Three
In spite of every single misgiving he’d had before agreeing to bring Wesley on this trip, Spike was actually enjoying himself. Quite a bit of that had to do with the stroke of luck regarding his overnight companion. The remainder was because of his current situation.
He never thought his years in school, on the archery team no less, would actually prove beneficial. After swimming with the boys after lunch, their group had hit the archery range, and now here he was, proving the pompous-ass scoutmaster wrong.
Spike had been showing both boys the correct shooting stance when Scoutmaster Finn ambled over and corrected his already correct stance. The smug bastard then hit seven out of ten bullseyes, which wasn’t bad shooting. Spike had quietly asked for the bow back, the only outward display of his simmering temper a ticking muscle in his cheek. Taking aim, Spike quickly shot five out of five. Grabbing the rest of the quiver being used by Xander, Spike stuck the arrows point first into the ground next to him. Calmly, methodically and without a word, Spike shot all ten arrows into the center bullseye.
Scoutmaster Finn stared at him for a few minutes, absolutely speechless. The two boys were excitedly chattering away, pointing out all the arrows, clamoring for Spike’s attention and completely oblivious to the undercurrents of competition between the two adults. With a raised eyebrow, he smirked pointedly at the Dudley Do-Right wannabe and then showed the boys how to shoot.
While he normally didn’t indulge in one-upmanship contests, this time for some very strange and childish reason, Spike relished it.
The tent was too damn hot to sleep. There was also a distinct lack of a breeze. Buffy had stripped off her sweatshirt, leaving her tank top and jeans on; which only gave her a little bit of relief. Her sneakers soon followed and that didn’t help either.
Giving up entirely, Buffy finally stripped off her jeans, hoping that would be enough. Clad only in the tank top and her panties, Buffy rolled onto her belly, hugging both her pillow and Spike’s to her. The rest of the camp was quiet, the only noises distant and far away. Inhaling deeply, Buffy caught Spike’s scent and butterflies soared in her belly. A smile crossed her face and she drifted off to sleep to thoughts of him.
Roughly two and a half hours later, Spike ducked into the tent, stopping short when he registered what his eyes were seeing. Bunched up socks covered her feet, but her legs were bare all the way up to her hips. A pair of lacy hip-hugging panties covered the curve of her buttocks and the shadowy junction between her thighs. The white wife-beater tee-shirt had ridden up during her nap, exposing a strip of golden skin above the panties. Faint stretch marks showed, the only outward sign she had a child. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, blond strands clinging to her moistly skin, though most of it was strewn out to the side. Spike found his mouth drying at the vision of her bathed in the weird blue light, making her look like a water nymph. His fingers itched, and for once he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sketch her or compose . . . . or simply run his fingers over her skin.
Dropping down to his haunches, careful not to make too much noise, Spike reached out a hand. Skimming his callused fingers over her smooth skin had vivid images running through his mind, pictures of the two of them together, locked in passionate embraces. He was sure she could feel the force of his desire because he knew it was rolling off him in waves. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this kind of pull toward any woman. Sex had stopped being something full of wonder a very long time ago. Until last night. He’d been so consumed by his need for her that it had taken every ounce of resolve he possessed to just let her sleep. When she’d accidentally on purpose woken him, he’d been thrilled.
Buffy shifted in her sleep, rolling closer into his touch. Giving into his impulses, Spike ran his fingers up her legs, reveling in the satiny smooth texture of her skin. She was tiny, though perfectly in proportion. He watched her body respond to his touch, gooseflesh rising and nipples pebbling beneath white cotton.
Spike ran a finger under the scalloped edges of her panties, sweeping over her hip bone. Sod it, I need to touch her. Gently rolling Buffy onto her back, Spike stealthily slid her panties down and off her. He knew this was wrong – bordering on assault – but he couldn’t resist when it came to her. Teasing her with soft touches, Spike watched her face closely, waiting for her to open her magnificent eyes. A soft whimper sounded in her throat and his touch grew surer, sliding over and around her pussy, barely dipping inside her before skittering off again. Leaning down, his mouth close to her ear, Spike coaxed her to wakefulness. “C’mon, baby, open those pretty eyes. Lemme see you, princess.”
Her eyes fluttered as he gently thrust a finger inside, his thumb brushing over her clit. “Spike . . . “
“Oh, kitten, wake up.”
Sleepy golden-green eyes fluttered open, fixing on his face. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
She arched her hips, realization of his actions coming very slowly. “Spike, what. . . . oh, God.”
Two fingers thrust up, searching inside her. Buffy writhed under his touch and Spike watched her, his eyes drinking in the growing desire on her face. “Sshhhh, baby, jus’ wanna make you feel good.”
“Oh. . . “ The sound ended in a kittenish noise, and Spike couldn’t stifle his own chuckle.
“What you do to me, kitten. Make me wanna lick you all over.” Buffy shivered, her hands scrabbling for him. She pulled him close, her mouth hovering against his. Tiny nipping kisses peppered his lips, but Spike resisted deepening the kiss. Now that he’d given voice to his desire, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.
It wasn’t the time, though, or the place. He barely had time to bring her off before the troop returned, they only had a few more minutes as it was. Spike moved faster, his fingers bumping against the spongy bundle of nerves destined to drive her over the edges.
Buffy was whimpering, gasping for air, unable to stave off her orgasm. “Spike, please. . . please!”
Her voice started rising in volume as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge. Spike tapped his fingers against those nerves, sliding them inside her grasping channel. Capturing her cries with his mouth, he kissed her deeply. The instant their lips met, Buffy fell over.
He pulled back, his gaze steady as she tumbled back to herself. Shyness tinged with embarrassment colored her cheeks and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Hey, kitten, don’t hide from me.”
A small hand covered her face and he could almost feel the blush blooming. “Can’t. I’m so. . . . “
“Satisfied?”
Buffy spread her fingers, looking at him from behind her hand. “Embarrassed.”
“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, princess. You’re beautiful; don’t you know?” He nuzzled her hair. “An’ you’re even more beautiful when you come apart under my touch.”
“Spike.” Buffy half protested as he slid his fingers out of her body. Her eyes bulged and her mouth fell open when he sucked on his coated fingers.
“Holy fuck, princess, you’re delicious. . .. can’t wait to taste you for real.” He chuckled, watching her expression change. She was still embarrassed, but the shyness was disappearing. Unfortunately, he could hear the high-pitched laughter signaling the end of their alone time. Pulling her close for another kiss, Spike growled into her mouth.
“Time to get up, kitten. Troops are returnin’, an’ it’s nearly time for dinner as well.”
Reluctantly Spike got to his feet, adjusting his erection and pulling out his tee-shirt to partially cover it.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Lucky for them, dinner was actually prepared by some of the parents. The hard part was actually keeping the boys contained while they waited. The task actually proved nearly possible, until a very strange incident happened.
Wesley and Xander, together with another boy, a little redhead by the name of Jordan, were fighting with another group of boys. The adults were alerted to the situation when the noise around the group escalated.
Shouts and angry words sounded in the air, drawing parental attention. When Buffy realized Xander was involved, she dropped the stack of paper plates and rushed over. Spike, who was on his way back from his car, his guitar in hand, happened upon the altercation from the opposite side.
Wading into a sea of milling, shouting and fighting eight and nine year olds, Buffy wasn’t much bigger than some of them. Grabbing Xander by the shoulder, she pulled him off one of the other boys. Wesley had his glasses off, and was holding one hand over a rapidly blackening eye, while Jordan was still fighting.
“Xander! What are you doing?” Buffy whirled him around to face her. “Are you fighting?”
Struggling in her grasp, Xander started flailing his arms. “He started it, Mom! He called me and Wesley liars!”
He broke free, heading right for the other boy, who was still shouting at Xander. “You are a liar!”
“Am not!” Xander pulled back his fist and nailed the other boy right on the chin, knocking him off his feet.
“All right, lads. That’s enough.” Spike’s angry voice, coupled with that of another parent stopped the boys’ chatter. “What the bloody hell is goin’ on?”
Handing his guitar case to Buffy, Spike held the two main combatants apart, while one of the other parents separated Jordan and his opponent.
“Someone wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
A chorus of “nothing” greeted his question, to which he just raised one dark eyebrow, fixing all of the boys with a fierce look.
He blew out his breath, disbelief in his very stance. “Right then. So all this ruckus is because you rugrats got nothin’ better to do?”
Dead silence filled the air, broken only by the shuffling and shifting of small feet on dirt and branches. Ten pairs of little eyes stared up at the blond man, watching wide-eyed as his temper started flaring. He wasn’t overly tall, at least to another adult, but to the small children, Spike was an imposing figure. A slight tic developed along his jaw line and he placed his hands on his hips. The all black clothing he was wearing didn’t help the boys either and if there was one thing Spike knew how to do, it was play to an audience.
Looking from one little boy to another, Spike found one who appeared more easily intimidated than any of the others. “You. In the green. Wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Waiting a beat while the boy shook his head no, Spike stomped closer. “Talk. An’ no lyin’, either.”
The boy kept shaking his head until Spike stood directly over him, blocking his view of all the other boys.
“They said you’re a rock and roll guy. And. . . . and . . . Larry didn’t believe Wesley.”
“Who threw the first punch?” Buffy finally spoke, almost dreading the answer.
The little boy turned pleading eyes on Buffy, somehow thinking she’d be easier to deal with and not make him squeal on his friend. But Buffy wasn’t buying. She dealt with boys who were much more trouble than this bunch. “Just tell the truth, Richard.”
He hemmed and hawed a bit, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hoping for an out. When he finally realized neither adult was going to relent, he whispered his answer.
“Alexander Lavelle Kalderash!”
When his full name exploded in the air, Xander knew he was in trouble. He cowered away, hiding behind his friends, afraid to face his mother. She was scary when she was angry.
Knowing he was treading a fine line between mother and son, Spike reluctantly moved to intercept Buffy. “One minute, pet”
Spike peered down at Richard, a stern look on his features. “So Xander hit first?”
Richard’s eyes darted away, refusing to look at any of the adults. He scuffed a foot in the dirt and mumbled something under his breath. Casting an eye in Buffy’s direction, Spike moved to stand over Richard, looming over the small boy. Part of him realized he was wrongfully intimidating the boy, but he had a hunch about what had happened, and he wanted to prove his theory right. Also, he didn’t want to leave Buffy’s boy hanging in the lurch either. Wouldn’t hurt to be on the nipper’s good side, come to his rescue here, an’ get him out of trouble.
He stood there, breathing heavily, knowing his very presence was scaring the little boy standing in front of him. None of the boys moved, none of them made a sound, until finally, after long minutes, Richard sniffled softly, wiped his nose on his sleeve and spoke again.
Turning triumphant eyes on the real culprit, who was belatedly trying disappear, Spike grabbed the little boy. “Where’s your parent?”
Buffy groaned, knowing she now had to confront the one person she absolutely didn’t want to. Parker Abrams. His little brat Larry was the one who’d really thrown the first punch, knocking Wesley’s glasses off and giving him a black eye as well. The man, and apparently his kid, was a slime, hitting on her more than once, even in front of his wife at the last big troop meeting. She stiffened, not wanting to do this at all, when Spike, with little Larry hop-stepping to stay in front of him, strode past her.
“Pet, do me a favor? Be a love an’ stay with Wes an’ see to his eye. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
And then all she saw was his back. Just realizing she still had his guitar clutched in her arms, Buffy glanced down at the group of little boys staring after him. Jordan wiped some snotty blood off his face, smearing it over his cheek, saying, “Dude, your uncle is way cool.”
“Boys, what on earth possessed you to start fighting?” She crouched down, cradling the guitar like an oversized baby, looking at the three boys. Two pair of dark eyes blinked at her, while Wesley responded. “Xander was just helping me, Mrs. Summers. He . . . Larry wouldn’t shut up. And I . . . “
“I’m sorry, Mom. But you always tell me to tell the truth and we were and they still didn’t believe us.”
“So this was all about Spike being in a band?” She shook her head, getting to her feet. “Why didn’t you just tell the other boys to ask him?”
“They were calling us liars. And Larry said some bad words, Mom.”
She sighed, leading them over to one of the tables. Placing the guitar case against a tree, Buffy motioned the boys to sit on the bench. “Lemme see those faces and hands.”
Ten minutes later, while Wesley held an icepack over his eye and Xander had his hands and a small cut on his lip cleaned, Buffy was tending to Jordan. “How come you didn’t get a scratch?”
A big toothy smile greeted her question. “Coz I bit him.”
Dinner was a strained affair, the combatants on opposite sides of the campfire and neutral parties in between. Gossip was flying back and forth, parents speculating about the truthfulness of Wesley’s assertion of Spike’s identity. When Spike finally came back from his conversation with Abrams and Scoutmaster Finn, all chatter between the other adults died. Most of the parents had heard the rumors, but at the monthly meetings, Spike was never around. This camping trip was the first time some of the parents had gottent a look at him.
For Spike, this kind of speculation and gossip was the norm and he barely paid it any attention. This was nothing compared to the scrutiny of the press or intrusive fans. Besides, he was in a relatively good mood, having just put both Parker Abrams and Riley Finn in their places. Now he got to sit and spend time with his Buffy. She was sitting in a folding chair, an eagle eye on the three little boys while Jordan’s father Ken cooked dinner. Spike passed Ken, saying something that made the other man laugh, his eyes fixed on Buffy. His genuine grin was enough, along with the glint in his eye, to set butterflies careening around her belly.
Her reaction to him was something she hadn’t expected. Just the thought of him was enough to fire her nerves, but right now? That look on his face . . . . I know what’s going through his mind. Buffy felt the blush blooming on her cheeks, and though she stole glances up at him as he came closer and closer, she kept her focus on the three little boys sitting quietly at the picnic table.
He settled on the chair beside her, his legs sprawled out, his entire body loose-limbed and relaxed. “Thanks, luv, for takin’ care of Wesley.”
She swiveled to face him, a shy smile on her face. “No problem. It was easy to take care of him. He’s gonna have a shiner, though.”
“Yeah, gonna have a helluva time explainin’ things to his mum.” He shook his head. “Dunno how she’s gonna react, at all.”
“She’ll be okay, it’s not serious.”
Spike was shaking his head, and he unconsciously reached for her hand, meshing his fingers with hers. “She’s not . . . she’s been in a bad spot for the last couple of weeks, an’ I’m not sure if this’ll set her back. Last time Darla got sick, Dru spent a week heavily medicated.”
Buffy thought for a moment, wondering what had set his sister on this path. “Has she always been this bad?”
“Not like this.” He sighed, looking at the boys, then turning his head to look into her concerned eyes. “She’s always been a bit. . . . fey, is the word I would use. When she was little she wanted to grow up to be Morticia Addams.” A bitter chuckle broke from his lips and he shook his head again. “Dru never smiled much as a kid. An’, ah, she sees things.”
“Things? Like what?” Buffy was intrigued, wondering about his sister.
He leaned forward, pulling her toward him. His voice dropped to almost a whisper, an intent look in his eyes. “She’s a bit of a psychic, pet. Sees and hears things the rest of us don’t. Dru’s had a horrible time of things, especially lately.”
There wasn’t anything Buffy could say. She didn’t know anything about psychics, so she put that information aside, preferring, instead, to focus on the information Spike had passed along. It sounded like his sister had been clinically depressed for years. “When did you find out about her depression?”
“First time she tried to kill herself. When she was in university. I’d been gone four years at that point.” Spike tugged her hand closer, then let go. “Da got her help, an’ she took meds for years, until just before Wesley was born.”
“And she’s been getting steadily worse since then, right?” Buffy didn’t wait for him to answer, knowing what it was. “I’m so sorry, Spike. This isn’t easy on any of your family.”
“No, it’s not.”
Ken’s announcement that the burgers and hotdogs were ready effectively ended their conversation, leaving both of them to their thoughts.
By nine o’clock, the boys were all secured in their tent; Wesley, Xander and Jordan once more bunking down together. Buffy almost suspected Spike of engineering that situation, but Xander had told his mother, “Since Wesley’s never allowed to sleep over, he’s sleeping over now.”
He was so adamant about it, that she had to turn her head away so he wouldn’t see her amusement. The fact that the boys’ plan fell in nicely with Spike’s was just a perk. She kept telling herself that as she watched Spike pick out a tune on the acoustic guitar, his eyes closed and a low hum coming from his closed lips. It was a soft and delicate finger-plucking melody, something she thought might be a complete departure from his usual thumping rhythms. He’d written it all down as the boys were getting into their sleeping bags, and now he was just playing it over and over, listening to it flow in the night air. Every once in a while, one of the other adults would pause and listen to the song, then go on about what they were doing.
Buffy found herself watching him, watching the subtle shift of muscles in his hand as he played the tune. She wondered just how many people got to see this side of him, the creative mind at work and thought perhaps that the number was very few. He was so open, so vulnerable, just letting the music pour forth from him. He looped through the song one more time and at the end he started softly singing, so low that no one really noticed the change from hum to lyric.
She was too far away from him to hear the words, yet the tone of them called to something inside her. Before she realized it, her feet were carrying her toward him, mesmerized by the sound of his voice. Unwilling to break the spell from around him, Buffy just listened, not paying attention to the words at all. His voice wasn’t as deep as his speaking voice, but it still sent goosebumps rippling over her flesh. A warm feeling spread through her, butterflies soaring and Buffy smiled.
He’s just too damn . . . . gah! He’s just. . . . how do you describe when someone comes into your life and just, takes over? How do you remember that there was a time before him, before he was a part of your life? Buffy felt like she’d never been aware of a man quite this way before. Every inch of her ached for his touch, responding to the unconscious call in his voice.
The words finally penetrated her brain and Buffy’s knees nearly buckled. It was so haunting, so beautiful and she had no idea what the words meant to him, but they spoke to her. She had no idea if it was the words or the way he was singing, but her heart was pounding in her throat and the pulse beats were echoing all over her body. Her hands itched with the need to touch him, to be near and she gave in to the need, flowing toward him softly, her feet barely touching the ground.
He sang the song one more time.
I skimmed across black water, without once submerging
Onto the banks of an urban morning
That hungers the first light, much much more
Than mountains ever do.
And she like a ghost beside me goes down with the ease of a dolphin
And emerges unlearned, unscathed, unharmed.
For she is the perfect creature, natural in every feature
And I am the geek with the alchemists’ stone.
For all of you who must discover, for all who seek to understand
For having left the path of others, you find a very special hand
And it is a holy thing, and it is a precious time
And it is the only way
Forget-me-nots among the snow, it's always been and so it goes
To ponder his death and his life eternally
For all of you who must discover, for all who seek to understand
For having left the path of others, you find a very special hand
And it is a holy thing, and it is a precious time
And it is the only way
Forget-me-nots among the snow, it's always been and so it goes
To ponder his death and his life eternally
One bright blue rose outlives all those
Two thousand years and still it goes
To ponder his death and his life eternally
The strains faded out slowly and Spike finally opened his eyes, staring directly at Buffy, as if he’d known she was there the entire time he was singing. Neither one of them spoke, nor smiled; Spike simply held his hand out to her and Buffy took it, leaning down to meet his upturned lips.
Smoothly he moved the guitar from between them, standing up in a fluid motion to pull her closer to him. Their lips parted, though his hand never left hers and Buffy sighed, leaning her head against his chest; over his heart.
By tacit, silent agreement, they moved off, away from the other adults, walking hand in hand toward the large pond that everyone pretended was a lake. Spike looped his arm around Buffy’s shoulders, guiding her over the barely visible roots and fallen branches easily. They made the entire trip in silence, and Buffy didn’t realize he’d left the guitar behind until he swung her around to face him, resting hands on her hips.
“I’m gonna kiss you now, sweetheart.”
And he did.
Happy Holidays, one and all