Buffy’s small hand was warm and soft in Spike’s, as she led him silently up the stairs to her bedroom. There was no hint now of the hardness, the cruelty, she had shown him before, as she sat him down on the side of her bed, solemn emerald eyes taking in the bruises, the blood dried around his mouth – evidence of the brutal beating she had dealt him in the alley – with a sense of deep sorrow.
She left the room for a moment, coming back with a soft, warm cloth, which she used to gently wipe the blood from his face. She was being so tender, so caring and compassionate with him, that he could hardly believe this was even the same girl that had threatened and abused him earlier in the evening.
And in a way – it was not. He knew by the look in her eyes, and the absence of the oppressive presence that he felt whenever Buffy went into one of the frightening spells that had begun since the claiming, that this was purely, simply Buffy – without the possessive, violent force that controlled her so often lately. This was just Buffy, the same girl he had known for the past two years.
And she wanted him.
He did not know what to think, how to react to the sudden shift in her behavior. He was relieved, and filled with a sense of warmth and comfort by her gentle, affectionate manner – but he was afraid to trust it. He knew it was only a matter of time before she returned to the same demanding, possessive behavior that seemed to have taken her over since the claiming.
Still, he could not make himself turn her away. He wanted her – desperately.
All traces of the blood she had spilt washed away, she laid the damp, stained cloth down on the nightstand beside her bed, moving in close to him, standing between his legs, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the other rising to caress his cheek.
He looked up at her with open, searching eyes, uncertain and vulnerable with the confusion of emotions and apprehensive thoughts that filled him in that moment. The warm, silken touch of her hand, feather light over his swollen cheek, felt so amazing – so reassuring, and – and *right*…
And yet, he knew that it was so wrong.
“Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “Buffy – we shouldn’t – I mean – I don’t want to…”
“Shhh,” she whispered, leaning down and bringing her other hand up to his other cheek, tipping his face up and lowering his mouth to cover his in a slow, sensuous kiss that nearly drove all his misgivings away. As their lips parted, she met his eyes with a smoldering look of intense desire, over a gently knowing smile. “Of course you want to.”
*Bloody hell, but she’s right,* he realized with a sense of blissful despair. *I’m lost to her…and I want to be…*
Her hands slid down from his face to his chest, slender fingers working the buttons of his shirt, sliding the fabric back off his shoulders and to the bed. He kept his eyes focused on her face, but could feel his desire heightened as her eyes traveled slowly over his pale torso. A look of dismay and regret came into her eyes when they feel on the purple bruising that discolored the ivory flesh of his stomach.
Tenderly, her hands continued their downward path, caressing lightly over the injured area. He tensed slightly in anticipation of pain that did not come. One of the Slayer’s smooth, warm hands slid around to his back, the other rising to lightly hold the back of his head as she kissed him again, slowly, intently, taking her time to explore his mouth with her tongue, her lips.
He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation, savoring her taste, his hands slipping up to her hips. Suddenly, they dropped out from under his hands, and he felt a slight pressure on the back of his neck, her lips pulled from his for just a moment. He opened his eyes, a question unformed on his lips, to see that the Slayer was kneeling in front of him, in the same pose she had taken in the living room a few minutes earlier.
His lips parted to voice the question in his mind – but were immediately invaded by the Slayer’s tender kiss, as she drew him in again, her hands running up and down his back, sliding gently around his sides to his stomach, as she broke the kiss, pulling back and looking into his eyes with a sad, affectionate smile. He could see the regret, the sorrow there, that he had asked her not to express.
As if reading his mind – which, actually, she may have been -- she murmured softly, “You don’t want me to say it? Fine. I’ll prove it. For tonight, Spike – for tonight – I’m yours. I owe you that much.”
And she left him to take in those stunning words, as she leaned back on her knees, lowering her mouth to tenderly caress the smooth alabaster skin of his chest, gliding slowly downward to lave the tender, bruised flesh of his stomach with the soothing, moist heat of her mouth, her hands at his waist pulling him in nearer to her.
He let out a soft moan at the achingly pleasurable sensation of her heat against his cool, sore flesh, and his hands lowered, one to rest on her shoulder, the other instinctively behind her head, instinctively gripping her hair and guiding her head gently downward. Neither was aware that it was subconsciously a possessive gesture – a gesture that should have had Buffy’s primal, controlling side screaming to the surface in a rage.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Buffy – just Buffy – relished the firm comfort of his touch on her head, a relief, a silent statement that she did not *have* to be in control. As her mouth dipped lower, her tongue sliding teasingly around and into his navel before lowering again, he gasped softly at the unexpected contact with the sensitive, rarely touched area.
“Buffy – oh, God, Buffy…” he whispered, leaning back as her hands gently pressed on his abdomen to push him back on the bed so that he was lying down, with his knees hanging over the side of the bed, before moving to unfasten the button on his jeans, her mouth still edging lower.
He knew that he should have stopped her. As awkward and embarrassing a conversation as it would be, he knew that he had to talk to her about what had happened that night – now, while she was reasonably rational, not controlled by the dangerous force that might take her over again at any moment.
Reason told him that they had to find a way to sort this out – a way to determine what things that they were doing were a normal result of the claim, and what parts were a result of whatever had gone wrong with the ritual – and what, if any, was due to something else entirely. Perhaps – just maybe – their own personal feelings might have something to do with this.
But as long as his thoughts were lost, swept away by the feeling of her touch, there would be no figuring out the situation. They would both just continue swirling deeper into confusion.
And what sort of a message was he sending her, what was he telling her about the abusive behavior that was becoming more and more frequent, if he could give himself to her like this so easily, when less than an hour before she had been viciously beating him in an alley, bruising and breaking the flesh she was so tenderly caressing now?
Then, he felt her hands at the waistband of his jeans, gently tugging downward, and his mental objections seemed to fade with the anticipation, the desperate need for what she seemed to be offering. He raised his hips slightly, the weight of his body braced on his arms on the bed, as she slid the garment down off his hips, allowing it to lie in a tangled heap about his ankles.
His burgeoning erection exposed to the cool air of the room thrust upward toward her, seeking the warmth of her touch, but she did not touch him – not for a few moments. He raised his head with a soft pleading whimper, “Buffy…” aching for her touch – and felt his arousal deepen at the sight that met his eyes.
She was kneeling there between his legs, her arms slack at her sides, staring at the swollen evidence of his need for her with a smoldering look of desire in her eyes. Her lips were full and dark, and as he watched, she slowly ran her tongue across them in an unconscious gesture of need that left them glistening with moisture.
When her darkened eyes suddenly rose to meet his, hooded and hazy with her arousal, he felt his own desire deepening for her, and released a groan as her hands came to rest high on his thighs, gently spreading them further apart as she moved in closer.
“Buffy,” he groaned softly. “God, Buffy – please – need you, love…”
It was very clear what she was about to do, but it stunned him to think of it. According to the general rules of vampire relationships, such an act was generally considered to be very submissive, and as Buffy was clearly the dominant party in this pairing, he was surprised that she would even consider it.
But he was very, very glad that she was.
When she rose slowly from her knees, leaving him leaned backward over the bed, he felt a nearly overwhelming sense of disappointment. He wanted her, needed her, so badly, and to have her make such an offer – and then pull it away…
Conscious thought left him as the coarse fabric of her clothing rubbed across his sensitive erection, as she leaned up over him, catching his wrists in her hands and crossing them carefully over his head. The look in her eyes was affectionate and reassuring, as she met his uncertain gaze, fearful at being positioned in such a vulnerable way.
She kissed his lips, slowly, tenderly, with an intimacy that promised so much more to come, before pulling away to look him directly in the eye. “Don’t…move…” she ordered very softly, without menace or demand, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. Her hands trailed slowly down his raised arms, down his sides, to rest at his hips for a moment as she rose off of him.
“Just let me make you feel so good, Baby,” she whispered, her forefinger and thumb tracing the arc of his hips, her thumbs sliding slowly inward and pressing gently down into the sensitive flesh just above his groin.
He moaned softly, arching upward toward her, but obediently trying his best not to move, as her thumbs began a slow, circular pressure on the rarely touched erogenous zone of his sensitive inner thighs, simultaneously pressing his legs further apart and heightening the sense of vulnerability, and sensitivity, for his fully erect, but so far ignored member.
“Buffy,” he whispered desperately. “Please, Buffy…”
“You don’t have to beg me,” she said softly, and though his head was resting on the bed and his eyes were closed, he knew how near her mouth was to his desperate, aching member, by the warm brush of her breath against the sensitive skin. “I’ve hurt you and used you and taken what I wanted from you without caring about what it did to you – but tonight – all I want – is to give you pleasure, Spike.”
The very words, spoken in that warm, throaty voice of honest sincerity, made him groan with pleasure, feeling his erection harden further -- and he wondered how such a feat was even possible, considering the power of his longing for her already.
And in the next moment, he was no longer capable of wondering at all, as he felt the soft, wet heat of her tongue, sliding slowly around the tip of his erection, sending a surge of hot pleasure from the point of contact up through his entire body.
“Buffy – God -- *Buffy*…” he gasped, arching up on the bed, thrusting instinctively toward her, needing to be more completely inside the inviting warmth of her mouth.
But she pulled back immediately, her hands resting lightly on his thighs and looking down at him with a tolerant smile. “Uh-uh-uh,” she gently reproved him, shaking her head as he looked up at her through desperate, pleading eyes of sapphire blue. “Don’t move, Spike. Just let me do this…”
“God, Buffy,” he groaned, leaning his head back against the mattress, gasping for breath. “Buffy, I don’t – I don’t know if I – I – can’t…”
Perfectly understanding his barely coherent words, Buffy smiled. “Of course you can,” she murmured softly. Then, she placed one soft but powerful arm high across his thighs, pinning him down with a gentle strength, as her free hand rose to lightly trace down the length of his aching shaft, finishing with a torturously tantalizing circle around its tip.
He bucked instinctively up toward her hand, but could not actually rise up from the bed, restrained by her powerful arm – and the total loss of control, when it was in a situation of safety – and for some strange reason, at this moment, he felt completely safe – only served to heighten his arousal.
She removed her hand, her fingers tracing with an almost tickling lightness up and down the silky sensitive skin of his inner thigh, as her mouth descended over the tip of his erection, taking it into the searing heat of her mouth, and causing him to moan at the sensation and buck up against her again – uselessly – held motionless by her restraining arm.
He felt her lips form a smile around him, and it only increased his desire, as he groaned out her name, “Buffy…God…sweet Buffy…yours, Buffy…I’m yours…”
The words were rewarded as she took him deeper into her mouth, her tongue swirling slow circles around him, edging him ever nearer to the peak of his desire. She surprised him with a light, playful nip that made him nearly come right then and there at the unexpected pleasure/pain sensation.
“Buffy,” he whimpered. “Yes…yes, Buffy…”
He longed to lower his arms, to fist a hand in her hair and urge her to take him deeper, to touch her while she did this for him – but he dared not move from the position she had required him to assume. And the utter lack of control, the complete submission to her, while frightening and unsettling, was also exciting and arousing.
She ceased all motion for an instant, and he looked up with anguished eyes into her own wide, serious gaze.
*Shhh…* she reminded him in his mind, as her mouth was a bit preoccupied at the moment. *Impressionable young ears in the house…* Although he knew she meant it, her eyes were sparkling with mischievous mirth, as if the idea of possibly being caught only made the whole thing that much more exciting.
And the truth was, it did.
Of course Buffy did not know that Dawn already knew the nature of their relationship, and even had she known, it still would not have been appropriate to allow the teenager to overhear their uncontrolled screams and cries of passion. Spike obediently stifled the cries of pleasure that rose to his lips.
With a few more minutes of expert attention, drawing him suddenly completely into her mouth and swallowing hard, Buffy exerted that last little bit of pressure that was needed to bring him to completion. He came hard, down her throat, biting down hard on his lower lip to stifle a scream of intense pleasure, his crossed hands fisted in the bedspread above his head as he struggled to fulfill her demands of silent stillness.
His body shuddering in the wake of the powerful orgasm that had consumed him, he hardly noticed when gentle hands drew his away from their grip on her quilt, pulling him with her to lie lengthwise on the bed, his arms gently around her, and her own arm wrapped around his neck, her hand playing soothingly through his disheveled blonde curls, her other arm cast comfortably across his stomach.
She gazed at him with a calm smile of satisfaction, studying his flawless features, altered with the emotion of his pleasure and passion for her, with a sense of awe and pride.
He was *hers*.
As the power of the moment passed, he finally opened his eyes to meet her gaze, staring up at her with a stunned, overwhelmed expression.
“God – Buffy – that was – my God, Buffy, you were – amazing,” he whispered breathlessly.
She just smiled down at him, a rare tenderness in her eyes – and that tenderness prompted a question, though he could scarcely put it into words.
“Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, glancing down before looking back up at her again. “Why…?”
She was silent for a long moment, and her smile faded slightly, her eyes growing serious. She shifted slightly, becoming more comfortable, her hand playing through his hair lowering to lightly caress his face.
“Because,” she replied finally, in a soft, hesitant voice. “Because I wanted – I wanted to. I wanted *you*. No…” She frowned, struggling to find the right words. “Spike – I wanted to make you happy. It’s like I said – all I’ve done since this whole thing started is – is make things harder on you, and – and I wanted to make you feel *good*.”
He smiled, a soft, ironic smirk, as he met her gaze. “You did that, love,” he assured her.
She glanced down, a bit abashed, again reassuring him that this was the real, true Buffy, and not her evil alter-ego. There was nothing of the brash, dominating sexual confidence that marked that other Buffy – this was the same insecure, inexperienced girl whose confidence had been so broken by Angel and Parker.
“I did?” she whispered, uncertainly.
“Yes,” he whispered. “You did.” As he spoke, he raised a hand to tenderly push back a loose tendril of damp blonde hair from her face.
She smiled softly at the contact, leaning slightly into his touch for just a moment, before her smile faded slightly, and she met his eyes again, her own troubled. “I just – I wish I hadn’t done it, Spike.”
He felt his heart drop with a feeling of panic, of desolation. “What?” he forced himself to ask in a low whisper. “You wish you hadn’t done – what?”
“The claim,” she whispered, confirming his fears. When she saw the look on his face, she quickly amended, “I mean – not like that. Not – for that reason. Spike – I’ve been attracted to you. You know that. Ever since…”
A sense of cautious relief came over him with her explanation of her words. “Red’s spell?” he guessed, knowing that for him, it had been much longer.
Buffy nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think that must have been it. So – so I know I felt *something* for you – even back then – but – but then came this whole claiming thing, and – and I just wish I knew…” She stopped, shaking her head, unable to find the right words.
Spike knew; he was struggling with the same question.
“Which feelings came from where?” he suggested softly.
Buffy studied his expression for a long moment. “Yeah,” she agreed with a slow nod. “Exactly.”
They were both silent for a long moment, lying there, lost in their thoughts.
Finally, he spoke in a soft, vulnerable voice. “Does it matter?”
She frowned, her own voice hushed in the late stillness that was falling over the room. “What do you mean?”
Slowly, he clarified, in a carefully controlled voice, trying not to give too much away, “If you feel them – the emotions – does it matter where they came from?”
*Yes,* she thought automatically, feeling troubled by the suggestion. Of course it mattered, whether what she was feeling for Spike was her own true feelings that might have developed on their own, or something artificial, manufactured by the claim she had made.
And yet – she knew by the vulnerability in his voice that he was trying so hard to conceal, that was not the answer he needed at the moment. But she could not outright lie to him, because she knew that she was going to have to find the answer, sooner or later.
“I don’t know,” she said softly, her fingers tenderly caressing the fine lines of his face again, enjoying once again the comforting thought that no matter what, he *was* hers. “I – I just don’t know what it all means, Spike. I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t know why I’ve been having those weird spells. I don’t understand any of it.”
“Well,” he suggested in a hushed voice, barely over a whisper. “Perhaps it’s best to start with what you *do* understand.” He leaned up slowly on his elbow to look her in the eye again, his expression solemn and utterly sincere. “I’m yours, Buffy. Out of this whole bloody complicated mess, that’s the one face we know for sure. You claimed me, and I’m yours.”
She stared at him, in the dim light of the room, he could see her eyes well with tears, her lower lip trembling as she opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating, before she finally asked in a whisper, “Do – do you *want* to be?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Bloody hell, Buffy, *yes*!”
She studied his eyes for a long moment, biting her lower lip anxiously, until she seemed satisfied of the truth in his eyes, and nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered.
With her hand around his head, caressing his face, she gently pulled his head back down onto the pillow beside her, kissing him tenderly, and he could taste the salt of her cooling tears on her lips. Their lips finally parted, both exhausted beyond measure by the tumult of the day, as they felt themselves drifting off to sleep.
There was so much to figure out. So many problems arisen from the foolish actions she had taken. But together, they clung to the one truth they knew for certain out of the whole thing – and for that one night – it was enough.
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