I
Buffy ran into her bedroom and closed and locked the door behind her immediately. “Be silent!” She squeaked running towards the bed.
“Oi,” he growled, moodily, “I’ve been calling you for hours.”
“I know,” she snapped. “Shout again and I shall silence you!” There was a fresh look of menace in her eyes that fascinated him. He locked onto her glare, then allowed his eyes to drop to the soft swell of her breasts in their tight corset. She waved a hand at him in a silent reproach. After a few moments of silent breaths her face relaxed. “What do you want?”
“Food. Wine. Now, preferably, and these bonds removed.”
She tilted her head back and looked down her nose at him. “It is barely seven. You shall have to wait until the kitchen staff has gone to bed.”
He snarled and threw his head back against the pillow. “In prison our meals were regular.”
She laughed sarcastically. “In prison you would be beaten and tortured.”
“Am I not here?” He scoffed, looking away.
“How do I torture you?” She asked, intrigued.
He turned immediately to face her, a smile upon his lips as his eyes lifted from her feet until he met her eyes. Buffy felt shivers and decided that she did not wish to know.
“I,” she cleared her throat, moving to the door, “shall find something for you to eat.” She turned back to him from the frame. “Do not call again. If you are found we shall both probably hang,” she let out a breath as she undid the lock, “if my mother does not kill us first!”
Marie glared at Buffy in the mirror. “So you have fed him?”
“Yes,” she replied, bending down to pick up some books that had fallen to the ground.
“And bathed him?”
Buffy lifted her eyes to her friend. “His wound, yes, Marie. And his face and hands. His sole presence here is dependent on his survival. I would not have brought him back if he was merely to rot away on my pillow.”
Marie turned to face her, eyeing her sceptically. “And now you bring him books? How will he hold them, Buffy? With his beard?!”
Buffy scowled. “I shall shave him tomorrow.”
“That was not the point—”
“The books are for me, Marie.”
“Buffy,” Marie stood and looked desperately at her friend. “He must leave here, and leave soon.”
Buffy opened her mouth to speak then stopped. She knew what must be done.
It was late when Buffy returned to her room. She closed the door silently behind her and stared across at the figure in the bed. He wasn’t moving. The sounds of his sleep filled the air.
“Hello?” She called out, but he continued to sleep. The looked down for a moment before deciding to be daring. “Spike?”
Deciding that he was sound asleep she moved behind her screen and removed her dress. She stepped out of the petticoat around her waist before removing her slippers.
She was tired. It had been a long two days and she was welcoming her second night of rest since the battle. Wearing her simple corset and other undergarments, she moved the sort distance to her wardrobe, checking that her captive hadn’t moved. She froze, hand on the door for a moment before carefully arranging her clothes. Ordinarily her maid would do this for her, but for over a week now, her ladies’ maid had left her.
She headed back towards the screen, head down as she began to unpop her corset. She paused and frowned on one particular clip. For some reason she was unable to pop it out. She breathed in and pushed down hard.
Warm fingers reached around her waist from behind and she let out a scream that was soon smothered by a hand.
“Shush, pet,” a voice whispered in her ear. “It’s only me.” She shot a confused look towards the bed. There, still, was the outline of the sleeping figure. How could he be behind her?
Spike had her pressed tight up against the wall. He held her hands above her head in one hand, and covered her mouth with the other. She stared at him in confusion and surprise.
“Sorry,” he breathed against her neck, “not into bondage.” He grinned at her. “Well, now,” he slid even closer, “that’s not even slightly true.”
She frowned as he lowered his hand from her mouth and brought it down slowly to her waist. Her jaw had been clamped shut in fury but now opened freely despite the anger that it held.
“Mr—”
“Williams,” he smiled, watching her lips as his fingers splayed against her hip.
“Mr Williams,” she glared, forcedly unmoved. “Remove your hands and turn around right now!”
He paused for a moment and raised his eyebrows. Was she serious? Despite himself, he released her and took a step back. He furrowed his brow and put his hands on his hips.
“And turn around.” She said, letting out a breath as she stood up straight from the wall, shaking out her limbs. He locked eyes with her for a second or two before turning slowly around. “Thank you.” Her tone was no nonsense as she quickly pulled her dress back on and tugged on the ribbon as best she could in her hurried state. Her dress was European and tied at the front, otherwise she would have found it impossible to retain her dignity. “Alright,” she sighed at last. “You may turn back now.”
“You mean you are not going to club me over the head with a book?” He asked, casually turning back to face her.
She smiled tightly and folded her arms, aware of the strange feeling the fabric of her dress and shift elicited without her petticoat. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“Didn’t much like it, pet.” He leaned forwards slightly. “Unless you’d like to join me.”
She forced herself not to react how he would expect and stared down at the bloodied bandage wrapped around his naked torso. “Are you in pain?” She asked, coldly.
“Only in my heart at your indifference,” he mocked her freely.
“You are supposed to be in pain.”
He nodded, taking a step towards her. “I am in pain.” He said, darkly.
“Then why are you running around and fighting?” She lifted her head as he loomed over her.
“Didn’t know we were fighting. That what it was?” She sent him her best not-amused look and blinked slowly. “I think I might need you to change my bandages.”
He may have said it cockily, but there was something about the way that he lolled gently on the spot and the paleness of his skin that made her frown. She would scold him later.
“If you weren’t such a bastard, Mr Williams, then this would not happen to you.” Buffy told him as ripped the final part of the bandage off him in one clean move, the dried blood clinging to his raw skin before finally succumbing to the force.
“Urgh,” he ground his teeth together and looked up before his lips spread in a grin. “Whoa, you are not a nice girl, Buffy!” He panted heavily and watched her move the bandages onto a tray, returning with a bowl of fresh water.
She flashed him dark eyes before focussing on the task at hand. She pushed his chest back flat and held him there; ignoring the way the touch of his skin seemed to sizzle against her fingertips. “Miss Summers,” she corrected, wetting a cloth and dripping the water directly over the wound.
His stomach muscles contract at the pain. “Is this some kind of punishment,” he asked, watching how she worked, “Buffy. You were gentle when I pretended to be asleep.”
“Do you think you need to be punished?” She asked, tartly, part hoping that perhaps he was repentant of his sins.
“Do you?” He growled back as she wiped the cloth roughly, mopping up the blood over an inch around the wound. “Is this about someone I killed?” She lifted her brow, tightly, and pressed her cloth flat against the bloody opening. This time he cried out, doubling over and gripping her wrist, twisting. “Careful, girly.”
“Buffy, you cannot be serious!” Marie exclaimed, shooting upright in bed. “He’s not some tame animal that you can simply keep as a pet. He’s a murderer!” Buffy hugged her knees, leaning against one of the posters of the bed and waited for her friend to finish. She was tired and knew this had to be said before she could say her part. “You’re letting him just run around your room? What next, the house? Or shall you wait until he has convinced you to give him the key to the weapon’s cabinet before you realise that something is amiss?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, we are all to be murdered in our beds!”
That was her cue. “Marie, pray calm yourself,” she leant forwards. “And lower your voice in future before you are heard.”
“I hope I am!” She shrieked. “I may yet save a life!”
Buffy sighed. “He is not going to kill anyone. He is just as he ever was, only now he is not tied to my bed.” She brushed her hair behind her ears and pulled her shawl tighter around her. “He cannot do any of that anyway because he is too ill. He was bleeding terribly earlier.”
“Well, I pray he goes on doing so.”
“Marie!”
She was calming down, though remained irritated by the situation. “He does not pose a threat to you, I suppose.” Buffy watched her carefully. “Then you may sleep here tonight.”
Buffy lay awake, aware of every tiny sound. She was desperate to sleep, desperate to close her eyes and wake up in tomorrow, but she still did not trust her captive. She still knew that he would do whatever he would and she had no control over him. Perhaps tomorrow she would convince him to be good…