Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 34: Hawley Manor, Part 2
Chapter Notes:
Well, here it is! The last chapter (unless I get that epilogue done pretty soon, which I really am going to try to work on this coming week. I'm going to mark this story complete, but may still post that, so maybe check back after the 4th of July-I'm assuming notices of updates are still not working? Not sure.).
Thanks so much to All4Spike and MissLuci for betaing this story. Their corrections and suggestions made it so much better. Thanks also to PaganBaby for the awesome banners. And thanks to YOU, the WIP readers, who are the SUPERHEROES of the whole thing! Thank you for being brave and taking chances on WIPs and for all your support! All the hugs to every one of you!
-X-
Buffy had everything ready, now all she needed was her hard-working vampire boyfriend and Lord of Hawley Manor to come home... to his home. Their home. Well, not exactly their home yet... but after she graduated high school.
Despite her daughter actually reaching the age of adulthood, and liking Spike plenty, Joyce wasn't sure Buffy moving in with him right away was the best idea, so Buffy and Spike had agreed that they'd wait until after she got her diploma.
But that didn't mean they couldn't have 'sleep overs'... especially when her mom was out of town.
With Spike out building up his bankroll at Willy's, unaware of the Slayer waiting for him, Buffy wandered around the big house thinking of different things they could do to make it homier. Right now, it kind of looked like a model home with just a few personal trinkets here and there. She loved the pictures on the mantle, and smiled at the thought of adding more to that collection as time went on. The bookshelves in the formal living room, soon-to-be Scooby Central, were nearly empty, with just a few of Spike's books taking up one small bit of one shelf.
She patted her furry companion's head as he leaned against her when she stopped to look at the books lined up on the dark wood bookcase, ordered by size, from tallest to shortest, like stairsteps. 'Of Human Bondage'... that sounded kinky, but Spike assured her it wasn't. 'Pride and Prejudice'. They'd read that one in English Lit—she guessed it was a hot romance novel back in the olden days. 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' She'd seen that movie too many times. It was one of her mom's favorites, and thus a must-watch whenever it came on TV. All those were old hardbacks, moth-eaten and well-used.
The last two books were new. She pulled the thickest of them off the shelf, a leather-bound binder with the Watcher's Council seal on the cover, and took it into the dining room. Laying it on the table, she opened it to the title page. In a fancy, calligraphic script it read: 'Unveiling the Motivations, Means, and Methods of Master Vampires of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Century. An In-Depth Chronicle of the life of Aurelian Vampires as related by William the Bloody. By Lydia Chalmers, Archival Research Inquisitor, Second Class, currently assigned as Field Technician and Liaison at the Sunnydale, California, USA Hellmouth.'
Buffy ran her hand over the thick parchment, the smell of the fresh ink drifting up as her fingers slid over the pretentious font... which clearly wasn't from a printer, but actual handwriting, probably with a quill or something equally arcane. At least it wasn't in blood. She didn't think.
Spike told her she could read it. Though he looked a little uncomfortable when he'd given his permission, he'd shrugged and said, "Got nothing t' hide from you, pet. Know who I am... know what I was. Up to you how much detail you want."
She gnawed lightly at her lip, looking down at the book. She wanted to know everything about Spike. Wanted to know how he got from William James Pratt of York Street to William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers, to Spike, the lover of Buffy and protector of humankind. But she wasn't sure she wanted to learn all that from these hard, cold pages. While what he told Lilith was most likely factual, she doubted it was the whole truth.
She wanted the whole truth. The true motivations of William the Bloody. She wanted the heart and... well not soul, but spirit of him included in the retelling. She wanted to hear his voice and see his expressions, because those would tell her almost as much as the words themselves. He could say volumes with his eyes; a whole library worth of books could be read just in his expressions.
Her dog whined softly and nuzzled her hand. Buffy gave him a small smile and stroked his soft ears. "I think we'll wait for Spike to tell us in his own time and his own voice," she told the dog. "I think that'd be better, don't you?"
Spike made a chuffing sound, his tail wagging lazily as he looked up at her, his mouth dropping open into a doggie grin.
Buffy's smile widened. "You're so smart," she praised him, her voice morphing into baby talk as she continued, "You're the smartest doggie in the world. Yes you are. My sweet smarty pants puppy. Who's a good boy? Huh?"
Spike's tail started flailing madly, making his hips wiggle and waggle along with it as he bumped his big head against her hip and drank up the praise she was lavishing on him.
Buffy laughed as she closed the book and took it back over to the shelf. She slid it back in next to the heavily redacted and edited version that Lydia—okay, she was on their side after all—had filed with the Council. It was barely half as thick as the original she'd compiled. It must've been hard for the ambitious and enterprising woman to cut her report so brutally, especially knowing that the more detailed one would've gotten her more accolades.
They were still waiting to hear from Lydia to find out if she'd gotten a promotion for her 'success' in breaking Spike and Buffy up. Hopefully that would happen, and soon, before the new Watcher showed up—which was supposed to happen in the next couple of weeks. Joy of joys. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce... just his name made Buffy shudder with pompous dread. Of course, he would report back to the Council that she and Spike had made up, so Lydia needed to have her promotions—if any were to be had—all signed, sealed, and delivered before that happened.
Suddenly, the Guardian whirled around and faced the front windows, a little "Woof," bubbling up from his throat. Then Buffy felt it too—vampire. Her vampire. Spike was home!
She hurriedly double-checked all her preparations, then ushered Spike upstairs and into his room. "It's..." She was gonna say 'Mommy-Daddy time', but the 'Daddy' moniker sent a shiver of wrongness down her spine. "Spike and I need a little alone time now," she said instead, touching a kiss on the big dog's wide head. "You stay in here and be a good boy." She hugged his neck before closing his door. She heard him huff, but then pad over to his big bed and flop down before she tip-toed into the master suite to wait.
-X-
Spike trudged up the red brick walk to his front door. The night was clear and the moon bright, he'd had a fair run at the poker table—good winnings and no injuries—and if it hadn't been four bloody a.m. and he hadn't been coming home to an empty house, he'd have enjoyed the walk home. He knew Joyce had her reasons for Buffy not moving in with him, and most of the time he agreed with her, but just now he was having a hard time—emphasis on the hard—remembering why.
Her argument had been something along the lines of Buffy needing to get some actual sleep so that she could be a fully functioning high school student, not staying up all night, every night canoodling. Her afterschool 'job' took enough of her sleep time, she really couldn't spare more and expect to graduate with grades good enough to get into UC Sunnydale. Even if it wasn't Harvard or Cambridge, they did have some standards; they were part of the UC family of universities.
And, with Spike's house completed and mostly furnished, it had been difficult to find more reasons for him to stay in Joyce's guest room, even if she'd relaxed her PG13 rules... or perhaps because she had, because then it came back to the 'Buffy needs sleep' rule.
He sighed as he opened the door—unlocked, because why bother? There was a protection spell around the place. Worst thing that could be waiting inside for him was Harris and his bloody fruit rollups.
The scent that hit him as he stepped inside could only be described as 'new'. New textiles, new furniture, new paint, new varnish, new, new, new. It didn't smell like a home, like a place where there had been love and laughter and tears, a place with stains on the carpets and smudges on the walls, a place where friends and family gathered. Not like Joyce's house, and he missed that too.
The only thing that saved his house from being completely unbearable was the soft aroma of Buffy that lingered even when she wasn't there... and maybe a bit of the giant meddling mutt, too. He took his boots off and left them under the coat rack by the door, shedding his duster and hanging it above them, then padded into the kitchen for a bite before turning in for the day.
Buffy's scent seemed to follow him through the house, and he would've sworn he could feel her Slayer-ness tingling down his spine. "Wishful bloody thinking, that is," he muttered as he opened the fridge.
Atop his containers of blood was a bit of wood... not a stake-like bit of wood, but a small redwood tray about the size of a phone book. In the center of it was a wooden puzzle piece, about three inches square, with a heart shape cut out of the middle, and rounded knobs and pockets cut into the outer edges for interlocking with other matching bits. The puzzle piece had the words 'War & Roses' written on it in Buffy's hand. He pulled the tray out and found a note beneath it…
Hello, my sweet baby,
There's a treat waiting for you somewhere in the house, but you have to earn it. Find all the pieces of the puzzle to get your prize. No cheating with creepy vampire smelling. Solve the riddles, get the pieces, get the prize. Promise it will be worth it.
The first piece can be found on consecrated ground—the very first place we christened.
Love you,
-B
Suddenly, Spike's morose mood lifted and was replaced with joy and exuberance. He closed the fridge, forgetting his meal, and dashed down the basement stairs—third one from the bottom. He grinned as he picked up the little wood puzzle piece and snapped it into place with the one he had. The piece had a word written on it in Buffy's rounded, girlish script: 'Strong'. Beneath it was another small bit of paper with the next clue:
Very good! One down, twelve to go!
The second piece can be found where the mini-demons came from the ground. (haha! I rhymed it!)
Spike snorted a laugh and ran back upstairs, taking them two and three at a time. In the family room, he went to the corner where Oz had lifted the carpet and set the horde of bloody roaches loose on them.
He picked up the piece and snapped it into place on the original. This one read, 'Perfect Match'. He grabbed the next clue from the floor:
You're such a smart vampire, I don't care what anyone else says! Eleven to go! Next Clue: Jackson Pollock
Spike sniggered and headed into the dining room where they'd had their paint-flinging fight. On one of the chairs was another bit of the puzzle, this one said, 'Loyal'. The clue was:
Penny for your thoughts. (Ten to go!)
He grinned and hurried back down into the basement. In the crate of old fuses that still sat beneath the shiny new breaker box he found the next piece. It read, 'Gallant'. He popped it into place and grabbed the next clue:
Studly. (Nine to go!)
Spike laughed and raced back upstairs and into the formal living room, scanning the bookshelves quickly. The memory of Harris installing those shelves coming back to him...
"What's that, then?" Spike had asked as Xander ran a little square contraption over the wall.
"Stud finder," he'd explained as the box started to beep and Xander made a mark on the plaster. "So I know where to attach the shelves."
Spike picked up the contraption when Harris put it down and ran it over the boy's back. "Supposed t' beep when it finds a stud, eh? Mighty silent, there, milquetoast," Spike taunted.
"Give me that!" Xander growled, snatching it back from Spike. "Let's see just how studly you are..." he grumbled, pressing it to Spike's chest.
It beeped.
He moved it and it kept beeping. And kept beeping all over Spike.
The vampire chortled, rolling up on his toes as he hooked his thumbs over his belt. "Guess we found the stud 'round here, eh?"
Xander shook the thing and put it back against Spike's chest. It beeped again. "How... what... how did you do that? You did something to it! If you broke Uncle Rory's stud finder..." he threatened vaguely.
Spike laughed harder and sauntered away. "Seems t' be working perfectly t' me."
But Spike didn't see a puzzle piece in the dark shelves. Not like they were crammed with books to hide it... He backed up against the opposite wall so he could see the highest shelves, the ones up near the ceiling. Little minx... how'd she get it up there? Spike leapt up and snagged the wooden bit and the note from the top shelf, landing cat-like, with barely a whisper of sound.
This piece said, 'Cheeky smolder'. The next clue was:
The duh-est moment in all of duh-ville. Eight to go!
Spike chuckled, remembering...
"The fuse must've blown again," Buffy pouted as she flipped the light switch off and on, demonstrating the distinct lack of light.
Spike had cursed and went down to change it out... again.
"That get it?" he'd asked as he came back upstairs.
"No... did you change the right one?"
A heavy sigh left Spike as he traipsed back down and changed another. Nope. And another. Nope. And another. Nope. He was back to the original one, screwing it out and changing it again, getting angrier and angrier by the minute.
"What the bloody fuck!?" he'd railed against the demonic box of wires. "Why doesn't Harris fix this sodding piece o' shite like he said? First day he looked at the fucking place, said it needed updating, what the hell is taking so bleedin' long? Wanker! Should kick his sorry arse to the curb and get a proper handyman, one with a brain cell or two t' rub together!"
"Uh, Spike..." Xander said, coming into view on the stairs. "You might've tried changing out the light bulb, like someone with a brain cell or two to rub together." He wagged the blown bulb for emphasis and gave his vampire host a saccharine smile. "You didn't put any pennies in there, did you, Mr. MENSA Braintrust?"
Spike was still shaking his head and smiling when he picked up the puzzle piece from beneath the accursed switch. This one read, 'Bold'.
Seven to go! Splish-Splash I'm gonna kick your ass!
Spike's face was starting to hurt from grinning so much as he hurried into the garage, tapping the button to open the overhead door, remembering them washing his beloved DeSoto just outside in the moonlight. He really hadn't meant to spray her full force in the face with the hose... honestly!
Buffy had gasped when the cold water filled her eyes, nose, and mouth, running down her body, turning her shirt into a lovely see-through number, and drowning her lovely, coifed hair. And then she'd screeched like a banshee, threatening death and more as she picked up the bucket of soapy water and hurled it at him... bucket and all. He raised an arm to defend himself, and it somehow hit and then upturned right over top of his head, dunking him in the suds, and leaving his whole head covered in the bucket.
As he spluttered and shoved at the blinding plastic covering his head, he sprayed the hose madly, trying to use his senses to find Buffy. When he heard her scream, he knew he'd hit his mark, but being the Slayer and all, she braved the freezing water in the dead of night and snatched the hose from his hand. He only survived by fleeing into the garage and closing the door on her and her weapon of deadly dampness.
In the middle of the driveway, he picked up the next puzzle piece, 'Baby blues,' and the clue:
You are sooo freaking lucky... I would've so kicked your ass. Six to go!
Spike kept laughing as he remembered her stomping around to the side door in the garage, hose still in hand, water still spraying with the trigger locked on open, looking madder than a wet hen... or perhaps a wet Slayer. She reached for the doorknob only to be knocked back several feet and onto her ass.
"What the fuck, Spike?" she'd screamed, hose whiplashing madly where she'd dropped it, the force of the spray sending it spiraling in all directions, soaking her more and thrashing against her arms and body before she could capture it again.
Spike stood at the side door, looking out at her through the window, dripping, bucket finally removed from his head, and grinned at her. "Apparently someone intends me harm," he sing-songed through the glass as she pushed herself to her feet, muddy and wet from head to toe.
"Damn right, I do!" she agreed, stalking up to the door again. She lifted the nozzle and hit the glass with the water, making Spike flinch, but not erasing his grin. "Open the damn door!"
"Not sodding likely!"
"Let me in!"
"Put down the weapon, Slayer, and we'll talk."
Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, seething, but switched the trigger on the spray nozzle off. "Open the damn door," she repeated.
"Put it down," he parroted back.
"I'm sooo gonna kill you," she grumbled under her breath, tossing the hose away like a gun in an Old West movie.
Spike opened the door, but when Buffy approached, the protection spell once again tossed her back. He roared with laughter, bent over at the waist, hands on thighs, dripping soapy water all over the garage floor.
"This is ridiculous! Let me in! I'm freezing!"
"Gotta... let... it... go..." he gasped between his chortles.
"ARGH!" she screamed in frustration, flinging her muddy arms out before howling at the sky, "LET. ME. IN!"
Spike just laughed harder, finally dropped down onto his butt to sit, his legs no longer able to support him.
Buffy glared at him through the open door for a long minute before she finally rolled her eyes and a small chuckle bubbled up from deep inside her. In a moment she was bent over with laughter as well, tears streaming from her eyes, joining the cold water that soaked her to the bone.
Finally, Spike got himself under control enough to stand. He reached a hand out through the door toward her. Buffy cautiously stepped forward and took it, then yanked him hard, depositing him in the mud puddle she'd been wallowing in.
He screeched indignantly before scrambling to his feet and tackling her. They rolled around in the muddy yard, laughing and cursing and kissing until they were both covered in sludge, head to toe.
Buffy ended up on top, pinning Spike's arms above his head, her hips straddling his. "You're gonna pay for this, you know?"
"Do tell..." he purred, jerking his hips up against hers. "What tortures ya gonna inflict, Mistress?" His eyes flashed wide and looked even more blue in the dark muck covering his face.
"I mean literally pay," she clarified with a demonic glint in her eye. "This was a new shirt!"
He burst out laughing again, bucking his hips and flipping them over until he had her pinned down. "Tha's what your clothing allowance is for, Slayer," he reminded her, trying to find a clean place to kiss her.
"That's for Slayage-related catastrophes, not idiot boyfriend debacles."
Spike decided her lips were clean enough, even if his weren't. "Slayed the mud monster, didn't we?" he whispered against her mouth before touching his lips to hers.
"Gah! Grime! Sand! Grit!" she exclaimed, freeing her hands from his grip, and pushing him off. "No gritty sand sex, you pervert!"
Spike chuckled and picked up the hose again as he stood, brandishing it in her direction as she got up. "Reckon that leaves us back where we started, Slayer..." He arched an interrogative brow at her.
Buffy sighed, looking down at her unrecognizable form, caked in dirt. "We really need to put in an outdoor shower... with warm water!"
"I'll add it t' the list," he promised as he opened the nozzle.
Spike searched the side yard where the mudhole had been, but didn't see any puzzle pieces. He checked the hose, now rolled up neatly on a hose caddy thing that Xander insisted they needed. Which might have had a bit to do with the carpenter having to wrestle with the muddy, tangled mess of rubber the following day. Xander, covered in mud, grumbled the entire time about inconsiderate vampires and crazy women, while the vampire in question shouted from the doorway about how he'd love to help but for the sodding sun and all.
Spike chuckled at the memory and glanced around some more. There it was! Another bit of wood and another clue. 'Romantic' was carefully penned on the wood and he snapped it into place on the tray with the others.
Five to go! And you still owe me a new shirt! That's not a clue, just a reminder. Spin, spin, spin.
Back into the house Spike darted, his face really beginning to ache from laughing and smiling, and into the small utility room off the kitchen where the washer and dryer were. His cock came roaring to life at the memory of them stripping off in the yard, their bodies sprayed clean(ish) with the hose. They'd stuffed their clothes into a garbage bag to keep from dripping muddy water through the house, and dropped them all into the washer. Once it was going, Spike proceeded to clean Buffy up properly right there, wetting a cloth in the utility sink and running the warmth over her shivering gooseflesh. Slowly and sensuously, he cleaned all the grit from her most intimate places and she'd done the same for him. Then, as the washer began its spin cycle, he lifted her up onto the vibrating top and fucked her with his tongue and fingers until she screamed, clutching as his shoulders as she bucked and came all over his face.
She'd no sooner come down from her orgasmic bliss than he'd pulled her down, turned her around, fucked her hard and deep against the sloshing machine, and with her toes barely brushing the concrete floor, sending them both over the edge, all memory of the cold forgotten.
He picked up the next puzzle piece from the washer—'Passionate'—and the clue...
Four to go! You're almost to the prize! Maybe a little Eggplant Parmesan will help you get there?
Spike spun around and headed back into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door and checking the crisper drawer as he remembered...
"Wha'cha doing, pet?" Spike had asked Willow when he saw her in the kitchen, knife poised over the key to the safe deposit box, ready to slice and dice it—or at least try to. Spike couldn't imagine what would happen if she actually started trying to cut it.
"Xander said we should test the stove out, and I noticed you'd had this eggplant in there for, like, a long time. I got Mrs. Summers' Eggplant Parmesan recipe, and figured, two birds, one yummy stone."
"Errr..." Spike stammered, brows furrowed. He hadn't thought of this when Lydia suggested making the safe deposit keys look like something ordinary, something no one would ever question or have any desire to steal. She'd suggested an aubergine... cos who the fuck would steal that? Who the fuck eats aubergine, for that matter? "That's not fer eatin'."
Willow's brows rose as she looked at him. "Why not?"
"Uh... it's... part of a ritual sacrifice," he blurted out, kicking his stupid brain for such a stupid answer.
The witch's brows furrowed then. "A ritual sacrifice?"
"Yeah, ain't ever heard o' burying an aubergine beneath a house when ya move in t' keep bad mojo away?" he demanded, picking up the key/eggplant. "Thought you wicca-types would know 'bout that tradition. Goes back ages, it does. Back t' the... uh, Sumerians or some rot. The Goddess o' Heart and Hearth always wants nice, fat aubergine sacrificed in her honor and buried 'neath the foundation."
"Oh. Uh, b-but that's an eggplant... not a... aub...whatever you said."
"You bloody colonists and your rubbish names," Spike grumbled. "Don't even look like a bloody egg, does it? It's sodding purple! Only Poniperi demons lay purple eggs. You seen any o' those around here?" Spike answered his own question before Willow could open her mouth. "No, you haven't, 'cuz they're native to the South Pacific and their bleedin' eggs are inedible. Brilliant survivalist tactic, that." He waved the aubergine in the air. "Ever seen a real sodding purple egg?" he demanded as he shook the shiny vegetable in Willow's face.
"Um... at Easter? Not that I observe Easter—hello! Jewish here—but..."
Spike scowled at her, putting the vegetable/key back in the crisper drawer and slamming the fridge closed.
Willow jumped when the whole refrigerator shuddered, banging against the wall behind it.
"Why don'tcha bake some biscuits or sommat? The Slayer likes them chocolate-chip ones ya make. Spent a sodding fortune on staples and trinkets for this bloody kitchen. Even got a lemon zester... dunno why I need a bloody lemon zester, but got one, don't I? Reckon you can find all the fixings for some biscuits."
"Uh... okay..." Willow agreed, putting the knife back in the drawer.
"Use anything ya need 'cept my ceremonial sacrificial aubergine, got it?"
"Yeah, sure. Um, Spike?"
"What?" he barked sharply.
"That whole, uh, Easter resurrection thing—was Jesus a vampire... or maybe a zombie?"
Spike had just smirked at her enigmatically, before turning and leaving the kitchen.
Now, he pulled another puzzle piece from beneath the sacrificial aubergine in the crisper drawer and another clue. The piece said, 'Courageous'. He snapped it into place and opened the clue.
Three to go! You're getting so close to your prize! May I have this dance?
His heart warmed, the smile never leaving his face as he left the kitchen and headed back out to the front of the house, out the front door, and then to the gazebo at the corner of the house, built into the front porch. The bit of wood and next clue were easy to find on one of the built-in benches around the perimeter of the hexagonal structure, but he stood there a moment remembering that night, after they'd patrolled and had come back here before going back to Buffy's house...
As he and Buffy mounted the front porch steps, the Guardian had stopped at the foot to get a drink from the water bowl they'd put there for him—okay, it was a bucket because a bowl barely held one swallow for the big dog. As Buffy headed for the front door, hand-in-hand with Spike, he had tugged her off to the left to the gazebo.
"What—" she'd began to ask, but he cut her off.
"May I have this dance?" he'd asked in an all-too-Giles-like accent, releasing her hand, and bowing formally in the center of the structure.
Her brow furrowed adorably. He knew she was wondering just what sort of dance he had in mind out here on the front porch. She'd looked around, worrying her bottom lip nervously, obviously trying to judge the privacy of the spot. With all the overgrown weeds and bushes-turned-trees cut from the yard, there was nothing shielding the front of the house from the street. Spike debated saying something piggy... like perhaps breaking her 'sex in full view of the street' cherry, but refrained—for now.
Before she could ask any further questions or voice her concerns, Spike reached behind one of the uprights and flipped the switch he'd set up earlier. Glittering fairy lights sparkled to life all around and above them, twining around the banister, snaking up the wooden pillars, and crisscrossing above their heads like a tiny constellation. At the same time, a heavy drumbeat filled the air and, before the rest of the music kicked in, Spike had taken his Slayer in his arms and began to dance.
Buffy laughed, clearly relieved, moving with him as the Ramones began to sing...
(Baby I Love You, by the Ramones )
Have I ever told you
How good it feels to hold you
It isn't easy to explain
"You're trying to get me to like your music," she'd accused lightly.
He smirked. "It working, then?"
"Maaaybee..." she'd teased, grinning.
The way she'd looked at him, joy in her eyes, laughter on her lips, their bodies moving in time with the heavy beat, moving in time with each other—it had been magical. He'd spun her out and back, her long hair flying in a shining wave beneath the glittering lights. He kept saying it, but he'd never been happier than in that moment, even when the giant moose of a dog had come up and joined in with the dancing, weaving between them anytime they parted, panting and making a general nuisance of himself. But Buffy was laughing and that was all that mattered—she was happy, and she loved him, and they'd have a million more dances. Some might even be without clothes and in full view of the street.
Spike began humming and singing the song from that night as he picked up the next puzzle piece—which said 'My knight' on it—and clicked it into place.
Baby, I love you
Come on baby
Baby, I love you
Baby I love, I love only you
I can't live without you
I love everything about you
I can't help it if I feel this way
Only two to go! You are my knight, you know? My sexy knight in black leather and stompy boots. But the next clue is with my Guardian...
Spike's eyes flashed wide a moment. Since he hadn't come across the mutt in his scavenger hunt downstairs, he must be upstairs in his room... and Buffy must be up there too. Up there in their bed, he fucking hoped, cos all this anticipation and running about had him hard enough to pound nails, no, not nails, railroad spikes.
He was back inside and up the stairs in a flash. He had to force himself to not turn left at the landing and go straight to Buffy, but turn right to the dog's room. Only her warning about the prize depending on him having all the puzzle pieces made his feet go in the right direction. He wondered about the etiquette of entering a dog's bedroom. Did you knock, or just go in? What might the giant fleabag be doing in there? He could be licking his own balls... which must be fucking nice. Not that it mattered now, cos Spike had Buffy to lick his balls, and suck them, and rake her teeth over them, and roll them around in her hands and...
He shook off the visions swirling in his brain and knocked, then waited a beat before opening the door.
"Oi, Cujo, hear you've got something for me," he called as a greeting, finding the dog sprawled across his oversized dog bed.
The vampire scanned the room, but didn't see the next piece of the puzzle lying about. The scents in here should've been overwhelming, what with all the sweaty shirts of all the Scoobies, Joyce, and Giles hung up behind the framed posters on the walls, not to mention the reek of 'dog'. But, instead of finding it repulsive, Spike found it comforting in a way he'd never felt before. To be sure, the aroma of Buffy was strong in here, but it was the mingling of all her friends and family that turned it into a fine perfume rather than the stench of a boys' high school locker room.
Not just her friends, he realized... his friends. Maybe even his family... could Joyce be any more family than his own mum if she'd tried?
The dog lifted his head, shifting to a more upright position on the fluffy bed, and released a massive fart.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, his face contorting in disgust as he stopped breathing. He hurried over and opened a window, taking in a breath of fresh air to clear the rancid reek of dog-fart from his nostrils. So much for the heart-warming perfume of the place!
For his part, the dog looked quite pleased with himself, his jaw falling open into a doggie grin and his tail thumping loudly on the wood floor.
"You're a right pain in my arse," Spike declared, turning back around. "What the Slayer feed ya, fucking dead skunk?"
Cujo just continued to smile and thwack his tail on the floor, his brown eyes bright and glittering as he gazed up at his namesake.
It was then Spike spied the puzzle piece attached to the dog's collar with a ribbon. A pink ribbon. He shook his head, moving back toward the source of the nuclear stink bomb.
"Need t' take a stand, mate," he advised the dog, pulling the bow out of the ribbon and dropping both the next clue and the bit of wood into his hand. He held up the hair ribbon. "Keep letting her gussy you up in girlie trumpery, and you'll be the ponciest Guardian in sodding history."
The dog huffed and looked down at the vampire's hands... his fingernails to be precise. Spike followed his gaze, only then remembering letting Buffy paint one of his pinky fingers the same shade of glimmering coral she had on her fingers and toes.
"Sod off," Spike grumbled. "Made her paint one black, didn't I?"
The dog just grinned, his mouth hanging open, tail still waging war on the poor, unsuspecting flooring.
Spike rolled his eyes and snapped the bit of puzzle into place. This one read 'Shirty'. He chuckled, realizing all the descriptions, up until this one, were from her 'perfect match' quiz. Seems like Buffy thought 'Elle' had overlooked this key element of his personality. He opened the folded bit of paper that had been tied to the back of the wood.
Just one to go! I knew you could do it with the right motivation. Splish-splash... I'm looking forward to doing something with your very fine ass other than kicking it.
Spike grinned and turned for the door. He paused, looking back at the dog. "Don't be striking any matches in here. Could blow up the whole sodding house with your deadly methane emissions."
The dog huffed and flopped back down on his side on the bed as he broke wind yet again.
"Bloody hell..." Spike muttered, exiting the room, and swiftly closing the door. "Need a sodding hazmat suit t' go in there."
His attention turned to the master bedroom and the master bath, where a lovely garden tub that shot very interesting jets of bubbly water waited... Splish-splash. His overshirt and t-shirt were gone by the time he got to the door of the big bathroom and he'd started on his belt. The garden tub was, indeed, full and bubbling, filling the room with the soft scent of vanilla and honeysuckle. The garden tub was, indeed, full and bubbling, filling the room with the soft scent of vanilla and honeysuckle. There were thick, pillar candles scattered about, all safely away from the burbling water, flickering their golden flames over the gleaming white tiles, giving the whole room a soft glow.
Spike could feel the tingle of Buffy prickle his skin—she was very near—but he couldn't see her. He did, however, see the last puzzle bit on the wide ledge of the bubbling cauldron of decadence. Forgetting his belt, he grabbed it up and snapped it into place. The word on this one was 'Champion'. Spike stared down at the nearly complete puzzle, at the words written so neatly in Buffy's hand, words about him. His heart expanded nearly to bursting, and seemed to warm in his chest, though maybe that was from the inferno of candle flames dancing around the room and the steaming water. He'd been called a lot of things in his time, but a few of these had never been in the cards before Buffy, most particularly 'champion'.
His throat tightened and he had to swallow several times to press the emotion back down into his heart. He'd never felt more loved and never felt more in love. He'd thought he knew what love was before. He would've ended anyone who'd suggested he hadn't loved Dru with his whole heart, but he hadn't known. He hadn't known it could feel like this, that there was this much love inside him that he'd never before touched.
He looked up as Buffy drifted in from the large walk-in closet at the back of the bathroom, blinking his shimmering eyes and drinking her in.
She was wearing the sexiest outfit he'd ever seen, and his cock stiffened even more in his jeans at the sight of her. Her shapely legs, so tan and golden from the sun, were bare to the top of her thighs, and she used them to full effect as she swayed slowly toward him.
She ran a hand down from her collar bone, between her breasts and to her flat stomach, tracing over the silky fabric, which clung to her curves before flaring out like a skater's skirt at the bottom.
"Do you like my outfit?" she cooed, sauntering up to him, her shining locks tumbling free around her bare shoulders, glimmering in the candlelight.
Spike had to clear his throat, this time clogged with lust as well as love. He let his eyes wander over her like a heated caress, taking in the sexy PJs, which fell just to the top of her thighs and. The bright yellow duckies covering the fabric swayed with every step she took, making his mouth water and his cock throb.
He licked his lips. "Very fetching," he admitted in a gravelly whisper. "New, is it?"
Buffy struck a pose next to the burbling garden tub, just an arm's reach from Spike, the short hem riding up, teasing Spike with a quick glimpse of tawny curls. "Just for you, baby. You like?"
His eyes widened, flaring with blue flame. "Makes me want t' shag you senseless." He took a step, reaching for her, but Buffy backed up, holding up a scolding finger.
"Ah, ah," she chastised, and Spike stopped, dropping his hand, though his eyes continued to rove over her body, drinking in the giddy yellow duckies that caressed her—lucky bastards. "Did you complete your quest, my good knight?" she asked, looking down at the puzzle, held forgotten in Spike's hand. "Have you earned your boon?"
Spike shook himself, dragging his eyes away from her perfect body, and looked down. He held the nearly completed puzzle out to her, an offering to his goddess. "Seems I'm missing a bit in the middle there," he admitted.
She smiled and held up the final piece: a heart-shaped carving of reddish-wood. She snapped it into place in the center of the lighter-colored wood. It read, 'Buffy & Spike 4Ever'.
Spike looked down at the completed puzzle and felt the tingling warmth inside him redouble, spreading out from his heart to suffuse his entire being in a joyful lightness he'd never thought possible. He was a feather floating on a summer breeze, utterly weightless, surrounded by rich, golden love.
"Forever," he rasped, looking back up at her, his expression conveying all the awe and wonder that was swirling inside him.
Buffy thought she'd melt under his gaze. How could he convey so much without a single word? The depth of his love shone through directly from his core, taking her breath away and making her heart quiver and dance in her chest.
"Forever," she repeated, closing the short distance between them. She took his face in her hands and touched her lips to his, gently tasting and teasing his mouth. His arms wrapped around her, one hand still holding the puzzle, pulling her closer until their bodies were melded together, yearning and straining against the few clothes that remained between them.
Buffy broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. Pulling back from Spike's embrace, she took the puzzle from his hand and set it gently on the vanity, then returned to where he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes never leaving her. She took up where he'd left off, unfastening his belt, then the button on his jeans, and finally sliding the zipper down.
She smiled up at him. "Someone really does love rubber duckies," she teased, wrapping her hand around his cock and giving it a squeeze.
Spike moaned in appreciation, before agreeing, "Sexy as fuck, they are. 'Specially on you."
Buffy chewed her lip adorably, then proceeded to divest Spike of his jeans, helping him step out of them. She ran her hands along his strong legs as she stood back up, letting her fingertips dance and tease back to his bobbing erection. She skirted around it, trailing her palms over his hips and along the hard angles of his torso, grinning devilishly when he groaned his frustration.
"Cheeky minx," he rumbled, reaching for her. He slid his hands beneath the thin straps of her nightie, slipping them from her shoulders, and let the laughing duckies slide from her body. "So beautiful," he breathed, his eyes roaming over her along with his hands. His fingers traced her collarbone then down along her sides to the curve of her breasts. His fingertips followed the supple mounds inward, sliding beneath them with a delicate touch, leaving gooseflesh racing along in their wake.
Her nipples hardened into rosy peaks as he slowly circled the perfect globes of her breasts in smaller and smaller concentric circles, until he was teasing the pebbled areolas. Buffy moaned and arched her back as her head fell back in torturous pleasure. It wasn't enough, she needed more, but at the same time she hoped this would never end, this blissful teasing that was too much to endure.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Spike whispered as he leaned down and took one yearning nipple between his teeth and worried it gently.
Buffy gasped, threading her fingers through his hair, breaking his curls free from the gel, pulling his mouth against her harder.
"That... that right there is one of the things," she panted.
Spike chuckled against her soft flesh, this tongue trailing cool fire around and around her nipple. "That so? What else makes me so deserving, then? Maybe this?" he asked as he slipped one finger through her soft curls and between her slick petals.
Buffy's breath caught in her throat as he dipped the tip of his finger into her tight opening, before pulling back to swirl around her clit, raising the level of unendurable torture to even more unendurable heights.
"God, yes... fingers... very nimble fingers. So much with the deserving."
Spike peppered her breasts with kisses before taking the other nipple between his lips. His nimble fingers continued to slide between her slick, hot folds, raking over her clit, before slipping into her throbbing hole again.
Buffy's hips bucked against him as she tangled her fingers in the loosened curls on his head and held on for dear life.
"Perhaps my tongue's a factor in the deservin'?" he suggested.
"Depends... on... what... you're... doing... with... it," she panted back.
Another sexy chuckle rumbled from his chest as he kissed his way up to her neck, along her jaw, and back to her mouth. He kissed her like he'd been starving for her lips, for her mouth, devouring her with a passion that sent beads of fiery need coursing through her body. His tongue tangled with hers as his fingers continued their mission between her thighs, slipping in and out of her with frustrating gentleness.
She moaned urgently into his mouth, filling him with her pure, bright desire. It was like swallowing a sunbeam, making his borrowed blood sizzle and boil. Spike growled against her, sending shafts of brilliant starfire back into her, making her quiver and shudder against him.
Buffy dropped one hand to grip his cock and deliberately matched his wickedly slow pace as she slid her grip up and down his length. His silky skin glided over steel beneath her fingers, pulling his foreskin taut as she stroked down, making his sensitive glans leak copiously, yearning for the touch of her hand. His hips jerked when she dragged the sheath back up and swirled her thumb through the growing beads of precum that dribbled from his slit.
The sounds Buffy was making were becoming more and more desperate as he tugged the coiled need inside her tighter and tighter until she was teetering on the edge of a seemingly bottomless abyss. Each time they came together, the chasm widened, deepened, their inevitable tumble over the precipice racing toward them like a runaway train. He felt Buffy's tight cunt throbbing wildly as his fingers pumped into her faster and harder, his palm pounding against her clit with every stroke. She matched his pace and pitch, feeling him grow nearer the edge with her, which only made her body tingle and quiver more urgently.
Suddenly, Spike's hands and lips and cock were gone from her body, from her grip. She gasped, feeling utterly bereft with the loss. Buffy had barely blinked her eyes open when she felt Spike behind her, pressing her forward toward the edge of the garden tub.
"What else makes me so deservin'?" he demanded, his voice harsh and rough with lust. "Could it be my cock? Like the way it fills you, Slayer? Like how I fuck you?" His hand in the center of her back bent her forward and Buffy caught herself on the tiled edge surrounding the bubbling water.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle and vanilla filled her nostrils as she leaned over it, her hair dangling down into the roiling suds.
"Tell me, Slayer!" he growled as he spread her legs apart with one of his, gripping her soft, round hips in an iron grip. He kneaded her pliant flesh, opening her to him as his slick cockhead slid over her tight ass and down to tease her dripping pussy. "Tell me you want me to fuck you. Tell me my cock is deserving of your sweet, tight quim. Tell me you want my spunk dripping from your pretty arse. Tell me you want me balls deep inside you."
"Yes!" she agreed frantically, pressing her hips against him. She turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder. Water was flung from the ends of her hair, leaving a trail of droplets across the pristine tile floor. They glimmered in the candlelight, like golden stars scattered around the lovers.
She met his burning eyes with hers—blue and green flames danced and licked their bodies as he teased her with the promise of heaven. "Fuck me... give me what I deserve. Give me your cock... need your cock inside me, Spike, fucking me. Do it! Now! Do it!"
Spike's savage growl echoed off the walls, engulfing them in a tidal wave of pure lust. His hands were rough on her hips as he drove his cock into her dripping pussy, burying himself to the hilt with one brutal thrust.
She shrieked in pleasure, her back arching, her head thrown back, her hair a wild tangle of gold, streaming the hot water over them both.
"This what you wanted, Slayer? You like getting fucked hard? This what you need?" he snarled, driving into her furiously.
Buffy bucked and jerked against him, gripping the tiled edge around the tub with bruising strength, cracking several of the tiles that she'd spent hours meticulously bleaching and polishing. Her mind was a stormy whirl of need and lust. The feel of him taking her, fucking her with such wild abandon, had the Slayer inside writhing with previously unknown heights of utter bliss. She heard herself growling at her vampire, demanding, "Yes, Spike, need it! Need you! More! Harder! FUCK ME HARDER! God, YES, Spike!"
She felt as if something inside her slipped its constraints, and was finally, blissfully free. Buffy could feel the Slayer part of herself even more keenly now, feel how long it had been fettered, years... decades, perhaps. Scenes flashed through her mind, other vampires and other girls... No, not girls, Slayers, coming together, just like this. Wild and feral and rapturous. They clawed and bit and fucked and kissed each other hard and deep. They screamed and growled. There was blood and fangs. Hiding... always hiding. Only free when they were together. Love. There was love. Oh, god... they were so in love. And so afraid.
She'd read the reports of other Slayers with vampires, but they were dry and brittle compared to the feelings that rampaged through her now. There were more than the handful she'd been shown. Not many, but more. But she was the first to truly be free. Free to love her vampire. Free to bring him into the light with her. Free of fear, free of shackles, free of guilt. They were all swirling inside her, all their love, all their lust, all their hopes and dreams and overwhelming NEED. Need for everything their lover could give, need to give everything to their lover. An untamed growl bubbled up in her throat and ripped free, echoing over the tiles as Spike continued to pound into her with wild abandon.
"Fuck, Slayer! My perfect girl! Squeeze me harder, want to feel you strangle my cock with your hot, tight quim."
"Oh, god, baby, need more! More! Now, need you! All of you! Your hands! Your cock! Your mouth! Your fangs! Bite me! Spike! Bite me! Now! Do it now! Fuccckkk! Spike, please! Nowwww!" she shrieked frantically, the craving for his fangs sinking into her flesh as raw and primal as the craving for his cock.
Spike could still feel their bodies pounding against one another, feel his hands gripping Buffy's hips, feel his balls slapping against her clit with every forward thrust, but for one brief moment, sheer bliss whited out all other senses. The air thickened and took on an opaque glow, all sound muted by whatever spell Buffy's words had created around them. He tried to make sense of what he'd heard, tried to focus on anything except the blissful connection between them. Her words…
Spike wasn't sure he'd heard them right, what with the complete lack of blood traveling northward, and the entire world seeming to move in slow-motion, but his demon had heard loud and clear. The invitation he'd dreamed of for much too long had finally come—not to heal him, but because she wanted him, all of him. There was no doubt, and no hesitation. He was hers, she was his, and she wanted ultimate consummation with every part of him. The strange slow-motion effect snapped as the demon broke free and roared its approval.
Buffy shuddered in anticipation as she heard the bones shift in Spike's face, and felt his feral growl vibrate against her skin and fill the air, which only sent more sparks of need glittering through her. His hands tightened on her soft flesh, and his frantic pace seemed to redouble as he slammed into her. Then his tongue was running over her skin, cool and blindingly erotic. She barely had time to catch her breath before his sharp fangs sank into her neck, pulling her essence into his body and connecting them even more intensely.
The Slayer in her rejoiced, crowing in jubilation. This was what she was made for, what he was made for. This healing moment that brought all her previous sisters a final release from the pain they'd been tethered to for centuries. She could feel every Slayer who had ever been in love with a vampire scream in victory and convulse in pure ecstasy. Buffy could feel her power, her life's blood, flowing into her vampire, but felt more powerful and more alive for it. They were one in that moment, her blood part of him, inside him, just as he was part of her, inside her, filling her, lifting her to heaven and beyond.
As incredible as it was, as amazing as she felt, she knew this moment was more than simply Buffy and Spike—this was for every Slayer and vampire whose love had been cursed as unholy, forbidden, locked away and ultimately destroyed. This was for every alliance that had been broken, every bond that had been severed, every heart that had been broken. Buffy felt a weight she hadn't even been aware of lifting from her shoulders, dispersing into the ether like heavy tendrils of pain-–finally freed.
She could feel Spike shuddering against her, pressed so tightly, his hard body molded to hers, his cock buried in her pussy, his fangs in her neck, his arms clinging to her as he drank. Buffy felt the thrum of pleasure whirling through her in wild abandon, building to an earth-shattering crescendo. She was close, so close to the edge. She knew Spike was there too, waiting for her, knew he would always be right there with her. Neither of them needed to hide who they were from the world or from each other.
In the next moment the expanding volcano in her core erupted, and she was gone, lost in the bliss, the rapture, tumbling into an orgasm that shattered all her walls and rebuilt them around them both, a fortress of love binding them forever. Spike was well and truly part of her, and she was part of him. Buffy shrieked in undiluted rapture as she came again and again, bucking and cursing in the white-hot fire they had built.
The waves of release crashed over her as her vampire joined with the unshackled Slayer, giving her everything she needed, letting her run free. He drew long, decadent drafts of searing-hot blood from her, feeling the pure light of her fill every dark corner of his empty soul with pure, breathtaking beauty that had Spike's heart and mind soaring beyond the stars. It was exhilarating and startling. It was liberating. It was powerful. It was a revelation.
Then Spike was falling, plunging into the abyss with her. He couldn't help but throw his head back and roar as all control was wrenched from him by the fierce woman in his arms. Spike's howl of release joined the Slayer's screams as he spilled into her, filling her tight, hot cunt with his cool seed. His cock continued to jerk inside her as every drop of jizz was milked from his balls by her burning quim, which squeezed and pulsed around him with perfectly painful intensity.
He collapsed, her back burning his chest as he tightened his arms around her. They panted and shook, doing all they could to not melt onto the floor.
They both gulped in lungfuls of the warm, humid air, their bodies quaking with aftershocks. "Buffy, my Buffy... love you... can't even... tell you... how much," he murmured as he began gently licking the wounds on her neck, cleaning the beads of ruby blood from her golden skin, and closing the wounds.
Buffy felt tears well in her eyes as so many overwhelming emotions collided inside her. Every Slayer that had ever been in love with a vampire seemed to be dancing, reveling in this moment with her, but she mourned their lives, their sacrifice, their loss, their pain. Did Spike feel it too? Did he know what they'd just done? She needed to tell him how they'd freed the long-dead lovers from their torment. Maybe later, when her legs were less melty, and her brain could focus more on the making of words and less on the making of love to her vampire.
She reached back to touch his cheek as he finished closing the punctures. He turned and kissed her palm so gently it felt like a feather. So fierce. So tender. Her vampire, a study in opposites. The war to her roses; the roses to her war.
Buffy sighed, a sound of utter contentment, then, using that unfettered Slayer strength, she managed to step up onto the platform that surrounded the tub, slipping from beneath Spike's weight. Her vampire steadied himself, his hand closing over one of the broken tiles, but it was only a moment before she was pulling him with her, up over the edge and into the churning water.
They sank down into the blissful warmth, weightless and wrung out. Buffy was in his arms in a moment, facing him, her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, her sweet tits flattened against his hard chest, and her tight cunny already promising more as it pressed against his spent cock.
She kissed him deeply, softly, pouring all her love into it—all the love of the girl and the Slayer. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he settled onto one of the seats, and returned the languorous kiss with just as much reverence.
"I love you, too," she finally replied, her voice a rough whisper against his lips. "I never knew love could be like this. I think we're both exactly what the other deserves... don't you?"
Spike pulled back slightly to look into her shimmering eyes. He brushed some wet hair from her face with shaky fingers and kissed the tears from the corners of her eyes. "Reckon my girl needs a little monster in her man."
"And I reckon..." Buffy parroted back, smiling at him dreamily, "...that my guy needs a little Slayer in his girl."
"Bit like 'War and Roses', I expect," he agreed, glancing over at the puzzle, which had remained mostly dry on the vanity.
Her smile broadened. "Yeah, like just like that," she concurred, before leaning in to kiss him again.
When the kiss broke, Spike's eyes glittered with mischief. "Do wish you'd keep the structural damage t' a minimum, though, pet. Bloody hard t' match these vintage tiles, ya know?"
"Me?" Buffy objected with all innocence. "Pretty sure you broke those tiles."
"Did not! M' hands were clamped on your pretty arse, as I recall."
"Until they weren't! I distinctly remember you grabbing the tiles just there..." she insisted, titling her chin at the broken bits.
"Was after you sodding broke them!"
"It sooo wasn't!"
Spike rolled his head back in exasperation. "What the bloody hell did I do to deserve a stubborn, shirty bint like you?" he grumbled to the ceiling.
Buffy reached between them and began to tug on his cock, coaxing it back to full life. When he looked back down at her, she was grinning widely. "Let me see if we can answer that... again."
The end.
-X-
Chapter End Notes:
Safety warning! Never mix water with candles! MissLuci showed me this, which I never knew. Burning candles are like grease fires, you never use water on them. This is why I noted that the candles were away from the tub in the bathroom in the story.
THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING! YOU'RE THE BEST! I REALLY HOPE YOU LOVED IT!
What's next for the Mortal Allies Series, you may ask... Well, I will warn you that it will probably be a while before I can get back to it, but I do have more plans. The next installment will cover the rest of S3 from Bad Girls on, dealing with the Mayor and all that, but with a twist since Angel and Faith are actually buddies this time, though Buffy and Spike do have the possible advantage of warnings from Dru, plus a big doggie! As far as when this will happen, I have not even begun writing it yet, and I have a post-NFA story I put on hold which is 95% complete (and over 500k words) that I REALLY want to get finished and get posted. I really think you'll like it. It will be called "Love Lives Here" and will be a happy, domestic Spuffy... with some angsty twists and tragedies they'll have to endure.