As Buffy moved slowly around the first bed toward her mate, she was struck by the power of the myriad swirling emotions in his eyes. She saw, of course, his powerful desire and need for her, and the love that he no longer tried to deny, and could not hide. She saw the determination that whatever the cost to himself, he would do whatever it took to protect not only Buffy, but Joyce and Dawn as well – all those that he loved so dearly.
And mingled in with these emotions, she saw that the midnight pools were touched with a hint of wary caution. He still could not be completely sure if she was in control, or if they had all been cleverly deceived. It did not bother her or surprise her to see the subtle suspicion in his eyes.
He would have been a fool had it *not* been there.
*Time to save the world…*
He smiled softly in response to her gentle irony. “Well…how are you feeling, love? Still strong enough to do this? How’s our little friend?” he asked her, his eyes solemn and serious as he tried to feel out the situation.
Buffy shook her head with a satisfied smile. “No sign of her. I think we’re still good for a while.” As she spoke, she slowly made her way around the first bed to where Spike stood, between the two.
She noticed as she neared him that the blonde vampire’s hands were trembling slightly, and he drew back just the slightest fraction, probably without even realizing that he had. If she had not been so completely in tune with his feelings as she was due to the claim, she might not have noticed the motion at all.
As it was, she recognized it immediately.
He was scared.
She held her hands out slightly, palms up, as she approached him, in the universal gesture of harmlessness.
“Come on,” she said softly, encouragingly. “Come here.”
There was just the barest instant of hesitation before Spike obediently went to her, his unsteady hands cautiously extended to touch hers. She clasped his hands gently in hers, drawing him slowly in nearer to her – and frowned with concern when he shied away slightly, as her body brushed against his, still sore and sensitive from the Slayer’s earlier assault.
She released one of his hands, raising her own to caress his cheek gently, her eyes meeting his in a sad, silent apology. Holding her eyes, he pressed his cheek gently into her hand in an affectionate response to her touch, bravely edging in nearer to her to show her that he trusted her, knew that she would not hurt him.
Buffy smiled, pleased and relieved with his response, her hand on his cheek sliding around to rest behind his head, pulling him into a slow, tender kiss. Her hand played through his blonde curls in a slow, soothing rhythm as she pulled him in closer and deepened the kiss, heightening both of their desires at the intimate contact.
At her touch, he was certain.
This was *his* Buffy – his mate. He could sense no trace of the Slayer demon at the moment, knew that she was unable to act, as Buffy had said. For the moment – he was safe.
For the moment.
With an apologetic grimace, his eyes closed, he raised their still-joined hands up between them, breaking the kiss and pushing back slightly, silent for a moment as he caught his breath.
“Buffy,” he said softly, his voice low and even, as he opened his eyes to look at her, silently willing her to understand. “I know this is – this is eternity, love. It’s – it’s a big bloody deal, to say the least…”
When he hesitated, Buffy nodded, encouraging him to go on.
He took a deep breath as he went on, “I – I’d love to give you the night you’d set up back at the mansion – the wine and candles and romance, love…you know I’ve a weakness for all that myself – but…” He paused, his searching eyes piercing hers, searching for the understanding he hoped to find there.
“…you know there’s no time…right, love?”
Buffy gave him a reassuring smile as she nodded slowly in acceptance. “I know. We don’t know how much time we’ll have before she comes back. We need to just – just do this.”
She paused, a wistful sort of sadness to her smile as she continued, “I really wanted to be able to do this right for you, Spike – to make it up to you, back at the mansion, for the way I – the way I treated you before. But – it seems like things never go quite as planned.”
“Tell me about it,” Spike laughed ruefully, shaking his head. “Every bloody plan I’ve ever made has gone south, love…” He suddenly frowned as it occurred to him just exactly what he had said.
“Except…for…this one – of course,” he amended slowly, amusement mingled with a trace of genuine alarm in his eyes at his unfortunate choice of wording, as he met her sparkling gaze. “This one won’t.”
Buffy laughed in spite of their situation, at the utterly adorable expression of exaggerated horror on his face. “No,” she reassured him softly, her hand gently repeating its tender caress down the side of his face, her eyes shining with mingled amusement, and a wondering sort of affection. “It won’t.”
Why had she never noticed before these past few days just how breathtakingly beautiful his eyes were?
And just when had he managed to slip in and steal her heart away?
“But,” she went on teasingly, freeing the hand he still held to rest on his hip and draw him gently nearer to her, “just for safety’s sake – let’s just call this one *my* plan.”
Spike laughed softly, a smirk rising to his lips. “Right, love -- even though you didn’t have a soddin’ clue…”
His gentle mockery was suddenly swallowed up in a gasp of intense pleasure that consumed him, as Buffy’s hand found her mark on his throat, moving in a slow, circuler motion that drove his need for her to the forefront of his heart, body, and mind.
Just like that, the playful, light mood between them shifted, to something darker, richer, sweeter – as Spike felt in her touch the smoldering desire she held for him, the longing she had to touch him, to feel him – only a mirror image of his own desire for her.
He felt his legs weaken beneath him, and Buffy gently pushed him backward to sit down on the edge of the bed behind him as she reluctantly withdrew her touch. He opened hazy blue eyes in a silent question, wondering why she had withdrawn – to see her holding the cell phone she had just taken from her pocket. Her eyes were wide and sober when his found them, as she instructed him quietly but earnestly.
“I’m gonna put this right here on the nightstand,” she told him. “It’s set to Mom’s number so all you have to do is push send. If you even *think* anything *might* be about to go wrong – you push that button. Dawn knows to come running if she hears it ring.”
He looked from the phone back to her serious emerald eyes, suppressing a smile. “Right mood killer, pet – talking ‘bout your mum and sis in the bedroom…”
As he spoke, Buffy set the phone down and returned her hand to the mark lightly, though not moving it – not wanting him distracted from what she had to say next – as she brought the wrist of the same hand to hover near his lips.
“Drink,” she said simply, her voice low, husky – entrancing.
“And just like that,” he went on, without missing a beat, “the mood is back. Like bloody magic.” With an effort he raised his eyes in a silent question from her offered wrist to her calm, intent eyes. “Buffy…?”
“You need every advantage you can get here, Spike,” she explained in a firm, insistent voice. “If she *does* make an appearance before we’re finished – you need to be physically stronger than me. Drink.”
She shifted her arm slightly, pressing her wrist closer to his parted lips, and his eyes focused again on the enticing gift she was offering him. The memory of the taste of her rich, warm blood a few hours earlier filled his mouth, as his unneeded breath quickened in longing.
It made perfect sense to accept her offer – but somehow, the thought of taking Buffy’s blood, not for pleasure or for healing, but as simple nourishment, was a bit unsettling to him. It made it seem as if she was no different from the hundreds of other girls that had been nothing more than meals to him over the years.
And she was so much more to him than that.
“I – I don’t want to, Buffy,” he protested hesitantly, but his eyes were uncertain as they met hers, giving him away instantly – as did his manhood’s “miraculous recovery” which she felt brush against her legs as she moved in nearer between his legs, standing in front of him as he sat on the bed.
“Liar.”
Spike smiled a bit sheepishly, acknowledging that he was caught out with a little half-shrug. “Right. Didn’t really expect you to buy that – but – I can’t, Buffy – not like that.”
“She hurt you,” Buffy said, an edge of anger creeping into her voice at the thought. “And you’re still not completely recovered from the last time,” she reminded him. “If we’re going to pull this off, you have to be strong. You need to do this. *I* need you to do this. *Drink*.”
The hard, unyielding insistence in her voice sent a shiver down his spine at the lately-not-so-latent power it revealed. She was so much more than just the mere girl that most would have thought her to be. She was the most powerful Slayer who had existed so far – his mate – his claimant – and she was asking – no, *demanding* -- that he accept the precious gift of her own life’s blood.
How could he possibly refuse her?
She sensed the change in his demeanor, his acceptance, and pressed her wrist firmly to his lips. Obediently he shifted his form, revealing razor sharp fangs that slid through her silky skin so smoothly, so easily, that she barely felt the brief sting of pain – before it was swallowed up in pleasure.
Buffy let out a soft moan of pleasure as her free hand moved unconsciously to Spike’s hair, pressing him nearer to her. Her eyes widened with shock for a moment at the intensity of sensation – before closing completely as she let her head fall back slightly, losing herself in the sweet sensation of connection as her blood was drawn from her body into that of her mate.
“Spike,” she gasped when, after a few moments, she began to feel light-headed and dizzy. “*Spike*!”
The slight alarm he heard in her voice, the little shudder of weakness he felt course through her, warned him that the time to stop had come, all too soon. Gently he withdrew his fangs from her wrist, laving the already healing wound with his cool tongue, soothing it closed and staying the flow of her blood.
Feeling an exhilarating strength flow through him, he stood, his hands reaching to hold Buffy’s arms, gently steadying her, as he turned the weakened Slayer around and reversed their positions, helping her to sit down on the bed with her back to the headboard for support. He sat down carefully beside her, searching her slightly distant gaze with anxious concern in his eyes.
“You all right, love?” he asked softly, his voice low and cautious. “I’m sorry – I took too much…”
“No.” Buffy shook her head in denial, smiling, if a bit dazedly. “You need it. You need to be strong if she comes back.”
Spike studied her face for a long moment, trying to gauge if she was really all right, or just trying to soothe his guilty worries. His heart was filled with a warmth, an affection, for the girl who had once been his mortal enemy, but now meant more to him than anyone ever had.
The powerful attraction he had felt had blossomed into a full blown, complete devotion over the past couple of days, and perhaps the feelings had started out as a mere result of her claim, but he knew that now, it was so much more than that.
Whatever their source, the feelings he had for Buffy were more real and genuine than anything he had ever felt before.
He only wondered if she could ever feel the same way about him.
As the dizzy haze of pleasure from his bite passed from her, Buffy’s eyes opened again to focus on the pensive blonde, still studying her with piercing sapphire eyes.
“What?” she asked softly, feeling more than a bit self-conscious. “What is it?”
Spike was silent for a moment, the expression on his face telling her that he was searching for just the right words. Finally, he replied in a quiet, hesitant voice.
“Buffy – do you want to do this?”
Her responding smile was warmly teasing as she replied, “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
The crestfallen look on his face took her by surprise for a moment – until she realized how her words had come out, much differently than she had meant them. His gaze fell to the bedspread between them, his hand moving unconsciously from hers as he began to physically withdraw from her in order to mask his hurt.
Buffy was not about to allow it.
“Hey,” she said gently, reaching out to catch his hand before he could pull it out of her reach, “that’s not what I meant.”
He did not pull his hand away from her, but he did not look up at her either, his eyes downcast and a bit too wide, as he fought not to show the deep emotions her word created in him.
“Spike,” Buffy pressed softly, her thumb rubbing a slow, soothing circle on his upturned palm, “listen…no, I probably wouldn’t have chosen this. Not – not so soon, anyway. I mean – it’s been a matter of a couple weeks since we were trying to kill each other.”
Spike released a soft little chuckle in spite of himself, shaking his head and smiling. He had to admit, when she put it that way – two weeks ago, he would never have imagined that they would have been here, like this, either.
“But I have to say,” Buffy went on, the humor in her voice fading to tenderness, “if nothing else good comes out of this whole thing – I’m glad that it’s allowed me to get to know you better, Spike. To see – the person you really are – behind the Big Bad.”
“I *am* the Big Bad,” Spike protested, but there wasn’t much fire in his argument, and it seemed almost more of an automatic response than anything else.
Buffy graciously let it pass without comment, going on with what she had been saying instead. “You protected my family – from *me* -- when you knew how badly you could get hurt by doing it. Because you genuinely care about them. You’ve stood by me and forgiven me for things these past few days…” Her voice broke off, and she shook her head slightly, momentarily at a loss for words, in awe of his strength and devotion.
When she looked back up at him, she concluded softly, “I think that if circumstances had been different – and I’d had the chance to see you for who you really are, without the end-of-the-world drama to get in the way – I’d *still* have chosen you. And as it is – since I *didn’t* have a choice – well, if I have to not have a choice, there’s no choice I’d rather not have.”
She frowned. “And I think I just confused myself. That made no sense at all – did it?”
Spike’s slightly puzzled expression melted into a warm smile, his eyes shining with joy and gratitude. Despite her awkward wording, her feelings were clear enough.
“Yes, it does,” he assured her. “Makes right perfect sense.”
But then, his smile faded, his expression sober as he reiterated emphatically, “Just so you’re sure. Because there’s no going back once this is done.”
Buffy held his gaze firmly, unfaltering. “I’m sure,” she told him, nodding with certainty.
“All right, then,” he nodded, reaching down to pick up the chains he had left by the bed before meeting her eyes again in a mischievous smile.
"Now what's this you say about 'saving the world'?”
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