Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It is all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

Again, thanks to all who enjoy the story and take the time to drop me a review.  Manna from Heaven and all that rot.

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Nine

Buffy thought hard about what Spike said as she went through the motions in the next week.  Guilt was eating at her.  Guilt two more people died because of her failure.  Guilt she wasn’t patrolling.  Guilt a demon who was trying to help her was now a captive of the commandos.  Guilt that she scoffed at his sacrifice.  Guilt she felt guilty over a demon.  She was just a great big, dirty, sticky ball of guilt.  Pregnancy hormones sucked.

The idea of a demon helping her out, much less sacrificing itself in order to keep her safe wasn’t something Buffy was ready to wrap her head around.  As mind numbing as it was, that wasn’t what was really chaffing her hide.  Spike said the demon had a mate.  Someone who was waiting for the demon to come home.  Someone who was grieving for him.  To grieve for someone meant you had to love them.  And that just wasn’t possible.  Because they were just demons.  They weren’t someones.  They were somethings.  And things did not love.  Period.  End of story.

Because if soulless demons could love then that meant…..

No.  She wasn’t going there.  She just wasn’t.  She needed to turn her thoughts to things she could control.  She needed to channel her anger towards someone who could be punished.

She was mad, because she hadn’t heard hide nor hair from Spike since she told him to leave.  And, stupidly, she felt neglected.  If the events of her life taught her anything, it was self-sufficiency.  Her parent’s divorce, her calling, and Angelus had all cumulated into one searingly important life lesson:  In the end, she was the only one she could rely on.  Sure she had her friends, Giles, and her mother.  But when it came down to grit, bone and blood, she was the one standing in the deep end alone, fighting her way out. 

So the abrupt lack of attention, where before it had been all encompassing, shouldn’t have created the void in her life that it did.  After all, she was capable girl.  But now, she was flailing blindly in an abyss.  It was like leaning against a solid wall only to have it abruptly disappear.  She didn’t like the feeling of childlike insecurity it inspired.  Especially, at a time when fear for her child’s safety made her so vulnerable.  He was supposed to be by her side, protecting her when she couldn’t protect herself.  What’s more, she resented Spike for making her think it safe to lean on him, before pulling his Houdini act.  He promised he wouldn’t leave.  He promised. 

She didn’t want to admit how her need for his presence went further than the physical.  She had come to rely on his solid emotional support of their baby.  His constant litany of their baby’s specialness gave her strength when faced with her own doubts or those of her friend’s.  Her mother and Willow still remained staunch supporters of her having the baby, but the men in her life were less than enthusiastic.  Giles did little to acknowledge her condition other than to be lenient on her lack of patrolling, and while Xander wasn’t showing up on her doorstep to berate her decision, his conspicuous absence spoke volumes on how he felt about the matter.  Spike was the only man in her life who actually wanted her to have this baby, and even if his support was magically induced, it went a long way in grounding her own emotions.

Besides, in the words of Anya, he gave her lots of orgasms….and she kinda missed him.

It was about an hour till dusk as she made her way to Spike’s.  She had the reasonable excuse of not having his phone number, and needing to inform him of an upcoming appointment.  She absolutely wasn’t walking over to his house, because she wanted to see him.  She also wasn’t going to tell him how hurt she was by his absence.  That would be stupid.  She knew better than to give ammunition to the enemy.  And no matter what, no matter how long their truce lasted; she could never forget that Spike was the enemy.

********

Buffy totally forgot that Spike was the enemy as soon as he opened the door.  Her eyes ate him up slowly, from his toes to his hair.  His bare feet poked out from the cuffs of his tailored pinstriped trousers and his slick, black, leather belt was unbuckled at the waist.  His wine, silk shirt hung open, revealing a swathe of hard muscled torso only slightly darker than polished marble.   The sharp edges of his cheekbones were accented in the dying daylight from the windows and the dark fringe of his almost girly lashes enhanced the electric blue of his eyes.  Every muscle below her belly button tightened, clamping down on emptiness with a painful sense of loss.  She was struck with the sudden urge to undo his pants while begging him to fill her up.

“Hot date?” She was breathless, and her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip in an attempt to hide it.  His hair was slicked back with the forbidden pomade so she knew he wasn’t coming to see her.  She swallowed the hard knot in her throat, and told herself jealousy was a petty emotion.

“Work.”  He stepped back to let her enter.  She skirted around him, her lips compressed in a white line.  She caught a whiff of his gel and turned a little green around the edges.  Will not barf.  Will not barf, she chanted to herself.

“Nice clothes for beating people up.”

Spike’s lips tightened, but he didn’t respond.  His blue eyes sharpened as his gaze glided down her body, before resting on her face again.  Her expression must have tipped him off to impending disaster, because he took a step towards the bathroom.

“I’ll go rinse off under the sink.”

“Don’t bother.”  For some reason his solicitousness annoyed her.  How dare he abandon her for a week then act like he cared.  “I won’t be long.  I don’t want to make you late.”

Spike gave her a long appraising look and she stiffened, fighting the urge to fidget.  A slow, cocky smile spread over his face, making her palms itched with the need to slap it right off.

“’M the boss.  Can’t be late.”  He turned towards the bathroom, stripping his shirt as he went.  Buffy watched as his back was slowly revealed, his muscles rippling as he peeled the silk from his body.  He tossed it onto the bed as he passed, and it landed next to a matching pinstriped jacket.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later she could hear running water.  She was struck by the image of Spike delving his head under the facet, his long fingers working their way through his platinum curls to rinse away the hardened gel.  More to distract herself than anything, Buffy moved further into the apartment.  She hadn’t really gotten a good look at the living area the last time she was there.  She was impressed with Spike’s taste.  The floor was polished concrete accented with cranberry rugs in the seating area and under the dark cedar dining table.  She smirked as she passed the large flat screen television on her way to the bank of widows overlooking the river.  The orange sun hung low on the horizon, and the river glittered red and gold like spilt blood mingled with champagne.

“Beautiful, innit?”

Buffy’s breath caught when she turned.  Spike’s curls were tousled white and wet around the crown of his head, beads of water trailing down his jaw and along the line of his throat to his bare chest.  He held the ends of a fluffy white towel draped around his neck, and as she looked at his knuckles scarred with tiny, fine lines from decades of fighting, she was reminded how his strong hands had gently stroked her body into climax after climax.  Her eyes trailed over his laddered abs to the deep shadowed clefts on either side of his lower belly.  His dark trousers hung low on his hips and did nothing to hide his erection.

Her eyes met his, and she could tell by the intensity of his gaze he wasn’t talking about the view.  Her cheeks heated and she whirled around to face the windows.  She took a few breaths to steady her raging hormones before she spoke.

“As nice as the view is, it hardly seems worth getting dusty over.”

“Is that concern for my wellbeing, I’m hearin’, luv?”  His cool breath feathered the fine hairs on her nape, and she had to suppress the naked shudder of need racing down her spine.

She shrugged, struggling for nonchalance.  “Just wondering who gets your apartment when you’re dust.”

His chuckle was dark and rich, strumming her insides.  “I do love mercenary females.”

Buffy ignored his provocative words, knowing it was a turn of phrase, but oddly affected by them.  She held herself still as he reached over her shoulder to knock on the glass with hollow thumps.  “It’s tempered to prevent UV’s from filtering through.  Perfectly safe for vamps and li’l nippers who like the sunshine.”

“Sounds expensive.  Tempered glass, designer suits, apartments with gorgeous views.  I didn’t know racketeering was so lucrative.”

Spike moved away, sweeping his hand towards a bare corner of the room.  “I figure a play area here.  Fence it in and fill it with toys and such.”

Buffy knew a brush off when she heard one.  Spike didn’t want to discuss his finances, but it only made her more curious.

“Spike.”

“Buffy, why are you here?” he cut her off.  His curt tone made her feel unwanted and a tiny bit petulant.

“I don’t have your phone number,” she pointed out in a small voice.  He hummed in agreement, and retreated to the kitchen area.  He searched through a drawer, pulling out a notepad and a pen.  He jotted down some information, tearing the page from the notepad before sweeping it and a green file folder that lay on the marbled counter back into the drawer.  He closed the drawer with a snap and strode back to where she waited at the window.  She took the paper he offered, glancing at the phone number briefly before folding it into a square and tucking it into the front pocket of her swede skirt.   

She got what she came for.  She had no reason to stay.  Other than being a glutton for punishment.  “I have an appointment next Wednesday.”

“I know.”  Her eyes flickered and he shrugged.  “It’s on my calendar.  I didn’t know if you still wanted me to take you.”

She wrinkled her nose, remembering her last words to him.  She told him to leave.  To stay away.  It had been her call.  Her demand.  Then why was she so disappointed when he obeyed?

“Did you find your friend?”  She kept her eyes downcast not out of shyness, but shame.

Spike’s entire body grew taut.  He didn’t want to lie to Buffy, but he didn’t want to tell her the entire truth either.  They found Spil’jal, just not all of him.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.  I-is there something I can do?  F-for his mate?”  Buffy felt terrible.  Like she had betrayed someone.  That emotion doubled back on her as guilt for having sentiments for a demon rose it’s ugly head.  The only person she betrayed by having compassion for something she was suppose to kill was herself and her ethics.  But as much as she tried to pound that conviction into her head, her heart was resisting.  She felt awful that someone, demon or not, had died for her and her baby.

Spike watched in fascination as Buffy’s brow crinkled in real sympathy.  He imagined it was hard for her.  The Council sure knew how to mind-fuck their girls.  They were indoctrinated into an absolute truth.  A belief in the definitiveness of good and evil.  A steadfast categorization of right and wrong and a taxonomy of who and what fell into either side.  To admit there could be something in-between was paramount to a born again Christian confessing to not believing in Jesus Christ.

Spike shook his head.  “It’s taken care of,” he told her ambiguously.

She frowned, her fingers twining nervously in the folds of her skirt, sweating into the swede.  “Will you tell her---it---that I’m sorry for her loss?”

Spike wanted to snarl at her.  Well, which is it, you bint?  A her or an it?  He just sighed, nodding his agreement.  Some of her tension lessened, and he watched as she eyed the front door.  Despite his anger, he didn’t want her to leave.

“Is that Riley bloke givin’ you any problems?”  Spike almost hoped the answer was yes so he could have the blowhard’s head cracked open.  Not for the first time, Spike desperately wished he didn’t have the chip in his head.  He resisted the urge to glance back at the drawer where the green file of local neurosurgeons was hidden. There was no need for Buffy to know his plans to get his chip removed.  She couldn’t understand what it was like to be handicapped, unable to protect his family from the weakest species in this dimension.  Humans were at the bottom of the evolutionary scale, yet they were kicking his arse left and right.

“He introduced me to Professor Walsh in her professional capacity.”  Buffy shifted closer to the glass, worrying the edge of her thumbnail against the frame of one of the panels.  He was beginning to recognize the action as a nervous tic she displayed whenever she was wrangling with deep, dark thoughts.

“Your psychology professor?”

Buffy was shocked.  She had no idea he actually listened to her mundane chatter during their failed dates, much less retained the information.  Spike must have read the amazement on her face, because he cocked his scarred brow at her.

“What?  I listen.” He defended in a tone that was one hundred percent male affront.

“Shyeah.  The first man in the history of like, ever, to do so.”

“It’s not my fault you have bleedin’ tragic taste in men, pet.”

“Good job insulting yourself, you menace.”

“Well, you didn’t really choose me did you?” he shot back.  Insecurity whipped through him with searing intensity.  She hadn’t chosen him.  Would never choose him.  All she saw when she looked at him was a monster.  He didn’t think there was anything he could say or do that would change her steadfast perception of him.

Buffy felt the weight in her chest compress over her heart.  No, she hadn’t chosen him, and he sure as hell hadn’t chosen her.  It was all entirely out of their control, and Buffy hated it.  She needed control.  Without it, people died.  Without it, she got hurt.

“I should go.”  She pushed away from the window, but Spike blocked her path. 

“You were telling me about this Walsh bint.”

She stopped, caught in the heavy web of his gaze.  She thought about the trip to the mall she took with her mother earlier in the week.  They browsed through one of those franchise jewelry stores and the sapphire rings had mesmerized Buffy.  Spike’s eyes had the same fire and sparkle as the gems.  She was suddenly struck by the overwhelming desire to have the heavy weight of a ring on her left finger set with a sapphire the same color as his eyes.

“Yah.”  She shook herself before continuing.  “She held me after class and told me she was part of some government agency called the Initiative.”  She rubbed her teeth over her lower lip, and it flushed a darker hue of pink.  “I made sure they heard me tell Willow to run down to the lounge to call Giles to let him know exactly who I was with and that I’d meet her within the half hour.  I was kinda bitchy about it, but I could see it made them nervous, like maybe I thwarted their plans.  Or not.  I don’t know.  It made me feel safer.”  She frowned.  “What kind of word is thwart anyways?  Sounds like frog language.”

He could see this was going nowhere quick.  Bleedin’ public schools.  “You did the right thing, luv.  You can never be too safe with types like them.  They got an agenda, an’ you don’t want nothin’ to do with it.  Gotta keep yourself protected.”

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to brush a strand of honey-blond hair off her forehead.  For such a tiny little thing she was a powerhouse.  She never had to be afraid before, never caught in a position where she might not be able to defend herself.  Her foresight in sending Willow to call Giles showed how much she had grown in just a few short weeks.  Before she would have been overjoyed in showing off her skills to an admiring audience, but now she was wary.  She no longer threw herself in perilous positions where she could potentially be harmed.  She thought before she acted, and was aware actions had consequences. 

“Did she tell you what they’re doing here in Sunnydale?”

“No.  It’s all hush, hush, top secret stuff.  She was more interested in talking about me.  She wanted to know about being the Slayer.”

Spike’s eyes darkened with concern.  “What did you tell her?”

“Oh, you know.  The basic spiel.  I’m the Chosen One.  Slay vampires.  Yada, yada, yada.”  Buffy frowned, looking out across the river.  “I told her about patrols, but I guess that’d be lie wouldn’t it?  Other than the Gentlemen, I haven’t patrolled for weeks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spike waved dismissively.  He wanted to hear more about the Initiative.  That was the real threat in Sunnydale.

“I do worry about it, Spike,” she snapped, her jade eyes zeroing in on him with laser targeting.  Anticipation rifled down his spine and he licked his gums, certain his fangs dropped.  Still in human guise he returned her glare.  “People are dying, ‘cause I’m not doing my job.  How many mothers have lost their children, ‘cause I’m bowing out?”

“Not many.”  He prowled forward and she countered with predatory agility.  He halted, still with the realization he was hunting her.  He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his erection.  “None of the smart demons are on the streets, and those dumb enough to go out are being swept up by those commando blokes.  No one’s huntin’ or feedin’.  Even the evils.  Too damn scared of becomin’ the next science experiment.”

Shock chiseled away at the Slayer’s hard exterior.  Her pink mouth puckered into a moue and with almost with Pavlovian conditioning Spike’s tongue tucked itself behind his front teeth, curling with the unconscious desire to suck on something.

“Oh.  So people are safe?  No one’s getting hurt?”

“No more than if you were on the job, Slayer.”

Her eyes went flat.  Reflective a moment before they centered on him.  “Are you behind this?  Are you controlling the demons somehow?”

He leered, his upper lip curling around a human fang.  “As much as I ‘preciate your belief in my prowess, I’m not the Godfather.  This is all the Initiative’s doing.  Did that Walsh bint say anything else to you?”  Spike watched as Buffy’s body language changed as they spoke.  She curled into herself, arms protectively crossed over her belly.

“She wanted me to go back to her office to look over some research she dug up on Slayers, but I didn’t like how she was looking at me.  Her and Riley.  He was standing next to her like he was expecting me to attack or something.  It just made me really uneasy.” 

For the first time she saw herself through the eyes of strangers.  Their perception painted her as evil, and she had to ask herself how much of her life was spent in a hazy half-shadow of awareness?  How much of the world she thought she knew with such pinpoint accuracy was only a twisted angle of her own epistemology?   The sensation of their judgment and her newly budding self-awareness was uncanny.  All wasn’t right in Buffyland.

Spike stepped forward and ran his hands over her arms to comfort her.  “That’s cause you have bleedin’ amazing instincts, luv.  It’s one of the things that make you the scourge of the demon world.”

Buffy wrinkled her pert little nose, falling back on her proven technique of vacuity whenever things became too substantial for her comfort.  “I’m nobody’s scourge.  It sounds like a disease.”

Spike chuckled and her insides heated.  “I beg to differ.  Plenty of evils are scared dickless by you.”

Buffy’s pink lips curled at the corners.  “But not you.”

Spike’s gaze heated as he focused on her lips.  “No, not me.”  He edged closer to her, his erecting brushing against her hip.  There were many adjectives Buffy would use to describe Spike, but dickless was definitely not one of them.  He dipped his head, brushing his lips over hers in a butterfly caress.  Electricity jolted through her, and she was suddenly aware of her increased heartbeat thudding in her ears.  How he had such power over her body, she couldn’t understand.  Even before pregnancy hormones there had always been an attraction underneath the violence, and now that she’d tasted what he had to offer, she was addicted.  Her heart beat harder; her breath came quicker, her muscles tensed, all in anticipation of his touch.  It was so wrong.

“I should go.”  She skirted around him, putting her back to the open room so she was no longer pinned between him and the windows.  She soothed her sweaty palms over her tan skirt to hide her nervousness as she watched his stiff back.  He turned his head first, his blue eyes pained, before he pivoted on his heel to face her.

“You just got here.”  His voice was husky, seductive.  “Stay.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands curled against her thighs.  She wanted to stay.  She wanted to slink back over him with a loose-hipped walk and crawl up his body.  But she couldn’t.  She still felt hurt by his abandonment.  It had been so easy for him to walk away, and not see her for an entire week.

“Why?”  Why did he want her to stay?  Was it just for sex?  She wasn’t stupid.  Spike oozed sexual magnetism.  He could find a multitude of women to fulfill his every twisted, kinky fantasy.  Why would he bother to pursue her?  Like he said before, she was high maintenance.

“Cause, I want you too.”

Talk about a non-answer.  Anger bloomed in her chest, and she could taste acid in the back of her throat.  “You can’t say you’ve missed me.  Seems you’ve been just fine without me,” she spat between clenched teeth.  He hollowed his cheeks, his lips puckering like they did when he found something amusing.  He kinked his head to the side, and she gathered her denim jacket around her body, suddenly wondering if he could see inside her.

“What’s this about, then?”

“Nothing.”  Her jacket cinched tight around her throat, she crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits.  Her toe tapped out an aggravated beat on the concrete floor, and she wondered why she hadn’t left yet.   The look he gave her was long and piercing, and she tightened her arms protectively.  He took a step towards her, and it took all her willpower not to back out of striking distance.

“You all but ordered me to go, Buffy,” he reminded. 

“So.”  Stupid, vampires and their long soul-sucking gazes that pick out all your secrets.  So what if she told him to leave that night?  So what if she called their relationship a charade?  If he couldn’t take a little fire every now and again, then he should just get the hell out of the kitchen.  How were they supposed to get along in the end?

“I didn’t want to push.”  His tone was gentle.  The sympathetic male tone of a man who respected boundaries set by a woman.  It was not a tone that should be used by an unsouled vampire!  It was completely at odds with everything she knew to be true in her world.  It made her mad.  What made her madder was how she responded to the unspoken plea in his words for her to give him a crumb.  Any sort of sign that she reciprocated---his what?  Lust?  Desire?  Love?  Nope, that couldn’t be it.

“Then what have you been doing while not pushing me?” she snapped.

His brow crinkled, and he glanced around the apartment as if looking for something tangible he could point to.  An excuse to hide behind.  He tensed and looked directly at her, his electric blue eyes glittering.  “Missing you,” he confessed with intensity.

“Don’t say that!” she exploded.  She flung her hands up in the air, and stalked a few steps away.  “It was easy for you to leave,” she told him bitterly.  It was always easy for them to leave.  It was ridiculous how little contact she had with her father, barely a handful of conversations in the last year.  And Angel.  Other than the Thanksgiving fiasco, she hadn’t heard from him since the night he walked away.

Her thoughts circled around viciously, eating away at her in little miniscule ways that would eventually show more and more wear if left unchecked.  She was jerked out of the cycle by Spike’s strong hands on her shoulders.  He pulled her backside into his hips, his breath tickling the tendrils of hair at her temple as he spoke.

“I never left.  I never will,” he swore.  “I was right here waiting for you.”

Her chin lowered to her chest, but she didn’t pull away.  She wanted to lean back into the comfort of his arms.  She wanted to believe everything he said, vampire or not.  If she closed her eyes she could believe he was a man.

“You weren’t really waiting for me.  This is about the baby.  Not me.”

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and suddenly she was pulled back.  He pinned her against the windows, his chest to hers, one hand braced over her head.  His fingers dipped under her chin to lift her face to his.  His eyes were a dark, storm blue, and one lean cheek ticked angrily.

“You keep sayin’ that, but it isn’t true.  It’s all about you.”

She jerked her chin away and shoved hard at his chest, a little surprised when he barely rocked back on his heels.  Sometimes she forgot how strong he was.  He wasn’t someone she could bully when she was feeling mean.

“I’m just the vessel carrying your child.  You don’t have any real feelings for me.”

Frustration flickered over his face, and she was struck by how easy it was to read him.  Spike didn’t hide things from her.  He bluffed, bullied and bullshitted others, but never her.  He pressed her shoulders into the glass, and dipped his head so he was right in her face.

“I’ve always thought of you, but now that I’ve had you…I crave your taste, your touch.  You think I would be like this if another woman was carrying my child?  Think I would want to touch Red?  Taste Demon Girl?”  As he spoke, one hand trailed over her shoulder and down her arm.  He tangled his long fingers with hers, pulling her forward until their connected hands cupped his hard cock jutting in his loose trousers.  “Think I want to do this with them?”

Her fingers curled around him against her own volition.  Her mouth watered as she remembered the taste of him, the texture of his skin, the earthy, masculine smell of him.  She wanted to pull away, but she didn’t have the willpower.  Closing her eyes to block out the sight of him, she gathered her thoughts to fight back.

“It’s just the magic.  It’s like Willow’s spell.  It wants us to be together.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”  He shook her lightly, and she opened her eyes.  “If we are supposed to be her protectors then our feelings would only extend to her.  There would be no reason for me to feel—“  He broke off, seemingly lost.  He turned his gaze away, but she pressed her fingers into his cheek, turning him back to her.  Still confused he lowered his head until their brows touched.  “I wouldn’t feel anything for you,” he continued.  “I would just guard over you until the baby was born.  I wouldn’t want to see you happy or give you pleasure.  I wouldn’t care about what you thought of me or try to make myself into someone better.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” she asked softly, her hand still on his cheek.

“Look around, Buffy.  This isn’t just for the li’l bit.  If all I was meant to do were guard over her, then I’d do it from a crypt.  I could live like a vampire, instead of trying at being a man.  We may not get along, but I would like to try.  I want to get to know you, Buffy.  Not just as the mother of my child, but as a woman.”

Buffy didn’t know how to respond.  Something was hot and tight in her chest, and she didn’t know if she could speak around it.  What do you say to a man when he confesses to trying to be better just so he could have a shot with you?

“I want to share something with you that I’ve only seen since I started living here like a man.”

“What,” she choked out, still stunned.

Gently he turned her about so she faced the glass.  “The sunset.”

The sky was painted in reds and yellows, the mountains cast in violet.  It was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was a sight she took for granted.  She realized then, that Spike hadn’t truly seen the sun rise or set in hundred and twenty years.  He was sharing something miraculous with her.  She suddenly had a piece of him, that even Drusilla, the woman he loved for decades couldn’t have.

She could feel the warm panes of glass before her, and the hard, cool press of Spike’s body behind her as he leaned into her.  His weight rocked her forward and to balance herself she pressed her palms flat on the glass.  He pulled her hair to the side, exposing the long line of her neck as he nuzzled the hollow behind her ear.  She startled.  Her slayer instincts vibrating in warning.  He sensed her trepidation and wound his muscular arm around her waist, pinning her to him.  Her breath hitched as the tip of his nose traced her jugular to her shoulder.  He licked the curve of flesh where her shoulder formed her neck, and with deliberate tenderness he opened his mouth, pressing his human teeth against her in a painless bite.

She was tense beneath him, but he refused to let her go.  One hand found its way under her blouse, his fingers tracing the taunt skin stretched over her midriff, while his other hand swept over her hip towards the hem of her swede skirt.  He walked his fingers along her outer thigh, inching her skirt upward with agonizing slowness, while he tongued the patch of flesh still between his teeth.  She arched her neck, her breath stuttering in her chest.  It would be so easy for him to call the demon forth.  He could pierce the thin barrier of her skin without effort, and then she would be wholly at his mercy.  Was it only the chip that stopped him or was there something more in the possessive way he held her under his teeth?

His hands were everywhere.  Roving over her stomach, toying with the underwire of her bra, sliding between her thighs to trace the edge of her panties.  Her body heated up, and she could feel her sweat-dampened palms stick to the glass.  He released her neck, soothing her skin with the flat swipe of his tongue.  He blew a stream of cold air over the wet patch of skin, and shivers slid down her spine.

“I want you, Buffy.  Been waitin’ for you.  Say yes.  Stay with me.”  He flicked open the pearl buttons of her blouse expertly with one hand.  He cupped his hand over her breast, as he worked the button situated in the valley of her cleavage.  Her nipple hardened painfully under his palm and she arched, pressing her breast into his hand, her neck to his mouth.  He licked her along the silk collar of her blouse, beneath the fall of her hair to the other shoulder.  His teeth nipped gently, before clamping down on the muscle.

“W-what if, I say no?”  She was hot and it was hard to think.  His body was a cool wall at her back, and she pressed into him, trying and failing to control her temperature.

“Then I’d be a gentleman and see you home.  But then I’d come back and wank off to fantasies of you.”  He drew her unbuttoned blouse and jacket away, and they draped on her elbows, exposing the golden expanse of her shoulders to his appreciative lips and tongue.  “I’d dream of licking my way down your spine and tonguing those two adorable dimples right above your delectable arse.” 

She heard the crunch of cartilage, and her breath caught in her throat.  He nipped at her bra strap, and it suddenly fluttered down over her breast.  His fingers ghosted along her ribs, plucking away the lacy fabric of her bra cup to toy with her nipple.  “I’d dream about your beautiful tits as I stroked my cock, wishing desperately my fist was as warm as your hot li’l mouth.”  Her other bra strap fluttered over her shoulder and the whole thing slid down around her waist like a lacy belt.  He cupped both her breasts, pulling her against him so her back was flush against his chest.  She could feel his hard cock nudge her backside, and she couldn’t stop the teasing swish of her hips if she wanted too.

“Say you’ll stay or condemn me to a cold, lonely wank.”

His touch wasn’t light or teasing.  He cupped her breasts possessively, massaging the muscles of her upper chest with his fingers.  Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and she tried not to think how wrong it was to expose her throat to a predator.

“Liar.  You’ll drop me off and find yourself some other woman.  Harmony or something.”

She didn’t think their bodies could get any closer, but she was wrong.  He pulled her into him tightly until every curve and crevice of her body was poured over his.  He wrapped one arm over her breasts, and his other hand snaked down her body to cup her pussy through her skirt.  His possessive stance screamed, mine!

“If you want to leave I’ll take you, but rest assured, Buffy I won’t be seeking out any other women.  I don’t want anyone, but you.  Why would I settle for something inferior, when I’ve tasted perfection?  I’d rather dust waiting for you, than get my rocks off on some tramp.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say to that.  The intensity of his voice, his words, it was almost too much for her.  Was this still just sex?  He couldn’t possibly be in love with her.  So this had to be sex.  So why did he sound so infatuated?  Why was she responding so earnestly?  She craved the need she heard in his voice.  She desperately wanted to be wanted, but did that mean by anyone?  If it were someone else crooning such sweet, dirty nothings in her ears, would she react the same?  She thought not.  There was something about Spike.  There had always been something about him.

“I’ll stay,” she promised breathlessly.

Her words seemed to release Spike, giving him permission to unleash his desires on her.  He jerked her shirt and jacket down her arms, and she swayed at the loss of contact with the glass.  She quickly replaced her palms on the window, knowing she was going to need all the support she could get.  He swept her hair to the side, and licked, nipped and lathered his way down the curve of her spine in a slow, sensuous descent that had her nerve-endings tingling endlessly.  His hands danced along the planes of her back and over her sides, seeking to memorize the feel of her.  When he came to the belt of her bra, he unsnapped it and flung it away with barely a pause. He dropped to his knees, his teeth snagging the tongue of the zipper on her swede skirt.  He slowly drew it down, his nimble fingers undoing the clasp at the waist.  He dragged it off her with her panties, leaving her bare except for her knee high, brown leather boots.

“Beautiful.”  He cupped her ass in both hands, massaging the muscles deep inside.  She felt him nuzzling against her cheeks, but she was completely unprepared for the sharp sting of the human bite on the fleshiest part of her ass.  With a squeal she jumped, and tried to whirl around, but he held her steady with a strong grip on her hips.

“Keep watching the sunset.  What color is it now?”

Buffy refocused her gaze, realizing she was so intent on Spike she had completely disregarded the breathtaking view in front of her.  The full, red sun had barely begun to kiss the horizon, and an orange blaze enveloped the mountains, the sky a rosy pink fading violet into the ether.  The mountains looked like they were on fire, but shadows were creeping up from underneath as darkness reached towards the dying light.

“Pink,” she whispered.

His thumbs dipped between her thighs, pressing against her pussy lips to peel them apart.  “Yes.  A nice deep pink,” he concurred, his breath was cool against the hottest part of her.  His tongue traced the edges around his thumbs, before dipping inside in a cool, wet onslaught of pleasure.  She hummed and angled her hips back to give him better access.  Her palms slipped on the glass, leaving behind cloudy streaks, and her breath fogged around her.

He teased and taunted, and she whimpered and whined, begging him for more.  She wanted his fingers, but he would only tease the edges of her lips with his thumbs.  She wanted his cock, but he hummed his refusal against her clit.

“You taste so good, slayer.  Sweet and tart and wet.  Like a ripe summer peach.  I just want to swallow you down.”

She pressed her forehead to the glass, her lashes fluttering.  Color danced behind her eyelids like sunspots.  She opened her eyes and saw the crest of the sun over the mountains.  Panic suddenly set in.  She wanted to share this moment with Spike.

“Spike.  Watch with me before it’s gone,” she begged.  She couldn’t understand the sudden sadness inside her.  The absolute need that they watch the sunset together before it disappeared.

He wrapped his hands around her thighs as he stood.  His hard cock slid into her from behind, and her breath huffed across the glass.  He fitted his face next to hers so their cheeks pressed together.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him as they looked at the setting sun.  He slid out slow, until the tip of his cock teased her lips then pounded back into her.  She cocked her hips back to meet his thrusts, grinding down on him before he receded to thrust again.

“Like you,” he whispered in her ear.

“No.”  She shook her head, her hair sliding over her shoulder.  “I’m just a girl.  That’s magic.”

Spike’s hands covered hers.  Without them anchored on her hips, he couldn’t plow into her, so they rocked in a slow, sensual rhythm.  Their fingers entwined, until they were wrapped together completely.

“You are magic, Buffy.  We’re magic together.”  He pulled their entwined hands down until they were laced over her belly.

She keened low in her throat, fighting the urge to close her eyes.  She wanted to watch the sunset.  She wanted to see how it ended. 

One set of their entwined hands slid up her body to cup her breasts with her own palm, and the other curled over her pussy.  Their fingers toyed with her clit, shooting sparks of pleasure throughout her body.  Outside the window, the shadows crept closer to the fading light and the color of the falling sun intensified.  Pinks and purples, reds and gold cascaded over the landscape.

As the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the last of the blood-red color faded from the night sky, her climax rocked through her.  She trembled around his cock, holding him tight in her body.  His teeth clamped down on her shoulder, but she could feel from the angle of his head that he was watching the dying light with her.  She felt him tense, and his growl of release rolled over her captured flesh and all the way down her spine.

He released her shoulder, lapping lazily at the faint indentations of his blunt teeth on her skin.  “Maybe, someday we’ll see dawn together, Buffy.”

Something tight and hot clenched in the center of her chest and threatened to burst from her throat in a sob.  She was overwhelmed with the desire to see the birth of a new day with Spike.  To stand witness with him as the dawn rose to burn out the dark.  To see the beginning instead of the end.

Then the room darkened as the last of the light extinguished, and the wonderful promise of dawn seemed so very far away.  She pressed her sweaty forehead to the glass as she fought to drag air into her lungs.  As the tingles in her body faded, she briefly thought about running home, but then he traced her pulse with his tongue and she couldn’t remember where home was. 

A/N:  Don’t forget to review!  Loves!