Halloween IV

Bloody Kisses

A/N: Dedicated to and beta'd by the lovely megan_peta. Thanks ever so--and your comments made me cry. You are beautiful. Also beta'd by my own spike_srosebud, my partner in all crimes. Love you.


Spike sat straight up in the bed, his mind a maelstrom and his chest heaving with unneeded breaths. He begged the Powers That Be to keep this from him, to not allow such a degrading abomination to take place, but they shook their heads at him, mocking his innocence. Vampires and slayers were created to be together, and they were the Chosen. Chosen by the Powers to do their bidding.

His stomach churned and his head hurt with the tormenting thoughts plaguing him. In love with Buffy. Of everything that could have possibly happened in the time since their original pact, all the sex, and all the snarking and fighting, he never expected this. Love. Love for the Slayer. God, why?

He had told her just last year that it could never be. Would never be. Before the chip, before depending on her for his unlife and protection, before their engagement and his attempt at betrayal, he told her to give up on what they had, because it could never be. How had this happened? How had she wormed her way into his unlife and into his dead heart to make him the most miserable fool on the planet?

He was a fool. Worse, he was love’s bitch, like he always was. Like he always had been.

It was almost time, and Buffy was pissed at him for another one of his buggered up plots…he could tell, this time, it was not going to be fun.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The unmitigated gall of that bastard. She was going to stake him.

Buffy paced her room, her thoughts too frantic to try and sleep right now. Spike had tried his best to bite her, and it was only the forethought of the doctor that kept him from doing it. That man was a genius, substituting a penny for the chip. She thought of calling Riley to check on him, and decided that he was probably sleeping. Just like she should be, if her emotions weren’t in overdrive and her adrenaline wasn’t pumping like a geyser.

Maybe I just ought to go out and kill something, she thought, grabbing some of her B and E clothes. Maybe a little dust will make me feel better.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She stalked through the cemeteries of Sunnydale with one objective. Dust as many vampires as she could in as little time as she could. Slayer Beat the Clock. There wasn’t enough violence for her right now, weren’t enough vamps around to dust. The ones she did find, she imagined his face, his duster, his attitude, his sneer, and although they were all different, they were all him.

How could he? How could he try and ruin her one chance at a normal life? Isn’t that what he told her she needed? Okay, Angel had told her that, but he did too, in no uncertain terms, the last time…. She thought about last year, and their wild, angry coupling in the cemetery. This cemetery. She wandered around the crypts, knowing where he was, hoping against hope that he would show himself and let her plunge the stake into his chest. Just once, that’s all it would take. Just one…good…stake.

Her mind regurgitated the memory of being engaged to him. She had talked to Willow extensively about her spell, and nothing in it had said anything about love. She could remember loving Spike, completely and wholeheartedly, and it churned in her gut. The love was already there. It had been brewing since the day she laid eyes on him the first time, at the Bronze. It had basted and simmered every time they touched, whether in anger, defense, or offense. Now the feelings hit her at their full rolling boil, and she knew that it was impossible. Besides their obvious differences—hey, vampire and Slayer—there were the little niggling things. Like the evil. Like the crap he called music. Like his hair. The things that drove them completely crazy, that they hated about one another.

She staked another vamp, and dusted her sleeve where he’d drifted. Actually, she liked his hair, especially when it was a mass of ringlets. She could sit and run her fingers through its soft strands for hours. And some of his music. And since he’d been chipped, he didn’t really do evil things, just somewhat bad things. Okay, occasionally naughty. She mused on all the things about him that she did and didn’t like, and didn’t see where she was until she was right there. She sat on the tombstone where he’d held her on his lap, and looked morosely at the moon.

Her stomach clenched, and she knew he was near. She knew he felt her too. There was a bond there; one that she had never took much time to deal with. To be completely honest, except for the one time a year, she tried to ignore it completely. Still, it twisted in her belly, made every man and every monster just a little less than perfect. How could they be perfect when they never came even close to Spike, either in bed or out of it?

She wanted to cry. She wanted to rail at the moon, at the Powers That Be, at everything and everyone who affected her. She wanted to curse her friends, who kept her in line with their upturned noses and disapproving looks. She wanted to scream, kick, cry, and die. Die for what she could never have, never hold without giving up everything she believed in, everything she held dear.

She turned toward home, her sister and her mother sleeping, unknowingly waiting for her. She would have to figure out a way to get over this unnatural attraction. Either that, or just die, because she would rather die than give in to him again. Expose her heart to him again. Let him hurt her again, and again. She didn’t know if she could bear the pain of hope any more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He waited for her every night outside her house, watching her window and wondering exactly what she and the boy were doing in her bed. Lie to yourself, Spike, he thought. You know damn good and well what’s going on in that bed, in that house. If he strained his ears, he could hear her moans, but thankfully, he never heard her make the sounds she made for him. He did hear his name, quickly disguised as something else, but his name nonetheless. She wanted him; he knew it. He knew it, as well as he knew anything at this point.

He thought about the sweet kisses she had lovingly given him when they had been engaged, and a smile curled his mouth. She was so persistent in her attentions, exactly how he knew she would be. So sweet on his lap, her curvy bottom rubbing against him, teasing him. She had giggled when he told her he wanted to claim her on their wedding night, but a quick look at her ascertained she knew what the phrase meant.

He wondered for a moment if the bond they shared was like a claim. They felt the pull of the magic at the same time every year, and they could sense each other even better than just the normal vampire/Slayer senses. Sometimes, if he concentrated really hard, he could even sense her emotions.

He had tossed Harmony out on her ear, and sent her packing. There was no point in games anymore, not when he knew where he belonged. Not when he knew where Buffy belonged. Problem was getting her convinced of it. He knew that she would resist, just as he had. It was in their nature.

The scar flared brightly in his hand, and he knew she felt it. Knew in his heart that this was a done deal. This pact that bound them, it was until death or ashes, and he couldn’t imagine anything less keeping them apart. Didn’t want to imagine it, at this point.

He waited in the dark, in the shadows, melting with them into discreet blobs in the night. He waited, and the stupid berk finally left, and he climbed the tree to her room. He sniffed, and the smell of sex was old and stale, not fresh, so at least he wouldn’t have to contend with tasting another on her skin.

She was in the bed, her back to the window, her silky skin shining against the sheets. Her hair trailing behind her on the pillow. Her arm outstretched, reaching, for him in his fevered dreams. He stood there, watching her sleep, until he realized that her eyes were open and she wasn’t sleeping, she was awake and looking at him.

She turned her honeyed eyes on him, and trapped him in her amber gaze. He stood there, just inside the window, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, watching her as she raked him with a dismissive glance. “So, it’s time already, huh?”

“Yeah.” He stepped forward, further into the room. “Are you still pissed at me?”

“Shouldn’t I be? Every time I think that you have given up that stupid obsession you have about killing me, you disappoint me. Even after this. After all this time, you still try. When you know that I can beat you. You know that I can stake you. You still keep trying. When is it going to stop, Spike? When are you going to give up on this obsession you have?”

“Now. Tonight. Forever. Do you have a Bible?”

She produced one from somewhere close, since she didn’t move from the bed to get it. He laid his hand on it, and the smoke curled around his extended fingers. “I swear on the Word of God and the Powers That Be that I will never again attempt to take Buffy’s life.” He lifted the smoking hand, and blew on his fingertips. “That good enough?”

“It’s a start.” She tossed the ruined Bible to one side, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

“We’ve really damaged one another, haven’t we, Slayer?”

“Yeah.” She looked everywhere but at him. “I thought…I believed you actually cared, at one point.” She gave a short bitter laugh. “Boy, was I wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I thought that you could be trusted, that I could have even just a working relationship with you. I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t.” He laid his hand on hers, where it laid on the comforter. “We can work together, Buffy. We don’t need to be at odds all the time. I can be useful.”

“Right. And I can be the Prom Queen.” She pulled her hand away from him, and twisted her fingers together. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Spike. It’s too hard.”

“You’d rather burn?”

Her eyes were blazing when she looked up at him, but her voice was tired. “Burn? I would rather die than have you touch me again.”

She knew she struck home when his face paled even more, and his eyes deepened. “Don’t say that, Buffy. Don’t ever say that.”

“I mean it. If there was any way out of this, I would take it, even if it meant that I had to die to do it.” He staggered at her words, his hand to his chest. “Oh, like you have a heart that can hurt? I have a heart that hurts. Hurts every day.” Her voice took on the deep burr of sarcasm. “It hurts me that the thought of killing me gives you more of a thrill than fucking me does. Hurts because you turned me away, when I was weak and vulnerable, and feeling like shit over a guy I fucked to take my mind off you. I hurt, Spike. You don’t. It stops hurting when you’re dead.”

She laid down, and closed her eyes. “Do whatever you want. I won’t stop you, and I won’t scream.”

He looked at her there on the bed, waiting for the worst, and wondered how he had managed to bugger it up this bad. He laid down next to her, on top of the blankets, and ran his hand down her cheek, light as a feather.

When he touched her, she came completely unhinged. Tears rolled down her face into her hair, onto his fingers, and she cried silently. Why, why tenderness now? Of all times now? Why? Why couldn’t he just slake his need and go on? She couldn’t bear it. She turned her face away from him, ashamed. Why did she let him do this to her? Why did her body crave the feelings that only he could arouse? And why did she have to let him see how much it hurt?

His heart broke as he watched her suffer. There was no recourse that could change this path he had set them on. He brushed the hair away from her face, and waited until the worst of the storm had passed before he dared to speak. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, and disappointed you. I’m sorry I’m not the man that you wanted me to be, or thought I was. I wish I could change things for you.”

She faced him then. Turned pain-filled, tormented eyes to him, and just looked at him. He couldn’t bear the scrutiny of her eyes, but didn’t turn away. “Do you know? Do you even understand what you did? We…when Willow did that stupid spell, and we were engaged, I was so happy! Happy to be marrying the man I loved. Do you get it now, Spike? I was in love with you. Loved you! Wanted to be with you, forever. How can I be with someone I can’t trust? How can I love you, and not be hurt when you toss me aside for Drusilla, or Harmony, or whatever ho comes next? How can I love you when you rip me to shreds inside and destroy anything good that I ever felt for you?”

He grabbed her upper arms, jerking her upright in the bed. “When? When did you love me?”

Her whisper echoed through the room and into his brain, frying his synapses. “Every time. From the first. I fell in love with you every time. And then you would leave, and I was yesterday’s news. And it hurt. It hurt then, and it hurts now.”

“Buffy, I—“

“No, don’t say another word. Just, do what you came for, and get out.”

She ripped the blankets off of her, and she was naked beneath them. She was thinner, more toned and muscular than he remembered. He studied her body, saw new hollows in her neck and hips that weren’t there before. He never knew. Never realized. Looking back, he could see how this had affected her. Remembered the promise from the first time, and saw his mistakes glaringly in the dim shadows of the room.

If she expected rough, her expectations weren’t met. He fell to his knees at her bedside, his face in his hands as he felt the burden of his sins against her. His obsession had robbed him of his greatest hope, and nothing could mend this. Love made him weak now, and he cursed at his weakness, even as the tears fell.

She pulled his hands roughly from his face, and scoffed at his tears. “Why are you crying? What’s there to cry about? Weren’t you about to part my dimpled knees? Isn’t that what you called them?”

He stared at her, overwhelmed by her scorn. Standing, he crossed to the window. “I won’t do it. Won’t take a woman against her will. When you need me, you know where to find me.” He climbed out of the window, and jumped to the ground.

He didn’t look back to see her there at the window, wrapped in a sheet. Didn’t see the tears of regret that rolled down her cheeks. Didn’t see how it destroyed her again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was a knock on the door of the crypt, and he climbed out of the chair and stumbled to the door, the bottle dangling from his hand, empty. He yanked it open, never expecting the sight on the other side.

Buffy stood there, hair wild and unkempt, eyes bloodshot and reddened from crying. “I—I’m ready.”

“”M not.” He weaved his way back into the safety of his haven. “Killed myself, that’s what I did. Killed m’self. Killed hope. Killed love. Killed it all, didn’t I?”

He tripped, and fell on his face, and just laid there. Her hands were gentle as she picked him up, gentler still as she helped him down the ladder. Her touch burned as she undressed him, then shoved him into the icy shower.

The water splashing his face sobered him, and he caught her looking at his body. He turned to give her the full monty, then turned again to catch her staring at him, her eyes betraying what she had said last night. Was it last night? He couldn’t remember, the days running together in an alcohol-induced haze.

“How long?” he croaked out, and she sniffed.

“From the smell, about a week. Actually, four days. Since you came to my window.”

He hung his head, and the water beat down on him, chilling his flesh further. “What do you need from me now, Slayer?”

Tender hands pulled him out of the shower, and dried him with an old tattered motel towel. “I want us to get over this. I’m tired of hurting Spike, and I’m tired of us hurting one another. Let me see your hand.”

He held both hands out, and she focused on his right, the scar on his palm livid against the discolored burns from the Bible. She kissed his palm tenderly, and held it to her cheek for a moment, then led him to sit beside her on the bed. “Spike, I want you to work with me. Help me. Fight evil with me.”

“I bloody well will not! I am—“

“Yeah, I know, the Big Bad.” She rolled her eyes, and looked at him. “Spike, right now, you’re not even the kinda naughty. You already kill demons and vamps, so that is no different. Is it the working with me part?”

He actually was relishing the idea, but he wouldn’t allow himself to let her know. “Yeah. Got a reputation to uphold, you know? Evil and all, wouldn’t do to be working with the Slayer.”

“Spike.” She traced patterns on the hand she still held, and he forgot to breathe. “There’s a lot going on, and I could use the help. I really can’t tell you much, but I can say that I need you. Need your help. Need you to watch out for Dawn with me. Can you at least do that?”

She wasn’t to the point of begging, but he didn’t want to see her there. Didn’t want to see her beg, didn’t want to demean her any more. “Yeah, I can do that. Help out with the Bit and all.”

“I know that you watch my house anyway, I see the cigarette butts in the yard. Just keep your eyes and ears open, okay? Especially about any new players in town.”

He folded his fingers around hers, and said, “I can check out Willy’s, threaten him for information. Keep my ears out there. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” She looked at their entwined hands. “Why does this always feel so right?”

“Maybe the spell o’ Red’s? Maybe the pact?”

“Or, maybe it’s just supposed to be.” She leaned in, laying her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to die. I keep telling myself I want to, but I lie to myself just as easy as I lie to you.” She looked up at him through lowered lashes. “I want you, Spike.”

“I want you too, kitten.” He brought their joined hands to his lips, and brushed her knuckles with his bottom lip. “Shall we?”

“Well, you’re already dressed.” She stood, and waved her hand at his towel-clad form. “Guess I need to dress too.”

He’d been too bleary before to notice what she was wearing, but he looked at her now as she removed her clothes. She had dressed up to come to his crypt, leather pants, nice blouse, and leather jacket. She knew he liked leather. She disrobed, folding her clothes methodically as she went, leaving only panties and bra covering her succulent flesh.

He watched her, fascinated, unable to tear his eyes from her lithe form. She turned, and his breath caught in his throat at the sheer luxuriousness of her beauty. “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“No, no—I was just looking at you. Thinking how beautiful you were.”

She flushed from head to toe. “Where?”

He opened his arms, and she came to him willingly, draping her body across his lap. She remembered their kisses, and pouted, and he obliged her. He captured her pouting lip between his teeth, and worried it gently. “See, told you I’d get that lip.”

She giggled, and he let out an internal sigh. This was his Buffy. His love. He twisted them, and laid her down on the bed with her legs draped across him, holding the towel in place. “Buffy,” he breathed, and nuzzled her throat, inhaling deeply and swallowing her essence. “Let’s do something different.”

“Hmm. Well, we’ve done it in my room, once with you in the driver’s seat, once with me. We had a hateful, angry fuck the last time. What’ll it be this time?”

He held his breath. He wanted to confess, apologize, worship, but the time wasn’t right. “Let me make love to you, Buffy.”

“And that would be different how? We don’t love each other.”

“We did during the spell. Let me show you. Let me show you what our wedding night would have been.”

She looked around, then looked back up at him. Silence stretched between them, too long, and he was ready to snap with the pressure when she finally said, “All right. Show me then.”

In a flurry he stood, lighting candles around the bed then arranged the pillows for her comfort. He arranged her then too, placing her arms at her sides, her legs casual but closed. “Now, close your eyes.”

She did as he asked, and waited.

He sat at the foot of the bed, and took her foot in his hand. She jumped, but held still as he ran his hand up the back of her calf and back down, cupping her heel in his hand. He kissed each toe, then ran his tongue across the arch of her foot, and was rewarded by a moan. “Don’t have to be quiet here if you don’t want to, pet. Won’t wake anyone but the dead.”

She caught his humorous tone and smiled, although she kept her eyes tightly shut. “I’ll remember that.”

He touched her everywhere. From the tips of her painted toes to her spun-gold hair, he caressed and teased; he touched and fluttered, until she was panting beside him. He completely ignored the areas covered with those lacy things she called underwear. He concentrated on her exposed skin, filling his hunger for her, before he started anything else.

She cracked one eye, and he noticed. “D’ya want a blindfold, love, ‘cause I’d wager I could find one.”

“No, I’ll be good.”

You’re always good, Buffy. So good. That’s why I love you. He wanted to say those things out loud, but kept silent. No point giving her more power than she already had over him. He lowered his mouth to her lacy bra, and mouthed her nipple through the cloth until it was hard, visible through the lace. Skimming the straps down her arms, he removed it slowly, kissing each tiny scrap of exposed skin before moving on to the next spot.

She moaned. Groaned. Writhed. He still took his time, touching her everywhere. She grabbed at him with greedy hands, trying to get him to stop his explorations, and he gently removed them and placed them back on the bed. He licked and touched and worshipped her with teeth and tongue, and she made herself lie still beneath his ministrations. She guessed that this was his way of apologizing to her, and she was fully prepared to accept it.

He cupped her breasts in both hands, a perfect fit in his palms. He marveled at their softness against his roughness. He delighted in her nipples, hard and pointed after he’d barely touched them. His mouth searched and found one, and he heard her gasp of pleasure as he drew it between his lips, sucking and nibbling until her hands gripped his head. He took her wrists and drew them over her head, holding them in one place so he could devour her other breast with his cool mouth, blow on them with chilly breath until she wanted to scream.

He moved down, and rested himself between legs she’d spread on her own. Propping himself on his elbows, he relished in the scents rolling off her body, perfuming the room. Her arousal was heady, and he could have just lain there and smelled her all night long, but he knew she wouldn’t stand for that. He nuzzled her mons through the tiny piece of tissue thin fabric, and she arched her hips, bringing her center closer to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the sopping crotch, memorizing the scent of aroused Slayer.

He hooked a finger in the side of her panties, and pulled, ripping them off. She started at the tearing sound, then relaxed when she realized what it was. He twirled his fingers in a single curl coiled right above her cleft, and mumbled, “There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her quim, and when she was good she was very very good, and when she was bad, it was because of him.”

“Spike, you’re a poet.” She sighed. “I love my poetry class.”

He frowned up at her. “Not supposed to be thinking of poetry here, love. Be quiet.”

She smiled, and mimed locking her lips. He went back to what he was doing, looking at her beautiful pussy. He brushed his fingers gingerly down her labia, and she spread her legs farther, silently urging him on. He touched her, outside then inside, light, then with pressure, watching her reactions the entire time. God, he never tired of watching her. Her juices were seeping down her thighs and the cleft of her ass, and he ran his finger around to scoop some up, popping it into his mouth for a taste. Heavenly.

Wanting more, he dipped his head to bury his nose in her, and she jumped, startled by his sudden movement. Her jumping made his nose bump against the hard nubbin at the top of the cleft, and she pressed herself against him, groaning wordlessly. He replaced his nose with his mouth, and she ground herself against his mouth, thighs quivering with excitement.

When he finally touched her with his tongue, she had to suppress a scream. He encircled her clit with his tongue, and lapped at it gently, tasting her sweetness. Her hips set his rhythm until she became too frenetic, and then he held her still with his powerful arms, wrapping them around her thighs and pressing down firmly on her pelvis. He slithered his tongue inside her, gathering as much of her nectar as he could from her quim.

He mouthed her until she shivered and shook, until her thighs trembled beneath his arms and her breasts shook with her labored breaths, and she begged him breathlessly to come, then he glided his body over hers, until he could see her face. “Good so far, love?”

“Spike…please…I need…I burn for you….”

“And I burn for you, sweetness.” He kissed her lightly, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth. She panted into his mouth, her breath sweet on his tastebuds. His cock nudged the inside of her thigh, and she spread her legs farther, wrapping her tiny hand around him to guide him to her heated entrance.

He had to hold back. His body craved her heat and warmth, and he knew that she wanted his coolness, but he held back, wanting to make love to her and be good for her. He nudged his way inside her, slowly sinking into her depths. He let himself drown in her as he glided into her, her scent, her eyes, her mouth, her taste, the feel of her heat around him and in him. He drowned, and she welcomed him, her heart in her eyes, her feelings shining out from those indescribable eyes, her arms cradling his head against her breast as icy tears fell.

Revelation filled them both as they lay there together, arms and legs entwined, her tightness engulfing his hardness, her heart beating hard enough for them both. They shared it all, the light and dark and good and bad, and for a moment she knew her fate was inextricably entwined with his, and railed internally at the Powers. She should have known sooner. They both should have known sooner.

He brushed her hair from her face, his hands so tender she wanted to cry with him. Tears still lay on his cheeks, and she kissed them away, and smiled sweetly. “We have tonight, Spike. Make love to me.”

He moved slowly inside her, filling her completely, and she sighed. As he moved, he stared into her eyes, pushing his love into her at both ends of her body. She touched his face, memorizing the contours of his cheeks, his aristocratic nose, and his mouth. He sucked her finger between his lips, and tasted their commingled juices on them where she’d touched him and herself. He stroked her and petted her, his hands touching her everywhere, and she grabbed his head, holding it, and pressed her mouth to his. She swept her tongue into his mouth, teasing his fangslits, then raked her teeth across his lip.

He couldn’t control the roll of his eyes or the reaction of his body. Jerking spastically, he thrusted twice, hard and deep, and an idea filled her mind. She raked her nails down his back to the curve of his ass, and he bent his head, a moan escaping his mouth. “Baby, you like that, don’t you?” she whispered in his ear, so close to her mouth. She ran her tongue around the outer curve, then teased his lobe, and said, “What do you want from me, Spike?”

“Want it all, Buffy. Want all of you. All the time. Every second. Love….”

“You have me, Spike. Whether you know it or not, you’ve always had me. Love me.” She nipped his ear, down his neck to his scar. “Love me hard, baby, hard and fast. Slow and easy. Just love me.” Her voice was thickened with lust and full of implications she dared not examine at the moment, but she knew as soon as they parted that she would examine every word and action with her moral magnifying glass for flaws.

She knew it was building deep within her. Could feel her body tightening, winding up for the explosive passion she’d searched for in everyone, and could find with no one but him. Could sense the build within him as well, his muscles tense and hard against her palms, his hips pumping. Still, his thrusts were slow and measured, controlled, but she wanted uncontrolled, passionate, wild and unbridled. She reached and grabbed his ass, her fingers like claws, digging in with her nails until he responded with the quick thrusts she wanted so desperately.

He could tell she was close, and he began pushing deeper, deeper inside her, until he nudged the depths of her. He raised himself to change his angle, and she gasped when he hit nerves deep inside her, nerves no one had ever touched besides him. She ground against him, his rough hair setting her clit on fire as he fanned the flames deep inside her, and she brought her mouth to his neck, finding the scar so prominent there, raised tissues that elevated him to the vampire he was. She gripped it between her teeth, and he swept her tresses aside to reveal his scar on her neck. He gripped his mark with blunt teeth, waiting for the signal he knew was imminent.

Climbing, climbing to the highest reaches of their bodies’ tolerance, they rose together to the heights of passion before they jumped off the edge. She ground her teeth around his flesh, breaking the skin and almost gagging on the torrent that flooded her mouth. Without moving, he slid into game face, his fangs popping through her skin as they erupted from his gums, and as he drank down the next thing to heaven, the blood of his Slayer, stars exploded behind his eyes as he started to come.

The sharp bite was followed by unbearable pleasure, and she flung herself over the edge of her orgasm. Coming, coming, the taste of him on her tongue and his scent in her nostrils. She let him engulf her with his essence, as he had her, and was forever lost.

Revelations burst forth in their minds—words left unsaid, actions left undone, deeds unspoken, and they knew. Knew of a shared love that was not yet ripe. Knew of a passion, a lust for the other, timeless and eternal. Knew of the plans the Powers held for them, and demanded they fulfill. Knew all, hidden and revealed, and the incredible sensation of shared minds spiraled them both into the stratosphere as they came again.

This time, she didn’t look away. Didn’t turn her head from the memories within or the discoveries of future things, but looked at them full on, seeking answers for her pain and his yearnings and this pact that bound them together.

Shaking, they drew back from one another, eyes seeking and holding the other’s. Scales fell from her eyes, and she looked and saw the love and respect she’d forever wanted, always sought, and had been denied in the others that she had tried to love. He saw her passion, her conviction, her need for him, her love, and it was almost his undoing.

“Buffy—“ he started, and was unable to continue.

She smoothed his cheek. “Ssh, love, it isn’t time yet. Soon, but not yet. This was a gift from the Powers. You know that we won’t remember, but we’ll know when the time is right. Tonight is our gift from them.” She smiled. Captured him in her eyes. “You love me.”

He couldn’t tear himself away from her eyes, her beautiful amber eyes. “I do.”

She couldn’t stop looking at him. “Why do we always hurt each other? I mean, when we know that it’s time, why can’t we be nice to each other instead of being so mean?”

Suddenly he could look away, and did. “Dunno, love. Keeps us distant, ‘spose. Mentally separated from the real world.”

She gaped at his insight. For them, this was the only world they could ever hope to have. Secret love in dark places, forever hidden, out of the light. There was no place in her life for a vampire, and no place in his for the Slayer.

She thought of Riley, and she tensed beneath him, and he knew their magic moment had passed. He rolled off of her and grabbed his smokes, slipping one between trembling lips as he watched her dress. “Off to go compare me to Soldier Boy now?”

“There’s no comparison,” she said dully, but she didn’t choose to enlighten him. He probably already knew anyway.

“Give ‘im my best then. If you aren’t too worn out.”

“Like you could wear me out,” she hissed. “Just—shut up, Spike.”

“Ooh, snappy comeback. Love it when we spar, even if it’s only verbal, Slayer.”

She turned sad eyes to him, and he cringed inwardly. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “We can’t do this, can we Spike? Forget I asked you to help. Forget everything. Just…stay away.”

He took a long drag off his cigarette, and exhaled before he spoke, just enough time to think of his answer. “Can’t, Buffy. Made a promise to a lady.”

Realizing the futility, she rolled her eyes and climbed the ladder to the surface. Her footsteps echoed hollowly in his ears, but he still held his breath until the door slammed. It was only then he allowed the pain to surface, and he dove beneath it in blessed release. It was only what he deserved.