“With the way you go through cash, I s’pose one of us is gonna need a job.”
Buffy perked a brow, selecting a piece of cheese-drenched pepperoni pizza, and stared at him. “You know, I don’t know you nearly as well as I should, considering you’ve seen me naked…”
Spike’s eyes twinkled and his tongue did something to his lips that ought to have been downright sinful.
“…but somehow, I feel that you’re the kettle and I’m the pot in some very much overworked cliché.”
“Jus’ sayin’…” He lifted his bottle of beer to his lips and took a hard swig. Spike had officially been living in Buffy’s apartment for an hour and a half, and they’d already done a run for junk food, beer, and placed an order for a fried Italian pie. “Eventually, I’m gonna be broke, an’ then what will you do?”
She shrugged easily. “Ask Fred to move in and mooch off her.”
“Clever.”
“Actually, Fred mentioned something about me, a job, and the library.” She nodded when Spike’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “I know. Me plus job is bad enough. And like I haven’t spent enough time in libraries. But hey, it’s a job…and you raise a reasonable point.”
“Bugger that.”
“Bugger what?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I was jus’ poking fun. I got cash, love. Lots more where this—” He gestured at the apartment with his pizza hand, ignoring the two globs of cheese which splattered against the already imperfect carpet. “—came from.”
A grateful smile tickled Buffy’s lips. Things between them had been cordial, comfortable, since she put everything on the table. While the tension remained very palpable, she felt, for the first time in the past few weeks, that she could breathe. “I can’t keep taking cash from you,” she said softly. “It’s not fair.”
“Not fair?”
“You shouldn’t have to fund me, Spike.”
“Way I figure it, if we’re mated for all eternity, you don’ have much of a choice, kitten.”
She arched a brow, shoving another bite of pizza into her mouth to buy time. The future was one topic she’d hoped to dance around a little while longer, even if she knew it was inevitable. There was no denying how comforted she was simply in knowing he was beside her. That he was with her at all. It was dangerous putting anything else on the table right now—even if her path was chosen for her, even if what lay ahead was inevitable, the lack of choice made her feel cold and isolated.
Made her life feel like nothing more than a stage play, and everyone save her got to write a part.
“I don’t want…you shouldn’t have to…”
“I take care of what’s mine,” he replied with a careless shrug. “Get used to it.”
“Spike…”
He paused and glanced up. “Too fast?”
“You remember what we talked about?”
“The thing where I give you space ‘cause you’re not ready?”
She nodded. “That would be it.”
“Yeah, but I don’ remember you tellin’ me I couldn’t take care of you. Bein’ just friends an’ not shagging you doesn’ mean I can’t provide.” He gestured to the room. “You’re lettin’ me live here.”
“Yes. I’m very gracious to offer you a room in the place your money provided.”
Spike smiled softly. “Well, a good part about livin’ forever is learnin’ how to invest.”
“You invest?”
“An’ play a mean hand of cards.”
Buffy arched a brow.
“A few may end up my sleeve,” he admitted with a gracious nod, earning a bubbly giggle from her at the immodest manner in which he admitted his penchant for cheating. “I’ll admit, the years have taught me a few tricks.”
“You swindle.”
“’S payin’ for the roof over your head, sweetheart. Wouldn’t knock it.”
Buffy smirked, raising her bottle of Diet Coke to her lips. “I guess I can’t get ethical on the issue of demons stealing from demons.”
He grinned devilishly. “Who said it was demons?” His eyes dropped from hers before she could get indignant—not that she was going to get indignant, rather she thought she should for appearances’ sake—and took a long sweep of the rather empty room. “So the old bloke who let you have the place only left you with the table…the sofa…”
“And a bed.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred. Fred loaned me some sheets and pillows and stuff…but…yeah.” She shifted. “Five hundred.”
He nodded stoically, betraying nothing. It was the response she wanted; Buffy had absolutely no idea what the market value was for old furniture. She’d simply found it easier to take the offer and have something immediately at her disposal than worry about acquiring a bed.
“We need a telly,” Spike observed, his gaze fixed on a rather notable spot along the wall where the previous tenant’s television had likely sat. “An’ a fridge for blood.” He held up his bottle. “Blood an’ booze.”
There was no reason to be surprised at his suggestion, yet Buffy couldn’t help the way her breath caught in her throat. And before she could help herself, words had tumbled off her lips, “You’re not biting people?”
Spike paused, capturing her eyes with his again. Dragging her into an endless abyss of blue and wonder, sending shivers across her body and making her feel—for a frozen second—as though he could touch her no matter how far apart they were. Continents could separate them and she would still feel his hands. “You know the answer, love,” he said softly. “You saw the blood.”
She nodded numbly. She’d never questioned it; not really. In the motel room back in Sunnydale, in the room where Drusilla had pinned him to the wall and waited for him to bleed out, there had been bagged blood. Blood that had, alongside hers, saved his life. Blood that had fueled his emptying veins and given him strength to face Angelus and Drusilla. Blood that had helped him save the world.
And that night, a lifetime away, he had used that blood to link her to him forever.
“I know,” she agreed. Then, sheepishly, she added, “I just had to ask.”
He grinned. “’Course you did. You’re the Slayer, aren’t you?”
“Now and forever.”
The word made her shiver. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She’d much rather get back to the game of all they needed to acquire to make the apartment livable. “We should get a dresser, too,” Buffy said, her voice strained. She knew he heard it and was more than relieved when he neglected to tie her to a conversation she wasn’t ready to have. The forever thing required major adjusting to and possibly more than one breakdown. It was all too much to digest in one simple night. “’Cause if we’re going on this idea that I get to live on whatever you swindle from demons…”
Spike smirked at the word. “’F they’re fool enough to lose their money, they don’ bloody deserve it,” he reasoned. “Doesn’ matter what sort’ve blood’s pumpin’, demon or not.”
“I don’t want to live off money that—”
“Buffy, this city’s a haven for sinners. The blokes I play against aren’ parishioners. Most of them drink so much they’d kill their mother if she looked at ‘em funny.” His brows pointed upward. “Not to mention, it’s not becomin’ to favor one race above another. There’s a word for that, pet.”
She made a face at him. “Well, the Slayer can’t afford to stop and be picky, now can she?”
“Absolutely not. We definitely wouldn’t want her demonstrating reason.”
“The point is, I’ll want clothes.”
He paused. “The point of your problem with demons is wanting clothes?”
“No, the point of money coming from you is that it’s going to me to fund my wardrobe.”
“A minute ago you were hesitant to take rent money from me.”
Buffy shrugged easily and reached for another piece of pizza, eagerly drawing the strings of melted cheese dribbling over the crust into her mouth. “That was before you were swindling from demons.”
“An’ the occasional—”
“Please, Spike, as long as it remains demons in my head, the happier we’ll all be.”
A soft smile crossed his face. “All right, love. Whatever you say. So you fancy a dresser for your frilly girly things. A fridge, a telly…you want a phone?”
She waved a hand. “That’s just an extra bill. And the only person I know lives down the hall.”
He was quiet for a second. “You don’t feature yourself ringing your mum anytime soon, then?”
“No.”
“Buff—”
“No. And if I had a phone in here, I’d just be tempted.” Buffy shook her head firmly. “I’m too confused to even know what to tell myself, Spike. Imagine me trying to hold a conversation with my mom, who won’t care why I went away so much as she cares when I come back. You’re the only person in the world who understands what happened that night and why I needed…why I need to not be in Sunnydale.” She paused. “And it’s…it’s not only because of what happened with Angel.”
The flicker of pain in Spike’s eyes nearly gutted her, but he masked it in a flash. “It’s all right. You don’t have to—”
“It’s not only because of what happened with Angel,” Buffy said again, firmer this time. “I’m having to deal with that, yes, but…Spike, my feelings for him were already in the shredder when he got his soul back. I’m confused as all get out over what happened…and you’re…my feelings for you were all…with the there, and then that happened…and then what happened after that just made for a big happy mess in the head of Buffy. I can’t go home until I clear this up. Until I reconcile what happened with how I feel about what happened. I know how I’m supposed to feel about killing Angel…what I actually feel, though…and then you.” She smiled softly. “How I feel about you…well, that’s going to be a jungle. And then there’s the whole dealing with being of the mated and living forever…I can’t have a phone here. If I cave and call Mom, she won’t care about any of that, and then I’ll never have it sorted. It’ll be back to for me Sunnydale and I’ll wind up under video surveillance for the rest of my life.”
Spike was quiet for a long minute, his expression unreadable. “All right,” he said, shifting. “So we need a telly an’ a dresser.”
“Do we need another bed?”
“No.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “One bed between the two of us? Do we need to go over the rules again?”
“It’s a big bed,” he reasoned. “I can be a gentleman when it’s needed.”
“But isn’t it just—”
“Buffy…” His voice grew soft, his eyes heavy. And without warning, she felt her heart twist and invisible hands close around her throat. He had a way of changing the tone of conversations without trying. Of reminding her with a look how much was riding on this for him. How much he was willing to sacrifice for the—at times dubious—pleasure of her company. “I can handle not touching you. Not kissing you. Not…feeling you. But please…please, just let me sleep beside you. Please?”
If there was a beat of hesitation, she didn’t feel it. The lump in her throat forced its way downwards and she nodded before she could help herself.
She didn’t want to help herself. Not then.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. One bed.”
With the way every molecule in her body trembled at his smile, she knew she was in trouble.
Not for want of his body. For want of him.
Anyone who could smile like that at the mere promise of sleeping beside her was someone she could definitely love. And her bruised heart was too tired, too worn, too afraid. She wasn’t ready for this yet.
And yet here she was; ready to leap with eyes closed and arms bound into the fire.
She just hoped this was one she could survive.
The mattress might as well have been charted with mileage markers with the distance between them, but he felt every shift of her body as though she was pressed against him. For the first time in weeks, he felt completely at rest. The circumstances weren’t ideal—he would much rather have her in his arms than across the bed—but he could see her. Touch her. If he inhaled, he would breathe her in.
There was no way he could have anticipated anything like this to come from tonight. He’d thought, at best, he’d get in a few words edgewise before she showed him the door. The soft smile on her face had floored him, as had the invitation.
As had her proposition. Friendship. No sex. Not right now. Not until she was ready.
Spike was in bed beside Buffy.
She was so close.
A long breath rolled off his lips. In all honesty, Spike had fuck-all idea how he was going to be able to keep his paws to himself. The battle was over for him; he knew what he wanted. It seemed he’d found himself in love with her so long ago, regardless of what logic told him. From the first time their eyes had clashed in the alley outside the Bronze, he’d been hers. It had just taken him nine long months to realize he was a goner.
The last time they shared a bed, his cock had been sheathed in her wet, molten flesh. Her body hadn’t been closed to him then. No, she hadn’t been closed, but she had been breaking. It was a miracle she hadn’t shattered completely. And wonderful as it had been, sex hadn’t helped matters.
No, sex had led to his fangs thinking for him.
Sex had led to the claim.
And while Spike would never begrudge having Buffy tied to him for eternity, there was no mistaking what it had done to her.
How he’d taken her from one prewritten destiny to another.
Still, in everything they’d discussed, her words gave him hope. She wasn’t ready to be what he wanted her to be—she wasn’t ready to be his. She wasn’t ready to be touched like a lover. She wasn’t ready for a relationship.
The promise resided in the words unspoken: not yet. She might be one day—she sounded like she might be one day—but not yet. Not yet. Not with everything else.
And Spike could respect that.
He cast his treacherous cock a wary glance. It was his smaller head for which he’d have to look out. He’d been erect and ready to go from the moment Buffy showed him into the bedroom, and while it most certainly hadn’t escaped her notice, she’d been good enough to trust him to behave. To respect her boundaries.
Buffy’s trust was precious. He wasn’t about to break it.
He, too, could be good. He could refrain from touching her.
It would be worth it in the end.
Buffy was accustomed to waking at all hours of the night, especially when sleeping in an unfamiliar place. She had no idea how long she’d slept, but it was still dark out when her dream faded to reality, and the fantasy monsters she fought dissolved into the soft blanket of tangible night.
She was in bed. In her apartment.
And she wasn’t alone.
Something hard was poking her butt. Something hard, but not unfamiliar. Having shared a bed with Spike before, Buffy had experienced his body’s—ummm—enthusiasm firsthand and, to be honest, had anticipated waking up much closer to him than she’d been upon retiring. There was no questioning his proximity, the arm which had curled over her body, drawing her to his chest, or even the temptation of his erection as it nudged her ass. No questioning.
It had been a risk she’d taken willingly, knowing full well there was no way he’d ever platonically shared a bed with a woman in the years since he’d been sired. Simply lying next to her was novel for him.
Novel for him. Dangerous for her.
Buffy sighed, shifted a bit, and closed her eyes. She’d been prepared for this. She’d been prepared for Spike to cuddle her, even craved it despite her self-imposed “hands off” rule.
Spike’s hands on her reminded her she wasn’t alone. His skin against hers enabled her to maintain connection she needed desperately, even if she wasn’t ready to explore him again. Physical need was one thing; she was much too fragile, she knew, to indulge in sex while separating it from her emotions. She’d thought about this. A lot. She’d thought about it, shared her conclusions, and he’d agreed.
But she loved the way he felt against her. She loved the way his few breaths tickled her ear and drew wisps of hair across the back of her neck. She loved the way he mumbled and tugged her closer. She loved the way his cock felt against her. She loved everything.
And if she wasn’t careful, it’d be very easy to forget herself and indulge in what he offered.
Go back to sleep. If this was going to work—this living arrangement—she’d need to get used to Spike and snuggling.
I get the one guy in the world who likes to cuddle and it’s a problem.
The thought made her snort.
“Mmm…” Spike murmured, his fingers lazily gliding back and forth across her belly. “Buffy…”
Her heart thundered. Every nerve was suddenly ablaze.
“Buffy…oh God…”
“Okay,” she said loudly, though evidently not loud enough to wake him. Buffy sighed and sat up, untangling herself from his embrace and kicking her legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah. This was definitely a dumb idea.”
There was no way she was going to be able to sleep next to Spike and not jump his sexy bones. And that would be bad. That would be very much of the bad.
Her heart wasn’t ready for the risk.
Thus, as quietly as possible, Buffy drew her pillow into her arms and padded out of the room.
No sense in bothering Spike with this.
She would simply sleep on the sofa. In the morning, they would come up with an alternate sleeping plan.
It didn’t take long for Spike to miss her heat.
He wasn’t surprised to find himself alone. Not surprised, but a little hurt.
Still, there was no sodding way he was going to let his girl shiver in the next room while he had the comfy bed all to himself. He didn’t feel cold like she did. Daft chit hadn’t even taken a sodding blanket.
There would obviously be more conversation come morning. Though he wouldn’t sleep nearly as well without her, he was comforted in knowing he’d done right by her.
After carrying the Slayer back to bed, Spike closed the blinds in the front room to ensure he didn’t have a toasty morning, and assumed her place on the sofa.
The distance was going to be a bloody bitch.
But he knew, he trusted, it would be worth it in the end.
For Buffy, anything was.
TBC