Dreamscape

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language and sexual content)
Timeline: Season 2
Summary: While her nights are occupied fighting evil, her dreams are haunted by a devastatingly sexy, not to mention thoroughly evil vampire. The sort of vampire that embodies the definition of forbidden fruit; the sort of vampire Buffy can only have in fantasy. But how thin is the line between dreams and reality? More importantly: how thin does she want it to be?
Prompt: From 20_hot_prompts, #7 dreams. Additionally, written for vampgirly, based on her guidelines posted at holiday_btvs .

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. They are being used out of love and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This is me, celebrating the end of finals. Yay, no more finals! Semester’s over for me…for a few weeks, at least, until I go back to take a math class. *whines* Until then, here’s this.

Next chapter will be the last, folks. Thank you guys so much for the overwhelming response to this story. You made what was supposed to be a little, itty-bitty fic a ton of fun to write. Thank you!

She was still trembling when she drifted off to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the angry yellow flash of Angelus’s piercing gaze. The taste of his possessed kisses wouldn’t wash out of her mouth. The callous cackle of his voice refused to stop ringing in her ears. He was with her in every move she made. Every innocent blink of her eyes. Every intake of breath. Disgust pooled in her stomach at the very thought of him. She needed to wash Angelus out of her life once and for all.

She needed Spike. She needed him now.

“Tell your boyfriend I’ll see him at home.”

She needed Spike, and she needed to get him out.

He was pacing long furious strides across the dream-world floor when she faded into the room, and the snarl on his lips and the demon in his eyes told her without words that he knew.

He knew everything.

“I need you,” Spike growled, storming forward and seizing her by the shoulders. Her breasts were suddenly pressed against his chest, and her senses were overcome with a potent rush of lust. “Right now.”

“Spike—”

“No talking.”

There was something in his kiss which melted all rational components of her brain. Buffy sagged helplessly against him the second his mouth came down on hers. His tone was harsh but his lips were soft. He nipped at her, teased her with his tongue, begging entrance into her mouth which she willingly surrendered. His hands battled with the hem of her camisole for a few brief seconds before ultimately ripping it over her head with an impatient growl. Her breasts found themselves cradled in his cool palms, his fingers tugging at her nipples as his mouth broke from hers to taste the skin of her throat.

“Touch me,” he snarled, his left hand seizing her wrist and guiding her to his denim-clad erection.

Clarity battled desire. Her trembling fingers undid the button of his jeans and jerked the zipper down, even as her warring thoughts collided and clashed with intent. Her disobedient lips wrestled another kiss from his, moaning when he whimpered and growled into her. There was no feeling on earth like that of knowing what an effect she had on him—especially with a simple caress of her mouth.

“Buffy.” Spike sighed against her lips, the fury of his stance melting into awe. “Touch me,” he murmured again, his mouth brushing the hollow of her throat as his hands danced southward. “Please…”

Her fingers slid over the hard protrusion of his cock with purposeful slowness, her eyes soaking in the way his gorgeous face dissolved in pleasure. “Like this?” she asked softly.

“Oh God…”

“Spike—”

The next thing she knew, her back was on the floor and Spike was clawing her pajama bottoms down her legs. By habit now she wore no panties, and when his eyes fell on her bare pussy, open and wet for him, he moaned again and fell between her legs as though magnetized. At some point his clothing had dissolved—perhaps he’d wished it away, as he’d indicated he could. All she knew was he was perched between her thighs, and looking at her like she’d fallen from the stars.

“So pretty,” Spike murmured, spreading her vaginal lips with his middle and index fingers, his tongue taking an eager lap at her aching clit. “So pink an’ wet…”

Buffy gasped so hard her chest hurt and arched off the floor, shamelessly pressing her swollen flesh against his hungry mouth. “Oh God.”

“I smelled you tonight,” he continued, his voice deceptively quiet.

The words swam around her head, meaningless shapes and sounds which, when applied, spelled something dangerous. Buffy blinked dazedly and glanced up, though her efforts were quickly rewarded with another lick of his tongue that had her back on the floor.

“What?” she gasped, her bones melting at the gentle kiss he brushed against her clit. “Oh my God…”

“T’night…when he came back.” The word was punctuated with an angry growl.

Realization slammed into her all at once. “That wasn’t—”

It was useless trying to speak, for the next second, Spike plunged his tongue inside her wet opening and proceeded to drive her to some previously unknown level of dementia. He was obviously determined to kill off her remaining brain cells until she was a useless mass of slayer goo. But for the world, Buffy wasn’t complaining. If this was his idea of punishment—no matter the validity of said punishment—she would take it happily. And eagerly. And find new ways to earn it in the future.

“Do…you have…” he growled between wet, furious licks, his tongue diving into her pussy with hunger that knew no boundaries. “…any…sodding…idea…”

“Ohhh!”

“How…much…”

Buffy’s head whipped back and forth furiously, her hips thrusting off the floor in some mad attempt to drive him deeper inside her. And when his mouth abandoned her pussy to return to her clit, she was certain this was the way he intended her to die.

That was until he slid two fingers inside her. And that was it; she was a goner. A complete goner. With a hoarse cry, Buffy trembled hard and came, drenching his fingers and clawing at his head wildly with her hands, determined to both hold him where he was and rip him away before her nerves died of pleasure.

Everything went numb for a few seconds. Her bones had liquefied; she couldn’t move now if the apocalypse depended on it. Instead, she laid uselessly, her sated body humming under his cool touch. Spike held her gaze with thinly-veiled intent as he licked her dew off his skin.

“I smelled you on him,” Spike said again, arching forward until he was on all fours. And then he was prowling up her body with slow deliberation, his chest grazing her aching nipples and his cock nudging her slippery labia. Her body sparked impossibly with arousal, and before she could stop herself, she’d seized his cheeks between her hands and dragged his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss.

“It…it was…the…ghosts,” she said once their lips parted. He was rotating his hips above her, the head of his cock nudging every wet, sensitive fold. His left arm was curled under her shoulder, his other hand busy between them, fingers stroking her swollen clit with tenderness which betrayed his intent. “What…whatever…”

“I bloody know it,” Spike replied harshly, his eyes dark. “Doesn’ make it right, does it? Doesn’ mean I oughta jus’—”

“There was nothing—”

“You kissed him.” He nipped at her lips gently. “You kissed him with this gorgeous mouth.”

“Against my will!”

“Slayer…”

“I didn’t go there to see Angel. I went there because—”

Spike nodded, his fingers intensifying the torturous massage of her clit as his cock pushed her vaginal walls apart and began to sink inside her. And in an instant, every doubt blinked away; every fear vanished. The pressure of the outside world dissolved into a wondrous nothing. Buffy threw her head back, her arms wrapping around his neck, her eyes blinking back tears. The skin beneath her fingers felt real. The lips kissing her sweetly left the taste of him in her mouth. And when he pulled back to meet her eyes, the crystal blue sea of his gaze washed over her with an undeniable sense of peace.

He consumed her in a tender kiss as his cock slid all the way home. Until she felt his balls resting against her wet flesh. A whimper rumbled against her lips and every bit of her sighed with completion.

“I love you,” Spike whispered, his voice thick, his hips rocking slowly against hers. The carnal slide of his length from her body had her tumbling through an abyss of sensation. “I love you so much.”

Buffy sobbed and nipped at his mouth. “Love you.”

“I hated…smelling you…on him,” he growled, his thrusts becoming hard in a matter of seconds, fierce desire surpassing tenderness. Need blazed across his face; need she knew well. Need she’d felt for months before realizing she had what she’d wanted all along. There were no phantoms here, but knowledge didn’t go far in banishing idle fears. “Wanted to…tear him…apart.”

She nodded helplessly, her pelvis arching off the ground in wild desperation to recapture his cock every time he slipped from her body. He never escaped her completely—her vaginal walls determined to keep him locked inside her. There was no completion if he wasn’t with her—if his lips weren’t moving against hers, if his eyes weren’t piercing into hers. She needed this always. Beyond dreams. Beyond the walls of this room. She knew the way this felt in reality, and she needed him there.

She needed to stop worrying about the looming fall of the other shoe. She needed him. She needed him out of the hornet’s nest and with her.

“Things…he said…”

“He knows,” Buffy whispered, her eyes fogging with tears. And that was it. The reason she cried at night. The cold knowledge lurking perpetually within her chest. The thing which threatened to steal this wondrous dream and replace it with a horrid nightmare. Spike kissed her to placate her fears, his cock striking nerves deep within her that she hadn’t known existed. But it could all end in a blink. He could be torn away at any time, and she wouldn’t be able to stop it. She wouldn’t be there to end Angel before he stole everything.

“He doesn’—”

“Spike, he knows.” God, she had to make him understand. She couldn’t lose him. They were so close to having each other. They were so close. She had to make him understand. “He knows about us.”

“Slayer—”

“I can’t lose you,” Buffy sobbed, smashing her hips upwards. She bit desperately at his lips, seizing one of his hands to guide his touch between their thrusting bodies. He slapped against her furiously, his cock striking nerves she was certain only he was made to reach. And when his fingers captured her clit and began to rub, she knew she wouldn’t last. Her skin was still humming from the orgasm he’d given her with his mouth, and now as he danced her toward another edge, she could only hope she’d survive the fall. “I can’t—”

Spike’s eyes softened, offsetting the impassioned growl which tore through his throat. He massaged her clit tenderly, the wet smack of their bodies in the otherwise illicit silence of the room making her shiver with heat. “You won’,” he panted, “lose me.”

“You—”

“’m not…goin’…anywhere.”

Anxiety clawed her insides. “Please—”

“You’re mine. God, Buffy…you’re…mine.” His mouth dipped, tongue wetting her throat. “You’re mine.”

“Unh…”

“You’re mine. Not…letting…you go.”

There was a flash of amber and a blink of ivory, and then her body exploded with pleasure. He growled around her broken flesh, feasting ardently as his hips drove madly against her. And Buffy screamed. She screamed until her voice died in a chorus of echoes, fisting handfuls of Spike’s hair and holding him to her throat. Wanting to keep him there—wanting his fangs inside her just as his cock was inside her. She wanted every feasible inch of Spike within her. She wanted to take as much of him back with her to the real world as possible, so that even when she opened her eyes, she was never truly alone.

“Mine!” Spike growled. “You’re mine, Buffy.”

“Oh yes.”

“Fuck…”

“Yes, yes, yes…”

“Buffy…my God.” He whimpered and licked her bleeding throat, hugging her tightly to him as he shuddered hard and spilled himself deep inside her. The rug at her back burned her skin but she didn’t care. The welcome of his release into her depths was worth anything: the sting at her throat, the tremors seizing her over-pleasured body, the welcomed weight of him as he collapsed, his cool, heavy breaths crashing against her skin. It was worth anything.

“I love you,” he murmured after an indeterminate period of silence. He raised himself up on his arms, spearing her with a meaningful look. “You know that, right?”

Buffy nodded without hesitation.

Spike smiled gently and kissed her lips. “I should’ve told you every day. That firs’ night…should’ve told you then.”

“You knew then?”

“No. Shoulda told you, though.” He grinned, brushing his lips against the corner of her mouth. And God, she loved that. She loved every gentle touch. “Shoulda known I’d be a bloody sucker for you.”

Buffy made a face. “Gee, thanks.”

“’S a compliment!”

“Uh huh.”

Spike’s grin just grew wider, his wandering fingers finding the tender spot where he’d bitten her. He stroked her gently for a few seconds, mindful of any signs of pain at the slight pressure he applied to her wound. “This hurt?” he asked when she failed to show him any.

“No.”

He paused tellingly, the jollity in his eyes fading into quiet contemplation. “Good,” he murmured. “It was brilliant, tasting you.”

A blush deepened her skin. She wanted to say something profound but words died in her throat. There was nothing to say. Not when he looked at her like she was a goddess.

“I meant it, Buffy.”

“Meant what?”

“You’re mine.” Spike smiled softly, but his eyes weren’t laughing. His eyes were filled with determination and love. His eyes told her in no uncertain terms how much he meant what he said. “You’re mine, kitten. As much as I am yours.”

“I know,” she replied simply. There was nothing more to say. She had no quarrel with his words, if that was what he feared. Buffy had known she was his for a long, long time. Longer than she wanted to consider. And as for Spike belonging to her…that was something she accepted, even if she didn’t understand it. Even if her mind was still trying to reconcile how such endless misery could explode into bliss so quickly. She knew Spike was hers. He’d said it, after all, and Spike had never lied to her.

Spike loved her.

“’m gonna do this again when we’re together,” he continued, fingers still stroking the mark on her throat. “I’m gonna do it out there.”

“I’m going to let you.”

“No amount of let about it.”

Buffy quirked a brow. “You don’t think so?”

“You’d really wanna stop me?” he challenged.

“No. Hence the letting of you.” She grinned at his playful scowl and tugged him down for a tender kiss. “I know what it is, dummy. Hello. Slayer, here. Slayer with a mucho-fang-happy boyfriend.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed, though no amount of narrowing could hide the way they danced. “Fang-happy?”

“You’ve bitten me before!”

“Love bites.”

“Same diff!”

“An’…boyfriend?” The way the word rolled off his lips made her shiver. A pleased smile spread across his face. “Tha’s nice, that is.”

“Gee, thanks,” Buffy retorted dryly.

Spike shrugged and rolled off her without warning, tugging her after him so that she was lying across his chest. “Never been anyone’s boyfriend,” he purred, gently stroking her arm. “I jus’ like the sound of it.”

She snickered but snuggled into him all the same. “Yeah. You who hold the record for longest long-term relationship have never been anyone’s boyfriend.”

“I dunno about the record…”

The note in his voice made Buffy recoil and bury her face in his shoulder. Even if she had been the one to bring it up, she didn’t like hearing Spike even refer to whatever he and Drusilla had shared in the years before fate brought him to her. It had been difficult enough imagining Spike with the horrible woman before; now that she knew he loved her—now that he was hers—any hint at all of the life he’d lived before made every bit of her darken.

He shifted beneath her, kissing her temple. “Something wrong, kitten?”

“No.”

She felt his mouth spread into a grin against her skin. “Liar.”

“Shut up.”

“Doesn’ matter anyway,” Spike murmured, brushing his lips across her brow again. “Any record out there’ll be shattered by the two of us. After I claim you out there. Make you mine in blood an’ not jus’ word.”

“Mmm. Claimage.”

“You do know about claims?”

Buffy drew in a breath and fought off a playful eye-roll. “We’ve already done this. Yes. Bites happen. Blood is swapped. Something about a forever-long commitment.”

“An’ you’re okay with that?” he asked softly, stroking her arm. The solemn note in his voice surprised her. “The forever part?”

“Spike—”

“’S longer than it sounds, love.”

She giggled, but quickly sobered the second his eyes met hers. “What?” she retorted. “Forever is longer than forever? ‘Cause forever sounds pretty long to me.”

“Buffy, this is serious—”

“I know.”

“It requires more than jus’ a thought—”

“I’ve given it more than just a thought.” Buffy inhaled sharply and sat up, meeting his eyes with a loving smile. “I mean, I kinda had to. You vampire. Immortal. Me human. Not-so-immortal.”

“So you’ve mulled over claimin’, is that it?”

“I mulled over immortality.”

Spike frowned at her. “Sweetling, there aren’t many alternatives to—”

“In my world, there are always alternatives.” She shrugged and brushed her lips across his chest. “I didn’t study it long. I didn’t really have to. I knew immediately that if it was possible…if you wanted—”

“What do you mean if I wanted—”

“I love you. If there’s a chance I don’t have to give you up, I’m gonna take it.”

Spike grinned, threading his fingers through her hair and gently massaging her scalp. “’m not gonna try to talk you outta anythin’,” he murmured, “’specially when I thought I’d have to talk you into it. But…I don’ even know how long forever is, an’ I have been at it a li’l longer than you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You—”

Buffy smirked and stuck her tongue out at him, retracting it quickly before he could suck it into his mouth. “You said you weren’t going to try to change my mind, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but the weight in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. And if possible, she found herself falling more in love with him by the second.

“I don’ wanna be somethin’ you resent,” he said at last. “A decision you regret. I can’t…I couldn’t bloody bear it. The thought of eternity with you is more than I ever thought…but Buffy, I—”

She closed the space between them with her lips, swallowing his concerns in a loving, gentle kiss. There were so many things she wasn’t good at conveying; so many things she wished she had the courage to say. So many emotions she wished she could give words. However, even if she possessed the ability to construct verbal poetry, she knew no amount of reassurance would silence his fears.

They were fears she had anticipated. Fears she knew only time would ease. And time was one thing she was determined to share with him. As much time as the world allowed. Until the apocalypse bested her and they were cast into the void of whatever lay ahead. And even then, she wouldn’t part from him. She’d follow him to Hell and petition the Devil himself for her lover’s freedom. She’d pay whatever was asked of her.

Spike would realize this eventually. Until then, he would just have to trust her.

“Stop talking about silly things,” Buffy murmured when they broke apart, kissing his jaw. “I want this.”

Emotion stormed his eyes. “I want it, too. Christ, I want it so much.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

It looked for a second like he might argue with her. He didn’t. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face and he pulled her down for another kiss, his lips moving demandingly against hers. In seconds they collided in a nonverbal battle, challenging each other with furious strokes of tongue and clashes of evenly hungry mouths. She draped a leg over his thigh and rubbed his swelling cock with her knee, laughing into his kiss when he moaned against her. At last, when oxygen became crucial, she tore away with a giddy giggle, willing to believe if only for a second that things could truly be so simple.

“You’re amazing,” Spike purred reverently. “So bloody amazing.”

“Took you long enough to notice,” she replied teasingly, her hand dancing down his abdomen.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but not without an ounce of genuine exasperation. “Woman—”

“All I’m saying is you spent plenty of nights with that ho-bag, meeting me and not telling me this—”

Spike blinked at her incredulously, though he was smirking. “We back on Dru again?”

“You better not be.”

“Slayer, what do I have to do to convince you—”

“A little groveling never hurt anyone.”

He shook his head, his smirk growing wider. “Groveling? I already worship the bloody ground you walk on! Isn’t there—”

“Plenty of nights,” she repeated firmly, her stance unwavering. “With Dru. While dreaming of getting naked with me.”

“Buffy—”

“And hey! Still with the dreaming and the naked and you’re still over there.”

He kissed her nose and grasped her hips, shifting her so that she was completely astride him, her pussy pressed intimately against the underside of his erection. “I love it when you’re jealous.”

The shit-eating grin he sported certainly wasn’t helping matters. “Try it from this end,” she pouted.

“Baby, I have to deal with jealousy every time I wake up.” He shot her a knowing look, and she was immediately humbled. It was the truth. He had to look at Angelus every day. He had a walking, talking, stalking, killing reminder of her one and only sexual encounter that she hadn’t experienced with him. It didn’t make her hatred and resentment of Dru subside any, but at least, on some incredibly petty level, it put them on even ground.

Still, even ground or not, she liked to feel she was entitled to her umbrage.

“I was never sleeping with Angel, though,” Buffy pointed out, her voice small. “It was…it was never like that with us. Never. Not like it was with…”

Spike was quiet for a long minute, considering her words. “It hasn’t been that way with me an’ Dru since you.”

“What?”

“I haven’t touched Dru since the firs’ night with you,” he continued softly, almost as though he didn’t want to be heard. “I haven’t touched her since…I jus’ haven’t touched her.”

Time, it seemed, froze. Buffy turned into a statue astride him, her eyes wide, her heart thundering. It didn’t seem possible. Not with what she knew. Not with everything he’d told her. He’d hated her in the beginning. God, he’d hated her so much. He’d hated her even as he fell in love with her. He hated her with everything he was. It didn’t add up; didn’t follow through that he would refrain from touching the woman to whom he’d previously devoted himself for Buffy, whom he’d fought loving for so long.

“Not once?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not…not even…”

Spike’s eyes softened and he reached up to cup her cheek. “Sweetheart—”

“You hated me.”

“No—”

“Even when you—”

“She wasn’t you, kitten. After I knew what you tasted like…” He sat up slowly, his arms wrapping around her waist and helping her as she lifted subconsciously in his lap, her silken folds dancing over the sensitive head of his cock. “After I knew…how…”

“Ohhh…”

“Sink down on me,” he pleaded softly, even as she began the slow descend. “Take me home.”

There was nothing in the world she would trade for this. Her pussy clamped hard around him, sucking him as far inside her as physics would allow. Tears stung her eyes and her body cried out in bliss. “It’s only been me?” she asked, knowing already that he’d told her the truth. Spike always told her the truth. Always. When it hurt and when it healed. When it stung and when it soothed. He would never lie to her. Not about them. Not even when he should.

“Only an’ always,” he agreed, nipping at her shoulder, his hands falling to her ass to guide her thrusts. “Jus’…been biding time for you.”

“Spike…”

“Love you. Love you so bleeding much…”

“Spike, you have to…leave.”

He blinked in surprise and pulled back, confused hurt written across his face. “What?”

“The others,” she clarified, contracting her hidden muscles around his cock. The ones she was near certain were there simply to make his eyes cross with pleasure. To coerce him into doing whatever she needed, so long as he was trapped within her hot depths. “Leave them.”

“Buffy—”

“I can’t lose you.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “You won’t.”

“But if Angel knows—”

A shadow fell behind his eyes and his grip on her hips tightened, angling the stabs of his cock hard and deep within her trembling body. “Don’t. Bloody. Mention. Him,” he growled harshly, “when…I’m fucking you.”

Buffy mewled and tossed her head back. “Oh God…”

“You’re mine.”

“God, yes.”

She bounced contentedly on his lap for mindless seconds, focused solely on the wet slide of him from her aching pussy and trying to navigate him to strike a different nerve every time he slammed home. But the fog dissipated quickly—her determination was stronger than desire. She needed to get him away from the others, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Spike, please—”

“Mine,” he snarled gutturally.

“Yes.” It was damned hard concentrating when her every cell was on fire. When the air around them was alive with the wanton smacks of their bodies once more. When Spike was staring at her like she’d fallen from the heavens and landed in his lap, on his cock, and had proceeded to screw him into salvation. But she needed him to understand…

She needed…

“Come…to me,” she panted, her hips smashing against his. “Please.”

Her name rode out like a prayer on his tongue. “Buffy…”

“Please. Please. I can’t…if you…”

“I—”

“Please say…you’ll…leave them. Get to…get to me. Or just…away. Just get away, Spike.” She seized his cheeks spontaneously and kissed his lips off, pouring every fear into the union of their mouths. Into the tears she hadn’t and hoped she would never shed. Into the terror which lived with her through every day and haunted every second of their stolen time. “I can’t…please just…get away…before—”

“Slayer…”

“Before I lose you. Please!”

“Buffy…oh God…”

“Please!”

“All right. All right.” He smiled softly—truly singular from the hard way they moved together—and kissed her so sweetly she was sure she’d dissolve. “All right. I’m out. I’ll leave. I swear it. I’m gone.”

“Ohhh, Spike…”

“Anything you ask. Jus’…oh God, ride me jus’ like that. My sweet slayer…”

His eyes glistened—or was that her eyes? She didn’t know. All she knew was the relief consuming her insides. The boulder on her heart rolled away, and she finally felt she could breathe.

Though she knew those breaths wouldn’t come without restraint until he was safely free. Until tomorrow night, when she saw him again.

But for now—until then—they had this.

It was through a combination of whispered rumors among the lackeys Spike still had power over and the raid of the local museum that Buffy discovered what Angel was planning.

Seemed fitting that Angel would attempt to end the world now. Finals were approaching, Snyder was bullying students more than ever, and even though Spike had abandoned his demonic family just as he promised, Buffy was still beside herself with worry. He’d told her the night following his vow that it was too dangerous to try and see each other, especially since his absence would have alerted Angel without doubt where his allegiance lay. And while Spike didn’t fear a confrontation with the vampire, he wasn’t too keen on the odds of two versus Angelus, Dru, and a legion of their loyal followers.

He had too much to lose now, he said. He wasn’t about to gamble Buffy for the sake of pride.

He was also worried about her, though he remained silent in his concerns. She knew it, though, from the guarded way he looked at her in their dreams. The way his hands caressed her body, as though committing every inch of her to memory. Every night when she fell into their secret room, he’d yank her into his arms, inspect her for wounds she was still convinced wouldn’t carry over from reality, and demand details of her nightly patrols.

She had a feeling he was only demanding details for the sake of appearances. Too often, she felt him with her as she stalked the cemeteries. Not too close but never far; always watching her back. Always ready to leap into action. Always ready to save her life.

Then one night, everything changed.

“We found it,” Buffy said by way of greeting, stepping through the wall and into the dream-room. As usual, he was waiting for her on the bed, his eyes cast with worry. His head snapped up at the sound of her voice. “Willow and me. We found it.”

Spike frowned and rose to his feet. “Huh’sat? Start at the beginning.”

“The curse. Angel’s curse. We found it. I-it was on a disk in Ms. Calendar’s…in the room where she taught.” Buffy sucked in a breath and glanced down quickly. “We found it. She was…that’s why she died, isn’t it? She was going to do the curse.”

“I don’ know, sweetheart. The great prat an’ my wonky ex haven’ exactly been forthcoming with information in recent weeks. I told you I had no bloody clue about any of what happened between Angelus an’—”

“But if he knew about the curse—”

“Then yeah. He’d make sure the teacher snuffed it.”

Buffy shivered hard and tried desperately not to focus on his callous reasoning, though it was difficult when every fiber of her very human psyche screamed for vindication. So not only was Ms. Calendar a part of the tribe originally responsible for Angel’s curse, she’d also been constructing a way to harness him again.

And Angel had killed her for it.

“Well, we have it,” Buffy said quietly. “We have the curse. And Willow thinks she can…Willow thinks she can curse him again.”

Spike blinked. “She what?”

“Willow thinks she can curse Angel again. She’s been…well, subbing for Ms. Calendar and apparently going through her witchy stuff. She thinks she can do the curse.” Buffy sighed and licked her lips, tentatively meeting Spike’s eyes again. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About cursing Angel. Making him…not evil again.”

There was a long silence; Spike’s gaze tore from hers and cast downward, tension suddenly tightening every muscle in his gorgeous body. She didn’t know why she’d asked—she’d had the answer all along. Ever since she and Willow discovered the disk. Hell, she’d known ever since Angel lost his humanity what Spike’s view on returning him to his less-evil counterpart would be. Angel, in his mind, was competition. And while he knew that Buffy didn’t love Angel, it didn’t make the idea of the soulful half’s reappearance any more welcoming.

He’d want Angel dead, not rescued.

“I’d do it.”

Buffy’s heart stopped, astonishment locking her in place. She implored Spike silently to meet her eyes, but he was staring resolutely at the ground.

“What?” she asked at last, helpless for any other reaction.

“I said I’d do it. Curse him again, or what all.” Spike shifted uncomfortably. “It’d make things safer for you, right? Make his chances of endin’ the world…I hate the wanker, Buffy. I hate him so bloody much. An’ the thought of what the two of you did…of him with you…” He clenched his fists and still refused to look up. “But it’d make things safer for you. As long as Angelus is out there…Christ, you don’ know him like I do. Thinkin’ of you out there alone every night while he’s bleeding obsessed with you…knowin’—”

“Spike—”

“—I don’ want him near you again. Ever. Souled or not. But I’m not a blind idiot, love. I know it’d be safer for you if his pansier self was the one steerin’. An’ that’s all that matters to me.”

It wasn’t until he finally met her eyes that she knew he meant it. And just like that, the last piece fell into place.

She knew what she had to do.

It was only a matter of doing it.

The curse was no longer an option. Buffy had thrown it away the second her eyes landed on the fallen form of Kendra, lying in a pool of blood on the library floor. For this, for everything, there would be no forgiveness. No second chances. The attempt to restore Angel’s humanity had failed. Now there was only vengeance.

He’d murdered her friend. He’d kidnapped her Watcher. He’d made her a fugitive. He’d gotten her expelled from her school. He’d cost her everything.

There was nothing left. The curse was a no-go. She needed this to be over.

She needed it to be over now.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Spike since the night before. Angel hadn’t mentioned him during their fight in the cemetery—the one he’d lured her into with his flaming immolation-o-gram—and she didn’t know how to take his silence. Angel knew Spike wasn’t in his corner and had probably deduced that he hadn’t been from the very beginning. Not mentioning her boyfriend was a deliberate, intentional ploy. Either Angel had done something to Spike or he was planning on doing something, and though her nerves were screaming to locate her vampire, take him somewhere secluded and will the world away, Buffy forced herself not to panic.

She refused to consider the possibility that Angel had ripped Spike out of her life. That atop everything he’d already stolen, he’d taken the man she loved as well.

She refused to consider it. Spike was a fighter—a fighter who loved her. He’d be all right.

By God, he’d better be. If he wasn’t, she was going to rip the town apart with grief. If the Powers took Spike away from her, there was no telling where her fury would lead.

In the meantime she couldn’t think about it. She couldn’t.

Spike was all right. He had to be all right.

The heart-stopping wail of a police siren sliced through the heavy night air. Buffy froze inside but kept walking, her back to the approaching squad car. She began mapping the best route to the nearest sewer in mind of a fast escape. She knew she could outrun the cop; his bullets were a different story.

In all her life, she’d never imagined needing to outrun bullets. Demons, vampires, the race to the end of the world—sure. But never cops. Never human authorities. Never anything like this.

Angel was so completely dust.

“Hold it right there!” the cop commanded.

Buffy spun around, her heart thundering and her ears ringing. Her eyes immediately landed on the very real gun in his hands.

All rationalism died to fear. She was paralyzed with it.

“Put your hands on your head!” the cop barked. “Do it!”

Hours passed in a matter of seconds. There was nothing but her and the gun. Slowly, her hands remembered themselves and began the slow lift above her head; so fixated was she that she didn’t notice the angry growl which pierced the air until the weapon in question was airborne. It soared to the pavement with a reckless crash, but by the time the noisy clatter reached her ears, the gun was the last thing on her mind.

Spike’s territorial growl consumed her completely. He snarled something unintelligible as his foot smashed into the cop’s chubby chin, then again as he seized fistfuls of police-uniform and tossed the man onto his patrol car, rendering him unconscious.

In a blink, he’d whirled around to her, the malice in his eyes fading into warmth as two very welcome words rolled off his sinful tongue.

“Hello cutie.”

Buffy stood frozen for another long second, relief spearing through her tired, worn body as her eyes soaked in his every gorgeous inch. There was a cut above his left eye and the pale skin of his right cheek was swelling impossibly into a knot of purple and red. There was nothing but strength in his posture—strength and resolution. But he was hurt. Someone had hurt him.

Spike was with her but someone had hurt him.

“Catchin’ flies, love,” he murmured, his bruised lips pulling into a smile. “Don’ tell me you’re not happy to see me.”

“Spike,” she sobbed, jerking swiftly back to herself. And before she could blink, she found herself in his arms, her mouth pressing needy, desperate kisses across his face. She tended every heated patch of skin, every bloody cut. She tasted copper and grew angrier with knowledge. Someone had hurt him. Hurt her Spike.

If Angel wasn’t dust before, he so was now.

“What happened?” she demanded, not pausing long enough to hear an answer. She couldn’t stop kissing his beautiful, broken flesh. Not that he seemed to mind; rather, his arms had closed around her waist and his mouth was exploring every inch of her he could reach. “What—”

“Took bloody forever—”

“—what did he—”

“—to get away.”

Buffy kissed his lips desperately. “What did he do to you?”

“This? Nothin’ but a scratch.”

“Spike!”

He shrugged off-handedly, his mouth more interested in licking her throat, a purr rumbling through his chest. “Ran into a few old friends,” he replied. “Bit of a brawl. Nothin’ more.”

“You’re bleeding!”

It occurred to Buffy out of nowhere that this was the first time she’d seen Spike, touched and kissed Spike, since Valentine’s Day. Since the night he touched her like a lover in the real world. It was the first time she’d felt his skin beneath her fingertips and tasted his lips with her own in months. They saw each other so frequently, but they hadn’t touched each other in what felt like lifetimes.

That would end tonight. This forced-distance. After the battle, they could go somewhere together. She wouldn’t need to wake up alone ever again.

Not that her mother would approve, but that was a horse of a different color.

“Yeah? You should see the other guy.” Spike paused thoughtfully, jarring her back to him and out of her ill-timed reflection. “That’d be guys, actually. Plural. Doesn’ right matter, kitten. They’re dust. Would’ve figured Angel’d know it’d take more than a handful of sodding cronies to stop me.”

Buffy blinked. “Cronies?”

There was a sharp, almost resentful nod. “Right,” he agreed shortly. “I’d wager Dru was too busy with the raid, yeah? Snaggin’ the Watcher?”

“How’d you know—”

“Cronies tend to yap. A bloody lot. One of the reasons they always end up dust.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. The world was in a no-end spin. Spike was the only constant—holding her, keeping the ground beneath her feet from stealing her balance. “Giles?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper. “They do…they do have Giles?”

“Wanker couldn’t figure out how to wake up ole Stoney. Figures enough torture’ll get the old man talking.” Spike sighed and kissed her lips. “He won’ kill him so long as the librarian doesn’t talk.”

“He won’t,” Buffy said faithfully. “If Giles knows how to…he won’t talk.”

“Then he won’ die. He’ll get the stuffing tortured outta him, but he won’ die.”

An image, unwarranted, of her surrogate father bleeding and tied to a chair flashed across her mind. And her insides hardened again with rage. She was placated only for a second with the reassurance that he would still be breathing by the time they stormed the mansion. Those who harmed her Watcher would taste death.

All of them. The cronies. Angel. Dru. All of them.

Buffy held her tongue. Killing Dru would drive a wedge between her and Spike that she didn’t want to consider, but there was no alternative. No talking her out of it. Dru had killed Kendra. Dru had dragged her Watcher into a torture chamber. Dru wasn’t going to walk away from this. She and Angel would dust together, and their remains would choke their way into the bowels of Hell.

“After the world is saved, you’re in for a tongue lashing,” Spike told her, drawing her out of her murderous reverie. “You went after Angelus? Alone?”

“I—”

“Christ, Buffy…do you have any idea…” A long pause stretched between them. Spike shook his head and slowly eased her out of his arms. “When this is over,” he continued, his voice tight as though trying to rein in control, “you an’ I are gonna have a li’l chat.”

“You and I are gonna have a little something, all right.”

He grinned in spite of himself. “Cheeky.”

“He has Giles.”

Spike nodded and turned with her as she twisted in the direction of the mansion. Behind them, the cop was starting to moan and stir on the hood of the car. They had to get away—and now.

“The Watcher has fight in him, love. Beat the living hell outta the wanker, if memory serves.”

“He’s still—”

He nodded again, his hand finding the small of her back. “We’ll get him out, love.”

Yes, they would. They would get Giles to safety. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else. Not her vampire. Not her Watcher. Not anyone.

The ground would be scattered with the ashes of her enemies.

Tonight, she would be liberated of the past, and finally free to embrace the future at her side.

Tonight, she settled all debts.

In later days, Buffy would learn that Willow had planned to do the restoration spell from the comfort and safety of her hospital bed. The spell never took, of course, and Angel had dusted alongside Drusilla in a fit of rage beside a stone statue which refused to awaken. Giles had remained steadfastly silent in the secret of how to unleash Acathla’s wrath; he would have died rather than forfeit his knowledge, and had Spike not burst in when he did, there was a good chance she would have lost her Watcher in the crossfire.

As it was, the final battle had been rather anticlimactic. Angel’s best cronies had tasted dust when they’d attempted to take out Spike. The egomaniac hadn’t expected to see the blond vampire again, and he certainly hadn’t expected Buffy to storm in looking to cause some serious hurt. No, he’d thought he pretty much had all the time in the world. Time to extract the secret to awakening Acathla from Giles, and then time enough to do some research of his own should Giles’s resilient silence prove to be a truly permanent condition.

Angel had dusted with shock burning his eyes. He’d glanced to the stake protruding from his chest and back up to Buffy’s determined face, and dissolved into a thousand bronze particles. Just like any vampire. Nothing spectacular. Nothing thoroughly remarkable. At the end of the day, he was just another vampire. She’d killed him. He was gone. Angel was gone.

And so was Drusilla.

But not at her hand.

Spike hadn’t mentioned what transpired since leaving the mansion, and Buffy wasn’t about to brave the subject with him. He hadn’t reacted much as he watched the woman he’d devoted himself to crumble into nothingness. His jaw had clenched and he’d heaved a long sigh, but there was little more.

Then again, silence was often the loudest form of communication. Buffy didn’t know what to say so she wasn’t going to try. All she knew was Drusilla had been looking to kill her in the aftermath of slaying Angel. She’d tackled Buffy to the ground, clawing and screaming, yellow insanity stretching her demon eyes, and fangs bared in a fashion which truly belonged in horror movies. It was a face of the vampire Buffy had never expected to see; Drusilla had always seemed composed and elegant, even if she was out of her mind.

She never struck Buffy as the proverbial animal.

Angel’s dusting, however, reduced her to a howling beast. It’d taken Buffy by such surprise that she knew without doubt she’d be dead if Spike hadn’t been there.

If Spike hadn’t snarled and thrust her fallen stake through his ex-lover’s back.

It had happened quickly. Too quickly for second-guessing or anything else. And while Buffy had already resolved herself to end Drusilla’s unlife, she hadn’t known what to expect in the aftermath.

It wasn’t this. It wasn’t the awkward knowledge that Spike had slain the woman he’d spent a century beside. A woman he once worshipped. A woman who, for all intents and purposes, had solidified his fall into Buffy’s arms.

There would be time for reflection in later days, she suspected. Right now, she just wanted rest.

Rest and celebration.

There was something else; an unspoken fear lurking deep within her psyche; one Buffy didn’t want to breach but similarly something she felt they needed to discuss. And as Spike ushered her across the threshold of his motel room—a real motel room, one not confined to the recesses of their dreams—she found her nerves dancing toward the end of madness.

Dreams had brought them together. They hadn’t done this outside dreams. Not really.

A relationship consisted of more than stolen moments at the end of the day. She wanted Spike in her life if he was to be a part of it. She wanted him patrolling with her, dancing with her, laughing with her, arguing and sparring with her; she wanted everything. She wanted the added bonus of having him in the bedroom as well as at her side. Dreams had brought them together; could she trust reality to make sure nothing tore them apart?

“’S not much,” Spike said, flipping on the bedside lamp. The small amount of light didn’t stretch far into the room, but then she wasn’t interested in taking the tour. Buffy just wanted rest, and she wanted it in her lover’s arms. “Covers the basics, an’ what all. Never expected I’d be bringin’ you here.”

She licked her lips, her heart pounding. There was a strain in his voice she’d never heard before, and for half an instant, she thought he might be as nervous as she was. Buffy dismissed the notion just as easily, falling back on the knowledge that everything had changed. There were no barriers here. Nothing to guard them from each other. Nothing to banish knowledge and nothing to hide behind.

The knowledge was both exhilarating and terrifying. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, which was just as well, as she was afraid she’d melt into hysterics if she made a sound.

“Buffy?” Spike was suddenly right in front of her, his azure eyes consuming her whole. There was no condemnation there; no resentment for having cost him his sire. Instead, there was only tenderness and concern. “You with me, kitten?”

Her throat tightened and her pulse raced, but she managed to find her voice all the same. “What happens now?” she asked hoarsely, resting a hand upon his chest.

“Well…way I figure it…” He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his and the slightest taste of him had her insides melting into liquid warmth. “I have you to myself now, yeah? No wonky dreams. No hint of your mum lurkin’ outside the door. Jus’ you…an’ me. I think we should pop into the shower an’ wash the fight off.”

The fight. It almost sounded innocuous. As though nothing had changed. As though nothing was different.

Only everything was different.

“Do…” Buffy licked her lips and sighed. “Do you think…it’ll be different now?”

Spike tilted his head questioningly, his hands carefully sliding her jumper over her head. “Different?”

“You…me…no dreams.”

He considered her for a long, quiet second before realization seeped inward. Then almost as inexplicably, a pang of humor clashed with adoration in the recesses of his eyes. “It’ll be brilliant, love,” he promised her softly. “’m not…at my best right now, but I swear to you, we’ll be brilliant together.”

“You killed—”

The words came from nowhere and wouldn’t be silenced. Her subconscious, it seemed, was much more adamant about getting all the pieces on the checkerboard, regardless of what her conscious wanted. However, the light in Spike’s eyes didn’t fade at the short reminder of what had transpired. If anything, the resolution there hardened into something stronger than anything she’d ever before witnessed.

“She was tryin’ to hurt you, pet,” Spike replied softly, shrugging. “Not sayin’ it din’t smart to…to do what I did. It did. Bloody right, it did. But I love you. Bugger if I know anythin’ beyond that. I love you. I’m so in love with you it’s sodding hard to remember I don’t need to breathe at times. Dru…she tried to hurt you. If I’d jus’ stood there…Christ, I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

Buffy’s eyes watered impossibly with tears. She thought herself too weak to cry; she was wrong. It seemed she was wrong about so many things. And if nothing else, she resolved then to never underestimate his love for her again. Their start might have been rocky, but there was nothing but honesty and love between them now. Now and for the rest of forever.

After all, Spike never lied to her. He hadn’t yet and she knew he never would.

Never.

“This isn’t the end of anything, sweetheart,” he murmured, casting her pullover to the ground before turning his hands to the hem of her tee. “I finally have you here. You’re really here…” In seconds she was naked waist-up save the sports bra she wore, and he quickly rendered her without that as well. Then her breasts were in his palms, his thumbs rolling her nipples as his ragged breaths crashed against her throat. “You’re really here. This isn’t the end of anything. No…God, no…”

Sensation was a funny thing. Sensation had a way of moving the boundaries of time and distance. It was for the sensation of Spike’s lips on her skin that Buffy didn’t notice his slow, methodical removal of her clothing. It was for the sensation of Spike’s hands caressing her body that Buffy didn’t register the fall onto the mattress. It was for the sensation of Spike’s cock sliding between her wet pussy lips that Buffy didn’t register the sight of his fangs until he murmured her name. Until he coaxed her back to him with a gentle whisper, his fingertips gently stroking her face.

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured.

Buffy gasped as he dipped a hand between them, her pelvis arching off the mattress and against his wandering fingers. He found her clit in easy seconds, his hungry eyes devouring her pleasure as though it were his own.

“I love you,” she gasped, bucking hard beneath him. “God, Spike, I love you so much.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh God, yes…”

A smile crossed his face as his mouth neared her throat. It should have terrified her; he was full demon at that moment. The vampiric ridges marking his brows and the yellow glow of his eyes—everything about him was monster. But he was her monster, and she loved him.

And to Buffy, that was all that mattered.

“You still want me, baby?” Spike asked softly, the head of his cock caressing her labia as his fingers massaged her clit. Sparks of euphoria spread through her burning skin, and without warning she was wide awake. The exhaustion which had commanded every muscle in her body was suddenly nonexistent. “Want me inside you?”

“Unh…Spike…”

A smile stretched across his gorgeous lips. Then he kissed her, and the tenderness behind the caress had her melting all over again.

He was right. God, he was so right. And she would never doubt again. There was no end to them. No end to this. The fight was over, but they were just at the beginning. And as long as they had each other, they always would be.

“I want you marked mine,” Spike purred, his eyes flashing when she mewled and arched beneath him. “Remember what I told you?”

She nodded hard, a strangled gasp tearing at her throat. “Forever,” she panted.

“You still want that?” he asked, his voice calm but strained, his amber eyes blazing with need. “You still want me forever?”

“Always.”

An impassioned growl ripped through the air as his head descended. He licked her lips and kissed her mouth as his cock slid against her slick flesh, drenching himself in her wetness and driving her about as far out of her mind as she’d ever been. “I love you,” he murmured. “God…”

“Please…”

He nodded hard as he sank inside her, groaning loudly against her skin and clutching her so tightly the world might well have blinked away. Pleasure split her insides, her pussy tightening and clenching around his cock, determined to keep him locked within her wet warmth forever.

There was no completion if there wasn’t this.

“Fuck, Buffy,” Spike moaned, his touch abandoning her clit to scale up her body, his fingers weaving through hers. “Feel so wonderful.”

“Ohhh…”

“So tight. So perfect.” He kissed her again, his mouth sliding southward until his fangs were grazing the column of her throat. “Now, Buffy? Can I make you mine now?”

Tears stung her eyes and she clenched her vaginal muscles around him, the wonder of his body’s invasion melting into desperation for the slippery feel of his cock sliding in and out of her. She needed to feel him. She needed him stabbing at that perfect bundle of nerves deep inside her. She needed his ivory incisors inside her as his cock worked her pussy. She needed everything he had to give her, and she needed it now. “Please!” The word rode out as a pleading gasp. “Please!”

For a second she thought he might tease her, deny her, work her into a mindless frenzy before giving her what she needed. She thought he might, but he did not. Instead there was a moan of surrender coupled with the pleasure-laced pain of his fangs slicing into her skin. It hurt only for a second—only a second—then her body exploded with bliss.

This. This was hers.

“Mine,” Spike purred against her throat. “You’re mine, Buffy.”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

Something within her locked and she knew nothing but completion. It was something she’d known so long. Something Spike had told her over a thousand times. Something she’d confessed long before she knew how desperately she loved him; before she ever dreamt she could be here. Beneath Spike as he moved against her. As his body pushed her into realms of pleasure she never thought to touch—she’d never imagined existing.

And then he was guiding her upward, his hand cupping the back of her neck and pressing her mouth against the flesh of his jugular. “Bite me, baby,” he begged, his hips rotating, his cock seating deeper within her. “Please. Make me yours.”

She bit down until his blood bathed her tongue, and drank. And when she heard him whisper, “Yours,” in answer to her claim, she knew she’d come home.