Sequel to Shepherd; part of The Voicesverse
Rating: NC 17 (just to be safe)
Summary: I think we all know what this is, don't we? A second part to my earlier smutty interlude. If you didn't read 'Shepherd,' you won't get 'Two Days' Part 1 and if you didn't read Part 1, you won't get this.
Spoilers: Post-Shepherd, a part of my Season 7 AU.
Distribution: Just talk to me, I'm easy.
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Feedback: You beta, you beta, you bet! email@example.com
Chennie, this is your reward for a lovely review! It was worth waiting for!
Buffy's eyes opened slowly and found herself pressed against something cool and still. She got up on one elbow to look over Spike's shoulder at his face, curious.
She'd seen him asleep, or what passed for sleep with a vampire, more than once, but this was different. The other times it had almost been like he slept with one eye open, ready to respond to whatever came up.
He was pretty when he was still like this. Oh, sure, she thought grudgingly, he was pretty when he was awake, but his mouth was moving so much of the time, that she never got to enjoy just looking at him.
At the moment, sleep of the dead totally made sense.
Looking closer, she began to wonder if he was all right. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she created a new morning mantra, hopefully filing it away for other mornings. 'Not dusty, not dead. Not dusty, not dead.'
As if reinforcing her thoughts, he suddenly drew in a breath. Startled, Buffy watched him, waiting for him to expel the air.
Two minutes later, she realized that wasn't going to happen. How much weirder could her life get?
Dawn, she thought. Picking up the phone with a grimace, she punched in the number at Janice's house.
She pulled the phone to her and read the instructions. Sighing, she dialed 'nine' and the number. Absently, her eyes wandered to his back. Utterly primo back.
When Janice's mother answered, Buffy almost dropped the phone.
After whispered questions and false starts, Janice's mother finally informed the slayer of the facts: One, the girls had gone to school; two, they had left on time. Thanking her, Buffy hung up the phone, frowning.
Inching her legs over the side of the bed and pulling the sheet under her arms and over her chest, she set the phone back on the bedside table and stared at the carpet. Her second call was to the school.
A firm hand crept under the sheet and fastened on to her right breast. Involuntarily, she turned into it and brought her arm down tightly, holding it there. She quietly spoke to the school, reassuring herself that Dawnie was indeed there.
Thanking the secretary, she hung up the phone and lay back down on her side, carefully tucking her feet back under the covers. She snuck a look over her shoulder.
He was already asleep again.
Not dusty, not dead.
She pushed her back and ass against him, willing him to wake up enough to hold her. In answer, his hand cupped her breast once more. In forty seconds, she was fast asleep.
Spike's eyes opened as he drew in a breath. It was the way he always 'came to,' and he'd stopped questioning it decades ago.
He realized that one of his hands was on the slayer's breast - or under it anyway - since it looked as if she'd turned over on her stomach and carried him with her.
Easing up on his elbow, he tried to see her face. All he saw was hair. Regretfully, he pulled his hand out from under her and pushed the strands back away from her face. She was a soft little girl, breathing slowly, but regularly, heart beating normally.
He sighed. The next two months should be damned interesting.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up and stared at the wall, trying to decide what to do first.
Time to get things on track. That was 'first.'
He padded over to his duffle and pulled out his favorite pair of worn fatigue pants. They were faded and soft. This was one good way of setting the bed part of the room - and the woman in it - aside. He had work to do.
Shirtless and barefoot, the vampire picked up the small case and opened it. A small laptop computer and wires lay inside. He removed the phone line from the wall and put in a new wire, which he then connected to a small black box, which led to the computer itself.
He set the laptop on the bed, popping it open and booting it up, almost in one motion. It went back to his place with him often in the evenings; might as well work if you can't sleep.
As Spike slowly pecked out a message to Daniel, he felt Buffy's eyes on him. He didn't look up. Didn't need the distraction at the moment.
"Not morning," she said grimacing. He felt her looking at him. Good. He was almost done and...
"What are you doing?" she asked testily. Spike sat, one foot under him, on the adjoining bed. His feet and chest were bare. The old olive colored pants looked as soft as a favorite shirt. His fingers moved deliberately over the keys of a thin laptop. She thought he looked pretty good, in a very un-Spikish way. "Cause this is so... bizarro, you know?" she complained.
He did look at her then. "'Bizarro?'" he repeated indignantly. "M'checkin' in. Getting Daniel started. Things he can do today, right?"
She thrust out her lower lip and threw herself on her back. "Oh, this is just so typical. You can't wait two days to get back? Gotta get online to Daniel?"
"Oh, excuse me. Was that you on the phone this morning, or your evil twin?"
"Hey! Checking on Dawn, okay? Making sure she was all schoolish Key."
"Right. And I'm workin' to get here faster. It's gonna take some doin', you know. Twenty-six..."
"Eleven," she corrected him.
"Well, we *are* in negotiation, Mr. Randall S. Giles," she said airily. "So far you've managed to persuade me to allow eleven vampires and one secretary to come to Sunnydale."
She picked at the sheet, folding it over and tucking it virginally over her breasts as she sat up against the headboard.
"Well, you see," she said, eyes sparkling with mirth, "that bicycle thing you mentioned. Or I mentioned."
"Well, not sure it was like riding a bicycle. For you, anyway. Hence, the lower number of vamps and personnel."
"Really?" he said, eyebrow raised.
"Well, you know, four months is a long time," she demurred.
Spike looked back down at the computer, hastily composed the truncated end of the message, and sent it. He deliberately closed the laptop and fixed glittering blue eyes on the slayer.
"So. You're questioning my... proficiency?" He fought to keep a straight face, as he remembered the moans and a few muffled screams from the night before. "And you're saying, what?"
"Just being Observy Girl" she tossed back at him. "You're more than welcome to go for a renegotiation," she said primly.
Spike rolled his eyes heavenward. "Christ, I nearly shagged you blind and you want more?"
Tapping her temple, she pointed out. "Hey, still twenty/twenty here. Not blind at all."
"Right," he said, moving off the spare bed and back to the rumpled one. He sighed dramatically. "I'll just have to give it another go."
Two hours later, Spike rolled off a panting Buffy.
She looked at the bedside clock. "We've been in bed all day," she whispered, trying to catch her breath. "And I'm exhausted."
"Shagged half to death," he said dryly in explanation. "What do you expect?"
"Lots of energy," she said, struggling to get up on her elbows. "Euphoria." The memory of slipping out of bed to go slay flitted across her mind. Flitted, maybe because no Riley-thoughts stuck around very long.
Spike snorted. "That's when you don't get off, love."
Memory interruptus. Buffy's eyes flew to his in surprise. She found a hard glint of amusement there. Like he knew exactly what was going on in her head. "Yeah, all those nights you went slayin' after. I saw you. Followed you. Made sure you didn't get hurt." He leaned over so that his eyes filled hers. "That was a bleedin' waste, love. Slay, 'this,' sleep. That's how it's supposed to work."
She settled back down, silently. Best to say nothing. Her eyes floated shut despite her best intentions. Letting out a low sigh, she slipped toward oblivion.
A voice whispered in her ear. "So. Where are we now?"
"Hmm?" she said, eyes closed.
"Slayer," he prodded. "What's the head count?"
"Oh," she said slowly, sounding a bit confused. "Oh! Twenty-one."
He smiled wolfishly. "And support personnel?"
"One secretary," she mumbled.
She roused herself slightly, focusing on his face. "Hey, the twenty-one vampires was good." She patted his arm, as her eyes slowly closed. "You can try again later," she mumbled, as she turned over on her side.
"Think I'll try again now, while you're all weak and helpless."
"Well, don't expect me to help," she muttered.
"No worries, love. Just practicin' for the big push."
She must have gotten too warm. The covers were around their feet and she was around Spike. Draped over him, tucked under him, wrapped around him. She tried to focus, but it was too difficult. She tried again.
Once again, he was sleeping the sleep of the dead. Trying to catch up on four months of no sleep, she supposed. For once, they were facing each other, lying on their sides, his hand wrapped around her wrist, face buried in her shoulder. She didn't know how he could breathe...
My bad, she thought, almost giggling.
She retucked her foot under his ankle, rearranged her arm slightly, and went back to sleep.
The soft click of the door pushed Buffy over the edge into wakefulness. She sat up.
"What was that?" she said, sheet falling down around her waist.
It was a pretty picture, Spike thought. Tossled slayer, naked slayer, sleepy slayer. And if he was going to be gone another two months - give or take - he might as well take advantage of all the perks. He grinned. "Clem."
She grabbed the sheet and pulled it up. "Clem?" Spike snorted. Like she'd never said he'd be by...
"Yes," he chuckled wryly, "Clem. And I kept him on the other side of the door, so you can quit clutchin' that sheet like a vestal virgin."
She gave him a nasty look. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed?"
"Least I got up," he shot back. He changed tactics. "Now what's the status?" he said in a business-like voice.
"'Status?'" She gave him another dirty look. "If you say 'affirmative' one time," she said bitingly, "I'm staking your ass." She pushed her hair back off her face. "And for your information, you're at all twenty-six vampires, the secretary - who had better look like Doris Kroeger, by the way - and a second-level psychologist. Oh, and one combat trainer."
He shook his head wearily. "Not good enough."
"Not near good enough. Time to bring out the big guns. Was trying to avoid this, but m'runnin' out of time here." He started toward the bed.
Buffy's eyes went wide as his eyes crackled. Pulling the sheet higher, she moved up toward the headboard, which was as far away as she could get. She put out a hand. "Now hold on. Just what...?"
"Time to be the Big Bad... Wolf. Gonna eat you up," he said as he closed on her.
"Now wait just a..."
"What? You used to like it."
She reddened slightly at the naked lust on his face. "Well, yes, but I really don't think it's fair to use that... not like this," she stuttered.
He shrugged. "All's fair in love and war, pet. And seems to me, this fits both."
Giggling nervously, she snuggled against the headboard, aroused in spite of herself. "Well, I guess it's time to re-enter negotiations."
"Reopen," he corrected her, as he moved the sheet and crawled between her legs, fatigues brushing her ankles deliciously. He maneuvered his hands under her buttocks and looked up at her. "Now, I'm gonna say a name, or in case I can't remember who the hell they are, seeing as I'll have my head between your legs, a position. A *staff* position. To get me to stop, and only briefly I might add, you have to capitulate."
"Capitulate?" she said, trying not to look too interested.
"A muffled scream will do."
"In your dreams," she said petulantly, but her eyes were dancing.
"For the last four months," he agreed. "Now you can save yourself this torture by saying 'yes' to all, right now, or stick it out to the bloody end. Or until you're unconscious."
Pulling her down toward him, he bent his head. She began laughing. "Wait, wait!"
He stopped and looked up at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. She wouldn't be laughing long, by God. "What?"
"Okay," she said, resolve stamped on her face. "Do your worst."
He laughed low in his throat. "Slayer, I'm gonna do my best." He buried his head between her legs.
The maid walked to the door of room 237 for the third time that day. She stood listening for signs of life. It was much easier when the guests put the 'do not disturb' sign on the door. Finally, hearing a raised voice, she clucked her tongue in disapproval and turned, pushing her housekeeping cart toward the elevator. In a moment, there was a loud expletive from the room.
"Oh, my... God!" Buffy cried.
Looking up at the slayer's flushed face, Spike grinned. "That's one."