Fifty-Eight Summers Ago


Now- 2010


Buffy felt the warmth of the sun tickling her age-weathered skin and mocking the chill crawling its way inside her. With her eyes concealed by dark sunglasses, she gazed at the coffin as it was lowered into the ground. No stranger had the right to witness her heart shattering.


She knew this day would arrive, for nobody lived forever, but nothing could have prepared her for the incredible pain of losing Spike. They had been together for fifty-eight years-- loving, needing, arguing, and comforting, but most of all never ceasing to live for the other.


As Buffy watched soil getting thrown on the shiny surface of the coffin, a part of her died--that piece he’d always held in his possession.


Her heart.


People surrounded her, offering their solace, but she’d never felt more alone.


Two days ago, she’d stirred awake, shivering, knowing something was wrong. In all those years together it had become second nature for Buffy to feel his warmth next to hers-- his arm draped over her waist, his legs entangled with hers. But not now. There was only coldness. Spike had died in his sleep and for that she was grateful, but nothing could ever fill the emptiness in her soul he’d left behind.


One day, without a shadow of any doubt, Buffy knew she’d see him again. When she close her eyes for the last time, he’d be there--for their love transcended mortality.


She could still remember the day their lives had changed, forever to be intertwined.


Then- 1952


Sixteen-year-old Buffy Summers rushed out of the house, laughing as the summer breeze caressed her skin and ruffled her long hair. School was out, and as she ran barefoot through the meadow near her house, she swore she could fly. This was what it felt like to be free.


The sun beamed down on her, the grass tickling her ankles as she twirled around with the big skirt of her yellow dress brushing against her calves.


Her heart pounded wildly beneath her breast, making her feel alive as she collapsed to the grass-blanketed ground. If her mother could see her sprawled here in such an unladylike manner, she wouldn’t hear the end of it. Her skirt rode up to bare her thighs as she bent her knees.


Buffy giggled and picked up a white flower, bringing it to her nose to take a whiff. A smile spread across her face, and she tucked the bloom behind her ear, flinging her arms to the sides. She wasn’t particularly worried about staining her dress. She wished she’d worn trousers. It would make running and climbing so much easier.


“Summers, having a good day I gather?”


Buffy’s eyes snapped open as she scrambled to sit up, frantically adjusting her skirt so it covered her bare skin. Her eyes widened as she peered up into the smirking face of the most gorgeous and unattainable boy in the small town of Sunnydale. The white hair and erotic sensuality clinging to his very essence couldn’t belong to anyone else.


William ‘Spike’ Pratt.


Buffy gulped, wishing for a hole to appear and swallow her whole. What must he think of her? Why did she have to be so foolish and let her wild side get the better of her? How long had he been watching her? What if there were blades of grass in her hair?


His arched eyebrow told her she’d been quiet way too long.


“H-hi,” she said, hating the way her voice trembled in his presence. Didn’t he realize what effect he had on her?


He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and Buffy couldn’t help but stare at his muscular forearms. “I hope you don’t mind me being here,” he said and tilted his head to the side, expecting her to answer.


She opened her mouth and closed it. Did she mind? She’d bake him chocolate chip cookies for the rest of her life if he stayed here. And she hated cooking.


“No, I d-don’t mind at all.” Her cheeks reddened as she dropped her gaze, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress.


His shadow momentarily shielded her from the heat of the sun, making her warm in an entirely different way as he sat down next to her. When his knee brushed against hers as he sat Indian style, Buffy’s breath hitched in her throat.


“I hope I’m not intruding in on you, luv. I didn’t know anyone would be here.”


Her brain refused to process the sentence past the point he called her ‘luv’, but when it did she suddenly felt naïve and silly. “I can go if you want to be alone. I mean, of course you would, that’s why you came here… to be alone and here I am, screwing things up and you know just tell me to lea--”


“Buffy.” He graced her with a genuine smile, one she’d always longed to be at the receiving end of. “It’s alright. You were here first after all.”


She took in a breath, embarrassed beyond all measure of her mouth running miles ahead of her brain. If he hadn’t interrupted her, she would have probably gotten close to blurting out she’d been in love with him for four years, seven months and exactly one week. If that happened, she could as well move out of town and try her luck pursuing a fabulous career as an actress. And that wasn’t the best idea since she’d probably end up as a washed out, sad bar singer with a fur coat eaten through by moths.


Grace Kelly, she was not.


He was smiling at her, and she could feel her cheeks blazing hot out of excitement and embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I-I do that. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”


Why did she have to say that? Was she out of her mind? Now he’d think she was a complete idiot, incapable of social interaction with strangers. Which she kind of was, but he didn’t need to know that.


“I make you nervous?” His blue eyes were glinting with mischief and she knew he was teasing her, not mocking her as she feared he would. In that moment, she fell for him all over again.


“A little. You’re--” 'Beautiful, intimidating, exciting, wicked and perfect. Will you please marry me?'


“What?”


She shook her head and restlessly picked at the grass.


“No need to blush, Buffy,” he said in a husky tone, which of course only made her blush even more. Could he know what kind of sinful things were running through her mind? How she craved to nibble on his manly jaw and suckle on that unbelievably sexy neck? How she longed for those powerful arms to--


“Buffy? Can I tell you something?”


She nodded, not trusting her mouth to act with her rational consent.


He took in a deep breath, his very firm looking chest expanding and straining against the tight material of his white shirt. And she just knew those top buttons were undone to torture and tease her with the smoothness of his sun-kissed skin.


'Focus!'


“I came here on purpose.” He regarded her from beneath those thick long lashes. “I saw you and I wanted to talk to you.”


Someone had told him about her crush! She never should have confessed her love for Spike to Willow. The girl never could keep a secret, and now he was merely trying to let her down easy. What would she do if she started crying?


“I have a crush on you!” she blurted out. “I’m sorry! B-but you just walk around with those dreamy eyes and nice arms and sexy smirk and I can’t help it!”


It was then that she noticed his brows furrowed in confusion, and she slammed her traitorous mouth shut.


'Oh God, I did not just say all that!'


She fought the sudden urge to flee so she could cry in privacy and retain the tattered shreds of her dignity. She was about to spring to her feet when his warm, masculine hand gently closed around her wrist, rendering her completely helpless to do anything but what he asked of her.


“Please, don’t leave.”


Buffy relaxed, but he didn’t let go of her wrist, and the way his thumb caressed her pulse point had her nearly fainting. And here she thought it was a myth created by the sappy romance novels.


“You… have feelings for me?” he asked.


She couldn’t look him in the eye. Not after she basically admitted to swooning over him.


“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”


“Don’t be.”


How could she not? She’d never be a girl Spike would like. She hated cooking and housework. She refused to wear her hair tied and didn’t even know how to put on make-up--something that came naturally to the classy girls like Cordelia and Darla. And boys always chased after them so they had to do something right, didn’t they? Nobody would ever want to marry Buffy, for she was a free spirit and as her mother said, men liked their women obedient.


“Buffy… look at me. Please?”


She did and her heart skipped a beat when he let go of her wrist in favour of caressing her cheek with the palm of his hand. “What I wanted to say was… I came here to talk to you because… I like you.”


Her eyes widened and she couldn’t comprehend the fact that Spike liked her. He liked her! Her. Buffy Summers. The town tomboy and freak.


“Y-you do? You’re not just saying that as a joke?” She wouldn’t survive it if he did. She’d have to go live at nunnery because whether he wanted it or not, her heart was his to keep.


“It’s not a joke. I like everything about you. Have for a long time, in fact. You’re so… different from other girls. So fascinating and sincere. Bloody beautiful too.”


She blushed. “I’ve always thought you liked girls like Cordy.”


Spike snorted and ran his hand through her hair. “Not likely. Silly chit can only talk about gossip and dresses. She’s not like you.” He gazed at her earnestly, his eyes deep and swirling with such soft emotions Buffy almost believed this to be one of her dreams.


“I’ve… liked you for so long,” she admitted quietly, encouraged by his genuine smile.


Spike’s smile turned into the cocky smirk that never ceased to make her knees weak. “Is it because of my devilish charm and good looks?”


She pretended to think about it. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re no James Dean.” She thought she must have been the world’s worst liar and judging by the grin on his face, so did he.


“Oh, baby… you wound me so. Careful or I might get used to the flattery.”


She batted her eyelashes. “Then I’ll do it more often.”


He laughed a little and pulled a blade of grass from her hair. Buffy groaned.


“Just a bit of grass. Nothing to fret about.”


“I think it’s fair to warn you that I always embarrass myself. And I can’t cook to save my life.”


Spike stared at her before letting out a chuckle that made her relax, her skin tingling in that delicious way. He was the only one capable of making her feel this way.


“Warning taken. I gotta tell you that I don’t mind either way.” He preened. “I happen to be an excellent cook.”


“Really?”


“Yeah. I’m a man of many talents.”


“I’m sure you are.” And why the hell did her voice sound all husky and brazen? Seriously, where was this boldness coming from?


Spike didn’t seem to mind as he leaned closer and stroked her collarbone. He nuzzled her cheek and Buffy could swear her heart would burst out of her chest if he kept it up.


“Can I kiss you?” he murmured against her neck, his breath tickling her sensitive skin.


She gasped as he encircled her waist, tugging her so close enough for her breasts to press against his chest. Her lower abdomen tightened, the warmth spreading through her entire body at the contact.


“Y-yes… please.”


He leaned back to look her in the eye and the way his gaze had darkened with passion had her grasping his broad shoulders.


“Have you ever kissed a man before, Buffy?” His voice had gone deep and low, creating a steady burn of breathless desire deep within her core.


“No.”


“You’re so sweet.” He bit his lip and caressed her bottom lip with his thumb for a few seconds that had her chest heaving so wantonly she wanted to hide from embarrassment.


“Close your eyes,” he whispered, and her eyelids lazily closed without hesitation. His breath was warm on her cheek as he leaned closer. “Lick your lips.”


She did so, the anticipation of his kiss melting her bones. Then his hand delved into her hair, caressing the back of her neck, the other squeezing her waist.


The moment his lips brushed with utter gentleness against hers, Buffy swore she could hear fireworks going off in the distance. The sensuous drag of his mouth was almost too much and not nearly enough. Her pulse thundered beneath her tingling skin, turning into molten lava in her veins as he pressed his lips more firmly against hers.


Before Buffy could fully enjoy the newfound sensations, Spike pulled back. He breathed heavily, his eyes glazed over. She whimpered at the sight of his parted lips.


“More,” she said, not caring that it made her unladylike. She needed him.


Spike regarded her with unhurried perusal, looking as if he wished to devour her. “I could show you something.”


“What?”


“Part your lips when I kiss you,” he said teasingly, but there was a rough edge to his voice that let her know how affected he truly was.


His lips were on hers again and Buffy sighed out in relief, parting her lips. What he did next had her moaning into his mouth. He caressed the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue before slipping it inside to seek out hers. God, she’d never felt this way before. This aching sensation of bliss. Pure desire made her body burn for something beyond her grasp.


Their tongues lazily rubbed against each other before he sucked slightly at hers, making her cheeks flush from the sensation. She mimicked his technique, following his lead, making him her slave just as she was his. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, hurtling her into a world where sensations ruled. She was helpless to do anything but obey and submit.


And the way he tasted. Like an exotic world full of forbidden flavours. It was exhilarating, sultry. The way his lips tasted of dark chocolate and lust. Buffy seized his shoulders and tugged him closer as she fell back on the grass, the kiss never breaking as he lay on top of her.


The first feeling of being half covered by a male body-- by Spike-- had her squirming. He was hard where she was soft, firm and strong and so deliciously exciting. The muscles of his back twitched under her searching fingers, his right hand resting on her hip. Their lips slid together at an unhurried pace, though the undercurrent of frantic passion wasn’t far behind.


Buffy nibbled at his full bottom lip; something she’d been daydreaming about during the boring classes or her mother’s lectures about propriety. He broke the kiss, but his lips still rested against hers as they both struggled to control their breathing.


“Buffy,” he whispered in reverence, and she couldn’t help but wish for him to forever say her name in such way.


“Spike,” she said in reply, hoping to convey her feelings through her voice.


They lay there surrounded by the scent of flowers and summer, their legs entangled, his taste forever imprinted on her lips.


In that moment she knew; had never been more certain of anything in her life.


One day, she’d marry this boy.


THE END