Title:  Pillow Talk

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  Moving deeper into R territory.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  A Spuffy story that starts in early Season 6 before deviating from canon.   A slight change in circumstances, a different decision or two, and you wind up with very different results.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The story begins here.

Chapter 21

Buffy formed her first clear thought of the morning. Spike was outside the bathroom last night, listening to every breath I took to make sure I was safe.  She couldn’t decide if that was flattering or creepy. 

This is Buffyworld.  It's both. 

She formed her second clear thought. And now he's in bed with me.

She sat up, staring down at Spike, who was sprawled on his back next to her.  One hand was flung over his head and the other was tucked under her favorite pillow, which had somehow traveled upstairs again.  He looked peaceful and much, much too pretty not to be dangerous.

The oddest thing of all was she didn't feel the least bit angry or frightened. 

She lay on her back and tried to recall events that had occurred during brief moments of semi-wakefulness.  She remembered falling into bed, and she remembered hearing the doorbell ring.  Then Dawn's voice.  "Janice is here.  I forgot that I asked her to come over so we could do Chemistry homework."

"Go, Bit.  I’ll stay and watch."

"Okay.  I'll be downstairs if you need me."  There’d been relief in Dawn’s response, a door closing, and the creak of a chair.

Then, much later, Buffy had turned over to reach for her pillow and seen Spike sitting in the chair by her bed, a book slipping out of his hands, his head lolling to one side.  He was sleeping, but he looked uncomfortable. Then there had been voices.

"Spike."  That must have been her talking.

"Hmm."

"You shouldn’t sit there.  The sun comes in through that window."

"No worries, love.  I’ll move before the sun comes up."

"No you won’t.  You’ll fall asleep again, like me in the bathtub."

What had happened after that was the opposite of clear, but somehow, he’d wound up on the bed with her, under the sheets but still fully clothed except for his boots.  She’d felt suddenly safer, and had even given him her favorite pillow, because he’d felt cold and looked so strange and worried and maybe something else she wasn't sure about. 

Now, he stirred, rolling over on his side and opening his eyes.

They stared at each other.  For a moment, he looked content and happy, as if he was where he belonged.  Then his eyes narrowed, and she sensed him tense. 

He doesn't think I think he belongs here.

Well, he doesn't.  But it's not his fault for once.  He shouldn't have to look worried this time.

It was suddenly very important that she say the right thing.  She considered carefully. "Thank you."

Only his eyebrow asked the question, but the meaning was clear.  "Why?"

"Last night you saved me."

She had no words to describe his reaction.  His expression reminded her of the way he'd looked when she'd invited him into the house just before they'd gone to the final fight with Glory, only more so. 

Whatever it meant, it was too intense to be comfortable.  She looked away, flinching a little, as if she'd stared into the sun. 

You're lying in bed with a vampire.  Find something safe to talk about.  "Uh, where's Dawn?"

"I heard her go out about an hour ago.  Well after sun-up, that was."

Buffy peeked back at him and saw he was smiling.  His expression was warm and self-confident, and marginally less disturbing than it had been a few seconds before.  He raised himself up on his elbow and propped his head in his hand. 

"She should have asked first.  Told us where she was going."  Slowly, Buffy remembered more of the events of the past few days.  "Although I'll be surprised if I can get her to ever ask permission again.  She was bad before, but what was I thinking to let her boss everyone around like that!  Even me!  How am I going to keep her under control now?"

She was babbling to avoid addressing the bed-sharing issue, but instead of calling her on it, he said, "You could always pretend you're in danger.  That calls her to order."

Buffy remembered Dawn brushing her hair the night before.  And something else.   "She thought I tried to drown myself."

"It crossed her mind.  She knows better now."

"Don't lie, Spike.  You did too.  That's why you wouldn't leave me alone last night."  More memories.  "And you thought I was trying to get myself killed on patrol.  That's why you've been following me."

His smile was gone now.  "Were you?"

She let him stroke her cheek while she thought that one over.  "Maybe, on patrol.  I'm not sure.  But not last night.  It didn't hurt last night."

Now she let him pull her into his arms and stroke her back, as she gripped his t-shirt and buried her head in his shoulder.  She was shivering from the effort of facing emotions she'd fled for weeks.

Maybe he'd been running too.  She remembered her terror at that moment when she realized he was planning on walking into the bright sunshine of that loading dock at the butcher's shop.  He'd been under the influence of the spell, but—

All that means is that his unlife is so distasteful, he considered dusting himself an improvement.  Everyone else under the spell found something to eat or drink that made them happy, but not Spike.

Well, he couldn't get human blood, that was true, but what had he said?  "Blood, booze, and a lady."  Buffy wasn't thrilled at being the last entry in the trilogy, but did that mean his hunger for her had become so basic it was as important as his need to feed? 

And to get drunk, of course.

Again, there was that thin line between the flattering and the icky.   No other stalker could straddle it with quite the same flair as her crazy vampire boyfriend.

Did I just think 'boyfriend?'

Someone had.  Maybe it was her.

Her head was spinning, but Spike didn't seem to be brooding about either her passive-aggressive suicide attempts or his more proactive one.  For anyone other than a crazy guy who was already dead to a certain extent, her words would have sparked a long conversation.  Spike was too busy taking advantage of his situation, which at the moment involved cuddling a barely-clothed Buffy.  

He's so predictable, sometimes.

A series of soft kisses traveled along her collarbone and up her throat, ending at her lips.  She tried to protest, but didn't get past the point of opening her mouth.  Then her tongue got distracted and decided to go exploring. 

It was hard to believe that this could be wrong, here in her own bed, lying side-by-side, their cheeks pressed against the softness of her pillow.  Especially since hands were exploring now too.  It was hard to object to his unbuttoning the top of her nightgown and slipping inside when hers were finding their way under his t-shirt.

She'd been locked inside herself for so long, avoiding most physical contact, that the sensation of another body pressed against hers was dizzying in its intensity.  Just being able to press her hands against his chest was a small miracle, and as for the kissing...

They'd kissed in the butcher shop, but that was different.  They'd both been at least half-crazy and out-of-control, but even then she'd been acutely aware that she was in the arms of something wild and dangerous.  Something inhuman and alien. 

Buffy tried to be sensible.  Sensible Buffy knew that she must be a bit lightheaded after the long days and her accident in the bathtub.  Spike wasn't human, he didn't belong here, and she should pull herself together and push him out immediately.  But her arms and legs weren't listening to Sensible Buffy.  Her arms pulled him closer, and her legs opened as if of their own accord when he slipped his hand between her thighs.  Traitors.

Her nightgown was a traitor too, because it made no objection as it was slipped over her head. 

Sensible Buffy gave way to another, seductively reasonable voice.  Intimate.  That was the word it whispered.  This wasn't just a need to be touched.  This was intimacy.  Her body was inviting him in because they were the same and they understood each other the way no one else could.  Suddenly, it all seemed clear, and she wondered why she had been struggling against it for so long.  This was what she wanted.  This really would work, if she just let it happen. 
 
She was embarrassed to hear herself whimper in protest when he pulled away suddenly, but he was back again almost immediately, and instead of ancient cotton and rough denim, she could feel Fully Monty Spike against her skin.  She gasped.

"Wow."

Spike smirked.  "Impressed, eh?"

Okay, maybe she was going to let sex happen, but there was no way she going to let him win at snark.  "Yeah, that was first time I ever saw anyone jump out of bed, skin out of his clothes, and get back under the covers at full vamp speed."

He gave a snort of either indignation or disbelief.  It was hard to tell since he was also licking a slow line from her throat to her breasts.

"Really.  It was so fast, I didn't have time to make a proper evaluation of anything else."

"Easy enough to fix." 

She let his hand guide hers.  He groaned and her fingers continued their investigation, but more gently.

"You didn't hurt me," he muttered.

"You're not hurting me either."  Vaguely, she remembered that she'd been worried about something like that, but it seemed a long time ago, and she let the thought slip away.  Nothing seemed important except how good Spike tasted and felt.  She wondered if this could be some residual effect of Xander's spell, but it didn't feel the same.  There wasn't the same mindless urgency.  This was more like mindful urgency. 

Sensible Buffy crept out of hiding. "Spike, maybe I should get up and see if Dawn left a note to say where she was going."

"And maybe not.  Remember, love, you promised that when the spell was done that me and you were going to have a nice little chat."

"I don't think I promised.  I think you just said that.  Besides, this isn't a nice chat.  In fact, I think it's turning into an entirely different kind of intercourse."

"But you have to admit, Slayer, it is nice."

A few minutes later, a considerably weakened Sensible Buffy tried again.  "I'm still not sure this is a good idea."

"I'll make a note of that in the meeting minutes.  Buffy, while giving an absolutely brilliant hand-job, said for the record, 'I'm still not sure this is a good idea.'  To which Spike responded, 'I bloody well am.'"

Damn him.  She was giggling too hard, and enjoying what he was doing with his hands too much, and even Sensible Buffy gave up.  She leaned forward and captured his mouth with hers. 

A door slammed somewhere, and she pulled away.  "Is that Dawn?"  Even in her current state, the idea of her little sister walking in on them definitely didn't make her giggle.

There was a growl of annoyance in Spike's voice.  "Just the witches."  He rolled on top of her.  "Ignore them."

She wanted to, but there were raised voices, noisy footsteps on the stairs, and loud raps on her door.  "Buffy!  Buffy, are you there?"  Willow's voice was panicky.  "Please, I need you."

Buffy pushed Spike off her and clutched at the sheets.  "Don't come in! What is it?"

"Bugger," muttered Spike, but Buffy could barely hear him.  He suddenly seemed very far away.

The door wasn't enough of a barrier to drown out Willow's sobs.  "Tara's leaving me."

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