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~*~

Spike woke up at two AM. He wouldn’t have noted the time except that when he sat up with a gasp, the first thing he saw was the clock on his VCR.

He lay back on the floor with a groan. Memory was returning to him, fuzzy and indistinct, but very definite in its vague details. Around midnight, he’d dragged himself off the couch, covered Buffy with a blanket, and collapsed on the carpet. He’d had a muzzy, half-formed plan of carrying them to the bedroom, but he’d never been awake enough to try it.

Now, unfortunately, he was just about as awake as it was possible for a person to be.

He stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t slept that well in a month at least—ever since this damn thing between them started. It was a bitter bit of irony that he could sleep well after committing the worst mistake of his life.

Because there was absolutely no doubt in Spike’s mind that what he’d done with Buffy was a mistake. Hell, it hadn’t felt like one; it’d felt like the best damn thing he’d ever experienced. But things were changed and if it got out…he’d get tossed in jail. His life wouldn’t be worth living.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Why could things never go as planned? Why did he always have to fuck things up—even the innocent things, like Buffy coming over for dinner?

He’d just wanted to show his girl a good time. That was all. How had he allowed things to get so fucked up?

He’d thought he loved her. He knew he loved her. But if he loved her the way he thought he did, why hadn’t he been able to stay?

It was a useless ring of logic and Spike knew it, but somehow that wasn’t enough to make him stop. Guilt wrapped round him like a blanket until nothing but mindless blame was left. Why didn’t I stop us? Why couldn’t I pull away? Questions he didn’t have answers for but couldn’t stop himself from asking.

The worst part was, he just plain couldn’t make himself regret what’d happened. Yeah, it’d been stupid. Yeah, he was probably the most fucked up individual in Sunnydale—with the exception of the poofter and that Harmony bint. But at the same time, lying on the floor with her just inches away on the couch, Spike felt happier—more complete—than he ever had before.

‘course, that was only when he could ignore the churning panic that had a tendency to rise in his stomach every two seconds.

He’d only been awake for a few minutes, was still frantically trying to control his pulse and steady his breathing, when her voice came throatily out of the darkness. “Spike. Where’d you go?”

He gained control of his body through sheer force of will. “The floor, pet. Wasn’t room for both of us on the couch.”

“But…why didn’t we go to your room?” Confusion clouded her voice, confusion and something that sounded terribly like insecurity. Spike winced. He’d forgotten how delicate girls’ emotions were when they were that young and something as world-shaking as first time sex occurred.

Fuck. “I was tired,” he said, forcing himself to inject emotion into his voice so that she wouldn’t think he didn’t care. “I just wanted you to be comfortable.”

“So…” Her voice was all but a whisper. “So you don’t regret this?”

Bingo. He sat up and looked her in the eye. “No, luv, I don’t,” he said softly, letting her read his emotions, not bothering to conceal any of them as they flickered across his face. “What ‘m worried about is that you do.”

“No. God, no.” He watched her as she realized what she’d said—as the recognition that she did not, in fact, regret what had come to pass fully assimilated itself into her mind. “I…it was good.”

He allowed himself a slight smirk at that. “Damn right it was.”

“Stupid, though.” His face must’ve betrayed something, because she added quickly, “Spike—I’m not going to get all immature on you, okay? I’m sixteen, but I’m not stupid. It happened fast…but I knew what we were getting into.”

“But I should’ve—“

“What? Told me I didn’t know what I was doing? Told me you didn’t want to? Please.” She snorted, that old sound that told him plainly she wasn’t putting up with any of his bull. “What happened, happened. I’m kinda glad that it did.”

That was a surprise. “You are?”

She nodded. “To say it in Faith-speak, there were mad sex vibes in the air,” she said, one corner of her mouth raised in a lopsided grin.

He laughed outright at that. “I s’pose that’s one way to put it.”

“Definitely.” Buffy stood up and Spike caught his breath in surprise—she’d never completely removed her dress, and standing there, she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. She looked like a nymph, like walking sin—she looked like every overly sappy and stupidly poetic thing that came into his head, and damned if he didn’t love it. Damned even if he did, maybe.

“What?” She shifted uncomfortably. “Am I—is something wrong?”

“You’re gorgeous,” he said simply, standing up and placing his hands on her waist.

She swayed into the caress. “So we’re okay, then?”

It wasn’t just a question about the sex, and Spike knew it.

“Yeah,” he replied, praying that it was true. “We’re okay.”

~*~

The carpet installation people were supposed to come around nine AM the next morning, so they decided to try and get some sleep in Spike’s room. The only problem was, sharing a bed was enough of a novelty for them that neither of them actually slept.

It had been a long time since Spike had lain on a bed and kissed. “Make out sessions” were a teenager thing and at twenty-six, he’d thought he was well past them. Why bother wasting time kissing when there was so much else that could be done?

But the reason was in his arms, undulating and moaning just enough to drive him absolutely crazy.

“Fuck, luv,” he whispered, tearing away from her as she ran a hand down his chest. “Think you’re killing me.”

She smiled slightly. “Kiss of death?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Their lips locked again and Spike hooked his ankle around her leg, bringing her to sprawl on top of him. “Could do this all day…” he murmured.

“It’s not daytime.”

“Day, night—whatever. Shit.” He let his hands drop to the mattress. “We really oughta get some sleep.” Left unspoken was the fact that both of them had silently acknowledged the second they collapsed on the bed: if they kept going, a repeat of that evening would be inevitable. Since they hadn’t been ready for it a first time, they both knew that they needed to hold off. Hell, we should’ve held off in the first place.

“We should.” She rolled off of him and settled herself on the opposite side of the bed, shifted to the side so that her eyes were still locked with his.

Her hand was cradled in front of her chest, and Spike couldn’t help himself. He reached out and gripped it tightly, twining their fingers together.

Later, neither of them could say who dropped into sleep first. But when their eyes finally closed, they slept long and peacefully.

~*~





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