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Master by Aurora
Chapter Eighteen-Reunited
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Chapter Eighteen: Reunited

The sound of an incoherent murmur slowly pulled Buffy out of her dreamless sleep. Her eyes opened to the sight of a pretty beaten up Spike, who was whimpering slightly in pain as he slept.

Last night, after she had wiped away the last of her tears, Buffy had instantly gone on autopilot, running to the window to close the large heavy black curtains to keep out the looming morning sun. After hauling Spike up onto the bed to examine him by sparse candlelight, she had realized that when he had thrown Damon across the room he must have reopened some of his already healing wounds. Her hands had fluttered over his battered flesh, her eyes making out large bite marks all over his shoulder and deep round gashes in his chest. His skin had been, and still was, a collage of varying shades of purple and blue. His front appeared to have been scorched; she still could discern the reddened outlines of crosses in several different places on his body. As she had peeled away his duster, Spike’s horrible condition had been further revealed.

For a few seconds, the sight of him had left her both sickened and distraught, but Buffy had instantly pushed those feelings away. She had stripped off his remaining pants, gently washed his body and carefully bandaged him up. It had taken her most of the night. When she had finished, she had maneuvered Spike around so that she could rip off the fitted sheet beneath him that was filthy and covered in his dried blood, using up the last ounce of strength she had left. She had collapsed onto the bare mattress beside him, barely conscious as she had lifted the covers on top of them. Careful not to touch him, Buffy had exhaustedly passed out.

Now, she was awake again, feeling the most rested she had in days, staring longingly at Spike’s sleeping face. From the erratic movement behind his eyelids, Buffy knew he was dreaming. She smiled when he smiled and grew worried when he would wince in pain. Her hand gingerly slipped from beneath her cheek, traveling across her pillow to his, her finger tips brushing against his face, stoking his sharp cheekbone and jaw line. Her hazel eyes studied him intently, recommitting every single detail about his appearance to memory. His skin was a little clammier, his color was paler than normal, and he had dark sunken circles around his eyes, but at that very moment, Buffy thought he’d never looked more gorgeous.

Spike began to purr from her soft touch. Buffy smiled to herself. She didn’t know vampires could purr. It was cute and made her want to cuddle with him but she restrained herself. He was too banged up; she was afraid to even get too close to him. Buffy wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him but Spike looked so fragile. She was scared she’d accidentally break him. Sighing, she contended herself with simply watching him as he slept. Snuggles could wait, he wasn’t going anywhere.

The vampire groaned when he tried to lean into Buffy’s hand, turning slightly onto his side, which pressed his weight down on his bruised ribs. Buffy could see his eyelids flickering; the pain must have awakened him. Spike droopily opened his eyes, steering his half-conscious attention to the person caressing his face. “Buffy?” he disbelievingly rasped, unsure if he was still dreaming.

Buffy gave him a brilliant smile, her eyes shimmering. “Yeah, it’s me,” she managed to choke out, fighting off the tears of joy that were threatening to spill.

“Is it really you?” he asked again, needing the confirmation that she wasn’t an illusion, that she was actually safe, lying beside him. He felt his own eyes start to sting with unshed tears, a heady mix of relief and contentment filling him. Memories of the prior night, when he had yanked Damon off of her, suddenly reemerged. Had he gotten there in time? Spike tried to sit up, his body instinctively trying to get to Buffy, to make sure she was okay. He yelped as the agonizing pain in his back, legs and chest intensely burned with every move he made. It wouldn’t stop him though. He needed to see for himself that she was alright.

Buffy immediately flew to his side, her hands flying everywhere, uncertain where to lay them to stop him from getting up. “Spike, what are you doing? You have to rest,” she beseeched, concern evident in her strained voice as he refused lie down. She could only watch as he stubbornly hissed and panted, scooting his body backwards until his back touched the headboard. Buffy did her best to make him comfortable, surrounding him with pillows and fussing over his bandages to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently pulled open any wounds. Spike didn’t object to her coddling; it was nice to know she cared.

Finally settled, he peered up at her, his blue eyes full of trepidation. “Did Damon…?” he paused, the words getting caught in his throat. “Did Damon hurt you?” he worriedly finished the question.

Buffy shook her head, now understanding why Spike had had the sudden urge to move. “No, you stopped him before he could,” she responded quietly.

She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, but she hadn’t had time to deal with what Damon had almost done to her. Remembering the whole incident made her feel a little dirty but what she really felt like doing was exacting some serious vengeance on that demon’s ass. Buffy consoled herself with the thought that Damon would be dealt with. She didn’t want what had happened last night with the dark vampire to ruin her reunion with Spike. She quickly pushed all thoughts of it aside.

Spike let out a sigh of relief, before bowing his head in shame. “’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to bring himself to look her in the eye.

“It wasn’t your fault Spike. You weren’t here and Damon-” Buffy instantly grabbed his hand as she began to quickly reassure him, not entirely understanding why he was apologizing for something that had been totally out of his control.

“No…I mean… ’m sorry ‘bout that too…’s just… it wasn’t what I was referrin’ to,” he interrupted her, his melancholy gaze remaining fixed on their clasped hands, away from Buffy’s questioning stare. “I never meant any of it, luv.”

He was talking about the morning before he had been taken away. About the horrible words he had said to her. Since Spike had returned, Buffy had almost completely forgotten about the awful incident. She wanted to laugh. She remembered how much she had hated him for it. It seemed like a distant memory, almost eons ago, and in retrospect, it felt so inconsequential. She had forgiven him the moment she had found out he was gone. It should be her asking for his forgiveness. Buffy looked over his horrid physical state once again. How could she have ever doubted his love for her?

“I know,” Buffy said softly, giving Spike’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Spike tentatively raised his head, his teary eyes locking with hers. He looked up at her as though she had absolved him of all his sins and not just those he had committed against her. He looked up at her as though she had just saved him somehow.

“That’s a relief,” he croaked, his emotions playing nasty tricks on his voice.

He still couldn’t believe she was sitting beside him and that the hand he was touching was actually hers. The past seventy-two hours had been an utter nightmare for the both of them. Spike’s mind was having some difficulty processing the fact that he was free and Buffy was alive and well. Yet amongst his inabilities to come to grips with reality, his conscience, yes Spike now truly believed after everything he had been through that he did indeed have a conscience, albeit an only recently reactivated one, refused to forget about the fateful day he had left. For the longest time he had been solely focused on only getting back to Buffy, but he hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t forget those obscene things he had said to her in a moment of infuriated passion. But it was water under the bridge now. Spike took in a calming but needless breath. ‘Get it together mate, before you start blubberin’ like a baby.’

Buffy could feel the beginnings of her own tears forming. She inched her way closer to his stiff body, bringing her free hand up once again to his bruised face. Her thumb brushed over his cheek as she lovingly smiled at him. “I still can’t believe you’re really here,” Buffy hoarsely whispered, sniffling as a few tears slid down her face.

Spike nearly fell apart at her teary confession. What he wouldn’t have given a week ago to have her look at him the way she was now; so trusting and genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t bear the thought that he could have lost her. He was a century’s old vampire, one who had endured countless of tortures throughout his sordid past, some of which made the last few days seem like a walk in the park, but it only took the mere thought of someone harming even one blonde hair on that beautiful head of hers to bring him to his knees.

After everything Spike had suffered, after all of that time spent worrying about her in that dank basement, he had finally arrived to Buffy’s room only to see Damon straddling her, forcing himself on her small, defenseless form. The image had been seared into his mind and the overwhelming rage that the sight of Buffy’s near rape had initially generated was now rekindling within Spike. Damon, if he had any of his wits about him, was most likely long gone, probably flew out of the house like a bat out of hell when he had realized that the prodigal clan leader had returned. With deathly assurance, Spike knew Damon would be dealt with, in one painful way or another. It was only a matter of time, depending on how long it was going to take for him to return to full strength. As Spike stared into Buffy’s glistening bittersweet gaze he inwardly vowed that the despicable treacherous vampire would come to truly know why William the Bloody had taken on the telling moniker of ‘Spike’.

“Better believe it, pet. I’m here” he gently reassured, a sad smirk tugging at his lips before pulling his face away from Buffy’s touch, glancing down at his bandaged body. “Hmmph. Relatively in one piece.”

As Spike scrutinized his mummified torso, he hardly noticed Buffy shift beside him. His eyes bugged out as he let out a gasp when he felt her warm supple form gently lower itself into his lap. Half sitting on his thighs, the only part of him that she couldn’t remember seeing covered in bruises, Buffy put most of her weight on her knees, just in case she was wrong about his seemingly healthy limbs. Spike raised his eyes to hers, her face inches away from his.

“Buffy?” he asked, his knitted brow trying to convey his bewilderment, his tone both questioning and yearning.

“Oh God, did I hurt you?” she anxiously wondered, thinking the confusion on his face was actually an expression of pain, shifting again to get off of him.

Spike vigorously shook his head. “No,” he agitatedly stated. He could feel his battered body start to react to her. His blood, whatever little that was left, was rushing to his nether regions. He gripped harder on their still clasped hands, tugging on her arm to stop her.

Buffy sighed, a little relieved. Seeing the determined look on his face, she knew he didn’t want her to move. Smiling gleefully, she continued on with what she had been in the process of doing. Leaning in towards him, placing a hand on the mattress by his side to keep her steady, Buffy watched as Spike’s face changed from perplexed to flabbergasted, his magnificent blue eyes glittering in anticipation. She stopped when her lips were a whisper away from his, her hot heavy breath mingling with the cool pant that was escaping his parted mouth.

Spike groaned loudly. “Pet, I spent the past few days in not so pleasant company. Don’t need you torturin’ me too,” he huskily whined, feeling like he was on the verge of total utter breakdown if she didn’t do something soon.

Pushing the last smidgen of her insecurity and fear aside, Buffy closed the miniscule gap separating them, gently planting her lips on his. For a few seconds neither one of them moved, taking time to reflect on the significance of the moment. The fact that it was Buffy who had initiated the embrace spoke more than any words ever could. She was letting him into her heart, a place she had denied him access to ever since he had first tried to kiss her. Since she had been captured they had humped, bumped and grinded each other into mind bending, world altering, pop you like warm champagne kind of euphoria. Yet they’d never truly shared anything as intimate as this, their first kiss.

Once overcoming his initial shock, Spike eased into the kiss, his lips languidly moving against hers. It was sweet and gentle and everything else that wasn’t a normal descriptor of their past physical encounters. Their mouths gradually opened, their lips lightly brushing against one another’s. There was no force and no rush despite the desperate burning desire that was scorching both of them from within. Buffy was afraid she’d hurt him and Spike didn’t want to do anything that might make her regret this later.

Spike knew if he wasn’t as physically limited as he presently felt, he would have plundered her mouth until she had to shove him off just to breathe. He prided himself on being quite astute in the art of kissing. A century of experience, years of snoggin’ with Druscilla, had afforded him that kind of arrogance. But this was different. All his past embraces had been frenzied, passionate, all consuming kisses that usually accompanied a fuck marathon with the occasional biting. Not this kiss. Even with everything he’d done with Buffy, he’d never felt as close to her as he did now. This was their next step, and there was no going back.

Buffy grew bolder, reassured by Spike’s intermittent moans of pleasure, daringly gliding her tongue along his bottom lip, teasing him to permit her entrance. Spike willingly allowed her to explore his mouth, sliding his own oral muscle against hers in soft caresses. Twirling his tongue around hers, Spike reached out an arm around her waist, instinctively pulling her closer to him. Buffy gasped loudly into his mouth when she unsuspectingly rubbed up against his erection, the hardness covered by the silky fabric of the satin sheet pressing on her exposed, wet pussy. Pulling away from his mouth, she rested her forehead against his, breathing heavily as she tried to keep her arousal under control.

Spike let out an uncharacteristic whimper at both the loss of her lips and the delicious friction she was inflicting on his cock. Wanting more, he did what came naturally, his lust fogged mind focused on her moist swollen lips, forgetting himself for the briefest second. Spike leaned forward to capture her mouth in another more searing kiss, when a burst of fire ripped through his midsection, making him wince violently.

“Spike?” Buffy worriedly questioned the pained expression on his face.

“Not used to bein’ a decrepit, luv. Got lost in you for a second there,” he explained through clenched teeth, resting his head back on the pile of pillows as he dismally covered his face with his hand.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…” Buffy started to lament, mentally kicking herself for pushing things too far, too soon.

“Never say that,” Spike insisted, lowering his hand from his displeased face, appearing to be gravely upset with her. “I’d let you break every bone in my body just to get you to kiss me again. Don’t ever say that you’re sorry, ‘cos I sure as hell am not.”

Buffy could see the insecurity in his downcast glance. She knew he was worried that she’d immediately regret the kiss. Stupid vampire. Shouldn’t he know by now that if she was voluntarily smooching him, he had nothing to worry about? Not every guy had an all access pass to her lips and very few could sneak their way into the VIP room that was her heart. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was reeling from severe injuries, Buffy would have smacked him for his lack of confidence.

“First of all, not sorry about anything here. Secondly, I was going to say that I shouldn’t have jumped you the way I did. And thirdly, you’re a dope!” she announced indignantly, sliding back down to his thighs, away from his rock solid member.

“What are you goin’ on about?” Spike asked, frustrated not only by her incoherence but with the fact that the stiffy he was sporting wasn’t going to be tended to any time soon.

“You were gone, and I’m not saying that whatever you went through was easy, but it wasn’t all peachy happy rainbows here either,” she commented, her voice trembling as she recalled the anxiety of those three nights, just trying to survive from one sunrise to the next. “I had a lot of time to think. You were right. I can’t deny what has happened between us these past few months and I should hate you for it.”

Buffy felt Spike grow tense beneath her; she could see the dread spring into his eyes. She didn’t want to mislead him but she had to say what was on her mind. “I should despise you for the bringing me here, for trapping me in this house, for saying those horrible things to me. I should hate you for leaving me all alone,” she steadily divulged, watching as Spike became increasingly more apprehensive.

“But I don’t,” Buffy admitted with conviction. “God, how I don’t!” she paused before whispering, “I really don’t hate you, Spike.”

If Spike actually had a pulse, he most likely would have had a heart attack. She couldn’t just kiss him and then take it all away. It took a while for it to sink in but he exhaled noisily when he realized what she was really saying. She was his. Buffy was trying, might he add quite unsuccessfully, to tell him that she cared about him, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her limited words were enough of a declaration for him.

Spike slowly leaned in again, ignoring the dispersed shots of minuscule pain in his body, capturing her lips in another kiss. Buffy crawled up his lap in response, urgently pressing her mouth to his. The kiss quickly intensified, their need for one another fueling the frenzy of their embrace. Spike brought his hand up to Buffy’s hair, running his fingers through her blond locks. Their tongues dueled, playfully competing for dominance. Buffy squirmed in his lap, regenerating the dampness between her own thighs as she grinded against his still rock hard cock. She smiled against his lips when Spike emitted another guttural moan. Needing more, he snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her flush up against his bandaged chest.

Spike immediately ripped his lips from Buffy’s. “Arrrrggghhhhhh!”

Buffy flew backwards at the unexpected bellow, her eyes glued to Spike as he wheezed frantically, his pain eventually subsiding. “You’d think I’d learn from the first time around,” Spike longingly remarked, cursing his currently feeble state.

Buffy had an inkling that Spike needed blood to get better. It was just logical. He was a vampire after all. Moving back into his lap, Buffy tilted her neck, exposing it to him in a silent invitation.

“You sure?” he asked to make sure he wasn’t misreading her.

“I need it just as much as you do,” she reassured, grabbing the back of his head, pulling his mouth down to her offered flesh.

Spike morphed, his tongue lapping the old wounds on her neck. Buffy shivered as Spike induced the sensations that only he could trigger within her. Her hips began to move of their own volition, her damp sex searching for satisfaction to quell her mounting desire. She cried out in ecstasy when his fangs pierced her skin, strangely feeling fulfilled by the penetration. It was only when Spike started to take pulls of blood from her willing body that Buffy felt as though his homecoming was finally complete. This feeding was more than the ones before. She wasn’t just giving him what his undead body needed to heal and to thrive but it was almost a reclaiming. He was making her his again but now the need to be linked to each other was being reciprocated. She wanted to belong to him.

Spike could feel Buffy’s blood fill him, working its way through his body, filling every withered cell to regenerate him back to tip top form. Having taken just enough to start the healing process while not too much to cause Buffy any harm, he carefully pulled out his fangs. Dragging his tongue across the puncture wounds to seal them, a growl rumbled in his throat in response to her involuntary thrusting. He wasn’t one hundred percent better yet, but with a few more winks of sleep, he’d be fine.

When she felt he was no longer drinking from her, Buffy tried to suppress the urge to grind up against him. She knew he needed rest, that he wasn’t completely out of the woods yet. Grudgingly slipping off of him, Buffy settled down by his side, not straying too far. She peered up at his face, seeing the sense of loss in his own eyes. “Better get some sleep,” she whispered, drawing the blankets back up over him as she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. She moved to give him some space. Buffy didn’t want to distract him from getting better. Yet as she made her way off of the bed, a firm grip pulled her back.

“Spike, you need to rest,” she argued as she struggled against his much stronger grip.

He didn’t let go. Instead he brought her back to his side, his arms tight around her, refusing to release her. “I can’t let you go, pet. Not now. Not after everything we’ve been through,” he murmured softly. “Just stay with me.”

Buffy wanted to be strong but she instantly caved in when her head nestled on his shoulder. Spike shifted to get comfortable, content despite the small aches that still resounded throughout his body. This was how it was supposed to be between them. All that time wishing she’d return his feelings finally paid off. It had only taken his capture, subsequent torture and Damon’s near take over to get them to this point. Spike sighed as he slipped into peaceful repose, feeling Buffy’s warmth slowly seep into him, her vanilla scent invading his nose while her heartbeat steadily drummed in his ears. It had been worth it.


Natasha burst through the house’s front doors, marching into the main foyer, the angry stomps of her heeled boots sending off warning signals to the few nearby minions to stay away. Things were not good. Shit had literally hit the fan.

Walking up to a distracted Vincent, who was reclining on the wall by the room’s usually curtained window, the vampiress stood and waited for him to finish his observation of the night’s starlit sky. Growing impatient, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Hate to disturb your little mediation moment Vincent, but we got a major problem on our hands,” she stated, annoyed by his indifferent behavior.

“Is it what we feared?” the elder vampire asked, his voice stern, void of any feeling.

“Worse,” Natasha replied, emphasizing the gravity of the situation with a long exhale.

Vincent turned from his midnight vigil to look into Natasha’s worried face. He raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, the only glimmer of emotion to break through his up until recently stoic demeanor. “Well?” he asked.

“He’s gone. And he’s taken all his vamps with him. The fucker even managed to get a few of our own too. With all those fledges gone, our numbers are less half of what they were,” she explained solemnly.

Vincent stared at her thoughtfully, the wheels in his head turning. After a long while, he finally spoke. “He’s creating sides, forcing a schism throughout the entire clan,” he deduced as he unhurriedly paced by the window.

Natasha hated when Vincent got cryptic. “So what’s it all mean?” she looked to him to elaborate.

Vincent stared back out into the dark world outside, his jaw clenching as his once relaxed hands formed into fists. “It’s war, Natasha. The pillock wants war.”
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