Chapter Thirteen

The crypt door slammed open with an enthusiastic kick from Buffy's boot. They stood together, just outside the entry, and he watched her nervous, slightly haunted look.

"I knew, Spike. Even before I left the crypt. Even before I got the ropes untied. I knew I made a mistake letting you go with Drusilla." She looked at him with sadness compromising their homecoming, but as he was about to reach around and pull her into a reassuring and forgiving embrace, she turned on the happy and beamed at him.

"Not exactly responsible of me to let you go off with an evil ho-bag like Dru." And she tippy-toed up to his lips, giving him a quick peck before preceding him in.

He wasn't quick to follow her. Inside echoed memories of pain for him: memories that told him he was unworthy, evil and soulless. This crypt had housed the shell of a killer, had eavesdropped on all his evil intentions, his indiscretions with Harmony, his rages of hate and plans to kill the Slayer. It had been the interloper of his need to reclaim himself- just the dark side of himself- so that he could go back to understanding the demon that he was.

It was some kind of whacked out feng shui deal for demons, but now he didn't fit. He'd had all the candles in the right positions, the great lengths of chains stored downstairs, manacles decorously hanging from the ceiling, the lack of comfort other than a rubbish tip reject of a chair so he could watch his soaps in glorious black and white. All that to usher in the evil, encourage it to wallow and infiltrate, and yet the outside influences that he spent minimal time amongst were so strong that it counteracted it all. One sip of light from the cup of Summers and he felt himself glowing, maybe…a little, effulgent?

Now he didn't fit.

It wasn't like he felt himself above this now-- although he kind of did. But the darkness here, as superficial as it was, didn't feel like home to him anymore. It didn't give him that rush of welcoming that the hideously simple 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign had given him. Even the run around to homes of the Scoobies and scouting for signs of Glory gave him that sweet taste of belonging, and finally the fond farewells bid by the majority of the group left him feeling inspired, needed, wanted. Friends. He had them. Or was beginning to have them. The change in everything left a warm coiled ball of feeling in his belly that he just knew would exit through great unmanly sobs. And for once, his William weakness didn't make him want to go out and maim.

Once he was done with his reverie, he looked up and caught Buffy's concentration on him, watching thoughtfully his lack of progress through the door. Her brow furrowed in question before understanding made her smile at him encouragingly.

"Spike, I don't think you live here anymore."

"What's that, Slayer?"

She grinned at his stubborn use of title, and jerked her head in a motion to indicate behind her.

"I cleared out your stuff." Her smile broadened at his look of horror.

"You bloody what?" His eyes had turned to blue arctic chips, but it just made her smile brighter.

"Sold it all, too."

"What?" His voice cracked on a series of expletives as he finally noticed a few choice possessions missing from their usual spot.

"How did you think we were able to fund the trip to LA? Some of your buddies at Willy's were really keen to take some of your books."

His eyes narrowed and she could tell that he was balancing on the edge of fury that just might get her into a fight.

"Where the bloody hell is my blanket, Slayer? If you've given it to someone and they're scarpering around bleeting on about having William the Bloody's blankie, I'll bleeding well skin you."

His threats came to an abrupt end when he was hit in the face with Buffy's top. She stood before him, naked to the waist with her bared breasts pointing full straight ahead. Right at him. His eyes zeroed in on the hardened nubs signaling the lack of warmth of their surroundings, and his eyes lit up in evil revenge.

"Too bad I've got nothin' to keep you warm, luv. Some evil wench took all my bedding and passed them out to the evil doers on the Hellmouth. Guess those lovelies'll just have to go cold."

His amused ribbing came to a screeching dead end as he copped a face full of Slayer jeans. He rewarded her with an awe filled expression of pure want. But still he attempted to rally against her.

"You wanna go bare back against cold stone, pet? Don't think it's too pleasant without some padding." As he spoke he was loosening his belt, pulling off his duster, kicking off his boots. He advanced on her as she took a number of back steps till they were at the cold, hard sarcophagus to the side of the top chamber.

"Thought we could do it on top of your duster?" she asked, her skin prickling in goosebumps from the lustful need in his eyes.

"Oh you did, did you?" His eyes never left her, mesmerised by the glowing skin she had chosen to allow him to touch.

And his heart swelled.

Even to this moment he had felt something would go wrong, that she'd change her mind, come to her senses that she had been fooling herself-that she was under some kind of spell to make her only think that she loved him. But the change within him was so persistent in its plea for trust that he felt himself hopelessly tied in to her belief. He wanted her, and even if things were about to go to Hell in a hand-basket, he wanted to be by her side for the ride. Besides, now he had family. She had given him family. And Angel had given him acceptance. The soppiness of it all brought tears to his throat. So, to change tack, he grabbed his duster from the dirty floor, shook it violently before allowing it to billow and cover in one neat sweep the surface of their makeshift bed. Ahhh, he thought, could it get any more perfect?

He was in raptures, William battling with Spike as he argued with himself. Should he softly gather her in his arms and lay her back, bestowing loving tender kisses from the hollow of her neck to the valley between her breasts, while huskily reciting love poetry? Or should he grab her like a supernatural being and fling her there, diving on top of her and rubbing all his hard bits against her vulnerable skin?

His own naked protrusion decided his urgency and he went for Spike- Spike the almost gentle as he dived into her mouth, his hand roaming over her shoulder before finally alighting on one firm breast. Her moan of relief- finally the feel of his hands stroking and twisting her nipple until she thought she would scream from libidinous frustration. Her legs fell open and he dropped between them, a growl of excitement rumbling in his throat turning her on more than anything she had ever witnessed before. Fluid flowed and she thought she might drown him if he didn't take her soon.

But he was cruel.

She wanted to feel him thrust into her, take rough possession of her and show her what it felt like to love one who had more than a little monster within him. Instead, he devoured her flesh, leaving raised red welts where his teeth grazed and his mouth sucked, and the little episodes of pain raised the bar to new erotic heights. She wanted so much from this, wanted the sexual gratification of bringing William the Bloody to his knees, of being fucked like never before. She wanted to feel the essence of Spike, the one who had tied her in that chair almost a month earlier, determined to make her understand his feeling for her. She wanted to feel the sleek lines of Spike as he swept her up in a sweaty affirmation of all they had been through to find each other. And she wanted the sweet words of love and devotion, whether they came from William or Spike, she no longer felt it necessary to define. He had become whole as far as she could see, both entities existing in him in a meld so perfect that it made her heart mourn every second that he wasn't near her.

And right now, he wasn't near enough.

"Spike, if you don't get…ah…move on…oh…like that, baby…Oh God…I think…uhh…I'm gonna…EXPLODE!" His mouth had sucked a hard hello to her clit and without any build-up she came, great gushing waves of pleasure rocking her from her safety but showing her the wonders of the world. As she came down she felt him nuzzling her pussy, avoiding her overly sensitized clit as her hands began to search for his hair. She pulled on a handful, hard and in retaliation he turned his head into her inner thigh and bit down even harder.

"Argh," she screamed in reaction but finally he rose above her and she reclaimed his lips, her gasps and pants doing nothing to slow down her frantic need to consume his taste and tongue.

She forced him at a roll to his back and she straddled him, lips glued to his as her tongue swept through his mouth, sliding hungrily over his teeth. She had both hands gripped with purpose in his hair, her breasts rubbing urgently against his chest. At last letting go, her hot wet tongue licked down his neck, her teeth scratching the skin as she went. Down, down until her teeth latched on to an erect nipple and she alternated between soft licking and sucking and harder bites. His moans and growls spurred her into a frenzy and all willpower disappeared as she allowed herself an end to torment by slowly sliding down his cock. He stretched her insides and fizzled her nerve endings until she felt the sensation alone was nearly enough in itself to make her come.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, bringing her out of her exile of ecstasy, and she smiled and laughed in a happiness so pure that it brought tears to her eyes and sobs to her throat. Her body shuddered with every rise and fall of her slide against his thrusts, her skin so hot and prickly that she felt the buzz of orgasm building steadily until a final rush of bubbles reached their spot and erupted, swishing her insides with the heat of her juice and the cool of his ejaculate. Her body, resplendent in a sheen of sweat, remained motionless, eyes closed as she grasped hold of every sensation that just blew her to the stars. She was sure she was no longer in the crypt, that they had both suffered through the meltdown of their bodies that let them slide their way into Heaven. When she finally let her eyes blink open, her 'oh' was filled with such surprise that Spike was left wondering at its meaning.

"Well, that was a bit of alright."

Buffy spiked him with an outraged look.

"Alright? Is that all it was?" Her bottom lip wobbled with sudden uncertainty and paranoia. "Wasn't it very good?" her voice had shrunk in on itself, scared and insecure.

"Buffy, stop!" Spike sat up, alarmed at his thoughtless pillow talk, and embraced her with all the strength of a man desperate to make amends. "It was unbelievable, baby. Phenomenal. I have no words to tell you how incredibly fantastic and special that was for me. I'm an idiot. I know it." He rubbed her back in a circular motion, cursing himself for the git that he was.

He was rendered useless still as her flooded greens raised to search his eyes for truth.

"Do you mean it? Because I have never felt anything like that before. I wanted it to be the same for you, too." The emotion began to swallow her volume and she buried her face, wet with overflow, against his neck. "It felt like Heaven, Spike."

He kissed her hair, her cheek, searching for her lips, wet and slippery from her fearful tears.

"Just looking at you is Heaven for me, Buffy. I'm sorry for teasing you. It was wrong."

She hiccuped, a relieved short laugh exiting her mouth seconds before he claimed it again in a slow, sensual kiss that made her want to curl up and never leave his lap. He gave her tingles, allowed balls of heat to expand in her stomach, and made her heart pump rapidly enough to be concerned for her health.

"So," he started when he thought they had gotten back on a less intense track. "Think I could get some more of that 'alright' in the extremely near future?" His face was molded into a picture of perfect love and serenity, eyes sparkling with achievement for the end of his struggle. He finally had her in his arms, and he wasn't going to let her go. Not without one fuck-buster of a fight.

"How 'bout right now, Big Bad," she teased, leaning forward and again sucking his tongue into her mouth, her eyes drifting closed as the wash of sexual anticipation claimed her again.

On the edge of complete surrender, one thought provoked him into demanding clarification before he could give in and give her everything. He pushed her back, holding on to her arms until clarity returned to her eyes. Once he had her attention, his eyes narrowed in serpentine intent.

"Where's my bloody blanket, Slayer?"

Her smile was sexy and teasing as she drifted back to his mouth.

"I'll give you all your stuff back when we get back home."


"Yep," the 'p' popped.

"So, this was just like a send off for the crypt?"

"Or, a beginning acquaintance with a secret little getaway in-between patrols." She arched her brow suggestively.

"Yeah. Don't s'pose your mom would be eager about us sharing a room?" His voice was intensely hopeful.

"Sorry, basement for you…be glad she's letting you in the house." He could swear he saw a glint in her eyes. "Little steps, baby," she whispered knowingly against his lips.

And he was again lost in her kiss.