fic: Sugar and Spike and Everything Nice; that’s what little boys are made of. (13/?)
Title: Sugar and Spike and Everything Nice; that’s what little boys are made of.
Rating: R
Genre: Romance, Comedy
Pairing: Buffy/Spike from BtVS
Summary: In an attempt to lend a helping hand, a spell by Willow goes awry and leaves Buffy with an unexpected, but quite adorable handful.
A/N: Is the font size all screwed up for anyone else? I don't know how to fix it! :(
Disclaimer: All publically recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Thirteen.
Spike was dreaming. It was the strangest kind of dream. He was in Restfield cemetery, walking alongside Buffy on one of her patrols as he’d done numerous times before. Her expression was stony and focused, her body language closed and cold. Something was different and not right at all. Her pace quickened, he tried to call after her.
“Buffy? Buffy!”
He heard his own voice shout out in his head, but his vocal cords didn’t seem to follow suit. She never turned back to look at him and somehow he knew that she never spoke, but her voice seemed to ring out and echo around him.
“You don't know what you mean! You don't know what feelings are! You’re like a serial killer in prison!”
Suddenly they were winding their way through the maze of Sunnydale’s back alleys, Spike hurrying, desperate to keep with up with her. Why wouldn’t she look at him? His feet stumbled against the rough concrete and he reached out to the brick-walls to steady himself. He could feel the dirt and grit beneath his finger tips. Again he tried to call out.
“Buffy!”
Her answer was sly but curt and he felt her distaste stab at his gut. “The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.”
He felt a tearful lump rise in his throat and he choked back a sob, his eyes stinging. The Buffy he knew would never say such hurtful things. Never. She was generous and giving, kind-hearted, patient and understanding. This was a nightmare, it couldn’t be real. Still he chased after her, unshed tears blurred his vision and his head throbbed as if electrical currents had been ignited within his skull.
“I love you, Buffy!” He heard himself cry. “Buffy, please!”
In a jarring second, everything seemed to freeze and all he could see was Buffy. She was pure beauty and it took his breath away. But his heart crumbled when she looked at him with pure disdain and her tone was laced with venom.
“It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you.” He felt her hands on his chest, shoving him to the ground. “You’re beneath me.”
Just as the first tear spilt down his cheek, there was an explosion of light. Spike clutched his head as he was overcome by a stab of blinding white pain. He screamed and there was noise; just a droning roar of noise. His entire body felt engulfed by the pain, every limb and muscle was tense and burning.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was deathly quiet. He peeked one eye open and it was dark. There was no more pain, only warmth, softness and the faint scent of vanilla.
Buffy.
~
Buffy was dreaming. It was the best kind of dream. She was all warm and snug, her legs tangled up with Spike’s. Her head rested on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest. His arms wrapped around her.
“Mm,” she sighed. “Spike.”
She let her eyes open peacefully, not fully registering what she saw before her but sighing again at the vision of cerulean blue eyes. She felt the rumbling growl move up his chest before she heard it.
“Mm, God, Buffy. I love waking up with you. Every morning, the way you look at me,” he mused. “It’s like you’re seeing me for the first time in years. No one else looks at me the way you do. You’re so beautiful, luv.”
Spike. It was-it was Spike! This was no dream. Her early-morning mind was muddled, but it screamed at her that it was Spike. Only that it wasn’t him. He had his face and his sentiments, but by all accounts, this was still the same boy that she’d- this was the same boy, all grown up.
With a touch to her chin, he titled her head up and placed a tender kiss on her parted lips. At the feel of his lips pressed against hers, Buffy was stunned. The kiss was soft and lingering. And unexpected as the situation was, Buffy could only surrender. She raised a hand to run her fingers through his bleached locks, parting her lips a bit more to allow him entrance and letting out a helpless whimper as he did so. Their desire quickly surged and she roved her hands down the sinewy muscles of his arms and back as he pulled her leg over his hip.
“I’m sorry, kitten.” He pulled away from the kiss, choosing to rest his forehead gently against hers.
Flushed and breathless, she looked up at him in confusion. “Wha...um, what?”
He chuckled and smiled at her softly. “I meant it, when I said I wouldn’t push you into anything.”
“Push?” She questioned, mind still hazy from his breath-taking kiss. “...there’s pushing?”
“Most usually. Yeah, pet. There’s lots of pushing.” He smirked and smouldered at her before becoming sincere. “But I meant that thing we talked about the other day. How I said I wouldn’t rush you into...” He looked suddenly bashful and seemed to fumble around for words. “You know...dancing...with me...”
“Dancing?”
“The... er...horizontal tango?”
“Oh!” She giggled and melted a little inside. “That tango.”
“Mm-hmm, after all it does take two, doesn’t it, luv?”
She didn’t know what came over her as she chewed on her bottom lip and looked at him through her eyelashes. “Well, not necessarily,” she whispered. “I can think of some steps which can be performed...solo, as it were.”
Buffy watched the tendons in his cheeks flex as he tried to suppress a large grin. She squealed happily when he wrapped both arms tightly around her waist and rolled her onto her back, his body pressed flush against hers. “There’s my little minx.” He planted a noisy kiss on her brow before heaving his body off hers and out of bed.
“Where are you going?” She hoisted herself up onto her elbows to watch him.
“Breakfast, luv.” He ruffled his hair, looking around for his shirt before giving up. “Can’t explain it, I’m absolutely starved.”
Of course, the transitions always seemed to make him ravenous the next morning.
“You don’t have to go downstairs. You could always...you know...” She gestured to her collarbone.
Gently, he sat himself down beside her and cupped her head of dishevelled blonde locks. “No, sweetheart. I can’t. I’m just not strong enough. And not after what happened last time.”
“Remind me again?”
“You really don’t remember?”
She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head.
“It’s simple really; I bit you too hard. I drank too much, too fast. You were passed out in my arms, but it was-it was just so hard to stop. I was so hungry, Buffy. I was so young. But the worst part was; you didn’t try to stop me. You just let me drink. You trusted me. You held my hand and let me drink. I could have killed you, sweetheart.”
“I think you would stop now,” she offered quietly. “I liked feeding you.” She reached out to touch his cheekbone. “You were my little guy.”
Good Lord, she was confused. One day she was feeding a little crying vampire babe and the next she was having a morning snog-fest with him. What in the hell was going on? This wasn’t right, she knew it. The relationship she had with this Spike was predominantly maternal. In many ways she was no better than a cradle snatcher. But right under it all, these were no normal circumstances. From the very beginning of this crazy saga, Spike’s attachment to her had been based in the feelings he’d already possessed.
But at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d been robbed. She’d woken up to a boyfriend, a partner... a lover, but she’d missed out on their story. She’d missed out on the story which had brought them together. And wasn’t that the most important and exciting part of any relationship? How had they come to be a couple? How had their relationship blossomed in the intervening years? Had they dated? Gone to movies, shared giant milkshakes and taken romantic strolls out by the...cemeteries? Had she, one day, taken his hand and shared her hopes and fears with him? Had he told her that he couldn’t imagine life without her there beside him every step of the way? Had she done the same?
A tender kiss to her brow quietened her thoughts for just a moment.
“I’ll always be your guy, Buffy,” he murmured. “I’ll always be yours.”
“Do you think you’ll ever...you know, bite me...again?” She asked timidly, but also to her own surprise. “I like knowing that I can feed you, that there’s something inside me that can save you.”
His eyes widened in adoration. “Oh, Buffy. You take such good care of me. Don’t you know? You save me every day.”
She cast her eyes downward. She could pretend, just for a moment, couldn’t she?
“But...maybe one day? Will you?”
“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”He tilted his head, regarding her carefully as he did in his own special, handsome way. She didn’t move a muscle. “Maybe,” he whispered. “One day.” He gave her that heart-stopping half-smile and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Can I get you anything? Breakfast in bed for my girl?”
“Maybe just a cup of tea?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and tucked the sheets around her.
The moment Buffy heard his footfalls down the stairs she exhaled loudly and rolled onto her back, eyes wide and taking gasping breaths. What had she done? Was it real? It most certainly felt real. She was in a relationship. They were in a relationship; her and Spike. Spike! She had been pretending though, hadn’t she? Pretending for Spike so as not to confuse him. It had felt so real and so...right. Her chest felt as though it would explode. She loved him. She, Buffy Summers, loved Spike with all of her heart. But which one? She thought of the Spike downstairs, the Spike who’d be bringing her a cup of tea in five minutes. She remembered the adoration in his gaze, but as she remembered the taste of his kiss, her heart contracted with guilt.
She wasn’t being fair to either of them. She felt a prickling in the corners of her eyes and her vision glazed over. Tears.
She thought of pre-spell Spike, the amazement, passion and love in his eyes as he’d watched her descend the stairs that night she’d been resurrected for the second time. She remembered the picture of his bloodied and bruised skin as she’d stooped to kiss him after he’d submitted himself to Glory’s torture in order to save her sister. William the Bloody, Spike the soulless vampire. Did she love him too? The guilt, the feeling of betrayal, it was stifling.
There was no doubt that Spike had returned to his pre-spell age. He’d made the final transition. So why wasn’t he back to normal yet? When would she get him back? Panic flooded her as she remembered Willow’s warnings about potential side effects of the spell. What if this Spike was the final transition? What if he really didn’t remember?
Her body shook with a sob as she realised the answer to one of her many questions. He was in her heart and she loved him. She loved Spike...the Spike who’d come crashing into Sunnydale all those years ago and rocked her world. She had to get him back. But Spike, the Spike downstairs. She’d promised to look after him and she couldn’t deny it, she loved him too. He was hers, her man. She couldn’t lose him.
When Spike, her loyal, doting and loving ‘boyfriend’, returned with a steaming cup of tea, Buffy was choking back cries, tears streaming down her cheeks.
To be continued...
Rating: R
Genre: Romance, Comedy
Pairing: Buffy/Spike from BtVS
Summary: In an attempt to lend a helping hand, a spell by Willow goes awry and leaves Buffy with an unexpected, but quite adorable handful.
A/N: Is the font size all screwed up for anyone else? I don't know how to fix it! :(
Disclaimer: All publically recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Thirteen.
Spike was dreaming. It was the strangest kind of dream. He was in Restfield cemetery, walking alongside Buffy on one of her patrols as he’d done numerous times before. Her expression was stony and focused, her body language closed and cold. Something was different and not right at all. Her pace quickened, he tried to call after her.
“Buffy? Buffy!”
He heard his own voice shout out in his head, but his vocal cords didn’t seem to follow suit. She never turned back to look at him and somehow he knew that she never spoke, but her voice seemed to ring out and echo around him.
“You don't know what you mean! You don't know what feelings are! You’re like a serial killer in prison!”
Suddenly they were winding their way through the maze of Sunnydale’s back alleys, Spike hurrying, desperate to keep with up with her. Why wouldn’t she look at him? His feet stumbled against the rough concrete and he reached out to the brick-walls to steady himself. He could feel the dirt and grit beneath his finger tips. Again he tried to call out.
“Buffy!”
Her answer was sly but curt and he felt her distaste stab at his gut. “The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious.”
He felt a tearful lump rise in his throat and he choked back a sob, his eyes stinging. The Buffy he knew would never say such hurtful things. Never. She was generous and giving, kind-hearted, patient and understanding. This was a nightmare, it couldn’t be real. Still he chased after her, unshed tears blurred his vision and his head throbbed as if electrical currents had been ignited within his skull.
“I love you, Buffy!” He heard himself cry. “Buffy, please!”
In a jarring second, everything seemed to freeze and all he could see was Buffy. She was pure beauty and it took his breath away. But his heart crumbled when she looked at him with pure disdain and her tone was laced with venom.
“It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you.” He felt her hands on his chest, shoving him to the ground. “You’re beneath me.”
Just as the first tear spilt down his cheek, there was an explosion of light. Spike clutched his head as he was overcome by a stab of blinding white pain. He screamed and there was noise; just a droning roar of noise. His entire body felt engulfed by the pain, every limb and muscle was tense and burning.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was deathly quiet. He peeked one eye open and it was dark. There was no more pain, only warmth, softness and the faint scent of vanilla.
Buffy.
~
Buffy was dreaming. It was the best kind of dream. She was all warm and snug, her legs tangled up with Spike’s. Her head rested on his shoulder, her arm draped across his chest. His arms wrapped around her.
“Mm,” she sighed. “Spike.”
She let her eyes open peacefully, not fully registering what she saw before her but sighing again at the vision of cerulean blue eyes. She felt the rumbling growl move up his chest before she heard it.
“Mm, God, Buffy. I love waking up with you. Every morning, the way you look at me,” he mused. “It’s like you’re seeing me for the first time in years. No one else looks at me the way you do. You’re so beautiful, luv.”
Spike. It was-it was Spike! This was no dream. Her early-morning mind was muddled, but it screamed at her that it was Spike. Only that it wasn’t him. He had his face and his sentiments, but by all accounts, this was still the same boy that she’d- this was the same boy, all grown up.
With a touch to her chin, he titled her head up and placed a tender kiss on her parted lips. At the feel of his lips pressed against hers, Buffy was stunned. The kiss was soft and lingering. And unexpected as the situation was, Buffy could only surrender. She raised a hand to run her fingers through his bleached locks, parting her lips a bit more to allow him entrance and letting out a helpless whimper as he did so. Their desire quickly surged and she roved her hands down the sinewy muscles of his arms and back as he pulled her leg over his hip.
“I’m sorry, kitten.” He pulled away from the kiss, choosing to rest his forehead gently against hers.
Flushed and breathless, she looked up at him in confusion. “Wha...um, what?”
He chuckled and smiled at her softly. “I meant it, when I said I wouldn’t push you into anything.”
“Push?” She questioned, mind still hazy from his breath-taking kiss. “...there’s pushing?”
“Most usually. Yeah, pet. There’s lots of pushing.” He smirked and smouldered at her before becoming sincere. “But I meant that thing we talked about the other day. How I said I wouldn’t rush you into...” He looked suddenly bashful and seemed to fumble around for words. “You know...dancing...with me...”
“Dancing?”
“The... er...horizontal tango?”
“Oh!” She giggled and melted a little inside. “That tango.”
“Mm-hmm, after all it does take two, doesn’t it, luv?”
She didn’t know what came over her as she chewed on her bottom lip and looked at him through her eyelashes. “Well, not necessarily,” she whispered. “I can think of some steps which can be performed...solo, as it were.”
Buffy watched the tendons in his cheeks flex as he tried to suppress a large grin. She squealed happily when he wrapped both arms tightly around her waist and rolled her onto her back, his body pressed flush against hers. “There’s my little minx.” He planted a noisy kiss on her brow before heaving his body off hers and out of bed.
“Where are you going?” She hoisted herself up onto her elbows to watch him.
“Breakfast, luv.” He ruffled his hair, looking around for his shirt before giving up. “Can’t explain it, I’m absolutely starved.”
Of course, the transitions always seemed to make him ravenous the next morning.
“You don’t have to go downstairs. You could always...you know...” She gestured to her collarbone.
Gently, he sat himself down beside her and cupped her head of dishevelled blonde locks. “No, sweetheart. I can’t. I’m just not strong enough. And not after what happened last time.”
“Remind me again?”
“You really don’t remember?”
She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head.
“It’s simple really; I bit you too hard. I drank too much, too fast. You were passed out in my arms, but it was-it was just so hard to stop. I was so hungry, Buffy. I was so young. But the worst part was; you didn’t try to stop me. You just let me drink. You trusted me. You held my hand and let me drink. I could have killed you, sweetheart.”
“I think you would stop now,” she offered quietly. “I liked feeding you.” She reached out to touch his cheekbone. “You were my little guy.”
Good Lord, she was confused. One day she was feeding a little crying vampire babe and the next she was having a morning snog-fest with him. What in the hell was going on? This wasn’t right, she knew it. The relationship she had with this Spike was predominantly maternal. In many ways she was no better than a cradle snatcher. But right under it all, these were no normal circumstances. From the very beginning of this crazy saga, Spike’s attachment to her had been based in the feelings he’d already possessed.
But at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d been robbed. She’d woken up to a boyfriend, a partner... a lover, but she’d missed out on their story. She’d missed out on the story which had brought them together. And wasn’t that the most important and exciting part of any relationship? How had they come to be a couple? How had their relationship blossomed in the intervening years? Had they dated? Gone to movies, shared giant milkshakes and taken romantic strolls out by the...cemeteries? Had she, one day, taken his hand and shared her hopes and fears with him? Had he told her that he couldn’t imagine life without her there beside him every step of the way? Had she done the same?
A tender kiss to her brow quietened her thoughts for just a moment.
“I’ll always be your guy, Buffy,” he murmured. “I’ll always be yours.”
“Do you think you’ll ever...you know, bite me...again?” She asked timidly, but also to her own surprise. “I like knowing that I can feed you, that there’s something inside me that can save you.”
His eyes widened in adoration. “Oh, Buffy. You take such good care of me. Don’t you know? You save me every day.”
She cast her eyes downward. She could pretend, just for a moment, couldn’t she?
“But...maybe one day? Will you?”
“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”He tilted his head, regarding her carefully as he did in his own special, handsome way. She didn’t move a muscle. “Maybe,” he whispered. “One day.” He gave her that heart-stopping half-smile and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Can I get you anything? Breakfast in bed for my girl?”
“Maybe just a cup of tea?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He planted a kiss on her forehead and tucked the sheets around her.
The moment Buffy heard his footfalls down the stairs she exhaled loudly and rolled onto her back, eyes wide and taking gasping breaths. What had she done? Was it real? It most certainly felt real. She was in a relationship. They were in a relationship; her and Spike. Spike! She had been pretending though, hadn’t she? Pretending for Spike so as not to confuse him. It had felt so real and so...right. Her chest felt as though it would explode. She loved him. She, Buffy Summers, loved Spike with all of her heart. But which one? She thought of the Spike downstairs, the Spike who’d be bringing her a cup of tea in five minutes. She remembered the adoration in his gaze, but as she remembered the taste of his kiss, her heart contracted with guilt.
She wasn’t being fair to either of them. She felt a prickling in the corners of her eyes and her vision glazed over. Tears.
She thought of pre-spell Spike, the amazement, passion and love in his eyes as he’d watched her descend the stairs that night she’d been resurrected for the second time. She remembered the picture of his bloodied and bruised skin as she’d stooped to kiss him after he’d submitted himself to Glory’s torture in order to save her sister. William the Bloody, Spike the soulless vampire. Did she love him too? The guilt, the feeling of betrayal, it was stifling.
There was no doubt that Spike had returned to his pre-spell age. He’d made the final transition. So why wasn’t he back to normal yet? When would she get him back? Panic flooded her as she remembered Willow’s warnings about potential side effects of the spell. What if this Spike was the final transition? What if he really didn’t remember?
Her body shook with a sob as she realised the answer to one of her many questions. He was in her heart and she loved him. She loved Spike...the Spike who’d come crashing into Sunnydale all those years ago and rocked her world. She had to get him back. But Spike, the Spike downstairs. She’d promised to look after him and she couldn’t deny it, she loved him too. He was hers, her man. She couldn’t lose him.
When Spike, her loyal, doting and loving ‘boyfriend’, returned with a steaming cup of tea, Buffy was choking back cries, tears streaming down her cheeks.
To be continued...