Chapter Five – A Kiss Bestowed

A few days later…



The old leather duster flared out behind him as, with purposeful steps, he moved silently through the pathetically sleepy town of Sunnydale. He had sought her again…and again, unable to wait despite his promise to himself.

Each day, over and over the dreams would come to him. Hot, erotic dreams of pleasures he had not yet known, but wanted to so very, very much.

He was out once more. Night after night since their last meeting he had scoured the cemeteries, the demon hangouts, the vampire hot spots. All to no avail.

But he wouldn’t give up.

He couldn’t give up!

He knew that he would now be inside her. That by her drinking his blood, she would be unable to forget him – unable to remove him from her mind, her thoughts. The opposite, he had found, was also true, so very, very true. She was inside him, inside his blood – and the knowledge was screaming at him to find her.

To claim her.

To keep her.

Spike inhaled deeply, hoping that the night’s air held something of her scent, and was shocked to realise that it held more than ‘something’. She’d been there, and not too long a go.

His faith renewed, he picked up the pace, following her ever strengthening scent, once again, into a cemetery.

She was there. Fighting yet another vampire amongst the many headstones.

Spike was not a patient man by nature.

And although he may have waited before, this time not even the hypnotic enchantment of her motions could deny him the essential pleasure of feeling her skin against his. He longed to have her near him, to feel her unneeded breath against his skin, to watch her eyes flash in anger, or lust, towards him.

He ached to be buried hard within her depths, to hear her cry out his name as he brought her over the edge again and again. But at the same time he yearned to draw her in to battle, to engage her in a glorious altercation so they could move the way he knew they could.

Tearing off an errant tree branch, he entered the fray neatly staking the young, cocky vampire she was fighting with.

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it, and with a toss of her hair and a flash of her eyes she knocked the make-shift stake out of his grasp.

“Rather be fighting you anyway.” She growled at him, moving to deliver a superb side kick to his left temple, eager to rid herself of the unwarranted, and unwanted emotions that had been coursing through her whole being for the past few nights, and the long, long days.

“Mutual.” Spike smirked, and caught her foot just before it could connect and, spinning her around, sent her flying into a near-by mausoleum.

The man within him winced, eager to see if she was alright when her head hit the stone with a sickening crunch. But the demon within him revelled in the mate he had chosen when she rose easily to reveal that it was the wall that had come off worse from the altercation.

With a magnificent leap that would have rivalled Nureyev at his very best, she flew into the fight with an all-in-the-air triple kick combination that had him stumbling backwards over a tombstone, gasping for unneeded breath.

“You sure about that?” Buffy faux offered, a cheeky half-smile on her lips.

Spike rose, in true Dracula style, back to his feet and offered her a feral grin. Her obvious vigour and technique were arousing both the man and the demon trapped with in him and he longed to be inside her – in any way possible.

“Hell, yeah!” He growled back, his eyes glittering in the moon light.

And the fight was on.

With a well placed left hook, Spike’s fist smashed into Buffy’s face. The Slayer simply turned her head with the blow – Slayer/Vampire strength and healing were a major asset to the whole Slaying gig, she had found.

Spike’s second hit joined his third before finally it was blocked, and his own face was knocked back with perfectly executed round house kick. Her left arm ploughed into his nose while her knee met with his solar plexus, and she giggled as he fell backwards, spluttering expletives.

Damn, but this was fun!

Then she smelt it.

Blood.

His blood.

And she froze.

Spike, noticing her distraction, dove for her, tackling her prone body to the ground. With a swift roll he had her trapped beneath him. Speedy legs immobilised the kicking ones beneath him and strong fists closed around her wrists, holding them securely above her head.

Spike groaned as he took in the seductive pose she probably had no idea she was in. Hips cradled against his own, arms spread above their bodies – the action lifting her youthfully full breasts closer to his lips. Pouting nipples jutting out in provocation, and the feel of her hot breath against him was divine.

Wait a minute – hot breath?

She shifted beneath him, a growl escaping her lips as she spoke, distracting him from his thoughts. For the time being at least.

“Let. Me. UP!”

Spike grinned. “Nope!” And rolled his hips down into hers, eliciting an obviously unintentional gasp from her lips.

Her eyes flashed amber, and she tugged fruitlessly at the hands that bound her own. “Who the hell do you think you are?” She demanded hotly.

“Ahhh, finally some introductions! Name’s Spike, my love. And who might you be?”

“What? You haven’t heard?!” Buffy replied caustically, trying to ignore the tingles that spread through her at his use of the endearment.

“’Fraid not, pet. Gonna give ol’ Spike a name?” He cajoled teasingly, and then circled his hips into her once more.

Her own name left her lips as a moan rather than the defiant growl of her title that she’d intended on. “Buffy.”

“Buffy…” Spike grinned savouring the taste of her name on his lips, then, unable to stop himself he leant down brushing a tease of a kiss over her mouth.

When Spike pulled away, he was about to speak, say something romantic, something crude, something arousing…but it all stuck in his throat when her obviously traitorous body curled up into his, even though it was evident she consciously knew she should want anything but. Realisation hit him like a tonne of bricks.

She wanted him.

But more than that. She was almost desperate for his touch, even though she so obviously didn’t want to be – quite possibly desperate for any touch. She was alone. This was odd for a vampire, especially one of her beauty and blatant magnificence.

She was alone.

Just like him. It only made him crave her more.

Was this why she fought nightly with creatures of her kind? For need of the intimacy that even the most basic of fights incurred?

He didn’t like it. The thought, the notion, that whatever was between them wasn’t special, wasn’t unique brought him more pain and anguish than he cared to acknowledge. Again, he brushed his lips against her, this time against the side of her mouth, relishing in the way she allowed them to part slightly for him.

No, he hadn’t seen her react this way to any other’s touch. During neither of the fights he had witnessed had he smelt the delicious scent that was rising so strongly from her body at this very moment. The sweet, glorious scent of her arousal.

No – it was special, was different, this thing that they had.

---

Buffy didn’t know what was happening to her. She was lying, spread out beneath an obviously dangerous Master Vampire. The title, his place in demon society was something she could feel deep within the stirrings of her demon. And a small part of her almost wanted to defer to it – but a much stronger part resisted the impulse. It wasn’t in her – wasn’t who she was – to cower down. Not to anything.

She never cowered.

Never.

Not even in her final moments as a human had she cowered to her murderer, the one who became her jailor and first glorious vampiric kill.

But this, this here, what was happening right now! This was in no way deference to his position, my God; it was more of an all out submission! But it wasn’t his status she was submitting to, but something much worse. Something much more deadly.

It was him.

She was submitting to him. This vampire.

This being.

This…

Spike.

---

Spike watched as the conflicting emotions rippled across her features, and when she opened her sassy mouth, probably to do exactly that – sass at him – he took the opportunity, and covered it with his own.

Her lips were soft, but unwilling under his. He growled his displeasure at her, never once releasing his hold on her body or her mouth.

Beneath him, Buffy’s body rose momentarily and growled back in defiance, before all of a sudden resting compliantly under his almost as if she had no control over it. Her mouth opened further, and their lips slid wetly over one another in a slow, tender kiss.

The kiss was wary, but passionate at the same time.

Spike was dying.

The taste, the scent, the touch of her….it was amazing, and all in all overriding his senses.

The movement of her mouth under his own as she slowly helped deepen the kiss was erotic to say the least, but there was an interesting blend of naivety in the kiss. She was shy – almost like she had never done this before.

And he would have thought that she were an innocent had not her lips currently been arousing him to peaks he’d never before reached.

Slowly, carefully so as not to frighten or discourage her tentative lust, Spike allowed his tongue to slip within her lips, drawing her own out to play with his as his senses were once again bombarded with wired signals. He explored her mouth, easily finding the hidden sheaths for her fangs. Circling the tip of his tongue around them, he drew them out without forcing her to vamp out.

With a sharp movement, he sliced his tongue on her fangs, allowing his blood to pool into her mouth.

Buffy growled then groaned deep and throatily as the glorious liquid hit her taste buds. Her lips tried to draw his mouth firmer down on to hers as she sucked avidly at the cut he’d made.

Still moaning and drawing blood from him, but eager to share this experience with him, Buffy mirrored his earlier actions enabling her own blood to be added to the tantalising mix.

Spike didn’t just growl, he roared as her blood hit his system, letting go of her wrists to wrap his hands around her face in a further attempt to draw her into him.

He barely recognised the senses that were screaming that there was an extra reason this vampire’s blood was so special – that it was still Slayer blood, distorted as it was by her vamped status, that he was tasting.

But he was beyond that.

All he could taste, all he could smell, all he could hear was his blood screaming ‘Buffy’. His demon came forward fully, demanding that Spike stop pissing around and claim the perfect being beneath him.

Spike rose up off her body slightly, drawing her trembling lips into a final tumultuous kiss, before opening his mouth to utter the words that would bind them together for all eternity. “Mi-”

“NO!” Buffy shrieked, finally regaining her senses at that very last crucial moment. In a blindly protective fury, she threw him from her with her now-freed arms. This was too much, this was too fast.

This was wrong.

Shakily she stood, drawing a still wobbly hand over her tender lips, wiping away his blood, and hers. Wiping away the evidence.

Wiping away the past.

Spike growled, snarled in fact, at his desired mate being torn away from him. Even if it was by the mate in question herself.

“You. Are. Mi-”

Again she interrupted. “No! I am not!” She backed up further, her eyes furious and flashing. “My God, you think you have some clue – some idea of what I am. You don’t!” She stated furiously, a childish foot-stamp accompanied her words.

“You know nothing!” She continued to rant. “You are nothing.”

“Buffy…” His rough voice was a warning, she knew this. But she couldn’t stop. Whatever it was she was feeling, it had to stop. She couldn’t…she couldn’t….

“You’re just a vampire.”

“Hate to let you in on this, pet, but so are you!”

“No. No! See? I’m not just a vampire. I’m a Slayer. The Slayer.”

“Slayer?”

It was a cruel fate, she later mused, that the one being she had felt anything for her whole life would emote such disgust at the truth of what she really was.

“Yeah, the Slayer. Didn’t you notice the whole body temperature thing?” She asked scathingly, not waiting on an answer, unable to stop she spat the following words out. “The Slayer – the outcast, the freak, the loner. Turned by The Master, the one who turned on The Master. I’m here, walking this earth – god only knows what kind of a soul I have left, if any. I’m alone – my friends, my watcher, my family. Dead. Which I should be.” She laughed self-derisively before completing her sentence bitterly. “Which I am.”

Spike stood stock still, unable to move, unable to speak.

Suddenly, it was like Buffy realised she’d said too much – exposed too much. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. God, what was happening to her? The night, this night, it was turning her all over again – everything was going wrong. Mad. She was going mad.

With an almost sorrowful growl she spun on her heals and fled for the second time in their short acquaintance.

Spike still stood static, unable to move. Unable to speak.




TBC in...Chapter Six – Hell’s Wrath Knows No Mercy

A/N: Anyone there? Enjoying it? Wanna review? :P