[A/N: Moving right along here, nothing to see, keep moving. *grins* ahhhhhh... the title is from Siouxsie and the Banshees (go listen NOW, although its an acquired taste *snickers*) from the song “Softly” off their album Superstition, and the quotes are as attributed. ]
Previously: Spike’s hand is damaged and he accidently bit Buffy, but only Buffy, Tara, Giles and Spike know about it. This picks up immediately following the last chapter.
27. Softly to swim inside your veins
Do you hunger for this
The bliss of a sweet kiss
Shanghai'ed on a locust flight
The thirst of a vampire bite
Fills the emptiness inside
Consuming everything green-eyed
We Hunger
Siouxsie and the Banshees, We Hunger, from the album Hyaena
He thought about what she’d said on the short ride home. They’d piled into Xander’s car, Spike stretched out in the back with Buffy and Tara, while Dawn was up front with the other two. He didn’t have much else to think about, other than pain. He refused to think about the information Giles had given him – ‘hellhounds indeed’ and so focused on Buffy’s somewhat cryptic words.
She couldn’t possibly mean what he was hoping she meant.
The house they all thought of as home was dark, no lights on at all. Tara murmured something about no one being home and looked away. Spike suddenly wondered if what she wanted to talk to him about had to do with Willow and was glad she’d said she would wait until he was a bit better. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t be able to give her much positive help in any case.
They piled out of the car, trying not to jar his already throbbing hand. Didn’t matter that healing had already started, the damned thing hurt like bloody hell. Every motion of the car set it off, even as Buffy held it for him.
He made it up the steps under his own power, just barely. Absently he headed for the basement, when Buffy’s voice and hands directed him upwards. “C’mon upstairs.”
Like it was natural. Like this was normal.
Neither one of the other two even flinched, Dawn already on her way up the stairs and Tara moving toward the kitchen, saying, “I’m just gonna put these in the fridge.”
And up they went, Spike trailing behind Buffy like a wounded puppy.
******************************* ***************************************
Tara waited downstairs until the sound of their footsteps retreated. She didn’t want to go upstairs and find Willow in their bed like nothing was wrong between them.
She’d had a really good day with Dawn, had even enjoyed patrolling with the Buffybot, at least until Spike had gotten hurt.
And she hadn’t said anything about the deer scent she’d created, lasting long enough and strong enough to get the hounds away from Spike. Even though both Anya and Giles had looked at her kind of funny. She didn’t need to brag, she was just trying to help.
Tara suppressed a sudden chill. That’s what Willow kept saying – she was just trying to help. Was it the same thing? Was this how it all got started for Willow? How things started to go bad? Just wanting to help?
An image of Gaia entered her mind, of how the mother had looked at her. The echoed murmur of her blessing still rang in her ears and that doubt within her was eased. Tara wasn’t ever going to doubt that connection, that faith. It was unshakeable.
What she had done tonight for Spike wasn’t something that was going to start her on a slippery slide to badness. Heck, she hadn’t even been sure it was going to work, not until first one dog, then all of them had lifted their heads and howled. As it was, all she’d done was send a quick prayer to Artemis, and picture a deer in her head.
Apparently, that had been more than enough.
Tara really didn’t want to think that the same trick might not work twice.
Sighing again, Tara made sure all the doors were locked and then went to fetch a pair of Spike’s much hated sweatpants.
******************************* ***************************************
Dawn had gotten ready for bed in record time, then sped to Buffy’s room. Knocking on the door, she slipped inside just as her sister was moving to take off Spike’s boots.
He was laying cross-wise on the bed, his head closest to the windows. “Do you need anything before I go to sleep?”
Buffy had stopped unlacing his boots when she entered, then continued when it was clear Dawn was just trying to be helpful.
“I’m good.” Buffy got the first boot off, then had trouble with the knot on the second. “Oh, Spike, you want anything?”
“Painkillers. Whiskey. Nuthin else” was his terse reply from behind clenched teeth.
“I’ll be right back.” And Dawn was gone in a flash of long brown hair.
Finally getting the knot undone and both boots off, Buffy sat on the edge of the bed near him. “Shirt or jeans first?”
“Shirt. Nuthin’ on under m’jeans” he slurred.
There was no comment she could make to that statement that wasn’t going to sound like a come on. Actually, there wasn’t anything she could think that wasn’t one either.
“Okay. Sit up” and suiting action to words, Buffy helped him up.
It wasn’t much of a struggle, since he was awake and helping, but it was difficult getting him out of the tee shirt. Grunting just a little, Buffy muttered, “you might want to think about expanding your wardrobe when we have time to shop.”
If he wasn’t in the grip of enormous pain, he might’ve made a comment about how very coupley that sounded, but instead he let it go and just grunted and groaned.
Laying back on the bed, Spike panted out, “gimme a minute before we tackle the rest, yeah?”
“Whenever you’re ready. I’m gonna get changed.”
Just barely turning her back on him, Buffy abruptly decided to leave his tee shirt on and slid out of her shoes and jeans. She waited for a comment from him and when none was forthcoming, she turned to look at him.
He was watching her, a look on his face somewhere between pleasure and pain across his features.
His shirt. She was wearing his shirt and damned little else.
“You are beautiful” he breathed out, unable to think of something more profound to say.
It seemed to be enough, because she blushed, making her even more beautiful.
A knock on the door broke their silence, and Tara’s voice on the other side caught their attention “Buffy?”
“Yeah?” She stood there silent, her mind blank. “Um, yeah?”
Opening the door a bit, Tara peeked in “I brought some sweats for Spike.”
At Buffy’s questioning gaze, Tara blushingly confessed, “been doing his wash for months.”
And that was enough explanation.
Before anyone had a chance to comment, Dawn’s voice came from the hallway. “Coming in. Got extra-strength Tylenol and um . . . a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bottle of Glensomething or other. Looks like a demon language.”
“Its Scots Gaelic pet, not demonic.” Spike laughed a bit, despite his pain. Dawn was cute when she wanted to be.
Lifting up, Spike found himself surrounded by three concerned females. Buffy was immediately on the bed behind him, bracing his back, while Tara reached for his left arm. Dawn, not knowing what to do, stood there, juggling bottles of whiskey and painkillers.
“‘m dead and gone to heaven, right?” His voice was strained and tired from the pain.
“You are dead, but heaven?” There was real amusement in Tara’s voice.
“Surrounded by beautiful girls. Must’ve done somethin’ right.”
Tara giggled, catching sight of the look on Buffy’s face. “Beautiful?”
“Yup. Beautiful. All three of you.”
Dawn rolled her eyes, then winked at the other two, “and who’s the prettiest one of all?”
“Ah, Niblet, not gonna play Paris for you.” Spike leaned back against Buffy, his head resting on her shoulder. “You are all beautiful, m’girls.”
Holding out the whiskey, Dawn asked again “who’s prettiest?”
“Dawnie, don’t tease him.” Tara’s voice sounded so motherly that they all looked at her.
Giving in, Dawn handed him the Jack Daniels then popped open the Tylenol to give him a handful. Moving quickly, Tara got the teenager out of the room. Murmuring “goodnights” the pair closed the door behind them and burst into giggles.
They were alone. Finally.
Buffy climbed off the bed, holding Spike steady with one hand. Stopping her, he said “I’ll manage alone. Go brush your teeth or somethin’.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You can’t do this one handed.” She stood in front of him now, her hands on her hips, just surveying his state.
He couldn’t really say anything. She was determined on this. Way he felt right now, wouldn’t matter if she was trussed up and waiting for him, he wouldn’t be able to act on his desires anyway.
Getting to his feet, Spike undid his buttons and started sliding the jeans down his hips. At the first sign of resistance, Buffy’s hands were there helping him. Her eyes strayed below his waistband once, sneaking peek at his butt. Oh. . . oh . . . yum, she thought, then had to refocus on helping him because he stumbled a bit getting his feet untangled from his pooled up jeans.
She tried not to look, tried to keep her eyes from dipping below his belly button, tried not to look. She really really did. But when he turned around to take the sweats from her hand, Buffy couldn’t help it.
He wasn’t a big guy. Wasn’t tall like Riley or broad like Angel. In fact he was the shortest guy she’d ever been with since high school.
But his stature and physique were . . . Yeah . . . all sculpted lines and ripped abs and . . . oh yeah. . . and for a guy who was in a boatload of pain, he was impressive. . .
She caught herself staring and blushed furiously. Tearing her eyes away, Buffy wasn’t able to look at his face either, afraid he would mock her. But when his hand reached out to touch her chin, she tilted her eyes to his.
Dark smoldering blue stared back at her, without shame or remorse in their depths. “Your fault kitten.”
And then he dropped the issue. He was in too much pain to pursue it in any case. Spike sighed his regret, then whispered “soon, pet” so softly Buffy wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.
Wordlessly, they got the sweats on him, working together, then Buffy climbed into bed. Spike laid down with his back facing her, facing the door.
“Spike. This isn’t going to work” she half-whined at him.
“Just go to sleep kitten.” His hand was throbbing and despite his knowing timing was off, Spike’s libido wasn’t listening much.
“You can’t bite me from there.”
He sat straight up, turning his head to look at her. “What?”
“You heard me.” Playing with the hem of his tee shirt, she looked away. “I meant what I said, before, you need to heal.”
“Buffy. You sure?” He almost believed he was passed out and dreaming until she laid her hand on his back.
“Sure as I can be.”
“Right then.” Surveying first her, then the bed, Spike said “sit up sweetheart.”
He began one-handedly re-arranging the pillows until he was satisfied. Sliding one under her hips, he said “roll over love.”
Not sure what he was doing since she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking Buffy complied without too much complaining. Sliding in behind her, Spike wormed his good arm underneath her, cupping her close.
His breath was cool against the back of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin. Goosebumps flared all over as his voice sounded just below her ear. “Close your eyes kitten.”
His left hand snaked underneath the tee shirt, resting just outside her panties. His damaged hand rested over her, just holding her in place without any pressure.
Spike ran light kisses from the nape of her neck to her collarbone, pushing aside the gaping fabric. Buffy moved closer, her butt cradling his erection. The kisses became nibbles, open mouthed and sucking, while his left hand stole inside her panties, circling and seeking entrance. Her hips moved toward his hand, tilting forward to give him better access, and as his fangs nicked her, Spike found her clit.
She gasped, soft panting breaths hitching and sighing as he played her body. He lapped at the blood, running his rough tongue across her now hyper skin, his fingers circling her achingly empty pussy, but not entering.
His name breathed from her lips, a long drawn out sigh, begging him for more. Spike growled into the spot behind her nape, smiling when she keened and writhed against his hand. Cupping her mound while his mouth closed over her scored shoulder, Spike sunk his fangs into her neck and slid a finger inside her as Buffy shuddered in climax, gasping his name.
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