Title: Nescience and Penumbra

Author: his_luv_pet

Series: BtVS

Part: 1/1

Rating: NC-17 - Hide your blushing eyes kiddies

Codes: S/B

Summary: Shadows, Scoobies, Spike/Buffy, Sex. 

Spoilers:  Up to reported spoilers for Gone, DMP, and Dead Things

Disclaimer: I've got a wine cellar for any lawyers that stop by.

Feedback: Tell me -- his_luv_pet@yahoo.com

Website:  http://www.geocities.com/his_luv_pet

Posting: Let me know...then sure!

 

***

 

He didn't do group gatherings well.  All the self-confidence he'd rather painfully acquired over the years seemed to melt away in the face of people sitting or standing about talking of things and drinking beverages.  Pretty pitiful that.  He was more accepting these days of his limitations, but still almost as painfully shy as that poor sod who'd bought it in 1880.  He was much better with the one on one, especially if that one was Buffy he grinned to himself.  Making his way over to the table where they sat, he paused and drew in a comforting breath.  He'd broken out his dark grey shirt tonight; it was visible under his coat.  He was a rebel, living on the edge sartorial-wise.  Right.  Once more into the breach.  He felt his armor slipping into place as he sidled up to the table of Scoobies.

 

"Spike," Tara acknowledged him with a smile, breaking the silence that had fallen at his appearance.  Outside of an emergency, they still couldn't bloody decide if he was a pariah or welcome.

 

The others looked up, but Buffy had already seen him.  She'd seen him come in and pause, recognized the act as cover for the almost imperceptible girding he did prior to any encounter with the group.  These days, she knew all too well how he felt.  "Hey, Spike," she called out to him, her voice friendly, but her face gave nothing away.

 

"Evening," Spike replied, nodding in the general direction of Tara, Xander, Anya, and Willow.  He turned and looked at Buffy.  "I'm here," he said at length.

 

"Have a seat," Buffy said gesturing to a chair around the corner of the table from her.  He sat, his expression carefully neutral.  This was her deal; she'd come to him earlier that day requesting his presence and a bit more, but tonight looked like all business.  He looked at her and she returned his gaze, neither of them wanting to break the contact. 

 

Xander looked like he wanted to say something, but glancing back and forth between Spike and Buffy, decided that he didn't want to say it after all.  The vibe was pretty heavy.  Willow looked a bit miserable; Tara waited with patience; Anya looked like she'd rather be dancing.

 

"So what's on tonight's agenda, Buffy?" Xander finally couldn't contain himself any longer.  "I feel like someone should be saying, 'I suppose you want to know why I've gathered you together tonight?'," he joked weakly, feeling acutely uncomfortable as he finished his sentence.

 

"No big mystery, Xander," Buffy turned to her friend.  "Just wanted to get together and talk about some stuff.  We've been doing the serious thing recently, and I thought some fun time at the Bronze was in order."

 

"What do you need to discuss?" Willow asked in a quiet voice, glancing over at Tara, who was sitting at the other end of the table from her, then quickly looking away.

 

"My job," Buffy said with a grimace.  "As in, I still have it, so I'm gonna need some help covering patrols on the nights I have to work.  Any takers?" she looked around at her friends.

 

"Well, Anya and I can help out, but it would need to mostly be on the weekends," Xander said.  He shook his head ruefully, "I am so not digging this grown up responsibility thing."

 

"I can do a couple nights a week," Willow offered.  "As long as it's not on the days I have early class."

 

"Me, too," Tara nodded.

 

Buffy turned to Spike, who said, "You know I'll help out, Slayer.  Why bother asking?"  She made a short sound that might have been a laugh and acknowledged him.  The others puzzled that she failed to slam him for his snarkiness.

 

"Right.  That's great," her smile was strained but real.  "Thanks.  It's not a dream job, but it pays nice green money, which in turn allows me to pay all the nice people who send me all those nice letters every month," she finished acerbically.

 

"Who'll be watching the Bit while you work and we're on patrol?" Spike inquired quietly.

 

Buffy turned and looked at him, "That's another thing I wanted to talk about."  Gazing around at her friends, she said seriously, "I know this is a lot to ask, but Spike's right.  I also need someone to help out with Dawn on the nights I'm at work or slaying and she's not with her friends like tonight.  I know she's a little old for a babysitter, but this is Sunnydale and we all know she's been targeted before because of who I am."

 

Xander was still trying to get around "Spike's right", even though he himself had said it himself a few times.  He was nothing if not consistent in his semi to fulltime dislike of the vampire.  Rational no, but consistent all the way.  "She can come stay with us as needed, Buff.  You know that," he assured her.

 

"I can come over to your house on a couple nights a week," Tara offered.

 

"She can come to the shop after school like always," Anya added.

 

Willow's look of unease had returned and she couldn't meet Buffy's eyes.  "Count me in," Spike added blandly, reaching into his duster for a cigarette and his lighter.  He gestured to Willow to pass him the ashtray.  They exchanged an intent look, and Willow could have sworn she saw support in his eyes, but she dropped her gaze, still embarrassed.  The idea of Spike having moral superiority to her didn't sit well.

 

Buffy put both hands down on the table and said, "Thanks.  I don't know what I'd do without you guys.  I'm gonna work up a slaying schedule as soon as I get my work schedule and I'll get back to you, OK?"  She shook her head, "I'm in agreement on the suckiness of grown up stuff, Xander."

 

"Did you know I have a daytimer?" Xander remarked to Willow.  Buffy silently held up the date book she was writing in to show Xander, who nodded and gestured at it in commiseration.

 

Buffy shoved the date book in her bag and said, "Enough with the boring detail stuff.  I want to have some fun.  Who's up for some beverages?"  Orders were taken and Willow volunteered to help her fetch the drinks.  Fun was on the agenda.  She'd written it in blue ballpoint right under 'Scoobie Meeting', and it would be had she firmly told herself.  They left to go to the bar.

 

Spike sat, silently smoking.  Quiet had again descended, and he wasn't about to break it.  He was here on sufferance, he knew, due to Buffy.  He didn't think the others objected to him individually; it was just as a group, they didn't quite know what to do with him.  With a slightly bitter internal chuckle, he wondered what they'd do it they had to acknowledge Buffy and his relationship.  Well, there was a word.  He wasn't even sure what their relationship was, and he was not gonna announce it to them until he knew, anyway.  What Buffy did, well, no one ever really controlled Buffy.  She'd tell when she was damn good and ready, whenever that was.

 

Buffy and Willow returned, and he was pleasantly surprised to find a beer set in front of him.  The small smile on her face matched the one in her eyes and he couldn't help but return it.  "Thanks, Pet,” he murmured, sipping appreciatively.  His eyes met hers again and her breathing quickened and she looked quickly down.

 

"Let's dance, An," Xander stood up and held out a hand to Anya.  She lost no time in joining him and they hit the dance floor as an upbeat number started without a glance backward.

 

Tara looked over at Willow, thinking hard, slid over a couple of chairs.  "Willow, would you dance with me?" she asked in a soft voice that carried under the music.

 

Willow looked very surprised then unsure, "Uh, yeah.  I guess so.  I mean, if you want to, sure."

 

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to, silly," Tara's voice carried affection, although her face showed some trepidation at putting herself at risk again.

 

"OK," Willow smiled at Tara, wanting it to be the chance she had been working toward.  Maybe not forgiveness, but a chance to do better from here on out.  She thought she might get that. As they left the table, she looked back and Buffy and Spike.  They were staring at each other again, as if they'd hardly noticed the burgeoning reconciliation between the two Wiccans.  Maybe they were too tired to argue, she thought in passing, then began losing herself in the music and her partner.

 

"They're gone, luv," Spike's voice wound its way through the music to her. 

 

"Yeah, so what?" she got out in a husky voice that tried for irritation but failed.

 

"Means they're over there and we're here," he replied.

 

"Here is where we are," she agreed firmly, as if to mean that's where they'd stay.  Such a liar she was.

 

Spike was suddenly behind her chair, the smooth quickness of his movements the only hint of his other than humanness.  He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned to speak near her left ear.  "Wanna dance, Slayer?" he rasped, and licked the outside curve of her ear with languid grace and moved even closer.

 

Buffy shuddered, and became instantly wet and aching.  She shifted in her seat, attempting to get more comfortable, while at the same time arched her head back, pushing against him, rubbing back and forth against the hardness of his abdomen and erection.

 

"That's a yes," Spike muttered and pulled out her chair and had her up and walking before she could clear her head of some of the fog of arousal that had settled in.  He guided her from behind and to one side, holding onto both arms, keeping as much contact with her body as he could.

 

"Hey, the dance floor's over there," Buffy motioned with her head, unwilling to take her arms from his.

 

"Upstairs," he managed to get out.  He was aching with need and could barely walk.  Damned if he was gonna field questions from the Scoobies about them tonight.

 

"OK," Buffy replied and wasn't any better at walking.  They stumbled up the stairs to the catwalk. 

 

The lighting on one end of the catwalk was darker than usual; one of the bulbs had apparently burned out and hadn't been replaced, and the light faded until at the very end, it was completely dark.  They instinctively moved to the shadowy section of the walk. Spike slid his hands down her arms, stopping her, and rubbing so gently she wanted to beg him to touch her everywhere, but she just put her hands on the rail and looked down, shivering with need.  Spike looked over to the darker section of the walk, but stayed where he was.  Buffy was pushing back with her ass and was doing that rubbing thing again.  The music segued into another throbbing slow dance.  Impossible, but he felt himself harden even further.  He had to have her, now.

 

"Buffy," his low voice keened his need.

 

"Yes," she moaned softly.  "Now, please, now," she almost chanted.  Ripples of teasing pleasure were fluttering between her legs and she had to come.  Had to have him make her come.  Needed him inside of her, because she was empty without him in her.  She ached and shuddered again.  A vague thought as to where she was crossed her mind, and she looked down to see that the others had returned to their table.  They were looking around, for them she knew.  Spike felt her shift her gaze down to their table.   "They're looking for us," she finally said, her voice sounding far away to herself.

 

"You don't want to stop," his sentence both a statement and a question.

 

"No," she agreed, pushing back against him again.  Still aching.  Still empty.  Still needing his body.  Still wanting his love to wash over her again and again.  She didn't know which she needed more.  Both made her feel so good, so safe.  "Tell me why," she panted.

 

Spike knew what she wanted.  The words.  The little nasties he'd teased her about.  She loved them. He looked down at the Scoobies.  They were oblivious to them upstairs, just like they were sometimes oblivious to the needs of their Slayer.  He knew that they loved her; he even thought that they might like him a bit, every now and then.  But, really, they were clueless about her emotional problems and needs.  They just thought she should be the Buffy of old - the Slayer with sarcasm and a helping of Scoobies on the side, merrily staking vampires and eliminating nasty demons, all while looking stylish.  They didn't really know what to think of him, but at least they accepted his help, even came to him occasionally now. 

 

But, Buffy.  She needed him and wanted him.  He didn't delude himself that it was full blown love, but she felt something more than just lust for him.  It shone through her eyes when they made love on his bed, fell from her mouth when she talked with his without slicing off pieces of skin, came though her blows when they sparred but didn't fight.  She cared, and he was in her as much as she was in him.  It was enough for now.

 

"You want me to tell you why you want me, pet?" he murmured, nuzzling her neck, while his hands got busy.  He shouldered out his left arm from his coat, slid his hand down her ass and located the thigh high slit in her below-the-knee skirt.  He tugged it up a bit and said, "You want me to do you right here, right now, 'cause you're so hot you feel like you're gonna burn up.  I'm gonna put my hands on you, then I'll be in you, and I know you'll be wet.  So wet for me 'cause you know how it's gonna to be.  I'll make you wanna scream, but you won't be able to.  You'll push that scream down into your pussy and come so hard...so hard, baby."  She thrust back suddenly as his hand slid inside her next to nothing panties.  She was drenched and he hissed in satisfaction, and so did she.  He touched her pussy lightly, almost gently and it throbbed harder, like it was keeping the beat with the music.  She moaned her approval.

 

Using his other hand, he reached over and tugged his duster around one side of her.  "Hold the side of my coat," he directed her in a low, urgent voice.  She grabbed the edge of the coat and wrapped the supple leather around her fist.  He somehow got his right arm out.  "Now the other side."  She managed to grab the other lapel and place both of her hands against the rail, closing the coat over them.  She was leaning slightly over the rail.  She could do nothing but obey his directions; she'd lost the ability to think coherently; couldn't speak, she was so turned on.  She wanted to be fucked, in a public place, while Spike whispered nasties in her ears, and she was going to get it.  Give it me good, Spike.  You know you want to.

 

His right hand made short work of his belt and pants, easing himself out.  The relief of the pressure on his cock was almost painful, the hardness pushing out, seeking her, knowing her.  He stroked himself gently, savoring the time of anticipation.  She was so wet, and she wanted him to take her now.  He wanted to fuck her so badly, and he was waiting, waiting for a sign from her.  He wanted it to come from her, the last direction; it had to come from her.  Make her want it so bad to make it so good.

 

He had stopped.  She wanted him inside her.  Now.  He was holding back, waiting for her to show she wanted it.  He never gave it to her unless she told him she wanted it, either verbally or physically.  It made her crazy.  On the other hand, he always gave it to her good, hell, great.  Always.  She moaned in a low voice again, pushing her ass up against him, her bare cheeks coming into contact with his cock.  It jumped as if surprised, and she made a sound of satisfaction while Spike gave an almost soundless roar.  Now, he would come inside her now.

 

"So good," he crooned to her, pulling his left hand out from between her legs.  He gave her panties a quick snap and they came apart.  He tucked them into the waistband of her skirt and slid both hands down her ass to the front of her thighs.  He tugged her up and surged forward, impaling her on his hardened cock.  He slid through silky moisture to push inside, always so tight and hot, pushing as deep as he could.  Her quick intake of breath pleased him almost as much as the moan that followed.  He began a rolling rhythm, moving in deep, slow thrusts, his hands holding her powerful thighs.  She met his thrusts with her own, pushing him deeper within her.  It was so good his teeth ached and his heart was filled with love and need for her.

 

"Tight little Slayer," he continued his nasties.  "Wants to be fucked where anyone can see her.  Needs it so bad she can't wait, can you, luv?"  She nodded her head wildly.  "See them down there?  See the bloody Scoobies?  They want you with them, but they can't give you what you want, what you need.  You belong here, with me.  Where the shadows meet.  Where we meet.  Where we belong.  Together."

 

He began thrusting into her harder; she was panting and shuddering.  "Watch them, Buffy.  Watch them now," he ordered her.  "See how they don't understand what's going on with us?  Come now while you watch them.  Feel me fuck you.  Feel me love you.  Feel me now," his voice was urgent, almost pleading.  She couldn't take her eyes off the group of them, talking, sometimes laughing, and everyone once in a while, taking a look around, for her, for Spike, maybe.  They didn't know they were together - they didn't get it, even though it was so apparent that even Dawn knew what was going on, but had never directly talked to her about it.  She bet she'd talked to Spike, though.  He'd talk to his 'Little Bit' about anything - as openly and honestly as he could.  He was just that way, so good for Dawn, so good for her.  Oh, God, it was so good.

 

"Close, luv.  I can feel you're so close.  I feel you closing over my cock, tighter and tighter.  You want it harder, so you can come faster.  You want me to touch you here," he slid one hand over her mound and touched her clitoris, "to make you come now."  He kissed her neck and cheek as he gently stroked her.  "We're here, together.  I'm inside you.  If they wanted, they could see us and they'd know what we were doing," he panted in her ear.  "You want them to see us, don't you, luv?"

 

Oh, shit, thought Buffy.  Anyone could see them here.  She *did* want someone to see them.  It made her so hot.  Oh, God, she was coming.  He was so hard, in so deep, talking to her, telling her to come.  The deep throbbing started, so deep this time, it pulsed upwards, toward her throat.

 

"Now, Buffy," he was crooning again.  "Come for me now, come just for you and me.  It's not for them, never for them, just you and me, luv.  Come so hard; I'll catch you.  I want you to come so hard," he felt himself almost ready to explode.  He was thrusting heavily into her, and anyone looking at them would know exactly what they were doing, but Sunnydale being Sunnydale, no one saw anything they didn’t want to see.

 

She felt the beginnings of a scream forming in her throat; she was coming so hard she couldn't stop it.  She felt wave after wave of pleasure and she writhed with it, pushing herself back on his cock, thrusting her head back onto his chest.  She couldn't hold it in; she had to scream.

 

Spike stopped suddenly, pulling her hard back to him, "No luv, you can't scream."  She shook her head, breaking waves of pleasure still stunning her, making her lose control even further.  "Push it down, luv.  Push your scream all the way down deep into your pussy.  Make yourself come even harder.  Your pretty pussy wants to come harder, Buffy."  She sobbed and pushed it down.  Her orgasm wracked her body with shudders, her head lolled, her body went lax even as she registered that Spike had begun thrusting into her again. 

 

"Come inside me," Buffy called to him in a low voice, trembling with need.  "Come now, I need you now, please."

 

"Who am I, Buffy?" he asked her, not willing to give in until she said it.  There would be no denial here.  "What do you want?  Say it."

 

"You, Spike," she replied urgently.  "Only you.  Want only you inside me, coming in me.  Harder, more, please."  She could feel the waves of pleasure starting again.  She knew they would only break if he came in her.  She needed him. She always needed him, in one way or another.  This way felt so good.

 

He was on the edge, the beautiful, painful edge of orgasm.  He wanted to stay there forever, pushing himself into her.  At this moment, it was always so clear, so easy to understand.  Later, it would be complicated.  Just as good, maybe even better, but still complicated.  And, he would have to share her.  At this moment, she was his alone, and she wanted it that way.  Then, he came, thrusting hard into her several more times; she'd recovered enough to meet his thrusts with her own.  He felt her come again, the lovely shudders of her orgasm shivering around his cock as he came into her. 

 

He lay heavily over her back; she was almost perpendicular over the rail.  She was panting and crying a little.  Hearing her sob, he stood up unsteadily and pushed down her skirt, taking care to catch up her panties in her hand and tuck them into his pocket.  He fastened his pants and belt and stood up, his hands about her waist.  He tugged her back against him and she leaned, totally spent.  She still had his duster in a death grip. 

 

"Let go now, luv," he murmured in her ear, gently pulling the coat from her hands and sliding his arms into the sleeves.  She just leaned back against him.  He turned her around and she came into his arms, placing her head in the hollow of his shoulder.  They fit so perfectly together.  They stood there in the shadows while the music rose and fell around them, like the noise from the crowd below that they'd been unable to hear above their own desires before.  They held each other for a long time.

 

"We need to get back," Buffy said finally. 

 

Spike pulled back a little to look at her.  She'd said *we*.  "Sure, pet.  We can go back.  Never finished my beer."

 

Fin