Buffy was dreaming again, she knew. You can’t actually kiss your dead husband in real life. But she hadn’t had this dream in weeks. And something about it was different.
The rain was still coming down, but the clouds weren’t quite as black as she remembered. It was so nice to be in Riley’s arms again, but even that felt different. Like always, he made to pull away from her again; but this time he didn’t disappear, and Buffy didn’t wake up screaming.
She tilted her head back to look up at his face. He was smiling softly down at her. “You’re not leaving?” she asked.
“I’m already gone. I can’t leave you again,” he replied gently. Riley tucked a lock of wet hair back behind her ear. “I have something for you.”
Buffy looked down to where he was holding a pink cardboard box in his hands. Opening the lid, she found a cake that looked as though someone had used it as a soccer ball. The icing was smeared everywhere, most of it had been squashed rather badly, and there were even several chunks that seemed to be missing entirely.
Looking back to her husband’s face, Buffy smiled sarcastically. “Some present.”
Riley took a bite of a large piece of cake he held in his hand. It seemed to match the outline of one of the missing corners. He shrugged. “Nothing’s perfect. But it’s still a cake.” Popping the last bit of his piece into his mouth, he licked the crumbs from his fingers and grinned. “Still tastes good.”
He leaned down to kiss her gently, and she could taste icing on his lips. It was sweet. “Happy birthday, Buffy.”
Buffy woke suddenly, staring around her room. “What the hell?” she whispered to herself. She was getting very tired of dreams.
Adjusting to find a more comfortable position, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But her mind and senses seemed to be on overdrive. The strange vision kept replaying itself in her head, try as she might to clear her mind. Her mouth was dry, the sheets at once too stiff and too clingy in the still, hot air; and it seemed as though every cricket in the state of Iowa was gathered outside her window, they were making such a racket. Groaning, Buffy gave it up as a lost cause and grudgingly rolled out of bed.
The wooden floorboards were mercifully cool beneath her sweaty feet as she tiptoed her way down the stairs toward the kitchen, intent on a tall glass of ice water to soothe her. Dreaming of Riley had unnerved her. Why had she dreamt of him now, and like that? He hadn’t visited her at night for some time. Since she had first kissed Spike, to be exact. And what was with the cake?
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t even notice the light from the television in the living room as she passed, the odd floorboard groaning under her step. The moon was shining so brightly through the window over the sink, she didn’t bother to turn on the light as she entered. Padding over to the cupboard and grabbing a glass, Buffy took a moment to stare at the brilliant, silvery orb. It would be a full moon tomorrow, and there was so much light it cast shadows on the farm. Moonshadows.
Smiling to herself, she started humming the old Cat Stevens song and walked to the refrigerator, nearly collapsing in relief as she opened the freezer door and let the glorious frigid air wash over her face. She basked in it for a long moment, lifting the sweat-dampened hair from off her neck until goosebumps arose on her arms. Finally reaching for the ice and dropping a few cubes into the glass, she kept one cube to run along her overheated neck and brow, her quiet humming the only sound in the still house. Buffy closed her eyes at the heavenly sensation as it started to melt and a few stray droplets trickled down to her collarbone. The words of the chorus began to tumble softly from her lips:
And if I ever lose my hands, lose my plough, lose my lands
And if I ever lose my hands, oh if…
Just at that moment, a pair of hands slipped round her waist from behind and a deep, hushed voice finished the line of the song:
I won’t have to work no more.
Buffy nearly jumped out of her skin. Whirling around, she dropped her glass and could barely hear it shatter over the sound of her heart hammering her ribs. She looked up into a smiling face, and placed her hand over her chest, trying to take a deep breath. “Dear Lord. Spike Blood, you nearly scared me to death,” she hissed.
He looked at the glass shards scattered on the floor and frowned. “Yeah, noticed. Sorry ‘bout that. But honestly, you can’t blame a bloke. I mean, you’re just so delicious…” he broke off, and caught a stray water droplet on the column of her neck with his tongue.
Already on edge from her strange night, Buffy took a step back from his invading proximity, and immediately regretted it. “Dammit!” she yelled, feeling searing pain shoot up the back of her leg.
“Shhh,” Spike said out of reflex. “Glass?”
She nodded, grimacing. Almost effortlessly, Spike scooped her up and carried her to one of the bar stools, sitting down in the next and propping her foot into his lap. The light of the moon was such he could just see the tiny shard glinting in her heel.
“Spike, don’t touch it, it’ll hurt,” she whined, flinching away from him.
“You’re a right baby, you know that? Now just hold still like a good girl and I’ll take care of you. Won’t hurt a bit.”
Buffy watched, rigid and skeptical at first, but became gradually entranced as he massaged her ankle slowly, then lifted her foot a bit higher. Leaning down to place his mouth on her sole, he rubbed his thumb firmly over the arch of her foot as she felt his teeth scrape gently on her skin.
He sat up again, and removed the piece of glass from between his teeth, handing it to her. It didn’t even sting. Bringing her foot up to his mouth, he placed a soft, warm kiss upon the arch, smirking at her from beneath thick, dark lashes.
Without realizing it, Buffy had been holding her breath, and gasped a little as she inhaled. Somehow, that was one of the sexiest things she had ever seen. She let her leg drop from Spike’s lap and leaned toward him, pulled in by his intense gaze.
“How do you do that?” she whispered, her face very close to his.
“What’s that, pet?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly.
“Make it not hurt so much,” was her reply as her lips met his hungrily.
Spike stood to get closer to her, tongues and lips and teeth mashing together with an intensity he rarely got to see from his girl. When her warm hands snuck up under the hem of his T-shirt and she pulled it off him, he was more than willing to seize the opportunity. Hauling her up onto the island countertop, he situated himself between her legs and hitched one up around his hip, needing as much contact as possible. He relished the feel of her warm, smooth skin as he ran one hand up and down her thigh, the other sneaking under her tank top to span across her sweat-slick back. Their bodies were taking over and he had no intention of regaining control any time soon.
“Mph…Spike,” Buffy mumbled against his mouth. “Spike, stop,” she insisted, pulling away.
It took him a moment to register they were no longer kissing, and when he opened his eyes, he pouted at her. “Huh? Wussat?”
She laughed, and removed her thigh from around his hip. Holding his face in her hands, she kissed him chastely. “I’m bleeding.”
“Oh, bugger me,” he said, sobering up and looking down at her foot. There was indeed a tiny trickle of blood running down her sole and dripping off the end of her second toe. He grabbed a Band-Aid from the junk drawer by the refrigerator, then unrolled several paper towels and made his way back around the island.
“Jeez, way to make me bleed all over the place,” she teased as he handed her the bandage and paper towels.
“Pah!” he exclaimed, head thrown back, and retrieved the broom and dustpan from the pantry. “Not my bloody fault you attacked me.” He bent down to sweep up the remains of Buffy’s glass.
She watched intently as he worked to push the sparkling shards into the dustpan, the exposed muscles of his back moving fluidly. He stood, emptied it into the garbage and returned his tools to the pantry. Turning toward her again, the heat in her gaze was scalding as she slowly looked him over.
“Well, can you blame me?” she asked in a husky tone. Suddenly turning her attention to her injured foot, she hauled it across her other knee and busied herself with cleaning and dressing it, seemingly impervious to the look she could feel Spike giving her. She pretended to ignore him as he came within just inches of her, leaned down and just barely let his lips brush against her neck. His breath lingered there and made her skin tingle.
Finished with the bandage—her hands shaking only slightly—she let her leg drop, positioning it so she was again straddling Spike’s lean hips. He moved closer still, so that they were almost pressed together again, and curled his hands into fists, pushing them knuckles down into the counter on either side of her. Their eyes met and his jaw clenched, she leaned back with her hands behind her, presenting herself to him, and his nostrils flared.
He kissed her throat again, letting his tongue taste her, then her collarbone, then to her slight cleavage, just at the top of her camisole. His hands moved to the bottom hem, pushing it up to uncover her firm stomach, as he bent down to lavish attention around her navel as well. She wasn’t sure exactly how far he was taking this, but right at that moment, she was in no mood to stop him. When she let her head drop back and her eyes close, she felt him smile against her overheated skin.
Then quite suddenly, he was gone. Buffy sat up and looked down between her legs, where she found Spike industriously wiping up the tiny puddle of blood her wound had created. She scowled at the top of his platinum head. “You’re a rude, terrible person, you know that?”
“You’re just now figuring that out, Goldilocks? Maybe you are as daft as you look.” He smirked up at her. “Lot of blood for such a tiny little cut. Look at the mess you made,” he scolded.
“I’m the bleedinest.”
Spike snorted and stood, tossing the soiled paper towel onto the counter beside her.
She grabbed it immediately and looked at him, disgusted. “Yuck, Buffy blood.”
Their eyes met for a long second, and he grinned at her cheekily as she blushed, embarrassed by her unintended double meaning. “Throw that away. Please,” she said quietly, handing the wad of towels back to him. He did as told. “And don’t think I don’t know what daft means, jerkwad,” she piped up, trying to cover her awkward slip. “Call me names and put dirty things on my counter…” she mumbled.
“Oho! So the only dirty thing allowed up there’s you, is it?” he teased.
“I’m dirty?” Buffy scoffed. “Says Captain Conquest, over here. ‘Ooh, look at me, I’ve shagged seventeen birds, cuz I’m sooo randy,’” she mocked in an atrocious British accent.
“See,” he countered, “there you go again, letting your big gob get in the way. It’s snogged, not shagged, you loon.”
“There’s a difference?”
Spike looked at her sideways for a moment, trying to decide if she was joking or not. She wasn’t. “Yeah, pet, there’s a difference. Rather an enormous one at that.”
“What’s snogging, then?”
“Kissing, making out, swapping spit, tonsil hockey…all those jollies. Shagging is sex, Buffy.”
“So wait.” She raised a hand. “I’m totally lost now. You told me the other night that you’d kissed seventeen girls? You count people you kiss?”
“What, you’ve no idea how many blokes you’ve snogged?”
“I could probably give you a rough estimate, but yeesh, I never kept a tally.” She looked down at her feet swinging below her. “Okay then, now that’s clear, how ‘bout answering the question I was trying to ask. How many women have you shagged? Had sex with, gotten horizontal, bumped uglies…just so there’s no confusion.”
He squinted at her, an unidentifiable look on his face. And even through the moonlight, Buffy could have sworn she saw him blush the tiniest bit before looking down and running a hand through his hair.
She swallowed. Keeping a tally of all the girls he’d only kissed meant he definitely kept track of his sexual exploits as well. Was he embarrassed because the number was astronomical? That was most likely it, she realized, knowing Spike’s charm and also the sheer hotness that was him. But she still wanted to know. Kinda.
“Just tell me. It’s fine, I promise,” she said after a deep breath.
When he continued with his shoegazing for a bit, she could tell he was nervous. Finally, he met her eyes, opening his mouth to speak, then shutting it again. His eyes shifted to the refrigerator, then he shook his head and stood up straight, steeling himself. He held his right hand out, then let his fingertips and thumb meet, forming a circle.
Buffy stared.
“Zero. I have shagged zero women. I’m a virgin.”
Still, Buffy stared.
And then she was laughing. Hysterically.
“Yeah, right,” she gasped through her giggles. “Spike Blood, a virgin!”
She wiped her streaming eyes and surveyed him, standing there with one eyebrow raised, arms crossed against his perfect bare chest. “Ha! You, the British Adonis poet athlete, are pure as the driven sn—ohmygod you’re serious.”
Buffy wasn’t laughing anymore. “You’re serious!” she accused.
His jaw tightened further and he nodded.
“You’re an actual virgin. As in, never had sex. At all.”
“Fun as your new hobby of pouring salt into gaping wounds is sure to be, feel free to stop any time,” he replied coldly.
Buffy heard the hurt in his voice and immediately reached out her hand to him. “Spike, I am so sorry. I just never in a million years would have expected that. I mean,” she waved her hand up and down, exhibiting his person, “you’re you.” His face relaxed a little at that, almost smiling. “So yeah, I’m shocked, but I totally respect it.”
Spike examined her still outstretched hand warily, then came toward her and grasped it in his. “So you don’t think I’m a complete tosser, then?” he asked, half mocking, half disbelieving.
“Assuming I know what a tosser actually is? I mean, we’ve really got to figure out this whole language barrier thing, cuz you know they say England and America are two countries divided by a common language. Maybe we could both learn Portugese—“
“Buffy, you’re babbling.”
“Am I?”
“And you only do the babbling thing when you’re uncomfortable.”
“Do I?” She swallowed.
“Well, now you know, then. My decidedly un-dirty little secret. And if it gives you the wiggins or whatever the hell you would say, I get it. I do.”
She peered into his sweet, expressive eyes that could show so much fire one moment, and such deep vulnerability the next. “Spike, please believe me when I say I totally respect your decision. I wasn’t laughing in mocking, I just honestly couldn’t believe it. Seriously, how does someone like you go this long without girls on both sides of the ocean falling over themselves to be with you?”
He genuinely smiled this time, flattered. In a manly way.
“I mean, there are lots of reasons to wait, like for love or even for marriage like one of those Mormons.” She paused. “Oh, crap, you’re not a Mormon, are you?”
Spike laughed and grabbed her shoulders. “Calm down. No, but bloody entertaining, that lot. Had a mate back home that was, and whenever they’d play football or any other kind of sport, it’d start with a prayer and end with a brawl.”
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
“Yes I am.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. I understand it’s really personal,” she half smiled at him and cupped his cheek.
Sighing, he ran his hand through his already mussed hair, then covered hers with it. “Nah, I do. Want to. I want to be open with you. I just…could we not be looking at each other?”
Now she was confused again. “You want I should get a blindfold or something?”
“No, you silly bint. It’s just easier to talk that way sometimes, you know?”
She crinkled her brow, then had to quiet herself from squealing as he scooped her up suddenly into his arms and headed to the front room. “I’m perfectly capable of walking, I’ll have you know,” she mentioned.
“Oh, I’m aware. But you seem to have somehow missed the fact that I am, of course, going to take every opportunity to hold you against my hot, tight little body,” he replied, tucking his tongue behind his teeth. Reaching the couch, he sat and reclined fully, positioning Buffy atop his body so their stomachs were touching and her head lay on his chest. She had to admit, there with their bodies connected top to toes, the warm breeze from the window gently lifting the hairs off her neck, the soft blue light from the television, and the steady thumping of his heart beneath her ear, she truly felt as though they could tell each other anything. It was extremely pleasant, and she felt incredibly safe.
“Okay, suddenly shy guy. Spill.”
“Well, truth is, there’s not much to it.”
A sudden realization hit her, that with the added sensation of his voice rumbling softly in his chest, she was going to have to be very careful to stay awake.
“Of course, when I was younger, I was randy as hell all the time, exactly like every other lad. I’d have taken anything I could get. Didn’t much matter which girl or what she was like, I just wanted sex. Problem was, girls weren’t exactly drooling over tweed-clad, bespectacled William. Then my mum died, and I guess I had to grow up pretty fast.”
His hand ran a soothing circuit over her back, in recognition of their shared loss.
“And just like a bleeding after-school special, I went a bit mad for a while. Acted out. Started running with the rugby crowd, changed my clothes, my hair, even went by a different name. Not to mention the excess of frigging drugs and liquor. Plus, I found out one of life’s little secrets: Birds dig dangerous types.”
She snorted.
“I mean really, you should have seen me then. Went deep into the punk look, spiked all my hair, eyeliner, studs and safety pins everywhere, including my sodding eyebrow.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Ouch, much?”
He shrugged. “I was pretty sloshed at the time.”
“So how did you pull yourself out of your spiral of debauchery?”
“I became a believer in choice.”
Spike could almost feel her brow crinkling. “Care to elaborate?”
“My mum was dead, I was an orphan, and I had let myself become a victim of circumstance. And one night I was at a house party, and everybody there was absolutely hammered, including me, and there was this girl. Pretty lil’ thing had been hanging on me all night ‘til finally she asked if I wanted to go upstairs. I said yes, of course, so we stumbled up to a bedroom and fooled around for a while.”
“Spike, where’s this story going?” Buffy asked warily.
“Give it a minute, will you? Can’t rush a good narrative.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, back to my masterful storytelling…ow!”
She’d bitten his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides as she struggled.
“You asked for this story, so you’re going to lie here and listen like a good girl, however I choose to tell it. So there I was, ‘bout to shag the brains out of this gorgeous little brunette who was more than compliant. Hell, she was half unconscious, lying there, mostly naked.”
“And THEN? Move it along, Blood,” she threatened, which was rather idle in her immobilized state.
He chuckled. “All right, keep your knickers on, bossy lil’ chit.”
“So what happened?”
“I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the bedroom wall. Punked out, drugged out, drunk and angry, about to clumsily make it with some poor girl whose name I didn’t even know. I hated what I saw. And more than that, I hated to think how disappointed my mum would have been if she’d have seen me.
“So I guess with all the shit that comes with having to grow up too fast, there also comes the growing up bit. I knew then and there that for me and my mum, I had to go down a road that would lead to becoming a man we could both be proud of. Made sure that girl got home all right. I quit partying hard, quit drinking so much, backed away from the safety pins, and threw myself into rugby and school work. After that night, I’ve of course had opportunities for sex. Plenty of ‘em. More than my fair share, I’d wager…ow! Will you quit with the teeth?”
“Will you quit with the cock-and-swagger-‘til-Buffy-pukes bit? Because if I hurl, it’s going to be all over you.”
He cleared his throat dramatically. “As I was saying, since then, I’ve of course had situations present themselves, but none of those girls were what I was looking for. I didn’t want just anyone, I wanted someone amazing.”
Buffy smiled to herself and snuggled into his smooth chest. “Hm…and have you maybe found this special someone?”
“Maybe? Try definitely,” he replied, and nuzzled her hair. “I mean, Xander is the most amazing bloke I’ve ever met.”
She groaned. “You are seriously disturbed.”
“Well there’s a news flash for no one.”
“No, really. You and Xan crack me up. What, with your little man-crushes.”
He paled. “I do not have a man-crush on Xander!”
“Baloney! First you two can’t stand the sight of each other, and now you’re always together, working on the DeSoto and glorying in each other’s manliness. And when you’re not together, you talk about how cool the other is. It’s really quite cute.”
Spike lifted his eyebrows. “Xander said I’m cool?”
Buffy laughed with him and shook her head. “I’m not complaining, believe me. It makes me happy you two are getting along so well, and eased up on the pissing contest. You just make sure and balance your time well, because I’d hate to think you like him more than me.”
His hands drifted down and squeezed her bum firmly. “I can absolutely promise you that will never be the case,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Hang on.” Easily rolling her off of him, he disappeared into the basement silently. He was back before she could even get fully readjusted.
He sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Nodding his head toward the wall clock, which read just after two in the morning, he said, “Now technically we’re only two hours in, but I couldn’t wait. I got you a birthday present.”
“Ugh. I was kind of hoping it wasn’t actually my birthday.” She stared at him for a long moment, then furrowed her brow and fixed him with a steely glare. “Tell me it’s not a cake,” she said threateningly.
Spike shrank away from her slightly. “It’s not a cake…”
“Oh, thank God,” she sighed in relief, instantly perking up. “In that case, oh, thanks so much and you really didn’t have to and really, it’s too much. Now gimme.”
Laughing, he presented an envelope from behind him, which she snatched out of his hand and did a little shimmy, like a five-year-old.
“It’s really nothing special, but I figured, what the hell? It might be fun.”
She tore the bleached paper open with relish and dumped the contents into her lap. “Rodeo tickets? You got us tickets to the rodeo tonight?”
“Yeah, was that wrong? Willow said—“
“No,” she cut him off, “that’s awesome! I love the rodeo. I just never in a million years would have expected you to be caught dead at one.”
“Well, Red told me you love them, and I figure millions of hillbillies can’t be wrong. Or at least, not all the time.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and snuggled into him, a ‘thank you’ mumbled into his skin. “So what were you watching before I got up, anyway?”
“Dead Poets’ Society. Couldn’t sleep. Wanna finish it with me before we toddle off to bed?”
“Surely,” she yawned, curling closer into him, like a giant, quirky cat.
Spike reached for the remote control and resumed the film. Twenty minutes later, as the credits rolled, he stretched and turned off the television. “You know, growing up, I always wanted to be a teacher, just like Robin Williams in this movie. Passionate, full of conviction, all that rot.”
“You’d be great, I’m sure,” she mumbled sleepily. “Don’t let me pass out on you again. You’re quickly becoming my favorite pillow.”
“Really not complaining here, luv.” But he helped her to her feet, and walked her to the foot of the stairs, entwining the fingers of his right hand in her left.
“Thanks again for the tickets, Spike. I can tell it’s going to be a good birthday. It’s already been an eventful one, at least.”
He smiled and caught her lips with his own in a gentle goodnight kiss. “Happy Birthday, Buffy,” he whispered against her mouth. She tasted so sweet.
[Reviews - 165]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 1374 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Holy crap, it's been almost two effing years since I've posted. How did that happen? I'm so sorry. If you're still here, you're my hero. My other heroes include Bree, Flibble, and Gael. Thanks guys! I'm so glad to be back!
Chapter End Notes:
What'd you think? I'd love some feeback. Let me know if anyone's still paying attention. Hearts!