Title: Tonight We Dance

Author: Anna, annawoerner[at]gmx[dot]net

Genre: Romance

Timeline: Five days after 6.11 Gone

Characters: Buffy, Spike

Summary: After kicking her out of his crypt, Spike finds himself watching the slayer dancing with another guy.

Part(s): 2

Completed: Yes

Words: 4053

Warnings: Adult language, Sexual situations

Part 1 - Tease

As he looked down at the dancing floor, he grasped the railing so firmly that his knuckles cracked. There she was, all flirting and laughing and pressing her small body against this scrawny moron. She was fucking breathtaking. He hadn’t seen her this carefree for a very long time and he just couldn’t bring himself to hating her for her little show. Her hands lay casually on his shoulders while she threw her now short hair back. The black miniskirt barely offered the dimension of a large belt and with that little white low-cut blouse one really didn’t need to be a vampire to see that she’d forgotten about putting on a bra. God, he hated her. Bloody bint.

But he wasn’t jealous. The railing crushed under the pressure of his grip with a dull noise.

Eric Clapton faded out and instead Etta James began her ‘At Last’. Another Oldie. Totally out. Never had been really in if someone asked him.

The little twat yanked her against his profound ugly yellow t-shirt and laid his chin on her head. They looked so fucking ridiculous together.

He lowered his gaze. He’d never danced with her. Not really.

Cursing under his breath he turned away and searched for his cigarettes. Back then, when he’d thrown her out of his crypt, it seemed to be a brilliant idea to say “If I can't have all of you, I'd rather not have you at all.”

He’d meant it then. When he had realised that he was in love with this girl, he was sure it’d be enough to just have her in his bed, her legs around his hip and a moan on her lips. But when he’d had that, he realised it wasn’t enough and probably never would be. He wanted everything, not just those little crumbs she gave him. And he wasn’t fucking up for further her little self-deception.

She’d protested loudly, had taken every advantage of her invisibility but finally he’d done it. He’d thrown the bleeding door in her face, pulled the sarcophagus in front of it and was fucking proud of what was left of his backbone.

And now he was the one being invisible. She acted like he didn’t exist. She’d ignored him completely for the last six days and by now, he wished his backbone to hell.

He looked back to the dancing floor and sighed. Buffy’s head leaned against the chest of her dancing partner, where that git’s heart was beating. Her eyes were closed and a little smile played with her lips, when the prat began to fondle her back.

How many goddamned verses did that song have anyway?

He felt his fangs pierce his own lip when a denim-clad thigh pressed between Buffys legs. Two hours. He stood at the railing for two fucking hours and watched this motherfucker slowly reaching his goal. Maybe they’d just get down to business right here and now. The glow of his cigarette reached his middle finger and he mumbled a curse before throwing it to the ground.

Hadn’t it been for the damn chip in his head, he would suck the living life right out of this picture of misery. After he fed that son of a bitch with his own balls, that is.

The music faded completely and Buffy pulled lanky-guy to the table, where the rest of the little gang waited. She pressed him into a chair and straddled his lap while reaching for her glass.

He tried to restrain himself and forced the little red stars in front of his eyes away. It had been enough misery for one evening, even for his own taste.

The fresh night air didn’t soothe his temper one bit and he begged for one or a dozen demons on his way home, so he could let off some steam after all.

‘Course this turned out to be the one night where everyfuckingone was too busy to let themselves get beaten to death. He wandered aimlessly between tombstones, always haunted by the pictures of Buffy and this poor excuse of a man. He was completely absorbed in his own thoughts when he circled an enormous marble statue, positioned on a one or two metre pedestal, and almost ran over the subject of his considerations.

“Slayer”, he barked. “That was fast.”

She stepped aside, without even throwing him a glance and he felt his last restraint break.

He grabbed her hard, jerked her against the huge pedestal and captured her with his own body. Then he pulled her hands above her head and buried his head in the crook of her throat. “Oh no luv, game’s over. You’re not goin’ to ignore me anymore.”

He pressed against her back and was as hard as the marble in front of him in mere seconds. “Made the li’l tosser all hot an’ bothered an’ then left, didn’t you?”

He felt her trying to loosen his grip half-heartedly, while pressing her little ass against his crotch. His jaw tensed and he took a deep breath to stifle a moan. “But you always liked doin’ that, now didn’t you?”

“You bastard have no idea what I like doing.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“No?”, he growled. “Right then. I’ll just take what’s left.” He rounded her waist with one arm so his other hand was loose. Then he pressed harder against her, while his fingers wandered under her skirt, looking for her panties. In vain. Rage and blind arousal killed the last fragment of rationality in his mind.

“Always ready, aren’t you?” His hand pressed against her stomach and then he was palming her tits through her silky white blouse. Fuck, she was eating this up, he knew it. When he pushed the skirt over her hips and slid two fingers down her slick slit, she was unable to stifle her moaning anymore. She whimpered, her legs pressing even harder against the cold stone as his thumb pressed against her clit and his fingers curled inside her. “The li’l wanker wasn’t enough for you, was he? Still hungry? Or maybe again?”

“Go to hell.”

He laughed. “Maybe later.”

Then he pulled back and opened his zipper. He dug his fingers into her flesh and pulled her to him, sliding deep inside her with one sure, smooth stroke. He tried not to think about that she’d probably had sex with that guy ten minutes ago. Now she was his. He pulled out completely only to slam inside her so hard that he pushed her flush against the cold stone.

She was his and he’d fuck every other thought right out of her pretty head. Buffy braced herself against the hard edge of the statue when he sped up while thrusting steadily in and out of her body.

His hands wandered slowly over her hipbones and pulled her even closer. He burrowed his face at her neck and nearly drowned in her heavenly scent. His thrusts grew more frantic and all he could think about was this one word that dashed uncontrollably through his mind.

Mine, mine, mine, mine...

“You’re mine”, he murmured between two strokes and stood straight, gripping her hips as he fucked her harder. “Say it.”

She lowered her head, thrusting into every stroke, lost in the sensation. His left hand snaked up her spine and he twisted his hands in her hair and yanked her head back as he slid into her. “Say it, Buffy! Tell me you’re mine.” He watched her fondling her clit, rubbing furiously above her centre. She bucked into him so hard he almost lost his footing but luckily with his grip on her hair, he stayed put, pounding hard as his own release was building. He clenched his jaw and brought both hands to her ass, squeezing her relentlessly as his cock slammed into her.

His demon fought for control and he just couldn’t hold back anymore. After what she’d put him through tonight he honestly didn’t give a fuck about forcing himself to hold back. With a strangled roar he dropped her thighs and leaned forward, sinking his fangs into the milky flesh of her throat. The second he tasted her blood, he was done. He squeezed his eyes shut as her walls clamped around his cock and jerked forward, spilling inside her, feeling her quake and tremble beneath him.

“Ohhh god... Yours. I’m all yours...”

As his thrusts slowed and her convulsions tapered, a heavy, sated lethargy overtook her, and Buffy slumped flaccidly in Spike’s arms. Licking the punctures to seal them, he tightened his hold on her and turned them around, placing his own back against the statue and sliding down to the ground. 

When things grew quiet he realised the brutality of what he’d just done. He’d taken her without her permission... not that she seemed to complain... but worse – he’d marked her permanently. He closed his eyes and cursed soundlessly. He’d fucking claimed her. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I’m the slayer.”

“I know”, he answered softly and braced himself for her hatred and name-calling.

“I can feel you even when you try to hide in a crowd.”

He looked in her face then. Her eyes were still closed and he had no bloody clew on what she was about.

“I feel your gaze on me, Spike. My lips vibrate like you just kissed them. My muscles contradict like your hands touched me.” She paused and moved in his arms, eyes still closed. “The need in my body makes me insane when you’re around. I feel you and I’m ready.” She looked at him then. “I’m ready for you without one single touch.”

His lips were suddenly very dry when he realised what she was saying.

She slipped her left hand in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a red thong. It was drenched. “I removed it in the toilet”, she declared quietly and suddenly her gesture became angry. “And you goddamn undead aren’t where you’re supposed to be.”

He swallowed. Loudly. “Where should I have been?”

“Behind the Bronze, you idiot. Wouldn’t be a first.”

He grinned. She had a point there. “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d want me around tonight. Why even botherin’ with that poor boy?”

“Poor boy?”, she chuckled. “I distinctly remember you calling him different names earlier.”

“Why?”, he repeated urgently.

She laid both hands on his face and smiled lazily. “Don’t send me away like that again.”

He starred at her, completely taken aback by her change of attitude and almost forgetting what they had been talking about in the first place. “Say pretty please?”

Her thumb stroked his cheekbone and she nodded slowly. “Don’t send me away again please.”

He nodded, completely stunned that she’d actually done what he asked, and pulled her closer. He’d never seen a more honest expression on her face. “Was I too rough?”, he asked quietly.

She shook her head and giggled, letting her finger wander over his face. “Since you kept me waiting for so long, I honestly don’t think I would’ve cared if you’d taken me on the dancing floor.”

He really tried not to think about that last thought of hers. “Long? It barely has been a week, six... uhm, five days. You hadn’t had sex for month before...”

She sighed. “Okay, don’t get it wrong, but before I didn’t know what I was missing.”

He smiled. There wasn’t a way to get this right and she bloody well knew it. “I’d really like to have this on video, you know.”

“Don’t push your luck, vampire.” She seemed to remember something and touched the little marks on her neck. “You’ve bit me.”

A sigh. “I know. I’m sorry.” He looked at her quizzically. If she didn’t know yet – what really surprised him even more than the fact, that Angel hadn’t claimed her before – she would find out the truth somehow. And he didn’t want it to happen like this. So he cleared his throat and looked at her cautiously. “It’s kind of a symbol.”

She looked puzzled. “A symbol? For what? Likes to have sex with the undead?”

He worried his lips with his teeth and then let it out with one single breath. “That you’re mine.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t know if I like that.”

He dropped his gaze and nodded.

“What exactly does that mean?”, she asked after some seconds.

He sighed again and caressed the little wounds on her neck. She gasped and her body shook while she starred at him. When he leaned forward and licked his marks, she began to moan loudly.

He smiled a bit and looked at her. “That’ll always happen when I touch you there.”

“I think I’m okay with that”, she mumbled.

“It doesn’t happen when someone else does it”, he paused and took a deep breath. “Far from it.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“You’ll get nauseous”, he whispered and closed his eyes.

“I’m getting sick if someone else touches me?”, she shrieked and touched the marks with her palm. “Can you reverse it?”

He tried not to sound hurt. After all, he’d known she would never let this happen on her own accord. “No.”

She didn’t say anything for some time and he’d given anything to know what was going on in that head of hers. When she looked up again, a vicious smile tangled on her lips. “If that’s how it is, I see some tough years ahead for you, Spike.”

Part 2 – Reflect

They remained silent for quite a long time after that and he finally walked backwards, spreading his coat on the grass in front of the pedestal. Buffy made a little pillow with her jacket and sat beside him.

Eventually, she cleared her throat and looked up. “How many?”

“How many what?”, he asked and rest his chin on his forearm to get a better look at her.

She pointed at her neck. “How many women wear your mark?”

He straightened up and began to look for his cigarettes. He didn’t like to talk about that. “Never’d been good in math, luv”, he remarked, exhaled deeply after lighting the cigarette and hoped she’d just leave it be.

‘Course she didn’t. “So many you’ve lost your count then?” If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she sounded hurt.

“Come on, it’s only fair. Ten, twenty, a hundred?”

“You wouldn’t believe me anyway”, he barked and looked away.

She honestly didn’t know what the hell his problem was. “Would I ask you if I didn’t believe your answer?”

But he didn’t answer, instead kept on smoking his cigarette nonchalantly. The seconds ticked in her head and by the time she really believed he was not going to say anything, he whispered so quietly that she’d nearly missed it.

“One.”

She searched for his gaze. “One besides me.”

He sighed agonized and starred into the blackness of the graveyard. “No. One, Buffy.”

Okay. She didn’t believe him. “What about Dru?”

He flicked his cigarette away. “This only works once”, he declared and didn’t say anything again, like it didn’t need any exemplification.

She rolled her eyes. “Could you be any more cryptic?”

He sighed again and looked at her for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. He cocked his scarred eyebrow and watched her intensely. “Dru wears Angel’s mark.”

“Oh”, she snorted and tried not to sound too hurt that he’d never told her.

Spike looked away again and stared into the sky with an expression she wasn’t sure she’d seen before. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clearer night before around here.” He leaned back completely and folded his arms behind his head. “You even can see Venus.”

She followed his gaze then, surprised by the change of topic. She lay down slowly and pressed her cheek against his. “Where?”

He smiled a bit. “You see those little three bright stars there? Ninety degrees down are two more. You see those?”

After a minute she still hadn’t found what he meant, but nodded nevertheless. A little smile played with her lips when he grinned enthusiastically. “An’ look there. That’s Cassiopeia. Legend has it that...”

She listened to him associating some Greek myth, which she’d never heard before, with the constellations above their heads. She’d always known that he knew a lot of stuff. One evening after patrolling, she’d found him talking with Dawn about French Literature or something. They’d debated so vigorously that Dawns cheeks had turned crimson red, while Spikes eyes had sparkled like he’d never had had so much fun in his unlife before. And herself? She’d felt like the most uneducated person on earth and kicked him out of the house, just to make her feel better.

But she’d thought about him since then. What did he spend his time with? Hunting, feeding and watching television could not fill his whole day...

He was crazy about books, movies and music. She knew that much. And her mother had entrusted her once, under the pledge of secrecy that he could cook. Not defrosting stuff, but cooking a la Bocuse, what had her mother praising him to the skies for days.

Well, she’d nearly laughed herself to death for days. A vampire, who liked cooking. That was nearly as priceless as a vampire who didn’t kill. Or a vampire who bought pigs blood at the butcher’s shop. Or a vampire, who claimed to be in love with the slayer.

She knit her eyebrows in deep thoughts and peeked at the man beside her. He still talked, but the words just washed over her, lulling her in his deep, husky voice. She didn’t doubt that what was written down about him in Giles’ books was true. In fact, she was pretty sure that was only the light version. And only one side of the truth. It would never be written down how he had tried to save her life, or how he had been there for Dawn when she was gone. How he had watched Passions with her mother and drank hot chocolate with her family.

Nobody would ever know. How many things might have happened in the last century that no one had ever considered important enough to write it down? What did she know about him anyway? What was his favourite book? Which movie did he like best? His favourite colour? Probably red. Favourite song? Maybe something of the Sex Pistols. Maybe.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with the need to know those things. A deep sigh left her mouth, while she studied him. Every time she thought she was figuring something out about him, it just didn’t fit in. It wasn’t compatible with the picture she had of him. The one she wanted to have. He had been together with Drusilla for more than a century, while he knew she carried Angel’s mark. He’d cared for her, had hunted for her and had protected her with his own life. He had done everything for this woman. Even bonding with his worst enemy – the slayer – just to get her back.

He had loved her. Even then, when she didn’t really know him, she hadn’t doubted that he, the monster without a soul, had loved this woman far more than a lifetime. How many people could say that? Most couldn’t even muster two years of a relationship.

But she, almighty with her rich number of happy relationships – had denied him the ability to love. Didn’t that make her a monster, too? She felt the walls around her heart start to collapse.

Those five days had been hell. First, she was really, really angry with him. Then she retreated on her own little slayer-pedestal and convinced herself that he was the one who had to make an apology. He had been the one throwing her out after all. But he didn’t. And he didn’t help her with patrols anymore or stood in front of her house to sneak on her.

And somehow along the way, in those five days, those five sleepless nights, she realised what she’d done. She had taken advantage of her invisibility, had forced herself on him without even asking. Not that he’d minded then, but that didn’t make it any less wrong. How would she have reacted if he’d done something like that? She would have showed him her endless hatred and despise. She would have called him a soulless monster. She would beat him with all force. The usual.

It should’ve been no surprise that he’d thrown her out.

And god, what had she missed him. Not the sex... okay, the sex too, but mainly him. The way he looked at her, the cocky grin, the idiotic accent, the talk. He listened when she wanted to tell him something and remained silent with her when she needed it. He could turn her world upside down and haul her out of her depression with one single sentence. He had become the centre of her life and she hadn’t even noticed.

No, she had not wanted to notice. She had taken everything he’d said or done and turned it into something negative. She hadn’t wanted to admit that he was the only one who treated her like an equal. Not those velvet gloves that Angel had used on her, or the rejection of Riley and her friends. He didn’t give her any hand-outs, didn’t spare her, didn’t beat around the bush. He was simply there when she needed him. Except for those last five days in which she’d finally realised what hell truly looked like.

When she’d sensed him in the Bronze today, she’d nearly jumped into his arms. But then the more childish side of her had won the debate and decided to tease him a little bit. But, as always, he didn’t react like she thought he would. She’d counted on cold mockery, some ratty remarks, but not this candent rage. She hadn’t realised how much she must’ve hurt him.

Again, she had to think about what she’d have done in his place. When she’d have seen him with another woman, nearly having sex on the dancing floor. She sighed again. Hatred. Monster. Fist. The usual.

She closed her eyes, trying hard to fight the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. Not he or what they had was wrong; it was what she made out of it. The last pieces of the wall cave in and her heart, not longer covered with concrete, flew to the man at her side.

She wet her lips. “I love you.” The words sounded hoarse and choppy, strange, even in her ears. She waited for his reaction, but he just kept talking about some Pleiades.

“I love you”, she tried again. Louder and more confident this time.

He stopped talking then and looked at her. “What?”

“I love you.” She’d really thought this would play out differently.

He rolled on his side and rested his head against his right hand. “You love me?”

Well, at least he’d heard her. She nodded and tried a smile.

He fell quiet for what felt like an eternity and she honestly didn’t know what to read into his expression. “Since when?”

She must’ve looked very dumb folded. “Since when?”, she asked disbelieving. “Since... since...”, she searched for something original. “Since always?” Damn it.

He smiled, seemingly amused. “I don’t believe that.”

She looked at him confused. “God, Spike, I love you. Didn’t you want to hear that?”

She watched him actually thinking it over and decided to take matters into her own hands. She bent down and pressed her lips firmly against his. Fortunately he seemed to understand it then and pulled her closer, kissing her until she really saw stars.

“Again”, he demanded between kisses.

She had to smile then and let her fingertips wander between those little bleached locks at his neck that had escaped the hair gel. “I love you”, she whispered when he kissed the corner of her mouth and inhaled deeply.

“Again.”

“I love you”, she laughed, never having felt more freed in her whole life. “How many times will I have to say this?”

He didn’t hesitate. “`till I believe it.” There was a sincerity in his words that shook her to the core. She looked up into his eyes with everything she’d never been able to tell him and was confronted with complete awe. She kissed him again while pulling the dark tee out of his jeans. Her hands caressed his chest and every time she had to breathe, she told him those three little words.

He lay upon her und lapped at his marks until she couldn’t speak anymore. Or think. Or remember her name. He held her like she knew he always would. The stars above her head became blurred when tears ran down her cheeks. What others searched in smooth silky sheets for a lifetime, she’d found in this night, right here, on this cold, damp ground on Restfield graveyard... her equal, her lover, her mate.

The End