Still, she’d been on guard when she’d returned home, paranoid that Liam would see the truth, would know she’d spent the afternoon making love to his son and not putting a dent in her allowance.
He hadn’t. Her paranoia seemed to be all for nothing when he’d said upon her return, “Back so soon? What, did Rodeo Drive run out of shoes?”
It had been easy. So easy in fact that the next time Spike had a day off, she’d done it again.
“You made it out again?” Spike asked her as he ushered her in and shut the door, a moment before he kissed her, desperately, thoroughly.
Buffy pulled away, already panting. “Yeah. Who would’ve thought Liam’s tendency to ignore me would come in handy for once.”
Spike shook his head. “Stupid bastard. If you were my wife, I’d never let you out of my sight.” He leered, his hands smoothing their way down her sides to land on her hips. “Hell, I’d never let you out of my bed.”
Buffy smiled, allowing herself a moment to indulge in that bittersweet fantasy. How better for her would things be if she were William’s wife instead of Liam’s?
It was never a thought she allowed herself to dwell on for long. She wasn’t William’s wife. She could never be William’s wife. She was Liam’s, bound irrevocably to a man she would never love again.
But for brief, blissful moments in time, she had her escape, and she wouldn’t dwell on what was any more than she would dwell on what would never be. She slipped her arms under his, wrapping them loosely around his waist. “Show me how it would be?”
Spike showed no hesitation as he lifted her off her feet, scooping her into his arms as if she were a romance heroine – and dammit if she didn’t swoon. Sometimes she forgot the shy, unassuming man she’d met that summer, forgot that this confident, passionate man was the naïve virgin she’d drunkenly seduced.
One look into his eyes, however, reminded her. They were the same, that warmth – that love – that she could admit now she’d never seen in Liam’s dark, soulless eyes was still there, still shining through. When he’d been only William, he’d looked at her as if he adored her, and becoming Spike hadn’t changed that at all.
It reminded her why she continued to take this risk, why she put herself and her lover in danger time and time again. Why she did something she knew could cause her to lose everything.
Because as long as she had him, she’d never truly lose anything at all.
That realization came to her as he laid her down on the bed, keeping a loose rein on his passion long enough to place her on the mattress gently, reverently. He kissed her face softly, a shower of loving, tender brushes of his sinfully-full lips against her skin.
God, maybe it wasn’t only a pipe dream…maybe it could happen.
Didn’t true love conquer all? She’d believed in fairytales once. Could she believe in them again?
Suddenly, Spike pulled up sharply, a look of concern on his features as he tasted salt on his tongue. “Why the tears, luv?”
Buffy hadn’t realized she was crying, but as he called her on it, she could feel the dampness on her cheeks. “I want it, Will.”
His expression shifted, from concern to confusion. “Want what, Buffy? Sex?”
She giggled, the sound of it watery. “No. I mean, yeah, as if that weren’t obvious, what with the whole being in bed with you and all, but…” She was rambling, she knew, and she took a deep breath, trying to stop it before it went any further. She was nervous, the rational part of her mind screaming at her not to say this, not to give him hope when nothing was definite. It was the same voice that had told her to stay away from William in the first place, the one that had chastised her for her desire for her shy, but oh-so-lickable step-son.
Not listening to it then had gotten her here, and while she knew here wasn’t the place she technically should be in, she didn’t care. She liked here. She felt safe here. So warm here…
“I want to get away from him. I want to be with you. Really be with you.”
He looked at her in absolute shock, his perfect mouth gaping now, his deep eyes wide, and Buffy found herself giggling again. She reached up, stroked his face, traced the sharp edge of his sculpted cheekbone. “Aren’t you going to say something, honey?”
“I…I don’t…” He pulled back, his expression growing dark, and Buffy felt something sinking inside of her as he moved to sit beside her, no longer touching her.
Had his pleas for her to leave Liam for him all been lies? Had he only said that to make her want him? Was this all a game?
Was he his father’s son after all?
For a minute, he said nothing, and Buffy scrambled to get off the bed and head towards the door, wondering how she could’ve made such a grave error. How could she have misread so much, believed so many lies?
You did it before, idiot.
That voice yet again, and boy was it smug.
“Buffy! Wait!” Spike yelled after her, jumping off the bed and going after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him. “Hey. Whatever you’re thinking to make you run, you’re wrong. You just surprised me, is all. Of course I want you away from him and with me. I just didn’t…” He paused, wanting to find the right words, not wanting to say anything that might spook her again. Buffy reminded him of a dog he’d known once, one that a friend had rescued after it had been found, abused and abandoned on the side of the road. Scared, skittish, but desperate to be loved, to be wanted.
He encircled her with his arms, gently prodding her to rest her head against his chest. “I just didn’t expect you to decide to do it. Not yet, anyway. Not this soon.” She looked up at him quizzically and he gave her that lopsided, nearly-boyish grin of his she loved so much. “Thought I’d have to prod you a little more.”
“So did I.” She slipped out of his arms and sighed. “I don’t even know if it’s something we can do. There’s so much to worry about. There’s the money, but beyond that… The way Liam is with me, so controlling and cruel. He’s told me before he won’t let me go, Spike. He’s told me he was weak to let his other wives get away with so much, to let them drag him through a divorce. He said he wouldn’t go through that hassle again, and when he said it… God, his voice, his eyes, they were so cold.”
William swallowed. Her fears weren’t unfounded, and he knew it. He remembered when his own mother had filed for divorce from Liam. His father had beaten her so severely she’d ended up with broken ribs.
He liked to think he could protect Buffy, the way he couldn’t his mother. He still believed he could, and he let her know as he held his head up, trying to look strong, sure. “I wouldn’t let him hurt you, Buffy. I’d never let him touch you again.”
Buffy shook her head, her fear of Liam outweighing her confidence in Spike. “You can’t be sure of that.” She started pacing, her head shaking again, her Voice of Reason slipping back to the fore. “I shouldn’t have said anything at all. It is just a pipe dream. If I leave, Liam will find a way to hurt me one way or another. I can’t… I… Fuck, I should just go home.”
Spike hated this. He hated the way she could be so warm, so with him one moment and running away the next. He hated how she could seemingly turn her need for him on and off, like she had control of some switch.
But he didn’t wish her to be any different. Any other way, she wouldn’t be Buffy, and he loved her, all of her.
Still, it made for some damn frustrating moments.
And acts of desperation.
“We’ll run away.”
At that, she stopped her retreat and looked at him sharply. “What?”
“We’ll run away,” Spike replied, putting more confidence in the words this time. “We’ll go to Mexico. We’ll disappear, and he won’t find us.”
Buffy blinked. “Mexico?”
“Yeah.” Spike moved towards her, careful not to make her run again, until he was close enough to take hold of her hands. “We could make it work, Buffy. I’d take care of everything, get you out of there.” He dropped one of her hands so he could touch her face, the smooth curve of her cheek calling to him. He wanted – needed – to touch her all the time, to memorize the feel of her skin under his fingertips. Whatever it took to make this permanent, make this real, he’d do it.
“I don’t know,” Buffy replied, though she didn’t move away from him, didn’t break his hold. “Do you really think we could make it work?”
“I do.” He smiled, and the aching he felt for her showed in it. “I’ll get you away from him, pet. I’ll make sure of it, no matter what. And when he’s out of your life forever, I’ll make sure you never have to suffer like that again.”
What he was offering her was more than Buffy had ever hoped for until she’d fallen in love with William. She’d been sure she was resigned to her fate, but then he had come in, swooped her up, and given her hope again. She looked into his eyes and remembered life before Liam, before she’d had to take off her clothes to keep a roof over her head, before her mother had died. He made her remember what it felt like to be safe.
She nodded, her eyes swelling with tears. “I want to, Will. I want to get away from this, from him. I…I want you to take me away.”
He smiled again, brighter this time, and the effect of it was infectious. “I will, baby.” The hand on her cheek trailed up into her hair, his fingers combing through the long, golden strands. “Just give me a week or so to get everything together, all right?”
“All right.”
Spike kissed her, sealing the deal, and relished the feel of Buffy melting into his arms as he wrapped them tightly around her. This hadn’t been his original plan, but maybe it was better. It would get her out sooner than if he simply worked until he had enough money to start paying Liam off, and it would get her permanently away from his father. He could take her away, to a place where no one knew them, and keep her safe. They could make a real life for themselves.
A fleeting image passed through his mind – golden-haired children at the edge of a beach.
Nothing else he wanted to say to her could be done in words. He picked her up and carried her back into the bedroom, determined to tell her in other ways.
“Those things will kill you.”
It was what she always said every time he lit up a cigarette, be it post-coital or when he was just pacing with nervous energy, looking for something to calm him. It had already become automatic, as was the dirty look he shot her in response before he took a long drag with an expression on his face that made her jealous of the damn cigarette.
But her dirty little secret was that she loved to watch him smoke. In her mind, she knew he should stop. The thought of him dying slowly, painfully, from a cancer eating him up inside horrified her more than she could ever tell him. But watching him…
She didn’t even know why it was so sexy. Never before had she found smoking to be even the remotest turn on. It stank, and she’d ended things after one kiss with men before because she couldn’t stand the taste of it in their mouths.
Somehow, that had never been a problem with Spike. The taste of the cigarette just rolled with the natural flavors of his mouth, and it was rich, heady. Although, truth be told, she was just as desperate for his kiss when it was tainted with morning breath as she was right after he brushed his teeth, so she doubted anything could keep her from enjoying him. She was an addict, plain and simple.
But beyond the taste of him was how he looked when he smoked – especially after sex. Calm for once, sated. He visibly savored every drag, the way he savored everything – the way he savored her. He reveled in life, reveled in the sensual, in a purely hedonistic way she’d never experienced before. It was infectious.
And his hands… The way his long, masculine fingers looked curled around a cigarette was amazing. The way his muscles ticked slightly as he brought it to and from his mouth, as he flicked the ashes into the tray beside the bed… A shiver passed through her as she watched, her body warming for him again even though it hadn’t been more than five minutes since he’d last been inside her.
Yet the image of the clock on the bedside table was looming, and she knew she couldn’t stay much longer. She needed to dress and go back to her husband, go back to her life.
The only thing that kept her from crying was knowing that wouldn’t be her life much longer.
Soon, her life would be this, with Spike, and Buffy could hold on until then.
So last Saturday I went to see this guy named James Marsters perform. Maybe you’ve heard of him… Anyway, let me tell you, that man does wonders for the muse. I’ve got an actual stockpile of chapters now, so I should be able to post fairly regularly, at least for the time being.
Please review!