Chapter 11: The Poet and the Demon

Dawn, Buffy and Willow watched Spike leave the room. Dawn went to follow him and Buffy held her back.

“Dawn, don’t,” she murmured.

Dawn looked down at her sister’s hand on her arm in surprise. It had been so long since Buffy had reached out to her or had shown any real interest in her life; it had seemed like forever since Buffy had cared about anything.

“He loves you, Dawn, you’re like a daughter to him,” Buffy said softly, she sounded almost surprised by her own awareness of the situation. “It’s a shock to him.”

“He hates Xander,” Dawn said sadly.

Buffy pulled her sister close, surprising both of them. “He didn’t like Xander and Xander didn’t like him. But things have changed, Dawnie, they’re going to have to grow up and meet half way.”

Dawn chuckled. “Spike grow up? If he hasn’t done it by now...”

“You could say the same for Xander,” Willow said wryly.

“So we have a magic lamp to deal with and now an invasion of testosterone,” Buffy said. “It’s going to be interesting.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “That’s it!”

Dawn and Buffy reluctantly pulled apart. “What?” they exclaimed.

“Magic lamp! Aladdin! Buffy you got it – it’s a magic lamp – a genie’s lamp!” And just as the excitement burned in her eyes, it turned to fear. “Oh, Goddess, a genie,” she whispered.

“Big bad?” Buffy asked, almost hopefully.

Willow’s gaze met hers and she nodded. “One of the biggest of bads.”

Dawn shrugged. “We can handle it,” she said. Reaching out she clasped her sister’s hand tightly in her own. “We can handle Xander and Spike and we can handle a big bad genie.”

Buffy grinned. “Hey, if we get our hands on that lamp we could wish that the two of them would grow up and get along.”

Despite the threat of both the genie and the arrival of Dawn’s husband and Giles, the three girls burst out laughing.

***

Buffy went upstairs and opened the door to their room. While it had been hers for the last seven years, since Spike had returned from the dead and come back into her life, she’d started to think of it as theirs.

Each night, she showered and put on her PJs and got ready for bed with a glass of wine and a book. Spike followed up with his own shower, a glass of scotch, and one of the comic books he pilfered from Sam’s collection. Like an old married couple, they read, drank and chatted. And then Buffy turned out the light, curled up into his side, her head on his shoulder, her arms tucked around his waist and she fell asleep. Since Spike had taken to holding her as she slept, Buffy slept better than she had in years.

She leaned against the doorframe and watched him. Apparently he had decided to switch up their routine and the thought caused a slow burn in her stomach. He paced the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, a glass of scotch in his hand. He paused and sipped and then turned and looked at her.

“Pet,” he said and there was a warning in his tone. Apparently her vampire had let himself off his leash.

“We were so worried about Sam and Chantal, I didn’t get a chance to ask you. Are you okay after that hike through the storm?”

He shook his head, his eyes bright. “Yeah. I just needed to warm up, that’s all.”

“Well, I think you might need to cool back down,” she said.

He laughed harshly and tossed his drink back and set the glass on the table. “I’ve been cold inside here,” he pounded his chest, “for far too long.”

“How long?” she whispered.

“Since you told me you loved me and then I burned to save you and your bleeding Scooby gang!” He moved toward her and Buffy watched him in wary fascination. “I did that for you! I died for you and everything in me burned up and turned to dust. And when I came back and found you with the Immortal, I started to freeze. And now, here I am in this godforsaken town, freezing my arse off!”

“The Immortal reminded me of you.”

He stopped, eyebrows arched high, eyes opened wide. “Just what the sodding hell are you going on about?”

Buffy shut the door behind her and stood in front of him. She searched Spike’s face. “He was so full of himself, confident and brash. He didn’t take shit from anyone, but he took it from me. I fought him, just like I fought you. I think I was crazy from losing you and he was just as crazy. And he smoked those same cigarettes and he wore leather and there were times, when I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over his cold, smooth skin and inhaled that scent of ash and leather, I could pretend it was you.”

Spike gaped at her. “We don’t look anything alike!” He didn’t like being compared to that git. “And he’s all dark and brooding. More like you were comparing him to that poof Angel!”

She shook her head and reaching out, laid her hand on his chest. It was hard, and cool, and she felt it rise and fall beneath her fingers as he breathed in agitation. “But when he kissed me, I knew it wasn’t you. When he tried to touch me, caress me, I knew it wasn’t you. It lacked tenderness. It lacked…love. It was only when I lay with him that I truly realized what I had lost.”

Throwing his arms in the air, he stepped back and pointed at her. “You’re daft, you are! You expect me to believe that sleeping with another vampire finally convinced you that you loved me?” He laughed harshly.

She looked down at her hands, remembering that time. It had been one of her darker moments and considering her past, that was saying a lot.

“All that time I was with you, and I couldn’t tell anyone that I was with you. I was the slayer, I had to be untouchable, I had to be pure and good and then suddenly there were all these others slayers and for the first time since I’d been chosen, it didn’t matter who I loved. I could love anyone I wanted. But you weren’t there.”

She covered her face with her hands and took a deep, deep breath. “You weren’t there and I felt nothing but pain and grief.” She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in tears. “And anger. I was furious with you.”

“How was that different? You were always furious with me. I took your fury because it was better than nothing,” he shouted. “But no more! Damn you, I’ve been love’s bitch long enough. I’ve been your bitch long enough. Get bent, Slayer!” He turned away and strode toward the chair where he’d thrown his clothes, muttering under his breath.

Buffy watched him, panic clawing at her throat. She knew that if she didn’t do something, that would be it. He’d died for her, and he’d been sent back by the PTB. She wasn’t an idiot -she knew they had sent him back to save her. But he’d given up; because she’d given up. And if she didn’t turn this around, they would both be lost. She didn’t know what the terms of his agreement with the PTB were, but she wasn’t willing to chance it.

She walked to him and laid her hands on his bare back.

“William.”

He stiffened. “Don’t call me that. William was a wanker. A love sick wanker.”

“I love you,” she murmured, laying her cheek against his back and sliding her arms around his waist. “I love the man inside you. The man who loves with all his heart and soul, even when he didn’t have one. I love the man who reads and writes poetry. The man who touches me with tenderness and always protects me and the ones I love.”

He bowed his head.

“Buffy, there’s more to me than the poet.”

“And I love the demon in the man,” she continued. “I love the demon who swears and smokes and shags. I love the demon who fights with his heart and soul and loves with a fierce intensity. I love the demon who kills to protect those he loves. I love the demon who recognizes the demon in me.”

He covered her hands with his.

“Buffy,” he murmured.

“Don’t give up on me,” she begged. “Don’t give up on us.”

“Oh God.....As if I could.”

She slipped her hands down and tugged at the towel at his waist.

Breathing in deeply, he let the towel fall to the floor. “Buffy-“

She shook her head, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades and sliding her hands down over his toned abdomen to his groin. He gasped, leaned back into her arms and trembled at her touch. It had been so long and he’d never thought to feel her hands on him again or that she’d touch him so gently. He hadn’t thought her capable of tenderness when it came to him.

She stroked him until he gasped and stilled her hand. “No more.”

Turning to her, he framed her face with his hands. He trailed kisses down her cheekbone, along her jaw and finally captured her mouth in a fiery kiss.

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Always,” she answered.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he laid her down gently. He covered her body with his own, loving the contrast between his nakedness and her fully clothed body. “There will be no more talk about me and that twat the Immortal having anything in common, yeah?” he ordered. He pressed his groin against hers, rocking his hips. Buffy gasped and shuddered.

“Never,” she murmured.

“And I never,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to her neck, sucking on the vein that throbbed there, “never want to hear about him touching you.”

“Okay,” she murmured, a smile curving her lips. “But unless you get me out of these clothes I might start talking about me touching him.”

Spike laughed and immediately went to work. Within minutes he had her stripped of her sweater and jeans and socks. He looked down at her plain white bra and underwear. There was something virginal and girl next door about how she looked in that moment. He ran a hand down her side.

“I’d lie there sometimes, in L.A., and remember what you looked like. With your clothes on, with them off. Mind, I could never get it right. There was always something I’d forget.” He traced a finger down her arm, mapping out the constellations of freckles and beauty marks. “Small things like these.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to the tiny marks, loving each one. He stroked his hand over the edge of her cotton bra. “You’re beautiful.”

She looked at him and ran a finger across his chiseled cheekbone. “You’re beautiful.”

“Handsome. Dashing, maybe. But beautiful?” He shook his head. “Leave off, pet, don’t be nasty.”

She grinned. “Why don’t you get me off?”

His eyebrows shot up and a smile split his face. “Is that a joke or a challenge?”

His hand slid down her stomach and she inhaled deeply in anticipation.

“Right then, you can’t say that I ever say no to a challenge.”

He used his hands, and then followed up with his mouth, bringing Buffy to the breaking point over and over again, pulling away just before she slipped over the edge. And finally, when neither of them could handle any more, he moved between her legs and pushed inside her. He filled her until she was bursting at the seams and she tightened around him until he felt like he would explode.

“Aah...love...” he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers even as she rocked her hips forward, taking him even deeper.

“Welcome home, Spike,” she whispered. “My love.”

He smiled. “That’s it, Slayer, and don’t you forget it.” Then he proceeded to make sure she never, ever forgot that he was the only one – poet or demon – for her.

***

He lay back, satiated, hours later.

Buffy rested her head on his chest and ran her fingers down his skin, picking up on the light perspiration that glistened there.

“How come you sweat?”

He shrugged. “Never thought to ask,” he said. “Wouldn’t know who to ask, mind.” He ran his hands through her hair, tousling it even more. “There’s all sorts of things about my physiology that I never wondered about. I have supernatural strength and I survive off of blood. Neither makes much sense in light of your religion or science. I figured things like my hair growing or my sweat fall under the same category.”

“You were never curious to find these things out?”

He shook his head again. “No, I leave that up to people and places like the Initiative and Wolfram & Hart. Look where that gets you. Some things are just better left alone.”

He snuggled close to her, inhaling her scent and smiling. Then, as he thought of his last words, he lost his smile.

“And then there are some things that are better not left alone,” he murmured.

“Like what?” she mumbled sleepily.

“You didn’t think I was going to forget about Dawn and the whelp, did you?” he asked angrily.

She sighed. “It’s late. Can we talk about this in the morning?”

He glanced at the faint light fighting around the gap in the curtains. “It is morning.”

She shook her head. “Sleep, I need sleep. And then I’ll tell you about Dawn and Xander.”

He shuddered, just thinking about it. “Just tell me, how did you let it happen?”

She opened her eyes and glared at him. “How could I not, Spike? He loved her. She loved him. They needed to be together. Surely you of all people understand love.”

He stared at her. She was right, how could he argue with her?

“But, Harris?” he whined.

She yawned. “Yep, Xander. It’s Dawnie, Spike. You know how annoying and contrary she’s always been. Why do you think she’d go about this any differently?”

He nodded. “You’re probably right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

A slight snore greeted his moment of concession. His lover was out cold. Spike decided that after a hike through the storm and several hours of lovemaking, even an immortal vampire needed some rest. He slipped down, wrapped his arms around her, and went to sleep.