I continue to stare out the front door into the hallway long after Buffy is gone. My wounded heart is screaming at me to run after her–to fight for her and make her stay with me. It must be my brain that keeps me rooted inside her apartment, because I don’t move.
Collapsing onto the couch–the couch I bought for her that she didn’t even want–I realize why I’m not running to stop her. Because as much as I want to make her stay, I know I sure as hell don’t deserve her. Now, she’s finally realized it, and she’s never coming back.
I feel sick. Nothing in all my forty years has ever felt this bad. I want to get up and throw things. I want to cry until I can’t breathe. Instead, I sit staring blankly at the flowers sitting haphazardly on the coffee table.
The phone rings on the kitchen counter. For a second I hope it’s her calling, but I know it won’t be so I don’t bother getting up. She’s the only person in the world I want to talk to right now. I hear a woman’s voice flood the apartment and realize her sister is leaving a message. It sounds like the girl’s close to tears, pleading for her sister to call her back, so she can apologize.
I can’t even find it in myself to be angry with this girl, who is obviously distraught over what she’s done, because I’m the only person to blame. I can’t even blame Angel, the bastard. He’s hated me for years, and I can’t say I blame him much. I don’t particularly like myself very much right now.
All I can think about is the millions of things I did wrong over the last two years. Every stupid fight, all the times my rotten temper got in the way. Buffy deserves so much better than me, but being the selfish bastard I am, I never would have left her. Not in a million years, because she’s the only good thing in my life. Or she was until she walked out of it.
I don’t know how long I sit in the same position, but it must be hours because the room is dark. The only light is coming from the dimly lit hallway. I haven’t eaten all day, but the thought of getting up is not appealing. I don’t ever want to get up, because if I do it’ll quite possibly be the last time I’m ever in this apartment, and that thought tears me up inside.
My thoughts, as they have all day, drift back to Buffy. I wonder where she is right now. Probably in the air somewhere close to California. I wonder where she’ll stay once she lands: in a hotel, with an old friend, with an old boyfriend?
Too lost in my own thoughts, I tune out the sounds coming from the hallway. People coming and going all day barely registers in my grief-addled brain. The sounds from the busy city streets below are white noise at this point.
So it’s not surprising that I don’t hear her get off the elevator and walk down the hall. Or see her nervously walk into the open, dark apartment. It’s not until she turns on a lamp and closes the door that I even realize she’s here.
She’s here. Buffy’s here. Buffy’s back, and I don’t do anything but sit with what must be a look of awe and disbelief on my face.
Her only response is to shrug her shoulders. “I couldn’t go.”
She couldn’t go? What does that mean, exactly? There were no available flights? She didn’t have enough money? Not that any of it really matters. All that matters is that she’s here, and please, God, let her stay.
“Where were you?” I manage to croak.
“I’ve been sitting at JFK for the last seven hours. I even bought myself a ticket,” she says, holding up a boarding pass. “But, I just couldn’t get on the plane.”
“I couldn’t leave.” I don’t know why I tell her, but the words just fall out of my mouth.
“I see that.” She laughs, softly. “You couldn’t even get up to close the door?”
“Spike, I love you,” she tells me before I can even respond. “I know our relationship probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else. Hell, it doesn’t even make sense to me half the time.”
I hope there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.
“We have so much to talk about and work through.” Her eyes meet mine, and I can see unshed tears in them. “But can’t that wait until tomorrow?”
Before she even finishes the question, I cross the room and lift her into my arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist as I hug her close, so close I’m probably cutting off her air supply. She doesn’t complain though, just wraps her arms tightly around my neck.
“I love you so much,” I say into her soft neck.
Her lips find mine, and she kisses me softly. “Take me to the bedroom,” she says with her lips still against mine. “Make love to me, Spike.”
I don’t hesitate, hurrying into the other room. Our hands are everywhere–quickly removing shirts, pants, bras, whatever’s in the way. We don’t stop until both of us are completely naked on the bed. I can’t stop kissing her, so grateful just to have her back here with me.
She moans in my ear as my lips make their way down her throat to her neck. I nip at the spot I know drives her crazy while my hands travel down her body. I caress her breasts, first with my hands, then with my mouth, taking one sensitive nipple into my mouth at a time. Her back arches into my touch, begging me for more. There’s no teasing today, no denying her of anything, so I suck harder.
“Spike.” She draws out my name, breathing hard, her hands in my hair.
Raining kisses over her chest and breasts, my fingers find their way to her wet lips. She bucks her hips into my hand, and I don’t hesitate before inserting two fingers. My mouth moves back to hers, swallowing her groan, and my thumb circles her clit. I don’t stop until she’s coming against my hand, crying out her release.
I lean back to position myself at her entrance. Hooking my arms under her shoulders, I look down into her big green eyes. My hips thrust slowly in and out. I make love to her, showing her with my body what my words are telling her.
Her hand reaches up to caress the side of my face, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Don’t cry, baby,” I whisper, feeling like such an ass. I wish I had treated her better, shown her just how much I care. Instead, I let my own fucked up life get in the way, fucking with her head and her heart in the process.
Her only response is to pull my head down to hers. I can feel her getting closer, and I start moving my hips a little faster. She moves her legs up to wrap them around my waist. I hold onto her tighter, thrusting harder, our chests rubbing together, both moving closer and closer to orgasm.
“Come on, baby. I need you to come with me.”
“Ungh, Spike,” she grunts because it’s probably hard for her to breathe with my weight on top of her. “Harder...yes, just like that.”
Her inner muscles clamp down around my cock. I know she’s close because my name is a litany from her lips, and she’s getting louder the closer she gets to her climax. I pound into her as my own orgasm approaches, and she comes just before I do.
I give her a deep, passionate kiss. I don’t want to roll off her, but I know my weight is practically crushing her. I pull her with me, lying on my back with her draped across my chest.
“That was…” she trails off, like she can’t find a word in her vocabulary for what just transpired between us. “I mean, if that’s what happens when I threaten to leave, maybe I should do it more often.”
“Or I could just shag you like this every day, so you’d never wanna leave.”
She sighs contentedly, nestling against my chest. I kiss the top of her head and tell her, “Things are going to be different.”
She looks up at me, her expression both hopeful and sad at the same time. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she responds with a smile.
“I’m serious, Buffy. I’ll never give you a reason to leave me again.”
That was six months ago, and so far he’s kept his promise.
That night was the first time Spike stayed the night. There haven’t been too many nights since then that we’ve spent apart.
When we finally got out of bed the next morning, the first thing I did (after a cup of coffee) was check my answering machine. I found the dozen or so messages from Dawn. The first couple she was looking for me, wondering if she was still welcome at my graduation ceremony. Around the third or fourth message, there were tears bordering on panic, begging for my forgiveness. With each message after that, her hysteria increased.
Although it was very typically dramatic for Dawn, the messages made me feel bad, and I didn’t even get through them all before I was picking up the phone and dialing the familiar digits. The conversation turned into me consoling Dawn, assuring her that I was okay, and didn’t hate her. We met in person the next day, and I explained to her what had happened between Spike and me. I apologized for burdening her with the troubles in our relationship, because did I really expect my sister to like Spike when I was constantly complaining about him?
Last month, when Spike’s divorce was finalized, he asked me to move in with him. I was a little reluctant at first, because I thought it would set back all the progress we’d made. It was stupid, though, to be so hesitant, because Spike was basically living in my apartment. He’d left Drusilla and their place months before, and although he’d officially moved into a hotel, he was spending most nights at my place.
A week ago, we moved into a beautiful three-bedroom apartment on 5th Avenue across from Central Park. I wasn’t all that comfortable with Spike just buying us an apartment, but I realized that if I’m going to be with him I’m gonna have to get used to the fact that he has a lot of money and likes to use it.
“Spike?” I call, walking through the front door. It’s almost seven, and I’m just getting home from a very long day at the office. After graduation, it didn’t take long before I found a job working for the Department of Social Services. I help women in need of refuge from domestic violence. I love my job, even if the days are long, and the pay isn’t great.
“In here, baby.”
I find Spike in the kitchen, spooning take-out onto two plates. I give him a kiss hello, laughing into his lips as my stomach makes itself known. The smell coming off the plates is more than delicious to my stomach, which only had a muffin and coffee as nourishment that day.
“Hungry, pet?” he asks, playfully.
“Starved!” I tell him, taking a bite from an eggroll and heading to the table.
As we eat, I can’t help sneaking glances at him. It’s astounding how much he’s changed over the last couple of months. For one, he’s so much happier than I’ve ever seen him. That had a lot to do with leaving Drusilla and their sham of a marriage. He let her keep the apartment, and she got quite a large sum of his money in the divorce.
Spike’s father was not too happy when he learned Spike had moved out of the apartment. He threatened to hand the company over to Angel, which turned out to be a huge bluff. Spike has a ton of contacts in his industry, and when they heard he would be leaving Pratt Industries, the offers came flooding in. Not especially happy with the idea of leaving his legacy in Angel’s hands, Spike’s father asked him to stay with the company. Three months ago, the eldest Pratt officially retired, leaving Spike to head up the company.
After dinner, I take a nice, relaxing bath. Spike joins me once he finishes a phone call. He’s not in the tub five minutes before I’m riding him, my hands bracing myself on his shoulders while his mouth and tongue tease my nipples. I ride him harder, needing to come, relieved when his hand moves between us, over my clit. The water is splashing over the tub, the sound of the water hitting the floor mixing in with the sound of our heavy breathing. My nails dig into his shoulders as I come. My muscles clamping down around him trigger his orgasm, and he shouts out my name as he shoots his cum inside me.
“Our neighbors are going to think very bad things about us,” I tell him, my breaths coming out short and ragged.
“Let ‘em think whatever they want.” He kisses me, and I forget all about our neighbors.
We may not be ready to get married or even engaged, but for now, sharing our life together is more than enough for both of us. I wouldn’t change a single thing that happened between us, because it brought us to the place we’re at now. It’s a good place to be. It’s safe, and it’s warm.
It’s home.