InsaneJournal

Fic: THE PROPER SLAYER (pt 13 of ?)
Buffy's back home in Sunnydale after her AWOL summer with an accidentally-souled Spike.

And now they're together again, struggling with a mutual love that isn't making anything better for either of them.

Fic set in an AU early season 3. A coda, more than a sequel, to Let's Get Lost.



Previously ....

"I ... I don't know how to work this."

"Then let me work it."

"Don't ... you can't ... you'd better not try to clock me and kidnap me."

"All right, will go to Plan B, then." He drew her in again, all warm and just slightly sweaty, in beneath the flaps of his coat. "D'you trust me, Slayer?"

"I'm supposed to say no."

"I'll think on it. Meanwhile, gonna take you back to mine an' give you the fuck you so richly deserve."

Her sweetness made his brain melt. How had this happened, that he'd been given this girl who might as well have been meant for him, programmed to his every susceptibility? Stronger than him, smarter than him, full of earnestness and humor and beauty and all that power that lured him, raised his awareness and his cock and his every love-soaked instinct. She was in him now. She was singing through his sinews.

Amazing that Angelus could bring himself to hate her. She was such a treasure, she should've broken into even his heart.

But Angelus, thank heaven and earth, was gone, and here she was in his room, gasping her pretty gasps, her pretty hair brushing his face and shoulders, shuddering and curling as he tongued her clit. He'd encouraged her to lie back, but she'd insisted on sitting up, saying she felt weird and lonely when she couldn't look at him, and so she was right there as he knelt before her, her head hanging above his, so he could glance up and see her shining pleading eyes and press her flavor back on her in kisses.

She breathed his name over and over, sometimes weeping, sometimes letting out high keening cries, completely involved, completely lost, and then she slipped down off the edge of the bed into his lap, taking him inside, laughing like she was high, making him lost too, in the tangle of her slender arms and her hair and her humid breathing mouth. Her whole body wriggled, milking him, her belly hollowing with each harsh gasp.

Afterwards he pulled her up onto the bed, cuddled her close again, loathe to let go of her, still drawing in her warmth through his nostrils, his skin. She quivered, sniffling still in the aftermath of her sobbing climax.

He kissed her teary eyes. "Gonna cry every time, Miss Anne?"

"Maybe," she hiccuped.

"Wish you'd be happy."

"Happy is what got us into this mess."

"You sure do it for me, sweet. Make me happy like gangbusters." He smoothed her hair back so he could see her face, dappled with blushes, glowing with sweat. She looked right back at him, fingers tracing the lines of his cheeks and nose, as if she couldn't quite believe in their shape, or his presence.

"You thirsty? I'll get you some water."

She let out a crooning groan. "How can you be so good to me, when you're—"

I'm no worse than he was, he wanted to say, except that he didn't want to bring Angel up, didn't want him in her mind. But it goaded him, Buffy's double-standard. Because it was true, and she'd loved Angel despite his past, and okay, he no longer had his soul now, but unlike Angelus, he'd been walking the line—pretty much—even without one.

For her.

"Good to you because I wanna be." He pulled away slowly, rose and went for the water. She stayed where she was, curled, half-hidden in her hair, so beautiful and small-looking and pensive. She got up on one elbow and drank like a child, handing the empty glass back to him, wiping her mouth with her wrist.

He loved watching her drink. Watching her eat, watching her do everything. His whole body pounded with tenderness for her.

She reached for him. "Don't leave me."

"Got you."

She cuddled in again, wrapping a leg across him too.

"I like this."

"An' me."

"Spike ... why won't you bite me?"

This again! He'd hoped she was going to let it go.

"Back in New York, you said ... you said you were waiting for me to ask for it."

"Hush, love. Hush, now. Go to sleep. Or shall I put on the telly?"

"You said I'd want it, and that when I wanted it, it would happen."

"You don't want it, Miss Anne." He was sure she'd never asked this of Angel. And though he remembered as well as she did their conversation about it back at the motel on Long Island, he was certain they were talking now about something else. She wasn't offering him all of herself, whatever she might think. She was petitioning for oblivion.

"I don't see how this can be enough for you."

"Yeah, well, better trust me, that it is. You are. Just need you safe an' sound an' here with me."

"Why?"


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