The Halloween Series by spike_spetslayer

Chapter #1 - Halloween I--Against the Wall, Against the Odds

Halloween I Against The Wall, Against The Odds Spike roamed the streets of Sunnyhell, enjoying the mayhem and madness. Demons ran amok, vampires were draining humans left and right, and every type of ghoulie was making a command appearance. He looked for only one thing. The Slayer. The bane of his existence. His greatest enemy. The one human he loved to fight. His eye caught movement between two parked eighteen-wheelers, and he went to investigate. Maybe it was his next meal. A pirate stood over a sprite of a girl in a fancy party frock that seemed to date to his time. When girls were proper and never unchaperoned, and men treated them like china dolls. This man was the exception to that rule. Everyone knew that pirates were the scum of the earth. The dress…the cut, the color, the style, everything reminded him of Cecily. Even the girlish scream…. Scream? He stepped forward, grabbing the pirate by the scruff of the neck. “Unhand that woman, you knave,” he said, not a trace of Spike in his accent. He was pure William now, outraged at the mishandling of one of the fairer sex. Without any effort, he tossed the wanker to the side and looked down into the face of the Slayer. The Slayer! Bloody bint knew that he would be looking for her, and here she was, in the clutches of a pirate! And he’d saved her bleeding life! He couldn’t believe that he’d let that poncy William side of him to the fore anyway, not with all this lovely chaos erupting all around him. Bleeding bitch! She was probably laughing at him, inside. She wouldn’t be laughing for long. He would make certain of that. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Lady Elizabeth stared up into the face of the dirty pirate, all thoughts emptying from her mind. She could smell the reek of rotten teeth and whiskey as he hissed into her face, then shoved her onto a stack of wooden pallets. Her hair flipped over her eyes, and as she struggled not to fall, she missed the sneer of pleasure curl the blonde’s lips, then he grabbed the pirate by his neck and threw him into the wall. Extending his hand, he reached for her, pulling her to her feet and against his body. She pushed her loosen curls out of her face, and saw his eyes for the first time. No words could describe the shock shivering her skin from her bones as she gazed into the depths of his eyes, so brilliantly blue, open, passionate, wanting. Her breath caught in her throat at the sensation of his hard form pressed against hers, she nearly swooned when his hand came up to caress her cheek. “You okay, Slayer?” “Beg pardon, sir, but who is this Slayer?” She doesn’t know. She doesn’t remember. He grabbed her hand and ran down the alley, and she followed, until the pirate and most everything else was far behind them. He knew that he should bite her while she was like this. Somehow, he felt that wouldn’t be sporting. He liked the challenge of besting this girl, not because of some buggering amnesia, but because he was the better vampire. He stopped in a dim alleyway, and pinned her in a dark recess in the wall. “Sir, I don’t believe….” “Have you hit your head, my dear, that you would not recognize your savior as your own husband?” Why did that come out of my mouth? Bloody hell, he thought. Hmm. Could have fun with this one though. He looked down into her breathless, wide-eyed face, and curled his mouth with a sincere smile. “It was only Providence that brought me near that coarse alley, darling. When I found out that they had taken you…I was nearly insane with fear.” “Husband.” She paused for a moment, then threw herself into his arms, weeping. “Oh, darling, I have been so frightened!” “There there, kitten.” He brushed tears off her cheeks. “You know, there are things that we can do to allay your fears, help you forget. Do you remember that fantasy that you spoke of only yesterday?” A blush stained her cheeks. “Of being a doxy….” “And being taken in an alleyway. We could try that, since we seem to be in an alleyway….” He dipped his finger into the cleavage peeking at her bodice. She gasped, and clutched at his arms. “Yes, darling, please. Help me forget all that unpleasantness.” Her flesh trembled under his touch, flushed under his azure gaze. He bent his head, and captured her mouth with his. Her heart swelled in her chest, feelings yet new to her, not yet love, but building toward it with every intimate moment. He gathered her voluminous skirts in his hands, exposing her limbs to the cool night air, and she shivered when he placed a hand on her thigh. He was kissing her neck now, as she began to moan in response to his caresses. His hand brushed against her inadequate coverings over her private parts, and she gasped with sensation as languor slipped into her limbs and she tipped her head back, affording him access to that which he sought. A noise, the hard coolness against her leg; she parted her thighs willingly and allowed him to stroke his member against her, cooling heated flesh. Spike penetrated her slowly, so slow she didn’t feel the tearing of useless membranous skin as her hymen gave way. He started, surprised she was a virgin, then realized that was a stupid thought. The Slayer was with that poncy grandsire of his, who was too noble to suggest they have sex. Noble his ass. He was just afraid that he wouldn’t measure up. The scent of her blood was rich in his nostrils, and he grit his teeth to control his demon, keep it buried until the right moment. She locked her arms around his neck, and he lifted her under her knees, spreading her legs further apart and cupping her ass with his hands. Her eyes opened wide as he filled her completely, her body stretching to accommodate his length and girth. She found him staring at her, awe clearly written on his features, and she looked adoringly into the eyes of the man who granted her even the most forbidden fantasy…. Spike could not believe how gullible the little bint was. He also could not believe that his cock was buried to the hilt in the hot, tight pussy of the Slayer. His face was buried in her neck, and it would be so easy—but no, she was a worthy opponent. He loved to watch her dance, both on the dance floor and in a fight. Her movements, her sensual nature, hell, even her puns indicated that she would be the shag of his unlife, and he just had to taste it, just once. Something thrummed on the air, something magick, and it thrummed through their bodies as well. He heard a gasp next to his ear, and raised his head to look into the green eyes of the Slayer. “Spike—uh—ohmygosh—ungh—what are we doing?” He looked down between them where his cock split her in two, and drawled, “Looks like we’re shaggin’, Slayer. What do you think? Want me to stop?” He stopped all movement, burying himself inside her until his pubic bone bruised her. “Ungh—” did she want him to stop? There was a moist, delicious heat curling through her nervous system, coiling tighter in the pit of her stomach, promising good things. She had no stakes; nothing but her fists. And, damn, did this feel good, or what? “No. Please…?” Maybe it was the pleading tone, or the way she thought about her answer. Spike wondered if she knew she was amazingly transparent, her every nuance of thought telegraphing itself across her expressive features. He licked his lips, and pulled back farther to watch her face, especially her eyes. Those gorgeous eyes. “Please what, Slayer?” “Oh, God—please finish, Spike. Please fu—I can’t say it, I can’t.” She tossed her head back and forth negatively to impress her inability to him. “Say it.” “Please…f-f-fuck me. Please. We’ll kill each other tomorrow, okay? Just, please, fuck me now.” She pulled his face to hers, and kissed him open mouthed, welcoming his tongue. She locked her ankles around his hips as he fucked into her, deep and hard, his cock punishing nerves she never knew she had. Her moans echoed on the night air as he pistoned his hips, driving himself into her repeatedly. So good. So hot. So right. Tongues tangled within joined mouths, passions fighting for dominance, warring for the advantage in what was to come. Spike knew this couldn’t last, this détente, so he reached between their bodies and began stroking her clit with his fingers. Her hands, simply holding him moments before, began digging into his shoulders like claws, her control slipping. She stiffened, and started bucking her body against his, Slayer muscles, both internal and external, squeezing him tightly. He lowered his mouth to the pale pink of her nipple where it had bounced out of her dress, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming out loud. Her pussy was an inferno, burning her mark upon him, and she clenched him tighter and tighter the closer she came, spiraling upward until he could barely move his hips. He bent to kiss her mouth as she was still tossing her head, and he landed on her neck instead. Her blood sang in her vessels, just beneath the golden skin, and he could feel her pulse everywhere around him, hear it pounding in his ears. Slipping on his game face, he glided his fangs into her skin, that ripe, golden skin under his mouth. Her blood slid seductively over his tastebuds, tantalizing them before it exploded in his head, her heady nectar bringing him over his peak. She spasmed around him, her orgasm plummeting her to unbelievable heights as she felt him penetrating her, surrounding her, possessing her completely. They tumbled apart, embarrassed by their actions and reactions. He covered himself quickly, staring at her passion-slack face as she continued to lean against the wall, her limbs lax with afterglow, when he heard voices coming down the alley. “Slayer,” he hissed, “hit me.” She looked at him, her face riddled with confusion. “Hit you? Why?” Daft bint. “People are coming this way. Probably your Slayerettes.” Reality hit, and she bunched up her hand intending to hit him with it, then slapped him open-handed on the cheek. She couldn’t bring herself to hit him, not after…what she had experienced with him. The sound of flesh hitting flesh galvanized them both, and he turned to sprint down the alley, away from the direction of the voices. She turned to see her friends and Angel tiptoeing up the alleyway toward her. “Don’t worry, he’s gone.” “Who’s gone?” Angel said, his voice tinged with foreknowledge and suspicion. He smelled his grandchilde. He knew it. “Spike. He was here, we fought, end of story. He heard you all coming, and went thataway.” She pointed in the opposite direction, and started toward her house. “Buffy, you’re not going after him?” Xander was wide-eyed, not believing the Slayer wouldn’t go after her archenemy. “Nope. I want out of this stupid dress, into a hot shower, and a good night’s sleep. And if I ever say anything even resembling the fact that I would ever dress up like this again? Talk me out of it.” She turned her back on them, even Angel, who was stuck with Cordy on his arm and confusion on his face. He smelled…something. Something that just wasn’t quite right. He decided that maybe Buffy needed to be…monitored. And he was just the guy to do it. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Buffy was true to her word, if nothing else. She went right home, tossed the wig and the dress in the corner, and got under the hottest shower her skin would tolerate. She scrubbed her body head to toe with the roughest loofah she could find, determined to scrub off any skin that could have possibly touched Spike. Or skin that Spike had touched. She drew the line at scrubbing herself there with the loofah; it was already pleasantly sore. She wondered about what they’d done…then realized that Spike had, in truth, taken her virginity. Her mouth worked silently as she tried to wrap tired, confused brain cells around such an unbelievable concept. She had sex with Spike. Willingly. Even after the spell had been broken. Even more inconceivable, she wasn’t upset, ashamed, or disgusted by it. In fact, she kinda thought it was cool. She had only really seen his regular face a couple of times, and when she had, his blue eyes struck her. Not light blue, like most eyes you see, but dark, sapphire blue, something she thought only contact lenses could do. And they were so piercing, she thought sometimes he could see through her clothes. In the few times they’d faced off so far, she knew by her blows and his clothes that his body was lean, lithe, and lethal. He could take her punches and kicks without flinching, and give back as good as he got. Slayer had to respect that. Always have to respect a worthy opponent. His mouth, with that inviting pout…. She shook her head, and got soap in her eye, but it distracted her mind away from Spike. He was a vampire without a soul, she hated him, and she never wanted to see him again. She did want to fuck him again, though. What? Where did that stray thought come from? She isn’t supposed to like the evil vampires, just the good ones, like Angel. She wondered if Spike could be good. No, another bad thought. Spike didn’t have a soul and never would, so there was no point going there. It’s too bad he’s so…handsome. Darn his sinister attraction anyway. She jumped out of the shower, into her nightclothes, and into her bed without further delay. No more bad thoughts about Spike and what they had done. What’s done is done, and over, and people made mistakes. She couldn’t remember if those kinds of mistakes counted, or not. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Spike sat on the barstool at the end of the counter, and everyone in Willy’s knew not to mess with him that night. When the Halloween songs bothered him, they stopped singing. When the jukebox had bothered him, he threw a fledge into it, silencing it forever. Now the bar was silent as whispers, and you could hear the cooler under the counter humming as it kept the drinks at the right temperature. Bloody hell, he was in a foul mood, and cursed the Slayer again, loudly and drunkenly. Silly bint. Looking so sweet and delicious in that dress, reminded him of what he was, not the monster he was now. Reminded him of being human. And instead of killing her, he’d shagged her. Senseless, if her gait afterward was any revelation. And her a bleedin’ virgin too, to boot. He rolled his tongue behind his teeth, tasting her sweet blood again. Wonderful bouquet, perfect mixture of fear and lust and woman and slayer. Underneath, the base note, was power. Incredible power, raw and untamed, and waiting for the right vampire to unleash it in her. Old Spike had done his homework on the Slayers, he had. Have to know your prey, right? Bints could make a monster forget he was one. One book, written by a vampire and a demon together, kept going on and on about Slayer musk and Slayer muscles. Spike had a first hand recollection of both now, and he rubbed his sorely sensitive cock through rough blue jeans. Bint nearly ripped the skin off his prick when she came, she clamped down on him so tight. His cock grew hard, and he slapped at it and the vision rousing it. Her face so close to his, her honey eyes looking at him with such unbridled passion and lust. Her mouth, sweet and savory with her flavor, her scent still in his nostrils, gripping his guts. God, how he hated her! There was no rhyme or reason to the whole thing. He wanted the Slayer, naked beneath him, writhing for him, and that, my boy, would never happen. Only in dreams now. He was shocked she hadn’t staked him the minute the spell ended. Wait. Hold that thought, Spike, he said to himself. She didn’t stake him when the spell was over. In fact, she told him specifically to fuck her. After she had her full senses. After she knew she was the Slayer. She still wanted him to fuck her, wanted them both to finish. He finished the bottle of Jack, and threw some bills he’d swiped off his last victim on the counter. Maybe that was the way to kill the bint. Shag her senseless, then drain her. He strutted out of the bar, oblivious to the sigh of relief that rippled through as he walked out the door. He had a Slayer to stalk. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He heard the singing screams before he got to the factory. Oh, sod it all, Dru was awake. He’d forgotten about Dru. He went inside anyway, and found Dru singing and screaming, just like he’d heard outside, only it was all her. There was nobody hanging in the manacles. Good. That meant she’d eaten. She rounded on him, and ran to him. He spread his arms, thinking that she was happy to see him, and felt her nails rake through his tee shirt and down his torso. The smell of blood was hot on the air as she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “The Slayer. You stink of her. You stink of sex and sunshine. Go wash, go wash, before I pull your eyes out on their stalks. Come to your dark princess smelling of Slayer and sex and sunshine and blood, and none for me! No Slayer blood ever for Dru! Never this one, not the next, no Slayer blood for Dru, unkind Willy.” He looked down at her, and thought of soothing her, but shrugged his shoulders and went to the back of the factory where they had a shower rigged. Well, he had a shower rigged. He liked bathing, unlike some of his cohorts; but then again, Spike was an anachronism anyway. Liked bathing, liked food, liked sleep—all the creature comforts, so to speak. While he showered, the Slayer again invaded his thoughts, and he resolved to finish this once and for all. Tomorrow. He was fagged out, needed some kip, then he’d be right as rain and ready for the Slayer tomorrow night. He fell into bed, his eyes closing the minute he hit the pillow. He never realized that eyes watched him closely, not only those of his princess, but other eyes that weren’t so friendly. Angel’s eyes. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ One day turned into another, and another, and a week raced by before Buffy realized it. A week! A week of patrolling, school, after school training, and no sign of Spike. She shook her head, and blew a stray hair out of her face while she shrugged into her jacket. Things hadn’t been the same with Angel, either. She had to stifle the retorts that came to mind every time he chided her, had to listen to him and Giles both lecture on dangerous vampires, like Spike. Wasn’t there something in the books on vampire senses? She grabbed the dusty manuscript that Giles thought she should read, and inside, she found it. She pulled the book closer, and read the paragraph aloud. “Vampire senses have been proven to be highly sensitive. The sense of smell, for example, is comparable to that of dogs, with the vampire able to distinguish over 1 billion different scents, alone and in combination with others, and in such miniscule amounts as 1 part per billion airborne.” Eww. So what did that mean? That Angel and Spike could smell her? Smell her? Like when she was…wet? Eww. So if Angel could smell her, she thought, he knew what his kisses did to her…and did it anyway. He knew she was a walking, talking, slaying hormone bomb, and he still kissed her breathless and sent her home with drenched panties. Pervert! He probably watched her through her window when she masturbated after those sessions too. Eww, pervert much? So then, did that mean that he could tell that she and Spike…she still had to come to terms with that little factoid. She had sex with Spike. She had asked Spike to fuck her. “Fuck me Spike,” she said, rolling the words on her tongue. It sounded right. In fact, it sounded more than right, it sounded sexy. “Fuck me Angel.” Didn’t sound right. Didn’t feel right. Nothing about it was right. Why did he help her that night anyway? She shrugged mentally. With Spike, there really was no telling. She could have sworn he said something like unhand her before he grabbed the pirate, but her memories were so fuzzy. Maybe she’d suppressed them, she wondered, like the psych teacher said people did, to keep herself from wigging out too badly. That’s okay. She couldn’t think about that right now. She had homework, then training, then patrol later. Maybe after patrol she would think about all this, but according to Giles and Angel, patrol was the most important part of the day. Funny, she thought it was breakfast. When the sun set, she was ready. Nothing was gonna stop her this time. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was almost like he was waiting for her. One minute, she was walking across Restfield, on her way home. She’d had a productive night, slaying quite a few fledges, a couple of early risers. The next minute, her gut churned familiarly, and she turned to find Spike, standing 10 yards behind her, smoking a cigarette. He tossed it away, and strolled casually toward her. “Hello cutie. Been waiting for you.” “Have you? Waiting for me, or for Mr. Pointy?” She raised her stake, still in her fist. “No waiting for him, huh?” He just stood there with his hips cocked and hands draped loosely in his belt, framing his bulge with his fingers. “Actually, wondering if you thought of me in the last week.” Admit, deny, admit, and deny—she warred within herself, not knowing the battle played on her face as well. He watched her, dreamy smile one second, frown the next, and could almost hear her thoughts inside her head as he waited patiently, that stupid smirk on his face. As she watched, he lifted his head, nostrils flaring, then smiled at her, this time a genuine smile. She realized that while she studied him and tried to decide what to say, her body had betrayed her, the moisture drenching her panties, and now he smelled it. Eww. “I can tell that you did, my little cherry. And did you touch yourself when you did? Did you stroke yourself while you laid in your virgin’s bed, thinking of the Big Bad and what he’d done to you? I know you’ve been a player in my fantasies over the last few days.” He cupped himself, loving the look in her eyes—that disgusted fascination, that horrified need. She wanted it. He knew it. He made to take a step toward her, and she raised her stake at him. “You can smell me, can’t you?” “Kitten, as much as you’re juicing right now, I can taste you.” Her face flushed hotly red. “You can smell me. Okay, taste me. Right? Explain to me then—can Angel smell things like you can?” “Poncy bugger. Yes, he can. He only got cursed with a soul, didn’t have any vampire powers taken away from him.” “That prick.” Her whispered curse was harsh in the dark. “He knew, all this time, and he never….” She shook her head, and tossed her hair out of her eyes. “You know I don’t like you, don’t you?” “Yeah, I have that effect on Slayers.” “But,” she said, dropping her head, “I liked what we did. In the alley. On Halloween.” His jaw sagged at her admission. She did like him shagging her! He knew it! Resisting the urge to shout aloud, he smirked instead. “Okay, then. That means what to me?” “I…I want you to do it again. Us to do it again. Now. Tonight.” “Demanding little bint, aren’t you? And what do I get for this…service?” Avarice gleamed in his eyes, lust on his mouth. “Two sips. Of my blood. Isn’t’ that currency with you vampires? Blood?” “Blood and kittens. Okay, kitten, where do you want to go to consummate this deal?” “My mom’s not home right now. We can go there. To my house.” The Slayer inviting him home? The irony was delicious! She turned her back on him and started home, amazing him with her trust. He fell into step beside her, coat flaring and arms swinging, trying to figure out what was in this chit’s head. “Don’t you know better?” “Know better what?” she answered, not looking at him. “Know better than to turn your back on a master vampire? I could have killed you.” “No you won’t.” The certainty in her tone surprised him. “And why not?” he said bitingly. “Why won’t I hurt you?” “‘Cause you want this just as much as I do.” She looked up at him, and he got caught in the honey of her eyes, her sweet scent as she moved. “Don’t you, Spike?” “Couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He couldn’t hold back, bloody hell. “Haven’t stopped dreaming about it, every night.” She was drowning, drowning in the blue of his eyes, so deep, dark, penetrating. “I don’t normally turn my back on any master vampire. Even Angel.” His nancy boy grandsire. Right. Right mood breaker. “Thanks, Slayer. Lost the urge now, sorry.” She stopped dead in the street, turning to look at him. “You mean, you don’t want to now?” Looking down at her, he saw her fire quenched, her disappointment in his words. He stepped toward her. “No, I still want to. Just a turn of phrase, pet.” He extended his hand, and she took it. It was cool and strong, and just fit her hand. she didn’t feel all stretched like she did when she held Angel’s huge hand. He smiled at her, and his face completely changed, became almost boyish in appearance. She could almost imagine him being her own age, or maybe a little older, not older than her house. It soothed her mind a little, and she smiled back up at him. It dazzled him, so much so he forgot to breathe. Her hand, so warm in his, so trusting. Her smile, so ingenious, fanned his waning embers of humanity in his heart, cold and dead as it was, and he knew the moment to kill this slayer was past. His demon howled with anger and loss. Gibbering, it demanded the Slayer’s blood, and Spike soothed it with the thought of later. Later, when she was soft and lax beneath him, lust and desire tingeing it sweeter than wine. Later, when she called his name and begged for more, later he would have his due. Tonight, he would taste the Slayer. In all her glory. She went to the back door, opened it with a key, and turned solemnly to face him. “Spike, I invite you in.” She tossed the keys on the island in the center of the kitchen, and stripped off her jacket. “Can I take your coat?” He handed it to her, and she disappeared for a moment, then was back. “I put it on the banister. I was careful with it.” “Thank you.” He watched her move, amazed at her grace and ease. She looked at him, a question in her eyes, and tilted her head. “Do I offer you a drink?” “I drink. Eat too.” “Angel doesn’t. He’s ‘above all that’.” He laughed out loud when she did the air quotes. He couldn’t help himself. “Little tarnish there on the knight in shining armor?” She pouted. “He’s too—stuffy. Like having Giles for a boyfriend. Eww.” She wrinkled her nose, and he fell hard. She mesmerized him. “Always, Buffy, it’s about the mission, Buffy, you’re the Chosen one, Buffy, you need to patrol—never anything like, Buffy, let’s go Bronzing tonight. Always Mr. Serious, no Mr. Fun.” He stared at her bottom lip, where it protruded. Gonna get that lip. She realized he was staring at her mouth. Watching her. Memorizing her. “So, Spike—why do you want to fuck me, anyway?” The profanity on her innocent mouth amused him. “Using the big words now, aren’t we pet?” She moved her hand, and caught his gaze. “Can’t call it making love. I don’t love you. You don’t love me. Screwing is just crass. Knocking boots is just too passe. I think that fucking is the only description that fits.” He just stared at her, open-mouthed, gasping like a fish. Shrugging, she continued. “You know I was a virgin. I know you know. If you can smell as good as…well, you smelled the blood. Why didn’t you kill me in that alley? You had your fangs in me, they were right there.” She swept her hair to the side, and exposed the twin pinpoints that dotted her neck. “So why didn’t you finish the job, Spike? Didn’t have the stones?” “Had the stones.” Vampire quick, he was at her side, his arms around her waist. “Didn’t want to. Felt too good to kill.” His words were a whisper against her cheek, and she turned her face to his. Her breath was warm on his mouth. He could taste her sweetness, even from here. “Nervous?” “Some.” “I’ll make it good.” He closed the distance, and her mouth was his, his to plunder and explore. Her lips parted beneath his, and he swept his tongue inside, tasting her. She groaned, vibrating against him, and her arms came around his back, kneading his muscles through his shirt. She broke away, panting, her cheeks flushed and rosy, eyes bright. He followed her through the house and up the stairs, down the hall to her room, when she turned and pushed him hard against the doorframe, pasting her mouth onto his. She ripped his shirt like tissue, and the shreds hung from his shoulders while her hands and mouth discovered the secrets of his body. She licked his collarbone, nudging his siring scar, and his sharp intake of breath signaled her that was a place to explore further, later. Her fingers played against the rippled stomach, the muscular pecs. Her mouth found his nipple, and she sucked it between her lips, testing its responsiveness. When she bit it, he let out a roar, and gripped her upper arms. “Don’t play with fire, kitten, unless you want to get singed.” “I know how dangerous fire is. It’s also pretty.” She grazed his other nipple with her nails. “And I think that you like me playing with fire.” She touched the thin line of hair that trailed into the waistband of his jeans, and he groaned aloud. She unbuttoned the top, and he grabbed her hands. “Oh, not yet, little miss. You have too many clothes on.” “Can take care of that.” In seconds, she was down to bra and panties, if that’s what you called them. Thin scraps of lace and satin that barely covered her. She glowed. Even with no light in the room, she glowed. He stalked toward her, stripping the scraps of his tee shirt as he moved. She sat on the bed, scooting back, until her back was against the headboard. “Take them off,” she said, indicating his boots and jeans. Damn Docs. He sat down to unlace them, then turned to look at her there, on the bed, waiting for him. She gave the pants a pointed look, and he shrugged. “Best leave them on, pet. Don’t wear knickers myself.” Her face flushed at the thought of him without underwear. She squirmed a little. She was trying to be all woman of the world, and he kept making her feel like she was a silly virgin. Well, he had taken care of that part. Now she wanted to know more. She pouted again, and he came to her, taking her lip in his mouth and touching it gently with his tongue. She gasped at the sensation, and he kissed her fully. He stretched out next to her, and cupped her head in his hands, kissing her breathless. It was only then he touched her anywhere, and that was only to lay the palm of his hand against her stomach. She looked up at him, fear and lust warring in her eyes, and he kissed her gently. “It won’t hurt this time, pet. Nothing but pleasure after the first time.” She nodded, unable to speak. He stroked her stomach lightly until he felt the gooseflesh rippling under his palm, then stroked her arms the same way, kissing her gently and whispering sweetly to relax her. When she lay lax and loose beside him, he brushed a hand over her lace-covered breast, and was rewarded with a tiny moan, barely audible to any but him. She arched her body into his touch, wanting and needing more. Her fumbling fingers unhooked the front of her bra, then pulled it open. She needed his skin on hers, his hands on her body before she lost her mind. He never hesitated, simply continued to caress and kiss her, fanning the embers of her desire, until they burst into full flame. With a strangled cry that was a cross between a groan and a scream, she rolled him onto his back and straddled his groin, grinding her satin covered quim against him. He reached for her, and she grabbed his hands, pinning them next to his head, her need for relief erasing all conscious thought. She brought his hands to her breasts, gripping them against her. His touch cooled her, let her think. Think. What was she doing? Was she acting like a ho? Reality slapped her in the face, and she fell back and off of him, her face hidden in her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m so sorry….” He picked her up bodily, and sat her on his lap. “Passion, pet. That’s what put a mojo on you. Passion. I didn’t mind, nothing to be sorry for.” He captured her hand, and pressed it against the bulge in his jeans. “That’s from you, pet. For you. D’ya still want it?” “God, yes.” Her tongue came out and moistened her lips. “Can I see it?” He set her aside, and stood, dragging his jeans over his lean hips. His cock jutted proudly from his pelvis, and he turned. She stared in fascination. Her small hand encircled it, and it jumped at her touch. It was beautiful, pale on the shaft, a pink tinge at the head. She looked closely, and noticed a droplet of moisture on the very tip. She stuck her tongue out and snagged the glistening drop, and he threw his head back at the touch on his sensitive skin. Salty, she thought, but too good. She licked again, and looked up to see him looking down on her, his eyes unreadable. He reached for her, impatient to feel her skin against his, and tore the lacy underthings from her body. She was perfection personified, his golden goddess, and he wanted to worship her the way she deserved. He touched her everywhere he could reach, from her silken golden hair that curled around his fingers, to her satin skin, smooth under his hand. Her gasping moans urged his explorations to continue, and he was happy to oblige. He found the spot behind her ear that made her melt, tenderly nipping it between blunt teeth. He knew the perfect amount of pressure to use when he nibbled on her nipples, erect and straining for his touch. He touched her leg, behind the knee, and when she sucked in her breath, he licked and kissed it until she was breathless. He paid close attention to where he’d bit her before, nibbling it daintily as she thrust her hips beneath him, begging to be filled. His mouth trailed down her body to her navel, and he dipped his tongue inside and swirled it sensuously. Her quim hit him in the chest when she bucked, and he lowered his head to inhale deeply, drinking in her scent. Her thighs glistened with her juices from her arousal, and he traced his finger through them, bringing it to his lips to savor it on his tongue. She watched him, spellbound, as he bent his head to press his nose to the small patch of curls between her thighs. She was self-conscious, remembering the last time she showered, and tried to close her thighs to his probing, but this he would not allow. He held her legs apart, arms straining, and tipped his head to look at her. “You smell like heaven and sunshine, kitten. Let me see you.” Wanting, needing, and tired of fighting, she let her legs fall apart, and it spread her labia open for his perusal. She was all pinks and reds, layers on layers of colors, delicate and beautiful. He ran his tongue over her thigh, first one side then the other, licking her juices off her skin, and swirling them in his mouth. “You’re delicious, pet. Just the right flavor.” She let her head fall back, but brought it up immediately when she felt him swipe his tongue across her pussy from bottom to top. Her thighs trembled beneath his arms, and he felt her shudder beneath him, her need for him evident in her straining movements, her desire taking hold. She arched her pelvis toward him, begging silently for his touch. Bending his head to task, he flicked his tongue lightly over her clit, then as her movements became more overt, increased the pressure gradually, until her quim was quivering in his mouth, devouring his tongue as he delved inside her for more of her sweet juices. She could take it no longer, and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him on top of her. “Inside me. Please,” she dragged out, begging him for his cock. He kissed her again, and she tasted her juices on his mouth, on his lips, smelled her arousal all over his face, and was strangely turned on by it. He positioned himself between her creamy thighs, the head of his cock brushing her clit with her thrusts. He stilled her hips with his hands, and slid into her easily, a perfect fit. She jerked her pelvis, and he was fully inside her, his cock sheathed in the tightest and wettest passage he’d ever felt in his entire unlife. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching her face closely as he started to move. Shallow and gentle thrusts at first, until she was comfortable with him inside her, then long, slow, deep thrusts that widened her eyes and glazed them with passion as she surrendered herself to the sensations. He could feel her tightening within with every thrust, her pussy consuming him, burning him alive with her heat. She never felt anything like this. He filled her perfectly, with every thrust, hitting places deep inside her that had never been touched, his cock rubbing her clit with every movement. Masturbation didn’t even come close to how this felt, to be full and replete and have a cool body over yours, touching and moving and kneading you into pliant submission. She hooked her ankles around his hips, raising her to meet him thrust for thrust, and she knew that she couldn’t, wouldn’t last long. She needed to come. Needed it so badly it hurt. It coiled inside her like a snake, poised and ready to strike at any moment. She just needed the right stimulus. She pulled his head up, where he had bent to suckle her nipples, and held it steady in front of her. “Please, Spike. Bite me. Where you did before. I need to come. I want to. Please?” His demon roared in triumph. There was his invitation. Caught in the honey of her eyes again, he promised himself he would not kill this golden goddess. He would do a lot of things, but something this beautiful, this special, would not be marred by something so vulgar as her death. He had never realized it before, as single-minded as he’d been, but fucking a Slayer was by far better than killing one. He thought about telling her, and discretion won out. Not a thing she needed to hear, especially not now. He nuzzled her neck, over his week-old marks. She moaned, and pressed the back of his head, urging him closer. Game face sliding gracefully into place, he licked her with the rough tongue of the demon, tasting her sweat and sweetness, then glided his fangs into her flesh, withdrawing them quickly and allowing his face to return to normal. He sipped from her, two mouthfuls of the powerful, heady nectar that was Slayer blood, and it slicked his mouth and throat, put pictures in his mind of this woman, in his bed and in his heart. He pushed them away for later examination when he realized she was reaching her peak, her orgasm slamming into her, bending her double as she arched and writhed with pleasure. She hissed through clenched teeth, until the final spasm wracked her, then she opened her mouth and shrieked like the damned, her nails scoring his flesh in attempts to pull him closer. He pounded into her viciously, seeking his own release, when she clamped her teeth on his straining neck and buried her nails in his ass, holding him still as she pulsated around him. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and he could almost feel it pounding in his chest as well as the pain diverged to pleasure and he came inside her, cool jets of semen splashing her insides and oozing onto the sheets with their continued movements. She came again as he twitched inside her, her pussy viselike as it fluttered against his cock, her head moving on the pillow beneath him, eyes tightly closed. She was saying something under her breath, and he leaned forward straining to hear it. “Spike Spike Spike fucking me fucking me God I love it Spike more please keep fucking me make me your slave fuck the Slayer Spike….” He crushed his mouth to hers, stopping her murmurs, but saving their memory for later examination as well. He brushed her hair back from her face, and she looked up at him, her eyes luminous. “What have you done to me?” she whispered. “Only what you asked me to, pet. Shagged you senseless.” “Senseless, yeah. Like I had so much to begin with.” He chuckled, and she groaned. Realizing his weight was too much, he rolled off of her, ignoring her mewls of protest as he did. He propped his head on his hand, and looked down at her. She looked up at him, and said, “You know, this doesn’t change anything.” “I know.” “I still don’t like you.” “Me either. Still don’t like you either, I mean.” “Can we do this next year? On Halloween, I mean?” He considered her proposition. Of course, he still wanted to kill her, drain her dry. But if he didn’t, he didn’t want anyone else to either. “I guess. If you’re still alive, and I’m not dusted, we can.” She grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna live for a long, long time, Spike. Knowing you, you will too.” She sat up, wincing slightly as sore muscles protested, but ignored it pointedly. “Sit up. Gimme your hand.” He extended his right hand, and she took it in her left. She laced their fingers together, held them tightly, and reached in her bedside table to pull out a dagger. She threaded it through the space between their hands, then turned it and pulled it out, slicing their palms. “This is our blood pact. If we are able and alive, we’ll meet next Halloween and have sex. When the scar itches and glows in our palms, we’ll know it’s time.” Did she even know what she’d done? What magick she wrought? He doubted it. He doubted she knew that Slayer blood was used to sign demon contracts, knew that she would be horrified if she did. Once a pledge was sealed with Slayer’s blood, it was unbreakable. He looked at the line on his hand, crossing his head, heart, and life lines, and knew that there was no turning back. The Slayer had made him hers, whether she wanted it or not, and there would be no escape from their fate. The magick tightened between them, pulling on them as a vortex might, then fell silent. Next year. Same time, next year. He couldn’t wait.

Chapter #2 - Interlude 1--And The Band Played On

Interlude 1 And The Band Played On Time moves so slowly for humankind. Not so for vampires. Days march in rapid succession, inexorably, racing by in a blur of light and dark, gold and black, day and night. Never anything new for them, for when you’ve lived a lifetime and then some, there is nothing new on the planet. Nothing unseen, nothing undone, no toys too esoteric to explore. He watched. He waited. There seemed to be no change in them, or their relationship. But her kisses no longer tasted of innocence, and her scent wasn’t tinged with that hint of virgin anymore. He never thought to ask her, just simply ask. He brooded, he glared, he looked at her with sweet, chocolate eyes, melting in the heat of his adoration, and still, she kept some secret from him. Buried deep inside her, there was a secret, he knew it in the depths of his soul. He followed her, he spied, and still, there was nothing. She went to school, patrolled, spent time with her annoying friends, trained with the Watcher—all the boring, usual stuff. He barely had time enough to dwell on his own shortcomings and sins; he was so busy looking for hers. He thought that maybe he could get her to confide in him on her birthday. He hoped when he pulled that ring thing, that she would surely…. But no. Instead of a piece of her heart, she gave him her body, and relieved him of the torturous soul. When he was Angelus, he considered torturing the vampire to find out their secret, then threw the idea away, bored with torturing Spike. He had tortured him so often in the past, both physically and mentally, there was no fun to be had there. Screams start to sound alike after a while. Better yet, capture her and torture her. Pry the secrets from that sweet mouth; fuck the secrets from that lithe body. If he could have got his hands on her, he would’ve. Would have ripped what happened in the alley out of her as he flayed strips of skin from her back. Would have torn the reason behind her changed feelings from her dry vagina as he pumped into her. Would have tasted it in her blood. He never had the chance. The bitch had allies. Allies he would never have expected. Or maybe he should have expected it. Something between those two…he knew there was something. Spike still saved Drusilla. And Buffy killed him, her secret still safe in her heart.

Chapter #3 - Halloween II--Transparent Lies

Halloween II Transparent Lies His palm itched. It itched so badly that he wanted to chop off his hand. He looked at the scar, acquired a year ago, and went to find Drusilla, to tell her he was leaving for a while. This was nothing new for them. They had spent five years apart before Prague. She had been in Paris, he in London. When you’re immortal, place becomes commonplace and time gains irrelevancy. He found her finally, in a tiny town on the edge of the rain forest, where demon didn’t matter for the right amount of cash. She was entangled with a chaos demon; his huge antlers budding as Spike looked on, slimy mucus dripping off the newly sprouted buds. He may have been an old one, but he looked pretty dense. “Dru! What the bloody hell are you doing? Kissing that?” She pulled away, and patted the chaos demon on the cheek. “I’ll be right back, my love.” She stood, and led Spike away from him, turning to her childe with a distant smile on her face. Slime dotted her white challis dress, the smell disgusting him, and he grimaced. “You need to leave. The sunshine beckons, and you must go.” His hand burned. “What the bleeding hell are you talking about?” “It’s all written there, in the palm of your hand. You have given in to the light, handed over your control, and it can never be the same between us, Sweet Willy. Go now, go to the sunshine.” “Dru, why? Why are you doing this?” Her eyes were hooded, completely unreadable, and she motioned with her hands. “I kiss you, my William, my Spike, and you taste like sunshine and ashes. You don’t kill like you used to, only drink. You have no heart for the slaughter and mayhem like you did before. You no longer belong to me. You made a deal with the sunshine, and it cannot be broken, you know that. You knew. Go, William, I have nothing more to say to you. I will search for my pleasures alone.” “Dru, Dru, you’re not making sense.” “Don’t need to make sense, not when the hand burns to touch, the heart yearns. The body cries for relief. Don’t need sense, only truth. You are not mine to hold any longer.” She turned her back on him, and waved her arm. “Go now, before I lose myself.” Cursing, he went to the garage where he’d stowed the car. “I’ll get you back Dru! I’ll be back for you.” He killed the innkeeper in a fit of pique, and loaded cases of whiskey into the front seat of the car. When he started driving north, he started drinking. When his body yearned for sleep, he drank and drove on. When his demon roared for blood, he drank and drove. When the voices in his head quieted, and his thoughts were his own again, he drank, and drove endlessly onward. Back to the source of his disquiet. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She stretched and moved, the slow, controlled movements alien and foolish, but she did so anyway, to please him. Her concentration was dulled, she couldn’t think, couldn’t dwell on what she was doing the way that she should. She knew that Tai Chi was a warrior’s art, and a warrior’s dance, each slow motion gliding into the next position. The only dance she wanted to do was the quickstep—swirl, punch, move, dip, jab, the movements she was accustom to, the dance she was used to. The dance she used nightly, to protect her life and everyone else’s. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, so tall and bulky beside her. So forbidding. So…not another. Complete opposites. Her hand itched, and she thoughtlessly scratched at it, spoiling the ballet and breaking his concentration. He looked at her, his sad eyes castigating, and she dropped her head and picked up a towel, dabbing the sweaty trails that trickled down between her breasts and the back of her neck. “So, Angel, I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Yes, Buffy. I’ll be right here.” So much he wanted to say, and she was so far away from him. She had kept him distant, ever since the incident with Acathla, and he pondered what could have changed between them, why she would shut him out of her life and out of her heart. Why? Why, Buffy, but he didn’t ask the question, fearful of her answer, and she didn’t choose to enlighten him. Deliberately chose to keep him apart from her. He watched her scratch absentmindedly at her hand again, and started forward. “Is there something wrong? You keep scratching your left hand….” She stopped in mid-motion and looked at her hand. The scar flared red against her pale palm, and she closed it quickly into a fist, preventing him from looking. “Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He sadly watched her leave. He knew that things were different, knew they could never share the closeness like before. Something changed, sometime before he had lost his soul, and he couldn’t put a finger on what. Dejected, he picked up his book, and sat down by the fireplace, absently sniffing her towel. Something struck a chord in his memory, and he put the book aside, smelling the towel and closing his eyes. Concentrate. What is that? When a picture of his evil grandchilde entered his mind, he dismissed it. Buffy would have nothing to do with Spike, he thought. Then again, if that was true, then why was a towel that she’d just dried off with permeated with their mingled scents? Angel tossed the towel down, and grabbed his jacket. He had to find Buffy. Tonight. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She knew the minute he arrived in Sunnydale. The scar on her hand flared a bright, pulsating red, and burned like crazy. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t hold her to something that she said a year ago, before all the tumultuous happenings afterward. Could he? Rubbing her hand on her workout pants, she stretched, did some handstands, anything to keep her mind off her hand. Her hand, that would not allow itself to be forgotten. Her hand, the same hand that had touched him, caressed his skin, sealed their pact. Frustrated, she started jumping rope, slowly at first, then faster, until the rope was a blur. She tossed the rope aside, and paced the floor instead. Her stomach knotted with the memories of what she’d done. She had sex with Spike, her mortal enemy, her arch nemesis. She didn’t regret any of it, from the hurried fuck in the alley to the other one...in her room. She couldn’t regret it. What was done, was done. But there were repercussions, just like always. She measured everyone against him now, even Angel. Angel. Her gentle vampire. Her love. Somehow, those words no longer held the meaning they’d had, before he became Angelus, before he’d tortured Giles, awakened Acathla, forced her to kill him. The love was still there; she still cared about what happened to him. But it wasn’t the end-all-be-all love that she thought it always would be. He didn’t occupy her every thought anymore, didn’t make her feel…. That was the problem. He didn’t make her feel anymore. Didn’t make her yearn, didn’t make her burn like…Spike. That was the problem. Spike. He had ruined her, completely and totally. He should have just killed her; it would have been less of a torment. She wouldn’t have to pretend to like people, wouldn’t have to go through the motions every day. She would be…completely miserable, she realized, dead and gone to the world. Never to see its wonders. Never to see him again. She raked her hands through her hair, and blew a stray out of her face with her mouth. Goddamn vampire. Why did she make that deal with him? It wasn’t worth all this. She tried to work out for a little longer, and the phone rang. While she talked to her mother, she heard his voice through the receiver and her heart stopped beating. He was there! At her house, waiting for her! She ran all the way home. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Angel stood in the doorway, gritting his teeth, and Buffy pushed him to the side, eager and anxious to get to Spike’s side. She consciously pushed her mother aside and grabbed him by the shirt, throwing him down on the counter top as she ground herself against his groin, unable to stop her body’s betrayal. She gritted her teeth, growling gently under her breath, and invited Angel in, more to stop herself from fucking him there on the kitchen floor than for any kind of backup or moral support. And when he mentioned Willow and Xander, she knew in her heart that he wouldn’t hurt them, because she cared about them. There was something different about him, something untouchable. Something that hovered right below the surface, just out of reach. He kenned that she knew, and grinned up at her impishly. She dragged him off the island, and he turned to look at her mother. “See you around, Joyce. Thanks for the chocolate.” Buffy shot a look over her shoulder to her mom. “You made him hot chocolate?” Joyce shot her a look. “He is still a guest in our home, Buffy.” She rolled her eyes and followed the two vampires out the door and down the street, desperate to save her friends. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Spike watched them, watched how they stood there, so far apart. The air was oppressive, thick with unsaid emotions and inexpressible feelings. He looked at the Slayer, her guilty eyes avoiding Angel, and Angel, trying so hard to read her. Her eyes landed on Spike, and she couldn’t tear them away. Couldn’t stop looking at him. She watched him rant and rave with dispassionate eyes, and jabbed at him verbally, her snarky comments striking nerves and drawing blood. Angel watched the by-play between them, watched them ripping each other to shreds, and in his heart he knew. He knew for sure that he’d lost her. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He climbed her tree and sat outside the window until she got home. He’d watched her climb down the damn thing enough, when he’d stalked her, trying to kill her. For a moment he forgot why he didn’t want to kill her, and his demon slobbered in feral anticipation of a bloodbath. Then he remembered, the golden skin, the golden eyes, and there was an internal howl of frustrated evil, echoing in his ears and deafening him to her approach. She climbed to the fork of the tree, and found him there. She glared, then passed by him out onto the roof. He followed her, and sat on her windowsill. She started stripping off her clothes, not caring. He’s seen me at my worst anyway, she rationalized. She put on her tank and pajama pants, and climbed into the bed, and still he sat, his eyes never leaving her form. When she finally looked at him, he held out his hand. In his palm, the scar shown like a neon stripe, burning red against the darkness of the room. She said nothing. She held her hand out for his inspection, her own scar shining brightly. “What does that mean?” “What do you think it means, kitten. It’s time.” Her eyes went wide, the whites showing all around. “Time for what?” He leaned closer and she shrank back, until her back was against the headboard. His face was so close, she could smell the whiskey, taste his cigarettes on her tongue. “Time to fulfill our pact.” She climbed out of the bed, and went to the door, and his voice stopped her with the hand on the knob. “It won’t stop, Slayer. Won’t stop itching and burning, won’t stop reminding you until we’ve done it. Your hand will become like a living flame, and you’ll want to cut it off. You’d rather be without it than to have it burning you, every minute of every day, until you lose what sanity you have and hack it off with a saw. And even then, it’ll burn.” She turned, and eyed him. “How do you know?” He was staring at his hand. With a smile that was almost a grimace, he looked up at her. “D’ya think I don’t want to do it right now? If it bothers you to have a fire in your hand, what does it do to me? I feel like I’m dying, Slayer.” She opened the door, and he heard Joyce’s soft, even breathing and steady heartbeat. “She’s asleep.” “I’m taking a shower. You need one, before you lay a finger on me.” He slipped into the bathroom, and was behind her in the shower before she could do more than let out a tiny eep of surprise. He put his hand over her mouth, then released it at her nod. She presented her back, and he was surprisingly gentle as he washed it with the loofah. Surprisingly thorough, too, as he brought it between the rounded cleft of her ass. He tossed the loofah into the bottom of the tub, and poured her sweet vanilla-scented shower gel onto his hands. He took her shoulders and leaned her against him, then glided the shower gel onto her water-slickened skin, grazing her nipples with his palms until they were hard and burning in his hands. She rested her head on his shoulder, surrendering to the feelings, and he soaped her from head to toe, teasing her as he went. Her legs trembled, and he pushed her gently forward under the water to rinse off the soap. She pulled him with her, and they kissed for the first time under the splashing water. He stroked her head and back, soothing with his touch, and she was startled by how much she actually missed him. All the good vamps to fight with were gone, she thought, as his tongue explored familiar territory. Her lips opened, and she let him inside again, despite her better judgement. She pushed him away with a glint of mischief in her eye, and grabbed the bottle of shower gel herself. She dumped a hefty amount in her hand, and turned his back to her, lathering his body from head to toe with the vanilla scent. He let his head hang limply as she kneaded muscles he didn’t realize were sore, and sighed out loud when she brought her hands around the front to caress his ribs. She reached, and found his flat nipples, and pinched them lightly, until they stood erect and begging attention like her own. She pressed her body against his back, and ran her hand down his flat stomach to encircle the base of his cock, already erect. She pressed her cheek against his back, and strummed his nerves with one hand, then reached with the other to cup his balls. Her tenderness was nearly his undoing. He bit his lip until the blood flowed freely out of it, and still could not help the tiny growl of pleasure that slipped out of his throat. She rolled his testicles with her hand, testing their weight, squeezing them delicately, all the while stroking back and forth hypnotically, his cock purpling with borrowed blood as she moved. She ran her thumb over the velvety head, raking it tenderly with her nails, and whispered in his ear, soft enough he strained to hear it over the running water. “I’m gonna put your cock in my mouth this time, Spike. Last time, I didn’t get to, but this time, it’s the first thing I’m gonna do. I’m gonna run my tongue over it, I’m gonna use my teeth, I’m gonna lick it and suck it and roll it around in my mouth until you beg me to make you come. You’re gonna beg, and I’m gonna love it, Spike. Love it.” Weak kneed and shaking, he turned, pushing her back until she was back under the water. He let the hot spray sluice over his body, warming him, then turned the water off and grabbed towels for himself and the Slayer. They toweled off separately, ultra-conscious of the body across the room. His hair sprung into a riot of curls, and he combed his fingers through them to straighten them. She was there in an instant, pulling his hands away, and combing her fingers through his hair to loosen it back up, the locks springing free under her fingertips. “I like it curly.” “I don’t.” “Too bad.” She smiled impishly. “Don’t you want to please me?” Her question struck him hard in the gut, and he nearly doubled from the blow, but realized she was right. He did want to please her, did want to make her happy. When did that happen? Was it part of the pact? Too horny to examine every thought and motivation, he left his hair alone, and hated it, but loved the secret smile it brought to her face. All dried off, Buffy led him to her room, and turned to lock the door behind her. “Don’t want interruptions, do we?” She stalked him across the room, and he felt a tingle run up his spine, knowing that she was going to make good on her promise in the shower. She reached up, and kissed his mouth, only for a moment, then dropped to her knees in front of him. His cock jerked in front of her, and she took it in her hand. She looked it over critically, her self-assurance evident as she looked at it openly. She touched it all over with fleeting fingertips, top and bottom, base to tip, and he thought he would explode from her explorations alone. Her lips brushed across the head, and he collapsed on the bed, unable to stand any further. She rearranged herself between his knees, and touched his scrotum, first with nimble fingers, then with her whole hand, watching his face for cues. As she touched him, she talked quietly, her voice a bare whisper in the night. “What do you like, Spike? What do you want me to do? What do you want from the Slayer tonight?” He rolled his head, unable to speak. She continued. “I must be doing it right, cause you’re not talking. I like your cock, Spike. So big. So hard. So cool in my hand. So, what do you want me to do? Shall I lick it? Shall I put it in my mouth?” “God, Slayer….” “I think that I will put it in my mouth, Spike. It looks like it needs personal attention. And you know, I’m good with hard, pointy things.” She held him firmly in her hand, and licked his cock from base to tip. She kept her gaze steady on his face, and watched his reaction. Swirling her tongue around the head, she put her lips around it, slicking it with the saliva that flooded her mouth. She slowly engulfed her cock with her throat, breathing shallow, and swallowing quickly as she relaxed and forced her throat to comply. When he was fully inside her, she swallowed and held still, allowing his girth to overcome the reflex to gag, then brought her mouth off of him, still holding the head between her lips. His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, sheets bunching beneath his ass. My God, how hot was that mouth? Her heated mouth and the cool air combined forced a gasp from his lips. She swallowed him whole again, her tongue massaging the underside of his cock from base to tip as she swallowed, her throat tightening around him, almost painfully tight, but oh God, the heat, the heat. Her touch. She was touching him everywhere. The sensitive parts of his inner thighs, the backs of his calves, his crisp pubic curls—her touch seemed to burn as well as he cooled off from the hot shower. When her hand cupped his testicles, he grabbed a pillow and forced it over his face to keep from shouting aloud. She watched him over the planes of his body, knowing she affected him, knowing that he was liking what she did. She’d thought about it enough in the past year. She planned this, and she wanted it to come off perfect. She wanted to ruin him like he’d ruined her. She pulled and tugged at his balls, swallowed his cock greedily, her slurping and breathing the only noises in the quiet room. She loved this feeling, this powerful feeling that swept over her; she had him where she wanted him, and he knew it. When she finally took his cock from her mouth, he groaned aloud into the pillow, then moaned again when she sucked one of his testicles into that hot mouth, rolling it with her tongue and raking it with her blunt teeth. She lavished attention on his balls, having read that they were sensitive to stimulation, and she wanted this to be good. Her hand stroked his length, and he looked down his body to watch her golden skin shining against his paleness. So close, so close to coming, he thought, and he must have made a noise to alert her, because she was on him again, her mouth on his cock, and moving her head with the rhythm of her heart. Down, swallow, up, breath, her body worked the beat, driving him out of his mind and over the edge. He tried to pull her off of him by the hair, but her free hand slapped his hands away, and he started coming, his cool semen spurting into her throat. She slammed her face into his groin, her nose buried in his pubic hair, and swallowed, swallowed his load, not a droplet escaping her mouth. He was still hard, and she took advantage of it, climbing on the bed beside him and straddling his cock with her legs, rubbing her wetness along the shaft. This time, she would be in the driver’s seat. This time, it was all about him and her and sex and pleasure and keeping the bargain. She raised up enough to position him, then her body engulfed him like her mouth had, slamming down onto him with a force that knocked the wind out of them both. Joined together, she reached up to kiss him once, her mouth resplendent with the flavors of come and sex and sweat, and he tangled his fingers in her hair to keep her there. She pulled out of his hands, and sat upright, raising and lowering herself on his cool length. He gained new respect for Slayers, and this one in particular. He had always known that they had wonderful muscle control; it was evident in the manner they fought, and the strength of the demons they battled. Control like this came from practice. He had his demon contacts still, and she belonged to no one, neither human, demon, nor vampire. No, she had perfected the twitch of her thighs to raise her up, the clench of muscles to grip and grab hold of his cock. She had trained herself to synchronicity of movement, and he knew it. Without knowing how, he knew she had trained and studied, read and practiced for this night, possibly for the entire year. It touched him deeply inside, and another piece of him belonged to her. Pride, lust, now this feeling of honor, that she cared about his pleasure, being good for him like he had her. Her movements became more frantic, her rhythm more frenetic as she rode him for all it was worth, stomach clenching in effort, teeth gritted as she drove herself down onto him, over and over, scalding his cock with her juices and his eyes with the vision before him. She reached behind her, and tugged on his balls with her hands, still in sync with her motions. Down, release, up, tighten, repeat again and again and drive the vampire completely off—he could see her plan burning in her eyes. She never took her eyes from him, even when he closed her out with his lids. Every time he opened his eyes, he could see her, staring at him, pushing her way into him, infecting him with the need for her warmth and her heat and her life. She crashed herself onto him, over and over, and could feel the burning coil beginning deep in her gut, down, down deep, where her body and his body connected. She reached, and his hands were there to catch her as she fell forward, flexing and bending and pushing and pulling. Panting, she gasped, “I need it I need you bite me Spike bite me so I can come please baby just bite me—“ moving constantly, never stopping. She tossed her damp hair to the side, and he found his marks there on her neck, obliterating marks left by the Master years ago. He could sense the waves inside her beginning to build, feel the pulling as they slipped against the other. She dragged her clit down the length of his shaft, pulsing against his chill, warming his length with her depths, and bent his head to the side of her throat. He nibbled and teased at the scar there, his scar, his mark, and she pulled him by the shoulders, her nails scoring half-moons in his flesh. His demon roared, and she sputtered, but still he waited, waited for the right moment. He licked her succulent flesh, the smell of blood and lust so close to the surface, sucking it gently until it reddened, a cherry, ripe and succulent in his mouth. She gripped his head to her throat with her nails, digging into his curls, tugging on his hair, and she hissed, “Now!” He slipped his fangs into her, and the pain catapulted her over the top. She collapsed, his fangs and cock still buried in her, and he drew hard on her neck, hard enough to bruise a human. Each pull corded their muscles, hers with another spasm and his with effort, but they were both transported by the sensation. He tasted the sweet honeyed nectar that flowed from the golden goddess above him, and nearly swooned at the heady flavor. Her power thundered through them both, and she bucked on top of him, slamming herself into him to bring on orgasm after orgasm. She opened her mouth to shriek her completion, and found his throat so close to her, so close under her mouth. She clamped her teeth on the corded muscle and shook her head like a dog, all gentleness gone from her in the primeval drive for satisfaction. He bit her neck again with blunt teeth, and opened the gashes his fangs left in her neck, and a fourth orgasm slammed into her, her jaw clenching and his skin splitting with the added pressure. His blood mingled with her saliva, pooling in her mouth until she swallowed convulsively, and she tasted him. More than that, she knew him. Flickering images of his life and unlife danced behind her eyes, and she turned away from them, afraid of what she would see. She pulled back instead, to look in his eyes, and saw more there than she expected. More that she feared. So she closed her eyes, and rested her head away from him on his shoulder, coming down off an exceptional endorphin high that seemed to reverberate through her body still. When her breathing had steadied and her heartbeat was once again slowed, she rolled off of him to lie next to him on the bed. She looked at her hand, and the scar was pale and silent. The contract fulfilled for another year. Still examining her palm, she casually asked, “Did you mean what you said in the magic shop? About love?” He stared at the ceiling of her little girl room, wishing for a cigarette. “Sure did. Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” “I’m—I’m breaking this thing between me and Angel off in the morning. Not because of you, or this. You’re right. We can’t be friends. We can’t do this. I can’t trust him, not anymore.” “I know, kitten. And it isn’t easy. Dru threw me out. Said I smelled of sunshine. Told me I was covered in you. And she’s right, I probably am. Don’t want to kill you anymore, if that’s any consolation.” “It’s different now, isn’t it Spike?” “Yeah. Challenging before, could I actually get the Slayer in bed? Now, we have to. Should have known when you pulled the little knife trick last year.” “It was still good. Just what I needed. You?” “Yeah. Been practicing, huh?” “No!” Silence. “Well, yes. I didn’t want to seem like a childish virgin again. Wanted to have a little experience. Okay, a little practice. Getting in sync, you know?” He chuckled, and sat on the side of the bed. She looked up at his back. “So, you’re going now?” He bent, and threaded shaky legs into his jeans. “Yeah. Gonna go find Dru and convince her she’s wrong, and we really do belong together.” He dressed silently, and she didn’t speak as well, just watched him as he prepared to go. “Same time next year?” “Yeah. Same time. Next time, I won’t fight it. Will you?” “And have my hand in flames? Not bloody likely.” He bent over, and kissed her on the forehead. “Till then, Slayer.” She watched as he ducked his head and exited her window, dropping from the roof onto the ground. She stood, and ran to the window, watching his back as he left. Then she threw herself on the pillow and cried for lost love and casual sex, and wondered why she felt so bereft without the mingled smells of leather, tobacco, and whiskey.

Chapter #4 - Interlude II--Days Go By

Interlude II Days Go By Driving away from Sunnydale was easy. Two separate cars, driving in different directions, but both with the same goal. Get away from the Slayer, before you do something stupid and end up dust. Spike listened to the Clash, being torn in two. Part of him said to leave Dru where she was, let her be. She didn’t show him half the respect that the Slayer did. Didn’t believe in him. Didn’t love him. That was it, in fact. The bloody bint never loved him anyway. Never would claim him, always an excuse about Daddy not liking it. She had always belonged to Angelus, even when Angelus was tamed with the soul. Never been his. Never would be. His anger rose, and he shattered the whiskey bottle in his fist. Now, the Slayer, he thought, she would be a worthy mate. Lover, fighter, spunk and sass rolled together, he could see spending an unlife with someone like her. Trouble was, Slayers keep their souls. So instead of the fun-loving, fist-throwing girl he would be stuck with a female Peaches. Sod that. No turning. What’s left, then? Shrugging, he turned the music up a little louder, and concentrated on the task at hand. He would give his princess one more chance. A chance to love him and claim him and keep him. He was a young vamp, and a good-looking one to boot. If Dru didn’t want him, then he was certain he could find someone who did. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ He drove in silence. His thoughts were enough company. Buffy. Just her name was enough to make his soul yearn. The demon, chained to submission, gagged and churned in his mind, confusing his thoughts even further. He went through it step by step in his mind. A sense of missing something niggled in his brain, and pissed him royally when he couldn’t find it outright. Buffy and Spike acted off, even though he knew there was nothing between them, knew that…. He smelled Spike on the towel. Their mingled scents. Stirred with lust and tainted with blood. Slayer blood. He slowed the car, and flipped a U-turn in the center of the highway. Even if they couldn’t be friends, even if they couldn’t see one another, he could still protect her. He could still watch her back. He could still be a part of her life, even if it had to be from afar. He could still be there, protecting her from Spike. Spike would think nothing of slaughtering another Slayer. Especially one that held Angel’s heart; it might even give him more satisfaction than a normal kill would. He had to be there. To protect her. Even if she didn’t want him to.

Chapter #5 - Halloween III--Why Can't This Be Love?

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.

Chapter #6 - Interlude III--Time Passages

Interlude III Time Passages He should have never come here. Not to her, not for help. If he’d had anywhere else to go, he would have gone, but there was nowhere and no one. He knew that she continued to keep him chained and tied, not only because they didn’t know much about the chip, but also because she knew. She knew he couldn’t stay away from her, especially after Red’s sodding spell. She knew, too, that she couldn’t stay away from him. His body still remembered the feel of her ass against him, rubbing him through their clothes. Just her scent wafting through Giles’ apartment on a dusty midday draft was enough to make him hard. He would have covered his eyes with his arms, but he was still chained in the tub. It only made it harder, knowing that she had chained him, and her own feelings, tight enough where neither one would get loose. He watched her as she primped for dates with the army wanker, and grimaced, though she couldn’t see him. Her scent made his mouth water and cock harden, but she never bothered to see. And he knew deep inside him, he did this. He hurt her badly enough this last time that she would never see him, never want him, never burn for him, unless it was under the influence of the spell. Any spell. He wondered if he could find a witch, not Red, but someone else. Someone to make him a potion to slip to the Slayer. So she would see him. Her blind spot was pointed directly at him, and she refused to look beyond. See through past uglies. Realized that he changed. Well, had been forced to change. He’d hoped by helping her Watcher, she would notice. It passed through her perception. In her mind, the wanker had helped. He was nothing more than a passing thought. Fine. Ignore Spike. Everyone else does. But soon, missy, you’ll realize your mistake. Everyone makes a mistake in the end. And you’ll be history.

Chapter #7 - Halloween IV--Bloody Kisses

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.

Chapter #8 - Interlude IV--Since You Been Gone

Interlude IV Since You Been Gone He drank with the Whelp and Giles, he patrolled with the Bot, he watched over Dawn, and he grieved. The moment she dove into the portal, there was a flash of pain in his hand, and he knew she was gone. His palm was smooth and unscarred once more, and he would give his entire unlife to have that scar back for only a second longer. He would trade the inferno for one bright, shining moment with his golden girl. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. And if wishing for a scar could make it return, then he would wish on every star, every night. Would hunt the earth for obscure wishing rituals just to wish for that moment. But wishes don’t come true, and there was no Blue Fairy to make him a real boy again. And Buffy was never coming back. Days blurred together in an alcoholic haze, one that he snapped out of first. He impelled the Watcher, and then the Whelp, yelling and snarling about her wishes at the end, and their duty. She left them to guard the Hellmouth and her sister, and by all the gods in heaven, he would. Days he spent on Revello, trapped in a house that was a shrine to all things Buffy. Sometimes, when Dawn went with her friends and Willow and Tara were gone, he would go upstairs and stand on the threshold, staring into her room with longing and tears on his face. Her essence was strong here, but he knew that it would fade with time. He looked at the bed, where they had lain together once, twice. Remembered her words, her expressions. The way she had looked, lying beneath him, her eyes round with delight and lips parting with that kittenish pout. The way she panted, right before she came. The look in her eyes when she took him in her mouth. He didn’t just remember the good, either. He recalled nights standing beneath her window, memorizing her scent on the wind, wishing she would let him in. Days trapped in the bloody crypt, wondering when or if she would be by to see him. His mouth twisted bitterly, remembering the night she told him she would rather die than let him touch her. He never realized his waffling caused her such pain, then kicked himself. He treated her like Dru had treated him for so many years. It was the only times, besides the first time, when he ever let himself cry. Even the strong such as Samson were weak in the face of love. He never let Dawnie catch him crying. He cried, and he went on. He mourned, and he patrolled. He grieved every minute, waking and sleeping, and still cared for Dawn, took their abuse, suffered their paranoia, and put up with the Whelp’s comments that grew snider and more pointed by the day. He did it for her. He did everything for her. So she could rest.

Chapter #9 - Halloween V--The First Kiss Cuts Deeper....

Halloween V The First Kiss Cuts Deeper…. Every time he saw her, he looked on her with wonder. It gave her the wiggins bad. She knew how he felt—it shined from his eyes, every worshipful glance, every piercing gaze, every secretive silken slide of his blue orbs over her…. Yes, she knew very well how he felt about her. He never hid it from anyone. She just wished she could feel anything. She was in a state of continuous stimulus overload. Too bright, too dim, too loud, too soft, the world crushed her in all its myriad noises and sights and smells until the only way to survive it was to shut it all down. Constant tension thrummed through her nervous system, working overtime to protect her from revealing anything. Anything to her friends. Her well-meaning friends. They wanted to help her so badly, but good intentions don’t always have the best outcomes. She isolated herself too much, she knew that, but the only times she was even remotely normal were when she was slaying. With every other part of her shut down, it was the only time she felt like she was really alive. Patrol was like a job, but the actual kill—the adrenaline rush of the fight, the heft of the stake in her hand, the dust drifting up her nose when it was done—helped her remember. Remember who she was, and what she was doing here. Why they brought her back. They treated her like a child. She withdrew further. It continued until she could barely tolerate being around them. The only person who made her feel anything was Spike. He wouldn’t let her be numb. When she was with him, all the tingles and twitches of nerves swaddled in cotton erupted into full power electrical shocks. Shock, he cares about you. Shock, he cared for Dawn when the others practically forgot all about her. Shock, he loves you. Shock, he grieved for you. Shock, shock, shock, endless and constant, and she relished it, basked in it, just to feel normal again. Normal. Was she ever normal? It plagued her. it woke her up in the middle of the night, the question invading her dreams and making her restless. She was the Slayer, but she had always felt normal. Wanted the normal life, the normal things. Love, marriage, a white picket fence. Even though she knew that they were out of the question, she couldn’t help herself, she still wanted it. Normal. As soon as Dawn left for school, she put her jacket on, trudging over to his crypt to watch television with him. The first two times, she surprised him. The third time, he was waiting, coffee brewing in a pilfered coffeepot, a novelty mug with vampire fangs painted on the side, waiting. She would sit on one end of the couch, he on the other with his mug of blood, and they watched the talk shows and game shows until it was time for Dawn to come home. Sometimes she would leave, and come back later. Always with a small token for him, for his time. Berber root, a bottle of whiskey, cigarettes. He catnapped between her visits, waking completely when he felt her near. The days rolled on and on, their patterns changing and coming together like a kaleidoscope, an ever-changing landscape. She drifted, he adapted, she needed, he gave, and they existed. Separate and together, they existed, if only for each other. The woman he saw was not the woman she revealed to anyone else, and he found himself exposing more and more of the poet to the silent woman who ghosted his crypt and his dreams. One night they got drunk together, sitting astride a coffin, and he convinced her that she needed to walk in the dark with him. He regretted it later, when he was holding her up and her hair back away from the vomit spewing forcefully from her mouth. After several such stops on the way to her house, he swept her up in his arms, careful with her lolling head, and carried her home. Giles opened the front door, and caught her as she fell inside. Spike shrugged, cocked an eyebrow, and shifted off into the night. She had people who would take care of her there. She didn’t want him to take care of her. She was back the next morning, and the next. She felt the pull of the season, drawing her closer to the rim of the unknown. Her body slowly came alive. Her heart began to beat again, but in unfamiliar rhythms. Breathing was easier. She felt the first stirrings in her body, in her heart. She didn’t recognize what the stirrings were—she still cocooned herself. It was second nature now. She glanced at the calendar, and saw that Halloween was two days away. Funny, time flies when you’re numb. She got roped into working at the Magic Box, and cringed at the thought. She vowed not to go anywhere near the mummy hand in the basement. She still had to go into the basement, however, and met Spike, stealing Berber root. “Want a bit o’ the rough and tumble?” Her eyes glazed over, remembering the feelings of their rough and tumble. She was numb, but she wasn’t dead. Well, not anymore. She still was shocked by the thought, but why she didn’t understand. It wasn’t their first time. Not their first Halloween. She carried jars upstairs, and handed them off. Minutes merged, and before she could think twice about anything, the shop was closed and they were breathing hard, finished with the capitalist footrace. Dawn and Anya did their money dance, and all she could think of was how to get away. “Giles, I’m going to patrol.” She missed the look that shot between the others in the shop. She stuffed three stakes in her jeans, and almost ran out the door. Her feet carried her to Restfield, mechanically placing themselves one in front of the other. She didn’t feel the burning need like before, but it was the day, and time, and she wanted to feel. Feel his coolness on her, in her, moving over her body and freezing her soul. Soothing her guilty conscience. Bringing her back from the dead. She slipped in the door quietly, but not nearly quietly enough to avoid alerting a very aware vampire. She looked closely and saw the casual slouch belying the tension in his muscles. Saw his offhand glance that held so many secrets. “Oi, so you decided we needed to patrol, Slayer?” She didn’t answer him, just stared at him with empty eyes, her hands at her sides. “Buffy.” He looked at her, and she refused to let his eyes slide over her this time. She caught him, trapped him, and made him see her. See how miserable she really was. See how desperately she needed him. See how much she missed herself. She came to stand in front of him, and climbed on his lap, never breaking their gaze. He told her, /was it already last year? /, that he drowned in her. She gave herself over to the sensation, wanting to know what he felt, wanting the same strange feeling to overtake her and force her to reckon with what was left inside her. Wanting the peace to cushion her soul after the long days of fighting to live. Wanting to accept all he was finally willing to give, and absorb it with the dry sponge that was her emotional core, to fill it and fill herself. To remember. He touched her gently, cautiously, brushing the loose strands of hair out of her eyes, and reached out to her, emotionally. “Buffy? Are you okay, pet?” She stared at him, her eyes bright. “I am now. I’m here.” She fell silent, the words too much to drag from her throat. She pressed her mouth to the spot beneath his chin, just below his Adams apple, and rested her forehead there. She sighed. Comfort, here. Peace, here. Love, here. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Spike looked down at the tiny body in his arms. He didn’t remember her being this small. He always thought of her as larger than life and ready for damage. Not this—not this petite sack of skin and bones surrounding a frozen heart, an empty soul, and an overwrought mind. Her hands fluttered against his chest, and he moved painstakingly slow, trying not to startle her. She pressed even closer, her mouth of fire and brimstone on his cool skin, and he reeled himself even tighter than he’d had to since she’d been back. He knew that to touch her again would be his complete undoing. He loved her and lost her; he had discovered the transient nature of life to be his eternal curse. Grieving, mourning, missing had become the mantra of his life until a few short weeks ago. He still felt the complete sense of wonder at her even being here. Couldn’t look at her without tears jumping to the fore, hastily swallowed down until he could allow her to hold him with her eyes. No slipping up. She was skittish enough already, without the knowledge that he still was hopelessly in love with her. He sensed she knew anyway, and that was why she came to him. For love that she couldn’t accept from her friends. For comfort she couldn’t stand from them. For peace. Bloody wankers had brought her back, but they broke her spirit when they did it, and they didn’t even know how. They only knew that she wasn’t bouncy Buffy, and they didn’t care. They chattered and gossiped and spun her in circles, vying for her attention, waiting for gratitude that would never be forthcoming. She told him things. She told him of the fight between Giles and Willow, and confessed her fear of the redheaded witch to him. She told him about Xander and Anya, their engagement, wondering aloud why Anya got a pass from everyone, never mentioning his name out loud. But the question still rose in both their minds…Anya gets a pass, and he doesn’t? He clung to her, and his memory of her, and prayed to the Powers that he could make her whole. She clung to him, and prayed that she could be whole again, either here or in Heaven. Now, here she was in his lap, and he didn’t know what to do with her. What she expected of him. What she wanted. He found out when she wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked herself against him, her heat searing him through his jeans. Hiding his surprise, he touched her biceps, and she stopped moving. “Buffy. Buffy, love, what is it?” “I need to feel, Spike. I want to feel. Make me feel again.” Her mouth warm on his skin. Her breath fiery with each spoken word. Her heart’s desire, and his own, inches from him, and he felt paralyzed. Terror paralyzed him from touching her, and he cursed himself six ways to Sunday for not having the strength to push her away. Instead, he pulled her closer to him, absorbing her warmth. Her spark still existed, he knew; he only hoped that he could fan it into the roaring fire it used to be. Cradling her in his arms, he stood and walked over to the hole in the floor. Jumping down, he watched her carefully to see how she took the jar. She didn’t move. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing slowly, and nary a muscle twitched in her as he carried her to his bed. She made a noise of protest when he sat her down. Her eyes opened at the loss of contact, and she watched him undress in the candlelight. It flickered across the curves and hollows of his body, and memories flooded her. Memories of tasting and touching those same places the flames treated as their playground. Memories of whispered words and unspoken treaties, words of love tossed around carelessly. She turned her face to the pillow and sobbed. He was by her side in the pause between heartbeats. “Buffy, love, please don’t cry.” His touch soothed her, but she didn’t want soothing, she wanted…God, what did she want, anyway? She turned her face to him, a waterfall of tears on her cheeks. “Why do you keep coming back to me, Spike? Why did you stick around here, and let them treat you the way they did?” He ducked his head, embarrassed as only he could be. “Uh—made a promise to a lady. Had to see it through. ‘S a matter of pride, love.” Pride. How could he be proud, when they had all but defanged him and made him their pet? A master vampire, the youngest ever, and he chased the Slayer and played lapdog to her? He knew that she wasn’t satisfied with his answer, and he touched her gently. “You trusted me to keep the promise, Buffy, and even if I couldn’t keep it that night, I did. Every day. Every minute. Every time I got Dawn off to school, helped her with homework, held her when she cried, dealt with the teenage tantrums, I was keeping my promise to you. I promised I’d protect her. And I tried. I did.” She reached for him, and drew his head to her breast. “You did, Spike. You did, and for that you have my eternal gratitude.” He rested, her heartbeat echoing in his ears, and his tears wet her blouse. Her hands moved in lazy circles on his back, and he relaxed against her. Her fingers tangled in his slicked hair, freeing the restrained curls. “You always do this to your hair.” “S’my hair,” he mumbled against her shirt. “I like it curly,” she mused. “I like it straight.” His voice was firm, unbending. “And I like it curly.” She snickered. “Gah, why do we always get into it over the silly little things?” “’Cause we are who we are, pet. Can’t change who we are.” She looked down on the head of the one who was becoming dearer to her by the day. She realized where her thoughts were leading, and started to steer them away from the mention of the L word, but felt too lax to do so. There was no way in Heaven or hell that her friends would accept a relationship with Spike. They’d probably think it was a bad effect of the resurrection spell, and try to do another one on her. God knows, she had to keep them satisfied. Happy. Off her back. Spike was right. They couldn’t change who they were. The only thing they’d ever had was the now. Never any future. No tomorrows. The immediacy of the moment, and nothing more. She was tired of not having a future. She was sick at the thought that tomorrow may not come, and she passed up the chance at today hoping for something, or someone, that might never be. She wanted to feel, and be happy, and be loved. She wanted to love. She wanted to love him. But she could never tell him that, not now. He would believe it was the fire talking, the blood burning, and wouldn’t think twice about holding it against her when the fire was quenched and the pact satisfied for another year. Wouldn’t hesitate to use it to his advantage, and she knew it. So she didn’t speak. She pulled him up by the hair, and he started to yowl in protest, then saw the look on her face. Sheer determination, fierce pride, and unfettered lust warred for dominance on her face, and even his poet’s vocabulary could not have described the resulting look. He could almost believe that it was love, if he tried hard enough. She fisted her hands in his hair, and yanked his face to hers. Her kisses were violent and rough, and what she worried would be a turn-off stoked the flames of need in his belly. He gave as good as he got, his tongue raking the inside of her mouth roughly, his teeth gripping her pouting bottom lip between them. His hands raced over her clothes, helping her shed them as they shredded them, then she was glorious beneath him, warmth and sunshine and life embodied. She reached for his jeans, ripping them open and busting rivets. She grabbed the base of his cock, and fisted it from base to tip and back, watching his eyes roll in his head. Her mouth traveled to his neck when he threw his head back, and she bit her way to the side of his corded muscles where they joined with his shoulder. Seeing his reaction, she was ready, wet and silken and waiting, and she positioned him at her entrance and pulled him inside. So full, so…complete, she thought, and locked her ankles around his hips to keep him from moving. I just want to stay this way forever. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes screwed tightly closed, and edged out of her, then back in. He tried to move, and she tightened her grip on his hips. “Buffy, please. Let me move.” She never opened her eyes. “I just want to stay like this for a minute. Promise you won’t lose it. I just feel so full when you’re inside me like this.” He looked closely at her face, at that secret smile, and relaxed, knowing she would be demanding in a short while. Indeed, after what seemed like a millisecond, she arched her pelvis against him, and allowed him some movement. Slow, shallow thrusts, with her internal muscles rippling around him and her heat warming him to his toes. Liquid fire inside her, lapping at him, demanding him to please. Demanding pleasure. To throw her off, he added a slight upsurge to his downward thrusts, hitting the tightly wound nerves inside her quim and the tip of her cervix at the same time. The pleasure of pain struck her, and she moaned and writhed, wanting more. Her legs relaxed and fell limply to the mattress, and he began thrusting longer and deeper, slamming their hipbones together as he crashed his pubic bone against hers, trapping her clit. He built a rhythm on her heartbeat, speeding up slowly as her pulse rate rose. He grabbed her wrists off his shoulders and stretched her arms wide, lowering his head to capture her nipple in his mouth and pull it between his lips. She arched against him, close to peaking, and he reached between them to touch her clit gently, then harder as she gasped with every thrust. He allowed her nipple to slide from his mouth, and reared up, grabbing her legs and bringing her ankles to his shoulders. He directed his angle of descent, and what was just fullness to her was now something else entirely. She could feel all of him now; the crisp curls pressing against tender flesh, the enormity of his cock, pressing deep inside her, forcing her womb to move with him, his balls slapping and stinging the pucker of her ass, and she opened to him, exposing her heart in her eyes. It was, in a word, a crumb. They stared into each other’s eyes, in wonder, at the sensations and the feelings flooding through them. Drowning, drowning in pools of blue, breathless and floating and cushioned from everyone by his strong arms wrapping around her. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, and he sighed. Reaching down, he brought her legs back to his waist, pressing his forehead to hers. She resisted his silent plea to look at him, and instead concentrated on the incandescent passion building in her. Soon, so soon. Somewhere along the way he had released her hands, and she blindly explored his body with her eyes closed, mouth, tongue and hands mapping the planes and tracing the muscles. Rumbles sounded from deep in his chest as her teeth found a flat nipple, gripping it lightly and releasing it in time with his movements. Her hands reached for his clenching buttocks, and she pulled him deeper each time, gyrating against him with muscles flexing and pulling and sucking. He leaned forward to flick his tongue against his mark, and she bucked against him. Flick, buck, he made her dance and arch and burn for more. He raked her skin with his teeth, and she forced his mark between his lips when she gripped his head. She held him in place with her hand, panting heavily, her mouth pressed to his neck. “Fuck, Spike, missed this…missed you…needed this…Halloween tradition…bite me, love…taste me…I…need….” He penetrated her neck, and her last word came out a scream. “YOU!” His mark and her nerves were closely connected. Every pull on her neck urged her closer and closer, and God, she didn’t want to fall, never again, but she was. Falling and falling, over the edge of the abyss, his body pushing again and again as spasms rocked her repeatedly. This was the real Heaven--to feel like you’re falling and still held safe; this electricity between two people that set off sparks and jolts of passion. She came, and she fell, and she came again. She writhed and bucked, and his demon had a hard time holding on to her, she was so wild. She furrowed his arms and back with her nails and bit him with blunt teeth and enough force to break skin. He let it drive him over the edge, and joined her in the blinding, skin-slipping bonelessness of orgasm. He growled, and nipped her neck, a wordless cry slipping from her lips as she tumbled over with him again. He slowed, then stopped, and rested his head between her breasts. He listened to her heartbeat as she throbbed and trembled around him, and wondered what made it race? Was it him or the sex? He dare not ask. Her breath stirred his curls, and he tried to sink into her warmth, absorbing as much of her heat as he could. She rested there with him buried inside her, buoyant in the oceans of afterglow. She strummed her fingers along the muscles in his back, caressing their corded strength. She purred underneath him, her soft sighs soothing his heart. He raised his head, and looked at her, long and searching. She smiled, a modern Mona Lisa, her secrets safe within her. “Thank you,” she said, on a sigh. “For what?” “For sticking with tradition.” “Buffy—” He hesitated, unsure of how his news would be received. “The pact. It’s been completed. We…it didn’t make us do this tonight.” That smile, curving so very cozily on her lips, sent shivers down his spine. “The scar. It’s gone. The pact was fulfilled when…when you died.” She stretched under him, arching against him, clenching around him, and still said nothing. “Buffy, we didn’t have to do this.” “Yes we did. It’s tradition.” He stared, unable to process the words. She pushed him off her, and rolled off the bed, gathering her clothes. “You know. Every Halloween, we fight, then we fuck, and we go on for the year, itch satisfied. Tradition.” “But the pact….” “Do you really think that I wouldn’t know? I’m resurrected, not stupid. I knew the minute I came back.” She held out her hand. “No scar.” He watched her dress, then watched her walk to the ladder, the wonder back in his eyes. She looked at him, and smiled, bittersweet. “Don’t you know, yet? You’re in my life. It doesn’t take a scar to remind me of you.” She punched her chest with her fist. “You’re here, and even dying couldn’t change that. But it also can’t change anything else.” “What do you mean?” he asked, worried and trying not to show it. “What I mean is, we still can’t. Too much has happened, and I don’t have the energy for this right now.” She started up the ladder, then paused. “I still like the tradition, though. Let’s not stop that.” She disappeared above, and he heard her footsteps cross the floor. Her voice drifted down to him, the barest whisper in the cavernous crypt. “Good night, sweet Spike. Happy Halloween.” *A/N: I can't thank you all enough for the reviews. They feed my soul. Dede, aka Spike_spetslayer

Chapter #10 - Epilogue--Last Kiss

Epilogue Last Kiss *Dedicated to the lovely Megan_peta for her comments, support, whining, and begging, her suggestions, her intelligence, and just being a good friend. Hugs!* She lay with him behind her on the cot in the basement, sharing her warmth. She couldn’t sleep; she never could on the night before the big apocalypse. She was too nervous to close her eyes and too anxious to relax. It was more than just the impending battle on her mind. The battle was, in fact, the last thing on her mind. She was more concerned about the man behind her. She turned over in his arms, twining her legs in his. He was sleeping; the absence of breathing was always a giveaway. She never had figured out why he bothered. It wasn’t like the air did anything for him. She figured it was just his way to seem more human. His face was soft and relaxed in slumber, boyishly so, and she smiled tenderly. While awake, he had a hardened look about him, tenseness in his face and a clenched jaw that made him seem older. Jaded. The only other time she had ever seen this soft look was when he proclaimed his love, and she had slapped it off his face. Her heart ached in her chest for lost time and wasted energy fighting what had been preordained for both of them. He had given her so much over the years. He gave her his heart; she gave him her fist. He gave her love; she gave him pain and rejection. He gave her his soul, and she returned nothing. She wished she could return to the beginning and redo it all. Relive her life for herself, and not for her friends and Watcher. Learn from her mistakes and errors in judgement. Love him the way he deserved to be loved. Her life was filled with regrets, and this was one more. The big one. She touched his hair, and he muttered in his sleep. She didn’t want to wake him. She was so over the whole sex-with-a-vamp-is-bad phase, but sex was not what she needed from him now. It had never really been what she needed from him, although they had been explosively good with each other. What she wanted and needed more than anything else was to tell him how much she felt for him. She thought back to her cookie dough speech in the cemetery. God, the cemetery. It seemed like she spent half her life there already. She could tell that Angel wasn’t going to let it go, especially since it was Spike. She gave that lame-ass speech to get him off the scent and off her back, and somehow it worked. He went back to his safe haven in LA, and she came back here. Spike would have never left her, had the shoe been on the other foot. He would have ranted and raved and finally threatened, and stayed in spite of what she wanted. It was one of the things she loved about him. He did what was right, not what would save his skin. Like the soul. She still was awed by his soul. She could see it sometimes, dancing there in his eyes, and her breath caught in her throat at the beauty of it. He did it for her. He did so much for her. He loved her, wholeheartedly and without reservation, with and without the soul, and she felt shamed. For a human, she was a sorry excuse. She touched his face with trembling fingertips, tears glistening on her lashes. Tomorrow may be her last, or his; there was no way to predict how the battle would go. There never was. Flashbacks flickered like moving pictures in her head, and she relished them. After tomorrow, it may be all she had. Or all he had. She leaned into him, whispering quietly into his ear. “William, I know that you’re asleep, and you may not remember this later, or maybe think it was a dream. I still feel like I need to say some things to you, and maybe you’ll remember them later.” “William, I love you. I think I always have, and I know I always will. You did everything you could to prove yourself to me, and I always threw it back in your face. I was so wrong. You didn’t need a soul. You always had your conscience.” “I love the way you smile, with that little twist to it, that smirk when you know you had me. I love the way we sparred, physically and verbally. I never had a better partner than you. I love the way you knew exactly where to touch me and when. The feel of you. The smell of you. The taste of you.” “I used to dream of the day when my friends would pat me on the back and congratulate me on my excellent taste in vampires. I dreamed of our wedding day more than once, and even plotted it out on paper one time.” “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I could never say the words to you face to face. You showed me the best of you, and I showed you my worst, and you still love me. That amazes me about you. You never gave up on me. You never left me. I was always leaving you.” “Last night, you gave something to me again, and I can’t ever repay you for it. You gave me the strength to believe in myself, when nobody else did. You handed me your heart again, with your words and your touch and your presence, and it made me love you more.” “I love you, William Augustine Giles Worthington. I love you, Spike. I love you with all my heart. And God help me, if I didn’t think you would see it as the champion’s door prize, I would wake you up and beg you to make love to me one last time.” She leaned down, and pressed her mouth to his. “I will always love you. Always remember.” Her tears finally came, and they washed her soul clean with their salty purity. She turned in his arms, and curled into his stomach, his arm draped across her. She pulled the arm closer to her, and tried to sleep. Behind her, Spike opened his eyes. He would never let her know he’d heard her confession, but he locked it inside his heart. She loves me. She really does love me, enough to find out my real name. She loves me. Her breathing evened out, and he knew she slept. It was only then he let his own tears fall. a/n: Many thanks to those faithful on the BSV that reviewed constantly. Tasha, Esther, Megan, Confused Muse, chanel 5, Marzbar, Max, SpaceLord, sue, letitia, idk5743228, zoegrace, BTL, cas, vladt, UncagedMuse, Pin, Dreylin, Elizabeth Anne Summers, and of course, our own redwulf. Thank you for feeding the muse and the artist's soul. I cannot tell you how much your reviews meant.