Chapter 10

Six people sat in the living room of the mansion on Crawford Street. Willow and Mark were sitting in one of the oversized chairs, Buffy and Spike were on one end of the couch, and Johnny was on the other. Tara was seated in the other chair, her pack resting in her lap. No words were spoken between them, since none really knew how to start the conversation they were assembled for. Eyes met, and skidded away as they each tried to think of what to say. Finally, Willow got tired of it, and leaned forward to grab a notepad and pencil, turning her green eyed gaze on Tara.

"Tara, I think, since you know the most about the house, you should start." Tara got a deer in the headlights look, her eyes dropping to the floor. Taking a bolstering breath, she unzipped the backpack, and took out the notebook inside. She busied herself doing that for a moment, not looking up at the people whose eyes were boring through her while they waited. When she was done, she rubbed her hands on her skirt and looked up, her eyes locking with Johnny's. He was staring at her with such intensity, that she lost her voice for another second, her face flooding with warmth.

"Tara?" Buffy prodded, not sure if she was liking the heat that was passing between the drummer and her friend. Tara's head jerked towards Buffy, and she shook her head as if to clear it.

"S-sorry," she stammered, taking another breath. She hated to speak in front of people, even when those people were her friends. "Alright, I guess the easiest thing to do, is start with the history of the house itself. It was built in 1981 by Frederick Wyndham-Pryce, Wesley's father. Nobody really knows why he decided to move here from England. He just showed up one day, bought this land, and started building. It's the biggest house in the County," she finished in a rush. "Not much is known about him, other than he was from England. His wife died about seven years before he moved here."

"How?" Spike asked, before she had a chance to continue. Tara's light eyes met his, and she gave him a slight shrug.

"Natural causes from what I know. Wes has spoken of her a couple of times, when I've seen him at the library, but not about her death. He was a late child, for them. I know his father was seventy when he married Faith."

"Talk about robbing the cradle," Mark said with a snort. Willow was sitting in his lap, her hand practically flying across the paper as she took notes. She gave a chuckle herself, and Buffy scrunched up her nose.

"That's kinda Anna Nicole, isn't it? I mean, how can you have sex with someone that's old enough to be your grandfather?" She gave a delicate shudder at that, a reaction that was only worsened by Spike's fingers grazing along her arm.

"What do we know about her?" Willow asked, still very businesslike, despite Mark's hand resting against her rib cage. Every so often, his thumb would brush along the underside of her breast, and she'd have to fight a tremor.

"Other than she graduated Sunnydale High in 1971, and was married to Frederick the next year? Not much," Tara admitted with a sigh.

"Don't forget her affair with Angel, and her murder," Buffy reminded them, settling herself more comfortably next to Spike.

"What do we know about him?" Johnny asked, knowing what she would say, since he read the articles too. He was just getting tired of sitting there. Tara gave his a smile before she answered, her heart doing a slow flip at the look in his eyes.

"Liam 'Angel' McKenna. When he was twenty five, he came here, with his sister. They were from Ireland, I think. Actually, he and Winifred, his sister, were the first generation born in the states. They were very rich, and their parents still believed in arranged marriages for the girls. Angel could marry whoever he wanted, but Winifred, or Fred as she was called, was set to marry Wesley."

"Wesley? He never got married, though?" Willow interrupted. She had never heard this part of the story before. She turned surprised eyes on Buffy, who just shrugged.

"Hey, I only heard the story once, and I wasn't even supposed to hear it then. Eavesdropping on my parents," she admitted with an impish grin. "And actually, until Tara just mentioned it, I forgot about it."

"Anyway, the marriage was called off right after Angel was arrested for killing Faith. She wound up marrying Charles Gunn, Faith's chauffeur. Which, back then, was scandalous."

"Why? Because rich people don't marry the help?" Spike said with a sneer.

"That and, even though it was only twenty years ago, interracial marriages were still looked upon as odd, to put it lightly. And this is a small town, so, it was gossiped about for a long time."

"What happened to them?" Johnny leaned forward a bit, his mind working the information that was being laid out, and his eyes burning into Tara's. It was a good thing he could multi-task.

"Uh-uhm. F-Fred died. She had ovarian cancer. That was right before Angel was killed in jail. A riot broke out, and he was shot in the confusion by one of the guards." A blush was creeping up her neck at the way Johnny was looking at her, like she was a treat he wanted to devour. The other couples noticed it too, not sure what to make of it. "Gunn was killed a few years later in a hit and run," she finished in a rush, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.

"I wonder how Wesley took his marriage being called off, and the death of his stepmother," Mark wondered out loud.

"Knowing us English gentlemen, he was probably sitting up in his room taking a nip or two," Spike interjected, snickering. Buffy rolled her eyes, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his leg, sending shivers up his spine.

"Oh, and Angel never admitted or denied his guilt. He just went to jail. Nobody really knows what happened," Tara finished, sitting back in her chair.

"Well, I guess it's safe to assume he didn't do it, since she's trying to get us to find someone. And it's a 'him' someone," Willow said, finishing off her notes. She didn't see much that would help.

"Alright, we don't have much to start with. I guess we have four suspects, three of whom are dead," the redhead continued, frowning.

"Four?" Mark looked down at the paper, easily reading her flowing script.

"Yeah, Angel, just because I don't feel right excluding him just yet. Frederick Wyndham-Pryce, Charles Gunn, and Wesley."

"I still don't see how it could be Wesley. I mean, come on," Buffy interjected, the mild mannered British man filling her mind's eye.

"Nobody gets excluded. Which I guess means we better put Winifred in there, too," Willow said thoughtfully.

"Don't," Spike said firmly. Willow's brows drew together at that, her head tilting slightly.

"Why?"

"It was a man." His words were said with a surety that surprised the others.

"How do you know?" Buffy queried, turning to look at him.

"The flashes. I don't see anything clearly, but I get the definite feeling that it's a man. And a man that she's familiar with."

"Well, that still makes it sound like Angel or her husband," Buffy insisted.

"There's also the possibility that she had an affair with someone other than Angel," Johnny offered, scowling. How were they supposed to find 'him', when three people were dead, the other was supposed to be in England at the time, and who knew what she had been up to? Or who she had been up to. ANYBODY could have killed her. For once, Johnny thought maybe multiple sex partners wasn't such a good idea.

"Is there any way we can get a list of the people that worked here then?" Mark asked. Willow gave him a sly smile and cracked her knuckles.

"If there's a will, there's a database waiting to be hacked," she said with glee.

"Oh lord," Buffy said, glancing at Tara.

"What about the rooms that are closed off?" Johnny asked. "How long have they been that way?"

"I guess since before the house came to my father," Buffy answered. "Faith's room has been closed since the night she died."

"What about the police investigation?" Spike threw out.

"There wasn't one," Johnny answered before Tara could. All eyes shot to him and he gave a sheepish smile.

"Told you I went to the library. What do you think I went for? I had a ghost ripping me apart, and I wanted to find out more about her," he explained. "Angel was arrested on sight, and no forensics were done on the room. He was holding her when he was discovered, so anything they could have gotten off the body was contaminated. Plus, I don't know how advanced the science was back then, or if they would have found anything."

"So, what do we do?" Buffy asked, her head starting to hurt.

"I say we search the rooms that are closed off. After all, they're that way for a reason, right?" Johnny suggested, smiling at the incredulous looks he was getting.

"I don't know."

"Is that such a good idea?"

"What do you think we'd find after all this time?"

"Are you daft?"

"I think it's worth a shot." All these came flying at Johnny in rapid succession, until he wasn't sure who said what. Except for Tara, who had agreed with him.

"Come on, what could it hurt? She wants us to help her, so that means investigating, right? We're not going to find anything from the papers. Most of the people involved are dead, and it'll take time for Willow to crack whatever code she needs to crack to get the records. Until then, why not start with what we have. Three rooms that have been closed off for at least fifteen years." The others in the room looked apprehensively at each other.

"How could it hurt?" Tara offered, smiling at Johnny.

"Hello. Haven't you guys watched horror movies? There's always a way it could hurt. What if we piss her off?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, as opposed to how happy she is right now?" Johnny shot back, ignoring the glare Spike sent him.

"Well, I guess it is all we have right now," Willow said with a sigh. "And it is day time. She hasn't appeared during the day, has she?" she asked the guys, her eyes widening at the possibility.

"No," they all answered. The other three sighed in relief.

"Well, how do we decide who goes where? I don't think any of us will willingly go into Faith's room," Buffy asked, knowing full well she sure wouldn't go easily. Mark tapped Willow on the thigh to get her to let him up, then walked over to the fireplace. Pulling out three matches, he motioned for the others to follow him into the kitchen. He was pulling out a knife when they filed in, the matches laying on the counter.

"I think I saw this in a movie once." Willow said with a nervous giggle. Mark smirked, and slid the knife across the thin wood at different lengths.

"Alright, long stick takes the attic, next one takes Faith's room, shortest takes the basement." Nobody asked how they were going to split into pairs. It was understood how they would do it. Mark picked them up, and turned his back, adjusting them in his hand until they looked the same length. He then turned back around and held out his hand to Johnny. "First pick, cousin." Johnny snorted and pulled one out, unconsciously sighing when he pulled out the longest one. Spike took his turn next, scowling when he compared it to the one that Mark still held.

"Looks like we get the honeymoon suite, luv," Spike told Buffy, squeezing her hand reassuringly when she blanched.

"Wonderful," she muttered, clutching his fingers tightly. Fear gripped her tight, and she had to concentrate to breathe.

"We're in the attic," Johnny told Tara.

"Oh, that means we get the basement. What fun. Bet there's rats," Willow complained with a shudder.

"That's still better than a ghost," Buffy said.

"Well, let's get this over with," Spike suggested, dropping the stick on the counter.

"Basement entrance is over there." Buffy nodded towards the pantry. "It's in the back. You have the keys?" Mark nodded, pulling the key ring from jeans.

"God, was that what I was sitting on?" Willow's eyes widened and her skin blushed to the shade of her hair at the disappointed sound of her voice. Nervous laughter filled the air at her expense.

"W-we need extra flashlights. J-just in case," Tara suggested. Buffy moved to one of the drawers and pulled out three mag lights, handing one to each of the men.

"That's all we have here. There are light switches, I just don't know where, because I've never been in those other rooms," she said, apology in her voice.

"We'll be alright." Spike turned and left the kitchen, pulling her with him. Johnny and Tara followed, leaving Mark and Willow in the kitchen.

"Well, I guess we better get started." Fear laced through Willow's voice, and she gratefully curled her fingers around his.

"It's alright. We'll go down there, shine the light into the corners, and come back up. Sound good?" She nodded, then shook her head, deciding that NOT going down there at all was a good plan. Her breath hitched in her chest when he leaned down and kissed her, his lips coaxing hers into a fiery kiss.

"I'll be with you," he assured huskily. Now, Willow just wanted to say screw it and drag him up to his room and do just that.

"Let's get this done," she said firmly, her mind distracting her from the possibility of finding bodies in the basement with visions of Mark's body in it's natural splendor.

"That's my girl." He pulled her behind him, missing the smile that split her face at his words. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing, she thought, her eyes raking over his long form as they made their way to the door. At least she was going to be stuck down there with a hottie.

~*~*~

Spike, Buffy, Johnny and Tara made their way up the stairs, their movements slow. When they reached the outside of Faith's room, Buffy pointed to the door at the end of the hall that led up to the attic. Then, without a word, Johnny and Tara walked that way, their hands loosely linked.

Buffy and Spike watched them walk down the hall, and the bleached blonde waved a hand when Johnny turned to indicate they had gotten the door unlocked. Once they disappeared, he turned to Buffy, giving her a rakish grin before waving his hand towards the door. In response, she handed him her keys, a saccharine smile in her lips. Hers were the only ones with Faith's door key on it, but SHE wasn't going to be the one to open it.

Spike took a deep breath and took the keys from her grasp, finding the right one easily. Then, with another glance at her, he fit the key in the lock, feeling for all the world like he was opening Pandora's box. Without giving himself time to talk himself out of it, he twisted the key and turned the knob, the musty smell of the room hitting them. With another glance at Buffy, he took her hand and pulled her inside, the door shutting quietly behind them.

AN: Aren't I evil? ;) Don't worry, writer's block is all cured, and I now know how this is all going to go. (Give a big thanks to my best friend for that, by the way.) In fact, if you're real nice, I might even have a new chap ready by tomorrow. Tee hee. Now, what could Buffy and Spike encounter in that room? What will Johnny and Tara find in the attic? And just what secrets are buried in the basement? Review me my dears, to find out the answer's to all these questions and more. Mwahahahaha. Lisa

Chapter 11

Spike quickly found the light switch next to the door and flipped it on, bathing the room in the soft light of three lamps. They exchanged a confused look at how the light bulbs were still working after twenty years, but decided just to chalk it up to the other weirdness in the house.

Haltingly, Buffy walked away from him, her hand sliding along the surfaces of the furniture that were caked with twenty years worth of dust. Vases filled with the skeletal remains of flowers sat around the room, reminding them that nothing had been changed before it had been closed off.

Buffy walked over to the vanity, reverently wiping the dust off of the silver backed brush before putting it back down. She drew a finger over the bottles placed there, the pretty glass devoid of its contents that had evaporated long ago. A tall, free-standing jewelry box sat next to the vanity, drawing her curiosity.

Across the room, Spike was gingerly pulling open the drawers of the nightstands, not seeing much of interest inside. He tried to ignore the eerie feeling that was crawling under his skin, the idea that he was trespassing niggling his mind. Despite the layers of dust and the aura of death that hung in the room, the idea that the room was waiting for its mistress to return hung in the musty air.

Turning slightly, Spike looked down at the still turned down bed, a dressing gown thrown across the foot. Scowling, he slapped a hand down on the coverlet, sneezing at the dust he'd raised. *Bloody brilliant, Spike,* he muttered to himself, glancing around the room for Buffy. Suddenly, the temperature dropped, and he braced himself for the images of death to hit him.

He blinked in confusion when all that happened was an overpowering surge of lust hit his loins, hardening him to the point of pain. His eyes searched for Buffy, coming to rest on her tiny form leaning against the vanity, a blood red ruby nestled against the hollow of her throat.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice husky, her eyes glazed. Spike opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she was talking about, confusion hitting him anew when that wasn't what he said.

"I had to see you," he said instead, starting to walk towards her. She gasped, her pupils dilating with desire, her body trembling with anticipation.

"You shouldn't have come," she insisted, pushing away from the vanity and meeting him halfway.

"Why? You want me, I want you. I don't see a problem." Neither noticed as Spike's voice switched from his smooth English accent, to a different, light Irish one.

"What if he finds us?" Buffy's own voice took on a thicker, throatier quality, as her hands slid up his arms, her fingers linking behind his neck. Their minds scrambled to catch up with what was happening to them, neither able to stop it. It was like they were actors in a play, slaves to the scene until it was done.

"I don't care," Spike growled in the second before his mouth crashed over hers, taking, demanding. Possessing.

Buffy returned the kiss, her hands fisting in his hair, the action bordering on painful. The added sensation only fueled Spike's lust, a lust he recognized as not fully his own. Their tongues battled fiercely, their bodies pressed tightly together, eliciting moans from them both. Buffy knew this wasn't really them, making their desire for each other reach inferno qualities. They wanted each other, yes, but this need was desperate, cloying. She couldn't have stopped what was happening if she'd wanted to.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he picked her up, his mouth never leaving hers while he carried her to the bed. He laid her across the suddenly clean spread, his hard length pressed against her very center. She mewled into his mouth, electric shocks skimming along her nerve endings at the feel of him spread so intimately across her body.

"Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you aren't a shell of a woman when I’m not here, touching you," Spike growled, his hand skimming under her top to roughly squeeze her breast, his fingers pinching her nipple. Buffy writhed beneath him, her head thrashing on the bed at the arousal raging through her. "Tell me," he demanded, giving her nipple an extra hard pinch. She arched into his hand, a low, guttural moan ripping from her throat. Her glazed hazel eyes met his, her kiss swollen lips slack.

"I'm only alive when you're inside of me," she breathed, thrusting her hips up to get her point across. A wide, wolfish smile spread across his face at that, and he lowered his head to nibble the flesh of her throat.

~*~*~

"Jesus," Johnny said, shining his light around the cavernous attic. Boxes and crates, furniture covered with sheets, and ornate frames littered the space, a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering all of it. He turned to look at Tara when she sneezed, an apologetic smile on her face.

"Sorry. I'm allergic to dust." Johnny just grinned and gave her a shrug.

"Come on." He took her hand and pulled her deeper into the room, weaving through the mess. The flashlight swung in a wide arc around the room, enabling them to see at once. Tara stuck as close to him as she could without tripping him. Perspiration beaded her skin at the emotions assaulting her. Fear was the most prominent, since she didn't have any idea what to expect. Then there was the underlying arousal that seemed her constant companion when he was around her. "What do we have here?" Johnny mumbled, stopping at a large trunk.

"It looks like a trunk," she said, blushing at the stupidity of the obvious comment. *OF COURSE it was a trunk,* she told herself.

"Let's see what's in it." Johnny wagged his brows, causing a nervous giggle to explode from her lips.

"O-okay." They bent down together, reluctantly letting go of each other as they did so. Johnny brushed the dust away, careful to push it away from Tara. He then pushed the button, hoping it wasn't locked. When the latch flipped up, he gave her a triumphant smile, his breath hitching in his chest at how close she was. All he had to do was dip his head, and he could taste that mouth again. He felt himself harden uncomfortably, the zipper of his jeans digging painfully into his sensitive flesh. Her eyes swirled with what she was feeling, the color darkening to a deep sea blue. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her heart starting to hammer in her chest.

Johnny took a deep breath, and forced his mind back to the problem at hand, willing himself to calm down. She frowned in disappointment when he turned away, but looked into the trunk when he opened it. They both scowled at the pile of blankets they encountered.

"Well, that was a whole lot of build up for a whole lot of nothing," Johnny sneered, hissing in a breath when her soft fingers touched his mouth.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered, her ears straining to catch the faint sound she thought she heard. Johnny's brows drew together, as he did the same. They held their breath, waiting, both of their eyes dropping back to the trunk when they heard it.

"Is the trunk moaning?" he asked, looking back up at her incredulously.

"I-I don't think so. It's muffled," she replied. Johnny looked back down at the trunk, seeming to make some sort of decision. With a hard shove, he pushed the trunk, to reveal a large hole in the floor. The moaning got louder when he did this. Their eyes met once more, before they leaned forward to look into the hole, their gasps at what they saw mingling into one.

~*~*~

Buffy's nails raked over Spike's bare back, the ripple of muscle thrilling her and the spirit that was invading her body.

"Oh, God," she moaned, when his teeth grazed her nipple, pulling and teasing until it was a tight, hard nub. His tongue then laved the tender flesh, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her abdomen to slip his fingers inside the scrap of satin covering her curls. Neither could have said just how they had both lost their shirts, or how Buffy was now writhing beneath him, clad only in her thong. At the moment, they didn't care. Their desire, combined with the phantom arousal gripping them, intensifying everything flowing through them until they thought they might explode.

"What do you want, baby? Hm? Tell me what you need." Spike's voice hummed against her skin, sending shivers along her heated flesh. She buried her fingers into his hair, pulling him up to kiss him hungrily, her tongue stabbing in his mouth, tangling with his. Her hips surged up, seeking friction against the hand that was currently teasing the edges of her panties. She groaned in disappointment when he ripped his mouth from hers, piercing her with the midnight of his eyes. She gasped when they flashed brown, not realizing that hers were doing the same. Her eyes widened when she saw a different face hovering above her for a brief instant. For a quick second, Spike's face was replaced by a dark haired man's, his handsome face twisted with desire, his dark eyes blazing with need.

"Say it," he growled, Spike's face returning, his fingers teasing her cleft through her panties. A sound that Buffy didn't recognize ripped from her throat at the promise of those fingers, her own fingers plucking uselessly at the satin beneath her. Spike bared his teeth in a snarl, waiting for her to answer. This fire was threatening to consume him, and he was about to take what she refused to admit. He needed to taste her, his mouth was watering at the thought of her sweet juices flowing down his throat, quenching this heady thirst. He hissed in air, when her features temporarily shifted to that of another woman's, the fan of her hair darkening on the white spread beneath her. Her mouth filled out, turning a slick red, her light eyes turning brown.

"I want your mouth. I want you to make me scream," she said, smiling ferally. As Buffy's features returned, his hand ripped the scrap of satin away, and he slid down her sweat slicked body, a sly grin on his face.

"My pleasure," he purred, spreading her legs wide and pushing his hands under the globes of her bottom. With one last, searing look, he dipped his head, plunging his tongue into her folds, moaning at the taste of her nectar. Buffy keened at the feel of his mouth on her, her hips grinding against the bed, urgency making her pant. Within seconds, she was crashing into orgasm, her juices flooding his mouth, spilling over his greedy tongue. He lapped eagerly at what she offered, never stopping in his ministrations until she was screaming for him again.

~*~*~

The air was thick and heavy around Johnny and Tara as they watched Spike devour Buffy. Johnny's breath was coming in heaving gasps, the pain of before returning with a vengeance. The moans drifting up to them through the hole wasn't doing anything to alleviate the tension. Tara's trembling form pressed against him wasn't helping either.

Tara felt heat suffuse her skin at the sight below her, her mind screaming that they shouldn't be watching this. Spike was ravenously pleasuring Buffy, making her writhe and scream in ecstasy, their actions making it obvious that they didn't think they were being observed. But, no matter how many times she told herself she shouldn't look, her eyes were riveted to the light playing off their sweat slicked skin, the sheer naughtiness of watching keeping her attention. Her mind took the vision and transformed it, until it was her lying on the bed, her fingers lacing through Johnny's hair, and pressing him against her in the most intimate of kisses.

Johnny shifted, trying to relieve the pressure behind his zipper. His breath caught in his throat, when Spike gave a wicked grin, his eyes staring intently at Buffy's face while he spread her folds open, and pushed two long fingers deep inside of her. A strangled groan escaped him when Buffy bucked wildly, another orgasm crashing through her. *Never knew Spike was such a stud,* he thought numbly, not realizing that his hand was resting on Tara's knee, his fingers seeking her soft flesh.

Tara's eyes never left the spectacle below, but her heart slammed in her chest when Johnny's fingers slid underneath the hem of her skirt, the calloused pads skimming along the tender flesh he found there. Her nipples pebbled painfully against her bra and she rubbed them absently against his arm, seeking relief.

Another scream filled the air, eliciting groans from the voyeurs. They watched Buffy fist her fingers in Spike's bright hair, hauling him up her body, her legs wrapping around his waist. Tara inhaled sharply when Johnny's questing fingers found their destination. Without thought, she spread her legs, allowing them inside. Her attention was torn away from the couple beneath them, when Johnny turned his head and claimed her mouth, his tongue plunging inside in the same instant his thumb started to tease the swollen nubbin at the top of her sex, his fingers playing in her slick heat.

~*~*~

"Inside me. NOW!" Buffy demanded, her fingers fumbling with the fly of his jeans. Intense need gripped them both, fierce and sharp. Spike pulled away long enough to kick off his boots, and jeans right behind. Buffy pushed up on her elbows, to rake her eyes over him. Her ravenous gaze had him hardening impossibly, and he felt like he was ready to bust just from that. He stood proudly before her, the chiseled muscles of his lean form quivering with the control it was taking not to just plunder her. Somewhere in the back of their minds, they resented their first time together being directed by the ghosts of dead lovers. But, they could also appreciate the eroticism of it.

"Like what you see?" His voice was rough, the accent unclear while he struggled with hunger.

"I'd rather feel it," she replied brazenly, pulling her knees up to open herself for him. Buffy was mortified by the words coming out of her mouth, never being one to talk during sex. But, boy, did she like what she saw. He was beautiful, like a sculpture. His shaft was long and hard, angling just a bit to the right. She couldn't wait until he was inside of her.

Spike leered down at how she was spread out before him, his arms hooking under her knees, and pulling her butt to the edge of the bed. She mewled softly as he gripped his erection in one hand, then slid the tip along her clit, sending shockwaves reverberating through her.

"Beg," he demanded, positioning himself at her opening, barely pushing the head in. She shook her head violently against the bed, trying to surge her hips forward, and bury him herself. He pushed a hand into her abdomen, holding her down. "I said beg!" he hissed, eyes flashing brown. A wicked grin split her face, as Buffy realized this was some sort of game.

"Never!" she spat back, her nails digging into his wrist, trying to wrench his hand away from her. He leaned over her, careful not to allow further penetration, the other face appearing over her again.

"You'll beg, or I"ll leave you here, panting like the bitch in heat you are," he said viciously, his free hand twisting her clit painfully. A whimper of need escaped her throat before she could stop it, another wave of wetness flooding her channel. Before she knew it, words were spilling from her mouth, making Buffy blush, while the image of the other woman shimmered in Spike's eyes.

"Fuck me, god fuck me."

"What do you say?" Spike taunted, relieved to be looking into Buffy's eyes again, even though he knew the words they were saying weren't their own.

"Please," she mewled, desperate for him to fill her. His grin was nasty, as he thrust into her, their pelvises slamming together brutally. She arched into him, screaming once more. He started a ruthless pace, thrusting with long, hard strokes, twisting his hips ever so slightly to stimulate the over sensitized bundle of nerves at the top. She ground hard against him, her fingers pinching and twisting her nipples, incoherent words tumbling from her lips. "Harder, harder," she gasped, her inner walls starting to clench around him.

His eyes rolled back into his head at the feeling, the last of whatever control he or the spirit had snapping. He bent over her, slamming hard into her, sweat slicking their skin, grunts and groans filling the air.

"So good, so fucking good," Spike mumbled, feeling his sac tighten, his climax starting to rip through him.

"Nobody but you. Always you," she returned, her nails gripping his tight buttocks, driving him harder into her.

"Oh God!" he roared, slamming into her a few more times, his final thrust sending her spiraling over the edge, and his shaft pulsing his seed deep inside of her womb. With shuddering breaths, Spike collapsed on top of her, his lips fluttering over her skittering pulse in her throat. She raised a tired hand, to lace her fingers through his bright hair, her eyes drifting closed with fatigue. They lay like that, drifting into an exhausted sleep, Spike still buried to the hilt inside of her, the ruby still glinting on her throat.

~*~*~

Tara gasped in wonderment, her hand fisting in her skirt when Johnny dipped his head. After he had brought her to her first ever orgasm at a man's hand, he had pulled back, his eyes searching hers, his fingers still stroking her flesh. She shuddered with fresh arousal, her eyes giving him permission. With a groan, he pushed her gently back, his hands skimming up her thighs to push her skirt up. He hooked his thumbs in her plain cotton panties, sliding them over her supple skin, to reveal the thatch of golden curls.

Tara fought back her self consciousness, and her embarrassment. This was the first time a man had ever seen her, even this far undressed. His eyes burned into her when he looked up, his hands molding her skin.

"This is just to take the edge off. I refuse to make love to you in a dusty attic," he told her, his bold, promising words sending a thrill up her spine, and a blush to her cheeks. She nodded in acceptance, gasping when he positioned himself between her legs, his fingers spreading her open to his gaze. Her embarrassment flew out the window with the first stroke of his tongue over her swollen flesh. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hips instinctively surging towards to the source of the intense pleasure singing through her veins.

Johnny eagerly dove into her cleft, internally singing that he was right about her sweetness. She quivered underneath him, her second orgasm close. With that knowledge, he attacked her clit single mindedly, one finger starting to push its way inside. His eyes widened in shock when he felt how tight she was around the digit, realization slamming into as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on his head. He heard his name tumble from her lips, as her climax crashed over her, her head thrashing wildly.

He lapped up her spendings eagerly, his mind spinning at the implications that she was a virgin. Sure, he'd known she was inexperienced, but he'd figured she'd done it at least once.

He pulled his head up, and looked at her flushed face as she gasped for breath, trying to calm down. Her eyes met his, and in that instant, she knew he knew.

"You should have told me," he rasped, desire clouding his eyes as he slipped from her, pulling himself to his knees and helping her straighten her clothes.

"I wasn't exactly expecting this to happen," she said, dusting off her skirt as best she could, and rising to wobbly legs. "Does it scare you?" she asked, pinning him with her eyes. He took a deep breath, and decided that honesty was the best.

"A little." She studied him for a minute, tilting her head to the side.

"Don't let it. I don't expect anything from you," she said, giving him a smile, and turning to leave the attic. She figured they found what they needed to find. Johnny stared after her for a minute, then followed, filing their encounter away until later. He wondered just how he was supposed to explain watching Spike and Buffy having sex, and tell them about the hole at the same time.

AN: Yeah , yeah, I 'borrowed' a little from Waiting in the Wings. So what? Lol. Hope you liked. We'll tackle Mark and Willow in the next chappy. Tee hee. Lisa

Chapter 12

Mark and Willow made their way slowly down the stairs, the flashlight illuminating the stone steps. At the top, they had found the light switch, which Mark had tried, but immediately shut off when a waterfall of sparks exploded from the socket. He'd turned and grinned at Willow, who was an interesting shade of white, her hair a vivid contrast against her ghostly skin. If her heart had been hammering before, it was practically stampeding in her chest now. She gave him a tight smile, and clutched his hand even tighter, her eyes straining to see into the black abyss below them. Mark winced a bit at her grip, wondering how someone so small was so strong, and glad that his fingers were insured.

"Ready?" he asked, giving her a reassuring smile. Of course, he wasn't doing much better than her, but he could at least put up the pretense.

"Not even remotely so," she breathed, her eyes darting to his again. "But, let's get this over with." She hoped she sounded braver than she felt. She had a secret fear of the dark, and she just KNEW there would be rats. He smiled at her again, then turned back to the dark, dank smelling basement. He took a deep breath and started down, his boots echoing loudly around them. He kept the light trained in front of them, not really feeling like taking a header to the concrete below.

Once they stepped onto the solid ground, they shared another look in the darkness, the short hairs on their necks rising, the cooler temperature making their edginess worse. Then, with Willow huddling as close behind him as she could, they started across the mainly empty space.

When they got to about the middle of the room, Mark stopped and shined the light around the damp, stone walls, illuminating the boiler and the water heater. On the wall behind the stairs was a rack full of wines. An industrial sized, and very unused, washer and dryer huddled in the corner, alongside an ancient looking bike.

"How are you guys washing your clothes?" Willow asked stupidly, her eyes widening at the inaneness of the question.

"There's another set upstairs in the mud room off the kitchen. Right by the hall for the servants' quarters," he answered, pulling her over to a metal grate on the wall.

"Oh," was all she came up with, her eyes searching the corners for anything furry. She thought she heard some rustling to her right, underneath a stack of old newspapers, but studiously tried to ignore it. Instead, she nearly tripped Mark, pressing even closer to him, that action sending a different set of tremors through her.

"Willow, as much as I like the feel of you against me, it's not going to help the searching much," he teased, his smile cutting through the darkness. She blushed to the roots of her hair, and pulled her lip between her teeth, grateful he couldn't see her very well. They came to a stop in front of the grate, and he shined the light through. Through the bars was another set of stairs leading to a wooden door. "Must be the entrance from outside." Mark decided, pulling his hand out of Willow's, and smiling when he felt her fingers fisting in his shirt at his back. He reached up and touched the cold metal, preparing to pull it open, when a jolt shot up his arm, making him scream. He jumped back and into Willow, his hands fisting in his hair as voices started dancing around his head. He hit his knees, shaking his head, trying to clear them. He didn't hear Willow screaming behind him, or hear the skitter of the flashlight as she kicked it, her shaking hands dropping it. All he could hear were the people in his mind, their voices coming together to sound like a roar.

"MARK! What's wrong?" Willow yelled, trying to be heard over his screams. She reached out to touch his arm, jumping back when he jerked away from her, landing hard on his butt and scrambling backwards until he was stopped by the wall. Sure enough, her suspicion of rats was confirmed when he knocked the stack of papers over, and one of the nasty creatures squealed and ran. She was too preoccupied with Mark to notice, thankfully.

"Make it stop. Make it stop," he begged, tears sliding down his cheeks, his eyes wild. He whimpered as she walked towards him, her movements slow.

"Mark. What's going on? What do you see?" she asked quietly, forcing her fear back, so she could help him. His eyes shot to hers, his pupils dilated. Well, she at least THOUGHT his pupils were dilated, his eyes were so dark, and the light wasn't good enough for her to really tell.

"No, not see. Hear. Voices. Screaming, yelling. NO!" he managed, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders racked with sobs.

"Mark, don't fight it. Listen to what they're saying," she urged, her words soft. He shook his head, frightened beyond belief. She gingerly moved to the wall, and sat down next to him, gently laying an arm around his shoulders. He jumped, but didn't pull away. "Mark, listen. If you hear what they're trying to say, they'll leave you alone," she tried again, not really sure if what she said was true, but it was worth a try. She'd never be able to get him out of the basement in his condition. And she didn't want to leave him alone down here to go find the others.

Mark raised his head and looked at her, the light casting dark shadows across his handsome face, his features twisted in fear.

"You think so?" He sounded so child-like, that Willow couldn't resist the urge to lean forward and brush a kiss against his mouth. Her tongue darted out to collect the moisture on her lip, and she offered him a smile.

"I think so." He stared at her for a long minute, then took a deep breath. Pushing unsteadily to his feet, he walked back over to the grate, concentrating on the buzz in his ears. Willow rose behind him, watching.

"There are two. Men. They're talking about a 'her'." Mark turned to face her, a look of concentration on his face. "You shouldn't do this."

"Do what?" she asked, before realizing he wasn't talking to her, he was repeating the words he was hearing.

"You're going to get caught. I won't help. You'll help, or I'll tell your little secret. Son of a bitch. You'd do that, to your own sister? Only if you push me." Mark's head kept turning, like he was watching a tennis match, his actions telling her when he was changing perspectives. "It's a different time now," Mark told her, indicating the change in conversation. "You'll never get away with it. I saw you." Willow gasped at that. It sounded like someone saw the murder. "You won't tell. You're nothing. Do you really think they'll believe you over me? I'll make them believe me. No, you won't. Or she'll pay the price. You can't do that. She's innocent. It's up to you Charles. You know I can do it. And I'll get away with it again." Charles, that was the chauffeur. But who was he talking to? While Mark talked, he walked in a tight circle, his eyes not focusing on anything. She frowned when he stopped, his eyes falling on the far wall, next to the boiler. "He's alone now. Got to warn them, he's coming. He'll see." Willow watched as he started to move again, his long legs carrying him across the room quickly. He rested his hands on the wall, a look of concentration on his face. Her mind was scrambling to keep track of the conversation, realizing that the last part HAD to have happened at least before the second. She was just about to ask what he was doing, when he got a look of triumph on his face, and pushed in a stone. She stared in wide-eyed shock as the wall swung open, revealing a long, dark staircase. Mark looked back at her, his eyes clear.

"I think we found it," he said, holding out a shaking hand to her. She clutched it, shuddering at how cold his fingers were.

"Why is there always a secret passage?" she whined, allowing him to draw her through. She screamed when the wall closed them in and the flashlight died in the same second. "Oh shit, ohshitohshit," she chanted, yanking her hand out of Mark's and pounding at the stone, not even grimacing at the pain in her hands. The dark was pressing in around her, threatening to smother her.

"Willow, stop."

"Get us out of here."

"I can't. They're gone."

"FUCK!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the small space. She jumped at the snap-hiss of his lighter flaring, the flame making the shadows dance.

"Looks like the only way is up," he said with resignation, shoving the worthless light into his back pocket and holding his hand out to her once more. With little choice, and even less happiness, she put her hand in his grasp.

"Fine," she sniffed, fighting back the tears at being stuck in the dark, and praying that his lighter held out until they found whatever it was they were supposed to find. He pulled her to him, his kiss desperate and full of his own fear. She clung to his shoulders, fright and desire warring for dominance inside of her. He rested his forehead on hers when he pulled back, his grip firm on her waist. "When we're out of here, you better drag me to your bedroom and wipe this whole experience from my brain," she said, huskily. They both chuckled at her brazen words, feeling some of the tension dissipate.

"With pleasure," he growled in return, shaking off the residual echoes of the voices. Wrapping her under his arm, he turned and started up the stairs, hoping they didn't find more ghosts at the end of the line.

~*~*~

Spike came awake with a start, groaning when the memory of what had happened between him and Buffy crashed over him. He opened his eyes, taking stock of their positions. He was laying half on, half off of her, his hardening shaft still buried inside her. He groaned again when arousal flared, thickening his blood, and heating his skin. He watched her eyes flutter open, the hazel depths searching his.

Her eyes widened at the feel of him inside of her, at the burning look in the blue storm of his gaze.

"Is this real?" she gasped. With a deep sigh, Spike raised up over her, his chest rubbing over her breasts, the action causing her own desire to rush through her.

"Does it feel real?" he asked, giving a little thrust with his hips, forcing a gasp to escape her throat. She nodded her head, and brought her hands up to slide over his shoulders.

"But it felt pretty real before," she breathed, her hips finding and meeting his rhythm, her back arching into his hand as he tugged and teased her nipple.

"No ghosts here now, luv. Guess they told us what they wanted," he rasped, lowering his head and nibbling on her jaw. God, she felt like heaven, sleek and tight, her skin like silk. She moaned beneath him, her legs wrapping around his waist, changing the angle and pushing him deeper.

"Oh, God." Her eyes drifted closed for a second, only to open and pin him with a fiery gleam. "They better not come back," she managed around her moans, their pace increasing with each long stroke of his length. He chuckled, the sound catching in his throat when her inner walls clamped around him, spurring him on. Sweat broke out anew as they raced to their climaxes, these promising to be just as powerful as the spirit assisted ones. Their mouths crashed together when they couldn't hold on any longer, and free fell into the abyss of blinding pleasure. They clung tight to each other, their tongues stroking each other as they calmed, their hearts easing to a more steady beat.

"See, just us," he said when he pulled back to look at her, his hand stroking her sweat matted hair away from her face. She gave him a shy smile, and traced a thumb across the sharp edge of his cheek.

"That was so. . .intense." He pulled back a bit, scarred eyebrow raised.

"Which time?" She could see his masculine pride was on the verge of being injured, and giggled. He snorted at her, and started to pull out to get dressed.

"No, no. Both times. It was just double, the first time, because there were four of us." She paused, her arms clutching him to her, as she replayed the sentence in her head, wondering if it sounded right.

"I know, pet. But we better get up. Who knows when the others are going to come looking for us." Almost as if on cue, a tentative knock sounded on the door. "See," he said with a laugh. She giggled and let him go. "We'll have to chat this out, later. I don't know about you, but I'm not real happy with the possession bit. Wait a minute!" he growled at the now insistent person outside the door, and moved off of her. They both groaned at the loss. Buffy just wanted to curl up and go to sleep again, their activities taking her energy away. But, the person out in the hall wouldn't be shushed, and she started to shimmy into the clothes Spike laid across her stomach. He handed her the panties, a rueful smile on his face. "Sorry, luv," he told her, shoving his feet into his boots, and buttoning his shirt at the same time.

"Was that you or Angel?" she asked with a giggle, sliding her shirt over her head, and trying to straighten her hair at the same time.

"I think it was both of us." He turned away from her to answer the door, a sudden thought causing him to skid to a halt.

"What's the matter?" Buffy asked, standing and sliding her shoes on. She was more than a little weirded out already, and that shell-shocked look on his face wasn't helping. "What?"

"Sorry, it's just. . . it was bad enough that we get roped into acting out their little tete-a-tete, but they also seemed to neglect this." He pulled out the little foil packet form his pocket, the realization of what he was saying hitting her. She wasn't sure if she should be annoyed or flattered that he had that at the ready in his pocket, but she did give him a smile.

"As long as you've been tested recently, don't worry. I've only been with one man, and that ended a while ago. And we ALWAYS used one of those," she assured him, confused when he didn't look relieved.

"But, what about. . ." He waved a hand in front of his stomach, pantomiming a rounded belly.

"Oh. No, no worries about that either. I get the shot every three months. Better answer that before they break it down," she said, finishing up straightening her clothes. She didn't know why she bothered, one look at either of them, and they were so busted. Spike only had one button left on his shirt, and his hair was a wild tousle of spiky curls. Her shirt was wrinkled and dusty, her hair sticking out at odd angles. Then, there was the scrap of satin she still held in her hand, which she quickly shoved in her shorts pocket, just as the door swung open.

"Sorry to interrupt," Johnny started, flinching when Tara hit him.

"Nothing to interrupt, mate. We were just coming out. There's nothing in here," Spike told him, trying to look nonchalant with only one button keeping his shirt closed, and his hair a mess. Johnny quirked a brow, fighting a smirk, and Tara looked ready to die of embarrassment, her face a bright red.

"Yee-ah," Johnny said, moving around him.

"Hey," Spike snapped, looking to make sure Buffy was fully covered. Tara walked in behind him, finding it difficult to meet either blondes' eyes.

"Tara, what's the matter?" Buffy asked, her face filled with worry at her friend's expression.

"I'll tell you," Johnny was walking towards the bed, his eyes trained on the ceiling. He climbed up on the bed, his sneakers raising dust on the once again filthy coverlet, and tapped idly at a smoked glass light fixture that was screwed into the ceiling. "Here it is," he said, glancing at Tara. She nodded, the curtain of her hair hiding her face.

"What's that got to do with her?" Spike asked, digging in his pockets for his cigarettes with one hand, and indicating Tara with a nod of his head. Spike had a feeling he REALLY didn't want to know the answer.

"Well, come here and you'll see." Johnny had been undoing the screws with his pocket knife, and now held the glass in his hand. Spike came over to the bed and peered up, cursing when he saw the gaping hole.

"Bugger. You saw?" he accused, anger coursing through him.

"Yep." Johnny popped the p, fighting the smile at Spike's discomfort. He gave the pasty faced Buffy a sympathetic look, but he was eager to start ribbing his friend as soon as the girls were out of earshot. He wondered briefly if the girls were about to get sick, since mortification was written all over the both of their red features.

"Well, John. Did you like what you saw?" Spike's voice had a sharp edge, the threat very clear in his voice. Johnny rolled his eyes and jumped off the bed, throwing the shade and the screws on the bed.

"Whatever, WILLIAM. I was a bit more interested in the lady with me, than watching your ass swing around in the air." Tara blushed even deeper at that, her eyes skittering to and away from the equally humiliated Buffy.

"You mean, you. . .and she. . .while we?" Buffy stammered pointing between them. Johnny looked guiltily at her, giving a little shrug. Tara's eyes were the size of saucers, her face unbelievably redder. Spike stared blankly at the three of them, his cigarette steadily burning down in his hand. Three things were fighting for his attention at the moment. First, the fact that it was actually turning him on a little that Johnny and Tara WERE watching. Then, there was the anger that was starting to build that Johnny saw Buffy, no matter how accidentally it had been. Third, the fact that there was a hole in the attic directly over Faith's bed. Somebody had been spying on her, that was obvious. Unfortunately, it was going to take a back seat for the moment. Especially since Buffy was now sitting on the floor, her arms banded around her stomach, and laughing like a loon. Tears poured down her face, and she struggled to catch her breath, losing her battle at the look on Spike's face.

"Pet? You alright?" he asked, warily. She nodded her head, an unladylike snort mixing in with her giggles. "Then, might I ask what's so bloody funny?"

"The-the f-f-f-fact th-that we g-g--gave them a f-free porn show." She exploded into another peal of giggles at that. Tara's lips quirked at the infectious way her friend was laughing, and soon, she had to push her hand over her mouth to keep from joining her. Johnny just grinned and shook his head, amused by the whole thing.

"And just why is that funny?" Spike asked, cursing when the cigarette burned his finger. He dropped it on the floor and stomped it into the expensive rug. Buffy took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself before she answered. Finally, she sat up, scowling at the new burn in the rug, but her eyes still dancing.

"What's the point of getting mad?" she asked. "It's not like they KNEW they were going to see it, and we sure didn't plan on doing it when we got in here. It wasn't on purpose, and frankly, if the roles were reversed," she paused a beat, her face flushing again. "I woulda watched." Johnny snorted at that, nearly breaking into hysterical laughter himself at the look on Spike's face. Tara gasped, too embarrassed by anything that had transpired over the last hour to think up a single coherent thing to say.

Spike and Buffy stared at each other, the mirth still firmly on her face. He felt his lips quirk, a smile threatening to spread, and he rolled his eyes. He had to admit, he probably would have watched, too. And then engaged in a little naughtiness himself afterwards. A grin broke free at that thought, and he let out a short laugh.

"Yeah. Guess you're right. But no comments about my woman's body," Spike warned, a dangerous glint slicing through the laughter in his tone. Johnny just smirked, but nodded his head in agreement. He could be an asshole, but he wasn't mean. And he wouldn't embarrass Buffy like that. Or Tara. Especially Tara.

Buffy's smile turned goofy when he said 'my woman'. She looked over at Tara, concern causing her to frown. She waved her over, and waited for the other girl to settle on the floor next to her.

"Be careful," was all she said, her eyes glancing over at Johnny, who was currently conversing with Spike about the hole in the ceiling.

"I will. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing," Tara replied, smiling. Buffy studied her for a minute, searching her friend's eyes.

"Okay." She wasn't going to lecture or tell Tara what she should do. She just hoped it wasn't too painful for her when he left.

"Hey, do you hear that?" Johnny asked, wondering what the hell was going on now. The four sat in silence, waiting. Then, they heard it. It seemed to be a loud THUMP, coming from the wall by the dresser. The men exchanged a glance, and moved towards the wall, each looking for something to use as a weapon. Tara and Buffy stayed on the floor by the bed, their hands clasping together while they watched the two stalk across the room, their movements sure and graceful.

They reached the wall together, and began investigating it. Quickly enough, they found a crack in the aged wallpaper, indicating a door. They both frowned, hearing the thump again. They locked eyes again, and started to look for something to trip it. Spike grabbed the candle holder on the wall, and gave it a twist. Nothing happened. Johnny shook his head, and tried the same with the one on his side. Again, nothing. Scowling, they looked for anything else. Johnny took a step towards Spike, reaching out to get his attention. Just as he did that, he heard a click, and looked down at his foot, a section of the wall swinging out and slamming him into the blonde.

Tara and Buffy scrambled to their feet at the sound of bodies hitting the floor, and several male curses, and one very definite female squeal. What they saw had them both bursting into giggles again.

There, in a pile of limbs on the floor, were the three bandmates, with a very flustered, and dusty looking Willow on top. Her green eyes swung around to the two other girls, a sheepish smile creeping to her own mouth.

"Hi."