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Author's Chapter Notes:
Previously: Buffy watched some live porn starring her and Spike, then made out with the actual Spike, and arsonistic squirrels almost set the cabin on fire.

Big thanks goes to All4Spike for betaing! Any mistakes you see are all mine, baby.
Chapter 14

Buffy squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and thought, this is it. I’m doing this.

She poked the phone as though expecting it to bite her, frowned, fled back into the kitchen where a bowl of oranges sat on the counter, silently judging her.

“What do you know? Stupid fruit. Everybody hates the colour orange, anyway.” She felt bad the second she said it, then realised she was talking to fruit. Feeling guilty for offending said fruit.

It was a good thing Spike and Emma were out and couldn’t see her descent into insanity.

Okay, totally doing this now. She strode back to the phone, picked it up and dialed before she could lose her nerve. It would be fine. It was just Willow. Just her best friend who she knew virtually nothing about, because this wasn’t actually her Willow. Oh god, it was too late to hang up now.

“Hello? Rosenberg here.”

Buffy leaned against the back of the couch, gripped the receiver tighter. “Wills? Hi! Emma said you called.” Are you a witch too? And into girl-on-girl? How awkward is this going to get? “Anything urgent?”

“Buffy! Oh no, no need to panic.” She sounded all peppy and so Willow-esque that it made Buffy miss her. So much. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “I just felt as if I haven’t talked to you in ages. Got a case of missing my best bud.” She paused. “Don’t tell Xander I said that. He’ll get all jealous and start in on that yellow crayon story again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Buffy said, relaxing, even though she had no idea what the yellow crayon story was all about. “Zipping my lips shut right now.”

“Knew I could count on you.” Her wry, teasing tone put Buffy at ease. “So, how’s the holiday shag-a-thon going? Give me all the dirty details. I mean… maybe not all the details. I still can’t look at a spatula without blushing after the last time I caught you two getting it on.”

Buffy almost choked on her own saliva. “Willow!” At ease, my ass.

“Hey, I’ve been traumatised!” Willow protested with a giggle that suggested otherwise. “I reserve the right to tease you for the whole of eternity.”

“There are no… spatulas.” What would they even do with one? “And the holiday is nice. Very snow-y and disaster free.” Unless she counted the fire incident and no Christmas tree, and a million other things that mostly involved her and Spike freaking the hell out.

“Your kinkiness aside, I can’t believe you’re coming home next week. Back to the real world, huh?”

“Oh yeah… back to the slaying and stuff.” She froze, wishing she could shove the words back into her mouth. “Slaying… as in… slaying all those chores. And tasks, and… stuff.”

And the Oscar goes to… not me.

“At least you get to hang out with Tara. The only people I get to talk to during lunch are middle aged men who talk about processing data and fixing software glitches. Not as much fun as it sounds.” She cleared her throat, lowered her voice until Buffy had to strain her ears. “I think one of them heard me. He’s giving me the stink eye.”

“Are you at work right now?” And Tara? What job would involve her and Tara hanging out? Not that she didn’t like Tara. She just… didn’t know her that well.

“Yup. Not all of us get to enjoy the school holidays, Miss Guidance Counselor. Or be married to bestselling authors who sweep you off to romantic getaway trips.”

Her? A guidance counselor? She could hardly help herself! “Wait. Who gets to do the whatting me where?” She thought she was married to—

“Spike, you dummy,” Willow said in that careful, slightly condescending tone that clearly meant, are you on drugs? “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Her mind was blank. Zero thoughts. Nada. Zilch. “Uhh… I’m perfect. Fine. Yes.” Totally not sounding like an inter-dimensional impostor. Nope. “I just… I guess I don’t think of him that way. He’s just Spike, you know?”

“By ‘just Spike’ do you mean your ‘sweet hunk of looove’?”

She should be grateful Willow wasn’t suspicious anymore, but on the other hand, “Please don’t ever call him that again.” No love here. Not even an ounce. Only lusties.

“Blame Xander. He said it first,” Willow said. “Speaking of… he asks if you’re still going to be doing the night kickboxing classes. Apparently, his New Year resolution is to stop eating so many donuts and get in shape, so he wants to join. I think single life is catching up with him.”

Single life? So he wasn’t dating Anya here? Lucky non-Hellmouthy Xander. “What about you and Tara though? Is there, you know… magic?”

Willow giggled. “Oh, there is definitely magic.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Sparks flying everywhere.”

Wait. Somehow, Buffy thought they weren’t talking about the same thing. “Not literal magic, though?”

“Have you been reading Spike’s Demon Huntress series again?” Willow asked, amused.

Buffy blinked. Then blinked again. Thank God for a clueless Willow. “Right. Must be it.”

Muffled voiced sounded in the background, then Willow’s voice that used too many words Buffy didn’t even understand.

“Sorry, Buff. Gotta go stop an impending technology disaster. Talk to you later!”

“By—”

Beep. Beep.

Their alternate selves were a bunch of weirdos.

*******

“When I was your age, I massaged my pop’s feet every day,” Spike lied, serious as a heart attack as they trudged through the snow.

Emma tilted her head, stared him down as though she wasn’t even aware she was less than half his height. “No, you didn’t.”

“Are you calling your father a liar?” He arched his eyebrow, pulled her beanie over her eyes. Smart and obnoxious. Just like him.

“Da-ad!”

“What?”

She pulled the beanie up and glared at him.

“So, are you going to rub my feet or not?”

“Does that mean I won’t have to eat broccoli ever again?”

Spike shrugged. No skin off his back. “Sure.”

Emma scratched her nose, considering the tempting offer. “And get hot chocolate every night before bed? For ever and ever?”

“Now, that’s pushing it.”

“There will be no feet rubbing without chocolate.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Pidge.” He swung her up into his arms. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

Twenty minutes later, he found himself making snow angels in tandem with Emma like some prepubescent poofter. He was strangely okay with that. As long as Buffy never found out.

*******

“So what were you two up to? Had fun?” Buffy asked from where she was doing push ups in skin-tight leggings and a training bra.

He bit his lip, imagined licking the sweat off her lower back. Ahh, Slayer musk. Buffy musk. That’s the stuff.

“Lots!” Emma replied, kicking her boots off willy-nilly. “We went for a walk and made a snowman and snow an—”

“An-gry! So, so… bloody angry! About the…” his eyes darted around the cabin in search of help he knew he wouldn’t find, “state of the… woods. There’s just too many trees everywhere! What’s a poor vam-man to do? ‘S just a matter of time before you get bird shit in your hair.”

“Bird shit,” Emma repeated with a delighted giggle, her hat and scarf flung to the floor.

“Okay, Mr. Spaz-o.” Buffy sat back on her haunches, hands propped up on her hips. “How about you don’t corrupt the five-year-old more than you already have?”

He rubbed the nape of his neck. At least his dignity had been preserved.

I better make Emma pick up her stuff off the floor before the Slayer chucks it at my head.

“By the way, I totally know she was going to say ‘snow angels’,” Buffy said with a wink.

Well, there goes that.

*******

They’d slipped into an odd sort of routine. He took over cooking, even though he knew bugger all about preparing human food. Buffy got saddled with cleaning up, where she couldn’t do as much damage. At night they’d take turns reading stories to Emma before tucking her in. They’d bicker and spar in the front yard or fight over the remote control until lips met and took the fight to a whole new level.

The urge to yank her sweats down, unwind her hair from her sloppy bun and kiss every inch of her until she was begging and whimpering into the mattress got harder—pun bloody intended—by the day. It would be all right if it stopped there, only there were those quiet moments too.

Sometimes he’d accidentally catch her gaze and hold it for a few seconds too long or touch her without really meaning to. Comforting touches; his hands on her shoulders, fingers kneading until her head lolled forward and her body sagged back into his. Sometimes he’d tug on her ponytail just to see her give him an exasperated look, or slide a hand down her spine for the hell of it all.

So what if we’re comfortable. Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean I’ll miss this once it’s gone.

Not supposed to get this close. He knew that. Not a complete idiot. Only a part of him couldn’t stop thinking, she fits you so well, matches you perfectly in a way Dru never had.

A dolt, that’s what he was. A dolt who was fondling Buffy’s sweater in the middle of the living room when he was supposed to be wriggling into tight spaces.

“I’m looking!” Emma’s voice called out.

He panicked and bolted into the bathroom even though he’d heard the water rushing. No time to back out now. He wasn’t too upset by that. Still evil, after all.

“Spike!” She tried to cover her bits as well as she could with a shower head in one hand, but he’d already seen it all. “What are you doing here? It’s shower time! I’m all… vampires are not invited!”

“Shh. I’m playing hide and seek.”

“And I’ll be playing ‘let’s fit my foot in your ass’ if you don’t leave.”

He wanted to cradle her flushed cheeks and follow the rivulets of water with his tongue.

“Hey, is that my sweater?”

Bugger. “Uhh… yeah? Found it in the living room.” He tossed it into the hamper in the corner of the room, trying not to look like the fool he was. “Was starting to smell a bit ripe, so I figured I’d do laundry. My good deed of the day, eh?”

“Well, the bathroom is… occupied right now, so—”

His feet carried him closer, eyes locked on hers, not straying below. Whipped by a woman who wasn’t even his, how bloody pathetic. “You’re a goddess.”

“I… What?”

“Bet you’re boiling hot right now. Even more so than you usually are. Never thought I’d like it so much, but you’re so…”

“Spike?”

“Warm. So bloody warm, all the time. Could hold you for days and never get enough of you.” He blinked, came back to himself, reminded himself not to let her wriggle underneath his skin more than she already had. Can’t get used to this. Can’t get so hooked up on her.

“I’m naked,” she said, dazed.

“That you are.” His fingertips caressed the curve of her hip, toeing the boundaries, wondering if he could nudge them even more. “Couldn’t help but notice.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m naked!” She should be pushing him off instead of chatting to him, letting him sway her with his thrall-y eyes and honeyed voice that made her throb in all the wrong places. “W-we shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t we?” His hand settled on her hip, thumb brushing over the jut of her hipbone. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Velvet skin and grasping fingers exploring every inch, wet kisses pressed into the hollow of her arched throat.

Stop it. Focus. Now wasn’t the time to be flooded by all those flashbacks of the other them, but she just couldn’t think. Wasn’t a good enough liar to convince herself his touch didn’t feel good. Better than good. “Yes. Maybe. But,” she realised her arm had slipped, that bit of modesty gone to hell. He was fully dressed and she didn’t have a stitch on. She’d never felt more exposed, and yet it wasn’t nearly as scary as it should have been, “I’m getting water everywhere.”

“Yeah, should have warned me to bring an umbrella,” he said with a lopsided smile, prying the shower head out of her hands.

She put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You’re British. I thought you had one on you at all times.”

“Wonder where you’d hide yours right now.” He reached behind her, slotted the showerhead into the holder mounted against the wall while she stood there, pretending the heat in her cheeks was from the hot water pelting her back, not the way he looked at her or his proximity that made her all woozy.

“I don’t think I even own one. I’m not the one from the Rainy Land.”

“I like rain,” Spike said with a shrug.

She held his gaze, shivered when his palm slid over the curve of her ass and settled right beneath, gripping the back of her thigh.

“I like you,” she said with a pounding heart.

She wouldn’t take the words back, even as his shoulders stiffened, his gaze darting to the side. He met her eyes again when she pulled him in even closer, water dripping off the ends of her hair to dampen the fabric of his T-shirt.

“It’s okay, right?” Okay to do the wrong thing when it feels so right. Okay to just be without questioning every step. “Sometimes. I mean, sometimes I like you. Even if you’re obnoxious and hyper and leave your socks on the floor.”

“Twit,” he said with a smile, sprinkling barely-there-kisses from her shoulder up to her earlobe. “I always pick them up.”

“After I yell at you.” Her snort turned into a muffled moan when he suckled water off her skin, his fingers so close to where she needed him the most.

“Maybe I do it on purpose. Maybe I like it when you yell at me.” A pause. “Maybe I like you too. A little bit.”

She bit the shell of his ear, whispered, “You’re strange.”

“Says the bird who goes out slaying wearing hoop earrings and short skirts.” His fingertips tickled down her spine, counting each vertebrae.

“That’s not strange. That’s accessorising.” She arched into him, heart thundering against her ribcage.

“What about letting me kiss you like this?” He stole a kiss, his lips massaging hers slowly and thoroughly. Only he wasn’t stealing. Not really. Not when she was giving it freely.

“Oh. That.” She scattered sloppy, needy kisses along the damp line of his jaw. “I guess we can be strange together then.”

“Yeah, that sounds,” he nuzzled into her neck, “bloody brilliant.” He uncurled his hand from around her thigh and suddenly he was slipping it right between her legs, fingers dragging along the too sensitive nerve endings and hitting the sweet spot at the top. “You’re dripping.”

“Water,” she protested, clenched her thighs around his hand.

“Liar.” He kissed her, sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled at it with blunt teeth.

“Prove it.” She played with the hem of his T-shirt, tentatively slipping right under to touch his bare skin. He sighed, his thumb rubbing her until she couldn’t think coherently and her knees turned into a wobbly mess.

Bang. Bang.

“Fuck!”

She jerked and tugged at him too hard, felt her feet leave the bottom of the bathtub, bringing Spike along for the ride. She hit it hard. “Ow! My butt.”

Spike was panting against her temple, one arm trapped beneath her back, his thigh pressing between her legs in a way that had her heart jump into her throat. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“You’re not supposed to hide in there,” Emma’s voice called through the closed door. “I won! And you cheated, so I get to have chocolate now!”

Spike bit into Buffy’s neck, the back of his hand brushing her nipple in a way that seemed far too deliberate.

“You ruined my shower time,” she said, feeling awkward sprawled there with him on top, the water raining down on them.

Spike’s words were a hot whisper in her ear, his jean clad thigh nudging her sensitive flesh, “I’ll make up for it.”

Then he was fumbling out of the tub and giving her a hand and handing her a towel, his eyes averted. From a predator on a hunt to a gentleman. Sometimes she felt as if she didn’t even know him. As if there were parts of him buried so deep nobody would see them until they got too close. And the worst thing was? She wanted to see more.

TBC


Chapter End Notes:
Things are heating up. Too bad they always get interrupted though. ;)



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