Lucky Number

Chapter Two

The noise, the dust, the horror of being trapped - Buffy felt hysteria clawing at her gut, and knew that if she opened her mouth, it would spill out in a corrosive stream, destroying any chance she had of staying sane.

She refused to let that happen. Keeping eyes and mouth tight shut she began to count in her head, taking tiny breaths through her nose, willing the dust to settle. When she reached fifty she opened her eyes a crack. It had been too much to hope that the headlamp had survived intact and it hadn't. She was looking at darkness. It wasn't very interesting. Breathing shallowly through her mouth, she tasted grit in the air and felt it began to seep into her through every crevice, every pore.

Like a store keeper taking inventory, she began to assess the situation. The demon wasn't a problem. He was the other side of the rock fall and she doubted that he would double back and grab her feet. First was pain. Did she have any? She could feel a dull throbbing ache all down her spine and there was a wetness trickling down the side of her face that had to be blood from a cut on her head. Other than that, she felt more or less in one piece.

Second had to be moving. Could she or couldn't she? Only one way to tell. She was lying half on her stomach, half on her right side, her hands above her head. Shexedexed her fingers and met no resistance. Cautiously, not wanting to disturb any rubble, she tried to move. To her relief she found that although she was buried around the waist and torso her legs and arms seemed to be free, apart from a layer of small stones, easily shaken off.

Her head sank down onto her arms for a second. It was still bad. With arms free and Slayer strength to draw on, she could start to clear the debris trapping her like a cork in a bottle, but it would be awkward and arduous to say the least.

Third was Spike. Had he managed to get clear? She hoped so. No matter how angry he was, she didn't think he would leave her here to die. If he couldn't free her himself, he'd be on his way to get Giles right now. She didn't think it was possible to reverse an opinion so quickly but Spike's presence in the cave had gone from being a nuisance to a blessing in under thirty seconds.

Clearing her throat and trying to work up enough spit to talk, she called out softly, "Spike? Are you there?"

Hope died as a weak voice replied, "Where else would I be you daft bint?"

Spike's stock as a blessing plummeted as her hopes of a quick rescue dissolved. Buffy's eyes rolled automatically. He was trapped too. Wonderful. Now they could die together. But it would take him a little longer. Like years. She had maybe a few hours until her air ran out.

"You hurt?" he asked, his voice laboured. She heard the concern threaded through the question and felt a tiny bit better.

"Nothing major but I'm stuck tight around the middle. You?"

"Same. Can you feel my legs?"

"Why would I want to?"

She didn't hear the sigh but she sensed it. "So you can clear away what's stopping me from buggering off out of here and getting help. The walls fell in, not the ceiling. I'm guessing we've got space between the rocks on us and the roof because we can hear each other easily. I can even smell the blood on you. There's no point throwing the rubble in front of me; that's our way out. You need to put it in front of you."

"Ah. Right. I'll try. And can I just say that your nose needs to take a rest?" Buffy reached out sideways and her hand brushed against soft fabric instead of hard rock. Her fingers spread out, exploring gently. She stretched out as far as she could and felt the ridge where his boot began and then moved upwards, sliding her hand slowly along his calf to the inside of his knee. She paused and shifted slly, ly, twisting her shoulders round. Better. Her hand moved along his thigh and she heard a faint gasp.

"I don't think there's anything on that bit, Buffy," Spike called out. "But by all means keep going. I think I'm cramping up. Spot of massage wouldn't come amiss."

Buffy grinned evilly. If she had to die, going out teasing Spike might make her last moments bearable. She began to knead his thigh, marvelling at the play of muscles through the soft, well-worn jeans and then let her fingers stray inwards. His legs were slightly apart and she relished the surprised jerk as he felt her questing touch trail up to his backside.

In the dark, nothing existed for her but what her fingers could feel and the sound of his voice, muffled slightly but still audible. She squeezed one rounded cheek gently and then sighed with pleasure as her finger slipped inside a tear and touched cool flesh.

"That tickles! Bloody hell, Slayer. Will you get your act together and - oh." His voice trailed off and she grinned secretly into the darkness. Gripping the edge of the rent, she flexed her arm and tore it down. Sometimes those Slayer powers came in so handy. Poor Spike now had nothing over the top of his thigh and most of his backside. And, oh dear, he hadn't put on any underwear. Tsk.

Buffy ran a finger down the cleft between those hard, yet satin smooth cheeks and let it slip gently inside. It was getting tricky now as her arm was bent backwards a little but she managed to cup his balls and the sound he made as she did was pure magic. She giggled helplessly as he began to moan and her fingers inched in deeper, searching for his cock.

On the other side of the barrier, Spike had had enough. He had sensed the flare of desire that she had felt just before the rocks came down and he was ideally positioned to confirm that she was even more worked up now. His vampire eyes had adjusted enough that he could see very dimly and her legs were moving languidly as her hand and fingers dove deeper into his jeans. She smelt scared and aroused and it was a combination that affected him like catnip on a tomcat.

Making an effort, he twisted round so that her hand had easy access to his zip. She took the hint, pulled it down and reached inside, freeing his cock, erect and tingling at her every touch. She still hadn't wrapped her hand around it; she was stroking it with her finger tips, eringring it slowly and delicately and he bit his lip savagely, restraining the moans that he knew she was getting off on. Twisting round had another ben - h - he could reach her easily. Sliding his hand between her thighs and smirking with satisfaction at her startled yelp, he gripped her lower thigh and tugged it so that she was on her side, facing him. A few stones trickled down as their positions shifted but he ignored them. With careful precision, his fingers darted out and took hold of her zipper, pulling it down smoothly.

"Spike! No! Zip that back up," she ordered, her busy fingers pausing.

"Make me," he challenged her, tugging at her jeans and sliding them down over her bottom in a series of sharp tugs.

It wasn't the wisest thing he could have said to a woman with her fingers inches away from the most sensitive bits of his body. Buffy's nails dug deep into his balls and his legs kicked frantically. The pressure eased up and he sighed with relief.

"Well?" she said. "Get me dressed!"

Spike pursed his lips. Not going to happen, pet, he thought. The Slayer had chosen to go on patrol wearing a satin thong. Spike had touched it as he pulled down her jeans so he knew it was smooth and skimpy. Making a guess from his memories of her undies drawer, he correctly went for thong rather than panties and his fingers slid between her thighs, hooked into the thin strip of material and wrenched. The material ripped apart leaving her bare to his touch. As she gasped in outrage, he cupped her hot wetness and caressed her clitoris with his thumb. When his hostaged cock was patted, not punished, he started to explore her more thoroughly.

They didn't speak after that. Words would have broken the spell that held both of them as surely as the rocks that pinned them down. Under Spike's fingers, stroking, thrusting, rubbing hard, Buffy came, her panting gasps his only reward. He paused then, wondering if she wanted him to continue, knowing that she might feel a little sensitive for a while. She solved his problem by finally wrapping her strong fingers around him, her thumb going up to smooth the liquid seeping out of the head of his cock, swirling it around in small circles. His skin felt like velvet over granite there and she realised that he was thicker and longer than Riley had been. Too bad it was impossible to measure him the best way.

As her hand slid up and down his shaft, her grip shifting as she teased him, sometimes slowing down and squeezing hard, sometimes fast but barely touching, it occurred to her that he was going to come eventually. As his hips began to jerk and his cock, already hard, went rigid, she realised that it might happen sooner than she'd planned.

It would be messy. Practicality didn't exactly overcome her lust, it just provided a solution that worked for everyone on every level.

As Spike felt her mouth slide over him, taking in as mof hof his erection as she could, given the angle, he decided that the rocks had killed him and improbable though it was, he'd gone to heaven. Making an effort, he stopped himself from coming and moaned in sheer pleasure as she eased off and began to lick at him with slow laps of her warm tongue, occasionally taking him fully inside her mouth but not sucking hard. It felt so good that he wanted to share.

Leaning forward he pulled her towards him and put his mouth on her, tasting what his fingers had teased from her body, sliding his cool tongue deep inside her hot depths. She tasted like honey and vanilla and she was so soft. The Slayer had never seemed yielding before and a wave of tenderness made him press his lips gently on the silken flesh of her inner thigh, a kiss that she felt burn her as ice burns. Mewling and whimpering didn't come easily to her but now, in this place, it was easy to give in, surrender to the instincts that had her begging wordlessly for his mouth on her, even as she subjected him to the same loving torment.

They came together, crying out incoherently as their bodies arched in release, an explosion of passion that left them shaken and spent. Patting her leg gently, Spike eased her jeans up and felt her attempt to do the same with his ripped jeans, with less success.

As if nothing had happened since Spike asked Buffy to begin clearing away the rocks, she reached for one and sent it flying away.

An hour later, the Slayer's hands were bleeding and sore, scraped in a dozen places, her nails broken and filled with dirt. Spike was doing what he could but most of the work had to be done by her. He was talking to her now, his soft husky voice encouraging her, a steady flow of words that kept her grounded, stopped her mind from even going near the terrifying reality that she was going to die in the dark with no enemy but the earth itself.

As she rested for a few blessed moments, Spike began to twist and flex, trying to pull himself free. Buffy still had as much debris on her as before but she had reduced the weight on him considerably. With a grunt, he heaved himself forward an inch or two and gripped a rock embedded in the floor of the tunnel. With that to pull on, he could make good use of his strength and he slowly tugged himself clear. He collapsed for a second or two, distantly aware of a stabbing pain that meant cracked ribs, but roused quickly, turning round to help Buffy. Working by touch, as even he couldn't really see in the eternal night of the tunnel, he clambered over what was left of the debris on his side, squeezing through the narrow gap between it and the roof.

He landed next to Buffy and reached out his hand to her. She was sobbing quietly now that the end of the ordeal was approaching, the tears a sign of healing, rather than hysteria. Smoothing her hair, his fingers tangled in the straps of the headlamp and he worked it free. By some fluke, the light flickered on again and he smiled, blinking his eyes against the sudden dazzle. His smile faded as he looked at Buffy. The gash on her forehead had stopped bleeding but it was deep and her face was white with strain and fatigue. He flashed the light over the rocks that held her down, committing them to memory, and then turned off the light. Buffy moaned in protest as the darkness settled around them again but recognised the sense in saving their light source.

Spike began to work, driven both by the desire to get out of the cave and his concern for Buffy. It didn't take him too long to free her and he pulled her into his arms, cuddling her close and kissing her dusty hair. She lay curled up in his lap for a few seconds, resting her head against the leather of his coat and then stirred, reviving slightly. Spike reluctantly loosened his hold on her, keenly aware that the intimacy they had shared was over. That thought hurt him as much as his ribs and he didn't think the pain it caused would heal as fast. Flicking on the lamp, he began to scramble through the gap, longing to get to the cavern and stand up straight. Buffy followed him, her thoughts fixed on escape, firmly pushing back the erotic memories that lay in wait whenever her concentration lapsed.

Spike slid down the slope and looked up. "Oh, bugger," Buffy heard him say and then she heard the roar of the demon.

"Oh, this is just too much," she thought crossly, struggling to get through the gap and help Spike. He didn't need it. Fuelled by the same irritation that was driving her, he was methodically bashing a rock down on the demon's heay thy the time she crawled over to him, the demon was dead but Spike's hand continued to rise and fall.

"It's dead," she said gently, touching his shoulder. "Let's go."

He stared at her blindly and then nodded, dropping the bloodied rock. They had only crawled a few yards when a final tremor brought a chunk of the roof down on Buffy's head, leaving her sprawled, unconscious, on the ground. Spike swore, his lips tight with anger against the fates, and began the laborious task of hauling Buffy up onto his back and shoulders and crawling to safety.

After an eternity, they reached the mouth of the cave. Spike scented the fresh air and broke into a stumbling run, Buffy's slight body lying limp in his arms. It was still dark but he sensed that sunrise was about an hour away. Laying Buffy down on the grass for a moment, he considered his options. Leaving her and going for help would get her injuries treated faster but they might return to a corgivegiven the night life of Sunnydale. With a rueful twist of his lips, he bent to pick her up again. Might as well finish the job. He paused suddenly, cocking his head to listen. He could hear the sound of several people approaching, crashing through the bushes noisily, chatting away. He recognised the voices and smiled. The Watcher, the Whelp and the Witch. Perfect. Stopping only to make sure that Buffy's jeans were zipped up, he sauntered off into the woods, away from the search team.

As he made his way back to town he heard the voices rise with excitement as they spotted Buffy's recumbent figure.

"Buffy! Are you injured badly?" Giles asked, seeing her stir.

"My head," she whispered muzzily. "Rock hit it. Twice. Buried in the cave. Demon's dead though." She raised herself up and looked around, puzzled. "Where's - was anyone here?"

"Just you, Buffy," said Xander. "Look, lie still. You've probably got concussion. We'll take you to the hospital, get you checked out."

Buffy lapsed back into a state of sleepy relaxation as Giles picked her up, struggling slightly. His tweed coat scratched her face as the smooth leather of Spike's duster had not and she murmured an incoherent protest. Then a thought occurred to her, one so important that she felt compelled to share it.

"Sixty - nine," she announced clearly.

The trio of rescuers exchanged concerned glances.

"What do you mean, Buffy?" Willow asked tentatively, feeling Buffy's forehead to if if she had a fever.

"It's the number of eyelashes Spike has. I counted them. Well I started to. That's as far as I got. Maybe I'll finish doing it later."

More glances were exchanged and Xander spoke for all of them. "Delirious. Better hurry, Giles. I'll take her feet."

TBC