Chapter Three
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For the next two days, little happened. Willow called to report on the coven’s continuing efforts, which had thus far had failed to produce anything of note. Illyria kept her distance, except for a brief appearance as “Fred,” which Buffy had found more than a little unnerving. Giles continued to research Spike’s condition, assisted by Xander, who also checked in with Dawn via long distance.
At first, Buffy had asked him not to tell her sister about Spike but changed her mind when she realized that, by keeping the news from Dawn, she’d be guilty of the same offense as Giles.
Dawn, naturally, had been halfway out the door before Xander had persuaded her to wait a few more days until she’d finished her final exams. She argued loudly but reluctantly stopped when Xander insisted Spike would want it that way. He promised to keep her updated and to call her the second anything changed. They also agreed it would be better for all concerned to keep Andrew in the dark, at least for now.
During those two days, Buffy rarely left Spike’s side. She hated being so helpless, the way it made her feel. She longed to go out and kill something just to prove she wasn’t totally useless. But even though it might make her feel better, it wouldn’t help Spike. So she stayed and took care of him, bathing him with a cool sponge in hopes of keeping the intermittent fever in check, talking to him in low, soothing tones, or trying to coax blood down his throat whenever he opened his eyes. She had little success with the latter, and it frustrated her to the point that she actually considered hauling off and punching him, as she had Angel all those years ago, just to force him to feed.
Buffy froze, eyes widening. God, how could she have forgotten? Faith had poisoned Angel, causing almost the same kind of symptoms Spike now exhibited. What if…?
She was halfway to the door when she stopped, mind racing. She couldn’t tell Giles, not yet. If Spike had been exposed to the same kind of poison, on the tip of a blade or the point of an arrow, then there was only one cure. And it was one that Giles would never agree to let her try, not after she’d almost died forcing Angel to drink from her.
She straightened, her resolve hardening. If her blood could save Spike, nothing would keep her from giving it to him. Nothing, that is, but Spike and his inability to feed.
Buffy sighed and contemplated kicking the wall with her stylish yet affordable boots. Even if she had the knowledge and equipment needed to draw and bag her own blood, which she clearly didn’t, the intravenous feeding had done little more than sustain him, while his near-catatonic state kept him from taking blood the usual way.
But there was a time when he might be capable of it – during one of his spells of fever-induced delirium. He moved on his own, spoke on his own, and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t truly conscious of his actions. All that mattered was that he did act. That meant, with the right approach, it should be possible to arouse his natural instincts, which in turn would lead him to feed.
And Buffy had a pretty good idea as to how she could arouse those instincts.
First, she checked to see that the door was locked. The prospect of an unexpected visitor didn’t really worry her. It was late, and they’d been left largely undisturbed since that first night. But Buffy wasn’t taking any chances.
As she made her way back to the bed, she began to disrobe, discarding her shirt and everything else piece by piece. A rueful smile curved her lips. All else aside, it was really too bad Spike wasn’t awake to witness her little strip tease. Something told her he would have really appreciated it. If he had survived the shock, that is.
Sliding beneath the sheet, she pressed up against him. Slowly, she matched her breathing to the steady rise and fall of his chest, marveling anew at the anomaly that was Spike, and waited. And waited. And waited.
Just as she began to fret that nothing would happen, she felt him stir, the rising warmth of his body signaling the return of the delirium.
“Fred…where…can’t lose…Fred, luv.”
Buffy tried to ignore it, but the timbre of his voice as he spoke Fred’s name sparked a hot pang of jealousy. She remembered the brief glimpse she’d had the day before of a sweet, beautiful, intelligent woman who seemed to feel entirely too much affection for Spike. A part of Buffy that she didn’t like to acknowledge was relieved that woman no longer existed, while the rest of her felt deeply ashamed.
But this wasn’t about her and what she should or shouldn’t feel. This was about Spike and what he needed – something only she could give. Buffy ruthlessly silenced the little voice that told her there were thirty-odd slayers right down the road who could also give Spike what he needed. The point being, it was her place to do it, not theirs.
Buffy brought her lips to his ear. “I’m here, Spike,” she whispered. “I’m going to make you well again.”
Gazing into his face, she placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. Tenderness between them had been so fleeting. It felt wrong somehow that now, as she freely gave him what he’d so desperately craved, he wouldn’t even know. But there was no other way. She wouldn’t consider the method used with Angel, and that left her only one other form of persuasion.
Lips grazing his cheek, whisper soft, she thought of all the times he’d pleaded for a chance to love her. All the times, she’d turned him down. Not just turned him down, but beat him down, turned him away, sneered at the creature who thought he could be a man.
There was only one monster in that relationship, and it had never been him.
Tears of remorse stung her eyes as she nuzzled at his neck, inhaling the sharp, heady scent of him, colored now by the faintest tinge of sweat. Once upon a time, there’d been a trace of Buffy, too, marking him as indelibly hers. Even when she’d hated it, she’d just as fiercely relished it. She wanted to mark him again, though she couldn’t be sure he would still welcome it.
No, you don’t. But thanks for sayin’ it.
Buffy shut out everything but here and now and the man lying next to her. She let her hands roam, mindful of his injuries, reacquainting herself with the form she’d once known so intimately. Soon, his mindless muttering turned to gasps and his body responded in a way that left little doubt about his ability to feel. He arched up into her hand, blindly seeking more, and she gave it to him.
Just as his movements reached a fevered pitch, her hand fell away, her heart leaping at the loud groan of protest that escaped his lips. At the same time, she glanced up and was disappointed to see his human face. He’d never changed during their sexual encounters, but a part of her had always suspected it took a conscious effort on his part. That he’d held back out of fear he would lose her completely if he did.
Now, when she desperately wanted to see his vampire visage, he remained stubbornly human. Stronger measures were needed to coax him out.
Slowly, gently, she moved above him, taking care not to burden him with her full weight. Head lowering, her mouth settled against the strong column of his neck, tasting the salty tang of sweat. His body shook and words spilled from his mouth, but she didn’t let it distract her. Spike had always been vocal during sex, with dirty endearments and passionate promises peppered throughout their lovemaking.
It had always been lovemaking, at least for him. Of all the harsh truths she’d had to face after Spike’s return from Africa, this had been the hardest for Buffy to admit.
Her mouth continued its erotic play on his neck, teasing and tantalizing with moist kisses and gentle tonguing. When she fastened on a tender spot and scraped it with her teeth, his body jerked spasmodically beneath her. She pressed in closer, nipping and worrying and alternating with a steady licking. His breathing was harsher now, his movements more frantic. With a silent prayer, she closed her eyes and bit down hard, so hard she wondered if she might draw blood.
The result was electrifying. Spike arched wildly beneath her, his body slamming into hers as a loud growl reverberated through the room. Letting go, Buffy lifted her head and came face to face with the vampire. There was no recognition in his gaze, only a feral hunger, but it made her heart sing. She tilted her head, exposing her neck, then closed her eyes and waited for the strike.
It never came.
Her eyes flew open. Spike was still in game face, but his head had fallen back against the pillow. He was still aroused, and no doubt starving, but apparently unable to act on it.
Buffy almost howled with frustration. They’d come so close. It had almost worked. There had to be a way.
Her eyes darted frantically about the room and lit on a half-empty water glass sitting on the bedside table. In one fluid move, she grabbed the glass, dumped its contents, and shattered it against the table’s edge. Then, grasping the largest shard, she pulled back just enough to drag the jagged edge across her forearm. A thin, red line appeared in its wake, trickles of blood running down to her wrist.
His head jerked, the scent of her blood causing his nostrils to flare. She lifted her arm, placing the cut over his lips.
“Please, Spike,” she urged softly. “Drink from me…please.”
He moved faster than she would have expected, his lips fastening on her arm, voraciously mimicking her assault on his neck, though fangs never penetrated flesh. She watched his throat move as he swallowed, mouth working to draw in still more of her slayer-enhanced blood. The low growling noise he made touched a primal place inside her, while his faint moans as he sucked moved her to tears. She shifted off of him, still holding her arm in place, and settled at his side, touching her forehead to his cheek.
Buffy was tempted to let Spike feed for as long as he wanted, to seduce him into biting her so he could have as much of the life-giving blood as he needed, but she knew it would be foolish and probably fatal. Reluctantly, she pulled her arm away, his wordless snarl of protest knifing through her heart.
When it died away, there was nothing but the sound of harsh breathing, hers and his. After several long seconds, her gaze lifted to his face. She froze.
He was looking at her. He was looking at her. Staring at her through amber eyes.
His mouth worked silently. For an instant, she had the crazy thought that he was speaking and her brain just couldn’t process it. Then a faint word reached her ears.
“Buffy…”
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TBC in Part 4
A/N: That's all for now. I'll try to update wth a new chapter every few days. Really hope you're enjoying it! Feedback is always welcome. In the meantime, many thanks for reading!
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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.