I do, however, have eighteen hours of coursework ahead of me and betas who have very strenuous schedules. Not to mention my actual job. I beg your patience and thank your understanding. I know this fic has been a long-time coming, but I assure you, I am not letting it go. It will not remain unfinished.
Thanks to everyone who’s still reading/reviewing. To everyone who hasn’t given up on me. I appreciate your understanding and support more than I could ever hope to put into words. Thank you.
And thank you so much for this!!!
Previously: Fred convinced Buffy to go to the doctor after the unknown pain in her gut became so debilitating she could barely move. The doctor, having no way to diagnose vampiric claims, sent them on their way. While taking an ill-advised shortcut home, Fred and a sickly slayer find themselves the target of two fledging-vampire attacks. Fred flees for her life on Buffy’s command, just missing the entrance of the only man in the world who could make the Slayer’s pain go away.
True, it wasn’t the longest kiss on record. Not even the most romantic, all things considered. They were locked together in a stolen moment, nipping at each other’s lips as the two fledgling vamps stared in confusion. And for all the world, Spike couldn’t think to complain. This wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured making his grand entrance, but his plans were typically shot to hell anyhow, and he wasn’t one to deny himself when the girl he loved was so willingly squirming in his arms and gasping into his mouth.
“Spike. Spike. Oh God…” He felt wetness against his skin and reared back in astonishment. Tears burned rivers down her cheeks. She was crying. Buffy was crying for him. “Are you real?” she demanded, consuming his lips before he could reply. “Is this real?”
God, if he hadn’t been hard before, he was certain he could cut glass now. All he wanted to do was shove her against the nearest wall and lose himself in her body. The heat of her practically burned a hole in his jeans. She was everywhere, and he was drunk on her.
But they weren’t alone. He didn’t particularly fancy trying to shag his lady while avoiding blows from a couple of bystanders.
“Mhmm,” he agreed, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Real as the fangy bloke behind you.”
Buffy blinked but didn’t have time to react; Spike seized her by the shoulders and tossed her aside, his fist immediately sinking into the attacking vampire’s gut. The fledging keeled over with a gasp only to be kicked to the ground the next second, the whole of him dissolving in dust with the force of a flying stake.
Spike glanced up. Buffy had regained her footing.
“I hate being interrupted,” she grumbled, breaking into a run for him. Only it wasn’t for him and he knew it. Spike ducked and she rolled off his back, her legs slamming into the second vampire, who soared across the alleyway and smashed into the brick wall of the neighboring building. “Hello! Ruining a happy moment here!”
“I’ll bloody well say.” Spike flashed her a winning smile and dove his hand into his duster pocket, retrieving a stake. A quick flash and the second vamp joined the first, his ashes scattered along the pavement. “Serves him bloody right for interruptin’ a snog with my lady.”
He didn’t know whether to be surprised or disappointed at the fallen look on Buffy’s face. In truth, he’d expected their reunion to come with a quick punch to the jaw rather than a tearful collapse. The past few weeks with Buffy had made him especially privy to the wide range of her emotional reactions. She either fell soft or hardened up on instinct, and it was a coin’s toss which way the pendulum swung.
He frowned. He truly did have a problem mixing metaphors.
“What are you doing here, Spike?” she asked, her eyes heavy. Her lips wet and aching to be kissed. God, he just wanted to kiss her. He’d waited so long. The hurt was gone now and the rest didn’t matter. He just wanted to kiss her.
But he didn’t kiss her. The fact that he was able to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground was more than admirable, in such circumstances. “You know what I’m doing here.”
“I left.”
“Yeah, an’ I said I’d come after you, pet. What? You think those were jus’ words?”
She stiffened righteously and crossed her arms, her green eyes betraying conflict she couldn’t hide. “I didn’t ask you to come for me,” she said, flipping her hair.
Spike perked a brow. “An’ I din’t ask you to leave. What of it?”
“Spike—”
“Don’t start by telling me you’re not happy to see me, love. I know the better of it.” He took a step forward, unable to keep from sizing her up. “The way you kissed me…you’ve been pining for your Spike, haven’t you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Buffy…”
“I mean—” She cut off abruptly and rolled her eyes at herself. “Oh for Pete’s sake, who am I kidding?” And without warning, she jumped into his arms, her hands framing his face and dragging his mouth down to hers. The second her lips brushed his, the world around him melted and the monster in his chest purred.
This was how it should have been. Every day since he claimed her. Every sodding second. Buffy was his. She was his, and he’d missed her so much the pain in his gut had trembled at the weight of the ache in his heart. There was nothing about her he didn’t love; he saw that now. The way she smelled of raspberry shower-wash, the way she moaned into his mouth when he sucked at her tongue, the way she subconsciously danced against his erection. The way she snarked at him while trying to contain giggles. The way she clung to him when she wept. The fire in her eyes. The witty retort on her lips. Her sodding holier-than-thou attitude and her perpetual martyr complex. He loved it all; loved her. She was bright and vivid and alive, and she was his.
He had her in his arms again. There would be no letting her go after this.
“What took you so long?” she demanded breathlessly, nibbling on his lower-lip. “You…g’nah.”
His hand had found her breast. The small, fleshy roundness of her, her nipple hard against his palm. And when he massaged her—Christ, the sounds she made. It was enough to make a grown man come in his trousers.
“You tell a girl…you’ll find her…and…and it’s been—”
“Too long.”
“Yes. Yes, too long.”
“Din’t think you wanted to be found, love,” Spike told her truthfully, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before his wandering lips began a southbound trek. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up fucking her against one of the alley-walls, and though excusable given the circumstances, she deserved better. “You ran off.”
Buffy’s head rolled back, his mouth worshipping her throat. “I…I had to.”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Why?”
“Because…I…oh God, I don’t even…ahhh!”
Spike grinned and licked the bite mark again. “You like that, baby?” he whispered. “Bet this pretty li’l neck has been achin’ for my fangs.”
“I’ve been aching all over,” she retorted, fisting his hair and jerking his head upward so she could kiss him again. And then she froze—she went positively rigid against his mouth, and he knew without needing to see her eyes narrow or her brow furrow in concentration that the tide had changed.
It didn’t stop him from whimpering in protest when she pulled away and quickly put herself out of kissing distance. “I’ve been aching all over, actually,” she said. “Until now.”
“I’d think that’d be a good thing, pet,” Spike replied weakly. “Unless you want the hurt to go on.”
“You don’t understand—”
His brows perked. “Don’t I? That twisted feelin’ in your gut? The way your muscles cramp an’ how it hurts to bloody breathe? Got so used to breathin’ around you I rightly forgot I had the option of not. Hurt to get up. Hurt to move. Hurt to eat. Hurt to…there wasn’ much that din’t hurt, was there? Had to give up my smokes ‘cause the whole process was—”
Buffy’s eyes were wide with confusion. “So it’s…it’s been that way for you, too?”
“Not exactly what I’d call a picnic, eh, Slayer?”
“But it’s gone now. I was…just a few minutes ago, and then you were…” She paused, every inch of her suddenly weighted with suspicion. He couldn’t say it was altogether unexpected. “What did you do?” she demanded. “What’s making me—”
“Us,” Spike corrected.
“Whatever. What did—”
“You’re mine, Buffy. That’s what I did. I made you mine. I claimed you.”
Off her look, he knew she had no idea what he was talking about, and while it didn’t surprise him, he found he was still irritated. If any human should be privy to ancient vampire rituals, it was the Slayer.
“You…claimed…what’s that?” Her nose scrunched adorably. “I’m not exactly free territory. You can’t just stake a flag in me and declare me Property of Spike.”
He warded off a grin. Something told him smiling at her would be a mistake. “Din’t need a flag, pet,” he replied. “Got fangs.”
“So you…” Buffy inhaled sharply, her hand flying to the mark on her throat. “You…the bite…that’s what…you…”
“It was instinct; it wasn’t planned. You were…you were under me…surroundin’ me…” Spike sighed and forced himself to keep from falling back into the memory of her hot little pussy gripping him, drenching him, marking his body forever. The lost look in her eyes—the venom in her voice in spite of her raucous need for what he offered. She’d wanted the memory of Angel fucked out of her, and the hint that Spike was nothing more than a stand-in for what she truly wanted had reared the possessive demon inside. He’d needed to make her his, and he had. “You were…you were around me. An’ I couldn’t…I couldn’t stand the thought that you were jus’ fucking me to get him outta your head.”
Buffy wet her lips. “So you…claimed me.”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s why…with the sick? You’ve made me physically crave you because you wanted me to—”
“I jus’ said it wasn’t planned.”
“Well, okay then. So what now? How do you undo it?”
The idea she wanted to undo it all nearly brought him to tears. Spike’s jaw hardened, his emotions shoved aside in the namesake of pride. He wouldn’t let her see how her words cut. “You don’t,” he ground out.
“Don’t what?”
“Undo it. There is no bloody undoing it. We call it claiming for a reason, honey. Vampires mate for life…or unlife. When they choose their mate, there’s no undoing it.” He flashed her a particularly ugly smile, spreading his arms wide. “You’re stuck with me.”
For long seconds, there was nothing but the heavy crash of her heady breaths and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes shone, flecked with a warped fury of fear and horror. “But…you…you were with Dru—”
Spike laughed bitterly. “Well, I never claimed Dru, did I?”
“Why…why not?”
“She wasn’t mine, Slayer. She belonged to her precious daddy. Jus’ like Darla. Every bint who so much as catches a whiff of that bastard all but throws themselves…” He broke off, shaking his head. “You were…I couldn’t bear it. Not another woman I…not you, Buffy. Not you, too. So I claimed you. Made sure you an’ Angel and the whole sodding world knew you are mine, not his.”
And there it was. The anger bubbling beneath the surface of confusion finally touched the air. In a blink, all came thoroughly unwound. “You unbelievable bastard!” she screamed, her fist connecting with his jaw and sending him across the alleyway and into the front of a large trash dispenser. “I was grieving. I killed him. Do you get that? Do you understand? I killed him. This wasn’t a pissing contest—whose fangs are bigger—”
Spike wiped his bleeding lip with his duster sleeve, ignoring the aches shooting through his tired body as he climbed to his feet. Honestly, he’d more or less expected this. In a relationship such as theirs, no heated conversation could go without a dose of violence. “I jus’ told you it wasn’t planned, you daft twig,” he growled. “It wasn’t planned. Hell, you’re the one who jumped me that night, remember? I’d tortured myself over you as it was. Kissing you. Touching you. All that song an’ dance we did back in Sunnyhell an’ you were so bloody far from me. Even when I was inside you, I couldn’t touch you. So I claimed you.”
“I didn’t ask for it!”
He huffed indignantly, throbbing with hurt. “Yeah, well, I din’t ask to be claimed back, so we’re even.”
She blinked dumbly. “What? Did not!”
A self-satisfied smirk wormed its way to his lips. He hooked two fingers under the neckline of his tee and jerked the fabric down until his shoulder was bared. The shoulder marked with her teeth. “Claiming’s a simple ritual for what it does,” he said casually. “For vamps, at leas’…not sure for other demons. All we need is a taste of blood an’ two words. I say, ‘mine’ and you say—”
“Yours…”
The word rode out on a gasp—a small, breathless revelation. She remembered, then. She remembered the second it happened. The second she became his.
Spike nodded. “Right. If you hadn’t said that, we wouldn’t be here.”
“I didn’t know—”
“’Course not. Doesn’t mean rot if you knew it or not.” Spike broke, shaking his head. “The funny thing? The claim would’ve worn away if you hadn’t given me this.” His fingers grazed the bite mark before releasing the neckline altogether. “Claims gotta be accepted an’ reciprocated. It’s a…for lack of better words, a marriage of equals. I can’t take you by force, an’ that’s why your consent is so important. And in claiming me back, we acknowledge that we’re the same. I’m yours, you’re mine.” Spike glanced down, unable to withstand the horror in her eyes anymore. “The pain…it goes away after a while. The pain you’ve—we’ve been going through. It’ll fade. But we’ve essentially bonded on the principle that we belong to each other, so it’s bloody unnatural for us to be apart.”
“Oh my God…”
“It won’ always be like this,” he said again. “It’s jus’…it’s too new now. Like a kid, right? Needs his mum all the time at firs’…but as he gets older, he becomes more self-reliant.”
Buffy was shaking so hard it was a wonder the ground beneath her didn’t quake. “Oh my God,” she said again. “And this…this can’t be…I can’t…” She looked up sharply, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. And Christ, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her until the pain went away. Until she realized he wasn’t the devil and he would be the one to stay at her side for all eternity. He would love her hard and well. He already did.
“You let me leave,” she said suddenly. “You let me come out here and…you let me be in such…in such pain—”
What?
“What?” Spike blinked, his hands coming up. “Slayer—”
“You knew I was going to leave! How could you let me leave without telling me this? Without—”
“I din’t—”
“I have the note. Unless there was someone else named Spike staying in our room—”
“I didn’t know it’d be so bleeding painful!” he barked. “How could I? Never been claimed before. Never had a mate before. No one told me how this worked!”
“You seem pretty well-read—”
“An’ that’s just it, Buffy. Well-read. Had a little time, didn’t I? Caught up on my homework. I would’ve been here sooner if…” His voice trailed off on another cynical laugh, his arms going up, his mind railroading into a brick wall. “You know what? Sod it. Damned if I do an’ damned if I bloody don’t. You think this has been a picnic for me? Think again, kitten. I know you don’ love me. Know this isn’t what you wanted. Know you’d rather spend eternity with anyone but me.” Spike sighed and met her eyes. “I can’t change what we did. But…Buffy, we can…”
He didn’t fulfill the thought. The phantom of her voice turning him away was too painful; he couldn’t bear it to harden into reality.
Perhaps he was fortunate, then, that the air split with a timely scream.
“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, whirling around. “Fred.”
Then again, Spike mused wearily as he watched his girl tear down the alleyway. Maybe not.
TBC