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Chapter 24: ‘Whenever I’m Alone With You’


A/N: (of course!) I actually finished this chapter yesterday, but held off submitting it for a couple of reasons. I’ve a feeling I might be submitting too many chapters, too quickly, something someone else concurs with, but I don’t know, so, here goes the next one.


Spike sat on his sofa wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, in his left hand was a beer and in his right a cigarette. A soccer match, Manchester United to be exact, was playing on the telly and he tried to concentrate on the game.

“God I’m a bloody fool,” he groaned to himself. “Why can’t I shut the hell up, just once and think before I open my big mouth?”

He took another swallow of the beer and a long drag on the cigarette, “you’d think I’d learned by twenty-eight to read a woman like Buffy better then I did today.”

She’d been so excited by the painting and the stupid bloody desk, why’d he have to go and screw up everything by letting his baser nature take over again. All she wanted to do was talk to him about her idea of going to work, really talk to him. As if his opinion really mattered to her and he had to go and put moves on her, try to get her into bed.

“Asshole,” he called himself for the umpteenth time, “Spike, you’d fuck up a one car accident.”

By the time United had made their first goal, he was feeling pretty bad about himself. “If only she’d wake up soon,” he thought wistfully, “I’d make sure I would listen to her and hear what she had to say.”

He sighed out loud and got up to go get another beer, more for just something to do then out of desire for it. When he got back to the couch, he saw that he’d missed another goal by ‘his’ team and swore under his breath, “bloody hell, I’m missing everything today!”

He plopped back down on the couch and fought the urge to light another smoke, he knew how Buffy truly detested cigarettes even if she’d taken a drag of his last night. That thought reminded him of what they’d done later in ‘her’ house, upstairs in that pleasant little guest room and a slow smile formed on his lips.

“How can I not want her like that, when we’re together, especially since she just oozes sensuality. Even if she doesn’t have a clue as to much power she has over wankers like me. I wonder why she doesn’t realize her own sexual power?” This thought puzzled him and had for years.

Buffy woke up, fully aware of where she was this time and stretched slowly like a cat would from a deep sleep. She felt fully rested for the first time in ages and almost hated to get out of Will’s comfy bed, even if she was alone in it. A glance at his alarm clock told her she’d slept for a good three hours in that bed.

“Wow,” she hummed contentedly, “I needed that. I’m just glad I stood my ground and didn’t give in to…..”

Before she could finish her thought, her eyes fell on the picture above the King George dresser. A teenage version of herself, her Senior picture, stared back at her, causing her to bolt up in bed, stunned.

“I didn’t see that originally,” she gasped, “how did he get that? We weren’t friends when those came out, I never,” but again her thought was interrupted by another one.

She clamored out of his bed to take a closer look at the picture and confirm her suspicions. “That little sneak!” she muttered, “that is the picture, frame and all I gave Angel at the end of High School. William must of lifted it from the Travers house!”

For some reason, this struck Buffy as funny and she began to giggle like a school girl. Instead of being angry at William for having the picture, she was glad that he’d taken something from her husband, even if Angel and her weren’t together then.

“Serves that lousy creep of a husband of mine right!” she said as she wandered out into the living room to find Will.

She found him sitting on the couch, his back to her watching some sports thing on the television.

“Well hello Sleeping Beauty,” he called to her warmly without turning to look at her, “how was the nap?”

Buffy walked around to the front of the couch, unconcerned that she was only half dressed and plopped down next to him. When he didn’t put his arm around her immediately, she reached up and brought it around her shoulders herself. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“The nap was terrific, William,” she responded honestly, keeping her eyes on the guys running around on the 36” screen before her. What’s this, field hockey?” she asked pointing at the TV.

William burst out into laughter, barely able to reply to her question, “no, luv,” he choked out, “it’s what’s known as ‘real’ football, at least to most of the world.”

Buffy looked at the screen, then at him, “no it’s not football!” she huffed at him with a pout, “where’s the helmets and the big shoulder pad thingy’s. Where’s that brown pig-skinned ball they’re always passing around? Angel follows those guys from Oakland, you know, the big scary looking pirate like guys. The Radicals? No, the Raiders, that’s it!”

Spike tried to overlook Buffy’s mention of his hated nemesis, Angel, and stopped chuckling long enough to explain the difference between American football and ‘soccor’ to her. It was pretty hard on him to not just grab her and kiss her, she was doing that pouty thing with her lower lip and he never could resist it. Reining in his lust, he began to explain the difference between the two sports ending with, “I like American football, but prefer real football, like the rest of the world.”

She stared at him for a moment, rolled her eyes and gave her shoulders a slight shrug, “I can’t stand any of it,” she said simply then, “hey, I know it’s really early yet, but I’m starving. When’s supper?”

He broke out in laughter again, happy to see Buffy craving food as he always thought she was just a tad too thin. 'Funny,’ he mused, ‘when ‘I’ve seen’ her eat, she really puts it away. Wonder why she’s so tiny?’

“Okay, Princess,” he stood up, pulling her with him, “I’ll just go slave over a hot stove while you come keep me company in the kitchen, such as it is.”

Buffy eagerly followed him into the tiny kitchen area that was connected to a dining room that was bigger then it. The shiny black appliances were spotless and striking against the bright white kitchen walls.

“You sure do like the color black, don’t you Will?” she asked curiously, “why?”

He pulled a baking pan out of a bright white cupboard and set it on the stove, “don’t know really, just do,” he finished with a shrug.

“You said something about shrimp scampi?” she reminded him, licking her lips, “I’m pretty good with that. Can I help?”

Spike turned around and smiled at her, delighted that she wanted to be a part of it, made him feel closer to her somehow. “Okay, luv. I learned a recipe to ‘bake’ the shrimp in the oven, not saute it on the stove. There’s a pot in that cupboard, if you’d take it out and start some water for the rice pilaf, that’d be fantastic.”

He noted that she hurried to the cupboard and found the pot with a certain childlike enthusiasm. It tugged at his heart, ‘she wants so much to ‘do’ things for herself’ he thought sadly, ‘be a real part of just simple things. Why’d she marry such a controlling wanker like Angel anyway?’

“There’s white wine in the fridge Buffy, would you open it for me? I use it in the scampi. Why don’t you pour youself a glass, luv. I know how much you enjoy Chardonnay and don’t worry, it’s a California vint.”

Normally, Spike would have done the opening and pouring himself, but it seemed important to Buffy to do for herself and he knew how savy she was about wine and such.

Buffy opened the fridge, pulled out the wine and opened it like a professional with the cork screw William had handed her.

“Mmmm,” she hummed as she took her first sip, “ice cold and KJ’s at that!” She looked around the tiny kitchen, “what else can I do,” she asked, eager to get her hands into anything she could.

“Pretty much cooks itself, luv,” he replied, preheating the oven then washing his hands in the sink. “There’s salad, but I made it already so it’d be ice cold. Only way for salad to be as far as I’m concerned.”

She had to agree with him there so she sat down on one of the dining room chairs, where he joined her quickly with a beer.

“About earlier, sweetheart,” he began softly, his blue eyes were cautious and it made her blush and look away from him. “I’m sorry I cornered you like that and made you feel bad. Please look at me, Buffy,” he pleaded gently, touching her hand with his tenderly.

When she met his gaze again, she could read the sincerity in them, “it’s okay, Will,” she whispered shyly, “I understand, I really do. It’s just that I figured maybe we could converse a little more, at first anyway, you know?”

“Yes,” he answered, “now at least I know and understand. And Buffy,” he continued, clasping her hand more firmly in his, “it’s not okay, what I did. It was stupid, ignorant and selfish of me. Especially because it upset you, made you unhappy and angry.”

He could see she was considering his words, seemingly believing in them. Her little white teeth worried her bottom lip; another of her habits he’d always adored, right up there with the pout thing.

“I mean it Buffy,” he went on, firmly, “believe it or not, I didn’t bring you here to cage you up or hold you like some kind of bleedin’ sex slave. I brought you here to share a part of my world. That and to give you a place that well, you can feel freer in; maybe be more at ease, be more yourself, I guess.”

Spike felt a euphoric rush shoot up through his body when he looked into those emerald green eyes of Buffy Summers and realized that she believed him, every word he said. Which was good, because he’d meant all of it, no matter how difficult it was to tell her so, especially to her face. There was a happy glow in her green eyes as she guided his left hand to her lips and kissed his palm tenderly.

“And I know that, now, Will,” she murmered softly.

The timer on the stove beeped loudly, causing Buffy to jump up from her chair and hurry over to it. Turning off the bell and oven, she lit the stove top and looked questioningly at William, who still sat at the table, studying her as if in a daze.

“Well, oh pal of mine,” she chuckled at him good naturedly, “are you going to finish what you started here, or leave me to my own devices in ‘your’ kitchen?”

This seemed to wake him from his daze and he actually blushed quite red when he reached her at the stove. ‘Must of caught the ‘pal’ thingy’ she giggled to herself happily. It was right then, when she caught sight of him again, dressed only in his boxers that she remembered she was wearing a bra and panties, nothing more.

“Oh, God!” she cried, “Will I have to go get dressed, can’t eat like this!” Now it was her turn to blush red.

“Why?” he asked with a smirk, “I think your outfit is perfectly appropriate for dinner with me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him, but decided to just leave it; truth was she felt perfectly comfortable just as she was, which totally surprised her, apparently most of all.

“I’ll make the rice,” she announced firmly in her ‘that’s the end of that subject’ tone and set about boiling the pilaf he’d set out. She was fully aware that he was behind her, watching her intently and without looking about she asked lightly, “you going to stand there, checking out my butt or you gonna’ be of some use and at least set the table?”

He took the hint and began to take dishes out of another cupboard and placing them on the dining table. “Bloody hell, but she loves to order me about!” she thought she heard him mutter under his breath, but in a warm, good natured way. It made her smile.

They ate in a comfortable silence, as if they had talked enough for a while and just needed to sit quietly and enjoy each other’s company. Buffy finally broke the silence by complimenting Will on the scampi with honest enthusiasm, “Will this is delicious, better then most restaraunts. How did you learn to cook like this?”

He blushed again, shrugged non-chalantly and reminded her that he’d been on his own since he was eighteen-years-old.

“I get tired of food out, luv,” he admitted, “learned to cook to survive..”

She thought about it for a minute, “well, if you cook other stuff this good, you could be a professional chef!” He blushed red again, she noted with delight and went back to finish the last of her shrimp.

“Want to hear some music?” he asked suddenly. To which she nodded her reply while she chewed her last shrimp and rice gleefully.

He hurried over to the CD unit by the TV and flipped through some selections, finally settling on one which he input and turned it up. Strains of The Cure’s ‘Love Song’ filtered through the room and Buffy shot William a ‘what’ kind of look.

“Well I do listen to stuff besides the Sex Pistols and Clash from the 80’s, sweetheart,” he said defensively. Besides,” he said shyly, taking her empty plate from the table, “this song reminds me of you, somehow.”

“How?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Oh just great, Spike,’ he derided himself for being so damn mouthy, ‘now you’ll have to explain the whole ice skating thing to her and she’ll think you’ve been stalking her since high school. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth,’ he reminded himself. He sighed loudly and pulled her up gently from her chair, leading her back to the couch.

“The dishes,” she began to argue, but he shook his head and pulled her down to sit next to him.

“I used to watch you ice skate,” he blurted out quicker then he’d intended.

“You what?” she gasped, apparently stunned by his admission.

“I used to watch you ice skate,” he repeated with a mumble. “I’d go to the rink you skated at and stay out of view. Watched you most times, I think, even went to those little shows your Mum insisted you enter. Went as much as I could or knew about and did it until you quit skatin’ all together. I know what you’re going to say, Buffy,” he sighed again, unable to look at her.

“I’m a real bloody ponce and a stalker to boot, but in my defense; I loved the way you looked when you skated. You just flew over the ice like a fairy princess, or somethin’ and you seemed so free and so sure of yourself then.” He shook his head sadly, “I never understood why you stopped. You seemed to love it so.”

‘Because my control freak of a husband couldn’t ice skate, nor did he care to try and learn. I suppose he thought it looked unmanly or something or, God forbid, he might look foolish. So, he berated me and my connection to the sport until I finally just gave it up and stored my skates in the attic of our house.’ But to him, she answered simply, “I outgrew it,” and changed the subject abruptly.

“Would you replay that song, Will? The ‘Love Song’ by Robert Smith? I just love it and I want you to dance with me to it, right now.”

William looked horrified, “I can’t dance, Buffy,” he stammered, “I’ve got two right feet, really. I’d step all over your tiny feet and probably cripple you for life, please don’t ask.”

Buffy wouldn’t be dissuaded, “I know you can at least slow dance, William Giles. I remember you at the Prom, dancing with that Cecily Adams, your date. And why didn’t you marry her, Will,” she asked softly, “you were engaged at one time, what happened? If I can be so nosey to ask.”

He grabbed the cigaraette pack he’d left on the coffee table, “she wasn’t the right girl, Buffy,” he mumbled, “she always thought I was beneath her anyway.” He lit up a cigarette and she didn’t have the heart to remind him that she hated smoke, “and,” he continued, “if you remember that night right, I kept watching you and that Parker idiot you were with.”

She giggled, “Parker wasn’t an idiot, William, he just wasn’t the right guy for me,” she ended by taking his hand in hers. “Anyway,” she muttered, “you were not beneath Cecily, Will. If she wasn’t the right girl, then so be it, but you certainly weren’t below her. Her loss, anyway,” she shrugged and again dropped the subject.

“Come on,” she stood up and pulled him with her, “let’s dance Will.”

Spike had no choice but to hit reset and turn back the disc to ‘Love Song.’ When the first strains of the song played over the amps, he embraced Buffy in his arms and began to rock slowly to the beat. He tried real hard to ignore the fact that both she and he were in a state of undress that defied restraint on his part at least. Her little lacy bra and panties did little to cover her and pressed against him the way she was, he’d have to fight real hard and heavy to control his passion.

‘Love Song’ By ‘The Cure’ lyrics by Robert Smith:

‘Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel
like I am home again. Whenever I’m alone with you,
you make me feel like I am whole again’

“Will?” she whispered in his ear, “I don’t suppose it ever get’s cold enough around here to actually freeze that pond of yours, huh?”

No, he shook his head, sadly.

‘Whenever I’m alone with you, you make feel like I am young again, whenever, I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am fun again.’

“That’s too bad,” she sighed, “cos’ I’d really like to skate for you, somewhere in the open. Somewhere you can watch me, without hiding in shadows.”

‘However far away, I will always love you, however, long I stay, I will always love you. Whatever words I say, I will always love you, I will always love you.’

She ran her hands up and down his back, slowly, feeling the rippling of his strong muscles.

“I’d be careful, luv,” he warned, “you keep that up and we’ll be dancin’ in bed real soon. Not that I’d mind, but I want you to…..”

Buffy rested her hands on his boxer covered butt and squeezed him to her, “who says I don’t want to be dancing in bed with you, Will?” she rasped in his ear. Slowly, she backed them both into his bedroom, swaying to the music that still played on the stereo. Laying down on his bed, she took his handsome face in both her hands, “you want me, don’t you Will?” she asked boldly, for her at least.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice hoarse with lust, “always.”

“More importantly, you truly care about me, I mean truly care, don’t you?” Buffy asked, wistfully.

Will looked into her eyes, his own half closed from desire or fear of rejection, she couldn’t be sure. “Yes, Buffy,” he rasped, “I’ve cared about you from day one.”


Spike peppered Buffy’s forehead, cheeks and finally her mouth with his kisses, careful not to be too rough with her. Only because he wanted so badly to take this slowly, really draw it out for her. She seemed to want it that way and he wanted what she wanted more then anything in the world. More then that, he wanted her to feel good, warm and fullfilled physically. He heard the last refrain of the song:

‘Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am free again. Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am clean again.’

“Buffy,” he murmered in her ear this time, “I want to taste you again. It’s all I’ve thought about for days and I just have to have you that way. Say you want it, Buffy, please.”

The look in her eyes was really enough of an answer, but he had to hear it from her mouth, “I want it, Will,” she sighed huskily. Wasting no more time, he lowered his mouth down to where his fingers had been just a moment before, down in her hot center.

“Oh Buffy,” he moaned as he tasted her again, “you’re ambrosia to me, the wine of the Gods.” Buffy writhed beneath his mouth as he brought her to realease, “Oh God, Will!” she cried out as she came, “God I love the way you do that to me! The things you say to me!”

“I need you in me, now!” she commanded forcefully, pulling him up to meet his mouth with hers. “Slow,” she whispered as she returned his wet kisses, “slow and sweet, Will. I know you want it that way too. Don’t you?”

He nodded and pushed slowly into her, “yes. I can barely hold back with you Buffy, but I love it slow and sweet, anything for you. Anyway you want,” he groaned in pleasure as he pulled out of her halfway, then pushed back in, agognizingly tender.

She felt the corded muscles of his neck and shoulder blades as she ran her hands down his quickly dampening back. His taut abs rubbed against her bare breasts, causing a sweet sweat to break out on both of them, “you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, kissing her mouth again.

“So are you,” she replied, thrusting up to meet him.

“God, Buffy,” he moaned again, “what you do to me.”

They finished, together, which was always a good way to finish in any one’s language. He lay above her, his body and hers, entwined, mingled with the sweet sweat of sex .

“I’m all gunky, I’ve got to clean up, Will,” she murmered into his ear, “let me up so I can wash up, okay?”

Spike nodded lazily, reluctant to let her break away from him, even to freshen herself. “Come back soon,” he mumbled hazily, “don’t be gone too long.”

She giggled and scurried off to the bathroom to wash up as she called it. When she returned, she brought a clean, warm wet washcloth with her, “you need to be cleaned up too,” she insisted, a sly gleam in her eye.

Without waiting for his consent, she began to wipe his privates with the tepid cloth while he lay, his eyes closed in contentment.

“Keep that up, luv,” he growled, “and you’ll be all gunky again, as you call it, real soon.”

Buffy giggled again, mischieviously, “oh don’t you wish,” she quipped and hopped up, presumeably to deposit the washcloth in the bathroom.

“Don’t I know,” he hissed, grabbing her to him when she returned to the bed.

Laying together, their hands clasped between their close bodies, Buffy looked over at him. He was half asleep, she gathered; his eyes shut tight and his breathing had become slow and regular now. Not the panting they’d shared together just moments before.

“Will,” she whispered in his ear, stroking his hair gently.

“Hmmm?” he murmered, sleepily back, his eyes still closed, a half smile on his mouth. “Do you suppose that we could maybe do what we did last night?” she asked seductively.

Will’s eyes flew open at that request and he favored her with a huge grin. “Hell yes, Buffy!” he yelped, “no problem!”

Buffy squealed in delight, “oh goody,” she cried with delight, “it’s just too darn bad we don’t have a mirror this time!”

She was asleep beside him, her soft hair fanned out about her head, covering his pillow in a golden spray. Spike lay propped up on his left elbow, watching her sleep, happy that she looked so contented. He reached out and ran his hand down the side of her face, careful not to wake her.

“Will,” she whispered dreamily in her sleep as she cuddled his hand to her face. The simple sound of his name from her caused such a surge of warmth to spred through him that he had to restrain himself from waking her right then. However, he opted to just continue ‘thinking’ things out in his head.

Truth was, he’d already formulated most of his plan to bring down Angel Travers, even enlisting the aid of his friend and part-time business partner. The problem was, it was risky, really risky, at least for his friend and himself. If it wasn’t done just right, both he and his buddy would be implicated in the whole mess that was Angel’s illegal dealings; but, it was the safest way for Buffy to break free from her husband.

Spike had been serious as a heart attack when he told her that first night they were together that divorce would not be an option for Angel. He, Spike knew very well what Buffy’s husband was capable of and it scared him for her, what Angel might do to her or have done, anyway.

Angel Travers very rarely handled his own really dirty business, delegating such things to others was more his style. As far as himself, he could handle Angel any day of the week, even if he had to do some jail time to accomplish it, but there was his business partner. The man had a wife, a small child and another baby on the way, and Spike didn’t want anything to destroy their family unit.

Anyway, Spike didn’t want to go to jail, ever; it would mean not being able to be with Buffy. Besides, ultimately, Buffy had to be the one to decide when it was right for her to completely break free of Angel. Until then, Spike wouldn’t put the plan into full motion, but the minute she gave him the sign; he’d start the wheels turning that would bring her husband to his knees.

‘ Right now, though, Buffy was not near ready to break away from Angel, not completely,’ he thought to himself, sadly. “And not quite ready to hear how I really feel about you, Princess,” he murmered to her.

To say that ‘he truly cared’ about Buffy was an understatement, but she just wasn’t ready to ‘hear’ the words from him yet. So, for now anyway, he’d have to be content to say them to her in his own mind, or in a whispered breath. Which he did, right then as he watched her sleep.

“I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much!”


A/N: Another way too long chapter, but oh well. I felt that I had to bring out the fact that Spike was plotting Angel’s downfall, but……like he told himself, ultimately, it’s Buffy’s call when it’s time for her to rid herelf of the Angel albatross. Oh, and I know that the adage really is “two ‘left’ feet” when talking about lack of dancing talent. But, Spike is left handed so I thought I’d better make that ‘right’ feet. Please review, good, bad or indifferent. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks, luv, Spuf





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