CHAPTER 3

Buffy never knew how she was standing in the porch of her own house when all she could still see was the top of a hill and a sinister, fangy grin as a bizarre moon. Her bones were so chilled that they rattled under her skin as a tambourine played by a naked Eskimo. A heavy thing was dangling from her shoulders. Leather. A leather coat. Spike’s coat. She looked at him but all she saw was a distant tiny figure. As though she was looking at something from the wrong side of a telescope. And what was he doing? Fighting the door? Forcing the lo…

“I’ve got the keys.” Her tongue felt as if she had been eating gritty bread. Rough and gluey. Spike didn’t look better though. Was it her imagination or he looked a little pastier? Ashy, grey in fact.

“I’ve got them since you couldn’t find the lock…” No smirk flashed with his words. Suddenly his hands were squeezing her shoulders. She was about to take a few steps back. “Okay, now. Your mum’s coming towards the door. Let me do the talking, okay? Don’t want to frighten her right now, do we love? It’s Christmas. At least for her…” He pushed her in front of the door.

“Oh, my God!” Joyce nearly yanked the door opened and grabbed Buffy’s arms. When the clock had stroke twelve bells she’d been more than angry. But when it hit one, one thirty and her daughter never showed up she’d just freaked out. “What happened to you? Are you okay? Faith left. She was a bit upset and… Well, this is a surprise!” She declared noticing the black figure standing a few steps away.

“Hi, Joyce! Bet it is, ah? Thought, you know, pass by, have a toast. My fault we’ve run late. Wanted to buy you a present. Should have taken Buffy’s word. Everything is closed.” Spike hadn’t used his gentle, soft smile as much as he had done in the few past months. Made his face hurt a little. Made him wanted to grunt. Didn’t know why he bothered that much. Well, in fact he did. He liked the lady. He hadn’t lied about that.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have worried! Good thing you remember us! Please, come in, you two. We can have a late Christmas dinner, I guess.” That was a true smile. Warm and bright. Lit her all over. Made him wonder why in hell her daughter hadn’t inherited a little bit of it.

Buffy was in autopilot. The shock had been so striking. How was it possible? She crumpled up on the sofa as if somebody had shot her.

“No, no, no, pet. If I’ve to slap you I will. Extra bonus it’ll be. Couldn’t you just restrain yourself, ah?” His gaze was stormy and there was something in the blue depths that look like an implicit accusation. As though she was looking to Giles. Her lower lip trembled. “No tears, either. Your mother will have her dinner and her smiles and presents and you’re going to be extra happy here. And then, we’ll talk.”

That was a threat. A threat! And she couldn’t even react. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Five minutes, Slayer. Don’t make me go for you.”

Bloody hell! He’s really pissed off! After all he’d done to help her, that little minx had to shag the sodding ponce again. What was she thinking of? He knew what it had taken for Angelus to appear the first time. That blighter had opened his huge gob and swanked about it as much as he could. It’d been fun at that time. If he didn’t count the slight pinch in his guts, which could always be a consequence of having been in a wheelchair for months. Now…he hadn’t felt this angry since…he didn’t remember. These feelings he had for her were so different of anything he had felt before. He hadn’t erased her image from his mind even by dying. Literally. It was carved in the roots of his lost soul. Printed in his dead flesh like a casing tattoo. No logical explanation for it. It wasn’t that he was a thoughtful bloke but he needed to put a label to those emotions, tired of being caught staring at a wall with a fag butt burning his fingers.

He had come back not to give anybody time for anything. He was seeking his own time. Time to be near her, to check if Dru’d been right. “All covered by her…” Were those the words? More or less. It was something deep. Not guilt for whatever he might feel guilty about. Guilt was a long forgotten concept. A notion he’d left for humans with all their miseries and their little stuff. He wasn’t the type who wandered about beating his own chest. What was done, was done and to hell with it. She was the guilty gremlin here.

Spike chewed and swallowed the roast beef as if it were Buffy’s damned heart. Images of her full breasts pushed up by a corset mingled with the same full naked breasts being touched and nibbled by Angel. Her breath, her gasps, her moans… Those lips he’d tasted briefly… Sweet and warm. He’d felt her strength flowing inside him and then retreating like a powerful tide.

And now there was Angelus… His own demon was crawling inside him; its claws painfully scratching his ribs. “Mark her, mark her”, it chanted in his ears, mixing its grunts with Joyce’s chat. “She’ll be saved, she’ll be family.” It was a woozy experience. The casual conversation; the polite, gentle and educated conversation with light and decency and the whispered chitchat with darkness and sordidness…

That feeling of property… It wasn’t even that. Chinese had this concept… If you save somebody’s life then… she belongs to you for all eternity. He wanted her to belong to him. Not like a car or his duster. He wanted to belong to her as well. Care, protect. Love. Bloody word that destroyed every thread of evil in him…


Spike had threatened her. Spike had given her orders. Spike was scowling at her from the other side of the table as if he were her father and she were nothing but a naughty, mischievous girl. For the first time in her life she really, really experienced the vast difference of age between herself and those…demons. Demons… She swallowed a glass of wine, then another. Nothing ease the awful guilt wickedly fixed in her heart. As though she had done something wrong… .As though she had betrayed somebody. Him. But she hadn’t! She’d even left Angel… The wine choked her as the shock from the first impression started to recede and images leapt to her mind.

“He’s not Angel anymore.” As Spike’s words sank into her mind, she had started to move back from Angel. Not too quickly, though. Angelus had grinned. A wide, flashing, depraved grin that had filled her with a primal fear. The faces of all she loved passed like a rushing movie in front of her eyes. As if she was travelling in the fastest subway. Speedy photos, one after the other in a long, never-ending tunnel. So frozen she was that she hadn’t been aware of the hand that with incredible haste, clamped on her wrist, dragging her to his hideous mouth. Spike had saved her. Again.

On the top of that hill two demons had fought with the rage of a century fuelling their blows. Grunts and groans mixed with insults and snarls, and the flash of fangs sinking into any spot of flesh they could reach. Like wolves, like rabid dogs fighting for their lives. She had only watched. For a long moment she hadn’t sensed even her own skin. Miss Calendar’s face was all she had in mind. And it was that face that shook off her fear. She took out the stake she always carried in her boot and jumped forward. Like a box referee trying to separate two opponents in a grudge fight. Only that she had a weapon. The stake sank in Angelus’ shoulder with such a disgusting easiness… A bar of old, rancid butter would have offered more difficulty. Last thing she remembered was the puking. Bent over as if her stomach would soon climbed along her throat to run away.


“I should call Giles…” His gaze nailed her to the chair.

“Bet Rupert is sleeping right now. After three kettles of tea. Not exactly the party bloke, is he? ‘Sides your mum here wants you to open your presents. And I want some nog.” Spike’d sounded as if she would find a well-deserved torturing device inside the boxes. Or a demon to squeeze her guts. Why was he so angry? Why? Probably ‘cause she’d spoilt his pummelling-my-grandsire present. Jerk. Buffy gulped her fourth glass and jumped from her chair. The world had become a dizzy place… His fingers clutched her elbow and guided her to the lighted tree. Hundreds… did she really hang hundreds? of red little lights twinkled their welcoming eyes.

“There’s nothing for you, I’m afraid. If I had known…” Joyce handed him a glass.

Spike shrugged; a bit astounded by the apology in her voice. Nobody had ever apologized to him for not having a present at Christmas. Nobody had ever apologized to him. Period. And about the presents… Maybe his mother? No, they’d always had presents. But that was history. Old, buried. This was stupid. This dinner and the gathering and this pansy wish of family stuff… Buffy’s hysterical giggles stopped his intention of grabbing his duster and stomping away.

The stupid bint was laughing her butt off, holding the angel that had fallen from the top of the tree. She was crushing it in her hands while tears ran along her face.

“Oh, dear, give it to me! Buffy! What’s wrong with you honey? You’re going to break it!” Joyce finally managed to pull the poor ornament from her daughter’s claws.

“Break it! He is… he’s going to k…” She never finished her sentence. A terribly pissed off vampire stated something about not letting girlies get near the booze since they’d obviously couldn’t handle it and dragged her all the way to the kitchen and under the cold flood of water of the sink tap.

Joyce’s taken aback by his rude manners. She was about to protest when Buffy spun around and punched his nose, making him bleed. She sighed, not completely horrified. Her daughter had…well, she had always had serious behaviour problems. Maybe she could ease the violent phase by making some coffee…

Buffy sat on the stool swinging her feet, her hands under her butt, glaring at him. She couldn’t but made funny faces at his idiot attempt of helping her mother. She imitated his smiles and words as if she’d turned into a soaking, drenched mime. She didn’t need any coffee. She was perfect. Perfectly angry, that was it. At him. For being nice. He’d no right of being nice. Not now. No when all she wanted was somebody to punch till next year. She’d have phoned Willow instead of paying attention to his threatening looks. But Willow was with Oz… Her eyes went wide when she reminded that. Well, at least one of them would get laid without finding a monster the next day. Wait… what if Oz…? No. Those things only happened to her. Fucking or not apparently. Where was her mother going now? A kiss? A smile and a kiss? She was going to bed! She was going to leave her alone with this crazy fiend!

“You certainly are a barmy cow, aren’t you?” Spike growled as soon as he heard Joyce reaching the first floor. “Making that sodding scene in front of your…” He stared at his chest in awe as the hot dark liquid wetted his T-shirt. He was about to step forward just to erase that satisfied smile of her lips when she jumped from the stool onto the kitchen counter, ran to the opposite side and grabbed a wooden spoon from a white jar.
Spike tried to yank it from her but she was faster and punched his jaw. His fist connected with her temple. Buffy stumbled back but didn’t give him time to take any advantage. She kicked his belly hard enough to send him against the fridge. The improvised stake stopped on his chest.

“Guess I’m not that drunk after all. Thanks for the shower. What if I use this? Like my Christmas present.” His gaze was devastating. More intense thanks to the black eyeliner. A cold blue fire was smouldering inside its depths. Buffy felt it smothering her little by little. “What? You’re not smiling anymore. Am I giving you the willies, Willie?”

“First of all, if I’d be mad enough to use that puff name again, - flashes of his grandsire crossed his mind, - it’d never be Willie. It’s William, pet. You know that. And you’re giving me nish.” Her flushed face was so near… The wet strands of golden hair framed it as if it were the most extraordinary portrait. Her wicked smile, which she’d tried to intimidate him with, was nothing but the most feminine and seductive thing. Made his urge of protecting her grew to colossal proportions. His demon agreed with a resounding growl. Her upper body was leaning against his, the wet green silk blouse doing nothing to hide her breasts. Her nipples pushed against his soaked T. The image exploded inside him. “I’ll give you something, though. Your present, honey.”

His left arm tangled around her waist, driving her closer while his right hand held the nape of her neck like an iron grip. His head was an arrow; she was incapable to react. The spoon fell to the floor with a deaf thump as the first wave of pain rushed across her skin. It felt as if a batch of nurses were injecting thousands of hot needles on the same spot.
He took his time. Didn’t guzzle but slake his thundering thirst of her with excruciating slowness. As if he’d fallen in some sort of trance, his tongue lapped leisurely, running up and down the little wounds, then drawing circles around the lacerated flesh. His eyes were half closed and a little hazed. Two slits of a coming sunrise.

Her back arched against the firm muscles of his forearm. Two of his fingers fondled the soft spot behind one of her ears. Her hips moved forward, pressing against his erection. She was falling, falling, swirling in the most erotic whirlpool. Every pore in her skin opened like a wild flower under the rain. Her knees were giving away. Not ‘cause the lost of blood. Her bones had melted into a hot liquid. Nog and wine combined with his scent. Suddenly his back was no longer leant against the fridge. Hers had crashed against the edge of the counter. An echoing thump. She didn’t care. Couldn’t. Hadn’t time to think about the sharp pain in her waist. She only had nerves in her neck, between her legs, on the tips of her fingers running wildly through his hair.

Spike let one of his hands slide down one shoulder, searching for one of those moulds pressed against his chest. His thumb circled the hard nipple; his fingers traced its roundness. His arm abandoned her waist to travel down further. Those thighs of her… Powerful and lethal. Warm and inviting under the silk skirt. He pulled it upwards as if he was about to raise the curtain for the most splendid stage. One of his fingers delved under her thong, outlining each side of it while his swollen and hot lips looked for her mouth.

His tongue had a metallic, strange flavour. Her own blood. She moaned inside his mouth. Her hands dived under his black T-shirt hunting for his skin. His shoulder blades. Solid and graceful. His spine. Full of little steps her fingers could ascend along to reach the hard support of his shoulders. She climbed on his body as a perfumed ivy twining around a marble column. So many times she’d fantasized with this… Not the biting. Or maybe there was something of it in the dark, unvisited corridors of her soul. Fantasies about his ravenous mouth on hers, his teeth nibbling her lips, then her shoulders as the green blouse glided down. Her breasts exposed to his tongue… being sketched and recreated with each lick. She’d dreamt of his hands… Cupping her slim ass till she barely sat on the edge of the counter. His body sneaked between her legs and her calves closed the doors of his prison, locked on the back of his muscled thighs.

That awful and unforgettable night she’d lost her teen dreams… So tight she had closed her eyes, knowing the exact way in which his hands would have felt… Fervent caresses reserved for the most precious gift. Not a fragile one but a craved one. A century to build this desire. Sipping in even the ultimate corner of her flesh, tasting the sensual flavour of her ardent, blushing skin, proving their bonding had no limits. And if it had, she was sure they would be able to break them to reveal new nameless places.

Spike rubbed against her stomach, getting immobile when her small hands unfasten his jeans and slipped inside the rough fabric. His demon face twisted and fluctuated as her fingers traced the smooth skin of his groin, the soft length of his raging cock. Any thread of self-control seemed to evaporate as her tongue circled each of his fangs. All covered in her… More than that. Wrapped, enveloped in hot wires that pierced his dead nerve-endings bringing them to life. Ten blazing half-moons sank on his ass-cheeks. He complied with their demand, twisting his hips a little just to set himself at her entrance.

Buffy gasped, choking down an anxious cry. Needed him so desperately. Needed him to fill that void that had grown inside her for more than a year. Her teeth bit hard on one of his nipples. ‘Please, please. I want you. I’ve wanted you since you crowned me a Queen. Crown me now. Erase that mistaken night that didn’t have your blue eyes to light my desire. Mould me in a new shape. Yours.’ She begged in silence while her panties disappeared and he slid inside of her with one single thrust.

His back arched painfully; his head bent back as a certainty dawned on him. Dru’d been right. She’d seen it. Seen the deep connection that lay dormant beneath the hate. She’d forced him to accept it in her own twisted way. By ditching him. He started to move, slowly at first, matching her hips, her path. His mouth was attached to one nipple, sucking it, licking it. One of his sharp incisors cut a tiny gash when her hands drew him closer. He couldn’t but lap the seeping drops. Ambrosia.

Buffy’s eyes were fixed on that spot. Two round forms pushed up by his hands, the tip of his tongue tainted in red, painting them with strange patterns… Her hips danced to it while she drank in the whole picture. Her breath was stuck in her throat. She just wanted to squeeze him so tight that she’d probably snap him in two. She outlined his cheekbones, the ridges of his forehead. Her demon. Strange thought that sent shivers of forbidden pleasure through her body. His hands were vessels sailing across the delighted curves of her thighs, of her ass, helping her to match his now faster thrusts. She clutched to his neck, plunging in the blue ponds of his eyes. At first, she’d have thought the bright lights of the kitchen would make her feel ashamed. Would stop her from showing herself to him, as she really wanted to do. Now she welcomed them as they illuminated him in a dashing glow, hiding nothing, allowing her to be fully conscious of the man that was making her feel a woman for the first time. Yes, the first time. As it should have been.

“This… this what’s screaming inside me…” Nothing he might dream of could have prepared him for this intoxicating surprise. The voice in his blood blended with her moans in an overwhelming chorus singing one word. Love. It didn’t scare him, though. He didn’t feel the rushing need to shove her aside and run away till next sunrise. He was dying again; his knees were buckling by the force of his desire. His hands were filled with strands of golden hair, of scorching skin, sweaty and slippery under his touch. He knew he was murmuring incomprehensible things and didn’t care. Only her lips, only her mouth, her neck. The sizzling fingertips sank in his shoulders; her glazed over eyes traced lines of fire on his face. Her breath was a zephyr confessing secrets. Secrets that matched his. “Love you…” He whispered in a gnawing way. Never expected to hear an echo. It reverberated through all the hallways of his being taking his last thread of strength away. He couldn’t help falling to the floor, dragging her with him.

His entire being was drifting. He slowed his pace, drowning in the sensation. Connected as never before. Now he’d accepted it, love was wrapping him in a choking embrace. Gold sparkled behind his half-closed eyelids. Buffy rolled him over, straddling him, thrusting deeper, her hands in both sides of his face. “My demon, my beautiful, gorgeous demon”, she whispered over and over. Her movements grew faster, deeper. He couldn’t but match her body. Mine, mine, mine. Here. In this life. Beyond. Past. Future. A growl started to rise in her chest. She moved to an incredible speed. Her tongue plundered deeply in his mouth. Rising her head, her eyes fixed on the yellow ones for a long moment till her head flew ahead, straight to his neck, biting it with a triumphal grunt. An earth-shattering orgasm rushed through her while his back curved in an impossible arc and his fangs sank on her shoulder, only sipping once before he spurted his being deep in her womb.

They stayed still for a moment, enjoying the serenity that bathe their exhilarated breathes till he pushed her up gently.

“Hey, I was comfy!” And that was an intriguing truth. As if this hadn’t been her second… no second, first time ever. How could she be so at ease? Acting as they had done this for ages, relaxed and undeniably satisfied…

“Yeah, but the tiles are cold.” He smiled; one of those slow and sensual smiles that made her heart reeled like a hurricane.

“You don’t feel the cold.” She snugged closer against his chest. Best mattress ever…

“’Sides your mum’ll probably come down here to check if we’re still alive. Sort of speak. She’s not deaf, you know. Let’s go to the sofa…” His smirk was so indecently convincing… She ran towards the living room in a cloud of muffled giggles and disarrayed clothes and let him trapped her under his weight on the velvet surface.

Buffy seized his face and planted a resonant kiss on his lips. “If you’re so worry about my mother, then I think you’d go and try to find my panties…”

He tossed back. “This one, you mean?” A tiny piece of green fabric appeared between his long fingers. He waved it far away from her stretched arm. “I think I’ll keep it. For lonely days…”

“You’re a disgusting fiend!” Buffy slapped his chest and laughed loud wriggling under him, playfully avoiding his mouth. He stopped the hunt of her lips when her forehead wrinkled. A serious gloominess clouded her eyes. “Why are you here?”

Spike sat on the couch running a hand along his muddled hair. “I wanted to check…” He stood up looking for his duster. His jeans hung about his waist. He didn’t pay attention to it. He went back to the sofa, lightning a cigarette. “I’d this dream… A crazy one. Thought I was… you know, channelling Dru or something. Had to see you.”

Buffy skidded up his knees. “I’ll pretend I haven’t heard one certain name…” She grimaced. “I’d a mad dream as well. You were there. You and me and…”

“Angelus.” The name sounded as a bitter spit. The muscles in his arms became rigid.

“Yeah, and that made me think that something had happened to him.” She noticed the way his lips faded in a thin, revolted line. “I didn’t do anything… I mean… I know why you kept on scowling at me all night. You thought… You don’t need to deny it. Took me some time to figure it out but…”

“I know. I…”

“Please don’t tell me you could smell it!” She bit his neck when he nodded harshly. “Anyway, I think I should tell everybody. They must be aware. It’s the only way I can protect them. Besides, I have to find out why… Where are you going?” She asked, bemused when he jumped to his feet to arrange his clothes and put on his duster.

“Look for a place to crash. Dawn is just there and I’m not in the mood of becoming a sodding crisp. It’s better this way love, - he hugged her tightly, rising her from the couch. Her feet dangled in the air as if she were a doll, - don’t want your mother to freak out. And you need your beauty sleep to face your friendly dragons.” His mouth captured her lips in a hungry kiss. Her legs draped around his waist and she rubbed against him in urgent circular motions. He broke the kiss with a grunt rumbling in his throat.

“Got to go.” He stumbled backwards, unlocking himself from the jail of her thighs. Had to avert his eyes not to look at her swollen lips, at the tip of her tongue licking them. Impish, provocative. He almost dropped hypnotized by its movement. By the mesmerizing glint of her eyes. By the way the first violet rays of the approaching sunrise played in her sleek hair. He shook his head to get rid of the sensation. A lethargic doze was creeping on him, closing his eyes, slackening the strength in his limbs… Day light was so near…

“You look like a loony clown…” She whispered, dabbing the black eyeliner under his eyes with a trembling finger. “Go now. I know you have to.” She walked him to the door and never left the sight of him till he disappear under the street, at the nearer sewer entrance like a black, enormous elf.

tbc...