Spike turned to go. He was struggling mightily with how wrong it all felt. He had absolutely no desire to torment her, to kick her when she was down. If he was any sort of normal vampire, even one who happened to be deprived of the ability to hurt her physically, he could at least attempt to give her a hard time. His traitorous thoughts, however, had turned to something else that was now painfully hard in his pants.
It was her laugh, he thought, that was at the root of the problem. He was sure he’d heard her laugh before, but he realized now that in the past it had always been a sarcastic snicker, a derisive cackle, or an exhausted, ironic snort born of gallows humor. Her laugh had never sounded like this, the very essence of genuine mirth. This laugh bubbled up like foaming champagne. This laugh was light and effervescent -- so lovely that he felt a deep craving to hear it again.
‘I’m obviously very ill,’ Spike thought. ‘But vampires don’t get sick, so this must be a spell or maybe I’ve been poisoned. There’s got to be an explanation. I’ve been a right git in my day – William was a poor substitute for a man – but this is an abomination. I have feelings for the Slayer!’
Spike was still just a few yards from where he’d left Buffy sitting on a tombstone. ‘I’ve got to go before I do or say something truly stupid. I should hate her. I should want her to hate me. This is a million kinds of wrong.’
“Good night, Slayer,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, at the library?”
As he spoke, Spike turned and looked at Buffy. She was now perched on the top of the wide tombstone, her feet tucked under her. She reminded him of the little mermaid sculpture that he’d seen bathed in moonlight and splashed by icy waves in the harbor at Copenhagen. ‘She might as well be a statue,’ he mused bitterly, ‘for all the chance I’ve got with her.’
“Spike, wait,” Buffy called after his retreating form, “I’ve been thinking about the tutoring. It… well… it makes me uncomfortable, you know…”
Spike wasn’t surprised. Spending time alone with him obviously didn’t hold much appeal. He’d had to admit to himself that he was looking forward to the intimacy of it, even knowing that it would leave him all the more heartsick when she finally passed her poetry class and no longer needed him. This was probably better; just end it before it really begins. Why feed hope to the hopeless?
“S’alright, Slayer,” he interrupted her before she could finish, “you don’t need to explain. Forget about it. I’m sure you can find a more suitable tutor.” He kept walking away. A little surprised at the intensity of the pain in his gut – an indication of just how far he’d let his feelings go.
“No, Spike, wait.” Buffy had to sprint after him, his deceptively relaxed looking stride carrying him away at a rapid rate. “Please wait,” she called after him, “I don’t want another tutor. I want you.”
Not quite believing what he’d heard, Spike nonetheless stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the way he’d come. His abrupt halt caught Buffy off guard, and she careened into him, her momentum carrying both of them off their feet and down onto the grass. Buffy landed on top of Spike with a loud, “Oof!” the breath knocked out of her.
Buffy’s face was just inches from his when she raised her head, pressing her hands into Spike’s chest for leverage. He might have missed seeing her blush in the dim light, but he couldn’t fail to notice the warmth radiating from her. Still, much as he wanted to wrap her in his arms, Spike kept them at his sides, inhaling her scent and waiting to see what she would do.
Buffy was speechless. She gasped, tried to regain her breath, and then just stared into Spike’s eyes her lips slightly parted, but not moving.
“Did you say that you want me, Slayer?” Spike asked with mock innocence. “‘Because I’m right here, you know, you don’t have to knock me down.”
Buffy blushed an even deeper shade of red and tried rather feebly to push herself off of Spike. She only succeeded in confirming that the long, hard shape pressing into her thigh was exactly what she had feared it was and Spike’s chest, while yielding a bit to the pressure of her hands, was appealingly firm as well.
“I just meant…I mean…I meant to say that I’m uncomfortable accepting your help without paying you anything,” she finally stammered out.
Spike was acutely aware of the fact that Buffy hadn’t already jumped off of him. The sensation of her weight pressing his erection into his leg was muddying his thinking, but he knew enough to choose his words very carefully. “I’d been thinking something along the same lines, Slayer,” he began cautiously, “but I’m not going to be able to take any money from you. I know that your Mum is sick. The gallery does alright, but it’s not going to be a good month with her away so much.”
Buffy’s brow furrowed and her mouth turned down a bit. “That’s why you’re being so nice to me, isn’t it?” she asked, her lower lip protruding in a slight pout. “It’s because my Mom is sick.”
Spike was transfixed by Buffy’s mouth. ‘She has absolutely no idea what that lip is doing to me,’ he thought. He managed to drag his eyes away from the succulent sight long enough to see the hint of hurt in her eyes. “No, no, love, not a bit. I’m being nice to you because I can’t help it. Something very strange and disturbing has happened; I just can’t bring myself to be nasty to you anymore.” As he said this Spike slid his hands up and placed them lightly on either side of Buffy’s waist. He waited, holding his breath, to see if she flinched. She didn’t.
Instead of leaping up, punching him in the nose or running away, Buffy looked down at Spike’s chest for a moment before raising her eyes again to meet his. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad it’s not just because of my Mom. The whole mortal enemy thing seems to have gone bye-bye. It’s the strangest thing ever, but I feel safe with you.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Spike replied, his voice husky, his hands holding her waist just a little more firmly than before.
“I know,” Buffy said, her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t help it.”
Spike reached up with one hand and pushed a lock of Buffy’s hair behind her ear. It was a gentle gesture, his fingers barely touching the shell of her ear. “I can’t take any money,” Spike said. “But I think I know what I’d like as compensation.”
Buffy said nothing but just looked at him expectantly, her eyes wide.
Tbc…..
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Don't forget to review. Lots of people seem to be reading this fic but I don't get many reviews. I'm trying to decide if I should end it in the next couple chapters or develop a whole new sub-plot to keep it going a bit. What do you all think? Oh, yeah, it may be a bit before I post again. The next chapter will be a big challenge for me. Sd