Dance with the Devil
Returning to Revello Drive that night reminded him of the war. It didn’t really matter which one; they all seemed to mesh together after a period of consideration. While he had never found himself in authentic uniform, Spike reckoned he had come as close as any other apathetic vampire. He and Drusilla had done what they needed to in order to ensure their survival. Europe and wartime was chaotic; he had once advocated chaos. Reveled in it. But now he was coming to the only home he ever cared to know to enjoy the comfort of his liberty in the arms of the woman he loved.
It reminded him of the war for the looks that so frequently colored the expression of homecoming soldiers. He hadn’t known what to call it at the time though he knew there was something more to it than bobbled at the surface. He was coming home now from his war. A challenge more stipulating than he would ever concede. While he and Giles were hardly friends and never would be, there was some innate tug within his psyche that unconsciously sought the Watcher’s approval. It was subtle enough to remain disregarded, but when he was by himself, the thought gave birth to itself in an entirely new light.
Perhaps because Giles was the closest thing to a father Buffy had, and would ever have. Perhaps in his nineteenth century logic, that bore some form of rational conclusion. Perhaps. Despite his growth, there were parts of him that remained thoroughly old fashioned. The same he refused to discuss with anyone for the namesake of reputation. And it hurt. It hurt that after everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed, the approval of the people closest to the woman he loved remained hanging in the balance. It was something he would never have and he knew it—but the world was set on the axis of aspirations. Such was how he came to this position in the first place.
He supposed it didn’t matter now. With any luck, the Scoobies would be gone by week’s end. By next nightfall, he, Buffy, and Rosie would be gone as well. He hadn’t given any thought as to possible destination; there was so much to see out there. Places he had been and places he wanted to revisit. Places marked with bits of significance that tickled his poetic fancy—the same he kept carefully guarded with well-feigned apathy. He wondered what it would be like to travel with a woman whose mind was not only in one piece, but sharp and willing to expand. Drusilla had never been able to appreciate the classics. He would show her the Eiffel Tower and she would dance under streetlights. He would marvel at the Pyramid of Giza and she would play in the sand. Infinitely discouraging.
Being enraptured with Drusilla now seemed like a terrible folly. He supposed that while in a relationship, one could never guess how long it would take before the spinning resulted in a crash. While there was a part of him that would always belong to his maker, he could now concede to himself that had his sire been just another vampire that he encountered by chance, he likely would have staked her for her erratic behavior. She had been bold and mysterious once; he wasn’t certain when that thought fell to the wayside, though all evidence suggested that the Slayer had something to do with it. Spike was not a patient man, and caring for Drusilla had required a mass amount of patience. She hadn’t possessed the skills to care for herself, much less anything else. She hadn’t been able to carry on lengthy conversations, and very rarely did she speak in something other than pentameters and riddles. Buried under the scrapings of her distorted mind likely resided a high intellect. But that girl was gone, and he did not bewail her.
Buffy had a strong mind and a quick mouth. She wanted genuine good, which should have turned him aside without forward suggestion. And yet, she intrigued him. In all his years, he had never met anyone who thought so little for themselves when it came to issues that really mattered. He had watched her blossom from child to woman. He watched her suffer through unimaginable heartache and loss, and he had fallen in love with who she became for no reason other than that was who she was. Not for the image or the power. Her goodness enchanted him. Even now with eternity at her feet and every reason to walk away, not to mention the desire to explore the world she had forfeited so much to save, she thought of the consequences first. The consequences for leaving a position that had taken so much without thinking of issuing a return. He would have given up years ago. She was still going.
She likely would continue to save the world until she was dust. Spike could only pray that he was wrong, and that she would not end up destroying herself in the process. Not for something so insolvent. Not for something that would never know what it had.
He knew what he had, and he surmised it would awe him for the rest of his days.
Simply being in the foyer of her home and knowing that he was welcome overwhelmed him in manner of the greatest homecoming he had ever known. Through everything: for the blood he had lost, the blood he had spilt, the tears he had shed, and those that awaited him for tomorrow, the full of his journey and its conclusion would remain with him as the most wondrous revelation of his existence. He trailed the stairs with careful, measured steps. He turned corners that led him through the intimate setting of the home he would have conquered civilizations to protect. Dawn and Rosie were sleeping and Joyce had retired much earlier in the evening. And Buffy was in her room.
They had shared that room the night before, but something about this moment seemed to make it final. The end.
Perhaps now that their trials were coming to a close. Perhaps now that they had this lapse before the new ones settled and started listing their offense. An ironic smile touched his lips, but he shrugged the thought off just the same. Let that wait for another day.
For long minutes, he stood in the doorway of Buffy’s room and watched her. She was sleeping soundly on the bed where he had left her—insisting that rest was something she had to take in spades, considering that they would be on the move the next day. She was curled on her side, her hand resting in his place as though lamenting his absence. The blankets were pulled to her hip; barely guarding the tank she had opted to employ as nightwear. The sensual curves of her filled the covers nicely and made his mind dance with knowledge of what awaited him. And yet, he did not want to wake her.
For generations, he supposed he would be content to merely watch.
Just weeks ago, he had arrived at his crypt and found Darla waiting for him. There, she had made him the offer of a lifetime—or several. She had given him the opportunity to return to the only existence that had welcomed him. To come back to things the way they used to be. Just weeks ago, Buffy had bristled at his attempts to console her when she now sought his comforting touch. Just weeks ago, his world had shattered. Just weeks ago, he had left Sunnydale, unknowing what awaited him. Unknowing that the closest allies he would ever know would be found in the center of a hotel that was leased to the one man in the world he could attest to loathing more than Riley Finn. Unknowing that a demon hunter stalked the city in retribution of a horrible crime in the namesake of his family legacy. Unknowing that he was a key figure, and the Powers saw him as possessing enough influence to require a link at the ready at all times.
He had gone with one thought: to get Buffy back. He hadn’t known how. He hadn’t known if he would have any assistance. He had never entertained the delusion of making friends on the way, and he certainly never thought to be received by the Slayer with warmth and affection. Not even his wildest fantasies had pictured her returning his love.
And now he was here, in her bedroom, because he was welcome. He kept waiting to wake up, and it never happened.
Sooner or later, it would hit home that this was real. It was all so real.
Spike drew in a deep breath and moved inward slowly, approaching her with a note of poignant regard. She was what made his capitulation complete. And she was with him because she wanted to be. This being of pure light.
He knelt at her bedside and caressed her face lightly with his knuckles, catching wisps of hair with the soft of her skin. The locks that fell against his fingers fanned him with gentle reassurance. The fullness of her scent took him to the ocean and back. It was still so hard to believe that she was here—right here—literally under his fingertips.
And because she wanted to be.
He didn’t mean to awake her—he really didn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb her slumber, especially after the restless night she had formerly suffered through. But her eyes opened without pretense. Without fatigued struggle. And suddenly, he was drawn into a spiral of nonresistance. Her eyes captivated him.
There wasn’t much of her that didn’t.
A smile crossed her face at the sight of him. An expression of everlasting gentility. It still took him by surprise; he never thought she would ever have reason to look at him like that. “Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey,” he repeated, voice derisorily hoarse.
She stretched herself awake, her body waved under his hands with longing welcome.
“How long have you been home?”
“Jus’ a few minutes.”
“Straight from Giles’s?”
Spike nodded, distracting himself with the strap of her tank. He fiddled with it for idle seconds before pushing it aside to favor the skin it concealed with a kiss. She arced beneath him at the affect. “We had a nice chat,” he replied. “’E’s agreed to take the Nibblet an’ skip town.”
The relief coloring her face was something he had never before envisioned. As though Giles would not do his best to protect her sister. “He did?”
“Yeh. Hopefully, he an’ your mates will be gone by the end of the week.”
“Do you know where they’re going?”
He shook his head. “I don’ even know where we’re goin’ yet, luv. I’d assume back to England, but with Rupert, you never know.”
A frown befell her face, and she reached to tuck locks of fallen hair behind her ear. “You don’t know where we’re going? I just assumed back to Los Angeles.”
“’S that what you want?”
“I thought it was what you wanted.” Her frowned deepened. “It is…isn’t it?”
“That doesn’ matter, sweetheart. ‘Sides, Peaches will be there. All ready an’ souled up.” He exhaled deeply and shook his head, hand idly perusing its enjoyment in caressing her skin. “I don’ rightly care where we go. We’ll need to drop by LA at some point, ‘course…while I love the Bit, I really don’ fancy her taggin’ along everywhere we go.”
“Why William! Why ever not?”
His eyes narrowed, and leaned inward to tease her lips with a kiss. “’Cause I don’ like censoring my…everythin’.”
“You’re dirty.”
“Yep. You better clean me up.”
Buffy shook her head, a mischievous glimmer buried in her gaze. “Nah. I like you dirty. Makes it all the more fun for me.”
“Well, cleanin’ me up might be fun, too. An’ we could always get dirty again.”
A giggle touched her lips. “See? This is why I love you. You’re amazingly inventive.”
Her casual jollity was inebriating, not to mention contagious. Spike felt a silly grin spread across his mouth the next instant. He leaned in to kiss her again, stroking her forehead with sensual affection. “’S that the only reason?”
“Nope. You’ve also got a really great ass.”
Spike barked a laugh at that. “You li’l minx.”
“I try.”
“You’re amazingly successful.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Don’ mention it.” He claimed her mouth once more, but this time, the brief touch wasn’t enough. Within seconds, they were warring each other with intense ferocity. As though the ripples he had experienced earlier could manifest and she could taste the flavor of revelation. From where the sudden sense of desperate urgency manifested, he did not know. Someplace explicably between the iron and the silver. Gazing at her now drew the realization that he had never known such clemency. Not for everything he wanted and received in turn. Crossing oceans, besieging worlds, satisfying an endless thirst had never known such stark gratification.
Her taste intoxicated him, drawing him in with infallible authority. With every sweep his tongue indulged, her flavor enhanced and he lost a little more of himself. In seconds, he had shed himself of duster and was battling her hands to the hem of his shirt. The fabric found the ground next to her discarded footwear and some book that looked as though it might be important pending on the light of its regard. It, likewise, was covered with Buffy’s tank without preliminaries.
His hands trembled as they skimmed the length of her arms, finding the softness of her cheeks and rubbing tender, loving caresses into her skin. “Buffy…” he murmured reverently against her lips. “I…”
“Shhh…” she whispered in turn, drawing his mouth back to hers. They warred each other without seeking a victor, claiming the fullness of what was in front of them, leaving nothing behind for stragglers. She was a creature of his own making—she saw what she wanted and took it without second-guessing herself. So different from the woman that had left this place. So different and the same. Buffy as he always knew she could be. The richness of her love flavored her with so much more than he ever thought capable.
And it was only the beginning. Frightening and exciting in the same notion.
Everything.
“You’re so beautiful,” he hummed before his lips descended, exploring the length of her throat. His hands slid down her skin to cup the fullness of her breasts, his thumbs enjoying slow, arousing play with her nipples before his mouth dipped to take over. He felt her grasping at his head and reveled in every raspy breath that escaped her with escalating desperation. The full, womanly scent she emanated had every mark of driving him insane. He wanted to touch and taste every part of her all at once.
A velvety sigh filled the air, and Buffy threw her head back. “Oh God.”
“Mhmm.” Spike laved her with his tongue, hands falling to her hips, drawing the blankets away. There was nothing more to remove; she was bare to him, and that realization made him harden to the point of pain. She could do that so effortlessly. Just by looking at him, she had the power stimulate him beyond limits that he thought possible. “No frilly panties? Oooh, you are a naughty girl.”
“Spike…”
“You’re exquisite.” He dotted worshipful kisses along her breastbone. “You’re an exquisite naughty girl.”
“Oh God.”
His hand slipped between her thighs, teasing her wetness. “An’ you’re mine.”
“Spike!”
The vampire grinned against her, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. “Somethin’ you want, sweetheart?” He was playing with her now, drawing mischievous circles against her entrance, giving her just enough to make her beg for more. There was something about her like this that made him become everything he was made for, and it had nothing to do with pride or the gloating knowledge that he could render the strongest person he knew into a gasping woman who craved his touch. It was everything about the other. That she was strong enough to make it to this point. Strong enough to know that conceding that control had nothing to do with herself and everything to do with them.
“I need…” she gasped. “I need you to touch me.”
“I am touchin’ you.”
Buffy mewled in complaint and whacked his shoulder. “You know what I mean!”
“Oi! Watch my frail man bones, luv. After all, ‘m only a vampire.”
“Then stop teasing me!”
Spike grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “But ‘s so much fun,” he whispered seductively, circling her womb once more before edging a finger inward. “’S that what you wanted, baby?”
Buffy nodded hurriedly, her eyes falling closed. “Yes,” she sighed. His thumb found her clit and stroked her to his leisure, and her body fell to currents. “Oh yes.”
“Jus’ let me take care of you.” He swept his lips across her temple, exploring her with delicate ease. Stretching her to accommodate him. One finger, then two, gaining momentum. Her gasp of relief soon followed another that silently demanded more. And he gave. He played her with hard tenderness until she clutched at his forearms and gave way to her pleasure, sinking blunt teeth into his shoulder to muffle her cry of release. The feel of her made him harden even further, but he wouldn’t move for the world. Not with her trembling his arms, grasping him as she did. Instead, he ran his hands through her blonde locks and brushed a loving kiss across her forehead, holding her to him as the last of her spasms receded, and she slowly returned to herself.
“I love your hands,” she whispered, pressing her lips at the nape of his neck, running her own down his arms.
Spike smiled kindly. “They love you, too,” he replied. “As you would say.”
“I’ve started up a collection,” she said, pulling away just a fraction to descend his chest, dropping kisses along the way. She stopped to tug at one of his nipples with her teeth, eliciting a sharp, excited gasp.
“H-have you?”
“Mhmmm. Parts of you that I love.” She paused at the buckle of his belt and grinned upwards impishly. “Your ass and your hands have made the list, and I’m accepting applications.” As if to emphasize such a point, she swept her hand against his inner thigh, earning another sharp gasp. “Any suggestions?”
“Move up jus’ a li’l, an’ you’ll find out.”
Buffy arched a brow and made short work of his belt and brushed a quick kiss against the denim.
“Jesus!”
“Wrong name, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
A growl tore at his throat and he seized her shoulders, pushing her back so he could climb to his feet. “To hell with this.”
The Slayer’s giddy countenance faded at that, and her brow deepened with worry lines. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I gotta get out of these pants before I embarrass myself.” His eyes swept over her hungrily. “It hasn’ happened yet, but I don’ wanna take any chances. You drive me wild.”
She blinked. Then she giggled. “Oh.”
The next few seconds were composed of a hasty attempt to rid himself of his remaining clothing. His trousers wound up on the other side of the room, and there was every possibility that one of his boots soared out the window. No sooner had he tackled her back to the bed, settling between her thighs and wrestling hot, desperate kisses from her mouth as his hands took path to explore every inch of her. He pressed himself needily against her thigh and released a long whimper when she reached between them to take him into her hand. She grasped him with such shyness laced with courage she didn’t know she possessed. Their time together had revealed that while she wanted to do everything she could to please him; there was much about physical intimacy that made her nervous. She had overstepped her own boundaries, surprising both him as well as herself with her brazen want of something more.
It didn’t matter what she gave. It would always be enough.
Her fingers brushed against the head of his need with learned poise, and he rumbled into her throat. “Do that again,” he murmured. “An’ you’ll have a mess on your hands.”
“A tasty mess.”
“Oh God, you’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Too late.” She kissed him again, stroked him once more with loving, if not teasing intent, and positioned him at her opening. “Now, Spike. I need you now.”
He smiled and brushed strands of hair from her face, his other hand running down the length of her to test her readiness for himself. His explorations were slow and gentle, and when her whimpers reached summit, he retracted his touch to sample her rich dew with intent. When he began suckling at his fingers teasingly, winking at her duress, Buffy reached between them to grasp cock with brazen force that quickly wiped his arrogant smirk from his face.
“We can…both…play dirty,” she warned, panting needlessly.
“Yeh.” Spike pinned her hands to the mattress beside her head, lacing their fingers as he eased himself into her. Duel moans mingled in the air, and for a long beat, they remained as such. Linked and complacent with simple joining. The full impact of being one was almost more satisfactory than the promise of imminent completion. The platinum vampire reckoned he could remain happily like this for the rest of eternity.
His hands clutched tighter at hers, and he nudged himself all the way home. Buffy’s eyes fell shut, a pleasurably painful flash overwhelming her senses as her teeth worried her lip. In the catalog of beloved expressions she made, this one found its place among his top ten.
“Is it always gonna feel like this?” she asked softly, voice wondrous.
His heart flooded with warmth and his head dipped to nuzzle her throat as his hips started to move in deep, sensuous strokes. There was truth there, of course, but something else lingered in the balance. Every experience he had shared with her thus far had been blissful for its combination of difference and similarity.
“I dunno,” he murmured, gliding his hands up her arms once more to caress her breasts. “What do you feel?”
“Everything.” Buffy gasped and arched off the bed, linking her hands behind his throat. “You.”
He licked and nipped at her skin, indulging deep thrusts that touched peaks that he never though to explore. His movements were sharp and intent, escalating with need and want, coiled into one blissful package. She scaled him over and over, matching him for everything he gave. Matching, taking, and giving some more. Every undulation that cascaded his skin was for her; every nerve that tingled bore her marking. To watch her writhe and whimper and move beneath him was one of the singular most revolutionary sights of his life, though he knew that the past week had contained many of those.
The threshold had relocated altogether. With them, it always did.
And always would.
A stifled sob reverberated from her lips. “Spike…” she whimpered as his thrusts grew even deeper than she thought possible. She was still meeting him for everything he gave, her own retaliation rhythmic and torturous. He didn’t believe she realized the full of her influence over him. He wondered if she ever would. “Oh God…”
“I know, baby.”
“I love you.”
“Love you.” He slid a hand across her abdomen again, seeking out her bundle of womanly nerves and feathered a ridiculously chaste kiss against her forehead. The air filled with her joyous gasp when his prying fingers began to stroke, battling his hips that swirled with every plunge, ringing cries of pleasure from her throat. “So much.”
“Always?”
He nodded desperately, groaning when her Slayer muscles contracted. God, she could play dirty. He loved it.
“Good.”
That was it. Without warning, her fangs extended and found his throat. And that was it. Where he usually exhibited such restrain, Spike cried out and came. He clamped a hand around hers, hips thrusting in a frenzy as he emptied himself into her. Under his still exploring fingers, he felt her follow him over the edge. And as her body shuddered around his, a whispered hush befell her sweet countenance, and he heard it. One word. One word that would seal them together for all time.
“Mine.”
Spike’s eyes widened and he grasped her shoulders, ignoring the somersaults his stomach performed on a whim and the instinctual constricting of his heart. There was no way she could know what that would do. While such a step was craved and ultimate, he didn’t want her to commit herself to do this without realizing its significance. Without realizing what it would mean. Because afterward, there would be no going back.
“Buffy—”
He felt her hands settle against his face, and the next thing he knew, he was gazing into eyes of full realization. And he understood. Just like that, he understood.
She knew. She knew what she was doing, what she was giving him. And it was right. She wasn’t doing it for any reason beyond themselves. She did it because she wanted it, too.
It was a good thing he was already dead; he figured that moment would have clinched with a heart attack otherwise.
“Yours,” he gasped finally, enjoying the warm glow of her eyes. “Always yours.”
A ripple ran through him, and he had never known an instant of greater joy.
That was, of course, until the next instant when she tugged his head to her own throat and nodded against his mouth. And even then, he hesitated once more. Waited until her hold on him constricted before allowing his own bumpies to emerge with bloodlust that exceeded all other. His ivory fangs impaled the alabaster at her throat, and he drank full the richness of her essence before whispering his claim. His hold that would keep her forever. What made them now and forever.
He felt her shudder again, and her acceptance of him was the richest moment of his existence. Her concession to him. There. More than lovers. More than sire and childe. More than vampire and Slayer.
So much more.
They were bound now. Bound in something intangible but just as real as anything else.
It had taken him so long to get here. Completing a journey paid for in blood. But with her hand in his, there was nothing he couldn’t conquer. Nothing to lie by the hard shoulder of wayward success. She made him see the world for all its beauty whereas before he could only see destruction, and that meant everything.
It was now. The next journey began now.
It was time.
To be concluded in the Epilogue: All Roads…