Misery Made Beautiful – 5/5

Here it is! Final chappie. Thank you guys so much for all your wonderful feedback. You all rock!

Also, another HUGE thanks to megan_peta, zoonut, dusty273, and uisge_beatha for all your wonderful help!

 Five

Giles didn’t pitch a fit when she told him that Spike was coming back to the house with her. Instead, he merely nodded and ushered them quickly into his red-penis-car. As the night sky faded into morning, he sped them to Revello Drive, tossing his jacket into the back to help shield the vampire from the first rays of sunshine.

Spike and Dawn hurried inside the second the car rolled to a stop outside the Summers home. Buffy, however, took her time. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, but if her friends had anything to say to her, she wanted to get it out now. She didn’t want to wake up with something to dread. She wanted to lie in bed for the next few days and pretend the outside world didn’t exist. The accusations, the implications, and the interventions were beyond her line of caring. Truthfully, she didn’t want to deal with it ever—but better now than later. Better now than when she was drained and shattered than after she’d had time to rest.

Buffy watched her sister and her lover disappear inside her home and heaved a long sigh. Her friends were looking at her numbly, though something told her they knew what was coming. “If you guys have anything to tell me,” she began slowly, “get it over with now.”

A long silence settled over her friends.

“I have something to say,” Xander said cautiously.

Buffy arched her brows, completely wiped and apathetic; and even still, she wasn’t remotely surprised. “Okay,” she replied.

His brow furrowed in thought, and there was nothing for a few seconds. “The way you threw that creepy little guy off the tower? I’ve only seen moves like that in Keanu Reeves flicks.” A slow grin spread across his face. “Very awesome.”

“You beat the living hell out of Glory,” Anya volunteered, shrugging. “With my ex’s big hammer. I’m happy.”

“We discovered we can be telepathic,” Willow added with a sleepy, lopsided grin. “It kinda hurt my head, but hey, that’s something we’ve never done before. Not the head hurting, ‘cause remember when I sent Glory to…somewhere and the drippy bloody nose? ‘Cause ‘ow’,” she added contemplatively, distractedly. “I’m in a very post-merging-of-essences haze right now. Let’s just hope the First Slayer doesn’t try to off us in our sleep again.”

“Thank you for that thought,” Xander muttered irritably. “Now I won’t be getting any rest.”

Buffy grinned, apathy melting completely when she realized that the scolding she’d anticipated wasn’t coming. There could be no doubting the mark on her throat, or the tender way she and Spike had talked with each other in the car. Besides, bringing her boyfriend to her house wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. And yet, there was no outrage. No shouting. Not even a wayward glance.

People had the amazing capacity to surprise.

“Plus you saved the world,” Tara added shyly from where she was curled against Willow’s shoulder.

“Again,” the others echoed in unison.

Buffy pursed her lips, her smile fading. “Guys,” she said gently. “Thanks, but…it wasn’t just me.”

Xander offered an enthusiastic nod. “Dude, I know.” He turned to Willow with a goofy, tired grin. “What about our resident witch here? Did you see this awesome magic-wielding mamma?”

“That’s the second time you’ve used the word ‘awesome,’” Anya whispered. Then she perked up and added, “And Giles killed Ben.”

The Slayer paused and met her Watcher’s eyes. “I’m glad.”

There was finality in her voice—this would be the first and last time anyone mentioned what had happened to the duplicitous doctor. Death was too good for him for what he had tried to do.

“And then there’s Spike,” Giles said, surprising her with the rational calm in his voice. “Tell him he did well, Buffy. Incredibly well. I would, but I don’t fancy him singing, ‘I told you so,’ every time he sees me from this point on.”

“Yeah,” Xander added, nodding. “The Bleached Wonder really came through.”

“If you need us to take Dawn for a while,” Willow said with a particularly evil grin, “we can. You guys really must be getting tired of the crypt.”

Buffy flushed at that—God, she’d thought she was too tired to flush. Okay, so maybe her first impulse had been correct, and everyone knew about her relationship with Spike and had miraculously kept their mouths shut. And still, she grinned again in spite of herself, kicking at the ground. “Maybe later this week,” she said. “After I get over the ‘I almost lost my little sister’ thing and she starts bugging the hell out of me again. Right now, I don’t feel like letting her get too far out of my sight.”

“I’m sure the heavy sounds of copulation will send Dawn running to your place, Willow,” Anya observed. “Survivor orgasms are always the very best.”

Giles and Xander made identical faces of disgust. “I’m okay with the new Buffy-loves-Spike thing,” the latter said slowly. “But please…can we not discuss what they do behind closed doors?”

“I’ll second that,” Buffy said, stepping away from the car. “Ummm…thanks, guys. And Giles?” She waited until her Watcher met her eyes. “If you so much as think of telling me about anything that has the word ‘apocalypse’ or phrase ‘end of the world’ before the summer’s over, I’m going to officially resign, bust Faith outta prison, and let you torment her for the next one. ‘Kay?”

“Understood.”

By the time Giles’s car pulled away from her house, the sun was glaring over the horizon and beginning the steady climb into the sky. She stepped across the threshold into her home—the place she’d almost convinced herself she would never see again—and surged with gratitude when she saw Spike waiting for her at the stairs.

He looked as tired as she felt.

“The Bit’s asleep,” he said, shifting somewhat nervously. “Minute her head hit the pillow. Figure she’ll sleep for a week, yeah?”

Buffy crossed her arms, leaning wearily against the door. “She’s not the only one,” she replied softly, her eyes trailing up the stairs. It would take a while, she suspected, before she felt completely at ease, even in her own home. Before she would stop looking over her shoulder, or wondering where Dawn was on weeknights.

Just thinking about the long road ahead generated another wave of exhaustion over her body. A deep sigh wracked through her and she met Spike’s eyes again. Then, wordlessly, she forced herself upright and dragged herself into the family room. The blinds were already shut, as though the home had anticipated their arrival. Buffy sighed with a rush of completion as she flopped onto the sofa.

This. This was a room in a house where Spike could live. Her own affinity for sunlight had long since died; at some point over the years, standing outside had started to make her eyes hurt. The Slayer was inherently a creature of the night—the same as her prey—and as the years passed, her own tolerance for the day had been on a steady decline.

Buffy leaned forward in the seat, her face in her hands. And in that instant, Spike was with her, kneeling in front of her, running his hands up and down her legs as a means of comfort. The strength he gave her simply with his presence was more than she could ever give back. Simply feeling his touch gave her comfort beyond comfort.

Every little bit of Spike belonged to her, and he gave himself over gladly.

“It’s okay, sweetling,” he murmured. “It’s okay, now.”

That was all it took. The words. Hearing him so close—realizing at last that this was real. That Dawn was really upstairs, that Spike was really with her, and the worst was actually over. Buffy choked a sob and fell forward, her arms wrapping around his neck as she paid the weight of the world back in tears. He encompassed her with strength, running his hands soothingly down her back, murmuring into her hair. She curled her arms under his shoulders and cried. There was nothing to do but cry. She didn’t know what was left—the worst was over, and she was crying.

God, she was so wretchedly tired.

“It’s all right,” he said again, rocking her gently. “It’s all right. It’s all over now.”

She nodded weakly, feeling that all her strength had been suddenly zapped. “I just…I can’t…”

Spike brushed a kiss across her brow. “An’ you don’ have to. You don’ have to do anythin’, baby. You don’ have to do a bloody thing.”

The words were there—she understood what he said, but it seemed too good, too wonderful to be true. It had been so long since she had nothing to worry about. Since the loom of Glory’s intent hadn’t hung over her every move. Just a few hours before, she hadn’t thought she would ever see the inside of her home again. She had been so sure that she was going to die—or that if she lived, that Spike was going to die. That her slice of perfection found in the middle of despair would be the only taste she ever had. That she’d stolen enough paradise in the past few days to earn the wrath of the PTB.

The other shoe wasn’t going to drop. She was home, and she was in Spike’s arms. Dawn was sleeping upstairs and her friends had all come through unscathed.

Glory was dead.

Buffy sniffed and hugged him closer. “Why does this feel different?” she asked. “I’ve stopped the world ending before. It’s never been like this.”

“Before it wasn’ personal,” he replied softly, kissing her temple. “Not really. Though, granted, you ran your honey-pot through—that was personal.”

“He’s not my honey-anything,” came the muffled retort.

“Point bein’, he’s a vamp. You killed him ‘cause you knew you had to—an’ it bein’ that he’d terrorized you for months likely din’t hurt matters. I’d wager you could’ve easily done the same to me tonight if you needed to.”

Buffy’s head whipped up at that, her face a mess of tears. “Easily? Easily?!” She wiped at her eyes irritably. “You really think that would have been easy for me? I love you, you doof! You think I could’ve killed you and had it not kill me?” She shook her head harshly before collapsing face-first into her waiting hands, missing the tearful look of awe and love that engulfed him completely.

Damn him and his presumptions. She could have lost everything. Dawn, Spike, her Watcher, her friends. And as much as it shamed her to admit it, Dawn and Spike remained in the forefront of her concerns. Dawn was family, and while her memories told her otherwise, Dawn had similarly never faced an apocalypse. She had no way of knowing how her sister would stand up to a hellgod when it was real and not fabricated.

And Spike? She hadn’t cared before. Now that she did—now that she loved him so much—the possibility of losing him had all but crippled her.

He’d been right in that, then. Angelus was the only one to have come after her personally—to have done what Glory did. Only with Glory, it was so much worse. That deranged bitch had come after her sister. Not Buffy—she’d had no interest in Buffy. Angelus’s mind games had focused on driving Buffy mad, and if he took a few others with him, so be it. It hadn’t been that way with Glory.

Glory hadn’t given a damn about the Slayer. It was Dawn that she’d come after. Dawn. Her innocent, helpless sister. Innocent—no amount of voodoo could eradicate that. Dawn might have been a ball of energy once, but she wasn’t anymore. She was her sister, and Glory had been ready to kill her.

In that, Angelus’s attack hadn’t truly been encompassed with devastation. Buffy had known she could kill him once she overcame the pain of his conversion. Once she defeated her guilt, the killing-him part had come with relative ease.

All except the last minute presto-soul, but even that didn’t strike her as too painful now. Now that she’d sampled true fear. True loss. True gut-wrenching devastation.

There hadn’t been an option with Glory. The closer the battle came, the more certain Buffy had been that she would lose everything. That Dawn would die, Spike would be torn from her arms, and even her friends—her wonderful friends that were so used to fighting—would be by no means prepared to face the end.

And yet, here she was. She was breathing air that she’d earned. Spike was rubbing her arms as she cried. Dawn was upstairs. Her friends were alive.

There was no more fearing what tomorrow might bring. Not now. Not after Glory.

“Buffy?” His lips brushed against her cheek, then again at the pulse point on her throat. She could have sworn his voice was trembling. “Can you…can you say that again?”

She stilled and glanced up, her eyes clashing with his, and the world around her melted.

What he wanted had been his for so long. Saying it now was pure release.

“I love you, Spike.” She leaned forward and kissed him gently. “I love you so much.”

The look that stormed his gaze with those simple words was one she’d never forget. No one had ever given her as much in a simple glance. Like she was the embodiment of everything precious and pure—everything he’d been without for so long. Everything his former life of shadows and violence had denied him. He put her on a pedestal that she didn’t deserve, and he’d done it without noticing; without realizing it.

She was so terrified of disappointing him, of making him realize how unworthy she was of his love.

Spike groaned and swallowed her in a fiery kiss. “Again,” he rasped, his eyes blazing. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, Christ.” He kissed her again, whimpering against her lips. “I love you, too. God, I love you so much.”

“I wanted to tell you. I tried to—”

“I know.” Spike grinned somberly, his lips exploring her face with such reverence that her insides quivered. “I know. I jus’…I couldn’t go in knowin’ that you loved me.” He shook his head, and the tears in his eyes both warmed her and tore her apart. “Was bloody terrified it’d…that I’d do something stupid ‘cause of it. I’d…I’d mess up. If you told me that…”

Buffy smiled through her tears and kissed him again. “I know. That was the only thing that kept me from saying it right off, Spike. You gotta believe that. I’ve wanted to tell you since the night we first…” The wonder in his eyes was overwhelming. She forced her gaze away for a second, then swallowed hard and looked back. “I was afraid that if I died, you’d…I don’t know. I just knew that Dawn couldn’t lose us both, and I was afraid you’d…I was afraid of what might happen if I told you before we faced her…what would happen if I died.”

His grip on her tightened at the words, and he offered a jerky nod. “Yeh. Me, too.” He paused. “I don’ want you to know how much…the thought of losin’ you…it’s kept me up these last few nights. I’d jus’ lay beside you an’ watch you sleep, touch you to make sure you’re real, an’ dread what’s to come. Had bloody nightmares when I tried to catch a few winks. If I lost you…Christ, I don’ know what I would’ve done.”

There was nothing to say to that. She just kissed him and patted the cushion next to her. The smile that stretched across his lips warmed her wholly—another small, simple gesture that somehow ended up meaning the world. Her body sang. And as he cast his arm around her, pulling her into him, she had never known greater peace.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered against his chest, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so tired, Spike. And everything hurts.”

He kissed her brow. “Then sleep, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere. The hurt will go away if you sleep.”

Buffy hummed slightly against him, and nodded. Then she was wrapped in silence, curled in his embrace as the house settled around her. The world that had nearly ended stretched into a new morning, and she closed her eyes and let a welcome nothingness take her away.

She rested in the arms of the man she loved.

After so long, she finally rested.

*~*~*Buffy could have slept forever, and when she awoke, it felt like she had.

Her first cognitive feeling was rather predictable: fear. Mind-numbing, soul-consuming fear. A familiar rush that went with her to bed and greeted her when she awoke. There was nothing for a long minute other than the terror that the world was ending—a long, endless minute—then she relaxed as the fall was cushioned by the knowledge that it wasn’t. A small sigh escaped her lips and she settled back against the mattress, doused in a rush of pure bliss.

It’s over.

It was truly over. Glory was gone. And Buffy had slept.

It took a few minutes to coax her eyes open, but when she finally took a look around, she found she was curled in bed. Funny—she didn’t remember going to bed. Her last conscious memory was of Spike kissing her brow as he slid something over her head—and that alone felt as though it were years in the past.

After a few minutes, she convinced herself to follow the impressive eye-opening with an even more impressive sitting-up-and-getting-out-of-bed. Her muscles stretched with a familiar ache, though it was accompanied with a much-welcome ‘well-rested’ feeling that she so often found herself lacking.

Her shades were drawn tight and her blankets were settled in a comfy, however tangled mess around her body. She found that she’d been dressed in one of Spike’s tees, though she was fairly certain that she hadn’t changed herself. She hadn’t been in a state to swat a fly, last she remembered, much less coordinate her motor functions well enough to manage a simple change of clothing.

For the first time in as many years, Buffy found herself relishing the idea of a big strong man to do the manly work. Even if said manly work was nothing more than a switch in wardrobe.

Buffy forced herself to her feet after a few seconds and stretched, her muscles worn and deliciously over-rested. She eyed the clock—just after noon—and paused. Noon? Certainly she hadn’t only slept six hours?

Well, it didn’t really matter. The time for sleep was over. Now she wanted to find her scrumptious boyfriend, plan insanely coupley things, and be Normal Girl for a while.

As normal as she could stand, at least. She and Spike would definitely have to spar, now that the ‘less than human’ thing was evident. Sparring with him had always made her hot as hell, though sadly not at a time when she’d appreciated his ability to give as good as he got. Now that he’d bitten her and sealed them together with words, she was hoping that she was just not human enough to enjoy beating the crap out of her boyfriend in the totally good, race-you-back-to-the-bed kinda way.

The scents that greeted her when she opened her door made her—and her stomach—realize how terribly famished she was. She padded barefoot down the hallway and stole a quick peek into Dawn’s room.

Her sister was not there.

Buffy drew in a breath, fighting off the instinctive rush of panic. Okay, so, Dawn had woken up early, too. No big. From the clattering downstairs and the occasional outburst of frustrated British slang, she knew that Spike was doing something in the kitchen. And if Spike was here, he’d know where Dawn was.

Chances were, she was downstairs, inciting said frustrated British slang.

Buffy closed her eyes and exhaled. No more hellgods.

It was going to take some time to get used to that.

Stifling a yawn, she descended the stairs slowly, her growling stomach growing more insistent the stronger the heavenly aroma became. She gave her muscles another small stretch, then turned and followed her nose to the kitchen, where she found a very shirtless Spike making what looked to be scrambled eggs.

Suddenly, her body was hungry for more than food. The wave of lust that hit her was so spontaneous it nearly knocked her over. Buffy whimpered slightly and worried a lip between her teeth.

Celebrate the fact that they were alive. She’d told him she’d wanted that after every apocalypse. Evidently, her body was holding her true to her word.

Spike glanced up when he sensed her near, and as always, she found herself melting at the unadulterated love that drenched his eyes. It was a simple glance, and he gave her everything. He never held anything back.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he greeted, abandoning his cooking for half a second to kiss her. And the domesticity of the moment took her by such surprise that she went weak in the knees. “I was about to go make sure you weren’ in some mystical coma.”

“Huh?”

Spike’s brows arched. “You’ve been out for a while, luv.”

Buffy frowned and her stomach growled. Okay, so maybe more than six hours. “How long?”

“Two days now.”

Stop. Pause. Blink.

“Two days?! I’ve been sleeping for two days?”

“The Bit wanted me to check for a pulse—I promised her I could hear your heart beatin’.” He paused. “Though that din’t stop me from checkin’, jus’ to make sure.”

Hearing him mention Dawn put that part of her at ease—for the moment at least. Right now, there were much more pressing matters. “You let me sleep for two days?!”

Perhaps it wouldn’t take as long to get back into the swing of things as she’d thought.

“Let you?” Spike repeated incredulously, his hands flying up. “The few times I tried to wake you up, you growled at me, swung at me, an’ decked me with your stuffed pig.” He grinned slightly as her face fell slack, and turned back to the eggs. “Figured it was better just to let the lady rest, yeh?”

Buffy pouted. “Mr. Gordo?”

“That the pig?”

“Yeah. Did Mr. Gordo—”

“Caught him an’ put him on your nightstand. You were too tired to aim, kitten.”

She flushed and her stomach gurgled again. “And the times I tried to hit you?”

“No bruises to speak of. Truth be told, it was kinda cute.”

Buffy tossed him a dirty look. “Well, you’re lucky I love you, or else I might’ve been persuaded to actually put some muscle behind it.”

His face did that awe-meltage thing that she loved so much, but to his credit, he didn’t skip a beat. “Sweetling, I could’ve been a sodding O’ik demon an’ you wouldn’t’ve known the bloody difference.” Spike tossed her another grin and nodded to the microwave. “Bacon’s coolin’.”

The mention of food made her stomach growl again. “You’re cooking up a storm,” she observed. “A breakfasty storm.”

“Firs’ meal of the day, no matter what time it is. Either way, from the way your tummy’s been talkin’ at me the past few days, I thought I might be able to coax you outta your coma with food.” He paused, then added, “An’ since you always tried to injure me bodily when I asked if you wanted munchies, this seemed to be the best solution.”

“My man cooks. Who knew?”

“’S jus’ between us, pet. Wouldn’t want this gettin’ out.”

“Oh, definitely. This is a side of you I want all to myself.”

A half hour and a full tummy later, Buffy waddled up the stairs and into the bathroom. Spike could definitely cook. She hadn’t realized it was humanly possible for anyone—much less herself—to eat as much as she did. Granted, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought of food, let alone picked up a fork, and the food had been too good to waste a crumb. She was surprised she hadn’t licked the plate.

Only now she was stuffed. Definitively stuffed. And in need of a shower. Besides the gluttonous breakfast, she had an apocalypse and two days worth of grime on her skin to wash off, and likely morning breath from hell.

And yet, Spike had kissed her. Several times. Quite insistently.

She had the perfect boyfriend.

More than a boyfriend, her mind told her as she twisted the faucet. And she knew it. God, how she knew it. Spike was everything. Her friend. Her lover. Her boyfriend. Her mate. Her equal.

Her absolute everything.

She wasn’t surprised when she heard the shower door roll open behind her, no more than she was surprised when familiar hands pried the bar of soap from her fingers. She felt Spike press his cheek to her crown, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against the hard smoothness of his body. She suspected she couldn’t stop the warm flush that surged through her any more than he could prevent his thick cock from caressing her backside.

Buffy sighed in contentment and stretched her arms behind her until they were linked around his neck. “I want to freeze this moment,” she said, a small moan tumbling through her lips as he slid a hand down her body until he was cupping her pussy. “Freeze it so that it never ends.”

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his fingers spreading her lips delicately, his thumb flicking her clit. She felt him smile against her throat when she arched against him and gasped, his teeth skimming the claim mark he’d given her. “That feel good, baby?”

She whimpered and nodded, thrusting her hips against his hand. “Ahhh…”

“You know, I’ve wanted to do this since that firs’ night.” He slowly eased his fingers away, ignoring her mewl of complaint and plucking the abandoned bar of soap out of its nook.

“What night?” she asked breathily.

“That night you came to see me. That firs’ night.”

When he began lathering her body with soap, Buffy thought she was going to collapse with desire. The stirring she’d felt downstairs burst forward again, and she had to bite back a moan. He washed her all over, his touch soft and nearly chaste. He rubbed soap into her arms, her shoulders, her stomach, her breasts—admittedly pausing to tug at her nipples and thrust his cock against her backside. His touch had her thoroughly undone, and at the moment, she lived only to beg for more.

“You don’ know what you did to me even then, pet. I wanted so bad for you to touch me, but you din’t.”

“I was gonna stay,” she objected, a throaty moan tumbling through her lips as his slippery fingers slid over her clit once more. “I offered to stay. I’d even…I arranged it so I could. Stay.”

He paused. “You din’t tell me.”

“Did so!”

“Mmm…don’ think so, sweet. An’ even so, you din’t mention that you made specific arrangements ‘cause you wanted to be with me.”

Buffy pouted, though the effect was ruined when his hand left her pussy again and she whimpered in objection. There was a slight rustling behind her, then his hands were in her hair, massaging her scalp, and the sensation was intoxicating.

“Ohhh, God,” she moaned. “That feels wonderful.”

Spike chuckled, then leaned forward until his mouth was at her ear and whispered, “You have any idea what you do to me?”

“Uhhh.”

He kissed her shoulder, then refocused his attention on the task at hand. His masterful fingers kept busy at her hair for what seemed like forever, calming and soothing her off a ledge of nerves she hadn’t even realized she’d approached. The past few years hadn’t shown her any source of pleasure or relaxation that wasn’t sexual in nature, and while she loved what Spike’s mouth, hands, and cock could do to her body, there was something about this sort of simplicity. Of existing for the moment and embracing the calm he gave her.

The calm, however, was a double-edged sword. With as much as he relaxed her with his touch, there was a larger part of her that needed complete release—needed that intimate connection with him, if only to ultimately reassure her that the world was still spinning. When he finally washed the soap out of her hair, her body was burning for his.

At last, Buffy twisted in his arms, her body on fire, and took his face into her hands. “Need you,” she whimpered against his lips before brushing her mouth over his. “Please.”

“You jus’ got clean, luv,” he murmured, his hands cupping her ass as he turned to press her against the shower wall.

“Don’t care,” she hissed against his mouth. “Please, Spike. I need you so much.”

He hummed and licked at his claim mark again, then began a slow, agonizing descent of her body, nibbling and sucking a wet path to her pussy. “I wanted to do this to you that night,” he continued, and his words only fanned the fire. “I had you there an’ I was so terrified you were gonna disappear. Or that you were only there to make sure I din’t go crawlin’ to Glory an’—”

It made her stomach coil that he had ever thought such things about her. “You would never have done that, Spike.”

“Mmm? Really?” He grinned and licked a wet path up her slit. “’m a bad man. I could’ve done it.”

“Nuh uh.”

“If I really wanted to.”

“You love me. There’s no way. No way you could betray me when you love me.”

Spike sighed at that and licked at her again, nuzzling her pussy reverently as his fingers played across her flesh. “I love hearin’ you say that,” he said. “I’d convinced myself that you’d never see it as love. That you’d think it was somethin’ dark an’ polluted.” A pause. “I love it that you know I love you.”

He plunged his tongue deep inside her before she could reply. Buffy cried out and thrust herself against his face, threading her fingers through his hair to hold him to her as his sinfully sensuous mouth explored her wet flesh. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew that he was trying—and succeeding—to distract her. To keep her from berating his fears—the same fears that she was ashamed to admit were completely grounded.

The knowledge that, not too long ago, she would have rejected him was an ugly, harsh reality.

“Mmmm,” he hummed against her, sliding two fingers inside her tight passage as his lips wrapped around her clit. “Fuck, I love your taste. Could drink from you all day an’ never get enough.”

“Guh.” She bucked against his mouth again, her grip on him tightening. “Spike, get up here.”

“I rather like it where I am, thanks.”

Buffy banged her head against the tiling in frustration, even as her body tumbled toward ecstasy. There were times that he was so ornery that she wanted her teeth pulled just for the distraction.

Then again, his snippy attitude was one of the things she loved about him.

“Spike, please!”

The arrogant grin on his face was worth his concession. His fingers slipped from her slowly, his tongue laving her clit once more before he slowly climbed to his feet. “I jus’ love,” he murmured, his hands sliding under her hips, “hearin’ you beg for me.”

“Spike!”

“Hearin’ you call my name like that.” His cock probed her sodden folds, dipping his head to brush a reverent kiss across the claim mark. “Hearin’ you moan.” He met her eyes then and smiled softly. “Kiss me.”

She cupped his cheeks again and drew his mouth to hers, then cried out when he slipped his cock inside her. They’d made love frantically every night leading up to the apocalypse, always thinking but never speaking the possibility that it could be the last time. Now that she had him within her, now that the end of the world was again a dot on the far reaches of a very long horizon, the simple sensation of being filled by the man she loved was almost too much. This was something she’d never had before, and she feared it would break by simply holding it.

Love poured from Spike’s eyes. “Buffy…”

She choked a sob and squeezed him, her head falling to his shoulder as he began moving within her. “Don’t talk,” she whispered. “Just love me.”

“You know I do.”

In a blink, the looming of the apocalypse was a thousand miles away. Her tears were dried and her sores were gone. Spike held her sweetly as he thrust inside her, murmuring unintelligibly into her hair. The shower had long since gone cold, but she didn’t care. Spike gave her the only warmth she needed. He gave her fire when she needed heat, and cooled the burn when she needed air. She just needed him with her. For now—for always. As unstable and uncertain as her life was, she needed him to be her one true thing. The constant—the one that would always, always, be at her side.

She whimpered when his tongue flicked her earlobe, his fingers sliding between them to capture her clit. He rubbed her tenderly, murmuring his love for her amidst his groans, and she felt that she touched paradise.

“Taste me,” she whispered, turning to offer her throat.

A long whimper escaped his lips and he nodded, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Christ…”

Having the words between them changed everything. Her skin tingled. Her body burned. She was on the edge of toppling over, and she needed his fangs inside her. She needed the words between them—the promise of who she belonged to.

The second his ivory incisors pierced her skin, she cried out and came hard. His name a prayer on her lips, the world around her dissolving into a sea of color as her body spasmed and her blood rejoiced. She heard his moan, felt him spill himself deep within her, and would have collapsed with happiness had he not been there to catch her. His arms tightened around her, his mouth whispering kisses across her face as his hips rocked, and he shuddered with completion.

“Mine,” he whispered, pressing his brow to hers. “Always mine.”

Her eyes fell on the mark she’d given him three nights ago. The one that proclaimed him hers for all the world to see, and a contented sigh rumbled through her. Yes. This was forever. This was her forever—the only one she wanted. The only one she’d ever accept. In his arms, she knew true rapture—whatever the universe had to offer would always fall short.

“Always.”

The day had only begun for her, and she already felt she was at its end. It might not be much to some, but to her, it was nirvana. Waking up, eating breakfast, showering, and making love—and the glorious knowledge that nothing waited for her on the outside. Absolutely nothing.

What a wonderful way to live.

Spike raised his head slowly and grinned, reaching over at last to shut off the water. “Looks like I got you dirty again, luv.”

“Only in the best way,” she assured him, enacting those Slayer muscles she knew he loved to remind him of their compromising position. Another long moan hissed through his lips, and he kissed her before she could say another word.

For all the passion and love between them, she marveled at how they could share something so groundbreaking and remain casual with each other. Ten minutes later, having washed off—again—Buffy bounded downstairs and found Spike, in a state of thorough undress, thumbing through the newspaper. He glanced up when he sensed she was near, smiled, and turned his attention back to whatever he was reading.

Another ode to domesticity. The moment struck her as so thoroughly singular that she couldn’t help the blurb of laughter that escaped her lips. She’d never figured herself as a fan of domestic bliss; then again, her definition might have been off.

“Somethin’ funny, kitten?”

“You should put some pants on. The neighbors are gonna freak.”

Spike domed a brow and cast a quick, apathetic glance over his shoulder to the window behind him. “Nah. Though I reckon the old lady might be by later to congratulate you.”

“Pig.”

“Oink bloody oink.”

“And nakedness, while thoroughly encouraged, isn’t something you can get used to around here. I have a young, impressionable sister, you know.” She paused, then frowned as though just then realizing something. “Who I now hope is with her friends, because if you’re going around in the nude and I’m making with the banshee impression upstairs, we might just have scarred her for life.”

“The Bit’s tougher than that, luv. She’s the Slayer’s kid sis.”

“Spike, please tell me she’s—”

He chuckled and held up a hand. “At a friend’s. Come on, gimme a li’l credit.”

“Janice?”

“That’s the one. She wanted to feel normal after everythin’. I gave her permission to go.” He paused at that. “Is that all right?”

Buffy relaxed a little and nodded. She hadn’t thought she’d be ready to part with Dawn so quickly, but there was something so comforting in having another adult around to make decisions. If Dawn was away because Spike gave her permission, then she had her sister’s blessing.

“I’m compiling a list of reasons why it’s such a good thing that I overcame my stupidity and fell in love with you,” Buffy decided. “Right now, I’m on the fact that it’s gonna be nice having you around here to split the Dawn responsibilities.”

Spike paused and looked up slowly. “Am I goin’ deaf, or did you jus’ imply that I’m movin’ in?”

At his tone, a sudden wave of panic overwhelmed her and she began the immediate backtrack. “Well—I mean, unless you don’t want to. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just—you and I, with the mated thing and Dawn’s here and I have a big room now and I’d really, really like you to—”

He held up a hand, smiling at her like she was the most adorable creature he’d ever seen. “Buffy, are you thinkin’ I’m gonna say no?”

“Well, you got all weird-face, and—”

“Silly girl, there’s…‘weird-face’?”

“Like the ‘Oh no! My insane girlfriend already wants me to move in!’ kinda weird-face.” She paused then, and frowned. “But wait—you’ve already done the insane girlfriend thing, so that’s not a good analogy. Maybe just—”

“Buffy. Stop.”

She stopped. He held up a hand and began the count off.

“I love you.” Pinky finger. “Of course I want to move in.” Ring finger. “You’re daft for thinkin’ I’d ever say no.” Middle finger. “’Cause I love you.” Index finger. He paused then, frowned, then grinned and added, “Bitch,” for good measure, though it did little more than earn him a slap on his very naked arm.

“Meanie-head.”

Spike glanced down suggestively, his hand encircling his cock. “Yeah, gotta say…” He tossed her a brash smirk. “That’s one mean lookin’ head.”

“Perv!”

“You love it.”

“I’m just an excellent actress.” Buffy poked her tongue out at him and pointed at the newspaper. “And that is just one nasty paper-cut waiting to happen.”

“You tellin’ me you wouldn’t kiss it better?”

“Dream on, perv boy.”

Spike paused and tossed her a predatory glance. “Y’know,” he said, slowly closing the paper and rounding the island. “I was gonna check an’ see if there were any flicks playin’ that you an’ I might go to make fun of. Try a stab at that normal thing that I hear’s so bloody grand.”

She gulped. Hard. There was something about that particular look that always made her go weak at the knees. Without realizing it, she’d started to back up. Her heart pounded. Her pulse raced. Her knees trembled. And it occurred to her that it was going to be like this—just like this—every day until the world finally ended. There would be casual moments and heated moments, arguments and make-up sex, violence and tears, love and laughter. They were unconventionality at its best but normal in everything else.

This was the only form of normality she ever wanted to know.

“Oh?” she asked, trying and failing to fight off the arousal in her voice.

“Yeah.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now I think that I’m gonna shag you until you can’t walk.”

That did it. She was thoroughly drenched and aching with want. “Well…you’ll have to catch me first.”

Spike’s brows perked at the prospect of a challenge. He took another step forward, sniffed at the air, and licked his lips with a grin. “Oh yeah, you better run.”

Buffy squealed giddily and was off—bounding for the stairs in a flash with a gorgeous, horny vampire hot on her heels.

Oh yeah. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how it was supposed to be forever. Spike tackling her to her bed, growling into her throat as he cupped her pussy and told her how much he loved her through a strangled moan. Hearing him whimper when she took his cock into her hands and returned the words with liberation instead of pain—with joy instead of sorrow. She was in love—completely in love—and for once, the world was her playground.

Buffy supposed, tugging him down for a kiss as he sank inside her, that she could definitely get used to this.

Fin

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/102639.html