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02

To Buffy’s disappointment, Spike had put on a shirt when he came out to the pool to let her know that he was done for the day and would help her with her pictures. Even though the sight of him in the white wife-beater, the chest soaked through with sweat, was a bit of a consolation, she wouldn’t have minded to get a glimpse of that body again.

“Right, I got the pictures already up in the bedroom but they are too big and heavy for me to hang them alone, so…” She rose from the pool chair, tugged on her flimsy bikini and led the way into the house.

Spike swallowed hard, trying to think innocent thoughts as he followed her. He wasn’t certain if she was aware of how visible her nipples were through the fabric of her bikini top, or of how deliciously the bottom clung to her ass, the top of her crack just peaking over the hem…

Don’t go there, Spike, he scolded himself. If he followed that trail of thought he’d either go insane or finally snap out of his moral restraint and seduce her, Angel and this bloody job be damned.

He had never been to the master bedroom but he knew right away that Buffy had decorated it. The room had her written all over it. Warm colors, the occasional throw pillow and soft textures. It wasn’t a girly room per se but it sure carried her signature. It surprised him that Angel had given her free reign in this. Knowing him, he was sure that this kind of generosity came with a condition. It always did.

“Those are the pieces?” he gestured at the two huge frames still wrapped in a bubble wrap.

“Yes. The first goes on the wall there, the other above the bed.”

Of course, one of them went above the bed. Where else would it go?

Spike unwrapped the paintings. The first one was the abstract image of a patch of flowers, painted in warm subdued colors. It was a pretty piece but probably horrendously over-prized. Which was, in fact, all the more satisfying as she had spent Angel’s money on it.

The spot she had picked opposite the bed was a perfect. It fit perfectly into the overall theme of the room and even though it was huge it almost seemed to blend in with the rest of the décor. As he told her that, her eyebrows went up in surprise.

“You know about art?”

“Well, knowing is too strong a word,” he shrugged. “I paint on very rare occasions and I took a course back in university. Let’s just say I know something is pretty when I see it.” He wasn’t so sure himself if that pun had been intentional or not. Thankfully, Buffy didn’t pick up on it.

“Really? Angel never told me you painted.”

“I suppose he didn’t tell you much about me, did he?”

Buffy lowered her gaze and she drew a line into the carpet with her toe. “Not particularly. Only that you know each other from school and that you needed a place to stay after your girlfriend kicked you out.”

Spike’s jaw tightened. That was only a third of the truth and of course the part which shed the best light on Angel.

“Exactly,” he said finally, nodding. “He’s… a very generous man,” he added through gritted teeth, busying himself with unwrapping the second painting.

This one, too, was abstract but the image of two lovers entwined was still glaringly obvious. A bit of uncomfortable silence stretched between them as Spike regarded the picture.

“Above the bed, you said?”

“Yes. Ehm, if you need my help, just…”

“No need to. Just tell me if it’s hanging straight.” His inner wiseass cracked a joke about how things were not exactly hanging but he pushed that thought into the farthest corner of his mind. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed.

This picture was heavier than the other one and he struggled a little to hang it up. Now he understood why Buffy hadn’t asked her precious husband to do it, physical labor was beneath him in every way possible.

“So?” he asked, swiping a trickle of sweat from his brow.

“It’s tilting. Move the right corner up a little,” Buffy ordered and he complied. “No, not that corner. The other right.”

He shot her a glance over his shoulder. “You do know left and right, don’t you, luv?”

“Yes, I do, thank you. Just... move the other corner up.” She squinted at the picture, closed one eye, then the other. “Now it’s tilting the other way. Put it back.”

“Would you make up your bleeding mind, please?”

She put her hands on her hips, scowling at him. “What is it with your British people and the blood, huh? Just…” She climbed onto the bed and nudged him aside. “Let me.”

With one finger, she delicately pushed the corner of the picture frame. It didn’t budge, not even a hairsbreadth but she seemed to think it made all the difference.

“There, now it’s perfect.” She took a step back to admire her work.

Walking on a mattress was a wobbly business at best. Her foot got caught in the comforter and as she tried to free herself while keeping her balance, her leg gave out from under her. All of which wouldn’t have been too bad if she hadn’t stumbled into Spike, her momentum adding to his, and they tumbled to the floor in a pile of limbs, pillows and blankets.

The wildest of his fantasies flooded his mind all at once. How many times had he dreamed about being on top of her, breathless, their bodies entwined. His imagination hadn’t been able to conjure up exactly how good it might actually feel, though.

Her body was hot beneath his, her leg under his, one arm around his neck, the other trapped between their bodies. It took him a second or two to realize how close her hand was to…

Buffy cleared her throat and he blinked.

“I think my husband’s home,” she said, her voice quivering a little.

It took all of his willpower to tear himself away from the petite blonde goddess. He could have stared into her big green eyes for hours and hours on end but the prospect of Angel catching them in the not-quite-an-act had him re-thinking this.

In a flash, he was on his feet, pulling her up as well.

“I better take the backstairs, then.” He couldn’t believe he was actually running away from Buffy’s husband. They’d known each other for twenty years and if it came to a fight he could take the other man, no matter that he was half a foot taller. But he wasn’t so worried about getting in trouble himself, he wanted to protect Buffy from Angel’s wrath. And wrath he had a-plenty.

“Yeah, might be best.” Buffy tugged on her bikini top for modesty sake again (he hadn’t even realized it revealed a good portion of her breast), then headed for the stairs. “Thanks for, ehm… helping me with the pictures and…”

“Don’t mention it,” he nodded, then picked up his shoes and padded quietly to the back staircase. He didn’t notice the almost sad look on Buffy’s face before she went down to greet her husband.


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