Chapter 15
Buffy woke slowly, her mind groggy as it struggled to grasp just why she would be feeling warm and safe. She slowly registered a pair of arms holding her, and she thought hard for a moment. It was not until her body registered that the arms holding her were cold. Down right chilly, in fact. She groaned, and pulled back slightly. Spike lay beside her, sleeping for all intent and purposes. To her it almost looked like he was dead, but no, wait, he was.
She sighed softly as her belly rumbled loudly. Dragging herself from the bed, she went to the small drawer that Spike had used to put food in. She took out a granola bar, and slowly ate it, then decided to take a shower and get cleaned up, as long as Spike was still asleep.
She grabbed her clean clothes, and shut the flimsy excuse for a door, and turned the hot water on. She placed her hand under the steady stream, waiting until it was just the right temperature, then removed her clothes, and slid beneath the steaming water. She sighed softly and leaned against the wall for a moment, then started to wash.
*
Spike woke a few moments later, the sound of the shower having roused him just enough to realize Buffy was no longer by his side. He groaned softly at the loss of her heated flesh, and sat up in the bed. Just after he sat up, the door opened, and the lady walked in with food. As she did, Spike tensed himself, readying himself to pounce on her. She must have noticed however, because as soon as his lean muscular body leapt into action, she was gone.
He prowled near the door, growling in a predatory manner as he watched the door with a hawk like vigilance. It was not until he could smell Buffy that he turned and looked. His demonic visage had slipped forward as he paced, but at the site of Buffy at the bathroom door, it melted off quickly, leaving behind only his human features. His tension filled form relaxed visibly as she came nearer to him.
Buffy smiled tentatively at Spike, and then noticed the food in front of her. Still hungry from earlier, she quickly took stock in the tray they had brought. It was another breakfast trey, this one consisting of French toast, a small omelet, and crunchy hash browns. There was syrup, ketchup, and salt on the tray as well. Buffy wasted no time in grabbing her tray and quickly eating the offered food.
Eyeing the food warily, Spike looked as though he expected it to harm him in some fashion. He then proceeded to the door and resumed his prowling while he tried to focus on how to manage an escape. He could only stand so long with the bloody slayer, and his mind started to short circuit. He needed air, fresh air, and fresh blood.
At the mere thought of blood, his eyes sought hers out, only to find her completely engrossed in the meal before her. He went over and sniffed his food, and found he was not at all surprised to smell blood. It was not fresh, however, and it was not slayer blood. He became ravenous for it now, like a drunk craves the bottle, and an addict craves his next hit. Both would anticipate the next one before the current one was even gone, and he was no better.
Buffy sat oblivious as she ate, happily unaware of Spike's train of thought. She unconsciously turned her head to the side and leaned it back to glance at the clock, which presented her bare pale throat to his bloodthirsty eyes. As her eyes took in the small clock, her fingers came up to gently brush a stray hair away from it. Her delicate fingers brushed at the soft hair, glancing against the vein he so desired.
Spike growled audibly as he averted his longing gaze from her throat, all the while continuing to pace. Enough was enough, however, and he quickly tore into the food. He was trying hard to make certain that his veins had as much blood in them as possible, so he would stop looking at Buffy as a meal. His train of thought stopped him dead for a moment.
Just when had he stopped looking at her as food? That is all she was meant to be to him, food. A sodden happy meal on legs. She should not mean anything more to him then that. Fresh food. Slayer blood. Bloody addictive bitch. He looked back at her, and lunged suddenly, trying to prove to himself that he was still in charge, and that he was still the big bad.
Spike landed swiftly, his hands grasping at her throat as the impact sent Buffy sprawling to the floor. She yelped with surprise and began to frantically flail with tightly clenched fists. Her eyes were wide; panic was setting into her as her heart beat a bloody tattoo in his mind. He could smell it, her fear, her blood, and her. was that arousal? He paused for a moment to gather his wits, and it was all the time she needed to throw him off her.
He went flying backwards, and she pulled herself to a standing position.
"What the HELL was that for?!" The slayers voice screeched out over the small room, echoing loudly in the confines. Her ragged breath hitched as she pulled in great amounts of air, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Buffy stared at him, her eyes wild and bright. She looked quickly around the room, trying to find a weapon, anything at all that would stop Spike if she needed to.
As he prowled in front of her again, Spike's face slowly resumed its human visage. He took in a deep breath, damning himself for his human tendencies. He halted the breath, mid drag, and glared around him. His mind was working furiously, trying to cope with his new situation, his apparent lack of control when it came to Buffy. It upset him, knowing that she could weasel so easily into him.
"That, slayer, was showing you that I'm not the little puppy you thought I was. Get used to it, and fear me, because I refuse to play like I'm Peaches, just to satisfy your itch." His voice hummed with low energy, as though he were merely waiting for another opportunity to pounce.
Buffy stepped backwards a few steps, her hands clenched at her sides as she breathed in deep steadying breaths of oxygen. Her eyes burned as she looked towards him. "Spike, calm down. I will stake you, don't make me do that." Her voice was more steady then she felt, calm almost, quiet and even as she glared at him prowling.
Spike calmed again, almost instantly regretting his actions. His mind was still whirling away, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was happening to him, but his veins sang for her blood, sang for him to take her and be over with it all. "Bu- Buffy? What's happening?"
Buffy woke slowly, her mind groggy as it struggled to grasp just why she would be feeling warm and safe. She slowly registered a pair of arms holding her, and she thought hard for a moment. It was not until her body registered that the arms holding her were cold. Down right chilly, in fact. She groaned, and pulled back slightly. Spike lay beside her, sleeping for all intent and purposes. To her it almost looked like he was dead, but no, wait, he was.
She sighed softly as her belly rumbled loudly. Dragging herself from the bed, she went to the small drawer that Spike had used to put food in. She took out a granola bar, and slowly ate it, then decided to take a shower and get cleaned up, as long as Spike was still asleep.
She grabbed her clean clothes, and shut the flimsy excuse for a door, and turned the hot water on. She placed her hand under the steady stream, waiting until it was just the right temperature, then removed her clothes, and slid beneath the steaming water. She sighed softly and leaned against the wall for a moment, then started to wash.
*
Spike woke a few moments later, the sound of the shower having roused him just enough to realize Buffy was no longer by his side. He groaned softly at the loss of her heated flesh, and sat up in the bed. Just after he sat up, the door opened, and the lady walked in with food. As she did, Spike tensed himself, readying himself to pounce on her. She must have noticed however, because as soon as his lean muscular body leapt into action, she was gone.
He prowled near the door, growling in a predatory manner as he watched the door with a hawk like vigilance. It was not until he could smell Buffy that he turned and looked. His demonic visage had slipped forward as he paced, but at the site of Buffy at the bathroom door, it melted off quickly, leaving behind only his human features. His tension filled form relaxed visibly as she came nearer to him.
Buffy smiled tentatively at Spike, and then noticed the food in front of her. Still hungry from earlier, she quickly took stock in the tray they had brought. It was another breakfast trey, this one consisting of French toast, a small omelet, and crunchy hash browns. There was syrup, ketchup, and salt on the tray as well. Buffy wasted no time in grabbing her tray and quickly eating the offered food.
Eyeing the food warily, Spike looked as though he expected it to harm him in some fashion. He then proceeded to the door and resumed his prowling while he tried to focus on how to manage an escape. He could only stand so long with the bloody slayer, and his mind started to short circuit. He needed air, fresh air, and fresh blood.
At the mere thought of blood, his eyes sought hers out, only to find her completely engrossed in the meal before her. He went over and sniffed his food, and found he was not at all surprised to smell blood. It was not fresh, however, and it was not slayer blood. He became ravenous for it now, like a drunk craves the bottle, and an addict craves his next hit. Both would anticipate the next one before the current one was even gone, and he was no better.
Buffy sat oblivious as she ate, happily unaware of Spike's train of thought. She unconsciously turned her head to the side and leaned it back to glance at the clock, which presented her bare pale throat to his bloodthirsty eyes. As her eyes took in the small clock, her fingers came up to gently brush a stray hair away from it. Her delicate fingers brushed at the soft hair, glancing against the vein he so desired.
Spike growled audibly as he averted his longing gaze from her throat, all the while continuing to pace. Enough was enough, however, and he quickly tore into the food. He was trying hard to make certain that his veins had as much blood in them as possible, so he would stop looking at Buffy as a meal. His train of thought stopped him dead for a moment.
Just when had he stopped looking at her as food? That is all she was meant to be to him, food. A sodden happy meal on legs. She should not mean anything more to him then that. Fresh food. Slayer blood. Bloody addictive bitch. He looked back at her, and lunged suddenly, trying to prove to himself that he was still in charge, and that he was still the big bad.
Spike landed swiftly, his hands grasping at her throat as the impact sent Buffy sprawling to the floor. She yelped with surprise and began to frantically flail with tightly clenched fists. Her eyes were wide; panic was setting into her as her heart beat a bloody tattoo in his mind. He could smell it, her fear, her blood, and her. was that arousal? He paused for a moment to gather his wits, and it was all the time she needed to throw him off her.
He went flying backwards, and she pulled herself to a standing position.
"What the HELL was that for?!" The slayers voice screeched out over the small room, echoing loudly in the confines. Her ragged breath hitched as she pulled in great amounts of air, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Buffy stared at him, her eyes wild and bright. She looked quickly around the room, trying to find a weapon, anything at all that would stop Spike if she needed to.
As he prowled in front of her again, Spike's face slowly resumed its human visage. He took in a deep breath, damning himself for his human tendencies. He halted the breath, mid drag, and glared around him. His mind was working furiously, trying to cope with his new situation, his apparent lack of control when it came to Buffy. It upset him, knowing that she could weasel so easily into him.
"That, slayer, was showing you that I'm not the little puppy you thought I was. Get used to it, and fear me, because I refuse to play like I'm Peaches, just to satisfy your itch." His voice hummed with low energy, as though he were merely waiting for another opportunity to pounce.
Buffy stepped backwards a few steps, her hands clenched at her sides as she breathed in deep steadying breaths of oxygen. Her eyes burned as she looked towards him. "Spike, calm down. I will stake you, don't make me do that." Her voice was more steady then she felt, calm almost, quiet and even as she glared at him prowling.
Spike calmed again, almost instantly regretting his actions. His mind was still whirling away, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what was happening to him, but his veins sang for her blood, sang for him to take her and be over with it all. "Bu- Buffy? What's happening?"