Sonnets Series by lucky021
Summary: Post-Wrecked; AU after Dead ThIngs. Just a few little snapshots of season 6 with a new ending to the whole mess that was violent Spuffy.
Categories: Porn w/o Plot fics Characters: None
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Adult Language, Sexual Situations
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 2 Completed: Yes Word count: 7243 Read: 2479 Published: 03/06/2004 Updated: 04/05/2004

1. Shakespeare by lucky021

2. Sidney by lucky021

Shakespeare by lucky021
He sent her poetry every day.
Sometimes he would write a little something at the bottom, declaring his undying love, his hunger for her, to fuck her into the mattress in her sweet little girl room.
They made her sick. More because she loved them, because they made her consider the possibility that it was real, this twisted thing between them, and that scared the shit out of her. More than any apocalypse, more than the idea of her friends finding out, more than being alive again. The poetry and the sentiments behind them made it hard to ignore the fact that he really was in love with her, that even though he was a bit kinky, and a lot demon, his undead heart beat just for her.
She wondered what the hell was wrong with her that she actually considered replying to some of his messages. She wondered what the hell was wrong with her that she couldn't give him a single chance to prove himself as something other than soulless and evil.
She really wondered why the hell she wondered in the first place.
God, but some of his words drew something out of her that she thought was long gone. Still buried in the grave she dug herself out of such a short time ago. He did make her feel alive, and a part of her was grateful to him for that, but another part, the one that seemed to be in charge most of the time, hated him more than ever for making her feel when nothing else could.
Not her friends.
Not Giles or slaying.
Not even Dawn.
She had to stop it. She had to let him go. She had to stop reading these damn letters. She had to stop herself from walking in this fucking direction. She had to keep her hand from reaching out and opening his door.
She had to stop because she could feel the consequences of it all weighing in upon her. She could see the outcome of all this destruction. She knew that she would break him, and he would let her.
For fuck's sake.
He signed them with "William."
***
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

I need to be inside. Invite me in.
I won’t waste your time.
Invite me in again.
William.

She had made a promise to herself. And to Willow, though the shaking witch didn't know it. She wasn't going to allow him around her anymore.
Only in extreme cases.
Finding Dawn for instance. Or, if she needed some info about some new baddie in town. Never to give him what he wanted.
What she wanted.
Wait, no, that wasn't it. She didn't want him around anymore. She didn't want to deal with the consequences. She didn't want to deal with his sexy smirk and his intoxicating scent of leather and liquor and smoke. She was done. He may be sexy, he may love her, but she didn't care about him.
Not even as a friend.
But she used to. God, she hated that shit saying that sex changed everything. She hated that is was right. She never should have touched the cocky bastard. Should have known he'd fuck everything up by bringing up every reason this was so wrong just by looking at her in a way that made her body melt and froze her (possible undead, as well) heart.
No, no, absolutely not. She had garlic, and she had crosses, and she had a stake with his sexy little name on it if he so much as set foot on her lawn.
"Slayer."
Startled, Buffy dropped her cross and glanced quickly in the direction of the voice. She already knew who was there, and where exactly he was crouching.
Stupid vampire, now she had to do what she hadn't managed to make herself do since she met him that night outside the Bronze.
"Let me in, luv, I don't want to wake your mates."
She stared at him with what must have been a lot of shock on her face as he tilted his head a bit to study her and ceased looking frantically from room to room of her home, just waiting for the lights to come on and it would be all over.
"What is it?" She remained silent, still shocked at his audacity. "Bloody hell, Buffy, you didn't think the stink was gonna keep me away? I can still smell you under all that nasty hanging around your windows."
He curled his tongue under his teeth when he said it, smirking and making her forget her stake but clench her fists, eager to wipe that brashness right off his pretty mouth.
"Sorry if Stalkers 101 didn't cover this part, Spike, but when a girl does everything she can to make coming her to damn near impossible, that's usually the part where you realize she doesn't want you around."
He just widened his smile and came closer to the window, his nose wrinkling momentarily when he caught a strong whiff of the garlic. “Oh no, Slayer, this isn’t about unrequited passion, staying outside under your tree wishing I knew what it was like to be inside,” the innuendo was not lost on her. “I know you now, pet. I’ve memorized what that’s like, but my memory starts to fade.” He moved closer still, his hand on the window pane, he closes his eyes and sniffs delicately, she imagines he’s trying to keep out the offending odor, and find her own somewhere among the rest.
He opens his eyes and smiles, he obviously found what he was looking for.
“Oh, luv, I can tell you want to give me a reminder. You smell ripe, and delicious. Just aching for me.”
She stiffens and glares. Damn him and his enhanced vampire senses, and damn his proximity, doing all kinds of things to her body without her mind’s consent.
“Oh, yes, pet. Let me in, I can make it so good for you,” he purrs. His whole body is practically pressed against her window now. He’s aching too, she can see, quite clearly actually, and that’s when it hits her. Why the hell is he waiting out there. She never disinvited him, so why doesn’t he just come on in anyway.
“What the hell are you waiting out there for?” She meant for it to sound cold and more like a question than an invitation, but her mouth was apparently connected to the blood flying south, and not her brain.
He seemed to understand though, he chuckled softly. “You want it so bad, Slayer, you can’t even make your own body heed your commands. Tell me to come in, luv, you won’t regret it.”
“Yes. I will, Spike, and you didn’t answer the question.”
For a brief flash he looked a bit.. embarrassed? shy? She wasn’t sure, it was gone almost before it appeared and the cocksure Spike was back with a vengeance. “Just tell me to come in. It’ll make us both feel better. ‘Sides, don’t fancy getting caught with a stake in the chest for invading your privacy without invitation.”
God, but he was a stupid git sometimes. She must have taken his words for face value, much to his relief, as she made a vague gesture after a defeated sigh. He just wanted her to take a single step in this whole thing. Not since she kissed him in that house had she initiated any contact. He craved her admitting that she wanted him almost as much as he craved being shown just how much.
He stepped inside warily, keeping far from the swinging ropes of stink and irritating sting behind his eyes and moved toward her.
The scent of her arousal, and the scent of pure Buffy hit him as soon as there was no more garlic between them. Oh, he loved her scent, like sunshine and passion and fire and little girl lost all rolled into one tantalizing package.
She had dropped the cross a while back and had nothing to keep him from taking what he wanted from her. She was a little grateful for that. If she had to admit, even in the slightest way, that she was a real and willing participant in this, she’d lose her nerve.
And she really didn’t want to lose that. He was right, he could make it so good.
He was standing in front of her now, looking her over, his hands hovering around her like she would break if he actually touched her and it was making her absolutely crazy.
He had missed her so bloody much. Had it just been this morning that he had shagged her and himself into oblivion? Couldn’t be. He’d been painfully hard just thinking about her for what seemed like an eternity. But then again, he’d probably been painfully hard for her for about a year now, so that really didn’t establish much.
He needed to touch her, but he just wanted to savor this moment for a little while longer. Once he got down to it, she’d leave, be a different, more primal Buffy, and he wanted the lost girl in front of him, in her childhood room, for just a few more seconds.
After what seemed like an eternity he touched her. His hands on her shoulders, and he pulled her to him slowly but it felt like he was crushing her once she made it into the circle of his arms.
She felt so stupid, so stupid and lost to have let him in when she swore that she wouldn’t. God, she hated them both for being such idiots about this whole thing. He knew it was wrong, he’d admitted to that, and yet here he was, whispering how right she felt and how much he had missed touching her.
It made her want to love him.
And that made her hate him.
He led her to the bed and sat her down, aware of the slight changes she went through in his arms. Anger, acceptance, more anger, and now she was just numb. At least, his Buffy was numb. The Slayer was wet and hungry. Part wanton bitch in heat, part confused and scared and wondering just when she lost all propriety.
Both of them made him hard, both of them made him fall deeper in love with her every time he looked into her eyes. But he could only satisfy one of them for now, and it killed a part of him, made him ache in a way that was entirely unpleasant.
He shoved that all aside. If he could pleasure one of them, he’d do it, because even if it was only part of her, that little part needed him.
He took off his duster and his boots, shrugged out of his shirt and knelt before her.
He looked to her like he was ready to worship at her altar, and she supposed that’s what he was going to do. Running his hands up her calves, under her knees and then to her inner thighs, he spreads her apart and sighs in awe at what he finds. God, he loves looking at her, the real center of her. The only part that never lies about the way he makes her feel. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, just a t-shirt, and he wonders if maybe she wasn’t just hoping a little bit that the evening would turn out this way.
She gasps when he breathes her in and his nose hits up against the little bundle of nerves that he has become so intimately related with.
“Sshh, lamb. Quiet as a mouse. The witches and the bit, don’t want them to find us.” And it’s as true for him at that moment as it is for her. Maybe not for the same reasons, but he desperately wants this time to go well. He so wants for her to have at least one good memory of him doing the things only he can do. He wants her all to himself, and he’ll have her no matter what he has to do.
He looks up her body and sees she’s covered her face with a pillow, but he can still hear her gasps and moans. Thank God for vampire hearing. Or, I guess you wouldn’t thank him for that.
He resumes his task when he hears her whimper slightly in a way that doesn’t denote bliss. He licks her from top to bottom, once, twice, three times and he can feel her quivering around him when he plunges his tongue inside her.
God, she was so wet for him to begin with, it’ll take just a few seconds more for her to be screaming into that pillow and pouring her essence onto his tongue.
He starts to whisper into her quim the things she’ll never let him tell her while she can hear them. The way he adores her, how exquisite the torture of tasting her is while his zipper is about to cleave his cock in two. God, he loves her so much. She’s killing him in the sweetest fucking way.
He takes her clit between his blunt teeth and twists and she’s moaning so loud that he wonders if she can’t be heard even through the pillow. He manages to not let a single drop of cum escape his tongue, he cleans her out from the inside.
She’s still dazed and twitching with the aftershocks when he removes the pillow and climbs up her body, already having shed his jeans. He moves them both up the bed and under the covers, and she stiffens slightly when she understands how normal he’s trying to make this out to be for her. It irritates her because it’s so sweet and so him.
His hands are roaming her body, stoking the fire inside her to an inferno again. She’s trying not to look into his eyes because she knows what she’ll see there. Love and vulnerability, and it just makes her sad that she’s so dead and he’s so alive.
It’s supposed to be the other way around.
“Oh, Buffy, luv, please look at me.” He wants to see her eyes so badly, he wants her to see him. The real him. Not just Spike, not just William, but all of him, all of the poet and the villain and the lover. He never made himself this vulnerable for anyone, not even Dru, not even when he believed they’d spend eternity in each other’s arms and she’d never betray him.
He’s only ever allowed himself to give it all to her. If she would only take it from him.
The head of his cock is at her entrance and he’s so hard he doesn’t think he’ll be able to last more than a few thrusts inside her, but he won’t give in until she meets his eyes.
“Pet, please.”
He’s begging the sodding git he half is. How can she deny him when he’s laying so much out for her.
She can’t.
She turns to look, opens her eyes and wishes that she hadn’t because he’s so beautiful she won’t be able to stop her tears. She’s so embarrassed and so angry and so fucking vulnerable.
And he made her all those things.
She’s ready to push him off but he cups her face in his elegant fingers and kisses away the tears before they fall down her cheeks. She remembers what it was like to look at him in the house while it was falling down around them, the awe as he slid inside her for the first time.
Fuck, it was there again as he stretched her and touched her in places that no one, not even Angel could, and she’s not just thinking about the places his cock can reach.
He was amazed that he was able to hold on this long, she was so hot and tight around him. And, Christ, she was looking at him. Looking him right in the bloody eyes and taking in all that he was giving her.
“Fuck, Buffy, I love you so much. Don’t cry, luv. Please, don’t cry, I’ll take care of you. I swear it, you and the bit. We can do it, Buffy. Just take me in, take all of me. I’ve got so much to give you, pet. So bloody much.”
He was straining now, just barely holding on, and he could tell by the color of her eyes that she was in the same boat as he.
“Let it go.” She squeezed her eyes shut, it was too much, he was just too much. She couldn’t do this for him, she couldn’t even do it for herself.
“Baby, please.” She could hear the waver in his voice, knew he was so close that it was hurting him. “Come for me, Buffy.”
That did it, she could at least give him this.
When she climaxed, she cried out for William.
***
He held her until she fell asleep. She had felt the urge to tell him what the tears were for. She wanted to tell him that it was pointless for him to care, that she knew he did, that he felt something real, but she couldn’t. She just wasn’t capable of love anymore.
He wouldn’t hear it, didn’t want to talk. Just murmured sweet nothings to her because he knew she was too tired to tell him to shut-up.
When she woke up he was gone, but he’d left another note.
And another sonnet.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud:
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
Thy adverse party is thy advocate,
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be,
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

Just let me show you how it could be.
No strings attached.
No one to blame but me for being in love
with you.
Believe it, Buffy.
Yours if you want me,
William
PS. And even if you don’t.

Damn, he knew her too fucking well.
If she couldn’t keep her promise to not see him, she could at least manage to refuse his gentleness. She knew it would end up destroying them both. This was the last time she’d look him in the eyes.
Back to index
Sidney by lucky021

Oh Buffy, are you looking at me? Can you see it, see how much I love you, baby. God, I wish I could see you. Buffy, I love you, love you so bloody much.



***



God, what a stupid vampire. First he spouts off how much he loves her, then he kicks her out. Yeah, see how far that will get you, Spikey.



And of course she wasn't looking at him, she wasn't about to take even a peek into those gorgeous blue eyes and see all the want and love and vulnerability he kept stored up there only for her. It made her soft and susceptible to his charms, and that was an official bad thing.



She tried to peeking thing. It was a mistake. After the night in her bedroom when he coerced her into staring into those deep pools during some of the most incredible and intense sex they'd ever had she made it a rule never to do such a thing again. That way led to badness. But she figured just a little peek when he wasn't really expecting it would be ok.



She was wrong, absolutely positively dead wrong.



It was worse that time, she supposed, because when he wasn't expecting it, he had absolutely no walls up at all and that made his emotions even more raw and unbearable. It made them real to her in a way that they hadn't quite been before. She was convinced after her first glance that his feelings were real, totally convinced. But now that she'd seen it in all its naked glory, it was even more terrifying.



But most of all, it was depressing.



She didn't want to hurt him, not really. Sure, she got some enjoyment out of knocking him around a bit when she was in the mood for some rough and tumble, not of the horizontal kind, but he actually got off on that stuff she was sure. At least if the sizable bulge in his tighter than tight jeans and his voracious appetite afterwards was any indication. The real pain she would cause him, however, was not something she was looking forward to.



It was her duty, though.



Buffy had only shirked her duty once in her whole life as the chosen one, and that had ended badly, she wasn't about to run off to L.A. this time. She was going to stick it out and tell him that it would never happen. She'd given up the hope of telling him it was over completely. She wasn't stupid and she knew that sex with Spike was almost as important as food and water at this point, but she wasn't going to lead him on anymore.



The idea of a perfect little life, she and Dawn living with Spike in a happy home was an impossibility. Even if it wasn't, she wasn't so sure he's the vampire she'd shack up with when she wanted to settle down into domestic bliss. She didn't love him, never would, and even if she wanted to, which she absolutely bloody well did not, she couldn't. He was a monster, a thing, and he didn't have a soul. He may be able to love her without one, but she sure as hell couldn't love him with that void always gaping at her when she closed her eyes.



Sometimes she wondered if she was the one without the soul, that maybe Spike had inherited hers upon her death and now she was like he used to be. Either way they were a soul too short, nothing could change that.



***



Of course I don't want you to leave forever. Dammit Slayer! You're putting words in my bloody mouth. I don't want you to be here if you're really not. If I can't see your eyes... If you can't see me, what's the bloody point?



***



When she returned home from her pathetic encounter with the new... Well she didn't know what they were at this point, but annoying pains in the ass seemed to sum it up nicely, there was a note on her bed, and she knew without opening it who it was from.



Not at the first sight, nor with a dribbed shot,
Love gave the wound, which, while I breathe, will bleed;
But known worth did in tract of time proceed,
Till by degrees, it had full conquest got.
I saw and lik'd; I lik'd but loved not;
I lov'd, but straight did not what Love decreed:
At length, to Loves decrees I, forc'd, agreed,
Yet with repining at so partial lot.
Now, even that footstep of lost libertie
Is gone; and now, like slave-borne Muscovite,
I call it praise to suffer tyrannie;
And now employ the remnant of my wit
To make myself believe that all is well,
While, with a feeling skill, I paint my hell.



I can't apologize for what I feel. Let me make it up to you anyway.


Love, William



She was torn on whether she should be flattered or not. Then again, she supposed she would feel the same way were she to find herself suddenly in love with her mortal enemy. So the poem was fine, and the making up part sounded extra nice, but she knew that she had to make it clear to him what the rules were. He really should stop sending these damn notes. They were romantic, and that was something that whatever they had could not be.



She'd tell him tonight. Once and for all she would set the record straight, no soulgazing, no intimacy, no real conversations, especially when naked, and no more love letters.



Ok, she was ready. She just had to secure the letter with the others before she left.



***



He hadn't meant for her to get so upset about it. Didn't she understand that he was trying to make something out of nothing here and it was a bleedin' difficult task. It didn't help that she resisted what he knew she felt every goddamn step of the way.



Unbearable's what it was. If she could just relax, he'd do all the work. He'd show her what it was to live again, show her how close he and Dawn had become, show her that he could make it work, if she would just give him a single sodding chance.



He couldn't bear making love to nothing, even if he could feel her around him, he didn't like that he couldn't tell where her pretty little eyes were, and he couldn't sense what emotions were flitting across her beautiful face. He'd fucked things without visible bodies before, and he'd fucked plenty of human while he watched as they rode nothing in a mirror, but he could never make love without the visual. Dru had sometimes loved to get a mirror and watch as she rode him with her back to his chest or while she stuck something or other in his ass, but he'd hated it. She could probably see them, crazy chit that she was, she could probably see the air move around them making pictures for her alone. while they panted for unnecessary breath and rode hands or cocks or candlesticks until they couldn't walk straight.



He wasn't going to indulge Buffy in that way, she didn't have the crazy excuse going for her, and between Angelus and Angel, Spike never had to work very hard for Dru's affection.



The crypt door slammed open and revealed one of the subjects of his thoughts. So it was true, she had cut her bloody hair. He thought it felt different, but he wasn't quite sure if it was shorter or if he was just missing some because he couldn't bloody well see anything. He was hoping it was the latter, but he'd always known it wasn't. Particularly when she wouldn't give him an answer when he'd asked.



He rose to meet her and he could smell that she wasn't just there for a good time. She'd pumped herself up for something, and he wasn't sure if he should be excited or truly terrified.



He settled for a little of both. But he tried for apologetic when she looked at him.



"I'm sorry about earlier, lu-"



She didn't let him finish. She cracked him hard across the jaw with her fist and then did it again, but this time aimed for his nose. He looked up and for a brief instant she saw a little hurt and then resignation before the walls came down and he slipped on lust and slapped on a smirk.



"Ahh, so we're playin' it that way, luv. 'S fine with me, haven't gotten it good since the house fell down."



He swung his leg, knocking her feet out from under her and it began.



He'd called it a dance once, and Buffy fully realized for the first time that he was right. They weren't fighting to really hurt each other even if they were swinging their fists and feet as hard as they could.



When she didn't get with the kissing after a few good hits, he must have known she meant business because his game face came on and he growled before really throwing himself into it.



They beat on each other until they were too tired to lift their legs for a proper roundhouse, and the hits were getting pretty weak on the slayer/vampire scale. Somehow they had made it into the lower half of his crypt and Spike managed a punch to Buffy's stomach that sent her flying onto the bed, with him right after her.



She struggled for a moment, they writhed together on the bed, tearing shirts and shedding shoes in the process.



She hadn't realized that she was shaking from exhaustion and the emotion of it all until Spike let go of her wrists and wrapped his arms around her.



"Shh, luv, shh. It's alright now, Buffy, I have you, pet. I've got you, shh." He cooed and shushed her until her eyes began to droop. She reached out for his belt buckle and began trying to release him, even while she struggled to stay awake.



He batted her hands away and pulled her back to his chest, entwining his fingers with his and bringing them up to his chest. "Later, baby, we'll work it out later. Just rest, luv." His legs were tangled with hers, his lips in a permanent kiss on the back of her neck. He was breathing in her scent and holding her as close as he could.



Buffy thought before she surrendered to him and sleep that this was exactly what she had beat the shit out of him to avoid. It was too intimate, there was very little sexual about it. She could feel his erection but it wasn't insistent. Probably always there anyway if she was near. She was really going to have to work on her resolve.



"Shh, my Buffy, my love. I've got you, just sleep. I love you."



***


She awoke a few hours later to wet kisses along her shoulder and very clever hands on her breast and between her legs. She wondered briefly if he's slept at all, but figured that he hadn't. He didn't like to sleep when he was with her, took time away from Buffy watching.



She smiled sleepily and reached back a hand to grasp onto very hard, very long, very wet vampire cock. He gasped against her neck and she could feel his slow smile as he bit down softly.



"Have a nice nap, luv?"



"Mmmm... Very. But I think it's time we took care of something."



"Yeah? What's that, pet?"



Buffy lifted her leg and threw it back over his hip and positioned his dripping head at her entrance. "I think you know what."



He rubbed his shaft along her slit and licked a line from her shoulder to her neck. "You want this, luv? You want me?"



"You can feel how much I want you, how wet I am thinking about you. Now, Spike, put it in me."



He groaned and shifted, thrusting all the way in. She knew he loved it when she talked even remotely dirty, and she loved it even more when he responded.



"Oh, God, Buffy, so tight, so hot. Can you feel how hard I am for you, baby, want nothin' more than to pound you into my bed, so hard and fast, hear you scream my name, know that it's me giving this to you. But I won't do that, will I, baby. No, I'm gonna draw this out 'til you beg me to let you cum. 'S gonna be so good, Buffy."



He was giving her the long deep strokes she loved, but the pace was driving her slowly insane. She wanted him to fuck her to death, but he was going to force her to live with his damned lovemaking. She tried to push back on him, but he held her hips and whispered those vows in her ear.



Even with his measured strokes she felt the beginning of her climax as well as his own. With a move only slayer and gymnast flexibility allowed her lifted her leg and flipped her around and under him while staying firmly sheathed within her.



She had hoped he would forego the damn eye thing for one fucking night, apparently not. She was too tired to really bitch though. She just turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, trying to send the clearest message possible.



He felt what he long suspected to be his heart tighten painfully at her obvious rejection but kept moving and brought his hands up to her cheeks and turned her to face him. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers as his thrusts sped up.



"I understand." He panted harder and tried to keep tears from leaking out of the corner of his eyes. "I know, Buffy. I know you can't, or don't, or won't love me."



She felt the moisture on her face and kissed him to shut him up. This was too hard, it was too damn much to expect of her.



Certainly too much to expect of him. He shouldn't have to do this, she didn't want him to, and not just for her sake.



"I don't want to hurt you anymore." She wasn't sure, but she thought that maybe they had both just whispered that.



She opened her eyes and saw it was true. He brought his head from hers and buried it in her neck. She could tell he was close, she could feel it closing in on her too. Maybe two or three more thrusts and they'd be home.



"I'm so fucking sorry, Buffy. So fucking sorry."



He wasn't trying to hide his tears now, and she felt both the wetness on her shoulder and neck, and the way his body was shaking slightly, marring his once perfect rhythm.



"I love you so fucking much, and I can't bloody stop it!" His voice was rough and desperate, but he reached down and rubbed her just the right way in spite of it all and she came so hard she blacked out, but before she did she felt him pull out completely and move away.



***



When she came to he was sitting up, still between her legs, but his back was to her. He was shaking and his quiet sobs made Buffy's heart clench painfully in her chest. She shifted until she was pressed up behind him and reached around to hold him to her. Her hand brushed the sheets and he grabbed her wrist to stop it, but she already knew.



He'd come in the sheets.



Why the fuck had he come in the sheets.



She was confused, and a little, make that a lot hurt. What the fuck was he pulling. She didn't understand his actions enough to be truly angry, but something about it got under her skin.



He jerked up and pulled himself off the bed and the sheet with him. She watched as he paced for a moment, then sat on the floor, against the wall and buried his head in his hands. She could tell he was ashamed, she knew that emotion in Spike, but she still didn't understand just what the hell it all meant.



"What... why did you do that?"



He mumbled something softly and shook his head. She waited for a minute and he looked up, avoiding her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just... I didn't know what to do."



"You didn't know what to do. Spike, it isn't like it's never happened before."



"Yeah, and I was a right selfish bastard every time before. I'm so sorry, Buffy."



"Selfish bastard? What the hell are you talking about, Spike?" She was getting frustrated now, it made no sense, and he wasn't helping.



"I just couldn't. I shouldn't have even been able to. Knowing what I've done to you. God, Buffy, I tried, I tried so hard to stop it. It was the only thing I could do to keep you safe. Clean. Happy."



She'd made him feel like such a monster that he couldn't even manage to come inside her without feeling guilty. She was shocked into silence for a moment, and then she saw his face. All the bruises and cuts she'd put there to teach him a lesson he was incapable of learning. God, maybe she really had lost her soul to him. "Spike, please, stop it. Just stop it."



He looked up and she got out of the bed and sat next to him, pulling him into her arms to cradle his head on her breast. He struggled at first, but she was stronger than him at this point and she won. "See what I've done to you," she traced the cuts and bruises, first on his face, then his chest and arms. "I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. I'm the fucked up one here, the one who can't love even if I want to."



She stroked his hair and kissed his temple softly. He was shaking still, though not as badly as before. "It's not just you, Spike. I don't love anyone anymore. I don't think I can, not Willow, not Xander, not Giles, not Angel, not even Dawn." She felt her own tears begin to flow. "I can't do it, I don't know why, but I can't."



Spike had shifted sometime during her confession and now he held her face between his palms. He kissed her hard, but pulled away quickly. "You're wrong, Buffy. So wrong I can't even begin to tell you all the ways. You're strong and full of love." His tone softened and he wiped away her tears with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss her chastely on her swollen lips. "You've just lost you're way for a bit, luv, just for a bit. In a little while things will be right as rain and you'll understand what love is again."



He pulled her against him and stroked her back lightly. "It's not like your malady is original or anything."



"What?"



Out of nowhere, he began a terrible rendition of "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" and Buffy couldn't help but giggle against his chest.



"Love that sound, pet. I wish you'd let the world hear it more." He bent his head and kissed her again, softly and with just the right amount to passion to remind her he always loved and wanted her. "I want to help you, Buffy. If I haven't fucked everything up royally between us." Buffy shook her head and leaned against him. "We don't have to do this, you don't have to pretend you care enough to share a bed with me, but I still want to help you. Teach you what love is." He chuckled a little.



"A vampire trying to teach a human how to love, kinda rich isn't it." He sobered and pulled her face up to look at him. "But I have learned a lot, Buffy. This summer, when... I learned what it was, how it was to care for someone so bloody much that it killed you to hear them cry, and I'm not just talking romantic love here. I care about Dawn and the witches so much it hurts sometimes. I want to try and help you see what I see."



"I want to see it too."



"Let's get up into bed, luv. Unless, you need to leave. But you could stay," he added quickly. "We don't have to do anything, just... I'll be here, with you, just reassurance that someone cares." He looked down. "Maybe I'm the one that needs it and not you."



Buffy pulled on his hand and led him to the bed, pulling him around her when she got in. "Just for a little while, everyone will wonder where I am in the morning. But we can stay. For a little while."



Spike pulled her closer and buried his nose in her hair, worried that maybe this would be the last time he'd be allowed this close. He certainly hoped not. But he was committed to her well being, and if that meant that they were to stay at arms length, he was ready for it.



"Seeing why to love the watcher and the whelp though, that'll be a right impossible task, though."



Buffy just laughed.



 


 

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