A/N: A thousand apologies for lack of updates. Finally on my mid term break so hoping to post at least three chapters this week; more if I'm lucky and get loads of reviews.
I just wanted to set the record straight. I do live in England and the only place I have been to in the US is New York. I do hope to visit California one day but for now, my fics require a lot of internet research which I of course know is not always accurate. I apologise to those of you who live in California and do not feel the geography of my fics is believable enough - at the moment I am unfortunately at a disadvantage. If anyone would be willing to be on hand for me to bounce ideas off of should the need arise I would be very grateful. Anways onwards...
Chapter 18
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today, luv?”
Buffy glowed at his compliment while trying her best to look annoyed. “Spike, stop trying to distract me! I have to finish this paper. And you said you’d help me.”
Spike grinned. “You’re even cuter when you’re angry, kitten.”
“Spike!”
“Ok, ok. So the topic is the connection between love and death in Romeo and Juliet. Well that’s easy.”
“Easy for you, maybe,” Buffy muttered.
She was right. English Lit had never challenged him. Before moving to Sunnydale, he’d spent most of his free time reading and while he wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone before, his hobby had continued since his transatlantic relocation.
Buffy on the other hand didn’t seem to enjoy the subject as much and when she’d confided her struggles with her latest assignment, Spike had been eager to offer his help, hence their current meeting in the Sunnydale High Library. He liked the idea of using his knowledge for a good cause and Buffy definitely qualified as a good cause.
“Ok let’s see. Can you tell me about some of the instances of love in the play?”
Buffy sighed. “Well there’s the love between the two lead characters obviously.”
“But is that the first we hear of love?”
“No. Romeo claims to be in love with Rosaline in the first scene.”
“And is that love different to his love for Juliet?”
“Yes. His love for Rosaline is more like lust, whereas with Juliet its true love.”
“So you could say that Romeo is in love with the idea of being in love. He speaks poetically but with little meaning.” He picked up Buffy’s copy of the play and flipped through the pages. “Here. In speaking of Rosaline he says ‘she hath forsworn to love; and in that vow do I live dead that live to tell it now’ meaning that he feels as though he is dead because Rosaline does not requite his love.”
Buffy looked a little confused. “Yeah, but only a few pages on, he’s declaring his love for Juliet.”
“Exactly. In the beginning Romeo’s speech suggests a possible link between love and death but the truth is, he’s making a gross exaggeration of the situation because he can’t get what he wants.”
Buffy sat busily scribbling down notes as he spoke, his enthusiasm rubbing off on her. “Ok, that kinda makes sense,” she said, putting her pen down. “So there’s no real connection between love and death when it comes to Romeo and Rosaline – it’s just implied.”
“Right. It’s implied and then proven to be a pile of bollocks when he meets Juliet.”
“And they die for each other.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Their joint suicides are the ultimate display of the love/death connection, but you need to go a lot deeper into the text to find the evidence. For example, Juliet says she is willing to denounce her name, and no longer be a Capulet, which introduces the idea of what she is prepared to do for love. And later on she tells Friar Laurence that she would rather kill herself than marry Paris. There is a lot of talk about love and death throughout the play, but it is not until the end that they finally come together.”
As Buffy jotted down more ideas, her mind began to wander. Reading and writing about Romeo and Juliet – said to be the greatest love story of all time – made her think a lot about her and Spike. Just like Romeo’s fanciful mutterings about Rosaline, Spike’s initial declarations of intention towards her had been pretty much all talk. Now it seemed he was definitely acting on his words.
It had been almost two weeks since their visit to LA and the memory of the whole weekend still made Buffy smile. It had been a lovely trip, especially because since her talk with Spike there had been no more expensive tokens of affection. He had been treating her as she had always hoped he’d one day treat her. He gave her a ride to school every day, walked her to class, sat with her at lunch and now he was helping her with her dreaded English assignment. And to make things even better, the whispers about them had now died down as Spike had assured her they would and any whispered comments about their relationship were few and far between.
She could only hope their affinity would continue and maybe one day their relationship would develop as Romeo and Juliet’s had – into true love. She could do without the dying though – Buffy had no visions of wanting to stab herself.
“You know pet, I don’t get how you don’t enjoy English Lit. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen you sitting under that tree in the garden reading.”
Buffy looked up from her notebook as he spoke, unable to stop her face from blushing beet red. “It’s the same book,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“I’m not really into books. Whenever you see me reading it’s always the same book. Dorothy Hamill’s autobiography. I’ve read it at least a dozen times. I always wanted to be like her when I grew up.”
Spike smiled. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, luv. I’ll let you in on a little secret that no one else knows. I like reading poetry.”
“Really? What sort of poetry?”
“Anything.”
“Can you read me something?” Buffy asked, smiling shyly.
Spike smiled back. “Sure,” he said, standing up and heading for the stacks, returning seconds later with a tattered book in his hand. He sat down and opened it, quickly finding the page he was looking for. “This is one of my favourites. It was written by Lord Byron, a famous British poet.” Clearing his throat, he began to read.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!”
As he read, images of Buffy floated through his mind. Though he didn’t feel like admitting it just yet, the girl that Byron was talking about in the poem reminded him of Buffy. The way her eyes shone when she talked about things that she enjoyed. The way she smiled.
As she listened to him read, Buffy sat in awe, shivers running down her spine and an aching throb settling between her legs as his soft voice wrapped around the words, his accent more prominent than usual. His performance was totally turning her on. Nothing had happened between them since their weekend in LA apart from a few passionate kisses and Buffy desperately needed something more.
“Spike that was incredible,” she said, when he had finished the poem. “Now I want to show you something.”
Standing up she headed into the stacks, beckoning for him to follow her. She quickly found a little secluded corner that she reckoned would remain unsearched by the other students for the time being since it contained only books on advanced trig and no one in their right mind would wanna read about that.
“So what did you wanna show me, luv?”
Buffy turned to Spike. “This,” she said, standing on tip toes and kissing him.
He caught on quick, deepening the kiss and sliding her hands around her waist. She slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders to play with the hair at his nape. She pulled away from his mouth and began planting little kisses on his neck.
“Buffy…” he moaned. “I can’t stop thinking about tasting you that night in LA. God, I want to touch you so bad.”
“Go on then,” Buffy said in between kisses.
Spike pulled her back to look in her eyes. “Kitten, are you sure?”
She took his hand and pressed it against her breast, her nipple already hard. “I’m very sure.”
Taking over, he caressed her breast through the cotton of her shirt and flicking the nipple with his thumb, catching her little whimpers in his mouth as he returned to kissing her. He felt her hand slide down his chest to reach under his shirt and play with his stomach. Then she shifted, her finger starting to draw a line along the waistband of his jeans.
She was so close to the rock hard cock straining against the denim and he was dying to feel her touch. Her hand moved again to play with the buckle on his belt and he knew that in a matter of seconds she would continue along her chosen path and her hand would be on him. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought as her hand left his buckle…
“What on earth is going on here?”
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