Buffy had given up on the garlic. After the first couple of nights and no Spike, she’d figured he wasn’t coming through the window. Why would he, after all? His invitation was still in effect. He could just knock on the front door, if he wanted to see her. Which he obviously didn’t, since there had been no sign of him for days. No cigarette butts under the tree, no shattered glass under her window. No swirling black coat out of the corner of her eye. No pale hair glinting in the moonlight.
She closed her eyes and rolled onto her stomach. The sun streamed in through her bedroom window, warming her cheek. She rubbed her face against her pillow and inhaled deeply. She could smell him. After that night…she’d come into her room and fell into bed, exhausted. She hadn’t showered until later, so her bed smelled like…him.
No, she thought. I’m not doing this. Don’t want to think about how good it was, how right. Don’t want to think about the things I said, the things he said. But, oh, I wish…I wish…
The Slayer opened her eyes and tossed the blankets back. She had to get Dawn ready for school. The younger Summers hadn’t figured out quite how to manage dressing on her own with her arm in a cast up to the elbow. Damn you, Willow, anyway.
The morning passed in a flurry of activity. Buffy made lunch for her sister and watched her walk down the street, to face another day of school. She watched Willow go through her morning ritual of showering and makeup. Finally, Willow left and Buffy could relax.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and went out the back door, letting it slam behind her. She sat on the top step and sipped slowly. She found herself staring at the spot where Spike usually stood. Right over there, by the corner of the kitchen. She sighed. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to care about his feelings. Wasn’t supposed to want a soulless demon. But, her mind whispered, he’s not a demon, he’s just Spike.
The worst part was that this was all her fault. That night the dancing demon kidnapped Dawn, Buffy had kissed him. The strangest thing really. Like at that moment in time, kissing Spike was the only choice she could have made. Had to do it. Couldn’t stop herself. Didn’t want to. That was the kicker, really. Once she’d started with the kissing, it consumed her. Like fire.
That’ll teach me, she thought wryly. I want the fire back, my ass.
But fine. One time she could excuse. There was a spell. Like that other time. At least, the dancing demon didn’t make her fall in love with Spike. God. Although, strangely, after Willow had broken the spell that made her will be done a few years back, Buffy remembered feeling a lot more disgusted than she did now.
How had Spike described it? All gone with the wind, and the rising music and the rising…music. She giggled a little. Her body had not forgotten anything about his since kissing him while under Willow’s spell. She still knew just where to press; still knew just how to lick his lips. She hadn’t forgotten the most comfortable way to fit herself against him and—
“God!” She bolted from the step, spilling her coffee. “I’m not doing this again.” She looked up at the sky, shaking her head. The sun hid behind dark clouds. He could venture out, if he wanted to. Through the sewers or covered by his blanket…just stop, Buffy.
He’s not coming. It’s been what? Four days since…he’s not coming. And it’s not like I care.
Buffy took her mug into the house. She straightened absently. A tossed jacket here, a key ring there. A stake that’d rolled under the couch. She did some laundry. It wasn’t even noon yet and already she was so bored she could scream. Wonder if this is what it’s like for him, being stuck inside all day. He wanted me to stay with him the other day…
The only thing better than killing a Slayer would be—
Idiot. I still can’t believe he said that. And I was so close to staying, too.
Buffy sank down onto the couch. For all his arrogance and swagger, for all the bravado and innuendo, she still wanted…him. Even after she’d thrown those lies at him. Convenient? Spike? Please. He’s anything but. Convenient was Riley, always willing to show up where and when she wanted him to. Always willing to do whatever she wanted, to agree with her.
Spike convenient? Not likely. She sipped her coffee. We’re talking about the man who goes out of his way to annoy me. Goes out of his way to piss me off to the point that I let my fists and my fury do the talking. Oddly, he really looked like he believed me when I said those horrible things. He sees through the lie when I say I don’t want him, why doesn’t he see through the other lies?
Maybe I’ll just take a little walk, she thought. Work off some energy. Take a look see around the cemetery and check the signs for newly made vamps.
By the time she got to the cemetery, she wasn’t kidding herself any longer. She knew where she was going, why bother to pretend that she wasn’t? When she reached his crypt, she carefully eased the door open. She smiled, realizing that she usually just slammed the door open, ignoring the niceties.
She closed it behind her, making sure it clicked shut. The she just stood, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she saw that he wasn’t here. No, she corrected herself. He’s not up here because he’s down there. Asleep.
Her sneakers were silent on the stone floor. She leaned over, peering down into the hole. Gracefully, she swung onto the ladder and climbed down to the lower level. Once her feet touched the ground, she paused, trying to get her breathing under control. She could almost hear her own heart beating in the stillness.
One more step forward and she could see his pale form. He lay motionless, the sheet drawn up to his chin. He lay curled on his side, one hand under his cheek, the other arm thrown out across the bed. Buffy took another few steps close. It was weird that his chest didn’t rise and fall. But then, he wouldn’t breathe, so…
He turned onto his back, and sighed. His feet kicked at the sheet and it slid lower, revealing his muscular form.
Buffy looked around desperately. Her fingernails dug half moons into her palms and she consciously made them relax. His scent was all around her, too familiar now to ignore. She was in his space, and she knew it.
So did he.
The games we play, the vampire thought. So far, his body had not revealed any of the tension that consumed his mind. He knew he still gave the appearance of deep sleep. Four full days he had waited. Not seeing her, not even attempting to. It was all part of the game. Steps in the dance, he thought.
Now. What’s her next move? A stake? No. Much too late for that. More like she’ll just stand there and stare until it just about kills me.
Time passed. Spike had no way of knowing how long, or even if the Slayer still stood there, three feet away from his bed, watching.
He stretched deliberately, rolling onto his stomach and sliding one arm under his pillow. The sheet bunched at the small of his back.
Spike was rewarded when he heard the slight hiss of her breath in the silence. She watched, and he waited.
She must have moved at some point because he could now feel the heat coming off her body in waves. Then he felt it. Feather light, running from his shoulder down his spine. Her palm rested in the small of his back, her warmth seeping into his skin.
Life. So full of heat. Since his turning, he’d never been with a live girl, until that night with Buffy. When she’d taken him…the incredible heat of her had shocked him right to the core, and all he could do was stare in amazement. The she’d started riding him and all rational thought had been lost.
His shaft, already hard, stiffened to the point of pain, and he very nearly growled. The Slayer. So close. Touching him.
Two hands now, sliding across sinewy muscles, gently playing with the hair at his nape. What sort of game was this, then? The Slayer checking to see how much she could tease him before he snapped? Still he lay unmoving, unwilling to abandon the charade so soon. He very much wanted to know what her next action would be.
Her heart beat sounded like thunder to his senses and the scent of her musk washed over him.
“Spike?” she whispered. “I have to tell you something.”
Here it comes, he thought. He tensed, waiting for the verbal darts to begin flying. “Talk then,” he said.
He felt her leaning over, the long strands of her hair brushing against his skin.
“I….” she swallowed and tried again. “I did feel something.”
That was it. He twisted as he sat up, then grabbed her arm. He pulled her down next to him. He waited for the punch to be thrown, for the name calling and insults to follow.
Buffy looked into his eyes. “What you said…the other night? I did feel something.”
Spike smiled grimly. “Course you did. Sex tends to have that effect on a person. Leastways if it’s done right, it does.”
She looked annoyed. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh, don’t try to tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself, Slayer. We both know better.” He laid his palm against her chest. Her heart hammered against him.
“God, you are such a—” She pushed him away. “Every time I think I…you go and say something…” She bolted off the bed saying, “I swear, I don’t know how I can be so stupid!”
“Buffy, wait. Don’t go.” His voice was soft, all the swagger gone. He pressed his lips together for a moment then said, “I missed you.”
She stood with her back to him, wondering how this got all screwed up. She was only going to watch him sleep for awhile. She’d never intended to touch him. Never intended to say—
“Me too.” She realized what had just escaped her mouth and gasped.
Spike’s eyes widened and he closed the remaining distance between them. He waited a hairsbreadth behind her, so close he saw the pulse jumping in her neck.
Her head bowed, and she looked at the floor. “I never meant to…you’re not…you’re not convenient, Spike.”
He blinked. “Come again, love?”
“You are quite possibly the most inconvenient man I have ever been involved with.” Her voice broke on the last word. She turned so she could see his face.
He stared at her forever, wonder etched on his face. “I thought I was a thing? Something evil…disgusting.” Was his throat supposed to be this tight?
“You…you’re supposed to be. A thing. It was easier when you were. Then you had to go and…”
“Fall in love with you.”
“Spike, I don’t-”
“I know.” He stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed. That was one point he didn’t need belabored.
“Look, what I’m trying to say is…” Her eyes fell on him and she yelped. “I can’t talk to you like this!” She spun back around, her face burning.
He chuckled. “Ought to be used to it, by now, Slayer. Had a right eyeful already, haven’t you?” But he reached down and began tugging on a pair of black jeans. He stood up to buckle his belt and added, “I’m all covered up, love.” The bed creaked as he sat. He leaned back against the pillows, arms behind his head.
She turned her head, hesitating, until she saw that he was indeed clothed. Buffy felt backed into a corner. She wanted to…what? Kiss him, touch him, take him….God, all of the above. But this was Spike, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do next to get what she wanted.
She bit her lower lip and climbed onto his bed. His eyes flickered, but he didn’t move. Buffy stared at the white sheet for a moment. The she slid herself up so that she was next to him, up at the head of the bed.
His blue gaze never wavered from hers.
Buffy extended her hand and touched his face. Her thumb brushed against his lower lip. Spike didn’t move. Buffy sidled a bit closer, her hand cupping his cheek now. She leaned forward and kissed him, her eyes drifting shut as sensation flared.
His arms wrapped around her as he lost himself in her taste. He licked her lips and lost himself in the kiss, tangling his hands in the mass of her hair. The Slayer brought her arms up and slid them around his neck. “Spike,” she breathed against his mouth.
He responded with a growl; not demon, but purely male. He pulled her body flush against his, needing her to be closer still. Their legs intertwined and Buffy writhed against him in sinuous pleasure. She pressed against his hardness with her thigh, then reached down and stroked him through his jeans.
He broke the kiss for a second. “See? Don’t know why I bothered putting these bloody things back on.” Buffy tugged at the buckle. The belt broke and she tossed it across the room.
“Hey! That was my last good belt, Slayer.”
She kissed his chin and murmured, “It’s almost Christmas. I’ll buy you a new one.” She freed him from his jeans and folded her hand around him. She watched him close his eyes in obvious pleasure at her touch. She felt a wave of purely feminine power wash through her. Her insecurity had fled in the face of his desire.
She stared into his visage as her hand moved up and down on him. “Spike. Open your eyes.”
His blue eyes had darkened, the pupils wide and black. One arm snaked out and held her like a vise. He felt her breath fall in staccato bursts on his cheeks. “Buffy, that feels…I want…”
“What do you want?”
Then he caught the hand that offered such visceral pleasure. He ran his fingers in the waistband of her pants. “You.” He leaned down and whispered harshly into her ear, “Take these off, or I’ll rip them off of you.”
Buffy moved away from him, struggling to get her pants off. Skirts, she thought crazily. This was so much easier with that wraparound skirt. She had her pants halfway down when she gasped.
His hand on his shaft, he stroked in steady beats as he watched her strip. “Don’t stop now, Slayer. You’re getting to the good part.”
A surge of wetness seeped between her legs as she sat stunned for a second. Watching him do that, made her want… She kicked the jeans off the rest of the way and pulled the t-shirt over her head. Naked now, except for her bra, she couldn’t take her eyes from him.
“You want to do it, too, don’t you,” he said knowingly. “Want to touch yourself, while I watch.”
“Yes, you do.” His hand never missed a stroke. His voice had thickened. “Go ‘head, Slayer. ‘S all right. Nothing to be ashamed of.” Blue eyes flared pure heat and his lips curved in a devastating smile. “Please?”
Her fingers slid between her legs. The wetness had seeped onto the top of her thighs, and she rubbed it into her skin. Over and over she drew her hand across her mound. His eyes followed every movement. Her fingers slipped inside and she stretched herself. She moved them up to the tiny button that demanded attention. Burying her fingers in the hood, she worked it in little circles. Her eyes drifted closed.
“No, damn it. Buffy, look at me!”
Her breath caught. The tip of his shaft was nearly purple and his eyes burned into hers. She dragged her palm through her wetness then knocked his hand aside. She wrapped her fingers around his cock, rubbing her juices into him.
He flipped her roughly to her back and entered her in one thrust. He managed to hold himself still for a moment, staring into her face. He held her cheeks in his palms. He kissed her, and this time he felt the fluttering of her body as she responded to him. Then he started moving in her again. Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist. He ripped her bra from her and leaned down, suckling hard at her nipple.
She cried out, and pulled his head closer. Her hips moved with him. She licked his neck and then sucked at the skin, leaving a purple bruise. She didn’t have to work for her orgasm; it simply took over her being. Her body seemed to stutter, and then the powerful contractions sent pure ecstasy shooting through her.
His hand had slipped between their bodies and he rubbed her where she needed it. He drew out her climax, until the spiral built. She came again, stunned, her skin vibrating under the surface.
Spike couldn’t hold back any longer. He buried his face in her neck and sucked at as hard as he could, shooting into her body. He brought one hand up to tangle in the Slayer’s mussed hair.
He rolled to the side so not to crush her with his weight. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring her scent.
Buffy’s face pressed against his chest. This was the tricky part. This was usually when things started to go bad. Maybe this time things could be different. A little less…painful. But Spike’s arms were around her, and he wasn’t making nasty remarks…as a matter of fact he seemed…content. Could that be?
“Spike.” She said softly.
He tensed. “Yeah, lo-Buffy?” Just once, he thought, I wish we could do this without—
“I have some time. I don’t have to…run off.”
Spike became very still. “Okay. Good.” He yawned and tightened his arms. “Could use a bit of a nap, truth to tell.”
The Slayer smiled against his chest. “All right,” she said. “Good.”
Continued in Chapter 2: Wellspring