Spike awoke again in the late afternoon. Listening, he heard no sign yet that Buffy and Dawn had returned from their expedition. Might as well take advantage of the amenities, then, he thought, and headed for the bathroom. The luxury of cascades of hot water wasn't something he got to experience often. Just as well that vampires didn't sweat, if they didn't get near showers frequently, he decided.
**********
Having successfully chosen the only unscented soap and ordinary shampoo, Spike left the bathroom refreshed, wrapped only in a large white towel. While it would have been the next best thing - drowning in her scent - it probably wouldn't win him any points with the demons and vamps when he returned home. He made it back to the bedroom just in time to hear the commotion as Dawn and Buffy entered.
"Spike?" Buffy called up the stairs, "You awake yet, sleepyhead?"
"Come on up and find out," he challenged.
She came into the room and dropped a shopping bag on the bed. "Here. Though I love the new look, it really might prove awkward on patrol." She suddenly had to dodge a flick from his towel, only to be captured by his arms. His kisses were just as sweet and hot as they had been in the night, and it felt just as good to surrender herself - but she pulled away. "I've got to make us some dinner, so the sooner you're dressed--" The sooner I'll be able to think clearly again.
"Ah," he sighed with mock disappointment. "Then I'd best see what you brought me." The first item he shook out of the bag was a pair of black jeans. "So far, so good," he smiled, as he drew them on. "You even got the size right." Spike grabbed his rumpled suit from the floor where it had been discarded, and folded it to take back with him, all but the shoes, which he slipped on.
"It's not like I didn't have . . . ample opportunities to figure it out," she said, meeting his smile with her own. "There's a T-shirt in there somewhere too."
He pulled the item in question from the depths of the bag. "It's . . . blue." Oh, you are master of the blindingly obvious, aren't you, Spike.
"Dawn picked it out. She thought it would go well with your eyes," Buffy replied.
Ah, vanity, thy name is . . . Spike, apparently. What is it about these Summers women and their effects on my judgement? he groused to himself, as he pulled the shirt over his head. It, too, fit well, judging by Buffy's expression. Better than a hundred reflections, the look in her eyes. "Suitable for dinner?" he enquired.
"Entirely . . . edible," she reassured him, kissing him deeply before taking his hand and leading him down the stairs.
"Afternoon, Little Bit," he greeted Dawn as they came into the kitchen where she was unpacking groceries. "Recovered yet from yesterday?"
"Yesterday's not the problem, unless you mean all the sleep I couldn't get last night," Dawn replied, not seeing Buffy's sudden blush. "Today's what's making my feet hurt, having schlepped all over town for groceries and everything."
"We went to Mel's, too, so you wouldn't have to sit and watch us eat." Buffy indicated the rack in the refrigerator door filled with what looked like enough packaged blood to last him at least two weeks. Spike wasn't entirely sure he felt comfortable with what looked like the assumption he'd be moving in. "I'll get something going. How about sloppy joes? Not that there were ever any tidy joes, though. And salad?"
"Sounds great, Buffy. We'll get out of your way," Dawn replied, taking Spike's arm and drawing him into the living room. "We don't want to get sucked into tearing up lettuce or something, which is what will happen if we stick around in there," she explained, under her voice.
"Wise precaution, I'm sure," Spike replied, equally quietly. They settled into the comfortable seats in the living room. "Nice necklace, Niblet. Looks a lot better on you than in that display at the Magic Box. You sure this one doesn't come with any nasty surprises?"
Dawn's eyes widened and her hand flew to her throat. "Are--are you going to tell her?" she stammered.
Spike shook his head. " 's not my place, is it? That's something you have to decide to do."
"She'll never even notice. Nobody notices anything I do!" Spike just cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at this protest. "Oh, okay, so you do. But Buffy's acting like she's the only one who's ever had any problems."
"Yeah," Spike conceded, "I see that, from time to time." Hard to say who's got it worse: sacrifice your life to save the world, again, then get dragged back from heaven and be forced to carry on saving it while being responsible for keeping your family together; or find out you've been created from a ball of mystical energy in order to be the key that destroys the world, then go through puberty comparing yourself to your sister, the superhero. My 'life' is perfectly normal by comparison. "You want me to talk to her?" he asked, finally.
"No. Just . . . no."
"You want to talk to me?" Dawn just shook her head, so he continued. " 'Cos if you do, you know where to find me."
She smiled. "Yeah. Upstairs, one door over."
"Touché, Sweet Bit. You are growing up. But don't rush into anything on my account." The two of them lapsed into a companionable silence until Buffy called them to the table.
**********
Buffy surveyed the mess ruefully. "Well, once again sloppy joes live up to their name," she sighed.
"Don't look at me," Spike replied, "I've always been known for my excellent table manners."
"Yeah. And the fact that all you had to eat was a coffee cup full of blood has nothing to do with it," retorted Dawn, out of the debris at her end of the table.
"Nope. Not a thing," he smirked.
"Just for that attitude, there'll be no dessert for you, mister," Buffy teased. "And we bought ice cream. Dawn, chocolate or vanilla?"
"Chocolate, please," Dawn replied, and Buffy applied her Slayer strength to the happier task of scooping the rock-hard ice cream into waiting cones.
"What, not any treat at all for poor Spike?" the vampire complained. "Not even a lick?"
Buffy wisely chose to ignore this comment, and she and Dawn settled back to enjoy their ice cream. Spike leaned forward with one elbow on the table, rested his chin in his upraised palm, and favored Buffy with a lascivious grin.
"What are you looking at?"
"Oh, nothing," he replied, licking his lower lip in a way that indicated it was clearly not nothing, "but if you want to guarantee you have a man's full attention, pet, do please eat an ice cream cone in front of him. Of course, he won't be actually listening to a word you say, but you will have his full attention." Buffy nearly dropped her cone.
"I don't get it," said Dawn. "How does just eating - oh - but ewww!" she squealed.
"Spike, stop corrupting my sister!" Buffy exclaimed, laughing.
"Me? You're the one started it. You've got the cone. Besides, I'm too busy trying to corrupt you. Corrupting Dawn wasn't on my schedule until at least next Tuesday." He turned with a broad wink to Dawn. "You did pencil me in on your schedule, didn't you Platelet?"
Dawn giggled. "Sure. Right after my class on breaking and entering."
"The only thing on your schedule tonight is homework, Dawn. Right after dishes," Buffy insisted.
Dawn rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. Geez, loosen up, would you? When does Tara get here? I want to show her something I did for school."
"Shouldn't be too long. The sun's already going down," Buffy said, twitching the kitchen curtains aside for a look.
"Patrol time?" Spike asked.
"Patrol," Buffy confirmed. "Can't let the monsters get two nights off in a row. Somebody'd complain to the Slayer's union, or something."
"Not that you'd listen," he teased.
"Well . . . no. It's just the principle of the thing."
Spike was saved from having to reply by the sound of the front doorbell. Dawn rushed past and flung it open eagerly.
"Hey Tara," she gushed, trying to look casual. "Glad you could come over."
"Hey Dawnie," Tara replied easily, "still waiting for me to have a look at that essay? I don't promise much, but I can at least check your spelling for you."
"I'll get it," Dawn said, starting up the stairs two at a time.
Spike watched Tara move easily into the kitchen to greet Buffy as well. As she passed him, she looked up and he was startled by the intensity of her gaze. Then, suddenly, she smiled. A wide, welcoming smile that seemed to warm even his chill flesh. She knows. I don't know how, but she knows. And she thinks that it's okay.
Tara laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Good luck," she whispered. "Love can be pretty hard, some times. But I think you two really need each other right now."
Just when I thought I was beginning to understand things . . . Spike mused.
"We shouldn't be too late, Tara," said Buffy, as she grabbed her bag of weapons. "There doesn't seem to be too much activity this week. Don't let Dawn talk you into doing the dishes, it's her turn."
"We'll be fine, Buffy. Have . . . fun. Was that as weird as it sounded?"
Buffy laughed. "Not around here, it isn't. Have a good night."
**********
Buffy sat on the edge of Spike's bed, swinging her heels. "I don't know why this is taking you so long. You only have the one coat; how hard can it be to remember where you put it?"
Spike tossed the bag with his suit in it into one corner. "And if you keep distracting me, I'll never find it, will I?" He began to rummage under various piles of unidentifiable materials.
"Fine. Just hurry up. There's sure to be all sorts of fun starting without us." To keep herself occupied, Buffy began to investigate the contents of Spike's nightstand. Let's see: cigarettes, matches, candle stubs, last month's Maxim . . . ewww, no human woman could wear that! Book of love poems . . . pretty worn out . . . guess he never lost interest. Wonder what he'd write about me? Penknife, twine - what the hell?
"Found it!" Spike carolled, and Buffy spun around guiltily. Oh, his coat.
"Spike," Buffy asked in a low, dangerous voice, "What exactly did you have in mind with these?" indicating the shiny handcuffs swinging from one finger. They still bore the price tag of Sunnydale's premiere adult store. Not that I think he actually paid for them . . .
"Well love, I figured that was one way to keep you from running off."
"So not going there, Spike. Not ever."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it, Goldilocks. All it takes is a little trust -"
"Like that's going to happen. Can we go now?" Buffy tossed the cuffs back in the drawer and rubbed her hands to wipe away the slick feel of them.
"After you." Spike shrugged into his coat and waved her towards the ladder. I can wait.
**********
"Well, that last one was just . . . gross," Buffy complained, scraping the worst of the mess off her hands on the stone walls. "Why do demons always have to have fluorescent goo for blood anyway?"
"Mind the decor, love," Spike responded mildly. "It's taken years of neglect to make it look this good. Let me get you some water."
"You have water?" Buffy teased, as he moved towards his small refrigerator.
"Very funny," he replied, handing her a bottle of mineral water. "I do get thirsty for things besides blood, you know."
"And bourbon?" she asked. Spike didn't care to dignify that with an answer.
As Buffy rinsed her hands, wiping them on her jeans, Spike moved about the crypt lighting candles. He turned back at last to see her sitting on the ledge at the edge of the room.
"I'd forgotten . . . how beautiful you are in candlelight," he said at last. I wouldn't let myself remember. In sunlight, I think you'd blind me.
He moved closer to her and tugged at one braid. "But what's with the hair?"
"Keeps it out of my face, silly. I don't need to lose sight of the monsters at a critical moment."
"I like it in your face . . . and mine," he replied, slipping free the elastics and running his fingers through the plaits to loosen them. He gently brought the resulting curls down to frame her face. Buffy captured his hands and held them, inspecting them closely.
"When did you stop painting your nails?" she asked.
"It's been a while now, pet. Just felt like it was time for a change." He smiled gently down at her. "I'm sure I should be crushed that it took you so long to notice."
"You're . . . not going to change your hair, are you?" He raised a brow at her quizzically. "It's just that . . . I kind of like it the way it is." I got used to the sleek, peroxide, bad boy vamp look, I guess.
"Not if you don't want. So what is it you do want, Slayer?" His smile was an open invitation.
Buffy stood, pressing herself so tightly against him that his arms had to slip around her to keep his balance. She raked her fingers through his hair, tugging the fine curls into disarray.
"You, Spike," she replied. "I want you. In my life . . ." She leaned into his embrace. "In my arms . . ." Kissed him. "In my bed . . ." Then with her lips at his ear, she said in a voice so low that even his acute hearing almost missed the words: "And in me."
With these words, she released him abruptly, hooking one leg behind his knees. Planting both small hands firmly in the centre of his chest, she pushed him over backwards. Leaving him with a mocking smile, Buffy stepped back and dropped suddenly through the hole in the floor down to the lower level.
Sprawled on the floor, Spike could only stare at the ladder where Buffy had vanished. He had always known of the effect of a good scrap on a Slayer's libido, which even Buffy herself had denied until just recently. But he still wasn't used to having the resulting ardour directed solely at him.
So what the hell are you waiting about up here for, mate? Scrambling to his feet, he followed her down the ladder, expecting an ambush. Instead, he found her waiting for him, sitting naked in the middle of his bed with the sheet pulled demurely up over her breasts.
"What took you so long?" she enquired with a teasing grin.
Shedding his clothes as he crossed the floor, Spike growled and lunged for her on the bed. "I'll show you something that takes a long time," he mock threatened, reaching for the drawer of his nightstand, only to nearly lose fingers as Buffy slammed it shut again.
"Don't even think it," she warned.
"Right. Well then, maybe some other time," he replied, sucking at his injured digits.
"In your dreams, Spike."
"Always," he said with a smile, before pinning her to the bed with his weight, to begin once again the rhythms of a dance that had already been old when time itself was young.
**********
"Spike," Buffy murmured into his chest, "why haven't you tried to bite me?"
"Hmmm? I have, love," he replied sleepily. "Gave me a bloody migraine, it did."
"But the chip wouldn't stop you now, would it? And I thought that vampires . . . when they . . . you know . . ."
Spike looked down and tipped her chin up to see her more clearly. "Oho! Sounds like someone's finally found Rupert's secret stash of naughty vampire books. Or did demon-girl suss them out first and show you?"
Buffy's cheeks pinked. "I just . . . was curious," she managed at last, neither confirming nor denying the source of her information.
"And would you enjoy it if I did? Just to satisfy your curiosity? You'd have to start wearing turtlenecks."
"Tell me . . . what it's like."
"Tell you? The woman who's had more bites than anyone and survived to tell the tale?"
"That was different. I want to know what it feels like when it's your lover." A momentary sad smile creased her features. Angel and I never got to really find out. And we've both moved on since then. I need Spike now, in ways I never could have imagined before.
Spike noticed the look, but said nothing. I'll never be able to make you forget him, will I? But still, I'll do my damnedest. He rolled to face her in the bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, and set out to win her, body and soul, to him.
"It's the ultimate sensation. There's pain, of course, but it leads to such pleasure. As your blood flows, all your senses become unbearably sharp. It's like every nerve ending in your body has come alive with fire." He punctuated his words to her with caresses and kisses, first soft, but growing more forceful by the minute. His fingers drew lazy spirals on her taut belly.
His hands trailed over her suddenly flushed skin. "Time itself seems to slow down. Every touch seems to last forever. And when you finally come, it's like being hit by a fucking freight train."
Buffy's breath was coming in short gasps now, her lips parted and her eyes shining. She reached one arm around Spike's neck and pulled him over on top of her. "Show me," she whispered breathlessly into his ear. Driven by the desire in her eyes, he proceeded to do just that, plunging into her welcoming depths with renewed energy.
As Spike's skills brought her near to her climax, Buffy closed her eyes and threw her head back, inviting him in. He brought his lips to the delicate unmarked flesh where her neck and left shoulder met, then kissed her tenderly there before letting his demon nature show in his face. Without another moment's hesitation for thought, he bit deeply into her throat.
Buffy stiffened the instant she felt his cold fangs pierce her neck, but forgot the pain almost immediately in the cascade of other sensations that swept through her. The bites she had experienced from other vampires had been like this only in the sense that a candle flame was like a bonfire. She suddenly thought she could feel every strand of hair on her body tipped with sparks. Every thread in the plain cotton sheets scraped individually at her back. Spike's body on her and in her became a liquid, surrounding her, filling her, drowning her with pleasure. Her own breath rasped loudly in her ears. And it wouldn't stop.
Spike had lied about one thing, though. When her orgasm finally crashed through her, it was nothing at all like a freight train. It was an earthquake.
After what had seemed like an eternity of living on the blood of cold, dead things, Spike nearly wept as a gout of Buffy's hot, living blood poured into his mouth. Her blood was the heat and light of the hundred summers that had passed since he last had tasted a Slayer. The taste of her was the perfume of a thousand flowers under July skies. He drank deeply, revelling in the feel of her flesh between his teeth. Buffy's nails raked furrows down his back, but the pain only heightened his pleasure. A fire began to burn inside him; he was swallowing the sun. But he still wouldn't, couldn't stop. Her arms slid away from him weakly. Wait, there's something not right . . .
Without the chip acting to stop him, he had to choose what he'd never bothered to do before - stop drinking before he killed. It took more strength than he thought he had remaining, but Spike finally tore his mouth away, lips and chin sticky with her blood. Damn fool. Playing with fire, you are. Got used to having something else controlling you. But I never knew it could be like that.
Eyes and mouth wide, he could only look down at Buffy's equally stunned face. If he didn't need to breathe, why was he panting? He licked the blood from his lips. Every other demand of his body seemed to pale in comparison to the urge to drink more.
Buffy folded a corner of the sheet around two fingers and used it to gently wipe Spike's chin and cheek free of blood as his face resumed its human form. He bent his head once more to capture the two small rills of blood that were all that was left on her throat, and she stiffened beneath him again, though whether in fear or pleasure he couldn't decide.
His limbs were heavy, and he rested his forehead on hers, inhaling her sweet scent and just trying to recover himself. Buffy kissed his soft mouth gently, then drew his lower lip into her mouth and began to worry it with her teeth. Spike drew his head back sharply.
"Don't. That's too dangerous right now." He pulled back and levered himself up to sit with his legs over the edge of the bed, dropping his head into his hands. He still could hear the voice inside him demanding that he go back and drink more, but he pushed it away. You could have her at your side for a thousand years, a glorious dark queen, it insisted. The price . . . the only price . . . would be that she would be dead and cold in his bed. But isn't that better than a bright fire, certain to burn out quickly and leave you alone again? Have you no sense?
Some small part of him that was still William stirred, and countered:
. . . have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty . . .
Just because I never managed to write the bloody stuff, doesn't mean I don't know it says more than plain words ever will.
"Spike?" Buffy sat up and tentatively reached for his shoulder but he shook her hand away.
"Don't touch me," he said sharply, still struggling for control. Then, seeing her sudden wounded look, he relented. "No, I didn't mean . . . come here," he murmured, drawing her forward and into his lap to be held tightly against him. The warmth of her skin eased him, and he could feel her blood inside, now burning him clean like the fire of a forge purifying a metal. If those are my choices, I'll live in the fire. Even if something so bright can't last for long.
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light!
**********
"And with Willow having . . . moved out, I'm thinking about moving into my mom's old room." Buffy prattled on, while dressing. "It's larger than mine, so there's more room for your stuff, and of course, the bed's bigger-"
"I'm not going back with you." This is the part of 'I'll never lie to you' that gets my ass kicked, isn't it?
"What?"
"I said no. I made you a promise I'd not lie to you. My place is still here, not in some cosy suburban domestic scene. It's not what I am."
He saw the blow coming, but chose not to defend himself. Buffy's fist snapped his head to the side and rocked him back on his heels. A small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he idly wiped it away, licking his fingers thoughtfully. Mostly yours, now. Shouldn't waste it so.
"You can't turn us into some parody of a nuclear family without risking a meltdown. It won't work because you'll never really love me; you don't trust me - and you're right not to. I'm still a vampire, Buffy, neutered or not." He sighed. "You and Dawn need some time alone, as family. Soonest is best, love. You need to sit down, just you two alone and talk to her. No, better. You need to listen. Really listen"
"Why do I always have to be the one?" Buffy complained. " I have enough to do just coming back to being the Slayer. There's no way I can do both on my own."
"Yes you can, pet. Because you have to, you will. The way you always do. I'll always be there for you, but Dawn needs you for her. Not Tara as surrogate mum, nor me as bad-ass brother, but you."
"It's not fair!" Buffy shouted.
"Well of course it's not," he replied bluntly. "Life's never been fair - deal with it. Fair's a word for little children arguing over whose turn it is in their favourite game.
"Some days you'll come to me and we'll scream, and fight, and cry and shag . . ." a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll always love you, and I'll always give you what peace I can. But then I'll stand you up and make you face the world again, even when you think you'd rather die.
"And you'll do it. You'll stand up straight. You'll tell them. You'll show them. The reward for your job well done is nothing but another job. A harder job. And you'll do it, because it's what heroes do."
"I didn't ask to be a damn hero!"
When he answered, his voice held infinite sorrow. "No one ever does. Some days you'll hate me, because I'll be the one telling you what you don't want to hear - what no one else will tell you. But I'll never leave you. Any man who could walk away from you after having had you in his bed, having been between your legs . . . is mad."
"All my connections to the world run through you. But you . . .you're connected to so many people who need you, in so many ways. They support you, but they draw on you as well. It's both the reward and the cost of living."
"You call this living?" She lashed out at him again.
Spike caught her hand and pressed her palm against his chest. That's it, feel. Think. Cold flesh, still heart. He tried to hold her eyes with his, but Buffy looked away.
"It is what I call living, Buffy," he said softly. "And sometimes I envy you more than you'll ever understand." He drew her forward to him in a tight embrace, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Come on, I'll walk you home."
**********
They stood together on the lawn, neither one willing to be the first to release the other's hands.
"You have to go," he said, when the silence threatened to last all night.
"I know. I don't want to, though." Buffy sighed. "You'll probably just get all Giles-y on me again, and tell me it builds character to do things I don't want to do."
"Perish the thought," he smiled. "Though if I thought you'd listen, I've a few suggestions . . ."
"Goodnight, Spike."
"Goodnight, Buffy." He let go her hands at last, and started down the walk.
"Spike . . ."
He turned back to see her silhouetted by the porch light. "Yes, love?"
"I do, you know. Love you."
Spike closed his eyes and stored this treasure away, to warm him in some bleak future hour. He found himself struck nearly dumb for the first time in his existence, and resorted to flippancy in order to reply. "So this means I'll be seeing you tomorrow night? Besides, you know you want to try the handcuffs."
She smiled. "Still dreaming, Spike?"
Yes. But now I don't ever want to wake up. And he walked down the street, hands in his pockets, whistling.
----------------
Poems are
excerpt from 'the lesson of the moth' by Don Marquis,
'First Fig' by Edna St. Vincent Millay