He looked sleek and beautiful propped against the wall, watching the door with all the intent of a killer waiting for suitable prey. Buffy held her breath as she stepped outside; she’d known he would be there. Seemed to be able to sense his presence now that he’d drowned her in it for days. Her breath hitched as she watched the play of moonlight on his face; it made his hair shine and painted him in an ethereal light that was somehow not surprising.
It wasn’t ethical for Buffy to look at him and think about what if’s. He wasn’t anything but a predilection to permanently end her pain, and that alone was a clash of moral dilemmas. She really wanted to prolong her torment with walking the streets lonely and aimless, and yet she enjoyed his company more than she had any right to do. She was being so stupid, courting this association, but she just couldn’t seem to get the will to stake his unbeating heart. Couldn’t seem to resign herself to never seeing his pretty face again or never hearing that accent that she didn’t want to admit was just the right timbre to incite her sexy thoughts.
Which were bad. Bad sexy thoughts. So much badness after what he’d done to her in her bed so many hours earlier. It was one thing to be devastated by the hatred leaching out of a newly resurrected vicious vampire, but to willingly allow another to sleep at her back and cover her body with his hands was nothing short of madness.
She knew it was predictable, and she knew that she probably already knew the answer, but Buffy asked it anyway. “What are you doing here?” But there was no heat of censure in her voice—no accusation that he’d breached her rights by being in the vicinity of her presence. In fact, despite her morbid wishes, she was almost glad to see him and hoped he would walk her home. That he would do as she wanted and not hound her too much to change and go expend her lack of energy on fighting the demons she wanted to pretend did not exist.
He answered her with a grin and then a hug, and once Buffy recovered from that shock, he lowered his lips to hers and stole away the last bit of her life that made sense. It wasn’t how she might have expected a kiss from Spike to be. It meddled with her senses, left her hot and weak and clinging to his coat so she didn’t collapse at his feet. He sucked gently on her lips, drawing them into his mouth to stroke and emblaze with his tongue before slowly, dazedly drawing away. They both opened eyes that had been glued shut, feeling drugged and relaxed and yet rejecting the possibilities of why. It seemed so much harder to admit an attraction to Spike than to just give into it.
“Came to apologise,” he told her huskily, relishing the flush of her skin and the pounding of her heart. She still clung to his arms and Spike felt no need to rush her away, finding his own hand cupping her cheek with a will of its own.
She looked stunned. “You do apologies?” She smiled with wonder and Spike marvelled that he didn’t get singed with the brightness. “Wow!”
“Yes I do apologies, you daft bint.”
Buffy waited, but he stayed silent and she frowned. “So where is it?”
“Oh! Right, yeah. An apology.” He seemed flustered now that the actual words were required, worried about how he could do it without pissing her off. Yet he knew that his tongue would twist whatever he wanted to say and put him in all kinds of crap. “I’m sorry. For touching you, I mean.” And there he went, her face draining of all that pretty colour, and the unhappiness that had clouded the light in her eyes when she’d left her job returned, and they were right back where they’d started. “Bollocks. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry I acted the way I did.”
“Let me guess. It wasn’t me, but you?”
He nodded avidly in relief, thinking she got it and only realised his folly once she’d wrenched away from him.
“Wrong, Spike. It’s always me. It’s no biggie. I’m sure I’ll get over it in no time.” She started walking away, her pace angry and frustrated when he ran to catch her arm and spun her around to face him.
“Bloody hell, you’re an infuriating bint. I’ve never woken up with my hands on anyone but Dru before. Took me by surprise, is all.”
That uncertain look was loads better than the haunted one that implied she wanted to beat herself to a pulp. “Oh.” It was all she said and behind it laid worlds of meaning. Spike just couldn’t work out which world she’d handpicked for the occasion.
“The surprise wasn’t unwelcome—once I got my brain in the right place. But you’d scampered by then.” He loved it when she blushed—loved the little girl it betrayed—the one that was still inside. He felt softer in her presence, like saving the world wasn’t the only betrayal of his kind.
“What do you want, Spike? Because this thing that you’re doing is confusing the hell out of me.” Buffy stood, dejected and sad, and it was all he could do to curb the impulse to hold her tight against the horrors of the world and show her how bright the night could be. As long as he was by her side.
It hit him with startling clarity, a bolt of awareness that seemingly came from nowhere but his own head. He wanted to help her—and not just for the thrill and adrenaline that came with a big fight. He wanted to remind her who she was, help her locate that centre of steel that made her so special. That made her who she was and could be again. He wanted to bring her home and he wanted to be by her side while she discovered the world again after pain had tainted her soul.
“How ‘bout we take it one step at a time? I’ll scratch your back and you can return the favour?”
Buffy’s face scrunched up as that obscene thought raced through her mind. “Ewwwww. You are so perverted. I am so not scratching any part of you, and you can keep your hands far, far away from my body.”
A head tilt later had internal Buffy screaming at how much of an idiot she was. He’d done the apology—something Angelus would never have done—so what would be wrong with a little mutual scratching?
His lips were very nice when stretched around a smile. “I meant help each other out, pet. But we can work out some kinks in the process as they…come up.” He winked and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans, finding the tightening in his pants delicious as he refocused her attention on his lower bits.
“H-help each other how?” She was staring at his crotch and damn but he loved how red her face turned as his cock swelled under the attention. He watched as she followed the trail of his hand, lazily pulling it out of his pocket and stroking his ache on the outside of the denim. She unconsciously licked her lips and he knew without any more doubt that he wouldn’t be complete until he felt that mouth around him, sucking him into ecstasy.
“Oh, the usual ways. How ‘bout we try patrol first? I can help you with your aim. Was a bit off last night.” He was eyeing her up and down, drinking in the youthful curves under the horrid little uniform she hid under, and missed the energetic shake of her head.
“Nuhuh. Beside the fact that the only aiming I did was my butt to a stone wall, I am way too tired to pander to your sicko fascination with being weirdo world saving vamp. What I need right now is a hot bath, an all over body rub and some soothing television.”
The exhaustion that was bringing her down was obvious and Spike could see the benefits of a comfortable bed, a bath and some nicer surroundings to elevate her senses. Not to mention the rather vivid visual of that all over body rub—as long as he was the one administering it.
“Right then. No patrol,” he agreed, not bothered in the least. If he couldn’t have violence, he had no trouble settling for passion. “I’ve got another idea,” he told her and then began to drag her away from the moderately seedy side of town and into a hotel—a hotel much higher on the food chain to the place she’d been living since her arrival.
Buffy had been overwhelmed while he pulled her along, but once they crossed the threshold into a swanky hotel, she had to put on the brakes. A movie was one thing, but if Spike was killing and making this much money, the world savage plan had a really huge bug in it.
“Spike? Where did you get the money for this?” The determined glint in her eyes revealed a hardness that gave him shivers.
“Keep your knickers on, pet. I know a bloke.” And they were off again, Spike doing a funny wink and nudge, nudge combo that had them ushered through check-in and into a sumptuous room all without any flash of a fang or American Express.
“Okay, splainy?” She dug her heels into the really soft, luxurious carpet and demanded he get with the talky.
Spike rolled his eyes, then flopped down on the massive bed decked out with expensive coverings and unlaced his boots. “I saved the bloke’s mistress from being vamp food.” He shrugged like the feat had been no trouble at all. “He said any time I needed a place to get in touch.” He eyed her shocked pose and snickered appreciatively. “I know. I can’t tell you how neat this saving people thing is. Who knew it could be so easy to get a swish place like this from not eating a chit?” He chuckled and finished taking off his boots, standing and shucking off his coat.
It wasn’t the first time Buffy had seen him without his usual bad guy wear. Hell, he slept with her shirtless. But suddenly seeing him in a hotel room as he stalked toward her was a whole lot more naughty and decadent that in her dreary little apartment. Here, stripping had a different meaning and Buffy was finding it impossible to calm her pulse down.
He stood less than two feet away from her, his expression indulgent and caring and Buffy wondered when she’d managed to fall into another dimension without her knowing it.
“I’ll go run that bath for you. Why don’t you go check out what’s on the telly?”
Buffy nodded dumbly as he turned away, noticing the muscle over his back and shoulders and how firm his butt looked in tight jeans.
“I’m going to Hell,” she whimpered.
“No, you’re not,” he shouted from the bathroom where steam was belching through the doorway. “Stick with me pet and I’ll take you to Heaven.”
Oh My God! Ego much? Still, it put a smile on her face and an excited bounce in her step.
She was just starting to get into the movie on the screen, a comedy that required no thought and little attention, when Spike announced her bath was ready and swore at her about her ‘arse’ moving too slow.
He shut the door behind him, closing her up in the heat and steam to strip and slide into the tub. She felt so lethargic, so relaxed and the warm soapy water did wonders to soak away the aches from her body and the pain in her heart.
And she had Spike to thank for it.
The heated edge had been taken from the water with her prolonged soaking and Buffy briefly contemplated topping up with more hot water when Spike casually re-entered the room. Despite the jolt to her heart beat and the panic in every cell of her flesh, she remained tight lipped and waited to see what he would do. He was awake now—there was nowhere for him to hide if he reacted as badly to being in her presence as he had that morning. If he did, there would be no second chances.
“Out you get, Slayer. Time for that body rub you were whinging about.” He held out a huge fluffy white towel and leered at her in the water. She’d never been so glad for the presence of bubbles in her entire life.
“I do not—whatever that even is,” she objected, fire in her eyes even as she stubbornly remained in the tub.
“Bloody hell, get that delectable ass out of there now before I reach in and feel for the plug.”
Oh crap, she was sitting on the drain.
Buffy shot up straight, her arms hiding her breasts as she vowed she’d cause him so much pain for smirking at her discomfort.
“Close your eyes.” There was no arguing with her tone and she experienced some satisfaction to find Spike obeying her without question. As quickly as she could without slipping, Buffy stepped out of the tub and allowed Spike to wrap the towel around her. She clutched the soft fluffiness around her body and stepped away from him, not liking the haze that came over her when he was close.
“Thanks, but you can leave now.” Her lip was pouty, her eyes wide and innocent as she watched Spike. Not. Move. A. Muscle.
“That’s not how this works, Slayer. Follow me.” Only he didn’t let her go, his hand on her arm as he directed her to the main room and pushed her to the bed. “An all body massage requires all of your body. Now get on the bed and I’ll be back in a mo.”
This kind of panic could go straight to a girl’s head. Buffy saw Spike disappear back into the bathroom and knew he’d have no trouble ripping the towel from her body if that’s what he wanted, and she wasn’t dressed to fight him. So before he could come back and position her any way he liked, she rushed onto her belly and buried her face in her arms.
The room was warm and Buffy—despite the anxiety she felt about what could potentially happen here—was almost asleep when Spike finally reappeared. He didn’t speak; her mind was too sluggish to grasp anything once his cool touch coaxed the towel down her back. She wiggled slightly to aid its journey and vowed not to worry about it when it rested just above her ass.
A woodsy scent accompanied the warm liquid that quickly became smeared over her skin. Buffy gave in to the thumbs that gently dug into her neck, fingers soothing the stressed muscles as he worked her into a frenzy of sensual bliss. His fingers indulged her in long sensual strokes down her back, barely finishing on the curve of her rump before he was back repeating the move. And while he’d hypnotised her, he tore away the covering and busied himself with massaging the globes of her ass, smoothing out the tension in her thighs, and moistened the skin at her feet.
She didn’t even think when his husky voice rumbled in her ear, directing her to turn over, though once she’d obeyed sanity returned and she lay exposed and without a clue what to do with her hands.
Completely out of context, he poured oil on her belly, feather strokes brushing it up her ribcage and under her breasts. Buffy gasped as his head lowered, his nose tickling a trail between her breasts before slowly sneaking across to her nipple.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She was panting now, terrified and exhilarated at once.
“Rubbing your body,” he told her, his incredulous tone implying he thought she was the silliest brain-damaged slayer in the history of the world.
Her body was slippery against him, but she finally knew what to do as her fists clutched at handfuls of bed linen. Reason had deserted her in the place of his touch, and she failed to comprehend the true pace of his hands or face as he consumed her body. There was sensation on her inner thighs, bites on her nipples, brushes along her slit that were all so soft, so barely there Buffy wondered if she was dreaming it.
And then she was arching, her legs curling around his still clothed torso as her body erupted in roaring flames, her mind exploded with passion, and language reverted to cave Buffy grunts.
And then the world around her was cold and she closed her eyes to welcome sleep.
Tomorrow she would never know if it was all a dream, but for now, she was happy.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Just so that readers here are no more out of the loop than anywhere else, I wish to inform you that this fic is not being written by a new author. I am using a pseudonym.