Disclaimer: Not my characters, Joss Whedon’s. Never owned ‘em, never will. No copyright infringement intended. This is, as ever, femfanfic, impure and simple. I should note this was written in the early summer of 1998 after the events of Becoming, Part II but well before the premier ep of season three, Anne aired.
Warning: Not only is this not for those under 18, this is not for the fainthearted. "We’re talking…adult content here," as Buffy said in WTTHM. The warnings are meant to keep the underaged and those who might be offended from this page. If you somehow managed to circumvent the warnings before your 18th birthday, or if you are uncomfortable with explicit material, Turn Back Now!
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on the Highway of...
or
Spike and Buffy Redux
Part 4
Xander's heart slowly regained its normal rhythm, his breathing gradually calmed. He realized, after a few minutes, that his whole inert weight was crushing down on Buffy, and he raised himself up on his arms. Buffy tightened her own arms around him.
"No," she whispered, not letting him go. Sinking back down onto the warm, soft haven of her body, Xander experienced the most profound moment of peace he had ever felt in his life. He knew, absolutely, that he had succeeded. He had made love to Buffy Summers, and in doing so, had made her love him. The woman he had loved for nearly two long, unrequited years was finally, finally his.
Smiling, he looked down at her...
And his heart shattered irrevocably and, he understood, forever.
She looked back at him with tenderness, smiling gently up at him. There was affection in that look, and love, of a kind. But not the love he wanted from her, needed from her.
Not the love, he finally understood, she was incapable of giving him.
Keeping the smile on his face, not letting her see his devastation was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. But it was the only thing he could bear to do.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," she whispered back. "Are you all right?"
No, he thought. "I'm fine," he said.
"It's just that...I feel...God, this is stupid. I feel like, maybe I shouldn't have...done that to you."
He summoned a chuckle. "You shouldn't have let me make love to the woman I've been in love with from the moment we met?" He tried for a light tone.
"I shouldn't have taken advantage of you," she said quietly.
He wanted to weep. He laughed instead. "Please, Buffy, feel free to take whatever advantage you want, anytime, anywhere and definitely, any way." He dropped a kiss on her lips, forcing himself to make it light and quick. Then he drew away from her, rolling over and sitting up, reaching for his clothes.
"But you understand..."
"It's okay, Buff," he said gently. He pulled his shorts and his pants up over his lean hips, and buckled his belt. Finishing, he turned back to her, offering her a hand up. "I love you. You've always known that, and this hasn't changed it. You don't love me." He drew her to her feet, and met her eyes. "And one thing has changed about that. I get it, now." He let go of her hand and finished dressing. After a moment, he could hear her doing the same.
They went back to the kitchenette, and she put on a pot of coffee.
"Where's your phone?" he asked, "I need to call my uncle if I'm going to be here much longer."
"Vampires with phones?" Buffy said with a light tone that didn't fool him. "Spike doesn't exactly have a lease on this place."
"More of a sublet, huh?" Xander quipped.
"There's a phone on the corner," she said. "What are you going to tell your uncle?"
"The truth.
"What!" She turned her startled gaze on him.
"That the girl I followed here from Sunnydale invited me to her place and I'm going to hang around for a while," Xander clarified wryly. "Uncle Pete is very understanding."
"Oh, that truth," Buffy nodded. "Okay." Xander was only gone for a few minutes. Buffy finished making the coffee and had the mugs out and waiting for him. She noticed the silver chain he had put on the table, and picked it up...
And her heart stopped beating for one agonizing moment.
She hadn't been able to bear looking at it. Any more than she could bear the thought of tossing it away. Leaving it at home when she left had been a compromise. No matter what her mother did with it, Buffy could always tell herself that it was someplace where she could find it when she had the strength, or the courage. Instead, it had found her.
Buffy reached a tentative hand toward the claddagh ring Angel had given her on her seventeenth birthday, the ring that said she belonged to someone.
To him.
The silver felt oddly warm.
"It was a spell," Xander said, coming back into the apartment. Buffy had left the door open for him. "I ran into Amy when she had just gotten herself a new spell book. There was one for finding lost souls." Remembering the song she had heard in the thrift store, Buffy laughed ruefully.
"Lost souls. Well, that sums me up, I guess." She drew herself up, and went on briskly, "But you shouldn't have involved Amy. She should be discouraged from working with magic. I mean, remember what happened on Valentine's day." Buffy closed her hand over the ring and the chain. Xander's eyes followed the movement, but he made no comment, nor did he attempt to reclaim the ring.
"I remember," Xander told her, coming forward to the table and picking up the mug of coffee. As she slipped the chain over her own neck, he took a sip, then smiled wryly. Buffy had fixed it exactly the way he liked it, the way a lover would do it...or a good friend. He pushed the thought aside. "But I was a little more concerned about your welfare than hers when I asked her to do this. And I still am." He pulled out one of the table's two chairs and sat down. She took the other.
"You know your mother is going crazy. We all were. You've got to come home."
"I don't have a home anymore, Xander." Buffy said softly, stirring her coffee idly. "Mom threw me out."
"God, Buffy, you can't believe she would stick to that!" Xander said forcefully. At the startled look she gave him, he went on. "We've been by your house, one of us, almost every day. Your mom didn't tell us exactly what happened, just that she had told you if you left, not to come back. And that she blames herself for saying it, because she desperately wanted you to come back. Just like she desperately wanted you to stay, but didn't know how to keep you from leaving, so she made the only threat she could think of."
"It worked," Buffy said simply.
"It wasn't supposed to," Xander said. "And that's why you've got to come home."
"Come home and do what?" she said, setting the spoon aside and taking a sip of coffee. "Go back to school? Even if I wanted to, Snyder expelled me."
"Yeah, Giles found out about that. But he's got plans to appeal your case to the School Board, and even the state Board of Education, if he has to. When you get back."
"He won't have too," Buffy said flatly. "I'm done with school." Xander was alarmed. Buffy wasn't the best student in the world, mainly because slaying kept her from studying. But he knew how sharp her mind could be, when it counted. And he didn't want her to end up in the kind of dead-end life that dropping out would condemn her to.
"C'mon, Buffy. You're dropping out?" He tried to laugh it off. "With only one year left?"
"Two years, Xander. I kinda missed finals, remember?"
"Yeah, but you could make those up and--"
"And that's not the point," she interrupted him. "Look, do you really think after everything that's happened, after what's still happening, that I can just go back to high school? I mean, it was tough enough sitting in a roomful of kids whose worst problems were about who they weren't dating and whether they could borrow the car that night when I just had to deal with being the Slayer. But after...after...what I had to do...." her voice trailed off. She looked at him, and there was no longer any anger in her eyes. Just sadness. Which was worse. "School seems... alien. And pointless."
"So, you're going to what? Wait tables by day and slay by night?" he joked
"Maybe," she said quietly.
"Maybe? You mean, like you'd actually consider that?" Xander was aghast. "Are you nuts?"
"Maybe," she said again.
"No. Not maybe. You are definitely nuts if you throw your life away like that."
"That's just it, Xander, I don't really have much of a life left to throw away. Not that I care about anyway."
"Buffy," Xander began.
"Don't," she stopped him. "Don't...apologize. I really do get why you didn't tell me. And it's not important anymore. And that isn't even what I meant, really. You don't have to worry. I'm not going to try to get myself killed. Spike cured me of that. I'll do my duty as a Slayer, no fear. It's just that...I don't care about what happens besides that."
"If you really wanted to do you're duty as Slayer, you'd start--how do they put it? Begin at home?" Xander's voice was grim.
"If I have to, I will," she surprised him by saying. "But Spike has been very careful about not giving me a reason."
A hot stab of jealousy pricked through Xander, surprising him. Somehow, making love to Buffy had made that worse, not better.
"And I'll just bet he's been giving you lots of reasons not to, hasn't he?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Do you really want to know?" she challenged him. Xander shook his head, turning back to his coffee.
"No," he said frankly. "I don't."
The object of their discussion arrived just then.
"Thought you were giving us 'til dawn," Xander drawled as Spike pushed open the door to the apartment. He was carrying a paper grocery bag.
"Well, I thought I'd best get indoors a few minutes before the sun actually rose," Spike said sardonically, setting the bag on the kitchen table. "Plays hell with my complexion, don't you know?"
"I'll get the shutters," Buffy said.
As she walked away, Spike reached into the bag and pulled out a chilled beer, surprising Xander by tossing it to him, before reaching in the bag for another.
"Uh. Thanks," Xander said warily.
"Figured you could use it," Spike said dryly, twisting the cap off of his. "God, you have got it bad, haven't you?"
Xander didn't even pretend not to understand him. He was about to say the rudest thing he could think of, when something in the vampire's eyes, or his tone of voice, stopped him.
"Yes, I do," he admitted, then delivered his own blow. "Don't you?" he returned coolly. Déjà vu. He had had almost the identical conversation with Angel, the night Buffy was killed by the Master and they brought her back from the dead. Xander was gratified to see Spike stiffen, casting the human a glare of dislike. After a moment, the vampire relaxed again, his expression shifting back into its habitual mockery.
"Clever boy," Spike said, setting the beer down and reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. "Yep. Surprised the hell out of me, but yes I do. And I would take it as a personal kindness if you'd keep that little tidbit to yourself."
"Done," Xander said easily, toasting Spike with his beer as Buffy finished the last window, and returned to the table. She was frowning.
"Those two vampires we saw when we left this evening?" she said to Spike. "They're outside again. I'm going after them."
"Want some help?" Spike offered.
"For just the two?" She asked incredulous. "Please. I'll be back in five." She grabbed up her stake and hurried out the door.
"So, if you're in love with Buffy," Xander began after she left, "what was that crack about the futon? I mean, I didn't get it until later, but you knew we were going to make love even before we did. How could you let her do that, if you love her?"
"You poor kid," Spike said. "You've known her for, what? One year? Two? You've known who she is and what she is, but you still don't get it." The vampire shook his head and took a long swallow of beer before he continued. "So, you, what? Think that, because you love her, maybe you'll settle down someday? Rose covered cottage? Raise a family? Was that the dream?"
"It's not a bad dream," Xander said, not bothering to hide his resentment.
"No, it isn't,' Spike acknowledged. "But it never had a chance in hell of coming true. And Angel didn't have a damn thing to do with it."
"You've lost me. If she didn't love Angel..."
"It wouldn't matter," Spike said brutally. "Oh, maybe she'd have fallen in love with you," he acknowledged, setting aside the beer to take a drag on his cigarette, then taping it against the ashtray. "Slayers have managed that from time to time. I mean, I do know the lore. Keeping up with it is sort of a survival tactic. And you'd have taken her off to that cottage." He took in another lungful of smoke, held it for a moment, and blew it out.
"And you'd have watched her go off every night, knowing you couldn't stop her, that it would be wrong to try. There wouldn't be any kiddies, because a pregnant Slayer is a vulnerable Slayer, and you would cut your own throat before you'd put her at risk." Xander shifted uneasily in his chair. Spike was right.
"But one night," the vampire continued after another drag, "the risks would be more than she could handle. And she wouldn't come back." That was too much for Xander.
"Don't say that. Buffy's defeated things other Slayers never had to face."
"Too right. If anyone knows that, I do. But do you know the average life expectancy of a Slayer? Do you know how old the oldest of them known lived to be before she was killed?"
"I don't want to hear this," Xander said, pushing his chair back from the table.
"Twenty," Spike said brutally, before he could rise. "And twenty-seven. Respectively."
"You're saying that," Xander choked on the words, had to start again. "You're saying that you don't think Buffy will survive much longer than three more years? That it will take a miracle for her to last ten?"
"I'm saying that she's not an ordinary girl, and you can't hold her to ordinary standards. She knows what being the Slayer means. Buffy's a smart girl; she's figured it out. With Angel in Hell, a shortened life span isn't bothering her much, at the moment. When and if it does," he shrugged. "I'm sure one of us will be around for her."
"And what will you do? Offer her eternal life?" Xander said bitterly.
"She wouldn't take it if I did," Spike sighed. "And to answer your earlier question...I think she's more likely to make it to twenty-seven than any other Slayer I've ever met, or heard of. And if she can just make it to thirty, we'll find out if the legends are true."
"Legends?" Xander questioned. "What kind of legends?"
"Well, think about it," Spike invited, stabbing out his cigarette and taking another pull of the beer. "Suppose a Slayer was fast enough, tough enough and good enough to survive that long. But she wouldn't be immortal, and age has a way of slowing you down, so I'm told. A Slayer in her thirties --is that really in the world's best interest? So, what I've heard--and you must remember, I really have paid attention to this subject--is that if a Slayer lives to thirty, she gets to retire. She wakes up on the morning of her birthday, and finds that she doesn't have the instincts, or the edge, or the powers that she had before. Oh, she's still faster, more deadly, than a normal woman is. But she's no longer what she was. And another one is called forth."
"So, like, all we have to do is see that she survives 'til she's thirty, and, it's like, rose covered cottage and babies, here we come," Xander said with mounting enthusiasm.
"And do you really think, after everything she'll have gone through, everything she'll have done, that she'll be remotely interested in settling down and raising a family?" Spike said quietly. Xander paled, but before he could answer, Buffy herself came back into the room.
"God, are the vampires in LA stupider than normal vamps, or is there an undead moron convention in town?" Buffy muttered as she slammed back into the room. "I mean, they practically fell onto my..." she stopped as she realized what Xander was holding, what he had been holding before she left, though her preoccupation with the vampires had kept her from making the connection. "You're drinking beer?" she said. "Where did you...no, don't tell me. Spike, what do you think you're doing?"
"Corrupting the morals of a minor," he said dryly. "I'm quite good at it, you know." Buffy flushed.
"This is different," she retorted. "Xander, you aren't used to alcohol. You have a long drive back to your uncle's."
"Buffy, I'm not drunk, and Uncle Pete isn't waiting up for me. He was leaving for a red-eye flight to New York when I called, so --"
"He doesn't have to drive back to his uncle's, tonight," Spike finished for him. "After all," he added softly, before he took a slug of beer, "it's a big bed."
Buffy blanched, going very cold. And then very hot. Xander drew in a long breath. Neither of them could believe what had just been said.
"What's the matter, children?" Spike said, his voice assuming an almost caressing tone. "Don't you want to play?" Spike watched them, wondering if he had judged matters between them correctly. He was sure Xander wasn't over Buffy, and if something more were to happen, Spike would infinitely rather be included than to have to endure another few hours like the ones just past, imagining her in another man's arms. At least this way, she was still with him. He would take her on whatever terms he could have her. For however long he could keep her. Which, he knew, could not be long.
Xander's memories roiled and collided within him. His phantom soldiers were very familiar with what was being offered. It was the stuff of deepest, dirtiest fantasy, the sort of experience everyone wanted.
With a good whore. Never with the woman one loved.
But the woman Xander loved was not an ordinary woman, as Spike had said. And given a choice between leaving Buffy alone, in Spike's bed, and sharing that bed with them... Xander's heart began to pick up speed. He gulped down another mouthful of beer. His eyes were fixed on Buffy, who remained silent, standing before them.
Buffy was shaking, with fear or excitement she didn't know. Spike had taught her enough to give her an idea of how things could be managed. But was she ready for something like this? Was Xander?
...and definitely, any way..." His words of barely an hour before came back to her. Looking at him, she saw that he remembered them as well. She opened her mouth to tell them to forget it, and to order Xander to get rid of the beer.
"Yes," she found herself saying instead. "It is a big bed." Realizing what she'd done, she walked to the table and took Spike's beer from his hand. She needed it more than he did, right now. She raised the bottle to her mouth and took a long draught. He smiled sardonically, understanding.
And lifted his hands to her waist, pulling her closer. Spike leant forward in the chair, pressing his lips against her belly, where the high-cut top left it exposed. Buffy stopped drinking, setting the bottle down on the table at her side. Now, she tilted her head back with a soft sigh, relishing the play of his mouth against her sensitive flesh. Xander watched for a moment, took another pull of his own beer, then set the bottle down, standing up and moving around the table until he stood behind Buffy.
Xander lifted her hair off the back of her neck, and licked at the vulnerable flesh thus revealed. Buffy leaned back against him, Spike edging forward to accommodate her move. Xander brought his hands around to the front of her torso, covering her lovely breasts with his hands, trying to find her nipples through the layers of cloth. They peaked quickly, making an easy target. Buffy raised her hands over her head, and over Xander's, pulling him closer, locking her wrists behind his neck.
Spike moved his hands to the fastening of her jeans, taking his time about pulling them off of her. By the time he slid them down, Buffy was moaning in earnest. Xander stripped off her blouse and bra, so that she was naked between the two of them, and their hands could savor the feel of her satiny flesh, their mouths could feast on it.
Stripped naked, Buffy put her arms back around Xander's neck and closed her eyes, surrendering to the gentle touches, the delicate tastes. They were both approaching this slowly, and she was grateful. But she could feel the avid hunger each was keeping in leash, and knew her own hunger would soon grow to answer it. Xander, still fully clothed, was grinding his erection against her buttocks, while Spike was nibbling his way from her navel to her mons. Her hips took up a circular thrust that pushed her against one as she withdrew from the other. When Spike sucked her clit into his mouth, then delved into her with his tongue Buffy wailed and turned her head back towards Xander, lifting her face for his kiss. He didn't disappoint, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in tandem with the thrust of Spike's tongue into her femininity. Spike caressed her hips, Xander her breasts, and a conflagration built inside her with incredible quickness. She was going to come, and they had barely started. She tried to pull away from Xander's mouth, to tell them to stop, but he wouldn't stop kissing her. She tried to pull her hips free of Spike's hands, but he wouldn't let her go. She realized that they could tell how close she was, and that they wanted her to climax. That this was for her. She surrendered, letting the waves build inside her, letting the pleasure mount until she was grinding against Spike's mouth and devouring Xander's. She began to peak, shuddering, unable to stand, experiencing pleasure so intense it would have brought her to her knees, if either of her lovers had been willing to let her fall.
They weren't. They held on to her, anchoring her, and if they brought the storm that consumed her, they would not let it harm her.
Buffy's climax began to seem unending. She was moaning into Xander's mouth, and tried to pull away to gasp in air. He wouldn't let her go, and she began to feel dizzy. The intensity of her orgasm increased, she went boneless and limp.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying in the middle of the futon. Spike and Xander lay beside her, looking down at her, one on either side. They were both naked.
"Tell us what you want, love," Spike told her, and she remembered the first night they had made love, when he had made her put into words the longings she could barely admit to herself. She told them. They smiled and obeyed.
Buffy closed her eyes as two mouths, one full of heated warmth, the other of cold skill, descended on her sensitive breasts. She moaned, her hips lifting half off the bed at the delicious sensations. Then, each of them moved a hand along her body, trailing downward. One stopped to play in the nest of curls between her thighs, the other went lower, inserting a long, warm finger inside her. She felt her body tighten around it, couldn't believe she was still so hot for them, so soon after they had brought her to such a completion.
Then Spike lifted his head from her breasts, kissed her once, ruthlessly, then moved her slightly, until she was lying on her side and he was behind her. Xander withdrew his fingers, and likewise abandoned her breasts. While he switched his own position on the bed, Spike lifted Buffy's upper leg, holding it high, and slid into her from behind. Then Xander's tongue caressed her clit even as Spike filled her. Buffy was crying, the sensations unbelievable. I wish you could keep eating me when you drive your cock into me... she had told Spike. This was even better.
Xander's hard, beautiful prick was inches away from her. Buffy reached for him, drawing his hips toward her face. She sucked him down into her throat without half the teasing gentleness she had used on him earlier. This was desperate need, not consolation, or lovemaking. Xander groaned against her clit. Spike sank his tongue into her ear as she feasted on Xander's flesh.
Once again, orgasm approached almost instantly. She knew they couldn't possibly be ready to finish, but had no idea how to win back control of her own body, how to make it last long enough for them. Spike seemed to sense her inner turmoil.
"Let it go, baby," he crooned to her. "Don't you know how good you taste and how good you feel when you come? Let us make you come. And then we'll make you come again."
His words did it, pushing her over an edge she had not realized she had reached. Her rhythm on Xander's prick increased almost violently. She pushed almost forcefully against Spike's. She climaxed just as intensely as she had before, once again losing consciousness from sheer, raw sensation.
This time, when she came to, Spike was still sheathed inside her, rock hard. But he wasn't moving. Xander lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, his cock semi-erect.
Buffy moved her hips back against Spike, giving him permission to move. He took it. Her upper leg was draped across his hips, and she reached between her thighs to caress his balls while he moved inside her. He groaned his approval. This time, she was able to ignore her own pleasure, and concentrate on his. She did all the things she knew he liked, that she could possibly do in this position, and was rewarded when he came inside her with great shuddering gasps.
Buffy allowed him to stay inside her for a few moments, then drew away. Xander had remained unmoving the whole time. Now, Buffy knelt above him, fondling his prick, caressing his balls. He came fully erect quickly, and dropped his arm from his eyes. She bent to take him into her mouth once more. Spike moved slightly, reaching out to massage her outer lips, just lightly titillating her clit. Buffy purred her appreciation, and opened her thighs invitingly. Spike slipped a finger inside her.
Much as she enjoyed the sensations, Buffy was still more intent on Xander's completion than on her own. She needn’t have worried. Swept by the hot silk of her mouth, the velvet of her tongue caressing his intimate flesh, Xander approached his own crisis within minutes. He tried to pull away, but she would not let him, forcing him to come in her mouth, to give up to her the hot seed she craved. Spike chose that moment to use his thumb against her clit, providing that extra bit of stimulation that brought her to her fourth completion of that night.
The three of them lay in an untidy heap for long moments. Then Spike drew Buffy back to the head of the bed, and she pulled Xander up to follow. She lay on her side, both of them pressed tight up against her. Spike dropped slow kisses on the back of her neck, Xander on her cheeks and forehead.
Buffy realized she wanted both of them again. And in a few moments, as their kisses became more insistent, and as she felt each of them stiffen against her thighs, she realized that they wanted the same thing.
Spike reached to his side, and she knew he was going for one of the bottles of massage oil they kept on the crate that served as their bed table.
"Not the hot one," she warned him. He chuckled, but obeyed. A moment later he lifted her upper leg again, but this time, he reached with his hand, not to the moist entrance to her femininity, but to the tiny, tight orifice between her buttocks. Buffy inhaled deeply, her eyes going wide, as he gently pushed the tip of an oiled finger inside. They had never done this before. When he had delicately raised the subject during one of their more heated encounters, she had flatly refused to consider it. But now, she made no objection to Spike's intimate invasion. Xander, looked at her questioningly, then realized what was happening. Heat flared in his eyes. He smiled and bent to her breasts, licking each nipple in turn. Buffy tensed against the intrusive finger Spike was trying to push into her. He felt the resistance of her muscles, and whispered reassuringly into her ear. As Xander sucked her aureole into his mouth, Buffy relaxed, and Spike was able to push further in.
"That's it. Relax. We can make this feel so good for you," he promised.
It already did. Buffy sighed and surrendered, responding to the pace he set as he moved his finger slowly in and out of her, edging in a little farther each time. All three of them had just reached intense orgasm. For Buffy, that meant her next climax would be quicker, and more sustained. But for Spike and Xander, it meant that it would take them longer to reach satisfaction. Just the idea of it made her weak, made her pliant. Spike withdrew his finger, and pressed his cock to the tight little opening. She could feel the slick oil on him as he pushed gently forward, and she forced herself to relax even more, making it easier for him to get inside her. Xander reached a hand between her thighs and stroked her clit, relaxing her further, enabling her to ignore any discomfort Spike was causing.
And then there wasn't any discomfort, there was only pleasure. Spike was fully sheathed inside her, and she made him stop, holding still, until Xander could sheath himself inside her body as well.
Buffy took deep breaths, so close to exploding she could barely stand it. They felt so good, both of her lovers, with their beautiful, thick cocks, and their skilled hands and tongues. She wanted to make this good for them, and was afraid that if she took her own pleasure this quickly, she could never satisfy them.
And she wanted to satisfy both of them as completely as they had satisfied her.
But delaying her release was not on their agenda. Spike realized what was happening first. He flicked his gaze at Xander, who understood instantly. Both of them moved as one inside her. Her sated body tightened almost painfully around both swollen cocks, enhancing the pleasure each felt in being inside her, as they pistoned in tandem, driving her to climax and sustaining it for her over long moments. Buffy endured the storm, as she had before, and was left shaking and panting with completion. As her pleasure ebbed, her lovers slowed and stilled their movements, waiting for her to recover and continue the game.
She was ready in a very few minutes. Xander and Spike were both still hard inside her, arousing her passion again almost at once. Slowly, she thrust her hips forward, rocking onto Xander, taking him deeper, easing away from Spike. Then she pulled back, impaling herself on Spike as she drew away from Xander. She moved again, keeping her rhythm slow and loose. This was amazing. No matter how she moved, she was always being filled by one or the other. Xander's breathing was absolutely ragged, and Spike was growling low in his throat.
Buffy smiled. She felt...powerful. She had two of the sexiest men she had ever met --don't think, don't think about the other-- making love to her, avid for her, so desperate for her they were willing to put aside their deep-seated mutual antipathy and share her. She was intoxicated by the thought.
They were absolutely in her thrall, moving to the rhythms she set them, worshiping at the altar of her flesh. If she demanded that one be still and the other increase his pace, they would, if she held herself immobile and required them to work for her pleasure, they would do that as well. And when she ordered, in a voice husky with passion and drugged with lust, that each of them drive into her as far and as fast and as hard as they could, they had no choice but to obey.
Xander's fingers were pinching her nipples lightly, Spike's fingers rubbed against her clit. Both of them moved inside her with so much power that she had to hold still, enduring them, allowing them to force her toward a roaring, raging conflagration that burned outward from the center of her body and moved to consume everything in its path. The familiar crisis was upon her, but so different, never before this intense, never before this devouring. She heard herself begin to moan, to make the soft breathy cries that she could never help, and which always deepened into full-throated wails.
Buffy pulled Xander's face down to hers, giving him a long, deep, kiss, then pulled away and turned her face to Spike's for another kiss. She pulled from that as well, too intent on her building climax to spare breath for kisses. But they kissed her, their lips softly brushing against her cheek, her temple, her throat. And with both of them raining soft, sweet kisses on her, Buffy let herself drop over the edge, let herself drop into the center of the whirlwind.
And she swept both of them with her.
The instant her sweet sheath began to tighten and release around his prick as she climaxed, Xander found he couldn't hold his own pleasure back any more. He joined her, thrusting harder, faster, spilling inside her once again. For Spike, the contractions were even more intense, coming not from her womanly center, but from the tighter, stronger ring of muscles in her bottom. He, too, was driven over the edge, pouring cold seed into the narrow channel.
Orgasm held all three of them enthralled, stunning them, suspending them in the center of a whirlwind that seemed to sweep over the world, until there was nothing left but the three of them locked in an eternity of mutual pleasure, until human and vampire no longer mattered, until male and female no longer mattered, until they were one being, born out of fire, and the center of the known world...
Long moments later, Buffy opened her eyes to discover that, this time, she had recovered first. She smiled, and dropped a soft kiss on Xander's brow, then turned to press a kiss on Spike's cheek. She moved slightly, until both of them slipped free of her body, then she snuggled between their unmoving forms, and drifted into a sated slumber.
Both of her lovers were still unconscious when she awoke, some hours later. She hadn't slept all that long. Buffy should have felt exhausted by their lovemaking, but she felt exactly the opposite; energized, restless, strong. She eased her way out of the bed, padded toward the linen closet, grabbed some fresh towels and a washrag and headed for the bathroom.
There were certain consequences to a marathon bout of lovemaking, and Buffy allowed the warm bath water to sooth away some of those consequences now. She was humming happily, she realized, and wondered at herself. She ought to feel horrible, like some cheap tramp or wanton slut, after what she had just done. Two men at the same time? One of them whose virginity she had just taken and the other a vampire she was sworn to kill? But she didn't feel bad about it at all.
She continued to feel powerful. And very, very female. The myths she had only half-paid attention to when Willow recounted them for lit class came back to her, and she felt a connection to them for the first time. Buffy Summers felt, simply, like a living incarnation of every earth-mother goddess ever drawn in myth or legend. This, she understood in a sudden flash of intuition, was why women were worshipped as divinities, denounced as whores, and burned as witches; because they possessed, all of them, a powerful sexuality that if unleashed, could bring the strongest of men to his knees.
That the strongest of men secretly dreaded he was incapable of satisfying.
Buffy smiled to herself. Men were such fools.
Spike and Xander were still sleeping when she returned to the living room an hour later, though each had drawn to an opposite end of the bed. So, even in sleep, the mutual antipathy made itself felt. They weren't going to like waking up in bed together, she realized, but she didn't have the patience to climb back into the bed to make this any easier for them. She had more important things to do.
Buffy quietly made her way to the crate which served as her dresser, and pulled out fresh clothing; panties, sports bra, and sweat shorts. It was too hot for anything more. She dressed quickly, hit the 'fridge for a glass of skim milk and a few pieces of fruit. Then she moved quietly toward the back of the loft, to the area where she and Spike held their mock battles and where she and Xander had fought and loved the night before. She spent a half-hour in meditation, losing herself in the chanted mantra and centering exercises. More clearly focused than she had been in months, she moved on to warm-up exercises. A half-hour more, and she was ready for the more rigorous routine of martial arts practice.
Her muscles felt fluid and sleek. She moved from position to position with smooth grace and controlled power. Buffy closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the feel of her own flesh and bone and sinew as she went through her routine. She felt good. She felt strong.
She felt like maybe it was time she stopped hiding.
A soft rustling came to her, and the distant creak of a floorboard. Xander would never be that quiet; it had to be Spike. Buffy went on with her routine. She hadn't even broken a sweat. She heard the faint humming of the pipes as Spike washed up, then, a few minutes later, a more definite rustling of the bedclothes as Xander sat up. Her eyes still closed, she knew he was watching her. She didn't stop.
The pipes grew quiet. A few minutes later, the door to the bathroom creaked open and closed. Spike became as quiet and stealthy as uninvited death. The floorboards were utterly silent, there was no rustle of clothing, and of course, no indrawn breath. Despite his care, Buffy could sense his approach, something about the way the floor felt beneath her feet, about the temperature of the air around her, things she would never, ever before have recognized on a conscious level. He was watching her, she knew, as she knew the exact moment he stopped watching and stepped in toward her to deliver a lethal blow to her temple
Which, smiling, she blocked with the flat of her hand. Buffy's eyes opened on to his. He gave her a rueful smile and kissed her. Then he pulled back and delivered another blow with no punches pulled and no quarter given. Again, she blocked it easily, this time following it up with a punishing blow to his solar plexus. She was focused on Spike, but a part of her awareness told her that Xander was crossing the loft to the bathroom. She continued her battle with Spike.
When Xander returned, he saw that the others were still fighting. Buffy was smiling, as if she were really enjoying this. She looked over to him, giving Spike a split second's opening of which the vampire took ruthless advantage...for all the good it did him. Buffy beat back his attack, keeping her feet. She still wasn't sweating.
"C'mon in, Xander," she called to him, dodging another of Spike's blows. "The water's fine."
He wasn't being invited to help her against Spike, he knew. Xander stripped off the shirt he had just put on and attacked from her blind side.
She whipped around and met his attack, then spun to fend off another assault from Spike. Her laughter rang out across the floor.
Spike and Xander threw everything they had against her. They knew she needed them to give the best they could. She engaged them with a gazelle's grace and a panther's speed, and if she finally started to sweat, it comforted neither of them that it had taken both of them to give her a real challenge.
Buffy Summers was back in form, was better, in fact than she had ever been. Spike experienced one moment of bitter loss and regret, remembering when he had been a Prince of Hell and more than her match. But he had willingly given that up to give her back the world. He wondered, briefly, if she would thank him for it if she were to remember, or if she would curse him for returning Angel to her only so that she could destroy him herself. A moot point. He fought on.
Xander knew himself outmatched, outclassed, outmaneuvered. The only comfort he could take was that he was still in the ring, whereas before he'd have been cowering in the corner somewhere after the first few punches had been thrown. Had he ever deceived himself that he could partner her in this? That he was remotely a match for this young warrior goddess who moved with supernatural grace and power through battle routines too intricate for even his soldierly memories to predict? Xander shook his head. He was learning his mistake. But at least he could offer her a good fight now. He steeled himself to do so.
Buffy let the battle continue for another quarter hour before calling a halt. It was difficult to reign herself in, but she didn't want to hurt either Xander or Spike, and suspected that they were each more vulnerable to her after last night than they would have been otherwise. So she left both of them standing.
"I think I'm ready," she said as the three of them stood there cooling down from the workout.
"Ready for what?" Xander asked uneasily.
"To go on the hunt again," she said. "I'm ready to go after the vampires, Spike." She dazzled him with a brilliant smile. "Present company excepted, of course."