Upon entering the house, Spike immediately despatched his girl to the laundry room in search of some dry clothes. In her absence, he prepared a mug of hot chocolate and placed a fleecy throw over the sofa to protect it from his damp jeans. Chuckling, he shook his head at the ridiculousness of a vampire worrying about creating water stains on the Slayer’s three-piece suite.
William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe... protector of household bloody furnishings...
A soft cough interrupted his musings, and he turned to find Buffy standing in the doorway with an amused grin on her face.
“I didn’t realise the big bad was house-trained,” she said in a teasing voice. “I may never let you leave.”
Longingly, Spike’s eyes swept over her body as he took in her freshly dressed appearance. To his approval, the wet pants and top had been discarded in favour of a black flowing skirt and a red sweater. Buffy’s make-up was freshly applied, and a loose ponytail swept her hair back to reveal the graceful curve of her neck.
“No place else I’d rather be, kitten.” His eyes followed her movements across the room. “Told you. There’s no gettin’ rid of me now.”
Revealing her fatigue, Buffy sighed as she flopped onto the couch. She offered Spike a tired smile and picked up the mug that sat upon the coffee table.
“Do you wanna watch some TV?” she asked, patting the space beside her. “There should be a decent movie on some—-”
Her words were interrupting by a lengthy yawn, and smiling softly, Spike sat down beside her, taking her hand in his.
“Sweetheart, you’re knackered,” he said, rubbing small circles with his thumb. “Why don’t you get some kip, yeah? If you want, I’ll stay with you till you’re asleep.”
“No,” Buffy replied, adamantly shaking her head. “I don’t want to sleep. I can’t.”
Shaken by a sense of déjà vu, Spike laid his right arm along the back of the couch and shuffled closer. “Bad dreams?” he asked with concern evident in his voice. Warily, he searched Buffy’s unfocused gaze and with a growing feeling of dread, he hoped that his suspicions would not be confirmed.
“Nightmares,” she replied in a soft whisper.
Bollocks.
His heart sank, as internally, Spike berated himself for not working it out sooner. Of course she was having trouble sleeping. Buffy had been through an ordeal the likes of which could never be appreciated without first-hand experience—the kind of trauma that ought to be reserved solely for those of an undead disposition.
Sighing, Buffy leaned back against the comfort of his arm. “Every night... I wake up suffocating. It’s terrifying,” she said, trembling under the heavy weight of the vampire’s worried gaze. “It feels like I’m back in the coffin and I can’t get out. I can’t escape.”
“I know that one.” Spike’s voice was a solemn whisper as it startled the Slayer out of her trance. “Don’t forget I’ve been there myself, love. I remember wakin’ up in the darkness. It’s the panic that makes you fight your way out, I reckon. Only in my case, I was lucky. At leas’ Dru was waitin’ for me on the surface. She didn’t abandon me like your soddin’ mates did.” A derogatory laugh spilt from the vampire’s lips as he shook his head in disgust. “My sire might be bug-shagging crazy but at leas’ she wasn’t bloody stupid.”
“They didn’t mean to...”
Unable to defend the Scoobies actions any longer, Buffy’s words faded out as Spike’s stony silence became an unmitigated accusation. He was right. Her friends had abandoned her. Either through ignorance or plain stupidity, they’d raised her and left her to fend for herself.
“When will it stop?” she asked, imploring the vampire with wide eyes. “When will I forget?”
Slowly, Spike’s right hand moved to stroke lazy circles along the column of Buffy’s neck.
“I can’t answer that, pet,” he replied, smirking when she shuddered under his gentle touch. “But you’re strong. You’ll heal. And eventually the panic attacks will go away.”
Gazing into his eyes, Buffy knew he was speaking from the heart, and she was grateful that he didn’t try to lie, or cajole her into believing there was an easy solution. If there was one thing she could always count on with Spike, it was his brutal honesty—regardless of whether she actually wanted to hear the truth or not.
“It’s not gonna be easy,” he said, leaning across to reach for the remote, “so until that day comes, how about we see what excitement the telly has to offer, yeah?”
Grateful for the diversion, Buffy took a sip of her hot chocolate and settled against his side. Sighing, she rested her head against Spike’s shoulder. “Keep the volume down,” she said, making herself comfortable. “The last thing we need is everyone else down here fussing at us.”
“Sure thing, pet.” Taking her hand in his, Spike thanked God for enhanced slayer hearing. He didn’t want to be interrupted any more than Buffy did, although the thought of giving Red a scathing piece of his mind brought a devilish smirk to his lips. Flipping aimlessly through the channels, Spike marvelled at the domesticity of the moment, and for the thousandth time that night, he prayed for the ability not to bugger it up.
“Ooh, was that Brad Pitt?” A quiet voice piped up from his shoulder. “I haven’t watched Interview with the Vampire since before I was Chosen.”
Scoffing, Spike swiftly changed the channel. “Well don’t hold your breath, pet, ‘cause you won’t be watching it tonight either.” The corded muscles in the vampire’s jaw twitched, and his voice descended into a deep resonance. “No bloody way am I gonna sit here whilst you fantasise about another pensive poof.”
Buffy bit back a grin at her vampire’s ill-disguised jealousy and gently squeezed his hand.
“Don’t worry,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “I’m so over the tortured soul routine, it’s not even funny.”
“Glad to hear it.” Spike dropped an affectionate kiss against her hair. “Although to be fair, at least Louis had a bit of personality. Now there’s a vamp who knew how to brood in style.”
He grinned as Buffy stifled another yawn, certain that she would soon be enveloped in badly needed sleep. Reaching across, he removed the mug from her wilting grasp and placed it on the side table.
Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll keep the monsters away tonight—and forever if you’ll let me.
Within minutes, the tinny sound of an old black and white movie lulled Buffy into a relaxed state. Spike’s presence was comforting and undemanding, and before long, the Slayer felt her eyes grow heavy. Snuggling closer, she slipped her right arm across his stomach, sighing in contentment when Spike wrapped her in his secure embrace. For the first time in many years Buffy didn’t feel alone. Her mind was quiet, her world peaceful.
Spike was with her and he wasn’t going to leave.
Buffy had found her normality.
Spike stared down in amazement at the young woman who was now sound asleep across his lap. Buffy had slipped from her precarious position during her slumber and was now stretched out on the couch facing his stomach. Intently, Spike studied her sleeping face, cherishing the fact that she trusted him enough to sanction such unguarded behaviour. She looked so peaceful in repose, as if the worries that plagued her waking hours no longer existed, and if Spike could grant her just one night of peace, he swore he would slay dragons in order to make it so.
If nothing else, tonight would forever remain in Spike’s memories. This fact was all the more set in stone when Buffy released a sensual moan and nuzzled against his denim clad crotch. More convinced than ever that the Powers were playing another round of ‘kick the Spike’, the vampire released a soft groan and rested his head against the back of the couch.
I suppose you bleedin’ wankers think this is funny? Spike thought, pointlessly directing his tirade towards the ceiling. The lady said she wasn’t ready!
Thankfully, Spike was saved from his awkward predicament when, with a mewling yawn, Buffy rolled onto her back. Slowly, her eyes flickered open and a shy smile curled her lips as she met his gaze.
“There she is,” Spike murmured as he lovingly caressed her cheek. “I was beginnin’ to think you were gonna sleep the night away.
“Mmmm… Now, where have I heard that before?” Buffy asked, chuckling at Spike’s corresponding grin.
A flash of desire shone in the vampire’s eyes as his calloused thumb brushed over her soft bottom lip. “I like to keep my best lines in rotation.”
Lost in his intense gaze, the Slayer’s throat was suddenly parched. A shudder coursed down Spike’s spine when Buffy’s tongue swept over her dry lip, brushing against his digit in the process. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked, nuzzling against his palm.
Unable to look away, Spike’s useless lungs fell into synchronisation with Buffy’s regular breaths. “I reckon ‘bout an hour, give or take,” he said, acutely aware that a certain part of his anatomy was about to announce its undisguised presence. Buffy had made it clear that she wanted to wait, and it was doubtful that she would appreciate being faced with an irrefutable reminder of his fierce desire. Willing away his burgeoning erection, Spike shuffled his hips in an effort to make his quandary less obvious.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, pet,” Spike said, as Buffy moved to sit up, no doubt in response to his sudden fidgeting. Reaching for a convenient cushion he made to ease it beneath her head. “Go back to sleep, yeah?”
“I’m awake,” Buffy replied, reluctant to move from her comfortable position. “And besides,” she continued, rocking her face against the crook of his elbow, “if I stay like this you’ll be stiff by the morning.”
A dark chuckle filled the air between them, and Buffy rolled her eyes at her poor choice of words. “Nothin’ unusual ‘bout that, when I’m ‘round you, love,” Spike replied with a sinful smirk as he relinquished his hold on the improvised barricade.
Shaking her head at his good-natured teasing, Buffy favoured him with a dazzling smile. “You’re still a pig, then?” she said, her voice soft and playful. Reluctantly, she forced herself to vacate the vampire’s lap in favour of the couch cushion. “At least some things never change.”
“Oink, oink, sweetheart,” Spike murmured as he watched Buffy stretch her arms above her head, unconsciously taunting him with the luscious curves hidden beneath that tight sweater.
The satisfied moan that escaped the Slayer’s lips caused his borrowed blood to race directly to his cock, but Spike’s enjoyment was short-lived as he noticed Buffy’s eyes flick towards the clock on the wall.
4:00 a.m.
Disheartened, Spike realised that his time was growing short. Stealing himself for the inevitable pain of separation, he decided it would be better to make a graceful exit of his own accord, rather than risk the indignity of being asked to leave. Unwilling to meet her eyes, Spike distracted himself by pulling at an imaginary loose thread on his jeans.
“Buffy, love, it’ll be daylight in a few hours. I should get going.” His uncooperative body refused to move despite the validity of his excuse, and it was with an immense effort that Spike forced himself to meet her gaze.
There was no mistaking the panic in her eyes, and utilising her slayer quickness, Buffy reached for Spike’s bicep before he could rise from the couch. “Stay, please.”
A deep sigh escaped from between his lips, and Spike brought his hand up to cup Buffy’s chin. “Sweetling, if it were up to me, I’d take you in my arms and never let you go. And as much as it galls me to say this... we both know this is bigger than just the two of us.” Delicately, Spike’s thumb traced over the apple of her cheek, and Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut at his tender touch. “The last thing I want is to make things harder on you,” he whispered, “and if your soddin’ mates find me here in the mornin’, you won’t have chance to draw breath before they start firin’ off the first round of the bloody inquisition.”
In an instant, Buffy’s eyes were flooded by a torrent of emotion; acceptance dulled her impassioned gaze only to be swept away by a resurgence of anger and defiance. All traces of insecurity disappeared to be replaced by a look that was pure Slayer.
Magnificent.
A radiant smile curled her lips, and ever so slowly, Buffy cast her right leg across Spike’s lap, settling herself comfortably above him. Face to face, she met his surprised gaze and brushed a soft kiss against his lips.
“The last time I checked,” she said, tangling her fingers in his unruly curls, “this was still my house. And until they start paying me some rent, they have no say in the matter.” Her resolute tone left no room for discussion, and Spike’s eyes widened as Buffy trailed her fingers down his neck before rubbing her thumb across his full bottom lip. Unable to resist, he kissed the tip of her questing digit, before banding his arms around Buffy’s waist and pulling her flush against his lap. There was no denying his obvious state of arousal, and Buffy released a breathy sigh as his confined erection pressed against her burning centre.
“So what are you plannin’ on tellin’ them ‘bout us?” Spike asked as she peppered a series of kisses along his neck whilst simultaneously rocking her hips against his aching hardness. “I won’ be your dirty little secret, love. If we do this, I’m not gonna hide how I feel about you. I can’t. I’m not built that way.”
Teasingly, Buffy ran her tongue over his siring mark, causing Spike to groan deep in his throat and throw his head back against the couch. “Buffy, pet,” he murmured, half-heartedly stilling her movements. “Are you even listenin’ to me?”
“Listening, yes,” she replied, continuing her delicious assault. “Caring... not so much.” Pulling back to meet his eyes, Buffy wore a smirk to rival his own. “I don’t owe them an explanation, Spike. This is my life and I’m sick of living it for other people. I want to be with you, and I’m not going to hide it. If they don’t like it, they can leave.” Gently, she placed her palms against his cheeks and dropped a brief kiss against his scarred eyebrow. Tracing her thumbs across Spike’s chiselled features, she met his gaze and giggled at the awe that swam beneath the surface. “Anyone who even dares to mess with you will suffer the full wrath of a seriously pissed off slayer.”
“Buffy—”
“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, because it won’t. Nothing involving us ever is.” The stubborn tone of her voice brought a reluctant quirk of Spike’s lips, and he sighed as Buffy’s hand warmed his cheek. “This is the Hellmouth. Crazy comes as part of the deal around here. And yes, the cards are definitely stacked against us,” she said, “but, hey, that’s nothing new. I think between the two of us we’ve already broken the odds by a long shot, don’t you?”
This was too good to be true. Resisting the urge to pinch his arm, Spike arched a brow, taking in her wide-eyed and honest expression. Slowly, he released her waist and slid his hands up to rest at her shoulders.
“Buffy, pet, tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Tell me what I can do to make this easier for you.”
A slow-born smile lit up her face as Buffy’s gaze locked with his. “Kiss me.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here it is folks, the idea that set up home in my head, months before I worked up the nerve to put finger to keyboard. This idea has been screaming at me since long before I made my smutty debut and I’m so glad to have finally written it down. This is my baby... my own personal gripe fic, and my attempt to right the Spike bashing wrongness of series six!
Beta’d by Dawnof me
Beta’d by Dawnof me
Chapter End Notes:
One more chapter to go now. I'm gonna be sad to see this one go :( Thankyou to everybody who has taken the time to review this fic, I'll be wrapping it up soon.