Title: Open All Night Author: kindred Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns these characters lock, stock and profitable barrel. Rating: NC-17 Feedback: Yes, please! I am happy to receive it. Summary: Sequel to "No Vacancy". It takes place in S3 in Sunnydale. Have-itch-will-travel Spike visits Buffy...they enjoy an entree of truth, but it comes with a side order of consequences. 15. The pain Spike felt from the beating was no great impediment to pleasuring Buffy thoroughly and tenderly. His crushed left hand would need some time to heal but his right hand was ready, willing and able to take up the slack. Her soft flesh and arching breaths healed Spike more than time or the balm of blood. After a while, Buffy warmed the other bag of blood and served it in a huge mug with miniature marshmallows. It was an impulsive request on Spike's part and it received an initial incredulous stare from Buffy. There was that bag of marshmallows stuffed behind the coffee filters and Spike made himself look particularly pathetic, so she relented. Buffy was never much of a fan of marshmallows and seeing those sugary blobs floating cheerfully in that velvety liquid moved them into the 'foods that will never touch my lips again' category. Later they lay in an easy embrace, naked and wrapped in the angora throw on the living room carpet. A soft sated hum wandered up from Spike's chest. That's when the bubble burst. "I could love you, Slayer." Soft fragile words tumbled from Spike's tongue. Buffy opened her eyes in shock. Love? No, no, no. She didn't want that. She wanted what they already had, good feelings and orgasms and no soul slicing fighting. Love was pain and hurting and headaches from crying. Love was hopelessness. She didn't want to plummet from the rapture she felt to that misery. She wanted skin and salt and the sound of thunder from Spike's throat. Love would destroy that. "No Spike, don't love me," her voice echoed in an empty monotone. "You love Drusilla. I love Angel, and we're all miserable. Let's keep it at that. No surprises. No confusions. I don't want it anymore. I'll never hurt like that again. Ever." The girl had some weird ideas. Spike turned on his side and stared at his mark on the base of her neck. He lay his palm against her collar bone and lightly stroked the spot. Contrary to her supposedly more modern views, Spike didn't go in for casual relationships. From day one he knew it would be serious business with this one. Even when all he had in his mind was her destruction, it was serious between them. He didn't do casual. "Buffy?" "I'm serious." She turned her head, set her jaw and looked him square in the eye. He was a lost man. What was he supposed to say? "Okay pet, fine by me." "Say it then." She removed his hand from her skin in an effort to make her position more serious. The seconds ticked by as he tried to figure out what it was she wanted to hear. More lies. "I won't love you Slayer." The words rushed from his lips along on a bitter sigh. It wasn't very convincing. Spike wasn't the best liar, that was Angelus' department. Drusilla always said that Spike was made to smash and bash. It was true. She responded to him best when he was soaked in destruction. He wrote poems for Drusilla with his fists and fangs. Chaos and ruination were the masterpieces he carved for her. However, Drusilla's riotous pandemonium never erased a deeper truth that predated her entrance into Spike's life. William was born to love, to feel it and be tortured by it. Spike loved as deeply and madly as William, but with the added zeal of a hellion. Spike's love was all consuming fire and brimstone, rain and sorrows, flesh and bone. Love was his required respiration. For her part, Buffy was not completely blind to this truth, to what she did to him. She felt the truth of his desire and the weight of it. She wasn't just a body under him, that much was clear. She also was not just fucking blindly. It was Spike. His body. His touch. His kiss. His whispers. It was all Spike. It was Spike at her neck, tickling her skin with his nose and tongue, torturing squeals of pleasure from her and tracing the contours of his insignia with microscopic precision. It was Spike between her legs, teasing her to one orgasm after another, giving her waves upon waves of boundless pleasure. His touch was raw or soft or electric or hypnotic, but it was always honest. His fingers returned to her throat and softly stroked over his mark. Two tiny punctures indicated that they had gone far beyond barriers and games. No words were needed. Inexplicably, Buffy snuggled closer to him. "Good." She seemed pleased. Spike quirked his battered eyebrow. "Good?! You don't want love? Is that it?" He furrowed his brow in an attempt to understand the situation. "Never again." "Um, one question if I may?" This girl was definitely an enigma. "Sure. What?" "You do know what this means...don't you?" He leaned forward and licked the tiny puncture marks. "Sp-i-i-ke." His name caught in her throat as her body and mind argued. Spike stroked the side of her cheek, focusing her attention to him. "This means...I belong to you and you belong to me..." Buffy pursed her lips together. She'd read the fine print, every last annotated footnote. She knew that kind of behavior wasn't like a handshake. "Forev--" "Don't say that." She interrupted quickly. Her voice held pain. Buffy swallowed heavily and refused to meet his eyes. She didn't need the specter of forever dangled in front of her face. Why be tempted with what never could be? Forever wasn't in the fine print. Not with Spike. Not with anybody. The clock was ticking. Her mom was coming home tonight. Angel was out there and he knew the truth. The truth. It was high time Buffy figured out what the truth was. Spike paused, waiting for some sign. She merely tightened her arm across his waist. That's what he wanted. Forever. All previous fantasies of her death were hollow compared to what was passing between them now. A real conversation. Real feelings. Real possibilities. She lay her cheek against his breast. His deep rumbling voice filled the quiet room. "Why shouldn't I say that? It's the truth." "No. It's not." Buffy paused before pushing the thickened words out of her throat. "I don't get to have forever." "Doesn't change a thing. Not for me." Buffy looked into Spike's eyes, grateful for the honesty she saw reflected there. It was a doomed and sorry mess. Anything that gave him this much pleasure was, by definition, short lived. And Angel knew. That poxy faced, bloated bucket of bollocks was incapable of letting anyone else be happy if he couldn't be. It didn't matter, Spike would take this sweetness and lick every delicious drop of pain from it. He'd take it because he wanted it more that he could ever remember wanting anything before. "This isn't going to end well," Buffy whispered, acknowledging the murky path ahead. "Not thinking of the end just yet, love." An unwanted throb began to make its presence known behind Buffy's right eye. Slayer and vampire? Again? That never led anywhere peachy keen. When Giles found out he'd put a stop to it. Or a stake. Buffy started feeling small again. Constricted. The worst part was thinking that it would end. Suddenly, Giles' voice entered Buffy's mind. Inconceivable. Unconscionable. Reckless. Careless. Thoughtless girl. Even imagined Giles-speak could really be a downer. Buffy sat up with a shudder and pulled the woolen throw tightly around her shoulders, leaving Spike sprawled and naked beside her. She attempted a common sense approach. "This is wrong Spike. You must see that." She turned toward him for emphasis. "Wrong and bad and, shit...what's another word for wrong?" "It's bloody fantastic is what it is," a gasp of mirth bubbled from Spike's chest. "Can't argue with that now, can you?" Spike had the uncanny ability to stay in the now. The what ifs could get stuffed. Buffy looked askance at him, eyebrows and self-satisfied smirk at full volume. Two of his fingers walked up her spine while a blush crept across her cheek. "Spike...there's rules and regulations--" In the blink of an eye he was behind her, cradling her to his chest and nuzzling deeply into her neck. "Really? You don't strike me as the rules and regulations type, pet. That's what gives you the advantage. You've got instinct and imagination...which you put to good use. You'll probably live to be a cranky old biddy--" If he had anything to say in the matter, she would. "Spike, listen to me. We need to be-- Ohhh..." The tip of his nose nudged a feather light insignia over his mark. There was no mistaking that connection. It buzzed between them and strengthened with each touch. "What, love? What do we need to be?" Spike shifted her in his arms and turned her around, swaddling her to his chest as one would an infant. The soft light in the Summers' living room highlighted the side of Spike's face. That was an expression of love and acceptance. Beatific splendor. Buffy knew full well the color of Spike's eyes, but what amazed her was the life she saw in them. Not just agony and the endless dirge of death and stolen lives, but the riot of a life lived. Or unlived. There had to be a glossary in Giles' books that could help with those tricky vocabulary difficulties. Spike's eyes exploded with experience and shone with a panorama of mischief. He'd already seen first hand more actual history than Buffy could ever even hope to read about. "Spike..." She studied the creamy contours of his face, made soft in the diffused light. "Tell me, sweet." Spike too was enrapt in a study of Buffy's face. "Maybe we should stick to being enemies." Buffy chanced a brief look into his eyes and then went back to the safety of his jaw. "Enemies, hmm?" Spike kissed her temple. "Yeah, you know, you vampire, me slayer? Like it says in Giles' books. Enemies." Sticking with the familiar was a safe alternative to belly flopping into whatever unknown depths surrounded them. Fraternizing with the slayer wasn't likely to win Spike any popularity contests and Giles' resolve face was something Buffy could do without. "Is that what you want?" "It's what I know." Her voice was flat again. "You want me to take this back?" Spike tantalized the tiny contusions on her flesh with the tip of his finger. "Pretend I never tasted you...never wanted to?" It was a ridiculous request. Genies don't fit back into bottles and vampire bites cannot be unbitten. "Sorry, love. Can't do that." Buffy flexed her abdominal muscles in protest and struggled to sit up. Spike held her firmly and drew his thumb across the mark he left on her neck. "I can't take this back Buffy and I won't pretend I don't feel what I feel." "Spike--" "Buffy. This is me." The flesh of his face rippled to reveal the demon's visage under the human mask. His voice roughened, but remained calm and controlled. "I don't have any other face I've kept from you behind door number one, two or three. I'm not going to go after your mom or your friends. I don't play games." He quirked the corner of his mouth into a sly smirk. "Okay, I do play games, but not mind games. Not with you. Contrary to what you may have been told, that's not exactly my style." Buffy looked deeply into Spike's contorted face. Whatever else he was, Spike hadn't proved a liar. Not that he was good or anything, but that he was true to his word. Spike had done horrific things, but so had Angel. If she could turn a new leaf, why couldn't Spike? Yeah, yeah...big evil dude. Wily vampire. Dedicated black hat. Maybe he could take a holiday from that stuff. Hadn't he vacuumed her room and ironed her pillow cases for crying out loud? Maybe he was capable of something else. What was that damn destiny again? To rid the world of vampires and demons. Who's to say that always meant with a stake? Buffy's thoughts expanded. She couldn't make Spike good, but what if he chose not to do evil? What if he tried? What is a man but the sum of his deeds? Yesterday could never be changed, but today was another matter altogether. It was an intriguing proposition. "We can have something here, Slayer. Something good." She looked into his yellow eyes, the cruelty in them now fled. "You just have to want it." "But we..." Buffy's tongue stumbled. What had Spike done except go after something he desired? Buffy should have known better; after all, she'd listened to Giles' soap box sermons often enough. "I broke the rules--" "Fuck the bloody rules and regulations. Fuck those pencil pushing wankers and their soddin' decoder rings." "Spike." His name wafted on a strained whine as if from the edge of a cliff. Her lips trembled with growing anxiety. He calmed her with a gentle kiss. "Turn off your mind love, listen to your body." He cuddled her closely. "Tell me," he whispered in a dreamy tone. "Tell me that you want it. Wrong, bad, against the bloody rules...but you still want it. I want you to tell me...tell me Buffy..." "I...I...Spike..." Her voice left her throat. The intimacy of the moment made it difficult to breathe. "The truth, Buffy. Speak it. You feel it...just say it." "I want..." "I'll catch you...I'll catch you." He mouthed the words tenderly with the barest volume, drawing his lips over her cheek. She fought against breathlessness to speak her inner most wish. "I...want it." These words accompanied a tear from the corner of her eye. "I know love, I know." Spike eased Buffy into a reclining position beside him and proceeded to kiss her. Soft, easy lips and the tips of tongues tasted and teased, enjoying the breath of affection passing between them. It was a sweet, playful duet known unto lovers, for that's what they were now, lovers. They embraced with the totality of their being, closer and closer, closing a door to the world for a time; for a space they alone would occupy. The shadowy living room soon filled with the soft mewled tones of Buffy's parched pleasure as Spike's fingers slowly traced the pathways of her body. He inhaled the sweet incense of this new Xanadu -- a slayer shaped pleasure dome opened before him, a perfect surrendering fortress of bliss. Buffy took what Spike offered her because she wanted it. Time would alter this delight soon enough and make it seem sallow and wicked. Other voices would crowd into her head and make their feelings known. Everyone would have an opinion and a pronouncement on just what should be done to remedy the situation. Giles might well rub a hole in the lenses of his glasses over this one. But that hadn't happened yet. That future was not now and not here. That future did not exist. It wasn't in this room, made soft and sheltering by the kisses and deliberate caresses of a dead man and a girl who wanted to stay alive. Buffy had only her opinion in her mind. Not Giles' or Xander's. Not Willow's. Not Joyce's. It was a refreshing change. Buffy's fingers followed their own direction as they navigated a meandering path across Spike's bruise mottled skin. She traced the major muscles on his shoulders and neck, his arms and back, all the while careful of his still tender rib area. Buffy dared a fantasy in which Spike stayed in Sunnydale, a future where they could have something between them other than the mere cadence of agitated respiration. After several minutes of silent mutual exploration she tentatively broached the subject. "What's next?" "Well, we haven't tried the kitchen, love. Your island looks sturdy enough and plenty inviting." "Spike." She rolled her eyes at him. "I think I could manage the stairs and your bed makes the most interesting chirp. Did you happen to notice?" "Would you stop it with the one track mind, already? Geez." "Make me." Spike's tongue was a dangerous exclamation point. "Spike!" Buffy let out an exasperated burst of air and continued. If there was going to be an arrangement negotiated, there was one iron-clad, non-negotiable point. "If you're thinking about staying in Sunnydale, the killing is over." There, she said it, plain as day. He tilted his head and countered with an indisputable truth. "Vampire, pet. Gotta eat." Spike never actually thought through the logistics of continuing this situation. He always lingered in the fleshier aspects of their arrangement, in the sense memory of being covered by the molten cream of the slayer's liquid body. "The butcher shop always has blood, Spike." "Bugger that. Animal blood is foul." He risked a swat, but his indignant taste buds demanded to be heard. "Will it keep you alive-- um, here?" She circumnavigated his Adam's apple with the tip of her middle finger. "Bloody hell, I'm actually considering this." His bluster and exasperated scowl were merely for show. He already knew he'd do it. Nothing was worth more than the continuation of this bliss. The Slayer was more delicious than any of his evil schemes had ever been. "You could supplement..." her voice trailed off. She'd been thinking this through. "Hang on!" Spike's eyes widened. "Yeah, that guy! He walked away. I could do two or three a night like that--" "No Spike," Buffy interrupted firmly. "NOT civilians." "Then what?" "Me." She lowered her eyelids. Spike felt a living beat within his body. He was speechless. "I'll do it." Buffy felt a new kind of bravery as she voiced her desires. "I want this to continue. If you're interested, that is." If he was interested? Spike swallowed heavily but continued to look dazed. "My mom's coming home tonight. That means you've got to go. And no more middle of the night visits. My mom's a light sleeper and..." "And you're a tad loud when properly motivated." "Something like that, yeah. I was thinking that after dinner we could find a nice-- I mean nasty crypt for you to move into." Buffy sighed deeply and went on. "Angel already knows and it's no one's business what we do. Angel doesn't own me Spike, and neither do you. No one does. No one will ever own me." Spike understood the emotion behind that sentiment completely. He chose not to bring up the finer, technical aspects of his bite, but he knew full well what she meant. She'd never be an object to him, something to posses. He nodded and kissed her shoulder. "Who knows how long I'll--" Buffy forced herself to continue. This was a difficult certainty she could not evade. She was the Slayer. Death was always in the picture. "I think I deserve something for doing a dirty job." Once upon a time all she wanted was a date out to the movies or dinner. Now she wanted rapture in the arms of this vampire. Nothing else would suffice. "Okay, if we're setting out the ground rules then I've got a couple for you." Spike's tone of voice changed. Time for some bargaining. "And that would be?" "Henceforth, my schnozz is off limits. There will be no punching or grabbing of the nose and nostril area. Whatsoever." He sounded deadly serious. "That's it?" She liked his nose. It had a definite lived in quality to it. "Oh, and no more calling me a pig." "Um. What if you're being a pig?" "Non-negotiable terms, Slayer." He glared at her with a serious expression. "Anything else, Mr. Not-a-Pig?" Spike pursed his lips to avoid his creeping grin. He counted his terms on his fingers. "Nasal respect...no more pig references of any kind," he raised an eyebrow at her menacingly. "And, oh yeah. No more saying I can't love you." "Not very demanding at all, are you?" "Not a jot. Well?" "I won't love you, Spike, but I do kinda like you. And we both like this." Spike smirked at her girlish blush. "This is good," he pronounced plainly. Buffy swung a leg over his waist, moving over him carefully. "So...permanent truce?" She wiggled herself against his hardening shaft. "Pinky shake?" "Ask me again in a few minutes." Spike flipped them and plunged back into her body. He sank his fangs into her welcoming neck. A growling exclamation of sated passion rose between them. Yours. Mine. Ours. "Mmm, ask you what in a few minutes?" Buffy's breathy voice floated on a tidal orgasm she'd yet to register. "Truce, love?" Buffy drifted toward sleep, dumbly unaware of what had just occurred. "Truth?" she mumbled with her eyes closed. "I think I could love you..." Her respiration elongated into a restful sleep rhythm. Spike smiled with satisfaction at her disclosure. He pulled out of her body and spooned her tenderly, pulling the warm sofa throw over them once more. "Sounds like the beginning of something good." Spike nuzzled his nose into her neck and joined her in sleep. The End. A/N: That's it folks...some smoochy, some truths and a little open-ended. I have no plans for further sequels to this story. Thank you for reading and for sending me feedback. I am appreciative of your time and attention. :)