Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea and the words used to write the story. All recognizable characters, trademarks and locations belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. This is their sandbox, I’m just playing in it out of love for their characters and world and for fun, definitely not for profit.
Author’s Note: So, this started off as a PWP that I woke up with the idea for but I kept writing and writing until it ended up turning into something a lot… different. It’s a lot of fun to write a more self-aware Buffy.
Also, this is the first time I have published something for this beloved ‘verse in over fifteen years. The last time I wrote Buffy was the first time I wrote anything, and it’s fairly intimidating to come back to something you know weren’t very good at doing before, so please be gentle with the reviews. Constructive criticism is much appreciated!
Timeline: Season 4; set somewhere between The Harsh Light of Day/In The Dark and The Initiative.
Summary: For reasons unknown even to himself, Spike saves Buffy and brings her back to his house to dress her wounds. He has no idea of the revelations that are in store…
He was a bleedin’ idiot.
Spike was careful to be silent as he entered the dark room and shut the door behind him, bringing forth his demonic visage so that he could see better. Everything looked as he’d left it—neat and orderly, everything in its’ place including the blonde Slayer still sleeping peacefully in the king size bed. He inhaled and was relieved to find the only scent of blood was hours old, meaning that her wounds hadn’t re-opened since he’d dressed them.
And what the hell was he doing taking care of the Slayer, anyway? He groaned silently and pressed a hand against his forehead as the demon and the man warred against each other as they’d been doing for hours. He was meant to be killing her, not bringing her back to the small house he’d been squatting in since returning to Sunnydale after his disastrous trip to LA, cleaning and dressing her wounds and putting her in his bed to sleep off the painkillers he’d given her.
Watching her sleep, Spike wondered what the bloody hell he was playing at by doing this. He knew that part of it was his more sporting side—when he killed the girl, he wanted it to be because he’d finally bested her, not because someone else had done the work for him. He growled quietly at the thought of the conquest of his third Slayer being tainted so, and oddly enough it seemed to placate his demon somehow.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there contemplating his actions and absently monitoring her vitals when a dizzying aroma suddenly filled his nostrils—it smelled like sunshine and daisies, power and need, altogether Buffy and yet more. Suddenly Buffy rolled over from her side onto her back and moaned, and Spike was frozen to the spot as he finally put a name to the scent—arousal!
“Oh, bloody hell!” he exclaimed, careful to keep his voice low as he eyed the deceptively small girl on the bed with no small amount of trepidation. Unable to stop himself, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a predatory smile forming on his face as he added another useful tidbit to his knowledge of Slayers. It wasn’t just their blood that was an aphrodisiac, he noted as he felt a painful tightening in his pants.
He should leave, he knew that. Not because he couldn’t control himself—he had learned to do that long ago with Dru, when he wanted her so badly he couldn’t see straight but her childlike persona had surfaced and she was terrified of the slightest touch—but because if she awoke and saw him this way, he would definitely wind up on the wrong end of a stake. Slay first, ask questions later—that was her way and the second she saw the bulge in his jeans, there would be no asking at all, just dangerous assumptions that would leave him dust before he could say a word.
Swallowing hard, he finally forced himself to move. He had his hand on the doorknob and was slowly twisting it when the world stopped with one whispered, drawn out word. It came out as a breathy moan from her lips, ”Spike…”
He should go, he repeated to himself, but his mind and body were no longer connected as his feet carried him over to the side of the bed. Her vitals told him she was still in a deep sleep and he stared at her, drinking her in as she slightly writhed on the bed and let out another long, breathy moan. God, but she was gorgeous, this little slip of a girl who had spectacularly kicked his ass on more than one occasion. Her golden hair was tousled, a faint flush had spread across her face and it enhanced the beauty that he’d always admired.
Even asleep, looking deceptively harmless and weak as a kitten, there was a hardness to her body and a sleek predator’s grace to the way it moved against his silk sheets that belied the falsehood and spoke of the powerful warrior hidden inside the sleek frame. Suddenly she let out a soft mewling sound and he watched her soften, watched as her little pink tongue darted out to lick her lips as her hips arched off the bed. His impossibly tight pants tightened even more at the sound of the frustrated whimper coming from her lips when she didn’t find the friction she was obviously craving.
“Spiiiiiike,” she cried out again, sheer desire and need in her voice. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d sat down on the bed next to her and reached out a trembling hand to cup her face, a touch she leaned into with a satisfied hiss. “Dreaming of ole Spike, are you luv?” he murmured, sucking in a breath when that wicked tongue darted out to taste the sensitive skin of his wrist. “Bloody hell, Slayer!”
“Need you… Want you…” Buffy whimpered. He growled as she reached out a searching hand, finding his jeans and following them up until she was gently squeezing the bulge in his pants. “What the bleedin’ hell am I—doing? Jesus Christ, Slayer!” he grunted as she suddenly put a little of her super strength into the squeeze, the pain intensifying the powerful sensations of pleasure even more.
He quickly but carefully pried her fingers away from his hard on and practically jumped away from the bed, running a shaky hand through his hair and pacing frantically as he talked to himself. “Slayer is dreaming about doing me, seems to know that I’m here and she wants it. And bloody hell if I don’t want to give it to you,” he directed at the girl in question, who was breathing rapidly and letting out small whimpers of pain that made him want to go to her–
“No, you daft git!” he told himself sternly, trying to shut out the sounds and movements of the wanting Slayer. “That way leads to sure staking and you’re better than that. You can have any girl you want without needing them to be asleep. That’s not your style, and you know it,” he told himself sternly, uncaring of the curls he’d brought out in his normally carefully gelled hair or of the sheer madness of the situation as he paced and muttered to himself while a Slayer whose very arousal was a bloody aphrodisiac was begging for his touch not five feet away.
Taking a deep breath, knowing that he finally had himself under control, Spike strode to the door and opened it, determined to walk through it and leave the Slayer to her own devices. But he made the mistake of looking back—should have known better, that’s what did Lot’s wife in innit—and any and all rational thought disappeared at the sight of the smooth and supple golden figure of Buffy Summers in all of her naked glory on his bed. Just when Spike had hope that he could still find the strength to leave, she slipped one slim finger inside of herself and whimpered his name again in a tone that spoke of a deep longing and need, and he slammed the door.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered harshly as he strode back over to the bed and climbed onto it at the feet, the predator in him fully on display as he crawled towards his prey. “Slayer,” he rasped, stopping at the apex of her thighs and smiling victoriously when she brought her finger out and instead used her fingers to spread her womanhood open to his gaze. “Spike, yes, please Spike,” she moaned. He knelt and slowly dragged his tongue up one leg, just above where she wanted it most and down the other leg.
“Spiiiiike,” she groaned again, and he growled against her inner thigh. His favorite place to drink from was mere centimeters away, and he tugged the patch of skin covering it with his dull teeth, careful not to break the skin even as the tempting blood sang out to the demon in him who raged against Spike’s restraint. Releasing the skin, he let his tongue dart out and taste the salty sweetness of the sweat shining against her tan leg, closing his eyes with a moan. Christ, was there anything about this girl that wouldn’t threaten to undo him?
Buffy moaned his name again, her hips lifting in an impatient thrust and that was when he lost control. With a possessive growl, he positioned himself right before her center that she was still holding open for him and finally gave in to his urge, starting with one long lick from bottom to top. She squirmed against his face with a long gasp that trailed off into a moan as he gently slipped a finger inside of her and began to nibble at her clit.
As soon as he had a taste of the Slayer, Spike knew the answer to his previous question—there was no threat to undo him, he was bloody well undone already. Her arousal tasted even better than it smelled, and it was almost better than the blood of the two Slayers he had killed in the past. He marveled at that fact even as he worked her body, groaning when she fisted her hands in his hair and lifted her hips to grind against his face. He slipped a second finger inside of her and was rewarded with another cry.
God, she was tighter than a Chinese finger trap and more blazing hot than the sun around his fingers and tongue, and as he dipped his tongue inside of her he knew that he was done for. As much as he’d relished killing Slayers before, it was nothing compared to this experience—and as she reached her peak and her muscles contracted around him with Slayer strength, he shuddered and his eyes snapped open with sudden realization.
Oh, bollocks. He was in love with her. The thought should have scared the hell out of him, sent him running in denial, but instead it felt oddly right, more like an acceptance of something he’d known deep down than a realization to be feared. He supposed he’d been hiding this truth from himself for a while—he’d had a hard on for the girl since the first time he’d seen her, dancing with her friends and looking every inch the force of nature a Slayer should be and then some. He wasn’t sure when desire had turned into something more, but he suspected it may have been during their truce to save the world.
That had been the first time he’d seen the girl inside the Slayer, and what a broken one she had been. He’d felt sympathy for her then, that little slip of an eighteen year old with the weight of the world on her shoulders on top of the every day burdens of being a young woman with a broken heart. Accused of murder, one friend dead and another gravely injured, Watcher kidnapped by a renowned torturer she had set free… Finding out that her mum didn’t know about her destiny astounded him and impressed him, loathe as he’d been to admit it at the time. How the bleedin’ hell she’d managed to stay sane with all the pressure she was under was anybody’s guess.
The true shock of it all had been how in sync they had been when attacked. He’d known they danced well together on opposite sides, but he hadn’t been expecting the fluid team they made fighting together. They seemed to anticipate each move the other made and compliment it with one of their own. And when the vamp had been dusted, they shared a brief moment of camaraderie that had made him feel more alive than he had in his very long unlife.
Yes, he supposed that had been the moment that had changed his feelings for the Slayer, for Buffy; the moment he had started to fall in love with her. And even when he and Harmony had run into her at that frat party shortly before he’d so briefly found his prize, he’d relished seeing her and felt slightly guilty about the college student they’d snagged as takeout.
Buffy’s hips arched upwards with enough strength to throw a less tenacious man as she came hard, jerking Spike back to the present. He was again amazed as he tasted her cum for the first time and found his self control waning. As much as he wanted to savor the taste, he instead found himself drinking it frantically, surprised by the comforting feel of her hands softly combing through his hair as she hummed contentedly.
It wasn’t until he reluctantly drew away from her that he even registered the change in her breathing and heart rate or the scent of fear in the air. It was the sight of her wide eyed, terrified gaze that alerted to him to the fact and sent him scrambling backwards off the bed completely. The look on her face made his blood ran cold—shock and fear, emotions that he’d never seen from the Slayer before, not even when she’d been cowering against a wall at the point of Angelus’s sword.
“Slayer?” he said tentatively, picking up the blanket and tossing it over her when she didn’t react. “Buffy?” That did the trick and suddenly she grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her chin and around her back, covering every bare inch of skin she could. “What the hell am I doing here?” she asked, her tone all Slayer but the look on her face still all girl.
“I was on my way here and I stumbled across you getting your ass handed to you by a fledge,” he answered, forcing his tone to remain businesslike and calm despite the tremor in his voice. He licked his lips and flinched at the divine taste that lingered there, making it hard to concentrate. “But I staked him,” Buffy countered, a tremor in her own voice.
“Yeah, you did but then you passed out.” Buffy closed her eyes and envisioned the fight—she had gotten cocky and the fledge had managed to sneak through her defenses and had managed to throw her hard against a crypt. She’d been fighting through big black spots in her vision and he had managed to slip in again, this time stabbing her in the belly with a weapon that she hadn’t managed to see. He’d left himself open as he did so and that was when she’d finally staked him before the world dissolved into pure darkness.
Careful to keep one hand holding the blanket up, she reached up with the other and carefully rubbed the back of her head which was still tender. She could feel a huge knot under her fingertips and trailed her hand down to her stomach, tentatively pressing against the gauze and exhaling shakily when the expected pain turned out to be nothing more than a slight twinge. That was a sign of her Slayer healing having almost taken care of it and doubled as a testament that she had been out for several hours. She sighed, slumping as she realized Spike was telling the truth. “So what happened next?” she conceded.
Spike raised his scarred eyebrow and cautiously moved to sit on the other side of the bed, careful to keep several inches between them and making sure to keep his eyes trained on her face as he replied, “For some soddin’ reason, I didn’t fancy leaving you there to be an easy treat for any run of the mill demon.”
She scoffed. “Since when do you care about me dying? Is this some kind of possessive vampire crap, you’re the only one who gets to kill me or something?” He shook his head without a moment of thought. “No,” he mused. “Though that’s how I justified it to myself at first. You were mine to kill in a fair fight. Hell, you don’t deserve to go out like that, Slayer.” The sincerity in the stormy blue eyes took her breath away and she found herself unable to speak so he continued.
“I’ve fought a lot over the past hundred and some odd years, and I’ve won ninety percent of the time. I’ve fought three Slayers and I killed two—suppose I grew complacent and all that rot. I thought you would be a one and done too, but you–are something else.” Her heartbeat sped up and his head cocked at the sound, a smile growing on his face as he continued. “You kicked my ass time and time again—except for that first time, when your mother saved you.” He chuckled, remembering his shock at the Slayer having family and friends.
“I’d never encountered a Slayer with family or friends before, but even that wasn’t it. There’s something different about you, Slayer, something spectacular. I’ve never had a better dance partner, pet. So no, you didn’t deserve to go out like that. You deserve to go out fighting, doing what you love—what you’re made for.” Glittering emerald met steel blue as they sat in a heavy silence for a moment before Spike continued talking.
“I brought you back here, dressed your wounds and put you to bed.” Buffy glanced at her scattered clothes on the ground before bringing her pointed gaze back to Spike, who held his hands up to indicate surrender. “Before you go all slay happy, I’ll have you know that you took those off yourself!” She gasped and her heartbeat increased to a gallop, a dark flush enveloping every inch of exposed skin.
“What—what happened?” she gasped, taking deep shallow breaths that Spike instantly recognized as signs of a panic attack. “Did you—did we…” Suddenly she was crying and he was muttering curses to himself as he reached out and took one of her small hands into his own. She was trembling now, shaking violently and her hand tightened around his painfully. He grit his teeth and spoke through the pain. “You’re having a panic attack. I need you to focus on something in this room—could be the sheet, could be the wall, could be the hand you’re crushing. I don’t care what it is, but you need to try to put all of your focus on something, okay?”
She nodded, still breathing in rapid, shallow breaths but she obediently turned her gaze to stare at their entwined hands and slowly, her breathing began to even out and her heart rate began to slow back to normal. Spike waited patiently for her to decide when she was ready to speak, and it was only a few moments later when she asked again, “Did we…” He was already shaking his head and she breathed a trembling sigh of relief. “Tell me what happened? How I woke up with…” Flushed again, she looked down as she gestured to the lower end of the bed.
“I came in to check on you, make sure you were healing up all right,” he answered softly. “I was watching you sleep, thinking about our past fights while my demon battled with my sense of honor. Then…” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, shifting uncomfortably as his hard on strained against his jeans. “You moaned my name.” She jumped to her feet, “I WHAT?” she demanded in a huff, any intimidation in her voice lost when the blanket fell to the ground and she squeaked in humiliation as she dived for it. Spike bit the inside of his cheek to hold in the smirk as she quickly wrapped herself up again.
“You moaned my name, and…” He met her gaze firmly, fierceness flashing in his eyes along with a desperate pleading for her to believe him. “I tried to leave. I knew it wasn’t right—but then suddenly you were naked and I could see every gorgeous inch of you,” he whispered hoarsely, his cock twitching at the memory. “And then…” He swallowed hard. “You did something that made me lose my mind.”
Buffy’s blush bloomed as the dream she’d been having suddenly began to come back to her in bits and pieces. Her and Spike… fighting, then kissing and rolling around, clothes coming off while she moaned for his touch… His touch on her skin feeling more intense than she’d ever felt before… “Oh my god,” she whispered, sinking onto the bed and dropping her head into her hands, uncaring even as the blanket slid off of her again.
Carefully Spike moved over to her and pulled the blanket back up over her shoulders, holding it around her as she thought. He wasn’t sure if this story would have a dusty ending or not, but he knew that he probably deserved it. He’d taken advantage of a sleeping girl, a Slayer for Christ’s sakes. He’d be lucky if she didn’t torture him before staking him!
“Spike,” she whispered, finally daring to glance up at him. “Yeah?” he murmured, reaching out carefully to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and then grinning with amusement when he realized the futility of the gesture. She smiled gingerly back at him and turned pink again as she took a deep breath before blurting out, “Ihavesexdreamsaboutyousometimes.”
Frowning in confusion, Spike tilted his head. “’Fraid I don’t speak run-on, pet. Could you say that again but slower?” Taking another deep breath, Buffy obeyed. “I have sex dreams about you sometimes.” To say the vampire was the most shocked he’d ever been would be a severe understatement but he tried to play it off, acting cocky as he whispered seductively, “Well, I gathered that from tonight, luv.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, unable to make eye contact with him.
“Listen up, Spike, and listen good ’cause I’m only gonna say this once. I believe you about tonight. I, uh–” she dropped her eyes to the ground again before continuing, “I remember—bits and pieces of my dream from tonight.” Raising her eyes to meet his, she admitted, “It was the strongest one I’ve ever had and I think that maybe part of it was because I sensed you were here? And, uh—it’s the first time…” Her face suddenly flamed and the words caught in her throat, but she fought until she forced them out. “It’s the first time that I’ve woken up, erm, satisfied instead of really, really frustrated… Break my alarm clock frustrated.” He remained silent, his face inscrutable as he pondered her words. She sighed and shook her head, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “Spike–
“Give us a minute, pet,” he murmured in an absent tone of voice as though thinking hard about something, which he was. The Slayer had dreams about him, about having sex with him. And she wasn’t blaming him for tonight, accepting that she had wanted it… “Slayer? Buffy,” he amended, his eyes burning with an indecipherable mix of emotions as they met hers. She nodded, an invitation to continue. “How long has this been going?”
“The dreams? Um, since the truce with An—Acathala, I guess? You showed a different side to yourself that night,” she whispered and he felt his lips curve into a tiny smile that she returned after a moment’s surprise. “Then when you came back last year, they became more, ah, frequent and intimate… I guess I’m a freak, but hearing about you crying into hot chocolate while getting advice from my mother shifted my opinion of you further.” She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly and he could almost see her piecing things together in her head. “The things you said to me and Angel…They were all true, and it hurt. But it hurt more that he wouldn’t admit it, that he hid his emotions so much of the time while you wore yours on your sleeves without giving a damn about who saw them.”
If Spike had a heartbeat, it would have been racing with the exhilaration he felt. “That long? I seem to recall I was holding your friends hostage at the time, didn’t expect that wouldn’t have been more black marks against me in your book,” he remarked casually, careful to keep his tone from expressing his inner turmoil of emotion.
With a sheepish grin, she shrugged. “I don’t know. At first it did, but then Willow told me about how you cried on her shoulder and were really upset—although she was also terrified and I so don’t forgive you for the broken bottle in her face,” she added, her smile twisting into a frown as she shot him a glare. “But I don’t know… You could have left them there and made your escape. You didn’t have to tell us where they were—sure, Oz and Cordelia would have found them either way, but you didn’t know that. You’re different from any vampire I’ve ever met, and I guess I respect your sense of honor,” she admitted grudgingly.
“How long have you been able to tell me apart from other vamps?” he asked softly, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes. She exhaled and closed her eyes, appearing to concentrate hard. Opening them again, she gave him a sideways glance before answering, “I think since all of the stuff with Ford and that vampire cult. I felt you way before I heard you, and I knew without a doubt that you were there,” she mused, lost in her thoughts. “The others were the normal tinglies, but you—I don’t know, you just feel different to me somehow. More familiar, more…” She let her voice trail off and her face hardened, a sure sign she didn’t want to finish the thought.
He decided not to push and instead stood up, Buffy having taken hold of the blanket again some time during their talk. “I’m going to tell you something, Sla—Buffy, and I want your bleedin’ word that you won’t tell anyone else and that you won’t laugh at me.” She rolled her eyes and shifted to recline on the bed as she replied, “I just told you that I’ve been having sex dreams about you for two years and apparently managed to seduce you while unconscious tonight. Do you really think I’m in any position to laugh or run my mouth to anyone about anything you tell me when you have that kind of dirt on me?”
A chuckle escaped him and after a second she was laughing with him. “Good point, pet. All right, well…” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke with a sigh as the welcome nicotine hit his system. “Dru left me because of you,” he muttered, and her eyes went wide. “What?” she screeched, and he grimaced. “The bloody bint told me that when she looked at me, all she saw was you. She said that I was lost in you. I thought she meant the bleedin’ truce and I tried to explain, to tell her that we’d left you back halfway around the sodding world but she wouldn’t let it go. Got to the point where she was screwing anything that moved, said she couldn’t bear to touch me anymore, that I tasted like ashes.”
Gasping slightly as the pain of the memory hit him again, he took another long draw on the cigarette, letting the nicotine numb him a bit. “This is going to sound bloody barmy, but I realized something tonight.” Glancing at her again, he could see the confusion, understanding and the tiniest bit of fear shining in those luminous green eyes. Like pulling off a Band-aid, he told himself, make it quick and clean, just get it out. “Bloody hell, Buffy—I think I’m in love with you. I think that’s what Drusilla could see that turned her away, way before I even knew it.”
He got the shock of his unlife when she smiled comfortingly and bit her lip. The fear had all but disappeared from her eyes and he had a suspicion that it was only the Slayer in her that kept even the tiniest hint of it there. “The last time we met, you tried to kill me and I nearly made you burn to death. Then you went and had Angel tortured and nearly killed while inadvertently granting invincibility to a vampire who got off on hurting kids.” Her tone was calm and even as she counted off his past sins, the last bit making Spike wince.
“And yet… There’s something between us,” she whispered, heat and confusion wrapped together in her voice. The hope in his eyes took her breath away and she found herself studying her hands again so she could keep going. “I think that’s part of why I let you run away after taking the Gem, why I didn’t kill you last year after Dru. If you’d forced me to, I think I could have done it but… I didn’t want to. I still don’t.” She glanced up at him with a small smile. “I’m a really crappy Slayer, always developing feelings for vampires,” she joked, rewarded when he chuckled back at her.
Moving without thinking, Spike knelt on the ground before her, his hand moving towards her face slowly enough so that she could have stopped him if she wanted to. But instead she reached out for it and brought it to cup her cheek, leaning into the touch and closing her eyes—a sign of trust that floored him. Bloody hell, he didn’t deserve that.
“Stop it,” she murmured without opening her eyes, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Oi! Stop what?” he replied defensively. “Spike, look. I know you’re thinking that you don’t deserve for me to trust you but the way I see it, you saved my life tonight and you so didn’t have to do that. Correct me if I’m wrong—which I hardly ever am, by the way—but I’m pretty sure that any other vampire or demon would have lunged at the opportunity you found yourself given tonight. You not only didn’t, you brought me to your home with no guarantee that I wouldn’t wake up and stake you or come back and burn it to the ground in the daytime or something. That is why I am trusting you and I believe that you deserve it. Capiche?”
He snorted out a strangled laugh as his thumb gently stroked her cheek and he dared to lean forward to brush a soft kiss across her cheek. “Understood. But pet, this is crazy, isn’t it?” he asked uncertainly, thinking about the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that stood in their way. She shrugged and finally opened her eyes, deliberately keeping her emerald eyes locked on his crystal as she turned her face to gently kiss his wrist.
“Yeah, it’s definitely logic defying but uh, Spike? Vampire, Slayer,” she quipped with a grin, motioning between them. “We’re both pretty logic defying according to both of our world’s rules. Besides, aren’t rules meant to be broken or something cliché like that?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a dainty smirk. Growing serious again, she reached out and took his between both of hers, gently caressing it. “I know that there’s a lot to figure out, a lot of things that we’re going to have to compromise on and talk about. I also know that there’s bound to be a lot of fighting but honestly? I’ve never felt this way before… about anyone,” she emphasized, watching as realization hit the stubborn vampire.
“You mean–” She nodded. “I definitely loved him,” she whispered, her voice suddenly small and sad. But she kept her eyes locked on his and her fingers continued to trace patterns on the back of his hand as she went on, “I’m not really sure when it changed… Probably when he came back from Hell. I had finally decided to move on and let go, and I did. But then suddenly he was back and my head was swimming, my heart going in a million different directions… It was just easier to be that Buffy, the one who’d loved him… You know?” She sniffled, tears falling and he reached up to gently brush them away. “Intimately,” he replied in a low whisper, understanding packed into his answer that made her smile weakly. “I knew you would.”
A moment passed as she composed herself and then she slowly leaned forward, gently pressing her warm lips to his soft, cold ones in a gentle kiss. It was brief but intense and left them both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together and smiling crazily. “This is crazy,” she whispered with a giggle. “Crazy but worth it,” he repeated, still in a daze.
“So… Where do we go from here?” she asked, a wave of insecurity suddenly hitting her. “I mean…” She started worrying her bottom lip as worry filled her eyes. Guessing what she was trying to find a way to ask, Spike pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, “Well, first of all I guess that having to fight my girlfriend to the death time and time again would bollocks up the whole relationship, so I guess this means that I’ll be visiting the butcher’s shop a lot more often from now on, yeah?”
The relieved and grateful smile that instantly brightened her face let him know that his guess had been right on the money. “You’re really okay with giving up on hunting?” she asked. “I mean, not that I could let you–” He silenced her with another gentle kiss, running his fingers through her hair as they parted. “Buffy, Happy Meals on legs, remember? You mean more to me than any one of them, and killing people—it would hurt you, you’d feel responsible for my actions. I know that I’ve caused a bleedin’ lot of pain for you in the past, but I—I want to change.”
She sighed heavily in relief, sagging against him and throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “I was hoping you’d feel that way… Thank you, Spike.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, surprised at how comfortable the intimate actions felt already. “Buffy, I know we still have a lot to talk about…”
A yawn escaped her, cutting him off and he chuckled at how utterly adorable she looked with her face scrunched up. “Buffy tired,” she whined, scooting back on the mattress and pulling him up onto it with her. “Buffy sleep, talk tomorrow,” she ordered as Spike made himself comfortable and opened his arms to her. She immediately snuggled against his chest and sighed happily when he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “This is good,” she murmured, laughing when his chest began to vibrate with a soft purring sound. “Vampires PURR?” she cried out through her laughter.
“Oi! It’s not purring! It’s just–” “Oh, no denials, mister! You’re purring!” Suddenly her laughter evaporated and she sighed happily again, moving to snuggle even closer to him. “I like it,” she admitted with a smile he could feel against his chest. “It’s like, a physical sign that you really like this.” His hand began to gently stroke her hair as he marveled at how much his world had changed in the space of mere hours. “I more than like this, luv,” he told her with conviction, and her smile grew. “Good night, Spike.” He shifted a little to press a kiss against the top of her head.
“Good night, Buffy.”