Slayer For Sale Part 5

Spike laid Buffy down on his bed carefully. The trip through the tunnels and back again had taken their toll on the overtired and emotionally embattled Slayer and she had drifted off to sleep in his arms as he took her back to his crypt as she had requested.

He climbed the ladder to the upstairs as quietly as possible to grab a mug of blood. He wanted to remain with her and sleep curled up next to her back, but was still uncertain of her reaction to him on waking up. The best way to stay undusted around her would be to minimize her startle response, and he was certain that waking up in his arms was the startling thing that she didn’t need right now.

He looked down into his empty mug as he dropped heavily into his chair. Something was off with his Slayer, he just knew it. Buffy was not the type to throw up because of a bad case of nerves, nor was she the fainting, dizzy, vaporish type that he knew when he was a young man in Victorian England. There was no reconciliation between her behavior since the auction and the woman he knew; in fact, the woman that he knew would have kicked his ass from here to the Magic Box and back before she ever acknowledged any assistance from him.

He had been very concerned about Buffy, ever since Captain Cardboard had decided to fly away and leave her here alone. What he had done with the vamp trull had been inexcusable, to say the least, but there was no reason for him to leave the Slayer. He could have easily broken his addiction to the fang, Spike knew—it wasn’t easy for a human, once they had been bitten once and realized the bliss that a bite could bring, but it could, and had been done before.

He wondered if Cardboard had left because of that or something else. Perhaps it was his feeling of inferiority that was glimmering through the façade he had erected for the Slayer, maybe it was the lure of being around so many vampires that were here today, gone tomorrow. Or maybe it was just that he was tired of Buffy, although Spike couldn’t see that as a possibility.

Whatever the reason, it was to his advantage that Riley had decided to leave. It left his way clear to the Slayer's heart, if he only had the ways and means to win it.

If only.

Spike heard her stirring about in the big bed downstairs, then her voice carried to his sensitive ears as she called for him. Discarding the mug in his hand, he dropped down through the hole in the crypt to see his beloved Slayer sitting upright, sheet clutched to her chest and tears drying on her face.

“You weren’t here,” she said, scrubbing at her face with her fist.

He hurried to her side and drew her into his arms. “I thought I would let you sleep, pet. Feeling better? Are you still dizzy?”

She rested her head on his chest. “I’m okay, Spike. What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know, love.” He rubbed small circles on her back soothingly.

She moaned softly and leaned further into his caress. Her head came up and her lips found their way to the side of his neck. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

He ran his hand up her back beneath her shirt, egged onward by her breathy moans. His hand found the clasp of her bra and snapped it open as her head lolled on her neck, too heavy to hold upright. “Spike, make love to me. Please. I need you,” she whispered.

Desire silenced his niggling doubts as he laid her back on the bed, stripping his shirt off. She watched him with lust-filled eyes, her scent permeating his senses. He rejoined her on the bed, reclining next to her and looking into her eyes. “You’re certain that you want this?” he asked, still unsure of his standing with her.

She reached up to twine her arms around his neck. “I’m more certain of this than I have been anything in a long time, Spike. Love me,” she said, then drew him down into a mind-shattering kiss that melted any resolve he may have retained.

Her hands burned a path of wanton lust on his skin. He looked down, expecting to see a red welt everywhere she touched him, but his skin looked the same; it was just his imagination working overtime.

He touched her tenderly and carefully, learning her responses. He cupped her breasts in his hands, not remembering where her clothes went as he felt her skin, so soft and smooth against his palm. Her nipples were tight and hard against his palms, his slow caresses making her heart race and her breathing erratic in his ears.

He felt her hand on his zipper and reached down to grab her wrist. “If you start this, kitten—” he started to say, and she deliberately drew the zipper down.

“I know what I’m asking for, Spike. Let me touch you.” He released her hand and she wrapped it around his cock, drawing it slowly out of the confines of his jeans to stroke it from base to tip.

He threw his head back with a moan. “Ah, Buffy, what you do to me,” he groaned, missing her smile.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea what I do to you,” she said. She pulled his head down to press their foreheads together. “Less talk, more action,” she said, looking deep into his depthless eyes.

She wiggled under him and pulled her pants out from under the sheet, tossing them to the floor. His fingers found the silk of her panties, moist with her arousal, and he explored the covered cleft with deft fingertips. She wiggled again and there were no physical barriers left between them, only mental barriers that refused to disappear, even with the desire throbbing between them in the still air.

“Buffy—please. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want. Tell me—”

“Tell you what, Spike? I want you—I’m sure that you can tell that. I want you to make love to me. Don’t leave me hanging—I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.” She pulled him up by the hair at the back of his head to look him in the eyes. “Stop making excuses and problems to keep from doing what you obviously want to do and I’ve more than convinced you that I want. Spike—I want you in me, now.”

She grabbed his cock and positioned him at the heated, throbbing entrance of her body. Her heels gripped his ass as she flexed her legs, then he was buried to the hilt inside her, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

He looked at her, awe and wonder in his eyes. She looked back at him triumphantly, a smile on her face that reflected in her eyes. “You wanted this, remember? Wanted me. Wanted to own me. Make me yours, Spike. Make me forget everyone else that ever touched me.” She bared her throat to him. “Mark me.”

“Buffy, I can’t,” he protested. “The chip—”

“It didn’t work the other night when you drank from me. It only works when you want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt me now, do you?” He shook his head negatively, and she threw her head back again, offering him her throat. “Mark me now, Spike, and make me come.”

He moved slowly inside her, feeling every ripple and crevice of her tightening around him. She gasped with every movement of his body, sensation roaring through her as she came closer to her release. He felt his game face slide to the fore and slipped his fangs into her throat over Angel's mark, biting down as she started coming wildly and obliterating his grandsire’s mark completely.

As he drank down her blood in three strong pulls, he heard her voice over the bloodrush that coursed through his body and pounded in his ears. “I’m yours, Spike, I’m yours. Forever and ever, I belong to you.”

He pulled back to look into her face. “You’re mine?” he asked, and she opened tightly closed eyes to look at him.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek. “I will always be yours.”

His orgasm shattered him into a million pieces and he cried out, shouting her name. He flopped onto his back away from her and threw his arms over his eyes, his erection flopping onto his stomach. “Slayer, do you know what you’ve done?” he moaned.

Buffy wrapped her hand around his cock. “More than what you think, Spike. We’re bound together forever now, aren’t we? You claimed me,” she said, pumping his cock slowly with her fist. “I wanted that. Exactly that,” she said.

His arm flopped to his side and he looked at her, completely astonished. “What?”

“Spike, if you don’t claim me, then when you release me at the auction, someone else might think that it’s Slayer open season. This way they know that I belong to you, whether you own me or you just…” she fluttered her lashes, “want me for sex. That’s what a claim is, isn’t it? Sex with me and me alone forever?”

He sat up, grabbing her wrist and removing her hand from his cock. Cupping her face, he shook his head. “Buffy, Buffy, a claim is more than just that. It means…so much more than just sex. Your watcher won’t be happy with this at all.”

She pouted. “How will he ever know? I’m not planning on telling him—are you?”

He smoothed her hair back, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “The claim will pretty much take care of anyone knowing, Buffy. We won’t be able to hide it. Hell, we won’t be able to keep our hands off one another.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, caressing the delineation of his abs. “That’s good. I can barely keep my hands off you now.”

He grabbed her wrists and put her hands in her lap. “Buffy, I need you to listen to me. If we don’t see each other, the claim will fade, but you’ll always be with me—at least, a part of you will. But we can not let this happen. Do you understand?”

Tears filled her green eyes and spilled over her incredibly long lashes to trail down her cheeks. “Don’t you want to be mine, Spike?”

He wiped her tears off her face and hugged her to him, where she snuggled happily against his chest. “I would love to be yours, Slayer.” But something just isn’t right about the way you’re acting, he thought. “Come on, pet, let me walk you home and I’ll do a quick sweep of the cemeteries. Okay?”

She wiped her face. “We’ll both do a sweep, then you can take me home and…” she bent her head, continuing shyly, “maybe you can come upstairs, in my room.”

He reached for his pants. Not with your mum home, pet. “We’ll see, Buffy. You may be too tired by then.”

Her hands roamed his back, then landed on his tight buttocks, giving them a quick squeeze. “I’ll never get tired of you, Spike.”

As they left the crypt, Buffy's hand firmly entwined in his, he wondered what was going on with his Slayer. I need to get in touch with Edie, he thought, as they patrolled empty cemeteries and headed toward the house on Revello.

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

Spike leaned back against the tree beneath her window and Buffy leaned into him, her breasts flattening against his chest. He liked the pillowy feeling of them against him, awakening his cock, but he pushed her away and reached for a smoke instead, ignoring her pout.

“Come on, Spike, come upstairs. Everyone’s asleep and nobody will ever know that you’re here,” she whined.

“Buffy, love, that is not a good idea. One, what if your mother catches us? She wouldn’t be happy with the two of us shagging each other’s brains out in her house. Two, what if Dawn catches us? It would scar her for life, or longer. Three, what about your watcher and the Slayerettes? They don’t need to know about any of this now, do they?” He dragged the smoke deep into his lungs, the sting clearing his head and strengthening his resolve.

She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. “I don’t care if anyone knows! Don’t you get that, Spike?”

He tossed the butt to the ground and grabbed her shoulders, hauling her up against him. “You say that now because of the claim. You won’t feel that way tomorrow, less so the day after. Go upstairs and go to bed like a good girl now, and I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”

He bent his head and captured her mouth with his. He loved kissing her, tasting her honeyed mouth and sweet cherry lipgloss and the flavor of sunshine, but something was wrong with his Slayer and it was up to him to find out what. Breaking the kiss, he turned her around and swatted her on her perfect arse. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

She went up the front stairs, turning long enough to stick her tongue out at him playfully, then went inside the house, bolting the door behind her. He waited until he saw the bedroom light come on, then waved at her from his vantage point at the base of the tree. A few minutes later, after the light went out and he knew instinctively that his Slayer was asleep, he headed downtown to Willie’s. He had some questions that needed to be answered pronto.

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

Willie’s was packed. Naturally, since it was Saturday night, it would be. Spike felt the crowd’s move shift perceptively when he walked into the front door, not the usual “Slayer buddy” shift, but with more…respect. Awe. Discomfort.

Room was magically made for him at the end of the crowded bar, and he sat with his back to the wall, facing the door, just like always. Before he could order, a glass of Scotch was before him next to a mug of AB negative, both expensive by themselves but outrageous when purchased together. He looked into Willie’s eager face, not even bothering to ask the question before it was answered. “Always a pleasure to have you around, Spike. Here, on the house.”

Spike looked across the dented and sticky countertop at the smarmy little man behind the counter. “And this wouldn’t have anything whatsoever to do with any rumors that you might have heard, would it Willie?”

The bartender looked decidedly nervous. “Rumors? Oh, I hear rumors all the time, Spike. I never pay attention to them.” He leaned forward, whispering, “Of course I did hear an interesting ditty about you and the Slayer, but then again, you and the Slayer are always linked in some rumor or another.” Standing upright again, Willie wiped down the bar in front of Spike with a dirty bartowel. “So, is it true? You bought the Slayer at the auction last night?”

Spike grabbed the grimy hand wielding the bartowel and snarled, baring his fangs that had slipped to the fore without his knowledge. “What of it, mate?”

Willie looked like he was about to soil himself. His face blanched and sweaty, he stammered, “J-just saying, Spike. Good bargain. K-keep you safe now, she will.”

He tossed the offensive hand away from him and picked up the Scotch. “Was never in any danger from her, you git.” He downed the glass and looked over the counter at the twitchy bartender, still standing in front of him. “What do you want, Willie?”

Willie stammered, “w-well, Spike, I thought, since you own her now, you could kind of get the Slayer to, um, stop coming in and busting up my p-place? I mean, it gets so expensive….”

His voice trailed off to silence at the look on Spike's face. Spike looked around the bar and sneered at all the hopeful, expectant faces around him, waiting for what he had no idea. He started to speak loud enough for every patron to hear and understand his words. “The Slayer is still the Slayer, and I don’t plan on curbing her in any way. In fact, I’ll be helping her, so as long as you’re not snacking on the locals or doing something evil, you should be fine.”

One vampire who thought he was bolder and badder than the rest stepped up into Spike's face. “Spike, man, it ain’t right! You need to put a leash on the bitch and make her stop slaughtering your friends.”

Spike reached out and gave the bold vamp’s head a quick twist, watching the dust sift between his fingers and onto the dirty floor. “Now, anyone else think they need to tell me what I need to do with my Slayer?”

He heard a few murmured complaints, but no real comments directed at him, so he turned back to the mug of blood still on the bar. Sipping it slowly, he motioned for Willie to come down and talk to him again.

Willie was even more nervous and twitchy than before, if that was possible. “Spike, man, I….”

Spike raised his hand. “I need to know where I can get in touch with the auctioneers…Edie and Grommelk. Know anything?”

“I can put out some feelers for you, but I think that they’re on the road right now. You know, they travel the whole West Coast doing this, so it may be a while before they get back here.”

Spike drained the last of the blood and set the mug deliberately on the counter before reaching over and grabbing Willie by the shirtfront. “The minute you hear they’ve rolled into the vicinity of Sunnyhell, you call me. Capisce?”

“Capisce, capisce! Anything you ask, Spike—you know you’re one of my favorite customers!”

He was shaking like a leaf when Spike let him drift back to the floor, then he was out the door, his duster swirling around him in the night wind. He missed the glares directed at his back and one in particular from the tear-stained eyes of a petite blond surrounded by a large group of vampires.