by
Lisa Y. Drexel
[Prologue] [Chapter
One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter
Three] [Chapter Four]
[Chapter Five] [Epilogue]
Aether -daytime
Courtyard of UCS Sunnydale
Sunnydale, CA
"Ooh, that's gotta hurt," said the dark-haired man dressed in black leathers. "Damn, this girl takes more of a beating than Xena ever did."
"Oh Bro, give it a rest. If I have to hear her name one more—"
"Damn—look at that swing! She's good—real good. And him—he's giving it right back at her!"
"Bro, what about our bet?" The blond woman dressed in pink, negligee asked; stomping her slipper clad foot.
"Umm? What's that, 'Dite?" he asked, his eyes still glued to the fight happening in front of them.
She groaned, shaking her head sending handfuls of blond curls all about her face. "The bet, Ares. The bet. You know." She said, placing her hands on her hips and pouting for emphasis.
He chuckled softly as he shook his head. "Oh, that one. You mean you really want to risk giving me a year's worth of personal full-body massages—"
"No frontal. Heppy wouldn't like that too much—"
"Okay," he said, sighing dramatically. "Just the back then. But you really think if we stick them in a room for 48 hours they won't kill each other—that is if they survive this fight—and end up," he stopped and gestured obscenely, "doing that instead?"
Aphrodite nodded. "Yep. It's worth it. I miss your massages."
Ares smirked at her. "You miss a lot more, Dite, if you were honest with yourself."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Get over yourself." She watched as the young woman finally subdued her opponent and grabbed his hand, tugging on the ring. Knowing that the vampire was just seconds from going up in a blaze of smoke, she zapped him a five-second reprieve before he began to burn. Gotta keep the boy healthy... she thought to herself. "So," she turned back to her brother, Ares, the God of War. "Agreed?"
Ares watched the vampire take a nosedive into the tunnel. His sister had to be crazy. These two hated each other. He could see it coming off in waves—in equal ferocity from both of them. And it had only grown in the three years that they'd known one another.
Although Ares didn't pay too much attention to the mortal world outside of wars and such, slayers were always the exception. He loved watching them fight. Such ferocity—passion—it stirred something in him that he hadn't felt since Xena roamed the earth. And vampires? Well, they were humorous—as long as they were kept in place and didn't actually manage to destroy the world.
But then, that's what Slayers were for, right?
He sighed and turned to his sister. "You'll lose, Dite."
She chuckled softly. "Maybe. Don't you want to find out?"
"Outside of time, right?"
She nodded, grinning shamelessly. "Of course, Bro. You think I don't remember what happened the last time that you messed with a slayer? The mortal world almost ended! No this way, they'll only be out of touch for about an hour or so."
The God sighed, inwardly relieved. He really messed up that time. It was just that things were so much different now, compared to the times when he and the other gods actively participated in the mortal world. He took a deep breath and turned to his beautiful, if not at times irritating sister, and nodded yes. "Agreed."
"Cool! I'll set things up. I think he's going to be busy for a couple of days, so we'll set up for the weekend—say, Friday?"
"Friday sounds good. I gotta go, 'Dite. I've got to go check things out in Chechnia."
Aphrodite nodded and watched her brother disappear from view. She turned around and watched the slayer stand up slowly, obviously still hurting from the fight she had just participated in and stumble over to her friend, who was just waking up himself. He reminds me of that friend of Hercules and Xena's—what was his name? Oh yeah, Joxer. He does the same stupid stuff Joxer did.
Shaking her head, she snapped her fingers and headed back to Mt. Olympus where she could begin laying the groundwork for the bet.
"This should be fun!" she whispered to herself as she laid down on her chase lounge and began planning.
Buffy stared at Dr. Maggie Walsh's office door and let out lungful of air. She so did not want to go in there. Psychology was one of the only classes Buffy actually liked. She understood it. It made sense to her. All psychology was was common sense, as far as she was concerned. And what if Professor Walsh wanted to drop her out of there? Or tell her Buffy was awful at it and that she should take up basket weaving or something?
Why is it that my daytime life is so much harder facing than slaying? she asked herself as she lifted her barely shaking hand up and knocked on the door.
"Come in," Buffy heard her professor call out.
Here goes nothing, Buffy thought to herself as she opened the door and stepped inside.
It took Buffy five minutes to figure out that she wasn't in trouble.
With one glance at her graded test paper in her hands with red A scribbled on the top left hand corner for her to do a mental snoopy happy dance around the room.
An A.
She couldn't believe it.
Another three minutes before Buffy had enough sense to look up and meet the amused grin of her professor's face. "Is this why you wanted to see me or did I do something wrong? I mean—not that I did anything wrong—or did it on purpose—but I—"
"Buffy, it's okay," Dr. Walsh said, interrupting her. "You didn't do anything wrong. At least not that I know of." She cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair. "I just had yours graded and thought you'd like to see it. No, I called you for something else. I'm doing a study on college freshman—ones that fit your profile and I was wondering if you would participate in it."
"Profile? What profile?"
"High SATs, low grades and how they fare in the college environment."
Buffy nodded, thinking of how well that did fit her. She still couldn't believe that she tested that high on the SATs. She didn't feel that smart. Most of the time she felt like she was three days behind everyone else, scrambling to try and catch up and still not miss anything.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and chuckled softly. "So my high school transcripts once again outted me, eh?"
Walsh nodded as she chuckled softly. "I wouldn't feel so bad. You're not alone. I didn't do too well in high school either."
The slayer shrugged and nodded. "Okay, why not? What do you need from me?"
"Thank you so much," the professor said as she picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Buffy. "If you could fill this out and return it to me by Monday and," she paused and began sorting though her pens that sat in UCS cup and pulled out blue one, "call Riley Finn, the TA, he's assisting me in this and he'll fill you in with the rest of the details," she said as she wrote his name and phone number down on a post-it note. After she finished, she handed it to Buffy.
The slayer took the second piece of paper and slipped it in her purse. She looked down at the test; found herself smiling again and reluctantly handed it back to Professor Walsh. After gathering her books, she stood and looked down at her professor. "Uh, thanks. I'll see you on Monday."
"Thank you again, Buffy. And have a nice weekend."
"You too," Buffy said. She turned around and quickly left the office, inwardly fearing the professor forgot something and intended to yell at her. She wasn't used to them being nice to her. Something else to get used to, she thought to herself as she began the trek to her dorm room.
~~~
It was such a nice nap. Just her, Mr. Gordo and faceless stranger giving her the best shoulder massage she'd ever had and the phone just had to ring.
Groaning, she opened her eyes and rolled over to grab the phone.
"Hello?"
"Bu-Buffy?"
Giles.
Sighing, she sat up and yawned softly. "That would be me. What's up?"
"I need you to come over—as soon as possible. Something has come up."
"I'll be there in a few."
After hanging up the phone, she glanced over to Willow's side of the room and sighed at the empty bed. Willow was most likely over at Oz's. The musician had just returned from LA yesterday and those two couldn't stand more than two hours apart from each other, before they would both begin Jonesing.
A part of Buffy wanted to ask Oz herself how Angel was, but she didn't dare. If she found out anything—all it would do was make her want to know more and if there was one thing she learned since his return from hell—was that wasn't the way to go.
Although a part of her hated him for leaving her, inwardly she understood why. How many times in the past year had she broke it off with the dark-haired vampire, only to find herself standing in front of the mansion, wanting him back in her life?
Spike was right about that. Her and Angel could never be friends and the fates saw that they could never be lovers, so maybe it was for the best that he left. But that didn't make the pain lessen or go away.
It just made it bearable.
Barely.
But she couldn't help but still be a bit angry with Angel. He spoiled her. Although somewhere inside, she knew that there were men like Parker, that just considered women like a conquest to be had, she had forgotten that truth. And because of that, she allowed this foolish, human male to sweep her off her feet with kind words and pat, sympathetic glances.
Buffy didn't know who she was more angry at—herself for letting Parker take her to his bed or him, for feeding her a line of bull that led her there on her own. Or maybe Angel, for making her forget that not all men meant what they said and treated her like she was a princess. Or Spike, for rubbing it in.
Sighing, she stood up and quickly dressed, brushed her teeth and hair and left with her purse on one shoulder and her slaying bag in the other.
Who knows what she would be facing that night.
~~~
"I can't believe this." Buffy muttered to herself as she trudged through the tunnel. Why now? Why tonight?
She hated it down here—in the cold, dank underground.
It reminded her too much of when she faced the master and died.
But unfortunately, this was where most of Sunnydale's nasty's liked to hang out. And if she wanted to find the Pendant of whatever—another jewelry piece made for vampires. This one gave the wearer super-strength and speed—just the idea of that gave Buffy a cold chill. Spike's invincibility didn't save him—her strength and speed saved her. If he ever got his hands on that—he would win.
And she would be his third.
Biting her bottom lip, she lifted her flashlight and saw the fork in the tunnel. If Giles directions were on the money, the chamber she needed to go into would be just past this fork on her left.
"Ready or not," she whispered to herself and began the final leg of her journey.
Spike couldn't believe the strange luck that always seemed to befall him. Just when he lost it all—something else falls into his lap
First Dru leaves him and once again he's spiraling downward in a drunken haze of depression and he makes his way back to Sunnyhell. Why? He had no idea. Revenge? Maybe—but to be honest, it was more like a homing beacon that he followed than any thoughts of blood and chaos.
Then he runs into the irritating Harm who brings with her whispers of the Gem of Amara and its location.
So, in a drunken lust, he beds her and in the morning, finds himself waking up with The Plan beginning to form in his tired mind.
He shook his head as he glanced around, trying to get his bearings. He pulled out the map he found and read it again just to make sure. Two more rights and then a left. The chamber was just past the last turn.
Good. If he couldn't have the Gem of Amara, the Pendant of—he still couldn't make out the name, but he luckily he knew his Latin and read what it did instead. Ironically, it was another jewel made for vampires, this one giving the wearer super-strength and stealth. If this wasn't some cosmic joke made at his expense, this pendant would be exactly what he needed to defeat the slayer once and for all.
Because he had to.
He wanted her down on her knees—begging. His demon demanded it and whatever was left of the man inside needed it. Begging for what, he wasn't quite sure. Half the time he was around her, he wanted to throw her onto the ground and shag her senseless and the other half he wanted to drain her and toss her lifeless body off to the side. She was just too damn sexy and too beautiful for him not to lust after her and every time he saw her and felt her contempt, it sent him into a tailspin.
That's what happened last week.
He wasn't sure what he wanted when he went outside in search of the slayer. What he did know was when he saw her and heard the conversation between her and that Parker-boy, rage filled him.
And the part of him that wanted her dead or angry or hurting just as much as he was took over.
It wasn't until he was on his way to LA that he realized he was glad he didn't kill her. The world—his world needed her—to challenge him, keep him on his toes, enrage him and thrill him.
Now, here he was nearly a week later, back in Sunnyhell in search of yet another trinket that would give him the advantage over the slayer.
As he made his last left and his eyes fell on the simple wood door, he smiled.
Grinning, he pushed down on the metal clasp and opened the heavy door and stepped inside.
He didn't even feel the ground when it rushed up and met him.
There were very few places that Spike considered heaven in his damned existence. Druscilla's love, a warm, nubile virgin to feed from, Manchester United winning the World Cup and finally, waking up on top of the slayer's warm, enticing body.
Sure, he would've preferred her naked—but a hey, a demon can't be too choosy, can he? Besides, her breasts made very comfortable pillows.
For nearly a minute, he just laid there and enjoyed the closeness. Ignoring his raging hard-on and bubbling blood lust, he remained still and took comfort in her the rising and falling of her chest as she slept and wondered how the hell he got into this position.
Because wasn't it just a week ago that they were trying to kill each other? As much as he enjoyed being there, this was not a position that very many mortal enemies enjoyed with one another. The last thing he remembered was opening the door to the chamber where that blasted pendant was to be kept and then everything went black.
Unless he had suffered some sort of memory loss and missed the part where the slayer and he were now on the same side, he had to assume that whatever had happened to him—happened to both of them.
Inwardly sighing, he lifted his upper body and looked down at the relaxed features of his sire's one true love. He had to give Peaches some credit—he sure as hell knew how to pick them. She was beautiful—whether it was when she was seething with rage, hurt and vulnerable or asleep like now.
Pushing himself up and away from her, he rolled over onto his back and found himself staring at a painting adorning the ceiling. Chuckling softly, he realized he was looking at some sort of depiction of Zeus (he could tell by the lightening bolts—they were always a dead give away) wooing some young, beautiful human away from her family. Shaking his head, he looked down and realized that he and the slayer were on a huge, king size four-poster. His hand dropped to the sheets and smiled at the feel of satin underneath his fingertips.
He could imagine doing all sorts of things with the slayer in this bed.
"Where the hell are we?" he asked himself as he swung his legs off the bed and began investigating the room.
It was a, dare he say, beautiful room—lovely tapestries hung on the walls—depicting various Olympian Gods and their deeds...gold chalices—fruit and cheese trays. Three glass pitchers—one that was filled with blood. He could tell by the smell. Another looked like it had water and the third one appeared to be filled with coffee. Shaking his head, he poured himself a chalice of blood and took a taste.
It was warm and fresh. "What the hell?" Shaking his head, he finished it and poured himself another glass. It wasn't until he had finished the third glass did he notice that the pitcher was still full.
"Magic," he whispered.
And he still hadn't found the door.
Puzzled, he turned back to the bed and saw the slayer beginning to move. Good thing you woke up before her or you would've been just another dust pile to add to the slayer's belt.
"Oh God," she whispered as her eyes began to blink. "What train hit me?"
Spike chuckled as he took another sip of his meal. "The same one that hit me, luv."
Her eyes shot wide open and her head whipped around and stopped when she saw him. "Spike—it must be a nightmare—it hasn't been a year yet."
Spike shrugged and placed the chalice down on the table and took off his duster, tossing it on to an empty chair. "Wasn't my plan to see you either, Slayer," he said, lying through his teeth.
Her eyes narrowed as she reached into her sleeve, causing Spike to back up, knowing that she was searching for one of those stakes she always kept hidden on her person.
Her hand came up empty. Frowning, she reached behind her and patted her back.
Still nothing.
Thank you. Who he was thanking, he had no idea but to be stuck in this room with the slayer and her stakes was just a little too uncomfortable for his being.
"What did you do to them?"
His eyes widened as he shrugged. He picked up his chalice and finished off the rest of the blood. "Do what with what?"
Clenching her teeth, she shook her head and scrambled off the bed. "Where are we?"
Spike shook his head. "Don't know, Slayer. I woke up about five minutes before you. I got up—"
"Got up? Where we you?"
Spike smirked and nodded towards the bed. "Right next to you, love. Has anyone ever told you your breasts make nice pillows?"
He didn't even see the fist that plowed into his face. "You son-of-a-bitch! It was enough that you had to taunt me the last time you were here!"
"Taunt you?" Spike felt the rage bubble up and over power the lust and desire he had just been feeling when he began to stalk over to her. She lifted up hand and he caught it, crushing her fist in his hold. "What was it that you said? Lose a bet, Spike?" he asked, mimicking her.
Yanking her hand out of his grasp, she pushed on his chest. "It was Harmony! Not even you could be so pitiful to want to hook up with her!"
"I had my reasons," he ground out, pushing past her towards the table where the blood was. After pouring himself yet another glass, he turned around to see her standing behind him, watching him curiously.
"What's that?"
He rolled his eyes and showed her the chalice.
Making a face, she walked around him and spotted the water and coffee pitcher. "Do you know who left this?"
"No, Slayer. I'm in the dark as much as you are."
She frowned once she noticed the blood pitcher. "It's full."
He nodded. "Magic is all I can think. Poor yourself a cup of coffee, slayer and see for yourself."
"Is it drugged?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't taste any different—at least the blood doesn't it. But for all we know, it's a vamp that caught us. Maybe he wants fresh slayer for dinner."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Shaking his head, he ignored her and began walking over to the other side of the room and began running his fingers across the wall—searching for the door.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for a way out of here before we end up killing each other," he snapped.
"You mean before I end up staking your ass."
"You wish, Slayer!" he growled out. "Just admit it! You met your match. Bloody hell, I've admitted it. I thought maybe this pendant would help me, but obviously there isn't such a thing—"
"Pendant? You knew about that?"
He whipped around and snarled, his true face appearing. "What the hell do you think I was doing back in Sunnyhell? There was no way in hell that I was going to let you have another go at me without something giving me an advantage! Fucking hell, invincibility didn't do it! Maybe strength and speed would. If it wasn't here, I was going on the first cargo boat to anywhere but here! I like my life. I don't want to end and you're determined to kill me."
Buffy shook her head as a half-smile formed on her lips. "And you aren't determined to make me your third? Come on, get real Spike. It's what we do. You, slayer of slayers—kill slayers. Me, vampire slayer, kill vampires!"
He groaned, trying not to think of how good she looked, all riled and angry with him. Gods, why did he have to lust after her?
"What Spike? What's wrong? Truth hurt?"
"Leave it alone, Slayer," he ground out, desperately trying to ignore his stiff cock and burgeoning lust for her. She just had no idea, did she? What she did to him?
Well he was damned if he was going to let her know.
The last place Buffy expected to spend her Friday night was locked in a room with no windows or doors with her nemesis, Spike.
It was comparable to getting her wisdom teeth pulled.
He aggravated her to no end—spouting off harsh truths that slid into her heart like knives—needling her—questioning her—
At least he hadn't brought up Angel or Parker yet.
But she knew it was just a matter of time.
In between sniping at one another, they figured out the pendant had been a rouse to lead both of them here—to this room. They had yet to discern whom their captors were—but whoever they were, they were able to wield some powerful magic. Buffy had never heard of anyone being able to keep plates filled with fresh food and pitchers always flowing with whatever drink either of them preferred.
Just as a test, Buffy wish for a coke and sure enough, immediately another pitcher materialized on the table, filled with ice and Coca-Cola . After she poured herself a glass, she sat down on chase lounge and began studying the room, pointedly ignoring the pacing of her erstwhile roommate.
She had already looked at each tapestry. They were beautifully done, reminding her of a time long past when people believed in the Olympian Gods and worshipped them. The Greek Gods always fascinated her—the child part of her wanting to believe in their existence. If the Gods were real, then so were so many other magical and wonderful things. Now older and one of those magical and dare she say, wonderful things, she couldn't help but laugh at her younger self. She had met too many demons and other beings that wielded much too power to be enthralled with them anymore. From where she stood, they all seemed too power hungry to be trustworthy and knowing her luck, if she had ever met one, they would play with her life like so many other beings in power had.
"Slayer?"
Sighing softly, she looked up to see Spike leaning against a table watching her solemnly.
"Yeah Spike?"
"Why do you think we're here?"
She shrugged as her eyes landed one of those tapestries and finally couldn't ignore the tickling in her mind. "Spike—have you ever heard of gods being real?"
He turned around and looked at the wall hanging she had been staring at and chuckled softly. "You too, eh?"
She studied his profile, once again taken aback at how attractive he was. Why? She asked herself for the millionth time since she met him. What was it about vampires that drew her to them so much? Sometimes, when all she had was her thoughts to keep her company, she wondered where slayers actually came from. More than once she wondered if they weren't somehow related to the very thing that they were supposed to kill. In reality, vampires were the only beings in human form that were a slayer's match. Normal humans were so fragile.
That one night she spent with Parker taught her that.
Although she did enjoy herself at the time, she remembered being filled with fear that she was somehow going to break him. One tight grab of his arm and it could've broken in her grasp. One shuddered gasp as her arms tightened around his body, and she could've killed him.
It wasn't until she had gotten over his rejection, did she come to terms with the unwavering truth of her existence.
She wasn't made to mate with humans.
Especially if her first had been a vampire.
Shaking her head, she turned back to see Spike walk over to the picture and sigh. "I've never met one, love, but that doesn't mean much."
She stood up and walked over to him.
As she stared at the figures on the tapestry, she sighed softly. "Don't laugh at me, but ever since I woke up—I feel like we're somewhere else. I was in Hell once. Or a dimension of it. This place doesn't feel like that—it's not dark and evil, but it does have that same otherworld feel to it. And then with the furniture to the food and drink to the these," she said, pointing to the picture in front of them. "Do you think that some sort of Greek god has taken an interest in us? Or maybe we stumbled on to something?"
She shook her head and started chuckling softly at herself. She was being foolish. She began to turn around when she felt him grab her arm, stopping her.
She looked up and when their eyes met, Buffy felt a part her heart jump in her chest. His dark blue eyes stared at her—mesmerizing her. And then as quickly as he held her, he let her go. "Actually, I was thinking the same thing," he said, his voice low and somehow different than all the other times he had spoken to her. It reached down and grabbed something inside of her—pulling her to him.
She nibbled on her bottom lip and gave him a small smile, and once again began to pace the perimeter of the room.
Anything to work off all those conflicting emotions running rampant through her mind.
Anything.
~~~
"Do you want to fight?"
Spike's voice broke her revere and she looked over her shoulder and saw him standing behind her, his arms across his chest, watching her carefully.
"You mean spar? Or really fight?"
"Spar, Slayer. I have no idea how long we're going to be in here, but the last thing I want to do is spent it alone."
Buffy's head snapped up as a smile appeared on her face. "Even if it's with the Slayer?"
Rolling his eyes, he chuckled. "Even if it's with the Slayer."
Buffy pushed her sleeves up to her elbows and dropped into a battle stance. "Well, we haven't killed each other yet—that's got to say something."
"Two truces, slayer. That, and I like your mother's hot chocolate."
"I'll never understand you, Spike. Never."
"Well Slayer, I guess that makes us even," he said as he caught her leg—the same leg that was trying to kick him in the chest.
Silently cursing, Buffy felt herself being flipped over and somehow managed to land back on her feet. She looked up to see Spike shaking his head at her right before his foot came crashing down at her.
The fight began in earnest.
For fifteen minutes, the room was silent except for the occasional grunt or groan. Just like all their real fights—this one was evenly matched as well.
That is, until somehow he managed to trip her and she found herself laid out on the ground with Spike pinning her down. Grinning down at her, he grabbed her hands and stretched them out above her head and chuckled softly.
"You know, Slayer—this is the place where one of your little friends or your mother pops up and whacks me over the bloody head with an ax," he said, whispering into her ear.
Buffy tried not to let herself feel affected by his strong hard body pinning her down. It's not like she hadn't been in this position before with Spike—but like he said, someone always came to her rescue; this time she was alone.
"Well Spike, that's why those other slayers were so easy to kill...no pesky friends to get in your way..."
For a moment he said nothing, just watched her with those stormy gray-blue eyes, making her feel grateful that they weren't standing so she wouldn't have to worry about her knees giving out. When did it change between them? When did the air get to be so thick—so filled with electricity—that she could barely breathe?
She never gave his hard-ons much thought before—knowing that demons were turned on by violence, so why did this one feel so different? Why did she suddenly envision it driving itself inside of her when before, she always just blew it off?
She knew her heart rate had jumped off the scale and she knew that he knew it had as well—so why was he just staring at her like that? Doing nothing, but watching her eyes?
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and began tugging on her arms, trying to free them. "Okay—you win," she whispered.
"Not likely, love," he said, his eyes darkening even more.
And then just for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he suddenly let go of her and pushed himself off. He stood up, holding out a hand for her.
After he pulled her up, he dropped it quickly and began heading for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower."
Nodding silently, she watched him disappear behind the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
With her lusting thoughts.
Groaning softly, she began pacing across the room.
She didn't know how much of this she could take.
"Bloody fool!" he muttered to himself as he began peeling off his clothes. "You had her right in your hands—you could've killed her—shagged her—done something other than stare at her like some goddamn Nancy-boy who's never used his prick before!"
He reached in and turned the water, shaking his head in disgust at himself. He couldn't believe it! What was it about that girl that sent him into a tizzy every time he was near her! It was like his brain bloody short-circuited and all he could think is—hot woman—hard dick—duh!
Well, a hot shower and his hand would take care of this boner, but what about the next one? And it was sure to come—being bloody stuck in this room with her—no where to run or hide other than the bathroom. Why in the hell couldn't he have just left the country when he planned to? Why was that pendant so important to him to risk putting himself through this misery?
The thing was—he knew why—he just didn't want to admit it.
Fifteen minutes later and boner-free, Spike stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately searching for the slayer.
The last place he expected to find her was in bed.
In the one and only bed this bloody place had.
And of course, there were no couches, just that blasted chase lounge the slayer had been using earlier. There was no way he was spending the night on that thing.
Then he heard it. A soft hiccup and sniffle.
Was she bloody crying?
Fuck.
Just as he was getting ready to go and hide back in the bathroom, he heard her laugh. A crazy, nearly manic sounding laugh.
Oh great, she's crazy now.
"You know, Spike, I think God hates me." She started laughing again as she rolled over and stared over the bed at him.
Curious, he started walking slowly towards her. "Why is that, pet? I mean if there's a God, why would he hate you?"
Another giggle.
He climbed up on top of the bed and sat down beside her. He'd been right the first time. She had been crying and laughing. Why him?
"Because," she stopped to take a deep breath. "I can't seem to get away men that are bad for me. I mean, Angel. My true love. Love so true that it nearly sucked the world into hell and if that wasn't enough—he left me when everything was finally okay. And then—I choose this real looser that fed me all the right lines—seemed to instinctively know how to play me—just so I'd fuck him. I mean, once I got over being hurt—did he even have a clue how close he came to losing all hope of every fathering children?" She held up two fingers—about an inch apart. "This close, Spike. I saw him in the Quad last week—giving some other girl that same shit—that if he'd been alone, I don't think he'd ever get a chance to use his family jewels again. And now..." she stopped speaking and dropped her head down and stared at her clasped hands on her lap.
"And now what, Pet?" He asked softly—suddenly needing to know—as he watched her face turn a nice shade of pink. Bloody hell, she's blushing! he thought to himself.
For nearly a minute, he just sat there and watched her skin darken under his gaze—too dazed to do anything or even process its ramifications.
Blushing.
She's blushing...and it was because of me—for me.
Unbelievable.
And now that he had realized it, he couldn't deny it any longer. Her heart, usually a steady, calm beat was racing out of control. Her scent had changed—becoming much more muskier than normal...
Grinning, he reached over and grabbed her chin—forcing her to look up at him. Round green-blue eyes filled with desire and lust stared back at him as she nibbled her bottom lip.
His jeans suddenly felt unbearable tight as he shifted uncomfortably. Obviously, the hand job and the shower's affect was only temporary as he felt his cock harden even more than before.
The hell with it, he thought to himself as he moved his face down to hers so they were only inches apart. He watched her pupils dilate as another wave of her arousal washed over him.
"I'm gonna kiss you now, Slayer," he whispered just before their lips met.
Fire.
Her lips were fire. Her tongue scorched his—searing him for life.
He knew then that one kiss wasn't enough.
It would never be enough.
Rolling over, he broke the kiss—her desperate pants for breath were music to his ears—and began kissing his way down her neck, intermittently sucking and nipping as he went.
Dru never burned him like the Slayer did.
And when he felt her fingers dig into his hair, pushing his head down harder onto her skin, he felt as if he was going to explode.
Harmony's lust never ignited his passions like the Slayer did.
He just had to have her—all of her—now.
And when she arched her back into his touch, he knew the impossible had finally happened.
She wanted him too.
Clothes flew—neither of them seemed to be able to get undressed quickly enough—now that they knew what they wanted.
Cold pale hands worshipped her hot, sweaty skin.
Burning fingers paid tribute to his cool, undead body.
She was everywhere—all the time.
He felt engulfed.
Surrounded.
He was drowning.
And he couldn't think of any place he'd rather be.
Friday Night- two hours later
The Aether, Sunnydale
In front of Giles' townhouse
The two gods watched the couple walk up to the front door and suddenly stop. The woman grabbed her companion's arm and tugged on it, turning him to face her.
Smirking, he wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked the woman's body to his.
Rolling her eyes, she tried to pull out of his grasp, but he shook his head, pursing his lips. "None of that, love."
"All I wanted was a kiss! You didn't have to get all he-man on me!"
His laughter rang loudly through the night.
"Get over it, Slayer. You love it when I get all manly on you," he whispered. He lifted his hand and gently caressed her face, smiling when she leaned into his touch. "See?"
Growling softly, she finally chuckled softly. "All right—you win. So, are you going to kiss me or what?"
His head dipped down and their lips met briefly. "Although we spent at least two days doing or what, I'm still up for some more..."
She shook her head and kissed him. "You're incorrigible. You know that, don't you? Seriously, we or at least I—"
"Pet, haven't you figured it out, yet? I'm here for the long run."
A huge smile broke out across her face as his words finally sunk in. "Thank you," she whispered as she traced his scarred eyebrow and suddenly wrapped him in a huge hug.
The vampire's eyes shut as his arms tightened their hold on her. "No, thank you," he whispered and kissed the top of her head.
Still smiling, Buffy began knocking on the door. "Giles—open up—you would never guess where I spent the last two days—"
Aphrodite turned to her sulking brother. "So Bro, when do I get my first backrub?"
Ares head dropped back as he clenched his fists. "'Dite, how do you know they still won't kill each other"
She just smiled as she studied her nails.
"Dite!"
She shrugged. "Trust me, Ares. They're together for the long haul. I'm the Goddess of Love—I know these things."
The God of War let out a long-suffering sigh and shrugged. "Tomorrow night sound good?"
She nodded, sporting a huge a grin. "Cool! See ya later, Bro!" She waved her arm and disappeared under a flood of flowers.
Ares chuckled softly to himself. He actually didn't mind loosing this bet too much. A year of massages and Aphrodite? He shook his head, smirking lustily. And getting underneath Hephaestus' skin—what a bonus!
He turned back to the real world in time to see the vampire and slayer enter the watcher's home.
Aphrodite may be right—their love may be strong, but he was sure that the fireworks had only begun.
With a vampire and a slayer—anything else would be nearly impossible.
"Back to Chechnia," he muttered to himself and disappeared in a flashlight, leaving only a small gold coin in the dirt behind him.
He had to leave a clue.
It was up to them to find it. And if they did, the fun would really begin.
Of that, he was sure.
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©1999 Lisa Y. Drexel