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I'm so very grateful to anyone who is still reading this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Part Eleven

“They don’t want me back.” Buffy clung to Spike, desperately trying to lose herself in his embrace. She steadfastly ignored the mixture of confusion and betrayal she heard in her voice, and instead tried to soak up the comforting chest under her cheek. She was giving him so much fodder to use against her, but as his arms tightened like a band around her, she couldn’t seem to care. All that mattered was that she was back. She was back and her mother felt uncomfortable around her, her friends didn’t want to spend time with her, and the only comfort willingly given was within the arms of her once enemy—an evil monster with more feelings than he apparently knew what to do with.

“Buffy, I expect they’re just a bit wrong-footed. Surprised to see you again, is all. Give ‘em time to come around. In no time, you and Red will be swapping stories about boys and shoes like you’d never even left.” Spike’s words were accompanied with a squeeze and a soft brush of lips at her temple.

Buffy was glad she had her face hidden against his tee, because the thought of swapping stories about boys didn’t bring Angel’s face to mind. And for once, the fact that she’d forgotten him for more than ten minutes of her day didn’t cripple her with endless guilt.

Her face burned in reaction to the sole image that blotted out all others at the mention of ‘boys.’ In so incredibly short a time, Buffy had ensconced Spike completely in her life and had come to rely on him in the way she had when Xander had been a failsafe. Granted Spike was a failsafe, but with a very disturbing alteration.

The meeting with Giles himself had been less awkward than she’d expected, but just as Buffy had been settling back into the normal routines of being with her friends, things had turned weird and she soon caught onto their discomfort. When she’d asked any of them their plans, they were all suddenly busy. It didn’t take long for their aversion to spending any actual time with her to hit. She didn’t know if it was because she’d done something totally unforgivable, or if it was teething trouble to having her back in the mix.

And then they’d all been leaving and telling her to go home. There was suspicion there, and Buffy could see the glare of distrust in their eyes. Could see it, but couldn’t forgive it. How did they dare?

Just to be contrary, she’d headed in the opposite direction once they’d left the front gate of Giles’s courtyard. She’d hardened her heart to their judgmental looks and headed as far from home as she could, and as soon as they couldn’t see her anymore, there was Spike. Just like she’d known he would be. Looming out of the night-time shadows with a cigarette in hand and a smirk on his lips.

She’d never felt such relief to run into potential death in all her life.

His face did things to her belly that Buffy could have sworn was forever ended for her. Butterflies whipped their way to life inside and she felt frantic flutterings before forcefully choosing to drown out the existence of pleasure in favour of wallowing in the reality of rejection. And he’d been there as soon as the tears had stung her eyes, discarding the burning cylinder in the dirt under his boot and remoulding that smirk into a frown of concern as he’d protected her within the circle of his arms. And Buffy had felt it. Safe. Protected. Wanted. With the vampire who had originally blown into town with the agenda of leaving with her notched on his belt.

The groan of leather under her hands brought Buffy back to the now with a suddenness that gave her mental whiplash. She was crowding out the scent of her fear—that she’d made a horrible mistake in coming back to the Hellmouth—with the scent of Spike. It was a revelation to almost taste him as the flesh at his throat came closer to her curious mouth. Confidence was slowly returning and Buffy felt her hands slide along the smooth leather of his coat arms, over his shoulders to slowly wind around his neck. The myth was that vampires were hot—they exuded mystery and immortality and Angel himself had been the epitome of that for her. But she’d never smelled life on him. She’d never scented him as a man. Spike blew her senses out of the water—had her on overload so that the buzz that vibrated through her body just didn’t end.

“Spike?” She felt drugged when he was this close to her. Buffy wished their upper bodies were naked so that she could feel her bare skin against his, so that she could smother in the heated bliss of whatever this was that was taking over.

He answered with an intimate hug, drawing her ever closer to his body until she could swear the heat she felt between them was going to singe her clothing. Buffy gave in and before he’d even attempted to press an advantage, she brought her body as close to his as she could get while still dressed. Breath caught in her throat as suddenly aching breasts found purchase against his chest, and she felt something hard and not-so-still poking against her crowd of overactive butterflies.

There were lips against her cheek and Buffy gasped out a moan, wanting more than anything for the inevitable to happen. She was already drugged—she wanted the overdose, if only to quench this misery of need. They’d barely moved and then his lips were there, hovering indecisively over hers before Buffy tipped up her face and exploded into his kiss.

Her chest was thumping out of control and Buffy was momentarily worried that she was about to faint. Spike’s arms released her waist and she slipped against him, terrified he’d let her fall to the ground before one hand cupped her face and the other inflamed her ribcage just under a vulnerable breast. She ached everywhere for him. In too short a time, Spike had replaced her visions of a tortured Angel with his own presence and she hadn’t even put up a fight. In fact, there was welcome stamped all over her. She was all Welcome Buffy for the Spike kissage.

His lips were made of sweet wine and spice and Buffy could feel her addiction seeping into her veins as her fingers explored the curling clumps of his hair. There was no resistance as his tongue teased the seam of her lips and Buffy couldn’t stop the compulsion that overtook her natural need to protect herself. Instead, she opened her lips to allow him inside her. And once he’d gained access, Buffy was lost to the rhythm and heat of it. He caressed her inside and out and Buffy felt her body throb with a fierceness that had been missing since the morning Angelus had destroyed her.

It was Spike that finally pulled away, and Buffy wanted to scream at him to return her coveted mindlessness. It was easy to forget everything when he was kissing her. Forget her friends and her mom; forget her destiny—except that Spike’s focus on her destiny was what had brought them back in the first place.

She landed back to earth with a butt breaking slam into the ground. As gentle as their parting was, Buffy felt all the stabs of rejection that she’d been suffering from all night. Only this was worse—so much worse being pushed away from a vampire with no soul than a group of people who had made her life bearable the past year.

“Spike?” And then the pinpricks of fear scattered in the warmth of his reassuring smile and the slow sweep of his hand through her hair.

“Should be getting you home, pet. Your mum’ll be worried.”

A little of her normal fire returned and Buffy stepped back, observing Spike under a shroud of confidence and playfulness that she’d never have pulled off earlier in the night. His kiss had given her that.

“You sure are worried about my mom.” The vulnerability was still there, and the softening of Spike’s smile was the first hint that he’d caught her out.

He stepped close once again and let his finger run the length of her arm from her shoulder to her wrist until his hand encompassed her own. “I’m worried about you too, goldilocks. Lots of nasties out here looking for a succulent bite to eat.” And to emphasise his point, like a striking cobra, he was at her throat, teeth clamped and mouth sucking on her flesh while Buffy clutched at his shoulders and tried to remember how to breathe. Giddiness robbed her of strength and her hold slipped to his biceps, fingers digging in and hanging on for dear life as he left his mark in a bruise on her neck. She could feel the sting in her skin, and happiness jolted her heart.

There was nothing but dazed receptivity when he pulled away and observed her giddy smile.

“Wow. I like how you worry,” Buffy said breathlessly, her knees weak and her body hungry for more Spike contact.

There was a strange flicker of something that Still-Swimming-In-Lust Buffy couldn’t quite discern as she drifted back down from her high, hidden behind an amiable Spike who clasped hold of her hand and subtly tugged her back in the direction of home.

“I’m a gentleman, Slayer. ‘Sides, I brought you back to the Hellmouth, and it wouldn’t do to have you picked off by some lucky demon before we even get a crack at the first half decent apocalypse to pass our way.” He wasn’t looking at her, and that was Buffy’s first clue to not allow the shards of ice that were battering at her heart for entry. He was holding her hand, walking at her side like a boyfriend, but he’d scared himself with his actions. Or maybe he’d been shocked by the strength of emotion that had resulted from that kiss, but whatever it was, Buffy could see his belated attempt to scramble back to the position he’d been comfy on just ten minutes beforehand and ignore it.

“You know, any other girl would be thinking you only wanted her for her connections to End of the World fights to the death. But I know what you really want.” Buffy felt the jerk in her arm as Spike almost skidded to a stop—only then was she able to see the naked fear in his eyes and feel the tightening of his clasp on her hand.

“And what’s that, Slayer? What is it that a Big Bad like me really wants?”

His eyes shone with glints of amber and Buffy wondered if he even admitted to himself how cuckoo this plan and agenda he’d adopted actually was. There were moments when the reality of his position apparently hit him, and he couldn’t totally tamp down his panic about the situation. But before Buffy could jump on the moment and explore it to its ugly end, the imp in her that wanted to tease and get rid of that dark speck of fear from his eyes jumped in.

“You’re just in it for the Post-Apocalypse parties.” She grinned, and hung onto it through the very obvious breath of relief and lightening of his load as she did.

“As if your little posse has any idea at all how to live it up after almost perishing at the end of the world. Give me a good apocalypse, and I’ll show you how it’s done.” He was nervous, and Buffy felt the bloom of dread. She didn’t want this now. Not now that she’d attempted to reconcile who Spike had proclaimed himself, rather than the vampire he had been since he’d met up with her again.

The moment was short lived and Buffy was glad. They continued on, clinging to the shadows and ignoring all nocturnal sounds while they progressed toward Revello, hand in hand and ignoring the implied intimacy.

When they reached her front door, Buffy wasn’t in any rush to go inside. Behind the door was a life that had been in her past, an existence that would put rules and judgements on every tiny thing she did. Somehow she didn’t think that making out with Spike while she was down about the lack of enthusiasm her friends displayed at having her back would be met with approval. Buffy felt pretty sure that her mom would have quite a few things to say about it—especially after the whole Angel thing.

As reluctant as she was, Spike prodded her closer to the steps and hung back, despite still holding her hand.

“You’ve got the phone, Slayer. I’ll be here if you need me.” And amidst his lightening quick movement, Buffy thought she felt a kiss ghost her lips and then the flapping of leather tails as he disappeared into the night.

If all vampires adopted half the stealth of Spike, it would be so much more difficult to rid the Hellmouth of its evil.





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