The evening continued to progress in the same wondrous haze of laughter and drink, and after the ritual fire Buffy’s sadness seemed to have nearly evaporated. Only occasionally did her eyes darken with gloom, or flicker with a deep thought, and usually those changes occurred when she glanced at Spike.
She avoided asking him the question bouncing around in her brain ever since Faith’s unintended reveal, sure that the flicker of hurt she felt was irrational. He owed her nothing, and what he’d already given to her was worth far more than one kept secret.
The hours flew by, and the party continued.
Spike emerged from the bathroom to see Buffy and Faith standing side by side next to the bar, cupping their own breasts, with an audience of frat boy onlookers a few feet away.
“See, you have like, multiple handfuls!” His girl whined, pouting sadly down into her cleavage.
“You have at least one,” Faith insisted, reaching out to replace the other girl’s hands with her own. “See? A handful, at least.”
“Yes, but you have tiny little hands!”
“More than a handful is a waste,” Xander piped in helpfully, eyes zeroed in on his girlfriend touching another woman.
“Oh, is that so?” Faith snapped, eyes darkening, spinning to face her now frightened boyfriend. “So, let me understand this. You don’t want these anymore? They’re wasteful?” She lifted her chest defiantly and smirked.
“Uh, no! No, that’s not what I meant. Baby, you know---“
“I’m guessing I have a line of guys in this dump just waiting for their chance to enjoy these babies. Am I right?”
The crowd of observers cheered their agreement.
“Honey I’m sorry---“
“Shut up, Xander. Give me a beer.” Faith rolled her eyes.
Spike could barely suppress his laughter as he sauntered up, then found himself with an armful of Buffy, who pressed a kiss to his cheek. He held her to him tightly, glaring over her head at the men who’d been watching her, staking his claim with one smirk.
“I missed you!” She squealed. “Want to dance again?” Spike opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “Oh! No. Food, I could totally go for food.”
“Pizza?” Faith came over and peeled Buffy away. “We could order in.”
“I like this whole living at a bar thing, it’s convenient!”
The pair of girls scampered off, and Spike continued to chuckle as he ducked under the counter to help Xander deal with the increasingly drunk clientele of the bar, scrambling for last call.
“You’ve got it so bad,” his friend remarked as he thrust two wine glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay into Spike’s hands.
“What are you on about?”
“Buffy. Come on, man, spill. Faith will murder me in my sleep if I don’t get you to talk.”
“I get your comic book collection, yeah?” Spike joked as he settled up an exorbitantly high bar tab.
“Yeah, I guess,” Xander sighed. “Seriously, though. The long looks, the dancing, the sexual tension---“
“Reading that Cosmo magazine again?”
“Stop using humor as a defense mechanism, that’s my schtick.”
“I learn from the best.”
“It’s starting to rain!” Buffy squealed as she returned, skipping up to the bar and reaching for Spike.
“Yes, and?” he laughed, amused at the exhilaration on her face.
“I love the rain. Come play in it.”
“You want to go out in the rain and freeze and get soaking wet?” He glanced at a smirking Xander before ducking under the bar to stand in front of Buffy.
“Yes, I would like to get pneumonia, is that a problem?” She frowned sarcastically and put her hands on her hips, then cocked her head. With her eyes flashing mock anger, her lips pouting adorably, and her body barely covered in that enticing scrap of lace, there was no chance of resistance.
Spike sighed. “At least put on a bloody jacket.”
“But I don’t have a jacket.”
“Then I’ll get you one of mine, come on.”
They made their way through a crowd of people to a door by the stairs, and slipped down a long dark hallway to a small, cramped room. A twin bed, a guitar stand, and a computer desk were all that could fit.
“You live in here?” Buffy asked, unintentionally wrinkling her nose.
“Not up to your high standards?” He felt a little hurt.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she turned and pressed her hands on his chest, and stared up at him guiltily. “It’s nice, it is. I like it. It’s cozy. And Spartan.” Then, she giggled.
She was too close to him, but not nearly close enough. With the choice of throwing her on the bed to ravish her, and backing up to put some necessary distance between them, he chose backing up. He grabbed a hooded rain jacket for her, and his black leather duster for him, and hurried back to her.
“Looks good on you,” he said gruffly as he wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and pulled the hood up over her head.
“You really like the leather, don’t you?” Buffy teased, reaching out and petting his coat softly. “I like this...mmm. Soft…”
“Uh, right, you wanted to go play in the rain?” He pulled away again, and Buffy frowned, confused, as she followed him down the hall to the back door of the bar. But any unease on her part melted when they emerged into the light rainfall.
Squealing, Buffy ran forward, then spread out her hands and raised her face up to the night sky. She spun in a full circle, hair glowing in the light of the nearby street lamp, skin starting to glisten with a thin sheen of rainwater. She pulled the hood of the jacket off of her head and took out the bobby pins in her hair to let it fall down her back in a halo of gold.
Spike watched, hypnotized by the sight of her, as she turned her face back towards him and called his name.
“Get over here,” She said. “I want to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Just come, you!”
“Pet, you’re really going to catch something, even with the jacket you’re hardly wearing anything,” he moved forward towards her, avoiding a puddle, ignoring the part of him that was saying to resist, back up, go inside.
Buffy stepped closer to him and asked seriously, “You don’t like my outfit?”
“You know I love the outfit.” She was a sex kitten in that dress, and she didn’t truly understand it, her sexual power, which made it that much harder to resist his impulses. “Just don’t want you to get sick.”
Something tiny, almost indiscernible, flashed in Buffy’s green eyes. Spike was looking at her intently enough that he saw it. “I think I’m good with the taking care of myself. Or at least, I want to be. Better. Older. Aren’t you proud?”
“Very.” He could feel his hair getting damp, and as the rain began to fall faster, rivulets of water began to run down the back of his neck, under his jacket.
“You aren’t, you’re teasing me!” She put one finger up to the smirk on his face.
“I’m not teasing, you’re just…so bloody adorable.”
“Oh,” she smiled softly, leaving her finger pressed to his mouth. “That’s okay then.” The small finger, with its delicate manicured nail, started softly caressing his lips.
“You’re definitely drowning the sorrows,” he tried to kill the mood, but didn’t move an inch from her tentative, exploring finger, now tracing a path up his cheek, lightly dancing across the bruise forming from Angel’s punch.
“Consider them drowned,” Buffy giggled, her finger reaching his eyelid and brushing his scar as she stepped forward, so their bodies fused together, wet leather against lace. “Sorrows totally drowned and…in the ground.”
“Writing me poetry, now?”
“Shut up,” she pouted, fingers now traveling back down his chest, across one nipple, circling it slowly before outlining his abs.
He hissed his pleasure. Then regained his focus said, “Really, the sorrows are still there, you just---“
“We’re done with the whole psycho-analyze Buffy portion of the evening, as fun as it was, if it’s going to tell you that I don’t want this.” Her voice was confident, her hand stopped at his belt, and gathered up the fabric of his shirt so his stomach was bared to the cold, wet air.
He gulped. “Want what?”
“Is that a question?” Buffy giggled, before she reached up and kissed him softly. Spike suppressed a groan the second they touched, and leaned in to the lingering, yet almost chaste kiss, but kept his arms firmly at his sides.
She pulled away, and said shyly, nervousness flickering in her eyes, “It’s okay that I did that, right?”
“More than bloody okay,” Spike murmured. “But we really shouldn’t, baby, you don’t---“
“You’re the one who says I need to make my own choices, right? So let me make one and don’t question me. And don’t say we can’t because I’m drunk, because I’m not so far gone I can’t think straight. So shush.”
“Pet---“
“No buts. Who knows better what I want than me, right? And I know I…I want you.”
And he wanted her too, but couldn’t let her push for what they both craved without a confession. “Buffy, I can’t…I should tell you that tomorrow I’m---“
“You’re leaving tomorrow, I know,” she shrugged, affecting a fake air of nonchalance. At his surprised look, she explained, “Faith let it slip. It’s okay. I’m not thinking this is like…forever whatever, I just…want you.”
And that repeated plea broke down the last of his gentlemanly impulses. Spike initiated the kiss this time, wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his body. Buffy let out a squeak of surprise, and he used the opportunity to gain entrance to her mouth, and began to explore it with his expert tongue. He could taste the rainwater on her lips, the faint fruit of her lip gloss and the coarse hint of alcohol, along with a flavor he couldn’t identify. A flavor he could become addicted to.
Legs almost giving out, she clung to his biceps, let him control her mouth, and moaned softly as his hands gravitated immediately to her breast and her ass. She arched her back into his touch, digging her nails into the leather of his coat, feeling shocks of pleasure every time their battling tongues connected.
The rain was falling harder now, nearly a downpour, drenching them both, as they frantically poured hours of sexual tension into their heated embrace. The night was quiet but for the steady pound of water droplets on the ground, and Spike’s heavy breaths and moans mingling with Buffy’s soft whimpers.
He pushed her backwards, seeking refuge from the onslaught of rain underneath the eaves of the building, pressing her to the wall with his hard body and his want for her. He nipped gently at her lips before leaving her to gasp for air and attacking the column of her throat with wet kisses. Buffy let her hands fall from his arms to his hips, grasping at them frantically, eyes flying open at the feel of something hard and insistent pressing into her.
As one of Spike’s hands slipped under her wet dress to caress and tweak her nipple, and the other made its way up her inner thigh, Buffy began to shake almost uncontrollably, her lips quivering, her hands on his body trembling. When his fingers reached the edge of her white lace panties, and brushed over her swollen clit barely covered by cloth, she let out a shuddering breath.
“Baby, you okay?” he said into her neck, dipping under the cloth of her underwear to brush her already wet folds. He almost swore aloud as he felt the evidence of the arousal he evoked in her.
“Yeah, yeah,” she squeaked biting her lip as unfamiliar sensations coursed through her. She shivered again.
“God, you’re probably freezing,” Spike pulled away from her and brushed her soaked hair away from her face, eyes roaming over her lips and cheeks and nose reverently, finger still inside her panties. “I’m sorry, pet, I’m such a prat. Let’s go inside, yeah?”
“Okay,” she said softly, dropping her arms from his shoulders, but neither moved to enter the bar.
“Really, are you alright, love?” He didn’t still the soft strokes of his fingers in between her legs, and shifted his weight so his erection was pressed into her hand, and he sighed his relief at that slight touch. “You’re sure about this, yeah? We don’t have to---“
“No, no, I’m sure,” Buffy insisted, gathering her inner strength. “It’s just, um…I should probably tell you something.”
“What’s that?” he moved to bite her earlobe, ground himself into her palm, unable to resist any of the urges he felt towards her in the heat of the moment, after ignoring them all night.
A bang to their left startled them both, and they pulled apart.
“Oh, whoops, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Faith laughed, wiggling her eyebrows at the pair, her head poked out of the bar door. “Just wanted to find you, let you know we’re closing up and the pizza’s here.”
“Oh, pizza!” Buffy said, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. “Awesome.”
Faith ducked back inside, a wicked grin on her face, and Spike took a deep breath. “Need a second before I can head in there, love. Got me all worked up.”
“Oh?” She squeaked.
“Oh,” he grinned, slinking back to press her against the wall once more, lust-addled mind forgetting her almost-confession from seconds earlier. “You’ll work me up again later though, yeah?” His voice was low, throaty, sending shocks of pleasure throughout Buffy’s body.
“Yeah,” she agreed, suddenly feeling light-headed. Spike smirked and moved away, allowing her room to scurry back inside.
After a few minutes of slow, even breaths, he followed.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Here's a speedy update for you! So glad you're all sticking with the story after such a long wait, and thanks for all your reviews! Enjoy the chapter...
Chapter End Notes:
Phew. Got a little hot there. Please oh please let me know what you think!