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Whispers, 3b/4

My first Spuffy fic, Whispers, has never been posted to my journal (it’s at seven_seasons ), so I am doing that now.  If you’ve already read it, there isn’t anything new.  I just wanted to have all my stories available on my journal.

Title: Whispers
Chapter: Three ~ You Say You Want a Revelation
Rating/Warning: NC-17 for sexual situations and blood play.
Summary: After Spike endures torture at the hands of Glory to protect the identity of the Key, Buffy is forced to reconsider everything she ever thought she knew about the vampire, leading to some startling revelations.
Setting: Season 5, immediately post-Intervention.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.  They are being used out of respect and admiration, and not for the sake of profit.  No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This story is self-beta’d and I know that there are errors and other things that could be fixed to make it better.  However, this is the way it was first posted and I am leaving it be.  Chapter three is posted in three parts (A,B,C) due to it's length.
Banner: xtanitx
Previous Chapter:
Chapter 3, Part A

Chapter Three, Part B
You Say You Want a Revelation


The second kiss was every bit as spectacular as the first, but slower, gentler, as though each movement of his lips, glide of his tongue, served to commit her, kissing her, to memory.  Through the blissfulness of the kiss, another twinge of regret hit her when she realized he was preparing himself for tomorrow, when all of this ended.  He possessed the quiet desperation of a man certain of the imminence of his loss.  Spike knew this was the last time he’d ever hold her in his arms, and neither her presence now, nor her confession that she was falling in love with him, could convince him otherwise.  At the same time, he kissed her with the barely restrained passion of a man fighting to ensure he wasn’t forgotten either, even if she never touched him as intimately again.  He wanted this to stay with her, wanted her to remember, as she lay alone and awake in her bed at night, how much she had wanted him, how bloody fantastic the two of them could be, if she only gave them a chance.


Problem was, Buffy knew that his feelings weren’t unreasonable.  Right now in his arms, she could do it, could throw away everything she was supposed to believe and embrace this new, terrifying, exhilarating future.  What she felt for Spike wasn’t new, even if her recognition of it was, and she was not confusing desire for true feelings.  She understood the difference.  Her chance prediction and his assurances of the extraordinariness of the two of them rang truer than ever, and no part of her doubted it.  Spike and Buffy, together, could change the world. 


She also understood, with heart-wrenching certainty, that daylight changed the look of things.  Tonight happened so fast, denying Buffy the time to talk herself out of it.  Only that afternoon, she had wanted him dusted, ready to convict him for crimes not committed, on the fact of what he was, without ever finding out who.  Only hours later did she understand Spike had changed, and grudgingly admitted that he loved her.  Now, nothing about that knowledge felt grudging.  Buffy’s heart pounded at the thought that this man loved her more than anyone ever had, or ever would, and that she was in the act of falling for him just as deeply.  Everything had a surreal aspect to it, almost as though she were outside of herself, seeing everything through new, or perhaps unclouded, eyes.  Strangely, it also felt more real than anything else in her admittedly bizarre world. 


Would the shadows of doubt, the clouded vision, creep up again come morning?  Buffy wanted to lie to herself and say, with conviction, that it would not, but she understood her own intimate relationship with denial more than she cared to admit.  She dreaded the end of the night and the dawn of morning, with its brightly lit spaces and conveniently cast shadows in which to hide the pieces of herself she thought she needed to conceal.  Spike might not be able to stand out in the light, but he didn’t deserve to be tossed into the shadows, either.  Could Spike survive the return of her usual jaded self?  Buffy didn’t know if she could.


A long moment later, Buffy realized the wetness on her face was tears, and that they were her own.  She released a whimpering sigh, and Spike pulled away to look at her with concern.




Buffy dropped her forehead onto his shoulder and sighed again.  “I just...I don’t want this to end.”


Spike cradled the back of her head with his hand and placed a kiss into her hair.  “Neither do I, sweetheart,” he answered, “but you know it will.”


Buffy turned her face so her lips brushed against his neck and tightened her arms around his shoulders.  “God, I’m going to break your heart.”


“Look at me,” Spike whispered, waiting quietly until she complied, then wiping away her tears with his thumb.  “You wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t want this,” he continued, pausing to kiss her lips gently.  “But it’s easy down here, love.  Just two people exploring something incredible.  It’s easy to see what’s in front of you, feel what you feel, down here.”


Buffy nodded solemnly as another tear slid swiftly down her cheek.  She could see moisture glinting in Spike’s eye as well, and hoped he wouldn’t start crying in earnest.  If he did, she had no chance of stopping.


Gentle fingers traced the path of the tear and continued to draw random patterns into her flushed cheek, leaving her skin tingling.  “But you go up there,” Spike said, tilting his head in the direction of the ceiling, “and you’re Buffy the Vampire Slayer, surrounded by her righteous, demon-hunting mates, and there’s me, down here, a demon in the dark.” 


She knew she had it wrong, then.  Spike’s heart wasn’t the only one breaking.  “Spike...” she whispered, but he quieted her with a soft kiss.


“I know what you want, Buffy,” he assured her, voice barely above a whisper.  “I know what I want.  But life — your life — doesn’t want it.”


She closed her eyes tightly against the oncoming flood of tears.  “I wanna try.”


“I know,” he answered, kissing each of her eyelids with trembling lips.  “An’ I think you will, but it’s not gonna be easy.”


“I just...need time.”


“And you’ll have it.” 


Relief swelled in her heart with the knowledge that he understood, that he recognized she wasn’t here just playing with him, leading him on only to throw it back in his face come morning.  No, Spike realized the inherent difficulties in following the path ahead of them, and while certain they would take a giant leap backward tomorrow, he was willing to give her the chance to find her way back.  Buffy’s heart told her to hit the road running, but her head reminded her of all the obstacles littering the passage and urged her to proceed with caution.  She knew that once she started on the journey, there was no going back.  When she did it was all out, no holds barred, and she couldn’t do it until she could give him all of herself.  Spike was there — everything that he was, he gave willingly to her.  Until she could give that back to him, she had to move slowly.  After tonight, this intimacy would fade into the shadows of memory, this they both understood, but she would find her way back, and he would wait for her.  Not forever, but she didn’t need forever.


“Thank you,” she whispered.


In response, Spike touched his lips to hers again, drawing her into a slow, tender kiss.  When they parted, he cradled her head and she buried her face into his neck, willing her tears to subside. 


“Don’t think about tomorrow,” Spike requested, combing his fingers through her hair.  “Just be here with me tonight.”




Spike touched his cheek to the side of her head, his mouth close to her ear.  Buffy noticed that he continued to breathe in perfect timing with her own respirations, and wondered, amidst the shivers caused by the tickle of air into her ear, if he knew he was doing it that way.


“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured, voice vibrating in her ear more potently than his breath.  “An’ I’m not giving up.”


“Don’t,” Buffy agreed.  “You can’t let me forget.”


“Trust me, love,” he replied, tongue darting out to lick the lobe.  “You’ll have to stake me to get rid of me.”


“No staking,” Buffy corrected, lifting her head and inhaling sharply as he began nibbling.  “But...mmmm, more of that.”


Spike chuckled around the flesh in his mouth.  “My slayer likes being bitten,” he teased, now biting softly along the line of her jaw.


“Only by her vampire,” Buffy answered, feeling once again both breathless and lightheaded, with a healthy dose of tachycardia thrown in on the side.  Spike hesitated a moment and Buffy chuckled.  “That’s you, Spike.”


Spike nipped playfully at her chin, and then the tip of her nose.  “A fella could get used to hearin’ that,” he decided, grinning at her, and immediately wincing as the expression tugged at the cuts on his face.


Buffy furrowed her brow with concern, touching a finger tentatively to the wound below his mouth.  Spike had put aside the discomfort to kiss her, but the enthusiasm of those same kisses had clearly aggravated the abrasions.  None of them were terribly serious, and they had started to heal already.  However, what they lacked in severity, they accounted for in quantity, slowing the healing process with numerous injuries to tend and leaving even Spike hard pressed to ignore the pain.  Pig’s blood, though it sustained him in unlife, hardly matched human blood for fuelling his vampiric healing.


The idea had occurred to Buffy earlier, at first on her way to the butcher shop, but she’d rejected it before her brain could fully form the thoughts.  It had returned to her mind, albeit still negatively, when Spike devoured the first bag of blood.  She’d thought of it again when his lips first touched her neck, but his actions at the time quickly overshadowed the budding inspiration.  Now, looking into his torn face, the proposition returned to her with a more plausible feeling to it.


A mental warning bell sounded, bringing to the forefront of her consciousness memories of the aftermath of the last time she’d offered what she was considering now.  That situation, she reminded herself, was very different to the present.  She had given Angel her neck out of desperation to save him, and he’d been so far under the effects of the poison that he hadn’t been able to control himself. 


Spike wasn’t poisoned, wasn’t delirious, and he wasn’t starving.  He was, however, injured because of something he had done for her.  Tonight wasn’t about life and death; it was about connecting.  It was about trust.  It was about showing him that she understood the depth of what he had done for her, and that she was willing to do the same for him.  It could only be blood.  Nothing else she could offer him would hold the same meaning.


Spike cocked his head to the side and regarded her searchingly, and Buffy realized she had spent more time than she intended staring at him in contemplation. 


“You’ll heal faster with human blood, right?” she asked, before she could talk herself out of it.


If Spike could have narrowed his eyes at her, Buffy was certain he would have.  The swelling rendered the expression into more of a near-sighted, one-eyed squint that would have been funny had her thoughts not dwelled on a serious topic.  “Now, don’t go raidin’ the blood bank on my account,” he replied, seemingly in jest but with a hint of caution.


“No,” Buffy corrected, playing along for the moment.  “I meant fresh blood, as in, mine.”


Spike sighed, shifting her back slightly so he could see her face better.  “Buffy—”


“Not like you’d need a lot, after all the pig you ate,” she continued, ignoring his discomfiture in the hopes that he might miss her own nervousness at what she was offering.


He eased her back even more.  “Buffy—”


She trundled on obstinately, joining her hands behind his neck to prevent him shifting her completely out of his lap.  “And slayer blood’s gotta be better than plain old human, right?”


His sigh this time ended with a low growl.  “You don’t—”


“Really do,” she interrupted, as emphatic in her insistence as she could manage. 


Spike scowled.  “Chip.”


Buffy leaned forward to plant a quick peck on his lips.  “Someone who kisses like you do can surely figure out how to bite without pain and yes I really did just suggest that.” 


She felt her cheeks start to burn as Spike’s lip curled up very slightly at the comment.  When he replied, however, his tone remained businesslike.  “Touched.  But I—”


“If I let you, I bet it won’t even fire.”


Spike’s expression grew slightly irritated.  “All well and good,” he responded, tapping at his temple with two fingers, “when it’s not your noggin on the line.”


“If I let you bite me, then you’re not intending to hurt me,” Buffy elaborated, affecting her best cheery voice.  “It’s like, chip psych 101.”


Another scowl twisted his features and he made the squinting face at her again.  “Fine,” he grumbled.  “Use logic, or psychology, or whatever the hell that was.”


Now Buffy felt herself scowling at him, frustration flaring over his continued stubbornness.  “How is it that I’m actually having to convince you?”


This curled his lip into a hint of a smirk.  “Partly I just like arguing with you,” Spike admitted, joining his hands again at the small of her back.  “An’ just makin’ sure that you’re sure.”


Buffy looked into his eye directly.  “I’m sure, Spike.”


Spike returned her look expectantly.  “Are you gonna be as sure in the morning?”


Her bottom lip poked out rebelliously and her scowl upgraded into a glower.  “God, it’s not like I’m under the influence or anything.”


“Runnin’ pretty high on endorphins, love,” Spike corrected, leaning in to nip at her pouting lip.


That he should bite her, while trying to talk her out of letting him bite her, did nothing to reduce Buffy’s growing aggravation, though the action itself resulted in a rush of those aforementioned chemicals.  “If that means what I think it means...okay, yeah, but it doesn’t make me any less sure.”


Spike trailed his fingers up and down the column of her neck.  “They’re gonna see it.”


“Who said neck?” Buffy countered, though she hadn’t considered anything else.


“It’s neck or nothing.”


“Hair,” she answered, a hint of a smile on her lips as she demonstrated.  “Slayer healing.”


“Might hurt.”


“I’ll deal.”


Spike pushed her hair back again.  “They’re still gonna see it.”


“I don’t care,” Buffy replied, defiantly.


For a long moment, the two of them stared quietly at each other.  Spike seemed to be searching her face for something, and Buffy willed him to understand her intentions.  If she had to, she could maybe try to explain it, but it would simply be better if he got it without her words getting in the way.  He spent so much time in silent appraisal that she began to fear he would misunderstand and reject her offer.  Then, slowly, he nodded.


“All right, Buffy.”



>>Chapter Three, Part C


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