Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike


Chapter 4: Gilded Goddess


Chapter Notes:

Thank you all for the enthusiastic response to all the talking! Here, have some more...

All the gratitude to All4Spike and MissLuci for their beta skills! All mistakes are mine cos I keep changing stuff.


Buffy knew Spike was up and about before she even came close to 1630 Revello Drive. She could hear a screeching guitar and banging drums—what Spike would consider 'music'— coming from her house from half a block down the street. She'd planned on surprising him in his room, thinking he might still be asleep, but that plan was out the window. Even so, with this much noise going on, maybe she could still surprise him. She smiled as she hurried up the walk, the bag holding the items she'd purchased on the way home from school swinging at her side.

She slipped around to the back yard and caught sight of Spike through the kitchen window. His head was bopping along to the rockin' beat and he was singing along with the song at the top of his lungs.

(Dead Kennedys. 'Too Drunk to Fuck.')

Went to a party
I danced all night
I drank 16 beers and I started up a fight.

But now I am jaded
You're out of luck
I'm rolling down the stairs, too drunk to fuck!

She put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud as she crept to the back porch, staying low and out of sight of the window. Apart from the singing, Spike had been occupied by pouring a mug of blood, hopefully that would keep him from smelling her right away, giving her a chance to get inside and deliver her surprise.

I'm too drunk to fuck
You're too drunk to fuck
Too drunk to fuck
I'm too drunk, too drunk
Too drunk to fuck!

The Slayer set her bookbag, purse, and shopping bag down on one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch before she slowly opened the back door. The music was even louder now—how did Spike stand it with his superpowered vampire hearing? She had no idea, but it worked in her favor as she slid inside and silently closed the door behind her.

Spike was still singing, his head still bouncing to the hard beat, watching his mug of blood turn in lazy circles in the microwave.

I like your stories
I love your gun
Shooting out cop tires sounds like loads and loads of fun!

The vampire still hadn't noticed her, but the other Spike, lying out flat on the floor near his food bowl, looked up when she came inside. Buffy put her finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet, to not give her away. The dog yawned widely and settled his head back down on the cool tile.

Keeping low and out of the blond's peripheral vision, Buffy inched around the kitchen island and was right behind Spike when the microwave dinged. She jumped up from her crouch and yelled, "BOO!" like a cartoon ghost, poking him in the ribs at the same time.

Her 'victim' turned around slowly, his expression curious, nothing more. "'Ello, pet."

Buffy glowered at him. "You knew I was there," she accused petulantly. "You couldn't possibly have heard me," she contended, casting a glance at the old boom-box on the windowsill.

He smirked and turned off the music. Her ears rang a bit with the sudden silence.

"Always know when you're about, Slayer. Can feel you in my bones... and other hard places," he explained with a lecherous grin.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Well, that's just unfair," she asserted with a pout, crossing her arms over her chest.

"How's that, then? Telling me you wouldn't know if I was sneaking up behind you?" Spike asked.

"Well, yeah, but still..." Her pout hadn't waned.

He chuckled. "Wanna do it again and I can act properly terrorized? Fall over like a git? Scream like a wee lad in short pants?" he offered.

The Slayer shook her head and sighed. "That's no fun." She frowned at the tape player and looked back at him. "How in the world could you stand the music so loud?"

Spike reached up and pulled a black earplug from each ear, showing them to her before stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. "Back in the seventies, had t' use cotton wool. Never would'a been able to see a show otherwise. These new ones are like sodding magic compared," he explained.

Her brows drew together in confusion. "Why don't you just turn the music down?"

He looked at her like she'd grown a second, or perhaps even a third, head. "Have you gone completely sack o' hammers? That's not how you listen to Dead Kennedys! Blasphemy, is what that is. Gotta feel the music, not just hear it."

Buffy laughed, shaking her head.

"Now then," Spike rumbled, his voice turning to velvet as he took a step toward Buffy. "Rule number three's feeling a bit neglected."

She grinned, dropped her crossed arms, and stepped forward, matching him. "Well, we wouldn't want to hurt its fragile feelings," she agreed as she pressed her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Knee-wobbling hellos must be obeyed."

Spike cupped her ass, squeezing gently, and pulled her even tighter against his erection, which really hadn't waned much all day. His lips touched down on hers, softer than a cloud, barely a whisper of skin against skin. Buffy moaned against his lips, half frustration, half pleasure. She knew he could be gentle, she'd seen it, felt it, dreamed of it, even, but it still somehow surprised her. It certainly wasn't what she had been expecting, not what she'd been fantasizing about all day at school.

She tried deepening the kiss, but Spike pulled back. "Let me taste you, luv," he murmured against her mouth, before touching his lips to hers in another ghost of a kiss. His tongue slipped out, slowly tracing the contours of her lips as if memorizing their every curve and line. Buffy moaned deep in her throat as sparks of fire tumbled down her body and settled between her thighs. Spike's hands began to roam, gliding up beneath the hem of her shirt to splay across her lower back. His fingers traced delicate circles on her heated skin, while he nibbled lovingly at her lips.

Buffy was on fire with need. Need for more. Harder. Deeper. But every time she tried to push further, to sate her desire, Spike slowed her down, pulling back, tenderly teasing and tasting her, exploring her mouth with his lips, tongue, and teeth as if he'd never kissed her before, never tasted her before. Buffy's body trembled and thrummed; her heart was a quivering mass in her chest; her pulse a deafening roar in her ears. She was melting beneath his slow, sensual assault, at once wanting more, and never wanting this to end. She stopped pushing and began returning his affections in kind. Tasting him. Teasing him. Relishing him.

A purring rumble vibrated against her chest as the two warriors floated on drifting clouds of slow-burning passion. Of mutual pleasure. Of adoration.

It was just a kiss. But it felt like much more. So much more intimate than the frantic smashing of flesh and battling of tongues that had come before. It was delicious and perfect. It made her feel loved.

Love.

There was that word again. She didn't fight it back, she let it flow over her as her knees wobbled with the perfection of it all.

Spike's heart was singing. And not about being too drunk to fuck. It was singing in exultant joy, something romantic and slow, a song about undying love and raw devotion to his golden goddess. Buffy had responded to his request, let him taste her, let him shower her with warmth and affection, and then she'd returned it. She'd returned it. Given him her own generous sweetness, poured herself into his aching, long-neglected heart, and filled it with love. She'd listened to him. She'd taken her cues from him. She'd given him what he wanted, what he needed, pushed back her own needs, for him.

He thought he might cry.

Buffy pulled back and leaned her forehead against his, both of their eyes closed, both breathing hard, barely able to contain their desires, despite the outward gentle calm of their greeting.

"I didn't know..." Buffy rasped after a few moments. "That slow and sweet could be..." She took another ragged breath before finishing, "So knee-wobbling."

Spike smiled, slipping his hands from the warmth of her supple body, and bringing them up to cup her face. He pulled back to look into her eyes, which were blazing with emerald flames, reflecting, he knew, the fire in his own. "Doesn't always have t' be a frantic battle."

She bit down on her kiss-swollen bottom lip and nodded. "War and Roses," she murmured, almost to herself, remembering what the 'perfect man' quiz had predicted for her. "Not either/or... both."

"What's that?"

Buffy shook her head, placing her hands over his where they still cupped her face. She smiled then, pulling his hands away and holding them tightly. "Never mind," she dismissed, her eyes shifting from flames to glittering excitement. "I got you a surprise!" she announced, bouncing on her toes. "Wait here!"

She was gone and back before Spike could reply or blink, a shopping bag from the Safeway in her hand. "Close your eyes!"

The vampire chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Closing my eyes around you could be dangerous," he protested as he nevertheless obeyed her command.

"Don't peek!" Buffy could tell he was rolling them behind his closed lids. She pulled out the gift she'd stopped specially to pick up for him, and held it up at eye level. "Okay, you can look."

Spike blinked his eyes open, trying to focus on the colorful bottle she was holding up a bit too close to his nose. He leaned back, reaching for it. "What's this then?"

"It's that sauce I told you about! Pineapple and Habanero," she explained, not giving him time to read it. She bustled over to the microwave and got out the mug of blood. "Has this gotten too cold?" she wondered, eying it dubiously.

"Be alright," Spike assured her as he silently read the label on the bottle, 'Kick up your favorite dishes a notch with this mouthwatering hot sauce. A pairing of sweet pineapple and bold habanero, it's an excellent marinade for all your meat or as a fiery topper for sweet potato fries and nachos.'

"The marketing gits forgot t' mention spicing up blood," he observed as he twisted the lid off. He was happy to see it only had three hot peppers on the label vs. the five that other sauce had, the one that had burned off most of his tastebuds.

Buffy laughed, setting the mug down in front of him. "I'll write them a letter and let them know the huge market they're missing out on," she joked as Spike shook a few generous dollops of the sauce into the thick, red liquid.

He stirred it with a spoon, mixing it well, as Buffy put the lid back on the bottle and waited for the verdict. She felt an unexpected mixture of trepidation and anticipation curl around inside her, eagerly hoping that he liked it and fearing that he wouldn't.

He sniffed it, swirled it around in the mug a moment, then took a tentative sip, letting the blood slowly flow over his tongue like a connoisseur tasting a fine brandy.

Buffy waited on pins and needles for the verdict.

He took another sip, letting his tongue marinate in the flavor before swallowing.

She looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

Spike took another taste, looking thoughtful as he moved the liquid around from one side of his mouth to the other, brows furrowed, apparently deep in contemplation.

"What do you think?"

The deliberately annoying vampire took another sip and tilted his head to the side.

Buffy slugged him in the arm. A love tap, really. "You're evil!" she accused, pursing her lips, and glowering at him.

He barked out a laugh. "It's brilliant. Love it," he gushed before taking a long, deep pull from the mug. "Just the right amount o' tangy heat to counter the bovine blandness, and that kick of sweetness at the end to make you crave more."

She beamed, her smile wide and infectious. "Do I know my vampire, or do I know my vampire?" she asked haughtily.

Spike's heart melted. She called him hers. He turned away and finished his meal, afraid of the sappy declarations that danced on the tip of his tongue, longing to be freed.

The Slayer noticed some spots of red in the microwave where the blood had splattered. She wrinkled her nose and grabbed a dishrag to wipe it down. "We really need another microwave—one for people food and one for vampire food."

He turned back around to face her. "Where's the best place t' get one?" he asked, watching her get out some cleaner and spray the whole inside of the microwave before resuming her scrubbing.

"The Sunnydale Appliance Emporium is where Mom got this one," Buffy related, finishing up by wiping down the inside of the machine with clean water.

"Downtown, innit?"

"Yeah, down the street from the Sun," Buffy confirmed, putting the cleaning supplies up.

"I'll take care of it, pet. No worries," Spike assured her as he ran some water in the mug, rinsing it out.

"Thanks," she replied. "Blood and popcorn are sooo unmixy."

Spike smirked. "Sounds like a brilliant combo to me."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that one. I'll stick with butter."

"Dunno what you're missing," he said temptingly. "Shouldn't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"Now you sound like Grandma Irene trying to get me to eat Brussels sprouts," she chided. "There are some things that will never pass my lips, and two of them are Brussels sprouts and popcorn drizzled in blood."

Spike curled his tongue against his teeth. "That leaves a wide selection o' things that will pass those pretty, pink lips," he observed, hooking his thumbs over his belt buckle, and splaying his fingers out across the denim, pulling Buffy's gaze down.

Her eyes widened and she flushed bright red. She swallowed hard and turned away from him, her heart once again thundering in her chest as the fire low in her belly was rekindled. She knew what he was implying. She even had some idea what was supposed to happen, but she'd never actually done… that with her mouth. Another rush of blood burned her cheeks as she remembered her one, au naturale glimpse of his…. thingy on their road trip. It seemed really big… bigger than anything she'd had in her mouth before, like, say, a lollipop. Would it hurt? She kinda thought he'd make sure it didn't. What if she put him in her mouth and she sucked at it? Sucked at sucking. Sucked in the not so good way? Would he tell her she was a pro and pat her on the head like a puppy who tried and failed to master a new trick?

Buffy shook her head, pushing her fear back for the time being. She had the books—she'd study—she'd figure it out before… before there was any chance to suck at sucking. The Slayer forced a small smile and cleared her throat, desperate for a change of subject, when she caught sight of the shopping bag on the kitchen island.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, relieved. "I got you something else, too." Buffy picked the bag up and pulled out a bottle of Oxblood Black nail polish. She turned back around and waggled it in front of him, trying to distract him from her lips, and things passing through them.

Apparently, it worked. Spike looked down at his fingernails. Most of the black was gone, worn away by time and chipped off by brawls and battles. He lifted his gaze back up to meet hers. "Sweet of you, pet," he said sincerely. "You paint mine; I paint yours?" he offered.

Buffy blinked, surprised. She tried to imagine Angel painting her nails; it almost made her brain short out. She tried to envision any guy she knew painting their girlfriend's nails... She considered. She considered some more. Oz was the only one that she could think of who might do that. Buffy nodded, her lips curving into a genuinely pleased smile. "Deal."

-X-

Sitting on the living room couch, Buffy couldn't remember being quite so happy. She was sure there must've been some other moments like this, but right now she couldn't bring them to mind. Spike had painted her toes with a color he'd picked from her massive collection: Gilded Goddess, a pearlescent dusty rose. Buffy felt like a goddess after the foot rub he'd given her before the polishing began. It was the most amazing, relaxing massage she'd ever had in her life. He seemed to know all the spots that needed attention, and his strong fingers applied just the perfect pressure. It rivaled the knee-wobbling kisses in the kitchen for mind-blowing sweetness. She might've moaned a little. Or a lot.

After her toes had dried, Buffy sat on the coffee table in front of him and started on his fingernails, returning the favor by massaging his hands before removing the remnants of the old polish from his nails. She was mesmerized by his hands. They were beautiful. Was that weird? Well, it didn't matter, because they were. His fingers were long and slender, like a pianist or guitarist might possess, and his palms were surprisingly soft, especially given his propensity towards violence.

"I moisturize," he admitted, ducking his head shyly when she mentioned it.

"Vampires need to moisturize?" she queried, looking up at him with mixture of amusement and disbelief on her face.

"A man shouldn't use immortality as an excuse to let himself go," Spike sniffed.

Buffy smiled at him. "You'll have to share. My hands feel like some of Xander's sandpaper compared to yours."

"Your hands are perfect, pet," Spike murmured, lifting them to his lips and kissing each of her deadly knuckles in turn. "Glorious weapons that keep the hordes of hell in their place, keep the world spinning, and make me hard just thinking about them touching me."

She blushed and ducked her head, which brought her gaze down to Spike's straining zipper. She chewed on her lip, fearful nerves and blatant desire battling madly inside her. She should say something, she knew, but she didn't have the words. Anything that came to her either sounded too pathetic or too brazen. Instead, she swallowed her trepidation and pulled one hand from Spike's grip. Her fingertips slid down his chest, over the soft tee that covered hard muscle, across the hills and valleys of his abs to the steel and leather of his belt. Buffy darted her gaze up to his eyes, silently asking permission.

Spike had gone still. Statue still. Stone still. But his eyes were alive, alight, glowing, burning. His gaze locked on hers, never faltering as she tentatively slipped her hand below his belt and cupped the hard length of him that bulged the denim. Definitely bigger than anything I've had in my mouth before. His eyes fluttered closed as she squeezed lightly, sliding her hand down and back up again. Spike's chest, which had been still, un-breathing, suddenly expanded as he began to gasp in desperate lungfuls of air.

She squeezed a tiny bit harder, feeling his cock throbbing through the denim, and Spike cursed. She let off, afraid she'd messed up already, hurt him, but his hand closed over hers and pressed her harder against his growing desire.

"Fuck, pet... don't stop. Christ, yes... harder. Not gonna hurt me... fuck," he rambled, his eyes open now, watching her face as he guided her hand with his, up and down the length of his cock. Even through the fabric, he could feel the utter wonder of her. Feel her heat. Feel her power. Feel her passion.

She was watching their hands, watching the swell of flesh beneath the denim, concentrating on how it felt, how hard he wanted her to press, how fast to move, where to squeeze harder, where to be gentler. She could feel her own desire mounting, her pussy throbbing with need, her body trembling from within, every cell quivering with a hunger that both frightened and excited her.

"Oh-bloody-fucking-hell-shit-yes," Spike ranted, his eyes fluttering closed again, his hips bucking against her palm.

Without warning, a coppery giant bulldozed his way between their knees, tail wagging, tongue lolling in a doggie grin, knocking Buffy's hand away. The Guardian's whole body was wiggling happily as he looked from one to the other of his frens, wondering what game they were playing, ready to join in.

"What the bloody fuck?" Spike exclaimed in utter, blue-balled frustration.

Buffy blinked in shock as she found her hand suddenly on the big dog's back, buried in his soft mane—quite a difference from his namesake's fabric-covered hardness. "Spike! What are you doing? Bad dog! Go lay down!" she ordered sternly.

The dog's jovial grin faded, his squirming body stilled, and his tail fell between his legs as he dropped his head, looking for all the world like she'd just kicked him.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, leaning over to hug his neck. "It's okay, Mommy's sorry. I didn't mean it. Who's a good boy? Huh? Spike's a good boy, isn't he? Yes, he is. He's my sweet baby boy, isn't he?" she baby-talked to him until his tail and head lifted, his happy expression returning.

"Good boy my aching arsehole," the other Spike grumbled, adjusting his pants to try and find a slightly less frustrating position for his throbbing cock. He'd been so bloody close. Another few seconds, a minute at most and... And he would've done exactly what he'd feared he'd do when Buffy touched him—cream in his jeans. Even so, would've been better than this alternative. Fuck.

The vampire stood up, pushing past the great bloody mood killer, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asked worriedly.

"Need a fag," he explained, opening the front door, and stepping out into the late afternoon light.

"I'm sorry... I... are you okay?"

"Right as rain," Spike said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice, and mostly succeeding.

"We should finish..." Buffy paused, her eyes drifting down to the prominent swelling in his jeans. She swallowed hard, then met his eyes again. "...Your nails."

Spike's budding hope that there was something else she'd like to finish withered. "Just give us a mo', pet," he requested, pulling the door closed behind him. He leaned back against it and sighed, letting his eyes fall closed. Christ, he'd known Buffy was sodding glorious, but his imagination hadn't come close to just how magnificent she was. She'd reduced him to a wet-behind-the-ears teenager in the matter of minutes, nearly spewing like a sodding virgin with just her hand... not even touching his skin!

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his fags and lighter, then moved over to sit on the swing as he lit one. Taking a deep drag, Spike let the nicotine fill his lungs with a small measure of calmness, which he desperately needed. This going steady and taking it slow business could be the end of him. But what a way to go.

-X-

When Spike came back in, Buffy was still apologizing to the great slobbering chaperone, telling him what a good boy he was, and feeding him Tyrannosaurus-sized Milk-Bones, one right after another. Spike thought that was the absolute wrong message to send the bloody beast, but Buffy clearly felt so bad about scolding the mutt, that it was no use pointing that out to her.

Buffy looked up, a pained expression on her face. "I'm sorry, I—"

He waved it off. "No worries, luv," he assured her as he took his seat on the couch. He picked up the Gilded Goddess polish and shook it a few times, rattling the little steel ball inside. "Best get those lovely nails painted so we're not late for the meeting, eh?"

The Slayer visibly relaxed. She gave the last treat to the dog and headed back over, joining Spike on the couch. She was so horribly conflicted. She wanted to forget nail painting and go back to what they'd been doing before... maybe have Spike give her a guided tour, reveal all the secrets of dealing with a man's pants. How do you get that zipper down without catching anything vital in the teeth, for example? But she was afraid of where that would lead; she wasn't ready. Not yet. She needed time to study, to get better, to not drive him away with her inexperience and ineptitude.

"We'll be late anyway," Buffy reminded him as she presented him with her right hand. "Lily's stupid meeting starts half-hour before dark. Not risking my boyfriend's moisturized ass to be on time."

Spike shook his head, smirking as he began meticulously applying the polish. "Do that on purpose, don'tcha?"

She gave him her most innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He snorted, moving from one finger to another with the speed of a professional nail tech. "You know her bloody name is Lydia. She's not half bad... not like those other berks."

She rolled her eyes. "You're just saying that cos she's ga-ga for William the Bloody."

"She's trying t' get you a proper armory... maybe even that allowance for your togs. Might want t' consider remembering her name."

"I'll remember her name when she forgets yours."

Spike gave Buffy's right hand back to her and began on her left, not looking up at her. "Got no interest in her, pet. Only one girl I want fondling the goods with her hot, little hands."

Buffy bit her lip, pleased but also chagrined. "I didn't mean to get you all... umm... excited and leave you hanging."

He looked up at her. His eyes were earnest, so blue Buffy felt like she was looking at a clear, autumn sky. "Don't worry 'bout me, pet. Going at your pace, yeah? You're my Gilded Goddess, after all."

Her lips quirked into a grin. "I like that way better than a 'Golden Goblin'," she admitted.

"Well, Dru sees the world a bit differently than I do," Spike assured her.

"Understatement, much? Dru sees the world a bit differently than anyone does," Buffy countered.

Spike huffed a laugh, looking back down to finish applying the polish to her left hand. "Got no argument from me."

They were both silent for a few moments as he finished. Buffy watched, wondering how often he'd done this for Dru. Had Dru appreciated the wonder of it? Of how he doted on her? How he catered to her? From what Buffy had seen, she never even noticed it, let alone appreciated it.

"Thanks... for everything," Buffy said softly, hoping he knew she meant more than just painting her nails, but for giving her the time and space she needed.

Spike looked up, a smile curving his lips. "'Course, pet. My pleasure."

A warmth suffused Buffy. This is exactly the kind of thing she'd been craving, the type of thing she'd been so jealous of him doing for the crazy vampiress. Small courtesies and kindnesses. Sweet considerations. Tiny acts of love.

Love. There was that word again. It just kept fluttering around inside her, longing to be set free.

"Hate you," Buffy murmured as she inspected her nails. They were flawless.

Spike looked at her adoringly, head tilted just so, drinking her in. "Hate you too, Slayer."


End notes:

Thank you so much for reading! Thursday's update will be the Scooby meeting! What could go wrong...