She wasn’t sure why she went. Yes, she was the Slayer, the Chosen One, blah blibbity blah blah, and it was her sacred duty to do away with the evil creatures that went bump in the night. But Sunnydale was her gig, her turf.
Technically, Spike was outside that realm.
And good riddance, or so she tried to tell herself.
She attempted to rationalize her actions as she walked out the door, Mr. Pointy tucked away in her coat pocket – she was just doing like she said she would do – but to no avail. Telling herself that the vampire could come back into her hometown at any given moment, thus necessitating a trip to Chuck and Sally’s to tell Spike to scram, didn’t actually sound too convincing to her own ears.
Even less so to her subconscious.
Which was right on time telling her the true reason she was braving the surprisingly chilly night – and an extremely long walk – to go see Spike.
“You want to know why he left, don’t you? One-time-girl Summers, that’s what they’re calling you behind your back. Just can’t seem to keep a man… or a vampire.”
“Shut up—and it wasn’t just the one time with Spike. It was two… technically,” she muttered into the darkness. Her mouth snapped shut; she was doing it again. Arguing with herself out loud. If she kept it up, she’d wind up committed… again.
Anger had her eating up the ground, and before long she was there. Staring at the shabby two-story house that tried to pass itself off as a bed and breakfast.
“Just like Spike to pick a dump like this to hole up in,” she grumbled as she marched up the walk.
The door was unlocked, surprisingly, and shaking her head at the foolishness of the people running the place, she let herself inside and walked up to the vacant counter. A light was on, but no one was about. Buffy rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to call out, but caught sight of a ledger perched near the edge of the counter. Her jaw dropped, spying Spike’s named scrawled in – again with no small amount of surprise on her part – very legible, almost elegant handwriting.
Following in tradition, she picked up the quill that was actually a ballpoint pen and scrawled her own name… of sorts.
No one stopped her as she climbed the stairs and sought out the vampire that had issued his challenge earlier on the phone. Once she reached the top, she pulled Mr. Pointy out of her pocket, stretched her senses to determine which room belonged to him.
Wasn’t really needed since there was only one door closed on the second landing. Chuck and Sally’s business didn’t appear to be thriving. But then, as she’d walked through the neighboring city of Sunnydale, she hadn’t really noticed a lot of activity there either.
One horse town, she thought they were called on the westerns her mother liked to watch sometimes. With determination in her step, she strode down the hallway and banged on the door.
It opened abruptly, and Buffy gasped when Spike was suddenly there. Devoid of the duster that had been his trademark look. Devoid of a lot of things, she noticed, eyes going wide as they swept over him from head to toe.
Oh. My. God.
Toes. Naked toes were peeking out from beneath pale denim that was slung low on his hips. She concentrated on that, rather than the pale – and once again with the naked – chest staring her smack dab in the face.
Mr. Pointy clattered to the floor, forgotten.
Her brain shut down, much like it had when she’d been under the spell. She moved forward, as if in a trance. Vaguely noted that Spike was backing up to let her into the room. Her mouth watered and she wanted nothing more than to reach out, to touch again the body that had been so much a part of her dreams.
The slayer had still yet to look him in the face after that first time, Spike noticed.
If she had bothered to look, she would have seen eyes that flicked from deep blue to yellow, watching her with predatory intent, waiting for her to come all the way inside so that he could close the door behind her.
For little did the slayer know that Chuck and Sally were, in truth, Ghreshlov demons. The establishment they ran was pretty well-known among the demon underground. Though it looked deserted just then, Spike knew that as night gave way to day, the place would start filling up. Demons looking for somewhere to lay their heads, or wanting to get their freak on, could do so without being disturbed.
The Ghreshlovs had each room soundproofed and made it so the bedroom doors could only be opened from within, and only with a specially made key handed out upon registration. The entire place had also been magicked – powerful stuff, enough to make his demon sit up and take notice – protecting those nestled safely within the boundaries of their property from human and demon alike – an added bonus given the arrival of the Initiative to the Hellmouth.
Just a few more steps and the slayer would be his…
Then she’d passed beyond the wide arc of the bedroom door and Spike slammed it shut. Grinned as the slayer jumped in surprise at the sudden, loud noise.
“So good of you to come, pet,” he growled as he morphed into his demon. One hand latched onto her throat and easily lifted her up into the air.
Buffy went from dazed and horny to panicked and angry in the blink of an eye. Her first thought was “oh no, the chip is out… Spike can hurt me,” which led to thoughts of Angel and the loss of his soul and “can I actually kill him?” Then her mind shut down and the slayer in her took over. Her fingers closed around the single hand steadily choking the life out of her—
“He’s not though.”
And sure enough, while the grip was a bit painful, she could breathe easily. The second that dawned on her, she relaxed; the adrenaline seeped out of muscles gone rigid with fight or flight tendencies, and she found herself standing on her own two feet in front of Spike, staring into eyes that appeared hopeful, yet very wary.
“Think this is the moment where one of us says ‘we need to talk’,” Spike tried to joke, but it came off sounding flat. He sighed then and backed further into the room, careful not to turn his back on the slayer; though her stake was on the other side of the door, there was no small amount of things cluttering up the room for her to brandish as a weapon.
She followed after him looking more confused than physically hurt… or mad. He counted that as a good thing. Maybe she would be up to listening to his story, rather than skip to the fighting. She still wasn’t looking at him, however, instead choosing to gaze about the room. Probably a good thing in the long run, given that he wasn’t quite sure he could actually say what he needed if he had to look her in the eye.
Spike opened his mouth to speak, but the slayer beat him to it, barking out the two words as more of an invitation to continue rather than a question.
“Still in here, Slayer,” he replied, waving with one hand towards his head.
“Yeah, but does it work?” she demanded, hands on hips and gifting him with an evil glare she seemed to reserve specially for him.
“If I’m inside the city limits it does.”
That seemed to shut her up quickly, Spike noted. He waited a minute to see if she had more to say – she did.
“Then what did you come back for? I mean, evil, grrr… right? Get to have your Happy Meals on Legs now, don’t you?”
“Haven’t eaten anyone since I found out, Slayer,” he told her quietly, his voice oddly resigned. “And before you ask, I guessed about a week after I’d gone. Spent the next few weeks figuring out if it was true. As long as I stay away from the Hellmouth…”
“You get to be a real vampire,” Buffy finished.
“Got it in one, luv.”
“Why do you think, pet? Told you on the phone. Can’t bloody think but for the memory of you. Of what we’d done. We’re good together, Slayer. So bloody good together. Do you know how rare that is?”
Buffy shook her head, denying his claim. “No…”
“Don’t lie, pet. Doesn’t become you.”
“You’re evil, Spike. I can’t… I just… It wouldn’t work. For one thing, Giles—”
“Sod your bloody watcher!” Spike snapped as he jumped to his feet and began to pace. He stopped suddenly and pierced her with a look. “Do you think this is easy for me? Out here I’m a god. A bloody vampire. A master vampire at that. Top of the food chain. I go back with you and I even look crossways at a human and I’ve got a bloody migraine to end all migraines. But I’d do it… for you.”
Buffy fell back against the mattress and groaned. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep for the next twenty-four hours straight, but with the mattress situated as it was, half on and half off the box spring, she didn’t think she could pull it off. For one thing, it was damn uncomfortable. For another, she was moving, gravity pulling her down so that her feet were splayed out on the floor and she was practically sitting upright.
“I’m tired,” she whined to the vampire in much the same predicament as her. Careful not to look over at him, or they’d be going at it like bunnies again. Like they’d been doing for the last – she squinted at the wall clock that appeared on the verge of falling from its perch – four hours. This time without the benefit of a spelled apple.
She wasn’t quite sure who had made the first move after Spike’s declaration. Their mouths had fused together as their hands had sought the other’s clothes, practically ripping things to shreds in their haste to get naked. Frantic with the need to be joined together again. And now. To prove to themselves and each other how right they were together… no matter that they’d once been enemies.
It had taken four hours. Four hours of the two of them making love to each other in any way imaginable – and some Buffy hadn’t imagined. Making a thorough mess of Spike’s rented room. Buffy doubted there was a surface left untouched before they’d finally made their way back to the bed, intent on sleeping. At least until Buffy had turned the aggressor and shoved Spike back against the mattress and quickly straddled his lap before she’d lost her nerve. It had been a first, her taking control like that, and she’d nearly ridden Spike into the ground, much to the vampire’s delight, before she’d stiffened above him and screamed out her release, her cries mingled with Spike’s own. She’d collapsed on top of him after her orgasm, sated and happy, muscles like limp noodles. So much so, that it had taken her three tries before she could roll off him and settle beside him on the lopsided mattress.
“’m all shagged out myself, luv,” Spike replied, too worn out to bother opening his eyes to look her way.
“Spike… I want to go to sleep. Do something.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Fix the bed. I can’t sleep sitting up. And find the sheets. There were sheets, right? I distinctly remember there being sheets.”
Spike cracked one eye and quirked his brow.
“Why can’t you fix it?”
“Because… because you’re the guy. All manly and guyish. And you’re the one that got the bed this way.”
“May have got the sheets all askew, but, pet, you’re the one that got the mattress this way. Distinctly remember you riding me at a hard gallop just now—”
“Spike!” Buffy shrieked, swatting at his arm.
She blushed from head to foot, something Spike found particularly enticing. The blush and her flustering. He felt his cock start to swell and groaned – there was no way he’d be up for another go without a few hours’ kip. Vampire stamina only extended so far, no matter what his dick thought otherwise.
“Right then… up you go,” he told the slayer as he scooched to the edge of the mattress and stood up. “Have us fixed up in a jiffy.”
Spike helped the slayer to her feet and made short work of repairing some of the damage caused by their four-hour orgy. Afterwards, the two climbed wearily between the freshly made bed and snuggled together as they both drifted off to sleep.
The two still had a few kinks to work out in their budding relationship, particularly her friends’ and watcher’s reaction, but there was no denying that Spike was going back to Sunnydale with Buffy.
A/N: Finished now, nice and open-ended, and leaving you all (hopefully) with a much happier Spuffy season 4. Don't plan on doing any more with this one, gotta get back to my other bagillion plot bunnies that are nipping at my heels. Oh, and my vamp, Alric. Hope you all enjoyed! ^_^
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