“I was trying to cover for you.” She let her words trail off into a hum. “While you’re back there, do you think you could get to the pain that goes down into my shoulders?” She rolled her head forward as his hands moved down.
Spike was doing the most enjoyable things with his fingers. The pain was subsiding and the muscles and tendons in her neck and shoulders were slowing un-clenching. His fingers were cool but warming as they moved over her skin. The calloused pads of his fingertips soothingly abraded the taught flesh.
“How are the two connected?”
“What connected?” She had been thinking how pleasurable his touch was and he was asking about connections?
“Saving my hide and the crick in your neck?” He leaned down close and his mouth brushed against her ear and then down to her shoulder. The feel of his mouth near her neck was less disconcerting than she would have imagined—him being a vampire and all. “Where’s the connection?”
“Giles.” She wasn’t paying attention to her thoughts or the words coming out her mouth. He was pressing the most delicious touch to her ear, her cheek, and her neck. “He wanted to know about the drop in demon activity.”
He stopped only long enough to say, “The bloke obviously doesn’t get out much, then.”
She opened her mouth to give a retort but he found a sensitive bit of skin between her neck and shoulder. He played there, first kissing, biting and then soothing it with sweeps of his tongue. His hands, in the mean time, had traveled down her back, then up. He let his fingers glide over her arms. At her wrists, he gripped, then gently messaged. He slid his hands up then right back to her wrists and released one.
“Up.”
She blinked up at him, surprised to find him in front of her, pulling her to her feet. He stood back, holding her by the wrist, just looking at her.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she stood and looked down her front. She felt out of her depth. No man had ever looked at her the way Spike was just now. Angel immediately came to mind to contradict that thought but she pushed it away. She didn’t want to play the comparison game. She met Spike’s eyes again. “What?”
He only shook his head. “Can I kiss you?”
Buffy blinked again. “You suddenly need my permission? I though we were—”
Her eyes widened—he was kissing her before she could finish, and she was kissing him in return. They were kissing. As wrong as those words would have sounded some time ago, she couldn’t pull away—even to breath. The kiss was cool and controlled. Maybe he was trying to be careful, trying not to scare her off?
His hands were tugging on her hips, trying to pull her ever closer to him. She stepped into him, bridging the gap between them. He stopped, caught off guard, as she knew he would be. His hands, abruptly on her butt, didn’t move.
She took the lead, enjoying the softness of his lips in contrast with the hardness of his tongue, absent as his attention was. She fought off the distracted ministrations he was paying to her lips and nibbled on his lower lip until his opened his mouth. When he settled comfortably into her actions, she plunged her tongue into his mouth. He grabbed her up, gripped her butt and crushed her against him. The toughness of his hips against her pelvis had her gasping into the heated kiss she’d conjured.
Her hands thus far had lain passively on his shoulders. With his fervor finally up, she moved her hands up into his hair, clenching to hold him to their kiss.
It ended all too quickly for her when he suddenly broke the kiss. He had a good grip on her butt and she wanted something other than his hair to hold onto—she slid her hands down into his coat when he decided for unknown reasons to pull away.
When he stepped away, she had made it so that they were still holding each other—she with her hands on his back and he with his on her waist. The moment was strange and Buffy had no way of knowing what was going on.
The last kiss of the night was chaste. Spike then—surprising her even further—walked her to her street before silently telling her goodnight.
The other patrons of The Bronze were nothing more than dark shadows passing over or at the edges of Spike’s vision. He was focused on only one thing: Buffy.
She was in the middle of the dance floor all by herself but with half of the male populations’ attention on her. Spike had to growl—the girl had no idea the sight she made, how it affected everyone around her, and not just the males. Many of the females were looking her way as well, with daggers.
Just then, she turned and looked directly at him, and did something with her hips. The dirty minx knew he was here, watching. He thought he’d dreamed their interlude the other night. But that slow grind, directed at him, had him re-thinking.
At every turn, she’s surprised him. It seemed he was more reluctant, resistant—whatever—than she was to the idea and realty of them. What was she about? Was he just something to take her mind off of Peaches death? That he caused and he still hasn’t told her. He had no way of knowing because hell would have to freeze over before he asked.
Pushing that thought from the forefront of his mind, he pointedly looked her up and down—knew she felt it when she slowed her rapid dance steps. Then, just as pointedly, he stepped into the shadowy corner at his back. He lost sight of her then as more people crowded into his vacated spot and onto the dance floor.
He was almost to the wall when someone bumped into him. Spike straightened and looked at the tall—very tall—man walking away. A cold chill swept up his body from where he had connected with the stranger. Something bugging at the back of his brain, but for the un-life of him, he couldn’t put a finger on what it was or who the man was.
Spike was about to step forward—go after the bloke and demand to know who the hell the blighter was—but a hot hand on his chest stopped him. Without looking down, he put his hands on her warm hips.
“You know who that was, Slayer?”
She turned within his arms to look. “Who?”
A group of teens, giggling and gabbing at the same time, passed in from of him and the strange was gone when the girls had gone by. Spike frowned.
“He’s gone.” The blighter. The whole situation felt oddly similar. Like déjà vu. He did not like it. The man appeared behind him—and there had been no one in the corner where he’d stepped. He’d made sure.
He was distracted when Buffy started squirming in his hands. He tightened his arms over her stomach. “Where ya going?”
“My friends are here. I don’t want them to know until I know whether this is leading anywhere or not.”
He stilled. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might tell her mates. “You’re going to tell them?” He glanced around to make sure that just the mention of them hadn’t conjured them. “About us?”
She was silent for far too long. She was most likely thinking he was upset because she wasn’t going to tell them sooner.
“Eventually, I will.” She said.
“Why would you want to go and do a thing like that?”
The slayer turned wide, blinking eyes on him. “Don’t you want me to tell them?”
“Not bloody likely.” He turned her around and settled her against him. “They’ll stick their noses in where it don’t belong and muck the whole thing up.”
She was staring up at him like a codfish. He couldn’t help but smirk.
“Close your mouth, love, or you’ll catch something.” Gently, he put a finger under her chin and pushed her mouth closed.
“I’d though you’d want me to tell them.” She was starting to look more confused than surprised.
Maybe he hadn’t been the only one surprised at every turn. But there was still no way he would ask about any connections with him being a replacement. But she’d answered that, though, hadn’t she? Angel was gone and she was moving on with her life. He smiled, feeling great and forgot about her mates, Angel and that strange man.
She turned her head in suspicion and frowned at him. “Why are you smiling like that?”
He didn’t feel like letting her in on that little secret. Yet. “You dance with me?”
“But my friends…”
“Aren’t in this dark corner with us, are they?” He pulled her arms up around his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her waist. “All private, here.”
She gave him another searching look but made no further protests. His luck continued as a slow song came on. When she leaned her head against him, heat shot from his chest and infused his body. Even though the sensation was emotional, it was the best he had felt in the longest while.
Comfortable and feeling like time could stretch—corny as that was—he didn’t want to move away from her. Leaning into her embrace, he laid his head on her shoulder. Unsure of how much time passed, he only moved when she pulled her head up. She met and held his gaze.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Buffy?”
One corner of his mouth tilted up. “No.” The effort it took not to laugh almost killed him.
She had to suppress her mirth as well; proven by the pursed smile she gave him. Then she promptly punched him in the ribs. Even with her holding back on her slayer strength, the punch smarted.
A lighthearted playfulness washed over him and had him lunging for her throat. As he dove, he realized that this could go one of two ways: bad or really bad…
She started giggling as his lips met with the skin of her neck. The sound delighted him. He went after her again, tickling her with his mouth. She jerked her arms down from around his neck and went for his sides.
Spike suddenly pulled back. “No,” he said, grabbing her wrists. But it was too late. She was tickling his sides. Here he was; the big bad and he was ticklish.
Wicked joy spread over her face as she really dug in. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ticklish?”
Between bouts of laughter, he was able to get out, “Yeah, middle of a fight and I’m going to call a stop to it and announce, ‘Yeah, Slayer, just thought you should know how ticklish I am.”
She was nodding. “Yes, you should have.”
He mock snarled at her. “Teach you.”
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he spun her around and pinned her to the wall. Then promptly renewed his mouth assault on her neck. She went wild. It felt great. With a quick jerk, she moved out of his grasp. He turned his head to go after her but the angle wasn't right. They stopped. Their mouths were only a breath away from touching.
He looked up to find her watching him. As much as they checked their actions with the other, their interactions were comfortable. He loved their quick ease. He saw great potential for them—as long as he didn’t let his head get in the way.
She got tired of waiting on him and grabbed him to her and kissed him. If he had needed to breathe, he would’ve had to pull away to drag a breath in, for she just knocked it out of him.
Even as close as their bodies were, he stepped closer. She pulled her body up straighter, as if she could swallow him. Spike sank his arms around her, secured them there between her lush body and the heated wall. The Bronze disappeared around him and sensation turned to a black haze as he melted into her.
Buffy watched as Spike went flying overhead. It’s amazing. She’d learned how many he kills when he seemed to be always falling down, getting knocked down, or thrown around. She shrugged; if it gets the job done.
A punch to the jaw drew her attention back to the three in front of her. They’d spread out from the pile she’d thrown them into. Not sure which vampire was the one to sucker punch her, she grabbed the closest one. Kicking out, she got the second one in the knee and then threw the other one away. While the first two dealt with their hurts, she went after the third. He was tall and ultra thin.
Banter would feel good right about now, but after killing ten vampires, already, she was all quipped out. Other than the normal grunts and groans, it was unusually quiet from Spike’s corner as well.
Skinny squared off with her and grinned around his fangs. She smiled—he was well guarded in his stance but for one weakness, Stepping into his striking range, she jabbed him in the ribs.
As Skinny fell back, she dealt with the other two, easily. A few punches, a roundhouse kick and with two swings of her stake, they were dust.
Spike, meanwhile, was pinned to a tree by a very large forearm. The demons seemed to travel in groups—and not just of one type. The demon holding Spike was large, blue, had a mane of brown hair and gigantic, spiraling red horns.
“Is there any reason why you’re holding my boyfriend hostage?” Buffy stepped around the demon’s back to his other side—the only side that didn’t have an eye patch.
“You slayer, yes?” His voice rumbled through the graveyard.
“Yes.” She knew where this was going. Did she call Spike her boyfriend? Had he heard? Was that ok? She quickly glanced at Spike but he seemed preoccupied with his boot.
“Make him,” the giant demon turned back to Spike, “traitor.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Please. I’ve never been one to—” He choked on his words and started struggling anew as blue beard pushed harder against his throat. He couldn’t die from lack of air, but it sure had to hurt like hell.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. All she had were stakes and she didn’t think they would hold up all that well against old blue beard… Who suddenly jerked and bellowed. Buffy blinked and stepped back as the demon threw Spike at her feet. Blue beard stumbled back and turned to them. A large dagger was planted in the center of his chest.
Frowning at Spike, she reached down and helped him stand.
“Where did you keep that?” She pushed his hands out of the way and checked his neck. “Might be a little bruising but no true damage done.”
He rubbed it once more before he answered, “My boot.”
She glanced over his shoulder as blue beard went down with his eyes rolled back. She looked back at Spike to find the oddest expression on his face. She’d seen it before or something like it, but what the hell with that odd smile?
“Are you all right?” But movement coming from behind Spike had her looking over his shoulder.
She’d forgotten about Skinny. Spike hadn’t noticed her distraction and was coming toward her. She pulled him to her side and threw a stake at Skinny. It landed home and he burst into dust.
The dust from Skinny hadn’t even settled to the ground when Spike spun her to face him. His odd expression had condensed and turned intense. He was staring at her like he’d not seen her every day for the last half week.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His eyebrows flicked together in a quick frown. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you did that first night we kissed. Like it was the first time you’d really seen me?” She knew it came out as a question but there weren’t words to describe the look her gave her.
“Might be.” He said then lowered his head and kissed her.
He usually held back. He didn’t this time. She lost her breath and control of her mouth in one gasp and didn’t get either back for some moments. Like cool heat invading, he took her over, kissed her mouth and danced with her tongue. She got lost in the caresses he gave her. She didn’t get any semblance of rational thought until she felt one of his hands in her hair and the other sliding down her backside.
Quickly, she had to pull away from his mouth. “Someone has been following me.”
Spike blinked at her. “You’ll have to repeat that, love.”
“Lately, it feels like someone has been following me. At times, they aren’t very good at it and I can easily lose them but other times, its like have a shadow on my tail.”
She recalled their body’s positions: Her hands were on the back of his neck and she had lifted one leg partially up his. Spike had one hand at the back of her head and the other was half under her shirt. She lowered her hands to his shoulders and put her foot on the ground.
“It’s why I was late.”
He made a thinking hmm sound in the back of his throat. Without saying anything, he took one of her hands in his and toed her toward a grove of trees that grew around a mausoleum.
“They the same person?” He turned and leaned her against the stone structure.
As dark as their temporary shelter was, she could feel his stare like a caress.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
He leaned into her, slid his hand down her side then down the back of her thigh. “Doesn’t sound like there’s much to do.” He pulled her leg up over his hip and settled more firmly against her. “Tonight.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with us?” It wasn’t what she wanted to ask: Had he heard her boyfriend declaration?
“Yes.” He leaned down to start their kiss again but she drew breath, thinking that she was ready to ask. He pulled back. “Need to talk, love?”
She looked at him. She did but didn’t want to. “No.”
Gently, she pulled him back to her lips. “Let's leave it for another night.”
He kissed her but he was distracted. Wanting his focus on her, she took his hand and just placed it on her breast. He stopped for all but a fraction of a second. She held her breath during that time. In the end, he took her silent plea to heart and let his worries go.
Happy, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged.
Giles stepped on a twig and winced.
He could hear Buffy fighting a set of vampires and didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence. He stopped where he was and waited until he could no longer hear the distinctive sounds of a physical altercation.
Giles had only gone a few feet when he hears Buffy and another’s voice. He stopped, trying to hear whom it was but he couldn’t recognize the voice. It was male, for sure, but the rumbling tones weren’t clear enough to register.
Shaking his head, he rushed quietly forward. Why stand back when he could walk forward and see whom Buffy had taken to patrolling with. But as he cleared a grove of trees next to a mausoleum, there was no one in sight and the voices were gone.
He stood there, feeling jilted, of all things. Something was going on. He had a terrible hunch that it was demonic, and Buffy seemed to be right in the thick of things.