IV
Spike doused out the taste of blood with the rest of Buffy’s bottled water, his skin tingling simply to sample the place where her mouth had been. The night had, at some point, stretched into a lifetime. He prayed for darkness to battle the light a little longer. There were a few hours of Halloween left; a few precious hours in which he could keep her. She slept in his arms, her head on his chest and her legs tucked beneath her. She stirred and murmured contentedly every now and then, but was otherwise completely lost to a comfortable void. To peace that he marveled that he could provide.
She had no idea what she did to him. How much trust she had placed in him by simply falling asleep.
Tonight was more than he thought he would ever be allowed. Simply being with her was an aphrodisiac, but she’d let him in. She’d opened the door to her heart to him, and he found himself for the first time with absolutely no idea how to proceed. He wanted so badly to do right by her. Wanted to make decisions that were for her benefit and not for his—wanted to bear in mind that she wasn’t fully all right, despite the brave face she put on. Her friends demanded so much from her, and she obliged them out of some observation of a duty that didn’t truly exist. They wanted her to be happy. It was important for them that she be happy—such to the point that they blamed her for their unhappiness if she failed to appease them.
Living in a world of blissful ignorance was no excuse. Death wasn’t something that anyone could walk away from with any measure of ease. To assume that she could come back and be peachy keen in a matter of days, even if she was liberated from some tortuous hell dimension, was absolutely absurd.
They made living miserable for her, only she would never admit it. Not aloud, anyway. Not even to herself.
To see her in such pain made him ache. Buffy had been torn from peace and sent back to the Hellmouth. No one should ever expect anything from her ever again. She was a true fallen angel. She was as close to Heaven as he would ever hope to get. And for whatever reason, she had chosen him.
She was in his arms tonight because she had chosen him.
He just had to be careful not to bugger it up. The fact that he had her so close was absolutely terrifying. With every breath he took, every moment he stole, he was certain he would do something to ruin everything. That she would realize who she was with at last. That she would come to her senses and leave him.
Or worse…that she would accuse him of taking advantage of her. That he would let himself go in the warmth of her arms and lose control.
Being near her was a clear sign of masochism. She had kissed him and he had pushed her away. He needed her to know that it wasn’t about that for him. He loved her, but he didn’t expect payment for his friendship. She needed a place where people didn’t expect anything from her, and he wanted to be the one to provide it.
Buffy murmured something and shifted but didn’t waken. The movement made him tremble, as small as it was. He felt every breath she took. She was so close to him. If he touched her, she wouldn’t disappear. She was the embodiment of everything he wanted. The manifestation of a thousand angry, pleading sobs to the Powers to make the pain of her death go away. To heal the wound his heart had suffered the minute he saw her lying motionless in the sun. Always in the sun. Always a step away from where he was.
He’d talked to her every night since she died. There was patrol with her mates, then the inevitable visit to the place where she was. The place that was supposed to have been her resting place. He’d wished for death more times than he could count, but was tied down with the promise he’d made her. The promise he’d failed to keep.
A hundred and forty seven days, and then it was over. And for whatever reason, she was in his arms. She was with him.
He wasn’t a creature that the PTB would ever reward, despite the fact that he felt he’d earned it along the way. He’d earned it for being brave enough to challenge the nature of his kind, though only for that. He’d failed Buffy too many times to be worthy of anything else. Therefore, Spike could only assume that it was borrowed time. It couldn’t last. He was a vampire. She was the Slayer. Nothing had changed, and it couldn’t last. He wasn’t fool enough to believe it. He had done nothing to deserve paradise.
Except now he knew how wonderful it would be to have her, and letting her go would rip him apart.
The other option was something he refused to consider for fear of getting his hopes up. That voice that whispered that this was real. That Buffy was with him because she felt something for him. She’d all but said as much tonight when she wasn’t talking herself in circles. He knew she wanted him physically, but having that part of her without the rest of her would eventually kill them both. Tonight, if nothing else, had shown him as much. He couldn’t have just her body without having the part of her that she had given him thus far.
Spike exhaled deeply and glanced down again. She looked so peaceful, curled into his side. As though the worries that plagued her nights had finally given her rest.
He turned his eyes back to the telly and downed the rest of her water, tossing the bottle to the other side of the crypt. He knew he should wake her up and let her know that it was time to go home, but he hadn’t the heart. She’d told him of the nightmares that haunted her sleep, and if he could give her one night away from that, he’d move mountains to make it so.
“Mmmm,” Buffy cooed, shifting again.
He smiled at her, brushing his lips across her brow. “I love you.”
A grin flirted with her lips at that. “Love…Spike…”
He froze for a long second but shook it off. She was sleeping. Not much could be read into that. He refused to let the subconscious murmurings of his Slayer inspire him with hope. Instead, he kissed her forehead again and turned his eyes back to the television, where The Silence of the Lambs was beginning to play on AMC.
“Uhhhh…”
He glanced back down. “Buffy?”
No reply. Must be dreaming. He pursed his lips and glanced down the sofa to the pack of abandoned Reese’s, grinning goofily to himself.
If nothing else, tonight had been a night he would never forget.
A notion that was all the more solidified when he made a move to reach for the Reese’s and inadvertently caused Buffy’s head to slide from his chest and land on his crotch.
Spike went numb.
Oh bollocks.
He sat completely motionless for several long seconds, contemplating the new predicament. Buffy didn’t appear bothered by the movement. Rather, she released a sensual sigh and rubbed her face against him before settling once more, and he could’ve sworn his blood was on fire.
All right. S’okay. You din’t do this on purpose. She’ll understand that.
He snorted to himself at that. Right. In what universe?
“Mmmphfff,” Buffy moaned, draping an arm over his leg, nudging the bulge in his jeans with a move that his body interpreted as sensuous. “Need…”
Spike gasped and threw his head back. “God, why me?” he moaned pitifully. “You wankers up there think this is funny, do you? Get me this close an’ then—”
“Spiiiiike.”
He glanced down. “Buffy?”
“Uhhh…”
It hit him out of nowhere. An aroma so powerful, the gods would fall to their knees in reverence. Spike willed his eyes closed and moaned softly. God, she was…she couldn’t be…
Then he felt her lips caress his leg through his jeans, and he knew.
Oh God.
“Mmmm…”
“Bloody hell,” he whimpered. “You’re not makin’ this easy on me, pet.”
Buffy didn’t reply. Rather, she straightened her legs, so she was stretched across the sofa. Her arousal painted the air and the feel of her against him like that—nuzzling him, for Chrissake—was driving him out of his mind.
“Buffy…”
He didn’t know whether he was pleading with her to wake up or encouraging her dreams to become more active. He didn’t know what to do with his hands; didn’t know if he should try to lift her off his body or caress her in encouragement. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew what he should do. Of course he knew what he should do.
God, he wanted her so much.
“Spike…ohhh…”
Hearing her whimper his name like that wasn’t doing much to ease his erection.
He didn’t want to move her. He didn’t want to wake her up. He didn’t want her to leave the crypt. He didn’t want to ruin the night because his cock wouldn’t obey him.
If she awoke and bolted because of this, he would never forgive himself.
Buffy murmured again. “Need…”
Fuck.
No good could come from this. She either awoke with her face against his cock or by him shoving her away to avoid temptation. Either way, he was completely buggered.
Spike drew in a deep breath. Better to wake her up.
And ruin this?
No. Better to try and move her.
That proved to be a bad decision. He started nudging her down his lap—thankfully off his erection—then realized if he nudged her anymore, she would fall onto the ground.
Moreover, moving her had graced his nostrils with a powerful whiff of her desire. He was a man completely lost.
Bloody hell.
Spike blinked, barely aware of how hard he was panting. Well, here you are, you right git. How do you get yourself out of this?
She was asleep. She was murmuring, but she was asleep. And his erection wasn’t going anywhere. Especially with her arousal swimming around his head, her body pressed to his. This was going to be awkward no matter how he tried to spin it.
Do the decent thing an’ wake her up!
His hands had other ideas. His hands were in the process of unbuttoning his jeans. Too bloody tight, he told himself, a thought that vanished the second his cock sprang into his waiting grasp. Buffy was lying in his lap and she was dreaming of getting to know him biblically, and he was, after all, just a man.
“Spike…”
“Oh Christ,” he gasped, stroking his shaft in time with her whimpers. “Buffy…oh my God.”
His eyes were glued to her. The look of guised pleasure on her face as the Spike in her subconscious did god-knows-what to her body. He stared at her intently, pumping his cock as his mind flashed to a thousand different scenarios. A thousand different possibilities to what she was dreaming. How she saw them together in a world with no fear of repercussion. He saw them moving together rhythmically. Saw himself pinning her hands above her head as he thrust himself deep within her wet haven. Saw himself laving her throat with kisses, pinching her nipples with eager fingers, massaging her clit. Saw himself with her, curling up behind her, his arm over her middle. Saw her smile when he told her how much he loved her, and felt his body warm when she murmured how deeply she loved him in return.
Buffy shifted again, just slightly, her hands sliding down her abdomen, coming to rest above her denim-clad pussy.
Oh Christ.
Spike willed his eyes closed, stroking his erection furiously. He was so close he could taste it.
“Ohhhh…” she moaned.
For a second, he could’ve sworn his heart had started pounding. “Buffy!”
The cry reverberated loudly through the crypt, and it was over. Her eyes opened, and the earth stopped spinning. Spike froze, his hand stilling around his cock, his gaze deadlocked with hers. In a blink, everything was gone. He’d ruined it. God, he’d ruined it all.
“Oh God,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I din’t mean to…I wasn’…I wasn’ tryin’ to, but then you were…oh Buffy, please don’t—”
Buffy sat up just slightly.
“God, baby, I din’t mean to. Please don’…we had fun tonight, yeh? We had—”
Then something happened. God, something happened. She curled her fingers around his wrist, and he released his cock immediately.
“Sweetheart, I din’t—oh Jesus!”
Her hand encircled him timidly and she flashed him a shy grin. His world changed in that grin.
“B-Buffy?”
She didn’t say anything. Rather, her hand pumped him slowly, her eyes glued to his face. He wondered for an insane minute if she thought she was still dreaming. God, shouldn’t he tell her that she wasn’t dreaming?
“Sweetheart, are you—”
Her tongue lapped at the head of his erection, and rational thought flew out the proverbial window. Spike’s head flew back, a long moan tearing through his throat. “Oh Jesus.”
Buffy murmured her approval and took him deeper into her mouth, suckling sweetly at his skin. She squeezed the base of his cock, her eyes trained on his face, and the wealth of pure adoration that poured through her gaze clenched his unbeating heart. She looked at him as though she had just discovered gold in paradise.
“Buffy,” he whimpered, his hips thrusting forward of their own volition. “Fuck, what are you doing to me?”
She drew her head back and released him with a wet plop, her hand stroking him fervently in the absence of her mouth. “I’m loving you,” she replied, and the skies came tumbling down. “I’m loving you.”
His eyes misted with tears. “What did you say?”
“I’m loving you.” Her mouth returned to him, pressing a path of sweet kisses up and down his length, her body shifting slightly to get a better angle, lying across his lap. Her other hand dropped to his balls, squeezing him gently. Her eyes never abandoned his. “I love you, Spike.”
Oh my God.
“Am I dreaming?” he demanded. “God, Buffy, tell me I’m not dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming.”
Shivers of pleasure raced through his body, tailed with euphoria that he was too cynical to trust. He cupped her cheek tenderly, watching in awe as she laved his cock with her tongue. As she took him deep into her mouth, sucking him into oblivion. Her words hung in the air around them, and he dared himself to believe it.
She smiled wisely as though she knew what he was thinking, humming against his skin. She drew her lips to the head of his erection and suckled sweetly. “You like that?” she asked, her tongue curling around him.
“Oh God!”
“I’ve wanted to tell you all night,” she said, her tender lips caressing him, kissing a wet path to his sac as her hand pumped him furiously. “I’ve been looking for a way. I’ve been too scared to say it.”
“Scared?”
“Mhmm.”
“Buffy—oh fuck!”
It was as though the century before had not existed. Had there been life before her, he didn’t want any part in it. So much time wasted in death only to be handed back life from the only one who could truly give it to him. He was blinded with her radiance, torn apart by the weight of what she gave him without even realizing it.
Her hand was around his cock and her lips were caressing his balls. Spike screwed his eyes shut and drowned in sensation, attempting to concentrate on anything that would stave off the immediacy of his orgasm. He was too afraid that this would end once he reached fruition. That despite her words, he would find himself in the middle of a dream that could never know reality, and she would vanish as she did after he awoke, and he would be alone once more.
A long, needy moan played upon his lips when her mouth returned to his length. “Buffy!” he gasped, leaning into her.
“I’m here,” she said, seemingly calm, though he heard a tremor in her voice. As though she was as overwhelmed by what was happening as he was.
Spike shook his head against the sofa. “Oh God…” Her teeth scraped his belled tip just slightly and he jerked in surprise. “Fuck, you gotta…I can’t…”
Whether or not he ever finished the thought, he didn’t know. His body took over where his mind remained uncertain, thrusting forward into her hot, wet mouth. She hummed in surprise, but didn’t deny him her touch. Rather, she drew him as far into her as possible, until his head brushed the back of her throat, and she began swallowing around him.
“Oh God!” Spike gasped, back arching off the sofa again. His eyes flew open and found hers, and that was it. The sight of her gaze trained solely on him with her mouth wrapped around his cock completely did him in. “Buffy—”
She nodded her understanding.
“I—I’m—”
Then it was over. He tumbled into oblivion with a passionate roar, fingers fisting her hair as he emptied himself into her welcoming throat. He’d always thought that the old adage of seeing stars was nothing more than a romantic’s notion, but god tonight, he knew it was true. With her mouth around him, her arousal perfuming the air and the confession of love on her lips, he had never been closer to Heaven. And he wagered for everything in the world that it was as near as he’d ever get.
Buffy had given him stars.
“Oh my God,” he panted. “Oh Buffy.”
Her tongue was busy licking him clean.
“Buffy…ahhh! Please…” He reached for her, and amazingly—amazingly—she obliged him. The next thing he knew, she was straddling his waist, and her mouth engulfed his in a fiery kiss. Spike’s blood sang, and this time, there was no pulling back. She devoured him in her hungry inferno, her tongue dancing with his, her hands at his shoulders, then around his neck. There had never been a sweeter homecoming.
It was over in a blink. Her mouth left his softly and she extracted herself from his embrace, leaving him in a daze on the sofa.
“Sweetheart?” he asked, his voice ragged, an octave away from pleading; an octave that fell the next second. “Don’t leave. God, please, don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” she replied, turning her hands to her jeans as she kicked off her shoes.
Spike’s unbeating heart raced, his eyes wide as she stripped her pants down her legs. “Oh God…” He met her gaze again, forcing an awkward smile. “You sure I’m not dreamin’?”
She smiled back and shook her head, turning her attention to his trousers where they were bunched awkwardly at mid-thigh. “You’re not dreaming,” she murmured. “I promise.”
“Buffy—”
“I told you…I love you.” Christ, she’d said it again. She’d said the words again. “No more dreaming. For either of us.”
Spike felt her tug off his boots and socks. Watched as she tossed his jeans atop hers. And then she was back in his arms, nipping his throat, the wet cotton of her panties teasing his cock. Her mouth found his again, and he melted into her kiss.
Real. It’s real. This is real.
“Buffy…” He thrust his cock against her center and moaned loudly when she took him into her hand again, stroking his shaft with something akin to reverence. His head snapped back and his eyes went wide. “Oh Jesus.”
She pressed her brow to his, panting harshly. “Spike…”
“My li’l sweetling.”
“Mmm…” A sly grin spread across her lips, and she rubbed the head of his cock with her thumb. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
He smirked. “Always,” he agreed, leaning in to nibble on her ear. His hands came to rest at the hem of her top, and he tugged once before glancing at her uncertainly. “Can I?”
Buffy nodded eagerly. “Please.”
Spike swallowed hard and kissed her, his body rejoicing in the simple feel of her lips moving against his. He was trembling uncontrollably as he lifted her top over her head, eager eyes drawing in the sight of her. She wore a simple lace bra, outwardly unremarkable, but somehow on her, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, fingers tugging at the straps.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck and licked at his skin. “Please,” she whispered.
“What, baby? What do you need?”
She drew in a deep breath, her head reeling back. Then she reached between them, grasped the sides of her panties, and to his utter astonishment, ripped them clean off her body.
“Bloody hell.”
“I figure these just get in the way.”
A slow grin played on his lips, and he kissed her, working the clasp of her bra with deliberation that betrayed his enthusiasm. “I’ll say,” he agreed with a growl. “Fuck, if I have it my way, you’ll never wear knickers again.”
She perked a brow challengingly. “Is that so?”
“Not if I have a say.”
She smiled and brushed her lips against his, her hand wrapping around his cock once more. A long shudder ran through his body as his head brushed against her wet curls, her skin slippery in want of him. It was really happening. God, this was really happening. Buffy was naked on his lap, her eyes shining with love for him, and she was about to take him into her body.
It wasn’t a figment of his imagination. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a fantasy. Buffy was really with him now.
She really loved him.
“B-Buffy…”
“Shhh,” she urged, kissing him again. And then she sank onto his cock, and his body was purged in bliss. She was so warm. So tight. So perfect. Her muscles clenched around him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and she released the most beautiful little sigh he had ever heard.
“Ohhh, God,” she breathed.
“Ahhh…”
“Spike…” She met his eyes uncertainly. “I…it’s been a while.”
Knowledge rippled through him. He was her first. He was the first one to know her body in her new life. Her second life. The first. God, she’d practically given him her virginity, only it was more so, because she’d already experienced sex and understood the implications of what she was giving him. It wasn’t new, but it was. Like her life itself; new but old. Riley had been out of her life for practically a year now, and it’d been god-knows-how-long wherever she was.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kissing her cheek.
“I just…I don’t want to disappoint you.” She glanced down. “Bad time to mention it, huh?”
“Bloody hell, Buffy, you could never disappoint me.”
How on earth could she think such a thing?
A small smile fluttered across her face. She settled her hands on his shoulders, lifting herself off his lap with slow agony before sinking down again. He sighed again, throwing his head back. “Oh God, you’re gonna kill me,” he decided.
Buffy shook her head vehemently, lifting herself off him again. “Never,” she breathed before swallowing his cock once more. Her movements were experimental but tempered. The demon screamed for something hard and fast—his inner being rejoicing at knowing the utopia of her body at last. However, Spike knew it was important that she be in control. The shock of being inside her after a lifetime of yearning notwithstanding, he needed to do this right by her. He needed to give her what she needed.
The demon recognized her for what she was. Recognized the woman he had subconsciously claimed as mate the minute he saw her dancing in the Bronze so long ago. Her scent swam around him, her vaginal muscles squeezing him for everything he was worth with every plunge.
“You feel so good,” he murmured against her lips, cupping her breasts as his mouth descended to her throat. Her blood hummed against him, accelerated by her racing heart and the scent of sex surrounding them. “Oh God.”
“You, too,” Buffy gasped, her pace increasing. Her hands dropped to his t-shirt and pulled it over his head before lowering her mouth to his chest. Her hips were dancing against him as though fighting an oncoming wave. She drew him into her haven and released him again, and the dance repeated itself. “Ohhh…”
“Yeah, sweetling, that’s it.” He pebbled her nipples between eager fingers and tugged, watching her face hungrily.
She really wasn’t going to vanish. The heady whimpers tumbling through her throat were because of him. His cock was slick with her juices, thrusting in and out of a pussy that was now his. The slow, steady slide from her sanctuary made him wonder what it felt like to be at the gates of paradise; if she was showing him what had been robbed from her by giving it back to him. If she was showing him Heaven’s skies with the poetry of her body. If she was trying to fill in silences that he hadn’t known existed. Every time he left her, he felt bereft. A piece of him carved out and left some place untouchable. And then she would welcome him back to recapture that paradise he’d discovered within her. Over and over again. A steady slip and slide from her body. From the place where Heaven lived on earth.
His mind was running amuck with terrible clichés. A thousand verses to commit to paper—composed and forgotten in a blink. He watched her like a man starved. He lapped at her breasts and licked her nipples. He held her close, but it was never close enough. He wanted to swallow her completely. Wanted to be swallowed. He was lost in her, and he didn’t want to ever be found.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered into her breast, suckling her nipple between his teeth. “So bloody amazing.”
“Ohhh…”
He slipped a hand between them, massaging her tenderly where they were joined. She gasped and bucked against him, her thrusts becoming fast and demanding in a blink. His eyes remained trained on the fierce sight of their coupling, a slow burn engaging across his skin. A shudder raced across his skin every time her pussy swallowed him; every time his cock disappeared inside her haven. The sight of his hand playing with her excited him to no end. He watched his fingers as he caressed her clit. Enjoyed the way that every stroke he played against her body earned him a pleasured moan. She was close. God, he could taste how close she was.
“I love you,” he growled, thrusting into her as his own body spiraled closer to release. “I love you, Buffy.”
“Yes. Yes!”
“Love you.” He lowered his mouth to her throat. “You’re so hot. So tight an’ wonderful.” His hand bucked against her pussy, fingers massaging her clit feverishly, his blunt teeth scraping just slightly against her skin. “You’re a goddess. My hot, fiery goddess.”
Her blood rushed against him, her body beating his into the sofa. “Oh!”
“Buffy—”
“Spike!”
The instant he felt her walls tremble, the demon burst through, shoving the man aside. His fangs erupted in his mouth, and before the hint of rational thought could follow, he’d buried them in the Slayer’s throat. Her hoarse scream reverberated through the crypt, her body spasming hard around him, triggering his own orgasm. Spike growled into her skin. God, her blood was in his mouth. Her blood was in his mouth and she was coming hard.
Mine! the demon screamed. He refused to give the word a voice.
For a minute, it felt like the earth moved in revelation. Buffy collapsed against his shoulder, panting. His arms encircled her as he eased his fangs from her flesh, licking the small wound closed.
An eternity passed then. Right then as he held her in his arms, torn in that terrible place between uncertainty and euphoria. Unsure whether or not he had overstepped his boundaries. If she would think him disgusting for bringing his fangs into something so sacred. If she would remember why she’d called him a monster so many times. Why she’d told him no a lifetime ago when he chained her up downstairs. If this was just a fling. If she’d given him a taste of paradise—just a taste—but intended to return to her cold world of barren reality, virtue fluttering.
He didn’t know what he’d do if she left him now. If she gave him this much and then took it away. If she told him that she loved him, but not in a way that was meant to be everlasting. That she loved him, but he’d reminded her just now why vampires and slayers were never, ever supposed to be together.
He lived and died a thousand times in a matter of silent minutes.
Spike swallowed hard, shoving his fears aside. “Buffy?”
There was nothing for a long minute. Then, slowly, she raised her head and met his eyes.
“’m sorry,” he blurted before he could help himself.
A look of panic overwhelmed her. “Why? God, you’re not regretting this, are you?”
Spike blinked. Wasn’t that his line?
“Regretting this? God, luv, no.” Never. “I…I bit you.” I nearly claimed you. He didn’t tell her that part, though. He didn’t have the stones to share how little control he had over his demon. What he’d nearly done to her without so much as a friendly warning. “I could’ve—”
“Don’t be sorry for that,” she said.
“Buffy—”
“Don’t be sorry.” And she kissed him, stealing whatever lingering objection remained on his lips. Spike moaned and lost himself once again in her taste, relishing in the feel of her. She warred with his lips as though she was equally afraid that he would disappear. They clung to each other like figments of a dream they wanted to piece together.
“I love you, Spike,” she murmured. “I love you.”
Once again, the entirety of his being was engulfed in warmth. “I thought…”
“I know.”
He rested his forehead against hers and released a deep breath. “We need to talk about this, don’ we?”
She fidgeted and he moaned, his cock hardening within her. “Ooohhh, that feels good,” she whimpered.
“Buffy—”
“We need to talk about it.” She nodded her agreement, then paused and shook her head. “But not now.”
“I—”
A humorless grin played across her lips. “Believe it or not, I hadn’t intended this to happen like…this,” she said, edging herself off his lap. He whimpered as his erection slipped out of her, but didn’t have the heart to object. More sex before talking was likely not the best idea. Especially with the look she was giving him.
Oh God.
“You’re not…you’re not leavin’, are you?”
She frowned, rising to her feet. He tried to not be distracted by her nudity. “I should,” she conceded softly.
God, Buffy, please don’ leave.
But he didn’t say that. “Dawn,” he acknowledged reasonably, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt. “An’ the witches. You need—”
“I said I should,” Buffy emphasized.
Hope rippled through him. “You’re stayin’?”
“If…if it’s okay.”
Amazingly, she said it as though he might actually object. Spike jumped up and tugged her into a tight hug. “Okay?” he demanded. “Okay? Buffy, I’d cross all Hell for the chance to keep you one bloody night. An’ now…god, now…”
Now that you love me.
She smiled and kissed him. “More than one night,” she said before bending over to gather his discarded shirt from the ground, giving his cock a fond squeeze before she straightened again. “You mind if I borrow this?”
Mind?
“Looks better on you,” he told her, flicking the television off after locating the remote from where it had wedged itself between sofa cushions.
“I disagree,” she replied stubbornly.
“You would.”
“You’re damn sexy in this thing.”
“I’m damn sexy in anythin’, so that doesn’ count,” he retorted with a wink. “Come to think of it, so are you. But you…you’re wearin’ that shirt the way it’s meant to be worn. Can’t bloody well compete with that.
She blushed prettily, and that was the end of that debate.
He reached for her hand, pleased when his skin tingled as it had all night when her fingers linked through his. And then, as though in a dream, he led her toward the downstairs of the crypt. For a minute, shame cast over him for the thought of keeping her in a place meant for the dead, but the look in her eyes was so earnest, so full of love, that he didn’t have the courage to mention it.
It didn’t occur to him until he turned down the bed that there would be a tomorrow. The sun would rise and bring life to a new day. And Buffy…God, Buffy was going to be with him when he awoke. They would talk tomorrow, and god-willing, they would both finally get that blessed break from the Powers that they so richly deserved.
Buffy curled in his arms after he settled into bed next to her. She kissed his throat and murmured that she loved him, and fell asleep to the gentle strokes of his hands as he caressed her shoulder through the shirt he’d given her.
She fell asleep in his bed, in his arms, as though they’d been doing this for years. As though they were made for this sort of simple but priceless bliss.
Spike was almost afraid to close his eyes, a small part of him still toying with the possibility that he was lost in some wonderful dream. But no. No. Buffy felt too real to be nothing more than an allusion. She was real beneath his touch, just as she would be real tomorrow. She was real.
And for the first night in as many days since walking into the foyer of her home and seeing her there on the stairs, he was truly at peace. There was no more screaming for vindication. No more weeping for the life she lamented.
He would make heaven on earth for her, if she couldn’t have it above. He would make her forget the taste of paradise for something much sweeter, much more precious than death could have ever offered.
The time for penance was over. Life would begin again tomorrow. Begin as it never had before. Begin as it was meant to begin.
That promise resided just beyond morning.
To be concluded
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