In spite of their demonic gate crasher, the rest of the day had unfolded in relative peace. The DJ appeared to be stuck in the 80’s—but for once, that could be attributed to bad taste, rather than a vampy time warp—and in the absence of impending doom, the Slayer intended to take full advantage of a rare night off. The last five months had been fraught with emotion, but inevitably her friends had shown their true colours. Nobody could deny the positive changes brought about by her relationship with Spike. Nevertheless, Willow’s immediate descent into cookie baking guilt-mode had paved the road to Scooby acceptance.
Even Xander had been forced to admit the vampire was good for Buffy. And when she broke the news to her former Watcher she could almost hear the frantic glasses-polishing down the phone line. After numerous ‘Good Lord’s’ and strained silences, it had taken the reminder that if Giles wanted her to grow up, then he’d have to respect her decisions, along with the solemn promise that no, she hadn’t ‘lost her bloody mind’ to convince him of her sincerity. Buffy doubted he would ever officially condone the relationship, but to his credit, Giles had put Willow in touch with a coven in England, and the young witch was planning to spend the summer honing her skills.
To the delight of all, things had been unusually quiet on the demon front. Apart from the typical Sunnydale nasties, Buffy had been shocked to find her latest pain in the ass consisted of a group of Star Wars nerds that were very much of the non-Hellspawny persuasion. Admittedly, Warren had all the redeeming qualities of a fungus demon, but upon the discovery of a large diamond and wads of cash in the trio’s basement, one anonymous phone call to the Sunnydale Police Department had put an end to their delusions of grandeur.
It hadn’t taken long for Spike to move into Revello Drive, and after some negotiating, they’d eventually reached a compromise on the money front. In spite of the vampire’s assurances that he would never view her as a charity case, Buffy’s pride had led her to the anything-but-burgers job that occupied her evenings four times a week. Self-defence classes were very much needed in a town like Sunnydale, and the knowledge that she was contributing to the monetary pot was enough to ease Buffy’s anxiety.
Their reluctance to be separated inspired many a jibe about being joined at the hip—or in the case of Anya, somewhere far less PG—and despite Spike’s promise to be good, Dawn was claiming mental trauma by the repeated yelling of ‘Take it, slayer!’ and ‘Who’s the Big Bad?’ Luckily for the grossed out teenager, Willow and Tara had recently taken on an apartment across town, thus providing Dawn with a refuge from the constant PDA’s. Spike had yet to surrender his crypt however, arguing that for those times when patrol was a bust, it was only common-sense to have somewhere to burn off their excess energy away from the all-hearing ears of impressionable youth.
Perhaps the most astonishing development of recent weeks was the tentative friendship that had struck up between the two males of the group. Spike had agreed—albeit reluctantly—to be civil for Buffy’s sake. However, the overabundance of oestrogen within the Scooby gang, combined with Xander’s eagerness to escape from wedding plan hell, had found them both at the Bronze one night with nothing better to do. It was amazing the difference a few beers and a game of pool could make. And though neither man would ever concede it, they’d both suffered from a serious deficiency in the male bonding department in recent years.
Over the course of an evening—and enough whiskey to get them both thrown out on their drunken asses—Xander had finally opened up about his insecurities. Admitting that his hatred of all things fangy stemmed back to Jesse’s death was the first step to reaching an understanding, admitting his fear of becoming an abusive drunk like his father was another matter entirely. If it weren’t for that little gem of knowledge, Spike might have missed the first signs of cold feet. As it were, all it took was a man-to-man, and the casual reminder that jilting a bird who’d once turned some poor sod’s family jewels into matching ear accessories was highly ill-advised.
Clearly Xander had taken those words to heart. Buffy had never seen her friend so happy. And now, with the wedding reception drawing to a close, the Slayer was looking forward to a little happiness of her own. Willow and Tara had already left with a suitably partied-out Dawn, and the majority of drunken revellers had scattered to their respective dimensions—or in the case of the Harris family, whichever bar would still serve them. The hour was fast approaching midnight, and Buffy had been reminiscing by the buffet table with the not-so-blushing bride when a flash of bleached hair caught her eye.
“Whoever invented weddings was a genius!” Anya’s spirited declaration jolted Buffy from her thoughts, and the former demon turned to her with a beaming smile on her face. “Not only do I get to wear a pretty dress, but I have a table full of gifts, and a night of guaranteed orgasms ahead of me.” Anya paused, frowning thoughtfully. “I wonder if orgasms feel different after you’re married… Oh! We should compare notes! Spike seems very dedicated to perfecting his technique, and you’re much more fun now that you have a satisfying sex life.”
Buffy giggled into her champagne glass. “Oh yeah,” she replied, blushing at Anya’s bluntness. “Spike’s a real perfectionist. He’s like the Energizer bun—um… never mind.”
The vampire in question exuded an air of confidence as he and Xander sauntered across the room, and Buffy allowed her gaze to travel over the tuxedo-clad form of her boyfriend before coming to rest in his eyes. Despite the monumental effort of convincing him to forfeit his customary jeans and t-shirt, Buffy was more than happy with the resultant yumminess that was Spike in a suit. In fact, the end result was so successful that Buffy had been forced to play the slayer card with several demon-hos who wanted to get their claws into her man. Not that she had any cause to worry—Spike only had eyes for her—but it didn’t hurt to spread the word that the hunk of vampy goodness was very much spoken for.
“Evening, ladies,” Xander said as he wrapped his arm around Anya’s waist and placed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “I hope you’re wearing those dancing shoes ‘cause this room is dead.” Grinning, he tipped his beer in Spike’s direction. “No offence, man.”
“None taken,” Spike replied, drawing Buffy into his arms, “and besides, certain parts of my anatomy are very much alive an’ rarin’ to go… Isn’t that right, sweetness?”
Xander grimaced as Anya’s eyes were immediately drawn to the aforementioned parts. “And to that I bid you a hearty farewell. Come on, Mrs Harris. Let’s show these people how it’s done.”
Buffy caught the secretive look that passed between the two men, but before she was able to question it, Spike had taken hold of her hand and was guiding her across the room. She was vaguely aware of the DJ calling for the last dance, but Buffy’s attention was focused on the sensation of Spike’s thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, and she almost stumbled when a familiar melody drifted to her ears.
You were content to let me shine, that's your way. You always walked a step behind.
“Oh my God,” Buffy cried, throwing her head back in laughter. “I can’t believe you!”
A deep chuckle rumbled from Spike’s throat as he turned to face her. “Hey now, kitten,” he said with a teasing smirk, “it’s our song.” Highly amused, Spike tilted his head to the side and pulled Buffy’s body flush against his own. “I can feel it, slayer,” he whispered against her lips. “You know you wanna dance.”
A beautiful face without a name for so long. A beautiful smile to hide the pain.
“You’re such a dork,” Buffy replied, sliding her arms around his neck.
“And you, my love, are murder on a bloke’s ego.”
Buffy winked. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said, fingers playing with his soft curls, “I'll stroke it better later.”
A contented sigh passed the Slayer’s lips, and instinctively, Spike’s arms tightened around her waist as they swayed gently to the music. He’d told her once that dancing was all they’d ever done, and it was true. Whether they were arguing, sparring, or making love, their bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity. They were a contradiction, and yet regardless of the exceptional circumstances, they completed each other.
I can fly higher than an eagle, 'cause you are the wind beneath my wings.
“You havin’ fun, pet?”
Buffy’s cheek was pressed against Spike’s chest, and the deep rumble of his voice caused an answering throb between her legs. “Oh yeah,” she replied, slipping her hands around his waist. “My best friend got married. There’s food, dancing, and I got to beat up a demon. That’s a whole bunch of ticks on Buffy’s big ol’ list of fun having.”
Determinedly, her hands toyed with the hem of Spike’s shirt, loosening it from his waistband, until she was free to rake her fingernails over the cool skin of his lower back. Spike chuckled as Buffy nuzzled closer, sub-consciously breathing in his scent. Vamp senses never lied, and he knew exactly how he affected his girl. He’d been hard as nails for most of the day, and knowing that Buffy was more than ready for him, only fuelled his desire.
“Is my kitty feelin’ naughty?” Spike asked, grinding his erection against her hip.
Buffy giggled and met his eyes with an impish grin. “Mmm… she’s feeling something all right. In fact, I’d say it’s a very big something.”
Amazed, Spike threw his head back as unexpected laughter peeled from his throat. “I’ve completely corrupted you, haven’ I?” he asked, dropping a kiss to her forehead as Buffy gave his arse a cheeky squeeze.
“Uh-huh,” the Slayer returned her head to his shoulder. “You’re a bad, rude man, tempting me with your wicked demony ways.”
For several minutes they melted into each other’s arms, immersing themselves in the bittersweet memories the ballad invoked. Sentimentality was the order of the day, and buzzed from the champagne, Buffy placed a soft kiss against Spike’s neck, delighting when her vampire stifled a groan under her deliberate teasing.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, nodding towards his co-conspirator. “Every eye in this hall is on the bride and groom. We might as well be… invisible.”
Little minx.
Spike’s eyes glazed over as he retreated to his new happy place. Thanks to the nerd trio, he and Buffy had spent one glorious afternoon reaching heights of kinkiness that surpassed even his wildest fantasies. The thin fabric of his tux did little to mask his arousal, and Spike was extremely grateful that his Slayer’s presence was hiding the tent in his trousers.
Maybe I should send those prats a fruit basket, he thought, suppressing a whimper as Buffy brushed against his aching manhood.
“Mmm… I think little Spikey likes that idea,” the Slayer whispered against his throat.
“ Little’s got nothin’ to do with it, love. You should know that by now.” Spike lowered his mouth to her ear, delighting in the shudder that coursed down Buffy’s spine. “Mightn’t have been able to see that hot little body of yours, but I could still hear you screamin’ my name when I pounded you into the—”
Buffy silenced him with a kiss. “Whatever you say, exercise boy, but I don’t think Xander’s fully recovered from the shock.”
A careless shrug rolled off the vampire’s shoulders. “I figure we did him a favour. The boy prob’ly learned a trick of two. Consider it our wedding gift.” Shaking his head, Spike forced his mind to the present and glanced over just as Xander attempted to moonwalk across the dance floor. “Bloody hell,” he said, eyes shining as he took in the embarrassing sight, “Harris looks like he’s havin’ a seizure.”
Buffy giggled in response, settling against his chest as the rest of the world faded away. They could have been anywhere—their house, the Bronze, the cemetery—and she wouldn't have known the difference. Here, in the circle of Spike's arms, their bodies moving in unison, and bolstered by the certainty of her feelings, Buffy knew there was no place else she’d rather be.
This was perfection. This was home.
This was forever.
“You ready to call it a night?” she asked, stealing a kiss from his lips.
Spike’s mouth curled into his trademark smirk. “Eager are we?”
“Well, I would like to get out of this dress before my eyes suffer permanent damage.”
Spike gave her cleavage an appreciative once-over. “I reckon I can help with that.”
“I bet you could,” Buffy replied with a matching grin. “Fancy a trip down memory lane?”
“The crypt?” Spike frowned. “Niblet’s stayin’ over with the Wiccas. You don’t have to worry about sullyin’ her delicate sensibilities tonight, lamb.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Victorian Vamp. What? Can’t a girl just embrace the nostalgia? Work with me here.”
Buffy favoured him with a pout, and knowing the battle was lost, Spike dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Anythin’ you want, my love. Anythin’ you want.”
“Does that include driving privileges?”
Spike winced, picturing his hard-won Desoto. “Anythin’ but that.”
The cool air caressed Buffy’s skin as the silken dress puddled around her feet. Her lacy underwear left little to the imagination, and for a brief moment, Spike was rendered speechless at the sight before him. A flirty smile tickled the Slayer’s lips, and with a newfound confidence she stepped out of her stiletto heels and reached for her lover, reeling him in by the belt buckle as his eyes travelled over her body in a slow sweep. His touch never failed to affect her, and Buffy’s breath hitched in her throat as Spike’s hands explored her waist in firm, assured strokes.
Leaning up, she covered his mouth in a hungry kiss, swallowing down his moans and whimpers as she slipped the tuxedo jacket from his shoulders. Nimble fingers made short work of his shirt buttons, and Spike released a husky groan at the sensation of Buffy’s nails scratching over his abdomen. Remembering himself, the vampire broke from his stupor and hauled the Slayer against his chest, plundering her lips as he poured every ounce of his desire into their embrace.
“So sweet.” A heated gasp tore from Buffy’s throat as Spike’s hands travelled to her breasts, cupping and teasing until her nipples were aching peaks beneath the lacy fabric. “Burn me right up, you do. All that heat and passion just simmerin’ away… waitin’ to be unleashed.” With a quick flick of the catch, Buffy’s bra joined her dress on the floor, and a tremor wracked her body as Spike took a rosy bud between his lips, nipping gently at the tender flesh as his thumb continued the delicious torment on its neglected twin. “My hot, fiery goddess. My love. My Slayer.”
“Oh god, Spike!” Buffy threw her head back as his tongue lavished attention on the sensitive skin. “Feels so good. No one—unh—no one’s ever made me feel this way.” An appreciative murmur rumbled against her chest, and the Slayer glanced down to meet his piercing gaze. Ego thoroughly stroked, Buffy twisted her hands through Spike’s hair as she attempted to urge him away. “Mmm… bed—need to.” Panting heavily, she gave his curls a sharp tug as he continued to suckle at her breast. How it was possible for Spike to pout with his lips wrapped around her nipple she’d never know, but with a parting kiss, the vampire relinquished his prize, and Buffy wasted no time in shoving him back on the bed. “Pants off now, mister.”
There was something different about her tonight, and spellbound, Spike revelled in the predatory gleam of his girl’s eyes as she prowled up the mattress. Settling above him, Buffy unbuckled his belt then carefully eased down his zipper. Spike’s erection strained against the thin fabric, and he quickly toed off his shoes and socks as Buffy reached inside and took him in her hand. Duel moans of relief painted the air between them, and the Slayer lifted her weight, allowing Spike to tear his trousers down his legs. There was a reason she’d brought him here—back to their sanctuary, back to the place where it all began. And as Buffy proceeded to stroke his cock in a rhythm guaranteed to make him quiver, Spike couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his girl’s mind.
“That’s it, love. Squeeze me harder, you know how I like it.” Spike’s hips lifted from the bed, thrusting into Buffy’s palm as she brought him closer to the edge. “All that strength in those little hands of yours. Bloody well unmake me you do. Just one touch and I’m done for. So hot, so soft. How can you be so soft?”
His babbled words sent her confidence soaring, and with slow deliberation, Buffy shuffled backwards on the bed. As she marvelled at the almost primal tableau spread out before her, the Slayer could feel the power of who he was—man and demon alike—and it was humbling to think that in these moments of liberation, she literally held all that power in her hands. Leaning forward, Buffy swept her tongue across his swollen head, bathing it with her warm breath, and Spike’s eyes shot open as she teased his shaft with languorous licks and kisses. This was a dance they’d perfected long ago, and within minutes, he was desperately fighting for control.
“Buffy!” he gasped, sweeping back the curtain of hair obscuring his view. “You have to… I’m gonna…” Spike’s hands fell to her shoulders but she shrugged him off, finger nails digging into his thighs as she offered him her unspoken permission.
Eyes fixed on his face, Buffy gave his balls a firm squeeze. “Come for me, Spike.”
She barely had time to wrap her lips around him before he exploded into her mouth. An inhuman roar pierced the air as Buffy swallowed around his length, massaging his cock with her throat muscles until he was spent. Panting for breaths that his dead lungs didn’t need, Spike grasped Buffy by the arms and hauled her up the length of his body. He could taste himself in their kiss, and the combined flavours had him hardening in an instant.
“Gonna wipe that smirk of your face, Summers,” he said, rolling them over and settling between her thighs. His fingers traced along the edge of her thong, delighting at the pooling moisture that greeted him. With one hand supporting his weight, Spike watched the pleasure wash over Buffy’s features as he swept the sodden fabric to the side and thrust two fingers inside her tight channel. No matter how many times they did this, Spike was always in awe of her reaction to his touch. Every time his lethal hands caressed her skin with gentility, every time he unlocked the secrets of her body, he thanked the Powers that this amazing woman had put her trust in him.
“Gotta taste that honey,” he whispered, ridding Buffy of her underwear as he slipped down her body and slid his tongue into her soaked passage. Spike’s eyes closed in bliss as her essence washed over him. If ambrosia was the food of the Gods, then truly he must be in heaven. Ripe with invitation, Spike could happily feast of this banquet for the rest of his days, but apparently Buffy had other ideas, and with a disappointed groan he gave her swollen clit a final lick.
Writhing beneath him, the Slayer arched her neck into the pillow. Her fingers tangled in his hair, traitorous hands uncertain of whether to push him away or pull him closer. “Now, Spike,” she cried, urging him up her body. “I need you now.”
Refusing to give in too easily, the vampire placed butterfly kisses against her stomach as he slowly made his way back to her breasts. In that moment, patience was not a virtue in the Slayer’s possession, and as his cool mouth latched onto her nipple, Buffy locked her knees around Spike’s waist and rolled him onto his back. His hands fell to her hips as she hovered above his straining erection, and as she began the slow decent to paradise, Spike grit his teeth as his body demanded more. Faster, harder, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain; he could never have enough of the little spitfire in his arms.
“That’s it, love. Take me home.” The room filled with a symphony of echoed gasps as they moved together, nevertheless, after several minutes a frustrated growl tore at Spike’s throat as Buffy continued to ride him at a leisurely pace. Each slow, deliberate movement had his demon howling. The exquisite torture of leaving the haven of her body, combined with the subsequent rapture of each return was driving him out of his mind. Spike’s eyelids fluttered as Buffy began to clench around his shaft, and without warning, his hips bucked upwards, wordlessly begging her to increase the pace.
A soft giggle reached his ears, and clarity returned in a rush as Spike noticed the smug look on Buffy’s face. Sitting up on the bed, he banded an arm around her slender waist, holding her up whilst he used his free hand to draw her legs behind him. Face-to-face, Spike stole a quick kiss from Buffy’s lips and lowered her back down onto his cock. The new angle caused a heady moan to spill from her lips, and Spike’s mouth curled into an answering smirk as she whimpered in his lap.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tease a horny vamp, love?”
Breathless in his arms, Buffy was incapable of responding as the familiar quickening of her heart signalled her imminent climax. This was it. Tonight was the night. There would be no going back from this.
“Let me see you,” she whispered, resting her head against his brow. “Let me see all of you.” With a curious head tilt, Spike slipped into his game face, and Buffy smiled as his amber gaze penetrated through to her very soul. “There’s my vampire,” she said, tracing the pronounced ridges with her fingertips.
Fighting against an unmanly purr, Spike chuckled against her throat. “Baby likes daddy’s fangs.”
“Mmm…” Buffy replied, shivering as his raspy tongue laved the column of her neck. “Baby wants daddy’s fangs.”
“Fuck, Buffy!” Spike damn near lost it when she nipped at his earlobe. This girl knew just how to push his buttons, but he wasn’t about to deny her anything—not with the promise of her potent blood in the near future.Panting, his hips resumed their rhythmic thrusts. Each plunge into her body a baptism of fire as she keened and moaned against him. “Do you have any… soddin’… idea what you do to me?” he gasped, smashing his lips against hers. “Shouldn’t be possible. Look at you, all goodness and light, and me… Christ! I’m just a vampire, pet. Don’t know what I bloody did to deserve you but—”
Cupping his face, Buffy forced him to meet her eyes. “You’re not just a vampire,” she said, kissing him with such gentleness that Spike feared his poncey side was about to make an unwelcome appearance. “You’re more than that.” Uncaring of the bumpies, Buffy nuzzled against his cheek, placing soft kisses along the tense muscles of his neck. “You’re my man. My demon.” Her lips found his siring mark, and Buffy sucked at the faded scar until she was certain she’d left a bruise. “You're mine.”
Spike couldn’t contain the growl that tore from his throat as Buffy’s teeth scraped over his sensitised skin. Possessively, his arms wrapped around her waist in an iron grip, and his hips slammed upwards, forcing a moan from her throat. “Playin’ with fire there, kitten,” he whispered, sighing heavily as he fought to rein in his rampaging demon.
“Maybe I wanna get burned.”
Spike’s eyes fell closed as he tried to regain a sense of control. Not an easy task when his entire world felt like it was spinning off its axis. She couldn’t mean that… could she?
“Buffy, I—”
“Spike, I love you. I want you… and that’s never gonna change.” Buffy’s voice wavered as she was overcome by the emotion of the moment. “The First Slayer told me that death is my gift. I thought she meant me… but now…” She paused, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. “It’s you, Spike. You’re my gift. You brought me back to life. Made me whole. You made this life real again, and I don’t want to give you up. Ever.”
Spike swallowed hard, half convinced he was dreaming. “Be sure, love. Be very sure. ‘Cause I'll take you. I’ll make you mine, an’ I will never let you go. You’ll belong to me—”
“We’ll belong to each other.” Buffy refused to back down from his unwavering gaze. She supposed she ought to be offended by his possessive words, but the intense passion burning behind his eyes caused her inner-feminist to shut the hell up and melt into a puddle of slayer-goo. “I’m already yours, Spike. I want you to make it forever.”
For endless seconds he searched her eyes, and Buffy could only watch as his doubts faded away in the face of her certainty. Nodding solemnly, Spike tightened his hold on her waist. A shaky breath fell from his lips as Buffy resumed her gentle rocking, and reaching up, he brushed the hair back from her shoulders, exposing the faded marks on her neck. Hesitant at first, his tongue ran over the puckered scars, sending a jolt of liquid fire racing throughout Buffy’s veins. Reverently, his lips closed over Angel’s bite—determined to erase all traces of his grandsire from his mate’s body—and Buffy mewled as he proceeded to suck the blood closer to the surface of her skin.
“I love you, William.”
“Love you too, kitten. Always.” There was nothing else to be said. No words could ever encompass the magnitude of this moment. Effortlessly, Spike’s fangs pierced the golden chalice of her throat, and the sense of homecoming was all-consuming. Lights burst behind his eyes as his fingers tangled in Buffy’s hair. Tugging her impossibly closer, her powerful essence flowed over his tongue, and groaning loudly, Spike rolled them over on the bed. “Mine,” he said, pulling back and licking the wounds closed. “You’re mine, Buffy.”
“Yes! Oh god, Spike, I'm yours.” Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, and through the fog of desire, Buffy felt Spike’s hand behind her head, urging her towards his neck.
“Sweetheart, I need you to complete the claim. I need you to bite me. Please, Buffy you—”
There was no hesitation. Her blunt teeth latched onto his scar and bit down hard. The coppery liquid filled her mouth, and Buffy took a few tentative sips before pulling back with blood-stained lips. “Mine.”
“Yours,” Spike replied, as his demon roared and the poet fell to his knees. “So fucking yours. Always yours.”
As the words completed the ritual, everything seemed to lock into place. A sense of belonging washed over the two lovers, and their bodies moved together in a passionate frenzy—each sensation coming in waves as the thoughts and emotions ricocheted between them. Time lost all meaning as they clung together helplessly, drowning in a sea of perception. Their echoing cries ringing throughout the crypt like the voices of a choir.
“Oh god,” Buffy whispered, slowly coming back to herself. “I don’t know where I stop and you begin.”
With great effort, Spike raised his head from the pillow and nuzzled against his claim mark—the mark that bound them together—the mark proclaiming their relationship for the world to see. “Makes no difference,” he said, enfolding her in his embrace, “I’m lost in you anyway.” Purring with contentment, Spike pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, and safe in the arms of her lover—her vampire—her mate, Buffy finally felt complete. Their lives would never simple, and the future was far from guaranteed, yet regardless of what lay ahead, the Slayer knew there wasn’t a single obstacle they couldn’t overcome. Together.
Safe in this knowledge, Buffy moulded herself to Spike’s side as she finally surrendered to exhaustion. “Never gonna leave you,” she muttered under her breath, and a lazy smile formed on the vampire’s lips as he held her closer.
“I know,” he replied with absolute certainty. “Because I’ll never let you go.”