Chapter Nine
Since that phone call, Buffy hadn't been able to look at Spike properly. He'd asked if they could go out to the lake and packed some food for a cold picnic, but quickly got tired of that and applied his clever mouth to her instead. And Buffy, angry with him but unable to deny herself that sort of pleasure, had let him, and after she came let him hold her as the world stopped spinning and Spike planted gentle kisses on the back of her neck.
"Bloody hell, Summers," he said. "You'd think we'd get tired of that after a while, huh?"
Buffy moved herself off him and started doing up her clothes.
"You okay?" Spike asked as he fastened his fly.
"I'm cold."
"You're... quiet."
"Did I have to scream out my orgasm?"
"No, love, but you're - Buffy," he caught her arm, "what's wrong?"
He looked so earnest, Buffy could almost believe he was being sincere. But then he'd been lying to her all this time, using her, he wasn't interested in her at all, he just wanted to have sex and as he was stuck with her-
"Woah, that's a scary look," Spike said, backing off, pulling his coat around him. The wind was freezing, chilling away every last drop of warm pleasure. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," Buffy snapped.
"Well, then did I say something?"
"No," she said through gritted teeth, throwing bits of food back into the bag.
"Then-"
"You didn't say anything," Buffy said, telling herself her eyes were stinging with the wind, not because she was crying. "That's the point."
Spike looked confused. "What?"
"Why are you here, Spike?"
He spread his hands. "I thought a bit of beach sex might be-"
"I mean here in Scotland!"
"Because the Angelus are after you and me," he said. "Buffy, what's this about?"
"Why are they after you?" Buffy asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
"Because I escaped? You were there."
"But why did they have you?"
Spike narrowed it. "Just ask me what you want to know," he said levelly.
"And will you tell me the truth?"
"Unless it's about taxes, yeah, I will," he said, trying to joke but Buffy didn't look amused. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me my mom hired you to look after me?"
"Oh," Spike said, and stared at her for a while. "Yeah, that."
"Yes," Buffy snapped, and started walking back towards the car, "that."
She put the bag of food on the back seat, then got in and started the engine. Spike ran over and got in just before she let off the handbrake and stalled.
"Were you going to leave me here?"
"A girl can try."
"What did I do?"
Buffy turned to look at him, her face stony. "You didn't tell me."
"What, that your mum hired me? I didn't think I needed to. You knew someone hired me."
"I thought it was Giles!"
"Giles?" Spike made to scoff, looked at her face, then amended, "Well, yeah, good guess."
"How do you even know my mom?"
"Well, she has her gallery, doesn't she?"
"I don't know," Buffy restarted the car and made the engine growl, "maybe she doesn't. It's not like she's been honest with me, is it?"
"Isn't it?"
"All this time I've been inventing places I've been and people I've been with and she knew, she knew I was lying, and she was laughing at me," Buffy rolled her head back, trying not to cry, but it didn't help and horrible, treacherous tears started falling down her face. Spike reached out an arm to out around her, but she pushed him away like he was an insect, put the car in gear, and spun the wheels leaving the little beach.
She was silent all the way home, and when they got in aimed straight for the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" Spike asked.
"Bath," Buffy mumbled, not looking at him.
"Can it wait?"
"No."
"Buffy," Spike went over and put himself in the doorway so Buffy couldn't get past, "we need to talk about this."
"No, we don't. Let me past."
"Let me put this another way: no. Sit down," he took her arm and tried to push her onto the bed, "and we'll-"
But Buffy was still pretty strong, and she twisted against him, grabbing his wrist where the bandage had recently come off and the skin was sore.
"Ow," Spike yelled, and Buffy glared at him. "Let me past!"
"Not until we've talk about this!"
"I don't want to talk!"
"Well I do," Spike said, prising her fingers from his wrist and rubbing the tender flesh there. He glared at Buffy. "You're such a little madam."
"I'm a what?"
"You heard me. You only do things when it suits you, talk to me, take a bath, tell me you're angry, get into a bloody sulk-"
"I am not sulking!" Buffy cried.
"Yeah right, you're not sulking! All you ever do is sulk."
"I do not. When have I-"
"When you had to drive the car-"
"You try driving in a foreign country when you don't have a full licence!"
"You're twenty-one," Spike said in amazement, "how can you not have a full licence?"
Buffy glared at him. "That is so not the point!"
"No, you're right," Spike shot back, "you're changing the subject."
"I'm changing the-?"
"You know full well," Spike said furiously, "that the only reason I never told you about your mum was because you never asked me. Two months, Buffy, two whole bloody months since this whole stupid thing started, and you never once asked me who was behind it. You think I just protect little girls for the fun of it?"
"No," Buffy said, "just when you get paid. Do you have sex with everyone you're protecting?"
For that Spike slapped her, and Buffy stared at him in amazement, her hand to her stinging cheek. No one had ever hit her before. No one ever. Tears came to her eyes, but as she saw Spike's angry face start to soften, she slugged her fist into his ribs.
His howl of pain filled the cottage.
"Don't you ever hit me again!" Buffy sobbed, kicking his shins and bringing her knee up to his crotch.
But Spike saw that coming and grabbed her leg, swinging it wide, tripping her up. Buffy landed hard on the bed.
"You bastard!" she gasped, as Spike stood over her, massaging his ribs.
"You bloody deserved it."
"For what?"
He grabbed her wrists, his hands hard, his grip tight.
"Does that hurt?"
"Let go."
"Now imagine you have no new skin there. That fucking hurts," he said twisting her wrists viciously, and Buffy kicked out, aiming for his ribs again, but he stepped out of her way.
"You never told me," she cried, "you let me think... you let me..."
"Why are you so angry?" Spike snapped.
"You lied to me."
"You never asked! You just trusted me, blindly, which is very sweet but so unbelievably stupid-"
"I am not stupid!"
"So you just ran away with me to that cottage in Yorkshire because you wanted my body?"
"Giles trusted you!"
"Giles," Spike said furiously, "spends all day talking to fossils. You can't-"
"And my mother? Did she trust you, or did you extort money from her?"
Spike raised his hand like he was going to slap her again, but Buffy deflected it, grabbing his sore wrist again and flipping him facedown on the bed. She straddled him, his arm twisted behind his back.
"Did you?" she hissed into his ear.
"Don't be so bloody - ow! She asked me if I did personal protection and I said I'd think about it and she told me about the ring and she was worried about you so I said I'd do it."
No need to mention he'd seen the picture of Buffy on Joyce's desk and that had clinched it.
"How much is she paying you?"
"I don't-"
"How much?"
"Didn't she ever tell you it's rude to talk about money?"
Buffy twisted Spike's arm higher.
"All right! Bloody hell, woman, you could work for the Angelus. She's paying me in art, okay?"
"Art?" Buffy asked suspiciously.
"Yeah, you know, paintings?"
She twisted his arm again.
"How did she know about the ring?"
"I don't know! I seriously do not know."
"How do you know her?"
"I brought in some stuff for the gallery."
"What kind of stuff?" Buffy refused to believe he was a painter.
"Stuff I found!"
"Found?"
Spike sighed. "Will you get off me and I'll tell you?"
"Tell me and I'll get off you."
He made a growling sound. "You know Lara Croft?"
"Not personally."
"She looks for relics, right? Artefacts and shit. Well, so do I."
"You're a tomb raider?" Buffy asked doubtfully, relaxing her grip.
"Well, not tombs specifically, but yeah, I've been in a few."
"Seriously?"
But instead of answering, Spike took advantage of her lapse in attention and grabbed her leg, flipping her off him, pinning her down with his body. Buffy struggled, but Spike had healed fast and he was very strong.
"Happy now?"
"Get off me."
"You tell a soul about this-"
"Who am I gonna tell? The sheep?"
"I'm serious, Buffy, if it gets back that your mum's involved in this-"
"Are you threatening my mom?"
"No," Spike sad, exasperated, "I'm bloody warning you. Your mum is exposed, vulnerable, she's got your sister to take care of and no man to look after her-"
Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Summers women did not need a man to take care of them."
"I think we've proved that blatantly false so far, don't you?"
Buffy scrabbled with her nails at his sore wrist. "In case you hadn't noticed, it was me who came to rescue you-"
"Not that I'd have been in danger if it hadn't been for you-"
"I can look after myself," Buffy said furiously, struggling against him.
"Well, your mother doesn't seem to think so-"
"Leave my mother out of this-"
"She's the one who got me in it!"
Buffy wriggled and squirmed, trying to get free, but Spike had her hands over her head, just like he had when Riley'd shot him, and his body was pressed along the length of hers, and Buffy could still remember how he'd felt inside her not half an hour ago on the beach-
Stop it! she told herself. Aren't you really angry with this man?
"And also-" she began, but Spike stopped her with a kiss, hard and desperate, and Buffy found her legs curling themselves around his waist, kicking away his duster and trying to flip him onto his back. But he was stronger, and held her there, both wrists in one hand while he trailed a hand from her fingers to her hip, making her shiver.
"You still gonna fight me, Summers?"
She looked up at him mutinously. "Depends on what you're going to do."
"Oh," he bit her earlobe, "what aren't I going to do?"
He sat back and pulled his coat off, then his shirt, and then his t-shirt. Buffy, knowing something else was coming and not knowing what, lay tensed beneath him.
Spike traced two fingers down her face. "No lies," he said. "Do you trust me?"
Buffy hesitated.
"Either trust me," Spike said, "or fight me. I'm gonna have fun either way."
Buffy considered snapping her foot up and kicking him, but deep down she knew she did trust him. What's more, her mother did, and Buffy respected no one in the world like her mother.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked, and Spike grinned as wide as the Cheshire cat.
"Close your eyes," he said, and Buffy did. "Lift your head," and she felt him drape something over her face. His t-shirt. It smelled of him, the hot, musky, spicy scent of Spike, and Buffy breathed in deeply. He tied it in a sort of knot at the back of her head, then pulled the fabric away from her nose and mouth.
"That okay? Can you see?"
The fabric was draped thickly over her eyes. "No-"
"Good."
His mouth descended on hers, and Buffy felt his hair under her fingers as she held him to her. Spike's hands slipped up under her clothes to caress her ribcage, then further up to rub her nipples through her bra. She moaned against his mouth, and he pulled back, hands and all. Buffy was about to ask him what was going on when he lifted her to sit up against him, then removed her sweater and t-shirt, kissing her mouth and stroking her back for a while, before adding her bra to the pile.
Half naked, she waited for his hands or mouth to touch her again, but all he did was lay her back down and take her hands in his. He lifted them up above her head again and wound something around them. Buffy thought it might have been his shirt, twisted into a rope, tying her wrists to the brass bedstead.
"Kinky," she said, and heard Spike laugh.
"Just you wait."
And indeed he did make her wait, walking his fingers up her legs under her skirt, making Buffy shiver and writhe, desperate for him to touch her properly. He unzipped her boots and pulled them off, then her rather unbecoming socks, then he slowly pulled her long skirt down and left her lying there in just her knickers.
And then she felt him leave the bed and walk away.
"Spike?" Buffy said, slightly panicked. "Spike?" She started tugging at the bindings on her wrists. Wow, William must have been a boy scout, because these knots were not coming undone.
"Stay there," he said, and he sounded like he was laughing, "I am coming back."
So Buffy waited, and a draft blew across her, making her nipples harden. Then she realised it was Spike, blowing on her, and she arched towards him.
And then she gasped, a high-pitched shriek, as something horribly cold touched her left nipple.
"Is that ice?" Buffy panted, as cold trickles ran down her breast.
"Now I remember why I filled the ice tray up," Spike said, applying his tongue to the nipple he'd just chilled. His mouth was warm - hot even, like he'd been drinking something hot. Buffy sniffed.
"Coffee?"
"Helps me work, rest and play," Spike said, icing her nipple again, then licking it.
The torture was exquisite. Spike spent ages on each breast, occasionally getting new ice cubes, sometimes running them up her arms or her neck, catching the drips with his tongue. Buffy writhed and panted and wriggled her legs together, desperate for him to move lower.
And he did, although it was only to start on her feet. Buffy, who was ticklish, nearly kicked him when he put ice unexpectedly between her toes, but he held her foot firm, just like he had so long ago in that warehouse when she'd cut her foot. He took her big toe into his mouth and sucked it, and Buffy nearly had an orgasm there and then.
The ice and hot mouth travelled very, very slowly up her legs, sometimes going back down for a while, sometimes stopping altogether as he came back to her breasts, her stomach, her arms, her mouth, kissing her with icy lips then a coffee mouth.
The ice cube slithered up her inner thigh, and Buffy tried to remember how to breathe as Spike moved her legs wide apart and ran the ice cube very lightly over the dark blonde hair between her legs.
Buffy bit her tongue.
And then the ice disappeared, and reappeared by her ear.
"Spike," Buffy cried desperately, and he licked her lips with his hot tongue.
"Mmm?"
"Please - just-"
She could feel the weight of his body on hers. He'd taken off the rest of his clothes at some point, she could feel his bare hip against hers. She wriggled, trying to locate that big, hard magical thing to slip inside her and make it all better, but he wasn't letting it near her.
"Please what?" Spike asked in her ear.
"Fuck me," Buffy panted, and Spike moved off her.
Uh-oh, was that too crude? But no, he was always imploring her to do the same if she teased him too long. What was he doing? Was that it? Was he going to leave her here like this? In this, this state?
And then, just as Buffy was working herself up to yell at him, Spike brought the ice cube down on her clitoris, dead centre, and she cried out incoherently. It was so good, almost painful, exquisite, amazing...
He moved the ice down over her wet, swollen labia and rubbed it against her entrance. Buffy writhed against it desperately.
Then the ice was gone and Spike's mouth, hotter than before - more coffee? - descended, and Buffy thought she might lose her mind. She bucked and kicked at him, whimpering and gasping, not caring how much damage she was doing to his back or his ribs as she held him to her with her thighs as he licked at her, ran the ice over her slick, wet folds, nipped her with his teeth, and finally slipped two fingers up inside her, two icy cold fingers, and flicked that sweet spot inside her while his tongue and the ice tortured her from the outside.
Buffy's orgasm was loud, screaming like a dispossessed thing, and long, shockwaves shooting through her for minute after minute.
But Spike still wasn't done. She was barely aware of anything, her body still tingling all over, when he flipped her onto her stomach and lifted her up on her knees and entered her, hard and deep, his fingers on her clitoris, his arm supporting her as she hung there, impaled on him, her wrists still tied to the brass post. He bit into the back of her neck with sharp teeth and thrust into her, and Buffy found herself gasping for him to do it harder and faster, to fuck her, Spike, please...
Her second orgasm wasn't as spectacular as the first, but it was still amazing, and Spike clung to her as he came at exactly the same time, gasping her name, losing strength and falling down onto the bed with her, both of them facedown and breathing hard.
Eventually Spike plucked at the knots on Buffy's wrists and freed her, then pulled his t-shirt off her face and rolled her onto her back. She lay there, too exhausted to move, completely wiped out.
After a long while she managed to turn her head and look at Spike, still facedown beside her, breathing into the pillow.
"Wow," she gasped.
He shrugged. "Welcome."
"That was..." Buffy began, and realised that the human vocabulary hadn't evolved to take that amount of pleasure into account. "Jesus, it was..."
"Really?"
"I think I saw God," Buffy told him, and Spike turned his head to her, grinning.
"What did he look like?"
Buffy wriggled closer, as if their bodies hadn't been touching enough before, and very softly kissed his lips.
"You," she said.