That night, he hadn't gained her full trust...but she had taken it as another
truce between them. Unknowingly, he began to play the same role Angel had,
coming to her from the shadows and warning her of bad things to come; helping
her to defeat the terrors of the Hellmouth.
Gradually, he gained her trust as she rationalized the new situation. She knew
there had been plenty of opportunities to hurt her, to hurt her friends...but
hadn't done it. Instead, he had helped her. She began to question his motives,
and he had simply explained how threats to the world also threatened him. How
he couldn't care less for other vampires...couldn't care for anything since
Drusilla left him. He lied, telling her that it was his way of spiting Dru, of
rejecting her by rejecting her destructive ways.
He had comforted her when the feelings for Angel would consume her, and she
would reluctantly accept his help. Her friends, though good-hearted, could
never understand what she was going through. He did.
But the tender moments had been as frequent as the arguing. He had reluctantly
admitted to himself how alike they were in personality, in actions. They
worked well off each other, their sharp and witty tongues always trying to get
the better of the other.
His need to return to Dru had burned inside him, but he kept putting off
making his move on the Slayer, knowing that his princess would wait. The night
it finally happened was barely different from the other times they had saved
the world...except that her Watcher had almost been killed.
Spike knew that she loved him as a father, that she valued his opinions and
words more than anyone else's. It was a strange relationship between Slayer
and Watcher...Spike's other Slayers had only taken orders. It amazed him that
Buffy could be so caring and compassionate, yet still managed to have enough
determination and both inner and outer strength to take on the demons and the
monsters.
But it was her compassion that made her vulnerable, not during the crisis, but
after...when the consequences would rear their ugly heads. She would dwell on
the what-ifs...what if she had been a few seconds late? What if she hadn't
saved her friends? What if they died, and it was her fault?
He watched as she sat on a small couch in the Bronze, her friends trying to
get her to rejoice in the victory. But he could tell by the furrow of her brow
that she was mentally berating herself for allowing the Watcher to almost be
killed.
A frown had crossed his face. If the Slayer was unhappy, then she wouldn't
want him around...and if he wasn't around, he would never get close enough to
her to get Dru back. He waited as Willow got up to join her boyfriend, and
Xander left to get something to eat. He approached Buffy, luxuriating in the
appreciative stares he got from the other females in the club.
She hadn't even noticed him until he sat down next to her. Slowly, she had
turned her head, giving him a questioning look. Her friends had known about
him, were aware that he constantly helped them, but still hadn't accepted him.
Smart kids.
He had never approached the Slayer in such a public place.
"I wanted to see if you were okay, pet," he had said, answering her unasked
question.
She had just nodded her head. "I'm fine," she had replied tersely, "just
thinking that I could have done better."
"Nonsense, luv. He'll be fine." He had stood up, then pulled on her hand.
"Come on, let's forget about earlier." She had resisted him, but he had put
more force behind his grasp, and she reluctantly followed, not wanting to make
a scene.
A slow song had begun a few moments before and he had pulled her close to him,
their bodies pressing together. They had been this close together before when
they fought, or occasionally when she sought his shoulder to cry on. But this
was different. This closeness was not bounded by context....this time, their
bodies were aware of the closeness. Very aware.
A sudden jolt of excitement had flowed through him, shocking him more than he
had cared to admit. Yes, this had been his plan...but something was different.
It wasn't supposed to feel this good.
Lust. That's all it had been. The tight skirt, the perfect body...yes, lust.
He had left one arm around her waist, bringing his other hand to tilt her head
back so he could look at her.
"Sometimes you have to forget who you are," he had whispered. He had felt the
tensing in her body, and he knew it was because she was still slightly afraid
of him. Afraid that he might turn out to be not as nice as he seemed.
Smart girl.
"I won't hurt you," he had insisted, remembering that it wasn't the first time
he had said those words to her. She must have remembered too, because the
tension left her body and she pulled him closer to her, grateful to have
someone take care of *her* for once. Someone who would protect *her.*
As she had nuzzled her cheek against his chest, he again felt the desire. The
urge to just pick her up and crush her mouth to his, thrusting his tongue into
her mouth and tasting her. To run his hands over every inch of that golden
skin, breathing in the scent of some unknown fragrance. He had promised
himself that he would find out what it was someday.
As the mental images had flowed through his mind, he knew that she could feel
his arousal pressed against her stomach. But she hadn't pull away, disgusted.
She had simply continued to hold him and be held by him. He ran his hand
through her blonde hair, brushing the errant strands from her face. He kissed
her soft cheek, his lips barely grazing the skin.
He had felt the shiver that went through her, had heard the tiny gasp over the
music and the noise. It was then that he had realized that he really, truly
wanted her. She was more than just a body in his arms, a woman after months of
nothing.
He had known he should kiss her, that she wanted it. His face had inched
closer to hers, their eyes locking for a heartbeat before she closed hers.
Before his lips had touched hers, he had whispered, "I want you."
Then his lips had closed on hers, tender but far from chaste. Her body had
surged against him, and he could feel a tingle of excitement flow through
every nerve in his system. Her lips were softer, smoother than he had
imagined, fitting his perfectly.
He felt her tongue tentatively touch his bottom lip, and had known that she
was his. Grateful for the dark club, he lowered his hands, cupping her bottom
and lightly grinding his hips against hers.
Her moan of desire had given him the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her
mouth, stroking against her own tongue, exploring the hot recesses. His
normally cool body had started absorbing the heat from her...he hadn't been
used to the feverish feeling. It had made his head spin, had made him want to
take her there and then.
But a modicum of sense had found its way into him, and he broke the kiss off.
As she gasped for air, a genuine smile had crossed his face, for he had
completely forgotten that she needed to breathe. His smile had broadened as he
realized that she had never complained, though.
He released her from his grasp, and she moaned in frustration as his body
pulled away from hers. As they had headed for the door, he walked closely
behind her, slipping his hand over her hip, brushing the back of her against
him. He leaned in close, and had whispered in her ear "Don't worry...we'll be
home in no time." He took her ear lobe in his mouth and gently nipped it,
eliciting another shiver from her. He had wondered if her sudden interest was
because he reminded her of Angel, or if she was tired of being alone. He had
then decided that he didn't give a damn why, just as long as nothing stopped
her from pursuing her newest desire.
They walked the short distance to his apartment...he had not wanted to stay in
the mansion, as much to avoid his memories as to avoid hers.
* * *
When she lay sleeping in his arms, he would wonder why he hadn't done it yet.
After all the waiting, the time was perfect; yet each day they would wake
together. She would smile shyly at him, and on the mornings when she didn't,
he would ask her what was wrong.
Sometimes she told him; sometimes she kept it secret, and it was those times
that he knew she was thinking about Angel. Then he would hold her tighter,
carress her, sit her in his lap and rock her back and forth until she was
better. He would make her forget him.
He would tell himself it was because he and Dru had eternity; she didn't. A
few more years at best. And what was eternity compared to that?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had loved the feel of her, unable to get enough of her warm skin under his
hands, her sweat-slicked body writhing against his as they moved together in
the hours before dawn. Only the shadows were privy to the display of this
rejection of nature and duty. Only the night knew the secrets he kept to
himself, for she never knew that each time could be her last.
She was nothing like his princess. Tan where Dru was pale, golden hair instead
of dark. Eyes that spoke not of madness, but of pain and laughter, of
innocence and darkness. She was an intriguing mixture of woman and child,
fighting the demons of the world but wanting to believe that there was
something better out there.
If only she had known how close a demon had come. How it had kissed her every
night, held her everyday. Claimed her in every way but one.
Not yet, he had told himself. There was still time.
-end part two-