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Check Point by Xela
 
Part V
 
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Buffy waited four days. Four excruciating, agonizing, unbearable days waiting for Spike to show himself.

She spent the first day pondering over her mother’s words. They made sense in a way that undermined all of her teachings, everything Giles had drilled into her head. But then again, it was all Council teaching, and she already knew they were a bunch of stuffy-headed British losers who didn’t know the first thing about actual slaying. She also studiously ignored the strange ache that knotted in her stomach.

She spent the second day obsessing over why Spike had left. Was it because he was disgusted with what they’d done, him sleeping with a slayer? Or was she bad? As bad as Angelus had claimed? Maybe she smelled. She’d go to the store tonight and buy some extra-strength body wash. Or…did Spike simply not care about her? That was a possibility. She was a quick fuck and Spike was ready to move on to bigger boobs and more experienced women. So she’d run crying to her mother, seeking her comfort and wisdom. All of her mother’s advice boiled down to one thing: talk to him. Not a Buffy Strong Point. That was just going to mess everything up. She’d say something stupid, or Spike would open his mouth, and they’d end up beating the crap out of each other. Or at least, she’d end up beating the crap out of Spike, who would totally deserve it. So Buffy brooded and drank a bottle of Pepto Bismol in an effort to calm the painful churning in her stomach that was getting worse with every passing hour.

She spent the third day freaking out. The other two days had allowed her to pointedly casually ignore the fact that Spike had bitten her. But it was hard to live in Egypt when you had Xander around to point out you were, in fact, living on the literal mouth of hell.

“Buffy! You…Giles! Buffy’s a vampire!” The Slayer glared at her thick friend, ready to take Mr. Pointy and shove the blunt end up Xander’s ass.

“I am not a vampire,” she muttered through clenched teeth, with an eye roll for good measure. What respectable vampire rolled their eyes instead of ripping out someone’s throat? But Xander just backed away from her, his fingers held up in a protective cross.

“Stay away from me you non-Buffy-like thing! GILES!”

Before she could retort, Giles rushed into the room with a large pot of holy water and doused Buffy with it. She wondered randomly where it came from, because she’d never seen it before.

“Giles! Vamp!Buffy’s immune to holy water! Run for your life!” Honestly, how was she friends with this bloomin’ idiot? Her shoulders slumped at the Spikeism. A wave of intense physical pain washed over her, and she clutched the table, waiting for it to pass. It never did though. These waves were getting worse, and they didn’t go away. They just faded into a mostly bearable throbbing pain. What was wrong with her? Had something gone wrong with the spell? Typical.

“Buffy, is there something you’d like to tell us?” Giles asked, a severe expression on his face. Something in Buffy rebelled strongly at that look, protested the part of Giles that was making her feel like a scolded little girl.

“Nope!” she exclaimed with valley girl cheer. “I’m just peachy with an extra side of keen!”

“Buffy.” Giles had that frowning I’m-disappointed-with-you look on his face.

“It’s not up for discussion, and it doesn’t concern you. Either of you,” she said firmly, glaring at Xander, who looked ready to protest. But Giles simply sighed and retrieved an old, leather-bound book from the shelf behind him. She accepted the book with a relieved sigh, happy that she’d dodged the bullet…this time.

She opened the book when she got home. That’s where she first read about claims. That’s when she’d started really freaking out. Spike had better show up, because he had some explaining to do.

So she waited. She waited for him in the Magic Box, looked for him lurking outside of her room, felt for him on patrol, but he wasn’t there. She stared mournfully out of the window into the darkness. Four days. Her stomach rebelled at that thought, as if telling her four days was enough and if she waited five she’d be very, very sorry.

Determined, Buffy grabbed her jacket and Mr. Pointy and flew down the steps.

“I’m going patrolling, mom! Be home late.”

Joyce just smiled at her eldest daughter, shaking her head. Young love. They had the time to be stubborn, shirty idiots. The same could not be said of certain other more…distinguished adults. Joyce fought the scowl off of her face. Those thoughts could wait for later.

***

Buffy stared at the crypt door, wondering what to do. Normally she would just barge in, but that seemed kind of…rude. Especially now that they’d done…you know. So she tentatively knocked on the door.

Nothing.

Buffy frowned and knocked again, louder this time. Still no response. She cautiously opened the door and stuck her head in, looking around the dimly lit interior.

“Spike?” She slipped in and felt for her vampire. She felt a tug farther in the room, right where that knot of pain had been building over the past few days. Was it just her, or did it seem just a little better?

Buffy almost fell through the trap door. She let her feelers extend until she was sure that Spike had to be down there.

“If I get slimed by some gross demon you’re so paying for my dry cleaning!” Buffy muttered, making her way down to the ladder. The sight that greeted her made her blood run cold.

Spike was lying in the middle of a surprisingly luxurious bed, completely naked and covered in blood. She rushed over, taking in the deep gashes that crisscrossed Spike’s back. The jagged wounds were red and angry, and crusted patches of dark blood contrasted sharply against his pale skin.

“Oh Spike, what happened?” she whispered. He didn’t move, and for the first time, Buffy realized he wasn’t breathing. That was one thing about Spike that had always struck her, his breathing. He was so...human sometimes. It was easy to forget…but that had to wait. Spike needed patching up.

Buffy lit the candles that littered Spike’s underground lair. She searched around and came up with a box full of bandages and found what passed as a shower. With gentle care, she began cleaning the vicious claw marks that littered Spike’s mangled back. She didn’t even want to think about the rest of his body. Spike didn’t move the entire time, not even to groan in pain when she accidentally reopened one of his wounds.

Almost two hours later, Buffy finished stitching the worst of Spike’s injuries together. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She bandaged Spike as best she could and tried unsuccessfully to get him to drink some blood. With a small sigh, Buffy laid down next to her vampire, studying him. She didn’t feel herself fall asleep.

***

Spike woke up slowly. His body was on fire. Right, note to self, don’t tangle with a Fyarl demon in heat. Bed idea, no matter how much you’re lookin’ for a good rough and tumble. A small sound beside him caught his attention and Spike froze at the sight that greeted him. Buffy was curled up on his bed, sound asleep. He felt his heart give a little. Why was she here?

He shifted over, and felt the bandaged and stitches in his back. She’d patched him up. Again, why? After what he’d done…

“Hi.” Spike blinked, coming back to the here and now. Sleepy emerald eyes searched his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” he said hoarsely. His voice was gravelly and laced with pain. Concern flitted across her face.

“You need blood. I’ll go get you blood. You just…don’t move.” And she was gone in a flash, her perfect ass shimmying up the ladder.

Spike didn’t even try to think while she was gone. He’d spent two days wallowing in his guilt, a large bottle of Jack Daniels his only company. By the third night, he wanted to beat the shit out of some unsuspecting demon. He’d won, but at the cost of his back. He’d found that intense pain accomplished the same thing as lots of alcohol, and was cheaper to boot.

“What happened to you?” Spike’s eyes popped open. He hadn’t heard Buffy come back down, but the hot mug of blood she was holding smelled delicious.

“Got in a fight. Right nasty bugger. Been laying here for a couple ‘o days.” Spike drained the mug, avoiding Buffy’s unsettling gaze. He started when another mug materialized under his nose.

“That why you haven’t been around?” The question was casual, almost absent minded, but Spike knew better. Buffy Summers did NOT care if he was around.

“Somethin’ like that.” A wave of emotion battered against his shields, but he held firm. He would be strong.

“Oh.” That one word pierced him straight through the heart. She sounded desolate. He looked up at her through his lashes and felt panic race through him. Her eyes were wet and heavy. Spike watched with a sense of resignation as one fat tear escaped and slid down Buffy’s cheek. He was such a sucker for tears.

“Pet…” he ventured.

“No.” The word was choked. “No.” Firmer this time. “I’m fine.” That wide smile that fooled the peons Buffy called friends stretched across her face. Spike idly thought Buffy’s face might just crack in two if she kept it up for long.

“Luv—“

“I’m just gonna go now, got things to do. Homework or…something. Yeah. I’ll see you. Check in on you after—”

“Slayer.” He growled it, a vampire warning his mate, but he’d tamped down the effects of the claim. He swore to himself as Buffy began to climb haltingly up the ladder.

“Buffy!” That froze her. The use of her real name made her stop. Spike didn’t use her name. Unbidden, memories of the last time he’d said her name flashed across her vision in Technicolor. With a sigh, she turned and looked at the injured vampire on the bed.

“I…’ Spike trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. And then a light clicked on. He didn’t have to say anything. Closing his eyes, Spike opened up the connection between them, sending Buffy…everything. He couldn’t pick and choose what she saw; she got it all, everything that he was, everything that he had been…and everything that he could be. It was scary and thrilling and the only chance they had. Because when they tried to talk, they just fucked everything right the hell up.

Buffy was enthralled. She could feel Spike, in her, around her, with her. He was in her head, and she was in his. He showed her…everything. She watched his darkest secrets play out in front of her, snippets of his human life that seemed so contradictory to his character but really fit when you looked past the demon and knew the man. She saw truths about Angel, learned about being a vampire, and through it all felt Spike’s immense, awe inspiring, unconditional love for her. It brought her to tears. She saw how awful he felt when he realized he’d claimed her under the spell, how he’d tried to make sure it didn’t affect her. He’d taken the brunt of the pain at being separated, some sort of atonement for an imagined sin.

She felt the flow start to ebb, felt Spike pull back into himself. That would not do at all. They had a few more things to hash out, and she wasn't going to mess this up by trying to use words. Words bad. With less finesse than Spike, but with the enthusiasm that had kept her alive all these years as a slayer, Buffy opened herself to her mate.

She let him feel her confusion at being attracted to yet another vampire, one without a soul, who was so different from her first love, but in all the right ways. He saw how scared she was of loosing the people she loved; her mother, her sister, her friends. How scared she was that there was something intrinsically wrong with her, because all the men in her life left her. How much her friends meant to her. He felt her hopes, her dreams, and saw…her. The woman, the slayer, the person. And he fell in love all over again.

The sharing lasted an eternity, and was over far too soon. They stood, looking bashfully at each other. They felt…fresh. Cleansed. New. They’d absolved each other of the sins of their past, and come through as something new and undefined.

Buffy smiled, a soft, shy thing that was so at odds with her kick-ass slayer persona that Spike had to grin in response. He gingerly sat up, taking care not to stretch his stitches, and opened his arms. Buffy’s warmth radiated through him, and he inhaled her particular Buffy smell. He grinned when he felt the blood that wasn’t busy healing his back rush southward.

“Spike!” Buffy’s tone was shocked and admonishing, but her eyes twinkled with amusement and the hint of arousal.

“What? ‘snot my fault!” he protested, pouting at her. He held back his smirk as Buffy’s attention was directed at the protruding lip. He almost had her. He slid his bottom lip out just a little further. No way she could resist that.

Buffy tried to resist his charms. Tried to ignore the building arousal, the mocking call of that plump lip. But in the end, she succumbed to Spike’s expert seduction. She kissed him, sucking in Spike’s lower lip. That lip was hers, and she planned to put a permanent claim on it.

Spike moaned, the feel of Buffy’s sharp little teeth arousing him further. He banded an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. God, this was heaven. He lost himself in her kiss, in her warmth, enjoying her as much as he could. His back had other ideas, though, and it pulled in protest, causing him to gasp. Buffy pulled away, taking her delicious mouth away from his lips.

“Are you OK? Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

“Yer not kissin’ me!” Spike growled, reaching for her despite the pain it caused. Buffy avoided his questing grasp, darting behind him to take a look at his mangled back.

“Don’t you dare open these stitches!” she commanded, running her hands lightly across the undamaged skin. Spike shivered. He’d never get used to Buffy touching him. Using all of his resources and accepting the pain the move would cause, Spike twisted and pinned a startled slayer under him, his cock rubbing against the coarse material of her jeans.

“Think I need you to kiss me and make it better,” he murmured, smiling when her pupils dilated.

They made love slowly, carefully, mindful of Spike’s injuries but also aware that this was the first time they’d made love. Their first time. Spike worshiped Buffy’s body, kissing his way to her breast, learning what made her gasp and cry out. He learned the feel of her, the way her curves fit his body. When he finally entered her, her silken fold enveloping him, he almost died.

“Buffy!” He held himself, trembling, in her depths. She seared him, down to his very soul. He shook his head, trying to keep his mind from wandering off, lost in the sensation that was Buffy Summers…his mate. His eyes snapped to hers, searching for an answer he just couldn’t believe was yes.

Buffy smiled and slowly rotated her hips, savoring the look of intense pleasure Spike couldn’t hold back. After everything they’d seen of one another, he still had doubts. It would be fun to lay those to rest. But for now, she wanted him, and she wanted him now. She sat up a little and captured his lips in a kiss. She locked her legs around his firm, toned ass, ever mindful of his wounds, and encouraged his movements, seeking friction and release.

They moved together, hips meeting, skin slapping together. Their grunts and moans came together, sounds of intense pleasure. Spike felt his orgasm building, a rising wave as his body tensed. Buffy mewled, caught at the precipice, waiting for that final release. She turned her head to one side, baring her marks to her mate.

“Spike…please.” It was all the invitation he needed. With controlled intensity, Spike struck, opening the marks and letting her powerful blood wash over his tongue.

“Mine!” Buffy arched up, her body taut and strained, pleasure coursing through her. She felt everything, every place her body connected with her mate’s. She felt the pleasurable pull of her blood, and the feel of Spike’s rigid cock in her slick channel. Without thinking about it, she reached for him, and gasped as his pleasure slammed into her. They were caught in a loop of pleasure as they opened their connection and let the other feel what was happening. It swirled around them, in them, through them, bouncing back and forth form one to the other and growing with every exchange. They flew up towards the peak, creasting it over and over again, together, caught up in one another.

“Yours. Yours, only yours!” Buffy sobbed, the intensity of the moment flowing through her. She felt something change, a subtle thing, whatever it was…but it was there. Spike felt it too, after he regained his ability to think and gently closed his bite marks, a purr rising unbidden in his chest.

***

Spike’s back was healing nicely by the time the sun set, thanks to the power of Buffy’s blood. Enough that he was able to walk without help. Giggling and shooting little shmoopy glances at one another, the new couple walked hand in hand towards Buffy’s house.

“Mom?” Buffy called into her silent house. “Mo-om.”

“She’s upstairs,” Dawn said, walking out of the kitchen with a plate full of cookies and a bowl of popcorn. “So…how was the boinkinig?” Dawn grinned. Spike and Buffy should imitated fish more often, it was funny. Humming Let’s Get It On not exactly under her breath, Dawn headed to the living room to watch the fireworks.

Sure enough, as soon as she sat down, the doorbell ring and the Scooby Gang spilled into the house. Joyce made her way down the stairs at the noise, greeting everyone but Giles warmly. Her attitude towards the older Brit could be described as frigidly arctic. If you were into understatement and didn’t have an entire page to fully describe just how much disdain Joyce was able to fit into a three second interaction.

“I must use the bathroom, so don’t start without me! I don’t want to miss the show!” Strained eyes followed Anya out of the room. The oppressive silence was broken by Xander’s whimper. He was looking at Buffy and Spike, who had pulled Buffy onto his lap and was making sure they waited for Anya by keeping Buffy’s lips quite occupied.

“Ba-ba-ba-ba,” Xander babbled, his eyes bugging.

“Xander, do shut up,” Giles sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. Joyce’s icy disdain let up half a notch.

“Bu-bu-bu-bu!” Dawn dug into her popcorn. This was going to be awesome. Buffy looked up and fixed Xander with an icy glare that had nothing on Joyce’s, but Buffy was still young. It takes time to perfect that kind of disappointment and anger.

“Spike and I are a couple. Actually we’re kind of like married, but that doesn’t matter. We’re together, I’m happy, and I don’t want to hear it.” With that, Buffy turned her attention back to her mate. Mate taste good. Xander just gaped at the duo, and Giles sighed resignedly. He’d been afraid of this, after he’d seen those non-fading marks on his slayer’s neck.

“Xander!” a bubbling Anya burst into the room, holding something long and white. “I’m pregnant! Oh, Spike and Buffy are mates! Good for you, makes the orgasms much more powerful!”

Xander looked from Buffy and Spike, to Anya and her little stick-friend, and back to Buffy and Spike, and then passed out.

Buffy and Spike were happily oblivious to the fall out, totally absorbed in each other’s lips. There was screaming, yelling, crying, more passing out, and congratulations, not necessarily in any coherent order and sometimes happening all at once. But eventually, Xander was settled in the kitchen with a mug of tea and a babbling Anya, with a promise to Joyce to stay upright and conscious for at least the next hour. She excused herself, heading out of the kitchen to have a talk with her daughter and apparent son-in-law.

“Joyce,” Giles said, wincing as that cold, cold gaze settled on him. He realized he was cleaning his glasses and hurriedly put them back on his head. Joyce raised one eye brow, and the temperature in the room plummeted. “Right. I…I’m a stupid sod.”

“I know.” His head snapped up, and he was relieved to see her grinning, if at his own expense. But if the ice on the mirror was any indication, he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“I find that…I enjoy your company and if you would be so inclined, I would not be adverse t-t-to pursuing some sort of…association.”

“Rupert Giles,” Joyce murmured, stepping deliberately towards the flustered man, “are you trying to say you want to date me?” Giles flushed, and ducked his head. His fingers itched to snatch his glasses off his face.

“Well…indeed.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his. They melted into one another, enjoying the contact. Joyce pulled back slightly.

“I have to confess something,” she murmured. Giles kissed her again, his breath jagged and fast.

“Confession is good for the soul.” She shivered; he sounded like Ripper there. Joyce lowered her lips to his ear.

“I’m pregnant.”
 
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