The bar was empty now, but for Xander and Larry, cleaning up the beer bottles and wine glasses and napkins that littered every available surface. Spike began to help immediately, attempting to suppress the giddy smile on his face but failing miserably.
“Dude!” Larry laughed. “Look at that smug bastard. Grinning like an idiot.”
“That he is,” Xander agreed, juggling a few beer bottles while observing his friend. “Methinks the lady may have something to do with that.”
Spike ignored their comments, and merely asked, “Where’d she go?”
“Who?” Larry asked innocently.
Xander dumped the bottles in the recycling bin and raised his hand. “Oh, you mean the soaking wet smoking hot blonde?”
The bigger man sighed longingly. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be all over that.”
“If you were straight, you’d never have a chance.”
“Like you would!”
Spike snapped, “Come on, where is she?”
“Dude, chill. She’s borrowing some of Faith’s sweats,” Larry shrugged, wrinkling his nose as he lifted up a discarded sock.
“Thank you, Abbott and Costello,” grumbled Spike, shedding his duster, then glanced towards the stairs impatiently. “Should I go up there? I could---“
“What, help?” Xander snickered. “Calm down, Romeo. Eat some pizza. Don’t be overeager.”
“I’m not!” His voice was high and whiny, so he repeated, deepening his tone to a more manly level. “I’m not overeager.”
He glanced over at the stairs, that goofy smile returning to his face, and waited. Impatiently.
“Spill.”
“Faith---“
“No, really. You so owe me. I need info!” The brunette flung herself on the bed and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Buffy sighed and spun around, pulling on the tank top Faith had given her before untying the halter of her dress and pushing it down her hips. “There’s…not really anything to tell?”
“Liar. Big fat liar. Come on, girl, I saw you two snuggle bunnies.”
The blonde coughed uncomfortably as she ducked into the bathroom to slide out of her wet underwear and pull on the too large sweat pants. “We kissed?” She said tentatively as she came back into the living room, running a comb through her soaked tresses.
“Well, no shit, Sherlock!” Faith teased good naturedly, springing up to grab makeup remover to fix the smudging of Buffy’s make up. Her mood sobered up a little, and she observed Buffy carefully.
“What?” She asked awkwardly, slipping her feet into the slippers offered to her.
“You really like him, don’t you?” Faith said seriously.
“Well, as a person, yeah, I mean he’s been so nice to me---“
“Not what I mean.”
Buffy took a deep breath, and said, “He’s leaving, Faith, as you said. And he told me, I mean, he was going to tell me. I didn’t really let him get that far. So…it’s not like I’m expecting anything.”
The other woman clearly didn’t believe her, and said so. “Just be careful, B. You’re all vulnerable and shit, and as much as I love Spike, after that Druid bitch he wasn’t exactly the Prince Charming he’s been acting like all night. So, I’m just telling you not to get in too deep.”
“Thanks, Faith,” Buffy said sincerely, trying not to show how the warnings worried her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Seriously. As a friend, since that’s what I am.”
“Right, I got it.”
They headed back downstairs, and the second they emerged into the bar Spike jumped up with a smile on his face. A smile that chased away all of the fears Faith had just instilled in her.
“Spike,” she said shyly.
“Buffy,” he grinned back.
“Xander!” The bartender said in a booming voice.
Both ignored him. “Pizza?” Spike handed her a plate and a water glass, which she accepted with a smile. “We could…go eat it in my room, if you like.”
“Sounds good,” she said as calmly as possible, turning on her heel and shuffling in the too big slippers down the hall.
Spike rolled his eyes at the thumbs up Xander gave him, but paused a moment as he passed Faith and observed her serious expression. “What?” He asked curiously.
“Don’t hurt her,” she said simply, hands on her hips. “She’s a good girl.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Spike growled on instinct, his tone harsher than he intended. “I would never hurt her,” he softened his voice, his words obviously sincere. “Believe me.”
Faith’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “Oh, shit. It’s not her I have to worry about, is it?”
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“Our boy’s got it bad, Xand,” the brunette smirked, curling into her boyfriend’s side. “Have fun, Spike. And be nice.”
“Always am,” he grumbled, taking off down the hall to avoid any more teasing.
He paused just short of his door, where he knew he couldn’t be seen, and leaned back against the wall with his eyes shut tight. He knew exactly what Faith meant with her warnings, and her worries.
Love’s bitch, that was Spike Pratt. Or at least, it had been up until Drusilla cheated on him, ripped his heart out, and served it as a meal to his pet dog Clem, who she’d kept as her own after the break up. When Faith had met him, he was the kind of man who would have done anything for the woman he loved, would have walked through fire, but after Dru left him he became the kind of man who didn’t believe in the notion. He’d bedded more women in the months since his black goddess had left him than he cared to admit, and not one of them had lasted in his affections longer than a week.
He wasn’t always nice. He was a bad, rude man, as a matter of fact.
Aside from his pursuit of countless meaningless women, he’d increased his indulgence in the drugs Drusilla had introduced him to, spent days drinking himself into stupor only sobering up when sickness overtook him, lived a life antithetical to anything he’d ever imagined for himself. He’d been nearly dead, physically, emotionally, spiritually.
But after a night that still haunted his nightmares, he’d ceased all that behavior, save the drinking. The night that he’d been drunk enough to claim to be sober, drunk enough to demand he drive himself and Faith home from a party where they’d seen Dru hanging on the arm of some tattooed musician. Drunk enough to scream how he didn’t care if he died, drunk enough to wrap his car around a tree, endangering the life of one of the only remaining people in this world who cared about him.
Faith had been bruised banged up, but safe, while he suffered only from a deep cut on his eyebrow and an immediate onslaught of guilt. She’d dragged his bleeding body from the car, screaming the whole time, her words finally snapping him back from whatever hell he’d put himself through. And she made him realize Sunnydale was toxic for him, permanently controlled by Drusilla and her fucked up hold over him.
He needed to get out, start fresh, and he’d planned it. Given up on his mutilated car, bought a bike, pared his belonging down to the bare essentials. Planned to run, from himself, from his life.
But there, in his room, was a girl unlike any he’d ever had the chance to get to know. In the hours since he’d met Buffy, around eight, at last count, he found himself sinking back into the behavior so typical of who he’d been a year earlier. All he wanted was to please her, to comfort her, to make her feel special. He felt none of the bitterness that had been present in his heart since Drusilla, none of the need to assert his dominance over the fairer sex, none of the desires to snort or smoke or drink himself unconscious.
Spike still had to leave. He knew he did.
But the idea no longer gave him the comfort it had that morning. He no longer knew if it was the answer, if it would cure the problems plaguing him.
But she might.
Spike stood away from the wall and walked into the room, heart swelling as he saw Buffy, cross legged on his bed, mouth full of pizza, wet hair curling slightly as it dried, looking perfectly at home.
“Hi,” she mumbled around her mouthful, swallowing it quickly before a tentative smile graced her face. “Good pizza.”
“Dominos?”
“Rusty’s.”
“Greasy.”
“Tasty!” She chucked a balled up napkin at him and giggled. “Want some?”
“Sure,” he moved to sit across from her on the small bed, taking the last piece of pizza off her plate.
They ate in silence, glancing at each other sporadically, smiling in unison every time their eyes met. The mood was light, free, despite the baggage each of them were carrying, despite the reservations each held.
“Is it your question or mine?” Buffy asked, halfway through her pizza slice and stalling.
“Oh, don’t even know, pet, lost count ages ago,” he frowned. “Let’s say it’s your turn.”
“Um, can we say it’s yours? Totally don’t have a question.”
“Fine, okay, it’s mine,” Spike thought for a moment, chewing on the last bit of his pizza. “Okay, got one. Where’s your favorite place on earth?”
“Paris,” She replied immediately. “Specifically, this little park near the Saint Ambroise metro stop.”
“That was quick.”
“Summer after I graduated high school my parents took me on a Europe trip. I know this is so poor little rich girl, but it was awful. They were fighting all the time, I had to get dressed up and meet all my dad’s business contacts, we didn’t go any of the places I wanted to go. When we were in Rome I didn’t even get to go see the Coliseum or anything!” Buffy reached for her water glass and took a sip. “But when we went to Paris, I sort of…just took off for a day. Walked at least fifteen miles, all around the city. And I ended up in this little park. It was totally empty, it was raining, it was so quiet…I don’t know. I just think about it all the time.”
“Sounds beautiful,” Spike murmured.
“Yeah. Until I went back to the Hilton and my parents flipped out at me and sent me back home.”
“Are you serious?” He couldn’t imagine a set of parents treating their daughter in the way she’d hinted at over the course of the evening.
“Yep. First flight back to the States, I was on it. Stayed with my aunt and uncle for the rest of the month.”
“Tossers.”
“Assholes.”
“That too.”
“And you, Spike? What’s your favorite place?” Buffy leaned forward and wiped a bit of pizza sauce off the corner of his mouth, then put her thumb in her mouth and licked it off.
The comfortable little gesture distracted him from her question for a moment. When he realized it had been at least thirty seconds of him staring at her intently, he smiled sheepishly before replying, “Don’t think I’ve found it yet, pet.”
“Is that what your trip is for?” She asked as casually as she could.
Spike froze, yet again. He didn’t remember any other time in his life when a person had this paralyzing affect on him, with just simple questions and smiles. “In a way. Just need to get out of this town.”
“Yeah, Sunnydale sucks. I’d get out if I could.”
“Maybe you should.”
“I can’t. Can we drop this?”
“Of course, pet,” he pouted a bit.
Buffy thought deeply for a moment, considered his behavior, Faith’s warnings, the way he smiled at her, and could come up with no concrete reason to resist the desire to lean over and kiss him. So she did.
He responded instantly, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and shifting to kneel above her, free hand dancing up and down her arm, playing with the strap of her tank top, caressing the sensitive skin on her wrist, finally lacing his fingers with her own. The kiss stayed slow, his tongue only entering her mouth when she parted her lips to invite him, his lips soft and sweet on hers.
Spike leaned forward more and more, until her body was flat on the bed, her legs still folded in their pretzel position. He abandoned her neck and hand to uncross them, then wrapped them around his waist, his touch firm and demanding, while his kiss was still gentle. He lowered his body on hers slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until Buffy felt completely covered, surrounded, swallowed by him. Their kisses intensified, her hands moved to pull off his shirt, his erection pressed into her most intimate of places. She whimpered.
Suddenly, Spike pulled away, a curious look on his face. “Wait, didn’t you have something you were going to tell me before?”
“Oh…that,” Buffy said weakly, biting her lip nervously. Sensing instantly this wasn’t a conversation to be had with his cock threatening to burst through layers of clothing to reach her pussy, Spike rolled off of her and leaned on one elbow.
“What is it, love?” He asked softly, hand stroking her upper thigh, unable to keep from touching her.
“It’s really not a huge deal,” she shrugged, sliding up to lean against the wall, away from his touch, fiddling with the ties of her sweatpants. “I just figured you’d want to know.”
“Know what?” He was starting to worry, as she seemed unable to meet his gaze. He moved to sit up next to her, thousands of scenarios running through his mind.
He wasn’t exactly prepared for what she confessed.
“I sort of…haven’t really actually done this before. The whole thing. Technically.”
“Done…what?” Spike asked stupidly. At her pointed look, then a quick glance down to the bulge in his pants, he got it. “Oh….bloody hell.” He gaped at her, then shifted a few inches away. “You’re a…fuck.”
“I’m a fuck?”
“No, you’re…fuck.”
Buffy giggled a bit, the affects of the alcohol lightening her mood and keeping her from being as self-conscious as she would be otherwise. “Don’t look so horrified, Spike.”
After finally regaining control of his senses, he sighed and stood away from the bed. “This isn’t a good idea,” he insisted, going with the cognitive as opposed to the emotional or physical. “We can’t do this.’
“Why not?” She almost whined. “Don’t you want to?”
“Hell, yes, I want to,” he groaned, spinning around and resting his hands on his desk, dropping his head and sucking in a much-needed breath. “You were waiting? For…for Angel. For marriage.”
“No, not really,” Buffy confessed, watching the muscles in his bare back ripple with tension as he kept himself from looking at her. “It just never happened. I didn’t date anyone in high school, and by the time he and I got together, I wanted to wait a bit. And then he proposed, and it was like, why rush it?”
“Right,” he mumbled. “Right, okay.”
“Don’t have a cow,” she got off the bed and moved to lean next to him on the desk, waiting impatiently for him to raise his head and look at her. “It’s really not a big deal. I figured I should just…tell you first.”
“Buffy,” sighed Spike, as he straightened up. Her heart fell at his passionless use of her given name, as opposed to the terms of endearment she’d come to adore. “This can’t happen. You should…you should go.”
“Why?’
“You know why.”
“No, explain it to me!”
“Let’s see, you’re too young, just broke up with your fiancé, and you’re…confused. I can’t give you what you want, Buffy, I’m not that guy,” he rushed out, snatching his shirt off the bed and yanking it back on, unbearably frustrated. Not with her, not really, but with himself and the fact that this new piece of information excited him more than it should. She could be his, truly his, was more innocent and more pure than he’d even imagined. But to take her, possess her, would mean he was falling directly from the frying pan into the fire.
“You have no idea what I want! I have no stupid illusions about you and me and I know you’re leaving, I know this is just for tonight, so what’s the problem?” Her babbles rushed out of her quickly, leaving her breathless. For the first time, she knew what she wanted with her whole self, and she was going to go after it with all she had, regardless of the obstacles and consequences.
But her babbles did make a little sense to Spike. “Kitten,” his voice softened, and he moved close to her, cupping her face in his hands. “You…you may think you wouldn’t mind, that this wouldn’t be anything more than just a night. But it would hurt you, I know it would, and I couldn’t let myself…you don’t want this, you’re just being impulsive.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Buffy frowned. “Like I said before, I think I’m entitled to make my own decisions. And I get you don’t want to hurt me, I get that but…you won’t. I know you won’t.” She knew there wasn’t more between them than just one night, but for whatever reason, she wanted, needed him to be her first. None of her friends had really enjoyed their first times, as far as she could tell, as all held far too high expectations. With Spike, she could have no expectations, just a night with someone who truly seemed to care about her. Who didn’t want to hurt her.
It certainly wasn’t because one look at him made her heart pound so loudly that she could hardly concentrate on her argument.
He tried to protest once more. “But---“
“You like me, right?” She already knew the answer to that.
“God, of course I do, kitten.”
“And I like you. And I know the score. So what’s the problem?”
Spike was wavering, she was swaying him, and he tried to cling to his last shred of self-preservation. She was strong, he knew she was, she’d be fine no matter what. But he might not be.
With one more kiss, she tore that last shred away. “Please, William,” she murmured against his lips. “Can I stay?’
He was helpless to resist her.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Loved all your responses to the last chapter, and can't wait to hear what you think about this one! Oh, and look look at the gorgeous wonderful banner dampersandspoons made for me, isn't it fantastic? Thank you so much!