Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  No copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers for Buffy vs. Dracula. 

Remember When

Chapter One

September, 2000

Spike popped up from behind a tombstone like a demented whack-a-mole, and Buffy barely checked the instinct to smack him back down.  Oddly, it wasn’t the Slayer that reacted, but the very girly response usually accompanied by a screech of ‘Eww, what is that icky thing?  Kill it!  Kill it!’  It was her Slayer reflexes that actually stopped her from smooshing Spike like he was a spider in a bathtub. 

“What do you want, Spike?”  If eyeballs made noise, Spike would have heard hers rolling all the way up in her head.  She had a long thrall-filled night and all she wanted to do was get to her medicine cabinet for some extra minty Listerine to wash the taste of vamp blood from her mouth.

“Hmm, lets see.  Peace on Earth, the cure for world hunger…your soddin’ toy soldier’s head on a platter.”  Spike flicked his cigarette butt, just barely missing her nose.  The unexpected action made her hesitate a step, before she marched on, a scowl firmly deforming her pretty lips.

“Gees, what flew up your butt?”  These little conversations with Spike were always such a joy.  You’d think she was Spike’s own personal complaint office.  Well, maybe that wasn’t exactly true.  Spike didn’t complain, like say Xander.  Instead, he took great pleasure in pointing out the misbehavior of the so-called white hats.  For some reason, it tickled him pink when they did something he construed as being morally gray.  Like he was one to talk.  Spike’s moral compass was so screwed it pointed south.  As in straight down to hell. 

She knew with absolute certainty he could never be trusted, especially with her family.

“I jus’ don’t ‘preciate you sending your hunny to threaten me in my own crypt,” he snarled.  Spike was genuinely angry.  Not a big surprise there.  As far as she knew he only had two modes.  Angry and lascivious.  And drunk.  But she didn’t know if drunk was so much a mode as it was a state of being.  There was something else under the snark she couldn’t quite place.  It almost sounded like fear, but she knew that couldn’t be right.  She had never seen Spike afraid of anything.  Not even Angel.

“What are you talking about, Spike?  I didn’t send Riley to do anything.  Besides, I can do my own threatening, thank you very much.”  Buffy was insulted.  She wouldn’t send someone out to do her dirty work for her.  It stank of cowardice.  Besides, she took pride in her skills.  She’d been honing them for years now.  She especially liked doling out threats to Willy.  He made this ghastly choking sound that was kinda funny.

“Don’t I know it,” Spike muttered bitterly under his breath, and Buffy’s lips quirked up at the corners.  Yah, she had a reputation to maintain.  She couldn’t do that if someone else was out there acting in her name.

“I heard that,” she spat.

“Wasn’t trying to hide it, you bint.”  Spike tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, cupping his hands as he lit it.  He tilted his head back as he took an angry drag, his eye lashes fluttering as the nicotine soothed his nerves.  Buffy glared at him, and he blew a thin stream of blue smoke into her face.  Coughing, she drew back her fist to pop him in the nose, figuring her first instinct, girly or not, to smack him down was the right one after all, but he was already out of reach, having danced this particular dance before.  For once, Buffy didn’t pursue.  She was just too tired and wanted to go home.  Sighing, she rolled her shoulders, and continued down the path.  Spike fell in step beside her, just outside of striking distance.

“So I hear you ran Drac out of town.  Bugger owed me eleven pounds.”

Buffy blinked.  “Wow, news travels fast on the Sunnydale demon grapevine.” 

“Yah, well.  Been a slow Tuesday.”

It had only been a few hours since the showdown at Dracula’s castle.  The prerequisite Slayer/Watcher debrief was more stilted than usual.  Buffy had no intention of telling Giles she drank vampire blood, and the Watcher was more than disconcerted at the mention of the three sisters.  After that there was a round of reassuring Xander he was no one’s butt-monkey and Anya’s subsequent questions of what role a butt-monkey fulfilled in society and if there was income or orgasms involved.

The hardest part of the evening was trying to reassure Riley she wasn’t under Dracula’s thrall anymore.  Honestly, Buffy didn’t think she’d ever been.  At anytime she could have summoned the strength to resist him, but like he said, she hadn’t wanted to.  Even when he was in her room, and she was still caught in a dream-like state, she could have stopped him from biting her.  She knew what Dracula was offering when he brushed his fingers over her scar.  Complete and total ecstasy.  Something she hadn’t felt since Angel bitten her.

It wasn’t fair to Riley, and she was sure he suspected something deep down.  Sex with him was good.  It was normal boy on girl sex.  It could never hope to compete with the bliss of a vampire bite.  After all, he was only human, and that wasn’t such a bad thing.  That was exactly what she wanted.  So what if it left her a tiny bit….unresolved?  A little late night slayage took the edge off.  Those were just the facts.  But said facts didn’t need to come to light.  There was no reason for them too.  All it would do was hurt Riley and injure their relationship.

That craving, the deep, dark, fetishist desire she had to feel her blood rushing through her veins until she was lightheaded was something she could never confess to anyone.  Not Riley, not her watcher, and certainly not the rabid killer bouncing along by her side with angry, kinetic energy.

She frowned as he balanced himself on the curb like a kid playing high-wire.  “Wait.  What were you saying about, Riley?”

“Nuthin’.”  He tossed his butt into the gutter as they turned up the walk to her house.

“Spike,” she hissed and they both heard the threat she was so proud of in her voice.

“Nah uhh.  I didn’t realize Captain Cardboard was tryin’ on independent thought for size.  Don’t want to get him in trouble with the superhunny for just tryin’ to find his balls.”

They were outside her front door, a pool of yellow light flooding around them before tapering off into darkness.  Red-hot anger seared Buffy’s brain and she hauled Spike up by the labels of his leather coat.

He could feel her warm breath on his cold cheek and he watched in fascination as her eyes darkened from gold-flecked hazel to a dark jade.  His cock hardened and he knew when she hit him it was going to make him feel so much better.

“Now, listen here,” she snarled.

“Hands off the leather, luv.  It’ll bruise,” he interjected, cutting off her insult.

“I’m gonna bruise you so friggin’ hard your jacket’s gonna whimper in pain.”  She hauled him closer as she hissed her threat, their noses nearly touching.

“Promises, promises,” he whispered, his cheeks hollowing as he pursed his lips with glee.

The door slammed open, startling them apart.

“Are you two bickering again?”

“’Lo, Nibblet.”  Spike smirked as he smoothed down the labels of his jacket.

“Shut up, Dawn.  We don’t bicker,” Buffy huffed, automatically taming her hair with a nervous hand.

“Nah,” Spike answered.  “This is just fore—“

Buffy slapped her hand over his mouth before he could finish saying foreplay.  His blue eyes laughed over the edge of her palm, but he made no move to shy away.  His tongue slicked between his lips, tickling the center of her palm.  Buffy squeaked, pulling away to hastily rub his spit off on her jeans.

Dawn rolled her eyes and abandoned her post at the threshold.  “Mom!  They’re home,” she screeched as Buffy and Spike stamped the mud off their boots before coming inside.

“Seriously, do you have to scream?”  Buffy reprimanded as she turned her back to Spike so he could help her jacket off.

“Well, duh.  How else is she going to hear me?”  Dawn flipped her long brown hair, nearly catching her sister in the face.  Spike hung Buffy’s jacket up in the hall closet, and his next to it.

“Right.  Of course.  How thoughtless of me.”  Buffy waited until Spike was done, before lacing her fingers with his.  He brushed his lips along her jaw in quick, loving kisses before whispering something dirty in her ear. 

Dawn’s eyeballs rattled, and she decided not to wait for their lovey-dovey moment to be over.  “So did you get Dracula?”

Spike flicked the shell of Buffy’s ear with his tongue before drawing away.  “Yep.  Your big sis staked the poncy bastard good an’ proper.  Course the berk kept trying to rise again.  He never had much in the brains department.  He’ll be moving on before first light.  No one says no to the Slayer when she’s in superbitch mode.”

They followed Dawn into the kitchen as he spoke.  As they passed the counter, Dawn waved her hand towards a large pickle jar.  “That’s two quarters.”  She paused, scrunching her nose.  “Does berk count?”

“Nope,” Buffy replied with a pop.

Sniggering, Spike delved his hand into his front pocket where he kept a roll of quarters handy.  He popped out two coins and tossed them into the swear jar with a clank.

“Looks like I’ll have those new Doc Martins by the end of the month.”  Dawn wiggled her hips as she danced over to the stack of plates left on the counter by her mom.  Without being told she picked them up and danced her way into the dining room to set the table.  Buffy rolled her eyes at her appalling taste.  The menace she was dating had a horrible influence on her baby sister.

“Since you called me the ‘B’ word you owe an extra quarter.  That means you only get one more tonight or Mom’s gonna have your hide.”

Spike wrapped his hand around her waist, his fingers digging possessively into her hips.  He pulled her close, inhaling deeply as her sweet scent enveloped him.  He dipped his knees ever so slightly, nestling his hard cock into the warm heat between her thighs. 

“Later tonight I’m gonna take you upstairs and---“ he whispered the rest in her ear, reveling in her breathless giggle as he told her exactly how he planned on fucking her.  He pulled away and dropped five more quarters in the jar.

“Buffy.  Spike.  How did things go with Dracula?”  Joyce breezed in from the dining area.  She stopped at the stove to stir the bubbling red sauce that smelled like heaven. 

“Brilliant,” answered Spike.  “I finally got my eleven pounds from the bugger.  Gonna take the Slayer out for ice-cream later.”

Joyce shot him a long, exasperated look.  “Language, Spike.”  He looked down at his dwindling roll of coins.  He was going to need to stop at the bank tomorrow night before they patrolled.  He tossed another coin in the jar.

“I’m fourteen,” Dawn whined as she followed her mom in from the dining room.  “I think I can say bug—“  She was ground to a halt by a dirty look from Spike, which was somehow more effective than her own mother’s.

“Sorry, mum.”  Spike tried to look contrite, but on him it just came out impish.  Joyce shook her head and pulled out a bottle of red wine.  She handed over the bottle along with a corkscrew.  Without protest, Spike opened it.

“Buffy dear, would you take the salad and breadsticks out while I put together the spaghetti?”

“Sure thing, mom.”  Buffy rounded up the baskets off the counter.

“So, we’re going out for ice-cream?”  Dawn bounced in front of Spike, her smile dazzling.

“Sure thing, Nibblet.”

“Dawn.  I think Spike and Buffy would like to have a little time alone,” Joyce reproached as she tossed the noodles with the sauce.

“’s okay, mum.  Wanna treat my girls with my not so ill gotten gains.  You should come too.”

Joyce merely shook her head.  Spike spoiled them all rotten.  “I’ll take advantage of the peace and quiet and take an extra long bubble bath.”

Spike grinned unrepentantly, rocking slightly on his heels.  “Then I’ll be sure to keep them out extra late.”

Joyce just shot him a look, and took the bowl of spaghetti out to the table, leaving Spike to pour the wine.  He got out three pieces of stemware and poured modest portions.

“What’s it taste like?”  Dawn asked at his elbow.  He picked up the last glass, pouring a swallow of red liquid.

“Like grape juice.  Want some?”  He offered it to her.  She peeked up at him from beneath her fringe of bangs.  She looked so young, it made his heart clench with the memory of the first time he saw her.  All of twelve years old, full of spitfire and courage as she tried to protect her sister.  She hesitated and he cocked his scarred brow.

His challenge tweaked her adolescent pride and she swiped the glass from him, nearly fumbling when it was lighter than expected.  Bravely, she gulped the wine down, her face screwing up in childish distaste.

“Spike!”  Buffy growled from the doorway.

“That so does not taste like grape juice,” Dawn spat and ran to the sink to rinse out her mouth.  Buffy veered towards the fridge to pull out a bottle of Welches.

“What?”  Spike snickered as his Slayer continued to shoot him little glares of death.  “I have to get my evil in somewhere.  Providing a minor with alcohol fits the bill with the added white hat bonus of teaching her it’s nasty.  She won’t be drinkin’ wine for a long time.”

“You hope.”  Buffy poured her sister a tall glass of grape juice and shooed her off to the dining room.

“She better not or she’ll have to deal with me.”

“Ohh, the Big Bad making sure little girls don’t get drunk.”  She flashed him a smile.

The certainty he absolutely could be trusted with her family evident in every nuance of her body.

“Damn straight.  Where there’s drunk teenage girls, there’s usually drunk teenage boys and as far as I’m concerned my little nibblet is going to stay virginized for eternity.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, and picked up her glass, leaving him to carry his and Joyce’s.  “You’re terrible.  You know she’s gonna wanna date soon.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Good thing you’re already dead,” she sniggered, bumping him in the shoulder.

“Ha, bloody, ha.”

“Spike!”  He cringed at Joyce’s sharp tone.  Repentantly, he placed her glass in front of her, setting his down beside Buffy’s.  He trudged back into the kitchen and tossed another coin in the jar.

“Bloody, buggering, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, peeking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him.  He added another three quarters and threw the spent coin wrapper in the garbage.  At this rate Snack Size was going to have her Doc Martins and a Sex Pistols t-shirt by the end of the month.

His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he entered the dinning room to sit down and have dinner with his family.