~*~
She’d thought that he would just jump her the instant they entered their rather nice motel room. In fact, she was hoping he’d just jump her—if he turned this into something violent, she could justify just giving in.
Maybe.
But in typical evil vampire fashion, he didn’t even try to make it easy for her. As soon as they’d crossed the threshold and Buffy had noted with surprise that there wasn’t a cockroach in sight, Spike’s lips were on hers and his hands were on her bottom, pulling her against him.
She let out a surprised squeak and wriggled frantically against him, two things that turned out to be very, very bad, since the second she did it he growled and ground against her.
“Ought to know better than t’ do that to me, little girl,” he whispered roughly in her ear, squeezing the toned flesh of her bottom. “Might just ‘ave to shag you silly.”
She froze at that. He didn’t mean…he couldn’t…”Spike? Please, I—“
“You’re the Slayer. The Slayer,” he repeated furiously. “You wanna save the world from me? ‘s not gonna be easy, luv.” He let go of her bottom and she found herself sliding down, down, his hardness pressing into her…making her want things she knew she shouldn’t.
“But I…”
“You did it once. Came onto me, you did, like a little slut. You are a little slut.” His gaze clashed with hers—blue eyes begging her to fight, begging her to prove him right.
Pleading with her to turn it back into something simple, into a case of a Slayer and a vampire, against each other as the Powers had intended for them to be.
She couldn’t do it. She didn’t want him to be violent—to be evil—but at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to grovel the way she knew he needed her to, for him to justify doing it. Just like he couldn’t be nonsexual about the biting, because he knew that was what she needed.
They couldn’t love each other. They couldn’t hate each other. Closing her eyes, Buffy decided what she knew all along had to happen.
Please, let me be right.
She slid up him again, lifting her legs and wrapping them around him. “You’re right,” she said slowly, pushing her hips against his rhythmically and gasping at the result. “I am a slut.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything, for which Buffy was eternally grateful. This was hard enough already.
“Do you know why I’m a slut, Spike?” she whispered, still rocking almost gently against him. He shook his head, still mute. Buffy paused before finally surrendering.
“Because I trust you.”
For a second the whole world froze. For a second, everything hung in balance. Spike’s eyes were still locked with hers, disbelief marked in their depths. She stared back, fighting to be strong, fighting to meld their two worlds so that they could both survive.
Then he nodded, only slightly, and his grip on her eased. He turned them around and walked towards the bed, laying her down on it gently. Buffy lay very, very still, willing her body to relax.
“You know what ‘m gonna do to you, right?” he asked softly. It was her last chance—the last time she could beg out of this.
She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to deny what was happening—but she couldn’t. She again looked into his eyes, letting him see the emotions that resided there.
“I know.”
~*~
”Fuck. You mean no one’s ever told you ‘bout claiming?”
Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike. God, she couldn’t wait until this stupid alliance was over and the bleached menace had gotten the hell out of Cleveland. Her Watcher hadn’t taught her what to do when vampires came onto you. “Of course not,” she snapped. “My focus is on slaying vampires, not learning their mating rituals.”
“Aha!” he pointed a finger at her. “So you do know what claiming is.”
She could feel herself blushing. Crap. “I know the basics,” she admitted grudgingly. “Vamp sex. That’s about all there is to it, right?”
“They would tell you that,” he said scornfully. “Pet, the claimin’ ritual is the one thing that all vamps honor. Claiming another vamp ‘s like gettin’ married in the human world.”
“Vampires aren’t exclusive,” she said flatly. “Sex is part of the evil package.”
He snorted. “Bullshit,” he told her blankly. “Yeah, there are vamps who screw ‘round even after they’ve been claimed, but generally ‘f you leave a claiming mark on someone, it’s for life—or unlife.”
“Wait.” She was sharp enough to have caught that implication. “You mean vamps can lay claims on humans?”
He smirked. “What, wantin’ me to sink m’ teeth into that pretty little neck, Slayer?”
He really was a master at twisting her words. “God, no,” she snapped, resuming her pace. “I was curious. As a Slayer, it’s my responsibility to know as much about the vampire-human dynamic as possible.”
Funny how she could almost feel him roll his eyes. “Whatever the hell that bit of Watcher gibberish meant,” he said, “you can’t claim a person by force, anyway. There’s gotta be love, or at least trust. So ‘f I tried to claim you, you’d have to trust me, else I’d be dust in the wind b’fore it was done.”
“Good.” One brittle syllable, laden with warning. “You would do well to keep that in mind. I’m not in this because I enjoy your company, Spike.”
The vampire laughed bitterly, throwing his head back as though he’d just heard a particularly good joke. “Don’t I know it,” he said bitterly, and they walked on.
~*~
It had only been a year ago, but now it felt like centuries had passed since they’d had that conversation. Since then so many things had changed, yet in a way everything remained the same.
He stared at her now. A year hadn’t dimmed her beauty, hadn’t made her any less incredible. She was lying on the bed, now, her face turned away from his, waiting for the claim and dreading it.
It made him mad—beyond mad. Furious enough to devastate an entire city, if he hadn’t known she wouldn’t like it. The claiming ritual, as he’d told her, was the one thing all vamps agreed on. They held it holy, all of them; and Spike was more romantic than most.
He was going to claim her, and not just because she’d given him the one line that let him know it was okay with her. He knew why she was doing it, just like he knew why he was doing it. His claim on her would be vastly useful in the coming fight…
Ah, who the hell was he trying to kid? He knew damn good and well why he was claiming her, and it had nothing to do with logistics. He cared about her. Disgusting, twisted, and a thousand other words for severely fucked up, but there it was.
He didn’t want her to take this as just another part of her duty, or even as a dirty little thing she was doing because he was evil and somehow corrupting her. He was probably that much more evil for it, but he wanted her to acknowledge that there was something between them other than ages-old enmity.
“Slayer,” he said softly. She twitched at the sound of his voice, muscles tensing. “Buffy—look at me.” When she still refused he sighed, fighting off the anger that was threatening to overwhelm him. “Buffy…”
“Stop saying that.” A small, quiet voice—the voice of a little girl. And at that moment, he knew. He couldn’t bite her, couldn’t claim her. Not unless she wanted him to. Because even now, seeing the terror in her face, he felt a heavy emotion he didn’t care to identify settle in his stomach…one that felt a hell of a lot like guilt.
“Why?” he asked, more harshly than he meant to. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “I’m the Slayer. That’s all.”
If he ever met the fucktards who’d reduced her to this, he’d rip them apart so slowly they’d be dying for weeks.
“No, you’re not,” he said firmly. “You’re more than that, pet.” He approached the bed, slowly so as not to frighten her, and sat down next to her head. His move had its desired effect: she immediately sat up, allowing him to grasp her shoulders.
Bitter green eyes met his. “You don’t know that,” she told him coldly. “All I ever do is fight. That’s all I am. Nothing else.”
“That’s not true an’ you know it,” he told her, reaching out to stroke her newly short hair. “Look, I know you’re prob’ly not feeling inclined to take advice from me…but I know who you are. I’ve seen it.”
“But—“
“Hush.” He covered her mouth; luckily she didn’t decide to bite his fingers off. “It wasn’t the Slayer who squealed over the pretty clothes we bought, an’ it wasn’t the Slayer who blushed when I called you gorgeous. That was the girl—the woman. That’s the person I want to make mine.”
She closed her eyes, a tear falling down her cheek. “Please don’t say that,” she begged him. “It’s wrong.”
And that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? The demon in him acknowledged the wrongness of it, too, but that didn’t stop it from wanting it desperately. The demon needed her just as much as the man did.
“Does it matter?” he asked in a desperate attempt to justify what was happening between them.
He watched the emotions flicker across her face—denial, anger, even grief. He could read every one because he’d run the gauntlet of emotions himself recently.
“It should,” she said quietly, struggling to grasp that last scrap of reason residing between them.
He shook his head. “’m tired of thinking ‘bout what oughta be. If everything was as it should be, then you’d be some happy, beautiful girl in a high school somewhere, an’ I’d be moldering in a grave.”
She looked away from him. “I’m not beautiful.”
He probably shouldn’t have slid his hand down to her back and drawn her closer. He definitely shouldn’t have gently kissed her temple, rubbing her back soothingly. Vampires weren’t supposed to care about the Slayer. They weren’t supposed to want to comfort her, protect her, make sure she never had to fight another battle alone.
But he’d already told her that was should be had no place with them, in that room, that night.
So he whispered, “Shh. ‘ll take care of you, pet.” When she looked up at him, startled, and tried to speak, he shook his head gently. “Lie back.”
Wary, stiff again, she obeyed.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her, laying his hands on her stomach and slowly, slowly sliding her shirt up to reveal the plain tan-colored bra underneath. He leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on her stomach, feeling her surprised gasp and the quiver of her muscles. Smiling, he moved his lips to her collarbone and kissed her there, licking lightly.
It was then he felt her shudder. When he looked up at her face, he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.
He knew nothing of healing, of fixing that which was broken. In more than one hundred years, all he’d ever done was destroy things. So now he comforted her in the only way he knew how: sliding the rest of the way up her body, he pressed himself against her and kissed her deeply, tenderly.
The kisses they’d shared before were desperate and confused, full of battling emotions and pain. This kiss was simple—a sharing of emotions, a humble offering of comfort, and an acceptance that what was happening was uncharted, painful territory for them both.
Then her lips parted—her body shifted beneath his—and his grip on her shoulders tightened as he angled her head differently, delving into her with his tongue. “Buffy,” he moaned, sliding his forehead down into her shoulder. “Buffy—I want you. Need you. Now.”
~*~
Simple words, and ordinarily they wouldn’t have swayed her. Her Handbook-regulated self-control was far too great for that. But he hadn’t called her Slayer, hadn’t used one of the thousand pet names he employed with her. He’d called her Buffy. Buffy, the child who’d frolicked in the sun, ignorant of the monsters that waited for it to set. Buffy, the girl who’d struggled to be good enough so that her Watcher would love her the way she could almost remember her parents loving her. Buffy, who’d had her heart broken by a boy, a soldier who chose his duty over her.
Buffy, the girl. Not the Slayer, too hard and weary to own any personal beauty. This was a different creature, a human who could experience beauty…who could feel love.
It was the woman who arched up beneath him, moaning at the words. The woman who whispered, “Spike.”
The woman who knew, at that moment, that what should be didn’t matter half so much as what could be.
His hands at her back—rough and yet gentle, more gentle than he had a right to be. His tongue, tasting her, making her shudder as the sensations knifed through her.
It was a different kind of violence. Soothing, almost. With a vampire worshipping her body, she was happier than she’d ever been before.
And yet—he wasn’t a vampire, not here, any more than she was a Slayer. When he cupped her breasts in his hands, worshipping them, worrying the nipples with teeth that had somehow grown demonically sharp—even feeling his demon guise against her skin somehow didn’t diminish her certainty that here, in this bed, they were just man and woman. Nothing less, nothing more.
“I need…I want…” her voice was weak; she didn’t care. She needed him to understand that she didn’t just want the penetration her body was craving—for some twisted, perverse reason, she wanted to be his, and wanted him to be hers. She wanted them bound.
“This?” A hand touching her, teasing her enough to make her arch her back and let out a strangled moan.
Not enough. She shook her head, trying to dispel the sparks in front of her eyes. “No. Please, Spike, I—“
“Say it, then.” Harsh. Desperate for the same confirmation she needed.
“Please, Spike…” She reached down, pulling his head up and kissing him with all the urgency she felt. She poured her soul into the kiss, and felt him doing the same, their tongues clinging together. When she broke away, they were both gasping.
She arched against him, feeling her clit scrape against the denim of his jeans. “I want you to make love to me.”
For a second the world froze, the way it did in those movies her Watcher always told her were so silly. He stared at her, his crystalline blue eyes stunned. She looked back steadily. It was her turn to be strong.
Then he smiled, an astonished, almost grateful smile, and lowered himself upon her. “Want to make love to you too, kitten,” he murmured, skimming his hands up and down her sides as she ferociously yanked his jeans down. As soon as his cock sprang free she arched her hips, needing him inside her.
But he shook his head, smiling. “Slower,” he whispered, sliding a hand under her so that it rested on the small of her back. Slowly, gently, he let more of his weight down, spreading her till he rested just outside her entrance.
She gasped when she felt him brush against her. “Please, Spike,” she said, no longer caring that she was begging, “Please. Just—“
And then he entered her, and she had no more words.
It didn’t hurt. She’d been expecting it to—had known it would—and yet somehow, when he was fully sheathed inside her and they were both quivering from it, she felt no pain.
But God, she felt pleasure.
Her entire body was stimulated, straight down to her toes. Little licks of fire were chasing each other through her body, making her moan and cling to him. He was her anchor, same as he was the storm now raging inside her, around her, through her.
Right then, he was everything.
“Buffy,” he moaned, dropping his forehead to hers and starting to move. In, out, in, out, closer and closer until there was no way to tell where one ended and the other began. They blended together, heart and mind, sunshine and starlight, black and white mixing together to create a grey canvas upon which they splashed the colors of their overwhelming emotions.
She could feel him bumping her womb, pressing her further back into the mattress, and still it wasn’t enough. She needed his energy, needed the life that his dead body could somehow provide him with. So she squeezed her inner muscles around him as tightly as she could, almost brutally, as she glared a challenge into his eyes.
“Fuck, Buffy. You tryin’—t’ kill me?” he panted, moving still faster.
She shook her head frantically as she ran her hands down his back, squeezing his ass tightly. “No. Need—ungh! You promised. Trust. You—“
His growl cut her off, and her gasp was muffled when he kissed her savagely. His face, which had been flickering between its demonic and human guises since they’d begun, was truly vampiric now. “You know what you’re askin’?” he said harshly, panting. “You know what you want me to do? No goin’ back after this. We’ll be bound. You’ll be mine, an’—“
She narrowed her eyes and thrust her hips up with all her strength behind it, arching them both off the bed. “Do it.”
And he did.
His head descended and he sniffed her neck, oddly curiously. His hips slowed, reducing their frantic coupling to a slow-burning pace that made her squirm with anticipation.
She felt his tongue dart out to lick her sweaty neck and gasped—the simple contact made her still wetter. She felt his cock jump inside her and ground her hips against his in a circular motion. “Do it,” she whispered again, almost terrified that he wouldn’t.
For a second his teeth hovered, razor-sharp, above the throbbing vein in her neck. He sank his teeth in shallowly—her heart stumbled and her breath halted as sensation rushed through her, igniting her, flaming fires that were already burning into an even more consuming inferno. Then he took the first pull of her blood, kissing her neck as he stole the life-giving liquid, and she exploded.
His cock throbbed in her as she spasmed around it, digging her heels into the bed and crying out his name as oblivion claimed her. Again, and again, and again she shot off amongst the stars, her throat emitting strangled sounds that might have resembled a benediction had she been coherent enough to try to say them properly. She clutched him, feeling his sweat-soaked skin rub against her already sensitized flesh—
And when he finally let himself go, releasing her neck as he threw back his head with a yell and slammed her down against the mattress, spilling himself in her, she wrapped her limbs around him tightly, holding him to her as they both spiraled off into nothingness for a final time before slowly coming back.
When they were both more relaxed, he rolled to one side and cradled her in his arms, licking the wound on her neck gently, cleaning up the blood and sealing the cut.
“Mine,” he whispered, squeezing her hips slightly.
She nodded, her lips finding his in a gentle kiss. “Yours,” she reaffirmed, staring at his blue eyes in wonder. Her fingers traced his unwrinkled forehead. How could it be that she hadn’t noticed when his face had shifted?
He caught her hand and kissed each finger, making her shiver. “Sleep now, luv.”
Buffy could already feel slumber threatening to overwhelm her, so she simply nodded again in acquiescence and snuggled closer to him, his cool skin soothing her. Later she would berate herself and him. Later she might even struggle to break their connection.
But right now, she just wanted to rest safely in his arms.
~*~
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Author's Chapter Notes:
So, this chapter is really long, mainly because chopping it up seemed too cruel, and I couldn't find a good place to divide it. And this is the one that scares the crap out of me, because this is me flinging myself off the proverbial cliff and hoping my parachute doesn't have too many holes, even though I've never even opened it up to check before. In short, I'm nervous...hope you guys like it.