A/N: First off, thanks to everyone reading this fiction. Thanks to those who review, I know it’s hard to do that (for me to anyway). I’m really reading and considering the words the reviewers are posting. In this chapter, I have a ‘nod’ to ‘pj’ and that baby thingy!
Chapter 20: ‘The Date’
Buffy had no problem finding ‘Clem’s Bar’ even though it was way, way out of town down a small road off the highway. After all, when they were teenagers, the whole gang snuck into the place more then once. Of course, then it was called Jake’s or something, this Clem must have bought the place in the last few years.
“Leave it to William to remember this place,” she snorted ruefully while she scanned the radio for an audible station to listen to. She couldn’t believe her ears when she zeroed in on an old alternative music station that just happened to be playing the ‘Foo Fighters’ Everlong’ at the moment.
“Well,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “isn’t that just special? Must be God’s little jest on me.”
While she’d been driving the last few miles, she thought about the baby conversation she’d had with Angel. It had been a mistake to even bring the maybe baby possibility up, she realized that now. Oh, Buffy wanted a baby, yes, very much, but she had to admit that at least some of her reasons for wanting a baby were selfish and unrealistic.
She absolutely knew, deep down that babies should be born to happy or at least stable couples. Not confused, discontented people who were struggling in unstable, unhappy relationships; like Angel and her. A baby would not fix their present problems, and nor should it be expected to.
Buffy and Angel had to fix their marriage, well before any baby made an appearance and helped complete their family unit. Right then, Buffy made a promise to herself not to bring up the baby subject again, at least not until Angel and her had repaired their broken marriage, and maybe not for a long time after that.
When she pulled into the crumbling parking lot of the bar, Buffy saw William right away. Fortunately, he wasn’t waiting inside for her; he sat propped up on that damn Harley, smoking a cigarette, as usual.
“Damn,” she mused, “sometimes he looks just like an angel.”
She giggled and purposely parked as far away from him as possible, “yeah, an angel alright, an angel from hell,” she muttered as she stepped out of the car.
William looked at his watch when he saw her pull in, she must have been close to on time, he didn’t frown.
“Hey,” he called approaching her, somewhat cautiously.
“Hi, Will,” she responded softly, ‘allowing’ him to put his hands on her. ‘How gentle he is,’ she marveled, briefly, ‘how tender and almost old-fashioned,’ courtly actually came to mind. Before he could kiss her, she pulled away quickly, “thanks for not making me meet you inside, William,” she nodded towards the old building.
He shrugged and gave her a small pout, apparently aware of the slight she’d given him by pulling away.
“So,” she mumbled without looking at him, “where are we going on this date?”
William pointed over to the Harley, “a picnic,” he answered simply, pulling her towards his motorcycle.
When they reached the red and black monster, Buffy flinched with fear, “I haven’t been on a motorcycle in forever,” she gasped, “William, I don’t know. What if……”
He didn’t let her finish, “it’s okay, Princess,” he chuckled, “I won’t let anything happen to you, promise.”
Buffy eyed the bike, nervously, “well, okay, if you say so, but what about helmets? We don’t have any?” There was no evidence of the protective helmets, so legally demanded in California.
“Buffy,” he whispered as he pulled her onto the bike, “you’re with me, I’ve got your back. I won’t let you fall off, get hurt or even be seen. I swear it, luv.”
She looked at him, the bike and the backpack and some kind of rolled up blanket tied to the very back of it. Buffy glanced at the bike, at William and then at the open road ahead of them, “let’s ride,” she said with determined defiance.
They did ride, down the highway, no helmets (let’s pretend this isn’t California, okay?), together for another few miles or so.
Spike was in heaven; at least his kind of heaven. Buffy was with him, her slim arms wrapped around his waist, tightly of course and she was actually laughing like a crazy, rebellious teenager again. Actually they were both laughing like those teens they had once been, years before and it made him delireously happy to just be with her like this.
When he suddenly turned off onto a dirt road, he felt her tense against his back and her hands grasp his waist even tighter. He placed his own large hand over both of her tiny ones and clasped them, reassuringly.
“God,” he thought tenderly, “she’s got such petite hands, but I know they’re strong, just like all of her. She’s just forgotten how strong she is for the last few years.”
They pulled up to their destination, a rather moderate body of water at the end of the tiny dirt road. It was too big to be called a pond and too small to be considered a lake, but Spike had discovered it years before, just after his friendship with Buffy had dissolved back in High School.
Buffy jumped off the stopped motorcycle and took in the ‘pond’ in disbelief. “I never knew this was out here, William,” she squealed with delight.
“Found it some time back,” he responded, “I’m not sure too many people know it’s here, Princess.”
Just the tiniest tinge of jealousy tingled in Buffy as she wondered who else Will had brought here. She dismissed the tinge and asked in a mischivous tone, “and just what other girl have you brought out here, Mr. Giles?”
He put the blanket out on the ground by some rocks and tossed the back pack on top of it before he answered evenly, “none, Buffy, you’re the only one.”
In her heart, Buffy knew he was telling the truth and for some puzzling reason, she was relieved that ‘she’ was the only female Will had shown this to. William plopped down on the blanket and motioned for her to sit with him. While he pulled some bread, cheese and what appeared to be a jug of wine out, he explained when and how he found this isolated marvel of nature.
“Came out here one night, alone,” he said matter of factly as he poured the wine in some paper cups. “We were Seniors in High School and I guess I was upset about something, you know?”
Buffy had a feeling what ‘that something’ was but wisely decided not to confirm it. He broke off some bread for her and handed her the brie he’d brought as he continued.
“I drove out here, pretty much blindly and a bit drunk. Stumbled onto this place, smoked a joint and stayed until dawn.” With a smirk and a shrug, he finished simply, “been here from time to time since. Always alone. That’s about it.”
Buffy just nodded and attacked her simple meal with relish, very hungry and a little tired after all of the rushing earlier.
“Sorry this isn’t more fancy, Princess,” he murmered across the blanket to her with a smile. “It’s not much, I know, but well you know ‘a jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou’ you know all that nonsense.
Buffy giggled, which caused him to blush uncontrollably. “Will, you really amaze me,” she laughed outright this time. Spike raised his left eyebrow, the scarred one, to inquire exactly how he amazed her. She set her wine cup down and looked at him square in the eye.
“You try to act like such a bad ass guy, all tough and stuff. But deep down you’re still the sensitive poet at heart. I mean,” she waved at the food and the scenery, “you bring me on a picnic for a date; set a feast and all and quote Omar Khayyam to me, all poeticy and stuff.”
He could feel his face get real hot and red from embarrassment, but Buffy quickly reassured him, “yes I remember Omar Khayyam, believe it or not and I think it’s sweet William, your spouting poetry, honest. I’m not making fun of you, okay?”
With a silent nod of his head, Spike downed his cup of wine.
To change the subject, quickly as possible, Spike asked Buffy how her mum, Joyce was.
“She’s okay, I think, anyway,” she answered quietly. “I haven’t even spoken to her in a long while. I need to talk to her, see her, really.” It was almost a whisper that he could barely hear. “She’s been seeing a nice guy, Ted’s his name, up in Santa Barbara. I don’t know if they’ll ever marry or anything, but I’m glad she has a companion. Someone to spend some quality time with, a real equal and all. He certainly seems to beat out my own dad that way,” she finished.
“Hank?” he questioned. “Still living with that secretary of his, Darla what’s her name.” She spoke no more of her dad, or mom.
Buffy looked at William, he seemed miles away even if he was only a few feet off from her on the blanket. “How is your mom, Will?” she asked.
“Okay,” he answered a bit too quickly. “Of course,” he continued, “she’s the one solely responsible for little Guinevere, now.”
Buffy dared a look at her companion, “how’s Drusilla,” she inquired, cautiously. She felt William flinch, rather then saw him do it, but he responded, almost too casually, “she’s the same, Buffy. No change there, not likely to be any either.”
Her heart jumped to her throat and she felt like a real bitch for bringing up William’s half sister, Drusilla.
“I’m sorry, William,” she mumbled, “I shouldn’t have……” but he interrupted, “it’s okay, Buffy. If anyone has any right to ask about my family, even Drusilla, it’s you and your mum, Joyce.”
Drusilla Giles had been the dark haired, apple of William’s stepdad’s, Rupert Giles, eyes. She had possessed a rare beauty, even in childhood that had naturally drawn people close to her. Buffy and her mom, Joyce Summers had been no exception. The younger Summer’s female, lacking a sibling of her own, quickly took to Dru, as the family called her, and looked on her as a little sister.
However, Drusilla had always been a bit ‘different’ then other girls. She was always fragile emotionally, but terribly talented, artistically. When the girl, a while after William and Buffy’s falling out, had developed into a talented violinist, Rupert and Anne Giles had enrolled her in the legendary Ethan Rayne’s music class.
Mr. Rayne was an old friend of the Giles’ family and everyone thought that this would be the course that would capitulate Drusilla into the world of fame and recognition. Hopefully, this would bring the girl out of her own Universe of visions and dreams that had plagued her all of her life.
Apparently, the Gile’s trust in Ethan Rayne had been misguided and he took a terrible advantage of Drusilla, seducing and litterally raping the girl before she was even eighteen-years-old.
Outside of the Giles’ family, only Buffy and her mother, Joyce were privy to all of the sordid details. Drusilla had conceived a child, a girl, she called Guinevere after the King Arthur tales she loved.
Rupert, William and even Joyce pursued justice for Drusilla against Ethan Rayne, with a vengence, and the man was sentenced to twenty years for statutory rape of a minor. Poor, fragile Drusilla never recovered and went into a tail spin of psychotic episodes. After Rupert Giles died, Anne, Will’s mother took her only daughter and granddaughter back to England to live.
“William,” Buffy mumbled, “I’m sorry about Drusilla, about Rupert and everything, always was sorry.”
Spike looked at her, then glanced away abrubtly, “it killed him, you know?” he shook his head sadly, “it killed poor old Rupert when Drusilla fell apart completely.”
Buffy couldn’t say anything, just stared off at the ‘pond’ and tried to think of something consoling to say.
“And, little Guin, Buffy,” he choked out, “she doesn’t even know that my poor sister is her real Mum. She thinks me Mum, Anne, is her Mummy and Drusilla is her odd auntie. Poor Dru can’t even be a mother to her.”
She watched him, her pain inflicted Will, carefully, when she asked the next question, “is that fucker, Rayne still in jail?”
William looked at her in disbelief, apparently stunned that she’d used that kind of language, “yeah, prick’ll be in jail for some time, I hope, anyway.”
Buffy shot him a malicious smile, “hope that fuck rots in prison, Will,” she hissed.
He could only smirk back at her, momentarily.
While he watched Buffy in a kind of stunned stupor, she literally crawled, like a cat, over to him. Her luscious arse was stuck up in the air as she slinked over to him across the blanket. When she reached him, she shimmied down onto his lap, burrowing herself into his crotch.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, even as he wrapped his arms about her body. “Life just isn’t fucking fair, William Giles,” she whispered in a silky voice, into his ear, which set off a multitude of tingles in his whole body. Buffy leaned over and kissed his mouth, a kiss that was mixed with passion and comfort.
“Buffy,” he rasped, “Buffy, what you do to me.” It was a statement more then a question; an unnecessary one, since the bulge in his jeans made it quite clear just exactly what ‘she’ did to him.
Spike was embarrassed by the tears he’d started to shed a few moments earlier, when they were discussing his mother, sister and his darling neice, Guinevere. If Buffy noticed them, she seemed to ignore them as she began to rock on him, making him harder then he had been.
William was watching her intently, his misty eyes were a cobalt blue and his cheeks were streaked with a lone, traitorous tear or two. Buffy pretended not to notice his tears, she began to stroke his face, neck and arm with her fingers, an overwhelming surge of compassion enveloped her.
He hadn’t worn that damn duster tonight, just a black tee shirt and black jeans, so when she allowed her hand to travel down his chest, to the pocket on his tee she felt it. The tell tale bulge of a condom in his tee shirt pocket.
“What a good boy,” she purred in his ear, “you remembered,” while she pulled out the rubber. She stood up abruptly and pulled her jeans down off of her hips and legs, dismissing any fear of a passerby stumbling on them, not in this isolated spot.
She bent over and unzipped Will’s jeans, quickly then settled onto his knees, “put this on,” she commanded, handing him the condom. He obeyed, of course, but his face was a mix of confusion, desire and curiosity.
“Buffy,” he stammered, “we don’t have to…..” She shook her head, defiantly, “yes we do,” she insisted.
Buffy whispered in his ear, “yes we do,” and Spike’s control just fell to pieces.
“Please, Buffy,” he whimpered, “just please do it.”
She lowered herself onto him, agonizingly slowly, tortuously inching herself down on him. “Like that?” she purred in his ear.
“Oh, God, yes,” he gasped, “just like that.” Spike was afraid, terribly afraid because he knew he wouldn’t last long, not with his Buffy doing what she was doing. He wanted to last, wanted to last forever, just to please her and help her be happy, as much as he could anyway.
Buffy lowered herself onto William, slowly, sure and steady. What had started as a show of compassion was quickly turning into an act of empowerment. Her empowerment. She felt an overwhelming, all encompassing sense of power that she had not felt in years, or maybe never.
As she rode Will, up and down, back and forth, side to side, she experienced such a feminine power over him that was so intoxicating that it surpassed a drug high (or what she remembered of a drug high from college). This was Buffy at her best, sexually; not out for revenge; not out for mere self pleasure or the pleasure of her partner.
This was Buffy the consoler, the great healer of the this scarred man underneath her, completely and utterly in control. Because, William was not only scarred physically, he was scarred even more so, emotionally and mentally.
Buffy was going to make it better and right now, this was the way to accomplish that. “How’s that, Will?” she asked huskily, “like it?”
Spike was truly lost in this, Buffy was riding him, tenderly, yes, but so sure, so confident in herself. It made him feel both weak and strong at the same time and he was losing control, rapidly.
“I won’t last long, luv,” he gasped, “not if you keep that up.”
She actually licked his cheeks, licked the remnants of his warm tears, “don’t care,” she murmered, “I want you to cum, fast and hard. Do that for me, Will,” she ordered.
He kissed her pretty mouth, wrapped his hands around her slim hips and helped her pump up and down on his crotch, “anything you say my beauty,” he panted.
“Good boy,” she purred again, “that’s my good boy.” Too soon he began to feel the tenseness in his balls, warning him that it wouldn’t be much longer until he came.
“Buffy,” he whimpered, “Buffy I want you, want you so much. It’s all I think about. All I can ever think about anymore, being here with you, like this,” he rambled on, feeling a bit foolish, but unable to control his words. “Oh God, Buffy, I want you, I need you too, always!” he cried out loudly as he came with a force that surprised them both.
William slouched back against the rock he had been laying against after he came. Buffy rubbed herself against him for a minute or so longer and came with a shiver, then collapsed against him.
They lay there, wrapped around each other for minutes, not saying anything, just basking in the afterglow of their orgasms, their sweat intermingled. She had buried her head into his neck, savoring the musky scent of his skin, unable to stop herself from licking his sweat, sensuously.
In all of her life, she’d never felt such abandon in her sensuality; almost as if she found the control she’d lacked for so long. It was not only exilerating, it was liberating and she relished it.
“Fuck Buffy,” he groaned into her ear, “that was bloody amazing! Thank you, Princess,” he whispered, “thank you, thank you for that.”
She felt him shiver now; in pleasure, gratitude or even maybe fear, she wasn’t sure, but it filled her once again with a sense of feminine power.
“I do this to him,” she thought proudly, “I cause him to feel this way.”
Later, after they had both calmed down somewhat and he’d discarded the cumbersome condom, they lay on the blanket and looked up at the dark sky above them. Their hands entwined together,
“That’s Andromeda,” William was saying, “she was Perseus’s lover in Greek mythology, remember, Buffy?”
She nodded and pointed up at another set of stars, “what’s that one, Will?” she asked curisously. “The North Star, luv,” he chuckled, “come on now, you must know that one. If you’re ever lost, just follow that one, you’ll find your way home.”
Buffy smiled at him shyly and sighed with contentment. “Oh shit!” she suddenly sat up, “it’s got to be really late, Will! I’ve got to go!” Sure enough her rolex blinked 8:30 PM tauntingly.
“Oh damn!” she cried, we have to get back William, I’ve got to get home. Angel’ll be home before 11:00!” He nodded, reluctantly and began to help her pack up the blanket and remnants of their supper.
Once they got back to her car at Clem’s, she hurried into it and reved the motor. William followed her home, at least as close as he could get without following her right up her driveway. With a wave, at the end of her block, he turned off to go home.
Buffy took a quick shower, thankful that Maggie and Jenny were off tonight and crawled into her king sized bed. She thought about the events of earlier in the evening and pondered her own actions. Not only had she felt self empowered for the first time in years, she was a little more then ‘hot and bothered’ by the memory of the things William and her had whispered to each other and had done together.
A part of her was anxious for Angel to get home; the other part feared the duplicity that might occur if her husband came home and tried to claim his marital rights. After the ‘sensuous encounter’ she and William had had, sex with her own husband, tonight, seemed almost obscene. Fortunately, around 11:30 PM, when Angel screeched into the back driveway, Buffy realized that he was more then too drunk to ‘claim’ anything from her that night.
Spike lay in his bed, looking at Buffy’s picture on his bedroom wall.
“If that fucking prick comes home and shags her,” he hissed, “I’ll just wanna’ rip his throat out and shove it up his arse!”
His jealousy over Buffy scared him sometimes, but he supposed that whole thing was moot; she knew the truth now. Knew she was his weakness; her power over him was out of the bag and he really was not sorry about that. After all, with a woman like Buffy, her feminine power could be capable of making a man like himself strong, even a better person, maybe.
“Buffy,” he whispered at her picture, “I swear to God I’ll get Angel out of both of lives someday. Short of murder, I’ll do it.” Spike just hadn’t figured out how to do it, yet.
A/N: Okay, another long chapter, sorry. This was actually one ‘really, really long’ chapter, but I divided it into two shorter ones. Hope you are all still reading my story, in the next chapter, Buffy ‘will’ hopefully stand up to Angel a bit more.
Thanks, luv, Spuf
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