The soundtrack of Joy’s video faded as Buffy padded down the hall. Spike preceded her into the room they shared and quickly switched on a small lamp on the floor. The resulting pool of light illuminated a nearly bare room. Buffy stood at the doorway blinking.
“What happened to all the furniture?” she asked, noting the absence of the bed and end tables that had been there when she’d left for the drugstore.
“It’s all still here,” Spike replied, directing her gaze to the closet behind her with his eyebrows, “I just rearranged it a bit for our spa day.”
“Gee, for a guy who needed me to define ‘spa’ this morning, you’ve certainly caught on quick,” Buffy said, grateful for Spike’s willing indulgence of her pampering fantasy. Looking around she recognized the sheet-covered massage mat as one of the gym pads from Dawn’s basement studio. Everything else that had been in the room was either tucked into the closet or stacked neatly in the corner and draped with the bedspread. “This could be a treatment room at the Golden Door.”
“That may be, luv,” Spike said, “but you don’t look like one of the Door’s filthy rich patrons dressed like that in your street clothes. Come on, now,” he added, “holding an open sheet at arms length in front of him, “shuck your duds so I can wrap you up in this. I promise not to look…for now anyway.” Buffy couldn’t see Spike’s face behind the sheet, but she could hear the leer in his voice.
“I never said anything about not looking…” she began.
“Yeah, but if I’m really going to give you a massage…as opposed to something else I can think of…the less I look, the better,” Spike interrupted. “This is going to be difficult enough just with the touching and feeling, let alone the added stimulus of seeing what it is I’m touching.”
Buffy smiled to herself as she complied with Spike’s request, shedding her clothes in a matter of seconds. “Put your arms up, luv,” Spike said, “and step forward.” Buffy sighed as Spike reached around her body to wrap her firmly in the sheet. Dropping her arms to his shoulders, they stood for a moment with their eyes closed, foreheads pressed together.
“This is good, yeah?” Spike asked, not needing an answer. Then, taking an unnecessary breath, he slipped out of Buffy’s embrace and gestured to the mat on the floor. “Get yourself situated there,” he said. “Face down to start. You can just lay the sheet over all the good parts. I’m going to go warm this massage oil for a minute. My cold hands won’t do without a little help. You okay?”
Buffy nodded, a dazed but happy expression on her face. “I’m good,” she said. “Go ahead, I’m not going anywhere.”
While Spike was gone, Buffy stretched out prone on the make-shift massage table, luxuriating in the feel of her bare skin against the cool sheet. She arranged the drape loosely over her back, covering everything from shoulders to heels. She’d had enough massages to know that although she was quite naked under the sheet, she needn’t feel particularly exposed. And, despite Spike’s lack of formal training, she suspected he would manage a credible version of a professional job. While the vampire once known as William the Bloody may not have frequented many spas, his hedonistic nature was sure to have taken him to places where massage was on the menu, along with god-knows-what else she’d rather not think about.
The sheet felt suddenly heavy and humid. Maybe it was the thought of all the possible items on the bill of fare back when Spike was still a member of the Scourge of Europe. Whatever the trigger, the sensation went from glow to suffocating heat in the space of a single breath and Buffy’s skin was stuck to the sheet with sweat before she could tear out of the now unbearably confining wrap. By the time Spike returned, Buffy had thrown off the sheet and was on her back, panting, as she waited for the hot flash to burn itself out.
“Oi, luv, you can’t be showing off like that if you really want a massage,” Spike whined when he took in the site of his mate’s naked form sprawled inelegantly across the mat. But he quickly checked his complaints when he realized what was happening. “Sorry, baby,” he said, tossing the unwanted bottle of warm massage oil onto the floor as he knelt at her side. “Here, let me cool you down,” he added as he blew his naturally chilled breath over her shiny, sweat-coated skin.
Spike’s intervention reaped immediate results: goose bumps sprouted everywhere his cool breath encountered Buffy’s fevered flesh, and he experienced a simultaneous tightening of the fabric around his crotch. Shifting to decrease the discomfort, Spike tried to keep his mind fixed on the performance of his duties as a masseur. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, he flipped it in the air so it would settle back over Buffy.
“My apologies, sweetheart,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I don’t know how much longer I could last with nothing between me and all your lovely skin. I hope you’re not too hot.”
Buffy twisted around until she was back on her tummy. “It’s okay, honey,” she said, her voice muffled by the mat. “It went away. I’m the one who should be apologizing for giving you an eyeful when you asked me not too. I was just too hot to stay covered.”
“No worries, luv,” he replied. “We’ll pretend it never happened. But I think I’ll dispense with the massage oil. What do you think?”
“Good idea,” Buffy said. “I think your cool hands will feel better under the circumstances.”
Spike brushed a gentle kiss between Buffy’s shoulder blades and commenced to massage her with all the skill of a trained professional. Starting with her shoulders, Spike kneaded the muscles until all the ropy tightness was gone. He worked Buffy’s back muscles, releasing all the tension she held there. Moving to her legs, Spike used his strong fingers to loosen the stiffness around her hip joints. He massaged her thighs and calves, never pressing too deep, always progressing steadily from one group of muscles to the next until he got to Buffy’s feet.
Before he started working on her lower extremities, Spike picked up the edge of the sheet holding it away from Buffy’s body, but in front of his face so he couldn’t see her. “Turn over, luv,” he said. “I’ve finished with this side.”
It took Buffy a moment to find her voice. “What? Oh, oh, yeah, okay,” she finally answered. “I don’t know where I was just now. You’ve got me so relaxed I just kind a floated away for a minute. Okay, I’m all turned over.”
Spike chuckled softly. “Yeah, luv, I could tell from your heartbeat you’d gone off somewhere. Hated to disturb you, but I need a different angle. I’ve been faking it up until now. But since I actually know what I’m doing when it comes to feet, I want to make sure you get the full effect.”
Buffy snorted, holding the sheet to her chest as she sat up. “Geez, if that was faking I don’t know if I can take the real thing. Is it possible for a person to get too relaxed?”
“You flatter me,” Spike said. “But we don’t have much time and I want to finish what I’ve started here. So if you would be kind enough to lie down, I’d like to get back to turning you into a mass of quivering Jell-o.”
Buffy giggled but added no further comment as she settled into the mat and closed her eyes. Far be it from me to keep a master from his craft, she thought.
Spike wasn’t fooling when he said he knew how to massage feet. His strong hands methodically found and obliterated every shred of tension in Buffy’s arches, toes, insteps, and heels. By the time he was done, she was literally drooling. Spike carefully wiped Buffy’s face before he roused her this time. She’ll never let me give her another massage if she knows I saw her with spit on her face, he thought.
“Come on, luv,” he whispered into her ear. “Wake up now. You can take a minute to gather your wits, but Joy’s movie is just ending and I have to go intercept her.”
Buffy tried to open her eyes for several seconds before she finally succeeded. “God, Spike!” she said. “What did you do to me? I feel like I’ve been drugged.”
“My method is 100% chemical-free,” he said, winking. “I’m all natural.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” Buffy said, her speech slightly slurred. “Natural, unnatural, I feel so good I wouldn’t care if you’d used chloroform!”
Seeing that Buffy was trying to sit without success, Spike grabbed her under the armpits and helped her up. “You’re on your own now luv, I’ve got to go. Here’s your robe. Slip it on and join us in the kitchen. We’re going to have a snack before we get dressed for the show.”
Buffy held onto Spike’s arm. “Wait,” she said, refusing to let him leave. “I have to ask you something.” Spike relented when he saw the look on her face.
“Okay,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mat and putting his hands on her shoulders. “Ask away.”
Buffy looked directly into his eyes. “What could I possibly have done to deserve you?” she asked.
Spike looked down for a second. When his eyes found hers again he was smiling broadly. “I ask myself that same question every day, Buffy. Every bleedin’ day.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead and disappeared out the door before she could say another word.
Tbc….
A/N: Please review. I'm a total slut for reviews!!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The muse totally took over this chapter. My apologies for failing to advance anything remotely like a plot. This scene just had to happen.