Chapter Twelve: You Always Hurt the Ones You Love

They hadn’t meant to, but Buffy and Spike had fallen asleep, having become accustomed to being in one another’s arms. The couch wasn’t very accommodating for two sleeping bodies, yet it hadn’t seemed to bother the pair. It was Spike who had awoken first, the scent of the encroaching dawn tickling at his sleepy senses. It had been an early night for him, since he usually didn’t fall asleep until after daybreak. It hadn’t really bothered him though. Spending a few precious hours with Buffy was worth the early morning wake-up.

Spike shifted a little, the soreness in his lower back making him long for the softness of the bed that was only a few feet away. Slowly sitting up, he cradled Buffy in his lap, trying not to wake her as he drew her up into his arms. She mewled softly against Spike’s chest when he stood up, unaware that she was being effortlessly carried to her bed. It wasn’t until he gently lowered her onto the soft silky covers that her eyes started to flutter open.

Inhaling deeply, her mind still rattled with sleep, Buffy turned her head from side to side, wondering where she suddenly was. Once she saw Spike, his two strong arms surrounding her as they held his body up above her, she smiled. “Spike?”

“Mornin’ luv,” he grinned back. He knew he was staring at her but he didn’t care. Even with her sleep rumpled clothes, disarrayed bed hair and droopy tired eyes Buffy looked stunning. Spike wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her all day long, and after last night, it was going to be difficult enough just leaving the room, let alone concentrating on whatever obligation he had for the day.

Groaning, Spike plopped down on the bed next to her. Buffy who appeared confused at his abrupt change in mood, curled herself up against his left side. “What’s wrong?”

“Gotta head out soon,” Spike explained, sounding miserable.

“Already?” Buffy asked, also disappointed.

“Duty calls,” the vampire replied, gradually sitting up. He felt a warm hand clutch his arm. Buffy was pulling him back down to the bed. “Luv, I really have to…”

“I know,” Buffy stated as she continued to pull on him, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “But you have to eat first.”

Spike was a little surprised. He knew she had wanted to keep on with their little arrangement, but it hadn’t quite sunk in until now. “You certain, pet?” he asked as he rolled onto his side, searching her hazel eyes to see if the emotions they conveyed betrayed the words she spoke.

Taking his hand, Buffy brought it to the left side of her neck. “I’m sure.”

Spike’s hand floated above her neck for a few seconds, still needing to see if she was completely up for another round of blood letting before he stroked the pleasure inducing mark. Searching her eyes for the slightest trace of fear or doubt, he found none. What was even more interesting was that he found something he would have never expected. Trust. Finding it nearly made him fall off the bed. The past few days could only be described as one long emotional rollercoaster, and with this new tidbit of information, one that seemed to have no sign of slowing down. Not only had Buffy wanted him, but now he knew she trusted him.

Lowering his hand, Spike brushed his thumb over the still healing bite mark he’d given her the last time they had done this. It was light enough so that it relaxed her but not stimulating enough to get her too excited. Bringing his mouth to the unattended side of her neck, Spike placed a tender kiss on the old wound, which made her shiver uncontrollably. Morphing into game face, he pierced her silky skin with his fangs, careful not to tear the flesh. Hearing her whimper, his hand began to caress her neck at a much faster pace. Soon Spike could hear Buffy’s whimpers turn to pants and the unmistakable scent of her arousal filled the air around them. Feeling his body involuntarily react to her, Spike ignored the hard-on and kept his mind focused on what he was doing. He wasn’t going to allow himself to loose control. Spike had seen the trust Buffy had in him; he didn’t want to see it replaced with regret the next time he gazed into those beautiful green eyes.


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Spike walked out of his room, closing the door as his gaze staid focus on the door across the hallway. After he had finished drinking from Buffy and once he properly bandaged up her neck, he let her go back to sleep. Spike, who had been very careful not to reveal the persistent bulge in his pants, had bolted across the hallway to his room. There, under the hot spray of the shower, the vampire had, for what seemed to be a now daily occurrence, a good long wank. It was getting to the point where every time he stepped into Buffy’s room he left fully aroused and with no hope of satisfaction unless he stooped to self-gratification.

A look of yearning crossed his face as he glanced to her door one last time, before venturing down the hall. When Spike turned on his heel, he hadn’t expected to encounter who he saw waiting for him at the end of the hallway. It worried him that he had been too distracted to have sensed that another vampire was just a few feet away. Trying to appear like he hadn’t been thrown off by the vampire’s sudden materialization, Spike offered an informal greeting. “ ‘lo Damon.”

“Had yourself a good night Spike?” Damon asked, a quirky smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall across Buffy’s room. “Cuz it sure smells like she did.”

In the past, Spike would have chuckled at the remark, maybe even thrown in one of his own quips about his sexual prowess or how much of a good fuck Buffy was. Now Damon’s snide comments only sickened him. Actually, what they really made Spike wanna do was use his bare hands to rip the dark vampire’s head from right off his body. He didn’t like Damon and he sure as hell didn’t like his insinuations. The pillock made Buffy sound like she was nothing but a cheap piece of meat.

That’s when Spike remembered that that was precisely how Damon and everyone else saw Buffy, as the clan leader’s fuck slave. No one knew. They suspected he cared a little more than he should for her, but no one truly knew the extant of the love he felt for Buffy.

Unclenching his fists and relaxing his tightened jaw, Spike gave Damon his trademark smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know, mate,” he coyly replied. Damon’s only response was to give an indifferent shrug.

Walking past the vampire, Spike started down the hall, until he stopped at the sound of Damon’s voice. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m even here?” he said, as if he were posing a riddle.

Not wishing to play anymore games, Spike exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Just out with it already.”

“The warehouse on the west part of town was taken out by streeters. They got all of our vamps. The post’s theirs now Spike,” Damon clarified, his unexpectedly somber manner indicating the gravity of the situation.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed, punching a hole into the nearest wall. He just couldn’t get a break. The moment things finally start going his way, when his relationship with Buffy was progressing so well and when he had full control over his clan, this had to have happened. If he started loosing face to the streeters, to bloody humans, he was going to loose more respect than when his vamps had suspected he was coddling Buffy. Spike had to retaliate quickly and a few humans were going to have to suffer for what they did so that the vampires of his clan felt like vengeance had been served. A nagging voice at the back of his head told him that Buffy wasn’t going to like that but he pushed it away, focusing on his new dilemma instead.

Pulling the fist from the shattered drywall, Spike turned his platinum head to look at Damon. “Get your minions ready. You’re heading out at nightfall,” Spike ordered, ignoring his bleeding knuckles.

Damon slowly shook his head. “I’m just the messenger. None of my vamps wanna head out there and I sure as hell don’t wanna send them. This is your mess, you deal with it,” Damon defiantly stated.

Spike didn’t like the tone Damon was using with him. He had flogged other vamps for much less. However, he didn’t have the time to argue with him. “Fine. Get your ass downstairs and tell Vincent to meet me there with his crew. Can you handle that, Damon?” Spike replied bitterly, beginning to despise the insistently rebellious vampire.

“Sure thing, boss,” Damon answered, emphasizing the last word. Spike assumed it was an expression of contempt because the ebony haired vampire was being ordered around. Little did he know that Damon was actually being facetious.

Watching the vampire head downstairs, Spike made his way over to Buffy’s room. He was going to have to tell her something. He probably wasn’t going to see her that night and she deserved an explanation as to why. Should he tell her the whole truth? Spike peered down at the bloodied fist; it was the same hand that had hesitantly grasped the doorknob the night before. Spike groaned in aggravation. He couldn’t stand around debating any longer. He didn’t have time to piss away on pleasantries and being nervous.

Opening the door, he entered the lamp lit room, scanning around for Buffy. She was on the couch with the television blasting, watching and singing along to some horrible pop music video. Making his way toward the couch, Spike watched as Buffy realized he had returned, a little surprised to see him. Having changed into clean clothes since the last time he had seen her, she stood up to greet him, a huge smile plastered on her face.

“Hey, you’re here early. Whatcha doing, playing hooky?” she asked, playfully placing a hand on her hip. Buffy started to laugh but stopped herself when she saw the dismal look on Spike’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer to him, concern evident in her eyes. He unintentionally glanced down at his bleeding hand, which only made her fret all the more. “Spike, what happened?”

Not being able to answer her question just yet, he walked past her to the bathroom, throwing the door open. Turning on the sink faucet, he washed his hand, rinsing off the blood and dust. Buffy followed after him, stopping at the bathroom doorway, watching as the water in the sink turned pink. He wasn’t saying anything and her worry was only augmenting her impatience. “Spike, tell me what the hell is going on!” she demanded, frustrated by his uncharacteristically quiet and evasive behavior.

Wiping his hands down with a towel, he threw it back onto the bathroom counter and pushed past her again. Buffy scurried behind him, ready to scream at the top of her lungs in frustration until Spike abruptly stopped in front of the bed. Turning around, he faced an irate Buffy; her arms crossed and scowl marring her face. “I won’t be back tonight luv. Got some business to attend to that might keep me away from the house all night long. Just wanted to let you know I won’t see you ‘til after dawn,” he stated, keeping his tone calm and his words vague.

“Where are you going? Why were you hurt? What could possibly be so important that it’s going to keep you out all night long?” she frantically asked, gesturing wildly.

“I can’t tell you. Just didn’t want you to worry ‘bout me. Tash will be in the house, so no vamps should get any ideas while ‘m gone,” he answered.

His attention turned to the scents around him; he could smell blood. His hand had already healed, so it wasn’t from his wound. He peered down at his shirt and realized he had bled on the black cotton tee. Taking off his duster and the red button up shirt he wore beneath it, Spike tossed the garments on top of the bed. He couldn’t have his blood distracting any of the other vampires. They were going to need to stay focused on reclaiming the warehouse and sniffing out any possible humans who might have been stupid enough to stay behind. Spike walked over to the mahogany dresser and pulled out another t-shirt; he seemed to have an endless supply. He quickly stripped off the soiled shirt and put on the clean one.

Turning back to face Buffy, he caught her dreamily ogling his back before her face returned to its much more stern and unconvinced demeanor. “Spike, you’re not telling me something. Why are you going out tonight?”

Putting only his duster back on, Spike stubbornly shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked, her mood becoming more and more annoyed.

“Why can’t you drop it? You’re lucky I didn’t just leave you stewin’ here all night long wonderin’ where I was,” Spike rebutted, unwavering.

“I’m lucky enough!?! Wow, thank you so much for doing what most people would’ve considered to be a common courtesy!” Buffy vented, slightly shocked by the audacity of his remark. “What has gotten into you?” she wondered, hoping he’d give her a sincere answer.

“Nothin’. Just don’t have time for this right now, alright?” he replied, moving toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t. Come back here and explain to me why you’re being all avoidy,” Buffy commanded, grabbing his arm.

“Buffy, I don’t have time for this. Let go of me,” Spike demanded, waiting for her to release the grip she had on the sleeve of his duster.

“No. Not until you tell me,” she refused, which made Spike glance back at her in irritation. He had forgotten how stubborn Buffy could be, but he couldn’t tell her. She wouldn’t understand.

“Buffy, I’m warning you. Let go of me,” he said slowly, making sure she understood he was completely serious.

“Now you’re warning me?” she asked, stunned by the domineering quality of his voice and stance. She refused to back off as he stared down at her, trying to intimidate her. It felt so reminiscent of what felt like ages ago when she had first been brought to him. Buffy felt her heart constrict, she didn’t understand why Spike was acting this way. Opening her grasp, she finally let go of him.

Pivoting on his heel, he marched to the door when Buffy spoke to him. “So should I take off all my clothes, chain myself to the bed and just wait until you return?” Her soft voice quivered in rage as she glared at Spike.

“What the soddin’ hell are you talking about?” he asked, exasperated beyond belief.

“Well, you can’t even tell me where you’re going. You don’t think it worthwhile to fill me in on what’s going on. And that says a lot more than you think, Spike. Obviously, I’m nothing more than just a plaything that you pretend to be human with.” Buffy paused. “I’m just a warm body for you to fuck.”

Spike strolled back over to her, fury evident in his cobalt eyes. “That’s real ballsy of you! Are you such a bitch that you’re going to deny what we’ve been through these past few months?”

“You seem to have forgotten without too much effort,” Buffy commented, crossing her arms again as her eyes narrowed.

Spike’s last bit of patience evaporated at the sight of the grimace she was giving him. She was looking at him like he was a despicable piece of scum, the way she used to look at him when she had hated him. Buffy was so quick to forget what he’d been through to prove his love for her. It was so easy for her to ignore the feelings he knew she was developing for him. So easy for her to think the worst of him. An insuppressible rage began to boil within him, making his temper flare up violently. Inching himself closer to Buffy, his face a whisper away from hers, Spike let it all go.

“Know what I haven’t forgotten? You riddin’ me ‘til my eyes rolled back into their bleedin' sockets, front of a room full of vamps,” he replied, making sure his face always in hers as the invasion of personal space made her want to step away.

“Also remember you screaming out my name when I fucked you on that very couch,” he added, pointing to the said couch as he continued to follow after a retreating Buffy.

“Spike, you’re scaring me,” she cowered, frantically looking side to side, trying to find away to escape, feeling like the vampire was cornering her.

“Scary am I? Didn’t stop you from forcing me to drink from you. Were you scared when you cumed from my bites, pet?”

Buffy suddenly felt her back bump into a wall Spike’s face was so close to hers that she could see amber flecks in his wild blue eyes. She heard a growl escape his lips, his eyes intently focused on her. She turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the wall. Grabbing her chin, he roughly brought her gaze back to his own. The forceful treatment made her shrink in fear.

“If you want things to go to the way they were before and ignore everything that’s happened between us, fine. But don’t ever think it’s something I want. If I did, I would have already smacked the gall out of you,” he threatened, his eyes still smoldering with fury.

Spike let go of her face, his mood swinging as he glumly dropped his hand to his side. Buffy watched as his expression changed from anger to despair. “Do you have any idea what it’s like craving you? Looking forward to the next moment just to be with you? Having you in my arms but not having you completely?” Spike forlornly asked, bringing his hand back up to her face, but this time to stroke it tenderly.

Buffy grew tense as she felt Spike press her against the wall with his body. He ran his fingers lightly over her flowing blonde hair, uncaring about her apprehensive posture. Lowering his lips to her ear, he hoarsely whispered, “Do you know how much I wish I could just throw caution to the wind, ignore what I know is wrong and have my way with you? Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to restrain myself?”

As his lips brushed her earlobe, his hand traveled down from her hair, past her bandaged neck, finally stopping as it cupped one of her breasts. Buffy gasped from the unforeseen move, sensing her body betraying her as she felt the dampness between her legs. Spike kept going, ignoring the voice in his mind that was screaming at him to stop before he completely ruined all his chances with Buffy. Breathing heavily, he continued to whisper into her ear. “If you want things to go the way they were before pet, you won’t get a complaint out of me,” he added, stroking her clothed breast with his thumb and pressing his now rock solid erection against her stomach to underline him point.

Buffy initially felt hypnotized, her own body craving the ecstasy that she knew Spike could offer. Reality, however, soon hit and she pushed Spike off of her, visibly disgusted. Spike started to laugh like a madman. “Course you don’t. Got it good now, don’t you? You get the lovesick vampire and a scheduled happy every single day. Meanwhile I’m left pulling my hair out just trying to keep myself from going on a killing spree,” he said, his laughter abruptly coming to an end as he moved his way back closer to her. “You think I’m being heartless and that I’m completely disregarding whatever glimmer of trust we’ve developed? Well I think you’re being a selfish and ignorant fucking bitch!” he spewed out, contempt lacing every word.

“I hate you,” Buffy spouted back, her throat tight as her brimming tears threatened to spill down her flushed face.

“Not enough to stop me from touching though. Not even enough to stop yourself,” Spike rebutted, moving his face so that his eyes were level with hers. “Guess we know what kind of girl that makes you, eh luv?”

Buffy’s hand flew at him, slapping him hard across the cheek. He staggered back, shocked not only by the blow she had inflicted but also by the realization of what he had just done. Holding his cheek, his bewildered eyes looked down at her. She was fuming, her chest heaving as the tears finally broke free.

“Buffy, luv…” Spike moved closer, reaching out to her as he attempted to apologize.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Buffy, ‘m sorry. Please…” he beseeched, desperately pleading with her.

“Get out!” she said sternly, avoiding the sorrow in his eyes.

“Pet, please…”

“GET OUT!!!” Buffy screamed, collapsing into a ball on the cold ceramic floor, hiding her face in her arms as she cried.

Spike observed her trembling form; he could hear the horrible sobs she was making. It ripped right through him. Every thing they’d been through, every small step they had made, gone because Buffy had doubted his feelings for her. It was that doubt, combined with all his frustrations, that had made Spike snap. He felt like such a fool. In mere minutes Spike had obliterated what had taken him months to build.

He needed to get out of the room; the sight of Buffy reminded him of the last time he had made her cry that hard. She had despised him them like she probably despised him now. Spike had blown it and Buffy was most likely never going to want to see him, let alone speak to him, again.

Reluctantly turning toward the door, Spike stopped in his tracks, knowing Buffy could probably still hear him despite her crying. “I didn’t tell you what I was going to do because you would have hated me for it. Guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He paused. “I lost one of my posts, a warehouse on the west side of town, to the streeters and now I gotta head out there and take back what’s mine. I didn’t want to tell you ‘cos I knew you’d figure out that I might hafta kill a few humans. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Guess, I was wrong for thinkin’ you’d ever have any expectations of me,” Spike desolately stated, storming out of the room before Buffy could respond.

Buffy lifted her head up, taken aback by what he had just divulged. A whirl of emotions slammed through her, leaving her baffled and miserable. Curling back into her ball, Buffy began to sob again, incapable of understanding just how it was possible in the course of a few hours to go from sleeping in Spike’s arms to hating every fibre of his being.

Off in the hallway, a few paces away, on the other side of the wooden door, stood a remorseful Spike, whose thoughts were plagued by that very same question.