Comfort

Spike managed to avoid the foot that was flying at him by ducking at the last second, but before he could regain his footing a vicious fist was catching him in the jaw, sending him staggering a few feet back. Shaking his head, he came back to his opponent, giving a series of punches that were all easily avoided. The counter attack was swift, one leg sweeping both of his. Before he knew it he was on his back, and that damn stake was plunging towards his chest, for the third time in a half hour. And for the third time in a half hour, it stopped just one inch above his flesh.

Buffy frowned at him from her seat on his stomach, and threw the stake across the training room.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

Unconsciously, he placed his hands on her hips in a familiar motion, before realizing what he was doing. As if burnt, he pulled his hands away, resting them instead at his sides. She noticed the gesture, and her frown only deepened.

“You’re an awful liar,” she said as she grabbed his hands and led them back to her hips.

“Am not,” he protested weakly.

She was still sitting astride him and giving no hint that she was about to move. Not that he wanted her to go anywhere.

“Spike, I kicked your butt three times in thirty minutes. That’s not sparring, that’s a beating. You’re barely even trying.”

Golden flakes appeared in her hazel eyes, proof, if he needed it, that she was angry. Her voice had been enough to make that clear, however calm she had tried to sound.

“’Just not my best day, I guess,” he said cautiously.

“Liar. You do it on purpose. Why?”

Having no answer to give her that she would find acceptable, he tried to distract her. His thumbs slid under her tank top and caressed her skin lightly.

“Feeling up for some other activities, luv?”

He gave her his patented smirk, as well as a nicely suggestive eyebrow waggling, but his efforts fell flat and she only scowled at him.

“Do you believe things will get better if you let me beat you up?”

The smirk melted instantly into a hesitant smile.

“It worked before,” he said in a whisper.

Anger disappeared from her eyes, replaced by shock and pain. He cursed mentally. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to admit to anything. The time was long gone when she was alternating beating him and shagging him. But he had thought that, maybe, if he gave her the opportunity to let her anger out physically, it would be easier to get back into her good graces.

He never saw the hand that slapped him. Right after the sting though, her mouth was on his, pressing and demanding, kissing him thoroughly until they were both panting needlessly. Now half lying on top of him, she held his head between both her hands, her face hovering just above his. His eyes widened when he noticed the tears in hers.

“Never play that game again,” she said in a shaking voice.

His right hand came up to brush the tear that was rolling down her nose.

“Never again,” he breathed.

“Hurting you doesn’t help anything. Do you understand that?”

“Yes luv.”

Her lips returned to his, more softly this time, and her tongue slid into his mouth again, caressing and probing where it had been battling before. His fingers tangled in the silk of her hair, just like hers were doing.

When they separated again, she rested her head on his chest for a minute. Then she sat up again and looked at him almost hesitantly.

“Can I…” she started, her whisper quickly cut short.

He didn’t need her to finish the sentence, though, knowing very well what she wanted since he craved the same thing. And he also knew that didn’t mean all was forgotten. The demons inside both of them didn’t care about anything but the thirst.

Sliding her a little until she was resting on his thighs, he drew himself up and encircled her waist with his arms. He answered her unasked question by tilting his head, offering his neck to her. Her lips brushed against his mouth, light as a butterfly wing, before trailing along his jaw and down to the crook of his neck. He felt her shift as she nuzzled him, felt her fangs press against his skin, but she did not bite. Instead, she just waited, giving him his cue that she wanted him to bite her too. He slid thoughtlessly into his demon face, and gave a quick lick to his very first mark, the one that had changed her existence, the only permanent scar he could give her. Then he imitated her actions, pressing his fangs to her skin just enough to stretch it without piercing. There was no signal of any sort, but at the same instant they sank into each other, fangs quickly retracting to give way to blood twice reassuring.

For long minutes, they remained in each other’s arms, neither drawing blood anymore, just holding on to the deep feeling of contentment they both felt. They hadn’t shared blood this way in a long time, for biting had become an almost exclusive part of their sex games. But it reminded Buffy of the first time they had drunk from each other together, the night after he had turned her. It had been a matter of comfort then, as she was scared, confused and upset at having been made a vampire. It was another kind of comfort they had just shared, for this time both of them were troubled and needed soothing.

With a sigh, Buffy finally extracted herself from Spike’s arms and got to her feet, offering her hand to pull him up.

“I need to go plan things with Anya for the online orders. Then we can go home, grab what we’ll need for a few days out of town, and be on our way.”

He nodded, gently tucking a stray strand of her behind her ear.

“Are we staying at the Hyperion?” he asked.

“I guess.”

“Want me to call Peaches?”

She thought about that for a second, before shaking her head.

“Better not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in touch with Faith, and if he tells her I’m coming to LA she might hide or even run.”

A quick light of surprise ran through his eyes, gone as soon as it had appeared, but he did not comment.

“Fine, then. I’ll go out for a smoke and join you in a few minutes, OK?”

Her eyes followed him as he walked out into the back alley. The battle had been long, but he had finally made it a habit to not smoke inside, be it inside their home, the Magic Box, or even his car. Now, if she could just get him to abandon the habit completely…

Absently thinking of what incentives she could find to convince him to quit, period, she joined Anya and Xander in the shop. Xander came to the Magic Box every day after work, and stayed with his wife until closing time.

Buffy told them about needing to leave for LA, though she didn’t explain why exactly. She felt oddly reluctant to tell them about Faith, maybe because she had no idea what would happen when she found her. They made arrangements for Anya to take care of the online orders until their return. She also told them about Giles coming to town, though again she was vague about the reasons. They would find out soon enough that trouble was on its way, and in the meantime they wouldn’t worry needlessly.

After all the details were planed, she noticed the insistent look that Anya gave her husband. Immediately, he excused himself, stopping by the office for a second before sneaking out to the training room. Puzzled, Buffy watched him leave with a bottle of beer in each hand. He and Spike were not at each other’s throats anymore, and the insults they still traded were more playful than hurtful. But it still was weird to see Xander comfortable around Spike, let alone see him deliberately seek the vampire out, carrying the universal beverage of male bonding.

“What’s wrong with you and Spike?”

Buffy almost jumped at the sudden question and turned wide eyes to Anya. It had been a long time since the ex-demon had been asking personal questions so bluntly.

“Why do you think there’s something wrong?” she asked uneasily.

Anya rolled her eyes as if the answer was evident.

“Anyone who knows the two of you can see it. I think today was the first time in three years I saw you two come in the shop without holding hands. And you can’t be a vengeance demon as long as I was without picking vibes about relationships. So, do you want to talk about it?”

Pondering the offer, Buffy bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. Anya left her for a moment to help a customer and ring a sale, but soon she was back by Buffy’s side at the research table.

“He bit someone,” the Slayer said, her voice slow and quiet. “He didn’t kill, but he hurt a human. More than one. He explained why he did it, and I understand he had good intentions, but…”

She raised her eyes to Anya, noticing the barest frown before it was wiped out.

“He said he wouldn’t do it again,” she continued. “And I believe him. But I don’t know if I can forgive him for lying to me.”

Anya tilted her head slightly, and her eyes flickered to Buffy’s neck, where she knew the fresh marks were visible. She expected a comment, or the remark that, if she let him bit her, she wasn’t that upset with him. Instead, Anya said:

“If being married has taught me anything, it’s that nothing is always completely perfect. There’s always something that is not exactly like you planned, or your husband acts in a way that you don’t like. But if you keep grudges for all the mistakes, it will never work. You’ll end up hating him if you don’t forgive. And you love him too much to let that happen.”

Buffy thought about the words for a little moment, grateful that Anya was giving her time. At last, a small smile found its way to her lips, and she pressed Anya’s hand lightly on the table.

“Maybe you’re right. I’ve been telling myself that I shouldn’t forgive too easily, but we’ve both been hurting too much because of it. I suppose your theory works for any couple, not just married ones.”

“Oh, but when a vampire claims a mate, it’s just about the same as a human wedding,” she said casually. “So you two are as good as married. Therefore my advice applies.”

Just then, new customers entered the store, and Anya left Buffy to greet them before the Slayer could ask for an explanation.

What did she mean, ‘when a vampire claims a mate’?