Buffy/Spike - [NC-17] - 05/01/2002
Set between "Smashed" (6.09) and "Wrecked" (6.10). Buffy and Spike have sex. The house falls down.
Response to a challenge by Darth Spacey on alt.tv.buffy-v-slayer.creative.
But put the blame on me
You're innocent just like a gun
You love me dangerously"
Spike was the evil one. This was all his idea. So why did he look so confused, lying in the debris from the collapsed ceiling, looking up at her uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure what to do next? Maybe he hadn't expected the kiss, her legs around his hips, her supernatural strength demanding satisfaction of the basest natural desires. Maybe he thought an invigorating fight with the Slayer was the best he could look forward to tonight. Well, what did he expect, leading a girl on like that?
Closing her eyes to block out Spike's uncertain expression, Buffy sat up and rocked her hips, reinitiating the physical link they had lost when they fell into the basement. She arched her back, turning her face away to enjoy this moment in private. How long had it been -- a year? -- since she last held a lover? It felt like an eternity, and it hadn't felt like this. She hadn't needed it so much then.
There was a strong hand on her hip now, then one snaking up underneath her blouse, into her bra, cupping her left breast. She could feel her heart beating against the cool palm, feel the hand getting warmer as her body radiated heat into his dry skin. The hips she sat on were moving in rhythm with hers. Just the right rhythm. Just a little longer...
"Slayer, look at me."
Buffy kept her eyes closed, kept the rhythm going. She didn't want to see Spike watching her like this. He was irrelevant. This was about her, about feeling alive, not about a Slayer having sex with a vampire. Not about her having sex with Spike.
The hand abandoned her hip and caught her chin, pulling her face roughly downwards. Buffy opened her eyes and glared at Spike.
"That's better," he said with a smirk. "I thought you might have forgotten me, baby." The warm hand under her blouse squeezed her nipple playfully. "I'm not just an animated dildo, you know, pet."
Buffy pulled both his hands off her and whacked Spike across the face, smacking his cheek into the dusty floor. He chuckled before grabbing her waist to pull himself into a sitting position. Buffy groaned at the change of angle, but then clenched her teeth and stared him in the eye.
"You're right," she growled. "I must have come back wrong. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole if I was feeling normal."
"You've never been normal." He yanked on her ponytail, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. "That's what we have in common, you and I. The vampire who loves the Slayer, the Slayer who shags vampires." He ran his tongue gently down her jugular vein. "If we were humans, some shrink would have a field day."
Buffy plunged her hand into his short white hair and dragged his face away from her neck. "We have nothing in common, Spike."
She kissed him hastily, before he could think up another clever retort. But this time, she kept her eyes fixed on his as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He had strangely expressive eyes for a creature of the night with only a chip between him and mass murder. Buffy tried not to think about what she was doing with that creature. The cold buttons on his trousers pressed hard into the bare flesh of her thighs.
"You're one messed-up little bint," he murmured, though he was gripping her harder now, his eyes half-closed. "God, I love you, Buffy."
Pressed against the leather coat he had stolen from her murdered predecessor, Buffy closed her eyes again and buried her face in the fold of Spike's shoulder. Her fingers raked his hair as her teeth grazed the surface of his motionless white skin. A loud moan echoed in the desolate room, and Buffy realised it had escaped from her lips.
Spike was kissing every part of her he could reach; her neck, her blouse, her cheeks, her eyes, those Judas lips which had betrayed her pleasure. Buffy opened her eyes again. She was alive and she was the centre of Spike's world. His lover. She kissed the scar left on his brow by the first Slayer he had murdered, thanking him for the first time, the only time.
His lover? No, his enemy. Buffy frowned and then pulled away. Spike seized the lapels of her denim jacket, his expression menacing but amused.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Oh, so that's it? One quick roll in the dust and you're all tired out and ready for bed?" He grinned, his blue eyes shining wickedly in the dim light. "I thought you'd have more stamina than that."
Buffy stood up and looked down at him disdainfully. "I think I've debased myself quite enough for one night."
"Debased?" Spike did up his flies and kneeled at her feet. "Baby, that's nothing compared to the kind of debasement I could offer you. Shagging in ruined basements is only the beginning." His lips curled into a feral grin. "I've explored depths of debasement and degradation which would make that little bit of hanky panky look as innocent as an Amish wedding night."
Buffy glowered at him, hoping that she looked a lot more threatening than she felt. Then her facade crumbled slightly. "Amish wedding night?" she repeated, trying to force her mouth out of a smile.
"Okay, so imagery has never been my forte." He slipped his hand under the hem of her leather skirt and looked up at her appealingly. "I have other talents. I've had nearly a century and a half to perfect them."
Spike brushed his fingers gently up her bare leg, barely touching the surface of her skin. Buffy caught her breath and stared at him; did he really think he was going to turn her on by tickling the back of her knee? She squirmed and bit her lip as his fingers travelled to the inside of her leg, tracing the contours of her underwear.
She had to focus and stop this. Buffy clenched her teeth and kneed him in the chest; Spike fell back on his elbows. "I'm not interested," said Buffy coldly.
"Oh, I think you are."
Spike sprang to his feet and lunged forward, knocking Buffy into one of the basement's supporting columns. A large block of cement fell heavily beside them. Buffy pushed Spike off her and smashed her fist into his jaw. He reeled back, but caught her wrist as she prepared to punch him again. Grabbing her hair with his spare hand, Spike turned Buffy around, twisting her arm behind her back.
"I think you're very interested, Slayer. And I think it's high time you admitted it!"
"Don't be so sure." Buffy suddenly ducked, pulling Spike over her head and tossing him into a heap at the foot of the wall opposite. "I don't want you, Spike."
"Pull the other one."
Puzzled by this bizarre rebuttal, Buffy nearly forgot to evade him when Spike came at her again, taking a swipe at her chest. His second punch connected with her shoulder; she used the momentum the blow created to spin around and kick Spike in the face. He caught her ankle and pulled off her boot before wrestling her to the ground.
"I know you want me," he growled, trying to keep her arms pinned above her head. "You're just too proud to admit it."
"News flash, Spike." Buffy threw him onto his back and straddled him, holding his wrists on his chest with one hand. "I'm not some bodice-ripper heroine who needs to be held down and shown what she 'really wants'." She pulled off her jacket, swapping hands to keep him immobilised. "If I want something, I'll take it, if and when I'm ready!"
Spike laughed and lifted his legs, hitting Buffy in the back with his knees. She rolled over his head, landing in a crouch, facing away from him. As Buffy tried to turn around, Spike caught her waist, pressing his body against her back.
"Oh, yes, I've noticed you're very keen on the taking, my pet." He undid one of the buttons on her blouse and slid his hand inside. "Snogging me when you need a little comfort. Shagging me as soon as you discover I won't break." His other hand slipped under the waistband of her skirt. "Yeah, baby, I think we both know exactly what you want."
Buffy took off her remaining boot and slammed it into Spike's face. He fell sideways, rubbing the imprint of her heel on his cheek.
"You're not irresistible, Spike," said Buffy as she pulled on the collar of his leather duster. "I could have anyone."
Spike shook his head and chuckled. Twisting away suddenly, he pulled one arm out of his coat. "Anyone? Yeah, sure, you could have anyone. But let's face it, there's no one else." Another twist and the duster hung limply in Buffy's hands. Spike got to his feet and looked down at her. "And if Captain Cardboard was the best human you could seduce, I think you're better off sticking with vampires."
Furious, Buffy dug her fingers into the floor, ripping up the boards Spike was standing on. He jumped free and kicked Buffy so hard that she skidded right into one of the supporting walls. As she crawled out of the broken plaster, the wall collapsed around her in a heap of rubble and boulders. A large wooden beam fell on Buffy, pinning her momentarily to the ground. She breathed in plaster dust and sneezed a hole clean through the floorboards.
Spike pulled the beam off her back and helped her to her feet before pushing her violently against the wooden basement stairs. They cracked but didn't give as Spike and Buffy collapsed on them.
"What is it about vampires, eh, darling?" asked Spike in a low voice, holding Buffy by the neck. "Ask yourself this: Why do you avoid human men and surround yourself with twerps like Giles and What's His Name? Is it because the real men have weak little egos that can't stand the fact you're the Slayer? Can't deal with the idea a twee little thing like you could crush their bones while they fucked her?"
Buffy slapped him just hard enough to make him let go of her. Then, tearing a shard of wood off the banisters, she kicked Spike up against the nearest wall. Holding him with a vice-like grip on his throat, Buffy pressed the point of the shard against the left side of Spike's shirt.
"I might not be able to crush your bones, but I can kill you, Spike," she growled. "I'm the Slayer, remember?"
"And I know more about killing Slayers than anyone. We have a lot in common."
Spike looked down apprehensively at the fragment of wood, as if he really believed she would drive it into his heart. But then his usual sardonic expression lit up his face and Buffy's heart sank.
"Well, if you're going to dust me after all this time, darling..." He leaned forward slightly, pressing his neck against Buffy's hand. "Can I at least request that you use a proper stake?" He kissed her cheek softly. "I think I deserve better than a piece of mouldy old staircase."
"And I deserve better than you," she said quietly.
Buffy dropped the piece of wood. Spike slid one hand under her bottom, pulling her upwards for a hard kiss.
"That might be," he growled, the vibrations tickling her lips. "But I'm what you've got. Better make the most of me, pettle."
Seizing his collar, Buffy ripped his shirt apart, tearing through fabric and skin with her short nails. As he let her drop to the floor again, Buffy ran her hands over Spike's cool white skin. It was tepid in patches, where she had pressed against him, and red with blood where she had torn his flesh. Buffy sucked on the white skin that concealed his dead heart, leaving a new mark. A bullseye for the day she really did have to kill him.
Spike's fingers were running through her hair, unravelling her ponytail and pulling out all the pins that held her hairstyle in place.
"You are fucking gorgeous," he said huskily, holding her head in his hands. "Gorgeous, dangerous and mad as a hatter. Oh, and recently resurrected. Just perfect."
"You have strange tastes, Spike," said Buffy, wrinkling her nose.
"Look who's talking." Spike grinned and sank to his knees between her and the wall. "Fancy a bit more debasement?"
Buffy grabbed his chin, pulling his face up towards her. Spike's grin had gone; he was just looking at her, waiting to see what she would say or do, even though her answer was probably never in doubt. Buffy released his chin and ran a finger down each cheekbone. Her fingers met on his mouth and Spike kissed them reverently. Then his expression became bolder and he nibbled the tips before drawing one finger into his mouth.
His hands slipped beneath her skirt, once again caressing their way up to her hips. Spike pulled her underwear down, his eyes still fixed on hers, his mouth toying with her finger. Buffy lifted her feet one after the other to step out of her panties. Spike bundled them up and put them in his pocket. That made Buffy smile.
"Bit of a panty fetish, Spike?" she teased.
"Just a you fetish. Besides, they might get lost." He grinned and unfastened her skirt. His hands caressed the sallow skin on her lower stomach, then plunged into the white patch formed by years of summer sunbathing.
Buffy watched him, her breath escaping raggedly from her parted lips. She should fight this, she thought, watching his white head of hair move closer. Spike looked up, his small eyes scanning her face -- for what? Encouragement, perhaps, or denial? Or maybe he was just fixing her face because he loved her, because he wanted to memorise this moment, when she was looking down at him, flushed with desire. For him.
Spike leaned forward to kiss her, and Buffy let out a groan, grabbing his head to keep his mouth in place. He responded by digging his strong fingers hard into the flesh of her buttocks. The ache seemed to add to her pleasure, and she shivered as one of his hands snaked in between her legs. It felt very naughty and dirty, but also amazingly good.
A little voice inside her said that this wasn't right. Good girls didn't enjoy being roughed up by their boyfriends. But Buffy wasn't a good girl. She was the Slayer. Stronger than any human male, virtually invulnerable, the supernaturally-conjured enemy of demons like the one at her feet. But on the other hand, good Slayers didn't enjoy 'shagging' vampires. No, this wasn't right.
But she could deal with all that later.
Arching her back, Buffy let out a wanton moan and smashed her fists into the wall. Oh, this wasn't heaven. But it was as close as she was going to get in her living hell.
She pulled her arms out of the wall, instinctively catching a sharp wooden beam as it plummeted towards Spike's naked back. His fingers were still between her legs; he manoeuvred her none too kindly against the cracked foundation wall. Standing up, Spike brought his face close to hers. Buffy plunged her nails into the back of his neck and kissed his mouth as if her life depended on him. Spike pushed his hand upwards.
"Ow!" Buffy licked her lips and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them again to glare at him. "What... are you... doing?"
"Broadening your horizons."
"Well, don't." She bit her lip and squirmed. "That's... gross."
"Great. You sound like Harmony," grumbled Spike, though he didn't remove his hand.
Buffy frowned at him. "I do not sound like Harmony! And my horizons are plenty broad, thank you." She rocked her hips slightly. "I'm the Slayer. Having sex with you is perverse enough."
"Good point." Spike chuckled. "Fucking the Slayer's pretty kinky by vampire standards. I should have thought of it sooner. I can think of a couple of Slayers who could have done with a good time."
"Yep. That's me." He kissed her ear. "And don't pretend you don't like it."
Buffy pushed him away violently. He fell in a heap in the floor, but immediately sat up to look at her. "What's the matter Slayer? Need a good punch-up to get you going again? Or are my horizons getting you a bit too worked up?"
"You talk too much."
"Well, I know you're more the moaning and writhing kind..." He rolled out of the way as Buffy aimed a kick at him. When she spun around to kick him again, he ducked and leered at her. "Nice view, Slayer."
Buffy groaned in frustration. Catching him by the waistband of his trousers, she catapulted Spike into a corner of the room, against an abandoned washing machine. He immediately sprang back at her, hurling a dusty pillow at her face. Buffy countered it with an automatic swipe of her arm, though she did stare quizzically at Spike when the pillow fell softly to the floor. Spike just smiled and spread his hands.
Back on the offensive, Buffy scrambled onto the pile of rubble from the collapsed wall. She tore her blouse off impatiently when it caught on one of the broken beams. Spike approached slowly, nonchalantly, and she watched him, unsure whether he was going to hit her or kiss her. Taking no chances, Buffy leapt and knocked him to the ground.
After a brief struggle in which neither gained a clear advantage, Spike and Buffy cooperated to rip off her bra, snapping the fastening clean off. He leaned over to nibble on her neck and it was as if electric shocks were travelling through her body; Buffy writhed between his cold skin and the debris on the floor. She remembered Dracula's bite... No, she wasn't going to go there. Spike would never let her live it down.
As it was, she could imagine him deriving some considerable satisfaction from her sexual surrender. But it was already too late to worry about that. Buffy slid her hand in between them to undo his flies.
Instead of taking her hint as he had done earlier, and immediately engaging in sex with her, Spike caught Buffy's hand to keep it in place. He fixed her languidly. "I think you owe me."
Buffy frowned at him. "I don't owe you anything."
"What, after all that love and devotion?" he said with mock solemnity. "All those nights moping over your grave? All those hours watching Looney Tunes with Dawn?.. All that great sex and destruction we've just had? Don't I deserve some reward?"
"I'm not interested in your sick fantasies, Spike," she said disdainfully, rolling out from under him and sitting up.
"Oh, I see. Now we've taken care of your little itches, you go all virginal." Spike pulled off his shoes and pants. "I bet none of your boyfriends got so much as a blowjob. No wonder they all pissed off."
"You're wrong!" exclaimed Buffy defensively. She turned away and started to dig through the rubble looking for her clothes.
"I bet I'm not," said Spike, now entirely naked but still sitting on the floor. "Missionary-style vanilla rumpy-pumpy all the way, most probably. Mind you, I can't say any of your men were particularly inspiring. We can dismiss Mr One-Night-Stand straight away: he was in such a hurry to get out of your pants once he'd got there that I can't see him being much of a revelation. As for Mr Whitebread-From-Iowa, he probably thought using more than one position was un-American. And then of course, my old mate Angel was too busy being Mr Nice Guy before, and Mr Ultimate Evil after, to show you much of a good time. Sad, because he knew a thing or two about--"
Buffy punched him angrily. "What do you know about my boyfriends? You think a hundred years playing sick, twisted games with Dru is any better?"
"Well, yeah," said Spike with a grin. He eyed Buffy's naked body predatorily. "Now, why don't you--"
"And what about Harmony? Or that... that robot?" exclaimed Buffy.
Spike scowled at her. "I was at a low ebb."
"A low ebb? You were down in the sewer with the maggots! I mean, how pathetic can you get? That was just...gross!"
"Aren't you glad to know you're in good company, darling?" said Spike suavely.
"Argh!" Buffy threw her hands up in frustration. Seeing her jacket out of the corner of her eye, she spun around to pull it from the rubble, and retrieved an item from the inside pocket.
"Ah, a stake." Spike sprang into a crouching position and observed Buffy with bright eyes. "Good idea. Very phallic."
Stake in hand, Buffy lunged at him, but he ducked and jumped to one side. He moved to stand a few feet away from Buffy, poised to defend himself.
"If you're going to use your weapon, dearest, maybe I should be allowed to use mine."
Buffy watched in dismay as his features morphed into his "game" face. She leaned forward slightly, her left hand extended to ward off an attack, the other gripping the stake. Spike took a step towards her but backed off when she stabbed her right hand at him threateningly. They circled each other, the room silent except for Buffy's heavy breathing.
"Is this what it's all about, Buffy?" growled Spike after a moment, his fangs shining in the dark. "You Slayer, me vampire. Fighting the primeval fight to the death?"
He dashed forward to punch Buffy in the stomach. She lashed out at him with her left fist, then kicked him in the knee, forcing a temporary retreat. Her heart was beating wildly, pumping blood and adrenaline through her veins, sharpening every sense and nerve.
"Is that what turns you on, baby?" continued Spike. "The smell of death in the air. The knowledge that I've already killed two of your kind, that you've killed hundreds of mine. That this might be the last fight for one of us. Is that why you're so turned on?"
"The only thing that turns me on right now is the thought of staking you. And anyway, I'm not the one who's turned on," she said breathlessly.
Buffy glanced at Spike's naked body, her mouth dry and her pulse racing. It was strange to see this man -- thing standing...naked in front of her, with the face of a demon but...naked and aroused. Buffy licked her lips. He was thinner and more angular than Angel and Riley had been; not her masculine ideal by a long shot. And yet kissing him, having sex with him had left her incredibly...turned on.
"You know why you want me," said Spike, circling her with a wicked smile. "We're equals, Buffy. I think there's a good reason you jumped on me the minute my chip stopped working on you. You want someone who can fight back. So you can hit them without feeling guilty."
"That's sick. I'm not into pain the way you are."
"I think you are." Spike's yellow eyes gleamed at her. "I think you like a bit of the old hyper-violence. All that slaying, beating demons up, beating me up. But it isn't just about death. If it's just about death, then you drop your guard and poof, you're history. I know a thing or two about that."
Buffy whacked Spike across the face. "You're in love with the sound of your own voice."
"Fighting isn't just about death," said Spike, avoiding her next blow, and continuing to circle around her. "It's about the antidote too. Sex. Or love if you're lucky... or fucking cursed, like me. Sex is life." He was behind her now, but Buffy didn't turn to face him. "And as long as you feel that arousal when you fight, you'll stay alive." Buffy felt his arms snake around her waist; one hand slid in between her legs, groping her crudely, making her moan again. "Hmm. I think you're definitely in the staying alive camp tonight."
Buffy drove her elbow back into Spike's chest, then swung around to punch him. Pursuing Spike as he retreated, Buffy stepped on a sharp fragment of concrete but kicked it aside impatiently, ignoring the pain. She was far more fascinated by Spike as he slapped her with a hand still wet from her touch. Buffy responded with a push that made him stagger backwards. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts. She aimed another kick at Spike, but he caught her foot before it connected with his groin.
"Hey! You might need that later." Spike chuckled and then looked at her foot. "You're bleeding." He bent his head forward to lick at the cut left on her sole by the rubble.
Crying out in disgust, Buffy yanked her foot out of his grasp. She gripped Spike's right shoulder with her free hand and pulled him onto the stake. He gasped, his lungs automatically drawing in air he didn't need. He looked at the stake, then at Buffy.
She pulled the tip of the stake out of his skin. A small line of blood trickled out of the love bite she had left earlier.
"Sex and death, huh?" breathed Buffy huskily. Fixing her eyes on Spike's demon face, she dipped one finger in the blood, then placed it on her tongue.
"God, I love you!" Spike's features returned to normal. He wrapped his arms around her so tightly that Buffy had to struggle to toss the stake out of harm's way. "You are absolutely gorgeous."
Giving up all pretence, Buffy kissed him violently, rubbing her sweaty body against his cool skin, trying to get some relief from the fever that seemed to possess her. She ran her hands down his back, digging her nails into his buttocks, biting his neck when he moaned. Spike pulled her head back, tugging on her hair just hard enough to make her scalp tingle; he leaned down to lick her throat, and sucked hungrily on her breasts. Buffy moved one hand onto his stomach, pushing it downwards.
Spike's eyes locked with hers, his expression uncertain but hopeful again. He smiled when she kissed his chest; closed his eyes when she knelt in front of him; then gripped her long hair and rocked his hips to the rhythm of her touch when she kissed him again. Buffy was barely aware of what she was doing, following her instincts, fulfilling her fantasies. This was something new: Angel had never asked, and things hadn't gone well when she'd tried with Riley. Spike didn't deserve what neither of them had got. But she could always stake him later; it didn't really matter what she did to him. Looking up, she could see him watching her; he smiled when he caught her eye, but then bit his lip and groaned, oblivious to everything except her touch and the pleasure he felt. Maybe it did matter what she did to him. It certainly mattered to him. And he loved her.
"I take it all back," said Spike dreamily, helping her to her feet. "You're a sex goddess and your boyfriends were idiots!"
Smiling, Buffy leaned against him and licked his lips, slipping her tongue into his mouth, enjoying the power his desire gave her over him. She rubbed her hips against his and moaned softly. Spike nibbled on her ear, pinching her lobe with his sharp teeth.
"I guess you want some more, eh, baby," he murmured, gripping her thighs and pulling her hips closer still.
"Guess so," she said, widening her eyes innocently. "Unless of course you're tired."
Spike leered at her. "Takes more than that to tire me. No bodily fluids to exhaust -- as you may have noticed." He nuzzled her hair. "I like you like this."
Before Buffy could answer, he kissed her again, pulling her legs up around him. Buffy held on to his neck, Spike pinned her to the wall. Back where they started. She felt the broken concrete dig into the muscles of her back, each thrust seeming to push her further into the foundations. She felt Spike's naked skin against hers, his soft lips on her mouth, his hands holding her hips, his erection rubbing inside her. Buffy's world was all sensations, extremes of pain and pleasure in her resurrected body. But at least she was feeling something.
Spike kissed her softly on the cheek. "Tell me what you want, love," he said, his voice ragged with desire. "Anything you want."
"Bite me," she moaned inadvertently. Spike's eyes lit up with delighted surprise, but Buffy almost immediately put her hand on his lips. "No, don't."
His features twisted into a weary smile of barely disguised disappointment. "I guess we'll have to work on the knowing what you want bit," he sighed.
Spike pulled her fingers away from his mouth, and then buried his face in her neck. Even though she couldn't see him, Buffy was certain he had kept his human features. Human teeth grazed her vein, leaving her skin unbroken, but suggesting nonetheless the power of this creature who could feed on her, drain the whole life out of her if he wanted to. But so what if he did bite her? She was dead already.
Gripping his hips with her legs, Buffy screamed as Spike's thrusts became harder, destroying the foundation wall, shaking every bone in her body, driving every Slayer muscle in her to hold on to him, keep him close just a little longer, just until her body was screaming as loud as her throat, until they had exhausted every last bit of their demon strengths.
Then they were both falling, sliding down the wall as Spike's legs buckled. He held Buffy out of the rubble to manoeuvre her onto the pillow. Then he let go and collapsed on the floor beside her.
"That was amazing," said Buffy before her mouth was quite reconnected to her brain.
"You're telling me," agreed Spike, his voice muffled by the plasterboard he seemed to be buried in. He lifted his head and leaned on one arm. "Well, you always said you'd kill me... I think you just did. I'm knackered."
"And you even brought your own stake." Buffy giggled at the crassness of her joke.
Spike seemed to think it was funny too. Buffy looked at him and smiled wanly. She felt tired, but it was a good exhausted-after-a-good-fight tired, not a weary-of-being-alive tired. Tomorrow was going to be hard, she knew: her feet were cut by the rubble; her legs ached from gripping Spike's bony hips; her back hurt from being thrust against the wall; she had aches and pains in muscles she never even used in an ordinary fight. And that was just the physical stuff; her Slayer powers would soon mend all the cuts and bruises. But Buffy wondered how she would feel when she woke up tomorrow. How was she going to look her friends and family in the eye, knowing she had had sex with Spike? How was she going to face herself, knowing everything she had done with him? How was she going to face him?
Leaning over her, Spike interrupted Buffy's thoughts with a tender kiss. He brushed her hair gently off her face, his pale features earnest in the dim moonlight.
"I know you probably don't agree..." he started, his tone soft but deadly serious. "I... I would do anything for you, to make you happy, Buffy. And I know you haven't been happy since you came back. But there isn't a day goes by when I'm not grateful your batty Willow The Wisp brought you back..."
Buffy frowned and tried to turn away, but Spike's hand guided her back to face him. "I know you think I'm just a thing and all that codswallop. But I love you, Buffy."
"I know. You keep telling me," said Buffy, before remembering that the correct answer was 'I love you too'. But she didn't. She couldn't lie at a time like this.
Spike lowered his eyes and half shrugged. "Yeah. I'm a soppy sod, aren't I?" He laid his head on her chest, his ear against her left breast. "Just don't leave me again, okay?"
Buffy tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she was glad she had come back, just so he would be happy and the desperation she had just heard in his voice would go away. But she couldn't lie. Not to Spike, who always saw straight through her. So she just stroked his hair and let him listen to her heartbeat, wondering what that meant to someone who had been dead over a hundred years. Wondering whether she would go on living just because he asked her to.
This story is copyright 05/01/2002 by Ariana. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the property of Mutant Enemy.