All About Spike - Print Version
[Back to Main Site] [Back to Story Page]
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?
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
Thank you, I think, to the Gutter posse, headed by Kly and Chris (in a dead tie, at that), and bolstered mightily by the 'stir the pot' queen, Kelly.
This is totally unbeta'd. Which is what happens when you fall asleep on a smut piece. It rolls out at 2 a.m. ready to be posted, before you lose your nerve.
Colleen, I know how you love these, so this is for you.
Buffy could almost see him switching gears. Going from surprised to appraising, as if just seeing her as a woman again for the first time since he'd arrived.
She never ceased to be mesmerized at the way his emotions traveled across his face. No wonder he'd had stayed in trouble at kitten poker - always owing exorbitant amounts of tabbies and Siamese, debts that she supposed had been written off when he returned from Africa with a soul. There was nothing about his face that was static. She watched, fascinated, as his body language changed, as he leaned back in his chair and placed one ankle on the opposite knee.
And his eyes. They'd gone from wide-eyed, clear blue shock to an almost grayish appraisal to deep, still navy blue, a change she always found intimate and thrilling. She shifted in her seat, a little intimidated by the starkness of his gaze, and looked around. They were the only two diners left in the room. His new pea coat lay across an empty chair.
Somehow the pea coat just wasn't the same as the leather duster.
Of course, neither was he, she admitted, taking the time to do some objective appraisal of her own. The new sweater suited him, almost as well as nothing at all did. And it didn't wear him, as bulky as it was. Nevertheless the look of him was so fresh, so un-Spikelike, that she almost felt like she'd propositioned a half-familiar stranger. She'd felt that way a lot in the months since he'd returned from his journey to win a soul.
The vampire realized it long before the slayer, who was wrapped up in her own thoughts, did. The rate of her breathing had increased slightly and grown shallower. And although the expression on her face was secretive, he could see a change in her coloring, as her heart pumped the blood through her a little faster.
When in bleedin' hell had this 'business' dinner tableau transformed itself into a seduction scene?
The small votive was guttering, its low fits, spits and starts providing a counter point to the sharp clinks of pots and pans from deep in the hotel kitchen. His eyes traveled to a pale red spot of wine, spilled on the pristine tablecloth. Absently, his eye moved across until it reached the edge of the expanse of white to the black dress of the beautiful woman sitting across from him. Entranced, he followed the lines of her dress to her neck and finally to dark, sea-like eyes that almost melted into the dimly lit room.
Hiding from him behind those hooded eyes, he thought. There wasn't a place on earth she could hide. Her only sanctuary from him had been the grave.
Her arms looked softer, all browned by the sun, the sharp cuts of the muscle smoothed by bronze color. When she lost herself in him, every muscle in that body flexed around him, almost to the point of causing him pain.
The emotional pain was worse.
He could look at her forever, always see something new, and almost be content not to even touch her.
As if she'd read his mind, she slowly sat up and leaned forward, elbows on the table, fists under her jaw. The movement was so slow, so deliberate, that he could almost hear the individual commands her brain sent to her body.
He sat very, very still, just waiting.
"I said," she began with the merest edge of impatient desire in her voice, "that I 'think' I can be persuaded.
A slow grin spread across his face, sharpening his features into something faintly predatory.
"Four months is long time," he agreed slowly. "May have forgot how."
"Isn't it like riding a bicycle?" she asked archly.
"Dunno," he said, chuckling low in his throat. "I prefer my cycles with engines."
A pout inched her lower lip forward. He wanted to lean across the table and catch it between his teeth, tugging her toward him until he could fasten his mouth on hers.
He realized at that moment that he was already very, very hard, and that his new pants were a lot more revealing than the simple black denim had been. Finding himself grinning inanely, he made his next proposition.
"Would you like to see my laptop?"
Her eyes widened in surprise, and he smelled the rush of her arousal. In answer, he grew even tauter. Bloody hell! Could he even walk to his room?
Her surprise had shifted to sly amusement. "Your... laptop?"
"Yeah," he said in a normal tone of voice, sitting up briskly and looking at the table, the walls, anywhere but at her. "It's... uh, in my room."
"Really?" She was enjoying his discomfort, the beautiful bitch. Probably knew exactly what he was going through. "You don't... carry it with you?" she asked innocently.
He tried to keep his tone even, matching hers. "Well, I can," he said, "but it's a bit big." He grinned wickedly. When had they ever done this? If this was what a flirting Buffy looked and sounded like, he suspected he'd need many cold showers in Colorado, until he could get back to Sunnydale. He vowed to make sure that the two months was just that: not a day longer than two months.
"Oh..." she said slowly, raising both of her perfect eyebrows. "Can I see it? Your laptop, I mean."
The Sunnydale Inn had an elevator to its second and only other hotel floor. The slayer wouldn't know that, but he did. But he suspected that the wait and subsequent ride would give him far too much time to fantasize. Silently, he pushed her up the stairs. She looked a bit dazed from their swift dining room departure. He understood perfectly: he wasn't sure how they'd gotten out of there either.
At the landing, she dug her heels in and pushed her back against the wall, grabbing him by the neck of his sweater. Her hair was long again, streaked with the sun. Colorado could never suit her the way California did, he thought idly. He put a hand on the wall to the right of her head and leaned in to breathe her scent.
She smiled mischievously and cupped a hand brazenly on his crotch, squeezing lightly. "I thought you said your laptop was in your room," she whispered conspiratorially.
All thought went out of his mind, as her name came out of his mouth in a soft, low moan.
Her hand dropped to her side as her eyes dropped below his beltline.
"Nice pants," she observed in a normal tone.
If he'd ever in his life wanted to kill this slayer, it was at that moment, as she ducked under his arm and came up behind him.
"Yeah?" he breathed, not trusting himself to say more or even move.
With a sparkle in her eye and a knowing smirk on her lips, she cut her eyes up at him. He could hear it in her voice. "Do they have buttons?" Her left hand lightly brushed his hip on the way to the front of his pants.
Suddenly, he had her wrist locked in his hand and slowly spun her to face him, pulling her close.
"I could dance with you all night," he whispered into her hair.
She smiled as she pressed himself against him. "Night's getting shorter all the time," she observed in a husky whisper.
Another moment of suspended time and his hand slammed into his pocket, snagging the room key. Four steps and they were in a corridor with rows of doors. Eight steps and he had pushed the card into a lock. They slowly looked at each other as the little light shone, all green and glowy.
Her eyes narrowed as his mouth opened. "Don't say it," she warned.
He shut his mouth with a snap and pushed open the door.
"She spent the night with Janice," she said, unable to stop herself.
"Thought we weren't mentionin' it," he said dryly, looking around the room for his baggage. He hoped they were in the right room, he thought stupidly, as his eyes lit belatedly on the two bags.
She bit her lip. "It was just the lock..."
He nodded. "Green and glowy." He looked at the card in his hand and threw it on the dresser. "Key," he explained unnecessarily.
As he ran a hand through his hair, Buffy looked down at the floor.
"Bollocks!" he exploded. "Now I can't get the look of her out of my mind! Is this what it's like tryin' to have a quiet moment when you have kids? Cause if it is, I'm bloody well glad I'm a vampire!"
Buffy looked up, beginning to be amused by the rant. Finally, one corner of her mouth twitched as she giggled. Then, twisting around, she crossed the floor and made a flying tackle, carrying them both to the bed in a fit of laughter.
The bulky brown sweater framed his face and made his eyes look even bluer.
"Hey!" he said indignantly. "I mean it!"
"You mean you're in bed with me and thinking about my sister?" she teased.
"'On' bed," he corrected her, trying to sit up. "You bints are all alike, thinking my brain is located somewhere below my waist."
She slowly put a palm on his chest and firmly pushed him down. "Now about the buttons..."
"No buttons. Just..."
The sound of a zipper cut through the breathy stillness.
"Now where's your laptop?" she asked innocently.
In a flash, Buffy found herself on her back, Spike's rapidly recovering erection against her thigh. A low satisfied sound passed directly from her throat to the air. Her body almost vibrated with it.
"Oh. There it is," she said hoarsely.
He felt her nod more than he saw it.
"Well, in my day," he began in a caressing tone, "there was exquisite torture in just getting a woman out of her clothes," he said, as the tips of his fingers traced the scooped neckline of her dress. "Lots of buttons and layers on layers. Hardly seems fitting that there's nothin' between us except that thin slip of a dress," he said thoughtfully.
"And your pants," she pointed out.
"There's that," he admitted, raising up slightly to look down. "My *nice* pants," he said with a grin.
"Size 28," she quipped.
"Hard to find," he agreed.
She snaked an arm around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair, pulling his face toward hers. "If you don't want your 'nice' pants in two long strips," she said dangerously, "you'd better lose them. Soon."
"Make me," he said with a smirk on his lips.
Her hand captured his belt and began tugging. In a moment the other clever hand joined it in trying to unfasten the buckle. She was so intent on her work that a little wrinkle formed between her eyes.
Spike kissed her.
In the months that they had engaged in their secret affair, every encounter had been characterized by pain, like the abrading of two bleeding wounds. His anger at loving her, her anger at wanting him, had made the sex more of a sadistic punishment than pleasure, try as hard as he might to change it. It had been a painful, excruciating journey into the dark, which had abruptly ended one night in her bathroom. And had sent him on another journey.
When he returned from Africa, his darkness had been slow to heal. Where his hurt was merely scabbed over, he found her whole again. Every bit of contact with her had made him begin bleeding again. And the fact that she had once again become a child of the light had only exacerbated his darkness. Best to stay away.
He'd avoided the pain of rubbing salt in his unhealed wound as much as he could, but there had been times that their need had outweighed his survival factor. And the last time they'd made love, right before Riley had come for Spike, had been better. *He* had been more at home in his skin and with himself than he had ever been.
His heartfelt wish to Anyanka had buggered that up.
As his mouth melted onto hers, he almost winced in anticipation of the sharp knife that would cut into his gut, which always came when his darkness met her light. Maybe not so deep this time, maybe...
Nothing. In wonder, he realized that there was nothing stabbing, nothing chafing, irritating, or reopening that old wound. He was with her this time, sinking deep into her softness with an overwhelming feeling of finally being home.
She shifted her leg in impatience, calling him back with the immediacy of her desire. He backed out of the kiss slowly, fixing her with his eyes as he pushed at the shoulders of her dress.
"Little slip's like armor now, innit?" he said hoarsely, trying to recover from that moment of falling into her like he would into a feather bed.
There was a soft clink of his belt as she pushed him away, worrying at the hem of her dress as she tried to work it up. He pushed her down, and slid his hand up her leg until he met the thin fabric.
"Hips up," he directed. Soon her dress was around her stomach.
Dark eyes stared into his, as his hand ran lightly across her belly. She continued to fight the dress.
"Shhh," he soothed in a whisper. "No hurry, pet. Got all night to get the bloody thing off. Just take it in stages," he explained as he slipped a hand between her legs and pressed against her wet panties. His eyes glinted in amusement as she gasped. "Stage one," he said, maneuvering under the wisp of fabric. "And no rushin'," he scolded as he slipped two fingers inside her, reveling in her heat. She bucked lightly.
As he covered her mouth with his, she breathed a pair of words into him. He smiled against her lips as he recognized them.
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! firstname.lastname@example.org
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."