No Hero

Author's Notes: My friend Kath requested this chapter, so here it is. Besides, a little flashback chappie can be a good thing.
Thanks, Mole, Marzbar, Spikeslilchit, Neo, Stacy, and Jerrica!
RB, it's possible that this story only has three stars because A) It sucks, B) People suck, or C) Angel fangirls are reviewing this fic and hate me. ^_~ Don't worry, he'll suffer.
Kristen, I didn't mean to make Angel seem like a COMPLETE idiot, just... Okay, yeah, I did. Muwahaha!


Five Years

(Sunnydale, 2003)

It was so shiny, so shiny and heavy… It was almost amusing to Spike that something so garish, so effulgent would finally bring about his end. He had survived Angelus’ and Darla’s brutality, Drusilla’s insanity, turning, and later killing his own mother, numerous attempts on his life – by demons, humans, and other vampires alike – three slayers, the Initiative, and his unlife would be ended by a trinket. It seemed too pointless, too casual for one of the youngest demons ever to achieve master vampire rank, and yet he would die willingly and without pause. For her.

Spike recounted the latest turn of events in his mind, relived the past few nights in vivid detail. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he would be able to die in peace after finally knowing how it felt to be truly close to another person, more importantly, to her. She had chosen him to comfort her rather than turning to one who’d known her longer, and he was secretly thrilled that he could offer her something the potentials, her friends, her watcher, and even her own sister could not.

And yet there was something Angel could give her that even he lacked. The pain of seeing his slayer kissing his sire was still fresh in his mind, as was the knowledge that she had sent him away. While it was true that his sire would be needed to head the second front in the event of their failure, he couldn’t help but wonder if her love for Angel had made the decision for her. Was she willing to sacrifice him in place of Angel, or did she actually believe in him?

In the end, it was his choice, and it had been decided. He would die to prove that he was her champion, whatever that meant. How it would end, how painful the process would be and all that it would entail remained to be seen, but all Spike needed to do to strengthen his resolve was remember that fateful night after Buffy had faced Glory. The memory of her body, spent and lifeless amongst the rubble, gave him the courage he needed to remain steadfast. He would never allow that to happen again.

He gazed into the jeweled charm that was his death sentence, his usual smirk replaced by a look of calculated determination. Buffy was so certain that they would win, and she was right, but not without a cost, not without great pain for all of those involved. Not all of the potentials would make it and, for all he knew, any one of the others could be killed as well. Buffy, he knew, would endure as she always had, otherwise his gift would be of no consequence.

Spike put the amulet aside when he heard the familiar pattern of footfalls on the stairs, and he pushed to his feet gracefully, meeting Buffy’s gaze when she paused at the bottom of the staircase. Their eyes remained locked for a moment, communicating wordlessly with a single look.

For Spike, it was a soft good-bye, one last memory of her to carry him through his eternity in Hell; for the slayer, it was a new beginning, the next level of their relationship.

“We’re going to win,” proclaimed the slayer determinedly as she closed the distance between them. Rather than immediately kissing him, she traced the line of his cheekbone gently, a fierce gleam in her eyes.

“We always win. Course we’re going to win now,” the vampire agreed, and in spite of his imminent death, he felt no remorse. He would be granted one last night with her, and it was enough. It was more than he deserved.

As she stroked his cheek, Spike brushed his thumb over her lower lip with a gentleness she had never permitted him to show her before. “This is different, isn’t it?” she inquired. “This isn’t like last year. It’s a fresh start.”

Rather than simply lying to her, the vampire drew her into his arms and asked, “C-can we forget the past tonight? We’ll do this right and proper.”

Buffy was obviously nervous, for she had never allowed her emotions to come into play, but he deserved no less, especially since he had seen her with Angel. “I’m sorry you saw me with him,” she said gently, hoping he would understand all that she left unsaid. “Things are complicated, but… he’s not here now.”

“Hey, now,” he chided gently, “none of that matters right here. This is different, nothing like last year.”

“A fresh start,” the slayer repeated, standing on her tiptoes to capture his lips.

There was no brutality to the kiss as their lips parted simultaneously in welcome. Buffy cupped the nape of his neck to draw him closer as Spike cradled her face in his hands, deepening the kiss with so much reverence that she almost wept. She saw with perfect clarity that, even with his soul, he was essentially the same man he had always been.

He’d tried to kiss her like this in the past, to touch her with gentleness and adoration, and she had been so blinded by her own self-loathing that she couldn’t allow it. He did love her, and tonight, she was determined to return the sentiment. Finally, she could tell him.

Somehow, without breaking their kiss more than absolutely necessary, Spike managed to maneuver them onto the cot and rid them of their clothing, and he noted with a small smile that his golden goddess became a little timid when she realized that he was studying her. “This is somethin’ else,” he reminded her.

Buffy visibly relaxed and smiled shyly up at him, fighting the urge to cover herself with her arms. Instead, she let his eyes drink their fill of her, secure in the knowledge that this was something else, and that she had no reason to be self-conscious.

“You’re amazin’, pet. I always wanted to tell you… tell you…” he stammered, suddenly losing his confidence when the gravity of the situation fully sank in. This was the last night they would ever spend together, his last chance to tell her everything he needed to say, and he had to do it carefully. He could never let her know that this was good-bye.

“Tell me,” she prompted. “You can tell me now, Spike. You can tell me anything, because this is different. We’re different now.” Luckily for Spike, she attributed his sudden shyness and vulnerability to his soul, and possible worry over the upcoming battle. It never occurred to her that their time was running out, and that Spike knew it.

“Right, then.” Bravado back in place, he curled a lock of her hair around one of his fingers. “I love your hair, even when it’s short, and your eyes, I could get lost in them… I love this funny little dip in your nose,” he traced said area with his finger as he spoke. “I love that your lips aren’t perfect, and that you have scars. You’re a warrior, Buffy.”

As she had done many times during her previous encounters with Spike, the slayer wept silently, only these were tears of awe and joy rather than bitterness and pain. All the things he’d wanted to say to her… Now, she could hear them. She caressed his scarred eyebrow, refusing to dwell on how many times she had abused that area in the past.

“I love your bizarre version of English, and the way your breasts fit perfectly in my hands,” he continued, gently rolling one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he interspersed praise of her body with tribute to her character.

Buffy whimpered when his lips closed around the hardened peak and suckled languidly. He had been allowed to pinch, slap, and even bite them on occasion; this was an entirely new sensation that built slowly in her belly and warmed her throughout.

As Spike admired the contrast between his pale hand and his slayer’s golden skin, she shifted beneath him restively. Smirking without malice against her breast, he let his hand drift lower to skim her lower stomach, barely stirring the fine hairs there. He remained silent for a moment while his hand drifted lower and his fingers teased her clit.

Gasping, she arched against his hand eagerly and cupped the nape of his neck, drawing him down for a languorous kiss. When she was forced to relinquish his lips to breathe, she finally realized how clear his eyes were, and she saw the same emotion reflected in them that she had once dismissed.

With a warm smile, the vampire changed the rhythm of his fingers from light and teasing to a more masterful pace as he watched the play of emotion in her green eyes, and a purr of pure delight left him when they darkened to a nearly emerald shade. He slipped two fingers into her, easily locating the spongy area of flesh on her inner wall.

She mewled and writhed, her eyes fluttering closed at the riot of sensation Spike was causing. In the past, he had often demanded that she keep her eyes open, but now the order never came, and it was that which made her force her eyes open again to watch him. Firmly believing that she would explode if she didn’t come soon, she jerked her hips firmly against his hand.

“Shh,” he soothed, his voice softer and more cultured, “feel it build. I love watching you like this, so free. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel knowing I can do this to you?”

“N-no,” Buffy stammered, feeling vaguely proud of herself for being able to speak at all. She clutched at his shoulders desperately, trembling with the start of her climax as he increased the pace of his thumb against her clit while curving his fingers inside her.

“You make me feel human.”

At Spike’s admission and a particularly delicious press from his thumb, she moaned softly as she came, her back arching off the bed, her fingers digging into his shoulders; for the first time, she had no desire to draw blood with the rake of her nails.

“That’s it, ride it out,” he urged, slowing the movements of his thumb as his fingers continued to explore her g-spot. He stroked her leisurely until she came for a second time with a breathy whimper. As she lay panting beneath him, he rested his ear over her heart. “I love how you respond to me, but do you know what I love most? Your heart.”

Peppering the crown of his head with kisses, the slayer murmured his name repeatedly until he urged her legs around his ribcage and entered her slowly. She whined at the realization that the position of her legs would allow him to stimulate the elusive spot inside her. Formerly elusive, anyway. She giggled softly and with pure joy as he began to move, and she craned her neck to kiss him thoroughly.

Spike took his time, memorizing every sound she made and each detail of her face as he thrust into her lazily, his weight braced on his arms. Secretly, he was surprised that he hadn’t dissolved into a fit of tears, insane laughter, or both. The last time… Merely thinking about it made him feel ill, and he wanted to savor this, to truly be with her for the first time – even if it was also the last.

Hours and innumerable orgasms passed, and still he kept on. Buffy had no idea how they could continue for so long without being raw, but any ache she felt only added to her pleasure. The slayer lost count of how many different positions they moved into, but she did notice that she kept drawing him back on top of her, something she had rarely allowed in the past and now craved. As another orgasm built, she had an inspiration and cradled his head in her hands, urging his face against her throat. “Do it,” she pleaded.

Jerking his head up in surprise, the vampire met Buffy’s gaze with amber eyes, though his face had reserved its human planes. He searched her eyes for a moment and as she tilted her head to expose the virgin side of her throat, he slipped a hand between them to tweak her clit, his visage changing as he buried his fangs in the soft flesh.

Buffy’s orgasm was instantaneous, and she tightened her legs around him so firmly she would have snapped his ribs had he been human. Sobbing breathlessly, she kneaded the nape of his neck without conscious thought, silently pleading with him to let go.

Spike stiffened at the first taste of her blood, his arms locking around her as the rhythm of his thrusts increased. Listening to her moan in ecstasy and the clenching of her inner muscles around his cock broke the last of his self-control, and he took long pulls of her blood as he came with a long, drawn out sound that was half purr and half groan. As his face reverted to its human appearance, he licked the wound to urge it to heal, babbling words of love and praise.

The slayer was content to hold him in silence, and finally, she found the courage she needed to say the three words he had so desperately wanted to hear from her. “Spike, I l—”

His eyes opening suddenly, he captured her lips in a searing kiss to silence her. “Tell me tomorrow, pet,” he said gently. “When it’s over.”

“Okay,” she sleepily agreed, nuzzling his cheek lazily as he rolled to the side and drew her firmly against his chest. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a peaceful sleep, secure in her belief that she and Spike had been granted a second chance, that they would win.

Spike remained awake for the remainder of the night, watching her sleep. This was the last night he would spend with her in his arms; tomorrow night, and an eternity of nights after that, would be spent in Hell. He deserved it, he knew, but for a brief while, he had been permitted to know what Heaven felt like. He would be her champion, even knowing it meant that he would never see her again, for her place was in Heaven. For the first time since he had been newly sired, he prayed to God. For her.