Breakfast without her vampire was a very pouty experience. As good as it was to share toasty pop-tart goodness with her best friend, spending it getting up to naughty things in the kitchen would have been equally as fun. Still, Buffy was feeling a little neglectful, and after the experience of soulless Angel last night—if the cool arms of Spike couldn’t protect her—commiserating with Willow was a really good second choice.
That Willow wasn’t interested much in the discussing of said evil soulless vamp was pretty much a huge giveaway, what with the almost blinding smile she hit Buffy with as soon as she had dressed and made her way into the kitchen. No traumatised teenager entered under a cloud of fear and worry. Oh no. Willow was after some form of pleasure by proxy tale. Buffy’s return grin was enough to tell the redhead that gossipy goodness was more than willing to be shared.
“So, that Spike has got some pretty smooth moves,” she began, and equal recall of his awkward and exposed tumble to the floor brought back that hideous outburst of girlish giggles that had driven him from the house in the first place.
During one of her gasps for breath, Buffy suddenly pictured in depth certain appendages that had been rather blatantly on display, and her eyes narrowed on her friend. Rather than expose her budding jealousy that her friend had seen Spike’s package—an appendage that she was becoming increasingly possessive of—she turned to the bottle of juice and replenished their glasses.
“So, things looked kinda hot between you two,” Willow ventured, despite the hot flare of blush that crept from her chest and neck to make her face flame.
Buffy’s flush was internal as her body reacted to the hotness that was Spike. Every single second she spent in his presence turned her heart to a thumping mess, so eager for his touch that she was clouding her logic with sensual fireworks on a daily basis. Then again, the mere thought of what she had gotten up to with his appendages steered her right into explosive territory.
Sometimes it was difficult to remember that she was still just sixteen, even if her birthday was looming in the nearish future. Recall of what she had asked of him, to take her finally—be her first, and hopefully her last—kept her skin buzzing with the prayer that the days would pass faster and faster until that date she had set for her deflowering was upon her. The day when she had decided to be shown that being bitten was not all about the muscles relaxing and drowning in a couple centimetres of dirty puddle water.
The truth was, every time Spike touched her was some kind of sensory overload. She was sure that if things didn’t reach some kind of natural conclusion soon, her whole body was going to disintegrate from frustration. The parts he touched always ended up satisfied—and big yay for the mature manliness that made certain he was a perfectionist in that regard—yet there were other parts, ones from the inside that she was beyond patient waiting for him to inflame.
“Will, do you think I’m a raving hobag if I say ‘I want his bod in all kinds of ways and all kinds of places right the hell now?’”
The widening of Willow’s eyes elicited a groan—torn from a throat that was desperate to say a varied combination of words, but as yet only relegated to crash around in her brain. I want you now. Get on your knees and beg. Tell me where you want my tongue. Be my everloving man-bitch.
I love you.
And that sentiment stopped her cold.
Sure, she had told him—and rather emphatically—that she was his girl. How could she consider anyone else when Spike consumed every cell of her body, every thought in her head, every beat of her heart? Since the second he touched her in the high school, she had been his. Nothing had ever felt so right in her life. Not even the comfort of holding a smooth stick of wood in her fist.
But he seemed so unsure of her. She might not have told him the words, but couldn’t he see it shining from her eyes, capturing him in her web of affection and drawing him in further and further until all she could see was a future with him by her side—loving and holding her and making her alive?
“Er, that was a rhetorical question, right?”
The smile on Buffy’s face was pure girl, enthusiasm for an event that all teenagers want to experience at one time or another. On this occasion, Willow took up the position of envious best friend, adopting her stern face to bring the seriousness closer to the surface.
“So, beyond cozy…I’m assuming you haven’t done…you know…’cause hey, best friend here. I’m meant to be the one you rush to with news of all the much having of the lusty moments. Which I’m seeing the evidence of muchness here. But not the ultimate moment, right?” Between her mix of embarrassment, shyness and rabid curiosity, Willow’s face was as red as the fuzzy top she was trying to wear with confidence.
Buffy was nodding enthusiastically. “Much having of the lusty moments, but no…no big one yet. I told him on my birthday.” Her mouth was opened, poised on the brink of spilling about her hopes for his fangs to make her his, when the thought that something like that might just freak her friend out too much.
“Birthday?” Willow squeaked before calming down within the topic and took a rather desperate swallow of the last of her juice. “You think you’ll be ready…for that…on your birthday?”
“Arrgghhh!” screamed Buffy before banging her forehead down on the surface of the kitchen island. “I’m ready now, Will. Every sweep of his fingertips on my skin puts me in another timezone. Every time that sexy voice says my name I want to attack him with kisses.”
Buffy chanced a glance at her friend, wondering what the reception to all her girly crush sentiments was. Other than a slight widening of shocked eyes, Willow’s demeanor was accepting, if not a little eager. The redhead leaned forward, chin resting in the palms of her hands as she struck the pose of the giddily excited.
“So, you think you’re ready? Really?”
Buffy zoned. Images of naked Spike running his hand over her, undressing her, sucking on her nipples ran like a fast-forward video. Blazing fire hit her right between the legs and she almost moaned as she clamped her knees together, pushing her weight down into the kitchen stool so as to relieve the pressure she had unwittingly inflamed.
“Will, its like…” She licked her lips while looking beyond her friend, trying to skip over the triple x-rated movie in her head to focus on his smile, just the sweet curve of his lips and the raspiness of his throat when he said her name. The way he spoke to her, the way her name seemed torn from his heart, melted her into goo. It struck a nerve so deep within her that she was left gasping—left wondering what she had been thinking in her childish crush on Angel. Sure, that relationship might of worked, might have been wholly satisfying if Spike had never entered her world, or if he had remained an evil bloodsucker she was committed to kill.
He hadn’t though. He’d presented himself to her as a semi-evil vamp with an amazing capacity for change, and for love. There was nothing about him that confused or scared her. She was completely confident in his feelings for her and so waiting any longer to share her body, share her soul with him seemed redundant.
“It’s like I can’t ever be complete without him. I…I really care about him and I want to show him that. He’s really sensitive and vulnerable.” Her voice was quiet as she set the word in stone. Admitted to the air and friend around her that Spike was exactly what she wanted. And as romantic as waiting to give him her virginity on her birthday may be, the fire that raged every time they touched—the danger that circled them at every turn she took around a graveyard—dictated that the time was too far in the distance. They needed to share this now before normal Hellmouth duties took the chance away from her.
And she needed to tell him how she really felt. Not just proclaim herself to be his like some schoolgirl asking to go steady. Every part of her belonged to him. It was elemental, and it was spiritual.
And the morning was passing too fast without him.
When she finally fell out of her daydream—images of writhing sweaty sex making way for nice innocent dancing, sharing laughter at a funny movie, or just walking while holding hands on patrol—it was to the very focused amusement of her friend.
“He’s vulnerable?” Willow teased. “But he’s like, a master vampire. And he’s evil. How can he be vulnerable?”
A chill crept along Buffy’s spine as she wondered the question. He was so atypical to everything she had been taught. What had altered his path so much that he was now completely devoted to her and was terrified she would question his motivations for being with her?
“Yeah, he has this intensity…it scares the crap out of me. It’s like he knows everything that’s to come, and he is so scared of it—of me—that he can’t believe that I really love him.”
Willow’s eyes shot open in surprise, and the girly buzz of gossip hit an all time new level.
“You love him? Are you sure? How can you tell? When did you know? Have you told him yet? Ha—”
“Whoa there, Will. That inspired a whole lot of stuff I’m not ready for. Don’t suppose you would accept it was just a slip of the tongue?”
Willow frantically shook her head, her lips clamped so as not to barrage the blonde with another onslaught of desperate questions. Hoping her silence might just precipitate some pretty juicy answers.
Buffy sighed at the giddy light sparkling in Willow’s eyes and knew it was hopeless. She’d let too many cats out of her bag of a big mouth and she would have to unload before the excitement of knowing she was in love killed her.
The decision made, a smile of epic happiness lit up her face and the thrill that came with sharing animated her whole body. Arms were flung and giggles were caught in pockets of air; passionate longing tinged her skin and joy played havoc with her composure.
“Nah ah,” Willow responded with her own burst of high. Excitable hormones lent the kitchen a kind of buzz of expectation and Buffy let her mind wander, thoughts of timing and experience flitting through her mind’s eye.
Thoughts of protective Spike lodging there firmly. Yeah, it so was love when she couldn’t distance him from even her most mundane thoughts.
“Yes, I love him. I do.” Buffy exhaled in the dreamiest fashion of romantic sappiness she was capable of.
Willow clapped, excitement racing through the pair of them till they both were bouncing and giggling on their stools—breakfast long forgotten in favour of other, meatier fare.
“Oh, that is just so wow. And you trust him completely? Not that I think you shouldn’t trust him. And he is pretty gorgeous…”
“Hey now…” Buffy interrupted with a steely eye. “He’s my gorgeous…you go find your own gorgeous.”
Willow crumpled slightly, but her smile still beamed across to her friend.
“I don’t know. Xander isn’t interested, no matter how many little hints I give him. Maybe I’m just too much of spaz for boys to like me.” Willow revealed her fear in a little girl voice resigned to be one of those girls left on the shelf.
“Oh, pffft!” Buffy exclaimed with a swat of her hand in the air. “It’s Halloween tomorrow. We’ll make Xander take notice.”
“We will?” the redhead squeaked, suddenly sitting up straight with an eagerness sparkling in her green eyes.
“Oh yeah, we so will. We’ll make both of those boy’s eyes pop out of their heads.” She paused. “Well, boy and man, ‘cause Spike is so not a boy.”
“Uh huh,” Willow enthusiastically agreed and the rest of the morning was lost to nervy, embarrassed giggles.
It was shaping up to be a good day; Angelus completely pushed to the back of their minds as crush objects inspired steamy thoughts.
With a bit of luck, thought Buffy, it would be the day.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spike watched in amazed horror as Xander shoved his pantry full of ‘crispy goodness’ and useless caloried food. Cans of soda and various other non-perishables that would be better in the fridge waited on the kitchen bench for the equipment to be delivered. Spike flung the set of keys onto the bench beside a UHT carton of milk, and looked around with undisguised pleasure.
Uncovered windows allowed the entire living area to be bathed in sunlight, the subtle shade of yellow making the place warm and cozy. It was so opposite to what he was used to in the crypt that he felt momentarily stunned as his eyes prickled a little with his feeling.
“Not too shabby, Dad. Not shabby at all,” garbled Xander around a mouth full of chips.
Spike couldn’t help raise an eyebrow, wondering if he could get away with bestowing a thorough thrashing on the by who just wouldn’t quit with the ‘dad’ analogies.
“Would you just leave it alone?” he said in exasperation and watched in fascination as the irritated tone of his voice actually halted the whelp’s jaw from munching.
“Yeah, okay. Sorry.”
Eyes of mahogany scanned the empty space with interest, slowly lingering on the doors off the room that led to bedrooms and Spike swallowed. He’d had an idea—sort of an unknown effort on his part to make it up to the boy he was quickly beginning to like for all the ugliness of their past relationship. Or at least his past, as how things stood now Spike was certain the animosity they routinely threw at each other was long gone.
It was an idea that held much merit, in more ways than one, yet he seemed hesitant to bring it up. The kid’s age was an issue, and despite living in that hideous basement, he really hadn’t had the opportunity to venture upstairs and mingle with his hosts. But he’d had enough of the elder Harris’ to know—their son would live in a basement!
“Look, I was wonderin’…” He paused, couldn’t go on as the words suddenly caught in this throat. Did he really want to do this? Was it fair on the boy, or even on Buffy? It would curb some of his plans, but it would also solve some problems, and make his place the thing he had set out to provide for all of them. A safe haven. Being a vamp, and as the sole inhabitant, it wasn’t immune to allowing unwanted visitors of the undead variety past his doorway.
Gritting his teeth in determination, and not a little hope, he opened his mouth and allowed the words to spill from his lips.
“’S two bedrooms, right? Was thinking, if it won’t cause you trouble with your family, if you’d like one of the rooms. You know, to live in.”
As Xander opened his mouth, shock obvious on his face, Spike raced on. He was suddenly eager to postpone whatever objection the brunette could verbalise, and threw out phrases and conditions till he ran out of things to say.
“An’ it wont be like you’ll be sittin’ round and partyin’ all day. You’ve still school to get through, an’ I can probably help with that if you want. An’ there’ll be none of this constant fatty calories—we’ll learn to cook. Chips as a snack only, yeah? I won’ get in your hair s’long as you bloody stay out of mine.” He stopped as soon as he saw Harris’s eyes glaze over while staring at his hair. “I meant it figuratively, boy. You’ve got some serious learnin’ to catch up on.” Spike couldn’t help but grin.
Xander’s lips flapped open and closed, the fish impression the one endearing him to Willow if he but knew it.
“Thanks,” he struggled out at last as his hand dived into the packet of crisps again and he smiled his agreement. “I’ll talk to the ‘rents about it after Halloween.”
“You’ll be doin’ us all a favour, mate. Place isn’ protected with just a vamp in ‘ere, and I want all you lot to think of it as a safe place if ever you need it.”
Xander nodded dumbly for a moment and an awkward silence stretched to minutes, only broken by a knock on the door. Spike let the deliverymen in and his new bed, mattress and fridge started their journey into his home. His eyes followed the workers, glancing again at the empty space he was hoping Buffy would help him fill. It was all for her, after all, and he wanted her to be cozy. Would be a bit awkward with her friend living right under their nose, but the rush of something in his gut made him feel happy for doing a good thing. A right thing that he thought could hopefully benefit the boy in time to come. As long as he could get rid of him occasionally, the company should be good.
And God, did he say it was Halloween? The most bloody useless day on the calendar. Oh well, he could get busy helping the gypsy girl tackle the soul restoration spell while he kept the bint alive.
He just hoped she wasn’t stubborn.
Deliverymen left, Harris gone home—another packet of crisps firmly in hand—he set to making the bed. His hand lingered over the pink sheets, hesitating for only a fraction before he kicked them under the bed and seized the black. Minutes had him a nicely made bed and fluffed up pillows, just in time to hear the little cough at his door and the small voice calling out his name.
“Spike?”
And then there she was, glowing in the dimming sunlight of his living room with the prettiest smile he’d seen.
“’Ello, love,” he greeted as he slowly made his way to her, his stride sexy as his shoulders rolled.
When he reached her and ran his hands down her arms, he clued in to the goosebumps that roughened her skin and he sniffed, scenting finally her apprehension mingled in with a subtle scent of passion. He was immediately caught in her spell, unable to control the descent of his head as his mouth yearned to possess hers.
She made no move to resist as his lips consumed her, her coat and bag hitting the floor as she wound her arms around his neck. Still close to the door, Spike allowed a hand to seek the hard surface of the wood and slammed it shut, moving forward and taking her backward to make sure it was locked before crushing her against the surface. His tongue dived into the warmth of her mouth, teasing her own into play and he moaned low in his throat.
God, she drove him wild. Drove him to want too much. Drove him to insanity while he tried to wait for her to grow up. As lips smoothed over each other, caressed each other into surrender, his hands held her. Cherished her as he told her with his heart in his throat and his lips against hers how he felt.
And as the gentleness of it continued, he felt she knew.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
There was nothing for it but to pat himself heartily on the back. He’d outdone himself and the fact that Dru was strangely quiet—no whimpering or laughing—left him with a supreme sense of satisfaction.
Angelus led his only acknowledged family up the small flight of stairs and swept her inside. It was pure genius really, and he couldn’t help but smile with the most manic of pleasure as he took in the bare entry. Stone, stone everywhere. It was blissfully flame retardant, and he just loved it. Without words he led her through to the back, delighting at her gasp. The flowers of the garden wound around everything, and again the place was abundant in stone fittings.
“But my Angel, it’s the same, yet safe. Tea parties and gatherings we will hold aplenty here. Our wayward William will even hang from the walls to be back with us. It’s very wicked what you have done, Daddy.”
Completely chuffed, Angelus puffed out his chest and rocked back on his heels, his eyes sweeping his new home. He noticed the emptiness and his eyes twinkled.
“Billy boy left behind his possessions, Dru. Not the best clean up he’s ever done. Best you wait here while I go out and round up the help. If we set it all up quickly, then I promise you a night of dancing and blood.”
Dru giggled, her arms pulling herself in tight as she became lost in her mind. Things were so very different this time, and yet Spike had no clue. She could see them delving and diving though his memories until they could break him. And break him was even her goal, because even though Daddy had arisen and taken his patriarchal rights of the household, naughty William should never have turned toward the light. Nothing could excuse his messing with fallen angels when Daddy was all of the heavenly messenger they needed.
The darkest of princesses spun in a wide circle, momentum pulling her arms from her sides until she was dancing gaily amongst images of her childe as he bled, as he mourned the death of the light, as he was pulled back under their influence. He’d been theirs once—had floundered in his future—but she would make sure it wasn’t too late.
Her William would be one of them, even if Daddy did not expect or want it.
It would never be too late to welcome her childe home.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
She knew it. Leave a guy with a new place and a girl to entertain, and he’ll race right out and buy a great big monstrosity of a bed. That she had her back flat on some rather sumptuous bedding meant little to her right now. What mattered was that Spike was not making with the smoochies. Well, not the x-rated smoochies anyway. Sure his tongue was avidly searching her mouth, and she was feeling lightheaded from the mind-blowing kisses, but now that she had made the decision, did she have to initiate it too? It wasn’t like she offered her virginity everyday, so the etiquette of passing on the news was just a little intimidating. It wasn’t like he’d ever had trouble taking it several levels above where they were right now every other time they got within a metre of each other. He touched her in the nice places; it was what he did.
His hand innocently coasted over her clothes, light touches mapping out her curves, but nothing was being removed, and as naïve about such things as she might be, Buffy was pretty sure that the first step to losing said innocence would be the removal of clothes.
So it was up to her, then. Not like she hadn’t been the hobag of the century with him recently, anyway.
His fingers twirled strands of her hair as she pushed the length of her body harder against his, feeling the rigid length of him against her thigh. Just the thought of what she was about to do, about to experience set her body preparing for the hoped for invasion. The room was dark, the sun finally submitting to rest over the other side of the world. And she felt consumed within her bubble of love for this man. This being that was so much more man than vampire.
As Buffy sucked on his bottom lip, licking the skin captured between her teeth, her hand wandered up underneath the back of his loosened t-shirt. The taut strength of his muscles turned her into a quivering mass and she practically melted into the surface of him—leaving hardly a patch of her front not touching him. Her leg curled around his thigh, dragging his pelvis to brush against her heat and she moaned.
Not that the kissing hadn’t been nice, but usually the passion had been ratcheted up a few paces by now, and Buffy was getting impatient. But just those two little moves to get closer had sparked a difference and the message of their embrace changed. Just like that Spike inflamed every molecule of her body.
She nearly started screaming as he started to rub against her crotch, her moisture levels increasing the bolder the movements became. She’d worn a skirt today—specifically hoping for such an eventuality, and now it was bunched up uncomfortably around her hips. Thanking God for the invention of elastic waistbands, she shimmied quite erotically against Spike’s aroused body and finally got it around her ankles.
Being gloriously male, Spike didn’t realise what Buffy was up to with her erratic little dance against all his good bits until his hand brushed against completely bare skin. His heart in his eyes, he pulled back to watch her. He saw the lustful haze that robbed her of sense, could smell how her hormones had control of her body, and his heart dropped. He loved her so much, and yet he was repeating history by making her lose her head through passion. Though in his future he had savaged Buffy into a fighting fuck, this time he had clouded her judgement with sensory overload.
It left a heavy weight of fear in his gut.
God, this opportunity just tore at him. What decision did he make? Her age, who she was, what they could be together all ripped him apart so that his general sense of what was right was completely askew. It was difficult at the best of times and he usually relied on doing the opposite of what he had done before to guarantee a different outcome.
But this…situation with Buffy was completely beyond his reason. His experience with her was so diverse and yet none of it seemed to be able to guide him. He’d done good things for her and received promises of consideration in return, only to be smacked in the balls and have his nose broken the very next opportunity she had to see him differently but didn’t.
He loved her.
It was as plain as night and just as irreversible. Yet he was terrified of going down the wrong track, of making the wrong bloody call in this situation. If he was his normal evil self he’d take her, read her body for the screaming harlot it was emulating with no questions asked and no sense of guilt or feelings in response.
But this wasn’t the body of experience. It was one of adolescent curiosity and one he didn’t want to defile in that way. This was a body and a woman he wanted to cherish for the rest of her life. Wanted to lavish with gifts of beauty and strength for as long as she could tolerate his presence. But the writhing and heat she was stirring him with was reaching a breaking point and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Wrenching his lips away, he removed her leg from over the top of his and rolled to his back, gasping unneeded breaths while he desperately tried to think. Her whimpers struck his heart but he knew better than to suspect anything but thwarted desire. The scent of tears as she rolled to her side away from him and covering herself with the blanket at the foot of the bed was his first clue that he’d already started with the mistakes.
“Buffy, luv. What’s wrong?” His heart lodged firmly in his throat while he waited for her to answer. The gentle shake of her shoulders confirmed it—he’d fucked it all up again. He was inept at trying to do this human thing. Without a soul to guide him he just didn’t have a clue, couldn’t even train himself to have a clue no matter what he did.
If he wanted her he would have to change. There was no other way of looking at the situation. The time had come for him to face the fact that his Buffy had always been right about him. He was a soulless monster and would always wallow beneath her if he didn’t have the last piece of humanity stamped within him. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t risk the pain that it would cause both him and her.
“Buffy, whatever I did, I’m sorry, pet. Please don’t cry.” He curled into her back, his lips finding some bare skin on her shoulder around the straps of her skimpy top. His hand found one of hers and he laced their fingers together as he swallowed against his own lump of emotion.
Everything about his relationship with Buffy hurt. The not knowing how to go about loving her in the way she deserved. The inability to take the step back and let her grow up before he pushed her. He’d always thought he could read her well, but since facing the blunt punch to the nose on too many occasions, he’d lost the confidence that came with being the cocky Big Bad.
In his arms she shuddered, allowing the silent tears to reverberate through her body rather than let the sobs out to be heard. Hopelessness lent her head a weariness that had her burying her face in her free hand as well as the one joined to him. Her heart hurt, the rejection far more impact for something that had never been voluble in offering, still the ache was agonising all the same. Without the security of his loving arms she felt bereft, cast adrift in a swirl of confusion. She didn’t have the maturity to handle the weight of these feelings. She felt the deep power of her love for him, but couldn’t find the place that would help her deal with his lack of wanting her.
And then he was kissing her shoulder and the affection she felt for him rose again with her hope. Her body sparked with little splinters of fire, and the tears dried up as she arched her back into him. Only then when she had begun to banish the panic from her heart did she take in the meaning of his words. Words that cast a disconcerted air around their reclining bodies. Words that dove deep within her and made her feel the reality of the situation.
She’d wanted her first time with him to be momentous, and he was telling her with his fear and gentleness that it was also for him. It would be a moment for both of them to treasure, and she had made a mistake by not sharing words with him first. Not thinking that such a situation deserved a clearheaded go ahead for the vamp that held off and never allowed them to go too far.
Taking the chance—yet terrified her heart could end up shredded—she rolled back to watch him. A finger traced over his sharp cheekbone as she took a dive into the clear blue of his eyes.
“I’m ready, Spike. I don’t want to wait to be with you anymore.”
The awe he revealed in the way his shining eyes couldn’t move from hers was the answer she needed. He felt it too, felt everything her young body was rejoicing in and more.
“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to wait for your birthday. You’re still so young…”
She cut him off with her lips, the taste between them salty and wet but a move forward from before. It was short this time though, a promise of what was to come if only he would trust her mind and heart on this issue.
“But why, luv? Why now? We can wait; don’t do it just because it feels good.”
Something cold and nasty clenched his heart as he thought those words, memories of being used to feel tearing through his body and almost having him back from the bed in remembered hurt.
Her eyes studied him in a way she had never done before; saw things he’d always been able to hide from his future Buffy. The vulnerability that had always been there had been relatively easy to mask from a Buffy who had no interest in his feelings. But this one needed them, needed to be able to tell how much he felt for her was real. The sincerity was enough, and she smiled.
“It isn’t hormones, Spike,” she grinned, feeling far happier than just a short time ago.
He blinked unintelligently at her. She was trying to tell him something, but the twist his head and heart were in he was incapable with implicit messages.
“You’re gonna have to tell me, pet. I’m all out of bloody interpretive abilities right now.”
The dark atmosphere lifted from the room and she heaved a big sigh of relief. He wasn’t rejecting her; he was scared, too. And seeing fear on a being over a century old was rather humbling.
Buffy flung the blanket aside, bearing her legs to him. She was covered now by just her panties and the little blue halter top and she could already feel the burn on her skin as his eyes swept her figure from head to toe. She curled a fist into the hem of his black tee and rubbed her inner wrist against the cool skin of his belly.
“I know I’m ready for this, Spike.”
His raised eyebrow encouraged her to continue, to tell him in words why she believed she was ready despite the hum of his body at her sensual touch.
“I’m ready because I love you. I want to belong to you.”
His harsh indrawn breath frightened her for a moment, but then the shine of his eyes as he watched her with pure emotion shocked her out of worry.
“Oh Buffy, please say you mean it.”
His head, it spun as he watched the world spin around her face. It was like absent circulating blood thundered through his veins until the haze behind his eyes was red and swirling. Her words, her voice offered him paradise and he couldn’t bear the intensity, couldn’t take the fear that something would rise up and steal it away from him.
Her hand scooted under the fabric of his shirt and skimmed his flesh right up to his chest. She caught him in her gaze before offering him her own watery worship.
“I love you, and I am totally sure. I want you to make love to me. Please,” she asked shyly, and that was all it took.
His mouth fought hers ferociously as he held his hands back, wanting the kiss to betray the depth of his fervor for her as he took the time to reach some sense of calm. He needed to find gentle before he took their touching further, needed to not make her first time a frenzy she would be frightened of.
“Oh Buffy, I love you so much,” he whispered in the husky, sexy voice that drove her wild. “Gonna show you how much, baby.” And then words were too much, only stood in the way of the sensation she was dying for.
Every thought shot out of Buffy’s head when she at last felt his hands on her skin, skating lightly over her torso as he lifted the hem of her top and much too slowly over her head. Chilled air hit her exposed nipples a second before his cool lips closed around one; the other teased to agony by his fingers.
Her leg found its earlier position, slung across his thigh, and as she lay against his still clothed body while she was almost completely naked she whimpered in sensual misery. The removal of his shirt had her almost weeping in distraction, every inch of her skin on fire from his touch, from his lips as they searched out every one of her hidden spots and teased them to a fury.
Her eager hands cupped the bulge in the front of his jeans, squeezing almost too hard before undoing the stud and lowering the zip. Between them both he was naked and the jeans flung across the room, landing in a disorganised pile with both their shirts near the door.
It left her sodden panties, pretty pink cotton that was a little on the skimpy side but chosen exactly for that reason. Because he made her feel sexy, made her feel wanton and she thought she would die if he didn’t stop staring at them and take them off her. There was no innocent flush to her skin; she was so eager to feel his hands and lips on her body that the frantic need sidetracked her and she forgot her shyness.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered reverently before ducking down and teasing the side straps with his teeth and tongue. He traced the line around her thigh, reminiscent of the night they had first met in the school, and it brought a rushing spasm of excitement to her belly.
Finally he hooked his finger into the strap and slowly dragged them down her legs and off. They fell off his finger to the floor beside the bed, both their eyes following the descent.
Then his lips burned a path across her flesh as he made it back to her own, the desire he blasted her with almost separating her spirit from her body.
“You are mine. I love you with all that I am. My body will possess you with all I can be. Together we will fight everything in our path, and I will never let you lose your way. I will never let you go.”
Buffy felt the words in her womb, the clenching of both wonder but a mounting worry at his possessiveness. But it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known he would be like this, that if she gave him her heart it would mean that she accepted the nature of his beast. His demon.
“Spike? How can you love me? Without a soul, how can it be possible?”
He knew it would come, that lack of knowledge would yank his balls. Bloody hell it was tiring, and he was about to push himself from her without explanation when he felt her soft fingertip smooth over his eyebrow, soothing the demon that had emerged in his distraction.
“It’s not rejection,” she promised in her scared little girl voice. “I just want to be sure that all of you loves me, the man as well as the demon. I couldn’t bear it if it was just half of you and someday you left me.”
His relief was almost incapacitating.
For the first time he succumbed; he wept into her collarbone as his demon face faded back into the background. God, he couldn’t deal with how much he loved her. Couldn’t resolve how tender she was being to him when all he’d been dealt from the other Buffy was her anger and hate of him. It couldn’t be real. That he have this and her heart too. How the fuck could it all be so different?
Courage. It raced through him like raging floodwaters and he finally lifted his head. It was there, as plain as day—her love shining as glorious as the morning sun.
“It’s all of me. How could I love you with anything less than all of what I am? It’s not bleeding possible. Demon loved you first, pet.”
“Oh,” she said, stunned into speechlessness. There was no other option but to bring his lips back to hers, and begin the dance that she never wanted to give up. She wanted him to always be there, always touching and holding her like this. In the back of her mind she knew it mightn’t be for long; a Slayer’s lifespan wasn’t lengthy, but for however long she had she wanted to be his. To dance within his arms and his heart till they could be no more.
They moved against each other, moist skin transferring to the cool body above it while Buffy’s tongue battled his into a submissive love. A love where she offered her strength and commitment. Gave him her heart to protect and hold forever as she would never need it back. Not from him.
She loved him, and that made everything they were doing now right. Making her age irrelevant in the number of years. No sixteen year-old could be so sure of whom her partner was, of where her life laid in the scheme of the world.
His lips broke the pattern to drag across her jaw, drifting down until he caught her nipple again. His tongue teased and flicked her into a mass of nervous need, his hands busy crushing the curls between her legs. Desire taught her to part her thighs, and as she did his fingers delved into her heat, slicking her around her pussy lips and missing her aching clit.
“Spike,” she moaned, tangling her fingers in the stiff curls, her grip tightening painfully as his lips diverted down to seek more. And then his mouth clamped around her hardened nub, sucking and stretching it deep into his mouth even as he rolled her hips against his direction. Buffy writhed in ecstasy as his tongue flicked a rhythm against the sensitive nerve and she felt the tension build from her pussy, up, up until it screamed from her throat in a hoarse cry of devotion.
Immediately he was back at her mouth, furiously licking up the tears she hadn’t even known she’d shed as he rubbed the head of his cock against her increased wetness. Her leg gripped his hips as she tried to haul him in closer, moaning as the bell-shaped tip brushed continuously over her sensitive nubbin.
“Please, please,” she sobbed against his lips, and hissed as he moved fractionally forward, stretching her outer lips to an accommodating cover.
“Ssh,” he soothed as he so slowly asserted his place within her, her slickened walls squeezing his girth as he pushed against them, engulfed in overwhelming heat and fluid. He clenched his jaw as the molten feel of her passage strangled him. Only half in and he was about to explode.
It was so different to what he knew; was so more meaningful that he hadn’t had to fight for this possession. Didn’t have to bring down a building to experience the exquisite torture of having her.
He would never have believed that the difference of her love would be so monumental. He thought having her in his bed, knowing she felt for him—even if she refused to allow the sentiment past her lips—was as meaningful as he would need. But as he reached the barrier that surrendered any argument of being her first, as he swept it aside with the minimal tear of pain, he realised that her eager love made all the difference.
And then he was fully rested within her, deep breaths alarming him with the need to draw in air, the need to feel more like a virginal man than even William probably had. It was beyond different, this. He felt her tentative movement against him and he steadied her, wanting the sensation to be prolonged for just a few moments till he could grasp his sanity back. Know the true meaning behind devotion before he taught it to her.
Buffy couldn’t hold still a second longer. No matter how she tried her hips began to circle, the little sparks of sensation driving her impulses. Every tiny sensation made her feel like she was going to die. She whispered kisses against his eyelids, his temple, his nose and jaw before finally releasing some of the tension in a drugging kiss that stole her breath and her mind. Her arms were desperately wound around his head, holding him so close that she could feel the bruise forming under his hipbone.
She parted her legs wider and wound both around him, urging with the subtle lift of her pelvis that she needed more, craved more. When he slid out a short distance Buffy felt a swoon build up as blood drained from her limbs. Her muscles were tightly wound, and then he was moving, a back and forth riff with a background moaning and screaming song that leapt from her lips.
His shoulders rolled against her grip as his lower body pumped his cock into her, the pace increasing as the blistering heat spread throughout her body. Nerves built in tension, the tearing sliding sensation of his girth stretching her overeager muscles that even she could feel were involuntarily strangling the reason out of him. Her nipples stung, her belly buzzed and at last she felt it. The seizing of everything ready for a fierce, life-altering explosion. Her body arched into him, her back off the bed as her head reared back, nails clawing at his back to hold him as close to her as she possibly could.
His cock began to pulse within her, nudging at the spongy walls that kept him tightly in place and he pounded her hard, knowing that the end was so near but torn about how much he wanted it. The journey had been such exquisite pain and he was afraid that he might lose it completely if he finally let himself go.
“Oh Spike,” Buffy cried and he felt another restraint snap and his control compromised. “Please, please, please,” she panted against his lips, emotion curling and transferring to both of them and lodging stubbornly in two throats. Her fingers rubbed at his brow, teeth nipping at his lips until the scent of his own blood rushed to his senses and his fangs pricked at his gums.
“Buffy, stop it baby.”
“I want you. I love you, Spike. Please,” she sobbed, emotions so out of control that reason had finally escaped her.
It was coming. The end speeding within a tidal wave of lust, and love and passion. And she was guiding his fangs to her throat.
“No,” he whispered huskily, voice breaking with the violence of his feelings. “Birthday, Buffy. Will share it with you on your birthday…this too intense…enough…Jus’ let me love you.”
Her accepting nod was the sign he had been waiting for and with a cry of euphoria he bit her breast with human teeth. He shoved himself in her hard and let it all go, feeling the hard vibration of her walls against the rigid need of his cock as he spent himself to a mental and physical drain. Everything went black, and not just from the darkness that had spread out in the room while they were busy. Every sense he had was spent and he could do nothing but collapse into his girl’s shuddering arms.
Time passed, Spike’s head cradled against her breast where he could hear her thundering heartbeat slow and finally settle into a more natural rhythm of rest. He felt lost, useless bar for the finger he trailed the path of his breath across her belly. He was almost too afraid to lift his head and see how what they had done affected her, but as her body began to shift in discomfort he slid unwillingly from her body to curl her against him and on their sides facing each other.
Spike chuckled at the giddy grin that lit up her whole face, stealing her lips for a sweet, gentle kiss.
Without words, Buffy rested her head in the crook of his arm, blinked sleepily and closed her eyes. She kissed his chest, rested her palm at the curve of his hip and relaxed at last into slumber, Spike watching her angelic face till he could feel himself drift off.
His final conclusion was that coming back in time had been more than worth it.
Buffy was worth everything.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I am so grateful for all the support Holly has given me in writing this fic, and Schehrezade for all the wonderful jamming sessions to work out where this fic is going. I hope it is something you all enjoy!