Despite being thoroughly undead and having absolutely no need for oxygen, Spike lay on his back panting helplessly. Over the course of the past three hours, Buffy had methodically sought and destroyed every semblance of his highly prized control. If she asked him to get on all fours and bark like a dog, he would do it. Hell, it was possible he’d already done it at some point during the recent sex-capades.
“Where did I ever get the idea this chit was naïve and innocent?” he thought,, as he tried to lift his hand toward the cigarettes on the night table and failed. “I think you broke me,” he said out loud.
“Hnuh?”
Marshalling the last of his resources, Spike raised his head just high enough to catch a glimpse of Buffy’s naked body sprawled at his side. As he did so, he took note the room was either upside down or they had their heads at the foot of the bed. “I think you broke me,” he repeated slowly. “But I don’t care. It would take much too much energy to care and I haven’t got any.”
“I know what you mean,” she replied, her voice a bit muffled by the comforter. “But I really can’t stay here much longer. I have to go…slay things and think about…stuff.”
“Oh, please, Buffy, don’t start thinking,” he said, already bracing against the pain of rejection. “You know it will lead to no good.”
He was surprised when she agreed. “You’re probably right,” she slurred. “I do better when I just go on instinct. I think that’s what this is all about.”
“And?” Spike asked, waiting for the “other shoe” to drop. But there was no shoe, no footwear of any kind. Buffy was snoring.
Spike snorted softly in amusement and then followed her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Buffy woke up her thighs felt glued together. After gently prying them apart, she sat up and tried to focus on the details of the candle-lit room. The first thing she recognized was Spike, sitting on the floor.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked. Though she was surrounded by the cozy warmth of what felt like a cashmere afghan, she knew she was completely naked under it.
Spike sighed, “They’re over there on the armchair,” he said, a note of resignation and just a little hope in his voice. “Go ahead and put them on,” he continued. “Then come and have something to eat.”
Buffy glanced at her clothes, neatly folded over the arm of the chair, and then immediately back to Spike. She knew they had crossed a line that never should have been crossed. She knew she should just put on her clothes and leave—never mind trying to figure anything out. She could just pretend it never happened. She was pretty sure that strategy had worked before.
But Buffy was just now realizing Spike was not alone down there on the floor. He was seated on a pillow—almost primly—a surprisingly lavish spread of food arrayed in a wide swathe around him. He saw her gaze fall upon the plates and trays he’d carefully arranged.
“Hungry, Slayer?” he asked, raising one eyebrow expectantly.
“More like starving and ravenous,” she replied, dragging the cashmere blanket with her onto the floor. She took a moment to arrange it modestly around her shoulders and then reached for a little roll stuffed with salami and cheese. “Where did you get all this stuff?”
“It’s from the deli,” Spike answered without taking his eyes off her softly draped wrap. Just minutes before, he had seriously thought he was beyond all desire following their marathon sex-fest. But the combination of Buffy’s becomingly disheveled hair and her makeshift garment had already created a bit of a stir in his pants. Working to keep his voice from dropping into its telltale husky register, he tried to keep his growing arousal to himself. “Last time you were here you had that incident… with the passing out,” he quickly explained. “So I stocked the place in case you stopped in.”
The significance of Spike’s admission was not lost of Buffy. She looked at him for a moment, her expression betraying her confusion. “Not very evil of you,” she said, a small smile curving her lips. “And look, you even bought yogurt! You hate yogurt.”
“Stuff tastes like it’s gone off, of course I hate it,” he said, pushing a basket of three small containers within her reach. “I didn’t know your favorite so I bought a few different one.”
Buffy dispatched the salami roll in two bites, staring all the while at the yogurt cartons. “Spike,” she began, “I don’t know what to say…”
But Spike didn’t let her finish. “Don’t say anything,” he interjected. “You had it right before. Don’t think about it, don’t talk about it. Just let it be, whatever it is…or isn’t. Doesn’t matter, does it? Your friends won’t understand. Bugger that, we don’t even understand. Just eat some of this food and let it be. Okay?”
Part of Buffy wanted to argue with him, to tell him they had to stop whatever it was they’d started. But she knew she couldn’t do it because she’d miss it too much. Miss him too much. If she would admit the truth—which she would not, at least not in so many words—she’d have to face what she was doing in the light of day. That was not going to happen, not anytime soon.
Spike watched a series of expressions play across Buffy’s face, her gaze still locked on the basket of yogurts. He couldn’t help feeling hopeful just because she hadn’t already left, but he knew better than to expect much more.
“I…like lemon a lot,” she said, choosing the carton with the yellow label from the basket. “But I like vanilla and blueberry too.”
“That’s good, then,” he said, both relieved and disappointed. “I can put those other two in the ‘fridge for another time. If …I mean, when…you know, if you’re ever hungry again, when you’re here.”
Buffy couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for the poor, confused vampire. But she was too busy ripping the foil off the yogurt to dwell for long on his simultaneously sad and bewildered expression. She threw her head back and emptied half the contents of the container into her mouth. Following a loud swallow, she finished the yogurt and was reaching for what looked like a brownie when she felt a rush of cool air and realized Spike was next to her.
“Those moves of yours can be disconcerting,” she said, looking directly into his eyes for the first time since waking from her nap.
“Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point, don’t ya think?” he answered, his eyes moving from hers to train on her mouth. “I just thought you might want to use this,” he continued, as he proffered the napkin in his hand. “Much as I enjoy watching the gusto with which you eat, you’ve left a bit of yogurt on your face.”
Buffy looked a little embarrassed as she took the napkin and dabbed ineffectually at her cheek. “I’ll get it,” Spike said, taking the napkin back. Then, catching her chin with his other hand, he carefully wiped the offending drop of yogurt from her upper lip. Still holding her face, his eyes found hers again and he froze. Even in the dim light, he couldn’t miss Buffy’s pupils dilating as she returned his gaze.
Buffy suddenly felt very hot in her blanket. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you,” she whispered. “That’s what I was going to say before.”
“I’m not sure knowing that really helps the situation,” Spike replied, struggling a bit to keep his voice even. “Not unless it means you’ll stay when I want you to.”
TBC…..
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I know it's been ages since I updated this story. Life has a way of getting between me and my WIPs. But here it is, at last, Chapter Twenty-Nine. I hope you enjoy it!