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Chapter 13:

If he hadn't been in so much damn pain, Spike would have been in heaven. Normally, he would have tried to tough it out, but once Buffy had started showing concern for him, he'd milked it for all it was worth.

Not that the whimpering was all faked. He'd suffered unspeakable tortures in his time- mostly at the hands of Angelus. But Angel's knee to the groin was almost more than he could take, especially considering it had been backed by a good dose of vampire strength.

Still, lying with his head in Buffy's scantily clad lap almost made up for it. It had taken everything he'd had in him not to smirk at Angel when Buffy let it slip that she'd known that he'd been watching her. He might have doubted her meaning if he hadn't been able to smell the fading aroma of her earlier arousal.

So, she got off on being watched, did she? Well, Spike was more than happy to oblige her on that front, although it might be more difficult, now that her pals knew about his continued interest in her.

Even that was nothing compared to Buffy defending him against Angel, even if he knew she did it more out of stubbornness than any conscious desire to defend him. Buffy hated nothing more than others trying to tell her how to live her life, which was ironic, since she spent most of her time seeking the approval of those around her. The poof should have remembered that before he came by and tried to meddle in her life.

Finally, there was his personal angel, Joyce. Watching her drive the older vampire out of her home had been fantastic. Now she was busy in the kitchen making him hot chocolate. With marshmallows.

Of course, Joyce presented a bit of a problem. When Angel had tackled him out of the tree, Spike had been in the middle of jerking himself off, and he hadn't had a chance to zip himself back up. Glinda had helpfully provided him with the ice and the towel, which not only soothed his swelling balls, but also helped cover himself up. It's not that he was modest, it was that he had no desire to offend Joyce, not after all the things she'd done for him.

In the mean time, he enjoyed listening to Buffy quietly rant to herself about Angel while she ran her fingers through his hair. It was all he could do not to nestle his face between her legs and start kissing her thighs.

Joyce returned with a tray laden with hot chocolate, which she set down on the coffee table. Buffy helped pull him up into more of a sitting position. He whimpered, both from the pain of overly sensitive balls rubbing against the denim of his jeans, and from the loss of contact with the silk of Buffy's skirt. The warmth of her soft skin.

Still, she kept her arms around him and he rested his head in the crook of her arm, so that his cheek was just barely brushing her left breast. Joyce handed Buffy the mug of cocoa meant for Spike, and then she lifted up his feet and placed them in her lap. Joyce began to unlace his boots.

"Just this once I'll forgive you for getting mud on my sofa. But don't do it again, Spike." Joyce teased him.

"Yes, mum," he said obediently. He kicked himself for being so inconsiderate in her house, before he remembered that he was evil and that he was supposed to be gleeful about doing things like muddying up the upholstery.

Buffy held the mug in front of him, and he blew on the hot steam rising off the chocolate. He was careful to blow it directly across her right nipple. Her body stiffened under him, and his nose was greeted to the renewed smell of her arousal.

"Spike," she said warningly.

"What?" he looked up at her innocently through his eyelashes.

She gave him a look that clearly indicated that she didn't buy the innocent act for a minute. He took the cocoa from her with his free hand, and for a few minutes they all sat there happily sipping the hot chocolate.

Joyce broke the silence, "You'll have to stay here tonight, Spike. We certainly can't expect you to walk home. You can sleep in Buffy's room and she'll sleep on the couch."

"Mom!" Buffy objected. "He can't stay in my room!"

"Why not? You're young and strong, Buffy. A night on the couch won't kill you."

"But Moooom!"

"No buts. Why don't you take the cups into the kitchen, and I'll get the guest sheets and pillows and bring them down."

Grumbling, Buffy violently grabbed Spike's mug, and put it and the others on the tray. Spike took advantage of the temporary departure of the women to zip himself back up. It was not a pleasant experience, at that moment he would have given just about anything for a pair of soft cotton boxers.

Buffy returned from the kitchen first. She came in smiling, and gave Spike a triumphant grin. Inwardly he cursed. He hoped she hadn't found a way to get out of sleeping on the couch. He was looking forward to sleeping in the Slayer's bed.

Joyce came back down the stairs carrying sheets, blankets, and pillows.

"Mom, don't you think it might be hard for Spike to walk up the stairs? Wouldn't it be easier for him to sleep downstairs?"

"I already thought of that dear," Joyce said. "But there's the big window and I'm not sure the curtains are thick enough. We wouldn't want him catching fire in the morning. Besides, you're strong. You can carry him, can't you?"

Spike wanted to laugh at the look for frustration that crossed the Slayer's face.

"It's okay, mum, I can manage to walk. . . somehow."

Joyce gave him a concerned look.

"Buffy! Help him up!" she told her daughter.

Glaring, Buffy roughly yanked Spike to his feet. The groan that escaped his lips wasn't all faked. Her rough handling of him caused everything to rub together in a painful way.

"Buffy! Apologize to Spike."

"What? I will not."

"Buffy Anne Summers! I know I raised you with better manners than that."

Buffy cringed at her mother's commanding voice, and looked down at her feet.

"I'm sorry, Spike," she said quietly.

"What was that, pet? I couldn't hear you."

"Yes you could! Hello, vampire hearing?"

"Buffy!"

"I'm sorry, Spike," she finally said.

"It's okay, pet."

He put his arm around her shoulder and leaned dramatically on her. She rolled her eyes, but she put her arm around his waist.

As soon as they started up the stairs, he bit his lips to keep from crying out. The denim scraped painfully against his swollen bits. Half way up the stairs he had to stop, his stomach was churning. He rested against the wall.

Buffy looked at him with actual concern.

"Is it really that bad?" she asked, softly.

He smiled weakly. "S'okay, pet. Just waiting for the vampire healing to kick in."

He took another moment and she helped him up the rest of the way and into her room. Gingerly he lay down on the bed while Buffy turned to get some of her things.

"So you like to be watched," Spike said in a conversational voice.

"It's just too much trouble to stake you, that's all," she said over her shoulder.

"So I suppose you don't get off on it then?"

"Please." Buffy turned to stand by the bed. "Get over yourself. Nothing about yo-"

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her over him onto the other side of the bed. Before she had time to react, one of his hands had moved up her skirt. His fingers had barely brushed her lace thong, when she let out a little gasp and reflexively her legs began to part for him.

She had placed her hands on his chest to push him away, but instead she ran them up to his shoulders and gripped them hard as his fingers found her nub. Her eyes were wide and she looked angry, but he could smell her arousal and feel her body push back at him.

She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw as if she was trying very hard to convince herself that she was not enjoying this. He couldn't help but smile. Cocky bint that she was, why couldn't she just accept the attraction between them. They could have spent this last week shagging like crazy, instead of on opposite sides of her window.

"Spike do you need. . ." Joyce's voice came from just outside the partially open door.

The two of them quickly broke apart, but it was apparent from Joyce's face that she had seen enough.

". . . anything else. Buffy, I've made up the couch for you, why don't you go downstairs?"

Buffy leapt off the bed, gathered up the pajamas she'd pulled out earlier, and started to leave. Just as she got to the door, she paused, and ran back to her vanity, pulled a small journal out of the top drawer, gave Spike an angry look, and ran downstairs.

"I'm, uh, fine, mum. . . Sorry?" he stammered. He felt sheepish, like he'd abused her hospitality.

"Goodnight, Spike," was all she said, although there was a hint of anger? annoyance? maybe even amusement in her voice. Spike wasn't sure.

She turned off the lights, and closed the door.





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