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Harbingers of Beatrice by Holly
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Breathe Into My Pain

“You all right, love?”

It was the first thing that left his lips, and it sounded stupid to his own damn ears. What sort of question was that?

He wasn’t surprised, then, when she laughed.

“Oh yeah,” she said in a voice that almost sounded like her own. “I’m swell.”

Spike swallowed hard, feeling at once like the world’s biggest prat. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know.” Buffy leaned forward until her brow was pressed to his, her eyes—clear now in ways they hadn’t been before—soaking him in. Fuck, she looked like she…

He swallowed again. “Slayer—”

“Can you…can you kiss me?” She looked away the moment the words left her, and he watched, mesmerized, as her skin flushed. “I need to know you’re real.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He seized her cheeks between his hands and drew her mouth to his, every inch of him breaking into bloody song. It wasn’t real, he knew. It could never be real. But he could pretend for a while.

“You’re sweet,” she murmured against his lips.

Spike blinked and pulled back. “I’m what?”

She did not answer, rather looked at him with eyes like saucers. Eyes that could tempt him to his last strand of decency.

It was awe. Bright, blinding awe. Awe behind her gaze. Behind her guarded thanks. Behind everything that had ever made him what he was or what he ought to be. There was no love—he would not delude himself. Buffy did not love him for this and did not know that he loved her, but there was something. Something warm and wonderful, amidst all the pain. And it astounded him. After everything she had seen him do, everything she knew him for, she could find it within herself to look at him like this.

“You’re real.”

Spike smiled. He couldn’t help it. Nimble, eager yet soft fingers traced her face. “Very.”

“You sent him away.”

At that, his chest hollowed. “He’ll be back, pet.”

“But you will, too. Be back.”

Spike nodded and leaned inward, unable to help himself. His empty lungs filled with her scent. “The next time you see me,” he whispered urgently, “it’ll be to take you away from here. You got it?”


“There’s a plan, sweets.”

“Angelus…he has the…the only…”

He nodded again and brushed a kiss against her temple. “I know,” he murmured. “But Cordy’s thought of somethin’. Albeit, it’s not very good, but it’s something.”

Buffy fell silent for a few long seconds, her eyes heavy with burdened. “Spike…” she murmured. “You…you never told me.”

“Told you what, baby?”

“Why.” She pulled back at that, gaze burning him to his core.

He couldn’t help but swell with admiration. She was undoubtedly the strongest person he had ever known. The Slayer back and front when she wasn’t trying to be something else. A woman that didn’t know her own abilities. Buffy—the shadow of perfection that gave sunlight to those that did not know what to do with it. The determination he saw there was nothing short of extraordinary.

And though he knew the answer, he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. Not now. “Why what?”

Buffy favored him with her best get real look. “You hate me.”

“You know that’s not true.”


“I don’t hate you, love,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“Then why?”

A sigh sounded through his lips, his resolve wavering. He had been ready to tell her. So ready until Angelus had interfered. Ready to detail his agonizing love for her in ways that would likely have her begging for the death Angelus kept promising.

But then, she had asked him to kiss her. She leaned into him when he neared. She had kissed him back. He had told himself that it was due to the circumstances, but the smallest part of him couldn’t help but wonder. But hope.

And hope was a bloody dangerous thing.

“You wouldn’t like it, pet.”


“I don’t hate you. That’s all you need to know.”

Her lips parted and he knew she was about to protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she seemed to think the better of it. “I don’t either,” she said. “Hate you. I don’t think I ever have.”

“You don’t?”


“Pet, you don’t have to prove anything to me. Ever. I’m not going anywhere. Hate me or not.”

“Before…” she murmured. “Before this…before—”

“Don’t try to talk if it hurts.”

“Why not? Everything hurts. And I need to.” She indulged a breath to compose herself. “Spike, before. When we…were before. Before all…before Angel…before—”

He nodded. “Before the wankers took you.”

“You were…I know I never…never said it…” Despite the determination on her face, it was more than obvious that the last thing she needed to be doing was attempting to speak.


“Before. You were…good… You were… We were… It was different. And—”


A flash of irritation surged behind her eyes, and he couldn’t help but admire her for it. Nor could he help but smile at her forceful tone. That was his girl. “Would you let me talk? Please?”

That didn’t mean, however, that he would let her win. “You shouldn’t,” he told her. “Don’t worry yourself with me, love. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No. In case… Just in case…”

Something cold fell within him. “Don’t,” he said harshly. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. We’re gonna get you outta here.”

“Just in case—”


There it was. A plea. It nearly choked him—rightfully so.

But she didn’t listen. “Spike,” she gasped, breaking his nonbeating heart all over. “Please. I have to…just this. I need to know…you’ll…that you know how much I…” She paused to take a breath, raising her head slowly to meet his gaze. “Thank you. Thank you for…everything.”

Spike’s vision blurred. He searched for words but they wouldn’t come.

And sensing this, she smiled. “Don’t tell me I rendered you speechless.”

He snickered inarticulately, glad for the lifeline. “Little more than that.”

There was a pause, but she nodded all the same. It was oddly formal—this meeting between two people who had shared so much without sharing anything at all. He ached to touch her, to make her feel better as he had before, but his will forbade it. He would not touch her without permission.

And even if she did, he had to keep it clear in his head that it had nothing to do with him. Last time, she’d wanted to feel something that wasn’t pain. He’d been here to give it. She would have taken it from anyone.

“There’s no reason,” she whimpered the next minute, drawing him back to her with the smallest glance. “No reason for you to be here, Spike.”

He smiled gently. “I know these blokes, pet. Know ‘em well. The whole nasty lot. The thought of you up here…that was enough reason for me.”

Buffy shook her head, and the confusion on her face nearly tore him apart. As always, it was more than that. It had to be. And she knew it. Even without the luxury of viewing himself in a mirror, he knew damn well that his eyes gave him away a thousand times over. The years before his siring had taught him that much. Nights staggering home to Mother with the routine stop in front of the mirror to be sure he didn’t look too strained. Too disheveled. Too brokenhearted. He would look in the mirror and hate himself for what he saw staring back at him. A good man, but a weak one. A lovesick one. A foolish one.

A hundred years couldn’t change that, nor could the demon inhabiting his insides. Spike reckoned his monster and William had spent enough time together to get a fair measure of each other. The past few months had seen more William surfacing than he’d ever admit aloud.

“He said… Angel… He said…”

Oh, bugger Peaches. The old ponce would have mentioned his love for the Slayer. He had been hoping she’d missed that. Of course not. Life, as it happened, was not kind to the undead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Wanker says a lot of things,” he retorted with a shrug.

“Spike. No. He said—”

“Never mind what he says. Never mind anything he says.”

The Slayer opened her mouth to argue as she always would. As he would always have her do. However, by some small miracle, she held her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. Then there was resignation. From the confusion on her face to steadfast defeat. He watched as she accepted that she would get nothing else from him.

In that moment, he was inspired once more to tell her. Tell her, get it on the table, sod all consequences. He loved her, and she deserved to know.

And if he kept his word, she would. Just not now. He didn’t need to burden her with that—didn’t need to feel the pain of her rejection, either, especially with what they’d shared here. Even if she would have taken comfort from anyone, he held onto the knowledge that she had let him—Spike—touch her like a lover. That meant the world to him and he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

And there was more than that. The fear that this experience would change her as Dru’s torture had changed her forever. If Buffy ever did want him, truly want him, he wanted it to be for real.

Funny. Not too long ago, he would’ve settled for anything. Bloody told her wanker of an ex as much on that, too. The part of him that was demon still felt that way—grateful for whatever she gave him, real or not. But the other part—the part that had evolved since falling in love with her, since coming to Los Angeles to get her back—understood something deeper. That letting her give him her body out of gratitude would be exchanging one prison for another. He’d be using Buffy as surely as Angelus was, and he wouldn’t do that.

Because if he did, that look in her eyes would eventually fade. She’d stop seeing him the way she did now. Like a person rather than a thing. He didn’t want to go back to being a thing with her. Not now. Not ever.


Spike blinked, startled and jolting back to the present. “What?”

“Dru. Have you…have you seen Dru?”

He stared at her as though she had broken into a show tune. Drusilla? She wanted to know about Drusilla? The look in her eyes was serious enough, but he couldn’t believe it.

Where on earth had that come from?

“Well, yeah, I’ve seen her,” he replied awkwardly, still unsure of what she was looking for. “She went hunting with them…with us. I didn’t bite anyone, Buffy, I swear. I—”

“Have you…been with Dru?”

Spike simply stared, searching her eyes for whatever she was not telling him. Then her gaze dropped to the ground like she wanted to hide. The move was so random, so blessedly unexpected that he didn’t know whether to ask her what it was important or bark a laugh in turn.

“Dawn,” she said just as suddenly. “Glory. Does…where’s Dawn? How—”

“The Bit’s in England with Rupert,” Spike retorted easily. “He took the lot of them to get away from that crazed bitch.”

“And Mom?”

“With ‘em, I think. He’s havin’ the Council of Wankers help her with her condition. At least, that’s what he suggested.” That had been days ago, he realized. Days, and yet what all had happened. What all had changed.

There was a widening in Buffy’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. That innate slayerness that overpowered any need for herself in order to think of the welfare of others. He had no idea how she did it. How she could even form rational thought with all she had been through. “Spike,” she whispered urgently. “If something happens…if I—”

“You won’t.”


“No bloody buts, Buffy. I’m getting you outta here.”

“You have to watch her. Okay? Just…just please…promise me that. Promise—”

He cut her off with a kiss to distract her—make her mad enough to get her screaming at him and her mind far from Dawn. From things she couldn’t say while on the premises of an evil law firm. If it had to do with her family and she hadn’t shared, then this was not the place to start.

What he didn’t expect was for her to kiss him back. For her to whimper into his mouth, lean into him. For her to want…

Pull away, Spike. Pull away now.

So he did, panting. “Tell you what, sweetheart. We’ll watch her together, all right?”

“She’s…she’s the—”

“Don’t say anything,” he warned. “Okay?”

Buffy paused to look at him inquisitively and nodded when she understood.

“Just protect her,” she told him instead. “Please.”

“Like I said, love, we’ll protect her together.”

“If I don’t—”

“I’ll watch the Bit till the world ends,” he promised. “But not before I get you outta here safe and sound. All right? She’s fine. Anything had happened, I’d’ve heard from Rupert by now. The lover Wiccans are with the lot, too. Don’t think any of the Scoobies stayed in SunnyD after you…” What could he say? Left? As though she decided to take a holiday? “After you were gone.”

That didn’t seem to calm her as he had hoped. Instead, Buffy’s eyes went wide, and she surged against her restraints. The whimper that tore through her throat caused his cold blood to boil.

As delicately as he could, Spike placed his hands on her shoulders to calm her. “You’re gonna hurt yourself—”

“The Hellmouth,” she gasped. “The Hellmouth is…no one’s there to…”


“They’ll think…” She rested against his offered shoulder, panting with exertion. It killed him that it took so little to wind her. “Spike…they’ll think that…the demons…they’ll think I’m…that I’m dead. That the Hellmouth is free…free range. They’ll—”

“Don’t worry about the Hellmouth.”

“Spike! I—”

Since it had proven so bloody effective a moment ago, he decided to shut her up with another kiss. Again, he expected her to recoil, and again, she did not. Instead, after a few seconds, she relaxed and answered his fervor with a touch of her own, making him burn all over. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, the man in him being shoved aside.

There was a contented murmur when they parted. Though he could not have been prepared for what she said next.

“How can you touch me?”

Spike blinked and jumped back as though scathed. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “God, I’m so sorry. I thought you…” So close and yet so bloody far. If he had pushed her, hurt her—if she was responding to him because she thought he’d… Fuck, he wanted to stake himself. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“It’s nice.” She smiled. “It’s nice…to feel. That.”

Oh. Right.

“But I… I thought about after. You were here before. You left. But…” She looked to the ground as though shy. “You…did things. To me.”

Spike’s throat tightened.

“I never thought you’d touch me like that.”

“Neither did I,” he replied. He never thought she would let him.

“You…” Then Buffy was looking at him again, no longer shy. “I think… I think I’ve been stupid.”


“Angelus…he…he’s hurt me.” Though he knew that, it pained him still with a flush of unbridled anger to hear the words on her lips. “He’s soulless. He’s a monster. You’re the same.” Her eyes locked with his. “You’re supposed to be the same.”

“I’d never hurt you.” He paused. That wasn’t quite true. He had hurt her. “Not like that. Not… I don’t want you to hurt, Buffy. Not anymore.”

“I know.” And she did. Amazing. Looking at her, he saw that she did. “And that’s what…like I said, I’ve been stupid. I never…I never saw it. Never. You’re…” A sigh. She shook her head. “I don’t know why…you won’t tell me. Tell me how you can touch…me. When I’m…”

“Do you want me to?”

Buffy studied him a moment, and he saw the answer in her eyes. That much was enough to send him to his knees.

“Do you…” She licked her chapped lips. “Do you…want to?”

Was this taking advantage? Was it gratitude? Obligation? Was he supposed to walk away now or give her what she said she wanted? Fuck, he didn’t have the wiring to make these kinds of decisions—all he knew for certain was what she told him. What he saw. And in her eyes, he saw what she wanted. It burned him alive.

“Slayer,” he heard himself say as though from a distance, “short of getting you outta here, that’s all I want.”

There. He’d said it. Not a declaration of love, but as close as he reckoned he’d ever get. At least he had it out there now. She could do with it what she pleased.

Buffy nodded but didn’t say anything.

“That mean you want it, too?”

She nodded again.

If she wanted it now…would he be a wanker if he didn’t give it to her? It had seemed so easy the last time. Instinct. Buffy needed comfort and comfort he could provide.

But it seemed different now. Realer. And that terrified him.

Not so much, though, that he had to mull over what to do.

“Like this?” he asked, then bent his head and licked a wet path around an erect nipple.

She crooned and moaned against him. “Yes.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get.” He nuzzled his face between her breasts, lapping up whatever he could. Dried blood. Sweat. Even the dirt and grime that had collected there. He didn’t care. It was all her. “’Cause you don’t need to feel pain anymore, sweetheart. After we get you outta here, I’m gonna see you rightly cared for and pampered till the end of time.”

“But I…” Buffy paused, drew in a breath. “You can’t…it can’t be something you enjoy. I’m…look at me…I—”

Spike smiled against her. “Since when do you care about what I want?”

“Since you were good to me.” She moaned when his tongue came back into play. “Since I realized how…how…”

“Don’t say it,” he cautioned, and lifted his head to kiss her again.

She snorted. “You should know by now…that if you don’t want me to do something, then the last thing to do is to tell me not to do it.”

“Touché.” Spike pulled back slightly. “You’re gorgeous, Summers. Doesn’t matter what he does to you. Doesn’t matter a damn.”

She rolled her eyes.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

“In a word, no.”

“Sassy. You must be feeling better.” He pressed a finger to her lips and shook his head. “Trust me, baby,” he murmured. “Walking through that door and seeing you…after everything I’ve gone through to get here…nothing more beautiful than that. You’re so strong.”

The twinkle behind her eyes fell without prompt. “I don’t feel very strong,” she whimpered. “If I…I would’ve been able to…I could’ve…”

He kissed the hollow of her throat in reassurance. “There’s nothing you coulda done.”

“I’m not used to being helpless, Spike. I can’t stand it.”

“I know.”

“I’m the Slayer.”

“And here before long, you’ll be back to kickin' my ass like old times..” Spike sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “To make it easier for you, I’ll even pretend like it hurts. How ‘bout it?”

“I couldn’t go back to hurting you. Not after this.”

“Oi. Don’t make promises you can’t—”

“I can’t.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently, and his entire body froze in turn. It was wonderful, the liberated feel of her lips on his. Of her doing. Of her initiation. Forming that connection because she wanted it formed. “You’re really here,” she said when she pulled back.

“If you don’t know that by now—”

“I know it. I just can’t believe it. I’ve never treated you…” Buffy’s eyes fell shut once more. “I just don’t understand why.”

She was getting close to asking the same question he refused to answer, and Spike wasn’t sure that his will was strong enough this time around to refuse again. Thus he retreated within himself once more. Seeking, hunting, needing something desperately to distance her from these questions. She knew he felt something—that much was obvious. She knew it and she didn’t want to believe it, but she knew it all the same.

If the word love were to surface, it might be the undoing for all of them. He had to distract her.

Her and himself.

“Why’d you ask about Dru?”

A brief pause. “What?”

“Dru. You asked me about Dru.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“No. You asked me. I wanna know.” Spike cocked his head. “You asked if I’d been with her since I got back. Why?”

Buffy looked down at that, then snuck a peek at him. “Well…have you?”

God, he’d had it right the first time.

Fuck me.

She was jealous.

The Slayer—Buffy—was jealous. And she hadn’t wanted him to know.

“No, love,” he answered softly. “She’s tried, though. Making with the come hither eyes and what all. It’s probably another reason Angelus wasn’t too keen on believing I was just happening by. No doubt she’s been wailing and giving dear ole grandmum and your precious ex a fair share of grief since I won’t entertain her.”

Buffy nodded, frowning. “Why?” she asked a few seconds later. “Why haven’t… You’ve wanted Dru back for forever. Why are you doing… Why any of this? Why not just…be one of them?”

“You’re a piece of work, Summers. Honestly, if you don’t know by now…”

“How can I, when you won’t tell me?”

Touché. But every turn deserved another.

“Why does me being with Dru matter at all?” Spike reached to tuck loose locks of disobedient hair behind her ear, his thumb unable to help from caressing her cheek.

More uncomfortable fidgeting.

“When you were here…” Buffy said softly. “When you were with me before, you…you made me feel…better.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Better?”

“You…touched…” The hint of rouge tinted her cheeks. “You touched me…and it felt…”

He tugged his mouth into a grin, but he didn’t want to embarrass her. “Good?” he suggested softly.

The embarrassment was still there, she looked like she was more afraid of rejection, or being mocked, than she was of admitting she’d enjoyed what he’d done to her. “Yes.”

Spike flashed a dimpled smile. “Good. It’s supposed to work like that.”

“I know. But you…you haven’t…”

There was little mistaking in that. His fingers danced over the tender skin at her thigh, not presuming anything more for the moment. Though he doubted he was wrong, he wouldn’t do anything without permission.

But he saw it. She wanted him. Good god, Buffy Summers wanted him. His touch. His comfort. His caress. Him.

“I wasn’t gonna,” he replied softly. “Not unless you asked me. Didn’t know if I was…if you wanted me to…”

The blush in her cheeks was growing deeper. Bloody mesmerizing.

“Not because of Dru,” he reassured her. “She’d never stop me from touching you, pet. Only you have that kinda power.” Spike leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead, eyes falling shut. “I never thought you’d let me this close.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she agreed, moaning when his lips found her throat again. “Never. Oh…”

There was a sigh of concession. He forced his hands to fists and cursed inwardly. “We’re running low on time, darling,” he warned. “I better—”

“No. Don’t go.”

His chest twisted. “I have to.”

“Please. Please don’t leave me. Not again.” The light that had filled her eyes was fading again. “You make me forget. God, you make me forget. If you leave, it comes back. It’ll all come back.”

Spike swallowed hard. “I’ll be back, Buffy. You know I will.”

“I know. I know. I just…I…”

“It’s killing me too, pet. To be this bloody close.” He glanced down, his eyes soaking in the scars marring her skin. The ones her ex had put there. How Angelus had taken something strong and pure, how quickly he’d made a canvas of her creamy flesh. How many more cuts might be there before it was all over. 

And the demon in him roared to life.

“I’m gonna kill him.”


“I mean it, Buffy. I don’t care that he’s not your bloody Angel. I don’t care that he has a pretty little clause that’ll make all this forgivable. I don’t—”

“It’s not his fault.”

The words made him burn. “Bugger. That. I’m gonna kill him. Make no mistake of that.”

There was nothing but silence for a long minute, her eyes searching his all the same. Reading him. Looking into him. Her gaze was razor sharp and uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell if he’d pissed her off, if she was trying to figure a way to argue her honey’s innocence, or something else. Just that Buffy had never looked at him like that.

Like she was…

He paused.

Like she was trying to…understand.

Fuck, could that be it?

“All right,” she whispered.

Spike stared at her as though attempting to decipher whether she meant it. Her eyes could not lie to him.

Thus he smiled. “Thank you.”

A moment of complacent stillness. For perhaps the first time, they truly knew each other.

It couldn’t last long. Soon, Spike was pulling away, his heart lurching in protest. “I gotta go.”


“I’ll be back for you.”


“As soon as I bloody can.”

He might have just declared it years; her eyes flooded with tears once more. How he hated that look on her, knowing that he caused it. And yet, there was resignation. “I know,” she whimpered. However, there was more. There was always something more. “But, please. Please. If you’re going to…”

In spite of himself, Spike edged closer. It was dangerous but he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. Not when she looked at him like that. “What do you need, baby? What can I do?”

“Just make it go away for a little while. Just…please…I need…”

There was nothing else to be said. He nodded his understanding. “Like before?”

“You can…” Despite the tears, the blush was back. “You can…”

It was possibly the only time that Spike felt safe enough to listen to her body for everything she couldn’t yet trust with words. He smothered the grin that fought to break across his face, afraid of how she might take it if she saw. The mere thought of caressing her intimately spoke for every privilege he thought himself unworthy.

“Okay,” he murmured before brushing a nearly chaste kiss across her forehead. Then slowly, thoughtfully, he began to descend down the taut length of her, nibbling and licking a wet path as he went. He took a detour at her breasts, treating her nipples to a few long licks that had her whimpering, had her flooding him with her sweet, hot scent that told him—for now and now alone—she could be his.

But he wanted more, and so did she. Spike abandoned her breasts and continued south. Then he was on his knees before her, staring for the first time at the mouth of her sex. Her skin there was bruised and swollen, and there was a cut along her inner thigh, but she was wet—wet for him. Slick and beautiful and he had to have her in his mouth.

Spike rubbed circles into her hips, hoping to relax her. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“No word. Bad word.” She paused. “Unless…I’m too gross—”

He pressed a kiss to her clit and her voice faded on a long moan, which made his own blood sing. Never in his unlife would he have imagined he’d have to convince her…

But then, look at what she’d been through. Thanks to his kind. His sodding family. They had shattered a pure beacon of light. Buffy might never again think of herself as desirable because of what had happened here, and if that was the case, he would make it his mission to prove her wrong.

“Only thing I’d change is the setting, love,” he murmured. “First time I tasted you, I fancied it being somewhere else.”

She was trembling hard. “First time? You…you’ve thought of this?”

“Many, many times.” He breathed into her warmth, nuzzling her nest of curls, and god,  her scent drove him wild. “Relax, sweetheart.”

“I am.”

The Slayer was not the most gifted of liars. Not when it came to such things.

“Buffy, I don’t have to—”

“No.” She strained as far forward as she could. “Please…oh god, please. Please.”

Spike’s gaze traveled heatedly up the length of her. She was breathing heavily, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, a look of concentration mapping her face. It amazed him that she could ever doubt her beauty. That she could doubt that he wanted her, regardless of what had become of her body. True, every inch of flesh was caked with dirt, blood, and mapped with scars, but this only emphasized her strength. Her stamina. Her everything.

She was moaning at his fingertips. Panting, pleading, begging him to touch her. The doubt that had harbored his stomach roused once more with caution, but he would not listen to it. Buffy knew who he was, what he was, and had asked him for this. Asked him to relieve her pain, if only for a minute. And he would never refuse her.

Slowly, intently, he lowered his mouth to her pussy and began to lick. She whimpered and rolled her hips, and he drew back, turning his attention to her inner thigh. To her warm skin, the hum of her blood teasing his fangs. Reminding him of how very alive she was.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Baby want somethin’?”

Her face fell into a scowl, but like this,  she couldn’t look menacing if she tried. “Evil.”

He chuckled. “Always.”

Then he licked a wet trail up her slit, and his eyes nearly rolled back. “So sweet,” he murmured, fingers skimming up her leg to play, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake.


His mouth returned to her, nibbling softly at her wet labia. He smiled inwardly when she strained against him. It was too little to be so much. Spike had long prided himself in being a purely sexual being, but for all his experience and usual control, nothing could have prepared him for this. For touching her so lightly and relishing the reaction received—his just as, if not more powerful than her own. He lapped at her, bathing his tongue in her taste, and did what he could to keep himself from falling apart. She tasted so good. So perfect. So fucking Buffy, and it drove him wild.

Spike forced his way through the fog that creeping in the corners of his mind. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible. For him, yes, but what mattered was her. This was all about her. About making her feel as much nonpain as possible before he left. Before he crawled away to the real world and abandoned her for the likes of Angelus.

But damn, he didn’t want to think about that. Not when his tongue drawing laps up and down her slit, her skin trembling beneath his fingers. He only wanted this.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “Spike. Oh god.”

Of course, if she kept on like that, he wasn’t sure he could maintain command of himself.

“Please,” Buffy whimpered. “More. Please. I need…oh god—” She buckled against her bindings when his tongue came closer to the mouth of her pussy, and he immediately pulled back, not wanting to cause her more pain. “No! Please more. Please. God, I need you.”

Spike froze. His eyes met the desperation in hers. “What did you say?” he asked, voice barely audible even to his ears.

“I need you,” she repeated, evidently missing the confession’s significance. With so little having been said, he found it amazing, even in this situation, that she would give him that much. That she could give him that much. And that she didn’t even realize what it was. What it meant for her. For him. For both of them. “God, Spike…I need you so much.”

A moan of concession tore through his throat. He caught her swollen clit between his lips and sucked, his fingers edging toward her opening. Then he had to taste her all over. Needed to feel her riding his mouth. He wet his fingers before turning them to her clit, then nibbled his way to where his cock desperately wanted to be, and thrust his tongue inside. He tasted every inch of her, claiming her all over. When he tasted the blood that had driven him off just two days before, he sucked at it. Greedy. Desperate. Not hurting her. He would never. But at some point, will and rationality had abandoned him. He was inebriated with her taste, and her words were the driving force that saw him home.

She mewled his name again, her heated cries becoming frenzied. When his attention returned to her clit, she sputtered a slew of words that made no sense, but ones he understood all the same. He drew his tongue around her clit once, twice, then sucked her into his mouth once more.  The whimpers rumbling from her throat shot straight to his dick; he was so hard that he couldn’t believe the flimsy zipper had held up.

“God,” he gasped into her skin. “You taste so good.”


He wasn’t sure if she had heard him or not, but her hips thrust forward in a sharpened frenzy. That was it. All it took. He dipped his tongue back inside her pussy, searching and finding, seeking and needing. He stroked and lapped and took up all he could. He was a selfish bastard; there wasn’t a sip that would go to waste. The tips of his fingers found her clit again and caressed her there softly, coaxingly, wanting to give it to her but not wanting to overwhelm her all the same.

“I need your mouth,” she told him, surprising him. “On my…on…”

He understood and withdrew his tongue from her pussy before sliding his fingers into her. She pulsed and squeezed around him, and it was easy—so easy—for him to imagine she was squeezing something else. Spike shook his head and returned his mouth where she needed him. The second he had her clit between his lips, he felt her tense, tremble, and then she was coming. Fuck him, she was coming all over his mouth.

Spike clutched her hips in desperation as the echo of her euphoria died around them. He held her so tight he began to fear hurting her further, rationality pouring back into him as his arms loosened and drew her near. A soft whimper pushed through his lips and his head found solace against the flat of her stomach. It took a few seconds to realize that when his vision blurred, it wasn’t because she’d drenched him. It was because she’d touched him—a part of him even he had thought long dead. The love that burned him. That had changed him. That made him want to be more than the thing he was so he could be the man she needed.

While he’d known for months now that he loved her, he now rang with a deeper truth. What he felt was beyond anything he’d ever felt, and that terrified him. Because he was a man who loved hard and loved well, and he’d thought he’d been close to perfection before.

And if Buffy never gave him anything else, at least she’d given him this.

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