All About Spike - Print Version
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Sequel to Manhattan Nocturne; part of The Bittersweets Series
Summary: She can't go on. She'll go on.
Author Notes: Set in season 6, following "Wrecked." This is the first story in the BITTERSWEETS series.
Dedication: As always, for Kalima first and foremost. Also for the Bitches, and Deborah M.
Completed: December 2001.
Disclaimer: Joss creates, I borrow
TV remote bouncing off his cheekbone woke him up. Sat up to see her there at the foot of the bed, wearing that
expression, her whole body humming in the crypt’s silence like a swarm of
angry bees. Deja bloody
Slayer. Didn’t we go
through this just last week?
“I can’t do this, Spike!”
scratched a nipple, ran a hand through his hair, stared at her. She was practically blazing—hair
and eyes and mouth all aglow. Big
came here to tell me you weren’t going to come here?”
“What? No!” More frowning.
Followed by pacing.
know I said I need you out of my life—“
reached across for his cigarettes and lighter. Might as well enjoy a fag while he listened to her say
whatever devastating thing was about to come out of her rosy mouth.
paused. “Are you even
listening to me?”
Tara’s left us, and Willow’s gone AWOL on me, not to mention that
she’s—will you hang with Dawn so I can patrol?”
her stashed upstairs, do you?” he said, nodding up towards the top part
of the duplex.
“Huh? Here? No!
She’s at some friend’s house, but she’ll be home in an
hour. There’s no one there
to look after her, but I’ve got to be out there, I
you’re asking me to sit with her at your house?”
Spike examined his fingernails.
The black lacquer was chipped.
More chipped than he liked it to be. Perhaps he and the Niblet could swap manicures. Pass the time. “The person you entrust with the
care of your precious sis is the same person you awaken by flinging things at
his head.” He paused. Drew a
bead on her. “Even
stopped pacing and stared at him.
Eyes wide. Frantic,
frozen. Not an expression he
loved. Well, he loved them
all. He loved her. But this was
not a good face.
can’t do this, Spike!”
said that before.”
mean—I can’t do this!
I can’t do any of it!”
She started flinging her hands around, pacing again. “I can’t look after Dawn
properly, I can’t entrust her to my so-called friends, I can’t talk to my so-called friends, I can’t earn a living, I
can’t manage without Giles, I can’t be doing this with you because
it’s sick. And I can’t fling myself off a
bridge because they’d just drag me back again.” There
were tears now, big gelid silent tears, as if she didn’t know she was
crying. Then she put a hand up to
her face, felt the moisture, and the emotion caught up with her. She began to sob. “I just can’t do any of it! I can’t function!
What’s going to happen to us!”
started to get up, remembered he was naked. “C’mere, Buffy.”
“Huh?” She stared at him, that look of horror
on her face that he knew so well.
held his hand out to her.
“Come here, Buffy.
her head, looking everywhere but at him, she sidled around the bed. He caught her arm, drew her down. “That’s it, pet. Have your cry.”
She stiffened all over when he put his arms around her, but
then she tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He felt her breathing catch, felt her swallow hard.
you’re being too quiet.
Don’t hold back on me.
You didn’t the other time, and that was right. Just have your meltdown. I’m here.”
sobs bubbled out of her, slowly at first, then more and faster. She burrowed against him and
keened. He stroked her hair, and
wondered what he’d have to pay for this. She’d resent him for it in a little while, for sure.
sobbing stopped. She kept her
forehead pressed into his neck.
did this have to happen?” she whispered. “Why was I brought back here just to do all the things
that I did before? They were so
hard. I did them. But I don’t think I can
anymore. Not with everything a
million times harder than it was.”
her precious trembling body. He
hugged her to him, sang within himself because she didn’t pull away.
one consulted me. No one missed you more than me, but I wouldn’t have let
them do this if I’d known.”
hand came up and caressed his face. He felt her wonder at herself as she did
it. Oh, he thought, how I shall pay.
“I hate this,” she said.
sat up, looked at him, with that quizzical, pained expression. Another of her well-known
stunners. Her face was blotchy,
eyelashes still glistening. “What does it mean . . . “ she whispered. “What does it mean, that this
time around, you’re the only one
I can trust?”
had accepted his presence in the house without a murmur; just sat down beside
him on the couch as she had all summer and stared at the TV. Went to bed when he reminded her
with just a token protest. Poor
little bit, with her arm in a sling and that unseen hand that seemed to tug the
corners of her mouth down.
lowered the TV volume, and waited in the blue light for Buffy. Two hours after Dawn went upstairs,
she’d still not come. Three,
four. We were into infomercial
time. How many burying grounds was
she swooping through in an evening?
I can’t fling myself off a bridge . . . Christ, what if—? Spike leapt up.
She’d faked him out. Shitfuckpiss. And
he’d fallen for it, and it was hours gone now, and she’d be
grabbed his coat, threw open the door.
tell me you’re not just walking off and leaving her alone.”
“Buffy!” He recovered, aware of the absurd grin
he knew she’d seen. Fumbled
in his pocket. “Just wanted
a smoke. Don’t smoke in the
sighed. “I know I’m
hadn’t noticed, pet.
Watching the creature features, I was.”
“Okay. Well. Thanks.”
Again, she was looking all around, but not at him. Favoring the porch swing with her long
“Right. Fine. Dawn’s asleep.
You should be too.”
He started down the porch
steps. That went all right,
didn’t it? I met the
he followed her back into the house.
She took off her jacket, tossed the stakes from her pocket onto the hall
table. Didn’t look at
him. Well, he could finish out the
night on the couch. Just make sure
the curtains on the picture window were pulled all the way across—
she’d touched his arm. Just
one touch, and when he turned she was already starting up the stairs.
put one foot on the lowest step.
She couldn’t possibly mean him to follow her. Not up there.
paused, half way up. Didn’t
were gone such a time, Slayer.
Kill a lot of nasties out there tonight?”
“Nope. Didn’t see a single one.”
processed that. Hours walking
around alone. Well well. He took the next step. She’d turn on him now, fling him
back with one well-placed shove.
Because she really couldn’t mean for him to follow her.
she was already at the top, turning the corner of the landing.
then. They were going to check on
Dawn. And then he’d go
finish the night on the sofa. No
way this was anything else.
Right. There was Buffy at the door to
Dawn’s room. Peeking
in. Closing it gently. He heard the click. And then she looked up at him. She was three yards away, back lit from
the streetlamp that shone in the hall window. He couldn’t really see her face. Just knew she was looking at him, in
that calm business-like Buffy way.
And she went into her room.
And the door was open.
pushed it shut behind him.
course, he’d been here before.
To steal her body-scented clothes.
To drag her out to catch Riley with the vamp whores. But not like this. Not when she was standing near the closet
taking off her clothes as if she was alone, except that there was a primness to
her movements, an I don’t care what happens here because I don’t
care about anything anymoreness that he
hated. This wasn’t how she was supposed to be. If she couldn’t be happy, better she be fierce.
no, not fierce either. He knew
full well what fierce covered up.
In himself. Same with her.
stepped into the room. She was
standing here in just her jeans, peering unseeingly into the closet. Shivering a little. He touched her arm. She turned but
still didn’t seem to see him.
Let him move her around towards the bed. Stepped out of her jeans and knickers when he tugged them
down. Sat her on the edge. How unlikely, that she was the same girl who’d
shagged him senseless two weeks back.
Impossible that she’d actually spoken to him five minutes ago.
Where’d she gone? He began
to undress. Tried to put a little
show into it, arouse her interest.
Get a giggle. She watched,
but didn’t seem to see.
knelt at her feet. Flashed on
himself singing that stupid song to her, also on his knees. Well, wouldn’t be here now if it
wasn’t for that. Tell me
what it means that you’re the
only one I can trust? He kissed her knees.
Released from clothes, her scent was strong. She smelled sad, and warm. Alive. She was
alive. Changed, broken, but . . .
He kissed her thighs, wishing he’d fed more recently so he could be
warmer for her. Wishing he had
maybe a cup of tea to heat up his mouth at least. Wishing she’d notice he was even there. The bot had been more responsive than
she was at this moment. He
remembered the way the machine had smiled at him—with Buffy’s
fullest, most disingenuous smile.
Had he ever seen the real girl smile like that? Wanted to. Probably never would now.
hand on either knee, he parted her thighs, working his way slowly towards her
with his tongue. First good
glimpse he’d had of her pussy, sweet little thing. Too dark, too frantic the other time to
look. He looked now, kissing her thighs softly, a rain of small
kisses. So pretty. For all that she was the mighty Slayer,
just a pretty girl pussy. He spoke
it out loud. Glanced up at her
face. No change. Okay, too easy.
was wet, inside. Just the barest
beginning. So, not
completely catatonic yet. He
spread the pearly stuff up from her quim, licked it off her clit. Heard her sigh. Ah, lovely. “Lie back, pet.
Be more comfortable. Give
me room to work.” He
took her hips in his hands, drew her nearer. Lifted one thigh to his shoulder. There, that was good.
“Such a pretty Buffy,” he murmured. “Such a pretty love. S’gonna be all right. Pretty sweet little
darling.” He set off slow,
almost no pressure, just the tongue, plenty of wet, kissing, lapping. Held her open with one hand over the
pubic bone, in the springy curls.
Found hers with the other, squeezed it. She squeezed back, and the overwhelming tenderness that rose
up in his dead heart poured itself forth through his lips and tongue. She’d never had this before, he
was sure of it. Not this way. Angel wouldn’t have done it, that
one time he had her. He was such a
steak-and-potatoes guy, the bastard. Even if he’d not turned, this wouldn’t
have occurred to him, giving her a languorous seeing to, all for her, not about
his cock. As for Captain
Cardboard—! Oh, he’d
probably done his duty, and she’d have pretended to love it,
wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, he had so many of them, all standard
issue. Slow, slow . . . he
wasn’t going to make her come too soon . . . he wasn’t going to
make her come just once . . . calling her back, he was. If she must have this body, if she must
be here in it, then she should inhabit it to every molecule, feel it burst into
life in every corpuscle, glad and thrumming. Let her take his head off afterwards, he’d give
her this first.
course it wasn’t all for her.
Because she had to know there was no place he’d rather be than
immersed in her most delicate place . . . it was for this, the idea of this, because of course it was never going to happen,
not really . . . for this he’d let Glory tear him up, risked immolation
in the sun on the desert road, taken that fall off the tower. Just for the idea of her.
There! The first wave caught her; she moaned
and bucked, gripped his hand. He
stayed with her, increased the pressure, drew her up towards it again, up and
over, and this time she said his name, and her other hand grabbed the hair at
the back of his head. He knew when
to ease off a bit, turned his attention to her overflowing quim, tongue and
fingers there, soaked in her, lovely, and wasn’t she his chalice
now. One finger, coated in her
liquor, tried the ass. Would she
like that? Oh,yes. She was beginning to boil along like a
teakettle, wordless ah ah ah ahs that
got faster and faster. Back now to
the clit, all swollen and gooey, ready again for his touch. She went off in a whole cascade of
foamy spendings, and her other leg was across his back now.
His cock, untouched, almost unthought of, bobbed in time with her pulse. It slavered to be into her, but he
ignored it. She was talking now .
. . his name, sighed, croaked, groaned.
And, as he built her slowly towards the next peak, something else. At first he couldn’t make out
what it was. A low rhythmic
grunting. “D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d—“ He slid four fingers into her, rubbing
against the good place inside as he sucked on her engorged clit. God, what she was capable of!
And she kept on, now it sounded like
“Don’t—don’t—don’t—“ But he
knew she didn’t mean for him to stop, so he went right on, feeling every
shudder, every gasp, and it became something else as she climbed up the slope
again, her whole body shaking,
leave—don’t leave—don’t leave me—don’t
God, they all did, didn’t they? The
miserable shits. Her grip on his hand, her thighs around his head, almost
crushing. She heaved and came,
chanting it over and over. He rode
it through with her, and realized when she fell back that he’d come
himself, his thighs and belly sticky and dripping.
She still had hold of his hair. Tugged. He
crawled up her body, onto the bed, nervous of what he’d see in her
face. Her eyes were closed. They opened when he loomed over
her. Oh, she saw him now. He shivered with the intensity of that
look. Full of the one question.
Her little hand closed around his sticky cock, and it rose
up again for her like an obedient dog.
It was hers, like all of him was.
He tensed and groaned when she put him inside her. Drenched and yielding and so hot. He
looked at her. Her eyes could be
so big. He began to rock, and she clung to him, moved with him,
every part of her body touching his, and he watched it in her face, what it was
like for her to have him. Not
pretending anymore that it wasn’t happening. She didn’t hide anything, from him or herself.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered,
staring into his eyes. Grinding
herself against him.
“It’s all wrong.”
Oh God. I love her. It increased
every hour. And he’d thought
he loved Dru! And he’d
thought he loved Buffy last year.
Nothing nothing nothing to what he felt right this moment. Helpless for her.
“Don’t leave me, Spike. Don’t leave me. Please. Don’t.
“Don’t worry, precious. I’m not like the others,”
he said, shaking with the ecstasy of being so far up inside her, so completely
surrounded by her. Oh, she owns
me. I am so hers. When she finally goes from me, I hope to God she leaves me dead.
slept, and he resisted the urge to do the same, stroking her hair in a measured
way meant to keep her under. It
was so late when they’d started, just a couple of hours would be all
she’d get. Didn’t want
her to wake up and find him—dead.
Which was what he was like, asleep, no breath, no pulse, no gentle rise
and fall of the chest. Maybe that
was why she threw things at him to rouse him. Didn’t want to go right up and touch an unmoving
not thought of himself that way before.
Never been less than utterly pleased with what he was.
out in the hall. Thumps and
bumps. Then a knock, followed
immediately by a head.
“Buffy, get up and help me find my—Oh no.”
or rather, two dinner-plate-sized eyes that were called Dawn, took in the scene
for five seconds that felt like five minutes. Then the door slammed, followed by a noise like an elephant
being tumbled down the stairs.
leapt up and into his clothes, even as Buffy started to come to.
nothing. Go back to sleep, pet,
it’s still early. Be right
back.” He flipped the clock on
the bedside table around in the hopes she wouldn’t see it, would just
stay where she was. Dashed down
after the girl.
she was in the kitchen. Spike
stopped in the doorway.
Wouldn’t do to get too close, not reeking as he was. Couldn’t imagine what he looked
like. Must just brazen this
through. She’d have to be
off to school in ten minutes, but couldn’t let her go without some word.
got the knocking part down, Niblet, but the waiting to be called part still
wouldn’t look at him.
Fumbling with a cereal box.
Typical 15 year old nonsense, ignore, deny.
what could he say?
hope . . . you’ll be nice to your sister. She’s . . . ah, in a delicate state just now.”
poured cereal into a bowl. Poured
it to overflowing.
I hope . . . you’ll respect her privacy. Her decisions.
If anyone had ever told me, when I was ripping throats nightly with
Dru, that I’d find myself having a
talk with some kiddie whose
good opinion I needed like I need fresh blood . . . “It’s time for you to get going. Just think on what I said, all
right? There’s nothing for
you to be worried about. Your sis
glanced at him then. Oh, those
Summers girls and their glances.
“Really. You’re both okay. Right as rain.”
you be here when I get back from school?”
pondered this. What answer did she
want? He didn’t even know
what the answer was. Well,
probably, seeing as how the sun was up and it looked like another blazing
Indian summer day. Even if he had
to spent it crouching in the cellar, waiting for dusk.
talk later, if you want. Go on
now, don’t miss the school bus.”
she’d gone, he put water on to boil, listening out for sounds of movement
upstairs. Gave half a thought to
Red—might she come back at any moment? Another half a thought to his belly. He’d had nothing for a day. Rooted through the freezer to see if
anything remained of the bags of blood he’d stashed there in the summer
when he came and went from this
house all the time. Found a few,
under the boxes of Lean Cuisine.
Heated one up. Drank it
while the tea steeped.
Wouldn’t do to bring it up to her room. Just the tea, and . . . what did the Slayer eat for
breakfast? So much he
didn’t know about her. How
she fought, how she fucked, how she drove herself past exhaustion, yes. But not what she liked to eat, or watch
on telly, or . . . she was right.
This was all wrong. He
carried the teapot up in one hand, two mugs in the other.
squinched up her nose.
“Buffy drink coffee.”
“Ah. Well . . . try it. You’ve changed your tastes in
other things lately—“
cast him a glance, angry, withering.
And then, she smiled. Just
quick, but he caught it.
Amazing. Amazing, to be sitting up in bed with
the Slayer, in the Slayer’s very own girlhood room, her foofaraws all
around, drinking tea at eight-thirty of a Thursday morning in November. The sun beating against the drawn
shades, the air redolent of orange pekoe and her sweat and both their dried
spunk and the potpourri in the dish on the radiator. And she wasn’t frozen anymore, and she wasn’t
pushing him out, or staking him, or staring at him with Least-Loved Expression
we will pay for this.
What were you like when you were a little boy?”
no. Not this. “Like
bleeding Little Lord Fauntleroy.”
I know what you want here. And
I’d like to know all about kiddie Buffy too. But we can’t be doing that. The present is all we can share, right? Otherwise this thing is going to get
ugly in a hurry.”
Saw her eyes dip, and a blush ride up her neck into her
“I mean—“ No, the past had to be forbidden territory. Love couldn’t plant itself there,
not hers, anyway, not for him. And
he couldn’t say the ‘f’ word. Wanted to, but couldn’t. Because there probably wasn’t any future here, don’t
leave me aside. “That’s nothing to be scared of, Buffy. It’s always the present. Every moment. I’ve lived my whole unlife in the present tense,
it’s not so bad. Just
don’t ask for jam every other day.”
. . . right.” She sipped the
tea. “That was Dawn who came
in here before, wasn’t it?”
did you say to her?”
her not to worry. Said we were all
be.” He gave her a sidelong glance.
took his hand. He started. Too
many small miracles all at once.
Darling little slayer hand, fingers interlaced with his. “You know,” she said,
“if the others found out . . . Xander . . . Giles . . . it would be
“Yeah. But if we backed each other up . . .
.” He looked at her. Buffy. This was Buffy, the actual Buffy, and they were having an
actual conversation, defenses down.
A conversation about themselves.
As a couple. Probably this was
the final sign of the end times, and in another moment the planet would crash
into nothingness. “You need
to be sure of what you want. If
you quit me now, the Scoobs don’t need to know. Dawn won’t say anything to anybody. And I’ll still look after her
when you need me to. You just come
around anytime and throw something
at my head, and I’ll be on the case.”
rubbed a thumb across the back of his hand. “This really is
waited. She’d have to push
him away, then. Let her kick him downstairs. He wouldn’t go until she did.
y’know,” she murmured, “you proved it to me.”
She lifted his hand, brought it to her cheek. Which was still hot with blushes. God, what this must cost her, this
alteration. Her awful
resurrection, the friends’ betrayal, the ever ongoing merciless
slayage. Dawn again. And him. All of it. Overwhelming. I can’t do this.
“That I came back wrong.” She looked into his
palm. Traced the lifeline with her
finger. “Hey . . . you told me once that a person can change. Remember? So this is what I’ve changed into. I can only be what I am. You were right about that.”
This was it.
She really was going to let him do it.
Spike thought he’d blush too, if he was capable of
it. Be careful what you wish
for, William. You just might get
it. Nothing was the same once you’d
She climbed across him, her hair falling over his chest. He
caught her face in his hands and kissed her. His mouth still warm from the cuppa. She knelt over him and
kissed him back.
Certainly, they’d pay. What price, what price?