Buffy rested her head on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the various groans of the car. Apparently running over a cement divider was not conductive to the whole driving process. She needed to get out and check the damage and she would...any second now. She watched her hand shift off the wheel. It flitted over the cell phone flung haphazardly on the passenger seat. Stupid phone. It was all it's fault she'd crashed the car.
Okay, it might have had more to do with the shock of Rain's, presumed dead, voice on the line.
Buffy was still kind of fuzzy on what had happened. She remembered hearing Rain saying say something about a broken spell and then there was the big cement thing jumping out into the middle of the road. The important thing was that everyone was fine. Buffy stilled her hand over the silent phone and her fingers twitched. Yeah...fine. Burying her face on her arm, she flipped the dial on the radio and closed her eyes.
Any second.
Another day has almost come and gone
Can't imagine what else could go wrong
Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door
A single battle lost but not the war
The slow refrain eased into her heart and took root. Tears dripped silently down her face. Was it ever going to be easy? Were they ever going to see the end of this eternal battle they fought against each other and themselves? A vampire and a Slayer...it was utterly absurd. It couldn't end well.
End.
Please.
Even when this thing was absolutely, one hundred percent, over, it still wasn't finished.
Cause tomorrow's another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain
She should just drive. Keep going. Run hard and run fast...until that inevitable gravitational drag and drop which eternally existed between their hearts, pulled them kicking and screaming back into the morbid little dance. Sooner or later they'd end up killing each other. This time had almost been the one.
It's almost like the hard times circle 'round
A couple drops and they all start coming down
Was it destined to end this way? Were they supposed to destroy each other?
Yeah, I might feel defeated,
I might hang my head
I might be barely breathing –
but I'm not dead
Buffy raised her head as the songs lyrics twisted in her brain. She wasn't dead, not anymore, and neither was he. Vampire physiology not withstanding. They'd survived. Again. Survived each other. Again. For what? To pick up the pieces and move on? Apart? Together? What?
I'm not gonna let it get me
down
I'm not gonna cry
And I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight
She closed her eyes and saw him in her mind. Not the broken figure she'd created, nor the cocky bad ass he'd been, but the person he could be. The one that Willow and Sage had hinted at, the one she'd seen a million times, in dozens of tiny little ways. The man she'd tried to beat out when the reality of their transgressions became too much for her. Those same traits were the ones she'd clung to, later, lying curled in her bed in England...when she had nothing else to hold onto. The man he was, underneath the swagger, the smoke, the accent. The companion, the friend, the lover, the man who loved her. The man she...
Cause'
Tomorrow's another day
And I am not afraid
So bring on the rain
The car was in gear, Buffy shimmied valiantly away from her last thought before the final refrain could fade into the air.
Not this way.
A screech of twisted metal, a minor u-turn and she was back on the road.
If epiphany was going to rear its ugly head, then it was damn well gonna do it to her face...to his face.
It was exactly seven steps from the dresser to the bed. Nine from the door to the window. If you cut crosswise between the window to the dresser, a route could be established to all points in the room. That took fourteen steps. Spike was on step eight for the fifty-sixth continuous circuit.
On his way by, he glared at the bed covered with girly bits and slaying weapons. A loud, wholly inhuman roar traversed the house, threatening to rattle the windows from their panes. With jerky gestures and a mind of menace the comforter was cleared of all evidence a Slayer had ever unpacked there. The twang of metal and wood colliding echoed softly as they found rest on bits of satin and lace. Spike stared at the floor for a moment before flopping spread eagle on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He brought his hand slowly to his face and inhaled. Wrapped tightly around his fist was the briefest bit of a scarf.
Can't bloody well escape her. She's everywhere. Everything I touch, everything I see, feel, hear.
He lifted the scarf in front of his face and a self-deprecating smile crossed his lips as he spoke.
"I'm drowning in you Summers. Drowning."
Nothing's changed. Never going to. Never going to be free. Never.
Dropping the scarf, one hand fell over his eyes. The other twisted restlessly in the covers. He could smell her.
Mind, might be a spot simpler to escape if you weren't lying on her soddin bed!
Spike groaned and drove his fingers in his pockets, searching for his smokes with the mislaid intention of warding off her scent. His hand encountered a metal on his endeavor and he pulled it out curiously. It took a moment for his mind to assimilate what he was seeing; a small green tin of mints. He shook it slightly and the resulting rattle assured him that the previous owner had kept it stocked. He smoothed his fingers over the leather of his coat lifted the collar slightly, raising it to his nose.
She wore it? No, you wanker, it got mixed in with her stuff. Rubbed up against her things.
His gaze strayed back to the mints. With a sound somewhere between a sob and a growl, he closed his eyes and chucked the tin across the room.
Buffy took the stairs two at a time.
She'd just pulled into the driveway when the most god-awful roar erupted from the house and she'd wasted no time crashing through the front door and hitting the stairs.
Reaching the landing, she ran full out towards the bedroom, one thought pacing her steps.
Spike's in pain.
Fumbling with the knob, she threw open the door and stopped short as she was struck in the head by a flying missile.
Buffy stared down at the tin her hands had automatically lifted to catch. Raising her gaze slowly, she watched the vampire lying on her bed with a mixture of shock and humor crossing his features before all expression faded and he shrugged. "Yours anyway," he said before dropping his head back to the pillow and his gaze to the ceiling.
Buffy nodded slowly and crossed to place the tin on the dresser, the muscles in her back involuntarily tensed and then slowly relaxed one by one as her fingers stroked the smooth metal. "When?, "she said on a whispery breath.
"Bout the time you were trying to twist my head off, I suspect. Or right after, gets a bit blurry towards the end there."
Buffy watched her reflection in the dresser's mirror, listening to a voice that, if the mirror was to be believed, was not there. "Why?"
The silence was deafening and she wondered if he was going to deliberately mistake her question. But, apparently, he had come to the same conclusions as she had because his reply was a quiet and wholly heart-felt. "You know why."
Buffy squared her shoulders and turned slowly to face the bed.
Not good enough, Spike. Answer time.
He never heard her move. She had a stealth that could rival a vamps when she put her mind to it. All he knew was one second she was at the dresser, the next she had his chin in her little hand and was staring unblinking in his eyes. "Tell me why."
Spike ripped his chin free and shoved her away, bouncing off the bed in the process. "We're not going to do this, Slayer. We're not going to yank out all the pain and roll around in it so that you can convince yourself once again what a disgusting being I am. You already know it. Fuck, I know it. So let's just let the whole bloody lot drop once and for all. You can drag out that huge blanket of deniability you so enjoy, and we can both forget that we ever met."
"Would you stop! It's not that easy!"
Spike stared at her. His heart had jumped somewhere in his throat and his fists formed knots at his sides. She looked tired. His head tilted slightly at that and another distinction her body screamed washed over him. She was scared. He crossed in halting steps to kneel before her, his hands resting on either side of her hips as he stared intently into her face.
"Nothing about you is easy, Summers." He lifted a lock of hair off her face and tucked it softly behind her ear. "Never has been...never could be. You are..." His voice trailed off as his eyes traced the curve of her cheek before landing in the clouded doubt of her eyes. "I want to stop hurting you. I want you to stop hurting me. I just want this to...stop."
Stop.
Spike tensed as a flinch rolled over her skin and he recoiled quickly as if attacked. Words from that night scrambled in his mind and he found himself backpedaling on the floor until he came up against the dresser. "I di-didn't mean. I wouldn't...not...not...never again, Buffy." Spike wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees.
It could have been minutes, could have been hours, he had no clue. All he knew was that Buffy was kneeling before him, forcing his chin up. For once he couldn't read her eyes and it scared the shit out of him.
"I want it to stop too."
Spike gaped at her in confusion. This was the part where he became intimate with a pointy bit of wood, right?
Buffy Summers had been taken over by pod people.
That was the only logical explanation. Why else would the girl he'd loathed and loved and...loved to loathe, be sitting all cozy on the floor babbling about car crashes and epiphanies and...
"So I thought that, maybe, I might, somewhere deep...deep down, might, sorta, in some small way, could, kinda love you."
He watched her hands fold in her lap and twist on themselves before settling as the silence stretched between them.
"Spike?"
He raised a bemused gaze to her concerned face.
Buffy thought her heart was going to pound right out of her chest. She'd done it. She'd told him she loved him...pretty much, and now he was just sitting there staring at her with a slightly constipated look on his face.
"Spike?"
"Hmmm?"
"Aren't you...do you...what are you thinking?"
Spike jumped to his feet in a sudden blur of motion until he was towering over, anger vibrating through his body. "What do I think!? What do I think!?"
Buffy shrunk back a bit and nodded.
"Well, I'll tell you what I think." Spike paused as he made an agitated search of his pockets, coming up with a cigarette and lighting it before pointing the glowing tip at her. "I think," he said, through a stream of smoke, "that I just wasted the last five years of my bloody life is what I think! All those schemes and puppy dog panting I did, after your highly exalted self, and all I had to do was shove your skinny ass in the Desoto, send you out on a merry little jaunt and you kinda, maybe, might have, real deep down, coulda loved me!"
Buffy swallowed convulsively and looked away. "I didn't mean it like that."
Spike's face loomed in her view, a near snarl twisting his mouth and drowning his words in malice. "Then how did you mean it?"
Buffy spread her fingers out before him as if pleading for understanding. "I guess...I mean that...I don't know what I mean."
Spike roared and rose to his feet. He spun away from her and rammed his fist into the nearest wall. Leaning his forehead against the plaster, he began banging his head against it. "Bloody." Smash. "Stupid." Bang. "Infuriating." Thump. "Psychotic." Whack. "Aggravating bitch." Smack.
He flinched when her hand touched his shoulder blade and let his head fall for the last time. "Why are you doing this to me? Why are you lying to me?"
Her voice washed over his skin like a thousand tiny pin pricks, small and painful. "The least you could do is call me a liar to my face."
"Love to, pet, but my hand is stuck in the wall."
Spike flinched as he rotated his shoulder, some from the pain, mostly because of the petite woman striding around the bedroom, swearing. Shaking his head, he took off his coat, lit a cigarette off the one he was currently smoking and sat in a chair to watch the show. He could catch snippets of the one-sided conversation she was conducting, something about stupid, silver wanna-be gods and though he wasn't sure there might have been the odd bit about Red in there too.
The object of his fascination came to a grinding halt in front of his face. It took considerable effort to force his gaze up into her angry eyes.
With all the nonchalance a former Big Bad could muster, he threw one arm over the back of the chair, raised a sardonic brow that cleary stated, "Can I help you?"
He could see the effort it was taking her not to saw her tongue in half as she bit back what was sure to be a less than complimentary statement on his persona in general. "I said," she ground, between clenched teeth, "who in the hell do you think you are?"
Spike shrugged and picked a point well above her head to speak to. "Look, luv, it was a nice try. You almost had me there but we both know what's real here. The only way we work is between the sheets. You and I wouldn't make it in the light of day, figuratively speaking. It's not like we could set up in some flat and argue over the laundry. We'll never be friends and we'll never be lovers, not in the real sense. All we could be is fuck partners and as you recall that didn't work out so well. So turn your sweet little ass around." He raised one casual finger and swirled it in the air. "Go be the bloody chosen one and leave me be."
Buffy grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "Is that what you want?"
He wrenched back from her grip and made a show of smoothing out the material. "Not making myself clear enough? How's this? Get the fuck out. Even a lack wit like you could suss out the hidden meaning in that one."
Buffy stumbled back liked he'd hit her, shaking her head. "You...don't mean it. I know you don't."
Spike stared at the ceiling, the pain in his heart swiftly becoming unbearable. Please, he pleaded in his mind Please, just go before I destroy you. Lowering his head, his face bore no trace of the turmoil ripping through him. In its place was the cold impassive stare of a man with no conscience. 'I do mean it. How many times do I have to tell you, how many ways? I will always love you, Buffy, but...I. Don't. Want. You. Anymore."
He was facing the window when the door slammed shut. Lifting shaky fingers to the sill, he leaned his face against the cool surface and let the first of what he knew would be many sobs rack his frame.
So it came as a bit of a shock when something hard whapped him in the head.
Before he could figure out what the offending object had been, he was flying across the room and landing face first on the bed. He rolled onto his back in time to have an enraged slayer land on top of him. She grabbed his shoulders and pinned him to the bed before he could move. "You know I really didn't want to do it this way."
Spike tried desperately to gather back up the bits of bravado he'd been clinging too. "Do what luv? One more for the road?" Tongue curling over teeth, he braced himself for the inevitable blow, and was stunned as her mouth crashed onto his.
The kiss was so brief he almost wasn't sure it had happened because within seconds he found himself staring up into that 'little girl lost' look that made him melt. "I don't want to hurt you anymore," she whispered.
He raised his fingers, brushing the tips over her trembling lips. "Buffy, don't you get it, don't you see? It's not about you hurting me, I already know that this pain twisting around in my gut will never end but, luv,...I can't not...he stopped speaking and gripped her chin, forcing her to see him as his features shifted and the demon always squirming under the surface emerged. "Hurt you."
Buffy sat up slowly. He let her go, resting back on the bed, watching her. She'd leave. Now that she had to stare this farce in the face, the Slayer inside would make the only choice possible. He forced his eyes to remain open, needed to have the sight of her final rejection etched in his heart for eternity. Maybe it would be enough to keep him away.
Buffy's laugh was harsh. "That's it," she said, waving her hand in front of his face. "That's the best you got. I know what you are, Spike. Do you honestly think I didn't notice all those time you shredded through the bedding when you came? I know exactly who and what I was in bed with."
The huge jaw drop would have been quite comical in other circumstances but right now she was too pissed off to find the chuckles in any of this.
"You knew?" he stammered.
Buffy rolled her eyes in a silent duh.
Spike flapped his hands in the air. "You never..."
She raised a brow, intimately displaying her disgust. "Said anything? What was I supposed to say? Umm gee, Spike, while I'm pretty much using you as my own personal sex toy and punching bag, that is while I'm simultaneously ignoring that you exist, could you pretty please show me your fangs?"
Spike shrugged and took deep interest in the head board beside his face. "Coulda said something."
Buffy's hands shot out and ran over his face, turning him so that he had no choice but to look at her. "No, I couldn't. I know what this means. I know what you wanted." She traced the ridges. "Those marks on my back..." She dropped her hand and tilted her head, not menacing, just mildly curious. "Did you honestly think I would have let you claim me?"
He watched her for a moment before responding. "No, s'pose not." His eyes strayed to the holes in her neck and his body responded to one pressed intimately to his lower half. He sat up, bringing their faces within inches of each others. "And now?"
She wasn't sure of the answer to that question but her body seemed to have come up with its own conclusions as her head tilted to the side and her hair slid away from her neck.
He shook his head and buried his face in her chest. "You don't mean it."
She made no sound. Instead she ran her fingers through his hair, over his neck and shoulders to drop into soothing strokes up and down his back.
Tears dripped down his face as fangs scraped across her skin and she shuddered. He raised his head, prepared for disgust, surprised to find tears of regret shimmering in her eyes. He slowly brought their lips together, lightly caressing her mouth with his, careful not to cut her.
What am I doing!? She doesn't mean it. She can't, she wouldn't...
"God, help me," was whispered against her lips even as his hands dropped to her waist, slid beneath her ass and lifted her against him as he rose. Turning, he fell back towards the bed, landing roughly and trapping her beneath him. One arm slid from under her back to brace himself and he stared at her flushed face in frank fascination.
Eyes never leaving hers, he trailed his hand from her collarbone, across her breasts down to her ribcage and laid it flat against her stomach. She had one hand wrapped in the hair at the nape of his neck. The other was drifting across his chest, releasing the buttons on his shirt. He watched with a calm he was far from feeling as she reached the last button and pushed the material off his body. Her fingers were hesitant and slightly shaky as she smoothed them over his bare torso. Watching her flick and flutter over his skin brought reality crashing down. She wasn't sure, she was never going to be sure.
Wrapping his fingers in the mass of her hair, he forced her gaze to his. "Expecting something else, luv? Someone else? Still the same demon I always was. Same one that tried to rip you apart in that bathroom."
He watched a tear roll off her cheek and drop to tangle in her hair. "No, I'm just..."
Clutching her hip, he dropped his mouth to her ear. His softly-whispered statement made her buck violently in his arms.
"Tell me you want me."
He was sure she was going to shove him off and head for the door but her voice emerged, shaky but coherent. "I want you."
Spike raised his head and stared at her for a minute, gold clashing with green.
"Tell me you love me."
The muscles worked her throat as Buffy fought hard to swallow. "I...love...you."
Spike's eyes flashed fire at the obvious lie. "Shut up," he growled. Shoving himself up, he twisted to sit on the edge of the bed and let his head drop to his hands, a soft sob escaping his lips.
Soft, tentative fingers ran over his shoulder blade. Spike ignored it as he took a good long wallow in self pity. Finally he had no choice but to surface as he realized that Buffy had been sitting there for ten minutes tracing the same pattern over and over on his back. He glanced back over his shoulder to see her crouched behind him in apparent abject fascination with his skin. "What?"
Buffy jumped when he spoke and then dragged her eyes to his. He had no idea what he expected her to say but he knew it was not even in the same realm with the words she spoke.
"Tara died. So did Willow and Xander...and...you weren't there."
Spike knew that moment. He'd seen it before, those precious few seconds when your whole life depended on the choice you made. Song lyrics filtered through his mind 'should I stay or should I go'. Within seconds, he was settled back against the head board, a quietly crying Slayer in his arms.
Like I ever had a bloody choice.
"You know my name is carved in your skin, right?"
Spike stared at the top of her head. "Was aware, yes."
Buffy sat up and crawled off his lap to kneel in front of him. "So...why. Would be the obviousness here."
Spike itched slightly at his chest and shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
He watched the slight jut of her lip as she worked up to the question she wanted to ask. "And now?"
Sighing, he ran his hand along her jaw until it drifted into her hair. "Buffy, listen to me. We...us, is a bad idea. We know it, but..."
Her mouth opened on a soft breath. "But?"
He dropped his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "No matter how far away, I will always, always, belong to you. That's what it means."
Okay, so that whole face to face thing was a metaphor. It's entirely possible for the moment of truth to be back to face, right?
Buffy felt like she'd spent the last however many, years trying to solve a really difficult problem and then someone handed her the answer and full explanation.
With flashcards and slide shows, she mused wryly.
He'd erased bits of his past, he'd scarred himself...all in her name. Literally. She'd finally come to the realization that she'd been going about things all wrong. Through all the crap, she'd been looking at things with the viewpoint of what she needed. Needed to save her friends, needed to move to England, needed to chase after Dawn, needed to help the Council, needed Spike...needed...need...needy.
What about want?
Take away her friends, her Watcher, her sister, the Council, the Slayer and the vampire and what did Buffy Summers want?
Step, step, simple, precise.
Buffy loved Spike.
Now all I have to do is convince the idiot.
His equilibrium was slightly faulty from when she pulled him around to lie on the bed with her. Or at least that's what he was blaming his shaky fingers on as they lay taut against her stomach. It had nothing what-so-ever to do with the fact that she was bare from the waist up. He was still trying to suss out when she'd removed her shirt. Taking a deep breath he slid his fingers further and toyed with the button on her jeans before releasing it and then the zipper. He stared at her hips for a moment before lifting his gaze back to her face.
The beginning and the end.
"Last chance," he breathed with an unsteady tremor, watching her face for the slightest glimmer of hesitation.
She had to be remembering that fateful night in the bathroom. He knew he was. Laying his hand flush over her open zipper, he closed his eyes and waited for her response.
Which came in the nonverbal variety. With a tiny sigh that sounded part defeat, part relief she lifted her hips. Turning off that voice in his brain that belabored the inherent wrongness of it all, he slid down the bed and grasped the edges of her jeans, pulling the whole lot off in one swift motion.
Her choice. Right or wrong be damned.
Kneeling between her thighs, he took her hands and placed them on the buckle of his belt. She had to do it, had to be the one. Buffy sat up and he almost laughed at the picture she made, with her tongue caught firmly between her teeth as she concentrated on removing him from his clothes.
Within moments, they were both kneeling on the bed facing each other, not a stitch of material between them. His eyes roamed impatiently over her, trying to reacquaint himself with all of her at once. Buffy moved first, running her fingers over a wide scar across his thigh. The tiniest touch of her hand on his leg drove a sharp quiver through his system. It had been too long.
He was forced to lie down, before he fell down, as she was suddenly everywhere at once. He stared at her in wonder as she catalogued every scar, every muscle, every hair on his body with lips, teeth and tongue. Spike lifted an eyebrow when she began examining his toes.
"Not that I'm not appreciative but what in the holy hell are you doing?"
Buffy looked up from her intent perusal and a slight blush ran over her cheek bones. "I never...before... I never..."
Spike took her hand and pulled her up. "Never looked at what you were touching." Buffy nodded and ducked her head. Lifting her chin, he rained soft kisses across her flushed cheeks until he found her lips.
Buffy lips.
Mountain water after a week in the desert.
The last rays of sunset on a perfect summer day.
Home and hell all in one.
Releasing the embarrassment, she grew savage in her ministrations attacking his mouth, scraping her nails over her skin and grinding her hips against his in an eternal battle of power. He moaned quietly under the onslaught and drove his fingers into her hair as she clutched at his shoulders. Falling backwards, he dragged her over his body and tore her head away from his.
Buffy's eyes opened and she stared in something akin to shock as he seized her hips and forced to remain motionless.
"No, luv, not this time. We can have that later. Right now, we need..." His hands slid up her back in a slow easy pattern. "This."
A deep groan was ripped from inside when she lowered her head and gently kissed a path down his neck and across his chest. "Like this?," she breathed into his skin. Spike lost the capacity of speech as a fire erupted under his flesh and spun in an ever enlarging spiral through his system. Each lazy touch, each whispered breath increased the heat and sent jolts of painful pleasure coursing over and through him. With a rough growl, belying his previous words, he flipped her to her back.
He needed this so desperately his teeth ached. Needed her to see him, feel him...know him.
Leaning on his side, he grasped her wrists and stretched them above her head, watching her face for the first sign of reluctance. The words all or nothing flitted through his head as he waited. Buffy stared back with a single minded determination he hadn't seen in years and shifted her hip closer to his. Spike slowly released her hands with a look that clearly stated 'don't move' and ran his fingers in taunting movements over her skin. Up and down, over and over, he teased and caressed. Never dallying in one place for long. He needed his touch to be everywhere, needed his presence to linger on her skin long after today. Never once did he let her break their gaze as he slowly brought her body to a fiery pitch of pleasure and then subsequently tipped her screaming down into painful unfulfilled erotica.
Her body writhed on the bed, her thighs rubbing together and her shoulders and hips rising and falling on the bed in fevered need. Tears streamed from her eyes and her throat emitted a continuous stream of guttural moans as he continued stroking her. Down her hip, over her knee, up between her thighs, kneading the muscles and dipping shallowly into her warmth before continuing his path up over the slightest curve that remained in her belly, dancing over her ribs, smoothing the soft flesh of her breasts and back to her neck before he began the journey again. His name danced across her lips in waves of benediction until she gave in and closed her eyes against the onslaught of his determined gaze.
Stilling his actions, he rose above her, planting his hands firmly on either of her head and leaving a whisper of air between their straining bodies. "Open your eyes, Buffy."
Her eyes flew open and a mass of tears spilled out. He caught one on his thumb and brushed it across her mouth. "I don't have a soul, I don't have a beating heart, I don't have any of those things that men promise women when they pledge their love. All I have is blunted fangs and my eternal devotion. But for better or worse, they are yours. So please, if there is any compassion left for me in you, don't tell me pretty lies. Not now."
She slowly brought her hands up to cup his face, her thumbs tracing light patterns over his cheek bones. Lifting her face the inches that separated them, she slid warm kisses over his lips, against his nose and across his eyes before returning to his mouth. A slight smile curved her mouth as she lay back and lifted her hips, slowly rotating them in small, inward circles until she reached the center and started outwards. His arms were shaking under the pressure but he remained still as she opened her body to him and brought him along in the widening tide of her pleasure. Her ankles slid up his calves and locked behind his knees as she used the leverage to lift her hips and grind harder against his body. With one causal hand she wrapped her hand in the back of his hair and pulled his head slowly towards hers. He was mesmerized by the light and erotic passion dancing in her eyes depths as she ground against him and he so desperately wanted to go with her. Be with her. Be hers.
She kissed him once and then dragged his face into the curve of her neck. Her breath whispered along his skin and to drop in his ear. "It's okay, Spike. It's time. No more lies, no more pain, just us, just this, just now."
He wasn't sure when he started crying. Could have been when he finally let his arms down and slid them underneath her, partly to pull her closer, partly to just hold on to the one thing he had always wanted and never thought he'd have. Or it might have been when he started rolling his hips in rhythm with hers and his body remembered how perfect they fit. How no one, not ever, had made him feel so complete. But it was probably when he realized that the voice whispering 'I love you' over and over again wasn't his; it was hers.
"Buffy," he gasped. Turning his face to bedding, away from the temptation of her neck
She held him tighter and pressed her neck against his face. "Just now, Spike. Just now."
His fangs slid through her skin effortlessly and he felt the effect travel through her system. She tensed her body and bowed against him until she was almost bent in half. He started to raise his head but was stopped by the pressure of her hand on the back of his neck, pushing him tighter against her. She convulsed once and then slid back to the bed. Her legs climbed around his back and her hips rocked fiercely against his.
Spike was lost. His body was perfectly in sync in its opposite movements. For every shallow sip he took from her neck he drove deeper and deeper into her center. He felt when her breath caught and her body seized as the reaction pumped blood faster and faster down his throat. Ripping his head up, he stared into her clear eyes, as he said what he'd been dreaming of for five long years.
"Mine."
Buffy shattered around him as his roar pierced the night as went gratefully spinning into the abyss with her.
"So you and Angel never..."
Buffy shook her head. "A world of no. I was sixteen, the only thing I was thinking about was where my feet should go, not the inner workings of the vampire sexual psyche. So you can lay off the 'who got where first' any second now."
Buffy stared at the ceiling. This was the second time today she'd had the dead weight of a vampire splayed out on top of her. Wriggling her hips slightly, she felt a residual tingle work its way up her spine and grinned. Much better this way.
Spike raised his head and lifted an eyebrow at her amused look. "What?"
Buffy turned slightly to face him. "Nothing," she said, running her fingers over his collar bone.
He took her hand, stilling the movement. "We need to talk."
Buffy nodded, trying to school her features which kept threatening to break out in a huge grin any second.
"Why, luv? Why now?"
"As opposed to why not before?" At his nod, she sighed and freed her fingers from his grip. "We've been through hell and back, some our fault, some not, but in the end it's always been the two of us until..."
"It wasn't," he finished for her. Guilt at not being there when needed clouded his eyes.
"Right, until it wasn't and stuff happened and you weren't there to pull me through...pull me back and I realized how much I needed you to be there." There, she breathed, Simple.
"You realized you loved me."
Or not.
"No, not then," she said slowly. And quickly scrambled to grab his hand as he started to pull away. "But I knew I needed you, not just this," she gestured to the bed and their general state of undress. "You, the guy that held my hand when I came back, the one who patted my shoulder when my mom was sick, the guy who made stupid jokes at my birthday party, the guy who would have done anything to make me smile. You, Spike, I need-, no, I wanted you."
"But what about...why don't you hate me?"
She lay her fingers against his lips. "There are things that can't be forgiven...by either of us and we can either wallow in them or we can put them away. Spike, I love you. Not in a hearts and flowers kinda way or in an 'oh, you grew on me, kinda way but here." They both looked at their hands entwined over her heart. "It's good and it's right and it's ours."
He brushed his fingers over her forehead. "I love you, Buffy Ann Summers."
"I love you, William Christopher Aldridge."
Spike smiled back at her and then his forehead crinkled in confusion. "How'd you know my name?"
Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and slid their bodies together. There were a million and one things to share about the events that had got them there and where they would go from here but right now... "No more talking. Talking later."
Spike lowered his head and nipped at the fresh bites. "Right you are, Slayer, right you are."
Epilogue.
Two heads lifted as a loud roar and a high scream dove through the ceiling, making Rain and Ian jump slightly.
Ian shook his head, a wistful smile crossing his features. "You know we haven't renewed our claim in-"
Rain shoved his hand off her thigh. "In a week. It's been one friggin week."
Ian shrugged and ducked his head. "It's been eight days, technically longer than a week."
His gaze drifting over the assorted herbs on the table, Ian raised a brow. "Are you sure we should be doing this...I mean without telling them."
Rain sighed in frustration. "We are going to tell them...after. Now shush and hand me that baggie."
"Something tells me they aren't gonna be too pleased to know you're binding them without permission."
"Maybe not at first but once they get used to the idea..."
"Rain..."
Rain slammed her hands down on the table. "Would you want to watch me grow old and die."
"No..."
"Then hand me the damn herbs."
"Fine," Ian said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But if they get pissed, I'm letting the Slayer beat you up."
Rain leaned over and kissed him soundly, extracting the bag from his grip. "No, you won't."
"No I won't," Ian grumbled under his breath as he turned back to futz with the mecca of ingredients on the table. "What's this?"
Rain raised an exasperated eye to the small business card Ian was holding. "Oh, that's Sage's replacement."
"They get replacements?"
Rain shrugged. "Apparently. She stopped by when you were in the shower."
Ian tossed the card back to the table, his eyes tracing the letters.
Willow
Lessons of the Heart division
A/N: Thank you to every single one of you who reviewed, emailed, and asked about this fic. I am without words on how amazing you all are.
I do have a few extra notes of gratitude to say.
To Trisha: Never, ever would have been able to do this without you.
To Heller: For your eternal support.
To Ali: You deserve the plaques and so much more.
To Brandi: From one fan girl to another.
Thank you all.