whenever they appeared in his field of vision.
Of course it had crossed all of their minds that these characteristics might be a directly attributable to his status as one of the Scions of Sineya. It made sense if you thought about it scientifically, that a child born to be a warrior would be quicker to develop the large motor skills and ability to connect socially that he or she would need to survive in a hostile environment – Darwin and all that crap! But personally, Spike and Buffy liked to suppose that their son’s qualities were simply a result of his parentage, that the child of a Slayer and a vampire was bound to be stronger and more alert than the average sprog. Whether one of the theories cancelled out the other would have to wait until Cat and Giles’ twins were born.
In the meantime, Aidan’s presence had been a much sort after commodity. He was so beautiful, so perfect, and his trust and his innocence had been a much-needed balm in the atmosphere of shock, sorrow and fear that had descended on Ashdown after the cheerleader’s death, and her re-animation as the Old One Illyria. Aidan was simply a slice of normality in a life that had been thrown awry by the events of the week previous.
They’d still been seated around the main library table with the speakerphone on when Illyria had uttered her first words, “This will do!” Even across the span of the trans Atlantic phone line, the Ashdown crew had been able to recognise the eerie, almost alien quality to the once familiar voice. So much so, that Angel’s single response, so full of hope and desperation that they could almost picture his face, seemed more tragic then ever.
“Cordy?”
Of course it wasn’t Cordy, not anymore. And the Old One’s arrogant and dismissive commentary had left them in no doubt about her feelings towards the disgusting, bleating humans she found herself surrounded by. Angel had tried to exploit that distaste by pointing out that humans now ruled the Earth, that Illyria would be better off leaving Cordy’s shell and going back to sleep until a more deserving time when humans had killed one another off. But Illyria had rejected the offer, coldly declaring that Cordy’s empty shell was bound to her, and that it could not be changed even if she wished it so.
And so she had departed, set off they’d later discovered, to find and free Knox. She’d knocked out his guards, Gunn and Harmony, and dragged the scientist off to do her bidding. Seems the nerdy Knox was actually something Illyria referred to as her Qwa'ha Xahn, a high priest of some kind. His first task had been to come up with her sarcophagus, a task he’d found somewhat challenging given that it had been on the other side of the pond.
A round of threats and mayhem had ensued, culminating in Illyria’s demand that they return her property immediately, or she would use her many powers to seek it out and draw it back to her, possibly injuring or killing innocents in its path. A limited demonstration of her abilities, plus the thought that they might yet be able to use the sarcophagus to somehow draw Illyria’s essence out and replace it with Cordy’s soul, had them agreeing.
Illyria had been escorted back down to the lab before Dawn had opened the portal, Angel unwilling to allow the God king to witness the Bit’s key powers. A somewhat shaken Drogyn, saved from being swallowed up by the unexpectedly sudden collapse of the portal by his own keen powers of observation, a healthy dose of self-preservation and a mere split second of time, had shuffled warily through the inter-dimensional door, Khatia’s hand firmly linked with his own. In the end, Connor and Khatia had been the muscle requisitioned to go and fetch the sarcophagus and return it to the lab, Drogyn not wanting anything more to do with portals for a good long while.
Once she’d been reunited with her sarcophagus, Illyria had stripped off her clothes in front of a stunned Angel and his posse, and used one of the crystals on the coffin to activate some sort of shell fashioning process. Finally, clad in what looked like a dark red leather bodysuit, she and Knox had decided to go haring off in search of her ancient temple, without so much as a word of thanks or a gesture of farewell, unless you counted her throwing Angel through a seventh storey window.
One ruined, abandoned temple and one dead Qwa'ha Xahn (his neck snapped by an enraged, grief stricken Angel) later, Illyria had ended up back at Wolfram and Hart, back in Angel’s office, demanding that he help her learn to walk in his world. Apparently they’d come to some sort of agreement, that he would let her stick around if she promised not to kill, if she promised to mind him.
As Spike slid back into bed, and wrapped himself around his sleeping fiancée, he mused that Angel had to be on a fool’s mission if he thought he could in any way tame the arrogant, cold God-King. She sounded like a homicidal megalomaniac, and a bitch to boot. Trying to keep her from ‘ridding the world of the scourge of useless humanity’ whilst simultaneously distracting her from various self-destructive rampages, was likely taking up all of his time. And what’s more, Spike knew that Illyria’s resemblance to Cordelia must be a constant dagger in Angel’s heart.
Spike ended up witnessing that resemblance for himself when he portalled over to L.A. several days later. He went to pick through a consignment of weapons that had been appropriated by Wolfram and Hart following a raid on the headquarters of one of their former clients. The client, some big, bad sorcerer dude, had apparently been charged with racketeering. Although Gunn had been confident he could get the dude off the charge, the sorcerer had decided to take matters into his own hands anyway, slaughtering a bunch of nuns in order to provide the human sacrifice needed to open and escape through an inter-dimensional portal.
Wes and Fred had been helping Gunn out on the case, something they were doing more and more often now that Angel was effectively out of action. The big boss seemed to spend most, if not all, of his time in Illyria’s company, coaching her on modern etiquette, testing her to try and define her powers and abilities, and generally trying to keep her out of trouble. While he was otherwise engaged, Wes and Gunn had practically taken over day to day management of the firm. But the realization that they were paid to defend such evil scum as this Greenway chap had been enough to almost drive both Wes and Fred to resign. Only Gunn’s caution about the possible ramifications of resignation had given them pause, and inspired them to raid the sorcerer’s headquarters instead.
Apparently Greenway had been a collector of fine weapons, and he’d had a temperature-controlled vault full of knives, swords, axes and bows, many of them ancient and/or requisitioned from other dimensions. Wes had thought of Amazon immediately, and had put a call through to Giles, offering A.I. first pick of the weapons, for a discounted price of course.
The Head Watcher had asked Spike to represent the company, acknowledging his skill with and appreciation of weapons, and Tara to accompany him, in order to ‘read’ each weapon’s ‘aura’, and determine whether it encompassed any inherent virtue or malice. They’d met Faith at the Law Firm, and Wes set them up in one of the empty training rooms. The two warriors had had a round or two with each item in the cache, striking metal on metal, getting a feel for each sword or axe. They’d had a real time of it, spinning around the room in a blur, a flash of silver or a gleam of gold lighting their dance.
In the end they’d sorted the weapons into three piles, four dozen that they’d decided they’d purchase for Amazon, another dozen that they’d considered neutral weapons, suitable for Wolfram and Hart’s coffers and another ten that they recommended be destroyed immediately, their malevolence and vile presence so strong that all but the very staunchest would be eventually drawn down into evil and iniquity themselves.
As they were crating up their selection and sorting out payment with Wes, Angel and Illyria joined them. It was bloody unsettling, to see the cheerleader’s body warped by such an obviously alien manifestation, her pretty face, brown eyes and long dark hair limned with blue, her lush figure wrapped in a form fitting red leather shell and her mannerisms twisted into a travesty of her former self. The Ashdown crew paused, waiting to see what the Old One’s intense scrutiny would amount to.
“Hmm, a warrior, a shaman and another half-breed. These two,” she haughtily indicated Spike and Faith, “Their bodies are warm. Perhaps they wish to mate,” she declared, eying them closely. “You may proceed. I will observe this ritual.”
Spike spluttered and protested while Faith merely broke out into peals of delighted laughter. Tara, looking on, grinned unabashedly.
“Look here you bint,” Spike spat out, “We’re not warm because we wish to mate, we’re a tad keyed up cos we’ve been having ourselves a little training session. Nothing at all to get excited about.”
“Speak for yourself Billy boy.” Faith’s glee filled the room. “I’d have a go round with you in a heartbeat if you’d allow it. And if Buffy wouldn’t tear me limb from limb once she found out.”
“Stop this insolence at once,” Illyria ordered. “You may consider yourself warriors, yet you are but muck beneath my feet. Perhaps I shall seek out this Buffy. She may be more worthy of my attentions if what you say of her is true.”
Spike growled, his game face coming to the fore in defense of his mate’s reputation. He marched over to Illyria and, ignoring her resemblance to Cordy, punched her in the face with all his might, completing his action with a nod of "how'd you like that?" Illyria’s head turned slightly at being punched, but it didn’t seem to faze her. Instead, she calmly backhanded Spike, sending him sliding across the room and into the wall.
She smiled her cool, detached smile as Spike struggled to his feet. “I enjoyed hurting you,” she divulged, “But one thing puzzles me. You are a half-breed, and yet you are warm to the touch, and your heart beats. I do not recall the vampire filth of my day existing in such a way. You reek of humanity, even more so than my pet. Yet in other ways you are alike.”
“Shut your mouth you crazy bitch. The poof and I are nothing alike.”
“The noise that comes out of your mouth means less than nothing to one such as I. You protest, but your intermingling with the humans, your affection for them, betrays your similarities.”
Spike and Angel stopped and stared at one another for a minute, before each shook his head and moved on. Illyria was about to issue another disparaging rejoinder when she stopped and quivered.
“You … you should … you should both kneel … kneel …” Illyria stuttered to a halt, and she hunched over, clutching herself and quivering and shuddering like a broken wind-up doll. Suddenly her head jolted back up. The blue had faded from her eyes and her startled glance, both at herself and at her companions, seemed more emotive than usual. She lifted up her palms, and eyebrows, in supplication and fixed her gaze on Angel.
“OK, so what freakin' bizarro world did I come to in?”
“Cordy? My God Cordy, is … is that you?” Angel stared at the ex beauty queen, her stance and demeanor telling the tale of her return as clearly as her words had.
“Yeah, its me. In the flesh. Well in my flesh, which is more than I can say for the past week, when I’ve been locked out of my own flesh.” Cordy ranted, hands on hips. “Ousted from my own body by an unstable, narcissistic, obsolete has-been with delusions of grandeur. And what the hell has she got me kitted out in? I look like a trailer trash version of Dark Phoenix.”
“But how? What? My God, Cordy! We thought we’d lost you. I mean even Dr Sparrow made it clear that there would have been nothing left to bring back, that your soul would have been consumed by the fires of resurrection.” Angel paused, trying to control his emotions, “He said that everything you were was gone.”
“And that would have been true if Illyria had been shoved into anyone else. Fred for instance!” she paused as they all looked at Fred in shock. “Yes, according to one little coma ridden conversation I overheard between Dr Creepy and Professor Nutcase, they’d earmarked our little Freddles for infestation. But apparently you weren’t around enough girl, so they opted for me instead. Can you believe that? Me, second choice! Clearly they weren’t thinking straight to begin with.”
“Oh my gosh, I don’t know what to say y’all.” Fred stammered, hugging Cordy gratefully. “Just thank you I guess. But how is it that you're all here now?”
“Well like Angel said, the whole viral infection is supposed to clear out the host’s essence, memories, personality, life force, soul and all. But I guess Illyria and her henchmen didn’t count on a host whose mind and body had already survived being hijacked by a higher power. Or one who’s actually a higher being herself.”
“Cordy honey, that’s amazing, a miracle. I can’t believe you're back. I missed you so much.” Angel pulled Cordelia into his arms, holding her against him for long enough to make everyone else hum and ha in discomfort. “Now that Jasmine’s gone and Illyria’s gone, we can work on us. I mean provided you want there to be an ‘us’.”
“Hold on a minute big boy,” Cordy said, hand on Angel’s chest as she backed him up enough to be able to talk. “Yes that bitch Jasmine’s gone, and a definite maybe to the ‘us’ thing – it’s about time you big lunkhead! Although there’ll need to be some serious changes around here before you earn yourself a shot at the brass ring. But more importantly, we've got a problem on the Illyria front. I’m afraid she’s not so much gone, as timed out.”
“So she’s still …” Fred whispered, looking around cautiously before completing her question by silently pointing to Cordy’s chest.
“Yes, more’s the pity. While the virus didn’t work quite as Illyria and Knox had intended, she still ended up with a nice little hidey-hole. It’s just that she’s got herself an unexpected flat mate as well.”
“Oh, well, that’s …” Wes said before pausing, uncertain what to say next. “At least you're here, and not burnt away for all eternity.” He stepped forward and hugged Cordy as well.
“Yeah, there’s that I guess. Although as my soul is now immortal and my essence can move fairly freely between here and the Upper Echelons, my ongoing existence was never really at stake. Just my residency!”
Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.
“Aah! Oh, my God! See I told you it was Cordy’s voice I could hear, not that freaky Blue Barbie’s.” Harmony called out over her shoulder, as she rushed up to Cordy and hugged her tightly around the neck. “I can't believe you're back!” she squealed, hugging Cordy again.
“Likewise,” Cordy replied. “Especially since the last time I saw you, you tried to kill me.”
“Oh, um, Harmony, she's, um, actually, she... she's my secretary,” Angel stammered nervously.
“Of course she is. That makes perfect sense.” Glancing past Harmony’s shoulder Cordy spotted the next arrival. “Lorne!”
“Hello beautiful. Are you huggable?” Lorne asked before swooping in for a welcoming embrace. r32;
“It is so good to see …” looking over Lorne's shoulder, Cordy saw Gunn. “Oh, my God. Gunn? You have hair.”
“Oh—ha—yeah.” Gunn laughs awkwardly, “What did you think? I was prematurely bald?” At Cordy’s shrug, he pulled her in for a hug and grinned, “I wasn't.”
“Alright, so the gang are all here, but that doesn’t explain why here is Wolfram and Hart, or why you're hosting Spike, Faith and a pregnant … uh, fellow higher being?”
“Well that’s a long story, or maybe even a few long stories,” Angel said, sighing. “Cordy, I know there's a lot to take in, a lot of changes, but I promise you... things here are working out.”
“Really?” Cordy said, folding her arms and raising one eyebrow.
“Well, yeah. With Wolfram and Hart’s resources, there's nothing we can't do, no one we can't save.”
“Except maybe yourself!”
“What?”
“I had a vision, “ Cordy said, walking closer to Angel “From the You-know-who That Be. That's what helped me break through Illyria’s hold. And you know something? When higher powers send you coma visions and help you push in line, you'd better pay attention.”
“ What,” Angel gulped nervously, “What did you see?”
“Well that’s the whole point of my visit, so don’t worry, I’ll definitely get to it. First of all though, I think after months in a coma and days having to share my body with a cranky, ancient tyrant, I deserve not only a slap up meal, but also more importantly, a new outfit. I mean seriously people, I can't be expected to walk round the infernal halls of Hell Incorporated without something divine to protect me from all of the evil in the air.”
“Ok, sure,” Angel frowned, “I think there’s a boutique on the ground floor, right next door to the entrance. Um, maybe Fred and ah, Faith, if you’ve finished here, you could take Cordy downstairs …”
Cordy stood with her hands on hips, staring at the two girls whose services Angel had just offered. With a rather imperious expression on her face, it was, at that moment, fairly difficult to gauge the difference between her and Illyria and they stood, breaths suspended, as they waited to see if the God King had returned.
“Hmm, no offence intended, but neither of you girls have even the slightest inkling of style. Never mind, perhaps we’ll get you kitted out as well. Angel,” she threw out her hand, “Plastic please. At least this place had better be good for something. And don’t think this lets you off the hook. I can't imagine what you were thinking. You've made a deal with the devil.”
“Oh, come on, Cordy,” Angel chuckled as he handed over his company Platinum card, “You're being a little overdramatic. It's not that, uh …”
The boss’ speech was interrupted by the arrival of a red-skinned demon with black hair, horns and a goatee. He walked up to Angel, wearing a suit and holding a briefcase.
“Oh Angel, there you are. Listen,r32;I gotta go,” the demon said as he reached out and shook Angel’s hand. r32;”Everything's in place. They'll draw up the paperwork.”
“Good. Great.”
The demon nodded and headed toward the elevator; turning back to Angelr32;as he reached the corner, “Racquetball Thursday?”
“OK, then,” he nodded at the departing client before catching Cordy’s eye roll. “What, what did I do?”
Spike and Tara didn’t hang around for long after that. They finished crating up the weapons, left strict instructions with Wes about destroying the malicious weaponries, and rang through to Dawn to get her to open up a portal to home.
Home! It was where Buffy and Aidan were, and where he wanted to be.
Sharing the strange tale of Cordy’s reappearance had to wait until Spike got to spend some quality time with his little family. Imagining the emotional roller coaster Angel must be riding made the blonde vampire appreciate his loved ones even more, and he wanted to do whatever he could to keep them close and protect them. It had been his first assignment since Aidan’s birth and his first time away from them. Even the few short hours he’d been gone now seemed too long to Spike.
The following day’s news only cemented that desire even more. They met at the Giles’, with Spike and Tara setting the ball rolling by each giving their perspective of the Cordy/Illyria scenario, and where they thought the situation might lead. The portal arrival of Wes and Fred, both still rather shook up by Cordy’s declaration that Knox had targeted Fred as Illyria’s original host, had brought an update that unsettled everyone’s moods even further.
It seemed that Cordy hadn’t managed to hang around for long, but before she’d been shoved out of the way, she’d not only helped Angel to defuse some sort of threat that Wolfram and Hart had installed as a fail-safe, but she’d also kicked his butt a little, on the pretext that he needed a fairly blatant reminder in order to get back on track and believe in his ability to make a difference.
Illyria’s return had been characterized by a string of resentful rages and violent tantrums. She was not only outraged that she had to share lodgings with another being, but the fact that she would likely have no control over Cordy’s comings and goings had apparently set off a round of what seemed, to Wes, like anxiety and insecurity. Not that Illyria would ever admit to such base emotions. The fact that Cordy was a higher being only mollified her slightly, but either way, the God King was not happy. And she was taking that crankiness out on Angel.
According to Fred, Angel was trying to be optimistic about the situation, reiterating Wes’ observation that at least Cordy wasn’t ‘burnt away for all eternity’, but in reality his brooding had returned with a vengeance. Not that anyone could blame the poor bastard. It was a heart wrenching position to be in.
The shared lunch that followed had been quiet by their standards, with everyone reflecting on how lucky they were, and how much they would have to lose when the apocalypse rolled into town.
That mood had stayed with Spike as he and Buffy walked back to their house that afternoon, their drowsy son bundled up in his arms. They went about the evening chores very quietly, the pall of introspection hanging over them as they prepared dinner, and bathed Aidan, fed him and put him down for the evening. Then he and Buffy sat down for their own meal. Spike poured them each a glass of wine.
“Don’t know what I’d do if anything like that happened to you pet. Those bloody caves were bad enough, but to loose you altogether for a patch at a time,” Spike shook his head as the feelings of despair and impotence he’d experienced four months previous flooded back over him.
“I wish we could promise one another that we’d always be safe, that nothing would ever rip us apart,” Buffy added solemnly, “But in our line of work, it just seems impossible to hope for. I know we have our tats, and they certainly make me feel much more secure, but I doubt they protect us from being permanently taken to another dimension, or buried beneath tons of rock or …”
“Best not to think on it too much luv. Maybe what we need to do is just take each day as a gift and be grateful for every minute we have together. Come on, I’ll put these in the machine and you go and get ready for bed.”
Buffy smiled and headed through to the bathroom, while Spike loaded the dishwasher and switched it on. By the time he’d finished cleaning the kitchen, and made his way through to the bedroom, Buffy was sitting up in bed, her hair falling softly around her shoulders, her lips glossed and her bountiful charms on display thanks to the sexy little lace negligee he’d brought her for Christmas.
Spike’s jaw dropped and his eyes popped out. Of course Buffy always looked gorgeous, but unless he was reading things wrong, this was a deliberate attempt at seduction. And it certainly didn’t take much to get Spike’s motor running, particularly as they hadn’t been together in that way since Aidan’s birth.
“Hey pet,” he croaked, haphazardly peeling off his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the ground. “You're looking especially delectable tonight.”
Buffy fluttered her eyelashes at him and flicked back the bedclothes, revealing the silky charcoal sheets and her shapely, toned thighs. Spike scrambled in next to her, pressing himself into her open embrace, and drawing her face towards his for the sweetest of kisses. The gentle caress of lips and tongues almost instantly exploded into a bonfire of passion, and kisses became urgent as they hungrily devoured one another.
“Buffy, luv,” Spike panted, drawing himself back with the utmost effort. “Are you sure? I mean it’s only been two and a half weeks, and didn’t Cat say six before …”
“Mmmm,” Buffy stretched forward, capturing his lips again, “It’s all good sweetheart, Slayer healing. Had a check up with Cat yesterday, and I’m good to go.” She’d been plastering kisses across Spike’s face and neck as she shared this piece of vital information, but once she’d covered the specifics, she pulled back and held his face lovingly in her hands. “And as much as my body really, really wants you, after the stuff that’s just gone down with Angel and Cordy, my soul is just aching to connect with yours even more.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Spike said, turning his head to press kisses against first one palm, then the other. “I get that. It’s kind of about affirming life and being soulmates and feeling gratitude. It’s about loving you so much that I want to bury myself in you and never come out. It’s about connection.”
“Yes Spike, time to connect.” She pulled the straps of her nightie off her shoulders and wriggled out of the scrap of lace. Shyly, she pulled the blankets back up over herself, suddenly uncertain despite, or maybe because of, the hormones coursing through her body.
“Hey there my precious, don’t be covering your self up. You're gorgeous, every single inch of you. Let me see, let me see that amazing body of yours.”
Slowly, Buffy drew back the sheets, exposing herself to Spike’s view. Greedily he drank the sight of her in. Of course he’d seen her naked since the birth, but honestly, her body had been changing almost daily. The little tummy she still sported had been gradually decreasing as the muscles tightened back up and her minimal stores of fat were siphoned into milk for their son. And as for her breasts, they were astonishing, so full and round, that she could almost give Pamela Anderson a run for her money. What’s more, they were topped off with the thickest, pinkest looking areolae and nipples. Oh he just couldn’t wait for his turn!
As for Buffy, the desire in Spike’s eyes when he looked at her was enough to restore her confidence, as was the very visual reminder of just how much he wanted her. She reached out and took his rigid cock in her hand. The head was already slippery with precum and she could feel the shaft pulse beneath her fingers.
“Is this all for me big boy?”
“You better believe it,” he growled.
“Mmm, yummy,” Buffy said as she bent down to lap up the delicious juices, playfully licking his slit, before taking the whole head in her mouth.
“Ahh, oh bloody hell. Not too much of that luv, or it’s going to be all over in a heartbeat.”
Buffy pulled away enough to be able to look up at Spike as she ran her tongue over his glans, scooping up a new dollop of precum as it oozed out. He shuddered and gripped her arms tightly, pulling her back up and rolling her at the same time so that she was on her back and he was hovering over her. He swooped in for another long kiss, their tongues sliding and dancing against one another, the taste of his own precum exploding in his mouth, driving his arousal even further.
His trailed kisses down her neck and across to one of those magnificent nipples. Spike had been waiting to get his lips on them the last fortnight, and now, finally, here he was. He brought his own tongue into play, lightly flicking the rubbery tip. He was entranced, as the areola seemed to become even more engorged and draw up even further, presenting the long, thick stalk of nipple, almost as an offering.
And take up the offer, he did. While she moaned and swayed her hips and butt restlessly, Spike sucked Buffy’s nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive tissue. His curious fingers sought out her other breast, worshipping the size and weight of it, before plucking at the rigid protuberance.
Suddenly, Buffy gasped and cried out, “Spike, no I’m … ohhh.”
Milk spurted into his mouth, it’s appearance surprising him so much that at first he just froze, the warm liquid slowly filling his mouth, until, almost instinctively, he swallowed. The sweet, rich, almost nutty tasting fluid overwhelmed his senses, and brought a flush of love, connection and … arousal with it.
Meanwhile, Buffy had shoved his other hand out of the way and pressed her palm firmly down onto her breast, which seemed to stop the leakage that had been happening on that side as well.
“Spike,” she hissed, “Spike, what are you doing you pervert?”
He lifted his head up enough to free her nipple, giving it another little tongue swipe to mop up the droplets of milk that continued to leak out.
“It’s not perverted baby,” he grinned, “It’s natural. And anyway, vampire here. If I can’t get at your blood, any other of your bodily secretions will happily suffice.”
He swooped down on her nipple again, sucking lustily until he earned himself another spurt of the thin milk that he found so delicious. Buffy moaned and then swiped ineffectually at his head. She kept her hand on the back of his head, clutching hold of his hair as if unsure whether to pull him away or press him closer. With her other, milk soaked hand, she reached down and grabbed his throbbing cock.
“It is perverted if it gets your dick this worked up,” she growled.
He countered her accusation by moving his left hand down to her pussy. She snapped her thighs together, denying him entrance, and frowning fiercely at him when he glanced up at her.
“Uh-uh, it’s all right my luv, let me in. We’ve got some KY round here somewhere if you're worried that you're too dry.”
When Buffy blushed and shook her head, the basis of her sudden reluctance became clear. Well at least it did to her kinky, but intuitive, vampire mate.
“Not dry are you pet?” She trembled and bit her lip, “Not dry. Wet, I’m guessing very, very wet. Let me in baby, its ok to get turned on by nipple play. You used to before you know.”
“I know,” she mumbled quietly, “But that was before. I, I kinda feel like my breasts are for Aidan now,” and she glanced across at the bassinet in the corner of the room. “It feels wrong that they’re still part of our … play time.”
“Well sweetheart, you're going to have to get over that hang up. Listen, you're still a woman, still Buffy, as much as you're now a mother. Its just another part, another dimension to add to your multi-faceted self. By day, you're a loving, protective tiger mother, sharing the milk of your breasts with your adored son, by night you're a super vixen, sharing your hot, bouncy, super titties with your sexy mate.”
“Oh you goof,” Buffy said, lightly slapping his butt. “Yeah, I think I’d be able to handle that, if it wasn’t for the … suckling.” Again she blushed and hid her head.
“Maybe. It’s not just the suckling, or even my arousal from it that freaks you. Maybe it’s your own arousal that upsets you. But babe, we’re different than others. We mutually enjoy me biting you as well. S’pretty much the same thing really. Look, one’s nourishment, the other’s sex. Same act, different dimensions yeah?”
Throughout Spike’s whole argument, he’d continued licking and suckling at her breast. And now he shifted across to her left, unattended breast, to give it some attention. At the same time, his left hand drifted down to her mons, his fingers gently stroking the short, soft curls until she relaxed her thighs enough to open for him.
Spike slipped a finger between her outer lips and pressed down hard on her engorged clit. She was soaking wet and ready to fire. Her hips bucked against the pressure of his hand as she pressed his mouth even harder against her nipple. He suckled firmly, swallowing the spurting milk as he stroked her clit. Buffy froze, thrust against his hand twice and climaxed with a long scream of pleasure.
He didn’t waste any time. Quickly, he scrambled between her thighs. He swiped his glans once, twice through her swollen cleft, until he was bathed in her spendings. With Buffy still trembling from her orgasm, he slowly and very carefully pushed his way into her sopping channel. He watched her carefully for any signs of discomfit, but her only reaction was one of prolonged arousal: the flush on her neck, the distended nipples, the impatient rocking of her hips.
Gratified, and at the very edge of his own control, Spike gently thrust home. Buffy moaned, and wrapped her thighs around his hips, giving him the signal he needed to begin the finale. He drew her into his arms and began a slow, shallow thrust in and out. Restlessly, Buffy groaned and clenched Spike’s ass with her thighs, pulling him into her more deeply.
“Harder,” she panted, “Spike fuck me harder.”
With that plea, he let loose, driving into her firmly, pushing them both closer and closer to their peaks. With a scream and a roar, they both came together; Spike’s warm cum spurting deep into her spasming cunt. Exhausted, they collapsed, Spike rolling to the side to gather Buffy in his arms. He gently stroked her face and stared deep into her eyes.
“Love you Buffy, love you so much my beautiful girl, my amazing, sexy goddess. Love your compassion, your enthusiasm, your fierce protective instinct. Love how easily you’ve adapted to nurturing, to tenderness. Love your incredible body, so strong, so deadly, yet capable of creating and nurturing the most precious life one minute, then knocking a jaded old vamp to his knees the next, with your astonishing tits and glorious cunny. I will happily worship at your feet for the rest of my days you stunning, extraordinary creature.”
Buffy’s eyes filled with tears and she went willingly into Spike’s arms, accepting his deep, loving kisses and returning his affection just as freely. She could have travelled the world over, hunted through a thousand dimensions, and she would never have found a soul more perfect for her than her gorgeous, loyal, loving, and sexy vampire.
“Mmm, love you baby, so much,” she murmured sleepily. “Thank you for everything you give to me. Thanks for making me so, so hot for your freaky loving, and helping me be all good with it. And thanks for giving me that precious little boy of ours. I guess I’m fine with your naughty milk play at night, as long as he gets the lion’s share during the day. Speaking of which, what a good boy, he slept right through the ruckus.”
“Yep, kid’s well trained up already.” Spike lifted his head and peered at the bassinet intently. He couldn’t see Aidan through the woven sides, but he could pick out the baby’s gentle breathing and steady heartbeat with his enhanced hearing. “Sleeping like a lamb,” he confirmed, before snuggling back under the blankets with Buffy.
“So tired,” she yawned, “Want to go to sleep, but I’m all wet and sticky. Man, you really let loose tonight babe. It kinda felt like a high-pressure hose attacked me. Thank goodness your hose is warmer than the garden variety.”
“”Hmmm,” Spike mumbled as he nestled himself big spoon fashion against Buffy’s damp backside. She’d shuffled over to the side so that he was dead center in the wet patch. She was right, he’d absolutely flooded her with his warm jizz. He grinned like a schoolboy at the thought of it, until a sudden realization struck his sleepy brain.
“Buffy,” he whispered groggily, “You know your accelerated Slayer metabolism, that doesn’t apply to your female cycle does it? Buffy, Buffy.”
But Buffy was already out for the count, and the endorphins floating around his body induced a sort of euphoric, carefree lethargy. Shrugging off the stray thought, Spike nuzzled back against his girl and sank into the depths of a blissful sleep.