| Blood and Mistletoe by Holly |
| Chapter #5 - V |
| A miserable day passed. A long, dull, uneventful day spent watching every holiday special the television had to offer. She sat empty-handed, every now and then flexing her fingers with the blind expectation that he would appear at her side. It was as though a part of her had been severed—something she hadn’t known long; hadn’t known long enough. For a day, they had been glued together, and now the day was over. As was, it appeared, everything else. Buffy really had no one to blame but herself. Evidently, Xander had phoned Cordelia at Angel Investigations before he and Anya left for Oregon and explained the situation in hopes of their having some influence—or, at the very least, funding. A later conversation with Wesley confirmed that Angel had about flown through the roof when he learned that his unruly grandchilde was literally stuck by the side of his former girlfriend, and bullied some local vendors into upping the delivery date of the solvent. In a matter of minutes, the Slayer’s world had collapsed. The look on Spike’s face had been unreadable. Not beyond surveying her for reaction, but more distant than she had ever seen him. It only got worse after they were released; he had jerked away from her and stormed to Giles’s bedroom with a defiant slam. And despite however much she had tried to persuade him, he refused to come out. Now a day had passed and she felt empty. Empty and ridiculous for feeling empty. It was impossible to develop these sorts of feelings in a day. She knew that. And she should have been grateful for what happened. After all, had it not, she would have made a terrible mistake. The sort of mistake budding relationships with men she didn’t care about simply didn’t recover from. At least, that was what she told herself until waking up in her own room the next morning and suffering through the dreaded oh-god-that-happened-yesterday replay. The house was big and empty; she didn’t realize how much she had been looking forward to a Christmas at Giles’s apartment until she toddled downstairs to the smell of her mother not-making breakfast. Her mother was making breakfast in another town for the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, Giles’s present remained unfinished, and her heart was broken because of a stupid vampire and some stupid glue. Well, more stupid Xander calling stupid Angel who had to ruin everything with his stupidity. Buffy glanced to her right hand that was no longer attached to his. Stupid glue. Stupid crush. Stupid crush that was now oh so much more than a crush. Her feelings were muddled except for that. There was no questioning that. One did not go to bed at night after suffering through something like that and wake up the next morning feeling miserable because of it. Because the small-minded men in her life didn’t know when to butt out. Because she had stood on the brink of something wonderful only to have it ripped away from her the moment it was within view. Make love, she had said. Of all the ways to…and she had chosen that one. And then she panicked. She had been so ready to make love with Spike one moment and had chickened out the next. The PTB had offered her a way out and, being the big chicken that she was, she had jumped at it. Grabbed it, hogtied it, and started up the fire. And in the process ruined whatever the vampire felt for her—or disrespected it to a degree where reconciliation was out of the question. It was something, too. He felt something. Something powerful. She hadn’t recognized it until it was too late. Hadn’t known how to perceive that occasional glow of affectionate softness until he dropped her reservations and allowed her into his light. So what did this mean? Her heart was hurting and her head was full. In a day, her crush had turned into something so much more. Something that made her ache. Her body was broken and her eyes refused to remain dry. Every Christmas special ended in happiness, guaranteeing much use out of the Kleenex box that remained faithfully at her side. Make love, she had said. Make love. She had used the word aloud. She had looked at Spike and said love. But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Her mind refused to leave it be, but it didn’t mean anything. But if it didn’t, why did she feel this way? Why were her temples throbbing? Why couldn’t she keep from reaching for a new tissue at everything Christmassy, from Gap to Hallmark? Why was she hurting? It didn’t make any sense. He was just a stupid vampire. It wasn’t as though she… Buffy froze. Her heart stopped. Her eyes went wide. And the world rolled off its axis. Oh God. No. She did. Did not. She loved Spike. Not true. So not true. She was completely, entirely, agonizingly, and helplessly in love with Spike. Oh God. What an appropriate moment to be interrupted. Buffy leapt off the couch the moment she heard the doorbell ring, her head spinning so fast it was a miracle when she didn’t fall back down again. This was the way it happened in the movies. The main character reaches her epiphany and then the doorbell rings with her love on the other side, soaked with rainwater and looking for all the world like he could ravish her on the front porch if he weren’t so consumed with angst. Of course, her life being as it was, it came as no surprise whatsoever that it was Willow looking abnormally perky. Her life wasn’t like the movies—vampires in movies never caressed her or cared for her the way Spike had last night. Her revelation came at its peak, and now her best friend was here and… Buffy blinked. “Riley?” Willow frowned and shook her head. “No. Me, Willow.” “Will, why is Riley here?” She shrugged. “He was strong enough to help me move the big chest?” As if on cue, the girls stepped aside as Riley ploughed inward, nodding at Buffy with a goofy aren’t-I-being-so-helpful look on his face. She returned it best she could but there was no feeling behind it. The chest. They had gone to Giles’s for the chest. “I just thought we needed to finish it, right?” Willow added obligingly, searching her face for reaction. “And since Xander and Anya are out of town, I thought I’d call Riley and see if he—” God, they had gone to Giles’s place. “Yeah, we need to finish it,” the Slayer agreed with a forced smile, trying to quell the pounding of her heart. If they had gone to Giles’s, they had seen Spike. Had he said anything? Was he there? Was he okay? Why wasn’t Willow asking why he hadn’t been chained up? Why wasn’t Willow asking about what had happened? Why wasn’t Willow asking why she was there at all, and not house-sitting like she was supposed to be doing? What if Riley had killed Spike? Well, no. Extreme much? That was ridiculous. Spike didn’t have VAMPIRE tattooed to his forehead, at least not to someone who didn’t know what they were looking for. She was just being paranoid. And God, how it was showing. “Spike?” Buffy asked abruptly, unable to contain herself. “Did you see Spike?” A frown pressed upon the redhead’s lips. “Yeah…” she said slowly, trading a long glance with Riley. “Well, I spoke with him on the phone before we got there…a-and he helped us move the thing into Riley’s car. Buffy…” There was a long pause that ended once the Witch realized that the Slayer couldn’t read her mind. “Did you know that he was…ummm… out and about?” Buffy shook her head. “Is he okay?” “What?” Riley’s voice penetrated the air with deathly seriousness. “Did you two have another fight?” He grinned humorously at the perplexed look on Willow’s face. “These two can’t seem to decide if they’re getting married or not.” “Yeah, because that’s not going to need an explanation,” the Slayer muttered. “Buffy?” “I…uhhh…” I’m in love. I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it. Yeah. If only. “I…we should work on Giles’s thing, right? He gets in tonight and we still don’t have the lid or the engravings…we should…really…get working.” They were both staring at her blankly. Yeah, Buff. Way to make with the smooth. Oh thank God. Phone. Buffy smiled apologetically and edged away with body language that could not be misinterpreted. With any luck, it would be her mother wanting to chat for an hour and a half about Christmases past and how she wished she could be there to share it with her, especially since it was her first Christmas away from home. But it wasn’t her mother. “Hello?” A long, tortured pause and she heard him inhale. And just like that, the room started spinning. Oh God. “Buffy.” The Slayer’s eyes fell shut in waves of relief. The world threatened to crash with the sudden abandonment of the weight that she had been carrying. He had called. He had called her home. Spike was on the phone and he was calling for her. God, he sounded as though he was in as much pain as she was. “Spike…” Her heart thundered furiously. “I’m…I’m sorry. It…I didn’t mean what happened. I shouldn’t have said it.” There was a pause, then a long sigh of concession. “Yeh, luv. Figured that much. Was jus’ callin’ to—” Gah. “No, not that. Not what I said when I…unless you didn’t mean it, either. I was talking about what…I…I shouldn’t…” She frowned miserably. “Why is this so difficult? What I said to you in the…I meant that. I didn’t mean what happened after that.” Another long pause. She could practically hear the seconds ticking away. And with every lingering beat, her heart wrenched with the conviction that he was about to bark something degrading about how every couple that gets glued together goes through a thing where they want to ‘shag’ each other silly. And while he was humbled but not beyond amused at the notion that she was still in said phase, he was merely calling to respectfully tell her to ‘bugger off’ and leave him the ‘bloody hell’ alone so he could forget everything that happened between them. She waited for him to say that. Waited for him to break her heart. It never came. “Do you…” His voice was oddly shrill. “You mean it, sweetheart?” Sweetheart. A warm smile crossed her lips, spreading to every nerve in her worn body. Shades of reprieve washed over her body. Everything was going to be all right. “Yes. I—” “I need to see you.” There was a new note in his voice—anxious and desperate. A sort of sense that warmed her heart and made her pulse race with excitement. “I’ll be over in just—” It was just the sort of moment to warrant an unwanted interruption. “Buffy?” Riley poked his head around the corner. “Buffy, who is it?” The Slayer bit her lip, eyes wide. In just a matter of seconds, the tenderness from the other end had vanished. He had gone silent in ways that would shame a monk. Unfortunately, Riley was a miserable disaster when it came to reading body language and failed to interpret her seething glare as means to shut up and walk away. Instead, he presumed a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Buffy?” There was a hiss as though the vampire sensed the nearness of proximity, and her heart jumped. “Buffy,” Spike said lowly. “What. Is. He. Doing. There?” “He and Willow dropped off the chest,” she explained hurriedly. “You knew that. Will said they dropped by and—” The man at her side refused to waver. “Is that the fiancé?” It was more out of habit than anything, but she opened her mouth and said the one thing she shouldn’t have said. The one thing that held the power to make everything worse. “He’s not my fiancé.” And that was it. It was over. Spike growled lowly in her ear and slammed the phone on the hook before she had time to amend. Buffy’s eyes went wide and her body froze—indifferent that Riley and now a curious Willow were staring at her. In a chance to make everything better, she had instead ruined whatever had been left over to salvage. It had happened so quickly. So quickly. And it was over now. The phone fell from her grasp as her hands fought to find the nearest surface. Oh God. It was over. “Buffy?” She glanced up to her friend’s face, uncaring how she looked. “That…that was Spike. He…he wanted to…” And in a snap, it all came together. Nothing overly climactic. Nothing that wouldn’t have come to her otherwise. Just the knowledge—the recognition that she wasn’t the protagonist in one of those cheesy romance films who cried over the men they loved when it came to silly misunderstandings. She was much more than that. She was the Slayer, and she knew what she had to do. Her mind wracked with newfound determination. “I have to go.” Riley frowned. “Go? Buffy—” “I have to go. Will.” She stopped again and searched the redhead’s eyes imploringly. “Something’s happened. And I’m not going to…I’ll call you later.” “Buffy—” “Just…try to get the chest done, all right? Take all the credit. All of you. Giles will like it. I just…” She shook her head. “There’s some place that I gotta be.” No more games. No more excuses. No more hiding. No more glue. There would be nothing between them at all. Nothing but honesty. That or nothing at all. They stared at each other for endless seconds. Him unattainable. In the doorway, his gaze a stonewall—far from her reach. She suspended on the porch, a half-smile on her face, her right hand dangling mistletoe above her head. Long seconds of nothing. Warred feelings, hurt glances, and deep breaths that she could not identify as his or hers. Her heart was thrumming much too loudly to take anything into account. It was the longest silence of her life. Buffy licked her lips and shrugged lightly when nothing happened. The incessant declaration of it’s too late rang mockingly in her head, but she would have none of it. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late. Not for them. Not when they had only just begun. “I brought mistletoe,” she said lamely. The storm behind his eyes flickered. Then it was over. Before she could pause to take a break, Spike had seized her by the shoulders and dragged her over the threshold, assaulting her mouth with his. And that was it. Buffy moaned her relief into him and dropped the twinleaves to the ground, her arms wound around his neck with vigor. The door slammed behind her and she was propped up against it the next second; the vampire devoured her like a man starved, whimpering against her needily as he encouraged her legs around his waist. One arm wriggled to her thighs, the other hand scaling up her body to cup a breast. The world was falling around her and she didn’t care. All that mattered was she was here. She was in his arms and he was kissing her into the next life. It didn’t occur to her until he wrenched his mouth away to pepper her throat with ardent, desperate kisses that oxygen was something she needed. And still, it didn’t really matter. His arms were around her, his lips were on her, and his erection was grounding into her. All else could vanish for all she cared. Rapture was being served on a silver platter, and she wasn’t the type to make the same mistake twice. “Christ,” Spike moaned. “What took you so long?” “I didn’t…I…” Buffy smiled and shrugged, tugging him down for another kiss. “Insanity?” He nodded hurriedly, hands—wonderfully void of glue—dropping to the hem of her top and whisking it over her head before she had the chance to protest; that in itself being the furthest thing from her mind. His lips found her throat again almost immediately, and he worshipped her skin while all else fell around them. “Must be,” he agreed, sinful tongue caressing her jugular in long, sensuous strokes. “God, I nearly went outta my mind.” She clenched him tighter at the words, tugging the patent black tee off his sculpted chest and consigning it to the floor alongside her discarded top. Then his skin was bare for her exploration. Her fingers traced patterns over forgotten scars, marks on a body that knew age as others might know wine. Each imperfection telling another story, making him perfect in ways she could not comprehend. Her mouth dropped to his shoulder, hands curled around his arms as his teeth began nipping at the straps of her bra. God. And she had nearly thrown this all away. All for what? How stupid can I be? Suddenly, he pulled away, depriving her aching body of his wicked mouth with such candor she nearly feared it all a dream. That she was in her bed, cold and alone, and Spike still hated her. It didn’t last long. His voice broke through her fear. Sent small waves of reprieve to every nerve. “Buffy?” he said softly. “Buffy, look at me.” It was then her eyes were practically sealed shut. A kind sea of blue greeted her when she summoned the nerve to obey. Even with everything that had happened before, she had never seen him look at her like that. “Buffy,” he said again, brushing a few unruly locks of golden hair away from her flushed face. “Are you sure?” God, she had never been more sure or unsure of anything in the whole of her existence. She only knew that life would be a little worse if she walked away now. A little worse to be followed by a steady dissent as days went on until it was unbearable altogether. She had walked away once. She never would again. “Yes,” she gasped at last. “God, Spike. I’m so sorry for yesterday. I don’t know what…I’m just…I want you.” He moaned in protest. “Want you, too, kitten. So fucking much. So much. Jesus…” He released a ragged breath and smiled as best he could. “For as bloody long as I can remember.” Buffy nodded, tugging him forward to ravage his lips, her hands dropping to the waistband of his trousers. “I was scared,” she confessed between heated kisses, her bra joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. “Wanted you so much…then it was happening. Didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t—” Spike bowed his head to her breast and engulfed a rosy nipple into the icy inferno of his mouth. “Means you’re mine,” he rasped, seizing her lips to ward off any imminent protest. It was another few minutes before either could form words. He grinned at her winningly. “Always have been.” The certainty in his words shook her down to her core. “Oh?” “Absofuckinglutely.” He ran his tongue over his teeth in a manner he had to know turned her on almost more than his mouth and hands on her body. “An’ I’m yours. Christ, can’t you feel it?” Nimble fingers tugged at her nipples, reeling her in for another round of Death by Spike Kissage. “’ve felt it. With you. ‘S so different. More than anythin’ I’ve felt before.” A whisper of his tongue against the pulse of her throat. “Din’t know, though. Couldn’t. Not until…God.” “Ohhh…” “Buffy…” His teeth tugged at her earlobe. “Upstairs.” “Huh?” “Not gonna do this against a door. Want you upstairs. In a nice warm bed. Wanna worship you like you deserve.” He buried his face almost shyly into the crook over her throat, planting small kisses on every patch of skin he could find. “My goddess.” Buffy’s head dipped and she hugged herself to him. Her skin tingled with words, her mind drowning in promise. She nodded before she could fathom anything but, and he stole gravity from her the next instant. It was a slow spiral from the foyer of the loft to the tangled rumble up the stairs. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself bounced on the springs of what could have been any mattress and rough, eager hands tearing her trousers down her legs. “So beautiful,” Spike murmured, his voice coaxing her eyes open. He looked like a fallen angel at her bedside, clad in nothing but unbuttoned jeans that would find a home on the floor if she had any say about it. A sanctimonious seraph looking at her as though she was the link to redemption itself. Standing in a shade of blue, melting in blood and snow. “So fucking beautiful.” “Spike…” “God, I—” The Slayer released a slow whimper and sat up, yanking at his jeans with renewed conviction. A resounding gasp sang through the air as his erection sprang into her waiting hands, cold surrounded in an onslaught of heat. His head reeled back, his fingers threading through her hair. Buffy smiled kittenishly and rubbed her cheek against his hardness, her hands cupping his sac with delicate reverence. This was the first time she had ever truly studied a man—never having been brave enough to ask such a thing of Angel. And Parker? That was laughable. Spike…there was trust there that hadn’t existed before. Not with him—not with any man. It was special. It made what they had special. Different. A step away from the childish world of shielded adolescence and into the maturity that had waited too long to welcome her. She caressed him slowly; eager fingers running laps up his length before taking again to his balls. Savoring every shudder that rippled through his body. Such to the point that when her tongue came into play, it was nearly natural. Sight and touch quenched—she needed to taste him. To see if he was as delicious as he looked. Spike gasped at the first hint of her mouth on him, hips jerking forward. “God, Buffy.” She murmured approvingly, lips surrounding his belled head. She curled her right hand at the base of his erection, squeezing her encouragement as she massaged his sac in a way that was new yet familiar at the same time. There was no demand behind his slow, half-involuntary thrusts—just wrangled moans and gasps. Worshipful praises rumbled in a voice overwhelmed with impassioned arousal. Her instincts overcame her fear. And for every whimper he betrayed, every shiver that waved across him, she was all the more rewarded. Then suddenly his hands were at her shoulders, pushing her back to the mattress with such haste she felt so crudely that he might as well have spat in her face. One look at his smoldering gaze, though, whisked away all doubt. Well, almost all. A girl needs some reassurance every now and then. “Did I…” Buffy flushed and looked away. Never had she foreseen a situation where she would find herself so thoroughly vulnerable. “Did you not…did I do something wrong? I thought you’d…like that.” It took a few endless seconds, but his stare turned incredulous. “Did I…pet, another second of that an’ I would’ve embarrassed myself. Not to mention given you a surprise I don’ think you’re ready for.” He licked his lips and shoved his jeans down his legs. He took no shame in his nudity and it was hard to avoid staring at the evidence of his desire. Wondering how she had begun to fit him in her mouth. And, more so, how he planned to… There she was, blushing again. Luckily, Spike seemed too preoccupied with the other bare and blushing parts of her to pay much attention to her face at the moment. “You drive me wild,” he purred. “Absolutely wild.” He was on her the next second; wrestling hot kisses from her mouth, hands taking a venturous track down her body. “God, Slayer, I’ve wanted you since that firs’ moment.” “Glue?” He pulled back and smiled kindly into her eyes. “No, sweetheart. The other firs’ moment. The real one. The kind that only happens once.” His gaze kept trained on her face as he lowered his lips to her breast. “You taste so good.” Fingers slid down her abdomen and hooked under her panties. “So warm an’ sweet. My quivering goddess. So beautiful.” Coherent thought, failing. “Uhhh…” “From the firs’ moment, baby. At the Bronze. Saw you dancin’ with your mates an’ have wanted this ever since.” His lips began working down her body. “More than I ever realized. More than anythin’ else.” Buffy cried out when she felt his tongue encircle her clit, her eyes wide with awe. She had thought this alone to be one of the things girls talk about but never experience. Spike’s mouth on her pussy, pushing her to levels of ecstasy she hadn’t known existed. “I knew it,” he gasped, sinking his tongue into her, lapping at her juices. “Felt it.” His fingers had taken to the distended sliver of flesh and were stroking her into the next world. Her body was drenched in sweat and her heart was thundering so hard it hurt to breathe. And it was worth it. Oh God, was it worth it. The strokes of his tongue, the caresses of his touch. Breeching every boundary her experience had placed and setting them so far out of reach that no one else would ever come within view. A long sigh rumbled through him. Relaxed. Peaceful. Strange that he should be so with her underwear wrapped around one hand, the other teasing a nipple as he lay between her spread legs. His mouth occupied where no man’s had thought to touch her. He could set her aflame and sooth the fire in one stroke, and it felt wonderful. “God,” he gasped, head snapping up. “God, I love you, Buffy.” That was it. The world stopped. Time came to a standstill, and everything crashed to the quaking ground. Her eyes popped open and her hands found his shoulders, clutching with need that did not have a name. He had frozen above her—his face alight with sudden panic. “Oh God.” “Spike—” “Buffy, I—” “You love me?” She sat up slowly, cupping his face. “Really?” “I…” There was a silent few seconds before his eyes fell shut in defeat. “I shouldn’t have said it. I—” “I love you, too.” And just like that, the world started moving again. Everything set back into place as it should be. He was looking at her again with wonder, though there was hope buried in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. A sort of light reserved only for moments like these. “What?” She smiled. “I love you, too. I don’t know how it happened…or why. But it did. I love you.” And then, in a classic twist of feminine illogic, her profound happiness conveyed itself to tears and she burst into uncontrollable sobs. “I love you so much. And I’m so, so scared.” A powerful revelation in itself. It was a rare day when Buffy Summers admitted to any form of weakness so reflective. “Bad things happen when I love,” she explained. “Bad, bad things. And—” A tremble ran through Spike’s body and his face softened at her tears. He had her cradled to his chest almost instantly, hand running soothing strokes through her hair. “No, kitten. There’s no reason to cry. No reason.” He palmed her cheek delicately; thumb flicking at the watery manifestation of dread. “Not now. You have any idea what love does to me? How deep I feel it? I’m never lettin’ you go. Not after this.” “Really?” He nodded fervently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I don’ leave, sweets. ‘S not in my networkin’. Never left Dru. Not once. An’ the only reason she kicked me out on my firm, lickable ass is because of you.” She smiled a bit and poked him in the side. Spike smirked at her even as kindness danced behind his eyes. It was strange—seeing that expression there. Knowing, innately, he had always kept it even if guarded. Knowing now that she was the source of it. “I don’ leave. Wouldn’t have left her ‘f there hadn’t been some nudge.” “I—” Spike pulled back slightly and tucked wayward locks of hair behind her ear. “She knew, ‘course. About you. ‘Bout how I felt about you. Drove her right batty, it did. Well…” He paused mischievously and winked. “More so than usual. I mean, honestly. A Chaos Demon?” He spread his arms demonstratively. “Really?” “Her loss, my gain.” Snappish. That tendency of being the jealous type was nagging insistently at her side. “My gain, you mean. Can’t thank her enough for what she did. Sendin’ me back to you.” He whispered a kiss across her lips. “I din’t know, though. Had to suss that one out on my own. Even when she up an’ told me, I din’t know what she was sayin’. Took Red’s spell for me to open my bloody eyes.” He pressed his brow to hers. “Took bein’ glued at your side to know it was real. Everythin’ was real. Wanted it to be a spell so bad, but you have to look at life differently when she’s curled up right beside you. Drivin you outta your mind.” His lips dropped to her throat. “An’ you did. Drove me outta my mind. An’ when I thought you…there was a chance that you might’ve felt…” Buffy blinked. Had he opened her mind and started reciting her inward journal? Or perhaps. Just perhaps… “I love you,” he said again, encouraging her against the mattress once more, his fingers suddenly reminding her of their presence as he parted her nether lips and slipped two eager digits inside her. “So much it hurts.” She frowned. “Hurts?” “Only in the best way, baby.” He grinned, retracting his touch from her womb with a murmur of complaint before he turned his hand to himself to coat his length with her juices. Then he had positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her slippery folds with the feel of him. However, for all the lust on his face, he managed to stop and turn serious. Allowed his love to pour through his eyes. Allowed her to see everything his inner barriers had kept guarded behind uncertainty and words without sound for what seemed like forever. “Last chance,” he murmured, calm brogue betraying his need. “We can wait ‘f you want, sweetheart. ‘F you don’ think we’re—” Buffy’s hands shot to his forearms and her legs tied around his waist, and she had propelled him into her before he could finish the thought. They shared a heated moan at union. He was so deep inside her. So deep. She had never been so filled. And it was wonderful. Her neck arched backward. “Oh God.” “On second thought…” Spike’s jaw clenched, his eyes falling shut as the most gorgeous look of bliss overwhelmed his features. He withdrew from her heat with a noted struggle, then slammed back into her before he had a chance to miss her warmth. “Waiting’s overrated.” “Entirely.” “Ohhh, fuck.” His head collapsed against her shoulder, his stilled hips arching forward in slow, deep movements that seemed to reach every part of her there was to reach. “Fuck, so tight. Fuck fuck fuck.” Buffy grinned, linking her hands behind his throat. “Monosyllabic, much?” He growled and withdrew with a sharp thrust that rapidly turned that grin into a surprised gasp of pleasure. “Condescendin’ bitch.” “Hey!” “With stupid hair…” Buffy’s nails dug trenches into his forearms. His movements were gaining momentum, every inward spiral succeeding in the support of her continued fall. For whatever he said, there was love in his eyes to contradict it. Love to redefine her expectations. To make him just as he was—Spike, whether he be snarking with her at the Bronze or pounding her into the mattress at Giles’s apartment. He was as he was. And he loved her. “Who I fucking adore.” Spike dipped his head to the column of her throat and licked a wet path to her lips. “I love you, Buffy,” he gasped, thrusts growing sharper. “God, you feel so good.” “You too.” Her eyes fell shut and her face contorted with pleasure. Experience notwithstanding, she would never have thought it could be like this and maintain gentility. Never thought something so simple would, for once and for all, draw the line that separated lovemaking from sex. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.” Spike’s eyes closed tightly as he visibly struggled for that blessed last strain of control. It was a gorgeous battle to watch. Thrilled her to no end. Knowing that she was at the final tunnel of that journey. “Never,” he gasped. “Never been like this…” “Never,” she agreed. “I’ve never…oh God.” “Tell me this is real.” Another fear he was helping her answer. Even with him pistoning deep within her, awakening emotions she hadn’t known to be resting, she feared it all but a dream. Locked away in some inner turmoil where she would never dig it out. But it had to be real. It had to be. And she told him. “Real. It’s real.” He thrust deeper into her, and she arched with a muffled cry in turn. “Oh God. So real.” Spike clenched his jaw as his pace increased. Words were superfluous now for everything else they had said. They had spoken on every level there was to speak. There was nothing left that wouldn’t resort to plain reiteration, however much it was craved. Needed. With every inward plunge, the glow behind his eyes softened with love. Looking at her as though willing her to be anything but real. Demanding that if this was a dream, the PTB wake him now before the extent of their cruelty played out. At that moment, he was the embodiment of perfection. “Buffy.” He pulled away completely, lingering so the very tip of him caressing her outer folds. Her eyes went wide. “Spike!” “Mmm,” he purred. “Love that sound.” “Oh God…” She wriggled desperately. “Please!” “Love you.” With an insolent swirl of his hips, he slammed into her again. Her head flew back into the pillows and she mewled, her Slayer muscles contracting to pleasurably painful depths. Had she been aware of anything, she might have panicked for fear of hurting him. Everything else was gone. The world had turned into a maze of color “Say it, Buffy,” he gasped, reaching another rapid break. “Say it again.” She nodded urgently. “God. I love you. I love you, Spike. I love you.” He started moving again and she gasped stridently. “…I’ve loved you…for what seems…seems like forever.” Their pants merged into one collective as his thrusts grew frenzied. She became tighter and wetter with each parry—she was close, so close. So far within the bounds of that one moment of perfection that she had always fantasized in some form of reality. The same she thought she had experienced but had always wondered for the opposite. She felt his hands on her—one brushed her hair from her eyes as he caressed her lips with a kiss, the other traveled the length of her body and slithered between them. His mouth returned to her throat and imitated its path, sketching an alluring pattern southward and suckling her nipple between his teeth. And that was it. That tight ball of contained rapture had wound to full circle. “Oh God,” she gasped, arching off the bed. “I’m…” “Love you. Love you so much.” “Yes, yes. Love you.” “Love you.” He massaged her clit in speeded, tortuous circles. “Always.” “Always.” “Come for me, sweetheart.” “Oh God. I—” And that was it. With a final thrust, she arched and began to tremble, tunneling her nails into his arms as his name rumbled through her throat. An explosion of sensory followed—she felt it with everything. Every nerve in her body wound and cried out in an impulsive parade of elation. The stars that she had always thought proverbial danced in front of her. There wasn’t an inch of her body left to rejoice. And he followed her, quenching her fire before she gave in to the burn. Emptying himself as his hips surged forward, desperate for as much as she would give him. Hours later, it seemed, when he lifted his head to study her face, he melted with an endless expression of wonder. “Christ almighty…” he murmured. “Never.” “Never what?” “Felt anythin’ like that. You’re amazing.” With a sweet smile, he lowered his cheek to her chest again. “You all right?” Buffy grinned and stretched, encouraging a moan through his system when she inadvertently squeezed where they were still joined. “I’m perfect.” “Told you as much.” He brushed a kiss at the swell of her breast. “Not squishing you?” A scoff. “As if.” “Good, ‘cause I’m all comfy.” In direct contradiction, though, he rolled them over so that she was sprawled across him. He slipped out of her warmth with a unified murmur of complaint, but tugged the blankets until they were covered. A far cry from just two days ago, when she had demanded clothes and a good three feet of distance. It seemed a lifetime had passed since then. Buffy smiled contentedly at the thought, etching mindless patterns into his chest. “Definitely it,” she decided. “What?” “Best Christmas ever.” “Oh, right.” Spike raised his head at that, eyes finding the small digital clock at the bedside stand. “An’ appropriate, too. Happy Christmas, pet.” “Past midnight?” “Jus’ now.” “I’ll take your word for it.” She snuggled happily against him. “I’ll have to get your Christmas present later.” “Oh?” “Didn’t know I loved you when I was all with the shopping. Besides, after-Christmas sales. Always a bonus.” She felt him smile and his arms tightened around her. “You’ve already given me everythin’ I could’ve wanted, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Nothin’ can hope to top what you gave me tonight.” The notion warmed her, but she pinched him in jest. “That mean I’m not getting a prezzie? Humph. Some boyfriend you are.” “Oh, so my endless love an’ devotion isn’t enough for you?…an’ did you jus’ call me your boyfriend?” “Well, the title is up for grabs.” Spike blessed her with that gorgeous smile of his and succeeded in taking her breath away for the thousandth time that night. “Not anymore, it’s not,” he growled, kissing her fiercely. “An’ no girlfriend of mine goes without a shiny from her personal sex-god ‘round Christmastime.” She arched a brow teasingly. “Sex-god?” “Makes us well matched, eh, kitten?” He smirked and stretched beneath her. “So…whaddya gonna give me?” “Ummm…” Her hand slithered between them, taking his cock into her grasp. She smiled as he grew within her hold. “How about a happy?” Spike rumbled a moan and thrust his hips forward encouragingly. “I love this holiday,” he decided. And Buffy, for once, could not argue with him. TBC |