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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm so glad many of you are enjoying this. Time has been elusive, but I hope to comment to reviews soon. Megan
Chapter Four

Her chest heaved.

Buffy stared at her bedroom ceiling, a sheet wrapped tightly around her naked body, and panted like she’d just managed to topple Jack’s wily giant. Colours were vivid, sounds over-loud, and Spike quite shockingly lay beside her. Equally naked. And gasping.

They both silently observed the drift of shadows across the ceiling and grasped for the key that would make sense of everything again. Spike felt suddenly desperate for a cigarette, puzzling on how much one of ‘those’ moments sex with the Slayer actually was, and cursing the fact that his coat was out of arms reach. He wasn’t moving—even if his body was capable of it. Slayer had quite shockingly wiped him out, and not even Dru or Harmony had been able to do that. He’d just have to deal with the earth-shattering consequences which had drained him of all his vigour and hope he could drag his ass out of trouble before the Slayer got all fired up with a handy stake.

Unless she got fired up again for completely different reasons.

Still, wouldn’t do to suddenly derail the line of thinking that had his self-preservation at the top of the list. There was no explanation for what just happened—and he wasn’t going to deceive himself that it didn’t blow all his preconceived notions about the Slayer and Angelus’s taunts about her right out of the water. Girl had skills and he’d be willing to get several more chips in his head if it meant she’d squeeze him again between her heavenly thighs.

Might be closer to the mark to expect her to retch on her pretty carpet, though. Rolling his eyes, Spike swept his hand lazily over the side of the bed, his gaze refusing to shift from the pornographic shadow show above him, and bumped into the Slayer’s wastebasket. Snagging the rim, he quickly upended it and passed it casually over to his reluctant bed partner.

She took it, finally looking at him with a raised brow.

“Better to hurl now, luv. Get all the nastiness out of the way.”

Her smile was so light and pretty that he almost embarrassed himself by leaning forward to snatch an impromptu, un-practise-worthy kiss. “Strangely, Spike, yakking is not my first impulse right now.”

That stopped him in his tracks good and proper. The automatic innuendo was tickling his tongue to get out there and do damage, but Spike was strangely reluctant to destroy the mood that could quite possibly lead to something unexpected.

“Well, that’s…good, right?” He couldn’t hold back the irrepressible grin that curled his lips at her carefree smile. Listening to Angelus for months on end berate her looks and skills had been the only reason Spike had ever contemplated the physical side of this Slayer, but now that he was in her bed, his dick weak from hours of enthusiastic shagging, Spike marvelled at how pretty she could be.

“God yes. It’ll be heaps easier to convince Giles that this wedding is real and that I didn’t get whacked in the head and am operating under some weird delusional episode.”

They both fell to silence, the awkwardness of lying naked in bed next to your long-recognised mortal enemy suddenly taking both of them some time to deal with.

Spike chanced a lightning fast glance to the woman at his side and grimaced at the flush on her skin and the white fist that held her covers to her chin. Her eyes now betrayed some of the horror that her smile had momentarily hidden, and Spike felt his spirits sink. He’d been expecting the customary punch to the nose—figuring he’d almost deserve something a little more violent considering where some innocent practise kissing had led them. Still, the shared moment just now had been more than nice and Spike already knew he was going to add the last three hours to his list of grievances when he made the witch’s throat his fountain.

“The Watcher’s not going to buy it, you know.” He really needed to learn when to keep his gob shut. There was no fun in watching her eyes narrow at him and that steely mask fall into place that proved to him there was little difference between the Slayer side and the girl intent on proving something.

“We’ll make him buy it.”

His brow rose at her determination, and for the first time Spike wondered why keeping this charade going meant so much to her. Why she was acting all desperate and pushing beyond her natural repulsion of him to become as intimate as they’d obviously been.

“Slayer, I want to crush your interfering little friend too, but what exactly is this?” He expected her to tell him to shut up while she turned away to think. Never in a million years would he have thought she’d willingly turn to him for comfort, yet Buffy turned watery eyes to him and sniffled. He was a complete ponce, but there was no holding William back when there was a girl in hug’s reach with watering eyes.

The sudden insight the interlude gave him made Spike wonder if he shouldn’t learn to cherish these small William-inspired moments of clarity. He could see it now—Buffy was acting all weak and kitteny and it was an incarnation of this slip of a girl that Spike had never seen before.

Not that he’d wanted to.

He’d imagined her in many different ways—begging for her life, gurgling for air as he drank her down, staring unseeing into death as he snapped her neck and dropped her to the ground. Never had he really imagined her alive—or with the full range of emotions. He’d tried to block those out as much as he could. Emotions always got him into trouble and as unruly as his own were, Spike was avidly determined to not get caught up in anyone else’s. Still, he knew what it was to be weak in the face of your enemy and now he understood why it was so important to continue the ruse.

It was knowledge that should have filled him with glee. He’d been pretty slow on the uptake or he probably would have destroyed her hopes of keeping it quiet while the repentant witch was back to blubbering apologetically. Power gave the redhead an arrogance that only misdirection and mistake sporadically stole away.

And Buffy didn’t want the chit to know how easily she’d been controlled.

It didn’t take much imagination to know what possible scenario that kind of knowledge could conjure up in the future. A taunting barb hesitated on the tip of his tongue, but Spike crushed it before it could taint the air. As much as he wanted the blood of the Slayer on his own hands, it wouldn’t do for anyone to know how easily he’d been controlled. As much as he hated it, he was in the same boat as Buffy. He was as weak as a kitten right now—couldn’t kill his natural prey, couldn’t defend himself against demons weaker than him, and now a nerdy little college student had got her rocks off by tying him to his biggest enemy.

Yeah, he could see why the Slayer wasn’t rushing in to scold Willow for making her a magical experiment gone wrong. The way he saw it, the git and his girl took their near-death a little too easily when it came to forgiving the one who’d petulantly set them on a one way track to a violent and grizzly end. Not that it was his place to wonder why a thousand year old ex-vengeance demon took an attempt on her life with such calm grace. He doubted that it was anything less than the fact that she knew that Buffy was as helpless as he now considered himself to be, at least in the face of Red’s overwhelming power.

Right then. So it was in his best interests to play along—not that he was stupid enough to admit it. Particularly as his cooperation could well reward him with getting the chip out of his melon.

“What this is—” Buffy stated in a quiet, resigned voice, “is my death if it gets out how easily I can be controlled by magic. Every demon out there will pick up the Idiot’s Guide to Killing the Slayer. I may as well get ready for the end now.”

Brilliant. He’d never even thought of that. Not that he would have chosen to do anything the easy way. And in his mind, magic was a cake walk. If he wanted to take out the Slayer, he was going to earn the reputation that came automatically with her last tortured breath. He wasn’t going to have some wanker on an ego-trip come in and take away the glory.

Not that the thought of some other bastard stepping in and taking her out of his picture sat at all well. The vision of this pesky blonde broken and bleeding at his feet had sustained him through the hatred and fury of sitting in that bleeding chair for the broken months of his first year in this hell hole. Since locking lips with her earlier in the day, though, that image didn’t garner half as much pleasure as it used to. And especially not now that she’d scorched his cock with the fire of her life.

He recognised now that he was in quite a bind. He was perhaps the most Victorian vampire that ever roamed the earth, but all those years of faithful love for Dru had been real. And just because he’d lost himself for one blisteringly stupid moment in the extremely vacuous presence of Harm, it didn’t mean that he suddenly had a different standpoint when it came to his lovers. While it was true that this thing—whatever it was—with the Slayer would doubtful have happened without the witch taking the easy way out of her grief, the undeniable truth was staring at his cock as it hardened once again under the stark white sheet. He’d not only had sex with the bane of his existence, he’d shagged her sideways until her head lolled and her eyes stared past his shoulder in a stupor. And he’d enjoyed it.

Scratch that. It was a bloody revelation. A huge high from which he had barely started to come down. If she wasn’t so liable to stick a stake in his chest, he’d go so far as to say she was his perfect match.

Poetic words began to bubble in his brain and Spike slammed the lid down on that fast. It was one thing to allow his body to be vulnerable to the Slayer, but it was quite another to allow his emotions to boil over and expose his pathetic, romantic heart.

As quickly as his mind changed track in regards to the Slayer, Spike just as quickly realised the mistake it would be to let her know it. Only hours earlier she’d been bringing up her lunch at the thought of kissing him. Things had fast tumbled out of control—as the scent of her sweat and her thumping heartbeat could strongly testify—but that didn’t mean the queen of all things denied was going to suddenly cope with their new status as lovers.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable and Spike belatedly realised that the one woman who constantly told him to shut up was waiting for him to say something.

“Hadn’t thought of that,” he threw out dumbly. Well, he’d had other things on his mind! His entire evil existence was being called into question and the last thing he’d been focusing on was her statement. Well, yeah, it had been a part of his ruminations—but other, more athletic images had fast taken hold of his imagination.

Buffy released a long held breath and glared at him.

“Don’t go getting any less-than-brilliant ideas, Spike. When that chip is out, I can go straight back to killing you. This is NOT something I’m going to allow to get out. I might have an early shelf-life but I’m not going down just because Willow’s exposed me for the mere mortal I truly am.” Her lip wobbled despite her iron control, and Spike was mesmerised. Feelings he didn’t want stirred in his gut and fuelled the erection he was going to have real trouble controlling now that he had seen beneath the bitchy exterior Buffy had always shown him.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Spike traced her trembling lips with a cautious finger, and knew. He was going to do anything she wanted him to do and his future in this town was doomed. He was never going to be anything but whipped in the eyes of love—and though he may not feel that way for her yet, he knew it was only a matter of time.

“How ‘bout we call a truce?” His voice was husky in the eye of her suspicion, but then he leaned forward and kissed her and mutual desire dimmed the need.

Buffy surrendered, though she had no clue why she was giving in so easily to Spike when he could turn on her at any time and lead a revolt against her. And now he had the knowledge, he’d more than likely win.

She was holding on to the hope that he wasn’t like that. Not really. He liked guts and glory—or so he professed—and using a witch to incapacitate her so he could rip out her throat seemed so beneath him. But then again…she could so spell evil assassins.

She’d worry about it tomorrow. Tonight she had a plan—one that somehow ended up with her in bed with Spike and weird scary sensations swirling crazily in her stomach. Still, it was a plan, and if luck was finally on her side, it would keep her alive and safe from suddenly inspired sneaky magic attacks.

And as she was finding, Spike lips weren’t so icky after all.





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