All About Spike - Plain Version
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Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Epilogue
By Miss Murchison
Sequel to A Glorious Morning Have I Seen
All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.
This is a sequel to
Glorious Morning I Have Seen, as I continue my mission to give
Joyce a fun storyline of her own. And, of course, lots of sex
A mildly AU early Season 5. Dawn doesn’t exist, and instead of
falling for Buffy, Spike has discovered the attractions of an older
for correcting my errors and for all the encouragement. And to
Piglet for the great manip of Spike
Two and a
half hours later, Joyce opened the passenger door of Hank's new "vehicle"
and peered down at the driveway of her house. The cement seemed very,
very far away. She eased one foot onto the running board and hopped
safely back to earth. Slamming the door shut behind her, she peered up at
the vast expanse of yellow metal that was now parked by her back door.
Hank, coming around the side of the car to meet her, his eyes gleaming
with pride, "what do you think? Quite a piece of basic transportation,
isn't it?" He laid a proprietary hand on the bright flank of the Hummer.
said Joyce. "It's quite amazing," she added sincerely. Only in
America. Only this country's automobile industry would make it possible
for a man buy his very own tank. His own bright, shiny, yellow tank. It
looks like some enormous alien child dropped his Tonka truck in my
wanted one of these for ages," he said. "Was only able to afford one
course. Because you don't have to pay child support any more. Joyce
calculated that the monthly payments on this monstrosity could have
covered Buffy's tuition. And the gas bill just for driving up from LA
would have gone a long way towards paying the huge textbook fee.
of mileage do you get?" she asked before she could stop herself.
a bit put out at that, as if she'd mentioned the pimple on his face or his
mileage should improve once the engine's broken in," he hedged.
seethed, remembering their last conversation about finances, and how he'd
insisted that Buffy learn to stand on her own two feet, get a part-time
job, and pay her own way. Joyce had to agree with the principle of
teaching young people a sense of responsibility. But Hank didn't know
about Buffy's very important but unpaid job as Slayer, and Joyce was
adamant that their child get a good education. So she was scrimping to
put Buffy through college, while Hank drove around in a tank with a
sunroof and a CD player. And, as he had pointed out proudly, six
you do with six electrical outlets in a car? Dry your hair? Make toast?
Microwave dinner? And what effect does microwaving Hot Pockets have on
your gas mileage?
that train of thought and change the subject before her anger showed.
"Thanks again for dinner. It was—" really boring listening to you
drone on about your Hummer and your job while the waiter ignored us "—um,
delicious." She couldn't keep herself from adding one last time, "Are you
sure there are no motel rooms available?"
really," he said. "There's a big game tomorrow, and everything's full
tired to force sincerity into her tone as she said, "Well, you're welcome
to my spare room for the night, of course. But I have to leave for work
early, and I don't do a Continental breakfast." It came out sounding more
resentful than joking, and she turned away before she could make things
worse, leaving him to follow with his luggage.
her mind was rerunning her conversation with Willow, who had picked up the
phone at Giles' apartment. "Don't worry, Joycie. Buffy will be back as
soon as she kills that big cat thing. . ." " What big cat thing?"
we're not sure exactly. We're researching it while Buffy and Riley
patrol. We're not even sure it's a demon cat yet. Maybe it's just a
normal puss that's escaped from a circus or wandered down from the
mountains." Joyce could hear the effort Willow was putting into
maintaining a cheerful tone. "Probably something Buffy can handle in
between vamps without even breaking a nail."
course, Joyce thought now. It had to be Slayer business that kept
Buffy from meeting her father. Buffy adores Hank and would never stand
him up unless she had no choice. But I'm sure Buffy is just fine.
She'll kill some demons, sleep with that Riley boy, and when she comes by
tomorrow, she'll be so happy to see Hank that I'll be happy for both of
them. Joyce forced herself to stop grinding her teeth as she slipped
the key into the lock of the back door. In the meantime, there's no
need to worry about Buffy. My little girl can take care of herself.
Hank lingered on
the porch for a moment, peering out into the yard.
a hammock," he commented. "That's new. Is it something Buffy wanted?"
mine," said Joyce absently, still wondering what kind of creature her
daughter was fighting.
"Oh, it's just
not something I'd ever imagined you'd want. You're not the
clenched on the door knob.
She had, in
fact, asked Hank for a hammock once, for her birthday. He had gotten her
a bracelet instead. She hadn't complained, because he didn't seem to
remember her request, and because it had been a very expensive bracelet,
if somewhat gaudy for her taste.
He had insisted
that the bracelet be listed on the divorce papers as one of their assets.
She had gotten to keep it in the settlement, but had sold it a few years
ago when one of his child support checks was late.
Joyce took a
deep breath, turned the key in the lock, and opened the door of her house
for Hank. She wished momentarily that he were a vampire, so that the lack
of spoken invitation would cause him to slam his face into an invisible
barrier on her doorstep. But he strode over the threshold as if he owned
Hank, Joyce glanced over her shoulder at the hammock, swinging a bit
lopsidedly between two trees. She had mentioned to Spike once, idly, that
it might be nice to swing in a hammock and read on quiet afternoons when
she didn't have to work. The next night, she'd heard curses and banging
in the back yard, followed by his unusually late arrival at the back
door. She had been unsurprised to see the hammock at dawn the next day,
but had waited to thank him so that he could cling to the illusion that
his efforts to hang it had been stealthy and efficient.
Hank up to the guest room, reminded him that he should know where
everything was, and escaped to her own room as soon as possible. She
picked up the phone and called Giles' apartment again, but this time got
only the answering machine. She left a request for whoever received the
message to have Buffy call her, and then left a similar message on the
machine in Buffy's dorm room. Sighing and stretching, she went into her
bathroom to shower. Her worry over Buffy was such a constant in her life
that she engaged her coping mechanisms almost automatically.
later, she pulled a long flannel nightgown over her head. The evening had
turned chilly, and she wanted to sleep with her windows open. I enjoy
the fresh air, and it's not as if something can crawl in and ravish me.
Not with Hank in the next room. And there wasn't anyone here to
complain that her outfit made her look like a Victorian matron and start
scrounging in her drawers to find her something lacy and seductive to
wear, just for him. Unfortunately.
her reflection in the mirror for a moment. To her surprise, she looked
almost serene. Well, it would be a lie to say she wasn't worrying about
Buffy, but she wasn't panicking either. I should write an advice book
for mothers of superheroes. How to deal with stress while your child is
out killing huge, scary monsters. Long, hot showers helped, as did
yoga breathing, and mind-bending sex. Too bad only the first two were
available at the moment. Of course, there was the memory of the encounter
with Spike in the gallery, which echoed not just in her brain but
throughout her body. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of him
between her legs, and sensing a wetness inside that had nothing to do with
her recent shower.
Joyce could have
used some additional Spike-time tonight. But more sex was out of the
question right now. She flicked off the light switch and opened the door
to her bedroom.
standing in the open doorway to the hall.
He was dressed
for bed in long pajama pants but no shirt, and, oddly enough, he seemed to
have just shaved. He was smiling warmly but fixedly, as if he'd been
maintaining that stance and that expression for some time.
Joyce blinked at
him. She was sure she'd closed that door. "Hi. Did you have trouble
finding something?" she asked.
wavered, then firmed again. "No, not exactly." He looked around the
room. "This is nice," he said, and nodded at the dresser. "You got a TV
and DVD player in here."
started a pretty good collection of classic films."
concerned. "It must be lonely, lying here alone at night, trying to
entertain yourself with old movies."
"I'm not usually
a—" she stopped. She was beginning to feel irritated. "I like watching
old movies. A lot. You know that. Hank, I'm tired. If there's
something you need—"
Well, now that
you mention it." He was closer to her now. He had strolled across the
room while they were talking. Well, of course he walked, that was the
normal, human way to get there. Hank couldn't speed to her side so
quickly that she couldn't see him move, and he had certainly never swept
her into his arms with near rib-cracking force. Joyce's mind veered off
for a moment. Last night, she had been brushing her hair, with no
reflection besides her own in the mirror and only the sound of her own
quiet breathing for company. She had seemed to be entirely alone, except
for perhaps a tiny whiff of ashes and smoke. Suddenly, she had been
caught up into a powerful, carefully controlled embrace and kissed until
her breath was gone. She had clung to Spike's shoulders, feeling his
muscles hard beneath her white-tipped fingers, first drowning in that
kiss, then pulling away and gasping the air back into her lungs, as his
hands wrenched open her bathrobe and--
Joyce forced her
mind back to the present. She could smell aftershave. Her nose
wrinkled. Hank had switched fragrances, and she didn't care for the scent
of the new one.
"I know it's
sudden. But I've been thinking about this a lot."
What on earth
is he talking about? Did I miss some of this conversation when I was
daydreaming about Spike? "Oh?"
she said, starting to listen for clues, trying to cover any hint of
"About how far
apart the three of us are now, and how close we used to be. You know,
sometimes it seems like when I talk to you or Buffy, it's as if—as if
you're not really there. As if you're not even in the same room with me."
bewildered. Joyce remembered how often he had complained over the past
few years that Buffy seemed distant, and suddenly her sympathy was
engaged. The poor man didn't even know his daughter was the Slayer.
meant a lot to me, you know," he said. "And I realize that it was all my
fault that everything fell apart. I've done some growing up the past few
months, and I want to make amends."
warmly. He was actually taking full responsibility for disappointing
Buffy! Maybe his visits would be more regular from now on.
Hank seemed to
take encouragement from her smile. He stepped closer to her. "Maybe we
could try again. I don't mean we should rush into anything permanent, of
course, but would it hurt to see if there was any hope at all?"
there's hope, Hank."
"There is?" He
smiled eagerly and his head bent towards hers.
course. I know Buffy was upset you missed her birthday and Christmas, but
if you just make some time with her—"
"I'm not talking
about Buffy!" He pulled back a fraction. "I'm talking about you and me.
Trying again. At least to see if the spark is still there—" He reached
out to touch her shoulder.
staring down at his hand when she heard the growling outside her window.
She whipped her face to the side, and the kiss Hank had been about to
plant on her lips landed on her hair. Still focused on the window, she
twisted away from him entirely. "Hank, no!" she cried in panic.
"Why are you so
frightened?" He seemed honestly bewildered. "I just wanted—"
frightened of you!" Joyce cried in exasperation. It's the jealous
vampire just outside the window who has me worried. "But whatever
made you think—"
Joyce," said Hank, his tone now seriously annoyed, that of a parent to a
child who is behaving irrationally. "You're spending your nights here,
alone, watching TV and dressed like—well, that—" He nodded at the
nightgown. "I know you. We were married for years. You always wanted it
more than I did back then. Has that changed so much?"
Joyce folded her
arms across her chest, wondering why she suddenly felt too scantily clad
even in that all-enveloping nightgown. "No, Hank, my sex drive is still
in gear. But has it occurred to you that someone else might be working
That hadn't sunk
in at all. "We're divorced. We're done, you and me. It never occurred
to me you'd think any differently."
stepped closer to her again, one hand reaching out to her.
believe he hadn't yet accepted the answer was "no." Apparently, neither
could someone else. There was another growl from outside the window, this
time louder. And this time Hank heard it too.
he demanded, dropping his hand and staring out the window.
squeaked Joyce. She made warning faces over Hank's shoulder, hoping to
discourage Spike from actually leaping through the window.
something growled. It sounded like a big animal. What kind of thing
would come this far into the middle of town?"
"I don't know,"
said Joyce more firmly, and added with emphasis. "It doesn't matter,
because it can't come in here."
said Hank, turning back to her quickly, and catching her severe
expression. "Joyce, don't look so annoyed. You know I'm right. You know
She saw from his expression that her loud and angry tone had finally
gotten through to him. She wanted to rage at him. But this was no time
to utter all the thoughts that came to mind—thoughts that surprised her by
their virulence and vulgarity. She had something more important to do.
your room!" Joyce stormed past him, out her bedroom door and down the
A few seconds
later, she was on the kitchen porch, looking up the trellis by the door
and hissing, "Spike, get your undead ass down here, right now!"
He was beside
her a moment later, his features cast into relief by the dim porch light.
He was still angry, she realized with a sinking stomach. Well, so am
"How dare you
spy on me like that?" she hissed.
"How dare I spy
on you?" He started to shout, then lowered his tone with an effort as she
glanced at the neighbor's houses. "What do you expect me to do when you
leave me and wander off with some horny bastard who's practically drooling
down your tits from the moment he lays eyes on you?"
Joyce stopped. "Was he?"
yes! I've been trailing you and him and that bloody Hot Wheel on steroids
around town all night, watching it. Are you blind, woman?"
"Of course not!
Well, maybe. But, Spike—" More bewildered than she had been when she'd
recognized Hank's inept pass for what it was, she stared at him. "You
can't think I'd go to bed with him!"
"Why not?" Her
stomach clenched again as she recognized real distress on Spike's face.
"He's your past," he said vehemently. "He's done you before, more
times than I've had the chance to yet. I know you like it better with
me—I know that, a man can tell—but you've never said bugger all
against him. And he's human. When I heard all that shite about family
and being Buffy's father—"
She stopped the
flow of words by putting her fingers across his lips, anxious to reassure
him, but momentarily uncertain of how to do so. Then the thoughts that
had crossed her mind when she stormed out on Hank came back to her. Maybe
there was a time for those words after all. She stepped closer, until the
folds of that horrible nightgown brushed his chest, gathered her courage,
and said, "Spike, do you have any idea how desperate I'd have to be to
put up with Hank's clumsiness ever again, especially after all the shit
he's pulled? Even if there wasn't a gorgeous, very talented vampire in
the picture? I'd sleep with a Fyarl demon before I'd let him near me,
and," she pulled Spike's arms around her waist, "it's not like I'm that
hard up." She rubbed her hips against his and heard the hiss of his
breath as he pulled air into his lungs. He held that breath, dark eyes
staring into hers. She stretched up, letting her body slide against his
as she moved her lips next to his ear and said, "What you did to me in the
gallery was enough to wipe out the memory of every time he ever had me.
Just that one time, all by itself. So were all the other times we've been
together. Any one of them was better—" She stopped. Hank didn't belong
in this conversation any more. "Spike, the way you hold me, the way you
touch me, the way you're so hard inside me I have to scream, I can't get
enough of that and I can't stop thinking about it. When I feel myself get
wet, and hot, and horny, I'm thinking of your lips, your hands, and—" She
rubbed against him harder with her body, still not caressing him directly
with her mouth. "And this. Damn it, Spike, I can feel how hard you are
right now. Do you really want me to keep using this tongue—" and now, at
last, she dove into his mouth for a second, "to argue?"
His hands were
hard on her shoulders as he thrust her away from him, holding her at arm's
length, even as he finally let that long breath go in a ragged gasp.
"Joyce, are you trying to use sex to win this argument?" he demanded.
"I guess maybe I
am," she said, suddenly guilty. She hadn't looked at it that way, but—
His voice was
warm with approval now. "That's my girl."
later, Joyce's nightgown was rucked up around her waist, her hair was
mussed, and she was breathing hard. "No, don't take it away, I want
that," she murmured as he pulled her hand out of his jeans and started to
lead her down the porch steps.
love. We need a more comfy place to lie down," he said. "Come with me."
"Where are we
going?" she muttered, and then froze. "No, Spike. Not the hammock! That
"It will this
time," he promised. "Come on, pet. Let's try again."
"My back was
sore for two days after—"
"We're going to
try something different. Please, love." His tone was soft and coaxing.
"I'll let you put your hand down my pants again."
interval later, she was sweaty and naked in the hammock, lying on top of
Spike, who was making the damn thing sway dizzyingly in an effort to get
enough momentum to thrust his hips upward and drive his cock deeper into
her. With each oscillation, the length of canvas seemed more in danger of
spinning them around a full 360 degrees, hopefully with enough centrifugal
force to keep them anchored to the fabric instead of dumping them on the
ground. She realized that as the one on top she should be doing more of
the work, but she panted and hung on to Spike's shoulders for dear life,
thinking that this was like the carnal version of some theme park ride,
combining vertigo and passion in an unlikely but satisfyingly scary way.
love?" he asked, when she wailed and clung to him after a particularly
gasped, "coming along just fine." As the hammock rocked, she tried to
concentrate on his hands, which were reassuringly firm against her back
and her butt as they held her against him. "Yaaaah!" she mewled again as
the hammock lurched drunkenly.
Joyce was dimly
conscious that she shouldn't be making so much noise. A moment later, a
light switched on in the house and a window was opening somewhere
upstairs. Before her brain could recall Hank's existence, she heard a car
pull into the driveway beside the house. Suddenly, she realized that
several people whose good opinion she cared about might be in imminent
danger of finding her swinging naked in her back yard with a vampire
clamped between her thighs. Striving for rationality but failing to
achieve it, she sat up, looking around in a vain attempt to assess the
situation. Her movement, which unfortunately coincided with Spike's next
thrust, had roughly the same effect as standing up in a canoe.
Spike had finally overset the hammock. Their intertwined bodies slipped
from its embrace and hurtled towards the ground.
first to tumble out, gasped in fear, but Spike managed to twist his body
like a falling cat's—only in reverse. More interested in easing Joyce's
landing than his own comfort, he altered their trajectory just enough so
that he landed on his back, his arms around her as he tried to cushion her
fall. This was less painful for her than hitting the ground, but hardly a
soft landing. Every bone in her body was jolted, and her hips ground
against his with mind-numbing force. Between lightheadedness from that
last giddy swing and the sensation of his cock driving deep inside her,
her nervous system shifted into overdrive. She shrieked involuntarily as
her whole being celebrated a truly amazing orgasm.
Simultaneously, Spike gave an almost feline roar, and she felt him shudder
as he came too—just as a car door slammed and voices began shouting in the
shivering from post-coital disorientation, Joyce disengaged her limbs from
his, jumped to her feet, fumbled around on the ground for her nightgown
with one hand, and started prodding Spike to get up with the other. "It's
Buffy!" she hissed. "Get out of here! She'll have her stake out, and I
don't know if I can talk fast enough to keep her from using it!"
stumbled to his feet and tried to flee, but was brought down almost
immediately by his jeans, which were puddled around his ankles. He
staggered to his feet again, and Joyce yanked his pants up before giving
him a forceful shove on the butt, propelling him towards the shrubbery at
the back of the yard. She pulled her nightgown over her head and tugged
it down over her body, just as Buffy rounded the corner and Hank started
yelling from the upstairs window.
Continued in Chapter Three
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