"Happy Birthday, William" S/B - NC17 - 1/1
Title: “Happy Birthday, William”
Author: femmenerd
Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. All belongs to Joss and ME. Just playing with the pretties.
Summary: Post “Chosen.” You’ll have to suspend disbelief regarding the AtS storyline in S5 as in this story Spike has been re-corporealized (hence the NC17 rating, although I imagine I could write a dirty story where Spike can only watch but not touch but I digress) and Andrew has come to LA but the whole Wolfram and Hart coming apocalypse thing doesn’t keep him in LA. Buffy POV-ish but not first person. A meditation on Buffy’s love for Spike as a monster and as a man. Also a post-finale wish fulfillment fic.
Author’s notes: This fic is a mix of moods. There’s some schmoop, some smut (some unusual graveyard sex!), some of the funny, and a lot of the feelings. A bit of a hodge podge but it’s what the muse ordered up.
New Author’s Note: I revised this story to make it less wordy and sappy. So if you’ve read this before and it seems different, well, that’s because it is. And if you happen to have an opinion as to whether it’s better or worse than it was before then I’d love to hear it.
She loved just watching him sleep. He looked….he looked almost pretty. No, definitely pretty and so peaceful to boot. How had she not let herself do this before? But everything was so fucked up back then. SHE was so fucked up back then - hardly knew how to be alive. She was floundering with anger, at her friends, herself, at him for daring to love her. But right now Buffy didn’t feel like being all “dwelling in the sordid past-ish.” They’d had to wade their way through that shit storm to end up here…together.
Buffy curled up into herself and snuck a peak out the window into the crepuscular haze of London that waited outside, this place that was his birth place, where it was grey and wet so much of the time. But inside this womb that was their bedroom, everything was warm and hot and full of love.
Nothing could be like this. No one else could make her feel like this. She’d tried to forget, when she’d thought that he was gone. She’d tried to drown her grief in other things, in other men. But every time The Immortal had touched her, she’d been thinking of Spike, even if not consciously. It had been fun, in a way, in the way that one has fun when your heart hurts so damn bad that there’s nothing left to do but make merry.
She shivered at the cold that crept in through the window. She was naked still, wrapped up in a flimsy blanket. Her body was spent and sore from all the sex and her head smarted from the excesses of champagne they’d gleefully guzzled down earlier. Like an idiot she’d tried to match him drink for drink as if this too was yet another of their games of tough meets tougher, but she couldn’t hold her liquor like he could.
They’d started early. Champagne was for celebrating and somehow she was certain that this would be the first birthday she’d had in she couldn’t remember how long in which nothing utterly disastrous would happen. It was a cause for celebration. Not that she needed an excuse lately. She’d only had him back for a month now and still every minute she felt like singing her thanks like a big love sick dork. Which she was, of course.
Buffy glanced back over at Spike, splayed out on the dark sheets that made his skin seem even whiter by contrast. God, he was beautiful, all lovely muscles and big, glowy, un-beating heart. And he’d gotten his fierceness back. Even this quiet that enveloped him now as he laid there motionless was not enough to contain it.
The soul, which at first made him crazy, had not been enough to keep his wildness permanently at bay. But his ferocity was different now, focused and tempered as it was, not only by his love for her or by the chip but also by his newly recovered sense of self and of purpose. And he’d found it without her, or in spite of her. But that was of the good.
He was. He’d saved the world, right?
All the same, in this light and in the privacy of this room, he was still a monster, but he was her monster, her gorgeous demon with the eyes of a man in love.
She wanted to make him open his eyes, to feel his bright blue gaze on her, making her feel whole and seen.
Stupid Andrew! For not telling her right away what she needed to know. Thank god that Andrew had never been able to keep his mouth shut for very long. She’d walked out on Rome that same day, left the Immortal and her friends and everything and gotten on the next flight to LA.
Stupid Spike! For actually thinking for even a moment that she wouldn’t need him and want him. For not having believed her when she’d told him that she loved him.
So now she was making it her business to convince him, to kiss and love and fuck him into understanding.
The first thing that she’d done when she’d found him in California was kiss him. Kissed him before he could even open his mouth to speak. He was in an alleyway, alone except for the falling dust of the vamps he’d just staked. He stood there looking at her like it was she who was a ghost, as if he wasn’t the one who’d risen from the dead (well, most recently, anyway). He’d blinked those long, pretty eyelashes at her in shock and then she’d run and attacked. Knocked him against the brick wall of a building and thrust her tongue and her love and her seething desire right into him.
And it had felt so right and so good because he was him and he was there, all fantastically Spike-esque, wrapped up in leather, smelling of smoke and hot, loverboy goodness.
She remembered their first fuck after she’d found him. It was only the second time they’d ever really “made love.” Well, it was for her - he’d been making love to her when she’d just been fucking him with the empty shell of her body, trying desperately to leave her heart out of the mix. It was different also than that night before they’d fought the First. Because this time they’d both known that they were going to live, each in their own way. And that knowledge turned the melding of their bodies into something so much bigger than cock meets pussy - it became a frantic, furious begetting, not of a child but of a future…together.
She called his name out like a mantra, in gasps and moans and quaking sighs.
“Spike. Spike! SPIKE!”
She screamed his name to convince herself that he was really there, inside her, beside her, in the world, present and accounted for.
He fucked her hard and gentle. She remembered the hard from before but the gentle was new. He was full of contradictions and incongruities, her Spike.
“Are you really here? Are you really mine again?”
“Always yours. Cock. Heart. ::Unh!:: Soul. Always yours, Buffy. Want YOU, Pet, only you.”
And being able to tell her these things and have her smile from above him seemed to be more exciting to him than any other bedroom game they’d ever played before. He spent himself in her, over and over, like there was magic in his prick…
Which was something that, weeks later, she was really beginning to believe was true. They were insatiable. She was insatiable and so it was a good thing that he seemed to have been gifted with a cock that rose high practically every time she looked at it directly. Sure, it was objectively aesthetically pleasing, with the proper length, heft and curve but it was more than that. He channeled his love and his verve and his Spike-ness right into it so that when it bumped her G-spot just right or quivered under her tongue she shivered from what could only be the effects of love-magic.
Buffy wandered back towards the rumpled bed where Spike was and sat down next to his prone form. She teased a finger into his hair, which was messy and disorganized from sleep and their loving. She liked it best this way, especially since no one saw it like this but her. He really was a vain guy, always taking such care with his gel and his pomades, keeping the hair gleaming, bleached white and never allowing the roots to grow in. What color had it been when he was alive, she wondered? She’d sort of seen the original color when he was all loony tunes guy in the basement but the tips had still been white. And, since he was all big with the crazy then, his hair hadn’t exactly been what she was focusing on then.
She’d been wondering recently about what he’d been like when he was alive alive, not because she wanted him to be any different than he was now but just because she loved him and she wanted to know more about him. Besides, she already knew more than she needed to know about the century of blood and mayhem. It would be nice to know more about those brief years before he’d been turned. And it felt good to care. That she was letting herself care.
After all those years of being the Chosen one, the “one girl in all the world,” one of the best things about not being the only one, was this - that she was able to allow herself to feel. Even when she’d been almost swallowed up by mourning him, it had helped that she was allowed to do that.
He shifted his head beneath her hand and pretty soon he was looking up at her with a gaze that would have melted granite. He kissed her fingers and smiled.
“Morning, love.” His voice was thick with sleep and its vibrations hit her straight in the gut.
Really, it should be the other way around with him awake already and her asleep. He was a vampire after all, all creature-of-the-nighty and stuff. But everything was sorta floaty and dream-like since he’d agreed to come back to England with her. Eventually she was going to teach at the new Slayer academy. She was taking a big, fat Love Vacation first or rather “settling in” which is what she’d told Giles. But Giles knew what she was really up to. He’d accepted that Spike was her lover. Or at least she didn’t think that he would try and kill him again. That was something. So she’d accepted her former Watcher back into her life too, although the wound of when he’d tried to take Spike from her was still sore and would probably fester some more before it completely healed.
It was all so weird all of this. Not just being “one-of-many girl” instead of the “the One” but also being a…a grown up. About to be a teacher and all shacked up and stuff with her vampire paramour. She was on the brink of the closest to normal that she could ever hope to expect. She shook her head and widened her eyes just thinking about it. Heck, who knew? She might even make it to old…like thirty even. Hee. She focused on Spike who was still raining sleepy kisses on her hand. Now HE was really old….
“Where you at, Pet? Off in the clouds somewhere? Come back to me. Come back to me my naughty, little Slayer love.” He grinned at her lasciviously.
She swatted him playfully and he rolled her over and across the bed. They landed in a tangled heap and he quickly went to work at her, kissing her neck and reaching between her thighs. Buffy moaned a little as her body revved up all over again. Her hands reached for him instinctively and she let out a little gasp as she felt his already ready cock poke at her from behind the thin barrier of the rumpled sheets. Nope. It didn’t take long with him.
But not yet. She wanted to talk. When they were fucking before they never used to talk. And then after that when they were learning to trust one another again, they talked but there was no fucking. She wanted it ALL now. The sex, and the talking and the fighting together side by side and the all of it.
She planted a chaste kiss on his lips and gently moved away from him a little bit. In a different time and place, he would have taken this as a rejection but now he just pouted a little bit.
“Was just hopin’ to give you a little Birthday prezzie, love.” He nuzzled her shoulder and she sighed into him, letting him wrap his arms around her.
“Oh, and you will. Don’t worry about that. I plan to do all kinds of naughty things to and with you…”
“Oh yeah? Tell me all about it, Pet.” The eyebrow waggled and she laughed. He was crazy about the dirty talk and although it was usually him more than her, she was starting to get bolder. Especially since she’d realized that nothing made him happier than when she mixed up the raunch with the lovey dovey stuff.
He was kissing her neck again. But still she was determined to talk. About what she wasn’t entirely sure. Just…something. So she’d know him better…more.
“Did you have a middle name, Spike?”
“What’s that, now?” He looked dazed. “What’re you going on about?”
“You, Spike, when you were William, did you have a middle name? What was your last name? I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this before.”
He sighed and sat up then. Grasped her face between his two hands and locked his gaze on her. The sheet fell away from his body and she was momentarily distracted by the sight of his chest and abs, taut and covered in little hickeys and nips and other evidence of her attentions. But he was so serious right then that she just gulped and nodded.
“Buffy. Sweetness. Now listen good, yeah? My name is Spike. Middle name “love,” as in: Spike. Love. Buffy. That’s all you need to know. All that’s important now. William…William was a ponce who never could have caught the eye of a woman like you much less keep her.” And at that, he pulled her in close, squeezing her so tight that if she wasn’t the Slayer something would have surely popped out of place.
And she thought then, about how the only time she’d ever called him “William” was when she’d been letting him go. She understood also, with sudden clarity, why he was so convinced that she couldn’t love the William inside him. Because he thought that he had to be always tough and always strong for her. And she wouldn’t deny it - she loved his strength and loved even more that he loved hers. But the thing was - the thing that made him special, that made him different from any other vampire or man that she’d ever met before was how he was equally passionate with his body and bravado as he was with his heart. And that, she was sure, was something that had predated the monster. Huh. He’d tried before to make her see him as a man when she wouldn’t and now he was afraid that if he wasn’t more than a man then he wouldn’t be enough for her. But she knew that she was finally ready to see and love all the many facets and faces of him. But she didn’t say that then. Because he already had his head between her knees, nudging her thighs open. And because she wouldn’t rush him with words. They’d come this far already. She would show him and then maybe one day he’d be willing to listen too.
*****
Her blood was pumping. It seemed like a charmed evening. The moon was shining and the vamps were falling and every one of her moves just *worked* exactly right. Spike was a few feet from her, fighting a Sid Vicious wannabe vamp who was getting a deadly lesson on the reasons why “Sum 41” were NOT a real punk rock group and how the Clash were gods in their own right. You knew a fight was going well when there was time for educating your kill about their tragic musical taste.
The pimply faux rocker’s girlfriend was putting up a decent fight but Buffy closed in on her disastrous Gothic ass quickly and staked the teen queen vamp rather efficiently. Giving her ample time to watch her boy in action as he leapt over headstones, leather coat flaring out as he gave the simpering young one a lecture. Buffy grinned. God, Spike liked to hear himself talk. He was dragging this out a bit, she could tell.
She rolled her eyes, sat down on a tomb and crossed her legs neatly. This routine patrol had taken them far away from their usual stomping grounds because they’d chased this pair from a club on the back of Spike’s motorcycle. Buffy wasn’t even sure if she’d ever even heard of this cemetery before, not in all the months they’d been here in London. Which was kind of weird, considering the massive amount of time she spent touring graveyards with all the mini-Slayers.
It wasn’t as scary as she’d thought, being a teacher. Training all the potentials had really primed her for this new job. And it was nice having the girls look up to her. Some of them were pains in her ass, but on the whole it was alright.
But she’d never be as popular of an instructor as Spike. But then I don’t have that whole chiseled cheekbones, hottie, bad boy-accent thing going on, now do I? Buffy grinned to herself as she watched Spike do an impressive back flip and stake the beleaguered vamp.
“Show off!” she yelled, grinning mischievously.
“Always gotta impress M’lady. Can’t have her thinking I’ve gone soft.” Spike loped over to her with slow grace, training that mock-predator gaze on her seductively.
God! We’re such freaks. This is like a “date” for us. And it was too. She’d had to be very firm with several of the girls who’d wanted to come along with them on patrol. Most of the time that was OK but tonight she hadn’t felt like sharing him.
“Where are we anyway? This place is all overgrown and jungle-like. I half expect to see a vamped out Tarzan come out from behind those bushes with a fangy Jane in tow. ”
“Dunno, love. It seems kinda familiar but then, seen one graveyard, seen ‘em all. And you’re an odd bird, you know that? I mean, Tarzan? What the bloody fuck are you on about, Slayer?” She shivered. She was still the only one he ever called that. He’d been teasing her but as he got closer, the mirth left his face and his features settled back into the come hither expression that made her weak in the knees. She rose to meet him.
He finally sidled up to her then and his face nearly glowed in the moonlight. She licked her lips. He tilted his head to the side and that was it. She pounced, meeting him at the mouth, hungrily devouring him with the wet kisses that made them both so hot. He hooked an arm under her leg and lifted her thigh up to meet his jean-clad hip, raising her impractical-for-slaying skirt up over her ass as he did. Kissing her harder then, he tilted his hips into hers so that their warmer parts came together. She let out a gasp that only made him thrust more firmly towards her heat through the fabric and bite at her lower lip with blunt teeth. They tumbled over into the soft grass and before she knew it he had lifted her skirt high above her hips and was toying with her black lace skivvies. Yeah, she’d worn “date underwear” for this patrol. She half expected him to tear them right off of her but out of what might have been respect for their beauty or perhaps a knowledge of her Victoria’s Secret bills since he’d come back into her life, he simply pulled them down and over her legs. Once they were off, Spike cocked an eyebrow at her and waved the thong in front of his nose, inhaling deep.
“Naughty girl. You’ve soiled your knickers watching me, haven’t you?”
She giggled a bit and proceeded to pull at the waist band of his jeans.
“Impatient, are we? Well, that’s alright then. I’ll give it you good, Slayer.” She stopped his yapping with a kiss and quickly undid his buttons and zipper, lifting her hips to meet his newly freed cock.
And then he was inside her and it was good, so good, like it always was, being filledfuckedloved by him, by her special agent Demon man.
“Fuck! Buffy. So hot. So good.” And the torrent of delicious nasties began to spill from his precious mouth as he fucked her with his magic dick and filled her ears with the profanities of his adoration.
It was quick this time. Fast and furious like she needed it to be and then she came - his name, as always, on her lips - and then he spent himself in her, growling and chuckling at the same time. She rolled over and adjusted her skirt, staring up dreamily at the big moon overhead. She heard the click of his lighter and then smelled the pungent tobacco smoke that she had learned to like because of him. Buffy stared up at the almost incandescent orb in the sky, lazily stretched out across the grass. She was lost in the beauty of it when she heard him gasp and sputter unexpectedly.
She jolted up to a sitting position and exclaimed, “What? Spike, lover, what is it?”
He didn’t speak, just stared at the crumbling headstone before them with eyes open wide, glittering and so blue. He was so still that the ash on the end of his cigarette accumulated as he remained all of him motionless.
Buffy wrinkled her forehead and looked over to where he was staring so intently. Her lips formed the words as she read under her breath.
William James Bennett
Beloved Son.
May he Rest in Peace.
B. March 3, 1851
D. October 18, 1880
Spike trembled slightly when she breathed the name out so softly that only he could hear.
“Oh!” She said when finally she began to understand. It was all she could say at first so she just studied his face. He didn’t seem miserable or happy, just rather shell shocked.
Minutes passed before he raised his eyes to hers. “Well, you wanted to know what my name was, Pet. Now you do. Christ. Haven’t even been here since…and I was so disoriented then…” His voice trailed off and then he gestured at the modest headstone and did the most surprising thing. He began to laugh. Big, belly-rumbling guffaws as he laid back and lit another smoke, staring down at his still open fly and then chuckling some more.
Buffy was perplexed by his bizarre behavior. Was he cracking up again? She wasn’t sure if she could handle another bout of that. Not now, when things were so good. And she couldn’t help but roll the ordinary, clipped, Anglo syllables of his name silently over her tongue. His name. It was so odd. She’d wanted to know and had been hurt that he wouldn’t tell her but now it all seemed so surreal, sitting here on this mound of earth where by all rights he should have rotted away into the soil over a century before. And then she never would have met him or loved him or heard his name at all.
“Well, this is just peachy. Just sodding amazing, that’s what. Slayer, do you get what we’ve just done?” He was looking at her now with a laughing glint in his gaze but she saw that thankfully there was no hint of madness in those baby blues. Just incredulity and humor.
“Oh!” She said again, blushing this time.
“Yeah, ‘Oh.’ We’ve just screwed within an inch of our lives right on top of my bloody grave!” And then he was peeling off into laughter again. She began to laugh too because there really wasn’t anything else to do. Just another blip in the string of oddities that was her life as the Slayer mistress of a souled Master vampire.
March 3. A Pisces, huh. That didn’t surprise her actually. Underneath all his bluster and swagger, he was a dreamer of sorts. March 3. She would remember that.
He finally stopped giggling (yes, he was giggling a bit, but she decided not to tell him that as he’d just take it the wrong way and be a guy about it) and his manner abruptly changed. He pulled her close to him and wrapped himself around her once again. They both looked at the headstone now and he whispered into her ear, “You know I love you more than anything, yeah? William, Spike, it’s all the same when it comes to me loving you. That’s what’s real.” And he pulled her hand to where his heart used to beat and kissed her hair and though still slightly bewildered she knew then that everything was alright.
*****
She didn’t push but after the “grave incident” he began to tell her more about his life. Just little snippets here and there. An amusing story about a prank he and his school “chums” played on their teacher when he was a boy. Or the kinds of sweets he liked best back then and what he studied at Cambridge (History and English Lit). Sometimes when he spoke about that stuff he sounded a bit too Giles-y and she almost felt like she was living with a very old, very dirty old man. But then he’d wink and preen and say something else suitably sophomoric and Spike-ish and she’d roll her eyes at him in that way that pretended to be disgusted but really said “I love you.”
It wasn’t anything big and there was no huge revelation but it did break down a barrier so that nothing about him was hidden from her anymore. Not the years of him feeding and killing and not the innocent, vulnerable years of his childhood either. And in the end, none of it mattered as much as their present. Their day-to-day lives of working and slaying and loving and being together.
So on March 3 when she woke him up for their evening patrol wearing nothing but an apron and carrying a lopsided chocolate cake, he just flashed her a grin and said,
“Where’s the champagne, love?”
She pointed at the slightly misshaped and squat red candle in the middle of the cake and said “Happy Birthday, Fang-boy. Now blow out your candle. You only get one ‘cause I wasn’t about to turn into crispy-fried Buffy lighting a hundred plus candles.”
He snorted and tried to play it cool but she could tell that he was delighted. When he had had finally blown out his candle (with difficulty, what with the whole lack of breath dealie) and lobbed a dab of chocolate frosting on her nose only to lick it off, he set the cake down on the bedside table and cuddled her close.
“I’m a lucky bloke, me,” he whispered into her ear with obvious emotion. “’s not every guy that gets a homemade cake a la Slayer delivered to him by a gorgeous girl in the nude.”
“Mmmm, Spike?” she murmured as he nibbled on her ear. “I used a cake mix.”
He growled and slid his fingers up the sensitive skin on the inside of her bare thigh. Buffy tilted her head back and sighed. This was what he was like when he was alive for her.
The End
Author: femmenerd
Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. All belongs to Joss and ME. Just playing with the pretties.
Summary: Post “Chosen.” You’ll have to suspend disbelief regarding the AtS storyline in S5 as in this story Spike has been re-corporealized (hence the NC17 rating, although I imagine I could write a dirty story where Spike can only watch but not touch but I digress) and Andrew has come to LA but the whole Wolfram and Hart coming apocalypse thing doesn’t keep him in LA. Buffy POV-ish but not first person. A meditation on Buffy’s love for Spike as a monster and as a man. Also a post-finale wish fulfillment fic.
Author’s notes: This fic is a mix of moods. There’s some schmoop, some smut (some unusual graveyard sex!), some of the funny, and a lot of the feelings. A bit of a hodge podge but it’s what the muse ordered up.
New Author’s Note: I revised this story to make it less wordy and sappy. So if you’ve read this before and it seems different, well, that’s because it is. And if you happen to have an opinion as to whether it’s better or worse than it was before then I’d love to hear it.
She loved just watching him sleep. He looked….he looked almost pretty. No, definitely pretty and so peaceful to boot. How had she not let herself do this before? But everything was so fucked up back then. SHE was so fucked up back then - hardly knew how to be alive. She was floundering with anger, at her friends, herself, at him for daring to love her. But right now Buffy didn’t feel like being all “dwelling in the sordid past-ish.” They’d had to wade their way through that shit storm to end up here…together.
Buffy curled up into herself and snuck a peak out the window into the crepuscular haze of London that waited outside, this place that was his birth place, where it was grey and wet so much of the time. But inside this womb that was their bedroom, everything was warm and hot and full of love.
Nothing could be like this. No one else could make her feel like this. She’d tried to forget, when she’d thought that he was gone. She’d tried to drown her grief in other things, in other men. But every time The Immortal had touched her, she’d been thinking of Spike, even if not consciously. It had been fun, in a way, in the way that one has fun when your heart hurts so damn bad that there’s nothing left to do but make merry.
She shivered at the cold that crept in through the window. She was naked still, wrapped up in a flimsy blanket. Her body was spent and sore from all the sex and her head smarted from the excesses of champagne they’d gleefully guzzled down earlier. Like an idiot she’d tried to match him drink for drink as if this too was yet another of their games of tough meets tougher, but she couldn’t hold her liquor like he could.
They’d started early. Champagne was for celebrating and somehow she was certain that this would be the first birthday she’d had in she couldn’t remember how long in which nothing utterly disastrous would happen. It was a cause for celebration. Not that she needed an excuse lately. She’d only had him back for a month now and still every minute she felt like singing her thanks like a big love sick dork. Which she was, of course.
Buffy glanced back over at Spike, splayed out on the dark sheets that made his skin seem even whiter by contrast. God, he was beautiful, all lovely muscles and big, glowy, un-beating heart. And he’d gotten his fierceness back. Even this quiet that enveloped him now as he laid there motionless was not enough to contain it.
The soul, which at first made him crazy, had not been enough to keep his wildness permanently at bay. But his ferocity was different now, focused and tempered as it was, not only by his love for her or by the chip but also by his newly recovered sense of self and of purpose. And he’d found it without her, or in spite of her. But that was of the good.
He was. He’d saved the world, right?
All the same, in this light and in the privacy of this room, he was still a monster, but he was her monster, her gorgeous demon with the eyes of a man in love.
She wanted to make him open his eyes, to feel his bright blue gaze on her, making her feel whole and seen.
Stupid Andrew! For not telling her right away what she needed to know. Thank god that Andrew had never been able to keep his mouth shut for very long. She’d walked out on Rome that same day, left the Immortal and her friends and everything and gotten on the next flight to LA.
Stupid Spike! For actually thinking for even a moment that she wouldn’t need him and want him. For not having believed her when she’d told him that she loved him.
So now she was making it her business to convince him, to kiss and love and fuck him into understanding.
The first thing that she’d done when she’d found him in California was kiss him. Kissed him before he could even open his mouth to speak. He was in an alleyway, alone except for the falling dust of the vamps he’d just staked. He stood there looking at her like it was she who was a ghost, as if he wasn’t the one who’d risen from the dead (well, most recently, anyway). He’d blinked those long, pretty eyelashes at her in shock and then she’d run and attacked. Knocked him against the brick wall of a building and thrust her tongue and her love and her seething desire right into him.
And it had felt so right and so good because he was him and he was there, all fantastically Spike-esque, wrapped up in leather, smelling of smoke and hot, loverboy goodness.
She remembered their first fuck after she’d found him. It was only the second time they’d ever really “made love.” Well, it was for her - he’d been making love to her when she’d just been fucking him with the empty shell of her body, trying desperately to leave her heart out of the mix. It was different also than that night before they’d fought the First. Because this time they’d both known that they were going to live, each in their own way. And that knowledge turned the melding of their bodies into something so much bigger than cock meets pussy - it became a frantic, furious begetting, not of a child but of a future…together.
She called his name out like a mantra, in gasps and moans and quaking sighs.
“Spike. Spike! SPIKE!”
She screamed his name to convince herself that he was really there, inside her, beside her, in the world, present and accounted for.
He fucked her hard and gentle. She remembered the hard from before but the gentle was new. He was full of contradictions and incongruities, her Spike.
“Are you really here? Are you really mine again?”
“Always yours. Cock. Heart. ::Unh!:: Soul. Always yours, Buffy. Want YOU, Pet, only you.”
And being able to tell her these things and have her smile from above him seemed to be more exciting to him than any other bedroom game they’d ever played before. He spent himself in her, over and over, like there was magic in his prick…
Which was something that, weeks later, she was really beginning to believe was true. They were insatiable. She was insatiable and so it was a good thing that he seemed to have been gifted with a cock that rose high practically every time she looked at it directly. Sure, it was objectively aesthetically pleasing, with the proper length, heft and curve but it was more than that. He channeled his love and his verve and his Spike-ness right into it so that when it bumped her G-spot just right or quivered under her tongue she shivered from what could only be the effects of love-magic.
Buffy wandered back towards the rumpled bed where Spike was and sat down next to his prone form. She teased a finger into his hair, which was messy and disorganized from sleep and their loving. She liked it best this way, especially since no one saw it like this but her. He really was a vain guy, always taking such care with his gel and his pomades, keeping the hair gleaming, bleached white and never allowing the roots to grow in. What color had it been when he was alive, she wondered? She’d sort of seen the original color when he was all loony tunes guy in the basement but the tips had still been white. And, since he was all big with the crazy then, his hair hadn’t exactly been what she was focusing on then.
She’d been wondering recently about what he’d been like when he was alive alive, not because she wanted him to be any different than he was now but just because she loved him and she wanted to know more about him. Besides, she already knew more than she needed to know about the century of blood and mayhem. It would be nice to know more about those brief years before he’d been turned. And it felt good to care. That she was letting herself care.
After all those years of being the Chosen one, the “one girl in all the world,” one of the best things about not being the only one, was this - that she was able to allow herself to feel. Even when she’d been almost swallowed up by mourning him, it had helped that she was allowed to do that.
He shifted his head beneath her hand and pretty soon he was looking up at her with a gaze that would have melted granite. He kissed her fingers and smiled.
“Morning, love.” His voice was thick with sleep and its vibrations hit her straight in the gut.
Really, it should be the other way around with him awake already and her asleep. He was a vampire after all, all creature-of-the-nighty and stuff. But everything was sorta floaty and dream-like since he’d agreed to come back to England with her. Eventually she was going to teach at the new Slayer academy. She was taking a big, fat Love Vacation first or rather “settling in” which is what she’d told Giles. But Giles knew what she was really up to. He’d accepted that Spike was her lover. Or at least she didn’t think that he would try and kill him again. That was something. So she’d accepted her former Watcher back into her life too, although the wound of when he’d tried to take Spike from her was still sore and would probably fester some more before it completely healed.
It was all so weird all of this. Not just being “one-of-many girl” instead of the “the One” but also being a…a grown up. About to be a teacher and all shacked up and stuff with her vampire paramour. She was on the brink of the closest to normal that she could ever hope to expect. She shook her head and widened her eyes just thinking about it. Heck, who knew? She might even make it to old…like thirty even. Hee. She focused on Spike who was still raining sleepy kisses on her hand. Now HE was really old….
“Where you at, Pet? Off in the clouds somewhere? Come back to me. Come back to me my naughty, little Slayer love.” He grinned at her lasciviously.
She swatted him playfully and he rolled her over and across the bed. They landed in a tangled heap and he quickly went to work at her, kissing her neck and reaching between her thighs. Buffy moaned a little as her body revved up all over again. Her hands reached for him instinctively and she let out a little gasp as she felt his already ready cock poke at her from behind the thin barrier of the rumpled sheets. Nope. It didn’t take long with him.
But not yet. She wanted to talk. When they were fucking before they never used to talk. And then after that when they were learning to trust one another again, they talked but there was no fucking. She wanted it ALL now. The sex, and the talking and the fighting together side by side and the all of it.
She planted a chaste kiss on his lips and gently moved away from him a little bit. In a different time and place, he would have taken this as a rejection but now he just pouted a little bit.
“Was just hopin’ to give you a little Birthday prezzie, love.” He nuzzled her shoulder and she sighed into him, letting him wrap his arms around her.
“Oh, and you will. Don’t worry about that. I plan to do all kinds of naughty things to and with you…”
“Oh yeah? Tell me all about it, Pet.” The eyebrow waggled and she laughed. He was crazy about the dirty talk and although it was usually him more than her, she was starting to get bolder. Especially since she’d realized that nothing made him happier than when she mixed up the raunch with the lovey dovey stuff.
He was kissing her neck again. But still she was determined to talk. About what she wasn’t entirely sure. Just…something. So she’d know him better…more.
“Did you have a middle name, Spike?”
“What’s that, now?” He looked dazed. “What’re you going on about?”
“You, Spike, when you were William, did you have a middle name? What was your last name? I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this before.”
He sighed and sat up then. Grasped her face between his two hands and locked his gaze on her. The sheet fell away from his body and she was momentarily distracted by the sight of his chest and abs, taut and covered in little hickeys and nips and other evidence of her attentions. But he was so serious right then that she just gulped and nodded.
“Buffy. Sweetness. Now listen good, yeah? My name is Spike. Middle name “love,” as in: Spike. Love. Buffy. That’s all you need to know. All that’s important now. William…William was a ponce who never could have caught the eye of a woman like you much less keep her.” And at that, he pulled her in close, squeezing her so tight that if she wasn’t the Slayer something would have surely popped out of place.
And she thought then, about how the only time she’d ever called him “William” was when she’d been letting him go. She understood also, with sudden clarity, why he was so convinced that she couldn’t love the William inside him. Because he thought that he had to be always tough and always strong for her. And she wouldn’t deny it - she loved his strength and loved even more that he loved hers. But the thing was - the thing that made him special, that made him different from any other vampire or man that she’d ever met before was how he was equally passionate with his body and bravado as he was with his heart. And that, she was sure, was something that had predated the monster. Huh. He’d tried before to make her see him as a man when she wouldn’t and now he was afraid that if he wasn’t more than a man then he wouldn’t be enough for her. But she knew that she was finally ready to see and love all the many facets and faces of him. But she didn’t say that then. Because he already had his head between her knees, nudging her thighs open. And because she wouldn’t rush him with words. They’d come this far already. She would show him and then maybe one day he’d be willing to listen too.
*****
Her blood was pumping. It seemed like a charmed evening. The moon was shining and the vamps were falling and every one of her moves just *worked* exactly right. Spike was a few feet from her, fighting a Sid Vicious wannabe vamp who was getting a deadly lesson on the reasons why “Sum 41” were NOT a real punk rock group and how the Clash were gods in their own right. You knew a fight was going well when there was time for educating your kill about their tragic musical taste.
The pimply faux rocker’s girlfriend was putting up a decent fight but Buffy closed in on her disastrous Gothic ass quickly and staked the teen queen vamp rather efficiently. Giving her ample time to watch her boy in action as he leapt over headstones, leather coat flaring out as he gave the simpering young one a lecture. Buffy grinned. God, Spike liked to hear himself talk. He was dragging this out a bit, she could tell.
She rolled her eyes, sat down on a tomb and crossed her legs neatly. This routine patrol had taken them far away from their usual stomping grounds because they’d chased this pair from a club on the back of Spike’s motorcycle. Buffy wasn’t even sure if she’d ever even heard of this cemetery before, not in all the months they’d been here in London. Which was kind of weird, considering the massive amount of time she spent touring graveyards with all the mini-Slayers.
It wasn’t as scary as she’d thought, being a teacher. Training all the potentials had really primed her for this new job. And it was nice having the girls look up to her. Some of them were pains in her ass, but on the whole it was alright.
But she’d never be as popular of an instructor as Spike. But then I don’t have that whole chiseled cheekbones, hottie, bad boy-accent thing going on, now do I? Buffy grinned to herself as she watched Spike do an impressive back flip and stake the beleaguered vamp.
“Show off!” she yelled, grinning mischievously.
“Always gotta impress M’lady. Can’t have her thinking I’ve gone soft.” Spike loped over to her with slow grace, training that mock-predator gaze on her seductively.
God! We’re such freaks. This is like a “date” for us. And it was too. She’d had to be very firm with several of the girls who’d wanted to come along with them on patrol. Most of the time that was OK but tonight she hadn’t felt like sharing him.
“Where are we anyway? This place is all overgrown and jungle-like. I half expect to see a vamped out Tarzan come out from behind those bushes with a fangy Jane in tow. ”
“Dunno, love. It seems kinda familiar but then, seen one graveyard, seen ‘em all. And you’re an odd bird, you know that? I mean, Tarzan? What the bloody fuck are you on about, Slayer?” She shivered. She was still the only one he ever called that. He’d been teasing her but as he got closer, the mirth left his face and his features settled back into the come hither expression that made her weak in the knees. She rose to meet him.
He finally sidled up to her then and his face nearly glowed in the moonlight. She licked her lips. He tilted his head to the side and that was it. She pounced, meeting him at the mouth, hungrily devouring him with the wet kisses that made them both so hot. He hooked an arm under her leg and lifted her thigh up to meet his jean-clad hip, raising her impractical-for-slaying skirt up over her ass as he did. Kissing her harder then, he tilted his hips into hers so that their warmer parts came together. She let out a gasp that only made him thrust more firmly towards her heat through the fabric and bite at her lower lip with blunt teeth. They tumbled over into the soft grass and before she knew it he had lifted her skirt high above her hips and was toying with her black lace skivvies. Yeah, she’d worn “date underwear” for this patrol. She half expected him to tear them right off of her but out of what might have been respect for their beauty or perhaps a knowledge of her Victoria’s Secret bills since he’d come back into her life, he simply pulled them down and over her legs. Once they were off, Spike cocked an eyebrow at her and waved the thong in front of his nose, inhaling deep.
“Naughty girl. You’ve soiled your knickers watching me, haven’t you?”
She giggled a bit and proceeded to pull at the waist band of his jeans.
“Impatient, are we? Well, that’s alright then. I’ll give it you good, Slayer.” She stopped his yapping with a kiss and quickly undid his buttons and zipper, lifting her hips to meet his newly freed cock.
And then he was inside her and it was good, so good, like it always was, being filledfuckedloved by him, by her special agent Demon man.
“Fuck! Buffy. So hot. So good.” And the torrent of delicious nasties began to spill from his precious mouth as he fucked her with his magic dick and filled her ears with the profanities of his adoration.
It was quick this time. Fast and furious like she needed it to be and then she came - his name, as always, on her lips - and then he spent himself in her, growling and chuckling at the same time. She rolled over and adjusted her skirt, staring up dreamily at the big moon overhead. She heard the click of his lighter and then smelled the pungent tobacco smoke that she had learned to like because of him. Buffy stared up at the almost incandescent orb in the sky, lazily stretched out across the grass. She was lost in the beauty of it when she heard him gasp and sputter unexpectedly.
She jolted up to a sitting position and exclaimed, “What? Spike, lover, what is it?”
He didn’t speak, just stared at the crumbling headstone before them with eyes open wide, glittering and so blue. He was so still that the ash on the end of his cigarette accumulated as he remained all of him motionless.
Buffy wrinkled her forehead and looked over to where he was staring so intently. Her lips formed the words as she read under her breath.
William James Bennett
Beloved Son.
May he Rest in Peace.
B. March 3, 1851
D. October 18, 1880
Spike trembled slightly when she breathed the name out so softly that only he could hear.
“Oh!” She said when finally she began to understand. It was all she could say at first so she just studied his face. He didn’t seem miserable or happy, just rather shell shocked.
Minutes passed before he raised his eyes to hers. “Well, you wanted to know what my name was, Pet. Now you do. Christ. Haven’t even been here since…and I was so disoriented then…” His voice trailed off and then he gestured at the modest headstone and did the most surprising thing. He began to laugh. Big, belly-rumbling guffaws as he laid back and lit another smoke, staring down at his still open fly and then chuckling some more.
Buffy was perplexed by his bizarre behavior. Was he cracking up again? She wasn’t sure if she could handle another bout of that. Not now, when things were so good. And she couldn’t help but roll the ordinary, clipped, Anglo syllables of his name silently over her tongue. His name. It was so odd. She’d wanted to know and had been hurt that he wouldn’t tell her but now it all seemed so surreal, sitting here on this mound of earth where by all rights he should have rotted away into the soil over a century before. And then she never would have met him or loved him or heard his name at all.
“Well, this is just peachy. Just sodding amazing, that’s what. Slayer, do you get what we’ve just done?” He was looking at her now with a laughing glint in his gaze but she saw that thankfully there was no hint of madness in those baby blues. Just incredulity and humor.
“Oh!” She said again, blushing this time.
“Yeah, ‘Oh.’ We’ve just screwed within an inch of our lives right on top of my bloody grave!” And then he was peeling off into laughter again. She began to laugh too because there really wasn’t anything else to do. Just another blip in the string of oddities that was her life as the Slayer mistress of a souled Master vampire.
March 3. A Pisces, huh. That didn’t surprise her actually. Underneath all his bluster and swagger, he was a dreamer of sorts. March 3. She would remember that.
He finally stopped giggling (yes, he was giggling a bit, but she decided not to tell him that as he’d just take it the wrong way and be a guy about it) and his manner abruptly changed. He pulled her close to him and wrapped himself around her once again. They both looked at the headstone now and he whispered into her ear, “You know I love you more than anything, yeah? William, Spike, it’s all the same when it comes to me loving you. That’s what’s real.” And he pulled her hand to where his heart used to beat and kissed her hair and though still slightly bewildered she knew then that everything was alright.
*****
She didn’t push but after the “grave incident” he began to tell her more about his life. Just little snippets here and there. An amusing story about a prank he and his school “chums” played on their teacher when he was a boy. Or the kinds of sweets he liked best back then and what he studied at Cambridge (History and English Lit). Sometimes when he spoke about that stuff he sounded a bit too Giles-y and she almost felt like she was living with a very old, very dirty old man. But then he’d wink and preen and say something else suitably sophomoric and Spike-ish and she’d roll her eyes at him in that way that pretended to be disgusted but really said “I love you.”
It wasn’t anything big and there was no huge revelation but it did break down a barrier so that nothing about him was hidden from her anymore. Not the years of him feeding and killing and not the innocent, vulnerable years of his childhood either. And in the end, none of it mattered as much as their present. Their day-to-day lives of working and slaying and loving and being together.
So on March 3 when she woke him up for their evening patrol wearing nothing but an apron and carrying a lopsided chocolate cake, he just flashed her a grin and said,
“Where’s the champagne, love?”
She pointed at the slightly misshaped and squat red candle in the middle of the cake and said “Happy Birthday, Fang-boy. Now blow out your candle. You only get one ‘cause I wasn’t about to turn into crispy-fried Buffy lighting a hundred plus candles.”
He snorted and tried to play it cool but she could tell that he was delighted. When he had had finally blown out his candle (with difficulty, what with the whole lack of breath dealie) and lobbed a dab of chocolate frosting on her nose only to lick it off, he set the cake down on the bedside table and cuddled her close.
“I’m a lucky bloke, me,” he whispered into her ear with obvious emotion. “’s not every guy that gets a homemade cake a la Slayer delivered to him by a gorgeous girl in the nude.”
“Mmmm, Spike?” she murmured as he nibbled on her ear. “I used a cake mix.”
He growled and slid his fingers up the sensitive skin on the inside of her bare thigh. Buffy tilted her head back and sighed. This was what he was like when he was alive for her.
The End