1) yellowb, 2) OffYourBird, 3) pfeifferpack, 4) Susan, 5) DarkVoid116, 6 & 7) Megan, 8) angelic_amy, 9) Sigyn, 10 & 11) the_moonmoth, 12) Twinkles, 13) amidtheflowers, 14) SzmattyCat, 15) EllieRose101, 16) sandy_s & 17) Sunalso.
Thank you to everyone for making this happen.
Happy birthday, bewildered!
Thanks again to all the authors, to trilliumjente for her eye reading it over, and to SoaringClaws for the wonderful story banner.
“Get — off — of — me!” Buffy head-butted the vampire with a solid thwack and tried to lurch to her feet. Yet somehow she found herself flung back on the floor in a tangle of limbs, Spike sprawled half under her.
He snarled, his red-rimmed eyes far too close to hers. “Get yourself off of — mind my privates, you uncoordinated bitc— oww!” Spike collapsed again, his attempt to bite leaving him jackknifed on the floor, clutching his head.
Buffy tried again to sit up; this time, with some flailing, they sat up together, facing opposite directions. She tried to pull away from him, but he just leaned further into her. “I don’t know what you think you’re —”
“Let go of me, you doozy bint—”
“Are the two of you … attached?” asked Giles, squinting at them from the kitchen doorway. “I can’t quite … something in … in my eyes.”
When Buffy looked back at Spike, the shock on his face stopped the insult on her lips cold. She followed his eyes down between them to where the denim of his jeans melded seamlessly into her olive pants.
“Fuck,” said Spike under his breath.
“What the … Giles? What is this?”
“Fuckety fuck fucking fuck,” explained Spike. “Fucking magic.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be of much assistance,” said Giles. “I appear to be rather … rather completely blind.”
“A spell,” said Spike reasonably. “We’re joined at the hip. All … backwards-like.”
“What did you do?” said Buffy, through her teeth.
“Newsflash: very last thing I can imagine ever wanting is to be stuck like glue to you, Missy.”
“Indeed,” said Giles, who had felt his way to the couch and now sank into it. “I believe all signs suggest that, distressed though I am to admit it in any context, Spike is correct. If the two of you could stop squabbling for a moment…”
“General reversal spell,” said Spike. “Gonna have to work together to stand up.” He maneuvered his elbow between them to try and push up from the floor.
“Watch where you put those hands, mister, or I’ll drag us both out into the sun and just brush away the ashes—”
The door sprang open as they lurched to their feet.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Xander and Anya burst through the opening and slammed the door behind them.
“Quick!” Xander demanded, wide-eyed as he threw the deadbolt into lock. Ominous growling sounded dimly from outside somewhere in the distance. “We need to block the door! And do a protection spell, or an anti-demon spell! Something! Anything!”
Buffy made to reply with some kind of eloquent “Huh?”—except her words were snatched away as Spike snarled and sprang toward the recently arrived pair. Literally attached at the hip, she squawked in furious surprise as they fell to the carpet in a tangle of limbs. Again.
“That’s it!” Buffy fumed, smacking the furious vampire upside the head. “You’re so dust!”
Spike ignored her and continued trying to drag them across the carpet toward Xander and Anya, to Xander’s distressed moan as he moved away.
Buffy caught the vampire in a stranglehold, and he howled in pain and frustration as each attempt to get away from her grip set off the chip. After a minute, he stopped squirming—thank god, because his body was disturbingly rock hard against hers—and just glared balefully in Xander’s direction.
Giles’s head turned blindly in the direction of their voices from his seat on the couch. “What in God’s name is going on now?”
“Demons have been chasing me and Anya all through town,” Xander said uneasily. “And apparently it’s affecting pretty much every demon, since Bleach Boy here is trying to rip our heads off too.”
“They interrupted Xander’s fruit roll-up foreplay scenario,” Anya said with a huff.
Giles cringed, solidly ignoring the comment as he squinted in Buffy’s general direction. “You have Spike contained?”
Buffy snorted derisively, her fingers unwillingly digging into the soft hairs at the nape of Spike’s neck as she tightened her elbow around his throat. “Always.”
Spike stiffened further against her, a renewed growl rumbling through his chest.
“Excellent.” Giles raised his eyes to the ceiling. “So, we have demons flocking to Xander and Anya, someone has blinded me, and Buffy and Spike have been glued together.”
Xander’s jaw dropped. “Buffy and Spike have been what?”
Buffy sighed. “It’s some kind of spell.”
“Yes,” Giles said heavily, unable to see the look of trepidatious epiphany that crossed Xander’s face. “Some kind of malicious attack by an unknown enemy, no doubt.”
“Or,” came Xander’s weak, resigned reply, “it might be a really bad choice of words by a heartbroken witch.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy began to cry. Frustration was not her best look and all of this with Spike was pushing her limits. “Why won’t a guy stick by me who isn’t you? I mean not stick as in attached, but stick as in around.”
“Thanks ever so, pet. Make a fella feel really wanted.”
“Oh shut up Spike.” Really she did wonder. Everyone left but she couldn’t get rid of this pest for more than a few months without him coming back like acne or head lice or something else icky. Why couldn’t he just walk off into the smoke and disappear for good or go chasing after his secretary?
“Why not me? I count. I’m a loyal sort. Don’t leave... well not for long.”
“I said shut up.” She squirmed and once more tried to break the bond holding them only to cause them both more pain and resulting in increasingly embarrassing positions.
Spike was miffed and unexpectedly hurt by her attitude. Wasn’t his fault they were attached after all, and all she’d done was act like he was just so much filth that she wanted to wash off quickly. “You think it’s all about you? Think I like being glued to a self-righteous, stick up her arse bitch like you? Think you’re the only one to get dumped by people who don’t appreciate a good thing when they have it? Think I don’t have feelings too?”
“Well, Duh...no soul, ergo … demon and so no feelings to be had.” Her voice was haughty.
How dare these humans think they knew what a vampire was better than an actual vampire! Where did any of them get off telling him what he was much less what he could or couldn’t do? Did any of them have a soddin’ clue what the hell a soul even was much less what it did? “You know SO much do you! All ‘know-everything-girl.’ Head of the class were you?”
“My SATs were really high,” Buffy objected. She hated when people acted like she was stupid or something.
Spike snorted. “Regular head girl material. What about me and Dru? You knew I had real feelings for her...used that often enough to get me to do what you wanted back when I still had my balls.”
“I did not.”
Giles wished he had been stricken with deafness as well as blindness as he listened to them devolve to age 3 with their nonsense.
“Christ, Slayer do you think this … any of this… is easy for me? Got any clue how it feels to lose all your power? Everything that makes you ‘you’ then have no choice but to face a house full of people who would rather see you dead? Use every wit you have just to survive?”
Buffy gulped as she remembered her cruciamentum the year before. She swallowed but said nothing. Yeah, she knew.
Spike was still going on and on. “Think I don’t want to be wanted? Not necessarily literally glued to someone glorious but be close, really close? To have someone feel anything real for me back, appreciate what I can offer?”
Buffy’s blinked and her heart did an odd flutter, He thinks I’m glorious?
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” Xander asked for what felt like the twentieth time in a row. He’d been calling around to see if anyone knew where Willow was, but he was completely striking out. As he hung up the phone and searched the campus directory for other numbers to try, he heard something that terrified him almost as much as the demons that chased him just hours earlier ー Anya yelling. His relief was palpable when he realized that her ire wasn’t directed at him.
“Skink root? For spell reversal? Can’t you see that it won’t make a difference here? Uh, well, I guess you can’t see anything.” Anya practically snorted while trying to stifle her laughter. “Sorry. No offense.”
“None taken,” Giles replied drily. “However, I do wish you would just write down what I’m telling you. I know exactly what items are needed from the Magic Box, and I don’t need you second guessing me. I think all my years of experience should grant me some level of respect.”
While she grudgingly started transcribing Giles’s desired list of ingredients, she began to mutter under her breath, “All his years? What about all my years? He’s practically a fetus.”
Meanwhile, Buffy and Spike sat quietly on Giles’s couch. Well, as quiet as Spike could get anyway. Buffy heard him quietly mumbling profanities every so often. He thinks I’m glorious, she thought over and over. She had longed for someone to say something like that about her and really mean it. Now here it was coming from Spike of all people! Did Spike count as a people? Hmmm, better save that thought for a less stressful day, Buffy. She scowled and tried to get back on track. Why would he think such a thing, let alone say it out loud? Honestly, his admission was more preplexing than the idea of being physically stuck to him. She glanced to her side and wondered if Spike was also weighing the after effects of their earlier argument and the implications of what he’d said.
Who do I have to fucking kill around here to get some blood? I’m fucking starving, Spike complained to himself. It didn’t take a genius to realize that things hadn’t been going his way since his return to Sunnydale, and this was the icing on the cake. Not only did he have no dignity left, but he had no autonomy since he was stuck (literally and figuratively) at the mercy of Buffy. Buffy! The person he hated with a passion. Well, if he was honest, it wasn’t really hate. It was just his nature. That’s what he was supposed to feel about the slayer. He was man enough to admit to himself that he respected her, and fighting with her was better than almost any other activity he could think of (almost). Plus, now that he was jammed up next to her, he could tell that she smelled amazing. What kind of monster could hate someone who smelled like that? He convinced himself that his urge to head into the bathroom and toss off was completely unrelated to his thoughts about Buffy. However, he knew that would be a difficult activity to hide from or explain to his pseudo-conjoined twin. Walking was difficult enough in their current predicament. They looked like they were playing ridiculous parlor games when they simply tried to amble over to the couch earlier. Now that he pictured it in his head, he wondered if he could convince Buffy to recreate the Laverne & Shirley walk next time they needed to go anywhere. They were already pretty much arm in arm anyway, right?
Buffy was instantly concerned when she noticed a grin appear on Spike’s face and heard him absentmindedly utter something that she didn’t recognize. Hasenpfeffer? Is Spike trying to do a spell of his own? However, before she had time to question him about it, she sensed something from outside Giles’ apartment. She looked up just in time to see three angry looking, ugly, very large demons staring in the window looking at Xander with murder in their eyes.
“Heads up, guys. We’ve got company,” she warned.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spike looked up at the Slayer’s warning, following her wide green eyes to the window just in time to hear the shattering of glass. Rupert wasn’t going to like that.
The demons didn’t waste any time, immediately making a bee-line for Harris. They launched a synchronized attack, a flurry of punches and kicks aimed at the boy’s head. The git put up a reasonable defense - for a teenage boy - but was quickly overwhelmed and knocked aside before the Slayer could reach him.
When Buffy did get to the fracas, dragging him behind her, it seemed she’d conveniently forgotten about their predicament. She tossed her first punch at the closest demon; Spike moved with her and stumbled, bringing her down with him.
“What are you doing, Spike?” she angrily asked him from her position astride his chest. Seemed she wasn’t mad about his “glorious” comment any more.
He glared daggers at her. “Not killin’ the demons, clearly. Would you get the bloody hell up, Slayer? I’d like you to off these buggers. They’re startin’ to brass me off.”
It took two tries - the first one they’d both gone in different directions and immediately fell to the ground again - but eventually they got up and charged back into the fray, diverting attention from the valiantly-struggling Anya and Rupert. Spike knew the Slayer was a right-handed fighter from their battles, so he tried to stay on her left as much as possible. It worked well for him. He wasn’t protecting her blindside, though; that’d imply he cared if one of these nasty buggers killed her.
When one of the demons swiped a sharp claw towards Harris’ throat, Spike instinctively intercepted it, squeezing the proffered limb in a vice grip, wincing in expected pain. When it didn’t come, he caught her eye and grinned - it seemed his predicament didn’t extend to demons! “Slayer?” he asked.
She turned towards him and punched the exposed demon square in the face, sending him careening backwards towards Rupert’s wall. The demon’s two friends took notice of that and directed their full attention towards the slayer-vampire pair.
“I’ll take right, you take left, Spike,” Buffy ordered. As best they could while joined, they slid into defensive stances.
Spike mirrored each of her movements, realizing they’d be a pretty effective tandem if they worked together. Is this what it’d be like to work with the bint when she doesn’t want to kill you?
They alternated going on the offensive, ensuring one of them could bat away anything that broke through with their idle hand. Even when the third demon rejoined the fight, Spike and Buffy kept the upper hand, anticipating every blow and acting accordingly. Their silent communication and teamwork was impressive enough to draw praise from their audience - though it’d come accompanied with appropriate dismay.
Within a few minutes, they’d incapacitated each demon and Rupert was feeling his way to get some rope to tie them up.
That’d been... weird. Spike knew he and the Slayer could make a good team; he’d always known it. Did he want that?
He sure as fuck knew she didn’t. Though she’d taken him calling her glorious better than he’d expected.
“That was impressive,” Anya commented as an aside, tending to the wound forming on Xander’s head.
The Slayer was doing an impressive avoidance routine, probably guilty she’d let Harris get hurt.
Spike didn’t understand that and probably never would. She couldn’t be everywhere at once. Why bother feeling guilty for that? Was it the sodding white-hat credo?
“Indeed, it was,” Giles said, announcing his presence in the room again. “Anya kept me updated as it went. Have you two ever fought together before? Defeating three demons like that? That was truly remarkable. I only wish I could’ve watched it.”
“We fought when Angelus was still in town last year,” Spike said. That’d been all three of them working together, but still counted.
“And a bit when we had to take down Angel and your skanky ex,” Buffy added.
Spike growled at her description of Drusilla but knew he couldn’t do anything. Anything more than a half-hearted growl would set off the chip and he’d prefer to avoid the splitting migraine.
“Ugh, what happened?” Harris asked aloud, waking up in the corner. Anya patted his forehead with a wet cloth, helping him gain his bearings.
“You went from demon magnet to punching bag. Was bleedin’ hilarious, Harris,” Spike said. He was trying to resist the urge to attack the boy again. There was no point when Buffy would just use their glued-together status to punch him and keep him away.
If she left him any leeway, his base instinct would take over.
“Willow!” Xander exclaimed once he was settled. He got up abruptly, losing the wet press his bird had left on his forehead. “I was having no luck finding her before the demons attacked. I think we have to split up.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, we’re in a bit of a predicament, Xander. I’m in no position to go anywhere, and with Buffy and Spike’s current... sticky situation, you and Anya would be left defenseless if you split up.”
“Rupes is right,” Spike said. “Slayer and I can handle finding your little friend and getting her to reverse these spells. You three stay here.”
Buffy looked over at him, seemingly flabbergasted at his kindness. The bint couldn’t see that he just wanted to get the fuck away from her Scoobies.
“After you, Slayer.”
Buffy broke out into giggles on their way out the door.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It lasted all the way down main street, long enough for Spike to start grinding his teeth with annoyance but not too long that he’d resorted to anything snarky to shut the slayer up. Truth of the matter was, he could appreciate the nerves and the rising hysteria barely repressed beneath the outlet of laughter. He had almost joined in the frivolity when they pretty much ran full tilt into some burly military-looking bloke with a puffed up chest and regulation hair. Some cardboard cutout that made the Slayer’s heartbeat pick up an extra beat or two as well as spark an interesting shade of pink to spatter endearingly across her cheeks. Just because he was Spike, and he felt he’d been born to piss the Slayer off, he draped his arm across her shoulders and made a great show of pulling her even tighter into his side, his coat draping rather nicely enough around her, covering how very joined together they were. If he noticed at all how much of a hardship the manoeuvre wasn’t, he was choosing to ignore it and focused instead on the look of pain in the newcomer’s insipid eyes.
“Oh, Riley. Hey,” she stumbled nervously, too surprised to even notice, let alone punish, Spike’s slick move. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Spike almost choked keeping his amusement in his chest because the shocked expression on the overgrown lumberjack’s high forehead was the stuff of dreams. The buffoon was obviously too overcome with what appeared to be the inexplicable end of their apparently once mutual crush to even register what Spike had immediately picked up on. He’d bet his duster this bloody uptight bastard was one of the army blokes who’d tortured and neutered him. It seemed a lovely bit of justice that his trousers were now one with the Slayer’s. He was rather looking forward to seeing how she was going to get herself out of this delightful little tangle.
“You going to introduce me to your friend, Pet?” Spike had been reserving that precise tone of meltingly sensual promise for when he’d be lucky enough to get his Dru back, hoping it would melt her cold heart right back into his bed, but with the Slayer stiffening into his side and her heartbeat escalating to the point of pushing her hot, glorious blood through her veins, he figured the payoff was more than worth the spend. He decided that he was safe adding to the show and tucked her head under his chin, momentarily getting lost in the scent of her hair.
“You…he…this…” Her words seemed to dry up in her mouth as she shot a wide-eyed ‘help me’ plea in Spike’s direction, and he was just the gentleman to take her up on it. She seemed too overwhelmed at being caught with another bloke to notice said bloke was sniffing her up and copping too many non-sanctioned feels. Spike could barely wait to pay for his bravado later.
“The name’s Spike,” he revealed, his amusement obviously misconstrued as friendliness from the way Angel’s human twin goggled at him. “Buffy an’ I’ve practically been joined at the hip for years.” He watched as the git seemed to make a nervous association by flitting his eyes to the window of the shop they’d unfortunately met in front of and pure evilness oozed through Spike. He squeezed Buffy even tighter, his abdominal muscles preparing for a blow from a well-placed and highly motivated elbow as he launched the grenade that this flourishing little romance between the slayer and the soldier boy needed. “An’ now we’ve made it official. Play your cards right and Buff might even send you an invite to the wedding.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
She was going to kill him. She didn’t know why she hadn’t done it already, though she had legitimate fears right now that killing Spike might damage her in some way. She had no way of knowing if it was just their pants that seemed to be seamless, or if they actually were conjoined in the way she did not want to think about. Buffy was way past the possibility of ever being okay with being stuck to her immortal enemy. If they didn’t find Willow and put a stop to this, she was pretty sure she was going to lose her mind. And, it really had nothing to do with the disaster he’d just created of her budding relationship with Riley. Oh no, she was content to make sure she inflicted serious physical or emotional pain for that. She was still shuddering from the revulsion that images of her being married to Spike, of all vampires, brought to mind. He was the very last person she could ever imagine wanting to be all “Wind Beneath My Wings” with.
Buffy gagged as she threw up a little in her mouth, but being the determined slayer that she was, she trounced on toward her dorm room, desperately hoping her traitor friend was there. She was consumed in such a cloud of fury that she’d gratefully blocked out Spike’s presence—until she flung open her door and made it just far enough inside to see Willow wasn’t anywhere in sight, unless she was hiding under the bed. Being flung back into him like a rubber band and sprawling indelicately all over his hard, tight…repulsive body, hammered their situation home, in an embarrassingly public way. No more Denial Buffy.
Many, many nasty and disparaging insults sprang to mind as Buffy struggled to get upright without touching too much of the vampire she wished she could burn from her memory. She heard clapping and cringed, hoping it was just Spike continuing to be an ass and that they hadn’t actually attracted an audience. Taking a few deep breaths, Buffy braved a quick look around and sighed in defeat at the few onlookers that were now adding whistles and ‘get a room’ calls to the freakshow that was her life.
“Willow isn’t here.”
She honestly felt so frustrated, she could cry.
“No worries, Pet. She can’t have just disappeared into thin air.”
He actually sounded like he was trying to soothe her worry, and he’d managed to wipe all traces of snark and amusement from his overly-expressive face. Maybe he was actually sorry they hadn’t found Willow yet? Buffy rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. Of course he was disappointed. It wasn’t like he could be loving feeling every inch of her heated side against his cool one. Buffy decided not to delve too deeply into that realisation, because the thought had acted like some kind of trigger for her inner furnace and now she was burning up and highly aware of every sensitive inch of her body that was connected to Spike’s.
“Maybe she left a clue to where she’s gone?” he suggested, perking Buffy’s spirits up exponentially. Nodding in determination, she ignored their audience and lurched upright with singular grace that only a preternatural being of the night and a natural-born slayer could display.
Back at the invisible barrier, Buffy cursed Willow’s good sense that had renewed the disinvite to their dorm room after Spike had gained entry and almost made her a snack. She stared at Spike with her mouth in a thin line one could only interpret as animosity tainted with acceptance. “Come in, Spike.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spike blinked at Buffy in surprise. Sure, it wasn’t like the slayer could actually escape his presence while the two of them were like two peas in a bloody pod. Where she went, he went, and vice versa. But even knowing that, receiving the invitation into her dorm-room still sparked something within him. Deep down, somewhere she probably wasn’t even fully conscious of, she trusted him. Oh, she’d deny it until she was blue in the bloody face if questioned, but it didn’t make it any less true.
Buffy entered the room, and Spike followed, fighting back a small smile of pride.
The room was a pleasant mix of both females, with the redhead’s scent lingering to the left and the slayer’s on the right. Both beds were made—the witch’s more precisely—and the bedside table showed a distinct lack of clues.
But they weren’t needed, not with the overpowering acrid scent of burnt fabric that drowned the room. Even a blindly oblivious person could’ve found the source of the smell, not to mention the huge dark circle blackening the carpet in the middle of the room.
Buffy crouched, dragging Spike with her. Their shoulders bumped, and Buffy felt her hair get trapped between them when she leaned forward. She grabbed for her hair, bunched it in a hand, and then shook it out behind her shoulders, before she reached out and touched the edge of the mark burned into the carpet. It was coarse under her finger tips, but it held no heat, suggesting it had been there a while. Which it couldn’t have been, taking the whole situation to another level of confusing.
“It’s been burned,” she said, frowning in confusion. How had it happened? Was there some kind of accident? Was this the result of another spell gone awry?
The mark itself was another issue altogether. It wasn’t small, and Buffy doubted it would be easily covered. This was the last thing she needed; the RA’s on her floor were not going to be pleased when they caught sight of it. The fact slaying was a non-paying gig also meant digging into the Bank of Mom, something Buffy was not looking forward to.
Bearing in mind their current attached at the hip status, Giles’ blindness, and Xander’s magnetic attraction, all signs were pointing towards more magic being the cause of the mark. Considering the missing witch also significantly narrowed the suspect pool. All that remained was to figure out what caused the burn, why the spell was performed, and locate Willow so it could all be undone.
Ooh, maybe Willow can fix the carpet, Buffy thought hopefully, but then immediately quashed the idea. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for her to dabble further with magic when she wasn’t exactly her best self.
“What was she trying to do?” she wondered, whispering quietly to herself.
She, they, stood up and then walked the edge of the ring, Spike trailing beside her. It wasn’t any different with the change of angle. There also wasn’t anything melted near the circle, no remnants of wax from candles, nothing that suggested how the mark was created. Nor was there any other magic paraphernalia lying about. Willow was a tidy room-mate, but it wasn’t uncommon for her to leave bits and pieces related to her spells in plain view. Anyone who stopped by their room just assumed they were new-agey, what with all of the crystals lying about.
Nothing extra seemed to have been left out. If she’d thought it’d help Buffy would check the trunk at the end of Willow’s bed for missing items, but there was no way she’d be able to identify if anything was actually gone.
Spike had remained conspicuously quiet, and the lack of comments from the peanut gallery had Buffy’s attention shifting to him.
He wasn’t looking at her, but appeared to be scanning the room. As in, actually trying to help. It was strange. And also, kind of pointless for him to search the room, because he’d have even less chance of spotting anything out of the ordinary.
“There’s nothing here,” Buffy stated. Spike turned to her, his expression clearly asking, Are you sure?
Buffy pointed at the carpet. “No clues except for that. We’re back to square one.”
A muscle twitched in Spike’s cheek, like he was fighting back a smirk.
“Maybe the watcher isn’t the only one with vision problems, pet,” he said, the grin escaping moments later. With a pointed finger he drew the shape before them as if tracing it in the air. “That’s a circle.”
Buffy struck out with her elbow, jabbing him in the ribs. Spike just chuckled in response. Then he grinned, because the jab hadn’t been half as hard as a truly vicious strike from the slayer could be, so she must’ve pulled her strength. Yet another sign of how he must be growing on her.
“I know that, doofus.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “I meant there’s no trace of her here. Willow’s obviously gone off somewhere else.”
Spike shook his head in disagreement. There was no denying the redhead’s absence, but something didn’t feel right. “I’m not so sure about that.” He drew another circular pattern above the burn. “Her scent is strong, right ‘ere. Recent too.”
Buffy frowned. “Then where the hell has she gone?”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“I’m a demon, not a psychic,” Spike said. “I can tell you where she’s been, not where she’s going.”
Buffy tugged at her hip futilely one more time. “Then what good are you?”
“Not good. Evil. Thought that was in the description.”
“Ugh!” Buffy stamped her foot, which Spike smirked at. It seemed like a little girl.
“Look, that was probably a spell. Seems demonic more than witchy. So something else has happened to the girl.”
“So we need Giles, or maybe Anya,” Buffy said. And a vague discomfort she’d been ignoring for a while told her she needed something else, too. “And we need to get out of this… stupid… glue spell!”
Buffy tugged again, and almost lost her balance, until Spike caught her arm and set her upright. “Hey, no pulling me down,” Spike said.
“Look, there’s got to be a way to get out of this. We can’t just keep traipsing around Sunnydale joined at the hip.”
“I think it’s fairly clear that we can,” Spike said.
“No -- we -- can’t.” Buffy tugged again, and this time she did drag him down with her, and they fell, hitting the edge of her bed before landing in an ungainly heap on the floor. Buffy hit her shoulder on her bedside table. “Ow!” she complained.
“This just isn’t fair,” Spike muttered in her ear. “I always thought if I’d get the slayer to say ow it would be in a very different context.”
Buffy elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ow,” he said.
“Just shut up and let me think,” Buffy said from the floor. Spike shifted them so they were lying beside each other, rather than on top of one another, which was fairly uncomfortable. “We have to figure out how to get separated.”
“It’s a spell, there’s no figuring it out. There’s just undoing it.”
“But there’s always workarounds.” Buffy stared at him in excitement. “Take off your pants.”
“Pardon me?” Spike said, his accent sounding oddly formal.
“You heard me, take off your pants.” She shifted beside him and started scrabbling at his belt.
“Excuse me!” Spike said, shoving her hands down.
“Look, this is important, all right? We’re stuck together, everything’s going wibbly-wobbly, and I need to be on my toes, all right? I can’t do that dragging you around like a lump.”
“Hey, who was fighting those demons with you out there, scrapping, getting into it? I’m no lump.”
“You’re also not human, and there are some things you can’t understand.”
“Like I’m going to need the bathroom soon, all right? Would you just take off your damn pants so we can see if that works?”
Spike stared at her. He had plain forgotten that human beings needed the loo on the regular. Not that he hadn’t known it -- lurking outside the ladies had been a staple for a good nip from an unsuspecting victim -- but it just hadn’t occurred to him that the slayer was going to end up in said dire straits any time soon. She always seemed so demonic to him, he forgot how human she still really was.
“Well, why don’t you take off your trousers, first,” Spike said.
“I’m not undressing in front of you.”
“If my hunch is correct, you’re going to have to,” Spike said. “Look, it feels like more than the clothes, yeah? My guess is, the disrobing will have little effect for the actual gluing part.”
“We have to try, though,” Buffy said. She seemed embarrassed. “I have to try.”
“All right, then. We do it together.” Spike started for his belt, and Buffy turned red faced to her jeans.
The whole operation was an exercise in embarrassment and futility. Their clothes came off just fine. They slid down between their hips as if they were just pressed together, rather than glued. And yet the moment there were no clothes between them, their flesh pressed together directly, and further pulling merely resulted in yanking on the skin. “Great,” Buffy said when their pants were half off. She was trying not to look. Her underwear were still hanging down around one thigh, and still hooked up on the other hip, since she wasn’t actually trying to expose herself for this experiment. “All right, give up. Pull it back up.”
“I can’t,” Spike said.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, bull.”
“No, I can’t,” Spike said. “Our skin is pressed too close together.”
Buffy finally looked. She realized two things. One, yes, their flesh was now so closely bound together that it no longer looked as if she could slide a piece of paper between them, let alone two thick pairs of jeans. And secondly, Spike went commando. She flushed. “Oh, my god!” She turned away.
“Hey, this was your idea,” Spike said.
Spike was not unreasonably hung, and the hair around his nethers was much darker than she’d anticipated, stupidly, because of course he wouldn’t peroxide anything down there. He wasn’t hard, but it was still far more than she’d expected to see when she woke up this morning. “Oh, god, Spike bits. Bits of Spike.”
“Do you always wear panties with little polka dots on?”
“They’re right there.”
“They’re not for you!”
“Well, no, I don’t think they’d fit me very well. I have some other bits which -- well, as you observed--”
“Oh -- god!” Buffy screamed.
Spike was taken aback. That was an actual desperate scream. Then she rubbed her eyes, and he realized she was actually scrubbing away tears. He felt the bizarre urge to apologize. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he knew he hadn’t, but he still wanted to tell her he was sorry, which was almost against demon code. But nudity was something rather amusing to him. He’d been taking this like a joke. Now he realized, this was absolutely humiliating for her. To a lesser extent, this was the kind of shit Angel used to pull on some of the toys he brought home to play with before eating. Take off your clothes, force you to touch me, no, you can’t have privacy for the loo, you’ll do it right there in front of me.
“All right, look,” he said. “I’m going to touch you, all right? Don’t freak out at me.” He gathered her around the shoulders and lifted her to her feet, all the while carefully not looking down at her half-naked state -- she kept her nethers trimmed, though, and that sight of half her pert little mons was going to stay with him -- and half led, half carried her to the closet, where he’d seen -- yes, there it was. “Okay, put that on,” he said. He pressed an orange frilly skirt into her hands.
“How?” Buffy asked coldly.
“Over your head,” he said. He helped her slide it down over her shoulders, and then down around her waist. It stopped at the hip, and was gathered up to one side, but it effectively covered her half nakedness. “There. Now you can get your jeans off, and we’ll see what we can do about the rest of it.”
Buffy was touched. “Th-thanks,” she said.
They eventually figured out how to get Spike’s jeans back up between them. They had to pull, shift, shift again, pull, millimeter by painful millimeter. She was glad they’d tried this experiment in the dorm room rather than the bathroom, since the bathroom in the dorm was public. It was such a finicky tangle squeezing their clothes back between them that they had to abandon his belt. But after seven minutes of painful finagling, they’d gotten Spike decent again, and Buffy covered by the skirt, which had been easier to slide down completely once they’d gotten Spike’s jeans up.
“Um… now what?” Buffy said.
“Now we visit the loo,” Spike said. “I won’t look.”
They had to sneak into the dorm bathroom, since boys weren’t allowed, but fortunately they met no one. Buffy lifted the skirt, but kept herself otherwise concealed, and glanced up at Spike. He surprised her by indeed not looking, staring at the gap over the stalls. Not that he could have seen anything anyway, since the skirt effectively covered her lap. Buffy finished as quickly as she could and led Spike over to the sink. “Wash your hands,” Buffy instructed him.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’ve been in the bathroom, wash your hands,” she said, feeling like her own mother. Spike rolled his eyes, but dutifully soaped and rinsed his long hands in the sink.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Yes,” Buffy said. She was feeling much better with her discomfort abated. They left the bathroom and headed back for the dorm room again. “Um, thanks. The skirt was a good idea,” she said.
Spike looked her over. “Historical context.”
He was old enough that all women had worn skirts when he was human. Still… it had been kind of him to solve her predicament. No, it wasn’t kind, vampires aren’t kind, they’re evil, Buffy told herself. Well, still… maybe there was some remnant of whoever he had been when he was human. Maybe that man had been kind, and Spike was just echoing the pattern of that kindness. Still, it had been far less humiliating in a skirt than it would have been with her pants around her ankles, on display for all to see.
“Okay, Willow’s gone, maybe taken by a spell. Now what?”
“Now…?” Spike looked as lost as she felt.
The phone rang. Buffy lunged to answer it, dragging Spike along with her. “Willow?” she said hopefully as she picked up the phone.
“No, it’s Anya,” said Anya on the other end. “Xander’s been attacked again. And this time….” She trailed off.
“What? What?” Buffy barked into the phone.
The adventures continue in the next chapter! Thanks for reading the first part, and happy birthday, be!
Here we go with part 2! Twinkles made a lovely chapter banner to go along with her part, so here it is:
It was surprisingly easy to run while glued together at the hip by demonic energies. Buffy might’ve thought it’d be harder. You know, if she’d ever given it any thought at all. Which, possibly she’d just been lacking in imagination, because this was exactly the kind of whacked out crazy that happened to her on a weekly basis, but, well, she hadn’t. Honestly? Still didn’t want to think about it too hard. Luckily, finding a rhythm with Spike was disturbingly easy, just like it had been when they’d been fighting off demons earlier. And Spike being able to fight demons and potentially be actually useful was something else she didn’t want to think about too hard right now. Along with being glorious and that whole bathroom thing a moment ago. Mostly she just didn’t want to think about Spike, but that was gonna be hard, what with the demonic glue and all.
“Hey, Slayer, they teach you any Classics in that parochial little university?” Spike asked as they raced past the University of California: Sunnydale sign at the edge of campus.
“That’d be a no, then.” He sounded smug and amused, and not at all out of breath. Bastard. She didn’t have time to stop and smack him around, though. “Well, so happens that this little predicament brings Plato’s Symposium to mind.” She didn’t deign to respond, but of course that didn’t deter Spike from continuing. “See, there was this bloke, Aristophanes, who thought he’d have a bit of a joke at his mates’ expense, and started telling them how primeval men and women used to be joined together, and it’s only that we pissed off Zeus that he split us up.”
“You’re not a man,” Buffy panted as they pounded down the street.
“No, I’m better. Still got my man-parts, though. Know you got an eye-full earlier when my trousers were down,” he said, and god, she could hear the leer in his voice. “You blushing, Slayer?”
“Shut up, Spike.” She thought about it a moment. “You think that would work? Pissing off this Zeus guy? Because if there’s one thing you’re good at...”
Spike laughed. It was infuriating. “S’just a story, love. Besides, Aristophanes had them joined back-to-back and cartwheeling around all over the place. Not quite the same.”
He went quiet, then. It was weirdly abrupt, and definitely out of character, so she risked a glance over at him. He was frowning, looking lost in thought, even as he kept perfect rhythm with her.
They reached the graveyard in record time. Buffy spotted Anya almost immediately, pale face looming out of the darkness as they rounded a crypt.
“Buffy! Finally!” she said.
“Oh, that’s a charming welcome for the cavalry,” Spike said indignantly. Buffy couldn’t help a small smile at his (probably unwitting) attempt to defend her honor, but shushed him anyway.
“Where is he?”
Anya pointed to the crypt door. “In there. I can’t get in.”
Buffy eyed it. It was old, but looked solid. Could be reinforced from the inside, or with magic.
“Anya, listen,” she said quickly. “We went to the dorm but there was so sign of Willow, just a scorched circle on the carpet and Willow’s scent around it.”
“Looked demonic,” Spike added. “That’s right up your alley, innit?” The way he said alley, tonguing his teeth at Anya, was obscene. Buffy elbowed him hard in the ribs, then promptly stumbled when he doubled over like a big dramatic baby.
“Oh no,” Anya said, clutching at her hands. “About yay big? Did it smell of fire and brimstone?”
“What does brimstone smell li--?” Buffy started to ask, but Spike spoke over her.
“Yeah, your typical post-demonic-activity scent.”
“D’Hoffryn,” Anya said, face draining even further of color. “Bastard. He must’ve opened a portal and taken Willow through.”
“Who?” Buffy asked. “Why? Wait, doesn’t matter right now. Can you do anything to get her back?”
“I can try,” Anya nodded frantically. “Yes. Now please go rescue Xander.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The door to the crypt went down with a satisfying crash at their combined kick. Spike was shortening his stride to match Buffy’s almost instinctively now, charging in together like the bloody Light Brigade. Xander lay flat on his back in the middle of the crypt, unconscious, encircled by candles, and standing over him was an enormous, horny demon.
In both senses of the word.
“Ew,” Buffy said, wrinkling her nose in a way Spike tried really hard not to find cute. Edible. Yeah. That sat better.
“Eroin demon,” he said. “They only come to this plane to mate,” he added unnecessarily.
“Wow, this is a whole new level of demon magnetism. What is that smell?”
Spike had been trying really hard not to inhale, but it was kind of unavoidable if he wanted to keep his ribs safe from pointy little Slayer elbows because she’d be pissed if he didn’t answer.
“Pheromones,” he said. She looked a question at him. “Eases the way.” He shrugged, and tried to keep her in focus.
“Hey,” she said, frowning up at him. “You okay? You look a little…”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, wiping absently at the sweat that had suddenly sprung up on his upper lip. “Let’s get this done.”
When the fighting began, there was no adjustment period this time, just sweet motion and the poetry of violence. The Slayer really was glorious, the way she moved, the way she adjusted to accommodate being bloody attached to him, probably without even realizing she was doing it. She punched and he defended her left side from a swiping claw. He kicked and she blocked. Desperate and maddened, the Eroin charged at them, head down, huge, bull-like horns driving right at their respective midsections.
“Jump!” Buffy yelled, and smooth as silk, timed perfectly, they rose into the air, joined bodies an arc of energy over the demon’s head, and came down with a tuck and roll on the crypt floor behind it, candles scattering as they rose slightly less elegantly to their feet. Bloody hell, maybe Aristophanes had got it right after all. In the candlelight, Buffy suddenly seemed to glow, like some magnificent warrior of old, Athena come to life.
“Spike!” she hissed. “Get it together. What is up with you?”
Pheromones, he thought. Oh, balls. He’d only ever been close enough to an Eroin to be affected once before, some fifty odd years ago, and he and Dru had spent two solid days fucking until they couldn’t move.
“Got any weapons?” he managed. God, Buffy was fighting in a skirt and he couldn’t even admire it properly from his current vantage. He could imagine, though: flashes of tanned, forbidden thighs as she did those fancy high kicks she was so fond of, pert little mons he’d caught a glimpse of earlier.
...the very expression of his ancient need, his mind supplied. Well, Aristophanes could fuck right off. He was in the middle of something, here.
“Just this,” Buffy said, producing a stake from he knew not where. “I’m thinking, go for the eyes.”
The Eroin was rounding on them for another charge, but this time Xander was right in its path, and Spike didn’t think the boy’s soft, doughy body would survive the trampling. In fact, it would probably be downright colorful. Normally he’d be all for that kind of entertainment, but Buffy would probably be pretty annoyed that her buddy boy had been pasted all across the crypt floor, and why did he care about that again? He glanced down, and got a stunning view of her cleavage down the neck of her top. Oh yeah, tits. Tits were worth fighting for.
“Hey! Casanova! Over here,” Buffy yelled at the demon, dragging Spike with her so that they were clear of Xander’s supine form. The creature bellowed and charged again, but this time they were ready, and neatly side-stepped the lumbering body while Buffy lashed out with her stake. Her aim was true but the stake lodged in the Eroin’s skull, and the daft chit didn’t let go as the demon reared up with a low screech of pain. With a yell, Spike got dragged along behind her as she herself was lifted into the air.
“Slayer, hand!” he shouted. They clasped hands, and holding on mid-air and one-handed to her stake, Buffy was somehow able to swing him up and onto the demon’s back. Sodding glorious. It seemed almost easy, at that point, to reach forward, grab the beast by the horns, and give a hard twist so that it stopped, mid-rampage, and flopped heavily to the floor.
Spike was panting as the steaming carcass dissolved from between his legs. Completely unnecessary, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He couldn’t even smell the demon any longer, just Buffy’s shampoo and Buffy’s sweat and Buffy’s fight-arousal.
He staggered, vision swimming, body hot and screaming to be touched. God, he was so utterly screwed. Distantly he was aware of Buffy talking to him, Buffy shaking him, and he tried not to groan. The ground was a lot closer -- they were on their knees. She’d been pulled down with him. One of her hands was on his shoulder, the other in the middle of his chest, the hold awkward with the angle they were attached at, but she was still managing to shake him violently, cursing him through gritted teeth, “Spike. Will. You. Just. Get. U-- What the hell are you doing?”
Her growl became a squeak as he swayed towards her, nosing her hair, inhaling her heady scent. And yeah, Aristophanes might have been out for cheap laughs, but something about those split-up primordial humans yearning for their lost other halves had always moved him. Spoken to him. Echoed in his empty places.
“The desire and pursuit of the whole is called,” he murmured, lost track, blinked, tried again, “is called lo--”
She shoved him back and slapped him hard across the face, looking almost panicked. “Snap out of it!”
Spike went suddenly, painfully hard. He reached down and gripped her bare thigh. She squirmed at his touch but that did nothing except cause her skirt to fall over his hand, a fluffy, silky, orangey invitation if ever he saw one.
“...but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell,” he whispered, holding her glittering gaze as his hand crept higher in painful, slow increments, “and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.”
“Spike,” Buffy hissed, wrapping her hand around his wrist so hard the bones creaked. He couldn’t go any higher, but she wasn’t pushing him away, either. The moment throbbed.
And then Anya stuck her head around the crypt door. “Oh my god, Xander!” she yelped, and ran to his side.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy managed to tear her eyes from Spike’s (enthralling?!) gaze at last and turned to where Anya hovered over Xander’s still form. Breaking eye contact didn't help much. His hand still quivered in place on her thigh, almost vibrating with an electric tension that was doing funny things to places further up her body. Pleasant funny things.
Anya’s prodding managed to provoke a mumble and movement from he of the unconscious, so Buffy risked a glance back at Spike. Because she needed to know what the heck was wrong with him. Not because the way he'd been looking at her with that single-minded hot intensity made her want to answer him somehow.
But he was looking down now, at his hand on her thigh and hers on his wrist, and she realised suddenly that she'd let her grip soften until it felt more like a caress. The tendons on the back of his hand felt alive under her palm, shifting beneath his smooth skin and tight with yearning. She jerked her hand away.
Spike closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath through his lips, then with a shuddery exhalation he took his hand off her thigh to rest on his own. His eyes flickered back up to hers, dark and hungry and… afraid. He wore the look of a man standing on a cliff edge and thinking it would be a terrible idea to jump, whilst knowing he was about to do it anyway.
‘A dark and doubtful presentiment...’ echoed through her mind.
She jumped before he could, dragging him to his feet with her as she scrambled up. “Is he okay?” she squeaked at Anya.
Xander was sitting up, feeling out a spot on his head with a pained expression. “Just tell me I haven’t been impregnated,” he groaned.
“Of course not, Eroins lay eggs,” Anya supplied. “But Spuffy got here before he could fertilise you.”
“Oh thank god,” Xander sighed.
Spike was watching Xander now, with something appraising in the tilt of his head. As Buffy watched he slid his tongue firmly along the edge of his bottom lip, eyes narrowing. Oh no, they were not doing this one again. She jabbed her elbow into his ribs for the umpteenth time this evening with a hissed, “Spike!”
His eyes flew back to her. Which was much better, because Xander had already made his feelings clear. Not because she was jealous, or anything, because eww, it was Spike, very much out of bounds with the soulless undeadness and the piggish insults and the everything else. Even if he was being surprisingly chivalrous about this whole thing, and even if he did have really very nice eyes… “Pheromones!” she squeaked at Anya. “Spike was saying something!” Buffy looked back and forth between them for an explanation.
“The Eroin!” said Anya. “Its mating scent will drive every demon within half a mile into a crazed sexual frenzy. We better run if we don't want to be caught in the orgy.”
“Running,” said Buffy, and hurried to Xander’s side to help Anya lift him to his feet. Spike moved with her smoothly, attention outwards now and making a low and quiet growling sound that was ominous in its possessive threat. She jabbed him in the ribs a final time with her free arm and the sound cut out with a yelped curse.
Xander proved able to run once he found his footing, so the four of them took off for Giles’ apartment.
“I’ll need something to draw a circle with,” Anya panted on the way.
Buffy nodded. “There's chalk in the left drawer of Giles’ desk. White. Will that do?”
“Yes. You guys cover me and I'll try to summon him.”
Spike's arm had dropped around her waist as they sprinted, and somehow he was finding the time to rub his fingers sensuously across her hip bone. The pheromones must be affecting her too, because suddenly she wanted him to reach a little further, slide those fingers under the edge of her skirt and down to--
She shook her head and made her own (more irritated) growling sound. Then she threw her arm around his waist in return. It really did make running together smoother. Uh huh.
They burst into Giles’ and halted as something thunked into the wall; she shouted at him to drop the crossbow he was pointing blindly in the rough direction of the door. “We think we know where Willow is,” she told him. “Anya needs to draw a circle, and there's probably a pack of horny demons on our tail.”
“Upstairs,” he said. “There's chalk in the--”
“Got it,” Anya said, already on her way to the stairs.
Buffy relieved the blind man of his weapon and told Xander to help him up to the safety of higher ground, then moved back to the front door to check the lock. As she turned away from the latch Spike’s left hand slammed against the door, caging her behind it but with something almost desperate in the way he clung to the wood. His chest was heaving and his eyes seemed to glow black as they swallowed her up.
“Sodding glorious,” he murmured, inching closer to her face.
“Stop!” she shrieked at him. “Pheromones! You're under the influence.”
“Making it hard to keep from doing what I've been picturing all night,” he panted. But he'd stopped advancing, fingers clenching tighter on Giles’ weird door panels as he seemed to hang frozen in place.
No one would blame her, she realised. What happened in times of crazy, stayed in times of crazy. And Giles couldn't see. “I'm blaming the pheromones,” she whispered. Then she kissed him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spike groaned against Buffy’s mouth and pressed her into the door, his fingers making indents into the wood of Giles’s door. Buffy wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tightly against her, surrendering to the kiss and the heat it brought, despite his cool lips.
A loud noise from outside startled Buffy, and she pulled away. “We should”—her eyes zeroed in on his mouth again and she gave it one more peck—“go upstairs and help the others.”
“We should.” Spike kissed her deeply.
Buffy moaned when he ground his hips into hers. She broke away again. “Demons are coming.”
His eyes flared and he nodded against her forehead, pressing his groin firmly against her. “Bloody right they are.”
He kissed her silent.
God, this was wrong. Terribly, horrendously, beautifully wrong. There were pheromone demons and a possibly vengeanced Willow and a blind Giles, and very important things to do upstairs, but she couldn’t bring herself to break away from Spike. Spike, whom she definitely did not like and was stuck to her like a barnacle. Who had his hand under her shirt and stroking the soft skin of her stomach. Who’d just done something wicked with his tongue that made her shiver. Made him hold her tighter.
Distantly, she heard the low growls of approaching Eroin demons. Spike desperately reached for the zip of her skirt and kissed down her throat.
“Spike.” Buffy stilled his hands, holding his wrists. Spike paused and glanced up at her with a glazed expression. “Not…not like this.”
That seemed to wake him up. The haze in Spike’s eyes cleared and he looked down at her. The growling outside grew louder and Spike slipped his trembling hands away until they linked loosely with her fingers. “Right,” he said. “Right.” With a tremendous amount of self-control, Spike let go.
“Upstairs,” said Buffy, and Spike adjusted himself beside her so they could walk in tandem. They found Xander drawing a circle around a seated Anya while Giles sat on his bed, blinking unseeingly and clutching his glasses. Quickly, Buffy closed the bedroom door behind them.
She felt Spike jerk a little against her as Xander circled past them. “Is that good enough?” Xander asked Anya.
“Perfect. Okay, no one distract me.” Anya closed her eyes. “Blessed be, the name of D’Hoffryn. Let this space be now a gateway to the world of Arashmaharr, where demons are spawned.”
A loud bang downstairs followed by a series of snarls startled them.
“Good lord,” Giles muttered.
“Anya, faster,” Xander said, panicked. “They’re gonna mate with me!”
“They’re not mating with you,” Buffy said firmly. “I won’t let them.”
Loudly, Anya chanted, “We bend as the reed, in the flow of the…no, wait…we c-come as the flow…”
Xander started pacing cagily. “How? You’ve got a horny vamp attached to your hip and I’m fresh meat.”
Buffy glanced at Spike. He was tense and pressing against her again, his fingers stroking the bare skin of her arm. The look he gave her when their eyes met had a shiver of excitement run through her.
Spike closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, forcing himself to shift away from Buffy as much as he physically could. “I can fight. We’ll fight them ‘til the spell is done.”
Buffy nodded, the corner of her mouth lifting.
The door burst open.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
A draft of air rushed in through the open door, preceding the demons gathered in the small area outside it. Spike moaned.
Buffy slid a quick glance his way. Her eyes widened in alarm when she realized that Spike's had closed in bliss. His sensual mouth was parted slightly as he huffed the now pheromone-laden air into his heaving lungs.
Growling in frustration, Anya took a deep breath and started over. “Blessed be, the name of D’Hoffryn.”
Buffy stared at Spike's lips and licked her own, suddenly feeling parched and filled with a burning desire to kiss him. Were the pheromones now affecting her, as well? She couldn't tear her gaze away from Spike's sex face, which she knew was bad, but she couldn't quite recall why.
“...to the world of Arashmaharr, where demons are spawned.”
Buffy surfaced from her daze when Xander squealed in terror. Oh, right, demons!
The snarling Eroin demons were surging through the door, bypassing Spike and Buffy and heading straight for Xander. Buffy nudged Spike with her elbow, hard. She moved forcibly around his unresponsive form, dragging him along in a tight spin, to tackle the leading demon. She managed to snag its arm just before it scuffed Anya’s spell circle.
Spike opened his eyes and watched avidly as Buffy used her momentum around him to spin the first demon into the rest of its demon friends, knocking them down like ninepins.
Xander pulled a lamp off the nightstand and darted forward to smash it over the demony head of one of the Eroins now rolling around the floor in a tangled mass of limbs.
“Good Lord!” Giles exclaimed in alarm, turning his head towards the sound of breaking ceramic.
“A little help, here, Spike!” Buffy panted as she drove her booted foot into another demon’s ribs before it could get up. “You won't think I'm so glorious...” she ducked a clawed strike and punched a demon in the side of his head, “...when I'm all dead...” she hooked Spike by the elbow and used him to knock another attacking demon back down on the floor, “...and you're dragging my corpse around at your side!”
Despite the many distractions, Anya had finally managed to open a portal. D’Hoffryn appeared in front of her, holding a nervous-looking vengeance demon version of Willow by the elbow.
“Anyanka!” D’Hoffryn greeted Anya warmly, before an Eroin slammed into his side, propelled by a powerful roundhouse kick from Buffy. He looked around at the group of growling, riled demons filling the room and promptly released demon Willow's arm. “Well, it's all yours! Good luck!” he intoned cheerfully before he blinked out of sight.
Xander was holding off an Eroin demon by poking at it with a chair. It smashed the wood into kindling, but retreated as Spike took exception to the scattering bits of pointy wood flying his way and attacked it with a roar and a flurry of blows that finally left the demon unconscious on the floor. Buffy took the chance to catch her breath as she was dragged along behind Spike's advance, leaving her opponents momentarily behind.
Willow's eyes zeroed in on Xander, and a determined look settled on her face as she started moving purposefully in his direction.
“Hey! You stay away from my boyfriend!” Anya intercepted Willow mid-stride and yanked her around to face Anya’s righteous wrath.
Willow and Anya had squared off and were now standing toe to toe in front of Giles, undisturbed by the battle like they were in the eye of a storm, and arguing loudly. Giles sat on his bed, his glasses back on his face despite his blindness, and whipped his head between them to focus his attention on whoever was currently shouting like he was watching a particularly vicious tennis match.
“You!” Anya hissed. “You take this terrible spell off Xander right now, before he gets damaged!”
“It wasn't me! I didn't do anything!” Willow stammered, obviously upset.
“Willow, you—” Xander tried from his defensive position against the wall, only to be cut off by his girlfriend.
“You did a spell! Don't try to deny it!”
“So what if I did? It wasn't for Xander!” Willow sputtered with indignation. “Don't blame me for his demon troubles!”
Buffy had taken the lead again and with Spike now fighting at her side, despite the superheated glances he kept casting her way, they were gaining ground. They had managed to drive the remaining demons back towards the door.
“It's obviously your fault!” screeched Anya. “Hoffy didn't just turn you into a vengeance demon for nothing!”
Giles started in surprise. “Willow? Willow is a vengeance demon?” Both of the women ignored him.
Willow paused for a moment, turning hesitant. She suddenly sounded more like her usual, sweet self. “He said it was my fault, too, but I still don't see how I did this!”
Anya rolled her eyes. “You're playing with magic you don't understand like it's no big deal!” She stomped her foot, her short stylish hair quivering around her flushed cheeks.
“Well, excuse me for wanting to end my pain!” Willow pouted, which looked really strange with her veiny, new, vengeance demon face. “None of you—”
A loud crash drowned out her voice as a demon, temporarily airborne from a flawlessly synchronized double kick delivered by Spike and Buffy, sailed out of the room, completely shattering the door.
“Oh, for the love of…!” Giles lost all patience and lurched to his feet. He reached out and groped blindly over Willow's chest, startling her into a sudden silence. Locating her vengeance power centre by feel, he grasped it firmly and yanked, breaking its chain and flinging it to the floor, then proceed to stomp wildly until he got lucky.
The sound of the pendant crushing under his shoe ended his frantic frenzy. Nearly everyone else, including the demons but not Spike, remained frozen in place, staring at him in slightly stunned shock.
While the battle was halted in favour of the floor show, Spike had again succumbed to the pheromones that had built up in the small space. He wrapped around Buffy in a passionate embrace, one hand cupping her breast and the other fisting her hair at the back of her head as he kissed her ardently. Buffy was tense but unresisting in his arms, staring at Giles from the corner of her eye.
“Willow! Please break your spell and put an end to this madness, before I am rendered homeless as well as blind!”
The sound of Giles’ authoritative voice broke not only the silence but also the momentary truce. The demon closest to Xander charged past Spike’s turned back and lunged towards the boy, toppling sideways into the wall as Anya shoved him bodily off course. Giles winced as the wall responded with an ominous creak.
“Spike, stop that, we still have demons to kill!” Buffy was shoving against Spike and kicking out at the passing demons. Spike clutched her closer, lifting her off her feet by the waist and slamming her back against the much-abused drywall. He ground his erection against her and growled sexily.
The next demon grabbed Anya by the neck, obviously intending to kill her or at least fling her out of its way. Xander stabbed at its face with a broken chair leg and it jolted back with a scream and a gush of stinky demon blood, dropping Anya in the process.
Willow recoiled from the spreading mess and knocked into Giles, who sprawled on his bed with a cry of surprise. Pulling off his glasses, which had been knocked askew by his fall, he flopped back on his mattress, rubbed at his useless eyes in desperation and demanded immediate action. “Willow, NOW!”
Willow, now human again and feeling very vulnerable in the melee - and more than a little violated by Giles, thank you very much - gulped in a panicked breath. Clutching at the sleeves of her bright red jacket with nervous fingers, she raised her voice to hear herself over the renewed sounds of battle and Spike's impassioned rumble scattering sweet poetry and crass innuendo against Buffy's neck.
“Let the healing power begin. Let my will be safe again. As these words of peace are spoken, let this harmful spell be broken!”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy wondered why she and Spike hadn’t sprung apart. It took the long second of everyone pausing in place for her to realise they were indeed no longer joined by magic, but Spike was still under the influence of the pheromones and very much intent on giving way to their will. It was his need keeping them pressed tightly, body on body.
She shoved him away. He looked at first confused, then injured. She told herself it wasn’t real – that he didn’t really care – but dammit now she cared that she might have hurt him.
The other demons in the room shook off their shock and looked intently at Xander, as if wondering what to do now. Buffy wasn’t going to give them a chance to get mad at being controlled or decide to hell with it and go ahead with their mating plans anyhow.
“Help me take these guys out,” she said to Spike, her voice low. She wasn’t entirely sure if she intended to imply a promise in her words that she’d return the favour and sort out his… issue afterwards, but he nodded, having seemingly heard what he needed anyway.
Together, they made swift work of dispatching the last of the Eroin, after which everyone made their way downstairs. Spike and Buffy were at the back of the group. She tried not to think too deeply about the trill of excitement that went through her when his hand grazed hers. For a second, she thought he was going to take it fully, but he seemed to be holding himself back. Only just. The looks he was throwing her were hot enough to start a forest fire.
Xander and Anya left and Giles sat Willow down, clearly preparing to have a long conversation with her about magical ethics. Buffy made for the door, Spike following in her shadow.
Giles looked up. “Where are you going?”
“I, uh…” dammit. Just ‘cause he can see again, he has to notice everything.
Spike came to the rescue by pointing at the broken door. “Place isn’t secure. Slayer, bein’ the hard ass she is, wants to take me somewhere else until it’s fixed up.”
“Tha-that’s right,” Buffy stammered. “We can’t risk more chaos of him getting loose and–”
“Fine, fine.” Giles waved away their excuses. Mention of the door had him glaring at Willow again.
Spike and Buffy took their chance. Once out of the house, they fell into a run. Finally, he took her hand for real.
“Where to, Goldilocks?”
She stopped long enough to kiss him. Deep. It was all she could do not to give into the pheromones’ effects there and then.
“Back to the dorm room. It’ll be a while before Willow will be–”
They took off running again, not bothering to finish the explanation. The second they were inside, Spike pinned Buffy against the door and had one hand inside her bra.
She groaned and pushed him back, onto the bed where he took in the view of her removing the bra and her top in one movement with wide eyes.
“Come here,” he said, his voice heady.
“Take off your clothes first.”
He didn’t need to be ordered twice. Pushing his supernatural speed to its limits, he disrobed and pulled her on top of him, at which point things slowed right down again. They didn’t waste time with foreplay – hell, the whole day almost counted as that – but Buffy appreciated the great pains he took to make sure she got what she needed as much as him.
She could not believe he was so tender and attentive. Surely the demon hormones couldn’t have had that effect, as well? She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
Wholeheartedly, Buffy turned her thinking brain off and gave herself over to the feel of Spike’s body over, under, and around hers. She lost herself to time and wasn’t anywhere near done when Spike began to pull away.
She pulled him back, but he resisted, though not much.
“What is it?”
“Willow,” he said. “She’s coming.”
Buffy shook her head. “There’s no way Giles would have let her go that quickly.”
Spike grinned and looked past her. She followed his gaze to the clock on her nightstand. Holy hell, had the whole night gone already?
“I’m happy to carry on, pet, but I don’t want you havin’ a conniption when your mate walks in and catches us at it. Though…” he looked thoughtful. “If I do get staked for this, I can’t say it hasn’t been worth it.”
Buffy swallowed. The thought of Spike being dust on the wind had never seemed less appealing. Reluctantly, she let him go.
Willow seemed to be standing outside the door psyching herself up to enter. It gave Spike just enough time to grab his clothes, kiss Buffy on the forehead, and exit via the window.
It wouldn’t be long until sunrise. Buffy pulled the covers around herself, at first hoping that he would find shelter before he got fried to a crisp and then realizing that she wasn’t supposed to let him go at all. Giles was going to freak when he found out he escaped, but what could they do? There was no way of pretending what had happened hadn’t happened if they were sat together on her unmade, now semi-broken bed.
When Willow finally came in, Buffy was too emotionally wrought to say anything. Once more, she’d given her body to someone and had it end all too soon. It was Spike, though. She wasn’t supposed to miss him. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling anything despite horror at what pheromones made her do.
Willow babbled an apology and offered to perform a forgetting spell in a tone of voice that made Buffy think even she wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.
Dammit it all, but she turned to face the wall and cried. She was exhausted but was only able to fall into a restless sleep.
Come time to wake up, only an hour or two later, Buffy was the relieved to see Willow was gone again. Probably to class. Buffy didn’t think she could face either it or her friend but got up and dressed anyway.
She paced and considered everything that had happened afresh, glad that Willow had been too caught up in her apologies the night before to realize that Spike wasn’t there when he should have been.
God. Buffy couldn’t pull her thoughts away from him. But it wasn’t just thoughts. She wanted him, and not just physically. She wanted to make sure he was safe and hadn’t gotten attacked by more horny demons or the mystery military guys, and that had nothing to do with wanting him around for information.
A sick feeling spread through her stomach. What if Willow had been serious about the forgetting spell and tried it out only for it to backfire as well, meaning Spike was now the only thing she could focus on? It was the only explanation that made any sense, but what could she do about it?
If she confronted Willow, she might say more than she intended and let slip about all the sex, and she didn’t want to go to Giles until she was free from the new spell and had retrieved her vampire.
Resolutely, Buffy walked to the Magic Box, hoping to find what she needed there. Maybe the general reversal spell Spike mentioned would be easy to cast on her own. She opened her mouth to ask the lady behind the desk when a familiar bleached-blond head caught her eye.
Spike stepped out of the shadows.
Buffy felt herself blush as the shopkeeper looked between them.
“How can I help?”
Buffy shoved her embarrassment as far down as she could and said she needed a general reversal spell at the same time Spike asked if he could get a forgetting spell.
They stared at each other, everything between them still electric as it had been the night before.
The shopkeeper grinned a little to herself. “I think I have what you both need,” she said, placing a bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter.
Spike paid her without ever looking away from Buffy.
Buffy took the bottle and followed him out the back way of the store. Two steps into the shadow covered alley, and her lips were on his again.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy broke the kiss first, panting a little but forcing herself to ask, “Why do you think she gave us this?” Buffy held up the bottle and squinted at the label, but she couldn’t make out a word in the darkness of the alley, and she didn’t think alcohol could help with reversal or forgetting. Well, maybe temporary forgetting.
Spike sighed and snatched the bottle from her grasp. With an expert hand, he unwrapped the cap and swirled it open. “To do this, I’d wager.” He took a long draught of the alcohol, cherishing the low burn as the liquid slid down his throat. Not the best, but it’d do until he could get his hands on a bottle from the Watcher’s not-so-well-hidden stash under the stairs. “Reckon the alcohol takes the edge off the desire we both have to go at it like bunnies. And forgetting goes along with it. If you drink enough. Your turn.”
“Blech. No thanks.” Buffy studied Spike’s face and the way the light from the street caught the hollows of his cheeks and hinted at the blue in his eyes. She still felt drawn to him – her body coming alive in his presence as if he’d never left her side, as if Willow hadn’t ended the spell, as if there hadn’t been some demon who made other demons want to have sex.
Buffy licked her lips and found herself drawing closer to him, which only made her body hum with need. Realizing what she was doing, she seized the bottle and jerked it back from Spike’s possession. Her lips, which would rather be elsewhere, slid around the glass opening, and she threw her head back so that whiskey filled her mouth in a rush. Before she could spit the alcohol out, she swallowed and almost immediately gasped with the heat and a sharp pain in her chest.
The result was a round of exuberant coughing as she practically hacked her lungs up and onto the dirty ground by the reeking dumpster.
Spike was more than a little amused that the Slayer couldn’t even take a sip without falling apart. Somehow, he found that endearing, and he decided that he didn’t care if the sentiment was left over from the fading Eroin pheromones.
He rubbed her upper back with one hand, relishing the feel of her and missing the closeness they’d so recently lost. As her coughs trailed off, he asked, “You okay, love?”
Ignoring his use of the moniker that not too long ago annoyed her, Buffy swallowed and dabbed at her lower lip with a finger, hoping there was no apparent drool. “T-that’s worse than the beer.” She passed the bottle back to Spike.
He lifted his scarred eyebrow at her and couldn’t help but bite. “Beer?”
She shrugged. He’d seen enough of her now, so it didn’t matter what he thought about drunk Buffy. Still, she couldn’t make eye contact. “Buffy and lots of magical beer equals badness. Five million B.C. badness. Literally. I may have clubbed my horrible one night stand with a big stick. And more than once.”
Buffy felt her shoulders tighten in defensiveness. “What’s so funny?”
“Imagining the look on the git’s face when he got his due.”
“Oh.” She peeked up at him and saw genuine caring in his eyes. Was it possible that something had shifted in their relationship with the spell and literal bodily connection? She was starting to believe that the answer was firmly in the affirmative.
Spike took another deep mouthful of the whiskey and then held the bottle toward her. “Try again.”
Her stomach churned at the thought of ingesting more. She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at the vampire. “I don’t think so.”
He shook the glass container so that the alcohol sloshed inside, tempting her. “Sip it slow this time. Just a bit. Gotta work up to it.”
Buffy bit her lip, considering her options. Give in to demon pheromones/whatever spell Willow had cast or blur out her desire for Spike with inebriation? She set her jaw and accepted the whiskey from Spike. Her fingers brushed over his cool ones, and she shivered with desire. Was it weird that she wished that she was still attached to him? But in a different way other than being joined at the hip. Pushing past the fog, she asked, “Sip it?”
“Go on, pet,” Spike nudged. The sooner she drank, the sooner he could get the bottle back to hide how the slip of her fingers on his made his undead body come alive and his jeans tighten. Sodding hell. He had it bad for the woman standing before him. This was very bad. He centered his attention on helping her.
Taking a breath, Buffy took a dainty sip as suggested. The taste wasn’t as bad as the first time. She swallowed and tilted her head to one side. Waited. When the world didn’t end, she slung back a little more, feeling braver. Oof! That was a little much. A giant “blech” burst out of her mouth.
This time, Spike’s laugh was genuine and…joyful? Buffy blinked, clearing her head briefly of the alcohol and magic. Spike wasn’t being sardonic and defensive and miserable. He wasn’t cursing his fate or pushing all her buttons to provoke her. There was something about his laugh that made her feel free.
Spike frowned. Buffy was gazing at him as if she saw right through him, and he had to distract her and himself because really, he’d worked too hard to be seen as anything other than the Big Bad, especially with this chip in his noggin and his pride all bruised and battered. He closed his eyes briefly. Who was he kidding? He didn’t have pride. He scooped away the liquor and clasped her suddenly free hand in his, dragging her out of the alley. “C’mon.”
Buffy surprised herself by following him without hesitation. “W-where are we going?”
“Dunno. Out of this alley.” He took a deep, unnecessary breath. “Out...with you.”
“H-how? It’s daylight.”
After handing back the bottle, Spike produced a giant umbrella from behind the dumpster and opened it, slinging it over his shoulder and taking her hand again.
Buffy’s heart skipped a beat as they stepped onto the street in front of the Magic Box. They meandered along together, passing the bottle back and forth and hanging on to one another. Somewhere along the way, Spike tucked Buffy’s hand in the crook of his arm, and when he began to sizzle a little, they walked so close that their hips touched, much as they had not long ago.
Buffy leaned her head on his shoulder briefly as they crossed the street, hugging his arm close. Her body was humming with longing again, and she still didn’t know if it was the vestiges of Willow’s spell or the pheromones or the little bit of alcohol she’d consumed. All she knew was that she longed to feel his skin on hers. She didn’t even care if he saw her naked, and though she’d seen him half naked, there was a whole other half to explore.
Spike tossed the empty bottle of liquor into the trash as they stepped up onto the sidewalk. He glanced down at Buffy who was nuzzled up against him as if she were a girl in love. He suddenly decided that he didn’t care the reason for the swelling in his heart and his pants; he had to kiss her.
In the space of a heartbeat, the umbrella was discarded, they were under a shady awning, and Buffy was up against the glass of a window display. Spike’s hand was in her hair cradling her head so it wouldn’t hit the hard surface, and her hands were palm down on his chest. His lips found hers, hungry and eager, and she matched him move for move, relishing the return to their earlier passion. He pressed his hips against hers as she jumped up to meet him, her legs going around his waist. His fingers slid up her skirt (a pink one and not the orange fluffy one), and she felt herself growing wet for him. Oh, god.
She drew back to breathe, and Spike let her down as another couple passed them by. Spike laughed again.
“What?” she asked, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.
He straightened her skirt and nodded at the display. “Look where we ended up, pet.”
She glanced over her shoulder, still a bit dazed by the alcohol and Spike’s kisses. They were at a wedding shop. “Oh.” She smiled.
A group of chattering teenagers was coming down the sidewalk with popcorn boxes, candy boxes, and large soda cups. The movies must have let out. Buffy had no idea what was playing. College and slaying kept her busy. Too busy for movies - day or night.
As the group passed, Spike hid her body with his and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go in.”
Before she knew what was happening, she was following him into the bright little boutique.
A middle-aged woman with curly dark hair greeted them warmly, “Welcome! How may I help you love birds this fine day?”
“The lady’d like to try on dresses,” Spike announced. “Where’s the changing room?”
“Only if you try on a tux, honey,” Buffy teased, running a finger over the cotton of his black T-shirt and batting her eyes at him.
Trying on wedding garb entailed getting naked, and with the liquor remedy a complete failure, Buffy and Spike gave up the fight.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy looked over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose at her reflection in the changing room’s mirror. The white dress kind of made her butt ginormous. The fabric was itchy, and really, the whole thing wasn’t nearly as nice as she’d thought it was when she’d just been admiring it in the window.
“You’re stunning, pet,” Spike said, and her head whipped back around. He was standing close, just inside the changing room’s door. Of course she hadn’t been able to see him in the mirror, which was too bad.
Spike had changed into a tux. The bow tie was loose around his neck, and not all of the shirt’s buttons were done up, but the red satin vest hugged his torso under the black jacket in a way that should probably be illegal. His back pants hung just right, and, oh god, she really wanted to touch him.
Instead, she swung around so that her back was to him. Her gaze rose to the mirror, landing at where she thought his eyes would be if he had a reflection. Without him being in the mirror’s image with her, it felt like something was missing. A puzzle with the edges there, but the center not put together so you didn’t know what the whole thing looked like.
Buffy closed her eyes. “Do you think this dress makes my butt look big?”
Spike’s chuckle was warm and rich. “I wasn’t born yesterday, which means I know I can’t answer that.” His hands slid over her rear on their way to grip her hips. “It sure feels right.”
She sighed. “The clerk—”
“Is fast asleep and I locked the door.”
“I didn’t hurt her. Couldn’t. I’ve knicked a few things at the Watcher’s place, including a bit of sleeping potion. I dumped it the bint’s coffee when she wasn’t looking and she’s already out.” He brushed Buffy’s hair away from her nape and pressed a kiss there.
Buffy moaned softly but then turned in his arms. “Spike, um, these pheromone thingies—” She broke off and gestured vaguely. Spike cradled her head in his palms and bent to catch her lips. Buffy turned her head so that he only caught the corner of her mouth. “Wait.”
He sighed dramatically but straightened up. “What?”
“Now that I’ve had a second, these scent things…do you even have a choice? Are you just wanting this because I’m close?”
“It’s not very strong for me.” She kept her eyes locked with his, at least until he rolled them. Then they got hard to follow.
“Buffy, it doesn’t work like that. I could fuck my fist, or walk outside and pick some bird up as easy as you please. No problem at all. She’d be polishing my…” Spike took a step back, and Buffy realized her anger must be showing on her face. “Sorry, not the best time to say that.”
“Never would be a good time.”
“Right, so…the point I was making is that I choose you. I’m not doing something I don’t want to. I’m not even slightly mad that you barely have to look in my direction and my cock’s raring to go. It’s not all that different than usual, anyway.”
Buffy relaxed her fists and wiggled her fingers. “Alright, you’re choosing me.”
“You got it. Buffy, you’re the chosen one.”
She laughed, falling against Spike’s chest. All the weirdness of the last few days—it was a lot—was suddenly much more bearable. She was laughing with someone who understood. He even made jokes. “I choose you too.”
Spike licked his lips, slowly and deliberately. “There’s so much I want to do to you. I want to drag my tongue over your cunt for hours. Make you come so many times you can barely breathe, let alone walk.” He leaned in closer to her. “I want to paint you with come until your skin is as white as this dress.” Buffy shivered, biting back a moan. “But right this moment, I want to fuck you with it on. A beautiful bride deserves a beautiful wedding night.”
God help her. She wanted to believe him. That they’d do every dirty thing imaginable, along with a few that weren’t, and make them all glorious.
He made her believe she was glorious.
“What if you turn back around?” he asked, putting a hand loosely at the base of her throat and stroking her pulse point with the pad of one finger. “You could watch yourself in the mirror, see how lovely you are when you come.”
His brow raised.
“I want to see you. I don’t want to be alone in the mirror. I want you.”
“Fuck, Buffy.” Her name came out as a low growl that made her knees weak.
Spike pushed her back against the mirror, lifting and pinning her there before tugging the bodice of the dress out of the way to free a breast. Buffy’s legs went around his waist, and she dragged her fingers through his hair, freeing it from the last bit of gel that was holding it in place.
His tongue flicked over her nipple, making her gasp. He did it again and again, before yanking down the other side of the dress and doing the same to that defenseless nipple.
Buffy tightened her hold on him and yanked him closer to rub on the hard bulge tenting out the front of his pants. She could feel it even through the layers of the wedding dress.
Spike lifted his head. The beginnings of a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “You going to be okay with me taking my trousers off?”
“Were you not going to?”
“Wasn’t very long ago you were worried about being uncovered around me.”
“Pheromones. Lots of pheromones since then. And since I had to walk a mile next to your shoes…just get less pants on.” She gripped his hair harder, but Spike didn’t move.
He was gazing at her with that ‘you’re glorious’ look again. Glorious. Glo-or-ious. Glo—oooooo---oooooo—orius. Her mind was stuck on the word. Had that part been from a hymn? Wait, that was Gloria.
“Buffy,” Spike said, sounding amused. “I have no idea what goes on in your head. And I can’t tell if you meant to say ‘next to your shoes’ or ‘in your shoes’ and whether or not I should laugh about it.”
“It was the first. I was making with the puns like I do when I slay. But mostly I have a hymn stuck in my head right now.”
Spike gave a long-suffering sigh and bowed his head. This time he sucked her nipple all the way into his mouth. She moaned. His hips bucked up against her, and he rubbed himself against her, or a little against her and a lot against the skirt.
She started gathering it into her hands. “Help me,” she said against his lips. Between them, they got the skirt hiked up and mostly out of the way.
“This was sexier in my head,” he said as his fingers curled around her thigh, working their way towards her core. “It’s mostly a lot of fabric.”
With a laugh, Buffy caught his chin in her hand and tilted his head back. His lips glistened, wet from how he’d been playing with her nipples. Both were now aching points, and her clit was throbbing. She kissed him, her lips over his, sucking gently as his fingers reached her pussy. He stroked it. “You minx, you don’t have any knickers on.” His rough fingers brushed over the bare skin she had down there, and she mewled. “You’re so wet that this will be easy.”
“I want you.”
Spike’s hand disappeared from her pussy and wormed its way between them to pop open the front of his tuxedo pants. Spike positioned his cock, grasped her hips, and drove in hard. She grunted. Now he was really--
Buffy buried her face against the side of Spike’s head and tried not to giggle.
“Luv, you might want to share with the rest of the class.”
“We-we-we’re joined at the hip.” Buffy felt like a shaken soda can and couldn’t hold in her laughter any longer. She quivered with it.
“Bloody hell, why couldn’t Willow’s magic have picked this route? It’s much—” He snapped his hips forward, and Buffy yelped.
“It’s much more fun,” she said breathlessly. His thrusts gentled, and she pressed soft kisses to Spike’s jaw.
“I was hoping we could continue to have fun together, for a while,” he said, his words just above a whisper. “More than tonight. More than a week’s worth of nights. More than a year’s. Just…more.”
“I am wearing a wedding dress.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Maybe we can skip to the honeymoon phase.”
“And here I was thinking I was all done with skipping,” Spike said with a laugh.
Buffy inhaled sharply as his movements became rougher again. “We really would be good at three-legged-races now.”
Spike paused, made a face, and caught her mouth in a messy kiss. Buffy sank into him, getting lost in the way their bodies melded together. An orgasm snuck up on her, and she was glad for Spike’s strong arms holding her in place as she came.
He pressed his face against her throat, his tongue painting her racing pulse, and her hand curled into his hair, holding him there, trusting him there.
Spike’s release was with a harsh grunt. They ended up sliding down to the floor, Buffy straddling him as they both panted. She traced a finger over the strong lines of his cheek and jaw and soft pout of his lips.
He kissed her fingertip. “I hate to say it, Buffy, but I think from now on, you really are stuck with me.”
Thank you everyone for reading, and to the authors, artists and beta-readers for helping to make this happen! Happy birthday, bewildered!
Megan is the author of 47 other stories.
pfeifferpack is the author of 52 other stories.
sandy_s is the author of 86 other stories.
Susan is the author of 1 other stories.
EllieRose101 is the author of 157 other stories.
the_moonmoth is the author of 25 other stories.
Sigyn is the author of 92 other stories.
DarkVoid116 is the author of 23 other stories.
Sunalso is the author of 45 other stories.
yellowb is the author of 17 other stories.
SzmattyCat is the author of 22 other stories.
Twinkles is the author of 28 other stories.
Sock With A Soul is the author of 0 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 56 members. Members who marked Be Hitched, Be Bothered, and Be Very bewildered as a favorite also favorited 4489 other stories.