Story Title: Spirit Indestructible


Season 5. Begins with ‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost immediately.

When Dawn makes the ultimate sacrifice to save her sister, friends, and the world, Buffy’s mind snaps. When Buffy's friends give up hope of her ever recovering, and become afraid that she’ll turn violent and uncontrollable, they call in the Council to help. Fearing what the Council will do, Spike, forgotten and ignored by her friends, steps in. Will he be able to reach the Slayer when no one else could? Will he be able to keep her out of the hands of the Council and away from her ‘helpful’ friends? How much heartbreak, guilt, and failure can one girl stand before her indestructible spirit finally resigns the fight and gives up hope?




49. If


Music Referenced:

If, Bread

Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible


Some Screencaps courtesy of Broken Innocence (others from ScreenCap Paradise which is, sadly, no more). and also from


Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby *AND* Dark Heart for helping me with this chapter! Their suggestions ROCK!  All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

Rating / Warnings:

Rating: NC17

Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.

Moments later…


Buffy touched her mouth to Spike’s smiling lips, a gentle, chaste kiss, before pulling back again to look down at him. It was a miracle … he was healed. Well, perhaps not 100%, but 87.6% for sure. Despite the disconcerting tumble through the past that the scythe had sent them on, it had done what she’d hoped: it had supercharged her blood and healed her husband.


Buffy touched a couple of fingers to her neck, to Spike’s bite, and suddenly she felt Spike wince inwardly and that shame creep back into his heart. She furrowed her brow, looking down at him. How could she feel what he was feeling? What had happened to her … to them?


“What happened … between us?” she asked him, dropping her fingers down to the still-bleeding mark on his neck that she’d made.


Spike pursed his lips and dropped his gaze from hers, not sure what to say. He hadn’t meant to claim her … hadn’t meant to even bite her. He would never have done that if he’d been in his right mind.


“Spike, please, just tell me … what’s going on?” Buffy prodded gently.


Spike swallowed hard and lifted his concerned, blue eyes back to hers. “Been claimed, we ‘ave … the both of us.”


“Claimed? What … like lost luggage?” Buffy pressed, confused.


Spike shrugged. “Could say that, I reckon. You … belong t’ me now … I belong t’ you.”


“Sort of thought we’d already danced that dance.” Buffy held up her left hand and the wedding band to demonstrate.


Spike took a deep breath and nodded. “Bit different this. More … permanent-like. Bond o’ blood … vampire bond … can’t be broken unless one … dies or … dusts.”


Buffy twisted her lips in thought a moment, studying him. “And … I can feel what you’re feeling …”


Spike nodded. “An’ I can feel you.”


“Nifty,” she replied sarcastically. “I guess now answering ‘nothing’ when you ask me what’s bothering me will be useless.”


Spike snorted a short laugh. “Still can’t read your mind, luv,” he pointed out, before adding quietly, “Thank bloody God.


“Just know something’s wrong, I will. Not like your mood’s ever been hard t’ read, pet. Sussing out why you’re feeling what you are is the hard bit.”


Buffy nodded and bit her bottom lip. “I missed you so much…” she whispered, fighting back her tears. “I’m so sorry, Spike … I should’ve never …”


Spike lifted a finger to her lips, stopping her, a link from the chain still attached to the shackle at his wrist clinking lightly when he moved. “Don’t be sorry about anythin’. You alright?”


Buffy nodded, his fingers still on her lips.


“The bits?”


Buffy nodded again.


“Then don’t be sorry, pet. I’m sorry … Joan … she … it was t’ save me,” he stuttered sadly.


Buffy shook her head, wrapping her hand around his and pulling it away from her lips. “Not completely … India … Angel killed … well, actually, he turned India. Joan … I think Joan staked her … dusted her,” Buffy revealed.


“Bloody hell,” Spike moaned, closing his eyes as that sunk in.


“She was there for revenge. I think saving you might’ve just been a … side effect.”


“I’m the irritatin’ rash, then?” Spike teased, opening his shimmering eyes and looking up at her, trying to lighten the mood. In reality, he knew better. Joan may have been there for revenge, but she was there for him, too. Saving him was no accident, he’d seen it clearly in her eyes.


Buffy gave him a small smile. “More like the erection that lasts more than four hours. Not exactly a bad thing.”


Spike snorted a small laugh, wincing with the effort as his barely-healed ribs creaked and shifted in their newly-grown cartilage.


Buffy cringed. “Sorry … are you … do you want to go inside?” she asked as she began to sit up and take her weight off him.


Spike reached up and pulled her back down. “I hear-tell that five’s a crowd, pet. Hate t’ waste all that effort Red put into getting the whelp and demon-bird outta here.”


Buffy shifted atop him, straddling his hips to take more of her weight on herself rather than pressing down so hard on his still-tender torso. “Don’t you want to see the babies?” she wondered, sitting back slightly and looking down at him.


Spike nodded. “No…” he answered flatly. “Wanna see you … wanna … feel you.” He reached up and touched the punctures on her neck gently, tracing them with his fingers as his eyes locked with hers, blue on green.


Sparks flew from his fingertips straight to Buffy’s core and she drew in a tumultuous breath. She’d been aware of his erection since coming back to herself when the connection with the scythe had been broken, but she was suddenly VERY aware of it now as it pressed against her ass.


“Didn’ mean t’ … would’ve never …” Spike stammered, unable to finish any of his thoughts.


“Are you … sorry?” Buffy asked hesitantly, touching her fingers down to the already-healing bite on his neck. “About the claim, I mean?”


“Would’ve never done it if I’d been in m’ right mind,” Spike explained.


“Oh,” Buffy murmured, dropping her eyes to his chest, unable to meet his gaze. “I … I thought …” tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back quickly. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check, but it was too late, Spike had seen … felt them.


“Oi, Slayer …” he called gently, touching a finger to her chin to make her look into his eyes. “Would’ve never done it without an invite, pet. That’s the only regret … that you didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t invite me in.”


“Well, kinda looks like I claimed you without an invitation, too, right?” she pointed out, touching a finger to her bite mark on his neck.


“I reckon…” Spike admitted. “But…”


“No ‘buts’,” Buffy interrupted, but she knew that he still felt like he’d taken some sort of liberty he wasn’t entitled to. “Maybe … maybe we could do it again … with … you know … proper, formal invitations. Do they need to be written? Engraved? Embossed? Cotton paper, or linen? Hand-written in fourteen-karat gold ink?” she asked, raising her brows in question. “Just how much notice needs to be given for proper claiming etiquette? Do we need RSVP cards?”


Spike rolled his eyes, a smirky-smile curling his lips. “Reckon just spoken would work, luv.”


“Oh, well … that’s easy as pie.” Buffy stopped and furrowed her brow a moment, looking down at him. “Where did that expression come from? I mean, what pie is easy? Of course, they’re easy to eat, but I mean cooking pies is like totally not easy … except the ones in the freezer section, those are pretty easy, if you remember set the timer and don’t go outside and leave it cooking for like, three hours, ‘cos then, not of the good, but …”


Spike touched his fingers to her lips to stop her rambling as his smile became melancholy. There had been so many moments over the last days that he was certain he’d never hear her rambling again. Never feel her body next to his, never look into her eyes, never touch her skin, never kiss her, never hold her, never be able to tell her how much he loved her, never let her know what a bloody treasure she was.


Buffy smiled behind his fingers before pulling his hand away again. She leaned down carefully, with only gentle pressure against his ribs, until her mouth was near his ear, her neck near his mouth. “I thought I’d lost you and I realized just how much I love you and need you. I want to be yours. Always … until I die and even after that … whatever comes after, I want it to be with you. Forever and beyond. Claim me as yours, Spike …”


“Buffy …” Spike moaned against her shoulder, the sound of her pulse pounding in his ears, the weight of her words filling his heart with joyous rapture.


He kissed her neck, his lips lingering on the mark he’d just made there, a mark that covered those of his ancestors, sending shivers down Buffy’s spine. “Want to do it properly, luv … make it perfect for you.”


Buffy could feel Spike’s lust building along with hers. It was difficult to tell them apart as the passion twined and tangled inside her, her own mingling with his. She slowly sat back up, her fiery, green eyes locking onto her husband’s smoldering blue. Sitting back on his thighs, she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and lifted it over her head, breaking the connection of their eyes momentarily.


Spike watched her with bated breath. There was no way he could not breathe right now as she stared down at him, her passion flowing into him like waves of hot lava. He watched as she reached behind her back and unhooked her satiny, white bra, letting it fall forward and slide slowly down her arms.  The breath caught in his throat as he reached his hands up to cup her breasts, feeling the supple warmth of them.


Buffy’s eyes fell closed a moment as she reveled in the feel of his hands on her, his cool touch like velvet, gentle and adoring. His fingers ghosted over her quivering flesh, across her nipples, tightening them into hard peaks in an instant.  Her back arched, pressing into his touch as his emotions rolled over her, bringing her to the brink of tears. So much love … so much devotion … so much desire.  It was overwhelming, making her heart flutter and skip in her chest and her body tingle from head to toe.


She opened her eyes and looked down at her husband, keeping her eyes on his as she pressed up and off the cot, sliding one foot onto the floor and standing up next to him. She reached over the cot for the key to the shackles that remained around his wrists and quickly unlocked them, tossing the heavy bracelets aside. Then, as Spike watched, looking just as awestruck as the first time he’d ever seen her like this, she slowly unfastened her jeans and slid them, and her panties, down her shapely legs.


Spike watched with reverent fascination as Buffy revealed herself to him. Her body was just as strong and perfect as the first time he’d ever seen it, just as beautiful, just as golden tan with curves in all the right places. He considered sitting up, moving to her, but he didn’t trust his ribs and didn’t want to ruin anything … he didn’t want to break the spell she was weaving so meticulously. So, he simply watched as she slid her jeans and white thong down her lovely legs and stepped out of them, toeing her shoes off in the process.


And then her eyes were back on his, bottomless pools of emerald, seemingly even more beautiful than just a moment before, as she moved back near him and the cot. He inhaled as deeply as he could, taking in the heavenly fragrance of her arousal. Her own desire matched his; it was nearly overwhelming to him as he felt her emotions stirring and fluttering inside her. When she touched him, he thought he might’ve died and gone to heaven. Though the contact was innocent enough, a gentle touch of her fingers on his hipbone, combined with the beauty of her, the aroma of her, and the lustful sparks he could feel dancing inside her, it was nearly devastating.


Buffy bit her bottom lip coyly, feeling Spike’s lust … errr … spike suddenly when she touched him. She could see his cock jerk and twitch beneath the soft fabric of the shorts he had on, but even without that visual clue, she knew what he was feeling. An all-consuming need was rising inside him and she wondered briefly just how either of them would survive this new connection without simply bursting into flames.


Buffy slid her fingers beneath the stretchy waistband of the shorts Spike had on and began to push them down his legs. Spike gingerly raised his hips, inhaling sharply when his barely-healed ribs protested the movement. His eyes clamped shut against the stabbing pain that radiated from his sternum to nearly every nerve in his body, and an involuntary curse fell from his lips.


“God! Sorry! Spike, maybe we shouldn’t…” Buffy apologized immediately, stopping her hands from sliding his shorts down further.


But then Spike’s hands were there with hers, pressing the stretchy fabric down over his ass. He exhaled when he relaxed his body back onto the thin mattress of the cot, letting the discomfort flow out of him with it. 


“No worries, pet,” he tried to assure her, though his voice was still a little shaky. He opened his eyes and looked up into hers, which were now filled with worry. “Nothing in this world, or any other, is gonna keep me from you tonight, luv. Not now … not after … not after feeling what’s in your heart.”


Buffy could feel how determined he was, how much this meant to him. She nodded stiffly, but was still afraid of hurting him further. He’d only been healed just a few minutes, after all, and even then, he wasn’t fully healed.


“Could recover faster with another taste,” Spike pointed out, wagging his brows at her suggestively, and making Buffy wonder if he was lying about being able to read her mind.


Buffy gave him a smile. It was simply impossible to not smile at him, not to be filled with joy that he was well enough to flirt and tease with her.


“Make love with me, Buffy,” Spike whispered, reaching up to touch her face. “Claim me … put your mark in my skin, show the bloody world I’m yours … ‘cos I am. Always have been, I reckon. Love’s bitch.”


Buffy leaned into his touch as he laid his palm against her cheek, and covered his hand with hers. She let her eyes fall closed and tried to corral, contain, all the emotions she was being bombarded with, both her own and Spike’s.  There was love and lust and a need the likes of which she’d never felt before. It was more than a physical need, something deeper, more primal even than that. She realized it was the demon inside her reaching out and urging her to reassert her claim, to take Spike’s blood and make it part of her, and to make her blood a part of him.


It was dark at its core but surrounded by the light of the love that flowed between them now. It felt to her like a sun: a heavy, dark nucleus containing all the dangerous power at her disposal, but surrounded by a humanity-tempered fire that warmed her heart and kept the core from imploding.  Buffy couldn’t explain it, but as she searched through all the myriad of emotions that were swirling around inside her, she could feel Spike’s power as well … and it felt exactly the same as hers: tempered by humanity, tempered by … his heart.


How was that possible? He didn’t have a soul, but he had a heart … wasn’t that what her mom had told her? And certainly he did … he had a heart the size of … the sun.  And in a moment of epiphany, Buffy realized that Spike’s demon was tempered by the exact same … force, for want of a better word, that hers was. Whatever those men had done to create the Slayer power with the spirit of the last pure demon had also restrained it at the same time. It had been necessary to harness it; otherwise all they would be doing would be creating another pure demon rather than a Slayer to fight the evil that lurked in the darkness.  And Spike’s demon wore the same harness hers did … exactly the same.


Buffy opened her eyes and looked down at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “You’re … you … have … You would’ve been … a Slayer,” she stammered. “If you … were a girl … you … you might’ve been a Slayer. It’s … it’s inside you. I can feel it. That’s how you … can control it. That’s why you’re different … why you could work with me even back … before. You could control the demon with it.”


Spike furrowed his brow. “You saying I should’a been a chit? Can assure you, luv, I’m no poofter.”


Buffy took his hand into both of hers and sat down on the edge of the cot next to him. She shook her head, more of an ‘I don’t know’ than an actual negative shake, her eyes focused on the far wall, but not actually seeing it as she considered. “I’m not sure how the magic works. If it runs in families and is somehow passed down in the blood or … if it’s random or what. Did you have any, like, aunts that … died young from, you know … ultra-violence?” she asked, looking down at him.


Spike shook his head. “Don’t recollect any … ‘course, such subjects wouldn’t o’ been discussed in polite company.”


Buffy nodded and chewed on her lip a moment. “Well … I don’t know how we get, like … marked for possible early death,” she said lightly, smiling down at him. “But maybe the potential is implanted before we’re even born … maybe before all the Xs and Ys are even sorted out.” She shrugged.


“I just know what I feel … and your demon? The way you can control it? The way you could make deals with me without a soul? The way you can … love? Even the way you’ve always been drawn to Slayers … it makes sense! Other vamps are all avoidy, but not you … you sought us out. It’s … there’s, like, Slayer magic inside you and when you were turned it must’ve … sort of activated somehow.”


Spike dropped his eyes down to where their hands were joined and Buffy could feel his mood shift again, back to the shame and disgrace she’d felt earlier. She gave his hand a hard squeeze and dipped her head so he had to look at her, her blonde hair cascading over his torso, tickling his newly-healed skin. 


“Spike, you did what you had to do to survive. You think there are no Slayers that can’t control what’s inside them? Look at Faith! And you weren’t really a Slayer … just … a … Maybe-Slayer only … not cos you ended up with the Y, ya know?


“I don’t care about any of that … about the past. All I care about is what you are now. And if I didn’t know it before, then I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt what you are,” Buffy insisted.


Spike blinked back tears that threatened to fall and looked away from her. “A monster … A bad, bad man,” he whispered.


Buffy shook her head. “No. A good man caught in a bad situation. A man with a good heart … a man who saved my life, who loves his family and would do anything for them, endure anything to protect them. A hero. A warrior, a Champion.”


Buffy reached out and touched a finger to his jaw, turning his head back toward her and making him look into her eyes. “Love’s bitch,” she concluded, giving him a genuine, if watery, smile.


Spike bit his lip as he watched her, felt her confidence, her love, her strength and conviction flood into him like warm sunlight. His luscious lips curled up into an appreciative smile. There really was no arguing with that fact: he was love’s bitch, always.


“And now,” Buffy continued in a salacious tone, standing back up. “I’m gonna make you my bitch … errrr …” Buffy flushed and fumbled a moment as Spike quirked a brow at her, her face turning bright red. “That didn’t really come out how I meant it.”


Spike laughed and tugged lightly on her hand. “I’m yours, pet … do with me as you will … just don’t ever let me go.”


Buffy let Spike pull her back onto the cot, straddling his hips and carefully avoiding putting any pressure on his ribs. “I love you, ya know?” she asked softly, leaning down and touching her lips to his.


“I love you, Buffy … so bloody much, with all my heart,” Spike replied against her mouth before capturing her lips with his. Spike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, stifling a wince. He wanted to feel her skin on his, her body against his, her soft, warm flesh pressed into him; the discomfort was secondary, little more than a mild distraction. He had to have her touching him, feel her body respond to his touch, his kiss, his love.


And respond she did. Buffy’s lips parted and her tongue darted out, tasting and teasing Spike’s mouth, dancing over his lips, tangling with his tongue. His hands glided over her soft skin, down her back, tracing her spine with his fingertips, then over the curve of her ass, circling those fleshy globes before capturing them with both hands and pulling her hips against his harder. Buffy moaned as Spike’s erection pressed against her stomach, her body aching for him to be inside her, somehow needing him even more than she ever had before.


Suddenly, Buffy tasted blood on her tongue and she jerked back, touching her hand to her mouth to find the source. Spike smirked at her and stuck his tongue out to show her that she’d bitten him, not the other way around. Buffy’s eyes grew wide as she licked the blood from her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her whole body tingled as she felt her husband’s blood slide down her throat … more than her husband’s, her mate’s blood. And it felt … perfect. Utterly … perfect.


Buffy’s eyes locked with Spike’s in that moment and the whole world seemed to melt away. She lifted her hips up off his slowly, freeing his rock-hard erection from between their bodies. Keeping her eyes locked on his, the metallic taste of his blood on her tongue, Buffy guided him to her slick opening.


They both gasped in sharply as she lowered herself down onto his shaft, the swollen head stretching her tight channel, parting her supple walls, sheathing his sword in her heat. Their eyes never wavered from each other, sapphires and emeralds glittering with love and lust and need more powerful than either had known before.  Inch by inch … millimeter by millimeter, Buffy took her mate inside her body, her warm, strong walls molding to every ridge, every vein, every bump on his hard shaft. She reveled in the warm friction that passed through her as Spike pressed deeper and deeper into her willing body. It seemed to last a lifetime … but was done in the space of a few racing heartbeats.


Neither of them moved for some time after Buffy’s hips met Spike’s. His cock buried inside her, pressing against her womb, her silken walls woven tightly around his steel. They simply stared into the other’s eyes and felt. Felt everything. Felt every sensation the other was feeling. Felt every drop of love, every lance of pleasure, every bolt of bliss.


Buffy could feel her own slickness as it coated Spike’s cock, feel her walls undulating around him, holding him inside, pulling him deeper, willing him to never go. Spike could feel his cock slowly filling her, feel the pleasure as each ridge and bump tugged at her sensitive opening, feel the utter contentment inside her as he bottomed out against her womb, and the primal need to pull him even deeper, to milk the cum from him, the deep yearning she had to feel his cum painting her womanhood and filling her womb, to hold him inside until he burst, and then still never let him go.


“Oh, Spike, you feel so good inside me, so...deep, so … perfect. Oh, God, baby … so good,” she moaned as all the sensations washed over her, engulfing her in a maelstrom of bliss.


Spike opened his mouth to speak, to tell her just how much she meant to him, how she made him feel ... like a man, not a monster, but his throat tightened and closed, overcome with emotion. He could only stare up at her, speechless for perhaps the first time in his life.


Buffy was finding it harder and harder to breathe as she was bombarded with so many sensations and emotions. Her body began to tremble, her heartbeat thudding in her ears … she could even feel her pulse pounding deep inside her, both from her own body and through the bond with Spike. It was like … stereo. Everything was more, doubled … more than doubled, more than the sum of the parts.


Another eternity passed as they simply looked into each other’s eyes, their hearts connected just as surely as their bodies. It was at once too much and not enough, overwhelmingly vast and yet insufficient. More. There had to be even more, even though it felt like more would utterly unravel them both.


Buffy’s hips began to move against Spike, sliding gently back and forth over him, their eyes still locked on the other’s. She touched her fingers down onto his freshly-healed torso, barely grazing his skin with her nails as she rocked against him. Her touch sent lances of bliss ricocheting through his body, curling his toes and building up the fire in his loins even brighter.


Spike’s hands caressed her thighs, feeling the muscles there bulge and relax as she moved her body blissfully atop him. He loved her strength; it was so much more than physical. She’d overcome so much in her short life, seen more than anyone should have to see, lost more than anyone should have to lose … and yet, here she was. And she’d chosen him. She’d chosen him … claimed him, in fact. She’d called him a hero … a Champion. She thought him worthy of her love.


He’d suddenly been delivered from a nightmare into a dream. He was half-afraid he’d awaken at any moment to find himself still suspended by his broken ribs, still twirling in the air in agony. Had Dru hypnotized him with her thrall? Was this all … a mirage?


But no … no … he could feel Buffy. He could smell her and taste her and feel her heart now so very near his, her emotions entwined with his. It was real. She had come for him. She had saved him.


Spike reached up behind Buffy’s neck and gently pulled the Slayer down to him, covering her lips in a gentle kiss. He thought he felt his heart beat suddenly in his chest as her love poured over him like glowing embers, sparking his dead body to life with her vivid, pulsing energy.


“Buffy…” he murmured against her mouth, a breathless oath, putting everything he wanted to say to her into the simple utterance of her name.


“Spike…” she panted back, her hips undulating against him, sliding over his cock, her supple walls constricting around him, trying to hold him inside with each gentle movement. Once again, she felt her channel mold itself to his shape, totally absorbed by the connection that she was experiencing, their minds and bodies linked, and his cock filling her. Her center creamed around him, her warm, slick heat easing his passage into her, welcoming him deeper into her burning core. “Love you so much.”


Spike cupped her face with both hands and pulled her lips to his again, capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. His tongue delved into her hot, wet cavern, making love to her tongue, her lips, matching his movements to the roll of her hips against his.


His fingers and palms slid back into her hair, relishing the soft, silky strands of gold, tangling his fingers in her long, golden tresses. He couldn’t get enough of this woman. Never. If they lived to be a thousand, there would never be enough time to hold her, to love her, to be her hero. And that’s all he’d ever wanted to do: Hold her. Love her. Be her hero.


Buffy pulled back from the kiss reluctantly, breathless, and leaned her forehead against his as her hips continued their gentle thrusts against him.  With each roll of her hips, Spike’s cool column of steely flesh slid out of her wet, hot furnace, then back inside, touching her very core, before retreating again. Each swivel of her body had his hardness skipping and sliding over elusive, aching spots deep inside her, which let Buffy gasping as her nerves fired and flared. Bolts of sweet, silver lightning danced through her, prickling her skin with bliss as she made love to her husband, her mate.


The absolute pleasure rolling over her only made her yearn for more. It was exquisite, but it simply wasn’t enough. She needed to fly higher, reach deeper, soar faster. Everything in her was screaming at her for more, from her heart, to her sex, to the demon shackled inside her. More.


Suddenly Buffy felt Spike’s features change beneath her and she pulled back to look into his eyes … the amber eyes of the demon. He had felt her need … or was it his need for more that she was feeling? Or were both of their needs simply building on the other’s, twining around each other, supporting each other as they reached for the sun, like a wild rose bush climbing up the garden wall?


Time seemed to stop for another eternity when their eyes met again. Spike’s beauty was no less as the demon, exotic and dangerous, but still Buffy could see the warmth of love shining in the depths of his gaze. She could feel his demon calling to hers, wild and lustful, just as surely as she could feel his heart reaching out to surround her with his gentle love.


He’d never been ashamed of his demon, not like Angel had been. He’d been ashamed of things he had allowed it do to, ashamed of letting it free of its harness, but never ashamed of the demon itself. She realized now how that spoke to her, and why. It was part of him; part of who he was, not something to be purged or hidden, and now she knew it was part of who she was, as well. Both of them were part-demon, part-human with only a thin line separating how their different sides manifested to the rest of the world.


There was no signal, no blink of an eye or twitch of a muscle, no touch or word passed between them, but in the next moment fangs and teeth met flesh and once again blood flowed between them.


Spike’s razor-sharp fangs sunk into Buffy’s tender flesh, slipping smoothly into the marks he’d just closed on her neck only a little while ago. Her hot, sweet blood sang as it flowed into him, warming him, hardening him even more inside her, quelling his primal thirst and rousing it all at once.  At the same time, Buffy’s teeth clamped down sharply on the barely-healed wound she’d opened on Spike’s neck earlier. Despite the lack of fangs, Buffy used her Slayer strength to its full advantage, and easily broke the skin open again to taste Spike’s cool, tangy manna. It tasted different now; she could feel his renewed strength and hope within the crimson liquid where before it had tasted of forlorn desperation.


Both of their bodies went still in that moment, every muscle pulling as tight as piano wire. Hips pressed together, his cock deep inside her, pressing at the entrance to her womb, mouths clamped down tightly on each other’s throats, blood flowing between them, their bodies melted into each other as if trying to become one.  


The feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her lips, his steely hardness buried inside her, made Buffy’s insides sizzle and quake. More, more, more, her body screamed at her. It was all she could think, all she could hear, all she could feel, a dulcet, insistent chorus of ‘more’.


And then, just as suddenly as they’d both frozen, they both began to move again. Spike’s hips jerked up, despite his injuries, thrusting his need deeper into her core. Buffy met his thrusts with her own desire, matching the rhythmic pulses of his hips with her own, coming down as he lifted up. His rod plunged deeper, deeper, and deeper yet into her burning core, stretching her, filling her with each thrust. Still her body demanded 'more, deeper, harder, faster'.


Their lips and tongues sucked and licked feverishly at the other’s neck, devouring the scarlet, life-sustaining liquid; hot flowing into cool; cool flowing into hot. Their demons rejoiced, dancing in the pool of thick, vibrant, burning passion. Blood splashed and gushed; boiled and burbled. Droplets glittered like rubies in the sun and flowed like sweet, red wine over their hearts, filling each with the essence of the other.


Hands wandered over heated flesh; touching, teasing, squeezing, caressing. Both of their bodies were burning now; Buffy’s flushed with the glow of passion, Spike’s flushed with Buffy … her blood, her love flowing into him like life itself.


Their bodies undulated against each other, Spike driving up into her, parting her warm, clutching walls with each thrust. Something deep inside her screamed for the satisfaction that was Spike's cock filling her body. It demanded it, begged for it, yearned for him to stay inside her body until her cream had soaked into his length and he became a part of her, and she part of him. Buffy’s tight, supple channel closed around his shaft again and again, pulling him deeper, trying to hold him inside her forever, never let him go.


Their bodies seemed to revel in the age-old battle: her trying to hold him and he desperate to move, to thrust. Her body released more and more slick, wet heat to ease his escape, even as her channel seized and clutched around his shaft wildly, trying to prevent it. Spike drove up into her deep and hard, no longer feeling any discomfort as her blood flowed into him, whether masking it or healing it, he didn’t know or care. He rejoiced in her need to hold him and yet rebelled against it, wanting to keep control for himself. He needed to feel her tight opening tugging and squeezing around his entire length time and time again, longed to bang against her womb with each hard thrust into her burning core.


Fires flared, fireworks burst in loud, colorful displays, sparks danced through their bodies as they claimed each other completely, body and spirit, heart and … perhaps even soul. If the monks could claim bits of their souls for Dawn, then wasn’t it possible for Spike to claim a bit of Buffy’s soul for himself? What had her mother said about souls? That they grow and change with the life we live; that they can atrophy and even die if left in the dark too long, or flower and thrive if nurtured and loved.


Spike had brought her soul back into the light from the depths of blood-soaked, guilt-ridden despair. Part of it was certainly his. He had been the patient gardener, feeding her love and affection and hope until she found the joy in living again. And Joan, as well. Where would Buffy have been without the android, turned best friend, turned lover? Certainly Spike had done the lion’s share of tending to her battered and bruised psyche, but Joan had been … she’d been the light, the sun, the laughter that had helped Buffy blossom again.


Buffy suddenly felt overwhelmed with love, with hope, with joy. She felt as if her heart would burst with the unconditional love that had been bestowed on her. The feeling lifted her higher and higher, like a shiny, bright balloon that had slipped from a child’s hand … up, up, up into a crystal blue sky, up through the air toward the warmth of the sun.


She could feel the approaching fireball growing hotter and hotter against her skin, feel herself lifting out of the Earth’s atmosphere, out into space, past the moon, on a collision course with that bright, shining orb of bliss. Her body shuddered against Spike’s, her arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders like a vise as she gasped sharply against his neck, his blood still on her lips.


Then, for a moment everything stopped: her breathing, the thrusting of her hips, even her thudding heart stopped, it seemed. The entire world was still and silent, full of love and peace and joy. It was at once fleeting and eternal, that moment of being caught between worlds, between Earth and heaven, suspended weightlessly in the ether.


In the next moment she was hurtling out of control toward the searing fires of the sun. Spike was talking to her, she could hear his voice washing over her like a warm blanket of love, but couldn’t make out the words. She clung to him, afraid if she let go, her body would be utterly devoured in the fires of bliss. And she screamed. Buffy couldn’t stop the scream as those glowing flames licked at her skin, burning her in the most delicious way.


Her body blazed and quivered and convulsed in the flames of rapture, consumed as she’d never been before. Every nerve in her body seemed to flare into brilliant life, her muscles screamed in protest as they tried to rip themselves out of their prison of flesh to join her mind in the far-flung depths of heavenly bliss. All she could do was surrender to the rapture, surrender... and scream to the world.




Spike gasped against her hot, salty skin, his fangs retracting as smoothly as they’d slid into her when Buffy’s hold on him tightened painfully. He felt her bliss building, the fire inside her flaring and dancing joyously. He could feel it all, from the love filling her heart to the lust and passion boiling in her body. It was overwhelming and he understood now why she screamed, to let some of the pressure out, to keep from exploding.


Spike grasped her ass cheeks in both hands and pulled her down against him as he thrust up into with all the power he could from beneath. “Cum for me, baby … Cum, Buffy. Love to feel you cum, pet. Let go, luv … let go, fly … fly …touch the bloody sun, explode,” he murmured into her ear, his voice rolling out like thick, warm honey.


“Fuck … Buffy! Fuck … bloody fuck!” he exclaimed suddenly as she began to scream, both their bodies engulfed in the flames of rapture she had been hurtled into. Spike’s body convulsed with hers, his hips shuddering and jerking into her wildly with no rhyme, reason, or rhythm. He flew with her around the sun, the flames flickering over his body as she screamed and came and bucked above him.


He suddenly had to have more, he needed all of her, needed to be deeper inside her – this wasn’t enough. Clutching her ass with bruising strength, her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders in a death grip, Spike drew on every ounce of power of both their demons and flipped them over on the narrow cot.


Buffy’s pussy throbbed and tightened around him as he crashed down atop her on the thin mattress, driving into her with all his weight. Her scream redoubled, echoing off the walls of the garage, thrumming against Spike’s ski n, intensifying his primal need. Spike growled at her attempt to hold him prisoner, at once sinking his fangs into her jugular and pistoning his hips against her, driving into her feverishly.


Then Buffy’s teeth were again buried in his flesh, his blood flowing into her, her scream of rapture muffled against his neck. Spike drove into her harder, faster, deeper; plunging into the rapturous depths of her body as they flew past the sun and hurtled for the very edge of the universe.


Blood flowed, fires burned, sparks cascaded down from the heavens and they flew, each lifting the other to higher heights, past the furthest stars. They danced in the flames, twirling and spinning and coiling around each other as they spiraled away from the Earth. The Milky Way glittered like diamonds at their feet, and they laughed and wove their way through the sparkling field of dreams, holding to each other, body and soul.


And then it was there: the very edge of the universe. Only heaven remained beyond the last star, the last comet, the last neutron of dark matter, and heaven was most certainly where they were headed. It was a heaven the likes of which they’d never seen or felt before as they gave and took all that was offered from each other, which was everything.


Buffy lifted her mouth away from Spike’s over-heated flesh and inhaled sharply as they crashed through the last invisible barrier, then through glittering gates of heaven to dance upon the golden streets of dreams.


Their bodies convulsed in rapture as Spike’s cool seed spilled into her hot depths, chilling her core as she felt each spurt of ecstasy splash against her supple walls. She couldn't describe it; it was too much, much too much. The Slayer felt like his thick cream was branding her, singeing her soul at the same time as it chilled her own burning core. The dichotomy of it was overwhelming, as if she were being consumed by the sun and frozen by the dark side of the moon in the same breath.


Buffy couldn't contain the rapturous ecstasy it was causing inside her as Spike’s cream pumped into her, filling her with his essence. Her channel contracted around his length as her sweet cum flowed out from her depths, coating him with her burning desire. 


Their hearts and spirits soared in a graceful ballet of love as they climaxed together, the rapture of the other mixing and joining with their own, lifting them ever higher. They spiraled and whirled around each other, mingling together fully before pulling apart again. Lovers. Friends. Spouses. Mates.




Buffy’s chest heaved with panting, gasping breaths as she finally remembered how to breathe. She clung to Spike tightly, still lost in the dance up beyond the stars, electrical shocks twitching through her spent body. Spike’s mouth touched down on hers lightly, and then on her chin, her nose, her eyes, still clamped tightly shut, her cheeks.


She blinked her eyes open, looking up into the crystal blue of the sky she’d flown through on her way to heaven. She tasted the metallic tang of his blood on her lips and her tongue darted out to capture it just as Spike’s mouth touched down against hers again, and she was back in heaven. Heaven on Earth.


“Wowie,” she murmured against his lips as she slowly got her breathing under some semblance of control


“See your ‘wowie’ and raise ya a ‘bloody hell’,” Spike teased, nibbling on her lower lip gently.


Buffy moaned against his mouth, squeezing tightly around his still-hard shaft with her inner muscles. She could feel his cream pooling inside her core, and the connection she felt with him deepened ever so slightly with that knowledge. She had a part of him deep inside her; just the thought of it made her shiver with wondrous exhilaration. Something that had been inside Spike’s body, was now in hers; something that had been a part of him was now hers. She hoped it would soak into her, suffusing her body with his essence, and forever become a part of her.


“Think we could go for a ‘holy cow’?” Buffy wondered suggestively, smiling up and wagging her brows at him.


“‘M ‘ere to serve, pet,” Spike agreed with a smirk, as he began moving against her again. “Love’s bitch, I am, and bloody man enough t’ admit it.”





If, by Bread




If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show
the you I've come to know.

If a face could launch a thousand ships,
Then where am I to go?
There's no one home but you,
You're all that's left me too.

And when my love for life is running dry,
You come and pour yourself on me.

If a man could be two places at one time,
I'd be with you.
Tomorrow and today, beside you all the way.

If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you.

And when the world was through,
Then one by one the stars would all go out,
Then you and I would simply fly away.


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