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 (7/?)
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 7
"Remember the spell I was doing before the magick dust?" Willow asked, sighing as she tried to settle back against the couch cushions. Finally giving up on that, she rested her arm on the arm of the couch and propped her head in her hand.
"Not the specifics, since you never told me that part, but yeah. The condor feather one." Spike sat back down in front of her, taking Giles' previous seat on the coffee table.
Giles had left a few minutes before, heading off to the magic shop. He'd glared pointedly at Spike, waiting for him to take his leave as well, but Spike had decided he didn't want to go yet. A witch hunter was out there and Willow wasn't in tiptop shape at the moment. She could do with a little protection.
Giles pulled Spike to the door with him and told him that he could stay until Buffy returned.
Wow. Wasn't that spectacularly kind of him?
Spike had imagined planting his fist in Giles' face, watching as blood poured from his broken nose, dripping to the floor in a beautiful red gush. Oh, what nirvana. The image drifted away as Giles slammed the door shut, but the feelings he'd invoked in Spike didn't. He was furious at the assumption that Giles could tell him to do anything.
He was his own bloody person. In charge of himself and the people around him. He was... not in the best shape himself, just like Willow. When he got his chip out, then he'd make the pathetic ex-watcher pay. Until then, he headed back into the front room with Willow.
"Giles did some research on the spell and the ingredients I used." She shrugged, gazing past him to the room beyond. "Apparently Lornack eyes are no longer offered to gods and goddesses because it gets them drunk. Or drugged. According to Giles, wars and disasters have taken place due to the offering of Lornack eyes."
Spike shrugged, wondering where she was going with this. His mind was still stuck on the witch hunter out there, killing witches for their power. Burning holes in their foreheads to suck the power out and then leaving behind a dead husk of a person. If this latest girl was killed the same way, she'd be the third.
Why weren't they protecting Willow better than they were? Why did they let her sit outside on the porch, alone, unaware of what was out there?
"I didn't know. Giles said the book I got the spell from was an old one, so it didn't have a warning. The only reason he knows now is because he's done research on it since I killed Ben."
"Killed Glory," Spike corrected absently, wondering if he should tell her about the hunter. Forewarned was forearmed. If she knew about the threat, she could protect herself, right? Why were they keeping her in the dark?
And why in bloody hell did he care so much?
Because she smelled good wasn't going to cut it. Even if it was real nice. He obviously cared about her. Obvious if he wasn't a stupid, ignorant vampire obsessed with one woman and the smell that was coming off of this one. What the hell was that?
When she sat straighter, moving forward to stretch her back with a sigh of discomfort, he inhaled subtly. There it was again. Vanilla.
"How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, interrupting her musing. "Where is that coming from?" He was going to go insane trying to figure out how she got herself smelling like vanilla one day and apples and cinnamon the next, without external rubbish like perfume.
"Do what?" she asked slowly, tearing her eyes away from the far wall to look at him. To say she looked confused was a huge understatement. Lost adrift in a sea of confusion was closer to the truth.
"Smell like that," he said in frustration, leaning closer to sniff again. Definitely vanilla. With a hint of something else. Bloody hell! "What is that smell?"
"Oh." She sat forward a little, looking past him at something as she dropped her hands to her lap. "Um, the salve?" She darted a quick look to the table, raising her eyebrows in question. "Giles made it. You, uh, you don't like that smell... do you?" She shuddered, crinkling her face up in disgust. "It's really gross."
She was so close to him now. So close.
"Not that," he said in dismissal, his eyes dropping to her neck. It was there, on her neck. He inhaled deeply. There it was, so sweet and tasty smelling. He wanted to taste it, to taste her. She was absolutely delicious smelling. "You. You smell like... vanilla," he mumbled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
"I do?" She lifted her eyes to his, frowning at him as he leaned forward again. She looked a little fearful.
When her eyes dropped to his lips, he amended that thought. Not fearful. Huh. Her heart started to speed up again as her eyes raised back to his.
He nodded, swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to kiss her even though he really wanted to. More than anything. Without even realizing it, he was reaching for her arms, drawing her closer as he sat forward. Her eyes dropped again as he turned his head to the side, sniffing instead of kissing her.
Her breath caught in her throat and he knew she'd been expecting him to kiss her. Maybe even anticipated it. His cheek touched hers, his eyes dropping to her lips now. They were right there, so close to his own. He licked his lips, resisting the urge with all his waning willpower.
She sucked in a breath, her body shuddering lightly. Her small, white teeth nipped at her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth to worry at it as her breath left her in a sigh.
"Let me get that for you," he whispered, giving in. Pressing his lips to hers softly, he pulled at her lower lip with his own teeth, drawing the flesh into his mouth. Sucking on it gently, he slid his tongue over her lip and then into her mouth. She drew in another breath, sighing it out as he slid his hands down her neck and shoulders to slip around her back. Careful not to hurt her, he slipped his palms along her flesh, sliding his thumbs under the cloth covering her breasts.
His teeth worked at her lip a little more before opening his mouth on hers completely. Her tongue slid along his lip, then met his and pressed against him. One of them moaned and he couldn't be sure who. He wanted to moan, he wanted to pick her up and set her on his lap, to press her against his hardening erection. To drown in her scent as well as her body.
Instead, he drew away, staring down at her as he sucked in a breath. Holy... something or other. She'd gotten him hard from a kiss. A single, bloody kiss. Hard? he nearly laughed, he was more than hard. He had a raging hard-on and felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with a Trunkle demon. And the smell was still there, still wrapping around him, drawing him toward her.
She opened her eyes only now, exhaling sharply as he grabbed her arms again and pressed his mouth to hers. There was no softness this time, no gentleness. With all the force he could muster without hurting them both, he kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips to explore the soft recesses of her mouth. His teeth nipped at her lips, his tongue thrusting against hers, tangling with the flesh with abandon.
She moaned, and this time he was sure it was her, because he was too busy growling low in his throat to moan. Her hands planted themselves flat against his chest then gripped his T-Shirt, fisting in the black material, stretching the fabric as she pulled him closer, straining toward him. Her mouth worked against his just as feverishly as his was, opening wider with each breath as they tried to devour each other.
Something was happening to him. His hands, frantically working at the knot of her shirt, trying to untie it from her waist, were starting to tingle. His lips felt numb, but so full of pleasure. His breath was coming in pants, his whole body felt... energized.
Freeing the shirt finally, he slid his hands beneath the material, cupping her breasts with a sigh. She arched into his hands, moaning louder when he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. She clawed his chest, clenching and unclenching her fingers. He stood up, shoving the table back with his foot and knelt on the floor, taking her with him. Popcorn crunched beneath him, smashing into the carpet.
Settling her on his lap with a satisfied groan, he was pleased to feel her wrap her legs around his waist with only a minor groan of discomfort. Sliding his hands up to her cheeks, he pulled back a little, looking down into her heated face, into eyes filled with desire. "Why do I want you so much?" he whispered to himself, frowning at her.
Her eyes widened and she climbed off his lap, crying out in pain as she scrambled away from him. She turned away, leaving him not just empty without her, but feeling alone as well. Climbing to his feet, he stared at her back, feeling a surge of desire shoot through him at the sight.
"You're gonna turn into Ben," she whispered, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "You're-- you're gonna become a decomposing, Glory-hair wearing, Ben corpse."
Spike burst out laughing, wondering where she'd come up with that image. "I don't have any plans to do that soon." He stepped closer, intending to touch her back, to slide his hand along the smooth, bruised flesh, but he halted his hand a few inches from her.
"I dreamed this too. I--" she spun around, wincing and then rolling her eyes in irritation. "You were more naked though. You turned into Ben. Rotting and decomposing, and the table was out there too. The popcorn." Her breathing was slowing down from their frantic making out session, but speeding up as well from panic. "What's happening?"
"Maybe it's a part of the magick. Left over from that night." He stepped closer, moving to stand in front of her when she tried to sidestep him. "What else happened in the dream? Anything we need to worry about?" He chuckled lowly, raising an eyebrow at her. "Am I gonna suddenly sport a tutu and dance the Nutcracker?"
She shook her head, a smile threatening to creep up her lips. "No, but if you suddenly find yourself in a fluffy yellow towel..." she shrugged, smiling lopsidedly, "don't say I didn't warn you."
He chuckled in amusement. "Thanks for the warning--"
"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, frowning again. "Why did I let you kiss me? Why with the-- the touching and the..." she looked down at her hands. "You should probably go. I'm tired." She sat on the couch, dropping stiffly to the cushions with a sigh. "Thanks again." Her head shot up, her eyes darting away from his quickly. "Not for the kissing... but the, um, salve. And-- and, I should go. You're tired. I mean. Um, I'm tired, you should go. So, I'll see you." She looked up, smiling and nodding, bobbing her head up and down, straining her lips to the edges of a smile that was quickly turning into a grimace.
He nodded, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. He should go. Walk out the door and leave her behind, leave behind that smell that was once again drifting toward him. Instead, he pushed the table back to its rightful position and headed into the kitchen for the trash can.
He heard her exhale sharply and quickly draw in another breath as he rooted under the cabinets for the trash. It was under the sink, along with a dust buster. He had to do something. He felt like he needed to stay there, to protect her. To clean up to keep Buffy from knowing he'd just--
Dropping the trash can to the floor and the dust buster to the table, he paced away a few feet and returned. Okay, so he'd made out with Willow. Big deal. He had a Willow robot at home that he'd had sex with too many times to count, why was this any different?
Well, that was bloody obvious. This Willow was real. A real human being with real friends that could kill him. With real weapons. And he was supposed to be in love with her best friend. Not her. Willow was just... someone to use. That's all she was. He could use her and be done with it. Like a plastic cup. Use her and trash her.
Nodding to himself, he grabbed the trash can and dust buster, heading back into the front room.
As soon as he saw Willow, kneeling on the floor, gathering the crushed popcorn into a pile on the carpet, he knew he was lying to himself. He could never do that to her. Not anymore. She was someone he cared about, wanted, needed. As soon as he cleaned this mess up and Buffy returned home, he would head to his crypt and have fantastic sex with the substitute Willow waiting for him.
Without looking up, Willow pushed a few more pieces of white into her small pile. "You've got a dust buster in your hand, don't you?"
Spike glanced down at the small red vacuum as he set the trash can beside the couch. "Yeah."
"Dreamed that too." She scooped her pile of popcorn into her hands and dropped them into the trash can. "So, what, I'm Psychic Girl now? Precognitive Girl?" She brushed her hands off and held one out for the dust buster.
He started to hand it to her, but thought it might be quicker and easier if he did it himself. "I've got it. I can move better than you."
"You're a lot nicer than dream-you," she said absently, climbing to her feet with a groan. The ends of her blouse trailed down her sweat pants, hanging loose.
His eyes automatically moved up, trying to get a glimpse of flesh he'd felt and could still feel in his palms. The bot paled in comparison to the real thing, but she'd have to do for now. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he knelt down and turned the small vacuum on, running it across the floor.
Smashed and crushed pieces of popcorn got sucked into the small appliance, leaving behind the smell of burning kernels. The humming of the vacuum kept them from making small talk, for which he was somewhat grateful.
What could he possibly say to her anyway? 'Sorry I kissed you breathless and came *this* close to shagging you sore.'
Once the floor was shining and sparkling like new, as much as a carpet could, he took the trash can and dust buster back to the kitchen and put them away. Turning the water on, he absently washed his hands and rinsed them, taking his time as he thought about what to do next. He didn't feel like talking and was positive that if he went back out there and sat down, Willow would want to talk.
To ask him what the hell he'd be thinking. Since he couldn't answer the question for himself, he had no hopes of answering it enough for her. So, he dried his hands off and quietly headed into the foyer to grab his cigarettes from his duster.
He tossed a look into the front room, seeing Willow in the same spot as she'd been before, staring at nothing. Doing nothing. Her left hand was playing with the fingers of her right hand, but other than that... she'd zoned out sometime ago.
Taking his pack and his lighter out front, he sat on the porch and lit one, inhaling deeply to rid himself of the smell and taste of Willow. The nicotine entered his lungs, filling them with noxious black smoke and it wasn't enough.
He could still smell her. Still taste the unique flavor of her lips and her mouth. It was so different from the bot.
From Harmony and Drusilla. Different even than Buffy from when they'd been engaged. Quite a few lip-locks had happened during that one fateful night, and he still had the memory of her taste imprinted on his mind.
But Willow was different.
Sweeter, saltier, more. Everything about her was just more than any other woman he'd been with. And that's what had him worried.
He bent his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the house across the street. A shadow walked in front of the lit window, pausing briefly to peer out the faded gold curtains. The old guy continued on his way, leaving the curtains swaying a bit as Spike pondered the mysteries of his attraction to Willow.
_______________________________________________
Willow listened carefully for the sound of Spike's return, wondering if she was more anxious for him to come back, or not come back. Either way, she was on edge right now.
Kissage. Spike kissage. What the heck was that about? Having just recently admitted to herself that she found him attractive did not give her the right to practically attack him at the first provocation. Sure, there'd been circumstances and reasons for what happened, not the least of which seemed to be his obsession with the way she smelled, but she was not allowed to just... make out with the first person to come along.
Pushing herself to her feet, she slowly made her way to the foyer. Her back felt rather numb and tingly, not as painful as it'd been earlier. Most of the pain was gone, from the salve she figured, and so she was going to take advantage of it and go upstairs.
As she passed the open front door, she glanced at Spike's back, watching him smoke his cigarette. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. As she passed, he turned his head to look at her, his face hidden in shadow. She had no clue what he was thinking and would rather not know at this point anyway.
Probably regret. Or boredom. Had she bored him? Was she not sophisticated and worldly enough for him?
Was she going to ask herself stupid questions all night?
Sighing lightly, she continued to the stairs and slowly went up them, feeling every muscle working to make her move. A couple of groans escaped her, even when she tried to bite them back. He most likely thought she was a big wimp for complaining so much about her pain but... this was the worst she could remember ever feeling.
Coma withstanding.
The ends of her shirt, hanging down to her knees, brushed along her thighs with each step she took, reminding her just how wanton she'd acted. Throwing herself at him like a hussy.
Rounding the stairs, she headed toward her room, wondering if he'd even wanted to kiss her. Maybe he thought she wanted it and just didn't want to be rude. She had wanted it and been disappointed when he didn't kiss her the first time, but not if he was only--
"Oh, stop it," she ground out angrily. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushed open her new bedroom door, looking around for the books she'd come upstairs for. Aha. On the bedside. Dawn had borrowed the books and only just returned them this week. Across the hall was much easier to remember than across town.
She smiled a little, remembering Dawn's impossibly wide grin when she brought them over.
The smile left her face when she remembered why Spike wanted them. His 'friend.' She suspected it was more along the lines of 'girlfriend' but she wasn't positive.
Well, one more reason to heap on the pile of wrongness. Spike had a girlfriend. And Buffy. He didn't have Buffy, but he loved her. It was a huge wall being thrown up between them even if there weren't a hundred others.
Glancing down at the three books, all looking well-read, she sighed. "Kiss the boy, then give him things for his girlfriend... yeah, that's normal." She picked them up and headed back downstairs.
He was still outside, the door still wide open, but he was turned to the side now, like he'd been before, when she was out there with him. His back was against the short brick pillar, his knees bent, his head turned toward her. His eyes, no longer in shadow, followed her slow progress down the steps, moving from her face to her hands. The books. She was sure she saw a smile touch his lips, but it was gone when she blinked.
"You, uh, still want them?" she asked, holding them out a bit. She settled her feet on the floor and sighed with relief. Stretching and bending was not doing a lot of good for her at the moment. In the long run, yep, but currently, with the pain and stuff, nope. She went outside, walking across the cold concrete toward him.
"Yeah." He left his cigarette between his lips and reached up for them, squinting through the smoke at the titles as he shuffled the books. "You shouldn't be out here," he told her absently.
His voice was offhanded, but his look wasn't. He surveyed the neighborhood, searching for bad and evil things out to... do what?
"Why not?" She moved to the steps, intending to sit down, but he stood up quickly and tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk below. Grabbing her arm, he moved her slowly back in the direction of the door. "If you didn't want me out here, you should've just said..." she trailed off in embarrassment when he followed her inside and shut the door, locking it tightly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," he denied, tossing the books on the coffee table and dropping into the chair across from the couch. He stared at his boots for a minute, then jumped up in irritation. "Turn around."
She looked over her shoulder, wondering what he wanted back there. His fingers brushed against the skin of her back, causing an un-pain-related hiss to escape her. But he was only tying her blouse. His hands lowered to the strips of white cloth dangling by her hips and lifted them to her back, tying them loosely to rest against her waist.
Before moving away, he trailed his palms across the expanse of her back and dipped down to kiss her neck, exhaling against her skin, raising goose bumps. A shiver of desire worked its way through her, forcing breath out of her lungs. She gasped back in again, and stepped forward, away from him.
"Th-- thanks." She dropped to the couch with a sigh, grabbing the remote quickly and flipping the TV on. She needed something besides Spike to concentrate on, and though she doubted the TV would hold much of her interest, she was grateful for the noise it provided the silent room.
"Welcome," he muttered back, lifting his feet and propping them up on the coffee table as he turned his attention to... oh, not the TV. It was on her. His eyes were on her. Unnerving her.
Making her really nervous. Why was he staring at her?
She tried hard to ignore him, deciding to flip through the channels, but her eyes kept trying to slide to him. He hadn't moved since sitting down, and it was really creepy that he could hold still like that. He'd make a great statue. Certainly had the physique for it. And the pale skin that resembled marble.
She gulped quietly and pressed the down button on the remote, reaching for her water to quench the sudden thirst she had. The remote slipped out of her sweaty palm and dropped to the floor. Her water teetered on the brink of taking a dive, but stayed upright. She wrapped her fingers around the neck and sat back with it, uncapping it slowly, so as not to seem too anxious beneath his watchful gaze.
The sound from the TV entered her mind as she twisted the cap. Moaning. Lots of loud, sexual moaning. And kissing. Her eyes darted to the TV screen, taking in the naked couple onscreen as they bumped and grinded against each other. Her eyes widened and her mouth went even drier.
Oh, dear God. There were breasts and legs and-- and a whole smorgasbord of body parts being artfully displayed. In closeup. She was pretty sure she squeaked in embarrassment before scooting forward on the couch to pick the remote up from the floor.
A short, quick look in Spike's direction found an amused glint in his eyes, and a smile on his lips. And he wasn't helping her in her quest for the remote.
She sat further forward and bent over completely. "Ow!" she yelped before she could stop herself. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes, but she got the remote.
Spike's boots dropped to the floor and he stood up, sitting beside her by the time she straightened up. "Is it really worth all that?" he asked with a shake of his head.
She clicked the TV off, nodding frantically, eyes wide. "Yes." A giggle threatened to escape her, but she managed to hold back. What was it with her evenings with Spike? They were always filled with sex and nakedness and her nervous laughter.
He sat back beside her, his arm brushing against hers, his jean-clad leg resting against hers. He took the remote from her and turned the TV back on. More loud moaning burst through the speakers, followed by an exultant scream of ecstasy from the woman in the movie. She was panting and gasping and-- thankfully Spike changed the channel.
She had no clue what was on, and what he settled in to watch. A show. About something or other. Or it could've been a movie. Maybe a music channel. Her whole mind was stuck on him and his close proximity. She hadn't felt this nervous since high school. Her whole attention was on Spike, her eyes on his leg, which was right next to hers. Her ears heard only his chuckles and the occasional breath he took in.
All she felt was him, the coolness radiating from his body, seeping into hers. The fabric of his shirt sleeve brushing against her bare arm when he shifted. And the smell of him. Cigarettes, not the best smell, but it was Spike. And something else, something... earthy. Spicy. Like cologne. Did he wear cologne?
Maybe it was soap. Or shampoo and conditioner. Perhaps it was the gel he used in his hair, which she knew he had to use. No way did it stay slicked back like that without help. Maybe it was shaving cream or aftershave.
Or, maybe she was obsessing over something that didn't concern her. He had a girlfriend.
An overabundance of women to choose from too. True, Drusilla had left and Buffy wouldn't give him the time of day, but clearly others found him attractive. Even Harmony would probably come running back if he gave her any kind of encouragement. And now she herself was beginning to succumb to his charms.
If she did, would that make her a vampire ho? Or him? It was all too confusing.
She snickered quietly, hiding her laughter behind a cough. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow curiously, knowing full well she was laughing, but having no idea why. And for once, he didn't ask, just sighed and went back to his TV-watching.
A few minutes later, he glanced at her and did a double-take. "Your nose," he said, reaching a hand out toward her.
She jerked back, having no clue what he was talking about. "What are you doing, playing 'got your nose'?" His laughter soothed her fear, his amused eyes and smile lessening her tension.
"It's bleeding. I just--" he stopped, looking around before coming up with the box of tissues Giles had placed there earlier. "Here." He pulled a few free of the heart-covered box, handing them to her.
"Thanks," she mumbled, raising one of the tissues to her nose to blot away the blood. Her mind, for one tiny second, thought about letting him have the blood, but there were so many things wrong with that, not the least of which was the ew-factor. And the embarrassment of offering a cute guy her nose blood. A cute guy she'd just made out with.
TITLE: Order Now (7/?)
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 7
"Remember the spell I was doing before the magick dust?" Willow asked, sighing as she tried to settle back against the couch cushions. Finally giving up on that, she rested her arm on the arm of the couch and propped her head in her hand.
"Not the specifics, since you never told me that part, but yeah. The condor feather one." Spike sat back down in front of her, taking Giles' previous seat on the coffee table.
Giles had left a few minutes before, heading off to the magic shop. He'd glared pointedly at Spike, waiting for him to take his leave as well, but Spike had decided he didn't want to go yet. A witch hunter was out there and Willow wasn't in tiptop shape at the moment. She could do with a little protection.
Giles pulled Spike to the door with him and told him that he could stay until Buffy returned.
Wow. Wasn't that spectacularly kind of him?
Spike had imagined planting his fist in Giles' face, watching as blood poured from his broken nose, dripping to the floor in a beautiful red gush. Oh, what nirvana. The image drifted away as Giles slammed the door shut, but the feelings he'd invoked in Spike didn't. He was furious at the assumption that Giles could tell him to do anything.
He was his own bloody person. In charge of himself and the people around him. He was... not in the best shape himself, just like Willow. When he got his chip out, then he'd make the pathetic ex-watcher pay. Until then, he headed back into the front room with Willow.
"Giles did some research on the spell and the ingredients I used." She shrugged, gazing past him to the room beyond. "Apparently Lornack eyes are no longer offered to gods and goddesses because it gets them drunk. Or drugged. According to Giles, wars and disasters have taken place due to the offering of Lornack eyes."
Spike shrugged, wondering where she was going with this. His mind was still stuck on the witch hunter out there, killing witches for their power. Burning holes in their foreheads to suck the power out and then leaving behind a dead husk of a person. If this latest girl was killed the same way, she'd be the third.
Why weren't they protecting Willow better than they were? Why did they let her sit outside on the porch, alone, unaware of what was out there?
"I didn't know. Giles said the book I got the spell from was an old one, so it didn't have a warning. The only reason he knows now is because he's done research on it since I killed Ben."
"Killed Glory," Spike corrected absently, wondering if he should tell her about the hunter. Forewarned was forearmed. If she knew about the threat, she could protect herself, right? Why were they keeping her in the dark?
And why in bloody hell did he care so much?
Because she smelled good wasn't going to cut it. Even if it was real nice. He obviously cared about her. Obvious if he wasn't a stupid, ignorant vampire obsessed with one woman and the smell that was coming off of this one. What the hell was that?
When she sat straighter, moving forward to stretch her back with a sigh of discomfort, he inhaled subtly. There it was again. Vanilla.
"How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, interrupting her musing. "Where is that coming from?" He was going to go insane trying to figure out how she got herself smelling like vanilla one day and apples and cinnamon the next, without external rubbish like perfume.
"Do what?" she asked slowly, tearing her eyes away from the far wall to look at him. To say she looked confused was a huge understatement. Lost adrift in a sea of confusion was closer to the truth.
"Smell like that," he said in frustration, leaning closer to sniff again. Definitely vanilla. With a hint of something else. Bloody hell! "What is that smell?"
"Oh." She sat forward a little, looking past him at something as she dropped her hands to her lap. "Um, the salve?" She darted a quick look to the table, raising her eyebrows in question. "Giles made it. You, uh, you don't like that smell... do you?" She shuddered, crinkling her face up in disgust. "It's really gross."
She was so close to him now. So close.
"Not that," he said in dismissal, his eyes dropping to her neck. It was there, on her neck. He inhaled deeply. There it was, so sweet and tasty smelling. He wanted to taste it, to taste her. She was absolutely delicious smelling. "You. You smell like... vanilla," he mumbled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
"I do?" She lifted her eyes to his, frowning at him as he leaned forward again. She looked a little fearful.
When her eyes dropped to his lips, he amended that thought. Not fearful. Huh. Her heart started to speed up again as her eyes raised back to his.
He nodded, swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to kiss her even though he really wanted to. More than anything. Without even realizing it, he was reaching for her arms, drawing her closer as he sat forward. Her eyes dropped again as he turned his head to the side, sniffing instead of kissing her.
Her breath caught in her throat and he knew she'd been expecting him to kiss her. Maybe even anticipated it. His cheek touched hers, his eyes dropping to her lips now. They were right there, so close to his own. He licked his lips, resisting the urge with all his waning willpower.
She sucked in a breath, her body shuddering lightly. Her small, white teeth nipped at her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth to worry at it as her breath left her in a sigh.
"Let me get that for you," he whispered, giving in. Pressing his lips to hers softly, he pulled at her lower lip with his own teeth, drawing the flesh into his mouth. Sucking on it gently, he slid his tongue over her lip and then into her mouth. She drew in another breath, sighing it out as he slid his hands down her neck and shoulders to slip around her back. Careful not to hurt her, he slipped his palms along her flesh, sliding his thumbs under the cloth covering her breasts.
His teeth worked at her lip a little more before opening his mouth on hers completely. Her tongue slid along his lip, then met his and pressed against him. One of them moaned and he couldn't be sure who. He wanted to moan, he wanted to pick her up and set her on his lap, to press her against his hardening erection. To drown in her scent as well as her body.
Instead, he drew away, staring down at her as he sucked in a breath. Holy... something or other. She'd gotten him hard from a kiss. A single, bloody kiss. Hard? he nearly laughed, he was more than hard. He had a raging hard-on and felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with a Trunkle demon. And the smell was still there, still wrapping around him, drawing him toward her.
She opened her eyes only now, exhaling sharply as he grabbed her arms again and pressed his mouth to hers. There was no softness this time, no gentleness. With all the force he could muster without hurting them both, he kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips to explore the soft recesses of her mouth. His teeth nipped at her lips, his tongue thrusting against hers, tangling with the flesh with abandon.
She moaned, and this time he was sure it was her, because he was too busy growling low in his throat to moan. Her hands planted themselves flat against his chest then gripped his T-Shirt, fisting in the black material, stretching the fabric as she pulled him closer, straining toward him. Her mouth worked against his just as feverishly as his was, opening wider with each breath as they tried to devour each other.
Something was happening to him. His hands, frantically working at the knot of her shirt, trying to untie it from her waist, were starting to tingle. His lips felt numb, but so full of pleasure. His breath was coming in pants, his whole body felt... energized.
Freeing the shirt finally, he slid his hands beneath the material, cupping her breasts with a sigh. She arched into his hands, moaning louder when he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. She clawed his chest, clenching and unclenching her fingers. He stood up, shoving the table back with his foot and knelt on the floor, taking her with him. Popcorn crunched beneath him, smashing into the carpet.
Settling her on his lap with a satisfied groan, he was pleased to feel her wrap her legs around his waist with only a minor groan of discomfort. Sliding his hands up to her cheeks, he pulled back a little, looking down into her heated face, into eyes filled with desire. "Why do I want you so much?" he whispered to himself, frowning at her.
Her eyes widened and she climbed off his lap, crying out in pain as she scrambled away from him. She turned away, leaving him not just empty without her, but feeling alone as well. Climbing to his feet, he stared at her back, feeling a surge of desire shoot through him at the sight.
"You're gonna turn into Ben," she whispered, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "You're-- you're gonna become a decomposing, Glory-hair wearing, Ben corpse."
Spike burst out laughing, wondering where she'd come up with that image. "I don't have any plans to do that soon." He stepped closer, intending to touch her back, to slide his hand along the smooth, bruised flesh, but he halted his hand a few inches from her.
"I dreamed this too. I--" she spun around, wincing and then rolling her eyes in irritation. "You were more naked though. You turned into Ben. Rotting and decomposing, and the table was out there too. The popcorn." Her breathing was slowing down from their frantic making out session, but speeding up as well from panic. "What's happening?"
"Maybe it's a part of the magick. Left over from that night." He stepped closer, moving to stand in front of her when she tried to sidestep him. "What else happened in the dream? Anything we need to worry about?" He chuckled lowly, raising an eyebrow at her. "Am I gonna suddenly sport a tutu and dance the Nutcracker?"
She shook her head, a smile threatening to creep up her lips. "No, but if you suddenly find yourself in a fluffy yellow towel..." she shrugged, smiling lopsidedly, "don't say I didn't warn you."
He chuckled in amusement. "Thanks for the warning--"
"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, frowning again. "Why did I let you kiss me? Why with the-- the touching and the..." she looked down at her hands. "You should probably go. I'm tired." She sat on the couch, dropping stiffly to the cushions with a sigh. "Thanks again." Her head shot up, her eyes darting away from his quickly. "Not for the kissing... but the, um, salve. And-- and, I should go. You're tired. I mean. Um, I'm tired, you should go. So, I'll see you." She looked up, smiling and nodding, bobbing her head up and down, straining her lips to the edges of a smile that was quickly turning into a grimace.
He nodded, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. He should go. Walk out the door and leave her behind, leave behind that smell that was once again drifting toward him. Instead, he pushed the table back to its rightful position and headed into the kitchen for the trash can.
He heard her exhale sharply and quickly draw in another breath as he rooted under the cabinets for the trash. It was under the sink, along with a dust buster. He had to do something. He felt like he needed to stay there, to protect her. To clean up to keep Buffy from knowing he'd just--
Dropping the trash can to the floor and the dust buster to the table, he paced away a few feet and returned. Okay, so he'd made out with Willow. Big deal. He had a Willow robot at home that he'd had sex with too many times to count, why was this any different?
Well, that was bloody obvious. This Willow was real. A real human being with real friends that could kill him. With real weapons. And he was supposed to be in love with her best friend. Not her. Willow was just... someone to use. That's all she was. He could use her and be done with it. Like a plastic cup. Use her and trash her.
Nodding to himself, he grabbed the trash can and dust buster, heading back into the front room.
As soon as he saw Willow, kneeling on the floor, gathering the crushed popcorn into a pile on the carpet, he knew he was lying to himself. He could never do that to her. Not anymore. She was someone he cared about, wanted, needed. As soon as he cleaned this mess up and Buffy returned home, he would head to his crypt and have fantastic sex with the substitute Willow waiting for him.
Without looking up, Willow pushed a few more pieces of white into her small pile. "You've got a dust buster in your hand, don't you?"
Spike glanced down at the small red vacuum as he set the trash can beside the couch. "Yeah."
"Dreamed that too." She scooped her pile of popcorn into her hands and dropped them into the trash can. "So, what, I'm Psychic Girl now? Precognitive Girl?" She brushed her hands off and held one out for the dust buster.
He started to hand it to her, but thought it might be quicker and easier if he did it himself. "I've got it. I can move better than you."
"You're a lot nicer than dream-you," she said absently, climbing to her feet with a groan. The ends of her blouse trailed down her sweat pants, hanging loose.
His eyes automatically moved up, trying to get a glimpse of flesh he'd felt and could still feel in his palms. The bot paled in comparison to the real thing, but she'd have to do for now. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he knelt down and turned the small vacuum on, running it across the floor.
Smashed and crushed pieces of popcorn got sucked into the small appliance, leaving behind the smell of burning kernels. The humming of the vacuum kept them from making small talk, for which he was somewhat grateful.
What could he possibly say to her anyway? 'Sorry I kissed you breathless and came *this* close to shagging you sore.'
Once the floor was shining and sparkling like new, as much as a carpet could, he took the trash can and dust buster back to the kitchen and put them away. Turning the water on, he absently washed his hands and rinsed them, taking his time as he thought about what to do next. He didn't feel like talking and was positive that if he went back out there and sat down, Willow would want to talk.
To ask him what the hell he'd be thinking. Since he couldn't answer the question for himself, he had no hopes of answering it enough for her. So, he dried his hands off and quietly headed into the foyer to grab his cigarettes from his duster.
He tossed a look into the front room, seeing Willow in the same spot as she'd been before, staring at nothing. Doing nothing. Her left hand was playing with the fingers of her right hand, but other than that... she'd zoned out sometime ago.
Taking his pack and his lighter out front, he sat on the porch and lit one, inhaling deeply to rid himself of the smell and taste of Willow. The nicotine entered his lungs, filling them with noxious black smoke and it wasn't enough.
He could still smell her. Still taste the unique flavor of her lips and her mouth. It was so different from the bot.
From Harmony and Drusilla. Different even than Buffy from when they'd been engaged. Quite a few lip-locks had happened during that one fateful night, and he still had the memory of her taste imprinted on his mind.
But Willow was different.
Sweeter, saltier, more. Everything about her was just more than any other woman he'd been with. And that's what had him worried.
He bent his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the house across the street. A shadow walked in front of the lit window, pausing briefly to peer out the faded gold curtains. The old guy continued on his way, leaving the curtains swaying a bit as Spike pondered the mysteries of his attraction to Willow.
_______________________________________________
Willow listened carefully for the sound of Spike's return, wondering if she was more anxious for him to come back, or not come back. Either way, she was on edge right now.
Kissage. Spike kissage. What the heck was that about? Having just recently admitted to herself that she found him attractive did not give her the right to practically attack him at the first provocation. Sure, there'd been circumstances and reasons for what happened, not the least of which seemed to be his obsession with the way she smelled, but she was not allowed to just... make out with the first person to come along.
Pushing herself to her feet, she slowly made her way to the foyer. Her back felt rather numb and tingly, not as painful as it'd been earlier. Most of the pain was gone, from the salve she figured, and so she was going to take advantage of it and go upstairs.
As she passed the open front door, she glanced at Spike's back, watching him smoke his cigarette. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. As she passed, he turned his head to look at her, his face hidden in shadow. She had no clue what he was thinking and would rather not know at this point anyway.
Probably regret. Or boredom. Had she bored him? Was she not sophisticated and worldly enough for him?
Was she going to ask herself stupid questions all night?
Sighing lightly, she continued to the stairs and slowly went up them, feeling every muscle working to make her move. A couple of groans escaped her, even when she tried to bite them back. He most likely thought she was a big wimp for complaining so much about her pain but... this was the worst she could remember ever feeling.
Coma withstanding.
The ends of her shirt, hanging down to her knees, brushed along her thighs with each step she took, reminding her just how wanton she'd acted. Throwing herself at him like a hussy.
Rounding the stairs, she headed toward her room, wondering if he'd even wanted to kiss her. Maybe he thought she wanted it and just didn't want to be rude. She had wanted it and been disappointed when he didn't kiss her the first time, but not if he was only--
"Oh, stop it," she ground out angrily. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushed open her new bedroom door, looking around for the books she'd come upstairs for. Aha. On the bedside. Dawn had borrowed the books and only just returned them this week. Across the hall was much easier to remember than across town.
She smiled a little, remembering Dawn's impossibly wide grin when she brought them over.
The smile left her face when she remembered why Spike wanted them. His 'friend.' She suspected it was more along the lines of 'girlfriend' but she wasn't positive.
Well, one more reason to heap on the pile of wrongness. Spike had a girlfriend. And Buffy. He didn't have Buffy, but he loved her. It was a huge wall being thrown up between them even if there weren't a hundred others.
Glancing down at the three books, all looking well-read, she sighed. "Kiss the boy, then give him things for his girlfriend... yeah, that's normal." She picked them up and headed back downstairs.
He was still outside, the door still wide open, but he was turned to the side now, like he'd been before, when she was out there with him. His back was against the short brick pillar, his knees bent, his head turned toward her. His eyes, no longer in shadow, followed her slow progress down the steps, moving from her face to her hands. The books. She was sure she saw a smile touch his lips, but it was gone when she blinked.
"You, uh, still want them?" she asked, holding them out a bit. She settled her feet on the floor and sighed with relief. Stretching and bending was not doing a lot of good for her at the moment. In the long run, yep, but currently, with the pain and stuff, nope. She went outside, walking across the cold concrete toward him.
"Yeah." He left his cigarette between his lips and reached up for them, squinting through the smoke at the titles as he shuffled the books. "You shouldn't be out here," he told her absently.
His voice was offhanded, but his look wasn't. He surveyed the neighborhood, searching for bad and evil things out to... do what?
"Why not?" She moved to the steps, intending to sit down, but he stood up quickly and tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk below. Grabbing her arm, he moved her slowly back in the direction of the door. "If you didn't want me out here, you should've just said..." she trailed off in embarrassment when he followed her inside and shut the door, locking it tightly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," he denied, tossing the books on the coffee table and dropping into the chair across from the couch. He stared at his boots for a minute, then jumped up in irritation. "Turn around."
She looked over her shoulder, wondering what he wanted back there. His fingers brushed against the skin of her back, causing an un-pain-related hiss to escape her. But he was only tying her blouse. His hands lowered to the strips of white cloth dangling by her hips and lifted them to her back, tying them loosely to rest against her waist.
Before moving away, he trailed his palms across the expanse of her back and dipped down to kiss her neck, exhaling against her skin, raising goose bumps. A shiver of desire worked its way through her, forcing breath out of her lungs. She gasped back in again, and stepped forward, away from him.
"Th-- thanks." She dropped to the couch with a sigh, grabbing the remote quickly and flipping the TV on. She needed something besides Spike to concentrate on, and though she doubted the TV would hold much of her interest, she was grateful for the noise it provided the silent room.
"Welcome," he muttered back, lifting his feet and propping them up on the coffee table as he turned his attention to... oh, not the TV. It was on her. His eyes were on her. Unnerving her.
Making her really nervous. Why was he staring at her?
She tried hard to ignore him, deciding to flip through the channels, but her eyes kept trying to slide to him. He hadn't moved since sitting down, and it was really creepy that he could hold still like that. He'd make a great statue. Certainly had the physique for it. And the pale skin that resembled marble.
She gulped quietly and pressed the down button on the remote, reaching for her water to quench the sudden thirst she had. The remote slipped out of her sweaty palm and dropped to the floor. Her water teetered on the brink of taking a dive, but stayed upright. She wrapped her fingers around the neck and sat back with it, uncapping it slowly, so as not to seem too anxious beneath his watchful gaze.
The sound from the TV entered her mind as she twisted the cap. Moaning. Lots of loud, sexual moaning. And kissing. Her eyes darted to the TV screen, taking in the naked couple onscreen as they bumped and grinded against each other. Her eyes widened and her mouth went even drier.
Oh, dear God. There were breasts and legs and-- and a whole smorgasbord of body parts being artfully displayed. In closeup. She was pretty sure she squeaked in embarrassment before scooting forward on the couch to pick the remote up from the floor.
A short, quick look in Spike's direction found an amused glint in his eyes, and a smile on his lips. And he wasn't helping her in her quest for the remote.
She sat further forward and bent over completely. "Ow!" she yelped before she could stop herself. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes, but she got the remote.
Spike's boots dropped to the floor and he stood up, sitting beside her by the time she straightened up. "Is it really worth all that?" he asked with a shake of his head.
She clicked the TV off, nodding frantically, eyes wide. "Yes." A giggle threatened to escape her, but she managed to hold back. What was it with her evenings with Spike? They were always filled with sex and nakedness and her nervous laughter.
He sat back beside her, his arm brushing against hers, his jean-clad leg resting against hers. He took the remote from her and turned the TV back on. More loud moaning burst through the speakers, followed by an exultant scream of ecstasy from the woman in the movie. She was panting and gasping and-- thankfully Spike changed the channel.
She had no clue what was on, and what he settled in to watch. A show. About something or other. Or it could've been a movie. Maybe a music channel. Her whole mind was stuck on him and his close proximity. She hadn't felt this nervous since high school. Her whole attention was on Spike, her eyes on his leg, which was right next to hers. Her ears heard only his chuckles and the occasional breath he took in.
All she felt was him, the coolness radiating from his body, seeping into hers. The fabric of his shirt sleeve brushing against her bare arm when he shifted. And the smell of him. Cigarettes, not the best smell, but it was Spike. And something else, something... earthy. Spicy. Like cologne. Did he wear cologne?
Maybe it was soap. Or shampoo and conditioner. Perhaps it was the gel he used in his hair, which she knew he had to use. No way did it stay slicked back like that without help. Maybe it was shaving cream or aftershave.
Or, maybe she was obsessing over something that didn't concern her. He had a girlfriend.
An overabundance of women to choose from too. True, Drusilla had left and Buffy wouldn't give him the time of day, but clearly others found him attractive. Even Harmony would probably come running back if he gave her any kind of encouragement. And now she herself was beginning to succumb to his charms.
If she did, would that make her a vampire ho? Or him? It was all too confusing.
She snickered quietly, hiding her laughter behind a cough. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow curiously, knowing full well she was laughing, but having no idea why. And for once, he didn't ask, just sighed and went back to his TV-watching.
A few minutes later, he glanced at her and did a double-take. "Your nose," he said, reaching a hand out toward her.
She jerked back, having no clue what he was talking about. "What are you doing, playing 'got your nose'?" His laughter soothed her fear, his amused eyes and smile lessening her tension.
"It's bleeding. I just--" he stopped, looking around before coming up with the box of tissues Giles had placed there earlier. "Here." He pulled a few free of the heart-covered box, handing them to her.
"Thanks," she mumbled, raising one of the tissues to her nose to blot away the blood. Her mind, for one tiny second, thought about letting him have the blood, but there were so many things wrong with that, not the least of which was the ew-factor. And the embarrassment of offering a cute guy her nose blood. A cute guy she'd just made out with.