Chapter 8: A Return of Fire

Author's Notes: B/S Smut! Mrowr!



Buffy stormed into Angel’s apartment and thundered past Spike. He set down his glass of blood and followed Buffy into the guest room. He watched as she shoved her dirty clothes into her suitcase and grabbed the rest of her belongings.

“Now what are you on about?” he asked, handing her the pajamas that she had tossed in the corner that morning.

“I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“Angel’s a prick.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Unfortunate, innit? I don’t think he knows how to control it.”

“I need to call a cab.”

Spike picked up her suitcase. “We’re only going across the hall. We can manage.”

Throwing her arms up the air, Buffy laughed cruelly. “No, I don’t have a mind of my own. Go ahead and plan my whole freaking life for me.”

“I’d love too, pet.” Spike took her arm and led her from the room. “In my plan you’d have on less clothes, though.”

Buffy shot him a look but allowed him to lead her out of Angel’s apartment and into his. The differences in their homes were as vast as their own differences. Where Angel’s place was tastefully decorated with paintings, comfortable furniture, and browns and beiges, Spike’s place was a veritable explosion of color.

She stopped just inside the door to take in the living room. A purple leather sofa held court in the middle of the room facing the floor to ceiling windows that stared down at the city. Flowers, some alive and some fake, were positioned all about the room. There was a large entertainment center with a plasma television on one of the walls and two leather recliners, pink and purple, had been set in front of it.

“What the hell is this place?” she finally asked when she found her tongue. “A demon Barbie Dreamhouse?”

“It’s mine.” Spike scratched his head and tried to survey it from her perspective. He recalled vividly how much he had despised it the first time he had seen it. “I hate the place, too. They set it all up for Cordelia, but she’s still in a coma.”

“Can you blame her? I’d rather be in the hospital if this was what I had to come home to.”

“No one should be as cheerful as you, pet. No one.”

Ignoring him, she put her overnight bag on the couch and walked into the kitchen. It was huge, with an island and tons of expensive gadgets that would take Buffy all day to figure out. She ran her fingers along the marble counter tops and paused to examine a large coffee maker. Convinced that she’s injure herself if she attempted to brew anything in it, she walked down a short hallway and peered into a weight room.

“I plan on doing stuff with the place,” Spike said, following her throughout the rooms. He moved slightly ahead of her and opened a door for her. “This is my bedroom.”

“Obvious, much?”

“I just mean it’s more me.”

He flipped on a light and Buffy gasped. The bed was a huge four poster with heavy draperies hanging all around it. A stone fireplace took up all of one wall and the three remaining walls had been papered in the same pattern as the comforter and curtains, swirls of beiges and royal blues. Off to one side was a sitting room that held a computer desk, laptop, and two wing backed chairs.

“Wow,” Buffy mumbled under her breath. “It’s so beautiful.”

“The bathroom is great. Garden tub. It’s a big step up from my crypt.”

“Blood money.” She ran her hand over the comforter and then turned to look at him. “That’s what paid for it all.”

“Yeah, it feeds me, too.”

“You’re all pathetic.”

“It’s not how you think, Buffy.”

“It’s not a big, evil empire?”

“Angel’s made a lot of changes.”

“Yeah.” Buffy openly appraised him, starting at his feet and working her way up to his face. “He certainly has.”

Spike visibly bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Can we not?” She brushed past him and walked back into the living room. “Where’s my room?”

“Well,” Spike pointed at the sofa. “It’s the sofa or my room. We’ve got one bedroom.”

“Oh, well, my day has certainly been made now.”

“How much longer until that poison is out of your system?”

“Why?”

“Because one of us will have to die soon.”

“Volunteering?”

“Bloody hell.”



Buffy was staring at Spike’s television when her cellphone began to vibrate and make annoying sounds. On the third ‘ring’ she picked it up and stared at the caller I.D. “Shit.”

Spike, who had been paying her more attention than the movie anyway, raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is that noise?”

“It’s supposed to be birds chirping.”

“Choking more like.”

“I think it’s soothing.”

“Soothing? Right.”

Flipping open the phone, Buffy sighed. “Hey, Dawn.”

“Buffy!” Dawn squealed. “Guess where I am?”

“The Leaning Tower of Pisa? Again?”

“No! I’m in London!”

“Why are you in London?”

“Giles came and got me. You should see his place. It’s so freaking huge! And the girls all have this kick ass training facility and -”

Buffy sat up straighter on the couch. “You’re with Giles?”

“Yeah! And it’s been a lot of fun. Xander has been watching way too many pirate movies. He’s got the voice down. And Willow’s doing okay, but y’know, Kennedy -”

“I can not believe that you’d do this to me again! What the hell happened to us sticking together?”

“Well, you’re way on another continent! Besides, I miss them!”

“What. Ever.” Buffy exhaled loudly and ran a hand through her hair. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be pissed, Buffy. Please? Look, if you don’t want anyone in your life that’s okay. But I’m not like you. I miss having a family.”

“Family? Is that what you think they are?” Buffy noticed Spike had put the television on mute and quickly stood, escaping to the bedroom. “Let me clue you in, dumbass, families don’t vote each other off the island.”

“Buffy, you don’t even watch Survivor so don’t go there!”
“Did they tell you to call me?”

“You weren’t always this paranoid, you know?” Dawn replied. “And for your information, no one has even mentioned you since I got here. Contrary to what you may think ... they don’t revolve around you anymore. They’ve got enough to deal with.”

“Oh, so now I’m someone that needs to be dealt with.”

“Why are you twisting my words?”

“Why did you call?”

“I thought you’d like to know where I was and how I’m doing.”

“Well, now I do. You’re back where you belong. Have a nice life.”

“Don’t hang up!” Dawn shouted. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I can’t just isolate myself and have no contact with people the way you do. I just -- I had a fight with Diego and I felt so awful.”

“Yeah? I had a fight with Angel, too.”

“About?”

“His new girlfriend. Nina. Isn’t that a dumb name?”

“Uh, Buffy? Have you ever looked at your name when you wrote it down?”

“Hello? Can we focus?”

“What’s the big deal? You’ve had boyfriends since him.”

“Yes, but she’s a werewolf.”

“So?”

“So that means she’s also human which is exactly why he couldn’t be with me!”

“Oh!”

“And Spike is alive.”

“Andrew told me. Spike told him not to tell you and he passed that along to me. How does he look?”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh god, here we go again. Yes, Buffy, my purpose in life is to keep things from you and to betray you with our FRIENDS!”

“Admitting it is the first step,” Buffy yelled and disconnected. “Fuck!”

Spike, who had been casually eavesdropping just outside the open door, ducked quickly as the cell phone came whizzing past his head the second he glanced into the room. It hit the wall behind him and shattered.

“Don’t say a word,” Buffy growled.

“Are you okay?”

“Spike.” She shot him a warning look.

“That was three words. You told me not to say A word.”
She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Pushing. I push so hard that it aches.”

“Then pull for a while.” He held out his hand and waited for her to take it.

He watched her struggle, saw her hands clench into fists as she shook her head. “No.”

“Come on, Slayer.” He grinned at her. “It won’t be the end of the world if you knock the chip off your shoulder for two whole minutes.”

“I don’t need this right now.”

“I think you do.”

“Well, don’t think! You’ll just cause problems if you try to do that!”

“You know, sooner or later you’re going to need me. You may want to remember that!”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Let’s see if you’re still singing that song in a few hours when the Big Bad is on his way to get you and you’re all chock full of need.”

“Won’t happen.”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten what kind of soul you have, but I haven’t. It bleeds, pet. It bleeds passion and love and self-righteous, holier than thou bullshit, and when it wakes up, you’re going to be pushed to your knees.” Spike extended his arm further. “And I’m offering you a hand right now.”

Buffy stared at his hand. The last time they had joined hands, both had burst into flame. It scared her, but she wanted to feel something, anything, before she forgot how entirely. It didn’t disappoint. She took his hand, pulled him toward her and wrapped her arms around him. “It hurts,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I hate it.”

“I know that, too. When I first got my soul I thought that it would burn me from the inside out.”

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

“It’ll be over soon.” Spike nodded toward the bed and sat down beside her. “I’d tell you to be strong, but I don’t think you need to be. Don’t fight it. You need to feel.”

“I’m scared.” She met his gaze, imploring him not to laugh. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“It’s understandable.” Spike squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“What does ‘the small killer’ mean to you?”

Buffy regarded him for several seconds, then stood. “Who told you that?”

“Is it true?”

“Who told you that?” she repeated a little louder.

“Fred.”

“What did she say?”


Spike didn’t need to ask anything else. Her reaction had given him all the answers he needed. “She said that every Vespara demon has a human who brings them sacrifices. Soul sacrifices.”

“I didn’t!” Buffy shouted. “I didn’t do that!”

“I’m not in a position to judge you if you did.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “What else did Fred say?”

“She had a research party. That girl could give the Wicca a run for her money with the research.”

Buffy ran her hands through her hair as she paced the length of the room. She had suspected that she had blood on her hands, but had not been completely certain. The gypsies would neither confirm or deny that she had aided The Immortal, albeit unwillingly. He had certainly controlled her with his powers before, making her doubt things, making her do things that were so unlike her that she still shook with the memories of it all.

“What did her research say about me?” she finally asked quietly.

“Just that the demon world calls you the small killer and that you brought humans to him as a sacrifice. There were drawings.”

“Oh god.” Leaning back against the wall, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. “I wish they had never brought me back from the dead.”

“Great,” Spike said, getting to his feet. “Same old tired song and dance.” He changed his voice to a higher register and did a completely believable American accent. “I’m such a poor, pitiful, little Buffy that I don’t want to live. Oh, woe is me. No one has suffered as I have suffered. I’m far too good to suffer so much. Oh, kill me. Let me wimp out. Oh, let me cry my big green eyes out over the misfortune of being me!”

“Shut up!” Buffy cried, pushing away from the wall and stalking across the room to stand toe to toe with him. “You don’t know what it’s like! I don’t remember what I’ve done! I could be ‘the small killer’ for all I know!”

“So what if you are?” Spike shouted. “You can’t undo it.”

“And I can’t live with that either. That’s why I need that serum!”

“Oh, so we finally get at it, then!” He gripped her upper arms and shook her. “You aren’t trying to stop The Immortal at all! You’re trying to stop yourself from feeling all that shame and guilt over what you’ve done. Maybe Angel was right for once in his life! You like the way it makes you feel!”


“No!” She threw his arms off her and shoved him hard. “I am trying to stop The Immortal! I am!”

“Yeah, love,” Spike told her as he stumbled and righted himself. “You keep telling yourself that and you may start to believe it. I damn sure don’t.”

“You are nothing to me!” she yelled. “I don’t care what you think!”

“Maybe you should!” he countered, stalking towards her again. “Because you can count your friends on exactly one finger right now! And that’s me! Maybe you don’t give a damn what happens or whats coming, but I do. I always have and I always will!”

“You sound just like your fucking boss, Spike. Big on the sentiment, not so big on the follow through.” She let her gaze was over him. “I don’t know why you idiots like having a soul so much. It makes you both a couple of big, sentimental jackasses. Neither one of you know what love is or you wouldn't have left me!”

“You are going to push me one too many times, pet, and I won’t come back. Don’t keep trying me.”

“Ohhh, like, I’m so scared.”

“Maybe you should be. You’re a little off your game and I don’t have a chip anymore. Remember?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a promise.”

She narrowed her eyes and lunged at him, but he was ready. He caught both of her arms and spun her, using her weight as leverage as he tossed her across the room. She hit the wall with a loud crash and sprang back to her feet almost instantly. One again, he deflected her, using her own momentum to send her sailing past him again. This time she fell onto her knees, facing away from him.

Buffy stayed in that position, straining her ears to hear his movements. Just as she predicted, he came toward her and she turned, kicking his feet out from under him. He landed on his back and she straddled him, her fist pulled back to deliver a crunching blow to his face.

Spike flinched, bracing himself for the pain, but it didn’t come. He met her eyes, saw the way she faltered and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Are we done yet, baby?”

In that instant, she remembered everything about him. She remembered the way he liked her to bite his earlobe, the way he trembled when she raked her nails up his back. She could see them having sex in her front yard, together in the cemetery, together in his crypt, together in darkened alleys and in the shallow waters of the ocean.

Licking her lips, she stared down at him. This was *Spike*. The same Spike who held her that final night, whispering that it would be okay. The Spike who had protected her mother and Dawn from Glory. The same Spike that she had missed for months, had longed to talk to, had thought of so often that it still ached.

When she lowered her head and kissed him, she felt him tense beneath her. Ignoring him, she sucked his bottom lip, then ran her tongue over it slowly. He growled when she moved to his earlobe and put his hands to her hips. She wondered if he realized that he was grinding up against her. Saying nothing, she pulled back, grabbed the hem of her shirt, and pulled it over her head.

Swallowing hard, Spike could only stare at her. When her hands moved to the buttons of her pants, he caught them. “What are you doing?”

“No more talking.” She kissed him again and stood. With a slight smile, she toed off her shoes and slowly, sensually, unbuttoned her pants and pushed them down her thighs.

He couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from her. He sat up and stared at the hand she extended toward him. “Buffy-”

“I’m ready to pull now.”

He let his gaze wash over her, pausing at her breasts, roaming down the small curvature of her waist, to the apex of her thighs. “You’re not-”

“Take my hand.”

“Listen, love-” he began.

“I won’t ask again.” She moved a little closer, hand still extended. “Take it.”

He put his hand in hers and stood slowly, his legs shaking. She stared up at him, causing his mouth to go completely dry. Wordlessly, she untucked his shirt and pushed it up over his head. He tossed it across the room and swallowed hard as she traced his cool chest with her warm hand. Her fingers made quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his jeans, and he was stepping from them within seconds.

Naked, they stood facing one another. He watched her worry her bottom lip between her teeth, saw the small crease on her forehead, and tilted her face upwards. “Are you thinking this through?”

She smiled at him. “I’m thinking that a bed like that should be used for more than just sleeping.” She moved away from him and climbed onto the bed.

He followed and Buffy watched him, his every attribute still etched firmly into her memory. He had a small scar on his abdomen, one that she had enjoyed tracing with her tongue. She stared at his firm, muscled stomach, watching the way it rippled as he moved. He was not a brawny man, but he was beautiful.

Her gaze moved lower as he neared the bed. His erection stood out proudly, straining toward her. She moved toward the edge of the bed, on her knees and gripped him, pumping him slightly as she pulled his mouth to hers.

“Mmmm,” he moaned, wrapping both arms around her, cupping her round bottom. Part of him wanted to stop her, to push her away and leave. But he was so in love with her, had wanted her for so long, that he was a slave to the feelings that raged within him. A little voice in his head kept reminding him that she was tainted, that the serum had made her different, but he snuffed out the sounds and concentrated on the feel of her. He surrendered.
Buffy gasped in pleasure when he put both hands in her hair and pushed her head to the side, nipping her neck, then her ear. Moisture flooded between her legs and she closed her eyes. He knew exactly how to touch her, what she needed. In his capable hands, she knew that she would have the satisfaction, the joy, that she had been so long denied.

Spike could smell her arousal and it drove him wild. He coaxed her back on the bed, pulled her hips to the edge, and knelt between her open thighs. Without preamble, he lowered his head and ran his tongue over the source of her pleasure. She bucked upwards against his face and he used the opportunity to slide his hands beneath her hips, pulling her more firmly against him.

Buffy couldn’t stop the emotion that ran through her, that surged in her veins as he manipulated her body. She rocked her hips, tugged at his hair, pleaded with him not to stop. Again and again he brought her to the edge, then held her back until she was sweating and begging him to do more, to do less, to stop and not stop all at the same time.

He grinned against her as she babbled some idle threat, then slipped two fingers inside her. That was all she needed. He felt her body begin to spasm and clench him, so he pulled free and stood, positioning himself at her entrance. He lifted her legs up his chest, letting her ankles rest on his shoulders and slowly glided all the way home.

They both cried out, both so loud and full of fire that neither heard the other. She grabbed two handfuls of the comforter as he gripped her thighs and pulled her even further toward the edge of the bed. He braced himself, feet wide, and slammed into her with everything he had.
Buffy arched her back, loving the way her breasts bounced with every thrust of his hips. It was fast, hard, and every sigh that escaped her, every moan, every breath, brought her closer to the ground, closer to her own reality instead of one that had been created for her. She *felt*.

As her second orgasm began to build, her hands sought his and he twined their fingers, as he sped up his pace. She tried to hold back, to prolong the inevitable, to feel the steely perfection of him for a while longer, but within seconds, she was screaming his name, thrashing wildly on the bed as her pleasure hit its peak and exploded inside of her.

He quickly followed her lead and they came together in unison, both too spent to realize that a shadow had fallen across the room.

Harmony stood just outside the bedroom door, unable to believe her ears.

She did not bother confronting them.

She knew the perfect person to that for her.



As Buffy lay in Spike’s bed, her heart pounding a steady percussion in her chest, realization began to work past the euphoria. He had spooned against her back, one hand around her waist. He was silent and still. Neither moved for a long while, and finally Buffy took a deep breath and rolled to face him.

They gazed into one another’s eyes for a what seemed like an eternity. She wanted to memorize every last detail of his face because she knew that it could never happen again. It was wrong of both of them to have allowed it this time. She had a home, responsibility, and her place was with the others, if they would have her back.
“You’re thinking it, too, huh?” he asked, his voice heavy and seductive.

“What?” she whispered.

“How wrong it was.”

“Is that what you’re thinking?”

Rolling onto his back, Spike gazed up at the ceiling. “You love Angel. Always have. And you always will.”

“Angel has a girlfriend.”

“Oh, really?” Spike glanced over at her. “That’s why you did this. You wanted to get back at him.”

“No.” Buffy pushed herself up into a sitting position and pulled her knees to her chest. “I mean, it hurts, yeah, but what happened between us has nothing to do with that. I just - I wanted to feel.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, resting her head on her knees. “But now it’s all complicated.”

Spike sat up and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the end table. “That’s the most right-headed thing you’ve said in a while.” He lit his smoke and took a deep drag. “Now what?”

“Are you going to tell Angel?”

He blew out the smoke and glared at her. “It’s not like he doesn’t know that we’ve-”

“You told him? I wondered how he found out!”

“Took a lot of guff out of him. Knocked him down a few pegs.”

“You’re cruel!”

“And what are you?” Spike’s tone was clipped, harsh. “At least I’m not guilty of using you.”

Angry tears welled in her eyes and she looked away. “I won’t remind you of what you tried to do to me in my bathroom, Spike.” When she looked back at him, she had regained her composure. “Wouldn’t want to take some guff out of you, would we?”

“Oooh, nice one!” Spike threw the covers away and stood, snatching his pants off the floor.

“What are you doing?”

The phone rang suddenly, causing them both to start. She watched him as he yanked it off the cradle and shouted a greeting. She felt so angry. Angry with herself, at him, at Angel. She just wanted to fall into a deep unending sleep and never have to feel anything at all again. She slid off the edge of the bed, gathered her clothing, trying not to react to the way his gaze openly followed her around the room.

As she shut the door to the bathroom, she heard him telling the person on the other end of the line that he’d be there in twenty minutes. She leaned her head against the door and concentrated on fighting the urge to cry. For as much as she wanted to feel, wanted to awaken, having it start to happen was too much to handle. The lump in her throat was painful and she knew that there would be no going back from this moment. She had been using Spike. They both knew it. They both knew that there was no real justification.

She turned on the water in the shower, deciding that if she washed away any remnants of their passion it would be over and done. She stepped into her second bath of the day and began to scrub her skin until it shone bright red under the flourescent lighting. She scrubbed until the water cooled and only then did she step out.