Disclaimer:
Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy etc. own all the characters from
Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's their ball, and as soon as
money is involved they take it home. That's why this is
totally free, gratis and non-profit making. Bah!
Some text and scenes
from the episode "As You Were" by Douglas Petrie have been
used, but since, on the whole, the episode is an abomination
I refuse to say thank you. I will say thank you to the creators
of "The Princess Bride" and let it be known that in my stories
it's assumed that everyone, even the Big Bad has seen that
film. Thanks to them for the phrase, "As you wish".
Author's Note: This was my first attempt
at FanFic, in fact it was the first time I'd written anything
in about fifteen years. When it was posted originally it was completely unbeta-ed, but I and t_geyer, my beta of the past four years, are going to try to touch it up a little now that some kind person has nominated it at one of the award sites... Hopefully, we'll get it finished before the judges get to it. Chapter 3
Spike took a sip from his bottle of beer
and returned his attention to the volume in his hand. The
cover promised it was a "spine-chilling trip through a world
of horror" but as far as Spike was concerned it was more
of a comedy.
"Oh, Puh-lease!" He threw the book into
the far corner of the room, picking up another from a pile
of half a dozen next to the sarcophagus he was using as
a couch. This one was a poetry anthology. He smiled wryly
at the contrast between his reading material and the punk
compilation tape playing in the background. Oh well, no
one would ever say he was one-dimensional.
After he'd got back the night before he'd made
a few careful trips to the lower level of his crypt, bringing
up everything he needed to live in the upper level for the
next few days. He'd made up a bed cum couch on top of the
room's central sarcophagus. He'd brought up enough reading
material for the week, and, since he couldn't get at his
albums and turntable, he'd rigged up an old tape deck and
brought his tapes in from the car. Barring minor inconveniences
like the lack of a proper bed, he was pretty well set up,
for a while at least.
He picked up his beer again and made himself
comfy on his new sofa. It'd be a change just to have a quiet
night in.
Willy had moved up in the world, literally.
He was seldom seen working behind his bar any more. It didn't
pay. Too many people, not least of whom was the slayer,
preferred to beat information out of him rather than pay
for it.
Instead, he remained secluded in his office
upstairs. Surprisingly, the office was tastefully furnished.
In fact, it was fairly reminiscent of an Ikea catalogue,
with pale blue walls, cream carpeting and beech office furniture.
Six portable TVs were mounted on the wall facing his desk.
Three showed different monochrome views of the bar, another pictured the back room. The remaining
two showed the toilets, from such an angle that it was fairly
certain that nothing went on his bar that Willy didn't
know about.
Most of the time he got on with his paperwork
and ignored the screens. Occasionally there would be a small
electronic beep and he would look up to see who had entered
or left the bar. Sometimes, his attention would be drawn
to a particular group or individual. Then, he could zoom
in on that area and pick up the feed from the nearest concealed
microphones. The clientele weren't aware of his presence. They were often less guarded than if he was hanging round,
but he could still hear everything they were saying. It
made life so much easier.
Tonight, he was a bit jumpier than usual.
He was expecting at least one out-of-towner. When the guy in question
turned out to be Riley Finn, he shook his head in amazement.
Willy started a VCR, pulled a bag of butter toffee popcorn out of his desk drawer and settled in for an evening's entertainment.
Finn would swallow the line he was about to be fed and he'd believe every word because it was exactly what he wanted to believe.
Riley looked around the room, hoping to
find a demon small enough to be intimidated by him. That way he might get the information he wanted for free. He'd ditched the wife
and the ex earlier. It would have been embarrassing to have
them with him when he went to see his vampire ho. However,
unbeknown to him, Buffy had dusted his little pal and all
her friends and burned their old home to the ground, so
he'd only had one option left. Willy's. His luck wasn't
in. There was nothing small enough to be afraid of him.
Thank goodness he'd gone to the ATM before
he went there.
The barman watched him checking the number of
bills in his wallet as he approached the bar and made an
upward revision to the amount of money he wanted before
he would point Riley in the right direction.
Finn tried to look mean and impressive.
The facial scar helped a lot, but then that was why he'd
done it in the first place. He still couldn't quite pull
it off, though. Without his steroid diet to give him some
sort of edge, he really was just an overgrown farm boy.
"What'll it be?" asked the barman.
"I don't want a drink," Riley answered, doing his best to be dour and business-like. "I just want some
information and then I'm out of here."
"Probably just as well," the bar-tender answered, giving him a grin that showed a glinting gold canine. "I prefer it when
I don't have to mop blood up off the floor."
Riley slid a twenty dollar bill toward the barman, keeping his fingers tightly on it. "I'm looking for a dealer. He calls himself
the Doctor."
"I think I've heard a few people use that
name the last couple of days."
"Which people?"
The barman looked at the twenty and raised
an eyebrow.
Riley drew out another
bill. and, then, when the barman remained statue-like, another.
The barman reached out for the money, making
sure he had a good grip on it before nodding in the direction
of the corner of the bar.
The demons at the corner table put up a
good show of wanting nothing to do with Riley or his kind.
This was true. They weren't too keen on the demon hunters
of Sunnydale, whether government or slayer-affiliated. That
was why, the previous year, they'd beaten Spike to a pulp and dumped
him in the alley behind the bar. Apart from the location
of the eggs, that fact was the only truthful bit of information
that Riley bought with the remaining contents of his wallet.
Spike's head shot up from his book. The
tape he'd been listening to had long since run out and the
remainder of his beer was warm and flat. He'd been too engrossed
in the volume of poetry to notice. Nothing, however, would prevent him
being aware of the slayer's approach. He heard the change
in her footfalls that marked where she left the footpath
to cut across the grass to his crypt and lowered his gaze
to his book once more, deciding to opt for the casual approach.
The crypt door slammed open on cue and
he looked up, apparently surprised. He used the time it took
Buffy to stride into the room to check out her new ninja
look. 'Not bad - not bad at all,' he thought.
"Buffy... Hey now!" Spike stalled as
he tried to work out if she was in a 'get naked' hurry to
see him or a 'kick Spike' hurry to see him. "If I'd-a known
you were coming, I'd-a baked a cake." 'Oops,' he thought. 'That's
probably verging on being too old for Giles to remember,
never mind Buffy.'
Buffy strode towards him, removing
her gloves.
Spike found himself wondering if this was so she didn't
get blood on them when she mashed his face to a pulp. She
was within range now for an easy kick, but still too far
apart for a caress.
"I need information." Buffy demanded, totally ignoring
his opening stall.
Inwardly, Spike began praying that she wasn't going
to ask about demon eggs. Of course, he wasn't too sure as
to who would be listening to him. He definitely didn't want to think
about the mess he was in if that's what she wanted so instead
he turned on the charm.
"Well, suppose I could be helpful... if the
price is right." He raised a scarred eyebrow and tilted
his head forward so that she received the full benefit of
his lash-fringed cerulean gaze. "I'm not sure I'm selling out at Double
Meat Palace wages though." He looked her up and down meaningfully,
hinting at an altogether more pleasant accommodation between
them.
Buffy dropped her gloves onto the makeshift
bed. Despite Spike's endeavours, Buffy seemed to maintain
a business attitude. 'Please not demon eggs. please not
demon eggs,' chanted Spike's internal voice.
"I need to find a guy... Dealer... Calls himself
the Doctor."
"Human?" asked Spike, relieved to be off
the hook.
"His traffic isn't."
"Clock ticking?" asked Spike, hope blossoming
that he would actually be able to spend some time with his beloved.
"Whatever he's doing he's doing it soon."
Once again Spike let his gaze travel down
her body and back up, ending by gazing into her hazel eyes. "Soon but not now?"
For a second Buffy stood unable to do anything
but stare into the sapphire depths of his eyes and the emotions
that she saw in them brought life to her own numb heart.
Softly she begged him, "Tell me you love
me."
Surprise and hope flared through Spike's
entire being. Almost as if his heart were truly beating,
blood rushed from the core of his body to every extremity,
making him feel truly alive.
"I love you. You know I do," he informed her in an awed tone.
"Tell me you want me." Buffy moved a few
steps closer.
In response to her gentle tone his reply
came out in a whisper. "I always want you. In point of fact—"
"Shut up!" Buffy cut in before Spike managed
to break the mood with another all too frank revelation.
She reached up, looking into his face. Her
arms reached around his neck and she guided him towards
the makeshift bed, lying down and pulling him on top of her.
Her fingers fumbled with the top buttons
of his shirt. Spike, in turn, pulled at the fastenings of
her kevlar vest. She looked up at his face, taking a moment
to memorise the deep hollows and smooth planes and the look
of wonderment that filled those perfect blue eyes. She
pulled the partially unbuttoned shirt down over his shoulders,
effectively trapping his arms and temporarily stilling his
efforts to remove her own clothing and then, she used her grip on the fabric to pull
him down towards her waiting mouth.
Their lips met in the softest of caresses
and after a few seconds she opened her mouth to him, moaning
gently as she lay back beneath him. He leaned forward, probing
her mouth with his cool tongue, her own response similarly
gentle but intimate. Only his superb abdominal muscles allowed
him to maintain his balance without the use of his arms.
Finally, he flexed his upper arms and popped the next two
buttons on his shirt so that he could balance on his elbows
above her, rather than falling helplessly on top of her.
He looked down at her face. For once, it
was calm and open. He allowed himself the gentle caresses
he'd always wanted to give her, rather than the rough passion
that had become their stock in trade. His fingertips traced
the lines of her face and then moved gently down the curves
of her neck. He watched her until she opened her eyes once
more and when she did he opened his heart to her completely.
"I do love you, you know, and there's nothing
dark in it. It's nothing like the way I felt about Dru.
This is pure, and it is clean and it is
true. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a good person. I'll never
be perfect. I'll always make mistakes and some of them will
be bad ones. The way I feel about you..." He paused and then
tried to find a different way to say what he meant.
"There's a demon inside me, but there's
a man as well. For a hundred and twenty years the demon
had free rein, but it's the person they both make together
who loves you and if you let him he'll keep the demon in
check. I can keep the demon in check."
Buffy made as if to pull him to her and silence him with another kiss, but, damn it, this was important and he might never get another chance to say it, so he slipped an arm between them, his elbow resting on her abdomen, his fingers pressing gently on her lips.
"Let me say it for once, Buffy," he pleaded and when she appeared to acquiesce his fingers began to caress instead of restrain. "I don't always think about things the way
a human would any more, so I tend to do or say the wrong
thing, but you have to believe my intentions are good. You
make me want to be better than I'm made to be.
I'll still irritate you, and we'll still
fight. If you ever tell me you love me, then I'll be even cockier
and more obnoxious than ever before. The Whelp'll still
hate me. I'll still act like a total prick when some other
guy comes near you because I just can't help myself, but I'll worship you till the day I'm
dust. You mean everything to me, love."
All the while he talked he continued to
stroke her face and neck. He scanned her face for the first
sign of rejection; ready to shut up the second she distanced
herself from him.
She didn't respond. No answering declaration
of love was forthcoming, but for the very first time she seemed to listen
to what he had to say. She seemed to let him into her mind and into
her heart as well as into her body.
He lowered his face to hers, once more reclaiming
her lips. Tonight he would show her the difference between
sex and making love.
Some time later, she lay naked in his arms,
basking in the afterglow of her fourth orgasm and his first.
"Spike?"
"Mmhm," he mumbled, his chin resting on
top of her head.
"You know all those times you call me love?"
"Mmhm."
"It's never been luv, L. U. V., has it?"
He lifted his head and pulled back to look
at her. "No, pet, it hasn't, at least not for a very long
time." She buried her head on his shoulder, hiding her eyes.
"Don't stop saying it. I know I told you
not to, but, whatever happens, so long as you mean it, keep
saying it."
He held her close and whispered in her
ear.
"As you wish, love, as you wish."
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