Spoilers: All of the Buffy series.
Dedicated: To the BLO girls (Candice, Jo, Ali, Trina, Crystal, and Lainey) and Andrew (spikyboy) – thanks for all the support and encouragement guys! You’ve been my biggest fans and some of the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to find. I love you all!
Tentatively he touched the bruise slowly forming just under his right eye, the skin fading from red to a deep painful purple. He sucked in a tight breath as a shock of pain spread out from beneath his fingertips. At least the swelling had gone down. Reaching down, he picked up the remnants of the melting ice cubes dripping into the thick red terry-cloth face cloth that lay crumpled in the skin before him. With numbing fingers he re-adjusted the cloth and pressed its wet, icy material against his eye once more. He winced again as pain spread out across his face but slowly it became nothing more than a dull ache beneath the chilling cloth. He sighed heavily, leaning forward, elbows resting on the smooth surface of the skin, his eyes staring at his haunting reflection in the mirror before him.
The shower had done him some good, his face no longer bloodied and raw. The cut on his left cheekbone was not nearly has deep as he had feared and his split lower lip, though still tender, had already clotted closed. He had been lucky. No broken bones, at most a bruised rib or two that would be sensitive for a few days, but he had gotten away in one piece unbroken. His free hand clenched tightly outstretched across the gaping mouth of the sink. He had been lucky. Damn, he’d been lucky.
He let out a deep breath through his nose, anger and frustration rising up inside of him again. It had been so long since he had nearly lost a fight, at least a fight against a vampire. Buffy had beaten the hell out of him many times but she was a slayer, which was to be expected, but not this, not now. Was this the cost of his humanity?
Of course she had tried to put his mind at ease, reminding him of the numerous times a random vamp had nearly gotten the best of her. He had only been back less than a month now. He was just rusty. The fight meant nothing and in the end he had finished them off, with her help yes, but still he had taken care of the last two on his own. So he’d got a few bruises, nothing was broken and he was still in one piece. Just shrug it off, she had said. It meant nothing. But it wasn’t that simple and he knew she was concerned too, could see the questions, the fear floating in the recesses of her luminous eyes. She was wondering the same things he was; had his humanity taken away every last part of his vampire self? Had the Shanshu Prophecy carried with it a consequence neither of them had been prepared for? Without his strength he was no use to her in a fight; no more effective than Xander had been. Was he nothing more than a liability, a weakness to be exploited by every new Big Bad that wanted to take the Slayer down?
The thought made his blood run hot, and he tore his eyes away from his own reflection too angry with himself to think straight. She could have been killed because of him. Hell, if it turned out that this wasn’t just one isolated incident of him being “rusty” then every moment together could put her in danger. In a rush of anger, he slammed the face cloth down into the sink with a growl. One brief moment and all the happiness he had been basking in for the last month had been torn from him. Their once bright, promising future was now overcast in a fog of doubt and uncertainty. Damn it! Why did everything always have to be so complicated for them! Hadn’t they both earned a break after everything?
He took in a deep long breath through his nose and let it out slowly, forcing his body to relax, his shoulders to loosen. Gently he shook out the remaining ice shards into the sink and hung the soaked face cloth over the shower head. With a parting glance at his bruised eye, he shut off the bathroom light and headed back into the bedroom.
She lay on her back in the middle of the bed, her hair spidering out like spun gold across the white of the pillow case. His black t-shirt hugged the curves of her body, the bed sheet pulled up to just below her breasts. Her breath was easy, even, the soft whisper of sleep. Her right hand lay across his pillow, fingers slightly spread as if reaching out for him. She moaned slightly in her sleep, a wave of sadness washing over her features as she whispered his name before curling onto her right side, her arm and hand sliding forward, reaching. But he didn’t come to her; instead he dropped down heavily into the plush desk chair that sat across from the bed, his eyes watching her sleep. He really was a jerk sometimes.
It had been the first night since he had returned that they had not made love. Not that either of them had been particularly in the mood after the fight they had had upon their return to the room. She had only been trying to ease his mind, to be supportive and he had bitten her head off. He had taken out all his own fears, frustrations, and self-loathing out on her, and for the most part she had born it with little resistance. Only when he accused her of secretly enjoying the fact that he was weak while she remained strong did her patience break, and she had railed into him full force. Not that he blamed her; even when he was yelling back at her he knew he was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. Ruled by his passions, his blood, for good and bad that was him, and not even regaining his humanity was going to change that. In the end he had stalked off to the bathroom, slamming the door in her face. She had tried to apologize an hour or so later, knocking softly at the door asking him to come to bed, her voice so quiet, defeated, tired, but he had ignored her and eventually she had stopped trying. He had hated himself for not going out to her, for letting her go to bed thinking he was still angry with her when he was not. He had never been. It was himself he was furious with, but then again you always hurt the ones you love most. And damn did he love her!
As he watched her sleep he absentmindedly reached over and began to withdraw a cigarette from the pack stuffed deep in the pocket of his duster which hung over the back of the chair. Lifting it to his lips he was just about to light it when he stopped, the flame of the lighter flickering before him. For so long he had been dependent on his smokes, an easy and convenient release, a warm comfort. But he was human now, complete with beating heart and fragility of life. Maybe he should quit; maybe he would quit tomorrow. He took in a long slow drag and letting the smoke fill him up, before letting out.
He sat quietly, watching her sleep until the cigarette had burned down to the filter. Snuffing it out in the ashtray that sat on the desk top he got to his feet and moved towards the bed. Quietly he removed his shirt and jeans, dropping them unceremoniously in a pile at the foot of the bed. Reaching over he turned out the light and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up around his chest. He lay on his back staring up at the darkness above him. Beside him he could feel her stir, her small hands clenching and unclenching as she dreamed. Leaning over he kissed her softly on the forehead.
“Sorry, luv,” he whispered to the silent darkness around them.
He slid and arm under her small frame, rolling her to him. She nestled against him, her small head leaning against his chest, her hair resting against his chin and cheek. She let out a deep sigh, her breath tickling his chest until he reluctantly smiled against her hair. Tomorrow he would make it right with her again. Yes, tomorrow things would look a brighter.
He moved deep within her, his body pressing against hers as he pushed forward. She moaned beneath him, her back arching as he pressed forward. He felt his pulse racing, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His finger tips gripped her shoulders, gently but tightly, her fingers running over the bare muscles of his back. Opening his eyes he stared down at her beneath him, her eyes half closed as a wave of pleasure washed over her. She breathed his name, her legs hugging the sides of his hips tighter as her need grew. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in his own, his tongue licking the salt from her lower lip. Beads of sweat began to break out across his chest and back as his own pleasure grew. He dropped his head forward, breathing heavily into her hair, breathing in her scent, her breasts soft and bare pressed against his chest. Buffy let out a cry, sounds truly carnal falling from her lips as his movements became faster, harder, deeper.
“I love you,” she whispered against his neck, and he pushed himself back up so he could look down into her face. A wave of pleasure washed over him and he closed his eyes in an attempt to hold out a bit longer. Slowly he opened them again preparing to kiss her once last time before letting himself go, but instead she was gone! Drusilla’s smiling face beamed up at him, “Hello my sweet Willie.”
“Dru!” he stammered, staring down at her naked body beneath him, her long black hair falling in a curtain over her naked breasts. “You’re not here. You can’t be here.” He tried to pull out of her, but she wrapped her legs around his waist, her feet pressing hard against his naked backside. She was like a steel trap, and then she began to move beneath him.
“Does my sweet Willie not want to play?” Dru cooed, her eyes dancing with treacherous promises. Pleasure deep and dangerous began to build within him.
“Dru, stop,” he growled, pushing against her, silently begging his body to stop, but he was only a man and the pleasure began to swell.
“Has that dirty whore taken everything from my sweet Willie. Tsk tsk. After all we taught him, after all we let him play with, he does not want his old toys anymore. She is a very bad shiny new doll and I think we must teach her a lesson.”
“No,” Spike hissed, pushing against Dru with all his might, but instead she just rolled him onto his back, her naked body straddling him.
“Now we will show you a real ride,” she grinned, her face transforming as she unleashed the demon within her. Her fanged mouth smiled cruelly down at him, as she began to ride him, hard and fast. He could feel his resolve melting away, his body giving in. Desperation broke out in a cold sweat across his forehead. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t Dru’s play thing anymore; he hadn’t been for years, and now, now the only woman he wanted touching him so intimately was Buffy.
“She will never understand you as we have, my silly boy,” Dru whispered, leaning down towards him. “Remember it was we that found you, the sad, sorry excuse for a man. It was we who saved you, who gave you a purpose and power, and yet you threw it all away for that whore. She can never love you. Only we know how to love you the way you deserve to be loved. You are of no use to her anymore; can’t even handle a few vampires. So very sad; I do believe the flowers weep for my Willie, my weak and helpless Willie. But we will give you your true self back. Yes once she is dead you will live again.”
“No!” Spike cried, slamming his hands in to Dru’s naked shoulders and rolling her roughly onto her back. “You won’t harm her,” he spat down at her.
She lay there quietly for a moment before the deep fluttering laugh of hers that he knew too well began to well up out of her throat. “My poor poor William. We do not need to harm her…”
Suddenly Drusilla morphed before his eyes into that of Cecily, the first woman he had ever loved. She looked up him with her big eyes, full of mocking laughter. “…it is you who will destroy her for us,” she finished, her voice full of laughter and disgust.
Spike woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Thank god it had only been a dream. He lay back down, his breath still coming in ragged gasps, his lower body hot and hard to the point of pain from the dream. He needed a release. For a brief moment he glanced over at Buffy’s sleeping form beside him. He knew she would oblige him; all he had to was wake her and she would happily fulfill his need, but he couldn’t, not after his dream. Drusilla and Cecily’s mocking faces still floated before his waking eyes. He suddenly felt dirty, cheap, and quickly he rose from the bed and made his way into the bathroom.
Moments later he emerged, his pain gone, his body cooling. Still the dream haunted him. He hadn’t dreamt of Dru since he had returned at last to Sunnydale all those years ago. And Cecily, he hadn’t thought of her since he had killed her just after Dru had turned him. Why now, why like this? A shiver ran up his spine and he climbed back into the bed, rolling onto his side and drawing Buffy’s slumbering body to him. Holding her close, he breathed in the scent of her hair and felt his mind relax a little. Yet still he felt guilty holding her so close, so intimately after his dream.
With a kiss, he moved back from her, rolling onto his stomach, his face inches from her own. He could feel the warm softness of her breath against his face. She was beautiful when she slept. Hell, she was beautiful whatever she was doing. How could he have ever earned the love of someone like her? Maybe Dru was right; maybe he didn’t deserve that kind of love, the kind of love Buffy gave to him. After all he had done… He let that last thought die where it was.
He had done enough second guessing and questioning for one night, and he was surprised to find his eyelids suddenly very heavy with sleep. Still feeling too guilty to touch her, he slid his right hand into one of Buffy’s open palms, holding it gently against the pillow for a few moments. Finally with a parting squeeze he released it and closed his eyes. His last conscious thought was a silent prayer that he would not dream for the rest of the night.