Demon Chemistry - 4

Spike felt as if he had been away for a lot longer than two days. He was so changed, he felt everyone else must be too and was surprised when he turned up at the shop to find the same conversation in progress as when he had left. Demons, killing, danger, slayer... all too familiar in the new unfamiliarity of his life.

He sat on the steps and lit a cigarette. Xander climbed past him to put some books away and kicked him lightly. 'Hey! No smoking in here, deadboy: some of us have to...'

He stopped at Spike's gasp of pain. 'I'm thinking I should ask you what's with the girlie pain noise! But hey! I don't care.'

Spike ignored him and moved to a chair. Buffy eyed him warily. Knowing he was being watched, he kept his face averted. 'What's with the arm?'

'Hey, Slayer, comes with the job.'

'You upset some big ugly? Should I know about this?'

'Big, but not ugly, slayer, and it's being taken care of.'

'Oh.'

Buffy hadn't had a conversation with Spike for some weeks that did not involve an unsettling amount of sexual banter from him and a satisfying amount of deflection from her. She was rather at a loss. 'Patrol tonight still on?'

Spike shrugged, unenthusiastically. 'If you want.'

She arrived just after it got dark. Spike had his coat on and was ready to leave.

Buffy looked at him in amazement. 'What are you doing?'

Spike didn't look at her. 'Going to patrol, what do you think?'

'Patrol.'

'Yes. Bloody hell, slayer! That's what we said, innit?'

Buffy put her hands on her hips rather theatrically. She wanted Spike, and this was not the way it went. He forced her, and she complied because she was damaged and needed him. Her initiating the sex was not part of the relationship at all. Needs must though, when the devil was having an off day...

She brought an old friend on board and kicked Spike in the arm - sure pain would ease them over the uncomfortable situation. She hissed when Spike fell to his knees, screaming. When she managed to get the duster off, she looked at the neatly wrapped arm for a moment. 'You really are hurt?'

Spike, with his forehead to the floor, was too incoherent for her to be sure of his confirmation of this, but nevertheless, she knelt beside him and put a light hand on the bandage. 'Sorry.'

Spike nodded and sat up on his heels. She put a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him in towards her mouth. The physical contact overwhelmed Spike, and the falling forward to a welcome mouth - that he had been doing in his mind for two days - made him open himself to her kiss. The passion rose in Buffy. She ravished his mouth, swivelling around to straddle him. Spike pulled away and managed to gasp out the one word. 'Bed.'

Buffy shook her head. 'Here.'

Spike shook his. 'Bed.'

Buffy raised her eyes in surprise, but allowed him to lead her down the ladder. Spike began to undress. Buffy eyed him in horror. 'What are you doing?'

Spike paused. 'I'm taking my clothes off.'

'No clothes. No clothes off! Clothes stay on.'

'Buffy! We're going to...'

'And no words! Spike! Don't talk about it! I come here. We do it. I come. You come. I go. So, no clothes... put clothes back on.'

Spike ignored her and took off his coat, his tee shirt, and began to unbutton his jeans. He turned his back and sat on the bed to peel them off. He heard Buffy reluctantly making similar movements behind him.

They lay side-by-side in the bed for a moment until Spike turned to her and propped himself up on his hand. He trailed one finger from his bandaged arm down her cheek and towards the top of the sheet she had clasped under her chin. She turned to look at him, but he could not catch her gaze.

'What is this, Spike? What in that twisted demon mind of yours do you actually think this is?'

Spike didn't reply, but he eased his hand down under the sheet and found one erect nipple. Buffy winced slightly, expecting the twist, expecting the pain. When he flicked it gently and teased over it with his nail, her eyes flew wide with fear. 'This is not a relationship, Spike. I don't even like you, so stop that.'

Spike gritted his teeth and continued. He moved his hand lower and stroked over her smooth belly. Buffy groaned, and her hold on the sheet loosened... and that's when it happened.

She saw Spike's eyes fly wide open; she heard him gasp slightly; the hand on her belly tightened; his nails raked her slightly, and then he started to turn away. She put a hand to him. 'What now?'

Spike shook his head and lay back down.

Angel was with him.

Spike didn't try to hide anything from Angel. He turned once more and looked at Buffy's face in the candlelight, and he let Angel see her.

He felt Angel's passion like a knife in his heart. Angel swelled in his brain; Angel's arousal suffused Spike... and he knew what Angel wanted. He turned back to Buffy. He pulled her to his mouth and placed his lips to hers, teasing entry where before there had only been force. His hand slipped down between her legs, and Angel showed him how he wanted to touch her, and he let Angel feel her moistness.

Angel arched to the feel of Buffy's need and turned, groaning in his bed. Spike groaned with him and rolled on top of Buffy.

Buffy was overwhelmed by Spike. He seemed so... soft, so... she hissed as his fingers slipped gently inside her, making her ready. She wanted him inside her; his touch made long-suppressed memories of another cool body rise in her mind, and her whole body flooded with the need to come.

Angel wanted to taste her mouth again, so Spike licked gently across her lips to gain access and then plunged his tongue into her far enough to take Angel with him. She moaned and writhed beneath him, and both vampires groaned to the feel of her body.

The need to enter her overwhelmed Angel. He had almost begun to come against the mattress and wanted to be in her sweet, perfect body when he did. Spike took himself in his hand and found her, lifting her thigh slightly to make the entry slow and pleasurable. She tried to push him away, for that was not allowed. It scared her too much, but she could not... for it was so like another entry when she had been just as scared, more innocent, but wanting it so much. So she let Spike make love to her, and as Angel came - screaming in frustration into his mattress, painful bolts of cum erupting uselessly from him - Spike came in her. His hips jerked against her: his fingers worked her clit and brought her to a matching orgasm, and she lay pain-free and gently satisfied beneath the cold body she did not want to open her eyes and recognise.

Spike lay on top of Buffy for a long time, enjoying the feel of her heart thumping against his chest. Two dead hearts enjoyed the feel of the living one, and feasted on the illusion of life it gave them. Angel floated in his mind, but they did not examine what they had done. They both knew that would come later... but Spike felt tears come to his eyes when Angel trailed a light thought over his heart, and he heard Angel's soft voice in his head, 'One less scar, little one.'

Buffy was the first one to move. She slid out from under him. He wondered if she would stay and wondered what that would be like. If she spoke, that would also be good. She did neither: she dressed as usual and left. He lay in the position she left him in, face down, arms spread, aching for a more violent release than his soft lovemaking had allowed him. Angel ran his hands up Spike's spine and begged for entry. Spike moved against the mattress, rubbing into the damp, warm spot she had left. With Angel's weight in his mind, the rubbing was hard and almost satisfying.

Angel rode him, his fury erupting into the jerking on his erection. He knelt up in his dark bedroom, pulling on himself, cupping his balls, squeezing them, pressing himself into Spike; punishing himself for still wanting Buffy, for wanting Spike and not Buffy; punishing Spike for having Buffy, not him, for having Buffy when he wanted her; and punishing Buffy for that supine reception of what he wanted to have - the confusion in his mind so great that, as in hell, it was not clear what the punishment was for, it just was.

Spike felt the dark fury erupt into him and accepted it for what it was. He had no answers either, but as he pumped himself into the already damp sheet, he felt a calmness for a while that did not seek answers, and that was better than the perpetual cold.

When Spike blew out the candles, a true darkness descended on the crypt so that neither of them could see. Spike had meant only to get some relief for himself from the power of Angel inside him, but it made Angel only more intense - unable to see, he could only feel more, and Angel's power caroused around in Spike for a while until he calmed enough to lay quietly in his mind. Spike knew Angel wanted to kill something, and that thought bound them together in a shared lust that they both repressed - albeit for very different reasons. It reassured Spike to feel that lust in his sire still, for it made this man in his head more like his sire, and however much he had hated Angelus, Angelus was unlife… Angelus was all. He sent Angelus a small, tentative, hesitant grin, "Hello".

Spike laughed out loud when Angel sent him back a very clear "Fuck off".

They lay companionably together for a while; Spike fumbled in the dark for his cigarettes and lit up, the faint glow the only illumination. It was incredibly quiet in the womb of the earth, and Spike could hear the faint hum of traffic from LA.

Gradually Angel slipped from him, and Spike laughed again, realising Angel had fallen asleep. He was glad; he'd been fearing the analysis, the examination of what they had done, and he really didn't feel strong enough for that.

Angel saved that for the next day. Spike sat on the steps of the shop, not looking at Buffy who was not looking at him, when the telephone went. Anya answered it and looked at Spike. 'It's someone attractively called Gunn, for you.'

Spike looked up sharply. Buffy looked slightly surprised that he should be receiving a call at all, but there was no other suspicion on her face, not knowing who Gunn was. Spike came over behind the counter and took the handset.

'Yeah.'

'It's me.'

Spike flipped around so his back was to the shop, waited until the chatter resumed and he was sure he was not overheard, and replied quietly, 'Oh.'

Angel laughed. 'I'm going to assume that you are not disappointed it's me, not Gunn. I'd be upset otherwise.'

'Pillock.'

Angel sniggered quietly 'Speak up, Spike, why don't you? I can only just hear you.'

'Tosser, as if I'm gonna do that. What do you want?'

'You.'

Spike held the handset to his chest for a moment, looking up at a cobweb on the shelf. He heard Angel's voice from the distance. 'Spike?'

'Yeah, I'm here.'

Angel swung his feet up onto his desk and tipped his chair back a little. 'So, who starts the questions then?'

'Oh, you... you start, cus I know what you're gonna say... what was all that about? ... did I want - can't say her name cus she's about five feet from me - ? Then I ask you if you really wanted her, and where does all that leave us...? Oh, and something cryptic about scars. That about it?'

'Oh, I was just going to ask you if it was raining there, too, but those are good questions as well.'

'I really hate you sometimes, Angel; did you know that?' Spike tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. Taking the call had surprised everyone; that he should be repressing laughter would freak them all out completely.

Angel shifted the handset to his other ear and craned his neck to hold it in place, filing his nails as he spoke. 'I think you've made that clear once or twice over the last two hundred years, yes.'

'Are you filing your bloody nails?'

Angel stopped. 'Why?'

'Cus it's poofy, and you need to stop doing the poofy stuff, Angel.'

'Oh, is that right? Does that include the stuff I was doing in my head with you last night then.'

'You fell asleep on me last night. I was the only one up and being poofy.'

'After you hadn't been that with Buffy.'

'Here we go then. What I... what we did with Buffy...'

'Spike...'

'What? Wanker...'

'Thank you.'

Spike had nothing to say to this, so just held the handset closely, studying his nails in a totally non-poofy way. He turned suddenly; the talk in the shop had ceased, for they were all studying books. He spoke neutrally, aware that every word would now be heard.

'I hear what you say. Can you call back later?'

'Listeners, hey?'

'Absolutely.'

'You should get your own office, Spike. It's great being the boss.'

'I'm not responsive to that idea. Maybe you could outline it to me in more detail later.'

'Spike.'

'Hmm.'

'I think that's the most suspicious thing anyone will have ever heard you say,' and with an irritating chuckle, Angel put the phone down.

Spike returned to the researchers and sat on the stairs.

'What's up, deadboy? Lottery winner's smile creeping me out now!'

Spike looked at Xander, his head tipped slightly to one side. He just laughed out loud and flicked up one eyebrow at the unintentional appropriateness of the boy's allusion.

Xander just shrugged and went back to his doughnut. Spike turned to Buffy. 'What you doing tonight?'

'Doing? Nothing! Why would I be doing anything? Not doing. Nothing.'

'Buffy, patrolling. Do you want me to patrol?'

'Oh. No. I'm going to a party. At the Bronze. Normal life, Spike. That's as in life... the thing you live. And living as in...'

'Yeah, yeah, I get it... what you have to be alive for.' Spike looked at Buffy and her pleased-with-her-own-joke face and at the others who obviously thought this tiresome joke was funny too. He stood up with a stretch, and noted with amusement their slightly concerned looks. Spike not rising to the bait, Spike not storming out, had thrown them nicely. He looked them over in turn, slowly, and then said with a neutral tone. 'You know... you are really lucky you never met a master vampire and had him murder you. Dying ain't something I wanted.' He snickered inwardly at their discomfort and made a leisurely way back to the crypt.

That evening, he dressed carefully and armed himself with some favourite jewellery. The bar was packed when he got there, the party in full swing. Uninvited, he just mingled and charmed people for a while until he spotted her with the others at the drinks' table. She looked... incredible. He faded into a dark corner to watch her for a while as she laughed and chatted with her friends. Then he fetched Angel.

Angel came to him with a flood of desire as if they were lovers already, and Spike almost reeled from the force of his entry. He sensed that Angel was not alone, felt almost as if he could sense being in the car with him - warm wind on his face - but Angel didn't leave; he stayed, a firm presence in his head. Then Spike went slowly towards her.

'Hey, Buffy.'

She turned, horrified, and was about to hiss at him when she stopped, open-mouthed. She'd never seen him in a white shirt before. She'd seen him in leather jeans, but not since she had got to know the body in those jeans as well as she knew it now.

'What are you doing here? What do you want, Spike? I'm not going to...'

'Do you want to dance?'

Stunned, she was easier to lead to the dance floor than to some dark corner to fuck.

He held her lightly until she relaxed fractionally, then put his arms loosely around her back, but enough to keep his groin pressed to her. She tipped her head back and looked at him, her hair cascading in a heart-stopping wave down her back. 'What is this, Spike? You've been weird since you broke your arm.'

'Weird how?' He smiled down at her.

She immediately tensed. 'I'm not going to tell you that. This is not us talking, Spike. Just shut up and dance.'

He laughed and pulled her to him and allowed Angel to just relax to the music without the talking that he didn't want either. It was strange, dancing with the wind in his face. Spike half expected Buffy's hair to blow around, but it didn't. He watched it anyway, for Angel loved the lights sparkling on it. It looked like ripe corn in the sunshine, and they could have wept at the thought they would never feel that sunshine on their skins again. Buffy brought it to them for that short time he held her. He pressed his face into her hair, felt her tense at the intimacy this implied, but did it anyway. She smelt of strawberries, and he smiled against her ear. 'You smell incredible.'

So confused at her own reaction to this, Buffy did nothing. She continued to dance slowly to the intense rock rhythm thrown out by the speakers. She opened her eyes and glanced around for her friends and was amazed to see how many eyes were on the two of them. She tried to see them from the outside and could not help the small smile that crept across her face. She was dancing with the best-looking man in the place, and that just was a fact... no catch... no end-of-the-world angst. Spike was gorgeous tonight, and she felt gorgeous and... and... she pulled away slightly and looked up at him, frowning. 'I don't feel... I feel...'

'Horny?' Spike's amused comment was so familiar, she felt instantly stronger, and she laughed and punched him lightly in the belly.

'No. Alive. I was going to say alive.'

He pulled her back into his embrace. 'Oh Slayer, you are the most vital thing in this place. Can't you feel it?' He'd tipped his head down to speak; she'd looked up... Angel begged him, so he did. He bent to kiss her. He gave her her due. She did not pull instantly away. She did not glance around for inquisitive eyes. She let him kiss her, a sweet kiss of two people dancing and enjoying their bodies and the music... but then she pulled away and disentangled herself from him.

'Who are you?'

Spike reeled back slightly. 'Huh, thanks... I can kiss ya know.'

'No. That was not you.'

Spike blinked slowly. 'I've been alive... dead... alive... I don't know... a long time, pet. You've only known me a very short time. I was different once… before…'

Buffy nodded but then said distinctly. 'I don't want to know you, Spike. What ... this is ... is not love. This is not us. There is no us, and there will never be an us. Do you understand that?'

Spike pursed his lips then laughed lightly, feeling Angel strong in his head. 'You're right, Slayer. For all the wrong reasons, you're right. This isn't us. That wasn't us.' He spun on his heel and made to leave. She placed a warm hand on the sleeve of his shirt. He turned.

'Are we going to ...?'

Spike looked around then back at her with a soft look. 'Nah. Not here. Ain't any fun anymore.'

He grabbed his coat from a bar stool and left.

Spike felt a sense of ridiculousness as he stomped back to the crypt: it was all very well being so fucking mature, but it was doing his head in, and he wasn't getting any action. He was about to put this to Angel, forcibly, and in some choice words, when Angel suddenly withdrew. The parting was almost as painful as when Spike's chip fired off, so he stopped his return to the cemetery and made his way back to the bar. He waited around for someone to leave a tip on a table, nicked it, and dialled the agency number.

Cordelia answered. 'Angel Investigations: we help...'

'Stow it; where's the poof?'

'Wesley?'

Spike laughed, despite his fury. 'No, the other one. Where's Angel?'

'Why, Doofus?'

'Drumming my fingers here, thinking about stakes in the abdomen.'

'Angel's at the garage.'

'Oh. And that is because...'

'He crashed the car... Spike... Spike... are you...'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Is he hurt... say yes and make my day.'

'Impersonation of Clint? Lame, Spike. I could have done better.'

'Yeah, well, you'll make any man's day, so I've heard.'

The phone slamming down made Spike chuckle. He chuckled to himself all the way back to the crypt, imagining Angel at the point of impact.

It wasn't quite so funny when Angel ripped into him later that night, but Spike calmed him with the feel of Buffy in his arms and the smell of strawberries.

Angel was in pain, and they both enjoyed that for a while, but Spike was amused by how upset Angel seemed over his car. He could sense the waves of fury washing off his sire and made maximum use of them, taunting Angel and making small crash noises in his head. Eventually, Angel withdrew, and Spike felt only fulfilment, a huge amount of the emptiness of his life fading quietly.

He made full use of this feeling the following night and invaded Buffy's house, bringing pizza and beer. He wasn't welcome but persisted and installed himself on the couch until the females accepted his presence. Unexpectedly, the rest of the gang turned up, and Spike had to watch as his pizza for Buffy was shared between Xander and… well, Xander ate it all, all the girls dieting and the vampire not eating at all - not eating after watching Harris eat anyway.

The humans began their usual chat. Spike watched Buffy. Buffy knew she was being watched and became over-animated in consequence. She radiated her strength and beauty into the room, overshadowing everyone. Every joke was made by her, every laugh louder because she found it funny. Spike smiled at her power and continued to watch. Angel joined him about half way through the evening, and Spike felt his exhaustion and wondered what he had been working on. Angel watched Buffy for a while, but there was none of the animation or lust Spike had sensed in him earlier. He decided to help Angel out, and when he saw Buffy head for the kitchen, he followed her. She was uncorking another bottle of wine, and he stood behind her, pressing her into the counter, feeling her nothingness of clothing under his leather jeans. Angel groaned slightly, and Spike rubbed some more, but Angel did not respond to this, and a slight sense of coolness seeped into Spike's head. He nuzzled into Buffy's hair - cherries and almonds this time - and it was intoxicating. He began to swell, and she felt this, attempting to push him away.

Suddenly, as if his chip had fired off, Spike reeled away, holding his head. He swore slightly. 'What the fuck did you do that for?'

'I didn't do anything, remember, Spike? According to you I'm not whole, so sucks to you; that pain's nothing to do with me.'

Spike almost replied, " I wasn't talking to you", but narrowly avoided confusing the issue more. He held his head with a mutinous expression and pressed Buffy face-to-face against the counter. Not letting her gaze drop, he ran his hands up her skirt and under her almost non-existent slip of lace. He groaned; she groaned; Angel… didn't. Spike found himself on his knees this time, the pain unbearable. 'Fucking stop that!'

'Spike… I'm not…'

'Can I use your phone?'

'What?'

'The telephone, Slayer, the thing over there on the wall; can I use it?'

'What for?' Buffy did a double take. 'I mean, yes, if you want, why? Spike, what is going on?'

Spike grabbed the phone and glared at her. 'Do you mind…?'

'Jees!' she left in a huff.

He dialled the number, allowed enough rings for Angel to get downstairs from the bedroom he assumed he was in then, when it was picked up, screamed quietly, 'Wanker! What the fuck are you doing? That hurt.'

There was a silence for a few moments then Angel's quiet, familiar voice said, 'I don't want you to touch her.'

Spike heard that for the showstopper it was. He held the handset away from him for a while, looking at it and listening to the increasingly anxious 'Spike? Spike?' from the other end.

Eventually he put it back to his ear. 'You suck, Angel,' and he slammed it down.