Previously: In an attempt to keep both the authorities and the Council off her back, Faith allowed Dr. Thomas to “kill” her and then be revived. Buffy’s heavily pregnant. Connor’s not dealing to well with guilt over Angel’s actions. This picks up shortly after the first chapter.
Book Three.
Chapter Two. My piece of heaven
To bring up a child in the way he should go,
travel that way yourself once in a while.
Josh Billings
The guys who fear becoming fathers
don't understand that fathering
is not something perfect men do,
but something that perfects the man.
The end product of child raising
is not the child but the parent.
Frank Pittman, Man Enough
If you would keep your secret from an enemy,
tell it not to a friend.
Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard's Almanac
The first rule in keeping secrets is nothing on paper.
Thomas Powers
I know a place where I keep the best of things
I'm not gonna wait for my piece of heaven.
Where there's a road it leads to the promised land
I just turn the key the key to the ...kingdom...
Icehouse, The Kingdom, Davies & Kretschmer
Twilight was creeping over the streets of Sunnydale, making it much easier for Spike to forego sewer trips, which was a plus, because Buffy hadn’t been able to traverse the sewers in months. Since his sojourn through the Otherworld to find Connor, he’d been inexplicably able to withstand the sun’s rays for longer periods of time, a gift they attributed to time spent there. Lawson had been similarly affected, albeit not to the same extent.
They were quiet, each wrapped up in thoughts they weren’t quite prepared to share, though it was proving harder and harder to keep any secrets between them. Their latest battle was an on-going one, nothing more than squabbles over what to name the children. Buffy had been adamant that at least one was destined to be Kirsten – despite knowing that could have changed – and was determined to have that name. Spike was holding out hope for her sake, but a large part of him had the sinking feeling that the Kirsten that had defied time for their sakes wasn’t going to be the same child she carried in her belly. It saddened him, because in the short span of time he’d come to know her, she’d wormed her way into his heart and Spike very much wanted to watch her grow up, to learn everything he could about her.
His hand snagged Buffy’s, lifting it to his lips as she turned to answer his unspoken question. “Does it really matter if she’s not exactly the same?”
Lifting unsurprised blue eyes, Spike met Buffy’s intent gaze. “Suppose not. ‘S still our little one, right?”
“Yup. Still ours.” Her smile lit up her whole face and she tugged him closer for a kiss. “First name or middle?”
A sly grin overtook his features and he leaned closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. He whispered softly into her ear and her smile got wider. A quick glance at his eyes confirmed to her he wasn’t teasing and she nodded her head.
“That’s settled then.”
Their foreheads rested against each other and he stroked the side of her neck, rubbing soft circles in her skin. “What time do we have to be at the witch’s?”
“When we get there. We’re the only ones going.” Buffy’s head found its way to the crook of Spike’s neck and she settled further into his arms. “I’m tired.”
“I bet you are, sweets. Haven’t got too much longer. Sprogs are ready to get loose.” He laughed at her scrunched up features, knowing how he’d just expressed himself had amused her.
Her fist thumped his chest. “Our babies are not sprogs.”
“Nippers? Niblets? Rugrats? Sprogs? ‘S all one an’ the same, kitten. “Could call ‘em hellspawn if you want. Won’t change the fact they’re ours.”
“Not funny, Spike.”
There had been moments, though admittedly fleeting ones, when Buffy’s hormones and fears had gotten the best of her and she’d tearfully wondered if the babies would be healthy. And then there had been the hysterical moments when she’d wondered about the state of their souls, whether they had them, or whether that mattered because she already loved them. Spike and Wesley had both pointed out – one more forcefully than the other – that Connor had been born with a soul and his parents had, at the time of his birth, one soul between them. Not that had been much of a consolation, especially given the months immediately following Connor’s birth, but Spike’s constant assurances and her trust in him had eased some of the worries. Now she was just eager to have them arrive.
She ached in spots she’d never ached before. Her body wasn’t her own. Weird rumblings emerged from her belly at all hours. The muscles and skin of her belly were stretched far beyond what she thought was possible, and she constantly had to pee. Being pregnant? Not fun in the least.
What was fun, though, was the look in Spike’s eyes. She’d never seen anyone look at her with such unabashed adoration before. Such complete and total, overwhelming love.
He had that look right now.
Buffy smiled into his eyes, tears pooling in her own. “I love you, you know?”
His chuckle filled the darkening night air, echoing all around them. “Yeah, I know.” He nuzzled against her hair, his voice suddenly gruff with emotion. “Love you just as much.”
“You two are really gross, you know that?” Dawn’s voice was echoed by Connor’s involuntary laugh. “Can’t you, like, wait until you get home?”
Spike lifted his head, glaring at her. “Must you? We’re havin’ a moment here.”
An inelegant snort wafted from her. “Puhlease. Looks like you’ve already had a few of those.”
He tried glaring at her again, but the smile twitching at his lips just made her raise an eyebrow and cross her arms over her chest. “Oh, like you haven’t? You guys have more ‘moments’ than any other couple in history.” Air quotes surrounded the word and Spike couldn’t hold back any more.
Laughter filled the night and he broke away from Buffy. “What’s the matter, platelet? Can’t stand to see us snoggin’?”
“You know, that question would have some sort of meaning if you guys didn’t snog at every opportunity.” Dawn hadn’t changed her stance, though Connor had shifted a bit, his eyes avoiding them.
“So I guess we do bother you.” Buffy’s voice was soft, and even Connor could sense the impending hormonal outburst.
Dawn quickly tried back-tracking. “No, that’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m just teasing.” Her hands raised in an effort to stem the upcoming rant. “Really, I’m only teasing.”
As quickly as it threatened, hurricane Buffy eased down into tropical storm. Spike pulled her close to his side, the low rumble of his voice going a long way to soothing the flare of her temper. Once she was calm again, he nudged her forward, letting the two teens follow behind them. “You two gonna be okay for a bit by yourselves?”
Before answering the two teens shared a look. “Yeah, why?”
“Got someplace to go. We’ll be back later, and then we’ll be goin’ on patrol.” Speaking over his shoulder, Spike directed his comments to Connor, who had been the one to ask the question.
“We’ll be fine. There’s leftover pizza and other stuff. We’re good.” Dawn shared a glance with the other teen, shrugging her shoulders to indicate she had no idea what was going on.
“Right then, we’ll see you later.” Spike led Buffy off to their right, heading off closer toward the college campus, leaving them with a final admonishment. “Don’t burn down the bloody house.”
The two teens shared a final look and headed home.
“Sir?”
With the sound of the tentative question, Quentin Travers, current Chairman of the Council of Watchers, looked up from the copious amount of paperwork covering his desk. It was nearing midnight and he was already tired.
“Yes, Mr. Nicholson?”
“The latest report from Sunnydale is in.”
When Nicholson hesitated in the doorway, Travers looked up again. “I assume from your stance there is more.”
“Yes, sir. Apparently the Seers have picked up a new Slayer.” Nicholson looked faintly worried, though it wouldn’t necessarily be evident to anyone other than his superior.
“Do we have a tape to accompany the written report from Sunnydale?” Travers finally laid down the pen he was using to write. When Nicholson gave him an emphatic affirmative nod, he continued, “Have it set up in the screening room. I’ll be there shortly.”
As Nicholson turned to leave, Travers called out softly, “And Nicholson, have a report on the new Slayer by the time the video is finished.”
Having long since given up on trusting in Rupert Giles, Travers had enlisted the use of informants located both in Sunnydale and in Los Angeles, where the souled vampire had been living. One of his informants had been especially inventive, placing video surveillance cameras in and around certain locations, including the shop owned by Giles and the Summers residence. Though the cameras inside the Summers’ residence had been disabled for months, he’d hoped footage from the ridiculously named Magic Box and other spots would prove helpful. However, it had been some time since a video report had been filed. Only written reports had arrived in the last four months.
Coupled with the announcement from the Seers, Quentin had a feeling this report would give him the ammunition needed to cease the payments Giles had blackmailed out of him the previous October. Paying a slayer for her services irked him no end, but at the time, the Council had no other recourse but to accede to the former Watcher’s demands. Faith Lehane’s incarceration left the world dangerously vulnerable. The reanimation – or resurrection – of Buffy Summers had left Travers and the Council with little choice but to capitulate.
Travers had done so grudgingly, with the tacit hope that he could somehow extricate the Council from the agreement at the earliest opportunity. With luck and a bit of creative thinking, this news could very well be the start of that process.
His fatigue, he realized, had flown out the door behind Nicholson. Quentin Travers fought the self-satisfied smirk and schooled his features to impassivity.
Time to alleviate one financial burden from the Council.
Sweat was poring from his body, making the dark fatigues stick to his skin. In spite of the hour – twenty hundred hours and some change – the air was heavy and damp, and the only breeze had died when the sun had sunk beneath the horizon some forty-five minutes earlier. Once upon a time, he’d thought the heat of southern California was stifling, draining him of all strength and will to move. Southern California had nothing on the jungles of Belize and the Amazon basin.
In the year plus since he’d left Sunnydale and the United States behind, Riley Finn had learned a new definition of sweaty. He’d also learned what it was like to really go without sleep, follow orders and dedicate himself to a cause.
Back then, he’d thought he found the cause, something and someone worth fighting for. He realized now that what he thought was love wasn’t. Didn’t mean it had been easy walking away, and some days he was even willing to admit to himself that he’d been a fool and he’d thrown away – with both hands – the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Riley dumped the contents of his canteen over his head, hoping for some relief from the heat. It didn’t appear his thoughts were going to change course, though, when his eyes found the only picture he still had of that time in Sunnydale. Why he still carried it he wasn’t exactly sure, but it was still there, in his gear. Information had been spotty, a few notes and letters making it to their base camp in Belize every couple of months.
The last information he’d gotten from Sunnydale had been a letter from Xander. The date and postmark were from sometime last August and the content hadn’t helped his guilt at all. Buffy had died fighting a hell-god, trying to protect Dawn. At the time, he’d sat there with the letter in his hand, numb and unable to shed any tears. The urge to go find a local vampire had been something he’d had to fight with every fiber of his being. Riley knew he should have stayed in Sunnydale. Knew it.
“Finn?”
He looked up to find Major Ellis standing at his tent flap, a single piece of paper in his hand.
“Sir?”
“Initiative HQ intercepted an interesting conversation from a former cover operation in California.”
Riley glanced down at the paper, half expecting it to burst into flames or something equally dangerous. “What was the conversation, sir?”
“This is a direct quote, but I’ll skip the chatter from the cover operation. ‘I’m looking for Riley Finn. He used to work there about two years ago. Do you have a contact number for him now? Could you please just tell him Buffy Summers is looking for him and it’s about the chip. He’ll know what it’s about. Yeah. I said the chip. Not a guy named Chip. You know what, never mind. We’ll get someone else to take care of it.’ That’s all there was, the connection was terminated after that.”
No, it couldn’t be her. Xander’s letter said she was dead. Riley stared at Major Ellis, not really seeing him. “Could I see the transcript, sir?”
Without a word Ellis handed it over, his eyes watching Riley for any reaction other than the tensing of his jaw. Ellis had a sinking feeling Finn was about to ask for a platoon to accompany him to Sunnydale, with a medical officer in tow.
As he was reading the transcript for the third time, Riley could practically hear Buffy’s voice delivering the lines as she rambled on, trying to get information to him. On the third pass, Riley realized exactly what she was asking. She wants intel on the chip for that fucking vampire?!
“Permission to secure transport to Sunnydale, sir, with a small contingent of personnel and a medical officer?”
Ellis thought about it for a moment, though his mind was already made up. “For what purpose, Finn?”
“To secure and recapture an escaped hostile sub-terran.” He paused, then looked at the missive in his hand. “And eliminate same.”
“How many men will you need?” Ellis held his hand out for the paper.
“No more than six, sir, with the medical officer as an addition.” Riley turned his back on Ellis, grabbing his duffel bag out from under his bunk. Quickly packing, he didn’t even wait for the Major’s approval. “We should be in and out in under seven days. I know exactly where to find the sub-t, and how to capture him.”
“You have ten days, Finn. No more. If the mission isn’t accomplished by that time you are to abort and return to base. Immediately.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have your requisition papers in my tent before you leave.” Ellis turned to go, then hesitated. “Finn? Keep your emotions out of it.”
“Will do.”
Ten days. Ellis had given him ten days to figure out what the hell was going on in Sunnydale; why Xander had lied to him about Buffy and, best of all get rid of Spike.
Calling out for Graham, Riley made a list of who would be best for the trip. This was going to be a cakewalk.
The house, one of the oldest in Sunnydale, was huge. Buffy loved it on first sight. To Spike, it looked remarkably like the drawings from his childhood storybooks of what a witch’s house should look like. It was green with a darker green trim, a round tower with gabled roofs and large rooms, all wood floors. Three stories of Victorian architecture in the middle of Sunnydale. In fact, the first time they’d gone, he’d remarked, “Watch out for ovens and trolls, love.”
At her blank look, he’d shaken his head and simply said, “Hansel and Gretel, you daft woman.”
“They almost got me burned as a witch! Those two were demons, not little kids. My mom and Willow’s went crazy.” When his eyebrow rose in question, she kept going, “They really were demons. Got the whole town riled up and . . . and, people were going crazy. Everyone ignores vampires and other big bads, but these two? Sheesh. They’re the reason why we have a pet rat.”
“We have a pet rat?”
“Well, really, she belongs to Willow but, since Willow’s gone and Tara’s living in the house, I guess Amy belongs to her.” Buffy had pondered this for a moment before continuing. “I guess we should get Tara to see if she can turn Amy back into a girl.”
“We have a rat that should be a girl?” He’d shaken his head again, then helped her get up the stairs. “Why does this not surprise me? And when did all this happen?”
“Oh, while you were gone and Drusilla was dumping you for a chaos demon.” She laughed at him. “I guess that was a good time for everyone.”
“Laugh it up, princess. Have you seen one of those?” He shuddered, then muttered under his breath about daft women and bratty bints.
Her giggles had been worth the smack and they’d been laughing when they knocked on the door.
The woman who answered had been short, round and stunningly beautiful. “Hello, there. You’re Buffy and Spike. Welcome to Aberfa.” She stepped away from the door, ushering them inside. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Lavender, beeswax, smoky pine, and some other scents Spike couldn’t readily pick out and identify greeted them as they stepped into the door. “Relax, this house is so heavily warded, anything with evil intent will just . . . bounce off. You’re safe.”
She shook their hands, and led them from the hallway, into the rounded sitting room. “I’m Kait. Grace’ll be right with you.”
And that had been their introduction to the women of Aberfa.
Buffy had finally confessed her fear of hospital stays to both Spike and Tara, who promised to do everything they could to allow her to have the babies at home. Dr. Thomas was still monitoring her progress, but he’d agreed that because of who she was and her excellent health, she could attempt the home birth.
So for the last two weeks, they’d been spending a couple of hours at Aberfa, learning everything they would need to know for the home birth. Tonight’s class was about breathing techniques, which Spike wasn’t looking forward to at all. He wasn’t sure how much assistance he was going to be able to provide, since his breathing was anything but regular, though Grace kept insisting he was going to be fine.
Her reassurances that the breathing was more about concentration than the actual act of breathing had helped a bit, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. He was doing it for Buffy, and he was willing to try as long as she was.
The whole idea of babies and being there while she delivered them had him worried. Spike was half convinced he wasn’t going to be able to control himself if complications arose, nor was he certain that he’d be able to keep himself from going into game-face at the first sign of her blood.
Before he realized it, he and Buffy were on the floor in the sitting room, a soft blue comforter beneath them, with large feather pillows piled haphazardly on the floor. Grace, who was everything Kait wasn’t, stood at the edge of the comforter, her soft, sweet voice telling them firmly to get comfortable.
“Okay, you two, when I say comfortable, I mean shoes off, I mean duster and everything else that’s gonna get in the way – off.” Grace looked down from her considerable height and long nose at the two of them. “Spike, take off the damn boots.”
Spike glanced up and her and catching the no-nonsense look in her dark blue eyes, started undoing his laces.
“Buffy, honey, c’mere so I can help you.” Grace held out her chocolate-colored hand, balancing Buffy as she stepped over Spike’s hunched form. “I thought I told you two to wear comfy clothes? Don’t either of you listen?”
When Buffy started to protest, Grace held up a hand and yelled, “Kait! Get me the sweats!”
She faced Buffy, wagging a finger at her. “Next time I tell you something, you listen. A sundress would’ve been better.” Grace shook her head and pointed Buffy toward the bathroom. “Go. And take off the damn bra, too.”
Spike was muttering softly, complaining about pushy witches and dominant women, when Grace whirled on him. “Look, buster, you wanna help your woman or not?”
“You know I wanna help. ‘S why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“Right. Just so you remember this – she isn’t gonna be giving birth in jeans and a tee-shirt. She’s gonna be bare-assed naked, sweating and shaking and scared outta her mind. So you need to remember she’s got to be comfortable and trust that you can handle this. Get your damned self together and pay attention.”
“Where did you say you were from?”
The question took Grace completely by surprise and she grinned at him. “I’m from New York. Where did you think?”
“Should’ve known. Pushiest bints in the world, an’ you lead the pack.” Spike tossed his boots aside, then dropped the duster and his tee-shirt over them. When he caught her shaking her head at his actions, he said, “You want me all comfortable-like, right?”
Grace was eyeing him, genuinely appreciating the view when Buffy walked back into the room. “You are a fine looking man, Spike, too bad I’m not interested.”
“Good thing, coz he’s so taken.” Buffy glared at Grace, green sparks lighting her eyes.
Grace laughed, throwing back her head and setting the loose curls bouncing. “And this is why I’m not interested. You’d kick my ass from here to Sunday.”
Spike got to his feet, crossing the distance to where Buffy stood waiting. “No offense, Gracie, but I’ve only got eyes for one girl.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She pointed to the comforter. “Spike, help Buffy sit down in the middle of the comforter, then you get right behind her.” As they followed her instructions, Spike brushed a hand across her belly, then reached for her arm.
“Okay, slide between his legs and rest your back up against his chest. It’s okay to lean into him, he’s strong, he can support all of you.” Grace leaned down, correcting Spike’s positioning, then said, “Good. Now, Spike, take your nice hands and rub them up and down Buffy’s beautiful belly. Buffy, sweetie, deep, steady breathing.”
Grace was circling around them, her bare feet making no noise on the hardwood floor just outside the edges of the comforter. “Talk to her, let her know you’re right there with her.”
“Relax, kitten, ‘ve got you.” His hand was rubbing circular patterns on the soft cotton of her tee-shirt, which happened to be one of his, but he could still feel the tension in her back and sides. “C’mon, baby, jus’ breathe.”
“Keep talking, Spike. Buffy, you need to focus on his voice and forget that I’m in the room.” Grace watched them for a moment, hoping Buffy would relax further.
“It’s all right, kitten, ‘m right here behind you. ‘M the one holding you safe. Lean into me, baby.” Buffy looked up at him over her shoulder and she caught the edge of his smile. “See? Jus’ you an’ me.” His voice dropped to a deep, husky whisper for her ears only. “I love you, Buffy.”
Every single time he said those words, she melted, and this time was no different. Buffy felt all the muscles in her body ease and her weight sank onto Spike’s chest. “That’s, it, sweetheart, lean on me.”
The circled patterns on her belly widened, then lengthened, sweeping from just beneath her breasts, up and over the swell of her belly. Every third loop or so, his hand would pause atop her bellybutton, his thumb brushing over it lightly. Spike kept up the litany of comforting, supportive words, his considerable attention focused on the woman in his arms and the three strong heartbeats echoing in his ear.
His breathing naturally echoed hers, and as they were settling into a good, strong pattern, Grace softly started speaking. “Okay now, focus on his touch, his strong body supporting you. Deepen those breaths.”
This time, neither of them reacted to Grace’s voice, though their breathing did deepen. Spike’s hand was doing wonderful things to her muscles and he loosely griped her hip with his other hand, fingers flexing and digging into her in time with their breathing. Buffy’s legs drew up and Spike’s automatically mimicked her position.
Grace was offering soft encouragement from the sidelines, letting them weave themselves into an almost trance-like state. If they could learn how to achieve this on their own, without her assistance, it would help them, and not just during the childbirthing process. Their connection was so clear to her, their essences and auras combining perfectly together, each half balancing the other. She’d rarely seen this kind of meshing in humans and finding it with these two was a joy and a blessing. The air around them crackled with life – with energy – and if they could learn to draw on that, nothing would stand in their way.
When Tara had come to them with the idea of herself acting as their midwife, Grace had been a bit reluctant, without even knowing their whole story. All Tara had told her was that two dear friends of hers wanted a home birth. Knowing the instant he’d crossed the threshold that Spike was a vampire had Grace worried and concerned. It wasn’t unusual for a vampire to have a pregnant slave or blood donor – what was unusual was their relationship. They had something real, vibrant and potent and well beyond her reckoning.
She knew, now, that she was witnessing history changing.
Her meditations had revealed the totally unexpected, the totally unplanned and the wholly miraculous.
Those babies waiting to be born were theirs.
The children of a vampire and a slayer.
With a shake, Grace came back to herself, watching the two supernatural blondes breathing steadily in tandem, while Spike kept up a constant stream of soothing chatter. Trying not to disrupt too much, Grace spoke. “Okay now, I want you to shift positions and face each other.”
Buffy flowed out of Spike’s embrace, gracefully moving to sit opposite him. “Whatever way is most comfortable. If you wanna sit cross-legged do it. If it’s easier with your legs draped over his, that’s good too.”
Half a second later, Grace realized her own mistake. The connection between Buffy and Spike flared, causing every hair on her body to stand on end. The air snapped and hummed, intensifying with the touch of his hands on hers. Her own body tightened in response and Grace figured she had an outside chance of getting out of the room before they exploded into each other. She’d never actually seen a man respond so visibly before – nor his partner so in tune that she seemed to absorb his arousal and magnify it in return.
Spike reached for Buffy’s hands, pulling her closer into his embrace. The world had receded to just the two of them, and he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings. Sounds rumbled from his chest, but he didn’t know if they were real words or just mere growls of arousal. It didn’t matter, though, because Buffy was responding, her soft pliant body arching into his, her legs curling over his hips, trying to pull them closer together.
Neither of them heard the pocket door close and lock behind Grace’s retreating form.
“You’re beautiful.” Spike skimmed his hands beneath his black shirt, lifting it from Buffy’s body. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”
“Spike?” Buffy raised herself up, watching as his lips trailed over the tops of her breasts, his fingers flexing into her ass. “Need you, Spike, need you now.”
“Gotta get you outta this. Get up.” One handed, he held her up and together they pushed, pulled, and stripped off the borrowed sweatpants, leaving Buffy clad in only her panties. Spike laid her down on the soft blue cotton, his eyes drinking in her gravid state. “You fuckin’ glow. So bright.”
His calloused hand swept over her soft skin, fingers sliding beneath the panties. “Take ‘em off.”
“You do it.” He barely waited for her approval for they were down around her hips before she finished speaking.
Spike stripped out of his jeans, just stepping out them then dropping down to lean over Buffy. Carefully keeping his weight off her, he laid soft, nipping kisses all over her belly. “Sit up, sweetheart.”
Sliding into the position suggested earlier by Grace, Buffy draped her legs over Spike’s,
her core lining up with his solid erection. “Spike. . . “
“I know, kitten.” He kissed her deeply, tongues battling, then pulled back and stared into her eyes. “You ready for me?”
“Ahuh. Very.” She nipped at him, her teeth pulling on his lips. “Need you now. No teasing.”
“No teasin’.” Lifting her up with his palms firmly under her rounded ass, Spike eased her down onto his cock. “Better now?”
“Mmmhmmm.” Buffy rocked back and forth, bumping her clit hard against his body, aching for more friction. A low-pitched whine started in her throat, increasing in volume as he dropped away from her, his back flush against the floor. His left hand snaked between them, finding her clit with unerring precision. He flicked at it, stopping only when she hesitated in her movements.
Husky and deep, his voice reached into her, notching her need higher. “C’mon, baby, squeeze me.” Flicking her clit, he arched up into her, emphasizing his words. “Tha’s it, jus’ like that.”
Bearing down, Buffy flexed her vaginal muscles, squeezing hard. “Spike. . . gotta. . .”
“I know, baby. Do it.” He bucked up, lifting them both, his thumb pressing hard on her clit.
Her whole body tensed, poised on the edge of ecstasy, her inner walls fluttering around his thick cock. The whine she’d been fighting erupted into a hissed breathless scream as Spike pitched his hips upward, his own body strung taut.
Spike caught her slumping body, easing her down onto the comforter. “Not done with you yet, kitten.”
A husky laugh shook her entire body and she whined again when he slipped from her pussy. “Figured that.”
“Here.” He grabbed two of the big body pillows, stuffing them under her prone form. “Up you go.”
His cool fingers traced the strong muscles of her back as she curled over the pillows. “Oooh. . . do it again.”
Poised behind her, Spike smoothed his hands up around her body, his lips following the path of his fingers. “How’s that? Better? Want more?”
He swept her hair back, letting it hang over one shoulder, then pulled her closer to him and nuzzled into her nape. Supporting her weight on his spread thighs, Spike held her close with one hand, while the other dipped into her steaming pussy. “So wet an’ warm.”
Buffy wriggled, his voice against the back of her neck sending icy hot shivers down her back and straight to her core. Her hand closed around his wrist, holding his fingers in her depths. Her breathing was shallow, panting, and she could barely gasp out, “You said no teasing.”
“Not teasin’. ‘M enjoyin’.”
She whined out his name and his answering chuckle surged through her nerves. Buffy’s body twitched, arching into his hand. Spike eased her forward, letting her body fall gently onto the bunched pillows. “No more playin’.”
He thrust into her depths, holding her steady with one hand. Spike built up speed slowly, keeping a steady pace, her condition always in the back of his mind. Buffy, though, had other ideas.
“Spike.” She pushed back against him, forcing him in deeper. “You promised.”
He held still, letting her inner muscles ripple up and down his turgid length. Buffy concentrated, squeezing harder and a low growl was forced from him. “Tha’s it. ‘M gonna. . . “
Suiting actions to words, Spike dug his fingers into her sides, setting a brutal pace. Buffy flexed around him, riding out the storm she’d initiated, gasping for air as a gut-wrenching climax started sweeping through her. Her head dropped down, and her entire body shook, triggering his orgasm. He curled over her back, completely spent. Buffy’s legs gave out and she rolled sideways, shaking with the after-shocks.
Spike kissed her shoulders, his arms holding her tight. Their breathing settled into something resembling normal respiration and he barely managed to pant out, “Think that bint’ll be happy with our breathing now, kitten?”
Her only answer was a slap and a husky giggle.
The video was actually a computer DVD disk, and Nicholson had procured a projection screen, enabling Travers to see without having to sit in front of a computer screen. He and three other senior staff members were in the makeshift screening room, waiting for Nicholson to get the disk working. His patience was waning when noise flooded the room and the screen lightened to show a daylight shot of the area just in front of the Summers’ residence. Usual background noises were filtered out and they could make out the faint sound of voices from inside the partially opened front door.
A hand appeared, opening the door further and Dawn Summers emerged, with another teen, a male, right on her heels. They proceeded down the walk, innocuous and inane chatter occupying their attention. The door started closing, then abruptly opened again. Buffy peeked her head out, calling the two back. Her form was obscured by shadows, although something about her appearance seemed a bit off to Travers’ trained eye.
It wasn’t until she stepped out onto the porch that the reason for her altered state became evident.
Buffy Summers was pregnant.
Beside him, the other senior staffers snapped to attention, all eyes riveted to the screen. “Nicholson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Why wasn’t this information disseminated in the written reports from Sunnydale?”
His gulp was audible, even over the recorded conversation. “Unknown sir.”
“Unknown?” Travers turned his head to stare at the obviously flustered underling. “It had better become known before dawn.”
“Travers?”
“What?”
Miriam Eldridge, the only female senior staffer present, was the only one brave enough to interrupt him. “When was the last report from Rupert Giles received?”
Shuffling through papers in his hands, Travers searched for the information. “February.”
“It is now nearly June. Is it possible he was unaware of her condition?”
“He made no mention of it. So the possibility does exist.”
Emboldened by Miriam’s questioning, Nigel Smythe-Hynde interjected, “And we are certain the vampire Angel was eliminated in late December?”
“Independent corroboration of that information was received from more than one source, so yes, we can be certain he was eliminated.” Travers rose from his chair, ignoring the video playing on the big screen. “Your point, Nigel?”
“My point, Quentin, is that we had better ascertain the paternal origins of this pregnancy before it is too late.”
Travers looked like he’d swallowed something very bitter. “Are you implying that Miss Summers had relations with Angel after her return?”
Before anyone had a chance to answer him, the last senior staffer spoke. “I sincerely doubt Miss Summers had an opportunity for a tryst with Angelus.” Jonathan Burton held up an elegant hand, forestalling any interruptions from the others. “However, I do believe our answer was just revealed.”
He directed their attention back to the video.
There, standing in the shadows on the porch, his arms wrapped around Buffy, was the unmistakable figure of William the Bloody.
The papers Travers had been holding fluttered to the floor.
to be continued . . .