Chapter Twelve
Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
(So okay, I promised myself no lyrics posting on this one, being that it's a period fic and all, but I just heard this and not only is it beautiful, it could have been written for this damn story! Cookie if you know where it's from)
"Where did you say they were going?" Giles asked Xander, who was sitting by the fire with Anya looking on adoringly, drinking Angel's Irish whisky.
"I don't know," Xander said. "She said they'd catch up."
"Maybe they're dead," Anya said, and when Giles, Xander and Angel glared at her, gave an 'all right, whatever' face and muttered, "Or maybe they both escaped entirely unscathed."
Giles slumped in his chair. "She's right. They could both be badly hurt. Or worse."
"I'll go," Angel said.
"Go where? Last I saw, the whole village was burning down," Xander said, and Giles winced.
"My store!" Anya cried.
"Uh, I think your store was on the other side of the village," Xander said quickly.
She looked heartbroken. "What if it's burnt? All those goods, and all my money!"
"Not to mention our home and everything in it," Giles added drily.
"I'm sure your money's fine," Xander said.
"Will you come and comfort me?" Anya said.
"Well, of course-"
"And then we'll have lots of sex?"
Xander started to turn red.
"Being that I'm all emotionally vulnerable. You may take advantage of me," she offered, giving him a brave smile.
Xander leapt to his feet. "Lady needs comforting," he said, and dragged Anya from the room as Giles covered his eyes.
"I didn't need to see that. Angel," he looked up at the younger man, "do you think you could find them?"
"I think I can try," Angel said, draining his whisky.
"May I ask what they are to you?"
Angel grinned. "Family," he said. "Of a sort. Young Will's like the brother I never wanted."
"And Buffy, she's like a sister to you?"
Angel opened his mouth, then he shut it again.
"Right," Giles said, wishing he'd never asked. "Where do you think they might be?"
They were, at that moment, both unconscious in a locked room at an unknown inn many miles away. Buffy was so tired that sleep fell on her like a heavy blanket and she stayed curled up to Spike until long after the sky got light.
He woke first, blood throbbing in his head and his shoulder, confused as to where he was and what he was doing there. For a minute or two his memory failed him as he looked down at Buffy, half-naked at his side, and the bandage she'd used to bind his arm to his chest. Then he remembered: the girls, the fire, the men with guns. He'd been doing okay until Buffy pulled her little stunt. Which had got rid of three of them, he had to admit. And then there'd been the fourth. Bastard.
He looked at Buffy, her eyes pink with smoke - or had she been crying? There were smudges of blood and dirt on her face, her hair was smoky and there was a cut on her arm that she'd very carelessly bandaged. She looked small and frail and so precious his heart turned over.
She'd saved his life.
He'd been ever so vaguely aware of her getting him out of there, and then a while after she'd cried his name and probed his shoulder and pain had overtaken him and he'd passed out completely. Just as well. He didn't want to really have had to watch her sewing him up.
He touched his head, which hurt, and was horrified to feel that she'd cut all his hair off. Never mind the long cut along his scalp, what had happened to his hair? That was practically his trademark!
Wildly, he cast around for his coat and was relieved to see it draped over a chest at the foot of the bed. His movements woke Buffy, who frowned and curled closer, not wanting to wake up.
Then something startled her, and her eyes flew open.
"Morning," Spike said.
She looked up at him, slight fear giving way to exhausted relief. "You're awake."
"And starting to wish I wasn't."
She frowned again. "How do you feel?"
"You cut my hair."
He sounded quite accusatory. Buffy sat up and glared at him. "Next time I'll let you bleed to death, then." Spike's eyes hovered on her chest, and she remembered she'd taken her shirt off. Blushing, she pulled the scratchy blanket up over herself, and Spike reached out with his free hand to touch her shoulder.
"You really did all this?"
"The fixing up, yes. The getting horribly wounded part you managed all by yourself."
"Actually, I seem to remember I was trying to help you out."
Buffy said nothing. She reached over to the fireguard and picked up her shirt, which was just about dry, and pulled it on.
"Buffy?"
She looked distant.
"Thank you," Spike said, and at that she looked up. "I - you... well, you saved my life, didn't you? And I'm quite attached to it. My life, I mean. So thanks."
She gave him a small smile.
"Are you all right? There's that cut on your arm, and you're-"
"I'm all right."
He frowned. "No, you're not." He tried to sit up, but it hurt far too much, and Buffy quickly pressed him down.
"You should stay still. You've been hurt pretty badly." She reached in the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrew a small pellet. "I had to dig this out of you."
He looked at the little lead ball, misshapen from its trip through his muscle and bone.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said absently, and got off the bed.
"Hey - Buffy! Where are you going?"
"For some water. To wash. I-" she looked distressed, and Spike reached out to her. She took his hand, and when he pulled her closer she let him.
"What is it, love?"
She closed her eyes, and a tear leaked out.
"I remember."
"Yeah, me too. Let's not take on any more militia for a while, eh?"
"No, not that," she said. "Well, yes, that, but I mean I... I remember everything else, too."
He frowned for a second and pulled her back down against him. "Everything?"
"Before the storm. My mother, and Giles, and Riley and Faith and everyone..."
She sobbed against his chest, and although he was burning with curiosity, Spike let her. When she'd calmed down, she lifted her head and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
"Cry all you want," he said. "I won't tell anyone."
"It's just all so sudden. All these memories just slamming back in my head. And you know why?"
He shook his head, and she touched the bandage on his shoulder.
"You. I thought I might lose you. And I remembered feeling exactly the same three months ago."
Spike brought his hand up to her dirty hair and stroked it. "Tell me?"
Buffy took in a few breaths, uneven after her tears, and said, "I don't know where to start."
"Tell me your name."
"Buffy - Elizabeth Ann Summers. My parents were Henry and Joyce. My father died when I was small."
"Any brothers or sisters?"
"No, but there was a girl I grew up with. Her parents died when she was young and she lived with us."
"Faith?" Spike guessed.
"Faith. She was... she was unbelievable. So brave, and completely insane. Always climbing trees and swimming across the river. Sneaking out to the tavern and turning up the next morning in the stables with some boy from the town."
"Sounds-" he'd been about to say 'like my kind of girl', but she wasn't, not really, because she wasn't like Buffy. And Buffy was- "like fun."
"Well, she was. Usually. And other times she scared me. But then I..."
"What?" Spike asked softly.
"I met Angel. He wasn't like anyone I'd ever known. He tried to rob me several times but I always beat him. A couple of times I, uh, knocked him out. Once I was terrified I'd killed him, but he was just playing dead so I'd take him home and put him in my bed."
Spike wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear this.
"And Faith got a little jealous. Especially when Angel started training me up as his partner."
What kind of partner? Spike wondered, but he was pretty sure he already knew.
"And then after a while... Well, I didn't really need Angel any more. And Faith wanted to learn, so I teamed up with her. I didn't want her going out alone. She was a little too headstrong. She never planned anything."
"Sounds familiar."
Buffy bashed his good shoulder. "And then I met Riley," she said, making her voice deliberately misty, although she'd never really felt like that about Riley. At the time she'd convinced herself she loved him, but she knew she didn't. Not really. She'd loved Angel, but Riley was just...
Well, she'd always felt like she should love him. He was so handsome and sure and strong. Polite, kind, clever, and there were occasional flashes of dry humour that surprised the hell out of her. But most of the time he was just... well, a little bit... boring.
But Angel had left - for many reasons, but Buffy knew it would never have worked between them - and there was Riley with his broad shoulders and square jaw and lieutenant's uniform and his marriage proposal, and Buffy had been depressed and he was kind and dependable, so she said yes.
And then went out and robbed coach after coach just to cheer herself up.
Realising she'd gone silent, Buffy went on, "He never knew about the Slayer thing. He was in the militia."
"Oh. Them," Spike said, darkly enough to make her laugh.
"He was a good man," Buffy said, "but I..."
"Sounds dull," Spike said, and she laughed again, because that was exactly what Riley had been.
"But he was nice, and there really wasn't any reason for me to say no to him, so when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. And I was going to give up the Slayer thing, because really it was a stupid risk, but... But if I did that then everything would just be so goddamn boring and... And Faith said she wasn't going to stop. And she started scaring me. Spike - you said you'd heard of the Slayer...?"
"All America's heard of you, love," he said, and he said it with pride.
"Well, there were two of us. Only no one ever knew that. They only ever saw one at a time. And when it was me, I tried not to hurt people. I just took their jewels and stuff. And only from people who could afford it."
"My little Robyn Hood," Spike murmured.
"But Faith... she got violent. That's when we started getting called Slayer. Because Faith killed some people. Not many, and I really think she was sorry, but..."
"Doesn't take much to make a reputation, pet."
She was quiet for a bit, and when she spoke again, she sounded distant. "Faith was always hard to control. I tried to stop her doing dangerous stuff but she just told me I was being a coward. And I don't want to sound stupid, but-"
"You're the bravest person I know," Spike said quietly, and when Buffy looked up at him, he smiled at her and brought his hand around to caress her face. "I mean that."
She sniffed, touched, and kissed his palm. "Just as well you never met Faith. Although she was less brave than... sometimes a bit stupid. She got reckless and the governor decided the Slayer had to be caught. So he sent the militia out to set a trap. And Faith... fell right into it."
She was silent again, and Spike waited for her to continue. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. Why else was she talking about Faith in the past tense?
"I still don't know exactly what happened - she swore she didn't kill him but someone did. I can still see him. I felt so guilty because I hadn't made him happy enough and then he'd died and it was partly my fault."
"Riley died?"
She sniffed. "In the ambush. Faith was hurt but she got away and came back to us. We had to hide her in the servant's cabins, because the rest of the men - the ones she hadn't slaughtered - they followed her. Came after the Slayer. They locked us in - house arrest. Faith died, but we couldn't even tell anyone because if they knew how she'd been hurt, they'd have known where she was."
"Did it matter, after she was dead?"
"Yes," Buffy said, "it mattered."
Silence, then Spike asked, "How did you get away?"
"Riley's funeral. Remember? I was his grieving fiancée," she said bitterly. "My mother - she knew about the Slayer thing, in the end. She sort of had to. We hid spare clothes under our cloaks - bucket skirts are a great invention - and money, and we just got on a pair of horses and rode. We got on the first ship we came to. The Redoubtable."
Her head was still on his chest, and he felt the wetness of her tears against his skin. He held her as she cried, cried for her friend and her fiancée and her mother, all that grief so suddenly, so cripplingly remembered. And he nearly cried too, because he couldn't bear to see her so hurt.
And when her tears had subsided again he hauled her up his body so her face was nearer his, and he kissed her, desperate with reassurance. He was never going to leave her the way they had.
He was never going to leave her again.
"Spike," she stroked his hair, felt the short curls that had sprung up when his hair got wet from her washing of it. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Wouldn't be anywhere else."
It was hard to hug him without hurting him, but Buffy tried her best. And then she kissed him to make up for the lousy hug. Spike's fingers tousled in her hair and he didn't seem to care that it was coated with smoke and ash and blood. He didn't seem to care what a state she was in. She'd felt desperation like that before, from Angel when he left her. She'd loved him so much then, and hated him for leaving her, but now...
Now it was hard to remember what she'd seen in him.
She kissed Spike, unable to leave his delicious mouth alone, wanting to be gentle because he was hurt, needing to be close to him because he was so important and she'd nearly lost him. Riding away from him had been bad enough, but now...
He could have been gone forever. And maybe she could live not being with him, knowing he was alive somewhere else and one day she might be able to touch him again, but to know he was gone forever and there was no way she'd ever even see him once more... That thought terrified her so much her bones trembled and she kissed Spike so hard he pulled back in shock. His lip was bleeding and Buffy realised in horror that she'd almost bitten right through it.
"Oh God, I'm sorry..."
He licked his lip. "I've been hurt worse."
"I - we shouldn't-" she started to climb off him, but Spike wrapped his good arm about her shoulders and pulled her firmly back down to him.
"And why the hell not?"
"You're hurt. You've lost a lot of blood and you're weak, and I don't want to-" he kissed her again, "hurt you," and again, "any more than," and once more, "the hell with it," she spread her fingers in his hair and snogged him fiercely.
"It's good for what ails me," Spike said when he let her go and Buffy, breathless, figured it couldn't really do him any harm.
Surely.
If it did, she'd stop.
She was fairly sure she could stop.
Right?
She dropped her had and started licking his exposed nipple. The other was covered by his arm, which she'd bandaged to his chest to restrict his shoulder, but one of them was free and she made Spike moan by flicking it with her teeth.
His hand slid up under her shirt, he found her breast and started stroking her nipple in return. Buffy arched and sucked on him, and he pulled her head up and yanked her shirt off, grabbing her around the shoulders and pulling her forward so he could lick her breasts.
"We should probably go slowly," Buffy said, trying not to pant. "No point in - oh! - going over the, uh, the, uh..."
His hand was kneading her other breast, and she lost her place in the conversation. His mouth was so hot, wet and dark and right, and Buffy thought there was a metaphor in that. He'd take her in his hot, wet, dark mouth and then she'd take him in her tight, hot, red...
She had to stop thinking like that, or it'd all be over embarassingly soon.
She pulled away from him and climbed off the bed, and Spike looked confused until he realised she was pushing off her breeches and shoving away the blanket over his legs. She took off the rest of his clothes - she'd not wanted him to get cold, so she'd kept him half dressed - and stood for a while, looking at him.
"I'm stronger than I look," he said, trying to sit up again and failing somewhat.
Buffy grinned. "I know. We'll just go niiiiice and," she crawled back up his body to straddle him, "slowly," and leaned forward so her breasts were almost brushing his chest. Spike groaned and pulled her down for another kiss, digging his fingers into her spine, making her arch against him. She trailed kisses down his neck, gentle butterfly kisses all over his sore, aching shoulder, then down to his stomach, his muscles clenching in anticipation.
She kissed his thighs first, licking him until he groaned, "Buffy, please don't torture me like that. I'm a hurt man."
She laughed, a low throaty laugh that made him harder, and then she was laughing around him, her lips and tongue doing exquisite things to him, and he let out a sigh of relief and pleasure. Her hair tickled his thighs and his stomach, her hands rested on his hips, kneading the lean covering of muscle. This, Spike thought, was surely what heaven was like. Minus the fucked shoulder, of course. A beautiful woman giving him delirious pleasure. Did it get any better than this?
And then it occurred to him that it could get better. He reached down and lifted Buffy's head, and she looked up at him with hot, dark eyes and a damp red mouth, and he had to concentrate hard on not giving her a faceful - of pointless, dead sperm, useless, sterile - before he caught his breath and said, "I have an idea."
"Do tell."
It was one of the things Dru had come up with. He didn't think of her often, but when he did it was usually connected with sex. That girl had known astonishing things about pleasing a man. And getting her own pleasure, too. But somehow it had always seemed... sort of dirty. Great while he was actually shagging her, but then rather sordid afterwards.
He banished her from his mind and looked up at Buffy, who was regarding him expectantly. He beckoned her closer and she crawled up him, then he told her to turn around and she smiled, evidently figuring it out for herself. Smart girl.
She knelt over his face and he breathed her in. The hot scent of hopeless arousal. With his free hand he reached up and fingered the hot red folds above him, and Buffy let out a little moan.
Then she dipped her head and took him back into her mouth.
Spike allowed himself a second or two to bask, then he licked into her, making her shudder. He slid his tongue up inside her, swirled it around, and she returned the favour, making spirals with her own, exquisitely talented tongue.
Spike brought his fingers into play. Buffy did the same, cupping his balls and stroking them softly. He stroked her harder, knowing it wouldn't be long before she cracked him. Although maybe, maybe she'd let him inside first. And he could feel her tightening around him, that delicious tightness he adored so much. He hardened his tongue and pushed it up inside her again, and she moaned, her voice vibrating right through him.
Please don't do that again, he thought desperately, pinching her clitoris to try and get her there before him, but it backfired and she moaned again and Spike, unable to help himself, spurted into her mouth, coming hard and copious against her lips and her tongue.
Buffy swallowed once or twice, then she sat up, a little shakily, and rolled off Spike, who'd been in danger of inflicting harm on her while he was coming so hard.
She knelt by his head and looked down at him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
She stroked his short hair. It rather suited him. "What for?"
"I wanted to... It was over too soon."
Buffy laughed. "I thought that was rather flattering."
His eyes opened. "Yes, but you didn't..."
"Plenty of opportunity for that." She smiled. "Now, you know what?"
He looked wary. That was a very bright smile. "Er, what?"
"You're still all smoky and sweaty. And I just didn't get around to cleaning you up properly last night. So..."
She got off the bed and padded over to the fire, set it going again, and hooked the kettle above the low flames. Spike watched, mystified.
"Time for a sponge-bath," Buffy said, a wicked glint in her eye.
If he'd been asked to rate his top ten erotic fantasies, Spike would probably never have picked a sponge bath. But due to the fact that his nurse was naked and lush and kept kissing him all the time, and spent a lot of time washing carefully between his legs, this particular fantasy was fast rising. Rather like something else.
And then Buffy looked at herself and exclaimed, "Gosh, look how dirty I am! You know, maybe I should wash myself..."
"I'll help," Spike heard himself offering hoarsely, and she grinned, and said, "But how? I don't want you straining yourself."
"Sit here," Spike patted his stomach, and she did, bringing over the bucket so he could dip the cloth in and run it gently over her face and neck, her shoulders and her arms. Her breasts, the nipples already hard and pink. Her tight, flat stomach, which still fascinated him. A woman with muscles. Who'd have thought that would be sexy?
Then down over her thighs, and she knelt up so he could wash her legs properly, right down to her toes, saving the best for last.
He dropped the cloth in the bucket and dipped his fingers in instead. Then he slipped then between her legs, finding her already slick and glistening, wet against him. She closed her eyes as he stroked her, his fingers hard and rough but their movement gentle, a caress against her sensitive flesh.
She rocked against him, and Spike wished dearly he could use his other hand to touch her. To feel those beautiful breasts, heavy with desire, to run his fingers down her long smooth back, to stroke the backs of her knees. Lord, how he wanted to touch her.
He slid two fingers up inside her, and watched her mouth open, her lips parting on a silent gasp. Red mouth, swollen and shiny. He wanted to touch that, too.
He pressed his thumb against her clitoris and moved it in little circles. A second gasp - more of a moan this time. She was so wet his whole hand was slippery, three fingers stabbing into her now, making her writhe against him, her body bucking, pressing down into the pleasure he was giving her. She had one hand on his chest, steadying herself, the other on his wrist, keeping him there. As if he'd stop.
Her breath came faster, she bit her lip and her head rolled back, her hair so long it tickled him.
It tickled him in a very sensitive place indeed.
Spike watched her face and decided to push it. He curled his hand and slid his fourth finger into her. Buffy let out a hiss of breath and pushed herself down onto his hand, and he was hardly moving at all as she rocked on him, eyes closed, concentrating hard, biting her lip so hard she nearly drew blood of her own, and then she came, wet and wordless, gasping, almost silent, flooding his palm. He curled his fingers inside her and she flinched with pleasure.
When she opened her eyes he was still watching her, and when he spoke his voice was thick with lust.
"You look so beautiful when you do that."
She smiled, too heavy with pleasure to be embarrassed. After all, he still had most of his fingers inside her.
He withdrew them slowly, gently, and then licked each one as Buffy watched. And then he pulled her down to him and kissed her, and she tasted herself on him and felt herself get impossibly wetter at the thought. She was tasting herself, no one else, he wasn't ever going to taste of anyone else. Just him and her, and their mixed pleasure.
She sighed and wriggled comfortably against him, and Spike's face sharpened. She realised with a smile that he was hard again, had been for some time, and it was probably getting uncomfortable.
Well, she could help him with that.
But even as she moved to take him inside her, he stopped her, and said, "Turn around."
"We did this," Buffy told him.
"No, we didn't," he said. "Trust me. We haven't done this."
Intrigued, hoping it wasn't going to be too exhausting, Buffy did as she was told, and when she was facing the foot of the bed, lowered herself to take Spike inside her.
She exhaled as she felt him filling her. So it had been a day and a half since she'd felt it. An hour and a half was too long.
She moved around a bit, making herself comfortable, getting him all the way in, wishing she could see his face and wondering why he'd positioned her like this. Sure, she had a nice back, but did he really want to look at it that much while he was inside her? Unless he didn't want to look at her face at all. In a sleep-deprived jealous panic, it took Buffy about half a second to convince herself that he was pretending she was someone else. Who? Drusilla? Surely-
His hand on her hip tugged her away from her morbid fantasy. "Hey. You still with me?"
"Why are we doing it like this?" Buffy said, and felt him laugh, his body rocking deliciously.
"Lean back."
"What?"
"Lean back. Try to stay to the left. That's it, pet."
Her back was much more slender than his, so she managed to lie back against his chest without touching his injured shoulder, and turn her head to kiss him. This was better. Closer. Nicer.
His hand trailed down to stroke her breasts, and he started moving his hips slowly. Hardly at all. Buffy found it hard to move without losing her balance, but she found she didn't really need to. Spike was moving at such a delicious angle inside her, pulsing hot and hard against her sweet spot, that she was soon slick with sweat and gasping again.
He slipped his hand down to stroke her clitoris, her sensitive folds, her inner thighs, caressing the place where they were joined, all the while kissing her sweetly as he pulsed inside her.
They came together, and it was almost leisurely up into that point. Then Buffy clamped down on him, and he closed his eyes and said, "Yes," and angled his hips to thrust hard into her, stroking her as he did, and Buffy slipped her own hand down there and held her fingers against the base of his shaft as he slid in and out, and he groaned in her ear and moved harder, the bed creaking and groaning as they slid and bounced, Buffy very nearly falling off but holding on tight with her legs and her hand, which dug into his neck.
They came together with a mutual cry, and Buffy turned her head and pressed her lips to Spike's.
He tasted her sweet mouth, felt her move on him so she could turn over and curl up against him and kiss him properly, holding him tight, and if she hadn't been kissing him so hard he'd have told her, "I love you."
But he had no space to breathe, let alone speak, and by the time she came up for air, he'd come to his senses.
He couldn't tell her that. What, was he insane? It was just an impulse.
An impulse he'd never felt before.
Still, that didn't mean it was true.
Did it?
Buffy curled against him, nuzzling into his neck. She was warm and soft under his arm, she smelled good and felt even better and, although he couldn't see a whole lot of her, he knew just how great she looked.
But he wasn't in love with her. That would just be crazy. Right?
Right.
Oh, bollocks.