Disclaimer: This all belongs to someone else. I just play with the characters like smutty bendable action figures *grin*.
Author’s notes: I wanted to thank Elisabeth for posting this for me on LJ, and Lisa Kelley for the beta.
Summary: So….at the end of Blind Date, Angel has just come to the realization that Spike sired Willow. Or so it appears.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 1~
Spike felt his sire’s gaze upon him, and sent his senses out, searching for the presence he knew he would find. Sure enough, on the balcony, wreathed in shadows, he found Angel, along with the Slayer, who didn’t quite get the point of the whole charade yet. But Angel did. Spike felt him watching them, putting the pieces together, working it out, and coming to exactly the wrong conclusion.
Just as they had hoped.
Willow played her part perfectly, lounging on the couch and looking like quite the pretty vampire, he had to admit. Her glamour seemed to be working perfectly, he thought with satisfaction, as he bent down and licked the skin that appeared to bear his mark. But his tongue wasn’t fooled, and he felt nothing but unbroken skin beneath it. Willow gasped from the contact, arching her body slightly against his, and he filed that fact away for further consideration.
“I know you’re there, Peaches.” He never raised his voice, knowing that his sire would be able to hear him regardless. “Figured it out, you know. The set-up, I mean. Red and I. And you know what? We decided you were right. You must’ve seen something that neither of us did. But tonight, after we had a chance to talk for a while, we saw it too.”
Willow stirred slightly next to him, glancing towards the shadows that she imagined held Buffy and Angel. “Oh, don’t worry, he was gentle. I barely even felt a thing. And now…now I feel *everything*.” Her voice was heavy with hidden meaning, as if tempting them to discover her secrets.
Spike smiled at her indulgently, pleased with the way she was playing her part. Of course, to Angel and Buffy, it looked like the indulgent smile of a proud parent, admiring his newly created progeny, but that was good too. He could work with that.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Buffy yelled, sagging slightly against the banister, jerking herself away from the hand that Angel put out to calm her. “You, you couldn’t have. And she would never have let you. It’s just, just—impossible. You’ve got a soul now. You wouldn’t.” There was a desperate certainty to her words. She desired, no, needed them to be true. Her tone demanded that someone tell her this was all an awful dream.
“The soul, the soul, the soul…THE SOUL WAS LONELY!” he yelled at her, his voice equal parts of anger and pain. Spike watched her flinch at the implied criticism. She had Angel, and he had nobody, or so the words seem to suggest to her guilty conscience.
“Enough with the introductions,” Spike muttered, pulling himself to his feet and dragging Willow along for the ride. “Leave us alone for a couple of days, okay? Got me a childe to train.”
Angel suppressed a shudder at all the emotions that phrase evoked. He remembered it, every bit of it, every moment, every crack of the whip, every sting of the lash, every moment of his dick sliding into tight, unprepared passages. Every moment of ecstasy.
“Don’t you dare,” he growled at Spike. “Don’t you hurt her or I’ll dust you myself.”
And yet, even as he uttered the threat, he began to sense that something about this was not real. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of the situation, or the suddenness of Spike’s decision. Or maybe it was something else…
“I’m gonna kill him,” Buffy muttered, her pain-filled eyes locked on Spike’s as he led Willow up the stairs. “Gonna kill him and dance in the dust, and then suck it up with a little hand-held Dustbuster and flush it down the toilet.”
Spike paused on the stairway, then swung Willow up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs. She bent her head to the side, allowing him to nibble lightly at the skin of her neck.
Willow sighed softly and the scent of her arousal filled the air, surprising Spike. Seems like she was enjoying more than just the revenge aspect of their little drama. It might be fun to…
“No, Buffy,” Angel pulled the slayer back against his chest as Spike passed by them on the landing, using all of his strength to keep her from going after the couple. Oh, he would happily hold Spike while she plunged in the stake, but there was just something wrong here, something off. He had to figure it out before he let Buffy do something she might regret later.
“Don’t let him do this, Angel, don’t let him hurt her. Willow!” she cried out, pain and fear burning within her. “We can get you a soul,” she insisted. “We’ll do the restoration, and then get Giles to fix your soul like we did Angel’s. Just don’t—don’t do anything until then, okay?” she asked desperately.
Something flickered in Willow’s eyes. Angel thought it might have been regret. But then Spike spun his body until he hid her from their eyes. “Give her a soul and I’ll stake her myself,” he growled, fixing first Angel, and then Buffy, with his steely gaze. “Got it?”
They watched in shock as Spike carried Willow down the hall, slamming his bedroom door behind him. The sound of the deadlock being thrown echoed ominously in the resounding silence.
~~~*~~~
Buffy paced the floor of their bedroom suite, stopping every five or ten steps to glare at Angel, who was sitting, deep in thought, in one of the old leather chairs.
When he stopped hearing the sound of her footsteps, he looked up curiously, then shrank back at the fury he saw in her eyes.
“You let him do it,” she accused. “You just let him take her into that room, to do who-knows-what to her. How could you?” she wailed inconsolably. “He vamped her, but you’re his sire. Why didn’t you stop him? You could have told him not to, right? And he would have had to—“
It was right there, the idea, the something that felt weird. Off. But the sight of Buffy’s tears distracted him, and then it was gone again. He scrunched his forehead, trying to lead it back, but it was steadfast in its refusal to reveal itself.
“Angel? Are you even listening to me?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at him.
“Buffy, just—just calm down.”
“Calm down? CALM DOWN?!?” Buffy stared at him as if he was a stranger. “How the hell do you expect me to calm down? Your childe,” she spit the word out as if it was dirty, “turned my oldest friend. She’s a vampire now. How the hell do you expect me to calm down?”
There it was again, that glimmering piece of an idea, and this time Angel was able to catch it and grab onto it. Spike had made a child. Or so he claimed. If that was true, Angel should be able to sense her. The new vampire should be a blip on the landscape of his psyche. She was family, after all.
“Just—just give me a second,” he insisted, fixing the blonde with that look he knew she couldn’t resist. She gave him a look of her own, but subsided, plopping down on the bed and glaring at him.
Angel closed his eyes, reaching out his senses. He sensed Spike, his childe’s excitement drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His senses ranged out farther, and felt lesser beings—childer of Drusilla, mostly. His soul felt dirty at the slight contact and shrank into itself.
But oddly enough, there was nothing of Willow.
He tried again, searching, seeking, sending out little pieces of himself. If she was a vampire, he should be able to sense her. But there was nothing.
Then he remembered the look that flashed across her face when Spike carried her up the stairs. It had spoken of regret.
Demons didn’t feel regret.
On the other hand, he thought slowly, thinking the idea through, naughty little witches looking for a bit of payback could feel regret. Especially if a certain blond vampire had talked them into a prank that had gone just a little bit too far.
Buffy watched as Angel opened his eyes and smiled at her. It wasn’t the happy smile she was used to seeing; it wasn’t even the nervous half-smile that he used to wear before the soul became permanent.
This was something almost feral. It made her uncomfortable and set her Slayer senses on danger overdrive. This was Angel at his most primitive.
“What?” she asked apprehensively.
“It’s a game, Buffy. A game called payback. Willow is not Spike’s childe. She probably just did a little glamour. She’s as human as you are.” He frowned for a moment, considering her Slayer status. “Probably more human.” Then reconsidered, taking Willow’s witchy status into account. “Maybe it’s a draw. At any rate,” he hurried on, “Willow’s definitely not a vampire.”
“But she was all with the putting his hands on her and the licking and—” Buffy’s mind boggled as she considered it. Would Willow let him do that sort of stuff, just for a little revenge? Sure, she was probably angry to find out that she’d been tricked, but angry enough for that? “They don’t even like each other, Angel.”
“Well they’ve obviously managed to get past that little obstacle,” he insisted, joining her on the bed. He grasped her hands, running his thumbs across the backs of her hands over and over, until he sensed that she was relaxing. “Listen, Buffy. If she were a vampire, I would know it. Feel it. It’s just something we do. We can sense each other. Even when Spike was mad at me, hiding from me, even then, I knew he was there. I share that connection with all of my childer.” Whether he wanted to or not.
Buffy stared at him as he explained. The light in her eyes, the one that had almost been extinguished by her grief, began to glow again. She once again looked sure of herself, strong, and able to handle whatever life threw her way.
“They are *so* gonna pay.”
~~~*~~~
“Did you see that?” Spike asked, grinning gleefully. “It looked like the bloody poof was going to lose his lunch. And the Slayer, she wanted my throat so badly that I wasn’t sure Angel was going to be able to keep her in check. It was bloody marvelous,” he crowed.
He dropped Willow down to her feet, smiling down at her, oblivious to the fact that she had yet to say a word.
“I think we may have gone a bit too far with this.” Her mind was filled with visions of Buffy’s anguished face, and although their plan for revenge had seemed like a good idea at the time, in retrospect it was beginning to seem more than a little cruel.
“Oh bollocks,” Spike insisted. “It was no worse than what they did to us.”
“Spike, she thinks I’m dead! I think that trumps a date with Harmony or Trevor.”
“Don’t know that I’d agree with you on that,” Spike argued playfully. He was refusing to take her sudden change of heart seriously. “Wasn’t you sitting there with Harmony.”
“Hey, Trevor was no sweetheart either,” she reminded him, feeling herself being pulled into a game of disaster-dating one-upmanship. “And that’s *so* not the point.”
Spike cocked his head, looking at her with such an utter lack of understanding that she really wanted to smack him. This situation they were in was messy, and he was treating it like it was nothing.
“Don’t you get it?” she demanded, squaring off against him. She faced him, hands on her hips, glaring at him in an effort to make him understand, trying to use the force of her emotion to convey her point.
Spike glared right back at her, as if he was finally starting to understand. “I get it,” he said, starting to pace back and forth in front of her, throwing her angry little glares every couple of steps. “Things got a little too intense for you, and now you’re going to run off like a scared little witchie-poo,” he said, as if pronouncing a great truth.
“Scaredy cat,” he added for good measure.
“Bastard,” she hissed, wondering how she had ever let him talk her into this. “I must’ve been insane,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head dismissively. “I’m going to talk to Angel and Buffy and tell them what happened. If you still have this burning need for childish revenge, you’ll just have to work it out yourself.”
She headed for the door, but Spike was faster, stepping in front of the doorknob to keep her from turning it and opening the door.
“Ah, ah, ah…I don’t think so,” he told her, his voice smooth as satin. She stared at him in open-mouthed shock, as his hands grabbed her upper arms and swapped their positions, turning her around until her back was against the door. Using his body, he pressed her against the solid wood. One hand released her arm, only to grab her chin, lifting it up so that he could look into her eyes.
She struggled against him, pushing and prodding ineffectually at his chest, until he tightened his hold on her jaw in an attempt to get her attention.
“Damn it, let go of me,” she insisted, wishing her voice sounded more determined and less nervous. He did that to her, when they were this close together. Made her feel jumpy. Nervous. Less in control, both of her self, and the situation.
“Or what?” he whispered, leaning in. He made a show of sniffing the air and then smiled at her. “You don’t really want to spill the beans, Willow. You’re just scared.”
“Oh yeah? And where did you come up with that great pronouncement, Doctor Freud?”
He smiled at her, and her nervousness increased. “I get it from the way that you smell. From the fact that your body trembles so sweetly against mine,” he rested his forehead softly against hers. “And from the way that you lick your lips when you’re nervous.”
While she fought for a way to deny his claims, he took advantage of her distraction and brushed her lips lightly with his own. When she remained still against him, his lips touched hers again, sliding against them, teasing hers just the slightest bit open before plunging his tongue inside.
~Part: 2~
Willow was quick to recover from her surprise, wresting her lips away from his as she stared at him with round, astonished eyes.
“I’ll—I swear, I’ll turn you into something. Something nasty. A pig, maybe.” But no, a pig reminded her too much of Trevor, and that didn’t work. Maybe a frog? No, no frogs. Ick! And now she couldn’t get the image of frogs out of her mind.
She was starting to lose it and she knew it. He was getting to her, the way that he always did. Usually she just got angry at him, but this time it was different. This time there was a need to prove herself to him; to convince him that she wasn’t afraid, wasn’t aroused.
And yet she knew that if she tried to do that, she would be playing right into his hands. Plus, it was kind of hard to prove to someone that you weren’t aroused when you definitely were very aroused. Not that she’d tell him that. But then again, with the whole vampire sense of smell, she probably didn’t need to. And how the hell was she supposed to keep any secrets from him with *that* hanging over her head?
She needed to get away from him so that she could gain some perspective. Not to mention some control.
“Nah, you’d never do anything like that,” he denied, his lips just inches above hers. “You’re a good girl, remember?”
She could see his lips, her heart pounding in excitement as she watched them close the gap again, moving ever closer to her own. “Good girl,” she repeated, feeling his lips brush against hers as she said the words. And then, just as she was deciding that maybe her lips touching his wasn’t such a terrible thing, he was gone, and she stood alone, her legs shaky and her emotions in turmoil.
He watched her from the other side of the room, his eyes half-closed as he studied her. She looked confused, and he had to admit that she wasn’t alone in her confusion. This was supposed to have been a little trick played for revenge, but suddenly he was beginning to feel like he was the one being played.
There was something about her that called to him. Maybe it was the odd mixture of strength and vulnerability. This was a girl who, after all, had almost ended the world. Yet at times she didn’t even seem to realize her own power.
A lot of the things she did now, things she thought about herself, had their roots in the distant past. He remembered when he had kidnapped her, all those years ago. She had been terrified then, willing to do anything he asked, if it would keep her and the boy safe. Sometimes he still saw flashes of that frightened girl when he looked at her.
They watched each other uneasily, until Spike heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It was Angel; and he wasn’t taking a whole lot of care to be quiet about his approach either.
“Here’s your chance to blow the whistle,” he said, jerking his head at the door behind her. "Poof's on his way."
“I…” she moved away from the door, waiting for Angel to knock. She didn’t know exactly what she’d say to him when he did, but at least she could extricate herself from this mess of her own making.
But nothing happened. The room remained silent, even though they could both somehow sense that Angel stood right outside the door.
He was just listening to them, Willow realized. Like a demonic peeping Tom, he was using his vampiric senses to hear everything that was happening between them. She thought about that for a moment and felt an unexpected spark of anger building inside of her. She was in a room with Spike, and he could have been doing god-knows-what to her. But instead of helping her, Angel was standing on the other side of the door, listening. Probably getting his vampiric rocks off imagining all the things Spike could be doing to her now.
The anger that had been burning lashed through her at the thought of it. Some friend he was turning out to be. And what would he do if he really thought Spike was hurting her, she wondered. Anything at all? Or would he slink back to Buffy and tell her that everything was just fine?
Spike watched Willow’s face as the conflicting emotions made her expression shift from determined, to furious, to hurt, to something else he couldn’t quite define. When she looked at him again, anger and determination fought for possession of her features, and he had to hide a smile when she crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of him.
She stood on tiptoe as her lips brushed his ear. “He’s listening, isn’t he?” It was the barest whisper; something Angel wouldn’t even have heard.
He nodded, and then waited for her reaction. It could go either way; she could decide to go out there and tell Angel off, thereby ending the game they were playing. Or, and he suspected this option would win out, she might decide to play a little longer, just to see what happened. She was angry enough, that was for sure. In fact, he’d be willing to wager that most of the anger she had been directing at him earlier was now aimed solely and squarely at Angel.
It was almost too perfect for words.
He began to formulate a plan. Go slow; start with a couple of kisses, let her get used to the idea, and then things would escalate naturally. Before she knew what was happening…
His hastily formulated plans were shattered by the sound of Willow’s voice.
“No, please, Si—Sire. No,” she whimpered quietly.
He had to give her points for originality. She had chosen a completely different direction. Her voice cracked on the word ‘sire,’ and then she threw in several more wordless whimpers for affect. Angel would be beside himself, Spike was sure. Any second now he fully expected Angel to break down the door, deadbolt be damned, and put an end to whatever it was he suspected was going on inside.
And yet the door remained intact, and the hulking, brooding mass on the other side of it stayed where he was. Spike didn’t quite understand it. Angel didn’t usually exhibit that type of self-control.
He thought about exploring that further, but then his attention returned to Willow. She had grown silent again, but anger still burned in her eyes. This was an opportunity that he would be a fool to pass up, and he knew it.
His arm shot out, his hand grasping her wrist and pulling her to him. Arms stronger than anything she could fight circled her, pulling her unresisting body closer and closer. Her eyes met his, and although all her questions and insecurities were reflected in their depths, he ignored them and their lips met in a harsh kiss.
Moans and soft sighs filled the room as he ravaged her lips, pushing them open while his tongue swept between them. The cavern of her mouth was burning hot, his tongue warming quickly inside the moist heat. He took his time, initiating a leisurely exploration of all he encountered, his tongue tasting and teasing everything he found.
Far from objecting, Willow seemed to be participating in their kiss just as much as he was. He was sure that some of the sounds she made were more for Angel’s benefit than his, but the taste of her passion and the way her body pressed itself into his made him fairly certain that she was enjoying herself quite a bit.
The fact that he was enjoying this as well caught him by surprise. This was supposed to be a game played exclusively for the purpose of revenge, but instead he found himself enjoying the feel of her soft body against his, the way that her tongue caressed his, the small sounds she made as she enjoyed the things he did to her.
She squeaked against his lips when he picked her up without warning, carrying her to the bed and depositing her on it, all without breaking their kiss. His hands set to work, undoing buttons, removing clothing, until soon the floor was littered with clothes, and Willow was naked beneath him.
As he straddled her hips, her eyes stared up at him, passion burning in their depths, along with a growing amount of doubt. He didn’t give her a moment to think, because he knew that if either of them took that moment, one of them would probably come to their senses and call a halt to what was happening.
He swooped down and kissed her again, enjoying the feel of her hands as they slid through his hair, coming to rest against his neck and pulling him down against her. Her doubts seemed to disappear upon contact, and he did his best to ensure that they did not surface again.
Angel listened outside the door, wondering what was going on inside Spike’s room. All was quiet at the moment, and he had to admit to some curiosity. He thought about knocking, but then he heard Willow’s whimpered, “No, please, Si—Sire. No.”
That told him what he needed to know: that Spike was well aware that he was out there, and that the blond was determined to put on a show for him. Apparently Willow was just as willing to play along. He was slightly surprised by that fact, but there was no mistaking the smell of her arousal as it made its way into the hallway from underneath the bedroom door.
Another oppressive silence surrounded him, and he waited for something—anything—to happen.
There was a squeak of what sounded like surprised delight, and then the creak of bedsprings, and Angel knew that they had now moved their activities onto the bed. Apparently Spike and Willow were willing to go all the way in order to make their point. Angel wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
It was one thing for two consenting adults to find joy and comfort in each other. It was another thing entirely for two people to have sex in order to perpetrate a fraud on someone else. It seemed rather shallow, from where he was standing. Then again, he was standing outside their bedroom door, eavesdropping like a naughty schoolboy, so perhaps he didn’t have any right to be making judgments.
Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he heard something that sounded very much like clothes landing on the floor. The whispery soft touch of a dress or skirt was followed by the more substantial flop of what he imagined could be Spike’s jeans.
They were really going to do it.
So what was he going to do about it? Should he burst in like an overzealous big brother, insisting that they stop, or else?
Or else what? That was the question.
Even if he was willing to admit that he knew they weren’t really sire and childe, he had no right to keep them from doing whatever it was they were so intent on doing.
His other options weren’t terribly appealing either. Continuing to stand outside and listen like a horny pervert had limited appeal. But going back to Buffy and telling her that her best friend and his childe were in Spike’s room having sex, just to prove a point, wasn’t an idea that gave him a great big happy either.
Go or stay, stay or go? Too bad he didn’t have a coin to flip.
He sensed another presence in the hallway. Turning, he saw Buffy framed in the doorway of their bedroom. Her face held many questions, and it made up his mind for him. With one last glance at the door to Spike’s bedroom, he turned and retreated to his own room.
“So what’s going on in there?” Buffy asked, as soon as they were both safe behind the heavy closed door. “Could you hear anything?”
Angel nodded slowly. “I couldn’t hear much, but there were…sounds. I wasn’t quiet; they knew I was out there, so they were playing to their audience.”
Buffy jumped up onto their bed, swinging her legs up and stretching out comfortably. “Playing? What do you—ooh!” She scrunched her nose up, confused, but then relaxed her facial muscles as she figured it out. “They were trying to make it look like they were having sex?”
He nodded again. “I don’t think they’re playing, not anymore. I think they’re actually going to have sex.”
Angel joined her on the bed, reaching out to lace the fingers of his right hand with the fingers of her left one. The contact sent thrills of excitement up his arm, and an answering zing straight down to his cock. His heart and soul both loved the feel of her skin against his, and a casual touch was so simple, yet so satisfying.
Buffy tilted her head to the left just the slightest bit, halfway to his shoulder, yet unwilling to go the rest of the way. “Do you think we should do something about it?”
“Something like what? Break down the door? Hit the fire alarm? Call them and ask if they’d like to save money on their long distance bill?”
She giggled at the thought, imagining the look on Spike’s face. He didn’t like to be interrupted during foreplay, she remembered that much from their time together.
Spike and foreplay were two things she should *not* be thinking of when in bed with Angel. How many levels of wrong were involved with that, anyway?
“Hmm.” She considered the matter, the repercussions, and the people involved. “Now that you’re gone, they’ll probably stop, won’t they? I mean, I’m sure they heard you leave, right?”
Angel thought about that. “Yeah, they probably did. I mean, I didn’t knock on the door and let them know I was going, or anything. But I think Spike would have noticed.”
Snuggling against him, Buffy relaxed and let her body melt against his, the way it was meant to. “I say we just let them do whatever it is they’re going to do, then.” At Angel’s raised eyebrow, she added, “Hey, great wisdom here. I know what I’m talking about.”
Angel wasn’t so sure about that. But, he reflected as he released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, he wasn’t stupid. He was comfortably ensconced with his wonderful woman, and he wasn’t going to do anything to screw that up.
Willow and Spike were on their own tonight.
~Part: 3~
Spike felt a lessening of Angel’s oppressive presence and realized that his sire was walking away, apparently having tired of the role of eavesdropping pervert. He considered telling Willow, but quickly decided not to. He might have a soul, but he also had a brain, and a cock. The latter two were insisting that he continue with his present activities without hesitation. If he gave Willow a chance to think, she’d probably be out of there like a shot. Although, considering the way she was moving against him at the moment, he thought the odds were fair that she had forgotten about Angel’s presence entirely.
Who was he to remind her?
So instead, he continued to straddle her waist, watching curiously as her chest rose and fell, the motion leading his eyes inevitably to her breasts, glorious pale mounds topped by rosy, taut nipples that begged for his touch.
He reached out, running the pad of his index finger over one of her peaks, then working outwards in a circular motion, his fingertip tracing cool circles on the warm flesh. She wiggled delightfully beneath him, arching her back and pushing her breast against his fingers. Her eyes were closed, but a look of intense concentration filled her face, as if she were focusing all of her energies on this one act. It was a little unnerving to be the center of such attention, and yet appealing at the same time.
“You’re insatiable,” he murmured, the phrase meant to be a rebuke. But it came out sounding like a compliment.
Her eyes flickered open, staring up at him with thinly veiled annoyance. She had a plan, and a goal, and his assistance was needed. You started this, her eyes seemed to say, now get with the program.
He dove down, taking the tip of her nipple into his mouth. She felt his cool tongue swipe over the erect peak and shivered in response. Her back arched again, and he slipped his arm underneath it, pulling her into a seated position.
He maneuvered their bodies, moving awkwardly until she was sitting on his lap, straddling his hips, their faces almost level. His gaze fell upon her breasts again, and his head bent down to kiss the skin between them.
“Might be nice if I had a little audience participation,” he told her, his face hidden in the valley of her breasts. The words seemed to reverberate off her skin, and the novelty of the sensation was enough to distract her from what he was saying for a moment.
She frowned at him, slightly confused, as her mind tried to figure out what he meant. Understanding dawned, eventually, and she nodded absently, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
Audience participation. Willow felt a moment of trepidation; she had never been with a vampire. Hell, she hadn’t even been with a guy in that way since, well, Oz. And that was a long time ago. What would Spike like? Would it be the same stuff Oz had liked, only maybe a little rougher? Or were there other things, secret *vampire* things, that she could only guess at? She wished she could ask Buffy, but now was probably not the time. Besides, she remembered belatedly, she was still mad at Buffy.
Her hands reached out to touch him, settling softly on his chest. Uncertainty made her movements slow and tentative, but he gave her an encouraging nod, so she began to explore the skin beneath her fingers. There was very little give to it; he was all muscle and taut skin. And cool. But not unpleasantly so. In fact, during the scorching California summers, it would probably feel pretty nice to curl her body around his at the end of a long, hot day. Kind of like her own personal air conditioning unit.
She splayed her hands out across the width of his chest, sliding them lightly along the skin. Her thumbs swept across his nipples, and the approving groan she felt, rather than heard, encouraged her further.
His mouth was sucking on her breast again, nibbling lightly on the hard nub. Blunt teeth scraped along the skin, and the sensation had her panting and distracted. Running on instinct alone, she curled her fingers slightly, running her fingernails down the length of his chest and over his nipples, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave white trails that quickly disappeared.
His teeth bit down on her nipple, repaying her in kind, and she shrieked out in a painful sort of pleasure. The bite had not been hard enough to break the skin, but it had been sudden and startling, and her reaction had been automatic. Immediately the pain of his bite was replaced by the soothing touch of a cool tongue, and the comforting feeling of feather-light touches on her other breast.
Soon the pain retreated, replaced by another dull ache that she thought at first was pain. But the echoing throb between her legs told her that it was something else entirely.
She let her hands slide down his chest, exploring the smooth skin, until she reached the bend of his hips. She would have reached further down, explored his cock, but the way she was sitting on him made that difficult. Instead, she snuck her hands under his armpits and around to his back, resting them lightly on his shoulder blades, content to feel the muscles work as his head slowly rose, kissing a trail from her breasts, up her throat, stopping at last at her lips.
His hands moved to the back of her neck, tilting her head back slightly, her lips an inviting target for his. One hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back even farther, while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling the rest of her closer. Their bodies were flush, fitted together so closely that her breasts were crushed against his unyielding chest.
At first, Willow lost herself in the feel of his lips, his tongue, and his body pressed against hers. Time lost all meaning for her; surely it still passed, but at a rate she could not even guess at. But as moments passed, her need to draw breath grew. They were too close together, his arm like a steel trap holding her in a crushing grip. His lips sealed against hers tightly, and when she tried to escape them, they wouldn’t let her go. She struggled against him, pulling away from him just a bit, her breath finally coming in gasps and heaves.
“Sorry,” he murmured, relaxing his hold somewhat.
“S’okay,” she panted. “Just—couldn’t breathe.”
There was an awkward silence for a moment, as if neither wanted to say something they were afraid would upset the other.
Spike reminded himself that she was human, not even a Slayer, and that certain concessions had to be made because of that. She would break easily, regardless of her independent nature, or even her magick, and forgetting that fact even for a minute could result in something horrendous.
So he cupped her chin with his hands, drawing her face gently up until the angle pleased him, and swept his lips across hers. She responded immediately, opening her mouth against his, showing that she was more than willing to take up where they left off.
He shifted underneath her, his hands moving to lift her body up, and then back, until she was lying on the cool silk sheets. Red, of course. At any other time she would have commented on the fact that red silk sheets were pretty stereotypical, but at that moment coherent speech didn’t seem to be a priority.
Spike sat between her legs, his hand running the length of his cock. Willow sat up and then leaned back on her elbows, watching as he moved a finger to her cunt, running it up and down the lips of her sex, but never touching her quite where she wanted him to.
The teasing movements of his finger were driving her to distraction, as they were meant to. She glared at him, frowning at the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
His eyes stared into hers as his finger entered her tight channel, the internal muscles clutching at it greedily. The way he stared at her made her nervous; it was as if he expected something from her, and she had no idea what.
Or maybe she was just reading too much into the intensity of his gaze.
A second finger entered her, and they began to glide in and out, his fingers widening and stretching her. She started when his thumb grazed her clit, her hips bucking up in an unconscious effort to force more contact. But the annoying vampire only continued to tease her, rubbing her clit in a gentle clockwise motion. She moaned, closing her eyes and throwing back her head, while her hips continued to thrust against his hand, hoping for more.
Tension began to build within her, and her eyelashes flickered as she concentrated, her body and mind reaching for an orgasm that was so close. “Please, please, please,” she repeated mindlessly, her body shaking slightly. “Just a little more. Oh god, so close…”
Spike withdrew his fingers quickly, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean. “Not yet, pet. Not until I tell you,” he said, smirking as he watched her. It was a game, and it was all about control. And he was winning.
Willow felt her release dance away, leaving her body on edge and brittle. “Spike,” she said, the word almost a growl. Her eyes were open again, and what he saw there made him want to laugh, but he knew better than to actually do it.
Her frustration was almost a palpable thing. He could see it in the clench of her jaw, and the glint in her eye. But most of all, he could see it in the way that she was trying so hard not to thrust her pussy towards him again, knowing that he had no intention of bringing her off until he was good and ready.
His examination of her made her feel self-conscious. She was not unaware of the fact that he was enjoying the taste of her fluids on his fingers. It wasn’t so much that she was embarrassed by her secretions. They were a natural part of her body’s reaction to penetration. It was just that the thought of them being a tasty treat was something she found a little disturbing and a bit on the icky side.
As her discomfort increased, so did his enjoyment. She was such an awkward little thing, and yet so incredibly powerful, even if she forgot that most of the time. He smiled at her as she glared at him, hating him, and needing him, all at the same time.
They stared at each other for a minute. It was a stalemate, but he was the first break. Don’t give her time to think, he reminded himself. Wouldn’t do to have her pick up her toys and go home.
He held his cock in his hand, taking a moment to position it between her legs, and then sinking inside her. She was tight; her muscles hugged his cock as he pushed his way deeper, moving slowly until he was all the way up inside her.
Chancing a look at her face, he noted that her eyes were closed again, but a satisfied smile curved her lips. The tiny lines around her eyes, creases that deepened when she was stressed, had relaxed and seemed to almost disappear. It gave her the appearance of a much younger, and much more innocent, girl. A girl who hadn’t seen the things this one had seen.
He let the fanciful notion of a younger Willow who didn’t know about the existence of his kind distract him for a moment. What would she have thought of him if she had come across him somewhere? Would she have been adventurous enough to show an interest? Probably not. From what he remembered of her, back when he had been evil and unchipped, she had been rather awkward and nerdy. And completely wrapped up in childish pursuits. She had been very much the opposite of Buffy, who had been a woman before she even knew all that the label implied.
Willow was looking at him, he realized. Probably wondering why he was just staring at her, and not fucking her. Shaking his head at his thoughts, and his pathetic sense of timing, he began to work his cock in and out of her, setting a leisurely pace. Before long, her hips were thrusting up to meet him, and a moan sounded from between slightly parted lips.
Sweat pasted her hair to her forehead and cheeks, and coupled with the look in her eyes, it made her seem wild and wanton. Actually, in her book, this probably was something that counted as a little bit crazy.
His thumb crept down to her clit, worrying the little nubbin as he continued to push in and out of her, all of his motions slow and lazy, as if they had all the time in the world. Which, in his opinion, they did.
He enjoyed making love slow and easy, taking his time to draw out the pleasure. There was no better way to spend a lazy afternoon. Years upon years stuck inside during the day had given him stamina. And when coupled with his creative mind, it made him a force to be reckoned with. Sexually speaking.
Before long he felt the familiar harbingers of orgasm. And from the way that Willow was keening beneath him, he could tell that she was on the edge as well. One final thrust, accompanied by a gentle twisting of her clit, had them both yelling their release, the sounds echoing down the hallway and into the bedroom of one blonde slayer and her vampire lover.
“About fucking time they finished,” Angel muttered, before turning on his side and finally falling asleep.
~Part: 4~
Willow awoke in stages. The location confused her; the familiar scents of her room were strangely absent this morning. Usually she woke to the mingled smells of lilac and heather, courtesy of the candles she still used occasionally when she cast. But this morning it was all wrong. Her sluggish senses were greeted by a hint of leather, and a stronger odor of tobacco, the latter causing her nose to scrunch slightly.
It took only a second for her mind to make the intuitive leap from that particular blend of scents to Spike. As she lay there quietly, flashes of memory filled her mind like a poorly wound film, with lots of skips and missing scenes.
She remembered sitting in a garden with Spike in the moonlight, talking, and drinking from a bottle of wine. And, she had to admit, enjoying herself immensely. Spike had seemed so…un-Spike-like. Nice. Sympathetic. And yet still slightly dangerous.
Then there was the part where they put on a show for Buffy and Angel’s benefit. She had been his childe, briefly. And, for reasons she could not quite remember, she had slept with Spike. A lot. And she had enjoyed it. A lot.
Then again, he had had over a century to perfect his moves. She was practically a virgin by comparison.
“I know you’re awake,” drawled a voice from somewhere above her head. “Might as well talk to me.”
Willow felt the blush as it worked its way up her face. “Sorry. Just kind of…trying to figure things out,” she admitted. “I mean, I know what we did last night—”
“And again in the wee hours of the morning, if my memory serves me,” Spike added with a chuckle.
“Uh, yeah, we did, didn’t we?” Her memory of that coupling came back to her as well, and her face seemed to get even warmer, although she was quite sure that was impossible. There wasn’t anything blushier than a blush, was there?
A cool arm was draped casually around her shoulders, and she realized that the pillow of cool flesh under her cheek was actually his chest. She had managed to make herself quite at home with his body, and turned her head even further away from his voice, trying to hide her embarrassment.
“So…what happens next?” Willow asked nervously. Was it just about sex, she wondered. Or did it mean something more? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the crazed beating of her heart, well aware that Spike could hear every thump like a bass drum.
“Depends on what you want,” Spike replied noncommittally. And then, in a burst of irritation, he added, “If we’re going to have this conversation, the least you could do is look me in the eyes while we’re having it.”
She was still pressed up against him, her face hidden from his by her hands, as she snuggled against his chest. He did have a point, though. The least she could do was quit hiding from him, she supposed.
“Sorry,” she muttered, uncurling her limbs from his and sitting up.
Her hair was tousled from sleep and sex, and her eyes blinked as she watched him warily, her gaze feather-light as it touched him, briefly, before darting off to study a crack in the plaster on the wall next to the window. She leaned back against the headboard beside him and took a deep breath.
“Better?” she asked.
A hint of irritation ran through her voice, but Spike let it be. It was irritation borne from insecurity, and he could understand that.
They eyed each other warily, like fighters, each waiting for the other to throw the first punch. Words could be just as painful as fists, if used correctly.
“So…” Willow fidgeted nervously, her fingers plucking at the thin sheet she had pulled up to her hips in order to hide both their nakedness. Her breasts were still visible, a fact that did not escape her notice, or Spike’s, as he contemplated them. They were firm and yet soft, he had learned last night, and she squealed delightfully when they were teased with tongue or teeth.
His life had been…dull lately. Spike could admit that to himself. The small moments with Willow—yelling, shagging, talking—they were like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. For the first time in months, he had woken with a sense of something new, an eagerness for what might happen next.
Last night wasn’t something he’d sought out. Hell, it had hit him as much out of the blue as it had her, he suspected. But he felt more alive—awake—aware—than he had in months. And that wasn’t something he wanted to give up just yet.
Maybe they would crash and burn in a week, the wreckage of their relationship an uncomfortable reminder to the others of just how badly a break-up could go. Or maybe they would find that they filled an emptiness in each other’s lives that they hadn’t even been aware of.
It was worth a try.
At least it was as far as he was concerned. Her thoughts on the matter were a mystery at the moment. But with a little work, and a little charm, he suspected that she could be convinced to see things his way.
So he put on his sexiest smile, the one that had lured hundreds of women to their deaths in times past, and fixed his eyes on her face. “Wanna do it again?”
Willow’s wide eyes and mute nod gave him the answer he had hoped for. Maybe if he shagged her until she passed out, she would just accept that they were a couple, and they could bypass that annoying, ‘what kind of relationship is this?’ stage altogether.
Buffy had been patient; she really had. She had managed not to kill Spike when she thought he had turned her best friend. And then she had allowed Angel to convince her to leave them alone after he told her that the twosome had been exacting their own peculiar brand of revenge.
She had even steered clear of Spike’s room all morning, and well into the afternoon, waiting patiently for Willow to seek her out and confess that she was not, in fact, a vampire.
But now here it was, late afternoon, and she *still* hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of them. She was getting impatient. And as Angel well knew, an impatient Slayer was a cranky Slayer.
“What could they be doing in there?” she whined. She was sitting on Angel’s lap, arms around his neck, as his lips teased the skin of her neck and collarbone. He shifted in the large leather chair, and she could almost feel the annoyance that seemed to radiate from him.
“Probably the same thing I’m trying to do in here,” he growled, leaning back down and nibbling lightly on her neck.
“Again?! I mean, you said they were at it most of the night. And then again in the morning. And early afternoon…”
“What can I say, the boy takes after me,” Angel said proudly.
“Vampire stamina, it’s a good thing,” Buffy replied, using her best ‘Martha Stewart’ voice. Which, she had to admit, sounded absolutely nothing like Martha. But hey, it was the thought that counted, right?
“Maybe our plan worked too well?”
Plan, plan, what plan? It took Angel a minute to remember that it had been their plan to get Willow and Spike together that had brought about all of this drama in the first place. Not that he was usually so dense, it was just that he had certain…needs…that he would like to get taken care of, and Buffy seemed to be too distracted to take care of them properly. Hence his muddy-mindedness.
All of this talk of sex, coupled with the steady stream of moans and groans that had been coming from Spike’s room all afternoon, had left him with one hell of a hard-on. He just wished he could get Buffy to cooperate, and thereby help him relieve some of his…tension.
“You can hear them right now, can’t you?” Buffy asked curiously, finally noticing his continued distraction.
“It’s like watching porn with Dolby surround-sound stereo,” he admitted. “Only, without the picture, of course.”
Buffy grinned evilly as an idea occurred to her. “So that means Spike can hear us too, right?”
Angel saw the direction her mind was drifting and was eager to help the process along. “Yeah, if we’re loud enough,” he agreed. His mouth moved to her ear, and he let the demon out for a moment to nip at the skin of her lobe, before shifting back to his human face. Her soft gasp of surprise satisfied him; her loud moan of satisfaction made him grin. “Wanna put on a show?” he asked.
Buffy nodded enthusiastically, getting up quickly and pulling him towards the bed. “The louder the better.”
“Jeez, they’re like a pair of randy bunnies,” Spike complained. “Only louder.”
Willow rested her head on his chest, tired and achey, but filled with a sense of satisfaction and contentedness that she rarely felt these days. “Who?”
“Buffy and the poofy one. Who else?”
“You mean they’re…”
“Rutting like animals. Making the beast with two backs. Tickling the ivories. Making with the—”
“I get it, I get it!” Willow interrupted. Boy, did she get it. She’d been getting it all morning, and most of the afternoon, too. Not that she was complaining, mind you. It was as if a huge dam had burst, and all these needs and feelings and…things—things that she hadn’t even known existed—had come flooding out. And Spike had been more than happy to help with damage control.
Now that the storm was over, things were feeling nice. Better than nice. Good. Better than good? Well, she’d have to wait and see.
“So what happens now? With us, I mean.” She felt Spike go still beside her. Not that he had been all that move-y before, but there was a sense of stillness now that made her want to hold her breath while she waited for his answer.
“Not shaggin’ you again. Not for a while, anyway,” he conceded. “Even a vampire can only do so much.”
She giggled, sounding happy and reassured at the same time. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You want to know if we get to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after?”
She could hear the frown in his voice. “No, not—not that. Not exactly. But, are we going to try for something besides just, well, sex? Not that the sex isn’t nice,” she added hurriedly. “But, we could be friends too, maybe? Or date?”
“We could,” he agreed, playing it cool. “Wanna go out tonight? There’s a little pub in Pasadena that just opened. We could check it out?”
There it was—the transition between sex and a relationship. He held his breath as he waited for her answer. Of course, he would have been holding his breath anyway, what with the whole not needing to breathe thing. But it just felt as if time moved unusually slowly as he waited for her to reply.
“That would be fun,” Willow said carefully. She didn’t want to act like a big dork and scare him away by being too clingy, but at the same time she didn’t want to not encourage him. It was one of those ‘walking a fine line’ things, she supposed.
“I’ll drive,” they both said, and then laughed.
“Not driving with you again,” he insisted. “We’ll take the bike.”
“Fine. Then I’m reserving the right to close my eyes.”
It was the same argument they’d had a dozen times, but today the words were said teasingly, without the angry bitterness that had accompanied them so many times before.
Spike’s retort was stopped short by Willow’s yawn. “Get some sleep, luv. Got a big night ahead of us.”
“Uhmm,” she agreed, snuggling against him. She felt his arm draped over her shoulders and relaxed into him, letting sleep settle over her like a blanket.
~Part: 5~
When Willow woke again, it was early evening. She sat up and stretched, enjoying the feel of her body as her movements chased away the last of her fatigue. A quick look at Spike earned her an amused glance, his eyes barely visible over the edge of the paperback he read. Vonnegut. Huh, who knew?
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she asked sharply.
His expression turned smug. “Why should I, when I can watch you? You talk in your sleep, you know.”
Willow stared at him, slightly horrified. Her dreams had been filled with him, and highly erotic. “Uh,” she grunted, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Did I, uh…what did I say?”
There was that smug grin she longed to wipe off his face. “Not much. Mostly moans, groans; a couple of times you said, ‘Oh, more, more!’ That was about it.”
Turning her face away from him, Willow’s eyes began to search desperately for her clothes. She felt naked, both physically and emotionally; it was as if he could see and sense everything about her from her sounds and her scent. At the same time, he remained, as always, a complete mystery to her. It was unfair, not to mention embarrassing.
“It’s not fair!” she declared, giving up on finding her clothes. The room was neat as a pin, and yet they were nowhere to be seen.
Spike laughed softly. “What’s not fair?” Habit brought his arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. But she shrugged off the arm, not at all ready to be mollified.
“Stupid vampire senses,” she raged. “You can smell how I feel, and hear me in my sleep. Don’t I get any secrets?” The anger left her voice towards the end of her complaint, and mostly she just sounded afraid and vulnerable.
He looked slightly contrite at her outburst. “Not something I’ve ever thought about,” he admitted. “Can’t change who I am—what I am.” He pondered the problem for a minute. “Guess I could walk around with earplugs on. Maybe cut off my nose?”
She knew he was mocking her, but his tone was so gentle, and the suggestions so patently ridiculous, that a reluctant smile began to tug at her lips. He did have a point. It wasn’t his fault he was a vampire.
“’Kay,” she agreed. “Maybe just the earplugs. I do like your nose,” she added, reaching over and giving the tip a quick kiss.
She was unique, he thought. Made the most ridiculous things sound logical. It was part of her oddball charm, he supposed. Sensing the shift in her mood, he tried again with the arm. This time she didn’t push him away, instead she snuggled closer to him, resting her head lightly on his shoulder.
“What are we going to tell Buffy and Angel?” she asked, jolting him back to reality.
“Uh.” It was his turn to grunt unintelligibly. He had given little thought to Buffy and Angel, convinced, as he was, that Angel was aware of Willow’s still-human status.
“I mean, don’t they still think that I’m a vampire?”
“I think Angel figured it out, somehow. I’m not sure how. But if he still thought you were a vampire, he’d have been in here mucking things up hours ago.”
She considered that. “When did he leave? I mean, last night. Did he—” her face turned red again as she thought it out. “Was he there when we…um…”
His eyes lightened with his amusement at her predicament. “If you’re old enough to do it, you’re old enough to say it,” he teased.
“Did he listen while we fucked?” she said baldly, pushing the words out quickly. She was pleased to catch the flash of surprise in his eyes at her boldness.
“That’s my girl,” he agreed approvingly. “And no, for the record, I don’t think he did. Don’t really know when he left, but it must’ve been pretty early.” Okay, maybe 100% honesty wasn’t always such a good idea. If she knew that he had felt Angel leave while they had still been at the ‘kissing’ stage of the evening’s activities, she might be a little upset. Then again, maybe not. He never quite knew what to expect from her.
“How do you think he figured it out? That I wasn’t a vampire, I mean.”
That was the question, Spike admitted. How *had* Angel figured it out? Unless…
“Oh sod it, it was the bleedin’ bond,” he said, disgust filling his voice. “We were so damn careful about everything else, but I forgot all about the bond.”
“There you go with that super-vampire stuff again,” she pouted, her lower lip jutting out, a tempting target for his teeth. “I’m never going to be able to surprise you. You always know what’s coming.”
Was that what she was afraid of? That her so-called predictability would eventually bore him? The idea was laughable. “Willow, in so many ways you are more of a mystery than I will ever be able to solve.”
She glanced at him curiously, and something in his expression convinced her that he was telling the truth. That comforted her somewhat, so she kissed him again. “You say the sweetest things. For a vampire,” she added.
He smiled. “So do you. For a human, I mean.”
It was well after ten o’clock when they snuck down the stairs, hoping to make it to Spike’s motorcycle without running into Buffy or Angel. They would have made it, but a squeaky stair about three quarters of the way down gave them away.
“Damn,” Spike swore softly, his eyes searching the darkness for signs of activity.
“Maybe they didn’t hear—” Willow began.
“Well here they are, Buffy,” Angel called out from the kitchen, slowly making his way into the lobby of the hotel and coming to a stop right in front of Willow and Spike.
She couldn’t gauge his mood; his eyes were flat and empty, reflecting back only what he wished her to see. Which was basically nothing.
So what should she do now? Put on the ‘childe’ act again, even though they all knew it was a lie? Or should she sweep regally by him, ignoring his presence and high-tailing it out the door?
“Willow?” Buffy called out from upstairs, her head poking around the door. Upon seeing the couple, she headed for the stairs, her determined footsteps making it clear that she was going to talk to them, and that was that.
“Damn, we’re surrounded,” Spike whispered into her ear. His tone was so dire that Willow couldn’t help but giggle.
“Something funny going on?” Angel drawled, pinning the two with his eyes.
“Um, uh—no, nuh huh, nothing funny going on here.”
Spike liked the way she babbled when she was nervous. It was cute, but it had the added bonus of leaving people off-guard. They didn’t expect much from the girl who was so flustered that she could barely form a coherent sentence. And then, when their defenses were down, she would strike.
Fixing Angel with an entirely too-innocent stare, Willow asked, “So just how long did you stand outside our door, like an eavesdropping pervert, last night?”
‘That’s my girl,’ Spike thought proudly. ‘Make the bastard squirm.’
Angel’s face held the perfect mixture of shock and guilt as he stared at Willow, open-mouthed. “Uh, I—ah—not long,” he answered weakly.
“Wait just a minute here,” Buffy commanded, walking over to Angel and putting a supportive arm around her man. “It’s not his fault that you two lied to us and made us think Willow was dead! He needed to listen to you—to—to figure out what you were up to!” Self-righteous anger rang out in her voice, and Willow felt a moment of embarrassment when she remembered how devastated Buffy had looked when she thought her best friend was dead.
“If you two hadn’t tried to manipulate us last night, then we wouldn’t have done what we did. So really, this is all *your* fault,” Spike reminded them. Attempting to bluster his way past the other couple, he grabbed Willow’s arm and pulled her towards the door.
But Buffy had one parting shot. “We were right, though, weren’t we?”
Spike turned and glared at her. “Maybe.”
Willow could see the situation spiraling out of control, and the ending would not be pretty. While she could see the merits of both arguments, she didn’t want things to get too uncomfortable. Angel and Buffy had had their fun, and so had she and Spike. Time to take a step back and make everybody calm down. If she could.
Spike felt the change in Willow’s attitude like a physical force. Her body went still, her muscles taut, and he could swear she seemed taller. “Okay, so here’s the deal,” she said, her voice ringing with confidence. “I won’t be mad at you for lying to me, if you promise not to be mad at me for lying to you. We’re even, right?”
Angel and Buffy exchanged glances, and as if they had shared some sort of non-verbal communication, they both relaxed. “Okay,” Buffy agreed. An impish look came back into her eyes. “You guys have fun tonight, and I’ll get all the details from you tomorrow.”
“Oh, hell no!” Spike said, at the same time that Willow grinned and nodded.
And then they were gone, and Buffy and Angel were alone in the lobby.
“Now where did I leave those handcuffs…”
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