Seven: TO HAVE AND TO HOLD
The air was still and permeated by the thick fowl stench of raw sewage, coal smoke, stale booze and the mustiness that comes from too much rain. These were William's streets; the streets of Spike's youth.
Inexplicably, he was drawn to a dark alley. In front of him, a couple in elegant dress snogged on bales of hay. As he reached his hand to the man's arm, both figures slumped to the ground. Horror filled him when he saw their faces: a man with a broad handle-bar moustache and a woman with her hair pinned in curls, old acquaintances; both with their throats savagely torn open; the man with a railroad spike through his skull.
"Well done my William. Now you'll be strong... one of us." The familiar voice was soft and sultry.
Appearing from behind him, dressed in black and white lace with ringlets tumbling down the back of her neck, lips stained red with blood, was Drusilla.
Turning, he was in a modest cottage, staring down at the bloodied bodies of three young women, probably sisters.
"...and pretty maids all in a row..." chimed his Dark Princess.
Screams from outside. Acrid smoke filled his lungs. Bodies lay at his feet. Blood splattered the walls, the floor, his clothes, his hands...
Drusilla's voice sang out, "Ashes. Ashes... We all fall down." Then she giggled.
Terrified screams, more smoke, searing flames, another body...
"Oh, Spyke, look at the wonderful mess you've made. That's a Slayer you've done in."
Explosions... moans... bursts of light in the darkness... the drone of tanks and heavy artillery.
"Naughty... wicked... Spyke."
More bodies... More blood... More of Drusilla's cackling and rhymes... Increasingly indiscernible sights, a cacophony of sounds... Spike's mind was becoming a blur of violent, gory images and blood-curdling cries...
Then with a crack: clarity.
Dark rough walls. Rattling chains. Buffy in shackles.
His own voice, low and deep, "I... love you."
She jerks away in disgust.
Drusilla's laughter. "It's so funny. I knew before you did; I knew you loved the Slayer. The pixies in my head whispered it to me."
Buffy's spiteful utterance, "The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious."
Flashing freeze-framed scenes of the past intermixed with her voice...
"It would never be you... you're beneath me."
"You're just convenient."
"There is nothing good or clean in you... You can't feel anything real! I could never... be your girl!
A sea of blood...
unconscious... convenient... never your girl... beneath me... never be you... nothing good...
Silence.
Blinding bright light.
Buffy's frightened hateful face. "Ask me again why I could never love you!"
------- o -------
Spike bolted upright, clutching his chest, gasping for breath and in a cold sweat. Again. For the fourth night that week.
With each night, Buffy's concern for Spike heightened. It seemed that these episodes --- which he'd casually described as "just part of the burden of [his] new soul" --- were occurring with increased frequency since his encounter with Drusilla weeks earlier. Buffy was unsure as to the precise content of the dreams; Spike only admitted seeing images from his past --- images Buffy could only assume were gruesome, and on which she was relieved he never chose to elaborate.
I wish I could help you. I wish there was something I could do... or say to take away your pain. Not wanting to compound his stress in this fragile post-dream state, Buffy would hold him and whisper comforting words. "Shh... It's OK, William. You're alright. I'm here." These were the only times she ever called him by his given name, but to both of them it just seemed right. Tender. Soothing.
And most nights, hushed reassuring words and cuddling were enough to calm him. Other nights, however, they had a considerably different effect...
She sat up with him briefly, rubbing his back to relax him. Then she pulled his head to her chest, cradling it in her arms, as she settled them both down to rest on the bed.
With his head to her chest, he could hear the rhythmic beat of her heart.
She stroked his hair then her breathy voice came to his ear, "Shh... William. I'm here... and I love you. Shh..."
Spike squeezed her tiny form tightly, breathing deeply the delicate blend of scents that was his Buffy. Shaking as he exhaled, he eased his grasp. Releasing her with his free arm, he strummed the back of his hand almost down the full length of her side beginning at her bare shoulder and ending below her knee. As his hand made its return, now palm down and fingers splayed, the pressure was firmer. On this night, Spike would not be content to simply hear Buffy's words. He had to feel her body to be assured of her presence. Spike would be unable to find solace until he was inside her; until she surrounded him.
As his wandering hand slid under her tank top to stroke her breast, her heart beat faster. Buffy could feel his breath, deep and hot, even through her shirt. A low whimper escaped her throat at his touch. Tingles burst through her body.
His two lecherous hands curled around her back, then up, swiftly stripping her top, allowing his voracious mouth and wanton tongue to taste her salty-sweet skin.
Tonight there would be no prolonged seduction. No slow dance. Tonight Spike was desperate, frantic, hungry. Buffy knew it and shared his sense of urgency, of want. She could feel his need... against her legs... in the firm touch of his hands... in the greediness of his mouth. Drawing his body closer to hers with her legs, her passion and readiness for him were unmistakeable.
God, Buffy... I want you. I need you. Love me. "Buffy, luv?" he pleaded to her, his voice thick with desire.
"Yes, Spike," she cried huskily. "Yes." I love you. Want to show you. Spike, please... I need you to know.
Without another word spoken, Spike slipped off her pajama pants and his own and positioned himself.
Buffy lay beneath him, legs parted, anticipating the glorious feeling of the man she loved.
Supported on his stretched arms, Spike gazed upon her in wide-eyed wonder: that she would share her bed, her body, and her life with him had still not ceased to astound.
Now (with the newfound freedom Buffy's little hormone tablets afforded them) there was no longer need for restraint. In unison, they released euphoric groans as their bodies fused. When Spike leaned in to take her mouth with his own, Buffy rolled them both. With her now perched atop him, Spike was free to explore the smooth sensual curves of his beloved. Buffy arched forward, throwing her head back as she moved rhythmically above him.
The sight of her golden body, the sound of her low moans and ever deepening breaths, the feel of his own approaching climax culminated in an intensity Spike could no longer resist. Using strong tight abdominal muscles, he sat up clutching Buffy close to him. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he instructed slyly, "Hold on."
Quickly, keenly she laced her arms around his powerful shoulders and her legs loosely around his hips as Spike stood, sending profoundly pleasurable waves surging through their bodies from the point of their union.
On this night, though the position was much as their first time together had been, the sensation and sentiment were very different. That night had been passion born out of anger, violence, and pent-up frustration. The moment of their coupling --- a shock to them both --- was followed by slow sensual movement and awe. In contrast, on this occasion, Spike's desperation was rooted in fear, doubt and his need to know love. Buffy yearned to express her love, to bring him comfort, to find pleasure in easing his pain. The pace was hurried; the hold firm; the need overpowering... consuming them both. With each repetition, the intensity mounted causing tears to burn in his eyes and her grip to tighten on his back, fingers digging into his flesh.
"I love you."
The combination of emotion, position, sensation... It wasn't long before they were both overcome. Falling back onto the bed in a wave of complete release, catharsis, all tension drained.
They snuggled down, drifting into sleep. Their bodies entwined: a comfort to them both.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't want to put this at the beginning (give away the fact there'd be sex in this chapter), but as those of you who've read my previous story The Windows of His Soul know, I can't do a real sex scene without a little public service announcement.
So here goes: The characters described here are consenting adults involved in a long-term MONOGAMOUS relationship and are aware of the other's sexual history/health. Persons in other circumstances should consider that only barrier methods of contraception (primarily condoms, both male and female varieties) provide protection against sexually transmitted diseases.