It had been a very long week for Spike. It seemed like nothing was going right for him or the band. The recording sessions had been crap for the past few days, and everyone was getting testy. Of course, he knew that at least some of it was his fault. After his decision to stay away from Buffy, at least for a while, he had been excessively bad tempered with everyone.
Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes in frustration, he rolled over on the couch and tried again to remember just why he had made that particular decision. Buffy had stopped by the studio last week, and they had engaged in some innocent flirting. At least, that’s what he had told Xander it was, when his friend confronted him afterwards.
“Spike!” Xander had yelled in frustration. “There’s no such thing as ‘innocent flirting’ with her. She’s married!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Spike snapped back, surprising them both with his vehemence. “Do you think I don’t think about that every single bloody minute?”
“Spike, man, you have got to get a grip on this,” Xander said gently.
“I know, I know. I just don’t know how. She’s all I bloody think about.”
“Maybe you should stay away from her. At least for a while.” Cautiously, Xander proposed what the whole group had been thinking. And Spike knew it was what they were all thinking, and what’s more, he knew they were right. He had no idea if Buffy felt as strongly as he did; he knew she felt something, but even if she felt exactly like he did, Spike didn’t know if she would leave her husband.
“Bugger this,” Spike gave up on the idea of sleep and reached for his guitar. His attraction to Buffy might be playing havoc with his temper, but it was feeding his muse. He had written several new songs just in the last week and a half. But before he could strum more than a few chords, the doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was indeed as late as he thought, nearly 1:00 am. Who would be on his doorstep at this hour? If his bloody band mates had gotten kicked out of their digs…
“Xander, that better not be –“ he opened the door and stopped in mid-sentence. Buffy was standing on his doorstep, but it was a Buffy he had never seen before. She was shivering violently, even though the temperature was at least 60 degrees. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair was mussed. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were strangely unfocused. Seeing the keys dangling from her limp fingers, he was shocked that she had driven in this condition. He wasn’t even aware that she knew how to get to his house.
“Buffy? Luv, what’s wrong? Have you been in an accident?” He drew her gently inside, checking her frantically for injuries. He didn’t see anything obvious, but…
“Buffy!” Her unfocused gaze worried him the most. She had obviously driven her car here from somewhere, but now he wasn’t even sure she saw him.
“Kitten, look at me, please!” He placed his hands on her shoulders and she started. Slowly, Buffy raised her gaze to him. Her green eyes were wide and still slightly glazed, but she seemed to see him.
“Buffy,” Spike said again, slowly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. Relieved, he drew her into his arms. Despite her odd appearance, part of him was giddy at being able to touch her again, even though he knew it was wrong. At first, she stood stiffly in his embrace, but suddenly she collapsed and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her against his chest. She was still shaking, and he was shocked at how cold her skin felt, despite the temperate weather.
Having no real idea what was wrong with her, it seemed like getting her warm was a good start. “Come on, sweetheart, come over here,” he whispered against her hair. Mostly carrying her, he brought Buffy over to the couch. “Sit down, pet,” Spike coaxed. “Let’s get you warm.”
Either she didn’t understand him or couldn’t get her legs to work, because she just stood there, staring at him with those huge green eyes. Ever so softly, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently tried to guide her down onto the sofa.
At this, Buffy came abruptly to life. A small, hoarse sound tore from her throat, halfway between a moan and a whimper and she quickly backed away from him, hands upraised. She kept going until her back touched the wall, and then stopped, arms curling in on herself, every line of her body radiating tension and distress.Spike was truly bewildered, and not a little frightened. She was acting as if she were afraid…A cold lump of dread formed in the pit of his stomach, and he slowly began to move toward her.
Taking small, unhurried steps, he closed the distance until she was an arm’s length away, and then he reached out and very, very softly touched only her hand. Careful to not apply any pressure at all, he gently traced circles on her skin, keeping his movements small and hopefully soothing.
“Buffy, luv,” his voice was calm, comforting, despite the fear coursing through his veins. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Only want you to sit down, pet. So you can get warm. Okay? It’s all right…” Gradually he inched closer to her, and slipped his fingers around so that he was holding her very cold hand. She allowed this, but seemed to have gone away inside her head again and her empty eyes sent a sharp ache right to Spike’s heart.
“Buffy!” He was fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice, but losing the battle. If she didn’t come around soon, he was going to have to- What? Take her to the hospital? She didn’t seem to be physically injured. Call someone else? Spike was pretty sure her husband was somehow responsible for her condition, and even if he wasn’t, he doubted that Angel would be much use. He didn’t have Willow’s number, although he supposed he could call Oz and get it, but honestly, he didn’t think the redhead would be much of a help either.
Urgently, he tried again to break through to her, holding her fingers tighter and bringing his other hand up to brush her cheek. “Buffy, luv, please! You have to talk to me. Please!”
His desperation seemed to succeed where his calmness had failed. She blinked her beautiful green eyes and slowly, comprehension flowed back into them. “Spike?” Her voice was oh so small, and a bit hoarse, but he was thrilled that she was finally talking.
“Yeah, luv, I’m here. Are you okay? What – “ He stopped abruptly as Buffy hurled herself at him. This was different from her collapse at the door; now she was actively clinging to him, heartrending sobs pouring from her throat.
“Okay, baby, shhhh, it’s okay.” Spike fell back onto the sofa, bringing her with him so that she was curled in his lap, soaking his t-shirt with her tears. She clutched him tightly and burrowed into his chest until it felt like she was trying to crawl inside him. He tightened his hold on her, running his hands up and down her back, through her hair, trying to reassure himself that although obviously upset, she was physically alright. Minutes or hours later, she began to calm. Her sobs condensed into quiet tears, and Spike finally felt she might be ready to talk.
“Luv, can you tell me? What happened?”
She shook her head, refusing to look at him, but he persisted. “You need to tell me, Buffy. I can’t help unless you tell me what’s wrong.” He hesitated, considering her behavior and knowing what he needed to ask. “Buffy, were you,” Spike paused again, searching for the right words, forcing down the fear that threatened to choke him. “Were you attacked?”
She froze and he stilled with her, every nerve in his body on alert for her answer. After several heart stopping moments, she shook her head.
“You weren’t?” he asked.
Again she paused before responding in that same small voice.
“No, not exactly.” She still wouldn’t look at him, preferring to talk with her head sideways against his chest, staring out the window.
Fighting for calm, he asked reasonably, “How can you ‘not exactly’ be attacked?”“
I wasn’t. I wasn’t attacked. It was just, Angel, and he wanted, and I…” her speech was rapidly breaking down into tears again.
“Okay, shhh. We’ll wait.” He brushed a kiss against her head and laid his cheek against the softness of her hair. His fear for her was rapidly being replaced by hot anger, but as much as he wanted to leap up and beat the facts out of her bastard husband, he knew that being here with her was more useful than attacking Angel.
A few minutes later, Buffy was quiet again, but before he could question her further, she took a deep breath and pulled away from him. Side by side on the couch now, she tried to adjust her clothes, before looking up at him from under her lashes. “I must look awful,” she observed ruefully.
“Nah,” he said smiling. “You’re always beautiful, pet.”
“Right,” she replied drily, then hesitated. “Spike, thanks.”
“For what?”
“Being here,” she shrugged. “Putting up with psycho Buffy. I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t really even remember getting here.
Unconsciously, he laced his fingers through hers, their joined hands resting on her thigh. “Buffy,” he began softly. “Please tell me what happened.”
She hesitated. “I overreacted. I know I did. After, all, we are married, and really, he has every right to…” Trailing off, she shrugged, gradually relaxing into the comfort of Spike’s nearness. She honestly did not remember arriving here, but when she had finally become aware of him earlier, pleading for her to talk, hands busy trying to soothe her with gentle caresses, suddenly Buffy had felt safe again. His fingers flexed in her hand, startling them both.
“Please, please, Buffy,” Spike said in a voice tense with feeling. “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you are.”
“I’m not saying anything. I’m saying I overreacted,” she sounded slightly defensive now, and still there was that strange, hoarse quality to her normally smooth voice.
Spike finally allowed himself to feel frustrated with her. He had been trying to keep it at bay, but didn’t the bloody woman realize that he needed to know what had happened to cause her to show up at his door practically comatose? “Did he force himself on you?” he asked bluntly, taking her chin in his hand and compelling her to look at him.
Buffy shied away. “No. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly,” he repeated skeptically. His heart was pounding, nerves twanging with adrenaline. After all the years of hurting her emotionally, it seemed her husband had finally crossed the line and Spike wanted to…wanted to hit the bastard so hard that his fist came out the other side. Wanted to squeeze his oversized head until it popped. Wanted to hurt him in ways he had never even considered.
“He didn’t force me that way,” Buffy replied softly. “My clothes never even came off,” she smiled bitterly. “Spike, I really just don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said with a sigh. “Could we just sit here, and, I don’t know, maybe have some tea? My throat really hurts.”
Two beats later, realization set in. Buffy realized what she had admitted, and her eyes widened. Spike jerked and stood mechanically.
“Tea,” he said avoiding her apprehensive gaze. “I’ll make tea.”I
n the adjacent kitchen, Spike grabbed a pot from the hanging rack and threw it so hard against the wall that it cracked in a shower of plaster. Breathing hard, the air burning his lungs, he leaned his arms on the counter and hung his head, trying to come to grips with Buffy’s inadvertent admission. He didn’t have all the details, but with her evasion on whether or not she had been attacked, her remark about staying clothed, and the new information that her throat hurt, he could just about put the pieces together.
He groaned, heart and stomach aching, as he pictured Buffy’s delicate lips forced open, her throat roughly abused, tears in her eyes, her gasps for air….Oh, god. He felt sick thinking about it and so fucking helpless. She had been hurt and he couldn’t stop it. Spike hadn’t cried since his beloved mother had died years ago, but now tears pricked his eyes at the fucking stupidity, the hopelessness of it all. A low, harsh cry escaped his throat, part sob, part growl and he slammed his hands down against the counter in frustration.
Slowly, fingers stole around his waist from behind, and a now warm body pressed into him. “Spike,” she breathed softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“No, it’s not,” his voice was ragged with effort. “It’s not okay at all.” Mentally, he groaned at the consummate irony of her comforting him. “He hurt you, and tomorrow, you’ll probably go back to him.”
“Probably,” she agreed honestly, resting her cheek against his back. “He was - less than sober, and I’m sure he’ll be sorry.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“I know. I do know. But we’re married. And I can’t just walk away from that. No matter what.”
They were quiet for a moment. The house settled around them with small noises that enhanced, rather than detracted from their silence.
“I’m falling in love with you, you know,” he remarked calmly, almost as if it were someone else in his body, forming the words.
“I know,” she answered quietly. She did know. Had known for some time, just hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Ever so slowly, he turned to face her, devastated blue eyes piercing through her heart. They njunwere locked into this moment, and now there was no one to interrupt. The anticipation was brief but heartbreakingly sweet. Like a magnet drawn to its opposite, slowly but inexorably his head dipped to hers and just before their lips met, one word, her name, escaped from his lips on an exhale of prayer.
“Buffy.”
Gently, he explored her lips, tongue laving small, tender bruises, all but invisible to the eyes, until she felt nothing but blissful tingles. He dipped into the sweet part of her mouth, begging entrance. She opened up to him readily and was lost in the sweep of his tongue as it danced with hers. Warmth spread from her center, radiating out into her limbs until she felt feverish and faint, like his arms were the only thing keeping her upright.
Spike was utterly gone, entranced by her sweet taste, like honey and strawberries and all the good things he remembered about summer. She became increasingly pliant in his arms and his hands roamed more freely, moving up to tangle in her soft golden hair, twining a lock around his fingers like a band, moving around to caress a breast, letting the precious weight rest in his palm while flicking a nipple with his thumb, eliciting a gasp of arousal from Buffy.
An eternity later, breath ran short and they broke apart, chests heaving in conjunction, foreheads resting together as slowly they came back to earth.
“Wow,” Buffy breathed.
“Yeah,” agreed Spike, softly. Caressing her cheek one last time, loving the way she turned her head to nuzzle into his hand, he reluctantly pulled away. “Maybe I should make that tea,” he suggested with a slight smile.
A few minutes later, Buffy was reclining on the sofa, leaning against the oversized arm, feet tucked under. The responsible part of her mind had shut down, and for the first time in awhile, she was luxuriating in feeling cared for and completely safe. Silently, Spike entered the room and handed her a cup of steaming tea, complete with saucer. With his matching one, he settled at the other end of the couch, mirroring her position except for his long outstretched legs.She smiled.
“Sometimes I forget how very English you are.”
He snorted. “Just because you Americans can’t make a decent cup of tea.”
They grinned at each other and sat quietly, sipping tea and just relaxing. The high-strung emotions of earlier in the evening had dissipated somewhat, leaving the two feeling calm and content to just be in the same room. Nothing had really changed. She would be going home in the morning. But Spike’s declaration and the kiss had brought things out into the open, and eased some of the tension that habitually zinged between them.
“So,” Buffy began conversationally, eyeing the pillow that had gotten tossed to the floor earlier. “Why are you sleeping on the couch? Doesn’t this place have a bedroom?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like the bed,” he said sullenly, adding something in a tone to low for her to hear.
“What was that?” The teasing gleam was sneaking back into her eyes, and he was more than willing to let her laugh at him, if it meant she would laugh instead of cry. He couldn’t take more of that tonight.
“I said, it’s too lumpy!”
She giggled. “Spike, the Prince and the Pea.”
“Ha, bloody, ha.” But he was smiling.
“How’s the recording coming?” She asked when her laughter ran out.
He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s tough going at the moment, pet. Still having some issues about what to include and how to mix it all together.”
“I thought you had the set list all figured out.”
“We did…” he trailed off. “But I’ve been working on some new stuff, rather get it in sooner than later.”
She spied his guitar under the coffee table. “Play something for me?”
He sighed. Probably not a good idea, considering most of the new stuff was about her, but tonight he couldn’t refuse her anything. “Sure, luv.” He sat up and reached for the guitar, settling it comfortably on his lap and strumming a few chords experimentally before settling into a song.
When you smile
With those eyes
Baby it's like
You place a finger on my heart
And your lips next to mine
Make me think that maybe heavens where you are
God don't send to me your angels
I just wanna hear you say
Forever love
Say it love
Tell me soI can hold you in my soul
And if I go I'll know
He threaded his fingers through a few more chords and stopped to look at her. “That one’s not quite finished,” he admitted.
She had a curious look on her face. Intent and breathless. Her eyes were blazing green, and the color was high in her cheeks. “Play something else,” she demanded softly.
Without thought, the song that had been running through his head all through this strange, complicated night sprang to his fingers.
I'm really close tonight
And I feel like I'm moving inside her
Lying in the dark
And I think that I'm beginning to know her
Let it go
I'll be there when you call
And whenever I fall at your feet
Do you let your tears rain down on me
Whenever I touch your slow turning pain
You're hiding from me now
There's something in the way that you're talkin’
Words don't sound right
But I hear them all moving inside you
Go now
I'll be there when you call
And whenever I fall at your feet
Do you let your tears rain down on me
Whenever I touch your slow turning pain
The finger of blame has turned upon itself
And I'm more than willing to offer myself
Do you want my presence or need my help?
Who knows where that might lead
I fall at your feet
The finger of blame has turned upon itself
And I'm more than willing to offer myself
Do you want my presence or need my help?
Who knows where that might lead
I fall at your feet
He repeated the chorus and fingered the last chord. As the notes died, the silence was total. The calm had bled out of the evening, and the room was again filled with suppressed emotion. Buffy had drifted closer to him as he played, so that she was sitting right next to him, and now he placed the guitar back on the floor and covered her hand with his own.
“Which one was about me?” she asked softly.
“Both,” he replied honestly.
One beat later, eyes locked, and this time Buffy took the first step. She assailed his lips, pressing her own as close to his as possible, slipping her tongue into his mouth to seek his. Without breaking contact, she moved into his lap, straddling him, curling her fingers into his hair and holding him to her. There was nothing gentle about this encounter, it was completely different from their earlier kiss, but there was also nothing frightening about it. They would not hurt each other. And when it was time to stop, they would stop.
Right now, though, stopping was the furthest thing from either of their minds. Buffy knew Spike loved her, and right now, that’s what her body needed, even if her mind wasn’t completely aware of it. Spike was just lost again, in the touch of Buffy’s lips, her tongue, the vibration caused when she moaned into his mouth as he brushed the back of his hand against her breast. He wanted more, was desperate for more, to feel her skin against his fingertips, to brand himself into her so that when she went back to her husband, she would not be able to forget him.
Gently, not wanting to scare her, ready to stop at the first hint of reluctance, he eased his fingers under her shirt and caressed the warm flesh beneath. With quivering fingers, he forged a trail up the smooth skin of her stomach to her lace covered breasts. Expertly slipping fingers under the elastic, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Moaning out loud now, she broke away from the kiss and he took the chance to slide down and replace his fingers with his tongue.
Buffy was on fire. She had never, ever felt anything like this before. She was molten lava pouring through his fingers, and she never wanted to stop burning. Tendrils of need pulsed through her, fed by his talented tongue on her breasts. He paused to look at her, blue eyes dark with arousal, and she captured his lips again in a fierce kiss.
Adeptly, he flipped them over so that she was pressed beneath him. Pausing first to make sure she was comfortable with the role reversal, he played his fingers down her body, unerringly finding her cotton covered mound. Again she had to break the kiss as a strangled keening sound broke from her throat. She was so wet he could feel her arousal through her thin pants, and he fought back a shiver.
“Buffy, god kitten, so wet for me,” he murmured. “Let me see, luv, please, let me see you.” At this point, he was not at all adverse to begging if it got him closer to her glorious, sodden center. Her lips were so sweet; he was thirsting, dying for a taste of her more hidden delights.
She opened her eyes briefly and nodded before letting her head fall back onto the sofa. This was wrong. Very wrong. But god help her if she cared.
Gently, Spike eased her pants down her hips, followed quickly by her scrap of underwear. Tossing both aside, he turned to look at her, completely unadorned, laid open for him. With a growl, he fell on her, tasting her juices with one quick lick up her slit.
Buffy’s hips bucked off the couch in surprise. This wasn’t what she had been expecting.
“Spike – “ she began voice breathy with suppressed lust.
“Do you want me to stop, luv?” he asked softly.
“It’s just, you don’t have to…” she said uncomfortably.
“I know. I want to. God, Buffy, you taste like heaven. I’ll stop if you want, but fuck, kitten, want to drink you down. Want to make you feel so good…” he broke off, a fresh rush of arousal pouring through him as a single drop of moisture beaded on her outer lips, just begging to be caught and tasted.
Green eyes intense with need, she nodded, giving him permission, and he rushed to catch the bead on his tongue, glancing over her clit in the process. Buffy nearly screamed, and Spike quickly did it again, just to hear the sound of her pleasure.
Bringing his fingers down to rub gently circles around her clit, always close but never quite hitting it, he stiffened his tongue and plunged it into her molten hot core. She was amazing, burning hot from the inside out and almost virginally tight. He squeezed his eyes shut as he withdrew only to rush in again, imagining his cock strangled by that heat. He switched positions, using his tongue to flick her clit again, and scissoring his fingers inside her, angling up to that special mass of nerves. With his other hand he reached down to stroke his cock, picturing it replacing his fingers.
Buffy was screaming constantly now, his name interspersed with unintelligible moans and whimpers. He felt a fission of purely male pride, that it was him making her feel this way. He had a sneaking suspicion that Buffy’s pleasure was not something high on Angel’s list of priorities. And what a loss for him, because she was incredible. Head thrown back, gold hair streaming down, moans of excitement breaking from her lips. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Open your eyes, luv,” he demanded when he felt the first flutter of her inner walls contracting. “Want to see you come.”
She did, her green orbs glazed now with need and not fear. Surprised contracted her pupils briefly as she saw him stroking himself, but the lust flared higher after only a moment.
“That’s my girl,” he encouraged, quickening the thrust of his fingers into her now quaking pussy. “Come for me, luv. Want to see you. Love you, sweet girl.” He was babbling now, so close himself, but wanting her to come first, and wasn’t aware of what he said, but she heard him, and suddenly a million points of light burst in front of her eyes and her body exploded in pleasure. She had never felt anything, anything, even close to this.
Just as her first orgasm was easing, he leaned in and gently bit her clit, setting off another, even more intense. “Spike!” she cried, so loud that he hoped the whole world could hear her. He felt his own release approaching, but it was made even speedier by her hot little hand, reaching up to grasp him through his jeans.
They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, neither capable of words. As she snuggled into his arms, already half asleep, Spike drew the blanket over them both and settled down to watch her, and wait for the morning.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is my Spuffiest chapter so far...Please let me know what you think!