Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 8: Gormless Irksome Twat
Chapter Notes:
Thanks to everyone who's reading and extra love to all of you lovelies who comment! I really appreciate all your thoughts so very much!
Beta credit and sugary goodness to MissLuci and All4Spike. The story is better for your input! All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling.
-X-
Buffy watched the ginger vamp that had plagued her dreams, filling her with terror and self-doubt, fall to dust. A feeling of utter relief and joyful victory washed over her knowing he was gone—finally exorcised from her world and, hopefully, from her nightmares. Her body thrummed with the adrenaline of the fight and the elation that came with triumph, with survival. She never felt quite so alive as in those moments after she'd skittered from the grim reaper's outstretched hands, slipping from his grasp yet again.
Turning away from the pile of dust, she was engulfed in a passionate, almost brutal, embrace. She gasped in surprise as Spike's lips slammed into hers, vehement and demanding, but she was returning the kiss just as zealously the next moment. Spike's hands cupped her ass, pulling her pelvis against his. His hardness pressed against her, making her already overheated body flare with desire.
Faith had always insisted that fighting, slaying, got her hungry and horny, but Buffy had never let herself go there, had denied it to her friends, had squashed the lusty desires that had tingled her skin and dampened her panties. Wasn't it twisted to feel like passionate kisses and a hard cock between her legs would be the icing on the proverbial cake after a particularly satisfying slay? Wasn't it the mark of a bad Slayer to crave a large milkshake and a juicy piece of meat—pun intended? She was supposed to be the Champion of the Powers, it seemed a bit sacrilegious to get hot and bothered carrying out a sacred duty. But now Spike was here, fanning those flames that Buffy had always doused, sending them licking up her body like a California wildfire. And wanting him, oh how she wanted him. She wanted to inhale him, to ravish him. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to press herself against him and devour his kisses and return his passion with that of her own. No twisty bits, no sacrilege, no shame, just Spike and his lips, his hands, his mouth, his body, all of him.
Everything else fell away, her mind blanking as their mouths fought to consume each other. There was nothing else, no one else in that moment. The only thing that mattered was them and their needs, their desires, their passion.
Buffy's arms wrapped around Spike's neck as she lifted her legs and clenched them around his slim waist. He moaned into her mouth, his hips jerking against hers, the denim trapping him within a rough, unforgiving prison—a perfect counterpoint to what he knew Buffy would feel like around him. God, he wanted her, craved her, needed to be inside her, feel her slick fire engulf him, be consumed by her softness and her power. Spike turned and found the nearest tomb, setting her atop it as his hips continued to grind against her heat, releasing more of the heavenly scent of her arousal, drowning him in it.
"Fuck, Buffy," he groaned when she pulled back, gasping for breath. His lips relinquished her mouth and began kissing a line of icy fire over the curve of her jaw to her ear, nibbling on her lobe before finding his way down to her racing pulse and suckling against the pounding vein.
"Thought... I... told you... to stay... with... the others," she panted out, running her fingers through his hair as she tilted her head, baring her scarred neck to him. Warning bells clanged wildly up and down her spine at the gesture, offering herself so freely to a vampire went against all her instincts as a Slayer, but offering herself to this vampire, to Spike, only made her want him more, made her that much hotter—something she hadn't thought possible.
"Not your lap dog," Spike replied in a husky timbre, fighting back his demon who was clamoring for her throat, wanting nothing more than to have a taste of Slayer blood to fuel the fires burning in his groin. However, the monster's raging desire wasn't to destroy the woman in his arms, but only to obliterate the Master's mark on her neck, to make her his. Her blood called to him like a siren's song, tempting him toward a horrible fate if he succumbed. He clearly remembered her words from their cheeseburger date up on the overlook—a world of 'no'—and that kept his itching fangs retracted. Maybe one day she'd share her blood with him again; one day she'd invite him in and the next time her blood infused him, he would be fully hers and she would be his. He could wait.
"Said... you... were slave," she reminded him breathlessly, dropping her hands from his hair and tugging his shirt free from the waistband of his jeans.
"Abolished, 1865," he retorted, nibbling and kissing his way down her neck to the curve of her shoulder.
His hands slipped beneath her shirt and were gliding over her damp back, tracing cool paths in the prickling heat, the nerve endings under her skin trembling at his touch. Buffy arched her back, baring her neck more fully to his full, sensuous mouth.
"Puppy," she gasped, amending her statement. She could feel gooseflesh rising in the wake of his caresses; her one coherent thought—more.
"Keepin' my promises," he explained. "Watchin' your back."
His breath felt like cool rain on a hot day as it whispered against Buffy's skin, and she moaned as his blunt teeth clamped down on the thick muscle at the curve of her neck and his hands found their way around to the front of her body to skim over the lace of her bra, teasing her pebbled nipples to rock hardness.
Buffy's hands found his chiseled abs beneath his shirt, her fingers dancing over the lines and curves of Spike's muscles, reveling in the perfection of them. Only days ago, she'd been sure she'd never be able to touch him like this and now here he was, his hips thrusting between her thighs, pressing his erection against her aching core while his hands roamed over her body, sending chills and flames dancing over her skin in equal measure.
Spike's fingers had slipped beneath her bra now, and they were... oh, God! Buffy threw her head back, gasping in pleasure as he rolled her nipples between those talented fingers and jerked his swollen, denim-trapped prick against the seam of her jeans, directly over her clit. Her body fluttered and her vision swam as a brilliant spark of pure, heavenly fire shattered and coalesced in her core, sending her racing heart into a gallop and a flood of slick, hot cream soaking all the way through her jeans.
One of Buffy's hands slid down between them to squeeze his cock through the denim, stroking up and down his length as she'd done that afternoon.
He groaned in frustrated pleasure. "Touch me ... God, Buffy... touch me," he begged as he continued to tease her hard nipples and suckle her neck.
Buffy fumbled at his belt, her hands ignoring her own rule of slowness and science. She wanted to touch him, to wrap her hand around that hardness, to feel his cock throb beneath her fingers, to hear his groan turn into a moan. She wanted to make him feel like he was making her feel, all tingly and floaty. She wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything.
The ends of the belt fell free and the button was loose in the next second, then she stopped, her fingers clamped on the tab of the zipper. "Don't... want... to... hurt..." she gasped, trying to look down between them in the low light.
Spike's hands slipped from beneath her shirt, and he made a quick adjustment, sliding his engorged cock to one side. "Be fine. Just pull out a bit with the down," he assured her.
She bit her lip, her eyes locked on the zipper, her heart thudding, body thrumming in anticipation. The closure came down easily, the sound of it making her mouth water like some kind of Pavlovian bell. Spike moaned as his cock sprang from its cloth prison, finally free from its constraints. Buffy's breath caught in her throat as she took the hard length of him into her hand. It was longer and thicker than she remembered from that glimpse she'd had on their road trip, and almost shockingly hard. Neither her dreams nor fantasies had done Spike's erection justice.
With her pulse pounding like a bass drum in her ears, Buffy began stroking up and down, watching the foreskin move as precum glistened, leaking from the tip. Too bad there wasn't more light so she could see every detail of him, every engorged vein, every bump, every inch of velvety skin. She'd never gotten a chance to really look at a man like this before. With Angel it had been dark and, well, they were intent on one goal, and hand jobs weren't part of it. She could've had a closer look at Percy's dick at the end of their ill-fated 'date', but the only way that would've happened is if she'd ripped it off, and, eww.
"God, Buffy," Spike moaned, his eyes fluttering closed as she gripped him. Her hot, deadly hand threatening to burn him to embers. He had to concentrate hard to keep from just spewing his wad all over her like a sodding schoolboy busting his first nut. God, he wanted her. Wanted all of her.
"Is this... right?" she asked, pumping harder, then slowing again, squeezing where she remembered he'd like that before. "It feels... good?"
"Fuckin' perfect, pet," Spike croaked, blinking his eyes open to look at her. She was watching him, her eyes darting between his face and his cock. It was like she was trying to judge his reaction by his expression, as if she actually cared if she was making him feel good. How long had it been since a woman put his pleasure above her own? Since fucking never, that's when. He'd gotten off plenty, and Dru knew her way around a cock, but when it came to pleasure, his needs always came last—pun intended.
But this, with Buffy, her hot little hand wrapped around him, the way she bit her lip in concentration—bloody hell! She wanted to make sure what she was doing was giving him pleasure. She cared about him, about making him feel good. His heart nearly exploded with joy.
Spike cupped her face with his hands and kissed her. He covered her mouth with his and thrust his tongue inside her wet heat, stroking harder, faster. Buffy moaned, feeling the rhythmic dance of Spike's tongue, meeting it with her own, and matching it stroke for stroke on his cock. As the kiss intensified, Buffy squeezed and pulled Spike's throbbing cock just as passionately, making his hips jerk, his knees wobble, and his control waver.
'Want you, want you now.' The words were on the tip of Buffy's tongue, except she couldn't say them because Spike's mouth was still ravaging hers, and his hands had slid down and were caressing her tits through her shirt and why was she still wearing her stupid shirt when the only thing she wanted between her breasts and Spike's hands was… nothing. She wanted her shirt to go away and her pants to fall off, and Spike's pants to fall more off and then she wanted to climb on top of him and see just how good his impossibly large prick felt as she sank onto it and let it fill her up.
Her cunt ached to feel him, and she wanted to tell him how much she wanted him, but she also wanted to watch him cum in her hand and spill over her fingers… or, she could put her mouth on him and see how much of him she could swallow. She didn't care that they were in the graveyard or that she had wanted to wait, she couldn't even remember exactly why she'd wanted to wait.
That floaty feeling was coming back and, god, his cock was unbelievably hard and she loved how it felt in her hand, how it throbbed and pulsed—which was just strange since he didn't have a heartbeat, but she chalked it up to magic, because everything felt magical in that moment anyway, why not that? And the dab of precum had grown to a dollop and it was so slick and smooth. And science and being a bad Slayer and bringing on apocalypses, and her inexperience had all fled from her mind, because—gah! Her body wanted him in the worst way, and screw all that thinking stuff. No, don't screw that, screw Spike! That's who should be screwed!
Spike's hands had moved lower, they were fumbling at the button on her jeans and Buffy wished he'd hurry up, cos he needed to be touching her there where she was so incredibly hot and wet and needy for him. That's it, she needed him touching her and inside her and...
"WOOF!"
There was a flash of coppery fur and Spike was suddenly gone, his lips, his hands, his cock—gone with that flash. Buffy gasped, trying to make sense of it, then she heard the vampire cursing beneath her. She looked down to find her furry friend atop Spike, his tail wagging gaily, his pink tongue darting out, drowning the blond in joyful kisses.
"Bloody fuck! You utter twat!" Spike complained, pushing the dog off and scrambling back to his feet before he could be accosted again. "See how many more sodding cheeseburgers you get from me!"
The dog looked up at him, tongue lolling, tail still swishing, his mouth hanging open in an innocent doggie grin, as if it was all a big game.
Spike sighed, looking over at Buffy who had a hand over her mouth, either trying to hold back a laugh or a scream of frustration, Spike wasn't sure which, maybe both. "If I didn't know better, I'd think someone's set your mutt on a mission t' keep us apart," he grumbled.
"He just thinks we're playing, and he wants in on the fun," Buffy defended from her perch on the tomb. God, what had she almost done? She'd nearly leapt over all the bases and slid into home, which would've totally screwed up the whole sciencing plan. Screwed up... argh! Also, what if she wasn't as good at homeruns as she was with base hits? She could've totally screwed up everything by jumping the bones of Spike before she'd had time to study and figure out what she was actually doing. "Who's a good boy, huh?" she cooed to the dog, silently thankful for the interruption.
Spike tsked, but before he could argue, his attention was drawn back from the direction the dog had come. "Someone's comin'... and it sure as fuck isn't one of us," he grumbled as he began tucking everything back in place and zipping up. "Sounds like your bloody band of buggering tag-alongs."
"Oh, god... do I look like a big ho?" Buffy wondered, smoothing her hair down and adjusting her boobs, getting them back into her bra properly. She tugged at her shirt to get it mostly straight, and jumped down from the tomb.
Spike chuckled. "Look like ya been fighting... or fucking," he informed her with a smirk and a leer.
"Oh, god," she repeated, only then realizing Spike had managed to get her jeans unbuttoned after all. She hurriedly refastened them, taking a discreet step away from Spike just as her entourage came into view. She quickly adjusted her position so she was between the vampire and her friends, blocking the even-larger-than-normal bulge in his jeans from their view.
"Not gonna flash yer Watcher," Spike muttered darkly, just loud enough for Buffy to hear. She glanced back to see Spike had his hands in the pockets of his duster and was holding it closed in front of him.
"What'd that bloke do to you, anyway, pet?" Spike wondered, shifting his gaze momentarily to the trampled ground where she'd dusted the ginger vamp.
Buffy shook her head, watching for her friends to come around the corner and into view. "Made me feel weak."
"Should'a beat the bastard up more," Spike contended. "If I'd'a known, would've helped."
She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, giving him her patented half-smile. "The point was for me to do it myself. Take my power back."
Spike arched a brow, shaking his head. "Never lost your power, luv. Even when you were drugged, you were still the most powerful person I've ever known."
"I think you might be biased 'cos of being my boyfriend," she declared, turning back as she caught movement in her peripheral vision. Her friends were here.
"No 'might' about it," he agreed, leaning in to whisper softly into her ear. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong."
Buffy shivered as his cool breath tickled her ear. She really wished the Scoobies would just go away so she could have more time with Spike... though maybe keeping the furry Spike around, too, would be safer. Less chance of her body running the bases before her mind could catch up.
"Buffy!" Giles exclaimed in relief, hobbling along as quickly as he could with his cane. "We were beginning to get concerned."
Buffy cleared her throat and, with one last tug on the hem of her shirt, strode toward them. "No concern required," she replied brightly, waving a hand at the nearby pile of dust. "One oversized vamp sleeping the big sleep."
"Ah, very good," Giles sighed, leaning heavily against a headstone.
"We were just going to check out his lair and make sure it was clear, weren't we Spike?" Buffy continued.
Spike's brows rose in surprise, but he recovered quickly. "Right... never know what other nasties might be lurking in his crypt."
"House," Buffy corrected.
"House," Spike amended quickly.
"He lives right over there," she explained, pointing to the second story of the house that was visible above the wall.
Spike arched a brow. How the bloody hell did the Slayer know where that wanker lived? And, no, there was no jealousy brewing, despite the low growl that bubbled in his throat. No jealousy at all.
"Do you guys want to come, or have you had enough for the night?" she asked her friends, crossing her fingers and hoping against hope that they'd universally agree to leave.
"Looking a bit knackered, if I'm honest," Spike added helpfully, wishing they'd all shove off so he could have Buffy alone again. "The Slayer and I can handle it. Take the mutt with ya, while you're at it."
Giles, Xander, and Lydia all looked a bit like they smelled a rat, a dead rat, with maggots. Willow had a small, knowing smile on her lips, while Oz looked, well, like Oz.
"I know I'm all with the tiredness," Willow agreed, feigning a wide yawn, and leaning dramatically against Oz's shoulder. The werewolf arched a brow, but remained silent.
Buffy could kiss her best friend right now for taking the hint.
"Are you quite sure?" Giles inquired, his narrow gaze meeting the vampire's. "Perhaps we should all go, in case there are more of his clan present."
"Oh, so you can make yourselves into liabilities again, lost bloody kittens needin' to be saved?" Spike shot back. "No thank you."
"Hey!" Xander objected. "Vampire Staker, here!" he reminded the blond, brandishing his stake.
"Pffft. Don't flatter yourself. Easy t' do when they've got their back to ya, and they're distracted by the actual threat," Spike scoffed, keeping his hands in his pockets and his duster pulled closed around his torso. "Didn't see any proper full-frontal staking from the lot of you."
"Well, I could give it a try now," Xander threatened, taking a menacing step toward the blond, stake raised.
Spike rolled his eyes and snatched the stake from the boy. He was standing with his hands back in his pockets before Xander even realized he'd moved.
"Hey!" the brunette exclaimed, looking around for the stake.
Spike lifted it out of his pocket and twirled it casually between his fingers, arching a brow. "Wanna try that again, Skippy?"
Xander lunged for the weapon, but Spike merely switched hands and stuck it into his other pocket as Xander stumbled forward.
"Bloody pathetic... best three outta five?" Spike challenged, holding the stake up tauntingly, as if teasing a dog with a bone.
"Okay, you guys, I've had enough male posturing for one night," Buffy admonished them. Turning back to address the others, she asked, "What's the verdict? Home or creepy vampire mansion?"
"If you believe that is its nest, then there may be victims still alive... food in the larder, if you will," Lydia pointed out. "If that is the case, then you may need assistance with them."
Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. He couldn't really refute that. On the other hand, if there were Happy Meals needing help, maybe the tag-alongs would toddle off home with them and leave him alone with the Slayer.
Ugh, I had to ask. "Okay, then, let's go," Buffy declared, turning for the wall before realizing most of the others wouldn't be able to scale it. "Um, I guess we need to find a different way in..." she muttered, turning back around, and starting for the nearest cemetery gate, her Slayer-train following along in her wake.
"Can I have my stake back?" Xander asked Spike as they walked.
Spike snorted. "So ya can try staking me in the back? Not bloody likely."
"But it's my stake."
"Then ya should'a taken better care," Spike advised. "Not let the big bad vampire take it away from you."
"Vampires who date the Slayer are usually less annoying," Xander grumbled.
Spike arched a brow. He knew the whelp was trying to get a rise out of him, he wasn't falling for that way-too-obvious bait. "That so?"
"Not really. You're just the most annoying so far."
"Between the two of us, ya mean? Me and Angel? Take that as a compliment, I will," Spike sniffed, squaring his shoulders, and standing up a bit taller.
Xander scowled. "Most people don't strive to be dubbed 'most annoying'."
Spike smirked as they turned onto the sidewalk and headed toward the old manor house. "Think you'll find I'm not 'most people'."
"You know I don't like you, right?" Xander continued.
"Mutual."
"You know if you hurt Buffy, I'll rip your limbs off, boil them in holy water, and feed them to the dog while you watch, right?"
Spike's brows drew together thoughtfully. "Second thought, you're growing on me. Got a cruel streak in ya... bloody vicious imagination. I like it."
Xander came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Willow nearly bumped into him, swerving into the street at the last minute to avoid a collision. Spike took a couple of steps before he stopped and looked back, brows raised.
"You're one strange vampire," Xander muttered as he began walking again.
Spike shrugged, falling into step next to the boy, hands still in his pockets, duster pulled closed, though his stiffy had retreated to at least tolerable levels. "So I've heard."
-X-
"'Tax lien foreclosure. No trespassing by order of the City of Sunnydale,'" Buffy read from the weather-worn sign on the wrought-iron gate in front of the house. "Why do I think tall, red, and dead didn't pay the back taxes and buy the place?" she mused, pushing the heavy gate open with a shrill creak of protesting hinges.
"That would be 'cos you know vampires, luv," Spike agreed, following her and the dog through the gate and onto the red brick walk that led to the house. So many weeds had popped up between the bricks that it was hard to tell where it ended and the overgrown yard began. "Never buy when you can just move in t' an abandoned place, or kill someone and take over their fancy Fifth Avenue flat."
Buffy turned to look back at him, her eyes narrowed.
Spike cleared his throat. "Or, so I've heard," he added hastily.
Buffy rolled her eyes and continued walking up to the front steps. The house had clearly been abandoned for some time. She wondered if it had more to do with its location and less to do with someone not having the money to pay the taxes. Living right next to the cemetery couldn't be good for anyone's health, especially if you had any thoughts of going outside after dark to enjoy the garden under the stars. It was a two-story Victorian, with lots of wide, covered verandas on both floors, a gazebo, and even an octagonal, Rapunzel's tower going up to three stories, with an open balcony on the top like a widow's peak. If your husband sat out there to enjoy a nightcap, you'd certainly need that widow's peak, because you'd be very widowy, very fast. As she'd observed from her first look at it, the paint was peeling and many of the windows were boarded up—it absolutely looked haunted.
"But not you white-hat vampires," Xander piped up from behind Spike. "No illegally inherited houses for you, right? Like Angel's mansion... that must've cost a pretty penny... maybe even a comely quarter."
Spike snorted derisively.
Buffy stopped just before mounting the steps and looked back at the vampire. "What?" she asked, her brows furrowed. "How did Angel get the mansion?"
"Dunno, do I?" Spike replied, feeling suddenly defensive.
"You were there with him," she pointed out. "You and Dru."
Spike kept from wincing at the memory, but just barely. "Only 'cos your Watcher burned down my perfectly good factory trying, and failing miserably, to kill sodding Angelus. 'Course, Peaches had to find something Dru'd like better, didn't he? With a bleedin' garden and jasmine and his bedroom up-fucking-stairs—where I couldn't go, but Dru could. All I'm saying is, he came by it right quick-like after the factory. No time for a proper real estate transaction."
"So, Angel killed someone and took over the mansion?" Willow asked. Everyone in the Slayer-parade had gathered around the two blondes now and were listening.
"It wasn't Angel, it was Angelus," Buffy defended automatically. She was like Pavlov's dog—ring the 'Angel is a murderer' bell, and 'Angelus' pops out.
Spike snorted and rolled his eyes. "Not back to that again, are you?"
Buffy scowled and crossed her arms defensively. "I just..." she began to explain, but it had all been said before, and Spike was right. Just look at him—he was soulless, but he'd had no problem working with her, keeping his word, not killing the populace or even taking sips. He was the proof that vampires could control themselves if they wanted to—at least older vampires, and Angel certainly qualified. The Slayer shook her head and dropped her arms in defeat. "I'll add it to my list of things to look into," she sighed, turning around and mounting the steps to the porch.
The floorboards were surprisingly sturdy. No soft spots where she felt like she was going to fall through, or even creaking wood. The door had some boards nailed up over it, which Buffy pulled down, breaking one of them into a makeshift stake, since she'd lost hers earlier. The door, surprisingly, was not locked, and swung open with a squeal of unoiled hinges.
"Does anyone have a flashlight?" the Slayer asked, turning to look at the group. Everyone except the two Spikes produced some manner of flashlight and held it out to her. She rolled her eyes and took one from Willow before turning back to the open door.
Buffy stopped just inside the threshold, shining the light around. It smelled of disuse, or maybe misuse, or both, and she wrinkled her nose as she surveyed the area. There was a foyer, not too unlike her own house, with what appeared to be a sitting room on her left and a dining room on her right. There was old furniture—now tattered and crumbling—still in the house, making it easy to determine what the rooms had originally been. The difference between this and her house was there was no staircase in the foyer; it must be deeper in the house. She could see another large room straight through beyond the entryway, but couldn't tell what it was from where she stood.
Keeping a wary eye out for attackers, she knelt next to her dog. "Anything?" she asked him as he scanned the room with his bright, eager eyes, sniffing the air experimentally.
"No heartbeats," Spike provided from behind them, standing in the doorway with the rest of the gang on the porch outside. "One or two dead humans..." He wrinkled his nose, matching Buffy's. "Long dead," he amended. "Someone forgot t' take out the garbage. Don't hear any vamps moving about."
The dog looked back at the vampire with a scowl and small flash of fang before taking off into the dark house.
Buffy stood up and looked at Spike. "You're pissing him off, you know that, right? That's his job."
Spike rolled his eyes. "Can't help it if I'm better at it."
"Better at being a big, fluffy puppy?" Buffy taunted.
"I'll give you sodding fluffy," Spike murmured dangerously, grabbing her hand and pressing it against the bulge in his jeans, making sure to block any view of it from the others with his duster.
Buffy looked behind him nervously, but no one seemed to have noticed. She chewed her bottom lip, her face flushing adorably, and gave his cock a squeeze. "Big, hard puppy," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear before pulling her hand away.
The dog had begun to bark his 'I found something' alarm. Time to get to work.
Buffy turned and had taken one step into the musty foyer when a hauntingly familiar sound filled her ears, nearly drowning out Spike's barking. She knew immediately where she'd heard it before and gasped, stepping back, but it was too late.
"RATS!" she exclaimed in horror as a horde of the vile, furry creatures charged toward the open doorway. Behind them, furry Spike was giving chase, barking vociferously, driving the nasty things right at her.
Buffy's back bumped into the other Spike, who had followed her into the house, effectively, if unintentionally, blocking her escape. Before she knew it, her boots were covered with the scrabbling nails of the rats as they fled the jaws of the enormous dog. She screamed as some began clawing their way up her legs, searching for safety. She swatted at them and spun madly, still shrieking her displeasure, when she suddenly found herself whisked off her feet. She climbed her rescuer like a jungle gym, still screeching and batting at the rats that were climbing her as she climbed Spike.
"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike complained as she tried, unsuccessfully, to stand on his shoulders while still smacking the rats that were covering her, invisible as they may be.
A combination of Spike moving outside onto the porch while trying to drag her down, and banging her head on the low ceiling, made Buffy lose her balance. She began to tumble from her perch, her arms flailing for purchase, but Spike caught her. She was still shrieking and hitting at invisible attackers when he set her down, well out of the flood of fleeing rats, which were pouring down the steps and into the yard. She stomped and spun, gasping for air, feeling the disgusting things everywhere, even in her hair, though none had even come close to her head.
Buffy wasn't the only one having conniption fits. In fact, the two Spikes were the only two NOT bothered by the throng of vermin that had overrun them. After a couple of minutes, the squawking had finally ceased, and the rats had scattered into the undergrowth—the dog in hot pursuit.
When Buffy had finally gathered her wits, still panting and trembling with adrenaline, she found Spike leaning back against the porch railing laughing. Laughing! He was fucking laughing! "You did that on purpose!" she accused, her green eyes flaring with fury.
Spike laughed harder, bending over at the waist, resting his hands on his thighs. "How... the... fuck... do... ya figure... that?" he gasped out between his amused chortles.
Buffy scowled, looking between him, the door to the house, and her dog, who was panting, his whole body wagging happily as he wove between the legs of her friends, who were returning to the porch from wherever they'd taken refuge. "I don't know, but you did," she pouted, crossing her arms defiantly. "There's no way you didn't know there were rats in there! You two were in on it together," she continued, giving her dog the evil eye, as well.
Spike was still laughing as he straightened back up. "Ya just took out a bloody Viking not ten minutes ago, but a coupl'a little mouses have ya screaming like a girl."
"Shut up! I am a girl!" she defended, pursing her lips into a tight line. "And they aren't mice, they're rats! Like you! You're a rat!"
Spike began laughing harder, wiping tears from his eyes as he shook his head.
"I could've been bitten and caught the plague! You wouldn't think it was so funny when I was dying of Bubonic-ness!" she insisted huffily.
Spike kept laughing, holding his stomach, still bent over. "Plague..." he informed her between his chortles. "... comes from... fleas. More like t' catch it from your... giant... fleabag hound."
"Hmph!" she replied, arms still crossed angrily over her chest, not sure if he was telling the truth or not. "Rabies, then," she amended, lifting her chin defiantly.
"Saved ya from the ravenous rodents, didn't I? And their bitty bubonic passengers," he reminded her, still laughing. Spike took a deep breath to try and ease some of the ache in his belly and ribs, and casually kicked a stunned rat off the porch and into the bushes, making Buffy shudder.
"Hmph," she grunted. "Doesn't mean you aren't a rat. Both of you," she added, as the dog came over to get ear scratches and praise for his excellent job of clearing the house.
Spike obliged his namesake since Buffy was clearly not ready to, giving the mutt a hearty rubbing, not only on the ears but down his flanks, as well. "Found your calling, I'd say," he told the dog. "Sod dusting vampires; hire you out as the bloody Pied Piper o' Sunnydale."
Furry Spike seemed pleased with this new title, his entire body wriggling and waggling along with his tail as he tried to anoint the white rabbit's face with a flood of slobbery kisses. "Bloody hell! Told ya before, not that kinda mates," Spike protested, lifting his chin and turning his face out of the line of drool, though he continued petting the great beast.
Buffy was still scowling when the vampire straightened and finally looked over at her, his face alight with amusement. "You're a wonder, Slayer. An absolute wonder," he breathed, his voice turning suddenly soft and serious.
Buffy wasn't done being mad at him, so she rolled her eyes out of habit, her arms still crossed angrily over her chest. She didn't know what that meant—her being a wonder—but the way he said it made her insides go all gooey. That was so unfair.
"I hate you," she muttered petulantly. Despite her annoyance, she gave in to temptation, reaching out to smooth back some of his curls which had come free from their gelled prison in her climb to safety.
Spike's grin widened as her fingers slid through his hair, putting it to rights as best as she could. "Hate you too, Slayer."
-X-
Spike, the vampire, had been right—ignoring the fact that he hadn't mentioned the throng of rats living in the manor. There was nothing else alive or undead in the house, although they did find two dead bodies. They'd been there a while, long enough for the blowflies to be swarming. The stench in the basement, where they'd been chained to the floor, kept everyone but the vampire out of the lowest level. It was clear that the mountainous ginger vamp and his clan had been nesting in the house for a while. Mounds of melted wax that had once been candles littered nearly every room, beginning with the two Buffy had seen upon entering: the formal living room and the dining room.
As they ventured deeper into the house, they found a large family room on the left, complete with a massive stone fireplace, and a cozy sunroom which was part of that multi-sided tower she'd seen from outside. To the right was a small powder room and an expansive kitchen.
The kitchen was open to the family room, a breakfast bar separating the two. The appliances were old, but not antique, indicating the house had been empty for perhaps a dozen years. Beyond the kitchen was a small breakfast nook with windows on all sides, and a utility room with a washer and dryer.
The stairs were accessed from the family room and led up to a second story that had four bedrooms and three baths—including a large whirlpool tub in the master bath and a walk-in closet that was about half as big as Buffy's whole bedroom at home. Despite the dirt, dust, and debris from who knew how many vamps living in the place, it was remarkably undamaged. The walls were sturdy plaster lath and the floors thick hardwood.
"No leaks," Xander observed, reverting to a safe topic of conversation while he explored the house with the vampire. Everyone had paired up to take a different section, just to make sure they didn't miss anything—Buffy with Willow, Oz with furry Spike, and Xander with the unfurry Spike. Lydia and Giles remained near the door, keeping watch.
Xander shined his flashlight over the ceiling on the second floor, revealing the lack of tell-tale water stains. "Water is the biggest problem with old houses," he explained as Spike squinted up at the plaster. "Once you get leaks, the wood starts to rot, you get termites, and next thing you know the whole place is crumbling around your ears. Uncle Rory always says a leaky roof is like a bulldozer, only, you know, slower... and wetter."
Spike lifted a brow at that strange analogy, but shrugged it off. "You saying this place could be patched up... be livable again?" he asked, wheels starting to turn and click in his brain.
Xander shrugged as his light swept around the master suite, which included a fireplace and a sitting area off to one side which was part of the round tower, like the sunroom below. "The scavengers haven't pulled out the plumbing or the electrical, the roof is rusty, but apparently not leaking, the bones are good. In theory, someone could get the power and water turned back on and everything would work. Needs a good cleaning and, well, this wallpaper would have to go," he insisted, settling his light on the faded, 1970's style, orange and brown flower motif that covered one wall.
"Carpet too," Spike added, scuffing a boot over the matted, threadbare shag rug on the floor. He wasn't sure if it had originally been harvest yellow or groovy gold, but now it was baby-shit brown.
Xander nodded and went over to one corner of the room. He tugged a couple of times but finally got one corner of the carpet lifted so he could see what was under it. "I don't know why they'd put carpet down over this in the first place," he observed, motioning with his head for Spike to come see. "It looks like mahogany or something."
"How much do ya reckon it'd cost t' get it put to rights?" Spike wondered as he sauntered into the master bath. A vision of a naked, glistening Buffy straddling him in that whirlpool tub splashed around in his brain, making him pull his duster closed again.
"I'm not really sure," Xander hedged. "I probably should look at it in the daylight, and, you know, really check the basement once the dead bodies and blowflies are gone." He turned and looked at the vampire, who was coming out of the en-suite. "Why?"
Spike shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Can't stay with Buffy's mum forever, can I? And, doesn't appear I'd need t' off anyone to take up residence here. Got a tax lien, doesn't it? Reckon the great city of Sunnyhell would be chuffed to be rid of it at a bargain basement price. Being next to a bone yard doesn't put me off, either... be like living next to the Slayer's office park, wouldn't it?"
"You're serious," Xander realized.
"As a Nigerian Lacero demon."
"I don't know what that is."
"Well, can tell you, they don't know how t' take a bloody joke," Spike replied bitterly, unconsciously lifting one hand to rub at his stomach, the memory of a Lacero demon's talon sinking in there still vivid, despite the decades since it had happened. "Get right put out if ya even talk about shagging their daughters."
Xander snorted. "How have you managed to survive this long?"
Another shrug from the vamp. "My charmin' personality and good looks... also, knowing when t' leave the field of battle."
"Run away, you mean."
"Said what I mean," Spike countered. "Cowards run away. Survivors retreat and regroup, live to fight another day," he sniffed.
Xander chuckled. "I'll remember that next time I find myself hiding under the table."
"So," Spike continued, bringing the conversation back to the point. "Reckon you could put some of your mediocre DIY skills t' work helping me with it?"
Xander arched a brow as he started for the bedroom door, Spike following behind. "Mediocre? I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Is not. Complimented your imagination not thirty minutes ago."
"You said I had a 'vicious imagination' and a 'cruel streak'," Xander reminded him.
"Exactly." Spike put a hand on the boy's shoulder, stopping him. "Could get in more practice here... hone those mediocre skills, which bloody well need honing, I might add. Have we got a bargain, then?"
Xander stopped and turned to look back at the vampire. "One condition."
Spike arched a brow. "Not gonna stop seeing Buffy."
Xander shook his head. "That wasn't it... though that would've been better," he muttered to himself. He shook that off. "The suite over the garage is mine." The second-largest bedroom was over the garage and had its own bathroom attached. Not as large as the master suite, and there was no whirlpool tub or fireplace, but it was roomy, and an external entrance could easily be added to come in from the second story balcony.
"Not gonna have you living under my bleeding roof—"
"Not to live here," Xander cut him off. "Just to visit sometimes... just..." he stammered to a halt, his words failing.
"Spit it out, sparky."
"Sometimes things at home get... intense. It'd help if I had somewhere else to be. Maybe... a dozen times a year. You won't even know I'm here."
Spike frowned in thought. "Why don'cha bunk with one o' your mates?" Then he thought about the boy taking up residence with Buffy and clarified, "Like Red?"
Xander shrugged. "I used to, when we were both young. Funnily, her mom started having a problem with it when we hit puberty. So, I started camping out in the backyard, instead."
Spike's eyes went wide. "Are you completely mental? Camping out on the Hellmouth where any fangy monster could take a bite out of you?" he demanded, aghast.
"Trust me, I'd rather take my chances outside with the monsters I don't know than inside with... with the ones I do."
Spike's brows rose. "Must be right hellish in that house o' yours for you to ask a sodding vampire for a place to kip."
Xander dropped his head and shrugged self-consciously.
"Aren't afraid I'll drain you in your sleep?" Spike wondered.
"Not so much," Xander admitted.
Spike arched an interrogative brow at him.
Xander shrugged again, and held up a finger. "First, since I'll be doing the DIYing, I'll be sure to put a door and lock on there that won't let anyone—vampire or not—just stroll in. And, second," he continued, holding up another finger. "I don't think you're a complete idiot."
"Ta, ever so," Spike shot back, but Xander ignored him.
"There was a time when I would've given anything to have Buffy look at me the way she was looking at you tonight during the meeting."
"Not sure that time's past," Spike suggested accusingly.
"Maybe, maybe not," he agreed. "But the point is, if I had what you've got with Buffy, there's no way in heaven or hell I'd do anything to screw that up—and eating her friends would be at the top of the big no-no list. Or am I giving you too much credit? I know you're annoying, but are you really that stupid?"
"You're not wrong," Spike admitted. He considered for another few moments, pressing a thumb to his lips to keep his mouth from running as he thought. "No showing up here without some warning," he contended finally.
"Okay."
"And if I say no, then it's no, got it?"
"Got it. I'll still have my trusty Coleman for backup."
"And no eating all my food."
"As if I'd want your food," Xander scoffed.
"Or ordering porn on the pay-per-view."
"What if you're already watching when I get here? Can I watch with..."
"Knew ya had a thing for demons, but didn't know that included yours truly." Spike waggled his brows and curled his tongue over his teeth.
Xander blinked, then swallowed hard. "N-Not what I meant," he croaked.
"Don't sound too sure 'bout that, Skippy," Spike teased. "Hot for my tight little body, are you?" he asked, running a hand down his chest, and settling it on his belt buckle.
The boy watched the slow movement, then shook his head jerkily, perhaps trying to clear some unbidden pictures that had popped up in there. "No... not hotness. Cold... very much coldness. F-Forget the porn. I'm good with the porn-free life."
Spike chuckled. "Alright then, deal," he agreed, lifting his right hand out to shake.
Xander looked down at it with disdain. "I don't know where that hand's been. I don't want hard-for-Buffy Spike cooties all over my palm."
"I'm left-handed, ya git."
"Oh, that's alright then," Xander agreed, shaking.
The two turned and headed for the stairs. "What's a 'git' anyway?" Xander wondered.
"Stands for: Gormless Irksome Twat," Spike asserted.
"That certainly clears that up," Xander groaned sarcastically.
"Thought it would."
-X-
Chapter End Notes:
Hope you all enjoyed the Spike and Xander bonding... and the Buffy and Spike bonding... and the Spike and Spike bonding. So much bonding this chapter!
More on Thursday.
