Buffy sat absolutely still in the armchair as Spike continued to rage. “Do those wankers who call themselves Watchers teach you nothing at all about vampires?” His eyes flashing with sparks of amber, Spike seemed wholly unaware that he was stomping back and forth in front of her in a state of complete undress. “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long if that’s all the care you take with your life.”
The sight of Spike, quite naked, pacing manically and waving his arms to emphasize his monologue was truly arresting. Buffy’s eyes never strayed from him as he lurched from one side of the room to the other. Any normal person would have been terrified. Buffy was, after all, cornered in a crypt with an angry vampire. But Buffy’s reaction, while intense, was anything but fearful. At first she could control her prevailing emotion by pressing her lips together in a straight line. She soon found it necessary to form her hands into fists, her fingernails stabbing fiercely into each palm. Finally she tried biting her lip. None of it worked for long.
Spike neared his turning point as he posed yet another rhetorical question. “Do you have any idea what just the smell of Slayer’s blood does to a vampire?” Turning sharply to his left to resume marching in the opposite direction, Spike opened his mouth to continue but stopped when he saw Buffy doubled over on the chair, her hands clamped over her mouth.
Dropping instantly to his knees in front of the chair, Spike put his hands on her wrists. “What’s this then? I’m just yelling, you know. I’m not going to hurt you, even though you are a silly cow! Come on then, sit up. Are you alright?”
Without lifting her head, Buffy shook it violently from side to side to indicate that she was most definitely not alright. “Come on, Buffy, what is it?” Spike was pleading with her now.
Buffy couldn’t take it, unable to contain her mirth a moment longer she burst out laughing. Standing up again, Spike stared in astonished silence as Buffy was beset by gales of laughter, tears streaming down her face.
“What are you laughing at, you crazy bint?” Spike asked, clearly exasperated. “I’m taking you to task for risking your bloody life on the worthless likes of me and now you’re laughing? I believe you've gone completely off your nut.”
Buffy tried to answer, but she was still giggling too hard to speak. She finally had be satisfied with pointing at Spike’s nakedness before she buried her face in her hands again, convulsed with spasms of amusement.
Spike followed Buffy’s finger to his nude body and immediately reached behind him to grab the sheet off the bed. Wrapping the red satin around his waist he stood, glowering at Buffy, and waited for her to contain her merriment. She didn’t stop.
“Come on now, love, that’s enough. Stop it. I’ve covered up, see, nothing more to be laughing about. Not that there was anything really funny before…”
Buffy looked up at him, her eyes still wet with tears of hilarity. She really was trying to stop, but it was just too much. Spike, the notorious Master vampire, the Slayer of Slayers, yada, yada, yada… And here he was bellowing at her, giving her hell, wrapped in nothing but a sheet. She couldn’t help it, this was the funniest thing she’d seen in a very long time. She ducked her head, trying to quell her amusement by clearing her mind of the scene before her.
Feeling a little less hysterical, Buffy dared to steal another glance at Spike. The muscle in his jaw jumped and it was apparent that he was barely containing his temper. Buffy closed her eyes in an attempt to solidify her control. When she opened them again she focused on the floor, Spike’s bare toes and the folds of the sheet all she could see. Slowly lifting her chin, Buffy held her breath and willed herself to remain composed. Slowly she raised her eyes to his and totally lost it again. This time she didn’t even attempt to restrain herself. “I’m sorry,” she managed to croak through her laughter, and then she was overcome.
Spike had been very close to exploding. But when he saw that Buffy was trying to stop, he realized that he couldn’t hold her responsible for her behavior. Even in his depleted state, he could tell from her pulse that she was hungry, dehydrated, and exhausted. That, and the fact that Buffy’s laughter had to be one of the most delightful sounds he’d ever heard – even if it was directed at him – quickly melted his irritation.
Hiccupping now, Buffy continued to giggle helplessly. Spike shook his head, smiling to himself as he watched her. Despite all her Slayer strength and the responsibility for the wellbeing of the world that went with it, seeing her like this made it clear that she was still just a girl -- an adorable, desirable girl.
Before he had time to second guess himself, Spike leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. It was a chaste kiss, his mouth remaining in contact with hers for a second or less, lips soft and yielding. The giggles stopped. Buffy stared at him, wide-eyed with surprise. Then she reached up, pulling him down to meet her lips again.
Clutching the sheet with one hand, Spike returned Buffy’s kiss, his tongue gently prodding for entrance as his free arm wrapped around her waist and lifted her a few inches off the floor. He was distracted briefly by errant thoughts, but before he could catalog the long list of reasons why William the Bloody and Buffy the Vampire Slayer should not kiss, a deluge of pleasant sensation swamped his intellect and it simply gave up. He was surrounded by a warmth he’d only imagined, inundated with flavors and scents to which he was instantly addicted, and thrilled by the urgent beating of Buffy’s heart against his chest.
The only false note in this sensory symphony, from Spike’s perspective, was the intrusive presence of the non-Buffy blood staining her clothes. Spike was still short at least a pint after nearly bleeding out on the floor. His demon could not ignore the thick funk of the blood now drying on Buffy’s top and jeans. When their mouths separated long enough for Buffy to gulp a lungful of air, Spike lowered her feet to the floor and put his fingers on her lips. “Buffy, love, I can’t…” The look of hurt in her eyes caught him completely by surprise. “No, love, no, I don’t want to stop! God, I want you like nothing I’ve ever wanted before – not in my unlife or before. But this blood,” he said, gesturing at her soiled clothes, “it’s got my demon right riled, and I’m too weak to fight it. It’s not safe…wouldn’t hurt you for the world…”
Alarm quickly replaced the hurt in her eyes and Buffy scrambled behind her on the chair until she found the forgotten bag of blood. Holding it out to him she dropped her eyes suddenly to the floor. “Spike, please drink this. I’m so sorry. You lost so much blood. You must be starving. Oh, God, Spike, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have sent you away like that. None of this would have happened…” He didn’t let her finish. Now it was his turn to draw back.
“You regret this, then?” he said a little icily.
“Buffy’s head shot up, finding his eyes with hers. “No, what? You mean this…the kissing? No. I don’t regret this. It’s just…”
“Then forget what happened before. Doesn’t matter,” he said very softly, the chill gone from his voice. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Buffy’s tear-stained face and tucked it behind her ear. “Just let me drink that and maybe you could change out of those clothes.”
Buffy looked into Spike’s eyes again, this time seeing something she’d seen there before but had never understood. The bravado he projected was just a front. Underneath was a tender, sensitive…well, not a soul, but something vulnerable and kind, something he hadn’t shown to anyone in a very long time. And he was risking it, showing her his soft, unguarded self. He was asking her to change her clothes so he could be close to her without wanting to devour her -- at least not in the “drain you ‘til you die” kind of way. Every time she thought she had him figured out, Spike surprised her again.
Buffy’s mouth curved into a crooked smile as she handed Spike the bag of blood. “You have something else I can wear?” she asked. “I didn’t exactly pack an overnight bag.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did,” he answered, with just a trace of his signature smirk. “You’ll find t-shirts and jeans in that dresser right there. Help yourself.”
Tbc….
A/N: Okay, I know this is going very slowly. My only excuse is that I’m new to this and getting our two lovers into a sweaty situation isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Still, progress is happening. Show some love.