[Reviews - 145]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 3024 times

- Text Size +




IMPORTANT NOTE: The last chapter "Ashes to Ashes," was posted two nights ago, so be sure to read that one FIRST before you read this one. I don't usually update so quickly and I want to be sure no one misses chapter 15 ("Ashes to Ashes").

Enjoy number 16, and thanks for reading! Please review!
_______________________________

Spike tossed the lug wrench and ruined tire into the trunk. It was amazing he'd been able to get the rim back into shape, he thought, enough so that he could put the spare on for the drive home. Vampire strength certainly came in handy at unusual times.

The front end of Buffy's vehicle was a bit worse for wear, and he still wanted her to replace that back wheel. Other than a few marks and a broken headlight, though, it would drive fine until she could get it to a mechanic.

Spike grit his teeth as he recalled the exact source of the damage, and wished for the thousandth time he'd just let Buffy leave work on her own. Instead, he had made her wait here for him and in that time, the sun set enough for Hank to come out of his fox hole and hunt her down like a bit of prey.

Spike wouldn't have gotten to kill the bastard, he realized, if Buffy had simply left after they spoke on the phone. Now all the danger was a thing of the past, but not the repercussions of Hank's death.

Buffy had gone scarily quiet once the fight ended. Spike looked her over, and was more than a little relieved to find she didn't have so much as a scratch on her. She had glanced at his anxious hands moving around her face and limbs, though, to notice they were bloody and already starting to swell. She'd latched onto them, staring worriedly at his abused knuckles.

He told her they would be fine, but her fingers feathered over the cuts and bruises as she said, "We have bandages at home."

Once he nodded, she'd gone monosyllabic, and that was when she needed to talk. Otherwise, Buffy took to answering yes or no questions with shakes and nods of the head rather than words.

Spike found he missed her voice. He was starting to think his mate was mad at him, and a part of him understood why. That same part was shaming him for causing her pain, but it wasn't the truth, because the one who had really caused Buffy heartache was her father.

Or rather, the demon the man had become. Spike didn't particularly like the overall judgment on vampires that said they were just evil versions of the humans whose bodies they walked around in, but he couldn't exactly refute the claims either. A lot of his kind were exactly that way. You lose your blood, you lose your soul; then, a demon equipped with your memories and bloodlust trots around in your corpse. Hank was a prime example.

Spike and Darla weren't wired that way. There were too many variations on vampires to count. Some were like them, some were even better, but the majority were like Hank Summers, and that meant Spike hadn't killed Buffy's father tonight; he'd killed a demon bent on hurting her.

This didn't make things a whole lot easier for Buffy, though. She sat in the car now, no radio on, the windows rolled up and the AC shut off. He might be less worried if she were crying or something, but then, of course he wouldn't be, because Spike hated seeing her in pain.

When he was racing here, something had started niggling at the back of his mind halfway, as if he wasn't going fast enough, as if he was going to be too late. For what, he couldn't have known, but the feeling put his nerves on edge nonetheless. He ran like his unlife depended on it, then his heart dropped into his stomach when he'd finally gotten to his mate.

If he could have only killed Hank a few more times, he would have. Spike still found his anger just below the boiling point, even knowing the bastard was dead. He fought to unclench his fists. He had to be calm now for Buffy, try and offer what comfort he could. Her silence was a sign of bottling things up, and overwhelming shows of desperation from him probably weren't what she needed.

Still, knowing how close she had come to getting hurt, even having her throat ripped open, had Spike fighting every admittedly domineering, protective instinct inside himself. Needless to say, he wouldn't be letting her out of his sight anytime soon.

He closed the trunk gently, raising an eyebrow and shrugging his shoulders when it didn't completely shut, then walked around to the driver's side. He opened the door and slipped in behind the steering wheel. He adjusted the seat, glancing Buffy's way before driving from the skid marked parking lot.

The quiet, even after Spike rolled down his window and the wind flew in, began wearing down his nerves almost immediately. Buffy's hands were clenched around two things: her cell phone and a stake, and her eyes were staring straight ahead.

Spike went for the less obvious question first. "Did you call Darla, pet?" he asked softly.

Buffy blinked a couple times, then turned towards him in a distracted manner. "Yeah. I figured she'd want to know that you got here."

Ah, finally, a sentence. Spike nodded. "Good thinking." He very badly wanted to know if she told Darla what had happened, but he doubted it. Buffy was acting stranger than he'd ever seen her, and frankly, he didn't think she would bring up the fact he'd killed Hank of her own accord until verbally acknowledging the event, at least. Darla, most likely, didn't push Buffy to tell her what was wrong while they spoke on the phone either.

The next question Spike decided to confront, though, he did. "Why are you holding that stake, love?"

He noticed her fingers tighten reflexively around the wood. She looked down at it in near surprise, and said, "I just grabbed it... When I was waiting for you and- I grabbed it." Her voice was stop-and-start, yet plain, detached.

Spike surmised the rest; she hadn't let it go. He watched as her grip on the weapon slowly loosened, and before he could even blink, she opened the glove box and tossed it inside.

Spike took a deep inhale, suddenly craving a cigarette. He wished fervently for her to say something else. Silence lasted for three long minutes before the vampire finally broke. "Are you angry?"

He remembered how she told him she couldn't hate him for killing Hank Summers, and knew that it had to be done. Yet right now, it felt like Buffy had assumed wrong what her feelings would be when the time came. Right now, she was distant and obviously upset, but hiding her thoughts from him. Right now, she was acting like she was heartbroken.

And it was his fault, even if Spike knew better, for there had been no other option than to do what he had.

Buffy looked directly at him with sad, honest eyes, and spoke in a quiet voice. "Of course not. I- I can't be. I know he was going to kill me."

Spike's hands tightened on the wheel. He said nothing, and let her continue.

Buffy sighed. There was a catch in her throat she couldn't conceal. "It hurt. Even though I know it shouldn't, it did, and I'm just trying to deal with that."

Spike wanted to pull over and wrap her in his arms, but reason told him to just keep driving. The sooner they got home, the better.

"I know," she began again, "you didn't kill my dad. I'm not even upset over... over you doing it."

Spike frowned. "You're not?"

He saw her shake her head, and hoped that wouldn't be the end to this conversation.

She didn't disappoint. "No. I am just trying to accept that he's gone. I'm trying to understand it. And I'm..."

She paused, and when he looked at her again, Spike realized Buffy's eyes had gone dim. She seemed lost in thought again, but a little dimple appeared between her brows and it was the most emotion she'd shown since noticing his damaged hands. "What is it?" he asked, "What's got you worried?"

She swallowed visibly, then said in a rush, "I don't know what I'm going to tell Dawn. I- I mean, I could tell her he just left the country, but what if she tries to find him again?" Her voice was strangled, and turned suddenly frantic. "What- What if she wants to tell him about the baby? Or what if she's left to wonder if he ever-" she gulped, realizing she was jabbering but unable to stop, "ever died, and this- this whole time I know he's already gone. I know it! Her sister, and I never tell her what happened. And she never gets to say goodbye or anything! I mean, how is that fair?!"

Her breathing turned rapid until she realized Spike had pulled over. They were parked in a loading zone, and not far from home, but he'd stopped the car and now he was leaning over to take her hand and draw her attention to his bright, bright blue eyes. How could they be so bright in just the dim light from a flickering street lamp?

His warm, soothing voice pierced through her inner panic like a flying dart. "You can tell Dawn everything, sweets. Everything. Once she knows about you and me... and Darla, probably, she'll be much more open-minded to the truth."

Buffy felt her heart beating deeply beneath her breastbone, but her lungs weren't shuddering anymore, which was reassuring. She watched as Spike's hand moved to frame one side of her face, and leaned into it gratefully. He said, "She'll understand, Buffy."

She shook her head. "She'll hate me for not telling her sooner."

"She'll be alright. She's your little sis, and she'll realize why you had to wait to explain it all."

After contemplating that for a moment, a helpless nod was all Buffy could manage. She let Spike's words begin to calm her, even if they weren't fact and only hopeful assumptions. She needed them. She couldn't feel guilty for protecting herself and her family. She needed to believe Dawn wouldn't hate her, or Spike for that matter.

Buffy just needed to hope, and remind herself over and over again that her sister was smart and loving and forgiving. Hank wouldn't manage to destroy anything anymore, and especially not the relationship between his daughters. His body was dust in the wind now, and Buffy was grateful.

***

When they walked through the door, Spike was talking, as he had been since parking her totaled car in the driveway, stressing the point that it was too dangerous for her to drive to work until she got it to a mechanic.

She'd already told him she wouldn't drive until the back tire was fixed, but he kept harping on the subject. She might have been annoyed if she didn't believe it was nerves getting him to go on like a broken record.

Darla appeared once they shut the door and Buffy dropped her purse on the table in the hall. The she-vamp looked at her friend, then at the man behind her, and her shoulders slumped marginally. Combined with the perceptive look in her eyes, and Buffy knew she knew. It was a power Darla had always had, the astute observational skills of a detective, an ability to discern the reasons behind something as habitual as a blink.

Buffy sighed and said, "I just want to lie down."

She nodded. Darla let her pass by, and without so much as a word, Buffy felt her friend's support as she walked up the stairs and sensed Darla watching her; there would not be pity in her gray-blue eyes, only compassion.

At the sound of Buffy's bedroom door clicking shut, Darla turned to Spike and demanded, "Is she alright?"

His jaw clenched. "Not exactly. Her dad is dead."

"I guessed that," Darla said irritably. "Was she hurt? Did Hank-"

"No." Spike shook his head hard, looking directly at the her. "I got there before anything happened."

Darla's hands fisted at her sides, then she crossed her arms in an effort to remain calm. "I knew she sounded different on the phone. But I didn't want to ask why until she got back."

"It was probably good that you didn't," Spike said, "She's worried."

"About what?" Darla asked, bafflement clear on her face. "Sad, I could understand. But Hank was exactly why she had to be so vigilant and careful lately. Now he's gone, so why on earth is she worried?"

Spike looked at the staircase, and followed the path Buffy had taken with his eyes. He would let her relay the details to her friend, but he didn't think there was harm in explaining Buffy's aloof manner. "Dawn," was all he said.

Understanding, then concern showed in Darla's eyes. "Oh boy."

"I told Buffy she'd understand."

Darla nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Yes, Dawn just doesn't like to be babied. She'll understand once she knows all the details, of course, but it's the point Buffy didn't tell her right away that may bother her."

Spike nearly rolled his eyes and his voice came out in a harsh whisper. "I don't care if it bothers her or not! Buffy is trying to protect her, and explaining the mountain of crap on vampires isn't something that can be easily done in one bloody sitting!"

"Dawn will see that," Darla said, shaking her head at him as if he'd just had a few screws loosened. "Not right away, though. Buffy knows it, too. She's worried Dawn won't forgive her." The blonde shrugged her shoulders. "Dad is dead. It's usually something you share with the family."

Spike did roll his eyes then, and stomped passed Darla on his way up the stairs.

"I don't know if she wants company right now."

"She's not going to wallow in this. If she wants to cry, I'll be there. But I'm not letting her sit in the dark by her bloody self," he growled.

Darla watched him head for Buffy's room, striding with purpose and a little agitation. She murmured a thought to the air, as her lips curled softly upwards at their ends. "I didn't think so."

***

She opened the door just as he went to pound on it.

"You aren't hard to hear," Buffy said as she walked away, clearing the entrance for him. Spike stood there a bit dumbstruck, but quickly recovered and followed her inside.

Buffy sat on her bed and looked up after he closed the door, placing her hands in her lap. She nodded towards her nightstand, where a lamp perched tall and bright. "See, not in the dark."

Spike sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just don't want you to-"

"What? Feel like I'm lying to my little sister? Like I'm doubting everything I've-" She cut her words off with a depreciating laugh that grated on Spike's patience. Suddenly fixing her green eyes on the bedspread, Buffy's fingers traced invisible patterns along the comforter, and a sudden feeling of anxiety crept down Spike's neck. "Doubting?" he asked.

Buffy glanced up at him, and then she was caught staring into his eyes. They held her captive like a bird in a cage, and she realized she was going to tell him her thoughts, and she also realized how badly they could hurt him. "I don't see how..." Buffy swallowed hard. "How you can care about me- about anyone -and Darla can care, but my dad just... wanted me dead."

Spike gazed at Buffy, fighting the burning sensation behind his eyes by pretending it wasn't there. "We're not like him, pet. Vampires are all different, but the majority aren't like me and your friend. They're like... like your dad was." He finished softly, but didn't think that minimized the impact of the words at all.

Buffy shook her head and looked away. "I know. I- I've asked these questions before. I've wondered all this before but I just... I feel like I can't trust anything right now."

A pit formed deep in his stomach. Spike hesitantly moved forward, until he was seated beside his mate on the bed. Buffy stayed frozen in place, but allowed him to reach out and grasp her hand. He had no words, and relied instead on the action. It was simple, it was plain, but he hoped she realized how much it stood for.

Her breath suddenly rose in a tortured gasp, and Spike caught a glimpse of tears shining in her eyes. "I mean, I don't know why I can't get passed this." Her tone was higher than normal, shaky. "You would never hide in the trunk of my car then pounce out at sundown to kill me." She spoke in a sad, mocking voice, and then despair began dripping from her pretty eyes.

However, Spike had turned unmoving, and though she was crying, Buffy still noticed his erect posture even while trying to control an inevitable waterfall of tears. His grip tightened on her hand and a sudden fury blazed in his eyes. He murmured a question, and it was deathly soft, but filled with something incredibly volatile. "He was in your trunk?"

Buffy frowned, confusion stalling her breakdown. She wiped at her face. "Yeah. I- I thought- I mean, didn't you notice the trunk was-" Spike met her gaze then, and she realized in a single moment that no, he hadn't known anything. He was only now learning that Hank had been hiding in her car all night long, waiting to hurt her.

The news did a number on Spike's calm. Knowing that she'd been so close to Hank... all day, without either of them realizing it... He'd been right there, close enough to kill her at any moment, and Spike had not known.

It was amazing, Buffy thought dazedly, how quickly a storm could brew in somebody's gaze, how fast emotions slipped from one's control. Spike grabbed her shoulders, not hard enough to hurt her but enough to startle, and his lips nearly brushed hers when he ordered, "Kiss me."

Buffy didn't blink, didn't move, except to lean forward and obey. Her mouth tickled his with the lightest of touches, caressed his cool skin and then strangely, Buffy felt tears of relief coast down her cheeks. Everything was suddenly okay, even her doubts and fears quieted, and she swore she felt the connection between them humming with pleasure.

When she pulled back from the sweet contact, Spike was actually tenser than he'd been before, and Buffy frowned. He murmured something before she could open her mouth. "Forgive me," he said.

Spike unexpectedly stole her lips in a kiss so rough and possessive her heart had trouble catching up. His hands were in her hair, then they lowered to her waist. She let him take control, let him haul her onto his lap and glide his hands beneath her skirt. Then a rush hit, and Buffy was reveling in it.

She started molding her body to Spike's and kissing harder. She allowed and loved the near bruising grip he had on her. She felt the loosening of the straps around her ankles, and a moment later her high heels slipped off her feet. His damaged hands roved up her legs once again and bunched her skirt, gliding around her thighs, leaving goose bumps.

He un-tucked her blouse from her high waistband and started working the buttons. Buffy noticed he was taking too long with his shaking fingers and brushed them away, seeing to the job herself. Their mouths remained chaotic and untiring, tongues gliding against each other. One by one the butterflies came to life in her stomach, and she let him tug the shirt from her body before pushing at his leather coat.

It peeled from his shoulders, but he only abandoned touching her one hand at a time in order to get it off. Then he was holding her again, sculpting her arms and waist. Spike reached for the zipper on the back of her skirt.

A fire started flickering higher and higher, letting off sparks in her blood. Buffy felt like she was approaching a point, a ledge, like there was some invisible sign that dictated she couldn't turn back. Helpless to stop herself, groans and whimpers echoed around the room, heat rising off her skin she was sure in steamy wisps. Spike's cool touch was the only thing needed to calm it.

But he wasn't calming it, he was feeding the fire, having moved his hungry mouth downwards to her throat. He left moist, open-mouthed kisses on her skin, and bites that made her arch her back. Grabbing onto his hair and holding him in place, Buffy realized dully that his fingers were working on her bra clasp, fiddling with it until the hooks unlatched. She dropped her hands from his shoulders to let the satin straps fall.

He gazed at her with impatience and greed, wrapping his arms around her naked back. Hungry kisses trailed along her chest until his tongue was teasing and tracing a puckered nipple. His fingers showed attention to the other, and Buffy began to claw at his arms. She writhed in his lap, moans escaping from her lips like prayers to the ceiling.

A heady desire rolled through them both, pushing them to take exactly what they wanted, supporting the craving to fall into each other. It encouraged the need to forget the problems of the world. Forget everything, but the sex and blood and the emotions felt. Desire and electricity thrived, and an aching connection strained to be completed.

Beneath it all there lay some uncertainties, but they were whispers, dispersing quickly into silence below two hearts' shouting, the demands, and the wants.

Abruptly, Buffy realized where this was going, and she was helpless to stop it. Mainly because she didn't want to. She really didn't want to. Despite unresolved wonderings, despite the franticness with which she was trying to get Spike out of his clothing, the night felt somehow resolved, set. This was already happening, already decreed by choice and abandoned caution.

Spike's hands mapped Buffy's body until they found her waist again, and he finally raised his head, gazing at her tight, reddened nipples. He ran a finger along one of them, smiling as she released a small gasp.

"Beautiful," Spike murmured, and then pulled her close again. He lifted her up just enough to yank her skirt over her hips, pulling the fabric lower until it bunched together in a crumpled mess about her knees. She kicked the garment from her legs.

She was bare except for her satin thong, and that was quickly torn away. Buffy didn't complain, just worked on getting Spike's belt off as he pulled his T-shirt over his shoulders. Next came the jeans, but both vamp and human were distracted as their lips came together once again, Buffy wrapping her arms around Spike's neck. He groaned when she bit his lip, and relished the sensation of her breasts rubbing against him.

Buffy touched the contours of his abdomen, running her fingers possessively over his muscular body, scraping her nails along his alabaster skin. She heard a growl well in his throat, and soon he was rougher, wild and kissing her so savagely that Buffy was sure her lips would look bee-stung for at least a day. She let him take control once again, and found that her inner submissive was purring with delight.

It wasn't a surprise when Buffy suddenly found herself lying sprawled on top of the bed. She was panting, and the sudden touch of air to her bare skin felt like invisible ice. She grabbed the comforter and slipped beneath it, watching absently as Spike divested himself of his jeans and boots, before striding over.

He ripped away the blanket she'd just used to cover herself; Buffy barely noticed.

Spike without clothes on was enough to knock the wind out of you. Buffy not only ceased breathing, but literally felt her heart stop and then breakout into a disjointed rhythm.

The vampire flashed her an arrogant yet somehow warmhearted smile when he caught her staring, and it widened when her cheeks flamed scarlet upon looking below his waistline. Spike knelt in bed beside her, and grasped her hands, forcing Buffy to turn on her back.

His fingers spread over her stomach, then ran up to trace along her side. He laid down, then gave her a moist, hungry kiss, pulling her body in close. Buffy arched involuntarily against him as she rolled to her side again.

Suddenly, she started trembling, a combination of dizzying pleasure, nerves and impatience running through her veins. Spike felt it, and tried to hold himself steady, but their impulses got the better of them.

In the dim light of the room, Spike could make out every beautiful curve and feature on her. Buffy was sighing, moaning and kissing his skin, her fingers finding the marks of old scars and tracing them as if to memorize each one so she could ask about it later. She dragged her nails down his back as their tongues ran against each other, the kisses becoming messy and harsh.

Spike grabbed Buffy's thigh and pulled it over his own, then moved his bruised hand to the junction of her legs, and ran a finger along the wetness he found. She gasped and said his name in an imploring voice that nearly made his head spin.

She whimpered when he slipped one, then two fingers inside her welcoming body. He pressed deeper until the heel of his hand met her clit, and then he curled his fingers. The actions he used made her writhe. That familiar coil of heat began to flow out from her core, spreading and heating Buffy from the inside out. Spike spread his kisses down her throat, and bit her skin with blunt teeth hard enough for it to hurt.

Her hips moved restlessly and her breathing sped up. Spike licked a cool trail up her arching neck and nipped behind her ear, making Buffy shudder. She moved her hands south. Buffy's hesitant touch paused just before meeting with the line of hair that lead to his cock. Her fingers danced, tickling his skin, then her wrist bumped against his erection and Spike groaned like she'd just shot him.

Buffy smiled, and suddenly let out another whimper as her vampire redoubled his efforts, quickening and deepening his touch. Her pussy was swollen and wet. She felt bereft each time he drew his fingers away, stimulating her body while still leaving her deprived. He pressed hard against her clit and massaged it in time with his thrusts.

Buffy took hold of his cock, squeezing him, twisting her hand as she moved it up and down. Spike began pushing into her strokes, saying her name in her ear and breathing hard against her neck.

Almost as soon as she'd begun, he pulled away. His hand abandoned her and Buffy released a little moan of complaint. Spike moved to his knees, and took his jutting cock in his own grip. He stared at her, eyes flashing amber before he poised over her body. Buffy turned, looked up at him and then down at his strong, lean form. This vampire was beautiful and powerful, hard in all the right places. She trailed a loving hand down his chest and watched muscles ripple beneath his skin; air hissed between his clenched teeth.

Buffy met his blue eyes again to see they were nearly completely black; she imagined hers looked much the same. Desire was pulsing through her system like a drug, every inch of her skin humming at Spike's proximity.

She grabbed him by the hair and yanked his mouth down to meet hers. It was a wild, rushed kiss, like the others, and she barely had time to realize he'd wrapped her in his arms again before she felt his cock, heavy and thick, pressing at her cleft.

Spike was holding himself back by a thin, thin leash, trying not to plow into her and ravage her, bite her, mark her as his. It had been this way since the first kiss, from the second he'd decided tonight that he wasn't going to leave her vulnerable any longer.

Spike should have been able to feel through their connection that danger was close by, but he hadn't, and Buffy had nearly been killed because of that. He needed the connection, to keep her safe, to know her heart was beating without having to hear it. He needed to take her body and taste her. He needed to get the demon inside of him to stop gnawing at itself, strangled by its own desire to complete the claim.

He needed this, because he was in love with her.

He loved her, and he'd almost lost her, and would have if not for the determination inside Buffy that gave her the strength to hit her own father with a car. Spike tried his hardest to remain calm, to remind himself that she was alive and she was here with him, but the desperation wouldn't stop and he couldn't care anymore.

Buffy's sudden voice, soft and begging, gave him everything. "Please. I need you."

That was it. All he wanted and more, the acceptance that tore away his last bit of control. It had been getting worn down with every whimper, every touch, but Buffy's words did the last of it. He pushed into her fast, deep, and she lost her breath, eyes of green and blue widening at the same instant. Then, the latter changed to gold.

He stayed above her, the face of his demon out and bare, and they froze in place until the tension became too much, and their bodies collided together again, and again. Spike's thrusts were hard and intimate, and she rose her hips to capture him each time, chest to chest, one pulse racing, another coming to life for the first time since its death. Buffy raised her arms up and let her fingers crawl along his shoulders, gripping him as she threw her head back. The picture of her arched neck drew out a growl from him, and her heart skipped a beat, excitement running through her, heat gathering as her body swallowed his cock over and over.

Moans and gasps permeated the air like an overwhelming chorus. A perfume settled around them, the aroma of sex drowning Spike's senses. He moved his hand from the sheet to the nape of her neck, and he held on, keeping her in place as he plowed into her wet heat, a snarl ripping from his throat as her legs wrapped around him, pulling him harder and closer. He leaned down to her throat. She called his name and he only moved faster, the sounds of their mingled pleasure heard as shouts in their own ears.

They were in a different world; Buffy couldn't breathe, she felt like she might be losing the capability altogether, but it didn't matter. As long as Spike kept driving into her, kept pressing her into the bed sheets, she didn't care what happened or if her heart was racing dangerously fast or not. She knew it was.

Suddenly, he began kissing her chest, leading a trail of brutal nips back up to her throat. Her pulse started hammering, and she felt his rapid breathing fanning over her jugular just as sharply as his cock plowing harder and harder into her body, meeting with the exact right nerves to send her crying out his name.

And then, he bit her. He wasn't gentle; somehow, Buffy knew he couldn't be. His fangs tore into her skin and she whimpered in pain, then pulls of blood were leaving her body in heady rushes, and she felt like she might cry. Pleasure rippled through her in waves, spiraling out from where his cock was moving deep inside her, to the place his fangs were imbedded in her skin. She fell over the edge, shouting, clutching at him to stay grounded and keep him at her neck.

Spike unexpectedly pulled away, but not until after her climax had finished, and he said the word that would seal everything: "Mine."

Buffy opened her mouth and a peaceful sigh escaped her lips. "Yours."

A thunderbolt sensation zinged through her. Suddenly, her passion came roaring back, and with it the undeniable need to draw Spike's blood and stake her claim. Buffy didn't even have to lean up, because he offered her his throat gladly, and when she bit him, she swore she heard him purring. The blood that followed her bite was cold and clammy, but she had no desire to gag, as the foul taste turned bland when she pulled back, and murmured the same word Spike had. "Mine."

He answered quickly, with fierce loyalty and jubilance coating the word. "Yours."

That electric shock ran through her system once more, only this time stronger. Her blood rushed and the room disappeared, and all she knew was that her hips were moving again and she was calling out his name in ecstasy. Spike fell over the edge mere moments later, and a cry tore from Buffy's throat as she joined him in release.

Panting soon followed, exhaustion flowing through every limb of both bodies. In the aftermath, it was abundantly clear the heat had only died down to a simmer, and would soon revive itself. As Buffy caught her breath in needy gulps, and Spike lie resting on top of her, the finality hit her.

And it didn't come with regret. Spike completed her now, and she understood just how badly she'd needed him, and how perfectly they fit. The placement of the claim felt right, and everything about him was slowly entering her awareness. Buffy felt his demon and its bloodlust, which scared her. She felt his life's loneliness, which saddened her, and his care for her, which nearly made her weep. She felt everything.

She swallowed hard, and fought the tears that were trying to arise. "I love you, too."

His bleached head snapped up, eyes of once again cerulean blue staring at her in shock; then, awe seeped in, and she found she loved him even more.

He lifted himself off of her, despite the fact Buffy didn't want him to move an inch, and said, "Could you repeat that?" with a catch in his voice.

"I love you, too, Spike."

Tears threatened from him now, and Buffy lifted her hand to frame his cheek. She smiled when he ducked his head, her heart practically beating out of her chest.

He sniffed and looked at her again, smiling. "I guess there goes privacy, eh, pet?" he joked.

She spoke softly. "We'll work on it."

A leer suddenly combined with his tender expression. "But there are such better things we could occupy our time with," Spike said, and Buffy had no idea how he managed to look both devoted and rascally at the same time, but he did it.

His hand brushed her hair away from her throat, and he checked her neck. She spotted a dose of pride in his eyes even as he frowned. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

"Only a little." He remained a silent examiner until Buffy said, "I hope you're not going to keep me waiting forever here."

He let her hair drop but kept his cold hand on her throat, tenderly covering the wound. The nerves there tingled with pleasure. Spike's frown disappeared when he met her patient gaze, to be replaced with dedication, and a look so warm and sincere that her breath caught. "I love you. You're the most irritating woman on earth, and the one with the deepest loyalty to those you care about." He swallowed nervously, but never once broke away from her gaze. "I love you," he choked out. "I'm yours. I'll always choose you. I'm your willing slave, Buffy. Even if we hadn't done this," he gently traced the area around her neck wound again, "I'd still be yours. Completely."

He saw she was going to cry, and knowing Buffy, she didn't want to let the tears fall, but she did anyhow. One, then two droplets rained onto her cheeks, glistening in the dark light. Spike wiped them away, and held his mate against him.

Abruptly, Buffy asked a question, her voice a quiet murmur. "What did you mean by, 'Forgive me?' "

He tensed. When he had told her that before, it was because he had made a choice to give in to his desires, and used the claim's lust and influence to persuade her into bed, into completing the connection. He'd decided not to hold back any longer, not after what had happened with Hank, and so he'd let himself touch her and kiss her in all the ways he'd been wanting to for so long, knowing she would succumb to the deep seeded cravings. Spike kept only his demon in check, and just barely, until Buffy told him she needed him.

Now, the woman basically read his mind. He didn't have to say a word. He watched understanding dawn on her face in a second, followed by acceptance and compassion. She might have been angry if she wasn't happy, but the fact was she understood, and she loved him.

Just when Spike wasn't sure if she was going to prove to him that he'd read her wrong, and voice her displeasures, she leaned up and kissed him. Her softness and warmth was a cloak of sensation, causing tingles to rush up and down his spine. She silenced his worries, wrapped him in her arms, and pulled him closer.

Nearby, the clock on the nightstand ticked away. All through the night and into the morning, sheets and blood and sweat tangled together, and Buffy and Spike never noticed when the sun began to rise.

For the first time, in a long time, all was well.





You must login (register) to review.