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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-04
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2,656
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1/1
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7
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967

Drowning or Waving

Summary:

Type: Het, AU
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Buffy
Pairing: Spike/Willow
Submitted through the FanFicHurtComfort mailing list.

Work Text:

Drowning or Waving
by Kat Leaf

Willow lay perfectly still, eyes wide, staring into the darkness. She knew she should be sleeping but every time she closed her eyes she began to remember - pictures flashing against closed lids like one of Oz's favorite slasher movies but not a movie at all. Blood on her shirt, blood on her arms, blond hair spilled across the carpeting... A movie with a soundtrack, voices echo through her. 'Wanna know what a bullet feels like Warren?' Screams for mercy and then the sound... the sound of flesh ripping..

She rolled over, wrenching her thoughts from the well-worn track they were taking. She glanced at the phone and willed it to ring. Not in the way that would force anything. Not anymore. Simply wishing. Was a time when she could pick up the phone herself and call someone. Xander first, then Tara, Kennedy... Giles, after that summer in England. Dawnie, pretending to check on her, but really checking in herself. Buffy, if things were particularly bad and if it was late enough that she would have finished patrolling. Not anymore. They were all gone. All in their different ways, but gone all the same. She was the only one left. The only one left in California, the only one left awake... the only one.

Suddenly she sat bolt upright, heart pounding. She rubbed sweaty palms in the flannel of her pajama pants, then wrenched open the window so hard that she nearly sent the pane tumbling to the sidewalk below. She took a deep gulp of the breeze that flooded the room and a sob caught in her throat. Her fists clenched and unclenched in the sheets as she shuddered.

It was happening again, she realized and this knowledge allowed her to hold herself together, even a bit. It would pass; this time it would pass and she would not get stuck. She clung to the hope as she clung to the sheets - white-knuckled.

If anyone had told her emptiness was so heavy she never would have believed them. Until she felt the weight of it herself as she did now. Her shoulders bowed under the strain and her back ached with it. Tears flowed down her cheeks, mingling with the rain that blew in from the open window, until she felt she was drowning. "Not waving, I'm drowning," she whispered, but there was no one to hear. The sound was swallowed by the emptiness.

Just when she thought she might snap in two from the weight, she was startled by a strange tingle at the edge of her awareness. Brushing tears from her cheeks, she closed her eyes and opened, searching for what (who) had touched her. There was someone out there, in the storm, seeking her.

Fear flooded her in an icy wash. It was never good to be the one sought... but as quickly as the panic rose, it faded again. This wasn't Sunnydale. There was no more Sunnydale. The First had been defeated, the Potentials chosen. Though she wasn't naïve enough to believe that there was no longer any danger, things were not as they had been. She wasn't a hero's best friend and she wasn't a sidekick. She was just a girl, a witch yes, but that wasn't so odd in San Francisco.

She took a breath, and then another and suddenly knew. Spike... Spike? Leaning out the window she gripped the metal sill so hard it creased her hands. Through the blur of rain in her eyes, Willow caught sight of bleached hair, longer than it had been and darker at the roots, looking very much as it had when he first returned to Sunnydale post-Africa. It was him, she would know him anywhere even without that touch. "Spike," she called. The wind snatched the word from her throat but still he looked up, squinting through the rain and the distance between them. Before she gave herself the chance to consider... what are you thinking doing crazygirlcrazy... she raised a hand and gestured for him to come across the street.

Willow slammed the window closed and leaped from her bed. She tugged on a pair of flannel pajama pants over her boxers and yanked a sweatshirt over her head. There was the slightest sound at the door. A knock? It was hard to tell. She kicked a pile of dirty laundry under her bed and flipped the quilt over the bed so it hung down to the floor. Too late to do anything about the rest of the mess. She switched on a lamp, the warm yellow light clashing with the racing of her heart, and peered through the peephole. Habits died hard. It was him. Him... here, now, why? "I'd bite you in a heartbeat..." Heart beat... it certainly did. As though she dreamed, Willow watched as her hand reached out and flipped the deadbolt, grasped the doorknob and turned.

Spike stood on the threshold. Rain dripped from the ends of his hair, the tip of his nose, sparkled in his eyelashes. He summoned a smile, pale shadow of his usual cocky smirk. It didn't reach his eyes. "Red," he said.

"Spike," she replied, pleased to find her voice remained even, though her heart slammed against the cage of her ribs. She did not step back, did not invite him in, merely waited to see what would come next. They both stood that way for a long moment, simply watching each other. Taking measure.

"Been a while," he said at last. Casual - as though he'd just been passing by.

She nodded, but neither invited him in nor closed the door, waiting instead for an explanation though of what she was unsure. Did she want him to explain his absence? His return? His silence? The breaking of that silence now, after all of these months? They had made no promises when they last came together - he, mourning the loss of hope for a relationship with Buffy, she, mourning the loss of Kennedy and Tara (always and forever Tara). They took comfort in each other and left it at that. Until one day he did - leave it at that. And she hadn't heard from him since. She crossed her arms over her chest. She would not be the one to break the stalemate.

Suddenly he ducked his head, shuddering quickly. "ht-essh!... hehesshuh!" He sniffed slightly and straightened. "Pardon," he said and the light that had been missing before flashed in his eyes.

Heat, unwanted but unable to be suppressed rose to stain her cheeks. Had he done it on purpose? She supposed it didn't matter. Either way, the damage was done. She stepped back and held the door wider. "Come in out of the rain," she said. She could use some comfort.

 

The sneezes, while not forced, couldn't have come at a better moment. Embarrassing though they were, they got Spike what he wanted - an invitation. As he walked past the witch he casually brushed against her bare arm, leather against flesh, and was rewarded with the spicy scent of desire-heated blood, mingling with the familiar lavender and peppermint of her room. Her heart skipped a beat before resuming its quickened pace. He thought briefly to count his blessings. There was one good thing about this bloody rotten cold - he could count on a spot of sex magic with the little witch. Maybe that would lift his mood, make him feel something again. It had been so long. He studied her for a long moment, taking in her splotchy cheeks and reddened eyes - it looked like she could use a bit of the same. Well then, time to get this thing started.

"You look upset, love. Something happen?" His voice was the slightest bit stuffy, edged with the rasp of his sore throat.

Her brows furrowed briefly and her gaze sharpened. Spike allowed himself to slump just a bit, enough to suggest weariness, even illness, but that he was trying to put a brave front on it. She could read the signs like a book, would miss none of it. He resisted the sudden urge to smile.

"Nothing new," she said shortly, obviously unwilling to share whatever had been making her hurt. For a moment her reticence stung. Was a time she would have trusted him enough to be open. Unlike others... do you trust me? He'd once asked Buffy. Never. Her reply still cut and he shoved away the thought. Not going there. All he wanted was a spot of warmth. He had been cold for too many weeks. Or was it years. Ages.

Willow crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself as though she needed warmth. There was something fragile in her eyes that drew him in, pulled him close until he reached for her. He wrapped his arms around her and she tucked her head under his chin. They stood together in silence until his nose began to prickle. Because he knew she wouldn't see, he allowed himself the smallest smile as he sniffled - not trying to push it away, but to coax it closer.

The tickle grew, flaring across his sinuses so sharply that his nostrils flared and his breath (so odd to breathe) hitched in reaction. Willow made a small noise and burrowed closer to him. He couldn't decide whether to pull away, allowing her to watch or stay as he was, allowing her to feel the sneezes as they hit. A moment longer and the decision was taken out of his hands. He turned to the side just in time to avoid spraying her. "Heh-tchsh!" Another pause for breath, so strange - involuntary and rarely done, yet perfectly necessary. "Uh... heh.. tch..shh!" She trembled against him, her slight frame shuddering.

"Pardon."

"Bless."

Both spoke at the same time, then she stepped away. Willow picked up a box of tissues from her nightstand. A flush stained her cheeks, but her eyes snapped green fire. Spike felt his own fires kindle, an answering heat pooling deep within. Yes, this is what he needed. Her hands offered the box; her eyes offered whatever he was willing to take.

He took a couple, folded them in half and spoke through them, though they muffled his voice slightly. "Appreciate the sentiment, but I don't believe it'll do any good," he said with a small smile.

Willow made her first move of the game. "Are you all right?" She managed to complete the sentence without stammering or babbling, but her gaze darted around the room unable to meet his. She kept her expression carefully neutral, but he caught the heat of her desire as it radiated from her as though she were the sun. He longed to bask in that warmth, perhaps it would banish this insufferable dis-ease. Perhaps it would dispel the cold.

He shrugged, schooling his features into the perfect mixture of misery and tough facade. "It's nothing, pet. Seem to have caught a bit a chill." As if on cue, his nose began to itch. He sniffed. Sniffed again. Eyes fluttering closed, Spike reached blindly for the tissues again. The witch handed him one at exactly the right second. As their hands brushed a spark jumped between them, red like her hair. He was too busy sneezing to comment at the unexpected magics, but he noticed. "ht-essh!... hehesshuh! Pardon," he excused himself, the word rasping against his throat, and blew his nose.

He watched her from under lowered lashes as she watched him. Her hunger was written clear. It wouldn't be long now. Hunger of his own uncurled in his belly.

"Strange," she said slowly, "for a vampire to be sick."

"Stranger things have happened," he pointed out.

The truth of that surprised a laugh from her. She nodded. "Just in the past week," she agreed. Suddenly she sobered again. "Tell me, Spike, why are you here?" Her words were brittle and he knew the two of them were balanced on a fine point. One wrong move and he would be out in the cold, all possibility for companionship vanished.

He should have known she would ask, considering the way he had left things between them. The way he had left. He wracked his brain for an excuse, but it felt as though his head was swathed in cotton, making lies difficult to come by. Fortunately he was saved by truth, such as it was. "hehnxgt!" He stifled for the first time, pinching the sneeze off between thumb and forefinger, as though he were trying to explain. "W...was j-just.. htchxt! Pardon. Just passing through."

Willow tried to scowl, but her breath was coming short and sharp. "And if I said I didn't believe you?" She turned her back to him, watching the rain trickle down the window pane.

"Does it matter, pet? Wanted to see you. Missed my Red." His voice turned slow and sweet, cajoling. "Come, luv. Aren't you even a little happy to see me?" He crossed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around her and nibbled at the edge of her ear. At first she stiffened in his hold, but as he sniffled again, she melted against him going warm and liquid. Yes, this was what he had hoped for. "I've such a tickle," he murmured and she sighed, small exhalation of pleasure. "Been sneezing all day..."

With a fierce growl, Willow turned in his arms, shoving him backward onto the bed. He fell with a rush of surprise and she fell with him. Their lips came together in a heated frenzy, drinking deep of each other. Teeth clicked, hands groped, clothing hit the floor. Skin slid against skin, cold against hot. Nails raked across backs leaving bright weals, mouths left stark marks of passion on neck and chest. Moans rose and fell in waves. Passion climbed between them, building fast and sure. Red sparks danced across his skin, tiny pinpricks of pain that burned with a cold flame of pleasure.

Spike's fingers slipped between her legs, and triumph flooded him to find her already slick. She groaned with need. "Please... please, Spike." Her back arched, a perfect bow of desire, red hair flaming around her face, and he reached up, caressed her breasts then sheathed himself inside her with one smooth motion. She cried out, her song ringing through him and making him feel - at least. A sigh slipped from between his lips.

Their bodies flowed together like the ocean, giving and taking, climbing together. She reached the edge first, tumbling over with a silent cry, eyes wide. He cradled her as she fell, and then she whispered something he had never thought to hear. "Taste," she said, pressing her lips to his once again, her tongue slipping inside. In her passion she had bitten her tongue and the spicy hot tang of blood spilled into his mouth, trickled down his throat and he groaned into her.

"Drink," she said then and tilted her head, offering the smooth white expanse of her neck. So freely offered, he could not resist. His teeth pierced her skin and the blood poured into him, giving strength, giving life... healing him. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears and he slowed his suck, taking only the barest taste. He could feel her shudder around him, her ecstasy echoing his. His own pleasure reached its peak and he shuddered beneath her, releasing his hold on her. His senses were hazed with the lingering rapture of feeding and he slipped to the bed, eyes sliding closed.

"Why," he managed to ask her, clinging to consciousness.

"Blood is life," she said simply.

end