Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 5: Walking a Thin Line
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Buffy struggles to stay conscious, aware of a shooting pain in her side and a very strange sensation of floating. Or being carried? Yes, that’s it, definitely being carried. An arm around her shoulders and one under her knees. Strong arms, she can feel the tightness in them as he holds her as still as possible, trying not to jostle her injury as he walks. A moment of panic flashes through Buffy’s mind as she figures out who is carrying her. Her eyes , adjusting to the darkness, pick up the platinum hair and black leather. Spike. She is being carried by Spike. The walking stops in response to her sudden squirming.

The voice is quiet, concerned and she can feel the vibration through his chest. “Buffy? You in pain, luv?” His tone is soothing and she settles back down.

“M’okay.” She feels sleepy and light-headed. Probably a bit of blood loss to blame for that. “Where?”

“I’m taking you to my crypt, Slayer. Just to get you bandaged up, mind. Didn’t figure either your mum or Red would take too kindly to me bringing home a Slayer covered in her own blood.”

“S’alright. Mum... Mom’s not home. Gallery trip.” Spike hesitates at the thought of taking Buffy to her own bedroom, but it would be better to take her home. Then he could get away from her before something else happens between them. She’d be safe there. He sighs.

“Okay, Slayer. I’ll take you home.” He turns towards Revello drive with his patient.

“Mm, ‘kay. Tired.” Buffy’s eyes begin to slip closed. Spike stops walking, with alarm.

“Stay awake, Slayer. You might be in shock.”

Buffy giggles. “No, you might be in shock.” She is clearly out of it, but Spike decides to play along to keep her conscious.

“Me, pet? Why would I be in shock?” He resumes his pace, adjusting her slightly in his arms. A warm arm slides around his back, under his duster and he almost yelps. When the hand slides down to grab his butt, he does, in fact, yelp. “Slayer!!”

She giggles, but doesn’t move her hand. “See? Shock.” Her eyes, pupils dilated, try to focus on his stunned face. “You feel nice.”

Spike swallows, hard. “Buffy, please stop doing that.” Her hand is travelling now, slipping under his shirt. Warm skin on his cool back makes him almost drop her in the middle of the street. “Buffy. Stop. I...I don’t want to drop you.”

She purses her lips in a pout and pulls her hand out of his shirt. She doesn’t remove it from his back, though, and Spike can feel all five fingers burning into him. He closes his eyes for a second to calm down, but the images that flash through his mind rattle him further. Throwing her down right here and...well, that would likely shock her quite a bit. Remembering his desire to not be staked before the night is over, he continues walking. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Slayer. It’s the blood loss. Tomorrow, you’ll either hate me even more or want to stake me, so let’s just walk, eh?” He raises an eyebrow at her, wishing he could grab ahold of that bottom lip she is thrusting out so prettily.

Buffy struggles to form a sentence. “Do too know what I'm doing. You are so...” Her head drops back again and this time, Spike decides to let her stay out. Probably safer for all concerned. Slayer healing skills are already slowing the bleeding, so no need to worry too much.

Finally, Spike reaches Buffy’s house with the still-unconscious Slayer in his arms. After struggling through the front door , he manages to get her upstairs to her old bedroom. She moans slightly as he gently lays her down on her bed. Spike drops back to survey the scene. She is still bleeding lightly. Her dress is torn on the side and it looks like he can’t really get to the wound without taking it off. His fists clench and the le ile in his jaw twitches. “Has to be so bloody beautiful. Noooo, can’t have an unattractive Slayer, now can we?” As he talks, Spike bends to take off her shoes, slipping the straps off, his hands sliding down her delicate feet. He looks the dress over, trying to figure out how it comes off. His hands shake as he has to run his hands down the seam, looking for the zipper. Finally, he finds it down the side. The separating of metal makes an incredibly loud sound in the still room as he pulls it down as far as it goes.

“Oh god.” He pulls his hands back. “Has to go over her head.” Spike stops and throws off his duster to bend to this delicate task. His eyes flick to the Slayer’s face, looking for any sign of wakefulness and muttering, “Run me through on the spot if she comes awake during this. Fitting end. Horny vampire helps unconscious Slayer, gets staked in the process.”

Leaning forward, he puts his hands on her thighs and nearly loses it right there. She moves a little, reacting to the coolness of his body. Her skin is soft and warm, smooth and tight. Sliding up slowly, he gathers her skirt and pushes it. His thumbs graze her panties and he feels the moisture there. Gritting his teeth, Spike continued on, revealing her taut belly and narrow waist. Suddenly, he jumps back as if burned. “Jesus, Buffy.” No bra. “This is not good. I mean, it’s very very good, but oh god.” Spike feels his world going slightly off-axis. The more he touches her, the more disoriented he feels.

Lust. Overwhelming lust threatens his sanity. A distant voice points out that he has revealed her stab wound. Through the miracle of Slayer healing, it has closed. Blood still glistens wet on her bronze skin and Spike finds himself equally woozy from the heady scent. His hand reaches slowly, slowly towards her side, the blood calling to him. His face flickers from human to vampire as he struggles for control. Slayer blood. Better than any other, an elixir of power and seduction. And he’s gone without human blood for months now. As his hand nearly reaches her recent injury, a smaller hand wraps around his wrist, stopping his progress.

“Spike.” There is a slight question in the husky voice, but more of something else. Fighting his urge for the blood, Spike turns to Buffy. Her face is open, intense with longing as her eyes meet his. The blood pounds in his ears, so that he can almost not hear her above the roar. She pulls his hand towards her mouth. As her moist lips press against his palm, he starts to shake. He sees a tremor run through her half naked body. She is slipping into this maelstrom with him. Spike dips his head towards her, unable to keep his lips from hers a moment longer. Thoughts tumble over one another, alternately encouraging him and screaming at him to stop right this instant.

Buffy can’t quite focus her eyes. She knows she is in her bedroom and she is not alone. When she woke, the pain in her side was fading, but other sensations were striving to keep her body heated. Cool hands were on her, her dress being lifted. Her eyes opened to slits and she immediately knew the silver-white hair and lean body bending over her. He was being so gentle, and she had the sense to realize he was there to help her, to check on her pain. The blood, that’s where the blood came from. Also, she flashed back to grasping a tight, leather-covered butt and her cheeks flushed with high color at the thought. Nerve endings tingling, she sees his hand moving over her, towards her injury. She takes ahold of him, turning his attention to her face, kissing the palm of his hand. He seems startled, but hazy. His face moves closer and she tenses, waiting for the kiss.

Electricity. It courses through them both as their lips meet, super-heating their bodies and threatening to short-circuit their systems.

They moan in unison.

“Oh, Spike.”

“Buffy.”

They freeze, both their bodies crying for more, but their minds have awakened in this lust frenzy. They jerk away from each other and for the second time tonight, stare at the other, wondering what and why and how this could happen. Mortal enemies don’t en hal half-naked together, making out. It simply isn’t done. Spike grabs for his duster, while making a move for the window as Buffy scrambles to cover herself with the coverlet. With one glance over his shoulder at the distraught Slayer, a paler than usual Spike climbs out the window. She hears him land lightly outside and his footsteps pound away. As the distance grows between them, her heartbeat slows slightly and the haze lifts a bit.

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“Damn it!” Cupid slaps the water of his gazing pool, disrupting the image of Buffy in her dim bedroom. “I thought that was it for certain this time!” Psyche pops to her feet, clapping her hands.

“Oh, they are fun, aren’t they?! I knew this was going to be great.”

Cupid eyes furrow in thought. “I’ve never seen anything like it. They should still be under the deepest influence of those lust arrows and yet...” He gestures at the water, where they’ve just witnessed an evening full of near misses. “I think I underestimated these two. Both their willpower and their confusing emotions toward each other. There’s something already there which is causing a great deal of turmoil.”

“Yes, darling. It’s hate. They hate each other, remember?” Psyche grins at him.

“I know, I know. But have you ever seen a lust spell rattle two people in quite this way? It’s like...well, I just think it’s intriguing. They won’t get the best of me, though.” Cupid leans over for his quiver of arrows.

Psyche squals in delight. “Already?! You’re going to dose them again so soon? But sweetie, it has only been 24 hours!”

“I know, but this is a special case. I won’t let them win. I’m the god here, right?” He winks at his love and withdraws two red-tipped lust arrows. “This should get very interesting, very fast. Grab a seat, my dear.” Psyche perches on the edge of the pool. Through the magic invested in this water, both Buffy and Spike are visible. He is running towards his crypt while she sits stunned on her bed. Cupid loads his bow with both arrows and lets them fly into the still water. They separate and focus in on their individual targets. The force of the arrow knocks Spike to the ground as Buffy is flung back into her bed by hers, a new and more powerful heat burning them both from the inside out.