Chapter 9
They had been simmering for days now. Little glances, stolen kisses, nights by the stream. But when she turned in his lap and wound her arms around his neck, he knew. They’d just reached the boiling point.
He wasn’t sure who kissed whom first, but he was lost in the softness of her lips so quickly that it didn’t matter. He slid his hands to her hips as she straddled him, slowly tracing her curves as their tongues intertwined.
He hadn’t made out with a girl in a car in . . . well. He wasn’t sure if he ever had. It wasn’t comfortable, the gear shift jammed into his leg, the steering wheel that must be pressing into her back. But the chance to delve into her sweet mouth, to feel the press of her warm body made it bearable.
When she finally drew back, he couldn’t help but follow, not wanting to lose contact with her skin. She tilted her head back and let him taste the salt of her skin. He could feel the pounding of her heart against him. Or maybe it was his.
But it wasn’t enough.
Before he thought about it, the words had left his mouth, asking her if she wanted to move to the backseat.
She didn’t answer for a moment and he started to retract the suggestion, trying to reel in the rushing blood that had entirely drained his brain of coherent thought. Before he could speak, she wiggled free of his embrace and he turned to watch as she slid over into the back seat.
In the midst of their complete attention to each other, he hadn’t noticed the growing clouds and patter of rain that had begun to fall. It was the flash of lightening splitting the sky and illuminating the backseat that froze the moment in his mind. There she was, hair dishelved and falling around her shoulders, lips swollen and pouting as she beckoned him with one crooked finger to join her.
He didn’t even think twice before he was there.
Spike sat down at the bar and raised a hand to the bartender. "Beer."
"Coming right up."
Willie’s Place was the only bar in the one-horse town that was Sunnydale, but it was everything he needed for tonight. Quiet, dark, full of individuals who seemed content to stare as morosely into their drinks as he planned to with his.
The bottled American brew stopped in front of him and he didn’t bother with the glass plunked beside it, just raised the bottle and took a swift slug. He’d planned on something stronger, and maybe he’d get there before the night was through. But for now, the beer would mellow the edges and help him sort through things.
He almost snorted. Yeah. Like a few brewskies were going to fix what was ailing him. He wasn’t his father. Not going to crawl into a bottle and refuse to come out when relations with the fairer sex spun him.
He drained the rest of the bottle and started to call for a second, then stopped. This wasn’t helping. He threw a crumpled bill to cover his tab on the bar and strode out the door.
The Desoto sat in the gravel parking lot, gleaming in the moonlight. He opened the door and slid behind the driver’s seat, the sense memory of the day wrapping itself around him like all-encompassing blanket. He closed his eyes and it was as if the few hours since he’d left her had never passed. He was there again. With her.
He stepped out into the rain which had begun to pour in earnest and hurried for the warmth of the back seat. He shook off the water as he slid in next to her.
She pointed and giggled, "You got all wet."
"Yeah, I’m not going to be the only one, c’mere."
She mock struggled as he wrestled her back into his lap, squealing as he pulled her against his damp t-shirt and kissed her.
"Spike, this is unacceptable." She tried to sound stern but managed something closer to breathless. It was a sound that was oh so sexy to his ears, knowing he‘d made her that way.
He nuzzled her neck. "It is?"
"Mhmm." Buffy traced a finger down to the hem of the t-shirt. "I think this has to go."
There was a devil dancing in her eyes as she wound her fingers up under the shirt, inching her way up his abs. He pulled the shirt over his head with one hand and tossed it into the floorboard before leaning back for her perusal.
"Now I don’t that this seems quite fair, shortcake."
She dropped to press a series of open-mouthed kisses across his chest and worked her way slowly back up to his lips.
"What’s not fair?" she whispered against his mouth.
He’d entirely forgotten for a moment in the pleasure of her soft touch. Buffy wasn’t usually so playful. She always let him take the lead before, her lack of experience making her shy.
Apparently she’d gotten over that.
"You mean I get all this, and you have nothing fun to play with?" She trailed her fingers down and traced the edge of his jeans, causing his cock to jump in an effort to reach those hot little hands.
She leaned back and crossed her arms, slowly drawing the pink t-shirt over her head, leaving her clad only in a simple white bra that stood out against her summer tan and pink shorts she’d worn for their trip to town. It covered more than some of her swimsuits, but the intimate curtain of rain falling around them shielded them from the world, making the way she’d bared herself to him so much more revealing.
And then she reached behind and with a quick motion divested herself of the bra as well, taking his breath away completely. Her bravado faltered at the last bold move, and she started to cover herself, but he stopped her, catching her hands and drawing them away.
"Oh no. Let me look at you." He leaned forward, trailing his hands up her arms to outline the perfection of her small breasts. "So beautiful."
They were soon sprawled across the wide seat, tangled in a haze of passionate kisses. She arched against him as he caressed the sweet curves of her body and drew one peaked nipple into his mouth, burying her hands in his hair and pulling him closer.
They’d never gone further than this before. Even when her unpracticed touches and tentative kisses had made him so hard he ached, he’d managed to pull away before they’d reached the point of no return because it hadn’t felt right. Not yet.
He knew that she was a virgin. Not in so many words, but he knew. And the thought of being her first was something that filled him with exhilaration and trepidation by turns. The way she looked at him, the emotion in her huge green eyes made him want to fall into them and trust himself that he could do this right. Make it everything it should be for her.
The sounds she made as he feasted on her were music to his ears and suddenly, he was tired of waiting. He wanted her, wanted to be buried inside of her, making her body shiver and shatter beneath his, taking her to heights she’d never been.
He wanted to be her first.
He kissed his way down her stomach, ignoring her little whimpers of protest at his leaving until he reached her shorts. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him intently, and he waited until she gave him a little nod to pop the button and lower the zipper. He slid them down her legs, leaving her only the brief coverage of a scrap of satin.
"Fair’s fair." Her voice was a whisper.
He nodded and unbuttoned his own jeans, shucking them off and laughing at her expression as she realized he was now entirely naked.
"Buffy . . ."
She was already on top of him, and he groaned at the slide of her silk-smooth skin flush against his and the wet heat that blanketed his erection as she rubbed against him, one thin layer all that separated them. Some part of his brain was straining to remember if he had a condom in his wallet and where in the floorboard that would be, but the rest was given over to the sensations that were threatening to engulf him.
He dipped a finger down between them, tracing the lace trimmed edge of her panties before sliding beneath the fabric and testing the flood of slickness that made him shudder with anticipation at what was to come. He fought for control for a minute, trying to slow things down as he captured her lips in a kiss, needing to know.
"Buffy? You sure?"
There was a trace of hesitation in her eyes, which he’d expected. And as hellish as the ride home in this condition would be, he could still stop if she said no. He could, really, he could.
"Spike, I’m sure." She smiled gently, her self-possession returning as she caressed his face, eyes huge and luminous. "I love you."
She met his lips in a gentle kiss, and though her lips were still warm and sweet against his, she couldn’t have more effectively doused his ardor if she had kicked him out into the cold rain .
She loved him.
Those three little words changed everything.
He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the fragrance that haunted his dreams at night, knowing he might not have the chance again. He couldn’t do this. He kissed her gently, savoring the softness of her mouth against his and then gently pulled away.
"Buffy, I think we’d best head home."
A slap would have been less painful, he realized too late. Her doe eyes widened unbearably and he could see the shock and hurt forming.
He reached past her for his jeans and her shirt, refusing to meet her eyes as she blindly accepted the garment. How could he explain the layers of reasons, the complicated paths that made her love for him something he should never have courted? He didn’t have the words.
"Spike?"
He deliberately ignored her until he’d buttoned his jeans and slid his t-shirt over his head. Taking a breath, he glanced at her. She seemed small, hunched on the seat in just her t-shirt.
"Buffy, don’t look like that." He turned his watch so she could see its face. "It’s late, your grandparents are going to be sending out a search party. Don’t fancy your grandmother rapping on the glass in the midst of a shag now, do you?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Good girl. I’m going to go ahead and start back." He dropped a last impersonal kiss on her cheek and shut the rear door. He didn’t look back in the mirror as he turned the car for home.
The neon lights of Willie’s Place faded in the distance as he drove away. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to focus on the music pouring from the dash instead of the thoughts spinning in his head. He finally gave up and switched off the knob, leaving the purr of the engine to fill the void as the headlights split the dark road ahead.
The road to the Summers’s place loomed to his left and William pulled into the driveway, killing the engine after a glance up at her room. She must be there, he could see a shadow across the shade and the slight illumination that he reckoned was her bedside lamp.
What was she doing up there? Thinking about him? Still angry with him?
The trip home from the field was made in silence. She finished dressing and slipped back into the front seat. He fiddled with the radio. She occupied herself with grooming, pulling a succession of items from her small purse as she brushed and straightened herself so expertly he’d never have guessed she was the same girl whose mussed hair and swollen lips had driven him wild just minutes before.
The silence between them was deafening and with every mile that passed, the wall between them grew higher and higher as bricks of regret and resentment hardened in place.
The rain lessened as he drove and the skies were clear again when he parked the car in front of the house. She reached for the door as soon as the car rolled to a stop and he cleared his throat.
"Buffy . . ."
"I need to go, Spike."
The door slammed with a vengeance.
He needed to talk to her, offer some explanation. He owed her that much.
He got out of the car, shutting the door in a good imitation of her own anger as he stalked back towards his room. He needed a cigarette in the worst way, vows to give them up be damned. He rummaged through his drawers and finally found a half-crushed pack in the bottom of a suitcase.
The small stoop looked directly at her window, but he chose to sit there anyway. Torture was good for the soul. He lit the first cigarette and inhaled deeply, waiting for the peace of the smoke curling through his lungs to calm him.
This was all his mother’s fault. Well, if he was going for complete honesty, it was his own, but she made a good scapegoat. Every other male in his family thought so.
She at least had some responsibility in the matter. After all, it had been her idea to send him to the la di da dah private boarding school, designed to "make him into a gentleman" and give him all the right social connections. It wasn’t the school the Aetherton men had always attended, but it was nearer the city and his fellow scholars included sons of the rich, the famous, and the titled.
He wasn’t a good fit, quiet and bookish, and the first few terms had been hellish. But then another student, Liam, had enrolled and for some reason had seen fit to take him under his wing. This had entailed much breaking of the rules and routine visits to a nearby pub where the barkeep paid little mind to the age of his clientele . . . or to the extracurricular activities of certain of his waitresses.
It was there he’d lost . . . in retrospect, he’d lost much in that seedy dive, but at the time he’d merely thought he’d lost his heart. She was slim and willowy, with ivory skin and ebony hair, a Snow White stepped from the pages of Grimm. Drusilla. There was something that set her apart, a fey air that he’d mistaken for an otherworldliness that put her above the others.
He’d watched her for six months, sitting next to Liam and others as he sipped at a pint and pretended not to stare. But on his fifteenth birthday, everything had changed.
She’d served them a round, and Liam had pulled her aside, whispering something into her ear as he’d gestured in William’s direction. He’d wanted to die then, to crawl under the scarred and battered old table and disappear, geeky glasses, floppy hair and all. But Drusilla had followed Liam back to their table and slid along the bench to rest next to him. He was acutely aware of the warmth of her thigh against his, her breath tickling his neck as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"They tell me you’re the birthday boy, William."
The mere fact that his goddess had said his name was enough to rob him of speech. "T-t-t-hat’s right."
She’d clapped her hands together, delighted, and her enthusiasm had caught even him.
"Oh, very good, we must have gifts!" She’d scampered off and he’d felt a sense of loss at the deprivation of her body pressed against his side. But she was back soon enough, bearing another round, and then another. They toasted William’s birthday and Drusilla reappeared by his side, cooing at him, asking him about his school, his family, his girlfriends. He’d found himself babbling on, the ale and her nearness loosening his tongue as he rambled far too much about his grandfather’s money and how important he was in some desperate hope of impressing her.
If he’d died at that moment, he’d have felt his life complete. Liam had ordered another round of shots then, and he’d toasted with the rest. By the time Drusilla pulled him to his feet, he’d been swaying and feeling more than a bit nauseous.
"Come with me, sweet William." He’d followed her blindly down the passage to the dark alleyway behind.
What had passed in the alleyway had to have been the most clumsy deflowering in the history of the universe. He’d been torn between absolute pleasure and the distinct feeling he was about to upchuck as she’d guided him into her. He’d told her he loved her as he came and passed out immediately afterwards.
He’d been mortified, and fully expected to never see her again. He stopped going to the pub. Liam told him she’d asked for him, but he was too embarrassed to return.
Until the night he found her in his bed, having somehow slipped onto the campus. Had he been a little older, or a little wiser, he might have seen her for what she really was. But she’d called him her prince. After that, her wish was his command.
He’d never known love would hurt that much.
Within a year, his grades had fallen and he’d slipped from near the top to almost the bottom of his form. She remade him entirely from the outside in, until everything about him was a reflection of her desires. He spent more time in her dive of a flat than at school, and she’d led him down the rabbit’s hole of designer pharmaceuticals that were the source of the fey quality of which he’d been so enchanted. Her demands for money grew more incessant as time passed, but he was helpless to resist. His parents had been on one of their splits at the time, and no one had noticed the letters piling up from the headmaster at home until he forged a check from his grandfather to cover a debt she owed to one of her suppliers.
The world crashed down then. His grandfather showed up at Drusilla’s flat and dragged him into the street. He’d been so stoned he hadn’t even tried to resist. She’d never even looked up.
He spent the holidays in a detox center and his Grand had picked up the pieces, hired a tutor, arranged for Spike to live with him permanently. But the first thing he’d done when he was released from rehab was go back to her. His key to her flat still fit His place in her life obviously didn’t. She was in bed with Liam. He’d shut the door behind him before they‘d even noticed, vowing to never trust his heart to anyone again.
He’d never looked back. There’d been random girls, casual flirtations, the occasional one-night stand with someone equally as jaded and world weary. Exactly what he wanted. All fun. No strings.
Until he met Buffy.
When she’d looked at him today, heart in her eyes and told him she loved him, he knew she meant it. She was no Drusilla. If anything, she was the anti-Drusilla. If he’d met her when he was fifteen . . .
But he hadn’t. And he wasn’t capable of loving her back, not the way she deserved. He’d tried to warn her. Hadn’t thought it would come to this.
In three weeks, he’d be gone. He didn’t want to hurt her, he just didn’t want to take her heart with him. He needed her to understand that.
He stubbed out the cigarette, watching the glow of the ash fade to black. In his heart he knew this wasn’t a selfless act on his part, a desire to be the stand-up guy. It was self-preservation at its finest. She’d wormed and wiggled her way to a place he hadn’t let anyone reach since Dru, and now she was in so deep he wasn’t sure he could get her out. But he had to try.
She slipped out early and headed for the strawberry field, buckets bumping against her thighs rhythmically as she walked. She began at the edge of the closest row and worked her way down until she had nearly filled the first bucket to capacity.
Picking the berries gave one plenty time for reflection. The events of yesterday replayed as she lifted leaves and sorted the ripened fruit from the still-developing. The lunch in the diner. The playful side of him that he rarely showed had been out in full force, bantering and teasing. She’d loved every minute of it.
And then, afterwards. Her cheeks flushed at the memory and her body still tingled at the way he’d made her feel. She’d wanted him, wanted everything, and though he’d given her a gentle kiss as he pulled away and handed her the crumpled shirt from the floorboard, it was obvious that there was more to his desire to leave than just a fear that they’d get back too late. She’d tried to ask him if it had been her, if she’d done something wrong, but the words had died in her throat. By the time they’d reached home, all she’d wanted was to get out of the car and away.
She made it through dinner. Faked enthusiasm for her day out, told them about the driving lesson without adding details of its ending. She must have mustered an expression approaching normality, because she didn’t catch one of her grandmother’s sharp knowing looks directed her way.
She’d excused herself early and headed to her room, staring at her diary, flipping through the past entries where she’d recorded the events of the past few weeks as sleep eluded her for hours.
Somewhere in the dark of night she’d realized telling him she loved him must have been what caused him to pull away. She felt stupid that she hadn’t seen it before. He’d known, somehow, told her they’d be playing with fire. But she’d been so naïve, sure she was adult enough to just be friends, have a fling.
It was so real now, how she felt for him. Maybe telling him had been her mistake, but it was the truth and a part of her was glad she’d let him know. She glanced overhead, pulling herself from her self-reflection. The sun had begun its climb, drying the dew and warming the green field and she was about done.
Buffy stood and stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of her back after the awkward crouch to pick the berries off the vine. She pulled one from the top of her bucket and savored the sour-sweet bite of the fruit against her tongue.
"Buffy?"
She turned, shading her eyes against the brightness. He was backlit, a halo round his near white hair. She felt a sense of relief wash over her. He’d come to find her.
"Hey, Spike, what are you doing out here?" she called out to him.
"Came to see you, wanted to see if we could talk."
She picked up her buckets and he moved to her side. "Let me take that for you?"
"Sure."
They started towards the house, following the same path they’d traveled together so many times over the summer.
"About yesterday. Buffy, I’m sorry."
"It’s alright." She bit her lip, knowing they had to go further if they were going to get past this. "Um, Spike, exactly what are you sorry for?"
"For pushing you to . . ."
She stopped in the path and turned to face him. "Spike? Look at me. There were two of us there. I knew what I was doing. I wanted you. I thought you wanted me."
He sighed. "Buffy, you remember when we first started this?"
"Yeah?"
"We were supposed to be friends. Nothing more than friends. And I don’t think that’s true anymore."
She felt a little twist inside. "So? What’s wrong with that?"
"Because, it’s not fair, to us, either of us, to get this involved." He caught her chin and made her look at him as she started to turn away. "Buffy, I know that you wouldn’t just sleep with someone if you didn’t . . . care about them a great deal. And I don’t want you to care for me like that. I value our friendship too much."
His words hit her in the gut and she stepped back, away from the touch of his hand. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "I think you overestimate your own appeal, Spike. But I get the message."
She turned on her heel and headed towards the house without a second glance.