50. A Turn of Events
"Do you have any idea how much I
love you?"
Spike didn't know if it was the beautiful words themselves, or the tone
of hushed awe with which they were spoken, or the wide-eyed look of
absolute devotion in her shining green eyes, that left him needlessly
breathless. Maybe it was the combination of the three. All he knew was
that during his years of slavery, he had never imagined being this
happy, ever again.
Scratch that "again" – he had never been this happy.
They had spent the last thirty minutes in each other's arms on top of
the bed, simply drowning in each other's kiss, as Buffy desperately
drank in the love and comfort that he offered her, and gratefully
returned it, wanting him to know just how very much he meant to her –
what a profound and powerful difference he had made in her life.
She lowered her mouth to his again, her hands gently moving to his hips
as her tongue tenderly explored his mouth again, and his arms slipped
around her, pulling her closer to him. Suddenly, the sparse clothing
they still wore seemed infinitely too much, as Buffy's hands left his
body to find the hem of her thin cotton camisole, lifting herself up
off of him just enough to slide the garment off over her head, before
lowering her body back down onto his.
He gasped at the pleasure of her smooth, hot skin against his cool,
bare chest, as her warm hands slid to the waistband of the loose
fitting sweat pants he had changed into for bed. Her words earlier had
promised that they would eventually be removed, but he was still not
quite confident enough to make that assumption on his own.
As if reading his mind, she whispered teasingly near his ear, "Did you
forget?"
He moaned slightly as one of her small hands slid between them, closing
gently but firmly around his bare, throbbing member – aching now with
his desire for her, rather than with the abuse it had taken earlier.
"How could I?" he gasped, his hands instinctively coming to rest just
above her bottom and pulling her closer to him.
She suddenly let out a gasp of her own as she felt his hardness through
the coarse fabric of her jeans. "God!" she whispered. "Jeans...off...now!"
He was only too glad to oblige as his hands slipped back around her to
unzip the jeans, as her hands pushed them down over her hips, removing
her damp panties with the same motion, too eager this time to take her
time with this.
The fragrance of her powerful desire for him filled the air,
intoxicating him and taking his control, as he leaned his head back
with a little moan of pleasure. Suddenly, she froze completely, and he
looked up at her in concern, to see her eyes opened wide and the Slayer
staring at him, a look resembling panic in her eyes.
"Are you okay?" she whispered, furious with herself that she had not
even considered the possibility that he might still be in pain from
Riley's assault. "Is it – healed?"
As understanding dawned in his eyes, and he realized what her concern
had been, a warmth filled him as once again the truth of her love for
him was revealed to him. None of his previous masters or mistresses had
cared whether or not he was in pain. If they had wanted him, he was
expected to submit to their desires, regardless of how he felt about it.
But, he reminded himself, Buffy was not his mistress anymore. She had
granted him the precious gift of his freedom, even if they could not be
free to declare it just yet. She wanted him to be his own, to be free
to make his own decisions and choose whether or not he wanted her.
He nodded his head as he was unable to speak, breathless again with the
power of the moment, as he gazed into sparkling green eyes that were
full of relief and affection so powerful that it was completely
overwhelming to him. She leaned down to kiss him again, slowly, on the
lips, pulling back to smile at him with a softness and vulnerability in
her eyes that was stunning to him.
"Good," she whispered tenderly, one hand rising to stroke down his
cheek in a feather-light touch. "I never want to hurt you. I love you
so much."
Oh, who was he kidding? She bloody owned him, body and soul.
As he stared into her desire-darkened eyes, straight into the desperate
need she had for him, he wanted nothing more in all the world than to
please her. Without warning, he reached to take her hands in his, and
quickly flipped them over so that he was on top of her, almost laughing
with affection at the startled but pleased look in her eyes.
Hoping that the look in his eyes expressed to her what his words could
not, he whispered, "I'm yours, Buffy...only yours..." before his lips
descended to her throat, the cool, moist sensation of his mouth on her
fevered skin sending delicious shivers all through her body. Slowly, he
moved down her body, his mouth closing over one hard nipple for just a
moment, before moving on down to caress her stomach tenderly, his hands
rising above him to soften the loss for her hyper-sensitive breasts.
Buffy could feel herself losing control with her need for him, his
words echoing in her mind – and suddenly, her eyes flew open in
realization, even as she released a moan of pleasure as his teeth
nipped gently at the soft skin of her inner thigh.
Still, he saw himself as her possession, his only goal and purpose to
give her pleasure.
And that, she decided firmly, would never do.
Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, pushing him gently back, and
he immediately stopped, looking up at her uncertainly. She gave him a
reassuring smile as she beckoned him back up to rest beside her.
"What is it, love?" he whispered, searching her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied softly. "Everything's perfect. *You're*
perfect." She leaned in to kiss him again, slowly but emphatically,
before pulling back to add, "Let me show you how much I love you,
Spike." And with those stunning words, she gently pressed on his
shoulders, reversing their positions again as she set about proving her
words.
"Buffy!" he gasped as her mouth descended again, to his throat, kissing
a trail of kisses down to his chest, as she slowly lowered her body
down his in repetition of his movements moments before, kissing and
licking a tantalizingly slow path downward toward her eventual goal.
She settled on her knees between his legs, her mouth hovering over his
swollen, needy erection, her hot breath teasing him to higher levels of
desire. When she stopped moving, he looked down at her with desperation
in his eyes, his lips parting to beg her for what he needed.
The words died on his lips, his eyes widening at the look of smoldering
intensity in her hooded eyes, as her mouth dipped down suddenly,
encircling him in the steaming warmth of her mouth. He threw his head
back, overwhelmed by the sensation, moaning out her name as she went to
work bringing him the release he needed.
Still so accustomed to being the submissive party in anything of this
nature, and certainly *not* accustomed to being focused on in this way,
having *his* needs put first, Spike resisted his impulse to bury his
hands in her soft, silken blonde hair, instead fisting his hands in the
sheets as he thrust slowly up toward her, controlling even those
motions for fear of "crossing the line".
Buffy was determined to smash "the line" into itty bitty pieces before
she was through. Without ceasing her tender ministrations to his body,
she reached her hands up and took his, pulling them down and placing
them on her head, giving him the silent permission he still felt he
needed. At the exact same moment, she gently scraped her blunt lower
teeth along the underside of his erection, and he bucked up against her
mouth without meaning too, releasing a low moan of pleasure.
"Buffy! God, *Buffy*!" Hesitantly at first, then urgently, he pushed
lightly on her head, urging her to take him deeper into her mouth,
whispering her name in a soft, worshipful chant.
She gradually intensified her efforts, with expert precision, drawing
him slowly toward his climax, until finally, he could not hold back any
more, releasing his pleasure into her mouth with a cry that was almost
a roar of pleasure. Buffy kept him in her mouth, swallowing it down,
and then slowly pulled her mouth away, applying several soft, light
kisses before she moved back up the bed to look into his hazy, distant
eyes.
She slid her arms around him, running a hand tenderly through his damp,
disheveled hair as she stared into his eyes until they came into focus
again, regarding her with an unspeakable awe.
When she thought that he could actually hear her again, she kissed him
on the lips and whispered as she pulled back, "I'm yours, too, Spike."
His eyes widened in stunned disbelief at the beautiful words.
She smiled, seeing in his gaze that he was having difficulty with the
concept. "I'm yours," she repeated firmly.
She watched in amazement as it gradually sunk in for him, as the
disbelief subsided, giving way to joy – and desire. Her eyes widened,
hardly able to believe that he was already ready ag...
She let out a little squeal as her vampire lover gripped her arms and
flipped her over on her back with a possessive little growl, only too
ready to accept the gift she had offered.
Downstairs, the rest of the group got ready for bed, bustling about
here and there, getting last minute drinks and making up beds. Or at
least, they would have been making up the pull out bed in the living
room, if Xander had not been sound asleep on it. Apparently his wife's
big news had tired him out.
"Xan," Willow gently nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him, though he
just muttered something in his sleep and turned away from her. "Xander,
come on...we need to get the bed made out."
Finally he looked up, blinking sleepily at her, automatically patting
the couch beside him, looking for Anya. He looked at it blankly when he
realized it was empty, mumbling, "Where's Ahn?"
"I don't know, she's somewhere around here," Willow said, a bit
dismissively. "We need to get this bed pulled out. You two can sleep in
here tonight. Giles was saying that he thinks everybody ought to stay
around here until this whole thing is settled. Your house isn't safe."
Xander still seemed a bit out of it, but after a moment he nodded
sleepily, finally registering her words as he stumbled up off the
couch. "Ahn?" he called wearily, walking into the kitchen. "Honey?"
Willow and Tara made out the bed while he was wandering aimlessly about
looking for his wife – and child – but no one responded to his call.
Anya was standing out on the porch, staring up into the sky, clearer
and with more visible stars then usual. It seemed so perfect – just
like her life at this moment. Mara's unexpected revelation about her
near future had caught her off guard – but as soon as her mind had had
time to process it, she was thrilled beyond the telling of it.
She was going to be a *mother*. She was having a baby – Xander's baby.
When she had been turned human, she had never thought that she would
every experience anything but misery from that moment on. But now, she
could not think of anything in her life as a demon that in any way
compared to the beauty, the unspeakable happiness, of this moment.
The noise and rushed feeling that filled the house tonight had been fun
for a little while, but left her with no time to think about the turn
of events, and exactly what it would mean for her and her husband. She
had stepped out onto the porch, needing a few moments alone, just to
make it all seem real to her at last, and not like the happy dream that
a part of her still thought it was.
Suddenly, the dream was turned to a nightmare as a hard arm wrapped
around her waist, yanking her down the porch steps before she could
react, and a second hand clamped tightly over her mouth, silencing her
scream before it left her throat. Automatically, instinctively, she
struggled and kicked, feeling a sense of triumph even through her
terror when her foot connected with the knee of the man behind her, and
she heard a muffled moan of pain.
"Tranq her!" a voice hissed behind her, very close to her ear, and her
eyes widened in terror.
Her vision came into focus again when the man holding her stopped
moving, and her eyes widened in horror at the leering grin on the face
of the soldier before her. He smirked at her as he moved slowly toward
her, trailing a hand suggestively down her side. "I can think of
another way to shut her up," he sneered, his other hand resting lewdly
over his swollen manhood.
Anya flinched at the insinuation, helplessly terrified as she fought,
uselessly, against the much stronger man who held her, suffused with a
sudden protective rage for the developing life inside her. These men
would not take her – she would not allow it – not while she had her
child to think of.
"Unh-uh," the man holding her objected, pulling her backward away from
the lust-filled soldier before her. "You heard what Finn said. This
one's not supposed to be damaged. Not until he says so."
The soldier sighed regretfully. "Okay," he relented, taking a step
back, a smirk playing over his lips. "I can wait."
Although by now she realized with a sense of hopelessness that she
would not being able to break free, Anya continued to struggle, kicking
back at the man behind her, managing in a lucky blow to connect with
his crotch.
The man released her suddenly with a silent scream of agony, dropping
to his knees. And in the next few moments, everything happened very
quickly. Anya lurched forward, stumbling onto her knees but immediately
rising again, staggering toward the house, her mouth open for the cry
that had been resounding in her head.
But before her mouth could form the single word – her husband's name –
she felt the sharp, piercing sting of a needle in the side of her neck,
and her throat constricted, paralyzed by whatever solution the soldiers
had injected with. Her muscles gave out on her, and she collapsed to
the ground on her knees again.
One final thought filled her mind as she fell forward onto her face,
unable to move or cry out as darkness quickly overtook her.
*Oh, God, don't let them hurt my baby!*