This chapter was co-written with my darling friend, Im_bloody_English, who also beta’d it. When we first started plotting this story, IBE told me about a scene she’d dreamt upon and hoped to write someday, she thought it would be perfect for this story and graciously offered to let me write it. Of course I accepted, how could I say no to that? Then, when the time came, I was more than a little gun-shy about writing it, but with her help and the lovely vision of the scene she imagined, we finally beat this chapter into submission for your reading pleasure. We do hope you enjoy it.
A little observation, on chapter 5, at the end scene I mentioned that Spike was pacing the length of his studio while talking to Anne, please disregard that and pretend I wrote ‘library’, okay? You’ll see why after you read this chapter. ;)
As always a thousand thanks to everyone reading, especially to those of you who are kind enough to leave a review. Knowing that you’re enjoying this story, truly makes my day brighter. And thank you to Tammy, for the read-through. *hugs*
Chapter 8. Romanticism (Part Two)
He watched her as she carefully inspected his works. How could he not? She was gorgeous, radiant… effulgent. He was drawn to her like he’d never been drawn to anyone before. So much so, he couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her whenever she was nearby… which was often. There must be a God somewhere that was smiling down on him for once because she was so very receptive to every one of his touches; seemed to thrive under the attention he bestowed her.
“So… your verdict, milady?” Spike asked when she stood in front of the last painting. She’d been awfully quiet the entire time they’d traveled through the impromptu exhibition he’d mounted for her in the library and he was anxious to hear whatever she had to say about them.
“You painted all of these?” she answered his question with her own before turning to look at him.
“Yes, I did.” He nodded. The look she gave him was priceless.
“They’re… I don’t think beautiful is a strong enough word to describe how-how amazing they are. Each one,” she raised a hand to the last piece they stopped at and ghosted a finger over the surface without actually touching it. “Every color, every stroke…”
He watched her become almost mesmerized as she struggled with her words. She looked genuinely captivated by his work and he couldn’t keep his chest from puffing up proudly that she truly liked them, appreciated them that much.
“How do you do it?” she asked, her tone filled with awe. He cocked his head to one side as if he didn’t understand the question.
“Do what, pet?”
Was the man unaware of just how magnificent his work really was? “This,” she pointed to the painting then waved her hand towards the rest. “All of these? Every one is so… full of emotion, of life.”
So full of life? Now there was a true compliment. His life, or un-life as it were, was anything but alive or full. But right now, here with her, he felt as if it was, as if he were... complete.
She turned, taking small steps to close the distance between them. He found himself holding an unneeded breath when she slowly lifted her hand to his face, stopping within inches of his cheek.
His work, his paintings, he called out to her on every level imaginable and she couldn’t keep from reaching out to him, from wanting to connect, to discover what lay beneath the surface of this beautiful man.
“How is it,” she whispered. “That one man can have so much passion, pour so much of himself into his creations and yet still keep so distant from the rest of the world?”
She looked him in the eyes, capturing him completely and he felt trapped within her searching gaze, as if she were seeing him for who he was for the first time rather than simply trying. He closed his eyes against the searing heat of her palm as she gently cupped his face. Her touch was so innocent yet felt so very intimate, it made him want nothing more than to pull her to him, claim her mouth with his own and sample the honey of her lips. Instead, he placed his own hand over hers and nuzzled against her warmth, heedless of how it burned him to where his soul would have been had he one to burn away.
She saw a hint of vulnerability in his expression and found it odd. This man who normally projected a commanding presence, one of strength, confidence and assuredness suddenly seemed to crave nothing else except her approval. His Adam’s apple bobbed right before he opened his eyes and pressed a kiss into her palm, so soft and at the same time so firm and demanding.
“Have you ever painted before, Miss Summers?” he asked; his voice rough with emotion. She blushed sweetly and ducked while answering him.
“I’m afraid I don’t have what it takes.” She felt him lower her hand but he didn’t release it.
“Don’t have what it takes? Now how could a woman who obviously has such a clear and undiluted understandin’ of art have no talent?” Her eyes snapped up to meet his again, her cheeks still pink with embarrassment. “I find that hard to believe. Is it that you’ve never tried?”
"No,” she shook her head almost imperceptibly. “I tried… once, but was told the results were less than satisfactory."
“Less than satisfactory?” he echoed, his temper rising at the thought of anyone telling this lovely creature something like that, squashing her first attempts at creating art. “Accordin’ to whom?”
“Erm, my art teacher in high school?” she squeaked.
A bloody art teacher! He seethed, his demon flashing behind his eyes for just a moment before he reined in his mounting ire. It was no wonder though, he knew the type well. Bigoted fools every single one of them, many lacked true talent of their own and refused to consider art anything outside what their petty little minds thought it was. He’d kill the git in an instant if he could just for what he did to Buffy, to hell with trying to make up for his past sins.
She observed the emotions playing on his face after her confession; her eyes traveled over his face and noticed the way his jaw clenched, his teeth gritting and she swore, for a fraction of a second, that his clear blue eyes had shined amber. That had to be a trick of the light, though, because that couldn’t be, now could it?
He refocused on her once he felt in control of his anger, an idea suddenly springing to mind, one in which he hoped he could coax her into and that with any luck would erase from her mind any doubts she might have about not being talented enough. “I think you should try again. Perhaps with me by your side, as your guide, you could... let yourself go, create something beautiful for me?” His suggestion instantly set her face aflame and he was enchanted. “If you’ll indulge me, that is.”
She nodded despite her hesitancy that he might end up regretting his offer. She felt she could fly if that’s what he asked her to do, felt as if she could do anything with him at her side and she couldn’t let the opportunity of learning from a true artist go to waste, now could she? Still holding her hand, he began to lead her, walking backwards. “Come.”
“Wh-what? You mean... now?” she asked, her eyes wide as she realized he was very serious about this. He chuckled while cocking his head to one side. “I’m not so sure-”
“There’s no reason to be worried, love. Please?”
Oh God, her knees felt weak. Never mind the way his full bottom lip jutted to pout teasingly at her, it was the ‘please’ that did it. With his deep, pleading tone, she’d do whatever he wanted. “Okay.”
His mind was working at breakneck speed as they walked down the long hallway towards his studio. He hadn’t planned for this but what did it matter? He wanted to keep her here for however long he could and she seemed more than willing to stay.
He was taking her to his special place, to a very sacred place where only he entered. The thought of allowing another person, her, into this room where he painted the world the way he saw it, felt… right somehow. It was his refuge, his safe haven, the one place he felt most free, where he could be himself without worrying about anyone judging him.
He never imagined he’d ever find someone he wanted to share this room with. Never imagined he would trust anyone as much, let alone someone he just met. Buffy wasn’t just anyone though, and he knew sharing it with her would be something special all in itself.
They stopped before a huge wooden door. Its intricately carved patterns were unlike all the other doors they’d passed suggesting whatever holdings lay beyond were highly prized indeed. He let go of her hand long enough to pull what looked like a skeleton key from his pants’ pocket and unlocked a very large, ornate brass bolt. The giant door swung open slowly, creaking heavily on its hinges. What lay inside took her breath away.
*~*~*
Anne and Giles were walking towards the library after he finally confessed what he’d meant by calling Buffy ‘resourceful’. Needless to say, when he’d related what he’d seen afterwards, how that man had looked at her, had caused his wife to worry over the possible consequences the girl’s actions might have, so she had insisted they tell Master William as soon as they could.
However, intent as she was to talk to her boss, it all came to a sudden halt when she saw the door to the library open. She pushed her husband into a hidden alcove near the wall and put her hand over his mouth to prevent him from asking what on earth was wrong with her as loudly as his eyes were. Not that Buffy or Master William would have noticed them even if he had, lost as they seemed to be in one other as the girl followed him toward… No, it couldn’t be... could it?
Husband and wife gazed in disbelief at the couple about to enter the studio. They could hardly trust what they were witnessing. No one entered that room, no one but Master William. It was forbidden. He even cleaned the room himself so no one would disrupt him from his painting, from whatever measure of peace he found inside. And now he was allowing Buffy in there? It could only mean one thing and they both knew it. Anne smiled at Giles. Yes, the girl was very special to their master, even more so than they could have imagined. It was silent confirmation of their suspicions that she could be ‘the one’ for their Lord. Quietly, they ducked out of sight, knowing this was a private moment for the blonde pair, one neither of them would dare or wanted to interrupt.
*~*~*
Rather than speak, Spike bowed graciously while making a sweeping gesture forward, bidding Buffy to enter and walk about at her leisure to inspect the vast area and all its contents. He was quite pleased to see her face light up with wonder and respect when she’d realized where he’d taken her to.
Still in the doorway, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the strong smell of paint and turpentine. The fainter scent of cigarettes and whisky made a tantalizing blend with that of the man standing next to her, making her head spin.
Trying to concentrate on anything that wasn’t Spike or her growing desire for him, she finally stepped into the room and walked to stand right in the middle, slowly turning around to take everything in. It followed the same elegant lines the rest of the house did. Tall, triple vaulted ceilings with twin crystal chandeliers and large windows from where the light seemed to pour into the room.
There were a few differences though, the ceramic tile covering the floor was of a different color and pattern than the one she’d seen every where else and there were no drapes covering the windows, she imagined, to maximize the use of day light. Only a few pieces of furniture lay about, a black leather sofa placed right next to a set of French doors that led to a balcony; two tables settled on opposite sides of the room, that appeared to hold every art supply imaginable and a small circular table with a few glasses and a decanter on top, filled with something that looked like whisky.
A few easels were scattered throughout the room, all holding canvases in various stages of painting. She moved toward those with interest, delighted that she had the opportunity of seeing how the creative process of making each one of his pieces evolved, layer after layer, each more beautiful than the last.
Interested as she was by them, it was the last one—the only one covered by a large white sheet—that captured her attention. "May I?" she asked, pointing at the huge canvas, her curiosity well beyond piqued as she imagined what lay beneath the cloth.
He shook his head. He'd give her anything her heart desired, but to let her see what he felt would be his magnum opus before it was finished? No, that was something he just couldn't do, not now at least, not until it was finished. "I'm sorry, kitten. I'd give you anythin', even... even eternity, if you asked it of me." He was well aware how dangerous it was to speak to her like this, but he also knew that deep down inside... he meant it. A small pout began forming on her mouth at being denied her request and, knowing it would be his downfall, added in haste, “I can promise you, though, as soon as it’s finished, you’ll be the first to see it. Will that suffice?” He took her hand in his, raising it to his lips for a tender kiss.
Eternity, she sighed inwardly. There was a nice thought. If it were possible, what would she give for the chance of spending it with him? Anything... everything.
“Ooooooh, I don't know," she breathed dramatically, making a show of it but melting when he smiled. “I guess that’d be okay, as long as you finish it before I have to go back home?”
“That’s not goin’ to be a problem, ’m pretty much concentratin’ on that one for the moment.” And wasn’t that the absolute truth? He’d been unable to think of little else but the subject of that particular piece. “How about we see to those lessons now?”
She nodded eagerly, her hesitancy from earlier having disappeared at the prospect of creating something that she could give him to remember her by once she left. Although deep inside she prayed that day would never come, that somehow these two weeks would turn into forever, because she already dreaded the thought of a life without him. How could she not, when he’d given her a glimpse into his world, allowing her into his home and sharing so much of himself with her?
He led her to one of the tables, which held a rather large variety of oil paint tubes, jars and canisters filled with the tools of his trade… palettes, spatulas, fan brushes, angular brushes, large brushes, brushes with tips so fine as to add minute details to make his paintings come to life with vibrancy.
“Lesson the first.” Taking a shirt he’d pulled from a drawer beneath the table, he helped her into it then walked to stand in front of her and began buttoning it from the bottom up.
She was shaking like a leaf as his hands hovered over her body, feeling as though she were about to drown in his scent as it enveloped her like a warm embrace. He wasn’t touching her, not really, but the electricity running through her every nerve, every cell as she breathlessly watched his hands slowly fastening each button made her feel like he was.
He couldn’t prevent his hands from coming into light contact with the tops of her breasts under the guise of pinning the last button in place, nor reveling over her sharp intake of breath and the way her nipples puckered in response by the time he finished. “Always wear something to protect your clothes, just in case there’s any spill.” He winked, arranging the shirt’s collar before framing her face in his hands and kissing the tip of her nose. “By the way... you look gorgeous dressed in my shirt, kitten.” Of course she’d look even nicer if it were the only thing she was wearing. Better yet, if you were dressed in nothing but me.
His shirt? Shivers ran up and down her spine at his actions. She felt she was about to explode with desire under his heated stare and the sweet kiss, all the while fighting herself from bringing the shirt closer to her nose and inhale deeply.
Reluctantly, he let go of her face, refraining from kissing her like he was oh so tempted to. Especially with the way she was looking at him now. However, he’d promised her art lessons and art lessons she would have.
“Lesson the second.” He turned them to face the table. “Know your tools.” He picked up a palette, chose several brushes and laid them in front of her. “Do you know what each of these are for?”
“Y-yes,” she replied, while eyeing them doubtfully. “Well, at least some of them… I think.”
“Right,” he smiled. “How about we do a quick recap then?”
“That sounds very good.” Relieved didn’t even cover how she felt now that he’d provided her with the chance of getting acquainted with the items she didn’t even know existed before today. Then again, how could she have known there could be so many different kinds of brushes?
“Well, this here is a spatula,” he picked a knife-like instrument from the small pile and handed it to her. “It’s generally used for scrapin’ or mixin’ the paints. It can also be used to add different textures to the piece you’re workin’ on. It can produce different effects to the paintin’, like if it were tri-dimensional.” He glanced at her and noticed a small frown marring her features as she concentrated on what he was telling her. He sighed, deciding it might be best to just show her how to use the damned things and skip the academic crap altogether. “You know what, love? Sod the lessons. I have a much better idea. I think a hands-on demonstration will serve you better than a lecture.”
Spike smiled at her look of confusion and picking another shirt from the same drawer, donned it quickly before carrying an empty easel, a canvas and a small retractable table to the center of the studio. He then walked back to the table and under her vigilant stare, grabbed several tubes of paint and deposited small dollops of each onto the palette. Next, he filled a metal container half way with turpentine which made her nose scrunch up adorably. The last thing he did was to gather all the brushes plus the spatula, place them in a small canister, and bring everything back to the small table he’d placed beside the easel.
Her knees almost buckled when he treated her to one of those sexy smirks of his that always left her breathless and then crooked a finger, beckoning her to come closer. God, she’d gladly follow him to the ends of the earth if he only asked. With carefully measured steps, she advanced toward him, grasping the hand he’d extended as soon as she was within reach.
“Choose a brush… whichever you like, sweetheart,” he added at her inquiring look.
“How about—” she said inspecting the brushes in the canister, before selecting an angular brush. “—this one?”
“Perfect.” He picked up the palette. “Now choose whatever color first comes to mind and go with it.”
“Go with it?”
“Yes, you’ll see what I mean in a few minutes. But first, choose a color and dip your brush in it lightly.”
“Okay. Let’s see…” She bit her lower lip as she observed the colors in the palette. They were all quite vivid and pretty, but she’d always been partial to red, so that’s the one she chose.
“Red… the color of passion... my personal favorite,” he purred in her ear, making her shiver from head to toe. “Excellent choice, love.”
He clipped the palette to one side of the easel and the metal canister on the other, making them easier for her to reach whenever she needed then guided her in front of the canvas. Positioning himself behind her, he placed both hands very gently on her shoulders and spoke in a deep honeyed tone. “I want you to take a deep breath for me, love. A nice, long, deep breath and then let it out.”
She did as he asked; trying to concentrate on his instructions rather than the effect his nearness was having on her body.
“Good. Very good. Do it again, sweetheart. Just one more time... for me.”
She sighed before doing so, her eyes fluttering as she fought not to close them while his voice wreaked havoc on her senses. Inhale, exhale; that was easy enough, wasn’t it?
“Beautiful. Perfect. Now... close your eyes. Close your eyes and concentrate on my voice... only the sound of my voice.”
No hardship there either, she thought, her eyes closing as she let his voice wash over her, into her.
“Leave all your thoughts behind, clear your mind. Thinking has no place, no value right now.”
Not even thinking of him? Now that was difficult, especially with him being this close, she could hardly think of anything else, let alone thinking about not thinking.
Then, leaning in close to her ear, he whispered. “Forget whatever is in here.” He lightly tapped her temple. “And take what’s in here.” He placed his hand over her heart, which he noted began beating harder.
“All that matters right now is what lies here. Whatever you’re feeling... right here... right now... embrace it, let it build. Become one with it. Allow your emotions to take over.” He ran his palm from her chest up over her shoulders, hooking his fingers gently underneath her arm to raise it and trailed his hand along the full length with his fingertips to stop at her wrist. “Let it flow through your arm, your wrist, your fingers and pour what you feel into the brush, onto the canvas.”
He led her hand until the tip of the brush touched the white cloth. “Now open your eyes and paint what you see in your heart, love.”
She made a line, marveling on how the brush glided over the canvas while she allowed all those wonderful feelings Spike elicited in her to run through her, before dipping the paintbrush once again into the red paint and starting all over again.
“Like this?” she asked, turning slightly to look in his eyes. She gasped at what she saw swirling within those blue depths; appreciation, pride and something else that she didn’t dare name... yet.
“Yes, exactly like that, love,” he replied, marveling at the way she looked at him, the way she got lost in his eyes just as he did in hers, he couldn’t get enough of that. He felt… as if his soul had been restored to him whenever she looked at him like that... like he mattered. He could willingly fool himself into thinking he was worthy of her but reality would come crashing back to earth when he remembered what he was... the very reason why he had to give her up when these two weeks ended. He shook the gloomy thought out of his head and returned his attention to Buffy who had turned back to the canvas once again.
She continued painting, letting him walk her through each stroke, mesmerize her with every instruction he whispered in her ear. He said he wanted her to dig deep within herself and allow the feelings she found there to drip into the paint and color the canvas. But what did she feel right now? A swarm of emotions.
Fear... that she would become lost in the man now standing behind her and he might not feel the same way she did. Excitement... from being so close to him, from the contact of his skin moving against hers, his proximity bringing her to such heightened levels of physical arousal she was half-afraid he might notice how sensitized, how aware her body was of him. Her nipples had hardened into tiny spears that if she hadn’t been wearing his shirt he wouldn’t have been able to miss and God, her panties were absolutely drenched just by the sound of his voice murmuring in her ear and having him this close. If that was her reaction to something as simple as that, she could only wonder how it would be if he actually kissed her?
He was getting drunk from her presence. In the way she unconsciously leaned back against him while she painted, in the scent of her glorious hair as he nuzzled into it without her, hopefully, noticing, in the way her heart sped up as he guided her, praised her, touched her. And the more he did it, the more he seduced her with his words, with his caresses, the richer the scent of her arousal became. He inhaled deeply, allowing it to fill his nostrils, to excite his demon and set his nerves on fire, his blood racing through his veins and swelling his loins, driving him absolutely out of his mind with lust.
Like a good student, Buffy followed his directions, listened to his words, taking them in and understanding their importance. She wanted to please him, earn his smiles of approval. She basked in the attention he was giving her, loved how he looked at her... like she were the only woman on earth worthy of his attention. She was drowning in him, in the shower of his affection, adoring every minute of it, craving it.
She sighed dreamily as his voice washed over her like silk. Could he even imagine the effect his words were having on her? How it made her want to show what she was beginning to feel for him as a person... as a man? How she craved the friction of his body against hers? How she wished she could stay here, in this room, with this man, for the rest of her life? She’d never felt something as powerful, as all-encompassing as what she was feeling for Spike. And she was willing to do whatever it took, whatever she needed to do, so she wouldn’t have to give it... give him, up.
The more she painted, the more she showed him what was buried inside of her, the deeper he fell. She made love to the canvas, making him jealous of her brush as it caressed the white cloth as one caressed a lover, as he longed to caress her, while she imprinted it with the colors of her soul, of her heart, of her emotions.
She poured all of herself into the painting, trying to convey without words the feelings he stirred within her. Longing, fear, desire and more, so much more that she ever imagined she could feel for anyone.
He coaxed, cajoled, seduced her with his touch and words, encouraging her to let her true feelings emerge. He wanted her to want him, to need him as much as he needed her, whatever qualm he had over tainting her innocence with his darkness completely forgotten right now in lieu of his overwhelming passion for her. Which made what she painted next hit him square in the chest.
If she could just pick one, choose one of the many ways she felt right now to show him, but... She focused on the one that kept coming back to her, kept calling her.
With a bold strike of the brush to the canvas, she drew one hard, broad, long line of passion. Passion was what she felt right now... about him... for him. It was a combination of everything that swirled in her mind until it all came together in a revelation.
The knowledge of what he saw, of what she was feeling as she laid it before him in red nearly brought him to his knees. Passion. There was no doubt about it, she felt passion for him. It was right there for everyone to see, for him to see. And every part of him felt the same way about her. He could feel it in his blood, in his undead heart, in every fiber of his being.
He never imagined the power behind the feelings that ran through him now upon seeing her mark on the canvas, never imagined he'd want to share himself, his life with anyone else more than he did right now in this very moment... with her. And he was determined to do it, to enjoy every minute of it. Enjoy every second he could spend with this woman. Cherish it, savor it, embrace it and live it.
“That’s it. Feel for me, pet. Don’t worry about what comes out. Let the paint tell the story. Show me what it is you're feeling right now. Put in front of me. Let me see... make me understand what lies deep within you... I want to know your heart.”
She felt is breath tickling her neck as she painted, his hard body pressed to her back, his hand trailing oh so slowly up and down her arm, his voice captivating her, lulling her until nothing else existed but them. Nothing else mattered but this moment and how close she felt to him. Closer than she’d ever felt to anyone. And yet, she didn’t feel it was close enough. She wanted more, needed more... needed him. Overwhelmed by her desire, she trusted her instincts, just as he’d told her... and let her emotions guide her. The brush dropped from her fingertips, her head and body turning into his arms and pulled his mouth to hers.
A deep moan erupted from his throat when she placed her lips to his. He hesitated for only a second before taking control of the kiss, grabbing her around the waist and crushing her body to his.
tbc
Okay, your turn now, I’d love to know what you thought of this chapter, if you are inclined to let me know.
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