Parallel Lives by Mabel Marsters

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 :: 11 :: 12 :: 13 :: 14 :: 15 :: 16 :: 17 :: 18 :: 19 :: 20 :: 21 :: 22 :: 23 :: 24 :: 25 :: 26 :: 27 :: 28 :: 29 :: 30 :: 31 :: 32 :: 33 :: 34 :: 35 :: 36 :: 37 :: 38 ::

Chapter 1: Morning, pet

Spike Norman stretched languorously on the king-size bed. The covers had slipped down while he was sleeping revealing a lean, toned torso. He was of slim build but his well-defined abs and strong muscular arms prevented him from looking skinny.

He ran a hand through his bleach blond hair; it was free from its usual gel after being washed the night before. It was ruffled and slightly curly. He yawned and finally opened his vivid blue eyes, squinting a little at the bright California sun streaming through the window. He never slept with the drapes closed, preferring to be able to see the stars through the large picture window. His house had no near neighbours and the seven foot high security fence which prevented prying eyes was a good half mile away from it on all sides.

Spike rolled over to his right side, as he had every morning for the past five years, so he could watch the girl of his dreams as she slept beside him. He smiled to himself; he still couldn’t believe his luck at Buffy Summers being his lover for the last nine years. They’d lived together in this huge house for five years now. He propped his head up on his hand and waited. She always woke about five or ten minutes after he did unless they had to set an alarm clock. She looked so bloody adorable as she roused that he thought he’d die from wanting her so badly.

Buffy stirred and made that funny little sound that he loved so much – part sigh, part moan –then opened her big green eyes.

“Morning, pet.”

She smiled at him lazily.

“Morning, lover boy.”

He leant over and kissed her, gently at first, and then they deepened it until, when they parted their lips, they were both breathless.

“God, I love waking up next to you,” he said.

Buffy smiled again. She loved Spike deeply and it amused her that he said exactly the same thing to her every day. In fact the only time it varied was on the few occasions that they’d had to spend the night apart. In that case she was awoken by a telephone call and the first thing she heard when she picked it up was always ‘God, I hate waking up without you’. Yeah, predictable - that was Spike. Drop dead gorgeous but way predictable.

She glanced up at his face. She realised by the slightly anxious look in his eyes that she’d taken too long to reply. Despite everything he was still at times the insecure boy she’d fallen in love with in high school, though back then he’d tried to hide it behind his black clothes and bleached hair.

“I love you, Spike. Sorry, I lost myself there for a moment. I was just admiring the view.”

His face split into a grin, “That’s all right then.”

He ducked under the deep red satin quilt and gave a low chuckle as Buffy shrieked when he slipped a hand between her thighs. Buffy had decided long ago that she liked him being predictable, as this was the second thing he did on waking! She moaned and arched her back as Spike’s fingers unerringly found their way to her most sensitive spot. She climaxed a few moments later after his tongue had replaced his fingers. God, he knew exactly what buttons to push. He was a generous lover, taking almost as much satisfaction in seeing her pleasure as in seeking his own.

“I need you inside me now,” ordered Buffy.

Spike’s head reappeared from beneath the sheets, his face slightly flushed.

“Bossy bint,” he whispered in her ear as he thrust into her.

Both gasped as he entered her. Years ago Spike had said that their lovemaking got better each time and Buffy was sure that, even after so long together, each time surpassed the last. She climaxed again, her own orgasm provoking his. They collapsed sated, entwined together, with sheets having fallen to the floor. Eventually Buffy moved out of Spike’s embrace.

“I’d better go and get a shower.”

“Can’t you stay here a bit longer?” Spike tilted his head to one side as he spoke.

“Oh no you don’t, mister,” said Buffy sternly.

“Don’t what?” asked Spike, the very epitome of innocence.

“Do the old head tilty thing,” replied Buffy, “Next it’ll be the tongue thing.”

Spike remained silent. He just smiled at her, his tongue curled against his top teeth.

“I mean it,” she giggled, “It won’t work.”

She knew she was lost as soon as she spoke, the tongue thing being replaced by a truly irresistible pout. She leaned back into his arms and kissed the pout clean off his face.

“You get you own way far too often, Spike Norman,” she admonished gently.

“It’s all down to my boyish charm and handsome good looks,” grinned Spike.

Buffy ran her hand through his soft hair.

“I wish you’d leave it like this.”

“No way! I look like a bleeding poofter with the baby curls.”

“No, you don’t. They make you look cute,” she teased, knowing exactly what his reaction would be.

“Cute?” he roared. He pulled her towards him, “You’re so gonna pay for that.”

“Ooh, please!”

“Buffy Summers, you’ll be the death of me,” said Spike as he felt himself harden once more, “Mind you, it beats going to the gym.”

00000000

It was an hour later when Buffy managed to go to get her shower. Spike sat up in bed and looked around the room, shaking his head in bemusement.

“Who would have thought that little ole William Pratt would have come to this?” he thought, not for the first time.

He swore the room was almost as big as the whole of the house he’d shared with his mom before that fateful trip to London which had changed his life forever.

He’d gone to London as William Pratt, the bullied, lonely, painfully shy, super geek and had returned as James ‘Spike’ Norman, the much cooler, slightly bad ass - on the surface - cousin. A car wreck had killed his mom, aunt, uncle and cousin and robbed him of his memory for over three weeks. He’d been wearing his cousin James’ black leather duster and had been wrongly identified as him courtesy of some ID in its pocket. The two boys had been so similar they were almost like twins.

Rupert Giles, his mom’s older brother, was his next of kin and, despite not having seen him for years, had flown from New York to take care of him. A bizarre twist of fate meant that on the day Spike had recovered his memories and realised that he was actually William, Rupert had announced that he’d taken a job at William’s high school and that the two of them were going to live in Sunnydale. Spike had panicked at the thought of being thrown back into the world where he’d been persecuted daily by Liam ‘Angel’ O’ Connor and hadn’t told Rupert who he really was. A visit to a hairdresser had given him his now trademark bleach blond locks and ‘Spike’ was born. He’d insisted on being called by the nickname James and his friend Rich had given to him when they’d spiked his drink to get him up to sing at a karaoke night.

Of course it had all eventually backfired horribly and he’d almost lost Buffy because of it. But her support meant that he finally had the courage to tell Rupert his true identity.

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