Title:  YOU ALWAYS HURT....(4/13/04)

Author: Slaymesoftly

Season VI - maybe she did?

Word count – 2944

 Rating –R

Disclaimer - not my characters, not my world

Feedback - please

Distribution - let me know where

Summary – something had to happen to make it okay for Spike to come to Buffy’s birthday party......





            “You always hurt the one you love.”  As Buffy left the police station, she admitted Spike had been right all along. She thought about how she had left him in the alley and what he'd said to her.  As she remembered how she had beaten him, long past the point necessary to get him out of her way, she felt sick to her stomach.  She couldn't stop thinking about how he'd pleaded with her not to throw her life away, and how he never tried to defend himself or fight back. He'd just let her keep pummeling his face and body until she wore herself out. Until she recoiled in horror from what she had done.


            She knew that somewhere during the course of the beating, it became more about how she felt about herself than about her need to get around him.  All the beating really did was reinforce her conviction that she had come back wrong.  The Buffy she used to be would never have taken out her self-disgust on another being like that.  Certainly not on one who loved her and was only trying to protect her from herself.  Her stomach turned over again as she remembered some of the awful things she said to him while she was beating him.


            While she was chastising herself for her behavior – and mulling over how to prove that Warren was responsible for Katrina’s death – her feet had carried her to Revello drive.  She let herself in the quiet house and started upstairs to the bathroom to wash Spike’s blood off her hands and jacket.  The shrill sound of the phone startled her as only a totally unexpected call can do. She grabbed it quickly before it could wake anyone, surprised to hear Clem on the other end.


            “Slayer?” he asked hesitantly.  “Is Spike with you?  It’s almost dawn and he’s not back yet. We were supposed to meet at 3:00 for a card game, but he never came home.”


            “Spike? No, he’s not here. He’s probably.... Oh my god! Spike!”  The realty of where Spike was and why he wasn’t safely inside away from the rising sun suddenly penetrated her self-absorbed fog.


            She threw the phone back at the receiver and ran from the house without even saying “good-bye” to Clem, let alone explaining that she knew where Spike was.  She jumped into her mother’s SUV and checked quickly to see that there was a first aid kit and blanket before backing out of the driveway (Whoops! Xander will have to fix that mailbox tomorrow) and speeding toward the alley where she'd left Spike’s battered body.


            She slammed the car into park and ran toward the spot where she'd left Spike on the ground.  There was nothing there but a blood-soaked spot on the concrete – hardly unusual for Sunnydale.


            Frantically, Buffy scanned the alley looking for a body.  A flash of something pale from behind the dumpster caught her attention and she peered behind it to see that Spike had dragged himself as far back as he could get to try to shelter from the rising sun.


            He appeared to be unconscious and didn’t move or look up when Buffy touched him. With unshed tears filling her eyes, Buffy picked him up and threw him into the car just seconds ahead of the morning sun’s first rays slanting into the alley.


            She threw the blanket over him and drove out of the alley toward his crypt.  When she got to the graveyard, she was relieved to see a worried Clem waiting anxiously at the door.  “Quick, Clem, help me get him inside without incinerating him.”


            Between the two of them they got Spike and the blanket into the crypt and down the stairs to his bed.


            “Oh my,” Clem said when the blanket came off and he got a look at Spike's battered face.  “What did this to him?” To Buffy’s surprise, the usually jolly Clem was wearing an expression that could only be called demonic. Tentacles that Buffy didn’t know he had were extending from his head.


            Buffy took a deep breath and just as she was about to confess what she had done, Spike’s hand closed on hers and squeezed it hard.  He fixed his one good eye on Buffy and said in a ragged voice, “It’s all right, Clem, you ought to see the other guys.”


            “I want to see those guys, Spike! Who were they? Were they humans? You don’t have any marks on your knuckles.  Why didn’t you fight back...?” Clem’s voice trailed off as he looked from Spike to the now-crying Slayer.  “Oh,” he said flatly.  “I see.”  Although his tentacles were being drawn back under the folds of skin that normally hid them, the look he gave Buffy told her his opinion of her had changed forever.  “Well, since I know you’re not dust, I guess I’ll just leave you two.  I’ll check back later in case you need anything.”  The gentle demon turned to go back up the ladder, shaking his head to clear it of the sight of a master vampire battered into unconsciousness by a small girl.


            “Clem, could you, would you... the first aid kit in my car...”


            “Sure, Slayer. I’ll toss it down,” he said without looking at her.


            Buffy sat by the bed, whimpering into her hands, repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over.


            “ 's alright, love. Please stop crying. You know I cant’ stand it when you cry.” He reached out and took her hand and brought it to his broken and bloody lips.


            “Don’t,” she croaked, snatching her hand back.  “Don’t be nice to me.  I don’t deserve it.  How can you stand to be in the same room with me?”


            “Not really much choice is there? I don’t really fancy tryin’ to move right now.”


            At those words, she renewed her sobs, slowing down only to catch the first aid kit Clem dropped down the stairs.


            With shaking hands, she opened the kit and took out antiseptic and bandages.


            “You know, you don’t have to do this,” he said.  “It’s not like I’m going to get an infection and die.”


            “You’ll heal faster,” she mumbled . And I’ll feel better.


            As she worked on his open wounds and applied ice packs to as many bruises as she could, Spike appeared to lose consciousness again.  With no breath to make his chest move, she thought it was eerily like trying to give first aid to a corpse;  then realized that was a pretty good description of what she was doing.  The sobs that had wracked her body had tapered off to sniffles and the occasional ragged breath by the time she had iced or bandaged everything she could see.  She knew there were probably more injuries that she couldn’t see, probably including some broken bones, but couldn’t bring herself to check.


            She did take off his shirt and boots, but left his jeans on and just pulled the bedding up over him hiding some of what she had done.  There was no hiding what his once-beautiful face looked like, though, and the sight of it started the tears flowing all over again.  Thinking he was asleep or unconscious, Buffy leaned in to lay her cheek next to his, allowing her tears to soak into the cuts on that side of his face.  “Oh, Spike. I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?” she whispered.


            “Nothin’’ to forgive, love.  Rather you took those feelings out on me than on yourself,”  he whispered back without opening his eyes.  “I can take it.”


            “You shouldn’t have to take it,” she replied vehemently as she drew back.  “I’m a bigger monster than you ever were.”


            Spike opened one eye at that, and fixed a steely gaze on her.  “Don’t you ever believe that, Buffy!  Not for one second.  A righteous bitch sometimes, maybe,”  He smiled painfully.  “but never a monster.”


            He shifted his weight a little and the sight of the painful wince evoked by the movement sent Buffy’s stomach doing flip flops again.  Frantically she tried to think of something else to do to end the suffering she had caused.  And then it came to her – the fastest route to quick healing and strength for a vampire – Slayer blood.


            “Spike, Spike,” she said, moving onto the bed with him.  “Spike I want you to bite me.  You need blood to heal.”


            “Bloody hell, woman.  Are you crazy?”  he said with as much vehemence as he could muster.  “First place, no!  And second place... well, no, that’s all.”


            “Yes,” she insisted. “Slayer blood is what you need. Please, Spike,” she pleaded softly, “Let me do this for you.”


            “What if I drain you?” he asked. “Who’ll save the world then?”


            “You won’t,” she said with conviction. “I... I trust you.”


            He studied her face carefully for a full minute.


            “You know, Slayer, I’m not sure I even can bite you,” he said slowly.  “I’m too knackered to go into game face for no reason. Fangs only come down by themselves when there’s fighting to be done or.....”


            “Or what?” Then the memory of what happened the first time Angel kissed her passed through her mind and she realized what “or” was.


            “Oh!  But you’ve never... I never saw... when we... you didn’t... Why not?” she demanded.


            “Because I didn’t want you to see that side of me,” he said quietly. 


            “Oh” was the only response she could think of Note to self - we will talk about this later.


            “So, what do I have to do to bring it out?” she asked. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”


            “Just kiss me, love. You know it doesn’t take much to make me want you – just the sight or scent of you is all, usually.”


            Buffy carefully and gently pressed her lips to his, trying not to press so hard that she hurt him; he grabbed her head, however, and pulled her mouth to his, growling softly as his split lip reopened and started bleeding.  Buffy could taste the coppery blood and feel the heat flowing from her lips to his.  As always, just the feel of his lips and the nearness of his body was all it took to create a furnace in her and she forgot to worry about hurting him as she sank into the kiss, allowing her body to melt into his.  She felt his lips and tongue sliding down her neck to the opening of her shirt and gasped as heat flooded her body.  For the first time, she wondered if he was right and her feelings for him were more real than she wanted to believe.  No one else had ever evoked such instant and powerful desire as this dead man could do in just a few seconds. 


            She moaned and moved against him, all concerns about re-injuring him forgotten in the need to feel his hands on her body and to keep his tongue and lips working their way around it.  Suddenly, her slayer-senses tingled and she realized that the teeth nibbling at her neck were no longer blunt and gentle, but sharp and pointed. For just a second, she froze, all her instincts telling her to fight or run.  Spike felt her tense up and immediately stopped before his teeth were quite through her skin.  “Buffy?” he asked carefully, his voice thick with desire, but under control. Forcing her instincts to relax, Buffy pulled his head toward her neck again and breathed, “Yes, do it. Do it now.”


            The sharp pain she felt as his teeth broke the skin was almost immediately obliterated by a sensation of incredibly sensual pleasure.  She found herself writhing on the bed, not in pain, but with the shear ecstasy of the feeling.  At some point, she knew, she would need to make him stop, but the feeling of utter surrender was so foreign and so wonderful that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. When he did stop sucking on her neck, she whimpered in complaint and tried to pull him back.  “No, love,” he whispered huskily, “that’s more than enough”  With a quick flick of his tongue, he sealed the two small holes and moved away from her on the bed.


            He fell back against the pillow, feeling the strong slayer blood flooding his body and healing it.  Bones visibly knit themselves together, organs recovered, and small cuts began to close.  Buffy turned her head toward him, waiting until her breathing had slowed to normal before asking, “Is it always like that?”


            “It can be,” he replied. “Most vampires have no reason to be that careful.”


            Buffy tentatively touched the scars on her neck - first the new, already closed holes on the left side - and then the older scars on the right, from Angel, Dracula and the Master.


            “Why didn’t it feel like that when An- anyone else bit me? I mean, it didn’t hurt when Dracula bit me, but I didn’t feel...” She didn’t finish that thought.  “And the other two just hurt.”


            I would never hurt you, Buffy. You know that.”


            “But, it didn’t just not hurt.  It felt...good.”  She blushed as she admitted what she was sure was a major character flaw for a Slayer.


            “Well,” he drawled, “we were somewhat involved in something else equally pleasant at the time.”


            She smiled at him and slid closer, throwing a leg over his body and snuggling tinto his shoulder.  “Yes, we were, weren’t we? And exactly where were we in that process when you stopped to bite my neck?”  She slid her hand over his chest and shifted her body so that she was mostly on top of him.


            “I think it was somewhere around about... here.” He pulled her over completely and, putting his hands on her hips, lifted her up and on to his body.  Somehow he had managed to get his pants undone and she slid on to his erection after shoving her skirt and thong out of the way.  She gasped with pleasure as she sank down onto the full length of him, keeping eye contact in a way she hadn’t since that first time - which, she suddenly remembered, had also followed a beating No! a fight! At least it was a fight, that time,  she thought desperately.  What is wrong with me that I can only appreciate Spike when I’ve been hurting him)  


            Then the sensations flowing through her body chased any coherent thought from her mind and she allowed herself to enjoy her undead lover’s newly healed and vigorous body.


            After much of said enjoyment, they rested together on his bed in a companionable silence.  Buffy finally broke the silence to ask softly,  “Are you coming to my birthday party this weekend?”  Her small hand traced circles on his chest as she waited for his answer.


            He pulled back abruptly to look at her face.  “Am I invited?” he asked in astonishment.  “I mean, after Niblet told me about it, I was planning to crash it anyway, but....” He stopped and tilted her chin up to look in her eyes. “Is this more guilt, Slayer?” He searched her face for an explanation and she shifted her gaze away.


            “No!  Yes.  I don’t know – can’t you just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without questioning me?”


            His expression, which had wavered on hopeful for just a second, hardened and he released her chin.  “I think it would be best if I just seemed to be crashing it, don’t you?” he asked flatly.  “Fewer explanations to the Scoobies.”


            Her relieved, “Well, yes, maybe – okay,”  caused him to shut his eyes briefly in pain that had nothing to do with his battered body.


            “Okay then, That’ll be the explanation. I’m crashing the party because I’m evil, stalking Spike and I have no manners.”


            Buffy bit her lip at the bitterness in his voice.


            “Spike, I’m sorry.  I really don’t want to hurt you.  It’s just that...”


            “ 's all right, Buffy. I know they couldn’t handle it.  It’s just our little secret, love.” He leaned over and kissed her gently, but his face remained cold and hard.


            “Well, ours and Tara’s” she said as she peered at him through her hair.


            “Excuse me? Tara? The good witch knows?”


            “It kind of slipped out when I was... she was... never mind.  She’s okay with it, I think.  And she won’t tell.”


            ”She’s gonna keep a secret from Red?” he asked incredulously.


            “I trust her,” Buffy replied, “and I think she likes you, so she’s not as freaked as the others might be.  Of course, you’ve never tried to kill her either....”


            “Hey!  I haven’t tried to kill any of the Scoobies in a long time!” he responded indignantly.


            “And I’m sure they all appreciate that,” she said dryly.  “But old grudges die hard, you know.”


            “Yeah, I know, pet.  It’s okay - you decide if and when they’re ready to know about us. Till then, I’ll just be your darkest secret.”  He kissed the tip of her nose and stroked her cheek. Good thing the Watcher’s not here, or those marks on her neck would make this a non-secret bloody quick!.


            For the first time, Buffy didn’t automatically snap out, “There is no us”.  She just leaned into his hand and kissed his palm.  “Let’s see how they deal with you at my birthday party and we’ll go from there. OK?”


            “Whatever you say, Slayer.”


The End


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