It's knowing that he knows you now after only guessing
I want you
It's the thought of him undressing you or you undressing
I want you
He tossed some tattered compliment your way
I want you
And you were fool enough to love it when he said
"I want you"
Elvis Costello, "I want you"
Giles surreptitiously looked up from his book again and stole a glance
at the Slayer, presently dividing her attention between kicking hell
out of the punching bag, and her apparently oblivious Watcher. He knew
that she wanted to talk to him, he was familiar with the signs: She'd
been on time for practice, and more than usually incoherent. He hoped
it wasn't about Angel. She finished off the workout with a flurry of
kicks, Giles winced as he heard the leather split as she applied a vicious
knee to its leather middle.
"Oops, sorry." She said. Giles sighed.
Giles, can I talk to you. About something personal." Buffy's expression
very earnest in a way he had come to dread.
Here it comes, he thought.
"If you must."
"It's mom. She's been acting kind of strange lately. I wondered
if you'd noticed."
Good, that it wasn't about Angel. Bad that it was about Joyce. He'd
really meant to call her, but it was all so, awkward... haven't actually
seen her... "Strange? How exactly?" Buffy frowned.
"All clingy, like she's always wanting me to stay in, bake cookies,
play Trivial Pursuit, watch videos, anything. She practically gets hysterical
about me going out on patrol."
He wasn't entirely surprised. Giles thought that Joyce had done a remarkable
job of accepting her daughter's destiny over the past year, but she
was still human after all; reaction had been late setting in, but it
was bound to happen.
"Well, it's not entirely surprising. You'll be moving out in a
month, you won't be under her roof. I believe it's called empty nest
He could see that she wasn't entirely satisfied by his explanation;
it didn't entirely satisfy him, but without further information...
"Yeah. I guess. Only, she couldn't wait to send me off to Harvard
or Stanford when she saw my SAT scores, so why the big deal about me
visiting my dad in LA for a few days?"
"Have you talked to her about it?"
"Uhh, well, no."
Giles sighed. Typical. As an Englishman he was supposed to be non-communicative,
out-of-touch with his feeling, etc. etc., but he had nothing on the
"Buffy, you need to talk to her. Ask her." Buffy looked uncomfortable,
"When I get back, O.K.?"
He eased the window open and entered the house quietly. Stood listening
until he made out her familiar heartbeat disturbing the silence. She
carefully hadn't mentioned it, but of course he knew all about Buffy's
little trip. He crept into the room and stood looking down at her. She
was asleep, but even in sleep there were tiny worry lines between her
eyebrows and at the corners of her mouth. The sweet aroma of the wine
she'd used to get herself to sleep hung in the air but did nothing to
hide the intoxicating odor of her blood. He realized that she'd gotten
thinner; there were shadows and angles in her face that hadn't been
there a few weeks ago. He needed to be careful. Didn't want her dying
on him; not just yet. Eventually he would turn her, but for now he wanted
Spike eased himself onto the bed and carefully maneuvered himself next
to her, molding his black leather-clad form to the soft contours of
her unconscious form. He touched her shoulder, shook her gently.
"Joyce," he said softly. Her eyes flew open. "Hello
lover," he whispered.
He turned her head aside and licked her throat. Her pulse thudded against
his tongue, and his fangs ached to bite down, but he managed to control
himself long enough to pull the covers aside and locate his usual feeding
place at the join of her thigh.
Joyce looked up at the ceiling and endured the pain, and the sounds
of his feeding loud in the dark. This time he only took a few mouthfuls
before withdrawing and licking the wounds until they stopped bleeding.
He crawled up her to give her a long, coppery kiss and threw himself
down beside her.
"Have to pace ourselves, pet. We've got the whole weekend,"
he whispered. She shuddered.
Giles sat in his kitchen with his cup of tea gone cold in front of
him. He was thinking about Joyce. He should at least check up on her.
Buffy had sounded truly concerned. Though not concerned enough to postpone
her trip, or speak honestly to her mother.
Joyce. Beautiful, passionate, Joyce, giggling as she fell back onto
the couch, her hand gripping his erection, pulling him down and into
her; Pink Floyd pounding on the speakers while he pounded into her.
They'd never really discussed what had happened that night. For the
first few weeks after it happened, they'd avoided each other. Later,
they'd gone back to their previous distance. He was sure she hadn't
forgotten, any more than he had. It would be easy to blame it all on
Ethan's ensorcelled candy but even before that there had been an attraction.
The candy only made it possible to act on it.
Typical, that Buffy blamed him for the lack of contact.
Probably Joyce blamed him as well. They might have a point, he thought,
and made a decision. He would do it, go and see her. Tomorrow.
"Joyce, wake up. I have a surprise for you." Spike shook
her shoulder gently.
Somehow she had drifted off. She knew there was no point in pretending
to be asleep, he'd told her he could hear her heartbeat.
She opened her eyes. Spike was standing by the bed shirtless and, despite
everything, beautiful in the moonlight. He was holding a knife. The
slivery light ran along the thin blade; it looked sharp enough for whatever
Spike planned to do with it. Silly to be afraid of a knife, after all
she'd been through but she couldn't help flinching from it.
He laid the blade across his wrist, and cut deeply. Black blood oozed
out and he lifted it to her face.
"Drink," he said, smiling. Joyce shook her head violently
and tried to back away.
"No, please, just kill me. I don't want to be a vampire."
She hated the whining tone in her voice.
Spike's smile disappeared. Snarling in annoyance he grabbed her arm,
he felt the bones grinding under his grip and she cried out in pain.
He forced himself to calm down, eased his grip.
"Relax, pet, the blood won't change you - not unless I drain you
first. Which isn't on the program for tonight. Drink." He forced
her head down, forced her mouth onto the wound. She kept her lips closed,
still struggling. Spike thought it was almost funny, as though she had
"Drink, or I kill you now. Slowly," he promised.
Joyce considered her options, <but the truth is, I'm not ready to
die just yet>. She opened her mouth.
The viscous fluid stank of decay and was so cold that it burned her
throat going down. She retched, but nothing came out. Spike stroked
her head gently and let her sit up. He put his human face back on and
She felt sick. Dizzy. She felt as though the demon blood was freezing
her from the inside. Cold, cold, freezing cold, cool, coolio, cool......She
felt...just fine. Doing fiiine, on Cloud 9. She heard herself giggle.
This was better than the candy. What was wrong with her? Spike's grin
threatened to split his head in half.
*Joyce.* There was a voice in her head, a silvery whisper, sliding
along her nerves, into her brain. And that was cool too.
*Hello Luv. You can hear me.*
She shook with realization as his voice, borne by the demon blood,
flooded through her, drowning her own voice, her will, her self...
...All she could feel was Spike, his growing excitement as he ran his
hands down her body. She felt his greed for her soft skin, her warmth,
her life. She saw herself as he saw her: her hair a halo, her eyes blue
pools, her mouth gently smiling, a goddess, filled with red life. The
demon's desire to possess, to consume to destroy every bit of skin,
flesh, blood and bone; and Spike's own desire to lose himself inside
her. To be warmed and resurrected by her living flesh.
He kissed her and she willingly opened her mouth to his tongue, matched
her lips with his till they were both breathless. She could smell her
own arousal. His tongue circled her nipple teasing it into erection
before he sucked first the hard nub and the large aureole into his mouth.
She shared the arousal he felt at the sweet smell of her own blood,
pulsing just under the tender skin, so close. Felt the demon struggling
to sharpen his teeth, eager to pierce the vessel and suck all the sweet
blood out, she craved the taste of her own blood and sighed in disappointment
as Spike forced himself away from temptation.
She shivered pleasurably as his marble erection rubbed against her
soft warm belly. Her arms went around him as his hand went between her
legs, his cold fingers plunging inside her. She shared his delight when
she moved her hips pushing against him, craving his invasion. Whimpering
in frustration when he withdrew.
He covered every inch of her body with his hands, mouth, tongue, stroking,
nibbling and teasing, his lust growing, pressing his teeth against the
skin, but never quite breaking it and she was burning. Her skin was
on fire, her heartbeat pounding through both of them.
She could feel how close he was when he turned her over and entered
her from behind. She moaned and pushed back, desperately trying to get
as much of him inside her as possible. Feeling at the same time, her
overwhelming heat closing around his cold, hard cock.
Felt him change, his cock lose its human form, become longer, thicker,
scaled inside her. The hands clutching her breasts changed to claws,
pricking the tender skin, beads of blood rising. His face against her
neck, his teeth, finally sliding into the vein, her blood filling his
mouth, filling them both with ecstasy.
Joyce woke confused. She was lying on her bed. The roar of leaf-blowers
and lawnmowers drifted through the window. All the shades and the curtains
were drawn. She didn't remember doing that.
Why would she do that? She got unsteadily to her feet and checked the
time. God, it was nearly 4:00, in the afternoon. Then she remembered.
Spike. The blood. The connection was still there, so she knew that
he hadn't left, could feel him somewhere in the house. Resting. Waiting
The doorbell rang. Oh shit. She froze, hoping against hope that they
would go away. The doorbell rang again.
"Joyce?" the voice was familiar. God, it was Giles. "Joyce?"
he rang the doorbell again.
She wrapped her robe around herself <go away, go away, go away>.
He started using the doorknocker, he wasn't going away. Shit, shit,
shit. She combed her fingers through her hair went to the door, took
a deep breath, and opened it.
"Hello Rupert." She could tell from his badly disguised reaction
how bad she must look.
"My...Joyce," Giles said, "Are you alright?"
"Fine - except for this cold. Is anything wrong."
"Er..no, I just thought that as Buffy was away this weekend, you
might like to err.."
*Go on, invite him in. It'll save me having to go out for someone to
eat.* Joyce involuntarily shook her head trying to dislodge Spike's
black thoughts from her brain. He was awake, and moving.
"But of course if you're ill..." he looked more relieved
than concerned. She felt a spark of anger. Serve him right if I did
invite him in. One good fuck and he never calls... If it weren't for
him Buffy would never have become the slayer. Goddamn prissy wanker...
NO! That wasn't her. It wasn't.
"I'd love to Rupert - some other time," she stammered. "Please,
right now, I just want to get back to bed."
"Well if you're sure," he said.
"I'll call you next week," she said, and shut the door.
She watched through the peephole as Giles walked back up the walk,
got in his ridiculous car and drove away. She jumped as she felt a familiar
touch on her knee. She looked down and saw Spike, there in the living
room crouched out of the way of any errant sunbeams. He smiled.
"Pity. Maybe next time. Come back to bed, luv." She looked
down at him, at his smooth-skinned boyish face. He had shown her himself
and now she knew what lived behind his empty blue eyes. It was the abyss,
she had fallen in, and there was no way out. She took his hand.
END Part 5