Archive: If you like. Just let me know where!
Disclaimer: Joss' toys. Just playing. Don't sue me! I have nothing you want.
Thanks to my wonderful Beta Sylvia, who keeps me on track, literate and allows for girly selfishness when it comes to Spike.
E-mail: spikeswillingslave@yahoo.ca
A/N #1: This chapter is dedicated to my amazing, perfect, supportive, effulgent Beta, Sylvia. She's been an unending source of encouragement and editorial assistance for me and I truly could not have imagined this story progressing as it has without her input and guidance. Saying 'thank you' does not begin to express the depth of my gratitude for this treasure of a gal.
A/N #2: taps sign that says 'Girly Selfishness Ahead. You've been warned. J
A/N #3: This is most definitely 'R' rated. If you'd like to sample this chapter's more risqué counterpart, it can be found at www.the-crypt.net/ .
A/N #4: For those readers having had enough of this adventure, this chapter does have an ending. If you'd like it to continue, read the epilog. J
~+~
It was still there.
Spike lay very still, cheek pillowed on a soft spread of warm, silky skin, listening to the sounds of early morning stir outside the bedroom window. Lazy with contentment, unwilling to move, or speak, or do anything to break the perfection of the moment, he allowed himself to only flutter open heavy eyelids and enjoy his surroundings.
He'd slept tangled in her legs, head resting on her belly, her gentle respirations and thrum of her pulse having lulled him to sleep the night before. They'd 'made up' in proper fashion, with a quick, hard, bed-shaking shag. The rest of the night they'd devoted to discovering - for what seemed the hundredth blissful time - all the deep, delicious pleasures that could be wrung from a body by lips, tongues, fingers and hands until, with his last reverential act between her thighs, they'd fallen into a sated sleep.
He felt whole, integrated - physically and ethereally. And, unlike Angel's soul, his didn't seem to come with any strings attached. Perfect happiness. The concept was mind-boggling. What was that actually like? Was his soul free of such caveats or - a more impossible thought - was there was something better to be had than what had been shared last night?
He couldn't have imagined himself in this position three months ago - cared for, respected and subjected to the same decency and consideration every walking being expected from others. That he wasn't dust in that Godawful cave, or - more appropriately - crumbled and swirling around the Slayer's high-heeled boots, was miracle enough. But, this life he'd stumbled into, this other soul that coddled and nourished his own - even a hint of it existing as part of his future reality - was inconceivable, to the point of being fantasy.
"What are you doing down there?"
He tilted his head up and looked towards the voice. Slim fingers furrowed his hair as she cleared his messy, lengthening locks from his brow.
"Thinkin'."
" 'bout?"
"Stuff."
Isobelle stretched, giving him the opportunity to snake his arms under her hips, and hug her around the waist.
"You didn't sleep down there all night, did you?"
"Mmm. It's my new favourite spot."
Pulling on his shoulders, she urged him to the head of the bed. "Favourite spot or not, get up here." Grumbling, he flopped beside her, mashing his pillows against the headboard and collecting her to his chest.
"Looks like a nice day out there," she commented, squinting at the thick curtains shielding the windows. "From what I can see, at least."
"Well, the sun's shinin', and that's good a reason as any to stay in bed and hide under the covers. Whadda ya say, love? Sound like a plan?"
"Yeah, and a nice one," she replied. She moved over his supine form and settled on top of his hips. "But, I have to work." Hands balancing her weight on his chest, she leaned forward and lightly kissed his mouth. "What?" she asked, noting his grin.
"Kinda like this perspective. Lookin' up at you."
"A submissive, huh? Never would've guessed it." She kissed him again and rested back onto his thighs. "Not much of a dom, sweetie, but being on top has its advantages."
"You were pretty controlling last night, if I recall. Once or twice, you had me close to begging."
"Well," she giggled, "Something must've inspired me. Maybe it was that noise you made when I… "
She bent her head down and covered his chest with tiny kisses, her tongue lashing out to tease his nipples into hard peaks. Her mouth roved lower, traveling over the hard muscles of his abdomen, blessing his skin with her lips, his sighs and moans spurring her on. He was unabashedly ready for her, unleashing an anguished growl when she took him in her mouth.
"Baby, please, oh please… " he breathed, a raspy, shuddering entreaty as she tasted him. He was at her mercy, made helpless by her ministrations, her caring and talented mouth making him arch off the mattress and howl. She lifted her head and smiled.
"Close, but not what I heard last night."
She teased him a bit longer, working him until he was panting: long, ragged breaths interspersed with his wordless sounds of pleasure echoed off the bedroom walls. She felt his fingers twine through her hair. She needed no encouragement, continuing her sweet torture until she felt him shudder.
"Christ, 'belle!" he wailed, gripping the sheets as he came.
"Better," she murmured, crawling back up his body. "Still, not like what I heard last night. It was more of a purring… "
She was cut off as Spike roughly pressed his mouth over hers, pushing his tongue into the hot cavern, tasting his own saltiness on her flesh. He kissed her until her hands fluttered on his arms, signaling her need to breathe.
"Spike, please… " she groaned. "I need to… OW!"
She tasted metal and swiped her lip with the pad of her thumb. It came away smeared with blood.
"You bit my lip."
"Sorry baby," he said, still panting from before. "I… I didn't mean to."
Spike was transfixed by the crimson on her thumb. Isobelle watched his eyes grow wide, the pupils dilating as he stared at the stain on her skin. More curious than scared, she brought her thumb to his lips and wet them with her blood. His tongue darted out and accepted her offering. She slid her thumb between his lips and let him suck it clean.
Spike's head was spinning. Sweet, tangy human blood - his lover's blood - slid with a blessed burn down his throat, warming him to his very core. He saw her stare, amazed at the effect of her few, precious drops. The shame of wanting her blood, to have it fill his mouth, had faded; she'd given him a taste, freely sharing herself with his demon. He cupped her face with shaking hands and guided her to his mouth. Taking her injured lip between his own, he gave it a small kiss before gently sucking on the wound. Thin ribbons of blood flowed from the tiny puncture. She kissed him in return, pressing her body to his, straddling the sharp edge of his hip. She rocked her pelvis against him, in time to his sips, feeling her own orgasm start to build. His control began to waver and he silently cursed as he felt his other face shift into place. If Isobelle noticed, she didn't let it show. She continued to kiss him, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing her thighs tightly on his hip, soon shuddering with her own release.
Her orgasm was quick and intense. She pulled her mouth from his and tried to focus her blurry eyes on his face. She blinked, managing to see the final moment of his transformation from game face to human.
They lingered in stunned silence, neither one sure of what to say to the other. Spike started to speak when the doorbell rang. Isobelle scrambled off his lap and shrugged on her robe.
"Can you get that?" she asked. "I'm not really… " she indicated the robe, " … and I should jump in the shower… "
"Sure, love," he replied, climbing into his jeans. "And, what do you want… " He looked up from buttoning his fly to see her dash to the bathroom. " …for breakfast?"
Dejected, he cursed his lack of control as he descended the stairs.
He found a courier waiting at the door, pen tapping in boredom as Spike worked the lock.
"Yeah?"
The courier thrust a small package into Spike's hand and presented a clipboard. "Signature here, print there," he droned.
"Do you know what bloody time it is?" Spike groused, scribbling in the appropriate spaces.
"Sometime before 8:00 AM sir, just like the delivery specified." He tore a carbon-copied receipt from the board and adhered it to the package. "Have a nice day."
Spike shut the door with an indulgent slam and headed to the kitchen. While she showered, he poured juice and hulled strawberries, trying to keep occupied until she made an appearance. The package was a curiosity, but the morning's events distracted his attention from it and onto whatever Isobelle would say or do when she came down the stairs.
"Who was at the door?" she inquired, breezing into the kitchen. She was dressed in khakis, with his blue button-down worn over a simple white T-shirt. He noticed her lower lip was slightly swollen, with whatever bruise he'd made camouflaged by a bit of lipstick.
"Delivery guy."
"With?"
"Package."
She flashed a tentative smile. "Package of what?"
He reciprocated her effort. "Dunno. Wasn't addressed to me."
They sat at the table, Spike, sipping his orange juice, watching her tear into the parcel. Under the brown paper wrap was a small rectangular box, stamped with the logo of a local print shop. She tsked when she saw what was inside.
"Well?" he asked, with a tinge of impatience. "What is it?"
She carefully pulled one of the business cards from the box and sighed.
"A mindfuck."
He coughed, nearly spraying the tabletop with juice. "A what? What the hell did you just say? I've never heard you… "
"Yeah, delicate thing that I am, I rarely curse with the joyful abandon you do, but, gotta call a spade a spade here, and this is a… "
"Mindfuck. Got it. Care to explain?"
She handed him one of the cards. It was embossed with her name and titled with the fellowship position she was seeking.
"Does this mean you got the job?"
She shook her head. "Nope. Guaranteed, at least three other folks got similar packages this morning. It's the Program Director's way of putting you on notice that you're being - considered. And to keep on your toes. No time for screw-ups."
"Or distractions," he added, tucking the card back into the box.
"You're not a distraction," she admonished, rising from her chair, "you're… necessary."
" 'belle, about before… " he started. She interrupted him with a quick kiss.
"Later, okay? I gotta run." Grabbing her bag from the floor, she slid out the back door. "I love you," she called, before dashing out of sight.
He gaped, slack-jawed, at the closing door.
What the hell…
~+~
Isobelle idled at the red light, staring at the bumper in front of her. She reached down and turned on the radio, humming softly along with the song.
…'Cause you and I can walk on water
The river rises, we rise above…
The light flashed green and the line of cars edged slowly forward in the morning crush of traffic.
It may not look that way right now…
Red light. She had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of her.
But trust me baby… this is love
This is love.
I love you.
Realization dawned. She gripped the steering wheel as panic settled in her gut.
I love you.
Green light.
"Dammit."
~+~
Spike rolled the last strawberry through a plate of brown sugar and popped it in his mouth. He'd eaten nearly a quart of berries in that manner and was starting to feel queasy.
Blame it on the sugar, instead of her words, he thought, licking the remains from his fingers.
I love you.
She'd spoken them so casually, not so much as an afterthought, but as a given, a truth that didn't need stating. Like it was just to be assumed. She loved him.
Bye, honey. I might be late. I love you.
A normal thing that normal people said to one another - but never to him.
He stashed the plate in the dishwasher and started to pace. What was he going to do? Should he do anything? Was she even aware that she'd said it?
Did he love her?
He paused, scanning his surroundings.
Did it matter?
Yes, for God's sake.
It mattered. If it didn't, then he'd learned nothing from this encounter, from this fresh, sweet life that had taken him in, that had shown him how different things could be. If it didn't, his quest had been for naught, succeeding only in adding to his torment and not bettering his ability to forge genuine, caring connections with others.
No, scratch that, he thought. He'd always known how to love. What was it Dru had said? Something about knowing how to love, but not loving wisely. That was it. Love's Bitch in a nutshell. He'd always been the one to put himself out there first: with Cecily, then Dru… and, her. Buffy. He'd profess; they'd either accede to the claim, or reject it. Or, they'd ask for it, demand his statement, whether they relished the affirmative response or were disgusted by it.
Your poetry. It's… they're not written about me… are they?
Dear Cecily…
I do see you.
You're beneath me.
He rubbed his eyes against the sting of the memory.
Do you love my insides? The parts you can't see?
Darling Dru…
You taste like ashes…
"You always knew best, love," he muttered.
Tell me you love me.
Tell me you want me.
Buffy.
That was the hard one, the one least reconciled. It had been her - and only her - for so long. To want someone else, after everything… the declarations, the gestures, gratefully doing her will and accepting whatever she meted out in return. And, his contrition - his betterment of self, his to-the-ends-of-the-earth journey - all for her. Had his motivations been so shallow, his sentiment so immature, that he could forget what she still meant to him and move on?
No. The feelings were still there. Tucked away, under newer layers of contentment and affinity, his love for Buffy remained, an underscore to the composition that had become his sense of love - muted, but ever present.
He loved Buffy. It just wasn't everything, anymore. It didn't burn, it didn't torment. It didn't push to be examined or expressed, or even returned. He loved her. He could live with that.
But Isobelle…
She'd made the claim first. Whether wittingly or not, she'd said it.
And he'd heard it.
But, did he love her, too?
He wanted to. It would make things so much easier. He cared for her. She moved him deeply, completely affecting his life on such a basic level, that, could he even define his life - as it was now - without her in it?
He shook his head. That was the wrong reason for reciprocation. That was what had led to every romantic downfall in his existence. He had reclaimed his soul, and, de facto, his life. This was as close to a new start as any creature got; this was his chance to not make the same mistakes again.
I love you.
Did he love her?
Maybe. Probably.
That would do - for now; the truth would come soon enough. He smiled with contentment, secure in the knowledge that he'd come to his most honest answer, and in anticipation of requited affection.
~+~
Isobelle opened her locker and frowned. She peered into the mirror on the back of the door and daubed more lipstick over her bruise. The swelling hadn't gotten any worse, but the blemish had darkened to a rich plum over the course of the day.
"Well," she sighed, "At least I got my answer." She had been wondering for some time if, in the course of their intimacy, Spike would take the opportunity to feed from her. The idea of it didn't repel her; she had been more curious than disgusted by the thought. Nor had it been unpleasant. He'd been so gentle, and it had felt so good…
Katie burst through the changing room doors and rattled the front of her locker.
"Are you ready for tonight?" she asked, collecting her bag.
"Tonight? Yeah, sure," Isobelle replied. Wait. Tonight? "Uh, Katie, what do you mean?"
"Journal review, idiot. Second Tuesday of the month, remember?"
"No," she sighed, slamming her locker door closed. "I did not remember." She turned to her friend. "Think if I skip it I'll be missed?"
"Probably."
"Damn." She slumped in resignation against the locker. Tonight of all nights, she wanted to get home. She'd tossed out an 'I love you' this morning and she needed to assess for damages. If she messed this up, she'd regret it.
"The only way around it is… "
Isobelle perked up. "Yes?"
"You could cover triage. It's kinda busy at the moment. Good a reason as any to skip out on the review."
"And get stuck here half the night? Not what I had in mind."
"New staff will sign in at 8:00pm… review could go 'til midnight." Katie shrugged. "Your call, kiddo. But, judging from that look you've had on your face all day… "
"What look?"
"The 'I've been thoroughly fucked and loved it' look. No wonder you want to get home."
Isobelle shook her head. "You amaze me. You look so normal." She sighed. "Triage, huh?"
"And you have tomorrow off. Go for it. Go get laid. One of us should."
~+~
"So, how late will you be?"
Spike eyed the bubbling pot of water on the stove, mentally tracking the minutes until the pasta went from edible noodles to mush. Reducing the heat, he took the portable phone out onto the back deck.
"No, no… I understand, love… No, nothing at all, really… just… hung around." He paced the boards, listening to her apologize again. "No worries. I… just, come home when you can, yeah?" He chuckled into the receiver. "Right. 'bye."
He returned the handset to the cradle and surveyed the kitchen. Pasta on the stove, salad ripped and chopped on the island, and the dining room decked out for a simple, romantic supper.
The timer on the stove sounded. He removed the pasta from the heat and strained it, then sucked one of the noodles into his mouth.
"Perfect," he murmured, before dumping it all into a storage container, and packing away the rest of the lost meal.
~+~
The hall clock read 10:00 PM when she finally made it home. The place was dark. With a tired sigh she tossed her keys on the hall table and shut the door behind her. She was supposed to have been home hours ago, but one case after another had rolled through triage and she hadn't been able to get away. When she'd called Spike to tell him she'd be late, he didn't say anything about going out, but the darkened house indicated he had left. No note was on the table. She frowned. He was usually good about letting her know where he was going, especially if he was patrolling.
She was only mildly disappointed he wasn't there. She hadn't worked out what she'd wanted to say about the events of that morning and her spontaneous declaration as she'd left the house. Hopefully she'd come up with something sensible and not too humiliating by the time he returned. It wasn't that she hadn't meant it; as the day progressed and she mulled the last few weeks over in her mind, she'd concluded Katie, as usual, had been right. She'd been falling in love with him and now, with it 'out there', she'd decided that there was no reason to be coy about it any longer.
She kicked off her shoes and shed his button-down (which she'd worn all day under her lab coat), draping it over the staircase railing. Padding down the hallway she saw the cats, curled up asleep on the sofa, Dante draped around Miranda, the pair quite content. Heading towards the kitchen, her eye caught sight of something in the dining room. She sighed. Candles decorated the table and place settings for two had been carefully laid out between her grandmother's silverware. An ice bucket sweated on the sidebar, a fine white wine still chilling in the melting slush. No wonder he didn't leave a note, she thought. In the kitchen, meal preparations had been underway, the fridge stocked with food he never had the chance to serve. The amount of effort he'd obviously gone to touched her and, now, she'd ruined those plans by being late. Not that it was her fault, but in light of this morning, the sooner they talked things out, the better she'd feel.
Hopefully he didn't think her being late was her way of avoiding him; he was more than aware of how unpredictable her schedule could be. But now, when he came home tonight, she'd make sure he knew that she appreciated his gesture.
Grabbing the ice bucket, she added more ice and took it and a pair of wineglasses upstairs, to their bedroom. Shedding her clothes, she slipped on a robe and went to the bathroom. Double-checking the time, she decided she had enough leeway to take a bath. She ran the water, added a generous dollop of vanilla bath gel, lit a few candles and slid in.
She smiled. She'd meant what she'd said that morning. Before the night was over, he'd know it, too.
~+~
Spike quietly opened the front door and slipped inside. The house was dark, just as he'd left it a couple hours ago, but he knew it wasn't empty. He noticed her shoes, carelessly strewn in the entranceway, her keys on the side table, and heard the running water upstairs. With a smile, he locked the door, added his jacket to the railing and proceeded upstairs.
~+~
Isobelle closed her eyes and leaned against the warmed porcelain, feeling the tension ooze from her body. Her mind wandered, considering all ways she would show Spike her appreciation, each new thought making her flush with anticipation.
~+~
As quietly as he could, Spike eased himself into the doorway. He watched as she stretched under the warm water. The way she arched her back to settle deeper into the bath made his stomach tighten, a warm thrill of excitement spreading through to his limbs. He saw the tiny smile that played across her lips; even in the soft candlelight, he could tell she was blushing, the colour painting her cheeks unrelated to the bath.
If his heart could beat, that smile would have killed him. How could such a small gesture make him feel so much?
"Now there's a pretty picture."
She smiled at the sound of his voice; she adored it. Sonorous, seductive, gentle, it thrilled her just to hear him speak.
"You like what you see?"
"Well, I don't dislike it, that's for sure."
"Sorry I was late," she said, turning to the doorway. "I ruined your surprise."
" 's alright, love. It's the risk you run doing things covertly." He leaned in the doorframe, looking at her; the way he did it made Isobelle blush more. Not that he could see much under the bubbles, but the expression on his face told her his mind was working around the problem.
"You're not too upset?" she asked. God, all he had to do was look at her, and she was tingling all over.
"Well," he said, levering himself out of the doorframe and towards the bath, "I did have the overwhelming urge to go kill something. Dusted a couple of fledglings. That seemed to do the trick." He knelt by the bath, dipping a finger in the water, letting it bead and drip down as he drew it across her cheek. "But now I have other things on my mind." She sighed at his touch.
"Really? Anything I can help with?"
"As a matter of fact…" he let the reply trail as he leaned over the edge of the bath, lightly kissing her lips. Their coolness sent a shiver through her. She craned her neck to deepen the contact but he pulled away slightly. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
"What?"
"Hungry. You know, 'Mmm, food'. You missed supper. So did I, matter of fact. Feeling a bit peckish after all that fighting tonight…"
Isobelle's hand splashed out of the water and grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling him back down to her. "I don't want food," she said, wetting her lips. Two pairs of dark blue eyes connected as Isobelle leaned in and kissed him. She felt him smile under her mouth as her tongue flicked forward to tease his lower lip. Encouraged, she opened her mouth slightly to invite his tongue inside, and he complied, moving a hand behind her head to keep her mouth pressed to his. Air soon became a priority for her, her head swimming from more than just his kisses. Reluctantly, he moved away from her warm, inviting mouth and she took a much-needed breath. Being so close, his scent filled her as she breathed him in, clean and masculine, one of soap, damp earth, and sandalwood. His undead heart sparked at the dizziness in her eyes. I did that, he thought with satisfaction. I made her feel it.
"You want to join me?" she asked.
"I'm a bit overdressed. Was having a good time watching you, though."
Isobelle shifted under the water so that she was leaning on her left side. Folding her arms on the edge of the tub, she rested her chin on her forearms and sent Spike a thoughtful look.
"Undress for me?"
He sat on the floor and began to unlace his boots. She watched his long pale fingers work the laces, imagining them on her skin. She giggled as he balled his socks together, tossed them at the laundry bin, and missed. Shifting back a bit, he stood up and began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a hard, sculpted chest that looked like fine white marble in the candlelight. He let the shirt drop to the floor and stood there for a minute. Just the way she was looking at him made him hard. Now that reminded him of poor lost William. Taking a small, unneeded breath, he unbuckled his belt and the button on his jeans. He made no effort to conceal the bulge in his pants, the zipper straining as his erection grew. Carefully he unzipped and stepped out of the jeans, kicking them out of the way.
Isobelle was mesmerized. His beauty always took her by surprise. He was a contrast of fine and delicate with strength and danger, the passivity he sometimes displayed cut by the pure masculinity he possessed. He was exquisite; sometimes she found it hard to believe this sublime creation wanted to be with her.
Moving back to the side of the bath, Spike caught Isobelle's mouth in a deep kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips to twine with hers before pulling its hotness into his own cool mouth. His hands caressed her back in long, lazy strokes. He felt a sigh escape from her lips as her own hands clutched his arms in an attempt to hold him closer. He slid his left hand from her back over her ribcage, drawing his thumb over her right nipple. She moaned against his mouth and he leaned back slightly, allowing her to take a breath. His hand continued to stroke her breast until it peaked under his palm. Isobelle trembled at his touch, silvery threads of pleasure lacing through her body. He planted soft feathery kisses on her forehead, eyes and face, letting his hand roam from her breast down her abdomen and below the water. His hand found the soft flesh between her thighs, making her gasp as he trailed one finger lazily around the sensitive skin.
His touch thrilled her, her body aching to have his fingers, his hands - any part of him - on and in her. He stroked her slowly, widening his range, so that it came close to, but never reached, that needy place. As silent encouragement, she eased her legs further apart to give him better access to her body. She heard him chuckle quietly, but he continued to steadily tease her, never altering his pace. All her nerves were on edge, the sensations becoming intense, making her yearn for more. Her hips thrashed slightly in the water, trying to spur him on, and she moaned in frustration when he didn't comply.
"Patience, love," he murmured into her ear, licking the curve, moving to nuzzle her neck. "We've got plenty of time… "
He watched her, squeezing her eyes shut, resting her head on his shoulder, as she tried to slow the deep ragged breaths that were coming from her chest. He could hear the quickening of her heartbeat, the rhythm deep and strong, beating for the both of them.
"Spike, please…" she panted, kissing the hard muscle of his chest. Her left arm snaked around his neck, water running in tiny rivers down his back as she ran her nails over his skin. With a slight turn of his wrist, he changed the angle of his assault and slid one finger into her tight, wet body, her muscles clamping down to hold him in place. He moved in and out of her, carefully stretching her to allow him to slip a second finger inside, as his thumb grazed the hard bundle of nerves above her entrance. She met each of his movements with her own, rolling her hips in time with each wave of pleasure.
She was killing him. She was so responsive, so eager, he could hardly stand it. His erection pressed painfully against the side of the bath, and he ground his teeth against the discomfort. It didn't help that the heat of her body, mingling with the steaming bath water, filled the air and his head with the scent of her desire. Sight, smell, touch, taste, sound – every sense he had was dominated by her, drowning him with her essence, her need, her want...
For him.
She wanted him.
Truly wanted him.
She started to tremble in his arms, her tiny gasps becoming cries. "That's it, baby, come for me," he whispered into her dark hair, "I've got you." She arched hard against his hand and cried out, waves of devastating ecstasy rippling through her body.
Only after she had stopped writhing against his palm did he remove his fingers and slip away from her. She whined in protest as he stepped back to retrieve a towel from the rack. Draping it over one shoulder, he went back and helped her climb out of the tub. "I wanted you to join me," she murmured, circling her arms around his neck. He wrapped the towel around her and began to pat her dry. "Didn't you like that?" he asked, pressing his forehead to hers as he concentrated on the task at hand. She swayed against him, causing the towel to brush roughly against his groin. "Of course," she responded, enjoying the small groan he made, "But, being with you has made me selfish. I want you," she kissed him, a soft, innocent kiss, "All of you." She kissed him again, with more urgency, pressing as close to his body as the towel would allow. He wrapped his arms securely around her back, pulling her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling, tasting…
Damn, he thought, could she be any more perfect…
Never releasing her lips, Spike scooped her into his arms and made his way to the bedroom. She pulled her mouth from his and showered small kisses on his cheek, neck and shoulder, her tongue darting out between kisses to lick and taste his skin. Laying her out on their bed, he loosened the towel and she quickly wriggled out of it, pressing her hot skin against his long, firm body. She loved the feel of him against her, how his cool flesh soaked up her body heat when they were together, how the curve of his hip fit perfectly against the inside of her thigh. How that, even before he was inside her, they were always eye to eye, the intimacy of seeing, watching his face, as they came together, as intense as the physical act they would share.
Spike ran his tongue over her open mouth, dipping it inside briefly as he nipped her lips, then down her chin and neck, towards the cleft between her breasts. She sighed, draping her arms to over his shoulders, kneading the muscles of his back. He moved his busy mouth to one of her breasts, flicking his tongue over the nipple until it peaked. Satisfied, he moved to the other breast; he sucked her nipple into his mouth, worrying the tip with his teeth. She shuddered beneath him. Her hands roamed over his back and around to his chest, her nails dragging lightly over his skin, causing shivers of pleasure to ripple through his torso. The ache in his groin was becoming unbearable. He bit back a growl as her hand wrapped possessively around his erection, giving it a squeeze before passing its length along her palm.
"Careful, pet," he told her, fixing her with what he hoped passed for a serious stare. "I'm not going to last if you keep that up, and I'm not quite done yet."
She smirked at the look on his face; if he was attempting to be the picture of manly control, he had failed badly. For someone who didn't need to breathe to live, she had him panting.
"I want you inside me," she murmured, stroking him again, "Now." He moaned loudly, biting his lip. He took her wrist in his hand and she released him, but not before giving him another long hard caress.
"You're just evil," he said, letting her wrist drop. Her eyes fixed on his as he grabbed her hips and planted a loud, wet, sucking kiss on her navel. She giggled aloud, writhing against him.
"Stop!" she gasped. "That tickles! No tickling! That's the rule!"
"That's payback, baby, for distracting me."
He set his arms on either side of her body, leaning his weight on his forearms, hovering over her. She hooked her left leg over his hip, letting her right curl up, her sole firmly fixed to the mattress, her knee caging him in on his flank. Their eyes met, and this time he didn't protest when she reached down and took him in her hand, guiding him into her. With a slow thrust he pushed inside, taking his time, letting her muscles stretch and get used to his size. Each time she relaxed, he moved in deeper, until he could go no further and they were locked together. He ran his hands through her dark hair, the curls silky between his fingers. He captured her mouth with a slow, gentle kiss, enjoying the way her tongue played across his lips. Her hands stroked his arms and shoulders.
She felt safe in them.
Protected.
Loved.
She rotated her hips and he started, his thrusts shallow and languid, increasing in depth and intensity as she started to glide with him. With every stroke he would kiss her, on her lips, cheek, neck, breast - wherever she was exposed to him. Her moans were getting louder, her breathing ragged…
She was close. So was he. He wanted to watch her come again. He moved one hand between them and started to stroke her, his hand moving in time with their thrusts. Her legs tightened around his torso and she tipped her pelvis up, sliding him further inside than he'd thought possible. At that moment, she came, shuddering hard around him. That, coupled with the sight of this beautiful creature writhing beneath him, pushed him to the edge, where his own release awaited him.
Then it happened.
He felt his features shift, and with dread, he realized his demon had shown itself.
Isobelle felt weak, the intensity of her orgasm having wrung pleasure out of every cell in her body. She trembled as the sensations still drifted through her. He was still inside her, moving in and out, keeping those feelings from completely fading away.
Unexpectedly she felt him stop. "No," he whispered, "Not now… "
Confused she looked up at him, but he had turned his face away.
"Spike? What's wrong? Look at me."
"I can't … " he rasped, avoiding her gaze. "I can't, I'm sorry… "
Distracted, he didn't notice as she reached up with her left hand and cupped the side of his face. He flinched at her touch and tried to pull away, but she still had her legs locked around his torso, and he was still deep inside her.
Once her hand met his face, she knew what had happened. Just like that morning.
"Look at me," she repeated, urging him to face her, with her palm on his cheek. Reluctantly, he complied. The deep blue eyes she adored were gone, bright gold ones in their place, set off by hard ridges on his forehead. Tenderly she ran a finger over those ridges, brushing his pale curls out of the way so that she could see all of his face. Sharp fangs protruded from his beautiful mouth. Sadness glinted in those feral eyes, and he tried to duck away from her again. She stopped him with a soft kiss, pressing her lips against the razor-edged fangs.
"Shh, stop," she murmured. "I told you before I wanted you… all of you." She moved under him, making him growl. "Please, Spike, it's your turn. Come for me, baby. I've got you."
Moved beyond words, Spike pressed his ridges to her forehead and started making love to her again. She sighed deeply at his touch, moving with him at every thrust. It didn't take long for him to feel himself start to go. Isobelle sensed he was close when she felt a harsh rumble well up in his chest. His thrusts became forceful as he got closer to coming. He buried his face in her neck, grazing the skin over her jugular with those long, sharp teeth.
Nuzzling her lips to his ear, she whispered "It's okay, love. Do it." She turned her head away from him, fully exposing her pale neck. He drove into her harder, the rumbling she felt turning into a growl. With one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her and came, roaring as he bit down on her skin.
The pain she expected didn't come. A small sting was all she felt, then his lips sucking at the wound. Bright colours sparkled behind her eyes. She felt soft, floaty. As the sounds of his release echoed and faded in her ears, the colours dimmed and she slipped into the peaceful blackness beyond.
~+~
He sat, crouched at her side, rocking back and forth on the mattress. The coils grated with his motions, so he stopped, kept very still, and listened.
There were twelve that time. A dozen soft, shallow breaths, fluttering out of her lungs, over the last minute. That was better than before, when her thin respirations had barely been ten per minute.
He tucked the sheet tightly around her, and counted for another minute.
Twelve.
Fourteen.
Twelve.
"O… open your eyes, love," he whispered. "C'mon, baby, please - try for me."
Isobelle didn't stir. Her shuttered eyes were dark against the glowing white of her skin, the plum stain on her lip the only colour to be found on her pretty face.
He hadn't taken that much; a few heady sips was all he'd managed before he came - before he realised something was terribly wrong.
"I… I can't have hurt you. The chip… it… it won't let me hurt… "
Tears stung his eyes. He rested his head on her chest, listening to the thready patter of her heartbeat. He lay there awhile, continuing his delicate pleas for her to wake up. She remained silent and still. With great effort he finally pulled himself away and stumbled to the bathroom. Filling a basin with warm soapy water, he returned to her side and bathed her. With infinite care he ran the cloth over her - cleansing her face, the two modest puncture wounds on her neck - wiping her clean, ridding her of his scent, his kisses, his defiling touch. Lastly, he gently parted her thighs, crying as the last traces of his act were washed from her body.
Bundling her in a blanket, he carried her to one of the spare rooms, slipped one of his T-shirts over her and tucked her in bed. He waited, counting again (twelve, fourteen, fourteen, twelve…), before returning to their room. He tore the soiled sheets from the bed, rending the wet fabric in his hands, tossing it to the floor. He sank to his knees and beat his fists into the mattress, ignoring the scream of the springs and the cracking of the supports. He'd done it again. He'd gone too far. He'd ruined it; ruined her. His chance had been lost. There would be no begging this time, or trials to endure; no act of contrition would be worthy of earning forgiveness for this, his latest sin.
Returning to the bathroom, he gathered his clothes. His tears ran freely, silently, as he dressed. He indulged in one last look, checking on her before he took his leave. Her respirations were stronger, deeper now, and he could hear her heartbeat from the doorway.
"I'm sorry."
He made his way through the dark house to the kitchen. He slid on his jacket, setting his keys on the counter. Hearing the jangling keys, Dante bounded in from the living room, making a beeline for the door and Spike. Spike prepared for the tackle, but was surprised when it didn't come. Dante skittered to a stop a short distance from his master. Head cocked to the side, his little feline gaze fixed on the vampire. Spike leaned over to give him a final pat. Dante shirked his hand and back-pedaled away, escaping back into the den.
"Sorry, mate," he choked.
He went out the door. Before it closed, locking his future away, he slipped back inside and went to the breakfast table. The printer's box still sat there from breakfast. He pulled out a thin deck of cards and stuffed them in his pocket.
"Just to remember," he muttered, walking out into the muggy night.
~+~
He'd been pounding on the door for ten minutes. She had to be in.
"Sylvia!" he hissed, beating the wooden frame harder. "Sylvia, please, open the door."
"Do you know what fucking time it is?"
He swiveled his head to the window beside the entryway. Sylvia scowled at her visitor.
"Yes, I do," he answered. "I need your help."
"It's four in the fucking morning, Spike! What could you possibly need… " She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Did you and Little Miss Cutie have a fight or something?"
"Yes," he lied. "I need to leave."
"Damn right you do. Get the heck off my stoop and crawl back home to your honey and start begging, because you're not crashing here."
"No, I need to leave. LEAVE!"
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "Why? What did you do?"
"What I always do," he moaned.
You always hurt the one you love…
"What do you want from me, Spike? I'm not giving you money, and I don't have a car… "
"Send me. Make a portal, snap your fingers… wiggle your fucking nose if you have to, but I need you to send me away from here… "
She regarded him coolly. A vampire, begging favours, was not uncommon; this vampire though…
"Where do you want to go?"
He gave a hard laugh. "Where I belong. Hell."
"Any particular one in mind?"
He blinked at her.
It was only fitting…
"Yeah. Send me home."
~+~
She felt so weak.
She knew she was awake; she could hear the sounds of morning outside the window, could feel the warmth of the rising sun on her face, 'see' its light glowing through her closed lids. The floaty feeling had faded; her limbs were heavy, like lead, and her head felt stuffed and thick. Thinking was hard. Breathing was hard. And everything hurt.
With great effort, she managed to open her eyes. She wasn't in their room and she was alone. She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced her to lie back down. She started to panic, her heart thudding painfully in her chest as she started to hyperventilate.
"Sp… Sp… ike… " she murmured. It was barely a whisper. She struggled with the blankets and the numbing weakness, finally succeeding in slinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She tried to stand, but crashed to her knees. Her stomach heaved, spilling watery bile over the carpet.
She crawled away from the mess and huddled in a corner, panting from the effort, struggling for every breath. One hand fluttered to the left side of her neck, fingering the twin wounds. It didn't hurt; the punctures were the only things not causing her pain.
She remembered.
I told you before I wanted you… all of you.
It's okay, love. Do it.
She had given him permission. She'd wanted him to.
And, it had gone wrong.
She knew he had left.
"Sp… Spike," she choked, the tears coming fast and unbidden.
"Spike…"
~+~
Lyric credit
'Trust Me' - McTaggart, Tyson