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A/N: Things here at the BSV are not good at the moment, this isn’t the place it once was. I myself have barely frequented the site much at all over the last two months; partly because of uni commitments and partly because of the overall feeling here. This place used to feel like home. I would race home from class and jump online to read updates, post updates and reply to reviews, all of which was done with a stupid grin on my face. That shine has disappeared, that eagerness to be a part of the BSV family has faded.

I support 100% the authors who’ve decided to leave the site---it is after all their decision to make. And it’s a decision I myself have been fighting for days. Yes I have felt like leaving. No this place isn’t the family it once was. My inspiration and desire to write has dropped off and I am putting full blame for that on my hectic life and work schedule the past two months. But in the past, all it would take to bring back that inspiration was the thrill of posting. Of knowing that I had readers who wanted to find out what would happen in the next instalment of my fics. I love feedback, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I don’t write for the reviews but they sure as hell are a great incentive to continue doing so.

As such I’ve come to a decision. I’ll be staying---for now. I feel it’s important to stress that for now, because I am being completely honest when I say it’s by a thread with which my future at the BSV is dangling by. I am not going to stop writing and for now I am not going to stop posting here. I want things to improve at this site. If it weren’t for the encouragement of Stacy who first ordered me to post here (*grins*) and the love and support of my close friends in the fandom---most of which who no longer frequent the site---I don’t think I would still be writing. I am generally a happy bubbly person but I’m not all that confident when it comes to my writing. I love doing it, I love the feedback from my wonderful betas, and I am thrilled each and every time everyone gifts me with a response.

If I had been the recipient of a rejection letter when I first signed up, I can say with 100% certainty that I wouldn’t be here anymore. I am a confident person in RL, but when I put something out there for the scrutiny of the masses, something I’ve created, I do so with anxiety---especially if there’s smut involved. My boyfriend says I care too much about what other people think of me, and maybe that’s true. But the day I stop caring about the fandom is the day I’ll call it quits.

We all had such high hopes for this archive when it first opened, and for the sake of future writers and readers I sincerely wish that hope is realised.

I can’t promise I will remain at the site indefinitely. But I can promise that if my time to leave the site comes I will do so with the dignity my fellow authors who’ve already departed have shown. They had the guts to let everyone know they were leaving, when they could have just pulled their fics and slunk away without a word. And for that they have my respect.

This note isn’t a dig at anyone, I’m just expressing my feelings on the whole matter. If anyone would like to speak to me about this privately, my email address is listed under my profile.

After that long winded explanation I think it’s time we get onto the fic.

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Chapter 13: Excuses


The only way Giles could feel worse at this moment was if the drivel Buffy considered music was playing on the stereo at max volume. Only that could increase the pounding in his head, making his cranium feel like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Like a Mack truck, that’s it, had hit him. Hit by a Mach truck, then pushed off a cliff and beaten repeatedly with…blunt objects of various shapes and sizes.

Obviously the splitting headache was making him delirious—it wasn’t in Giles’ make-up to dream up fantastical explanations. No, that was more Anya’s department.

Which reminded him, someone had to open the Magic Box for business and identify what had been stolen the previous night. Since he was in no condition to leave his bed, let alone deal with customers, Anya would have to do it. A pay rise should be incentive enough.

Telephone grasped in his hand Giles dialled the number of his only employee, silently praying the ex-demon would keep her voice down.

~*~*~

Buffy walked toward the door to the lecture theatre, book bag clutched at her side. The room was within reach, all it would take was a couple of steps and she would be inside. But something stopped her. Without thinking she backed up a few steps, turned and walked away. Then she stopped again. She couldn’t really be thinking about skipping class, could she?

My attendance this semester had been almost perfect, I’m on top of my assignments, Willow could always get the notes for me… one class won’t matter really, will it?

Decision made, Buffy continued walking away from class, almost making it to the doors that led outside when a voice stopped her.

“Buffy, hey!”

Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut and she inhaled a deep breath in an attempt to stave off her annoyance at being caught.

“Sorry I’m late,” Willow apologised breathlessly as she ran up to meet her friend. “I had to swing by the library.”

“Sure, no problem,” Buffy replied, pasting a half smile on her face.

“Let’s get to class, huh?” Willow nodded toward the door, waiting for Buffy to come with her.

“Look, Will…” She needed an excuse, something plausible, something… apocalyptic. “I can’t come with—Giles paged me a few minutes ago, something about a demon. A fire-breathing demon. With wings.”

At Willow’s raised brow of concern Buffy continued. “You know the Hellmouth, the types it attracts—like Xander around candy bars.”

“You want me to come with? I can be research girl. Or I could--”

“Oh no!” Buffy interrupted. “It won’t be necessary. Really, he’s not as dangerous as he sounds, just a pest really. Like the little fear demon—totally squishable.” Buffy stomped her foot on the ground for emphasis.

“If you’re sure,” Willow began slowly.

“Totally. Completely. Positively.”

“All right, I guess I could take the notes for you and--”

“Great!” Buffy beamed. “I’ll catch you later, Wills.”

Before Willow could reply Buffy was off like a shot, making a beeline for the door.

Weird… she thought. With a shrug she turned and made her way to class.

~*~*~

Spike paced the length of his crypt. To an observer his behaviour would seem agitated, the way he stalked from one side of the room to the other, glared at the stained glass windows and then turned to repeat his path.

He was trapped. Confined. Caged by the deadly light outside. Stuck inside when all he wanted to do was be out and free and with her.

Buffy…

A ghost of a smile tickled the corners of his lips, his eyes glazing over as the memories they’d created last night assaulted his mind. Just thinking about her and the things they did, the things he wanted to do with her—to her, made him hard. Made him want.

Made him growl with impatience when he remembered the pending daylight issue.

She’d just gone to class—it wouldn’t that long until she returned.

He could wait.

He had to wait.

With a snarl of frustration Spike spun on his heel and begun the short journey back to the other side of the crypt.

~*~*~

With a grimace of pain Giles replaced the receiver in its cradle and rolled back onto his pillows. The re-emergence of his headache was an unfriendly side effect of the shrill shout of annoyance from Anya when informed that the shop had been possibly burgled. Now it was time for more rest.

With a groan of discontent the watcher rolled over in search of a more comfortable position. However, after a few minutes it became painfully obvious sleep was refusing to return. With a sigh he dragged himself from bed. A tentative touch to the back of his skull resulted in a twinge that spider webbed out from the cut he’d received last night. Thankfully, when he withdrew his hand it wasn’t stained with blood. It must have begun to heal over.

Thinking about the events of the previous night reminded Giles he hadn’t been able to make contact with Buffy. Reaching for the telephone he dialled the phone number for the Summers’ residence, hoping this time she would answer, and quietly at that.

~*~*~

He sensed her nearing presence the moment she set foot in the grounds of Shady Hill. It was early, she shouldn’t be here yet, not that he would be complaining. Knowing she was coming to see him, that she couldn’t stay away, it filled Spike with all sorts of feelings—most prominent at this very moment being lust. He craved her touch. Desired her flesh. Was going to ravish her the second she set foot inside his crypt.

Spike’s demon countenance rose to take control of his features, bones shifting and reshaping his brow, and his eyes glittered with hunger and anticipation.

She was nearly here.

In the safety of the shadows he waited, keeping himself pressed as far back into the corner as possible to avoid the forthcoming beams of light when the door would open.

Time dragged, hours seemed to pass from when she set foot in the cemetery to when she reached his door, when it truth it was probably mere seconds. She had run all the way here—he could hear her heart racing before the door even opened. He could practically feel the quickened thump of her pulse against his flesh, the anticipation driving him to near madness before the door finally opened. It screeched loudly in protest, the rusted metal hinge grating as it swung open and light flooded the entryway.

And there she was, bathed in light. If he’d had breath it would’ve been stolen from him in that moment. The blood red shirt she wore was figure hugging in all the right places, and the black skirt fell to just above her knee, a good two inches of flesh on view between the lower hem and the top of her leather boots. She truly was a goddess, a siren, an angel. He growled possessively when the moniker brought the unwanted association of Buffy’s former.

“Sp-Spike?”

The quiver in her voice brought a leer to his lips. She was out of breath, aroused, and he detected a hint of fear in the air surrounding her.

“Close the door,” he said from within the shadows.

Buffy did as ordered and the big steel door shut with a loud clang—banishing the unwanted light from the room.

Before she could turn Spike was upon her, his throbbing need pressed firmly between the cheeks of her ass. Buffy’s gasp of surprise quickly became a moan of wanton delight when his fingers were suddenly on her, rubbing and stroking and fondling, touching her all over. Spike drew the curtain of her hair to the side, baring the milky column of her delectable neck. He couldn’t help himself; he had to taste her.

Buffy shivered when she felt his wet tongue trail up her neck, inching closer and closer to the shell of her ear. The door was cool against her heated flesh, her nipples pebbling in response. It was too much… she wanted more.

“Spike!” Buffy gasped with need as she twisted in his embrace. “Want you, want --”

Spike’s impatient lips cut off Buffy’s words. The temptation had been too great to ignore. Pink and pert and pouted, all for him—how could he not kiss her? Effectively silenced he pulled away for a moment, his heated gaze boring holes into her with its intensity. When he saw her inhale a deep breath, one shaky with lust, he moved without thought. Spike lowered his head to hers again, claiming her lips as his own.

His tongue ran the length of her bottom lip, alternating between soft caresses and light nibbles, never taking that final plunge into the cavern of her mouth. And the way his girl was writhing against him he could tell that was what she wanted. Buffy parted her lips and Spike slid between them, tasting and exploring her mouth. When she whimpered needily he slid his hand up into her hair and cupped the nape of her neck, drawing her closer. With a groan of relief he deepened the kiss.

Buffy snaked a hand down Spike’s chest, determined to give as good as she was getting. Her fingertips barely grazed the zipper of his jeans before her hands were snatched away and pinned above her head, the force of Spike’s hold strong enough to restrict her movement.

Spike’s free hand trailed down the smooth planes of Buffy’s stomach, grazing closer and closer to where she desperately wanted him to touch her, but not quite making it. Then his hand dipped lower, coasting down her thigh with feather light touches that elicited a shiver from Buffy. When he reached the tantalising skin of Buffy’s thigh his hand curled upward, ducked under the hem of the skirt, his fingers retracing the path he’d just paved moments earlier. The higher he travelled the more ragged Buffy’s breathing became, her skirt bunching above his wrist.

The outward image of a vixen that Buffy’s red and black ensemble created was made all the more tantalising by the ivory white of the lace undergarments she wore beneath. Spike growled in the back of his throat with appreciation. Before any words could be spoken his artful fingers had pushed the flimsy material to the side and his fingers were inside her. She gasped in surprise and Spike grinned against her neck, his lips latching onto the flesh below the shell of her right ear.

Seconds was all it took before her juices coated his fingers. Seconds was all it took to have her whimpering with need. Seconds was much longer than Spike would be able to control himself.

“Spike!”

Her name on his lips was murmured like a prayer, her voice soft and lilting and breathy. There was a hitch in her voice, a moment where her voice failed her. He did that to her. And it fuelled Spike’s passion further. He wanted to render her speechless. He wanted to love her and make love to her until all she could think about was him.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded.

“I want you!”

Spike released his hold on her pinned wrists and trailed his hand down the side of her face, the column of her neck, along her collarbone until his finger hooked on the neckline of her shirt.

“Tell me you need me.” His lips found the sweet spot on the side of her neck again, his left hand never stilling its motion of stroking her pussy.

Buffy was mindless with need. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the fact that Spike had asked something of her, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall what it was. Nor did she care to think deeply about it, not when his hands were doing these things to her. Sparks of blossoming energy were growing within her, churning and swirling through her body. Pleasure radiated upward and outward, until every nerve and every cell in her body was humming with pleasure, right on the brink of collapse, just needing that final shove to tip her over into oblivion.

When his hands abandoned her flesh Buffy cried out in desperation.

“Tell me…” Beneath the harsh exterior, under the warning in his tone, buried deep inside his voice Buffy heard the tremor of pleading. She didn’t have the question but she knew the answer.

“I need you. God, I need you so much Spike.”

With renewed ferocity Spike’s lips attacked Buffy’s. The slayer wasn’t one to roll over and just take it; she returned the kiss with equal fervour. Each swipe of her tongue was passionate, each brush of his lips zealous. They kissed with abandon, loved each other’s lips with all their might. They poured their feelings of affection, of love, of contentment and ardour into that locking of lips, only breaking away when Buffy’s need for air became an issue.

She gasped, partly from lack of oxygen but mostly from the jolts of pleasure that were zapping throughout her body, care of Spike’s talented hands.

“Oh god! Spike!”

Buffy’s hands fumbled for purchase until she found the hem of his black t-shirt. Fingers balled around the cloth and Buffy tugged it toward her head. She became impatient when Spike refused to unlatch his fingers from her flesh, and in a moment of frustration tore it clean down the middle.

Spike didn’t even notice.

With the alabaster of his chest exposed to her hungry eyes Buffy swooped forward and latched her mouth around a nipple. Spike hissed when she bit down with her teeth, hard enough to scrape, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain.

Well, two could play that game. Fingers still nestled between her thighs Spike sought out her clit and pinched it with his thumb and forefinger. The action triggered an orgasm and Buffy rode out her pleasure against his hand.

Reaching that height had in no way diminished her need for Spike; if anything it only furthered her arousal.

Flick! The top button to his jeans popped open.

Bzzzzzpt! The zipper was lowered.

Spike’s erection pressed against her belly the moment his jeans dropped from his hips and Buffy’s hand eagerly encircled his cock. He was rock hard, straining, and it was all for her. A greedy smile curled her lips as she tightened her grasp. One slide up and her thumb grazed the tip. Relaxing her hold she slid her hand back down his length, tightening again for the upsweep. She continued the rocking motion, up-down, up-down, up-down, until pre-cum coated her fingers.

As much as she enjoyed the pre-show, Buffy was getting impatient. Throwing her free arm around Spike’s neck she jumped up into his embrace, wrapping her legs around his hips, using her hand to guide his cock toward her entrance.

The anticipation of being nestled inside her warm folds was too much to handle. The second Spike felt the slippery heat of her opening he thrust forward in reflex, burying himself to the hilt.

Both Buffy and Spike cried out in pleasure at the feeling of absolute completion.

Spike’s knees wobbled once from the sensation of being fully sheathed within her before he began a steady pumping action. In, out, in, out.

The duality of hot and cold, ice and fire, made the coupling all the more sensory. Each thrust into Buffy’s pussy set Spike on fire. For Buffy, each thrust of Spike’s hips brought a cool rush deep inside of her, a chill that caused her entire body to shiver and shake with pleasure.

Buffy whimpered in wanton need, rolling her hips persistently and in an attempt to increase the pace of their coupling. “Spike, please!” Buffy gasped, needing—wanting more.

Spike eagerly complied, doubling the speed and force of his thrusts. He grunted in satisfaction when he felt her inner walls begin to flutter. She was close and he wanted to feel her shatter around him. Reaching between their bodies he found her clitoris, and with his thumb and forefinger he squeezed, all the while thrusting in and out of her slick heat.

“Oh! Oh god! Spike!”

A wave of heat rolled up Buffy’s spine as her second orgasm hit, causing stars to appear behind her eyes, blurring everything before her accept the amber eyes that were fixed upon her face.

Spike was drinking it all in. He felt Buffy climax around him, saw it in her eyes when the pleasure hit its peak, felt her collapse and shudder around him. Each thrust became more desperate, harder, faster. One, two, three…

With a primal roar Spike came, spilling his liquid coolness inside of the slayer.

As had happened the night before, the pair collapsed to the floor in sated bliss when their weakened knees could no longer support their weight. Only this time, instead of waiting to catch their breath Spike was immediately on Buffy, kissing and caressing and worshipping her face.

“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered against her lips.

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A/N: Hope the chapter was worth the wait.

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