Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Story Notes:
Sorry this has taken me SO MUCH LONGER to complete than I thought. I kept getting distracted with "Evil Challenges", so I really do apologize. On the bright side, this story will be much less frustrating than the last, though there will be angst and misunderstandings, but there will also be fun and laughter, dating, a little road trip, and, yes, Spuffy sexy times! Finally!
This story is set in season 3 and covers the time between Helpless through the Zeppo. Though it's not 100% clear in canon how much time passed between these episodes, I feel it's safe to say I've elongated it even further. This story picks up immediately following the previous story in this series.
This episode is complete at about 31 chapters (I say about because I may have to do some dividing up of some extremely long chapters when it comes time to post them).
I am going to try and post regularly on Thursdays and Sundays baring any unforeseen circumstances.
Thanks so much to my beta readers: MissLuci, All4Spike, and TeamEricNSookie! They've made the story so much better with their contributions! I really can't thank them enough! All mistakes are mine because I just can't stop fiddling. A big thanks also to PaganBaby for the lovely banner, and to Holi117 for her support, brainstorming, and forcing me to make a kind of an outline, or at least a list of things to do.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: NC17. Sexual situations, language
Pairing: Spike and Buffy / Spuffy
Chapter Notes:
Thank you all so much for being so patient waiting for this next installment. I am ever so sorry it took SO VERY LONG to arrive, but I hope the wait will be worth it. Since I really thought I would be posting this VERY SOON after the end of the last story, I didn't add a lot of reminders in here about what's happening. I do have a kind of summary of what's going on from Spike T. Dog's POV at the start, hopefully enough to refresh your memory. If you have questions, feel free to ask!
Chapter 1 - Wisdom of the Witch
Woof! My name is Spike. I am a very good boi. Everybody says so. I am a big boi who can eat many cheezeburgers—they are my favorite. They say I am a puppy and am still growing. One day, when I am a very big boi, I will be able to eat many more cheezeburgers. This makes me much happy.
When I was a tiny boi, my fren, the White Rabbit, took me to live with my hoomans. I think he was scared of me. I growled and bit him and made him let me go. He must've known I was a good boi, because he brought me to the Slayer. Her name is Buffy. She is the bestest hooman and my bestest fren. My Slayer-fren and I have had very much fun since then. We crunch the bad rabbits together. She calls them vampires. I do not know why. They crunch like rabbits. It used to be my favorite thing to do. That was before I knew about cheezeburgers. Now it is my second favorite thing. Behind cheezeburgers.
Not too long ago, bad men came to our place of living. They wanted to take my hooman to a very far away place. I would not let them take my hooman. We are frens. We stay together. They had strange weapons I had never seen before. Very loud. Very bad. Very much hurting.
My other hooman, Mom, said I had gotten a shot. It did not feel like a shot. I am very brave and have had many shots. But this shot was not like the ones at the big, smelly building where all the scared little animals gather in the big room, waiting to go into the little room. It was very much hurting. But, because I got that shot, my hooman promised me all the cheezeburgers in the entire TOWN. I have been waiting for my cheezeburgers, but the hoomans act like other things are more important! What is more important than cheezeburgers? I sometimes do not understand my hooman-frens.
The White Rabbit got many shots from the bad men. Many more than me. My shot hurt much. I do not know how much so many shots would hurt. He is very brave. Like me. He has the same name as me, too... Spike. Also, sometimes William. But I just call him White Rabbit. He is my second-bestest fren. The bad men were very mean to him. I do not like these bad men. But they are gone now, I think. My Slayer-fren made them go away. I hope they do not come back. I will have to crunch them if they do. I do not crunch hoomans. I am a Guardian of the Twilight. I only crunch bad rabbits. But I will have to crunch the bad men if they come back with more shots. I do not know if I will still be a good boi if I do that. And I'm a very good boi. Everybody says so.
The White Rabbit and I have gotten over our bad shots now, but the Moldy Man, who they call 'Giles', has not. He is still very slow to move—even slower than he used to be. He has new smells I do not know, but I think they come from the small pills that he eats much often. He doesn't even wrap them in cheeze! It is very strange. Everyone knows pills should be wrapped in cheeze, or burgers, or both. More things have changed with him too. He did some not nice things to us. Moldy Man used to be the Alpha of our pack, but I think now he is not. My hooman does not go to see him like she used to. I feel her tense, like she does when we are hunting bad rabbits, when he is around. I am not sure if I should crunch him or not. My Slayer-fren has not tried to crunch him, so I will wait.
There is a new fren who has been around very much. She has very many names, it is hard to remember them all: Lily, Lucy, Lydia, Lucinda... very many names! She has also many smells—moldy, but not as moldy as Moldy Man; brimstone, but not as strong as my Strawberry fren, Willow; whisky, but not as much as the White Rabbit. There are other smells too, the musk of anxiety is strong, but she tries to hide it beneath a layer of flowers. Violets, I think. This new hooman of many smells is very screechy when she is upset. Like the black-hatted green parrot in the shop of yumminess where we get my bones of milk. She hurts my ears. There is something between this one and my White Rabbit fren. He has come to the living place with her scent more than one time. This is hard to think on; I do not like it. This Smelly Parrot of many names seems to be taking over Alpha from Moldy Man. This is wrong. My hooman is the bestest, strongest, and smartest. She is Alpha, but she allows others to be. I sometimes do not understand my hooman-frens.
I am unhappy to say that the Dark Huntress has come back. This one they call 'Faith' is not my favorite fren. I am not sure she is a fren at all. She calls herself 'Slayer', but that is my hooman's name. It is not right. I do not like her. She is causing of trouble, I think. I must watch her. She never leaves her shoes where I can pee in them. This is sadness for me. I could maybe make her leave again if she did.
I made the Brown Rabbit leave. This is much happiness. This one they call 'Angel' I am thinking is not a good boi. He and the Dark Huntress give my hooman much anger and many tears. I do not approve of giving my hooman tears. This is very much badness. I am hoping the Brown Rabbit has understood that pee in his shoes will only stop when he is far away from my Slayer-fren. I must find a way to make the Dark Huntress think this too. Perhaps also the Smelly Parrot.
Our other frens, the Floppy Boi who smells of cheezeburgers, the Wolf I Cannot Crunch, and my cuddly Strawberry fren are all very good. They helped fight the bad men, too, but they did not get shots. I do not know if they would be recovered from shots if they had gotten them, so I am happy they did not.
A very confusing thing happened just last night. I think my Slayer-fren tried to crunch the White Rabbit. I am not sure. She would not let me help. She is very good at crunching all on her own. But the White Rabbit, he did not crunch. There was much barking and yowling, and the very yummy smell of blood. But then there were many slobbery kisses. I understand barking and blood—that is good fun to have before crunching. And I understand slobbery kisses—they are happy and wet, and you get many tasty tastes. But why do you try to crunch your fren before the kisses? Sometimes I do not understand my hooman-frens.
I think that I could understand better with cheezeburgers. Cheezeburgers make everything better.
-X-
Buffy lay on her bed in the dark thinking about everything that had happened over the last few hours. Jealous fury had happened, tears had happened, confusion had happened, and then joy had happened.
Spike. Spike had happened.
Her body still tingled and throbbed, remembering the kisses, remembering his touch, even remembering the fists and fangs fight. She wanted to do things with Spike that she'd only read about, things that made her blush just to imagine. And she would know—she'd imagined! She'd very much imagined. Imagined being the war, not just the roses; being the aggressor, not just a passive partner; being the leader, not the follower.
She yearned to get up and go into the next room where he was sleeping and just... just what? Rip off her clothes and throw herself at him? Turn into a big ho like she'd accused Faith and Dru of being? Act like she knew her way around a man's pants?
Well, yes, that was pretty much it.
Not that her inexperience with men's pants would be an issue—Spike slept in the nude. That would be one big plus. She wasn't completely sure if there was a trick to getting a zipper down without catching something very tender in its teeth, and since Spike seemed to have invented 'commando', that was a definite possibility.
Buffy groaned and flopped over onto her stomach, punching the pillow in frustration. The way his erection, trapped as it had been behind the denim of his jeans, had pressed into her stomach when he'd kissed her made her ache and burn in all the most delicious ways.
And he wanted her—ALL of her! He'd said it in no uncertain terms. He'd said it more than once, he'd made sure she understood this time. He wanted her heart along with her body and her mind and her puns. He even wanted her twisty language and Buffy-logic.
But he didn't know, did he? Didn't know about her horrible first time. Well, she supposed he knew in the sense that he knew, but he didn't know-know.
'You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night. You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro.'
God, she hoped he didn't know-know. Did Angelus tell him? Gloat about it? Another groan was swallowed by Buffy's pillow before she turned again, tangling herself in her covers. What if she really was as bad as Angel—not Angel, Angelus—said? Angel, after all, had never said a word to her to refute that claim in all the months he'd been back from hell. Though he did seem set on trying to... to woo her again—albeit with warm ginger ale and Triscuits. But was that just the demon behind the wheel, subtly trying to get free from the curse again? It honestly felt that way because, assuming Angel didn't know about the escape clause before, he certainly knew now, didn't he? So why did he keep trying to... to be with her if not for the demon searching for the key to unlock the curse of his soul?
She had to admit that, upon many late-night contemplations, Buffy hadn't thought the whole sex thing lived up to the hype either. There were no fireworks exploding and the earth didn't move under her feet like all the Danielle Steele novels say. Angel had been tender and sweet, he'd kissed her and his cool hands had skimmed over her burning flesh. He'd said she was beautiful, that she was perfect, that she was everything he'd ever dreamed of... which at the time seemed romantic, but in retrospect made her wonder. Perfect? As in perfect happiness? And were these dreams about her, or about losing his soul?
His gentle words and touches had kindled the already palpable need in her, growing it to unbearable heights. She'd wanted him desperately, but felt awkward saying such a thing, so she'd just opened herself to him—Angel, her first true love, her soulmate. Or so she'd thought at the time. He was between her thighs then, propped up on his strong arms above her. She could feel his length against her, almost startlingly hard to her virginal senses. Their eyes met in the dim light and then, with no more warning, there was a flash of pain. She had gasped, more from shock than the pain, and he'd stopped a moment, asking if she was all right. When she nodded, he began moving inside her in earnest, grunts and groans of pleasure falling from his lips. Buffy knew she was supposed to make sounds, and she thought she'd made the right ones, but, well, maybe not.
And then it had been over. Angel's body had gone rigid, and he'd let out a final, desperate, growling moan, and then collapsed atop her, his hulking form nearly swallowing her. Buffy could feel his hardness waning inside her, feel the sting of torn flesh, feel the damp, slick juices slip from her channel and pool on the sheets, mixed with the bloody remnants of her virginity.
He'd rolled off after a few moments and pulled her into a close, spooning embrace. It had been hard to enjoy it with all that sticky goo dripping down her thighs, not to mention the slick, cool dribble of liquid still seeping from his soft penis where it pressed against her ass. She'd not expected that, it was all new and, well, maybe a little ooky. And that had been it. He'd fallen asleep as she marinated uncomfortably in the remains of their coupling.
Buffy had finally fallen asleep as well, the events of the long day and the emotional rollercoaster it had been catching up with her. Of course, when she'd awoken, he had been gone.
'Like I really wanted to stick around after that.'
Buffy's heart twisted again, remembering that night and her first introduction to Angelus. No matter how many times she ran it over in her mind, it always stabbed just as deep, cut just as painfully.
What if she really wasn't any good at sex? Then what would happen when Spike found out? All his promises and professions of her gloriousness would wither and die. He'd move on, leave her, just like every other man she'd cared about.
"Damn it," Buffy muttered, turning in the bed yet again, twisting the sheets more tightly around herself. "Can't you just let yourself be happy for one whole day at least before bringing doom and gloom down on your head?"
Maybe she could stall Spike and somehow figure out how to get better at sex before actually having it with him. When they'd finally come into the house after their heated conversation/fight/make-out session, he seemed to take her refusal to let him help her shower in stride, even if he did it with a leer and a sweep of his tongue over his lips that made her question her sanity.
"Your loss, Slayer," he'd said in that 'sex-on-a-stick' rumbling timbre he had as he'd backed away from the bathroom door. "I give great shampoos."
Buffy groaned again, flopping back onto her stomach with a ripping of fabric. The sheets, it appeared, had reached their limit. "Perfect."
-X-
It had only taken three hard yanks on his cock before Spike came with a muffled cry of release, catching the jizz with one of the many used towels strewn around the floor of the Summers' guest room. A room he already thought of as 'his room', even though he'd been here less than a fortnight.
Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. She was all he could think of, all he could taste, all he could smell, all he could feel. Her arms wrapped around him, her lips, soft and pliant as he kissed her, her tongue dueling with his, her greedy moans filling his mouth. Her soft, hot body pressed against him had been heaven, even through the fabric that separated them. Her hair was like silken sunbeams slipping between his fingers. Spike imagined it flowing over his bare body as he began moving his hand up and down his still-hard cock, slower this time.
Christ, he'd probably dust just from her touch, drown in her eyes, be consumed by her fire. The scent of her arousal lingered in his nostrils, and he wished he'd slipped a finger down her trousers and between her shapely thighs so that he could've tasted her. The thought of it brought another tightening of his balls and pulse of cum streaming from his cock, soaking the towel.
"God, woman," he moaned as he lay on his bed and listened to the shower across the hall. She was in there. Naked. Wet. Glistening. Her deadly little hands were skimming over that glorious body, touching all the places that Spike longed to touch, all the places he yearned to taste, to worship, to love and cherish. Was she thinking about him? Was she getting herself off in there?
He stopped pumping his cock and concentrated, listening hard, but could only hear the water splashing against her bare, golden body, the splatter of it echoing off the hard tile. "Fucckkk..." he groaned as another blast of pent-up desire rushed up from his balls in a geyser of pleasure and need.
Jesus, he was a git. What if he couldn't control himself any better than this when the real thing happened? He'd be spewing jizz all over the girl like a wet-behind-the-ears fledge. Or worse, just creaming his sodding jeans before he even got them off. Of course, if he came all over her, that would give him the chance to lick it off her. Off those pert little tits or that sweet round ass. 'Wonder if she'd like that... seeing me lap up my own cum, clean up her hot little body with my tongue before I even get to taste her pretty quim.'
"Ahhh... fuck..." he groaned again as another jerk of his cock and spill of cum soiled the towel further.
His cock finally began to soften, though he kept moving his fist slowly up and down the length, rolling the foreskin up over his slit and back. He imagined how Buffy's hand would feel around him, how hot it would be, how she could pump him dry with those beautiful, deadly fists of hers.
God, he really needed to start thinking about something else or his cock would be too sore to shove in his sodding jeans in the morning.
"Jus' one more..." he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and seeing her kiss-swollen lips close around his cockhead, her green eyes looking up at him as she swallowed him whole. He knew what her tongue could do—it had lashed against his in a brilliant dance tonight. And her teeth... God, how she'd caught his lip between them with just the perfect pressure. Spike imagined how that tongue would feel against his prick, that wet heat darting this way then that along his length, tracing his cumslit, flicking over his frenulum... and her teeth threatening pain with pleasure as she teased him to near oblivion. Then she'd take him inside those luscious lips, swallow his cock. Her pretty mouth would tighten around him and she'd suck every drop of cum from his balls, leaving him nothing more than an empty shell.
"Bloody fuck..." he grunted, his hips jerking as he fucked the Slayer's mouth in his mind, spilling his cum down her throat, watching her gulp and swallow and take it all, her mouth begging for more even as she drained him dry.
Spike went thankfully limp on the guest bed, cock and body alike. He tossed the cum-soaked towel back down on the floor with a sigh of sweet relief. He floated in that misty stupor, listening to the Slayer moving around in the bathroom across the hall, wondering again if she'd done the same thinking of him. There was no denying she'd been just as worked up as he had after their fight/snog-fest, even interrupted as it was by the great furry hound. He'd made an offer to help her out in the shower, just in case she was so inclined, but that had gone nowhere.
Dating the Slayer. Just what the hell did that mean? He'd been telling the truth when he'd said he'd never dated anyone before. He was quite sure the failed attempt to court Cecily Addams didn't count. And Dru—well, they'd fed and shagged and brawled. He'd taken her out, of course, to the theatre or the opera, but that usually ended in more fucking or fighting or feeding... usually all three.
Maybe he'd ask the little witch. He'd not been too impressed with the wolf's advice—nearly lost the Slayer to that poofter Denny—whoever the hell he was. The witch though, she seemed to be on his side and was a female, to boot. She'd know what was expected.
With a plan in place and a smile on his face, Spike fell toward sleep, his mind searching for words that would rhyme with 'Buffy'.
-X-
Joyce lay in her bed, unable to sleep. She'd witnessed most of the fight between her daughter and her houseguest after being alerted to it by their dog. She'd been alarmed at first and had let their Spike out to help Buffy, thinking that somehow the truce with the vampire had ended and the screaming battle of words and fists in the back yard was in earnest. She'd even run back in to grab a stake from the basket by the front door. When she'd returned, the dog was on the porch and the two combatants had moved out of sight, so she sent Spike out again and even took a few tentative steps into the yard herself, but when she'd heard laughter, she went back inside, utterly confused. In her experience, fights like that never lead to laughter. Not that she'd ever had a fight like that, but she'd had some verbal doozies with Hank, and laughter was never the outcome.
By the time the three supernatural warriors had come back to the house, they were bruised, battered, and disheveled, but smiling. Even the dog seemed pleased. Joyce really wasn't sure what to think or what to say to them, so she'd retreated to her room. Maybe she should've confronted them right then—but to what end? Buffy had given as good as she'd gotten, in fact, Spike actually looked more beaten than Buffy did. Under the circumstances, it seemed ridiculous to be angry at Spike for defending himself.
Should she be angry at Buffy, instead? How many times over the months before Joyce knew about Buffy being the Slayer had she grounded her daughter for fighting or causing mayhem of one sort or another? Too many to count.
Joyce sighed and rolled over, trying to find a comfortable position, as her mind struggled to wrap around it all. She knew that Buffy being the Slayer had changed her daughter—physically, mentally, and even spiritually. She wasn't the same carefree girl she'd been, and Joyce had attributed that to the weight of responsibility that she had been burdened with by this Calling. But maybe there was even more to it—more to the fighting and the mayhem. Buffy had never been violent before becoming the Slayer, but after... Of course, she had to be violent with demons and vampires and all the other dark things she fought every night. Did that extend to her love life as well? Was it all tied together?
Joyce shook her head, not sure what to do. She wanted to protect her little girl from anything and everything that might hurt her, but she wasn't sure how to protect Buffy from herself. Or if she even needed her protection. "Wait and see..." she muttered to herself, her mouth turned down into a frown. She didn't know what else to do.
-X-
Monday morning came much too soon for Buffy's liking. Her sleep had been fitful, to say the least, her emotions ricocheting between worry about the budding relationship with Spike and giddy elation over it. She once again found herself standing outside his closed door, all dressed and ready for school, gnawing on her lip trying to decide if she should wake him up to say good morning. She'd been standing there for five minutes already, and if she didn't decide soon, she was gonna be late for school. Her mom had already left for work, so she was pedestrian-Buffy again, and there was no time to dawdle if she didn't want another 'tardy' on her permanent record.
Buffy looked at the stairs, then back at the guestroom door, wringing her hands and shifting in place uncomfortably. She wanted to see him before she left, but did he want to see her? Would he want to be woken up just to say goodbye? Her stomach buzzed with nerves and her heart skipped and skittered in her chest like a frightened rabbit. God, why was this so hard? It was just Spike, right? The same Spike she'd known for how long now? The same Spike who gave her a new best friend in the form of a fluffy puppy who'd grown into a fierce warrior, not unlike his namesake. This was the same road-trip Spike who wrote postcards and showed up when she needed him most. But, at the same time, it was completely different. Before, she didn't care if she annoyed him, in fact, she did her best to be the most annoying Slayer in history around him, but now...
Suddenly, the door swung open and the object of all her turmoil stood in front of her. His hair was a riot of blond curls and spikes, his face still held the remains of healing bruises from their fight, his chest was gloriously bare, looking like a marble Adonis, and his jeans were just barely clinging to his slim waist, only half-zippered.
Buffy stopped breathing, her eyes going wide as she let her gaze roam down and up again, finally meeting his glittering blue eyes.
"See something ya like, pet?" he asked in a sleep-roughened voice, that trademark 'Spike Smirk' firmly in place.
Buffy swallowed and cleared her throat. "I... I... um..." She waved a hand at the stairs. "School," she managed. Great, she'd been reduced to monosyllables! What was next, inarticulate grunts?
"Well, wouldn't be right to let m' girl toddle off without a proper farewell, now, would it?" he purred, stepping forward until he was only inches from her.
"Wasn't sure if—" Buffy began, pleased to have found words, but they were swallowed when his mouth descended to hers, capturing her lips in a mind-numbing kiss.
His arms wrapped around her and pulled her tightly against his very naked chest, their bodies melding together as if made for each other. Buffy's hands snaked around his neck and up into his soft, untamed mane as she returned the kiss with as much fervor as he was delivering it.
How had waking him up even been a question? This is how every morning should start, with his tongue slipping between her lips, his strong hands splayed across her back, his... Oh my God! His stiffy pressing into her hip! Buffy didn't try to stop the moan that bubbled up from her flaming core and Spike returned it with a rumbling growl of his own.
When the kiss broke, both pulling back at some unspoken signal, Buffy was panting for breath. Her body burned with cravings she was afraid to try and sate lest she embarrass herself, her mind was dizzy with foolish visions of ripping Spike's jeans off and finding out, once and for all, if she was any good or not, and her heart was floating in a cloud of pure joy.
"Still not sure, Slayer?" Spike wondered breathlessly as he ran a gentle finger down from her forehead, over her temple and down her neck, brushing back her golden tresses. "Always want to see you, always want you in my arms, always want to be tasting you. Would be hurt if ya just ran off and didn't say a fitting goodbye."
Buffy's eyes locked on his, her insecurities looking for the lie, for the deception, but there was nothing there but bottomless adoration shining back at her. Her heart felt like it doubled in size, swelling with more quivering delight. She bit her bottom lip and nodded as an exultant smile curved her mouth. "I, umm... me too," she admitted. "I mean, if you were going somewhere... a mind-numbing goodbye kiss is of the good."
Spike's grin matched hers. "Well, that's settled then, innit? Rule number one—don't eat the populace. Rule number two—mind-numbing goodbye kisses."
Buffy's smile widened. "Rule number three... knee-wobbling hellos?" she wondered.
"Too right," Spike growled, crashing his lips to hers again to seal the deal.
Jesus, but she was blazing hot. Spike had never felt anything like Buffy in all his years on the planet. He realized last night that he'd never known what a kiss could be before his lips had met hers, before his tongue had slid inside to be met with such a fervent response. She was an inferno, burning with an inner fire he only hoped wouldn't dust him. He hadn't been lying when he'd said she was a wonder, a revelation, and it was no different this morning. Everything about her was fierce and sizzling, dripping with power and passion. Every sweep of her tongue against his was a battle—the most delicious battle he'd ever tasted. Christ, he was doomed. If kissing her had him on the verge of creaming his jeans, what would making love to her be?
"God, Buffy..." he groaned as their lips parted and he rested his forehead on hers. "What you do to me. Never... Jesus, woman... never anyone like you."
Buffy was burning and shivering at the same time, every muscle twitching with jolts of sweet electricity. It took her a few moments for his words to register through the crazed mist of Spike-kisses. She pulled back and met his eyes again. His pupils were dilated, nearly swallowing all the blue, but she still couldn't find the deception in them, the tell that he was joking or making fun of her. Not like Angel's—Angelus'—eyes had been, filled with that flinty, cruel delight. Spike's words held no sarcasm; nothing but sincerity.
Buffy felt like she could float away in that moment. Float away on his words, on the look in his eyes, on the lingering tingle of his lips against hers, on the throbbing hum of her body.
"You're not so bad yourself," she breathed, her eyes glittering with a burst of confidence, her lips curving into a pleased smile.
Spike's face transformed into an expression Buffy couldn't ever remember seeing on him. A crooked, boyish grin coupled with a softness around his eyes which erased the cloak of Big Badness he wore so often, and so well. It was, she thought, what he must've looked like before Dru, before the demon had set up house inside William. She found herself mesmerized by the innocence of that look, so different from the smirking Spike she knew and lo—. God, could she think that now? Loved? Did she even dare? Surely, it was too soon.
"Well, that works out nicely, then, doesn't it?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts, clearly delighted, but with a tinge of shyness to his tone.
Buffy was about to reply when an insistent bark came from downstairs. Buffy's eyes went wide and she looked at her watch. "Shit! School! Tardiness! One of Snyder's seven deadly sins!" she announced, pulling from Spike's embrace in alarm. "Gotta go! Bye!" she called, turning for the stairs.
Spike caught her arm and spun her back around. He dropped a chaste kiss on her surprised, parted lips. "Later, pet," he murmured before releasing her.
Buffy grinned at him one more time, a smile that lit up not just the room but Spike's whole world, before running for the stairs. "You guys be good!" she called as she hurtled down the steps, giving the dog a pat on the head as she passed him. "Don't set the house on fire!" was her last warning before disappearing out the front door.
"Only thing likely to combust here is me," Spike replied in a low voice as he slid his zipper the rest of the way down, freeing his hard-as-nails prick from the painful prison, and heading for the bathroom. Time for a few good wanks in the shower, then he had a mission—find the little red witch and get some tips on dating the Slayer. Though, he had to admit, so far it was going swimmingly.
-X-
It had been a while since Spike had traversed the sewers of Sunnyhell with any specific destination in mind. The previous afternoon, when he'd been brassed off with the Slayer and her planned date with Denny, he'd used them for his escape. But he'd just wandered randomly until the sun had set, then he'd made his way on the surface streets to Willy's for the O-Neg and Jack he favored there. But today it was different, and it had taken him an interminably long time to find the entrance to the high school basement. Someone—the Watcher maybe—had tried to brick it over, but had done a shoddy job of it. Once Spike had realized it, noticed the new brickwork, he'd taken it down with just a couple of hard kicks, sending a plume of mortar dust into the air.
Down here, the power of the Hellmouth buzzed against his skin like high-tension electric lines laced with razor wire. Why in the world someone had decided to build a school atop it and send their hormone-addled offspring to marinate in this for several hours a day was beyond him. He'd never have done it, and he was evil.
Spike found the stairs up to the main floor and emerged into an empty hallway lined with lockers. Now he just had to find the one that belonged to the witch, and wait for her to show.
-X-
Willow was yanked out of the stream of students between classes like a salmon plucked from a stream by a bear. She squeaked in surprise as she was snatched up and deposited inside an empty classroom. She would've thought magic was afoot except for the strong hands that she'd felt pulling her from her appointed rounds. She spun around, eyes wide, heart thumping wildly in her chest, a real scream frozen in her tight throat, when she saw Spike.
Willow backed up, gulping for air, scrabbling in her bag for a cross, a stake, something! She found a bright shaft of sunlight streaming in near the front of the room and planted herself in it. "I didn't mean to do it! It just came out!" she gasped, finally wresting the cross from her bag and holding it up toward the vampire.
"What are you on about?" Spike asked, scowling at the girl as he prowled after her.
"Mrs. Summers and Giles were just being so blind and stupid, and then accusing me of being a bad friend! It made me all blabber-y," she continued, a girly squeak to her voice. "I really didn't mean to do it, honest!" she repeated.
"Not really explainin' yourself, Red," Spike asserted as he sauntered up to the teacher's desk and leaned his butt against it casually, facing her.
"Mrs. Summers said you'd go back to Drusilla, that Buffy would be all heart-breaky, and that I should tell Buffy to stay away from you! I didn't mean to tell them you'd left Dru, but it was just so—"
"Ah, so you're the little tattletale, are you?" Spike realized, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her squirm, though a tingling warmth bloomed in his chest with the 'Buffy would be heart-breaky' admission.
Willow frowned. "You didn't know?"
Spike shook his head.
Willow clamped a hand over her mouth. Stupid mouth! Then the witch's eyes went wide, and her grip tightened on the wooden cross. "Then why are you here? You're evil again!" she accused, shaking the cross at him. "Is that why Buffy wasn't here this morning? You broke the truce and she's hunting you so now you're taking hostages!"
Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. "I've never stopped being evil, you nit! Just... put the worst on hold for a bit. Haven't ended the truce," he assured her. "But did want t' chat about the Slayer."
"What about Buffy?" Willow asked worriedly, her hand getting sweaty where she clutched the cross. "She's not... she's okay, right?"
"Right as rain, last I saw her," he assured her, his mind flashing him a picture of the Slayer's kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and hungry, drinking him in as a desert rose sips the morning dew from its petals. "Buffy's just fine. Might'a delayed her a bit this mornin', had her running a few minutes late to class is all," Spike added before fishing in the pocket of his jeans for his fags and lighter.
"There's no smoking on campus," Willow informed him, still fending him off with the religious icon in her grip. God, if her parents saw her with a cross, they'd send her away to that Jewish sleepaway summer camp they'd wanted her to attend between sixth and seventh grade. That would be so not good. She wasn't sure she could fake having chicken pox again to get out of it.
Spike eyed her unrepentantly, lighting a cigarette before stuffing the pack and his Zippo away. "Told ya, I'm still evil." He blew a plume of smoke toward the witch, smirking as she waved the cross in front of her face to fend it off. "Just wanted t' have a little chinwag, is all."
Willow seemed more confused than ever. "So... what's with the nabbing? Wagging of chins are usually nab-free."
Spike shrugged. "Didn't want the Slayer t' see us talking."
"Why?"
"'Cos that's who I want to talk to you about," Spike said again, blowing out another cloud of smoke. "And I'd rather she not know. This is just between us, all right?"
Willow frowned. "I don't talk so good when I can't breathe," she asserted, scowling at the fog of grey smoke that wafted toward her. "And I'll decide what Buffy needs to know or not know."
Spike huffed and rolled his eyes. "What is with you cheeky white hats and air quality rules?" he asked, stubbing out the fag on the desktop.
"We have working lungs," she reminded him, finally lowering the cross, though she stayed in the beam of sunlight. "Why do you want to talk about Buffy?"
Spike looked up from putting out the fag. "Seems she and I are dating."
Willow's confusion returned. "Since when?"
"Since we had a bit of a heart-to-heart last night and I snogged her silly."
"Is that where you got those bruises? In that heart-to-heart?"
Spike touched his eye, feeling the swelling still there. "Yeah, well, turns out the Slayer and I wear our hearts in our fists."
Willow snorted. "And that's your version of keeping the truce?"
"All the pulsers are still breathing, so, yeah, I'd say that qualifies."
"And now you're... dating? Does Buffy know about this?"
"Was her sodding idea! And that's what I wanted t' talk to you about, Red," Spike explained, leaning toward her while keeping his ass planted on the faux-wood desk. "See, never actually dated a Slayer before... mostly just fought 'em and, on the good days, killed 'em. Trying to suss out exactly what dating one in the twentieth century is about."
"And you're asking me?"
"You're the Slayer's best mate... apart from that mangy dog, and he's bloody useless."
Willow considered that a minute, then shrugged. "Okay, well, first, I think the fighting and killing part should probably be nixed," she suggested.
Spike frowned. "But fighting Buffy's bloody brilliant," he protested. "Not like the Slayer was complaining about it—she sodding started it!"
"Oh. Well... maybe I'm not the one to ask then," she confessed.
"Think you are. You know her better than anyone. Just need some idea what I should do."
"Before I tell you anything, I want to know your intentions," Willow demanded, folding her arms over her chest impertinently, the cross still in one hand.
"My intentions?" Spike spluttered. "Do they still say that in nineteen-bloody-ninety-nine?"
Willow lifted her chin stubbornly. "Well, I say it and since you're asking me, I want to know before I tell you anything."
Spike started pacing back and forth, just out of the beam of light the witch was standing in. "My intentions..." he began, shaking his head as he thought. "My intentions," he said again after a few circuits in front of her. "Are to shag her stupid every chance I get cos she's bloody glorious... can't get enough of her. Make her laugh all the time, cos she's an angel when she laughs—she sodding glows. Keep her safe from any evil nasty that wants to take a bite out of her, and... and just make her happy every day," he finished, stopping and looking up at the girl hopefully.
Willow pursed her lips. "Shag her stupid? Does that mean what I think it means?"
Spike smirked. "Dunno. What do you think it means?"
Willow's pale skin flushed almost the color of her hair. "Get groin-y?" she guessed.
Spike snorted. "I reckon that's one way to put it, yeah." Willow gave him a disparaging look. "Why, what's wrong with that?" he questioned petulantly.
The witch sighed. "Most guys wouldn't put that in the 'what are your intentions' test answers unless they wanted to be run out of the county at gunpoint... or stake point."
Spike sniffed. "Just being honest. What would you have me say?"
"Something about respecting her and not pressuring her to do anything she doesn't want to do might be a nice touch."
Spike considered that and shrugged. "Right, let's just assume I said that, then. Anything else?"
"She's the Slayer—she won't let you keep her safe," she pointed out. "I mean, you couldn't even keep her out of the fight when Giles drugged her and she was all weak and kitteny."
The vampire's brow furrowed and he bobbed his head, conceding the point. "Fight at her side, then. Help her keep the world safe for Christmas and puppies and all that rot."
Willow nodded. "Better," she agreed. "But what about love? You didn't mention that. Do you love her? What about that stuff you said about not wanting her heart?"
"I never bloody said that!" he ranted, flinging his arms out in exasperation. "Bloody hell, how many people did she spout that rubbish to? Was a sodding misunderstanding, is all."
Willow flinched at his outburst. "Um, just me, I think. Sooo... you do want her heart? But not in the gross, literal way, right? In the heart-eyes, swoony, lovey-dovey way?"
"Well, yeah... ideally," he admitted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck bashfully.
"Do you love her?" Willow pressed.
Spike's eyes darted over to the girl's, a flash of panic flaring in the blue depths. "Thought that was what dating was supposed t' give you time to suss out," he answered evasively.
"But this isn't just some fling for you, right?" Willow pressed. "You care about her? You aren't just going to... to shag and run, are you? This isn't just you wanting another notch in your Slayer belt, is it?"
Spike shook his head. "Thought I covered that in the making her happy bit," he defended. "Can't very well make her happy by pullin' a runner, now can I? Want to see that smile of hers every day for-sodding-ever."
Willow twisted her lips, thinking, then finally shrugged. "Okay, I guess that's alright."
"Right!" Spike exclaimed, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Tell me what I should do with this dating business, then."
"Sorry. If I tell you, that would be cheating," Willow said. "You really need to do what you think and, if Buffy likes it, then that shows that there's, you know, a connection. You can't just take what I say and do that. You have to think of it yourself, and then Buffy has to like it, otherwise it's all a sham."
"Cheeky little bint," Spike growled, edging closer to Willow's refuge in the sunbeam.
Willow swallowed hard, but didn't back down. "I'm not gonna do your homework for you. You have to figure this out yourself, otherwise the Buffy-happiness wouldn't be real, and it wouldn't mean anything. Of course, you could just go to the source and ask Buffy what she likes if you aren't sure."
Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "As if that ever works," he scoffed, planting his hands on his hips.
"It couldn't hurt to ask her, or just, you know, talk to her about different stuff. It's not rocket science—you talked to her plenty on that road trip—she told me about it. It's not any different now, just maybe a little less snarky?"
"Not sure I know how t' do less snarky," Spike confessed, though he knew he did. The problem with less snark was that it pulled off his defensive cloak and left him vulnerable. Bugger. "Right, well, can ya tell me what to definitely avoid, at least? What have her other suitors done that have gotten them kicked to the curb?"
Willow looked at him dubiously. "No one says 'suitors' anymore."
"You said 'intentions'," he pointed out. "I can say 'suitors.'"
She rolled her eyes. "Well," she began slowly. "I think turning suddenly evil would be on the 'to be avoided' list. Other turn-offs include killing her teachers, and torturing Giles. Trying to end the world is probably a big no-no. And I'd take it as a personal favor if you didn't kill my goldfish—we've just started bonding."
Spike blinked at her, his head tilting as he contemplated her words. "Are you telling me she's not dated anyone since the big, buggering forehead?"
The redhead shrugged, moving over a bit to stay in the center of the sunbeam that was slowly moving across the room. "Well, one or two here and there. Nothing serious," she admitted. "I'd avoid sports bars and salads as a dinner option. Oh, and expecting sexual favors at the end of the night after the first date will probably get you Bobbitted."
Spike shifted uncomfortably, one hand subconsciously drifting below his belt in defense. "You're telling me the Slayer hasn't shagged anyone since..."
"Her seventeenth birthday," Willow filled in. "Or done anything else remotely shag-adjacent, as far as I know. And I'm sure she would've told me."
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, forgetting his earlier discomfiture, and running a hand back over his hair as he began to pace again, turning that over in his mind.
Willow took some pity on him. "She's the Slayer, but she's also a girl underneath all that world-save-age. You're gonna need to reach them both if you want that 'forever' you were talking about."
Spike nodded slowly. He'd gotten glimpses of the girl beneath the Slayer. When she'd had that nightmare and let him hold her. God, he wanted more of that. Though, he had to admit, the Slayer was a cyclone of fire that he'd happily dust in. He desperately wanted them both—loved them both—the whole package.
"There's a reason there are fewer dates on her calendar than averted apocalypses, and it has to do with an Angel-shaped wound in her heart that's still raw and painful," Willow continued, watching him wear a path in the linoleum in front of her.
Spike's thoughts were dragged to a place he rarely went willingly: Angel. His great git of a grandsire had been her one and only shag. No wonder the wolf-boy had said she'd been abused, that she was like a feral cat, and to let her come to him. She's still carrying that scar around with her after all this time, no one new t' cleanse the pallet, as it were. Sodding hell.
"And if you rip that scab off, if you hurt her, I will beat you to death with a shovel," Willow continued when he didn't say anything.
Spike stopped just in front of her and looked up, meeting her gaze, his brows raised.
Willow's eyes flashed with gritty resolve in defense of her friend, her arms crossed obstinately over her chest. "A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend," she contended with a huff.
"You're a feisty one. I like you," he announced with an unabashed grin.
The witch shrugged. "She's my best friend. I don't want to see her hurt again. I want her with the heart-eyes and happiness."
"We're on the same side," Spike promised.
Willow pursed her lips. "We better be or that shovel will be in your future," she threatened.
Spike snorted. "Keep that in mind, I will," he said, reaching nonchalantly into the beam of light and plucking the cross from her hand. His skin began to smoke and burn, but he didn't seem to notice. He turned away and set the cross down on the nearest desk, his movements unhurried.
"By the way, 'ye olde wooden cross'—really only helpful against fledges, pet," he told her with a wink before turning and sweeping from the room.
Willow gulped. "G-good to know," she muttered as the door clicked closed behind him.
-X-
"Willow!" Buffy called, catching sight of her friend just before she entered the cafeteria for lunch period. "Wait up!"
The redhead turned, waiting for Buffy to catch up. "Buffy! I waited for you outside this morning, but you never showed."
"Sorry. Lateness," Buffy explained, coming up to her. "Luckily, I don't think old Mr. Abernathy noticed."
"Do you think he's still alive?" Willow asked. "He's kind of..."
"Zombie-fied?" Buffy filled in with a shrug. "I haven't seen him eating any brains, so I'm in the 'don't ask, don't slay' camp."
"Especially if he doesn't notice when you're tardy, and report it to Snyder," Willow added knowingly.
"Which is what I need to talk to you about—the reason for said tardiness. Major happenings in Buffy-land!" the Slayer exclaimed, pulling Willow into an empty classroom.
What was it with everyone bodily pulling her into empty classrooms today?
"What happened?" the redhead wondered innocently, still not having decided what, if anything, to tell Buffy about Spike's visit.
"Spike happened!" Buffy gushed.
"Spike?" Willow hedged. "Happened how?"
"Kissage! Such major kissage," Buffy revealed, nearly swooning. "Oh my God, Wills! He didn't mean the whole 'not wanting my heart thing,'" she continued, beaming. "He said he didn't want my heart in a box... locked up like a hamster with no exercise wheel."
"Hamster?" Willow questioned.
Buffy waved it off. "He just meant he wanted my heart free, so I could, you know... choose who to give it to."
"And have you?" Willow asked. "Chosen, I mean?"
"Maybe?" Buffy squeaked uncertainly, but the gleam in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks said something completely different.
"So, what now?" Willow asked, not calling Buffy on the hedge. "Wedding bells? Picket fences?"
"Cart, horse much?" Buffy huffed, with an eye roll. "I think we'll start with date-age and see how that goes."
"So, like, serious date-age... exclusive like, or...?"
"The way he reacted to my tentative date with Denny, I'm saying exclusivity is the dating flavor. But... you know, slow-ish?" Buffy suggested, spinning away from her friend to begin pacing back and forth, chewing on her lip in thought.
Willow smiled at the similarities between the two blondes, but kept her silence, waiting for whatever Buffy was going to say next.
"I... I was thinking maybe we should do the science thing," Buffy said after a moment. "You know, start with—with going out—movies and Bronzing—and some mind-numbing kissing. Do that for a while and then maybe a little... ummm... base running?" She looked up at Willow, her expression questioning. "How long do you think we should test each part? Should the bases be broken down, you know, first for a while, then second. How long do I have before we get to home?"
"Buffy, I'm not sure you can, you know, put it on a schedule like that," Willow offered kindly. "You'll have to go by how you feel about moving to the next, um, phase. And how Spike feels about it, too."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Spike's probably ready for cracking homeruns over the centerfield fence right now," she admitted.
'Well, Buffy isn't wrong about Spike's readiness,' Willow thought. "What Spike's ready for doesn't have anything to do with you," she advised. "You both have to be ready—you shouldn't do anything you aren't up for, no matter what you think he wants."
The Slayer sighed. "I'm totally ready-girl," she insisted, but at Willow's dubious expression, Buffy deflated. "Well, parts of me are. Other parts, not so much with the sureness."
Willow walked up to her friend and put a hand on her arm. "If Spike really cares about you, if he wants your un-hamstered heart, then he'll wait and respect your decision."
"I don't want him to think I don't want, cos I do want, I just... I'm not experience-girl, and he's totally with all the experiences. One time not a pro makes," Buffy muttered scathingly, blinking back hurt and angry tears from her eyes.
"Maybe you should just talk to him—just be honest."
Buffy rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "What kind of advice is that? Like honesty ever works!"
Willow barely kept from groaning in frustration. God, could there be two more stubborn, defensive people in the world?
The redhead reined in her exasperation, tilting her head, and giving her friend a sympathetic smile. "You know, when I wanted to—you know—and Oz didn't, it helped that he was honest with me. I knew it wasn't because he didn't want to, or that he didn't care, but because he cared a lot and he wanted it to be... be special and the right time for both of us."
"But this is Spike," Buffy pointed out.
"Yeah, well, maybe you need to find out what's under that hard 80's lacquer before you jump in with both feet," Willow warned. "If you don't find a soft-gooey center, then maybe date-age isn't a good idea."
Buffy sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Argh, why is this so hard? I still feel all twisty inside. I don't want to screw this up." Buffy flinched at her own words—'screwing it up' was literally what she was afraid of, emphasis on the screwing.
"I think if you talk to him, you might find that Spike's just as afraid of messing things up as you are," Willow said, drawing a curious look from Buffy.
"What makes you think that?" the blonde asked.
Willow shrugged, trying to stay calm in the face of her deception. She was so not deception-girl! "It's just... he must care about you or he wouldn't have done all he's done, right? So, it stands to reason that he'd be worried about doing something wrong, just like you are. I really think you should talk to him, Buffy, and clear the air about what you expect and make sure you're on the same page."
Buffy groaned. "I hate it when I get perfectly reasonable advice. It makes it so much harder to ignore."
"It totally sucks," Willow agreed, as she turned for the door. "C'mon, greasy, lunchroom pizza will make you feel better."
Buffy snorted, following behind. "The only thing greasy, lunchroom pizza ever made me feel was nauseous." She brightened. "Which might actually be an improvement, now that I think about it."
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you again for reading! I plan to have another chapter on Sunday.
Parrots and their screeching: Size isn't always the deciding factor for possessing the capability of being loud. And the loudest parrot species is enough proof. With Nanday conure producing as much as 155 decibels of noise, their screeching can cause permanent ear damage.