SUMMARY: Spike gets a new toy he wasn't expecting, and Willow finds out that life--and Gods--can sometimes throw humans for a loop.
TITLE: Order Now (6/?)
AUTHOR: sinecure
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)
PART 6
"Spike?" Willow said softly, her voice low.
He looked up from his book, seeing her standing in front of him, still dressed in the pink sweater and jeans. He'd have to get her some new clothes, maybe pilfer a few of the real Willow's clothes. "Hmm?" he inquired, going back to his book.
In the week he'd had her, she'd been a nice distraction to his Buffy obsession, throwing herself at him at every opportunity. But it got old after a while. Talk was in no way overrated. Neither was a good book. The sex was all well and good, but it was getting to be all he did anymore. Glory was out of the way now, and there was one less bad guy to worry about, so... now what?
Back to the old way of life. With Willow-sex. Lots of Willow-sex. And though that was anything but undesirable, it did get to be annoying when one's life consisted of sleeping, waking up and having sex. Patrolling, coming back home and having sex. Having more sex, and then a little sex before sleeping again.
She moved closer, toying with the hem of her sweater. "Shouldn't we go meet the others at the Magic Box?"
"No," he answered, lifting his book for her to see. "I'm reading. We'll, uh... we'll go later." Frowning as he looked around the crypt, he realized there was nothing interesting for her to do, and if he didn't find something for her, she'd eventually go seek out the others on her own. He could only put her off for a while before she started wondering why he wouldn't take her there. Or let her go herself. "I'll pick you up some books later tonight. Find something for you to--"
"Magick books?" she asked excitedly, dropping into his lap, startling him. "I'd like that very much, Spike. I love you. You please me so much."
"Mm," he mumbled, letting her kiss him softly on the lips. "Why don't you go watch the telly or something, love?"
She smiled widely, sliding her hand under his shirt. "We could have sex. I like having sex with you. You're virile and have the stamina of a--"
"Willow." He grabbed her hand from under his shirt and sighed. "I'm reading. Why don't you... oh, hey," he gasped, looking down at her hand currently caressing him through his jeans. His eyes flickered to hers, seeing the sly grin working its way to her lips. "Cheater," he whispered, leaning forward to nip her lip with his teeth.
"I don't cheat," she protested, "I only love--" her head went straight suddenly, her eyes losing focus. They cleared a second later, and she tried to continue. "I lo-- I lo-- I looooooooo--" her voice grew deeper, winding down as it ground to a halt.
Spike sat back and grabbed her head with his hands, holding it up. "Willow?" He stood up, taking her with him, setting her gently on the floor, where she sagged completely, staring sightlessly at the chair in front of her. "Willow?"
Guess she'd run out of power. Huh, he'd forgotten about that.
Sighing in relief, he picked her up and carried her to the trap door in the floor. Throwing her over his shoulder, he went carefully down the ladder and laid her on the small mattress he'd found a few days before. She flopped to the mattress, looking deader than him. Her eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, her body going completely limp.
Straightening her, hating that she looked so lifeless, he smoothed her hair back from her face and opened the panel in her stomach. Pulling the big black cord from her insides, feeling like he was eviscerating her, he quickly plugged her into the wall socket beside his TV extension cord, and knelt beside her.
While she was sleeping, he should go out. Get some clothes for her, some books, maybe a few spell ingredients for her to play with. Didn't want her to think he didn't support her witchy abilities. Chuckling, he climbed the ladder and shut the trap door, scooting his chair over to rest on it. Just in case.
________________________________________________________
Books of the wiccan variety could be found in many places. Giles' shop, the library, the college, Willow's house... Tara's room. Anywhere just about. However, he also wanted some advice on magick for someone just starting out. He didn't actually think the Willow bot had any skills or magick in her, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.
So, he was headed to talk to Willow. That he wanted to see her, the real her, didn't enter into it. He knew she was fine, from Buffy, from Xander and Dawn, and everyone else he'd seen since Willow killed Ben. But he hadn't seen her in that time.
Not the real her. She was... different from his bot. He could immediately tell the difference between the two when he saw Willow sitting on the steps of Buffy's porch. This Willow, even hurt and down in the dumps, had more life in her than the bot did on her best, most perky days.
Tossing his cigarette to the street, he stood and watched Willow unobserved for a few seconds. She didn't look too bad off. Her posture was a bit stiff and she winced once when shifting her feet, but as she rested against the brick pillar at the top of the steps, he knew she was healing.
He hadn't seen the damage himself, but according to Dawn it was, 'way wicked gross'. And painful.
She was sitting in a pool of light from the house, the door wide open behind her. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on the brick pillar. Her loose white blouse was hanging a little too loosely on one side, exposing more than just her shoulders and arms to anyone who passed by. Like him. Stupid chit, baring herself to all and sundry. Rolling his eyes, he continued down the sidewalk and across the lawn.
"Nice show you got going there," he said loudly, startling her out of her reverie. He stopped in front of the steps, shoving his hands in his duster pockets as she gingerly sat up straighter, frowning at him.
"What?" She cleared her throat and looked around a little in confusion. "It's going to rain."
"Right," he said in his own confusion. "Is that due to you flashing the neighborhood? Is it a rain ritual? Show the world your goodies and it rains?" He chuckled at her, motioning toward her blouse.
She looked down with a frown, and quickly fixed her shirt. "Funny. No, it's... no." She looked up at him, sighing in... not annoyance this time. That was a start, wasn't it? "Buffy's not here."
He took the steps one at a time and sat across from her. "Not here to see her. I was looking for advice on magick. Books specifically." He sat facing her, one foot on the step, one on the porch, his back resting against his own brick pillar. Pulling out a cigarette, he stuck it in his mouth before remembering he'd just had one. Slipping his lighter back into his pocket, he left the unlit cigarette in his mouth, hoping it'd soothe the minor craving.
"Magick books?" she said, turning to face him slowly. "Why?"
"A, uh, friend of mine is studying magick. Thought I'd get her some books on it." He slid his eyes past her curious ones and fixed them on the chairs to the side. Peeling white paint and rusted metal. Not as interesting as green eyes with a hint of hazel, but... sighing, he chanced a glance her way again.
She was watching him, still curious. "Magick, uh, it's not really my area of expertise." She laughed shortly, without humor and dropped her eyes to her hands. "Obviously." Spreading her hands out as far as she could with her sore back, she shook her head and shrugged. "Behold the power that is Willow. In all her supposed glory."
"What are you talking about? Of course it's your area... it's-- it's your thing. It's what you do." He sat forward, taking the cigarette from his lips and setting it on the cement beside him. "You're the witch of the group."
"I am." She straightened up, leaning her back against the stone with a groan and a hiss. "But I don't *know* enough about it not to screw up every... single..." she paused, shifting against the stone, "every spell I do." She closed her eyes, hiding the pain from him, hiding the gasp, but not being able to hide the smell of blood.
"What are you doing?" He climbed to his feet to yank her from the pillar. She fell forward limply, resting against her knees, giving him a nice view of her bruised and bloodied back. There were new scrapes and she was bleeding. "Hey, I'm all for a spot of torture. But self-mutilation is just plain stupid."
"Self-mutilation?" she laughed, her voice muffled by her hands and sweat pants. "I'm not trying to hurt myself. It's this stupid porch, it's not designed for invalids." She sighed, scooting away from the pillar. "And, I forgot my shirt was, um, missing parts of it."
Spike was currently noticing that even more than a moment before. His fingers, resting on her right shoulder, the only uninjured part of her back, tightened on the warm, bare flesh. His other hand, pretty much of its own volition, traced lightly against one of the new scrapes, sliding through the warm, wet blood and going straight to his mouth. "Your back's just... one giant bruise, isn't it?"
"What?" Her voice was still muffled and low enough that he barely paid it any attention. But the surprised tone did reach him.
She pushed against his hold, trying to straighten up, but he held her still for another second, just long enough to run his fingers over the scrapes again, scooping up a drop of blood.
"I said," he repeated, "your back's just--"
"--one giant bruise, isn't it?" she finished for him. Turning to look over her shoulder, she noticed his finger in his mouth and shuddered a bit. In disgust? "I dreamed you said that."
He shrugged, feeling the haze of bloodlust settle over him more firmly. God, to be able to just tear into her throat and go at it... those were the days. Realizing she was watching him, waiting for him to say something, he shrugged again and sat down, slipping his unlit cigarette into his duster pocket. "It's not that strange a thing for a vampire to say."
"You also did that," she told him, nodding to his hand. "Had an unlit cigarette and stuck in your pocket."
"It's not that strange a thing for a smoker to do." Actually, it was. For him anyway. He didn't obey non-smoking laws and such, so he lit up whenever and wherever he wanted to. But tonight he didn't. "You getting Buffy's prophetic dreams then?"
She shook her head, turning to look inside the doorway. "No. I don't get Buffy's... anything." A small frown turned her lips down, her eyes losing focus for a moment before she shrugged. "I just thought it was weird. That's all."
He nodded, agreeing that it was weird. But not enough to assemble the Scoobie Gang and have a meeting about it. Still, it was a bit unusual. "What else did I do in this dream?" he asked, making sure to leer to cover up his real curiosity.
Her chuckle was less derisive than usual. Less with the anger and fear. "Well, there was a salve that Giles had you bring over, for my back, and there was nakedness," she said in a rush, hurrying right past that part. "You said it smelled like the sewers and--"
"Willow, I whipped up... Spike. Why are you here?" Giles' voice held all the irritation Willow's hadn't. And the derisiveness. He held something in his hand as he stood in the lit doorway, scowling at Spike.
"You whipped what?" Willow asked, frowning at him, squinting at the jar in his hand.
"Yeah, Rupes, what is it that you whipped?" He snickered loudly, making it clear what he was insinuating.
Giles rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping forward, toward Willow. He ignored Spike completely. "A salve. For your back. It smells a bit, I'm afraid, quite like the sewers, but..." seeing Spike and Willow's attention suddenly perk up, he frowned. "What?"
"I dreamed that too." She struggled to stand up.
Giles stepped forward and reached out a hand to help her up. She accepted the help, but stood on her own after reaching her feet.
"Okay, that was weird. If I sink into the carpet and end up in a pyramid, then I plan on freaking out. Everyone okay with that?" She headed inside, walking slowly.
Spike watched her, his eyes on her back. It was beautiful. So many colors and the blood... closing his eyes with a sigh, a sigh that held all his pent-up frustrations, he followed her to the doorway and tried to go inside, completely forgetting about being uninvited.
He bounced off the barrier, knocking himself back a foot. Staring at the invisible thing keeping him from entering, he nodded, feeling the anger rising up in him. "Right then. I'll just--"
"Come in, Spike," Willow called back, ignoring Giles' frown and muttered protest.
"Sorry, love, that only works from someone who lives here." He stepped back another foot, intending to go and beat on a few demons that were unlucky enough to get in his way. "I appreciate the gesture, though." His glare fell on Giles. "At least one of you's decent."
"I do live here," Willow tossed back, continuing her slow journey to the living room.
Spike glanced at Giles, noting the tense jaw, the narrowed eyes. Ah, felt like home again. Stepping cautiously toward the door, he put his hand where the barrier should be and felt no resistance. Stepping over the threshold, he smirked his way past Giles and into the front room. "Thanks," he muttered, a little more respectful toward Willow than he had been to Giles.
He just... liked her more.
She tossed him a glance as she stretched a hand down, lowering herself to the couch carefully. "Try to be nice, Spike."
"In other words, don't try to kill us," Giles interjected, his tone hard.
He was so tired of the threats. Tired of needing to be told not to kill someone. He got it. And he couldn't do it anyway. "I'll get a headache the size of Texas. I'm not stupid."
"That's debatable," Giles said briskly, brushing past Spike like he was nothing more than an annoying house pet. He set his small jar of salve on the coffee table and sat beside it, causing the wood to creak under his weight. He faced Willow, his look one of disapproval. "You shouldn't have done that, Willow. This isn't your home, you don't know what Buffy--"
"He's here, isn't he?" she interrupted, gesturing toward Spike as he sat on the arm of the couch.
Spike glanced up briefly, looking away from her back, which he was in perfect view of. Nice scenery. "Means she does live here," he added for Giles' benefit.
"Yes, I know what it means," Giles said acidly, his imperious stare doing its level best to cut right through Spike. "Buffy asked you to uninvite him for a reason."
"Yes, she did," Willow agreed. "And then she trusted him enough to send Dawn and Joyce to stay with him. I don't think she'll mind too much." She looked to the jar of green salve on the table. "What is that?"
Giles sighed and grabbed the jar, twisting the lid off. "An herbal salve I made for your back. It should help heal it." He got a whiff of it and twisted his face up in revulsion. "Unfortunately, it stinks to high heaven. I didn't take the time to pretty it up for you, sorry."
Willow shrugged, eyeing the jar of toxic-looking paste. "That's, uh, that's okay. I can handle stink." When Giles scooped his fingers into it, her eyes opened wide and she moved backward a bit. "You're not gonna put it on, uh, are you?" She winced and looked up at him, biting her lip hesitantly.
Spike brightened a bit. She didn't want Giles putting it on, and since he was the only other person around... looked like he'd be getting a little more touchy-feely from Willow. "I'll do it," he offered.
"Well, yes, I was going to," Giles told Willow, wiping his fingers off on the edge of the jar. He darted a glance up at her and noticed her fidgeting. "Oh, does that bother you?" He frowned, wiping more of the salve off the side of his index finger. "I just thought... but that's all right. I suppose it's rather an awkward... yes. Okay, I'll just go wash this off."
"I'll do it," Spike said louder, standing up to take his duster off. He threw it over the banister in the foyer and strolled back into the room, expecting Willow to be thanking him and smiling. She wasn't. She was frowning after Giles.
"Giles," she called as he started up the stairs. Giles paused and she continued. "I didn't mean to-- you're all father-ish, and it would be kind of icky." She sighed and shrugged. "It's a me-thing. Nothing against you."
Giles chuckled and pushed his glasses up with an un-coated finger. "That's quite all right, I, um, I understand completely." He laughed a little, sharing a cute little smile with Willow, bonding over their shared embarrassment.
But, hello, what about Spike? He was standing there, waiting for someone to notice him, and allow him to rub stuff all over Willow. He'd offered twice. Once more and then he'd leave. He didn't need this. He had his own Willow waiting for him at home... recharging her battery.
"I'll--" he began, seeing Willow roll her eyes in amusement. Aha. So she wasn't as unobservant as he was beginning to think she was.
"Okay, Spike. Okay." She twisted on the couch, turning her back to him. "Rub me down. In-- in a... non-sexual kinda way having nothing to do with anything in that, uh, that way."
"Lie down," he ordered, tilting his head to the side as he watched her. She was acting nervous. Very nervous. Was it fear or something more? And what was the babbling about? Her heart rate was skyrocketing, about to take off into outer space. Her skin was heating up as well, he could feel it even a foot away from her, and see the slight pale skin change to a pink hue. "You okay?" he asked her, wondering if she'd hurt herself lying down.
"Fine," she mumbled, stretching out on the couch without moving too much. "I'm good. Are you okay?" She chuckled derisively, groaning softly. "Of course you're all right. You're not hurt. I'm the hurt one, and-- and... no, I'm fine." She shoved her face into her crossed arms and groaned again. "Shut up," she mumbled to herself, forgetting he had super hearing.
Spike kept himself from laughing, but just barely. She did nervous so well. Her heart rate, her pulse, the heat and color of her skin, all accompanying her bruised and bloodied back... he was in a place near heaven. She shifted slightly, anticipating his touch, tensing her muscles. He watched them move under her skin, raising it in spots, dipping down in others.
Grabbing the jar from the table, he unscrewed the lid and scooped out a fair amount of the green goo, working it between his hands to warm it a bit before slowly reaching down to touch her back. Her skin, so soft and supple, was smooth and tender, scraped in a few spots, but very similar to the bot's.
"Oh, cold," she muttered, tensing some more. "Very cold."
"Sorry." His hands were cold, as much as the salve was, so they hadn't warmed it up much. Lack of body heat and circulation did that to a person. He smoothed his hands down her shoulders, rubbing the smooth goo into her muscles, but not pressing hard enough to cause discomfort. The heat from her back was warming his hands as they moved on her.
Shoulders, shoulder blades and down to her waist. He repeated the movements a few times, rubbing in a fair amount of it as he went. He was turned sideways, at an awkward angle, and he wished he'd told her to lie on the floor, so he could straddle her legs. Not out of any wish to touch her more, but to have better access.
And the moon was made of cheese.
It was probably a good thing he couldn't straddle her, because he was getting turned on. Being with the bot, essentially feeling this woman moving underneath him as he pleasured them both, seeing her face, hearing her voice as she came, God, it was a thing of beauty.
Hearing her tell him she loved him. That was what always did it for him. He was a sap and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. He was, and forever would be, love's bitch.
This Willow, the real one, the one he was currently caressing with every ounce of enjoyment he could stand without stripping her and plunging inside of her... she was moaning softly. With every touch of his hands, every stroke of his fingers on her back, she made a small sound in the back of her throat.
"That feels good," she mumbled, sighing into her arms. "I could use a good masseur. You free every day for the next thirty years?"
He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her neck before realizing what he was doing. He jerked back into a sitting position, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Thank God he hadn't kissed her. Resuming his stroking in a business-like manner, he cleared his throat.
"Willow, are you insane?" Giles asked sharply, coming into the room. "He's--"
"Really, really good at this," she mumbled, moaning loudly when Spike worked the stiff muscles in her shoulders. "What'd you put in this stuff?" she asked Giles, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.
Giles moved around the table so he could see Willow better and watch Spike's hands to make sure they weren't going in places they shouldn't be. "Nothing of any importance really. Just a few demon scales, some ground up dried eye of newt, and, uh... sage," he finished quietly.
Willow stiffened suddenly, her eyes narrowing on Giles. "You think I'm evil?" she asked softly, and Spike could hear the tremble in her voice.
"What's that about?" he asked, glaring at Giles for somehow causing Willow's sudden change in mood.
"Sage is used for cleansing evil," Willow mumbled, turning her head to the back of the couch so she wouldn't have to look at the accusation in Giles' face.
There was none though. Spike could've told her that, but he didn't. He stayed silent, letting Willow think the worst of Giles. He frowned at his hands, still moving slowly along her back, feeling the tingling of medicinal things going to work, and had a horrible thought. "Uh, hey, the sage won't effect me, will it?"
Giles snorted rudely and removed his glasses, taking a cloth from his pocket to clean them. "No, Spike, your evil isn't the kind that can be ousted by a little herb. More's the pity." He sighed and replaced his glasses, squinting through them in irritation when they remained dirty. "And Willow, I put the sage in there for its calming effect. It soothes tense muscles and nerves, promotes wisdom and cleanses evil." He moved closer, frowning at her. "Willow."
Spike tossed him another glare, hiding his smirk behind a concerned frown. "Haven't you done enough?" Maybe, if he was lucky, Willow and Giles would argue and then Giles would storm out and leave him alone with her.
To do what? he wondered suddenly, sitting up straighter.
What the hell was he thinking? He had enough women on his plate to try to tempt Willow into bed with him too. Even if she did smell good. Although, there was no cinnamon and apple this time, he realized. Leaning down a little, hoping Giles didn't notice him surreptitiously sniffing Willow, he turned his head to look out the window and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes to concentrate.
Not cinnamon and apples, definitely not that this time. But what was it? Sort of... vanilla-like. Scented candles? Shampoo? Soap? What the hell was making her smell the way she did?
"You're done, Spike." Giles' voice cut through Spike's concentration, making him remember where he was and what he was doing.
Good thing too, because his hands were getting a little close to her breasts. Clearing his throat, he nodded, standing up and heading toward the foyer. "Gonna... wash up," he muttered. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, washing his hands as fast as inhumanly possible. Drying them on the pink towel on the rack, he turned to the shower and inspected the bottles.
Uncapping and sniffing each one in turn, he found Dawn's shampoo and conditioner as well as her soap and moisturizer. And Buffy's as well. As tempting as it was to steal Buffy's, he left them there and spun around, looking for Willow's things. She'd showered recently, but not in here. He could only smell a faint hint of her in this room.
If she was living here, she was staying in Joyce's room, right? Quietly, stealthily, he made his way down the hall, hurrying as fast as he dared. Joyce's door was open. He stepped inside, smelling Willow all over the place. Soap, shampoo, sweat, blood, tears... and an elusive scent that was all hers, but he couldn't identify it. It was just... her.
Skirting around the bed, he darted into the bathroom, taking note of all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he spotted. He'd buy them for his robot, and the soap too. Vanilla-scented.
He picked it up and sniffed, frowning when he smelled lilac, not vanilla. What the hell? Where was that smell coming from then? The shampoo was some flowery concoction and the conditioner was the same. Bloody hell. Perfume?
He went back into the bedroom and moved toward the door, listening for sounds of someone approaching, but all was quiet except for Giles and Willow talking. Their heartbeats were faint and distant still, so he was safe for the moment. On the dresser was an array of perfume bottles, but he could tell without even nearing them that none of them were what she'd used.
Spinning around in frustration, he sighed and headed back out, but stopped halfway to the door. Yanking open the top drawer of her dresser, he dug through the clothing inside. Panties and underwear. Nice.
Stuffing a pair of lacy red panties and matching bra into his jean pocket, he knew he'd never get away with it. There was a big bulge in his jeans, making him look way too happy.
Window.
Grabbing a blouse from the closet, he tossed them out the window, hoping they landed on the ground rather than the roof. Be a bit of a bother to explain to Buffy or Willow or Dawn why he was walking along their roof if he was caught.
Walking quickly out of the room and down the hall, he prided himself on being sneaky. Nothing like a bit of theft and deception to put him in a good mood. Except blood. But this was good too.
Taking the stairs down with a bounce in his step, he paused, listening to the conversation before rejoining them. They were quietly talking. Actually, Willow was sniffling and crying while Giles did his best to calm her down.
"Like to make the girls cry, don't you?" he tossed at Giles, loving the furious glare that was aimed his way. Ah, felt almost like old times.
"Oh, do shut up," Giles ground out, still glaring at him from his spot on the couch beside Willow.
She sniffed once or twice and stared at her hands, which were sandwiched between her knees. "Spike," she began, looking over at him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed, "Spike, quit being annoying." Well, it was time to make his exit. He had clothes to pick up, shopping to do, and a robot to check on. He'd gotten in some quality Willow-rubbing. Not a bad night at all.
"Uh, no," Willow said in confusion. "Ac-- actually I was going to thank you, but since you probably don't want to hear it, with you being evil and all, then I won't. But I do."
"You do?" he asked, frowning at her. She was thanking him? Well, didn't that beat all? He rarely, if ever, got thanked for doing something. Let alone something so simple as rubbing ointment on someone's back. And enjoying it as he did so. "Do what?"
"Thank you." She shrugged, wincing a little at the movement of her shoulders.
"Oh. Well, good. I mean, you're welcome." He was a vampire; he didn't do niceties. It wasn't his thing. If she needed someone to tear a throat out and bring body parts back to her, he was the man for the job, but thanking people? It was actually kind of nice though. Felt good. "I'm going now. Uh, where's Buffy?" he asked on his way out.
Didn't want to run into her somewhere carrying Willow's stuff. She was nosey and was bound to find them no matter where he put them on his person.
"She said something about another woman being killed in the park near Ridge," Willow said absently.
Spike stopped his retreat and turned around, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Giles. "Another one?"
Giles nodded, telling Spike with just his eyes that Willow still didn't know. "Possibly. I saw the taped-off area on my way home from here and got a glimpse of a dead woman. So I sent Buffy to find out."
"Find out what?" Willow asked, looking curiously from one to the other. "Are we thinking vampire? Or something worse?"
"Something worse," Giles and Spike said in unison.
TITLE: Order Now (6/?)
AUTHOR: sinecure
RATED: R
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.
DEDICATED: To Claudia, because, not only is she the best beta ever, but she's also quite the friend. She kicks ass on grammar--just call her the Hyphen Queen, I do--spelling, characterization, plot. She makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier... even when she's killing my poor little defenseless plot-babies. ;)
PART 6
"Spike?" Willow said softly, her voice low.
He looked up from his book, seeing her standing in front of him, still dressed in the pink sweater and jeans. He'd have to get her some new clothes, maybe pilfer a few of the real Willow's clothes. "Hmm?" he inquired, going back to his book.
In the week he'd had her, she'd been a nice distraction to his Buffy obsession, throwing herself at him at every opportunity. But it got old after a while. Talk was in no way overrated. Neither was a good book. The sex was all well and good, but it was getting to be all he did anymore. Glory was out of the way now, and there was one less bad guy to worry about, so... now what?
Back to the old way of life. With Willow-sex. Lots of Willow-sex. And though that was anything but undesirable, it did get to be annoying when one's life consisted of sleeping, waking up and having sex. Patrolling, coming back home and having sex. Having more sex, and then a little sex before sleeping again.
She moved closer, toying with the hem of her sweater. "Shouldn't we go meet the others at the Magic Box?"
"No," he answered, lifting his book for her to see. "I'm reading. We'll, uh... we'll go later." Frowning as he looked around the crypt, he realized there was nothing interesting for her to do, and if he didn't find something for her, she'd eventually go seek out the others on her own. He could only put her off for a while before she started wondering why he wouldn't take her there. Or let her go herself. "I'll pick you up some books later tonight. Find something for you to--"
"Magick books?" she asked excitedly, dropping into his lap, startling him. "I'd like that very much, Spike. I love you. You please me so much."
"Mm," he mumbled, letting her kiss him softly on the lips. "Why don't you go watch the telly or something, love?"
She smiled widely, sliding her hand under his shirt. "We could have sex. I like having sex with you. You're virile and have the stamina of a--"
"Willow." He grabbed her hand from under his shirt and sighed. "I'm reading. Why don't you... oh, hey," he gasped, looking down at her hand currently caressing him through his jeans. His eyes flickered to hers, seeing the sly grin working its way to her lips. "Cheater," he whispered, leaning forward to nip her lip with his teeth.
"I don't cheat," she protested, "I only love--" her head went straight suddenly, her eyes losing focus. They cleared a second later, and she tried to continue. "I lo-- I lo-- I looooooooo--" her voice grew deeper, winding down as it ground to a halt.
Spike sat back and grabbed her head with his hands, holding it up. "Willow?" He stood up, taking her with him, setting her gently on the floor, where she sagged completely, staring sightlessly at the chair in front of her. "Willow?"
Guess she'd run out of power. Huh, he'd forgotten about that.
Sighing in relief, he picked her up and carried her to the trap door in the floor. Throwing her over his shoulder, he went carefully down the ladder and laid her on the small mattress he'd found a few days before. She flopped to the mattress, looking deader than him. Her eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, her body going completely limp.
Straightening her, hating that she looked so lifeless, he smoothed her hair back from her face and opened the panel in her stomach. Pulling the big black cord from her insides, feeling like he was eviscerating her, he quickly plugged her into the wall socket beside his TV extension cord, and knelt beside her.
While she was sleeping, he should go out. Get some clothes for her, some books, maybe a few spell ingredients for her to play with. Didn't want her to think he didn't support her witchy abilities. Chuckling, he climbed the ladder and shut the trap door, scooting his chair over to rest on it. Just in case.
________________________________________________________
Books of the wiccan variety could be found in many places. Giles' shop, the library, the college, Willow's house... Tara's room. Anywhere just about. However, he also wanted some advice on magick for someone just starting out. He didn't actually think the Willow bot had any skills or magick in her, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.
So, he was headed to talk to Willow. That he wanted to see her, the real her, didn't enter into it. He knew she was fine, from Buffy, from Xander and Dawn, and everyone else he'd seen since Willow killed Ben. But he hadn't seen her in that time.
Not the real her. She was... different from his bot. He could immediately tell the difference between the two when he saw Willow sitting on the steps of Buffy's porch. This Willow, even hurt and down in the dumps, had more life in her than the bot did on her best, most perky days.
Tossing his cigarette to the street, he stood and watched Willow unobserved for a few seconds. She didn't look too bad off. Her posture was a bit stiff and she winced once when shifting her feet, but as she rested against the brick pillar at the top of the steps, he knew she was healing.
He hadn't seen the damage himself, but according to Dawn it was, 'way wicked gross'. And painful.
She was sitting in a pool of light from the house, the door wide open behind her. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on the brick pillar. Her loose white blouse was hanging a little too loosely on one side, exposing more than just her shoulders and arms to anyone who passed by. Like him. Stupid chit, baring herself to all and sundry. Rolling his eyes, he continued down the sidewalk and across the lawn.
"Nice show you got going there," he said loudly, startling her out of her reverie. He stopped in front of the steps, shoving his hands in his duster pockets as she gingerly sat up straighter, frowning at him.
"What?" She cleared her throat and looked around a little in confusion. "It's going to rain."
"Right," he said in his own confusion. "Is that due to you flashing the neighborhood? Is it a rain ritual? Show the world your goodies and it rains?" He chuckled at her, motioning toward her blouse.
She looked down with a frown, and quickly fixed her shirt. "Funny. No, it's... no." She looked up at him, sighing in... not annoyance this time. That was a start, wasn't it? "Buffy's not here."
He took the steps one at a time and sat across from her. "Not here to see her. I was looking for advice on magick. Books specifically." He sat facing her, one foot on the step, one on the porch, his back resting against his own brick pillar. Pulling out a cigarette, he stuck it in his mouth before remembering he'd just had one. Slipping his lighter back into his pocket, he left the unlit cigarette in his mouth, hoping it'd soothe the minor craving.
"Magick books?" she said, turning to face him slowly. "Why?"
"A, uh, friend of mine is studying magick. Thought I'd get her some books on it." He slid his eyes past her curious ones and fixed them on the chairs to the side. Peeling white paint and rusted metal. Not as interesting as green eyes with a hint of hazel, but... sighing, he chanced a glance her way again.
She was watching him, still curious. "Magick, uh, it's not really my area of expertise." She laughed shortly, without humor and dropped her eyes to her hands. "Obviously." Spreading her hands out as far as she could with her sore back, she shook her head and shrugged. "Behold the power that is Willow. In all her supposed glory."
"What are you talking about? Of course it's your area... it's-- it's your thing. It's what you do." He sat forward, taking the cigarette from his lips and setting it on the cement beside him. "You're the witch of the group."
"I am." She straightened up, leaning her back against the stone with a groan and a hiss. "But I don't *know* enough about it not to screw up every... single..." she paused, shifting against the stone, "every spell I do." She closed her eyes, hiding the pain from him, hiding the gasp, but not being able to hide the smell of blood.
"What are you doing?" He climbed to his feet to yank her from the pillar. She fell forward limply, resting against her knees, giving him a nice view of her bruised and bloodied back. There were new scrapes and she was bleeding. "Hey, I'm all for a spot of torture. But self-mutilation is just plain stupid."
"Self-mutilation?" she laughed, her voice muffled by her hands and sweat pants. "I'm not trying to hurt myself. It's this stupid porch, it's not designed for invalids." She sighed, scooting away from the pillar. "And, I forgot my shirt was, um, missing parts of it."
Spike was currently noticing that even more than a moment before. His fingers, resting on her right shoulder, the only uninjured part of her back, tightened on the warm, bare flesh. His other hand, pretty much of its own volition, traced lightly against one of the new scrapes, sliding through the warm, wet blood and going straight to his mouth. "Your back's just... one giant bruise, isn't it?"
"What?" Her voice was still muffled and low enough that he barely paid it any attention. But the surprised tone did reach him.
She pushed against his hold, trying to straighten up, but he held her still for another second, just long enough to run his fingers over the scrapes again, scooping up a drop of blood.
"I said," he repeated, "your back's just--"
"--one giant bruise, isn't it?" she finished for him. Turning to look over her shoulder, she noticed his finger in his mouth and shuddered a bit. In disgust? "I dreamed you said that."
He shrugged, feeling the haze of bloodlust settle over him more firmly. God, to be able to just tear into her throat and go at it... those were the days. Realizing she was watching him, waiting for him to say something, he shrugged again and sat down, slipping his unlit cigarette into his duster pocket. "It's not that strange a thing for a vampire to say."
"You also did that," she told him, nodding to his hand. "Had an unlit cigarette and stuck in your pocket."
"It's not that strange a thing for a smoker to do." Actually, it was. For him anyway. He didn't obey non-smoking laws and such, so he lit up whenever and wherever he wanted to. But tonight he didn't. "You getting Buffy's prophetic dreams then?"
She shook her head, turning to look inside the doorway. "No. I don't get Buffy's... anything." A small frown turned her lips down, her eyes losing focus for a moment before she shrugged. "I just thought it was weird. That's all."
He nodded, agreeing that it was weird. But not enough to assemble the Scoobie Gang and have a meeting about it. Still, it was a bit unusual. "What else did I do in this dream?" he asked, making sure to leer to cover up his real curiosity.
Her chuckle was less derisive than usual. Less with the anger and fear. "Well, there was a salve that Giles had you bring over, for my back, and there was nakedness," she said in a rush, hurrying right past that part. "You said it smelled like the sewers and--"
"Willow, I whipped up... Spike. Why are you here?" Giles' voice held all the irritation Willow's hadn't. And the derisiveness. He held something in his hand as he stood in the lit doorway, scowling at Spike.
"You whipped what?" Willow asked, frowning at him, squinting at the jar in his hand.
"Yeah, Rupes, what is it that you whipped?" He snickered loudly, making it clear what he was insinuating.
Giles rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping forward, toward Willow. He ignored Spike completely. "A salve. For your back. It smells a bit, I'm afraid, quite like the sewers, but..." seeing Spike and Willow's attention suddenly perk up, he frowned. "What?"
"I dreamed that too." She struggled to stand up.
Giles stepped forward and reached out a hand to help her up. She accepted the help, but stood on her own after reaching her feet.
"Okay, that was weird. If I sink into the carpet and end up in a pyramid, then I plan on freaking out. Everyone okay with that?" She headed inside, walking slowly.
Spike watched her, his eyes on her back. It was beautiful. So many colors and the blood... closing his eyes with a sigh, a sigh that held all his pent-up frustrations, he followed her to the doorway and tried to go inside, completely forgetting about being uninvited.
He bounced off the barrier, knocking himself back a foot. Staring at the invisible thing keeping him from entering, he nodded, feeling the anger rising up in him. "Right then. I'll just--"
"Come in, Spike," Willow called back, ignoring Giles' frown and muttered protest.
"Sorry, love, that only works from someone who lives here." He stepped back another foot, intending to go and beat on a few demons that were unlucky enough to get in his way. "I appreciate the gesture, though." His glare fell on Giles. "At least one of you's decent."
"I do live here," Willow tossed back, continuing her slow journey to the living room.
Spike glanced at Giles, noting the tense jaw, the narrowed eyes. Ah, felt like home again. Stepping cautiously toward the door, he put his hand where the barrier should be and felt no resistance. Stepping over the threshold, he smirked his way past Giles and into the front room. "Thanks," he muttered, a little more respectful toward Willow than he had been to Giles.
He just... liked her more.
She tossed him a glance as she stretched a hand down, lowering herself to the couch carefully. "Try to be nice, Spike."
"In other words, don't try to kill us," Giles interjected, his tone hard.
He was so tired of the threats. Tired of needing to be told not to kill someone. He got it. And he couldn't do it anyway. "I'll get a headache the size of Texas. I'm not stupid."
"That's debatable," Giles said briskly, brushing past Spike like he was nothing more than an annoying house pet. He set his small jar of salve on the coffee table and sat beside it, causing the wood to creak under his weight. He faced Willow, his look one of disapproval. "You shouldn't have done that, Willow. This isn't your home, you don't know what Buffy--"
"He's here, isn't he?" she interrupted, gesturing toward Spike as he sat on the arm of the couch.
Spike glanced up briefly, looking away from her back, which he was in perfect view of. Nice scenery. "Means she does live here," he added for Giles' benefit.
"Yes, I know what it means," Giles said acidly, his imperious stare doing its level best to cut right through Spike. "Buffy asked you to uninvite him for a reason."
"Yes, she did," Willow agreed. "And then she trusted him enough to send Dawn and Joyce to stay with him. I don't think she'll mind too much." She looked to the jar of green salve on the table. "What is that?"
Giles sighed and grabbed the jar, twisting the lid off. "An herbal salve I made for your back. It should help heal it." He got a whiff of it and twisted his face up in revulsion. "Unfortunately, it stinks to high heaven. I didn't take the time to pretty it up for you, sorry."
Willow shrugged, eyeing the jar of toxic-looking paste. "That's, uh, that's okay. I can handle stink." When Giles scooped his fingers into it, her eyes opened wide and she moved backward a bit. "You're not gonna put it on, uh, are you?" She winced and looked up at him, biting her lip hesitantly.
Spike brightened a bit. She didn't want Giles putting it on, and since he was the only other person around... looked like he'd be getting a little more touchy-feely from Willow. "I'll do it," he offered.
"Well, yes, I was going to," Giles told Willow, wiping his fingers off on the edge of the jar. He darted a glance up at her and noticed her fidgeting. "Oh, does that bother you?" He frowned, wiping more of the salve off the side of his index finger. "I just thought... but that's all right. I suppose it's rather an awkward... yes. Okay, I'll just go wash this off."
"I'll do it," Spike said louder, standing up to take his duster off. He threw it over the banister in the foyer and strolled back into the room, expecting Willow to be thanking him and smiling. She wasn't. She was frowning after Giles.
"Giles," she called as he started up the stairs. Giles paused and she continued. "I didn't mean to-- you're all father-ish, and it would be kind of icky." She sighed and shrugged. "It's a me-thing. Nothing against you."
Giles chuckled and pushed his glasses up with an un-coated finger. "That's quite all right, I, um, I understand completely." He laughed a little, sharing a cute little smile with Willow, bonding over their shared embarrassment.
But, hello, what about Spike? He was standing there, waiting for someone to notice him, and allow him to rub stuff all over Willow. He'd offered twice. Once more and then he'd leave. He didn't need this. He had his own Willow waiting for him at home... recharging her battery.
"I'll--" he began, seeing Willow roll her eyes in amusement. Aha. So she wasn't as unobservant as he was beginning to think she was.
"Okay, Spike. Okay." She twisted on the couch, turning her back to him. "Rub me down. In-- in a... non-sexual kinda way having nothing to do with anything in that, uh, that way."
"Lie down," he ordered, tilting his head to the side as he watched her. She was acting nervous. Very nervous. Was it fear or something more? And what was the babbling about? Her heart rate was skyrocketing, about to take off into outer space. Her skin was heating up as well, he could feel it even a foot away from her, and see the slight pale skin change to a pink hue. "You okay?" he asked her, wondering if she'd hurt herself lying down.
"Fine," she mumbled, stretching out on the couch without moving too much. "I'm good. Are you okay?" She chuckled derisively, groaning softly. "Of course you're all right. You're not hurt. I'm the hurt one, and-- and... no, I'm fine." She shoved her face into her crossed arms and groaned again. "Shut up," she mumbled to herself, forgetting he had super hearing.
Spike kept himself from laughing, but just barely. She did nervous so well. Her heart rate, her pulse, the heat and color of her skin, all accompanying her bruised and bloodied back... he was in a place near heaven. She shifted slightly, anticipating his touch, tensing her muscles. He watched them move under her skin, raising it in spots, dipping down in others.
Grabbing the jar from the table, he unscrewed the lid and scooped out a fair amount of the green goo, working it between his hands to warm it a bit before slowly reaching down to touch her back. Her skin, so soft and supple, was smooth and tender, scraped in a few spots, but very similar to the bot's.
"Oh, cold," she muttered, tensing some more. "Very cold."
"Sorry." His hands were cold, as much as the salve was, so they hadn't warmed it up much. Lack of body heat and circulation did that to a person. He smoothed his hands down her shoulders, rubbing the smooth goo into her muscles, but not pressing hard enough to cause discomfort. The heat from her back was warming his hands as they moved on her.
Shoulders, shoulder blades and down to her waist. He repeated the movements a few times, rubbing in a fair amount of it as he went. He was turned sideways, at an awkward angle, and he wished he'd told her to lie on the floor, so he could straddle her legs. Not out of any wish to touch her more, but to have better access.
And the moon was made of cheese.
It was probably a good thing he couldn't straddle her, because he was getting turned on. Being with the bot, essentially feeling this woman moving underneath him as he pleasured them both, seeing her face, hearing her voice as she came, God, it was a thing of beauty.
Hearing her tell him she loved him. That was what always did it for him. He was a sap and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. He was, and forever would be, love's bitch.
This Willow, the real one, the one he was currently caressing with every ounce of enjoyment he could stand without stripping her and plunging inside of her... she was moaning softly. With every touch of his hands, every stroke of his fingers on her back, she made a small sound in the back of her throat.
"That feels good," she mumbled, sighing into her arms. "I could use a good masseur. You free every day for the next thirty years?"
He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her neck before realizing what he was doing. He jerked back into a sitting position, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Thank God he hadn't kissed her. Resuming his stroking in a business-like manner, he cleared his throat.
"Willow, are you insane?" Giles asked sharply, coming into the room. "He's--"
"Really, really good at this," she mumbled, moaning loudly when Spike worked the stiff muscles in her shoulders. "What'd you put in this stuff?" she asked Giles, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.
Giles moved around the table so he could see Willow better and watch Spike's hands to make sure they weren't going in places they shouldn't be. "Nothing of any importance really. Just a few demon scales, some ground up dried eye of newt, and, uh... sage," he finished quietly.
Willow stiffened suddenly, her eyes narrowing on Giles. "You think I'm evil?" she asked softly, and Spike could hear the tremble in her voice.
"What's that about?" he asked, glaring at Giles for somehow causing Willow's sudden change in mood.
"Sage is used for cleansing evil," Willow mumbled, turning her head to the back of the couch so she wouldn't have to look at the accusation in Giles' face.
There was none though. Spike could've told her that, but he didn't. He stayed silent, letting Willow think the worst of Giles. He frowned at his hands, still moving slowly along her back, feeling the tingling of medicinal things going to work, and had a horrible thought. "Uh, hey, the sage won't effect me, will it?"
Giles snorted rudely and removed his glasses, taking a cloth from his pocket to clean them. "No, Spike, your evil isn't the kind that can be ousted by a little herb. More's the pity." He sighed and replaced his glasses, squinting through them in irritation when they remained dirty. "And Willow, I put the sage in there for its calming effect. It soothes tense muscles and nerves, promotes wisdom and cleanses evil." He moved closer, frowning at her. "Willow."
Spike tossed him another glare, hiding his smirk behind a concerned frown. "Haven't you done enough?" Maybe, if he was lucky, Willow and Giles would argue and then Giles would storm out and leave him alone with her.
To do what? he wondered suddenly, sitting up straighter.
What the hell was he thinking? He had enough women on his plate to try to tempt Willow into bed with him too. Even if she did smell good. Although, there was no cinnamon and apple this time, he realized. Leaning down a little, hoping Giles didn't notice him surreptitiously sniffing Willow, he turned his head to look out the window and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes to concentrate.
Not cinnamon and apples, definitely not that this time. But what was it? Sort of... vanilla-like. Scented candles? Shampoo? Soap? What the hell was making her smell the way she did?
"You're done, Spike." Giles' voice cut through Spike's concentration, making him remember where he was and what he was doing.
Good thing too, because his hands were getting a little close to her breasts. Clearing his throat, he nodded, standing up and heading toward the foyer. "Gonna... wash up," he muttered. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, washing his hands as fast as inhumanly possible. Drying them on the pink towel on the rack, he turned to the shower and inspected the bottles.
Uncapping and sniffing each one in turn, he found Dawn's shampoo and conditioner as well as her soap and moisturizer. And Buffy's as well. As tempting as it was to steal Buffy's, he left them there and spun around, looking for Willow's things. She'd showered recently, but not in here. He could only smell a faint hint of her in this room.
If she was living here, she was staying in Joyce's room, right? Quietly, stealthily, he made his way down the hall, hurrying as fast as he dared. Joyce's door was open. He stepped inside, smelling Willow all over the place. Soap, shampoo, sweat, blood, tears... and an elusive scent that was all hers, but he couldn't identify it. It was just... her.
Skirting around the bed, he darted into the bathroom, taking note of all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he spotted. He'd buy them for his robot, and the soap too. Vanilla-scented.
He picked it up and sniffed, frowning when he smelled lilac, not vanilla. What the hell? Where was that smell coming from then? The shampoo was some flowery concoction and the conditioner was the same. Bloody hell. Perfume?
He went back into the bedroom and moved toward the door, listening for sounds of someone approaching, but all was quiet except for Giles and Willow talking. Their heartbeats were faint and distant still, so he was safe for the moment. On the dresser was an array of perfume bottles, but he could tell without even nearing them that none of them were what she'd used.
Spinning around in frustration, he sighed and headed back out, but stopped halfway to the door. Yanking open the top drawer of her dresser, he dug through the clothing inside. Panties and underwear. Nice.
Stuffing a pair of lacy red panties and matching bra into his jean pocket, he knew he'd never get away with it. There was a big bulge in his jeans, making him look way too happy.
Window.
Grabbing a blouse from the closet, he tossed them out the window, hoping they landed on the ground rather than the roof. Be a bit of a bother to explain to Buffy or Willow or Dawn why he was walking along their roof if he was caught.
Walking quickly out of the room and down the hall, he prided himself on being sneaky. Nothing like a bit of theft and deception to put him in a good mood. Except blood. But this was good too.
Taking the stairs down with a bounce in his step, he paused, listening to the conversation before rejoining them. They were quietly talking. Actually, Willow was sniffling and crying while Giles did his best to calm her down.
"Like to make the girls cry, don't you?" he tossed at Giles, loving the furious glare that was aimed his way. Ah, felt almost like old times.
"Oh, do shut up," Giles ground out, still glaring at him from his spot on the couch beside Willow.
She sniffed once or twice and stared at her hands, which were sandwiched between her knees. "Spike," she began, looking over at him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed, "Spike, quit being annoying." Well, it was time to make his exit. He had clothes to pick up, shopping to do, and a robot to check on. He'd gotten in some quality Willow-rubbing. Not a bad night at all.
"Uh, no," Willow said in confusion. "Ac-- actually I was going to thank you, but since you probably don't want to hear it, with you being evil and all, then I won't. But I do."
"You do?" he asked, frowning at her. She was thanking him? Well, didn't that beat all? He rarely, if ever, got thanked for doing something. Let alone something so simple as rubbing ointment on someone's back. And enjoying it as he did so. "Do what?"
"Thank you." She shrugged, wincing a little at the movement of her shoulders.
"Oh. Well, good. I mean, you're welcome." He was a vampire; he didn't do niceties. It wasn't his thing. If she needed someone to tear a throat out and bring body parts back to her, he was the man for the job, but thanking people? It was actually kind of nice though. Felt good. "I'm going now. Uh, where's Buffy?" he asked on his way out.
Didn't want to run into her somewhere carrying Willow's stuff. She was nosey and was bound to find them no matter where he put them on his person.
"She said something about another woman being killed in the park near Ridge," Willow said absently.
Spike stopped his retreat and turned around, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Giles. "Another one?"
Giles nodded, telling Spike with just his eyes that Willow still didn't know. "Possibly. I saw the taped-off area on my way home from here and got a glimpse of a dead woman. So I sent Buffy to find out."
"Find out what?" Willow asked, looking curiously from one to the other. "Are we thinking vampire? Or something worse?"
"Something worse," Giles and Spike said in unison.