And remember to check out the new SPUFFY ARCHIVE, the Elysian Fields if you haven’t yet!!! *bounce*
It didn’t take a century of informal people studies to know that he was in the doghouse. Well, as far in the doghouse as he could be with his mortal enemy. And in the end, he supposed it was for the best. This business with the Slayer—snogging her, for instance—had already gone as far as it could. She’d opened his eyes, sure, but there was nothing more to it than that. And while he certainly wouldn’t object to sampling what, exactly, had been sweet enough to provide a moment of perfect bliss, his association with Buffy and her chums was going to be short-lived. The second that the world was secure again, he was gone.
Without Drusilla.
That thought was going to take some getting used to. After this was over, he’d be alone for the first time. The very first time. It was for the best—no matter how nerve-wracking the prospect, he knew it was for the best. He’d been far too dependent on a woman that could care two pisses for him for too long. When his mortal enemy poured more feeling into kissing him than the woman he’d been with for over a century, it compromised all hope of fooling himself any longer.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that he wanted Dru back. It was only a half-truth, after all, and it had done little more than get the Slayer all pissy. Granted, it wasn’t like he couldn’t understand why. The poor little twit had had her heart stomped on by her wanker of an ex, then Spike had come along and snogged her into the next century. He’d done that and then all but screamed that she wasn’t good enough. That abuse from his emotionally detached sire was better than the Slayer’s silken kisses.
Didn’t matter that nothing could be further from the truth.
Spike snickered, shaking his head with an ironic grin. A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on, he thought, wishing for a cigarette.
It wasn’t Buffy’s fault that he was a glutton for abuse. That there was a part of him that, no matter what, wanted Dru back. In the end, though, that was only because he didn’t know better. The years hadn’t shown him any love; Dru wasn’t going to provide that. Hell, Buffy had given him more in a few simple kisses than he’d ever gotten from his dark princess. And he deserved more.
He deserved so much more.
Buffy had definitely opened his eyes. Eventually, he’d have to decide if he loved or hated her for the favor.
Right now, all he wanted to do was touch her. Forget what he’d said in the library and chalk it up to cowardly backpedaling at the emotions the Slayer—of all people—had awakened within him. Self-examination could wait; he wanted was her lips on his lips and her body against his body. He wanted her breasts in his hands and her pussy cradling his cock. He wanted all that without worry of what tomorrow would bring.
He wanted Buffy.
I’m sick.
That might be, but it didn’t change a thing. He wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman in his life. The knowledge was terrifying but relentless. He wanted Buffy. God help him, he wanted her so much.
“Slayer—”
“You really don’t need to follow me home,” she said, not once breaking stride or even bothering to toss him a glance over her shoulder. Her blonde ponytail flopped enthusiastically against her back with every strident step, enchanting him to the point of pure absurdity. He needed a shag, and bad. “I know the way, Spike. It’s why it’s called home.”
“Buffy, I din’t mean—”
“I don’t care what you meant.”
Her tone told him otherwise, and colorfully. Women who truly didn’t care never sounded so hurt. He knew. He’d spent a century with a woman that didn’t care.
He’d also spent a century not listening when people told him to shut up. “I didn’t mean it,” he said again.
Buffy grumbled and batted a hand dismissively. “Hello? Were you not here two seconds ago? I said I don’t care. I don’t give an honest crap about anything you say, much less what you mean by it.”
“Slayer—”
“I don’t care if you want your crazy hoe-bag back. It’s none of my business.”
Spike arched a brow. “Thought you din’t know what I was talking about.”
“Shut up.”
“The subject’s a li’l touchy for me, all right? It’s not like I enjoy advertising that the woman I’ve been with ever since I crawled from the grave could give two pisses about me.” Her paces slowed then, and Spike exhaled softly, casting a hand through his platinum locks. “She used to pretend, at least,” he continued. “An’ I could fool myself then. She doesn’t pretend anymore.”
Buffy stopped completely and waited until he caught up with her, her eyes bright and vulnerable. The shattered confusion across her face was enough to make any bloke fall to his knees, thus Spike was pleased when he managed to meet her gaze with somber dignity.
She was as lost as he was. And he could appreciate that.
“Look,” she said after a long minute. “I don’t…I don’t know. Yesterday—before the ghostly possession made with the smoochies and the touchies and…everything made sense.”
“I know what you mean.”
A dry laugh scratched at her throat. “Good, ‘cause I don’t. Everything made sense in a way that was completely senseless, but at least I knew where it was going.” She licked her lips. “Now you’re all here with the distracty and the Lips of Good, I can admit some things. Like when you said that I’d run back to Angel…God, I’m so afraid that that’s true. That if he came back, I’d just forgive and forget, even after all he’s done.” A shiver ran through her, and she crossed her arms. “Throw in the monkey-wrench—that being you—and I’m so confused right now that…well, I can’t come up with a good analogy, but I’m just that confused.”
Spike had wandered off at some point. Probably around Lips of Good.
“This is crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re crazy.”
“I’ve been around crazy most of my unlife,” he retorted, smiling softly. “Never felt like this before.”
“You hate me.”
“I’m willing to overlook that for now.” It was another half-truth. Something about tasting the girl’s succulent mouth had gone to his head. The whole feeling thing was a little intoxicating. Buffy had him under her spell whether she liked it or not. “I like snogging you.”
She made a face. “Snog just sounds wrong.”
“You’re the ones that butchered the bloody language. Don’t go criticizing our slang when you have terms like bling-bling floatin’ around out there.”
“Spike—”
“I know I was a jerk, all right? I’m evil. That’s how the game is played.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, her face hardening once more. And before he could even consider recanting whatever offense he’d laid out, she’d pivoted sharply on her heel and resumed her brisk pace down the sidewalk. “How many times do I have to say it to get it through your thick head?” she snapped. “I. Don’t. Care. I don’t care.”
Spike sighed. One step forward…
“You tryin’ to convince yourself or me, Slayer?” he retorted, arching a cool brow. “You change your tune so often, it’s no bloody wonder your chums have a hard go of keeping track.”
“Shut up.”
Another long sigh peeled off his lips. “Buffy, we should talk—”
“I’ve already discussed the impending and oh-so-ambiguous apocalypse as much as I care to, thanks.”
It took all he had to bite back a growl. She had to be the most stubborn bint he’d ever laid eyes on. “That’s not what I meant, an’ you bloody well know it, you frustrating cock-tease.”
She stopped walking so abruptly that he nearly ploughed into her back. Not that he would have minded that, per se. Feeling any part of the Slayer’s taut, scrumptious little body against him would be the closest thing to bliss that he’d felt in a long while. But he didn’t plough into her back—Buffy whirled around the next second, and again, he felt himself drowning in the liquid heat of her eyes. “What the hell did you just call me?”
He didn’t bother repeating it. His nose was unblemished for the moment, and from the way her right hand was twitching, he figured it was wise to not press his luck. “Got you to turn around, din’t it?”
The fire in her eyes was about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She was trembling with a mixture of anger and arousal, and the way her lips moved made the urge to cover every inch of her with his mouth harder and harder to ignore.
God, the thought alone nearly undid him.
“You—”
“You’re making excuses,” he snapped, giving himself a good mental shake. “Deny it all you want, love, but there’s something happening between us, an’ try as you might, ignoring it’s not gonna make it go away.”
“What happened between us was ghostly possession.”
“Yeah,” Spike agreed slowly. “Last night. What happened in the classroom was you an’ me, baby.”
“You were the one that made with the lungy!”
“An’ I s’pose all that panting an’ moaning was your version of protecting your virtue?”
“There was no panting and moaning, you twisted perv!”
“If I hadn’t brought up Dru back there, you’d be putty in my hands.” Spike’s hungry eyes swallowed her as her nostrils flared with anger and her body tightened in that delicious way that only a slayer’s could. “An’ as it is, I din’t mean it. Not all of it, anyway. So just accept my apology so we can get back to snogging, yeah?”
Buffy blinked at him incredulously. Then she huffed and shook her head. “You’re a pig,” she said, turning quickly to give him yet another scrumptious view of her biteable arse. “And I’m going home.”
“Buffy—”
“Just go home, Spike. There’s nothing to discuss.”
He rolled his eyes. Women. “I don’t have a sodding home to go to. If Dru hasn’t gone batty with another vision that spills all the glorious details of my turnin’ traitor on Angelus’s massive waste of forehead, I’m still gonna have to watch your ex fuck her into the ground. An’ between the two of us, I’d rather skip that show an’ get back to exploring how good you taste when you’re less of a bitch.”
She scoffed. “Yeah. That’s happening.”
“Slayer—”
“We had two flukes. That’s it. No more. No less. There’s nothing between us, Spike. Nothing but a bizarre-o pact to save the world and seething hatred. Nothing.”
The bint had submerged so far into denial that she was beginning to sound like she’d convinced herself of that. Why oh why had he gone off his rocker and mentioned Dru? His mind was swimming in Buffy, and thanks to his big mouth, he wasn’t going to be welcomed to that dive he’d so looked forward to all day.
Only Spike wasn’t one to take defeat easily, especially over something so stupid. It was hard to admit that he wanted something different after a century of having his eyes set on one thing, but he was determined to show her that saving the world was just a perk to tasting her sweet mouth. That, when all was said and done, Buffy was the one that had changed his tune. Kissing Buffy had changed everything. Everything.
She would know it, dammit. If he had to beat it into her thick skull, she would know it tonight.
Right now.
With a growl, Spike seized her arm and whirled her around so fast that she didn’t have time to protest before his mouth came crashing down on hers. And as before, he immediately found himself lost in her rich taste. His audacity was rewarded with a sensual, cock-stirring moan rather than a slap. God, she could drive a sane man mad with the noises she made. And just like that, whatever hint of a fight that Buffy had pretended to put up instantly dissolved. Her arms wound around his neck, her lips parting to welcome his tongue, her own pushing into his mouth and near licking a soul into his willing body. The warm heat of her pussy cradled his cock and her scent teased his nostrils. She was magnificent. She was divine. She was perfection. She was effulgent.
And he was lost in her.
“Tell me now,” he growled, nipping at her lips, his hands tugging at her ponytail until her hair was free and cascading over his fingers like water. “Tell me now that there’s nothing between us.”
Fight had abandoned her eyes. “Guh,” she replied drunkenly.
Spike grinned, his head dipping to nibble on her earlobe. “’S what I thought,” he purred, his mouth skating slowly to tease the creamy skin of her throat. “You taste like raspberries.”
“Ohhh…” Buffy wove a hand through his hair, gasping and bucking her hips against him with wild abandon that did little more than drive him crazy. “It’s…my body-wash.”
“I love it.”
His tongue lapped eagerly at the pulse-point of her throat, a low moan rumbling through his chest. Slayer blood pumped through her glorious body. She was an elixir, and as one of the only vamps that could brag as to having spilt the blood of two, he knew that her taste would redefine delectable.
“I’ll buy more,” she promised, her mouth sucking at his earlobe.
Spike’s eyes rolled up. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine her sucking on something else. Something hard and aching for her touch.
“You smell like honey,” he growled, licking at her vein again.
His fangs itched. He wanted to sink his teeth into her so badly.
But not for the kill. No. This was different. This was so different. And that knowledge shook him to the core.
He didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t want his fangs stained with red and her body crumpled at his feet. No; he wanted to bite her in pleasure. He wanted to bite her when he was balls-deep in her pussy with her tight, velvet warmth strangling his cock. He wanted to see euphoria wash across her face. He wanted her hand coaxing him to her neck. He wanted her permission—her encouragement—her pleading before he sank his fangs into her milky flesh.
“I smell like honey?” she repeated, her voice light with mirth. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her mouth releasing his ear just long enough to nip at his throat. And Christ, if she hadn’t been walking a fine line before, she was practically sprinting down one now. “And I taste like raspberries. Do I look like a turkey drumstick?”
Spike chuckled. “Hardly, love.”
“You and your food analogies.”
“’S not my fault if everything about you is delicious.” To accentuate his point, he nipped at her throat, then kicked himself immediately when she tensed in his arms. “Not gonna bite you,” he promised hurriedly, kissing her cheek quickly before seizing her lips again. “Not gonna bite you. Want you alive an’ wiggling. You have my word on that.”
Buffy just looked at him. He could practically see the wheels in her head pulling on the emergency brake and heading for the ever-dreaded backtrack in a way that would put most politicians to shame.
“Sweetheart—”
“No. No, it’s okay.” She sighed heavily and shook her head. Her words didn’t inspire much encouragement, especially when she robbed him of her warmth by slipping out of his arms the next second. “It’s…I know you wouldn’t. Well, no, I don’t. I think you wouldn’t, and I know that you think you wouldn’t. Right now.”
Spike’s shoulders slumped.
Wanker.
“But we shouldn’t—it’s…” Buffy licked her lips and shivered. He knew she could taste him there, and despite his best efforts, that hint of how much they mutually enjoyed snogging each other wasn’t incentive enough to send her leaping back into his all-too-willing embrace. “I’d love to get caught up in this,” she said at last, sighing again and running a hand through her newly-tussled hair. “In you…and the nummy goodness of kissing you.”
Spike’s plans went far beyond kissing, but he didn’t dare say that now. “I don’t really see the problem, pet,” he replied softly. “’S not like we owe it to anyone.”
“I know.”
“Point of fact—”
“I can’t. We can’t.” Buffy stopped short, her eyes falling shut in frustration. “I mean we shouldn’t. Look, something happened…yeah…with the ghosts. But that doesn’t mean—”
“So you’re makin’ excuses now?”
“You said back there that you want Dru back.”
If Spike could go back in time, he’d be sure to stake himself before those infernal words could breathe life. “Sod what I said back there!” he snarled, gesturing emphatically at the empty road behind them. “I want you, love. I want you so bad I’m gonna bust a nut if I can’t touch you. Is it crazy? Yes. I know it. I know it as well as you, but knowing it doesn’t make my wanting you go away.”
Buffy’s eyes darkened as the fight returned to her. Better, then. He much preferred her fighting rather than calm and rational. Made him feel less like a ranting, sex-crazed lunatic. “You want me ‘cause you can’t have Dru,” she said slowly, her tone dangerous. “You want me ‘cause I’m…I don’t know. But you wouldn’t be here with me if Dru wasn’t playing cowgirl with Angel.”
He bit back a flinch. “You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can. And hey—what’s more, I do.” Buffy glared at him for a few well-deserved seconds, her luscious breasts heaving as she panted with exertion. Then, slowly, the fire in her gaze softened again, and the calm was back. “Look…there’s nothing…we’re both very lonely right now. I can’t imagine how…how hard it must be for you. I mean, I had the wiggins just seeing Cordy flirt with Angel before he went all soul-crazy. I know how long you and…I know. And having to watch it can’t be a whole lot of fun. But I’m too broken right now to be used because you’re lonely. Or to use anyone else because I’m lonely. It’s not gonna help matters, Spike. Not in the end.”
A cool silence settled between them. A cool, haunted silence.
Buffy didn’t want to be used. And she didn’t want to use him.
A woman, for the first time in his life, didn’t want to use him.
And that golden knowledge tossed him over. Standing there, on the street corner, looking into her gorgeous emerald eyes, he wanted her more than ever.
But more than that, he wanted her to want him as well. Beyond the pain and the hurt. Beyond Dru and Angelus, and their sodding mind games. Beyond the impending apocalypse. He wanted Buffy to want him.
Him as in Spike. Him as in a vampire. Him as in her self-proclaimed executioner.
He wanted Buffy to want him.
God, how buggered was that?
TBC