“Honestly, Xander. I don’t know why you’re so surprised. A blind Fyarl demon could see the sexual tension between those two.” Anya stood behind the cash register, fastidiously counting the morning’s takings, amazed that her fiancé could be so oblivious. She’d always known that Spike and the Slayer would eventually quit their ill-disguised flirting and enjoy the mutual orgasms they both badly needed. “I’m amazed it didn’t happen sooner,” she said. “It was rather obvious.”
The troubled expression on Xander’s face suggested otherwise, and he was immediately grateful that the shop was free of customers. This wasn’t a conversation the scoobie wanted to have in front of an audience... or at all.
“Sexual...” The words refused to pass the lump in Xander’s throat, and swallowing hard, he tried again. “No. There is no tension of any kind, and especially not... This is a thrall, or a spell or...”
His voice faded away upon noticing Anya’s sceptical expression.
“Xander, you seem very interested in Spike and Buffy’s sexual activities. Why do you care so much? The only orgasms you should be concerned with are the ones that are your duty to provide me. Your fiancé.” Nodding decisively, Anya closed the cash drawer, picked up a misplaced Orb of Thesulah, and promptly returned it to the shelf. “Which, I’m pleased to say, you do to a most satisfactory standard.”
Xander stood dumbstruck for several seconds, mouth gaping, as he watched her go about her business like any other day. “This isn’t about Buffy’s orgasms!” His voice rose in conjunction with his growing frustration. “This is about Spike.”
“Oh… I see,” Anya said, frowning thoughtfully for several seconds. “Well, Xander there’s no need for you to be jealous. Spike is certainly good looking, so I can see the attraction. I’m sure you could work something out.”
“What are you—”
“I must say it’s been a few centuries since I had a threesome with a vampire,” Anya continued excitedly, completely unaware of Xander’s extreme bewilderment. “I didn’t know men were your thing, but I bet if you asked Spike nicely—”
“Anya, please!” Xander added that particular mental image to the growing list of ones he wished he didn’t have. The wide-eyed look of horror on his face was almost comical, and shuddering, he met her gaze with pleading eyes. “I’m begging you not to finish that sentence. I don’t—I’m not—that isn’t what this is about!”
Anya sighed, her patience having run out. “Then what is it, Xander?” she asked. “What is so important that you’re here with me, instead of out earning money to pay for the bridesmaid’s dresses? Raxlorian silk doesn’t come cheap you know?”
“He’s a vampire!” Xander said, staring at her as if that one word should be enough.
“And?”
“And, we have to do something.”
“Like what?” Anya decided it was a good thing that men had pleasingly shaped parts, because apart from that distinct advantage, they were generally hopeless. “Do you really want to tell a slayer that she’s incapable of making her own decisions?” she asked, shaking her head. “Because personally I’d prefer it if you kept your manly bits intact. I don’t want you covered in purple bruises for our wedding photos.”
Xander scowled. “This is wrong.”
“Why?”
Why? Wasn’t it obvious? Leaning back against the counter, Xander returned her scrutiny. “How can you even ask me that? Spike’s an evil bloodsucker. He’s killed thousands of people... he’s tried to kill us!”
Anya arched a brow. “Like me?”
“No,” Xander rushed to explain. “Spike is nothing like you. You don't kill people... a-anymore.”
And the award for lamest comeback goes to...
Anya doubted she would ever get to grips with human logic. “But neither does Spike,” she replied. “He’s fangless now, remember?”
“The only reason that Spike isn’t killing is because of that chip in his head. He’s a demon. He’ll never change.”
Anya hid her wince at his cutting words. “I did,” she whispered.
“That’s different,” Xander replied, missing the hurt tone in her voice. “You have a soul. You’re good now. I don’t know why Buffy didn’t just stake him years ago.”
Anya had her theories, but Xander was in no mood to listen. She watched as he crossed to the research table and sat down, dejectedly holding his head in his hands.
“At least Angel had a soul,” he said. “It didn’t make it right, but it was something.”
“Yeah,” Anya replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because that worked out well for all involved.”
Xander’s head shot up, and he fixed her with a tired stare. “That's not the point.”
Sighing, Anya crossed the room, and gave his shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Then what is?” She ran her fingers through his hair before placing a kiss on the top of his head. “This is Buffy’s life, and Buffy’s decision. You can’t tell her what to do.”
The sound of a bell echoed throughout the shop heralding the arrival of a customer, and Anya pasted her best retail smile on her face before leaning down to his ear. “Personally, I think a happy slayer is a productive slayer,” she said, “and with Spike’s vampire stamina, I guarantee that Buffy will be very, very happy.”
With those parting words of wisdom, Anya returned to cataloguing a new shipment of Parloric dream charms, leaving Xander to his thoughts. He was still no closer to finding answers, and his fiancé’s words had left him more confused than ever. The brief phone call to Angel had been less than helpful. He hadn’t even had the chance to ask about a thrall. All it took was the mention of this morning’s kiss and the brunette vampire had lost all sense of reason.
“Damn it.” Xander glanced at his watch and realised just how late for work he was. He wasn’t going to achieve anything by sitting here. With a deep sigh, he rose from the chair and headed for the back room to give Anya a parting kiss. He resolved to hit the books later that night, and if that failed, he’d try to contact Giles in England. Xander hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to a spell. He was already feeling nervous about Willow’s casual attitude towards witchcraft, and Buffy’s words had struck a chord within.
Maybe she is getting out of control, he thought. She was pretty quick to jump to the magic solution after all.
Xander frowned as a twinge of disloyalty stopped him in his tracks. Willow was his best friend and had been since the Barbie stealing days of kindergarten. They’d been through a lot together, but maybe... Maybe Buffy had a point.
She has sacrificed more than anybody. Of course she deserves to be happy. And if Spike makes her happy then—no! Xander shook his head, derailing that uncomfortable thought before it reached fruition. This is Spike. Something is wrong with Buffy, and we have to fix it.
Buffy stood before the imposing granite entrance to Spike’s crypt, fists clenched, unsure of what her next move should be. She’d never knocked before. Would he consider it strange if she did now? Come to think of it, would he think her clingy for turning up unannounced so soon after they’d said goodbye.
Oh, please! This is Spike, thought Buffy. The vamp who redefined stalkerdom. He’s not going to mind me being here.
Raising her hand, she rapped firmly on the door and called out his name. Several seconds passed with no response from the other side, and Buffy felt foolish when she realised she was inexplicably holding her breath. Shaking her head, she pushed it open and cringed as the loud scrape of the solid stone slab filled the chamber. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the obscure light, Buffy saw that the upper level was deserted. Closing the door behind her, she carefully made her way across the room, located the hatch, and slowly descended the ladder to the bedroom below.
Buffy’s breath caught in her throat as she moved to the foot of the bed, openly admiring the sight that greeted her. She’d expected Spike to be asleep. What she hadn’t expected was the display of pale chest and washboard abs that normally hid beneath a layer of cotton.
Well what did you think he’d be wearing? her inner voice piped up. Flannel pyjamas and carpet slippers? She should have known Spike wasn’t a ‘yummy sushi’ kind of guy.
Instead, her vampire lay surrounded by black silk, one hand resting on his bare stomach, the other draped behind his head. A rumpled sheet was tangled around his legs, covering him from the waist down. Buffy stood transfixed, taking in the inherent beauty of the man before her. Smiling softly, she shrugged out of the leather duster and hung it over a rung of the ladder for safe keeping. Her eyes travelled possessively over his body as a single word resonated in her head.
Mine.
An ornate candelabrum sat on a side table, its flickering candles illuminating Spike’s features, whilst simultaneously casting shadows over the plains of his upper body. She stepped closer, eager to see his face in this unguarded moment. He looked so young and innocent in sleep—stripped of his leather and attitude—that Buffy couldn’t help reaching out to ghost a finger across his cheek. An unintelligent murmur filled the air between them, along with something that could have been her name. Exhaling softly, a smile dancing on his lips, Spike rolled to his side and nuzzled his face in the pillow.
His platinum curls stood out in stark contrast to the bedding, and Buffy realised he must be deeply asleep not to react to her presence. Neither of them had gotten much rest lately, and even if Spike was technically a creature of the night, the emotional upheaval had taken a toll on them both. Buffy had intended to take a nap after her bath, however, her mind was buzzing too much to sleep, and a constant replay of cool hands and dark promises did little to induce a state of calm.
Time stopped as Buffy crouched beside the bed and studied the sleeping vampire’s face. She was certain she hadn’t slept that peacefully since her return. Night after night, vivid, suffocating nightmares jerked her from her slumber, and it had gotten to the point where she was afraid to sleep for fear of reliving the horror of waking up in her grave. There was some consolation to be found in the serenity that softened Spike’s features. As a vampire he understood what it was like to fight and crawl your way out of a coffin, and if Spike was able to gain some measure of tranquillity in his dreams, then maybe there was hope for her too.
A lengthy yawn pulled the Slayer from her musings, and seeing no reason to resist, she eased herself onto the bed beside him. Immediately, Spike shifted in his sleep, wrapping an arm around Buffy’s waist, and pulled her back against his naked chest.
Huh, Spike’s a cuddler, she thought, as he buried his face in her hair, instinctively trying to get closer. A girl could get used to this.
Buffy smiled as she realised she already was. One night of sleeping in Spike’s arms and it already felt so natural that she wondered how she’d ever managed without it. A feeling of contentment settled throughout her being, and within moments, her eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered to the tempting lure of sleep.
“Mine…” Spike’s half-coherent murmur belied his waking, and a gratified sigh fell from Buffy’s lips as she whispered her response in the comforting silence of the crypt.
“Yours.”
[Reviews - 82]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 4582 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a short chapter this week, then things are going to pick up :)
Chapter End Notes:
A/N Well, considering I don’t like late series Xander all that much, I can’t seem to stop feeling bad for the guy! He has a lot of old issues that need to be resolved, but if he takes the time to think about things, he can change for the better. Willow on the other hand…