beneath you
part seven
Time was threatening to freeze. The cliché was a bit annoying to her, but it definitely seemed to fit now. Memories began slamming into her left and right, starting nearly two seconds before she even laid eyes on him. Images of soft, smooth, hard ivory muscles, skating over her. Strong but gentle hands caressing every curve and line of her body. Soft, full lips and an icy tongue making love to her own, before descending and marking every inch of her body as his own, laving her skin with a century plus worth of knowledge and experience. Cold, dead (yet still very much alive) azure eyes, flecked with gray and silver, all knowing, penetrating, pleading, commanding; hunger, respect, lust, concern and love could all be conveyed in just a single glance.
Her heart convulsed and her tiny hand, clutching the ladder rung above her, splintered the wood.
Spike, for his part, did not flinch at the disbelief and anger fighting for dominance on her lovely face, but he averted his own gaze all the same. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed to be steeling himself for a warrior's cry, an attack, a stab, before death -- at the very least.
Buffy drew a deep breath, then looked down at the broken piece of wood in her hand. Unconsciously, she lowered herself to the ground, then took several tentative steps forward.
Was this really happening to her? She was nervous in front of Spike? Since when had she ever been nervous in front of Spike? She usually plowed through him, blustering on and on about something that was wrong with her life before she resumed the throne of Denial and blamed everything on him, even when he hadn't even done anything.
Well, shit; she'd inadvertently thrust herself into a guilt-fest. Hmph. At least she was learning to feel bad about the crap-lot she'd given him over the last five years.
Hmm. She was forgetting something as her brain began to simultaneously brood and bitch at her. It was something important, and it was right on the tip of her tongue... and if she hadn't been sleeping during Professor Walsh's class half the time in college, she could probably remember what that phenomena had been called, and she'd be slightly happier. A little brain-fried, and no where near Sigmund Freud, but happy.
Speaking of, Freud's 16-year-old reincarnation was trying to edge her way around Spike's old dresser without attracting the Slayer's attention. Buffy cleared her throat loudly, then pointed to a lone chair in the corner of the room. Dawn stood up straight, armed but not particularly dangerous with Sullen Teenage Glare #503, and shuffled to the chair, her head down. Buffy's gaze cooled slightly. If the brat thought she was gonna get away with not even letting Buffy know that Spike was back...
Oh! That was what she was forgetting!
She looked cautiously back at the bleach-haired vampire, and drew another deep breath. Holy shit. Spike was back.
"When?" she asked, her voice soft. She saw his eyes flicker towards her before darting back to the floor.
"Two... three weeks. Not much more'n that."
A beat.
"I see."
She was piecing things together, or rather, the Automatic Buffy Guilt Trigger in the back of her mind was. Three weeks... that meant that she had seen him outside her window during that rainstorm. It also meant that he'd been hiding in the bushes that other time, and she had possibly been following him at the store last night. When Dawn had said that she'd thought she'd seen him as well. Which meant...
"Dawn. I'm grounding you for two weeks. No arguments. You've been lying to me about where you've been going at day and night; about why you were coming here of all places. You're to do as you're told. No TV, but you can have your radio and CDs. Fair, or no?"
Dawn bit her lower lip and nodded slowly. No TV sucked -- she'd gotten sort of sucked into it over the summer -- but at least she still had other entertainment.
"I don't want you coming here by yourself anymore," Buffy continued. She was doing a real good job of avoiding dangerous/beautiful Spike Eyes. "If you want to visit, tell me, I'll walk you, until you prove yourself trustworthy again. Or your two weeks are up, whatever comes first."
Dawn nodded again. Buffy looked down. Avoid Spike eyes, avoid Spike eyes!
"Go upstairs, Dawn. We," she indicated herself and Spike, who gulped, "Need to have a private talk."
Spike's eyes widened and, truth be told, he looked positively terrified, shaking his head pleadingly at Dawn. Dawn gave him a helpless glance, then mouthed 'I'm sorry' as she left the lower level.
Dawn closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. She had gotten off extremely lucky. But Spike had been gone for four months, having left after the worst possible thing that had ever happened in their solemn little group. And returning with a soul. A soul he'd gotten for Buffy. Who didn't know about said soul.
She bit her lip. Dawn didn't know her sister's exact stand on the Spike issue, but she prayed that Violent!Repressive!Buffy wouldn't make an appearance, and, for once, would hear Spike out.
Yeah. She thought it was wishful thinking, too.
He was nervous. Buffy was pacing, and Buffy only paced when she was extremely close to biting off a head. Not to mention the fact that her eyes would flicker up and glance in his direction every few seconds before she went right back to the pacing. And silence. Silence was a big Thing with her right now.
Had he said he was nervous? Nervous didn't even begin to cover how he felt right now.
Spike watched her cautiously, although his head was lowered. Honestly, he welcomed whatever punishment Buffy had in store for him. He had, after all, tried to rape her, and even worse, he'd left town. (In the Buffy Book of Logic, Spike had discovered that leaving town was at the top of the No-No List -- worse than rape) Whatever it was that she was trying to make her mind up to doing, hell, he deserved it.
But just because he felt like an awful, dirty, bottom-sucking bastard that deserved to die... didn't mean he wanted to. He kept his eyes on Buffy in case of an ambush.
After a while (and a longer bit of pacing, in which Buffy had nearly worn a trough through the dirt floor of the crypt), the Slayer stopped, turned to Spike, and opened her mouth for an exact count of five seconds before snapping it shut again. Apparently not trusting the anxious words that had attempted to bounce past her lips. She shook her head, sighed and then, to Spike's utmost annoyance, began pacing again.
He watched her with a scrupulous expression on his face until Buffy stopped -- finally. Taking a deep breath, she stalked toward him boldly. Spike flinched (which caused Buffy to wince at her seemingly violent approach, though Spike didn't see her do so) and he sank down onto his charred bed. This was it. She was finally gonna do her duty and put an end to his miserable existence, like she should have done the night he'd --
"Where were you?"
Spike's head shot up, dark eyebrows knit together in confusion. Why wasn't she killing him? She shouldn't be wasting time asking him stupid questions, like where he'd been on his ruddy summer vacation. But the look in her eyes bore no contest, so instead of asking his stupid question (in his opinion, the one that would make her kill him faster), he swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip. "Africa," he murmured.
He'd let out a startled, injured-puppy-like yelp and had his hands to his nose before he'd even realized what had happened. Then the searing pain began to spread, and he looked up at the Slayer, who's eyes were wide and horrified and profusely apologetic.
"Ohmigod, I'm sorry! I am so, SO sorry, Spike, I totally didn't mean to do that, it was reflex!" she gasped, grasping at the repentant straws. She reached up and gingerly attempted to pull his hand away from his nose, flinching when she saw the bright, red rawness glaring back at her. "Ohhhhh, bad..." she whimpered. "I am SO sorry..."
Spike whined a little bit, touching the tip of his nose tentatively, before trying to scrub off the blood he now felt pouring from his nostrils. Buffy had always gone for the nose. Good to see that that hadn't changed much. He shot her a little glare before licking off the blood that had dribbled onto his palm.
Buffy bit her lower lip, frowning slightly at the less-than-pleasant 'welcome-back' she'd just given him. Damn. Old Slayer habits really did die hard. God, what the hell was wrong with her? She was going to have to learn to control that damn temper of hers. After a bit of silence between them, she smiled weakly and said, "So... Africa, huh?"
He gave a soft grunt and a nod as an answer. Refused to look at her.
"That's where Dawn got her necklace, then? From you?"
Another nod.
Buffy chuckled a little, hoping to entice the same gentle rumble she'd always enjoyed hearing from him. "Good. For a second I thought she'd gone Teen Klepto again."
She waited for a response.
And abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Not even a fucking eyeblink.
"Spike?"
His body shifted and a slight tilt of his head in her direction as acknowledgment.
"Talk? Please?"
Hesitant head shake. Ooh! That had been an Almost Nod. She was wearing him down.
She got to her knees in front of him, tentatively placing her tiny hands over his large ones, not caring in the slightest that they were covered with his blood. Peering up into his emotionally stoic face (and it was so difficult saying Spike was stoic when he had been anything but in the past), she gave the hands a gentle, soothing squeeze. "Spike? For me? Please? I need to know what happened to you."
Another hesitant head shake.
She continued. "And if not for me... then for Dawn? She loves you... I think she has a right to know everything that happened."
One hand left his and reached up to cup his chin, lifting his head until his beautiful cerulean eyes were level with hers. "Don't you?" she whispered.
Nothing. Then...
Slowly... Ever so slowly... He nodded.
Buffy smiled.
To say that Dawn was freaking out was a severe understatement.
She sat fidgeting on the stone sarcophagus, having yet to spot hide and hair from either Buffy or Spike. Preferably from both of them. Buffy had kicked her out of the lower level over an hour ago, and Dawn hadn't heard a single thing since that yelp that had more than likely come from Spike. He was the only vampire she knew that could reach that decibel of Shocked Puppy-ness.
What if they weren't even talking down there? What if Buffy had heard Spike out, and now they were having quiet Snuggle Time without the teenager interrupting them? (Dawn knew for certain that they couldn't be having sex -- she had the feeling that she would've been scared out of the crypt by the sounds if they were). As helpful as it was to believe that they had made up, Dawn had to face Reality.
Stupid, evil, damning Reality.
Reality forced her thoughts to turn to dark and foreboding. What if Buffy had only told Dawn to go upstairs in order to keep her from seeing the sinister beating that Spike was receiving? Worser still, what if Buffy had foregone the beating and had just killed Spike? What if she was just sitting down there, trying to make Dawn think they were talking, and when Buffy came back upstairs, she'd say that Spike had decided it was "best to leave" so as to throw Dawn off of what had really happened?!
Oh, god, upgrade freaking out to severely horrified.
She was just starting to stand up in an attempt to head over to the hole in the ground in a frantic desperation to see if Spike was alright, when she heard both their voices at the bottom of the ladder and stopped.
"It's... hard. I... I can barely sleep without one of a million of them coming to haunt me." A soft sigh. "I mean... serves me right. But still... I-It's hard."
"I know. But I think that by telling me, you've lifted a lot of weight off your shoulders. And it'll get easier." Long pause. "It has to."
A long silence punctuated by a loud sigh. "I hope so."
Dawn shifted. These silences were starting to get annoying. She heard one of them turn, and decided it had to be Buffy. She may have been the Slayer, but Buffy had the grace of a mountain goat.
Sure enough. "I'd better get going. Dawn's been up there for a long time now... knowing her, she's having conniption fits or thinks we've fallen into a bottomless pit."
Really weak attempt at a laugh on both parts, before an abrupt, nerve-grating awkward Silence.
"Right," Dawn (inwardly getting increasingly annoyed at how well Buffy and Spike knew her) heard Spike say, his voice tight as if he were trying to hold off tears. "Up you go, then. Bit'll be frantic. Can't have that, can we?"
"No... no, definitely not."
A lengthy pause -- worse than the Silence, since the Pauses meant that there were things they really wanted to say to each other -- and Buffy turned to start up the ladder.
She was halfway up when Spike cleared his throat, thereby breaking the Pause. "Buffy?" he asked softly, tentatively.
"Yes, Spike?" No irritation in the tone; gentle concern and curiosity laced it instead.
Slight hesitation. Then, embarrassed, shyly, hopefully, he muttered, "I, uh... missed you."
The response was almost instantaneous. Dawn heard Buffy's sharp, relieved inhalation of air, and a sharp crack as Buffy's hand busted another ladder rung. When she spoke, Dawn could hear the smile in her voice: "I missed you, too, Spike."
Dawn's cheeks nearly cracked; her smile had nearly taken over her whole face. She was nothing but a Dawn-Smile. The single disbelieving, but increasingly happy voice inside of her was squealing over and over again, Buffy forgave Spike! with a miniature jig in accompaniment.
They both moved up the stairs, Spike at a respectful distance from her, and he stood with his head down as Buffy gathered anything she might have brought with her. Dawn folded her arms and glared at them. "Well? What in the hell took so long?"
Simultaneously, both looked up at her and said, in unison, "Dawn, watch your mouth."
Dawn blinked. "Whoa. That was creepy."
The side of Spike's lips curved into a half-smile, and he moved toward her. "I meant it, Bit. You're sixteen. Don't need to start swearing now."
Dawn grinned at him hopefully. "But if some big Evil is coming after me and I have to fight it?"
Buffy stared at her, eyebrow raised. "We'll see."
Dawn's arms folded, and Sullen Teenage Glare was back, this time in the form of #100 (You Never Let Me Do Anything Fun!). Buffy rolled her eyes and pointed at her. "Don't you give me that look, Dawn. I invented that Look. Wipe it off your face."
Dawn straightened and gave Buffy a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Forgot."
Buffy laughed and wrapped her arm around her sister's shoulders. "Come on. Giles is probably wide awake and spazzing. I told him I'd be right back, and that was an hour ago."
Spike followed slowly as Dawn and Buffy made their way to the door. "Got your gifts?" Spike asked softly, cocking his head at Dawn. The teenager nodded, tapping the pocket of her jacket. Spike smiled and reached out to gently tug on a strand of her hair. "Good girl. Have a good night then. Listen to Buffy. Get to school on time. All that other prancy, poofy stuff."
Dawn moved toward him, wrapping her arms tightly about his waist. "I will. And if it's all right with Buffy, will you come visit us sometime? Please?"
Spike peered over Dawn's head at her sister, who had suddenly decided that the floor was looking rather lovely in its cigarette dusti-ness. He sighed inwardly. "We'll see, luv." He placed a kiss on her forehead, gave her another gentle squeeze, then patted her back. "Off you go."
Dawn smiled and waved at him. "G'night, Spike. Love you," she called.
Spike watched with a gentle smile as they walked away. It widened just a fraction of an inch when he saw Buffy turn slightly and peer back at him, before spinning back around and heading after Dawn. "Love you, too, Bit," he murmured, his hand clutching the wall next to his door. "Love you both."
He shut the door.
Buffy made the worst attempt in humanity to conceal a yawn. Unfortunately for her, Giles didn't get the hint. In fact, Giles didn't even notice. Giles was swimming in his own little Giles-World at the moment, completely lost in thought.
And pacing. Did she mention the pacing? It's Giles, new from Mattel! Comes with five different functions: worrying, nose-rubbing, pacing, lecturing and thinking, all sure to bore the pants off of you! See package for details.
He was starting to make her dizzy. And she was really starting to hate herself for not waiting to mention Spike to Giles the next morning, after she'd gotten some well-deserved shut-eye (after all the emotional crap she'd been through tonight). To Giles, rest, sleep, and dead-on-your-feet tired did not seem to be understandable concepts. At least they didn't when formerly-evil-but-turning-good-guy-without-a-soul ex-boyfriends came back to town sans pain-chip and with their original soul fully intact and acquired willingly in tow.
Truly, Spike was a first in Vampire history, and Giles wasn't about to waste any time delving into research.
"He went after his soul willingly? Knowing what it would do to him, knowing what he would be in store for when he received it? And he still accepted it back?"
Buffy yawned again. Giles had asked this question about five times, all in the same, disbelieving tone. "Well, he didn't exactly flat out ask for it. He wanted the chip out. But I think, deep down inside, he wanted the soul, otherwise the Wish-Giver guy wouldn't have given it to him. He said that he asked him to, quote unquote, 'make him what he was, so he could...'" She trailed off slightly, then looked down at her feet and finished. "So he could give me what I deserved."
Giles' eyebrows creased together. "And the demon returned him his soul... Most interesting."
Buffy yawned for the third time. "Real interesting. Can I go to sleep now? Please?"
Her former Watcher looked at her, startled. "What? Oh, yes. Of course, dear. Go get some rest."
Buffy smiled drowsily. "Thanks, Giles. G'night."
"Goodnight, Buffy."
As soon as she was upstairs, alone in her mother's old room, as soon as she reached her bed, Buffy sank down heavily and buried her face in her hands.
A soul. He'd gotten his soul back for her. In spite of all she'd done to him, in spite of how she'd treated him, in spite of everything she'd ever said to him, he'd gone to get his soul back for her. And at a terrible price. He'd nearly been destroyed by the tasks he'd been required to pass.
And still. He'd done it all for her. To feel like he was worthy of her.
Any other woman on earth would have seen his devotion before he'd even stepped a foot past the city lines. It had taken Buffy four months without him, cold hard Reality, and a couple of verbal punches to the face to realize that she even missed him. Four months to realize that she loved him.
As Angelus, Angel never would have gone to get his soul back of his own free will. Angelus thrived on the miserable lives he could induce without a conscience following him around, wracking him with guilt every step of the way. And Spike had loved her enough without his soul to seek it out for her anyway. Because he thought it was what she deserved.
Well she didn't. She didn't deserve a damn thing from him. After everything she'd done to him, she didn't deserve him. She, the Slayer, the icon for all things good, and pure, and right, was worse than a soulless vampire. A soulless vampire that had felt love, pain, guilt, remorse, though by standards, he shouldn't have.
Spike had always been the exception. And as the exception, Spike was better than her. And being better than her, he shouldn't even desire her. He should hate her for everything she'd said and done.
And he didn't. In fact, by the doe eyes he'd kept giving her this evening, it was all too clear that he was still as taken and infatuated with her as he ever was. Well, only more so now.
When in the hell was she going to learn to listen to her gut instincts, instead of listening to everyone else? Listening to everyone else had ruined her, and had forced her to destroy any semblance of a normal relationship she could have had with Spike, simply because he didn't fit the normal standards that her friends held. And she had been so scared to take him in, and accept him, and show everyone that yes, she was with the vampire of her own free will, the vampire that had changed himself in spite of what everyone else had done to discourage him, because they loved each other, and because she trusted him. She'd rejected him, simply because she was scared of their disapproval. Their disapproval.
Giles, her father figure: in his youth, he'd conjured up the dark spirit Eyghon, immersed himself in Black Magick, and had virtually been Spike's counterpart. When she'd turned 18, he had betrayed her trust and had left her without her strength to do battle with an insane vampire during her Cruciamentum. And he'd had the gall to chastise her for betraying him when she'd hid Angel after his return from Hell.
Xander, her big brother figure: he'd tried to fuck her under the influence of that Hyena spirit during her first year in Sunnydale. He had conjured a spell that had made all the women in Sunnydale desperate for him, which caused them to be deadly if rejected. And just last year, he'd conjured up that singing demon, Sweet. Buffy would have danced to her death had it not been for Spike.
And Willow. Oh, god, Willow. She had been so innocent when she had been thrust into the Slayer's world. And her magick lessons had just been a past time, something that she'd been eager to study, as a tribute after Jenny Calendar's death. And that had seemed innocent until she'd immersed herself into the Black Arts; thrown herself in so deep that she'd literally depended on magick to help her through everyday life. And when it had gotten so bad, and her emotions had run rampant, she'd nearly become the Uber Evil; she'd killed a man, attempted to kill her friends, and had tried to destroy the world.
Somehow, Buffy didn't think that any of them had the right to disapprove of her choices anymore. She'd sacrificed enough of her life for the Greater Good and this stupid Calling. They could sit and spin if they wigged at the idea of her with Spike.
Er... not that she was going to be with him anytime in the immediate future or anything. Yeah.
But still... he had tried so hard to be good, to be good for her, and she had turned him down at every possible cross, tried to discourage him in every possible way. Really, it was no wonder that he'd finally had enough. If it had been anyone else, they'd be sitting in a mental hospital, and Buffy would be visiting them on weekends.
She groaned softly, feeling tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, which was just irritating as hell -- since when had she become so damn moody? She wasn't even like this when she had PMS! -- and she impatiently wiped her hands over her face. Seeing Spike again, when she thought she'd lost him forever, should not merit an all-night sobbing session.
Well, maybe it did; if you weren't the Slayer, anyway.
Still, it wasn't like he's just come back from the dead (er, the permanent kind). She'd known he was alive and out there somewhere... wanting nothing to do with her...
Oh, fantastic... she was throwing herself a pity-party now. Maybe she should just go to sleep and forget all the incredibly mind-boggling events from tonight, and the even more mind-boggling things Spike had told her about during his Quest for a Soul. It was just too much for her poor mind to process. Anyway, that was why Giles was here.
Also, the grossest image of Spike being attacked by flesh-eating scarabs kept popping into her mind. That warranted an exceptionally big 'eugh,' and nightmares for a week.
Gotta admit, though, she thought, yawning as she stretched out on the bed, rolling onto her back. 'm definitely proud of him... god, the things he does for me...
She settled comfortably against her pillow and closed her eyes.
And that had officially been the world record for shortest nap taken by a 21-year-old Slayer that had to juggle Mom-and-Save-The-World duties.
Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that she was so ecstatic to have him back (you know; besides the part where she was in love with him), she would've killed him.
"Spike, it's --" she looked at her alarm clock, and groaned -- "3:15 in the morning. I have a job I have to be ready for in four more hours." Buffy sat up and glared at him. "What the hell do you want?"
He smiled apologetically and rocked back on his heels a little, from his perch outside the window. "Sorry. Can I, uh... come in?"
Buffy yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Your invitation was never revoked, " she told him sleepily. "You have a free reign."
She tried hard to feel like she hadn't swallowed the sun when she saw his awed, delighted face.
"Well, uh... I have the feeling you might kill me more violently if I ask questions, so 'm just gonna come in," he said sheepishly, climbing through the window. Buffy raised her eyebrows and sat up a little more.
"Damn straight," she grumbled. Spike merely grinned, plopping onto her bedside table. Buffy shook her head. "You're insane, you know that?"
"Ta. Slightly aware of it."
Buffy groaned as she stretched, then sighed. "Yeah, anyway. What's up?"
Spike chewed on his lower lip quietly, fiddling with the end of his shirt, before answering her. "It's just... you seemed a little too calm tonight... after all I told you. Just... wanted to know if you were all right. You know. From one, er... friend... to another."
She pretended not to notice the half-annoyed, half-depressed Look that crossed his face at those words. Buffy took a deep breath. "Well... you have to admit. What happened to you kind of... blew me away, ya know? It's kind of... difficult knowledge to swallow whole. So... I think it's fair for me to be a little shocked. Right?"
Spike nodded, a little eagerly. "Oh, sure, yeah, I mean... I knew that. 'S just... Well, maybe I was more off my nut than I thought, but... you looked like you were going ta cry. Was I?" He looked at her, penetrating blue eyes quickly working their magick. "Imagining things, I mean?"
Buffy drew her legs to her chest, looking up at him. She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. "No... you weren't. I... I was... I did cry." She threw him a weak grin. "I've just been Emotion Girl all over the place lately, huh?"
Spike smiled back gently, reaching out tentatively to touch her cheek. "It does you good. You look healthier... relaxed... happier an' the like." He looked down. "Not like when you were with me."
Buffy's heart dropped into her stomach at the despondent look on his face. Before she could answer, he looked up again and said, "I dunno if I have the right to ask or not, but... Why?" At Buffy's questioning look, he elaborated. "Why me? I mean... y-you knew I loved you. You knew... how I felt when I saw you back. You knew that I'd do anything for you, and that, if I could have, I'd've killed ta keep you happy. So... why d'you do it? Use me?" He looked down again. "I just... I wanted to know. 'S all."
Buffy closed her eyes and reached up to clasp the hand that remained on her cheek. "Spike... I am so sorry. I just... I was beyond messed up. And... I thought I'd done something terrible to be brought back here, to this... Hell. I felt like... someone wanted me to suffer. To stay hate-filled and angry, and that just goes to show how screwed up I was, because no matter how you felt about me, I still took out all my hatred and anger on you." Her other hand moved to touch his cheek, caressing it gently up and down. "I'm just so, so sorry, Spike. You didn't deserve that. Any of it. Not a single thing that I did, or a single word I said." She snorted mirthlessly. "I'm just the shining example of all that's right in the world, huh? I treated the guy that loved me like a piece of trash, like I had the fucking right to do it." She shook her head and clasped her hands in her lap. "God, I need help."
His soft, cool lips were on hers, leaving the gentle whisper of a kiss against her mouth before she'd even realized he'd moved. "I could," he whispered when he pulled back.
Buffy felt a delicious shiver run down her spine before she raised her eyes to his. "Could what?" she asked softly.
Spike's hand raised and ran down her arm. "Help you." His lips parted and traced the pulsepoint on her neck, springing a chilling, titillating sensation throughout her body. "That guy you treated like trash... he came back... he still loves you, now more than ever... he's most definitely a changed man. And he'd like to show you how changed he is."
Buffy sighed, raising her arms and wrapping them around his body, tilting her head up accordingly when his lips came back to hers. "But... what about the soul?" she whispered. "Won't it..."
Spike pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and staring her dead in the eyes. "Luv, the soul is more than permanent. If, however, you feel the need to test it out..." Taking one of her hands, he moved it down to the hem of his shirt, sliding it below the material. Instincts took over, and Buffy's other hand joined the first, pushing the T-shirt up and over Spike's head. It took less than a second for her to become reacquainted with the delicious firmness of his muscles, and the sharp, lean build of his body -- though, truth be told, she had never really forgotten because his body haunted her memories anyway.
His lips came down on hers once again, and in the barest blink of an eye, he had managed to divest her of her pajamas. Pausing for a moment, he studied the top and bottoms, then smiled at the design. "I like the blue monkeys," he murmured, pressing his mouth to the swell of her breast.
Buffy blushed. "Dawn bought them for me. I don't know what she was thinking, since she is a -- ah... ohhh, god..." Her eyes fell closed and her head lolled back on the pillow. His lips nipped and sucked every inch of her breast, teasing her nipple relentlessly. Buffy whimpered softly, reaching up and tugging gently on his hair. "No foreplay," she whispered. "I've missed you so much, Spike... I need you, all of you. Now."
Apparently, that had been just what Spike had wanted to hear. In under a second, he's had his jeans undone and pulled down his legs, and her panties had been whipped off and thrown across the room. "You've got me, Buffy."
Her head thrown back, her muscles spasming against his massive intrusion, she gave a choked sigh, holding him close to her. Never once did it cross her mind that it was the middle of the night, that Giles was probably still awake downstairs, that her sister and Willow were sound asleep in the other rooms... All that mattered was the beautiful man, above her, inside her, surrounding her. All that mattered was that he was back, and she was where she belonged again.
As gently as possible, he began to rock, taking care to kiss every surface inch of her body that wasn't covered by the rest of him as his hips pistoned into her depths. This had been in his future from the moment he'd met her, from the second he'd laid his eyes on her beautiful body. Being together was the natural conclusion of their relationship.
Slowly, he rocked faster. Below him, the Slayer's voice came out in soft, breathless gasps, kittenish mewls of pleasure, needy moans of desperation. She had never sounded more lovely to him. He acquiesced when her small hand grasped the back of his head, drawing his face down to hers. "Spike," she whispered as their lips met. Tongue clashed with tongue, dueling, carressing, mating. It was no wonder that they'd spent the better part of the last five years annoying the hell out of each other. Their passion had spurred them on.
Now if only they'd caught on to it sooner. If only Buffy hadn't been so adamant in what everyone else had told her.
Closer; she was almost there. During their few months together, Spike had discovered the very touches that would propel her further into a climax, and he'd used them to his full advantage. Now, it seemed, he barely had to touch her and she was at the precipice.
Harder. Sweat poured down her skin, coating both their bodies. The bed was moving audibly now, the headboard just barely thumping against the wall. Thank God Buffy's room wasn't right next to Dawn's anymore. Because that would just... suck.
Faster. She was about to fall, and her hands, moving restlessly around Spike's body, grabbed a good handful of his supremely nice ass, pushing him farther into her. Spike grunted, pushing harder, ignoring the sounds the headboard was making, concentrating solely on making this woman explode with pleasure. "God, Buffy," he murmured, lips exploring her neck, "I love you so much."
She convulsed. Her body tightened, and her muscles clenched around him. She renewed her desperate hold on him, her legs wrapping around his waist and hooking at the small of his back. Her back arched and her hips thrust forward, frantically attempting to suck him into her, to lodge him inside her and ensure that he would never leave again. Her nails dug into his skin, ripping, tearing the magnificent expanse of alabastor, and she gave a garbled cry as her insides began to melt.
Spike growled at the feeling of the warmth flowing around him, then gasped in surprise when Buffy's hands grasped his head, lowering his face to her neck. He trembled at the unmistakable invitation before shifting into game face and...
Buffy shot up, gasping, eyes wide and head thrown back as her legs tremored in the final shock of her orgasm. She moaned softly and fell back again, her eyes blinking blearily at the ceiling above her as her thoughts raced to the ruined -- She looked down at herself.
Pajamas. Ruined pajamas. She was wearing them. Why was she still wearing them? And where the hell was -- Oh. Oh no. That wasn't fair. That was NOT even right! Oh, god, this isn't happening! she mentally groaned.
She looked down at herself again.
PJ's officially ruined for the night. Mother fucking hell.
Scowling, she stripped off her clothes, then violently threw them into the laundry basket before grabbing a pair of boxers and a long red T-shirt. Getting back into the bed, she folded her arms crossly over her chest and scowled. "I am never going back to sleep again," she muttered.
She was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.
Outside, Spike gazed up at the window of Buffy's bedroom, slightly slack-jawed. She'd been dreaming about him. And not just any regular dream. She'd been dreaming about shagging him into the ground. Even if she hadn't been voicing herself, Spike would have been able to smell her arousal, and God knew that the beast below his belt would have let him know all too gladly.
But that didn't deter from the main fact.
Buffy was dreaming about him. Buffy still wanted him. In every possible way.
A slow smile curled his lips and he pushed off from the tree, digging into his jeans and pulling out a cigarette and his beloved Zippo. Lighting up, he glanced up at the window again, ears perked to hear her soft snores. Then, turning to leave, his hand curved down to adjust himself; a cocky grin, reminiscent of his old self Pre-Soul, stretched across his face.
Well. He was set for the rest of the night.