DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: A discussion about biting and his responsibility regarding Buffy and Holly has led Spike to muse on the depth of his feelings for Buffy…

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Chapter 37: Love Came Down at Christmas

There was an electrical charge to his every moment, a feral waiting that outlined the flex in his arms as he lifted Holly to the couch, tucked the blankets tight around her. As Buffy watched---and she couldn’t stop, not when the power he held back with every sweep of his hand called out to her with a primal hunger more instinctive than reasoned---Spike set to the task of blocking the front door of the cabin with a grim determination indicative of his most recent shift of mood, and she wondered just what had triggered it this time.

Was it the alcohol? Or had her words finally sunk through that thick skull of his?

She wasn’t sure. She suspected it was a bit of both, that he’d taken them as the hard slap to reality he’d needed. He’d been too distracted to even notice her pathetic attempt to hide the fact that she’d been outside, too. The shower had been the only thing she could think of on such short notice, a ploy to buy her time while she divested herself of her clothing and warmed her skin to mask the chill from outdoors. He was too unsettled to even catch the lack of a heavy soap scent on Buffy’s flesh, which for Spike, was a pretty big miss.

As much as she found herself feeling for his situation, he infuriated her with his refusal to believe what was right in front of him. Didn’t he see how hard she was trying here? After the debacles of Angel and Parker and Riley, having the nerve to slice open her heart and lay it bare for anyone of the male persuasion who wasn’t Giles or Xander took more of Buffy’s fortitude than staving off the next apocalypse. That wasn’t even considering the truth of Holly’s opinion, either. The little girl adored Spike---trusted Spike---and he was too wrapped up in his insecurities to really see.

Well, he had been, at least. Buffy suspected that the ground had officially shifted.

When he finished with the doorway, his head swiveled to level his gaze at her, eyes dark through his lashes, his tongue running along the edge of his teeth as if he was considering the taste of her. “Can get back to business now,” he said, and started to stalk to where he’d left her sitting on the edge of the kitchen table. “Nothin’ left to interrupt us this time.”

“I’m business?” she said in faux wide-eyed innocence. “Am I a drive-thru or an all-you-can-eat kind of business?”

Spike’s lips curled. “Who says you’re not both, luv?”

His hands reached for her hips, digging into the soft flesh to tug her closer. Automatically, Buffy’s legs wrapped around him, the table suddenly too cold beneath her bottom, and she groaned when the hard line of his erection pressed into her wet cleft. “We’ve got to come up with better analogies than fast food,” she breathed. Her eyes fluttered shut when his mouth pressed to her throat, and she tilted her head to allow him better access. “I sound cheap.”

“Don’t forget easy.”

She slapped at his back. “Not helping, Spike.”

Blunt teeth began nibbling a path back up to her mouth. “There’s nothin’ easy about you, Buffy,” Spike said. “Fresh, and intricate, and more lovely to fathom than anything I’ve had the pleasure of in decades.” He captured her lips in a bruising, though quick, kiss.

“Only decades?” she teased when they broke apart. Secretly, though, she hummed in pleasure at his words. Who knew Spike could be so eloquent? Riley sure hadn’t been, and Parker, well, Parker’s angst-ridden, puppy-eyed monologues had suckered her, that’s for sure, but they’d never reached into her gut and just squeezed.

And with Angel…they had never been much about talking.

“If you think about it,” he was murmuring, his mouth never stopping, “I’ve only had the past week to come to know this for certain. Stick with me a bit longer, pet, and I’ve no doubt you’ll shatter that little time limit.”

Her skin was vibrating in her want for more.

More lips.

More tongue.

More fingers.

More Spike.

And she couldn’t stop from begging for it.

Spike’s response was a hungry growl as his grip tightened. Suddenly, Buffy felt the room swim around her as he turned to carry her to the bedroom, the towel slipping loose from its mooring to leave her backside bare, though the pressure of their torsos kept it in place in front.

“Where are you going?” she said, her gaze shooting to the loft ladder as they passed it.

“Want to fuck you in a bed where I don’t have to fuss about you falling off if I roll you over,” he replied. “Pidge doesn’t need it for the night, so we’re goin’ to borrow it for a few hours.”

His weight pressed her into the mattress, the terry towel rubbing against Buffy’s hardened nipples in a delicious rasp that sent shocks straight to her clit. When her hands fought to grab the hem of Spike’s shirt, though, his fingers wrapped around her wrists, ceasing the motion and twisting her arms up and over her head.

Her eyes shot open to see Spike hovering above her. “What’re you doing?” she asked.

Spike didn’t say a word. Taking both of her slim wrists in one hold, his freed hand slid down between their torsos, peeling the towel away with just enough force to make her gasp. Quickly, he rolled it into a coil, and looped it through the bars of the headboard. He had pressed her forward to the top of the mattress before he finally spoke.

“Do you trust me?”

There was no hesitation in her reply.

“Yes.”

Satisfaction glinted deep within the blue, and Spike wasted no time in binding the towel around her wrists, releasing his grip to tighten the knot to keep her still. Buffy’s muscles stretched along her sides, but it wasn’t painful, more of a heightened awareness of the sinew of her flesh, taut and fluid and oh so ready to be pushed and molded. Her breath quickened. She’d begged once. She wasn’t ready to do it again.

Yet.

Spike’s fingers feathered down her neck, hesitating at the throbbing in her throat before his head bent to lick at the pulsing that lingered there. “Not a man,” he whispered. “Know you want to fool yourself into thinking so, and it’s nice to forget for a moment myself, but that’s not what I am, Buffy.”

It was an avowal she’d known was coming. “I know,” she whispered back. Her back arched away from the bed when his mouth suddenly latched to her breast, his tongue sharp and pointed against the sensitive tip, and she had to force herself not to break the bonds he’d given her, even if she wanted to hold Spike closer.

“Do you?” He asked the question without looking up. The mattress shifted dangerously beneath her as he lowered his weight to her side. His clothing made her skin itch, ravenous for him to be harder, rougher, just moremoremore,and Buffy chewed at her lip to keep from crying out. Squeezing her eyelids shut against the blinding sensations of his mouth---oh god that mouth---trailing wet and deadly in its quest to taste all of her, she barely heard him add, “Look at me, luv.”

It took all her will to do as he requested.

Golden eyes gazed back at her. Stretched along her side, Spike now watched her with his ridges prominent, his tongue curled up behind his fangs. He waited, his body tense, his fingers expectant, and she said the only thing she could.

“I told you,” Buffy murmured, “I trust you. All of you.”

Slowly, Spike rose from the bed, his gaze locked on her quivering flesh. After taking off his shirt, his hands lowered to his jeans, freeing his hard cock from their confines and pushing them down and out of the way. He didn’t return to her side right away, though. Instead, his fingers curled around his arousal, deliberately pulling its length until his thumb brushed across the glistening tip.

She was transfixed by the sight. Her mouth watered, her body straining to close the distance between them, but the echo of her promise locked her in place, only a whimper of need escaping her throat to testify to Buffy’s hunger. “Spike,” she said, and her voice sounded hollow and starved, even to her.

The unspoken request for him to join her hung between them, but the vampire just stood there, long fingers sliding up and down his cock. “Want to savor this,” he drawled. His eyes swept along her exposed flesh, lingering on the swell of her breast before dropping to the soft dip of her pelvis. “Do you know what you do to me, luv?” His voice was coarsening, his tongue flicking along his fangs in growing desire, and she shivered in anticipation.

“Yes. You’ve told me.”

“No.” He moved so quickly, Buffy could only gasp when she suddenly felt his weight atop her hips. “You asked if I still think of biting you. You think you can look at me like this and still wonder?”

His head bent and his mouth was on hers before she could answer. She knew what to expect; she’d kissed Angel when he’d been in vampface on more than one occasion. But Buffy had expected Spike’s kiss to be different. Harder. More demanding. Just…different.

And it was, but not in the way she’d expected. It was more demanding than any of Angel’s kisses had ever been, Spike’s tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers with infinite languor, but the aching indolence in which he searched the sweltering depths of her mouth, the care he took to keep his fangs from nicking her, spoke louder than any words he might have uttered.

Before he could break the kiss, Buffy thrust her tongue into his mouth, catching it against the tip of one of his deadly canines and feeling the warm trickle of her blood tinge her taste buds. She didn’t question why it was his chip didn’t trigger, other than to decide that maybe her instigation had prevented it from thinking he was hurting her, but let him taste the coppery fluid, waiting to see how he would respond.

Spike froze.

All she could hear was the pounding in her ears.

All she could do was wait.

Carefully, Spike withdrew from the kiss, and she saw the ridges soften around his eyes as he struggled between his demon and human masks. The tip of his tongue appeared between his scarlet-stained lips, catching the tiny droplets that had escaped, and his nostrils flared when the taste assaulted his senses again. More than any of that, though, Buffy saw the awe and surprise in his yellow eyes as the depth of what she’d done penetrated his awareness.

She didn’t know what to say to him.

Her Slayer instincts were screaming at her for her foolishness, and the prospect of trying to explain any of this to Giles, already huge on the ick factor anyway because sex and the Watcher were most definitely unmixy, made her start to wish she hadn’t initiated what was fast moving beyond what she’d imagined.

Her heart was thumping away in her chest, desperate to escape, confused by the ache of emotion that swelled forth at the call of wonder. It wanted her to profess to feelings she wasn’t ready to admit out loud; it wanted to be free of having to hide behind its walls.

Her head was torn between the two.

So she said nothing, because Buffy was somehow convinced that if she did, it would come out wrong and shatter what tenuous new bond was forging between them.

And she watched.

And waited. Again.

Spike’s hand slipped between their bodies, skating between her breasts, over her stomach, stopping at the junction of her thighs. Strong fingers gripped her leg, prising it apart from its mate, and then slipped between her outer lips to dip into her juices, taking care not to touch anywhere near her clit.

Buffy’s hips bucked. A jolt shot up her spine as she managed to make contact with the heel of his hand, but all motion in her body was stilled when he pushed her back down.

“Stay,” he ordered, and there was no argument to be made with the tone of his voice. Again, his face loomed above her, eyes almost glowing in the dim light of the bedroom. “Stay,” Spike repeated, and this time it was softer, almost pleading.

She stayed.

Lowering his mouth back to her neck, Spike began to slide his fingers in and out of Buffy’s pussy, matching the rhythm of the in and out with his tender sucking along her flesh. She could feel his fangs scoring tiny razor cuts along her skin, and then the cool palliative of his tongue as it caught the miniscule ribbons of blood before moving on to the next exposed patch of her trembling body. Each lick, and each ensuing sliver of tooth, made the moans start deep within her throat, her muscles straining to get closer, her control swiftly spiraling beyond any measure of command. It all burned with an exquisite throb, but whether it was because of her acquiescence to his authority or because of something else, Buffy had no idea.

The thrusting of his fingers became stronger, no longer just one or two but three or even four, by the feel of it. His thumb pressed into her clit, an unrelenting force that refused her release, just added and added and added again to the sensations until Buffy was swimming in them. There was nothing gentle about this lovemaking. This was primal beyond anything she had ever imagined, and even as she felt her nipple get snagged between Spike’s teeth---not his fangs, she realized; it amazed her that he could still find the self-control not to give in to her desire for this---Buffy knew it was just as much about her as it was about him.

Her orgasm came out of nowhere.

As the contractions started deep within her pelvis, Buffy bowed back, her lips parting to allow the keening to escape her throat. Vaguely, she became aware of Spike grabbing her hips, pulling her torso even more taut as he yanked her closer, and his thick cock slammed into her, no remorse in its unrestrained power, each glide and thrust scathing as her pussy rippled around his length.

He fucked her without restraint, refusing to allow her to come down from her orgasm as wave after wave washed over her, demanding mastery over her muscles as she writhed and convulsed beneath him. When he came, Spike roared, and then fell forward to bury his face in her exposed neck, his demon visage long gone as his mouth pulled at the soft muscle of her throat. She felt his hands lift, and then hers were free, coming down of their own accord to begin stroking his corded back.

It took a few minutes for her to find her voice again.

“If Holly wakes up, it’s going to be your fault,” Buffy teased softly.

He pulled back, and she met the dark blue of his eyes with confidence. “I don’t understand why the chip didn’t go off,” Spike murmured.

“Because it didn’t hurt me, you big dummy.”

For a second, his gaze flickered down to her breasts, and she knew he could see that the cuts were already healing, if not entirely gone. “You shouldn’t have---.”

“You better not be about to say what I think you’re about to say,” Buffy said. She tightened her grip around him, pulling him even deeper inside and squeezing until he let out a groan. “I liked it. Maybe it won’t be like that every time, but, you know, it’s a part of you, and well…it was kind of hot.”

He grinned at that, reaching up to push back a lock of her hair that had plastered itself to her cheek. “Understatement, luv.”

Carefully, Spike pulled out of her wet depths, rolling onto his side and nuzzling her against him. Buffy felt his still-hard length nestle between her ass cheeks, and had to fight not to squirm into it. They really needed to get some sleep.

“Go to sleep now,” Spike whispered, again sparking the question in her mind of whether or not he could read her thoughts. “Need your rest.”

Already her lids were drifting shut. “What…about…Holly?”

“Don’t you mind about the little one. I’m on the watch for tonight.”

The soft stroking of his fingertips along the underside of her breasts made her sigh. “OK,” Buffy murmured. She had no strength to argue with him, just as she had no doubt that he would be true to his word. “G’night, Spike.”

“Good night, pet.”

And just before she felt the world vanish around her, like the gentle promise of a summer evening breeze, from far away she heard…

“Love you, Buffy.”

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In deference to Doyle’s temporary corporeal form, they met in the parking lot of the bar he picked out. A broken string of Christmas lights hung from the neon sign, and the pick-up he was parked beside sported a fake white Christmas tree mounted to its roof, a Budweiser frog with a red bulb in its mouth on its peak as an unheralded angel.

Jenny’s brows quirked as she examined the show of holiday spirit, and then shook her head as she turned away from the truck. “Is it January yet?” she complained. “I think I’ve reached my limit of good will toward men. Especially stupid men.”

“I hope that’s not a judgment of yours truly,” Doyle said. “As the only testosterone-driven member of our little group, I’d like to lodge a complaint with the bosses upstairs if it is.”

“Play nice, you two.” Their third pushed her hair back off her face. Her eyes were weary, her motions lethargic. “It’s been a long day for all of us.”

“A long week,” Jenny corrected. “And still four more days to go.”

“And for the record, I want it to be known I tried talking Joyce out of her little plan, too,” Doyle said. “I think it’s just as daft as the rest of you do.”

Jenny turned toward the other woman. “How’re Buffy and Spike doing?”

She bit her lip. Her task had been to keep an eye on the cabin; did they really want to know what she had witnessed? Somehow, she doubted it. Jenny’s faith in the vampire was already shaky at best.

“They’re coping,” she said instead. “Considering neither of them have that much experience with kids, they’re doing pretty well.”

“I’m just surprised they haven’t killed each other,” Jenny went on. “After Angel, I thought Buffy would have better sense.”

“We’re not here to judge them.” Her voice was harsh, harsher than she usually used, but she was tired of having to defend the two blonds. Neither of the others had seen them like she had; neither of them knew that each would be the savior for the other. “All we have to do is make sure that nothing happens to Holly. And leaving her in Buffy and Spike’s care is the best way for that to happen.”

Jenny sighed. “You are ever the optimist, Tara,” she said. “I just hope you’re right. Maria’s played relatively nice so far, but with her deadline so close, I have a feeling that won’t be lasting.”

Tara nodded. The next four days were going to be the true test. Even knowing Maria’s location, and even with Joyce there to ensure the aging witch didn’t learn the truth, there was no guarantee the measures they’d taken were going to be enough. Holly’s sleepwalking earlier that night---something none of them could’ve predicted---had frightened Tara as she watched helpless from the sidelines. And then afterward, with Buffy and Spike…

“What’s wrong?”

Jenny was looking at her quizzically, and Tara felt the flush that had risen to her cheeks. “Nothing,” she said hastily. The others would never learn how close they’d come to losing Holly tonight, or hear about what happened between the Slayer and her vampire. “I’m just…tired. And worried for Mrs. Summers.” She offered them a wan smile. “I’ve been listening to you two for too long. You’ve got me wondering how this is going to turn out when I should know everything’s going to be all right.”

“Oh, but we do know that, don’t we, girls?” Doyle’s grin was bright as he gestured toward the Christmas decorations nearby. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year. No way can the bad guys win.”

 

To be continued in Chapter 38: There’s a New Kid in Town