To Make it Good
Buffy had given up on the garlic. After the first couple of
nights and no Spike, she’d figured he wasn’t coming through the window. Why
would he, after all? His invitation was still in effect. He could just knock on
the front door, if he wanted to see her. Which he obviously didn’t, since there
had been no sign of him for days. No cigarette butts under the tree, no
shattered glass under her window. No swirling black coat out of the corner of
her eye. No pale hair glinting in the moonlight.
She closed her eyes and rolled onto her stomach. The sun
streamed in through her bedroom window, warming her cheek. She rubbed her face
against her pillow and inhaled deeply. She could smell him. After that
night…she’d come into her room and fell into bed, exhausted. She hadn’t
showered until later, so her bed smelled like…him.
No, she thought. I’m not doing this. Don’t want to think
about how good it was, how right. Don’t want to think about the things I said,
the things he said. But, oh, I wish…I wish…
The Slayer opened her eyes and tossed the blankets back. She
had to get Dawn ready for school. The younger Summers
hadn’t figured out quite how to manage dressing on her own with her arm in a
cast up to the elbow. Damn you, Willow, anyway.
The morning passed in a flurry of activity. Buffy made lunch
for her sister and watched her walk down the street, to face another day of
school. She watched Willow go
through her morning ritual of showering and makeup. Finally, Willow
left and Buffy could relax.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and went out the back
door, letting it slam behind her. She sat on the top step and sipped slowly.
She found herself staring at the spot where Spike usually stood. Right over
there, by the corner of the kitchen. She sighed. Things weren’t supposed to be
like this. She wasn’t supposed to care about his feelings. Wasn’t supposed to
want a soulless demon. But, her mind whispered, he’s not a demon, he’s just
The worst part was that this was all her fault. That night
the dancing demon kidnapped Dawn, Buffy had kissed him. The strangest thing
really. Like at that moment in time, kissing Spike was the only choice she
could have made. Had to do it. Couldn’t stop herself. Didn’t want to. That was
the kicker, really. Once she’d started with the kissing, it consumed her. Like
That’ll teach me,
she thought wryly. I want the fire back,
But fine. One time she could excuse. There was a spell. Like
that other time. At least, the dancing demon didn’t make her fall in love with
Spike. God. Although, strangely, after Willow
had broken the spell that made her will be done a few years back, Buffy
remembered feeling a lot more disgusted than she did now.
How had Spike described it? All gone with the wind, and the
rising music and the rising…music. She giggled a little. Her body had not
forgotten anything about his since kissing him while under Willow’s
spell. She still knew just where to press; still knew just how to lick his
lips. She hadn’t forgotten the most comfortable way to fit herself against him and—
“God!” She bolted from the step, spilling her coffee. “I’m
not doing this again.” She looked up at the sky, shaking her head. The sun hid
behind dark clouds. He could venture out, if he wanted to. Through the sewers
or covered by his blanket…just stop, Buffy.
He’s not coming. It’s
been what? Four days since…he’s not coming. And it’s not like I care.
Buffy took her mug into the house. She straightened
absently. A tossed jacket here, a key ring there. A stake that’d rolled under
the couch. She did some laundry. It wasn’t even noon
yet and already she was so bored she could scream. Wonder if this is what it’s like for him, being stuck inside all day.
He wanted me to stay with him the other day…
The only thing better than killing a Slayer would be—
Idiot. I still can’t believe he said that. And I
was so close to staying, too.
Buffy sank down onto the couch. For all his arrogance and
swagger, for all the bravado and innuendo, she still wanted…him. Even after
she’d thrown those lies at him. Convenient? Spike? Please. He’s anything but.
Convenient was Riley, always willing to show up where and when she wanted him
to. Always willing to do whatever she wanted, to agree with her.
Spike convenient? Not likely. She sipped her coffee. We’re talking about the man who goes out of
his way to annoy me. Goes out of his way to piss me off to
the point that I let my fists and my fury do the talking. Oddly, he
really looked like he believed me when I said those horrible things. He sees
through the lie when I say I don’t want him, why doesn’t he see through the
Maybe I’ll just take a
little walk, she thought. Work off
some energy. Take a look see around the cemetery and check the signs for newly
By the time she got to the cemetery, she wasn’t kidding
herself any longer. She knew where she was going, why bother to pretend that
she wasn’t? When she reached his crypt, she carefully eased the door open. She
smiled, realizing that she usually just slammed the door open, ignoring the
She closed it behind her, making sure it clicked shut. The
she just stood, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she
saw that he wasn’t here. No, she corrected herself. He’s not up here because
he’s down there. Asleep.
Her sneakers were silent on the stone floor. She leaned
over, peering down into the hole. Gracefully, she swung onto the ladder and
climbed down to the lower level. Once her feet touched the ground, she paused,
trying to get her breathing under control. She could almost hear her own heart
beating in the stillness.
One more step forward and she could see his pale form. He
lay motionless, the sheet drawn up to his chin. He lay curled on his side, one
hand under his cheek, the other arm thrown out across the bed. Buffy took
another few steps close. It was weird that his chest didn’t rise and fall. But
then, he wouldn’t breathe, so…
He turned onto his back, and sighed. His feet kicked at the
sheet and it slid lower, revealing his muscular form.
Buffy looked around desperately. Her fingernails dug half
moons into her palms and she consciously made them relax. His scent was all
around her, too familiar now to ignore. She was in his space, and she knew it.
So did he.
The games we play,
the vampire thought. So far, his body had not revealed any of the tension that
consumed his mind. He knew he still gave the appearance of deep sleep. Four
full days he had waited. Not seeing her, not even attempting to. It was all
part of the game. Steps in the dance,
Now. What’s her next move? A stake? No. Much too late for
that. More like she’ll just stand there and stare until it just about kills me.
Time passed. Spike had no way of knowing how long, or even
if the Slayer still stood there, three feet away from his bed, watching.
He stretched deliberately, rolling onto his stomach and
sliding one arm under his pillow. The sheet bunched at the small of his back.
Spike was rewarded when he heard the slight hiss of her
breath in the silence. She watched, and he waited.
She must have moved at some point because he could now feel
the heat coming off her body in waves. Then he felt it. Feather light, running
from his shoulder down his spine. Her palm rested in the small of his back, her
warmth seeping into his skin.
Life. So full of heat. Since his turning, he’d never been
with a live girl, until that night with Buffy. When she’d taken him…the
incredible heat of her had shocked him right to the core, and all he could do
was stare in amazement. The she’d started riding him and all rational thought
had been lost.
His shaft, already hard, stiffened to the point of pain, and
he very nearly growled. The Slayer. So close. Touching him.
Two hands now, sliding across sinewy muscles, gently playing
with the hair at his nape. What sort of game was this, then? The Slayer
checking to see how much she could tease him before he snapped? Still he lay
unmoving, unwilling to abandon the charade so soon. He very much wanted to know
what her next action would be.
Her heart beat sounded like thunder to his senses and the
scent of her musk washed over him.
“Spike?” she whispered. “I have to tell you something.”
Here it comes, he thought. He tensed, waiting for the verbal
darts to begin flying. “Talk then,” he
He felt her leaning over, the long strands of her hair
brushing against his skin.
“I….” she swallowed and tried again. “I did feel something.”
That was it. He twisted as he sat up, then grabbed her arm.
He pulled her down next to him. He waited for the punch to be thrown, for the
name calling and insults to follow.
Buffy looked into his eyes. “What you said…the other night?
I did feel something.”
Spike smiled grimly. “Course you did. Sex tends to have that
effect on a person. Leastways if it’s done right, it does.”
She looked annoyed. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh, don’t try to tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself, Slayer.
We both know better.” He laid his palm against her chest. Her heart hammered
“God, you are such a—” She pushed him away. “Every time I
think I…you go and say something…” She bolted off the bed saying, “I swear, I
don’t know how I can be so stupid!”
“Buffy, wait. Don’t go.” His voice was soft, all the swagger
gone. He pressed his lips together for a moment then said, “I missed you.”
She stood with her back to him, wondering how this got all
screwed up. She was only going to watch him sleep for awhile. She’d never
intended to touch him. Never intended to say—
“Me too.” She realized what had just escaped her mouth and
Spike’s eyes widened and he closed the remaining distance
between them. He waited a hairsbreadth behind her, so close he saw the pulse
jumping in her neck.
Her head bowed, and she looked at the floor. “I never meant
to…you’re not…you’re not convenient, Spike.”
He blinked. “Come again, love?”
“You are quite possibly the most inconvenient man I have
ever been involved with.” Her voice broke on the last word. She turned so she
could see his face.
He stared at her forever, wonder etched on his face. “I
thought I was a thing? Something evil…disgusting.” Was his throat supposed to
be this tight?
“You…you’re supposed to be. A thing. It was easier when you
were. Then you had to go and…”
“Fall in love with you.”
“Spike, I don’t-”
“I know.” He stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed.
That was one point he didn’t need belabored.
“Look, what I’m trying to say is…” Her eyes fell on him and
she yelped. “I can’t talk to you like this!” She spun back around, her face
He chuckled. “Ought to be used to it, by now, Slayer. Had a
right eyeful already, haven’t you?” But he reached down and began tugging on a
pair of black jeans. He stood up to buckle his belt and added, “I’m all covered
up, love.” The bed creaked as he sat. He leaned back against the pillows, arms
behind his head.
She turned her head, hesitating, until she saw that he was
indeed clothed. Buffy felt backed into a corner. She wanted to…what? Kiss him,
touch him, take him….God, all of the above. But this was Spike, and she wasn’t
quite sure what to do next to get what she wanted.
She bit her lower lip and climbed onto his bed. His eyes
flickered, but he didn’t move. Buffy stared at the white sheet for a moment.
The she slid herself up so that she was next to him, up at the head of the bed.
His blue gaze never wavered from hers.
Buffy extended her hand and touched his face. Her thumb
brushed against his lower lip. Spike
didn’t move. Buffy sidled a bit closer, her hand cupping his cheek now. She
leaned forward and kissed him, her eyes drifting shut as sensation flared.
His arms wrapped around her as he lost himself in her taste.
He licked her lips and lost himself in the kiss, tangling his hands in the mass
of her hair. The Slayer brought her arms up and slid them around his neck.
“Spike,” she breathed against his mouth.
He responded with a growl; not demon, but purely male. He
pulled her body flush against his, needing her to be closer still. Their legs
intertwined and Buffy writhed against him in sinuous pleasure. She pressed
against his hardness with her thigh, then reached down and stroked him through
He broke the kiss for a second. “See? Don’t know why I
bothered putting these bloody things back on.” Buffy tugged at the buckle. The
belt broke and she tossed it across the room.
“Hey! That was my last good belt, Slayer.”
She kissed his chin and murmured, “It’s almost Christmas.
I’ll buy you a new one.” She freed him from his jeans and folded her hand
around him. She watched him close his eyes in obvious pleasure at her touch.
She felt a wave of purely feminine power wash through her. Her insecurity had
fled in the face of his desire.
She stared into his visage as her hand moved up and down on
him. “Spike. Open your eyes.”
His blue eyes had darkened, the pupils wide and black. One
arm snaked out and held her like a vise. He felt her breath fall in staccato
bursts on his cheeks. “Buffy, that
“What do you want?”
Then he caught the hand that offered such visceral pleasure.
He ran his fingers in the waistband of her pants. “You.” He leaned down and
whispered harshly into her ear, “Take these off, or I’ll rip them off of you.”
Buffy moved away from him, struggling to get her pants off.
Skirts, she thought crazily. This was so much easier with that wraparound
skirt. She had her pants halfway down when she gasped.
His hand on his shaft, he stroked in steady beats as he
watched her strip. “Don’t stop now, Slayer. You’re getting to the good part.”
A surge of wetness seeped between her legs as she sat
stunned for a second. Watching him do that, made her want… She kicked the jeans
off the rest of the way and pulled the t-shirt over her head. Naked now, except
for her bra, she couldn’t take her eyes from him.
“You want to do it, too, don’t you,” he said knowingly.
“Want to touch yourself, while I watch.”
“Yes, you do.” His hand never missed a stroke. His voice had
thickened. “Go ‘head, Slayer. ‘S all right. Nothing to be ashamed of.” Blue
eyes flared pure heat and his lips curved in a devastating smile. “Please?”
Her fingers slid between her legs. The wetness had seeped
onto the top of her thighs, and she rubbed it into her skin. Over and over she
drew her hand across her mound. His eyes followed every movement. Her fingers
slipped inside and she stretched herself. She moved them up to the tiny button
that demanded attention. Burying her fingers in the hood, she worked it in
little circles. Her eyes drifted closed.
“No, damn it. Buffy, look at me!”
Her breath caught. The tip of his shaft was nearly purple
and his eyes burned into hers. She dragged her palm through her wetness then
knocked his hand aside. She wrapped her fingers around his cock, rubbing her
juices into him.
He flipped her roughly to her back and entered her in one
thrust. He managed to hold himself still for a moment, staring into her face.
He held her cheeks in his palms. He kissed her, and this time he felt the
fluttering of her body as she responded to him. Then he started moving in her
again. Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist. He ripped her bra from
her and leaned down, suckling hard at her nipple.
She cried out, and pulled his head closer. Her hips moved
with him. She licked his neck and then sucked at the skin, leaving a purple
bruise. She didn’t have to work for her orgasm; it simply took over her being.
Her body seemed to stutter, and then the powerful contractions sent pure
ecstasy shooting through her.
His hand had slipped between their bodies and he rubbed her
where she needed it. He drew out her climax, until the spiral built. She came
again, stunned, her skin vibrating under the surface.
Spike couldn’t hold back any longer. He buried his face in
her neck and sucked at as hard as he could, shooting into her body. He brought
one hand up to tangle in the Slayer’s mussed hair.
He rolled to the side so not to crush her with his
weight. He closed his eyes and inhaled
deeply, savoring her scent.
Buffy’s face pressed against his chest. This was the tricky
part. This was usually when things started to go bad. Maybe this time things
could be different. A little less…painful. But Spike’s arms were around her,
and he wasn’t making nasty remarks…as a matter of fact he seemed…content. Could
“Spike.” She said softly.
He tensed. “Yeah, lo-Buffy?” Just once, he thought, I wish
we could do this without—
“I have some time. I don’t have to…run off.”
Spike became very still. “Okay. Good.” He yawned and
tightened his arms. “Could use a bit of a nap, truth to tell.”
The Slayer smiled against his chest. “All right,” she said.
Continued in Chapter 2: Wellspring