He closed his eyes, letting visions of Buffy play out in his mind. He imagined her spread out in his bed, her golden skin bared to him, pliant and willing. He'd take her slowly, gently, savor her body as he showed her the pleasure she'd been missing out on during her long, lonely life. He could hear her moan, hear her gasp…
Wait a minute… He did hear her gasp.
The moment they opened, Spike's eyes locked with Buffy's, and his hand stilled on his shaft. She must've walked right through the door again…
"What are you doing?" Buffy asked, her gaze darting down to his erection and staying there. She'd seen naked men before—she'd seen Spike naked before—but she'd never seen one doing whatever it was he was doing now. And damn, if it didn't make her sweat.
"I'm wanking off," Spike said bluntly, correctly guessing that Buffy had no knowledge whatsoever of the act she'd caught him in. "Trying to relieve a bit of the tension."
"Tension?"
"Sexual. When a man's aroused, his dick gets hard. Makes it a bit difficult to function. The best way to take care of it is sex, but when there's none of that to be had, we can make do with our hand."
"It's all red and swollen," Buffy said, still staring at his hard-on. "It looks…painful."
"It can be," Spike admitted.
Buffy sat down beside him, and before Spike could say anything, she reached out and touched her finger to the tip. Spike groaned, thrusting against her before he caught himself. "Don't…don't do that."
"Did that make it hurt more?" Buffy asked, looking up at his face with concern in her eyes.
"No, it's just… We can't, Buffy."
"I know." Buffy looked down again. "This is because of me, isn't it? Your…thing is all swollen and stuff because of me."
"Don't worry about it, pet. A man with an erection is hardly a rare thing."
"But I want to help you," Buffy said, determination creeping into her voice.
More than a few ways Buffy could "help" him came tumbling into Spike's mind, but he pushed them away. "I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart."
Buffy, however, had made up her mind. She'd caused Spike discomfort, and she wanted to fix it. She could help him without breaking the rules—she just had to make sure she focused on him. She reached out and took hold of his face, kissing him hard, ignoring his muffled cry until he was kissing her back, his hand moving once again on his cock as Buffy's tongue stole into his mouth.
When he broke away from her for air, Spike arched back on the bed, his hand pumping frantically. Buffy was riveted to the sight, her own breath coming in sharp pants. She'd never seen anyone in the throes of pleasure up close before, and it amazed her how gorgeous Spike was like this. She reached out and placed her hand against his chest, the need to touch him overwhelming.
He gasped at the first feel of her hand against his skin, and Buffy felt emboldened by his reaction. She began to stroke his chest, lingering at his nipple when it seemed to as if that gave him particular pleasure.
"Buffy…oh, fuck…get back, luv," Spike groaned as he felt his balls tightening. "Don't want to hit you."
Buffy didn't understand what he was warning her about, but moved off the bed anyway, watching in rapt fascination as he came, the ropy streams of semen shooting from him commanding her attention. He whimpered and groaned, his face twisted in pleasure, until finally his orgasm came to an end and he slumped back to the bed, panting harshly as he let go of his cock and let his hand fall to his side.
"Wow," Buffy whispered, her eyes still glued to Spike's body. "That was…wow."
Spike turned to her, worried he'd see shame in her eyes. What he saw there instead made his cock twitch despite having had an orgasm only moments before. Maybe it was better he couldn't ever have sex with Buffy. The woman might kill him.
No, it wasn't better. Even if she did kill him, it would be a hell of a way to go.
"You all right, luv?" he asked her softly. "Are you okay with what we just did?"
Buffy replied with a shy smile. "I'm fine, Spike. I'm glad I could help you." Then, worry crept to her face. "I did help you, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you did. Thank you."
Her smile was back, brighter this time. "Good. And any time you need me to help you, just let me know, okay?"
Spike forced himself not to moan at her offer. If Buffy "helped" him every time he wanted it, he would never get any writing done. Not to mention the chafing that was sure to become an issue…
"I'll keep that in mind, luv. But right now I need to shower and wash this stuff off of me, yeah?"
"Okay. I'll go wait for you in the living room."
Spike stood up, unable to keep from dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head before he left the bedroom and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Buffy's eyes turned back towards the bed, zeroing in on the stain he'd left on the sheet. She reached out for it, but stopped, pulling her hand back. From the bathroom, she heard the water turn on, and she glanced over her shoulder, making sure Spike was indeed still behind a closed door before she reached out again, this time scooping a drop onto her fingertip. She examined it for a minute before bringing it to her mouth, her eyes closing in an expression of ecstasy as she rolled her tongue around her finger. This stuff, whatever it was, tasted like pure Spike.
With a contented sigh, Buffy realized she may have found something she liked even better than ice cream.
Spike stopped outside of his living room, worried to go inside. Buffy had seemed fine with what had happened between them before he'd gotten in the shower, but what if now that it had had some time to sink in, she was freaked out? What if she was angry at him, or wanted to leave him now? Could she report him for inappropriate behavior him to some sort of Muse Council?
And what if she didn't really want to do it again?
Perhaps he should even hope for that. He couldn't actually have her, and in the long run, all this was going to do was make things worse. Spike was smart enough to know that, even if he was loathed to admit it. Still, he'd come harder with Buffy simply stroking his chest than he had with any of the women there had been since Drusilla—and in all honesty, than he had many times with Dru herself.
She was already in his blood, and all that little taste of her had done was make him need her more.
He may as well admit it. He was right and truly buggered.
With a deep breath and a quick run of his hands though his hair, Spike stepped into the living room. Buffy was lounging on his couch, looking every bit like a painting on a Grecian artifact. It gave him the absurd urge to feed her grapes.
Buffy smiled brightly when she saw him, and Spike felt relief flood through him. He genuinely liked Buffy, and he realized his biggest fear concerning any possible aftermath from that morning was that he could lose her friendship. Even more than wanting her to touch him again, Spike wanted things to remain comfortable between them. He knew how easily sex could bollix things up, and he didn't want that with Buffy.
"Do you feel like you can write today?" Buffy asked.
"Yeah, I do," Spike replied.
"Did what I did this morning help?"
"Yeah, but…" Spike sighed. "Buffy, don't feel like you have to do things like that, all right? It's not part of your job, and I'm not going to start expecting it from you from now on."
"I know." Buffy pulled herself up into a sitting position. "I've never done anything like that for anyone else, Spike. A few times, I've let men look at me unclothed, but I've never touched them or allowed them to touch me. And I've definitely never let them…wank off in front of me. I know I don't have to, and I know it's not part of my job. As a matter of fact, it's something I'm not really supposed to be doing at all. But I wanted to."
She stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I'm not going to pretend I understand what this is between us, because I don't. I've never felt anything like this before. But I do know I want something from you, and whatever it is, what we did this morning eased a little of that ache."
Spike strode over to the couch and sat beside Buffy, taking her hands and turning her so she was facing him. She was gorgeous, practically glowing. So beautiful just looking at her could break his heart. With a half smile, he let go of one of her hands and ghosted his fingers against her hair. "What you did for me this morning, luv—it was bloody amazing. I've never had anyone do anything like that just for me before, show so much concern for me in that way. It meant everything to me, Buffy. I want you to know that, yeah? But I also don't want to get you in trouble, make you have to give up everything you are because of me."
"I won't have to," Buffy insisted. "As long as you're never…inside of me…it'll be okay." She ducked her head shyly, blushing. "I don't have a lot of time with you, William. I don't want to waste what we have."
Spike felt his heart constrict in his chest. She was right—they didn't have much time together. Extending the time it took him to finish his manuscript wasn't an option, not when they both had their own deadlines. In less than a month, she'd be taken from his life as abruptly as she'd been dropped in and given to some other man for inspiration.
The very thought made him want to hunt down whomever that poet would turn out to be and rip his head from his neck.
"So we do what we can with the time we have then?" Spike asked.
"Yes," Buffy replied. She tightened her grip on his hand. "I want the memories I have of you to last me through forever."
A lump formed in Spike's throat, words he wasn't ready or willing to say to her getting stuck there. Losing her was nothing but a certainty, and he couldn't pledge his heart to someone he knew he'd lose. Drusilla had already crushed him.
This would break him.
To stop the words in his mind and his throat, Spike kissed her.
Spike spent most of the morning and the afternoon writing before he wore out his creative streak. Needing fresh air in order to recharge his batteries, he'd taken Buffy out for a walk, again bringing her to the cemetery.
They walked hand and hand among the graves, neither of them speaking as they stopped to read what had been carved in the stone. Spike's grip on her hand was tight, though not painfully so, and Buffy knew what he was feeling. She didn't even need to use her ability to go into his mind to find out—she was feeling it, too.
One grave caught Buffy's eye in particular, and she stopped, running her free hand over the top of the worn stone. The engraved words were few, simple, but they struck her deep with her core.
Beloved wife.
Beloved mother.
Two things Buffy herself would never be…
According to the dates, the woman had lived but seventy-two years, a mere fraction of the life Buffy herself had lived. She had spent more time than that in her file room. To an immortal, seventy-two years was nothing, a blink of an eye.
Buffy pulled her hand away from the stone with a start as she came to a realization.
She envied the dead…
For unlike her, this woman had once known what it meant to live.
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