Disclaimer: I own the plot. I own the dialogue, and really that's about it. The characters and the world they belong to are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and all those others.
Rating: R.
Summary: While fighting a demon Willow and Spike become bound together. W/S pairing.
A/N: This takes place after season 5. It's during the summer, a bit AU. Nothing is season 6 happened, or will probably. Buffy was brought back in an unknown way.
Feedback: No, I can't stand the stuff. (That'd be sarcasm, ppl)
Dedication: To Claudia, the best beta ever. Praise her, ppl, she's the reason this stuff is getting done so quickly, and why it's so polished and makes sense.
PART 11
Spike waited until Buffy and her lackey left before grabbing the box from the floor and heading into the kitchen. Instead of unpacking it and placing the individual packets of blood in the refrigerator, he tore open the box and shoved the whole thing inside. The bottles of Jack Daniels in his pockets went into the cupboard beside the fridge.
"On second thought," he mumbled, sticking one of the bottles back into his pocket. Blood, cigarettes, and alcohol. He was all set. Time to check on Willow. Before he could make good his escape, Giles stopped him with a hand on his arm. Spike snarled at him, tired of being manhandled by Willow's friends.
Giles crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at him, looking wholly unimpressed. "She needs to rest."
Spike nodded. "Your point being?" She could rest as much as she wanted to, he'd even encourage it, but he also intended to make sure she was all right. He saw Dawn watching them from the doorway to the kitchen, a frown wrinkling her brow. When she noticed his eyes on her, she glared, turning away angrily. That girl needed to learn to let go of her anger every once in a while, he thought, she held grudges way too long.
Giles shifted back into his vision, blocking out Dawn's back. "What Xander told you wasn't idle chatter. We have found a way to reverse the spell. However, if the Litchock that cast the spell is dead, or we can't find it, then we can't do anything about it." His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, giving him a dangerous edge. "But know this, Spike; you're not wanted here. None of these kids likes you. None of them want you hanging around, making their lives miserable." He leaned forward, speaking slowly, succinctly. "Not even Willow. She, more than any of us, wants this bond broken."
Spike nodded again, as if he was considering Giles' words, but then he shrugged and pushed past the other man with a laugh. "Bugger off." His tone was light, jovial, uncaring. His mood was dark and raging.
There, apparently, was his answer to the question that'd been roiling around his brain upon hearing Xander's words. Willow wanted the bond gone. Wanted to be free of him. Stopping just outside her bedroom door, he wondered why it bothered him so much. The obvious reasons were there and definitely a factor.
If the bond was broken, he wouldn't be able to feed anymore. Wouldn't be able to hurt a human without hurting himself. Willow got the pain from his implant, but she also got less of the pain than he did. She was able to withstand it better than him. But none of that mattered, he realized now that he hadn't intended to truly feed from anyone except Willow. Why go out and hunt down someone who wouldn't taste half as good as she did? Aside from that, when he drank from Willow, it was mostly painless due to the way he was taking her blood.
Sex made a lot of things easier to tolerate. Feeding during sex, for a vampire, and his partner, actually heightened the pleasure they both received. Willow knew that now. And she was attracted to him. He knew that. So what was to stop him from using that to his advantage? Not a damn thing until this threat of the bond ending surfaced.
He couldn't let that happen. He wanted to stay bound to Willow. She wasn't too bad a partner... for a human. She was pretty, not at all the sort one would be ashamed to be seen with, smart, funny, quirky. And bloody hell, the sex had been great. As a vampire, being with a human was a completely different experience than being with another vampire. There was the blood, the warmth, the feel of skin and hair that was alive. They smelled different too. Especially Willow. He really liked her scent.
She wasn't too bad a person to be stuck with for a few centuries.
Pushing her bedroom door open, he went inside, closing it behind him. She was curled up on the bed, which was bare of anything except her, a single pillow under her head, and a sheet, which she was hugging to her rather than using to cover up. He loosened her hands from around the white material, and spread it over her, along with a blanket from the floor. The other pillow went beside her head. He'd leave her to sleep alone again tonight, but as soon as her friends were gone from the house, he would be in this bed again. With her.
As he left her room behind, heading to his own, he decided to keep silent about the Litchock family feud. He'd hunt them himself. No one need know they were even in town. Less chance of them finding the one they needed to reverse the spell.
He was in the midst of taking off his duster when he realized that it was still early for him. Only a few hours into darkness. Why waste time sitting alone in a room, bored and drinking when he could start his search for the Litchocks tonight? That decided, he shrugged back into his duster and went back downstairs, leaving the house.
An hour later, he was still searching, having found nothing more threatening than a snarling dog that whimpered and ran away with its tail tucked between its legs when Spike snarled back at it. Two hours later, he was thoroughly bored. Not even the vampires seemed to want to show up and relieve his stress and boredom. Ungrateful wretches. Were they really afraid of a family of Litchocks? Or was there another reason they were scarce tonight?
All that was around at the moment was a human somewhere behind him. A human he couldn't do anything to at the moment, so he ignored the person, and continued through the cemetery. A few minutes later, he felt the human moving closer, and rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the people around this town.
"What are you doing out here?" Buffy asked from behind him.
Oh, it was that human. He turned to look at her, surprised he hadn't realized it was her. Lately he'd been hyper aware of Buffy, what with loving her and all, but he hadn't even known she was there. Hadn't smelled her perfume-- ah, there it was now, as she walked closer, then past him.
He fell into step beside her. "Where's--"
"Before you come up with yet another ingenious name to call Xander," she said, looking sideways at him, "he's with Anya, at the shop. And, I told him to stay away from the house until he can stop threatening people."
He tossed her a surprised look. "Well, good." Out of habit he said, "Worried about me?" But there was no actual smirking or taunting in his voice, which was a little annoying. He just wasn't in the mood.
"Worried about Willow," she countered as they left the cemetery behind and crossed the street.
Spike had already been there, done that, so he decided to leave her to it and get back home to Willow. "They're mostly empty," he called to her. "The five I was in anyway."
"Which ones?" she asked, turning to walk backwards.
He shrugged. "EverRest, Shady Pines, Under the Glen, RestField and the one we just left."
She grinned, turning back around. "That's 'cause I've already been through them."
Spike stared after her for a minute. Had they just had a civil conversation, without an argument? Would wonders never cease? He shook his head, turning away to start the walk back to Willow's house.
But then he heard her voice again and stopped.
"Angel?"
Groaning at the thought of seeing soulboy, Spike turned to find Buffy standing right in front of him, and no Angel in sight.
"What are you doing here?"
She was gazing up at him, and there were a million different emotions swimming around in her eyes. Emotions he wanted to be on the receiving end of. Now he was, but it felt... wrong. "Buffy, I'm not--"
"I-- I thought we agreed to stay away from each other?"
Spike stared down at her wondering if she'd suddenly gone insane. "Angel's not here," he told her slowly. "Um, what-- ah hell." She was hallucinating. She thought he was Angel, the bloody love of her bloody life. And she was looking up at him like she wanted to jump into his arms, but was holding back. Afraid of ruining the tenuous relationship she and Angel had?
He grabbed her by the arm, not willing to just leave her there, lost in the land of illusions. "Come on," he mumbled, hoping no demons were around to witness him helping the Slayer home. He shook his head in despair.
She stopped walking, dragging him to a halt. "Angel, stop. What's going on?" She paused for a second, shaking her head. "No, we are going to talk about this."
"Eh?" Spike replied. She was hearing things too? He hadn't heard anything when he'd had his Dru encounter. The woman had looked like her, and reached out to touch his face in a manner that was all Dru, but she hadn't said anything. Maybe, if Willow's theory was correct, and they were seeing people they loved, maybe they were hearing what they wanted to hear. Had Willow-- hang on. Just what had Willow heard from Tara? Sighing at himself for once again letting his thoughts wander--and to Willow no less--he stepped closer to Buffy, speaking quietly, not wanting to spook her. "I'm not Angel."
Tears formed in her eyes and she shook her head, backing away. "We can't keep doing this. I-- I can't keep doing this."
Spike frowned down at her angrily. Everything she was saying was forcing him to realize that she still wanted Angel. Still loved the bastard, and no matter what happened, or who she was with, she would always love him. Always want him. Always lust after him. "I'm not Angel," he repeated louder, clenching his fists at his side.
"I know," she whispered, but before he could figure out if she was talking to him or Angel, she stood on tiptoe, placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him.
He froze. This was something he'd dreamed about for more than a year. Dreamed and fantasized about. Wanted.
Still wanted.
The kiss was soft, tender, a lover's kiss. Her lips parted the smallest bit and he found himself unable to not kiss her back. Willow and the bond and everything else was forgotten in that moment. He had dreamed of this moment too many times to count, so very many times. She pressed herself against him, catching him off guard, and he stumbled back against the brick wall of the building they were in front of. She moved with him, kissing him with more passion, and less tenderness.
She wanted him. His brain knew that was wrong, but his body didn't care. It wanted her.
His hands grabbed her by her upper arms, holding her closer-- why then was she getting further away? He broke the kiss, looking down into her glazed eyes. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as she fought to regain her composure, but it seemed to be a losing battle. Which meant she was still under the impression that he was Angel.
Which meant he'd pushed *her* away, not the other way around. What the hell was the matter with him? As he pondered that thought, her eyes cleared and she looked around her in confusion.
"Spike? But I thought--" her eyes widened as she realized who it was she'd just kissed. And been pressed up against. In whose arms she'd been in. "Oh, God," she whispered, backing away. "I'm sorry... I-- I didn't meant to--"
"Yeah," he said defensively, "I know. You didn't mean to touch me and soil your perfect little hands. Got it." He started to walk away, then turned back, angrily. "Just remember; you kissed me, I didn't--"
"Stop it from happening," she interrupted, frowning at him. He knew damn well most of her anger was aimed at herself. Seeing her head shake, he tacked on denial.
Like that'd make it go away, he thought sarcastically, resuming his trip home. "Actually, I kind of did," he tossed over his shoulder. "Didn't see you stopping it anytime soon." He chuckled lowly, hoping like hell he'd pissed her off just a little. When he turned to look, she was gone.
Shrugging, he went home.
Spike was barely in the house when he heard Giles call to him. Since he was going through the living room anyway, being it was that, or the closet by the door, he strode into the room, not intending to stop. "What?"
"I wanted to talk to you," Giles said, looking up at him from the chair across the room. He had a notepad on his lap and a cup and saucer on the arm of the large, overstuffed chair he was sitting in.
Spike kept on going. "No," was his only reply.
Giles chuckled in self derision. "I deserved that, I suppose."
"Bloody right, you do," Spike shot back, stopping against his will. "You and the rest of them. Every last one of you... except Willow. She's the only decent one in the pathetic group of losers you all have compiled." His anger was rising back to the surface, and he was pretty sure most of it was directed at Buffy at the moment. He'd had her in his arms, kissing her, holding her close, but he'd pushed her away. Why, damn it? An image of Willow's lips curling up into that quirky smile she got when she was amused, but trying not to laugh, came to mind and he suddenly had an idea.
But he still planned to blame it all on Buffy.
"That may be," Giles was saying, looking at him over the rim of his glasses, "but this is for your well being as well as Willow's." He motioned for Spike to sit down, and waited.
Spike sighed heavily, not wanting to do it. After a quick glance up the stairs, he dropped onto the couch cushions, planting his feet firmly on the ground, and glared at the watcher. "What?"
"I think we should test the limits of the bond." He held his hand up when Spike immediately started to protest. "Hear me out. There's no way for you to both know where the other is at all times unless you spend every moment with each other. She has school, friends, daytime activities, and due to your sun aversion, you can't be with her during them." He paused, waiting for Spike to agree.
Spike shrugged, not wanting to admit Giles was right. Willow did have all of those things. She sure as hell wouldn't be giving them up just to accommodate him, same as he wouldn't be giving up some of his activities for her. They led different lives, and in both of them, there were unknowns. "Right. So, how do we test it? Jog five miles in the opposite direction?"
Giles chuckled, shaking his head. "We drive you to two locations, I'll be with you, Buffy and Xander with Willow. We'll keep in contact, with walkie talkies, or something similar. It's all very controlled, and if anything should happen, we'll be there to remedy it."
"What if we both keel over as soon as we pass that five mile marker?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow at Giles. "I'll be dust, and Willow will be brought back, is that how it works? She gets rid of me, and--"
"No," Giles denied, sitting up. "The thought never crossed my mind, I'm ashamed to say." He carefully picked up the cup and saucer, placing them and the pad on the table. "If I were better at being evil, I'm sure it would have."
Spike smirked, taking it as a compliment. "Would've gotten it eventually," he tossed back, then switched back to the topic at hand. "So what happens if we die? I'm not willing to take that chance--"
"Of course you're not," Giles said derisively, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"--with Willow's life," Spike finished, giving Giles a hard look. "So far, you're not inspiring confidence in me. Why should I trust you?"
"For the same reason I trust you. Willow. I'd never see her hurt. If I didn't think death was highly improbable, I wouldn't even be considering doing this. But what if you're chasing a demon in the cemetery and Willow's on her way to the shop and neither one of you knows how far apart you are? Wouldn't you rather know what's going to happen and be able to deal with it?"
Giles made a good case, and had already convinced Spike. If Willow agreed. If she didn't feel comfortable with any of it, they weren't doing it. "All right," he agreed, standing up. "But only if Willow's a hundred percent on this. Otherwise, go find someone else to dissect."
"I'd be surprised if Willow hasn't thought of this herself," Giles told him confidently, sitting back with his cup of tea.
Spike couldn't help but agree with him. Willow's was an analytical mind, she'd be wholly into figuring out every aspect of the bond. He left the living room for the empty kitchen, grabbing a bag of blood from the box in the fridge. As it heated up in the microwave, he leaned against the doorjamb. "Where's Dawn?"
Giles' teacup clattered against the saucer as he set it down a little harder than he'd intended. "I had Xander take her home. She was getting on my last nerve with all her sulking and pouting."
Spike knew exactly what Giles meant. He'd never known a more complaining person in his century-long life aside from Dru. Still, he was fond of the little brat. The microwave beeped, and he grabbed the blood, heading up to his room.
Showers were wonderful inventions, and since being a vampire was dirty work, Spike couldn't go more than a day without bathing, else he'd be coated in blood, gore, and dirt. At least, the way he used to kill, he would've. He liked to physically attack his victims, fight them, hunt them and drag them down kicking and screaming. He'd fought often and fought well. Bloodying himself most of the time. Then he'd go to a bathhouse and enjoy the tubs filled with hot water. Sometimes Dru came with him, and they'd have fun cleaning each other off.
Other times, he went by himself and simply sat immersed in the hot water, dreading the moment the water cooled to the point of being uncomfortable enough to vacate.
Rolling his eyes at the direction his thoughts were taking, Spike stood under the hot spray of water, letting it pour over him in warm rivulets. Running water was a luxury he didn't have anymore. Not since moving to his crypt. Since then, he'd made do with Giles' apartment, or gone to a motel. Now, he was once again in the vicinity of running water and showers, and he was taking advantage of that. It was a wonderful invention.
After too long a shower, Spike yanked a clean pair of blue jeans from the bag he'd brought here the other day, and a black button up shirt. His other clothes needed washed, which, he figured could be done today. Domestic, he was not, but a clean person, absolutely. A clean pair of socks, and his old boots went on next. He grabbed the pile of dirty clothes and headed downstairs.
There was a washer just off the kitchen, he was sure of it. As he cautiously passed the living room, checking to make sure the curtains were closed, he heard the TV turned on low. Willow was sitting on the couch, half laying, half sitting. Not stopping to chat, he continued into the kitchen. The washer and drier were in a small room just off the kitchen, as he'd thought they were. He hadn't gotten a whole lot out of his imprisonment by the Scoobies, but he had learned one thing; how to do his laundry.
And from Xander, of all people.
After the whole, 'shrinking of his clothes' episode, Xander had taught him, very grudgingly, how to use a washer and drier. It had galled Spike to no end to have to be taught anything by Xander, but it'd come in handy since then. Before that, when his clothes got too dirty, he'd toss them and buy new ones. Well, steal new ones. Since being chipped, he didn't have a lot of cash, or opportunities to lift clothes without following through on his threats.
That left laundry. And Xander's smug attitude in showing him how to use it.
Each washer had to be different from the one before it, and they all seemed to have their own set of doodads and knobs, but, Spike was becoming an expert on laundry. When he learned something, he learned it well. So it didn't take him long to figure out all the knobs and controls on Willow's machine. In no time, he had his clothes in and was sipping on a mug of hot blood. Instead of taking it with him into the living room, he downed it and rinsed the mug, setting it in the sink, then left to join Willow.
She was still on the couch, in the same position. He could only see the back of her head, but from her unwavering attention on the screen, she was either extremely interested in the show she was watching, or she was asleep.
Listening to her breathing, he deduced that she was just very into the show she was watching. Something about space, it looked like. He walked quietly behind the couch, not wanting to disturb her yet, but before he was halfway across the room, she turned with a smile.
"Vampires doing laundry," she mused, shaking her head. "And here I was wondering about silly things like how they shave with no mirrors."
Spike shrugged, dropping down beside her. "It's a delicate process," he said, deadpan, "painful sometimes. But we persevere."
"Shaving?" she chuckled. "Or laundry?"
"Both," he said with a nod, turning his attention to the TV. Lots of empty black space and stars were being shown as a narrator droned on and on about them. Kinda reminded him of Dru. "What you watching?"
"A show," she told him, grinning when he waited for more. "About black holes." She downed the volume a little and handed him the remote, lifting a book from beside her. "You can change it if you want. I'm barely paying attention. Seen it before."
He settled back more firmly against the cushions, and incidentally, her arm. Focusing on the show wasn't too hard, it was actually a little interesting. In a completely non-demonic way. He had interests outside death and blood. Speaking of which... "Where is everyone?" There was a distinct lack of heartbeats in the house.
She shifted slightly as she turned a page in the book she was reading. "Giles and Anya are at the shop, Xander's at work, Dawn's at school, and Buffy is-- oh, I forgot." She flipped the book over on her lap, marking her page as she turned toward him. "Buffy had an 'episode' last night."
Spike went even more still than usual. Did Willow know about the kiss? Had Buffy told her? Great, so much for being able to continue with his seduction. Being reminded of his feelings for Buffy, even if they were starting to be former feelings, wasn't going to win him any points with Willow. Bloody hell. "Went insane and killed a bunch of humans, forcing Giles to put her down?" he asked hopefully. "That kind of episode?"
She started to frown, but simply settled for rolling her eyes. "She saw Angel, only he's still in L.A.," she explained. "Guess it was only a matter of time before she had an hallucination. As much as she's out there I'm surprised it didn't happen before now."
"Seeing things... so I was half right," he chuckled, pretending ignorance. She wasn't biting his head off for snarking on her best friend, so maybe Buffy hadn't told her the complete truth.
She nudged his arm, tilting her head to the side with a disapproving look. "Spike, insulting her isn't going to make the feelings go away."
"Feelings," he repeated, about to deny it out of habit, but there was no point to it. She knew. He knew. They all knew. "So, what happened?"
"She was patrolling, saw Angel, turned out it was a vampire of another color." She fiddled with the spine on her book, glancing up at him very briefly.
Did she know, or was she nervous because of Buffy being involved?
If he was human, would he be sweating right now? He certainly felt the urge to. "Oh. Well, she's not exactly--" blameless, he was going to say, but Willow interrupted him.
"She even kissed him," Willow giggled. "Having been there, done that, for the same reason and cause, well, I can laugh. Just, um, don't tell her I did, 'kay?"
Instead of saying, 'whew!' like he wanted to, he sat back, considering her request. "I don't know... I think I need an incentive."
She narrowed her eyes at him, biting the inside of her cheek which caused her lips to purse in a pseudo pout. "Really. And what did you have in mind?" she asked suspiciously.
He grinned and lifted the book from her lap, tossing it to the coffee table. "Oh, I think I can come up with a few ideas," he said softly, making sure to let a little huskiness seep into his voice. It affected her every time, and now was no exception. Her eyes dropped to his lips and her breathing sped up along with her heartbeat which was beating out a rapid tattoo.
She rolled her eyes again, reaching for her book. "I told you before, Spike, I'm not your personal sex partner, or a snack bar. Go chew on someone else."
Spike once again took the book from her, and when she reached for it again with a sigh of exasperation, he slid his hands around her waist and lifted her up. Once she was settled snugly in his lap, straddling him, he smirked at her. "Not hungry," he told her.
She didn't look amused, or turned on in the slightest. Kinda looked a little ticked off actually. Instead of protesting with her mouth, she pressed her hand against his stomach wound. He didn't even flinch when she touched him. She frowned and pressed harder. "What--"
He lifted his shirt with one hand and grabbed her hand with the other, settling it against his skin. "Look, Ma, no pain."
Her eyes darted down to where their hands were still joined. She pulled her fingers from his with a frown. There was a scar where the hole used to be and a little bruising, but not much more. "Hey, when did that heal? A-- and why isn't mine healed like that?" She lifted the hem of her shirt to show him the bruising still visible on her perfectly flat, perfectly pale abdomen.
He slid his hands back to her waist and held her still when she tried to climb off. "No vampire healing," he explained. "Still hurt?"
"No, not for a few days, but-- oh, stop that."
Ignoring her, he continued nipping on her lower lip with his teeth, and went a step further by threading his hands through her hair, bringing her closer to him. She gasped when he slid his tongue along her lip before sucking it into his mouth.
"Stop," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him.
Spike had no idea why she was so opposed to this. It's what they both wanted, and she'd never been very convincing when she denied it. She had trouble giving into what she wanted, he got that. Unless it was what everyone expected of her. He rested his forehead against hers, gazing at her. It took her a minute to realize he'd gone still, she was so wrapped up in kissing him. When she finally forced her eyes open, he smiled crookedly at her. "Stop?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Tell that to your lips." He pressed his lips against hers in a quick kiss. "And your hands," he shrugged his shoulders lightly, bringing her attention to her hands, which were wrapped tightly around his back.
She closed her eyes in guilt, swallowing thickly. "I'm sorry--" she began, but he cut her off, his voice holding a warning.
"Don't." He closed his own eyes, shifting under her a little, trying to ease the ache she'd caused. "You want me," he told her, daring her to deny it.
She didn't. For once, she just gave in with a sigh, nodding in agreement. "I do." Her brows dipped down in a frown, and her eyes opened, staring into his, searching for something.
Whether she found what she was looking for or not, he had no idea. "So what's the problem?" he whispered, lifting her shirt, exposing her abdomen. He laughed deeply when she leaned forward, pressing herself more firmly against his erection. "It's certainly not due to any doubts about me wanting you. Pretty obvious, isn't it?"
There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, but it died almost as soon as it was born. "It's wrong."
Wrong. "Why do so damn many people use that word when talking to me?" he asked bitterly. "It's always, 'Vampires are wrong. Spike is wrong. Loving you is wrong.' When are things ever right with me?"
She shook her head in denial, halting his hands with her own when he started to lift her off of him. "No. I didn't mean it that way. I only meant it's wrong because you still love Buffy, and I still love Tara."
He didn't deny it. Buffy was still someone he loved, just not with the same intensity as before. Willow was helping to replace Buffy in his heart, and hopefully he was doing the same with Tara for Willow. That was his whole goal, after all. To make the girl fall in love with him. Maybe though, instead of using that knowledge against Buffy, or to win her, as he'd planned on doing, he would simply enjoy it and see where it led.
Yeah, he could stick with Willow for a while, seeing as how he was attached to her anyway.
"Spike?"
But apparently, it would have to wait for another time. He sat back with a sigh, releasing her. "You're free to go."
She laughed lightly, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. "What if I don't want to be free?" she asked, running her hands through his hair, completely messing it up. She tugged lightly on a lock of the bleach blonde strands, watching him steadily. "What if I want to be as un-free as a person can be?"
He nodded, pretending to consider her words. As if he wasn't silently crowing in triumph, or trying not to jump for joy. "I think I've changed my mind," he told her, nodding in agreement with his own words. "Got a headache now." His hands under her shirt completely belied his words.
"Yeah?" she whispered, her lips tracing a path from his forehead to his lips.
He liked this. It was different being the center of attention. Her attention. It was always the other way around with Dru. He rained his attention on Dru, he touched her, kissed her, made love to her. She never returned the favor. Harmony, on the other hand, had been cloying and possessive when he didn't want her to be. Didn't want her, except for sex. And even then, with her constant yapping, he probably would've been better off going solo. So, at the moment, he was content to let Willow have her way with him. "Yeah," he sighed, closing his eyes as her lips touched against his once, twice.
"Guess you want me to stop then." She slid her hands under his shirt, pulling it up slowly. After unbuttoning it, and wrestling it off of his arms, she sat back, looking at him. "You probably don't want my hands on you either... or my mouth, or..." she took off her shirt, tossing it to the floor beside his. "My skin against yours." She leaned forward, pulling him up and against her at the same time. "You're not liking this, I hope, otherwise I'd think you were lying."
Liking it? God no, he was only unable to think about anything else except Willow and where she would touch next. His whole world, at that moment, consisted of Willow and nothing else. "Mmm, nope," he chuckled shortly, gasping when her mouth settled on his neck. "Not liking it at all." He slid one hand around to the back of her head, holding her still, while his other hand moved down her back, pressing her mostly naked chest against his. "You really... really need to stop doing that now," he managed to get out, his voice strangled.
She smiled against his neck, slipping one hand between them and scraping her nails against his chest. "You know, I've heard that men don't like being touched..." her hand settled over one of his nipples, "here. Is that true?" She scraped one fingernail over his nipple, causing him to suck in his breath through his teeth and arch into her.
His eyes snapped open, and he had to force himself not to morph into his demon face. "Where'd you hear that?" he asked, watching her through slitted eyes.
Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry." She tried to sit back, but he held her right where she was. "O-- on the internet. I read it on the internet. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't," he assured her. "At least no more than I wanted to be hurt." That fine line of pleasure/pain that existed in all things, most especially in sex, was a constant source of fun for vampires. Pushing that line as far as it would go was a form of entertainment. For Spike, that was only something he liked when pleasure was involved as well. Mostly. He'd told Willow pain wasn't something he liked with his pleasure, but to some extent, he'd been lying. This kind of pain he liked. Very much. "What else did you read on the internet?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her, a certain amount of anticipation on his face.
She snorted with laughter, sitting back a little on his thighs. "This isn't me," she told him, shaking her head. "I'm not the Mistress of Pain, o-- or a dominatrix. I don't *do* stuff like this. I'm not Buffy." Realizing what she'd just said, she quickly amended her words. "Not that Buffy's a dominatrix. Or into pain, or anything like that." She frowned, biting her lip. "Not that I know what Buffy's into... I'm just saying, she's probably sort of in charge and demanding, and this is *so* not something I'm thinking about. Ever. Point is, I'm not her. I'm just me, and this," she gestured to them, and climbed off his lap to stand in front of the couch, "this, is not me."
He waited until he was sure she was finished before speaking. When Willow was off on one of her rants she could plow right over anyone else who was talking without hearing a word they said. He didn't feel like repeating himself, so he waited until she stopped, then waited another few seconds. "Good. I don't want Buffy. I want you. Just... be yourself."
She burst out laughing, sitting primly on the edge of the couch beside him. "You sound like a Hallmark card."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Mr. Sincerity. I live to help others."
She looked over at him with a sigh. She was in nothing more than a pair of jeans and a frilly white bra. Her breathing was a little more rapid than normal, and she obviously didn't want to stop anymore than he did, so why was she stopping? he wondered.
He looked over at her. She gazed back, and they both moved at the same time. She reached out for him and laid back, pulling him on top of her, while he propped himself up on his elbows over her, cradling her face with his hands.
"Just this once," she gasped, arching into him when he slid one hand down her chest to her stomach to undo her jeans.
"Right," he agreed, raising his hips slightly to give her better access to the buttons on his jeans. "Just this once."
Impatient, when after a minute, her fingers were getting nowhere on his buttons, he knelt back, straddling her legs to yank his jeans open. She lifted her hips as much as his position would allow her, and pushed her jeans down. He took over when she could move them no more due to him being in the way. Dragging the heavy black material from her legs, he tossed them to the floor and pushed his own off.
She started giggling almost hysterically when he got them as far as his thighs before needing to switch positions to remove them. He scowled at her, letting her pull her legs out from under him so he could sit and pull the blue jeans off. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to laugh at a man when he's naked?"
She shook her head, still laughing. Worse still, she was starting to snort. "Like my opinion matters to you enough to put anything more than a tiny dent in your self assurance and arrogance. Please," she scoffed.
Finally through with his pants and socks, he frowned down at her. "Your opinion matters," he told her, sliding his hand down her ankle and slipping off one bright red sock and then the other. Red to match her blouse. Of course. He tossed the socks on the growing pile of clothes and glanced up at her.
Her laughter was gone and a frown of her own had appeared. "Oh," she said softly, apologetically. "I didn't mean to insult you."
"You didn't." He grinned, winking at her. "Well, maybe a small dent." Stopping her from whatever she was about to say, he lifted her up by her shoulders and kissed her. His mouth moved over hers hungrily, ravenously, and he had to amend his earlier words. He was definitely hungry, just not for blood.
Laying her down and moving with her, he pressed her down into the couch. Before she hit the couch completely, she shoved her arms behind her back, halting their momentum. "Bra," she explained, fidgeting with it.
He chuckled and lifted her up, reaching around to unhook the white scrap of material. "Here, let me."
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to laugh at a girl when she's naked?" she mocked, shivering as her bra was removed and his eyes were suddenly fastened on her.
"No laughter here," he assured her, looking his fill. "Definitely no laughter." During the past week, since the bond began, he'd slept with Willow, had sex with her, touched and kissed her, even seen her in the bathtub, but never before had she been completely naked and bared before him. For him.
She was starting to grow nervous under his perusal of her, he could tell. Her lip was caught between her teeth, tugging at it as her eyes settled somewhere on his chest. The fingers of her left hand, the hand closest to him, traced along the edge of the cushion beside her.
"Oh, look," he teased, trying to put her at ease, "there's a body under all those fuzzy clothes." He traced his hand along her hip, his eyes following the movement. Stopping as he neared her chest, he ran his thumb along the underside of her breast.
She twisted her mouth up in disbelief. "I think you may have felt this body quite a few times, like say... when you tried to kill me in my dorm room? Or when you hauled me off to that warehouse to do the love spell for you?"
He grinned, glancing up at her briefly before returning his gaze to his hand as it traveled along her rib cage. The few bruises still there were faint, but visible, and they contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. "I did." Both times he'd wanted her, though not solely in a sexual way. He'd wanted to drain her and shag her. Kiss her and kill her. Though, right now she didn't need to know that. "Wanted you too."
She frowned up at the ceiling. "If that wasn't the kind of wanting associated with wanting someone dead, I'd be flattered." Her eyes slid to his. "Really."
He laughed. Straddling her and grasping her hands in one swift movement, imprisoning them above her head. "Then be flattered," he told her just before his mouth settled over hers. Sliding his tongue inside her mouth, he pressed firmly against her, touching her in all the right spots.
"I'll be flattered later," she mumbled into his mouth. Pulling back slightly, she grinned at him. "Right now, I'll settle for this. 'Cause, you know, it's a good thing to settle for."
"It is when I do it," he agreed, chuckling at her eye roll. If he didn't know better, he'd think she wasn't all that impressed with him. Of course, he did know better. Everyone was impressed with him. It was just the cross he had to bear. His burden.
Willow's mouth returning to his stopped his conceited thoughts, and led to some serious kissing. Trying to get into a better position, since he was a bit... pressed, at the moment, he slid lower and was greeted with the sight of Willow's neck. Blood pumping through her veins, her pulse lightly tapping out a rhythm just under the skin, all in perfect harmony with her heartbeat. It was, in a sense, perfection.
She shifted to her right, lifting one leg beside him, bending it at the knee. The couch was a bit small for slow lovemaking, but neither was complaining. A lifted leg here, a shifting hip there, accommodating each other wordlessly, that's all there was at the moment; all that was needed. Spike released her hands and filled his own with her breasts, hefting their weight as she ran her fingers through his hair.
She closed her eyes, sucking in a breath when he lightly rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. Spike watched her avidly. He was an ardent observer of people, always had been. He liked to watch them die, watch them whimper and scream in pain, watch them whimper and scream in ecstasy. The similarities between the two were undeniable, and equally enjoyable, and they fascinated him.
Willow's whimpers and moans were due solely to arousal and he was absolutely happy with that. He didn't want pain for her, not anymore.
Her arousal was wholly her own, and yet, in a way, it was Spike's as well. He felt like he owned it just as much as she did, because he was the cause. He was making her gasp and arch against him with a touch to her abdomen. He was forcing her to hiss in pleasure when he slid his fingers along her inner thigh. He was the one causing her to shift restlessly on the couch as he finally leaned down to take one of her breasts into his mouth.
"Spike," she moaned, holding his head to her. One leg slid along his, then raised to his hip, holding him to her there as well.
He felt an urge to bite into her flesh, to hurt her, take her blood. Kill her. It was easy to ignore the urge, but the want remained, and needed to be satisfied in other ways. He lightly bit down on her breast, then sucked the flesh back into his mouth, soothing the hurt he feared he'd caused. She watched him through slitted eyes which soon fell shut.
Spike was feeling a bit neglected, and told her as much by leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Touch me." Almost immediately he felt her lips on his neck, sucking at the flesh. A nice, erotic sensation for anyone. More so for a vampire. He sighed, settling down against her again.
"Any particular area you'd like me to touch?" she teased, sliding one hand down his back and around his hip. Slowly, her hand trailed along his stomach, from one hip to the other, and then lower. Her fingers spread wide as she leaned up and kissed him, wrapping her hand around his shaft. "How about here?" she asked huskily.
His hips thrust forward as soon as her hand wrapped around him. "The words, 'God yes' come to mind." He grinned down at her. "Does that make me any less of a man?"
She shrugged, her eyes dropping to where her hand was busy stroking him. "You're asking me? A lesbian?"
Spike cleared his throat, trying not to laugh at her. "A lesbian who currently has her hand wrapped around a man's--"
"Penis," she supplied primly, biting her lip to keep from giggling. Her hand stopped its movement on him and slid up his chest and around his neck, meeting her other hand to lock around his neck.
"Mmm," he agreed absently, a little--make that a lot--disappointed that she'd stopped stroking him. Forgoing one pleasure for another, he rested his hands on her hips, holding her still for him. Instead of immediately thrusting inside of her, he waited. "So, unless this means nothing to you, and you're not enjoying it, then I'd say bi-sexual is more fitting."
"I'm enjoying," she told him, moving against him, trying to get him to continue, but he kept still. Waiting. "Bi-sexual works," she agreed, frowning when he stared into her eyes, unmoving. "Spike, what--?"
He stared down at her for another minute, searching for some sign that she cared about him, but there was nothing there that told him this meant more to her than a quick shag by a prostitute. He needed more than that. Wanted more than that. "Say it," he told her, frowning when she shrugged in confusion.
"Say what?" She looked uncomfortable, and not in a physical way. "I don't know what you want."
"You. To want me." He hated himself for the near pleading in his voice, and what he knew was showing on his face, but at the moment, it was a burning need inside of him, surpassing even the need for physical pleasure. "Tell me you want me," he demanded.
Her face softened, and he had to close his eyes against it. His descent into Pansyville was complete. Officially, he was lower than even Angel. Leaning his forehead against hers, he forced away all thoughts of needing to be wanted, and wanting to be needed, and thrust inside of her. She gasped at the abruptness of it, but he didn't stop to think or ponder it. Once they both reached that pinnacle of pleasure, he could get away from her and her pity.
"Spike," she moaned, then a little louder. More insistent. "Spike." Her hands on his biceps squeezed him tightly, and he realized she was trying to get his attention, to get him to look at her.
He couldn't do that. He slowed his pace, reaching behind him to lift her leg around his hip, then lifted the other one. She let him, then cupped his face in her hands, kissing him.
"Look at me," she whispered, almost desperately. He kept his eyes closed, and tried to pull out of her grip, but she held tight. "Please."
Feeling more like an animal than a demon, he stopped moving inside of her, and took a deep breath, opening his eyes. Dreading what he'd see on her face, all that pity and derision, he barely spared her a glance before settling his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of her hairline. "You want to stop?" he asked.
"No, I want you to look at me," she said, sounding grumpy.
Holding back the insane urge to chuckle, he finally looked at her, surprised to find, not pity, but understanding. No derision, just simple compassion. He kept silent, letting her have her say.
"I *do* want you," she insisted, staring into his eyes, making sure he believed her. And he did. "Though God knows why I want you, Spike. You're rude, and a jerk most of the time, a-- and in love with my best friend." She looked away, almost sadly, her face softening even more. "But, you know, there's also this other part to you, the part you hardly ever show. To me anyway." She sighed, shrugging helplessly. "I mean, you steered me around a broken beer bottle the other night, which was really sweet and old fashioned and really weird. And you told me it wasn't so bad being tied to me for the rest of our lives, and--" she sighed again. "And I want you. All the time."
Spike nodded, unable to fight back the smile tugging at his lips. Love's bitch, he'd once called himself, and looking down at Willow right now as she lay under him, naked and surrounding him with her warmth, he knew that to be the truth. But he wasn't only love's bitch, he was lust's as well, along with want and need. His fierce need to belong to someone, with a group, anything that made him feel like a part of the world, would be the death of him, he was sure.
He kissed her lips lightly, just a small thank you, to show he was grateful for her truthfulness and reassurance.
"Wanna show me how grateful you are?" she whispered against his mouth. Her smile was wide and genuine when she arched up against him. "How about finishing what you started?"
"Oh, that," he chuckled, sliding out of her with excruciating slowness.
"Yeah, that," she agreed, pressing her hands against his back, trying to make him move inside her again. "Please," she practically begged. "I need you. Want you... so much," she mumbled, looking away briefly before fixing her eyes to his face. "Too much. All the time."
Spike reached down between their bodies and slid his finger over her clit, watching her. Her eyes closed slowly, her head moving back. Red hair framed her face, the bruises on the left side making her look vulnerable, and small, and completely under his control. When she bit her lip on a moan, he couldn't stand it any longer, and slid back inside of her, starting up a pace that had her gasping, and him groaning.
She was tight, and warm. So bloody warm. Her flesh surrounded him like a warm bath, pushing away the cold of his own flesh. His pace quickened as he neared orgasm. She wasn't as far gone as him, so he reached back down between them, and played his finger over her clit again. Her body clenched around him, tighter and tighter as she thrust up against him, their bodies meeting in welcome pleasure.
Settling his mouth over hers, he reveled in the feel of her hands on his back, scratching and clawing at his flesh. Her own back had to be stinging from the pain, but it only made her arch further into him, and they both liked that.
She tightened against him even more, and ripped her mouth from his as she came. "Oh God..." she practically screamed.
Spike sped up his pace and wrapped his arms around her back, holding her closer. Her legs dropped from his hips, and her hands left his back. Instead of leaving him completely, her fingers clawed his chest and abdomen, then scraped against his nipples. He thrust faster and harder, groaning against her neck as he finally came, reaching that pinnacle he'd been striving for just to get away from her.
He no longer wanted to leave her. In fact, as he laid down on her and her arms wrapped around his back, he closed his eyes contentedly, thinking to himself that, maybe he didn't ever want to leave the soft comfort of her body.
Rating: R.
Summary: While fighting a demon Willow and Spike become bound together. W/S pairing.
A/N: This takes place after season 5. It's during the summer, a bit AU. Nothing is season 6 happened, or will probably. Buffy was brought back in an unknown way.
Feedback: No, I can't stand the stuff. (That'd be sarcasm, ppl)
Dedication: To Claudia, the best beta ever. Praise her, ppl, she's the reason this stuff is getting done so quickly, and why it's so polished and makes sense.
PART 11
Spike waited until Buffy and her lackey left before grabbing the box from the floor and heading into the kitchen. Instead of unpacking it and placing the individual packets of blood in the refrigerator, he tore open the box and shoved the whole thing inside. The bottles of Jack Daniels in his pockets went into the cupboard beside the fridge.
"On second thought," he mumbled, sticking one of the bottles back into his pocket. Blood, cigarettes, and alcohol. He was all set. Time to check on Willow. Before he could make good his escape, Giles stopped him with a hand on his arm. Spike snarled at him, tired of being manhandled by Willow's friends.
Giles crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at him, looking wholly unimpressed. "She needs to rest."
Spike nodded. "Your point being?" She could rest as much as she wanted to, he'd even encourage it, but he also intended to make sure she was all right. He saw Dawn watching them from the doorway to the kitchen, a frown wrinkling her brow. When she noticed his eyes on her, she glared, turning away angrily. That girl needed to learn to let go of her anger every once in a while, he thought, she held grudges way too long.
Giles shifted back into his vision, blocking out Dawn's back. "What Xander told you wasn't idle chatter. We have found a way to reverse the spell. However, if the Litchock that cast the spell is dead, or we can't find it, then we can't do anything about it." His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, giving him a dangerous edge. "But know this, Spike; you're not wanted here. None of these kids likes you. None of them want you hanging around, making their lives miserable." He leaned forward, speaking slowly, succinctly. "Not even Willow. She, more than any of us, wants this bond broken."
Spike nodded again, as if he was considering Giles' words, but then he shrugged and pushed past the other man with a laugh. "Bugger off." His tone was light, jovial, uncaring. His mood was dark and raging.
There, apparently, was his answer to the question that'd been roiling around his brain upon hearing Xander's words. Willow wanted the bond gone. Wanted to be free of him. Stopping just outside her bedroom door, he wondered why it bothered him so much. The obvious reasons were there and definitely a factor.
If the bond was broken, he wouldn't be able to feed anymore. Wouldn't be able to hurt a human without hurting himself. Willow got the pain from his implant, but she also got less of the pain than he did. She was able to withstand it better than him. But none of that mattered, he realized now that he hadn't intended to truly feed from anyone except Willow. Why go out and hunt down someone who wouldn't taste half as good as she did? Aside from that, when he drank from Willow, it was mostly painless due to the way he was taking her blood.
Sex made a lot of things easier to tolerate. Feeding during sex, for a vampire, and his partner, actually heightened the pleasure they both received. Willow knew that now. And she was attracted to him. He knew that. So what was to stop him from using that to his advantage? Not a damn thing until this threat of the bond ending surfaced.
He couldn't let that happen. He wanted to stay bound to Willow. She wasn't too bad a partner... for a human. She was pretty, not at all the sort one would be ashamed to be seen with, smart, funny, quirky. And bloody hell, the sex had been great. As a vampire, being with a human was a completely different experience than being with another vampire. There was the blood, the warmth, the feel of skin and hair that was alive. They smelled different too. Especially Willow. He really liked her scent.
She wasn't too bad a person to be stuck with for a few centuries.
Pushing her bedroom door open, he went inside, closing it behind him. She was curled up on the bed, which was bare of anything except her, a single pillow under her head, and a sheet, which she was hugging to her rather than using to cover up. He loosened her hands from around the white material, and spread it over her, along with a blanket from the floor. The other pillow went beside her head. He'd leave her to sleep alone again tonight, but as soon as her friends were gone from the house, he would be in this bed again. With her.
As he left her room behind, heading to his own, he decided to keep silent about the Litchock family feud. He'd hunt them himself. No one need know they were even in town. Less chance of them finding the one they needed to reverse the spell.
He was in the midst of taking off his duster when he realized that it was still early for him. Only a few hours into darkness. Why waste time sitting alone in a room, bored and drinking when he could start his search for the Litchocks tonight? That decided, he shrugged back into his duster and went back downstairs, leaving the house.
An hour later, he was still searching, having found nothing more threatening than a snarling dog that whimpered and ran away with its tail tucked between its legs when Spike snarled back at it. Two hours later, he was thoroughly bored. Not even the vampires seemed to want to show up and relieve his stress and boredom. Ungrateful wretches. Were they really afraid of a family of Litchocks? Or was there another reason they were scarce tonight?
All that was around at the moment was a human somewhere behind him. A human he couldn't do anything to at the moment, so he ignored the person, and continued through the cemetery. A few minutes later, he felt the human moving closer, and rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the people around this town.
"What are you doing out here?" Buffy asked from behind him.
Oh, it was that human. He turned to look at her, surprised he hadn't realized it was her. Lately he'd been hyper aware of Buffy, what with loving her and all, but he hadn't even known she was there. Hadn't smelled her perfume-- ah, there it was now, as she walked closer, then past him.
He fell into step beside her. "Where's--"
"Before you come up with yet another ingenious name to call Xander," she said, looking sideways at him, "he's with Anya, at the shop. And, I told him to stay away from the house until he can stop threatening people."
He tossed her a surprised look. "Well, good." Out of habit he said, "Worried about me?" But there was no actual smirking or taunting in his voice, which was a little annoying. He just wasn't in the mood.
"Worried about Willow," she countered as they left the cemetery behind and crossed the street.
Spike had already been there, done that, so he decided to leave her to it and get back home to Willow. "They're mostly empty," he called to her. "The five I was in anyway."
"Which ones?" she asked, turning to walk backwards.
He shrugged. "EverRest, Shady Pines, Under the Glen, RestField and the one we just left."
She grinned, turning back around. "That's 'cause I've already been through them."
Spike stared after her for a minute. Had they just had a civil conversation, without an argument? Would wonders never cease? He shook his head, turning away to start the walk back to Willow's house.
But then he heard her voice again and stopped.
"Angel?"
Groaning at the thought of seeing soulboy, Spike turned to find Buffy standing right in front of him, and no Angel in sight.
"What are you doing here?"
She was gazing up at him, and there were a million different emotions swimming around in her eyes. Emotions he wanted to be on the receiving end of. Now he was, but it felt... wrong. "Buffy, I'm not--"
"I-- I thought we agreed to stay away from each other?"
Spike stared down at her wondering if she'd suddenly gone insane. "Angel's not here," he told her slowly. "Um, what-- ah hell." She was hallucinating. She thought he was Angel, the bloody love of her bloody life. And she was looking up at him like she wanted to jump into his arms, but was holding back. Afraid of ruining the tenuous relationship she and Angel had?
He grabbed her by the arm, not willing to just leave her there, lost in the land of illusions. "Come on," he mumbled, hoping no demons were around to witness him helping the Slayer home. He shook his head in despair.
She stopped walking, dragging him to a halt. "Angel, stop. What's going on?" She paused for a second, shaking her head. "No, we are going to talk about this."
"Eh?" Spike replied. She was hearing things too? He hadn't heard anything when he'd had his Dru encounter. The woman had looked like her, and reached out to touch his face in a manner that was all Dru, but she hadn't said anything. Maybe, if Willow's theory was correct, and they were seeing people they loved, maybe they were hearing what they wanted to hear. Had Willow-- hang on. Just what had Willow heard from Tara? Sighing at himself for once again letting his thoughts wander--and to Willow no less--he stepped closer to Buffy, speaking quietly, not wanting to spook her. "I'm not Angel."
Tears formed in her eyes and she shook her head, backing away. "We can't keep doing this. I-- I can't keep doing this."
Spike frowned down at her angrily. Everything she was saying was forcing him to realize that she still wanted Angel. Still loved the bastard, and no matter what happened, or who she was with, she would always love him. Always want him. Always lust after him. "I'm not Angel," he repeated louder, clenching his fists at his side.
"I know," she whispered, but before he could figure out if she was talking to him or Angel, she stood on tiptoe, placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him.
He froze. This was something he'd dreamed about for more than a year. Dreamed and fantasized about. Wanted.
Still wanted.
The kiss was soft, tender, a lover's kiss. Her lips parted the smallest bit and he found himself unable to not kiss her back. Willow and the bond and everything else was forgotten in that moment. He had dreamed of this moment too many times to count, so very many times. She pressed herself against him, catching him off guard, and he stumbled back against the brick wall of the building they were in front of. She moved with him, kissing him with more passion, and less tenderness.
She wanted him. His brain knew that was wrong, but his body didn't care. It wanted her.
His hands grabbed her by her upper arms, holding her closer-- why then was she getting further away? He broke the kiss, looking down into her glazed eyes. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as she fought to regain her composure, but it seemed to be a losing battle. Which meant she was still under the impression that he was Angel.
Which meant he'd pushed *her* away, not the other way around. What the hell was the matter with him? As he pondered that thought, her eyes cleared and she looked around her in confusion.
"Spike? But I thought--" her eyes widened as she realized who it was she'd just kissed. And been pressed up against. In whose arms she'd been in. "Oh, God," she whispered, backing away. "I'm sorry... I-- I didn't meant to--"
"Yeah," he said defensively, "I know. You didn't mean to touch me and soil your perfect little hands. Got it." He started to walk away, then turned back, angrily. "Just remember; you kissed me, I didn't--"
"Stop it from happening," she interrupted, frowning at him. He knew damn well most of her anger was aimed at herself. Seeing her head shake, he tacked on denial.
Like that'd make it go away, he thought sarcastically, resuming his trip home. "Actually, I kind of did," he tossed over his shoulder. "Didn't see you stopping it anytime soon." He chuckled lowly, hoping like hell he'd pissed her off just a little. When he turned to look, she was gone.
Shrugging, he went home.
Spike was barely in the house when he heard Giles call to him. Since he was going through the living room anyway, being it was that, or the closet by the door, he strode into the room, not intending to stop. "What?"
"I wanted to talk to you," Giles said, looking up at him from the chair across the room. He had a notepad on his lap and a cup and saucer on the arm of the large, overstuffed chair he was sitting in.
Spike kept on going. "No," was his only reply.
Giles chuckled in self derision. "I deserved that, I suppose."
"Bloody right, you do," Spike shot back, stopping against his will. "You and the rest of them. Every last one of you... except Willow. She's the only decent one in the pathetic group of losers you all have compiled." His anger was rising back to the surface, and he was pretty sure most of it was directed at Buffy at the moment. He'd had her in his arms, kissing her, holding her close, but he'd pushed her away. Why, damn it? An image of Willow's lips curling up into that quirky smile she got when she was amused, but trying not to laugh, came to mind and he suddenly had an idea.
But he still planned to blame it all on Buffy.
"That may be," Giles was saying, looking at him over the rim of his glasses, "but this is for your well being as well as Willow's." He motioned for Spike to sit down, and waited.
Spike sighed heavily, not wanting to do it. After a quick glance up the stairs, he dropped onto the couch cushions, planting his feet firmly on the ground, and glared at the watcher. "What?"
"I think we should test the limits of the bond." He held his hand up when Spike immediately started to protest. "Hear me out. There's no way for you to both know where the other is at all times unless you spend every moment with each other. She has school, friends, daytime activities, and due to your sun aversion, you can't be with her during them." He paused, waiting for Spike to agree.
Spike shrugged, not wanting to admit Giles was right. Willow did have all of those things. She sure as hell wouldn't be giving them up just to accommodate him, same as he wouldn't be giving up some of his activities for her. They led different lives, and in both of them, there were unknowns. "Right. So, how do we test it? Jog five miles in the opposite direction?"
Giles chuckled, shaking his head. "We drive you to two locations, I'll be with you, Buffy and Xander with Willow. We'll keep in contact, with walkie talkies, or something similar. It's all very controlled, and if anything should happen, we'll be there to remedy it."
"What if we both keel over as soon as we pass that five mile marker?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow at Giles. "I'll be dust, and Willow will be brought back, is that how it works? She gets rid of me, and--"
"No," Giles denied, sitting up. "The thought never crossed my mind, I'm ashamed to say." He carefully picked up the cup and saucer, placing them and the pad on the table. "If I were better at being evil, I'm sure it would have."
Spike smirked, taking it as a compliment. "Would've gotten it eventually," he tossed back, then switched back to the topic at hand. "So what happens if we die? I'm not willing to take that chance--"
"Of course you're not," Giles said derisively, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"--with Willow's life," Spike finished, giving Giles a hard look. "So far, you're not inspiring confidence in me. Why should I trust you?"
"For the same reason I trust you. Willow. I'd never see her hurt. If I didn't think death was highly improbable, I wouldn't even be considering doing this. But what if you're chasing a demon in the cemetery and Willow's on her way to the shop and neither one of you knows how far apart you are? Wouldn't you rather know what's going to happen and be able to deal with it?"
Giles made a good case, and had already convinced Spike. If Willow agreed. If she didn't feel comfortable with any of it, they weren't doing it. "All right," he agreed, standing up. "But only if Willow's a hundred percent on this. Otherwise, go find someone else to dissect."
"I'd be surprised if Willow hasn't thought of this herself," Giles told him confidently, sitting back with his cup of tea.
Spike couldn't help but agree with him. Willow's was an analytical mind, she'd be wholly into figuring out every aspect of the bond. He left the living room for the empty kitchen, grabbing a bag of blood from the box in the fridge. As it heated up in the microwave, he leaned against the doorjamb. "Where's Dawn?"
Giles' teacup clattered against the saucer as he set it down a little harder than he'd intended. "I had Xander take her home. She was getting on my last nerve with all her sulking and pouting."
Spike knew exactly what Giles meant. He'd never known a more complaining person in his century-long life aside from Dru. Still, he was fond of the little brat. The microwave beeped, and he grabbed the blood, heading up to his room.
Showers were wonderful inventions, and since being a vampire was dirty work, Spike couldn't go more than a day without bathing, else he'd be coated in blood, gore, and dirt. At least, the way he used to kill, he would've. He liked to physically attack his victims, fight them, hunt them and drag them down kicking and screaming. He'd fought often and fought well. Bloodying himself most of the time. Then he'd go to a bathhouse and enjoy the tubs filled with hot water. Sometimes Dru came with him, and they'd have fun cleaning each other off.
Other times, he went by himself and simply sat immersed in the hot water, dreading the moment the water cooled to the point of being uncomfortable enough to vacate.
Rolling his eyes at the direction his thoughts were taking, Spike stood under the hot spray of water, letting it pour over him in warm rivulets. Running water was a luxury he didn't have anymore. Not since moving to his crypt. Since then, he'd made do with Giles' apartment, or gone to a motel. Now, he was once again in the vicinity of running water and showers, and he was taking advantage of that. It was a wonderful invention.
After too long a shower, Spike yanked a clean pair of blue jeans from the bag he'd brought here the other day, and a black button up shirt. His other clothes needed washed, which, he figured could be done today. Domestic, he was not, but a clean person, absolutely. A clean pair of socks, and his old boots went on next. He grabbed the pile of dirty clothes and headed downstairs.
There was a washer just off the kitchen, he was sure of it. As he cautiously passed the living room, checking to make sure the curtains were closed, he heard the TV turned on low. Willow was sitting on the couch, half laying, half sitting. Not stopping to chat, he continued into the kitchen. The washer and drier were in a small room just off the kitchen, as he'd thought they were. He hadn't gotten a whole lot out of his imprisonment by the Scoobies, but he had learned one thing; how to do his laundry.
And from Xander, of all people.
After the whole, 'shrinking of his clothes' episode, Xander had taught him, very grudgingly, how to use a washer and drier. It had galled Spike to no end to have to be taught anything by Xander, but it'd come in handy since then. Before that, when his clothes got too dirty, he'd toss them and buy new ones. Well, steal new ones. Since being chipped, he didn't have a lot of cash, or opportunities to lift clothes without following through on his threats.
That left laundry. And Xander's smug attitude in showing him how to use it.
Each washer had to be different from the one before it, and they all seemed to have their own set of doodads and knobs, but, Spike was becoming an expert on laundry. When he learned something, he learned it well. So it didn't take him long to figure out all the knobs and controls on Willow's machine. In no time, he had his clothes in and was sipping on a mug of hot blood. Instead of taking it with him into the living room, he downed it and rinsed the mug, setting it in the sink, then left to join Willow.
She was still on the couch, in the same position. He could only see the back of her head, but from her unwavering attention on the screen, she was either extremely interested in the show she was watching, or she was asleep.
Listening to her breathing, he deduced that she was just very into the show she was watching. Something about space, it looked like. He walked quietly behind the couch, not wanting to disturb her yet, but before he was halfway across the room, she turned with a smile.
"Vampires doing laundry," she mused, shaking her head. "And here I was wondering about silly things like how they shave with no mirrors."
Spike shrugged, dropping down beside her. "It's a delicate process," he said, deadpan, "painful sometimes. But we persevere."
"Shaving?" she chuckled. "Or laundry?"
"Both," he said with a nod, turning his attention to the TV. Lots of empty black space and stars were being shown as a narrator droned on and on about them. Kinda reminded him of Dru. "What you watching?"
"A show," she told him, grinning when he waited for more. "About black holes." She downed the volume a little and handed him the remote, lifting a book from beside her. "You can change it if you want. I'm barely paying attention. Seen it before."
He settled back more firmly against the cushions, and incidentally, her arm. Focusing on the show wasn't too hard, it was actually a little interesting. In a completely non-demonic way. He had interests outside death and blood. Speaking of which... "Where is everyone?" There was a distinct lack of heartbeats in the house.
She shifted slightly as she turned a page in the book she was reading. "Giles and Anya are at the shop, Xander's at work, Dawn's at school, and Buffy is-- oh, I forgot." She flipped the book over on her lap, marking her page as she turned toward him. "Buffy had an 'episode' last night."
Spike went even more still than usual. Did Willow know about the kiss? Had Buffy told her? Great, so much for being able to continue with his seduction. Being reminded of his feelings for Buffy, even if they were starting to be former feelings, wasn't going to win him any points with Willow. Bloody hell. "Went insane and killed a bunch of humans, forcing Giles to put her down?" he asked hopefully. "That kind of episode?"
She started to frown, but simply settled for rolling her eyes. "She saw Angel, only he's still in L.A.," she explained. "Guess it was only a matter of time before she had an hallucination. As much as she's out there I'm surprised it didn't happen before now."
"Seeing things... so I was half right," he chuckled, pretending ignorance. She wasn't biting his head off for snarking on her best friend, so maybe Buffy hadn't told her the complete truth.
She nudged his arm, tilting her head to the side with a disapproving look. "Spike, insulting her isn't going to make the feelings go away."
"Feelings," he repeated, about to deny it out of habit, but there was no point to it. She knew. He knew. They all knew. "So, what happened?"
"She was patrolling, saw Angel, turned out it was a vampire of another color." She fiddled with the spine on her book, glancing up at him very briefly.
Did she know, or was she nervous because of Buffy being involved?
If he was human, would he be sweating right now? He certainly felt the urge to. "Oh. Well, she's not exactly--" blameless, he was going to say, but Willow interrupted him.
"She even kissed him," Willow giggled. "Having been there, done that, for the same reason and cause, well, I can laugh. Just, um, don't tell her I did, 'kay?"
Instead of saying, 'whew!' like he wanted to, he sat back, considering her request. "I don't know... I think I need an incentive."
She narrowed her eyes at him, biting the inside of her cheek which caused her lips to purse in a pseudo pout. "Really. And what did you have in mind?" she asked suspiciously.
He grinned and lifted the book from her lap, tossing it to the coffee table. "Oh, I think I can come up with a few ideas," he said softly, making sure to let a little huskiness seep into his voice. It affected her every time, and now was no exception. Her eyes dropped to his lips and her breathing sped up along with her heartbeat which was beating out a rapid tattoo.
She rolled her eyes again, reaching for her book. "I told you before, Spike, I'm not your personal sex partner, or a snack bar. Go chew on someone else."
Spike once again took the book from her, and when she reached for it again with a sigh of exasperation, he slid his hands around her waist and lifted her up. Once she was settled snugly in his lap, straddling him, he smirked at her. "Not hungry," he told her.
She didn't look amused, or turned on in the slightest. Kinda looked a little ticked off actually. Instead of protesting with her mouth, she pressed her hand against his stomach wound. He didn't even flinch when she touched him. She frowned and pressed harder. "What--"
He lifted his shirt with one hand and grabbed her hand with the other, settling it against his skin. "Look, Ma, no pain."
Her eyes darted down to where their hands were still joined. She pulled her fingers from his with a frown. There was a scar where the hole used to be and a little bruising, but not much more. "Hey, when did that heal? A-- and why isn't mine healed like that?" She lifted the hem of her shirt to show him the bruising still visible on her perfectly flat, perfectly pale abdomen.
He slid his hands back to her waist and held her still when she tried to climb off. "No vampire healing," he explained. "Still hurt?"
"No, not for a few days, but-- oh, stop that."
Ignoring her, he continued nipping on her lower lip with his teeth, and went a step further by threading his hands through her hair, bringing her closer to him. She gasped when he slid his tongue along her lip before sucking it into his mouth.
"Stop," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him.
Spike had no idea why she was so opposed to this. It's what they both wanted, and she'd never been very convincing when she denied it. She had trouble giving into what she wanted, he got that. Unless it was what everyone expected of her. He rested his forehead against hers, gazing at her. It took her a minute to realize he'd gone still, she was so wrapped up in kissing him. When she finally forced her eyes open, he smiled crookedly at her. "Stop?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Tell that to your lips." He pressed his lips against hers in a quick kiss. "And your hands," he shrugged his shoulders lightly, bringing her attention to her hands, which were wrapped tightly around his back.
She closed her eyes in guilt, swallowing thickly. "I'm sorry--" she began, but he cut her off, his voice holding a warning.
"Don't." He closed his own eyes, shifting under her a little, trying to ease the ache she'd caused. "You want me," he told her, daring her to deny it.
She didn't. For once, she just gave in with a sigh, nodding in agreement. "I do." Her brows dipped down in a frown, and her eyes opened, staring into his, searching for something.
Whether she found what she was looking for or not, he had no idea. "So what's the problem?" he whispered, lifting her shirt, exposing her abdomen. He laughed deeply when she leaned forward, pressing herself more firmly against his erection. "It's certainly not due to any doubts about me wanting you. Pretty obvious, isn't it?"
There was a ghost of a smile on her lips, but it died almost as soon as it was born. "It's wrong."
Wrong. "Why do so damn many people use that word when talking to me?" he asked bitterly. "It's always, 'Vampires are wrong. Spike is wrong. Loving you is wrong.' When are things ever right with me?"
She shook her head in denial, halting his hands with her own when he started to lift her off of him. "No. I didn't mean it that way. I only meant it's wrong because you still love Buffy, and I still love Tara."
He didn't deny it. Buffy was still someone he loved, just not with the same intensity as before. Willow was helping to replace Buffy in his heart, and hopefully he was doing the same with Tara for Willow. That was his whole goal, after all. To make the girl fall in love with him. Maybe though, instead of using that knowledge against Buffy, or to win her, as he'd planned on doing, he would simply enjoy it and see where it led.
Yeah, he could stick with Willow for a while, seeing as how he was attached to her anyway.
"Spike?"
But apparently, it would have to wait for another time. He sat back with a sigh, releasing her. "You're free to go."
She laughed lightly, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. "What if I don't want to be free?" she asked, running her hands through his hair, completely messing it up. She tugged lightly on a lock of the bleach blonde strands, watching him steadily. "What if I want to be as un-free as a person can be?"
He nodded, pretending to consider her words. As if he wasn't silently crowing in triumph, or trying not to jump for joy. "I think I've changed my mind," he told her, nodding in agreement with his own words. "Got a headache now." His hands under her shirt completely belied his words.
"Yeah?" she whispered, her lips tracing a path from his forehead to his lips.
He liked this. It was different being the center of attention. Her attention. It was always the other way around with Dru. He rained his attention on Dru, he touched her, kissed her, made love to her. She never returned the favor. Harmony, on the other hand, had been cloying and possessive when he didn't want her to be. Didn't want her, except for sex. And even then, with her constant yapping, he probably would've been better off going solo. So, at the moment, he was content to let Willow have her way with him. "Yeah," he sighed, closing his eyes as her lips touched against his once, twice.
"Guess you want me to stop then." She slid her hands under his shirt, pulling it up slowly. After unbuttoning it, and wrestling it off of his arms, she sat back, looking at him. "You probably don't want my hands on you either... or my mouth, or..." she took off her shirt, tossing it to the floor beside his. "My skin against yours." She leaned forward, pulling him up and against her at the same time. "You're not liking this, I hope, otherwise I'd think you were lying."
Liking it? God no, he was only unable to think about anything else except Willow and where she would touch next. His whole world, at that moment, consisted of Willow and nothing else. "Mmm, nope," he chuckled shortly, gasping when her mouth settled on his neck. "Not liking it at all." He slid one hand around to the back of her head, holding her still, while his other hand moved down her back, pressing her mostly naked chest against his. "You really... really need to stop doing that now," he managed to get out, his voice strangled.
She smiled against his neck, slipping one hand between them and scraping her nails against his chest. "You know, I've heard that men don't like being touched..." her hand settled over one of his nipples, "here. Is that true?" She scraped one fingernail over his nipple, causing him to suck in his breath through his teeth and arch into her.
His eyes snapped open, and he had to force himself not to morph into his demon face. "Where'd you hear that?" he asked, watching her through slitted eyes.
Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry." She tried to sit back, but he held her right where she was. "O-- on the internet. I read it on the internet. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't," he assured her. "At least no more than I wanted to be hurt." That fine line of pleasure/pain that existed in all things, most especially in sex, was a constant source of fun for vampires. Pushing that line as far as it would go was a form of entertainment. For Spike, that was only something he liked when pleasure was involved as well. Mostly. He'd told Willow pain wasn't something he liked with his pleasure, but to some extent, he'd been lying. This kind of pain he liked. Very much. "What else did you read on the internet?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her, a certain amount of anticipation on his face.
She snorted with laughter, sitting back a little on his thighs. "This isn't me," she told him, shaking her head. "I'm not the Mistress of Pain, o-- or a dominatrix. I don't *do* stuff like this. I'm not Buffy." Realizing what she'd just said, she quickly amended her words. "Not that Buffy's a dominatrix. Or into pain, or anything like that." She frowned, biting her lip. "Not that I know what Buffy's into... I'm just saying, she's probably sort of in charge and demanding, and this is *so* not something I'm thinking about. Ever. Point is, I'm not her. I'm just me, and this," she gestured to them, and climbed off his lap to stand in front of the couch, "this, is not me."
He waited until he was sure she was finished before speaking. When Willow was off on one of her rants she could plow right over anyone else who was talking without hearing a word they said. He didn't feel like repeating himself, so he waited until she stopped, then waited another few seconds. "Good. I don't want Buffy. I want you. Just... be yourself."
She burst out laughing, sitting primly on the edge of the couch beside him. "You sound like a Hallmark card."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Mr. Sincerity. I live to help others."
She looked over at him with a sigh. She was in nothing more than a pair of jeans and a frilly white bra. Her breathing was a little more rapid than normal, and she obviously didn't want to stop anymore than he did, so why was she stopping? he wondered.
He looked over at her. She gazed back, and they both moved at the same time. She reached out for him and laid back, pulling him on top of her, while he propped himself up on his elbows over her, cradling her face with his hands.
"Just this once," she gasped, arching into him when he slid one hand down her chest to her stomach to undo her jeans.
"Right," he agreed, raising his hips slightly to give her better access to the buttons on his jeans. "Just this once."
Impatient, when after a minute, her fingers were getting nowhere on his buttons, he knelt back, straddling her legs to yank his jeans open. She lifted her hips as much as his position would allow her, and pushed her jeans down. He took over when she could move them no more due to him being in the way. Dragging the heavy black material from her legs, he tossed them to the floor and pushed his own off.
She started giggling almost hysterically when he got them as far as his thighs before needing to switch positions to remove them. He scowled at her, letting her pull her legs out from under him so he could sit and pull the blue jeans off. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to laugh at a man when he's naked?"
She shook her head, still laughing. Worse still, she was starting to snort. "Like my opinion matters to you enough to put anything more than a tiny dent in your self assurance and arrogance. Please," she scoffed.
Finally through with his pants and socks, he frowned down at her. "Your opinion matters," he told her, sliding his hand down her ankle and slipping off one bright red sock and then the other. Red to match her blouse. Of course. He tossed the socks on the growing pile of clothes and glanced up at her.
Her laughter was gone and a frown of her own had appeared. "Oh," she said softly, apologetically. "I didn't mean to insult you."
"You didn't." He grinned, winking at her. "Well, maybe a small dent." Stopping her from whatever she was about to say, he lifted her up by her shoulders and kissed her. His mouth moved over hers hungrily, ravenously, and he had to amend his earlier words. He was definitely hungry, just not for blood.
Laying her down and moving with her, he pressed her down into the couch. Before she hit the couch completely, she shoved her arms behind her back, halting their momentum. "Bra," she explained, fidgeting with it.
He chuckled and lifted her up, reaching around to unhook the white scrap of material. "Here, let me."
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to laugh at a girl when she's naked?" she mocked, shivering as her bra was removed and his eyes were suddenly fastened on her.
"No laughter here," he assured her, looking his fill. "Definitely no laughter." During the past week, since the bond began, he'd slept with Willow, had sex with her, touched and kissed her, even seen her in the bathtub, but never before had she been completely naked and bared before him. For him.
She was starting to grow nervous under his perusal of her, he could tell. Her lip was caught between her teeth, tugging at it as her eyes settled somewhere on his chest. The fingers of her left hand, the hand closest to him, traced along the edge of the cushion beside her.
"Oh, look," he teased, trying to put her at ease, "there's a body under all those fuzzy clothes." He traced his hand along her hip, his eyes following the movement. Stopping as he neared her chest, he ran his thumb along the underside of her breast.
She twisted her mouth up in disbelief. "I think you may have felt this body quite a few times, like say... when you tried to kill me in my dorm room? Or when you hauled me off to that warehouse to do the love spell for you?"
He grinned, glancing up at her briefly before returning his gaze to his hand as it traveled along her rib cage. The few bruises still there were faint, but visible, and they contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. "I did." Both times he'd wanted her, though not solely in a sexual way. He'd wanted to drain her and shag her. Kiss her and kill her. Though, right now she didn't need to know that. "Wanted you too."
She frowned up at the ceiling. "If that wasn't the kind of wanting associated with wanting someone dead, I'd be flattered." Her eyes slid to his. "Really."
He laughed. Straddling her and grasping her hands in one swift movement, imprisoning them above her head. "Then be flattered," he told her just before his mouth settled over hers. Sliding his tongue inside her mouth, he pressed firmly against her, touching her in all the right spots.
"I'll be flattered later," she mumbled into his mouth. Pulling back slightly, she grinned at him. "Right now, I'll settle for this. 'Cause, you know, it's a good thing to settle for."
"It is when I do it," he agreed, chuckling at her eye roll. If he didn't know better, he'd think she wasn't all that impressed with him. Of course, he did know better. Everyone was impressed with him. It was just the cross he had to bear. His burden.
Willow's mouth returning to his stopped his conceited thoughts, and led to some serious kissing. Trying to get into a better position, since he was a bit... pressed, at the moment, he slid lower and was greeted with the sight of Willow's neck. Blood pumping through her veins, her pulse lightly tapping out a rhythm just under the skin, all in perfect harmony with her heartbeat. It was, in a sense, perfection.
She shifted to her right, lifting one leg beside him, bending it at the knee. The couch was a bit small for slow lovemaking, but neither was complaining. A lifted leg here, a shifting hip there, accommodating each other wordlessly, that's all there was at the moment; all that was needed. Spike released her hands and filled his own with her breasts, hefting their weight as she ran her fingers through his hair.
She closed her eyes, sucking in a breath when he lightly rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. Spike watched her avidly. He was an ardent observer of people, always had been. He liked to watch them die, watch them whimper and scream in pain, watch them whimper and scream in ecstasy. The similarities between the two were undeniable, and equally enjoyable, and they fascinated him.
Willow's whimpers and moans were due solely to arousal and he was absolutely happy with that. He didn't want pain for her, not anymore.
Her arousal was wholly her own, and yet, in a way, it was Spike's as well. He felt like he owned it just as much as she did, because he was the cause. He was making her gasp and arch against him with a touch to her abdomen. He was forcing her to hiss in pleasure when he slid his fingers along her inner thigh. He was the one causing her to shift restlessly on the couch as he finally leaned down to take one of her breasts into his mouth.
"Spike," she moaned, holding his head to her. One leg slid along his, then raised to his hip, holding him to her there as well.
He felt an urge to bite into her flesh, to hurt her, take her blood. Kill her. It was easy to ignore the urge, but the want remained, and needed to be satisfied in other ways. He lightly bit down on her breast, then sucked the flesh back into his mouth, soothing the hurt he feared he'd caused. She watched him through slitted eyes which soon fell shut.
Spike was feeling a bit neglected, and told her as much by leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Touch me." Almost immediately he felt her lips on his neck, sucking at the flesh. A nice, erotic sensation for anyone. More so for a vampire. He sighed, settling down against her again.
"Any particular area you'd like me to touch?" she teased, sliding one hand down his back and around his hip. Slowly, her hand trailed along his stomach, from one hip to the other, and then lower. Her fingers spread wide as she leaned up and kissed him, wrapping her hand around his shaft. "How about here?" she asked huskily.
His hips thrust forward as soon as her hand wrapped around him. "The words, 'God yes' come to mind." He grinned down at her. "Does that make me any less of a man?"
She shrugged, her eyes dropping to where her hand was busy stroking him. "You're asking me? A lesbian?"
Spike cleared his throat, trying not to laugh at her. "A lesbian who currently has her hand wrapped around a man's--"
"Penis," she supplied primly, biting her lip to keep from giggling. Her hand stopped its movement on him and slid up his chest and around his neck, meeting her other hand to lock around his neck.
"Mmm," he agreed absently, a little--make that a lot--disappointed that she'd stopped stroking him. Forgoing one pleasure for another, he rested his hands on her hips, holding her still for him. Instead of immediately thrusting inside of her, he waited. "So, unless this means nothing to you, and you're not enjoying it, then I'd say bi-sexual is more fitting."
"I'm enjoying," she told him, moving against him, trying to get him to continue, but he kept still. Waiting. "Bi-sexual works," she agreed, frowning when he stared into her eyes, unmoving. "Spike, what--?"
He stared down at her for another minute, searching for some sign that she cared about him, but there was nothing there that told him this meant more to her than a quick shag by a prostitute. He needed more than that. Wanted more than that. "Say it," he told her, frowning when she shrugged in confusion.
"Say what?" She looked uncomfortable, and not in a physical way. "I don't know what you want."
"You. To want me." He hated himself for the near pleading in his voice, and what he knew was showing on his face, but at the moment, it was a burning need inside of him, surpassing even the need for physical pleasure. "Tell me you want me," he demanded.
Her face softened, and he had to close his eyes against it. His descent into Pansyville was complete. Officially, he was lower than even Angel. Leaning his forehead against hers, he forced away all thoughts of needing to be wanted, and wanting to be needed, and thrust inside of her. She gasped at the abruptness of it, but he didn't stop to think or ponder it. Once they both reached that pinnacle of pleasure, he could get away from her and her pity.
"Spike," she moaned, then a little louder. More insistent. "Spike." Her hands on his biceps squeezed him tightly, and he realized she was trying to get his attention, to get him to look at her.
He couldn't do that. He slowed his pace, reaching behind him to lift her leg around his hip, then lifted the other one. She let him, then cupped his face in her hands, kissing him.
"Look at me," she whispered, almost desperately. He kept his eyes closed, and tried to pull out of her grip, but she held tight. "Please."
Feeling more like an animal than a demon, he stopped moving inside of her, and took a deep breath, opening his eyes. Dreading what he'd see on her face, all that pity and derision, he barely spared her a glance before settling his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of her hairline. "You want to stop?" he asked.
"No, I want you to look at me," she said, sounding grumpy.
Holding back the insane urge to chuckle, he finally looked at her, surprised to find, not pity, but understanding. No derision, just simple compassion. He kept silent, letting her have her say.
"I *do* want you," she insisted, staring into his eyes, making sure he believed her. And he did. "Though God knows why I want you, Spike. You're rude, and a jerk most of the time, a-- and in love with my best friend." She looked away, almost sadly, her face softening even more. "But, you know, there's also this other part to you, the part you hardly ever show. To me anyway." She sighed, shrugging helplessly. "I mean, you steered me around a broken beer bottle the other night, which was really sweet and old fashioned and really weird. And you told me it wasn't so bad being tied to me for the rest of our lives, and--" she sighed again. "And I want you. All the time."
Spike nodded, unable to fight back the smile tugging at his lips. Love's bitch, he'd once called himself, and looking down at Willow right now as she lay under him, naked and surrounding him with her warmth, he knew that to be the truth. But he wasn't only love's bitch, he was lust's as well, along with want and need. His fierce need to belong to someone, with a group, anything that made him feel like a part of the world, would be the death of him, he was sure.
He kissed her lips lightly, just a small thank you, to show he was grateful for her truthfulness and reassurance.
"Wanna show me how grateful you are?" she whispered against his mouth. Her smile was wide and genuine when she arched up against him. "How about finishing what you started?"
"Oh, that," he chuckled, sliding out of her with excruciating slowness.
"Yeah, that," she agreed, pressing her hands against his back, trying to make him move inside her again. "Please," she practically begged. "I need you. Want you... so much," she mumbled, looking away briefly before fixing her eyes to his face. "Too much. All the time."
Spike reached down between their bodies and slid his finger over her clit, watching her. Her eyes closed slowly, her head moving back. Red hair framed her face, the bruises on the left side making her look vulnerable, and small, and completely under his control. When she bit her lip on a moan, he couldn't stand it any longer, and slid back inside of her, starting up a pace that had her gasping, and him groaning.
She was tight, and warm. So bloody warm. Her flesh surrounded him like a warm bath, pushing away the cold of his own flesh. His pace quickened as he neared orgasm. She wasn't as far gone as him, so he reached back down between them, and played his finger over her clit again. Her body clenched around him, tighter and tighter as she thrust up against him, their bodies meeting in welcome pleasure.
Settling his mouth over hers, he reveled in the feel of her hands on his back, scratching and clawing at his flesh. Her own back had to be stinging from the pain, but it only made her arch further into him, and they both liked that.
She tightened against him even more, and ripped her mouth from his as she came. "Oh God..." she practically screamed.
Spike sped up his pace and wrapped his arms around her back, holding her closer. Her legs dropped from his hips, and her hands left his back. Instead of leaving him completely, her fingers clawed his chest and abdomen, then scraped against his nipples. He thrust faster and harder, groaning against her neck as he finally came, reaching that pinnacle he'd been striving for just to get away from her.
He no longer wanted to leave her. In fact, as he laid down on her and her arms wrapped around his back, he closed his eyes contentedly, thinking to himself that, maybe he didn't ever want to leave the soft comfort of her body.