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 (13/?)
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 13
Spike's foot slipped for the fourth time as he walked along the roof of the Summers' house, rounding the corner to the back, heading for Willow's room. He was still pissed from last night's run in with Buffy, and maybe it wasn't the best thing to come traipsing across her roof at odd hours of the night, but he wanted to see Willow.
He'd waited one day, an entire twenty-four hours, before coming to see her again, but now he was wondering about the wisdom of his choice to come in the back way. Running into Buffy or Dawn wasn't on his list of things to do tonight, so rooftops and windows it was.
He just hoped Willow would let him in.
The gravel on the shingles was slippery as hell under his boots, making his route a tricky one. The moon was high, unnecessarily lighting his way, covering the entire house and backyard in a yellow glow. Windows lined the whole of the back, and Willow's was just ahead of him.
He could see light shining through the cracks in the heavy flowery curtains hanging there.
He felt Willow's heartbeat, and concentrated on its steady beat as he knelt before her window. Would she call Buffy immediately? Was Buffy even there? He heard three heartbeats in the house, but they could be anyone.
Would Willow open the window and allow him into her room without a second thought? Or maybe she'd already had second thoughts and would turn him away.
The agony of not knowing was killing him... again.
It'd been a day since his run-in with Buffy, a day since he'd stormed out of the house and sulked in his crypt for a few hours, ignoring his poor Willowbot.
There'd been the thought of killing someone as soon as he remembered he could, and he'd gone out, hunting like he used to do. Killing like he used to do.
He'd found a man in a bar on the docks, and followed him and his date to an empty warehouse. The man hadn't tried to rape the girl like Spike thought he would. They'd had sex while Spike watched, gotten themselves off while Spike waited to kill them. After all the wasted time and energy of forcing himself not to attack them and simply feed off their frightened little selves, he'd waited, ignoring their groans and moans of pleasure.
As soon as they were done, while the man zipped up his pants, Spike attacked. He beat the man to the ground, listening to the screaming as long as he could before knocking him out. The woman, cowering in a corner, her shirt half off, her mini skirt still hiked up about her waist, and her hair and make-up in disarray... well, he let her go. Let her go and killed the man.
He'd lied to Willow, the robot version of her anyway, told her the man had tried to rape the girl, and he'd saved her. Let her go free while he killed the man.
She'd believed him without a second thought, and that made him feel guilty. He'd tried. Was it his fault the man hadn't been as bad as Spike thought he was?
Next time he went out and fed, he'd try to eat only bad people.
"Pansy."
The real Willow didn't know that he could kill again, and he intended to keep it that way for a while. As long as he could, in fact. The bot insisted he eat only bad people. That's what she called them. Bad people. They were food to him, nothing more.
"Enough of this," he muttered, lifting his hand and rapping on the window with his knuckle. He heard Willow's heart speed up, but she didn't rush out of the room screaming for Buffy. She neared the window slowly. He could feel her as she approached, see her through the crack in the curtains.
She was dressed in something white and see-through, with her back to the lamp in the room. He got a glimpse of her stomach, tight and firm, and one thigh, toned with muscles, as she stopped in front of the curtain.
She tilted her head a little to see out the crack in the curtains, her eyes widening when she saw him kneeling there. She threw the curtains open and started to unlock the window. Her hand froze on the lock, her eyes narrowing a little in fear.
"What are you--" she began, her voice muffled through the glass. She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice, stepping closer to the window as she faced him again. "What are you doing here?"
Spike considered his answer as he looked his fill of her. Her white, see-through nightgown was short, only coming to mid-thigh. The thin spaghetti straps hid nothing of her freckled shoulders, and the low bodice did nothing more than emphasize her chest.
"Nice bit of fluff you got there," he said after clearing his throat quietly. His eyes stayed fixed on the bodice for a second before raising them to her eyes. "Waiting for someone special?"
"Tara bought it for me." She glanced over her shoulder again, lowering her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Again I ask: What are you doing here?"
Her breasts rose even higher, fueling his desire even further. The lust burned a path through him as he took in every bare inch of her legs and arms. Her eyebrows rose, waiting for him to answer her question, but he decided to answer with one of his own. "You always answer knocks on your window in the middle of the night dressed in a slip of nothing?"
Willow sighed. "Yes, Spike, I do. You see," she leaned closer, looking around to make sure no one was listening but him, "I'm an exhibitionist." She straightened up again, rolling her eyes. "I thought you knew that."
"How about you let me in and I look at you to your heart's content?" he asked softly, his eyes boring into hers with a height of awareness he hadn't felt since Drusilla. This was different though, he felt this pull toward Willow that he'd never felt toward Drusilla until after he'd been turned. "I can even add touching to that scenario," he said calmly, though his body felt anything but calm. He was on fire for her, just from seeing her again.
He was lost.
She dropped her defensive pose and bit her lip, unsure of herself. Finally, she closed her eyes with a brief sigh and then opened them, unlocking the window with a flick of her fingers. She opened the window, stepping back hastily.
"You have to be quiet," she said in a near whisper. "Dawn and Xander are downstairs playing a game or watching TV or something."
Spike stepped over the sill and into Willow's private domain. He stood there looking around for a second, taking it all in. The room smelled even more strongly of her tonight, and there was hardly a trace left of Joyce's scent. She had a damp towel hanging on the door to the bathroom, her shoes were on the floor at the end of the bed, and a few items of clothing were strewn around the room. A shirt on the back of a chair here, a pair of jeans on the floor there. She was neat, but in a cluttered way.
His eyes fell on her as she went to the door and shut it quietly, grimacing when she moved too quickly. He looked around the room, knowing it was there. He spotted the dread-smelling salve on the small make-up table across from the door. Slipping off his duster, he strode over to it and picked it up.
"Lie down," he told her, his eyes promising relief from the pain, and maybe a little more. Dropping the duster to the chair back, he watched her and waited. A step closer and she was backing up toward the bed.
"Um, you know, whenever that stuff comes out... things get--" she shrugged, at a loss. Or maybe it was because she was staring into his eyes and she saw the want and need for her there. "Sort of... uh, well, heated."
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved closer. "... and?" He was only a few feet away now.
The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, stopping her in her tracks. She turned around and glared at the bed, like it was at fault. When she faced him again, the glare was gone, but the nervousness was still in place. "And," she repeated in confusion, having lost track of the conversation. She looked around, searching for the subject, darting her eyes around before finding it again. "Oh, and," she stressed, holding her hand out in front of her as if the answer was so bloody obvious even an idiot could see it, "and... we shouldn't."
She nodded in confirmation of her words, smiling at having solved their little dilemma.
Spike chuckled, tilting his head to the side, studying her intently. "I think we should."
"Oh, do you?" she tossed back. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, and he knew she wanted him. Even if she hadn't practically squeaked out her response.
"Yes," he answered with confidence. "I do." He closed the distance between them, tossing the jar on the bed behind her. He felt her heat radiating off of her, seeping into his skin and clothes, warming him with her body. Her skin was so close to his own, her lips almost touching his, but he didn't let them come into contact yet.
He'd learned last night that it was a fun game to play.
He looked up at her with just his eyes. "And I think you think we should, too." He groaned inwardly at the convoluted sentence, hoping she hadn't noticed.
She swallowed, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips, her breath becoming more ragged than before. He watched her chest rise until it almost touched his, then fall again as she exhaled with a shake of her head. "No."
His heart sank. Had he read her that wrong? She did want him, he knew she did. No matter how much she denied it, he knew she--
"I don't think we should." She looked up, the frown on her brow creasing even more when she sighed. "But I want to."
He smiled a little in relief, happy he hadn't made a fool of himself. She wanted him, and even though she didn't think it was the right thing to do, he was pretty sure he could make it happen anyway. "Then you will."
She shook her head again. "I can't. Spike, things are just too... weird right now. I can't just hop into bed with you."
Chuckling in satisfaction, he trailed one hand along her arm, not quite touching her skin, leaving her flesh tingling in his wake until he reached her shoulder. "Yes, you can."
She looked tempted, but also determined. "Okay, semantics not really needing to be argued right now. Let me just clear this up for you. I'm not going to," she said sternly.
His fingers slipped very quickly under the thin strap of her nightgown, dropping it to her arm. The cloth sagged a little, giving him a nice view of the top of one breast and the side of the other. "Yes, you are."
"Um, hello, Mr. Cocky," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, blocking her breasts from his view as she tried to move his attention back to her face. She bent down, ducking her head to the height of her breasts. "Up here."
He glanced her way with a chuckle before going back to the sight of her breasts. "Yes?"
"I'm up here, Spike." She reached out a hand, lifting his head up with her fingers beneath his jaw. "And, I'm not having sex with you. Tonight," she added softly, but it was loud enough for him to hear.
"Yes, you are. Because..." he dropped his eyes to her freckled chest again.
She rolled her eyes at his continued preoccupation with her chest. "Because...?"
Instead of answering her question, a question he had no idea about, or what he'd been about to say, he slid a finger down the front of her nightgown, between her breasts. "I like this gown." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips barely touching her flesh. Moving his lips to her ear, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear him. "Makes you look all innocent and sweet. And naughty."
"Spike," she started to say, her voice croaking out pathetically. She cleared her throat, ignoring his chuckle, and continued trying to convince him he was delusional. "Stop it. It's not going to happen." A breath left her, a short one that was quickly taken back again. Her chest rose and fell faster than before.
He raised his eyes to hers, enjoying the effect he was having on her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her other shoulder, sighing out a breath, watching her skin react to him. "Touch me," he whispered, flicking his tongue out to lick her skin, to taste that flavor that was all Willow.
She shivered under him, panting once or twice before holding her breath in, trying to get a hold on herself, but it was a battle she quickly lost. She exhaled and shifted closer to him, raising a hand to his waist, hooking her thumb through one of the belt loops on his jeans. "Just a little," she conceded. "That can't hurt."
Bingo. He had her now.
He slid a hand along the curve of her right arm, not touching the skin just like before. His fingers slipped under the strap, lifting it free of her shoulder and letting go, watching it fall like the other. Her breasts were half-exposed now through the gaping bodice of her nightgown. He placed another kiss on her shoulder. "So sweet and pure."
Her other hand joined the first, hooking in a belt loop on the other side of his waist, drawing him closer. She dropped her head down on his chest, breathing deeply. "I'm not pure," she mumbled into his chest, the feel of her damp breath against his skin and shirt making him hard.
"You are to me," he told her, brushing her hair out of the way to get a better view of her back. He trailed the fingers of his right hand down her left shoulder blade, raising goose bumps along the way. "Does it hurt?"
She nodded, sliding her arms around his waist. "Yes," she admitted. A few breaths later, she turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against his chest. "But I don't want you to go," she whispered.
Spike smiled, satisfaction coursing through him. She wanted him. He pulled away, just enough to lift her head with his fingers and take her mouth. Being needed had its own special appeal to him. His lips crushed hers, moving with an urgency he could feel in her as well, but... first things first.
She had some salve application coming to her, and damn if he hadn't waited long enough to give it to her.
"Lie down," he repeated, reaching around her to grab the jar from the bed.
She looked behind her at the unkempt bed with its rumpled sheets and blankets, then to the door. He was afraid she was considering fleeing the room, but she didn't. "I should lock that." Her voice was deep and husky, filled with lust.
"I'll get it," he told her, his own voice filled with just as much desire as her own. He strode over to the door, turning the lock with a click, and even checking to make sure it was closed all the way. "Strip--" he turned back to her to see her already removing her clothes.
She spun around, holding the gown to her chest, hiding most of her body from him. "Uh, c-- could you turn around?" she asked frantically, looking ready to dive under the covers.
He shrugged, turning to face the vanity table against the opposite wall from the bed. She took a deep breath behind him and he heard the cloth drop to the floor. Her naked image came into view of the mirror, displaying every inch of her body for him.
His breath caught in his throat as his eyes ran down her chest, and the perfect mounds of flesh there, down to her flat, muscular abdomen, white and pale as a vampire's skin. She glanced at him quickly before she stripped off her panties, letting him see the bit of red at the juncture of her thighs, telling him the real story behind her hair color. Her legs though, they were what held most of his attention. He could just imagine those pale, muscular legs wrapped around him as he thrust inside of her warm, moist body.
He groaned, dropping his head back as she turned away and climbed into bed, rolling onto her stomach and covering herself up. "Okay," she called, her eyes finding his in the mirror, even though she couldn't see him in it. She adjusted her pillow underneath her cheek, smiling shamefacedly. "Salve application away."
He tossed the jar into the air and caught it as he stood there staring at her back. Still so beautiful. He started toward the bed, eager to get to it, but realized he was overdressed when he felt the restriction of his pants.
Setting the jar down on the vanity, he untied his boots, keeping his eyes on her.
"Spike," she protested, the words not coming easily to her. "I'm not sleeping with you. The clothes stay on." She started to turn her head, but a small head shake from him had her staying still.
"Just getting more comfortable, love." He kicked off his boots, leaving them where they fell. "Don't want my boots dirtying up the bed, do you?"
She sighed, knowing exactly what he was doing, but remained silent, even when he raised his hands to his belt buckle. The jangling of the buckle was loud in the silence of the room, broken only by her snort. "I suppose I don't want your spotless jeans dirtying up my bed either?" she asked sarcastically, not buying his innocent routine for a minute, but also pretending she wasn't waiting breathlessly to see him.
"No," he admitted with a chuckle. "I don't want to dirty up my spotless jeans." He winked at her, laughing in delight as a nice pink blush stole its way up her neck and face.
He loved her response to him. Humans had some things over vampires, and this was one of them. Dropping his head to his task, he kept his eyes on her, watching her irises dilate as he lowered the zipper, hearing her heart speed up as he undid the button. Her breathing grew more shallow, her body heating up enough for him to notice this far away.
Instead of giving her what she wanted, revealing what she was dying to see, he reached behind him and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, yanking it up and over his head.
She actually sighed when his chest was revealed to her. Without conscious thought, he puffed out his chest, basking in her approval.
He was sometimes a proud man, and this time it was going to cost him. She sat up, keeping herself fully covered by the sheet, and stared at his chest, but not because she liked what she saw anymore, this was something different. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him a question, he glanced down, seeing the very visible bite mark there, as well as the stake wound.
Instead of asking the questions on the tip of her tongue, she just continued to stare, waiting for an explanation. After a few seconds of silence, she grew impatient.
"Did Buffy do that?" Her voice was hard, her eyes narrowing angrily. "Did she-- did she try to dust you?"
So Willow knew something about last night's confusing visit from the Slayer. "We had a bit of a tiff," he said lightly, not wanting to get into it too deeply right now.
She was the only thing he wanted to get deeply into at the moment. Call him a one-track-minded fool, but that's all he cared about at this point in time. That, and getting her mind off of the bite mark as soon as possible.
"Wasn't that big of a thing," he said dismissively.
She nodded, letting it slide for now, but he could also see a fair amount of anger moving beneath the surface. She was pissed, and rightly so to his thinking. You go, baby, stick up for your man.
He turned away with a slight snicker, hoping to bypass any comments on the bite mark, but of course she didn't let him off that easily.
"Did she... bite you?" Willow asked in disbelief. She sat forward, trying to peer more closely at the mark when he turned back to face her.
He shook his head, rubbing his fingers across the mark. "Uh, no." That was all he said, leaving her to wonder about it. Hopefully she wouldn't wonder too much.
"Who did then? That's-- Spike." She raised her eyes to his, sitting straighter in the bed, sheets pooled around her, her naked body calling to him, her eyes daring him to come any closer. "That's a human bite."
"Yeah," he agreed, still rubbing his fingers over it, wanting to tell her she did it. That she'd bitten him as he came, as he made her come, but he stayed silent. She wouldn't understand.
Understatement of the year.
"Or did yet another Lairman demon try to take your crypt?" Oddly enough, she sounded skeptical and looked it to boot.
"No," he denied, remembering his excuse from the other night. Damn, he'd forgotten about that altogether. Bloody f'in hell. "Wasn't a Lairman this time."
"Then why did a... human..." she frowned and then her eyes went wide, landing on his face with accusation. "I thought you said you weren't with her anymore. You told me--" she held the sheet more firmly to her chest and struggled to get out of the bed without hurting herself. "God, Buffy was right."
"About what?" he asked, dropping to the bed and reaching for the sheet as she stood up. He yanked on it, pulling her back to the bed. She bounced a few times, keeping her back to him, giving him a nice view to look at, but not letting him see what he needed to see. "What'd Buffy say, Willow?"
Willow kept her back to him, but turned her head towards him, her face blank, her eyes flat and emotionless. "That you were using me, and look, all true." She pulled the sheet free of his hold, yanking hard enough to throw herself forward with the force of it. "Ouch," she ground out, clenching her jaw. "Go home, Spike, go be with... whoever she is."
Spike ignored her suggestion; to him that's all it was. Not the order she'd made it out to be. Could be he was sometimes delusional as well as proud. "You told Buffy about us?" he asked in surprise. After all her protesting the night before, she'd actually told Buffy?
Well, that was unexpected.
"Yes." She stood up, sweeping the sheet far out of his reach as she did so, wrapping it firmly around her a few times. She strode across the room, also keeping herself far out of his reach.
He stood up as well, following her across the room. "So that's what she was on about last night," he said absently. "Warning me away from you and all that rot... I thought she was talking about the other-- uh, my friend." Almost gave himself away there, wouldn't that have been fun? "Well, she's got some nerve, hasn't she?" He frowned deeply, wondering if he could kill Buffy without angering Willow. Eh, probably not.
Willow was looking at him like he was insane. "Uh, Spike," she said clearly, succinctly, "I'm mad at you, not her, and I'm not about to gang up on her with you."
Her words finally caught his complete attention and he dragged his mind away from thoughts of burying Buffy in his crypt somewhere, after he killed her, of course. Slowly, just like she'd promised him, over nice, long, hot summer days, sweltering heat, nasty humidity, making her as miserable as she could get while he was torturing her.
But that was just fantasy, he'd never actually... well, not as of yet. Maybe someday in the future when he didn't still feel... something for her. "What?"
"Go home," she said in defeat, turning her back to him. "Just... go." She sighed heavily and he was pretty sure her breath hitched in a little. She was on the verge of tears.
"She's a friend, Willow, that's all," he assured her, moving directly behind her to smooth a hand down her bare back. The sheet draped artfully down her colorful back, leaving it partially bare, gathering in an excess of cloth at her lower back, just above the rise of her sweet little behind.
Dragging his eyes up, away from parts that made him want to throw her down and have at it, he wondered if the truth would serve him in good stead at this point.
Seeing her stiff back, and remembering the sadness in her eyes when Buffy told her about April's rundown demise, he decided against the truth for now.
"Doesn't matter." She started to move away from him, to leave him standing alone without her heat and her strength, to leave him forever, but he reached out and grabbed her left arm, halting her progress.
"It does matter. She's a friend," he stressed, "nothing more." He turned her toward him, lifting her face up so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, on his lips... lips that were spouting lies that she was starting to buy. "Nothing more, and nothing less." He chuckled, shrugging a little. "I'm right fond of the bird, but not like I am of you, Willow."
Her eyes lost a little of the frostiness, her face taking on a little life as she bought every lie he tossed out there. So he decided a little truth was needed as well.
"She pales in comparison to you." The lying was giving him time, but the truth is what reeled her right back in to him. He felt a little disgusted with himself, but he couldn't stand it if he lost her.
She dropped her eyes to his chest, lifting a hand to touch hesitantly at the bite, running her fingers over the mark with a frown. "Did she do this?"
And now it was time to lie again. He shivered at the touch of her fingers, raising his own hand to halt hers. "No," he denied, shaking his head, his eyes holding more sincerity than before. He had to pile it on thick. "No, she didn't. It was a vampire."
Her eyes widened at the lie, not buying it anymore. She dropped her hand, stepping back, away from him. "Yeah, right. Nice try."
He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth, showing her his human teeth. "We do have normal teeth too, you know. He was a vampire, but he wasn't a very bright vampire."
She frowned at him, sighing, not sure if she should believe him or not. In her eyes, he could see that she wanted to, she wanted to think he'd tell her the truth, that he wouldn't lie like the rug he was being, but she was weary, tired of the whole conversation, and maybe him. "Why would he do that?"
"Because I was trying to kill him?" he guessed, shrugging widely, making big movements to cover his weak story. "He was a fledgling, didn't have control over it, I guess." Taking her arm, he walked her back over to the bed, setting her down comfortably. "I'll go," he bluffed, "you get some rest."
He picked his shirt up from the floor and slipped it on over his head, reaching down to grab his boots and turn away slowly, heading toward the window, hoping she stopped him before he got there.
She did.
"No, it's okay," she called quickly, halting him just before he reached the window. "I believe you, against my better judgment, and probably against common sense, because, hello, vampire. Evil... but-- that's not your fault." She chuckled, shaking her head at herself. "So... you can stay." Her eyes raised threateningly to his as he turned back around to face her. "If I regret this, at all, ever, I'll sic Dawn on you."
Spike snorted with laughter, covering up his relief. "Anything but that," he joked softly, dropping his boots to the floor and joining her by the bed again. His little dead heart fluttered in response to the smile that spread across her face, lifting the weights from his shoulders with a smile, and the soothing gaze of her eyes.
And then he knew. He was falling in love with Willow. Deeply, and thoroughly, the most precious kind of love. And also the worst.
TITLE: Order Now (13/?)
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 13
Spike's foot slipped for the fourth time as he walked along the roof of the Summers' house, rounding the corner to the back, heading for Willow's room. He was still pissed from last night's run in with Buffy, and maybe it wasn't the best thing to come traipsing across her roof at odd hours of the night, but he wanted to see Willow.
He'd waited one day, an entire twenty-four hours, before coming to see her again, but now he was wondering about the wisdom of his choice to come in the back way. Running into Buffy or Dawn wasn't on his list of things to do tonight, so rooftops and windows it was.
He just hoped Willow would let him in.
The gravel on the shingles was slippery as hell under his boots, making his route a tricky one. The moon was high, unnecessarily lighting his way, covering the entire house and backyard in a yellow glow. Windows lined the whole of the back, and Willow's was just ahead of him.
He could see light shining through the cracks in the heavy flowery curtains hanging there.
He felt Willow's heartbeat, and concentrated on its steady beat as he knelt before her window. Would she call Buffy immediately? Was Buffy even there? He heard three heartbeats in the house, but they could be anyone.
Would Willow open the window and allow him into her room without a second thought? Or maybe she'd already had second thoughts and would turn him away.
The agony of not knowing was killing him... again.
It'd been a day since his run-in with Buffy, a day since he'd stormed out of the house and sulked in his crypt for a few hours, ignoring his poor Willowbot.
There'd been the thought of killing someone as soon as he remembered he could, and he'd gone out, hunting like he used to do. Killing like he used to do.
He'd found a man in a bar on the docks, and followed him and his date to an empty warehouse. The man hadn't tried to rape the girl like Spike thought he would. They'd had sex while Spike watched, gotten themselves off while Spike waited to kill them. After all the wasted time and energy of forcing himself not to attack them and simply feed off their frightened little selves, he'd waited, ignoring their groans and moans of pleasure.
As soon as they were done, while the man zipped up his pants, Spike attacked. He beat the man to the ground, listening to the screaming as long as he could before knocking him out. The woman, cowering in a corner, her shirt half off, her mini skirt still hiked up about her waist, and her hair and make-up in disarray... well, he let her go. Let her go and killed the man.
He'd lied to Willow, the robot version of her anyway, told her the man had tried to rape the girl, and he'd saved her. Let her go free while he killed the man.
She'd believed him without a second thought, and that made him feel guilty. He'd tried. Was it his fault the man hadn't been as bad as Spike thought he was?
Next time he went out and fed, he'd try to eat only bad people.
"Pansy."
The real Willow didn't know that he could kill again, and he intended to keep it that way for a while. As long as he could, in fact. The bot insisted he eat only bad people. That's what she called them. Bad people. They were food to him, nothing more.
"Enough of this," he muttered, lifting his hand and rapping on the window with his knuckle. He heard Willow's heart speed up, but she didn't rush out of the room screaming for Buffy. She neared the window slowly. He could feel her as she approached, see her through the crack in the curtains.
She was dressed in something white and see-through, with her back to the lamp in the room. He got a glimpse of her stomach, tight and firm, and one thigh, toned with muscles, as she stopped in front of the curtain.
She tilted her head a little to see out the crack in the curtains, her eyes widening when she saw him kneeling there. She threw the curtains open and started to unlock the window. Her hand froze on the lock, her eyes narrowing a little in fear.
"What are you--" she began, her voice muffled through the glass. She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice, stepping closer to the window as she faced him again. "What are you doing here?"
Spike considered his answer as he looked his fill of her. Her white, see-through nightgown was short, only coming to mid-thigh. The thin spaghetti straps hid nothing of her freckled shoulders, and the low bodice did nothing more than emphasize her chest.
"Nice bit of fluff you got there," he said after clearing his throat quietly. His eyes stayed fixed on the bodice for a second before raising them to her eyes. "Waiting for someone special?"
"Tara bought it for me." She glanced over her shoulder again, lowering her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Again I ask: What are you doing here?"
Her breasts rose even higher, fueling his desire even further. The lust burned a path through him as he took in every bare inch of her legs and arms. Her eyebrows rose, waiting for him to answer her question, but he decided to answer with one of his own. "You always answer knocks on your window in the middle of the night dressed in a slip of nothing?"
Willow sighed. "Yes, Spike, I do. You see," she leaned closer, looking around to make sure no one was listening but him, "I'm an exhibitionist." She straightened up again, rolling her eyes. "I thought you knew that."
"How about you let me in and I look at you to your heart's content?" he asked softly, his eyes boring into hers with a height of awareness he hadn't felt since Drusilla. This was different though, he felt this pull toward Willow that he'd never felt toward Drusilla until after he'd been turned. "I can even add touching to that scenario," he said calmly, though his body felt anything but calm. He was on fire for her, just from seeing her again.
He was lost.
She dropped her defensive pose and bit her lip, unsure of herself. Finally, she closed her eyes with a brief sigh and then opened them, unlocking the window with a flick of her fingers. She opened the window, stepping back hastily.
"You have to be quiet," she said in a near whisper. "Dawn and Xander are downstairs playing a game or watching TV or something."
Spike stepped over the sill and into Willow's private domain. He stood there looking around for a second, taking it all in. The room smelled even more strongly of her tonight, and there was hardly a trace left of Joyce's scent. She had a damp towel hanging on the door to the bathroom, her shoes were on the floor at the end of the bed, and a few items of clothing were strewn around the room. A shirt on the back of a chair here, a pair of jeans on the floor there. She was neat, but in a cluttered way.
His eyes fell on her as she went to the door and shut it quietly, grimacing when she moved too quickly. He looked around the room, knowing it was there. He spotted the dread-smelling salve on the small make-up table across from the door. Slipping off his duster, he strode over to it and picked it up.
"Lie down," he told her, his eyes promising relief from the pain, and maybe a little more. Dropping the duster to the chair back, he watched her and waited. A step closer and she was backing up toward the bed.
"Um, you know, whenever that stuff comes out... things get--" she shrugged, at a loss. Or maybe it was because she was staring into his eyes and she saw the want and need for her there. "Sort of... uh, well, heated."
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved closer. "... and?" He was only a few feet away now.
The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, stopping her in her tracks. She turned around and glared at the bed, like it was at fault. When she faced him again, the glare was gone, but the nervousness was still in place. "And," she repeated in confusion, having lost track of the conversation. She looked around, searching for the subject, darting her eyes around before finding it again. "Oh, and," she stressed, holding her hand out in front of her as if the answer was so bloody obvious even an idiot could see it, "and... we shouldn't."
She nodded in confirmation of her words, smiling at having solved their little dilemma.
Spike chuckled, tilting his head to the side, studying her intently. "I think we should."
"Oh, do you?" she tossed back. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, and he knew she wanted him. Even if she hadn't practically squeaked out her response.
"Yes," he answered with confidence. "I do." He closed the distance between them, tossing the jar on the bed behind her. He felt her heat radiating off of her, seeping into his skin and clothes, warming him with her body. Her skin was so close to his own, her lips almost touching his, but he didn't let them come into contact yet.
He'd learned last night that it was a fun game to play.
He looked up at her with just his eyes. "And I think you think we should, too." He groaned inwardly at the convoluted sentence, hoping she hadn't noticed.
She swallowed, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips, her breath becoming more ragged than before. He watched her chest rise until it almost touched his, then fall again as she exhaled with a shake of her head. "No."
His heart sank. Had he read her that wrong? She did want him, he knew she did. No matter how much she denied it, he knew she--
"I don't think we should." She looked up, the frown on her brow creasing even more when she sighed. "But I want to."
He smiled a little in relief, happy he hadn't made a fool of himself. She wanted him, and even though she didn't think it was the right thing to do, he was pretty sure he could make it happen anyway. "Then you will."
She shook her head again. "I can't. Spike, things are just too... weird right now. I can't just hop into bed with you."
Chuckling in satisfaction, he trailed one hand along her arm, not quite touching her skin, leaving her flesh tingling in his wake until he reached her shoulder. "Yes, you can."
She looked tempted, but also determined. "Okay, semantics not really needing to be argued right now. Let me just clear this up for you. I'm not going to," she said sternly.
His fingers slipped very quickly under the thin strap of her nightgown, dropping it to her arm. The cloth sagged a little, giving him a nice view of the top of one breast and the side of the other. "Yes, you are."
"Um, hello, Mr. Cocky," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, blocking her breasts from his view as she tried to move his attention back to her face. She bent down, ducking her head to the height of her breasts. "Up here."
He glanced her way with a chuckle before going back to the sight of her breasts. "Yes?"
"I'm up here, Spike." She reached out a hand, lifting his head up with her fingers beneath his jaw. "And, I'm not having sex with you. Tonight," she added softly, but it was loud enough for him to hear.
"Yes, you are. Because..." he dropped his eyes to her freckled chest again.
She rolled her eyes at his continued preoccupation with her chest. "Because...?"
Instead of answering her question, a question he had no idea about, or what he'd been about to say, he slid a finger down the front of her nightgown, between her breasts. "I like this gown." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips barely touching her flesh. Moving his lips to her ear, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear him. "Makes you look all innocent and sweet. And naughty."
"Spike," she started to say, her voice croaking out pathetically. She cleared her throat, ignoring his chuckle, and continued trying to convince him he was delusional. "Stop it. It's not going to happen." A breath left her, a short one that was quickly taken back again. Her chest rose and fell faster than before.
He raised his eyes to hers, enjoying the effect he was having on her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her other shoulder, sighing out a breath, watching her skin react to him. "Touch me," he whispered, flicking his tongue out to lick her skin, to taste that flavor that was all Willow.
She shivered under him, panting once or twice before holding her breath in, trying to get a hold on herself, but it was a battle she quickly lost. She exhaled and shifted closer to him, raising a hand to his waist, hooking her thumb through one of the belt loops on his jeans. "Just a little," she conceded. "That can't hurt."
Bingo. He had her now.
He slid a hand along the curve of her right arm, not touching the skin just like before. His fingers slipped under the strap, lifting it free of her shoulder and letting go, watching it fall like the other. Her breasts were half-exposed now through the gaping bodice of her nightgown. He placed another kiss on her shoulder. "So sweet and pure."
Her other hand joined the first, hooking in a belt loop on the other side of his waist, drawing him closer. She dropped her head down on his chest, breathing deeply. "I'm not pure," she mumbled into his chest, the feel of her damp breath against his skin and shirt making him hard.
"You are to me," he told her, brushing her hair out of the way to get a better view of her back. He trailed the fingers of his right hand down her left shoulder blade, raising goose bumps along the way. "Does it hurt?"
She nodded, sliding her arms around his waist. "Yes," she admitted. A few breaths later, she turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against his chest. "But I don't want you to go," she whispered.
Spike smiled, satisfaction coursing through him. She wanted him. He pulled away, just enough to lift her head with his fingers and take her mouth. Being needed had its own special appeal to him. His lips crushed hers, moving with an urgency he could feel in her as well, but... first things first.
She had some salve application coming to her, and damn if he hadn't waited long enough to give it to her.
"Lie down," he repeated, reaching around her to grab the jar from the bed.
She looked behind her at the unkempt bed with its rumpled sheets and blankets, then to the door. He was afraid she was considering fleeing the room, but she didn't. "I should lock that." Her voice was deep and husky, filled with lust.
"I'll get it," he told her, his own voice filled with just as much desire as her own. He strode over to the door, turning the lock with a click, and even checking to make sure it was closed all the way. "Strip--" he turned back to her to see her already removing her clothes.
She spun around, holding the gown to her chest, hiding most of her body from him. "Uh, c-- could you turn around?" she asked frantically, looking ready to dive under the covers.
He shrugged, turning to face the vanity table against the opposite wall from the bed. She took a deep breath behind him and he heard the cloth drop to the floor. Her naked image came into view of the mirror, displaying every inch of her body for him.
His breath caught in his throat as his eyes ran down her chest, and the perfect mounds of flesh there, down to her flat, muscular abdomen, white and pale as a vampire's skin. She glanced at him quickly before she stripped off her panties, letting him see the bit of red at the juncture of her thighs, telling him the real story behind her hair color. Her legs though, they were what held most of his attention. He could just imagine those pale, muscular legs wrapped around him as he thrust inside of her warm, moist body.
He groaned, dropping his head back as she turned away and climbed into bed, rolling onto her stomach and covering herself up. "Okay," she called, her eyes finding his in the mirror, even though she couldn't see him in it. She adjusted her pillow underneath her cheek, smiling shamefacedly. "Salve application away."
He tossed the jar into the air and caught it as he stood there staring at her back. Still so beautiful. He started toward the bed, eager to get to it, but realized he was overdressed when he felt the restriction of his pants.
Setting the jar down on the vanity, he untied his boots, keeping his eyes on her.
"Spike," she protested, the words not coming easily to her. "I'm not sleeping with you. The clothes stay on." She started to turn her head, but a small head shake from him had her staying still.
"Just getting more comfortable, love." He kicked off his boots, leaving them where they fell. "Don't want my boots dirtying up the bed, do you?"
She sighed, knowing exactly what he was doing, but remained silent, even when he raised his hands to his belt buckle. The jangling of the buckle was loud in the silence of the room, broken only by her snort. "I suppose I don't want your spotless jeans dirtying up my bed either?" she asked sarcastically, not buying his innocent routine for a minute, but also pretending she wasn't waiting breathlessly to see him.
"No," he admitted with a chuckle. "I don't want to dirty up my spotless jeans." He winked at her, laughing in delight as a nice pink blush stole its way up her neck and face.
He loved her response to him. Humans had some things over vampires, and this was one of them. Dropping his head to his task, he kept his eyes on her, watching her irises dilate as he lowered the zipper, hearing her heart speed up as he undid the button. Her breathing grew more shallow, her body heating up enough for him to notice this far away.
Instead of giving her what she wanted, revealing what she was dying to see, he reached behind him and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, yanking it up and over his head.
She actually sighed when his chest was revealed to her. Without conscious thought, he puffed out his chest, basking in her approval.
He was sometimes a proud man, and this time it was going to cost him. She sat up, keeping herself fully covered by the sheet, and stared at his chest, but not because she liked what she saw anymore, this was something different. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him a question, he glanced down, seeing the very visible bite mark there, as well as the stake wound.
Instead of asking the questions on the tip of her tongue, she just continued to stare, waiting for an explanation. After a few seconds of silence, she grew impatient.
"Did Buffy do that?" Her voice was hard, her eyes narrowing angrily. "Did she-- did she try to dust you?"
So Willow knew something about last night's confusing visit from the Slayer. "We had a bit of a tiff," he said lightly, not wanting to get into it too deeply right now.
She was the only thing he wanted to get deeply into at the moment. Call him a one-track-minded fool, but that's all he cared about at this point in time. That, and getting her mind off of the bite mark as soon as possible.
"Wasn't that big of a thing," he said dismissively.
She nodded, letting it slide for now, but he could also see a fair amount of anger moving beneath the surface. She was pissed, and rightly so to his thinking. You go, baby, stick up for your man.
He turned away with a slight snicker, hoping to bypass any comments on the bite mark, but of course she didn't let him off that easily.
"Did she... bite you?" Willow asked in disbelief. She sat forward, trying to peer more closely at the mark when he turned back to face her.
He shook his head, rubbing his fingers across the mark. "Uh, no." That was all he said, leaving her to wonder about it. Hopefully she wouldn't wonder too much.
"Who did then? That's-- Spike." She raised her eyes to his, sitting straighter in the bed, sheets pooled around her, her naked body calling to him, her eyes daring him to come any closer. "That's a human bite."
"Yeah," he agreed, still rubbing his fingers over it, wanting to tell her she did it. That she'd bitten him as he came, as he made her come, but he stayed silent. She wouldn't understand.
Understatement of the year.
"Or did yet another Lairman demon try to take your crypt?" Oddly enough, she sounded skeptical and looked it to boot.
"No," he denied, remembering his excuse from the other night. Damn, he'd forgotten about that altogether. Bloody f'in hell. "Wasn't a Lairman this time."
"Then why did a... human..." she frowned and then her eyes went wide, landing on his face with accusation. "I thought you said you weren't with her anymore. You told me--" she held the sheet more firmly to her chest and struggled to get out of the bed without hurting herself. "God, Buffy was right."
"About what?" he asked, dropping to the bed and reaching for the sheet as she stood up. He yanked on it, pulling her back to the bed. She bounced a few times, keeping her back to him, giving him a nice view to look at, but not letting him see what he needed to see. "What'd Buffy say, Willow?"
Willow kept her back to him, but turned her head towards him, her face blank, her eyes flat and emotionless. "That you were using me, and look, all true." She pulled the sheet free of his hold, yanking hard enough to throw herself forward with the force of it. "Ouch," she ground out, clenching her jaw. "Go home, Spike, go be with... whoever she is."
Spike ignored her suggestion; to him that's all it was. Not the order she'd made it out to be. Could be he was sometimes delusional as well as proud. "You told Buffy about us?" he asked in surprise. After all her protesting the night before, she'd actually told Buffy?
Well, that was unexpected.
"Yes." She stood up, sweeping the sheet far out of his reach as she did so, wrapping it firmly around her a few times. She strode across the room, also keeping herself far out of his reach.
He stood up as well, following her across the room. "So that's what she was on about last night," he said absently. "Warning me away from you and all that rot... I thought she was talking about the other-- uh, my friend." Almost gave himself away there, wouldn't that have been fun? "Well, she's got some nerve, hasn't she?" He frowned deeply, wondering if he could kill Buffy without angering Willow. Eh, probably not.
Willow was looking at him like he was insane. "Uh, Spike," she said clearly, succinctly, "I'm mad at you, not her, and I'm not about to gang up on her with you."
Her words finally caught his complete attention and he dragged his mind away from thoughts of burying Buffy in his crypt somewhere, after he killed her, of course. Slowly, just like she'd promised him, over nice, long, hot summer days, sweltering heat, nasty humidity, making her as miserable as she could get while he was torturing her.
But that was just fantasy, he'd never actually... well, not as of yet. Maybe someday in the future when he didn't still feel... something for her. "What?"
"Go home," she said in defeat, turning her back to him. "Just... go." She sighed heavily and he was pretty sure her breath hitched in a little. She was on the verge of tears.
"She's a friend, Willow, that's all," he assured her, moving directly behind her to smooth a hand down her bare back. The sheet draped artfully down her colorful back, leaving it partially bare, gathering in an excess of cloth at her lower back, just above the rise of her sweet little behind.
Dragging his eyes up, away from parts that made him want to throw her down and have at it, he wondered if the truth would serve him in good stead at this point.
Seeing her stiff back, and remembering the sadness in her eyes when Buffy told her about April's rundown demise, he decided against the truth for now.
"Doesn't matter." She started to move away from him, to leave him standing alone without her heat and her strength, to leave him forever, but he reached out and grabbed her left arm, halting her progress.
"It does matter. She's a friend," he stressed, "nothing more." He turned her toward him, lifting her face up so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, on his lips... lips that were spouting lies that she was starting to buy. "Nothing more, and nothing less." He chuckled, shrugging a little. "I'm right fond of the bird, but not like I am of you, Willow."
Her eyes lost a little of the frostiness, her face taking on a little life as she bought every lie he tossed out there. So he decided a little truth was needed as well.
"She pales in comparison to you." The lying was giving him time, but the truth is what reeled her right back in to him. He felt a little disgusted with himself, but he couldn't stand it if he lost her.
She dropped her eyes to his chest, lifting a hand to touch hesitantly at the bite, running her fingers over the mark with a frown. "Did she do this?"
And now it was time to lie again. He shivered at the touch of her fingers, raising his own hand to halt hers. "No," he denied, shaking his head, his eyes holding more sincerity than before. He had to pile it on thick. "No, she didn't. It was a vampire."
Her eyes widened at the lie, not buying it anymore. She dropped her hand, stepping back, away from him. "Yeah, right. Nice try."
He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth, showing her his human teeth. "We do have normal teeth too, you know. He was a vampire, but he wasn't a very bright vampire."
She frowned at him, sighing, not sure if she should believe him or not. In her eyes, he could see that she wanted to, she wanted to think he'd tell her the truth, that he wouldn't lie like the rug he was being, but she was weary, tired of the whole conversation, and maybe him. "Why would he do that?"
"Because I was trying to kill him?" he guessed, shrugging widely, making big movements to cover his weak story. "He was a fledgling, didn't have control over it, I guess." Taking her arm, he walked her back over to the bed, setting her down comfortably. "I'll go," he bluffed, "you get some rest."
He picked his shirt up from the floor and slipped it on over his head, reaching down to grab his boots and turn away slowly, heading toward the window, hoping she stopped him before he got there.
She did.
"No, it's okay," she called quickly, halting him just before he reached the window. "I believe you, against my better judgment, and probably against common sense, because, hello, vampire. Evil... but-- that's not your fault." She chuckled, shaking her head at herself. "So... you can stay." Her eyes raised threateningly to his as he turned back around to face her. "If I regret this, at all, ever, I'll sic Dawn on you."
Spike snorted with laughter, covering up his relief. "Anything but that," he joked softly, dropping his boots to the floor and joining her by the bed again. His little dead heart fluttered in response to the smile that spread across her face, lifting the weights from his shoulders with a smile, and the soothing gaze of her eyes.
And then he knew. He was falling in love with Willow. Deeply, and thoroughly, the most precious kind of love. And also the worst.