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Title: Pillars of Strength

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Set in Season 5, sometime after The Body.

Disclaimer: Joss. Joss. Joss.

Feedback: Yes please. (email me at zippo_smoke@yahoo.com)

Status : Complete

Summary: Spike's worried that Buffy is losing herself over her mother's death. He goes to her and she finds comfort in his arms.

Author's Note: For this to happen, assume that Buffy never reacted violently or felt disgusted when Spike declared his love.

Pillars of Strength

by SmokeScreen





1630 Revello Drive.



He looked at the cigarette stick nestled between his fingers. He drew it near his lips then expertly sucked on it, long and hard. Ahhh. He watched in fascination how the curling smoke seemed to dance with the dying red-gold embers. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the nicotine seep into his system, trying in vain to calm his nerves.



Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his eyes. His gaze was fixed directly at the wooden front door. Different thoughts started to whirl in his mind as he felt confronted by the question again:



Do I go in?



Both doubt and worry crossed his features, and his left brow arched as he contemplated on all the possible scenarios that might occur if he decides to enter the Slayer's house.



From what he'd heard from that tactless ex-demon in the Magic Shop, the Slayer seemed to be "taking things very well" considering Joyce's death. And he scoffed at hearing that and the rest of the Scoobies' mumbled agreements. Which all sounded forced, by the way. He shook his head. Spike knew they were just reassuring themselves that Buffy was okay. Selfish bastards didn't even want to entertain the idea that maybe she wasn't . They wouldn’t know how to deal with her in that case. The Slayer was already handful on normal circumstances, what more with this…what's the word? Tragedy. Yes, that was it. Useless, needless…fuckin' tragedy. His nostrils flared in anger when a sudden memory attacked him. There was nothing more he hated than the stench of sickness, the reminder of mortality. That's why he tried to turn his own mother. Didn't want to see her die. Didn't want to see her body turn weak and frail everyday.



"Bloody, fuckin' mortals," he spat. That's why he hated being human. There was nothing you could control. Death chooses you and you have no say. God be damned if you were just this innocent person who never looked at anyone with judgment or condescendence in her eyes, so kind, so sincere that even a ruthless vampire felt there was something in him worth saving…making him feel that he can be redeemed. Joyce didn't put on airs, the woman treated him like a person, worthy to be offered a cup of hot chocolate with those little white marshmallows. He felt his eyes sting and immediately, he squared his shoulders as if to shrug those painful emotions off. Now's not the time to fall apart, you git. Not when…



He sighed. Not when the Slayer's down. Probably at her worst.



He hadn't talked to her yet, but he knows that she's not, as Anya so casually described, bloody "taking it well." He had always thought her gang was a stupid lot and these times had proven it.



And why the bloody hell did they leave her and the Bit alone in the house? They should have taken them somewhere else. Given them a time off. Comforted the Bit. Distracted the Slayer. Not leave them in the same place where the body of their mother was found sprawled lifeless on the couch.



Fuckin' Scoobies.



He was making his rounds earlier. He was checking if there were still fledglings stupid enough to taunt the Slayer at a time like this. Spike sensed that there'd be no playing for her, no witty quips, annoying puns and smug tilts of her adorable head.



He saw her just last night, walking to Joyce's fresh grave, face bereft of any emotion. She had no make-up on, she looked cold and pale, only the green of her eyes giving that "Don't fucking mess with me," warning.



Three newly born vamps couldn't take a hint. She allowed them to stalk her for a bit. But meters away from her mother's grave she stopped. She just whipped the hidden stakes out and then threw them casually above her head.



Spike thought she miscalculated when she whipped out four stakes instead of three. Two stakes hit the two vamps straight into their hearts. But when he saw how the third vamp met his demise, Spike told himself what a bloody fool he is, doubting her senses like that.



While the other two vamps were lucky enough to experience only a smidgen of pain before crumbling to non-existence, the other vamp unfortunately had to suffer the pain of bleeding from a stake that went straight into his open talkative, mouth. The shot was so fast, so strong and precise, that it made a barbeque of his tongue and his tonsils. It penetrated out – through the area between the neck and the head, the tip of the stake visible just inches above his nape. The fourth stake was struck just seconds later, straight into the heart.



He brought it upon himself, Spike thought. That certain vamp had made the stupid mistake of telling Buffy she would be his evening meal.



It would have been a great show. He loved watching her fight, when she taunted and danced with those unworthy vamps like that he was just…mesmerized. But last night he couldn’t find pleasure or amusement with what he'd seen. He was just…worried.



Buffy had always been an impressive fighter. The Slayer he couldn’t kill. She was quick, adaptive, and extremely resourceful. And god, was she beautiful. And more often that not, she used her the triple combination of her looks, petite frame and bubbly personality to deceive vamps into thinking she's just a slip of a girl, lost in the woods, vulnerable and helpless. But there was none of those last night. She didn't even turn around to see the three vamps' faces when she dusted them.



His demon tensed with what he'd seen, warning him to flee. Traces of Buffy, the beautiful golden woman that he loved, were absent in that body. His demon saw and recognized something it has never seen for a hundred years:



A female killing machine, almost absolved of all the weakening traits of humanity, a body gifted with a dark force closely linked from the source of his own. A higher, more powerful human-demon:



Pure Slayer.



And he flinched at the recognition. The fallen leaves and branches crackled as he shifted his weight. He saw the slight movement of her jaw and knew that she sensed him. But it wasn't a late kind of sensing. She was in a "Slayer-overdrive" mode so he knew she had already noticed his presence earlier, as soon as he arrived at the scene. It was the sound of the leaves and branches that caught her attention. The sound annoyed her peace.



She walked a few steps, closer to her mother's grave. For a few seconds, she stilled again. Spike was entranced. Even cold and somber like that, she was still so, so beautiful, like a perfectly sculpted marble statue, draped in moonlight. Spike rolled his eyes when he felt his inner William started to make up lines and verses.



Then she turned her head towards his direction. Cold green eyes met blue ones and the silent message was passed.



Go.



She wanted to be alone with her mother. So he nodded and left, his coat swinging behind him as he turned, simultaneously dropping the cigarette on the ground and killing it.



But he left in worry and slight alarm. Buffy, the girl, was slipping, and the Slayer in her was starting to take over, ridding her of emotions.



This was how Slayers dealt with the pain. Killing the feeling was not enough. They tried to remove it completely. Next thing you know, the Wanker's Council would be throwing a party. They'd be having their original girl back. A Slayer like the First Slayer. She'd be cleansed. Purified. She'd be a pure demon killer, obedient to their orders. No more stubborn defiance and attachment to friends and family. No more playful retorts or sunny smiles. No more annoying little expressions. No more love and laughter. No more Buffy.



So yeah, he was really worried.



He thought he'd see her in the shop this night. Taunt her a bit, spar with her, bring that bubbly girl out. But from the supplies basement he could not sense her presence when he dropped by. No Buffy-scent or that particular Slayer heartbeat.



He frowned at that. She couldn't have stayed in her house could she? Not after what happened. So he started making his rounds and caught her scent, surprised when it took him not to the Bronze or the cemeteries, places where she could loosen up, but back to her house. 1630 Revello Drive.



It's too soon. Why is she back here?



He sighed again then cracked the muscles on his neck with a quick turn of his head. He dropped the cigarette and killed it with his boots. He could almost hear Buffy and Dawn's exaggerated coughing as they tell him: Spike! No smoking!



He turned the knob carefully and entered without making a sound. He paused, checking for sounds. Two kinds of heartbeat. His eyes looked up towards the stairs. One was sleeping. The tempo was steady, fast but a little…heavy. Dawn.



The Bit's cried herself to sleep .



He thought to check up on her, but paused as he reached the first step. Might be better to let her rest. At least she was all right.



The other Summers however…



He inclined his head as he suddenly whiffed a strong scent of vanilla.



She was at the kitchen.



Trepidation accompanied each step. Her heartbeat pattern worried him. It was too sure, too calm, too controlled. The rhythm similar to last night's as she slayed those three vamps. He feared she wasn't feeling anything at all.



He paused when he was a meter away.



Her back was turned against him. He heard water running from the sink. He stared, mouth agape as he tried to rationalize the sight before him.



What the fuck?!



The Slayer was washing dishes.



Bloody hell, he thought, wordless as he looked at her turned back, what are you doing, pet?



Spike knew she sensed him. She acknowledged him with a slight movement of her head. But she still didn't look at him.



He took another step. He was now directly behind her and Spike was growing more alarmed because he still, she didn't react.



The moonlight streamed from the window, illuminating her bowed head. He frowned in concern, trying control the urge to touch the tendrils of her hair.



Are you still there, Buffy?



He peered over her shoulder and saw how she rotated the sponge over and over the plate. It was shiny and clean, thoroughly rinsed of dirt. Spike wondered if there was even any in the first place.



Does she even know what she's doing?



So he reached over and turned the faucet off, watching her reaction.



Nothing. She continued her rotating movements. He frowned as he saw the skin on her hands. They were numb and wrinkled. Just how long has she been standing here, washing these bloody plates?



He wanted to shake her out of this reverie, hug her, run his fingers on her back and through her hair, and tell her to cry it out. But he couldn't. He wasn't a fool.



She was not as vulnerable as she looked. Even at her catatonic like state, her guard was up. There was no telling what she'd do. Even his demon was reacting apprehensively with his close proximity to her. Deadly slayer here, Spike . Very deadly slayer. With a flick of her wrist he'd be dust.



But a few more minutes pass and still she continued sponging the plate. And suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. Never mind the possibility of being literally reduced to ashes. He had to snap her out of this trance. She had to wake up.



So tenderly and bit tentatively, he grabbed her wrist, stopping the next round of rubbing. He tossed the sponge away.



Then he heard the plate fall into the sink. It shattered into pieces.



What happened next, he couldn't explain. He didn't see how as soon as he touched her right hand, her left had automatically released the plate it was holding and whipped out a stake which was hidden under the counter. With inhuman speed, her left hand clutched the sharp wood and it poised threateningly right above his heart.



Eyes cold and flashing with a predatory gleam, she struck.



He grimaced, the end of the stake digging into the leather of his coat, penetrating through the cotton of his shirt and his skin. He smelled the blood seeping.



"Slayer…" He held her wrist, stopping just in time before the stake completely pierced him.



It dug an inch deeper.



"Slayer…" he repeated.



Buffy blinked. Once, twice. Then she saw Spike and that pained expression on his face. Her eyes shifted and fell into the stake she was holding and to the cold hand wrapped around her wrist. Then she looked up at him again.



"Vampire." Her slayer senses spiraled. She tightened her hold on the stake and resisted his hold on her wrist. Vampire, yes. Go, kill. But some buried emotion stopped her from digging deeper. Stop, Buffy.



"Slayer," he said for the third time, his accent thick.



Recognition finally flashed into her eyes. "Spike?"



It's Spike.



Confusion crossed her features.



"Doin' chores, pet? Washing dishes not enough?" he rasped. "Wanna vacuum too?"



She stood there, looking at him.



"Stake?" he pointed with a look.



She blinked again and saw the stake she was holding, the tip already pierced into his skin. When her hand relaxed, Spike guided her hand away. Slowly, she withdrew.



She threw the stake into the sink, eyes cold and flashing. "I could have killed you."



"Don't doubt it, pet," he grimaced. "What stopped you?"



Buffy didn't answer right away. Thought swirled in her mind. Not just any vamp. Spike. Cigarettes. Leather. Bleached hair. Dawn's friend. Chipped. Annoying. Helpless. Helpful. In love… She was suddenly aware of how intensely he was watching her.



With you…



She felt chilled and warmed at the same time.



"Well pet? What stopped you?" he asked again.



"Your coat," she stated nonchalantly. "I ruined it."



She ducked the question effectively by stating that. And surely enough, he was suddenly distracted. He glanced down and saw a tiny hole. He took it off and she heard him murmur a string of curses. An alien part of her suddenly felt amused. Spike and his coat. No one gets between them.



He carefully placed the coat on top of the table, then turned back to her, smirking a bit since he knew exactly what she just did. You're not getting off hook, Slayer. "Sod the coat. What's the other reason?" He looked at her questioningly, now demanding an answer. "Thought I was done there for good." He grimaced again. The wound stung.



She frowned, suddenly annoyed by his questions. Yeah, Buffy, why didn't you just stake him? She turned her back on him again as she roughly took the tight ponytail off her hair. Golden tresses fell on the side of her cheek, hiding her face from his view. Spike's fingers itched to touch the silky strands, but the sharp pain on his chest reminded him not to.



She knew he wouldn’t let up. So she decided to give him an unarguable answer. "Dawn. She likes you." She turned to face him again. "She wouldn't survive another… loss."



He nodded. Yeah. It's always Dawn . "Why are you here, pet? You and the Bit, you shouldn't be left alone here. Not this soon."



He saw her tense. "It's our house," her face hardened, and Spike knew she wanted to dismiss the subject. So he didn't press.



"You patrolled?" he asked, still wary but now a bit appeased. He knew he was asking troubling questions. But that's all right. Gotta make her feel. Beneath that coldness, he knew Buffy was still there, somewhere.



She shrugged unenthusiastically. "Did a sweep. Killed them all." She turned her face upward, directly confronting his gaze.



"Impressive."



Another shrug. "I feel…stronger. Quicker."



"Super slayer, ey?" Her statement confirmed his assessment earlier. Tsk.



"You can call it that." Her gaze was suddenly a bit smoky. "Less attachments, more powerful me," she quipped, but to Spike it lacked her trademark chirpiness. "I don't even have to look at them, you know. I just toss the stakes and it hits them." Her eyebrow arched as she looked at him straight. "In all the right places." She bit her lower lip wet it.



He became distracted by that little act. His eyes narrowed and he suddenly felt heady. "I know. I saw you last night," he managed to suss out as he looked at her glistening lips.



"Giles would be proud," she tossed her head. It was cocky and sassy. She bit her lip again. And sexy as hell.



"Yeah, bet the Watcher would."



There was suddenly a glint in her eye. "How about you?" She gave him an overall look. "Like what you… saw?" Her eyebrow arched again, and then she took a step closer to him.



Again he was taken aback both the question and her odd movements. Bloody hell it almost felt like she was…seducing him. But that can't be. No. No. He brushed the thought off.



So to be safe, he just nodded, trying not so much to show how he was affected by the sultry tone of her voice. Both the man and demon in him responded to the woman before him. She was oozing with power and he felt a bit delirious at her presence. Hell, she was tantalizing. Soft and hard. Vanilla and blood. She was the perfect combination of everything that he wanted. And here she was – a woman who knew what she wanted. And right now, if his senses weren't deceiving him, what she wanted was him. Me. Me. Spike gulped.



She continued watching him, something she's never done before and Spike felt a bit displaced. She took another step closer to him, their legs now touching. She bowed her head and Spike looked down in curiosity as she started to press her face on the side of his chest then near his collarbone. Ahhhh…he inwardly groaned.



"Uhh, Slayer?"



"Vampire," she rasped against the cotton of his shirt and she tilted her head upward to meet his eyes. There was a small, evil smile playing on her lips. "You smoked."



It didn't sound like a reprimand, if anything, it sounded like she…like she liked it?



Hell. Spike was dumbfounded, senses spiraling, thought becoming more incoherent with the way she was acting around him. He hardened all over. God do I want her.



"That, I did pet," he said, looking down at the depth of her eyes, trying to rationalize what's happening. And what he saw astonished him.



In her gaze was death…



…and desire.



He gulped, his nostrils flared, smelling her aroused scent. God, Buffy.



Her small, soft hands started to travel on his biceps and Spike inwardly shivered at her touch.



"I'll try it sometime," she breathed near his lips.



He closed his eyes for a bit, the feel of her, warm and pliant against him was just too much.



"You wouldn't like it," he warned her. "Hate it on me, remember?" Bloody hell , he mentally groaned at the feel of her softness pressing against him, trying to create friction.



"I lied." Her lashes fluttered. " I like its smell on you." And as if to prove her point, she nuzzled her face on his chest again, closed her eyes and breathed near his lips as the tip of her tongue licked his lower lip. "Soo good."



"Ppp-et," he groaned. What a seductress she was. Haven't even touched her properly and I'm already on my knees. Her little fingers started to rub circles around his nipples.



"Hmmm Spike," she rasped, "You're so hard," she ground herself more against him and Spike instinctively thrust against her. "Goddd…" he murmured against her hair.



Then all of a sudden, she stopped.



"Wait."



Spike's body cried out in frustration. Bloodyfuckincocktease…!



He lashed out angrily. "Don't fuckin' play with –"



She took a step back and watched him. "Blood."



He noticed blood on her fingers. And Spike was reminded of the wound she had inflicted upon him earlier.



"Ah," he said dumbly, "Mine." And he glanced down on his chest, feeling for the first time how the fluid spread messily on the area near his breast due to her earlier rubbing. The thought registered deep in his mind. The Slayer was grounding her pussy against him. The Slayer was touching his nipples. Gahhh…



"Take your shirt off."



Bossy bitch. His eyes narrow at the cold command, but he secretly enjoyed it. So he took it off and used it to nurse the fresh wound, all the while aroused with her earlier caresses and feeling a bit confused because he felt her eyes take a possessive and appreciative look on his body. She really did want him. But the "why?" part, he couldn't answer. And frankly, for the moment, he didn't care. He just wanted to feel her hot, taut little body against him again.



He tossed the shirt aside then looked at her. Her eyes traveled from his abdomen then to his face, no girlish giggle or blush betraying that dark and lust-filled gaze.



"Buffy?" he questioned, trying to make sense of what's happening and at the same time, trying to control his own arousal. The woman just drove him crazy.



He thought she flinched when he said her name, because she turned around again, her back now facing him. He frowned because he couldn't see her face.



But as he felt her lean on him, her entire body relaxing into his, he stopped complaining.



She arched. Like a kitten she moved, stretching and rubbing herself on him, golden hair teasing his bare chest, the tendrils tainted with his blood, her head nuzzling his neck. "Mmmm…" she purred.



He was too shocked to move, but he was already aroused as hell, her scent intoxicating him. He felt her hands, cold from being previously soaked in running water, grab both of his and she guided them over her body. Lightly over her thighs and hips, passing teasingly over her jean-covered crotch, then she made him rub his palms over her clothed stomach. Slowly, she took them up to her breasts and urged him to squeeze.



And he did. "God…Slayer, wanna fuck you so bad…" he murmured against her ear. Soft. Hard. Soft. Hard. He closed his eyes, groaning lightly as he hardened, shifting a bit so his erection could nestle right between her ass. She guided one of his hands down to her crotch and spread his fingers so they cupped her pussy.



"Ah…yess…" She moved and panted as he cupped her so hard that it felt like he was touching her without her clothes. He instinctively thrust his erection into her ass, rubbing himself on her as he rubbed her. He felt her turn her head, felt her moist, hot tongue licking the skin on his chest, over the wound she created, then to his neck. Together they moved, finding a hot and torturous rhythm that mimicked that age-old act.



She felt so hot and smelled so good, never in a million years he'd thought that this would happen. He thought about it. Hell, fantasized about it every night. And now…



"Spike…" she finally turned around to face him and gently lapped the skin on his neck. Then she licked her blood-soaked fingers and sucked on it. Then she brought it near his lips and he eagerly sucked at it. In, out. In, out. He sucked and bit her finger. "Take me…fuck me…hard," she rasped. Then from his mouth, she traced her finger down his body, caressing his cock through the cloth of his jeans.



Gaahh… He stilled his movements for a moment as the one rational thought crept into his brain.



"Buffy, luv…you're grieving," he rasped helplessly as her fingers stroked him through the denim. He was nipping the side of her face, then his lips traveled down to her lobe, stopping to nibble it.



"No, I'm needing ," she brought his hand now under her shirt and it felt like lava scorched his skin. He trembled as he caressed her flat abdomen.



Think, Spike, think. She's not herself. "I can't."



"Yes you can. I know you want to." Her tongue glided over the area over neck where his pulse should have been. She nipped lightly then bit with her blunt teeth as she rasped, "You know you want to."



He groaned with the feel of her biting his skin. One last protest. "Luv, please, you're…"



"Don't be like them. Don't tell me what to feel," she buried her face at the crook of his neck, and her body gyrated with slow urgency. "Just make me feel." She grabbed his head, lowered it to hers and whispered, "I thought you love me Spike," her eyes bore into his, deep and pleading. "Just do this for me."



Then she kissed him. Hot, urgent, their tongues immediately mingling. She bit softly into his lip, tracing her tongue over the light bruise she created and panted, "Let's dance, Spike…"



And god did he succumb.



Her taste , Spike thought as he kissed her deeper, loving the feel of her tongue and lower lip, switching from small soft nibbles to fast, hard suctions. Her kisses were raw and hard. He tasted a metallic tang on her tongue and he knew it was blood from his own lips from where she bit and sucked too hard. He groaned as he smelled her arousal grow stronger and continued to kiss her.



"Cigarettes…blood…rum…want you so much…" he heard her mumble incoherently as she cited his flavors every time she stopped to get some air. She started to suck on his tongue again and she released him momentarily to moan, "Spike…taste so good…"



He could only groan one word, "Buffy…" and he said it over and over again as if to convince himself that this is really happening. That she's not a dream.



His hands now needed no guidance from her. Their tongues continued their wild duel as he cupped both of her breasts, squeezing and releasing, applying different kinds of pressure, his thumbs circled around the hardened nipples and pressed. Then he traveled under her shirt, unclasped her bra, and his cold hands came in contact with her warm softness.



"God…" she groaned as his lips traveled down to lick and squeeze her breasts.



"Like that, Slayer?" he mumbled as he toyed with one nipple with his blunt teeth, worrying it, blowing at it, then sucking it so hard, she buckled under him.



"Ahhh…Spike, yess…"



He did the same with her other nipple and he felt her starting to melt, the pleasure was just too much, so he moved them so her back was supported by the sink.



He took her shirt off, and for the first time their bare skins came into contact. Both groaned at the feel of each other.



"Hot…you're so…"



"Cold…god…more Spike…" She licked the skin near his jaw, biting him a bit. She didn't know why she was suddenly overcome by these animalistic urges and she didn't care. She wanted to consume him, she wanted him to consume her. Over and over and over…



"Ahhh…" she groaned as she felt his fingers now reaching inside her jeans. "Goddddd…" she rasped, feeling him rub her clit, using the silky texture of her panties to tease her. "More…"



Spike felt her fingers dig into his back, and her blunt teeth nipping his jaw and neck. God, she's biting me…holy fuck…



"Slaye—" he groaned, feeling her small, soft hands opening the button of his jeans then slowly clasping his hard cock. His strokes on her pussy took on a faster pace with every pull of her hand. "God I want you so much…" he rasped, licking her neck, bluntly biting her and he felt her gasp. He did it again and she nearly buckled in his hand.



"Inside…want you inside now…"



"No, no not yet…" He groaned as she pumped him faster.



"Spike! Don't teas –ahhhhh…" he watched as her face tilted in ecstasy, her neck now bared as he inserted his two fingers inside her. He licked her, from her collarbone to her jaw. "Buffy...Buffy…Buffy…my baby…" he babbled. "My sweet, sweet baby." He kissed her again.



Baby…baby. I'm his baby… He was saying everything right. He was doing everything right, providing her with the comfort and loving she desperately needed this night. She caught his other hand and slid his pointer finger into her mouth, mimicking the movements of his other hand below. "Spike…" She bit his finger, moaning low, "Lemme taste. More…" She bit again.



Spike groaned, he vamped out and sliced the tip of his finger with a sharp fang, and then he recovered his human face and looked at her intently with his blue eyes. He then brought his finger to her lips. He watched, mesmerized as she touched it then slipped it inside her mouth. "Fuck, Slayer…"



She sucked on it, drawing his borrowed blood out, gently lapped at it, as his other fingers continued to thrust in and out of her folds. He inserted three fingers now and he felt her moan. His own dick was hard, and he felt her fingers increase their pressure on him. He moved his head down, sucking again on the skin of her neck, trying to erase those past scars as his fingers continued movement inside her pussy, so sleek and wet, while she continued to suck and bite on his other finger.



"Spike…faster…harder."



Together they pumped each other. Spike pressed her clit and she groaned. Spike felt her quivering and knew she was near. "Now Slayer," he nibbled her soft lips. "Inside you, now."



Spike took out his fingers from her sopping pussy, then he brought it near his mouth and she watched him taste her juices. "Tastes so good, Slayer," he murmured, mimicking her earlier statement, and he smiled.



Her lashes fluttered as she suddenly felt his hand pull her panties down to her knees then he teasingly rubbed his cock over her clit. She gritted her teeth and hissed, "Now…now…"



Spike smiled at her demands but immediately, his eyes rolled back when the tip of his cock entered her.



"Yes…god…yess…"



Inch by inch he entered her, until with one, hard stroke, he rammed his entire length inside her, bringing out a simultaneous groan from them both.



"Spike…"



"Buffy…"



Buffy felt so overwhelmed, her Slayer senses were tingling, warning her that what she had in her was a demon. But though that part of her rebelled, another part exalted that it was this certain vampire that was pleasuring her. His body knew her body's tune. Knew its rhythm. Knew where to touch, where to press. This was a vampire worthy of a Slayer's body.



"Sooo good…" she clasped her arm around his neck then pressed her body to his as she nuzzled his neck tenderly. "Mine…my Spike…my vampire…"



What is she saying? Oh God…Don't do that luv, don't tempt me . "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy…" he mumbled, feeling his demon trying to emerge, wanting to dominate her completely, he tried desperately to control it.



They moved fluidly, with a graceful rhythm unique to them. It was their dance. Theirs.



"My Slayer…my girl…my love…" he rasped near her neck, over the old bite marks, kissing, nipping, and tenderly tilting her over and over. I love you, Buffy. Don't wanna lose you, ever… He crushed her closer to him, feeling every inch of her clamping him. Hot. So hot.



Suddenly, he felt wetness dripping on the side of her face. She was crying. Crying! He tried to cup her face and turn her to face him but she wouldn’t.



She buried her face near his neck, comforted by the feeling his cock moving inside her, while her heart burst with emotions she tried to bury. "Are you going to leave? Are you leaving me too, Spike?"



He stopped moving, his cock embedded fully in her. She turned and they were face to face, noses almost touching, eyes locking. Her gaze now devoid of that raw, predatory gleam.



And Spike saw the girl. Saw Buffy. Saw his Slayer. Frightened. Lonely. Mourning. Needing. Asking for stability. Asking for love.



He tenderly cupped her cheek. "Never."



She bit her lip and a tear fell from her eye and it dropped on his hand. He was shaken by her vulnerability at that moment. "Prove it." She bared her neck.



He stilled. She was asking him. Asking him to…



"Spike…" She started to move under him, creating a slow and torturous pace, then she pulled his head down and she whispered near his lips as she gently nibbled, "Claim me. Make me yours." Then she inserted her tongue inside his, twirling it. Then she bit his lips harder, this time drawing blood. "Yours Spike, make me - "



She didn't have to finish what she was saying. In a second, he lapped at her neck and then he vamped out, his fangs penetrated the virgin side of her neck.



"Oh god…" Buffy moaned at the feeling. Pain and pleasure mixed as he embedded his fangs in her, drawing blood as his cock rammed into her fast and deep.



He almost passed out at the taste of her blood. Slayer. Buffy. Love. Both man and demon made the claim. "Mine."



"Ohgodohgod…ahh."



"My slayer, my girl…all mine," he thrust deep into her. "Say it." One more hard stroke and Buffy groaned in pleasure. "Say it Buffy."



"Yours, Spike. All yours…" she cried in pleasure as she bowed down her own head and shocked him by piercing her own teeth at the side of his neck.



"Mine…" she rasped, sucking his blood. "My vampire. My man. My Spike…say it…" she licked him. "Say you're mine," she whispered near his ear. "Say you'll never leave me, Spike. Say you'll stay," and Spike felt her crying again.



She felt his demon visage disappear. "Yours luv," he murmured as he felt her tongue lapping at his neck. He simultaneously licked the wounds he created on her neck. "Always yours. I'll never leave."



And then he embraced her tenderly as they rocked. Buffy thought it was the most intimate, most wonderful thing she had ever experienced in her life.



They turned and lips and tongues met. Buffy moved her hips upward as Spike squeezed her breast. She clamped his cock with her muscles and squeezed him hard as he thrust deep into her, one last time.



"Godddd…" she convulsed as she hit her climax.



"Buffy…" he cried near her lips, groaning hard as he spilled his seed inside her.



And they stayed molded in each other's bodies for a few minutes, his cock still inside her, arms wrapped around each other. Buffy gently lapped at the bite marks she created, kissed and licked them softly as she felt Spike purr, his own lips gently nibbling his own bite marks.



A satisfied smile played into her lips as her hands played with the hair on the back of his head. Someone loved her. Someone would always be here to stay. She would never feel alone again. She felt cherished, protected. All because of Spike. My Spike, she thought as a strong feeling of possessiveness rushed into her.



"Mmmm…" she murmured contentedly, feeling her body relax for the first time since that day.



So many thoughts whirled into Spike's mind but he didn't say it. He just held her, caressed her, and petted her. He felt her body grow limp and he smiled at that. Wore out the bloody Slayer. He kissed her neck affectionately then slowly pulled out from her.



"Ummph," she cooed, eyes closed, nuzzling him. "Don't move."



"Tired pet?" Spike looked down at her. Her hair was a mess. She was pink and sweaty from exhaustion. She looked freshly ravished. And she smelled wonderful.



She nodded. "Up. Take me up."



Her room. An invitation to her room.



He kissed her forehead, his chest tightening at the emotions that rumbled inside him. She's mine. She's really mine.



He gently pulled away from her. He fumbled with his own clothing, trying to put everything in place. As soon as he was done he started to fix her up. He bent down to retrieve her blouse and bra, then started to dress her up.



Buffy watched, overwhelmed at the loving and tender expression on his face as he motioned for her to put her hands up. She did as he ordered and he slipped her shirt. Then he bent down again and pulled her panties and jeans up.



Then like a child, she held out her hands. Automatically, he picked her up and carried her upstairs, one arm hooked under her knees, the other supporting her back and waist. She was fast falling asleep.



Spike felt her warm breath near his cheek and smiled at her trust.



He opened the door to her room. But he almost tripped with just the first step. He glanced down to kick whatever object it was.



He froze.



It was a wooden stake. He looked around.



One wooden stake out of a hundred that was scattered around her room. He couldn’t even see the floor. Bloody hell…



He glanced at the woman he held. She lay there in his arms, breathing softly, heartbeat relaxed – none of that scarily steady and cold beat of an overdriven Slayer. This was just Buffy. His eyes were drawn to the bite marks he created. My Buffy. Truly mine.



He kicked the stakes out of his way, trying his best not to disturb her. Then he tenderly placed her on the bed. It was immaculately clean and it was the only place in her room without the pointy objects. Heck, there were even stakes beside her comb and brushes.



She curled up and snuggled into the sheets. He smiled as he watched her. Then he proceeded into the dangerous task of clearing her room of the said pointy objects.



He made a pile of the stakes at the safe corner of her room then shook his head at the number and height. Now, you don't wanna trip on that do you, mate?



He then walked over her drawer then pulled out fresh underwear and her girly pajamas. He walked toward the bed and sat on the edge. She immediately stirred.



"Hmmph…" she murmured, annoyed. "Stop moving. C'mere…"



Now an invitation to her bed. Her bed.



He smiled. "In a while, pet. Gotta get you outta these first," he murmured as he kissed her cheek and he felt her smile. "Up again luv," he ordered and she held up her arms, eyes still closed. To Spike, she looked adorable, like a little girl. He can't help smiling again. Hard to believe this was the same woman whom he ravished and who ravished his body just minutes ago.



He unzipped her boots then pulled out her jeans and panties. He looked at her for a minute, golden, naked, smooth and sexy as she yawned. He slowly dressed her and he was rewarded by a light pull on his head. "Comfy…" she murmured as she kissed him softly. She slowly opened her eyes, and told him, "Up Spike."



The order didn't register until he felt her pull his coat and shirt off. "Boots," she said and he immediately unlaced it. She shifted, trying to get inside the comforters. "Get in," she told him softly.



He was wordless as the bed shifted with his weight. He settled comfortably and she snaked her one arm across his chest, her leg draped across his thigh, her head tucked under his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, a bit frightened at just how strong his feelings were for her.



He felt her fingers idly running across his chest. He started purring again.



Buffy held him closer to her. She felt soothed by the rumbling sound vibrating on his chest. She yawned, her eyelids dropping. She snuggled deeper and he tightened his hold on her.



"What am I to you, Spike?" her voice was just above a whisper. "What am I?"



He felt her tense and Spike knew she was feeling vulnerable again. So he kissed her forehead and told her, "Everything luv. Just about everything."



He felt her body grow completely limp and relaxed and he then knew she was asleep.



It was during the middle of the night when he woke up at the sound of soft, controlled sobbing.



"Buffy?" She was curled up, hugging her body protectively.



"She's really gone isn't she?" she murmured, face wet with tears. "My mom's dead." She cried harder. "My mom's dead," she repeated. "She's gone…never coming back…oh Spike…" she sobbed.



"Shhhh…I'm here, luv." He drew her back into his embrace. He stroked her back and her hair, soothing her, comforting her. She cried and cried and all he could do is hold her tightly as she rode out her grief. A couple of minutes later, she quieted and she started to caress the bite marks on his neck as let sleep overtake her again. Only when he was sure she was sleeping soundly did he close his eyes and joined her.



He woke up a few minutes before dawn, prepared to disentangle himself from Buffy's soft body and head back into his crypt. But he as he opened his eyes and looked around, he saw that thick blankets were already draped over her windows. He looked at her with wonder and love as he drew back a wayward lock of blond hair from her cheek.



He knew that on her side the claim was brought about by need and grief. After this she might just wake up and tell him to leave. But it was different for him. He loved her. He was hers. Completely.



He looked down at her and he was surprised because she was staring up at him. She was awake after all.



"Hi," she said softly.



He shifted so that his eyes leveled hers, their foreheads now touching. "That was thoughtful of you love, the blankets, I mean."



"Didn't want to wake up beside a pile of dust," she drummed her fingers on his chest.



He smiled, happy she wasn't kicking him out. "Care to explain that other pile?" he tossed his head towards a certain part of the room.



She followed her gaze and saw all the wooden stakes she sharpened and collected over the past few days.



"Overdrive," she stated, now a bit sad. "I had to think of something else besides…" she exhaled, now trying to say the words out loud, "besides Mom's death."



He hugged her again. "I'm sorry luv," he murmured, caressing her cheek, knowing this was the perfect time to say his condolences, when she's finally accepted what happened.



She nodded then kissed his fingers. "I was losing myself Spike." She was teary eyed. "Before tonight I couldn't…feel. I couldn’t even cry. I was just…that – that Slayer. " She pouted. "No Buffy."



He caressed her back and said, "None of that now pet," he tipped her chin upward. "You're back now." He embraced her tightly.



She snuggled deeper into his embrace, loving the feel and smell of him. He was starting to purr again, and Buffy can't help but giggle. "Ummm….about the claim…"



He inwardly groaned. "Don't think about it…"



"Spike…" She drummed her fingers into his chest and felt the wound. Hmmm, gotta clean that up later.



"Slayer," he started. "Just…" he sighed. Leave it luv. Don't ruin this moment. After this day, you can say all the nasty things you want to. Just give me this – the memory of you in my arms.



"I'm sticking by it."



He froze and looked at her.



Her lashes fluttered a bit as she softly explained, "I can't say I love you…I don't…yet…but I can…" she bit her lip, now confused, "And I want to. I wanna try…" she hid her face in his neck, unconsciously seeking the marks she placed there. "I don't want to be the one who always gets left behind. Always left for something else. I don't want to be alone." She found the marks and kissed it, nipping it gently and Spike groaned.



"You would never be alone, Buffy." He kissed the side of her neck then traced a path from her jaw down to his own marks and licked it. "You have me."



He felt her nod and then he brought her face up so he could kiss her lips. "I love you, Buffy," he said, unable to control himself and her eyes misted. Their tongues entwined and Spike scooped her possessively to his chest as she came up for air. Then she kissed his chest wound.



"Still hurt?"



He smiled, feeling himself harden a bit as she draped a thigh over him and arched a bit. "Yeah. But not the way you're thinking," he leered evilly as he nudged his erection into her pussy and Buffy softly mewled as he bit gently into her neck. "Mmm…Spike…" she murmured as her hand traveled down to stroke him through his jeans. "So hard…" she rasped as she cupped him and he softly grunted. "Bad, naughty Slayer…" he groaned at the feel of her hands and he felt her smile.



A soft knock on her door prevented him from touching her.



"Buffy?"



The couple stilled.



"Dawn," Spike murmured and Buffy nodded. He started to get up but Buffy held him down. "No. Stay."



"But – " he started to protest but he put a finger on his lips. Then slowly, tenderly, she kissed his lips, trying to let him feel what she felt – immense gratitude and budding love. "It's okay."



He nodded and settled back comfortably.



"Come in, Dawn." Buffy called out.



Dawn entered, eyes a bit red and her tangled. Buffy's heart ached. Her sister was crying all night too.



Dawn stood a foot away from her sister and belatedly questioned. "Spike?"



"Hey, Bit," he drawled, a bit afraid of her reaction.



But she just nodded, no questions asked, and then turned to her sister again. Her eyes started to water. "I had a dream about Mom…she was alive…she's not gone…not gone…" and the tears started to fall.



"Oh Dawnie…" Buffy held out her arms and Dawn immediately sank into the invitation. Spike moved, allowing more space for Dawn as she snuggled near Buffy.



"What are we going to do Buffy?" Dawn asked in a small, frightened voice. "How will we…?"



"It's okay, it's okay…" Buffy soothed her as Dawn sobbed and snuggled. "I'm here…"



Spike watched, his heart aching as both sisters cried. He stroked Buffy's back then reached out so his arm enveloped the two small Summers. His two girls.



Buffy kissed the top of her sister's head then turned to face Spike as she gave him a soft smile, her last words echoing and burrowing deep into his heart and mind.



"We're here, Dawn." She stressed the first word as she looked at Spike deeply, her other hand tracing his face. Spike smiled at the implication as she repeated it.



"We're here."


The End.