Silver Satin Wings
She woke up alone.
Buffy blinked herself to alertness and sat up with a slow sigh, taking in the breadth of solitude. Her senses ached with the weariness of imposed separation, her hand automatically seeking the comfort of the man that was supposed to be at her side. There was nothing. Nothing but the lingering fibers of his presence. The indention where his body had lain the night before as he offered her subconscious comfort. Without needing to know at all, she recognized that the bed had been abandoned a little more than two hours before; she shivered with a likeness of foreknowledge.
She had not awoken with him. And he had left her by herself.
The room was suddenly very cold.
A sigh trembled through her body as she collapsed wearily against the mattress. In retrospect, she supposed she should be grateful. For the first time since waking in her bed that final morning in Sunnydale, she felt well rested. Alert. As though today was the beginning of something resembling her existence within normality.
Her instincts told her that it was around three in the afternoon and that the party, as expected, had congregated downstairs to undoubtedly continue the discussion Angel's future. Buffy forced her eyes closed and groaned heavily. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to barter away an existence based on faults that could never truly be held to his name. She was liable to resent any conclusion her instincts led her to. At one end, there was Angel. Angel whom had always been there for her in one way or another. Angel who was a good friend and a reliable confidant. Angel, whose hotel she inhabited. Whose residential quarters were just a few doors down from the place she had so recklessly claimed for herself.
And yet, whenever she thought of him, she could help but picture Angelus. The part of him residing deep within the shell of a man. His face. His leer. The way he mocked her when she wept, the crude suggestions that so effortlessly flowed from his lips. The cruel harshness behind his touch. How he had born marks on her that would never be healed. How he had burnt away any lasting memory of her innocence with the threat of his contact, and made her into what she was now.
A vampire.
But she wasn't even thinking that far. She couldn't. Not with what she had been granted. With whatever else Angelus had done, he had first and foremost violated her in a way she never thought possible. In a way that would have, with anyone else, forced her away from the calm reassurance of a friendly touch.
She didn't balk from Spike's touch when she thought she would have. Despite what she felt for him, she hadn't suspected herself capable of that kind of healing within such a short amount of time, Slayer or not. And yet, here she was. And she was feeling the effects of their separation; whether from mentality or distance, she didn't know. The rules and guidelines for newly-sireds were unknown to her. Most that she came across didn't last that long.
She needed to see him. She needed to make this right.
The thought alone was what jarred her out of bed. In an instant, she was on her feet, covers nearly strewn to the floor as she made her way about the room, frantically searching out the little intricacies that every girl must suffer through before showing her face in public. She forced her thick hair through the painful subjection of a faulty hairbrush, perfumed herself up, and threw on some jeans and one of Spike's t-shirts. She thought to stop in front of the mirror for brief self-inspection before remembering that such would do little good—will I remember what I look like in fifty years?—but forced her thoughts away before the notion could thoroughly depress her.
A small grin arose poignantly on her face at that. Thank the PTB that Cordelia didn't seem to care about cosmetics anymore; otherwise the day would turn into a beauty criticism session at her expense.
The scene that greeted her upon reaching the veranda that surveyed the lobby turned her depressed disposition into something thoroughly humored. The Seer was reclined comfortably in an armchair opposite Wright, thoroughly occupied with some designer magazine though it was more than obvious that she wasn't seriously fixated on any article. Zack was perched faithfully at the edge of his seat: the epitome of a hawk studying its prey. If she was aware of his scrutiny, she did not appear it. Instead, she continued flipping to her leisure and nodding approvingly at various headlines.
How odd.
"They've been doin' this for about an hour," a voice to the Slayer's left observed. "Ever since the lunch thing."
"Lunch thing?"
"Zack went out to get some grub. Cordy made him go to half a dozen shops to get everything she wanted." Gunn chuckled wryly. "She's good. She's very good. They haven't even been dating all that long, and she already has the man whipped."
Buffy's brows arched. "Everything she wanted?"
"Man, you wouldn't believe some of the things she had goin' on in her diet."
"Trust me, I think I would. I went to school with her for three years. When she wants to punish someone, she does a good job of it."
The man shrugged. "Wasn't nothin' Zack didn't deserve, I guess. No matter who was right, he shouldn't have gotten all wordy with her. That's just not cool."
"He was defending Spike."
"He was being a hypocrite." Gunn shrugged again. "He was defendin' your honey, so I'll grant him that. The man has pulled a complete one eighty since he got here. For a while, Wes and I were wonderin' if we'd be lucky enough to keep him from doin' something colossally stupid...like stakin' Spike and effectively ruining all chance of getting you out." He smiled sheepishly. "Gotta tell yah, after hearin' your boy go on for a few hours, you get to the point where savin' you's a priority."
Buffy offered a weak smile, searching emptily for a polite way of breaking the conversation so that she could find Spike. The scene downstairs hadn't changed, but she didn't reckon interrupting would be regarded as a good idea. Whatever was being done was being done for the benefit of them. All she wanted to do was find Spike.
Find Spike and make everything all right again.
Fortunately, Gunn was observant enough to recognize the signs. When she glanced to him again, he was grinning like a lunatic. "He's downstairs," he provided. "In the trainin' room."
"What's he doing down there?"
Another shrug. "Just a hunch...training?"
She gave him a look that was supposed to be more menacing than it was. "Hardy har har."
"Charles Gunn. One Man Demon Hunter, and a comedian on the side. You better hurry, though. Don't wanna be caught in the crossfire." He nodded to the unchanged scene below. "Trust me. It's about to go boom in a very loud way."
Buffy nodded and gave him her thanks, but heeded his advice. If there was one thing she knew about the Queen C, stay clear of her when she had her eye on something. It was a friendly warning to all bystanders, but one she had learned long ago not to take lightly.
It didn't matter, though. She had her own prerogative.
It was time to make things right.
There was nothing quite like making a grown man squirm. And she wasn't even using her tongue.
True, it had been years since she found herself in the position to drive a specimen of the male race insane with any sort of antic, and despite consequences, Cordelia wanted this to last. She was enjoying herself for the moment, and such was a position she would never forfeit.
Poor Zack.
Her behavior wasn't at all subtle. With a yawn and a stretch, she motioned to fan herself with the magazine, not even bothering to cast an upward glance. "Mmmm," she mused slowly, as though accentuating an afterthought. "It's warm in here."
The next instant, Wright had obediently risen to his feet, traveled across the lobby and hit the AC without saying a word to the contraire. Afterward, he tacitly returned to his seat, perched at the ready, studying her with shades of worry. As though she were a nuclear explosion waiting to happen.
Too easy.
The Seer waited a few obligatory minutes, flipping through uninteresting articles that might have once struck her as utterly fascinating with an eye for apathy. If she wanted to be totally honest with herself, she would contend to being more attune to the hunter's movements than even her own.
But no one ever had fun with honesty.
When she could wait no longer, Cordelia glanced up pensively, her eyes focusing on something across the room. "You know what I could really go for..."
If she had been looking at Wright at all, she would have seen his gaze widen. The picture of an obedient pup waiting to do his master's bidding. She didn't think he was even aware of his actions, but that hardly meant that she was ready to concede.
"A nice cappuccino...with whipped cream and chocolate shavings."
Once more, he bounded to his feet.
"Two percent or skim?"
She flashed him a delighted smile as though she had no earthly idea that he would feel so compelled as to bow to her every whim. The look she received in turn was skeptical but amused, giving off far more than he would ever let on.
"I'm feeling evil today," she informed him matter-of-factly. "Two percent. And you should really see if Wes and Gunn want something...if you're going out, that is."
He flashed her a smirk but complied all the same.
Oh yes. She could get used to this.
It was dark. Buffy knew it was dark. She could feel it with everything she was. And yet, when she looked around, her eyes provided sensory that she would have never believed possible. And it wasn't as though she hadn't been prepared for this; vampires were nocturnal creatures for multiple reasons and their stunning abilities when cornered in complete darkness merely one of them. It was the human in her that was having trouble adjusting. Aside the few turned Slayers in the past; she didn't think that any newly risen vampires had to deal with the transformation as she did. One step at a time. Discovering the connective links between her talents and those born to her.
The parts she had thought she would find difficulty with were already becoming second nature, and somewhere she recognized that the thought should have disturbed her. It didn't. When her body craved blood, she drank it. Drank without hesitation. Without lapsing in the concern that she was doing something unholy. It was simply what her body wanted, and there was nothing she could do about that.
Blood had always made her ancy in life. Funny that it was now a mere afterthought.
No. Oh no. It was everything else that terrified the Slayer. Everything that awaited her beyond tomorrow. Beyond what sat at the bottom of the stairs. Beyond satisfying what she needed to satisfy to ensure her contentment. To give Spike what he so richly deserved.
But it was more than that. Always more than that. She knew that. She simply didn't know how to convey it.
She saw him clearly. He was situated against the far wall opposite Angel's vastly unused training arena. A cigarette was wedged proudly between his lips, a likely-empty beer bottle in the other. His brows arched appraisingly when their eyes met.
Buffy's gasp colored the air before she could stop it. Before she even knew why it existed. And then, through every fiber of her being, she felt the wave of his influence. Not domineering. Not power-driven. Just there. There and painfully reached out for her. Waiting for her to accept the proverbial hand he offered.
It was the power of their connection. Something there beyond what was given.
It moved her beyond reproach.
"An' out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, molding men." A small smile kissed Spike's lips as he drew his cigarette out of his mouth. "'S true, luv. Whatever you say about your crackpot philosophers, that one's true."
Buffy nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to. "What's it mean?"
"Means you've..." There was a second's pause before a sigh tumbled from his lips. "I don' even really know how to explain it. My nature 's to be exactly what I'm not now. 'm not. I haven't been who I am now...ever. Not before I was killed an' definitely not in all the years after." His gaze deepened pensively. "'ve never known anythin' but one extreme or the other, sweetheart. There was never a middle ground."
The Slayer gnawed on her lower lip thoughtfully, crossing her arms as she stepped forward. "Do you regret it?"
"No." A dry chuckle sounded through him. "Never could. I don't know love, Buffy. I never did till I...till you came along an' turned my bloody life upside down. Thought I'd had it once. You had a right time provin' me wrong."
"I didn't—"
"I know. 'S all my doin'. An' I don' regret it, sweets. I never could. Nothin' you've ever given me." Another sigh shattered through him, wracking his shoulders with such force that she would have thought him weeping had he not glanced up the next instant. "An' I believe you. What you said in the alley. An' earlier. About trustin' me. But I've never had it all. Ever. An' rightly, with what I've taken from you, I can't expect it now."
"Spike—"
"Angel's important to you."
"Yeah." She flinched as he flinched, but there was no way to dance around it without inherently betraying everything she was. "In some twisted way...but I don't love Angel. I...I can't love him. Ever. Not even counting what's happened...this isn't even about that." Buffy expelled a deep breath and crossed the room before her courage failed her. She felt the hot swell of his gaze needily upon her face—full and wanting. The hint of what he was about to say only made her love for him expand. Even if he didn't realize it himself. Even if he didn't know the full of what he was on the verge of offering. It wasn't even remotely about that, and despite her knowledge of such, she couldn't help but find every aspect of him completely endearing.
And she was determined to prove it to him.
"Mind if I sit down?"
Spike arched a skeptical brow at her but gestured to the floor all the same.
"No. I meant..." Without awaiting his questioning glance, the Slayer cast her legs astride him so that she was seated in his lap, face-to-face with her lower body ground deliciously against his. She prided herself in the low moan that whispered through his lips in response to her and scooted as close as possible so that he could not mistake her intent. "Is this all right?"
The brow domed again. "'F you can't feel how all right it is..." he said, thrusting forward slightly so that his erection crowned against the needy peak between her legs. "...then we have a problem."
A low whimper coursed through her. The sound amazed her ears. There were certain things he was proving her capable of without thought. Sounds, emotions, all of the above that she hadn't ever thought herself possible of achieving. "Agreed."
Spike smiled and stamped out his cigarette. "Good."
"We need to talk."
"I figured. I jus' wasn' lookin' forward to it, as there has never been a good conversation in the history of the world that began with those four words."
Buffy smiled softly and leaned forward, brushing her lips gently against his. "Then we're about to make history."
It was impossible not to share the ripple that surged through him. She reckoned she could have felt it across the world and back.
"Here's the thing," she said, fingers idly enjoying the texture of the wisps of hair collected at his nape. And suddenly words failed her. Nothing calamitous. Nothing treacherous. Simply by looking into the ocean depth of his eyes, whatever she wanted to say coiled infinitely at the end of her tongue and staunchly refused to be handed out.
The Slayer's eyes widened. Goddammit.
"The thing goes like this," she stuttered, thrown by his expectant look. Then paused. "The thing is—"
"Buffy, baby...you don' have to—"
"No. You really, really need to hear this." A tremble shuddered through her. "I'm just bad at saying it."
He tilted his head curiously. "Why?"
"'Cause I've never said it before." Her gaze lowered to the compact space between them. "Never really...and I've never felt..."
"Buffy..."
"Okay. For real this time. Here's the...thing..." She scowled a bit as his eyes twinkled. It was so strange being in this position. The last time she bore her heard to anyone, it was Angel. And she hadn't loved Angel. Not really. But until Spike, he was the closest to love she had ever managed. How the hell did she expect herself to confront the real thing?
It had to be done. That was all there was to it.
And it was better to start with that. It would give her motivation for everything else.
"Brace yourself, honey. This one's gonna knock your socks off." She smiled slightly at the downright curious look marring his features. "Angel...I...I realized right before he came in to kill me—" Spike automatically tensed in her embrace, thus she routinely slid her hands to his shoulders, rubbing slow, sensual circles to draw the worry out. "—I realized that I never loved him. As in...ever."
There was nothing for a long, dead moment.
"Never?"
"Never."
Spike blinked at her incredulously. "An' the Oscar goes to..."
"I know, I know. But I'm not making it up. I just...I realized that I loved you...then. It was then. I knew it then. Before anything else. And it was so...different." Buffy smiled as his eyes warmed at her admission. Again now. Without the fighting. Without all the ugliness between them. Simply because. "It struck me so hard that I knew...I knew it was the real deal and whatever Angel and I had was just...it wasn't love, Spike. I thought it was. Hell, I would've defended that it was to the death just a few months ago. But it wasn't. I didn't even know him. By the time I did...know him, that is...I had already convinced myself that I was in love with him so nothing else mattered. It was a stupid high school girly thing. I guess I thought being the Slayer made me...something more. It didn't. He was the first guy I got serious about...but that's where it ends."
He stared at her for a long, dubious minute. As though the weight of everything lasted so long on his shoulders that any choice but to believe her faded for the other extreme. Everything he had known. Always. Ever since the fateful night that sealed their acquaintance, he had accepted her feelings for Angel. Accepted. Never questioned. Hell, he had lectured them on how their love would never die. How they could never be friends.
It made sense that he doubted her now.
"I never trusted him," she concluded softly, not knowing what else there was to say to convince him of her honesty. "Ever. Not like...I trust my Mom and Giles...and Will when she's not playing around with spells that make all of us do something wonky." That observation earned a light grin. "And you. I trust you. I trust you more than...and I get it if you can't believe me now. I wouldn't believe me, either. Things between us have never been like this."
His eyes narrowed. "That's the understatement of the soddin' century. God, Buffy, I never thought you'd let me...when we were—"
"I know."
A short, dry chuckle tackled his throat. "You can't."
"I know. Believe me." A sigh trembled through her when she saw she wasn't doing much to convince him. "Look, I don't know what changed it for you. I really, really don't. And despite popular belief, I wasn't exactly born yesterday. This...this 'us' thing started a long time before the...before Angelus."
He had nothing to say to that. His eyes told all the truth she needed to know.
"I'd like to say it's been mutual the whole way through. But you were always Mr. Vamp and so I kinda never ever let myself go that way. I mean, it wasn't even a thought. Not because you're not noticeable or anything." She grinned deviously. "If anything, you're more distraction than any woman should ever have to deal with."
"I can't believe you jus' said that."
"Believe it."
"No, I mean really. I'm tryin' to piece this together. Everythin' in the past few days has been soddin' windstorm. I keep expectin' to wake up or...or worse..." Spike glanced down. "I haven't let myself think since I got word that you were gone. With before...when you let me..." She felt heat that shouldn't exist rise to her cheeks. Vampires weren't supposed to blush, but she felt it. She felt it enough to know it was real. His grin of verification was all the punctuation on the thought that she required. "But with you wakin' up...not hatin' me...trustin' me...an' now this with...throwin' Angel into the mix—"
"Angel is so not in the mix."
"Buffy—"
She shook her head, determined. "He's not. I told you that I—"
"You never loved him. Right. Pull the other one."
"It's new, Spike. All right? That make you happy?" The Slayer exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes. "You are without a doubt the most insufferable man I've ever met."
"Thanks ever so."
"But you're the first man I've ever loved. Ever. And I don't know what I have to do to convince you." That was it. With the revelation, the game became a wild card draw and she forfeited the emotion that had compiled against the dam barricaded at her heart for the lasting fear of exposure. Her eyes welled with tears that she did not want but similarly couldn't bid aside, but when she tried to look away, a firm hand caught her by the chin and tugged her back to the first and only home she had ever known.
All the more reason to drive her point home.
"And you know how I know it's love this time, Spike? How it's different from before? You wanna know how? Because we are friends. I was never Angel's friend...and that's more important to me than you can imagine. That I can be in love with you and be your friend, too. And everything on top of everything else, it scares the piss out of me. You're getting to see the side of Buffy Saga Central that no one has seen since the colossal not-love that was Angel." She angrily wiped at her tears but it was overly futile. They simply kept coming. "Don't get me wrong. I thought it was. There were feelings that were very love-like, but they weren't love. I was too young and I...but if not-love can do that to me, then you...God, I don't wanna think about what you could do to me."
"I'd never—"
"Yeah, I know you'd never."
"Do you?" His voice implored her eyes, and when their gazes met her breath caught at the wealth of emotion he was giving her. Though she knew the full of what he felt, the reality behind it still managed to steal whatever was left at her and throw it to the wind. "Do you really?"
"Spike, any thought I ever had about you hurting me has kinda died with the entire chivalrous Prince Charming routine you've been pulling since you came to me in my dream." Buffy pressed a finger to his lips before the thought she saw dwelling in his eyes could know birth. "And yes, it was you. It was a Slayer dream and everything you told me has come true."
A deep silence settled around them. Haunting. Melodic. Silence, as many things, had a life of its own. She simply had yet to appreciate it.
Before she knew it, she was speaking again.
"Do you..." the Slayer fumbled for words. "Do you at least believe that I love you?"
Spike's grip on her tightened. "Yes." He buried his mouth in her throat, caressing the skin there with feather-light brushes of his lips. The effect sent ripples of pleasure through both of them, and they took a minute together to gather their bearings. "God, yes. I can feel it. It bloody astounds me."
She smiled kindly. "Me, too."
"I believe everythin', luv. You have no reason to lie to me."
The smile just as easily melted into a frown. "Then—"
"I jus'...'s so hard to grasp. The entire...I..." He broke off and shook his head. "With everythin' that's happened recently, this is somethin' I need time to mull over. 'S bloody incredible, what you've told me. I know you mean every word. I know it. I jus' think 's gonna be one of those things that hits me right before I nod off. You've broken my world more times than I can soddin' count. An' you keep doin it. Someday 's gonna hit me that this is real."
He had absolutely no idea how close to home those words struck.
"An' this business with Angel—"
"I can't explain it. I just...I need time."
There was a long pause. Though she felt his compliance, she also felt the sting of reservation. No matter what she told him, there would always be some innate draw between him and Angel. The gods themselves could not prevent it. And yet, the weight of his concession bore no right. His lips caressed her temple and, with extreme vacillation, he nodded against her. "'S all right, luv," he told her. "'S all right. You don' have to know anythin' jus' yet."
Buffy smiled softly and feathered a kiss across his cheek. "Thank you."
A rich, however embittered chuckle rose to his throat. "You don' have to thank me for anythin'...ever," he told her. "I've taken enough from you that—"
"Oh, for the love of God, stop."
He arched a brow.
"Stop with the pity-party, Spike. Honestly. If I didn't know you were completely serious, I'd accuse you of compliment fishing. Or reassurance-fishing. Or whatever it is you'd fish for." She shook her head in aggravation. "You have to stop blaming yourself."
He grinned rather shyly at her. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. "I jus' can't believe you...'m sorry. I'll stop bein'...sorry."
A giggle arose to her lips. "Good. It's making me crazy."
"An' we can't have that." With a look to correspond the suddenly light-filled glow in her eyes, the peroxide vampire gently kneaded her sides with probing fingers and was honestly astonished when she squirmed and laughed even harder. The action, of course, caused his jeans to tighten rather uncomfortably, but he pushed the sharpness of his own body's demands aside and focused rather lavishly on the blonde in his lap. "What's this?" he asked, feigning innocence. His fingers continued their attack and Buffy was suddenly forced back by the impact of her laughter, trying desperately to edge away but unable to escape his assault.
The Slayer managed to wiggle out of his lap—if not fully his grasp—and immediately began to claw her way to freedom. The attempt, however ineffective, only served to fuel his mission onward. "Stop!" she begged through laughter.
"What's this li'l trinket I've found?"
His fingers became more boisterous, searching out the full expanse of her body to find all her ticklish crannies. "Spike!" Buffy howled. "Stop!"
"Seems to me the Slayer's ticklish..."
"So help me, Spike, I'm gonna—"
The elder vampire merely leered appraisingly, toppling her over for the fullness of his delight. "Very ticklish."
"SPIKE!"
"Mmmm. Love that, pet. Feel free to keep screamin' it." He blew her a kiss, straddling her thighs for better access. "'F only I'd known this a few years ago..."
Buffy was laughing so hard that her face was red with tears. Had she any room for forethought, she would realize that bucking him off was no hindrance for a vampire of her strength, but her mind was clouded and refused to follow logic through to conclusion. "STOP!"
"Coulda been useful—"
"I swear to God—"
"Wonder 'f I can sell it on the streets. Knowledge on the Slayer's weakness fetches a pretty penny."
She managed to glare at him before giggles took over again. "Like you would!"
"Li'l tactics on how to bring the notorious Buffy Summers to her knees."
Her eyes widened and she managed to seize one of his offending wrists, wrenching him to a momentary standstill. "Oh," she said, suddenly in full control of herself. "I coulda sworn all it took to get me on my knees was you."
That was it. Spike stopped to stare at her in flustered wonder, and she seized control before said flustered wonder could manifest into full-scale smugness. She captured him fully between her thighs and used that leverage to flip him over, cast astride the lovely length of his body.
There it was. That flash of cocky conceit. The same look that had once aggravated her to no end now made her fluster in anticipation. But he couldn't know that. "Gotta admire me a girl with nice strong legs," he purred appraisingly.
Buffy grinned, eyes glittering with mischief as she lowered her hands to his sides, giving back every bit as good as she had received. Her victim instantly began squirming, his usually deep baritone emitting a high-pitched giggle that easily rivaled her own. It was enough prompt that she would have lost her own control had her objective not been thoroughly clear. Now that she had him like this, there was no way she was conceding the higher ground.
"Oooh, what's this?" she demanded mockingly, spitting out a poor imitation of his teasing between her own chuckles. "Seems to me the Big Bad has a weakness."
"Buff—"
"Who knows how many people would like to take wicked advantage of this knowledge?"
Spike arched with a high-pitched shrill that touched her senses more than his ticklish jibes ever could. He was simply adorable. Adorable. And that was all there was to it.
"Of course, I couldn't allow that," she informed him pristinely. "The only person allowed to take wicked advantage of your scrumptious self is me."
The peroxide vampire's eyes widened and his laughter died, hands seizing her wrists once more. Buffy smiled warmly down at him. There simply wasn't a part of him that she didn't revere. The wealth of astonished longing and the glow of love that reflected back at her was more than she could ever ask for. More than she expected from anyone. Least of all him.
And yet, despite everything, here they were.
"I don' know how it happened, either, sweetheart," he murmured softly, speaking no broader on terms she already understood. "It jus' did."
"Yeah," she agreed. Buffy berated herself with idiotic tears flooded her eyes. She was beyond crying like some insecure schoolgirl. She had always thought so. If he knew how he changed her, he did not let it show. It was warm and embracing and more than a little frightening. Wonderful. "It did."
"I love you."
The Slayer nodded erratically, trying to find her voice. "Love you."
He smiled at her, index finger bopping the end of her nose with gentle affection before moving to caress her cheek with warmth that did not know a name for itself. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her down to him so that he might taste the richness of her mouth.
Of course, with the initiation of one kiss, everything bound forward. All the pent up hormones that they had suppressed out of obligation or a need to delay celebration of their newfound love burst through sloppily constructed barriers. Within seconds, they were warring with each other. Tongues dueling for dominance as teeth nipped and hands familiarized themselves with the contours of each other's bodies. Spike clutched at her desperately, drawing her as close to himself as possible without swallowing her whole. And still, it wasn't enough. He flipped her over the next second, pinning her wrists to the ground as his lips and teeth explored her to his content—his jean-clad erection moving urgently against her center.
With a low moan, Spike's mouth began skating down her throat, coaxing little whimpers from her with every teasing bite. His hands skimmed over her breasts and settled on her stomach, outlining her bellybutton blindly before continuing to her hips. The growl of frustration that rumbled from her throat only prolonged his torment. He enjoyed seeing her like this. Like this. It was so strange, considering everything they had shared before. He knew her body well—intimately, even—but not with his own. Something always set them aside. As though the step marked with finality made for the right moment. The right everything.
They had shared so much, but there was still so much left.
It dimly took Buffy a minute to realize that he had freed her hands. When she felt his own skim over her breasts again, she seized initiative and grasped him in the butt of his jeans, thrusting herself against his hardness and earning a long whimper for her efforts. His fingers slid under her top in retribution, searching out her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps after his light caresses. While he did pay special attention to the sensitive underside of her breasts, he made no effort to satisfy the fire that raged in fierce demand for his touch. The Slayer's grumbles of aggravation strengthened, much to his delight, and he planted what had to be the most ridiculously chaste kiss on her forehead.
"You're lovely like this," he informed her. And she was. With her chest heaving for air that she didn't need and a flush coloring her cheeks in a manner that should have been impossible, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Theirs would be a tale of fulfillment. In time, he supposed she would learn methods to conceal just how he affected her. He hoped not. He never wanted her to hide from him. Not like that.
It was a bit hypocritical. Were he obeying the natural laws surrounding his body's temperament, he would have been panting and begging as well. As it was, he was having a hard time not touching her everywhere. Not releasing himself from his ridiculously tight jeans and thrusting himself deep inside his haven to quench that fire. No. He wanted to do this right by her. There would be other times for such exploitation.
Spike would never hide how he felt. This was merely an exception.
"We..." she gasped. "We need...to...go."
"Oh, do we? Where?"
"Upstairs."
"Interestin'." He kissed her again. "Why?"
"Goddammit, Spike, stop teasing me!"
He cocked a brow in turn, lowering his mouth to her skin once more and accentuating between kisses. "Or. You'll. What?"
Bad idea.
Buffy flashed him a frighteningly controlled look then boldly slipped a hand between them to grasp him firmly. While layers of fabric separated them, there was absolutely no mistaking her intent. And just like that, all the supremacy he had been battling for was lost. A long, unintelligible moan hissed through his lips and he thrust needily against her touch. There was nothing she could do that would fail to have some profound and reasonably thwarting effect. He had never reacted to anyone's caress in the manner he reacted to hers, and similarly, he would trade it for nothing in the world.
"Use your imagination," she suggested, licking her lips.
In all honesty, Spike wasn't sure what affected him more; her words or her actions. His hands slammed to the ground as his body trembled and he fought futilely for control. After a few long seconds that intermingled with equally long, heavy pants, he pulled back with fierce concession.
"Right," he whispered urgently. "Upstairs."
"How about this situation in Chechnya?" Cordelia drawled, flipping through her new reading material. "What a nightmare, huh?"
About ten minutes had passed since the demon hunter had returned with her last inane request: a copy of the New York Times. Wright's incredulous look off the demand had nearly earned him additional scolding until he saw clearly that the waters he treaded were not yet still. And, aside a brief thank you, she had not addressed since his homecoming.
This was getting out of hand.
A low groan rumbled from her companion as Zack collapsed wearily against the chair. "Really, Cor, I don't give a fuck about Chechnya. Nuke 'em for all I care. Just tell me if I'm forgiven or not!"
An irritatingly condescending chuckle rang from the man at the counter. "Man," Gunn said appraisingly. "Are you ever askin' for it? Honestly, you might as well bend over."
The Seer's eyes widened as she gesticulated widely to her colleague. "He's right. You're gonna get it, boy." Then she stopped with a frown. "Not that it because...well...ew. But you'll get some form of very unpleasant 'it.'"
"Cordy!"
"And I reiterate, 'nuke 'em'?" A flawless brow arched. "I can definitely tell who you voted for in the last election. Which is fine: I just don't date Republicans."
Another long-winded moan seized Wright's throat. "CORDY!"
She chuckled lightly, folded the newspaper and setting it aside, and traded a stretched, speculative look with Gunn. "You think we've tormented him enough?" she mused.
Zack nodded emphatically. "Yes!"
The other man, however, didn't appear convinced. With a devilish gleam in his eyes and a smile that could not be outmatched, he stroked his chin before offering a lone shrug. "Hmmm...I don't know. Have you resorted to manual labor?"
"Now there's an idea."
The demon hunter's shoulders slumped crestfallen. "There's manual labor? As opposed to the going everywhere that I've been doing since this morning?"
The woman smiled evilly. "Well..."
Suddenly, the door to the basement flew open to unveil a blissfully oblivious Spike with his arms full of Buffy. Their mouths were moving together hungrily, their hands grasping at all sorts of naughty places that no outsider should ever bear witness to. They seemed oblivious to their surroundings and even paused for a minute so that the Slayer could leap fully into her lover's embrace, coiling her legs abound his waist and grind even more provocatively against him. They crashed haphazardly against the elevator door, fumbled for access and all but fell within its cavity. By the time they were out of sight, the floor was blown into a shocked, dumbfound state of submission, staring at the place they had disappeared until crashing sounds above signified a successful arrival.
It was Cordelia who broke the silence. With a sigh, she shifted slightly and located a notebook that had evidently been stored under the cushions of her sofa. "Well then," she said, flipping the pages open. "Who had Saturday at two?"
Chapter 41 - Cont'd