CHAPTER TEN
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Buffy hit the ground rolling, using the fluid momentum of her entrance to carry her into a standing position. Half a second later, a tumbling blur of black-and-white Spike crashed into her, the impact sending them both toppling into the tall grass.
He grabbed her shoulders as they rolled, legs tangling together. When they came to a halt, she lay sprawled atop him, one leg hiked across his, riding his thigh. Their lips were only a hair’s breadth apart as she gazed down into his startled face.
His hard chest lay beneath her hands. Something harder still pressed against her hip. Muscled forearms, bare beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his borrowed shirt, locked together across her back, pressing her to him, holding her in place.
Eyes locked, neither spoke. Then strong hands settled at her waist as he raised his knee, increasing the intimate pressure between her legs. Her hips wriggled involuntarily and with a faint gasp she shifted into place, the extra friction enhancing the tantalizing contact.
The smoldering promise of his heavy-lidded gaze chased away coherent thought. Body responding to the irresistible pull, her lips parted and her hips began to undulate – ever so slightly at first, then bolder, more demanding. His chest rose and fell beneath her hands, nostrils flaring as he sucked in deep, ragged breaths. Her movements picked up speed, steadily building into a raw, primal rhythm that had them both grunting and straining, pushing and pulling, one against the other.
And then she couldn’t stand it anymore. Eyes closing, she buried her face against his throat, hips moving frantically, nails digging into his shoulders, breath hitching in deep, knife-like gasps. He jerked beneath her as she sank her teeth into the muscled column of his neck. Jerked even harder as she bore down.
Large hands grabbed the denim-clad globes of her ass, fingers digging in, squeezing, kneading, urging her on. She was lost in sensation, all control given over to the fire between her legs, the smooth flesh under her lips.
Then he said her name and she convulsed in a burst of mind-numbing pleasure, a sweet, hot tide of sensation surging through her, leaving her limp and sated in its wake. But Spike’s arms still held her like steel bands and she could feel his arousal firm against her, achingly full and rock-hard with his unspoken need.
Head lifting, she held his gaze, hips pressing down, sliding and rubbing, moving in random patterns that drew more words from him – hot and dark and deliciously obscene. Her hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingers searching out the rough waistband of his jeans and the taut, cool skin beneath. At the same time, she moved to capture his lips with hers and smiled into his mouth as he surged up to meet her, murmuring a non-stop litany that spoke of both his passion and his need.
Her lips traveled higher still, grazing the sharp angle of his cheekbone, brushing over his closed eyelids, and sliding across the hard ridges of his brow. It was that unexpected contact with Spike’s vampire visage that cut through the haze of lust and longing that enveloped her.
Abruptly calling to mind exactly where they were. And why.
“Oh, god. Angel,” she breathed.
Her eyes widened as Spike went painfully still. The next thing she knew she was sitting on her rump, unceremoniously dumped there as he surged to his feet. She stared up into his closed-off face.
“No! I…I didn’t mean it that way.” Scrambling up, she reached out to touch him, hold on, draw him back to her. Anything to make him listen. But he sidestepped her grasp and moved away, white-blond hair gleaming like a beacon in the unusually bright light of this dimension’s moon. Thanks to Willow’s calculations, they’d arrived after nightfall, neatly avoiding the problem of crispy-fried Spike.
She was fast regretting taking that particular precaution.
Frustrated, she watched as he stalked through the knee-high grass, casting about until he finally came up with the weapons bag he’d lost in their tumbling roll.
She tried again. “Spike…”
“Guess we won’t be needing these.” Glancing up at the abnormally bright moon, he tossed the two flashlights he held back into the bag.
“Would you just—”
“No tellin’ north from south here, or which way they might have gone. Best thing to do is follow the moon for a bit, yeah? And not stray too far from the woods over there.” He nodded toward a dark line of trees that stood off to one side. “Don’t fancy gettin’ caught out in the sun if we’re still searching come daylight.”
His tone was all business, his manner detached, as if talking to a stranger. Buffy bristled. Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, she could do “detached” with the best of them.
She shrugged but didn’t reply.
He stared at her a moment then snorted softly. Ducking his head, he delved into the bag again, this time drawing forth two short swords and a collapsible crossbow. Faster than she could blink he was on his feet and tossing one of the swords to her, hilt first. Her hand flew up to catch it automatically.
Holding up the crossbow, he quirked an eyebrow in silent query. When she shook her head, he shouldered it himself then scooped up the second sword, testing its heft with an experimental swipe.
Seemingly satisfied, he stopped and looked at her, obviously waiting.
Buffy adjusted her grip on the sword, gaze holding his as she moved toward him. She was less than arm’s-length away when she broke eye contact and bent to retrieve the weapons bag. While the flashlights had proved unnecessary, the bag itself would come in handy if they had to conceal their weapons.
Straightening, she met his gaze briefly then pivoted to stare at the tall line of trees a short distance away, eyes combing the darkened woods. If such a place could serve as a shelter for Spike then maybe Angel had taken refuge there. It might have been a good place to start the search, but with only two flashlights and no reason for Angel to remain there once the sun went down, she quickly discarded the idea. It would be better to wait. They could always search there tomorrow during the daylight hours, unless they were lucky enough to find Angel and Gunn before then.
That decided, Buffy raised her chin and set out, deliberately ignoring Spike as she charted a course toward the bright orb in the sky. As she went, she gave a wide berth to the open portal, a shimmering bit of air all but invisible against the dark backdrop of the night sky. With luck, it would be just as unnoticeable during the day, provided they were here that long. Before they’d left, Giles had called in the slayers from the training compound as a precaution, stationing them around the portal in case something mean and nasty from this dimension went exploring, intentionally or otherwise.
Only a few steps past the portal, Buffy’s boot landed on a bare patch of dirt. Halting, she looked down to discover a rudimentary road of sorts, rutted tracks almost overgrown by the encroaching grass. Off to her left, it was soon swallowed up by the knee-high grass as it followed a course she couldn’t make out. To her right, it stretched toward a slight incline off in the distance, struggling upward in a bright trail of moonlight that illuminated the small hill.
She glanced over to find Spike looking at her, eyebrow raised. Since neither was speaking to the other, they chose the upward path by tacit agreement. Spike paused long enough to mark the spot, slashing a notch in the trunk of a small tree so they could find it easily enough upon their return. Then he slipped into place behind her and slightly to one side. It was a familiar formation for them and one she would have found immensely comforting at any other time. But now, as they trudged up the road in mutual stubborn indifference, each step brought Buffy closer and closer to the breaking point.
Five minutes of silence was all she could take.
She whirled to face him. “I wasn’t thinking about Angel, all right?! Not during the important parts. I just…it suddenly hit me what we were doing. And okay, my timing sucks. But I came to my senses, I said his name, I felt guilty that we forgot about him! That I forgot about him. So if you want to be all broody and bad moody and…and…stupid about it, go ahead! I am not going to apologize for remembering why we came here, so just…get over yourself!”
She started walking again, but only made it a few steps before spinning back around. He hadn’t moved.
“And another thing! You owe me.”
His head tilted.
“That’s right, Mr. I’m-Too-Cool-to-Pick-Up-a-Phone. You owe me big time.”
He still had the wary look in his eye, but the burgeoning smirk on his face made her itch to slap it off. “Do tell. And what might that be, pet?”
“What the hell do you think? An explanation!” She waved her arms, as if the answer should be obvious. Which it so should have been. “Some reason or excuse why you couldn’t pick up the phone and let me know you weren’t dead. What? Was I supposed to magically figure it out on my own? Did I fail a secret test because I didn’t somehow ‘sense’ you were still alive? Or…alive again. Whatever. Oh! I know! Maybe I was supposed to beg Willow to make with the dark mojo and bring you back, like she did with me. Is that it?”
The smirk disappeared. “Don’t be daft. You know damn well it wasn’t anything of the sort.” He looked away, then back at her, then off again, rubbing the nape of his neck as he sighed. “Couldn’t at first. Bein’ a ghost and all. Then later…I had obligations.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“In between ‘at first’ and ‘later’…what happened there?”
He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d want me there.” He shrugged. “New life. Fresh start. Figured there wasn’t a place for me.”
She waited until he snuck a sideways glance at her. “You figured wrong,” she said, voice flat. Then turning on her heel, she started walking again. When he appeared at her side, shortening his strides to keep pace with her, she kept her eyes fixed resolutely on the rutted tracks of the road.
But of course Spike never could take a hint.
“Truth is, figured Andrew would have told you. Never really believed the pup would keep his little yap shut about it. Then, when I didn’t hear from you, took it as a sign. Either he’d done as I asked, or you didn’t want to see me. Either way, it seemed for the best.”
Halfway through the dropping of that little bombshell Buffy had halted dead in her tracks, though it apparently took Spike another three or four steps to realize it. When he did, he made a slight backtrack.
She stared at him.
“Buffy?”
His guarded tone barely registered with her.
“Andrew knew?”
“Well…yeah. Was in LA.”
“Andrew knew?”
He nodded. “And there was the whole Angel-and-me-comin’-to-Rome thing. He was stayin’ in your flat.”
“Andrew. Knew.”
Spike eyed her warily. “Think you’re ever gonna stop sayin’ ‘Andrew knew’ and move on to something else?”
“That little weasel.”
“Yeah…all right. That’ll do.”
“I…am going…to kill him,” she said, enunciating the words with deadly calm. “Start writing his eulogy ’cause he is so dead.”
“Look, Buffy…”
“Does he know about that other thing, too? That sunfooey thing?” She laughed, a harsh brittle sound. “What am I saying? He knows. After all, he’s your new bestest friend, right? The one you tell all your secrets to. Him and that blue-haired ho.” She gave a disgusted snort.
All at once he closed the space between them. “All right, that’s enough. What bugaboo’s flown up your skirt, eh? Blue’s never done anything to you.”
Stabbing her short sword in the ground, Buffy placed both hands squarely on her hips. “No, but she’s done plenty to you, apparently.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Yeah, she has, as a matter of fact. But considerably less than you did. Girl’s good, but she hasn’t got your style.”
Buffy felt her eyes widen before she clamped down on a strong surge of jealousy and hurt. Her chin rose and her tone took on a deadly saccharine sweetness sharpened by an underlying edge. “I’m sure you were more than happy to give her a few pointers. How long before she let you use the handcuffs?”
Spike squinted harder, brow furrowed, as the cold glint in his eyes gave way to confusion. “Wait. What…exactly are we talkin’ about here?”
She snorted. “Just don’t, okay? Don’t try to play innocent.”
“I’m not playin’ anything! Bloody hell, woman! You are the most—”
Spike broke off, his head jerking toward the dark line of trees. And that’s when Buffy heard it. A low rumbling vibrating through the air, building in intensity to a massive crescendo that threatened to burst her eardrums, transforming at the end into a spine-tingling shriek of unholy rage.
And the grass around them burst into flames.
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TBC in Chapter 11
A/N: I hope you guys are still enjoying the story. I promise to try very hard not to keep you waiting long for the next update. While work and health issues are still a high priority, I’m starting to see light at the end of the tunnel in terms of long work hours. As for the rest, I’m keeping my fingers crossed for good news in a week or so.
Just in case I disappear again for a bit, though, please know that I appreciate all of you and will be back to respond to any reviews as soon as possible.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is currently a WIP written in response to a Spuffy Kinkathon challenge. The story requirements were as follows: The requested kink was hurt/comfort. Three other requests were to show Spike reluctantly biting Buffy, include Dawn and/or Xander in the story, and set it anywhere from Season 5 to Post-NFA.