Story Title: Unexpected
Chapter Title: Routines, Chapter 13
Time line:

Chapter spans

From:   Late June, 1998, 38 days after Spike helped Buffy send Angel to hell

To:    January, 1999.  Buffy’s about 8 months pregnant and doing home study for her senior classes


Buffy and Spike fall into routines of day to day life.

Notes: Songs referenced are:

“Love Shack” by the B-52’s


“Don’t Call me Baby” by MADISON AVENUE. 


The lyrics are the property of their respective owners – not me.  I just use them for fun, not profit.

NOTE 2:  I understand that in some comic books, Spike's last name is given as "Pratt".  I don't particularly care for Pratt and I've never read the comic books, so I made up my own last name.


Rating / Warnings:

NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, violence, sex and adult themes which may include rape, attempted rape, blood play 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.  Parents, it is up to YOU to control what your children are reading.

The next night, after an uneventful visit with the doctor, who gave Buffy pre-natal vitamins and lots of reading material, including planned parenthood pamphlets, which she thought was ironic, because, obviously SHE wasn’t the one in charge of this plan at all,  the couple went to her mom’s house to report on the doctor visit and have a late dinner.


As they finished dinner, Buffy’s mom began the third degree.  Buffy knew it would be coming, she just hoped that it would wait a while . . . maybe a year or ten, even.


“So, Spike, what do you do for a living?  I’m guessing it’s not sing in a rock band,” Joyce started.


“I, umm, have family money,” he offered, omitting the fact that he didn’t actually have it, that Angel had the actual control of it.


“I see,” Joyce continued.  “And you slay vampires with Buffy?”


“And demons, yes Ma’am.” Spike suddenly felt like he was eight years old and had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.


“But you’re a vampire, like Angel?” Joyce was still having a bit of a hard time with the idea of this.


Spike stiffened in his seat and retorted a little more strongly than he meant to, “Not like Angel.” Then, more calmly, “But, yes, vampire.”


“So, no sunlight, immortal?”  Joyce continued the questioning.


“That’s right.  Don’t much fancy wooden stakes or axes, either,” he offered.


“And how long to you intend to stay with Buffy, and the baby?” 


“MOM!” Buffy started, but Spike put his hand on hers to silence her.


“As long as she’ll have me. Forever.”  Spike met Joyce’s eyes to emphasize the word forever.


“Buffy’s not immortal, she won’t be around forever, she won’t be young forever.  What will you do when she’s eighty, will you still love her then?” Joyce continued to push.


“I love everything about Buffy. I love what she is, what she does and how she tries. I love her spirit, her strength, her kindness, and her determination.  Believe me when I tell you that when I love someone, I stand by them as long as they let me; I’ll stand by her until she’s dust, then I’ll lay on her grave and join her.”


Buffy stared at Spike, tears welling in her eyes. “Spike.”


Spike turned to face Buffy now. “It’s true, luv.” He wiped a tear that had started to fall from her eye with the pad of this thumb before turning back to Joyce.


Joyce just nodded before continuing. “Is ‘Spike’ a family name?”


Buffy smiled and rolled her eyes. Spike answered her mom. “More of a nick-name really, given name’s ‘William’.”  


“I see. And do you have a last name?” Joyce asked.


 Bloody comma The, Buffy thought to herself and suppressed a grin.


“Weckerly,”  Spike replied.


Buffy looked at him, mouth agape.  How could he not have told her his last name? Duh, you never asked!  she thought to herself, Weckerly, William Weckerly, it sounded . . . nice.


Joyce nodded and continued her questioning, “You agree that it’s important that Buffy completes high school and attends college, don’t you, William?”


“I do. I intend to help her with her studies to graduate high school and could possibly assist even with her college courses.”   


As Spike answered her mom, Buffy looked at him, had his accent suddenly changed? Softened? Gotten more “Gilesey”?


“Hey Mr. I-can-talk-like-Giles, what’s with the formal wear?”  Buffy addressed Spike, looking at him like she didn’t know who he was.


Suddenly self conscious, Spike slipped back into a thick Cockney, “’S nuthin’, just saying, reckon a century old Vamp can help with the three R’s, ‘s all.”


Buffy lifted her eyebrows and just said “Uh-huh” but knew there was something more there that he was hiding.


“William, could you help me clear these dishes to the kitchen, please?” Joyce addressed him again.


“Mom? He’s company . . . I’ll help you.” She started to rise, but Spike put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.


“Not comp’ny, luv. Family.  Be glad to.” He rose to follow Joyce into the kitchen, leaving Buffy alone.


Once they were alone in the kitchen, Joyce took the dishes he brought in and placed them in the sink before turning to him again.  “What do you intend to do about Buffy?”


Spike shook his head. “Don’ follow your meanin’.”


“Do you intend to marry her?” Joyce clarified.


“Marry her?”  Spike considered this a moment. “Well, much as I’d love to, don’t really have any papers for a legal hitchin’, wouldn’t really be possible.”


“But a vampire fathering a child, that’s possible?” Joyce countered.


Spike tilted his head to the side to consider her. “Point,” he agreed. “I’ll see what can be done.”


Joyce nodded. “Would you like some hot chocolate before you go?  Buffy always loves it.”


“Ooo, with the little marshmallows?” he asked.


“Yeah, I think I have some of those.  Here, give me a hand . . .” and together they fell into a camaraderie of preparing the warm chocolaty goodness.  




Life fell into an easy rhythm,  Spike and Buffy would patrol most nights together and make love when they got home – or, sometimes, before they got home or, more aptly, both. The mansion continued to be “Scooby Central” and Spike and Buffy would help with research when there was a need.   It seemed like someone from the Scoobies was always there, no matter the hour, so Spike installed sound proofing in their bedroom for privacy and, after an unfortunate flashing incident involving Spike and Willow (Willow being the wide-eyed flashee, of course) there was an understanding that no one except Buffy and Spike were allowed upstairs for any reason.


Kendra’s replacement, Faith, showed up and the Council sent a Watcher for her, Wesley.  Buffy didn’t really like Faith or Wesley too much. Faith seemed a little bit overzealous to her and Wesley was just a BIG bit too ‘Council’, but she was glad there was another Slayer that would be able to take over patrols completely when Buffy was too far along to do it. 


Buffy’s mom had gotten Buffy approved for home-study and, as long as she made up what she missed at the end of last year and passed all her Senior year classes, would be able to graduate with her friends.  Spike, true to his word, helped with her studies and pushed her to stay focused on them when she wanted to ditch.  Buffy was more than a little surprised to find out how much Spike actually knew about most of her subjects, “sodding new math” as he called it, notwithstanding.


After the craziness of the “Band Candy” incident, Faith, Buffy and Spike tracked down Mr. Trick and got the jump on the Mayor’s planned ascension, effectively putting a halt to it before it really even got underway.




November, 1998: 


Spike sauntered sleepily downstairs, his new PJ bottoms slung low on his hips, chest bare. Buffy had insisted he wear them whenever he left the bedroom if he wasn’t going to actually get dressed.  Despite the new rule about who could go upstairs, Buffy had no desire for another incident like the one that left Willow saying “Wow! Buffy! Wow!”  Buffy was well aware of the “Wow!” factor that was Spike’s body, she didn’t need all her friends that intimately acquainted with it, too.


At the bottom of the stairs Spike encountered the prone and dismantled body of their vacuum cleaner.  Attachments were strewn across the floor, the hose laid haphazardly to one side, giving it the appearance that the machine had died a slow and horrible death.


From the new workout room, which they’d set up just off the main room, he could hear music blaring.  He walked over to the door to find Buffy punching and kicking the heavy bag that hung in the middle of the room, singing at the top of her lungs along with the B-52’s:


The Love Shack is a little old place
where we can get together
Love Shack baby! Love Shack bay-bee!
(Love Shack...Love Shack...)
Love Shack, that's where it's at!

Bang bang bang on the door baby!
Knock a little louder baby!
Bang bang bang on the door baby!
I can't hear you
Bang bang on the door baby
Bang bang on the door
Bang bang on the door baby


At every “bang-bang” in the song she hit the bag that much harder.  Spike stood in the doorway and watched her move.  Even six months pregnant, she was as graceful as ever, as powerful as ever.    He loved watching her move, watching her dance, watching her fight, hell, watching her walk across the room was enough to make him hard.

As the song ended, Buffy danced around on her toes, waiting for the next song to emerge from the speakers attached to her ipod. Madison Avenue started singing and Buffy joined in, stressing the verses she liked best.


You and me, we have an opportunity
And we could make it something really cool
But you, you think I'm not that kind of girl
I'm here to tell you baby, I know how to rock your world

Don't think that I'm not strong
I'm the one to take you on
Don't underestimate me boy
I'll make you sorry you were born

You don't know me
The way you really should
You sure misunderstood

Don’t call me baby


Don't Call Me Baby by Madison Avenue


Spike smiled and walked silently up behind her as she continued her assault of the punching bag. Sensing when he got within striking distance, Buffy whorled with a round house kick at his head, he blocked it and threw a jab at her face, which she ducked as she dropped down in a sweep kick to knock his feet out from under him.  Spike jumped over her kick and dove at her, pinning her shoulders down on the soft mat on the floor while carefully avoiding any pressure on her swollen abdomen.  He held her only for a second before she kicked him over her head. He landed on his back with a thud, the soft mat that covered the floor cushioning his landing, before she scrambled on top of him, pinning his shoulders with her hands and his hips with hers.


Spike smiled up at her. “Not bad, but you dropped your shoulder and telegraphed that first kick.”


“Looks to me I did ok, I’m on top!” Buffy smiled back down at him.


“Yeah, exactly where I want you, luv.” Spike leered up at her with a lecherous grin on his face.


“Don’t underestimate me, boy, I’ll make you sorry you were born.” Buffy repeated the words to the song with a sly grin.


“Promises, promises!” Spike pulled her down onto his chest and caught her lips in a hungry kiss, his erection more than obvious under the soft fabric of the PJ’S he wore, she pressed her hips down further, wriggling on him until it’s length was pressing against her now wet pussy.


Buffy realized suddenly where they were and pulled back. “Can’t do this here . . .” she said breathlessly.  Spike hated that they couldn’t do whatever they wanted wherever they wanted in their own house, but loving the Slayer meant he also had to welcome her friends into their life; he just wished he didn’t have to welcome them into their home unannounced at any hour of the day and night.


“Bugger,”  he cursed as she stood up over him, offering him a hand up off the mat.  As they headed out of the room and towards the stairs, Spike spied the still prone vacuum cleaner on the floor and asked, “There a reason you’ve slain the Hoover, luv?”


“Yes, it’s an instrument of torture and, as the Chosen One, it is my duty to rid the world of Evil, even if it is disguised as a vacuum cleaner,” she announced haughtily.


“The Hoover was possessed by a demon?” Spike eyed it suspiciously.


“Obviously, that’s why it wouldn’t suck.” Buffy waived her hand to encompass the room and the lint and other debris that littered the carpet.


“Right, then,” Spike continued cautiously. “You did plug it in, didn’t you?”


“OF COURSE I PLUGGED IT IN!  I didn’t ride the short bus to school!” But even as Buffy said it, Spike saw her eyes drift along the electrical cord on the floor to double check that she had, indeed, plugged it in.  Once assured that she had, she continued. “It RAN, it just wouldn’t SUCK, it was totally UNSUCKY.”


“Did you change the bag?” Spike asked.


“Bagless!” she countered as she leaned over and plucked the empty canister up off the floor where she had left it, waving it under his nose.


“Clean the filters?” he continued, un-phased.


“I cleaned THE filter.  There’s more than one?  Why would it need more than one? You’d think one filter would be plenty filtery.” 


She looked over the slain vacuum and still didn’t see where the other filters might be hiding. 


“I think its Willow’s turn to vacuum anyway – I was just trying to be nice. She can resurrect it.” With that Buffy turned on her heel and grabbed Spike’s hand, dragging him after her up the stairs. “I’ve got better things to do right now.”  Spike had no argument with that and let her pull him away from the demon possessed Hoover.




January, 1999:


“How are you?”  Spike asked.


“¿Cómo estás?”  Buffy replied.


“I’m fine,” Spike said.


“Estoy bien,” Buffy said back.


Buffy couldn’t understand WHY she needed to take a language, after all, wasn’t ENGLISH a language and she already had a class in that, plus, she actually SPOKE English.  But, it was a requirement. When she asked Spike about it, he said he could help her with Spanish or French, if pressed he could do Italian and Portuguese, but no Chinese, Japanese or Arabic languages.  Now, they sat at the research table, Spike reading off the phrases in English, Buffy had to repeat them back in Spanish.  This was boring.


“What are you doing?” Spike continued.


“¿Oye, como va?”  Buffy replied.


Spike looked at her. “The non-Santana version.”  He repeated,  “What are you doing?”


“¿Qué haces?”  she sighed the words.


“I am hungry,” Spike continued.


“Chupa mi toto.” Buffy smiled at him and slid a bare foot into his lap to press against his crotch under the table. 


Spike raised an eyebrow; that wasn’t a half-bad idea, the thought of eating her hot, wet quim filling his mind, his cock jumped in his jeans before he could shake the image out.


“Nooo,” he drawled.  


“¿Chupa su pinga, entonces?”  Buffy pressed her foot harder against his growing erection.


“Buffy,” he sighed, exasperated.  “You’re supposed to be studying, luv. Spanish, remember?”


“Oh, Mr. Spike.  I’ve been such a naughty girl!” she cooed at him.  “Whatever will you do to punish me?”  


Buffy got up from her seat and moved to where he was sitting; she bent over the table and presented her ass to him.  “Perhaps I need to be spanked, Mr. Spike.” She turned her head to look back at him, feigning her most innocent look and batting her lashes at him.


God, I am undeniably love’s bitch he thought to himself as he slid a hand up her skirt to find nothing on beneath. “Tell teacher what it is you’ve done that’s so naughty, Miss Summers.” He played along.


“Oh, Mr. Spike.  I have these naughty, naughty thoughts about one of my teachers,” she used her best little girl voice.


“Do you now?”


“Um-hum.”  Buffy nodded her head. 


“Which teacher are you having these thoughts about, Miss Summers?”  Hell, he was her only teacher at this point, unless you counted Willow, but it just seemed the thing to ask, anyway.


“Principal Snyder,” she responded, her voice shy but with a wicked grin on her face.


Spike snorted, barely able to contain his laughter. “Why would you want him, Miss Summers, when you can have a real man?”


“Oh, he’s soooo seexxxy! Such a hunk of a man!”  Buffy squealed, “I just want him to fuck me sooo much,” she crooned and wriggled her ass in his face for emphasis. 


Spike looked at the always open door on the far side of the room, thinking any of the Scoobies could pop in at any time before remembering that they had all gone on a field trip that day to some museum or such.  Safe then, finally!


“Oh, Miss Summers, I think you do need to be punished. Severely.” Spike stood up behind her, pushing her skirt up to her waist to revel her rounded ass to him. Being eight months pregnant just made her more luscious. 


Buffy squealed in mock surprise. “What . . . Whatever are you doing, Mr. Spike?” 


“Giving you your punishment.  Now, take it like a good girl.”


Spike slapped one ass cheek with a flat hand that elicited an “OH!” from Buffy, then,  “Mr. Spike, PLEASE!” 


“Please what, Miss Summers?”  he asked coyly.


“Please do it again!” 


Spike slapped a hand on the other cheek before running one hand down to her dripping cunt, when he lightly touched her swollen clit, she jerked against him and let out a small moan.    


“You certainly get wet thinking about Mr. Snyder, pet,” he smiled. “Now for your punishment.”


Spike unbuckled his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans in what seemed like one fluid motion, letting his throbbing cock free of its restraints, he pressed the tip of it between her ass cheeks before sliding it down and pressing the tip into her tight pussy. 


Buffy shuddered as he entered her, God, she loved how wonderful he felt when he was pressing into her. 


“Mr. Spike, it’s too big, I don’t think it will . . ." Spike thrust hard into her, burying his rod to the hilt in her heat. 


“Oh God!” Buffy’s back arched, throwing her head back, her legs quivering under her, her knees started to buckle and Spike caught her by the hips to steady her as he began a slow rhythmic fuck.   “What were you sayin', luv?”


“Fuck me!” Buffy responded, all school-girl pretense gone.


“Believe I am, luv.”


“Fuck me harder!” she demanded as she began pushing back against him in time with his thrusts. 


Buffy slid one hand down to finger her neglected clit and her inner muscles tightened even more around Spike’s cock as it banged in and out of her eliciting cries of  “Christ . . . Fuck . .  . God . . . Jesus Christ Slayer . . . "  from his mouth. 


Buffy was screaming, “Yes!  Yes! God, Spike, Yes! Fuck me, Spike!"  before she could no longer get enough oxygen to form words and screams replaced them on each exhale. 


Buffy climaxed with a long piercing scream, leaning heavily on the table beneath her as Spike slammed into her from behind, her inner muscles clutching hard around Spike’s cock, bringing him to climax with a deep howl.  Just then, the legs of the table buckled under her pressure and everything started to tumble down. Spike pulled Buffy by the hips and rolled to the side, shielding her so she wouldn’t fall onto her stomach and risk injury to herself or the baby, despite Willow's protection spell.


Buffy landed hard against Spike’s chest as he landed on his back.


“Bloody Hell!” she heard from behind and under her.


“You alright?” she asked concerned.


“I’ll do.” He chuckled.  “Think you’ve slain the table, though, luv.”


“Oops?  . . . I mean . . . umm . . .” Buffy cleared her throat. “Lo siento.”

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