This part was written by me, with Kantayra's kind
permission, as a bday present fic for Nessaelerrina. It is set between
chapters 6 and 7, and rated PG-13.
Interlude
If Spike hadn't been so smug about it, Buffy would have admitted
that he had been right. The cemetery had indeed been in the direction
he had predicted, and they were now walking through graves.
Shouldn't she have been spooked by that, anyway? Graveyards, hardly the most romantic...er...comforting places
to visit. But it didn't feel weird. Rather, it felt almost familiar, as
if the memory of patrols like this one was just on the edge of her
vision, and if she only turned a little she would find it again. Just
like patrolling with Spike was familiar.
"And how are we supposed to find something to kill anyway?" the blond suddenly grumbled.
She glared at him. "Will you be quiet? You're scaring them away!"
If he had only listened to Rupert, he would have known that this was
proper patrol protocol. Walk around a graveyard, look for signs of
fresh graves and any suspicious looking activities.
For a few seconds he was silent, and then, again, he was protesting against their assignment, this time more loudly.
"This is ridiculous! I'd bet there isn't a bloody demon anywhere in a ten mile radius!"
She was about to point out to him that by now, certainly, the demons were all gone, when someone...something came
out of the shadows. The demon was scary, showing too many teeth, loose
skin on his face and body hinting at possible transformation, and
holding a large...bucket of buffalo wings?
"Spike! Buffy! How are you, guys?"
Spike and Buffy looked at each other in surprise, blinked, turned back to the ferocious-looking demon...
...Who, actually, when he was smiling brightly like that and carrying
something as innocuous as a bucket of wings, didn't really look that
ferocious at all.
Buffy and Spike exchanged another look and shrugged.
"Uh...fine?" Buffy ventured hesitantly.
"Good to hear it. I know things have been rough for you lately, but it's nice to see a smile," the demon grinned.
Buffy blinked slowly. Spike raised a confused eyebrow.
"Thanks," Buffy managed a smile. She gave Spike a pointed look, unsure whether to kill the seemingly friendly creature. Are there demons whose evil powers are their friendliness and they...braid your hair or something when you aren't looking?
"Beautiful night for slaying," the demon responded merrily. "I was
going to ask if you wanted to watch the Cops marathon tonight. Plenty
of pointless violence, and all that. But I wouldn't want to disturb you
two kids." He reached out with one clawed hand and gave Spike a pat on
the shoulder. "Enjoy your walk," he winked pointedly at Spike.
Spike nodded slowly, liking the implication that he and his girl were
out for a midnight stroll. Maybe this demon fellow knew that they were
a hot item. Maybe he was only a quick question away from being able to
sweep his Slayer off her feet right now...
And he suddenly discovered that really just wasn't a very patient man.
Understood the logic behind keeping the memory loss to themselves,
didn't care, and decided abruptly that he couldn't handle this anymore.
"Do we know you?" he demanded.
The demon blinked a couple of times, and his grin wavered between
amusement and worry. "You're joking, right?" he asked, uncertain,
before turning to Buffy, his voice coming close to a whisper as he
repeated: "He's joking, right? Or he hit his head or something?"
The Slayer glared at Spike, clearly reproaching him of breaking their cover, but he couldn't have cared less.
"'S a matter of fact," he answered the demon, suddenly inspired, "I did hit my head. Something bad. Can still feel it."
He rubbed the back of his skull as if to demonstrate, giving Buffy a
look that asked her to play along. Her frown disappeared and her eyes
widened a little when she finally understood.
"Oh! Yeah, he did hurt his head. I've been telling him to go back to
his house and rest but you know him, stubborn vamp, he doesn't want to
listen to the Slayer!"
She finished with a forced chuckle, and Spike wanted to roll his eyes
at her. God, but she was a bad liar. Still, it seemed to have done the
trick. A worried expression appeared on the demon's fleshy features and
he looked at Spike sympathetically.
"Not that you'd remember, but I warned you that patrolling with the Slay..."
He cut himself short and coughed nervously, apparently remembering all of a sudden that Buffy was right there.
"Right. So. We'd better get you back home. You'll be good as new after a little blood and rest, trust Doctor Clem on that."
Throwing a triumphant look at the Slayer, Spike followed this Doctor
Clem. With any luck, he would soon have all the proofs needed to
convince Buffy that they were a couple - he was just certain that he
was the kind of guy who kept souvenirs. All he needed was a good look
around his...crypt?
"I live in a soddin' crypt?" Spike exclaimed in vehement disbelief as Clem opened the door.
The floppy-eared demon nodded vigorously. "Nice place, too. The envy of all the lesser demons in town."
Spike gave Buffy a skeptical look and entered. Buffy just tried to
smile and followed. When she got a look at the interior, however, she
was left gaping instead. "Not bad," she finally managed.
Spike gave her a sharp look, momentarily disrupted from his own shock,
and she abruptly remembered that she was supposed to, well, remember.
"Uh, what I mean is..." she hastily back-tracked.
"The new couch is a major improvement," Clem agreed, plopping himself
down on the remarkably tidy upholstery. "It was nice of Giles to give
it to you."
Gift from dear old dad, huh? Spike thought inwardly, trailing
his fingertips over the back. Not a bad place in all, he decided. A bit
melodramatic with all the candles - and, were those real skulls in the
window frame? - but he had a nice telly, a little fridge... He frowned.
"I sleep in the sarcophagus over there, then?" he asked Clem curiously.
Clem had flipped to his channel and was apparently enjoying the Cops
marathon all by himself. After all, nothing could possibly help Spike
recover his memory faster than bad, violent TV reruns. "Bedroom's
downstairs," he answered.
Buffy and Spike both looked around at that, and Buffy spotted the
trapdoor in the back, gave it a yank. "You first," she smiled softly,
cheeks flushing slightly when, as he passed her, his body brushed very
pointedly against hers.
"Plannin' on joining me in my bedroom, luv?" he purred before jumping down the hole.
Buffy's face turned a bright red when she noticed Clem had been
watching them. He gave her the thumb's up sign and a little wink before
returning to his bucket of wings and television.
At least with Spike's buddy here, I won't give in to temptation, she encouraged herself before taking a deep breath and leaping down the opening.
She landed in a careful crouch and slowly rose, looking around. Or,
then again, maybe some temptations are worth getting caught by the
friendly demon with the weird skin. Welcome to Spike's den of carnal
pleasure...
Spike heard Buffy right behind him, but his attention remained on the
room in front of him, and his face lit with a bright smile as he
discovered, in particularly, the bed. Solid hard wood headboard, wide
and soft looking mattress, rumpled sheets that hinted at delicious
activities...
"Now that's more like it," he commented as he let himself fall back on
the bed. "Definitely more comfortable than your sofa. And larger than
your bed, too."
A suggestive wink to Buffy had her cheeks suddenly flaming, even if she tried to hide it by looking around.
"You don't have much furniture," she noted out loud. "It looks like you haven't been living here for long."
Leaning back on his elbows, he shrugged and watched her walk around the room.
"Maybe I've only been a vamp since recently," he suggested. "Got all the necessities, and now working on the accessories."
She nodded thoughtfully and opened the top drawer of his one and only
dresser. Strange, Spike thought, how he really didn't mind her looking
through his stuff. It felt... comfortable. He supposed she had done it
before and part of him remembered it without really remembering. God,
but this memory thing was becoming annoying.
The really maddening part was to have all these feelings, near
certainties, and nothing to back them up. Like knowing that he and
Buffy were close, very close, and yet there wasn't a trace of her scent
on his sheets, only his own. His smile wavered at that realization;
still, he refused to believe he was wrong about her, about them.
"Hey look! Clothes!"
Brought back to the scene in front of him, he sat up as Buffy held a
black t-shirt in front of her, and his grin returned. That looked,
without a doubt, much better than tweed.
"What else we got in there?" he asked curiously, sitting up on the bed.
Buffy's nose scrunched up in concentration as she routed through the
drawer. "Lots of black. Ooh...purple shirt...pretty... And more black.
Jeans this time."
Spike smirked at that. "Toss us somethin' less..." He glanced speculatively down at the day-old tweed he was wearing.
"Geeky?" Buffy suggested with a wicked grin.
He scowled at her. "'m sure this get-up is the old man's fault." He
caught the jeans and purple button-up shirt she tossed his way.
"You hope," she teased.
He tisked lightly and gave her a wicked smile. Without another word,
his hands turned to the button of his pants, popping it open with
deliberate slowness.
Buffy's eyes widened. "You're just gonna change right here?" she asked in disbelief.
He grinned and pulled slowly at the zipper.
With an audible 'eep', she spun around and covered her eyes with her
hands. That didn't keep her from hearing the long, slow grating of
metal teeth as he stripped behind her. And one part of her really
couldn't help but conspire as to how she could sneak a peek without
getting caught.
"'S safe now, luv," Spike's bemused voice wafted over to her after he'd fastened the buttons of his jeans.
With a deep breath for composure, she turned back around...and gaped.
"No shirt," she stated dumbly, licking her lips. "Shirt not on why?"
Spike smirked at that, having obtained the reaction he had hoped for.
That tip of a tongue running over her lips was simply begging for a
mate to play with.
"There," he said teasingly as he slipped the shirt on then spread his
arms wide, letting it hang open on his chest. "Better now?"
Not better, Buffy thought, unable to take her eyes off him. But still very yummy.
The way the fabric framed his skin, so pale and so perfect, dancing
along it in what had to be so close to a caress... She suddenly itched
to replace the fabric with her hands, and see which of the shirt or his
skin felt silkier. She was betting on the latter.
"It's called buttons," she pointed out blankly as she gestured toward
him. His widening grin was infuriating, and her eyes narrowed in
comprehension. So, he was having fun teasing her, was he? Well, two
could play that game.
"And in case you've forgotten how they work," she murmured with a coy flutter of her eyelashes, "let me show you."
She stepped closer to him, so close that he could feel her heat
radiating toward him, and reached for the sides of his shirt. He let
her do as she pleased, suppressing a shiver when her knuckles
accidentally brushed his skin. Eyes intent on her work, she looked
quite simply delicious, and it was all he could do to stay still and
not pull her closer, trap her hot little hands between them, bury his
face in the crook of her tantalizing neck...
On the third contact, he started to realize that it might not be
completely accidental. When she grazed his nipple through the fabric,
it was clear that she was doing it on purpose.
"Slayer?" His voice had turned to a husky whisper at her touch,
apparently. He wet his lips and repeated with a bit more confidence.
"What're you doing, luv?"
She smiled but didn't look up, sliding one fingertip sensually up the
deep purple fabric. "Buttoning your shirt," she answered with false
innocence.
He sighed and closed his eyes when, on the last button, her fingers
lingered over his solar plexus, stroking the bare skin there in a
gentle caress.
Buffy watched his nostrils flare as he fought for breath, felt his body
shudder beneath her fingertips, and couldn't help but feel her own body
heating up in response. Teasing was fun, but touching him like this
was...amazing. Shaking herself from the intensity of the moment, she
fastened the last button and took a step back.
"All better now." The desire was as evident in her voice as it had been in his.
He opened his eyes, and she felt herself drowning in the dark blue
pools. His pupils were dilated, and the slow quirk of his lips told her
only too well that he had it in mind to act upon the growing tension
between them. "Is it?" he purred, his voice rumbling deep within his
chest.
She gulped and nodded. "B-Because we've just lost all our memories, and
things are really confusing right now, a-and I'm all flustered because
you were hot and naked." She blushed at the last one. She hadn't meant
to say that. Really.
He smirked. "Nothin' wrong with hot and naked," he retorted.
"Especially since dear old Clem says we're...close." He took a step
closer, and she stepped back, looking like a wide-eyed doe ready to
flee. He sighed and turned away from her to look in the vague direction
of an old, overstuffed armchair. "Prob'ly right about the waitin' bit,"
he conceded reluctantly.
Buffy was surprised at how disappointed she was. A part of her was
terrified, true, but an even greater part of her was excited, wanted to
push the boundaries between them. "Oh, what the hell," she decided,
stepping into him once more. "I get the feeling I've always been a carpe diem kinda girl..."
He turned to look at her in surprise when her hands came to rest gently
on either side of his waist and gasped when she pulled him closer. And
then she stood up on her toes to press her lips lightly to his, and he
lost all ability to think.
His lips were cool against hers, soft and full, and the contact needed
to be prolonged to be appreciated fully, she decided. She traced the
seam of his lips with her tongue and they parted slowly, allowing her
access to his mouth.
The light brush of her tongue against his woke him up from the sweet
dream he had slid into, only to realize that this was no dream. The
kiss was light, no more than a caress, but it was full of promises of
things to come, as were the hands stroking his sides softly...
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.