It reminded Buffy of quote she’d heard somewhere along the way during her short but disastrous collegiate days, or it might’ve been from ‘Star Trek’ ... or was it 'The Simpsons'? Spike was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. What else was he hiding beneath the surface?
Certain that Buffy was satisfied with his answer about where he’d gotten everything, Spike stood up and offered her his hand. “Dance with me.”
Buffy dabbed daintily at her mouth with her napkin and set it down before taking his hand. Spike symbolically held his breath as he led her onto the open floor of the crypt and wrapped his arms around her gently. The music was soft and low enough to talk over, but loud enough to hear clearly when you weren’t talking. Buffy leaned into him and let him lead her in a slow, swaying dance to the romantic music. Spike allowed his breath to flow out as she relaxed against him. Despite how well the night had gone and what she’d said the previous night, he was still afraid she might bolt at the slightest show of tenderness; his heart was once again buoyed when she didn’t.
“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt o’ dancin’ with you, Buffy,” Spike whispered into her ear as their bodies swayed together to the slow beat of the music.
“I thought you said that’s all we’ve ever done,” Buffy teased.
Spike smiled down at her. “Reckon there’s dancin’ and then there’s dancin’, luv.”
"Mmmm," was Buffy's only reply as she settled her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, allowing him to led their slow and gentle dance – a dance unlike any they'd ever done before. Neither of them spoke again as the music flowed over them, neither wanting to break the magical spell that seemed to have come over the evening. But it wasn't magic, not witch-magic at any rate, of that Buffy was quite sure – perhaps a different kind of everyday magic. As she listened to the words of the song that was playing she felt a stab of pain, or perhaps melancholy, press into her heart.
You are not alone... But the Slayer was always alone. I'm always there with you... When your world's crashing down ...Buffy's world had crashed and burned ... then rose up from the ashes only to crash again – but Spike had been there beside her through it all. She felt her chest constrict and emotion well at the base of her throat as she leaned against him ...In my heart you have remained ... Babe, you're not lost.
{{ Click here to hear Lost by Michael Bublé on YouTube }}
...
...
♫I hardly recognized the girl you are today
And God I hope it's not too late
It's not too late
'Cause you are not alone
I'm always there with you
And we'll get lost together
Till the light comes pouring through
'Cause when you feel like you're done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you're not lost
When your world's crashing down
And you can't bear the thought
I said, babe, you're not lost
Life can show no mercy
It can tear your soul apart
It can make you feel like you've gone crazy
But you're not
Things have seem to changed
There's one thing that's still the same
In my heart you have remained
And we can fly, fly, fly away
'Cause you are not alone
And I am there with you
And we'll get lost together
Till the light comes pouring through
'Cause when you feel like you're done
And the darkness has won
Babe, you're not lost
When the world's crashing down
And you can not bear the cross
I said, baby, you're not lost ♫
As the song ended, Spike stopped moving and lifted her chin up gently with one finger. He felt like a thirteen-year-old on his first date instead of a century-old vampire as he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. He could hear Buffy’s heartbeat surge and his own body tingled from head to toe as he dropped that first tentative, gentle kiss on her soft lips. Buffy responded in kind with an unhurried, uncertain nibble on his bottom lip. They stood there in the candlelight for many minutes, tasting, testing, teasing one another’s mouth as if they’d never kissed before. The words of the song swirled in Buffy's head as they kissed and she couldn't help but feel a ray of hope blossom somewhere deep inside her. 'Cause when you feel like you're done; And the darkness has won; Babe, you're not lost. She'd been feeling so very lost. Was it possible Spike could really find her again ... all of her?
Finally, Spike couldn’t stop the words he’d been longing to say to her from spilling from his heart. He’d said them to her before, and they’d sent her scurrying away from him, but he couldn’t stop them from tumbling from his lips. The moment was too perfect, too overwhelming for him to stop. “I love you, Buffy ... I'll always love you.”
Buffy stiffened slightly in his arms, but didn’t pull away – she also didn’t answer him.
“I know you don’t love me, but …” he continued, anxious to fill the silence.
“Spike,” she interrupted, laying a gentle finger on his lips to quiet him, her voice was husky with emotion and she had to swallow back tears that had crept up while they'd been dancing. “I don’t … I think you were right. I think I came back wrong.”
He began to object, to say he’d just said that to provoke her, but she shushed him.
“I think we both know I came back wrong. I mean … there’s something wrong deep inside me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be right again. Spike, I don’t know if I’m capable of loving … anyone. To be honest, I’m not sure if I ever was – even before.”
Spike pulled her fingers away from his mouth and kissed them gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Buffy. I know you’ve had a bad go of it, but …”
Buffy snorted and pulled away from him, turning away to look at a bank of candles in one corner. Spike stepped up behind her and wrapped one arm across her chest from shoulder to shoulder, pulling her back against him. He leaned his mouth down near her ear. “You don’t have to love me now, Buffy. I didn’t say it just to have it parroted back – I said it ‘cos it’s how I feel and I want you to know. I hope that one day… one day you’ll feel it too, and that you won’t run from it, luv.”
“I’m not the one that runs away,” Buffy whispered as the stabbing pain returned to her chest.
“No, you’re the one that’s afraid to trust ‘er heart to another, luv. But now ya got me, don't ya? Spike never runs, Spike never stops, Spike never gives up. So, ya won’t be runnin’ ole Spike off, will ya? Nothing like those other wankers, am I?”
Buffy barked out a small, sarcastic laugh. “I’ve heard that about you. Xander said you were ‘goal-oriented’.”
“Did he, now? Well, reckon that’s the nicest thing the whelp’s ever said about me.”
“That was before he actually knew you,” Buffy admitted.
“Ah, well … that explains it then.”
Buffy turned in his arms and looked up into his eyes. “Spike, I’m serious though – I know what I said last night about wanting a real relationship, but I don’t know if I can even do that – with anyone. I think … I’m broken.”
“Then let me fix you, pet,” Spike pleaded, holding her gaze captive with his expressive blue eyes.
Buffy cursed the tears that gathered in her eyes that forced her to blink and break the eye contact. “What if you can’t?” she asked in a small, terrified voice. “You’d have to be a miracle worker.”
“Last night you said I was the only one that could make you feel. Let me help you, Buffy. You’re too strong, too bloody passionate, for me t’ believe you can’t love again. Hell, ya already love my cooking,” he pointed out. “I got lots more where that came from…” he offered, wagging his brows suggestively.
“God, Spike,” she laughed, shaking her head. “You are so …”
“Careful, Slayer …” he warned.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I was going to say, ‘you are so sure of me.’ How can you be so sure?”
Spike shrugged slightly. “I know Slayers. I know you.”
“Humph, you didn’t know I could ice skate,” she pointed out.
Spike gave her a reassuring smile. “I know the really important bits. I know what you’re made of and you don’t scare me.”
“You know, another term for ‘goal-oriented’ could be ‘insanely-stubborn’,” Buffy pointed out.
“Pot, meet kettle,” Spike retorted.
Buffy laughed lightly, then reached up and laid her palm against his cheek gently. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice again tentative. “Are you sure you want this … broken Slayer project? You know, DIY isn’t as easy as it looks on TV – and I have the plumbing bill to prove it.”
Spike answered her with another gentle kiss. “Not a bloody amateur or weekend warrior, Professional Master Vampire, ‘ere, luv. Ty Pennington’s got nothin’ on me.”
“Well…” Buffy drawled, her voice turning light and teasing. “You do know how to use your tool … really well.”
Spike growled a reply against her neck, sending shivers down Buffy’s spine. Buffy squealed in surprise when he swept a strong arm under her knees and lifted her up into his arms. “Reckon that’s my cue, eh? Tool time.”
Buffy laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That’s a really lame segue,” she informed him.
“Should I put ya down and wait for a better one?” he asked, grinning wickedly.
“Don’t you dare! Carry on…”
“I think on TV they say ‘Action,’ pet,” Spike teased.
“Right,” Buffy agreed. “I’m all about the action.”
“I knew you would be,” he purred as he started for the trapdoor with her in his arms.
When it was clear that he wasn’t going to set her down to go down the ladder to the bedroom, she got a bit nervous. “Uhhhh … I know about gallantry and all, but … I can climb down.”
Spike stopped just in front of the open trapdoor and jostled her lightly in his arms so she would look at him instead of craning her neck and looking down the hole at his feet. “Trust me, Slayer. I’d never hurt you, yeah?”
Buffy swallowed a little nervously, then looked back at the steep ladder and the long drop to the floor below. It wasn’t like she’d get seriously hurt, even if he did drop her. The floor was thickly padded with layers of ‘reclaimed’ – or maybe purchased? – carpets and rugs. On the other hand, the dress she had on was expensive and, now that she’d worn it on their date, the emotional attachment to it had changed from sadness about her mother to this night with Spike. She didn’t want anything to happen to it – it was suddenly precious to her.
When she didn’t immediately say anything, Spike prompted, “Give me this little bit, Buffy … trust me.”
Buffy looked back up at him. His blue eyes were hopeful and pleading. Trust me. Did he have any idea how much he was asking of her in those two little words? Trust wasn’t a Slayer’s biggest asset – or maybe it was just her. She’d trusted before and it seemed that nearly every time she did, she was let down, her trust broken. Trust me, I won’t hurt you, Spike’s intense blue eyes silently begged of her.
She nodded once, a jerky, unsure motion, then she held her breath and waited for the letdown.
Spike felt a physical weight lift off his heart at her tentative nod. It wasn’t a huge outpouring of undying faith, but he knew for Buffy it was a giant step. With that small, jerky nod she’d just opened the door and that was all he needed: one wisp of a chance.
Spike tightened his grip on her and, in one fluid, graceful motion, he leapt down from the upper crypt into the bedroom – completely ignoring the ladder. Buffy gasped and yelped in surprise, clinging tightly to his neck as they dropped down into the cavern below. She braced herself for the ultimate tumble onto the floor or the ripping sound when her long dress caught on a nail – but none of that happened. She felt him absorb the impact with his legs, bending his knees when his feet hit the floor, but he didn’t fall or even waver when they hit. One moment they were falling through the air and the next they were standing on the floor of the bedroom, as if he had just stepped down one stair. Buffy was pretty sure not even she could’ve done that.
Spike grinned at her shocked expression. “Told ya: I’ll never hurt you, Buffy,” he repeated as he leaned in to kiss her again.
Buffy met his lips with hers, but didn’t press or rush it. She let him kiss her softly, gently. She let him nibble on her lips and tease her tongue with his as he cradled her in his arms. His words swam through her mind as he kissed her, and she knew he meant more than physically … in fact, he probably didn’t mean physically at all. When he said he wouldn’t hurt her, her meant he wouldn’t hurt her heart, wouldn’t break her trust, and she wanted desperately to believe him.
Somewhere deep inside her something stirred – something she thought was dead and gone, never to return. It felt so foreign she almost didn’t recognize it at first, but as he kissed her with a tenderness that belied his supernatural, predatory strength, it awoke. It was a need, deep and primal, but not the one Spike had already awoken in her body. This need was soft and gentle – a purring kitten rather than a roaring lion – and it wasn’t physical. It was an emotional, a spiritual, need: the basic human desire for intimacy, for love. The need to share your emotional-self with another living being and to receive the same emotions in return was something Buffy had feared even before her death. She’d locked it safely away, but now it was awakening inside her, like a dark, lost shadow corporealizing into solid form, and it was terrifying.
Buffy broke the kiss and wriggled in his arms until Spike lowered her feet to the floor. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to hold the stirring shadow-monster in check. She glanced at the ladder, the urge to run and hide growing stronger. I’m not the one that runs away, her own words from earlier that evening mocked her. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe. What the hell was happening to her? What was Spike doing to her?
Spike’s fingers touched the back of her neck lightly and began to draw slow, soft circles on the bare skin of her neck, shoulders, and back. Tingles of pleasure washed over her, tapping into that physical need that he’d resurrected in her over the last weeks. The sensation seemed to somehow mute the fear that had been rising in her and overshadow the other need that had started to arise like a Phoenix from the ashes of her heart. She allowed herself to ride that wave of pleasure, leaving the fear ebbing away in its wake.
Spike felt her body relax again as he stroked his fingers over her soft skin. He wondered briefly if he should stop this … this gentle seduction. It was obviously making her wary and uncomfortable in a way their normal rough-and-tumble copulating never did. But she’d given him that inch of trust … he couldn’t back down now; it simply wasn’t in him to give up so easily.
Spike dropped his lips to her bare shoulder and kissed her golden skin gently. Buffy shivered beneath his touch as he kissed and licked and nibbled on her heated flesh. He worked his way slowly from her shoulder to her neck, sliding her short hair away and kissing the nape of her neck with the same feathery, butterfly-kisses. The fine hairs at the base of her scalp stood on end as bolts of pleasure darted out from his lips and flickered up and down her spine.
Buffy moaned and let her chin fall to her chest to encourage him to continue, but the halter-type strap of her dress was thwarting his advance. Spike detoured and kissed a line of fire down her spine until it met the fabric of her dress. His delicate fingers followed the path of his mouth and slowly tugged the zipper there down with a slow, deliberate motion.
Buffy’s heart rate sped up as the zipper slid down lower and lower, reveling the curve of her spine and ending just above her hips. “So beautiful you are, pet,” Spike whispered against her skin before he turned her around to face him again.
Buffy fought to keep her thudding heart from galloping out of her chest. He’d said that to her before, usually in the heat of the moment, and she’d always ignored it – just let it pass. Tonight, in the flickering candlelight in his bedroom, which she knew he’d worked to make cozy mostly for her benefit, she didn’t want to let it pass by. “Am I?” she asked, touching her short hair tentatively.
Spike lifted her eyes to his with a single finger beneath her chin. “Yes,” he replied, his voice full of deep-seated emotion. “You’re a bloody goddess, Buffy. Most beautiful creature in heaven or earth,” he assured her, his voice rough with the desire and emotions her beauty stirred in him.
Buffy gave him a shaky, tentative smile. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” she admitted, raising a hand to trace one razor-sharp cheekbone.
Spike smiled at her compliment – she didn’t give them freely, at least not to him – and turned his face to drop a kiss on her palm.
Buffy slid her hand down and began to unbutton his shirt. Spike stood perfectly still and watched her as she undid each button with the same deliberate care that he’d taken on her zipper. Her fingers danced over his chest and abs as she worked her way down, and his muscles quivered under her touch. When she got to his belt, Buffy skipped over it and pressed her hand against the growing bulge in his thin dress pants. The pleats in the silken fabric didn’t hide anything; they simply made it a bit less confining than his typical tight jeans.
Spike moaned when she pressed her palm against the length of his erection, cupping her hot hand around it through the fabric. Buffy rubbed her hand up and down over the length of his hardness a couple of times, enjoying the feel of him beneath the silky pants, before raising both hands back up and unfastening his belt. With his belt and the clasp of his pants opened, Buffy pulled the tail of his shirt out of his trousers, and slid it off his shoulders. The soft suede shirt had barely hit the floor before her fingers were dancing gently over his bulging pecs and hard, flat abs.
Spike stood still as she explored his torso with gentle fingertips. Her eyes followed her hands over his alabaster skin, so he was free to watch her face, unnoticed. He couldn’t remember her ever touching him like this before – with reverence and admiration. Her touch was feather-soft as her fingers trailed over the hills and valleys of bone and muscle. Intellectually, he knew she could be gentle – he’d just never experienced before; he barely even allowed himself to dream that she’d ever touch him like this.
“Your skin’s so soft … it’s … so strange because the muscles are so hard,” Buffy mused, never looking up at his face. “It’s really not fair – you don’t even moisturize,” she pouted. “I have a whole cabinet full of lotions and cleansers and serums – they cost like … a million dollars – and my skin still isn’t as soft as yours.”
Spike chuckled and trailed his fingers delicately over the bulb of muscle where her arm met her shoulder. “We all have our crosses t’ bear, pet,” he teased. “You’re a walkin’ advert for Hawaiian Tropic … all over. How is it ya don’t have any tan lines, luv?” he asked, cocking a brow at her. “Anywhere.”
Buffy grinned wickedly. “Can’t give away all my Slayer secrets, can I?” she teased. “You don’t have any tan lines either,” she pointed out, coyly.
Spike barked out a genuine laugh. “Reckon that’s true. Me and the Pillsbury Dough Boy – separated at birth, we were.”
Buffy poked a finger at his hard, flat abdomen. “Ummm … I think you got cheated on the dough part. I wonder if I can make you laugh like...” she began.
Spike grinned at her and grabbed her hand before she could find any ticklish spots. She was kidding around! With him! In the bedroom no less! Wait – was that one of the signs of the apocalypse? If it was, Spike was not going to waste it. Banter with the Slayer had always been one of his favorite pastimes; friendly, sexy, teasing banter was … whoa! Off the charts – more than he’d ever dreamed of. “You complainin’’?” he wondered, smirking at her.
Buffy bit her bottom lip and shoot her head. “Not in the least…” she breathed as she leaned in and dropped a reverent kiss on his hard chest, right over his unbeating heart.
Spike dropped the hold he had on her hand, fairly certain she wasn't going to try and tickle him again, then reached out and lifted the halter strap of her dress up over her head. When he released his hold of the diaphanous material, the entire dress slid to the floor at Buffy’s feet. She was naked save for her shoes and the white, lacy knickers she’d given him a brief view of earlier – brief being perhaps the key word there. They were little more than a small bit of lace in a vaguely diamond shape. The lace was held in place with three, equally spaced, thin elastic bands that hugged her hips and disappeared around behind her. The slender, white straps only served to accentuate the deep golden tan of her stomach, hips, and thighs. Spike found himself absurdly jealous of the wisps of fabric that encircled the curve of her hips and clung to her as if in a lover’s embrace.
As his eyes wandered over her candlelight-bathed body, Spike’s brain sputtered and fizzled. A bit of smoke may have actually puffed from his ears as the pistons burned from lack of any blood to lubricate the moving parts. She was a goddess; he hadn’t been lying about that in the least. He rarely got a chance to simply gaze reverently at her beauty. He felt like a ten-year-old who had just snagged the Victoria’s Secret catalog out of the mailbox and locked himself in his room with it.
Her Slayer strength was masked beneath a layer of soft feminine curves, which called to his most primal needs like a Siren’s song. Her modest breasts were firm; their perfect roundness made his palms tingle in anticipation of holding their supple smoothness in his hands. The puckered, rosy areolas were tipped with pebbled nipples that made his mouth water. He licked his lips lustfully, thinking about pulling those hard, dainty nubs into his mouth and eliciting deep moans of pleasure from her. Her beautiful quim was still hidden beneath the thin lace, but the aroma of her arousal couldn’t be contained, and it floated up to him, making his groin ache in need.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably under Spike’s silent gaze. She fought to keep from folding her arms over her breasts in modesty. It wasn't like he'd never seen her naked before, but suddenly she felt self-conscious. This was different than anytime they'd been together before: this meant something and it frightened her in more ways than one. She could almost physically feel his smoldering, blue eyes caressing every inch of her exposed skin. A wave of prickling goose-bumps washed over her, hardening her nipples and flushing her skin with heat and desire. She waited – waited for his eyes to come back to hers – but he seemed mesmerized and unable to draw his gaze away from the rest of her. Finally, in desperation and feigned confidence, she asked, “See anything you like?”
The words cut the silence in the room and seemed to jump-start Spike’s brain again, allowing a bit of blood to return from where it had all settled below his belt. A lecherous grin spread over his features, touching more than just his lips, and he looked up at her face at last. “No…” he rumbled out breathlessly. “See somethin’ I love.”
Buffy’s face flushed bright-pink and she swallowed nervously. That shadow in her soul shifted again, solidified more, and pressed against the protective walls that surrounded her heart. Would it be so wrong for you to say it back to him? the shadow asked in a low, insistent voice inside her head. Buffy closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts into something coherent and slightly less psychotic. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the sound seemed to echo through her whole body and she envisioned the shadow-monster banging its fists against her defenses. Well, would it be so wrong to say it back to him? she asked herself as the pounding intensified.
“I …” Buffy started, but her voice faltered and died. Buffy blinked her eyes open and saw the hope in Spike’s eyes – genuine, boyish hope. She felt like something inside her cracked, and the shadow-monster that had been resurrected from the ashes began to leak out, like water seeping through a fissure in a dam. “I …” she tried again, but the moment had passed. It was too late. The hopeful joy that had been in those blue eyes faltered along with her voice. She closed her eyes again, unable to look into the azure depths of Spike’s another moment. “I’m sorry…” she whispered.
Her apology was accepted with a gentle kiss upon first one closed eyelid and then the other. Then his lips touched hers and his hands roamed gently over her flushed skin, sending her heart racing even faster. Buffy lifted her arms and encircled his neck as she pressed against him. His cool, hard body felt wonderful against her over-heated skin, and she pressed harder, slowly swiveling her hips against his hardness.
Spike moaned into her mouth and deepened the kiss as her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips ground hard against his erection. She tasted faintly of chocolate and garlic and Buffy. The latter was an enigmatic flavor that was impossible to fully define: sweet and spicy mingled with a splash of tartness and just the barest hint of fruity, nutty goodness.
Spike cupped his hands on her bare ass and lifted Buffy just barely off her feet. He turned them around and began walking slowly toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. Buffy cooperated by lifting her legs and wrapping them around his slim hips, only then fully remembering that she’d never finished getting his pants or her shoes off. When Spike’s legs hit the foot of the bed, he leaned forward and gently set his passenger down on the soft mattress. He disentangled himself from her arms and legs and moved back a step to finish disrobing.
Buffy watched through lidded eyes as he carefully unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor. She licked her lips as the rest of his body was revealed in all its masculine splendor. She’d had plenty more opportunities to study him in the Full Monty than he’d had her. He was unabashed about his nudity, unlike her, and would blithely carry on conversations, retrieve drinks or cigarettes, or just walk around for no apparent reason in the nude. She, on the other hand, would generally dress as soon as her legs began working again after their rendezvous, and skedaddle pretty shortly after that. But, no matter how many times she saw it, it still made her mouth water and her breath quicken. Spike may be a cocky bastard, but it turned out he had every reason to be.
“See anything you like, pet?” Spike asked as he smirked down at her, tossing her own teasing words back at her.
Buffy flushed pink but grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah…” she answered. “Me likey.”
Spike chuckled just as wickedly as she was grinning, and moved back between her legs, which now dangled off the end of the bed. He lifted one lean, tan leg up, running his hands from her thigh, over her knee, and calf. When he got to the strap on her shoe, he gently slid a finger under it and slipped it off her small foot. He dropped it to the floor with a soft thud, the impact muffled by the layers of soft carpet, then repeated the procedure on the other leg and foot. His eyes followed his hands as they raked over the lean muscles of her leg, pausing momentarily to tease the soft skin at the back of her knee, before continuing on their mission.
Buffy watched him devour her legs with his eyes. His hands were almost superfluous; it was his eyes that seemed to burn her skin as he moved down each leg in turn. His cerulean gaze raking over her body set her on fire like the beam of a brilliant, blue laser. When his hands moved to her hips and his fingers hooked under the slender straps of her thong, she felt his eyes set her core on fire. Buffy lifted her butt up as Spike slid his hands down over the curve of her hips, taking the lacy, damp knickers with them. Spike’s eyes smoldered with lustful desire as her smooth quim was revealed from beneath her lace finery.
Buffy’s whole body tingled in anticipation. Generally, their encounters didn’t involve a lot of anticipation, unless you counted the walk, or run, to the crypt or other dark corner. Usually their time together was a rushed, intense, often violent affair which didn’t include much time to notice how loud her heart sounded as it pounded in her ears, or how the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, or how every cell in her body shivered as she waited for him to touch her. But she noticed now. She noticed how she couldn’t seem to catch her breath and how Spike’s cock jumped when his senses of sight and smell were bombarded with the view of her fully nude form and the scent of her arousal.
Buffy wriggled and slid up further onto the bed so her head was on the pillows, opening her legs to him and making room for him to join her. A low, throaty growl resonated from somewhere deep inside as Spike leaned forward and crawled on all fours, following in her wake. His movements were graceful and deliberate, like a panther stalking its prey, and his eyes burned with lustful desire.
Buffy couldn’t help but notice the shifting muscles of his arms as he moved. His triceps, bathed in the soft glow from the candles on each side of the bed, drew her attention. Those strong muscles on the backs of his arms undulated sinuously with each movement, supple and lithe, bulging with the weight of his upper body as he moved. When he got within reach, Buffy raised her hands and trailed her fingers down from his shoulders, over those oh-so-fine triceps, and back up again, feeling every flowing dip and swell of preternatural, masculine strength.
Spike dipped his head and circled one rosy nipple with the tip of his tongue, teasing her hot flesh with a wispy, gentle touch. Buffy’s back arched and her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his upper-arms as a moan purred from her throat. The electricity of anticipation that had been building in her like a force-field over her skin exploded from the contact and sent tingling jolts of power cascading through her. She hissed and gasped in pleasure when Spike’s lips and teeth closed over her pebbled nub, sucking and nibbling lightly on her sensitive flesh.
“Spike…” she moaned, finally loosening her grip on his deltoids and running her hands gently along the sides of his torso as he remained on all fours above her. She could feel his soft skin quiver under her touch, feel the hard muscles beneath twitch and jump, as if her hands were conveying the jolts of electricity she was feeling to him.
Spike released her nipple and kissed a line of fire over the swell of her breast and all around the other, which had been neglected. Buffy gasped when more of those sparks of desire cascaded over her as he teased her other nipple with his talented tongue, flicking against it lightly before sucking down on it in earnest. Her body bowed up off the mattress in an attempt to reach his, and their hips met – his hardness pressing against her soft, wet folds.
Spike moaned his approval, vibrating his lips over her nipple, and Buffy wrapped her legs around his slim hips, capturing him. The prey had suddenly become the predator – or at least the captor.
“Make love to me, William,” Buffy whispered up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck gently.
Spike pulled back to look into her eyes and, for once, Buffy didn’t look away. She shivered as she felt his intense gaze delve into her, as if he could see her very soul. The resurrected shadow of love inside her seemed to reach out through the cracked and crumbling walls that protected her heart. She could feel a battle waging inside her as it tried to grab a hold of those azure beams of adoration that were boring into her. She was at once hopeful that it would succeed in breaking free and terrified that it would.
Buffy opened her mouth to try and speak, but words once again escaped her. She kept her green eyes focused on Spike’s even as she felt his hips shift, his body move, his hardness searching for her opening along her wet slit. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move to help him at that moment, despite how she longed to feel him inside her. She could only watch his eyes, so expressive, so intuitive, so full of desire and … God, help her, love.
“Oh, Buffy,” Spike murmured as he pressed into her at last, never taking his eyes from hers. He was suddenly engulfed in the utter beauty and passion of her. Pressing into her wet, supple heat, feeling her body momentarily resist then give way, stretch to take his hardness in, and then close around him. His only wish was that he could penetrate her heart as readily. Her green eyes shone with desire in the soft light, then with blissful joy as he felt a small orgasm titter through her. He strove to convey everything he was feeling through his eyes; all his hopes, all his love, all his devotion and respect and adoration. Would it be enough to breach her defenses? Could he touch that last, hidden bastion that held the one thing he desired now above all others: her love?
Buffy’s body trembled and a small, shuddering orgasm flooded over her as Spike pressed in. He moved more slowly than she thought possible, stretching her and filling her with so much more than his physical self. His eyes were still locked onto hers and she fought to keep her eyes open through the wave of bliss, taking in everything he was giving her – emotional and physical. As the lovers began to move together to the age-old rhythms of desire, neither gaze wavered. Buffy let Spike lead the dance, a slow, sensuous tango, that built steadily to what she knew would be a fantastic crescendo.
Leaning on his elbows, his body cradled against Buffy’s, Spike kept the tempo slow, unhurried; a sharp contrast to the usually frantic pace they set. He studied her eyes, her soft verbalizations, and the shudders in her body, noticing which movements of his hips made her gasp, which made her moan, which made her whisper his name, and which made her eyes widen and her pupils dilate further. He made slow circles and figure-eights, grinding down on her clit with his pubic bone on the down-stroke. Sometimes he’d press hard, other times it would be barely enough to graze her yearning flesh. Her body moved with his, as if they both heard the same, slow drummer in their heads – as if they were made for each other.
Spike knew she was the perfect contrast to him – as if she were made to balance him and he her. Her soft curves were the perfect complement to his sharp angles; her suppleness the perfect accompaniment to his hardness; her light to his dark, her heat to his chill, her soul to his soullessness; her Slayer the ideal foil for his demon. He had known it for many long months, since long before her death. Now he fought against the barriers she had up that kept her from seeing, from feeling, the truth of them. He fought with everything he had: his mind, his body, his heart … and that bit of William that remained beneath the demon.
Buffy’s heart thudded in her chest as the dance intensified and the rhythm of the phantom drumbeat quickened. She clung to Spike with arms and legs, fighting hard to keep her eyes open and locked on his. At some point she’d realized that she actually wanted him to scale the wall around her heart and rescue her from this half-life she had been living, despite the deep-seated fear that he would succeed.
Even before her death and resurrection, she’d been slowly building that wall and every failure made it higher and stronger. Every time she trusted and was let down, another layer of defense was erected. From her dad, to Angel, to Ford, to Parker, and beyond – they all took her trust and crushed it. Then came Professor Walsh, who tried to kill her, and Riley’s ultimate betrayal. But the final blow was her most trusted mentor: Giles. His suggestion – his urgent demand – that they kill Dawn to keep Glory from opening the portal, had been a blow to the deepest level of trust she had. That he would so coldly suggest they kill her sister – the only family Buffy had left – had rocked the very foundation of her world. Buffy had steeled herself after that blow; she had taken that broken foundation and reinforced the walls even further, making them quite impenetrable.
And now she wished with every fiber of her being that there was someone strong enough, loyal enough, true enough, brave enough to knock a hole in that high, thick wall and let her live again.
“Spike, God, please … please, please,” Buffy begged, willing him to somehow understand what it was she needed.
And somehow, as he always seemed to, he did. “Trust me, Buffy. Let me in – I swear I’ll never hurt you,” he vowed, punctuating his words with the strong thrust of his hips against her. “I love you, Buffy Anne Summers. I’ll love you for-bloody-ever. Trust me, Slayer … trust … me.”
“Spike! Oh … God … oh … Spike …” Buffy moaned as her body came to the edge of that oh so familiar chasm of bliss. She could no longer maintain eye contact with him; her eyes fluttered closed and she lifted her mouth to his in a desperate kiss. Their dance became more frantic as their lips crushed together. Their bodies seemed intent on fusing together and their hips began slamming against the other, driving Spike’s hardness deeper and deeper into Buffy’s hot, supple core.
“Buffy, please … trust me…” Spike groaned against her lips before resuming the passionate kiss. He drove into her with every fiber of his being, begging her with actions, thoughts, and words to believe what was in his heart.
Suddenly, that ledge that Buffy had been on the verge of falling off of changed into a tall, wide, rough-hewn stone wall. She could see that parts of it had started to crumble and break away where the shadow of her trust, of her love, had tried to escape its dank, dusty confines. Now she stood atop the wall of her own design, unsure which way to fall.
One side was dark and cold, but although she couldn’t see the bottom, she knew safety lay that way. She could tell that her heart would be safe in the buffer of darkness and self-reliance. ‘She who stands alone’ could rein the rebelling shadow in, shove it back down into the dark, dank safety of the Slayer Bastille.
On the other side of the wall was freedom – and danger. A sparkling, azure ocean the color of Spike’s eyes stretched out below. It looked warm and welcoming, but she could see jagged rocks, coral reefs, and oyster beds lying just below the surface, waiting to rip her apart if she dove in.
She stood there, the compulsion to jump, one way or the other, growing stronger with every passing moment as Spike brought her closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. A thousand warring images flashed through her mind in a millisecond. Snapshots of all the deceitful, careless, cruel, and just plain evil people she’d trusted over her life flooded her and then gave way to images of everything Spike had done to her and for her. He hadn’t always been someone she would trust – in fact, he’d done some pretty disturbing, untrustworthy things – but she couldn’t remember him telling her an out-and-out lie about anything really important. When he was trying to kill her, he was completely up-front about it; when he was trying to shag her, he didn’t hide it behind anything else; and now he said he loved her and that he’d never hurt her.
Buffy felt herself take a step toward the sparkling, dangerous ocean as her body began to tremble and convulse. The tidal-wave of bliss that had been building in her was on the verge of breaking over her. It would send her plummeting off the wall one way or the other – she had to decide which way to fall.
“Cum with me, luv … Buffy … love you … love you so bloody much,” Spike gasped against her lips, his voice quavering with emotion, as his hips slammed against her, sending her teetering on the very brink of orgasmic oblivion.
In her mind’s eye, she looked out at the dangerous freedom of the ocean and then back at the safety of her self-imposed prison. Could her heart take one more pounding on the proverbial rocks without being irreparably shattered? If her trust was given and broken even one more time, would she ever trust herself again? And if she couldn’t trust even herself, then what would she have? What was a Slayer who couldn’t trust their instincts? Simple: A dead Slayer.
Trust me, Buffy … I’ll never hurt you … I’ll never betray you … I love you, Spike’s promises echoed in her head, pleading with her to believe.
But hadn’t she heard all that before, more than once? Buffy wavered precariously, doubt seeping into her very bones as the mountainous, supernatural tidal wave of bliss crashed down on her.
Buffy braced herself and fell from the precipice as the orgasmic wave washed over her, drowning her in blissful ectasy.
Spike’s roar of release exploded against Buffy’s mouth as her own shriek of pleasure tore from her throat. The lovers floated blissfully on the tide of pleasure; shuddering, spent bodies entwined as the waves of euphoria washed over them, engulfing them.
Buffy felt herself splash down into the sparkling, crystal-blue water, but she’d no sooner landed than the waves were driving her right toward the jagged rocks. Her panic built as second-thoughts bombarded her mind and she began to look for a way back to the safety of her dungeon. But then, as if by magic, strong hands grabbed her under her arms and pulled her away from the danger. She was hauled up and backwards in one swift motion, and fell unceremoniously into the bottom of a rubber life raft. She scrambled around to find Spike there, flashing his cocky smirk at her; the name on the side of the small boat next to him read ‘RMS Titanic’.
“Need a lift, Slayer?”
She flung herself at him, knocking them both back into the bottom of the rubber raft. She wrapped herself around him, arms and legs holding tightly, and captured his lips in a frantic kiss that degenerated into giddy laughter.
Buffy opened her eyes, laughter bubbling from her throat past her gasping breaths as her lungs battled for oxygen. The blue ocean she’d jumped into was right above her, looking down, pouring adoration and love down on her like a warm waterfall. It engulfed her, covered her with a blanket of promises, spoken and unspoken, that she knew, simply knew, would be kept.
“Not really the reaction I was goin’ for …” Spike complained despondently as Buffy continued to giggle uncontrollably. She was unable to stop the happiness and newfound freedom from overflowing from her heart and billowing in joyous waves from her throat – not that she was really trying that hard.
“How about this then?” she asked, her voice breaking with giddy giggles on each word. “I love you, Spike. I love you … I love you … I love you,” she repeated, alternatively laughing and kissing his face between each heartfelt declaration. “God, I love you, Spike."
**~** THE END **~**
{{ Click here to hear Miracle Worker by Superheavy on YouTube }}
[Damian Marley]
Now this one reaching out to all the lovers
Who might be thinking of breaking up...huh,
Or maybe even making up, check it
[Joss Stone]
I missed a part of you, I can't get back
[Damian Marley]
Don't be a silly nilly,I'm always here for ya,
Through the thick and thin, not just because we argue
[Joss Stone]
See, I want it to be true, but I can't do that
[Damian Marley]
Why not, what's stopping you?
Don't be preposterous.
I've gotta lot of love, not just a lot of lust
[Joss Stone]
If I only weren't a fool, I'd be loved back
[Damian Marley]
Well that's your own opinion
And you're entitled to it.
I'll be lost in oblivion, if we don't go through it.
[Mick Jagger]
There's nothing wrong with you I can't fix!
I come a runnin' with my little bag o' tricks
In an emergency I'm very well prepared.
My scalpel, mask, and gloves; don't ever get too scared
[Chorus]
Ooohooo, you're a miracle worker
Ooohooo, you're a surgeon of love (you have a medical condition)
Ooohooo, can't wait to fix me up.
And I promise I'll be back again, if you work your miracles on me
[Joss Stone]
Your melody was fresh,
It touched my soul
[Damian Marley]
Invigorating and refreshing, and interesting, and it feels right
[Joss Stone]
My heart was drowning in stress,
But you brought out the best in me
[Damian Marley]
Love has a tendency, so I've been told, and so it seems like.
[Mick Jagger]
My lovin’ laser will regenerate your heart
No need for anesthetics, I’ll go check your charts
I will reshape you, recast you from the mold.
A brand new beautiful woman will blossom from the old.
Oohooo, you're a Miracle Worker. [Yes you are]
Oohooo, you're the surgeon of love. [I have a medical condition]
Oohooo, can't wait to fix me up.
And I'll promise I'll be back again,
If you work your miracles on me.....
Oohooo, you're a Miracle Worker. [Yeah, yeah]
Oohooo, you're the surgeon of love. [I have a medical condition]
Oohooo, can't wait to fix me up.
And I'll promise I'll be back again.
If you work your miracles on me....
Work your miracles on me.