Title: Roundabout
Author: Serpentine
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All characters of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' are used without permission.
Author's Notes: This is set post-'Hell's Bells', and while it overlaps some themes of 'Normal Again', for my purposes, that events in that episode haven't occurred. Special, special thanks to the following people: Badass-Beta Annie; Miss Murchison, who walked me through aspects of Buffy and Spike's relationship that came up in this chapter; Valerie, for…being Valerie; and the folks at http://www.bandofbuggered.com/forum/ for soothing my 'Seeing Red'-addled brain and offering me gay sex.
Feedback: This is my first story posted to fanfiction.net. I'd appreciate reviews: devilpiglet@yahoo.com.
Website: http://www.geocities.com/devilpiglet
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Buffy stood, determined, in the middle of Spike's crypt.
She'd done this before, she realized. To wrestle information from him, and then later to wrestle him to the floor. And that last time, to beckon him away from the pain and uselessness and rejection he'd come to know. She'd failed there, where she'd succeeded so many other times before. For once he'd not succumbed to her, lain himself prostrate before her every whim.
She looked around. The end of their relationship had made one hell of a mess. Sooty walls, rubble littering a space he'd once managed to make almost hospitable.
Right now, of course, Spike was nowhere to be found. Just as he'd been absent almost every time she'd come by since their return to Sunnydale. Did he really think she'd give up on him so easily?
Not like she had ever given him any reason to think otherwise, but still. It was a little insulting, that he assumed she'd just accept defeat. This…this avoidance tactic was dumb, really. Maybe he figured she didn't possess enough patience to wait him out. Ha. Ha! Wasn't he in for a surprise.
Four hours later her butt was sore, her joints ached and she felt like a fool. Not a noteworthy way to end an evening at Spike's, but usually she at least had several earth-shattering orgasms to show for it.
Buffy frowned. Was that still how she thought of him? As her own personal, unliving sex toy? No wonder he'd pressed her for more; no wonder his frustration drove him to his own cruelties.
As she pondered this new thought he grabbed her from behind.
She glimpsed blue eyes gone empty and cold before she was thrown across the room, skidding roughly on the cool stone floor. She looked up at him, wary.
Oh, yeah. They'd done this last time as well.
"Well, well. Look what's landed on my doorstep." His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile.
"I came to…talk to you." She hated how uncertain her voice sounded. "I think we need to. Talk."
Spike shook his head. "That just leads to more messes, wouldn't you agree? Threats of violence; throwing of tantrums and furnishings." His glance flickered to the lone surviving candle, perched askew along the far wall.
Buffy swallowed. "Not this time."
He raised an eyebrow and Buffy recalled the moment she had first seen him. So self-assured and clever, congratulating her even as he promised her death.
"Not this time? I see, then," he said conspiratorially, and instantly he had vaulted over the wreckage that separated them. He was close to her now, so close her flesh was chilled by his proximity.
"You came for your little nasties, hmm? For all the naughty words I whisper in your ear, and make you whisper back to me. You don't want to do it, but you know what will happen if you don't."
"No," she said hotly, while she was melting inside at the memories.
He pulled back from her.
"Ah. So you want old Spike to make you feel better." At the sudden lowering of her gaze he snickered. "That's it. Act all demure and wounded. Always worked on me before."
"I told you. I just want to talk."
His smile remained but there was no compassion in his gaze. "Right. You want to unload. 'S hard, I imagine, taking all the troubles of the world onto those tiny shoulders. Poor Buffy Summers, the Sunnydale Stigmatic."
Vitriol was on the tip of her tongue – and now she recognized it for her typical reaction when he said what she couldn't bear to hear. So she held herself still for a moment, and when she did speak her tone was gentle.
"You haven't been by," she observed.
He stared at her, then shrugged. "Bit's come to see me. On her own, mind you. No trickery involved. You can't stop me from seeing her, you know. She's one of mine now."
Buffy smiled slightly. "I think she always was."
"Not like big sis, eh? Best be careful, Slayer. You keep coming by my place, I might start getting the wrong idea." He stepped closer, breaching her space as always, breaching the barriers she erected so long ago.
The familiar quakes were beginning, that fluttering low in her stomach whenever he was this near. But damn him, they were going to have this out.
"And if you keep running away from me, I might start to think you're scared."
His face hardened.
"Scared?" he asked her, the word deceptively light. "Should I be? Is your better half going to come out and play?" Buffy flinched. He went on.
"Or maybe…maybe you figure this is where you belong, after all."
He was touching her now, knowing fingers running along her summer-bare arms. "Muddied yourself up good and proper now, haven't you? And now you don't deserve anyone – anything – better than me."
He pebbled kisses along her jawline, the arch of her throat, her too-prominent collarbone.
"This isn't what I…"
"Shhh," he murmured. "This is the only talking we've ever done."
Buffy allowed his hands to roam over her, felt herself suffused with pleasure when he entered her. But there was more, so much more that it could be.
"Love you, Spike. Love you."
He stopped. Everything stopped for a fraction of a second, and then he looped his other arm around her torso and pulled her up sharply.
"You…little…bitch." His other hand rose to cover her mouth and he picked up again. She bit down on his palm and felt blood flow into her mouth. His hand relaxed for an instant and that was all she needed. "I love you."
"You're gone in the head, you know that?" But his voice faltered.
"I love you. Do you hear me? Do you understand? I love you."
His forehead rested on the back of her neck; she could feel the furrow of his brow. "No."
"Yes." She arched back, taking him deeper. He thrust reflexively, fast and ferocious.
His arm still held her tight against his chest; for all that he couldn't seem to stand looking at her, he wouldn't let her fall. Ever. She wrapped her hands around his clenched forearm. "Love you, Spike. Love you, love you, always you, love you, love you, love you…" As the words poured out of her mouth Buffy felt the orgasm build and unfurl within her, different from all the times before because this time she rejoiced in the thought that it was him giving it to her.
He made sounds now that she didn't comprehend, savage and primal. He knew she was close and that did it for Spike every time. "You – don't –" but his voice was failing him and his grip on her now was desperate, not quite so angry.
"Love you, love you, you…"
"Buffy…please…" She didn't know what he was asking and her vision was blurring now so she just turned her head so she could kiss him softly at the same moment she came so hard. Finally, finally his lips descended and met hers and then he joined her, grunting out helpless nonsense, teeth scraping hers.
"Love you, love you…" The whispers continued even after, and when she heard Spike's voice weave with hers in the same litany Buffy at last closed her eyes.
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Willow smiled serenely.
"You take it black, right?" she asked Xander. "My mind seems to be everywhere at once, these days."
He nodded gratefully, happy at her calm. Happy just to see her. After Tara's burial, Willow had been so distant, almost secretive. Moving out of Buffy's house, making Xander swear not to reveal her whereabouts. It had unnerved him; he'd wanted things back to normal. Was that so damn much to ask?
Maybe not. Willow's gaze was clear and seemingly guileless. She reached out, rested a porcelain hand on his knee. "I'm glad Buffy came through all this. I can't see her yet, but…I'm very, very glad."
"Great," Xander muttered. "You can lead the Spike parade down Wilkins Boulevard."
Willow's expression turned questioning. Xander sighed. "I'm just…having a hard time with it. The Spike-as-hero routine. He's evil, and dangerous, and really annoying, and…Spike."
Willow pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It can't be that everyone else has forgotten what he's done in the past."
"Well, they have," Xander grumbled. "Anyway, I'm not thinking so much about 'everybody' as I am about Buffy."
Laughter made his best friend's eyes crinkle and dance. "What else is new?" There was no malice in her tone.
"She's been looking for him, Will! She thinks about him all the time, I can tell. So he babysat Dawn for a few weeks! Does that cancel all the rest out? Since when does he get a fucking free pass? He's a monster, and he should have been dust years ago. Years!" Xander exploded. "What the hell will it take?"
He was standing now, enraged. Willow rose as well, and turned his face to hers.
"Oh, Xander," she whispered. "Let me make things right."
To Be Continued.
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