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Chapter Fifteen

“I… uh, when I called this a stupid box I didn’t… It’s not stupid.” Buffy found herself tripping over her words when Spike opened the box revealing the continents inside.

Kneeling down to the box, Spike said in a low voice, “I haven’t opened this box since I’ve become the Slayer.”

Buffy kneeled down next to him as he pulled random things out for her to look at. First was an old picture of the Giles family. There was a younger version of Rupert and Spike, along with a woman, who Buffy could tell was Spike’s mother. Looking at Spike, she saw that he had brown unruly curly hair, round glasses, and wore a tweed outfit.

“Awe, you look like a mini Giles!” she gushed.

He rolled his eyes. “As soon as I came to America, I changed my looks,” he gave her a pointed look. “Don’t tell a soul.”

Buffy placed a hand over her heart. “I swear,” she noticed him staring at the woman in the picture. “That was your mom, wasn’t it? She was beautiful.”

“She was the best,” Spike softly smiled. “She was my world. She was always there to make sure I was fed and clean. Always listened to what I had to say. She even sang to me…”

“What song?” she leaned closer to him.

“Early one morning, just as the sun was rising,/I heard a maid sing in the valley below:/ "Oh don't deceive me, Oh never leave me,/How could you use a poor maiden so?/"Remember the vows that you made to me truly;/Remember how tenderly you nestled close to me,” he began to sing. “Gay is the garland, fresh are the roses/I've culled from the garden to bind over thee./"Here I now wander alone as I wonder/Why did you leave me to sigh and complain?/I ask of the roses, why should I be forsaken?/Why must I here in sorrow remain?”

“It’s doesn’t sound like a great song to sing to your kid,” Buffy said, then saw his dark look. “Never mind, It’s lovely. Is there more?”

“"Through yonder grove, by the spring that is running,/There you and I have so merrily played,/Kissing and courting and gently sporting,/Oh, my innocent heart you've betrayed!/"How could you slight so a pretty girl who loves you,/A pretty girl who loves you so dearly and warm?/Though love's folly is surely but a fancy,/Still it should prove to me sweeter than your scorn.”

Buffy sat back and watched Spike closed his eyes as if remembering times past, his voice a soft melody.

“"Soon you will meet with another pretty maiden,/Some pretty maiden, you'll court her for a while;/Thus ever ranging, turning and changing,/Always seeking for a girl that is new."
His voice sounded like honey, soft and smooth, his accent making the song sound more lovely. Buffy felt heat flush into her face when she realized she was staring at his lips moving.

“Thus sang the maiden, her sorrows bewailing;/Thus sang the poor maid in the valley below:/"Oh don't deceive me, Oh never leave me,/How could you use a poor maiden so?"” Spike ended the song, noticing Buffy staring at him. “Feel like a bit of the rough and tumble?”

Coming to her senses, she looked at him shocked. “What!?”

“Me ... You…” she continued to stare at him, her face turning even more red. “Patrolling? Hello?”

“Oh. Uh ... I …” she looked down, surprise on her face as if she hadn’t realized the box was still open and out. “I haven’t finished going through your box.”

Spike sat back. “There’s nothing much left besides old letters-”

Buffy picked up a silver locket. “What’s this?”

“It was a gift to Cecily, my first love.” he said, taking the offered necklace from her.

“Why did you get it back?” she asked, rummaging around, finding a folded up piece of paper.

“After I… read a poem and told her I loved her, she threw it at me and told me I was beneath her.” he answered, putting the necklace back in the box.

“She was a bitch anyways. I’m glad she went back to the mother country,” Buffy scoffed, unfolding the paper. “This the poem?”

“Buffy!” Spike went to dive for the paper, but she pulled back, keeping it out of his reach. “Give it!”

“No!” Buffy laughed, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from getting closer. She adverted her eyes to the paper, reading it out loud in a horrible impersonation of his accent. “"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,/ midnight descends in raven-colored clothes,/ but soft...behold!/” Spike grabbed the paper, folding it back up, causing her to pout. “Oh, come on! I was having fun! Let me see it. I liked it, and I want to hear the rest.

“It’s bullocks.” he shook his head.

“Please?” she crawled towards him. “Please!?”

Spike suddenly felt all the heat rush from his brain down to his cock as he watched her on all fours, begging, and giving him a very nice view down her shirt. That and her pout, the bottom lip puffed out. “Buffy.” he said, his voice breaking in lust.

“Please?” she placed her hands on each of his thighs, unaware of the effect it was having on him, until she noticed his erection, her face snapping up to look at his with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

His eyes bored into hers, the cerulean blue darkening into a deep midnight blue. “A sunlight beam/ cutting a swath of glimmering gleam./ My heart expands,/ 'tis grown a bulge in it,/ inspired by your beauty... effulgent."”

She found her breathing labored, her chest heaving to get oxygen to her brain, and had difficulty talking as if something was lodged in her throat. “I… It… was n-nice. Did y-you write it?”

“Yes,” was all he said, his eyes lowering to her mouth. “Buffy.”

“Yeah-huh?” she responded, unaware about what he was planning to do.

“I’m going to kiss you.” he told her, and before she could reply, grabbed her, pulling her hard against him, his mouth covering hers.





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