“I know every band girlfriend says this,” Willow said enthusiastically, her eager eyes following Oz’s every move on stage. “But Oz is so much more talented than any other musician I know.” The Dingoes had just wrapped up their first set for the night and were in the process of mingling into the normal crowd of Bronze patrons.
Buffy arched a brow. “How many musicians do you know?”
“Well…Oz…and Devon.”
“So what you’re saying is that Oz is better than Devon.”
The diminutive werewolf in question popped up from nowhere at that, an amused grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh, I am,” he said, greeting Willow with a kiss. “We just haven’t let him know yet.”
“That you’re vastly superior?”
He shrugged. “It could lead to a coup.”
“You are vastly superior, you know,” the redhead said eagerly, beaming at her boyfriend. “We come here three nights a week, and your sets are always the best.”
The small little smile on Oz’s face grew, and he pressed his lips to her brow. “I think this is the pez witch talking.”
Buffy forced a grin as Willow leaned into her boyfriend, all snuggly and couple-like, and tried very hard to ignore the fact that Angel had been hovering dangerously near since they arrived that evening. She so was not in the mood to put up with his badgering, especially since she’d avoided speaking to him all week long.
And she’d really gone the full nine yards to accomplish said avoidance. Her window was adorned in strings of garlic and she’d nailed crucifixes to her walls. Granted, she’d done so telling herself that it was an extra means to ensure Spike couldn’t enter, but her heart knew better. Her heart knew that if Spike wanted in, there was little she could do by way of stopping him. Little she’d want to do, really—aside the preservation of her ego—to keep him from joining her under the covers.
Buffy choked a breath and shuddered. Although she was growing more and more accustomed to those perverse thoughts creeping up on her, that didn’t mean she was okay with it. And she definitely wasn’t okay with the growing pain in her gut—the one that had caught her attention the day that she blabbed to Willow, and had grown consistently more agitated with each passing minute. As though someone had robbed her of her jollity, and placed her in a perpetual state of mourning. Only in this sick, twisted world, the mourning became pain, and she spent every second waiting until sleep could carry her away.
Though truly, sleep had betrayed her, too. Every night, she dreamt of Spike. And every morning, she awoke in a lonely bed, cold from the lack of his arms around her. He warmed her in her dreams, something she would have scoffed at had she not already experienced it firsthand. Spike had the ability to warm her, even when she was paralyzed with fear and quivering from something she did not understand.
The ache grew worse and worse every day. And while she would have loved to blame it on any number of things, the truth was simple and hard to ignore: she missed him. She missed Spike. She missed the vamp that had chained her to his bed, tongued her into oblivion—albeit against her will—entered her body without permission, and wallowed in more guilt and shame than she’d ever seen. Hell, she hadn’t even witnessed Angel feeling thatguilty for what he’d done as his evil counterpart.
So the soulful ex-boyfriend wasn’t as contrite as the soulless vampire that wanted her dead. There was something incredibly wrong with that.
Logic intervened, of course, and told her that Angel had experience in dealing with his regrets. That he’d already suffered a century worth of guilt, and a few months didn’t really mean all that much in the long run. And even then, she conceded that she wasn’t being fair. He’d cried for his sins. He’d asked for forgiveness, and she’d given it to him.
However, she had never missed Angel as much as she was missing Spike. All the dreams, the guilt, and the yearning in the months spent in Los Angeles, and Buffy had never even come close to feeling as alone as she felt now. Oz and Willow were making with the coupley, and Xander and Cordelia were slowly moseying back to the table. Angel was hovering, and Spike was gone.
She could have Angel if she wanted. Well, not have, because that led to much badness of the patchety-murdery sort, but he could be her snuggle bunny if she wanted. But she didn’t want him. She wanted someone she should never want. Someone she kept dreaming about. Someone whose bite mark had become instrumental in how she currently enjoyed her alone time.
Suddenly, Buffy wanted to be home in her room. She wanted to be anywhere but in a public place, where the two loudest people she’d ever known had just rejoined the table.
“Xander—oof. I swear, if you step on my feet one more time…”
“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to dance. I was out there trying to make sense of all the wild wiggling.” He shook his head good-naturedly and threw an arm around the Ice Queen’s shoulders. “Good set, Oz.”
“Thanks.”
“And you,” Buffy appraised, making a hearty effort to be social-girl. “With the funky dance moves.”
“I’m the Xan-Man. I bring the funk.”
“I find you loathsome, and my hatred of you knows no bounds,” Willow snapped from nowhere, glaring daggers at Xander. Then she paused and peeped a small sorry, burying her face in a confused Oz’s shoulder.
Cordelia’s brows arched. “Will’s been PMSing something fierce the past few days.”
“No, it’s just…it’s nothing.”
“Emphasis on the nothing,” Xander added.
“A big nod to nothing.” Willow smiled nervously. “Ohh, hey, look. They have soda here.” She turned to Oz and prodded his shoulder. “Wanna go buy me a coke?”
“Yeah,” he replied absently, though his eyes were caught on something in the distance. “Hey, isn’t that Spike?”
Buffy, quite literally, fell off her stool.
“Buffy!” Willow leapt down and helped her to her feet. “Are you okay?”
Okay? Okay? Was she okay? She hadn’t been okay in a week, much less right now. Now with Xander pulling a major wig and Cordelia looking anxious and Oz being Mr. Blasé when it came to announcing life-altering Spike cameos into what used to be her life? Yeah, she was okay. She was the picture of mental health. She was the poster child for okay.
Only incredibly not because that really was Spike, and he was looking for her. And thanks to her random attack of slayer klutziness, he’d found her.
“I’m fine,” Buffy said. It was the standard line. She was the antagonist of fine.
But then it happened. Spike’s eyes found hers, and the screaming stopped.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Xander demanded. “Buffy?”
She had no idea. Only yes, of course, she knew exactly why he was here. He was here for her. Because of her. Because he hadn’t taken that dust-to-dust threat seriously, and he was in a mood to risk all his parts. Because humiliating her in private hadn’t been enough; he had to do it in front of her friends as well. Because he missed her as much as she missed him and his unlife was dreary and bleak without her in it.
Buffy was honestly astonished when he walked right over to them. As though they weren’t mortal enemies. As though the last time they’d seen each other, she hadn’t issued an ultimatum. As though approaching the Slayer and her friends was something natural for him.
Though from the way he refused to tear his eyes from hers, she somehow doubted that he even saw them.
“I need to talk to you,” he said urgently, not even bothering to acknowledge that she wasn’t alone. “Outside.”
“Yeah,” Xander interjected. “Let me list the number of ways that’s not happening.”
Buffy just stared at him, her face slack with astonishment. “Spike,” she said.
“Slayer, outside.”
Xander seemed to be the only one with a problem. Everyone else was silent; watching the trade with rapt attention.
“Sure, because she’s dumb enough to walk right into—”
“Okay,” Buffy said with a nod, not even flinching away when Spike took her arm and led her intently through the crowd and toward the back.
For whatever reason, everything stopped mattering at that second. Her mental war was put on pause. The protests of her confused friends were ignored. And of course, her resident stalker, whom she hadn’t forgotten, but simply didn’t care about.
Nothing else mattered right now. The ache had stopped.
And Spike was with her.
In all honesty, he had no idea why he’d sought her out. Why it was so different tonight than it had been the night before. Why he needed to see her now. The pangs in his gut grew worse as the days went by, and when he’d awoken at sundown, he knew that tonight would be the night he saw her again.
That didn’t mean he knew what to say. He had absolutely no idea what to say. But Buffy was with him. She hadn’t jerked away from his touch when he took her arm. She hadn’t even protested when he told her that he needed to see her alone. She hadn’t tossed her friends a glance or even bothered to bat her pretty eyes at Angel, who was hovering like a child predator on the prowl.
Now that Spike had her all to himself, he was at a loss. Days of starvation were suddenly at an end, and Buffy was at his side. The second they stepped into the alley and the door closed behind them, he whirled around with an impassioned growl and smashed his lips to hers. Nothing else made sense right now. All he knew was he needed to taste her.
And at first taste, he was lost. Utterly lost. Buffy mewled and crooned against him, her fingers lacing through his platinum locks, her sweet little hands framing his face as her mouth warred with his. She tasted so good, so ripe, and he couldn’t get enough of her. Nor could he help the low, hungry growl that tickled his throat before melting into a moan when she sucked his tongue into her mouth. All he knew was that days of ache were over. Buffy was in his arms, and she wasn’t fighting him. For the first time since she’d walked away, he knew some measure of peace.
Especially when she broke away to collect her breath, rested her brow against his, then dove in for seconds. A dam broke and he allowed himself, ever so briefly, to hope. Perhaps these few days had been hell on her, too. Perhaps, just perhaps, she wanted him as much as he needed her.
Her kisses were addictive. If he wasn’t a Buffy junkie before, he certainly was now. As much as he’d loved fucking her—even amidst his confusion—it had lacked this. The simple intimacy of kissing her was worth so much more than whatever they’d shared. And Spike was a creature that craved intimacy.
The mind-numbing guilt was washed away; he felt forgiven.
Spike honestly had no idea how long they snogged. Buffy wasn’t protesting or squirming to get away, and he’d hold her as long as she let him. She didn’t shy away when she felt his erection pressing into her. She didn’t panic when she opened her eyes and saw him looking back. She held his gaze for long seconds, fighting for breath, her hands trailing down the sides of his neck until she was holding his shoulders. He missed her mouth the second it left his, but he wasn’t about to complain. He’d stolen his taste and she was still in his arms. That was more than he deserved.
“Wow,” she murmured dazedly.
Spike found himself grinning like an idiot; he couldn’t help it. The clouds had parted and suddenly he felt as light as air. “Bloody understatement of the year,” he replied. “Been wantin’ to do that for days.”
Watching her attempt to reclaim her breath invigorated him. For as rattled as he’d been since that morning, he loved knowing that he could throw her off course just as easily. “Do what?”
“Kiss you,” he replied softly, his lips grazing hers. “I never got to kiss you.”
He wasn’t surprised as much as he was disappointed when the starry look faded from her eyes. Even with as liberated as the knowledge of her wanting him had made him, there was something tragically rehearsed in the way he’d expected this to play itself out. In a matter of seconds, Buffy went from soft and compliant to tense and confused. She blinked rapidly and began to struggle against him.
“Spike, let go—”
No need to tell him twice. After what had happened, he wasn’t about to hold her if she didn’t want to be held.
The second she stepped away from him, he drowned in cold.
Buffy hugged herself self-consciously. “Sorry,” she said, her tone abrupt. “I didn’t…that is, I don’t know what came over me. I…” She blinked again, her brow furrowing in realization. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought I told you—”
“I know what you told me. I’m sorry.” He exhaled and offered a shaky smile. “I jus’…something’s happening to me. I tried to leave, Slayer. Honest. I got to the bloody edge of town an’ couldn’t do it. I’ve been tryin’ to leave for days, but I can’t. I can’t leave here without…” Spike paused and sighed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
A strange emotion flashed across her face. Had he blinked, he would have missed it. “I…Spike, I can’t do this. I can’t be standing out here, talking about this with you. Not after…”
“I know what I did was unforgivable. But—”
“No, it’s not that, I…” Buffy caught herself and frowned. “Well, yes. It is that. You’ve confused the hell out of me. And I’m not saying that these past few days have been all peachy keen, because they really, really haven’t. I’ve thought about you…more than I wanna admit, but I can’t be doing that. Just…” She shook her head, her eyes darting to the ground, her arms going up in confusion. “Just let me go.”
Let her go? Now? Now when she’d admitted to thinking about him? Now that he knew he wasn’t the only one suffering? He didn’t bloody think so. Spike shook his head rapidly and reached for her. “Buffy—”
“No.” She backpedaled quickly until her back was pressed to the Bronze door. “No. Just…just try to forget it, okay? Try.”
Then she shut herself inside the Bronze, putting a wall between them. And though he missed her light the second she vanished, Spike couldn’t bring himself to be discouraged. There was nothing to lament. This fight wasn’t over.
Buffy wanted him as much as he wanted her. He knew she did.
Though if he hadn’t seen the agony in her eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.
Buffy shouldn’t have been surprised to literally run into Angel the second she stepped back inside the club. She shouldn’t have been, but she was. She was so surprised she actually jumped.
But then, her encounter with Spike had left her feeling a little shaky, and more confused than ever.
“Spike?” Angel asked, his arms crossed and his brow perked.
Irritation surged within her, but she was too tired to nurse it. Instead, she nodded numbly and brushed passed him. “Yeah. Spike.”
“What’d he want?”
“To talk.”
“Really?”
Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know what, Angel? And I can’t say this emphatically enough…leave me alone and stay out of my business.”
She moved on without waiting for a reply. Dealing with her ex was so not even on her radar tonight. She was bound to have more than enough trouble with her friends.
Though she had to admit, when she stopped at their table and met the redhead’s understanding, concerned eyes, she’d never been so happy to see Willow in her life.
To be continued