Spike swept all the floors in the house and then mopped them with Murphy’s Oil Soap for good measure. He vacuumed the Persian rugs and ran a cloth over his furniture, something he usually only did when the television screen was coated in a thick layer of white dust. Laundry had been collected and shoved in the machine. Dishes were thoroughly washed and dried. The rubbish was secured in the bin outside. Spike lit and then immediately blew out some sandalwood -scented candles, wondering why he had them in the first place.
The dog had been fed and walked.
Sunshine was pacing nervously about the house as his master went from room to room straightening, swabbing and carting away trash as needed. It was an abnormal occurrence and the dog was probably worried he would be the next thing to go.
Where was she?
Monday and Wednesday were usually her nights off, unless she'd switched a shift with someone else. Spike always remembered that because she couldn't visit him then. Those days were set aside for Riley and Dawn.
He worried that there'd been a scene like the one in his classroom. Spike knew he hadn't done anything to make things better, he'd only made it worse by losing control. He'd lashed out at a student, something he'd never done before and worse he'd snapped at Dawn; Dawn who he genuinely adored, who had earned her moment of spiteful melodrama. Still, when the kid slapped Buffy it took everything in him not to grab her by the throat. He was disgusted by his own impulse and so he'd let Buffy go without another word, just that short wave. And then there was the jilted husband. Spike couldn't think about Riley hurting his girl because he would shove a fist through the wall. What if she’d lost her nerve, took it all back, decided to stay? Worse what if something had happened, she’d been hurt. No one would call him, he wouldn’t know for days.
Spike tried to keep his mind on the task at hand but of course there was no way, everything was spilling out and over, the underside curve of Buffy’s breast, the slight swell of her belly, the way the light caught her hair in the hallway, the look of betrayal on Dawn’s face, peering at Buffy, Riley and Dawn while he stood in the back of the auditorium from the shadows, the way Buffy put her hand on Riley’s shoulder when Dawn got her award.
Spike was fairly certain he’d fucked it all up and now the only thing left to do was alphabetize his book collection. It made no kind of sense for Charles Bukowski to be next to Ursula Le Guin, anyway.
And then his front door was opening. Buffy was wavering over the threshold like a flame; Spike dropped “The Lathe of Heaven,” and caught her before Buffy collapsed on the floor. Spike hoisted Buffy up, letting her head loll against his chest.
“I’ll call the doctor,” he said.
“It’s alright, I just couldn’t eat today. I think my blood sugar is low or something,” Buffy said.
“Bollocks,” he said.
Spike eased her down onto the couch and then grabbed his phone.
“Dawn went Godzilla. She doesn’t want to live with us, she doesn’t even want me around anymore,” Buffy said. Buffy began crying and Spike had to go to her, had to hold her. Her slim frame shook and she was wailing, lost. She cried until she seemed to have no energy left.
Buffy wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“I have to get my stuff out tomorrow, there’s a bassinet in the attic that used to belong to Dawn, we can use it for the baby, I think,” she said.
She almost said that they could put the bassinet in his bedroom when she caught herself. It wasn’t going to be his anymore. It would be theirs. The thought that she’d never sleep in the house she shared with Riley hit her again. Buffy looked at Spike’s eyes and felt the weight of his arms around her. This was home now. That realization sent a flutter through her stomach; the secret place she’d carved out for herself, the fantasy of what life could be was happening. It was terrifying.
“Do you want some help?” he asked.
“You don’t have to,” Buffy said.
“It’s nothing, I’ll call in sick. I’m in a union love, no worries,” he said with a smile.
Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed.
“Thank you,” Buffy said with relief. Buffy thought that if she had to take her things out alone she would just dissolve into a goopy pile of tears.
She agreed to let him call the doctor. Her OBGYN recommended that she eat and then if she didn’t feel better, to go to the emergency room. Spike made Buffy a can of tomato soup, which she was able to keep down and then they started in on a carton of chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream.
“So I was thinking Angel would be a good name for the baby,” Buffy said, as she licked her spoon. She sat on the couch against Spike’s chest, his legs on either side of her.
“That’s pretty. What if we have a boy?” Spike asked. He took the last of the pins out of her hair and set it with the others on the coffee table. Spike combed his fingers through her hair.
“I was thinking Angel for a boy,” she said. Buffy was luxuriating in the feel of his hands gently working through her hair and she leaned into him.
“Are you daft, woman, that’s a girl’s name,” Spike said, chuckling. Spike snatched the spoon from Buffy’s lax hand and dug out a bite of ice cream. Spike ate the morsel.
“Give that back,” Buffy said. Buffy turned to face him. Spike held the spoon up above his head, out of her reach. Buffy pulled her legs up under her and knelt, arching into him as she tried to grab it back.
“Quit it, you’re going to make me spill all the melty parts and ruin the couch, you should have just got your own,” she said, trying to keep from smiling at him as she struggled for dominance.
“I don’t really want any pet, just want to bother you,” he said, handing over the desired cutlery.
She laughed and then resettled onto the end of the couch. Buffy slung a protective arm over her dessert. Spike sat down again, sticking his left foot in her lap.
“What about Chance, that’s good for a boy or a girl,” Buffy said before she took another guarded bite.
“Love, I know the pain of not having a proper first name; kids are vicious, little monsters. You can’t saddle my offspring with a name you’d give the dog. What about Wesley?”
“Wesley?” Buffy asked, the word accompanied by an affected snort so he wouldn’t miss her sarcasm.
“Like kids are going to be more likely to pick on the kid named Spike instead of the kid named Wesley,” Buffy said.
“What about Rupert, like my uncle? It would be nice seeing as he’s passed,” Spike asked.
“That’s like me asking you to name the baby Joyce after my mom,” Buffy said, pointing at him with the end of her spoon.
“I like Joyce,” Spike said.
“That’s so not fair. What if we have Rupert for a middle name?” she asked, delving in for another taste.
“Fine. What about Cordelia?” he asked.
“O.K., you’re ragging on me for coming up with fake names and then you bust out Cordelia?”
“It’s from Shakespeare,” Spike said. Her rejection of his last suggestion caused Spike’s combativeness to flare up again. He invaded her side of the couch and tried to grab her entire pint of ice cream away.
“Well I guess not everything he wrote was genius,” Buffy said through a fit of giggles. She put the carton behind her back.
“Oh you’re gonna get it now, pet. Nobody knocks the bard,” Spike said. She jumped up from the couch to evade capture and then nearly tripped when one of her stylish, camel-colored boots got caught in the afghan that was twisted up on the floor. Buffy caught herself and then used the wall for support. Spike was by her side, his hand spanning her waist and all silliness evaporated.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said.
“It’s nothing, it’s just that stupid blanket,” Buffy said. He was past listening, though. Spike swept Buffy up into his arms and carried her to the door. He was trying to work the handle when she smacked his chest with the flats of her hands.
“Hey, hold it stop trying to Rhett Butler me, first off, I’m fine, second off, I’ve got peanut butter and chocolate dripping all over me and third you have no shoes on,” Buffy said.
“The doctor said if you weren’t feeling better, you had to go to the emergency room, don’t argue,” Spike said.
“I’m feeling better, let me down and I’ll show you, I’ll do a zippy cartwheel or something,” Buffy said.
“Do you want to lose the baby, is that what this is?”
“Alright now you really better put me down, or I’m going to hurt you,” Buffy said.
“Buffy, yow!”
Buffy grabbed his nipple through his shirt and twisted, startling him enough that she was able to slide out of his arms.
“You didn’t have to get violent,” he said, rubbing his sore chest.
“I gave up my whole life for you today. I hurt the people
I care about the most in the world. It would be nice if you’d give me an ounce of credit,” she said.
Buffy walked away from him toward the kitchen. She put the lid on the ice cream and shoved it back into the freezer. Spike followed her. Buffy could feel his warmth against her back before she felt him caressing her shoulders with tentative fingers.
“Not used to being wanted, pet,” Spike said in her ear.
Buffy closed the freezer door and sighed. She put her hands on her hips. He nuzzled her hair and she let her eyelids fall.
“I know it’s hard to trust me after how we met, but you’re more than wanted. You’re loved. You’re beloved,” Buffy said.
Spike turned Buffy around and pressed his mouth to hers. When the kiss broke he rested his forehead on hers.
“It’s not you, love. I have trouble trusting anything good, never lasts,” he said.
“If you think like that, it’s like you’re just waiting for us to be over,” Buffy said.
She pulled away and searched his eyes.
“I just need time, love,” Spike said.
Buffy smiled at that.
“Me too, I think,” she said.
Spike kissed her again and then picked her up.
“Hey, fine here, no need for medical attention.”
“I wasn’t taking you to the doctor. Was taking you to the bedroom, Rhett Butler you up good and proper,” Spike said.
“Could we take a rain check on the sexy, I’m exhausted,” Buffy said.
“Sure love,” Spike said, trying and failing to hide his disappointment. He carried her into the bedroom and set her on his neatly folded comforter. He kissed her; she expecting a quick peck and he not being able to resist parting her lips with his tongue and pursuing her until they were both breathless.
“Seriously tired here,” Buffy whispered, pushing him away.
“Sorry,” he said.
“I have to, you know, bathroom stuff,” Buffy said, softly. She got out of bed and staggered into the hall.
He didn't trust himself not to start groping her if he got in bed with Buffy; his own neediness of late was both exhilarating and humiliating. He was after her like a teenager which was embarrassing on the one hand. On the other, it was incredible to feel desire like that again.
Sex with Dru had become a numbing race down a spiral. Dru had always liked a touch of S&M and Spike had always appreciated the outfits. Toward the end of their marriage there was more than just a touch. Things had degraded between them to the point where Spike would let Dru hurt him more and more, just so he'd know she'd been there.
During one of their bouts Dru had broken his nose and a few little bones in his right hand. She wouldn’t untie him until he’d made her cum. It wasn’t exactly a letter to Penthouse, but Spike was proud that he’d been able to maintain an erection throughout the three-hour ordeal.
Buffy came back into the bedroom a few minutes later in nothing but a pair of miniscule, black panties and a white tank top. Spike caught her by the waist and pulled her into another kiss. She pushed him away after a few hot seconds.
“Good night,” she said, firmly.
“Night,” he said.
Spike shut off the bedroom light and went into the living room, dropping onto his overstuffed couch. He switched on the telly, flipped through the channels and finally settled on a black and white movie he knew he'd seen before though he couldn't recall the name. There was a slim, willowy blonde walking along a beach in a trailing white gown, and then it suddenly hit him.
"I Walked With A Zombie! Jane bloody Eyre with fucking voodoo," he said with a grin.
Spike watched the entire film, then "Cat People" after that. When the movie finished there was a rebroadcast of "I Walked With A Zombie." He couldn't sleep; his skin felt hot and oversensitive, everything was an irritation. Spike switched to BBC news, hoping the droning announcer would lull him into unconsciousness.
It didn't work. His left hand drifted up and down his stomach. There was one sure way to get relief; the fun kind of self-flagellation. Spike undid his fly and took his kit out. He started to absently stroke himself, closing his eyes to the Nightly Business Report. There were several reliable Buffy fantasies that usually did the trick at a time like this. His favorite had her dressed in a black, latex cat suit with a strategically placed zipper. She would demand he lower it with his teeth and soon after that his erection would trouble him no more.
"So, I take it pork futures get you hot?"
Spike opened his eyes with a start to see Buffy leaning against the wall, taking him in while a broad smile graced her face. She was still wearing her tank top, but her underwear was gone.
"Gah," he said or something like that, and immediately tried to hide his penis behind a gold, fringed throw pillow.
"Please don't stop," she said. Buffy's hands were clasped behind her back.
He smirked at her.
"How long were you watching?" he asked.
Spike stuck the pillow he'd been using as a shield behind his head.
"Long enough for them to go through the tech stocks," she said.
The ring of his fingers traveled up and down the length of his shaft as he looked at Buffy's face. Her lips were parted and her green eyes were trained on the motion of his hand.
"You're not gonna help a fella out, are you?"
"You seem to be doing a good job on your own," she said.
"Will you come closer, at least?" he asked.
"If you take your clothes off," she said.
Spike sat up and tugged his black t-shirt off with his right hand. He lowered his jeans and then kicked them off until they were balled up at the bottom of the couch. Spike leaned back again, spreading his legs until one foot was flat on the floor.
“Now you,” he said.
Buffy peeled her tank top off, spun it over her head like a lasso and then let it fly where it would. She took a wobbly step toward him and he nearly stopped the game they were playing to rush to her side. Buffy held out her hand as he sat up.
"I'm O.K., just a little dizzy from you," she said, an embarrassed, little smile replacing the broad grin.
"Be next to me, love, just in case," he said, holding out his right hand to her. Buffy gazed at Spike a moment before she approached and put her hand in his. She kissed him, all her earlier playfulness gone. Her long hair was dragging across his chest as her mouth moved against his. Buffy was delving into him and though it was only a shallow space, the feel of her tongue went through Spike's whole body. Buffy stopped her searching for a moment
"So you don’t watch porn?" she asked breathlessly against his ear.
“Sometimes, when I’m feeling ambitious; usually I just think of you,” he said.
“Right,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“S’true. You’re my fantasy, never thought I’d be here with you, sometimes I still can’t believe you’re real,” Spike said.
He grabbed the back of her head and lowered her mouth to his again. His long fingers held his cock again, lathing it as he kissed her. Buffy’s hands scrambled across his chest; her movements were frantic, as though she was slipping away and trying to grasp at something solid.
Sunshine started to whine and paw at the edges of his cage. Buffy giggled against his mouth.
“What does that dog have against you getting Buffy lovins’?”
His pride couldn’t take Buffy laughing while he touched himself, so Spike stopped.
“Dog never gets a portion himself, s’pose he’s jealous,” Spike said.
“A portion? God, you’re cute,” she said.
“Am not, I’m a rude, bad man,” he said, kissing the curve of her neck. Then he stood up and caught Buffy up into his arms. He carried her past Sunshine’s cage into the bedroom, then bounced her onto the bed. She was giggling until he resumed massaging his cock right at her eye level.
“You still like that kitten?” he asked.
She started to pant, then she was sliding him into her mouth. Buffy grabbed his hips and held him steady as she moved up and down. After a few minutes or maybe seconds he stopped her. She pulled his cock out her mouth with a loud pop.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t want to cum yet,” he said.
She let him go.
Spike held his cock and traced her lips with the tip; he could feel her breath slipping against the wet surface. He didn’t stop there, Spike drew a line down her throat, he circled her swollen breasts, the ridges of her rib cage, the inverted bowl of her stomach. He ran the head of his cock down her outer thigh, her knee, the top of her foot and then back again.
“Please, no more teasing,” she said. He watched the pulse in her throat jump as he lied down beside her.
Buffy opened her legs to him, and he pressed his hand against her. She was so wet her inner thighs were damp and Spike couldn’t wait any more. He got on top and plunged inside her, holding Buffy’s arms above her head, plowing into her until he finished. She looked confused and a little hurt that he hadn’t even tried to find her rhythm or tried to touch her. Spike kissed her swollen lips.
“Not done with you yet,” he said.
Spike slid down Buffy’s body, suckling gently at each breast, letting his tongue lick between them, then down her stomach until his head was between her legs. He took her clit into his mouth and sucked it like a hard candy. He’d planned to lick her clean, but she was shuddering, her legs snapping shut against his ears before he could even get started. When Buffy finally stopped seizing Spike took his place in her arms.
“Guess you weren’t so tired after all,” he said, with a smirk.
“Guess not.”
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Chapter End Notes:
Chance is the name of the character played by Amber Benson in the movie of the same name; James Marsters was her co-star. The names Angel, Wesley and Cordelia are way more obvious nods to the series. The phrase "zippy cartwheel" comes from the episode "Intervention," from season five. Charles Bukowski's advice to young writers was "Don't try," sort of a nod to Spike's advice to Dawn about her writing career.
"I Walked With A Zombie," another piece that mashes up low and high art like "The Wasteland."
"I Walked With A Zombie," another piece that mashes up low and high art like "The Wasteland."