In light of some discussions I’ve seen in which Buffy’s visit to Spike while she was invisible is compared to a rape, I’ve written my own BTL in which is becomes very clear that it was nothing but consensual, right up until he gets upset that she won’t tell her friends about them.

 

 

Gone But Not Forgotten

Season Six, Spike/Buffy

Rating: barely NC17 strong R

One shot - 3800 words + or -

Joss' characters, my version of how things may have gone when we weren't looking (much dialogue and action taken from transcripts)

 

Gone But Not Forgotten

 

 

He knew it was Buffy almost immediately.  Why he couldn’t see her he wasn’t sure, but he’d have known that scent anywhere. He’d just walked to his beat up old refrigerator and taken out a jar of blood when the crypt door opened, seemingly all by itself.

 

Immediately, Spike put down the fragile bottle and began walking towards the door, threats about what he’d been know to do to all manner of “beasties” falling from his lips as he did so.  As soon as he picked up a human heartbeat, he suspected he wasn’t dealing with a “beastie” and when he caught Buffy’s unmistakable scent, he was sure of it. Spike kept his face carefully blank as he tried to figure out where she was and why he couldn’t see her, all the time pretending he had no idea she was there.

 

He did his best to seem annoyed, walking around the crypt, muttering about ghosts, his senses alert to the direction of her heartbeat.  He deliberately looked in the opposite direction as he felt her tiptoeing up behind him, his “Hey now!” convincing when she pinched his ass.

 

His comment almost drowned out her muffled giggle and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.  How long had it been since he’d heard her giggle?  Had to be years…maybe as long ago as when he was first chipped.

 

Baby wants to play.

 

With narrowed eyes, he followed the sound of her heartbeat as she slowly circled him.   Again that muffled giggle that made him want to shout with excitement.  She could play with him all day as long as he got to hear that carefree laughter.

 

Suddenly, he was slammed up against the wall, pinned in place like a butterfly, his arms stretched out to either side.  He turned his head, a flash of disappointment flickered across his face as he accepted that she was not playing any more. As quickly as it had come, the disappointment was gone.  Unseen hands ripped open his shirt – buttons flying everywhere – and a familiar warm mouth began leaving kisses on his bare chest.  He closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the sensations she was creating; then, no longer willing to pretend, he frowned and asked with what he hoped was the right amount of tentativeness, “Buffy?”

 

“I told you to stop trying to see me!” she said, flinging him away from the wall and into a table.  The table overturned, spilling everything on it, and he found himself on the stone floor. He rolled over and sat up, preparing to object, when he was knocked flat again by an invisible, but very strong body.  Without acknowledging his “I <i>can’t</i> see you, luv,” she began to tickle him, giggling happily, “I’m not Buffy. I’m a ghost.”

 

“Alright then, ‘ghost’,” he said, lifting her up and tossing her towards the couch, “If I don’t know you, you don’t get to touch my body.” He winced as the couch overturned.  There was a quiet “oof” and then the couch cushions began flying at his head.

 

He ducked, trying not to care that his jar of blood had just shattered against the hard stone floor.  It became very silent, only the various pieces of furniture that were tossed or kicked allowing him to track her progress around the room. She swiped her hand across a shelf, sweeping all the candles on it to the floor and causing him to lose some of his delight at the way she was enjoying her invisibility. When she passed close to him, he shot out an arm, halting her progress long enough to ask again, “Buffy? What’s going on?”

 

Once again, he was braced against the wall, this time with less violence and more obvious intent.

 

 “Not Buffy,” came the muffled reply, her speech hampered by the way she had her mouth wrapped around his nipple.  That was sufficient encouragement for Spike.  He dropped his hands and pulled her closer.

 

“Feels like Buffy,” he said, dropping his head to nuzzle her neck.  “Smells like Buffy.”  He ran his tongue up to just below her ear, reveling in the instant response. “Definitely tastes like Buffy,” he purred, sucking on the silky skin that, after one night, he was sure he could recognize anywhere.  The warm blood pounding under his lips no longer inspired a need to taste it.  Just the way she permitted his lethal mouth to drift over her throat sparked an unaccustomed warmth in his chest.

 

“You’re not supposed to know who it is!” He could hear the pout in her voice and pictured the lower lip creeping out when she could no longer play her little game.

 

“Any man who couldn’t tell it was you come callin’, wouldn’t deserve the treat,” he said soothingly.  “And you know I’ve got senses humans don’t.”

 

“Mmmmmm  She arched her neck and gave him better access to it.  “What else have you got that humans don’t, hmmmm?” she murmured, her fingers teasing along the waistband of his jeans.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already!” He tried to pretend to be offended, but the note of genuine disappointment in his voice made her sigh and poke his rock hard stomach.

 

“Don’t be so insecure,” she scolded.  “You know I was kidding.  What happened to ‘I know where you live?’ ”

 

“Didn’t work last time.  You left me there in that sunny wreck all day.”

 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

“You are.”  He pulled her closer, letting her see the effect she’d had on him. “At least, four of my senses tell me you are.  Not so sure about one of them…”

 

“I’m invisible!” she said.  With no trouble, he was able to picture the wide, happy eyes and big smile that accompanied her words.

 

“So it seems.  Bit sudden, isn’t it?  Not that it might not be a good career move, but I’m pretty fond of the old Buffy."  He raised one hand and stroked her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he did so.  “She’s right pretty.”

 

“Yeah." She sounded uncomfortable about his compliment, but accepted it in a way she probably wouldn't have if he could have seen her face. "We’re not sure what happened yet, but Willow’s working on it.  In the meantime, I think I took care of that nosy old social worker.”

 

He grinned at her obvious delight.

 

“Really enjoying this, aren’t you, Slayer?”

 

“Yep!” She enunciated the ‘p’ with a satisfied pop, then turned her attention back to the buttons on his jeans.  “You’ve got too many clothes on,” she said, pulling at the waistband until those buttons also flew across the room.

 

“Hey, now!  I don’t have all that many---” His complaint died in his throat when she pulled him out and wrapped her hand around him.  He stared, fascinated, as his cock continued to swell and appeared to be having a wonderful time all by itself.  He knew what it looked like when he had his own hand wrapped around it, but watching the skin slide around while invisible hands worked him was a new and more than pleasant experience.

 

His breath whistled in his throat as she stopped her long strokes and began to gently bat his cock back and forth.  His hiss and the following appreciative groan brought forth another giggle, this one unmuffled and free.

 

“You like driving me crazy, do you?” he gasped, falling back against the wall and spreading his legs to keep from sinking to the floor.

 

“Uh huh,” she replied cheerfully, now running her nails lightly up and down his aching flesh.  “Is it working?”

 

“I think it might be…” he said, surrendering to his weak knees and sliding down to the floor. 

 

As he hoped she would, Buffy followed him down, seeming to be enjoying the obvious pleasure she was giving him.   When she blew her warm breath across his cock and ran her tongue up the side, he gave up his attempts to be a passive recipient of her attentions, following the fabric he could feel on her shoulders and using it to haul her up his body.

 

“Speaking of havin’ too many clothes on…” He let her straddle his hips while he pushed her shirt over her head and ran his hands across her bare back. “No bra?” he murmured.  “What else don’t you have on, hmmmm?”

 

“Only one way to find out,” she said, jumped up suddenly, leaving her invisible shirt on the floor.  She backed away, watching him track her with frustrated eyes, his flaring nostrils and the way he cocked his head making it obvious what senses he was using.   “But you have to catch me first.”

 

Grabbing his pants so as not to trip over them, he held them up with one hand while he followed the sounds of giggling across the room.  He heard Buffy’s heartbeat accelerate when he shrugged out of his ripped shirt and suddenly had a better idea than trying to follow an invisible girl.  Stopping, he leaned against a large sarcophagus and pretending to be puzzled.  He released his grip on the waistband of his jeans, allowing them to slid down his slim hips, then hopped up onto the stone surface of the sarcophagus and toed his boots off.  Lying on his back, he addressed the spider-web covered ceiling, saying, “Doubt I could do that, love.  What with not being able to see you and all.  I think I’ll just wait here until you’re visible again.”

 

“You’re no fun!” Again, the pout was so clear in her voice that he had no trouble picturing her face. 

 

“Not what you said last time,” he purred, patting the flat stone beside him.  “Come over her and let me show you how much fun I can be.”

 

There were some rustling noises, then she was suddenly there - naked and squirming.  Without any more foreplay than a few gasping kisses, she settled herself onto him and began to bounce up and down.  Once again, the sight of his cock seeming to be thrusting into thin air, almost distracted him from what was actually happening.   He briefly wondered why it didn’t disappear when it was buried inside Buffy, smiling when she voiced his thoughts.

 

“How come I can still see you?  Shouldn’t you be invisible when you’re inside an invisible person?”

 

He could feel her bending at the waist, trying to get a better look at where they were joined, twisting to see if it looked any different from the back.  Spike took advantage of her momentary distraction to flip them over so that he was on top.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Sorry, pet. I just wanted to see what it would look like from this position.”  He dipped his head, distracting her with kisses that slowed them both down as they fell into an easy rhythm that built slowly but surely until he was pounding into her and she was trembling around him, whimpering his name over and over. He closed his eyes while he rested upon her, enjoying the way her chest rose and fell under him as she got her breath back. He loved the way it felt, but was more than a little disconcerted to appear to be dangling several inches off the surface of the sarcophagus.

 

“Ow…” brought his eyes back open, and he quickly rolled over pulling Buffy so that she was lying on top of him.

 

“Sorry, pet. I kind of lost myself there for a minute.”

 

“Yeah,” she responded, sounding almost shy. “I know what you mean.”

 

“Do you? I wonder…"

 

"Hey! I'm invisible. You can't get much more lost than that."

 

Rather than argue with her about the way she had deflected what had seemed for just a brief second as though it might be a real conversation about their new relationship, he just sighed and squeezed her gently.  Before she could object to his hug, he sat up and put her down beside him on the stone slab.

 

"You know, love, I have a real bed downstairs.  Got to be more comfortable than this thing."

 

"Or the basement of that old house."

 

"Or that," he agreed, running a hand down her arm. "Though, seems to me we made ourselves right at home there..."

 

When there was no reply, he stood up, grabbed his pants, and walked towards the stairs leading to the lower level of the crypt.  He held out his hand, offering, "What do you say, Slayer? Come to my bedroom with me?"

 

She still didn't reply, but he felt the air move and heard her light footsteps as she drew closer and peered down the stairs.

 

"It's dark," she complained.  "It wasn't dark before."

 

"Can fix that, love. Just let me go first, yeah?"

 

Not waiting for a reply, he dropped quickly into the lower level and began lighting candles with his lighter.  He threw the pants into a corner and walked back to gaze up at the seemingly empty space above him.   With soft, shuffling sounds, Buffy came down the ladder-like stairs, stopping when she reached him.

 

"It looks different," she said, her hair brushing his chest as she turned her head back and forth.

 

"I've worked on it a bit since last you were here," he admitted, hoping she wouldn't guess that the new furnishings and soft rugs, as well as the fabric covering the dirt walls, had all been added after her resurrection and subsequent willingness to spend a lot of time in his company.

 

"It looks nice." Again, her voice was uncharacteristically soft.  "I guess you probably have a lot of girls down here. Is that why you fixed it up?"

 

"You know better than that, Buffy," he growled, turning away from her and the warm breath that caressed his chest every time she spoke.  "There's only one woman welcome in this bedroom."  He walked towards the bed, his back stiff, stopping when he reached it.

 

"Who is she?" she said with mock ferocity, sliding up and wrapping her arms around him from the back.  "I'll scratch her eyes out."  She pressed her body against his, her hands wandering down his torso to his rapidly hardening cock.

 

"Very funny," he said, a reluctant smile on his face.  "You might have a bit of trouble finding her eyes today. What with her being invisible and all."

 

"Good thing she's not here then, isn't it?" she said cheerfully. "She might have spoiled all our fun."

 

"Is that why we're having fun?" he asked, turning around and falling onto the bed with his arms around her.  "Because she isn't really here?"

 

"Maybe," she admitted.  "Don't you want me here?"

 

"You know I do, Buffy.  Always want you here. Here, there, anywhere I can have you."

 

"Then stop trying to spoil it."

 

As much as he wanted to tell her how much it hurt to think she would only want to be with him if she could pretend to be someone else, his body betrayed him and he began to caress and kiss her without really meaning to.  To have pushed her away when she was naked and willing was more than he could imagine.  Vowing to have the conversation later, he began to devote himself to reminding her why she'd come back, after telling him it was never going to happen again.

 

 

Hours later, when Xander dropped in unannounced to ask Spike if he'd seen Buffy, his natural protective instincts took over and he allowed the human boy to mock him and think whatever he liked about the scene. His "haven't seen her" brought a muffled giggle from Buffy, who then began to play with his body and the sheet as though she thought it would be funny to be caught. 

 

Knowing that she was counting on him to keep Xander from guessing what was going on, his earlier disappointment and anger made a comeback and, as soon as Xander was gone, Spike broke loose from Buffy's arms and walked away.

 

"That was bloody stupid," he said, peering over his shoulder.

 

"What's the matter? Ashamed to be seen with me?"

 

While Buffy snorted at her own joke, Spike threw the sheet over her and walked away from the bed, his head spinning with confusion.  He couldn't see Buffy's frown, but he heard it in her voice.

 

 "Come on. He had no idea I was here. This is perfect." 

 

Spike slammed a glass down on the table and began to fill it.  "Perfect for you."

 

Her voice took on an annoyed edge. "Well, picture me confused. I thought this was what you wanted."

 

Shaking his head and sighing at her denseness, he began, "What I want..."

He looked away, collecting his thoughts and examining his roiling emotions. Buffy was here. In his bed and apparently happy to be so.  But only because she could pretend to be someone else.  "This vanishing act's right liberating for you, innit? Go anywhere you want, do anything you want." He paused.  "Or anyone."

 

 "What are you talking ab--"

 

"The only reason you're here is that you're not here."

 

He swallowed half the contents of the glass, refusing to look at the bed where she was obviously squirming around uncomfortably.

 

 "Right. Of course, as usual there's something wrong with Buffy. She came back all wrong. You know, I didn't ask for this to happen to me."

 

 "Not too put off by it though, are you?" He took another big swallow, almost emptying the glass. The amber liquid burned its way down to his stomach; the warmth of the liquor couldn't melt the ball of ice he felt forming there.

 

"No! Maybe because for the first time since ... I'm free."  The sheet flew up and landed on an empty bed. Spike used his nose and ears to track her progress around the room as she continued talking. He could imagine her arms waving around as she warmed to her subject.  "Free of rules and reports ... free of this life."  The ball of ice got bigger.


"Free of life? Got another name for that."  He glared at her.  "Dead."

 

"Why do you always have to ...  I thought we were having fun." 

 

She walked up to him and ran her hands over his bare chest, an invisible smile on her lips as his eyes closed briefly. Steeling himself, Spike grabbed her shoulders and held her out at arms' length.

 

"Yeah, now! But sooner or later your chums are gonna work out a way to bring you back to living color."  He pushed her away, turning his head to hide his face.  "You need to go. Get dressed if you can find your clothes, and push off. 'Cause if I can't have all of you, I'd rather-"

 

 He broke off as she dropped to her knees and began to use her mouth to remind him why she was there, and what he would be giving up if she left.

 

"Okay, that's cheating," he managed to say, his voice not nearly as disapproving as he'd intended, before his body betrayed him and spoiled his righteous indignation by responding immediately.

 

He felt Buffy grin around his growing erection and he growled deep in his throat when his disobedient hands rested on her head instead of forcing it away. However, when she paused to crow, "Ha! I knew you didn't mean it.  You're not going to give this up until you have to," he summoned enough will power to turn his hips aside and avoid her attempts to reattach her mouth.

 

"I do mean it, Buffy," he said, quickly moving far enough away that she couldn't get her hands on him again.  He grabbed his jeans and pulled them on, quickly zipping them closed before turning back to gaze sadly at the indentation on the side of the bed.  "Want you here more than anything, love," he said, glad that he couldn't see her face as he plowed on.  "You know I do.  But hearing you talk about wanting to be out of this life, knowing that you're only here because you think it doesn't matter if no one knows... That's not what I want, Buffy.  I don't want to be a dirty little secret that you sweep under the rug.  I want all of you - your body and...I know I don't have your heart...not now. But you could at least respect me enough to admit to the Scoobies that you want to spend time with me.  To treat me as a...a friend."

 

"We aren't friends, Spike," Buffy snapped.  "I can't be with you.  This is all you're going to get. Invisible me. Take it or leave it."

 

His eyes unfocused as he thought back over their night in the house they'd wrecked with their love-making. He went over the fun they'd been having all afternoon until the boy interrupted them; the way Buffy willingly curled into him between orgasms, the way she'd moaned his name while he murmured endearment-laced obscenities in her ear, the way she so willingly used her mouth on him and screamed when he used his to bring her to gasping completion.  It was worth taking a chance.

 

"I'm leaving it, pet," he said decisively, taking a new tee shirt out of a drawer and pulling it over his head.  "Come back and see me when you're "real" again."

 

"As if!" She knocked things about in her haste to find her clothes and leave.  The sound of her footsteps fleeing up the ladder almost broke his will and he had to clutch the back of chair to keep from following her.  He listened carefully as she paced back and forth in the upper part of the crypt, clearly expecting him to change his mind and call her back.  Her audible indecision was all it took to firm up his resolve, and he fell backwards onto the bed, smiling sadly to himself as he heard her "shit!" when the door slammed behind her.

 

"She'll be back," he whispered.  "Know she wants me. She showed me that today. It's just a question of how long it takes her to realize it."

 

the end

 

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