Chapter Thirteen
Willow was so hungry she was nauseous. Having awakened in the depths of night by something as unscary as an owl in the Harris’s backyard, her stomach all but roared at her. Feeling shaky with fatigue, she pushed herself up and tried to see through the surrounding darkness. Knowing Xander, he’d have stuffed some kind of snack food into the corners of his new home; she just had to be sniffer-witch and find it. And the prospect of eating seriously stale chips did nothing to dull her stomach’s need for something to fill it.
Her legs shook as she levered herself from the bed. There was a lamp somewhere, and she found it as soon as she bumped against the bedside table and it went shattering to the cement floor.
“Crap!”
Not that she needed it. What use was man-made electricity when she could light up the stars with just a word passed through her lips?
Her brain felt fuzzy, but still something niggled through and she sighed in relief as a small thumb-sized ball of light appeared before her eyes. So, maybe not the stars tonight. She still was too weak to do much more than sleep. Too weak to indulge her thirst for carnage.
A memory of a long ago Saturday afternoon rolled into her mind and Willow cringed as she replayed a Twinkie battle to the death upstairs in Xander’s old bedroom. His parents had been gone for the weekend and she’d pinned all her hopes on some self-realisation by her friend and her much-anticipated first kiss. She’d been handed soda and snacks and they’d had a fun time watching all of their favourite movies, but smoochies had never been on the cards. It made her angry now. If he’d had less rocks in his head and given her a chance, he wouldn’t have been at the mercy of Faith. God, he could have picked her and yet he’d always turned to the dangerous women.
Allowing just that one small memory to possess her made Willow feel more tired than before. She quickly found a bag of chips and dragged it back to the bed, barely getting there before her body collapsed on the old mattress. She’d have to go out later and get something a little more fulfilling and nutritious—and not to mention fresh, she thought with a cringe of distaste. But at least her tummy had stopped objecting.
Before she’d consumed half the bag exhaustion reclaimed her, eyes drifting closed once again on the world.
Her last thought was of her ex-friend’s betrayal. It would serve to fuel her dreams through the rest of the night until morning blessed her with a return to consciousness.
The bag fell to the side and a handful of chips fell over the bedspread. They’d be crumbled by morning.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy finally caught up to Spike at their cemetery—or his, which was closer to the truth of it.
“Hey! You must have run all the way here,” she puffed as she drew in alongside him.
“Yeah. Thought I could do with some fresh air,” he admitted.
“But you don’t breathe,” Buffy teased, her arms spontaneously circling his waist as her head found the natural indent between his chest and shoulder.
“True,” he admitted and Buffy could recognise the smirk in his voice without even needing to look at his face.
“So you were just taking a run down memory lane?” she asked, tipping her head back so she could look into his eyes and remind herself of how beautiful the shade was.
“Yeah. Been a while since I’ve seen the crypt. Kind of missed it, you know?”
The sadness was crushing in on her again. She felt like an aluminium can, memories and regrets slamming into her on every side. “Yeah, I do. I missed it too.” And then, before her courage disappeared and they stayed locked in this emotional limbo forever, “I missed you more.”
Spike stopped walking and Buffy held her breath. This was the moment she’d been terrified of, ever since it occurred to her there’d be more moments after the initial reunion—if they’d both made it out of the fight alive.
“I’m sorry, Buffy.”
That was all he said, and she was left puzzled about what in particular he was apologising for. Was he showing his regret at not believing her declaration during their last seconds together? Or was he apologising for dying on her? Or was it merely that he’d not returned or not even called to let her know he was back? Did he know how hard she’d grieved? Had he finally realised he’d torn her heart out as well as disintegrating the Hellmouth?
“Sorrys aren’t enough, Spike,” she whispered, half-terrified she’d say the wrong thing and everything she wished for would suddenly blow up in her face, leaving her cold and alone once again.
“I know that,” he admitted, his blue eyes burning as he searched her soul. “But it’s a start, yeah? I did the wrong thing, but don’t I always? Not that I’m trying to make excuses for not calling you. There is no excuse—only fear. And as surprising as it is, I had a boat load of that. And guilt. Heard about Anya from the boy.” He ducked his head and Buffy saw the glistening tear that had formed in his eye, and while the jealousy in her rose up and howled, she couldn’t deny that the loss had been devastating—even if it had surprised the heck out of them all.
“It’s been a difficult year for everybody. Well, except maybe Dawn. She’s been having a blast running rings around Giles, being all secretive girl behind his back. He thinks he’s the Head of the Council, but I think Dawn knows more about that place than he does.” Buffy took a step forward and almost collapsed in relief that Spike followed. For some reason keeping movement going while she was trying to untangle her thoughts was much more of the helpful. “I can’t forgive you for not calling me when you got back,” Buffy decided. “Not yet anyway. It hurt to lose you, and to find out you were here almost the whole time and chose to stay with Angel over getting in touch with me? I don’t understand it. I don’t think there’s anything you could even say that could clear that up for me, and I’m half convinced you shouldn’t even try.”
Spike stilled again but they’d finally reached his crypt and Buffy didn’t want a confrontation out in the open. She wanted to see the place that had been a haven more often than her own home had been. She wanted to see what she’d destroyed when she’d bombed the vampire’s very own basement. She wanted to reclaim all the cobwebs and shadows and she wanted to lament the loss of this place that had been so unlikely in its delivery of comfort.
“Shouldn’t try to make you understand why I was such a cowardly bastard? Not that I think you’d have trouble with that concept exactly. Or do you think I shouldn’t try to…to get you back?” His voice boomed in this strangely empty room and Buffy winced. There was panic there, she recognised, but also a strangely familiar sense of acceptance. All those little intimacies—the kisses and the looks—hadn’t penetrated his thick skull after all. He still thought they had to fight to get to the place they’d almost reached before he’d gone up in a blaze of sunlight.
Buffy snorted. The idiot still didn’t realise they’d already surpassed that. As far as she was concerned, they were a done deal and God help anyone who tried to make the situation otherwise.
Oh well, actions always did speak louder than words to Spike.
In a move too casual to be misconstrued, Buffy tossed her battered black leather crop jacket onto the sarcophagus, doing a silent cheer as she watched Spike’s gaze trail its progress. He missed the quick unbuttoning of her shirt, but his eyes bugged as he saw it drift down to land perfectly on top of the jacket.
“Buffy?” He turned in time to catch her breasts fall from the lace cups of her bra, and that scrap of fabric quickly joined its companions on the cement block.
“Yes, Spike?”
The floor was dusty, but Buffy was resolved—not to mention desperate to feel his flesh against hers once again—and screwed up her nose delicately as she toed off her boots and kicked them to land with a thud in the general direction of her clothes.
“What are you doing, pet?” His voice was rough and raw and it sent every breed of tingle down Buffy’s spine. God, these memories were beyond good and she sighed in anticipated pleasure as her pants fell open at the clasp and she pushed them down her legs.
“Seizing the moment, Spike. You know, it’s kind of cold in here.” It was one detail that was too bizarre for her to have forgotten, but the chill of the crypt had definitely slipped her mind. She’d never had the chance to feel it when she’d been here, despite so often being naked.
“Hard to heat a room made out of stone.” He seemed stunned. His eyes zeroed in on tight, rosebud nipples and felt his palms itch to cup them.
“See anything you like?” Buffy asked sweetly, slowly inching her panties down her hips and allowing them to pool at her bare feet. Her heart was thudding madly in her chest and despite the cold, a volcano of heat was rushing through her veins and sparking every nerve to life.
“Buffy, I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” he admitted, and like the big jerk he was, he tried not to look and actually took a step backwards. “This isn’t what you wanted back in SunnyD. Remember that last night? All you wanted back then was to be held. You should get dressed, luv, and we’ll talk about this, yeah?”
Buffy pouted. “No.” She couldn’t believe she was going to have to pound some sense into him while she stood shivering and naked in a hopefully uninhabited crypt. She probably should have thought earlier to check for signs of this being someone’s home. Oh well. “I did want this, you big…poop head. I can’t believe you’re being all chivalrous and…and idiotic. You idiot. I’ve done nothing but regret not telling you I love you earlier than I did. I want to feel you naked against me again. I want you, you big dope. Now stop being stupid and strip.”
God, was she being too forceful? She was. Crap. He was gaping at her and Buffy felt like slapping herself for sucking so badly with expressing herself. A whole year talking to a grief therapist had done nothing to help her make herself speak sensibly and chronologically.
And then his duster went flying and Buffy was laughing, running to him as he tore his clothes off and tossed away his boots. Her mouth found his in a crash so sublime she almost wept. Tears bathed her cheeks as he finally kissed her in the way of old—hard, passionate, a kiss meant to imprint ownership in a way that no other ever could. It was a kiss from a man and Buffy realised with a start that no one had ever touched her lips like this—and no one ever would.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth, her eyes glistening as she caught hold of his, demanding he see the truth of it for real and daring him to refute it again to her face.
“Buffy,” he breathed and she relished in the return of that awed look he always gave her when something so monumental occurred. She felt like she deserved it now—felt like she knew what to do with devotion that limitless. The days of uncertainty had been burnt away with the fire of a Hellmouth sinking to its final home and Buffy hugged him closer, finding her lips against his throat and giving in to the desire to nibble his flesh. Tasting him on her tongue made it all so real. Made him hers and she was never letting him walk away from her again.
“Make love to me?” Her hands skimmed his flanks, hoping that she could waylay any talk of waiting by renewing his association with her flesh—with her touch. Not that he’d had much knowledge of it. All their time together had been centred on what his fingers, teeth and tongue had been able to do for her. Showing a mutual desire to explore him would have been dangerous and Buffy had always controlled the urge with the steely determination of a slayer punishing herself for being weak. Letting him touch her had been the worst thing she’d thought she’d ever done. In reality, the cruelty had been in not touching him back. Just as cruel to her as it had been to him. If she’d touched him, maybe she could have known the truth between them before she’d thrust him out of her life.
Though she’d already asked, his expression begged her for permission and once given, Spike reared against her, his mouth going in for the kill as he tried to consume all of her at once. “I will cherish you for as long as we have, Buffy,” he breathed against her breast, defying her to lose concentration as he gently sucked a tight nipple between his teeth and worried it to the point of aching.
“We have forever, Spike.”
And then there was nothing left for words. Words were a cheap alternative when his body spoke so eloquently and hers received his touch more happily than ears.
Her skin was hot to the touch and her heart hammered within her chest. Spike swept his tongue across the burning nipple and hesitated about moving onto the next. Buffy curled her fingers into his hair and lifted his head up to receive her lips instead, and as she felt his tongue thrust its way into her mouth, his hands curved around behind her knees and he hoisted her up, her legs scissoring around his waist in the way they both loved. Her hot centre rested against his abs and Buffy sighed into his mouth as the rest of her body melted against him. The tip of his cock nudged against the cleft of her ass and Buffy moaned and writhed in need.
Pulling her crotch away from his belly, Spike tipped himself up and speared into the wet, burning part of her flesh that would suck him in like a favoured lollypop. He didn’t even have to move, Buffy bearing down on him until he slid all the way in, stretching her wide and igniting every nerve ending on her flesh.
“God, Buffy, my imagination never came close to knowing how good you feel.”
As far as she was concerned, neither of them would need to rely on imagination again. There was nothing better than feeling the man you loved inside your body, prodding every hidden place that no one had ever bothered to find. Nibbling on his lips, Buffy finally initiated a rhythm, her hooked legs enabling her to push up until he was bulging at her entrance, and then slowly encase him again, revelling in the way her body never rejected him—always welcomed him in deeper than the last. He brought her body to life, and made her question every mistake she’d made since knowing him.
“I love you,” she told him again, and as she felt the first powerful clench of her muscles and his answering pulse inside her, Buffy hoped this perfect moment would never end.
“Sweetheart, you know I love you. I always will.” And together they explored a galaxy of stars that were glitteringly familiar—no matter which world they created them in.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm probably going to slow up updates from now on--just so i can take some time to finish writing the story. I believe it's only a handful of chapters away so you will hopefully have it all within two weeks *crosses fingers* Thank you so much for everyone's support this far. You've all been truly amazing.