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Chapter 36: Baby, Won't You Please Come Home
“Really, I thought we’d grown past demon-napping each other, Anyanka.”“Well, you don’t write, you don’t call…what’s a gal supposed to do?”
“I thought I’d told you everything you wanted to know.”
“Maybe if you’d kept your big nose out of Spike’s head, that might’ve been true, Halfrek.”
“Not that I know what you’re referring to, but that’s a gruesome image, even for you.”
“Stop playing dumb. We know you’re the one who took Spike’s chip out. Did D’Hoffryn put you up to it?”
“Spike? I don’t believe I’m familiar with that name. Is he your dog? Oh, please don’t tell you’re indulging in human whimsies regarding pets, now.”
“It’s pointless trying to pretend, you know. I’m the one who let you into the room, remember?”
The last was from Tara, and with her now joining in on the confrontation of the vengeance demon, Buffy sighed, leaning as casually as she could against the arm of the couch, arms folded across her chest as she waited for something to do. Halfrek was contained in whatever magical thingamabob that was binding her to the room, which meant the Slayer couldn’t touch her. And as for questioning her, well, when it came to nagging as an interrogation method, she had to admit Anya was her better. And Tara was there to play good cop, so the equation was already balanced. Everyone else was pretty much superfluous.
Of course, everyone else consisted of only her and Xander at the moment. Giles was still hard at work in the bedroom, trying to get Freddie to relax. He’d emerged at one point, as the girls were setting the spell up, but promptly disappeared into the kitchen, giving them only a perfunctory nod when he came back out with two steaming cups of what she assumed was tea. The decaffeinated kind, she hoped.
So she and Xander waited, their earlier chat returning the comfort to their proximity. He’d taken it better than she’d expected, and though she wasn’t proud of herself for hitting him---I really have to start learning how to control those instincts around my friends, she thought---it had been just the thing to snap her out of her anger, to finish talking to him like a rational adult. It was probably still weird to him, but given time, Buffy was sure he’d adjust. He’d gotten used to Spike living in his basement, hadn’t he? And this wasn’t nearly as close.
Of course, that required Spike to actually be there, which meant rescuing him and
Because Anya’s ex-friend was driving her batty with her bitchy prattling. If something didn’t break on that front soon, Buffy was going to have to do some breaking herself. Preferably on Halfrek’s smug face.
“For someone
who was so itching to get to his Slayer,” the seer said, swivelling to look
back at him from the front passenger seat, “you’re certainly taking your merry
time getting out of the car.”
“Yeah.” Glints of gold sparked across Spike’s eyes as
his nostrils flared, inhaling deeply the early morning aromas. Unmistakably Buffy, as well as the others, but
mixed in with it, echoing of something magical, was definitely something non-human.
Demon. Only one, but since none of the gang ranked
among his kind, its presence could not bode well.
“Wait here,”
he ordered, when he saw Peter’s hand go for the door handle.
“Something wrong?” Clara asked.
“She’s got
company. No reason to be draggin’ you lot into this if there’s goin’
to be a fight.” Besides, after having
been caged in by Sandrine for so long, a fight was exactly what he was in the
mood for. No way was he going to share
in that.
“I think you’d
be surprised at how good Peter is when it comes to steppin’
up to help.” He shot the seer a frown.
She wasn’t letting this go. “Might not be such a bad idea if you took him
with you. It never hurts to have a back-up.”
“Then he can
back me up parked out here,” Spike countered. “That way you two have the front covered if
something goes wrong.” Not that he thought
anything would, but it seemed like as good an excuse as any for him not to tag
along.
Her measured
gaze told him she wasn’t buying it, but after a moment, Clara shrugged.
“She’s your Slayer,” she said, her surreptitious glance at the large
black man at her side not going unnoticed by the vampire.
“You do as you see fit.”
Damn straight
she’s my Slayer, he thought as he slid silently from the vehicle. Of course, if Buffy actually heard that thought,
he was sure she might have a different opinion. Something about him being her vamp.
A warm flush
slithered down his bare abdomen, disappearing beneath the silk pyjamas to heat
his groin as he padded lightly across the grass toward the back of the cottage.
On second
thought, he rather liked that version better.
“It’s not
the difference we want to talk about, Hallie. It’s the why.
And the potential of you going back to D’Hoffryn and offering him a deal for us.”
When the vengeance
demon laughed at the suggestion, Buffy bolted to her feet in irritation, pacing
along the far length of the room. This
was getting them nowhere. Halfrek seemed determined to be as close-mouthed as she possibly
could, barely even admitting that she’d had anything to do with Spike in the
first place, in spite of
She needed
to hit something.
Now.
Because if she didn’t, she was going to explode in frustration.
She was making
a third pass by the lanai doors, watching the festivities on the other side
of the room out of the corner of her eye, when the first sensation tingled along
her skin. It wasn’t enough to make her
stop, but Buffy’s step faltered slightly as she continued
to pace, glancing back at the closed exit with the faintest of frowns worrying
her brow.
When she approached
on the fourth go, the one tingle turned into a plural, electrifying her nerves
so that the hair stood up on the back of the Slayer’s neck. This time, she halted,
grey-green eyes staring intently through the glass, seeing instead of the darkened
garden, her own reflection gazing hazily back at her.
Only Xander
noticed her distraction, darting glances between her and the others before rising
to his feet and crossing to her side. “What’s
up, Buff?” he asked, sotto voce.
“Vamps,” she
replied in equally low tones. Her lips
thinned, a gleam overtaking her irises as her hands curled into anticipatory
fists at her sides. Looks like my prayers
just got answered, she thought.
Xander’s
eyes widened. “You think Iris found us
already?” he rushed. He didn’t bother
lowering his tone this time, and the sharpness in it caused all other talking
in the room to cease behind him.
“Iris is here?”
Anya asked, looking at them with alarm.
“Someone’s here,” Buffy clarified. She was trying for soothing, but judging from
the way the ex-demon grabbed the nearest weapon, she had a sneaking suspicion
she was failing miserably. “Someone of the vampire persuasion.” With definitive strides, she marched to the
open weapons bag near the kitchen. “Everyone
stay in here,” she instructed as she tucked a stake
into her waistband.
“Don’t you
want us to b-b-back you up?”
The Slayer
shook her head. As jittery as she was,
these trespassers were hers and hers alone.
She needed the slays to iron out her nerves.
“You guys just make sure nobody else gets in.
Get ready to run if I say the word.”
“And what’s
the word going to be?” Anya asked as the Slayer’s hand hovered on the door knob.
“Probably
me yelling ‘run’ if I come running back inside,” the
blonde replied, and slipped out into the night.
Has to be
one of Iris’ minions scoping out the back entrance,
she thought as she stopped before the wall.
Who else would insist on her employees dressing like some out-of-date
glam rock star?
Whoever it
was, was nearing, and Buffy’s body went into automatic
mode, grateful to at last have the opportunity to vent some of the energy that
had been building up inside her, in spite of the earlier fracas at the hotel.
With a coiled spring, she leapt the height of the hedge, aiming for the
approach, to gracefully collide with the familiar cold form on the other side,
sending them both in a heap to the ground, hers landing beneath what was unmistakably
a him.
Her elbow
lashed out instinctively at the body trapping hers, but was met with a firm
grip that twisted her arm to pin it behind her back. The sharp jerk of her head backwards was reflexive
against the pain radiating through her shoulder, but it wasn’t until she heard
the muttered British curse accompanied by the sudden rush of air along her legs
when her captor rose, that she made the connection.
“Spike?”
Buffy said, rolling onto her back and onto her feet. Her eyes widened at the pale echo of his flesh
against the dawn-blushed sky, shoulders carved out of the darkness as he rubbed
painfully at his nose. Without another
moment of hesitation, she vaulted herself at him, arms outstretched, throwing
both of them into the hedge.
Her heart
was thumping inside her chest, her rational thoughts scattering to the winds
as relief suffused her system. He was
back. He was safe. Oh god, he’d managed to escape and he was standing
right there and he was…
“Why do you
look like you’ve just escaped from some male harem?” she asked, sliding down
the length of his body to look again at the pyjamas that graced his lower half.
The silk left very little to the imagination, clinging and shimmering
as it captured the scattered light. Even the outline of his growing erection was
unmistakeable in the dim illumination, and she couldn’t resist the urge to reach
out and trace the line of his cock through the fabric.
Spike hissed
in pleasure at her feather touch. “This
would be Sandrine’s idea of play wear,” he commented. When Buffy’s brows
shot up, he chuckled. “’Course, she didn’t
really fancy it when I asked her to cease and desist.”
Slowly, she
relaxed. “You know, for as much as I
hate to say it, I’m going to have to agree with her on this one.” Her mouth curled into a hungry grin as she slipped
her fingers inside the edge of the waistband. “We get to keep these when this is all over,
right?”
The growl
rumbled from the back of his throat as his fingers dug into her hips. “You get me my duster back, pet, and I’ll even
wear Harris’ castoffs.”
Buffy’s
jaw dropped. “She’s got your coat?” she
exclaimed in mock indignation. “Well,
that just won’t do. I say, let’s string
her up. Off with her head.” She smiled.
“Figuratively speaking, of course, because technically, it’s still
“Me, too, luv.” His voice
was muffled as Spike buried his lips in her hair. “Me, too.”
She could
feel his excitement pressed against her stomach, but in spite of the initial
exhilaration that had surged through her veins at the potential fight, it was
eclipsed by the joy and relief at seeing him in one piece that now flooded her
body. Having him gone had been excruciating,
but it was only having him back that made her realize just how deeply that had
cut. How much of her had felt like it
was missing. God, how could it hurt even
more now that he was back?
Her fingers
knotted in the stray curls at the base of his neck, pulling far enough away
so that she could slide her lips to his. Hungry,
and desperate, her tongue swiped across the lower swell before plunging through
the gap as his mouth parted, fighting and tasting and devouring him down as
she pressed her body into his.
Spike’s response
was immediate, hands tightening in his need. The arousal that had been semi-present at the
fight urged itself to the fore with a vengeance, demanding for release as the
silk barrier that prevented its escape tortured him along his length, sliding
up and down as Buffy ground her hips into his.
All thoughts of the threat that had initially brought him to the rear
of the cottage vanished from his mind, replaced instead by dancing green eyes
and nimble fingers that promised both pleasure and pain, drawing him to the
edge of forgetting the world around him as he met her tongue, stroke for ravenous
stroke.
Buffy let
one hand slide between their torsos, sliding inside the trousers to snake along
the tip of his dripping head. Giving
it a firm squeeze, she chuckled against his groan, and then squealed in delight
when he cupped the globes of her ass, tucking and pulling her tighter against
him. The tips of his fingers settled
beneath her shorts, into the moist arch where her thighs met her now-soaking
cleft, and her squeal turned into a corresponding moan as she itched herself
lower, desperately trying to force his touch deeper.
“Don’t…you…dare…scare me…like that…again,” she panted
as he broke apart from the kiss, raining a parade of blunt nibbles along her
jaw to the sinewy arc of her neck.
“Oh?” Spike
murmured. “Would you rather be scared
like this?”
His teeth
sank into the muscle of her shoulder, the explosion of sensations it wreaked
down her spine forcing her head back, her nails to rake down the arcs of his
blades as the cry was torn from her throat.
The line of fire that had just been created between his mouth and her
clit pitched higher, glossing her skin to a fine sheen as she felt the tip of
his cock brush against her wetness, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that
there was even more moisture soaking her slit.
“Bastard,”
she rasped, the smallest of laughs coloring her cadences,
and with a graceful flip, she twisted him around to the ground, now straddling
his lean hips as her hands braced herself on either side of his platinum head.
Two sets of
eyes glittered as their adrenaline raced, both nearly black with desire as they
seemed to hang there in the moment, watching, and waiting, Buffy’s
breath the only audible sound to either of their ears. The same realization crashed to both of their
attention as they lay there. The fact that Spike’s chip was now gone meant more than questioning
his attitude toward killing again. It
meant that he and the Slayer were back to being equals, matched in form as well
as in hearts, neither able to claim superiority no matter what the circumstance.
It created
a swell of satisfaction in Spike’s gut. Equals. Never had that before. Not
as a human. Not even with Dru, not with the whole sire thing, and then her being completely nutters. Leave it to Buffy to surprise him yet again.
The corresponding
sense of right that rose in the Slayer’s breast was surprising, though.
She’d missed this. Fighting with Spike had been a vicarious tango
that had crisped her moves, forced her to push mind and body to their limits
until she was better than when she started. Knowing that he could now return her to that
precipice was thrilling, to say the least.
Unfortunately,
it also reminded her of just why she’d come outside in the first place.
He seemed
to sense her shift in mood, and his lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t get used to this position,” he warned.
“Not when I can fight back now.”
The tone of
his voice was teasing, but there was no mistaking the hint of worry that fluttered
behind his eyes. It was then that Buffy
realized…though she had supported him back at the hotel, he knew they had yet
to really talk about what the ramifications of his returned state would mean,
and she reached forward to feather her fingertips across the line of his brow
in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “I told everyone,” she said softly. “Giles…Anya…Xander. Surprisingly enough, their heads didn’t combust.”
Spike’s hand
reached up to catch hers and he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm.
“Never asked you to lie for me, pet.
I don’t want you to think you have to.”
“I know.
I didn’t do it for you. I did it for us.” Slowly, she peeled herself away from his hips,
rising to her feet and pulling him up with her.
“It’s not like you weren’t going to tell me. You kept trying. I can see that now. We just kept getting interrupted.”
“And you’re
not…fussed ‘bout that?”
The bend of
his body was still wary, and Buffy shook her head as she pulled him against
her again. “Just don’t turn it into a
habit,” she said. “That’s a bad one.
The…keeping stuff away from each other part of it, I mean.
If you have something to say, don’t hold it back.
I’ve had enough of guys trying to tell me what they think I need to hear.
No more whitewashing for this gal. Just
like I swear not to hold back with you.”
She laughed. “And that’s enough
Oprah for this hour, methinks. Time
to get back to some good old-fashioned apocalypse averting.”
“Please tell
me you managed to nick my clothes when you went scampering off from the hotel,”
Spike said as followed her over the hedge. “Not that I’ve got a problem showin’ the wares to Rupes and the
boy, but I think it might make
“She’s a lesbian…remember?”
she joked back. “But, yeah, we’ve got
all your stuff. We’ll just have to sneak
into the bedroom to get it.” She stopped
when she noticed he’d halted behind her, turning to see him staring intently
at the patio doors, nostrils flaring. “What’s
up?” she asked.
“Tell me you
know there’s a demon in there,” he
said, his voice gruff. Stupid of him to forget that’s why he’d come
out alone in the first place.
“Oh, yeah,”
she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“That’s just Halfrek. One of Anya’s ex vengeance
buddies. Turns out she’s the one who
took the chip out of your head. Tara
and Anya figured it out.”
“And you’ve
got her in there because…?”
“…we thought
we could use her to get to D’Hoffryn.”
He nodded
as if he could’ve really expected nothing less.
“Something tells me we’re goin’ to have some
blanks to be fillin’ in for each other here, luv.”
His question
reminded her of her earlier doubts. “Yeah,”
she agreed. “Like…how in hell did you
ever figure out I was back here?”
Spike smirked
as he ambled to her side. “Those two
particular blanks happen to be parked out front.”
“So…Iris and
Sandrine aren’t nipping at your heels?”
A shake of his head. “And there’s no imminent danger
inside?” he queried, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
Her turn to say no. “And you know…” Somewhere along the line of their questioning,
Buffy’s voice had grown husky, her desire for him
returning to burn even higher. “…those
pants don’t so much show your wares,
as they do put out a full page ad. We
should probably…wait before going in.”
“Or do something
about it,” Spike muttered. The last of
his words was silenced by the crushing of his mouth to hers, his arms scooping
her about the waist and carrying her to the shadows of a nearby willow tree.
“Off, off,”
Buffy gasped as she pushed at her shorts. The
bark of the tree scraped against her back from the force he was pinning her
there, and she found herself holding her breath as dexterous fingers pulled
the article of clothing away, baring her skin to the pre-dawn air for only a
fraction of a second before being covered again by his insistent hips, his lips
once again attacking hers.
He had freed
himself at the same time, and it only took a small shift of the Slayer’s hips
to feel his hard length nudging along her cleft, each sweep brushing against
her screaming clit. Once, and twice,
and three times, and oh god was he ever
going to enter her?,
and there it was again, the gentle but firm pressure on the nerves that threatened
to explode already.
She gulped
for air as his mouth left hers, travelling along her cheek to capture her lobe
between his teeth, biting and nipping as a sympathetic rumble vibrated from
his chest into hers. Buffy’s
fingers clawed at his back, and though somewhere in the back of her head, she
knew that was she was doing was going to leave marks, marks that the others
would undoubtedly see when they finally went inside, she didn’t care. All that mattered was him. And getting him inside her. Now, now, now, her inner voice chanted like
a greedy child. Want him now.
He seemed
to be reading her thoughts. Without breaking
his tempo at her ear, Spike pulled his hips just far enough away to direct the
tip of his dripping cock to her entrance, holding her still for the moments---long,
excruciating, wonderful moments, she decided---it took to impale her on his
length.
Inch, by inch,
stretching and filling and engulfing her until she felt him buried completely
to the hilt, his coarse hair tickling at her clit as he held himself there…and
waited.
She was the
one to begin the rhythm, lifting her body just enough to encourage him to start
pumping in and out of her, each stroke driving her harder into the trunk, her
skin aflame as the world tilted around her.
“God…Spike…” she murmured into his neck, tasting the cool satin of his
flesh as it prickled against her tongue. Everything
seemed so much easier when he was there, like the answers that insisted on vanishing
with the advancing light suddenly decided to stick around, provide her grounding
upon which to stand. “Love you…so much…”
Though his
thrusts became harder, his mouth softened, leaving the hollow of her neck where
he had been sucking to lick across the tender spot just below her ear. “Love you, too, Buffy,” he replied, his voice
a whisper across her soul. “Always.”
It was all
she needed to drive herself over the edge, muffling her cry by burying her mouth
against his skin, her skin and limbs and insides and outsides detonating in
syncopation with the ripples that shuddered her muscles.
Spike came almost immediately after, as if he’d been waiting for her
release before allowing his own, and he held her tight against him, forehead
pressed to hers, lashes dark against his pale skin.
“It’s good
to be home,” he said softly as their bodies quietened.
She could
only nod in silent agreement.
But when the
doors opened, and she saw the familiar platinum head walk in at Buffy’s side, his fingers entwined with hers, the conspicuous
scent of sex clinging to their exposed skin, all motion in her body came to
a stop, her hope in the situation plummeting. Nothing showed on Halfrek’s
face, though, not even when Spike turned his head to look at her, and she lifted
her chin higher when she saw his eyes narrow in speculation.
“Geez, Spike,” exclaimed Xander as everyone else exhaled in
relief. Though it was obvious the humans
noticed the new closeness between the two blonds, it was just as apparent to
Hallie that they had no clue about the more intimate aspect
of their relations that had just occurred. “Way
to go for wigging us out here. Care to
share why you didn’t bother, oh, I don’t know…using the front door and knocking?”
“Sensed you
lot weren’t alone in here,” he said vaguely, and released Buffy’s
hand to step toward the confines in which they held the vengeance demon. When he came to a stop before her, she could’ve
sworn time slowed down as he tilted his head, his sapphire gaze glittering as
it languorously swept up and down her body.
His lips pursed
in his examination. “So….” Spike drawled.
“I hear tell you’re the one I’m s’posed to
be thanking for my little chipendectomy.”
She didn’t
say a word, only watched as Buffy came up to stand beside him.
“So this is
our Cecily wannabe?” she asked unnecessarily.
Spike nodded.
“No wonder she was able to pull off the masquerade so well,” he commented.
“She’s got bitch written all over her.”
Buffy giggled
at the joke, and turned away, no longer interested in his evaluation of his
so-called savior, issuing instructions to the others
that for some unknown reason included retrieving a pair of mysterious persons
from a car out in the front.
I told D’Hoffryn
this wasn’t going to work, she thought. His
plan had rested on the premise that Buffy would want to kill Spike. He hadn’t accounted
for the fact that she was going to fall in love with him. What choice did Hallie
have now but to try and do what the stupid Slayer wanted?
The room was
quieted when Anya held up her hands. “Not
to be the voice of doom and gloom here,” she said. “But I’ve got a funny question to ask. Not that I’m not glad we don’t have to go on
some suicide search and rescue for Spike, but…if Sandrine got as angry as she
did when you guys got me and Freddie away from her, how pissed do you think
she’s going to get when she finds out that you’ve done it to her…again?”
So when the
other presence woke from the slumber that had kept her to the bed the remainder
of the night, Willow was practically giddy from nervousness, waiting---and really,
really hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as last time---to see what the mambo’s reaction
was going to be.
For a long
minute, Sandrine stared at the empty wall opposite her before allowing her gaze
to trail to the just as empty entrance. “Huh,”
she finally said out loud, only the mildest of surprises in her voice.
“That sure happened a heck of a lot sooner than I thought it would.”
Her lower lip jutted out in a pout. “And
that bitch Slayer didn’t even bother to stick around here long enough for me
to pretend to put up a fight.”
Relief that
she hadn’t been found out, that Sandrine automatically assumed Buffy was the
responsible party for the rescue, surged through
Just as quickly,
her distress returned.
Wait.
Did she say pretend
to put up a fight?
Holy moley, what did
I miss?
She watched
in growing horror as Sandrine picked up the duster that was tucked underneath
the bed, slim fingers gliding lovingly over the softened lapels. “Hello, baby,” she crooned. “You’re going to take me right to them…aren’t
you?”
To be continued in Chapter 37: Now’s the Time…