by SpikesKat
A week went by. Then two. Before Buffy knew it, a full month had passed. She’d lost her voice – all of Sunnydale had, in fact – but had managed to defeat the Gentlemen. Barely.
Imagine her surprise when she’d found out Riley was part of the Initiative.
“Good thing nothing ever came of that relationship, huh?”
She snorted and blew her hair out of her face. Tightened her grip on the stake she carried as she wandered through the cemetery looking for fresh graves and newly-turned vampires.
“He’s not here. You should just go home already.”
“Shut up,” she muttered to herself. “Great! Now I’m talking to myself.”
The rest of her patrol was much of the same. Boredom city. Nothing to hone her skills on, allow her to expel some of the restless energy that seemed to be her constant companion. Nothing to take her mind off the blond vampire that haunted her dreams… and her every waking hour.
Her steps slowed as a memory rushed over. Cool hands ghosting over her heated flesh. A hard, lean body shimmying down hers until his face hovered over her pussy.
“Oh god,” she croaked, as a wave of lust and need washed through her body. Her hand shot out and gripped a nearby tombstone as her legs threatened to crumble.
She hated him. Hated what they’d done. Or so she kept telling herself. Maybe if she said it often enough, thought it often enough, it would become true.
Deep down, it was Willow she was most upset with. Things were bad enough when it was just kissing and the occasional grope-age. That spell had at least been short-lived. The Spike taste in her mouth, easier to write off. The cookies had helped, or so she’d thought.
But this last one?
Five hours. Five hours of nakedness with Spike. They’d done things. So many things that she’d not even thought were possible. And it was good. Damn good. He’d made sure of that.
But even with as talented as Spike had been, she’d started to get sore after the first two hours had gone by. Marathon sex fiend she was not. But then the spell would take hold just moments after she climaxed, and she could only rub herself up against Spike, desperate to get off again. Damn near begging him to make the feeling go away.
There was something to be said for vampire stamina; he’d not once told her no.
After that last time, she’d collapsed beside him, knowing there was no way she could handle another go – and thankfully the spell had ended. She’d been completely lacking in strength to even cover herself. Was already three quarters of the way towards unconsciousness when a quilt was draped over her and cool arms wrapped around her middle and held her close.
When she felt certain her legs would carry her, Buffy pushed off from the headstone and started for home.
It was New Year’s Eve and the gang was rallying at her place to count down the time until midnight and the start of a new year. All she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep.
“And dream about your vampire. You gonna curl up with his duster too?”
This time Buffy didn’t even bother rising to the bait.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike began to suspect when he hit Santa Fe a week after he’d left the Hellmouth behind. It wasn’t until he wound up in New Orleans two weeks into his self-imposed exile that he found out the truth.
The chip had a limited radius. Apparently the thing worked on a signal and the metal gizmo just wasn’t designed to receive transmissions so far away from Sunnydale. Either that, or the thing had shorted out.
He spent the next two weeks testing his theory. Got all the way back to the Hellmouth before he realized that, yes, the chip did still work, but only as far as the city limits were concerned.
So what did he do?
Kiss Sunnydale – and with it, the Slayer – goodbye and go back to his old ways? Be the Big Bad he was born to be? Or did he cut off his bollocks and play the Slayer’s lapdog?
Perched on the Slayer’s rooftop, staring wistfully as she slumbered on, oblivious to his presence, he could do nothing but shake his head ruefully.
He was such Love’s Bitch.
~*~*~*~*~
“Can I speak to the Sla— I mean, Buffy?”
Spike banged his head against the clear, hardened plastic that framed the payphone and cursed himself for being a git.
“Just a minute,” Joyce sing-songed into the phone. Thankfully, she’d not recognized his voice.
He smiled, imagining the look on the older woman’s face. Heard her halfway cover the receiver and shout for her daughter.
“Hello?”
The second line disconnected as the Slayer picked up and spoke.
“Slayer? I mean, Buffy?” Spike stammered out. Oh yeah, I’ll just be handing my bollocks over now…
“Spike!” she hissed into the phone.
“Uh… yeah…”
“What are you doing calling me? And how did you even get this number?”
“You’re listed in the phone book,” he replied before he thought better of it. Winced when she immediately accused him of being back in town.
“Yes and no.”
“What do you mean, ‘yes and no’? Either you are, or you aren’t,” she snapped.
“I am right now. Up to you as to whether or not I stay.”
“That’s easy. Go.”
“Not so easy, luv. Leastways, not for me.”
“Why—?”
“I keep thinking about us,” he interrupted. “How you felt when I was inside you. The way you dug your nails in my back when you came.” Silence greeted his announcement, but Spike forced himself to continue. “Tell me you don’t think about it. About us. We were good together, you can’t tell me we weren’t.”
“No…” Buffy whispered into the phone, nearly snapping the receiver in two as her hand tightened around the plastic held to her ear.
“Yes. Don’t lie, Slayer.”
Then Spike dropped his bombshell.
“You let me bite you. Twice.”
“No…” she whispered again.
“I’m staying at Chuck and Sally’s. It’s a bed and breakfast just outside the city. You want me gone, you’re gonna have to come tell me face to face.”
“I’ll be there… with Mr. Pointy,” Buffy growled, but she was talking to a dial tone.
The End
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