All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2

What She Didn't Say
By Kimi

Rating: NC 17, but just barely
Spoilers: Post-"Get It Done"
Summary: As much as I loved GID, I'm tired of waiting for them to get on the stick here. Decided to take matters into my own hands.
Feedback: You beta, you beta, you bet!
Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...

Thank you, Chris, Cindy, Kelly, for holding my hand (in the true cyber sense) and letting me find my way on this! And Chris, I promise I'll get the nicotine fix sooner next time and save us all a lot of pain!

Colleen, thanks for the beta and your friendship. Hope you love this!



~Two~

For the first time in months, the house was silent. There were no teenage girls straining the house at the seams, no yells to hurry in the hallway outside the bathroom. The hammering and power tools had stopped.

Buffy couldn't imagine what it had taken to clear out the house like this. SUV's? Mini-vans?

Public transportation?

She sighed and pushed her back against the throw pillows on her bed. Blessed silence. An empty house and her in her pajamas, just like the old days when Willow was at class, Dawn was at school, and she'd had a little time to rub together. Just like the old days, except...

"Are you comin' down, or am I comin' up?"

Except for that.

To recap, the First was back, Buffy had found out that the source of her power was all demony, she'd seen the fate of the world Imax-style, and to top it all off, she'd told Spike... well, what she told him. In front of witnesses.

She almost welcomed the advent of the Ubervamps. Almost. Okay, not really.

Her imagination filled in the blanks. He was at the foot of the stairs fidgeting. Fuming. Trying to decide if she was coming down, realizing she wasn't, 'sussing' out his next move...

Suss. What kind of word was 'suss', anyway?

Absently, she noted his footfall on the stairs, then the hall. Finally, she saw his legs. He was standing in her doorway, duster on as if prepared to go. She kept her eyes down.

He approached the bed, swept his coat back, and sat down.

"We don't have time for this," she said sulkily, eyes still down.

"S'true," he admitted, voice matter-of-fact. "End of the world and all that. But this may be all the time there is." She could feel his eyes on her, could imagine them just by the sound of his voice. There was no way she was looking up and falling in there.

"Care to talk about it?" he said gently.

Resolve forgotten, she looked up, eyes flashing. "No. And why should we? 'I love you' wasn't good enough? Cause that's all I've got." Sometimes she wished she'd staked him one of the first fifty times she'd fought him.

Chuckling low in his throat, Spike reached up and put a hand to her cheek. She resisted the urge to push into it, going with not reacting at all. Pushing her hair back from her face, he smiled reassuringly. "It was good enough. Plenty good enough."

"Good," she huffed, shrugging his hand away. "Because I don't have time to get all 'let me count the ways' on this," she said resentfully. "You tricked me, anyway."

"Is it my fault you can't resist an audience?" he said with an edge of sarcasm. "And it wasn't a trick, y'know. I was bloody well going."

"And now you're not?" At the shake of his head, she relaxed a little. "Where is everybody, anyway?"

"They're gone," he smirked. "Hopefully, til dark, if Harris' money holds out."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. In spite of herself, she snorted. "You mean, he isn't dead yet? Xander, I mean? After... what I said? I figured he'd go into cardiac arrest."

Spike laughed. "Reckon he's tougher than we thought. Buffy..."

Oh, she hated it when he said her name like that. The shivers went up her back and ended up in all kinds of confusing places. And she couldn't keep her eyes down no matter how hard she tried.

He was looking at her with that mix of exasperation and tenderness that made her want to tear his head off, because it made her get all gooey inside. Made her forget that they had *no* time.

"You were right," she blurted out.

His eyes took on a look of puzzlement as he tilted his head to one side, questioningly.

"Slayers were made from demons. Girls and demons."

His eyes dropped to the floor, as he clasped his hands between his legs. After a moment, he spoke. "You find this out last night? Wherever it was you ended up?"

"They tried to give me a power boost. Do some majicks to put more of the demon back inside. Inside me."

He looked at her. "From the look on your face, I reckon you told 'em to shove it."

"Well, of course I did." Her eyebrows knit. "But now I'm wondering..."

He swept a hand over his knees in negation. "Nah. You did right, Slayer. Enough of the demon in you already," he said with a smirk. "I should know."

In spite of herself, she smiled. "Glad my decision meets with your approval. It was one of those split second things."

His face grew serious. "You meant what you said, right? Downstairs?"

She nodded, face reddening slightly.

He pulled in a breath and pushed it out. "A relief, that," he said candidly. "Blow so hot and cold I'm never sure which Buffy I'm gettin'. And there's always The First..."

"Okay. That was so wrong," she fumed, picking at the strap on her shirt. Her camisole was so stretched out, she needed to save it for yardwork.

Except she didn't do yardwork.

"What you said..."

"You know what," she said brightly. "There's no one here and there's quality time to be had. In the bathroom." Getting up, she sidled toward the door. "Think I'll just..."

"No," he said slowly, dragging the word out. "No, you won't. We're gonna chat this out," he said stubbornly.

Her jaw set. "No, we're not. I've said more than enough already. This is not the time for any big..."

"Declarations of love?" he said, getting up smoothly and putting himself in her way.

She swallowed at the smoldering look in his eyes. "Giles said..."

Spike threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, it's 'Giles', is it? *Giles?*" He settled his weight on his back foot, eyebrow cocked in derision. "And tell me, pet, just where is your Watcher right now?" he asked cuttingly. "Off on another quest to bring back even more candidates for this shooting gallery we call the Hellmouth?" He took a step forward. "Giles knows nothing. Think he's proved 'that' over the last few weeks, if nothing else."

"Spike..." She took a step back. Anger was rolling from the vampire in waves.

"He's made it bloody well clear that all of this is up to you, hasn't he?" He spat the words out and began to pace the room, unable to stay still. "Well, fine, then. You kicked some ass yesterday and it did some good. The Wicca's back up to speed in a big way - no small thing, gettin' you back from wherever you were. As for me, *I'm* done languishin' in the basement, that's for certain," he smirked mysteriously. "And Harris? Well, he'll do what he does and surprise everyone in the process when it's all said and done, just like always."

"That's unfair." Even to her, the complaint sounded half-hearted. She tried again. "Giles just..."

"Your Watcher's out of touch, Buffy. I know it. You know it. He doesn't know what's what here anymore." His eyes began to subside from the white-hot blue of anger to the more familiar, reasonable shade. "If you're gonna beat this, you're gonna have to take strength where you can." He walked up, so close that she could feel him. "And I'm here, love," he said softly. "Not goin' anywhere."

She looked down quickly to cover the flush that she could feel threatening to color her face. Found the toe of his boot and fixed her attention there.

He sighed lightly and put a finger under her chin, tipping her head up. "Love you, Buffy."

She melted. "I..."

He kissed her before she could finish saying what she was going to say. Besides, she thought idly, he probably never expected her to get all three words into one sentence again.

It was a short kiss, more acknowledgement than prelude to anything more. He pulled back, frowning as he searched her face. "You sure about this? Cause I've been kicked in the head enough."

She took a deep breath and ventured, "I just don't know if..."

"Of course it's not the right time," he said with disgust, finishing her thought as he did so often. "There *is* no right time. You still haven't figured that out?" He cast his eyes to the ceiling in frustration. "Bugger this," he muttered as he turned to go.

"Don't." Without thinking, she grabbed his arm and spun him around, pulling his face down and kissing him in desperation. Hungrily, deeply...

He pulled back sharply and fixed her with an intent look. "Buffy, no," he admonished her. "Not like this."

"But..." What did he want?

"Shhh." He leaned in and kissed her languorously, tasting her, as if discovering her all over again. She stiffened briefly, then began to fall into him, nestling herself into the familiar fragrance of the long-discarded leather duster, hands going into and around the lapels to pull him closer. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat, almost a mewl of contentment.

"See?" he said hoarsely, putting his mouth in her hair as he pulled her tightly against him. "That's the ticket."

She had to admit that she agreed.

"Missed kissing you," he stated regretfully. "Stopped doin' that somewhere along the line. Long before it blew up in our faces."

He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back slightly so that he could see her face. "We can be stronger together than we could ever be apart. You know that, right? Look at your Scoobies. Things go wrong when you lot are off - not together. *You* go wrong, Buffy."

Watching his lips move, she became mesmerized by the tone of his voice, by the surety of every word. Could feel it in her gut. He was right.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

"I love you."

"Do you want me?" His eyes were intent on hers.

"I want you," she whispered. "I always..."

She didn't get a chance to finish what she was going to say. Still holding her shoulders, he twisted around and sank to the quilt-covered bed, pulling her down on top of him. She couldn't pull her eyes from his, couldn't do anything except try to peel layers of fabric away so that she could push herself against his firm, ivory skin. The certainty in his eyes made her strong enough to ignore any doubts that might still be hidden away deep inside.

Little by little, skin met skin, hers against his as she sank down into a deep, slow kiss, submerging her consciousness in the tactile sensation of him. Her palm found his hard chest and the spot where no heart beat. Her hip nestled into the place where his legs met his body. She sank further and further into the comfort of being home, being safe, being where she should be.

She knew she should be gasping for breath by now, but she managed to hang on, only briefly coming up for air as the rising heat of her body warmed his. She shifted, clothes somehow gone in the pushing and tugging she'd been barely conscious of, pulling her knees up on either side of his hips. She reached down, finding what she needed, what she wanted, and guided him into her. Exhalations of relief mingled in their mouths. She began to move up and down, as his hips languidly rose to meet hers.

Finally, she sank against him and rolled on her side, taking him with her. He began to take more active control of the rhythm, moving slowly in and out. She relished the sensation, the easy friction of him inside her. So familiar. So different.

After a time that seemed like years, he pushed deeper into her and she found herself matching him, willing him deeper and deeper, pulling him in. She realized that the endless kiss mirrored what was going on below, with their tongues moving in and out, in and out; first one, then the other. The only sound was that of their bodies flowing together.

Her stomach began to drop as a burning sensation spread from the center out, heat radiating from her chest, her face. She made a low, deep sound in his mouth that spurred him on as he finished moving her onto her back, pulling away from the kiss to look at her face, see her dissolve, watch her come, his eyes dark with desire, any questions now moot.

As the waves crashed through her, each slamming into her harder than the one before, he made a strangled noise and began to move in earnest as if staving off the inevitable. Her hips rose, trying to prolong their union as long as she could, loathe to let it end. Finally, he sank against her, spent. She was pinned to the mattress. Couldn't move and wouldn't if she could.

"Love you..." His murmur tickled her neck where it met her shoulder.

He shifted slightly and she pushed her hands into his buttocks to trap him against her. Dug her hands into the muscles there, warning him not to leave her. Ever. She had no words. None. She didn't need them, anyway. What were words after this?

The shadowmen had been right, after all, she thought. She had needed to take the demon inside, let it strengthen her. She'd been divided, heart warring with her head, soul caught somewhere in the middle.

They might have a chance after all.

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