Chapter
5.03
Wednesday, May 15th, 2002
"For he to whom a watcher's doom
Is given as his task,
Must set a lock upon his lips
And make his face a mask."
Spike spoke the words in that soft, educated tone
that she had heard so rarely.
"I don't recall anyone setting a lock on
Giles' or Wes's lips... or Travers'. Plenty questions from those
watcher's lips," Buffy interrupted. Her own lips pressed
against the plane of Spike's shoulder blade as she curled around
his back, legs intertwined beneath the silken covers.
Laying aside his copy of the 'Complete Works
of Oscar Wilde,' Spike smiled and rolled to face her. "I
don't think the Council of Wankers were in charge of the prison,
pet." He propped up his head with one hand while the fingertips
of the other traced back and forth across her forearm where it
rested above the covers, raising goosebumps on her flesh.
"That's what they are though, or what they
train them to be," Buffy insisted. "An individual prison guard for every slayer,
walling them round with duty and obligation till they can barely
see the sky."
"You didn't do so bad with Rupes."
"Ah, but you only saw him after I broke
him in a bit, not in his 'The World is Doomed' phase. But, no,
he came out alright in the end."
"So? Does this mean you've had enough of
making me read your homework for one night?" An asymmetrical
smile settled on his features, and Buffy felt her stomach tighten
at the warmth within his eyes.
"But they sound right when you read them,"
Buffy mock pouted even as she shifted closer. "All these
dead, English guys don't sound right in an American accent. And
it's kinda sexy. You know what they say about making learning
fun."
"Anglo-Irish." Spike's thigh pressed
between hers as their hips shifted ever closer.
"Picky. Deceased poets of transatlantic
origin, then. Satisfied?" Buffy deepened the pout, knowing
that Spike would find it all but irresistible.
A wicked grin lit up his face, and the butterflies
in Buffy's stomach started doing the lambada. "Not nearly,"
the vampire responded. He leaned in to take her lower lip between
his, nibbling gently until her smile prevented her from maintaining
the mock pout.
"You're so beautiful when you smile."
"Thanks," Buffy answered in a slightly
sarcastic but teasing tone. "And I guess the rest of the
time I look like hell."
"Nah, least ways not since you ditched the
cow hat and the stripey polyester. Just, when you smile, it's
like the whole world is brighter."
Buffy looked perplexed. "I don't know whether
to hit you for the first bit or kiss you for the second."
In a heartbeat, Spike had rolled them both so
that he looked down from above her. The warmth in his eyes turned
suddenly sultry, dark and dangerous. "What's wrong with both?
You know I like it rough sometimes."
Buffy's eyes clouded over with sadness. "Rough
is fine, but if I hit you anywhere outside of a sparring ring
again, then that's abuse. You deserve better than that. I won't
willingly hurt you again."
"A little slap isn't exactly goin' to hurt."
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Okay, yes, it will. That's the
point, but it doesn't do any harm."
"Listen to me, Spike. How I treated you
before was wrong. I don't want..." Buffy paused, unsure how
to express herself and in that moment, fear ran through her body
as if her arteries had turned to ice. If Buffy had retained her
knowledge of the waking world she might have realised that Wesley
had just moved her body. As it happened, coherent thought had
nothing to do with it.
She sucked in a deep breath, hissing as the borrowed
emotion sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. After that,
her reaction was instinctive. Her arms and legs reached around
the man above her, pulling him down until his cheek rested against
hers. Her body wrapped itself tight around him, and her hand stroked
patiently through his hair as she whispered what she hoped were
soothing words into his ear. She unconsciously avoided any declarations
of affection, knowing that only when she knew and accepted the
worst about him, would he accept the validity of her claims.
"Shhh, baby. You're mine, and I won't let
you go. You saw our future. You saw where we're going. There's
some bad stuff we've got to go through; some stuff we need to
deal with. I don't have guarantees, but I want to try. I think
we can make this work." Gradually the fear she sensed eased
from excruciating to merely paralysing. Buffy's fear began to
rise to meet the semblance of Spike's that she could feel within
her. The thought that he might slip from her grasp was too much
for her to bear.
"Will, I need you with me. I need you so
much. For better or worse, we are joined. We are one, and if you
don't come back to me, I will never in the rest of my life feel
like a complete person again." The fear didn't leave, or
even lessen any further but it was joined by a dawning hope.
Buffy shifted her head just enough to give her
the angle she required to sink her teeth once more into his flesh
at the join of shoulder and neck. "Mine," she reminded
him forcefully.
Spike seemed to respond more positively to the
primal gesture than to any of her other overtures so far. Yet,
he hesitated before he made his response, and Buffy held her breath
as she waited.
"Always, my love."
Tears slowly pooled in Buffy's eyes as she used
the hand that was enmeshed with his blond curls to pull him back
until she could look in his eyes.
"I'm going to hold you to that, you know?"
she half-asked and half-told him.
"I hope so, pet. I hope so."
"Never leave me." Buffy pleaded before
she claimed his lips in a desperate kiss. Somewhere in his subconscious
the words triggered thoughts of his mother, that particular scar
to his psyche being so recently reopened. He stiffened in Buffy's
arms, half expecting the arms and legs that enfolded him to, somehow
in the way of dreams, metamorphose into those of his parent. He
pulled back away in anguish and saw only Buffy gazing back at
him with love and concern. Now that his senses were no longer
awash with his own fears, he could feel her emotions radiating
into every pore in his body through their connection.
"Spike, would you just hold me?" Buffy
asked hoping for the best, and yet still worried by the nagging
sensation that when she awoke he might be gone.
"As you wish, love. As you wish."
Buffy sighed her contentment. Perhaps the hardest
part still lay ahead, but for now he was home again.
"Is done."
"What? You're sure?" Wesley asked laying
aside the cup of Earl Grey that Lily had brewed after carefully
rinsing out the teapot. "It's only been seconds since we
put Buffy next to him."
"He is less..." the demon shrugged in
lieu of the word, which temporarily eluded her. "She is at
peace. She knows he come back."
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