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banner created by AJ Hofacre © March 10, 2008

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...part XIII...
.:the door's locked and nobody's home:.

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He probably wasn't the best person to ask, all things considered, but life was good. In fact, if you asked Spike, the only way life could be better was if you had Buffy Summers at your side. Which he did.

Heh.

Buffy had really gotten into the whole nursemaid thing for the last week or so. She bustled around Joyce's room, cleaning, straightening... bringing him his nummies (and it was damn hard to keep a straight face she brought him his blood-n-hash browns combo). She even brought him random prezzies -- surprisingly, he'd even received something from Harris and Rupert. Xander, for the sake of a really stupid joke, had given him two black leather cuffs with silver spikes sticking out of them. Giles, however, had given him a beautiful reddish-brown leather-bound journal. It had made him wonder -- he'd been needing to go and nick a new one for a while now. How the hell could the Watcher have known? He was positive that nothing vaguely bookish in appearance was visible at the crypt.

Later, he just chalked it up to a very nosy little girl, her nosy older sister, and their even nosier friends. Goddamn fucking meddling humans.

Buffy was in the room with him at all times, day and night. She'd been so protective and possessive that if it hadn't hurt so goddamn much to laugh, Spike would have been rolling on the floor in hysterics. His Bit had entertained him but good with the arguments she and her sister had at his expense.

But the worst of it was the fact that Buffy teased him. Mercilessly. Yesterday morning, in fact, she'd come up the stairs to give him his brekky, and her robe had slipped open as she bent over, revealing everything underneath.

Shockingly, "everything" in this case translated to "nothing." His mouth had been hanging open for nearly ten minutes.

And then, this morning, the little bint had gone and changed right in front of him -- she'd literally stripped down all the way, bearing all. He'd been left panting, with a very painful erection that he couldn't do much about. A day after his rescue, Buffy had discovered that he'd fractured his right arm. It had only had hairline fractures when he'd been under Attack-by-Hellbitch, but when he'd dropped down into the elevator, the entire bone in the forearm had shattered into pieces.

The only reason he hadn't been able to do anything about his hard-on had been because Buffy had wrapped him up in about fifty pieces of gauze, stiffening his arm to the point of no use altogether. For some reason, while he could do everything else with his left hand, whacking off required both hands. Perhaps she'd forgotten that vampires healed quickly, because his arm was feeling much, much better now...

Buffy, at the moment, was wearing an outfit designed purely for the premise of torturing the male anatomy -- a tie-dyed black, red, and purple halter top with one thin string roping around her neck and her back. The material was completely sheer, and Buffy, given the lack of being able to hide anything anywhere on her upper body (at least from behind), had cheerfully neglected the need for support. Considering the fact that everything was, erm, perky as normal in the front, she didn't really need it. She wore a gauzy black blouse over it. And over her boots, a pair of dark, tight-fitting flares clung to her hips and ass, with a silver link belt circling the waist. Her neck was bare, and when she spoke or was spoken to, she proudly turned her head to show off his mark -- an action that stupefied him, but nonetheless turned him on even more.

He was trying to decide when the best time to ambush her would be.

Problem was, neither of them was in a position to make for any of the hot monkey lovin' at the moment. They were in Joyce's bedroom, for one thing. Spike wasn't going to insult the lady; having sex with Buffy in Joyce's bed would probably give the poor woman a coronary. And besides that, Joyce's bedroom had become Scooby Central, and all of Buffy's mates were milling around, annoying the hell out of him.

Okay, so they weren't really that annoying. Not all of them, anyway. Willow and Tara just kept asking if he was comfortable or if he needed anything, as did the rest of the women (and the pint-sized Niblet), so that was a bit of all right. But Giles kept shooting him a quirky British eyebrow that Spike was about ready to set fire to, and Xander kept making fun of his hair. Bah. Like the whelp had any room to talk.

He was seriously beginning to wonder if Buffy would really care should he take it upon himself to eat Xander. It wasn't like anyone would miss him too much, except for maybe... well, all of them, he supposed. Except probably Giles. And anyway, it wasn't Spike's fault that his slicked back locks had turned into poodle curls during his forced immobility.

It was Buffy's.

She'd refused to allow him to style it using anything but water. And worser still, his roots were starting to show. He was beginning to have the horrifying suspicions that Buffy liked his hair the way it was.

Also, he'd have to give the Scoobs quite a bit of credit. Buffy had been curled up in his arms on the bed for almost an hour now, and not one of them had said anything to the contrary about it. If they had, he was finally assured that Buffy would have set them straight.

The Slayer's friends had been there for almost two hours now, and Spike's brain felt like it was going to explode. Ker-plow -- gray matter everywhere. Used to be fun watching that happen to his victims when he shoved a spike through their brains, but somehow, Spike just didn't fancy that happening to him. Giles had been droning on and on about Glory for going on ten minutes - basically repeating the same information over and over - and Xander kept giving his ill-timed quips, and really, if Buffy had not been curled up soundly with her arms wrapped around his waist, he might have grabbed the whelp and ripped his tongue out by now, just to shut him up.

"Spike. Spike," Buffy whispered, poking him lightly.

The vampire looked up from his thoughts, his eyes darting around in confusion. Nobody was paying any attention to him, and so he looked back down at Buffy and frowned. "What?"

Buffy smiled and shrugged. "Just wanted to see how long it would take to snap you out of the funk. Are you as bored with this as I am?"

Spike grunted. "I've died from the boredom twice over, now, sweetheart." Buffy's amused grin managed to get a responsive smile on his face and he tugged her closer, touching his tongue slyly to the back of his teeth. Without realizing it, a soft rumble emanated from his chest, and Buffy shivered, her eyes clouding with desire.

And just as quickly as that desire had come, it disappeared when Giles loudly cleared his throat, making her start as if she'd been smacked. Spike turned his head away from her and narrowed his eyes at the Watcher. "Yes, Rupert?" he asked in a pleasant tone, though the look on his face was borne of many wanting-to-rip-out-your-innards feelings at the same time.

The Watcher gave Spike a stern scowl, and Spike grunted, his lower lip lightly jutting out as he reluctantly backed down. Bloody Watcher was always going to get on his case no matter what, wasn't he?

Giles cleared his throat again, this time preparing to actually talk. "Do you two have any questions, or shall I just declare you both chronically ignorant from here on in?"

Buffy, recovered slightly from the scare Giles had given all of her Lusty-Spike Thoughts, grimaced at him and stuck her tongue out. "I'm not ignorant. I just don't use my knowledge when necessary except in battle." Spike snorted at the same time that Xander squawked with laughter, and, eyes widening in annoyance, Buffy delivered a swift but painful elbow to Spike's left arm, then kicked Xander equally as hard (but with a fraction of her strength - she was still the Slayer, and Xander was still Wimpy Human Boy) in the thigh from his seat at the foot of the bed. She turned her attention back to Giles. "And as a matter of fact, I do have a question chock full of claim-y goodness, so go find your tweeds and listen."

Giles sighed, refusing to dignify her order with a response (and ignoring the soft giggles from the other females in the room); instead, he ceased his pacing and waited patiently for her to begin. Buffy looked around and sighed, then sat up slightly.

"At the apartments. When I was heading upstairs to find Spike. Something... happened. The claim's hold on me got -- worse or something, because when Glory hurt Spike, I felt it even more than usual. It wasn't just the gnawing ache or anything, this was actual pain, like I was the one Glory was actually hurting. But here's the weird thing, okay? When I looked down, I was bleeding --"

Giles frowned. "That doesn't seem too unnatural, Buffy, after all, we were in the middle of what could be classified as a war zone."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him, sighing in frustration. "Can I finish, please?" At Giles' sheepish nod, she continued. "I wasn't hurt, Giles. I had no wounds, nothing, until I got down to the lobby and that little bastard tried to stick a crossbow bolt in me. I was definitely feeling the pain, Spike's pain, and this was before we even made it to the apartments. You remember, I almost collapsed on the sidewalk."

She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled a deep breath. "But this time, inside of the apartments, when I looked down -- I had blood pouring off of me -- in the exact same locations on my body where Spike had been injured on his." She stopped for a moment to indicate Spike's bare chest (at the moment, he was shirtless as the button-ups he'd taken to wearing were irritating his still-healing wounds), which revealed each mark that Glory had gleefully branded him with, then continued. "The problem here is that where he got the absolute shit beaten out of him," she pulled aside her shirt to reveal her collarbone and abdomen, "I don't have a single mark on me. I started bleeding, but I wasn't injured. And what was even more wiggy was that it was most definitely my blood on my clothes. I've seen it enough times by now to know."

Giles's eyes widened slightly, then his brow furrowed and he frowned, revealing his Giles-Think face. "Goodness... how utterly peculiar!" He stood and began to systematically pace in the confined area of Joyce's bedroom. "I'll most certainly have to look into this, Buffy... It may be dangerous for both you and Spike if something of this nature continues. I don't even want to think about what could happen to you both should someone - God forbid - succeed and strike a death blow."

Buffy's eyes widened, and she groaned under her breath. Crap. That meant that they were going to be stuck researching for the next couple of days, just trying to figure this thing out. Pouting, she plopped her head on Spike's shoulder and sank into the burrow of his arms, glaring at the rest of the gang as they glared right back at her -- well, except for Willow. The thought of research never failed to perk the resident homework guru right up. She looked up at her boyfriend when she felt his sides begin to shake, then glowered when she realized he was laughing. Thwapping him hard on the stomach, she grinned with satisfaction when he yelped, then took the opportunity to check out his healing progress as he bitched and moaned.

All in all, he was looking all right. The worst of his bruises had dimmed to a very revolting, yet very imaginative pukish-yellow color (namely, his black eyes, though they were quickly fading). The wound on his stomach from Glory's finger, which had settled there for days like a second, diseased belly-button, had fully (finally) closed up. All that remained was a slightly faint, meager whitish-pink circle. The stake wound, which rested on his shoulder, covering the one that Riley had so thoughtfully bestowed on him, was still pretty caustic-looking. But it had healed over well, and, though still deep, it had clotted over nicely. It did look pretty odd, though, the pink, recovering flesh surrounded by the mass of Anne Rice ivory perfection.

Oddly enough, she felt the urge to compare scars, though she felt a glimmer of knowledge that she would definitely lose to him. There was just something about seeing him this way - covered in battle wounds, for her, because of her, because of his devotion to her and her family - that, quite frankly, turned her on. In fact, if they hadn't been in the middle of a meeting, and if she didn't have her self-control (or what was left of it since she had started seeing Spike), she would've jumped him right then and there. It was utterly morbid, but hell - he had really sexy wounds.

Yeah, she thought she was hanging around Spike too much, too.

His other cuts were better. His fractured arm was not-so-fractured (she just kept it tied up so he couldn't use it on her -- just after she'd brought him back home, she'd discovered that a horny vampire with a wounded arm could come up with very clever ways to use it. Unfortunately, that didn't assist any in the healing process). His ribs were pummel-worthy once again, and his nose was no longer broken. She grinned to herself as she recalled herself sitting on his chest, with Scoobies on either side to hold him down as she popped his nose back into place, Spike howling like a wolf and thrashing around the whole time.

"Maybe something's wrong with the claim," Anya piped up out of nowhere. Buffy snapped out of it then, realizing that Spike was staring right back at her, and that they'd apparently been having a no-blinking contest while she'd been thinking. She glanced at Spike, then at Anya, then back to Spike again, before staring dumbfounded at Giles.

"Wha?" she asked.

Spike grinned. "Very articulate, luv."

She shoved him. "Shut up. Anya, what about the claim?"

Anya shrugged. "Well, have you accepted his claim on you? You have to speak it before him, most preferably while you are both having intercourse, and even more preferable when you both orgasm." It was a testament to how everyone had gotten used to the way Anya talked that not a single one in the room (save for Xander, who frantically covered Dawn's ears) blushed. Sharing a grin with the other women in the room when Dawn viciously kicked Xander in the shin, Anya continued. "If you haven't accepted his claim, then that's probably the reason why you're suffering his injuries."

Buffy frowned. "I didn't think of that."

The ex-demon snorted. "Well, obviously. When was the last time he claimed you?"

She tilted her head. "Claimed me as in said the words out loud?" Anya nodded. Buffy furrowed her brow, thinking. Her eyes widened, and somehow she kept herself from jolting with surprise when she realized that Spike hadn't whispered the claim the morning that they'd made love. That should have been the pinnacle for him. She glanced at her boyfriend, aware that he should be able to zone in on her thoughts. He refused to lock gazes with her, just as she'd expected. "Um, the last time was that, uh, night that you all busted into the crypt. Remember? Riley saw Spike claim me?"

Xander's upper lip curled at the mention of Buffy's former beau. "I remember." He looked toward Dawn and grinned. "I also remember that our little Dawnie was the bravest one to go up against the G-man that night."

Dawn accepted his attempt to apologize for earlier and beamed proudly as Giles shook his head.

"Xander, I have told you repeatedly not to call me that!" he grumbled.

"Sorry!" Xander replied with a huge grin, not looking the least bit sorry.

Buffy rolled her eyes. Xander seemed to be regressing -- instead of maturing with every year, he was immaturing - if that was even a freaking word. It was going to get annoying. "Okay, off-topic here, guys." She turned back to Anya. "What does it mean? I mean, how long are you supposed to let a claim go without replying to it?"

Anya shrugged. "Normally, when a vampire claims someone, it's usually another vampire. So if they don't reply, then the claim is pointless, lost on them. But you're the Slayer, so it looks like it's having physical effects on you. Bleeding your own blood, but you have no wounds to show for it, feeling when Spike is hurt or in danger... It's not supposed to become a physical manifestation. And the claim at the crypt was around two or three weeks ago, maybe longer. Since you felt Spike's injuries first, then bled when he did second, my guess is that it's just going to get worse from there until you finally accept the claim. Otherwise, you'll be in trouble."

Buffy frowned. "What kind of trouble?"

Anya tilted her head, shrugging. "Oh. Possibly the life-threatening kind. I don't know, I've never seen a Slayer claimed by a Vampire, remember?"

Buffy's eyes widened, and she turned, staring at Spike. "You were letting me die and you didn't tell me?!" She frantically began to smack him wherever she could reach: his ribs, his arms, shoulders, legs -- anywhere that he couldn't keep arched away from her.

Spike shrank from her hits, trying his best to fend her off with his hands. "Oi! 'S not like I knew what was gonna happen, luv, I've never claimed anyone before, much less a Slayer!"

Everyone stopped and Spike inwardly winced at his admission. Fuck; him and his goddamn big mouth.

Buffy stared at him in disbelief. "Wait... you've never claimed anyone?" Spike closed his eyes and sighed, nodding. Buffy's jaw dropped slightly. "But... what about Dru? You were with her for over a century, didn't you ever try to claim her?"

There was a very long pause as Spike held Buffy's eyes, before turning his head away miserably. "I tried... she didn't accept."

Rather, she had refused to accept. Throughout the century that she and Spike had been on their own, she'd become obsessed with searching for Angelus, even though he'd had his soul when he'd left and had made it more than clear to them that they were not to come after him. Angelus had been a cruel bastard, he and Darla raising torture to a divine art with their victims, but he had never been so cruel when it came to his Childer. The words he had spoken could have surpassed Angelus' cruelty as he attempted to keep Spike and Drusilla from seeking him out.

The words had delivered an instant impact on Spike, and though he at times had missed his Sire terribly, his hurt and disgust with the elder forced him to hold on to his grudge. To Drusilla, however, Angelus, or Angel, or whoever the hell he was these days, was still and always would be her 'daddy.' He was the creature that had created her, and he would forever be Drusilla's obsession.

Angelus had instilled in her the necessity to adore torture and hate. The words his souled counterpart had spoken had probably sounded like a love poem in Drusilla's fragile mind.

Therefore, when Angelus had left them, and hadn't reappeared within a decade, his mark on Dru had become officially null and void. To everyone but Dru, it did. Spike had finally attempted to claim her one night in 1914, just a few weeks before the First World War had broken out, and Drusilla had not only mentally but physically rejected him in their bed. The nights following, they had resumed their normal schedule -- feeding, fighting, and fucking -- as if Spike's attempt at a claim had never happened.

As he came back to himself, he was at least grateful for the fact that the group had the sense not to say anything to him -- even Xander had managed to keep his fat mouth shut, though Spike felt he owed it more to Anya's not-so-discreet kicks to her boyfriend's shins -- but they were all staring at him now. And even more of a kick in the ass, he could see the sympathy in their gazes. Fuck, but this was too much. He tugged his arms away from Buffy and scrambled to stand up, then walked impassively out of the room, refusing to look back.

When he left, Buffy quietly sat up, moving forward until she was seated at Anya's right. "Anya... what does it mean to be claimed again?"

Anya was silent for a moment. When she looked at the Slayer, her brow was creased, and she had a frown on her face. "A claim is... a form of protection from other vampires in some cases. Um... when it happens between vampires... it's supposed to mean that they'll be mates for eternity. Spike isn't exactly the rarest vampire on earth, or recorded in history. He holds his own, and certainly he's one of the most renowned, but he wasn't -- still isn't, in fact -- the first or only vampire capable of love. When a claim takes place between vampires, it's showing the world that they are in love, and that they belong to each other forever. Usually, the other vampire -- the one who is receiving the claim -- completes the circuit. Then, they've claimed each other, and no one else can touch them, or their mate."

Giles took a deep breath, picking up the explanation from Anya. "But if a vampire does not accept the claim, then, as Anya said before, the claim is lost. To a vampire it means that they've lost a life-partner. That the other vampire either wasn't capable of caring for the same person for eternity, or wasn't capable of caring for that vampire at all."

Dawn looked stricken. "Oh god. Spike loved Drusilla enough to be willing to spend eternity with her, but she didn't accept his claim."

"And that means she didn't want to spend eternity with him," Willow continued, frowning.

"Poor Spike," Tara murmured. "That means... that means that..."

"It means that Drusilla didn't love him," Buffy mumbled, putting her face in her hands. A horrible, sinking feeling swathed her heart. "God..."

She had a flash back. Back in the crypt, when she'd realized that Spike had still wanted to kill, she had told him that she knew about his claim, and that she wouldn't accept it since she wasn't, and would never be, his. What if he had taken her seriously? It would have explained why he had only bitten her wrist that night at the Bronze, and why he hadn't claimed her when they'd made love.

Oh, god, was this Super Bitch month or something? What the hell kind of a woman was she? And she wasn't even PMSing. Poor Spike probably thought he was doomed to being alone for the rest of his existence.

Xander frowned. Even he looked sympathetic. "Well, she had to have cared about him a little bit, right? I mean, she was with him for a hundred years."

Buffy sighed, shaking her head. "No. Correction: he was taking care of her for a hundred years. Dru was weak and insane - well, more insane - before they came to Sunnydale, remember?"

Willow glanced at Xander as she began speaking. "She cared about him, yeah, he was her Childe. She just didn't love him, or at least not like he loved her. If she did, Angel turning into Angelus wouldn't even have mattered to her. She cheated on Spike right in front of his face when Angel changed."

"In other words, she cared about him, but he was more or less a plaything to her. Just a toy she could pull out and bat around like a cat when she got restless," Tara added. "I didn't know Spike way back then, like you did, but the vibes coming off of him are... unbelievable. I get the feeling that he was completely devoted to Drusilla."

Buffy nodded. "He was. You guys all saw him when he was with her. He loved her more than anything. Xander, you and Will saw him when he first came back, after Drusilla left him. You guys saw how broken he was." Buffy looked down. "And it never even mattered to her."

Silence ruled the room once again, until Buffy stood up and looked around. The revelation she'd just had was enough to force her to make one more final decision. "Meeting's over, guys."

Giles jerked, suddenly zeroing in on what his charge might have been thinking, and he rose, looking hard at her. "Buffy, just a moment--"

Buffy stared at him hard. "Giles. The meeting is over." The implications behind her words were clear: If you know me, respect me, and trust me the way you say you do, then do NOT stand in my way. I know what I'm doing.

It was in her eyes, and it was understandable to everyone in the room. Giles cringed, but he slowly, finally nodded, understanding that if he stopped her, there would be hell to pay. "Very well, Buffy. Please... do be careful," he murmured as he turned to leave. Buffy folded her arms and nodded.

When the room was finally empty, save for Dawn and the witches, the teenager looked at her sister. "Do you want me to get gone, too? I can stay with Tara and Willow. Would that be okay?"

Buffy paused, then nodded. "Yeah, you can go with them. Uh, Willow, set up a protection spell, just in case some of Glory's goons try to make a move."

Willow nodded. "Sure thing, Buffy." She turned to the fourteen-year-old girl next to her. "Come on, Dawnie. I think we have some Rocky Road in the freezer," she said, grinning.

Buffy watched them leave, following them to the front door. As they headed out of sight, she turned and looked up the stairs.

Spike was finally going to get what he deserved.

And if she was completely honest, so was she.

---

He felt like such a ponce.

He felt like a drama queen, too, but that was beside the point. The point being that he'd let his emotions get the best of him, again, and he was now positive that every single person inside Joyce's bedroom finally knew the truth.

He'd known all along, really. He had been Drusilla's little darling when he'd first been turned, but as the years progressed, he just hadn't been able to keep his hold on her. The way she had treated him had not been, My Spike, my lover, my everything, it had been, My Spike, my toy, my pet. It had always been Angelus first. Dru had always run to her sire. And by a chance of fate, when Buffy had slept with the bastard, the crazier version returned and stole his Dru right out from under him.

... Literally, at one point.

Dru had never really loved him. Not like Spike had loved her. It had all been an elaborate act -- Spike had been nothing more than a replacement for Angelus. A toy to keep her fancy, to keep her satisfied, until the asshole returned. He'd realized that this was just going to keep happening, that Dru would no longer keep her hands and body only for Spike. And it had started after his attempt to claim her. She'd rejected him that night, and not twenty four hours later, he had found her screwing around with a bloody Bavrok demon, of all fucking things. She'd rejected him for Angel and Angelus -- the fucker was the same goddamn person! -- and then she'd rejected him for a Chaos demon, and then a fucking Fungus demon!

Spike had thought that all he had to do was show the insane beauty just how dangerous and violent he could be. Because that was all that had really mattered to Dru anyway. How violent and vengeful and determined her current sex toy was.

But, if he had done that, he wouldn't have ended up in Sunnydale again. He never would have fallen under that spell that Red had screwed up. He wouldn't be with Buffy now if it had not have been for his mad, traitorous Sire ruining everything by boning Fuck-face right in front of him.

And Spike truly loved Buffy.

The Slayer's voice, however, still echoed in his mind from that day at his crypt, telling him that she would never belong to him, she would never fully be his. It had stuck with him -- what if she was being honest? What if she would never allow herself to be his? He'd been tentative about claiming her during sex as it was. From what she'd said, it appeared she didn't want to be claimed at all.

He wanted Buffy to be his, more than anything he'd ever wanted. He wanted her to realize that she was his mate, his lover, his everything. He wanted her to know that his world revolved around her, and that all he wanted was to be with her, and to love her like she deserved. He wanted to be her everything. He wanted someone he could trust, someone to be his willing companion.

He'd thought Dru would be willing. He really had.

He smelled Buffy's scent and heard her footsteps before she even entered the room. Of course it was a bit stupid of him to be where he was in the first place if he'd wanted to remain in hiding -- he was in her room, after all. But now he could hear her footsteps outside the door, and without hesitation, she had crept through, walking toward him steadily and slowly, but with certain purpose. He wasn't sure if he should be amazed or annoyed -- she had known exactly where he was.

Buffy moved toward him until she was seated on the bed, far enough away so he wouldn't attack her if he was pissed off, but close enough to hold his hand. One never really could tell how Spike was going to act -- lately he was PMSing worse than she did on her bad days.

Spike sat silently, allowing her to loosely clutch his hand. She hadn't said anything, and if she hadn't been keeping him in place with steely eyes and her hand, he would've started pacing. And pacing was something he was all too familiar with these days.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked, tilting her head. Spike responded with a grunt. Buffy rolled her eyes. "I guess that's a no." She sighed and lifted a hand toward his face, cupping his chin and turning his head until his eyes met hers. Her eyes softened and her hand moved up to cradle his cheek.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories." She scooted up towards him on the bed, then stretched herself out against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck and gently stroking his jaw. "I don't know exactly what went on between you and Dru after you left Sunnydale, but I know... maybe... maybe she thought you couldn't handle her, and the lifestyle she wanted. But maybe the truth of it is that she couldn't handle you. Maybe you were the one that was growing, and she didn't want to deal with that. And if so..." She sat up slightly and gazed into his eyes, leaning in slowly and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "It's her loss."

Spike stared down at her, contemplating it. And in his mind, he suddenly heard his voice, and Drusilla's, arguing in the park in Brazil.


"I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California -- she's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"

"But you're lying! I can still see her, floating all around you! Laughing... Why? Why can't you push her away?"

"But I did, pet, I did it for you. And you keep punishing me..."

"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."

"So this is my fault now?"

"You can't blame a girl, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."


Maybe Dru hadn't loved him, but the reason for their first break-up had been clear. No matter what she had done in the past to him, Spike was hers. He had always waited for her. But things had changed.

She'd been cheating on him, but only because she'd been jealous. He had clearly been haunted by the Slayer since he'd met her, and Drusilla hadn't known what to do. Obviously, it didn't matter when she cheated on Spike, because she knew he would still be waiting for her at the end, no matter what. But when the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, Drusilla had no idea what to do with herself. Simply put, if Spike was beginning to show signs of moving on, of no longer bestowing his love and devotion on Drusilla, but on someone else entirely, someone who for all intents and purposes was meant to kill him, then it meant that Drusilla had been the one to do wrong. Drusilla wasn't able to hold on to the one she'd refused as mate.

So this entire time, while he'd thought it had been him that had shattered the links of his relationship to Drusilla, the fact of the matter was that it was Dru's ego that had ruined it.

The bloody sanctimonious spoiled little bint. It certainly put a fresh new spin on things.

Spike smiled slightly and leaned down to return Buffy's kiss. "I think you're right about that, love."

Buffy smiled and crawled up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed his jaw and cheek. "I usually am. Dru really screwed up by letting you get away. And now you're mine, and you are not going anywhere."

Spike chuckled softly, rolling on top of her. "What if I want to leave?"

Buffy raised her hand and traced his lips with it. Spike felt the other hand delve lower and lower, then let out a yelp as she squeezed the lump in his pants particularly hard. Buffy smiled. "Then I guess you want to live out the rest of your unlife as a eunuch. Is that right, Spike? Because, you know, I can totally make that happen."

Little bitch. Spike gave a low, defeated growl, scowling at her when she let go. "No, Mistress Buffy, it would be a foolish an' brainless thing if I did," he muttered sarcastically, complete with rolling-of-the-eyes and a tight, annoyed smile.

Buffy giggled, and drew his face to hers, kissing him softly, sweetly. "I love you, Spike," she murmured, tilting her head as she led her lips to his neck.

He allowed a soft smile to grace his face. Those three words pouring from her lips freely sounded like the bells of Heaven tolling for him. Those words were gold. Spike gave a low, rumbling purr and placed a kiss on her neck. "I love you, too, baby."

Buffy's head raised toward his and she gave him a brilliant smile. Wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling his head down, she pressed her lips to his, nimble little tongue daintily licking the hidden crevices of his mouth before touching his own tongue and mmm, Buffy her taste flooded his system. Spike likewise wrapped his arms around her, capturing that sweet little tongue and sucking on it lightly. Buffy whimpered, and the hand that was holding the back of his head clamped down on his hair so tight that she nearly tore it free of the roots.

Spike gave an ecstatic laugh and draped his arm around her waist, hauling her up against him. His hand ran down to the small of her back, then back up again before clutching the sheer black shirt she had worn over the halter. Snarling softly, he jerked it down her shoulders, having to forcibly push her hands away in order to yank it off.

Buffy's hands refused to remain idle, and in response to Spike's desperation, she began tugging relentlessly at the clasp of his jeans. Her other hand ran up the smooth, bare skin of his chest, obviously happy that the expanse of finely toned ivory wasn't hindered by something so annoying as a T-shirt. Her fingers brushed over his nipple and Spike gave a hiss before making yummy growly noises in her ear and shifting himself against her. He slid both hands down to her ass and cupped it before lifting himself up and hiking her up along with him, his lips worshipping the smooth golden skin of her neck.

He pulled back for one critical moment to ask, "Is the door locked?"

Buffy looked up, replying breathlessly, "Nobody's home."

Spike grunted, then stalked over to the door, Buffy still in his arms. "Rather prefer us not giving a peep show should anyone come home early," he grumped, flicking the lock shut. He looked up at Buffy then, a sly grin crossing his handsome, angular face. "'Sides, doors have their uses."

To prove his point, he yanked her against him and pinned her against said door. Buffy let out a gasp and a slight wince, then wrapped her arms around his neck as he allowed her to slide down. Raising his left leg, he pinned it between hers, then gazed at her for a moment, before pressing his lips to hers. Buffy moaned as Spike's tongue snaked its way in to her mouth, and she arched her lower back up, lifting both of her legs and wrapping them around his waist. Spike growled and tugged at the flimsy little strings holding her top up. How the hell did these things manage to hold her up? Sure, they made everything... perkier with it than without it, but the only things holding it were strings thinner than a strand of hair. He reached around her back. Whoops, there went those straps. The thing was more or less hanging on her like a bib now. Whether Buffy noticed or even cared didn't really matter -- she was much more engrossed in sucking his earlobe and nipping his neck and holy shit, so that where that little hand had gotten to!

Buffy moaned as she felt Spike's hand move under the loosened halter, his fingers rubbing and eventually squeezing the soft globe of flesh underneath. Her own hands worked harder to undo his jeans. Slip here, button there, he just had to have worn his damn button-flies today, the idiot. Oh well, one more button, and there was not-so-little Spike, standing straight up between their bodies, making the vampire's entire being straighten up and salute its oh-so-favorite Slayer. Spike's hands moved up her bare back, tugging once, twice, and there went the halter, right over Spike's shoulder. She wasn't going to find that thing for another three months after this -- oh, god, Spike lips, nice and cool, right on her collarbone, leading down, down and teasing the very peak of ice cream scoop breasts, hands fondling, lips sucking, tongue caressing an erect pink nipple. Buffy threw her head back and moaned loudly, then decided to return the favor, ignoring her lover's very eager friend for the moment while she sank her blunt teeth into his right nipple. Spike yowled in surprise and shoved her harder against the wall, his head lifting up until his eyes met hers.

Foreplay was no longer in the itinerary after this. Naughty, naughty Slayer, playing Bite The Big Bad with the oh-so-BIG Bad.

Buffy toed her boots off as best she could, each flopping to its own place on either side of Spike. Spike tore her pants off, knowing he'd probably catch hell for it later but not really caring as the silver links of her belt flew through the air and smacked against the heavily shaded window. All she was left in now was a tiny black lace thong, and he was left with the belief that she really did pick these clothes out to torture him. He could see her dark brown curls peeking out from the edges and god the little bint knew how to make a man's cock explode. And he was still in his bloody jeans? Okay, right, not a necessity.

Pressing himself up against Buffy in order to keep her from falling to the floor, he squirmed his narrow hips out of the jeans then kicked his legs until the bloody evil things had found their way down into a puddle on the floor. Kicking them as far away as possible, he turned his attention back to his beloved, her strong smooth thighs still locked in a vice grip around him. He growled softly, and Buffy's head immediately rose up, her flashing green eyes looking right back into the depths of his blue-gold irises. Wait a minute -- her flashing eyes -- eyes that were glowing. That shouldn't be happening. But by the Powers, it was. Buffy's eyes were glowing like a vampire's, and she was whimpering, oh, her sweet little mewls and whines, begging for him to spread her. He was plenty hard, he knew, and if he hadn't been in the room with the girl, he probably could have smelled her arousal from the very outskirts of Sunnydale, but he just had to get her ready, first. Figuring out what Buffy's glowing eyes meant could wait until he wasn't otherwise occupied with fucking her raw.

He growled again and Buffy obediently moved her head forward, pressing her lips savagely to his. Spike snarled and kissed her back with just as much inhuman brutality that he possessed within him. His left hand pressed against the wall to steady him, and he slid his right hand down between them, running a cool finger between Buffy's legs as he teased open her swollen lips. Another pleading whimper that seeped into his own mouth, one that he savored, and gently he parted her lips before pushing first one finger, then two into her sopping channel. Buffy mewled and arched against him, her lips never once moving from his own. As slowly as possible, he began moving his now-drenched fingers in and out of her, each exit resulting in a thoroughly disappointed whine, each entry resulting in an elated, desperate moan for more.

When he began to feel the fluttering of her muscles on the inside quickening, he sped up his pace, and was rewarded with Buffy's high, piercing keen. It nearly shattered his super-sensitive hearing, the noise almost so high-pitched that only a dog or a vampire could hear it. Withdrawing his soaked hand, he licked it clean, then bent in to lick and suck her lower lip as he hoisted her up again, pressing the swollen head of his cock against her tight entrance. Buffy, All Hail the Queen of Impatience, thrust her hips up, engulfing the tip in her moist, tight inferno. Spike hissed loudly, burying his face in her neck and groaning. Once again, barely within her, not even moving, and she was stripping his skin off. He let out a low, resonating growl as he slid the rest of the way into her. Buffy gave a soft, gasping cry as he stretched her, filled her, completed her, teased every nerve ending she knew of, and naturally, the ones she didn't even realize she had. She was positive that this was going to be what killed her. Although, from what she could already tell, her la petite morte was certain to be a happy one.

There was no need for caution; Buffy had allowed Spike in to her body that first night, and Spike no longer needed his invitation. Their need and desire for each other could be seen by every one and their vampire's Sire, and as Vampire and Slayer, mortal enemies and destined lovers, locked eyes with each other, Spike began to rock against her, his hips thrusting and pumping and pistoning deep inside.

Buffy slowly began to rock her hips in time to Spike's thrusts, gazing into his eyes the whole time, almost as if she were under thrall. God, was this what it was like to touch Heaven? Her mind was forming hazy thoughts, and everything was a blur around her, save for Spike -- her Spike -- and eyes that were such a magnificent, tumultuous shade of blue that she was sure the sky envied them. She found her sanctuary in this face -- ironic enough that her sanctuary was the face of a vampire. But it was there: in the jut of his chin, the angles of his jaw, the razor sharpness of his cheekbones... the soft poutiness of his delectably smooth pink lips, the arch of his nose, the gaze of those soul-searching eyes, and the curved scar on his left eyebrow. Everywhere, everything she saw -- on his beautiful ivory skin, his expressively emotional face... he was her refuge.

A loud, commanding growl escaped Spike's throat, and Buffy instantly pushed off the wall, wrapping her arms around his neck, continuing to lift herself on and off of his rock hard arousal as he staggered toward the bed. He refused to extract himself from the confines of her body; instead, he allowed his legs to smack against the bed, then fell forward, covering the Slayer with his hard, marble-carved body. A deep rumbling ran from his chest into Buffy's skin, and she trembled against him, grasping his shoulders. "Spike, faster," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his.

Spike grunted, closing his eyes as he shifted his hips, pounding into her at a faster pace. The sweat that was beginning to pour off her forehead ran onto his skin, and he nudged her nose with his, asking for a kiss. Buffy acquiesced, tilting her head up to capture his lips in a firm lock. Her hips thrust up beneath them, her mound meeting Spike's pelvis with each pressing plunge into her. Spike ducked his head down to capture her carotid artery between his lips, sucking slowly as his hands moved up to caress her heaving breast. A light squeeze, and Buffy was whimpering all over again, arching into his cool palm, the hard point of her nipple stabbing his palm. Spike took the hint and captured the nipple, squeezing and twisting as their bodies began to buck in unison to the pleasure evading them. They were both so, so close, and yet still as far away as could be. In the background, Buffy could hear a faint thudding noise, as if someone was watching and playing a drum, the beat spurring them on and providing a primal, driving rhythm to their dance.

And then she realized that Spike was actually fucking her so hard that the whole bed was squeaking and thudding against the wall.

She'd be worried if this was anyone else. But it wasn't -- she was with Spike. So, no, there was no need to worry at all, not when Spike's hand was running down her side, tweaking her nipple, tickling her bellybutton, brushing through the course curls hiding her warmth from the rest of the world but him, sliding between their sweat-slicked bodies to capture her clit, rubbing and teasing the little ball of nerves. Buffy's back sprang off the bed and she let out a loud cry, her vaginal muscles clenching and strangling the cool, hard pillar inside of her. Spike was grunting with exertion and while his hand saw to the Slayer's pleasure center, he scooped her ass up from underneath with the other, angling her sharply in order to reach the more sensitive areas inside of her. His tongue slid out and began licking along her shoulder and her collarbone, before focusing solely on the area of her neck where he'd bitten her last. The hand cupping her ass slid down the back of her thigh, lifting her leg and holding it over his shoulder as he drove into her faster and harder. At the first sign of her orgasm, Spike struck, vamping and sheathing his fangs in her neck.

Buffy screeched, holding his head to her throat as he drank greedily from the thick, empowering essence dripping off of her skin. Her hips began bucking right off of the bed, slamming into his with more force than she had probably intended, as her body shook from the overpowering orgasm washing over her. Spike snarled, forcing his face away from her neck. He glared lustfully at her, his teeth stained with crimson, as he sliced his tongue and lapped at the wounds. "Mine," he growled in a low voice. Buffy's body went rigid for a moment, sparks the size of meteors flashing in front of her eyes, before she head butted him abruptly, sending him onto his back. Spike reeled with surprise, then calmed down as the Slayer slid on top of him, her hips riding him hard and violently. "Always," she gasped. Spike's jaw dropped, and he attempted to say something to her, to alert her of what she'd just done, but it was a bit difficult to protest with a set of extremely powerful Slayer muscles strangling his aching cock. Spike's eyes rolled up and he groaned loudly, the sound slowly mutating into an animalistic howl.

"Buff--" he attempted to cry out, as his hips sprang up, carrying the Slayer with them. One thrust, two, and Spike was launched into space as he released his seed into her.

He wasn't sure if the sight he saw next was amazing or horrific -- he was leaning toward amazing -- because Buffy's eyes glowed gold once again. Bending down, she buried her face in Spike's neck, licking and nibbling, and suddenly, Spike felt the all-too-familiar sensation of fangs pricking his skin. His eyes widened in disbelief, but disbelief was short-lived, and incredible arousal flared up in its stead. Buffy had bitten him, and was in the process of -- perhaps drinking was too strong of a word -- lapping at his blood. She sliced her tongue and mingled the blood, murmuring "Mine," in a soft, quiet voice. If possible, Spike's climax intensified, and he replied "Yours," in wonder.

As he came down, Buffy flopped on top of him, her head resting in the crook of his neck, her nose nuzzling his throat as she licked her mark clean. Spike lay silent, almost frozen, in shock and disbelief. She'd just claimed him in return, and -- well, to be honest, he had no fucking idea what to do, and for once, he was speechless. On top of that, Buffy had just randomly sprouted fangs in order to bite him! When in the hell did that happen? How the hell was he supposed to know what to do about this?

Oh, god, Giles was going to kill him...

When he snapped to his senses, his head shifted a bit and he peered down at the tiny blonde resting on top of him. "Do you realize what you just did?" he rasped, staring at her in something akin to awe.

Buffy tilted her head, looking up at him and running her fingers through his poodle curls fondly. "I have a vague idea," she murmured.

Spike's lips quirked the tiniest bit. "Do you have any idea how you did it?"

Buffy shrugged. "I bit you, I drank you, I cut my tongue, big orgasms... what's the problem?"

The quirk became a full-blown grin. "The problem, sweetness, is that you grew fangs to do the biting."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "What? I did n--" she started, then froze. Pausing momentarily, she raised her hand to her mouth and felt around inside. Her canines were still elongated. Her eyes widened in horror and she quickly searched her face, fearful to feel any demonic ridges that might have formed while she wasn't aware. Nothing. Just the teeth.

Spike's grin didn't waver, but his face softened. "Don't have any bumpies, pet. Just the teeth. Oh, an' your eyes were glowing."

Buffy's eyebrows went up. "I have glowy eyes?"

Spike chuckled. "Yeah, luv. You have glowy eyes."

Buffy's nose crinkled up. "I don't know how to feel about that."

Spike grinned and pulled her down, rolling on top of her. "I think I do."

Buffy grinned back, and as Spike began to move rhythmically inside of her once more, all she could see was him, and his beautiful eyes. A loud growl was coming from -- not just his chest, she realized with a start, but hers, as well. As their moans gained volume, and the slap of their bodies became more and more frequent, the two both failed to hear the squealing groan beneath them. As Buffy and Spike threw their heads back in astonished orgasm, the groaning became louder.

The bed cracked and gave way.

Buffy gave a startled little scream, clinging tightly to Spike as he was brought forcefully down on top of her. The collapse of his body into hers after her initial orgasm resulted in a third - which exploded into multiples. For moments, Buffy could see nothing but bright lights flashing behind her eyelids. Then finally, as they both drifted down from their high, a soft giggle expelled itself past Buffy's lips. Another giggle followed, and a fairly unladylike snort followed that. Spike, startled by the random noise, began to laugh helplessly while a mortified Buffy buried her face in his shoulder before giving in to the silliness.

When their laughter finally died, Buffy looked at him mischievously. "Wanna help me find a new bed?"

Spike grinned wantonly. "Let's jus' stick with this one for now."

---

"So Lauren said that Kevin was definitely planning to ask me to the dance, but I have no clue whether to believe her or not, because I've caught Kevin looking at me a bunch of times, and he's always stuttering and stuff when he's around me, but she's lied to me before about the guys I like," Dawn whined as Willow and Tara followed her through the door of the house. The dark-haired girl had figured that three hours was plenty of time for Buffy to give Spike a 'see here' -- or two, or three -- and the Wiccas were gladly walking her, as well as listening to the love trials of a soon-to-be high school sophomore. "I mean, remember the Mark Potter incident? What if she's just pulling another scam, so she can get close to Kevin, and say she's my 'ambassador' or whatever, just so she can go with him to the end of the year dance?"

Willow tilted her head, frowning. "I thought Lauren was the friend that could be trusted? Why are you hanging out with her if she's just planning on stealing the guy that you like?"

"Well, it's just that --"

"Um, guys?" Tara interrupted, looking up the stairway. "I think we came at a bad time."

Dawn frowned. "What do you mean?"

Tara made the universal 'shhh!' gesture, and pointed up the stairs. Willow and Dawn lent their ears. Faint grunting noises could be heard, as well as a faint thumping. There were several crashes, and the faint shattering of something quite possibly expensive before, suddenly, a high-pitched shriek sounded. Dawn's eyes widened. There was no mistaking Buffy's voice, no matter how... high it sounded.

Willow 'eep'ed and motioned a hand toward the door. "Oh, goddess. Come on, let's go! We'll stop back later."

No sooner were they out the door when all three heard Buffy's desperate plea: "Oh, god. Oh -- god! God, Spike, take me, take me now!"

Willow's face shone a bright red as her jaw dropped and Tara had her mouth covered to keep from laughing. But Dawn, whose wide grin of absolute elation at the knowledge that her sister and Spike were officially serious, summed things up the best she could with a loud, squealed, "Eww!"

Willow and Tara burst into laughter, and the three turned to scurry down the walk.




TBC.



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