Chapter One- California Dreamin’
Spike was jerked out of slumber as his crypt door was flung open to crash against the wall. Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself out of his seat, turning to face the Slayer.
“Shoulda known it was you.” Spike sighed, his sardonic tone carrying across the room. He was fed up with the Slayer’s crap. She’d stopped his attempt to get his soddin’ chip removed, so he just didn’t give a bloody damn anymore. “Been nearly six hours.”
“Well, it would’ve been less if I wasn’t busy cleaning up your mess.” Buffy’s voice was harsh, didn’t have to be a genius to tell she was furious. Spike couldn’t believe it. His mess? She really did have the self-righteous-bitch-fury down.
“My mess? I just borrowed the doc.” He shot back derisively, his own rage rising. “The mess is yours, Slayer. Yours and the boy’s.”
Buffy shook her head, tongue in cheek; she couldn’t believe he was pulling this crap. He had kidnapped Riley’s doctor before he could have his surgery, forced the doctor to try to remove his chip- all so he could kill her. How the hell was it her mess? Or Riley’s?
“I’m done.” Pulling her stake from her pocket, she approached him, the weapon held high, level with her shoulder. Ready for a killing blow. Spike watched on, brow furrowed. “Spike, you’re a killer. And I should’ve done this years ago.” She now stood within a foot of him, he could feel her breath lightly brushing on his semi-exposed chest.
Spike studied her face, watching the anger and determination settle against her features. God, she was so bleedin’ infuriating. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Swallowing, he made his decision.
“You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it.”
Buffy faltered, uncertain. “What?”
“End. My. Torment.” His voice was steadily growing louder, but he just didn’t care anymore. His next words dripped in scorn, and to his own surprise, desperation. “Seeing you every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me out of a world that has you in it!” He flung his shirt off angrily, throwing it to the ground, baring his chest to the Slayer’s stake.”Kill me!”
He stood, panting heavily, watching the Slayer’s face. She had lowered the stake slightly, uncertainty plain in her expression. Chest heaving, he waited for the bite of wood into his dead heart, for his release from her constant bludgeoning. From his own suffering.
Buffy raised the stake, stepping forward, closing the gap between them, stopping just before she swung it forward. Spike inhaled sharply, leaning back instinctively. For that short moment, where death seemed imminent, unstoppable, time froze.
The two blondes glared at each other, eyes running over the other’s face. For one second, Spike had no idea what he was going to do. And in the next, he made his decision.
Grabbing the Slayer roughly by the arms, he pulled her forward, mashing his lips against hers. Feeling her warmth against his mouth, his body, feeling her hands move to grip at his elbows, he opened his mouth, forcing his tongue between her lips to tangle with her own.
Squeezing her arms tighter, he inhaled her scent, her flavour. The mix of her budding arousal and her peach lip gloss was like fuel, lighting a fire within him that had died when Drusilla had left him. Desperately, he put more force into the kiss, feeling her hands move down to hold his hips, brushing against his bare skin. Feeling himself growing hard, he pulled her flush against him, biting her lower lip before she forced herself back from him, hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide.
With laboured and unnecessary breath, he watched for her reaction, equally as shocked as her. He didn’t understand the feeling burning inside him, pushing at him to take her, more powerful than lust and more glorious than hunger.
Buffy lowered her hand slowly, confused, stepping slowly closer to the vampire. Raising her hands to hold the sides of his face, she pulled him down for another powerful kiss, shocking herself and Spike. Panting desperately, she bowed her body into his as his hands came up to hold and caress her upper arms and shoulders.
Spike pulled away from her mouth only to rain kisses over her chin, cheek and down over her neck, sliding tongue and lips over the sensitive underside of her jaw.
Buffy moaned slightly as his kissed and sucked at her neck, holding her to him possessively, her next words surprising herself. “Spike, I want you.”
Spike spoke into her neck, uttering the truth he had realised about the fire within. “Buffy, I love you.” Pulling away to gaze at her, he continued. “God, I love you so much.”
Spike shot up in his makeshift bed, chest heaving. “Oh, God no. Please no!”
* * * * * * *
Spike sat frozen, wrapped from the waist down in the peach coloured silk sheets on top of the sarcophagus, a sleeping Harmony lying curled beside him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he clenched his jaw and cocked his head slowly, his mind flashing with the images of his dream. Biting his tongue, he tightened his grip until he drew blood.
Vampires don’t dream. They never dream. The only time they did was when they had their own versions of the famous Slayer dreams, ones that usually showed them some sort of truth. But there was no bloody truth in the dream he just had. There couldn’t be.
He shifted uncomfortably, willing his memory to stop replaying the pictures of the dream. Bloody surround-sound, feeling the warmth and lips and... Goddamn it. What the bleedin’ hell was wrong with him?
Sucking in unneeded breath, he flung the sheet from his naked body, pushed himself from the “bed” and bent to pull on his jeans. Dragging a hand over the side of his face, he glanced back at his bedmate. Should he wake her? Her incessant yapping might stop his brain from the instant replay in his mind. No. He liked her much better when she slept. She talked slightly less... and made more sense.
Drawing his hands into fists he stood unmoving, except for the slight quivering of his arms. Eyes tight shut he bit down on his lower lip, tearing at the flesh until he tasted his own blood again. Fist flying out, it connected with the stone pillar in front of him. He hit it with such force that he buried his fist in the rock, staring at it blankly before pulling the bleeding hand from the stone. Smiling bitterly at his own bloody hand, he shook his head, tilting it back to stare at the ceiling.
He was in love.
With the Slayer.
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