Spuffy. Light smut (R/NC-17). Written for Musing Mia's bday. Set in the Disbelief universe.
After the Fight
Supporting each other, vampire and Slayer made their way back to their
home, both of them acutely aware that it wouldn’t be long before the
sun started peeking over the horizon. They hadn’t planned to stay out
so long. But a routine patrol had been transformed into one of those
‘stop the unexpected, unannounced and yet very much impending
apocalypse’ kind of deal. Just the two of them and no other help, as it
so often happened these days, but neither minded. Giles had taken a
step back, explaining that, as a Watcher, he had done all he could for
Buffy, and while he would always be there if she needed him, he felt
that she could fight without his immediate support. Spike had deduced
that the Watcher would soon be returning to England; but so far, he
hadn’t voiced his suspicion to Buffy and was waiting to see what the
man would actually do.
“If you don’t hurry up, you’re going to have a small dusting problem soon.”
With a mild glare at Buffy, Spike straightened a little and limped a little faster – or at least tried to.
“Yeah, well, you try walking with your thigh sliced down to the bone, some time,” he grumbled. “We’ll see how well you do.”
She clucked her tongue reprovingly. “And this is the guy who used to be
my archenemy? You’re getting soft in your old age, Mr. Bloody.”
From anyone else, the words would have infuriated Spike to the point of
violence, whether he was hurt or not. But from Buffy… with the
affection coating each word and her good arm thrown around him so that
he could lean on her to walk… he just smiled.
“Not so soft,” he replied with a leer that she didn’t fail to notice.
“And you’re past your prime too, Slayer, if I am to judge by the state
of your right arm.”
Eyes now straight ahead, she looked like she was barely suppressing a pout. “Past my prime or not, I still could beat you up.”
“I’m sure you could,” he conceded. “But…”
“But we’d better keep that demonstration for another time, huh? Rain check?”
He laughed. “Definitely.”
Finally, they reached the house; and, shushing each other so as not to
wake up Dawn, they trudged up the stairs, careful not to leave trails
of blood behind them, and directly to the bathroom. Ruined clothes were
discarded with almost excessive care, the first aid kit removed from
the cabinet and set to wait by the sink, and they helped each other
step into the tub and under the spray of hot water.
The water ran pink as it washed over dried blood and still bleeding
cuts, and, on both sides, tender hands washed and stroked, careful not
to inflict more pain. Usually, shared showers meant that one of them or
both would come before they got out of the bathroom, but they were both
exhausted by their night of fighting, and cut the shower to a minimum.
Spike noted to himself that she hadn’t offered him a taste of her
spilled blood. She had done so in the past, arguing that she trusted
him and that the blood was lost to her anyway. He had never been able
to allow himself to do it; he didn’t want to start craving her blood
any more than he already did. Apparently, she had finally understood,
or at least accepted.
He insisted on taking care of her arm first, arguing that his thigh
would heal whether it was bandaged or not, to which she replied that he
wasn’t the only one with near-magical healing before letting him do as
he pleased. With a precision born of experience, Spike applied the
antiseptic cream, the gauze and bandages. For anyone else, he would
have suggested stitches, but the three parallel slashes would heal
within a few days; he was sure of it.
A couple of other scratches received attention, but nothing needed
dressing as her arm had, and it was her turn to play nurse to him.
Spike sat on the edge of the bathtub, leaning back a little to give her
access to his thigh.
“Stitches?” she asked after taking a better look, and he could hear the wince in her voice.
“It’ll heal faster if it’s closed,” he replied. “I can do it if…”
“No. No, I’ll do it. You take care of me; I take care of you. Lucky for
you, I took the Home Ec class in school. I’ll patch you right up.”
His grin died and a grimace replaced it rather quickly. She was being
as cautious as she could, he recognized that, but it still hurt as hell.
Which didn’t prevent his cock from filling up as her hand accidentally brushed against it as she worked.
Or was it really accidentally? The slight twitch at the corner of her mouth…
“Pervert,” she breathed, so close to him that it was a caress to his sensitive flesh.
“Minx,” he shot back, now persuaded she had found the perfect way to distract him.
A few more stitches and she was finally done, to both their relief. A
quick bandage, a quick kiss, and they limped their way to the bedroom,
taking the soiled clothes and towels with them so as not to alarm Dawn.
Falling into bed with twin groans of mixed pain and delight, they
easily found their way to each other’s arms. Cuddling and kissing
turned into soft caresses that in turn became more heated and…
“Luv?”
Incredulous, Spike watched his Slayer, now asleep against him, her hand
still curled around his aching cock. The incredulity faded into a
smile; they had all the time in the world, or almost. There would be
time for him to pout and get a nice reward when they were both rested.
Carefully, he rearranged her body against him so that she’d be more
comfortable, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
If anyone had told him this was what the good fight was like… he would have signed up a lot earlier.
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The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.