On the Dial of Time by Just_Sue

Chapter 4

Buffy slipped into her lavender satin pyjamas, glancing over her shoulder to watch as the new vampire in her life set about lighting the matching oil lamps on the other side of the room. He’d gently taken the candle when she’d started to fiddle uncertainly with the shade of one. Relieved at not having to suss out how to work them, Buffy had taken the opportunity given by Spike’s distraction to change, now taking up her brush to work on the mayhem the storm had wrought to her hair. The bonus being that it gave him time to undress and get into bed without any of those awkward hidden glances. And that just made her eyes peer into the mirror before her, catching a reflected glimpse of the smooth lines of his damaged back as he removed his trousers…

Dragging her gaze away, Buffy continued attacking her knotted hair and trying to ignore the reaction of her body at the sight of his pale, marred skin. There was no denying her response to the familiar form, just as there was no denying that, despite the overall sameness of his appearance, he was not the vampire she’d once known. That didn’t stop the feelings that were coursing through her; attraction and want, like and tenderness.

Right now, Buffy was certain of one thing and one thing only. For whatever reason he’d come into her life she was determined that he would stay there, preferably with her by his side. God help anyone, or anything, that tried to harm her vampire. Her vampire with a reflection. Her vampire who did not drink human blood by choice. There was no history between the two of them, except for the happenings of this strange, mystical night. Opportunity was banging at Buffy’s door and she was not about to make the same mistakes; not if there was one iota of a chance at a happy ever after. Not just for her but also for the displaced vampire that had fallen into her lap. Those dreams had been a warning of his coming. Saving him from a possible death had been her choice. Everything, anything, was possible from now on in.

Buffy wasn’t the only one making with the thinking. As Spike stripped from his damp trousers and gave his body a quick wipe down with the towel - absently avoiding the cuts that were still healing - he thought about the strangeness that had led him here. No longer did he believe himself to be in hell; he couldn’t be, not with the kind, golden girl sitting not so far away. When he had set out to kill the Chinese Slayer earlier in the evening, what seemed another lifetime ago, his only ambition had been to escape from the hell of his existence once and for all. And if he had to kill that slayer to achieve it, then that was just the way it was.

Spike hadn’t lied when he’d told Buffy that he didn’t drink human blood, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t killed humans. Mostly it had been for self-defence when Angelus had led the family into a scrape. Sometimes it had been to survive Angelus’s wrath. Either way, he had killed. And, though it didn’t weigh over heavily on his conscience, there were some regrets. But he did not kill them daily, and never for food.

Sighing gratefully, Spike settled himself into the welcoming comfort of the bed, his eyes drawn like magnets to the shimmering curtain of spun gold that Buffy had created from tawny tangles. His cock was reacting to the sight and smell of her with predictability, yearning towards something it had not yet experienced and especially eager that there was a tiny possibility that it just might happen with her.

Spike was under no illusions; and even if he had been, the callous words of others, during both his life and unlife, would have stripped them away. From his time as a callow youth, when his awareness of the opposite sex had manifested itself into a bodily embarrassment, young William had irrevocably linked his adolescent desires to love. The sort of great epic love that he had consumed so fervently in a veritable mountain of books, preferably in the form of his beloved poetry. He’d even tried to write himself and had been mortified to find that another desire was to remain unfulfilled, having little, if any, talent. Why then had this beauty invited him into her bed?

Earlier Buffy had held a stake above him, moments from the kill. Something had stayed her hand and he hoped the next day would provide answers. His nose and eyes told him that she felt some kind of attraction towards him. If only he had the energy, and the knowledge, he would pursue the matter further. But, as she approached the bed and slipped under the covers, the exertions of the night took their toll, his eyes closed and Morpheus claimed him.

Buffy smiled to herself. Although she could admit to wanting something more from her miracle vampire, she owed it to him to be honest from the start. Hell, she owed it to herself as well. If there were to be any chance of anything between them, she had to tell him the whys and the wherefores of her actions tonight. And he needed to clue her in on the how of his appearance in the now abating storm.

Unable to resist a last touch, Buffy wriggled across the great divide and softly tangled her fingers in his fascinating curls. A sigh of contentment and sleep washed over her.

***

Willow barged into Giles’ study before he had time to answer the sudden knock on the door. It was almost three in the morning and her dishevelled appearance screamed of sleep disturbed when taking into account the mis-buttoned dressing gown and bed hair.

“Giles,” Willow gasped, catching her breath from the dash downstairs and along corridors. “I’ve just had a call from the coven. They’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

Rupert had the grace to look sheepish, remembering switching off the ring to his phone in order to allow undisturbed research. “Ah, well, that would be - ”

“There’s been a temporal disturbance,” she continued, cutting him off mid sentence. She was too buoyed up with excitement to wait for him to finish. “Here, in England, a few hours ago.”

“Good Lord.” Rupert straightened in his chair, carrying out a selection of familiar nervous habits - to Willow’s amusement. “Have they any idea of the location?”

“They sure do. Not to pinpoint, just the general area. Oh, and it could be just outside because that thing they do - ” This time it was his turn to cut off Willow as she became a babbling flipperty gibbet.

“Quite. And if you would be kind enough to share with me the details, I might be able to research any local phenomena or other relevant information,” Rupert’s abrupt words were belied by the fond tone.

“Oh. Right. Details.” Willow tossed him a bashful grin. “In the South West, within a thirty mile radius of Taunton.”

It was only when Willow said the words out loud that she remembered why Taunton sounded so familiar. Staring into Giles’ suddenly wide eyes, she knew that he had made the connection as well. Buffy.

“Oh,” whispered Willow. “You don’t think that it might just be a coincidence? What with being near where Buffy is and all?”

Sighing heavily, Rupert strenuously restrained himself from further nervous fidgeting. “That, Willow, would be a miracle I’m not willing to put money on.” He paused, thinking furiously and grabbing onto the first idea that came into his head. “How would you like to take a break and visit Buffy?”

All memory of her friend’s explicit desire for alone time disappeared in Willow’s instant excitement at the thought of seeing Buffy again, and some more of the English countryside as well. Her hard work for the Council entitled her to a little girl time with her best friend and she wasn’t about to pass up on this golden opportunity.

“When can I go? Buffy is gonna be so excited to see me! Will you call her? Oh, no. She hasn’t plugged in the phone. How will you let her know?” Already Willow was mentally packing her bags.

Rupert smiled a little grimly. He hadn’t forgotten Buffy’s request for solitude, and his frequent reports from Rose about her state of being were most promising, indicating a more relaxed and interactive girl than the one who’d left. She had been alone there for three weeks and surely, despite his ulterior motives, she would be pleased to have a visit from one of her dearest friends about now. Willow would be able to provide her with magical backup if something demonic had passed through the temporal disturbance; although there was always the possibility that it was nothing to be concerned about, anything related to Buffy normally spelled trouble.

“I’ll contact Rose Cadrew. She looks after the cottage when it’s not in use. I’ll arrange for her to pick you up from the station when you arrive. Would this afternoon be too soon for you to travel, or we could make it tomorrow?” Rupert’s amusement returned at the quick shake of Willow’s head.

“I can’t wait to see her again, Giles. Make it this afternoon, but late if you can. I need some more Willow sleep if I’m gonna be fit for a late night catch up with Buffy.” Her mind had already turned to all the best friend fun that they could have, in between looking into the temporal disturbance, that is. She bade Giles goodnight and left his study in search of sleep, listing clothes to pack instead of counting sheep.

Rupert pulled out a handful of books and commenced his search for possible answers, making a mental note to contact Rose as soon as the hour became in the least bit reasonable.

***

Rose had been up for an hour or so tidying the debris caused by the storm to her garden when the ringing phone heralded a call from Rupert. In his usual semi-abrupt manner he asked that she pay a visit to Buffy, which she’d already planned to do as most of the village had lost power at some time during the storm and she doubted the cottage would be an exception. Her interest was piqued when Rupert insisted that she report straight back to him if she found any evidence of anything out of the ordinary. She knew better than to ask questions and readily agreed to contact him if she noticed any signs of something that might be deemed suspicious. Grabbing her car keys, Rose decided there was no time like the present to do a little investigating on the Council’s behalf.

The road through the village had already been cleared but she had to leave the Land Rover at the entrance of the drive leading up to Steepes Cottage; branches torn down in the fury of last night’s storm littered the way, making it almost impassable. Making a note to herself to send up some help to clear it later, she quietly entered the cottage, not wanting to disturb Buffy as it appeared she was sleeping in later than usual this morning if the drawn curtains were anything to go by. One step into the hallway she stopped.

Bloody smears marred the previously pristine walls, pools of crimson spread over the flag stones. Rose’s heart started thumping violently in her chest as she stuffed a fist into her mouth, stifling the shriek trying to escape. Timidly, she moved further in, avoiding the mess and peering into the room to the right, eyes drawn to the chaos of the kitchen. Burnt out candles cluttered the work surface and a pot with drying blood staining its side rested beside them. Cautiously moving into the kitchen, she opened the swing lid to the waste bin and noted the empty plastic pouches. As quietly as possible, Rose retraced her steps and slipped away, intent on reaching a phone and contacting Rupert. Whatever had happened during the night, she was not foolhardy enough to investigate by herself; if nothing else, having been married to a Watcher had taught her that.

***

Vampire hearing noted the almost silent snick as the door to the cottage closed, dragging Spike away from a dream that he was more than reluctant to abandon. A gloriously naked Buffy had been welcoming his amorous attentions, praising his flawless technique and limitless stamina as she writhed sensuously beneath him. His eyes flashed open, followed by a groan as several facts fought for awareness. Spike focussed on the pleasant facts first.

Snuggled within his arms, head on his shoulder, leg thrown over his and arm circling his waist, was a warm and satin clad Slayer. Her soft breath blew gentle wafts of air across his nipple, causing it to harden almost unbearably. Spike would have thought himself in heaven if it wasn’t for the not-so-pleasant facts.

It had become immediately apparent that his wonderful fantasy had evoked a bodily response, one which would not have bothered him too much if he had been sleeping in his usual solitude. But in his current position, entwined with the one he had dreamt of satisfying so ardently, Spike succumbed to the familiar wash of humiliation. Like a spotty adolescent he had had a wet dream. His cold spendings liberally coated his stomach and, he feared, Buffy’s arm. Gritting his teeth, Spike refused to allow the tears of self-pity to form. His mess, he had to clean it up – and preferably before Buffy was subjected to his disgusting filth.

Carefully, and reluctantly, Spike removed Buffy’s arm from around his waist and encouraged her supine body to roll over and away from him. She obediently responded to his guidance, sighing as she settled again after turning away. Sparing a moment to admire the line of her back and covered buttocks, Spike slid silently from the bed and padded to the bathroom, hands preventing any of his cum from falling to the floor.

Last night he had not paid overmuch attention to his surroundings; the pain from his injuries and his topsy turvy emotions in the presence of the entrancing Slayer had driven other considerations from his mind. Now, the vampire took the time to look at the scene before him illuminated with diffused light seeping through a blind over the only window. Most of the room’s appointments were, naturally, familiar to him – although not in a style he had seen before. Spike had thought himself in hell and, though he understood that that was not the case, he didn’t think he was in a world that he would be able to survive in without help; too many differences in just one room.

Remembering his objective with a grimace, Spike crossed to the sink and turned on one of the oddly styled taps before using a dampened face cloth to clean away all signs of his embarrassment. That just left Buffy to consider. Looking up, he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Loosely tangled light brown curls fell about his pale, sharp boned face. His blue eyes showed too much, the bane of his life and unlife both. Right now, worry and mortification vied for prominence.

“Nancy,” he muttered to himself. Glancing around he located the ribbon that had secured his unruly and despised hair last night. With practiced fingers, he swiftly captured reluctant locks and restrained them in a semi-semblance of tidiness; there were always one or two curls that fell from his high forehead, refusing to be captured and tamed. Sighing, Spike thoroughly rinsed the face cloth before turning the tap off and crossing back to the room that held the unexpected, but already deeply seated, object of his affections. He was relieved to note that Buffy had not stirred again and, with delicacy, he hoped to complete his task without bringing her to wakefulness.

Buffy had been dreaming. Nothing new there. She had been dreaming about Spike. Again, so not of the new. But to dream of Spike with curling brown hair instead of slicked back and platinum…that was new. And strangely comfortable. This vampire had never felt pain from her fists or her words. He didn’t look at her with hurt mixing with the adoration in his eyes. His smile was open and shy, not hidden behind a smirk or leer. His touch was gentle and tentative, unsure and oddly innocent. He was, and yet was not, her Spike. Buffy felt that they were both her Spike, one old and one new. One gone, but never to be forgotten. One newly arrived, making all things possible…if only she opened her heart and put into practice all the lessons she had so recently learnt. And she wanted to reach out and take her second chance, one she never dreamt of having, with both hands, never letting go whatever her friends and sister said or thought. ‘He’s mine. Spike is mine. I am his. Always.’

A smile curved her lips as she woke, a feeling of dampness on her arm. Opening her eyes, Buffy found herself face to face with the man of her dreams. The look of alarm in his eyes made her smile deepen. “Morning, Spike.”

“Morning, Buffy.” The sound of his soft voice, like a little boy caught in an act that would bring him punishment almost, but not quite, worried her.

“Anything wrong?” She yawned delicately, stretching slightly to welcome the new day.

An engaging grin slowly blossomed on the vampire’s lips. “Not a thing. Not a single thing, love.”

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