Sequel to Glimpses
It was taking too long. Why couldn't she just leave? But no, she had to sit across from her "fiancee" and wait. Xander and Anya had already left to go home. Buffy and Willow were supposed to go with them, to help clean up the damage, once everything had been settled here, the last of the cookies out of the oven, and things at Giles' house back to normal. Or what passed for normal, anyway. She couldn't wait to go. Spike sat tied to his chair like the elephant at the dinner party, and nobody wanted to make eye contact. Except for Spike. He glared at her, endlessly, like it was her fault - why couldn't he be hostile at Willow? She's the one who made them fall in love. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate, was it? She made them think they were getting married. The falling in love bit was apparently their own idea. She pursed her lips. She could understand thinking she was in love - after all, that's what you do. You fall in love and get married. Don't have one without the other. Fall out of love, get divorced. Simple.
But Spike? Buffy risked a sideways glance at him; he was still angrily shoving cookies in his mouth. He was always eating. What was up with that? Angel never ate anything. It was weird. Eating human food, saving the world, smoking. Spike really was a freak, even for a vampire. Her lip curled in distaste. That whole 'rebel without a clue' thing Spike had going on was probably evidence of some really deep-seated psychological problems. Leave it to Spike to think he'd fall in love before he got married.
Just rebellion - and that stupid spell, that's all. Didn't have anything to do with…you know. That weekend.
She couldn't remember the last time she thought about it. Two years and the life equivalent of 12,000 miles between naïve 16 and now. So when, in the middle of the spell that didn't feel like a spell, she suddenly remembered, it hit her like a freight train. The feel of his lips, his arms, the feel of him, tight and hard and dangerous; how much she'd wanted him, how much she'd hated him.
She gasped back from his mouth, surprised at the pricking of tears behind her eyelids. "Spike, honey?"
"Hmn?" His eyes were half-closed, glazed, pupils dilated wide; he looked stoned. Suddenly shy, she looked away from his naked expression, color rising in her cheeks. She toyed with a button on his coat, wondered if he could be persuaded to let her wear it. Her fingers played over his lips; god, they were just as soft as she remembered.
"Do you remember our first kiss?"
Stunned silence was her first answer, Spike's hands tightening around her hips, his body tensing. When he spoke, his voice was thick and husky, almost shaking, pitched so low she had to strain to hear. "God, Buffy, I thought....YES." He buried his face in her hair, grasped her to him greedily. "Thought you'd forgotten. I thought..." He stopped trying to talk then, replacing words with kisses, driving and desperate, panting into her mouth as though he were drowning, till she pulled her lips from his and settled her head on his trembling shoulder.
"Do you remember the dreams?" Her lips just brushed his throat, sent shivers down him.
"I remember," he said.
With a glance at Giles, staring sightlessly into his drink, she let her fingers trace that remembered path down his chest, across his thighs, brushing just slightly across his groin, and his body jerked as if she'd struck him. He groaned aloud, earning a frown from Giles.
Buffy nuzzled into his neck, hands dancing lightly over his arms, thighs, chest. "Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered.
"They didn't stop. The dreams - I still have them."
"Buffy!" Spike came up like a shot, spilling her out of his lap, his eyes wild.
"What's wrong?" demanded Giles. "Buffy, are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Giles. I just - uh - spilled my iced tea." Buffy stared up into Spike's face; his eyes were wide with surprise, his limbs shaking. "Spike, why don't you come help me get some towels to clean it up?" She reached out for his hand, and pulled him towards the back of the apartment.
They made it as far as the hallway, Spike clutching her hand as though afraid she'd disappear, the stunned expression never leaving his face. When she glanced back at him, his open, boyish face shining with love, her heart gave the strangest little jump; it made her want to clutch at her chest. In that instant, she thought, Did I always love him, all the time?
"Buffy," he asked between kisses, "Did you mean it?"
"Did I mean what?"
"That you're still dreaming - about me?"
She gazed breathlessly up at him, hovering nervously over her. "Of course I meant it. I would never lie to you. I never stopped having them." She smiled mischievously. "I had one last week, in fact, that..." She broke off as she realized that Spike was staring oddly at her, his hands still. "What is it, honey?"
"I never-" His voice was hoarse, excited. "Buffy, I never stopped having them either." He didn't bother to tell her that roughly half of them ended with him turning her. Evil he was, stupid he wasn't.
"You've been having them, too? Oh, Spike," she whispered, reaching to stroke his cheek and draw his head to hers. His lips pressed against hers, moving her step by step, till she felt the wall at her back, Oh, their bodies fit seamlessly together, two halves of one whole, her perfect match. Well, ok, maybe not so perfect, because - with Giles sitting not three feet away - Spike wasn't just kissing anymore.
She felt his fingers gliding over her blouse, seeking out her nipples, gently squeezing. It felt so nice, and god, she'd been dying for him to touch her. She was pretty sure Giles couldn't tell. Spike had had been hard for hours, and it felt, oh, heavenly to have him finally press it against her, just the barest little movements, and his thigh between her legs, and she…she… Crap. She was starting to get a little worked up, and sooner or later, Giles would hear. "Spike," she whispered. In answer, he ran his tongue from jawline to shoulder and slipped a hand between her legs, making her breath catch. She pushed his hand away. "Spike, quit."
"Buffy," he hissed. "You don't know what you're doing to me." He kissed her again, hard, his hands insinuating themselves beneath her blouse, her bra. He cupped her breasts in his hands, rubbing his thumbs roughly across her nipples. Her gasp carried far beyond the hallway, triggering another explosive sigh from the living room.
"Good god, can you two not go five minutes together without some sort of disgusting sexual display? I'm blind, not deaf, you know."
Grinning, Spike leaned over to trace his tongue down the edge of her earlobe and purred, "Fancy testing the limits of his hearing, love?"
He received her half-hearted smack with good grace, but didn't move his lips from her skin, his hands from under her shirt. Instead, he followed the curve of her throat, stopping at her collar for the barest of seconds before he began to push up the fabric of her top, slipping down her bra strap. He dipped his head down, and her pulse was pounding, and the world had stripped away until it was only the two of them - and from the living room a querulous voice cut through the haze of desire.
"Buffy? Are you all right?"
Struggling for equilibrium, Buffy pushed Spike away. "I'm fine, Giles. We're just...uh...talking."
Spike's head was level with hers again, his eyes staring hotly into hers, but his hands hadn't moved. Vainly, she sought to pull her top back down. Under her breath, she hissed, "Quit! Giles is right there!"
He gave her nipple a little twist that made her body vibrate. "I don't care," he breathed into her ear. "Evil, remember?"
"Spike!" This time, her shove was more forceful. "Stop it!"
"I suggest you do as Buffy says, Spike," snapped Giles coldly, struggling to his feet.
"Giles, I'm fine - Spike's fine. Really, it's nothing." She poked Spike with a finger to keep him at arm's length. "Spike was just trying to...tickle me."
"Tickle you?" Giles sounded frankly incredulous. Buffy opened her mouth to continue protesting, and then decided it just wasn't worth it. Wasn't like Giles saw anything. Plausible deniability, that's all she needed.
"Yes, Giles. He's just a big old tickle monster."
"Yes, well. Thank you for that visual image. I'm afraid that's going to be with me for some time." He sank back down on the sofa with apparent relief. "I believe I'll just have a bit of a lie-down. Wake me if anything else happens."
"Ok." She glanced from Giles back to Spike, her expression softening. Spike was leaning with one hand propped against the wall, smiling, happy, relaxed, his other hand twined with hers. The smile lit up his whole face, made him seem younger somehow, less jaded, less tough. I bet I'm the only one who gets to see that smile, she thought. She felt another rush of emotion; love, and possessiveness, and a tangle of darker, more complicated feelings that she pushed aside. She couldn't imagine how she had missed out on being in love with him all these years.
A slow, answering smile blossomed over her face, and his own became mischievous in return. "Be good," she admonished.
"Never." But he smiled when he said it. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Watcher's resting - we get time out from babysitting, yeah?" She nodded.
"Come on." He pushed off from the wall, tugged at her hand.
He gazed down at her through lowered lashes. In a voice smooth as honey, he inquired, "You questioning my judgment already, wife?" He kissed her again, slow and thorough, whispered against her mouth, "Let's go," and pulled her towards the bathroom. "Got to get towels to clean up that mess, remember?" He gave her a wicked smile as he pulled her inside and latched the door behind them.
"Spike," she said, warningly.
"We just got engaged this morning, love. Can you blame me for wanting a bit of time alone with you?" He leaned against the counter, hands settling on her hips.
"Nooo. I've been wanting to be with you, too, but Giles - "
"Spike. After we fix whatever spell it is, there'll be plenty of time to - "
"Meet your parents, tell your Scooby pals, interview caterers... I want you to myself for a while, sweet. I'm selfish that way." He kissed her, tongue darting along her lip, his body moving slowly against her, swaying seductively. "Don't like to share."
Alone, they were finally alone, even if they were in Giles' bathroom. Buffy molded herself against him, chest to chest, and his arms wrapped securely round her, and his tongue doing things that she was pretty sure he'd invented. She threw her head back, trying to breathe, while he kissed his way along her throat. She glanced up, saw only herself reflected behind him, and shivered, unconsciously. "What is it, love?" She nodded towards the mirror.
"I guess it'll take me a while to get used to that."
Spike bit back the flippant remark when he saw the troubled expression on her face. He hated seeing that look. Standing, he turned Buffy so that her back was to the mirror. The lack of reflection hadn't bothered him in a long, long time.
"That better?" he asked.
Buffy nodded. "I know we're going to have to make some adjustments. I mean, vampire, slayer - it's going to be rough convincing everyone that we're not insane. It'll be hard, and - " She reached up to stroke his cheek, thumb grazing his lips. "Well, you know, my parents aren't exactly great role models. I'm not sure I know how to be a good wife."
He kissed her then, hard, till she was gasping. "You know how to be my wife, Slayer. You know me. We know each other better than anyone else ever will."
She pulled back then, gazed at him skeptically. "Oh, come on, Spike. I mean, yeah, I know how you fight, and I know you're a big soppy guy when it comes to love, ok, and I know you're a big baby when you're sick -"
She waved his objection away, smiling. "And I know you love me. But I don't really know you. Not well at all."
"Well, I know you, Buffy." He took her head in his hands, tilted it towards him. "I know you're stubborn, and you're strong, and you do what you think is right, and to hell with what anybody else and…you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. I've wanted you for so long." His eyes locked on hers, hands drifting down, soft as snowflakes, brushing her nipples through the thin cloth. "Wanted you from the beginning, sweet." His hands grew more insistent, pressing and kneading, and she could feel a burning between her legs, moist and hot, beginning to throb, pulse after pulse, all from his hands on her breasts, his eyes on her.
"W-What? You mean since…that weekend?" So long ago, and she'd almost forgotten.
"No." His face looked serious, drawn. "Since - hell, Buffy, since I laid eyes on you. Dancing with your friends, shaking that pretty little ass of yours. Took out an old-as-fuck vampire in the alley - wanker said he was at the Crucifixion." Spike rolled his eyes. "Liar, of course, but he wasn't some ten-year-old begging for it. You didn't even break a sweat." He paused to lay a kiss on her forehead, another on her lips. "Made me hard just watching you. Hell, watching you fight always makes me hard."
Buffy giggled unexpectedly. "I know," she said.
"Do you now?" he smirked. Bent down to kiss her, his body sliding against hers, pressing his erection between her legs. Two layers of denim didn't keep out the waves of heat flowing off her, and he slid his hand down, could almost feel the pulsing blood there. God, how he wanted her.
"Yeah," Buffy said breathlessly. "Not just because, well, you know, either."
He grinned down at her. "You mean, not just because you saw me tossing off while I watched you on the video?" He loved the way she blushed when he said it, ducking her head down as if she were still that shy teenager. "You were such a naughty Slayer, peeping through the window. Did it turn you on, love?" He nuzzled against her, tugged her shirt upwards till only her skin remained. "Wish I'd known you were there. Known you were watching me, getting wetter and wetter." He paused to run a finger along the seam of her slacks, damp with excitement. "Your pretty little nipples all at attention." He reached one hand casually behind her and opened her bra, stripped it from her, and stared at her, beautiful and bare. His fingers trailed lightly over her breasts, her nipples, exploring and testing, seeking what made her gasp, what make her shiver. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "Wish I'd known your eyes were on my dick, would have made it so fucking hot. Were you touching yourself?" He let loose a ragged breath. "Fuck, Buffy, you were, weren't you? Squeezing your nipples, hand shoved down your pants." He paused, licking his lips. Used to be one of his favorite wanking fantasies, thinking about how she'd sat outside the window, watching him.
She squirmed, blushing, not certain she liked the way he talked about it - sex - like it was divorced from caring about each other. "I remember, because you liked to pin me all the time when we fought. It was kind of, you know, obvious."
He brushed her nipples again, lost in thought, his memories and fantasies converging. "Were you? Touching? Wishing it was me? Afraid someone would see you, squatting there in the dirt, watching me?"
"No…after, at home…I…" She gasped as Spike began to kiss his way downward from her ear, wet mouth causing flares of heat wherever it touched. "Spike, you - we probably shouldn't. I mean, Giles, oh, Giles is-"
"Sleeping, sweetheart, sleeping. And we're behind a locked door. No one can disturb us, no one's going to disturb us. All alone. Just us two." He flicked his tongue over her nipple, smiling when her body shimmied in response. "I've wanted to do this for years, Buffy." His mouth closed around it, sucking delicately, so caught up in the feel of her in his mouth, the sound of her rushing heartbeat, he didn't even realize he'd begun making the smallest noises, little hums of pleasure that reverberated through her entire body.
Suddenly, Giles seemed unimportant. She scrabbled at Spike's shirt, her only thought: skin. Needed his skin next to hers. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her breast to peel off his shirt, leaving her struck, staring. "You're so…." She ran her fingers across his belly, muscles rigid under her touch. "Tight. God, you're so hard, Spike."
"I am now," he chuckled.
She blushed, helplessly. "I can't believe I said that. I meant your muscles."
He laughed, tipping his groin up to grind against hers. "Well, I didn't."
She made a little sound as he rubbed against her, the sensation of his skin against hers nearly overwhelming. He kissed her, tongue darting against her lips, his hands everywhere, breasts and back and throat and, oh, god, tracing between her legs, fingers working her through her slacks till she was moaning, only just coherent enough to push his hand away when he reached for the zipper of her slacks. He kissed her again, pressing harder against her crotch, and she was vibrating hard, nothing left in the universe but his mouth and hands and skin and she hadn't - oh, god, hadn't been touched in months, and it took everything she had to pull away when he began to fumble with her zipper again.
"Spike, no." She pushed his hand away once more.
Spike frowned. "Why the hell not?"
For answer, she gestured around her at the cold tile. "For one thing, it's a bathroom. Not exactly comfortable. For another," she frowned, "not our house, Spike." A sudden troubling thought crossed her mind. "Oh, my god - we haven’t even decided where we're going to live. I mean, there's no way I'm moving into a crypt."
"What's wrong with a crypt? Atmospheric, be rent-free, what more do you want?"
"Running water? Electricity? You may not have bodily functions anymore, Spike, but I do. Crypts are right out."
"You expect we're gonna move in with your mum, instead? That'll go over."
"Well, where else could we live? The dorms aren't co-ed, and I'm not out of school yet. And anyway, the slaying thing doesn't pay. Oh, god, Spike how are we going to support ourselves? You can't work - " This earned her a black look. "Right," she said sarcastically, "because there are so many night jobs lined up for pale illegal aliens."
"I'll have you know I can take perfectly good care of my woman! You think I couldn't support you?"
"Why, 'cause you did Drusilla? Well, no offense, but it didn't take all that much to make her happy, did it? Couple of rats and a little bit of jewelry…."
"Oh, so this is about Dru, is it?"
"No, it isn't! It's about how I'm concerned about our future together, and you're acting like, like -"
"Bloody hell, Buffy! You know, I'm trying to work out whether to be insulted or not. Here I've got you half-naked in your Watcher's bath, and you're thinking about work?" He slid his fingers over her shoulders, down her arms. "You ought to be thinking about something else instead."
"It's important," she sulked.
"I'll show you what's important, love." He laid a soft, lingering kiss on her parted lips. "That's important."
He rolled her nipples gently between his fingertips, slid his tongue into her mouth. "That's important," he whispered.
He slid his knee between her thighs, rocking it against her in time with the rhythm of his fingers, his kisses. Pressed sharply upwards, smiled at her indrawn breath. "That's very important."
He drew his head back to look at her and asked softly, "You want to know what's really important, Buffy?" He interlaced his fingers with hers, drew her hand up, and laid it with his over her heart. "This is what's important, sweetheart. Us, here, together. The rest is just details. Forget them for right now. Nothing matters except you and me."
Looking into his soft eyes, her irritation melted away. He was right. Nothing mattered except that they loved each other. The way she kissed him told him she understood. His hands wandered back over her, sparking little arcs of pleasure where they passed. His skin was like silk against her, and nobody else existed but the two of them, kissing and touching, and this time she didn't demur when he grasped the zipper on her jeans and pulled. Slid his hand inside her pants, over the damp satin, groaning as he moved inside them to brush her curls. "Buffy, sweet," he pleaded into her mouth, "Let me make love to you. Right now. Right here. Giles is asleep, we can be so very quiet. I need you."
She kept kissing him, wouldn't stop that, but she pulled his hand out and placed it instead on her breast. Spike pushed away from her, his face dark. "Buffy, please. We've been at each other all day. You want it just like I do, I know you do."
She looked down at the floor, saying nothing, her thighs pressed together.
"Are you afraid?" She colored at this, her lips pressed so tight together that they showed white. "That's it, isn't it?" Spike traced the line of her downturned mouth. "Don't worry, sweet. I'll be gentle. Still time to get used to each other, nothing fancy." He grazed her lips with his own, frowned at her continued stiffness.
"No, not that," she said, quietly.
"What, then? You're afraid that I'll treat you like that last prick you were with? That it?" He cupped her chin, turning her face up to his gaze. "Isn't that my ring you're wearing? Haven't I asked you to marry me? I'm not like that, Buffy, and you know it."
"I…I just wanted our first time to be special. Not just, you know, a quickie in somebody's bathroom, like, like some kind of slut." She couldn't stop the tears from welling up; dammit, she was not going to cry.
"Buffy, love, don't cry. I don't think of you like that - I would never - "
"That's not what you said before." She couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice, or the slump of her shoulders, as she remembered.
Spike looked confused. "Before? Did I miss something, pet? We've never been engaged before, have we? Or is there something you'd like to tell me?" He chuckled.
She looked away, angrily. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure you forgot all about it."
Puzzled, Spike reached for her, only to be pushed away. "What did I say, Buffy? Tell me, what's wrong?"
Cheeks flushed, she gritted out, "What did it take to pry apart my dimpled knees?"
He had the grace to look abashed, then, but didn't move away. "Buffy, that was - " Flustered, he stared at her feet, ankles crossed, keeping him out. Tried again. "Sweetheart, I didn't - " Reached a hand to her face, frowned as she flinched away from his touch. Spoke softly to her, saying, "Buffy, I didn't mean…I just said it to hurt you. Thought it would throw you off your game. You know, whatever it took to win the fight. I don't…come on, you know how I feel about you."
Her head shot up, eyes flashing. "Do I? For all I know, this is just another 'whatever it takes.' It was so sudden - how do I know you really want to marry me after all? Maybe this is just a way to get in my pants." Her breath hitched suddenly, tears springing to her eyes. "Maybe you don't love me at all."
"Oh, yeah," he said, sarcastically, "it's all in pursuit of your lovely ass. That's why I got on my knees in front of you, why I've been putting up with wedding talk all bleeding day." His face with dark with anger. "Hell, Slayer, if I just wanted to shag you," he smirked nastily, "I could have had you a year ago. Hell, could've had you two years ago."
"I don't think so," she said, frostily.
He closed the distance between them, his skin brushing hers, so, so, close. "Don't think I could've had you? Had your cherry? Guess again. You were so ready, I could've fucked you right there in the graveyard. Wouldn't that have been a pretty sight for your precious Angel. Love to have seen his face, seeing me bend you over a tombstone." His voice dripped bitterness, his body humming with anger. "So don't tell me it's just about fucking you. Don't tell me you think - " He choked, jaw tightening as he looked away.
He heard the sob in her breathing before he saw the tears. "How can you say that? How can you talk about it like that?" She wiped her eyes before the tears could spill; hugged herself tighter. "It wasn't like that. I was - and you - I was confused, and you were there, and I wouldn't have - " Her face crumpled. "Do you really think I'm that easy?" she asked in a small voice.
Hell. He'd bollixed it up again. Spike wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close to him. "Buffy, I'm sorry, love." He laid a soft kiss on her cheek, whispered into her ear. "I swear to you, I'm not playing. I've never felt this way about anyone. Look, we'll go tonight and get married - we can have the big wedding later. I just want to be with you. I'm yours, Buffy, always."
"Spike, I - we just don't know each other very well, and we - well, look at us. We're still fighting. How are we going to make it work?"
Spike felt a chill crawl over him. "You're not calling it off, are you?"
She leaned her forehead against his naked shoulder, couldn't stop herself from rubbing gently against his flesh. "No. You're the man I want, Spike. I'm just worried that I'm not the woman you want. I'm just worried that…." She bit her lip worriedly, pulled back from his skin to stare into his eyes. "Spike, I'm just - I did - " She took a deep breath and looked away, over Spike's shoulder. Needed to say it, couldn't bear to see his face when she did. "It's just…..you know, I've only had sex twice. Angel, and…Parker. You know, the guy who you… Both of them… I slept with them and they turned on me. I think - " Sniffle. "I think it's me. I think I do something to guys - they seem great and sweet and loving, and then I sleep with them, and bam! They're monsters. I just - I couldn't stand it, Spike. Not again. Not you."
Angel. Goddam Angel. Anger rose up in him, drowning out everything else. How far did he have to go to get away from that prick? "It's always about the sainted soulful one, isn't it?" he said, coldly. "He's the pinnacle of manhood, is he? He's a bastard, Slayer, always was, soul or no."
She realized, then, she'd hurt his feelings, reached for him. "Spike, honey, that's not - "
"Isn't it?" He pulled back from her grasp, his features set and hard. "I could tell you things about that bastard - what he did to Dru, to me." His hands clenched helplessly, rage and pain; and it's always him, isn't it? Always fucking Angelus.
"I'm just scared, Spike." Her tiny voice cut through his building rage. Tears on her face, and her hands clasped tightly together. "I want…I just want it to be perfect this time. I'm so scared that I'll chase you away. What if it is me, Spike? What if…" She colored sharply, staring down at the floor. "What if it's because of….because I'm not any good? Angel said…" Her voice trailed away, couldn't say it out loud, even to Spike.
He saw the fear, the humiliation wash over her. Could still remember when he looked happily for that, looked to see it. Didn't know exactly when it had changed, but now it pricked at his heart. "Not any good? Not possible, love."
"You said it yourself - I'm not worth a second go." A sigh seemed to drift out of her, hopeless and resigned.
He grabbed her hands, pulled her off the counter and into his arms. "I'm not them, Buffy. I won't leave you. I won't change. Trust me, sweet, I'll feel this way for the rest of my unlife. Just give me the chance to make you happy, that's all I'm asking."
She clung to him, tightly, tears sprinkling his chest. "Oh, Spike. Do you really mean it? I want that, too. I mean, us happy together." She looked up at him, smiling. "Spike, I love you." She laid her head on his chest, her breath warming his skin. "I want…" A long pause then, her heart racing and her mind racing, till she said, "I want to make love to you, Spike. I have for a long time." She smiled faintly up at him, the tension beginning to translate itself into something more. "You know, I thought about you all the time."
Spike had paused, looking - naked, he looked naked. Nothing between her and him, no masks, no pretense, no silliness. Just them, whispering urgently to one another in the dark. She realized suddenly: he looked vulnerable. He looked as if she could really hurt him. As if she would. "It's why Drusilla left me, Buffy. Couldn't stop thinking about you." He drew her to him, clutched her tightly. "I still can't believe you said yes. I've wanted...oh, Buffy, I've wanted this for so long."
She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean? Oh - you mean," she lowered her voice, "you mean, making love to me?"
His answer was choked. "No. Not just that." He clutched her hands tightly. "Wanted someone to be mine, Buffy. Wanted someone all to myself, wanted someone I could love, someone I could respect." He gave a sharp, unhappy laugh. "Someone who could carry on a halfway intelligent conversation. All I ever wanted," he said, softly. "I just didn't realize it was you."
"Oh, Spike." Buffy laid her hand along his cheek, kissed him sweetly, and then smiled as she stepped back and let her slacks fall from her hips. "Make love to me?" she whispered. She was startled when instead of kiss, a caress, Spike fell to his knees in front of her, laying his face against her belly, hugging her to him. Wasn't too startled, though, when he began to kiss her, soft lips and wet tongue against her hips, her belly. He hooked his fingers around the sides of her bikinis, slid them slowly down, one hand gliding slowly up to enclose her breast. She trembled, really trembled, knees threatening to give way, as he ran his finger over her, slipped it inside a millisecond before he bent his head to her, ran his tongue down the length of her clitoris. She bucked upwards, falling back against the counter, groaning loudly.
"Buffy," she heard him moan, and then -
They flew guiltily apart, Buffy slipping to the floor, scrambling to pull up her pants, find her tank, Spike hastily wiping his face with a towel. "Uh, Giles - is something the matter?"
"I heard raised voices - what's going on in there?"
They fumbled quickly with their clothing, Spike glaring daggers at the door. "Nothing, uh, Spike and I were just, uh, talking."
"How stupid do you think I am, Buffy?" The doorknob rattled again. "Conversations seldom require a locked door." Could cut the sarcasm with a knife and serve it for lunch. "If you don't mind, I'd like to use my own bathroom sometime this evening."
Buffy flung the door open, nervously smoothing her shirt. "A-are you ok, Giles?" Oh, god, did his sight come back? Could he tell she wasn't wearing a bra anymore? He felt his way along the wall, moving past her into the room. No, thank god, still blind.
"Other than faintly ill at the thought of what the two of you might be doing, and my continued blindness, I'm fine. Now if you don't mind…"
In the living room, Buffy laid a finger across Spike's parted lips. "Later," she whispered.
She could still hear Willow puttering around in the kitchen, talking a hundred miles an hour. Buffy tried to focus on her chatter, but it still didn't drown out the memories. The joy on his face, as he moved against her, the way he shook when he touched her, the feel of his hands sliding around her waist, holding her tight.
She knew he hadn't stopped staring at her. Could feel his beady little (god, so blue) eyes on her, but she wouldn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. God, the things she did! Worse, the things she said. She could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame. Slutty Buffy, the Vampire Whore, that's me, she thought, bitterly. Willow and her stupid spells. Angrily, she snatched another cookie from the tray.
She always manages to get other people in trouble, never herself, thought Buffy. Willow wasn't the one who got put in danger, or who had to spend all damn day curled up on Spike's lap. The one who'd had Spike's hands all over her, who had Spike's tongue shoved-
Her hand moved convulsively, her jaw clenched. Damn. She stared at the bits of cookie littering the floor. Look at that. Now she'd have to clean that up, too.
The bitch wouldn't look at him. When he thought about what he did, what he said - it was enough to make him heave. Opened his mouth and let nancy-boy do the talking. It was all her fault. Her fault Dru left him, her fault he came back to this one-horse town, her fault he had this thing in his brain, her fault he couldn't stop thinking about it. Tried to distract himself with food, the cookies Red kept making to make herself feel better, but it didn't stop him from thinking about it. The way she gasped when he touched her, the way she looked at him, like he was the most precious thing she'd ever seen, the warmth of her body, pliant under his hands.
His traitorous body still responded to her scent, left behind on his clothes, still wanted her touch, still ached. Knew her mouth must still be bruised from kisses, that she must still be carrying the smell of him on her skin, and it sickened him that the knowledge made him hard. God, he was perverse. Thought he'd got over that years back. Just dreams, that's all they were.
He was watching when the cookie exploded in her hands, her cheeks scarlet, and he knew she was thinking about it, too. When she strode past, bent on retrieving a dustpan, he saw his chance.
"Slayer." His voice was low, rough, commanding. He might be brought low, but he was still tough as hell; knew the way to get people's attention.
"What do you want, Spike?" She turned her head away, was not going to look at him. Not while she could still feel his kisses on her lips, not while her body still buzzed with his caresses, while her cheeks still burned. She couldn't look at him.
"What I said, in there - If you ever tell anyone - " He spat the words out, bitterly aware of how hollow any threat he could make would be.
"It was the spell, Spike. That's all. You don't think I meant - " Her mouth thinned, bloodless and angry-looking. "It was just the stupid spell," she said, firmly.
"Long as we're clear on that point."
"Yeah." She made to move past him, stopped just out of his sight, hovering there for a moment. "Spike?"
The barest whisper reached his ears. "You're…you still have the dreams?"
"Just the spell, remember, Slayer?"
"Yeah. Me, too."