Come Go With Me
by Sandy S.
Summary: Set just after Spike and Buffy fall asleep together in "Touched." Spike wakes up first. What follows is AU.
Dedication: This drabble is for Ali who wanted a Spuffy roadtrip set in season 7. Here you go dearest! Hope you like!
Come Go With Me
Come go with me
Make you feel like
Lasting through the time
Come go with me
Have no fears
Two hearts in one
Eternal to the night. . . .
Lewis A. Martinee, from Come Go With Me
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
Pablo Neruda, from Saddest Poem
Spike makes a soft noise as something on the night breeze blowing from the open window brushes over his senses. He inhales more deeply as his conscious mind takes control, and he cherishes the scent of vanilla and lilacs. . . her scent.
How many times would he ever have the chance to wake with his arms around someone so warm and alive. . . and just heavenly?
Buffy stirs. . . a simple motion.
A thousand nerves in his body come alive in an overpowering wave of electricity. He has spent countless hours with her. . . naked flesh sliding over naked flesh. . . his body taking hers to heights of physical ecstasy. But nothing holds a candle to the feel of her body heavy with sleep against him. He almost cannot bear the amount of trust. . .faith she is placing in him. He tries hard to fathom how she came to develop that trust, and he draws a blank.
"Watcha thinkin'?" her voice rises up from below.
He can't tell her. . . not yet. He is afraid to even look at her. The emotion is too raw, and he might spoil the moment. So, he responds to the growl from his stomach, "I'm hungry."
She laughs and brushes a hand across her forehead. Her laughter chases away the fear in his heart, and he can't help but glance at her smiling, half-asleep expression. "That's the last thing I expected to hear you say."
"Really?" he asks, resisting the urge to shift her closer against him. She might pull away like she has so many times before.
"I'm actually hungry, too." She feels the tension in his upper body and slips an arm around his waist and strokes his hip with her thumb. "You're trembling."
Spike is surprised that she noticed, and he tries to contain the feeling by sitting up almost abruptly. "Yeah," he acknowledges.
A bit startled by his unexpected departure, Buffy rolls aside and leans back on her elbows, watching him saunter to the window and shut the glass in one swift motion.
"Bit of a breeze makin' me cold," he explains, stuffing his hands in his back pocket. He searches the room for something to keep busy and spies his coat over the edge of the nearby chair.
Pulling herself up to a sitting position, Buffy stares at him fumbling with his leather jacket. . . not sure whether to call him on the lie or let it drop. She decides on the latter. "I need to get away from here."
He believes so much in her, and yet, with a single sentence, his confidence from earlier melts away, leaving him utterly vulnerable. He finds himself completely caught up in sinking disappointment. . . so much so that he fumbles his words, "W-whatever you say, pet."
She's there before him in an instant, prying the jacket from his rigid arms and tossing the leather aside. Standing on tiptoe, she nudges her forehead against his until his face is even with hers. He smells faintly of cigarettes and peppermints, and she feels a little dizzy with familiar desire. In a rush of compassion, she returns some of her borrowed strength to him by pressing her lips softly to his in a quick kiss that he lacks the energy to return.
"Hey," she whispers, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "I meant, I need to get away from Sunnydale for a few hours. . . not that I need to get away from you."
"Oh." Spike's hurt is somewhat alleviated, but she's still leaving him, and he can't help but feel a little bitter about the tables turning. He is always there for her, and she will never be there for him. Although he knows the mission. . . knows her focus and need to prepare for the upcoming battle by taking a brief respite, he had hoped. . . apparently in vain. . . that he would fit into her life somewhere.
Buffy places her palms against his and folds her thumbs over the back of his hands, not sure what he's thinking. She is terrified that he will lose his temper and leave her. "Will you come with?"
In that moment, Spike experiences a rush of longing to return her kiss and show her an escape from her worries. . .her concerns about the upcoming battle. But they've been down that road before, and he knows the consequences. . . he lives with them everyday.
He closes his eyes. Now she's asking him to follow her yet again. She trusts him. . . can he trust her?
He reopens his eyes and musters up an uncertain grin. "Where, love?"
She beams at his acceptance and turns on her heel, releasing one of his hands and dragging him out of the room with the other. "There have to be keys around here. I know there's an SUV in the garage."
Buffy leads Spike through the dark hallways of the unknown man's house and into the kitchen. She searches around the garage entrance until she spies the key rack stacked with keys. A couple of sets lay scattered on the ground. Grabbing a fist full, she enters the dimly lit garage that smelled faintly of oil and pool chemicals.
Spike stands to one side as Buffy tests the mostly likely keys in the silver Explorer's driver-side door. The lock clicks open on the second attempt, and she tosses the remaining keys aside, hopping into the vehicle. She reaches over to unlock the opposite door for Spike, and he slips in beside her.
She starts the car with flourish and puts the engine in gear. "Ready?"
"Um, love. . ."
"What?" Buffy asks, all innocence.
"You didn't open the garage door."
"Oh. . ." She searches the front of the Explorer until she finds the little remote. Nothing happens. "What the hell?"
"I'll get it."
Upon Spike's return, Buffy props both hands on the steering wheel and asks, "We good to go?"
"No. What do you mean no?"
"You have to put it in reverse." Spike pauses, remembering that she once told him she never passed the driving tests and wrecked her mum's car on an occasion or two. "Sure you don't want me to drive?"
Buffy considers for a heartbeat and then exchanges a grin with her vampire companion. "You're right. You better drive. But I'll tell you where we're going."
Spike lifts an eyebrow at the woman he loves so much. "Oh, lord."
They open the doors at the same time.
"I'm hungry," Buffy grumbles, staring out at the black of night.
"Got plenty of blood back there," Spike suggests without turning his head from the road. "Sure you don't want some of that?"
"Eww. No. We just stopped at the butcher's for you, remember?"
"Could have gotten us some steaks, I guess, being that the shop was abandoned, and we didn't have to pay."
She squeezes his thigh contentedly. "Sushi I'll eat. . . raw steak. . . a world of no. 'Sides I'm waiting for the right spot to get food."
Spike chuckles, happy with the small Sla. . . woman at his side. "How will you know?"
"I know just where we're going."
"Glad one of us does." He pauses. "I left my coat at that house."
"We'll get it when we go back."
Spike lifts her hand from his jeans and laces his fingers with her. She hasn't stopped touching him since they've been driving on the desert highway away from Sunnydale and heading toward Los Angeles. She doesn't know, but he's cherishing every second of the gentle contact. Part of him half-expects her to wake up out of whatever spell she has to be under and leap out of the moving vehicle just to get away from him.
"The sky sure is full of stars when there are no bright electric lights to pollute the air."
"I've had my fill of the stars since I've been a vampire."
She turns her head toward him, studying his profile as he focuses on driving. His features are faintly highlighted by the red glow from the auto's interior lights and headlights. In her mind's eye, she recalls tracing the line of his cheekbone with her fingertips and thrusting her tongue between his soft, pliable lips. Sometimes she misses their physical intimacy, but she doesn't know if she will ever taste him again with such passion again.
"What do you mean?" she asks softly after several seconds.
"Dru. She was always singing to them, and every once in a while we'd take trips out of the city. There was nothing between us in the fields of the country. She loved it. . . she danced and sang, and we'd make lo. . ." He hesitates and sneaks a glance at the girl on his right. "We. . ."
Buffy squeezes his hand in understanding. He has a past with someone else. She does, too. The more she knows about him, the more she cares about him, and the more she wants to know and understand where he's coming from. "Sounds beautiful. . . like an adventure."
"It was." He is relieved at her acceptance but still tries to make up for his fumble, "This is more beautiful."
Buffy jerks up but doesn't drop his hand. "Oooo!"
She bounces a little in her seat like she's a child of eight or nine. Pointing with excitement, she announces, "That's where we're stopping!"
"What is it?" Spike squints at the faint light in the distance. . . the first electric light he's seen since they left Sunnydale less than an hour ago.
"The place we're stopping for our own adventure!"
The car wheels crunch over the gravel in the parking lot as Spike guides the Explorer smoothly into a parking spot. He puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the place Buffy has picked out for them.
The diner's neon sign buzzes, and the "j" in Jerry's Diner winks on and off. The lights on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows are warm and inviting, and a sign on the door indicates that the joint is open 24-hours a day for weary travelers that might happen in during the middle of the night. . . kind of like he and Buffy. To the left of the brightly lit restaurant is what looks like a refurbished hotel with only a handful of cars in the lot.
"Huh. Interesting choice."
"This is a good spot," Buffy comments, heading for the diner's entrance, hefting a brown paper bag on her hip. "You coming?"
"Why'd you pick this spot, love?"
Buffy stops and looks back at him with her hand on the door handle. "Because. . . it's the only place between here and L.A. that's halfway decent, and they have really good fried chicken. The hotel's old but not too bad either. They're always trying to keep it looking modern. Coming?"
Spike's eyes narrow, but he doesn't move. "You've been here before then."
Buffy catches the hint of sarcasm and pain in his tone. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Recently, huh? About a year and a half ago?"
"I don't know. Maybe. What does that have to do with anything?"
Spike's arms fall to his sides, and he raises his voice, "It has a bloody lot to do with everything. I won't be coddled, and I won't be used, and I won't be compared."
Buffy takes a step toward him. "What makes you think I'm doing any of those things?"
"Okay. I'll just say it. This is where you came with Angel, right?"
Now she has to roll her eyes. When did Spike get so sensitive? Oh, right, he's always been that way. "I don't see what that has to do with now."
"I won't be the substitute vampire." Spike is so overwhelmed by hurt that he has trouble focusing his thoughts.
Buffy's eyes widen a little. She can't believe he's shouting about his demon. "Not so loud."
"I don't care!" He turns toward the highway and throws his arms in the air, inhales deeply and prepares to announce to the world that he's a spawn of evil.
But Buffy is in front of him before he can utter a syllable. She claps her hand over his mouth and pushes him against the Explorer door with enough strength to get his attention but not stir anyone else's. Somewhere along the way, she's lost the bag she was holding. Her voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, "This is supposed to be a getaway. This is supposed to be something good between us. This is not supposed to be a pissing contest about whose ex matters the most. Remember what you said earlier?"
Spike loves her fire. . . loves to see her green eyes light with fervor when she's angry with him. . . loves the feel of her tense muscles against his torso. His body responds to her arousal, and he wants nothing more than to take her right there against the car and again atop the gravel in the parking lot.
Memories of times past flood Buffy's thoughts. . . memories of falling buildings and broken furniture. . . and she mentally pulls away. In her heart, she can't quite mesh soulless Spike with soulful Spike. Her mind comprehends the difference, but she isn't sure her heart is ready, and the increasing evidence of his excitement doesn't help her confusion.
Eyes locked on hers, Spike reads the bewilderment and fear, and he manages to calm himself, moving his arms over her forearms and gently pushing her back. "Let's get something to eat."
She searches his clear blue eyes for a few seconds, and then, she acquiesces. On the way into the diner, he snatches up the paper bag she left near the Explorer's front tire.
They settle into a booth across from one another, and the tired-looking waitress hands them a couple of greasy, laminated menus.
Untucking a pencil from behind her ear, she asks in a bored tone, "What can I get you to drink?"
"Water for me," Buffy says and looks to Spike.
He folds his hands on the tabletop. "Same here and an empty to-go cup."
"Empty?" the waitress is uncertain about that request.
Buffy nods and smiles. "Yep, empty."
"Okay. I'll be right back to get your order."
When the waitress wanders off, Spike tries to break the ice, "So, what's good here 'sides fried chicken? They got any fried onions?"
Buffy borrows his lightness, "Oh, yeah! And fried pickles."
Spike raises both eyebrows with incredulity. "Now that I've never heard of."
Setting aside her menu, Buffy uses the hair band on her wrist to pull her hair up into a ponytail. "Even in all your worldly travels?"
Spike looks up from the menu and smirks, "Even in."
"We'll order some then. There used to be this restaurant near my house when I was growing up called 'The Pickle Barrel.' Their specialty: fried pickles with ranch sauce. My dad would take Dawn and me there when we had father-daughter nights. We always got a side of fried pickles with dinner. They were my favorite part of the meal: salty and sour."
"Really? I'll have try 'em then."
The waitress returns and plunks the large glasses of water in front of Spike and Buffy and balances a Styrofoam cup and lid next to Spike's. "You guys ready to order?"
"Uh huh." Buffy smiles at Spike and proceeds, "We'll share a large order of fried chicken, some mozzarella sticks, a large order of onion rings with ketchup, some fried pickles, and pecan pie for dessert."
The waitress repeats Buffy's order under her breath and she scribbles it down on her notepad. "That all?"
"Oh. And a side salad. Got any light dressing?"
"Can I get that on the side?"
"Yep. Anything else?"
"Nope. That's it. . . unless Spike, you want anything else?"
Spike watches her with a broad grin on his face. He hands the waitress his menu. "No, I think that's it."
Buffy returns his grin. "Does that sound good?"
He can't resist asking, "What's with the leafy greens?"
"What do you mean?"
"All the fried bits and a salad?"
"Gotta get my vitamins in there somewhere. . ."
"Ah. You're something else." He reaches into his bag to retrieve a bag of blood. "Do you mind?"
Buffy shakes her head and watches as he proceeds to puncture the bag and pour the contents into the to-go cup under the table. "What do you mean I'm something else? Is that a good or a bad thing?"
"Definitely a good thing."
She suddenly wants contact again, so she snakes out her left foot to contact his boot. Out of nowhere, she wishes he wasn't wearing the boots, and she flushes at the thought. Back and forth, back and forth, she mentally chides herself. Good thing she's not saying her thoughts out loud. "Good."
Startled by her gesture, he almost spills the blood under the table. That would be a fun thing to explain to the diner staff. He's pretty sure they dismissed their brief engagement outside, but he's pretty sure they're not too tired to miss a puddle of blood oozing out from under the table.
Buffy tries to come up with a topic of conversation. She can't recall a time when she just chatted with him without punching him in the face or talking about serious stuff. "So. . . this might be the end."
Spike thumbs the lid onto the cup and jabs a straw into the blood. "Now that's a happy thought."
Buffy shrugs. "Just being honest."
"It's never really the end of anything. . . just the next step in the journey."
She sips her water. "You're probably right." Lifting her glass, she taps it against his. "Toast to this leg of the journey."
"Won't forget it." He nods and drinks the pig's blood. Then, "Speaking of honesty. What made you. . ." He tries to think how to word his question, not exactly sure he wants to hear the response. The thought that he might not have the chance to ever ask her spurs him on. "What made you ask me to stay?"
Buffy frowns in thought. She can think of too many times in the last year when she's asked him to stay. . . explicitly and implicitly. "When?"
Tracing the condensation on her glass, she studies the ice cubes, most of them half-buried in the cold liquid. She pokes at one with her finger so that several more bob up to float at the top. "Same reasons as before. . . because I believe in you. . . trust you."
Spike knows there's more and inspects her expression carefully. "Why else?"
She can't bring herself to look away from her glass because then, her eyes might overflow. Only Spike can bring these feelings out in her. . . can help her see things more clearly. She fleetingly wonders why she took so long to recognize that. "Because I'm scared. . . because I need you. . . I need to know you won't go away like all the others. . . no matter how bad I am."
Oh, crap. He hadn't meant to make her so upset. His hand covers hers and removes her fingers from the moist glass. "Buffy, you're far from bad. I told you earlier. You may have made some poor decisions in the past but it doesn't mean you're bad."
"Why didn't you go. . . even when I treated you so ba. . . made such poor decisions?" Her eyes flicker up to meet his for a brief second and then, go back down. Still, she doesn't let go of his hand or pull away.
Instead, he drops her hand and stands up. He's already answered her question a million times before. . . in his actions. . . in his words. Buffy turns her head completely away from him. She's pushed him too far, and she can't bear him walking away from her now.
Then, he slides into the seat next to her and pulls her hip against his, arm around her small shoulders. She lets out a small sob and buries her head in his chest.
"Hey, pet." He smoothes back her hair. "It's okay."
Spike holds Buffy as she cries. Several minutes later, her tears cease flowing.
She manages, "All my friends. . . they. . . I don't have anyone anymore."
"You have me. And I'm not going anywhere. A-and your friends. They may have kicked you out of the house, but that doesn't mean they aren't your friends anymore. Last time I checked, they've made some pretty bad. . . pretty human decisions before, too. You'll find a way to make things right with them. It's what you always do."
"You think so?"
"I know so. How many times have you Scoobies had a falling out and then patched things up again. Your whole lot has been through too much together to fall apart after something like this. I'm betting you go right back to Sunnydale and everything will be all rosy again."
Sniffing, she smiles at him as the waitress sets several dishes and two sets of wrapped utensils down in front of them. "Food's here."
The waitress seems apathetic to the emotion of her customers. "Enjoy. Dessert will be out after the meal."
"Thanks," Spike says.
After the waitress is gone, he one handedly shakes the napkin off a set of silverware and tucks a corner into the top part of Buffy's shirt.
"What's this?" she asks.
"This food is messy, right?"
"Are you insinuating I'm messy?"
"Not insinuating. Stating a fact."
Buffy struggles to right herself from the incline against Spike's torso, and she snatches the other set of utensils and wrestles off the napkin. Tucking the paper into Spike's shirt, she teases, "You need one, too, then."
"I'm not eating all this crap."
"What? You're definitely helping."
"Sorry, love. Vampire, remember?"
"Well, all this food is for you. I'm just eating the salad."
"What? I don't think so." He shakes his cup of blood at her. "Got my dinner right here."
"Yuck. You have to at least try the pickles."
"Kinda hard to eat and drink and hold you at the same time."
"Oh. Well, I'll feed you then."
Spike shakes his head, feeling about the same way he felt about Buffy driving. "Oh, lord."
"It'll be fun!"
"Fine. Just not too much at once."
For a second, she marvels at how Spike has always been there. . . even when things going on in her life royally sucked. Then, she proceeds to stuff a wad of ranch-soaked pickles in his mouth.
"Um, Buffy, I don't think we'll have time to make it back to Sunnydale before sunrise."
Buffy hands the waitress the money for the meal. "Don't worry so much, Spike. I got it all planned out. We're not going back until tomorrow evening."
Standing at the windows, Spike turns in surprise to her. "Oh. Well, then."
"We're staying next door."
"I didn't bring my toothbrush."
The waitress suddenly takes an interest, "They give them out free in the lobby. . . anything you need. They're good about stuff like that."
Buffy returns the waitress's smile. "Sounds good. Thanks." Then, she exits the diner. Baffled by the turn of events, Spike follows her as she hurries toward the hotel lobby.
He catches up to her. "You paid for the meal. Let me at least get the room. It's kind of my fault and all. . . what with my skin being all flammable."
"Where did you get the money?"
Spike shrugs. . . at a loss for words. He is, after all, penniless.
"Besides, it's not like material things matter that much. I mean, all of Sunnydale is abandoned. Our house is overtaken by Slayerettes. I dunno. I figure I'll have to start all over again soon anyway, and if money is needed, Giles has access to all the Council's financial assets."
They enter the small but tastefully decorated lobby. The walls are a soft, pastel green and are dotted with large, beautifully framed Georgia O'Keefe prints. The floors are dark green marble, and long sofas artfully surround a table topped with a giant flower arrangement containing a wide assortment of wildflowers. The lights are dim and the air smells faintly of magnolia.
"Pretty impressive for a bump in the middle of nowhere, isn't it?" a woman's voice comes from across the room.
Buffy spies the owner of the voice and runs across the lobby toward her. "Ali! It's so good to see you!"
Ali beams at Buffy and embraces her tightly. "Haven't seen you in ages. . . since was it last year?"
Spike stares at the two women in bewilderment.
Buffy holds her hand out to him, and he approaches them somewhat reluctantly. Has this woman seen Buffy with Angel?
Ali shakes his hand immediately. "You must be Spike."
He almost snatches his hand away. "How do you know?"
Buffy clarifies, "Long story short. She reads minds. I've known her since I moved to Sunnydale."
"And she used to meet her dad here for visits," Ali adds.
"Used to. He hasn't really been around much since. . ." Buffy trails off.
"I know, dear." Ali pats her shoulder, and Spike is utterly lost about what they're talking about. Ali shakes her head. "Her dad is a piece of work."
"We need a room for today," Buffy says.
"Right." Ali holds up a couple of card keys. "Knew you were coming. Everything's all set. Room 24B."
"Thanks, Ali." Buffy grabs Spike's hand and pulls him toward the hallway at the back of the lobby. "You're the best!"
"You're quite welcome. You'll need a rest before what's coming."
"And Spike," Ali calls out as they're almost out of the lobby, "there're toothbrushes and. . . other necessities in your room."
Spike's eyes widen at Buffy, and he breezes past her. Buffy giggles, mouths a thank you to Ali, and hurries after him.
"Okay, that was weird," Spike admits as he shuts the door to the suite behind them.
Buffy shakes her hair down. "What? She's a sweetheart."
"She knows what I am." He unlaces his boots and pulls them off his aching feet. He feels like he's been wearing them forever.
"So? She knows what I am, too." Buffy touches his shoulder as he walks by to plop in the chairs near the bed.
"There's only one bed in here. If she knew I was coming, you'd think she'd be better prepared."
Buffy sighs. She has to lay everything out for him sometimes. "Well, I think we'll manage. Why don't you go get some ice? I'm kinda thirsty, and I'll take a shower first."
"If she knew we were coming, shouldn't the ice already be here?"
"It'd be melt-y, silly."
He sighs and stands again. "Okay, but save me some hot water."
Spike grabs the plastic bucket, pockets the card key, and heads down the hall to find the ice machine. Finding the ice after several minutes of searching, he hurries back, eager to sit on his butt and do nothing for a few minutes.
The shower is running when he gets back to the room, and Buffy comes into the room as soon as he closes the door. Her hair is wet, and she's wrapped only in a towel. He can smell how clean she is from several feet away. Inwardly, he groans. He's been doing a good job of ignoring how physically beautiful she is, but he knows her petite form is hot from the shower and bare underneath the short cloth. His pants are tighter already. She must know what she's doing to him.
"Okay," he agrees hurriedly. If he can get in there as soon as possible, he'll have a chance to rid himself of his arousal, and she'll never know the wiser.
Buffy observes him going, trying to ignore her own lust. She listens to his clothes fall to the floor. Swallowing hard, she starts to vigorously brush her hair to distract herself from thinking about him naked in the shower.
Half of her wants to rush into the bathroom and join him in the shower, but the other half of her still fears being alone with him in just such a place.
So, she sits in front of the bedroom mirror and continues to brush her hair.
Minutes later, the water shuts off, and he pokes his head around the door. "Mind if I come out in just a towel for a minute?"
"W-what?" Buffy doesn't mind at all. . .wants to know what she thinks of his body now that she thinks of him differently, but she's a bit curious why he wants to parade in front of her.
"Well," he says uncomfortably, "have you ever tried to put jeans on just after a shower?"
A laugh bubbles forth before she can stop herself.
"What's so funny?"
"It's just. . . I understand. Shows you that you shouldn't wear your jeans so tight. What've you been doing around the girls?"
"Waiting 'til they're out of the house during the day."
"Oh. Come on out. I'll just go in the other room and brush my teeth. They feel a little fuzzy after no brushing."
Spike falters but opens the door, feeling a mite self-conscious. Buffy sucks in her breath and hurries past him into the steam-filled bathroom.
She discovers that he's already brushed his teeth and fixed her a toothbrush. Smiling at his thoughtfulness, she scrubs her teeth and tries to distract herself from how much she wants him.
She stares at the blurred version of herself in the steamy mirror. What is she doing. . . here with Spike? What is she trying to accomplish? She's not really sure. She just knows that soon she'll have to go back to Sunnydale and face Caleb and the First.
Rinsing her mouth, she makes a decision.
"Spike. Come here a sec," she calls.
A heartbeat of quiet passes. "Hang on."
She hears a thumping, and then, he's next to her. . . just close enough to take her breath away in the warm room and just far enough away to not touch her. Heart pounding, she faces him and brings her face up to his. She hovers there for a moment, reaching out to rediscover his forehead and cheekbones with the fingertips of her left hand. Now touching him means so much more than it ever did in the past.
But how can she convey that to him?
"Hey," she breathes, not realizing she had been holding her breath.
"Hi," he murmurs back. He shifts his gaze from hers, severing the connection she's attempting to foster. "You do know where we are, pet."
"Then, wh. . ."
She pushes forth through the slowly dissipating steam. "I want this."
And she repeats her motions from earlier, bringing her lips to his with all the tenderness she can muster. This time, he responds in kind, returning the kiss but backing off almost at once.
"Do you really?" he asks.
She nods, green eyes wide in earnest.
He scoops her hand up in his and backs out of the bathroom. "Not in here then. I-I can't."
She nods wordlessly and allows him to guide her back into the bedroom. He directs her around until she perches on the edge of the bed, and he bends over her.
She smiles, half-sad and half-grateful that he thinks he has to ask each step of the way. "Yes."
She draws him forward as she leans back onto the soft comforter until he is on top of her but not putting any weight on her. Her damp hair splays out around her slim shoulders, and she studies his serious expression. His blond hair is wet and curling across his forehead, and she wants so badly to hook her fingers over the edge of the towel at his waist and release the cloth from his hips.
But first, she has to feel him on top of her. . . wants to know if his desire for her is as strong as her own for him. Running her fingers over his the skin covering his ribcage and sliding her fingers down his back, she pulls him closer until he groans and gives in to resting his weight atop her.
He's almost embarrassed that she can feel his desire between her legs, and he tries to distract her by covering her mouth with his own and caressing her warm tongue with his cool one. She tastes like mint toothpaste and faintly of pickles and chicken.
He has never tasted anything so heavenly.
She moans softly as the kiss deepens, and she is heady with the tingles that are flowing over her body as one of his hands moves over her hips and one entwines in her hair, cradling her head. She responds to his touch on her hips by pushing them up against his. She continues to kiss him as her hands move to the towel around his waist, loosening it until she can pull it aside. The towel across her breasts is too short to cover her thighs, and she feels him dangerously close to her core.
He groans and buries his head against her neck. "Buffy. I don't know. . ."
"Please. . . Spike, this is what I want."
"What do you want. . ."
"You. Touching me. . . against me. . ." She forces him up a little and wriggles the towel loose so that it falls away from her skin. She waits until she can hold his gaze. ". . . making love to me."
He hesitates at her choice of words, and she nods to confirm.
"Come. . . go with me," she whispers, tracing his lips with her fingers.
And with a low guttural noise, he gives in to her. . . like he always has.