He tasted of cigarettes, liquor and Spike…just heavenly, blissful, and all male, all Spike. A girl could get used to this! He kissed her as if he knew how she always wanted to be kissed. He all but devoured her. Of course he kissed with such passion, he didn’t do anything without passion.
She was drunk on him, that was the only way to describe it, but oh man, how could any girl in her right mind, not be drunk on him? He was divine! No wonder Anya—Crap.
She stopped the kiss, pulling her head back. His eyes popped open and met hers, questioning.
“Anya,” she said simply.
His head dropped and she could only imagine that he groaned at the same time. It seemed fitting at least. His head popped back up and sat back on the desk, running a hand through his hair. “That was wrong of me.”
Wrong? It was wrong? It was only wrong in her mind because of Anya – Buffy did not fancy being “the other woman” or any form of a passing time girl. But surely he didn’t mean it was wrong in any other way…right? She waited, holding her breath, for his explanation.
“I shouldn’t be kissing you, Buffy, I’m sorry. That wasn’t professional of me—“
“And what of Anya?” she pressed, not wanting to hear about how it wasn’t professional and all that other crap that took the wind out of her sails.
He blinked. “What about her?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re still with her…?”
“No, it’s well and truly over now.”
“Oh?” Now?
“Yeah…trust me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed…nervous. He kept forgetting she could read body language and sense these mood changes. Not to mention, the “now” implied he knew something now that he didn’t know before.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you spoken with her lately to end it?”
His head shot up. “What?”
“Anya, have you spoken with – you saw her tonight, didn’t you!”
He winced. Caught!
Her small victory over figuring it out soon gave way to feeling completely sick. Had they--? Or had they not because he was saying it was over? Why did he go over there…Oh God. No, he didn’t. He went there to end it. That was it…right? No goodbye screws…but he was looking guilty…
“I don’t want to know,” she blurted out, and jumped up, dashing out of the library and down the hall to her room.
She let out an ‘Eep’ when Spike grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. He looked so intense, his eyes boring into her, trying to make her see something…Man, he was hot. And when had she become a tramp? She was acting like a hormonal teenage girl with her first crush. So unlike her.
Or maybe it was just lying dormant and Spike was the one bringing it out of her. She was like Snow White and he was Prince Charming (and wouldn’t he balk at that!) bringing her back to life with a hot kiss.
Well, in actuality, if any fairy tale befitted them, it was probably Rapunzel.
“Buffy, I—“
“Spike, it’s okay. I mean, a man has needs, right?”
He shook his head, shutting his eyes tight. “Buffy, I…” His eyes popped open and her heart stopped. God, what was he going to say? The suspense was killing her. He released her. “I’m sorry.” And he walked away from her.
She stared at his retreating form, stunned. Sorry for…? For kissing her? For Anya? He shouldn’t be sorry about Anya for her, he should be sorry about Anya for Anya. She was the one he “broke up” with.
She wanted to stop him and ask him what it was he was thinking, what he was sorry for and hope that it wasn’t that he hated kissing her. But she couldn’t. She stood rooted to the spot, her pride bruised. There really wasn’t anything left for her to do except go to bed. Alone.
Spike was ashamed of himself. He was a right git, a bastard really. The look of hurt on Buffy’s face when she put two and two together and figured out where he’d gone that night was enough to send him begging for forgiveness on his knees.
She felt something for him. She had to to have had that reaction. And, he didn’t get it. Why him? How? He was a loner and a louse. He was good at his job, but not much else. He wasn’t exactly known for his great “people skills”. His relations with women were nothing but sexual; he didn’t have the time nor the patience for that other stuff. Not to mention the fact that his dear mother and his once upon a time girlfriend had pretty much ruined him when it came to relationships. He’d learned from them that women could be cold-hearted bitches. He toyed with the idea of being a low grade misogynist; though if any woman could break him of that, it would be Buffy. She wasn’t cold-hearted, and she wasn’t a bitch. Though, he was sure given enough time…
God, Buffy. . . she moved something inside him. She made his cold heart drip from her warmth. She made him rethink things. A woman in her position, he figured she’d let herself be coddled and taken care of. Hell, he probably would. She didn’t though. She fought back, she lived life. She had a hunger for life, and a thirst for knowledge that reminded him of himself once upon a time. Problem was, he’d seen too much and experienced too much. He’d lost his childlike innocence and his hunger for life. He’d gotten to a standstill, only he hadn’t known he was there until Buffy came into his life and brought things out in him that he didn’t know he had.
Damn her.
When she reached out to him, he recoiled. Tonight, she’d told him how she found him fascinating and his back had gone up. What did she want from him? What were her plans for him? She didn’t want anything from him though. She only wanted to learn more about him because she found him interesting. And the reason why she found him so interesting? Because he was opposite of her.
So, what was the wrong in that?
He wasn’t sure, but if he thought long and hard enough about it, he was sure he could find something.
Buffy came down the stairs the next morning with her belly tied in knots. What would the morning bring? Would they forget the kiss? Would they act as if nothing happened? Would Spike ask for someone else to stay with her? All options made Buffy tense with worry. As much as she knew it was probably wrong to have feelings for Spike, she could not help it; she did and it was as simple and as complicated as that.
Entering the kitchen, she found Spike already up and on his cell phone. He looked grim. He was facing her, but was not looking at her; he seemed completely lost in whatever was being said on the other end. Coming closer to him, he looked up and met her eyes. His eyes filled with concern. For her? She questioned him with a tilt of her head. Saying a quick goodbye to the person on the other end of the phone, he clicked his phone shut and looked up at her.
“Buffy, luv…”
“What?” she asked, worried. Did he ask to leave her? Was he finding it hard to break the news to her? She certainly hoped so if that was the case. She hoped he found it as hard to leave her as she would find him leaving—
“The robbers that broke in…they were found.”
Buffy held her breath, feeling trepidation and relief at the same time. “Oh? And are they linked to the murder?”
“Hard to say,” he said, frowning.
“Why?”
“They’re dead.”