Spike stood outside the door of the place he remembered was Angel’s, eyeing the open frame wryly. He waited, watching Angel as his grandsire stared back, both silent and uncooperative about beginning the greetings.
Eventually, Spike decided to give in to his more generous nature; after all, he knew Angel didn’t end up with the girl. Well, not completely anyway. He took a step forward, letting his lips part to form a sentence when he was stunned into immobility.
“What’s wrong with Dru?”
Spike leaned against the door jam, grateful that the start of this confrontation was with a topic that concerned them both.
“She’s weak. We were attacked…in Prague…she nearly didn’t make it out.”
Angel watched the younger vampire, the stirrings of familial loyalty becoming stronger the more time he allowed it.
“Maybe sire blood will help?” Spike prompted, and nearly fell over when Angel shared his agreement.
“I’ll come by to see her tomorrow night. What about you?” The big brooding brunette watched his grandchilde shrewdly, noticing the shift of his eye, the suddenly rigid body.
“What about me?” he stalled, not ready yet to tell any or all of his story. Besides the fact that he didn’t think the great poof would believe himparticularly if he shared the details about shagging Buffy he had the uneasy feeling that if his knowledge of the events of the future got into the wrong hands, he’d be buggered over yet again. And this time, the reward meant too much to him.
“Why aren’t you acting like the real Spike?”
Spike felt his spine stiffen and his hands clenched in irritation.
“And you would know who the real Spike is, how?” He raised his gaze, eyes burning bright and determined into the unsuspecting stare of his sire.
“I know you, Spike. I know who you are and I know what you are. You’re up to something.”
“That might be right on the money, Sire. But what I’m offering you right now is the chance to do Dru right. You owe ‘er. I’m not here to cause trouble.” ‘Well, not much,’ he justified to himself quietly.
“That’s too easy. I don’t believe you.”
Spike could feel the angry build up of rage and he grit his teeth hard to try and stem damning words from flowing spontaneously out his mouth.
“Since when ‘ave I been a liar?” The younger vampire existed now in a whirl of affronted rage, memories of being beaten for his honesty leaving smarting memories upon his dead flesh. He had the scintillating satisfaction of seeing Angel cringe.
“Okay.” The alpha vamp lowered his head, conceding defeat. “So you really want me to help Dru. What more are you trying to do?”
“I want you to take her on. Help her. You’re her sire. Time you did your job.”
Angel tried to hide his shock, but the request was so far out of left field that he found it impossible.
“What?”
Spike stood stubbornly silent, and Angel felt himself clawing the air for reasonable explanations to this. Dru was Spike’s world. He couldn’t understand what could have brought about such a sudden shift in the younger vamp’s focus.
And then little hints of the unease he had felt around Buffy tonight took on a shape that almost left him gasping.
“She said you fell on her.”
“That’s one way of tellin’ it, I s’pose.” Spike didn’t even pretend that he didn’t understand the sudden change in topic. He smirked, and laughed on the inside at the flash of pain in the older vamp’s chocolate eyes. The warmth abruptly turned arctic as Angel growled with anger.
“You’re after her, then? Buffy? Is this some new way you have of killing Slayers?”
Spike couldn’t help it. One minute he was still propped against the doorframe, and the next his fangs were slashing the air, fists making contact with bone and flesh. Angel flew from his seat and hit the wall behind, knocking over all that had been in his path.
“I won’t be killin’ ‘er!” Spike spat in a rage. “I won’ be hurtin’ ‘er. Which is more ‘an I can say about some.”
Angel jumped to his feet, his own fangs and ridges forming a possessive warning.
“You have nothing to offer her, Spike. And I don’t believe you for a second. Killing Slayers is what you do.” He’d formed fists, cocked ready should Spike launch himself into the fray once again.
It was obvious when the violence drained from Spike’s body, though, and a relaxed if not completely trustful air fell onto the room.
“I swear I’m not here to hurt ‘er. I only want to help.”
Jealousy flared and changed the rhythm between the two male vampires.
“She has me,” Angel almost snarled. “She doesn’t need you.”
Spike felt the confidence seep away for short moments, but flashes of memory dictated different truths to him.
“She needs someone who will always be lookin’ out for ‘er. That’s not you.”
Angel puzzled, trying to beat back the fuzz of unreality that had cloaked his whole night.
“But you can help--not that I believe for a second that you actually want to-- and still hang on to Dru. Why are you trying to pass her on to me?”
Spike felt the conversation veer dangerously close to dicey territory. He wasn’t ready to disclose-- refused to in fact. Why did he always let Angel rile him up so much that he lost his sense? He chose to tell the truth, or as veiled a version of the truth as he wanted the other to know.
“Dru has always been wantin’ to get back to Daddy. You’re ‘ere, so you can go to her. Our time is over an’ that’s all I’m sayin’ on the subject. Savvy?”
Not waiting for further bursts of argument, Spike turned on his heel and strode gracefully into the shadows of the night.
The air was brisk as it whooshed around him, and he felt a true smile tug at his lips for the first time since Buffy had shagged him rotten. Not that that occasion had remained light and carefree for long. Still, this was a rocking situation he found himself in, and he felt completely overwhelmed by the possibilities. He felt near paralyzed with how delicious everything was. Now he just had to stop and make a mental list of all the things he’d unintentionally bollocksed up--and the things that had been undoubtedly evil--and go about reversing them.
Yes, he could feel the spring return to his step, the joy re-enter his night as he pounded the pavement, not exactly sure where he was headed. He felt carefree, positive, and wholly whipped--but deliriously happy about it. Buffy had let him touch her, kiss her potent lips. Bloody hell, there was fire between them, even right back to this time. Why had he been such a clueless git to have not noticed? Or he had, but back then he’d preferred fighting to fucking. No, that wasn’t right either…loving. He loved her with everything he was and no way was he goin’ to screw this up again.
He knew that it was usually the outcome of such ill thought out wishes with vengeance demons to cause some God-awful consequence, and, as a rule, he was right behind the shunning of such a fool thing. In this instance, however, he couldn’t get the streaked blond beauty out of his head. She was pure ambrosia for the reforming devil. Her mouth could feed him for several lifetimes, and he had intimate knowledge of all the other delights she could offer him.
But he had to calm down. This Buffy was so young. Admittedly, she’d given it up for Angel not too far from now, but now that Spike was turning a new leaf, and giving the girl options, he could be sure that he could win her. She had choices now, and the risk of being sucked wholly and solely in by the big brooding brow was minimised. If he could play this right, he could be her first--her true love--and he could help her learn the truth about the difference between having and not having a soul and all the rubbish that came with the Watcher’s assumptions.
Speaking of, Spike felt none too startled to find himself outside the complex that housed Rupert’s pokey little flat. He stood at the entry, silently debating with himself about whether or not to risk going in to say hello. A playful smirk teased his lips, and, hands in jean pockets, he turned in the gate.
The unreality of it all bounced off him as he pounded on the Watcher’s door, wondering if the good little librarian actually hung out here much during Buffy’s school days. Spike knew that once his girl went to college, this was the Scooby centre of operations, but before that he pondered if the children had even seen the inside of where Rupert lived. He was pretty sure all the stories from this time focused around the school library.
The door opened and he found himself staring into the apprehensive eyes of his fellow Brit and one time landlord.
“Hullo, mate. Thought you might like to share a bottle of somethin’. Put on a few vinyl’s and we can have a chat.” Spike watched as anxiety and fear battled with interest, hoping that for once the old man would take a risk and give him the benefit of the doubt. Despite hoping for it, Spike nearly fell over in a dead faint when the Watcher stepped aside and held the door open.
“Come in…er…Spike, is it?” His namby pamby accent seemed to say the name with distaste and Spike determined that he and Giles were going to be well on the way to bosom buddies before the night was through. A good bottle of scotch could make comrades of the bitterest enemies.
Giles thought he had witnessed the glassiness of the vampire’s eyes, but then he shook his head and gave a thankful nod before walking through the held door and making his way further into the flat.
“Buffy told me you killed the Anointed One.” The statement was simple, factual and invited no further confirmation. He received a nod of acknowledgement before Spike flopped himself into a dining chair, rubbing his hand over the back.
“Ah, memories,” he reminisced and chuckled at the images of being tied loosely to the chair while the Slayer harped on about her commando and boyfriend issues. Well, there’d be none of that this time round. Little farmboy commando wasn’t getting a looksie if Spike could help it.
He jumped slightly when a full glass of amber liquid was placed directly in front of his hand and he reached for it gratefully.
“He was right annoying, that little one.”
“Is that why you killed him? Because he annoyed you?” Giles watched the vampire behind narrowed eyes, his hand resting rather heavily on a stake.
“I probably would have killed him eventually,” Spike joked, even if he was the only one he expected to get it. He sighed as the guarded expression remained prominent on Rupert’s face. “I did it for Buffy,” he clarified finally, enjoying the look of confusion the Watcher now sported.
“And why would you do that for Buffy?”
Spike considered his answer for long minutes, not sure what to say. He instinctively knew that if he admitted to the watcher that he was in love with Buffy that he might not make it out of the flat undusty. Although now he was pre-chip and he could at least defend himself, against Rupert he knew he wouldn’t.
When he finally raised his eyes they showed a sadness and dejection that he’d thought had been discarded the moment of demon girl’s spell; when he’d realised he had a second chance.
“Look, I can’t tell you. Just, things are not goin’ to go the way they could have. I’m not the bad guy here; I want to help Buffy stay alive. How can you knock that back?” He paused as he allowed a smirk to form on his plump pink lips. “’Sides, I’m better lookin’ than the poof, an’ I don’ brood. Not goin’ to leave her if the goin’ gets tough. I’ll be here and I’ll do everythin’ I can to prove to you an’ her that you can trust me.”
Giles seemed completely flummoxed and his hand wandered away from the stake, seemingly too entranced by the possibilities of a soulless demon offering hope.
“A-Are you seeking redemption?” he asked at last, his voice suffused with hints of disbelief.
Spike flinched, then flashed back upon a memory that had not been prominent in his past, but something he now found might be kind of relevant. A moment in his crypt, counting money as Giles offered the suggestion that his defanging with the chip could have been an impetus for something more for him. At the time, he’d fobbed off the possibility, but now he could see the roundabout journey of it all.
The chip had taken away his ability to hunt, though not to remain evil. In fact, in true evil demon fashion, he’d rebelled against his newly neutered state by trying to stir up trouble between Buffy and her mates, aligning himself with the true Big Bad of the moment: Adam. His plan had fallen through, pretty much like they’d always done. Still, at the end when he’d been betrayed himself by the half-human half-demon, he didn’t rush on out and find another way to survive. He’d hidden in the shadows and protected the Scoobies from attack. And further aligned himself with the Slayer.
A number of half-hearted efforts to return to his evil ways never fully panned out, and now he recognised the influence of Buffy on his actions. Her light overshadowed all his own personal dark, and he could see the lightening of Spike clearer now that he was away from the repressive violence of ‘resurrected Buffy’. If being in her light meant he could shine a little for her, then sure, redemption could be his new kick. If it really came down to it, he knew he would sacrifice his life to save the world if it meant she could live in it. He didn’t need a soul to tell him that.
Giles’s gaze had remained unrelenting for the period that Spike phased out, sifting through his thoughts and feelings till he felt comfortable with an answer.
“Not sure redemption is the right word,” he began, and frowned when he felt unusually tongue-tied. “Just want to make things right. Let her have an easier time of things. She’s got some hard roads to travel and she doesn’ need them to be impossible. If I can lighten’ the load, then I will. If I can help her save the world, I will. But I’m not gettin’ a soul, and I’m not gettin’ poofy hair or lifts.”
The room was loud in its silence as both reached the end of what logic pushed them to say. Giles was completely dumbfounded by the vampire’s words, and in complete disagreement with commonsense, his stake lay abandoned on the table as he stretched his legs and gathered together his bottled liquor.
“How did you go from being the killer of Slayers, to wanting to keep one alive?”
Spike felt strangely affected by the lack of venom in this human’s voice, completely unaccustomed to non-judgmental Giles. He was starting to curse the fact that he had so much history with these people and he was unable at this stage to reveal it all.
“I’ve jus’… been through some things,” he offered cryptically before suddenly grasping the wisdom of a change in topic.
“So, how much do you know about Angelus’s curse?”
If there was one thing Spike was beyond determined to achieve-- even if he completely turned everything arse over tit-- he would make sure Angel kept his slimy hands off Buffy and not risk losing his soul. He’d keep the chit from making the gelled one her one true love and destroying all hope for fellas pursuing her in the future. Not that there would be any: he’d be first in line.
An attack of nerves caught him unawares, and he felt his throat constrict at the sudden thought that repeated endlessly in his mind.
She had told him--on many more than one occasion--that she didn’t love him, could never love him. He’d thought coming back to when she was innocent, unhurt and devastated, that he could make her see how special the thing between them could be. But what if nothing changed? What if, even in this time, even if he’d not fought her and tried to kill her, she still felt no magic between them? What if he was destined to just love and never be loved in return?
So caught up in his fear, he didn’t hear Giles’s response to his question. Until he recognised the frown of annoyance and he made the effort to draw back from the nightmarish thoughts that could well destroy him.
“Sorry, mate. Got lost in somethin’ then. What were you sayin’?”
Giles began again, obvious in his interest of discovery. “We know next to nothing about his soul, I’m afraid. Do you have any information that could tell us more?”
Spike burned with the need to lay it all on the table, but they weren’t ready; didn’t trust him enough to take his word. And if he just came out and blurted the truth of the curse now, then it might push Buffy further into the brooding poof’s arms, and that wasn’t what he wanted at all.
“All’s I know it’s a curse, cast on ‘im when he ate a favourite gypsy girl.”
“A curse?” Giles whispered, his mind ticking over into research mode. “Of course, he told Buffy this last year. But to hear you say it--well, I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t think there would be more to it. There are always ways to break a curse, aren’t there? To make him feel remorse for all the murder and torment he’d caused. Quite ingenuous. But surely the gypsies wouldn’t have left an opening for Angelus to return?” The little smile of academic interest and appreciation made Spike’s teeth feel on edge. And suddenly he could see his solution, could see a way to enlighten them, or at least set the ball rolling on discovering all Angel’s deep and dirty secrets. And this time, save lives and heartbreak. Preferably his.
“Not as simple as that, mate. Curses are usually a bugger to keep under control. Not sure exactly the wording but there could be consequences. And unleashing Angelus is not something you want to do. What you need is to investigate it and make sure it’s safe.” Spike sat back and waited for the incurable researcher to click in.
Giles sat in an agitated need for information, for knowledge.
“You could ask that gypsy bird at your school.” Spike had heard that the teacher had kept her identity a secret and it had caused a world of hurt in the end. As far as he was concerned, it was time for her to be outted. But he had to tread careful like, make sure he didn’t give too much away.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Giles in confusion.
“The teacher. The black-haired bird? Obviously gypsy.” Spike tried for an expression of unsure distraction. “Don’t you think?” and nearly fisted his hand in the air as he hooked Rupert to the possibility.
“Yes,” he said hesitantly, thoughtfully. “Yes, she does at that. I will be certain to have a chat to her tomorrow morning. Thank you, Spike, for pointing something out to me I should have noticed months ago.”
“No problem with that, Rupes. Now best be going. Might do a quick patrol before headin’ back under cover.” As Spike regained his feet, he was restrained by a hand on his arm.
“You are travelling with that female vampire? Drusilla? Is she of the same mind as you?”
Spike smiled sadly as he contemplated the mad, weak countenance of his true sire. He shook his head slowly.
“No, but I’m gettin’ Peaches to take on some of his clan responsibility. He’s leader and her sire, so he should be there to look out for her. It’s his call what should be done with her.” He turned quickly and walked to the door, missing the look of astonishment that flashed across Giles’s face.
“I thought she was your sire, your lover for over a century?”
The voice halted him with his hand circling the door handle. He didn’t turn back, didn’t reveal his anxious concerns regarding Angel’s decisions for Dru.
“She is my sire, but she isn’t my future.” And he swung the door inward and strode back out into the night.
He’d blinked and missed it. The entire bloody walk. He hadn’t meant to go to her house, but all things considered, he could hardly be surprised. He’d spent the better part of the past two years lurking under her tree, smoking himself more to death while he waited and watched for any sign of her. Just hoping for a show that she hadn’t ever given him.
Not once had he caught her disrobing in her room. Probably explained his risky excursions to her lingerie drawer. The mystery of it all had been too tantalising and being the evil git that he was, he couldn’t resist sneaking into her bedroom and lifting a couple of those secrets for his pleasure later at his crypt.
Now he stood under the tree and argued with himself about the wisdom of climbing it. One hand rested against the bark while he told himself he was risking everything by coming to her, but also wondering if his invite still existed, even though he’d gone back in time. Still busy contemplating, he didn’t hear the soft whisk of her bedroom window sliding up, nor hear her as she leaned out with a not too subtle ‘pssst’.
It was only at the dulled thump of her feet hitting the grass that he snapped out of his dejected decision to not go up to her. He blinked before offering her a wide ecstatic grin and lurched forward to sweep her into his arms.
“Evenin’, pet. How’d you know I was here?” He felt as giddy as a schoolboy as she rested her tiny but powerful palms against his chest. Until he noticed the slight pressure holding him back a little.
“Tinglies,” she offered simply, her head to the side as she contemplated him, and the streetlights bouncing off her shiny hair. “What are you doing here?” Her question brought a smile to his aching lips. He felt ready to die for the possibility of laying one on her, right here under the tree at her house. Nothing like being confronted with his straightforward no-nonsense Slayer to move his libido into top gear. His lips belonged on hers. It was pure agony to be distant.
“Couldn’t stay away from you, Goldilocks.”
She thrust him away, acting only a little concerned as his back slammed into the bark of the tree--though her frantic heartbeat betrayed her concern--and crossed her arms over her sublime yet perky breasts. His mouth watered at the thought of all he had tasted, and was finding he had to exert supervillain powers to control himself from pouncing on her and showing her all she could have.
“Less with the flirty and more with the talky,” she told him with an even greener tint to her emerald eyes. “Who’s Morticia?” And then her foot began to tap.
Spike was mesmerised, and seriously turned on. But then her words cut through the lust fog of his brain and he turned confused eyes to her.
“Who?” he asked, completely stumped. And then he remembered. She meant Drusilla, and her calling his ex-lover back to his mind was suddenly painful. He even felt a little guilty for forgetting about his dark princess for those moments.
“You know? Drusilla, the Wonder Loon.” Her voice was sharp with something he couldn’t dare to hope for, but reason had nothing on patience when he was dying for some sign that she could care for him.
His lips curled in a relieved, soft smile and he gazed upon her with warm, melting looks of affection.
“Dru is my sire, pet. I’ve been with her for over a hundred years.” He held a breath as Buffy’s eyes went wide, and her heartbeat picked up pace.
“You’ve been flirting, and making with the kissage, and you already have a girlfriend?” Her eyes shone with what almost looked like hurt and betrayal and he panicked.
“No!” he shouted and lunged forward to take her back in his arms. He crushed her to his chest and he breathed in the fruity fragrance of her hair.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Buffy. Not anymore. I’m gonna find a place, get out on my own. Time for me to be my own man. But Dru needs carin’. Peaches is gonna look after her now. It’s his place as head of the clan.”
Buffy could feel his lips lost in her hair, feel his hands as they rubbed subtle circles over her back, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t stop the huge sigh of relief that passed over her lips. And then his words meshed together and she found she didn’t understand everything.
“Who or what is Peaches?” she asked in that hoity-toity voice he loved so much. He grinned, feeling like a little evil payback was in order.
“That would be Angel, pet. You know, tall, dark and forehead? Your boyfriend?”
She had the decency to blush and Spike thought it was adorable. He couldn’t believe the fun he was having in getting to know teenage Buffy--girly Buffy. He’d been so intent on killing her back then that he hadn’t taken the time to see her. Sure, he’d noticed the innocent seduction of her body swaying to the music, got hard when he saw how her body stretched taut and strong each time he fought her. But he didn’t get into her head, didn’t listen to her quips, didn’t want to understand her teenage insecurity and boy traumas. Bloody hell, he’d missed too much.
Even worse than being evil, his demon was stubborn. But as usual, he found a way he could blame it all on Angelus. If the pansied git hadn’t told him about Slayers in the first place, he would never had sought them out for the fights of his unlife. Then again, he might never have taken her on, either. Right about now, he felt like holding prayer sessions to thank God for Vengeance Demons.
“He is so not my boyfriend,” Buffy denied forcefully, breaking through his preoccupied walk through history. “Well, not…really…” she muttered guiltily. “We’re not going steady or anything,” she finished on a wave of defiance. Her eyes were fixed on the grass; her foot kicking at innocent tufts that had the misfortune of being in line with her shoe.
“Guess that means you’re free as a bird, then,” he teased her. He laughed as he heard the blood rush to the surface of her skin. She looked at him through a curtain of finely blended blond highlights and he felt the tenderness for her well up inside of him.
It was all so different, yet the same. His feelings seemed so much more intense, though not stronger. He felt a freedom and an allowance to feel which he had never felt before. The encounters he’d had with the Slayer that allowed him to touch her-- emotionally and physically--had always been fraught with ill-disguised disgust. Every caress was under forbearance, and it hurt. Everything about his contact with Buffy hurt. Which was why he wanted a numbing spell in the first place, yeah?
And now he’d gone back. Back to the place where their history span together, twisted and intersected until it all got so confused. The hate and desire and lust, and later, the love. Every emotion he’d ever felt for the girl was extreme, was everything that he was. And right now, just checking out the prettiness of her youth, her happiness to be alive and so far untouched by grief, made his hard on pretty damn extreme.
It was difficult to trust, but his luck had seemingly changed for the better. He’d already kissed her, let his fingers glide against her skin like smooth cream, and created little waves of ‘maybes’ that had already inspired her to downplay her connection with the Grand one. Had allowed her to submit to the touch of an evil demon and enjoy it.
He felt the burn of her consideration, her eyes pinning him still.
“Wanna patrol?” Her voice was hesitant, but hopeful. Almost like she really wanted him to come and kill baddies with her.
Spike could feel himself light up, never having felt so ebullient in his life.
“I’ve a better idea, pet. Let’s spar.”
Before the words had fully left his mouth she was gone, sprinting across the lawn and road and taking a familiar path to the first cemetery in her path. His initial burst of speed in a run caught him up, but an evil grin consumed him and he took off in a flying leap, tackling her hard to the ground.
They rolled and struggled, until Buffy ended up wrestling with thin air. She blinked in surprise before springing to her feet. Her coat, a pale colour that was going to have obscene looking stains after their tussle, swished around her as she stalked the vampire. He brought his ridged face forward, mapped out her movement and calculated his plan of attack.
He had advantage, and he relished it. He knew exactly how she fought, and thanks to the chip giving him more worthy opponents than the occasional strong human, he was more a force to reckon with than when he originally went rounds with her. Still, once he pounced and began to land blows, he refused to hold back. He wanted her to know what kind of a threat he could have been to her.
He tossed her over his shoulder and she landed hard against a crypt wall, not even pausing as she made it back to her feet and swept the dust off her coat. The flash of the happy lips she tossed him made him feel light, awed, and very bloody horny.
The tempo of her heartbeat increased so much that he was using his fists in time to it. She caught almost all of them and he copped a kick or two to pay him back for the ones she missed. Then he could smell blood on the air, the crimson and sweet aroma of her blood and he froze. The power and strength caught him up in tendrils of exquisite wanting and he felt useless with numb limbs. His cock ached and pointed, wanting her so badly that he was nearly likely to juice up his pants. Not very gentleman-like.
But she seemed to notice the moment he stopped with the fight, her panting breaths coinciding with the blood pulsing to his cock, and finally his eyes fell upon the spill. A cut on her lip--the most erotic bleeding in history, he thought dumbly. She moved toward him, concern and confusion marring her pace, but eventually she was before him and he could smell her, could damn near taste her and all he wanted was to possess her. Mark her. Make her forever his.
His fangs disappeared, despite his urgent desire to bite her, and he watched her with lust-drugged eyes. He was almost too rigid to move; desperate for some contact with her that would prove to him that this new chance would be worth it. But the power of her blood, of his new circumstance held him to the spot, making him an easy mark for her.
And finally she was close enough to touch, though he still couldn’t move. Not that it made a difference because marking was the order of the day. She leapt forward and attacked his mouth and he sucked in that blissful taste of her blood and felt himself cum, his hips jerking with the pleasure of having her essence in his body. He felt her struggle back but he held her, dragging her body flush against his as he allowed his tongue to thrust into her mouth.
He felt the discomfort of the sliminess in his jeans, but he wasn’t embarrassed. He’d just experienced something so spontaneous, something so hot that he’d never had with his Buffy, and he wasn’t going to waste time with awkward apologies. His hands found her waist as he held her against him, moaning as he felt her raise a leg and clamp it around him.
His lips caressed hers, demanding to be allowed sanctuary and making promises he had every belief in. He’d made promises to her and he’d kept every one. As he tangled his hand in her hair, he promised to help her fight evil. As he licked her bottom lip before sucking it in between his teeth, he promised to help protect her family. As he cupped his hand around her bottom and pushed her further into his once again hardening cock, he promised to love her forever. As his hand found a path under her top to wander over her delicious skin, he promised to never leave her. And as he felt himself lose control and clamp around the soft but luscious skin of her breast, tweaking the nipple till she cried in exquisite torture, he promised her the world and everything he was.
So it came as a shock when he found himself slamming hard into the side of a mausoleum, watching in disbelief as her fist covered her raw and ravaged mouth.
“This…is wrong. You’re evil. A vampire. You have no soul.”
Spike could only stare at her in horrified stupefaction.
“Holy fucking hell,” he roared. His game face surged and his fangs were itching to sink into something soft. “That argument is really fucking old. And bloody redundant, and you, you are going to admit that one day if it bleeding well kills me. I ‘aven’t killed a human in almost three years. An’ now it’s through bloody choice, you stupid bint. I’ve taken out the little kiddy to spare you the trouble, promised your watcher I’ll look out for you, and holy fuck I get so hot around you I think I’ll combust. And you dive down my throat, suck up everything in me, and then decide it’s wrong. I don’t think you’ve got a handle on what’s wrong, sweetheart. I guess that bleeding parade with the trombones is still a long bloody way off. How fucking typical!”
His amber eyes flashed, his fists pumped at his sides and his fury seeped through his skin and voice till she felt scorched.
And all Buffy could do was watch as the hottest guy she knew abandoned her in the cemetery. She turned dejectedly on her heel, wondering about the explosive temper of the blonde vamp, and made her way home.
“What’s with the parade? And I hate trombones,” she muttered, and just walked while softly rubbing her lips with her finger. They were sore, sensitive…and bleeding she realised as her finger came away red.
Well, that explained the out of control passion on his part.
And despite it all, she smiled, and whooped as she took off at Slayer speed for home, and some rather nice dreams about sexiness in a slight but rather compact package.
And ewww…did he come in his pants?
A/N: Like? Hate? Want More? Want me to just bug off? You know where the review button is!
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