Chapter 18

She was quiet throughout their walk to his crypt, but since his Slayer’s arm never loosened its snug grip around his waist, Spike decided not to dwell over her silence. Just from the focused look on her face, he knew she was over-thinking something. It was probably Glory or maybe even their heart-to-heart prior to Doc’s demise, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d give her the ten minutes it took to reach his cemetery, and then he’d take her mind off those things. She told him before he gave her relief and he was determined to do so again. He’d get her cleaned up and then he’d make her relax. That’s what boyfriend-types were good for in his opinion, taking care of their damsels, whether they were in actual distress or otherwise. And after decades of looking after Drusilla, he had no doubts he could tend to Buffy…if she’d let him.

“Pet, let me get the doors--.”

“No, I’ll do it. You stay.” Cradling her bloody hand to her stomach, she opened the heavy doors to his crypt one at a time. “God, it’s pitch dark in here.”

“Harm broke the lights. I’ve got nothing but candles.”

“Can I borrow your lighter?” Before he could respond, her fingers were deep in the pockets of his duster. “Do you have somewhere to sit in there? I want you off your leg.”

“It’s practically healed--.”

“Practically is not completely. You will sit,” she insisted, hooking her arm around his. “Your recliner wasn’t torched. You will sit in it or I will throw you in it. How are we going to do this, Spike?”

“You always this feisty after a kill?”

A smirk pulled at her lips, but she said nothing as she led him to the recliner.

So much for me taking care of her, Spike thought, sinking against the cushions as he watched her flit around his living space as if she belonged there.

“Spike, where do you keep First-Aid-type stuff?”

“It depends on what you need. Bandages and gauze are in kitchen area up here. Grab a bottle of whatever’s in the fridge while you’re there. The whiskey or brandy will do, unless you have a preference for something else. I’ve also got a sewing kit in the junk drawer downstairs in the makeshift bathroom. Wash out that hand and I’ll sew it up for you.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes.”

“You sew?”

“When I need to. When you’ve been a life-long mischief-maker like yours truly, you learn how to use a needle and thread out of necessity. Vamp healing will only get you so far. If a limb’s hanging on by a thread, it doesn’t hurt to help it along with a few more.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll look at your leg and if I need to, I’ll sew you up too.”

“Now, pet,” he began with a laugh, but it was no use finishing his sentence. She had already taken off into the lower chamber of the crypt. “Right. I’ll just wait for you to come back then.”

“You’d better. If I see you trying to hobble down these stairs, I’ll kick your ass.”

Grinning to himself, he shrugged out of his jacket. He tossed it aside while mumbling, “Protective little chit. Forcefully protective, she is. A man could get used to this kinda treatment.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah right. You look like, what’s the expression? The cat that ate the canary?”

He opened his mouth, a quip of a sexual nature on his tongue, but decided against it as Buffy knelt before him. She took off his shoes, hugged his leg to her chest and rolled up his jeans, and she did it all skillfully with one hand. “How’s it look? Will I make it, Nurse Buffy?”

“Do you think I’m giving you the choice not to?” Their eyes met as she patted down a fresh bandage against his skin. It was just as gratuitous as the others she had applied earlier that evening. “Spike, stop looking at me like that,” she sang, narrowing her eyes before leaning forward to kiss the band-aid.

“Buffy, come here.” The tone of his voice dropped on its own accord. “I need you closer.”

She shuffled to him, resting her hurt hand face-up on his thigh and sighing prettily into his mouth as he kissed her. “I need you in my lap,” he declared roughly, forcing himself to break away from her soft lips. “Bring the stuff, including the booze.”

“Why?” He thought he’d have to make a case to get her on top of him, but he was pleasantly mistaken. “You aren’t going to pour that stuff over my hand like they do in Western movies, are you?” She asked the question as she joined him in the recliner without hesitation. She settled in his lap comfortably and dangled her legs over the chair arm.

“Alcohol can be used as a disinfectant, pet, and I know how you love your disinfectants.”

“You can’t—Spike, you can’t be serious. It’ll sting, and my hand already hurts. I won’t let you do that to me.”

“You won’t?”

“No, and I mean it.”

“If I recall, you had no problem practically bathing me in rubbing alcohol earlier--.”

“That…that was different, and—Spike.” Her eyes grew to the size of saucers and her lip jutted out just slightly. Her good hand made its way to the back of his neck and she treated him to maddening feather-light strokes from her fingers. “Please, honey?”

“Oh, now you’re just playing dirty.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes. You,” he said simply. He echoed the position of her hand, digging his fingers into the hair on the back of her head as he kissed her thoroughly. She gasped, and it was followed by the same pretty sigh that drove him crazy.

“Spike, Spike,” she panted. She squirmed against him, rubbing her body desperately against his. She reached for him and let out a pained hiss. “Spike, my hand really hurts.”

“Hush. I’ll take care of you. The whiskey, it’s for you to drink, Buffy. It’ll make you feel warm and a little numb. It’ll calm your nerves while I fix your hand. Slayer, I wouldn’t dream of washing your hand in it. Just because it works for John Wayne and fucking Buffalo Bob that doesn’t mean it’ll work for us in real life.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so in the beginning?”

“You were playing dirty. I liked it.”

“Creep.”

“Yeah, you might as well get used to that, honey.” Snickering, he ran his thumb under the cut Doc had left across her cheek. “That still hurt, kitten? How about the matching one on your chest?”

Moving quickly, assuming she’d start batting at him any minute, he opened the neck of her sweater and peeked inside. “I want your jacket off and this top should go along with it. And I want you drinking--.”

“But I don’t drink.”

“You will drink or I’ll pour it down your throat.”

“Now who’s Mr. Feisty?” She gave him a mock-pout as she shed her clothes. “I’d better not get too cold,” she mumbled, scooting even closer to Spike’s body. “And no matter what you say, I’m keeping my bra on.”

“Drink, Buffy.” Taking the whiskey from where she had it nestled in her lap, he twisted it open and held it under her nose. “Do it for me.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should just go to the hospital? Hey, maybe Ben can help--.”

“Over my twice dead body. You’re my girl. I’m gonna to stitch you up. Bloody Ben can sod off.”

“Gosh, jealous much?” With a twinkle in her eyes, she took a long drink from the bottle, and an instant later, it was replaced by a wrinkled nose and look of utter disgust. “Spike, you drink this crap?”

“Yes. Keep drinking. Sip it.”

“But it’s gross,” she whined, resting her head on his shoulder. She took another drink and whimpered into his ear, “I don’t like it. But. Okay. I do kinda like that.” Her voice lowered just above a whisper. “I mean, it’s gross too, but…not so bad.”

Chuckling, Spike continued to kiss and lick the cut over her heart as she serenaded him with a collection of moans and the occasional alcohol-induced gag.

“Spike, what about the other one?” He thought she meant the scrape on her cheek, but he found his head pushed deeper into her cleavage.

“You want these to feel better too, my love?” His fingers twitched a little as he caressed the marks left by his fangs. “Sweetheart, when I bit you, did it hurt?”

“No.”

“Not even a pinch?”

“Not really.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I think your chip has a glitch.”

“And I think it isn’t a glitch at all. It didn’t go off because I didn’t hurt you. Because you liked it when I bit you. You enjoyed it.” He waited for a response, but didn’t get one. He ran his tongue over the marks and she just held her breath. “Now, what I’m not sure of, is, when I stick a needle into your palm--.”

“You shouldn’t do it. If it’ll make your head go kablooey, don’t do it. It isn’t worth it. I don’t even need stitches anymore. I mean, pfft, it doesn’t even hurt so bad anymore.”

“Slayer, do you have a problem with needles?”

“I have a problem with them poking my hand. I also have a problem with them pulling strings through my skin. Strings are for buttons, and not for Buffys.”

“That’s a fair argument,” he smiled. “But what if I could make you better without a nasty needle?”

A moment of silence passed between them. He studied her expression carefully while she stared down at her hand.

“Buffy?”

“You want me to drink your blood.”

“I want to help you.”

“Isn’t it a myth? Giles told me--.” She cut herself off. She stuck out her lower lip and asked, “Can vampire blood really heal people? Really, Spike?” Before letting him answer, she rested her head on his shoulder again. “I don’t know about this.”

“You know, there’s a myth about Slayer’s blood. Some say it’s an aphrodisiac.”

“And what’s the status of that myth?”

“Proven and completely true, but we’ll keep that secret between us.”

“Have you had a Slayer’s blood before?”

“No. It was…mind-blowing.”

“Not just because of what we were doing…at the time?”

“No,” he replied. He could feel her face radiating into his neck. “Your blood’s remarkable. It’s just as powerful as the rest of you. It healed me up, Buffy. Before we got to Doc’s, I was good as new. Because of you. Didn’t you notice? Shouldn’t I be able to do the same for the woman I love?”

“Gee, Spike, when you put in that way.” She surprised him by letting out a quiet giggle. She started to stroke the back of his neck again as she dotted his face with kisses. “Your lovey dovey talk really kills me, you know that? It makes me feel sooo…incredibly…melty. Just like a-a crayon left out in the sun for too long. Once it melts, it hardens that way, all gloopy, then it’s impossible to get out of the carpet…or out of the cup holder in your mom’s car.”

“Babe, you drunk now?”

“I’d say so. No, I say I’ve been so. I think. But your bottle isn’t quite empty. I should finish it.” She drained the bottle and let it crash to the cement floor. “I should clean that up--.”

“Don’t move,” he said, hugging his arms around her waist.

“Okay. Didn’t want to anyway. I like it when you hold me.” Her body sagged against him and she sighed blissfully. “I like you so much, it scares me, Spike. I’m gonna drink your blood like a vampire, but I don’t wanna be a vampire. It’s just…my hand hurts, and I want to make you happy. You make me happy with the things you say, but I can’t do that. I’m not poetic or wordy. So, if I can’t say pretty things to you, I’ll, um, do pretty things for you. I don’t know if the blood stuff is pretty, but you seem to like that stuff. It’s weird, you’re the most human vampire I know, but you’re the most vampy vampire-boyfriend I’ve had. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” he croaked, kissing the top of her head. He couldn’t say more if he wanted to. His throat was closing up on him.

“I don’t want to bite you though. My teeth aren’t very fangy. It’d be like using a butter knife on something, well, that you wouldn’t want to use a butter knife on.”

As she continued to babble, Spike shifted long enough to scrape a sharp fang across his wrist. He kept the incision small, the perfect size to fit Buffy’s dainty mouth.

“Riley let those vampire skanks chew on him, but what we did—what I let you do in my room, that was different. It was intimate. It was special. We shared something. Don’t you think so?”

“I think you’d better stop talking. Keep it up, I might burst.”

“You mean…” With the back of her hurt hand, she stroked the bulge pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

“No, I didn’t mean that. Though I’d stay away from there if you know what’s good for you. I meant my heart, Buffy.”

Spike.

She cooed his name so warmly he closed his eyes briefly as they rolled back into his head. She stroked him again and he clenched his teeth together.

“Buffy, please shut up, and keep your hands to yourself.”

“But I thought--.”

“Don’t you dare pout either, just—you see my wrist, baby? Do exactly like I did. Just give it a kiss. Lick it up a bit.”

“And a kiss will make it better?” There was a hint of fear in her voice, but she looked at him with trust brimming in her eyes. “Okay, but if it’s as gross as that whiskey, I won’t like it. And if it’s super gross, and if I still need stitches afterwards, I’ll totally kick your ass.”

“Buffy… Fuck, I love you so much, Buffy. If this doesn’t work, and you still need stitches, I’ll kick my own ass.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that.” She flashed him a gorgeous smile before licking her lips and pressing her mouth to his wrist.
***

As Buffy came to, after what felt like a long restful sleep, she stretched out her legs. She pushed them out as she lay flat on her stomach and tried to hook her toes over the edge of the mattress, but the edge of her mattress wasn’t there. The bed she was sleeping in was much bigger than her kid-friendly twin.

Then she noticed the chill in the air. She realized that she was only wearing her underwear, and that the sheets surrounding her body had a silky feel to them. And they smelled good, just like Spike.

“Mmmm, Spike.” She reached for him, but he wasn’t there. She was in the bed alone.

Rolling onto her back, she ran her fingers through her hair and froze. She felt no pain. She wiggled the fingers on both hands and made a few tight fists, just to make sure, and there was still no pain.

It worked, she thought, finally opening her eyes with a smile on her face. Sitting up, she scanned the room and saw the back of Spike’s head flicker in the candlelight. He was still in the recliner.

Stupid vampire, she thought. I’m in his bed and he’s sitting in front of his broken TV?

She hissed a quiet curse as she tiptoed across the crypt’s ice-cold floor. Before rounding the chair, she found his duster and wrapped it around her body.

“Spike, what are you doing?”

He was sleeping. He was reclining back with his feet up. His hands were resting on the chair arms. His head was drooping to one side.

Buffy thought he looked peaceful, and incredibly handsome.

And he’s my boyfriend, her brain buzzed as her heart tightened.

“B-buffy?”

“Hey, sleepyhead. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he responded. He cleared his throat and shifted in the chair with his eyes still heavy-lidded. “What time is it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Babe, what are you doing? You’re wearing my coat.”

“I’m cold,” she replied with a shrug. “And I was… Well, honestly, I was thinking about how I could gracefully get in that chair with you without waking you up or tipping the both of us out of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She looked down and smiled. Sleepy, puppy-eyed Spike was overwhelming her. “I figured I could put my left knee between the chair arm and your knee. Like so. And with my weight propped on this side, I could hold onto you while I kinda do the splits…” She touched his shoulder for support as she parted her legs and straddled his body.

“But now, this isn’t as comfy as I thought it’d be,” she admitted. “I don’t want to stay on my knees, and as much as I’d like to wrap my legs around you, the chair would make it awkward. So…” Making a point not to look at him, she rearranged herself and ended up in his lap again. This time, she bent her legs, tucking them across his body instead of letting them hang off the chair arm as she cuddled against him.

“You okay now, baby? Comfortable?”

“I think so,” she replied although she was perfectly content once his arms fell around her. One stayed on the outside of her jacket, while the other slipped deep inside. He touched her here and there, but with no sense of urgency.

“You sure put a lot of effort into all that squirming. It’s too bad, especially since I plan on carrying you to bed in a few minutes from now.”

“Oh.” His words and their promise gave her a jolt. “You didn’t tell me of these plans.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I thought you were going to leave me in bed while you slept over here. You know, like a stupid person,” she added after a beat. “I don’t want to sleep in your bed alone. A smart guy would’ve known that.”

“I see,” he replied. His lips brushed against her temple. “You searched for me then.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it searching. You were both lost and found in a matter of seconds.”

“Did you look for me, wanting for me to hold you while you slept, or were you hoping that I’d make love to you?”

“I-I’m not going to answer that. I’m not going to… Jesus, Spike.”

“How’s your hand?” he asked, giving her another chaste kiss. This one tickled her warm forehead. “Sit up. Let me see it.”

Silently, she moved again. She sat Indian-style and rested her hands on her knees while he inspected her palms. Her heart sped up as he touched and kissed each one affectionately.

“We’ve confirmed another myth.

“And we’ve got another secret to keep too.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “We wouldn’t want your Watcher or your friends finding out about this.”

“No way. You biting me, and me drinking your blood? These things are beyond private. They can know that we’re dating, and that I’m taken, but anything else? Not only would they not understand; it’s none of their business what I do with my boyfriend.”

“And that’s that?”

“Yes, and that’s that.” She batted him away as he tried to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Our business—it’s ours, Spike.”

“Pet, are you still drunk? Because I’m thinking you’d have to be bloody smashed for you to think, even for a second, that I’d disclose one word regarding me and you to those buffoons you call friends.”

“Buffoons? They are not buffoons, and I’m not drunk,” she insisted automatically. Then she paused. “I don’t think I’m drunk. Should I still be drunk? Or should I have a hangover by now? What time is it anyway?”

“You really don’t drink often, do you, kitten?”

“I feel fine, but…should I be feeling fine? I drank a lot, especially for me. Do you think your blood can stop a hangover too? God, we could bottle that stuff and make a fortune just at UC Sunnydale alone. But that would be worlds of bad,” she added, staring ahead. “That’d put you in lots of danger. If people knew what your blood could do, you’d be hunted--.”

“Wouldn’t that change things up?” Spike snorted. “Average-Joe-types hunting vampires? I’d like to see them try. I mean, I’ve seen it and lived it numerous times before, but it never fails to amuse me.”

“But you’d be helpless unless your chip had, like, a thousand glitches, and—wait, heck no, strike that crap. I’d just have to watch over you twenty-four-seven because your chip will not be glitching with anyone else but me. That’s for sure. I’d just protect you from the Average-Joes. And that would be tha--.”

She wasn’t able to finish before she was tangled up in a deep passionate kiss. She eagerly kissed him back and broke away only when she had to breathe. “Spike, do you think I’m still drunk?” she panted, resting her forehead against his.

“I have no idea. You’re babbling, but I haven’t decided if you only do so when you’re tipsy, or if it’s something you do when you’re purposely trying to drive me mad. You’re a delight. I could listen to you prattle on all bloody day. Buffy, can I take you to bed now?”

“I think you’d better,” she said, wrapping her arms snuggly around his neck. When he inched forward, she wove her legs around his waist and rubbed against his erection. It felt amazing through her thin underwear. “I need you.”

“It’s going to be different this time. There will be no rushing. I hope you don’t have plans, ‘cause once I have you; I’m not letting you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Don’t want to. Can’t.”

Then it hit her.

Watchers. Quentin Travers. A meeting with Council.

Shit.

Then Giles’ voice filled her head: “I am deeply ashamed of you, Buffy.”

“I-I actually can’t! I can’t stay! Spike, I’ve got to go!” He tried to calm her down, but she forced her way out his embrace. She fell hard to the floor and popped up onto her feet. “I’m so sorry! I-I need to know what time it is! I’m supposed to meet with the Council this morning!”

“You can check my cell. It’s charging on the counter.”

“Your…cell?”

“I do have electricity, Slayer. I just don’t have anything for the bloody electricity to juice up. Harmony ruined all my shit, remember?”

“I remember.” Buffy’s teeth dug into her lower lip. She wanted to say more, but instead she ran across the room. She flipped over his phone. It had been lying facedown, hiding the display.

It was past noon. Well past noon.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running back to Spike so she could gather her clothes.

“I am too.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

“Spike…” She frowned. Her sweater, jacket and jeans fell from her hands with a plop. Against her better judgment, she was back into his lap, kissing him as she unbuttoned his jeans. “How quick can we really do this? I need you. I don’t want to wait. I can’t. We’ve confirmed a few myths, now I wanna break a record. Okay?”

She swallowed hard as his hand slipped between her legs, pushing her wet underwear aside. He aligned his cock to her opening, and she sunk down, welcoming him inside. “Spike, Spike, we’ve got to hurry,” she moaned. “God, you feel so good.”

“Move,” he practically snarled, digging his fingers into her backside. “Bounce against me.”

“I-I…”

“Don’t be bashful. Just do what feels good. I’ll keep you moving when the time is right.” He found her mouth and kissed her. “Oh, your Watcher is really gonna hate me now.”

“Yeah, but I’ll like you so much more.”

“Is that right?” he smiled with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Prove it.”

She gyrated her hips frantically until she started to cry out. And Spike kept his promise. He took control once she collapsed against his chest, rocking her back and forth until he reached his own climax a minute later.

“This was not one of my best ideas. Now I really don’t want to leave.” With a deeper frown than before, she kissed him. She kissed him leisurely, stroking his tongue and humming into his mouth.

“I’ve got to go.” She stroked his sharp cheekbones while he stared at her. Once again he looked completely mesmerized. “I still owe you, okay?” she whispered, lifting away from him reluctantly.

Buffy dressed quickly and blew Spike a kiss before running out of the crypt.
***

Buffy started apologizing before she had the door to the Magic Box completely open. “I am so sorry. I had a long night and an even longer morning. I didn’t have a way of telling time. Then, once I realized I was running late, I had to run home ‘cause—well, I needed a shower. I needed to change and I needed to…to… Hey, where is everybody?”

“You were supposed to be here at nine. It is almost two o’clock.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry, Giles.” Buffy walked across the magic store, threw her purse on the counter next to the cash register, and stood by the empty table her Watcher was sitting at. “What happened? You aren’t researching. Didn’t he tell us anything?”

“Quentin doesn’t believe that you’re worthy of the information he has. In fact, he wants to conduct a review of your fighting and decision-making skills before he’ll consider helping us at all.”

“Just because I was late?”

“You are nearly five hours late, Buffy.”

“C-can he do that? I don’t work for the Council anymore--.”

“If you do not comply with the review, I will be deported.”

“What? Now that’s something he can’t do!”

“Yes, he can frankly.”

“Giles--.”

“They will interview your friends and family. Possibly even your professors. The physical exam will take place tomorrow at dawn. And I suggest you do everything in your power to be here on time.”

Buffy squirmed under Giles obvious look of disapproval. “I’m sorry--.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding once. “I heard you the first time.”

“Spike and I learned that Glory’s a Hell god.” She blurted out the words, hoping new information would lessen the scowl he was poorly trying to hide. “She wants to go home and she’ll use the Key somehow to make that happen in a ritual. Doc said he knew the Key was a person and that he told Glory, but I don’t know if he was telling the truth. Spike and I killed him.”

“Hell god?” Giles repeated softly.

“Yes, and that—please tell me that isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“I-I don’t know.” He walked past her to his bookcase, staring ahead as the wheels in his head started to turn. “I-I need to…research…”

“Do you need help? Giles, about last night, the Spike-thing…”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He didn’t look up from the book he was reading. “I don’t believe Spike can be trusted.”

“I disagree.”

“And why is that, Buffy? How on Earth has he managed to win you over so completely?” He looked at her then and slammed the book in his hands shut. “All I ask is for you to be logical. This is exactly what the Council is searching for, a blatant example of your poor judgment.”

“Spike and I are together now. We’re dating.”

Giles blinked once then he took off his glasses. He pinched the top of his nose as he closed his eyes. “I suggest you keep that information to yourselves. At least until Quentin and the other Watchers are safely out of earshot.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” Right away her eyes started to sting. Giles was practically her father, she never expected him to jump for joy about her relationship with Spike, but she didn’t expect him to be so cold. “He cares about me. Giles, he-he loves me. I know it sounds crazy, but he means it. When he tells me these things, I don’t doubt him. He’s on my side. I know it.”

“Yes, but for how long? Spike is a very, uh, hyper individual. How long will it take until he grows bored--.”

“With me? You want me to predict when my boyfriend will grow tired of me? How can you—God, Giles.” Her voice cracked and the tears came. They seeped down her face in long warm channels. “I won’t let you be cruel to me or my boyfriend.”

He swallowed at her tears, but the stubborn pinch stayed at his mouth. “I fear you’re setting yourself up for humiliation. I can see he’s manipulating your emotions already. Buffy, I don’t want you to get hurt--.”

“Then why are you being this way?” Unable to look at her Watcher any longer, Buffy took a step back. She stared at her shoes for a minute until she decided she had nothing else to say. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
***





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