Chapter 27

One could claim that Andrew was weird. However, he was smart. At least Spike was beginning to think so. The guy had gotten Spike out of the house and treated him to a greasy breakfast and then took him shopping---yes,shopping. Andrew told him that if he insisted in being in mourning over the loss of Buffy, then he should dress the part and insisted on buying him a few black t shirts and jeans. Spike had laughed, whilst trying to decipher if Andrew was gay or not. He decided in the end, he didn't much care.

"A wise man once said ‘What a silly thing love is! It is not half as useful as logic, for it does not prove anything and it is always telling one things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true,'" Andrew quoted.

"Who said it?"

"Oscar Wilde."

"Ah, I've read him. Funny man."

"And he had a knack for being brutally honest and saying things as they are. He also
said once that ‘When one is in love one begins by deceiving oneself. And one ends by deceiving
others. That is what the world calls romance.'"

"You believe that too?"

Andrew shrugged. "I'm not sure. The first one though . . . Should I believe it?"

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask," Spike said frankly.

"I think Buffy loves you very much."

Spike's eyes widened at that and he stopped in the middle of the department store aisle.
"You did hear my story this morning right? How she left me?"

"She didn't leave you. She set you free. There's a difference. To leave someone is to take
off without a backward glance and without a care. To set you free implies that she could have
held the cage closed out of selfishness to keep you behind those bars. Setting you free implies
that she loved you enough to want you to be free."

"I don't WANT to be free, Andrew. She wasn't holding me back from anything
aside from being free to love her!"

Andrew tsked him. "Ever think that maybe she was afraid that she'd hinder you in
some way? Hold you back? Maybe she had the foresight to see it happen and you couldn't."

That stumped him. Stumped him enough to seek Buffy out after having dropped his bags and Andrew off at the apartment.

He stood outside Willow's apartment with his fist poised to knock and yet could not
bring himself to do it. He knew the heartache and anger he'd feel at seeing her beautiful face
again and wasn't sure he could endure another match where he begged her to come back and
she told him no.

He was about to walk away when the door opened. He turned to see a stunned Buffy.

"Will?"

"Hi," he greeted her quietly. The scent of vanilla and lavender wafted to him and he
stuck his hands in his pockets. He wouldn't go to her. He'd stand right there in the hall and
fight the urge to go to her.

"Want to come in?"

"Sure." Stupid git—what happened to staying in the hall?

He breezed past her and entered Willow's. He turned to Buffy, unsure what to do with
himself.

"Is everything okay with the apartment? Do you need anything?"

"Buffy, did you think that you would have hurt me or that I would have hurt you? Is
that why you ‘set me free'?"

She stood there in the doorway after having just shut the door. The expression on her
face told him she wasn't prepared for that question. She appeared to be mulling it over in her
mind.

"Yes," she finally answered.

"Which part?"

"Both."

"Care to elaborate?" he asked, raking a hand through his hair.

"Would you like to sit first?"

"No, I just. . . I want to know."

"Okay. Can I use a metaphor?"

"Could I really stop you?"

"Not really, I've been working on it for some time now."

"Well, then don't let me stop you from bouncing your metaphor off on me. English was
my specialty, lets see if this is any good," and he tossed her a lopsided grin.

"You'll probably hate it."

"Tell me and take the chance."

"That's a loaded statement if I ever heard one," she muttered.

"If only you'd taken the chance huh?"

Buffy sighed. "I did take a chance. Just not on the same thing you're talking about. . . I'll
start with the metaphor. It has to do with cookie dough."

Now Spike sighed, "This oughta be good."

She gave him a wan smile. "Keep an open mind Will, please?"

"I think I will sit after all," he said and he placed himself on Willow's couch. Buffy sat
across the room from him on Willow's love seat.

"Will, lets say that when you met Drusilla you had taken some ingredients out for
cookies, except you didn't know how to put them together. You had an idea, but you didn't
know it well enough to do it on your own. So Dru came along and handed you the recipe and
off you went. She encouraged you and I . . . well, I was the one you were making cookies for.
Let's say she told you to add nuts. . . and you chopped them up to add. You thought they'd
make the cookies better. . . edgier. Then I came in and told you I hated nuts, and I didn't even
like the cookies you were making as a matter of fact."

"You love chocolate chip."

"I do. With nuts on occasion too. So, I tell you I hate nuts and I tell you that I hate the
chocolate chip cookies because really, I'm insulted that you didn't ask me for the recipe. After
all, I know how to make cookies better than anyone, and I feel that I can help you make the
cookies the best because I know how I like those cookies. You tell me that I can help do it with
you. Except, now I can't. The recipe is not mine, it's yours. It was yours all along really. It's still
yours. I had no right to tell you how to bake your cookies. They're YOUR cookies."

"But I made them for you. I should make them how you like them."

She bit her lip. "Or, I should accept that you have different way of making cookies and
not criticize or tell you how to do it."

Silence fell and Spike mulled over her scenario. "So, I'm the cookie dough in this
scenario is what you're saying?"

"Right."

"Okay, but right now the dough is just still dough. They haven't been baked yet."

"Right, exactly. So, I'm leaving the room Will and telling you to add the nuts and when
they're done making them the way you want them and they're all done baking, I know I'll
want to eat them. However long it takes for them to be done. Only you can know that."

He regarded her silently. "I'm not done baking."

"Right. And I don't want to be the one to tell you how to . . . bake yourself. I want to be
the one that lets you . . . bake . . . all on your own. I don't want to hold you back Will, what kind
of friend or girlfriend would I be if I did that?"

"And what about the other girls you want me to experience? You still want me to find
someone else to love? Because I can't see it happening Buffy. I love someone else and that just
means there's less love there for you and I can't . . . "

"I won't lie to you Will. I started out wanting to protect myself because I was convinced
you'd eventually grow bored of me and want to try things with other women."

"Even though I had the chance to do it and still came back to you? I know I could have
with Dru or any of those other women that wanted me—"

"But you feel comfortable with me. You're a creature of comfort Will. You always have
been. You do what's in your safety net to do and you're not exactly adventurous."

"So, you think one day that my adventurous spirit could burst forth," he stated.

"Right. You know the saying of ‘sowing your wild oats'…"

"I don't WANT to sow my oats!"

"And what if I'm an oat Will?"

He shook his head furiously. "No, you're not an oat. You're my girl. My Buffy. You
always have been and you always will be. I don't want anyone else because you're it Buffy,
why can't you just trust me on this?"

"Will. Just let me do this for you, please? I know you're angry with me right now and
you don't understand, but one day you will. I pray it's sooner than later."

Spike sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "It seems you're not the only one that
holds the same thoughts."

"Oh? So not everyone hates me?"

He shook his head. "No, not everyone. Does everyone seem to hate you?"


"My mom and Dawn. Willow's been a good devils advocate."

"My mom is upset with you."

Buffy nodded sadly. "Didn't imagine I'd have a lot of fans, but Will. . . I don't care what
they think of me. I only care what you think."

"Do you?" he asked quietly, looking down at the floor.

"I love you."

His head shot up at that. "Don't tell me that when I can't even . . . don't tell me that," he
whispered fiercely.

"I'm sorry, but what I did—"

"And don't tell me you did it because you love me."

Buffy clamped her mouth shut. Then, "Does a small part of you understand at least?"
she asked softly.

Spike stood from his place on the couch and went for the door. He stopped in front of
her as she looked up at him with wide watery green eyes. He itched to kiss her, touch her, hold
her and not let her go, but he knew he couldn't.

"Yes," he said softly and walked out the door. He stood in the hallway, listening to her
cry and wanting to go to her, but knowing it wasn't what she wanted him to do. She wanted
him to go . . . so he went.


 

Chapter 28

"You know what I think?" Buffy started as her and Willow sat having an early dinner at a nearby café. Willow was looking at the newspaper and Buffy had started thinking. Something she'd been doing a lot of.

Willow looked up, "What?"

Pushing hair from her face after a slight breeze blew through, Buffy started. "I think that it's not that someone is either a fast learner or a slow learner, I think people just as a general rule don't understand why people don't do things the way they themselves do it so they subconsciously try to make people do things the way they do it."

Willow blinked, "Huh?"

"Well, this morning for example. Cathy was getting coffee for her and Lisa while they were chatting in the break room. Cathy takes her coffee with cream and two Sweet n' Lows. Lisa takes her coffee black. Now Cathy knows this, I know she does because she's made comments each and every time how gross she thinks it is that Lisa doesn't put anything in her coffee. So then Cathy asks Lisa in the midst of conversation if Lisa wants cream or sugar in her coffee."

"So you think that because she doesn't understand why Lisa takes her coffee black, she was subconsciously trying to get her to put cream and sugar in her coffee?"

"Yes," Buffy said proudly, sitting back and pushing up her sunglasses.

"You don't think that she just got caught up in the conversation?"

"No, I don't."

"You might be on to something. Coming up with more theories on Will huh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Buffy said hastily and peered over at the paper in front of
Willow. "What's new in the world?"

"Your horoscope is interesting."

"What's it say?"

"To stop avoiding uncomfortable topics and face them head on."

"That's crap. You just made that up," Buffy shook her head.

"Okay, so it's my horoscope for you. Buffy, it's been two weeks," Willow said, leaning
forward. "Now I think you get the importance of it because you've alternated between being
uber bitchy to being in an uber funk. The only time I've ever known you to go this long without
speaking to William was when . . . No. You called him twice when you were on vacation with
your parents in Arizona senior year in high school. So the longest you've gone without talking
to William has been four days. Face it, you need your fix."

Buffy shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it'd be sending mixed signals," she snorted, "because I haven't quite done that
enough already!"

"Aren't you curious to see how he's doing? All you've had to go on is what state the
apartment has been in when you go to pick up more stuff from the apartment. Which, I might
add, is half yours and you're not living there. What's the deal Buffy? You're wasting money."

That did it. Buffy started to cry. "I'm such a fuck up."

"Christ, Buffy, I'm sorry," Willow stood up and moved to sit next to her, wrapping an
arm around her friend as she cried. "You're not a fuck up Buffy. I told you all this time that I
get what you're doing . . . "

"Oh who the fuck cares anymore? My mother hates me, Dawn's planning her chance
with William, my dad just shakes his head at me. . . and William hates me too. Which you
know what? He has every right to hate me. I shoved him out."

"You didn't shove him out, Buffy. There was no shoving. It was a gentle push."

"I thought I was doing the right thing for him. For us. I wasn't trying to control him
Willow, I swear. I was trying NOT to control him, that's why I did it . . . "

"I know Buffy. Listen, sometimes doing what you feel is right is not always easy.
Sometimes you get stoned for it. The path isn't always clear when you set yourself on it, but all
you can do is do what is best with the information you have available. No one knows what's
going to happen in the future, no one can be sure when they set out to do something they
thought was right that it'll end up being what is actually right. Foresight is not always
something we're gifted with unfortunately. Hindsight, however, is. I know you love William,
Buffy. I've always known it, and what's more is that William knows it too. I just think you'd
both benefit from seeing each other once in a while. I think it'd ease your mind and I'm willing
to bet it'd ease his."


Spike was seated in the far corner of the bookstore café , his notebook laid out before him, his pen poised to write. He was nervous this evening. He'd filled half his notebook in two weeks, writing until he was sure he had no more words left him. God, did he write, sometimes until two in the morning. Not good when you had a class to look after in the morning. Middle school students were quite demanding of your time.

Yet he had so much to write about. He wrote about life, love, heartache. Whenever he felt an ache for Buffy, he wrote. Whenever he felt unsure about what the hell he was doing with his life, he wrote. Currently, the page was flipped open to a poem he'd written the night before. It made him think of how he felt as if he was heading toward something but couldn't seem to find the trigger to get there. It also, as most things did, made him think of Buffy.

Ambition

Time is slipping by in your
Might Be Hands.
You've depleted the Resources of the Land,
so it's time to go.
At your age, it's absurd
to stay in the same place.
Don't bite the Apple, my pretty.
You'll miss the most important part
of your journey.
So go running little Alice
out into Wonderland.
What's that?
You can't get out of your own way
tripping on your shoelaces that you can't even tie
not sure what end is up
Lost?
Well, whose fault is that—
you were supposed to be following the Rabbit
when he was guiding you down the Bunny Trail
Of Life.
Before you is Success.
Seated on the Right Hand of Achievement is Love
And on the Left Hand is Nothing.
In the name of the
Should Have Been
Could Have Been
And What is Left
You are Deserted.
Oh Toto, I think we're Stuck in Oz.
If Change is the Upheaval in our quest
for Stability—why do we yearn for it?
Greener Pastures Abound
Make friends with your Daredevil Neighboor Chance
and if you're too scared don't look to Deepest Of Sympathy
for Guidance. She'll just keep you where you don't need to be.
Instead, find Tough Love.
And when you're all done calling on the Saints of Hopes
Dreams and
Wishes
Call upon Yourself and Find Out
What Will Be.


He thought about sending it to her with an arrow pointing to ‘Tough Love' with a note that simply said ‘You.' Then it made him think of the track she was on. Was she happy? Did she need to be without him to find out who she was too? So much about her was still the vivacious and impulsive girl she'd been in high school and throughout college. She never took the time to think things through, she always just did. And when she stumbled, he was always there to help her up and dust her off for her next adventure. And what did she do for him? She coddled him, kept him close by her so that he didn't get hurt. She protected him. He supposed that's what sucked so hard about the current situation. In fact, that was the key to the whole thing. She didn't coddle him this time, didn't protect him. She'd set him free to stumble, to fall and to get hurt. During times of near insanity he would harshly declare that she tore his heart out before shoving him down. In times of clarity, he saw how she was forcing him to call upon himself and find out what will be. Yeah, he was going to send it to her. Just one thing he had to do first.

A man of medium height brought himself to the mic in the center of the cafe. "Hello everyone," he greeted the growing number of bodies filtering in and occupying the surrounding tables. Spike noted he had a British accent. That piqued his interest all the more. "Let's say we get this poetry reading kicked off?" The man continued. "Our first reader is Spike. Spike why don't you come up and read for us?"

Spike stood on wobbly legs. He took a deep breath. ‘You own the room,' Dru had told him. Straightening his gait, and not allowing himself to slouch and hide, Spike sauntered up to the mic, keeping his eye on the prize. Clutching his notebook he greeted the audience and began.


**Poem by yours truly**
 

Chapter 29

Spike bounded up the stairs to the apartment, whistling, feeling a slight spring to his step. He was still on a high from the night before at the poetry reading. He'd been writing for years, but had never shared aside from his mother. She had always told him how talented he was, but he just figured she was saying that because she was him mom. Moms were supposed to inflate their offspring's egos. And, if he was honest with himself, he thought he had a knack for writing too. Last night, he'd felt validated in that thought. He'd gotten praise from more than one person and they wished him back for the next week. It was exhilarating standing up there, having all eyes on him and being able to give voice to the words that had only been shared with his notebook thus far. It was as if he was setting them free and letting it go. It was like magick.

He stopped whistling as soon as the door shut behind him. Buffy. She was there. He could feel her. Strange, that. Well, maybe not so much. His heart swelled and his feet carried him to her bedroom. The one she'd pretty much vacated. She sat on her bed, staring out the window.

"Hi," she said without turning around.

"Hi," he said slowly.

"You were whistling."

"I was."

"I didn't even know you could whistle."

"It's easy. You just put your lips together and blow," he grinned.

She chuckled.

He sat down next to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"Could have fooled me."

"Yeah, know. I guess I was trying for some lighthearted glib. . ness."

He smiled and dared himself to reach out and push some hair away from her face.
When he did, she turned finally to look at him.

"Hi," he said again.

She smiled, "We just did that."

"Yeah, but now I can see your face. How are you?"

"How are you?"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second," she said lightly.

He took a deep breath, "Not going to tell me then, that it?"

"I'm curious about you. You were the one whistling. Whistling means good things
doesn't it?"

"Or just that I have a song stuck in my head."

"So? Which is it?"

"I thought you gave up rights to wondering about me."

She shot him a look that was part hurt and part glare. "You know that's not true."

And the thing was, he did know that wasn't true. He shook his head. "Sorry. Just
sometimes I get bitter when it comes to you."

"I know. And believe it or not, I understand."

"I went to a bookstore last night. They were having a poetry reading and I read some of
my work," he told her. He relayed to her how he'd gotten a new notebook and had been
writing like crazy. He told her how he felt the need to share and how it felt to share—the
exhilaration and feeling of accomplishment that he'd done it.

"That's excellent Will, I'm—"

"Spike. I – I just want to go by Spike now."

"We're back to that?"

He nodded, "I feel different. I'm not completely . . . how did you put it? Done baking?"

She smiled wryly and stared back out the window.

"But," he continued, "I don't feel the same either. I kind of feel in the middle. Like I'm
in the midst of something and I just don't feel like William anymore. I want to be Spike."

She nodded. "Spike it is then."

"Thank you."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "You're welcome."

They sat there in silence, staring out the window together and just being. Finally, Spike
broke the spell.

"Can I tell you that I miss you?" he asked softly.

She nodded, "I miss you too."

"Is that why you came by when you thought you might actually catch me?"

She nodded. "That and something else."

Spike let go of her hand and stood. "I don't know if I want to know," he groaned.

"Spike, I'm thinking its pointless for me to keep paying rent when for all intents and
purposes, I don't really live here."

He stared at her. "You're going to move out?"

"Well, I haven't really even BEEN here."

"Good point." He stopped, and rubbed the back of his head, causing his curls to go
awry. "I don't know if I want you to leave though Buffy. I mean . . . yeah, you haven't been
here, but it's your home. I like the idea that you'll come back."

"Spike—"

"Because you will come back," he stated firmly.

She met his eyes. "I haven't really left Will—Spike."

He looked at his feet. "I haven't seen you in two weeks," he pointed out softly.

"I didn't want to hurt you anymore. I thought if I stayed away it'd hurt less. For both of
us."

"For both of us ay? So you're sporting a broken heart too?"

"Of the worst kind," she admitted.

"Second only to me."

"And probably victims of violent crimes."

He started to laugh at that and sat down beside her once again. "I don't want you to leave, but I understand if you do. You need it too, right Buffy? The change?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I do. I never realized how much until. . . Yeah, I could benefit from
it too. I kind of feel loopy right now. So much has happened over the past month and a half and
I feel as if I've been on auto pilot . . . especially lately. I don't know that I've given myself time
to really process everything. I think that's bad. It has given me a chance to really take a look at
myself and the things going on inside my head."

"You've never really been the one to think things through. That was always my forte."

"Well then. We've learned something already, haven't we?"

"We have, but I don't like not seeing you for this long."

"I don't like it either," she admitted.

"Where are you going to go Buffy?"

"Well, a rather large studio opened up in Willow's building. It's a hundred more than
this, but I can do it. The landlady is really nice and waived last months rent and is allowing me
to give her a little at a time for security. Will you be able to handle this place alone? If not, I'll
pay until—"

"I'll find a way Buffy. Xander has been complaining more and more every day about
cellar living at his parents. I can ask him to move in with me."

She nodded, "I'm glad I came over today."

"So am I, Buffy, so am I."


 

Chapter 30

It'd been a month since she moved out, a week shy of them breaking up. If breaking up is what one could call it. They'd never called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, they'd had sexual relations without actually doing the deed, and yet Spike still felt the rawness of their split as if it'd just happened the day before.

"Why don't you go see her then? You want to, and I'm sure she wants to
see you as well," Wesley Wyndham Pryce, the British poetry MC, told
Spike after the reading that night.

"Yeah, Spike, really. What have you got to lose? When was the last time
you saw each other?" Fred Burkle, Wesley's girlfriend, said gently placing a
hand on his arm and giving it a supportive squeeze. Her brown eyes were
filled with empathic understanding.

Spike sighed. "It's been a few weeks. After she moved out, we met up for
coffee once and I haven't seen her since then," he sighed heavily. "I miss
her," he said softly, resting his chin on his arms stacked in front of him on
the table.

Fred patted his head, "Go see her. I'm sure she'll want to know all that
you've been up to."

Spike smirked, "Will she consider me done baking?"

"Not with that attitude," Wesley interjected, frowning, his blue eyes
disapproving. "Do you think it's possible that at this point you can both
bake together instead of apart however?"

Spike sat up straighter. "I don't know. I guess I'll have to go see the girl."




Buffy stared at the TV, picking at her ice cream that was rapidly melting. She sighed and changed the channel once again. Yep, still crap on the tube. The knock on her door caused her to jump. She looked down at the carton of ice cream, at the TV and then at herself. She looked like a slob, but what did it matter? Tossing the ice cream on the end table, she pushed the hairs falling out of her ponytail away from her face and padded to the door. It was probably Willow anyway. Not like it was going to be—

"Spike," she breathed opening the door. She hid behind the door a bit.

He smiled, "Hi kitten." He cocked his head to the side, "What are you doing
behind the door?"

She blushed, "I'm a mess."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I lived with you Buffy. I know how you look first
thing in the morning, first thing after a shower and all of that in between
stuff."

"Yeah, but it's different now. . ." she shrugged.

"How?"

"I don't know, it just is. I haven't seen you in a while!"

He grinned, "Yeah, I'm here to remedy that. Can I come in or what?"

She nodded and opened the door wider, letting him in.

"Watching some crap TV?" he mused as she shut the door.

"Yeah, you look nice. What were you doing?" She braced herself for him to
tell her he had been on a date. She could not hold that against him, she
could not get upset…well, she would get upset, but she wouldn't let it show.
She'd set him free, she had no claim on him anymore.

"Poetry reading tonight."

She nodded, relief flooding her. "Oh yes, I remember you telling me about
that."

"Think you might like to come sometime?"

She looked up at him, "You'd want me to come?"

He nodded, "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

She gestured between them, "Well because we . . . we . . . "

"Aren't together anymore?" he supplied.

She nodded.

"Well, the way I see it Buffy—you're still part of my life. I still want to
share things with you. Plus, I want you to meet my friends."

She broke into a smile, "New ones?"

He nodded. "Yep. Wesley and Fred. Fred's a girl and Wesley's girlfriend.
Both poets and extremely nice. Wesley and I hit it off straight away since
he's from the mother land too."

"Excellent, and how's Xander and the apartment?"

Spike rolled his eyes, "He's spreading his wings all right. . . different girl
every night, raging parties on the weekends. . ."

She held her breath again. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he's been enjoying his freedom." Spike stuffed his hands in his
pockets. "It's all right, I suppose. I just end up being the one to take care of
the drunks. Which is different since I was the one that needed taking care
of for a bit there. Drunk people are annoying."

Buffy giggled. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Got any hot chocolate? With mini marshmallows?"

Buffy grinned, "Of course."

"So what else is new?" Buffy asked as they settled down at her kitchen
table over the hot cocoa.

"Well, turns out that Wesley is a professor at URI and teaches creative
writing and poetry. He's taken a shine to my work and has asked me if I'd
visit a few of his classes and kind of lend my experience to his students."

"Spike, that's awesome. You must be so excited," Buffy gushed.

"I am. Little nervous, but excited. I'm thinking I might take what I've
written and try to find a publisher for them."

"That sounds like a great idea. I'd love to read your stuff."

Spike chuckled, "Most of it was inspired by you, you know."

"Maybe I shouldn't read it then?"

"I'll pick and choose," Spike grinned. "What have you been up to?"

"Well. . . " Where to begin?

"Come on Buffy, tell me," Spike urged.

"I've been seeing a therapist."

Spike's jaw dropped. "What?"

She nodded, "It's not a bad thing. It's a good thing. I felt a little out of
control and like I was every which way and dealing with a lot of change
and . . . I just needed someone to talk to that didn't know. . . stuff."

"Stuff like me?" Spike asked quietly.

She reached across the table and placed a hand on his arm. "No, Spike, you
weren't the reason. I was going down a path and didn't know which end was
up and everyone was trying to tell me which way to go and it got confusing
and I lost sight of myself. All those things I told you to go and do were the
very things I was neglecting to do. It's been good for me. I've decided to do
criminal psychology now."

His jaw dropped again. "Wow. Therapy impressed you that much?"

She chuckled lightly, "Yep. It was something I was always interested in but
was convinced by my mother wouldn't take me anywhere. Part of therapy
has been learning to listen to myself and follow my own path and being
okay with it."

"Like you wanted me to do," Spike said softly, looking down.

"I'm sorry," she told him, taking her hand off his arm.

His head snapped up.

"I was telling you to follow your own path and I never gave you much
choice in the matter when I thrust you out. I was doing to you the very
thing that'd been done to me my whole life. It wasn't fair. I had the best of
intentions, I really did. I didn't want to be like my mother and coddle you—
"

"I coddled you too, I know that. I never made you own up to your
mistakes."

"And I kept you from making any because I never wanted you to get hurt.
I mothered you and for that I'm sorry."

Spike reached across the table and took her hand in his, squeezing gently.
"Buffy, do you think that we could have more talks like this? Do you think
we could see each other more than we have lately? I just feel that. . . I feel
that I still need you and I don't care if I'm not done baking yet or if you're
still baking too. . . I just know that part of my baking process includes
needing to see you. Do you think that's something we could do?"

Buffy gave him a watery smile. "You know what I'm really sorry about?"

"What?"

"For ever coming up with that damn baking analogy."

Spike burst out laughing and Buffy followed suit.

"So is that a yes? Can I see you again?" he pressed.

Buffy nodded, "How about at the next poetry reading?"

Spike grinned, "Sounds perfect, luv."
 

Chapter 31


Buffy was running horrendously late and it seemed to her that no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't get out of her own way. She definitely felt that Murphy's Law was in full effect for her today. On a normal day, she would just toss up her hands and say ‘fuck it! I'm going home.' But, tonight was Spike's poetry reading – it'd been a week since their talk—and she didn't want him to think she was blowing him off or had forgotten.
And it wasn't as if it just seemed to happen as the hours drew closer, as one would suspect with her being so nervous about going. No, it had been an all day event, starting with getting mascara on her shirt for work and having nothing else clean to wear. Then not being able to find her shoes and her keys, to getting stuck in traffic, being late for work, dropping things and losing things continuously while at work. Her therapist had called to ask her if she'd mind coming in an hour later due to an emergency to which Buffy had agreed, figuring she would still have forty five minutes in which to change before meeting up with Spike.

Yeah, right.

The emergency went a half hour into Buffy's one hour session and she had teetered on canceling her appointment. However, she'd have to fork over the money anyway and she'd come to actually look forward to her sessions. Why stop progress? So she stayed and figured with the slim half hour she had after, she'd just make it straight to the café to catch Spike. Except a major accident had halted her arrival and there were no other routes to take—that she knew of anyway. It dawned on her that she could call Spike and tell him what happened, but when she fished around in her purse, then glove box and under her seat, she had to face up to the fact that she'd left her cell at home. Sitting in her car, waiting for the go ahead, Buffy burst into tears.

When she'd finally arrived at the café, she was a mess. Her hair stringy, her clothes wrinkly and her makeup now cried off. She managed to tie her hair back, discard her suit jacket and wore her blue skirt and cream colored blouse into the café. Still decidedly too dressed up, yes, but she didn't have time to stress so much over technicalities at that point.
She burst through the door and heads swiveled to her, but she ignored them. She only had eyes for Spike who was standing at the mic, looking out of this world gorgeous. His hair was springing curls and he wore the tightest black t shirt and tightest pair of black jeans known to man. He was hot. With two t's. She gulped, thinking that every girl in the room must want him. How could they not? She wasn't sure how to let him know she was there, so she just stood rooted where she was and figured she'd come over after. He was turning pages what appeared to be his notebook.

"This one. . . I wrote on the night of a full moon. I was feeling particularly. . . angry and cyncial," he chuckled, but it wasn't a light chuckle; it was dark.
She shivered at the sound. "And since I'm kind of pissed right now," he continued, "It fits." He took a deep breath and began:

"It's a Full Moon.
I can feel it in my Mood.
Nothing satisfies and Everything Provokes.

The Lion is at hand and it's making the beast within me restless.
I want to rule the forest

And I will.

The key is not in hating them,
But being okay with them hating you back.
When you say you don't care what they think,
You have to really mean it
Or everyone thinks you're just Hiding Something.
Always let them see you sweat
So they know how much work you did
And how much they didn't.

You never know what you can do until
You're forced to find out.
It's amazing how far your survival skills
Will take you.
It's incredible the amount of knowledge you can gain
By doing absolutely nothing for yourself.
It's fantastic how amazing you can Be doing
Everything for yourself.

Sure, everyone deserves love—
but how come the Bad love so Good and the Good love so Bad?
Experience doesn't mean you know Everything
It just means you Messed Up Everything.

True closure comes not with sticking it to the ignorant fool
But in being able to Forgive
And Never Forget.
Been There
Done That
Made the T-shirt.

Time makes you apathetic to all wounds.

When all else fails
Remember: Indifference is Power.
It makes her scramble around
Like a headless chicken wondering
How she can make you care again.
All you have to do to help her Die
Is sit back and laugh. "

Buffy gulped. Again. She imagined the ‘her' was, well, her and that it was probably a bad sign. She felt her tears start to surge forth again and she forced them down and focused on breathing instead. So many things were going through her mind at his words –and how amazing was he by the way?—and she felt the room grow smaller at the idea that he thought she wouldn't show, that he thought –and he had every right to think—

"Buffy?"

Her watery eyes focused on a pair of brown ones. She blinked and took in the tiny woman with the long brown hair and kind eyes before her. "Yes?"

"Oh, I wasn't sure if you were. . . her. Spike had described you to us and I feel as if I know you – not that he's said bad—when did you get here?"

Breathe, Buffy, breathe. "Just now," she said in small voice. "I tried to get here sooner, but I just couldn't seem to do it."

Fred nodded sympathetically. "Were you nervous to come?"

Buffy shook her head.

"Nervous about what? To hear me read some sodding poetry?" Spike. He stood before her, eyes flashing with anger, his jaw clenching.

That did it. Buffy burst into tears. She shook her head, "No, I wasn't nervous about coming. Well, I mean yeah, I was, but that's not why I was so late. I was late because I had the day from hell and nothing was going right and I tried so hard to get here, but I got out of my session late with just enough time to make it straight here and then there was an accident and I don't have my phone on me and I just made it in time to hear your last poem and I know I'm the her that you want to die and I'm so sorry that I was late and I really did try everything I could to—"

She was cut off her extreme ramble with no breath by Spike taking her in his arms and stroking her tangled ponytail.

"Ssshhhh kitten. It's okay now," he said calmly.

"Yrragrtwrtr," she mumbled against his chest.

"What was that?" he asked, his tone light, almost laughing.

She looked up at him, "You're a great writer."

He smiled and pushed some hair away from her face, "Thank you."

She nodded and peered over at the girl watching the exchange with a smile
on her face.

"Hi," she said, detangling herself from Spike's arms, trying not to let his
friends think she was a complete loon. "You must be--?"

"Fred," the woman said kindly. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"Really?" Buffy asked dumbfounded.

Fred and Spike chuckled at that and Buffy gave an awkward smile.

"What's all the commotion over here?" a man of medium build with a
british asked queried and wrapped an arm around Fred's waist. He looked
directly at Buffy and smiled. "You must be Buffy. I'm Wesley," he stuck out
his hand and Buffy shook it before rolling her eyes up to Spike. "Just what
have you been telling them?" she asked.

Spike grinned and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "It's all right kitten.
Why don't we get out of here huh? I think you could use a drink—and not of
the coffee nature. What do you think?"

Buffy nodded dumbly and allowed him to lead her to his car, Fred and
Wesley not far behind.

"Spike, wait, what about my –"

"Buffy, it's okay. I'll drive you back later to get your car, okay?"

She nodded and climbed in, feeling suddenly relaxed. She sighed heavily,
feeling as if she were expelling the stress of the day with that sigh.

Wesley and Fred pulled up behind them and Spike took off.

"Have you eaten, pet?"

"No. I didn't have time."

"We'll get you something, yeah?"

"Spike, I'm sorry I wasn't there from the start."

Reaching over, Spike patted her knee. "It's okay, baby. Why don't you tell
me about your day?"

"It sucked total ass," she told him bluntly.

Spike laughed out loud, "Tell me all about it, kitten."





She really liked Fred and Wesley. A lot. They were kind and sweet and
funny. More importantly, they seemed to love Spike. She decided not to
dwell on what he told them about her. That would just play games with her head. Instead, she listened them talk and interjected when she felt she had something to share. Spike was sure to include her and took her hand in his when she was done dinner, squeezing it every now and then.

She felt much better after a drink and some food. The day just washed away and she sat back, laughing softly at the jokes being passed around the table. She looked over at Spike and found him watching her. She smiled at him and he grinned.

"Want to get out of here? Talk?" he asked softly as Fred and Wesley discussed their half of the bill.

"Sure," she nodded. "I need my car."

"I know. Want to go back to your place for a bit?"

"How about the beach? I could use the sound of the water to fully wash
this day away."

He grinned. "Sounds good, pet. Let's go." Standing up, they said their good
bye's and nice-to-meet-you's and they were gone.

Once outside, Spike stopped, still holding onto Buffy's hand.

"What?" she asked; looking up at him curiously.

Leaning in, Spike brushed his lips across hers ever so gently. She hadn't
expected that and she jumped a bit.

He grinned and caressed the side of her face. "I'm glad you came," he
whispered and they took off for his car once again, Buffy following and
touching her lips with the pads of her fingers, feeling the remnant of his
kiss.

 

Chapter 32

As soon as Buffy heard the waves, she was off like a shot running toward it. The water always had that affect on her. She wasn't happy unless she was IN it. Forget lounging around on sand soaking up the rays. No, she wanted to be in the water or a trip to the beach was just useless. Thankfully, Spike shared in the same passion and he laughed as she kicked off her shoes, hiked up her skirt and ran. She heard him following behind her and no sooner had her feet touched the water then Spike has his arms around her, lifting her off the sand and nuzzling her neck.

She squealed and laughed as he spun her around to face him, setting her down once more as
the waves crashed around their feet.

"Feel better?" he asked huskily as he pushed tucked some hair behind her ear.

She nodded enthusiastically. "You know the ocean always makes me feel better."

He smiled, "I know. I remember."

"So tell me," she said, stepping back and appraising him, "Is the black on black a look
you're going for? Tortured artist? Disgruntled poet?"

He grinned and shrugged. "It's a look. Never put that much thought in it. Plus, easier to
do a load of laundry."

"Spike," she took a deep breath, unsure how to begin.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

She bit her bottom lip. "The poem you read. . . "

"I was angry when I wrote it kitten," he explained.

"Really? Because I got warm fuzzy feelings from that one," she said sarcastically.

He chuckled. "Come on," he said, grabbing her hand. "Let's sit and have a chat, yeah?"

She nodded and allowed him to lead her back to the sand. He sat down and pulled her
down so that she sat in front of him between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her.
"Cold?"

"A little," she shivered. Although, she didn't think it had anything to do with the slight
chill in the air. No, it had to do with a certain blond God sitting behind her.

"I wanted to not care," he told her softly. "I thought if I didn't care and you still did
then I could hurt you. Make you feel what I felt."

She turned slightly, meeting his eyes imploringly. "Did you think I didn't care about
you?"

"Sometimes. I know you do though Buffy—"

"I always did Spike. I never stopped caring about you." She turned back around,
watching the waves crash against the shore.

"I know. . . " he whispered, "I get it, I get it all," and his lips found her neck.

She shivered again. "Do you really?"

"I do," he said and trailed kisses up her neck.

"You don't hate me? You're not angry with me anymore?"

"Does this feel like I'm angry?" he murmured nibbling on her ear.

She swiftly spun around so that she was facing him, perched before him on her knees.
He stared at her dumbfounded.

"How can you not be angry with me?" she demanded. "You told me you hated me."

"I never hated you Buffy. I was angry with you, yes, but I never hated you. I couldn't.
It's not something I'm capable of. I'm probably love's bitch, but then I always guessed I was."

"Love's bitch huh? But not my bitch?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"No," she shook her head.

He grinned, "Do you want to be MY bitch?"

She shook her head, "No. I want you to be Spike and me to be Buffy."

He reached for her, but she eluded his grasp and stood before him.

"What is it Buffy?" he asked, standing up and facing her.

"What I did to you—to us—I spent a lot of time justifying it to me, to you, and to
everyone else on God green earth, and I felt –and still sometimes feel—that what I did was
right. For both of us."

"And it took me a long time to see that what you did was probably the best thing—"

"Do you really mean that?"

"I've never lied to you Buffy and I'm not about to start now."

She shook her head, "I know I just . . . I'm still angry with myself for hurting you.
Sometimes when I close my eyes all I see is you shouting at me, telling me you hate me and
crying. It makes me lose sight of how I wanted to help you and not hinder you. And I see you
now, how you've grown in such a short time. How you're still growing. I learned a valuable
lesson," she told him, wiping the tears that were falling away.

"What's that?" Spike asked softly, not moving.

"That you're never done changing –or, going along with my horrendous metaphor –
baking. The edges might not be done. The middle could be a little soft still, but it's the fact of
knowing that you've set down your own path and knowing that you have control over those
things. And then sometimes, if you're lucky enough, you find someone to join you on your
journey, and hopefully they'll support you and encourage you, not drag you down and stop
you for their own selfish reasons."

"And you were afraid you'd be selfish?"

She nodded.

"I get that."

"You do?"

"Why do you still sound so surprised?"

"I'm still growing and learning. I'm still trying to own up to my own mistakes and learn
that it's okay to stumble and fall and that the reason why we fall is learn how to get back up.
I'm still trying to pick myself up from having hurt the one person in this world that means
more to me than anything." The tears were streaming down her face now.

Spike grabbed her in his arms and held on tight. "I think in this instance it's okay for me
to help you up, don't you? Because you are my someone on my journey and I'm your someone
aren't I Buffy?"

She nodded against his chest, clutching his shirt in her tiny fists as she cried. They
stayed like that for a long time, the sound of the ocean in the distance, the still night air
surrounding them. Only when the last of her salt had been shed did Buffy finally feel at peace.

Spike put his hand under her chin and made her look at him. "Where do we go from
here, Buffy?"


 

Chapter 33

Buffy met Spike's eyes unwaveringly. "Where do you want to go from here?" she asked him.

He leaned in and kissed her deeply. "I want us to be together, Buffy," he told her when they parted. "I don't want to be apart any longer."

"Spike, have you--?" she averted her eyes, "that is, have you uh been with—not that I
have any right to be jealous or –"

He kissed her again, languidly. When they broke apart, both were breathless. "No," he
told her.

"How--?" she swallowed.

He chuckled. "You're asking me how I couldn't have?"

She nodded.

"Told you I was love's bitch. Despite what I might not have known about myself and
what I'm capable of – there's one thing that's always been constant and always will be: You. I
love you Buffy, that's never changed. Do you love me too?"

She nodded, "I do. I always have I just didn't know or accept it and I never thought . . .
Spike, are you sure you want to?"

He smiled gently and cupped her face in his hands. "I love you, Buffy. I want to be with
you."

"But I hurt you."

"Haven't we been over this?"

She nodded, averting her eyes. "We have."

"Do you plan on leaving me again?"

"No," she shook her head, dislodging his hands from her face. "No, I don't have it in me
to leave you. And I never really left you Spike. I was still there, I was . . . waiting. And
how can you be sure you want to be with me if you're afraid I'll leave you again?"

"I just don't have it in me to be with anyone else when my heart is yours. I can't explain
it Buffy. I just…" he shook his head, "I just know I love you and that . . . this is it Buffy. This is it
for me. Don't ask me how I know that and please, if you don't think this is it for you then you
leave me now because I couldn't go through losing you again. It'd kill me."

This time it was she that cupped his face in her hands. "You're it for me Spike. You
always were, I—I never –I knew someday we'd be together again."

"But we needed some time apart to confirm it, yeah?"

She nodded. "I always knew you were it for me Spike. I just wanted to make sure you
knew I was it for you too. I'm sorry that I put you through all that—"

He shook his head and kissed her, silencing her. "It was good for us. Made us stronger,
don't you think? As much as it killed me and as much as I don't ever want to go through that
again, it felt like it had to be done somehow. Now that I know how you feel Buffy. . . That I'm
the one. . . You're never getting rid of me, do you understand me? You won't ever be able to
leave me and I won't leave you."

"I understand if you can't trust this right away Spike. I can't blame you if you don't,"
she told him honestly. "Just . . . I always did love you. Everything I did – it was for you, it was
because I loved you."

"Just say it, kitten. Tell me you love me, please."

"I love you Spike."

With those words spoken, he pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. "You're with
me then?" He asked, when they came up for air.

She nodded, "I'm with you."

Kissing her hungrily, Spike maneuvered them to the sand on their knees. He weaved his
hand under her blouse and cupped her breast in his hand. She moaned into his mouth and
pressed into his touch, tangling her fingers in his hair.

"Buffy, baby," he breathed, "I want to make love to you."

She nodded, nearly panting. "Not here, let's go to –"

Spike's cell ringing cut her off. "Ignore it," he growled and attacked her lips.

"You better answer it," Buffy breathed, parting from him slightly, "You said Xander
was at a party tonight, remember?"

Spike growled again and grabbed his phone out of his pocket with one hand while
keeping Buffy in place with his other arm wrapped around her. He rolled his yes. Must be
Xander, Buffy thought.

"Yeah? Yes, I am with Buffy. . . Yes, this is a bad time."

Buffy giggled.

"All right Harris, I'm coming to get you. . . I'm not going to have this discussion with
you right now but we will talk tomorrow about this. Good bye."

"He needs to be picked up?" Buffy guessed.

"Yes, of all the sodding times—" he broke off to kiss her again. "I can come back? I can
drop you off at your car and get Xander, drop him off and go to your place, yeah?"

"Honey, I want to make love to you, I do, but—"

He closed his eyes. "No buts please. Buffy, I've waited so long to have you in my arms
again."

She smiled, "I know, but I want our first time together to be something special. I don't
want it to be rushed. I want to take my time and . . . not have to go to work in the morning."

"You know you're killing me, right?"

She giggled, "I know. It's killing me too. Just think how nice it'd be to have the whole
night and then the whole day . . . "

"Friday night seems too far away."

"That's because it is. It's three days. Why don't we go out tomorrow night?"

Spike looked at her, smiling. "Like a date?"

She nodded. "I'd very much like to date you, Spike."

He swooped in and kissed her soundly. "Tomorrow night then. We'll go out for dinner
and some dancing. Sound good?"

"Perfect. Wonderful. I'll be with you, that's all I need."

"Tell me again, Buffy. Say it."

She met his eyes, "I love you Spike."

 

Chapter 34

She couldn't sleep. In fact she was wired. Why the hell did she tell Spike they'd wait? She wanted him NOW. She took a shower, got in comfy pajamas and ended up staring blankly at the TV while her leg bounced up and down. This was—someone knocked on her door. She rolled her eyes. She didn't want to talk to Willow at this moment in time. On the other hand, it'd give her something to do while she wasn't doing someone.

"Hey Will—" she stopped.

"I told you I go by Spike now," he told her grinning.

She launched herself into his arms and he caught her, easily hoisting her up so that her
legs wrapped around his waist. He chuckled as she dotted his face with kisses.

"I'm so glad you're here!" she exclaimed.

"I see that. I know I said I'd wait and I thought I could and we don't have to do
anything Buffy, but I just need to –"

She covered his lips with hers and kissed him hungrily. When they both needed air, she
parted. "What?"

"Hold you. I was going to tell you that I needed to hold you tonight—but fucking hell
Buffy . . . you got my motor revvin' here," he told her breathlessly and smooshed her against
the wall as he devoured her mouth with his.

She couldn't get close enough. Bodies touching, grinding against each other and it still
wasn't enough. She wormed her hands between them and pushed at his jacket,
wanting it off, off off. She wanted it all OFF.

"Kitten," he slid her to the floor and caught her hands. "You don't have to."

She blinked. "You do remember that you're a guy right?"

"Oi, pet. Little below the belt there."

"That's just it Spike. I want to BE below the belt. I want below the belt IN me. Any of
this sound good to you?"

He growled and snatched her against him, hoisting her up yet again. "Perfect."

"Wait!"

He paused. "What?"

"It's your first time. Do you want to wait? I'm a little nutty right now with wanting you
and I know you probably want your first time to be special—"

He pressed an ardent kiss to her mouth; tugging her hair out of the pony she had it in.
"Buffy, it will be special because it's with you."

She leaned in and this time kissed him slowly, taking her time reacquainting herself
with his taste. This time, she pushed his jacket off slowly and dipped her hands down,
tugging on his shirt. She lifted it slowly, caressing each patch of skin exposed and when she
finally tugged it over his head and discarded it, she placed kisses along his collar bone and
flicked each nipple with her tongue. He inhaled sharply.

Meeting his eyes, she walked him to her bed and pushed him down. He sat with a plop
and watched as she pulled her tank over her head.

"Christ Buffy, you're so bleedin' gorgeous," he whispered reverently, pulling her close
to him. He suckled on one hardened nipple and cupped the other in his hand, brushing over it
with the pad of his thumb. She moaned and dug her fingers in his hair, holding him to her.

"You taste so good, kitten," he whispered. "I want you so much, baby."

"I want you too," she replied softly. "Kick off your shoes and socks."

He obliged and when they were discarded, she nudged him to lie down. He did so, but
kept his head up, watching her. Nearly yanking his jeans off, she grinned when she saw he'd
gone commando. His erection bounced free of the confines of his jeans, weeping pre cum. She
licked it, eliciting a moan. Grinning, she took him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and
down, swirling her tongue around the head and then engulfed him once again.

"Buffy. . . Fuck that feels so good. Buffy, I want you up here, Buffy, please…"

She continued on and when she hummed around him, he exploded.

"Buffy!"

She swallowed it all down, taking him in her body, loving it because it was him and he
was all she needed and wanted. She was starting to lick him clean when he hauled her up to
him. He kissed her ravenously.

"Can you taste yourself on me?" she asked huskily.

"You're going to bleedin' kill me," he gasped. "Get up here."

"What?"

"Give me that delectable pussy, now."

"Spike, do you mean—"

He nodded, his eyes dark and glittering. "Right. Over. My. Mouth."

How was it possible that she was the experienced one here and he made HER blush?

"Want to taste you again…love your taste. . .like sugar and honey. So sweet, so mine…
"he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

She shivered and gave herself a mental shake. What the hell, she thought. Moving, she
poised herself over his mouth and held onto the bed post. The second his breath came across
her pussy, her eyes rolled. And when his tongue licked her, she trembled. She was beginning to
wonder if he'd been lying to her when he'd said he hadn't been with another woman. The
things he could do with his tongue. . . it was positively sinful. He was beating out some kind of
morse code on her clit and any second now she was going to—

"Spike!"

She came hard in his mouth and he ate her as if it were his last meal. "Mmmmm… my
Buffy," he moaned, and off like a rocket she went again. When her legs turned to Jell-O, she slid
to the side and off him. He was right there to gather her to him. Rolling so that he was on top,
he fitted himself between her legs, his already hardened erection poking at her folds.

"Can you taste yourself?" he asked and kissed her gently.

"Spike, that was –oh my god, where did you learn that?"

He smirked. "I spent a LOT of time in that bookstore."

She giggled and reached between them, grabbing his erection and stroking it.

He buried his head in her neck. "God, you're going to kill me. Do you have any idea
how long I've waited for this?"

"Tell me," she urged.

"Seems like its been ever since you took me out of that locker. No, before that. Before,
just seein' you all around school . . . You're a Goddess, you know that?"

"I love you," she whispered, kissing him fervently. "I love you so much."

"There just aren't words for how much I love you, Buffy."

She guided him inside her slowly, letting him get used to being inside a woman and
letting her get used to his size. After a few strokes, he was completely inside and she was
already ready to go off like a rocket again. When he was embedded in her, so deep inside, he
paused, just nuzzling her neck.

"You feel so good, I'm afraid to move," he told her honestly. "I've never. . . God, Buffy.."

"Slow baby, just go slow."

He started to pull out and then in, starting a slow rhythm that almost did her in. She
wrapped her legs around him and tilted her hips just a bit—oh yeah, right there, she thought.
And then he angled his hips and her eyes widened. Leave it to Spike to find her G-spot on the
first try. Her eyes rolled. "I need …" she breathed.

"What? Tell me, kitten. What do you need?"

"Faster. Harder," she grunted.

He obliged. They moved like a well oiled machine, grinding, thrusting, moving and tap, tap, tapping against her special spot. It hit her like a freight train and she bit down on his shoulder screaming into it as she came. Her walls tightening and massing his cock milked him as he roared his release, spilling himself inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, and she wound herself around him, not wanting to let him go.

He lifted his head and kissed her slowly, deeply.

She looked up at him lovingly, swiping the perspiration from his forehead off. "Did I happen to mention how glad I am you came over tonight?"
 

Chapter 35

Spike woke slowly, having an erotic dream of Buffy. Buffy between his legs, sucking on him, making him feel so good . . .

"Mmmm…. Awake yet?"

His eyes flew open and he groaned in pleasure when he saw that his dream was a
reality. Watching his hard member disappear inside her luscious pink mouth was as erotic as it
came.

She grinned when she released him with a plop. "I got bored waiting for you to wake
up," she told him and crawled up his body. "I hope you don't mind." She straddled him,
impaling herself on him.

His eyes rolled, "Bleeding hell," he moaned. "That feels good."

She smiled and leaned forward. "Morning gorgeous."

He grinned and thrust up into her wetness. "Morning, princess. Give us a kiss now eh?"

She obliged.



When they were spent, for the time being anyway, Buffy rolled to her side and Spike cuddled her close to him. "I don't want to go to work today," he whispered.

"Then don't. I, for one, plan to stay here. You wore me out."

He grinned. "In a good way right?"

She smiled, "Definitely. But if you stay. . . you can remind me of how good it is a few
more times."

"Good? I don't think I like that adjective anymore. I want. . . amazing. Brilliant."

"Then you better call. I already did for myself."

"Pretty sure of your powers of persuasion huh?"

"I can be."

"Hand me the phone."



Three hours later, they'd managed to roll themselves out of bed and go out for breakfast.

"Do you want me to kick Xander out?" Spike asked her as they munched on fresh fruit
together.

She nearly choked on the strawberry he insisted on feeding her. "What?"

"Kick him out so you can come back."

"Do you want to kick him out?"

"For you to come back? Of course."

"That wouldn't be very fair to Xander. He's been there a month!"

"You were there a month too," he pointed out.

"That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"I'm not sure."

He took a deep breath. "Buffy, do you want to move back?"

"How about we try something different this time? I'm going to ask you what you think
instead."

He studied her, poked at some fruit and pondered the question. He looked up at her. "I
think we should keep it the way it is for now," he said finally.

She nodded. "You're right. Being on my own . . . it's liberating. I like it."

"Well, you're not on your own, on your own. You have me."

She smiled, "I know I have you. But you know what I mean. You feel it too, don't you?"

He nodded. "I do. But I don't want it forever Buffy. I want you with me again."

"I know, but for now this is nice isn't it? We can date. Do couple things instead of
roommate things. We can have those weeks where we get busy and might not see each other
for a couple days and then when we finally do it's that much more intense. Then I can make
you dinner some days, you can make me dinner on other days. Sleepovers at my place," she
had a dreamy expression on her face.

"Wow that sounds really nice. Why'd we move in together in the first place?" he teased
and she playfully hit him.

"Besides, it's still fresh and new," she continued on. "We're both still fresh and new.
Being on our own like this and dating, it's like we're experiencing a brand new world together
even though we're not living together. Know what I mean?"

Spike nodded, "It's definitely a good thing. It'll make when we do move together, that
much more perfect."

She nodded. "So, does your mom completely hate me?"

"No, pet. She doesn't hate you. How could she? You're like a daughter to her."

"I know, but I'm afraid to see her."

"Don't be. It'll be okay, I promise. What about your mom, how is that going?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I haven't seen her much. When trying to build a life, the last
thing you need is someone breathing down your neck telling you all the things you're doing
wrong with it."

"Does it sound odd for me to thank you?"

"For?"

"For not breathing down my neck."

Buffy smiled. "Not at all. Thank you for being patient with me."

"I wasn't being patient Buffy, I was just . . . I couldn't be with anyone else. I lived my
life. I did what I had to do and good things did come out of it that might not have happened
otherwise. But I never felt as alive as I do when you're with me. I love you."

"I love you too. So, let's go start on those fun dating things. How about a walk in the
park holding hands? Tell me how great I was as a roomie compared to Xander. . . "

"Xander doesn't put out."

"Pig."

"Oink, oink baby."
 

The end.