Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  A smattering of dialogue was taken from the episodes Touched and The Gift.

Much thanks to Obscurebookwyrm for helping make this readable.  She’s a great beta!  All flaws are my little tweaks.

Thank you for all your support!  Happy Reading!

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Fourteen

He watched her from his knees as she smoothed strands of his hair between her fingers.  The amount of regret reflected on her beautiful face, broke his heart in half.  The cold resolve replacing it, shattered it fully. 

Spike knew in that moment he loved this woman, but she would never love him in return.  Not in the way he desired it.  The ridiculousness of it struck him.  The Big Bad Vampire, always the lover and never the loved.  He admired her inner core of strength as much as he resented it.  Her priority was her family’s safety, their child’s safety, and an intrinsic part of that was never forgetting his nature.  Even as he loved her, loved their child, he would forever remain their enemy.  In her mind, letting her guard down with him could possibly lead to the greatest tragedy of her life; the death of their child.  She was only doing what she thought to be right.  He could only hope that time would tell.  If she saw his loyalty time and time again, perhaps he would be able to break through the protective barriers she wove around herself.

She wasn’t wrong.  The craving for blood was a fire in his veins he struggled against every second of every day.  He surrounded himself with demons because humans caused him nothing but torment.  He could hear their blood rushing through their veins, their hearts an excited staccato in their chests, and he dreamed of ripping into their necks and letting the rich elixir cascade down his throat until he succumbed to the erotic ecstasy of it.  What she didn’t know was how much the idea of hurting her disgusted him.  What she didn’t understand was how much he was willing to endure to stay in his child’s life.  To keep his family intact he would withstand the cries of his desiccated cells that screamed for the life that could only truly be satisfied by human blood and not the animal rot he subsisted on.  None of it mattered.  Only family mattered.

She sat stiffly, her lips drawn tight, her brow creased as she waited for him to reject her conditional affection.  He could tell she expected it.  For all her flaws, Buffy was not a stupid girl, nor was she as emotionally stunted as she liked to pretend.  She knew what she was asking of him was cruel.  Love me, but don’t make me love you back, she pleaded.  She thought it too much to ask of any man, to accept her as the flawed individual she was, to love her unconditionally, even while she set limits.

It showed how little she knew him.  How much she had yet to learn about him.  Spike didn’t abandon cruel mistresses.  He worshiped them.  He cared for them.  He loved them, flaws and all.  And while Buffy had some doozies for flaws, she also had uncontestably admirable traits.  She was strong, brave and loyal.  When she loved, she did so with all her heart.  She loved openly, earnestly and with eager innocence that had all but ruined her heart.  A ruined heart which could only be taught to love again through patience, understanding, and unswerving loyalty.

“I see you, Buffy,” he told her sincerely.  “I see how you try to be the perfect woman.  The perfect daughter for your mother, the perfect friend for Red and the Whelp, the perfect Slayer for your Watcher.  I see how you strain beneath the burden of being the Chosen One, and how you still manage it all while being damn sexy.”  He leered and she rolled her eyes.  The moment was fleeting and his face was drawn into seriousness again.

“I see how you deny and torture yourself, until you drown in doubt.  Then I see you resurface with new determination founded in unimaginable strength.  I’m not talkin’ physical strength, though you’ve got that in spades.  I’m talkin’ emotional and mental fortitude.  You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.  I know what lengths you’ll go through to protect the ones you love.  The ones who’ve earned your loyalty and respect, and I know I’m not one of those people, yet.  I’ve hurt you and yours too many times.  All I can do is promise you ‘never again’, and then prove it to you over and over until you believe.  You’re a helluva woman, Buffy Summers.  Our little girl is lucky to have you as her mum and I’m grateful to be in your life any way you’ll have me.”

Her fingers stilled in his hair, her eyes widened with shock.  Her surety he would reject her was written all over her face.  Her bold demands were too selfish for most to agree to.  They both knew it.  She expected him to tell her how wrong she was, call her a bitch, and then throw her out.  What she didn’t expect was his perceptiveness.  His compliments.  It occurred to him then, that no one complemented her much.  Sure, her Watcher might praise the skillfulness of her punches, but it would be quickly followed up by a critique of the power of her kicks.  Her friends told her thanks for being the Supergirl who saved the day, while their eyes covertly asked why she hadn’t saved everybody.  Her mother would smooth her hair and tell her what a beautiful girl she was, but the action hid a scream of pain, begging Buffy to just be normal.  No one ever told her she was wonderful without first qualifying it by telling her to be something better.

Even he wanted something from her she couldn’t give.  He wanted her to be more than a lover; he wanted her to be a beloved.  To return his affections with intensity equal to his own, even if she didn’t feel the same love he did.  He wanted her to crack into yet another facet of her multifaceted life where she was daughter, student, slayer, friend, and soon-to-be mother.  How many more pieces could she splinter into before she lost herself entirely?  He decided right then to never ask for more, but only accept what she could give.

Her face was soft as she looked down at him.  For all her protests, for all her denials, he could see she genuinely felt something for him.  She just didn’t want to admit it.  Or maybe, she couldn’t.  Her heart was still too damaged.

“And she’s lucky to have you as a father, because I have faith, despite what others may say, that you will love and protect her until your last.”

There was a thud in his chest.  It couldn’t be his heart, but it sure felt like it.  At the very least, regardless of everything else that lay between them like an open wound, this was something he could rest easy on.  She believed in his love for their child.  It may be in complete divergence from her obstinate creed that demons couldn’t love, but she believed it nonetheless.

His hands traveled up her arms, until his palms cupped her shoulders.  “To the end of the world, luv.  And she’s not the only one.”

Buffy’s heart swelled.  She tried to tell herself it was romantic nonsense.  That Spike couldn’t guarantee his love for her like he could their daughter, but the sincerity of his gaze dared her to call him a liar, and she couldn’t.  There was something so elemental in her response to him.  In her need.

It was terrifying.  The last time she was emotionally needy for a man, he ripped her world apart.  When most young girls lose their first loves, there are tears and copious amounts of ice cream to be eaten.  Some break-ups admittedly were worse than others, but mayhem and murder typically weren’t part of the equation.  Her affair with Angel not only robbed her of the beauty of a first love, but the healthy experience of a break-up to normalize her attitude towards relationships in general.  Instead, she got a Shakespearean romantic tragedy and a Tarantino slaughterhouse all in one.

It was something she could never experience again.  She didn’t have the strength Spike claimed she did.  It would break her.

“Were you brooding when I walked in because you knew Angel was in town?” she teased with hidden maliciousness.  She knew he hated to be compared to his grandsire.

“I don’t brood.”

“Hmm, dark room.  Whiskey.  Pouty lip.  Seemed like brooding to me.”

His ice blue eyes glittered from beneath his down swept lashes.  She didn’t fool him.  His speech had cracked her heart, and now she was trying to push him away before he could weasel his way in.

He slid his hands down, his palms sweeping over the satiny skin of her arms, until they landed on her hips.  He twined his forefingers into the belt loops of her jeans, so she couldn’t struggle away.  He rose from his haunches until he was fully on his knees and looked her in the eye.

“You’re a wicked woman, Buffy Summers,” he purred silkily.  He felt the shivers arc through her body as he spoke.  She could deny it all she wanted, but she was attracted to him, never more so than when he was at his most insidiously seductive.  “You want to beat me down to the floor and see if I’ll stay there.”  Her eyes widened, and he felt himself fall forward into pools of cool green.  “What you don’t know is that I don’t mind being on my knees for a woman.  I’m strong enough for it.  Besides, it puts my mouth level with the most interestin’ places.”

“Spike!” A dusky blush spread over her cheeks, and he could feel the heat of it through the silk blouse covering her breasts.  “That’s not what this is about at all.”

“Sure, it is.  It’s about strength.  You’ve got it and the other wankers in your life don’t.  I suspect your da ran for the same reasons.  Your mum is a helluva lady.  She’s a hot bird to handle.  Beat me over the head with a fire axe and told me where my place was the first time I met her.”  Buffy opened her mouth, but he cut her off.  “Don’t deny it.  She’s got us both wrangled.  Tellin’ us exactly how to behave, how to be good parents.  Suspect your da couldn’t deal bein’ in the house with two strong, independent women, so he ran.”

Buffy’s pout was a distraction.  He stared at her glossy, pink mouth as she spoke.  “I admit my father has his flaws and my mother can be difficult, but his leaving had nothing to do with us being too strong or independent.  We needed him.  We told him how much we needed him and he still left.”  He could hear the insecure little girl crying inside the woman who held herself before him with such innate poise.  He wanted to hold her close, and whisper reassurances, but he had more unwanted truths for her to hear.

“You weren’t willin’ to play weak to make him feel strong.  It’s why Angel left, innit?  He wasn’t strong enough to be your man.  Turned it around on you and said he dinna trust you not to be a temptation to him.  Blamed you for his lack of strength.”

“That’s just not true!”  Her eyes spat fire and his fingers tightened on her hips.

“He sure likes to keep you weak, doesn’t he?  Keeps you guessin’ ‘will he, won’t he’.  He tells you he loves you then proves it by makin’ sure you can neither be happy with or without him.  Bet this baby is just eatin’ him up on the inside.  Bet he told you it makes you weak.”

Buffy recoiled.  Angel had said that.  But surely he didn’t mean it in this context.  Surely, he just meant the baby was only a physical hindrance to her.  Didn’t he?  “That’s not true.  Angel left so I could have a family.  A husband who’d take me for picnics on sunny days and fat babies to love.”

“Sure.  A Joe Normal to resent how strong you are and babies to mourn you because you lived a life where you had no equal to watch your back.  This baby has a father strong enough to make sure mum has a fightin’ chance of getting back home to her every night.  And that’s what’s brassin’ Angel off.  That someone is fillin’ the void he’s too weak to fill himself.  Face it, Buffy.  Angel isn’t strong enough to love you.”

Buffy’s brow streaked white with anger.  How dare the bastard spew such arrogant nonsense at her?  “Angel loves me,” she spat with unquestioning conviction.  “He loves me so much he broke his own heart to give me something he couldn’t.  If you love someone you set them free.  He set me free to seek my own heart.”

“But that’s not the right of it, is it?  Your heart belongs to him.  I know you, Buffy.  You’d do anythin’ to be with him.  Vow of chastity?  No problem.  You’d live like a soddin’ nun, live and die your duty, if only you’d have him to come home to every night.  But he couldn’t do that for you.  Your strength, your will, your conviction to do whatever was necessary to keep your love alive only reflected his weaknesses back at him.  He didn’t stay by your side because he knew he didn’t have the same strength of will you possess.  He knew you’d always be the strongest and even with his lilywhite soul he couldn’t take it.”

Buffy’s heart thudded double-time in her chest, and her mouth was dry.  Spike was right.  She would have lived like a nun for Angel.  Her life was short.  She only had a handful of years, and she desperately wanted to live them out with the man she loved.  Sex didn’t matter to her.  It was the physical aspect of love, but it wasn’t the only way to express their devotion to each other.  If Angel stayed with her she would have showered him with love, every moment of every day. 

Why didn’t he stay for me?  Fight for me?  Love me?  Is he weak like Spike says?  Or did Angel not love as strongly or with equal conviction as she?  Was their love as tragically perfect as she thought it to be or was she just making excuses to protect her damaged heart?

Panic rose inside her like a wave, pressing against her throat, and cutting off her oxygen.  She had to escape before Spike tore away everything she had and rendered all her cherished beliefs to dust.  She squirmed in his arms, but Spike yanked her forward, forcing her knees apart so he could tuck himself in tight, his breath against her throat.

“I’m man enough to stay on my knees for a woman.  Not goin’ to let you run me off, because you’re afraid of losin’ control.  You wanna keep your pretty, little, booted heel on my throat so you know where I’m at all times, then you do it.  I don’t mind.  I like it.  ‘Cause at least I’m here with you, and if you’re keeping me beneath you, then you’ll know I’ll never leave.

“I’m not afraid!” she spat.

He gripped her hard, his arm an iron bar curving behind her back, cutting of her tirade before it could start.  “Yes.  You are.  You’re afraid that all men are weak.  That some way, some how, they’re evil.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“No, it’s not.  It’s valid.  Your emotions are part of who you are and shouldn’t be brushed off because they don’t make perfect, logical sense to others.  Men have hurt you.  Your lovers have hurt you.  How could you possibly trust me when everythin’ you’ve ever been subjected to screams run!”

“Spike, I…” She looked away, drowning in his insight.

“I get it, Buffy.  I do.  This chip makes me safe.  It’s somethin’ concrete.  A bit of technology rooted in logic.  It’s not messy or imperfect like emotions.  The chip says I can’t bite, so I don’t bite, and there’s no maybe about it.  If I say I don’t bite, then it’s questionable, because my reasons are emotional, and emotion is fallible.”

“You’re not making any sense.  This is stupid.”  She tried to shove him away, but he was twined around her too tightly.  “You’re a vampire.  It’s your nature to bite!”

He wanted to recoil from the pain her words inflicted.  She would never accept what he was.  A vampire.  A creature that fed from her kind.  He pressed his brow to the sharp edge of her collarbone.  He wanted her to see who he was, but was it really fair of him to try to get her to separate him from his demon nature?  He was a vampire.  The fact would never change.  Nor did he want it to.  He liked being a vampire.  He liked the strength and power of it.  He liked knowing she could rely on his strength, emotionally and physically.  He just wished she could like it, too.

He blew out a gusty breath.  Their relationship was a battle, one that he wasn’t willing to concede.  Instead of withdrawing, he furrowed his fingers through her thick, honey hair, levering her face towards his so he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. 

His sharp blue gaze penetrated her deep and froze the flurry in her belly that told her to fight, to run before he said something he couldn’t take back.

“You’re afraid that my mind and flesh are weak.  You already know I’m evil, but you’re afraid that I can’t control myself.  That, like Angelus, I can’t control the evil inside.  You won’t give yourself over to me, because you fear you’ll have to end me.”

“I’ve done it before, and I can do it again,” she whispered shakily.  Her breath was a kiss on his lips, and he savored it.

“Of that I have no doubt, luv.  But that doesn’t mean you want to.  It doesn’t mean the thought of it don’t cut you up.  The whole bloody idea of it hurts you so bad you have to shut down just to survive the pain.”

Her eyes closed tight, squeezing out streams of tears down her cheeks.  Spike was a man of words, but Buffy was a woman of action.  All night people had been talking at her, but none of them were speaking a language she understood.  Buffy understood physicality and Spike knew this about his Slayer.

He brushed his lips over hers.  “I’m on my knees for you, Buffy.  For you and only you.  Forever,” he vowed.

His mouth crashed down on hers.  Her lips parted under his, and his tongue swept against hers in long, deep strokes that made her feel like he was trying to search out all her secrets.  She was exposed and raw under his gaze, but it wasn’t scrutiny she felt, it was worship.  She never experienced a man like Spike before.  He was so willing to surrender completely to her.  He was unconditionally, unequivocally hers.  Hers to command.  Hers to abuse.  Hers to dust.  Maybe if she was as strong as he claimed, he could be hers to love.

She squeezed her eyes tighter at the thought, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.  How could she even think of loving him?  How could she dare it?  She was afraid she barely had enough love for her child, but for this man as well?  Not just a man.  A vampire.  She didn’t know if it was possible even if she wanted to.  She didn’t have the reserves in her heart to do so.  There was something wrong with her.  Something broken that didn’t allow her to love like other people.  Maybe she used it all up on Angel.  All that fire and energy she put into trying to make them work until she suffocated under the weight of their love.  The fire inside her extinguished from lack of breath, and she doubted the flames would ever be rekindled.

Except for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe.  Spike was breathing life into her.  He had no breath, but he was performing CPR.  Every vow, every promise from his mouth was breath to her soul and every kiss, every caress of his hands was rhythm to her heart.  She was deeply afraid that if she let him go she would fall down dead, but she was more afraid to pull him close.  Death was preferable to the possibility of betrayal.  She couldn’t take the chance he was resuscitating her heart to stab it dead again.

She wasn’t sure how, but the sneaky weasel had her shirt and bra undone and was working the snaps to her jeans.  His mouth alone was like a mind altering aphrodisiac.  He sucked on the pulse point in the hollow of her throat, his tongue flickering against her skin in tempo to the heartbeat in her ears.  He slid his mouth over her collarbone and down to capture her taut, sensitive nipple between his teeth.  She keeled low in her throat, arching into him as he tugged.  The pain was pleasure and made everything inside her tingle with awareness of the smallest caress.

“Stand up, so I can kneel before you proper like,” he rasped against her skin, pinching his fingers into her hips to prod her off the chair.  She stood and he hastily whipped her pants and panties down to mid-thigh.  She tried to shimmy out, but he stopped her, trapping her legs so they were pinned together tightly.

She stood before him, her torso naked and gleaming in the electric blue light.  The triangle of her cunny framed neatly by her golden thighs, her knees cinched tight by her jeans.  He knelt in front of her, his gaze worshiping her from her thighs to her beautiful, passion darkened eyes.

He licked his lips and something wet and hot clenched tight in her womb.  “Someday I’m gonna take you like this.  I’m gonna press you flat on my desk, and slide into you from behind, while your thighs are cinched tight and your quim is dripping.  Gonna be so fuckin’ tight.”  Her belly quivered and her clit tingled like it was being stroked.  “But not tonight.  Tonight I’m gonna worship you proper.  You keep me on my knees until you’re ready to let me up, kitten.”

She knew he was talking about more than just this one night.  He would stay on his metaphoric knees for a lifetime if that were what it took.  She couldn’t stop the thrill that went through her body at the power of it.  It was wrong, and a little dirty, but she liked seeing him kneeling before her.  She liked the idea of him being exactly where she wanted him, for exactly the reason he stated.  If she knew where he was at all times, then he could never leave her.

She swallowed hard, and watched as he swept his hands along the outsides of her thighs until they framed her pussy.  He stretched out his thumbs to peel open her folds to see her swollen pink pearl hidden inside.  He curled his tongue, behind his teeth in an unconscious gesture of his desire to taste her, to devour her, to consume every last drop of her.  She shivered at the intensity of it.  He leaned forward, burrowing his tongue along her cleft and deep into her pussy.  Her hips bucked against his mouth and her head fell back until her long, honey hair cascaded to the small of her back in waves.  The sensation of his cool tongue on the hottest part of her knocked the strength from her knees and she scrambled to latch one hand onto the corner of the desk, while the other buried itself into his soft hair to anchor him closer.

His insistent, clever tongue kept her folds pried apart, leaving his hands free.  He palmed the curve her thigh, his fingers finding the wet hollow of her pussy from behind.  His other hand danced along her ribs to cup her breast, the pad of his thumb brushing her aroused nipple.

She tried to wedge her thighs apart, but the tight denim thwarted her.  She growled, her nails scraping over his scalp.  He responded by nuzzling into her deeply, his tongue pressing almost ruthlessly against her sensitive nub.  Hot rivers of sensation ran up and down the length of her body, and she ached to have him inside her to quench the fire.  He felt so good, so perfect, she thought she might have found heaven.  If heaven was a hellfire of need and want beneath the skin.

She tugged his head away, and he looked up at her with glistening lips.  She ran her thumb over his chin, before pushing it into his mouth.  His lashes fluttered closed in delight as he sucked on her digit, scraping his teeth over the pad of her thumb.

“Take the rest of my clothes off,” she ordered huskily.  He complied without hesitation, unzipping her ankle boots and offering his shoulders as support as he yanked off her jeans.  She pulled him to his feet, herding him backwards towards his sprawling leather chair.  As they walked, she slipped the buttons loose on his tailored, silk shirt, spreading it wide so she could see the hard cut of his muscles and beauty of his milky skin.

 She kept her attention on the center of his chest, afraid to look him in the eyes.  She felt a flutter of nervousness in the pit of her stomach.  She wasn’t used to being the one in control during sex.  She had always been the led, not the leader.  She knew how contrary that was to her innate personality.  How could she ever think she could be anything other than the aggressor?  She was a leader by legacy, the Slayer, a general on the battlefield.  It was only right she take control in the bedroom as well.

The backs of his legs hit the edge of the chair, and she stopped him from falling backwards with a hand on his slick leather belt.  She took a deep breath and slowly drew her gaze along his gorgeous body to his beautiful eyes.  She was afraid of seeing condemnation for her aggressiveness, or worse, amusement at her expense.  Instead, she saw adoration and blazing-hot desire.

Something bloomed inside her.  There was the soft, luscious heat of lust, but there was something else as well.  Something indefinable.  It was bright and throbbing, making it hard for her to breathe.  This man was an addiction in her blood.  She could never give him up.

Her eyes locked with his, she slipped the tongue of his belt through the sliver buckle and undid his pants.  She let them fall to mid hip, just enough to free his straining erection.  She pushed on his laddered abs and he fell back into the chair in a bad boy slouch.  Years of experience had him automatically angling his hips towards the edge of the seat, so they would fit together comfortably.

She stared down at him.  The tails of his wine shirt fell to the sides, exposing the long length of his sculpted torso and the ridges of his six-pack abs.  He managed to peel back the corners of his trousers so they opened in a large vee, framing his long, pale cock that jumped with nervous excitement on the soft swell of his lower belly.

His eyes were hooded while he watched her, watching him.  His hair was tousled from her fingers, and his lips looked kissably soft.  She wished she could take a picture of him just then.  Something sweet and dirty to keep in a secret pocket of her wallet, so she could pull it out whenever she needed a bit of sin to make it through the day.  That’s what he was - sin, wicked enticement and deadly temptation.  Her own personal demon.

She knelt onto the chair, her knees on the outsides of his thighs.  She braced one hand on the back of the chair beside his head, reaching for the long length of his cock with the other.  She held him tight against her hot cleft, wetting the length of him in a sinful tease that left them both painfully unfulfilled.  She pressed the heart-shaped head of his cock over her swollen clit, gyrating in slow circles that enflamed her nerve-endings. 

Never once did she look away from his eyes.  She could see the entire cosmos inside the glittering sea of blue.  He looked at her like she was a goddess and he was her willing acolyte.  Her breath caught in her throat, when she realized she would be willing to burn all her beliefs to ash as long as he kept looking at her with such unrepentant awe.

Slowly she sank down until the thick head of his cock pushed past the tight cleft of her folds.  She stilled, holding him there in delicious torment, desperate to be swallowed to the root.  His jaw set, and a muscle ticked in his lean cheek.  A wicked smile curled at the corners of her pink lips as she squeezed.

“Fuck,” he groaned.  He broke their connection, throwing his head back against the chair, exposing the strained cords of his throat in submission.  He gripped her waist, his fingers dimpling her soft flesh as he tried to pull her down onto his bucking hips.  She resisted with ease and his tormented groans grew louder.

She pried his hands away from her waist and flattened them on the arms of the chair.  “Don’t touch,” she breathed.

She laid her hand flat on his belly, the heel of her palm pressing reprovingly against his groin.  He grit his teeth so hard she could hear the enamel scrape together, but he obeyed her command and stilled his desperate thrusts.

Once she was sure he would stay still, she moved; short, shallow rolls that worked only the head of his cock inside her tight cunny.  He was helpless beneath her.  The tendons in his neck stood out visibly, and all the muscles in his torso tightened until he looked like polished, diamond-cut marble.

Her pussy felt tight and empty at the same time.  She didn’t know whom she was teasing more, him or her.  She wanted desperately to sink down onto him completely, to fill the aching hollowness inside, but at the same time a buzzing sort of pleasure was trilling its way through her veins, centering at the exact point where only the most minimal of their flesh met.   

She caressed her own body, watching how his eyes flared as she cupped her breasts to tweak her nipples or slicked her fingers over her clit.  Her muscles quivered with delicious strain as she rolled her hips in short, controlled swirls that were only doable with strong, well-toned thighs.  Her skin was hypersensitive, and she could feel beads of sweat roll down her spine, into the cleft of her ass, to mingle with her hot essence that dripped teasingly down his cock.  She lifted her sweat-soaked hair off her neck, thrusting her rosy-tipped breasts forward, and pouted in just the way she knew he liked. 

Spike’s jaw slackened and the utter worship reflected in his gaze as he watched her move over him sent her spiraling off the edge into a mind-whitening orgasm.  She rocked down on him in desperation, filling up the empty hollow inside her with slick, hard strokes.  His groan of pleasure and relief reverberated in the room as she rode his cock with wanton ferocity.  At the far reaches of her consciousness she heard something tear, but it was discarded as unimportant as they shuddered around each other in orgasmic bliss.

She blinked back into awareness, realizing she was in Spike’s lap, his spent, but eager cock fully seated inside her, and her face pressed into the hollow of his throat.  She was melted onto his torso, and an apocalypse wouldn’t be able to peel her away.  He was panting heavily, lifting her with every breath.  She suppressed the giggle that trickled in her throat.  Spike’s unconscious urge to breathe was always amazing to her. 

She turned her head so she could lay her cheek on his shoulder.  Spike’s hands were still on the armrests, but his fingers were buried in soft, white fluff.  She smiled, pressing her lips against the strong curve of his shoulder.  He obeyed her.  Even in the mind-blanking throes of passion, he never took his hands off the chair to force her into a rhythm of his own making.  He allowed her complete, uncontested control.

They sat still for long minutes, their breathing harsh in the silent room.  Eventually, Buffy pushed herself upright, perching haughtily on his cock like she was a queen.  She lightly scraped her nails down his chiseled chest, curling into the thick thatch of hair where they were joined.

“Got me by the short and curlies, do you?”

“Do I?”

He didn’t say anything and a strange disquiet settled around her.

“What’s it say about me?”  She kept her eyes downcast.  Confessions were always easier when you weren’t looking someone in the eye.

“What’s that?” he probed softly.

“That I can’t stay away from you.  No matter my conviction.  No matter what others tell me.  I just can’t stay away.  You’re an addiction.”  God, it was true.  Angel warned.  Giles disapproved.  Xander hated.  And yet she couldn’t stay away.

“That hardly seems true.”  His tone was light, but she could hear the derision, the pain of her conditional acceptance.

Her fingers tightened in his curls.  He flexed against her and she clamped down with her inner muscles until he subsided.  She released him, placing her palms flat against his stomach and gliding them upwards over his chest and shoulders in a slow, admiring caress.  She studiously watched her hands, refusing to meet his eyes.  “I just can’t seem to stop touching you.  I know I should.  I push you away, then I find myself reaching for you again and again.”  She cupped her hands around the firm curves of his shoulders; her manicured nails leaving half-moon marks on his back.  “It isn’t hormones or a spell.  It’s just you, Spike.  And it scares me so bad.”

“Why, baby?”  His hands soothed down her arms, rubbing her as if she was cold and he could warm her.

Her eyes flew up to his, and they were full of tears.  “’Cause someday I might have to stop.”

He drew her closer, until their brows touched.  She closed her eyes against his gentleness.  She didn’t want to soften to him, but it seemed inevitable.  “’M not going anywhere.  Always gonna want you to touch me.  Always gonna want you.”

“Maybe, but someday something will happen, and I’ll have to push you away for good.”  He was right.  Goddamn vampire.  He was always right when it came to her.  The thought of having to push him away or worse…dusting him…the idea of it cut her up inside.  She resented him being around, but she wasn’t so sure she could live without him either.

“Never gonna happen, kitten.  Never gonna do anything to make you push me away.”

“I want you so bad, and I think….”

“What?”  His voice was soft, encouraging.  The devil leading her down the darkened path.

She opened her eyes so she could stare straight into his.  This was one confession that needed to be seen as it was.  “I think it might be a sin.”

His laugh was humorless, but his eyes sparkled.  “’T’s good thing I don’t go for that sort of rot.”  He wrapped her hair around his wrist and angled her head slightly to the side.  “Now, give us a kiss, baby and we’ll let…” He rolled his eyes skyward.  “’em sort it all out later.”

He crushed his mouth to hers and licked away all her doubt.  Right and wrong could be sorted out in the morning.  For now, it was just them.