Spike slammed through the house with Buffy trailing behind him. She cast Giles and her mom a quick wave and took off in his wake, keenly aware of his rage as it poured off him. Joyce went to follow the pair, but Giles grabbed her arm and shook his head.
Buffy found Spike staring at their bed. He was trying so hard to rein it in. She could feel the war inside him. She touched his shoulder and he shrugged her fingers off. She felt a flash of anger and lost control. She growled, grabbed his arm, and spun him to face her.
"You can be angry, but what do you think you are protecting me from? I know you're mad. I know you thought about tasting her blood. Hell, I thought about putting her through the wall."
"She likened you to a whore and treated me as a thing in my own home. I should have left her to Angelus. The wolf might have been better off." He wrenched free of her grasp.
"He loves her." Buffy said quietly.
"Well, love, as they say, is truly fucking blind. She didn't last an hour against Angelus and he didn't do a damn thing to her, but play with her mind."
"Calm down." Buffy scrambled around to get in front of him. "She attacked me cause she is hurting, Spike. He raped her, and you know it."
"Yesterday, I was willing to understand and help her," Spike snapped. "I tried. I've tried with all of them, but they keep attacking you, and I won't have it."
"She didn't understand. He hurt her. She isn't like us. Doesn't understand how evil acts, how it feels. We've both killed, crossed lines of soul and spirit that she doesn't know exist. Angelus knew that. Knew how to play her. He did it, but I brought that monster back. She is right about that."
"No," he screamed and grabbed her shoulders. "You will not spout her vile crap. You will not."
He slammed her back against the wall his eyes swirling between gold and blue, then back again. She watched as he struggled. His body was shaking. She could see it, feel it. His hands were freezing on her skin.
She considered giving him the fight he needed, kicking free of his hold, and letting loose, but she discarded it. He needed love that didn't hurt, needed her to be his safe place as he was hers. She brought her hand up to his shirt and noticed how warm his chest was. He looked down at her hand and then up to her wide eyes. She smiled as she felt him shift. Suddenly, he was pressed up against her his lips hard on hers. She gave in to the passion and whirled his body around as his arms fell to her waist.
Buffy pressed Spike up against the wall with one hand and broke their kiss. She looked up at his golden eyes staring at her from his human face. She pulled at the tie of her halter-top and let it fall to her waist. She grinned at Spike as his anger shifted to another kind of passion and he surged against her hand.
"You are mine." She pushed him back easily and grinned at the consternation that showed clearly on his face. "It does not matter what the rest of them think or say. Once they are safe, they leave and we will still have each other."
"You love them." He shook his head. "We will never be free of them."
"Having friends won't hurt you, and, once they get used to you, they will be your friends." She leaned up against him, giving up control, and kissed him. He wrapped her in his arms.
"No, I'll be the monster in the closet to them, but I can tolerate it for you." He kissed her tenderly. Their lips pressed softly and she felt the tip of his tongue trace the seam of hers. She opened to him and reveled in the taste as their tongue twined.
Buffy groaned as he moved her, sliding her body up his until he was holding her aloft and kissing her with his head thrown back. She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist. They kissed, their tongues sliding against teeth, delving deeply. He walked them carefully across the room and toppled them to the bed. His hand was sliding up her smooth thigh, his fingers riding between the warm fabric of her skirt and the inferno of her skin, when the sound of a foot on the stair caught his attention. He growled as he pulled up Buffy's shirt, letting her tie it. He kissed her quickly and darted at full speed to his favorite chair.
"See, a locking door would solve this problem." Buffy tossed a glare in his direction as she sat up and tried to look like they had been having a quiet conversation.
"Letting me drain the lot of them would solve it faster." He smiled back at her and shifted in his chair. "Or we could hang human convention and let them walk in on us."
She tossed a pillow at him as her mother's concerned face came into view. The unease and discomfort were easy for Buffy to read. She shifted trying to deal with her conflicting urges to comfort her mother and to kick her out.
Spike stood and walked over to Joyce. He seemed completely fine, in control and content. Buffy felt the urge to pounce on him and muss his hair.
"Please forgive me for ignoring you when we arrived home this evening. It was unpardonable." He bowed, using his perfect manners. "I shall retreat for a moment and allow you some undisturbed time with Buffy."
Buffy bit back a snarl as he disappeared down the stairs. He'd face a thousand vampires all screaming for her blood and never leave her side, but this one human woman made him run like a rabbit. She watched her mother look around the room, taking in every detail, and wanted to grow a fluffy tail of her own.
"Mom, what are you looking for?" Buffy tried to keep her voice steady and calm as her mother's gaze flipped to her. "Everything is fine."
"I do have ears Buffy." Joyce tilted her head and tapped the lobe of one. Buffy braced herself for the lecture. "Willow shouldn't talk to him like that, or to you. I won't have it. I'm not hampered by my monster status in dealing with your little group here. I can understand a little bit of their concern, but he is a nice boy. He deserves better. They will be showing him respect, or they will deal with me."
Buffy sat in stunned silence as Joyce looked at a painting on the wall. She touched the frame and shook her head. She looked around the huge room again.
"That's a lovely painting. He has quite an eye." Joyce said.
"He knew the guy. It was part of some series. He hung it up the day you got here." Buffy shrugged. "He said it belongs in the room where I lay my head."
"Pre Raphaelites didn't paint a great deal of blonde women with swords. I think this one is a Hughes. The man died in 1917. It's hard to wrap my mind around the fact that my future son in law knew him. I'd love to talk with him about the art in this house." Joyce shook her head thoughtfully. "I'm going to deal with your friends tomorrow morning. Sleep in."
Buffy looked at her mother, flustered again. She shifted on the bed trying to figure out what to say. Joyce came over, sat next to her, and hugged her tight.
"You went out and fought tonight. You both fought to keep the world safe, to keep us safe. You should be able to come home to a kinder welcome than you faced tonight." Joyce rubbed her daughter's back. "You've knotted your halter top up in your hair. Do you want some help?"
"Mom," Buffy blushed, the red color suffusing her cheeks. "We were getting ready for bed when we heard you on the stairs."
Joyce stood and smiled, a vague grimace of a smile. She walked over to the stairs before turning and looking at Buffy.
"I'm sure you were. I'll send Spike up." Joyce winked and Buffy flopped back onto the bed with a groan and covered her eyes with her hands.
When she felt the bed dip, she peeked through her fingers to find Spike grinning down at her. She pushed her way into his arms. They curled on the bed without speaking for a bit. Buffy rested her head on his chest.
"You're chest feels warm." Buffy smiled and rubbed her face against him. "Still a bit cooler than me, but warmer."
"Spending too much time with you humans. Woke up with you pressed so tight to me I could here your heartbeat in my head like it was my own," he chuckled and grinned. She wound her arms up behind his back and pulled him down for a kiss.
Their lips met and Spike growled as her heat infused him again. She was everything to him now. He had barely managed to force the blood down his throat while he listened to Joyce and Buffy converse from the safety of the kitchen. The blood had been fine, but he hadn't wanted it. It wasn't hers. He slipped his fingers to the ties of her halter-top and undid the mess she had made of it.
"Oh," Buffy moaned as he pulled the straps free. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs as he cupped her breasts. "Spike, tell me she's out of the house, tell me we're alone."
"All by our lonesome, Luv." He nuzzled along her jaw and traced her pulse with his tongue. It raced under her skin, enticing him. He tried to pull back, but her hand held him in place. The gentle twist of her fingers in his hair drove him half mad.
"Go ahead, Spike." She pulled his shirt off, ripping it to shreds with one hand. He shuddered as her palm found the flesh of his back.
"In my own time, if you don't mind." Spike grinned as he pushed back from her. "I want to take my time tonight. Taste every part of you."
"If I do mind, can we do this on my schedule?" She shook her head to clear the hair from her face and reached up to pull him back down, but he evaded her. He tilted his head and stared at her while he tossed bits of fabric off the bed with a rueful grin.
"I'll be taking my clothes off before I join you in bed or I'll have nothing left to wear in no time at all." He stood up and dropped his pants to the floor before he grabbed the roll of fabric at her waist and stripped her bare in one easy movement. He stared down at her for a moment; lost in the magic of a heartbeat sounding so loud he could swear it was his own.
Buffy snagged his hand and reeled him in until their lips fused again. Her other hand settled on his shoulder. He could feel her sharp nails dig into his flesh as their tongues battled again and the pressure of her heels on the backs of his thighs. He groaned and gave in. He moved with her and slid his body into hers in a smooth motion. He released her mouth as she gasped his name.
He stared down as he slowly moved his hips, the heat of her body infusing him with the illusion of life once more. He arched his back and rolled his hips in small circles watching her gaze go vague. She writhed, at his mercy, trusting him completely. Her green eyes began to glow, and she jerked him down to her. Her lips found his neck and he felt her trace the column from his collarbone to his jaw. He shivered and gripped her shoulders.
"Let me, Luv." He nuzzled into her neck and let his demon face surface. He teased along her rapid pulse and drove into her harder. She trembled in his arms. Each quiver of her body drove him further, made him wilder. Her hands clenched on the small of his back. Spike felt the tension gathering within her, and he sank his fangs in as she found her release. The warm wash of her blood of his tongue was everything. Her life, her warmth, her quivering release flooded through him. His world narrowed to the beat of her heart, the heat in their limbs, the sweet cling of her flesh to his.
"Oh, Spike." He heard the whisper as she shuddered under him and he broke free of the intoxication of her blood, licking the wound as he pulled away. He looked down at her, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the flush of satisfaction on her face and chest. For a moment, as his body erupted into her, his ears filled with a rush of sound and he took a deep breaths, gulping air as if he needed it. "I love you."