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We Will Remember Them by Lilachigh
 
Chp 14 In the Dark
 
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We Will Remember Them…
By Lilachigh



They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Laurence Binyon




Chapter 14 In the Dark



The air trapped under the tarpaulin smelt of earth and rotting vegetables. Buffy strained her eyes but she could see nothing in the dark. Tentatively, she reached out a hand, then flinched as it touched cold flesh. Spike was still lying unconscious next to her.

She wriggled herself over onto her side and touched him again. That was his hand, then the thick wool of the sweater he was wearing.

“Spike!” she whispered, but there was no reply. Cautiously, she ran her hand upwards until her fingers touched his chin, his cheeks, his mouth. In the darkness – so utterly without light – she knew she was safe. And the vampire was unconscious. He would never know. She just wanted to feel once more the outline of his face under her hand, the texture of his skin, the outline of his body. As soon as he woke they would be enemies again, but for a few minutes, surely she could pretend this was her Spike and they were lying in his crypt, under a pile of carpets, happy together?

Spike came back to reality in one swift second. He had no idea where he was, but he did remember that the poxy French bloke and the English Slayer had ambushed him. How shameful was that! Being hit over the head by a girl holding a baby!

He could still smell Slayer and was staggered to realise he was in one piece, that he wasn’t a cloud of dust floating towards Paris. He opened his eyes. Nothing. Just darkness. Blind! He’d been blinded. Oh great, that was just what he needed.

Then his other senses came to life and he realised the smell of Slayer was not a memory; she was there, all around him, invading every sense, every nerve ending. Her hands were all over him, on his body, tracing his limbs, touching him – oh bloody hell!

Spike knew he wouldn’t score well on any test of will-power, but reckoned he deserved a sodding prize as he forced himself to stay still, keeping his eyes shut as her fingers seemed to reluctantly leave that part of his body to creep higher, to sweep little circles over his face, her hands busily tracing the line of his cheekbones, the scar tissue on his eyebrow.

But another scent was vying for his attention now. There was blood! Close to his mouth, blood on her face. The hunger inside him to feed swept up, consuming him with its sweet fire and before he could stop himself, he reached up and licked her cheek, groaning as the blood oozing from a cut in her skin sent him into game face.

“You’re awake!” He felt her shift away from him, so fast whatever they were lying on rocked, as if they’d been –
Buffy’s whisper was angry but he could hear a tinge of embarrassment there as well. And so she she bloody well should be. Touching a fellow when he was flat out was – well – he felt his face change back as he licked his lips. A right turn on that had been. Regretfully, he wondered how far she would have gone if he hadn’t reacted to her blood? Now he’d never know. Pity!

“Where the hell are we and why are you bleeding all over me, Slayer?”

“Be quiet! Joy and the Resistance have hid us in a cart. When it’s dark we can try for the plane and get the hell out of France! And I am not bleeding all over you as you so elegantly put it. It’s just a few scratches from branches and things.”

“Tasted good! Bet you taste really great, Slayer. Who knows, one day I might get more than a mouthful!”

“The only way you’ll ever get to drink my blood is if I’m dead!”

“Oh, I can manage that, pet, don’t you worry!”

“Will you shut up? We’re supposed to be hiding. There could be a German patrol outside right now.”

Spike tried to sit up and banged his head on the tightly drawn tarpaulin. His whisper was vehement. “Sodding hell! God, I’ll be glad to get out of this country. Give me England any day. I can’t stand these rotten garlic eaters, even if they are supposed to be on our side.”

“You’re a vampire, Spike. As far as you’re concerned, everyone’s on the other side! And anyway, how did you manage to get caught? That wasn’t very clever.”

“Thought we were supposed to be quiet?”

Buffy lay down, shuffling as far away from him as she could. She could still feel the colour flaming in her cheeks. Thank God he hadn’t woken up sooner. She’d have died rather than let him know she’d been touching him. She wriggled around, trying to get comfortable. Her throat felt like sand; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink.

“Thirsty, Slayer?” His voice came out of the darkness.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

There was a rustling and she flinched as his hand unerringly found hers in the dark.

“Don’t panic! Not trying to touch you. I mean, that wouldn’t be right, would it, vampire and Slayer, evil and good? I can’t think of anything more repulsive, can you? No, just thought you might like a swig out of this. Joy and her French bloke jumped me just after I’d filled it.”

Buffy felt the cold outline of a flask pushed into her hand and with a sigh of relief she brought it to her lips and painfully swallowed cool water that tasted faintly of brandy.

“Thank you,” she muttered, pushing it back in his direction.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Slayer,” he said gravely and lay down again, wondering why the hell he didn’t just bite her now and be done with it. He’d tasted her and wanted more. Much more. He wanted - Fucking hell, he was losing his marbles. Thinking like that! What the hell was wrong with him? It was her fault for touching him. How long was it now since he and Dru had made love? Weeks, months probably because she’d been in one of her weird moods when she was convinced she was a nun and he’d been away on that poxy submarine with Mr I Wish I Was Michael Collins and it had taken him ages to get back.

Minutes passed, then hours. He could tell from the Slayer’s breathing that she had fallen asleep. Well, that at least that stopped her rabbiting on at him. It was peaceful here, in the dark and he was surprised just how tired he was.

He shut his eyes and was dozing off when the girl next to him suddenly began to moan and kick, her fists punching in all directions.

“What the bloody hell? – Slayer – wake up, Buffy! You’re having a nightmare. For god’s sake, be quiet Slayer. You’ll get us both shot!”

Buffy was dreaming. She was back in her coffin, awake, alive, a roaring in her head as her body clamoured for air, clawing at the satin lining, fighting the wooden lid! She couldn’t breathe, must have air - dark, all dark – escape, must escape – fight – get out!

Then a heavy weight forced her arms down to her sides – legs like steel trapped hers beneath them and a familiar mouth was moving on her lips. She couldn’t hear what it was saying – the roaring in her head was too great, then the lips stopped moving and she opened her mouth for a kiss that was achingly familiar, so cold it stopped the fever that pulsed through her body.

She was back in heaven – she wasn’t in her coffin, hadn’t returned to Sunnydale – that had all been a dream. Cold hands were on her body now, caressing her breasts, keeping her safe. This was heaven, this was delight and in the silent dark of her dream she gave herself up to a slow, languorous pleasuring. Then, as the shudders of ecstasy subsided, she slid back down into sleep.

Spike rolled away from her, his body satisfied, his mind in turmoil. He hadn’t meant to do that, but he’d had to stop her shouting out and once she’d pulled him close and her body had welcomed him, he’d been lost.

Well, he’d had his very first Slayer and could still feel the aftermath sweeping through him; feelings he couldn’t even name were consuming him. He’d never experienced anything like this before, but he pushed that thought deep into his brain, locking it into a little box and throwing away the key.

“It’s some sort of Slayer magic,” he muttered. “Bloody hell, Dru’ll kill me if she ever finds out.” But then he realised, she wouldn’t because no one would ever know. He just wished he wasn’t having to fight the urge to crawl across the space between them and make love to the Slayer all over again.

tbc

 
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