Halloween III

Why Can’t This Be Love?

School sucked. Actually, college sucked. Already it was September, and she wished the semester were over already. She was so out of her element, even the things that she knew anything about were so far out of her reach. She wished more than once that she hadn’t cut classes, she wished that she would have listened to the teacher.

Days passed, and she found herself watching the calendar, waiting for October to come. Mentally ticking off the days, closer and closer to time when she would see him again.

To distract herself, she decided to find someone, anyone to fill the void of her time. Angel had told her to look for normal. There were possibles everywhere. Of course, she picked a real winner. Parker. He’d flirted and fumbled around, playing the sensitive type. Why did he have to play her emotions like that? Weren’t they in enough of a mess already? Men just sucked in general anymore. First Angel, now this idiot. If the dumping wasn’t bad enough, he had to do it in front of everyone on the commons.

Including Spike. That was beyond badness. That was the ultimate humiliation.

Spike watched as the bloody wanker cut Buffy to shreds, one side appalled at the way the whelp treated her and the other furious at the fact that she had gone and put a notch on the bedpost. He knew of three now. Were there more?

“What’s it take to pry apart the Slayer’s dimpled knees?” He mocked her, right there. He should know, he managed it too.

Tonight she patrolled, royally pissed and damage bound. God, she hated that vampire, but her body burned for him. He was here, and he didn’t even tell her. Mocking her, taunting her. Trying to kill her.

What had happened in a year? What had changed? He had told her last year that he didn’t want to kill her anymore, and now this? Was it the gem talking, or was it the ramblings of a pissed off vampire? Did Dru finally push him over the edge? What was she thinking, he was already off the scale, had always been off the scale. Hot and cold, push me, pull you. Never the same two days in a row. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t find someone stable? Broody, user, evil—all she wanted was…Spike. Damn.

She could feel her hand beginning to tingle. Double damn.

She walked through Restfield, skimming the edge behind the mausoleums that dotted the old cemetery. Her gut clenched with her vamp sense, and she pulled a stake from her pocket with her left hand, leaving her right free. A vampire dropped in front of her from the roof of a crypt, and she drew back, ready to plunge the stake into his chest. She stopped herself when she realized it was Spike.

"It’s time," he said, dragging on his ever-present cigarette, the ultimate cool.

"I know," she said calmly. And she did. She knew this was one reason he came back, and kept coming back. And how much she was starting to count on it.

She leaned up against the wall of the crypt, staring at the ground between her feet. "Do you always have to cut me to shreds before we do this? Does it help?" Her voice was thick with sadness and tinged bitter.

He cocked his head, unsure of her meaning. "Don’t quite know how to answer that, kitten."

"This…passive aggressive bullshit. The ‘I want to kill you but I’ll shag you’ thing that you do. You make sure that my emotions are tattered before you fuck me, and that just makes it harder and harder. You could be nice. You could treat me like a person, not the Slayer."

"Bloody hell, how can I forget you are the Slayer!" He started pacing in front of her, coat flapping in agitated slaps. "You’re my enemy. You kill my kind. I am not supposed to want you like this. This is just bleedin’ insane, that’s what it is. I can’t believe it."

"Same here, buddy, but here we are. Stuck in a stupid, childish pact that neither one of us wants anymore and would do anything to get rid of. I like you less and less every time I see you. You’re a pig, Spike." Her voice was wooden, each word pricking him with the splinters of betrayal.

He stopped in front of her, panting unnecessarily. "Well, pet, I’m the pig you love to rut with. What does that make you?"

She curled her fists, then grabbed him by the coat, pulling him to her. She smashed her mouth to his, wanting to punish him for hurting her feelings, wanting to hurt in return. His hands gripped her like claws, and held her still for him to grind against her, his bulge already growing in his jeans. Her teeth gnawed at his lip, and he shifted his grip to her hips, forcing her legs apart to press against the cleft waiting there for him, already wet by the scent.

"Been waiting, haven’t you, pet? Waiting for Spike to come back and scratch that special itch. Like a little monster in your man."

She clapped her hand over his mouth, and closed her eyes, shutting herself away from him. "Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk at all. We are not friends. We will not become friends, ever. Just fuck me, all right? Just fuck me and fulfill the pact, and go the fuck away. Go away and stop hurting me."

He heard the desperation in her voice, and regretted the hurtful things he’d said to her. He started to apologize, and realized that it was a futility at this point. Angel had twisted her view on love, but he’d broken it off, and now he had to pay the consequences.

He shoved her up against the crypt, and yanked at the buttons on his jeans, knowing what she wanted. Funny, that. He always did know, whether through body language or the blood bond. He yanked out his cock, and she grabbed it in both fists, pulling him closer to her. She had already jerked off her pants, and he lifted her up and sat her down on his shaft in a single lunge.

Her mouth oohed, and her eyes were round and large in her face. She grunted with the impact, and he held her still, waiting for her to accommodate him. Her nostrils flared as she panted, her face screwed into a mask of miserable pleasure, and then she flexed her thighs, signaling for him to move.

Slow was not on the menu tonight for either of them. They coupled hard and fast, their thrusting a blur in the darkness and his coat surrounding him. She buried her nose in the leather, and he smelled the salt of her tears, but remembered her ban and held his tongue. She pressed her mouth to his throat, trailed her tongue to his ear, and started talking, whispering dirties, urging him, “faster, harder, slam into me, don’t hold back, baby ‘cause I’m not human either, am I? Come on and fuck me, Spike, like you always wanted to. You bad man, you bad vampire, fuck the slayer and make her come—“

He reached between them and grabbed her clit, twisting it painfully between his fingers, and she turned her head, presenting him her neck. He slid his fangs into his ripe peach, his Slayer, and she threw her head back and howled her passion to the moon as her orgasm burned her inside out. It consumed her like fire, from top to bottom, and he felt her slump and started to slow. She hit him on the shoulder with her fist, and he drove into her harder, each spasm building on the next and the next, explosion after explosion of painful pleasure. She burned him to, her heat searing his cock as she grabbed him with wonderful muscles, divine muscles that clenched and gripped and rippled along him like a heated glove, a perfect fit. She spasmed around him again, and he pulled another mouthful of her blood and dove over the edge.

She locked her legs around his waist and held her to him, her face buried in his coat as she sobbed. He soothed her quietly, rubbing her back and arms, his lips pressed against her hair as he whispered nonsense to her. He found a nearby tombstone, and sat down on top of it, still whispering comfort to her.

He refused to think about why he was being so tender and considerate to her. He ignored the images crowding his brain, and tried to focus instead on the jagged words ripping out of her mouth with every sob.

She tried to talk as she cried, and he heard Parker and Angel and Dad, his demon growling and lusting for the whelp’s blood, and then he heard his name on her lips in the litany of men who loved her and left her. She thought there was something wrong with her, not with them.

He pulled away from her to look her in the eyes. "Slayer, you have the wrong idea all together."

"Listen, as long as we’re like this, please don’t call me Slayer. Call me Buffy. Can you do that?"

"Buffy." It felt strange coming from his lips. "I can’t speak for your da, because I don’t know him. Angel I know. Angel always thinks he has to do the best thing for everyone, because that helps him suffer and brood more. Sacrifice everything. That’s the thing about the bloody soul. Makes you forget that you count too. Parker was a player. Saw something he wanted, got it, and tossed it away. Biggest mistake the bugger ever made, tossing a beautiful woman like you. They’re all bloody wankers, if y’ask me."

He could not believe what he’d just said. Again, his mouth ran before his brain was engaged. She couldn’t believe it either, but there was one more. One more answer that she needed, wanted, before she would allow him peace.

"What about you, Spike? You always leave me too. No matter how good I am, no matter how good this is between us, you hurt me, you fuck me, and you leave. I’m seeing a pattern here. I’m not the smartest one in the world, but even I can see this."

He ducked his head, ashamed of himself for some strange reason. "Buffy, I—I don’t know. One minute I want to kill you, the next I want to shag you to death. If I stay—I don’t know if I can stay away. This is wrong, and we both know it."

She rested her head in the bend of his neck, away from his eyes. "I know. I know. You’re evil, I’m the Slayer, yada yada yada. The same thing, always the same thing. We can’t be together because we’re enemies, but the only place we seem to fit is here. Together. Why is that, Spike? Why do I miss fighting with you and foiling your plots when you’re not here? Why do I mark the days off the calendar, and all of a sudden October is my favorite month ever? Does it even matter to you? Do I even have any effect on you?"

He shifted her hips, and she gasped, remembering they were still enjoined. "I think you know if you have an effect, Buffy. Don’t fish, love. Just try and understand. We cannot be. Ever. ‘M still a vampire, love, and always will be. Won’t ever wear the white hat. Don’t want to. An’ you couldn’t deal with it if I didn’t. Better to keep it like this than to mix the rest into it. Can you really kill the one you love?"

"I did once. I could again, if I had to."

"And see, you’re a heartless bitch. And I am a bad, rude man, who shouldn’t say hurtful things to you. But I do."

"I know." She slid off of him, and went to grab her pants. "Are you staying in Sunnydale this time?"

"Don’t know." He tucked himself away and stared holes in her back. "Depends, I guess. What did you do with my ring?"

She pressed her lips together, and he knew. "So, guess I’ll go visit Angel and get my gem. See you around, Slayer."

He started to walk away, and she grabbed his sleeve, halting him. She cupped his face in her hands, searching his eyes, and he pushed everything but evil from them. Still, she closed her eyes, and pressed a tender kiss to his mouth that she’d ravaged in her anger. Kissed him gently and swept her tongue inside to curl around his. He couldn’t help but respond, her wild sweet flavor taunting him with possibilities. Sudden awareness filled him, and he thrust her away, wiping his mouth.

She watched his hand move across his lips, obliterating her kiss, and her heart shattered inside her. Tears filled her eyes, and left unheeded runnels of moisture on her cheeks. Her lip trembled in a girlish pout, and he almost took her back into his arms to wipe the pain from her face. Almost. With a lurch, he tore his eyes away from her, then turned and walked away.

He left her there in the cemetery, surrounded by the dead. His heart ached for might have beens and what ifs, but there was no place for that. Why yearn for something that can never be? Love from the Slayer? For the Slayer?

Again, his inner William interfered. To be loved, cherished, and wanted by one of the most powerful supernatural creatures ever to walk the planet? To feel her close to him every night? To enjoy the fruits of her body and heart any time they chose to? To love, and be loved. Although he would never admit it, that had been his quest all his days. To find the one who loved him, and to love them back with all that was in him. At one time he thought it was Dru. Now? He didn’t want to think of now.

The one who held the key was walking away, and he took a step toward her, then another. He remembered who he was and who she was, and no matter how much he wanted to refute it, there was no middle ground. He couldn’t stop the demon in him from ripping its way out now and then. Couldn’t live without the blood. Couldn’t live without…. Stop. No more….

He forced himself to stop, and watched her walk listlessly into the shadows at the other side. She scrubbed her eyes with her fist, and he could still smell the salt of her tears, like the sea breeze off the ocean. She looked lost, lonely, alone. Always alone. He wanted to run after her, comfort her, but he held himself still. There was no chance of a truce between them. He didn’t want to play the white hat, just to secure a place in her heart. All he wanted was Drusilla, evil, and the sweet taste of blood, and sod all else. She was the Slayer.

She should be used to things like this by now.

Bitter gall filled his mouth, and it took a moment to recognize regret.

When she was gone from his sight, he turned, eager for a trip to the city of the angels and one Angel in particular.