They'd wanted to use the same artist to create Buffy's tattoo because she'd been so reasonable about all the sandalwood incense and the chanting. It had taken about two months to get back to Pittsburgh, the leaves were coming into their final, most vivid colors before dropping off. It was unseasonably warm even though it was a few days before Halloween, which meant there were girls in scandalous costumes decorating the bars in Southside. Buffy felt a thrill of pride go through her when a trio of vinyl-clad, naughty nurses pushed past them on Carson Street and Spike didn't even look up at them.
The tattoo parlor was called Veruca Sweet's and it was differentiated from the other buildings in the line by an art-deco style, black, marble facade. Veruca's shop had neon graffiti spray-painted all over the black walls and red floors speckled with gold, like a bowling ball. There were two black, pleather chairs on silver pillars that reminded Spike of the dentist. Those chairs were mounted to the floor in front of poster sized mirrors with beveled edges. If Veruca noticed Spike was not reflected in them, she didn't seem to care. Even though it had been nearly two years since Spike last visited the place, when they walked in, Veruca smiled at him like an old friend.
“Where's your sister, Spike?” Veruca asked.
Spike winced when he heard his name. Buffy was the only person who said it out loud anymore. These days, anyone who came into contact with Spike called him Randy Pratt. The name made him laugh too much for Spike to pass it up when the three of them had been adopting aliases.
Veruca looked at him with sloe-eyed interest. The girl ducked her head so her short, blonde bob covered her face, but it didn't keep Buffy from noticing how she was staring at Spike. Veruca twisted her swollen lips into a smile. Her black tank top was sheer and her red bra showed through. Buffy wondered if that was her fancy, dress-up bra like you'd wear to church or if it was her business casual bra.
“Visiting with a friend. This is my wife, Joan,” Spike
said, wrapping a hand around Buffy's waist and drawing her closer.
Buffy had borrowed the name Joan Pierce from the birth certificate of a little girl who would've been Buffy's age had she survived past her first week of life. That morning Joan and Randy's names had gotten married at the courthouse. Ironically, she and Spike had been grateful for the rainy day, a happy accident that helped keep the groom from combusting. Tara was spending the evening with Charlie and Fred in order to let them have their honeymoon night.
Buffy was still wearing her wedding dress, a strappy, backless, white sun dress made of silk and trimmed with cream lace. It was much less elaborate than the gown she'd imagined as a kid, when she'd staged gala nuptials for her Barbie and Ken dolls. Still, it was so much more than she'd ever dreamed of having after her calling. Buffy leaned into Spike's coolness, thinking of how many times this moment was nearly forfeit, how many times she almost lost him.
“Joan, huh? Do you know what you want?” Veruca asked with a smirk.
“Like mine, with a little twist,” Spike said.
Spike showed Veruca a picture of the design Buffy had chosen; a simple circle representing the sun being held by a crescent moon.
“So you want it on your back?” she asked, giving Buffy a cursory glance.
“That's what we want,” Buffy said, firmly.
“Come on then,” Veruca said.
She led them to an area separated from the rest of the shop with black, velvet curtains. There was a red, pleather table to lie down on beside a cabinet covered in photographs of other tattoos Veruca had done. Beneath the cupboard was a counter laden with her tools. Spike took off his dark navy suit coat and then held it awkwardly for a moment.
“What should I--” he asked.
Veruca stuck out her hand and he gave up his garment, then she hung it on a peg by the cupboard. Buffy watched Spike intently as he started unfastening the buttons on his white shirt, as though it were the first time she was watching him undress. Buffy's heartbeat was increasing and he could smell a change in her scent. He took off the shirt and draped it over the table before he took a few steps toward his wife. Spike touched her arm. Neither noticed that Veruca had taken up Spike's shirt and hung it beside the jacket before she began readying her instruments.
“You nervous, love?”
Her smile was full of caution.
“A little, but I want it, too,” Buffy said.
Veruca didn't look up from the tattoo gun she was preparing.
“Cold feet is common. It's a big commitment,” Veruca said.
“You have no idea,” Buffy said with a shaky laugh.
Spike gave Buffy a quick peck on her closed lips. He stretched out on the table, resting his head on his arm as Veruca approached. Spike felt relieved when Buffy lit the incense and held it over his head then began whispering the spell Tara had taught them. Buffy took his hand when she was finished with the incantation and didn't let go while Veruca traced out shapes on his flesh with the needle. After Veruca had finished the tattoo, Spike, didn't feel any different. He didn't say anything, but he could tell by the vertical line between Buffy's eyebrows that she was also worried that the spell didn't take. Veruca put down the tattoo gun on the scarred, red counter top and opened the cupboard. She removed a tub of salve, a box of gauze and some white, medical tape. The photographs that papered the cupboard door fluttered as it closed with a soft thunk. The sound could barely be heard over the loud music. It was something with a heavy base, but too low and sensual for dancing.
“Who is this, the song, I mean,” Buffy asked as Veruca bandaged Spike's tattoo.
“It's Tricky. I can't believe you've never heard this before it's been out forever,” Veruca said with a laugh.
Spike didn't remember Veruca being that bitchy the first time he'd met her. He did recall that when he and Tara came then, she'd offered to let him look at the tattoo in a little hand mirror. This time, she hadn't and Spike felt a prickle of fear travel up his spine. This smirking girl with her caked-on lipstick seemed to know exactly who and what he was.
When Veruca was done with Spike he slid off the table and it was Buffy's turn to hop up. Spike set his fears aside for a moment as he grabbed his shirt off the peg and twirled it on quickly, not bothering to button it up. Then Spike lit the incense, held his girl's trembling hand and said the series of words designed to keep them together.
Buffy's turn took a lot longer, being that she had to get the whole Huninn and Muninn design inscribed on her skin in addition to the sun and moon. Veruca was able to work without having to loosen Buffy’s dress and for some reason that was incredibly sexy for Spike. After his part of the incantation was complete he kept holding Buffy's hand, watching as his soul was etched onto his wife's body. As soon as Huninn was complete, Buffy and Spike began to feel each other's emotions. The phenomenon only intensified as Veruca continued.
By the time Veruca was finished, Spike and Buffy were both vibrating with the intensity of their joined senses.
“So what do you think?” Veruca asked Spike.
He was feeling all kinds of Buffy nuances for the very first time, like he knew Buffy was irritated by the fact that Veruca was virtually ignoring her. Like her, Spike suddenly wanted a glass of water and craved sesame seeds. He could still feel the buzz of the tattoo needle and knew the sting had turned his girl on. On top of that, he felt her love for him, he knew it like his own heart. The depth of her, the strength of her, engulfed him. She was his Buffy.
Spike touched the tattoo on Buffy's shoulder; as soon as their skin brushed Buffy moaned and Spike gasped.
“So good,” Buffy said, her voice a ragged whisper.
“Um, great, glad you like it,” Veruca said, arching her eye brow to punctuate her sudden discomfort. Veruca turned away from the now intimate couple and grabbed the dressings off the counter. She was about to cover Buffy’s ink-work with a white bandage when Spike spoke.
“Let me do it,” he said, roughly, and took the medical supplies out of the young woman’s hands.
Spike couldn’t stand the thought of anyone touching Buffy there. Buffy looked back at him with an expression of complete understanding and gratitude. She didn't want to share their bond with just anyone, either.
“Whatever,” Veruca said with a genuinely epic eye roll.
Another customer came through the door, and Veruca left to talk to the guy, making sure to leave the heavy curtain open.
Spike set the bandages, tape and salve down on the counter. He knew that he should just get Buffy bandaged and ready to go, but the sight of her like that was too much to resist. He leaned in close to Buffy, placing an open palm on her back to steady himself, and blew over the fresh design. Buffy reacted like he'd just slid his fingers inside her; although she tried to control herself, Buffy couldn't suppress a wiggle. Spike dragged the tip of his tongue around the circle, grazing her skin with the short stubble of his chin. Then Spike kissed along the thick, black scroll-work. He could feel what she felt, and it acted to amplify their ecstasy, like two mirrors placed in front of one another reflecting infinitely.
Her hand flew to his head, pulling him closer by a fistful of silver hair.
“Oh, not here, please,” she said. Her breathing was shivery and her voice was low.
“That's a good way to get an infection,” Veruca said loudly from the other room. Spike stood up and closed the curtain with an angry yank. He bent over his wife and gave Buffy's sensitized skin another long lick, making them both shake.
“You're being really bad,” Buffy said, trying to keep her voice down so no one else would hear. Buffy could feel what he wanted or maybe it was what she wanted. It was getting hard to tell.
“You fucking love it, can't pretend you don't, Joanie,” Spike said.
Buffy laughed at that.
“You're right, I do. And it's so tempting because I know how quiet you can be, and I'm kind of hating on that girl for being so rotten to me,” Buffy said with a wide smile.
Spike brought his lips to Buffy's ear.
“You know what would really piss her off, if Randy and Joan consummated their marriage right here.”
Buffy turned her face toward his soft, urgent voice. She kissed him, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, then gently biting his lower lip. They looked into each other's eyes. Part of her wanted to wait until they could explore all their new feelings in private; part of her didn't think she could stand another second of feeling so incomplete.
“I can be quiet, too,” she said.
There was a conspiratorial glint in her impish, green eyes.
Spike smirked at her and then opened his mouth as he leaned in for another kiss. This time their tongues were pumping against each other violently. Spike felt like she was trying to pour her breath into his chest, make him real again. The way she was moving, Spike almost believed she could. He started to crawl on top of her, but Buffy grabbed him by the hair and stopped him. Spike loved it when she did that, when she wrenched his face to meet hers. It made him feel so...hers.
“I'll stand, it'll be less crazy, I think,” she said, peppering his face with kisses as she spoke.
“I love it when you bend over for me,” he said.
His eyelashes fluttered when he spoke and his nostrils did that flare thing that drove Buffy crazy. Her mouth started to water and she let out a little moan. Buffy dragged her tongue against his neck and then bit into the crook. She touched his chest, sliding her hands under his open shirt. No matter how many times she felt the contours of his body it never lost any of its thrill; Spike was a comfortable mystery. Buffy pulled him close and her mouth moved down the path of exposed skin. She licked his flat nipple until it rose to her tongue, then bit just hard enough to feel him jump.
Spike knew that against her better judgment, Buffy was trying to make him scream. Spike grabbed her shoulders and made her look into his eyes.
“Now,” he said. Normally he liked to let Buffy play boss, but today wasn't normal. She was excited by the role reversal.
Buffy eagerly slid off the plastic surface that had gotten warm from her body heat and put her white high heels on the floor. Spike stood behind her and took hold of the lace at the bottom of her skirt. He pulled the fabric up until her ass was uncovered, bunching the material up around her waist until it was held by the swell of her hips. Buffy was wearing a tiny, baby blue thong that disappeared into her cleft. Spike regarded her lower half for a moment; her roundness and the way her legs tapered, were all classically beautiful, especially framed with the folds of white silk. At the same time it was so, so filthy to see her angling her ass up in the air for him. He'd never wanted her, or anything, more in his life.
Spike dropped to his knees and grabbed each half of her ass, the mounds pressing into the palm of his hand. He kneaded them as he buried his face in between her slightly parted legs. He pushed aside her underwear with his thumb and stuck his long tongue inside her. Buffy had never experienced anything like it before; the pleasure was great but the longing was new, his longing for her. She leaned back against him, driving his tongue deeper. He slid the tip in and out then tasted her clit; her legs quivered.
Spike didn't want to make her cum because he knew he would finish with her instantaneously. Cumming in his pants would make for a damp, humiliating car ride back to the hotel. He pulled away from Buffy and she whimpered softly, shimmying back toward him. Spike pressed her hips firmly against the table. The pressure against her stomach filled her with a sense of intense anticipation. Buffy felt his body rubbing against hers as Spike stood up. She could hear his zipper and then felt the smooth head of his cock against the mouth of her vagina. Buffy's arms were across the table. As he slid inside, she gripped it for support, to keep from spilling into a heap on the floor.
For the first time in her life she understood what it felt like to glide into tight, wet heat. For the first time in his life Spike understood what it felt like to be filled completely, a pleasure that was so close to pain. He started to move, listening to Buffy's manic heartbeat, her fast breath. He stared down at her crown of blonde hair and then suddenly stopped.
“Face me, baby, I need to see your eyes,” he said.
Buffy twisted her head to look over her shoulder at him. Spike nearly came just seeing her face beside the tattoo. She understood; she needed it too. To be close. Spike pulled out of her slowly, then helped her to sit on the table with her legs open and dangling over the side. Soon both her arms and legs were wrapped around Spike's body. They stared into each other's eyes before Spike pushed his cock inside her and resumed his rhythm. After four thrusts they came simultaneously and then rode out the warm pulses of pleasure together. They were bound so tightly that they looked to all the world like one creature, and in that instant, they nearly were.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
“That wasn't like anything I've ever felt before.”
“Me too. You make me feel--”
“Whole.”
“I'd die without you.”
“For real this time.”
Spike took off Buffy's damp panties and stuffed them in his back pocket. He grabbed some paper towels off a dispenser on the wall and pressed them against her pussy to clean her up. Buffy held the hem of her wedding dress up with dainty fingers, looking over it to watch him dry her with reverent strokes.
“I left a puddle of drool on the table,” Buffy said with embarrassment.
“So I made you lose muscle control, yeah?” Spike asked, his face breaking into a smile.
“A little bit,” Buffy said with a giggle.
When Spike was certain the thin fabric of her skirt wouldn't be soaked through, Spike threw the paper towels away and took Buffy's hand, helping her down to the floor. They hugged each other tightly.
“Were we loud?” Buffy asked, as they separated.
Spike snatched his jacket from where it hung and slung it over his shoulder. They stepped from behind the curtain hand in hand to see that everyone in the shop was staring.
“I'd say yeah,” Spike said.
**
After a shamefaced conversation at the cash register, they'd paid and left. Actually, only Buffy was shamefaced; Spike was quite proud. They'd ridden back to the hotel and as they were driving over the Hot Metal Bridge, Buffy looked at the black water beneath that glittered with the lights of the reflected city. It was the perfect backdrop for her dreamy afterglow. They'd walked back inside the lobby and up to their room with heavy, sated limbs, as though they were moving through very warm water. Once they were back in the hotel room, while Spike hovered by the door, carefully removing his jacket, Buffy kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed, ready for sleep. She pulled her dress off over her head and then tossed it over the mattress before she crawled underneath the fluffy, white down comforter. They'd chosen the best place they could afford, so it was lovely, but kind of small. The room opened directly into the bedroom and there was a tiny bathroom with a stand up shower attached, no tub. The place was done up in creamy beiges and light-colored furniture that matched Buffy's dress, which was lying in a shimmery pile on the floor.
There was a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket on a night stand by the bed, along with two, lithe flutes and a dish of chocolate-covered strawberries. The treats were included in the price of the room because they'd sprung for the “Romance” package. She giggled when she noticed the amenities and grabbed the candy-coated fruit. Dinner had been about four hours ago and she hadn't eaten much, so Buffy devoured five of the strawberries without pause. When she realized what she'd done, Buffy got embarrassed thinking that maybe Spike had intended them for some weird, sexy foreplay thing and she'd just wolfed them down like a handful of potato chips. Buffy's blush deepened when she realized Spike was watching her. He'd undressed and was standing naked, his back against the wall.
“I'm sorry, I should have offered you one,” she said.
“What?” Spike asked.
“The chocolatey strawberries I just decimated,” Buffy said.
“Vampire, love, not necessary,” Spike said.
“But I know you like chocolate, and there's one left,” she said, holding out the plate for him.
Suddenly, she could feel his agitation dragging her under like a wave, and she stopped. Spike was so angry, but mostly because he was afraid and Buffy didn't understand what she'd done to bring on this change in him. Buffy set the plate down without another word and rolled over, pulling the comforter around her shoulders. Tara said most of Spike's emotions had an edge of anger to them, his rage was something he always had to control. When he had difficulty expressing himself, when he was worried, it always manifested itself in anger. When he got like that, Tara said it was best to draw him out and ask what was wrong, but Buffy was too hurt to speak. She couldn't help wondering if he was regretting their union already and just didn't know how to say.
Spike pushed himself off the wall and went to Buffy's side. He knelt before her and touched her shoulder.
“I don't regret it, love, I just...there's something I need,” Spike said, gently. She could feel his anxiety.
“There's blood in the mini-fridge,” she said.
“Not that, well, yeah, that, but something else.”
“Eat first, then tell me. You get all cranky with the blood lust when you don't,” Buffy said.
Spike laughed and she smiled at him, feeling his tension loosen, slightly. He went to the fridge and took out a bag of cow's blood. Spike bit into the plastic and sucked hungrily until the bag withered into emptiness. He made these satisfied moans as he drank that drove Buffy crazy. God, he makes more noise when he's going to town on that thing than he does when he's with me, Buffy thought. And just like that, Buffy wanted him again, despite her exhaustion, his dark mood and the fact that she'd just had an orgasm less than an hour before. Despite everything she wanted him again; she always wanted him.
Spike ducked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. She thought that was sweet, even though she'd gotten used to the taste of blood. It was still disgusting and yet the flavor was so much a part of him that it had become a sexual cue for Buffy. As he spat red foam in the sink and looked up at the empty mirror, Buffy felt his pang of self-loathing.
“I love you,” she said.
She sat up in bed, letting the blankets fall away from her bare chest. Spike stuck his head out of the door. The expression in his eyes was soft.
“I love you, too,” he said.
“Come to bed,” she said, holding out her arms for him.
He went to her then, unable to resist. Spike gave Buffy a chilly, mint kiss that kept going until it got hot. He stroked her tattoo and with each pass she pressed their bodies tighter together.
“Want to feel yours, too,” Buffy whispered.
Her fingers scrambled to the bandages and ripped them away. When she touched the design he moaned, loudly. He'd never been so demonstrative before; hearing him almost made Buffy cum without being touched.
“Let me lick it,” she said.
She was strong enough to flip him over and knew him well enough to believe he'd love it if she did, but Buffy wanted him to let her. She wanted to hear him say it.
“Wait,” Spike said, putting his hands on her shoulders and resting his forehead against hers.
Buffy stopped touching his tattoo.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly, then, her voice took on an edge “what?”
“I need--”
“I know what you need, let me give it to you,” she said.
“No, you don't,” Spike said.
Buffy pushed him away, more forcefully than she'd intended, sending him to the very edge of the bed. He caught himself before he fell over, but he still felt foolish. Buffy rolled onto her back and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes to keep from crying. Spike was lying next to her, looking at the ceiling. She could feel his frustration; he could feel hers. His first reaction was to punch a hole through the wall but he suppressed it and tried to compose his thoughts. It was difficult being that he was bombarded with Buffy and to a limited extent, Tara. Spike and Tara had become adept at blocking each other's emotions when necessary. The only feeling from Tara that Spike got was a sense of warmth and excitement.
At that moment, Tara was playing a drinking game with Charlie and Fred. Fred was losing and was down to her bra and panties. The three were in for a fun evening that they would never recount to Buffy or Spike.
Buffy let her arms fall to her sides and opened her eyes.
“Just say it, Spike,” Buffy said.
“I need to...I know you hate it, love, but I was hoping we could play with the stake again and that you could use the real handcuffs,” Spike said.
“Spike...please, it's too much,” Buffy said. She'd been wishing that he wouldn't ask her this, even though she was almost certain it was what he wanted.
“Maybe not now, if you can understand how it makes me feel. This isn't a kink or even a fetish, love. It's more,” he said.
Buffy sighed and she felt a heaviness settle over her. The real handcuffs were the magical pair Wesley had slapped on Spike the night he'd killed himself, the night Buffy died. She and Tara had gotten halfway down the street before Buffy had recognized that Spike wasn't trapped in normal restraints. They'd driven back and Buffy had been the one to run into the house in search of the keys. She'd found them in the pocket of Wesley's leather coat. It had been horrible to revisit the site of her violation, to know Wesley's corpse was just around the bend and that a team of Council could be barging in any moment to kill her.
The fact that Spike wanted to use that object in their marriage bed made her more than a little sick. He knew it, too, felt it, and she couldn't imagine an urge strong enough to make him put aside all that to ask. She couldn't imagine it even though Buffy had a direct line into Spike's emotions.
The stake thing, too, had nearly brought Buffy to tears the last time she'd tried to do it for him. He wanted her to drag the tip across his skin while they were making love. Buffy had given it her all, but after a few seconds she had to drop the implement and leave the room. Buffy had thrown on some clothes and went outside into the bright, afternoon sunlight so that she wouldn't have to talk to Spike until she'd calmed down. She had walked until it was dark outside and even then, she hadn't come home until Spike found her, dusting vamps in a cemetery. When Buffy saw him she'd held up her weapon and said, “You see, this is what stakes are for,” before she plunged it into the heart of a vampire that was coming at her. Then he'd promised not to pressure her anymore.
Buffy couldn't believe he'd gone back on his word.
“Please, love, I don't want you to wear them, but just try again. If you can't stand it this will be the last time I ask,” Spike said.
“You said that before.”
“It's different now, isn't it? I want you to understand me, all of me,” he said.
“I'm not using...those...things. You don't know what that man, the way he touched me, Spike. I can't think of that when I'm with you. I can't,” Buffy said.
Spike repositioned onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. He touched her stomach and Buffy turned her head, looking into his blue eyes.
“I'm sorry, I didn't think,” Spike said.
His fingers drifted up to her ribs and followed each one, up and down.
“I wish you could tell me why you want this,” she whispered
Spike sighed and ran his index finger in a circle around her breast.
“You're a slayer and I'm a vampire, just like you're a woman and I'm a man. It's like archetypes, it's something older, elemental,” Spike said.
“If you bust out Karl Jung, I'm done,” Buffy said.
Spike chuckled and then dropped a kiss on her shoulder. He nuzzled her skin with his nose and then planted another kiss before his eyes flitted up to hers.
“Just the stake, then,” Spike said.
Buffy couldn't look at his eyes just then. They had her too close to giving in. She turned her head away and felt his cool lips planting solicitous kisses across her chest. Spike's mouth was inching toward her breasts and her nipples kept getting tighter with expectation. When he finally started sucking on the puckered flesh she whimpered. He bit her with his blunt, perfect teeth and then her hands were grabbing fistfuls of his hair. She guided his head to the other breast and pulled his hair tauter with each lap of his tongue.
“We can try the stake, but I can't promise I won't freak,” she said, writhing beneath him.
He smiled and she felt his mouth move against her skin.
“I love you,” he said.
Spike looked up at her face with a grin.
“I know, that's why I'm going to do this. That's the only reason.”
Buffy bent down to reach his mouth and began exploring it with her tongue. She broke away feeling drugged. Spike stopped pinning her and she stood on unstable legs. When she regained her sense of balance, Buffy went to find what she needed in their luggage. Spike eagerly scooted into the middle of the bed, arranging a pillow under his head. Buffy returned with a smooth, wooden stake and a pair of handcuffs that they used for fun. They were leather cuffs lined with fur and connected by a long, silver chain that Spike could rip like a piece of paper. It wasn't what he wanted, but marriage was about compromise, Spike thought.
Buffy leaned over his body, sliding against his cool skin as she fastened his wrists. Spike caught Buffy's eyes, her lips were teasingly close to his.
“If you want to stop--”
“Don't talk.”
Spike loved it when she ordered him about that way, when she took control. He realized now it wasn't natural for her to play that part; Buffy liked to be swept up and seduced. The whole reason she'd been so cold when they first met was more a matter of protection. Still, she knew how much he got off on her domination and Buffy took pleasure in making him happy. Spike knew this was all for him; his wedding gift. Before the night was through he planned to return her generosity tenfold.
She kissed him, tongue plunging deep into his mouth, making him gasp even though he didn't need to breathe. When she pulled away, Spike rose off the bed slightly to recapture her lips, straining his long neck toward Buffy. She pushed him flush against the mattress, her hand on his throat.
“Don't move,” she said.
Buffy was straddling his waist. She twisted, still holding his neck with one hand as she reached back to rub his cock with the other. Spike's hips bucked to meet her strokes and he started to pant, his mouth falling open. She squeezed his throat.
“Hold still,” she said.
She let go of his cock and then moved down his body until they were lined up. Buffy sank down onto his hard length. Though she didn't loosen her grip on his neck, she let Spike lift his head up to watch her body engulfing his. When he was fully seated inside her, Buffy lifted the stake. His eyes widened for an instant as Buffy rested the point against his heart. When weapon met flesh, Buffy's eyes rolled back into her head and she started to rock convulsively on top of Spike.
She was drowning in him.
Buffy could feel how powerful she was to Spike, how that incredible strength intoxicated him. She was death and life, holding him in the palm of her hand like a goddess. The part of Spike that was still a man admired her, desired her and loved her. What was shocking to Buffy, what made her understand why Spike needed her to tease him with the stake was the way the vampire part of his identity reacted. Spike's demon rolled over like a puppy and showed its soft belly to the slayer. It begged for her mercy even as it longed to be destroyed by her. His demon side loved her just as much as his human half.
A pearl of blood was forming at the tip of the stake as it dug into Spike's skin. When she saw it, Buffy threw the weapon, heedless of where it landed. She dipped her head down and licked the red drop away. As his blood touched her tongue, they both howled in spontaneous, violent release.
“I understand,” she whispered, “Oh, God, I understand.”
Buffy collapsed on top of her husband, her body slippery with sweat and Spike enfolded her in his arms.
"I love you."
"I love you."
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Chapter End Notes:
The tattoo parlor is not real, but the Southside neighborhood and The Hot Metal Bridge are. This chapter took inspiration from the Verity Watson, story "Looking for William Pratt." Joan and Randy were the names Spike and Buffy thought were theirs in "Tabula Rasa."