"When... When did the building fall down?"
"I don't know." He says, looking up at the devastation above them, "must have been sometime between the first time and the, uh…" in a surge the memories of last night return with full force. A grin spreads across his face.
"Oh," Buffy winces. "Oh my god."
"Shoe, need my shoe…" Buffy tosses wooden boards and slabs of concrete out of the way. She's pulled as much of her clothes out of the surrounding rubble as she can find, arms deep in debris trying to find her second boot.
And my underwear… shit.
She can feel Spike's gaze scorching the back of her neck. She'd really fucked up this time. Burning kisses stolen under the stairs in the Bronze, or lingering in an alleyway, could be explained away as aftershock from one of Willow's spells (again) or emotional turmoil from Giles' departure. But not this. This had crossed the barrier.
"What's the hurry, luv?" He' s lying amongst the wreckage behind her, lounging like it's a four-poster bed. The coat they were using as a blanket is cast down on the floor. The only thing he wears now are bruises and cuts.
I'm going to look him in the eye. Buffy thinks, rummaging harder under the wreckage for her other boot. I'm going to look him in the eye and I'm not going to look anywhere else.
"The hurry is I left Dawn all night. And don't call me love." Oh god Dawn. Dawn please be alright…
She turns her head away, before the look his eyes roaming over her can make the blush climb even higher up her neck.
"You didn't seem to take issue with that last night," she can hear the grin in his voice without even turning to look, "or with any of the other little nasties we whispered-"
"Can. We. Not. Talk." Found it! Her boot comes free, covered in dust. She shoves it on an zips it up as quickly as she can.
"I just don't see why you have to run off so quick." He pouts, as if this was nothing more than hesitation on her part. Something easily persuaded against. "Thought we could-"
"Not gonna happen." Buffy snaps, cutting him off. "Last night was the end of this freak show."
Just walk quickly. Need to get back to Dawn.
She heads for the back of the cellar, where her coat is hanging over a fallen beam, intending to step around him. Or over him. But he's fast, and before she can move past him his hand has clenched around her arm, yanking her back into his lap.
"Don't say that." The grip on her arm doesn't lessen. Instead it tightens. His face is covered in cuts from their fight, his chest scratched to pieces. Fingers dig into her bicep but it barely registers. There's a look on his face. A mixture of anger and hurt. It's the emotion that's really hurting, not the grip on her arm, and a hard clench of regret blooms around her ribcage.
Push it down, she thinks, start a fight. Don't catch feelings about this. You can't afford to…
"What did you think was gonna happen?" She tries to pull her arm out the locked fist, but his hand moves with her. "What, we're gonna read the newspaper together? Play footsie under the rubble?"
The emotion is gone, and so is the death grip. Instead his hand slips around her waist pulling her into him further. Before she can stop him his other hand is slipping up her skirt. Unlike the vice like grip round her waist it's surprisingly careful. Gentle. Those strong fingers feel their way up her thighs, and she gasps as she lets him caress her, closing her legs hard before he can slip further up.
"Not exactly what I had in mind." He growls. Despite her best efforts his fingers move further in, parting her legs just enough. Rubbing. Kneading. Buffy's eyes flutter closed as the arm around her back pulls her closer still.
Yes... oh God... no, wait-
"Stop!" Her eyes snap back to his face but he's seen the look on her face, noted the uptick of her pulse.
"Make me."
He knows she could. He's got enough bruises and cuts on his face to prove if she wants out she takes it, but the longer she fights the longer she's in his arms.
She feels it too I can see it, and the thought makes him grin. His fangs itch to move forward.
His hand is out of her skirt and round her arms again. She's struggling against him, but it's not sincere, evidenced by the fact that he's not been hurled bodily across the room.
Her arm breaks free of his and he braces for the impact of her fist in his face but instead it's on the back of his neck. Pulling him in, her mouth on his. His tongue curls around hers automatically. Thoughtlessly. His fingers dig into her back and she arches against him as he bites her lip. Hard.
Buffy's head feels like it's floating.
God, get out! I can't take another fall like this! She's getting tired of fighting it, and making up excuses for it. But lingering over the moment is the vision of disgust on her friend's faces. The disappointment in their eyes.
She pulls out the kiss gasping for air.
"No, no! I…I have to-"
"Stay. I'm stuck here. Sun's up." They're both panting and she sees his face. That raw emotion in his eyes is back. He's holding on to her so tightly.
Before she can take a breath, move away, he's seen the same look on hers. Longing. Aching. The façade of disdain has slipped and he sees how much she wants it back.
His kiss is like desperation. Pulling her round, pushing her down.
"I knew it. I knew the only thing better than killing a slayer would be f-"
"What?!" Before he realizes his mistake she's out from under him, storming towards what's left of the door.
"That's what this is about? Doing a slayer?" There's genuine hurt in her voice.
"Well, I wouldn't throw stones, pet." He chuckles, still riding high from the look of want on her face. Not fully caught up to the change in direction. "You seem to be quite the groupie yourself."
"Shut up!"
"I'm just sayin'... vampires get you hot." He winces inwardly at his words. The look on her face shifts from anger to misery and he bites his tongue.
Never could shut my mouth when I needed to…
"A vampire got me hot. One." The sting of what he's said catches at her. She can feel hot angry tears building up. "But he's gone. You're just..."
Don't cry! The anger at feeling those tears creeping in overwhelms her.
"You're just convenient." Buffy bites her lip but it's too late. She sees her words land and his face changes. There's agony where a smirk was.
Get a grip of yourself. Get a grip right now. But the words hurt her too. If he's convenient, what does that make her?
Spike stands up, pulling on leather trousers, and she averts her gaze, shame choking her by the throat.
"So, what now?" Spike asks, anger lacing his words. "You go back to treating me like dirt till the next time you get an itch you can't scratch? Well, forget it! Last night changed things. I'm done being your whipping boy!"
FINE. Buffy thinks, clinging to the edges of another fight. Something to take away the guilt.
"Nothing's changed. It was a mistake." She bites out.
"Bollocks! It was a bloody revelation!" Buffy freezes. It's too much, such arrogance and then such raw hurt. They weigh each other up. The cuts feel deep. She feels like she's walking on quicksand.
"You can act as high and mighty as you like," he walks towards her over the rubble, "but I know where you live now, Slayer. I've tasted it."
Buffy's eyes flare at the insinuation.
I'm not backing down for that.
"Get a grip. Like your God's gift."
"Hardly." The wolf-like grin is back in place like it never left and she feels the heat reignite up her neck. "Wouldn't be nearly as interesting, would it?" He's leaning in but she pushes past him, moving to the door. She pulls it open but he reaches over her shoulder and slams it shut again. The building echoes with the crash it makes.
"Let it go!" She spins round to face him. His arms link at the back of her neck, forcing her face up to look at him.
"I may be dirt... but you're the one who likes to roll in it, Slayer. You never had it so good as me. Never." She pushes his arms off her but his hands find her waist.
"You're bent. Get OFF!" His fingers have hit the cluster of nerve endings at her back and are digging in. She swallows a moan. His thumbs hook round her front, holding her like a doll. They squeeze.
"Yeah, and it made you scream, didn't it?" A gasp escapes her as he slams her back into the door. "I made you beg for-" her fist slams into his mouth and he staggers back, splitting his lip where it was already swollen.
She kicks, and he blocks. His fist is raised but hers connects with his jaw first. He spits out a mouthful of blood and lands his own blow across her eye, but she barely turns her head and he's left hardly a mark. It's like hitting stone, and she doesn't even blink but in that brief half a breath in he's got her back up against the door and is pushing his mouth onto hers. It tastes like blood.
The hand she'd had clenched into a fist is on his back, raking across deep scratches from the night before. He gasps at the pain of it.
"Why does it always have to be so hard with you?!" He growls, but he's biting her lip before she can answer, her fingers on the back of his neck, nails sinking in.
That's. IT!
He pulls her hands back and pins her against the door. No more pain, I can't take much more of this.
"It doesn't have to be like this all the time." He begs. "I can be kind if you just let me!"
A shove to the chest has him reeling against a steel girder.
"There's no kindness in this Spike. This isn't kind, WE'RE not kind."
"There is!" He's exhausted, and raw, but there's a faint pleading in her voice begging him to change her mind and he latches on to it. "We've both felt it! On the steps when you were by yourself. And the alley, when you- when you told me where you were. You can be HONEST with me! Brutally so! It's not me who's stopping that!"
"You're a monster, Spike! You're a soulless, dead thing!" Tears spill down her face. I meant those words for myself. I'm the soulless dead thing now…
Spike bites his lip, sucking back the blood that was starting to close. A hollow chuckle sputters from him.
"So that's what it is, eh? No soul." He stared her dead in her eyes, a sad smirk on his lips. "Funny. Aint it? Angel has a soul. And you can forgive him anything. ANYTHING. But the real joke is that as soon as he loses it, soon as that decrepit scrap of humanity left his body, he left you too."
He sees her flinch back from the truth of it but isn't willing to let her hide in denial anymore. "There was no loyalty there, pet. As soon as that soul left, BRIEFLY LEFT, he was back to old tricks. Singing the same old blood, thirsty tune. He could only love you with a soul Buffy," he watched his words land home, spilling tears down her cheeks. "I love you even without one."
Buffy wipes the tears off her face furiously to hide the trembling in her hands.
"This isn't love for you, it's just an obsession." Before she could catch her breath he was standing in front of her, inches from her.
"You know that's not true. You saw it last night I know you did. Stop pushing me back." His hands are cupping her face, lifting her mouth up to his. Softly. Gently. Stopped by her arm across his chest.
"I can't keep doing this with you, I just can't." Buffy tries to pull back but his lips catch hers, his hands pulling her in over her arm. She can taste all of him in her mouth, lingering from the night before. Cigarettes and blood and heat. The bruises on her lips burn.
"You're just scared," he moans into her mouth, "I'm not going to leave like he did, you just need to let me stay."
She barely hears him, the feeling of his body pressed against hers drowning everything else out. The pain of being back, and the shame of the night before, erased briefly as she sinks deeper into him.
His tongue is curling round hers, deep in her mouth. She shivers and he wraps an arm round her waist, the other at the back of her head pushing her mouth harder against his, kissing her deeper.
She puts her hands on the back of his neck and feels dampness there. His blood under her nails.
I did that. I really am the monster...
He pushes his hand up under her shirt. It's warm from holding onto her so tightly but she shivers as he strokes bare skin. With his other hand he's pushing the shirt up over her head, pulling off her bra.
He kisses her jaw, her neck, letting his tongue glide over her pulsing artery. She doesn't stiffen and he moans into her neck as she relaxes minutely, lips tracing her collarbone. He pulls her back away from the door, back down to where his coat is splayed out. Pushing her down, pulling off her skirt and her boots.
Buffy lies underneath him, naked again, breathing heavily. His lips don't leave hers as he undoes his belt, kicking his trousers down. He lies down on top of her, wrapping her legs around his hips. He gently pushes his tongue past her teeth and instinctively she scratches his back with her nails.
"Ah ah ah," he pulls her hands back, "I think we've hurt each other enough for now, pet." He puts two of her fingers in his mouth, sucking gently, tasting his own blood under her nails. Buffy whimpers, softly. He can hear her blood starting to pump harder, a little ticking against his tongue, making him lightheaded. Her thighs squeeze around him but he doesn't take the bait.
She's not going to make me rush this, I'm going to take all bloody day if I like.
He pulls her fingers from his mouth, kissing her palm, squeezing the plump flesh of her hand in his teeth. He traces the vein in her wrist with his tongue, the blood underneath roaring underneath like a river. His head swims from the scent of it.
He pulls back to take a breath. Every beat of her pulse sounds like a drum. He can smell every inch of her, can smell himself on her, and it fills his mind to the edges. He dives into it, kissing her neck, pulling her to him, moving down. His mouth is over her heart and it's deafening, like thunder. He licks a line down to a nipple, sucks at it hard, squeezes it in his teeth while his hand cups her other. She cries out and bucks underneath him, back arching. Her desperation is rising now, and the urge to surrender to it is overwhelming, but he pulls himself back from it. He pulls his mouth away, making her shiver, hands around her ribcage, squeezing gently, feeling the breath in her lungs catch.
Kissing her stomach, he pushes her thighs apart, unable to stop himself from digging in with his fingers. He lowers his head between her thighs, and they clench his head, strong Slayer muscles trembling. He wraps his arms around them and pulls them down, urging her to relax.
Buffy feels his breath fan over her skin. The anticipation makes her squirm but he holds her still, taking his time. He stays there, just breathing against her for a beat, watching her shaking from it. Slowly, achingly slowly, his tongue circles her lips, barely grazing her, touching the tender skin by her thighs. She's panting, her legs pushing back against the strong grip of his arms. It's torturously slow. Just hot breathing, and soft gentle tongue, but no release.
I think my heart's going to burst. He thinks, overwhelmed that she's pliant underneath him. Never felt it like this….
After an eternity he pushes his tongue past her folds, expecting resistance, waiting for the claws on his back. Instead Buffy groans weakly as he laps against her, and Spike releases some of the grip around her thighs. He rolls his tongue over her clit and she lurches up, shaking from the sensation. He sucks slowly, catching her between his teeth and biting down, tongue pushing back and round the trapped nerves between his teeth.
She's groaning now with every circle of his tongue, hips trying desperately to raise up under his firm grip. He releases one of her thighs, gently pushing two fingers inside her. She screams from it, muscles clenching around his fingers, wet walls sucking, pulling him in further. He rubs against them, pushing deeper, curling slightly up, pressing hard. She cries out, hand gripping his forearm still wound around her other thigh. He's kneading her, both tongue and fingers mixing her up.
She's shaking underneath him, breathing getting ragged, the walls of her beating against his fingers. He groans against her, feeling the blood underneath her skin fluttering –she's so close- he unwraps his other arm from round her thigh, finding her hand and twining his fingers through hers. She clasps it desperately, as she breaks, back arching, hand nearly breaking his fingers, her walls bearing down on him in a fierce clamp.
He sees white. The scent of her fills his mouth. He fights against his fangs, pushing the beast in him back down, holding on to her with his mouth.
Once her orgasm passes he moves back, fingers lifting out of her, laying his head down on her stomach.
She's shaking uncontrollably and he can feel the spasms shooting through her legs. He moves up her torso, warm arms scooping her up and holding her to him, soft lips against hers. A kiss with no desperation, no bitterness.
"There, luv. Don't you think it's so much better to be kind."
She sighs underneath him, the faintest nod against his neck.