Spike slipped up during our car hunt and started calling me "luv" and "Red" again. I let it go for the time being. Besides, car hunting more or less involved us being in the public eye, so I suppose he was technically in the clear.
Car hunting was fun. Hanging out with an old buddy was fun; cock-teasing the living shit out of my old "buddy" was even more fun. I flirted like a floozy. Wesley would have called me a doxy. It was my finest hour as a thespian.
I bent over engine blocks, purposefully displaying excessive amounts of cleavage. I leaned into windows, wiggling my ass in the air. I rubbed up against him like a cat in heat and talked to him with a little girl pout.
Spike gritted his teeth and took it in the ass. He tolerated, put up with, and endured. It was really very admirable of him, the way he bore up. Spike is a real stand up guy.
Ironically, I turned myself on too. It did not take a lot... I think I have already mentioned how happy sex makes me...and how thrilling it was to be test driving my very own Willow body, specially equipped with great tits, killer legs, and a tight little ass. I want to be fucked so bad my pussy aches.
I was really hamming it up by the time we reached the used Ford dealer. I deserved a sound spanking but every time I started to feel bad for Spike I thought of Marcus...and steel rods being driven through my body.
OK, so there I was leading Spike around by the balls, visions of Willow and polyvinyl, butt plugs and cock rings dancing in his head. The more worked up he got, the more outrageous my behavior became.
Finally, Spike began to lose his temper. I was getting to him. He got *that* look on his face, the one he used to get when Dru became particularly whiney. "Bloody hell," he said under his breath. "I don't know why I'm putting up with this crap."
"Because you want to fuck me," I answered over my shoulder.
Spike muttered something profane. He had not meant for me to hear him. I looked over my shoulder and smiled sweetly. He reached out and grabbed my hair, pulling it tight. It did not hurt or--obviously--he would have doubled over with mind-numbing pain. It was enough to immobilize me though.
"I'm still evil," he hissed in my ear.
I grinned and rammed my ass back into his crotch, raising and lowering it like we were fucking. "Oh, I remember," I told him. "You're the BIG BAD. You can insult nice girls like me and make me want to cry. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo. I'm so *fucking* impressed."
Spike grunted and tightened the contact. Oh man, he was desperate for any kind of pussy action. Before I knew it, we were dry humping behind an old green Ford Explorer. We were rutting like beasts. Spike rode my ass like a big horny goat while I mentally reviewed all of my reasons for not hiking my skirt, lowering my panties, presenting him with my backside.
For one, I swore no partners. Two, like Spike said, he is still evil. Three, he is an ass. Willow told me about the mean things Spike said to her while he was trying to get himself staked. His comments about her ability to satisfy Oz had cut particularly deep.
"Don't know why you want to fuck me so bad," I moaned. I glanced over my shoulder at his strained face. My nose and lips were almost in his mouth. "After all, I couldn't even satisfy dog boy."
"Shut-up!" Spike grunted.
"Bugger off!" I pushed him off me. Spike had hurt Willow deeply with his mean words. She had tried not to let on but I had been able to tell. In my mind, it was one more thing to get even for. Willow is one of the sweetest young women I know and I count her among my few friends. Only a moron picks on a lamb like Willow.
"Why are you acting like this?" Spike demanded, clenching his fists. He wanted to hit someone, break something, throw a raging fit, and fuck me so hard it hurt. Both of us.
"Because I can," I hissed at him. I got in his face. "Because you hurt me and I never got a chance to retaliate!" Without intending to, I drew back my fist and socked him, hard, right on the jaw. More blows followed. All Spike could do to defend himself was raise his arms over his head for protection.
I am not sure what happened, one second I was in control and the next tears were streaming down my face. I yelled at him. I raged. I said really nasty things about his looks and his lineage. I just totally lost it.
The next thing I knew the salesman was yelling at us to leave or he would call the police. His intervention knocked some of the sense back into me. I stopped beating on Spike and turned, running off the lot in tears.
Spike followed, glutton for punishment that he is. He ran me down, caught me around the waist, and turned me in his arms. "You have no idea how much it hurt," I whimpered. "How much YOU hurt me."
"I know," he said, holding my head to his shoulder. "Believe me, luv, I'm bloody sorry. And if I could take it back, I would."
I believed him because he meant it. For Willow, he would have taken back the cruel words to spare her tears. He loves her that much. God help me but I closed my eyes and pretended that he meant the words for me. For Angel.
I pressed my face against his shoulder and cried. I let my oldest enemy and my oldest friend offer me succor. I had not broken the day they tortured me in the warehouse but I was broken today. And it was Spike's kind words and Spike's kisses that put it better.
He cheered me up, put me back on my feet, fixed my makeup. He apologized over and over for hurting me, and I continued to pretend that he meant it for Angel. I am too scared and confused to closely examine my reasons. For the time being, it was a Band Aid I needed.
It was at Spike's insistence that we continued our car hunt. We crossed on foot to the other side of the auto mall and the next lot. Another fruitless hour of searching passed and I began to feel better, but also frustrated and tired. *That's* when I found HER.
"She's gorgeous," I said, circling my find.
"It's a bloody piece of crap. Looks like it fell out of the bloody Hellmouth," Spike contradicted, following me. "In fact, that's being too kind. It looks like the Hellmouth PUKED it up."
"This is a nice fixer-upper!" Our salesman hurried to interrupt Spike's scathing monologue. "A real nice first car for a young lady." He patted the rusted passenger side door, which came unhinged and fell off. He hastily righted it.
I ignored them both. I was in love and love is blind...and deaf...and dumb. Which is basically what you had to be to consider buying a junk heap like this one. "Spike, come' ere," I cooed, peering past the salesman to the ripped up interior.
He came, grudgingly Spike came. "Look," I spread my hands and presented the interior to him with a lavish gesture. Spike leaned a hand on the roof, another on the door and leaned his platinum head into the car.
"I'm lookin' luv, but I'm not see' it."
I put a hand on his shoulder. It was corded muscle and cool flesh under my palm. I was aware of his body with hypersensitivity. I had been all evening. I was primed to play, a huge repressed bundle of super sexuality. My roller-coaster ride with hysteria had only made the matter worse once I calmed down.
"Climb in," I urged. Spike looked at my hand and then at me. With a sigh, he climbed into the car, scooting over until he sat behind the wheel. I flashed the salesman a look. "Give us a sec." He nodded and retreated across the lot.
I climbed in beside Spike, who refused to look comfortable. "Spike! It's a 1955 Ford Thunderbird! Convertible!" I grabbed that sexy arm again, unable to keep my hands off him any longer. More than anything I wanted to rip open his fly, mount his cock, and ride the hell out of him in the front seat of this beat up old car.
He must have been able to smell me because there was a burr in his voice. "Pet...Willow..." He sighed. "This...car...is falling apart." He gestured. "It's not fit for parking, let alone driving."
"Close your eyes," I ordered. He rolled his eyes in a display of irritability but complied. At this point, I suspect he would have done anything I asked. As a demon, I never felt guilty but Spike seems to be capable of sincere remorse as well as caring. Not to mention sincere horniness.
"Now put your hands on the wheel and lean back." He did so and I snuggled closer, sliding a hand onto his thigh. The leather was smooth beneath my palm.
"I don't see what good this is going to do," he complained.
"Spread your arms," I said and he did so, settling one over my shoulders and the other on the door. He was in a cruising posture now. "Now envision her as she could be, fully restored..."
"292 cubic inch engine..." I purred in his ear.
"198 horsepower..." I blew softly.
"Steel crank..." The tip of my tongue touched his earlobe.
"Heavy duty double timing chain..." I licked him, tracing the shell of his ear with my tongue.
"Rebuilt automatic transmission..." I slid my hand up his thigh to his crotch. There was a rock hard bulge in his pants. Big surprise.
"Black and white leather interior..." I have that bulge a nice, hard, friendly rub. He moaned appreciatively.
"Stainless steel exhaust system..." I inserted two fingers through that convenient little hole in his crotch. His cock was cold and swollen with blood. Which might explain a lot. Spike had been walking around all evening with most of his blood in his dick, which would normally be in his head.
"Coker radials..." I bit him, hard, on the neck. Amongst vampires it was only a little love bite but it was also a sign that I was ready to be taken.
"ALL RIGHT! ENOUGH ALREADY!" Spike's eyes popped open and he threw up his hands. He leaned out the window and yelled at the car salesman. "We'll take it!"
"Great! I'll just go draw up the paperwork!" He ran off.
"Hope you know what you're doing," Spike panted. "This beast is going to take a hell of a lot of..." He stopped and stared at me. I simpered at him from under lowered lashes and pouted. "Now, luv, I'm not a grease monkey..."
I smiled and kept smiling. Spike tried to deny me for a while but in the end, he gave in. Simply put, he was too desperate to get me alone to argue. So I acquired my very own 1955 Ford Thunderbird Convertible, soon to be restored by my very own boy toy.
God but I am starting to love being a girl.
We put down the top and drove the old Thunderbird as fast as the poor girl could go up into the hills. We stopped at a gas station along the way and Spike bought some beer. Then we parked under the stars, climbed into the backseat, and kicked back with the stereo humming softly in the background.
It was beautiful. The stars shining in the night sky, being able to enjoy the frothy head of a good beer, and the camaraderie of an old buddy...who did not know who I was but treated me with touching familiarity anyway...
Hell, it probably was not even a good beer but I did not know any better. It was the taste that mattered and having living, working, sensitive taste buds that could appreciate more than just the salty flavor of blood.
And it was being with somebody who knew me. Really knew *me*...
I have been so fucking lonely these last few months, worse than ever before in my life. Even Doyle and Cordy have not scratched the true depths because neither of them was Buffy, and never would be.
For just a little while, after my return from hell and before I departed Sunnydale, I had been given a taste of what it meant to be part of something. Something bigger than myself, something true and important, a group of friends dedicated to fighting the forces of evil.
And I had been part of it. Me. The Scourge of Europe. For a few short months, I had worked as part of a team to make the world a better place and I had been a useful, contributing member. I had mattered.
Buffy and I shared something too. We were partners, and friends, lovers without sex... Even without sex, we shared a kind of staggering, mind-blowing love that happens once in a lifetime. For me, it has happened once in two hundred and forty-three years, or approximately four or five lifetimes.
Now my partner, my lover and friend, was off screwing some big, dumb brute from Iowa...Idaho...one of those potato-and-corn states. It was enough to make me want to cry in my beer and get really wasted.
"You saw Angel this weekend?" Spike asked me out of the blue. If he was trying to be subtle he failed miserably. I could hear the curiosity in his voice. It was killing him.
I took another long swig from my beer. "Yep."
I made him wait. I glanced over at him and he stared at me with typical Spike-like impatience. Spike is a lot like a little boy. He is terrible at waiting. His very impatience inspired me to fuck with him further.
I smirked. "Well...I dress up in black rubber, sometimes leather, but mostly rubber, and I beat him with a crop."
"Do not!" Spike exclaimed.
"Don't believe it!" he denied.
"Angel has a raspberry birthmark on his scrotum."
Spike's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell! I thought soul-boy couldn't bugger without losing his freakin' marbles."
I laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. "I didn't say we fucked. Angel just likes to be hurt, told what a bad boy he is. You know..." I winked. "Typical S&M but I don't really go in for the heavy stuff. He has some Oriental chick who services him for that."
"Well I'll be damned..." Spike just kept shaking his head and repeating the destiny of his eternal being. "Never would have guessed it! Angel sure, but you!" He shook his head again.
I was all I could do to keep from laughing. Willow's slender body is a lightweight at holding its liquor. I was already feeling the effects of the booze. I was happy and sad, as horny as hell, and a little bit crazy. Plus, I really had Spike fooled, going on and on about Willow, Leather Goddess, and Angel, whipped bad boy.
Suddenly, I stopped laughing. That had been a little too disturbing, even for me. The image of myself with Willow was so strange that aliens might have implanted the thought in my brain. But then, what the hell. I was so horny that Spike's leg was starting to look good.
"So where are you planning on keeping this jalopy, luv?" Spike demanded with cheeky impudence.
I turned without warning and slapped him hard across the face. His head turned with the impact and he blinked in surprise. "Willow or Mistress," I warned, raising the beer bottle threateningly. "Or I'll shove this up your ass."
Spike looked ready to shift to game face until I leaned over and kissed the mark my palm had left on his cheek. "Willow or Mistress," I whispered against the cool flesh of his cheek. I tossed the beer bottle and my hands gripped his head. My fingers played like children in the soft blond silk of his hair.
"I'm sorry...Mistress," he said as I settled a knee on either side his hips and planted myself on his lap. My skirt hiked and I did nothing to push it back down as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "I promise that I'll be a good boy from now on."
"I wouldn't want you to be too good," I said. "I like punishing you for being bad..." A secret little smile graced my lips as I ran my fingers through his hair, deliberately messing it up. Spike smiled and took my waist between his hands, spanning it easily from forefinger to thumb.
"Well then, I won't be too good either," he assured me. Oh but Spike was willing to bend over backward to accommodate my whims. If I said "good", he jumped. If I said "bad", he leapt. Being Willow is gonna be such fun...
My mind drifted and the answer to his earlier question--about where I would keep the Thunderbird--suddenly leapt into my mind. "At the mansion," I said and he stared at me blankly. "I'll keep the car at Angel's old mansion. He's not using it anymore and I'm sure he won't mind."
Spike's expression was skeptical but *I* happen to be one hundred percent certain that Angel will not mind. "You can stay there too," I added magnanimously and he blanched. After all, a dom should look out for her subs. "It'll be better than staying with Xander or Giles and this way you'll be close to the car while you're working on it."
Spike refused. He shook his head no but I persisted. "Oh, come' on! It'll be fun!"
"Angel wouldn't want me there and I don't wanna be there," Spike countered. "Too many old memories..." His eyes drifted and his mind was on Dru.
"Angel won't mind, and besides, he owes me," I said, unbuttoning the top three buttons of my blouse. Spike's eyes returned front and center to me. Good, I had his attention again. "If he gives me shit, I'll double-time him with a rattan cane. Come' on, pleasssse..."
"OH ALL RIGHT!" Spike gave in and his expression suddenly grew bashful as what I had said sank in. "You'd do that for me?" he asked with a goofy grin. "Beat the bloke with rattan?"
I nodded, wearing the most solemn face I could manage and Spike's expression of goofiness blossomed into one of awestruck love. "Only for you, my Big Bad," I cooed, trying so hard not to laugh that it hurt.
I had to distract both him and myself from laughing so I unbuttoned my blouse for him. Spike's nimble fingers helped part the fabric, revealing my black see-through, push-up bra his eager eyes. He undid the front fasten with two fingers, as easy as you please.
The awe and admiration on his face were satisfying to behold. Briefly, I felt a tad guilty of taking credit for Willow's accomplishments but I assuaged the guilt. Willow never would have seen this expression on his face anyway, because she never would have let this happen with Spike.
"I like this," I said, pressing my lips against the scar marring his eyebrow, which was soft and fuzzy beneath my flesh. I have always loved that scar. It had been over a hundred years since he let me touch it like this. "It's perfect. You'd be too pretty without it and it adds a touch of character."
Spike snorted and I felt the air from his exhalation against my throat. "Pretty, not bloody likely. Tell me something, Mistress," he said as his nimble fingers tugged my blouse out of my skirt. I shrugged it off. "Why me? Why now? I mean, what's with the sudden change? You've always struck me as too white bread to be comin' on to a demon. Have you forgotten... Hello, evil, here?"
I giggled and dragged my lips away from his eyebrow. My mouth drifted to his and I spoke against his lips. "Maybe now that the Big Bad is just a big fuzzy puppy I find you more accessible," I suggested, pressing a delicate kiss to his mouth.
"Or maybe I've changed," I said. His lips parted for me. One soft kiss followed another and another. Gradually, I worked up to slipping my tongue past his lips into the recesses of his mouth. I demanded; he yielded. He gave it up to me. Everything I asked of him and more...his lips, tongue, teeth...
Spike turned me over so that I lay beneath him. His mouth drifted to my tits, which he attacked with a sort of ravenous hunger. He was not gentle. He sucked so hard he left marks and my nipples stung as he suckled, bit, and chewed on them.
It felt so fucking good...
I creamed on his thigh, grinding against his leg like a bitch in heat while he continued to commit indelicate acts of carnage with my nipples. His hand replaced his thigh against my pussy and helpful fingers dragged aside my soaked thong to gain better access.
I shook like a leaf as male fingers touched me there for the first time. I cannot describe...it seems impossible to quantify with words. He began by stroking my...and fingering my...and one finger wedged into my pussy and then two...and then...OHMIGOD.
The earth shook. The world lurched. The heavens moved and I came. Not just once, or twice, but over and over and over again. It was fucking incredible. It never stopped and I howled and shrieked and expressed myself as vocally and verbally and loudly as I possibly could.
It was not until I became aware of Spike grunting and groaning on top of me as he labored with pulling down his pants that it occurred to me he intended to fuck me. "No intercourse!" I shrieked in a panic.
He froze and glared. "Why the hell not?" Spike demanded with a resentful frown. He was not a happy camper.
"Because I said so!" I exclaimed, sitting up. Spike looked crushed and my heart softened with pity. Poor sub...I had put him through more than enough. "Come' on," I cajoled gently. "I'll give you a blow job," I offered kindly. I felt like a bad nurse offering a child a sucker.
Or offering to suck him, as the case might be...
Spike's lower lip pouted. "Well...all right," he agreed. He began to pull down his pants.
That was when one of Sunnydale's lower life forms decided to attack. With a shout of rage, Xander dragged my sub from the car and began beating the living crap out of Spike. Xander, Willow's hero, come to the rescue.
"Hell...bastard...how dare you touch her..." Babbling something about Willow's virtue, Xander hit Spike and threw him against the car. I do not know exactly Xander said; I only heard fragments.
I was stunned by Xander's sudden appearance and attack. Before I could react, Xander tossed Spike to the ground and kicked my sub in the ribs. Spike grunted and rolled, attempting to reach cover under the car. He had no way of defending himself and Xander had already drawn blood.
I flew into a rage. Grr...grr...grr... No one, but NO ONE, hurts my subs but me. I bounded from the car. Regardless of my topless state, I launched myself at Xander. Willow's body may not be buff but it is trim, dexterous, and fast. In the right hands, it can be quite deadly.
WHACK, WHACK, WHACK...three quick jabs to his jaw sent Xander staggering back. I hit him in the ribs with my left fist and followed through with a punch to the nose. Something broke under my fist, his nose turned soft and squishy, and blood squirted out.
Xander yelped pathetically. It figured. Xander fights like a girl and he cries like one too. Ironically, it was Anya who came to *his* rescue. The ex-demoness stepped in between us and shoved me back.
"Stop hurting him!" she cried. "Oh Xander, are you OK?"
"I'm *fine*," he answered, glaring at me. His voice was muffled under the hand covering his nose and mouth. "No thanks to Wills here."
"No thanks to me!" I exclaimed. "What did you think you were doing anyway? RESCUING ME?"
"I was," Xander answered. "Until you turned into psycho-boxer-gal on me." Anya left to fetch him something to staunch the blood flow with from their car.
Spike appeared beside me holding my blouse. "Here," he said, possessively stepping in front of me until I was covered. It was sweet, in some strange, twisted euphemism of the wo
rd. "Thanks." I smiled and he backed off a little but remained protectively close to my side. "What are you doing here anyway?" I demanded. We were in the middle of nowhere. Literally.
"We saw you and Spike drive by...and..." Xander glared, hurt that he even had to explain himself to me. "...turned the car around. We lost you for a while once we left the freeway..."
"But Xander insisted that we keep going," Anya inserted helpfully.
"You followed me?" I shrilled. Outrage sent my voice a couple notes up the octave scale. "How...how...how DARE you!" Xander started to explain.
"NO!" I interrupted, raising a finger to him. "Stop right there! It's OK for you to fool around with ex-demoness here!" I indicated Anya.
"Hey!" she exclaimed.
"No offense," I apologized.
"None taken," she said but looked miffed anyway.
Xander opened his mouth but I shoved it shut with a nasty look. "But if I want to take a muzzled vampire..."
"Hey!" Spike interrupted. I ignored him.
"...as a lover, you have the right to beat him up?" I finished. Xander stared at me with helpless confusion.
"That wasn't..." Xander shook his head. Apparently, the concept of a double standard and unfairness had never entered his mind with regard to Willow. Willow's pedestal was so high that he thought he could make snap judgments whenever he wanted. Pushy male chauvinism was not only permissible but also expected of him.
"That was exactly it," I responded harshly. Well, not anymore... I agreed to live Willow's life to the best of my ability, to keep up her grades, to keep her parents duped...I never agreed to living life like the virgin mother just so *Xander* would not get his ego bruised.
"Wills," he pleaded.
I shook my head and turned away. "Don't talk to me again until you're ready to apologize," I said. I looked at my sub, who gazed at me with fierce, unwavering loyalty. "To Spike," I finished.
Spike's expression went blank. He carefully concealed whatever he was feeling as I led him back to the car. I would have given anything right then to be able to read his mind but he was inscrutable.
We drove back to Sunnydale in silence but it was companionable.
I over-reacted to Xander. I know I did, I acknowledge it, but I would not go back and change it if I could. Xander and I were never good buddies. Our rivalry and mutual dislike goes back for years, and I solidly and unswerving maintain that I was in the right.
Once we were at the mansion, I made Spike take off his shirt while I cleaned out his injuries and bandaged the cut on his face. Spike made a bunch of noise, protesting that he was fine, but he loved the attention. For my part, fussing over him helped calm my riled nerves.
"You were really somethin' back there," Spike told me with that touching bashfulness again. It was as close as he had come to saying thank you to me for coming to his defense.
"Think so?" I smiled and took the compliment in the spirit in which it was intended.
"Hell yeah!" Spike assured me fervently. He winced as I pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to the cut over his eye. I blew on it gently. I was in a REALLY weird mood. My feelings were all warm, fuzzy, and muddled. My deepest instincts propelled me to cuddle and mother Spike like a child.
It had to be the booze and raging female hormones.
"Thanks." I grinned and pressed the adhesive Band Aid to his forehead. Patching him up had also given me a chance to give him a good going over and I did not like what I saw at all.
Spike was thin, more so than usual, which meant that he had not been eating properly. I KNOW how hard it is to go from drinking human blood to animal and I doubt Spike was making the transition as well as I had. Spike had no guilt helping him stick to the diet plan and he has always possessed less discipline and self-control than I.
Without thinking about it, I drew my knife. Spike's eyes widened and he actually flinched. Apparently, my sudden outbursts of temper and violence had made quite the impression on my sub.
Instead of cutting him, I poured alcohol over the blade and dried it off on a clean towel. "What are you doin'?" Spike asked as I sterilized an area on my bicep with the same thoroughness. His voice trembled.
"When was the last time you had a decent meal, Spike?" I asked, beckoning for him to come to me. I chose a spot on my forearm that would be easy to hide with long sleeves and pressed the blade to my flesh. I made a deep, short incision.
It hurt. I looked up as blood began welling out of the wound. Spike had not moved. He seemed paralyzed in place. "This is going to go to waste if you don't," I told him, holding out my arm. Blood dripped off my arm to the floor.
Spike jumped. He grabbed my arm and changed to game face, greedily pressing his mouth to the wound. I felt his incisors against my flesh but he did not bite. He could not. But he could drink enough to sate his hunger, and maybe, help his health a little.
I sighed and wrapped my other arm around him as he suckled. I relaxed and gave myself over to the warm rush of pleasure, which enveloped me. I was not worried about him hurting me, and he could safely take a pint or so with no repercussions. Besides, it felt incredibly good.
We were both shaking with pleasure when Spike finally withdrew. A fine sheen of perspiration covered my body and wisps of hair clung to the sides of my face. My breathing was labored as I came down off my second orgasm--different but still an orgasm--of the evening.
"Thanks," Spike said, wiping off his mouth and looking away. He was afraid to meet my eyes so I leaned over and drew a hand under his chin, forcing his head up. There were tears in his eyes and he was pathetically grateful.
"No problem," I said. There were times when I would have given anything if someone had been willing to do for me what I had just done for Spike. He had no way of knowing but I knew exactly what he was going through with withdrawal. I went through the exact same thing, twice. He had all of my sympathy and pity.
Besides, I am not a fool. By letting Spike feed from me, I had doubly reinforced the bonds of power and sex holding him to me. Blood is a bond. For a vampire, blood is better than sex. Always.
Spike had not had human blood for at least three months and had absolutely no access to it apart from me. He would not soon forget that I was willing to feed him when I was able. It gave my sub one more reason to remain loyal to me.
It might sound like I am desperate to get my claws into Spike...I am. He is all that I have right now. He is all that I have got that is familiar and safe in this crazy, serendipitous world, which Willow has cast me into. I *need* someone to hold onto and Spike is that person. I have chosen him and I need to be sure that I am not going to lose him.
If that means bleeding every once in a while, so be it.
I swayed. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and lightheaded. I was still bleeding despite my hand applying pressure over the cut. Spike exclaimed and pushed me down into a chair. He rushed to bandage me up.
"Makin' sure that the blood cow doesn't bleed to death?" I asked with forced humor. I wanted to lighten up the mood and it was hard with him fussing but not speaking to me.
"Right," he agreed. He did not laugh. Drat.
I sighed. I sat for a while in silence with Spike while his eyes drifted everywhere but to me. I was starting to get jumpy. I had made him uncomfortable when I had been hoping that feeding him would bring us closer. "Thinking of Dru?" I asked. Being in the mansion always reminded me of Drusilla.
I looked around, remembering our time together. Or, more appropriately, their time together...Spike, Drusilla, and my demon. Technically speaking, I had been absent through the entire ordeal. I had only my demon's memories to go by. "You must hate him pretty bad..." I said. Spike looked at me.
"Angel. For taking Dru away from you." I shudder to remember some of the other vile things 'Angelus' did to my sub while he was loose. Some of the memories of how my demon hurt Spike make my stomach churn with revulsion.
Hate flashed in Spike's eyes. "Yeah. I hate him."
Shame and guilt filled me, forcing me to break eye contact with Spike. I think maybe I can...and will...forgive Spike for Marcus and those steel shafts after all. Maybe Spike only did it to get even for Dru. And the other things... If I continued to pursue this, taking revenge for revenge, the cycle would be vicious and endless.
The intensity was too much. I stood. "Rain check on the blow job?" I asked. "I'm getting really tired and it's late. Plus, I have classes tomorrow."
"Sure. No prob." He did not say it but the blood letting had more than made up for the missed blowjob, had been better, in fact. He knew it and I knew it but he was not going to confess it to me. And he did not know that I had any way of knowing.
"I'm just gonna walk myself home," I said. Spike stood and I glanced at him in confusion. "I'll be OK."
"I'm walking you home," he insisted. "I'm still good for hurting demons and there are plenty of those roaming Sunnydale at this hour."
"I'll be fine," I argued. But I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw and realized that my words were wasted. Dom/sub relationships were irrelevant. Spike had made but his mind and nothing would change it.
Spike escorted me home. The uncomfortable silence remained. I was at a total loss to understand its source and too tired to try and correct it. Buffy was not home when I got there so I went straight to bed.
My last thought as my head hit the pillow was that I had forgotten to call Willow and check in. Then I fell sound asleep, to dream restless dreams during my troubled mortal slumber.